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pedrito-friskito · 1 year ago

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strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

after - part thirty-one

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | READ ON AO3

you keep going. you have to keep going.

a/n: so I haven’t been on here in a hot second BUT I’ve been writing this story like a crazy person, lots more to come, thanks for all the love 🤍

word count: 7.2k

warnings: lil smut for your saturday, big emotions, ellie and liv forever 🤍

✨@friskito-library for updates on new parts/works✨

Joel knows that he’s dreaming.

He hasn’t let himself dream for a long time now. Every night, he’s feigned sleep, while you insist on taking watch, Ellie even offering herself up a few hours at a time. It’s partially a conscious decision, partially not. There are nights when he wants sleep, wants to drift off just for a few hours, but his body won’t let him. He lays there with his eyes shut, trying to keep his memories at bay, but it always takes more effort than he expects, and before he knows it, the sun is rising once again.

But right now? Definitely dreaming.

It’s a strange sensation, being conscious of a dream while you’re in it. But it’s the best dream he’s had in years, so he begs his body to stay asleep a while longer, just so he can see how this plays out.

He’s home. Back in Austin, not your shared apartment in Boston, but his old house, his old bedroom. More specifically, sprawled on his bed, mid-morning light filtering through the curtains. The mattress feels so real beneath him, the springs creaking as he moves, but it’s only a backdrop to what’s really happening.

You, wrapped in his arms, back pressed to his chest. He swears he can feel how sweat-slick your skin is, smell the scent of your hair, hear the rapid thunk of your heart beneath his palms. He’s buried in your body, deep as he can go, your back arching with the force of him, whines falling from your lips as you beg him for more.

“Please, Joel,” you murmur, one hand reaching back to fist the hair at the back of his head. “Oh my god, please, I’m—”

Never one to deny you, waking or asleep, he lets one hand drop, skimming the curve of your stomach and finding your clit with ease. You keen as he draws little circles, burying his face in your neck, kissing at your throat.

“C’mon, baby,” he rasps, teeth scraping your jaw. “Lemme feel it, lemme—”

A crashing sound rings through his ears, making his whole body jolt, and the dream vanishes, his eyes shooting open.

“Fuck!” you curse, and Joel turns to see you crouched near the old desk in the corner of the watchtower. One of the drawers has fallen to the floor — obviously the source of the noise — and you’re trying to scoop the contents back in; maps and notebooks and random photographs. Joel groans as he sits up straight, lifting his body off the mattress, and you look at him over your shoulder, brows shooting up to your hairline. “Shit, baby, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” The drawer literally collapses in your hands and Joel has to stifle his laugh as he gets to his feet. You groan at the mess on the floor, head dropping back on your shoulders.

“S’okay,” he tells you, reaching for your arm and pulling you up to stand. Your stance is sure now, but it’s old habit for him to support you, though your leg has healed. You’ve been in the tower for two and a half weeks now; the first two had you laid up in one of the mattresses, Joel and Ellie both refusing to let you up unless it was absolutely necessary. Your leg is still wrapped in a bandage — fresh ones from the first aid kit you found in the tower — but there’s no blood bloomed through, and it looked almost completely healed when Joel checked it last night. You’re out of the woods, and he knows you need to get going soon. You’re antsy, and he can see it. He’s just as bad.

You sigh into his grip, reaching up to drape your arms around his neck. “But you were sleeping,” you say with emphasis, and he knows you’ve been watching him just as much as he’s been watching you. “I didn’t want to wake you at all.”

Joel shakes his head, leaning forward to tuck his nose into your neck, lips grazing your jaw. “Slept enough, baby,” he murmurs, pulling you close to him. “Just interrupted a dream I was havin’.”

“A dream?” you repeat, and he hums, grabbing your hips and pulling yours flush with his. He’s hard, pressing against the zipper of his jeans, his whole body nearly shaking with need. Your lips part softly, a quiet inhale that makes him even harder. “Was it a good dream?”

“Lemme show you,” he replies, reaching for the button on your jeans. “Where’s the kid?”

“Downstairs,” you tell him, tilting your head to the door. “Told her to stay down there, to let you sleep.”

“Well, I’m done sleepin’, baby,” he grits as he unzips your fly. He brings his hand to his mouth, sucks two fingers past his lips, then slips them down the front of your pants, right past the band of your underwear. “Fuck, when’s the last time I touched you like this, huh?”

He watches your face, the way your bottom lip quivers, and right when he thinks you’re actually going to answer, he pushes his hand lower, curls his fingers up and into you. You squeak, nearly collapsing in his arms, and Joel can’t help the satisfaction that roils through him.

You clench around his fingers as he pushes deeper and your knees waver, your hands clinging to his shoulders. “Fuck,” you curse again, moaning when he wraps his other arm around your waist, pulling you closer, getting a better angle. “We need to be—” You cut yourself off, eyes rolling back when he finds that spot, the tips of his fingers rubbing circles. “Faster, Joel.”

“Faster, huh?” he almost taunts, but gives you what you ask for. “You want it just like this, huh? Y’know, I was dreamin’ we were back home, that I was fucking you in our bed. You were beggin’ me so pretty.”

“Please,” you gasp, your hand fisting the front of his flannel, pulling him close enough to make your noses brush. “Fuck me, please, baby.”

You whine when he drags his fingers from you, but he doesn’t waste any time, turning you around and pushing you against the table in the middle of the room. You plant your hands, bending over the edge as he shoves your pants down, just enough to see the shine of slick against the inside of your thighs, the evidence you need this just as badly as he does. He doesn’t have time to strip you down completely, but one of these days, he’ll—

“Joel.”

He frees himself from his jeans, his cock aching and leaking as he kicks your legs wide and lines himself up. Your whole body stutters as he drags himself along your heat, coating himself with your wetness. His other hand finds your hip, digging his fingers in hard. You call his name again, your voice a rasp in the air, and he pushes into you, breathy exhales filling the space between you as he fills you to the hilt. Just as fucking tight as he remembers, just as hot and perfect and…you.

The need and the desperation get the better of him, kicking his pace into high gear the instant he’s buried to the hilt. He can feel the shift, gripping both your hips, and your hands cover his, keeping him in place. Your head turns slightly, eyes meeting his, big and wide and just as full of lust as he feels.

He gets you impossibly closer, keeping his hips tight to your ass and thrusting so hard your boots nearly lift off the ground. It pulls the most delicious sound from your mouth, your hand shooting back to dig your nails into his ass. “Jesus Christ.”

Joel hauls you up, banding one arm under your chest, his lips at your ear. “Yeah, baby? Tell me how good it feels.”

“So fucking good,” you babble, squeezing his ass, canting your hips back into him, driving him deeper. “Missed you — ah! — touching me like…like this.”

He had more words, more dirty things to murmur in your ear, but you take his mouth for your own, squeaking against his lips when he moves his other hand between your legs, thumbing at your clit. You clench around him, your teeth sinking into his bottom lip so hard he’s sure you’ll draw blood, confirmed when he tastes iron a second later. But he doesn’t care, too engrossed in the way you twitch in his arms, thighs quaking around his hand, the breathy moans that fall out of you.

How is it possible to miss someone who’s been right beside you the entire time?

It hits him like a ton of bricks as he works you through your orgasm, his movements sharper, trying to draw out your pleasure as much as he can. Your body goes lax, your lips still kissing his, both of your mouths smeared with his blood, but Joel doesn’t care.

His own body goes tight, pleasure creeping up his spine, slithering through his aching bones. The pain in his chest hasn’t made an appearance since you found the watchtower, and in this moment, he doesn’t even remember what it felt like, too preoccupied with how good you feel, your body wringing pleasure from his the same way he did to you.

You pull back slightly, just enough to see his face, darting between his bloody lip and his eyes and back again. You kiss him again, sucking his bottom lip between your own, laving your tongue along the curve. His hips snap against your ass, that peak growing closer and closer with every touch you offer. He sees the recognition in your eyes, the spark of knowledge as you tighten your grip on him.

“Baby,” you murmur, your gaze softening, the corner of your lip curling up as his pace stutters. You cover his hands with your own, squeezing your fingers around his wrists, pushing your body back into his. “You fuck me so good, love me so good.” You steal another kiss. “Love you so goddamned much.”

His brow furrows, hands tightening on you, fingers curling against your ribs. He growls into your mouth, nerves set alight, the feeling barrelling up and down and side to side, making his toes numb in his boots. He cums with a shout, one you catch with your own lips as he staggers, nearly losing his grip on you as he spills himself deep. It makes you hum, your grip going tighter, and now it’s you holding him upright, your lips all over his cheek, one hand lifting to brush through his hair.

Once he’s caught his breath, you let out a little breathy giggle, your arms still around each other. “Well, that was unexpected.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, feeling his cheeks heat as he slips out of you. “I just…needed that.”

You reach up, running your thumb over where you bit his lip. “You definitely don’t need to apologize for that, Joel. I’m sorry for biting you so hard.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “I liked it.”

As you clean each other up, finding spare rags to clean the mess between your legs, wetting another to dab at the blood on Joel’s lip, he forgets, just for a moment. Forgets about the world outside, the terror and the violence that seem to follow you all around. For a moment, you’re just two people in love, as desperate for each other now as you were when you first met twenty-two years ago. You’re just…you.

You pull your jeans back up, inspecting your bandage after you do. Joel steps close to you. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” you tell him, a relaxed smile on your face. He doesn’t remember the last time he saw you look like that — relaxed.

As you straighten, he pulls you back into the circle of his arms, fitting his arms around your shoulders. Your hands slip under his flannel, palms flat against his skin. He tugs at your hair, lifting your face until his nose brushes yours. Your lips part, words on the tip of your tongue, but he beats you to the punch.

“I love you,” he whispers, well aware that his hands are shaking. You nudge your nose against his, pulling him closer. He drops his jaw, capturing your lips again, but softly this time. He adjusts his grip, hands lifting to cup your face, thumb swiping across your cheek. The cut on your face has also healed, a thin scar left behind. Joel traces it as you deepen the kiss, your tongue touching his.

Ellie clears her throat in the doorway and you both jump apart, you covering your face with your hand while Joel braces his hands on his hips, staring at the floor. She doesn’t say anything at first, stepping into the tower and tossing her gun onto the table in the middle — the table he’d just—

“What happened to your mouth?” she asks suddenly, brow furrowing at Joel. His head snaps up, brows rising.

“Huh?”

“Your lip is bleeding.”

“Oh.” He lifts his hand to his mouth, feeling his cheeks heat. “Uh—”

You stifle a laugh, turning away with a guilty look on your face, finding something in the corner of the room infinitely more interesting.

The kid’s eyes dart between the two of you, and then she makes a face. “Gross.”

One month later, on the outskirts of Cody, Wyoming…

You’re all dragging your heels.

Ellie’s asleep on her feet, and Joel is so overtired that his senses are in overdrive. You can see it in the way his head swivels on his neck, eyes flitting every direction, coasting over where you’re stood on his bad side, bat over your shoulder, gun in hand. He’s still carting the rifle, knife at his hip, and Ellie has her not-so-secret gun. You feel better knowing she’s armed and feel shitty knowing how fucked up that thought process is.

Since you left the tower, winter has caught up with you. The snow came and left, then came and stuck, and it was very quickly apparent that the jackets you’d carried with you from Boston weren’t going to cut it. The chill in your bones had you detouring through neighbourhoods, reminiscent of your smuggling days, picking through houses over the remnants of people’s lives. You make Ellie and Joel keep watch most of the time, wanting to keep them safe from whatever horrors might be lurking behind closed doors.

You get lucky. You find a thick leather coat for Joel, wool-lined and worn in. For Ellie, what you think might have been a boy’s winter jacket, but it’s heavy enough to keep her warm and fits her fine. For you, one of those ridiculously patterned flannel-sherpa monstrosities you’re sure your mother had six of back in the nineties. It’s almost not warm enough, but you manage to find a few more layers to wear underneath and it works.

You find a few hats — one of which you have to all but force onto Ellie’s head — and leather gloves to match Joel’s jacket. It’s easy enough to find boots for you and Ellie, the tall, lace-up kind that hug your calves and keep the snow out. For Joel, every pair you find isn’t the right size, or the soles are worse off than the ones he’s been wearing. What you do find is duct tape, and he wraps his boots in it, waving you off when you try to help.

Part of you wishes you’d stayed in the watchtower. It wasn’t the perfect place — it got drafty as hell once the temperature started to drop — but you had a good vantage point. The supplies you found would have lasted a bit longer, and you could have gone back to Omaha to look for more.

Part of you wanted to stay, but a bigger part wanted to go. Once your leg was healed, you just wanted to keep moving. Whatever this is, you want to see it through. You’ve lost too much since leaving Boston, you refuse to tuck your tail between your legs and just give it up.

Another part, a part that’s small sometimes, and so big sometimes you think it might swallow you whole, that part doesn’t want any of this. It wants to find a place, somewhere safe, somewhere far from FEDRA and the Fireflies and the past you left behind, just for you. For you and for Joel and…

And for Ellie.

You can’t deny the protectiveness you feel for her. Right from that first night, you just had to keep her safe, had to keep her as whole as you possibly could in a world that wants the polar opposite. You look at her, remember what you’ve agreed to do, to just hand her over to the Fireflies. What will they do with her, what will they…?

Never mind your own feelings, but you’ve seen her and Joel lately, since you left Kansas City. Something’s changed, shifted. You know Joel will be the last person to admit it, but there’s a kinship, a kindness between them that didn’t exist before. He’s still your gruff old man, through and through, but his edges that were once soft only for you have smoothed out for her, too. It’s little things — passing a can of soup back and forth, Joel making sure she’s got a good grip on the warm metal before letting go — and the bigger ones too. When you first left the watchtower, shortly after the first snow, Ellie had nearly tumbled down the hill, but Joel had been closer than you, and he’d grabbed her before she could fall, hauling her back and onto steady feet, keeping her pressed to his chest until she caught her breath again.

You saw the flicker in his face when her arms wrapped around his middle, and the twinge in his expression when she let go, giving a shaky laugh and stepping away from him.

They’ve gotten closer, but Joel’s different on his own. He still has those pinched expressions when he thinks you’re not looking, looks of pain that he forces mild when he catches you looking. The closer you get to Cody, potentially to Tommy, the more antsy he gets. You know he’ll never admit it, but you know exactly what’s going on in his head. You’ve come all this way, and what if…

What if you don’t find Tommy?

Or worse, what if you do find him and—

No. You cut the thought short. You can’t let yourself think like that. No good will come of it.

You’ll find the Cody Tower. You’ll find Tommy and he’ll help you find the Fireflies, and this will all—

“Liv!”

You’ve only just reached the outskirts of the city. Wrapped in your own head, your mind going a million miles a minute, you didn’t realize you’d gotten close to the buildings, the flattened cityscape that looks like something out of an old Western. Joel grabs you from behind, clamping a hand over your mouth and wrenching you backwards, your boots scuffing against the pavement as he drags you, stifling your surprised noise when you see the sight before you.

Off in the distance, the control tower is plain as day. Your mind paints a taunting image of Tommy perched on the top platforms, speaking into a radio, talking to you and to Joel, telling you where he’s gone, what he’s doing.

The town below is less taunting, more nightmare.

Clickers, everywhere.

As far as your eye can see, wandering and twitching their way through the streets, tripping over abandoned cars and cracked hunks of pavement. The odd screech reaches your ears, sending chills down your spine. You let Joel drag you back, your body going willingly, pushing yourself back into his arms as you go. Ellie is frozen in place as you pass, her eyes glued to the sight before you, and you grab the hood of her coat as you pass, pulling her along with you.

Joel doesn’t release you until you’re back over the hill you’d just crested, until you’re out of earshot, out of sight. Your heart is racing, thumping against your ribs, and you get your bearings, letting go of Joel enough to grab his hand and Ellie’s, pulling them off the road and into the forest lining the road.

But Joel doesn’t move.

He’s still as a statue in the middle of the road, the hill stretching below, a straight shot through Cody. Even at a further distance now, you can hear them, those awful noises, like some kind of demonic birdsong. Ellie grips your hand tightly and you put yourself between her and the town below. “Joel, we need to move,” you say, tugging on his wrist. Nothing. “Joel—”

“He was in Cody,” he murmurs, his voice nearly carried away on the wind that sweeps through, ruffling your hair and his, making goosebumps rise on your skin. “He was there. D’you think that he…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. The rifle falls from his grip, hanging against his shoulder, and his hand flies to his throat, boots sliding as his body tilts. He’s white as a fucking ghost. You pull your hand from Ellie’s, reaching for him. He grunts as you move in front of him, bearing his weight, trying to keep him upright.

“Liv—” Ellie starts, but you cut her off.

“Go to the trees,” you tell her, giving her a pointed look. “Go, and don’t move till I say, you hear me?”

She nods, her face nearly solemn, and heads for the tree line.

“Joel,” you call, and he gives you no response, his hands on your shoulders and his breath wheezing out of his chest. It’s coming fast, his entire body shaking with every inhale, every exhale. “Joel, honey, I’m right here.”

“What if he…” He trails off again, his eyes moving past you, back to the town. “Tommy…”

“Tommy’s alive,” you say, making your voice as stern as you can be, ignoring the panic rising in your own chest. “He’s alive and he sure as hell isn’t down there. We need to get someplace safe, okay? We need to figure out where to go next.”

“But he—”

You grab his chin in your hand, force his eyes on yours. “Your brother is a smart man, Joel, much as you hate to admit it. And he left Boston a long time ago. He wouldn’t have stuck around long enough to get caught up in something like that. He’s alive, and we’re going to find him. You hear me?”

His chest is still rising rapidly, his hands shaking as they move down to your biceps, squeezing so tight you feel it through your jacket and sweater. “I don’t know what…” He shakes his head, some of the colour returning to his cheeks. The wind howls and his eyes finally drop, pinched shut as he relaxes slightly into your grip, his breath starting to come a touch slower.

“I know,” you tell him, pressing your chest to his, hoping he’ll feel your even breaths, that his body will respond and try to match them. “I’ve had that thought more times than I care to admit. We have to believe he’s alive, Joel, and that we’ll find him. We will.”

His shoulders sag and he pulls you against him, his temple against your forehead as he exhales slowly. “We will.”

“We’re lost.”

“We’re not fuckin’ lost,” Joel grumbles, swinging his bag from his shoulder. He pulls out the map, shoves it in your direction, and you give Ellie a glare as you unfold it, the lines and dots instantly giving you more of a headache than you already have.

“Really?” she quips, and you let your eyes flutter shut, pushing the map back at Joel. “Then where the fuck are we?”

He gives you a pointed look, brow raised, but you ignore it, scrubbing your gloved hand over your face. It’s fucking cold. You feel like you haven’t slept in three days — realistically, you know that’s not completely true, but the little sleep you have gotten hasn’t been nearly enough, and the thrum in the back of your mind has been near constant. You’re burning out, desperate for some real food, water that hasn’t been hastily boiled over a campfire, and at least eighteen hours of sleep. Hell, even eight would do the trick.

You’ve been walking since sunrise. Almost three days past Cody. You walked through (past? You can’t be sure…) Yellowstone a day and a half in, and you’re all dragging each other along. The roads are hell, covered in snow, the blanket of white a welcome repaint to the landscape, but it helps hide the things that go bump in the night. Infected aren’t the only things you have to worry about in the mountains.

Joel furrows his brow at the map, yanking his gloves off to trace the path he’s after. You’ve been following the map, using whatever landmarks you can to find the next town. Joel mentioned Jackson, you thought maybe Yellowstone would have a camp of some sort — the park was big enough they could have put up some sort of outpost or camp when the outbreak came — but your path proved otherwise. Whatever had been set up in the park’s boundary was long gone.

There’s a marked path Joel’s been trying to follow, but the snow is not helpful. You think you’ve been sticking to it, but with every step, you feel more and more unsure. What if you’re going in the wrong direction? You trust Joel, you know he’s good for this stuff, that he wouldn’t risk it — risk you — if he wasn’t sure, but after his episode outside Cody, your worry for him has only grown stronger.

But you have to keep going.

It’s Ellie, that spots the cabin off in the distance. Small, tucked behind a wooden fence you’d guess is about chest height. Smoke pours out of the chimney. The relief that floods you is tinged with wariness, but it’s the first sign of actual living human life since you left Kansas City, and part of you wants to grab onto it as tight as you can.

The other part knows you can’t be stupid about this. You have to be careful.

By the time you get close enough to scope the place out, night has nearly fallen, and you make camp just inside the trees, out of line of sight from the cabin, but still able to keep an eye out. Joel insists on taking the majority of watch, and you let him, honestly too tired to fight with him otherwise. The little sleep you get is fitful, too many noises in the forest keeping you awake, Ellie’s murmurs in her sleep putting you on high alert, listening closely for any sounds of distress. You huddle close on the sleeping bags, keeping each other warm while Joel paces the small camp you’ve made.

You’re up with the sun, feeling like you barely got back to sleep when you’re being pulled out of it, and Joel has a plan. “It’s an older couple,” he informs you, scratching at his forehead, passing you a cup of coffee. You’ve rationed what you found back in KC best you can, but you’re getting down to the dregs and the grounds are more and more stale. But it’s caffeine, and you’re grateful all the same. “Husband looks like a hunter. I say we wait it out, wait for him to leave, then get in there. Get the wife to point us in the right direction. Figure out where the hell we are, if they’ve ever heard of Tommy, if he passed through here.”

“What if she doesn’t want to help us?” Ellie asks, and the waver in her voice pulls at something in your chest. You stare down into your coffee.

Joel pulls his gun out of his pocket, bare fingers curled around the handle. “We make sure she does.”

“Joel—” you start, but he shakes his head.

“We’ve been walking for days, Liv. I know you’ve been thinkin’ the same as I have. This is the first real thing we’ve found; I won’t walk away until we’ve found all we can.”

You swallow hard, the coffee bitter on your tongue. “Okay,” you nod, “but we ask politely first.”

His jaw ticks. “Yes, dear.”

Florence lets you inside with little issue. She actually laughs at Ellie’s whispered what the fuuuuuuck when you step into the cabin. The warmth that floods your body nearly makes you crumple on the spot, but you keep upright, taking in the log interior, the animal skulls and all manner of tools and equipment hanging from the walls.

Joel pushes ahead of the two of you, gun raised, scanning the space. “Anyone else here?”

“Just me,” the older woman says, almost smiling. “You waited until Marlon left.”

“He looked like a shoot first, ask questions later type,” Joel says, and she laughs again.

“He is.”

Keeping the gun at hand, Joel steps through the cabin, poking around doors, heading up to the loft to make sure it’s empty too. You and Ellie stand there awkwardly, teeth chattering as your bodies get used to the warmth.

“Sit down, girls,” Florence instructs, getting out of her chair with some effort. “I’ll make you some soup.”

“You don’t have t—” you protest, but she waves you off as she heads to the kitchen area.

“It’s cold out there.”

Joel comes back down the stairs, satisfied with his search, and Ellie sinks down on the couch, clearly unable to resist a soft seat. You’re tense, and Joel stands beside you, one hand in the middle of your back, the other still holding his gun aloft.

“Joel,” you start, but he shakes his head again, just like he had.

“Where is she?”

“Making soup,” Ellie answers and his brows shoot up.

It’s a good few minutes of quiet, and you sit down beside Ellie, every bone in your body creaking as you hit the cushion. Joel puts himself between the two of you and Florence, her back to you, the clatter of dishes the only sound.

“We don’t want any trouble,” Joel says, “just need to know where we are.”

The woman nods as she turns back, two bowls of soup in her hands as she walks back toward the couch. You and Ellie accept them with mumbled thanks, and she goes back to get a third bowl for Joel before sinking back into her rocking chair, regarding the three of you.

“You got a map?”

About an hour later, the bowls are empty, you can feel your toes again, and Ellie’s cheeks are not nearly as rosy as they’d been when she woke up this morning. The map sits on the table in front of you, and your eyes are trained on the spot Florence had pointed to. Joel is still rigid, pacing the cabin with the gun in his hand, ignoring you when you tell him to put it away.

Florence is still in her rocking chair, and she pauses mid-rock, head turning toward the door. “He’s back.”

“Ellie, upstairs,” you say, and she shoots you a wide-eyed look, but you press. “Now.”

She sighs as she darts upstairs, like she’s annoyed to not be in the line of fire, and Joel pulls you up off the couch, bringing you with him into the kitchen, out of sight of the front door.

The man you assume to be Marlon steps through the front door a beat later, unzipping his coat and setting a hunting bow down on the nearby table. Florence just watches, rocking back and forth in her chair, but you don’t miss the way her eyes meet his and then flick to the pair of you tucked to the side.

Marlon takes a step forward, and Joel moves at the same time. “And the gun, too.”

Your brow lifts. You hadn’t noticed the holster at Marlon’s belt, but Joel had. “Who the hell are you?”

Joel steps around the room slowly, his own gun lifted and pointed at the older man. “Just someone passin’ through.” You stay where you are, watching the scene unfold before you. Joel stops, gestures to Marlon. “Take the gun out, two fingers only, put it outta reach.”

You have to admit the thread of power in his voice makes a shiver race down your spine. And it’s not from the cold.

Marlon does as asked, pulling the pistol out almost mockingly, shaking it in the air before setting it down — out of reach, like Joel said.

“Why didn’t you shoot ‘em?” Marlon asks, jutting his chin at his wife.

“Gun’s all the way over there,” Florence replies, looking toward the kitchen. You realize she could have — when she went to make you all soup, she easily could have grabbed the gun and started shooting. Three against one wouldn’t be an easy fight for the woman, but it would have been something. “He didn’t hurt me, by the way,” she tacks onto the end, her voice almost sarcastic.

“Yeah, I got eyes,” Marlon grumbles, and steps a little closer, gesturing at the table in front of the couch, your empty bowls of soup and the map. “You made him soup?”

“Yeah,” Florence replies, “I did. It’s cold out.”

Marlon sinks down into one of the empty chairs, and you can see Joel’s patience wearing thin. “I’m lookin’ for my brother.”

The old man scoffs, pulling his hat off. “Well, I ain’t seen him.”

“I haven’t told you what he looks like,” Joel retorts, matching his tone.

“He look anything like you?”

“A bit,” Joel answers, and you can’t stop yourself from stepping forward.

“Not really,” you say, and Marlon’s brows shoot up as you make yourself seen, your own gun dangling from your hand. “Darker hair, a bit shorter, more mustache than beard.”

Another scoff. “I ain’t seen him.”

“They’ve got a girl with them,” Florence says, lifting her chin toward the loft.

“Can I come down?” Ellie’s voice floats down, and Joel bristles.

“No,” he calls, his voice stern, and you both look up to see her lean over the railing.

“Ellie!” you call, trying to strengthen Joel’s command, but it doesn’t work. She comes bounding down the stairs, gun rattling in her hand.

“Ooh-wa,” Marlon grumbles, and both he and Florence start laughing.

“What did I just say?” Joel grits and you sigh, rubbing your hand over your forehead.

“Joel, come on,” Ellie retorts, almost rolling her eyes. “They’re like, a thousand.”

“Who’s this little psycho?” Marlon asks, gesturing to Ellie, looking between you and Joel. “Your daughter?”

“She’s—” you start, but Joel cuts you off.

“Never mind her,” he says, stepping forward and poking at the map on the table. “I need you to tell us where we are.”

“If you got a map, why you lost?”

“Must have missed all the street signs in the enormous fucking forest,” Ellie bites out, and you grab her shoulder, yanking her backward and beside you.

“Ho-ly,” Marlon laughs, and Florence chuckles. The whole scene is making your head hurt. It’s like whiplash.

Joel gives you a pointed look as the older couple laughs. Your jaw goes tight and you shake your head ever so slightly, gripping Ellie’s shoulder as he leans in again, pointing at the map. “We’re somewhere here. Exactly where? And your answer better be the same as your wife’s.”

Marlon stares at Joel for a long moment before his eyes cut to Florence. “You tell him the truth?”

“Yeah,” she says, still rocking back and forth.

“You tellin’ me the truth?”

“Yeah.”

Another glare from the old man before he leans forward in the chair and pokes at the map. Exactly the same spot Florence had pointed out. Middle of fucking nowhere. You can feel Ellie’s eyes on your face, but you can’t bring yourself to look in her direction.

With a sigh, Joel tucks his gun away. “Well, you found a great place to hide, I guess.” He sinks down onto the couch, putting his head in his palm.

“Hide?” Marlon laughs. “Came here before you were born, sonny. Get the hell away from everybody.”

“I didn’t want to,” Florence interjects, and despite it all, you laugh.

Marlon waves her off. “Listen, I didn’t mean to upset you about your brother, but if you’ve come this far, then you know what’s out there. You’ve seen Cody?”

At the mention, you step away from Ellie, to the other side of the couch, hovering near Joel’s shoulder, reaching out and curling your fingers in his coat. Ellie sinks onto the corner of the couch and answers for you. “Yeah, got close enough. It’s crawling with Infected.”

“Yeah, Laramie and Wind River Reservation,” Marlon tells you, his eyes flitting from Ellie to Joel to you and back again. “Anywhere people used to be, you can’t go there no more.”

You can feel Joel tensing under your hand like a drawn bowstring. “So you haven’t heard the name Tommy? Tommy Miller?”

“Nope.”

“What about the Fireflies?” you ask, finding your voice.

“We get those in the summer,” Florence answers innocently.

“Not the bugs,” Ellie bites out, “the people.”

“There are firefly people?” the old woman asks and the pair starts laughing again.

Ellie has more to say, but you call her name, your voice as stern as Joel’s had been, and this time she listens, shrinking down onto the couch.

“You got any advice on the best way West?” Joel asks, and you can feel his shoulders going tighter and tighter.

“Yeah,” Marlon answers, “go East. But you never go past the river here.” He points at the map, not far from where he’d pointed before. “Ever.”

“What’s past the river?” you ask, stepping around and sitting on the arm of the couch, your hand still squeezing Joel’s shoulder.

“Death,” Florence says, and an icy chill shoots through you. “We never see who’s out there, but we see the bodies they leave behind. Some Infected, some not. If your brother’s West of the river, he’s gone.”

Joel deflates. You feel it beneath your hand, the slump to his shoulder, the defeat that starts to roil through him. You know him too well not to see it for what it is. He’s giving up.

And Ellie is staring at you. You let yourself meet her gaze, and see your own fear mirrored in her eyes. But despite it all, what comes out of your mouth is, “You aren’t gonna scare us.”

“Scared him,” Florence says, chin lifted toward Joel.

Marlon laughs again and Joel snatches the map up off the table, moving out from under your grip and getting to his feet. “We need to leave.” You move to follow, grabbing Ellie by the shoulder again. You grab your bags from where you stashed them near the stairs. Joel swings the rifle over his shoulder and as he steps past you to get to the door, you hear the wheeze in his breath. Without another word, he steps out of the door, Ellie following.

You turn back to the older couple. “Thank you for the…hospitality.”

Marlon gives you a strange look. “Don’t get yourself killed out there, girl.”

You give a curt nod before turning on your heel, following Joel and Ellie. Ellie is nearly running to keep up with him, a dead rabbit hanging from her grip — where the hell did she get a dead rabbit?

“They don’t know anything,” she’s saying, like she’s trying to reason with him. “Never heard of the Fireflies.”

They’re at the fence by the time you catch up, your boots nearly slipping through the snow. Joel’s stock-still, one hand reached out, gripping the wooden fence for support.

“Joel, are you okay?” Ellie calls, and you hear him grumble at her to shut up. “Holy shit, are you dying?” She whirls, panic in her eyes as she stares at you. “Liv, is he dying? This is the second time.”

Joel shakes his head, the movement almost frantic, eyes squeezed shut. “I’m okay,” he wheezes, and you step past Ellie, moving beside him. “Okay, okay, I’m fine.”

“Joel,” you call, your voice soft, reaching for his free hand, threading your fingers through his. “I’m right here.”

“No, no, but are you okay?” Ellie continues, her voice climbing. “Because just a reminder, that if you’re dead, we’re fucked.”

“Ellie, stop it,” you snap, squeezing Joel’s fingers as your head whips in her direction. The anger that spikes through you is there and gone in a flash, but you see it flicker across her face all the same.

“I’m fine,” Joel repeats, lifting your joined hands to his chest, rubbing your knuckles against his sternum. “Just the…cold air, all of a sudden.” He’s still panting, his breaths still wheezing, and he bends slightly, still gripping the fence for support.

Ellie’s still staring at you. The guilt is immediate as she ducks under the fence, putting distance between the pair of you. “Alright, uh, so let’s go and find Tommy and the Fireflies.”

Joel straightens, taking a deep, even breath, and you relax slightly, turning your attention to him fully. His lips form the words I’m okay and you wish to God you could believe him, but his eyes tell a different story. One you don’t have time to hash out here and now.

“It’s gonna be easy,” Ellie is still carrying on, nearly crawling up the hill that leads away from the cabin. “All we have to do is cross the River of Death.”

PREV | NEXT

#my fics #strawberry wine #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #the last of us #the last of us fic #the last of us spoilers #joel miller x oc #joel miller x liv stone

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why-raven · 1 year ago

Text

nigerrimus noctis — the blackest night.

a pinned post I must write when I should be in bed at night an introduction long overdue forgotten somewhere in my queue

— poem by @why-raven

UNUS — ONE: INTRODUCTION.

about the curator.

Raven; he/they pronouns. 30+, Asian, Aroace.

Writer and poet; multi-genre and multi-fandom experimentalist. Selective roleplayer; please ask first!

Photographer and graphic designer in love with gothic architecture and dark academia.

I have a Ko-fi page if you wish to support me and my content!

about this blog.

Main account; all follows, likes and asks will come from here.

Multi-fandom; currently 90% FFXIV, and 10% everything else (ex. other games, anime, dark academia).

Usually runs on queue; may post manually out of the blue, but don’t count on that to keep tabs on my activity here. Updates will be sporadic.

Ask is CLOSED due to recent influx of donation scams. DM is restricted to mutuals only.

18+ only; may contain dark and mature contents, some NSFW, etc. All warnings are always indicated visibly at the beginning of post/before Read More cut.

around tumblr.

@etheirysnoir — ffxiv only; muses, writing, lore, rp, aesthetics.

@writeraven — fics & poetry; multi-genre & multi-fandom.

@arcanum-bibliotheca — writblr; notes & resources, personal archive.

@xivacademia — gpose gallery; scenery, cosplay, 4-koma.

@ffxiv-photographers — ffxiv virtual photographers community.

other links.

Ko-fi (whyraven) — buy me coffee to support me and my content ☕

see under cut for taglist and disclaimers.

DUO — TWO: TAGLIST.

All my blogs use very specific themes for tagging. Here, it’s based on Latin, generally divided between tenebris (“dark”) and lucis (“light”).

Tags preceded by em dash (—) are not included. These are often used as personal notes only.

tenebris — mine.

impt. Blog updates; ex. pinned, taglist, housekeeping.

musings. Lore and character notes.

writing. My writing; ex. drafts, poetry.

gallery. Virtual photography and graphic designs.

answered. Ask replies.

thoughts. Personal analysis and opinions on subjects of interest.

academia. Aesthetics.

reblog. Self-boosting.

ooc. Anything else that doesn’t fit into the above categories.

lucis — others.

boost. Signal boosts to support other creators in the community.

meta. Others’ lore and headcanons.

writing. Others’ writing; ex. gift works to me, stories that I like and enjoy.

gallery. Others’ screenshots and fanarts that I like.

asks open. Ask memes; including prompt lists. Will reblog from the source wherever possible, unless it’s a deactivated account.

answered. Others’ responses to my asks. Will also reblog as a small act to show support and appreciation for their characters and creations.

ooc. Others’ viewpoints on general topics that I can relate to.

archive. General reblogs of things I like.

TRES — THREE: DISCLAIMERS.

“the blackest night” by @why-raven.

All OCs, writings and edits by me unless otherwise stated.

Do not claim or re-post any part of this blog as your own.

I do not consent to have my content fed through AI.

Please give proper credit to the rightful owners.

All fandoms belong to their respective copyright holders.

I only own the creativity I put into my works.

Reblogs are directly from the original source, where possible.

For full credits, please check via the desktop version here.

#tenebris; impt #— pinned #— taglist #[ 2024.09.27 ]

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nasty-psd · 4 years ago

Photo

Texture Collections (unsplash.com)

Hey everyone ! Back at it again with the resources recs, with a whole bunch of textures this time 💚 All the pics are from Unsplash, so everything's free for personnal use, comes with instructions for professional use + with ways to thank the photographers 🥰

I've sorted these first 12 collections to show you the kinds of textures i like the best in my own edits & even professionnal works - with categories either being the medium that they're made with, or an abstract concept they fall under. Click on the names below to access the collections, on the source to access all my collections, and on the read more for quick summaries of how/when i use these !

Detailed descriptions & how to use under the cut ! (obviously, i do not claim ownership over any of these pictures)

1 - Photographs | link here This collection gathers textures that aren’t the easiest to use, but please don’t be scared by them, the following . How i use them : You can use the mockup type of pictures and “insert” your own pics of your friends, characters, etc - which means you must know how to create a basic mockup file (creating fake polaroids is a great way to learn or to train on your mockup skills by the way !). For the scanned images of films, you can also paint over them to integrate your own pictures. What i prefer to do though, is to create a mask layer around the burnt areas with a soft-edge brush, and then copy and paste it onto my edits. It allows more room for creativity but requires quoi color correct the burnt areas so they fit perfectly onto your edit’s colour scheme.

2 - Clouds | link here These one are simple ! I love them as background on edits, as overlays to bring out a little How i use them : With layer modes, as colour palettes references, as backgrounds with a collage of pictures on top - you can go ham with these. They’re also perfect for complex photomanipulations as Unsplash photographers offer multiple sizes options when downloading their pics.

3 - (dry) Paints | link here These paintings are not all necessarily "dry" paints, but rather artworks that show of their painting mediums' natural textures. They're "grungy" in an acrylic's or in a gouaches way. Some may be oils too but i'm not sure. The textures are created with brushes or painting knives, sometimes with spray paints. How i use them : So, as they're pretty dense, i prefer them in backgrounds, or as barely visible overlays. Once again, they’re great for photomanipulations, but you might need to edit them a little so they’re usable or repurposable.

4 - Oil | link here "Oil" is pretty straight forward : these are either oils (liquids with rainbow gradients/reflections) or very liquidy paints. The focus on this one is colours mixing with more or less of success, the "brutal" contrast between them, and the movement they create. (And also : ios background bubbles.) How i use them : they make for perfect overlays, background, references for color palettes or bases for a dispersion filter. They’re complex though, and you might want to stay careful to not go overboard with them, as they can tend to make your edits unreadable.

5 - Typography | link here Typography, yay ! It’s something many of us avoid in edits where it’s not a dire necessity - but growing as an adult into a graphic designer’s world, i learnt to love it. Every character has its own character (lmao geddit) personality, which can be of great support in your edits :) How i use them : as background, as “overlays” in collages or to simply get the inspiration going. You could also reuse the quotes in your edits with different fonts, or the panels in you photomanipulations.

6 - Mineral | link here Minerals & rocks are essential if you plan on editing complex stuff, like photomanipulations in the outer world, in space, or whatever your heart desires. That’s why i tried to gather as many diverse resources that fell under that category. For a finer research, i’d recommend finding one picture approximately resembling what you want, then checking out the recommended pics that will appear under the share & info buttons, or visiting the photographer’s profile as they may have multiple pictures of varying angles of the same object. How i use them : The pics with perspective i’ll use as elements in photomanipulation, while the “flat” pics will be used as overlays in elements to bring out more textures - the possibilities are endless, what you want to do you will be able to !

7 - Vegetal | link here These one aren’t especially complicated to use, but will require a little bit more work. Most of them are on plain background so it’s easier for you to cut them out and insert them in edits or photomanipulations. There’s tree, branches, mushrooms, leaves - everything i could think of that might be useful in edits. How i use them : The “flat” textures could be used purely for “aesthetics” or to add textures in edits, but the “full objects” pictures are mainly there for photomanipulations purposes.

8 - Liquid | link here Anything that has to deal with water, bodies of water, or overall liquids. Landscapes, also, that include lakes, seas, ocean, waterfalls, etc - always a need in photomanipulation. How i use them : as always, it depends on the nature of the texture itself. If it’s flat, i could be used solely for aesthetics, or as a way to add texture to a plain surface in photomanipulation. When it has some perspective, or shows a complex scenery, they could be used in photomanipulations & edits of all kinds.

9 - Paper | link here This collection has some of the most diverse pictures : it can be old papers with or without writing on it, sceneries of "blank" papers for you to put your edits on, or decorative pages/maps. How i use them : For the "flat" textures : these are mainly for overlays (all over you finished edits sir it looks like it's printed) or in some cases, for mockups. For the pictures with a bit of "scenery" : these would be great for background, but absolutely perfect for mockups. For the pages with maps or texts on them, it can be used as your usual textures/background.

10 - Lights | link here This collection includes every kind of body of water (or other liquids) i could find. You'll find waves, lakes, rained on windows, bubbles, watercolours, etc. Anything for your edits or photo manipulations. How i use them : Most of them will look their best as overlays put on top of all your other layers (or not, depending on the nature of your edit obviously). They get also easily be animated for gif, or colour corrected to fit your aesthetic.

11 - Space | link here A really specific collection ! This one will mainly be useful if you plain on editing space-ish photonapulations, moodboards, etc. Combined with the others collections, you could create a whole other worldy edit :) How i use them : Mostly how they’re logically used. Stars textures will mainly be editing onto a sky (but could also be useful to create “grunge” textures”), planets will, etc. But always think creatively, and outside of the box ! For example, these circling stars could be used as the texture of a vinyl record.

12 - Plastic | link here My personnal faves, the tricky & busy plastic textures. Plastic is a pretty broad name, and most of the pics aren’t technically plastic, but they have the same folds, turns & reflections. How i use them : mostly with a dispersion filter (which makes everything awesome). They can be overlays, or blurred to create pretty interesting gradient textures. They could also be used as background in your collages - you can basically do what you want with these. They’re awesome.

bonus 13th for the curious ones - Urban & Cities | link here Silly didn’t add the thirteenth collection on the preview, so here it is as a surprise ! This collection is the most diverse of them all, with lots of architectural elements, grungy walls textures, graffitis, etc. How i use them : Mostly as background

That’s all for today, hope you’ll enjoy using these ! please give lots of love to these photographers, and see you soon 💚

#Resources #textures #photography #unsplash #unsplash collection #unsplash collections #nasty resources #nasty art

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aspiringharlot · 4 years ago

Text

Redolence

You’ve got a pretty lame quirk, but it manages to catch someone’s attention.

Word Count: 5.8k

Okay, second attempt at this whole y/n fanfic idea…I also tried formatting the this beginning bit, hope you’re still bearing with me!

Trigger warnings: Stalking behavior, noncon/ noncon turned to consent, public sex, name calling (let me know if I forgot something)

Tagged for: @palbabor-writes, @tod0oki, @kugutsuu

p.s. @cupcake-rogue, I know that this isn’t explicitly yandere/incel focused but I figured I’d direct your attention anyways!

For Palbabor, a sprinkle of Hawks!

Was Hawks the kind of guy to play it fast and loose? No, not even close. Sure, he acted out the charismatic, playboy persona crafted by his PR team, but a careless man he was not. Hawks had self-control, and a sense of self discipline, he’d never just make brash decisions capable of jeopardizing his standing as a hero.

And yet he’d entangled himself in this situation.

It all started when he caught a whiff of you.

Being a Hawk-man had many upsides. Hawks had phenomenal vision, unmatched speed and reflexes, and even telepathic control over his wings, though, that last ability may not be as Hawk related as the others. Still, despite the multitude of benefits, Hawks, like many birds, had a weak olfactory sense.

He’d lived his whole life like that, never seeing the downside to this facet of his life. How could he? Can’t miss what you never had, right?

And then, on a sweltering day approximately two months ago, he smelt a distinct scent.

He had no reference to judge the scent. How could he explain it? It was… good?

That was your quirk. You’d always lamented the lameness of your quirk, an emitter type known as “Redolence”. You could inspire interest and appreciation in others through your pheromones, in most cases only minutely affecting another’s perception of you. This had helped you out a few times. Before job interviews or dates, you’d typically avoid wearing perfume or using scented soaps, making you more likely to receive a call back, but that was really all it could do.

You’d never put much thought towards how those with a weak sense of smell would perceive it. Surely, they’d be unable to smell your pheromones and would go on with their day, right?

Wrong.

The scent of your pheromones penetrated all noses, regardless of their capabilities.

It had been months since that fateful patrol in which Hawks had smelt a scrunchie you’d lost on the sidewalk. The smell at first caught him off guard. It wasn’t often that he smelt something, let alone all the way up in the air and that made him curious. He dove lower to the ground to see what that smell could possibly be. Perched at the top of a building he scanned the street side with his trained eyes.

He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. An average crowd of people milling on with their day, seemingly oblivious to the mouthwatering aroma encompassing the neighborhood.

Really, Hawks should’ve just went back to his patrol. Nothing terribly strange was happening, he just smelt something.

‘Get back to work, Hawks.’ He thought to himself. ‘wasting time now means you’ll get your route done later and that means less personal time when it’s finally over with.’

The hero stood, readying himself to soar back in the air.

Instead he dove down.

The action wasn’t especially discreet, and several citizens flocked to Hawks, asking for pictures or autographs. He dealt with them as he would any other fan, patiently but not allowing himself to be pushed around. Eventually, as they were leaving him to himself, the blond reached out and asked a pair of friends if they’d smelt the pleasant aroma floating through the area.

They looked to each other confused before the shorter of the pair gained a spark of recognition in her eyes.

“Oh, do you mean that super sweet smell? It was a little stronger back the way we came but it wasn’t all that unusual.”

“Hm.” Hawks grunted gruffly, before seeing the taken aback faces of the pair. Misstep, that grunt was too aggressive, mask it with a more carefree response.

“Oh uh, sorry girls, I suspect there’s an illegal quirk user right in the area.” He pushed out a hardy, fake chuckle. “Not that’s anything a pair of beautiful young girls like yourself needs to worry about.”

They began to blush and stammer, allowing Hawks the perfect opportunity to exit the conversation and head off towards the area the short girl referenced. What an easy distraction a simple complement could make.

As he moved on, he smelled that scent becoming stronger and more powerful. His heart was beating, and butterflies began to form in his stomach. What was this smell? And why was he so desperate to find the source of it?

Eventually the scent began to fade slightly. Shit, he must’ve walked right past it. A game of hot and cold began, Hawks walking in circles like an idiot to track down the source of the smell. And then he found it.

A scrunchie, pink and velvety with prominent ruffles.

That was all, just a hair tie. Mystery solved, pack it up, time to move on.

Hawks was pathetic, feeling like a freak, as in one fluid motion he bent at the waist to collect the scrunchie. He held it to close to his face, mouthwatering as something stirred inside him. The scent emitting from the hair-tie was what he’d always thought cherry pie would smell like. Was this sugar? If it was, he had no idea how bakers managed their day to day lives, the scent alone making him feel increasingly excited.

Was he really going to do this? Snatch a hair tie from the sidewalk grate and keep it like a desperate weirdo?

The scrunchie was tucked into one of the many pockets lining the inside of Hawks’ coat.

From that day on, huffing that hair tie became a part of Hawks’ routine. After a long day he’d come home to shower and tend to his wings before reveling in the scent. It came to a point where he’d please himself, in one hand holding the scrunchie to his face as the other stroked his cock. He didn’t know how, but he had fallen in love with a scent.

Tragically, overtime, the smell faded like autumn leaves losing their crunch. He was going to have to stop relying on the scrunchie.

No, he was addicted to this smell, he couldn’t just let it fade out from his life. He thought back to the day he found it. It was left behind in public, maybe there were cameras which had captured the owner of this hair tie. Cameras that captured you.

Being a top pro hero gave Hawks much leeway- contacting the owners of nearby businesses and asking for copies of their security footage inspired no suspicion. Within a day he had several angles of perspective on the drop sight. He stuck an intern at his agency with the responsibility of reviewing the footage to detect who had dropped the footage.

Five hours later, Hawks saw you for the first time.

His heart fluttered. He saw a beautiful, no- a gorgeous girl resign herself to the side of the path as she dug through a small bag, digging for something. In frustration she pulls the bag open wider and ruffles more intensely until finally she pulls out a phone. In the roughness, the scrunchie he had held so close for two months now, slipped out of her purse. She hadn’t noticed, instead checking her phone only to noticeably sigh in relief as a car approached her. She entered the car and it drove away.

Finally, Hawks could put a face to a smell. Now he just had to find you.

That poor intern began to reevaluate his position as the agency when Hawks told him to track you down- Hawks wanted an entire file, complete with a name, date of birth, address, summative history. The whole works.

It took several days, but the intern got all the information and organized it in a neat manilla folder, giving it to Hawks as soon as it was completed.

When Hawks received the folder, he could hardly contain his excitement. This was it, using this file he could track down the smell and subsequently the person that he’d been obsessing over for the past two months. After his intern left, he raced to his room, digging the scrunchie from the plastic baggie it was kept in to sniff at it as he read your file. He tore it open right after pulling his pants down to his ankles. He immediately began palming at his erection, softly exhaling as he began to read over your file.

--------

(Photograph of you)

(clipped behind, are nudes that were obtained from your phone)

-------

Hawks stopped himself immediately to look slack jawed at the nude photographs of you, squeezing himself around the base of his cock to remind him of restraint. He laid the photo out next to the file to reference as he massaged his cock.

---------

Name: (y/n) (l/n)

Date of Birth: (y/D.O.B.)

Gender: Female

Sex: Female

Relationship Status: Single, no romantic partners or interests.

Sexuality: Unclear

Quirk: Redolence (emitter) - produces mood altering hormones capable of influencing perceptions of others. Low calculated threat as a combatant. Possible use in support position.

------------------

‘Well,’ thought Hawks. ‘That certainly explains how I’ve gotten into this situation.’ He pumped his cock slowly, savoring the information he was learning.

------------------

Legal status: Immigrated Citizen – all paperwork has been processed and completed as of 12/14/20XX

Criminal History: Nonexistent

Address: (Nearby address)

-----------------

‘She’s been that close this whole time?’ Hawks couldn’t help but picture you, walking down his street, your quirk turning heads as people wondered why they wanted you so badly. The inadequacy those strangers would feel when they saw Hawks swoop down to lift you off the street and into the air. Hawks felt even more turned on.

-----------------

Summary: (L/n) works at (place of employment) as (job position). Current income is ($$) per year. Has scarcely active social media profile. Not a public figure. Little contact with friends and family (out of country, no files available to draw information from). No roommates. No house pets. I.P. tracking shows recent queries centered around, heat death of the universe, 20th century American criminal Ed Gein, plane tickets to (your state), and pornographic material containing Consenting Non-Consent (CNC), public sex, indecent exposure, chikan and degradation.

-----------------

‘Oh boy,’ Hawks felt his cock twitch. He couldn’t believe that you’d be such a naughty little slut. He took a deep inhalation, melting at the fading scent. Right now, all he had was this scrunchie, but soon he’d have you. The reassurance made him being to pump his cock faster, the member throbbing in his calloused hands.

-----------------

Medical history shows she is prone to cavities, complications have arisen from improper healing of a torn muscle. Currently attending physical therapy to aid recovery. P.T. backed by health insurance.

Schedule:

Sunday- Grocery shops at approximately 11:20. Returns home to clean and watch television. No notable pattern excluding these events.

Monday- Attends work from 8:00 to 17:00. Purchases takeout on way home. No notable pattern excluding these events.

Tuesday- Attends work from 8:00 to 17:00. Returns home. Exits at 20:00, goes to building laundry office. No notable pattern excluding these events.

Wednesday- Attends physical therapy from 10:00 to 11:00. Attends work from 12:00 to 20:00. No notable pattern excluding these events.

Thursday- Attends work from 8:00 to 17:00. Returns home. No notable pattern excluding these events.

Friday- Goes to (specific area) public park at approximately 12:00. Remains for approximately two hours. Returns home and orders take-out. No notable pattern excluding these events.

Saturday- No notable pattern detected.

----------------

Hawks was more than pleased with the information that had been gathered on you. And the schedule, that gave him more than enough time to plan out your first meeting. He could see it now, this Friday he’ll swoop through the park and casually run into you.

“Oh, hey there pretty lady, its funny running into you here, I think I saw you a few months ago…” You would start blushing and stammering right away, you’d feel so honored that the Pro Hero Hawks had remembered you, even if you hadn’t technically met.

From there he’d pull out the scrunchie that you lost and play it off like he’d seen you drop it recently. He’d say something like, “Anyway- I saw you drop this a few minutes ago and I thought I’d catch up and return it to you.” He’d hold it out to you and get a little closer than would be strictly necessary. You’d look into his eyes and Hawks could tell you how beautiful you are. He’d offer you out to coffee, he knows you have nothing planned afterwards so there’s no way you’ll say no.

By the time you finished your coffee you’d be in love with Hawks, equally infatuated with him as he was you. You’d shyly ask if he was busy and if maybe he wouldn’t mind walking you home… As soon as you got there, you’d offer yourself to him, stripping off your clothes to reveal your sensual breasts. He’d eagerly be led to the bedroom and immediately work himself down to your core, hoping for a chance to smell your sex. He’d lap at your folds, savoring the taste as he’d dip is tongue past the ring of muscle protecting your hole.

You’d mewl beneath him or pant his name and just beg him to fuck you with his cock. The sounds you’d make underneath him, downright sinful. You’d cum on his cock and flood the room with the smell of your pheromones, making him cum right inside you before he’d collapse on top of you to breath in your scent at the source.

In reality, Hawks was pumping his cock fast, occasionally twisting is hand to change up the rhythm, getting closer and closer as he dropped the scrunchie to instead hold the nude photograph. As he imagined the way you’d beg for his cock he came, hard, shooting white ribbons of cum right onto the picture of you.

He smiled.

Yes, Hawks had this whole thing planned perfectly. This encounter was going to end spectacularly.

When Friday came, Hawks came to the park an hour early, keeping an eye out for you just incase you’d decided to come early. The pro hero was circling the circumference of the park, his eyes darting from person to person until finally he saw you. Or, more accurately, smelled you.

You were entering the park from the west end, in your arms a yoga mat and a large opaque water bottle. On your body was a pants tightening outfit- black high-rise spandex cupping your legs and ass with a white cropped t-shirt straining against your tits. The little shirt was tied into a little knot in the front, the shin white fabric doing nothing to hide your black sports bra, enticing glances from men and women alike. Your hair was another matter of interest for Hawks, the soft strands clipped out of your eyes, only allowing the barest element to frame your face. Most importantly, you smelled great, Hawks could tell from all the way up in the air. The smell was not the same as the smell of your scrunchie- that one had been more, flirty somehow. Today all that Hawks could smell was that underlying scent that screamed ‘you’. Hawks didn’t mind though, he’d work your quirk’s full potential out of you when the time came.

The way he was getting excited, Hawks didn’t think he could wait any longer, he had to go down and make contact.

He managed to hold off another 7 minutes, allowing you to position yourself in a secluded area of the park, ideal for yoga and meditation. At this point he’d grounded himself to be more discreet and was casually approaching you, not that you noticed with your back to him and eyes closed.

For a tense moment, Hawks stood silently in front of you, breathing quiet. His heart pounded, ba-dum, ba-dum.

“Hey there.” You jumped in surprise, eyes shooting open as you gasped out an awkward sort of “guUh!” noise.

“Whoops!” Hawks chuckled merrily. “Didn’t mean to spook ya there.” When you looked at him, it took you a moment to process that there was a pro-hero in front of you. As you looked up at him, you took notice of his stance. He was calm, standing languidly and unbothered. He must have just felt like acknowledging you and now that he had, he’d probably move on with his day.

“Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?” you blanched. Did he know you?

“ah, no, uh… you must be thinking of someone else.”

“No, No, I wouldn’t forget a pretty face like yours.” He winked confidently. ‘What?’ you thought.

“What?” you said.

“Where was it… Oh!” He snapped, pointing at you. “On the sidewalk outside (business), about two month’s back, yeah, that’s it! (y/n)! That’s your name!”

You furrowed your brow trying to remember what the hell he was talking about. Sure, you’d gone through that area several times in the past three months, you had to in order to get to your physical therapy appointment, but you couldn’t recall seeing Hawks there. You’d never seen the guy in person to begin with!

“Uh, yeah maybe…” Hawks smirked at you.

“Oh, it’s fine if you don’t remember,” his face switched from playful to informative. “there was that villain with the memory erasing quirk, he probably hit you.” You supposed that made sense. Perhaps you did have a conversation with Hawks at some point, that’d explain why he knew your name.

“So-ahem,” you cleared your throat. “what’d we talk about?”

“Well, I saw you drop a few dollars and a hair tie from your purse and decided to do the heroic thing and return them to you” Hawks became carefree again. “We were chatting, and this little stand offered me some chicken kebabs- I asked if you could have some too and we just chatted until that villain came through. If I remember correctly, we were talking about exchanging numbers.”

You widened your eyes. Not only had you been approached by Hawks in the past, but you’d been about to get his number? You weren’t even a huge fan of hero’s, how had that happened?

“Wow, uh, I don’t know what to say.” You giggled.

“You know, I’m free at the moment, mind if I sit and enjoy the park with you?” Without waiting on a response Hawks plopped himself down near you, his great, red wings flexing for a moment before relaxing.

“Oh, uhm, sure…” Now you weren’t sure what to do. You were clearly here to do yoga, but would it be rude to keep doing it while someone was with you?

As if he read your mind, Hawks opened his mouth again, saying, “Don’t mind me, you can go on with your yoga.”

Now it’d be rude if you didn’t continue. You moved into a high lunge pose, stretching your thigh muscles before groaning just a little. Your sore muscle still experiencing some pain.

“Oh, was that the leg you were going to physical therapy for?” he asked innocently. You looked over to see him sprawled on the grass watching you.

“Yeah… I told you I was going to physical therapy?” Something about the way he said that ground your gears. Come to think of it, you only went through that way as you where heading to your appointment. Why would you stop and chat with Hawks beforehand and risk being late?

And, who would be serving chicken kebabs at 9:30 in the morning?

Something was off.

“Oh yeah!” Hawks brought you from your thoughts. “You were talking about how you couldn’t hang out long, you had your appointment to get to. Heck, you left in such a hurry I forgot to hand that hair tie back to you… hmmm… I wonder if…” Hawks began shrugging his coat off before rummaging through the pockets.

So, it seemed possible that you may of ran into Hawks at some point, but he must have been lying about the kebab thing… or maybe he was exaggerating to justify his interest.

“I knew it!” He pulled a pink scrunchie from one of his pockets and sure enough you did recognize it. It certainly was yours.

“Your scrunchie, m’lady.” He scooted closer to you and offered it back.

“Thanks…” you accepted it, wrapping the tie around your wrist twice. You noticed that some of the material seemed worn and stretched, like it had been handled a lot. “I’m surprised you kept it this long.”

“Me too,” Hawks laughed. “To be honest, I forgot all about it till just now.” His face was lit with a cheery smile. He held the smiled uncomfortably long and you weren’t so sure he was telling the truth.

Similarly, you were holding your yoga position too long. When you went to shift your position you grunted, your butt hitting the ground as you were destabilized.

You let out a high pitched, “Shit…” as you felt pain envelope your thigh.

“Oh, fuck, are you okay?” Hawks asked, sitting up and moving even closer to you. It was kind of weird how he kept scooting closer. Brief conversation or not, you were still strangers.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” you assured. “This happens sometimes, I just have to rub the area a bit, it’s just a pain doing it myself-“

“I could do it.” Hawks eyes kept moving from your inner thigh to your face and back again.

“heh, uh, no thanks…” you tried to laugh it off.

“No really, let me at it. You’ll feel much better.”

“Uh, thanks for the offer but, it’s not that bad.”

Okay, that was weird too. That was really weird. People don’t just offer to… do that, nor do they insist, and he seemed completely serious.

You were starting to feel not so safe around Hawks. Several things weren’t adding up. A villain with a quirk that could alter a person’s memory… When would you even be hit with that quirk? You did make it to your appointment- Hawks said so himself, so at what point would you get hit with a quirk like that?

The two of you sat it tense silence, not that Hawks acknowledged it. At the moment, he was just happy to be close to your scent. It would’ve been ideal if you’d let him in between your legs to massage your sore muscle but, could he really complain right now? No, even if this was awkward, he could see this working out for him.

“So, Hawks uh, how did I get hit with a memory loss quirk?” you asked.

“I don’t know that one, I just figured you had since you didn’t remember me and there was a villain with that quirk in the area, you must have been hit.” He seemed nonchalant and by all means, trustworthy; he was a hero for crying out loud!

But you couldn’t shake the gut feeling that something was wrong. Hawks would look at you, smiling charismatically, but you couldn’t help but feel like a chicken trapped in a fox’s den.

You’d really rather be going.

“Well, um…” you awkwardly start. “I think I’m going to head out…”

Hawks tilted his head as he looked at you. “What? Are you kidding? You’ve only been here for 20 minutes…Oh, don’t tell me that your one of those people who only does yoga in the park to say that they did yoga in the park.” His inflection. Were you imagining the bite you heard in his tone?

“O- oh, no, it’s just ah… I’m not feeling well…” You started to gather your stuff together, rolling up your mat before starting to stand. Before you fully straightened yourself out you started to sink back down, your leg muscle throbbing. You yelped and Hawks caught you, lowering you back down.

“’Not that bad’, huh?” Hawks chucked and he started to lightly push you back. You resisted, anxiously blabbering, “No, Hawks, I’ll be fine- I think I’ll feel better once I’m back home.”

You couldn’t stop him from pinning you down. Hawks straddled your good leg, holding the knee of your bad so you couldn’t close your legs. Humiliatingly, a single feather flew to rest on your forehead, subtly preventing you from lifting your upper body.

With his free hand, Hawks tenderly explored your inner thigh first only rubbing you through your spandex with the pads of his fingertips.

Alarms were ringing in your head, red alert, red alert, stranger pinning you down to creep on your thighs

“Hawks please-“ you tried to start.

“If you’d just let me finish this, you’d be out before you even realize I touched you.”

You tried being quiet, maybe submission would aid you.

Hawks got rougher with his caresses, making you whimper underneath him. Frustratingly, the position he’d pinned you in was… kind of erotic. There was this handsome man, holding you down, forcing your legs open and subsequently exposing your core. Your brain was recognizing the pattern, remembering all the porn you watched, the erotica you read. Your pussy started getting wet. You hoped to God that your quirk wouldn’t activate- it’d only make Hawks more aggressive.

You didn’t realize the half of it.

Because Hawks could smell your pheromones, inviting him to continue, making his head feel dizzy with excitement. His mouth watered and he began to lower closer and closer to your legs. Closer to your pussy.

“Oh (y/n),” he crooned. “Your leggings are getting in the way, I hope you don’t mind if I just-“ a feather detached itself from his wing, sharpening and dragging across your pantleg. A slit was torn in the fabric, exposing your leg to him.

“Hawks- please stop!”

He didn’t stop. Instead you felt his hands wander to the slit to physically rip a bigger hole, making the leggings a mere scrap of spandex. The action revealed your clothed cunt and the increased intensity of your pheromones drove Hawks wild, making him as feral as an opossum. He gave up the pretense of massaging your sore muscles and cupped your pussy with his palm, feeling your heat and wetness through your panties.

For a moment he just held it there before taking the hand to his nose and inhaling deeply.

And then you understood.

The scrunchie wrapped around your wrist, you last wore the thing on a hookup. Your pheromones must have gotten into the fibers of the fabric. If you lost it… and Hawks found it…No wonder Hawks had held on to it for so long… the fucker developed an obsession with the scent of your pheromones.

And then, he sees you, in public- of course he’d try to initiate something with you… Shit.

You’re taken back to the reality of your situation when you feel the scrape of a feather against your shirt. That- That fucker was cutting open your shirt! How the fuck were you going to get home in a bra and panties… soaked panties at that.

Rip Rip

Okay, scratch that, now all your clothes were shredded and unwearable.

Hawks finally changed positions, swinging around to hold you in a 69 position. The action kept you pinned down even when you jumped in surprise at the sensation of Hawks dragging his tongue over your pussy lips. He didn’t hesitate to dive in, eating your pussy like a man starved of nutrients for 12 to 13 days.

You hated to admit it… but it felt fantastic. The feeling of his stubble dragging against your skin while he alternated between licking and sucking your clit was making your pussy gush. The taboo of it all as well. Fuck, this shit was all your kinks rolled into one.

You wanted to hate what was happening. Hawks, he was overpowering you- making you feel small and weak. This was wrong…

Fuck it, you were horny.

To Hawks’ surprise you started palming at his erection, trying to work the zipper down to free his cock. Despite his surprise, he was thankful. Hawks Junior was starting to feel like a caged bird, trapped in his pants the way they were.

He was doubly as thankful when he felt your small, soft hand start working his cock, pumping it, letting the tip rub against the skin of your breast. Hawks shakily exhaled, taking a moment’s break from eating you out to focus of the pleasurable sensations overtaking his cock.

“Hawks~” you whined. “You’re wearing too many clothes…”

“Huh?” he said, dumbfounded for a moment.

“Take your clothes off.” He looked down at himself, raising his eyebrows when he compared his state of dress to yours.

“Oh, yeah, right!” He was quick to strip down, undoing his belt and allowing his pants to fall to the ground. His goggles, coat and shirt followed suit and you took in the sight before you.

In a moment of confidence, Hawks fully extended his wings and allowed you to look upon his toned body. His muscles were well defined and displayed the power housed within his skin.

It made you want to blow him.

You got on your knees before him, nuzzling his cock before taking it into your mouth- not an ounce of hesitation left in you anymore.

“Oh, so is this it real (y/n)? Not some nervous, bashful girl? She’s actually a worthless slut?” he cupped your face in his left hand, pushing your head down further onto his cock. Unprepared, you gagged- pulling yourself off his cock to cough and wheeze. He wasn’t thrilled at that, he wanted to feel your throat convulse around his cock, you weren’t allowed to just pull off.

Hawks grabbed you by the hair, yanking you so you toppled to your hands and knees before his feet.

“Oh come on, you can be a better slut than that!” You looked up to him, lust making your eyes dilated. Eagerly you repositioned yourself onto your knees, again not hesitating to slurp on his cock. He pushed your head down again like last time, triggering your gag reflex but you held down, forcing yourself to relax overtime, swallowing around his cock on occasion.

“See,” he cooed condescendingly, “there’s a good slut.” Wetness dribbled down your thigh. You pulled off his cock with an audible pop and said three words that made Hawks want to fuck you till you went blind.

“Please fuck me.” The look of it all was so erotic. You, naked on your knees, face red and makeup running, lips, puffy and red from sucking cock, begging to be stuffed with cock.

Hawks grabbed you by the hair again, dragging you to a gnarled tree. “oh, you want to be fucked? Fucked right in your needy hole?” you nodded eagerly. “Good slut, now go on, position yourself for me.”

You braced yourself against the tree, arching your back and planting your feet. You could feel the rough bark against the soft skin of your pillowy tits. It hurt but you didn’t care. You were too caught up in the eroticism of what you were doing.

When you felt Hawks tease his cock against your cunt, you couldn’t suppress your squeal of excitement or stop yourself from eagerly spearing yourself onto his cock. You shivered at the sound of Hawks groaning as he entered your tight, slick, heat.

“Fuuuuuck,” He moaned out as he adjusted to your tightness. It wasn’t long before he was bucking into your, searching for the spot inside you that would make your legs shake.

Three or four thrusts in you squeaked- eyes fluttering shut.

“Oh there? Is that where the little slut likes feeling my cock?” you nodded eagerly but that wasn’t enough for Hawks. “No, I want to hear you say it. Say it!”

“Yes! Fuck, that’s where I like feeling your cock!” Hawks pulled out completely.

“That’s where who likes feeling my cock?” your eyes widened with recognition.

“That’s where the little slut likes feeling your cock!”

“Oh, Good Girl!”

He thrust back in, aiming directly for that patch of skin inside your tight walls that made you see stars. Hawks’ own cock was feeling fantastic, the warm heat making him go a little crazy, groaning louder and louder. He kept thrusting in, harder and harder, making your brain rattle around inside your skull. He reached around to grind his hand against your clit, adding to the cacophony of pleasure you felt.

You were getting really close and Hawks’ wasn’t far behind you. With each thrust he could feel his muscles tense up in preparation to cum, the only thing keeping him from erupting inside you being his own willpower.

Finally, as the pleasure built inside of you, your muscles firmly clenched around Hawks’ thick cock, milking it around your own orgasm. The pro hero’s hips slowed their pace, fucking you through both of your orgasms until finally they stuttered to a halt, stuffing you to the brim with his cream.

He remained like that for a moment, cock feeling too sensitive to pull out but finally, he eased his cock out of your hole, removing the dam which had kept all of Hawks’ cum inside you. He watched in satisfaction as his cum leaked out of your used hole, completely transfixed until he heard the snapping of a branch.

He whipped around, eyes locking onto a teenaged boy holding his phone up from the bushes. The kid was tiny, with the strangest hairstyle Hawks had ever seen. Purple balls that didn’t even resemble hair. All and all an ugly kid. Even worse was to see that while one hand was occupied holding his phone, the other was held suspiciously low.

Luckily, at sight alone, the kid made a man dash to avoid a scolding. Unluckily, that kid for sure had a first of its kind, hero sex tape.

Hawks looked back at you, now slid to the ground, breathing heavily. Your naked form was a work of art, and his satisfaction with the sequence of events left him with a clear head. He looked around the clearing the two of you had occupied.

Oh, right. He’d completely destroyed all of your clothes… that was tricky.

“Hey, sorry for ruining all your clothes.” He didn’t seem too sorry.

“Its, whatever… I’ll just have to figure out a way home.”

“Well, I could fly you home… no one to enforce public decency when you’re in the sky.” You were not thrilled at the prospect of flying through the air naked. You looked down at your nude body. Unfortunately, you had no choice.

“I don’t really have any other options…” you helped clean up the clearing, and when all was set and done, allowed yourself to be carried bridal style by Hawks.

He leapt into the air, soaring seemingly higher than a plane. The cold made your nipples rock hard.

“oh by the way, (y/n)?” you looked at him.

“When we get to my apartment I’m gonna need you to rub your scent on my bed.”

Sometimes, you hated your quirk.

#bnha hawks #hawks x reader #hawks x y/n #yandere #stalker #bhna fanfiction #bnha x y/n

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t-lostinworlds · 5 years ago

Text

Clumsy (Tom Holland)

A/N: This one is short but sweet. Also, I made some minor changes anon I hope you don’t mind <3 and to the others who sent in an ask, I’m working on em! just patience lovelies. Hope you guys enjoy this one!

Pairing: Tom Holland x Fem!Reader

Requested:

Warnings: Nada and maybe typos

Word Count: 2.4k+

Masterlist in Bio

-:-:-:-:-

It's very remarkable how you've managed to make the public believe you weren't together. Seeming friends in the eyes of strangers when in reality, 'in love' is all you see in the gaze of one another the moment you're alone.

Granted there are a few who are still speculating, that never does go away. But the majority of his fans do think you're nothing more than just a part of Tom's close circle of friends, one of the boys as some would say.

An unwritten rule was established when you two got together, only going out in public with the group all while making sure that public displays of affection were kept at a minimal. By default, people thought that you weren't dating Tom as you two where never seen alone together.

Unless it was a remote area where no one would be able to see or recognize you, then you and Tom can take all the alone-time and stroll around as much as you want, as close as you desire to be.

It was peaceful like that, no unwanted eyes peering through your relationship like it's some reality show, throwing their two cents as if they're opinions matter. It truly doesn't because by the end of it all, you and Tom are the ones who are in a relationship, not you, Tom and the world.

However, you can't always hide the truth for eternity, someday, in whatever way, it will slowly come out whether you like it or not.

You and Tom knew that of course, it was just the case of when you're ready to share it with the world. But no matter how many times you've discussed on how you were going to come clean, neither you nor Tom expected your relationship to be revealed in such an unexpected and odd way.

It was another day, another comic con in the life of Spider-Man.

You've been traveling with Tom for most of the press tour, and having that you had no better way to spend the day other than rot in a hotel room, you decided to tag along. Harry was with you as always – to lessen any suspicion – with a camera hanging on his neck to photograph every moment.

You were now walking towards the backstage of the last panel, tailing just behind Tom with Harry by your right, big burly bodyguards surrounding all corners to make sure no one gets trampled.

Thomas was being clingy. He regularly is, but this time more than usual. It was obvious how he's itching to get a hold of you as he kept looking over his shoulder, hand swinging a little too much to the back for him to just brush yours.

It was so adorable that you couldn't even try to hide your giggles.

"Stop being so cute or else." You hear him mumble, just under his breath, your eyes meeting as he turns his head to shoot you another glance, pout in full play.

You flashed him an innocent smile, shrugging your shoulders as you clearly haven't done anything. Tom sighed as he tore his eyes off you to look back ahead.

He was dying to just hold you, to have your warmth coat him as he snuggles close to your skin. Your cuddles and kisses, he was in dire need of those at the moment.

Maybe it's because he was a bit knackered, having done a meet and greet with the countless interviews to add beforehand. And when he's tired, he just wants to snuggle with you right after, to be in each other's arms, for you to ground him back as you are his anchor through all this chaos of a lifestyle.

But alas, the numerous eyes around you was making it hard to sneak a loving embrace, he'll have to wait until everything is all over.

Finally reaching backstage and inside these long black curtains, your eyes were constricted by how dim it was. It wasn't dark by all means, but the only sources of light were the once placed on the floor. Clumsiness being part of your blood — not by choice — you were busy trying to not trip over something that you didn't realize that someone was approaching.

You felt a gentle hand wrap around your wrist, making you look up to see Tom with a certain curve on his lips and a gloss over his eyes which usually means he needed something. Before you could even ask him what it was, he turned to his brother.

"Cover for us for a sec Harry."

Leaving a confused looking Harry, Tom dragged you behind these tall and big black boxes, completely hidden from plain sight unless someone would peak their head in fully through the gap.

"What's up?"

Tom didn't even bother to answer your question. He just wrapped his arms around your waist, leaning down to sweetly capture your lips in his with a satisfied sigh. You giggled as you kissed him back, arms taking home over his shoulders as you pulled him close.

"I really needed that, needed a recharge." Tom breathed out, withdrawing from the kiss for some air, pressing his forehead against yours with a soft, content smile on his lips.

You felt your heart burst at that, a soft coo escaping your lips as you run your fingers through his hair right on the nape of his neck.

"As much as I would love to kiss you some more, we can't be gone for too long." You gave him a sympathetic smile. He's a very important person in this comic con, so when he goes missing — even for just a little bit — people tend to notice.

Tom nodded with a sigh. "I know, but just one more please." With those adorable puppy eyes and the cutest pout he could muster, how could you say no to that?

You got back just in time for Tom to be given a microphone and then ushered on stage, the crowd roaring in delight at the sight of their favorite superhero.

You could only watch on the sidelines with a smug grin on your lips, utter pride and genuine happiness coursing through your bones at the sight of Tom's wide smile as he waves at the crowd.

***

Everything was all wrapped up and you were finally on your way back to the hotel. If only it was as quick and easy as getting out of the venue and inside the car in a snap, but you're with Tom Holland, what did you expect?

There were a few fans on your way out, Tom walking ahead again to take a couple photos with them and sign a few stuff too.

You were laughing at something stupid Harry had said that by sheer dumb luck, you managed to hook your foot on a protruding cable wire, your whole body falling forward in one swift motion and landing on the floor with a hard thump.

The loud yelp you let out was enough for all eyes to be on you, especially Tom's.

You ignored the stares and tried to get up quickly with the help of Harry, but the slight movement only made you wince, a sharp pain coursing through your leg that made you grit your teeth with a hiss. You only managed to turn and sit on your bum, after that, you weren't able to make another move, eyes screwing shut at the constant throb on your foot.

Forgetting all the rules you've set when you're in public, Tom was by your side in an instant, eyes swimming with concern as he crouched down in front of you, cupping your face with both hands to check what was wrong.

"What hurts love?"

"Ankle." You muttered under your breath, head leaning forward to land on his chest reluctantly, the pain just too much for you to stay upright.

Whispers of the people and the clicking of phones were soon heard not long after, but Tom could careless as all his was attention on you, too worried to give a damn at the moment. He knows well enough just how much it hurts to twist your ankle; he's been there before a couple of times. But when it's you who's hurting, Tom's worry always comes tenfold.

He needed to get you off the floor, away from the snooping eyes, and get you to a hospital fast. You never know just by one look if it's just a light sprain or something serious, better safe than sorry.

"I'm going to carry you okay darling? It's going to hurt but just for a second." Tom whispered, brushing your hair away from your face delicately. As soon as you gave him a small nod, Tom placed a reassuring kiss on your forehead before wrapping an arm around your body as the other hooked right under your knees, hoisting you up bridal style.

You whimpered in agony as you buried your face on his shirt, your arms going around his neck for support, Tom muttering sweet 'I'm sorry's over and over against your hair for causing you the discomfort.

Sure, Tom could've just let one of his bodyguards carry you but he doesn't trust them well enough to know if they'd be gentle with you. Of course there was a voice inside his head on how there was no way you'd go back to hiding this relationship anymore, but Tom tuned it out, more focused on you than anything else. He'll worry about that later.

Tom was saying something to Harry and his agent that you couldn't quite comprehend, the throbbing pain making you feel lightheaded that you weren't fully aware of what's happening around you.

"I've got you my love." You hear Tom whisper as he walks out of the venue with you in his arms, ignoring all the questioning looks and the countless of photos being taken just to get you some much needed medical attention fast.

***

"Well, the internet is definitely buzzing." Tom joked, gently scooting closer beside where you sat on the hotel bed, ankle all wrapped up in a cast while being elevated by a pillow.

Numerous headlines were already popping up by the minute due to that little mishap earlier, a picture of you on the floor with Tom and then of you in his arms circling the internet to match.

Some fans were saying they knew it, and some totally not expecting it, even though neither of you have confirmed anything whatsoever. But the media, they tend to draw a conclusion without having much to go about.

"I'm sorry." You frowned at him. Despite his playful tone, you can see it in his face how troubled he was, you can practically see those gears turning inside his head.

Yes, Tom was worried, but not because the secret was finally out, it was mainly about how the fans were going to treat you. The internet can be cruel at times, and you weren't trained for that kind of attention. Tom is the public figure, not you. He signed up for this, you didn't.

Throwing an arm over your shoulder to pull you closer to him gently, Tom shook his head at you. "Hey, you did absolutely nothing wrong."

"If I wasn't clumsy this wouldn't have happened." You said shamefully, the embarrassment from your little stunt still there, and of course, the disheartened feeling being that you took the choice away from the both of you, the choice of when you were going to go public.

"But I love you and your clumsiness darling. And it's alright. We're going to be fine." Tom placed a reassuring kiss on your forehead, hand rubbing your arm comfortingly, lovingly that has you sighing with gratitude that there was no ill-will in his voice, even in the slightest.

"I think we should say something." You pulled away from his arms slightly to be able to look at him fully. Tom knitted his eyebrows at you in question. "About what?"

"Us." You stated simply, and Tom didn't need any further explanation, he already knows that you meant officially confirming that you two were in fact together.

Tom stared at you for a full second, brown orbs searching yours if you were genuinely certain about the decision. "Are you sure angel?"

You nodded at him with a sincere smile, ready for all the things that come with it, but also excited to be able to hold him, to cherish him without having to worry every second if someone was watching. "Yeah, plus I'm kind of tired of hiding."

Tom chuckled, leaning down to plant a chaste kiss on your lips, a kiss full of gratitude, adoration and pure love for such an amazing woman like you before pulling away to get a hold of his phone.

"Okay. But what should I post?" He asked, frankly having no clue as to what to say or do.

"Up to you Tom." As if there was a hidden message in your words — there wasn't — Tom's whole face lit up, an 'aha!' moment crossing his features before he went tapping away on his phone in concentration.

You let him be as you paid your attention back on the television screen, but it didn't take too long until Tom handed the device to you.

"You do the honors my love." Tom grinned smugly as he showed you the post he's created on Instagram, you letting out a hearty laugh at how dorky yet adorable it was.

It was a collaged photo of you and him. The upper half was of him in his trailer on the set of Cherry, sporting the US military uniform as he leaned back on the couch, a towel covering his face while the medic patched up his ankle. The bottom half was a photo of you earlier — that Harry took without your knowledge — almost in the same predicament.

The only difference was that you were on a hospital bed as the doctor wrapped your ankle up, and instead of a towel, you had your arm over to cover your face, Tom right by your side for moral support.

The caption only had two words: Relationship Goals.

After pressing the blue-colored Share button on the upper-right corner, you handed Tom his phone back, both of you mirroring wide and satisfied smiles.

Granted, there will be challenges with having your relationship out there, and maybe you were going to face most of it even. But with just one look at him, the feeling of being wrapped in his warm embrace, the pure happiness that courses through you whenever you're with him, just being with the absolute love of your life...

It was all worth it.

-:-:-:-:-

Like, Reblog & Leave a Comment if you enjoyed! Let me know what you think! <3

Tom H. Taglist: @spacebitch2 @hollanddolanfangirl @keepingupwiththehollands

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fantasticstoryteller · 3 years ago

Text

New Amsterdam Chapter 46

Fortunately, Ellie had been understanding of the deal that Peter had had to make on her behalf to get her out of there. And she mentioned that if she learned how to control her own powers (and she didn’t tell him what those were and he didn’t ask) she could teach the others how to control theirs. A good goal. One worth striving for. Peter heartily supported it.

Dr. Banner had been less understanding about everything. The older man frowned at him, silver glinting through his brown hair. “Peter, I can’t care less about what happens in your private life. If you are working in my lab, you will be here promptly on time.”

“Yes Sir,” said Peter, dejected.

“Good. Now then, for the last hour and a half,” the tense tone betrayed the anger the man was feeling and Peter winced again, “that I have you, let me catch you up on what I’m doing so that you help me tomorrow.”

“Yes, Sir,” agreed Peter obediently. Dr. Banner pulled up the files on the chemical equations he was using. Unlike Dr. Stacey’s lab, his had a holographic overlay screen, similar to the one in Tony’s office. Halfway through the presentation, Peter paused it. “Dr. Banner, it looks like you’re attempting to create an inorganic compound designed to pass through the blood-brain barrier.”

Dr. Banner pushed his own glasses up, with the wrist of his hand, like Peter did. “Why yes. I’m in charge of the medical treatment of most of the Avengers, and with the healing factors most of them have painkillers simply will not work unless I can get them through the barrier swiftly, and even then don’t work for very long.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to swap this chemical out?” Peter tentatively touched the screen, flipping the chemical Bruce had up for the one he had thought of. “It would make the molecule smaller, more likely pass through,” Peter explained, “and if you add this one here,” again, showing on the model, “you can create a minor healing block for the factor, allowing it to work longer. In theory.”

“Yes,” said Dr. Banner intrigued. “In theory. Luckily, we have rats.”

The two of them were so engaged in their work that it wasn’t until Dr. Stacey tapped on the glass outside the lab that Peter noticed it was almost time to go. She poked her head into the lab. “If I don’t get to keep him over,” she said firmly, “neither do you.”

“Dr. Stacey has a point,” said Dr. Banner irritably. “Peter, you may go. Please try to be on time tomorrow.”

“Yes sir,” said Peter softly.

“Hey, if you’re not willing to have him in your lab, he’s always welcome back in mine. I’m doing some fantastic things with the organic matrix.” She grinned showing teeth in an almost predatory smile. “I might even make a brain. We’ll see.”

Peter chuckled nervously. He had to get to Oscorp. He had just finished that product Norman wanted, and he wanted to check in on Harry. Make sure his friend was okay. Try to help him leave surreptitiously. Remind them to call him and let him know when the baby arrived. He nodded stiffly to both Dr. Banner and Dr. Stacey and then hung up his coat before leaving.

Peter paused on his way to Oscorp when he saw the newspaper in one of the boxes. The headline screamed at him and he couldn't suppress his bitter smile. It looked like Jamison had, for the moment, found someone else to focus his wrath on—and when it wasn’t focused on his alter ego, he found he had a much greater appreciation for it.

RUNAWAYS UNITE UNMASKED

EVIL DEEDS COME TO LIGHT

It probably wouldn't be enough. He knew that. He knew that the majority of what they did would get slid under the rug—for a nonprofit they had big backers. Norman wasn’t even the tip of that iceberg.

Still—they now had attention from people who had never really looked at them before. Even the public that hated the fact that the alleys swarmed with the children of the street would be mortified by what he’d uncovered—and then there was Wade. He had no doubt, none at all, that even if Wade hadn’t decided to hunt down every last surviving member of Runaways Unite, he had passed the information on to someone who would. Their days were numbered and he felt a vicious satisfaction.

All of the pictures he’d taken had been turned over (well, copies of all the pictures he’d taken had been turned over—Wade had the originals) to Jamison who would hand it over (keeping his name out of it) to the police when they came to investigate. The police would, of course, demand to know who had gotten the information and Jamison would, of course, reply that he had to protect his sources. Peter didn’t get credit for the article (he could see the credited name as Robbie Robertson), but he got paid, and that was the important thing. The anonymity was also important—he didn’t want anyone connecting photographer Peter Parker to the reporter who outed a trafficking ring. Too much could go wrong.

Pictures. He still had that album he’d made (in secret, of course) of Harry and MJ. He’d planned to give it as a wedding gift but if things went according to plan—Harry wouldn't live long enough to have a wedding. Before the full weight of that decision could settle on Peter again he shook his head and tried to force the feeling away. After all, he still needed to function, and Wade was nowhere to be seen—probably off saving some part of the city or terrifying criminals onto the path of the straight and narrow.

He turned and went back to his apartment. The album was hidden in the one place that MJ would never think to look—the bottom of the dirty clothes hamper. He wouldn't have any trouble getting in and getting it. And he thought they might like it. They liked the albums he never intended to see the light of day, and he didn’t put nearly as much effort into those.

On the way into the building he was blocked by the manager. The small man managed to look down his nose at Peter, who shrank a little into himself at the fierce gaze. He’d like the woman who’d owned the building before, the one he’d actually signed a rental contract with—but her son seemed determined to hate Peter for some reason.

“Rent is due on the first,” the man said grimly, with a similar satisfaction in his voice to what Peter had felt reading the headline of the paper.

Peter’s heart stuttered. “The first? But, it’s always been due on the fifteenth!” he protested. He’d paid it on time! He always paid it on time (although granted, sometimes he paid it at eleven fifty-nine at night, but he paid it on the day it was due).

“It has changed,” the man informed him tartly. “If you do not pay your rent on the new date,” he added viciously, “I will be forced to evict you.” He smiled before leaving.

Peter stared after him despondently. He’d just started getting his life back together—and now this? There was no way he was going to be able to make it on time; the first was just two days away! What was he going to do?

He staggered back into the street, seeing nothing as plans turned violently in his head. He couldn't get an advance on pay from SI, the money from the article he’d submitted for the Bugle wasn’t enough to cover it, what was he going to do? He didn’t want to lose his apartment. If he did he’d have to go back to live with his aunt, at least for a while—and it was too dangerous for Aunt May for him to live under the same roof as he continued to be Spiderman.

Despite Deadpool doing a better job of watching the city than Spiderman ever did, Peter just couldn't bring himself to fully cut off that part of himself. He felt a need to get out there and help, and plain old Peter Parker just couldn't. Besides, there were people who depended on Spiderman—weren’t there?

He was too caught up in his thoughts to notice his surroundings, and never saw the pair of hands that grabbed him.

#Spider-Man #Deadpool #Spideypool

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sarita-daniele · 4 years ago

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Hi, angel! Hope you're doing alright 💓 (hola ángel! También hablo español :) ) I was wondering if you could give some advices in starting out in an arts career?

Hola amigx, ¡perdón que nunca vi tu mensajito! I’m not on my Tumblr very often and definitely forget to check my messages. Luckily my favorite causita @luthienne told me you’d messaged me!

I don’t know what arts discipline you’re in, so feel free to let me know if the advice I have doesn’t apply to you (and ignore it!). There are so many ways to build an arts career, but I’m happy to share some things I’ve learned through trial and error along the way.

(Outrageously long post below break!)

Educate yourself in arts technique, but also study widely.

Techniques are important in art, but only as important as the concepts behind them. When I was younger, I wowed people by drawing near-photographic portraits, but that technical talent and skill alone couldn’t make me a professional artist. Memorable artwork has not just a how, but a why. It isn’t just the object but the story behind the object, and the meaning of the object in the world. Art is about what interests you, what makes you think, what you most value and want to change in this world. So as you build an arts career, learn the techniques behind drawing, woodworking, casting, writing, music-making, whatever your discipline is, but take time, if you can, to also study history, sociology, anthropology, ecology, linguistics, politics, or whatever else you’re drawn to conceptually. Study as widely as you can.

The studio art program I went through (a public university in the US) was very technique-forward; we signed up for classes according to technique, like printmaking or small metals, learned those techniques, completed technique-based assignments. Then I did a one-term exchange at arts university in the UK that was very concept-forward. We had no technical courses, just exhibition deadlines, and what mattered in critique was the concept. Both of these schools had their strengths and flaws, but what I learned was that, to be a practicing artist, I needed both technique and concepts that I genuinely cared about and could stand behind. If I could go back and change anything, I would probably take fewer studio courses (after graduating, I couldn’t afford access to a wood shop, metal shop, or expensive casting materials, and lost many of those skills) and more courses in sociology, Latin American studies, linguistics, ecology, anthropology, etc., because my artwork today centers on social justice, racial justice, Latinx stories and histories, educational access and justice, the politics of language, and community ethics.

And please know that whenever I talk about seeking an education, I’m not talking solely about institutional spaces. College career tracks in the arts (BFA, MFA, etc., much less high-cost conservatory programs) are not accessible to everyone and aren’t the only way to establish an arts career. You can study technique and learn about the world using any educational space accessible to you: nonprofits that offer programming in your community, online resources, Continuing Education programs. And of course, self-education: read as much as you possibly can!

Know the value of your story.

I come from a Cuban/Peruvian family and grew up in Albuquerque, New Mexico, USA. My father’s family fled political violence surrounding the Cuban Revolution and came to the U.S. when he was a teenager. My mother was born in Brooklyn to Peruvian parents on work visas and moved back to Lima in her childhood. I grew up with these two cultures present and deeply embedded in our household, in our language, our food, our sense of humor, our sense of history. And yet, some residual assimilation trauma still affected me. I drifted towards the most American things, the whitest things, English authors and Irish music, in part because I enjoyed them but also because those were the things I saw valued in society. I wanted to fit in, wanted to be unique but not different, wanted to prove that I could navigate all spaces. The reality of marginalized identities in America is that our country tells us our identities are only valuable when they can be seen as exotic, while still kept inferior to the dominant, white American narrative (note that this “us” is a general statement, not meant to make assumptions about how you identify or what country you live in).

But as an artist, all I have is my story, and who I am. I wasn’t willing to look at it directly. For years, I avoided doing so. It turns out, though, that I couldn’t actually begin my career until I reckoned with myself and learned to value everything about myself. To fully acknowledge my story, my history, my cultural reality, my sense of language, and my privileges. So I encourage young artists to look always inward, to ask questions about themselves, their families, and what made them who they are.

The reason for doing this is to understand the source from which you make art. Sometimes, however, for marginalized artists, the world warps this introspection into a trap, pigeonholing us into making art only “about” our identities, because that work is capital-I-Important to white audiences who want to tokenize our traumas. This is the white lens, and if anything, I try to understand myself as deeply as I can so that I can make art consciously for my community, not for that assumed white audience.

Know that your career doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s, or like anything you’ve envisioned up to this point.

As a high schooler I imagined that a life in the arts meant me in a studio, drawing and making, selling my work, getting exhibitions near and far, and gaining recognition. It was a solitary vision, one with a long history in the arts, rooted in the idea of individual genius. My career ended up completely different. Today, my arts projects involve teaching, collaborating, collecting interviews and oral histories, and creating public installations, rarely in traditional galleries or museums.

As you work towards an arts career, figure out what does and doesn’t work for you: the kind of art you like and don’t like, the kinds of spaces that feel comfortable and those that don’t. I always thought I wanted to be part of traditional galleries, so I got a job working in a high-end art gallery in Boston during my grad program. Once in that space, however— even though I found the space calming and the work beautiful— I realized that there was something that I deeply disliked about the commodified art world. I didn’t like that we were selling art for over $10,000, that our exhibitions were geared exclusively towards collectors and wealthy art-buyers. The work was often technically masterful, but didn’t move or connect with me on a deeper level, and I realized that was because it wasn’t creating any change in the world. I liked work that shifted the needle, that made the world more inclusive and equitable, that centered marginalized stories (that gallery represented 90% white artists). I liked artwork that people made together, which drew me to collaborative art. I liked artwork that was accessible to everyone, not just the wealthy, which drew me to public art. I liked art exhibited in non-institutional spaces, which led me to community spaces. Since I was in an MFA for Creative Writing, I liked interdisciplinary art that engaged performance, technology, text, that was participatory and not just a 2D or 3D object. Figuring out all of these things led me to apply to my first major arts job: as a teaching artist in a community nonprofit that made art for social change in collaboration with local youth, in a predominantly Latinx neighborhood.

My career path didn’t look like anything I expected, but I love it. The bulk of my income comes from teaching creative writing and art classes for nonprofits, working as a core member of a public arts nonprofit, and freelance consulting for book manuscripts. I love being an educator and consider it part of my creative practice. I love that I’m constantly collaborating with and talking to other artists. I love working with books and public art every day. I publish poetry, fiction, and literary translations, and exhibit artwork I’ve created in the studio and through funded opportunities.

Fellow artists tell me often that I’m lucky, that my “day jobs” are all within the arts. But there are downsides to the way I’ve chosen to structure my career. I’m constantly balancing many projects, and my income is unstable. It’s difficult to save and plan towards the future,. I get by, but financial instability isn’t an option for many artists with families and dependents, with debts, medical expenses, and just isn’t the preferred lifestyle for a lot of people. I know artists who worked office jobs for years to support their practice and gain financial stability. I know artists who had entire careers as lawyers or accountants before becoming artists full time. I know artists who teach in public schools or work as substitute teachers. I know artists who are business owners and artists who work in policy and politics. I know artists who work in framing stores and shipping warehouses while being represented by galleries. These are all arts careers, and I admire every one of them. So as you build your career, don’t feel like it has to look like anyone’s else’s, like there’s anything you “should” be doing. Focus on the kind of artwork you want to make and what kind of work-life balance is best for you, then structure your career around that as best you can.

Any job you use to support yourself can connect to an arts career!

I get asked often by young people looking for jobs what kinds of jobs will best propel them towards an arts career. I believe that any kind of job can connect to and support an arts career, and I know that some suggestions out there in the arts world (like “get an unpaid internship at an art gallery!” or “become a studio apprentice to a well-known artist!”) assume a certain amount of privilege. So I want to break down how different kinds of jobs can connect to your art career:

1) Jobs that allow for the flexibility and mental capacity to create. My friends who work restaurant jobs while going to auditions fall into this category. Who work as bartenders in evening so that they can be in the studio by day. Who dog-walk or babysit or nanny because the timing and flexibility allows for arts opportunities. My friends who are Lyft drivers or work in deliveries. These are often jobs outside of a creative field, but they can be beneficial because they don’t drain your creative batteries, so to speak. You still have your creative brain fully charged, and some jobs (like dog-walking) even allow for good mental processing (you can think through creative problems). As long as the job doesn’t drain you to the point where you have no energy at all, these kinds of jobs can be great because they allow time and space for your creative work.

2) Jobs that place you in arts spaces, arts adjacent spaces, or spaces where you can learn about material/technique. My sculptor friends who work in hardware stores, quarries, foundries, or in construction. My printmaker friend who interned with graphic designers. My writer friends who work in bookstores and libraries, artists who work in art supply stores. My friend who worked with her dad’s painting company and got to improve her precision as a painter, which she then took back to the canvas. My teen students who get paid to work on murals or get stipend payments for making art at the nonprofit I work for. My filmmaker friends who worked on film crews. Friends who worked as theater ushers, in ticket sales, or as janitorial staff at museums. All of these jobs kept these artists adjacent to their artwork, whether through access to tools, materials, supplies, or books, through networking and conversations with other artists, or through skillsets that could enhance their art.

3) Jobs that deeply engage another interest of yours, that bring you joy or can influence your work in other ways. If there’s a job that has nothing to do with your art but that you would love, do it! First, because I believe that the things we’re passionate about get integrated into our art, and second, because any job that gives you peace of mind and joy creates a positive base from which you can create. My friend who worked at a stable because she got to be around horses. My friends who worked at gyms or coaching sports because it kept them active. My friend who worked in a bike repair shop because he was obsessed with biking. An artist I knew who worked at the children’s science museum because she loved being around kids and planetariums. An artist who worked at a mineral store because rocks made her happy. If you have the opportunity, work doing things you like without worrying about whether it directly feeds your arts career.

Because believe it or not, all jobs you work can intersect in some way with your art. You’re creative— you find those connections! A Nobel-Prize winning poet helped his dad on the potato farm and wrote his best-known poem about it. Successful novelists have written about their time working in hair salons and convenience stores. A great printmaker I know who worked in a flower shop began weaving botanical forms and plant knowledge into her designs. The key in an arts career is to see all your experiences as valuable, to find ways that they can influence your art, and to be constantly thinking about and observing the world around you.

As for me, I worked as a tennis instructor, a tennis court site supervisor, an academic advisor, an art gallery intern, and a coffee shop barista before and during my work in the arts!

Let go of objective measures of what it means to be good.

I was always an academic overachiever. Top of my class, merit scholarships, science fair awards, AP credit overload, the whole thing. On the one hand, I grew up in a house where education was valued and celebrated, and my parents emphasized the importance of doing my best in school— not getting good grades, but working hard, doing my personal best, and reading and learning all I could. I loved school. I loved academics. And I’m not saying this to brag, but to lay the groundwork for something I struggled with in the arts.

It is jarring to be an academic overachiever and enter an arts career. I thrived off of objective value systems: study, work hard, get an A. If I worked hard and learned what I was supposed to learn, I earned recognition, validation, and opportunity.

And then I entered the arts. The arts are entirely subjective. We hear it over and over— great artists get rejected hundreds of times, certain art forms require cutthroat competition, etc. —but it’s hard to understand the subjectivity of the art world (and the entrenched discrimination and commercial interests that affect who gets opportunities and who doesn’t) until you’re trying to live as an artist. That you can work hard on something, give all of your time and physical effort and mental and emotional energy to it, only to have it rejected. That what you think is good isn’t what another person thinks is good. That there is a magical alchemy in the act of creation that can’t be taught, or learned, but must be felt, and that you can be working to find that light while actively others try to extinguish it. That you can be good and work hard, yet still not get chosen for the awards, the exhibitions, the publications. If you chased being “the best” your whole life, you’re now in a world where there is no “best”, where greatness is subjective, where the idea of competitive greatness is actually detrimental to artists supporting each other, and where work that sells or connects to white, cishetero traditions is still the most valued.

After struggling with this for a long time, I came to the conclusion that the most important thing to me now is making the art I want to make, the art only I can make, whether or not it fits what arts industries are looking for or what’s going to win awards. If I make art I believe in from a healthy mental and emotional place, doors will open, even if they aren’t the doors I expected. So try to let go of any sense that worth comes from external validation. Learn to accept critical feedback when it is given kindly, thoughtfully, and constructively. Surround yourself with friends and artists who who can talk to about your work, who build up your work and help you think through it rather than cutting you down. Don’t believe anyone in the arts world who thinks they get to be the arbiters of what’s “good” and who has “what it takes”. People have probably said things like that to the artists you most admire, and if they’d listened, you wouldn’t have experienced art that changed your life.

Work to gain skills in basic business, marketing, and finances for artists.

Many artists (at least where I am in the U.S.) go through an entire arts education without receiving resources or training in the financial side of the arts world. Your arts career will likely involve some degree of self-promotion and marketing, creating project budgets and grant proposals, artist statements and bios, sorting out taxes, and other economic elements. I can’t speak to other countries, but for artists in the U.S., taxes can be extremely complex. If you’re awarded a stipend, grant, fellowship, or employed for gigs or one-time projects, you’ll likely be taxed as an independent contractor and have to deduct your own taxes. Through residencies and exhibitions, you may pull income in multiple states and countries, which can also affect taxation. If you’re an artist who doesn’t have access to resources about finance and taxation in your arts program or who doesn’t independently have expertise in those fields, I recommend finding ways to educate yourself early: online resources, low cost courses, or even just taking your financially-savvy friends out for a coffee!

ANYWAY SORRY FOR THE LONG POST I HOPE SOMETHING IN THIS DIATRIBE WAS HELPFUL I HOPE THERE WEREN’T TOO MANY TYPOS AND I hope you have the most wonderful, fulfilling arts career! <3

#resources #writing life #arts life #arts career #visual art #studio art program #mfa #bfa #arts education #i have no chill when you ask me questions like this #long post

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hwangzi · 5 years ago

Text

Photoshoot (Natural)

[suggestive just felix teasing the hell out of u]

I / II / III

"You don't have to be so nervous, babe."

"I'm not."

"Y/n. You're literally biting your nails right now."

Startled, you looked down at your hands, not having registered what you were doing. You felt a reassuring squeeze to your shoulders as you kept staring at the ongoing photoshoot in front of you.

Some renowned magazine had this brilliant idea for Stray Kids to model a new denim line -

With their significant other.

You couldn't help but stare at Bangchan and his girlfriend, who were currently on set.

They looked great together - She was naturally charming and confident, a stunning woman for a stunning man like the leader himself. You observed them with awe, trying to figure out how on earth they managed to goof around like that and at the same time striking Vogue-level poses as if it was their day job.

“Just a casual shoot. Some Valentine’s Day Special,” you recalled Felix telling you a few months ago,

“No pressure."

Yeah. Right.

A couple of meters away from the scene, you were tugging on the slightly revealing neckline of your denim jacket, having second-thoughts about agreeing to this impending fiasco.

Your body wasn’t the source of your uneasiness, but rather that you've never found yourself in a similar situation before and the thought of having a camera and multiple pairs of eyes on you wasn’t exactly the most pleasing scenario. Especially next to your top-model-like boyfriend.

You looked up at said person, currently wrapping his arms around you from the back. Felix was dressed in a light-washed denim button-up and skinny jeans, his hair perfectly tousled with a couple of loose strands hanging into his beautiful face - a breathtaking sight, as always.

His eyes met yours and as if he could read your thoughts, his lips turned into a knowing smile.

"I know you can do this, baby. Just go with the flow." He said, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek.

You shrugged, leaning back into his embrace when you heard the director call out your names - Chan and his girlfriend left the set, the staff scurried in to prep everything for Felix and your’s shoot.

The couple high-fived when they reached you two and Chan immediately reassured that you’ll be great, his girlfriend nodding with an encouraging thumbs up. You thanked them shyly before Felix grabbed your hand and lead you to the set.

The only prop available was a black leather couch, on which the photographer instructed Felix to take a seat while you'd hug him from behind.

Your boyfriend switched to professional mode immediately. Changing up his poses and making great facial expressions along with it, his usual routine - whereas you felt like an awkward mess.

After ten minutes, lots of sweating and completely running out of ideas, you sighed in relief when the cameraman asked for a change of positions.

"I have no clue what I'm doing-" You were sitting next to each other now, a tone of despair evident when you whispered to Felix while awkwardly trying to put your head on his shoulder.

"You're doing fine, babe. Just relax," Felix responded calmly and put his arm around you, matching your gestures.

You make it seem so easy, you huffed to yourself.

It wasn't the first time you'd seen Felix at work, regardless, you could never get tired of this sight. Taking the opportunity to appreciate his handsome features, your eyes travelled down his face - from his mesmerising brown orbs over his smooth, radiant skin to his wonderfully curved lips.

He looked regal, like a prince straight out of a fairytale, reminding you of how blessed you were to be with him. In your eyes, he was a prince indeed - inside and out.

But something was different.

His gaze seemed more ambiguous, his eyes never left yours. You instantly identified what he was silently conveying, sensing a sudden, but familiar shift in the atmosphere. Heat began to creep into your cheeks and you averted your gaze before it got any worse - Felix, however, had other plans and turned your head back with his long fingers under your chin.

"YES! That's it- hold that," the photographer cried out in glee and Felix shot you a vicious grin, causing your cheeks to redden even more.

To your further embarrassment, your boyfriend started decreasing the space in between your bodies until you felt his warm breath fan over your skin, his lips only a couple inches away from yours. The camera flashed furiously and you had to hold your breath in attempt to hold out your current position.

Felix noted with great amusement the strong effect he had on you, suppressing a light chuckle. He deliberately let his lips brush yours ever so slightly when he spoke,

"You’re too cute, y/n... Fuck, if these people weren't here, I'd just-"

"Okay great! Now y/n, would you please lay down right there," The photographer cut him off and you nervously checked your surroundings to ensure no one had caught any of the words that just came out of this boy’s mouth, which luckily didn't seem to be the case.

Next, you found yourself underneath him, his dangerously dark eyes making your heart race and tongue darting out to wet his soft lips while he lowered himself onto you.

"Not here, Lix-," you muttered under your breath, placing your hand on his bicep in order to push him back while he, on the other hand, stubbornly resisted.

This man was going to be the death of you and this was not the right moment to put it on display.

"Don’t know what you’re talking about," he teased, fingertips skimming over the fabric of your jacket, making you gulp in nervousness. You were just about to retort something when the director called Felix out.

And to your dismay, instructed him to unbutton his shirt.

"Help me?"

Your wide eyes and pink cheeks forced a chuckle out of him. Despite you quickly dismissing his request, his fingers made quick work opening his shirt, letting it slide over his shoulders, exposing his toned upper body.

You couldn't deny it, seeing his gloriously naked torso did things to you that were rather inappropriate for this occasion. Worst of all, the owner of that gorgeous body was perfectly aware of it.

“Like what you see?” he chuckled, one hand next to your head to support himself and the other in your hair, gingerly taking one of your locks to play with. You could feel the weight of his lower abdomen on your thighs.

“M-maybe...” you avoided his eyes, tempted by your desires but at the same time painfully aware of your current surroundings.

"Aww, look at you... all flustered and turned on for me.” He snickered, taking advantage of your growing weakness.

"Shut up, Felix-"

"Can't wait until we get out of here so I can put these fingers into good use, hmm?" He utilised his typical deep, sexy voice, a devilish smirk tugging on the corner of his lips as he traced yours with his thumb in agonising slowness.

You sent an internal command to your hand as not to slap his mouth shut in order to stop those filthy words from tumbling out of it.

Grabbing one of your hands and placing it on his torso, Felix left you no choice but to surrender, allowing him to come closer. Neither one broke the intense eye contact and you slowly became unaware of the continuous flashing and clicking sounds in the background.

“That’s what you’re thinking right now, isn’t it?” he murmured, delighted by the way you pressed your thighs together in response. His body was now basically pressed to yours, making you wonder if he was able to hear the loud thumping of your heart, too.

“Bet you’re all wet already...” he mouthed into your ear and you gasped, goosebumps spreading all over your body. Without warning, Felix flipped you around so that you were straddling him in between your legs.

Making no signs to stop his provocations, he lazily caressed the side of your body with the back of his hand, staring at you through lust-filled, half-lidded eyes.

“Tell me... What would you like me to do to you, princess?”

Your eyes flickered down to his mouth, the way he tugged his lip in between his teeth. A discreet but effective move.

“Everything is fine if it’s with you..” You confessed, voice barely audible.

Felix’ eyes widened in surprise but he quickly regained his composure, his expression becoming even darker and more sinful.

“Hmm...I like hearing that.” With a mixture of cockiness and arousal, he scanned you from head to toe, shamelessly eye-fucking you, making you curious as to where his fantasies have taken him.

"Lix, please..."

"You’re adorable when you beg, my love,” he purred, putting a strand of your hair behind your ear before chuckling,

“Look at you, so nervous before but looking so damn needy and hot right now. And you don’t even care that you’re being watched."

A soft whimper left your mouth, embarrassed but turned on at the same time, almost to the point of being unbearable.

You realised that it was you who wanted nothing more than to grab him and rip his clothes off here and now...

"Please, Felix, I can’t-"

"AAAAAND - CUT! Thanks guys, that was amazing!”

You snapped out if it, the director’s voice effectively popping the bubble you two had just created. It was even more puzzling to find that Felix had already sat back up, his expression calm and collected as if nothing's happened.

The director approached you, giving the young man a pat on the back.

“Great job distracting y/n there, she improved so much towards the end, the team was shocked,” he gave you a broad smile. You blushed at the compliment, praying that he wouldn’t comment on your currently sweaty and flustered complexion.

Fortunately, the director turned and waved at the next couple, Jisung and his girl, that were currently on stand-by and receiving makeup retouches by the staff.

Feeling partially humiliated, partially thankful for not getting busted and utterly sexually frustrated, you blinked confusedly when the blonde stood up and strode away unbothered, making you question whether your previous conversation was anything more than a wet daydream.

You trailed behind him like a sulky puppy as he thanked the staff and greeted Jisung and his girlfriend before finally turning his attention towards you. Bowing down so his face was close to yours, Felix made sure his next words were meant for only you to hear.

"Don’t worry, baby... I’ll save your reward for later." he then proceeded to walk past you and get changed, leaving you dumbfounded and heated with irritation.

You were just about to raise your voice at him when he beat you to it.

"Oh, and y/n-” He stopped in his tracks and turned around one last time. You glared back at him. This is your last chance for some sort of a rectification, you little shit.

“Who would’ve guessed you were a natural and all you needed was a little provoking?" With the last word suspended in the air between you, Felix disappeared into the dressing room.

You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. Suddenly, an idea popped up in your mind and your previous frown morphed into a mischievous smirk.

Two can play this game, you chuckled, making your way to your own changing room.

Lee Felix just got himself into trouble.

Continue

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chris-evans-indian-fanfic · 4 years ago

Text

Worthy

One-Shot

Description: What happens when Steve goes to collect the Soul Stone instead of Natasha and Clint?

Warning: Curse words, spoilers for Avengers Endgame

This is for the awesome, caring and super-talented @jtargaryen18 's writing challenge. She eased my mind about the plot. Thank you 😘 Click here to know the rules and participate!

Main Masterlist

I don’t consent to have any of my work published or featured on any third party app, website or translated. If you are seeing this fanfiction anywhere but tumblr, it has been reposted without my permission. In that case, please do share the link and let me know.

...

Who was he? Steve Rogers? Or Captain America? Are they both different people? Or are they two sides of the same coin?

Steve wondered as he gazed down the cliff at Vormir, home to the Soul Stone.

When he had first arrived alone on the barren planet, he had been shocked and angry to see Red Skull guarding the infinity stone. To think that he went under the ice all those years ago stood for nothing. To have lost his life, his partner, his best friend and for what? Hydra was still active, the world was still suffering from war and now Red Skull was still alive, floating in space.

But as he understood Red Skull's predicament, Steve realised that while he himself was a man out of time, Red Skull was stuck here in his miserable existence till the end of time, out of place, out of touch. That brought him some satisfaction.

He was glad they had decided to send Natasha and Clint with Tony, Bruce and Scott to 2012. There was just too much ground to cover with 3 infinity stones in the same city. It made sense to have more eyes on the ground.

There was no way Steve would sacrifice anybody from his team for the stone. They had lost too many lives already. And if they were successful, then they would need all hands on deck to manage the chaos that would follow once everybody was brought back.

Steve sat on a rock and pulled out his compass. He sighed as he saw Peggy, "What do you think Peg?" he murmured, lightly running his thumb over the photograph.

After a few minutes, he clicked a button on the rim and the compass flipped open, revealing the hidden compartment beneath. He pulled out a folded piece of paper from within. It was as old and worn-out as Peggy's photograph. He closed the compass and looked at the other image. A black and white Bucky laughed back at him while at his side, a thin, scrawny Steve was looking scornfully at the camera, his face bruised. Steve chuckled as he remembered the day this photograph was taken. He had gotten into another one of his infamous back-alley fights. Some drunken idiot had punched Bucky because he had been flaunting his Sergeant's uniform at the bar amongst the ladies. While Bucky could have easily mopped the floor with the guy, Steve had decided to step in and push the drunken idiot. Then, as it always happened, Steve was dragged into the back-alley to be turned into a punching bag, with Bucky finally saving his skinny ass.

This photograph was taken later that night, with Bucky laughing at the whole incident.

The cold Vormir wind brought Steve back to the present. Ever since he could remember, he wanted to do the right thing, save the innocent people and just help those who needed it the most.

While the asthmatic 90-pound Steve Rogers couldn't do that, the 240-pound Captain America was able to do that and much more.

That's why he loved being Captain America. He could finally do what he had always wanted to do. It didn't matter whether the Government labelled him as a criminal or whether the press questioned his every move. He was able to help people, change lives for the better and protect the little guy. Isn't that what mattered?

He opened the compass again. Looking at both the photographs, he whispered, "Thank you."

He picked up his shield and faced the cliff.

"What are you doing?" asked Red Skull, as if guessing his next move, "How do you know this will work? You are Captain America," he declared.

Steve looked at him, his mouth turned into a smirk, "How would I know? I am just a kid from Brooklyn," and with that, Captain America jumped into the abyss below.

…

Steve's entire body was shivering with cold as he lay in the water. With his teeth clattering, he barely managed to sit upright. He started breathing rapidly as he took in his surroundings. He was still on Vormir. As he tried to get up, he realised two things. One, he was completely naked except for his time travel bracelet and vibranium shield, and two, he was holding something in his right hand. He opened his palm to look at the yellow Soul Stone. Almost laughing in relief, Steve looked down at himself. He saw he had the same scrawny body as the Steve in the old photograph. Shivering further with cold, he pressed a few buttons on his bracelet.

…

One by one as the Avengers returned to the compound, they looked around excitedly at their peers, relieved to find them safe. Steve was the last one to return. His knees buckled as soon as he landed. Hiding his naked bony body behind the shield, he threw up on the floor, his body not able to handle the stress of the quantum time-travel.

"Oh my God who is that?!" Scott exclaimed as Tony, Natasha and Clint stepped tentatively towards Steve. As his body convulsed with pain, he held up the stone towards them. The second Nat took the stone, Steve collapsed.

…

Steve woke up two days later on a hospital bed.

"We are trying our best to keep your bodily functions from collapsing onto themselves. You should be thankful that we have medicines to treat most of your ailments. What were you thinking?" Tony spat with frustration.

Steve saw large swollen bags under Tony's red eyes. Steve was willing to bet that Tony hadn't slept ever since his return. He smiled, "It had to be done Tony," said Steve, his voice flat, having lost its 'Captain America depthness'.

"What happened on Vormir?" asked Natasha gently. Steve tried to sit, "The stone demanded a sacrifice. A soul for the soul stone. So I sacrificed him."

"Yeah and left us without a leader. What are we supposed to do now? You are meant to rally the troops. You are meant to lead. How do you think you will do that if you need an asthma inhaler every time you try to take a walk around the compound?" Tony voiced his concerns. "Tony, calm down. Shhh now," Thor said from his chair.

"You look like you need a sandwich," Rocket commented, seated besides Thor.

"Your vitals look good Cap... ahem I-I mean Steve," Bruce flustered while checking Steve's reports.

"Captain America was never about one person. It is about what the title stands for; Bravery to face any challenge, Courage to stand up against the greatest powers for the right reason and Having a clear sense of duty, of what's right and wrong. Captain America can be anyone," Steve said, pointedly staring at Natasha.

He turned to look at the shield placed by his bedside table. Carefully, he picked it up with a bit of struggle and held it out for her.

"I can't think of a better person to lead us," Steve said decidedly. Wide-eyed, Natasha looked at him with bewilderment. "No Steve. I am a spy. I am not a soldier. I cannot be trusted with…"

"You are not a spy. Not anymore. You have been leading the Avengers not just on earth, but across the galaxy, especially when most of us had given up. You are right though. You are not a soldier. You are a leader, Captain."

Natasha looked at Steve, her eyes brimming with tears, her voice almost breaking "I have too much red on my ledger Steve."

"You wiped that ledger when you joined the Avengers Nat. You deserve this," Clint supported her.

As Natasha took the shield and tried it on, Tony asked her, "We will have to render your suit. Do you want black with Red, White and Blue?" Natasha nodded. As Tony left, Natasha mouthed the words, "Thank you," towards Steve as he brushed it off.

"Have we brought everybody back yet?" Steve asked.

"No. We are just finishing the gauntlet. It should be ready by tomorrow," Banner said.

Clint looked at Natasha proudly. "We have a female Captain America now."

"No," Steve said. He grinned at Natasha, "We have a Captain America now."

…

2014 Nebula kept her attention at Antman near the Quantum Time Machine. In the last two days there had been a lot of activity in the compound thanks to Steve's return. It would have served as a good distraction, but unfortunately, there were people working around the time machine. She was itching to bring her father and his army to this future. However, for that, she would need to have patience. A lot of patience. They were planning to undo the snap tomorrow, that's when she planned to strike. She cannot afford to fail her father. She must not.

…

"All the best guys," said Steve as he sat in the car, ready to leave the compound. There was going to be a tremendous blast of gamma radiation from the snap. Steve understood that he might not survive the blast and instead, had offered to bring falafels from the nearby restaurant for lunch.

He reached the modest Middle Eastern eatery. Only two tables were occupied when he placed his large order to go. The server looked at him in suspicion. He doubted whether Steve would be able to carry all the packages by himself. Still, he shrugged, large orders such as these were a boon in the post-snap world.

After 5 minutes, the restaurant shook with a wave of energy blast. Steve fell down from his chair with the impact. As he got up, brushing himself off, he saw black dust materialising in front of him. He looked on as the dust came together to form a person, a man. Steve noticed this happening all around the restaurant. Within a span of a few minutes, the entire restaurant was filled to capacity, with more people appearing on the sidewalk.

He heard terrified screams of people around him. Then guns were fired into the air. Steve turned, trying to determine the source of the violence, when he felt the ground shake.

"EARTHQUAKE!" someone screamed and they all tried to take cover, mostly bumping into one another. There was a loud deafening sound of a missile exploding, then another 4-5 such sounds in rapid succession as the ground shook relentlessly with the impact of the missiles.

Shit, Steve thought. Who would be attacking them now?

A few moments later, when everything went quiet, Steve stepped out of the restaurant and looked in the direction of the Avengers Compound. He could see dark smoke rising into the sky, with a huge spaceship eclipsing the sun. Thanos.

Without a second thought, Steve entered the car. "F.R.I.D.A.Y," he commanded, "Take me to the compound right now." "There has been an attack Mr Rogers, I am not sure if…" the AI tried to reason with him, but Steve interrupted, "Now!" "Yes Mr Rogers," she said in resignation.

…

He reached as close to the compound as the car could take him. The debris of the buildings and the gaping holes in the ground preventing the car from going any further. Steve stepped down, and started making his way to the centre of the ground.

As he used his asthma inhaler, he realised Tony was right. If he couldn't even walk this much without needing his inhaler, how can he help them?

When Steve reached the centre, his heart broke at the scene before him. Tony was lying on the ground having sustained multiple injuries. Natasha was trying to get up, her arms and legs badly cut. Thor was fighting with Thanos, but it seemed that was a losing battle as well. Steve couldn't just give up. He never had.

Looking around him at the ground, he saw a big piece of concrete. Lifting it, he tried to throw out with all his strength, but the concrete didn't even fall within 10 yards of Thanos. His eyes then went to Thor's Mjolnir on the ground. He still had to try right?

He rushed towards the hammer and pulled on its handle, Mjolnir feeling surprisingly light in his hands. He aimed and swung for the ugly purple head. With Mjolnir hitting the mark, the hammer dutifully came back to Steve.

"I KNEW IT!" exclaimed Thor, his reaction earning him a kick from Thanos.

Thanos's surprise was short-lived. He charged towards the little guy. Steve threw the hammer again but Thanos easily deflected it with his double-edged sword.

Before he could reach Steve, Natasha attacked Thanos, diverting his attention. "F.R.I.D.A.Y," she screamed, "get Steve a sandwich."

This isn't the time for a joke, Steve thought as he summoned the hammer and threw it at Thanos again.

Thanos threw Natasha to the ground and headed for Steve. A back-handed smack sent Steve flying in the air. He wouldn't have survived the fall, if it hadn't been for the S.A.N.D.W.H.I.C.H.H- an iron-man suit in the darkest shade of blue. The suit wrapped itself around Steve as it broke his fall. "Welcome Mr Rogers," greeted F.R.I.D.A.Y, "Do you like your new suit? It stands for

S - Steve

A - Always

N - Needs

D - Dangerous

W - Weapons

I - In-order-to

C - Cover

H - His

H - Homies"

Steve was still panting from the impact of the smack as he lay on the ground in the suit. "Not one of Tony's best acronyms," he managed to say between breaths. "Yeah," agreed the AI, "but he only put this together last night."

Steve struggled to get up again. He heard Thanos mumble something, but he couldn't care less. He stumbled in the new suit, barely being able to walk towards the giant alien, but still, willing to fight till his last breath. Just then, the microphone in his suit crackled a bit, "C-Cap, you ther--re?" He heard Sam's voice…

…

Steve couldn't believe it. The entire universe had come to fight with Thanos. He looked at humans and aliens alike, pissed off and ready to face the biggest threat to the universe. He managed to make it to the front of the line besides Thor, summoning the Mjolnir.

Natasha smiled at the army behind her, then turned to look at Thanos with a deadly stare.

She raised her shield as she called out to the warriors, her voice bellowing on the battlefield, "AVENGERS, ASSEMBLE!"

#steve rogers #captain america #avengers #Natasha #black widow #Hulk #hawk eye #iron man #rocket #Thor #infinity stones #soul stone #tony stark #bruce banner #avengers assemble #30daysofchris2020 #30 days of chris 2020

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tealin · 4 years ago

Text

Basler to the Beardmore 2: Errands

As always, no matter what Tumblr does with it, this post is available in its intended presentation at twirlynoodle.com/blog along with the rest of my Antarctic travel diary.

On this flight to the heart of Antarctica, I was only a hanger-on. We had two errands to run before entertaining me and my historical interests, the most important of which was restocking a fuel depot at the base of the Transantarctic Mountains.

There are many busy science teams in Antarctica, and while some renewable energy sources are starting to be used, the fact is that everything runs on a reliable supply of fossil fuels, mostly petrol. The aircraft that keep people and their essentials moving around the continent have a network of fuel depots, both for relay stops and for emergencies. Contrary to some conspiracy theories, anyone can fly to and around Antarctica if they have the money and resources to get there, and many do. As the national science programmes have a very tight margin, and their fuel depots are expensive to maintain, they cannot afford jet-setters raiding their supplies, so the locations of these depots are kept secret. Therefore I am not going to tell you where our first stop was. The chances of a private pilot reading this blog are slim, but it may be possible to deduce from my photos where this particular cache is: if you are that outlier, I hereby ask you please to do the decent thing and leave the fuel alone – or if you absolutely must access it, then let the USAP know what you've taken and make good on it as soon as you can. Everyone in Antarctica looks out for each other, and that includes you. OK? OK.

So, we've taken off, and done our acrobatics to get the skis up, and are now facing a couple of hours' flight time before we reach our primary destination. There is, quite frankly, nothing between Williams Field and the Transantarctic Mountains, besides hundreds of miles of the Ross Ice Shelf. This was known as 'The Barrier' to the early explorers, because when James Clark Ross sailed down to explore in 1840 it was a great while wall that prevented his ships from going any further. In later years it wasn't so much a barrier as a highway – clear and flat, and not much off sea level, it provided a route deep into the high latitudes without the perils of the high windy Polar Plateau. Among people who frequently travel out there, it is sometimes referred to as 'the Flat White' – my impression is that this term came from the Kiwis, and the espresso drink of the same name is also antipodean in origin, so I wonder which came first. It is undeniably Flat, and White (though the refraction of sunlight through ice crystals makes it look anything from peachy to periwinkle, depending on the angle), but none of its various names communicate just how big it is.

I have flown over the Canadian tundra many times, and over the Greenland ice cap, but the view from 35,000 feet is like looking at satellite view in Google Maps compared to flying at cloud level, where the parallax with the horizon gives you a much keener sense of distance. The Barrier is BIG. In fact, 'big' is too small a word to communicate it. 'Massive', 'mammoth', and 'gargantuan' are more melodramatic than descriptive. Its vastness puts all of human consciousness, never mind vocabulary, in proper perspective. For my money, it outdoes the night sky as a visual approximation of infinity.

Getting a sense of its size, especially in a still photo, is difficult without an object for scale. For your education and my good fortune, we happened to fly over the RAID convoy as they made their way from the Minna Bluff site to where the Ross Ice Shelf meets the Antarctic continent. Rapid Access Ice Drilling has been supporting various scientific projects for a few years now, whether their interest is in the ice itself (its trapped air gives a record of Earth's atmosphere in millennia past) or what's underneath (marine environments far removed from the open sea; the bed of an accelerating glacier). Their units are about the size of a shipping container, and are pulled by enormous tractors, so if they are this dwarfed by the Flat White, imagine how much more puny a sledge party would be.

Before too much longer we were at the depot. Landing at an Antarctic field airstrip is even more complicated than taking off: we circled once, to do a visual check, then skimmed it with the skis to make sure no hidden crevasses had opened up since the last time someone landed here, then finally touched down for real on the third go-round. The plane crew rapidly got to work unloading the fuel drums; I offered to help but was assured I wasn't needed, so spent the time taking photographs and mucking around in the snow.

The first thing that struck me was how beautiful the mountains were in colour. The best photos I've seen of them have been black and white, so the rich variety in shades was remarkable. What you can't see in this small photo was how the lighter rock was banded with strata of blue-grey and orange-brown sandstone, giving it a luxurious marbled effect.

I've read a lot about how conditions on the Barrier are so much different than on the coast. This was far deeper into it than I was ever expecting to set foot, but I was surprised how tame it was. Now, it was an idyllically calm and sunny day – had it been any different we would not have been there – so the only time I realised that it was actually much colder than McMurdo was when a slight breeze wafted past my bare hand and broke the warm spell that the sunshine had cast.

What was different was the snow. Around McMurdo, the snowbanks which did build up had been repeatedly blown over with volcanic dust which warmed up in the sun and made the snow gritty, icy, and rotten – if you live in a snowy city, think of the texture of snowbanks alongside busy roads. Out here, there was nothing but snow, all the way down to where it became ice – powder blown off the mountains, maybe even off the Polar Plateau, deposited here to be compacted in the sun and polished by the wind. The crust made by these processes was smooth and, in many places, thick enough to support my weight, so I hardly left a footprint – a 'good pulling surface' as sledgers would have it – but without warning there would be a thin spot where my foot would break through and sink in the sugar-like snow below.

Before long, the crew had finished their restock, and playtime was over. After our exciting takeoff manoeuvres, we started climbing the mountains to the second of our tasks for the day.

The Transantarctic Mountains, according to our pilot, are still something of a mystery. They are a very high mountain range, but unlike the Rockies for example, they show little or no sign of buckling or other geological forces – they seem to have been lifted whole, keeping their layers of sandstone and coal and fossil-rich deposits mostly flat, with occasional intrusions of igneous rock. The range acts as a sort of massively oversized dyke, holding back the miles-deep polar ice cap from spilling over West Antarctica, the Ross Ice Shelf, and the Ross Sea, as the mountains cross the continent.

Ice appears to be solid, but it actually behaves more like a stiff jelly or fondant icing – if it finds a change in altitude it will flow, very slowly, downhill. This is what a glacier is: snow gets deposited over many years without melting, turns to ice, and when its volume can no longer be held at elevation, starts to creep down the valley. The ice of the Polar Plateau finds gaps in the Transantarctic Mountains and pushes through them, forming glaciers which pour out onto the Ross Sea and, merging, form the Ross Ice Shelf. The Beardmore Glacier is one of the largest of these, but there are hundreds of smaller ones, and many tributary glaciers that feed these. In flying over the lower Transantarctic Mountains, there were plenty of opportunities to see ice dynamics at work:

Our destination was up near the head of a narrow glacier, where it broadened out into a snowy plain called the Bowden Névé – névé being a term for young snow which has not yet compacted into glacial ice but is in a position to do so. This was CTAM (pronounced see-tam), a geology camp established to be a hub for teams doing work in the Central TransAntarctic Mountains. The névé afforded an open, soft, flat place to land planes carrying supplies and people, who could then move on to less accessible places overland. At least, it did, until a wind event a few years ago scoured deep furrows in the landing strip.

As we flew over, doing the visual check, I was astonished the site could be spotted at all, as it was only a small clutch of bamboo poles in the vast expanse.

Having proven that the landing strip was landable, the next task was to see what condition the building was in. What building, you ask? Why, the one completely covered in snow, under the markers. Once upon a time it was a couple of modules standing on the surface of the glacier, but Antarctica gradually swallowed them up, so now one has to dig down through the snow to reach the roof hatch, eight feet above the floor.

On the way from the Basler to the camp site, I was treated to one signature snow effect I had missed out on, at the depot. 'The Barrier Hush' is frequently mentioned in journals: it was described as a 'whoosh' or a 'hush-shh-shhhh' that sighed out from underneath the walker as he broke through the top crust into a pocket of air underneath, where the loose snow had settled after the top crust was formed. The pocket could sometimes extend quite a long way from where the crust was broken and the sound followed the exchange of air as far as it went. It would startle the ponies and excite the dogs, until they learned there was nothing to chase and catch.

I was walking some way behind the plane crew as they made for the camp with shovels, and suddenly heard what I thought was a small whirlwind – a sharp and intense, almost whistling sound that seemed to race across my path. This being the sort of place one would expect to see dust devils (or snow devils, I suppose they would be) I looked around to see where it was, but the air was as still up here as it had been down on the ice shelf. It was only after the second or third time it happened that I realised what it was – it was so completely not how I had imagined the Barrier Hush to sound. If you make a little whirlwind sound by whisper-whistling whshwshywshwhwwsh with your lips really quickly, that's what it sounded like. Having heard it, now, I can completely understand how the dogs would have thought there was a small creature scurrying around under the snow. It sounded much more animate than it had been described. I felt so lucky to be let into that secret.

The crew got the hatch open and the first of them climbed down into the pitch darkness to report everything OK. The rest followed, and invited me along, but I am not the most coordinated travelling artist, and couldn't see a way down for me that didn't end in a concussion. So I stayed above while they explored the submerged camp, and enjoyed the view. It was really spectacular – not just the stunning mountains but the thin, brittle blue of the sky and the hardness of the sunlight, as if the whole world were a taut drumskin.

And, best of all, from here the horizon was the Polar Plateau – another Flat White stretching to the South Pole and beyond.

#antarctica #travel #basler #dc3 #CTAM #air freight #mountains #transantarctic mountains #bowden neve #geology #field camp #photos

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auroraawrites · 5 years ago

Text

enlightenment (fred weasley x reader)

gif not mine! all credit goes to the owner

requested by anon: I always love to read some Fred Weasley if you’re up for it. Will literally read anything but how about some overprotective Fred? Bonus points if it’s some kind of Order mission that either just you or both of you go on? Thanks!

warnings: slight angst but mainly just fluff about an overprotective fred

author’s note: i’m! in! love! with! fred! weasley! there i said it. i love him with all my heart. i hope you guys don’t mind that i used she/her pronouns here! i got a bit carried away writing it so it's a bit long but enjoy :)

---

you’d always known that being a member of the order of phoenix meant being willing to put your life on the line for the betterment of the wizarding world. you had entered the group well aware of the risks you faced ahead, willing and ready to die fighting for the cause you believed in. however, some individuals, namely your best friend fred weasley, had apparently failed to understand the risks that came with the job as he stood there now, arguing with moody on your behalf, “this is ridiculous! you can’t have y/n do this mission alone! what if she gets hurt?”

moody had just assigned you your first task as an official member of the order: tailing corban yaxley, one of lord voldemort’s most valued death eaters. according to trusted sources of the order, yaxley had been seen conversing with a group of shifty ministry officials and moody wanted you to follow him and ensure that nothing was going on with them that may interfere with the order’s current plans.

zoning back to reality at the sound of your name, you stared incredulously at the back of fred’s head, a streadying rush of anger building in your stomach. it was hard enough having to spend every minute of your day actively trying to hide your feelings from your best friend, but now, when the one opportunity came for you to relieve yourself of your unrequited love, fred had decided that it was just too much of moody to ask from you to go about this mission by yourself.

“-she’s only just joined the order-” ignorant to your anger, fred had continued on with his attempt of trying to change moody’s mind.

“she is right here. she can talk for herself. SHE doesn’t need anyone to tell her what she can and cannot do,” you said, cutting off fred, who had now turned to you with a disbelieving look. stepping in front of him with a scowl, you met his eyes with a defiant stare. “i don’t know what has gotten into you but you’re being a downright git!” you seethed, stepping forward so that you were now nose-to-nose with the ginger. despite your anger, your heart gave a painful flutter at the close proximity that you two were now in.

your traitorous heart only fueling your anger further, you whirled on the spot and looked up at moody with a determined look, “i’d love to take on the mission. in fact, i’ll start in the morning.”

not bothering check if you had gained moody’s approval, you spun on your heel and dashed out of the room, taking the steps two at a time and slamming the bedroom door shut behind you.

everything’s going to be fine, you thought as you lay in bed, trying to convince yourself of what you had just agreed to. truth be told, you were a little frightened at the prospect of having to face one of voldemort’s most valued death eaters by yourself. but fred- oh fred. you honestly didn’t know why you had reacted as you did. you knew he meant no harm but you couldn’t stand watching him speak on your behalf, acting as if he was your boyfriend when you knew that was something he would never be.

turning over in bed, you stared at the moving picture of that sat on your nightstand. the photograph you sat lumped between fred and george, waving green flags high in the air in support of the irish quidditch team. the memory seemed so long ago. letting out a small sigh, you turned again and pulled the covers over your head and drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

---

you woke early next morning, and hurried to get ready, packing as much as you could fit into a small, brown suitcase before trying to make your way downstairs as quietly as you could. it wasn’t that you didn’t wish to see anyone before you left, on the contrary, you really wished you could make things right with fred before you went. however, having been friends with him for the past seven years, you knew that he would try his very best to convince you to stay and you didn’t think you could handle another argument so early in the morning.

so, when you arrived at the bottom of the stairs, it came as quite a shock to you to spot the sleepy figure, who stood leaning against the wall next to the mantle, fully dressed and a similar suitcase parked at his side. at the sight of you, fred had jerked awake now and stared at you with a look you couldn’t quite read, “i’ve been assigned to this case too.” he said wearly, eyeing you as if you would soon boil over with rage.

he was quite right to be expecting for such a reaction for when the words left his mouth your features twisted into a disbelieving scowl, “frederick weasley, you did not!” you cried hotly, grip tightening around the handle of your suitcase. you and fred. alone. living together while you tailed yaxley around europe. your heart was pounding in your ears and you couldn’t quite tell if it was because you were so angry with him that you wanted to throttle him or if it was the idea of spending so much time with the weasley that had caused it.

not a single ounce of regret evident in his features, fred crossed the room and grabbed your free hand in his. goosebumps rushed up your arm as you stared down at his hand, tightly clutched around your own before turning your eyes back on his. “there’s really no use arguing about it. moody decided it after you left.”

decided my arse, you thought, full well knowing that he had volunteered.

apparently spotting another fit of anger within you, he pulled you towards the middle of the room and pushed you into the fireplace before following after with a fistful of floo powder. his arm wrapping around you as he squished in beside you, he shouted the name of the safehouse and the two of you were suddenly engulfed in flames and disappeared.

---

when you arrived at the safehouse situated across from yaxley’s current place of residence, you were both surprised to step out into a small room, sparsely inhabited by a lone bed, small kitchen unit, and a door that led to an even smaller bathroom. the safehouse had been designed in mind for one inhabitant and fred being courteous of your sour mood, had offered to take the floor beside the bed so that you could have it for yourself. still angry, you hadn’t rejected his offer.

the first two days at the safehouse were spent in silence as you refused to acknowledge his presence, only talking to him at meals when you asked him to pass you the pepper. but sure enough, by the third day, your anger was ebbing away as you found yourself muffling small laughs at the antics he played to get your attention. fred was your best friend and you had never found it in you to stay mad at him for long.

staring out the shutters of the windows that faced yaxley’s residence, you tried to ignore the small bubble animals that fred had now enchanted to mock fight. you were nearly about to let out a slip of laughter at the sight of two rinosaureses that had been charging at one another, when the sight of a hooded figure coming out of yaxley’s house caused you to inhale sharply. immediately, fred was beside you, staring out the window with narrowed eyes. spotting yaxley’s figure disappear into a dark alleyway, you spun and hurried towards the door, determined to find out what he was up to.

“where are you going?” fred asked incredulously from across the room as he watched you pull on your boots. “we were told to report to moody if we saw anything suspicious,” he said.

shooting him a smirk, you pulled your arms through your coat, “and when did you ever follow the rules fred weasley? besides, we don’t even know who that was. we need more information if we’re going to report back.” you said, turning to yank open the door. but before you could do so, an arm reached forwards from behind you and slammed the door shut, effectively trapping you inside.

"are you mad? you’re not going to face a known death eater alone!” fred responded, his voice rising with every word.

“oh come off it.” you scoffed, trying not to let it show that you were flustered at his close proximity. you were still pressed against the door. “you wouldn’t have objected if I was george or lee for that matter! in fact, you probably would’ve been the first out the door!” you shouted, matching his volume.

“yeah, but you’re not lee or george now are you!” he roared

“then what am i fred? please enlighten me because i am ti-” your words were cut off sharply by fred’s lips as they met your own roughly. shocked, you stood perfectly still as his lips moved upon yours, a sense of desperation conveyed in the way he held your face between his hands. his lips were soft and his body was hard against your own. slowly, he pulled away, a red flush creeping up his cheeks, “I like you, you bloody idiot” he professed almost angrily. both of you were breathing hard.

you couldn’t have been more shocked at the confession. for years you believed your crush to be one-sided. still shocked, you stood silently against the door, struggling to find the words. fred, mistaking your shock for rejection, backed away slowly, “sorry, i didn’t mean to. i just-”

finally finding your voice, you smiled up radiantly at the red haired boy with an equally red face, “you don’t know how long i’ve waiting for this.” stepping forwards, you pulled his face down to meet your own, returning his earlier kiss with a sweet one of your own.

after reporting yaxley’s movements to moody as instructed, the two of you had returned to the burrow, red faced and hands gripped tightly between them. spotting their embarrassed faces appearing out of the fireplace, george had let out a shout of triumph, turning to bill with his palm outstretched and met with a small pouch of coins from a reluctant bill. laughing, you looked back up at fred, another smile forming upon your lips. you were home.

#harry potter #harry potter oneshot #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagine #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #angst #protective fred weasley #request #oneshots #imagine #imagines #fluff

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kittinoir · 4 years ago

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Marinette Dupain-Cheng blinked slowly as she woke to the chirping of birds on her balcony. She yawned, stretching as she rolled onto her side. She let her eyes drift closed again as she chased the remnants of a dream, but the more she pursued them, the harder they seemed to recall.

Mentally shrugging, Marinette let it fade.

“I can’t remember the last time I slept so well,” she murmured. Outside, the birds fell silent. A flutter of anticipation danced through her chest, but then, like her dream, it was gone, slipping through her fingers before she’d even really realized she’d been waiting for a response.

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Marinette reached for her phone. It lit up as she tilted the screen. Three notifications were displayed just below the time. 6:47 am. She sat up as she read the time, then double checked it was am and not pm. Her alarm wasn’t due to go off for almost another 45 minutes. She frowned. Mornings were usually spent rushing, but she just…didn’t feel tired.

A small smile lit her features as she turned her attention to the notifications.

Reminder: Adrien photoshoot this afternoon at 2 pm

Reminder: Four months to Adrien’s birthday

Reminder: Let the kwamis out to play

Marinette frowned as she read the last notification, and read it again.

“…Kwa…mi…?” The word felt unfamiliar on her tongue. She selected the notification and opened it up. It was set every day for seven pm, right after dinner, but had no additional notes. She didn’t remember setting it. Maybe it was an inside joke between her and Alya, slang for taking a break and remembering to have a little fun. Maybe it was a reminder that constantly got buried under the Adrien reminders. She blushed as she read it again. It would hardly be the first time it happened.

Her thumb hovered over the delete button, but she hesitated. Let the kwamis out to play. Was being the class representative really so stressful she needed a constant reminder to relax?

Marinette saved the notification and locked the phone. Maybe it was.

She stretched one more time, and then slipped down the ladder to her room. She grinned to herself as she got out fresh towels and headed to the shower, letting day dreams of stumbling into Adrien run through her mind as she got ready to face the day.

***

Marinette had been surprised when she had woken early, but it was hard not to be a little stung when Alya did a double, then triple take as she arrived fifteen minutes before the first bell. Was it really so hard to believe she could be on time? She only lived across the street.

Of course, her teachers had been making that point for years.

“I must still be asleep,” Alya said with a grin, “Because I know I must be dreaming this.”

“Very funny,” Marinette said with a small giggle. “I dunno, I just woke up. Waiting for Nino?”

Alya blushed, averting her eyes. “Lila, actually. She agreed to do another interview for the Ladyblog.”

Frustration, confusion, anger, sorrow, loneliness. They all swirled through Marinette, coalescing into a storm that threatened to overwhelm her. She knew Lila lied, that she had threatened her, but this felt so much worse. She’d never believed Lila could do it, but today the possibility felt all too real, the outrage seemingly without just cause. After all, Marinette had started it…hadn’t she?

Marinette reached out blindly for the one thing she could control, could get an answer for. “The…Ladyblog…?”

“I know you don’t like her, Marinette, but I really hoped you’d be supportive,” Alya said, flicking the charm on her phone nervously. “News outlets are just starting to take me seriously and you know Nadja offered me that internship this summer. Lila’s really helped me out.”

The Ladyblog. Alya’s blog about… Marinette frowned, scouring her brain, but she couldn’t remember. The name rang a bell, but she was coming up empty otherwise.

“Marinette, please,” Alya begged, misinterpreting her frown. “Don’t make me choose.”

“I would never, Alya,” Marinette said, softening as the storm of conflicting emotions finally settled. “I just…Lila’s not what she seems. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Alya finally cracked a small smile. “You had the same reaction to Kagami at first, you know. Maybe you should give Lila a second chance. Stay for the interview.”

Marinette forced a small smile of her own. “Sorry, Al. Remember to double check your sources.”

Alya rolled her eyes but the smile stayed as Marinette slipped away. Her emotions swirled again, but she was ready for them and had an iron grasp on them this time. She shoved them down as she headed for the school and pulled out her phone. She opened the browser and was only a little surprised to find the blog locked in as her home page. A crease appeared between her brows. Why wouldn’t she remember something like…

The thought drifted away, incomplete as the page finished loading. Marinette could feel her fingers tingling as as stared at the picture on the front page of the blog. Alya had pinned it to the top of the page, but the date was several months old. The image depicted a young girl in a red and black suit, her arm stretched out as she seemed to fly across the night sky, the Eiffel Tower in the background.

Ladybug to the rescue!

Marinette became aware of her heart pounding painfully as she read the caption. Her knuckles had gone white around her phone. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t -

“Hey, Marinette!”

Marinette felt the phone slip through her fingers and clatter against the floor as she whipped around. “A-Adrien.”

Adrien frowned, those impossibly green eyes searching her face as he stooped and collected her phone, handing it back to her. “Are you…ok?”

“Uh, yeah,” Marinette said, taking the phone back. “I was just…reading the latest article on the Ladyblog. It kind of freaked me out?” Was that right? Should it freak her out? She held her breath as she watched for Adrien’s reaction.

He cracked her favourite smile, one she could tell was real and not because some photographer had demanded it. Marinette felt herself melting.

“I get it,” he said, reaching out to give her arm a squeeze. “Hawk Moth has been getting worse, and I know Ladybug and Chat Noir had a close call the other night, but they saved the day. They always do.”

Marinette thought she saw something else flash across his face, something like panic or pain, but it was gone before she could be sure. “Lucky for us,” she said, scrambling again for the right words. “It’s just…hard not to worry sometimes.”

“Hey.” The hand on her arm slid up to her shoulder. Marinette tried not to shiver at the warmth she could feel through her jacket. “They would never let anything happen to you, Marinette.”

“You’re right,” Marinette said, forcing a smile. “I’m worrying about nothing. Um. Are you excited about the photoshoot this afternoon?”

Adrien bit his lip as he dropped his hand. Marinette tried not to let her disappointment show as he rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously and leaned in as though they were co-conspiritors. “Would I be letting you down if I said no?”

“Letting me down?”

“I know you’re a fan,” he elaborated, “But…I don’t know, I guess I’d rather be here with you guys. Besides, between you and me, this latest collection isn’t the most exciting.”

“I could go with you,” Marinette blurted. She almost slapped a hand over her mouth, but she decided doing that would be the only thing worse than what she’d already said. “If that would make it better.”

“I don’t want you to miss class for me,” Adrien said. The disappointment in her voice almost broke her heart. “I’ll be fine.”

“I have study hall last period,” Marinette said, “So I wouldn’t really be missing anything, but if you’d rather I didn’t - ”

“No!” Adrien interrupted. “I’d love to have you there, Marinette. Are you…really sure? I won’t lie to you, it’s pretty boring.”

“An inside perspective on the industry would be amazing,” Marinette said, nearly bouncing. “I would just you - IT! I would just love it.”

Adrien laughed, and Marinette wished she could have bottled the sound. “I’ll meet you out here at 2 pm then?”

“2 pm,” Marinette echoed, “Ok.”

“See you in class,” Adrien said with a wave. Marinette watched him disappear down the hall, her heart pounding. Had she been too pushy? Did she sound like a pyscho stalker? Did he think she liked him? Like LIKE liked him? She’d practically invited herself to his shoot; was her cover totally blown?

Marinette blinked, surprised by the familiarity of the feeling and the anxiety it brought with it. Sure, she wanted to tell Adrien on her own terms, when she finally felt it was the right time, but…why did her secret feel like life or death?

Taking a deep breath, Marinette fired off a quick text to Alya to update her on her success. She bit back a smile as she typed, the reality of the afternoon settling in. Did it count as a date if he was working?

Marinette turned to face the school, ready to face the day. It was already a win; nothing else mattered. She snapped open her purse and dropped her phone inside, but paused when she heard it crunch. She frowned, pulling the purse up to her face to peer inside.

A lone macaron sat in the bottom of the bag, broken into two pieces beneath her phone. Marinette frowned as she pulled out the pieces and examined them. The macaron was from her family’s bakery, but it wasn’t wrapped or contained in anything. One of the outer edges had begun to crumble, and Marinette felt her skin crawl, wondering how long it had been in there. She shivered once and tossed the stale dessert in a near by garbage bin, promising to double check her purse more often before bugs or mice found their way to the forgotten food.

#Echoes of You #writing #wip

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ahtohallan-calling · 5 years ago

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chapter 24 of don’t read the last page is here!

masterpost

[kristanna / m / multichap / modern au with actress!anna and vetstudent!kristoff]

They all crowded around Anna’s shoulder, waiting with bated breath as she finished choosing a filter for the photo. “Wait,” Kristoff said suddenly, “should we check with Lena about this?”

Anna rolled her eyes. “Fuck Lena,” she said cheerfully, and pressed post.

---

It was, all things considered, not a particularly interesting day when it happened; it had been a scorcher of a late-July afternoon, and when Kristoff came home from the clinic he found Anna in the backyard lounging in a beach chair she’d finally caved and bought at Target when she could no longer get comfortable lying on a towel spread over the grass.

“Hi, honey,” she said around a mouthful of an orange push pop; the empty box had fallen over by her chair.

He laughed and leaned down to kiss her, setting his palm against the swell of her stomach. “Good thing I bought another box of those on my way home.

Anna thought nothing of it when the baby kicked in response; he’d done so for a while now at the sound of his father’s voice, but Kristoff froze, his face only an inch away from hers as his eyes widened.

Worried, she tilted her head. “Is everything alright?”

He swallowed hard. “Did you feel that?”

“Well, yeah, I’ve been feeling a lot of-- wait. Did you?”

He nodded, slowly, and as they stared at each other, stunned, another kick came, sharp enough this time that Anna yelped in surprise. “Okay, you had to have felt that one,” she groused.

Kristoff nodded again, faster this time, as a laugh spilled from his lips. “It’s him,” he said, his eyes still wide. “I-- that’s him, Anna.”

Her eyes softened. “You know, we really ought to think of something to call him. I’m worried he’s going to get offended.”

A third kick came in response, and they both took it as a sign of agreement.

---

Sources say Westergaard has spent the past six weeks hiding out in his summer home in the Hamptons. When asked for comment, his representative told Buzzfeed, “Mr. Westergaard’s previous remarks were taken out of context and twisted by the media. He will be starting an anti cyberbullying foundation in his name. He asks that you respect his privacy during this difficult time.”

Sven looked up from the article Kristoff had printed and handed to him. “Shit, how the hell can anybody have a difficult time at a mansion in the Hamptons?”

“Show a little sympathy. The man’s just had to face the consequences of his actions for the first time in his life,” Kristoff said with a smirk.

“Ought to hang out with a pregnant woman more often, he’d learn his lesson really quickly about the consequences of-- oh, hey, Anna,” Sven said with a grimace. “You, uh, you forgiven me yet for getting onions on the pizza?”

She scowled and crossed her arms, her eyes shooting daggers at him across the room, and he sighed and picked up his phone to order a new one.

---

“Anna?”

She yelped in surprise and tugged the shower curtain back, coming face to face with a frowning Kristoff. “Jesus, you scared me. What’s wrong?”

“Sorry-- it’s just…” He frowned and held up his phone. “How does Twitter know I’m a vet?”

The bubbles in her hair forgotten, she leaned forward and squinted at the screen. “What? It’s just a picture of us leaving Chipotle.”

“Huh? Oh-- shit, sorry, let me scroll down to the replies.”

He pushed his glasses further up his nose as he did so before raising the phone screen again. “Look, they’re all sending me hamsters.”

She knew he was genuinely worried, and she was sympathetic, really she was, but Anna burst into laughter. “A hamster eating a banana.”

“Yeah, and they’re not supposed to even eat that much, so the bad pet ownership is bad enough already, but-- anyway, that’s beside the point, I--” He scowled. “Anna, I really don’t think this is funny.”

“It’s just a meme, Kristoff.”

“But I don’t get it.”

“Look at the picture of us again, and then the hamster, and then get back to me,” she said, yanking the shower curtain closed again.

“But--”

“If you still haven’t gotten the joke by the time I figure out how to shave my ankles, then I’ll come explain.”

Twenty minutes later, when she emerged wrapped in a towel, she peered into the bedroom and saw Kristoff sitting on the bed, his face bright red, as he stared down at his phone. “Solve the mystery yet?” she asked drily as she dug through his t-shirt drawer for something to wear.

“My, uh, my little brother, he uh...he knows about memes, so I texted him, and I...uh…”

She laughed again as she finished getting dressed. “Did he laugh at you, too?”

He groaned and ran a hand over his face. “Pretty sure he’s still laughing.”

---

“Anna! Anna! Miss Arendelle!” She rolled her eyes and tightened the drawstring of her hoodie. Kristoff put an arm protectively over her shoulders as they continued hurrying out of the doctor’s office. “Miss Arendelle, please, if I could just--”

“You can not.”

“We just want to know if it’s a boy or a--”

She turned on her heel and said drily, “It’s a mountain troll, obviously.” She gestured irritably at Kristoff. “See? Takes after his father.”

The next morning, she woke up to the ding of a text from Sam. Maybe you really are better off being your own PR person.

A link to another Buzzfeed article was attached. Curious, she tapped it.

Watch Anna Arendelle’s Hilarious Comeback To A Nosy Photographer!

“Would you look at that,” she mumbled under her breath.

Next to her, Kristoff stirred and rolled over. “Look at what?” he mumbled.

“Nothing. Go back to sleep, mountain man.”

---

Anna came home from a meeting one night and caught Kristoff piled up in the recliner reading one of her pregnancy books. To her surprise, his face was ghost-white. “Kris,” she asked, concerned, “what’s wrong? You look like you’re going to be sick.”

“Just, you know, reading about the labor part.”

“Is it grossing you out that bad?” She couldn’t help but giggle. “You’re a vet, I’m sure you’ve seen worse. Especially with this stuff.”

He looked up then, and to her surprise, his eyes were solemn behind his glasses. “It’s different when you’re picturing your fiancee.”

All the air in her lungs escaped her in a quiet oh. She crossed quickly to the bed and climbed up, crawling towards him. He set the book on the nightstand and looked up at her, worry still in his eyes, as she settled her knees on either side of his lap. Out of habit, he set one hand on the swell of her stomach, the faintest of smiles appearing on his face when a little foot nudged against his hand.

“It’s gonna be okay, sweetheart,” she said softly, settling her own hands on his shoulders. “It’ll all be fine.”

“Sometimes it’s not, though.”

She winced, and immediately he was apologetic. “I-- shit, sorry, I’m not trying to scare you, it’s just--”

“No, no, you’re right,” she reassured him, gently squeezing his shoulders. “Sometimes it’s not. But it will be. You know me, I’m too stubborn to let anything go wrong.”

“I don’t think it works like that.”

She bit her lip; she had never seen him like this, never known him to be so nervous he couldn’t be comforted. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his. “What part is scaring you?” she asked, her voice low.

“I don’t want to see you hurting. Especially when I know I can’t do anything to help.”

“You can help. Just having you in there will do so much.”

“But it won’t stop it,” he said, his voice forlorn, and she kissed his cheek, letting her lips linger there as she nuzzled her nose against his temple.

“No. But that’s what epidurals are for.”

“What if--” he said before trailing off, not daring to even give voice to the words.

“Kristoff Bjorgman, you listen to me,” she said, pulling back and waiting to continue until he reluctantly met her gaze. “I have no doubt in my mind that everything will be fine. Okay? I just-- I just won’t let anything bad happen.”

“But you can’t--”

“Have you ever seen anything stop me from doing what I want before?”

She felt him shake his head no.

“So nothing will stop me this time. I’m going to have this baby-- our baby-- and we’re both going to be fine, and you will too, and when we get to hold him, then you’ll forget you were ever worried about this at all.”

---

Anna and the interviewer both threw back their heads with a laugh as Mattias finished telling them both about his first time at the Oscars and how he’d failed to recognize the man who’d just won Best Actor-- twice.

“How about you, Miss Arendelle?” the interviewer asked as Anna finished wiping the last tear of laughter from her eye. “How do you feel about going to your first Oscars next year?”

She felt her cheeks coloring. “Oh, well, we’ll see if we even get there.”

The interviewer laughed. “Modest as always. There’s already lots of Oscar buzz around the movie and your performance in particular.”

Anna shifted awkwardly in her seat. “Um. Sort of like puking, if I’m honest.”

That got them both laughing again. “Speaking of puking, though,” the interviewer said cheerfully, “what’s it like being a first-time mother and a first-time movie star simultaneously?”

“Amazing and terrifying and wonderful and just...so many things all at once,” she admitted. “I really couldn’t do it without my support network, especially my fiance. It’s just...yeah. I can’t thank everybody enough.”

“Speaking of your fiance...are you willing to share your thoughts on where in the world Hans Westergaard has run off to?”

Her lips curled up into a smirk.

---

“Remind me to get more tomato juice at Trader Joe’s today,” Anna called as she pored through another script that had been sent her way-- another period drama, but this one, at least, wouldn’t involve squeezing her recently-pregnant body into a corset.

“We don’t need to,” he replied as he came into the kitchen carrying a basket of freshly dried towels. “You’ve been going through it so fast this week I set up one of those Amazon weekly delivery things. There’ll be three gallons of it on the porch in--” He glanced at his watch. “An hour. Wanna help me fold all this shit and watch HGTV?”

She stared at him for a long moment as he passed her, absentmindedly whistling one of the songs she’d driven him crazy with that winter, and walked into the living room.

It occurred to her, all of a sudden, that some things were worth waiting for-- but that sometimes, there was no longer any worth in waiting.

“Kris?” she said as he set the basket down.

“Yeah, baby?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as she crossed over to him and stood between his knees.

She cupped his face in her hands, studying his expression as he smiled softly and set his own hands on her hips. “Can I say something crazy?”

“You usually don’t bother asking.”

Under normal circumstances, she would have laughed and leaned down to kiss him, but instead she broke into a wide smile. “What if we just got married?”

#olivia this chapter is the reasson me and gabi pisssed ourseslves over your hamster meme hahahahaa #(sorry something is wrong w my s key)#kristanna #drtlp #my fics

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paullicino · 4 years ago

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A Year like No Other

(Taken from, and funded by, my Patreon.)

A lot of people are now calling 2020 the lost year and it’s not difficult to see why. Most of us have never had a year remotely like this last one. For some of us, the calendar began to blur, weeks and even months merging into one another in a sickly, uneasy timelessness that had us double-checking what day it was. For others, there was stress after stress, as we worried about our health, our jobs, our governments, even our countries. And the two experiences certainly weren’t mutually exclusive.

This month, I wanted to take a moment to reflect on that, acknowledging both the struggles and the successes. It’s sometimes been a difficult twelve months for me, but it certainly hasn’t been without its inspirations and its wonderful moments. I wanted to share some of those, to talk about a few ideas and to spotlight the things that helped me through 2020. I hope it helps. I figure it’s as good a time as any for us to be sharing our blessings.

And I think that first involves celebrating you. I think that’s very important. This past month, a year on from the first COVID cases being widely-reported (and also the first reports of cases where I live), I’ve read a lot by people asking questions like “What difference does it all make?” or “What is the point?” when they look back. They ask these questions when they think about things like their life changes, their mask wearing, their activism or their voting. They see an ongoing pandemic, social unrest or political inaction and wonder why they should make an effort while others are lax or apathetic. It’s natural to wonder that. I think anyone can understand the fatigue, the cynicism and the disillusionment.

But I also, get this, have a Hot Take on this that says that the choices you made were vital. When you chose to wear a mask, to socially distance, to restrict when and where you went, you actively helped fight a deadly virus. You may well have saved lives, saved someone’s health, protected livelihoods by acting as you have. When you voted, shared a cause on social media, attended a protest or talked to even one person about helping others or making the world better, you contributed to improving your society.

In fact, I have capital-O Opinions about these things so strap in and hold on, 'cause here they come.

I’ve been very fortunate to share much of my work on the internet over the years, which is a very particular medium, and sometimes that work reaches a lot of people. My experience of this is that you never know who it truly reaches, or when, or even how, and most of the time you never find out. There’s certainly an immediacy to things where you can see, pretty quickly, what the instant reaction to something is, but that’s fleeting. It doesn’t last and, within moments, there’s already something newer demanding more responses.

In time, the true consequences of things shake out. People get back to you with their more considered opinions. Sometimes months, even years after you do something, you find out from someone what they thought about it, how it affected them or even how they were changed. It can take time for a person to realise how they were changed, too, and we rarely have perspective in the moment. Sometimes it takes us years to appreciate the choices and the actions of our friends, our family members, our teachers, our communities. People have contacted me about work I’ve done long, long after I first shared it, and many of those people have come from places that I never expected, have found my work in ways that I never expected. I think, now, that consequence never travels in straight lines. That cause and effect are strangers rather than siblings.

And so I hope it’s clear that the ramble you have so kindly indulged is meant to say that we don’t always notice the good things that we have done. We ask “What difference does it all make?” or “What is the point?” because we don’t get those answers immediately, or for a long time, or sometimes ever. But not knowing when we saved someone’s health, when we changed someone’s mind, even when we inspired someone’s actions doesn’t mean that we aren’t making a difference. There is a point to our life changes, our mask wearing, our activism and our voting.

I hope you can celebrate yourself and give yourself credit for the choices you made this last year. They have mattered.

I also want to thank you so, so much for supporting my Patreon. I know many of you have been with me since day one, for more than two years now, and I’m so grateful for both your capital-P Patronage and your presence, whether that’s in our Discord community or through your comments and your correspondence. That’s made a big difference to me this past year, helping me pay rent and put food on the table during a time when so much has been uncertain. 2020 was to be my first full year back in Canada after a complicated, circuitous absence and I had half-finished projects, freelance ideas and half a dozen tabs open in my browser with writing residencies to apply for, everywhere from nearby Richmond to the Yukon Territory. I hoped this would be a year that I’d both finally see more of Canada and be able to write about it, too. A lot of things didn’t quite work out, freelance budgets were slashed, work timelines lengthened and I became ill, but as I look back now I’m thankful for a great deal.

I still managed to fulfill some ambitions. At the start of 2020 I’d been finishing up some work on Zafir, which had been an absolute delight, and I was not far off starting spring work on Magical Kitties Save the Day. The close of the year saw me resuming work on a Feng Shui expansion and each of these projects has been really good for me. All of them gave me a chance to work with skillful, progressive people and to become a better designer.

As spring continued, I decided to make a one-off video about board gaming and mental health during a pandemic, partly to offer a practical and helpful introduction to playing board games online and looking after yourself, but also because I wanted people to feel that their actions during a pandemic mattered. Among the things I referenced and linked to, I’ve continued dipping into Headspace from time to time, and this helpful list of brief work-from-home tips has been further updated. I’ve also since further investigated the terrific work of Dr. Ali Mattu, a psychologist and therapist who has produced a lot of material over the last year focusing on how to handle the pandemic.

With the summer came widespread protests across the United States, which highlighted the oppressive and fatal consequences of systemic racism and the urgent need for police reform, both issues not exclusive to the that country (for me, the events echoed the protests that began on my Tottenham street in 2011 and the violent response to 2010’s student protests). I shared a list of resources that I thought were important at the time, but there also followed a wide call for white people to make more effort to both seek out, engage with and promote motion pictures made by Black Americans, or which reflected the Black experience. It wasn’t a big ask and, as well as watching films that had been recommended many times over (such as Us, Da 5 Bloods, The Last Black Man in San Francisco and the excellent BlacKkKlansman, which was the best film I saw last year), I also tried to diversify my social media feeds more. Instagram was host to a growing discussion about how the platform seems to (deliberately or accidentally) divide people by race, something which I think may still be the case, and several nature photographers I follow promoted Tsalani Lassiter and Rae Wynn-Grant. To my delight, among many of the things they speak about and share, both are experts on bears.

I thought it was important to look more closely at Canada, too, so I made more of an effort to follow Indigenous issues and have begun reading Indigenous news sources, including First Nations Drum, Windspeaker and the Nunatsiaq News. CBC runs its own Indigenous news section, much of which is written by Indigenous reporters.A lot of freelance and writing opportunities dried up as the pandemic contracted the world’s economies, but in 2020 I was able to start writing for VICE, working with my old colleague and friend Rob Zacny, and interview the world’s most famous board game designer. VICE has written a lot of relevant, helpful and informative material about current events over the last year and I was heartened by the words of a fellow VICE writer, Gita Jackson, who concluded her essay about living in The Cool Zone of historical possibility by reminding us how “In The Cool Zone, we can also rediscover hope.”

This year I was also inspired by Faith Fundal’s widely-shared CBC podcast They and Us, which was an excellent (and still rare) example of a mainstream media exploration of gender identity and trans rights, and really pleased for my friend Brendan, who launched his podcast project Hey, Lesson! in the autumn. Of course, I can’t mention podcasts without again reminding you of my love for the spooky, supernatural Death by Monsters, which I got to host last winter. It was my dear friend Paula, one of its presenters, who recommended that I start streaming regularly, something I now do here. She was absolutely right when she talked about how positive and social an experience it can be. It’s been a real joy, as well as added some important structure and schedule to my week.

And, of course, the arrival of my first full year as a Canadian resident meant that I got to celebrate my first anniversary as a Canadian resident. I paid my taxes! Let me tell you, it was a slightly confusing and esoteric experience, but it was also one of those mundane, humdrum things that confirms and validates you. Though I didn’t get to throw a party for that anniversary, I did get to enjoy my birthday celebrations before the pandemic really hit. My partner surprised me with a trip to the not-quite-remote-but-definitely-secluded Gibsons, on the quiet British Columbia coastline, which was the best birthday gift anyone’s ever given me and a chance to see more of the rocky, forested, mountainous fringes of a place I’ve fallen so in love with. Before Vancouver closed down, I was also able to collect more than a dozen people (representing five different nationalities!) together in a brewery and then a restaurant, something that now feels like an extremely alien concept. For some of us in our friend group, it’s the last memory we have of coming together and being in the same space. That gives it a pronounced poignancy, a bittersweet quality.

Finally, I’d like to share two more things with you. The first is particularly peculiar and personal: I found my wizard. After drafting this piece last summer, then sharing it in the autumn, a few suggestions led me not straight to my goal, but ultimately down the right path. The game that I was thinking of is called The Tomb of Drewan and I very much doubt that anyone, anywhere is likely to have heard of it. It’s thirty-nine years old this year and it was distributed by a publisher in Berkshire, not so far from where I grew up. It only took me three and a half decades to see what it looks like in colour.

Tracking down this game was a softly satisfying experience. It’s exactly as I remember. Everything makes sense. Reading through the manual reminds me of how difficult it was to try and understand this thing through a monochrome monitor, though I also think it was likely way too complex for the child I was. I don’t think I ever got anywhere. I don’t think I ever could have. But I at least know that my memory has served me well. That wizard was as real as could be.

The second thing is something about my own missing year, something that has also resurfaced in my memory as we’ve plodded through 2020. In the long, dark winter months, in the unstructured days and the collapsing weeks, I’ve been transported back to the early 2000s and to a time that now feels very familiar. Here's what that was like.

I’d been writing professionally for a few years, comfortably and competently, while still living in suburban Hampshire. As publishing moved from magazines to the internet, my work began to dry up, my options narrowed and, honestly, I didn’t respond to this shift by producing my best material. I also didn’t know what to do about all this change, becoming directionless and unsure. I didn’t yet have the confidence to take some of the larger steps that I eventually did and, instead, somewhere in all that I began to move backward. I struggled to find work. I slept the strangest hours. I was frustrated, but it also didn’t matter nearly enough to me because also, I was no longer motivated.

I have memories of waking up at all kinds of times of day and night. Of not knowing where to go. Of running out of things to take photographs of, after looking at the same local sights over and over. It was like living at the bottom of a well, with a tiny, distant view of the world and no handholds for climbing out. I wasted time because I had time to waste, something I deeply regret now, and I became crabby, unhealthy and inward-looking. I was far from my best.

The last time I was in England I found myself going through old things from the early 2000s. I found many of the books I read, a great deal of writing I’d done and, in particular, a lot of my old RPG notes. A lot of old RPG notes, an absolute wealth of work that far exceeded anything I’d done outside of any work except that on Paranoia. I’ve written before about my roleplaying past and how I have fond memories of it, but I had completely forgotten exactly how much material I had collected together. I had so many biographies that I’d indexed them. I was starting to form an encyclopedia of everything I’d done, just so that I could find and reference the things I needed.

I had also read so much, which both prepared me for my degree and began to make me a better writer. I’d mostly stopped reading in my mid-teens and this was a new spurt of interest that led me toward many of the tastes and preferences I have today. I began to develop my fiction and non-fiction writing styles and I developed an interest in non-fiction that had paid me back a thousandfold.

I was building a new me.

I see now that I didn’t lose a year. I was certainly caught in a swamp of sorts, struggling to make progress, but the experiences I had during that time still mattered. They didn’t matter right away and they didn’t matter in any way that seemed at all obvious to me at the time, but they helped to shape me and to guide me, to show me both what I wanted and, certainly, what I didn’t want. If I had the chance to repeat it, I’d for sure live that missing year differently. I’d live it so much better, so much wiser and so much more fruitfully, but I can at least see it now as not the waste I long thought that it was.

And so I hope it’s clear that the ramble you have so kindly indulged is meant to say that, some time in the future, you may look back on 2020 and find your successes, your satisfaction, even your strength. I don’t mean to disregard anyone’s suffering or sadness, your feelings are valid and the pain, loss and difficulties you’ve encountered are very real. I don’t much like people who dismiss the feelings of others and I apologise if I’ve been too glib. I think a past version of myself needed to read something like this, a long time ago, and I only want to give them, you or anyone who might see this, hope for the future, a few reasons to be optimistic and, very importantly, a reminder to celebrate yourself.

Happy 2021. You made a difference. You always have.

#COVID-19 #2020 #Canada #writing #hope #you made a difference #Patreon #A CHAOS SPELL

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