#props to the producers who really gave thought on the world building and really showing the range of people

[kociomi]

finished my daemon. 10/10.

[dourpeep]

Happy Father's Day! Enjoy a sweet little thing I whipped up in celebration :>>

Thank you to @the-mermaid-of-mondstadt for the name suggestion for Kazuha's son-

A Reason for Dreaming

Summary: A celebration, not just of fatherhood, but the little things that led to this lovely day spent with his wife and child.

Contains: Kazuha x afab!Reader, fluff, father's day, meet cute, domesticity, having a child together, Reader is Traveler but not Aether or Lumine

A little boy with ruby eyes and a smile brighter than the sun runs over to you clutching a large leaf. It’s green, picked fresh from a tree, no doubt.

He holds it in his small hands, arms sticking straight out towards your face.

“Oh? What are you doing, love? Having fun?”

“Look!”

He presses it, hard, to his face and blows, cheeks chubby with the effort. Apart from the pbbbbt that erupts, no sound comes out. But the toddler looks up proudly regardless.

“Papa did that—”

A soft chuckle comes from behind you, your husband kneeling besides him with his hand out and palm upturned.

“Let me show you again, Natsume.”

It’s a beautiful summery day with the breeze making the leaves in the nearby trees dance, the clouds slowly rolling along the endlessly blue sky. Perfect for a picnic. So you, your husband, and little sprout found a lovely area tucked over by the shore of a lake.

Spread beneath a shady spot, you sit on a large mat woven from rice straw. You pat its smooth surface, and Kazuha takes a seat, soon joined by Natsume’s hurried steps.

In his hands is another leaf.

“Here, like this.” He shifts, sitting with one knee propping up his elbow, carefully holding his leaf against his lips. With it in position, he blows and it produces a high-pitched whistle. He pulls it away and laughs as your son tries the same. Once again, it doesn’t seem to work, but Kazuha leans to press a kiss to his hair.

“I think you almost did it that time.”

When the leaves are finally set to the side due to the demands of rumbling stomachs, Kazuha lays down against the mat and watches the clouds.

He never thought he’d be able to experience this, considering his life as a wanted man, constantly running and wondering where each day will take him. The life that he led was hardly fitting for a family, yet…here he was. His eyes close, the sounds of Natusme’s laugh and the smile in your voice making his chest flutter.

It’s been a while since he first met you.

A strange traveler from a distant land, unable to return—not unlike himself.

You had run across him one evening while he napped beneath a tree, the sun pleasantly warm on his skin and the weariness he felt calling for a break. A shuffle and a concerned noise caught his attention, and he opened his eyes to see you.

Relief flooded your features to see that the man was alright, the bandages that covered his hand worrying.

Before either of you realized it, a few days of travelling with you turned to months. It’s funny how much you made him realize he missed this sort of close companionship; one he seldom had when travelling over land.

Slipping into a comfortable routine felt natural, just as it was to take a moment’s rest on a nice day or shelter during a storm.

Getting ready for the night, gazing up at the stars beside you or the early mornings where he’d awake to the breeze tickling his cheek and you still sound asleep with a leaf nestled in your hair. These little moments compiled and formed a bond unlike any other he’s known.

He had fallen in love.

So imagine his surprise when you confessed to him on night, looking out towards the ocean somewhere between Liyue and Mondstadt.

You shared your first kiss together, with the moon and stars as witness.

But nothing really changes much between you apart from the way you seem to cuddle closer to him at night and the way that his hand instinctively finds yours.

Soon, you met with a dear friend from Liyue, a mysterious old woman that Kazuha couldn’t help but wonder about. She gave you something, kindness in her eyes and you accepted it quickly.

Not wanting to intrude on the conversation, Kazuha kept to the side. Not that it stopped you from gesturing him over to view it.

A teapot, golden in color and rather large.

Imagine his surprise when you take his hand in yours, squeezing it as the world suddenly faded away.

He hadn’t known a home since his abrupt departure of Inazuma and the countless months of life spent sailing with the Crux…and although he still expected that he’d one day leave whether it was by choice or to protect you, he helped.

Chopping wood, building furnishings, carefully placing each one just right within the realm—until you had a lovely home you could return to at a moment’s notice.

The ache in his chest began to grow, the wish to stay with you only making the idea of leaving harder. Then, he surprised himself when he realized that he quickly settled into domesticity. A quiet question that he asked after a long day, muscles aching after a difficult and long commission, Kazuha inquired if you’d like to go back home.

Your eyes lit up when he said that, and though his cheeks grew warm at the slip, he’d begun to accept the idea of it.

His favorite part of this new way of life would be that there was no longer the worry of shelter, nor of safety. If you were to ask him, that is. Otherwise, it’d be the ability to see you with your messy hair and eyes heavy while you fought the sleep that would undoubtedly come. Maybe even the way that you always seem to hover when he’s in the kitchen making a meal for the two of you, curious and eager to steal a taste.

Even as straightforward as he is, Kazuha wanted to keep this little secret to himself—just for a moment longer.

Some time later, while walking around Liyue, you took up a commission posted by a few children who frequented the harbor. He watched as you played pirates, holding out a toy sword and exclaiming. The children quickly reprimand you, making you laugh because of course, of course, they meant the good kind of pirate.

You presented them with a little gift of apology, producing fresh lotus heads as a snack with a flourish.

For a brief fraction of a moment, a thought crossed his mind.

It didn’t return until one night when you two were already half asleep in bed. He thought of how he’s become used to this strangely normal life—one where he was free to travel all Teyvat yet still have a home to return to and you right beside him. He no longer had to worry for your safety as well, having proven your abilities time and time again.

It was safe. This life with you was safe. And he was so deeply in love with you just as you were with him so perhaps…

That night, he turned to you, resolute.

When he first held the little bundle in his arms, there returned that little flutter, the warmth in his chest he felt whenever he was with you. Always so sincere and expressive, believing fully that each moment should be treated with just as much importance as the last, he cried.

A smile on his lips, tears streaming over his cheeks.

To think something like this—a home, a spouse, a family—could be his as well. After so much hardship and loss…

You must’ve blessed him.

Kazuha opens his eyes to view the sky. But it’s blocked by two familiar silhouettes.

“Ah, we didn’t mean to wake you…” A leaf falls on his nose and Natsume giggles and throws himself over his chest. With the air knocked from his lungs, the man feigns distress and draws another fit of laughter from the toddler.

“So…many…regrets…”

Laying limply, a red eye opens to peek at you before closing right back while he plays dead. But the feel of insistent little pats to his cheek makes him spring up, arms squeezing around his son and an exclamation accompanying his attack.

“Got you—!”

The wind blows gently, rustling the leaves of the big tree above you, carrying the peals of delighted laughter with it. So Kazuha watches as Natsume chases after a stray falling leaf, comfortable in the little world that the two of you have created together, enjoying a beautiful day outside in celebration of this life that’s found him despite the odds.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Shaw’s S2 R&S - What is known as amazing the world

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a Rumours & Secrets, 所谓一鸣惊人, which has not been released in EN! 🍒

This R&S features S2 Shaw, but no knowledge of S2 is required to enjoy this~

In terms of sequencing, this is Shaw’s third S2 R&S!

[ Chapter One ]

When mentioning the tutor of the Archaeology Department in Loveland University, Professor Shen deserves greatest respect. Precisely because of the high academic requirements, he had not recruited graduate students in recent years. However, he didn't find anything wrong with this. He occasionally taught undergraduates, then immersed himself in his own academic research. His days followed a pretty regular pattern.

During such an ordinary time, Professor Shen met Shaw for the first time.

The day he interviewed Shaw was also the warmest afternoon in the late spring of Loveland City. The sycamore trees on both sides of the road were working hard to produce new buds. Professor Shen carried a pile of materials, walking across the sunny open space to the building where the graduate students were sitting for the second round of examinations.

So far, he had re-examined five students. Their performances were very mediocre, and there was still quite a lot of distance from his expectations. However, the student to be re-examined later was slightly different. The materials showed that he was directly recommended to him by Loveland University. Based on his age, he should be a young student. Amidst the twenty-five, twenty-six, and even older re-examinees, he had subconsciously left an impression on Professor Shen.

After dusting off the sycamore puffs that had fallen on his shoulders, Professor Shen entered the classroom. Before long, what accompanied the hands of the clock reaching 2pm were two beeps at the door of the classroom.

"Hello teacher, my name's Shaw.”

Hearing this, Professor Shen lifted his head. The boy at the door was indeed very young, but his flamboyant bluish purple short hair, incomparably avant-garde clothes, and flat expression without much of a smile rendered Professor Shen stunned for a second or two. But he quickly smoothened his expression, warmly beckoning Shaw to enter.

The student named Shaw wasn’t reserved at all. He sat down naturally on the chair in the middle, placing a black schoolbag casually at his feet.

Whether he was making judgments based on appearances or was no longer holding much hope, at that moment, Professor Shen thought that this was another interview where he would simply go through the motions. He raised some standard questions. Unexpectedly, Shaw actually answered them decently. Professor Shen's spirits gradually rose.

"What you wrote about in your undergraduate thesis was..." Professor Shen flipped through the materials in his hands. Just as he found the information, a clear voice sounded fluently. "《A Statistical Analysis of the Age and Gender of Human Skeletons Unearthed in Xushan》. It includes the basic condition of the unearthed human bones, any damage, pathological changes, as well as an analysis of the population and health of that period.”

"Does this mean you’re interested in physical anthropology?" Professor Shen pushed the glasses on the bridge of his nose, staring at Shaw with interest. "In that case, why did you apply to be my graduate student?" He needed to know that Professor Shen’s research direction was mainly on the appreciation of ancient appliances and field archaeology.

Faced with Professor Shen's sharp and intense gaze, Shaw didn’t panic at all. He shifted his overlapped legs, arching his eyebrows slightly. “Physical anthropology is a field that I wasn’t really familiar with, so I wanted to challenge it to learn more. Teacher's research direction is what I’m truly interested in." After he finished speaking, he added, "By the way, if I have the chance, I’d like to participate in field work a few times."

"Oh? The graduation thesis is such an important aspect. Isn’t challenging a new field very risky?" Professor Shen continued to probe.

Hearing this question, the corners of Shaw’s lips slanted, revealing his first smile of the day. However, there was an incredibly serious look in his eyes. He didn’t give a direct answer, but spoke leisurely, word by word. "Archaeology has always been a risk where expectations may end up fruitless. Don’t you agree?”

The re-examination and what Shaw said greatly exceeded Professor Shen's initial expectations. Outstanding schoolwork, comprehensive knowledge and an open-minded attitude. Except for seeming rather brash and conceited, Professor Shen wasn’t able to find fault with him at that moment. He drew a circle on Shaw's materials, then lifted his head to ask the final question:

"Student Shaw seems to be a young man with a lot of personality. So why did you choose the archaeology major that most people find boring?”

-

[ Chapter Two ]

The new semester has commenced for almost two weeks. For Professor Shen, aside from the need to attend a few more professional courses, his teaching life doesn’t seem to have changed much. He hasn't taken a graduate student in two years, and he hasn't gotten used to it yet. Fortunately, Shaw has never been someone who would simply wait passively.

After class this morning, Professor Shen returns to the office. Right after opening the stack of archaeological reports he’s been reading recently, there’s a sudden knock at the door.

"Shaw, is there a problem?" Professor Shen removes his reading glasses and asks composedly.

Shaw has a black backpack slung over one shoulder. He strides over to Professor Shen's desk. Scratching his own hair casually, he speaks with laziness in his tone. “Professor, you gave too little homework. Can’t you assign more?”

Professor Shen suddenly chuckles. Even though it’s only been two weeks since school started, he has already seen Shaw's agile mind and excellent learning speed. Professor Shen isn’t surprised by Shaw's request. But in his opinion, being overly eager isn’t always a good sign to rely on.

Professor Shen ponders for a moment, puts on his glasses again, then says to Shaw, "There’s another assignment, but I don't know if you’d be willing to do it.”

“Tell me about it?”

“You could draw pictures of the flowerbeds in school and objects in the classroom, then practice your fundamental sketching skills.”

Treating flower beds as ruins and objects as appliances is a method that many archaeology students use when practising sketching. But when this assignment comes out of Professor Shen's mouth...

Shaw sweeps a glance at the genial Professor Shen as he sits behind the desk. He purses his lips. Without a word, he hauls up his backpack and turns around, walking towards the office door. Just as he’s about to leave, he turns slightly with a soft “hmph”.

He doesn’t know if Professor Shen heard this sound, nor does he care that much. After all, he has once again immersed himself in the pile of archaeology reports.

-

Just after 5pm, Professor Shen hurries to a research meeting while carrying documents.

The sky at the end of summer is still very bright, clear and azure, without a single shadow of dusk. Professor Shen turns around a corner, and suddenly finds that the back not too far ahead is very familiar - the bluish-purple hair is one of the few in the whole of Loveland University, and he knows at a glance that it’s Shaw. And in front of Shaw, facing Professor Shen’s direction, is a girl with short hair and dressed in a delicate manner.

Professor Shen walks closer and closer. He’s unable to hear what the girl says, and only sees the shy expression on her face.

“Hey, I’m rushing to the band. You’re in the way.” Shaw’s voice is very cold, and even somewhat impatient. The girl seems a little reluctant to withdraw, and reaches out to grab Shaw. However, Shaw turns sideways and steps backwards, dodging instantly. At this point, Shaw knits his brows tightly, his eyes dyed with a sharp and impatient light. “I’ll repeat myself for the last time. I’m. Not. Interested.”

After saying this with a decisive attitude, Shaw walks away.

Walking from behind Shaw to a different branch of the corridor, Professor Shen grips the documents tightly. Actually, whether a student likes to be in a band or is adored by girls, these things belonging to the private lives of students aren’t what he’s interested in nor what he has ever interfered in. To him, what students place value on most are the quality of learning and professionalism. As for other things...

Professor Shen glances at his watch and subconsciously speeds up his pace. While he hurries, he hopes that his original judgment was correct, and hopes that Shaw is indeed a good successor worth cultivating, just as he appeared during the re-examination.

-

[ Chapter 3 ]

A week passes by suddenly.

Sitting at the desk which receives plentiful sunlight, Professor Shen flips through the stack of sketching assignments that Shaw had just handed in, an imperceptible smile of satisfaction on his lips.

In addition to printed computer drawings, another half are hand-drawn sketches by Shaw using a pen, and they are of pretty good quality. Over the years, Professor Shen had seen too many young kids neglecting hand-drawn sketches because they relied too much on computer drawings. No matter what decade it is, the most primitive and foundational skills should be the most solid.

The sense of gratification causes Professor Shen to sigh. However, the page he just flipped to causes him to stop abruptly - this is obviously not part of the drawing assignment. It looks like an analysis report... Professor Shen props up his glasses, reading it carefully from the beginning. Then, he realises that this is an analysis of archaeological reports. Flipping to the back roughly, he finds that coincidentally, this analysis is targeted at the stack of archaeological reports Professor Shen had been reading recently.

With no time to be surprised, Professor Shen straightens his back in an instant, sits up straight, and reads the analysis written by Shaw from start to finish carefully. Whether it’s the standardised writing format, the hypothesis proposed in response to pictures and existing materials, or the objectivity of the comparisons drawn, they can already be regarded as the standard of a professional. 

Even though he doesn’t know where Shaw obtained the archaeological reports, what is undeniable is that he used his "little brain". But what is even more undeniable is that just by skimming through the analysis, Professor Shen can see Shaw’s solid foundational and expansive knowledge.

Through this unassigned piece of homework, Professor Shen feels that what he sees isn’t just a very young student who’s just beginning graduate school. What’s displayed before his eyes is Shaw’s undiscovered potential and possibilities.

Professor Shen gets a full glass of water from the water dispenser, and Biluochun leaves twirl and dance in the transparent glass. He walks over to the window, blowing at the mouth of the cup. Then, he takes a few sips of tea slowly, appearing to be in a good mood.

In his mind, he recalls the content of the analysis report, as well as Shaw's appearance when he came to submit his assignment early in the morning.

At that time, his steps were confident and full of vigour. He walked straight to the table to set down his assignment, then raised his eyebrows in glowing spirits. "Professor, remember to read till the end."

Now that he thinks about it, Professor Shen seems to taste the unhesitating confidence and the unwillingness to admit defeat in Shaw's eyes that he didn’t notice before.

It looks like this kid felt that he was being underestimated before. Full of pent up grievances, he wanted to prove his capabilities! This was simply his slightly awkward yet incomparably confident demeanour...

Professor Shen sighs softly, then can’t help but chuckle.

Before him, the sun is still climbing up at 10am, but the radiance of sunlight is already incomparably dazzling.

-

[ Chapter Four ]

After a few autumn rains, Loveland City gradually turns cooling. Professor Shen's body isn’t very good, so he puts on a thick coat early.

On this day, Professor Shen comes to the office with a briefcase as usual. He methodically prepares Biluochun, takes out his materials and pen, and puts on his glasses. Just as he’s about to start work, the new young lecturer Xiao Fu suddenly turns to his desk while holding his phone. “Professor Shen, look at this quickly. This boy in the middle looks like your graduate student!"

“Why do I feel as if he might be that student of yours?" Teacher Fu looks increasingly certain that he’s correct. "I met him several times before. It’s that cool and triumphant look. Even the colour of his hair matches!"

Professor Shen lowers his head, pulling down his glasses, and the image on the phone screen is displayed in an instant. It seems to be a video of a performance. The musicians on stage are very lively, and the atmosphere under the stage seems to be extraordinarily enthusiastic. The person playing the bass intently and fervently in the middle - who else could he be but Shaw?

Even before Professor Shen speaks, Teacher Fu has already affirmed to himself. “That’s right, it’s him! I remember someone mentioning that he was in band, but I didn't expect him to look like this...”

Professor Shen's eyes are still focused on the phone screen. In the video, Shaw has the youthful vigour that he can only have at his age. He’s full of spirit, rebellious and eccentric, and exudes fervent vitality. He can attract everyone’s attention almost instantly, as though he's a natural focal point.

But such a Shaw seems slightly foreign to Professor Shen. In the past two or three months, the Shaw he has seen is a graduate student who rushes to and from school, but is very earnest in his specialised course, and is also very meticulous in research.

Teacher Fu has already taken his phone away and returned to his own desk. Professor Shen’s gaze returns to his materials, but there are still some emotions stirring in his heart.

The more interactions he has with Shaw, the more Professor thinks that he’s akin to a treasure. Although he may make someone feel conflicted, he always brings unexpected surprises to others. Initially, Professor Shen thought there might only be jade here. But after more digging, he found calligraphy and paintings and utensils. Thinking that this would be the end, taking a turn resulted in the digging of gold, silver, copper and iron. As for whether there would be other treasures in the future...

Knock knock.

Hearing knocks at the door, Professor Shen lifts his head instinctively - truly, speak of the devil.

"Professor, I came to ask about something." Shaw strides over. Standing before the desk, Shaw looks at Professor Shen with an indifferent expression, as if he’s just speaking thoughtlessly. "I heard that the excavation and inspection of the Hou Yin Tan site will be carried out soon. Anyway, my usual assignments aren’t urgent. I’m thinking of strolling around the area with you.”

Through the spectacle lenses, Professor Shen looks at the seemingly expressionless Shaw, and can’t help but chuckle.

He thinks to himself - perhaps no one has told Shaw that even though he always uses nonchalance as a cover, the insuppressible earnestness in his eyes are unable to conceal his genuine anticipation.

-

[ Chapter 5 ]

The excavation work has commenced for over a month, and everything is proceeding on tenterhooks and in an orderly manner.

Field excavation has always been a bitter and boring part of archaeological work. In addition to digging for long hours in a desolate field, it’s also common to find nothing after digging till the end. At the very least, Shaw has already experienced it several times this month.

It’s another cold and windy morning. Professor Shen comes to the excavation site early, only to find that Shaw hasn’t arrived yet, which is rare. Something noteworthy is that Shaw has been coming here earlier than him every day. But within a few minutes, Shaw appears, walking over while talking on the phone. Something is said on the other end of the line. Shaw arches his eyebrows in his signature style. "Tch, so long-winded... Got it.”

Professor Shen notices a cute rabbit pendant dangling from the bottom of Shaw’s phone, though he doesn’t know when it first appeared. He shows a smile of understanding, no longer paying attention to Shaw's actions, lowering his head to start a new day of work. After a while, a number of villagers from the vicinity also come over and they all greet Shaw first.

This is also something Professor Shen noticed on hindsight. At some point in time, Shaw had established a rapport with the villagers. Having the villagers in the vicinity cooperate and even participate in an amiable manner is another very important part of field excavation. In this aspect, Shaw's performance can be regarded as attaining a satisfactory full marks.

"Professor, leave the rest of the shaving to me." Shaw squats down beside Professor Shen, holding a shovel in his hand. Professor Shen doesn’t immediately express his opinion. Instead, he smiles slightly. "Finished your call with your girlfriend?" Shaw averts his eyes in a hurry, which is rare. He purses his lips. “Who said that she’s... Professor, don’t get infected by Mr Fu’s gossip.” Professor Shen chuckles while standing up slowly. Then, he pats Shaw on the shoulder. "I'll take a look at the pit."

Shaving is time-consuming and hard work, let alone shaving in winter. In spite of thin sunlight, the bitter cold wind hovers over the site, causing Shaw's nose to redden unknowingly. His ripped jeans have long since been covered in dust, and even his originally shiny earrings are coated in ash. Even so, Shaw simply kneels on the ground with ease, cleaning the ground while holding the shovel firmly, shovelling the ground and four walls carefully.

The shaving takes five hours.

Dinner naturally consists of a group of people eating together. When Shaw arrives, he has already taken a shower and is restored to a clean and refreshed state. However, when using chopsticks to pick out vegetables, Professor Shen notices his unusual behaviour immediately: he rarely moves his chopsticks, and he has been picking the vegetables slower than usual. After a few more glances, Professor Shen realises that his hands had turned swollen during the five consecutive hours of shaving.

Despite this, even after the meal is over, Shaw doesn’t say a word or complain at all.

Professor Shen is even more satisfied with the only graduate student he has. He can’t help but compliment him coolly. "You’ve done a good job recently. If you want to learn archeology properly, you must have this earnestness and inextinguishable momentum."

Shaw pauses for a second, but still has that triumphant expression when he speaks. "That goes without saying." But Professor Shen clearly sees how Shaw's eyes had lit up in an instant, and how his brows raised involuntarily.

Professor Shen smiles while shaking his head, looking at Shaw whose words don’t match his genuine feelings. He doesn’t know what Shaw experienced, and perhaps his cynicism is to some extent a defence mechanism. As long as he pretends not to care, there will never come a time when his expectations come to naught. And this also gives him a chance to rewind the situation. Even though amazing the world with brilliant feats bring with it surprises, it occasionally makes Professor Shen feel that what he’s doing is akin to a child looking forward to rewards...

With this thought in mind, Professor Shen smiles while walking away.

-

When Professor Shen arrives the next morning, many people are already surrounding the area. There’s an interview with the TV station today, and Professor Shen had long since pushed Shaw out. A young man with such an advantageous appearance is suitable to be on TV.

As expected, the host is holding the microphone and conducting the interview. Looking at Shaw’s knitted brows, Professor Shen can't help but laugh, knowing that he’s trying his best to answer patiently. At this moment, the host suddenly asks a rather familiar question. "Why are you studying archaeology?"

This question seems to pull time backwards to more than half a year ago, when Professor Shen met Shaw for the first time -

"Student Shaw seems to be a young man with a lot of personality. So why did you choose the archaeology major that most people find boring?”

Shaw arches his eyebrows. "Because I like it." He lifts his chin slightly, showing a determined smile. "Isn't liking something the greatest display of personality?”

More from S2: here

[sarahjkl82-blog]

Artistic Instinct Chapter Nine

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 6500

Warnings: Language as always, warning of racist language (Nush talking about her mother's experiences), yearning, fluff to second base (yes, my darlings- IT IS ON!), alcohol is mentioned, food, anxiety attacks.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something. This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

People often think artists

Create with their hands

But really they create

with their hearts

So please be gentle

For we wear our vulnerability

On our sleeves

And freely give all we have

Hoping someone will fall

In love with the parts we offer

R. Evelyn

Chapter Nine

The sharp buzz of the door startles you out of your daydream. Laden with roughly the entire contents of your spice cupboard, vegetables, meat and prawns, your hands are crisscrossed with creases from where the weight of the totes has gouged at your skin. A smart-looking kindly gentleman greets you, “You must be Ms Pierce. Mr Pike has asked for you to wait here for him.”

Wow! Marcus’ place has a concierge - who did he have to blow to get a place like this?!

Throwing the bags onto one of the hotel lounge-like chairs, you slump into another as you rub soreness from your hands. A small ping tells you that the lift has arrived - you look over in the direction of the noise, a tremor of excitement rippling through you. An adorably scruffy Marcus, wearing old jeans and a t-shirt, steps out - his face utterly beaming on seeing you. “Hey! How are you doing?” he leans in to kiss your cheek twice - hang on, when did this start being a thing?

“Why didn’t you let me pick you up? You’ve carried so much over- lemme see your hands,” his brow knits on seeing the rapidly reddening welts as he takes your hands in his, brushing his thumbs gently across your palms.

“You live four roads away from me - they’re not that bad! And anyway, you can help me now- which floor do you live on?” You outwardly roll your eyes at the sweetness Marcus shows you, secretly enjoying the stroke of his fingers and the ghostly press of his lips still burning a hole in your cheek.

Marcus takes all of the bags from the chair, refusing point blank to entertain you helping him to take them upstairs - you watch as his arms twitch under the weight, enjoying the mixture of confusion and shock at your strength across his face, “you carried all of this?”

Nodding at him, you try to take a bag again, but he dangles it just out of reach, “Watch it - you do realise that I have two other brothers apart from Ads? I will think nothing of rugby tackling you to the floor and pinning you down,” you warn, enjoying the flush brought to his cheeks.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Marcus flusters as he calls the lift, handing you the smallest, lightest bag.

✪✪✪✪✪

Exiting at the top floor, you’re taken aback by the amount of light and quiet that washes throughout the building. Feeling so removed from the shadows cast from the tower blocks and the hustle and bustle of the streets below, the broad daylight offers a sense of serenity, a peace that invites itself into the soul and makes itself at home. As Marcus unlocks the door to his flat, you kick off your shoes at the entrance, “You don’t have to do that,” he offers through the keys in his mouth, holding the door open with his elbow, still refusing any help from you.

“Oh believe me, if I didn’t, my mum’s radar would go off and I would be cruising for a bruising,” you giggle, taking in the glorious spaciousness of his apartment, “I promise my feet aren’t too stinky and that I put on clean socks.”

“Whatever makes you comfortable,” Marcus’ eyes crinkle at you, “Can I get you something to drink or eat?”

“A coffee would be ace - strong and black please,” you reply, your gaze drinking in the details of his home. Books line the shelves along one wall - such a mixture of titles ranging from airport bestsellers to obscure art catalogues - the relief to see actual paper and hardbacks adorning the shelves rather than trinkets and plants when so many keep their books electronically in their pockets.

A couple of large canvases lie propped against another - long hours preventing them from being hung - their bright colours sure to bring joyful hues to quite a stark room. There are a few photo frames dotted around - mostly pictures of a moment in time rather than poses - of people you assume are friends and family from back in the States. Handing you a steaming mug, Marcus looks over your shoulder as you look at a photo of an older couple dancing and laughing at a wedding, “That’s my mamá and papá at my oldest sister’s wedding. It was such a magical day - just so much love in the air.”

“You can feel the joy radiating from them,” you offer, lowering your gaze from him to grab the frame next to the picture of his parents, “Are these your sisters or cousins? You all look very alike.”

“Yeah, my little sisters,” he grins proudly. “This one is Beth - she’s two years younger and is a paediatrician in Texas. Has two kids with her wife, Sophie. And this one is Cat - she’s doing her own thing out on the West Coast as a musician. They definitely inherited all the clever and cool genes.”

“Hah! You’re kinder to your sisters than I am to my brothers,” you grin, “They’re all total idiots but due to some weird genetic and biological insistence, I still love them.”

Taking a gulp of your coffee, you turn back towards him, “Come on you, we’d better get to work if you want a curry this evening.”

He pouts, looking more like a sulky little boy than a middle aged man. You can’t help but laugh at the sad puppy dog eyes he is conjuring at the thought of work, “Oh poppet, what’s wrong?” you teasingly mock.

“I kinda hoped you were a magician who could just magic a curry outta nowhere so we could watch films til the others arrive,” Marcus grumps shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Well, there is UberEats for that but you horrible lot put me up to this so you’re going to help,” you wag your finger at him, “But as you’re the only one here, you get the honour of being the chief taster,” you add, tapping him playfully on the nose.

With a soft huff and a furrow of the brow, Marcus guides you into the kitchen where, whilst he was making your coffee, he has helpfully already put all the fresh produce in his fridge as the sides are delightfully blank apart from the bags of spices.

“What are we making today, Chef?”

“Ok, meat dishes are a spiced yoghurt leg of lamb, a keema - don’t you give me that look, a cardamom butter chicken, and, a prawn and courgette curry,” you turn to Marcus’ fridge to find the lamb, “Needs to come to room temperature before we cook it.”

“My tummy is rumbling already,” Marcus adds, his eyes glinting excitedly as he licks along his lower lip, the skin glistening damply. You have never quite figured out whether your love of his lips is due to their fullness or the association with the kindness of his words.

“Hah- you’re not getting away without having some veggies, too, mister,” you cluck as you hand him a bag of onions and several bulbs of garlic to skin, chop and crush for the various dishes.

“Ok, Moooom,” Marcus dramatically rolls his eyes at your dictate, “I admit, I’d rather eat sugary or salty things over green stuff but I can make an exception for curried veg.”

The arch of your eyebrow virtually reaches your hairline at him teasingly calling you mom, so you reach for the towel, twist it and flick him hard on what you’d hoped would be his hip but catch him square on his arse instead.

A yelp of pain and wide eyes greet your action, “Did you just…? Oh, it is on.! You might think you’re tough from your brothers but my sisters taught me sneaky tactics.”

“Come at me, bro!” you taunt from the other side of the kitchen, putting up a boxing stance.

Brandishing the hand without the paring knife in your general direction, he answers, “Nope, gonna use the element of surprise and attack when you least expect it!”

Tutting your tongue at Marcus’ weak ass response, you grab the spices you need to prepare under the power of your pestle and mortar. With the waft of roasting cumin soaring through the air and your battle with your boss at a supposedly declared ceasefire, everything starts to feel comfortable and easy again. You could be six years old and standing on the chair next to your mum, watching like a hawk as she lovingly prepared meals for your family with an ever burgeoning belly. It was then, during those hours shared in the galley kitchen that became your time with her when normally it felt pretty split between her work as a GP and your brothers.

What the fuck… You jump out of your skin when a warm, solid wall presses you out of your nostalgic reverie, “Hah! Pinned ya! Sneaky tactics- told ya they worked,” a deep, soft voice whispers in your ear.

Your heart flutters like a bird trying to escape its rib cage with the closeness of Marcus, the heat rising through your body from your proximity to him - a visceral response to the glorious cocktail of masculine smell from his aftershave and body wash.

What do I do next?

Why can’t I bloody think straight?

Wiggling yourself around so that you face him, his face now so close that you can feel his warm breath upon your cheeks. Your eyes playfully catch the steady gaze of Marcus’ deep soulful pools. It would only take the smallest of movements to reach forwards and kiss him right on that stupidly gorgeous, plush Cupid’s bow and crease. But… what if he doesn’t want that? He’s my fucking boss - that would be a stellar move to make…

Instead of the tiny incline forwards to press your lips against his as every inch of you screams to do so, you drop to the floor and crawl out from between his legs, “Not pinned well enough it seems,” you tease haltingly as your tongue sticks in your dry throat.

As you check the browning of the cumin seeds, out of the corner of your eye you see Marcus’ head drop sadly, hearing a small sigh - his hands still upon the work surface and feet not having moved from the position he had pinned you in moments earlier.

Did he want to...? No, surely not.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, Nush,” Marcus humbly apologises, pushing himself off the side, “I hope that I haven’t made things awkward.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” you softly say, pouring the roasted cumin into the mortar, ready to be ground, “I was the one who flicked you on your arse - I am the one who should be apologising.”

You beckon gently to Marcus, who has now taken refuge in the furthest corner of the kitchen from you - wringing his hands instead of chopping the onions, “Come over here - I want you to experience one of my most favourite smells of childhood. These are roasted cumin seeds and when you grind them, they release the most heavenly scent.”

After a few grinds, you offer the bowl towards Marcus’ face as he closes the gap between you, “I… Wow! I wouldn’t have thought it would make such a difference but it’s almost like you’ve entirely transformed it. See,” the dimple deepens in that right cheek of his, “you are a magician.”

“I love how spices - a bit like paint - can take on completely different characters depending on how you treat them. Leave the spice whole and you have this mild and fragrant taste. If you crush them, then their attitude comes back tenfold with a vengeance. Toast them, and they may as well be Clark Kent in a phone booth.”

Looking up you see Marcus gazing at you with a sweet half smile on his face - could he like me… like that?

“Sorry, you don’t need to hear me blathering on,” you fluster, waving your hand in a dismissive gesture as the heat rises through your face.

Shaking his head gently without dropping your regard, “No. No, please don’t ever stop. Your passion for things is beautiful.”

“Growing up, I didn’t realise that other people didn’t have whole cupboards filled to the brim with herbs, spices and seasonings. I mean, for all the damage the British Empire reeked, you’d have hoped that the spices would have entered more of their culture, but no! Apparently, my family was the weird one for having food with a flavour,” you shrug your shoulders at some of the ridiculous things you’d heard as a child - accusations of differences you’d never thought to be of note.

Marcus chuckles at your indignance, “It’s funny you should say that. I didn’t realise that my mamá had an accent until it was pointed out to me when I was a kid.”

Noting your slightly confused expression, Marcus explains, “She’s Argentinian- came to the States as a political refugee as she was a journalist following the disappearances during the Dirty War. Met my dad, and I came along very soon after, and the rest is history..”

You can’t help but laugh at the flush on Marcus’ cheeks as he recounts his personal history to you, “Love can’t be held back when it hits and it’s obvious that they’re still crazy about each other now from that photo.”

“Exactly, no point in wasting time when you know what you want,” Marcus grins, looking at his feet.

“My parents have a similar story. My dad is as English as they come - I mean we’re on a freaking island so there’s no true thing as being completely English. My mum is from Pakistan - Karachi - it’s in the South.”

“She came over due to the fighting between East and West Pakistan - the two countries that are now Pakistan and Bangladesh. It kept interrupting her studies to become a doctor so she came to England and restarted her degree here.”

Marcus’ brow creases in thought, “Why did she restart her degree? Could the credits not just be transferred to the college she moved to in the UK?”

“Hah- yeah. It was the seventies, during a time where all Southern Asians were P*kis - no matter where they were from on the Indian subcontinent- and thought of as dirty, lesser beings. There were constant race riots for anyone who wasn’t ethnically white or English. She would never have been taken seriously with her mediocre medical training from some Adobe hut in the middle of a jungle,” you fume, pounding the seeds into fragments. The mortar being threatened with the same fate too.

Marcus’ fingers wrap around your wrist to try and prevent your rage at the ignorance of others from causing you an injury, “I am so sorry,” he pulls you into a warm, tender hug, tucking your head under his chin, “How long before food can take care of itself so we can put a film on? I think we both need a rest.”

“Hmmm, ten minutes and then most things can simmer or be switched off ready for a reheat or proper cook this evening,” you say, leaning reluctantly out of his comforting arms to go check on the bubbling saucepans of food.

“‘K. I’ll go get things set up so you can flop for a bit,” Marcus touches you gently on your shoulder as he goes to set up the front room. You go to squeeze his hand but it’s removed from your shoulder too quickly for your response.

✪✪✪✪✪

“You ready?” Marcus calls through the wall as you turn off the heat from the final pans.

“Mhm,” you mumble in response to his question - double, triple checking that everything is off. Too many fire alarms ruining perfectly lovely meals or moments.

“What did you pick?” You ask, curling up on the other end of the sofa to Marcus, “Do you have no cushions?”

“Shit, no -I’m a guy, what can I say? - lemme grab the pillows from the bed,” Marcus jumps up, calling through from his bedroom, “Bet you have loads on your couch.”

“A fuckload, but, mainly to hide the fact the springs have gone. It’s like a precarious balancing act of comfort on there,” you surreptitiously sniff the pillow, inhaling the smell of Marcus’ shampoo, “Did you give me your pillow?”

A confused look is shot at you from the other end of the sofa, “Whaddya mean?”

“Smells of your hair,” you say as you squish it into the perfect comfy shape, “Like a mixture of lemon and eucalyptus.”

“That’s a sharp nose you’ve got. I gave you the other side though,” Marcus huffs through a chuckles he shakes his head at your somewhat strange comment, “Guess I’ve been sleeping across both sides then.”

“Best thing about sleeping alone- getting to starfish across the bed. Unless of course…”

Marcus can’t help but laugh at your awkward dig to find out whether he’d brought home the goddess from Friday’s antics, “So you wanna know if I brought home Kemi?”

“She was very beautiful. You’d have been mad not to,” you try to school your expression as best you can, keeping your eyes glued to Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly singing about true love, desperate to hide the jealousy coursing through your veins.

“Must be mad then. Didn’t even kiss her,” Marcus honestly answers whilst copying your tactic of staring at the tv, “She could see that there was someone else I liked so it would have been cruel to have done anything.”

You mull this over in silence, trying not to speak, to ask a million questions.

“Nush.”

“Mhm?”

“Can I talk to y…”

You both jump as an alarm goes off on your phone to remind you to turn the lamb down in the oven.

“Oh shit. Hold that thought,” you jump up from the sofa, heading in the direction of the kitchen with zero thought of what the man at the end of the sofa is desperately trying to tell you. Fiddling with Marcus’ ridiculously swanky oven until it looks like it is doing what you want it to do, you walk back in with two ice cold beers from his fridge.

“Raided your fridge,” you cheekily grin, holding one out to Marcus, the condensation running, down your fingers, “Hope you don’t mind!”

“Good thinking, Batman,” Marcus nods in appreciation, “Any more alarms set to scare us both?”

“Only due to go off when the film is done, so…” you yawn widely, “We’ve got a while yet.”

Marcus’ hand that was slung over the back of the sofa, lifts to stroke your shoulder, “You sleepy? C'mere, you.” With a soft tug of your t-shirt sleeve, he pulls you into his side - your willingness to sink into his broad chest very apparent. Your ear is pressed against him, his heartbeat singing a lullaby to you as his fingers stroke and caress the silken waves of your hair. You wonder at how this man - a total stranger a week ago - has seemingly knitted himself into becoming a cocoon of safety for you, his gentleness and calm offering a haven of tranquility in your otherwise cacophonous world, as the light in the room slowly fades to black.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Uh oh.”

“Hey, welcome back, sunshine!” a gentle pair of fingers stroke back the hair that had drifted into your face as you dozed.

“Sorry for falling asleep. Again,” trying to finesse your way through the heat flaming your cheeks, you offer an awkward grin towards your chuckling pillow, “Guess we’d better start getting things finished as we’ve only got a couple of hours until everyone arrives.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, Marcus! I don’t want to move either but this curry won’t finish cooking itself.”

“Spit spot, there’s work to be done,” Marcus trills as he adopts his best attempt at a British accent.

“What the fuck was that? Did you just turn into Dick Van Dyke or something?” You tease mercilessly at the appalling sound coming from those lips, choking back laughter at his mock offended face.

“C’mon, you’re right. We’d better get moving,” Marcus stands with a stretch and a creak before reaching back to tug you to your feet.

Back under the glowing lights of Marcus’ kitchen, his presence is now constantly close to yours as you glide together around the space - stirring, chopping and checking. Every time he passes, above the general aroma of cumin and coriander, the onions and garlic, you can smell the cedar and amber upon his skin- a deliciously masculine scent that only seeks to entangle your senses further.

“Here, try this,” you hold out a heaped teaspoon of mince curry to Marcus, “This is the keema - I promise that I only put in the two chillies you chopped for me, this time.”

“Mmm, that’s so good,” he says thickly between chews, stealing the spoon from you as he dives in for a second, third, fourth spoonful.

“Hahaha! Leave some for the others- and you need to try it with some raita and fried onions too,” you check through your dog-eared, yellowed and slightly sticky recipe book that your mum had handed you the day you’d left home at eighteen - a memo of all the times you had cooked them together.

“Shit, I’d better start the chicken,” going through the spices in front of you, you search for the cardamoms that would make the butter chicken sing, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Marcus’ head snaps up from the green beans he was preparing towards you, “What’s up, sweetheart?”

“I can’t find the cardamoms for the butter chicken - gah I knew I’d fuck this up!” you cry, scraping your trembling hands through your hair, eyes flashing around the room wildly as your cortisol rises, making you want to run and scream at your failure to feed your friends.

“Whoa - where’s this coming from? C’mon, look at me. Look at me, Nush,” Marcus has his hands on either side of your shoulders, squeezing them gently, “There’s enough here to feed our whole office for the week with the daals you prepared yesterday, the vegetables we’re about to make and the meats that we’ve cooked up already here. Andy is bringing all the rice and naan, Kiri is bringing beers and Dian is on gin and tonic duty. You have done more than enough and I will not allow you to get this upset over one missing ingredient especially when there is a small store downstairs that I’m sure will have it, if we cannot find it after we look for it together.”

After seeing your numb nod as an agreement, Marcus moves his hands to the side of your head to focus your gaze on him rather than the panic seeping through you. As he strokes his thumbs across your cheeks, you allow your eyes to close and your breathing to regain a normal pattern.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologising?” Marcus searches your now open eyes.

“My reactions are ridiculous. Most people tell me to stop being so stupid and that just whips the storm inside my head even more,” you whisper, “But you. You know how to slow everything down and stop the spinning.”

The corner of Marcus’ mouth twitches, “D’ya wanna know a secret?” You nod at him, “As you know, I was married before. When it ended, I totally spiralled. The world kept spinning too fast and I experienced constant anxiety, very nearly burning out of my role.

“I was lucky. My boss was understanding but made me promise to get some support. He knew of someone mental health trained within the FBI who was there for mainly hostage negotiations - not part of the true psych team but someone who could help without it turning up on your record.

“Kwame worked with me for almost a year - pretty much to the point my decree absolute came through. Our sessions were done on a track - by running with me, he was teaching me the skills I needed to control my fears. By my feet hitting the tarmac, he was grounding me. By going over running techniques, he was teaching me how to control my breathing- taking longer and deeper breaths. And running is just repetition. A mindful repetition that allows your brain to have a bit of a break.

“So when I see you start to spiral, I try to give you the same steps he taught me. Get you grounded, opposite me so you copy my breathing and hope that gets you on the right track.”

“Thank you,” you drop your head forwards, relaxing onto his chest. He feels so - safe.

“You don’t need to thank me. Well, okay maybe you do as look what I’ve just spotted,” Marcus holds the offending spice aloft.

“Oh my god, I could fucking kiss you. You have just saved the curry,” you dramatically declare, clutching the cardamom jar to your heart before placing it next to the other ingredients on the counter.

“Go on then.”

What?

His comment makes you snap your head over to catch Marcus’ tremulous gaze, his eyes darting between the floor and your lips. He takes a small step, closing the small distance between the two of you, threading his fingers between yours. Each slow movement offers an unspoken opportunity for you to step away. To tease him and move on with the day.

But why on Earth would you?

With your heart racing faster and faster, you lure him ever closer with your eyes, soft but absolute in their conviction of what was about to pass between you. A small part of you understands that when you kiss him, something will change forever. That within his lips you may find the place to call home - the aching in your stomach may cease and life could start to make sense again. The anxieties of the week washing away, the pain of your collective pasts and the hint of a brighter, happier future before you.

When he doesn’t move again, you seize the moment. Pushing up onto your socked tiptoes, you tilt your chin, inclining your face until your lips come to rest upon his in the sweetest, chastest kiss. Drawing back slightly to check that Marcus is okay with a raise of your eyebrows and widened eyes, he holds your gaze steadily, similarly stunned - a mirror of each other with racing hearts and slightly parted lips. It’s like in that moment everything around you ceases to exist as anything other than extraneous nonsense - all the noise inside your head silenced by that one touch.

A small dumbstruck smile creeps across Marcus’ lips before he lowers his head to press another gentle kiss upon you. Then another. Then another. Each press of your lips a little longer. A little deeper. Your lips part to allow his tongue entry as every single thought is quietened by the taste of him. Dropping hands for his to cradle your face and yours to thread through his hair as your bodies press together tightly.

Oh the taste of him is utterly exquisite! From where you’ve been using him as chief curry taster, there’s an element of spices with the tiniest hint of mint. And how you have missed having that beautifully solid warmth of his body next to yours. Inhaling his breaths that fall upon you, your hearts match each other’s rhythms as your lips explore each other, every sensation drawing together to create a humming ball of energy, like you are standing at the point where lightning strikes the Earth.

✪✪✪✪✪

Hands fisted tightly in each other’s clothing - both stuck in the quandary of wanting to tear the fabric from your bodies but also frightened of pushing the other too far. Finally pulling apart, you gaze upon Marcus - all lust blown pupils and dopey smiles. Your foreheads come back to rest against each other, unable to quite let go just yet, not wanting to break the spell and return to reality.

“I have wanted to kiss you since perhaps the first time I met you,” Marcus murmurs as his lips gently ghost over your cheeks, “Maybe even from seeing the photo in your file when Andy drove me here from the airport.”

“Was the person, me?” You quietly ask, finally with the confidence to finish that conversation, “The reason you didn’t kiss or sleep with the goddess?”

He drops his eyes as he gives you a small nod, “Normally, I’d have just asked you out but I was scared of fucking up. It’s been a long time since I felt a spark with anyone.

“You’ve entered my life in this whirlwind of intelligence, beauty and tenderness - I didn’t want to frighten you or make you feel uncomfortable if you didn’t reciprocate.”

A thousand thoughts flood your mind as Marcus says those words. All at once, you want to tell him how safe he makes you feel. How much now that you’ve started kissing him, you never want to stop. How the cruel critics of slumber, silence themselves when you feel his heartbeat against your cheek.

Instead you stand there, silent.

Trying to stroke out the creases you’ve created in his t-shirt as you attempt to find words to put into a logical order, you notice his face twitching when the material under your fingers makes contact with his sides, “Oh Marcus, are you ticklish?”

“Um, no,” Marcus tries to deny breezily as he takes a small, hesitant step back from you, pretending to steady himself.

Making a small movement towards him, your hands at the same level as the point of the bunched fabric - you ask, “Are you sure about that?”

“Yeah,” Marcus is now eyeing you suspiciously - desperate to kiss you again but also a little worried as to what havoc your fingers might reek.

“Then, why are you moving away from me?”

“No reason…” his usually deep voice now a little tighter and higher, “Nush… What are you about to ARGH!”

His knees crumble beneath him as you attack his sensitive sides, “Gah! Quit it, woman,” he weakly commands between wheezes and hoots of laughter.

Taking full advantage of Marcus’ prone and vulnerable position, you take the opportunity to straddle him - effectively pinning him to the floor, “This is how you pin someone.”

“I let you pin me,” Marcus corrects you with a wink.

“Oh really?” you contest, entirely unconvinced by his bravado.

“Yeah,” he says with a small wiggle, bringing his hands to the back of your head, “Cos y’see, I can flip our positions quite easily.”

Suddenly, you find yourself flat on your back in Marcus’ kitchen with zero air in your lungs to form any sensible thought other than to kiss him hard. His large hands cradle your head as he props himself gently above you on his elbows. You feel his entire body covering yours. Deliciously pressing against every single inch of you and oh how it takes every bit of the minutismal amount of self control you have to not beg him to fuck you senseless into that floor.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Shit, is that your door?”

“Fuck,” Marcus pushes himself up to kneeling between your legs, “Can we pretend we’re not in?”

The harsh realisation of an evening with your colleagues, albeit lovely people, sinks in to you both.

“Nope,” you groan, popping the p with a deflated gusto, “Hang on, don’t buzz them up until I’ve tucked my boobs back into my bra.”

“I dunno, makes for easier access,” Marcus lopsidedly grins with a wink as he heads for the door.

“You certainly didn’t seem to make hard work of it earlier,” you mumble at him, before you affix a smile to your face, “Hey! How are you all doing?”

A sea of never ending hugs envelopes and separates you from Marcus as everyone piles into his apartment. The stupid grin still firmly in place on your face since you’d first kissed, you find that every time you look over at him, he’s gazing right back, mirroring that lovestruck smile.

“Oh my god, it all smells so amazing,” Dian waxes lyrical, squeezing you tightly as she inhales a lungful of exotically scented air, “What’ve we got?”

You take her by the hand into the kitchen to show all the different things you had bubbling away. Andy ducks into the kitchen behind you, laden with bags filled with pilau rice, naan and chapatis, and a beautiful small bunch of spring flowers in his other hand - tiny tête-à-tête daffodils with multiple heads along each stalk, brilliant yellow and red tulips standing like soldiers and the otherworldly looking stems of hyacinth, wickedly scenting the air under your nose as he thrusts them under there.

“Hey pretty girl, here’s all the bits you asked for. You deserve a much bigger bunch for what I’ve roped you into but I know you love the early blooms,” he offers by way of apology, sticking a kiss to the side of your forehead, “Smells fucking good though as ever. Hope you don’t mind but I’ve brought a box to take some home for Greg - he was a jealous arse this evening so I suppose I should share.”

“You know the way I cook, enough for several small armies,” you wonkily grin at him, truly thankful for the part he’d had to play, “‘Fraid there’s no easy way to say this and you will have to be the one to break it to Greg, but there’s no butter chicken tonight.”

“You’d better have a damn good excuse for this slatternly behaviour, madam,” Andy gives you a serious side eye for this infraction.

“Well…”

“Initially Nush couldn’t find the cardamoms but then we ran out of time. Plenty of food here, though,” Marcus answers for you, his hand gently holding your hip as he reaches around you to grab a couple of beers from the fridge.

You see Andy catch Marcus’ hand lightly stroking your side as he walks back to Kiritopa, but are entirely grateful when his expression and mouth say nothing. The light chatter in the kitchen, whilst Dian dips a teaspoon into all the pots, is interrupted by a small knock at the door. Sticking your head around the kitchen door, you spot Marcus opening the door to a nervous-looking Harper. Andy sidles past you, to pull her into the main room, rather than her previous position of standing on the doorstep, utterly awkward and obviously feeling quite out of place.

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind me coming. I know I wasn’t there Friday but I don’t really do large crowds and drinking.”

You walk over to her amidst the chorus of “not to worry”s and “lovely to see you”s, “Fancy something to drink now? Got plenty of soft options and I think I’ll stick alongside you as I’ve got to make sure I don’t burn stuff.”

“Including yourself, this time,” Harper retorts quickly with a small smile and a raise of her eyebrows.

“Hah, chance’d be a fine thing,” Andy laughs, slapping your shoulder before turning back to clink bottles and talk with Kiri and Marcus.

✪✪✪✪✪

Through the full length doors of Marcus’ balcony, evening spring sunshine streams through, bathing the group of your co-workers in a gentle, diffused light that flows around the room coating you in a golden glow. You all eat your fill and then some, with full tummies and tired eyes - the kitchen still full of half eaten dishes.

“Can we make this a weekly thing?” Kiritopa asks through a mouthful of food, hopefully.

“Not unless we take it in turns or get a take away - I don’t have the physical or emotional energy to make this level of curry every weekend,” you pointedly remark, looking up from your coke to meet Marcus’ eyes.

You’ve spent the evening barely speaking to each other for fear of alerting the others but surreptitiously brushing past so that you can sneak touches. Tender hidden strokes that feel like the kindest stitches on hidden, gaping wounds.

Marcus stands up to help usher the evening to an end and get you to himself again, “I have some boxes for y’all to take food home as otherwise, I’ll be eating this for weeks - delicious as it is.”

Everyone thankfully takes their boss’ hint and head into the kitchen to grab platefuls to reheat after long days. Slowly saying their goodbyes, your friends drift off in the direction of their homes as you throw yourself in an exhausted heap of bones on his sofa. Two strong hands grip you under your arms, to drape your torso across his lap.

“Hey tired girl,” you slightly open your eyes to spy a smiling Marcus gazing down at you. His fingers draw lazy patterns over the sensitive skin of your neck.

“I’d like to take you on a proper date this week. Wanna do this properly. Make a bit of a fuss.”

“Yeah? Not just pin me down and ravish me on the kitchen floor?” you grin widely at him.

“Well, I’d hardly call that a ravishing…” your eyes widen, eyebrows raising at Marcus’ comment, excitement pooling in your tummy, “Yeah, I saw there’s an Argentinian restaurant in Blackheath so how about steak, Malbec and homemade ice cream before I bring you back to either yours, or mine, for another, even better ravishing?”

“That sounds amazing, although with the amount of food in my belly, I may never have to eat again,” you give your stomach a rub, “But the ravishing…”

Hauling you up to sitting across his lap, you protest loudly, “I am going to crush your legs.”

“Stop making ridiculous comments and c’mere,” Marcus demands as he gently turns your head towards him, stealing a delicate kiss from you.

“I...should… - argh! Stop kissing me for a second,” you beg halfheartedly, “I should go home.”

“Stay.”

“Please stay,” Marcus desperately entreats you, “I’m not expecting anything but I’d love it if you stayed. I know you’ve got nothing here but give me two minutes and I can have a spare toothbrush for you. I’ll drop you home early tomorrow morning so you can grab some clothes and then we can go into work together?”

It feels as though the wind is knocked out of your lungs with the depth of Marcus’ need to be around you.

How does he do it?

“There’s no games with you, are there?” you twist in Marcus’ lap so that you now straddle his thighs, placing your hands on either side of his ridiculously handsome face.

“No,” he shakes head slowly, all the while holding eye contact with you, “I’m too old and I know what I want.”

“What’s that?”

Stroking his hands up and down your sides as he nuzzles your neck, he clearly and confidently declares,

“You.”

Tag list of glory (as ever, please ask to be put on or dropped from the list): @astroboots @silverwolf319@sirowsky @leonieb @disgruntledspacedad @bison-writes @the-ginger-hedge-witch @danniburgh @sugarontherims @green-socks @tardisfangurl @absurdthirst @pedropascalito-deactivated20210 @mouthymandalorian @mrsparknuts @zukoyonce @agirllovespancakes @yespolkadotkitty @lunaserenade @theravenreads @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

[sofreddie]

A Good Fit (Part 1 of 2)

Summary: Jensen really wants to land this role.

Characters: Jensen x Producer!Reader

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Implied Smut

Word Count: 1,496

A/N: There will be a part 2. This story came outta nowhere and I just had to write it down. Let me know what you think.

Jensen took a deep breath as he stood in front of the closed door, his hands clutching the script to the role of a lifetime - an upcoming show called Supernatural. He wanted this role, bad.

The only thing that stood between him and the role was the producer, Y/N Y/L/N.

She - yes, she - was the producer, the top of the food chain, the one that made and unmade careers.

Taking on an air of confidence that was mostly acting, Jensen knocked firmly on the door. Hearing a feminine voice call out to him, he opened the door, closing it behind him. He stood, script held tightly in his hands, and took several confident steps towards the stunning woman behind the desk.

"Ms. Y/L/N," Jensen stated, "I'm Jensen Ackles and I wanted a chance to talk to you about this role," he stated, more confidently than he felt. He gingerly set the script on her desk and patiently waited for her response.

She sat back in her chair, legs crossed, her expression unchanging as she just stared at him. He felt like he was coming unglued under her gaze. Finally, she looked away, clearing her throat as she sat forward and grabbed for the script. She barely gave it a glance before she tossed it back on the desk and casually leaned back in her chair.

"No."

"N-no?" Jensen repeated quietly in shock. He expected they'd at least have a professional conversation about it. I mean, there's a certain level of courtesy to these sorts of things. Usually.

"No," she repeated, "I don't think you're a good fit for this role," she shrugged, then sat back straight, returning her attention to her computer.

Jensen needed this role. And Y/N's clear dismissal of him just…pissed him off. But what could he do? Gaping like a fish and unsure what to say when she made him feel three-feet-tall, he reluctantly retrieved the script and left the office. There had to be some way to convince her.

He just knew he was perfect for this role.

Jensen sighed as he relaxed back onto the couch, accepting the ice-cold beer Jared handed to him.

"So, how'd the meeting go?" Jared asked with barely restrained excitement. He knew his friend was perfect for the role.

"She said no," Jensen breathed out, taking a healthy gulp of his beer.

"That's it?" Jared asked with a furrowed brow.

"That's literally it," Jensen nodded, "I walked in, introduced myself, said I wanted to talk about the role. She just stared at me all cold and said 'no'," he shrugged, but Jared knew he really, really wanted this role.

"I heard she'd gotten a bit brusque after her divorce a few months ago, but I didn't realize she was letting it affect her work. That's so unlike her," Jared said, suddenly concerned. He had known and worked with Y/N a lot over his blossoming career, which is why he encouraged Jensen to talk to her, to begin with.

"Probably needs to get laid," Jensen scoffed with a roll of his eyes. He wasn't usually so callous, but he was seriously pissed.

Suddenly, a lightbulb went off in Jared's head and he flashed a grin at his friend.

"So…show her you're made for the role," he suggesting, grinning lewdly and wiggling his brows for emphasis. Jensen huffed a laugh, shaking his head at the obvious nonsense, "I'm serious," Jared elaborated, "You're right, she probably does need to get laid. And Dean Winchester is a ladies' man. So…show her how Dean would handle the situation."

Jensen listened to his friend's words, letting them settle in his mind. He wasn't so sure about the 'getting laid' part. But he could definitely walk in there, in character, and introduce her to the real Dean Winchester.

Y/N rummaged through her handbag looking for her keys as she exited the office building. She began walking the familiar steps towards where she parked her car when she saw him.

Jensen Ackles - who had visited her a few days before - was leaning against the side of the building. He had one leg propped against the building, his back leaning against the wall casually. As soon as he spotted her, a bright and boyish grin split his face. It was almost blinding.

He had a swagger about him that wasn't there before. He exuded a confidence that made him seem even bigger and broader than before - and he was no small man, to begin with.

Her eyes trailed over his attire. It was as if he'd walked out of a concept sketch: boots, jeans fitting just right, black t-shirt with an open button-down, and a worn leather jacket. As she met his eyes once more, she couldn't help clenching her thighs.

"I thought I told you that you weren't a fit for the role," Y/N managed to find her voice, surprised at its strength. When she first met Jensen, she thought he was too pretty, too heartthrob for the role of the rugged bad-boy Dean Winchester. Jensen was still handsome as ever, but now he looked rougher around the edges, more worn and world-weary in a way. Yet that bright, child-like innocence still sparkled in his eyes with a hint of mischief.

"If you give me the chance," he spoke for the first time, deepening his voice for the character, leaning into her personal space enough to be flirtatious without being pushy, "I'll show you just how good I fit," he smirked, before licking his lower lip into his mouth and biting down.

His confidence grew as he watched her, first entranced by his eyes, then staring at his mouth. Her breathing picked up a little. She had to admit, he was suddenly oozing all the confidence and sex appeal the character called for.

"You really think you're a good fit?" she purred, trailing a finger down the front of his shirt before giving him a challenging smirk, "Prove it, Dean."

"Dean doesn't work that way, Sweetheart," he leaned in teasingly, seeing that he had her hooked, neediness flickering in her eyes, "You don't get me until I get the job," he breathed out, his lips hovering over hers teasingly.

"Who says I'm convinced you're the man for the job? There's plenty of others," she tried to sound confident, but her words were breathy despite herself. It had been so long since someone made her feel this way.

"Sweetheart, there ain't no other men like me," he growled lightly, his hands wrapping around her lower back and tugging her up against him. He was worried that maybe he was pushing a little too far - getting a little too into his role - but the desperate whine she let out when he pressed her body against his let him otherwise.

"Jensen-"

"Say it," he interrupted her, his lips hovering millimeters from her skin as he ghostly trailed along her jaw and neck, his breath panting against her skin.

"Come up to the office," she breathed out, "We'll sign the contract," she offered, looking into his mesmerizing eyes, "I-I'm convinced," she swallowed hard, pulling from his grasp, "Y-you're Dean."

He smirked, staring at her lips before flickering back to her eyes, "After you," he grinned, stepping aside and gesturing for her to lead the way. She took a deep breath, gathering her bearings, before standing tall and striding back into her office.

She was all too aware of his eyes on her as she walked through the lobby of the building, and as they rode silently up in the elevator - an obvious tension building. As she heard her office door click shut behind her, she grew tense, not knowing what to expect.

Clearly, he was flirting with her before. But that was for the role. To convince her he was Dean Winchester. Well…it worked. She was most definitely convinced. She felt a little better having confidence in the fact that soon, millions of women would most likely be squirming, just like her.

His eyes remained trained on her as she readied the contract, passing it over for him to review. The minutes seemed to stretch on forever, the silence deafening.

"You know," she said as he signed the contract and passed it back to her with a winning grin, "You don't have to - I don't expect -" she sighed, shaking her head.

Jensen was surprised. She was this confident, intimidating, powerful woman. But at that moment, she was a stunningly gorgeous woman who was clearly affected by his routine. Feeling a little bold, and letting Dean guide him, Jensen stepped around the desk, slowly so she could anticipate his approach. When he reached her, he gently pulled her to her feet.

Her eyes were locked on his, wondering what he was going to do. He smiled kindly, tucking a stray hair behind her ear.

"That's a shame," he breathed out, "I was hoping I could show you how good a fit I am," he smirked devilishly.

PART 2

Forevers:

@winchesterprincessbride

@iamcmims

@roxyspearing

@reigningqueenofwords

@mogaruke

@ellen-reincarnated1967

@speakinvain

@atc74

@sterekloveaffairs

@mrs-meghan-winchester

@chook007

@growningupgeek

@goldenolaf25

@esoltis280

@hobby27

@sis-tafics

@arryn-nyxx

@x-waywardaf-x

@shann-the-artist-moon

@sandlee44

@lucywinchester2000

@emoryhemsworth

@time-travel-bouqet

@buckysbrat

@calaofnoldor

@spnbaby-67

@miraclesoflove

@lyarr24

[out-of-jams]

Airplane Mode || Track 13: Just One Day || jhs

Summary: In a world where a bruise marks the first touch of your soulmate, time is the only thing that matters. The marks take hours to appear, sometimes even days if you’re really unlucky. Once First Touch is initiated, both parties only have a few weeks to find the other. From then on, the body begins to reject any form of sustenance other than the touch of the other. If one fails to find their soulmate in time, they starve to death. So what happens when your soulmate is a world famous idol?And you’re just one fan in a sea of many who can’t even speak the same language?

Pairing: Hoseok x Fem Character

Word Count: 4.3k

Genre: Fluff. Angst. Idol!au. Smut. Soulmate!au. Language barrier!au. Explicit language.

Warnings: This chapter contains swearing.

             Previous | Next | Track List | Masterlist |

By the time Eunjae got back to her apartment, it was around two in the morning. Taehyung had given her a sleepy-eyed hug goodnight before making his way to the dorm. Eunjae closed the front door behind her with an inaudible sigh, thing off her shoes by the entryway. The day had been long, filled with an excessive amount of stress at work, only to be followed by the time spent with Taehyung.

Eunjae would by lying if she said that she wasn't happy that the boys were so open about being her. That they didn't seem to be doing it just out of obligation because she was one of their member's soulmate. It was nice to feel accepted when she'd been forced into a strange new place with people she didn't know. Closing her eyes around a tired yawn, Eunjae navigated her apartment with heavy lids.

Only to stop dead when she caught sight of a foreign object in her peripheral.

Sat slouched down on the couch with his chin propped up in his hand, was her soulmate. She shouldn't have been as surprised as she was that he was there, since he knew the code to the door and all. And maybe if she'd have checked her phone that was buried somewhere at the bottom of her bag, she would have seen the text messages. But she didn't because she hadn't. Hoseok didn't notice her approach, not that he could with his eyes closed. 

By the soft, deep breaths that escaped his nose, she assumed that he must have fallen asleep. Which only served to bring up the question of how long he'd been there. Had he been waiting on her long? A surge of guilt caused Eunjae to frown as she crouched down in front of him. He'd changed out of the clothes he'd been wearing earlier that day and into a pair of joggers and a t-shirt.

Even with his eyes shut, he looked tired. Eunjae couldn't blame him, not with how busy they all were preparing for their comeback. His face was slack, dark eyelashes kissing his high cheekbones. Soft looking heart-shaped lips were slightly parted in sleep while his chest gently rose and fell with each inhale. 

Eunjae hadn't been able to fully take in his features without the fear of him catching her staring. Hoseok was beautiful, strikingly handsome with all of the sharp lines and angles that made up his symmetrical face. Why some ARMY didn't appreciate them was something that she would never be able to understand. And she wasn't just saying that because he was her soulmate. Anyone who looked at him and thought that he wasn't incredibly attractive were blind. 

There was no other excuse. 

Reaching out a hand, Eunjae gently shook his shoulder. "Hey."

He didn't respond, too wrapped up in whatever dreams were playing out behind his eyelids.

"Hobi," she tried again, shaking his shoulder a little bit harder.

Hoseok grunted, eyes fluttering open in confusion before focusing on her. They were still filled with sleep in the only way someone who'd just awoken could be. He ran a hand down his face in an attempt to bring himself back into alertness before sitting up a little straighter. When he met her gaze again, she couldn't help the small smile that broke out across her face.

"Hey, sleepyhead."

"Hey." His voice was a deep, raspy grumble that only came out when he came back from taking a trip to sleepsville. And he barely lifted a palm over his mouth to contain his yawn.

"Waiting long?" Eunjae asked, pushing herself back to her feet.

Hoseok glanced at the tiny clock embedded onto the face of the television's cable box and shook his head. "Not very."

"Sorry," she grimaced. "You, uh, hungry?"

Eunjae had to forcibly not look as he slid a hand beneath the hem of his shirt to scratch at his side subconsciously. Though it did little to prevent the small sliver of golden hued skin from popping into her peripheral. She was pretty sure that her question was stupid, that it practically answered itself because why else would he be in her apartment at two in the morning?

"Yeah." Hoseok gave her a reassuring, if not tired, smile and stood from the couch, stretching his arms above his head on the way. Glancing over towards the hallway, he wet his lips. "Can we go...sleep?"

The thought of curling up next to his warmth for a second night left Eunjae with a feeling that she couldn't quite discern. But she brushed it off, buried it deep in favor of responding. "Sure."

And as she followed him down the short hall, a thought popped up into her mind.

At least her question about whether or not they'd only recharge their metaphorical batteries during the day had been answered.

Eunjae was in time out.

Well sorta, but she also didn’t want to move. Not when she was so comfortably stretched out on the couch with a book propped up in her lap. The sound of fingers typing across a keyboard prevented silence from overtaking the room. Namjoon’s hair reflected the light from his computer screen, bouncing off the headphones thrown over his hair.

It was barely even an hour ago that Eunjae had gotten kicked out of the stylist department. The boys had a performance on a television show tonight and the coordi noonas and stylist noonas were a frazzled mess. Eunjae was sent away ten minutes after arriving because they didn’t have time for her to “get in the way” or whatever it was that they’d said. She’d be insulted if she wasn’t so relieved.

Namjoon had found her listlessly wandering the halls of Producer’s Row, not knowing what to do with herself. Hoseok hadn’t been in his studio and he’d yet to answer her text, so she’d had no idea where to find him. Luckily, the leader of Bangtan had let her know that her soulmate was down in one of the dance studios with Seokjin. Eunjae had been hesitant on interrupting what must have been their practice for their upcoming performance. Namjoon, as perceptive as he was, had seen the look on her face and offered to let her hang out in his studio until Hoseok was finished.

Which was how she’d landed herself back in MonStudio, a pen pressed to her lips and a headache brewing. She’d met with Soyeon earlier that morning when she’d first gotten to the building for another Korean lesson. After about two hours of one-on-one conversation exercises, she’d been sent away with a stack of beginner level workbooks to go through. 

It wasn’t that Eunjae didn’t want to learn, but multiple hours of studying would wear anyone down. Letting out a long sigh, Eunjae slid further down the couch until her head was propped up by the arm rest. She barely saved the thin book in her lap from falling to the rug.

“Having trouble?” 

Starting in surprise, Eunjae glanced up to see Namjoon’s chair spun halfway around. He raised an eyebrow in amusement at the wide eyed look she sent him. One side of the headphones that'd been thrown over his head was pulled off to the side so that he could hear her response. Eunjae wondered for a moment what she'd down to garner his attention away from whatever track it was that he'd been so focused on.

“Huh?” She asked intelligently.

He nodded at the book dangling from her hand for dear life. “With your studies.” 

“Oh.” She pouted unconsciously. “Just taking a break. Too much studying gives me a headache.”

"I can understand that." Namjoon slid his headphones down to hook around his neck. "Breaks are always good."

"You sound like you're in need of one." It was Eunjae's turn to raise an eyebrow now.

"Yeah, something like that," Namjoon chuckled, running a hand through his slightly disheveled hair.

She rearranged the book to rest somewhere tucked between the couch cushions and made herself more comfortable. "What have you been working on? If you don't mind me asking of course."

"Nah, I don't mind." He stared over at his computer screen like it held the answers the the universe. "I'm working on my mixtape."

"Your own?" Eunjae's eyebrows shot up into her hairline. That was news to her. At Namjoon's nod of affirmation, she sat up a little straighter. "How far along is it?"

Namjoon pursed his lips thoughtfully, dimples indenting his cheeks. "Not very. I have some of the instrumentals done and some lyrics, but it's nowhere near complete."

Eunjae hummed. "Huh. I didn't know you were making a mixtape."

Gently rotating back-and-forth in his chair, he gave her a look that she wasn't sure how to decipher. "Hoseok is working on one too."

That would explain why he was in his studio so much at least. During the handful of times that Eunjae had met him there to sate their hunger away from prying eyes, she'd walked in to find him studiously clicking away at his computer. He'd always dropped whatever it was that he was working on to spend time with her so she hadn't really though much of it. 

Why he hadn't told her that he was working on his own mixtape, she wasn't sure, but she couldn't really hold it against her. Some people could be very private about their art and Hoseok may not feel completely comfortable with her yet, which was something that Eunjae couldn't fault him for.

"Speaking of," Namjoon began, bringing Eunjae's attention back to the present. "How're things going with you? You adjusting well? I feel like we haven't really gotten the chance to talk on-on-one."

The memory of the night she'd broken down in the shower flashed through her mind, but she metaphorically brushed it off with a nonchalant shrug. "Fine I guess."

"You guess?" He questioned, a playful lilt to his voice.

She snorted. "Yes, fine. Everyone's been nice."

"That's good to hear." He leaned back into his chair. "Moving to a new country can be pretty overwhelming, especially when you throw a soulmate into the mix."

He could say that again.

"But," Namjoon continued thoughtfully, "at least we can learn how to handle things the next time one of us gets a soulmate."

Eunjae took in the way his mouth quirked as his dark eyes traced some invisible shape into the carpet at his feet. How he was slightly slouched down in his chair and the small furrow between his eyebrows and asked the question onto tip of her tongue before she could think to stop it. "Is that something that you'd want? To find your soulmate?"

He hummed, a deep flatlined sound that didn't give away his agreement or disagreement. "Yes? No? Maybe? I don't know. Not that I think soulmates are bad or anything."

His eyes flickered up to meet hers to make sure that he hadn't accidentally offended her. At her encouraging nod, he swiped a hand down his face. "Maybe when things die down and we're not all so famous. Getting to know someone with our hectic schedules isn't easy, as you probably know. I mean the thought of a soulmate is nice, but the timing for me right now wouldn't be so great."

"In the future then," Eunjae said it more as a statement than a question. "What do you think they'd be like?"

That brought a small, pensive smile to his full lips and his eyes traced the rug again. "I used to think about it a lot when I was younger, but not so much lately. I'd hate to set expectations because who really knows? But I'd like to think that if I do end up meeting them, they'd be kind."

"I'm sure they would be." And she meant it. While Eunjae may not have known Namjoon long personally, what she did know was that he was an old soul. Someone who put others before himself always. Fate would do nothing if not give him someone who would cherish that.

He cleared his throat before finding her gaze. "We'll see."

None of them spoke about the fact that he may never see. That he could live his whole life without ever meeting his soulmate. That both she and Hoseok had been lucky to find one another out of the other 7.5 billion people that inhabited the planet. There was a reason why the statistical likelihood of finding one's other half was so small.

"Any other questions?" Namjoon changed the subject with a lighthearted smile.

"Mm, just one," Eunjae grinned.

"What is it?"

"Can I hear what you've made so far?" She nodded at his computer, which had long since put itself into sleep mode.

Huffing a laugh, Namjoon spun back around in his chair and shook the mouse to wake the computer up. "Sure. But just warning you, none of these tracks are final yet."

“It’s not even that bad, stop pouting.”

Eunjae dropped the recently colored strand of hair to send a glare at Soyeon. Unfortunately, the woman was too focused on keeping the car in its lane to pay any attention to her charge. “Says you. I haven’t been a brunette since I was in high school.”

Narrowing her eyes, Eunjae examined her new hairstyle in the sun visor’s mirror. She’d been forced to dye her once silver tresses to a boring dark brown. When she’d met Soyeon a few hours ago, the woman had informed her that according to whatever stupid handbook employees were required to follow, unnatural hair colors weren’t allowed. And since Eunjae was technically employed by BigHit with her fabricated internship, she had to abide by the rules. 

Which meant ruining her hair. Miles had spent an unfathomable amount of time coloring it and when she’d texted him the news at the salon, he’d practically had an aneurysm. She couldn't exactly blame him since he'd been the only one who'd been allowed to touch her hair since he'd first learned how to hold a flat iron.

"Well think of it like this," Soyeon spoke while she merged off of the freeway. "At least now you won't stick out like a sore thumb. The less people question you, the better off everyone is in the long run."

"I guess," Eunjae mumbled begrudgingly. Her tutor was right, but that didn't mean that she had to like it.

Eunjae turned her attention from the mirror to stare out of the passenger side window. The sun was getting ready to drop low beyond the horizon soon, however the day was far from over. Soyeon looked at the girl from the corner of her eye. "So, ground rules."

Raising a brow in curiosity, Eunjae turned to stare at Soyeon's side profile. "Ground rules for what?"

"For tonight. There's some things we need to go over before we get there." Bangtan was attending their first performance of the new comeback at Music Bank in three hours and Eunjae had to shadow Tiffany for the night. Which would have been exciting, if she wasn't so nervous that she'd mess something up.

"Okay." Eunjae's tone came out hesitant. 

"This is coming from the top," Soyeon pointed a finger at the roof of the car. "AKA, from Bang Si-Hyuk himself. Basically, you can't hang around the boys at all, under any circumstances. They should be getting the same spell as you right now so don't think that this is just for you. If you're caught, the staff would absolutely eat that up and rumors would spread faster than butter on toast."

Eunjae made a face at the strange analogy, but nodded her head in understanding.

"Also," the woman continued. "Hands off your soulmate unless you're helping him with his wardrobe, whether you're in the safety of the fitting room or not. None of the staff have been informed of the connection between the two of you and it's up in the air right now on when or if they will be. 

"While all of them have had to sign a basic NDA at the beginning of their contracts, that doesn't always stop gossipers unfortunately. For all shows in the near future, you'll be hitching a ride there with the rest of the coordi noonas in order to avoid suspicion on why you get special treatment by riding separately."

Eunjae trapped her bottom lip between her teeth, mind reeling. Sure, she knew that there were going to be some things that she would or wouldn't be allowed to do, but she hadn't prepared for how strict the rules would be. The whole reason she was given the internship in the first place was so that her and Hoseok could "refuel" during their upcoming tour. 

If she could barely even breathe the same air as him, how was that supposed to work? What good would fleeting touches do in the face of staving off hunger? Hell, it took at least an hour of constant touching to even begin to feel sated. Was she supposed to stay away from him for the whole tour, only sustaining herself with barely-there brushes against his skin?

She didn't voice her concerns, only hummed in agreement when Soyeon gave her a questioning glance. It wasn't exactly her place to complain since the company had already done so much for her. Though that did little to take her away from the thoughts that played on a constant loop once Soyeon turned her attention back to the road. The rest of the drive passed by in a blur. Eunjae barely recognized the building they pulled into the back parking lot of Music Bank. 

Cars were scattered throughout the spaces and vans with deeply tinted windows took up a whole row near the entrance doors. Once the engine was cut, Soyeon escorted her through the double doors and passed the check-in desk for staff where she received a badge to wear around her neck. The room that Eunjae was led to was far down the exceedingly long hallway.

None of the boys were present yet, which wasn't all too surprising since there was still a while to go until they needed to take the stage. The greenroom wasn't incredibly big, but Eunjae supposed that space wasn't exactly necessary when the boys were just meant to be in and out. Their show was going to be recorded live, so they'd only need to perform it once instead of the multiple amount of times that a prerecorded one would need.

Bangtan weren't the only ones who were taking the stage, which was something Eunjae had noticed when she was being shown to the greenroom. She'd never been backstage at a show before, television or otherwise, and it'd felt a little odd. Getting to see what went on beyond the t.v. screen was like pulling the curtain off the illusion.

Out in the halls, staff from multiple different entertainment industries passed each other, pushing clothes racks or speaking into the tiny earpieces hooked around their ears. Much like the stylist department at BigHit except a while lot more crowded and a lot louder. Eunjae had yet to see a famous group wandering around, but she'd been able to spot some familiar names on temporary signs plastered to the sides of greenroom doors.

Safely inside BTS' room, Eunjae greeted the few coordi noonas that she knew by name and shuffled across the busy room to find Tiffany. There was a flat screen television mounted on one of the walls, but it was off. And a few leather couches were pushed up against the wall opposite the overly long vanity with seven chairs already lined up in preparation. Supplies were set neatly in front of each, some of the noonas who would be doing the boy's makeup setting up their stations.

According to Tiffany, who'd assigned Eunjae the low-risk task of organizing the clothes rack with stage outfits, the boys would be arriving in an hour or so. The news would have been a relief to her slightly grumbling hunger if it weren't for the fact that she wouldn't even be able to touch her own damn soulmate. All she could do was hope that Hoseok was doing fine from the short hour they'd been able to squeeze earlier in the day.

Insane.

That was the first word that came to Eunjae's mind when she came stumbling back into the room. Apparently someone had forgotten a bag full of accessories that were supposed to be worn tonight, so she'd had to run out to one of the three vans that belonged to Big Hit to hunt it down. Which was a pain in and of itself since it was dark outside and all of the vans lined up in the lot looked the exact same. Add in the fact that the bag had been hidden, tucked beneath the middle row of seats in the last van she checked, and you got a very flustered Eunjae.

She had no clue how long she'd been out there searching, but by the time she got back to the greenroom, the boys were already in their stylist's chairs getting their makeup done. Remembering the stupidly strict rules, Eunjae didn't spare them a glance. Which also meant she missed the brief look of surprise that flickered across Hoseok's face when he looked up and caught her reflection in the mirror.

Even if it weren't for the no-contact rule, she wouldn't have been able to hang out with them even if she'd wanted to. Mostly because the dressing room was a flurry of activity that passed by so fast that Eunjae barely even noticed the time. And because of course, Tiffany had decided to help get Hoseok ready herself instead of letting Eunjae assist. Which only served in making her dislike her all the more. 

If she was going to be like that throughout the whole tour, then how the hell was Eunjae going to be able to be around Hoseok at all? Hopefully the company would decide in favor of disclosing their soulmate connection, otherwise what was the point? It would just do more harm than good.

It wasn't even until the boys had left to take the stage that Eunjae actually got to take a break from the fluster of activity. The rest of the staff were either beginning to pack up their things or taking the time to sit down and relax a little bit. Someone had turned the television in the room on, so everyone could watch the performances.

Luckily by being backstage, Eunjae didn't have to fight to see over anyone out in the crowd of audience members. She was seated on one of the couches next to a coordi noona who had introduced herself a week ago as Yoona. She was a kind, older woman with long dark hair and perfect, flawless skin. While she didn't speak a lot of English, she had still tried her best to make Eunjae feel included.

On the television, she watched as the opening slow-yet-upbeat track started up. This was the first time that the title track of Bangtan's upcoming album was going to air and Eunjae would be lying if she said that she wasn't excited to hear it. The actual album release wasn't going to be for another two weeks, with the title track being dropped sometime around midnight tonight.

Just because she knew them in person, didn't make Eunjae any less of an ARMY. 

The stage was bright, encompassed by pink and purple lights. Each one of the boys had been dressed in a multicolored outfit consisting of a black, red, and blue color palette. While each of them looked good, she had a difficult time tearing her eyes off of her soulmate. Off of the way his skin glistened so prettily beneath the stage lights. And how perfectly in-sync he moved his body with the rest of them.

Confidence practically bled from his pores and he commanded the stage each and every time he took the center. Eunjae watched their live performances whenever she'd gotten the chance to, but there was something different about now knowing them that made it different. Made her feel different in a way that she couldn't quite put her finger on each time the camera tracked her soulmate dancing his way across the stage.

All three minutes and forty-four seconds that Bangtan spent performing passed by way too quickly. And before she knew it, they were finished and the television was cutting to commercial. Luckily, they'd been the last group to perform, so no one had to wait another few hours until the awards for the night were announced. Though it wasn't like Eunjae would have been able to watch who won anyway because she was put back to work the moment their performance was over.

She was too busy helping to load up the vans with the numerous boxes that had been packed back up to even get to see the boys. At least things weren't as hectic after the show like they'd been beforehand, but that didn't make it any less tiresome. The only thought that kept Eunjae going was that in less than an hour, she'd be back within the confides of her own apartment. Maybe then she'd be able to congratulate the boys on the win she knew that they were sure to secure.

It wasn't until she was staring out the car window on the drive back that she recognized exactly what it was that she'd felt both watching Hoseok perform. Her eyes widened, breath stilling in her throat. Oh shit.

She had a crush on her soulmate.

[grahammasurian]

Dumping Your Responsibility.

The dumpster outside my apartment building was completely overflowed. The truck missed a couple weeks for some reason and people just kept piling their shit on top regardless.

“My sin will be forgiven, the next sinner will go to hell!”

This came into my head whenever I thought of the garbage situation. I considered myself 99% innocent since I didn’t use the dumpster during these couple weeks. Unfortunately when disaster happens it doesn’t care how much you were involved, all it sees is your darkness.

What I could have done was call up our landlord. Maybe I didn’t add directly to the trash pile but I still could have brought attention to it. Unfortunately my mind gave me a great reason for not calling him, a wonderful why even bother type of belief. These curses will kill you but they provide immense relief.

He lives someplace nicer and keeps his back turned on this building, so if I don’t tell him anything he’ll keep believing whatever fantasy he’s living. Whenever I bring up something for him to look at he puts it off or conveniently forgets about it, can’t say I blame him. I'd love to do the same sometimes and then feel guilty about it for the rest of my life. It’s hard to convince myself that a life of eternal guilt is worse than a life of hard work. Maybe the simple solution is to just disregard the guilt and make everyone despise me, though I can’t say that seems like a good long term strategy.

I guess everyone likes to avoid responsibility too, don’t get me wrong I get it, because man it sure feels good to not take anything seriously, just sit back and relax through life, I’ll lay down in my bed and fold into a quarter circle. Pull my knees up to my chest and gently hold myself, like swinging in the breeze floating along to somewhere better.

Eventually some birds had a war over the trash that was at this point spilling everywhere, old food, old clothes, plastic shit, maybe real shit. It was a disaster but seemed to be an appropriate punishment for us. I watched a seagull pull apart a bag for 30 minutes, something about the completely boring and ordinary scene held a power over me. I imagined this feeling of our civilizations being consumed again by nature, it’s easy to forget that nature is constantly trying to integrate us more effectively. Integration with an ocean with a mysterious intention.

We could have salvaged things there, rescued some of our dignity and just accepted responsibility for what we did by not doing. I sat some nights debating whether or not I should just go out there and clean up everything alone. I didn’t mind the day, but at night I just loved how things seemed to come to life inside me. There was a power that I didn’t have access to during the day.

I decided it wasn’t worth cleaning up, after all I don’t really care what these people think of me, unless they express it to me. Plus I felt like I fit in better with my environment as a lazy drifter. When I run into the people that live here occasionally there is enough willpower on all our parts to say “Hi” and then move on our way. The two people that live under me, man and wife, maybe around late 50’s early 60’s always give me a glimpse into a possible future. The guy looks like his soul has been sucked out and not in a good way. It scares me for a moment and I tell myself I’ll keep it in mind but my actions don’t change.

The next week after the missed pickup and our experiment with apathy, something happened.

It was 12:33 AM, I was laying down in my bed with the window open, listening to the wind and feeling the slight breeze on my skin. Sometimes I’d lay there for hours listening to music or in silence, using drugs of course. The sounds of the night combined with distant sounds of the city created the backdrop for the worlds I explored in my mind. I break away from the atmosphere and write some ideas down in some form then go back to my mind.

I heard a familiar sound, the mother of this girl screaming in that resentful kind of way. Whenever someone talks that way to me my stomach gets sick, I see this person is using me to escape from something. You know instantly that this isn’t about you anymore, it's about them.

I hated the way this mother yelled at her daughter, I didn’t have kids of my own but I didn’t mind them, I generally see children as innocent beings until they gain awareness. When they become aware they turn into wood, hopefully they make it through and become real but many don’t. Some play as the twisted craftsmen, shaping the world with design. Night after night I’d hear this poor girl being molded into something that will make her unhappy for the rest of her life.

Even though it’s hard to feel connected with darkness, you still elicit feelings for things of the night. You react more on principle and not bigger picture at night, this mother was injecting venom deep into the mind of her daughter. Like a jackass I sat there each night it happened and listened to it like music.

 Being man enough to walk down there one day and call her out on her shitty behavior was always in the back of my mind, but then I would think some more and figure what difference would it make? Sometimes I snap out of my delusions and wake up, I see who I am from up here.

Just look for the right words.

It didn’t happen every time but sometimes this warped girl would dash outside, slamming doors and shouting behind her. Most times I’d hear her small steps pace around or walk down out of earshot then eventually I’d hear her again coming from the other side of the building, maybe doing two or three laps like that before cooling off and gaining enough strength to go back. She feels like she just wants to give up but chooses to continue to face that fate which shows just how much courage she had.

This night the young girl made her usual escape, something about the scene caught my attention. Normally I just ignored it for the most part, but tonight I felt worried for her and listened to see if she was okay.

The shriek of her screaming scared me sober. That kind of pitch that you can only get when you feel real terror.

Confusion at night amplifies fear to a level that can go beyond anything you’ve ever felt. Sometimes hearing a loud noise randomly in the middle of the night only to realize it was something conspicuous is an interesting moment of tension and release of tension. When you listen to death it creates tension that doesn’t go away unless you force it to release.

I couldn’t see much but the sounds made up for the rest, I looked on in horror as this poor unfortunate girl came running towards the front door to come back inside. She must have forgotten to prop it open a little this time like she usually did. The door was shut, she couldn’t escape through there and it was the only chance she had time to try.

This whole thing happened so fast it was as if my mind refused to think about what I was seeing, this bear that must have smelled some food nearby came across her instead.

Hearing someone produce screams that come from a dangerous place, sends a painful shock through you. It would have been nice if I was one of those people that got off on that kind of thing but unfortunately I had to deal with the feelings of misery, dread, sadness, fear, anger, all at once.  

A little bit slower than what should have been immediate there was incredible energy from all around, people coming out and making noise, not too many but enough for me to be impressed.

The general sentiment at the time was:

“Oh My God!” A big fat lady wearing a shaggy blue sweater screeched out. There were many other intense shouts, deflated yelps, sobbing murmurs, all mixing together slowly creating the atmosphere for a tremendously horrific scene.

All these half awake people, semi-disconnected souls felt something deep down within them for once. For the first time in decades some of these hopeless people felt alive, they acted without thought calling back to our primate ancestors. They witnessed a driving force, without realizing the lesson unfortunately.

Some of the people approached the girl to try and attempt some kind of help and others stayed away, accepting the situation or too afraid to know how bad it really was.

Some sobs were heard throughout the night as people came and went, voices that sounded defeated, voices that sounded ready to give up and heavy with guilt.

“Emily! No!” The mother cried. Obviously still drunk. Obviously deluded into thinking her daughter is anywhere close to alive.

“Please baby I’m so sorry! Please wake up baby!”

I had great disdain for this mother, but at that moment I felt bad for her. This woman made mistakes and in the end all it causes is suffering.

They came for her daughter, whisked her away into the abyss forever. Black cloaks riding into the stars on their skeletal horses. I wasn’t sure whether or not the constant beating I was hearing was a drum or my heart. We summoned these demons with our ritual, the choices we made were acts of incantation that brought forth monsters with the power to possess mortals, the possession was the final step in ensuring resurrection lest one of us snap out of the hypnosis and rescue the rest from the gaze of Medusa.

Then some downcast EMT workers took away her body, from the low looks and words after immediately coming upon the scene it was clear that hope didn’t exist anymore. I never saw the aftermath personally, where the actual attack happened was obscured to me by the awning over the door. Sometimes imagination makes things worse.

The mother followed her daughter into the darkness 3 weeks later.

[mitchiemoo]

Close Up-Part 1 (Johnny Joestar x Reader)

Summary: You are an upcoming, young actress, starring in your first major film. For publicity, the studio suggests you begin a relationship with your co-star, British thespian Diego Brando. Reluctantly, you agree, and soon find yourself at odds with Johnny Joestar, former Hollywood star. After losing his career and the use of his legs, Johnny offers to help you achieve fame but cautions the price. Is it really the fame you want? Or something else?

Warnings: Explicit language

Word Count: 3,539

“Darling, I promise I’ll return. When I do, I will be a true gentleman, one worthy of your affection.” Diego’s eyes gazed intently into your own as he raised your hands to his lips and kissed them.

You gasped and stepped back in shock. “Oh, sir,” you said. “You needn’t earn my affection, for I have already given it to you. If I am to be the wife of a tailor, then so be it. Please stay.”

Diego rose to his feet and gripped your hands tighter. “No, I must go. I shall better myself to provide the life you deserve. My father was a cruel man, who worked my poor mother into an early grave. The day he died, I resolved to never become a monster like him.” His voice shook with emotion and you could hear the desperation in his voice. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, right on cue.

“They shall wed me to another man before you return. Search your heart, you know it to be true. What shall you do with your fortune then?”

A shout came from off stage. “Elena! Jonah is looking for you.”

Panic crossed Diego’s face as you snatched your hands from his grasp and turned away. “I’m sorry, I must leave now. Goodbye, Dorian.”

“Wait!” He called after you as you rushed off stage.

“Cut!”

You breathed a sigh of relief as the lights dimmed and the bell rang. It was hot. Oppressively so. Especially in your costume. Sweat soaked the back of your neck and the under layers of your dress stuck to your skin. No wonder Victorian women were so prone to fainting spells. The late 19th century dress you wore was exquisite and you admired yourself in the mirror while wearing it many times. But the skirts were extremely heavy and restricted your movements.

It was a relief when you plopped down on one of the prop couches scattered around the set. The ornate fan your character used in an earlier scene laid discarded on the spot next to you. You opened it and desperately fanned yourself.

“Would you like some water, miss?” One of the stagehands offered. You nodded and wiped at your teary eyes absentmindedly before you remembered you were wearing make-up. Oops. The stylist would not be happy with you.

“Good read today.” You looked up.

Your co-star, Diego Brando, stood in front of you, looking extremely disinterested. He had shed the dark blue coat he wore in the scene and rolled up the sleeves of his plain white button down. It looked like he barely broke a sweat. “Although, you should try to look more devastated. At least you didn’t forget your lines today.”

If he said that to you at the beginning of filming, you would’ve been fighting back tears. Now, you simply brushed it off. Diego Brando was a world-famous actor. He had been classically trained at the Royal Shakespeare Academy and performed in several critically acclaimed plays before his debut on the silver screen at age 19. Compared to him, you were nothing. This was your first major role and the extent of your training was reading Shakespeare aloud for your family as a child.

“Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind.” You said through gritted teeth, picking at the intricate golden embroidery on your dress. The stagehand you sent to find water returned and you immediately began gulping it down.

You were surprised when he sat down beside you. He sighed and ran a hand through his golden blond hair.

“Look,” he started. “There’s a fundraiser tonight at one of the local art galleries and the studio wants us to go together, as a couple.”

You choked.

“Wh-what?” you managed to sputter out.

Diego rolled his eyes. “Don’t get too excited, alright? You’re not my type and frankly, I’m not attracted to you in the slightest.” He continued. “The producers and studio executives think this is a good way to get publicity for the film and help our, err, your career.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. Normally you would be insulted by Diego’s words but if working with him had taught you anything about him, it was his strong sense of pride. Nobody was good enough for Diego Brando, not even himself. Especially unknown, amateur actresses like you.

“How does going out in public with you help me, exactly?” You asked.

“Don’t sound so ungrateful, love. Thousands of other girls would kill to be in your position.” He spat and waved his hand dismissively. “We get photographed together, the press makes a fuss about ‘Diego Brando’s mystery girl’, who she is, where she’s from. The public wants to see more of our chemistry and go see the movie. The film’s a success, you’ll be named one of Hollywood’s most promising newcomers and a few months later, we quietly ‘separate.’”

You looked down at the ice in your glass, quietly mulling over Diego’s proposition. All you had to do was pretend to fawn all over him at award shows and fancy parties, where other famous actors and directors were, and your movie would draw crowds of people? It was too good to be true. The only downside you could think of was spending more time with Diego. Your lip curled in distaste.

“How long would this arrangement last?” You asked, tentatively.

“About six months.” He replied. “Like I said, everybody benefits. You get a handsome bachelor, I get free publicity, and the studio makes a bunch of money. Do we have a deal?” He extended his hand and smirked. You hesitated. Six months for a fruitful career and a lifetime of success? What could go wrong?

You shook his hand and were surprised by how firm his grip was. “Deal.”

“Smart move, darling.”

The bell rang again, signaling the end of the break. Diego stood up and offered you his hand again. You set the fan and empty glass aside and he pulled you up from your seat. “My driver and I will pick you up at 7. Dress code is black tie and please, don’t be late.”

He turned on his heel to walk back onto set. As you followed, you couldn’t ignore the growing sense of trepidation brewing in your heart. What could go wrong?

-

Shortly after filming ended that day, you took a cab back to your apartment and inspected your closet. Diego specified black tie, which meant a full-length evening gown, gloves, and jewelry. You had a few nice dresses from the department store, three of them full length. Sure, they wouldn’t be as elegant or glamorous as the Dior, Chanel, and Balenciaga gowns you’d see tonight but that just gave you something else to strive for. Maybe next time you would be the one wearing Chanel and turning heads.

You drew a cool bath and scrubbed your face and hair free of make-up and styling products. Of course, you were going to have to reapply them later but for the moment, you felt very refreshed.

Before you left the set that day, you asked your stylist to recommend some good salons in the area. Your hair and make-up skills were limited so you opted to have it professionally done. Diego made it sound like there would be photographers everywhere and you wanted to look your best.

The gravity of your situation didn’t really register until you were sitting in the stylist’s chair and staring at yourself in the mirror, that visceral moment when suddenly every blemish and flaw seemed magnified. Your stylist was a talkative lady with pink hair, but you were only half listening to what she was saying. This arrangement was only temporary, you reasoned, and then you would be free of him. But deep down, you knew you would never really be free of him.

For the next six months, you would be “Diego Brando’s girlfriend” and after you separated, you’d still be known as “that girl who dated Diego Brando” or “Diego Brando’s ex.” You came to Hollywood to make a name for yourself, to be admired for your work, to be remembered as something greater than “so-and-so’s ex.” When you left your hometown to become an actress, you knew the risks, but the rewards were better than any opportunity available there. You were patient, auditioning for minor roles at first and building up your resume until you decided to audition for a few major parts. Just when it seemed like your hard work was paying off, you made a deal with the devil, disguised as a charming British thespian.

“What do you think?” The girl chirped, breaking you out of your thoughts.

She definitely did a nice job. You barely recognized yourself. The make-up was tastefully done and not nearly as caked on as your usual “stage face.” She pinned your hair up in an elegant up do, which brought special attention to your face and kept the back of your neck cool. You nodded approvingly, tipped her well and headed back to your apartment to finish getting ready.

-

As promised, a limousine pulled up to the front of your building at exactly seven o’clock. It seemed Diego was a punctual man and you had to admit he looked handsome in his gray, three-piece Armani suit. He greeted you curtly when you slid into the back with him and then immediately started dictating how the night would go.

“So, when we pull up to the gallery, there will be a lot of cameras flashing, alright? I get out first, then I help you out, like the gentleman I am.” Diego eyed you in your pale blue dress like a jeweler appraising a gemstone. “You look decent enough, I suppose. I’ll buy you the dress next time although they won’t really be paying attention to you.”

You frowned. “Isn’t that the whole point of this?”

“Relax, love, you have six months to catch their attention.” He crooned. “Just think of this as acting experience. If you want to be as big a star as me someday, you’ll have to get used to the flashing lights, invasive questions, and lack of personal space.”

You looked out the tinted windows at the passing streetlights. You imagined them as eyes peering into the dark leather interior, prying into your innermost thoughts. If what Diego said was true, when you were famous and in the public eye, every move you made was picked apart by paparazzi, who descended like a kettle of vultures. One wrong move and you’d be vilified. If something that was meant to stay private leaked out, there would be an outcry of scandal that could, depending on what it was, jeopardize your whole career.

Another thought suddenly crossed your mind. “Diego,” you said. “Are you going to kiss me?”

He tensed beside you. “Err, probably not. The most I’d do is hold your hand or put my arm around you like this while we’re sitting.” You felt his arm snake around the back of the seat. “Even in my real relationships, I don’t care for too many public displays of affection. I don’t think it’s very professional, really.”

You nodded thoughtfully. “I agree and I feel it’s ‘too soon’ in the relationship to do that. This is our first public event together, after all. Let’s leave them wanting.”

“What’re you thinking?”

“I’m thinking less is more. The press would go wild for a picture of us kissing, especially if we never do it.” You said. “Let’s fuel the fire and make them fan the flames.”

The glow of the passing streetlamps illuminated Diego’s face, casting it in shadow. A glint caught in his eye. “I like the way you think.”

The limousine jerked to a stop and suddenly you were very aware of your department store dress, hand-me down pearl necklace, and $70-dollar hair do. You swallowed and gripped at the small clutch purse you brought. Diego had told you what to do. Smile and look pretty, let him lead you to the door. The hardest part was getting inside. If this was the kind of fame you wanted, you couldn’t let the people and flashing lights overwhelm you.

Diego was a shrewd operator. Every movement he made was calculated and perfected, so it appeared seamless. For you, everything was a blur of faces and cameras and people shouting over each other. You were pretty sure you heard “Diego!” and “Who’s that?” over the commotion. This time, Diego’s firm grip was comforting, and you concentrated on the back of his blond head as he led you down the concrete path.

Your heels clicked on the white marble flooring of the entrance way and you breathed a sigh of relief. Diego let go of your hand and scanned the room. “That went well.” He said. You inspected your palms and saw little crescents indented in the skin. “Do you ever cut your fingernails? They’re like claws.”

“Oi, I clip my fingernails once a week like everyone else. They just grow fast is all.” Diego said defensively. “You have a death grip like a construction worker. Maybe you should’ve done that instead of acting.”

You rolled your eyes and looked around. The gallery was large and open with white marble floors lined with royal blue carpets, and cream-colored walls decorated by avant-garde paintings. A large set of double oak doors was at the end of the room. Fellow guests milled around the entryway in groups, but you didn’t see anyone you would recognize.

“What’s this fundraiser for, anyway?” You asked.

Diego shrugged. “No idea. I just got the invitation in the post and saw Steven Steel’s name on it. Figured it’d be a good excuse to dress up and eat fancy food with other rich people.” Your stomach growled when he mentioned food. The last thing you ate was a handful of blueberries and a soggy sandwich on set that afternoon. You were starving.

He offered you his arm, which you took, and led you through the double doors into the main showroom. You glanced around at the various tables along the floor and spotted several famous faces. The man with the tall silver-blond hair was French actor Jean-Pierre Polnareff and sitting next to him was the famous Egyptian magician Mohammed Avdol. At the table next to theirs was the famous British fashion model Lisa Lisa, impeccably poised and smoking a cigarette in a fancy holder. A few people turned in their seats to look at you and Diego as you passed.

“Ugh, look who’s at our table.” You heard Diego scoff.

You were shocked.

It was Johnny Joestar.

The Joestars were basically Hollywood royalty and Johnny was no exception. Dubbed “Joe Kid” by his fans, Johnny was the face of young Hollywood, an All-American country boy with cute dimples and a youthful face. He made a name for himself playing the righteous young cowboy protagonist in Western action films, the hero who saved the girl and brought justice to a lawless landscape. Everyone knew him and it seemed like his star would only grow brighter.

Until the accident happened.

It was about a year ago. The papers said Johnny was on a walk with his girlfriend one evening when a crazed fan came up from behind and shot him in the back. He lived, fortunately, but was paralyzed from the waist down and would need to use a wheelchair for the rest of his life. The studio abruptly ended his contract and he hadn’t been seen or mentioned since.

“Joestar,” Diego hissed. He pulled out your chair and pushed you into the table before taking his place beside you. The three of you were the only ones there, so far, and Johnny sat across from you in his wheelchair. It struck you how different he looked in real life. His tousled blond hair reached his shoulders now and for someone known for his dimples, it seemed like a scowl was permanently etched on his face.

Johnny sneered. “Ugh, I should’a known you’d be here tonight, Diego. Never could resist an opportunity to boot lick.”

You knew Johnny and Diego had a history. They had been rivals, once, before Johnny’s accident. They competed for roles, awards, and the hearts of beautiful women. Diego held nothing but contempt for his former rival. He claimed Johnny didn’t have a shred of talent and used the Joestar name to get his roles instead of working hard to earn his fame, like he had. “I came from nothing” he was so fond of reminding you. The feeling was mutual, at least from what you read. Johnny once called Diego “a stuck-up prick who should go back to community theater.”

“Who invited you, anyway? I thought it was clear no one wanted you around since you lost your legs.” Diego said.

You bit your lip and looked down at your lap. Should you say something? Diego could be a heartless bastard, you knew that. Honestly, you felt for Johnny. This man had lost everything. What happened was an accident, he didn’t deserve to get shot, no matter how much the media tried to demonize him.

You gently touched his arm. “Diego, dear, be nice.” You implored, batting your eyelashes for effect. “Please, for me?”

Johnny narrowed eyes and turned his pale blue gaze towards you. They were much more intense in person and once again you were aware of how insignificant you were compared to people like him. “Who’s this?”

Diego looked at you with a simpering smile and draped his arm over the back of your chair, like you’d practiced in the limousine. “This is my new girlfriend.” He replied. “Jealous?”

Johnny regarded you for a moment. “Lemme guess, you’re his co-star? What’s your name?”

You told him and reached over to shake his hand. “It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Joestar. I’m a big fan of your work.”

You weren’t lying. If any singular actor inspired you to finally move to Hollywood and pursue your dream, it was him. Westerns were far from your favorite genre but if Johnny Joestar was starring in it, you’d drag your family to see it anyway. It was surreal for you to be so close to him.

He nodded politely and shook your hand. You were surprised by how rough and calloused his palms were. “You must be new. I’m not familiar with any of your roles.”

“Yes, this is my first major role. I was very excited when I found out I was going to be working with Diego Brando.” You said. “I’ve learned so much from him.”

“This movie is going to be a hit.” Diego cut in. “Darling, you’re such a captivating actress, everyone will adore you.”

“How long have you two been together?” Johnny asked.

“Two weeks.” Replied Diego.

Johnny went quiet for a moment, inspecting his fingernails intently. “I see,” he said. “Sleeping with Diego is a smart career move. Come up with it yourself?”

An indignant “what” was all you could manage as color bled across your cheeks.

Johnny wasn’t fazed at all. “Listen, I don’t much like lyin’ to people, so I’ll tell you this. When I look at you, I don’t see ‘star material.’ You got a decent figure and a marginally pretty face but nothing about you stands out. They don’t care how good your acting is, it’ll never be good enough for the kinda fame you want. You can be a good actress, but you’ll never be a star.”

You were fuming. Absolutely livid. Who did he think he was? He didn’t know you! He was just bitter. Jealous of the fact that you had a promising career when his ended prematurely. At first, you felt bad for him. Now? You couldn’t even look at him without seeing red.

“You’re better off this way, promise.” Johnny continued, though you could barely hear him over the thundering of your own heart in your ears. “Nobody in this town gives a shit about you when you stop making them money. They’ll turn you out on your back the minute you can’t be their ideal person. The price of fame isn’t worth it.”

You weren’t listening anymore. Any sympathy you had for Johnny and his situation was completely evaporated by the heat of your anger. Diego and the media were right. He was an asshole. Another person to prove wrong. Your movie would be a success. Over the next six months, you’d endear yourself to the public, charm the Hollywood elite and once you secured your place, he’d see how wrong he was.

“Oi mate, you can fuck off.” Diego interjected.

“Eat shit.”

You shot up from your chair and grabbed your purse off the table. “Excuse me, I’m going to the bathroom.” You said quietly, desperately trying to keep your voice from cracking. Your throat felt tight and tears gathered at the corners of your eyes as your emotions boiled over. At least the next time you needed to cry on command, you could think back on Johnny’s words, which still echoed inside your skull. They stung. A lot. And as you hurried through the maze of tables, all you could think about was how true they might be.

-

This is my first time posting on tumblr and I was really excited to share this! Hope you enjoyed it. My inbox is open so if you have any comments or feedback, I’d love to hear it. Even if you just want to chat, I’d love to get to know the community.

[cookiedoughmeagain]

Haven DVD commentaries: 5.15 - Power

5.15 Commentary with Adam Higgs and Speed Weed (writers for this episode and the next episode)

SW: By the time anyone’s listening to this, we’ll both be writing on different shows. But we can’t tell you which ones yet. Not the same show as each other sadly. AH: Yeah that was a shame. But we will one day in the future, I have a good feeling about that. However for Haven stuff, I think the thing here was, we were trying to reboot the show in a way. SW: That’s right. AH: 514 is the start of the season, or of season 5 part B, but these two episodes [515 and 516] really encompass the new world order. SE: That’s right, they define the world after the shroud is down. Did we call it the shroud in the show? AH: The shroud, yeah. That’s actually a good point because we spent a lot of time talking about what the shroud was going to be called. I can’t remember the other names we thought about, but we went back and forth for a long time. SW: And we talked about what we called it - because often there’s a handle that you use in the room for what you’re talking about, and then you have to remember, did you actually put the same term in an actor’s mouth so that the world inside the show knows what it’s called? AH: My favourite is when you don’t realise that. On another show I did that, it was in the edit that I was like; Oh have we ever mentioned that that’s what that’s called? And going through scripts we realised that no; no we did not - OK, let’s ADR some stuff in.

AH: So this was fun. We’re both fans of The Walking Dead, and we got to do a Haven kind of version of The Walking Dead, or of them just trying to survive. It’s not the Trouble of the Week things so much, it’s … SW: It’s Haven’s version of a post-apocalyptic world, it’s true. These episodes were directed by Rick Bota who also direct 9 and 10 that Adam and I also wrote, so it was good to work with him again.

[Dwight and Nathan talk outside the school] AH: So here we get to see that time has passed since we last saw everyone in 514 and we spent a lot of time making sure that everyone had their own intro so we could showcase how things have changed. And a lot of this episode is about putting strain on these episodes and just seeing how everyone reacts to this post-apocalyptic kind of situation they’re in

SW: There’s Tony, he becomes a bigger character in the next episode. AH: Yeah we spent a lot of time seeding a lot of things. And we shot these episodes in between our set move. So, for other other seasons we shot up until October, or earlier than that even? And everything was shot on our sound stages in Chester. And then this year, half way through the season everything got moved up to Halifax, because of hockey. SW: That’s right. We shot on a hockey rink in Chester. Really anything that has a lot of space and a tall ceiling can be a sound stage for a television show - if it’s quiet outside, if there’s no noise from the street coming in. *pause for the break*

[Duke driving to work in Halifax] AH: This is actually Halifax, this bridge here. SW: That’s right, and I think this is actually one of the first scenes we shot in Halifax. Oh no, we shot that later. AH: Yeah this was shot quite a bit after. And here we’ve got our wonderful mechanic here played by William MacDonald. I worked with William on an episode of Republic of Doyle, so I was happy when I saw him in the auditions for this, and he did a great job. He just has that look, that imposing feel.

SW: So anyway, the people in Chester wanted their hockey rink back, so when we got a 26 epsiode order (seasons 5A and 5B) we had to move sets at this point as we were shooting. And the reason these episodes take place almost entirely in the school (this storyline [Duke in Halifax] excepted) is because all of our standing sets were being taken down in one place and being put up in another. So you’ll see in later episodes those sets coming back AH: We slowly start to see the sets getting put back up. But these scenes with Duke in Halifax were shot after - well after - because we had to shoot everything in the school for this whole block.

[As Duke is leaving his voicemail to Monty talking about the kind of job he’s looking for] SW: What do you do when you’re responsible for having given Troubles to thousands of people? AH: Go to disneyland. But no, that is exactly what we were trying to figure out here - what happens to Duke? After the explosion how does everyone pick up the pieces and move on?

AH: And another goal for these episodes was trying to get the characters to an interesting place, or a place we can build off of. And the relationship between Audrey and Charlotte was an important one to build (over this and the next couple of episodes) to see if we could get them to a place where they can trust each other. Because it’s like Speed said, what do you do after you gave everyone Troubles? What do you do when you find out that this woman that you’ve been missing your whole life [your mother] has been an obstacle for you for the last couple episodes? How do you respond to that? And we do try really hard on this show to create some level of reality, maybe not in terms of the supernatural, but at least in the emotions characters have.

SW: The other thing that was a challeng early in the design of these episodes, and it was really cool talking through with Adam in the room, was how we got a super deadly - oh I should pause, people are psyched about this kiss [Nathan’s and Audrey’s ‘I like the view’ moment], enjoy the kiss. AH: This hasn’t aired yet, I just realised. And I’ve been waiting to see the Twitter response to these kisses, because we ramp up that lovefest, in these two episodses especially. And there’s some really powerful scenes in 516. SW: It’s true. Or I should say, I believe you. I’ve actually forgotten what happens in 516. You know we do have a portion of fans who are not on Team Naudrey. We have a portion of fans who are rapid Duke/Audrey lovers.

SW: So, we really worked hard to design a Trouble that was super-deadly, and really scary, and didn’t require any production budget. So we talked a long time about the darkness, like - when you were in the dark a monster would come and eat you, but then we thought you’d have to produce something for that. So it became just the darkness itself. AH: And we even talked later about whether there would be a sound cue or not a sound cue. SW: Sound is cheap. AH: Yes, but this was a good one. We went back and forth on what to make this look like. And you’ll see some of that production-friendly magic throughout these two episodes. But the darkness I think worked well in just keeping everyone scared. Because it’s kind of human nature to be afraid of the dark.

[Dwight giving his banishment speech to the assembled crowd in the school hall] AH: We got to give Adam Copeland some cool stuff to do, and just showing where Dwight would go if you pushed him to the edge. And I’ll admit, we went further with Dwight in the early drafts. Dwight was Ned Stark in the early drafts, and he was a little bit more complicit in some executions. But we looked at the character and had to pull back a bit on that, I was a little zealous there, I think it was good to pull back. SW: Well you had The Walking Dead in mind, you know. But the truth is ultimately, we’re not that show. We are more heartfelt and lighter, and we protect our characters.

[Nathan discussing his trip down Trouble Alley, and Audrey pointing out cell phones don’t work.] AH: Cell phones. SW: We talked a lot about cell phones. AH: We did, we talked about whether or not we wanted them to be able to use cell phones, or not to use cell phones, could cell phones work that way? SW: Could they get through the shroud? Well, we knew they couldn’t get through the shroud AH: How did the shroud work when it came to people outside? There were a lot of rules that we inside the room spent a lot of time discussing how things would work.

[As Nathan is telling Audrey who he’s taking with him to the power plant, and the camera cuts away to show those people, and Vince and Dave’s argument] AH: Speed, I have to give you big props for pushing with the intercut here, because it’s not something we usually do on this show. And you really encouraged me to push it further and I think it ended up working really well. SW: Well you did have the instincts to do that, and TV now can really jump all over the place and audiences follow it. Haven has typically followed a pretty standard way of story telling. But, for film students out there, this started (and we’re now back to) a conversation between Nathan and Audrey, that cuts forwards to a walking shot [of the group coming up to Trouble Alley], that cuts back to a flashback of Dave and Vince, and then comes back to the overarching narrative [Nathan and Audrey’s conversation]. You’re following that as you watch it, but it is - at least to the tastes of this show - a risky re-arrangement of time. AH: It looks good though. SW: And it’s very efficient story telling. You can get more story in in less time. AH: We did get very efficient on this show, I have to say.

[Vince and Dwight’s conversation in the office about the batteries] AH: This relationship was a lot of fun. And it was great to build it, and talking to Adam Copeland about it, he really thinks of the character, of Dwight, that Vince is his dad so to speak. When he’s thinking about how to play a scene really works in that kind of structure.

SW: To be clear, in case we got confusing before, Trouble Alley has no cell phones working. Cell phones work within the school, and around town inside the shroud, except for Trouble Alley where - did we explain it, I can’t remember, but there’s some kind of electromagnetic Trouble there. AH: Yeah and EMP kind of Trouble that’s knocking out a lot of the power.

AH: This episode moves a quite a clip. And again we’re back here in Halifax. SW: Actual Halifax. And here is Hailie. AH: Hailie, played by Tamara Duarte. SW: She just had a spot on audition. I think Shawn Pillar, our executive producer director, knew her, and she delivered a tape that was just perfect. We needed somebody who was broken and hard, and yet also vulnerable which is not easy to do. And she’s a young actress. AH: And she can sell stuff so well with expression, that’s one of the things she brought to this. And this character ends up growing. We originally only had her in these two episodes [515 and 516] but then she becomes integral to the story. And that was interesting because we hadn’t actually shot these scenes yet - as we were talking about earlier, the Duke scenes were shot much later than the rest of the episode - so we had to go back and change things a little bit to make sure it lined up with the mythology that we were putting in to the show to pay off in epsiodes like 21, 22, 23. It was interesting. SW: And we designed her Trouble before we thought how we were going to use her later (to phase through the shroud). But it was kind of cool, we essentially took a tool that we’d built off the shelf, instead of designing it specifically. SW: I love the story Matt McGuinness tells about when he was in Vegas with some of his friends from Franklin & Bash on a retreat there. And they were getting into a hotel van to go down town for dinner or something like that. So they’re this goupr of 50 year old men, and in climbs a group of good looking 50 year old women who were there for some sort of party. And they get to talking and flirting. So it’s like; What do you do? Oh we write for TV, Franklin & Bash. And that drops like a lead balloon; nobody cares. So Matt says; Well actually I write for Haven - and they all light up. And one woman says to Matt; You know what I love about Haven - it’s so complicated, but I know that you guys have everything absolutely planned out right from the beginning, so even though it feels confusing at times, I feel safe in your hands. AH: *laughing* What did Matt say to that? SW: He nodded and said; You’re right. And then he came back and told us that story. And, it’s just not true folks, I’m sorry. We are scrambling at every moment to figure it out. I think we do. AH: I think we do. That’s the thing, we make it work. Unlike other shows (nothing against them) we do take pains to make sure that if we set it up, we fix it, we make sure it works. We sometimes spend long days on getting that stuff to work.

[As Nathan is about to take the group into Trouble Alley] AH: I do enjoy this bunch of ragtag misfits working together. SW: Notice, another invisible Trouble. That’s a crew member with a wire in their hand; that’s cheap. AH: But if you’re wondering what I think it looks like, I’ve always thought of it as like Godzilla, a smaller version of Godzilla. SW: Cool! AH: Just invisible.

[As Charlotte gets her foot caught] AH: Oh, and again, talking about The Walking Dead transitions, Nathan in the original draft was super dark here where instead of saving Charlotte, Nathan basically blackmails her freedom in exchange for information. SW: Right, it was jumping up a wall originally, and he was only going to pull her up if she gave up the information about the aether. Whereas here now she offers it because she’s in trouble. AH: So I think it was a good note to pull back on that, but again it was just getting into that head space of Game of Thrones, Walking Dead.

[Duke on the phone to the bank who refuse to recognise the existence of Haven.] AH: And again here we are putting in some rules of the shroud, how does it work with memory, what do people of think of Haven, that are outside of the shroud. SW: Yeah, important for the rest of the season. AH: And are these - yes they are, the first episodes to really start Duke on this journey of him walking the earth. SW: Oh yeah for sure. Last episode he was in Haven. AH: And that plays out for quite a while. SW: Yeah he’s out of town for a while.

[Nathan and the others arriving at the smashed up Herald] AH: This scene I felt was important, just to show how the world has changed so much for everyone. You know, no one is safe. And it’s not just Troubles, there’s looters and stuff where the Troubles have set off a fuse, but at the end of it is just crime and everything. SW: And very poignant that it’s Dave here in the Teagues home, because for most of the series they were the keeper of the secrets. If everyone else was confused, they knew what was going on. And then a little bit in season 4 it started getting out of their hands , and then certainly in season give they are way out of their depth. And this their vault of secrets has been affected.

[As Charlotte is telling Nathan that aether might help her solve the Troubles AH: Here we had to be very specific about this receipe for success and how it would work.

[Dwight to Audrey; It’s easy making choices from the side lines] AH: This is the ‘heavy is the head that wears the crown’ aspect

[As we see the power plant] AH: This was actually a power plant SW: Yeah it’s so cool. Very unusual looking place. AH: So that was neat that we were able to get an actual power plant with the turbines and everything. I will say for myself, that I am not mechanically inclined at all. So there was a lot of help from the room in figuring out how electricity works. And this is Kira Fletcher, this is our third Fletcher that we’ve used on this show.

AH: It was nice to get everybody in the dirty clothes and everything too. And they wore it all well.

[As Nathan takes the wires from Kira] AH: That’s the other thing, in these episodes I really wanted to make Nathan as active as possible. He’s trying his best to put this genie back in the bottle. And just every time he tries to do something good it seems to backfire. SW: Well, it’s sort of the theme of the show; No good deed goes unpunished. AH: And we’re going to see that with Duke right here.

[As Hailie is asking Duke about her mom’s ‘superpower’ AH: And again, a lot of this story we had put in here, and we didn’t have to alter it when we came up with the fix or the solution or the mythology for 21, 22, 23. SW: Well and episode 20 as well. AH: Yeah, her mom is seeded in right there. SW: If you haven’t seen it yet, epsiode 20, Sam Ernst and Jim Dunn wrote a retro Haven episode that features Hailie’s mom. AH: And I remember there was talk about using Tamara to play Hailie’s mom. But I don’t think we did that in the end.

[As Duke and Hailie finish their conversation outside the garage] AH: Oh, somebody listening in. SW: 26B, is that what Matt calls it? AH: Yeah, 26B SW: Matt’s code for someone overhearing.

AH: This was fun with Charlotte as a character where she comes from another world that’s much more advanced, so she’s not a mechanic, she’s not an engineer by trade, but our technology is so simple to her. SW: It’s like playing with a paperclip to her. There’s a word that we use all the time in the room that isn’t actually in the show; Arcadians. Just to ourselves, Charlotte and Mara and her father are Arcadians. And William.

[As Audrey finds Vince with Rolf’s body, the latest victim of the No Marks Killer] AH: And this was some heavy mythology to drop as well. There is a lot going on in this episode! SW: Yeah it’s really the season premiere AH: It was nice to bring the Teagues back into the main cast. They’ve been out on an island almost, having their own plot and learning a lot of stuff that was very important. But it was nice to bring them back so that they’re interacting again with Audrey and Nathan, and Dwight. SW: And they do well when they’re holding secrets. They’re built for that.

AH: Eric Cayla, our Director of Photography, did some great work with darkness and shadows in this episode. [Audrey; Did they force you to do this? Because I can get you out.] AH: And there’s that Audrey compassion that’s going to play a big role in 17 SW: We like to, on this show to set up things, especially as it’s become more serialised. And with that litle line there, Audrey just sealed her fate for episode 17, or the end of 16. AH: Yeah, that was another one, like we talked about with 9 and 10, where the ending moved back and forth.

[Dave to Charlotte; Is there anything I can do to help? Back rub? Water?] SW: *laughing: Oh Adam. You have a way of getting humour in. That’s just terrific AH: *also laughing* I remember there was some debate though about that ‘back rub’ if he was coming on to her. And I was just like: No, no - he’s just in an awkward situation and doesn’t know what to do. Being an awkward person myself, that’s coming from real experience.

AH: And this was great work by the art department on these power schematics. It really helped tell the story.

[people in the school fighting over a flashlight] AH: Chaos! And this is again that post-apocalyptic landscape [Dwight; Alright everyone take a deep breath SW: That’s what I say to my kids when they throw tantrums AH: But not the rest of the speech. And this just shows how Dwight has elevated in the eyes of the town.He really is the leader. So interesting where you started with this character and where he ends.

[As Nathan and Kira find the mine shaft where the aether seems to be] AH: So we were talking this through, if this is where William’s stash of aether is held, our idea behind it is that he stashed it in a natural cave or underground area, geological formation of some kind SW: Like 500 years ago AH: And then things were built over it. It’s not that William went there when that building was built and buried it there. SW: Right, just to line up with the backstory that William and Mara were trapsing round New Engliand in the 1500s.

[Mechanic on screen; I looked you up Hailie Colton] AH: Oh I remember we didn’t have a last name for her initially. We had to go back and add that in.

[Duke runs the mechanic over and drives through Hailie] AH: Yes, Duke knew that was going to happen. He was not trying to kill Hailie. And props to Shawn and Rick for blocking this, it was not the easiest scene to block - a lot of moving pieces.

[As Audrey is packing a bag to go look for Nathan] AH: And here we were trying to have a nice mother/daughter moment SW: Yeah you did a great job. The slow arc of getting them together. AH: I think that’s the other thing we tried to do with these episodes is re-establish that anything could happen. That this is a new world order, bad stuff, people are dying. And it could be one of our characters. SW: Yeah we talked about where to end this episode and start the next one [The implication being they considered ending the episode before Nathan gets back, and so with the suggestion that he is actually dead] AH: I think a lot of these background extras here [as Nathan arrives in the hall full of people] were comped in. SW: They had 300 extras on the day AH: Was it 300? Maybe they weren’t then, maybe it was all practical.

AH: Thank you for listening SW: We’ll see you on 16

[traveller-lover-dreamer]

A Web of Minds, Pt 1

Teaser || Part one | Part two | Part three | Part four | Part five | Part six | Part seven

Summary: He climbs walls and protects the neighborhood. She reads minds and feels people’s emotions. What’s going to happen when their world collide?

Pairing: Peter Parker X Fem!Telepath!Reader

Words: 3.6k

Warnings: Mentions of explosions, fire and a building collapsing. That’s pretty much it

A/N: The chapters of this fanfic are going to be shorter than my usual chapters. But I’ll keep a regular schedule for it so there’s going to be a new part every Thursday night at 8 pm east coast

Sometimes, we get a feeling in the back of our mind. In our guts. Something that stops our breathing for a moment, and we need to figure if we’re going to be okay. Most of the times, we are and it’s just a temporary feeling. For her, it wasn’t temporary, it was who she was to become. But her story started a long time ago, so let’s start with the beginning.

“Y/n, wake up! You’re going to be late to your first day at Midtown!” her mom’s voice said from behind her closed door.

Y/n rolled in bed, hiding her face in her pillow. She didn’t want to go, she wanted to stay in bed and to forget that she was switching school for the second time this year. Although, this time was for the best right? Midtown had a good reputation and if it weren’t for her mother’s friend, Y/n would have never gotten in. But he believed in her true potential and Tony Stark could do whatever he wanted and that included getting Y/n in Midtown.

“Honey, I swear, you’re going to be late”, her mother said as she opened the door.

“I don’t want to go”, Y/n mumbled. “My bed’s comfy.”

“If you don’t get up, I’m not buying ice cream for the next month”, her mother threatened.

“Are you serious? You really think that’s what’s going to get me out of bed?”

“I know my girl.” Y/n raised a head from her pillow and shot a look to her mother.

She rested her head back on the pillow and sighed before propping herself up on her elbows.

“You’re right, you do”, she mumbled and her mother started to laugh.

“Hurry, I’m driving you to school in thirty minutes”, her mother said before leaving.

Y/n sighed again and looked at her hands. She ran her thumb on the scar and tried not to think about what it meant. Because if she did she would spiral down into grief again. And she didn’t want that. Not after what happened the last time she did.

Y/n got up from her bed and chose what to wear from her drawers. Her choice settled on a black dress with a white collar. She then moved to the bathroom, where she took a quick cold shower before getting dressed and going to the kitchen.

“There are bagels if you want”, her mother said as Y/n walked in.

“That sounds amazing.”

The girl ate her breakfast silently as she watched the news on the muted TV that was on the kitchen counter. She watched as a recording of a security camera was showing Spider-Man stopping a robbery in a jewel’s store.

“I bet Mr. Stark knows who Spider-Man is”, she said as she took a bite from her bagel.

“I know for a fact that Spider-Man was at the airport in Berlin…” her mother started.

“Mom, I don’t think you’re supposed to be telling me this”, Y/n interjected.

“Right”, her mom sighed.

“But that means I’m right”, the girl smiled.

Her mother chuckled. “Yeah, you are.”

Y/n finished her bagel and then walked back to the bathroom to brush her teeth. She stared at her own reflection for a moment, trying to muster the courage to step out of the bathroom and face the day that was to come.

“We’ve got to go, honey”, her mother yelled from the front door.

Y/n could tell that her mother was getting annoyed by her tone, but she ignored it. She wasn’t the one who had had to switch schools again and again, she didn’t understand how difficult it was.

Y/n glanced in the mirror one last time before stepping out of the bathroom. She grabbed her backpack from the spot where she had left it and then put on her black Vans and pink bomber jacket before walking out of the apartment. She waited as her mother locked the door and then they made their way to the car.

The drive to school was silent and Y/n watched the busy world outside of the car, trying to ignore the anxiety building in the bottom of her heart. She noticed two women holding hands and for a moment she was overwhelmed with love. She shut her eyes and breathed out. That feeling wasn’t hers, it belonged to the two women. She took a deep breath and then sighed deeply as the feeling left.

Ever since the night of the accident, she had developed that ability. She could feel people’s emotions and if she concentrated enough, she could hear their thoughts. Well she couldn’t actually hear anything and she barely could feel people’s emotions. But Mr. Stark believed she had it in her. Although, for now, she had to keep her mind shut from the world. It was when she didn’t keep her mind shut that things usually got dangerous.

For the rest of the drive, Y/n stared at her feet as she did her mental exercises to shut her mind off from the rest of the world. It was easy, easier than it seemed but if she let her guard down, she knew she would lose all control again and start feeling people’s emotions. And she didn’t want that happening, especially not when she was about to arrive at her new school.

Actually, she never was able to shut her mind entirely from the rest of the world. There was always a sense of buzzing in the back of her head, but she was usually able to keep it at a whisper if she did her exercises.

Her mother stopped in Midtown’s parking lot as Y/n finished her mental exercise.

“Ready to go?” her mother asked as Y/n glanced at the front door of our new school.

“I guess”, she replied.

“Remember, if something happens, you just have to send Tony a text and someone will come to pick you up.”

That was the perks of your mother working for Tony Stark. She wasn’t really present, but Mr. Stark always made sure that someone was there. Usually, it was Happy.

“Yeah, as usual”, she said before kissing her mother’s cheek and grabbing her backpack.

“Happy’s picking you up tonight”, her mother told her before she got out of the car.

“What? Why?” Y/n enquired.

“I’ll have to work late”, her mother explained. “And anyway you’re training with James tonight.”

That happened a lot. Her mother was a scientist, a good one at that, and she worked for Tony Stark. Well, more precisely, she worked for Pepper Potts, but at this point it was pretty much the same thing. She often worked late, but someone always came to pick Y/n up. That’s something she didn’t quite understand: why was Mr. Stark taking care of her that way? Her mother had never explained, she had simply said her father and Mr. Stark had been close when Stark Industries was still producing weapons. Long before her father had died, that is.

Y/n got out of the car and shut the door behind her. She walked to the front door and took a deep breath as she opened it. Here’s to another school.

Midtown looked like all the schools she had been to before. Except everybody was supposedly smarter. Y/n walked in the hallway and watched as students were talking to each other, leaning against the lockers. She had to get to the secretary’s office but unfortunately had no idea how to make it there.

Somebody bumped into her.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you there”, a brown-haired boy said.

Y/n’s eyes got caught up in the boy’s gaze and for a moment she let her guard down. The buzzing grew louder but she took a deep breath and it went away.

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it”, she said. “I’m Y/n.”

She held out a hand for the boy to shake and she watched as he blushed.

If she could she would have let her guard down to know what the boy was thinking. But she wasn’t able to do that. She was only going to feel what everybody was feeling, and maybe to hear some thoughts here and there. But nothing precise.

“Hi, uh, I’m Peter”, he replied before shaking her hand.

The contact sent a shiver down her spine. For a moment, she saw flashes of fire and a building crumbling, but then it was over.

“I’m new here”, she told the boy who was doing everything to avoid her gaze. “Do you happen to know where the secretary’s office is?”

He nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I can show you.”

Y/n smiled. “Great, show me the way.”

The boy nodded again and then blushed. Did he always blush like that?

“What’s bringing you to Midtown?” he asked as they made their way through the crowded hallway.

She chuckled. “That’s a long story.” She said. What a lame response.

“Oh”, the boy simply replied. They stayed silent for a moment, until the boy spoke again. “We usually don’t have new students.”

“I know”, Y/n said. “I just switch school a lot and I used to be in a science school before so…”

“Cool”, the boy said. “Uh, the secretary’s office’s right there.” He pointed to a glass door on their left. “Good luck on your first day.”

He literally ran away and Y/n just stood there for a moment, wondering what had just happened. She shrugged her shoulders before walking in the secretary’s office. The secretary gave her her schedule and then indicated to her how to get to her first class.

Chemistry. Y/n hated chemistry. She sighed as she followed the secretary’s indications. She got to the class right when the bell rang and the teacher stopped her before she was able to make her way to an empty seat at the back of the class.

“Hey everyone”, the teacher said. “We have a new student today. Say hello to Y/n!”

Nobody replied and Y/n stared at her feet as she could feel her cheeks burning. She hated to be the center of attention. It was enough for her to let down her guard. Not voluntarily. The buzzing grew louder and she could hear a thought, a very clear one at that. Nobody cares.

Maybe she had been able to hear it because most of the students in the room were thinking it. Y/n took a deep breath to shut her mind from the world before raising her head to look at the class.

That’s when she noticed the boy who had guided her to the secretary’s office. Her eyes lingered in his gaze but then she looked away.

“You can take a seat, Y/n”, the teacher indicated her.

Y/n hurried to her seat, which was next to a girl with a Joan of Arc shirt. She took her notebook out of her backpack and put it on the desk. Her eyes wandered to the girl’s own notebook, which was covered with a drawing of somebody who vaguely looked like the boy who she had talked to this morning. The boy who was actually glancing at her from over his shoulder.

There was something about him that was a little familiar. She hadn’t noticed at first but now Y/n could tell something was familiar. She had seen him somewhere before, but where?

The teacher started his class and Y/n tried to take notes but she kept being distracted by the girl’s drawing. She was good, a lot better than Y/n was and there was something in the way she concentrated on her drawing like it was the only thing in the world that intrigued Y/n.

At the end of the class, Y/n put her things in her backpack before getting up from her chair. The girl next to her got up at the same time.

“Hey, you’re really good at drawing”, Y/n gently said before the girl walked away.

“Thanks”, the girl simply replied. “You’re new here?”

“Yeah, I actually am. You know where’s the Spanish classroom?”

“Yeah, I’ve got Spanish next period too, I’ll show you”, the girl smiled. “I’m Michelle, but you can call me MJ.”

“Y/n”, Y/n replied.

She noticed from the corner of her eye that the boy – Peter – was staring again, but she didn’t look at him as she started to walk with MJ.

Making friends wasn’t always easy. Y/n could often tell if she connected with someone a lot faster than most people did, probably because of her ability. Yes, she couldn’t control it, but she could still feel a general sense of trust or disgust from certain people. Disgust was regular, especially in a big city like New York but trust didn’t come often.

And something in the way MJ explained gently that she liked to draw people in crisis made Y/n feel as if she could trust the girl. Not because she liked drawing people in crisis but because that general sense of trust was pulsing around the girl.

It didn’t take a long time for the two girls to get to the Spanish class and they sat at the back of the room.

“So, how’s school here?” Y/n asked.

MJ shrugged her shoulders. “You know, it’s school. I’d rather be at home.”

“I feel that”, Y/n chuckled. “Took my mom everything to get me out of bed this morning.”

MJ smiled and that’s when Y/n knew she had made a friend. “Mood.”

The hour-long class went by like a flash (probably because Spanish was easy to Y/n) and soon enough it was time for lunch.

“I usually sit along with those two weirdos”, MJ said as she pointed to Peter and another boy. “You want to join us?”

Y/n noticed Peter looking at her and she blushed. “Yeah, yeah, why not?”

The buzzing grew louder and there was the sound of an explosion in her mind but then she breathed out and the feelings and thoughts were gone. This day was getting tiring.

As she sat down next to MJ’s friends, Y/n avoided Peter’s gaze and concentrated on her food in front of her.

“Hey losers, this is Y/n, Y/n, this is Peter and Ned.”

Y/n raised her head to smile at the boys. “Hi, guys.”

Peter smiled to her as Ned held out his hand for her to shake.

“You’ve chosen the best people to sit with, I hope you’re aware of that”, Ned said. “I’m Ned Leeds.”

“Y/n Y/l/n”, the girl said. “I’m glad to hear this, the people at my last school were so boring.”

The lie fell from her lips so easily. The people at her old school hadn’t been boring. They’d been good friends, until Maya… Y/n stopped her train of thoughts. She didn’t want to break down. Not here in front of people she barely knew.

“Oh I promise your time here is going to be lit”, Ned smiled.

“Shut up, we all know we’re the biggest losers”, MJ said.

“Why do you have such a low esteem of us?” Ned faked to be offended.

“Cause you weirdos made a Lego Death Star again last night”, MJ explained.

“Yeah right”, Ned said, glancing at Peter.

Peter kept his gaze on his hands, ignoring what his best friend had said. Y/n couldn’t help but to notice that something was off.

“Whatever”, Peter said as he raised his head but still avoided Y/n’s gaze. “At least we have the coolest movie nights.”

“Coolest? There’s nothing cool with watching Star Wars over a thousand times in your life”, MJ chuckled.

Y/n smiled as she listened to their friendly banter during the lunch period. She felt happy to be with them and she even tried to take part of the conversation when she could, always keeping an eye on Peter. There was something about him that she couldn’t quite figure yet but she knew she was going to have a lot of fun to do so. After all, that’s what Mr. Stark had told her to do: to try to get to know people without invading their minds. As if she could actually do that.

“Happy!” she waved to the driver as he pulled over in front of her at the end of the school day. “Midtown’s not so bad.”

“I knew you were going to say that”, Happy said as he started to drive towards the Avenger facility. “Did you make friends yet?”

“Actually, I did”, Y/n smiled. “Well, I made friends with MJ and she introduced me to Peter and Ned. They’re really funny.”

“Great! Your mother will be happy to hear this, she was worried about you.”

“She always is, isn’t she?”

Happy didn’t reply because he and the girl both knew why her mother was always worried.

“Anyways, they’ve invited me to a movie night on Friday night”, Y/n said to switch subject.

“Sounds neat.”        

Y/n smiled as she rested her gaze on the world outside the car.

Her first day at Midtown hadn’t been so bad. In fact, after all, it had been one of her best days at school this year and she was thankful for it. She didn’t know what she would have done if this school was like her last.

“Ready for training with Rhodes?” Happy enquired as they finally stopped at the Avenger facility.

“Always am”, Y/n sarcastically said although a smile was tugging at the corner of her lips.

Actually, today she was ready to train. She actually wanted to. She was hoping that for once she would maybe be able to control her ability.

Y/n made her way to the usual gym where Rhodes was waiting for her every Monday. As usual, Rhodes was waiting, sitting in the middle of the room on his cellphone.

“Hey there!” Y/n said and he raised his head.

“What’s that enthusiasm you’ve got?” he smiled.

“Made new friends today. There’s something weird about one of them, I can sense it, but I didn’t let my guard down. Like we said.”

“That’s great! Have you considered doing what Tony suggested?” Rhodes asked.

“To get to know him without using my ability? Well, yeah, that’s what I’m planning on doing.”

“Good”, Rhodes smiled. “But right now you need to let your mental guard down and to tell me what I’m going to eat for dinner.”

Y/n sat on the chair in front of Rhodes. “That question is too easy. You eat tacos every Monday night.”

Rhodes chuckled. “True.” He paused. “If you let your guard down, what can you sense?”

Y/n breathed out and closed her eyes. She let go of the wall around her mind and the buzzing got louder. She could sense the usual stuff she sensed around Rhodes. Fire and explosions and something softer, a bright sun and a clear laugh.

“The usual”, she replied. “Fire and explosions. And the sun and the laugh.”

“Whose laugh?” Rhodes asked.

She never knew. She focused a little more and she could feel her head hurting. But then something came up.

“Mr. Stark”, she said. “It’s Mr. Stark’s and you’re outside of his house, the one that exploded.”

“Can you tell me more about it?” Rhodes enquired.

Y/n’s brows furrowed as she concentrated harder. “Pepper’s there.”

“Yeah she is”, Rhodes said. “When did it happen?”

“Uh”, Y/n breathed out. “I don’t know.”

There was no indication of a time, of when that could have happened. It happened before the explosion of the house, of course, but when did it?

“Take a break”, Rhodes gently said after a moment. “Open your eyes and tell me what you see.”

Y/n’s eyes fluttered open and for a moment her vision was blurry, but then she could focus on Rhodes. A bright smile was on his lips.

“You did it!” he exclaimed.

Y/n scoffed. “I only said a little more about the memory. Nothing big.”

“It’s the first time you’re able to say who was laughing. And you could even tell Pepper was there too and where it happened.” He paused. “That’s progress, that’s a lot of progress.”

But at what cost? Y/n could feel her head buzzing a lot more than usually and it hurt. She was going to have one hell of a headache for the rest of the day.

“Yeah well”, she winced. “Got a headache now.”

“We can take a break for a moment”, Rhodes suggested.

“Much needed”, Y/n sighed.

There was a moment of silence as she built her walls back up. Once they were up her head stopped hurting so much and she could breathe in and out correctly.

“So tell me about your day at school”, Rhodes said.

She smiled. “I had chemistry first period, it kind of was boring but then it was Spanish and you know Spanish’s easy.”

Rhodes chuckled. “Isn’t to me but great.”

Y/n laughed. “Then I spent lunch period with MJ, Peter and Ned. They’re great.”

They continued to speak about everything and nothing for a moment but since Y/n’s headache didn’t go away, they decided to call it off for today.

Later, as Y/n was lying in bed, she let go of the walls around her head. For the first time ever she was able to tell where someone’s mind stopped and where someone else’s began. Y/n could tell her mother was in her bedroom and that her neighbors were fast asleep in their bed. She could also sense the people in the apartment over hers and the nice old lady in the one under. But she couldn’t tell what they were thinking of. She only was able to find the minds.

Y/n winced as her headache came back in strength and she built her walls back up. She sighed and hid her face in her pillow as she waited for sleep to come get her.

Read part two here!

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[breakmebucky]

Siren Song Chapter 003

               “Barnes. It’s been nearly a month since we got here and three days since the last possible sighting. I don’t think she’s coming.” Natasha groaned from her spot on the bed.

               “She’s coming.” Bucky replied flatly. “I know I’m right about this.”

               “But how do you know you’re right?” Nat asked, propping herself up on one elbow to look at Bucky seriously. “You keep saying you just know, and I believe you. I just really wish you’d tell me how you’re so sure she’ll show up here.”

               “I-” Bucky began, hesitant. “I can’t explain it. I just feel it. I know she’ll show back up here.”

               “Well can your feelings give up some sort of timeline? I miss my own bed.”

               Bucky shook his head and turned to look out the window at the coast line. He wasn’t sure how he knew the woman would show up, but every day he felt increasingly sure of it. He also knew that if she didn’t make an appearance soon, Steve would pull them out and bring them back to the complex. They were needed for other missions after all, and this recovery mission had already taken over twice the originally estimated time. As if the universe had heard his thoughts, the secure phone line began to ring.

               “Everything okay?” Nat asked after pushing the speakerphone button to answer it.

               “Have you had any luck?” Steve’s voice came from the other end of the line.

               “No.” She replied, purposely not mentioning Bucky’s evidence-lacking sureness.

               “Buck, you there too?”

               “Yeah.” Bucky answered, not turning his eyes away from the water. “I’m here.”

               “I know you really want to be the one to bring her in, but it’s been a month. We’re sending agents to take over the surveillance and bringing you both home.”

               “No!” Bucky snapped before clearing his throat. “No. I don’t need to go. I’m fine here.”

               “Buck-”

               “Steve, please.” Bucky interrupted with an undercurrent of desperation in his voice.

               Steve sighed and the line went silent for a moment.

               “Nat, are you staying too?”

               “No.” Bucky answered before Natasha could. “She was just telling me how much she missed her own bed. I’m fine to stay on my own.”

               “You sure?” Nat and Steve asked in unison.

               “Yeah.” Bucky replied, offering Nat a half smile. “Besides, you don’t even like the heat. I’ll be fine.”

               “Okay. I’ll arrange for transport later today.” Steve replied.

               “Hey Steve?”

               “What’s up, Buck?”

               “Send my bike over.”

               “Sure thing.”

                 The Quinjet landed five hours later and Bucky helped Nat carry her stuff onboard and got his motorcycle off the jet. He gave Nat a hug and thanked her for putting up with him for the last month before watching the jet take off once more. The agents that had been assigned to take over the surveillance portion of the recovery mission seemed like they were fresh out of the academy. They went absolutely by the book and were overly formal when they spoke to Bucky, much to his dismay. He brought them back to the hotel and showed them the equipment that they had set up and the agents immediately got to work monitoring the various channels and outlets.

               Fifteen days passed before Bucky was awoken by a pounding on the shared door between his and the agents’ rooms. He whipped the door open while rubbing the sleep from his eyes and stared down at the young man who had been knocking.

               “Yeah?” Bucky questioned.

               “Sir, we have another lead. There’s a video of a woman matching the target’s description emerging from the water approximately ten miles from here.”

               “Send me the coordinates.” Bucky replied before shutting the door, just as the young agent was about to ask him about backup. He quickly threw his jacket on, and headed for the stairwell.

               It took Bucky all of fifteen minutes to arrive at the location the agents had sent him. He turned his motorcycle off and stashed it in a spot where it would be convenient, but out of sight, just in case. As he quietly made his way through the empty fish market, he kept a watchful eye on his surroundings. He knew there was a chance that HYDRA may have also learned the woman’s whereabouts and could be there, and he also knew there was a chance the woman might hold some resentment towards him for the way their last meeting had ended…and that was also a potential dangerous situation.

               “You.” A familiar voice cut through the silence, making Bucky tense in surprise.

               Bucky searched the area around him but didn’t see the woman anywhere.

               “I’m here as a friend.” Bucky replied, holding his hands up in a non-confrontational way.

               “Not friend.” The woman replied, stepping out from a shadowed stall and into the harsh fluorescent light of the street lamps that lined the market. “Trust friend. You…no reason to trust.”

               Bucky was momentarily speechless when he saw her again. She looked much better than the first time he’d seen her and a whole world better than the last time as well. Her skin had taken on an ethereal glow and her eyes were a calm blue, not unlike his own. Her hair was parted to one side and tied back in a braid crown with the bottom half hanging in wild, wet, curls the color of melted dark chocolate. The thing that snapped him out of his awe was the expression set in her small face. It was nothing less than betrayal and anger and it was directed at him.

               “I know you don’t trust me.” He began. “And I understand why.” He slowly took a step towards the woman. “I just want to apologize for the way my friends reacted.”

               The woman opened her mouth and asked a question in a language Bucky had never heard before. Something about the language felt old and deep; like something you should leave alone if you were ever to run across it. Something that shouldn’t be awoken. It left him feeling both unsettled and confused, which the woman must have seen on his face because she once again quietly moved her mouth, practicing the shapes of English words before turning back to Bucky and asking her question again.

               “Friends here?”

               “No.” Bucky replied honestly. “They’re all back in New York. Do you know where that is?”

               The woman laughed softly, the sound producing the same soothing feeling that Bucky got when he watched a flowing river.

               “Yes.” She replied. “Seven hours.” She hitched her thumb behind her in the direction of New York and looked back at Bucky.

               “It’s a seven hour swim for you?” He asked, taking still more cautious steps towards her.

               “Yes.” She narrowed her eyes at Bucky and pointed at his feet. “Stop.”

               Bucky froze immediately and shrugged.

               “Just trying to get closer so we don’t have to shout, Doll.”

               “You lie.” She deadpanned. “Bad lie.”

               “You’re right. That was a lie and I apologize for that.” Bucky said.

               “Truth?”

               “Truth is, Doll, those people that got us before are looking for you. They want to make you a weapon to hurt people with.” Bucky explained. “Honestly, I’m here looking for you too. The only difference is that we want to bring you somewhere safe.”

               She rolled her eyes and exhaled a short laugh before replying in the old language again.

               “I’m real sorry, but I don’t understand what you’re saying.” Bucky told her.

               “Home safe.” She repeated after a moment, pointing at the water behind her. “Human…” she paused as she searched for the word and ended up just putting her fingertips together in a hollow ball shape and then quickly collapsing the space with a soft explosion noise. “Die before finding.”

               Bucky was still just as confused about what she was trying to say, but he didn’t have a chance to try getting her to explain it again before there were suddenly shouts and the sounds of boots on the wooden deck. Without even having to look, Bucky knew HYDRA had found them. Without questioning it, he quickly closed the distance between himself and the woman and grabbed her by the arm before pulling her towards the exit and his stashed bike. They were cut off by soldiers before they could make it very far and Bucky quickly changed course and they headed into the large building that housed the rest of the market, slamming the heavy door behind them. He drug the woman behind a stall and pushed her back against the worn wood before crouching down himself and retrieving his pistol.

               “Bad men?” The woman asked, breathing heavily and staring at Bucky with eyes that had gone light grey once more.

               “Yeah.” He answered quietly, watching the door for the approaching soldiers. “Very bad men.”

               “Fight again?”

               “Looks that way, Doll.”

               “No.” She replied in exasperation. “Me. You. Fight again?”

               Bucky turned his attention away from the thudding at the door briefly and looked back at the woman. She was holding her hand out and looking at him questioningly.

               “Yeah.” Bucky responded, taking her hand and offering a small smirk. “I’ve got your back.”

               “I trust.” She told him, shaking his hand once and then pulling her hair out of her face and tying it up.

               If the HYDRA operatives hadn’t managed to finally open the door at that exact moment, Bucky would have been able to notice the way his heart swelled when the woman said she trusted him. But, as luck would have it, the room went from a tense calm before the storm to a hurricane of bullets and blood. Bucky and the woman stuck close together and made their way through the first squad of operatives with relative ease. The woman tossed Bucky a rifle she ripped from someone’s arm and he watched as the arm dropped mid-air before he caught the previously attached rifle. The fighting continued as they crossed another squad on their way back across the docks. This time, the pair were separated for a moment as they both had to dive behind separate stalls for cover. As Bucky popped off another few rounds, he heard his companion shriek and then the sounds of panicking soldiers as they realized the threat they faced. Bucky couldn’t see the woman, but he could hear her as she fought and screamed again. He quickly made his way towards the screaming, shooting the straggling soldiers as he continued on. When he reached the entrance to the market, he found the woman covered in blood and surrounded by bodies. There was a sizable gash in her forehead, but she appeared otherwise unharmed.

               “Damn, Doll. Remind me to stay on your good side.” He joked as he moved towards his hidden bike and rolled it into view. “Come on, we’ve got to go before-”

               Bucky didn’t get to finish his sentence before a shot rang out and the woman suddenly reached out and threw him to the ground. As he looked up, he watched her face darken moments before she leapt over the bike and snatched up the last operative who had fired the shot. The man already looked like he was on the edge of death and he quickly met his end as the woman dug her fingers into his neck, severing his aorta before dropping him back to the ground to bleed out. She turned and made her way back to Bucky, reaching him just as he made it back to his feet and dusted himself off.

               “Got your back.” She said before the corners of her mouth raised ever so slightly into a smile.

               “Yeah, thanks for that.” Bucky replied before helping her climb onto the back of the bike and sliding on in front of her. He instructed her to hold around his waist and they were quickly fleeing the scene before the civilian personnel could show up. Bucky reached down and grabbed the woman’s wrist when he felt her grip loosen halfway through the trip back to the hotel.

               “You okay back there?” He called over his shoulder. He felt her nod against his back in response and her grip tightened again.

              Bucky knew something was wrong the third time her grip loosened and he had to hold onto her wrist to keep her from falling off. They reached the hotel and Bucky parked the bike and dismounted just in time to catch his woozy companion before she fell off the back.

              “Woah, woah, woah.” He said with concern, slinging her arms over his shoulders and lifting her off her feet. Her legs wrapped around his waist and she buried her face into his neck with a groan of pain. “You’re hurt.”

              “My head.” She mumbled softly.

              “I’ll take a look at it.” Bucky replied, carrying her to the elevator and getting her up to the room. It wasn’t until he set her back on her feet that he saw just how pale both her skin and the blue of her eyes had become. He opened his mouth to ask how badly she’d been hurt, but barely got a word out before the woman crumpled to the ground and lost consciousness.

[run-writer-run]

PEACE KILLS: CHAPTER 1

Story Description:

It's been decades since World War 3, and the world still hasn't gotten back to what it once was. Few technologies were able to be salvaged. At least, that's what Silven Owaris has been told. An organization called Peiwornt gathered the American people in a huge bunker before the nuclear missiles struck, and the former Americans found a way to survive an entire generation, just long enough for the overworld to be habitable. A city was built in a large expanse of fertile land, and Peiwornt created a government to get civilization back on track. The land has become a place of peace... That's what king Arwin says any way.

Rating: Teen and Up

Warnings: none

Part: 2 of ?

Work:

The yellowed paper crinkled in my grasp. The word 'WANTED' was written in large, threatening, black text. Underneath was a drawing of me. My bright blue hair and violet eyes seemed to pop out of the paper. Other than the bright colors of my hair and eyes, my face was plain. No freckles or distinctive marks other than a faint scar on my cheek.

Underneath the picture was slightly smaller text, saying 'May be dangerous, if seen contact closest guard'. I stuffed the paper into a pocket of the cloth bag I had slinged across my shoulder, and turned away from the wanted board. I pushed my sunglasses up my nose, and started walking towards the small market stall I tried to make a trip to daily.

"What have you got today, Erek?" I asked the man at the stall.

"Bread and produce. Not much meat unfortunately."

"Damn... Can I get a loaf of bread, a couple beets, and a potato then?"

"Of course."

"Great."

"It's on the house today, kid. You look hungry."

"Thank you."

He put the stuff I'd bought in my bag, and I turned away to return home. He was right, I could feel the growls coming from my stomach. It was a long walk to the wall between where I was, the outer-works, and the inner-works where my home was. Climbing up a tree that reached the top of the 20 feet high wall, I looked back to the streets filled with merchant stalls, shops, and small houses I'd left. My chest ached with the reminder that I didn't have a small cozy house to go home to, or a family.

I jumped over to the wall, and walked along it to an abandoned church. When I first found it, it was just as dusty and lifeless. Turns out people didn't really want to follow a god that allowed a nuclear apocalypse. I hopped over to the edge of the roof, using the slanted cross that stood there to balance myself. My hands itched from the rusted metal of the cross, and I started to carefully walk towards a balcony I could climb down onto. Entering through a glass door there, I raised my arms and stretched as I strolled towards the small table in the back of the room. A reflective piece of glass was propped up there.

The makeshift mirror revealed that bright blue was starting to show through the purplish hair dye I'd made out of beet juice. I glanced at the beets I'd bought, glad I'd be able to make more. Going through a door, I entered a large room with something resembling a kitchen/dining area. A couple of tables with no chairs sat in the center room, and a few counters and a gas stove that barely worked sat against the wall.

I set the bag on one of the counters and pulled out a potato. I set it on a small pan and grabbed some small twigs and paper scraps I kept close by, putting them in one of the stove's burners. I used a match to start a small fire, and turned the gas on. A bit would puff out every minute or so, keeping the fire lit and hot. I placed the pan on the burner. After the potato cooked and cooled, I set it on a plate with a hunk of bread and returned to the room I'd just been in. Sitting down on a cotton filled mattress on the floor, I ate. I set the remaining crumbs in a makeshift trap I had on the floor, and laid down on the mattress, exhausted.

●●●●●●●●●●●●●

I woke up to birds singing. The sun had just pushed its way a bit over the horizon. The sky was a pale orange near the sun, and a deep, dark purple above. Stars still lightly twinkled, barely visible but still there.

I sat up, a twinge of pain going through my back. That's what I got for climbing a tree every day.

With a yawn, I stood and moved towards my mirror. The beet juice dye had worn away more, but I had one more bottle that I applied. I wiped my hands on a piece of cloth, grabbed my knife from the table, and went to the kitchen to stick the beets in a cupboard. I left the bread in the bag and put in the knife, and went to the other room on this floor. It was a small library, filled with history books and books I'd stolen from outer-works libraries. I used the holy books that were in it as kindling long ago.

I grabbed a few historical and educational books from the shelves and stuffed them in the bag. I slung it over my shoulder and put on my sunglasses, then left the building. Heading for the back, I spotted and grabbed the ladder leaning against the church. I carried it towards the wall and climbed up, grabbing the edge and pulling myself up to the top of the wall. I looked back over the inner-works. It was mostly big houses occupied by nobles, but at the center was a castle, barracks, and an armory. 4 years ago, I used to call those barracks home. But I wasn't 16 years old anymore, and I wasn't a guard either. Turning away from my old home, I made my climb down the tree, and took a break sitting on a large root.

The usually crowded streets of the outer-works only held a few people. Nobody wanted to be up at this hour. I could relax a bit while I strolled through the streets, eating the bread, and heading towards a small gate in the outer wall. There was only one guard there, who was always too drunk or too asleep to recognize me. Today, he was asleep. I crawled under the half-closed gate, and resumed my journey. After enough walking to make my feet feel like they'd been sucker-punched, I finally reached my destination, one of the farming villages dotted around the farmlands surrounding the city.

I spotted the person I was looking for, Jayce, on his porch. He was a farmer, and a trader of goods and information. I made the journey to him once a week for money and information about what was going on in the castle. He was friends with a lot of people who knew important people.

"Where's my books?" He asked.

"Not even gonna say hi?"

"Fine, hi. If you want your share of the money and your info I need the books."

I pulled the books out of my bag and handed them over. He gave me some money and sat down on a chair, gesturing for me to sit down in the other. I sat down, relief flooding me now that I could finally rest. I looked up at the sky, which was now a light blue.

"If my intel is right, Anarila is gonna be queen soon. Her daddy's getting ready to step down, supposedly."

I only grunted in response, still processing it. I hadn't seen her in so long, she might just hate me. My chest felt heavy at the thought of attempting to return to her side, and I focused on keeping my breaths steady. Even though it was a big risk, I wanted to be with her again. I wanted to be home.

"Hey, you alright there?" Jayce asked.

"Yeah. Just thinking."

"You're wondering if you should try and get your guard job back, huh?"

"It wasn't just a job. Protecting her was what I wanted to do with my life."

"What, did you have a crush on her?"

"It was a long time ago. I just..."

"Don't want to be alone anymore?"

"Yeah."

We sat in a comfortable silence, waiting for someone to visit the stand set up in his yard.  When they did, he went to the stand and negotiated with them. I looked up at the sky and closed my eyes, just basking in the sun's warm light. The feeling of being cocooned in a blanket swept over me. Sleep crept over me and took hold.

●●●●●●●●●●●●●

When I woke up, the sun was high in the sky, slightly to the west. Jayce had pulled a chair to his stand. The books were gone. He was smiling, probably because those books cost a pretty penny. When he saw I was awake, he walked over to me.

"Since all the books sold today, you can have another share of money right now," he said, dropping the money in my bag. "And you can have some cheese and bread before you go," he handed me the food.

I ate while he sat on the porch step, humming a tune I barely recognized. "I've got to go. Thanks," I said, getting up to leave.

He just nodded and returned to his chair. I started my trek back to the outer-works. I was about to pass back under the gate when I heard a noise behind me. I turned towards it, only to hear the twang of a crossbow being fired, and felt a dart hit my neck. In seconds the world was going blurry and my heart pumped faster, confusion swarming in my mind. I collapsed.

[brerediddy]

more than survive - chapter 16

The entire afternoon was spent with notebooks strewn across the bedroom and laptops open with reckless abandon. Michael was lying on his stomach, pondering his phone screen with his eyebrows creased and his head aching. Jeremy was resting his neck on the small of Michael’s back, eyes closed and heart racing.

“Are we still against running away?” Jeremy sighed in exaggeration.

“Still going to be a solid no on that one, dude. We can figure this out. Look, I have a plan. Or maybe it’s more like half of a plan, but it’s coming along.”

Jeremy sat up, leaning forward to examine Michael’s notes. “What are you thinking?”

“So, I asked the fanpage for help-”

“The what?”

Michael looked at him as if he was maybe a little dumb and said, “Jeremy, did you forget that I made a whole-ass fanpage for you?”

Jeremy felt his cheeks heating up. Oh. That. “No, I didn’t forget, I guess I just. Just blocked it out, or something.”

“What, are you embarrassed?” Michael said with a teasing edge to his voice. He loved to egg the other boy on and see how cute he was when he got flustered.

“No, it’s just...I have fans. That’s a little scary.”

“Well, don’t get too cocky. They aren’t Jeremy Heere fans, they’re Spider-Man fans. They don’t even know you exist, dude.”

“And that’s the way it should be,” he responded with a small laugh. “Anyway. What was your point?”

“My point?” Michael had forgotten entirely. He turned onto his back and propped his head up on his crossed arms. “Oh, right. The plan. I asked the fanpage for help tracking down information on the SQUIP. I thought that three-thousand minds would be better than two.”

“There are three-thousand fans? Are you shitting me, Michael?” Jeremy put his head in his hands. “So those are all the people I’m in danger of letting down?”

“It doesn’t matter because you aren’t going to.” Michael reached up to pull Jeremy’s hands down from his face and held them gently in his own. “Hey, when I said I believed in you, I meant it. You got this. We’re going to fix this together.”

The smaller boy let out a breath and shrugged. “Fine. Okay. Whatever you say.” He leant down for a quick kiss, which Michael happily obliged.

After they broke apart, he went on to explain his plan once more. Michael sat up to level himself with Jeremy. “So the fans were able to track down this guy named Sebastian Iscariot. Apparently, he was a scientist who used to work for the SQUIP. He went rogue a while back and he’s been trying to get some sort of message out, but the SQUIP keeps blocking him somehow.”

“Sebastian Iscariot? Were you able to find him?” Jeremy asked with great intrigue.

“I tracked him down. I sent him an email but I haven’t heard back yet. I asked him what he knew about the SQUIP and the pill he was interested in developing.”

“So, what now? We just have to wait and see if he responds?” Jeremy wasn’t especially fond of the concept of sitting around and doing nothing while the SQUIP was out wreaking havoc.

“I don't know what else we can do. I mean, if this Sebastian guy is devoted to getting his message out, I’m sure we’ll hear from him.” Michael cleared his throat and added, “Besides, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go out there without knowing what the SQUIP really wants.”

“Maybe I could distract him. Keep him occupied, y’know?” His blue eyes lit up and the prospect of actually doing something and he began to ramble. “What if I caught up to him and used myself as a block? He’d have to get through me before he could even begin to worry about the pills.”

The bigger boy shook his head. “No, Jeremy, listen,” he begged. “Do you hear yourself? You just want to go up against the SQUIP as a simple distraction? Not as an end to this fight?”

“Whatever I have to do to give you more time to figure this out.”

“No, Jere. No.” Michael let out a long breath and met Jeremy’s eyes. “I’m not letting you fight him again without a plan. He almost killed you. You could be dead right now.”

“But I’m not—”

“He almost killed you, Jeremy. Do you understand? I can’t lose you. I can’t.” Michael took off his glasses to rub at his eyes for a moment. “If you insist on confronting him with some impulsive vigilante action, that isn’t going to work. We need to be smart about this.”

Jeremy sighed. He knew Michael was right, as much as it pained him to admit it. He was itching for a fight, itching for this to be over. But it was true that if he just started throwing punches, that wouldn’t solve anything. They had to have a plan.

He needed to stop being an impulsive teenager and start acting like a superhero.

“Sorry. You’re right,” he amended, taking Michael’s hand in his own. “You’re so smart. If I had let you in sooner, you could have solved all of this by now.”

“I doubt that but I’ll take the compliment,” the other boy grinned, pressing a small kiss against Jeremy’s pale cheek. “I know you’re anxious. We just need to wait on this final puzzle piece before making our move, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” he nodded. Jeremy ran his free hand through his hair and said, “Michael?” At his best friend’s hum of acknowledgement, he said, “Thank you for helping me.”

“I’d do anything for you, you know that,” Michael said sincerely. The sweetness in his voice made Jeremy’s stomach do aerobatics.

In the middle of the moment, Michael’s laptop produced a ding! Both of the boys stalled completely to look over.

“Do you think that’s—”

“It could be,” Michael said, fumbling to put on his glasses and open his email at the same time. His eyes scanned the page frantically. “It’s him. He wants to Skype and gave me his username. Says he can’t risk sending anything over email.”

“Oh my god, call him, call him,” Jeremy spoke.

“On it,” Michael responded. He was already frantically typing the scientist’s information into his computer. A moment later, the line was ringing. Jeremy and Michael arranged themselves into a respectable seating position, with their legs folded underneath them. The line rang and rang and rang and then:

A man picked up. The first notable feature was his wild blonde hair, wisps sticking up all over the place. He had bright green eyes and laugh lines, but the dark lighting of his room made both of those things seem much more sinister than they were. He was younger than Jeremy had been expecting. However, maybe that was just the fault of pop-culture for instilling a very different idea of “mad scientist” into his brain. Sebastian was wearing a gray sweatshirt and held onto a file folder in front of the webcam.

“Mr. Iscariot?” Michael ventured, looking for a response.

“Mr. Mell, nice to meet you. Prove to me you aren’t working with the SQUIP,” the man responded instantly. He didn’t blink.

“Um,” Michael said.

Jeremy cut in, “I’m Jeremy, sir. I recently...crossed paths with the SQUIP. He tried to drown me.” He could almost feel Michael stiffen at the mention of the incident. However, it seemed to appease Sebastian. He studied the two closely for another moment before his posture relaxed ever-so-slightly.

“Why?”

“Um,” Jeremy began uncertainty. “I’ve been...in his way, recently. I took one of the pills.”

“You took one?” Sebastian’s eyebrows raised towards his forehead. “And you’re okay?”

“Apparently,” he shrugged. He looked to Michael, who was eyeing him with suspicion.

“Why wouldn’t he be okay? What’s the pill for?” Michael prompted.

Sebastian licked his lips, eyes shifting to each corner of the room. “I started working for the SQUIP years ago. He needed my help in developing a completely new technology. He said it would change the way the world works. I-I didn’t know any better at the time. I was young, I had just gotten my first job in a lab. I thought I should just do what he wanted.”

“What did he want?” Jeremy asked. He chewed on his lower lip nervously.

“He wanted something akin to, well, mind control.”

Jeremy sucked in a deep breath and Michael’s brown eyes widened. “What do you mean, mind control?” Michael asked.

“The SQUIP wanted to put a piece of himself in this pill, part of his being. We used a bit of his DNA and supplemented with some of his cognitive processes. The other part of the pill was a neurotransmitter. Something to send and receive messages.”

“The SQUIP had you build a mind control device and you just went with it?” Jeremy asked indignantly. His hands turned to fists out of view of the webcam, his eyes narrowing at the man.

“I didn’t want to. It didn’t feel right. Around the time that he started bringing in test subjects, I backed out. I couldn’t do it anymore. We never perfected the technology, though. I never helped him finish it.”

“But I did,” Jeremy mumbled, unfurling his fists. He could scream. He couldn’t believe he had been so stupid. “I helped him with his tests. I was his willing subject.”

“What are you talking about, boy?” Sebastian asked, his green eyes darkening.

“I’m Spider-Man,” he blurted out. Michael pawed at Jeremy’s hand, trying to warn him to stop, but he didn’t. “He was blackmailing me and he had me work with him. He would make me show him how my powers worked and how much I could do. Then, he made me take a pill. He said I would be his test subject. Nothing happened, though, and I think that’s what pissed him off. After that, he tried to kill me.”

Sebastian tilted his head, analyzing Jeremy through the screen. It was uncomfortable. It felt all too vulnerable. Then, he spoke. “Good.”

“Excuse me?” Michael questioned with an edge in his voice.

“If I had to guess, I’d say he knew his mind control doesn’t work on you because of your powers. I imagine that’s why he was so interested in learning about you, so he could figure out how to beat you. But it still didn’t work, even when he updated the technology and made you try it. He wouldn’t have been so invested in getting rid of you if he didn’t think you were a threat.”

“I guess that makes sense. If he could get rid of me, then it wouldn’t matter whether or not the pill worked on me.”

“Precisely.” Sebastian squared his shoulders and said, “I’d wager that he was hoping to turn you into a soldier for him. Someone as powerful as you, under his command? He’d really be unstoppable. When that didn’t work, he had to figure out a new plan.”

Jeremy swallowed. He could have been turned into some mindless drone. He shook away the thoughts and inquired, “So, what do you think his plan is?”

“Oh, I know what his plan is. It’s been his plan from the start,” Sebastian said darkly. “I was just too stupid to see it. He wants to distribute the pills as some kind of supplement. Control the masses. Then, he can control the city.”

Jeremy countered with, “Who would be stupid enough to fall for that?”

“Oh shit,” said Michael, having worked it out for himself. He stood up quickly and ran to his desk, rummaging through the stacks of paper on top of it. He found a newspaper from the day before and held it up, flipping through the pages quickly. “Shit.”

“What is it, Mr. Mell?” Sebastian intoned.

“Here, right here,” he pointed out the article to Jeremy. “Some hot-shot doctor is offering a free sample of a new vitamin. He swears by it, says it improved his life. He personally vouches for it and...so does the FDA? They’re working on pushing it through the necessary trials. Why would they do that, if they know it’s not a vitamin?”

Jeremy raised a brow and said, “The SQUIP’s threatening them, I’ll bet.”

“A bunch of federal employees are scared of one guy?”

“He can be very...convincing,” the smaller boy said, the words caught in his throat. Michael noticed and rested a hand on his shoulder to comfort him.

“Where is this free vitamin being distributed?” Sebastian asked.

“Town Hall Center. During the Inventor’s Expo,” Michael read aloud. “Holy shit, it’s happening this afternoon. They’re unveiling the pill at the end. All of New Jersey will be there.”

Sebastian sighed. “Looks like Spider-Man will be, too.”

Jeremy nodded. “Thanks for all of your help, Mr. Iscariot. I’ll put an end to this.”

“I know you will. It’s too bad that you’re a kid, though. God, I thought Spider-Man would be an adult.”

“Tell me about it,” Michael quipped.

“This shouldn't fall on your shoulders. I’m sorry it does, Jeremy,” Sebastian mused. “You’re a much braver man than I was back then.”

“Thank you, Mr. Iscariot.” Jeremy gave a solemn nod.

The call ended and Michael turned to Jeremy. He wrapped his arms around the lanky boy, burying his face in his neck. “God, Jeremy,” he breathed. “I can’t believe this is your life.”

“Me neither,” he said softly. He squeezed Michael a little tighter and added, “Guess I better go suit up. I need to take this guy down before the Expo is over.”

They broke apart and Michael perked up. “Jere, what if your plan earlier was actually on the right track? The whole distraction technique?”

“What do you mean?” Jeremy asked, tilting his head in the way that the other boy found adorable.

“What if you distract him long enough for me to get a message out?”

“Are you talking about the fanpage?”

Michael nodded enigmatically. “If I can warn three-thousand people and tell them to pass it on, we may have less of a problem than we thought.”

“You’re a genius,” Jeremy complimented before kissing him. “You do that. Make sure no one takes the pill. I’ll take care of the SQUIP.” He turned on his heel to leave but Michael caught his arm easily.

“Be careful, please,” he requested, a tinge of sadness to his voice. “I want to see you in one piece when this is all over.”

“Of course,” Jeremy promised. “Anything for you.”

One kiss later, he was suited up and heading for Town Hall Center.

[cuckoomagazine]

Interview with Visual Artist Adrian Wojtas.

Tell us about yourself.

My name is Adrian Wojtas and I’m a multidisciplinary creative working with photography, design, and film. I just turned 22. I'm originally from Nawojowa, Poland. I moved to Ireland in 2006 and I’m currently  based  between  Navan  in Co. Meath, and  Dublin.  For  the  past  four  years  I  studied Photography at IADT and I’ve recently graduated with First Class Honours.

In your opinion, do you need education to become a photographer?

For me,studying Photography at IADT has really opened my eyes in terms of critical thinking, really digging deep and engaging with material, which in turn has an impact on the work I produce. Besides the technical stuff -which you can teach yourself in your own time - I think one of the main benefits of art college is  being in the creative space where you meet like-minded individuals. You gain  and shape an understanding of the world based on the content that you and your peers engage with.The discussion, critique,and awareness of what’s out there is important to your development as a creative. I’m all for it.

I think college really helped me with critical thinking. It gave me the experience and a methodology for how to look at things and how to really engage with them. I know people who didn’t go to college or study photography academically that have gone to be successful, but I still think a degree is a great thing to have. A degree shows that you’ve put in the effort, suffered through the four years, and you achieved something. There are years of experience and work behind that piece of paper.

What have you learned in college that you apply to your work today?

Attention to detail. That and understanding the importance of preparation, presentation, and professional practice. 

Influences?

I like to branch out and draw on inspiration from a wide variety of mediums and genres. Some of the main resources would be film and cinematography, painting, illustration, other genres of photography, and even written work from novels to non-fiction. Whatever works!

How would you describe yourself as a photographer?

Photography isn't the only medium that I work with so I wouldn't call myself strictly a photographer. Aside from photography, I also work with in graphic design, film, and cinematography so I’m open to working on a multitude of different projects. 

You’ve recently directed your second short film, More Than This. What is it about?

In a nutshell, it’s about somebody finding out a certain truth about their environment, and how they come to deal with their newfound knowledge.The film touches up on themes of isolation, bureaucracy, and memory. It was a fine exercise in world-building and one of the important aspects in the beginning of  production  was  that  we  wanted  it to have a surreal and otherworldly  quality. Colour plays a key role throughout the film and the art direction of the set and graphic design have had a huge impact upon the believability of the world of the film. Being a predominantly silent film, it was  important  that  the cinematography  drove  forward  the  feeling  of  uncertainty  and  tension.  In addition, the film’s score added another layer to the discomfort by giving it a creeping and unsettling tone. The work of Roy Andersson, Wes Anderson, and David Lynch have been some of the primary influences on the film. 

As it was a student film and a micro-budget self-funded production, the crew and our resources were quite limited. The restrictions in budget also meant that we had to get creative. Several locations in the film had to be faked and reused as new with set redressing and changes in camera position. Some of  the  crew  had  to  take  on  additional  roles  while  on  set.  It  also  involved  a  lot  of  learning  for  me personally since it required various bits of VFX to be added in post-production. A lot of the production came down to preparation yet again, from recon shoots right down to managing people’s schedules.

The film stars David Dooley, who’s also played the lead in my first and previous short film a short film about  filing.  It  was  directed,  shot,  produced,  art  directed,  and  edited  by  me,  and  written  and  co-produced  by  Kieran  Murray  who  was  also  involved  in  the  previous  film.  Orlaith  Darcy  and  Danilo Zambrano have worked on the sound design, Amy Lawless did the make-up, and my brother Mateusz Wojtas designed and made our props.

The film has done quite well so far and has been Long listed for the RDS Visual Arts Award as well as Highly Commended in the Inspirational Arts Photography Award last year. It’s also screened at film festivals in Cork and Kerry in Ireland, as well as Toronto in Canada. It’s set to screen at this year’s River Film Festival in Padova, Italy this June.

Tell us a little about your upcoming cookery book project, Smakołyki.

It’s still very early days in the production process but it’s coming along nicely. Smakołyki: The Art of Traditional Polish Baking is my upcoming cookery book  of traditional  homemade  Polish baking  and desserts, with recipes written and developed by my mother, Anna Wojtas. The project started out as one of my two graduate projects during the final year of study at IADT (the other being the film, More Than This). The idea for the project arose from an interest in revisiting my roots and learning more of my heritage. Since moving away from my  homeland,  the  traditional  food  my  family  makes has remained mostly unchanged. This has been one of the key elements responsible for preserving my cultural identity abroad. 

During my final year in college I designed and photographed a small cookbook featuring ten recipes. The current plan is to expand on that and develop the book into a full sized tome of recipes. It was envisaged that this book would be targeted not only to Polish diaspora permanently living abroad, but also Irish citizens, and others interested in foreign cuisine and baking. Because this is a foreign cookery book and many of the recipes will be unfamiliar to domestic audiences, I believe it is important that each recipe has its own photograph which will act as a helpful visual guide, making the book a more accessible and tactile experience.

More to follow soon, but for the most part, it’s time to get back to work.

What are your thoughts on expensive photography equipment? 

High-end equipment is nice but you can get away with a lot using simple cameras and gear if you know what you're doing. There's a certain beauty in being limited. You learn to overcome challenges and to be resourceful.

Describe your style in 3 words.

Colourful;Balanced;Expressive.

What motivates you?

Good coffee.

Is social media important?

It depends on how you look at it. As a visual creative, I rely heavily on Instagram but I suck at Twitter. It’s very useful because a lot of different types of people use it, and therefore there is potential for a lot of different engagement to come from it as a result. It can open a lot of doors. I think the key thing to focus on is making good material that is interesting to you while staying true to your virtues.

Do you care about following and engagement? 

In a way, yes. It can be reassuring to know that people enjoy and value the craft and the material you pour hours of work into, and that it’s being appreciated. I recently started engaging a lot more with my followers and the community at  large by responding to posts  and stories of complete strangers and enjoying  the visual medium together, which  I find very interesting. I think it’s about finding a balance between that side of it as well as being able to disconnect from it and enjoy the alone time.

Plans?

Learn, grow, travel, read! There are a few projects that I have lined up for the coming few months, from  fine  art projects to other  work  such  as  the upcoming  book. I’m also planning to redesign my personal branding, including my website. That, as well as working on a new short film with my long-time collaborator Kieran Murray.

click here to check out Adrian’s website.

[shemakesmusic-uk]

Pale Waves have dropped their new video for ‘You Don’t Own Me’. Taken from their just released new album Who Am I?, the clip fits perfectly to the 90s-slash-00s guitar pop aesthetic that runs throughout the record. All multicoloured hair and graffiti covered walls, it’s a bright, brash delight. [via Dork]

Los Angeles-based pop artist Cooper Phillip is known for her empowering anthems that highlight everything from strength and gratitude to self-love. Her latest single, 'Not Perfect,' is yet another example of her ability to craft uplifting tunes, encouraging listeners to start putting themselves before others in order to fulfill your own desires. The Russian-born singer has just dropped a new music video, and it's everything we expected from this flamboyant artist and more. The theatrical video emphasizes the importance of rebelling against the idea of being perfect and all that it represents. When you begin to let go of the idea of perfection, Phillip reminds us, life is so much better. Phillip wants to encourage you to live life a little less seriously, do what you want, wear what you want, and most importantly, be who you want. After all, our time on this planet is far too short to worry about living up to other people's standards and expectations. According to the artist herself, "'Not Perfect' is about self love and finding qualities about yourself that make you unique. There is no need to modify who you are just to fit in with society's norms. You have to stay true to who you are and carry yourself with pride and with dignity." 'Not Perfect' features Phillip's soaring, soulful vocals, big and bold melodies, and fast-paced, dance-worthy beats. Intoxicating to say the least, this song will worm its way into your mind all day long. By the end, it'll have you grinning ear to ear, and more importantly, it'll remind you who you are. [via Pop Dust]

Closely following the release of their new single, Maltese electro-pop outfit OXYGYN have shared the brand new video for ‘Mercy’. The new video continues from 2020’s ‘Wicked White Lies’, a portrayal of how society deals with social issues in which individuals are made vulnerable, as frontman Kurt Abela details: “We become angered by a social cause when it first emerges, but we are quick to break it down within our own minds and forget. Instead, we focus on our own personal issues, and are not able to overcome them. This video acts as a wake-up call to society that the social issues hinted at throughout the video are still present and need their due attention.”

Oxford alt-pop outfit pecq have unveiled the video for ‘Killing Time’ . The band say: "‘Killing Time' is about making the same mistakes over and over – dying relationships I kept going back to, destructive habits I can’t break. I’m a big one for drastic changes and breaking with the past but so many times I end up back where I started – burn it down and build it just the same." Killing Time is the second single from their forthcoming EP Stranger, due out April 15. [via Loud Women]

With us getting a taster of spring the past weekend, singer-songwriter Bess Atwell is keeping the momentum going with her dreamy new single 'Co-op'. Like the first blooms of spring, Atwell’s latest single unfolds with serene ripples of guitar strings surrounded by her lush calming vocals, leading us to a track that has us reminiscent of Lana Del Rey and Phoebe Bridgers. Similar to her previous offerings, the track maintains the same fresh and unique sound she has displayed throughout her career. Accompanied by a self-directed video, the singer puts the emotional context of the track at the forefront, directly referencing the lyrics with bold imagery and contrasting props. Opening up on the single, the singer revealed, “It’s an illustration of mine and my partner’s life together. The relationship seemed to provide me with some sort of permission to recuperate from family trauma, as if realising for the first time that there was a life outside of that chaos lulled me into an emotional slumber. Through the song, I grapple with the desire for, and fear of, comfort. I used references to Virginia Woolf’s Mrs Dalloway to depict a vivid nostalgia and an affinity for trivialities that serve to calm when darker thoughts set it.” [via Wonderland]

Polish alt-pop aesthete Brodka has shared her barbed new single 'Game Change'. The multi-hyphenate returns with new album BRUT, a fresh statement from a potent, outspoken figure. Huge in her homeland, Brodka has shifted and evolved with each project - and BRUT will be a further chapter in this. New single 'Game Change' is out now, and lyrically it's an expressive statement of feminism that comes at a timely moment for Poland. Brodka says that the single "is about gender roles in society; a topic that's particularly prevalent in her home-country of Poland at the moment, where reproductive rights are being rolled back by lawmakers." The dazzling video is online now, and it spins a repressive dogma on its head. She says: "While making the video for 'Game Change', I was inspired by the story of the Albanian Sworn Virgins. Women who, by taking a vow of chastity, take on a male role in society while gaining all the privileges associated with being a man. They are treated as men but can keep their feminine names. This story, although abstract, is relevant to the current situation of women in Poland. Sadly, you don't have to be a Sworn Virgin to have your rights decided by men in the 21st century." [via Clash]

After teasing the collaboration last week, Ashe and FINNEAS have unveiled their new single 'Till Forever Falls Apart'. The collaborative track is accompanied by a video directed by Sam Bennett that shows both artists dancing at sunset. Ashe says of the song, "'Till Forever Falls Apart' is one of my favourite songs with one of my favourite people. If I’ve learned anything from Moral of the Story, it’s that accepting the hard truth is strangely comforting. This song, while sounding like the most romantic song I’ve ever written, is about acceptance as well. The lyrics, ‘I’m gonna love you knowing we don’t have forever’ is about how it’s more important to have had the chance to love than to stay in love. FINNEAS is one of the most talented people I know and it’s fitting to release this song with someone I love so much. I'm lucky to know him and I hope to never know a life without him in it." FINNEAS adds, "Ashe to me, is a timeless artist. Her music will be as relevant and important 30 years from now as it is today. Making music with her has always been an extension of our friendship and I could not love this song more." [via Line Of Best Fit]

Charley enters into the Australian pop world with her debut single 'Hard For Me'. It's the type of slick, high-tier pop song that sits amongst the world's biggest stars, carrying the same acute level of sheen and confidence as Charley moves above a bright, synth-driven production that elevates her every word. It's the type of single that takes the foundations laid by modern-day pop heavy-hitters - she lists Katy Perry as an inspiration, for example - and builds upon them, evolving the sound forwards into 2021 and beyond. Produced by Stephen Schmultz in Nashville three years ago now, the song introduces Charley and everything you need to know about her this early on. You get a taste of her sound and the energies and inspirations that fuel them, as well as the intimacy that underlies a lot of her songwriting, and how she brings pockets of her personal life to the forefront through glitzy pop songwriting. She's a welcome addition to Australian pop, and you get the sense that 'Hard For Me' is really just the beginning. "[Hard For Me has been] a long time coming, and as a Virgo, I am not patient," she says on the single. "In my head, this has always been my debut release. It’s got such a special place in my heart. I’ve had such a vision for every single part of it. "Me and my boyfriend had kind of just gotten back together again at that point. All of the butterflies were heightened again. I just wanted to write a song about how I felt about him and how it gave me such a rush when I looked at him. Everyone has been there! When you just… melt." Take a dive into the single and its Mitchell McKay-directed video clip above. [via Pilerats]

After making a name for themselves with their dusty-yet-glowing self-titled debut in 2017, Chapel Hill duo Blue Cactus are announcing their return with their second LP called Stranger Again. Set to be released May via Sleepy Cat Records, the album continues the pair’s mission to blend classic country sounds with vintage ’70s pop sensibilities and a sobering sense of honesty, as heard on the record’s first single, 'Come Clean.' “Sometimes we are the last person to tell ourselves the truth,” vocalist Stephanie Stewart shares of the track’s lyrical origins. “We ignore our gut, suppress our instincts, and go through the motions of a life that other people have defined for us. We become the person everyone else wants us to be and lose ourselves along the way. ‘Come Clean’ is about radical self-love and acknowledging the struggle in that journey; that hard, unflinching look in the mirror. “In 2017,” she continues, “I was in the process of separating from my then husband. I wrote most of this song during that time. It wasn’t until a year later after the divorce was finalized that I was able to find the words that had been missing from this song. I was carrying a lot of shame and guilt, and once I finally let that go, I was free to rediscover who I was as a person outside of that relationship. I was finally free to love me.” The track’s video echoes these themes of rebirth and relearning, with the band members blindfolded and slowly making contact with the outside world. [via Flood]

Mermaidens have delivered their catchiest, dreamiest cut yet. 'Soft Energy' is the single teased with the announcement of their Soft Energy New Zealand Tour. The new track is stupidly good, and ushers in the next Mermaidens era after 2019 album Look Me In The Eye. Vocalist Gussie Larkin took the director's chair for the 'Soft Energy' video, and with support from NZ On Air and director of photography Ezra Simons (Earth Tongue), has created a blush-tinted world for the band to expose their soft, tender hearts and ask those with a "tough and detached exterior ... to act with softness and vulnerability". [via Under The Radar]

Along with the release of her debut EP, Swimming Lessons, 19-year-old alt-pop singer-songwriter Genevieve Stokes premiered the video for her newest single, 'Parking Lot,' on Friday. Shot in her hometown of Portland, ME, the 'Parking Lot' video is a wistful tribute to the first flush of young love. "I wrote 'Parking Lot' after I met my now-boyfriend for the first time," Stokes tells NYLON. "It’s about the intoxicating, obsessive feeling of a new crush and creating a fantasy world with them. " After teaching herself piano at the age of eight, Stokes spent her adolescence developing her sound, inspired by iconic female singer-songwriters like Cat Power and Regina Spektor. Swimming Lessons was recorded this past year in a cabin in the woods, a haunting, beautiful setting that seeps into the records' sound. [via NYLON]

You can’t blame us for wanting a bit of hedonistic relief after a year of going stir-crazy within our four walls. And as we yearn for release, and ache for the proximity and darkness of a packed dance floor, here to give it to us, no questions asked, is dark-pop trio KRUDO. Comprised of pop singer Olivia May Green, as well as established industry greats, producers Dan Duncan and Igor Tchkotoua, KRUDO blurs the lines of genre to make way for a whole new body-moving beast – and their latest release 'You Can’t Blame Me' is no exception. Moody warped synths, sinister bass lines and the haunting vocals of Green tell a story of empowerment and self-love, as she growls “I’ll never change or leave to fit your master plan.” Just the anthem we needed when many of us will be feeling disconnected and out of sorts. The trio have previously stated that their music is “not about polished pop music; it’s about memorable moments that hold a clear message.” And that much is clear from the formidable sonic palette of the new release, accompanied by a symbolic music video which shows Green breaking the picture-perfect shackles of industry expectation and rising phoenix-like into her own identity. Taken from their two-part EP of the same name, the release comes as part of the ever-expanding release schedule of label HE.SHE.THEY – the event series, record label and fashion brand operating as a safe space for individuals regardless of “age, race, sex, gender, ableness, religious background or sexual preference”. [via Wonderland]

Top popster Bebe Rexha has dropped a brand new single, titled ‘Sacrifice’. The track is taken from her forthcoming second album, which she claims is “by far the most challenging yet fulfilling project I have ever worked on. I wrote, recorded, re-wrote, re-recorded and then repeated that process in order to deliver an album that truly reflects who I am as a singer, songwriter and most importantly as an artist. I want to give listeners a journey of pop paradise fused with elements of rock and hip-hop. It’s important to me that my music continues to recognize ongoing themes of vulnerability, the cycle of self-destruction & self-realization, and female empowerment.” So there we go. ‘Sacrifice’ follows up on 2020’s ‘Baby, I’m Jealous’ which featured Doja Cat. You can check out the vampire themed video above. [via Dork]

Tulliah has debuted the video for her really quite lovely new single, ‘Distant Dreams’. Taken from her debut EP Fre$h Hugs – set to drop next Friday (12th March), the clip was filmed in her hometown of Mt Martha Beach, Australia and directed by Cass Wood. Tulliah explains, “30 degrees, snow gear on the beach, fish man = very weird dream! I had this idea for a while that the video clip for 'Distant Dreams' would be really weird and dream like. When I was in the studio we went on a tangent about being in winter clothes while sunbathing on the beach, flying on planes to Hawaiian beaches and little fishes eating big sharks. I have no idea why haha but I knew it was weird, just like all Dreams are”. Talking about how the track came together, she adds: “We set up my new piano in the backroom of my parent’s. My mum was moving a painting that they have had for years to the top of the piano when she read the back of it – it was called Distant Dreams. This song flowed out of me. I used to never really believe that I could achieve my dreams. This song is about not wanting to break away from my visions and goals. The lyrics ‘don’t go waking me up’ is a really direct demand to myself! It’s about not wanting to go back to doubting my capabilities.” [via Dork]

Ladyhawke is back with a brand new single, ‘Guilty Love’. The first taster of a new album, due to arrive later this year, the track features fellow popsters BROODS. Ladyhawke – real name Pip Brown – explains: “‘Guilty Love’ came about after some writing sessions with Tommy English in Los Angeles. Georgia Nott from BROODS came along to one of our sessions, and after we were talking a while, we realised we had all grown up Catholic. We shared stories and experiences; Georgia then suggested we write a song about shame”. “‘Guilty Love’ is important to Georgia and me for different reasons. Personally, growing up in the Catholic school system, as I reached my teens, I started to feel immense shame and denial about my sexuality. I suffered the constant fear of being judged and alienated by my friends and family. These feelings took a long time to shake off and work through. ‘Guilty Love’ is a way to share our experiences, and hopefully help anyone going through the same thing to know they’re not alone.” Georgia from BROODS adds “’Guilty Love’ came from the classic “in-studio heart to heart”. We talked about growing up religiously and how we carried a lot of shame around the idea of what a woman (or person) should be. This song is about that but also about finding our own way back to a sense of spirituality through love. The love that once caused so much guilt, ended up being the most healing and spiritual. END CONVERSION THERAPY EVERYWHERE!” Too bloody right. ‘Guilty Love’ comes with a video fitting of the song’s message. [via Dork]

Atlanta-based pop artist Siena Liggins shared her video 'No Valet' on Thursday, the second single from her upcoming debut album Ms. Out Tonight. The track serves as the follow-up to 'Dirty Girl' alongside Yung Baby Tate, seeing the singer take viewers from the dancefloor to the backseat of a car in the club parking lot. The quirky clip finds Liggins adorned and surrounded by sparkly glitz, cowboy hats, and disco balls, playfully performing with a full band. "'No Valet' is steamy, downtempo braggadocio disguised as a backseat car anthem for whatever happens after the after-party," Siena explained to FADER about the song. “I was listening to a lot of old songs produced by Timbaland before [producer] Nydge laid down this really sexy bassline that put me in the mood for something steamy and dreamy at the same time.... It’s the confidence I get after the function is over and the groove I need when I’m talking my shit." [via The FADER]

London's Mychelle is certainly an individual. Freshly signed to FAMM - the same management company as Jorja Smith and ENNY - her new single 'The Way' is a subtle but deeply powerful piece of songwriting. Soft and soulful, it relishes on nuance, allowing the most subtle element to rise and grapple with intensity. Mychelle's video for 'The Way' was shot on Hackney Downs in East London - fact fans might not that it's close to our office. Directed by photographer Michaela Quan it's a beautiful glimpse into her world. [via Clash]

Pussy Riot have announced a new EP called Panic Attack, due out next week — March 11. As a preview of the impending release, they’re sharing 'Sexist', a bold new single featuring fellow Russian rapper Hofmannita, which comes with an unforgettable NSFW music video. 'Sexist' is the second single Pussy Riot have shared from Panic Attack, following 'Toxic', their collaboration with Dorian Electra and 100 gecs’ Dylan Brady. Produced by White Punk and Count Baldor, 'Sexist' is a dark electro-pop hip-hop song about the severity of rape culture. Pussy Riot and Hofmannita take turns telling the fictional story of a heroine being invited to a hotel room by a male governmental official, being harassed, and, unable to escape, murdering him in self-defense. Consider shielding your screen before hitting play on the song’s music video. In the NSFW clip, various nude men pose as pieces of furniture while the singers casually push them around with collars and whips. Peppered throughout is plenty of latex apparel, BDSM positioning, and generally regal decor. According to Pussy Riot member Nadya Tolokonnikova, the video is meant to inverse the main premise of the patriarchal culture. “Instead of women and queer people being objectified and serving as furniture, we use sexist pigs as furniture,” she said in a statement. “The video does not encourage to oppress anyone, but rather satirically highlights arbitrary and absurd nature of any oppression.” [via Consequence of Sound]

[makingajennyhanniver]

L2 Isolation Project - Final Images

Project Evaluation

In a world dominated by the selfie, with countless millions snapped per day, considered research on this project was crucial to produce self-portraiture which was not merely superficial. Before creating work in response to this brief I conducted research into self-portrait practitioners whose’ work appealed and inspired me, these were predominantly analogue photographers which greatly influenced my speed of process, aesthetic and compositional decisions. Man Ray was a crucial study in to portraying emotion, different personas and use of props to emphasise his narrative. My initial medium format shoots used creative devices such as subtle body language and interaction/proximity with props, which I constructed whilst holding Man Ray’s self-portrait ‘Suicide’ in mind. In my bedroom series ‘Intimate Space’ I photographed myself reading a book as a form of escapism, a ‘Not Amused’ mug clearly in frame and I am wearing a top stating ‘Bad Monday’, a reference to the dread of a long week (or weeks in this case) ahead. However, I feel as though I could have been more literal in my use of props and metaphors to create more engaging imagery because I feel as though my intended connotations could be missed by a casual viewer, whereas in Man Ray’s self-portrait ‘Suicide’ the implied meaning is obvious and makes for a very visually engaging and harrowing portrait.

Vivian Maier’s timid yet confidently created self portrait work using mirrors influenced my initial shoots also, using my bedroom as a safe and personal space to produce my initial portraits I allowed myself to use self-portraiture as a vehicle and outlet to express my inner-psyche and emotions as Vivian Maier did for so many years in private without the world knowing. Her approach and use of self-portraiture to portray to herself how she wanted to be perceived allowed me to understand how self-portraiture could be used as a cathartic process.

My mini self-typology was my favourite outcome of this project and was inspired by works from Richard Avedon and Andy Warhol. The influence I took from these practitioners was mainly in terms of aesthetic devices and format, I feel as though this outcome could have benefited from more research to develop the contextual meaning behind the imagery. Andy Warhol’s series of portraits dressed in drag was the initial inspiration for this idea and I used Richard Avedon’s mature use of lighting to create a feeling of isolation, which I developed with a black background to create a chiaroscuro lighting effect to further emphasise this feeling of physical isolation. Researching these self-portrait photographers made apparent to me that I had two ways of presenting myself to the camera, as the photographer or as the subject. My research allowed me to appreciate the implied narrative that comes with each depiction which was a useful tool to have when building my narrative and image context.

I am glad I undertook research into contemporary practitioners who have created conceptual portraiture in commercial contexts. This allowed me to produce a more diverse range of outcomes and meant that I could confidently produce more commercially inspired imagery, broadening the professional contexts this project could sit in. I researched Jason Evans and Jan Von Holleban’s work in studio portraiture prior to my ‘Isolation Activities’ series and I took influence from their use of constructed imagery with strong use of colour, image coherency, and appropriate use of props to create their desired narratives. Studying these artists’ conceptual portraiture made apparent to me the power in very stylised images to create potency around a portrait, and the importance of a scene to compliment the subject. However, I only studied these artists’ photographs in terms of their aesthetic devices and not how they fit in to the context of their commercial work, be it for advertising or magazine imagery. I feel as though this might have resulted in me producing slightly naive ‘commercial’ photography because I have not considered how it would fit in to a commercial environment. I do not know if these series I have said to be ‘commercial-inspired ‘would be appropriate for that context. More in depth research into the application of commercial imagery could have resulted in more informed imagery. This could have been done in the form of research into how photography is used in advertising and magazines to comment on current social events/issues.

My contextual research was not as in depth as I would have liked on this project, I could have developed my reading into practitioners who have produced work whilst being in isolation. This may have given me a better understanding into ways of communicating my emotions and my methods of coping with it. The contextual research I undertook regarding the history of self-portraiture was very useful for me as I understood that self-portraiture was considered a visual communication of a self-conscious scrutiny of an artist’s odd individuality, which was something I kept in mind and gave me reassurance in presenting my individuality to the camera and stopped me from making generic portraits with no feeling of character or personalness.

I feel as though the shoots where I captured myself in my bedroom for my ‘Intimate Space’ idea are successful in the fact that they present a very relatable scene to the viewer which I am sure they can sympathise having been in themselves. This is also an area which I think I could improve on. Having studied Man Ray’s self-portraits, he used very literal and brash props and composition to convey his inner-thoughts, whereas I have used very subtle and easily missed props and tropes to convey mine. To improve this outcome, I could have inserted more items of metaphorical and literal meaning to better portray my desire for escapism through a book and my discontented nature towards this situation. I feel as though I have presented a too ‘normal’ scenes which struggles to be massively engaging. Other forms of escapism such as drugs and alcohol could have been a more engaging way to communicate my ideas and would add more severity to this series in a metaphorical manner.

My corona-virus self-portraits are visually engaging and strong images but do not help develop my project towards answering my project proposal because they do not confront my response to this epidemic on a personal level. If I were to improve this idea to relate more to my personal life, I could have photographed myself doing everyday things, such a eating a meal or taking a shower, whilst wearing the PPE to show how Covid-19 was impacting my personal day-to-day life. The images as they stand only comment on vague and now cliched aspects of the virus and do not offer anything to the viewer which they would not have seen before. This series also feels disparate to the rest of my project so a more personal angle could have tied it together better. The most successful creative device in these images is the use of chiaroscuro and black and white editing, as it creates a severe and serious tone to the image, devoid of colour and joy.

I am happy with the outcome of my mini self-typology in terms of the quality of imagery and the research I used to help my production. My idea behind the context was also well thought out but I feel as though I could have taken this idea to larger scale to really communicate the idea of monotony and lack of change day-in-day-out. The individual images are strong with the lighting supporting the narrative of isolation. If I were to improve on this idea I could have taken a self-portrait every day, documenting my expression and clothing as the only changing factor, this would have given this series a potent and relatable documentary style context whilst also being a presentation-based outcome. The visual impact of a 30 photo typology would be much more visually engaging and striking in a gallery environment than my limited nine photo typology. The presentation of the back of my head portrait next to the typology of my front profile I feel is a successful display technique. This arrangement of the portraits creates a narrative that suggests I am looking back on the days spent in isolation and gives the series a sense of self study and perhaps hindsight criticism. If I were to present this in an exhibition, I could create an animated video of my typology of self-portraits that loops continuously to emphasise this idea of never-ending isolation.

The ‘Isolation Activities’ series is inspired by commercial conceptual portraiture and I feel as though its inspirations are apparent. My ‘over-constructed’ scenes offer a playful telling of my narrative of things I get up to in isolation. I constructed these scenes initially for captured through an 80mm 6x6 medium format camera and took the digital images as backup. However, I was not 100% happy with the 120-colour film outcome so I had to use the digitals for my final outcome, this has resulted in unnecessary negative space either side of my scenes which looks unconsidered. In hindsight I should have reconstructed these scenes for 4:3 aspect ratio when capturing on the digital camera. I also intended these images to be inspired by commercial conceptual portraiture but I have not considered or researched how imagery such as this series would fit in to a commercial environment, be it for advertising or in a magazine. This research could have helped me to produce more appropriate photography for this genre, as some feedback from tutor Jim Campbell was that I had not left enough negative space at the bottom of my compositions to allow the viewer to ‘walk in to the photograph’.

My short ‘Reminisce’ series are technically successful in their creation but lack a strong narrative. Their main importance in this project is to add further context to my ‘Head in The Clouds’ series which has a much stronger readable context for an audience. I am content with the outcome from my ‘Head in The Clouds’ idea as I feel as though it very clearly communicates the emotions that I am feeling towards this situation and the literalness of the imagery makes it relatable to the viewer. If I were able to print these images for an exhibition, I would print them in a very large format so that the audience could delve in to and explore the ‘worlds’ I have created in my head. To develop this idea further I intended to create a short photo based zine for each of the locations I have depicted in my head, this would have provided more context and interactivity to the viewer, allowing them to more clearly understand the places I am reminiscing over.