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ichor-and-symbiosis · 5 years ago

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Diet Mountain Dew. (Enji x f!Reader; NSFW)

Commission for @babyybitchhh.

Warning: incest, uniform kink, I don’t wanna hear any complaints keep scrolling.

Todoroki Enji has many rules for you to follow. You must be home by six. You cannot have male friends. Your grades cannot fall below perfection. And you are not allowed to leave the house until you are dripping wet with his cum.

Your morning class forces you to wake extra early to make time for your task. You ready yourself as quickly as you can, brushing your teeth and donning your uniform before quietly sneaking into your father’s bedroom. Better to make haste with your freshening up so he has you all to himself for a while. You like to savor the stretch of his hard cock as you grind down on it. The thought of having an hour alone with him makes your insides twist with longing.

Enji lays sprawled out across his massive bed, right in the center and leaving no room on either side. The thin blanket rests over his hips - he gets overheated easily at night - and you take a moment to admire his broad chest and the curve of his Adam’s apple enticing you to pepper his neck with kisses. You wish you could curl up on his chest and fall back asleep, but the fear of punishment for missing your class keeps you focused.

You crawl onto the bed and carefully move the blanket aside. His softened cock rests against his thigh, framed by fiery red hair that you so desperately want to run your fingers through. But not yet. Your mouth waters at a different idea.

Your fingers deftly unbutton your blouse and you let your breasts spill out of your bra as you move it upward. He loves to see your tits and you would rather not pout at the destruction of your clothing if you kept them hidden. Settling comfortably on your knees between his legs, your hands caress his thick thighs as you bend down to deliver a wet, purposeful lick to his cockhead.

Much to your delight, you manage to rouse a response. His cock twitches to life and brushes against your lips. You kiss the heated underside and mouth at his hardening cock, curling your tongue around the thick shaft and cupping his balls in your palm. It does not take long for him to stand at full attention. Your hand wraps around the base, fingers far from able to meet, and you pump his cock with firm strokes, dragging the foreskin down to reveal the reddened tip. Precum oozes freely for you to lick away, and you do, savoring the familiar taste as your lips suck him into your mouth. Your father stirs in his sleep, releasing a low rumble when you flatten your tongue under his cock and begin to suck in earnest.

He does not like to be teased. You shove him deeper down your throat with each bob of your head, proud of yourself for being able to take more of him than last time. You have been trained properly, after all. A perfect doll for daddy. His cock twitches and releases globs of precum down your throat each time you swallow around him, and by now your hand easily glides over the thick base as your saliva trickles down his shaft. Another groan, louder this time, tells you that you need to move on.

Your cheeks hollow out as you suck your lips up his cock and release him with a wet pop. His cock is absolutely massive, wettened with your spit and pulsing, demanding to be shoved inside a tight hole. Your pussy throbs at the thought of him splitting you open.

The edge of your skirt brushes past his cock as you position yourself above it and take it in hand. Pushing your underwear aside, you drag the leaking cockhead through your folds for a moment, smearing precum over your clit as you let out a quiet, broken moan. You massage the engorged bead in slow circles until your entrance pulses with the need to be filled. Reluctantly yet obediently you shift your hips to press his cock up against your hole. You are not allowed to come right now. Only on daddy’s cock.

Enji’s breath is deep and quickening. He is awake and refuses to acknowledge you. You place your hands on his chest and smile, knowing just what you have to do to earn your father’s attention. His cock breaches your entrance and stretches you open. It is a pain you know very well, dulled significantly with daily practice. You take your daddy’s cock easily by now, letting out a shuddering breath as it enters you inch by inch. It invades every part of you, rubs against areas your fingers could never reach, and it is so impossibly hot, burning you from the inside out until you feel it settle at the pit of your stomach as he bottoms out within you.

You do not allow yourself a moment of rest. As soon as your clit grazes his pubic hair, you roll your hips and savor the painful pleasure. His cock pulses inside you and coats your used gummy walls with sticky, warm fluid. After three leisurely thrusts, Enji finally opens his eyes and blearily peers down at you.

“Good morning, daddy,” you sweetly greet him. “Does this feel good?”

Your father practically purrs in answer, a deliciously low rumble that has you clenching tightly around him. You continue grinding against him, slowly dragging yourself nearly all the way to the tip of his cock before sucking him back up inside you, letting him feel your pussy envelop his thick shaft down to the hilt. Enji’s gaze is fixated on your bare breasts, pressed together and bouncing from your movement. A lazy hand reaches out to palm one breast and then the other, idly rolling your perky nipples as you pant and sigh from the ministrations.

The pleasure of feeling your soft, warm cunt is half the show. Those large hands settle onto the top of your thighs and push your skirt upward, and Enji tucks the fabric into the waistband for a full view of your puffy folds taking in his cock.

He likes it. You know he tries to feign at least some sense of moral decency but you can see the hungry gleam in his eyes.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs, hands settling onto the juncture of your thighs and waist as his thumbs spread your pussy lips open. “You take daddy’s cock so well.”

You bite your lip and nod absentmindedly, wishing he would guide your hips or hold you still to jackhammer up into you. But your father merely rubs your clit as you slowly ride him, and when his other hand goes back to tugging on your nipples, your mindless pleasure quickly overrides any other desires. This isn’t even supposed to be about you right now. You need to be good and fuck yourself onto his cock and milk him dry.

The dull pain dissipates and leaves behind a steady pressure building up inside you. You chase it eagerly, rolling your hips to press your clit against your father’s thumb. He knows just how you like it, which is to say he trained you to like whatever he gave. Your clit is rubbed with unyielding motions, as overwhelming as the rest of him, and with his cock stroking a spot deep inside you with every thrust, you whine and gasp and let your breathy sighs grow louder and louder, imagining that the heat coiling in your pussy is your father burning you up with fire.

Your orgasm ignites your nerves and sends you spiraling. You fuck Enji hard and fast to chase your release, anything to prolong that pleasure, brokenly crying out for him to keep going, don’t stop daddy, until it simply becomes too much to bear.

“Needy little whore,” he growls, hands back on your hips as his fingers dig into your skin. “You’re not done yet. Take care of daddy.”

The order forces your body to move before you can even regain your senses.

You bounce on his cock in a steady rhythm, quick and short strokes to tighten around the base. Your pussy squelches obscenely and spreads your juices all over his thighs, and you love the sting of your ass cheeks slapping down onto his balls with every thrust, the sound of him grunting and groaning through clenched teeth as you fuck him. Overexertion looms on the horizon as your thighs quiver and burn, and you are too sweaty in your uniform for your liking, but your father wants to see you like this and you want him to be pleased.

At times you need to take it slow. It simply hurts too much to continue your rapid thrusting. There is pleasure in the gentle rolling of your hips, too. Your loosened walls tighten as you grind your clit onto his mound, and you are rewarded with filthy praise.

“Come on my cock again, little girl. I know you want to. You love this.”

You do. You love your father more than anything, and you prove it with the rhythmic clenching of your cunt and a shameless moan.

And then your ass is slapped and you are forced to ride hard and fast again.

In the midst of your mindless rutting, you have half a mind to check the clock at the bedside table. A sense of dread suddenly douses your flame. You can’t even understand it. How did the time go by so quickly?

“Daddy, I’m going to be late for class!” you whine, even as you continue to huff and puff and shove his cock deep inside you.

Enji’s expression brokers no sympathy. “Well then, you better make me come faster,” he simply says, the pressure of his fingers on your thighs a firm reminder that you simply cannot leave until he gets what he wants.

“B-but - “ You squeal when he spanks you, fighting through tears as the painful sting motivates you to thrust harder. “Please, please help - “

“You want my help, you spoiled - nngh - brat?”

“Yes,” you keen, calling out to the part of Enji that lies dormant deep within, the instinct of a father who wishes to come to his daughter’s aid. “Daddy, I need you, I wanna make you come so bad!”

“Yeah?” he growls. “Show me how much you want it.”

You fall onto his chest with a sob, nails clawing at his skin as you arch your ass up high in a perfect position for him to shove as deep as possible into you.

The temptation is too strong for your father to resist. He plants his hands onto your ass, bends his legs for leverage, and fucks into you so thoroughly that you can only lay drooling on his chest and release all sorts of high-pitched sounds.

“Sweet girl,” your father pants, his balls slapping your ass with every thrust. “Special girl. You make daddy feel so good.”

You whine and nuzzle your face into him. He briefly presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“So perfect. Your pussy was made for me to breed … fuck, baby … “

His grip tightens, spreads your ass cheeks apart. There will be bruises later. His cock fits so perfectly inside you now. Loosens you up properly, plows into you with no resistance. You feel yourself about to fall apart again.

“Breed me, daddy, fill me up, I want to be your good little girl, daddy, oh daddy - “

Faster, harder -

“Fuck!”

With one last thrust that buries him all the way to the hilt, Enji shoves himself as deep as possible and holds still. Your pussy spasms around his cock just as thick, hot cum settles close to your womb, sucking every bit of viscous fluid into you until it overflows past his shaft and trickles down his twitching balls.

You lay on his chest for as long as he permits, trying to calm your erratic breathing while his heart beats strongly beneath your fingers. He even strokes your head. But you know you are not done. Carefully, you lift yourself onto shaky arms and slowly slide your well-bred pussy off of his cock. You move your panties back into place, cupping your mound as excess cum wettens the seat of your underwear. It is a sensation you have to bear. You love it. You love sitting in class with your father’s cum invading every intimate part of you. A wet sensation that leaves you constantly aching for more.

Dutifully you move down to lick his cock clean. It is still erect and you wish you had more time for another round. But you don’t, so you busy yourself with running your tongue over his balls, sucking on them, encouraging the very last pulses of cum to shoot out and coat his stomach. You lick that up, too. Enji groans and grabs your forearm, dragging you up for a firm kiss.

“I love you, daddy,” you whisper against his lips, and he grunts in wordless agreement as he tastes himself on your tongue.

“Get going,” he murmurs.

You plant another kiss onto his mouth and hastily stand on trembling legs. God, your muscles are aching. You fix your blouse and skirt, run your hands through your hair for a quick fix, and off you go with your sad attempt to look like you hadn’t just fucked your father.

One last look at the clock in the foyer has you mentally berating yourself.

You will be fifteen minutes late. Which means your father will get a call later.

You wonder how he will punish you.

#endeavor x reader #endeavor/reader #todoroki enji x reader #todoroki enji/reader #if some mouthbreather slips into my inbox to cry about this fic i am going to pop open a bottle of wine #tw:incest

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years ago

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Fic Snippet: Beta messing with Tilda

That scene I mentioned in my last post? The one that popped into my head? Basically just Beta getting ten seconds of revenge on Tilda

Anyway, the final version (which, again, will not be until a couple chapters into the fic I'm working on) will probably be a bit different from this, but I really enjoyed the mental image and felt like sharing this version. If you don't want any possible spoilers for the fic, just skip this

Under read-more for length + spoilers for HFW

Chapter ?: that one scene where Beta destroys Tilda

She was… admittedly stubborn. ‘Twas not often that Tilda willingly acknowledged her flaws, but it was always easier to do so when she framed it in an ‘alternative’ way. In this case, she could admit that she was stubborn, because Sobeck was stubborn. Certainly that pardoned her actions? Certainly what she had planned was fine and moral, because it was spiritually symmetrical to the greatest woman who ever lived? To Tilda, it made perfect sense, especially when she saw Aloy as an extension of Sobeck.

Not that Aloy would ever actually forgive her for what she was about to do. Then again, Tilda was taking measures to cover her tracks. How hard could it possibly be to plant a tiny subscript into Erend’s Focus? She wouldn’t even have to be close to the oaf (as she viewed him), and he was (seemingly) the last person on the team who would ever notice the spyware. There was, however, a chance that her choice of target would mean less information getting back to her. But it’s not as if she cared much for the technical details this time around- she wanted to hear the little whispers of ‘friendship’ and ‘interests’.

To put it simply: She wanted the cheat codes to worming her way into Aloy’s heart. Beta’s too, if possible, since Aloy was just so incredibly fond of her sister. Even inside her own head, Tilda could not bring herself to voice the words with anything other than contempt. There were things that she would never understand.

But her thoughts are soon focused on the task at hand, as a notification pops into view. Erend had accessed the team’s database remotely (Tilda wonders how long it took him to figure out how), connecting from somewhere near the ruins of Las Vegas. That connection ran through a single stop, an old world access point, which she had expertly trapped. Theoretically, anyone else with a Focus connecting to that point would spring the trap… which was why Tilda had been monitoring the signals of Aloy’s team as best as she could, waiting for the perfect moment to establish her code.

“Here we go…” She murmurs, lips curling up into a smug smile, as her program wraps its fingers around the unsuspecting victim. Soon enough a stream of data is being rerouted to her terminal, records of all of Erend’s communications, both ingoing and outgoing. For a brief moment, Tilda savors the taste of victory. But as soon as she selects a file for closer inspection, her world flips upside down. A dozen error messages pop up in rapid succession, bright red and flashing, before a text box springs to life to cover the entirety of the holoscreen. In big, bold letters is a rather… vulgar message.

FUCK OFF

Below that, in tiny, messy handwriting, is a signature: Beta. Of course, Tilda thinks with a snarl, who else would get in my way? But she hasn’t given up quite yet. No, she’s pulling back the messages, sidestepping around the code, hoping to dig deep enough to access some of her hard-earned data. Apparently her teenage nemesis anticipated this, of course, because every file she thought she downloaded had been relabeled to variations of the initial message. Eventually she scrolls to the bottom, finding a single, partially corrupted (but still properly labeled) holo recording.

Cautious, but hopeful, Tilda eyes the file carefully, inspecting the properties before actually opening it. Yet what appears in front of her is decidedly not a record of Erend’s conversations.

A live-feed of Beta’s workspace in the Base fills the screen. The girl is sitting with her legs crossed, a bowl of unidentifiable crunchy snacks in her lap. One hand frequently reaches into the bowl to retrieve pieces, which she then nibbles on like a woodland rodent (or the pet Gerbil from one of Tilda’s childhood classes), while the other somehow manages three different holofeeds at once. It takes several seconds for Beta to notice a new notification, but as soon as she does she turns right towards the “camera”, gaze seemingly focused on Tilda.

“How did you fall for that one?” Beta asks, stifling a laugh, one eyebrow raised. Despite several attempts, Tilda cannot figure out how to minimize the holofeed, and is forced to watch as the redhead gets progressively more and more amused.

#hfw beta #hfw spoilers #tilda van der meer #hfw fanfic #tilda lives au #beta: GET WREKT #part of why this is not in chapter one is because Beta has to build to this level of confidence

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hes-writer · 5 years ago

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Be Quiet

Summary: y/n does the 'drop the towel' challenge

Warnings: smut, semi-public sex (video chat), oral, male receiving

Word Count: 2055 words

A/N: this is one of my first smut pieces. i'm kind of nervous. let me know what you thought.

___

Since quarantine started, Harry had been facing his laptop screen for the majority of the day. His team scrambling to rebook dates, rescheduling the all-too anticipated Love On Tour and discussing various fees that needed to be paid. Honestly, you were sad that the tour wasn’t a go this year because of the pandemic. Harry was always at his happiest when he’s performing on stage, in front of a crowd that yelled his name and sang his songs in adoration and you couldn’t even feel offended by it. However, a part of you was happy that Harry managed to catch a flight home before the restrictions started happening.

Still, it didn’t help that his physical presence was the only thing around you. He was so busy that he barely spared a touch at you the whole week except for when you brought him his favourite kale smoothie or fed him his rice cracker snacks, to which he showed his appreciation through solemn kisses before Jeff called out his name sternly for his attention back.

You’ve been scrolling on the TikTok app recently to spend your time, chuckling to yourself at the funny videos, and brows drawing together in interest at the life hack tips that you deemed useful in the future. Then, you stumbled upon the challenge where girls walked in front of their boyfriends in only a towel to drop to get their attention. You bit your lip at the thought, wondering if this is what it took to finally get Harry’s hands on you.

______

You were fresh out of the shower, your hair tickling your sensitive back in damp touches. You made sure to shave every inch of your skin-- you’ve always loved the feeling of smoothness when you lay on your silky sheets at night. Plus, it made Harry absolutely mad at the sensation of velvety soft skin when he tangled his legs with yours.

Your fingers brushed off some large knots in your hair before you wrapped a blush pink towel around your chest. Legs peeked out from where the towel stopped mid-thigh.

“Yes, I think you’re right,” Harry replied, you could imagine him with his chin on his palm, glasses drifting down his slant nose in boredom.

You walked silently to his office, keeping your footsteps light. He perked up at the sound of the door creaking, plastering a look of confusion on his face when he took in your appearance and your phone pointed at him. He tilted his head in question before clearing his throat, “I think we should wait till’ everything is rescheduled before we announce it,”

He leaned forward in his chair, intrigued at your antics. You stood behind his desk, his laptop camera facing away from you. You unfolded the flap that held your towel around your body, Harry widened his eyes at the action. He shook his head in denial as if quietly asking you not to do anything right now. You bit your lip, shaking your head back with a teasing smile.

The towel landed on the floor with a light ‘thud’. You shivered unnoticeably when the cold air nipped your damp skin, goosebumps raised on your body at the shift in temperature. Giggling quietly, a giddiness expanded on your chest at the camera capturing Harry’s reaction the moment you revealed your naked body to him--mouth ajar, a flush of red painting his cheeks and his neck. Harry gulped at the sight, shifting uncomfortably in his plush leather seat where you stood just behind the screen where Jeff and a couple of executive members continued discussing the next topic.

You covered your mouth as you giggled, tapping the button to stop the recording, placing your phone face down on his mahogany desk. He tapped his lips to remind you to stay quiet, still not letting his gaze drift away from your now hardening nipples. You took his attention as an opportunity to tease him even more, twisting your buds gently between your fingertips, mouth dropping open in a silent gasp at the sensation that had Harry quick to press the ‘mute’ button on the screen. His fingers fell away from his lips, indicating that the microphone was off.

“What do y’think y’are doing?” He growled, angling his head so that the camera won’t catch his lips moving. You shrugged innocently, palming your breasts in your small hand, some spilling out between your fingers. You knew that the action drove Harry crazy by the way his breath hitched--he always loved that your breasts were the perfect handful for him.

“Nothin’,” You quipped, biting your pointer finger with your teeth as you looked at him seductively. He was about to answer when his name was called. Harry’s hardened gaze told you to ‘behave’ but you never listened to him unless you absolutely had to.

“Yes, ‘m here. Sorry, Y/N was just checking up on me,” His eyes just about bulged out when you approached his side, resting your bum on the edge of the desk. You made sure not to let yourself be in the frame of the camera as you stretched your leg over Harry’s lap. “What the f--,”

You pressed your finger against your lips, shushing him with alarmed eyes pointing to his laptop. With the position of you standing on one leg, your pelvic bone shielded his prying eyes from your core unless he slouched incredibly low on his chair. He really wanted too, but that would be too suspicious.

You dipped your fingers in your slick heat, glossing the pads with your juices before rubbing it against your clit. Your leg wanted to jolt close in his lap but his tight grip held your calf down, biting your lip at the shock of pleasure. You repeated this a couple more times before pulling your leg back slowly, making sure to keep it below the desk. He sighed in relief, but you smirked mischievously as your foot swept past the bulge in his pants. The tent was so visible that you wanted nothing more but to have his length in your mouth.

He had just enough wit to mute himself before he released a small moan, looking off to the side to hide his pleasured face. “Christ, what are you doing to me, angel?”

“Missed you,” was all you said before maneuvering between his legs, under the thick plane of the desk that hid you from everyone else aside from him. You pressed your finger against your lips again, the shadows of the wood adding an ominous aura to your face. He lifted his hips as you tugged his sweatpants down. He stared at you with hooded lids, lips slick with spit as he licked them once over.

You let your tongue wander his thick length, grabbing the base to have a steady workplace. His dick was slick with spit, getting your chin sticky from both his pre-cum pearling on the slit and your mouth wrapped around the tip. His thighs relaxed as you took him in your mouth, gripping the arms of the office chair to pull the wheels closer to you so that you could take him deeper down your throat. You gagged, constricting around his tip which had him tangling his fingers in your hair to pull you back, his breathing heavy. He didn’t know how much longer he could stay quiet. You pushed his hand away, opting to return to your task at hand, bobbing your head back and forth with effort.

“Great, I-I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” Harry clicked the window closed, slamming the laptop shut. “Shit, oh shit,” He moaned out head lulling back on the headrest as he sucked in a deep breath.

You pulled his cock out of your mouth, mouthing at the sides to let him catch his breath.

“Get the fuck outta’ there,” He said, waiting for you to crawl out his desk and beside his chair, kneeling down at eye level to meet his dick. “What was that, hmm?”

“I told you, I missed you,” You pouted at him, your heel rubbing against your core and you subconsciously rocked back and forth at the feeling. He looked down at you, “You missed me so much y'even playing with your pussy in front of me,” You nodded. “Why don’t you show me how much?”

You licked your palm slowly, feeling your saliva trickle down your skin, wrapping his velvety hardness with spit. He groaned as you pumped him with your closed fist, the clicking noise filling his ears. “So much, Harry,” You rubbed his red tip against your lips, his precum tasting so delightful. “Missed you so much. Love you so much,”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” You whimpered, “I love sucking your cock,” You said while letting the tip of your tongue trace lightly over his head but he understood anyway. "Love making you feel good,"

“You want more?” You nodded, beginning to cover his mushroom head with your mouth again. “God, yes,” He groaned in relief, tilting his head up as he licked his lips slowly. The fingers in your hair tightened as you pulled off again, licking his base to get it wet, journeying lower to where his balls lay nice and tight. Your mouth puckered as you gently suctioned his balls, prodding your tongue in the middle of the sack that had him curling his toes. You pushed yourself higher, lifting your bum from your heel to gain an advantage to take him down your throat.

“So fuckin’ good,” He lulled, voice deep with lust as he watched you lay your tongue flat on your bottom lip, sheathing him inside your warm mouth over and over again until the heat spread to his upper body, forcing him to sit up and pull his shirt over his head. You moaned at the sight of his chest heaving, the butterfly on his stomach fluttering in anticipation. Your palm flattened against his belly, tapping it twice to let him know that you wanted him to take over. “You sure?”

“Yes, please,” You nodded, pulling your head back. “Open your mouth for me, then,”

You let your jaw go unhinged, sticking your tongue out as the underside of his cock grazed your textured organ, “Fuck, that’s it,” You stared at him with tortured eyes, wanting his hips to go faster but his caring nature wanted you to enjoy it just as much as he was. He shifted his hand to hold the back of your head, raising his hips to shove his cock deeper in your throat, fucking your mouth. He did this for a few more seconds until the wheels on the chair moved farther back, almost causing him to crash on the ground. You grasped his thick thighs in your hands, taking the control back by dipping your head back and forth until you needed to catch your breath.

“‘M about to fuckin’ blow, baby,”

You latched your mouth on his drippy tip, tracing the small veins with your tongue. One hand cradled his balls, rolling them around like a pair of die that simulated the blood flow to a pleasurable extent. Your other hand clutched his base, twisting your hand around it in circular motions while simultaneously going up and down. You suctioned your lips in a tight grip that it almost hurt, making sure that not one part of his dick was left untouched at any moment. “Holy shit, ‘m cumming,”

You doubled your efforts, not caring about the mess that you were leaving on your cheeks, your chin and your chest, even going as far as genuinely moaning at seeing Harry lose himself to the pleasure you were giving him. The noise he released came from within his chest, paired with shouts of your name and a ‘jesus fuck’, his stomach convulsing as his dick practically throbbed in your mouth at the force of his orgasm. His balls pulsing with each stroke of sticky, white cum painting your mouth until he softened between your plump cheeks. You swallowed heavily, using your fingers to catch the few drops that escaped back into your mouth.

“Tastes good?” He panted, watching you walk over to pick up your towel, wiping the excess bodily fluid from your body. You hummed in agreement, drying the tips of your hair off. “So good,”

_______

eeek

_______

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#harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles

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thethousandyearwitch · 5 years ago

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The Show Must Go On! - A Youtuber AU you didn’t want and didn’t need

Hisoka Morrow, italian Makeup Youtuber, enjoys his life in the comfort and occasional drama of his profession. But nothing brings more drama into his life than the eldest son of the Zoldyck fashion magazine empire.

Meanwhile, aspiring australian Twitch Streamer Gon Freecs forms a special bond to a Speedrunner commonly going by "Kil".

Chapter 1

FF.net link - AO3 link

Beep Beep. beep Beep. Click

8:00 am. Hisoka rolled over in his queen-sized bed, groaning at the interruption of his beauty sleep. Setting an early alarm after editing until 2 am was a horrible idea.

He grabbed his phone from his nightstand and rolls onto his back, following his ritual of checking all his notifications in the morning. The video he had uploaded after editing was well received, many comments about how he should try more looks with purple eyeshadow. About 3 years ago he had started his channel “Bubblegumbitch Makeup” as more of a throwaway joke after someone insulted his makeup on Instagram. However, an audience grew quite quickly, and Hisoka had to admit that he enjoyed the attention and luxury of it all. Making money by sitting in front of a camera and applying Makeup while people tell you how good looking you are is a great ego boost.

Half-heartedly he scrolled through his subscription feed, just to see what his competition was up to, though barely anyone had really uploaded during the night. Amateurs and their 'healthy' sleep schedules. A true influencer knows that an audience never sleeps.

He disregarded his phone somewhere into the pile of pillows that make up his bed and made his way into the bathroom. His morning showers are more functional than enjoyable, quickly rinsing on whatever spirits of sleep may linger on him.

After that, the Makeup artist applied his usual morning creams, body lotion, towel dries his hair, and threw on a pair of grey low-waist sweats and a comfortable white razor-back shirt. Need. Coffee.

Hisokas flat was a quaint little thing just outside of Rieti. An open imitation marble kitchen, facing the living room equipped with a black leather couch and wall mounted flat screen TV, opening to a relatively small balcony housing a few plants.

Exiting his bedroom, he grabbed the TV remote and switched unto a random morning news show, just needing background noise while he waits for his coffee to brew.

"And preparations are running wild for the annual Fashion Week in Rome. This year the line-up features many new promising designers from all over the globe. Tune in at 10 for more-"

The fashion week! Hisoka grinned, having nearly forgotten about this important event that he had always followed closely. Though rarely attending himself, he had been requested on multiple occasions as a make-up artist for certain models. But there was something more important connected to that special week. He grabbed his fresh cappuccino and strolled back to his room, fishing his phone from the depths of pillow mountain.

"Hisoka: Gooooood Morning! Roma's Fashion Week is coming up, are you going to stop on by? ~"

It didn’t take long before his phone chimed with the familiar Ping of a private Message.

“Bellissimo <3: I will be going to the Show for 4 days. If it proves convenient, I’d drop by for a short collaboration.”

“Hisoka: I’ll be keeping my bed warm~♥️”

“Bellissimo<3: Gross and unnecessary. I will book a room in my usual hotel in Rome. I’ll drop by for the Collaboration on Monday afternoon, and leave after.”

“Bellissimo<3: I will send you some sample pieces later, please come up with a look for one of them, and don’t just ‘wing it’ like last time.”

Hisoka giggled before disregarding his phone again. Illumi Zoldyck, breakthrough Fashion Designer from England, and eldest son of Zoldyck fashion magazine empire, who often uploaded videos of his artistic process on his channel “I. Zoldyck Fashion”. They had met 2 years ago, at a smaller Paris fashion show, the first one Hisoka ever attended. A model had requested Hisoka as her makeup artist, while Illumi had been working on a dress for her, and the two of them ended up working closely together to properly coordinate colours with each other. And though Illumi expressed great annoyance with Hisoka, they exchanged numbers, and started to make collab videos whenever they fell into the same place. Something about working together with Illumi got Hisokas heart racing. Seeing the camera-shy man get increasingly more frustrated with his antics was a joy that could hardly be topped.

But he didn’t have time to dwell in good memories and spine-tingling anticipation. He had work to do. And so once again he chucked his phone back into the pillow-cave system and made his way into his recording room.

It was a small office space, on one side an office Desk with a Desktop Computer, a couple of small succulent plants framing it, and a comfy black office chair. On the other side a set-up to record videos, with a white-pink gradient wall, a stainless white desk with a small mirror standing on it, and a less-comfy stool to sit on. In a smooth motion, Hisoka downed the rest of his coffee, set the cup aside, and started the camera. The night before he had laid out everything for his next video, a review for a new eyeshadow palette released by another Beauty Youtuber, still trying to get into the game. How Cute.

Hisoka clapped his hands together, putting on his best camera smile. “Hey, Scum! ~ Today I have a very special treat for you all. I got my hands on the new Togari Palette ‘Hunting for Your Dreams’, his first release.” He held up the shimmering silver case and opened it up for the camera to reveal 6 eyeshadows in various shades of orange and red. About half an hour and a couple try hard glamour shots later, Hisoka dropped the Palette with a grin, staring directly into the Camera. In addition to his signature Star and Teardrop under his eyes, he had attempted to imitate a flame-inspired eyeshadow look. “Well, this has been an absolute disaster. I feel like I’m losing clumps of eyeshadow every time I blink, and it feels sandy and irritating on my skin. But you have got to give it to Togari: I have never seen a Palette that features colours that are eye-biting and yet completely bland before. Though the surprise gift of a long, brown hair inside the sealed Palette wasn’t for me. But you know, if you see these Palettes in your local bargain bin, I’d say go for it.” He gave a cheeky wink, before rattling off his usual goodbyes, like and subscribe, yadda yadda.

Click.

Hisoka took the camera and set it by his computer. Before he could even think about editing, he must wipe away whatever the hell was in that shabby palette. Of course it wasn’t the worst make-up he had ever worn; it probably wouldn’t even make it in the bottom 10, he wasn’t here to make friends and spoon-feed his competition compliments. If a creator dares to churn out a subpar product, they have to deal with the consequences.

After practically subjecting himself to water torture via make-up remover towels, the man grabbed another whiteclaw from the fridge, and settled into his office chair. Digging through business emails was a boring, repetitive task, deleting promo-email after promo-email, practically begging him to promote some skin-care vitamins or boring phone app. Clicking the nails of his free hand against his desk, he tapped away at the delete button in a rhythm only known to him.

Finally reaching the bottom of his inbox, he switched to his private Inbox with a satisfied smile, an expected email already waiting for him. “From: I. Zoldyck: Roma Fashion Week Promos”. To my private Email, dear Illumi? How shockingly Intimate~ Hisoka mocked in his head while opening the mail.

“Hisoka.

Attached are 3 Designs I plan to show off at the show. Chose one for the collaboration and let me know in time.

Sincerely,

Illumi Zoldyck.”

Under his signature, 3 files were lined up, boringly titled “Design Roma 1/2/3”. Hisoka opened the first file and is greeted by a 2-piece suit with a light pink base colour, and blue-green flower highlights that frame the pockets and seams of the jacket, and the belt of the pants. Not bad, not bad.

The second file contained another 2-piece suit, this time with a black base colour, and a repeating roman-vase pattern in eye-catching blues, pinks, and oranges. Lovely pattern, and what a revealing jacket cut~. He was sure he had found his favourite, already planning a matching make-up look. But it wouldn’t hurt looking at the last design for pity, right?

Hisoka audibly gasped in a mixture of shock and flattery and laid a hand over his heart to complete the star performance. Staring back at him was a beautiful white-jeans design, patterned with colourful card-suits dotting the jacket and pants. The pattern was ever so slightly washed out, faking a vintage look. This is it. Mine. His heart was beating through his chest, and for the first time in a while he was truly speechless.

He had 3 more weeks until the show, but his mind was already bursting with inspiration, and when he later laid in bed, he couldn’t contain his grin as he texted.

“Hisoka: You already know which one im choosing~♥️♥️♥️”

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

Gon had been streaming for a good hour or so, talking excitedly to his chat about the new Season of Fortnite, admiring new skins that he was definitely going to try and get. Every new pass just meant a new challenge for him to prove himself, and it was undeniable that it was satisfying to work and game hard to get what he wanted. Just as he was about to ask chat if he should go another row, or change games for the night, a discord message drew his attention away.

“Kil: Yo, wanna team up? :p”

Filled with even more excitement, Gon returned his attention back to his stream. “Everyone, today we are going to feature a special guest!”

#Hisoillu #killugon #Hunter X Hunter #fanfiction #hxh fanfic

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careydodd · 4 years ago

Text

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wildefiction · 6 years ago

Text

Thistle & Crow

PAIRING: Sam x Reader

WORD COUNT: 6,940

SUMMARY: In an attempt to escape her old life, reader packs her things and moves to a remote mountain town where she stumbles upon the town’s oldest bookshop. Soon odd things begin happening, things she can’t even hope to explain.

WARNINGS: Deja Vu, Swearing, Occult Reference, Witchcraft {Mentioned}, Mild Flirting, Minor Injuries

A/N: This was originally written for a follower contest hosted by @frejaiswritingthistime. My prompt was ‘Sam x Reader Bookshop AU’

It was perfect. Staring over the steering wheel at the small town unfolding before you, it was suddenly clear just how much you needed this.

Packing your worldly possessions into the hatchback of the Volkswagen had been a spur of the moment decision last week. You told yourself this would be a fresh start, a new life - and you were determined to make it work.

The jaunty electric green car sputtered to a stop just outside the lone cafe in town. A large bell tied to the door jingled overhead as you moved towards a corner booth, thanking the waitress when she slid a plastic covered menu to you from behind the counter. “You new in town?” Looking up into her kind, brown eyes, you felt strangely comfortable. Or, rather, you figured it wouldn’t hurt to answer the woman honestly. “Is it that obvious?” The wry smile didn’t quite reach your eyes and the woman -Beth- (according to her name tag) filled your cup. The steaming coffee was unremarkable, but still, it soothed the sudden nerves prickling your skin. Could you really pull this off?

After devouring what was possibly the best pancakes on the planet, you said goodbye to the middle-aged woman and wandered out the front door. If Ravencrest was going to be your new home, you may as well start getting to know the small mountain town.

Shoving hands into the shallow pockets of your jeans helped deter the chilly Autumn wind as it carried summer leaves through the quiet streets. Here and there you’d see someone walking their dog or chatting with a friend. Unlike in the city, people here seemed unconcerned with mindlessly scrolling through social media feeds until their battery ran out. The thought brought a smile to your face.

The fragrant smell of lavender drew your attention to a small shop squished between a hardware store and a pharmacy, the two substantial buildings looked to be fairly new and dwarfed the older business. Peering up at the ornate carved support beams, the shop name was spelled out in neat black script ‘Thistle & Crow.’ Intrigued, you reached forward, wrapping one hand around the brass handle while rising up on tiptoes to peer inside the glass paneled door. Unable to see much aside from the glow of flames framed in a stone fireplace, you pressed the lever and let yourself into the small building. More chimes tinkled above you and you wondered if every business in this town employed a similar set-up. Immediately the pleasant aroma of burning sage invaded your senses and although it was only mid-afternoon you waited as your eyes adjusted to the dim interior.

Rich mahogany shelves lined every available surface, where thousands of books waited invitingly. Impressed, you turned to find a wide matching countertop stretched along the length of the nearest wall,where a grizzled, old cat napped at one end. The mottled cream and grey fur stuck up at odd angles and crooked, haphazard whiskers twitched in his sleep.

“His name is Thistle.” Startled, you turned to find an elderly woman hobbling towards you, most of her weight supported on a thick, gnarled walking stick. Long grey hair was piled atop her head, streaks of platinum interspersed throughout. Aside from the fact that she had seemingly appeared out of thin air, you didn’t feel threatened. For a moment, the two of you merely looked at each other, the silence hanging in the air held a palpable tension.

The unmistakable sound of ruffled feathers distracted you from the woman’s scrutinization as a solid weight settled on your left shoulder. Palms tingling with anxiety, you looked through your peripheral vision at the oversized crow who’d found you to be a convenient perch. Wide, glassy eyes flicked back to the woman standing next to you. “Let me guess…this is Crow?” For a moment, she didn’t speak, her pale green eyes darting between you and the bird. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, her brows unfurrowed and she waved a hand around in acceptance; a motley cluster of bangles clinking together. “Really? This one?” A soft chuff from Crow had the woman nodding in acquiescement. “Fine.” “Come now love, I’ll put the kettle on.” “Names’ Agatha, though most youngin’s call me Aggie..not that I’ve any idea why…” The last was muttered under her breath, her head shaking in disappointment or perhaps incredulity as she wandered into the next room and set about preparing the afternoon tea.

*****

Four-hundred and sixty-eight miles away, two men sat slumped in oak chairs; teetering piles of books stacked around them. The eldest of the brothers rubbed at tired, red-rimmed eyes before leaning forward to rest his head on the cool parchment he had been pretending to read. “Dude, Sammy, how do you do this? We have no idea what we’re even looking for.”

His brother shoved a hand through the auburn mane that fell around his face, “I dunno…but there has to be some kind of lore that can help us. The Men of Letters were nothing if not thorough in their collection of obscure texts.” Sighing heavily, he continued “But you’re right, I haven’t come across anything here either.” The grating of chair legs across the wooden floor made Sam cringe when Dean pushed back from the table and stood, stretching long arms over his head. “Beer?” Not waiting for an answer, Dean shuffled into the next room, selecting two bottles from an otherwise empty refrigerator.

Walking back into the adjacent room, Dean set the second bottle in front of his brother, beads of condensation already starting to form. “Thanks.” Prying the aluminum cap off and taking a long swallow, Sam’s eyebrows furrowed as he stared at something on his laptop. “Dean…” Spinning the computer towards him, Sam pointed his bottle at the news article.

‘Violent Attack Leaves Three Dead and Two In Critical Condition’

The older brother shot a skeptic look to the younger man. “Really? This doesn’t even smell like our kinda thing..grasping at straws are we?” The corner of Sam’s lip twitched in amusement. “Maybe you’re right, maybe we should just keep going through these books…there’s got–“ “Be ready in ten.” In three long strides Dean was at the base of the stairs leading to the garage. If there was one thing he disliked more than going on a wild goose chase, it was research. Grabbing his green and blue flannel from the back of a chair, Sam followed Dean upstairs.

The crinkling of newspaper filled the car as Sam read through the full article. The headline had gone on to state that the attack had happened in the mountains of Montana; unsure what kind of connectivity he’d have being surrounded by trees, he’d picked up the paper during their initial stop for food and gas.

“Any idea what we’re dealing with?” Though Dean’s eyes were focused mostly on the road, he fumbled with an AC/DC mix tape, shoving the cassette into the dash of the Impala and cranking the volume. Sam had to shout to be heard, and even then, he wasn’t sure his brother had understood him. “What?!” A ridiculous grin covered Dean’s face at the look of annoyance Sam passed him. “It’s really nothing I’ve heard of before, but the park rangers are guessing it’s some kind of animal attack. Guess the bodies are tore up pretty bad. So get this…they had to use dental records to identify the three who died.” Dean’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline, his grip tightening on the steering wheel as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

*****

A week passed and you’d settled into a fairly regular routine. Agatha had offered to let you stay in the one-room apartment situated above the bookshop in exchange for a few hours of work each week and you’d happily accepted. It hadn’t taken long to meet most everyone in town, the population being roughly that of your high-school back home.

Most days consisted of making tea and running errands for Agatha and closing up shop each evening. The elderly woman had begun teaching you how to catalog and organize the shelves of books, making it easier to replace ones borrowed from the regular patrons. You enjoyed the simple task and often found yourself reclined in front of the ever-burning fireplace, devouring text after text as the days wore on. Towards the end of your second week in Ravencrest, you turned from locking up; looking forward to a quiet night in when you saw it. The glossy black car didn’t belong to anyone in town, that much you were sure of. Shrugging, you began climbing the narrow wooden stairs leading to your home, the squeaking protests of the ancient wood echoing around you. Halfway to the top you slowed, glancing back over your shoulder at the car. It was beautiful. Most folks here drove rust-dotted farm trucks that had seen better days. Those that didn’t either rode their horses into town or simply walked everywhere. There just wasn’t a need for anything fancier, and you’d realized, rather quickly, that a simple life came with simple possessions. It wouldn’t hurt to get a closer look, right? Whoever owned the car was likely just passing through anyhow.

As you approached the car, you tentatively reached out, fingertips brushing along the polished chrome and onyx paint. “Hey!” Startled, you spun around, your [Y/H/C] hair fanning out behind you as your eyes landed on the man who was approaching. Jogging the last few feet, his eyes were hard as he regarded you. Holding your hands up in defense you took a couple steps back, “Sorry, I was just admiring the view. I assume she’s yours?” A curt nod his only acknowledgement to your question, you continued “Don’t get to see many classic cars roll through town, or at least none that are this beautifully restored. ‘67 Impala right?” You could see some of the rigidity leave the man’s posture as he nodded, a slow smile replacing his stoic expression. “Yeah..she’s my baby.” Smiling softly you nodded “Well, it looks like you take great care of her. Have a good night.” With a wave, you crossed the street and let yourself into your apartment, closing the door behind you.

*****

“Who was that?” Sam walked up behind his brother, several styrofoam containers stacked in his hands. “Dunno. Came out of Beth’s and she was standing here, touching my baby.” Sam shook his head, shoving one of the food containers towards his brother. “You’ve got problems man, pretty sure you’d marry that car if you could…” Dean opened his mouth to argue, thought better of it and simply shrugged, firing up the engine and pulling out onto the main road.

*****

The following day, you arrived to find a hastily scribbled note on the front counter;

“Back in a few days, be a dear and look after the boys will you? Don’t forget the tea!

Enjoy,

Agatha.”

Your mouth dropped open at the thick tome resting under the slip of paper. Straps bound the leather book, and you took a moment to blow the layer of dust from it’s cover. Elegant maroon text shimmered across the surface, the transcribed runes spelling out a name you instantly recognized as an authority on mythology. A certain giddiness flooded your senses and you were just about to crack open the book when Thistle ambled over and demanded food, his milky blue eyes glaring up at you in indignation.

Twenty minutes later you were so engrossed in the hefty anthology, you failed to notice the sound of the door opening. “Bit of light reading?” Devouring the last two lines on the page, you nodded absentmindedly before lifting your eyes to the patron. The man standing at the counter was tall, your gaze level with his broad, flannel covered chest.

As your eyes traveled up to meet his, a chill spread through your limbs. Long, chestnut hair curled just above the neckline of the sage green tee layered beneath the flannel. His eyes were the color of honey with a kaleidoscope of green and blue, a beautiful combination that sparkled with warmth. “Hi, I’m Sam.” You took his outstretched hand, and, realizing you were probably staring at him, tried your best to control the tone of your voice.

“[Y/F/N]” How can I help you?!”

“I’m uh,” Sam cleared his throat - “interesting name for a book shop.”

“Yeah, I … suppose it is…” This was awkward.

“Well, feel free to have a look around, and uh…let me know if I can help you find anything.”

*****

Wandering through the rows of bookshelves, Sam took a moment to look over his shoulder at the woman sitting behind the counter. She was entirely engrossed in her book. It was endearing. He didn’t know what it was about the girl, but he was inexplicably drawn to her. For some reason, she seemed familiar.

Shifting uncomfortably, he turned again and scanned the books - never seeing the large bird approaching him..

*****

A deep yelp of surprise caught your attention and the chair behind you toppled over as you hurried into the adjacent room. Sam stood there, his large body rigid; chest heaving, eyes trained on Crow; happily perched on the man’s head.

Blanching, you hurried over and removed the offending animal, profusely apologizing the entire time. “CROW!?” “I’m soooo sorry, he never does this! Or..well..almost never.” “Again, so sorry.” Hurrying out of the room with the blasted bird under your arm, you placed him on a gnarled tree that twisted along the wall.

Leaning against the trunk, your hand wiped at the perspiration that dotted your head. Clearly Sam wasn’t from around here, you only hoped he wouldn’t sue. Agatha had left you alone for two days and her crazy bird had decided to roost in his hair. Steeling yourself, you square your shoulders and stride back into the library, intent on convincing Sam to…well..you weren’t quite sure. Though, somewhere in your mind, you knew you weren’t above pleading. Bribery? Bribery might work too.

“Sam, listen….” “Sam?”

The small bookstore was empty.

*****

“And then…a crow flew across the room and landed on my head.” Dean looked across the table at his brother, a handful of fries midway to his mouth. “Keep telling you to cut your hair man.” He shrugged “Looks like a nest to me.”

Sam scoffed at his brother, “Any leads on the case?” Dean shook his head, “I don’t know if this is our thing at all.” “Nobody seems to have any information. Not even the cops.” Sam was back to scanning his newspaper.

“Well, clearly we’re missing something.”

Looking around at their immediate surroundings, Sam tilted his head - watching the people around him going about their day. Either the citizens of Ravencrest were blissfully ignorant of the danger they were in or…

The youngest Winchester stood, intent on asking every person in town about the newspaper article if need be. Someone had to know something, and his gut led him in the direction of that quirky little bookstore. Whether he knew it or not, the woman behind the counter was about to change his life.

A few minutes later, Sam was jogging up to the front of the book store, and his heart sank when he saw the darkened windows. Shaking the sleeve back from his wrist, he noted the time - 6:12pm.

Glancing at the door, where the business’ hours were detailed in the same matching script as the name of the shop, he noted that they’d closed early. They were supposed to be open for another forty-five minutes. Hesitantly, he reached forward - surprised when he found the store unlocked. As the old wooden door creaked forward, Sam stuck his head around the corner. “Hello? Uh..[Y/F/N]? Anyone home?” Advancing through the dim entryway, he stopped short at the sound of voices filtering in from the back room. “Please child, it’ll keep you safe.” Sam didn’t recognize the voice, though the urgency with which the woman spoke was obvious. “Agatha, what are you talking about?” “Safe from what, exactly?!”

[Y/F/N]’s voice was a barely contained whisper, fear bled into her mind; pupils dilating, her body deciding whether to fight or flee. Sam inched closer, the pistol he’d drawn firm in his grip.

An unmistakable sound of ruffling feathers was accompanied by an indignant huff of impatience from the room ahead. “Stop trying to be sneaky Sam Winchester, you’re not very good at it.” The hunter narrowed his eyes as he stepped through the door frame, coming to face both [Y/F/N] and the woman he assumed to be Agatha. “How do you know my name?” Sam was wary, his hazel eyes laced with confusion as he tried to decide who in the room to focus on. “Son, I know a great deal more about you than your name. And put that blasted weapon away, you’ll shoot your eye out!”

*****

You were thoroughly confused, and admittedly a little scared. Agatha had come barreling through the shop an hour ago, slamming the door so hard, dust had filtered down from the rafters. Immediately she poured a strong cup of the tea that she insisted be readily available and gulped at the liquid feverishly. As the minutes ticked by, she became visibly calmer. Now she was trying to shove the same concoction into your hands, along with some sort of pendant. The macrame-braided stone appeared rather drab, though, turned at the correct angle vivid bursts of color danced across its surface. Hesitantly, you took the necklace and tied it around your neck, still unsure what it was supposed to protect you from. “Drink! Drink the tea girl!” As you lifted the delicate china cup to your lips, Sam inched into the room, gun drawn. His gaze flicked to you, and then to Agatha “What’s going on?”

“It’s a Tezaur.” Sam lowered his weapon. “A what?!” Racking his brain, he couldn’t remember ever hearing of anything by that name, let alone seeing one. The elderly woman hobbled into the main room, the steady clack, clack, clack of her walking stick echoing around her. A couple minutes later she returned, the massive mythology book tucked under her free arm. With a heavy thud, it landed on the table just inside the doorway. Agatha spent several minutes rifling through the pages and muttering under her breath until she found the entry she’d been searching for. Turning her pale eyes towards Sam, she gestured to the yellowing pages. Several charcoal drawings of a medium sized creature were littered around the parchment. One drawing looked very similar to a modern hyena, while another was more reptilian in nature; great leathery wings folded neatly as it sat staring at whomever had gotten close enough to capture its likeness. A third sketch was similar to some member of the ape family, though with highly exaggerated proportions. Long arms dragged the ground, the digits oversized and callused. Short, fine hair covered all major areas, leaving only the wedge-shaped muzzle and eye area bare. Although each drawing showed a different species, there were several key similarities: perfectly round globe-like eyes, raptor-esque talons sprouting from both the fore and back feet and a bi-colored appearance. Scanning the short excerpts of text, all hastily written in a dark brown ink, Sam was able to understand that the creature was a malevolent forest spirit. Originally hailing from Romania, the author of the large compendium of text surmised that the Tezaur could change its appearance at will, shifting into something or someone important to their victim. They also often hoard shiny objects, much like a dragon might. “Huh, it says here ‘Tezaur spirits also enjoy the company of beautiful women and will squirrel them away to their den to compliment their hoard of treasures, where they will…’” Blushing, Sam looked up at you before clearing his throat “Ugh, well…that’s something I didn’t know I never wanted to see.” Pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb, the hunter shook his head; his hair falling over his eyes while he rubbed at his temples.

The entire time Sam was reading, Agatha was insisting you drink tea. Meanwhile, you had no idea what was going on and you began to wonder if moving to the sticks had been such a good idea after all.

“Now, what that book doesn’t mention is that Tezaur fancy themselves chivalrous, only taking what they perceive to be fair game. While nobody, to my knowledge, has written a book on that subject it appears that true soul mates are immune to their charms and they strongly dislike the smell of lavender.”

Looking down at the drink in your hands, you noticed for the first time the small purple flowers floating in the tea.

“Great, so what does all of this have to do with me?!” You turned to face the woman who’d gone silent and was staring intently at her feet, her long skirts flowing around her legs. It took a few minutes, but Agatha finally raised her eyes to yours, the light irises shining with unshed tears. “Agatha? Agatha why are you crying?!” Studying the woman, you wondered what had happened to make her this afraid. For a moment she cupped your cheek in her cool hand, a sad smile spreading across her face. Sniffling, she quickly shook her head, the back of one hand dashing away the wetness threatening to spill over her lids. “Never-mind me dears, you’re both safe now.”

The concern for Agatha’s tear-stained face etched into Sam’s features appeared genuine. You might’ve looked a little too long at the gorgeous man in front of you. As soon as he realized you were watching him, you hastily looked away; heat coloring your cheeks. What was wrong with you? You’d only met Sam once before but your skin was flushed and you couldn’t seem to concentrate properly.

Unbeknownst to you, Sam was wondering the same thing. He didn’t believe he had a Soul Mate, this just wasn’t the kind of life where lasting relationships seemed possible, let alone plausible. Still, he had to admit -if to no one but himself- that there was something about you…he’d still yet to figure out where he’d seen you before.

Clearing his throat, he turned back to the book “It doesn’t say how to kill them.” Agatha sighed, “That’s because you can’t. Or I’ve never heard of it happening. Mostly you just have to placate it and hope it decides to migrate elsewhere.” “I haven’t seen one in twenty years, so they’re not terribly common. I’m not even sure how it got here if we’re being honest.” The woman laid a gentle hand on Sam’s shoulder, and she seemed resigned to the idea that this critter would haunt the small town forever. “This Tezaur appears to be especially aggressive if it is the predator that has been killing people. Luckily, we don’t have a town newspaper and few people have internet, so the news hasn’t spread. Yet.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure…” Sam’s tone was stoic as he pulled the folded newspaper article from his back pocket and handed it to Agatha. “Apparently someone out there knows about what’s happening. Unfortunately, this seems to be anonymously written, which doesn’t help at all.”

You started pacing the small room. A lighter path of worn boards showed that you hadn’t been the first and likely wouldn’t be the last person to fret over worrisome things. Before today you had never stopped to consider the myths and legends you so avidly studied could be real. Maybe you were in shock, maybe you were just desensitized to the idea of a world filled with monsters and other supernatural entities, but you remained calm. With a resigned sigh, you walked back into the adjacent room, pulling a stack of books from the wooden shelves that flanked the fireplace. Lowering yourself into the seat, you set the books on the nearby end table, lifting the first one and placing it in your lap. Thistle & Crow had a collection unlike anything you’d seen before and if there was anything to be done about this shapeshifting hoarder, you were confident you’d find something here.

The heavy sound of boots announced Sam’s arrival and his eyebrows shot up as he read some of the titles. “Wow. When this is all over, remind me to come take a closer look at these, they seem fascinating.” The Winchester hunter placed a hand on your shoulder as he looked at what you were reading. The warmth spreading from his touch was distracting. “Well, I’m going to go touch base with my brother, see if he’s found anything. If not, maybe someone in our contacts will have an idea for us.” With a gentle squeeze of reassurance, Sam stepped back, the echo of his footsteps ringing in your mind as the front door opened and then shut behind him. The numbing feeling left behind when the hunter left had to be coincidence, Sam wasn’t your soulmate. He couldn’t be. Besides, you’d never believed in such a thing.

****

Two days later, Sam and Dean had just finished lunch at Beth’s. In low voices, the brothers sat hunched in their booth, trying to work out a game plan. So far, they hadn’t found much more information than the tidbits from the mythology book across the street at Thistle & Crow. When he’d first returned and described the creature they were looking for, Dean had laughed. Maybe he’d pictured its appearance in his mind, and for some reason whatever he saw had been amusing. Now, however the eldest brother had become frustrated. “We’re no closer to finding this damned shapeshifter, we still don’t know how -or if- it can be killed and our only defense against the damn thing when we DO find it is god damned flower crowns and a tea party?!” Sam sat staring out the window; a light autumn drizzle painting the glass in streaks and dots.

He wondered what [Y/F/N] was doing right then. Had she found any new information? What if she’d been trying to get ahold of him? Why hadn’t he left his phone number when he’d last seen her the other night?

“Sam…SAM!” With several clicks of his fingers, Dean was able to regain his brother’s attention. “Your phone is ringing, genius.” With a sigh, he fished the ancient brick of a flip-phone from his front pocket. Lifting the device to his ear, Sam cleared his throat, “Bobby! Got anything?”

Dean watched from across the booth. Several nods, a few clarifying questions and an affirmation later the man snapped the phone closed. “Bobby spoke to some of his hunter friends that frequent this area. This particular Tezaur has been around for years. They said that regardless of the lore we read, it isn’t overly aggressive unless provoked. Protective sure, and with a lewd streak a mile wide, but not an indiscriminate killer.” “Which means…either something or someone is poking the proverbial bear here or..”

“Or what?” Dean snapped.

“Or, whatever is murdering the citizens of Ravencrest isn’t a Tezaur.”

“Great, that’s utterly…perfect.” “So we’re back at square one?” The whine in Dean’s voice might’ve been funny if it hadn’t been so warranted. Sam simply nodded.

*****

Another three days passed. Having flipped through a number of books in the library, you were at your wits’ end. When you weren’t pouring over the stories, your mind was on Sam. It’d been nearly a week since he’d been in. Sleep had been futile, your muscles consistently wound so tight that any attempt at relaxation had been fruitless. Agatha had disappeared again and frankly, you were beginning to worry. You needed a break. Deciding some fresh air might do you good, you locked the shop and started to walk. With no particular destination in mind, you let your mind wander, figuring if you stuck to the sidewalk you’d be fine.

An hour later after passing every business in town you were nearing the edge of the city limits. Fewer houses dotted the tree lined road that had transitioned from asphalt, to gravel and was now simply dusty earth. The sun had set and, deciding being out out in the woods alone at night - when people were turning up dead - was probably not the best idea, you turned and started back the way you had come. Unfortunately for you, the fresh air had done nothing to clear your mind of the tall, broad-shouldered man who called himself Winchester. You needed to find him. Suddenly, the sound of twigs snapping to your left stopped you in your tracks; the squeal of some dying rodent high pitched in the relatively still night. “You're fine [Y/F/N], just keep walking, this is fine.” The pep talk didn’t calm your nerves but repeating the mantra over and over distracted you well enough that the quiet evening started to relax you. As the town lights became visible, a shudder ran the length of your spine sending shock-waves of chills spreading through your upper body. Blinding lights and a high-pitched screaming flashed behind your eyes before the world went dark.

*****

The treeline was just in front of you, evergreen branches swaying in the autumn breeze. Somewhere nearby wooden shutters slammed against the siding of a house; vaguely you thought about securing them. A storm was coming. With a jolt your vision twisted. You stood at the edge of a ravine, a creek gurgling happily as it twisted its way through the forest. Sliding along the embankment, loose rocks followed your descent into the shallow water. Vaguely your brows furrowed at your own lack of concern for the new boots you had on. Traipsing around in the water couldn’t be good for the leather. Steadying yourself as a flash of black and white seared through your mind, you stood in front of Aggie. The woman was unconscious. Hands and feet were bound by willow reeds, deep cuts biting into the skin from where she’d tried to break free. Her waist-length platinum hair was disheveled, the ends stirring as the breeze danced around her. Dried blood crusted around the edge of a gash on her forehead, you could feel the metallic tang of it in the back of your throat. Faint voices echoed along the edges of your mind, becoming louder by the minute. Shaking your head to try and clear the impending fog, you reached for the woman only to have your hand pass directly through hers. Twitching, the woman’s pale eyes fluttered open, terror plain in her wide pupils. “[Y/F/N]..?”

*****

Burning air rushed through your lungs as your body heaved forward. Fighting against the strong grip of hands on your shoulders, it took several minutes for your vision to clear enough to take in your surroundings. “Aggie!” “Quick, she’s awake.” The voices were the last thing to become clear, Sam calling out for the woman you’d come to care for over the last several weeks. As Agatha’s face swam into view, you reached out, smiling, thankful she was okay.

For the first time, you noticed everyone crowded around the threadbare hotel mattress you sat on. Pushing the sweat-soaked hair back from your forehead you noted their look of concern. A pool of dread started to expand in your gut even as the question took form, “what happened?”

Dean moved into view, answering for Sam who was looking to Agatha for support. “You passed out, Sam and I had just come looking for you when Agatha told us you had gone missing. You’re lucky we found you before something else did.” A look of irritation was etched into the creases of his forehead. Crossing his arms over his chest, the eldest Winchester brother continued, “Mind telling us what you were thinking? You didn’t tell anyone where you were going.” Sam came to stand next to you, his proximity comforting. As if the man could read your mind he introduced you to your interrogator; “[Y/F/N], this is my brother, Dean. Dean, this is [Y/F/N].” Comprehension dawned on you. Of course they were brothers, you had guessed correctly when assuming he didn’t live in town. “We’ve met. Still love your car, by the way.” Dean’s irritation abated a bit with your compliment. Switching gears, he went about explaining what had happened after they’d found you. In turn, you told them about the dream you’d experienced, “It felt like I was there.” A residual chill ran through your body as you relived the details.

“Has this happened before?” Sam’s expression settled into one of concern.

Should you tell them it had? That you’d moved here after one such dream? “No, I don’t think so.” Yes, you’d blatantly lied to Sam..and Dean..and even Agatha, but you figured that one problem at a time was enough. Sam’s expression turned stoic, his mouth set in a firm line while his hard stare flicked to Agatha. It was obvious they didn’t believe you, though, wisely they remained quiet.

*****

The following morning you grimaced as you woke. Every muscle in your body ached from the stiff position you’d fallen asleep in. Rolling to your left side, your [Y/E/C] eyes widened in terror, a surprised yelp sounding as you threw yourself away from the person next to you. About to roll off the bed in your haste, a strong hand snaked out and caught your waist, toting you back to the middle of the lumpy mattress. One bleary, hazel eye cracked open, Sam’s fingers lingering a little too long on the sliver of warm skin that edged the waistband of your jeans. “Hey, hey it’s okay, you’re okay.” His voice was deeper than usual; quiet and laced with sleep. “You passed out in my bed, figured there was enough room for both of us.” Looking at the man sprawled out next to you, you noted his black cotton scrub bottoms that doubled as sleepwear, a clean, white t-shirt clinging to his chest. “Uh, what uh..did we..?” A flush colored your cheeks at the thought of touching Sam, but he was quick to assure you that you’d shared nothing but the bed. “Besides, if you ever wake up not remembering time we spent together, clearly I didn’t do my job.” A smirk pulled at the right side of his face, mirth shining in his half-open eyes. Your mouth opened in an “oh" of surprise as a deep rumbling laugh bubbled up from Sam’s chest, a slow wink fanning the sudden fire that blossomed in your core. Rolling off the side of the mattress, Sam stood just as the door opened. Balancing three cups of coffee in his hands, Dean thankfully didn’t notice your expression. Unfortunately, even if he had, the somber look in his own green eyes made them appear more dim than you knew them to be. “Dean?” The concern in Sam’s voice spoke volumes. “There’s been another attack.” Your blood ran cold at the thought, hoping against hope that your dream had indeed been only a dream. Dean’s eyes flicked to yours as you rose slowly into a seated position, the nearly imperceptible shake of his head all the confirmation you needed as he handed you one of the large paper cups. “I’m sorry [Y/F/N], but it looks like Agatha may be involved, she’s gone missing again.”

*****

Ten minutes passed and finally you blinked, the smell of leather and the roar of an engine bringing you back to the present. Sitting in the back of the Impala, your thoughts were far away as the car crept to a stop just outside of town.

“[Y/F/N], can you take us to the place from your dream? Maybe Agatha will be there.” Sam’s great hand covered one of your own and your eyes dropped to the sudden contact, a warmth spreading through you that helped ground your runaway thoughts. Nodding slowly, you slid across the seat and stepped from the beautiful black car. Though you had no idea exactly where the dream had taken place, it was obviously somewhere in these woods.

Straining your ears, you were just able to make out the sound of running water. Setting off in that direction, you figured it was the best place to start. While you walked, the Winchester brothers trailed close behind, guns drawn and ready should anything be watching. After approximately fifteen minutes of your mind buzzing with the worst case scenario, you stopped. Sam collided with your back and Dean narrowly avoided doing the same. “Shh, do you hear that?” Both men focused, hearing nothing but the faint sound of the creek in the distance.

Looking at Sam, who shrugged and then at you, Dean grimaced “I don’t hear anything.” Forests were never completely silent like this. There were no birds, no twigs snapping as deer stepped through low hanging branches…nothing. “Exactly.” “These woods should be teeming with life.” You looked pointedly at both brothers waiting for the idea to sink in.

A quarter mile further into the trees had your group standing with toes at the edge of a short cliff. A landslide had moved the earth and created the winding body of water that now snaked through the valley.

As in your dream, you stepped over the edge, hurriedly sliding down the somewhat steep embankment; loose gravel trailing behind you to land in the water with little splashes.

A low-pitched whine echoed around the three of you, Sam and Dean immediately turning their backs to press against yours; guns raised from their sides and gripped tightly. Everyone was on high alert with the new sound. It’d been so eerily quiet thus far, this seemed deafening.

A heavy splash turned your attention to the left and your eyes widened in disbelief. “Agatha?” Rushing forward, you caught the woman as she fell into your arms. Her walking stick seemed to be missing, and she didn’t appear to have any outstanding injuries. Sam waded through the water to your side just as the woman’s eyes shifted from her usual pale hue to a glowing sickly green color, a slow, malicious smile curling over her face. The hand gripping your back grew claws; long, black talons ending in a curved point. The last thing you remembered as your vision faded to black was Sam’s face, his expression horrified as tears gathered in the corners of his eyes; Dean holding him back as the taller man lunged for your hand.

*****

Sam could only watch as Dean drug him from [Y/F/N]’s now unconscious body. “Dean! Dean! No!” When he finally broke free of Dean’s grip, Sam fell almost face-first into the freezing water. Reaching out for [Y/F/N] and aiming his gun at the creature who guarded her possessively, he squeezed the trigger, the explosive sound of gunfire deafening. The bullet ricocheted off a pile of rocks, flying into the underbrush. A deep, rumbling growl leaked from the Tezaur’s black lips, “miiiiinnneee.” Agatha’s body seemed to shiver as the animal changed into a large beast resembling some crude mixture of a variety of apex predators. Curling itself around [Y/F/N], the thing snapped slavering jaws and then disappeared in a haze, taking you with it…

*****

Your eyes shot open, sweat beading your forehead, the sheets tangled around your ankles. As your heartbeat slowly calmed, you pushed a shaking hand through your hair and took several deep gulps of air into your heaving lungs. Closing your eyes, you concentrated on your breathing…in….out..in….out.

The dream had been so intense, almost as if you’d been there, almost as if the Winchesters had been real people. You could almost feel the warmth of Sam’s skin. You’d moved to the wilds of Montana to escape this. Over the course of the last few years, they had become increasingly more complex, more vivid. It had gotten to where you couldn’t always distinguish the difference between what was real and what lived only in your subconscious. Your boyfriend of seven years had initially been supportive, your family too. Over time however, they’d all become less tolerant. Last week, they’d decided to stage an ‘intervention.’ They thought you were crazy. Had handed out pamphlets to a place called Lavender Hills. Encouraged you to check yourself in for awhile. You’d immediately packed all of your meager possessions into the back seat of your rusty green bug and taken off. That’s how you had come to find Ravencrest and the quirky little bookstore named for a blind old cat and an eccentric woman.

Blowing the steam from your cup of hot tea, you lifted the cover of an old book on Cryptozoology. Animals had always fascinated you, and so had anything remotely supernatural. It only made sense that mixing the two would garner your undivided attention. Diving into the large leather tome you began to read, just as the set of bells hanging over the front door chimed. Assuming it was Betty returning the cookbook she’d checked out last week you scanned the last few words written along the bottom of the first page. “Welcome to Thistle & Crow, feel free to ta–“ Looking up from your book, the racket in your ribcage started up again as a tall, broad shouldered man approached the counter, his long auburn hair settling around his collar. You’d know those gorgeous hazel eyes anywhere.

“S-Sam?!”

TAGS: @jaredsunflowergoddess @arses21434 @jamielea81 @wings-of-a-raven

#wildefiction #sam x reader #supernatural fanfiction #sam winchester #writing contest

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fairmarkethome-blog · 6 years ago

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How To Minimize Allergens In Your Home

Sneeze, sneeze, repeat. Allergy season is upon us. People who suffer from allergies are very aware of the unbearable symptoms they encounter this time of year. The good news is, your home can be a safe place where you can be free of allergy symptoms. It’s important to be aware of what your allergies are. Then, recognize the common culprits in your home that aggravate your allergies and finally clear your home of all these allergens.

Do You Have Allergies?

If you already know you have allergies, scroll down to see our home cleaning tips! Many people are not aware that they have allergies. Classic signs of allergies include:

Itchy or runny nose

Watery itchy red eyes

Sneezing

Cough

Postnasal drip

Fatigue

The allergic salute (rubbing your nose up and down violently)

A nose crease (a line caused across the nose by the salute)

Allergy shiners (bags under the eyes)

Many people who have allergies also experience eczema or asthma. If you realize you only get symptoms of allergies around springtime, it most likely means you have hay fever. Those with hay fever are allergic to pollen, grass, and trees. If you think you suffer from allergies, speak to a medical professional and take an allergy test. For people who suffer from intense food allergies, an allergy test could save their life!

Allergy Culprits

Your home is an environment where you can control the allergens around you. The biggest allergens in the home include:

Dust Mites

Bugs (cockroaches)

Dander from pets

Spores from indoor and outdoor mold or fungi

Freeing Your Home of Allergens

It is important to remember to wear gloves and a mask when cleaning allergens. If possible, ask someone without allergies in your home to complete these cleaning tasks.

Get Rid of Dust Mites

Replace Air Filters – When dirty, air filters increase the amount of dust in your home.

Don’t Use Dusters – Dust with a wet rag instead of a duster, this traps allergens instead of pushing them into the air.

Vacuum Often – Vacuuming is much more effective than washing carpets because it removes the dust mites.

Clean Linens- Wash sheets and towels weekly with fragrance-free detergent. Fragrances aggravate allergic reactions.

Declutter- The fewer items you have out, the easier it will be to counteract dust.

Keep Windows Closed- Open windows will only add to the dirt and dust in your home.

Bugs (Cockroaches)

Of all bugs, cockroaches are one of the worst for allergies because of the feces they leave behind. Keeping your home free of bugs will reduce allergens and keep the air cleaner in your home. Here are some tips for keeping your home bug free:

Clean- Clean out old food, wipe down eating areas, mop floors. Clean the window frames, and under the bed, these areas are where the most dead bugs can be found.

Spray- Use a bug-killing powder, like Raid, to fumigate your home. Make sure you read the instructions carefully. Be careful, many bug killers are also poisonous to humans and pets.

Hire Pest Control- Use an exterior home design app, like Fairmarket, to hire a local pest control company to take care of bugs, or prevent bugs from coming into your home. They are experts on pests and customize their services to your needs. On the Fairmarket app, you will find trustworthy and fairly priced pest control companies based on an honest rating and bidding system.

Dander from Pets

Dander from pets adds to the amount of dust and allergens in the air of your home. If you have a pet who constantly sheds, here are some tips….

Zones– Keep your pets in one area of the house away from the areas you spend the most time.

Vacuum- Vacuuming is an excellent way to keep reduce the amount of fur in the air.

Grooming- Getting your animals groomed is a helpful way to keep shedding down. If you find grooming is overpriced, a cheaper way is to buy shedding brushes that help pull the dog or cats shedding hair out.

Bathing – During allergy season, bathe your pet frequently. Their fur can trap allergens and bring them into your home.

Mold/Fungi

Many people have moldy bathrooms and are not even aware of it. If you can visually see mold in your bathroom that means it is already a problem. Mold grows in dark places, then comes to the surface. If you see what appears to be dirt on your walls or tiles, that is most likely black mold. If your tiles or walls appear damaged, this is another sign that mold is destroying it from the interior. Watch for bugs and a musty smell in your bathroom or kitchen, these are additional signs of mold.

Here are some ways to avoid and remove mold:

Clean- Clean your bathroom tiles and shower weekly. Wash or wipe your shower curtains at least twice a month, or more if needed. Mold on shower curtains and bathroom rugs are extremely common.

Dry- Keep your bathroom dry by making sure nothing is leaking. Clean up water on the ground after a shower with a towel.

Lighting- Make sure your bathroom is well lit. Mold thrives in the darkness.

Air -Invest in a fan or for your bathroom to circulated (this is to prevent mold, but is not recommended if you already have mold because it will circulate the spores into the air). You can also invest in a dehumidifier for areas like bathrooms and laundry rooms which will help remove excess moisture to help keep mold from spreading.

Mold Crisis- If you have a mold infestation underneath your tile, you need to hire a team to come in and remove the tile so the mold can be removed. Cleaning above the tile will not resolve this problem. This is a serious health hazard for everyone, especially those with mold allergies.

Choose Materials Carefully- It is important to be aware of the materials in your kitchen and bathroom. Mold loves wood paneling. Be wary of putting wood paneling in any dark places in your home. Use an interior and exterior home maintenance app to help you pick the best materials and contractors to renovate your home. Make sure you have quality grout and sealer over your tiles, this is the best way to avoid major mold growth. Remember, mold can lurk in secret places.

Fix Water Leaks- Have routine plumbing inspections. Make sure that you do not have leaks, and when you do, fix them as soon as possible. You can easily hire a plumber on Fairmarket.

With these tips, your home will be free of the common culprits of allergens in the home. Happy healthy living! No more sneezing, stuffy sinuses, and suffering at your home. Now your home can be your sanctuary from this spring season!

#fairmarket

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me-myself-and-my-fos · 7 years ago

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Forever Yours

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Nic Blake

AU: Hanahaki Disease

Summary: Wanda is in love with Vision, but Wanda’s best friend, Nic, is in love with her

Word Count: 1777

Love wasn’t something Nic was accustomed to. Before becoming an Avenger, she was a SHIELD agent. Before that, she was simply a runaway. Nic found a family in the Avengers, something she didn’t have with SHIELD. Sure, she had Natasha to look out for her, and she spent holidays with Clint’s family, but she didn’t have a true family until the Avengers. And she didn’t have a true friend until she met Wanda.

The pair were nearly inseparable, and Nic helped Wanda grieve the loss of Pietro. They were best friends, looking out for each other on and off the field of battle. Wanda knew the darkest parts of her mind, and the brightest parts of her heart. Nic knew Wanda’s favorite recipes and favorite songs. Wanda played the guitar and always insisted on playing a song Nic had written. Most of the songs were cheesy love songs, or dark ones Nic wrote on her bad days.

Over the course of their friendship, Nic slowly found herself falling in love with Wanda. It was subtle at first—butterflies in her stomach whenever Wanda entered the room, or a blush creeping up her cheeks when Wanda laughed at a joke she made, sometimes a chill would run through Nic’s body whenever their skin would brush together. Gradually, the feelings grew, like rising dough. Soon enough, the feelings punched Nic in the face and she realized she was in love with her best friend. But Wanda was in love with Vision.

Nic had always been supportive of the relationship. She knew it was wrong to feel such things for her best friend, especially while said best friend was in a relationship. But she couldn’t help her feelings.

Hanahaki was something everyone knew about. Nic had lost a few friends to the disease. So the moment she started coughing up rose petals, the beautiful, scarlet petals covered in mucus, Nic knew she was doomed.

The first week, she was able to hide it easily. She didn’t cough up petals often, and when she did it was in the privacy of her room.

After another two weeks, the symptoms started to show more. She was becoming winded easier than normal, although no one noticed. Nic did. And on one of her missions, she began to have trouble breathing from the amount of physical activity and she vomited rose petals. None of the Avengers saw.

The fourth week was when it all started falling apart. After living with the Hanahaki for a month, someone was finally tipped off that Nic was dying. Naturally, it was Steve who found out. He heard Nic going into a coughing fit in her room and came to check on her. He saw her cough up a few petals, followed by her vomiting several more. Nic made him promise not to tell the team. Steve kept his promise.

At a month and a week with the disease, Nic began to eat less. The plant was taking up room in not only her lungs, but her esophagus and her stomach. She went to bed most nights hungry, not able to keep food down. Wanda began to grow worried about her friend’s strange behavior, but Nic brushed it off with a smile and simply stated she was having a bad week.

Another week went by before another Avenger discovered her secret. Apparently Steve couldn’t keep it a secret any longer; he was becoming much too worried about her and had gone to Tony. Together, the pair tried to convince Nic to get the fatal plants removed. She refused, stating she’d rather die of love than live without emotion. That’s when Steve tried to get her to admit her feelings to Wanda. Again, Nic refused. She wasn’t going to do that to her best friend.

Steve and Tony were the only ones who knew. They both looked after her. Steve would hold Nic’s hair when she was in the bathroom, face in the toilet as she threw up roses late at night. When they knew Nic was going to die, Tony held her as she cried herself to sleep most nights.

Finally, when Nic knew the end was soon, she wrote letters for each member of the Avengers. She started with Clint and his family, then Natasha and Sam, and so on. Steve and Tony were some of the last letters she wrote. But Wanda’s was the final one she wrote. She must have rewritten it hundreds of times, every single one she would cry over, tears staining the paper causing her to have to write another one. When she was finally ran out of tears to shed, Nic wrote it. She hid them in her room, somewhere no one would find them.

She wanted to go on one last mission before she died. She didn’t want to go out while lying in bed, covered in vomit, blood, and rose petals. She wanted to die an Avenger, the way she lived. Nic would be lying if she said she wasn’t hoping she would die to an enemy. At least then no one would feel guilty about her Hanahaki.

Before leaving the compound, Nic took the letters out from her desk drawer and placed them on the pillows on her bed. She placed Wanda’s on top of her journal, the journal she wrote all of her songs in—including songs she never showed Wanda. It was one last gesture of love she could give to the woman who held her heart.

In retrospect, Nic should have known better than to run while on this mission. She managed to escape the base with minimal injuries, but her lungs felt like they were on fire. She leaned against the closest tree she could cling to, and threw up entire roses and blood. There was so much blood.

Tony was flying over the HYDRA base in his suit, frantically looking for Nic’s vital signs.

“Tony have you found her?” Steve asked from over the comms.

Tony shook his head as if Steve could see him. “Not yet.” His scanners beeped and Tony saw where the ping was. “Friday picked up her location. I’m heading there now.”

“Hurry.” Was all Steve said.

The moment he landed, Tony retracted his suit and fell to his knees beside Nic, taking her into his arms. He shuddered at the sight of her covered in rose petals and blood. He clutched her to his chest, tears pricking at his eyes. “Oh God, Nic–”

Steve’s voice came over the comms once more. “Tony? Did you find her? How is she?” He was frantic, worried, wanting nothing more than to know she was okay.

“Steve, she’s—” not looking good, is what Tony wanted to say. But the look in Nic’s eyes as she raised a shaky, pale finger to lips to shush him made him hesitate. Her eyes glossed over, hand falling limply to her side. “She’s gone.” Tony choked out.

“Damn it.” Steve cursed.

They brought her body back to the compound and everyone mourned. Wanda took it the hardest. She lost her best friend and didn’t even know how she died. No one would tell her. Neither Tony nor Steve had the heart to tell her it was Hanahaki.

Tony was going through Nic’s room when he spotted the letters. His heart nearly stopped. He distributed each to the Avengers they belonged to, Natasha promising to take Clint his. It was a hard loss for them all, and everyone knew Clint would take it as hard as Wanda. Clint found Nic, made her a SHIELD agent. He and Laura were her surrogate family.

Tony walked into the common room, finding Steve sitting in an armchair, phone in hand as he scrolled through the pictures on his phone. The pictures were all of Nic, doing various tasks or with various people. He glanced up only when Tony was standing in front of him, letter held out towards the super soldier.

“What’s this?” He asked.

Tony took a breath and responded. “A letter from Nic. She left one for all of us.” With his other hand, Tony held up the letter labeled ‘Stark’. Steve took the one held out to him and smiled sadly at Nic’s handwriting. It was labeled ‘Stevie’ with the ‘i’ dotted with a heart.

Steve looked back up at Tony. “Have you read yours?”

Tony shook his head. “To be honest, I don’t want to. I can’t make myself open it.” He sighed deeply and showed Steve another one that was attached to a journal. “This is Wanda’s.”

“You haven’t given it to her?”

“I figured you could since you’re closer to the kid.”

Steve nodded and stood, taking his letter and stuffing it in his back pocket. He took the journal from Tony and silently left the common room.

He knocked softly on Wanda’s bedroom door before opening it. She sat curled up in her bed, eyes puffy and red from crying, and a picture frame in her hand. It was a picture of her and Nic that had been taken four days prior. Wanda thought it was odd that Nic had been so insistent on taking the photo given that Nic hated taking pictures. She looked up from the photograph and wiped away her tears.

“Wanda,” Steve began.

She cut him off. “How?”

He sighed. “Do you know what Hanahaki is?” Her eyes widened and Steve took that as an answer of ‘yes’. “She had it for… a while, I’m guessing.”

“You knew?” Wanda sounded hurt, but also broken.

Steve held out the journal, letter attached. “She left this for you.” He patted Wanda’s shoulder before hesitantly leaving the room.

Now alone, Wanda peeled the letter off and opened it. It was written in red ink, a color Nic only used for special occasions. She read the letter and choked back a sob.

‘Dear Wanda,

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. Please don’t blame yourself for this. In the end, it was my choice. I could never put the burden on you. I love you too much to do that to you. I know by not telling you I will cause more pain than if I had, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. You’re happy with Vision and as long as you’re happy, I’m happy. I couldn’t ruin our friendship because I fell in love. When I’m gone, don’t blame yourself. Live your life with Vision. Be happy. Play our songs. I love you, Wanda. I always will, until the day I die.

Forever yours, Nic’

Wanda covered her mouth as she sobbed. She dropped the letter and fell back into her bed, tears streaming down her cheeks.

#self ship #self insert fic #self insert community #self shipping community #self shipping #self ship community #self insert #scarmancer #wanda maximoff #magic wife <3 #mywriting

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identybeautynet · 4 years ago

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7 Beauty Tips I Learned From Taraji P. Henson in Under 10 Minutes

7 Beauty Tips I Learned From Taraji P. Henson in Under 10 Minutes You probably know Taraji P. Henson as the veteran actress lauded for her stellar performances portraying the boundary-shattering mathematician Katherine Johnson in Hidden Figures or the fictional, renegade matriarch Cookie Lyon in Fox's Empire. Her acting chops are undisputed—that's just a fact. But if you follow Henson on social media or pay attention to her red carpet appearances, you may have noticed another strength of hers: She's seriously adventurous when it comes to her hair. A self-proclaimed hair chameleon, Henson cycles through braids, bobs, curls, and more vibrant hair colors than just about anyone in Hollywood without ever skipping a beat. She makes it looks easy, but as she told Who What Wear in a recent exclusive interview, this wasn't always the case. "When I moved to Hollywood, I had to start wearing weaves because Hollywood hadn't embraced Black women's natural hair yet," she explained. "But, you know, you just don't put a weave in your hair and say, 'that's it'. Sometimes a weave is way more work than a natural because you're washing two different hairs; you're washing the weave hair and you have to get down underneath all of that and tend to your own scalp and hair. " And what happened when she couldn't find products that met this need? She created a haircare line, TPH by Taraji, based on formulations she'd been creating for herself in her kitchen. 7 Beauty Tips I Learned "I didn't see anything out there that catered to this to my needs, so like Black people do when we've been deprived or we don't have something, we create it," she said. A year and some change into the journey and Henson is a full-fledged beauty maven. She recently added a new extension to her product line, which was informed by a call from her customers for moisturizing styling products. But outside of her own line, Henson has a whole host of hair and beauty tips she swears by for keeping herself looking and feeling her best as she embarks into a brand new decade, her 50s. Keep scrolling to see the seven genius tips we learned from her in under 10 minutes. 1. Moisturized Hair Is Happy Hair 7 Beauty Tips I Learned "I love healthy hair. I've always been about healthy hair and scalp since I was a little," Henson told us. She recalls sitting in her aunt's garage as a kid scratching her cousin's scalp and even getting her first relaxer sitting around the kitchen table at her grandmother's house. But since transitioning to natural hair (she was way ahead of the curve—a hairstylist on the set of her 2001 film Baby Boy encouraged her to go natural), she's learned the importance of adequate moisture. "My hair is always lacking in moisture. I have to have moisture; I gotta have it," she says od her 4c hair type that's prone to dryness and intense shrinkage. The new offerings are infused with natural ingredients like coconut oil, mango seed butter, and pequi oil for soft, smooth strands. Shop the new TPH by Taraji Intense Moisture Collection: 7 Beauty Tips I Learned TPH by Taraji Mask on Conditioning Mask ($18) 7 Beauty Tips I Learned Target Tph Twist and Set Twisting Creme - 8oz ($17) 7 Beauty Tips I Learned TPH by Taraji Curls 4 Days Curl Creme ($17) 2. Scalp Care Is a Pillar of Healthy Hair 7 Beauty Tips I Learned Above all else, Henson knows that scalp care is just as, if not more important, than anything you put in the lengths of your hair. That's why her brand launched with a set of products specifically made for the scalp."TPH by Taraji is literally based on a healthy scalp," she said. "I was in the kitchen; I created that! Baby, nothing goes in a jar or on the shelf until it goes through this Virgo's roots," she laughed. Shop the new TPH by Taraji Scalp Collection: TPH by Taraji Mint Condition Tingling Scalp Conditioner ($12) TPH by Taraji Master Cleanse Scalp Treatment Wash ($15) 3. Don't Be Afraid to Experiment With At-Home Beauty Treatments No one is exempt from the, not even Hollywood's biggest stars. And with the increased time spent at home over the last year, Henson picked up some new beauty skills. "Call me crazy, but I like to do passion twists on myself. I do, I really enjoy it; it's therapeutic," she said. "I have my music I pour a little wine and I take my time. " And if you're wondering where Henson picked up this skill, you might be surprised to hear that she taught herself by watching YouTube videos! "I've been learning how to do nails, cut hair, all of it," she said. We stan a resourceful queen. 4. ...Even DIY Hair Color! When it comes to her ever-changing hair color, Henson admits that she's not afraid of an at-home dye job. "Since I've been natural, I can play in color. You know how many times I took my hair out playing in color because I had a perm in my hair? And who knew just I had to grow the perm out," she says. "The damaging process, or where you can go wrong is bleaching your hair. I can do my own. I wouldn't do anybody else's since I'm not a technician, but if I were someone else, I would just say go get your hair professionally lifted." She told us her favorite at-home hair dye is the semi-permanent offering by Adore that fades away after a few washes. "It's like Kool-Aid; it rinses out, you put it back in, and that's how I'm able to play with so many different colors." Shop Taraji's go-to hair dye: Brand: Adore Semi-Permanent Hair Color #064 Ruby Red ($6) Adore Semi-Permanent Hair Color #112 Indigo Blue 4 Ounce ($6) Adore Semi-Permanent Hair Color #140 Neon Pink ($6) Adore Semi-Permanent Hair Color #039 Orange Blaze ($6) Adore Semi-Permanent Hair Color #114 Violet Gem ($6) 5. Aging Looks a Little Different for Everyone If there's one recurring lesson we keep coming across in recent years, it's that aging is a process looks a little different for everyone. A newly minted 50-year-old, Henson has had her fair share of aging surprises, including some unexpected changes to her hair. "I feel like my hair getting thicker," she said. "My mother's the same way. A lot of her sisters are losing their hair and her hair is getting thicker. Yeah, I'm honored and blessed. I'm not complaining. 6. Laughter Keeps You Young OK, so Henson didn't exactly say this, but she certainly demonstrated it. We've seen her comedic timing in action on the big screen, but her demeanor during our chat was just as fun. She cracked jokes and wasn't afraid to let out a bellowing laugh when something really tickled her. There are probably plastic surgeons out there might who would argue that laughing causes lines in the skin, but if you ask us, a joyful spirit is a key to stopping the clock. Be happy, dang it! 7. Re-Frame Your Most Tedious Beauty Chores as Self-Care Sessions Henson knows better than anyone just how much of a task wash day can be for Black women. But her goal in life and via her haircare brand is to switch-up the narrative around wash day. "It's a process, but what I want to do and what I hope is to change the narrative and not make it about beinga chore. I want it to be about self-care," she told us. "You know, you go to a salon for a facial, and they've got 10 things they put on your face before they tapped you on the back and say go. And you feel so good. We need to do the same thing for our hair; treat our hair the same way we treat everything else. That's what I'm hoping for because for me, I look forward to wash day! I put my music on, I have my essential oils I put in my diffuser, and while I'm under the dryer with my hair mask on I have do paraffin wax with little heated booties and I enjoy it." Now, that sounds like an absolute dream. Shop at-home spa day essentials: Vitruvi Porcelain Essential Oil Diffuser ($119) Vitruvi Eucalyptus Essential Oil ($13) Revlon Moisturizing Paraffin Bath ($37) Terra-Warm Warming Foot Pillow Booties ($18) Conair 1875 Watt Pro Style Bonnet Ionic Hair Dryer ($40) This article originally appeared on Who What Wear . beauty tips : 7 Beauty Tips I Learned Read the full article

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sarahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh · 4 years ago

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Clem - More Character Exploration

Backstory

Give a brief description of your character’s backstory. (try and avoid the Batman one, where both parents are dead)

Clementine is a devout librarian tasked with looking after ancient tombs and scrolls, both mundane and magical in nature. She was raised by the Head Librarian and groomed since birth to take over from him once he passed. Clem has always believed this to be her destiny – she’s had no desire to leave the library walls, nor explore the outside world. The library is her safe space, her home.

But then, the Book of Light, her people’s most precious magical treasure, is stolen on her watch by the followers of Spider Queen Vinerva – a proud, vindictive ruler that’s secretly jealously of Clem’s people and their affinity for light magic. Desperate to get the Book back, Moth Queen Lucella enlists the help of a travelling group of adventurers, whose contract is to get the Book of Light from Vinerva and back to the moths. As punishment for letting the book slip through her fingers, Clem is to accompany the group on their mission – leaving the safety of bookshelves behind her.

Their Environment

Give a brief description of their environment. What setting does this character exist in? Eg. Far Future, ww2, alternative reality present, the present, what country, their social mobility etc.

Fantasy city in the trees - the most common environment for moths to be found in. The style is reminiscent of classic elvish architecture, with big carved arches, beautiful statues and gardens. There’s a running theme of light/lights, lots of lanterns and towers dedicated to lighting up the night time.

Their Personality

Describe your character’s personality and what they’re driven by. This should reflect their backstory and their environment. Avoid the ‘Mary Sue’ character trope where your character has no flaws, which isn’t very relatable.

Very shy and soft spoken. She wasn’t socialized much as a child, so her naturally withdrawn personality wasn’t balanced out by consistent fraternization. She has escapist tendencies, often choosing to avoid approaching a problem directly, in favor of sticking her head in the sand and hoping it’ll go away. Clem’s also quite naïve and innocent. She’s spent the majority of her life indoors, which has resulted in her developing a slight bit of agoraphobia.

When it comes to stories/historical records, Clem is extremely passionate about the preservation of truth. She doesn’t like lies, and is a really bad liar herself. Misinformation and historical inaccuracies are the bane of her existence. If she believes something to be true, she won’t compromise on this belief – which can be problematic when she encounters something that challenges her view of the world.

Their Physical Appearance

Give a brief description of what your character looks like. Try to think of consistency and practicality. They can’t have hooks for hands and wield revolvers etc.

Clem is a moth girl, with antennae and wings based off of a cecropia moth. Likewise, her colour palette is made up of rusty reds and browns with white and grey to balance. She’s 5’5 – 5’6, so on the shorter side, to fit her shy personality. She wears a thick coat with slits in the back to accommodate her wings, beneath that would probably be a turtle neck – these clothes hide her frame and provide something to retreat into if she feels uncomfortable.

Hair will probably be lighter/white, with the rusty red colour coming into the eyes to make them pop. I’ll have to experiment with values before I settle on that though.

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eznews · 5 years ago

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The Microsoft Store has launched the Ultimate Game Sale, which discounts over 500 Xbox One games, as well as some PC and Xbox 360 games. Included in this sale are some of the console’s biggest games and series like Call of Duty, Red Dead Redemption, Assassin’s Creed, Ark Survival Evolved, Fallout, Dark Souls, Star Wars, Mortal Kombat, PUBG, Resident Evil, Gears of War, Halo, Overwatch, The Elder Scrolls, Far Cry, Borderlands, Destiny, Metal Gear Solid, Tomb Raider, Dragon Ball Z, and The Witcher.

To check out the sale in its entirety you will want this link right here. That said, that’s not why you clicked on this. You clicked on this because you want to see the cheapest of the cheap games, which is where the 14 games below come into play.

Below, you will find 14 games that are currently less than $5. Some of these games are great, others not so much. But hey, beggars can’t be choosers.

Seasons After Fall

Description: Seasons After Fall is a 2D platform-puzzler game that will let you dive into a captivating universe and explore a land governed by magic and nature. Using your ability to change the seasons you can alter the world around you; freeze bodies of water in winter, grow plants in the summer, and more! The world of Seasons After Fall is overflowing with secrets, can you uncover the truth?

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The Witcher 3: Hearts of Stone

Description: Hearts of Stone is the first official expansion pack for The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt — an award-winning role-playing game set in a vast fantasy open world. Become Geralt of Rivia, a professional monster slayer hired to defeat a ruthless bandit captain, Olgierd von Everec, a man who possesses the power of immortality. Hearts of Stone packs over 10 hours of new adventures, introducing new characters, powerful monsters, unique romance, and a brand new storyline shaped by your choices.

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ReCore

Description: From legendary creator Keiji Inafune and the makers of Metroid Prime comes the “ReCore Definitive Edition”, an action-adventure masterfully crafted for a new generation. As one of the last remaining humans, forge friendships with courageous robotic companions and lead them on an epic adventure through a mysterious dynamic world. Includes the new “Eye of Obsidian” adventure and “T8-NK” Corebot frame!

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Metal Gear Solid V: Ground Zeroes

Description: Set in 1975, Naked Snake (aka “Big Boss”) is tasked to infiltrate a site on Cuban soil. On a mission to extract long-lost allies being held hostage and interrogated by a shadow military group among other objectives, Snake must use stealth and operational tactics to understand the truth behind the complex motives of the all-powerful Patriots and their mission to create a global war economy.

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Thief

Description: Garrett, the Master Thief, steps from the shadows into the City, a treacherous place ruled by a tyrannical Baron and his brutal Watch. When the citizens rise in bloody revolution, Garrett’s thieving skills are all he can trust as he walks a fine line between politics and the people, revealing a darker secret that threatens to tear his world apart.

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Virginia

Description: Virginia is a single-player first-person thriller set in a small town with a secret. Experience a missing person investigation through the eyes of graduate FBI agent Anne Tarver. Together with your partner, seasoned investigator Maria Halperin, you’ll take a trip to idyllic Burgess County and the secluded town of Kingdom, Virginia, where a young boy has vanished and nobody seems to know why.

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Risk of Rain

Description: Risk of Rain is an action platformer with roguelike elements. With permanent death as a primary feature, players will have to play their best to get as far as possible. Fight on a mysterious planet with randomly spawning enemies and bosses, either alone or with 3 friends in online co-op.

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Shiness: The Lightning Kingdom

Description: Shiness is an action-RPG that takes you on a journey across a universe on the verge of collapse. After crash-landing on a hostile island, you find yourself in a conflict spanning multiple kingdoms. Face off against dangerous enemies in hyper-dynamic fights, mixing magic with traditional fighting game mechanics. Gain experience to evolve your characters, learning exciting new skills and spells.

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Duke Nukem 3D: 20th Anniversary World Tour

Description: Frag like it’s 1996 – this time with even more asses to kick! Join the world’s greatest action hero in Duke Nukem 3D: 20th Anniversary World Tour as he saves Earth once again, kicking alien ass and saving babes across the globe along the way.

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Murdered: Soul Suspect

Description: The hardest murder to solve is your own. A dark, supernatural detective thriller with a unique gameplay twist: solving your own murder from the afterlife. Ronan O’Connor, a detective with the Salem police, has his life brought to a brutal end by a masked killer. Caught in the purgatorial world of Dusk he must combine his investigative skills with powerful supernatural abilities to uncover the shocking link between his own death and a series of killings terrifying the town of Salem.

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Fear Effect Sedna

Description: Thrilling action and stealth gameplay enhanced by the Fear system, an exciting story, and ultra-stylish cutscenes. Harness your team’s dynamic abilities to tackle enemies and puzzles like never before.

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Masters of Amina

Description: Masters of Anima is an original adventure game that takes you deep into the magical world of Spark. Battle against the forces of evil in strategic, action-packed battles, where making tactical decisions quickly is vital. Summon and control large armies of up to 100 Guardians from different types, each with unique abilities, thanks to the game’s intuitive and innovative gameplay.

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Oh My Godheads

Description: Oh My Godheads is a fast and frenetic multiplayer fracas in which four players swing pointy swords, sling explosive pies, and celebrate the death of their foes with exuberant aplomb. Choose from a wide variety of characters, before grabbing the Godhead and bringing it back to your base – while unleashes its wrath on you and those around you.

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0comments

How to Survive 2

Description: Dead or Alive? Make up your mind, stranger. We don’t like that undead business here in Louisiana… Survive solo or with friends as you look to fulfill your basic needs of food, water, and shelter, crafting your own tools and weapons while you secure your camp and face flesh-hungry zombies. Several years have passed since the original How to Survive events on Los Riscos’ archipelago. Now the local infection has turned into a worldwide pandemic. Everyone around the world, groups of people or lone wolves, try to survive one more day among the infected, attempting to recover a semblance of normal life. You find yourself in Louisiana and your survival chance starts by building a safe camp and becoming a skilled survivalist. Find water, food, and shelter and talk to the unconventional locals to make your way around.

Disclosure: ComicBook is owned by CBS Interactive, a division of ViacomCBS.

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#EZ News

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jacewilliams1 · 5 years ago

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Flight of a lifetime—my 8,000-mile trip around Australia

To fly around Australia was not an idea that happened upon me overnight. It was an idea hatched in childhood, and ultimately flown solo decades later. Eight months in planning and eighteen days in execution, I suspect the planning would have been somewhat quicker if it had not grown into such a public exercise with such a genuine, interested following.

The Australian centenary of flight was an appropriate milestone to commemorate, but it also provided an excellent baseline to highlight just how far aviation had come in one hundred years. True, I covered around 13,000 kilometres across both remote and overwater segments, but the task was nothing beyond the level of an appropriately licensed and experienced private pilot. With all of the modern infrastructure, technology and support at our fingertips, what would have been a major undertaking even fifty years ago, is now relatively straightforward.

That Jabiru would take the author all around Australia, including Canberra. (Photo: Paul Sadler)

With planning complete and the all-Australian Jabiru J230D aircraft assembled and decked out in her “There and Back” scheme, the planets aligned to promise an on-schedule departure on May 5. In the days preceding, there were numerous media commitments to attend to, but more importantly, technical matters to become familiar with, from spark plugs to changing a wheel. There is no substitute for “hands-on” time with your aeroplane and fortunately, I was never called upon to repeat the tasks in the field as the Jabiru happily hummed its way around the country.

The day before departure saw low, grey, and wet skies over Bundaberg. However, the synoptic weather chart suggested that the trough may move out to sea and a big, happy high pressure system would dominate at least the first few days of my flight. The chart was right, and May 5 dawned without a cloud in the sky and my departure from Bert Hinkler’s hometown was set for 10am.

After a few final formalities, I departed Bundaberg right on time and watched the country town fall away to my left as I initially set course to dawdle along the picturesque coastline. It was only when the aircraft was established in level flight and the “housekeeping” had been attended to that I actually realised that the “There and Back” journey was finally underway. It was a great sense of elation with a twinge of, “Wow, it’s a long way to go!,: when I thought of my wife and kids. Yet as I scanned the crystal skies above, I just knew that this would be a flight to remember.

The route was loosely based upon points of Australian aviation significance: from Longreach, the home of QANTAS, to Minlaton, home to the oft overlooked pioneer, Harry Butler. Yet there were places of personal significance too. From Kununurra and the Kimberleys, where I had flown as a young charter pilot, to Toowoomba, where my father was laid to rest twenty years ago. The selection of these waypoints made each leg interesting and offered a carrot at the end of each day’s flying. Rather than being merely a long-distance flight, it was more akin to unravelling a scroll, with each new page introducing fascinating words, images and people.

Dawn over Western Australia, just one of dozens of memorable views.

In fact, it was in this way that the flight most readily exceeded expectations. After such thorough planning, there were very few surprises in terms of aircraft performance, airspace or procedures. However, no matter how imaginative I may have been, I could never have grasped the intangible beauty of the land and the warmth of people that I encountered. For this reason alone, I would encourage pilots, one and all, to set course far beyond their regular boundaries at least once.

Along the way I transited most forms of airspace, varying from civil to military and strictly controlled to the wide-open spaces. Occasionally an air traffic controller would hesitate in response to the RA-Aus call-sign, but even so there is an ease about traversing this great country by air that is joyful. And at the end of the sector, the little Jabiru could be found parked beside a towering Boeing 747 or an air force F/A-18 Hornet fighter. The company it kept was as wide-ranging as the country over which it flew.

Over the course of such a flight, it is the diversity of the scenery that can leave an overwhelming impression. That is not to say that there are not individual sights that take the breath away. The majestic Lake Argyle in the Kimberley region or the serene endlessness of the Nullarbor Plain are both very moving in their own special way. However, when you can depart the coastal port of Broome over pristine aqua waters and track along pure white beaches before striking the rustic reds of the Pilbara within an hour, it is nothing short of inspiring. This diversity of colour, wildlife, and inhabitation essentially captures both ends of the Australian scenic spectrum.

To take in such a view from between 500 and 5,000 feet enables one to really embrace the richness of the terrain. The land below has real detail and the passage of the shadows as the day develops provides yet another perspective on the rich canvas below. There are long abandoned ruins of long forgotten towns and flocks of birds that give the impression of a vast blanket skimming from paddock to paddock.

Some towns almost seemed to be vanishing into the outback.

The ruins of towns would pique my interest and I would wheel the Jabiru around and look down along the line of the wing which seemed to point at the structures below me. I would ponder how it was once a thriving community of miners or farmers, now long gone. The buildings remain, blending back into the outback sands out of which they grew. Corrugated tin roofing flapped in the breeze and empty door frames, open to the drifting sands. Only the stone walls seemed to offer any resistance to the onslaught of time and nature.

From above they stood so alone and yet undoubtedly once played host to hilarity, hope, and heartache in grander times. All around the eye can see nothing but the horizon; still these pioneers staked their claim in this very spot. Now many undoubtedly lay in tiny graves on the small ridge a few miles up the road. I could not help but wonder what stories these walls once told, now fallen silent and their words lost in time.

Yet even the so-called “remote” regions stimulate the senses with their jagged, jutting ridges and gun-barrel roads between distant settlements. And within these towns are people so unaffected by the frantic pace of urban reality. Calm and content, inhabiting settlements that have changed little over recent times, yet generous beyond compare. At Murchison Station near Kalbarri in Western Australia I had one such experience.

Over 150 years old, the station had once played host to the famed aviator Sir Charles Kingsford Smith, while I spent the night in shearing sheds of convict vintage. It was a small room with a tiny single window and locks on the outside of the door to contain the convicts who had constructed the dwelling. Nearby, two fallen aviators from 90 years ago are buried and the experience of visiting their graves will not soon be forgotten. My hosts were more like old friends, free of false pretension but long on sincerity and warmth. Their manner reflected the very honest nature of the land on which they dwell.

The next morning too was special. Woken in the pre-dawn hours by the wind rattling the tin roof, the world was still asleep as we came to a halt at the tiny country airport. The night was moonless, and the only illumination was the receding red taillights of the departing truck back to Murchison and the torch in my right hand. The aircraft was still at rest, its wings tethered against the wind and its tail jutting into the undergrowth. And then the wind stopped.

The colors of Australia never disappoint.

There I stood, alone and miles from anywhere as the first tinges of dawn teased at the horizon. I lowered down and sat on my canvas kitbag, a lone audience to the greatest show on earth. Gradually the shards of light became a glowing arc, silhouetting the Jabiru, sparse vegetation and occasional grazing kangaroo against the backdrop. Void of sound, my senses were overwhelmed by the developing canvas in front of me.

Yet beyond the beauty, I always maintained the aviator’s sense of respect. The terrain below can at any time become a landing field for the pilot of a single-engined aeroplane. To this end, the land and the nearest water were endlessly assessed in case the untoward occur. Conversely, flying over Bass Strait or the Spencer Gulf, I was continually aware of the distance to my next landfall. While hypothermia was the greatest threat over the Strait, it was the mammoth sharks that provided the challenge if I ditched in the Gulf.

As part of my preparation, the Jabiru was stocked with supplies to cater for these contingencies. From emergency rations and fresh water, to space blankets, waterproof matches and life jackets. Survival gear was packed for minimum weight, but maximum effect. Certain essential items were also very close at hand in a bright red “grab bag” should egress from the aircraft be particularly rapid for some reason. Furthermore, the aircraft was equipped with a satellite tracking system with an alert mode, dual VHF radios, transponder, and an emergency beacon. In conjunction with the submission of detailed flight plans, I was always confident that I would not perish under the wing like so many pioneer aviators had done decades before. And yet, it is sound airmanship to cater for the worst and be thankful for the best.

Along the way I was struck by the warmth of the people everywhere that I landed. They were interested in where I had been and where I was going and extended a generous hand in friendship to often help me on the way in the form of a meal or a bed for the night. Many lived far from the cities and relied on a weekly delivery of stores for their supplies and yet they still welcomed a stranger like me at their table. And everywhere the work of the Royal Flying Doctor Service was spoken of with the highest praise, always providing a common thread between me and my hosts.

Some airports were large and modern; some were not.

The weather was one variable beyond my control and planning, other than the month of May historically providing fine weather and favourable winds. However, in this area I was absolutely blessed. The high-pressure system loitered over the inland for so long, I thought it had been tethered there and not only provided fair weather, but tailwinds across the Top End of the country. From the flight’s mid-point at Perth in Western Australia, I always seemed to be a couple of days ahead of troughs, fronts and poor weather.

There was a little weather to dodge over the stretch of water between the mainland and Tasmania, but nothing significant. Low cloud near the nation’s capital, Canberra, and storms near Gunnedah provided the only real hindrance, but otherwise it was stress-free visual flying. I’d like to take credit for those clear, blue skies, but that area is well beyond my expertise.

The other variable that lay beyond my scope of influence was aircraft reliability. Like the weather, the Jabiru J230 did not miss a beat and performed at better than book figures for the entire trip. Sipping around 23 litres per hour to achieve nearly two miles per minute, the Jabiru made an efficient vehicle in which to circumnavigate the nation. Its high wing both afforded shade and an ideal view of the grand display below. With two seats, the space to the rear provided ample room for all of my equipment and never presented a weight issue that allowed for anything less than full tanks for every departure. It was like a well finished utility vehicle that never had to deal with the bumps in the road when venturing cross country.

Aside from an oil change, filters, and the tyre pressures being topped up in Perth, there was no need for additional maintenance for the entire flight. Each day I would remove the cowls for a closer look and each day I found an incredibly clean engine ready for another day’s work. From icy frosts to sweltering heat, the little machine kept on performing and I played my part by always treating the aircraft and its engine with due respect.

What a welcoming committee.

When Runway 14 loomed large in the windscreen at Bundaberg for the final landing, I reminded myself that the flight wasn’t over yet. However, when the aircraft was parked and the propeller stopped, I allowed myself a sigh of mixed relief and reflection. Beyond that there were family and friends there to greet me and media to speak with. A reception was held at the Hinkler Hall of Aviation and in the shadow of my hero’s memorabilia I enjoyed a wonderful afternoon of catching up with one and all. Along the way the flight had reached its target of $10,000 for the Royal Flying Doctor Service and for me that was a personal goal that meant so much.

Once the dust had settled and I had retired to a house on the coast with my family, I had the first real chance to absorb what had transpired over the preceding weeks. I seemed to have endless tales and humorous anecdotes of the people and places I had encountered. My family listened intently and ultimately, they drew the same conclusions as the media and enquired, “Where are you off to next?” With all honesty, I replied that I really couldn’t say, although I would dearly enjoy stretching the borders once again.

The freedom of flight is something that is so accessible to us in this modern day. To take the road less travelled amongst the cumulus and share the experience with those along the way is something I cannot recommend highly enough. It is an experience that I would dearly love to pursue again. Yet, whatever future flights and adventures may rise above the horizon and wherever those journeys may subsequently take me, I will never forget the month of May when I decided to simply fly “There and Back.”

The post Flight of a lifetime—my 8,000-mile trip around Australia appeared first on Air Facts Journal.

from Engineering Blog https://airfactsjournal.com/2020/07/flight-of-a-lifetime-my-8000-mile-trip-around-australia/

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identybeautynet · 4 years ago

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7 Beauty Tips I Learned From Taraji P. Henson in Under 10 Minutes

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jillmckenzie1 · 6 years ago

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One Year on Wheels

I am often asked if I miss having a house.

My gut response is rather defensive. I have a house. It just happens to be silver, sits on wheels, and can be transported to any desired location via my car. So, the simple answer is no, I do not miss having a house. I have one.

If only life were as easy as the simple answers.

The more complicated (and therefore, more realistic) answer is yes, I miss having a house. And I still don’t mean the thing with four walls and windows and a door. Don’t let me fool you—I am most definitely plotting my dream homes over here (yes, plural). One is a black A-frame in the middle of the woods, and the other is a high-rise condo in the middle of a downtown metropolis, but my body’s reaction to this question goes much deeper than concrete and wood and exposed brick. It is more of an acquired heaviness. Because as a nomad, I’m struggling to feel connected to anything.

Today marks my one-year anniversary of living life as a full-time trailer traveler (trust me, I’m just as surprised as you are), and while Breckenridge is now the proud owner of my longest stint in the Airstream – five months – I still don’t inherently belong to this community.

For starters, I don’t actually live in town. I am a 2.5-minute drive to the free shuttle lot that takes me to the base of the gondola (which involves a “California stop” at the red light to turn right on to Airport Road) and a $13 Uber ride to Main Street (no tip). If given a preference, I’m going to spend the night curled up with Nugget under the covers inside the tin can than spend $26 for transportation so I can then spend $21 on three Tito’s and sodas (double, tall, lime, thanks).

And to get a trailer into Breckenridge, or into any town for that matter, is an altogether impossible task. Most RV parks sit just outside city limits, entirely dependent on zoning laws, and to own a property inside those limits with a driveway that will allow for Airstream access would cost me Nugget and my first child and what I owe the government for all those degrees I’m currently not putting to use. If you’ve been following my Instagram stories for quite some time now, you will recall the drama I’ve experienced in trying to find hookups all the way from Half Dome to Houston.

Living in an Airstream will be fun, they said.

Alright, alright, maybe I’m being a little dramatic. Because of course, Airstream-living is pretty damn fun. I’ve simply realized that the freedom associated with this lifestyle is much more of a perception than it is a reality.

At this point in the story, I need to point out a couple things (for now) that the Airstream has taught me about the inner-workings of my devious mind.

One, location is everything to me. Ironically, a ten-hour road trip will slap a silly smile on my face, but a ten-minute commute to Pure Barre puts a damper on my day. In my regular life (whatever that means), I am one-hundred percent team no car. And I recognize that my enchantment with mountain towns stems from this ability to live almost anywhere within the desired zip code and still have access to nearly everything via foot—from the yoga studio to the grocery story to the local dive bar.

Two, because location is everything to me and because I am now fully aware of my ability to live in a mere 100 square feet, I could quite literally survive in a cardboard box if it were near all of my daily hot spots. Seriously, the old me cared way too much about square footage and upscale amenities (hashtag American Dream). Again, don’t let me fool you, Airstreams are by no means cheap. I will pay good money for quality things, and I do, in fact, like quality things. But I would rather have 100 square feet of amazing than 1,000 square feet of good. Most importantly, I now have the confidence to turn 100 square feet of mediocrity into something magnificent with the help of YouTube and my own two hands.

So, back to the regularly scheduled program, yes, I do miss a house. And when I say that I miss a “house,” I need you to hear me that I’m really missing the connection associated with being part of a community. Because when I moved into my Airstream last year, I wasn’t trying to make some statement about minimalism or tiny-home living. I didn’t put an end date to—what most would deem—this episode. For once in my life, I just didn’t have a plan. The only thing that I could define inside myself was that I was scared to commit to a place.

I was scared because I didn’t know the community I wanted to claim as mine.

Navajo Lake (Brian Head, Utah)

So, with my freelance marketing business in my back pocket, I bought a home on wheels and dared to live out the dream—the opposite of the aforementioned American one—which I have now learned happens to haunt so many of us in our sleep. And there were times when I sat. And there were times when I sped. And regardless of that setting, I’ve learned that I needed every single day.

I’ve also learned what it means to stare loneliness deep in the eye. Working alone as a freelancer and living alone as a single person can often create 24-hour vacuums of solidarity (like, actual full days of zero physical communication with another human except for through the buttons and speakers on my phone).

Ask me if I love freelancing, and I will tell you I do. Ask me if I love living in an Airstream, and I will reassure you that it’s one of the best decisions of my life. But I will typically follow those positive squeals with a slight twinge of my lips that reads, “But somedays, it’s just too much choice.”

When there is nothing to ground me into time or space or place, the door is SO open, and I unashamedly admit that it can be intoxicatingly overwhelming. I often find myself searching for reasons for a door to close, even just a little; my personal quest to discover the satisfaction in the stationary.

Because I’m tired of choosing. Because whoever said that “freedom isn’t free” was right. Because some days, the weight of both my personal and professional lives can feel so nauseatingly heavy. And yes, there is something liberating about the freedom. I do have the world at my fingertips. But hear me: I have the world at my fingertips. The whole damn world. I don’t have someone to turn to and say, “let’s go” or “please, help.” I don’t have a colleague sitting across from me on her computer, telling me about her shitty second date with the guy up in finance or asking me about my opinion on how to handle her drunk grandma on Thanksgiving. I don’t have another set of hands to fix broken inverters or another set of eyes to gaze upon Sedona sunsets. I don’t have the pleasure of falling asleep next to a soul who magically fits next to mine (even if he grinds his teeth).

I have to make every decision for my clients who hire me because of my marketing expertise, and then I have to make every decision for myself when I’m trying to survive out on the open road. I say this with humility when I write that very few people are acting with such autonomy in both areas of their lives.

I know what you’re thinking. I don’t have a boss to micromanage me. I don’t have a passenger (or fellow driver) to hold up my road trip by begging me to go to the bathroom. You’re right. I don’t. And there are days when I thank my lucky stars that I don’t. But I also never get to choose autopilot. I don’t get to mindlessly scroll through my email and still get a paycheck. There is no one for me to divvy out responsibilities to so that I can carry a little less of the load.

And what I have learned is that I can say that I want this life or that I love that autonomy and it can still be hard. I can still be struggling inside the appreciation for my current state of being. I do not have to choose a feeling as if those feelings only exist as ultimatums.

I had a conversation with a good friend in Texas the other day who informed me that he was thinking of taking a job in another city, pretty far from his current country roots. I divulged that I had spent the entire day looking at condos in downtown Denver. There was an unstated, yet deeply understood, feeling of fear seeping through our iMessage chat log, which I broke with, “If we’re not scared, then we��re not doing the right things.” The second I saw those blinking bubbles, I knew that he was going to agree (he did).

Newsflash. Airstreams don’t fit in underground parking structures.

So, I spent most of last weekend crying (a strong dose of PMS may have also had something to do with it). Because this thing that used to scare me—living in a trailer without the stability of a permanent structure to call home—has now become my deepest sense of security. Meanwhile, the loneliness that comes as a natural byproduct of this life has magnified my two deepest needs.

One: I want to do life with someone, and it should come as no surprise that dating on the road is a rather trivial thing.

Two: I need professional stimulation from other creatives and entrepreneurs who are going to inspire me, which is difficult to find when sitting alone in my underwear in my Airstream that’s parked just outside of town.

So, I repeat, I spent the weekend looking at condos in downtown Denver. Because if I’m going to do the city, then I’m going to do the city. Please, plop me into a penthouse in the middle of Mile High (you’re not surprised). Because the mountains feed my soul, but those skyscraper buildings spark a deep level of excitement inside my brain. The honking horns and the shuffle of feet ignite a fire in my fingertips.

Again, I know what you’re thinking. And no, I wouldn’t get rid of the Airstream. Yet. I honestly question if I ever could. My emotional attachment to it at this point is at an all-time high. I’m also very aware that, unfortunately, money doesn’t grow on trees (guess our parents were right about that one after all).

The hard truth is that I don’t want to be done on the road. I’ve simply realized that the road is comfortable. And maybe that means I should stay roaming. But maybe it means I should try something different. Maybe it means that I need to find my balance. I repeat: I’m not in this experience to make a statement. I’m here to find my truth. And I know that part of that truth is that I don’t want to live on wheels forever. Travel on them, yes. Build my foundation on them as a permanent place of residency, no.

In my downtown search for the perfect pad, I was confronted with handfuls of people questioning my current living situation—an immediate assessment of whether or not I would fit in at a particular complex or if I could afford to live there.

Me: “Well, right now, yeah, I actually live in an Airstream.”

I have to admit, it’s hard to look at people’s faces when I make this statement (if they even know what an Airstream is). And y’all already know how many men try to make it back to the cozy confines of my twin bed in the tin can (insert massive eyeroll here). You see, I can directly pinpoint the moment of jealousy, how the light quickly floods over the person’s pupils, a split-second of drunkenness inside a state of complete sobriety. And I get it. I owned those eyes once (and I’ll forever own them as long as people keep talking about snowboarding in Japan or camping in Banff or eloping at the highest peak in the Sawtooth Mountains).

Jealousy is beautiful to a certain extent. When channeled appropriately. It reminds us that our dreams are real. It inspires us to act.

The problem is not the jealousy. The problem is that I’m allowing their story to become my story. I’m getting wrapped up in the easy answer because it’s easy for jealousy to fuel my continuation. I’m also putting myself back into an ultimatum, as if there are only two choices here. Stay. Move.

And another one of my learnings from life on the road is that there are never just two choices. Two choices may present themselves on the surface, but if you’re willing to do the work to go deeper, you will find a myriad of ways to determine your desired solution.

Corona Del Mar Beach (Newport Beach, CA)

It’s a rather bittersweet feeling to be confronted head on by the excitement of new opportunities and the sadness of leaving something that is deeply loved. If I’m being honest with myself, there hasn’t been a time of transition in my life where the excitement and the sadness weren’t violently crashing into one another like a boy celebrating his twelfth birthday jacked up on Pixie Stix and head-hunting his friends in the driver’s seat of a bumper car. I can distinctly recall that wave of bittersweet washing over me when I’ve left other places like Basalt, Portland, Louisville, and Sun Valley to pursue different—not necessarily better—dreams.

I was recently explicating my fears of trading in full-time freedom to one of my best friends from Denver. Halfway through our three-hour conversation—one of those where you both keep telling each other that you’re going to get off the phone, but never do—he simply states, “I get it. You’d be giving up the life that everyone seemingly wants for the life that everyone already has.”

Ooph.

And that’s the thing about best friends. They often times know us better than we know ourselves. If they’re really good, they open us up to our own shit. And the great ones make us answer to the voice inside our heads that we’re incessantly trying to silence.

Me: “Yeah, Dub. Can we not?”

But, we can. I can. I will.

Because to be living in an Airstream is an amazing experience. It has been amazing. And if it’s meant to continue after she goes into the auto body shop for the next few weeks to fix the monstrous dent in her backside (thanks again, Houston), it will still be amazing.

But, change…change can also be amazing.

I’ve come to this stark realization that choice feels so heavy because we are usually choosing between two (or more) right things. The issue is not with the choice. The issue is with what we do after the choice is made. Because we are too often plagued by paralysis for fear of choosing what is wrong (when a wrong does not exist) or by regret for fear that the other option would have turned out better (when it is impossible to ever know).

The true power of choice lies in our confidence to pursue one of them with reckless abandon.

It would have been easy to regret this transition one year ago. My learning curve was steep by anyone’s standards. I could have succumbed to a thousand thoughts that this life just wasn’t meant for someone like me. But I never gave myself that option. Not because I wanted to ascribe to some naïve YOLO philosophy that justifies behaviors in the name of “no regrets”; trust me, I’ve regretted plenty of my life choices—but because I consciously understood that the minute I gave myself the ability to second guess my decision (like really second guess it) then I was not going to be able to be fully present in this moment (however long this moment may be).

One year ago, the Airstream was the right choice; however, staying in Sun Valley or moving back to Colorado would have also been the right choices. But I chose the Airstream. With reckless abandon. And in doing so, the Airstream chose me back. That doesn’t mean I didn’t cry. A lot. And it most certainly doesn’t mean that I didn’t ask myself regularly if what I was doing was in fact, right. It just means that I stood up to the part of myself that wanted to bait my insecurities into believing that I was wrong.

Now, I find myself facing that same fork (or spaghetti junction) in the road. And maybe the Airstream and I will end up in some campground of the dark night observatory in Stanley, Idaho. Or maybe I’ll choose some penthouse in downtown Denver. Or maybe, just maybe, I’ll voyage to some waterfront RV park across the street from Whole Foods in Palm Beach, Florida.

The only thing I know today is that I’m dropping off my house at the Airstream dealership to get work done for the next few weeks. That wave of bittersweet excitement and sadness has washed over me in the last month more times than I can even count. Because I needed Breckenridge. Choosing to leave Texas for this Colorado tourist town, a return to my roots, was nowhere near easy. The pain tried to tell me that what I was doing was wrong. The pain was misinformed.

Because Breckenridge, you were every little bit of right.

When I left Houston, I wrote, “If I am meant to be here, or anywhere, I need to feel the weight of missing this place. I need to re-ground myself in the geography that is a manifestation of my spirit. I need clarity. I cannot consciously live inside of habits that are out of integrity with the life that I am preaching for others to seek. I cannot settle.”

The leaving hurts. It always hurts. No matter the level of connection to the community. Because leaving still severs my daily patterns. It still forces me to wake up with a different view. It radically transforms my exterior. It requires that I readjust the small amount of autopilot gifted to me through my routine.

Yes, I miss a house insomuch that I miss the bond to a specific place or a physical group of people, but Breckenridge was never about the community. It was about me. It was about the mountains. It was about revealing another layer of myself to myself. And, in the digging, I just happened to find a guy—without an app—who reminded me that two humans doing the work can live inside of something magical (if even just for a moment).

At a point in my life where I wanted to throw in the proverbial dating towel, I realized that a relationship with two ready and willing adults can actually manifest into something worthy of sacrifice. Because somewhere amidst the shitty conversations that are required for a relationship to grow, I was inspired by my own voice. I was moved by my own ability to finally articulate what I want and need from a partner. I learned to trust myself—something so foreign to the version of me that existed just one year ago—and I braved into a territory that challenged me to be grounded in my own authenticity (no matter how deep). I also realized that “men suck” was a story that I was telling myself to protect my ego and my heart. The truth is that we all suck, but we’re all trying (some better than others). And my faith in finding a best friend with whom to hold hands and slap butts and fight over who gets the first shower (when we inevitably settle on taking one together) was restored to a level that I’m not even sure had ever existed.

So, I’m hitched up and headed out. I will simultaneously smile at the Airstream monopolizing my field of vision in my rearview mirror and cry for the pain of another goodbye. I will embrace the bittersweet.

In these moments, I’m always reminded of the David Bowie quote: “I don’t know where I’m going from here, but I promise it won’t be boring.” It most certainly won’t. And I am committed to finding myself, finding my person, and finding my balance on this road we call life.

from Blog https://ondenver.com/one-year-on-wheels/

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