#anyways this is long and convoluted but i wonder if anyone else experiences this with their parents or siblings or whatever | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wlw-peachylsbn · 3 years

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the only heaven i'll be sent to (is when I'm alone with you) (bellatrix lestrange x reader)

A/N: Okie dokie, girls and gays! So! This is going to be a sub!Bella fic. Now I know what you all might be thinking, Bella is a dom, but you know what? It's not my fault my brain is so big and sexy, and I'm on a whole new galaxy. Thanks to @bellatrixscurls for inspiring me!!!

We have some praise and degradation, a bit of a choking kink, pet play, a big ass Mommy kink, and like. A shoe kink?

Your quill jumps from one line to the next, not stopping even when your love walks into the room. You're only half done with this essay, and you still need to finish one more after this. Thanks to Bellatrix's interference, you slacked off during the weekend, preferring to share her bed and lounge about. Though, who could blame you?

So deep in thought, you don’t notice Bellatrix as she moves closer to you, heaving a deep sigh.

"Did you need something, Bella?" You tap your quill, still thinking about the right way to form this one sentence.

"Yes, I actually did.” She shrugs, taking a step closer so there's only a sliver of space between you. It's an odd position, really, and you have to crane your head back to gaze at her.

"Yes?" You reach up to tangle your feelings in her curls. When you tug lightly, a shiver runs through her body.

Oh. You pause, looking Bellatrix over shrewdly. Your weekend wasn't just relaxing; you also discovered some wonderful, nasty details about your lover. Specifically, some certain kinks she had.

“Oh, did you want Mommy, sweetheart?” you coo, tugging on her curls again.

Another shiver runs through Bellatrix’s body as she kneels before you, eyes big and soft. You can already tell that she's slipping into her subspace, an experience you both have discussed thoroughly. You haven't acted on it quite yet though, but today might be the perfect time to rectify that.

“That’s right, go get on your knees, darling.” Your hand comes reassuringly down on Bellatrix’s shoulder, pressing her to kneel completely.

God. Bellatrix is absolutely beautiful like this, with her hair wild and a curl in her face, her eyes wide with starry-eyed longing, like she thinks you hold her world up. Of course, you would be lying if you said it didn't arouse you to see Bellatrix on her knees for you, only for you. She's such a dominant, tough personality, which leads people to assume she would be in charge in the bedroom. Sometimes she is, but she also confessed that playing with submission would be incredibly arousing for her. You're the only one she trusts with her secrets, which infuses the scene with more tenderness than you expect.

“Am I doing okay, Mommy?” A whisper, light as air, settles in between the two of you.

You know how deeply Bellatrix needs reassurance. Mainly praise. She didn’t say such a thing in as many words, but you know her. A kind word or a light touch makes her clingy, but praise, full, unrestrained, lengthy praise will make her … well. You don’t know yet, but you can’t wait to find out soon.

“You’re doing amazing, sweetheart, being such a good girl. Just sit there for Mommy, alright? I want you to relax a bit.”

“But, Mommy, I feel fine, I don’t want to—”

“Quiet. Now. Do not question me.” Steel enters your tone just as quickly as Bellatrix whines. She sticks out her bottom lip, scowling in a rather cute manner, you admit. But you wipe away any trace of amusement from your face. “If you act like a brat, you can go back to your room and pout there instead.”

Another scowl, this one deeper, crosses her face, but she grudgingly nods and lowers her eyes. You resume looking at your paper, pretending to work, but your mind races, returning to your little brat at your feet. Should you keep her in suspense for a while longer? Or really draw it out until she pleads?

“Mommy?”

Well, that didn’t take too long at all.

“Yes?” You keep your tone purposefully neutral.

“Are you mad?”

“No, just disappointed.”

Bellatrix pouts. Again. “I hate when you say that.”

“I know, darling, but if you were good, I wouldn’t have to say it so much.”

“ ‘m sorry.”

“What was that?” You raise your eyebrow, not ready to drop the matter yet.

“I’m sorry, Mommy. I just …” Bellatrix has never been one to conceal her feelings. You can see the hesitance warring with want, clear as day, as she ducks her head, avoiding your searching gaze. “I …”

��What is it, honey? You know you can tell me anything.” You lightly grab her chin with your hand, tugging until she’s facing you. “You know I would never judge you.”

“Can you be really Mommy? And make me feel like your little girl again?” Heat blooms in her pale cheeks, and when she hides her face again, you let her. “I just wanna … be good for you. Please?”

The tenderness from earlier returns, and you coo, “Oh, I see now. You want me to tell you what to do? Do you crave my firm hand? My harsh touch? Come now, good girls use their words.”

“I want you to be nice, Mommy. To make me feel really good. But I want you to be mean, too.” To anyone else, Bellatrix’s words would sound like a convoluted mess. And they are, to some extent. But you can always soothe her mind and untangle her web of feelings.

“I see now, darling. Of course, I’ll do that. You just be my good girl and let me take care of everything, alright?”

“Yes, please, thank you, Mommy.” She looks up finally, and you can see the self-awareness leaving her body. There’s no more shame, just that adoring look you aim to see. It’s just you and her. Mommy and baby girl.

“That’s right. You just want to be my perfect little slut, don’t you?”

You watch carefully as Bellatrix gasps, eyes slipping shut as she leans forward. “Yes, Mommy, thank you, Mommy.”

“That’s right, you just sit still and be a good little toy for me.” You hum almost absent-mindedly, reaching to grasp her chin again, turning it this way and that. You appraise her, eyes lingering on her pale throat. Even her neck is beautiful, all exposed skin and deep hollows. “Would you like a collar, darling?” You slowly move your hand as you talk, effectively choking her, though you don’t apply much pressure.

“Oh, Merlin, please, Mommy? Yes, yes,” Bellatrix says, eyes pleading. “I’ll be good.”

“Would you? You want to be my little pet so badly, hmm? I think I’ll arrange for a nice thick collar, a pretty one, too. A dark red, since I know you love that colour so much. What do you think, pet?”

Bellatrix downright whines. She scoots as close as she can, practically sitting on top of your feet. “Please, I want to be your pet, and I want your collar too!”

“Yes, a collar sounds very nice,” you muse. Then you tighten your grip around Bellatrix’s throat a moment later. Her eyes slip shut, her hands reaching to steady herself on your leg. “You’re always my pretty whore that I can use, yes?”

“Always, but can you please touch me now, Mommy? I need you.” She tries a pout again, and although you want to kiss it anyway, you don’t budge.

“I thought you were my toy, though? I don’t recall you having the control here. So be a good little girl and be quiet.”

“But I’m so wet for you, Mommy. I can’t wait any longer.”

You sigh and click your tongue. “Don’t test me again. You’re my pet, remember?”

“Always.”

“But since you want to come so bad …” You cock your head to the side, a smirk forming on your lips.

“Yes, Mommy? I’ll do whatever you say.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.” Her dark eyes are lightened with trust. Complete, absolute trust as she waits patiently for your orders. You could make her do anything, you know that. But you only have one thing in mind.

You extend your shoe, laying it flat on the floor. The confusion that sparks in her eyes is downright adorable. Bellatrix cocks her head to the side, looking very much like a confused pet. “Needy little girls like you don’t deserve my fingers or mouth. If you want to come so bad, you can use my shoe and prove yourself.”

“Mommy?”

In a flash, you lean down, pressing your forehead to hers. Bellatrix’s hands come up around your shoulders, balling your shirt in her fists. She falls silent, taking a moment to breathe as you ask, “Baby? Is everything alright? If you want this to end, you know your safeword.”

“I’m okay, thank you, Mommy. Can we continue, please?”

“Of course, sweet girl.” You press a quick kiss to her forehead before pulling back, falling easily into your role again. “Or should I say, you little brat? I see you, trying to distract me.”

“I didn’t mean to, Mommy. How can I make it up to you?” Bellatrix peers up at you through her eyebrows innocently.

You say nothing, choosing to hold your shoe out again. For the second time today, Bellatrix blushes, a pink hue rising in her cheeks and chest. However, she doesn’t hesitate any longer and straddles your shoe.

It’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen. Honestly. She hitches her skirt up, tossing it behind her with a flick of her wrist, never losing her flair for the dramatics. Her hands caress your thighs, slowly coming down to grip the back of your legs. And finally, she lowers herself onto your shoe, an obscene moan escaping her mouth.

“How does it feel, Bella?”

“Fuck. So good. So good, Mommy,” Bellatrix rasps, head tilting towards the ceiling in blissed-out pleasure.

“Watch your mouth, pet.” You slap her cheek lightly, which draws another choked moan from Bellatrix.

“Sorry, Mommy.” Even as she apologies, her hips rock back and forth.

“Yeah? What are you apologizing for?” You make sure to keep your tone casual and airy, though you can’t help but start to tease her. You flex your shoe upward—but only but an inch or two. The cool material presses against her most sensitive area, drawing another whispered swear.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing, Mommy, I’m sorry, please, please—”

“Aww, is my baby too flustered to talk? Be a good girl and tell me what you need.”

“Mommy, please, I can’t, I need you so bad—” Bellatrix shifts again, and when she meets your gaze, you see tears brimming in her eyes.

You frown, wiping a stray one away. While you hate to see her cry under any circumstances, there’s a small sadistic part of you that roars with heat, wanting to see how long she can withstand your (pleasurable) torture. You stay quiet, thinking about the best move before you say, “Oh, darling. You need to cum that badly? Well, alright, honey. You can have a reward.”

“A reward?”

With great debilitation, you raise your shoe all the way, so it’s firmly pressed against her. You don’t hold back. She moans, her hips rocking even more. “Here’s your reward, baby. But I’m not going to do all the work. If you’re not crying and screaming like a little whore for me, then I won’t fuck you again for a while. So you better thank me, pretty girl, and get to work.”

“Oh, Merlin, thank you, thank you so much.”

“I prefer Mommy, baby, but you’re welcome either way.”

You watch with a smug smile as Bellatrix rubs herself all over your shoe. She moves slowly at first but moves quicker and quicker. Little pants and hitched breaths fill the room.

As she keeps chasing her high, you play with one of her curls, twisting it around your finger. “Soon, I’ll find a perfect collar for you, so everyone knows you belong to me. Then I’ll put a tail in your ass, too, baby girl, and have you kneel for me like a good kitten.”

“Oh, Mommy, yes, I’ll be your good kitten. Merlin, please, fuck me, fill me up.” By this point, Bellatrix is fully in her subspace, all tears and whiny begging that make you want to fuck her harder or wrap her up in your arms. But you go with the former and lean forward, your breath brushing her half-lidded eyelids.

“Hold on tight, sweetheart.”

You start moving your shoe again, flexing it, and dragging it back and forth. This time, you don’t give up on the pressure, instead aiming directly for her most sensitive spots. Your shoe grinds against her clit, causing her to moan.

“Look at you, my pretty darling. Making such a mess, rutting all over my shoe like a bitch in heat.”

“Fuck, Mommy, I’m going to come, please?”

“Go ahead, baby.”

Not a second later, she says, “Thank you, Mommy, coming for you, Mommy—”

Bellatrix’s orgasm is a wonder to witness, and you can only stare, like a galaxy is exploding in front of your very eyes. It comes as a trickle at first, minuscule shudders that shake her once, twice. But as she’s urged on by your whispered praises and hands tugging at her hair, her pleasure turns into a river carrying her away—until her orgasm crashes against her again and again, like a tidal wave threatening to drown her, promising to carry her out to sea forever, to never let her come back to shore.

“Mommy, Mommy!” Tears start to spill down her cheeks, but there’s no sadistic jolt this time. That side of you quietly leaves, replaced with the urge to care and protect.

“I know, baby girl, that’s it, you’re alright.” You keep a firm grasp on her shoulders as she shudders the last of her orgasm on her shoe, then tug her up. She crawls into your lap, tucking her head into the crook of your neck, sniffing. “Shh, darling, you did so well. You were so good, my perfect, good girl. I’m so fucking proud of you.”

“Was I really good?” Timid eyes peek at you from between strands of hair.

You smile, reaching to brush a curl away so you can better see her. “You were perfect.”

“Thank you, Mommy. I really liked everything we did.” Bellatrix sniffs again, pressing closer to you.

You chuckle. “I could tell, baby.” You run your hands up and down her spine, feeling the heat radiating off her. All the while, you keep cooing the sweetest praises and words of devotion into her ear.

“Mommy?”

“Yes, pretty girl?”

“Do you think we can try fisting next weekend?”

A true, genuine laugh escapes you. Oh, Bellatrix has the most unique, one-track mind. “Why don’t you rest up for a bit first, okay? We can talk about it later. Just relax now.”

“M’kay, Mommy, I will.”

Tomorrow, next weekend, the future all stretches before you, eager to be shaped by your hand. Anything you might want to do—and the ideas bloom in your mind—you can. But right now, you’re focused on the lovely, needy, flawed soul in your embrace. It’s you and her against the world.

You start to hum and resume rubbing Bellatrix’s back, allowing her to snuggle closer. Her eyes, though sleepily locked onto you, slowly flutter close. You smile indulgently, whispering, “Mommy’s right here, darling. Shh, go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

#bellatrix lestrange #bellatrix lestrange x reader #bellatrix x reader #bellatrix black #bellatrix black x reader #bellatrix imagine #not sfw #hogwarts

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makeste · 4 years

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BnHA Chapter 299: No Chains Left

Previously on BnHA: Horikoshi was all “and then AFO broke out all of the inmates from six other prisons and took a nap. well anyways, here’s the hospital angst.” Kacchan woke up two days later and was all, “WAIT BUT HOW ARE DEKU AND TODOROKI AND ALL OF THE OTHER CHARACTERS EXCEPT IIDA DOING” and then we cut to Shouto’s room where the other U.A. kids were sitting around being Mutually Traumatized and giving each other moral support and such. Everyone was alll, “...”, and then the rest of the Todofam showed up, INCLUDING POSSIBLY REI?! which, omg. The chapter ended with Kacchan STOMPING THROUGH THE HALLS all “WHADDYA MEAN DEKU HASN’T WOKEN UP YET”, dragging along Satou and Mineta behind him, fueled by the power of ALL OF THE FUCKS HE NOW GIVES. He gives so many fucks now you guys. This boy cares so much he can probably deduct it on his taxes.

Today on BnHA: SPEAKING OF PEOPLE WHO GIVE A LOT OF FUCKS, the story cuts abruptly to Hawks, freshly recovering from his near-death experience, and pondering the threads that have weaved the tapestry of his life and led him to this moment. Basically he grew up in poverty with his Jerk Dad and Jerk Mom until his dad got arrested one day and his mom sent him off to go Find Money Or Something, and so he rescued a busload of people and found himself a new career. Back in the present day, Hawks and Jeanist ride around town in Jeanist’s Jamborghini having awkward encounters with civilians in a country on the brink of social collapse, and visiting Hawks’s mother’s home. Hawks is all “I know from an outsider’s perspective it must look like my life currently sucks, but now that the HPSC is gone, my public image is shot, and my parents are finally out of my life, I’m actually feeling SURPRISINGLY GOOD.” Anyway so he’s gonna go meet up with Endeavor now, and p.s. this chapter was fucking fantastic though, damn.

oh my god?? is this Hawks narration?? something about him growing up watching the heroes on TV and thinking of them as fictional characters

okay I scrolled down a little bit more to see the rest of that “Keigo” panel, and wow

this is basically a shed. poor boy definitely grew up rough. let me tell you guys, I came in here ready for some BakuDeku shenanigans; I was not prepared for Hawks Flashback Angst. I AM HERE FOR IT, but also wow I gotta brace myself now lol

HELLO MISTER HAWKS’S JERK DAD, SIR

BnHA sure does have an array of Jerk Dads, doesn’t it. makes me appreciate characters like Masaru and JirouDad all the more for bucking the trend

anyway. so Horikoshi, you really thought that one itty bitty chapter of hospital catharsis would be enough to calm us all before you went right back to showing us child abuse huh. my god man can we rest

BABY HAWKS

swear to god this kid can’t be more than five or six, and yet he has this completely blank look on his face even with his dad looming over him being all threatening and shit. like he’s shut down his emotions to protect himself. imagine what has to happen to a child for him to have learned this at such a young age. fuck

AND MEANWHILE THIS GUY

don’t mingle with humans?? not “other” humans, just humans?? what is this implying here?? and also holy shit Hawks definitely didn’t inherit his looks from his dad orz

then again he doesn’t really bear much of a resemblance to his strung-out mom here either

omg omg omg. and this child is basically trapped here in this environment with these two people. this explains a SHITLOAD about Hawks’s personality though you guys. his ability to completely separate his real thoughts from the face he presents to the outside world. his pragmatic approach to analyzing and solving problems. his layers of emotional walls. turns out almost none of that came from the HPSC training -- that was all learned hands-on in his own personal do-or-die survival nightmare childhood!! oh, boy

and small wonder then that he latched on to Endeavor so strongly if he really is the one who brought down his dad and inadvertently saved him from this. also, just putting this out there, I know people are always talking about him and Dabi being foils, and I think it’s very interesting how Touya grew up in a household where he saw firsthand the dark side of hero society, and so ended up becoming a villain in order to bring it down. whereas young Keigo had almost the exact opposite experience, growing up experiencing the dark side of villain society and becoming a hero in order to bring about a world where no one else has to experience that. just. both of them are so determined not to become their fathers. some interesting parallels there

so Hawks was sort of an accident after his parents had “thanks for helping me not get caught after I killed that guy” sex, and now this little boy is growing up in squalor and being beaten by his father for things like Sitting In The Wrong Out-Of-The-Way Corner Trying Not To Be A Bother To Anybody. holy fuck. this is so rough to read through you guys

wait so does Jerk Dad have a an eyeball manipulation quirk?? because he doesn’t have the wings like his son, but wth are these things??

this presumably also means that Keigo has never been to school or anything either. he basically doesn’t exist. he thinks heroes are fictional characters, he doesn’t realize that they’re real people. these are people who could help him if he could escape and find them, but he doesn’t know, and they don’t know about him

OH MY GOD HE’S JUST SITTING IN HIS CORNER HUGGLING HIS ENDEAVOR PLUSH OH MY GOD

how could this child possibly have an anti-fandom when he’s done NOTHING WRONG HIS ENTIRE LIFE. huh. just explain that to me. lol I mean I’m not looking to pick a fight with anyone, but also, MAYBE I AM, idk?? this kid has gotten me all riled up lmao

anyways, Protect Keigo 2021, and thank you Horikoshi for these three very terrible pages. I am pleased to inform you that you’ve effectively gotten your point across and you may now commence saving this kid already

YAY

oh no, Keigo’s dumbass jerk dad tried to steal a car and the popo nabbed his ass and now his mom can’t just sit around neglecting her VERY YOUNG SON all day long, oh horrors. sorry lady my tiny violin is on backorder. just imagine that I’m playing a very sarcastic song on it for you

anyway so what are you gonna do now, abandon him? I can hardly imagine he’d be worse off, if anything it might be a near-instant improvement

LMAO HE’S ALL “WAIT WHAT ENDEAVOR’S A REAL FUCKING DUDE?!”

AND THEY SAY THAT A HERO CAN SAVE US~~~~ I’M NOT GONNA STAND HERE AND WAAAAAIT~~~~~ I’LL HOLD ONTO THE WINGS OF THE EAGLES, WATCH AS WE ALL FLY AWAAAAAAY~~~~

lol what a randomly pivotal moment in his young life. TIME TO GO MAKE THESE MEMES INTO DREAMS YOUNG ONE

anyway so his mom freaked out and grabbed him and they wound up at a train station with her TELLING HIM TO GO GET HER SOME MONEY, oh my god. SURE MOM LEMME JUST WALTZ RIGHT ON DOWN TO THE “JOBS FOR FIVE-YEAR-OLDS” STORE AND TELL THEM I NEED SOME CASH. ffff manifesting someone to come help him in 3... 2...

...

SIGH, JUST GO RESCUE THE PEOPLE FROM THE BUS, KEIGO. is this the outfit he was wearing when that happened?? it must be, right?? I can’t imagine them surviving more than a couple days out here unless this starts getting REALLY dark in a way I know that even Horikoshi won’t explore, so yeah. cut to the HPSC now please. never thought we’d be glad to see them. I mean sure, it may be an “out of the frying pan...” case, but good god

THANK YOU!!

and I guess it was his mom’s eyeball quirk then. anyway, whatever, see you again never, hopefully. lol oh man. thaaaat, was upsetting. need to center myself here for a sec. NAMASTE

OH YAY THE PRESENT

so we cut from Baby Hawks Angst straight to Present Day Hawks Angst, huh. not that this exhausted and traumatized lil lad isn’t still a baby to me too, I’ll have you know

BEST JEANIST, ALWAYS WITH THE JOKES

“WHEW, THOUGHT YOU DIED ON ME FOR A SEC THERE KID.” lmao. Caleb will no doubt ruin this by making his word choice all stiffly formal as usual, so I’m just going to treasure this “WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT, I’M FRESH OUT OF FUCKS” version of Jeanist while I can

look at him, driving his Jeanistmobile

again, is it any wonder Kacchan was bitching about Endeavor’s dinky little car when he was used to riding around town in style like this. anyone else staring at this panel trying to figure out how this car is somehow secretly made of jeans

NOOOOO

FUCK YOU DABI LMAO. PUTTING THESE VOICE ACTORS OUT OF A JOB ONE BY ONE

anyway so Jeanist is all “GOOD THING IT’S THE FUTURE AND WE’RE SO GOOD AT MEDICAL SCIENCE” to handwave how Hawks went from one step shy of being a very handsome corpse, to sitting around texting Jeanist in a car all of two days later

OH MY GOD, AND FINALLY AN EXPLANATION FOR THIS

wait a minute. I’m so confused lmfao. soooo, was Hawks all “anyway, here’s Jeanist’s dead body, you can examine it but please don’t look at him too closely and also I’m gonna need that back unharmed.” how tf did you pull that off lmao

(ETA: also isn’t this technically confirmation of the ol’ Noumu Jeanist theory lol. I’m gonna go ahead and say it is.)

NO BUT PLEASE, CONTINUE. I unironically love reading Horikoshi’s overly convoluted “SEE IT’S NOT A PLOT HOLE” explanations

lkldslfk so wait, you’re telling me Hawks convinced Dabi and the League to put Jeanist’s body in storage, and basically just hoped they wouldn’t use him for any experiments until he could put his plan into action and have the HPSC’s people break in and find and revive him?? WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG. A FOOLPROOF PLAN IF I’VE EVER HEARD ONE

fff this man really asked Jeanist to risk it all to prop up his little cover story, and Jeanist was all “sure why not” omfg. anyways, thanks for recapping all of this out loud for no particular reason in your car conversation you two

LMAO NOW WHAT

TROUBLE YOU SAY? GOOD THING THE NEW NUMBER ONE HERO IS ON THE JOB THEN

okay no it’s just some random thugs strolling around terrorizing the downtown. fuck ‘em. so Jeanist is making short work of them now

uh oh

won’t come? not can’t, but won’t?? what???

WOW

well I guess that makes the local heroes A BUNCH OF SHITHEADS now doesn’t it?? jesus

and okay, serious question, if the cops are spread too thin and the heroes have literally walked out on the job, what exactly is stopping everyone from deciding to use their quirks to defend themselves, legal or not? nothing, as far as I can tell. society just got a hell of a lot more chaotic

anyway so this is an interesting panel here

man, Dabi really did pull it off, didn’t he. well anyway so here’s that better world all of the villains were wanting, you guys! isn’t it so great?? everyone’s terrified and angry and losing hope and society is inches away from collapsing into total anarchy! but hey, at least we exposed the number one hero as a hypocrite

anyway so what are these guys up to

fucking hell, he’s visiting his mom. I really wasn’t prepared to commit this much emotional energy towards reading this chapter today. BUT VERY WELL, WE PRESS ON

?? wait she’s not there?

is this supposed to explain how Dabi knew who Hawks really was? except that there’s the little matter of how he even know where to find his mother in the first place. feels like we’re still missing something there, but oh well

OH MY GOD

RHA I TAKE BACK EVERY WORD I EVER SPOKE AGAINST YOU. YOU ARE A SCANLATION GROUP FILLED WITH ANGELS LMAO. I WILL TAKE THIS PANEL IN MY HANDS, AND TREASURE IT AND KEEP IT SAFE

ANYWAY, BECAUSE MY TIRED BIRD SON’S LIFE SUCKED SO MUCH ALREADY, IT TURNS OUT HE’S ACTUALLY PLEASED WITH THIS NEW TURN OF EVENTS LOL HOW ABOUT THAT

GOOD FOR YOU BBY. YOU GO OUT THERE AND BE YOUR OWN PERSON

and in all seriousness, I love that identity he chooses -- chooses, because it actually is him making a choice now, possibly for the very first time in his life -- is “guy who helps people”, though. it really is nothing short of miraculous that he held on to that kind of optimism and desire to do good even with everything he’s been through. there were so many times he could have chosen to turn his back on the world in retaliation for the way it treated him. but he didn’t!! and here he is now, finally free, and what he wants to do with the rest of his life now is simply to help others. anyway please excuse me for a moment, I need to go find some sort of basket or a big vase to put all of my fresh new Hawks Feels in, pardonne-moi

YEAH BOIIIIII

“FIRST ORDER OF BUSINESS, MISTER JEANIST, WHERE DID YOU FIND YOUSELF THAT SWEETASS CAR.” hey, all I’m saying is if this boy’s wings really aren’t growing back, he’s gonna need to find himself a new means of transportation y’know?

oh my god you guys it’s a flashback to his mom buying him the Endeavor plushie when he was like two because, and I quote, ALL MIGHT WAS TOO EXPENSIVE

oh my god oh my god. my boy out here with a new lease on life finding hope in the darkest of times

wasn’t your throat supposed to be all fucked up lmao. Horikoshi was suddenly all “oh shit the VAs are gonna be pissed at me if I keep this up huh”

“that’s why Bubaigawara was such a great guy” motherfucker IT IS A TERRIBLE DAY FOR RAIN. FORECAST SAID NOTHING ABOUT THIS

:’)

yes ma’am. yes indeed. confirmed, I really will straight up fight some motherfuckers for this child. well not really, but YOU KEEP YOUR DISCOURSE OFF MY LAWN AND OUT OF MY BLOG YOU HEAR. THIS IS A HAWKS-FRIENDLY SPACE. WE RESPECT TAKAMI KEIGO IN THESE STREETS

and he’s saying (or is he thinking?? what a weirdly shaped speech bubble this is) that even if what Dabi said about the Todoroki household is true, “I’m not sure it’s the same now.” which happens to be ABSOLUTELY CORRECT. man this whole chapter really is all about saying “fuck the past” and moving forward and I am living for it

SON!!!!

“the first step is at my beginning” fklkjlk. what an iconic fucking line??

AND HIS WINGS!!!! THEY ACTUALLY ARE GROWING BACK AHHHHHHH. “PUT A RAINCHECK ON THAT CAR, JEANIST-SAN.” THE HAWKSMOBILE CAN WAIT, RIGHT NOW HE HAS TO GO INSERT HIMSELF BACK INTO THE TODODRAMA WHETHER THEY LIKE IT OR NOT

you guys. I came here ready for some BAKUDEKU HOSPITAL ANGST, and I got DIDDLY SHIT of that, and none of my other kids were even in this chapter, but!!! ASK ME IF I CARE LMAO omg. because bird son is hanging with his new best friend, and he’s out here Finding Himself and picking up the pieces and putting them back together stronger than ever because RESILIENCE HAS A NAME, AND IT’S SPELLED H-A-W-K-S, and you guys. profound, my love for this child. holy shit. hey google, play Silence by Marshmello

#bnha 299 #takami keigo #hawks (bnha)#best jeanist #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #I found peace in your violence #can't tell me there's no point in trying #I'm at one #and I've been quiet for too long

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dukeofonions · 3 years

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Sensing a pattern thanks to the critical fans' asks... I'm a professional producer who's attempted on numerous occasions (unsuccessfully) to secure Thomas for a part in a Broadway-bound musical. TL;DR: How he and his team -- not just friends, but "pros" -- "run their railroad" confuses the hell out of us, and is probably the biggest obstacle to his getting anywhere besides YouTube. Frankly, we now wonder if this is by design and not just typical lack of experience winning the race, as it were...

(Sorry it took so long to respond work has been killing me the past few days.)

Longer Version (1/?): We've been working on this musical for just over a decade, and after we discovered Thomas's long-form content and the singles he's released, we thought he was a good fit for it. Without going into detail, the show's always been kind of a long shot, for many reasons, but we (still) think it'd be a great showcase for his brand of talent. So we decided to approach him and to gauge his interest, since he'd discussed Broadway dreams before. And there, our troubles began...

(2/?) So, five years ago, we approached Thomas through his then-management, Reboot the People, a company that managed a *lot* of content creators back then. (Their remains still exist on Twitter @RTPfamily.) They may have been a little out of their depth when they heard our pitch, and wisely looped in his agent at the time, Ty Flynn at UTA, from whom we heard... nothing. Okay, maybe it wasn't his thing; we had other projects to pursue and we moved on but... we still kept an eye on his content.

(4/?) When we returned to the project a couple years later, Thomas was still a favorite for the part for which we had him in mind, and building a much bigger audience than before, so we decided to reach out again. The business fawsterdog email address, as I'm sure fans have discovered by now, is useless. No one there ever got back to us. More than that, when we tried to learn who was managing him now (at times pleading on Twitter and during streams for info), we kept hitting dead ends.

(5/?) We finally managed to obtain a lead when we watched the "NO ADDED SUGAR for a MONTH!" video, and someone described as Thomas's manager actually appeared on camera, Matt Hogen, the president of Direct Artist Management. Further Googling revealed Matt had apparently been his manager as far back as 2013, way earlier than we'd been directed to Reboot The People for business inquiries. To say this runaround was confusing as hell, *even for show business*, is the understatement to end them all!!!

(6/6) At that point, after all that confusion, we just gave up!! If we have to chase someone's representation to the ends of the earth, only to find out there was one person we should have been talking to the whole time, it's probably more convoluted behind the scenes, and we don't need that extra stress in our lives. Watching the recent storms unfold, and wondering how true to life the "Putting Others First" video is, we can only assume he likes the *idea* of career more than really having one...

(I lied, 7/7) Bottom line: he presents a picture of unreliability and a lack of professionalism both to his fans and to industry people, and -- assuming there's *any* autobiographical truth to Sanders Sides content -- it may be because he's deliberately not taking this seriously. If losing out on big opportunities is the price he pays for keeping his mental health and well being in check, that's fine. But it's not how you succeed in this business... in any business, really. I wish him the best...

Wow, that is a lot.

Well for starters (and I hope you don't take this the wrong way) I am the tiniest bit skeptical about this story being true. I mean I can definitely see it happening giving Thomas and the team's track record, but there are just a few things that make me hesitate.

For one thing I'm surprised that a professional producer found their way onto my blog (which I try to keep out of the open) and took the time to read through some asks then send an ask of their own. Not that it's impossible of course, because here you are. But you know anyone can claim to be anyone so I hope you don't mind my skepticism here.

And admittedly I'm not entirely sure how the producing world works along with agents, especially when it comes to getting someone cast for your show. I can't see Thomas turning an opportunity down like that unless he just wasn't interested or never knew about it.

Which, honestly, if you did try getting into contact with his agent and he was told about it and wasn't interested then ya know, the least they could do was tell you so you could start looking for someone else.

I did also find the Twitter account for Reboot The People and yeah, it's long since abandoned and I'm wondering how you even got directed there in the first place when he had a manager already (if I'm understanding the time line right)

I do kinda question the whole asking for answers in streams bit (since Thomas rarely if ever does public live streams and I don't think he did much back then the only streams he does consistently now are for patreons) and he never leaves them up anyway so it's not like I could go back and look through the chats (not that I would because I ain't got time for that) but again, it's not impossible for that to have happened. Just a tiny detail my brain got hooked on.

Even if I'm still somewhat doubtful about your story (again please don't take it the wrong way I just like to be sure before I 100% believe something) I do agree about Thomas and the team's lack of professionalism, just look at the Story Time Madlibs situation, and they continue to make decisions (especially within the patreon) that just continue to baffle me.

I mean at the end of the day no one knows what's going on behind the scenes. And as it stands Thomas has found enough success with YouTube where he's stable enough to make it his full time job and can go months or even a year without posting a video.

But he even brings this point up in one of his Sanders Sides videos that YouTube isn't a stable job, and you never know when everything can suddenly flip and before ya know it the job ain't as stable anymore, and at that point you've gotta have some kinda back up plan for if things go south.

Because eventually (and I've already seen it happening) people will just get bored without new content or just grow out of it and they'll move on. Even if they've got nothing against the creator, that's just what happens. Some will stick around but even then no one's bound to last forever. Especially when there's always new stuff to be found.

But hey, he's good where he's at for now so I guess one might as well enjoy it while they can. I would like to see him succeed in actually securing a bigger role (whether in a film, Broadway, or even a TV show) because I think he'd do really well and he has been contacted by Disney before to be in one of their shows so who knows?

#dukeofasks #long post #maybe its just a matter of time #but then again if no one can ever get ahold of the guy i can't see that happening any time soo #soon #is what i meant #i aint typing all that again im on mobile

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starlightkenobi · 4 years

Text

Tear You Apart // Anakin x Reader

rating: explicit

warnings: dom anakin, light choking, light hair pulling, mostly just pining tbh

a/n: inspired by the song “tear you apart” by she wants revenge, i love this song and its always given me possessive ani vibes,,, LIKE U WANNA LOOK ME IN THE EYES AND TELL ME THAT THIS ISNT END OF ROTS ANAKIN BEFORE HE GETS BURNT ? YOU GONNA TRY ? YOU CANT !

also: this is the longest thing i have written for this account and i am pretty darn proud of it which is rare for me, so i hope yall enjoy !!! 💕

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Got a big plan, this mindset maybe its right

At the right place and right time, maybe tonight

And the whisper or handshake sending a sign

Wanna make out and kiss hard, wait never mind

Anakin’s mind ebbed and flowed with the tide of people wandering the room. He always hated these formal Jedi gatherings, usually coming up with some convoluted scheme to get out of attending. Not tonight though, Obi Wan was completely fed up with Anakin’s usual antics. His stern voice still haunted his ears, and remembering it filled him with remnants of dread.

He was so sick of all of it. The annoyingly forced casual conversations, the same people, same faces, even the same damn Jedi robes, save the few senators mingled into the room. All of the people faded into one dull energy, like a black hole draining Anakin’s energy and enthusiasm. He was sure that if he had to choose between this and death, he would pick death without hesitation.

That was, until he layed his eyes on you.

You walked with such presence, such grace, that it was impossible for someone to not notice you. Your robes hugged your figure and flattered you in a way that Anakin didn’t even know was possible. Your hair hung around your head, flowing around you and illuminating your features like a halo. Which was quite possible, Anakin thought, considering you might be an actual angel in the flesh.

Your flesh. Anakin pictured how soft it would be under his touch, the goosebumps that would arise after the cold touch of his metal hand. To touch real skin, to have that real contact...Anakin was touch starved to be sure. But now, he was ravenous, and you were the only meal he’d seen in years.

A voice in his mind screamed at him, a voice that was very stern and similar to Obi Wan’s disappointed father-like tone, if he thought about it. But he didn’t want to think about it, he wanted to ignore the raging thoughts that screamed, Listen to yourself, Anakin. Your being gross and creepy. Calm down.

Luckily, he didn’t need to ignore them. The second you turned around and yours eyes met, he was gone. Those thoughts were drowned out by even louder ones that told him to scoop you up right there, claim you as his, test the feeling of his lips on yours.

Your lips looked so soft, and even from this distance he could almost feel them pressing against his skin, see them falling open in a drawn out moan. And your eyes, sparkling like the stars in the clear skies of Naboo on a dark night. Deep and endless like the expanse of space that he so often saw while piloting his starfighter. Even still, they were flowing with a lifetime of emotion and soul that couldn’t be seen in all of the other Jedi in this room combined.

Emotion, pure and raw emotion. He always felt so wrong and alone, being emotional. Considering he had been told all of his life that emotions were not the Jedi way. But you, standing in front of him right now, were made of pure emotion and experience and feeling, something that could not be put into words, but only expressed.

Anakin’s heart stopped as he realized that you were actually standing right in front of him. In his trance, you noticed him staring and decided to approach him.

“Hi, I don’t believe we’ve met.” No flattery, no pointless and boring casual conversation. You cut right to the chase, and it intrigued him even more.

“We definitely haven’t, there’s no way I would forget meeting you.” A smirk tugged at the corner of his lip, and your cheeks flushed. A lovely, tinted pink. “I’m Anakin. Skywalker.” He added his last name, hoping that you might recognize it.

“General Skywalker...I’ve heard tales of your escapades, and especially of your unusual war tactics.” Your blush begun to fade, but a light pink still remained. It was absolutely adorable, Anakin decided, and he wondered how flushed your face would get with his mouth trailing down your neck.

“Do my unusual tactics bother you?” Anakin asked, and he visibly appeared less tense then he did moments ago. You were so easy to talk to, and your force energy felt so soothing around him. He wanted to be enveloped in it. Maybe it was some circumstance of fate that he was forced to attend this gathering tonight. Maybe it was this same fate that brought him to you.

“Not at all. As a matter of fact, I’m intrigued.” You gave him your name, and reached your hand towards his, expecting him to shake it. However, the soft skin of your hand was too much of a temptation. As soon as he felt your touch, he pressed his lips gently to the back of your hand. Normaly, you would have been annoyed with the flirtatious advances of someone so early into meeting them. But this felt different, it felt new and strange and somehow, comforting.

Needless to say, you were completely drawn in and wanted more.

Late night, and passing, mention it flipped her

Best friend, who knows saying maybe it slipped

But the slip turns to terror and a crush to light

When she walked in, he froze up, believe its the fright

A deep breath of fresh air filled Anakin’s lungs as he stepped out onto the balcony. The crowds of people had been practically suffocating him, and to finally have some peace and quiet alone with the stars felt magical. Maybe this is what the Jedi mean when they say, “There is no emotion, there is peace.” Out here, with nothing but the endless black sky and the stars, Anakin did feel at peace. However, that didn’t stop the torrent of emotions swirling in his gut. So he figured that old, tired saying was bullshit anyways.

“Fancy seeing you out here.” He recognized it immediately. Your voice, like a serene melody, filled his ears. Immediately, he spun around, desperate to see your face again. This time, however, he felt nervous when he saw you. Afraid, even. So many thoughts were flooding his head all at once that it almost became to much.

“I...wasn’t expecting anyone to join me.” Ankain fumbled over his words, staggering to uphold his good impression on you.

“I can leave, if you’d prefer to be alone. I completely understand. These gatherings can get a bit...claustrophobic.” Your voice was softer now, and Anakin could tell that you were trying to mask the hurt in your tone. You would have turned around and walked away without a word, had he asked, but Anakin wouldn’t allow that. As soon as you turned to leave, he reached out toward your hand and took it in his own.

“No!” Anakin almost shouted, and even though he was afraid, he was ready to embrace any new and strange emotions if it meant getting to spend another moment with you. He steadied himself, preparing another sentence. “Your company is more than welcome.”

A smile tugged at your lips, reveling in his hand warming your now cool skin from the breeze. His hands were so much larger than yours, you noticed. Somehow, it made you feel safer, more comfortable. Anakin noticed and gripped your hand tighter.

Standing here, so close to you and in this lighting, he was finally able to see all of the fine detail in your eyes. The little speckles of color forming their own constellations in your galaxy. He could have sworn they were faintly glowing, each star producing its own aura of light.

You turned towards the sky, gazing up at it with all of the longing in the galaxy. Of course Anakin noticed it, he felt the same way about space. “Isn’t it beautiful?” Unconsciously, you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear that had blown out of place from the wind. “Each little star feels like it has a life of its own, it’s own personality and feelings and emotions. I guess that’s why space has always called to me, the stars don’t judge.”

Anakin, still holding your hand, turned to the sky with you. “Yeah. I know exactly what you mean.”

Its cute in a way, till you cannot speak

And you leave to have a cigarette, your knees get weak

An escape is just a nod and a casual wave

Obsessed about it, heavy for the next two days

After that first night together, meeting at the Jedi gathering and talking for hours out on the balcony, the only thing Anakin had in his mind was you. Sure, maybe he was a little obsessed, but you gave him this feeling, something that he had never really felt before. He had felt love before, for his mother and even for Obi Wan, so he knew what that felt like. Maybe, he felt that for you too.

But he felt something else as well, something new and strange. Lust, perhaps, but Anakin wasn’t ready to deal with that yet. Right now, Anakin was perfectly content with the secret meetings around the temple, the constant excuses just to get out of some task and see each other, the longing gazes, the phantom touches.

For a while, it was heaven. It was new and exciting and absolutely perfect. But this went on for days, weeks, and now almost two months. He craved feeling your touch in a way that the council would disapprove of. He wanted to break all of the rules, destroy all of the boundaries set by the Jedi, and he wanted to do it for you.

But he was patient, when he needed to be. If he had learned anything from Obi Wan, it was at least that. So he would wait until you made the first “not strictly platonic Jedi pals” move. He would never do anything to make you uncomfortable, or do something that you weren’t ready for. Maybe you hadn’t even considered breaking the rules, maybe you felt nothing for him. Deep down, Anakin knew this wasn’t true, he sensed your mutual feelings for him all the way back on the day you first met, and every day since.

Still, for you, Anakin would wait a lifetime.

It's only just a crush, it'll go away

It's just like all the others it'll go away

Or maybe this is danger and he just don't know

You pray it all away but it continues to grow

Anakin was struggling. Obi Wan sensed it, you sensed it, practically the whole council sensed it. But no one knew why. No one except him.

Anakin tried meditation, he tried training, he tried joy rides in his starfighter, he even tried sneaking off to a cantina. No matter what he did, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. It became a festering sore in the back of his mind, growing and growing with each passing day. It was getting out of hand, and he understood this. And it was frustrating as hell.

But it also felt so damn good to picture your body splayed out underneath him. He wanted to make you feel good. He needed to make you feel good. He owed that to you at least, for giving him this never ending sense of joy and content when he was around you. He did love you, and could say that with certainty now. And when it comes to love, you would do anything for the other person. That’s what Anakin believed, at least. He just needed to wait a little longer, wait until you confessed your feelings and pressed your lips to his. His waited a lifetime to find someone like you, he can wait a little longer.

But even the most patient person needs to relieve the tension a little bit sometimes.

I want to hold you close

Skin pressed against me tight

Lie still, and close your eyes girl

So lovely, it feels so right

Anakin’s hands dragged up your body, gripping your skin tight enough to leave bruises. You felt so perfect around him, moaning and whimpering and begging for more.

At least, that’s what he hoped you would be doing in this situation. His hands weren’t even really on your body at all. One was fisted in the sheets while the other stroked up and down on his stiff cock. He had been at this for a little bit by now, and was already so close to the edge. He just needed your voice, your perfect voice, telling him how good he felt inside of you to send him over.

“A-Ani...you feel...s-so good, you make me feel so good!”

He could almost hear you, if he tried hard enough.

I want to hold you close

Soft breasts, beating heart

As I whisper in your ear

Streaks of hot cum painted his chest and hand, some even reaching up to touch his chin. His chest heaved, the last images of your body flooding his head. Your breasts painted with his cum was an image he wanted to keep with him, one that he hoped to recreate some day.

It was criminal, the things you did to him. He could only hope that you were feeling like this now too. Still panting and in his post orgasm haze, he closed his eyes and whispered aloud. He called out to you through the force, hoping that somehow you would hear him whisper,

“I want to fucking tear you apart.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Then he walked up and told her, thinking that he'd passed

And they talked and looked away a lot, doing the dance

Her hand brushed up against his, she left it there

Told him how she felt and then they locked in a stare

Both your’s and Anakin’s laughter filled the room. You were both hiding out in your quarters due to currently ditching a Jedi council meeting. Easily and casually, the laughter and conversation filled the room, and you both felt like a bunch of younglings who had skipped a training class.

As the laughter died down, you turned to face him. His laughter was one of the many things you loved about him. It was full and genuine and raw in a way that touched you emotionally. A way that you no longer wished to ignore.

“How long are we going to keep ignoring this?”

Anakin’s traded his smile for the look of a confused puppy. “What?”

You composed yourself, wanting to choose your words carefully. “I mean...the fact that we both have feelings for each other.”

Oh, Anakin thought.

Oh.

He was relieved that you were finally deciding to open up this can of worms, but he was still nervous and frankly, terrified of the possible outcome of this conversation. He looked away from you, unable to bring himself to make eye contact.

Taking it upon yourself to initiate some sort of contact, you tentatively reached for his hand. It brushed up against his, so you gently placed it on top of his and left it there.

“I’m tired of worrying about what the council thinks, aren’t you?” You questioned, still waiting for Anakin to look at you.

Slowly, his eyes met yours. He saw the lack of fear, lack of inhibition. You really wanted this, you wanted him. Your hand tightened its grip on his, your thumb slowly running along his skin.

“I love you, Anakin.” Your voice cane out hushed, as if you were afraid someone else would hear, even though you were alone.

They took a step back, thought about it, what should they do

'Cause there's always repercussions when you're dating in school

But their lips met, and reservations started to pass

Whether this was just an evening or a thing that would last

“Are you sure that you want this? Are you ready to deal with the potential repercussions from the council? I just don’t want to hurt you, and I certainly don’t want to start anything that you aren’t ready for.”

You chuckled at his restraint. Still, you appreciated how much he cared for you. Clearly it was a lot, considering that you felt his desperation you through the force to just take you, but he was holding back anyways. For you.

“Believe me, Anakin. I’m ready. You don’t have to hold back.” You were looking at him with such lust, such need, that Anakin knew this was an invitation, and he accepted it with open arms.

Either way he wanted her and this was bad

He wanted to do things to her it was making him crazy

Now a little crush turned into a like

And now he wants to grab her by the hair and tell her

He pinned you back onto the bed, gathering your wrists into one hand. Frantically, as if he was afraid you would disappear, he nipped and sucked at your neck, leaving marks that he knew the council would notice. Neither of you cared anyways.

It didn’t matter what the council thought, Anakin was ravenous. He wanted all of you, and now with your enthusiastic permission, he was going to take it.

His free hand tangled into your hair and pulled your head back, giving him easier access to your neck. You were squirming, whining, you needed to be touched. You had waited for this just as long as he had, so he would keep the teasing to a minimum.

He let go of your wrists and hair, shooting you a warning glare. “Keep them there.” His voice was deep, dominant, and it shot daggers through you. This sent a shiver down to your core.

I want to hold you close

Skin pressed against me tight

Lie still, and close your eyes girl

So lovely, it feels so right

You were both stripped down now, his eyes traveling up your naked body. You were more beautiful than he could have ever pictured. His lips crashed forcefully against yours, and he slowly grinded against you. He needed to feel your skin pressed tightly against him, hust kike he had pictured before. Except this time, you were real. He was really feeling your skin against his and it felt so perfect and right and better than any sort of peace and serenity the Jedi talked about.

“Close your eyes, baby.” Anakin said in a hushed tone as he pulled away from your lips. Immediately and with a whimper, you obeyed. Anakin chuckled at this, your eager obedience. “Good girl.” He growled. A soft moan fell from your lips as you squirmed, but still keeping your hands firmly placed above your head.

I want to hold you close

Soft breasts, beating heart

As I whisper in your ear

One hand finally made contact with your throbbing clit, while the other went to play with your breasts. Your heartbeat was so strong and quick that Anakin could feel it when he played with your breast.

“Your heart is beating so fast, like a little bunny.” He pinched your nipple, somehow knowing the exact pressure to use and how much to tug it to make you moan.

A finger slipped inside of you, giving you some sort of realese of the pressure building in your cunt. Suddenly, Anakin’s breath was fanning over the side of your face. It tickled your ear and made you squirm more than you already are.

Gently, he placed a loving kiss to your cheek, before moving his hand from your breast to your throat and lightly squeezing, while he whispered in your ear,

“I want to fucking tear you apart.”

#ok so before anyone says anything i know that rabbits arent technically a thing in star wars #BUT i thought of that line and thought it was really hot so i used it anyways #anakin skywalker #star wars #fanfic #the clone wars #smut #anakin x reader #anakin smut

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cagestark · 5 years

Text

-Proxy Chapter 2-

Chapter One | Chapter Two

Warning: for some reason not of my italics have transferred over from AO3. My heart aches. Now you can’t imagine the wild inflections in my voice, if I were narrating this to you. i’m truly sorry. Thanks

Read here on AO3.

Whatever the hell that was—Tony can’t seem to put it behind him. It should be easy. All he did was hook up the young man he’s mad for with a beautiful woman. That’s normal. People do that all the time. So what if he watched them suck each other’s souls out. So what if he saw the kid hard. Big deal. Not the weirdest thing to ever happen to Tony. Not by far.

But he can’t stop thinking about it. The number of inappropriate erections (and really, there is no appropriate erection when it comes to pining after your nineteen-year-old mentee and teammate) he’s found himself sporting at all hours of the day increases exponentially. The seedy part of his mind that files away Peter’s orgasmic sounds is now teeming with new data: the flash of the young man's pearly teeth, the glimpse of pink tongue, the whine—

Tony is having more wet dreams now than he has in the last fifteen years combined. He fixes that by not sleeping. Genius solution.

He almost convinces himself that it’s sleep deprivation on Saturday when Peter returns from university, when he raises his chin and sets his jaw and asks if Tony knows like, anyone who would be willing to have sex with him.

“FRIDAY—”

“No stroke, boss.”

“Is that crazy to ask?” Peter says, pulling at his hair. “Who am I kidding, that’s like, totally crazy. Oh my God. I’m so sorry Mr. Stark. Please pretend I didn’t say anything.”

“I’m actually not completely convinced that I heard you correctly in the first place, so run it by me one more time.”

“I just—the kissing lesson, it worked out really well. But, I’ve still got no other experience. I mean, obviously I’m a—a virgin,” Peter says. His face is red as a tomato. “There’s so much pressure! Everybody says that the first time has to be with someone special and it’s going to mean so much and all the build up has me so nervous I just want to be sick. I want to get it over with.”

“So.”

“So I was wondering if, you knew anybody who would be willing to be my…my first. Time. You know.”

Tony rubs at his forehead. Stroke or not, he’s getting a headache. His mind feels fit to bursting, and the whole thing makes him vaguely sick. What the fuck is he supposed to say to this? Part of him wants to tell Peter to go out the old-fashioned way: pick up a person at a fucking bar or something for God’s sake. But this is Peter. His Peter. Not his Peter—but totally his Peter. Does he want the kid in a bar, buying some stranger drinks? Does he want Peter’s first time (and yeah, maybe it’s not such a big deal as some people make it out to be, but it’s all relative anyway, and the point is that Peter feels vulnerable about it), does he want to leave it up to some fumbling college student?

“I—I’ll make a call.”

But ten seconds with his phone in his hand has him coming back into the room. He gets the briefest glimpse of Peter sitting hunched over with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands, muttering something under his breath before the kid looks up, eyes wide and wild.

“What kind of genitals are we talking about?” asks Tony.

“What?”

“I literally don’t know how to be more straightforward than that. Gender—sex—personal preferences for genitals and orientations. Because, to be perfectly honest, right now Natasha is at the top of my list again. What do you think?”

“Actually, I—I want a man. A cis man, I guess—the, you know, the penis—”

“You want a penis.”

“I mean, yeah, ideally. I’m pansexual but, I kind of want to—” Peter trails off, mumbling.

“I’m getting old, Peter, speak up—”

“I want to bottom. Oh my God, could I like, drop dead right now? Please?”

Tony is wondering the same thing—about himself. Peter wants a dick in his ass. Okay. Nothing wrong with that. Not like Tony hasn't taken a few himself in his time. Tony has a perfectly functioning sex organ that could absolutely fit the parameters that Peter is looking to fill, but there’s no reason to bring that up. Because surely if the kid was interested in Tony, he’d come out and say something.

“And sex workers, are you yay, nay—?”

“I mean, MJ says that s-sex is a service—”

“Got it. Go get some water. Lay down. Are you about to pass out right now? Jesus, kid, take a breath.”

Tony makes some calls. Sex work is still illegal in New York City, but Tony knows plenty of people who indulge. As long as everything is safe and consensual, Tony could care less; he figures he has real crimes to worry about. A friend leads him to a friend who recommends a man closer to Peter’s age than either of them are to Tony, and the description is, well, everything Tony could hope for, for Peter’s partner: blonde, built, flexible (“and I mean that in many ways, Tony, many ways,” his friend had guaranteed), and talented enough.

He can be at the penthouse in two hours.

Upstairs, Peter is literally shaking.

“You don’t have to do this,” Tony says. “I can call him off. You can call him off, at any time. There’s nothing wrong with waiting, kid, and there’s nothing wrong with being nervous about your first time. That just means it’s important to you.”

“I’m not backing out,” Peter says. His eyes are ablaze, even if they can’t catch on Tony’s for longer than a few moments at a time.

Tony feels like he’s leading the kid to the gallows. He turns away to plant his hands flat on the glossy wood of the bar and berate himself. “This is not normal,” Tony mutters.

“Nothing about my life ever is,” Peter says. When Tony glances over his shoulder, the kid gives a smile that (while it is shaky) is genuine. It hits Tony then, that this young man he’s infatuated with is actually going to fuck someone else, thanks to Tony. Of all the stupid, convoluted plans that Tony has cooked up or carried out, this one is truly up there with the worst of them. His self-destructive strategies are downright legendary. This is one for the goddamn books.

“Boss?” FRIDAY says. “A Mr. Finch is here. Shall I direct him to the penthouse?”

Tony looks to Peter. Peter nods.

“Go ahead, baby,” Tony says to her.

He braces a hand on the kid’s shoulder, lest he blow away in the draft from the air conditioning vent. Peter leans into the touch. This is Tony’s life. He gets to put warm fatherly hands on the kid’s shoulder while the man who fucks him rides up in the elevator.

When the doors part, there is a very handsome twenty-eight-year-old on the other side. He is taller than Tony and Peter, obviously well taken care of: dressed nicely, groomed, with soft looking hair and eyes cornflower blue. His clothes are well tailored to display his fit body, and Tony stands them side by side internally, measures them up so he can see all the ways that he falls short. This is the best choice for Peter. Peter deserves someone like this, not some broken old man.

“I take it you’re Peter?” the guy says. He’s got a bag slung over his shoulder that he shifts to reach out and shake Peter’s hand, and the size difference between the two makes Tony swallow. The man flashes Tony a smile. He teases warmly: “I know who you are.”

“Most do,” Tony says. Tony ignores the outstretched hand. Still, he feels slimy. "Tony."

“I’m Daniel. Are you joining us?”

Tony nearly chokes. “No—just handing him off into your expert hands—”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter says lowly. “Could I, could I talk to you about something?”

They leave Daniel on the sofa and convene behind the bar, standing close enough to whisper without being overheard. Tony literally can’t imagine what else Peter could want from him, maybe a blood oath, maybe Tony’s heart or head on a platter. But what the kid asks for is actually so, so much worse.

“Will you stay, Mr. Stark?” Peter looks at him with huge, swimming eyes. “I’m—I’m nervous. I’d just feel better if I wasn’t alone.”

“You want me to stay.”

“I mean. Yeah.”

“You want me to be in the room while you fuck Abercrombie and Finch over there?”

Peter groans, pressing his palm to his eyes. “Okay, never mind, you’re right, that’s way too much. You’ve already done so much for me, and of course you wouldn’t want to be there, that’s, like, that’s gross right? It’s just, I know you’d never let anything happen to me, and—”

The problem is that Tony can’t ever tell the kid no.

That’s how he ends up in the armchair of his largest guest bedroom watching Steve Roger’s Jr. and Peter sitting on the bed together, talking.

“A virgin? Oh, that’s awesome,” Daniel says. He's got a surfer vibe going to him, much better suited for Malibu than New York City.

“Really?” Peter asks flatly.

“Yeah. Virgins are really great partners: very teachable, very thoughtful. You get a guy who’s been having sex for years and they think they’re sex Gods or something, they think the way they’ve been doing it is the right way, just because they’ve been doing it for so long,” Daniel blathers. Tony squints. This punk isn’t talking about him, right? He’s not even glancing at Tony (except for sometimes, when he smiles soft and sweet). Surely, it’s just Tony’s own raging insecurities. He’s not like those people. He’s fucking Tony Stark. Adaptation is his middle name.

“That, actually that makes me feel a little better. Thanks,” Peter says. His hands are clasped in his lap, knuckles white. “Do we need to talk about anything else, like, like protection and stuff?”

“Condoms are a must, and I brought my own, I hope that’s okay.”

“Yeah, of course—”

“I’m down for giving or receiving oral and anal, down for any light kink. No means no—if one of us says no, we stop. You trust me to do that and I trust you, that’s what this partnership is all about.”

“That sounds fair,” Peter says. Tony agrees from where he’s wishing to become a ghost in the corner. He idly wishes that maybe the floor will open up and swallow him whole, but Tony has never been so lucky. “I kind of want to receive, I guess. If that’s okay.”

“Of course. Don’t worry, Peter, I’ll do all the heavy lifting. You just relax and have a good time. Do you want to get started?”

“I mean, okay.”

Daniel ducks his neck, takes Peter’s chin in his hand and kisses him. This is worse, so much worse than watching him be with Natasha, because at least Tony likes Natasha, knows and trusts her. At least Tony knows the kind of person she is and that she wouldn’t take Peter’s vulnerability for granted. This stranger doesn’t even know the kind of gift Peter is giving him.

Peter seems receptive enough. Tony can almost see the cogs in Peter’s mind working while he remembers everything he learned with Natasha. Delicately, his hand comes up to rest on Daniel’s jaw, and the blond man hums. Their heads turn more, cheeks hollowing as their lips part and tongues touch. Suddenly Peter breaks off the kiss, pulling back a little, eyes fluttering open. He goes back in—but then he breaks off again, a little furrow forming between his eyebrows.

“Too much tongue,” Tony mutters, more to himself than anyone else.

Daniel breaks the kiss, glancing over to the shadows where Tony is gathering dust like a perverted, decrepit vampire. The guy’s lips are slick and pink from how rough he’s been, and they’ve only been kissing for a minute or two. “Sorry, did you say something?”

Tony clears his throat. He waves a hand towards them. “You’re using too much tongue—the kid’s not into it.”

Daniel blanches. He looks to Peter who ducks his head, face red.

“It was great,” Peter says. “Just—wet.”

“Okay,” Daniel says, slow. “Less tongue. Got it.”

When they resume kissing, it’s obvious that the blond is taking Tony’s advice to heart. The kissing seems softer, more sensual, and Peter begins to shift on the lush bedspread like he’s antsy and can’t keep still. The erection he’s sporting might have something to do with that. Tony can’t help but be a little hard himself after a while, when the kid starts making these cute little noises in the back of his throat that Daniel swallows whole, when Peter shifts and kneels up a little until the two are equal height and Daniel pulls him onto his lap. He looks so tiny there, probably resting flush up against Daniel’s hard cock—because of course the guy will be hard, who wouldn’t get hard with such a sweet young man in their lap kissing them so feverishly?

Daniel coaxes Peter onto his back. His dark clothes blend into the dark bedspread, but Tony knows that when he’s naked (and okay, okay, somehow Tony didn’t even think of that, didn’t think that he’d been seeing the kid naked which now that he acknowledges it is quite obvious but also both terrifying and arousing), anyway, when the kid is naked, his skin is going to glow it will be so pale spread against the black sheets.

Tony lifts one leg to rest the ankle on his knee and hopefully obscure his hard on, because for some reason the kid keeps glancing over to Tony with this look on his face, like he’s wondering, Am I doing okay? Is this okay? Tony has no answers for those questions, because Daniel is pushing up the hem of Peter’s t-shirt exposing that pale midriff, the light pink nipples that are already pebbled from arousal. On his back like this, Peter’s erection is more obvious, a nice average sized bulge in his skinny jeans that makes him hiss whenever Daniel brushes against it.

The jealousy is intense. Worse is just the longing, the desperation to cross that room and push the blond aside and place the most sensual, sucking kisses along that torso, to feel the weight of the Peter’s cock against his palm.

This will ruin Tony; he knows it. There will never be a chance of recovery from this, not when he knows how the kid looks and sounds in the throws of passion.

This will change everything.

Daniel reaches Peter’s nipples and licks across one with the flat of his tongue. Peter keens, his hips jerking upward desperate for friction. God, Peter’s so sensitive (and couldn't Tony have already guessed that from 'senses dialed to eleven'?), tangling his fingers in the bedsheets, eyes squeezed shut, mouth fallen open just from someone tonguing at his nipples. Tony can’t help but watch his expression as he pants—but then the furrow between his flat brows is back, mouth pinching together. Tony flicks his eyes down to Daniel who is biting at what is surely one of Peter’s most sensitive places—

“Stop,” Tony says.

Daniel jerks back like he’s been stung, glancing over his shoulder at Tony, face exasperated. Beyond him, Tony sees Peter’s face though, and it is relieved. It is grateful. It is trusting, those whiskey eyes burning into Tony’s, mouth curling up a little. “What is it now?” Daniel asks.

“He’s sensitive—”

“Are you sure you don’t want to join us?”

“—just be gentler with him, look at him, he doesn't like it when you—”

“He’s liking it just fine,” Daniel says, reaching down to squeeze at Peter’s cock pointedly. The kid yelps.

Tony stands up, one heartbeat away from activating his suit, because that did not sound like a yelp of pleasure—the blond must see the expression on Tony’s face because his hands fly upwards. Stop, don’t shoot!

“I get it,” Daniel says quickly. “More gentle. Sensitive. Noted.”

Immediately Tony feels like a fucking idiot. What was he going to do, blow the guy away with one of his gauntlets? He resumes his seat, determined not to say another word. He’s just supposed to be here for moral support, a flower on the wall.

“I like it,” Peter pants. His face is bright red even in the dim lighting.

“You like what, baby?” Daniel asks. The guy glances over his shoulder at Tony, brow raised, a pointed see? that makes Tony want to light him up. “Me being a little rough?”

Peter blushes. “No—um. When Mr. Stark tells you how to do it.”

That revelation silences the room and holds it in anticipation for several long moments. Tony’s mouth goes dry, cock aching between his legs. Daniel looks baffled, glancing from Peter sprawled on the bed to Tony in the armchair with all the caution of a man walking a minefield.

“I—okay?” Daniel says. He looks to Tony, shrugging a shoulder. “You cool with that?”

Tony rubs at the space between his eyebrows. How to say that no he’s not fucking okay with it! but also, it's going to make him harder than he's ever been. He’s yet to perfect how to say two opposing things in the same breath, though. This is all too much, it’s crossing lines he never even imagined approaching (alright, there might have been some imagining, but certainly no concrete steps taken). As he opens his mouth to say no, he spots the look on the kid’s face: anxious, eager, imploring.

And he can’t tell this kid no.

“Alright,” says Tony.

“Are you sure, Mr. Stark?” Peter breaths. He’s still hard. “I know this is so, so weird.”

“It’s like you said, kid, our whole lives are weird. Okay—well—go on, I guess. Action?” Tony claps his hands like a fucking clapperboard.

Daniel’s mouth twitches. “What should I do? Mr. Stark.”

In for a penny, in for a pound, Tony thinks. “Put your mouth back on his nipples, but be gentle with him this time. He’s sensitive. Whatever you’re thinking of as sensitive, you probably aren’t even close. It won’t take much just—” Daniel is following his direction, leaning down to lick a sweet, soft line over Peter’s left nipple. He takes it into his mouth and suckles at it, all soft and sweetness, and Peter whines, his hands coming up to clutch at the blond strands of hair. “There you go. See? That’s—that’s how he likes it.

“Switch, don’t overstimulate him too soon. He's likely to get overwhelmed by new stimulus. Use your hand to flick—yes, there you go. Gentle. He’s—” Precious, Tony thinks. He swallows. “He’s delicate.”

“Am not,” Peter moans, drawing the words out. His hips arch upwards, but Daniel is to the side of him and not looming over him, so there’s nothing for Peter’s aching cock to rub against.

“Shirt off,” Tony says. His mouth is so dry, he’d kill for a whiskey, neat. “It’s getting in the way.”

They sit up, puppets under his control. Let no one say that Tony doesn’t have control issues, that he doesn’t enjoy people following his explicit instructions, because all of this has him even harder than he thought himself possible to be without any physical stimulus, leaking precum in his pants, balls throbbing in time with his heart. Peter’s head disappears and then reappears as the shirt is tugged up and off, his curls rustled and messy. His eyes are heavy lidded—looking over Daniel’s shoulder at Tony.

“Kiss his neck,” Tony says, hopeful to get the kid to shut his eyes. That gaze is doing nothing healthy to him. “You know the drill. If you suck, suck softly. He bruises easily.”

Peter does shut his eyes, his head tilting back, mouth open in a silent sigh of pleasure. He shudders when Daniel kisses at the spot behind his ear, nipples beading to tiny aching points on his chest. “Please,” Peter breathes.

Tony inhales sharply. His hands are shaking where he clutches at the armrests of the chair to keep from palming his own cock. “Press him back down into the bed—lay over him. Give him something to grind up against. He’s needy.”

“What if he cums?” Daniel asks, already following instructions. Peter keens, his hips rutting up, ankles coming around to hook behind the older man's legs. Daniel mirrors him with a long groan, their hard cocks rubbing together, dry humping like two desperate teenagers instead of one. Meanwhile, Tony sits with the Eiffel Tower between his legs, trying to pretend like it isn’t even there.

“Hold off, Peter,” Tony says. His voice comes out a little harder than he intends it to, but the kid just nods furiously, eyes squeezed shut.

Peter whines unhappily, slowing his hips and letting his ankles come down from around the blond's legs until his feet are flat on the bed, toes curled. He shakes with the effort to hold himself still, teeth clenched. His eyes are misty and dazed when he opens them and searches for Tony’s face. “Yes Mr. Stark,” he says through his teeth. “I—I’ll try—”

Daniel snorts a little where he’s got his head in the crook of Peter’s neck, still placing wet kisses. “It really is like that, isn’t it?”

“What?” Peter breathes, distracted.

“You wish it was Tony Stark fucking you.”

Tony blinks. Peter shudders, eyes popping open.

“What?” Peter gasps. “I—what?”

Daniel resumes the grinding of his hips, the shock of his announcement waning the erection in the younger man’s pants. It’s simulated sex, the way he thrusts down, like they’re already undressed, like he’s stretched the kid open with his fingers and is balls deep inside him, thrusting to touch his belly button from the inside. The whole time, Peter’s eyes stare at the ceiling, wide and unseeing. “Yeah, that’s what gets you off, doesn’t it, baby? You like imagining dirty old men touching you and taking you, don’t you? It might as well be Tony fucking you right now, isn’t that right?”

Peter bursts into tears.

Tony crosses the room in three steps, planting a hand on Daniel’s shoulder and wrenching him off the bed. The younger man sprawls across the floor, tailbone thudding against the carpet, still dressed save for his shoes that he dropped off at the door. “Get out,” Tony says coldly.

“Jesus, man, you’re not allowed to touch me like that—”

“Get out, before I have you escorted off my property.”

“Fuck, I’m going. Christ. I don’t need all this Shakespearean bullshit anyway.” Daniel grabs his bag that he’d left at the foot of the bed, the one with the condoms and lube that he never got the chance to use. He gives Tony a cold look. “By the way, my fee is non-refundable. Don’t ever ask for me again.”

“Be thankful if it’s just the door that hits you on the way out,” Tony says.

Peter is sitting on the bed cross-legged, weeping into his hands. His shirt rests abandoned on the floor somewhere near Tony’s armchair. Carefully, he edges to the bed and gingerly sits on the dark bedspread. Jesus, what a shitshow this turned out to be, he thinks to himself. He goes to place a hand on the kid’s shoulder but thinks twice, not wanting to touch the bare skin, not after what Banana Republic said to upset him so much. “Peter—I won’t ask if you’re okay, because I do have eyes and clearly you aren’t, but—are you hurt?”

Peter shakes his head. Tony breaths a small sigh of relief.

“Want me to chase him down and let him kiss my gauntlet? I can have FRIDAY stop the elevator with him in it.”

Peter gives a wet laugh. He draws his palms away from his face, and his eyes are red and tender, cheeks damp with tears. Wiping at them with the back of his hand, he shakes his head again. “No—that’s illegal, Mr. Stark. He was just doing his job.”

“The offensive dirty talk? That wasn’t in his job description. I’m sorry, kid. He shouldn’t have said those things to you.”

The young man won’t even look at him, staring down at where his bare ankles cross, sniffing. “It wasn’t offensive,” Peter mutters, stopping Tony mid-sentence.

“Then—?”

“Mr. Stark, I’m so sorry,” Peter says, fresh tears dripping down his cheeks and off of his pointed little chin. He wrings his hands, knuckles white. “I really messed things up. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Peter, it’s okay,” promises Tony. “If anything, this is my fault. You just wanted more experience, and you trusted me to find someone—”

Peter looks him in the eye. There's a heat there, angry coals stoked back to blazing. “God, Mr. Stark. You’re so stupid. Natasha warned me, but I said there was no way you’d be this stupid.”

“Excuse me?”

“Daniel was right,” Peter says, voice raising with every word. “When, when I touch myself—I imagine it’s you. When I was with him, I just wanted to pretend he was you. When I asked you if you knew anyone who would help me with, with kissing and sex, I wanted you to offer, you dummy!”

#starker #nff #cagewrites #longfic

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neopuff · 4 years

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hello, i hope you're having a good day!! i was wondering, do you have any tips for making amvs? like, what programmes you use, how you handle the timing, etc. thank you for all the fun edits you make!!

hi!! sorry for the delay in answering this, i just wanted to take the time to answer it thoroughly and i kept forgetting lol & thank you! i already typed this once and tumblr made it disappear so i apologize if anything i say comes out short ‘cause i’m just trying to remember all that i typed before lol

ok so ill just go through my general editing process in Vegas, i dont know any other program well enough to talk about it at length:

(disclaimer: this is just how i do it, i dont watch tutorials and my editing friends and i don’t watch each other edit often so i would assume that my way is very different from other ways you’ve probably seen! i might even do something in a very stupidly hard way, please feel free to tell me if theres an easier way to do anything lol)

1. Song: So skipping past the “choosing song and ship/character/show” theme, I’ll dive straight into CUTTING THE SONG! I’m not about that Editing The Entire Song life, and neither is most of the editing community anymore, so I cut it up into a shorter thing that I’m better equipped to edit to. I’m just using a random example but here I’ve taken this long ass song and turned it into this:

(the next step just kind of depends on my mood, or ill do both, doesnt matter)

2-A. Subclips: if im making a shorter video or a video where i’m not 100% super familiar with the footage, i will immediately start making subclips using the episodes ive already pulled into the project. if it’s a ship/character that i’ve edited before, i’ll just go to Import->Media from Project and import the subclips i made previously. either way, subclips are there!

2-B. Sheets: for ships that i know very well/have a lot of footage/im concerned about potentially repeating something, i will go to Google Sheets/Excel and take the lyrics im editing to and put them in column A, separating by pauses in the singing. then i put corresponding footage i think will go well in column B! im often not super specific because i know the beats are gonna be different than i remember, so i usually stick to referencing whole scenes instead of specifics moments. here’s an example:

3. Clip placement: Then I start placing clips down! Below is how I organize my timeline tho I know a lot of editors who put the music on top, this is just how I like it. I also keep a single muted audio layer in between for the video footage’s audio and then I’ll delete that layer when I’m done (or sometimes I don’t, it doesn’t really matter)

I think it’s good to hit the beats as much as possible, it makes for a more dynamic audio-visual experience! In general I try to make my videos so that, if I didn’t add any zooms or typography or coloring, it would still be a good amv. And don’t limit yourself to just one layer, you can have as many layers as you’d like and put clips on top of each other (cookie cutter/changing the layer to dodge or add or screen or whatever) is a good way to mix things up

when I zoom in you can see I’ve got some variety already in my transitions, I know I use that motion-blur-zoom a lot these days but I still try to mix it up and keep my brain invested

4. Typography: After all the clips have been placed (or most of the clips, ofc sometimes I’ll want to add more later) I move on to typography! I’m lazy so the first thing I’ll do it just put down unedited text where I think I’ll want it to go. It just helps me organize myself. Then I’ll pretty up the text afterwards.

Typography isn’t necessary for a good AMV, but really nice typography can really spruce things up. I’ve only very recently gotten confident in my text editing skills, and I just kept watching typography done by editors I really like until I figured out what they were doing. My recommendation is to just KEEP ADDING EFFECTS! Convolution kernel, gaussian blur, mask the text so it appears from angles that the transitions wouldn’t be able to do - of course there’s gotta be a limit for taste, but just add stuff until you like how it looks. Also changing the blending style of the text layer is good, dodge and difference are my go-tos for typography layers.

5. Transitions: I don’t go crazy with transitions, but it’s fun to mess around with them. You don’t want too many crazy/different transitions, you want them to match the mood of the song and the type of beat you’re hitting. I usually ensure that all similar beats in the song have the same transition type on them, bbbbbbut that’s cuz I’m overly obsessed with parallel structure. There’s plenty of fantastic AMVs where they just go ham and do whatever types of transitions they want to in each part of the song and they make it work just fine

(next step, once again, kind of depends on my mood lol)

6-A. Zooms: Time for zooms! I usually just use the pan/crop for zooming, but often I’ll incorporate Sapphire FX BlurMoCurves or NewBlue AutoPan, especially if I’m trying to zoom typography with the footage at the same rate. I try to keep my zooms short and slower, I mean obv it just depends on the song but yeah. There’s a lot of different ways to do zooms so I recommend experimenting and just playing around with different effects

6-B. Zooms...but different: Another way that I’ll do zooms which is definitely pretty different (but this is what I do for crossovers like 95% of the time because I am laaaaaaaaaaazy) is I’ll drag the project into a new project timeline and start editing it there. It’s similar to how After Effects works and it makes it easier to put effects overtop of multiple layers without having to pre-render anything.

So you can see I’ve just pulled in the .VEG file and popped it in the timeline! So this way I can add zooms and transitions without worrying about layers. And if I see a mistake I need to fix, I can just go back into the original .VEG file and edit it, and it’ll be edited when I come back here. So it’s much easier than pre-rendering or trying to do zooms on a lot of layers. To be clear tho, this doesn’t work well if you have a lot of fade transitions, it’s best for sharp transitions and it’s great when you’re using Sapphire FX BlurMoCurves a lot.

7. Overlays: After that I’ll add more typography (or if you didn’t add any earlier, you can add some here overtop of the new project file) that kind of goes on top of everything. And then I’ll add any overlays or objects or whatever else I wanna add! I’m not someone who uses a lot of backgrounds cuz I don’t have a background-creative-brain so I stick to simple overlays at the most.

8. Coloring!!! This is very sad but I only JUST learned a few weeks ago that you can add coloring/effects to your entire video with this button here, so in case anyone else hates watching tutorials as much as I do here’s where I’m talking about:

This shit would’ve made my life so much easier throughout the years lol But alas. Anyway so for coloring there are some effects that are popular for any colorings you’ll find on YT (but you can certainly just download some, Riverdale editors in particular share a lot of really great colorings but you’ll find them anywhere in the live action editing community):

Channel Blend, Color Curves, Color Blend, Color Balance, Convolution Kernel (best for live action footage or footage that isnt very crisp), Color Corrector Secondary

These are all just fun to mess with. Channel Blend in particular is something of a mystery for me, I haven’t studied it fully to understand what I’m doing so I mostly just mess with it randomly until I like what I see lol

9. Render time! First render, anyway. Usually there’ll be some random problem in the footage or something and I’ll have to either go back into the project and fix it OR if I’m feeling particularly sour (or maybe if I’ve rendered like 3-4 times already) I will just take the finished render and manually remove any errors, stretching out the good footage to cover my tracks. You’d be surprised how often I end up doing that lol

And then it’s good to post! I primarily render as .WMV but I also go for .MP4s every once in a while. If I want to upload it to Twitter I’ll do an .MP4 but it’s a new thing for me so I’m still stuck on .WMV mostly.

Anyway I hope this answered your question at least a little bit, I can go into more detail about certain parts of this if you’d like!

#anon asks #carro answers #sony vegas #magix vegas #editing #long post

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jemimasillabub · 5 years

Text

Fair warning, this is going to be long and probably convoluted, since this spans over at least a year.

So I’m an asexual panromantic. I’ve known since I was a freshman in college, honestly probably even earlier but I was afraid to admit it to myself. The reason I was afraid to admit it? I’m also a Mormon. For those of you that may not know, Mormons believe that being gay is a sin. Well, they don’t believe that “struggling with same sex attraction” is a sin, they believe that actually acting on “same sex attraction” is the sin. So basically, my church believes that people were born gay, but it’s a test, and that actually dating and so on with people of your same sex is a sin. And I’m not going to get into trans people right now. My church is also big on the whole “multiply and replenish the earth” thing, so me being both asexual and panromantic is kind of a no no. I still believe in most of the rest of my church, however, which is why I haven’t left, but I’m sure you can imagine that it’s kind of a strain on my life.

So now that you know the background, let’s get into the actual story.

I came out to my parents my senior year of college. I didn’t think they would really mind, but there’s always that feeling of doubt. I still remember from years previous how my parents, my mom particularly, would talk about how disgusting and wrong gay people were. But then they’d turn around and say they’d love me no matter what. And that’s how lots of kids and teenagers seem to get trapped by their parents. But my parents were fine with it, if a bit confused. They seem to think I’ll grow out of it or that when I find “the one” that I’ll change, but whatever.

Now fast forward to the summer of 2019. My cousin, who is a girl, is engaged to another girl. My aunt, her mom, visited us for something (I can’t remember now) along with my grandpa. I was in the kitchen, baking and cleaning dishes, and they were in the living room straight ahead. My aunt, grandpa, and mom start talking about my cousin and her upcoming wedding. My aunt is going on and on about what a hardship it is, and how SHE DOESN’T KNOW IF SHE’S EVEN GOING TO ATTEND THE WEDDING BECAUSE IT MIGHT SHOW THAT SHE APPROVES. I don’t care WHAT your religion says, if THAT’S the only reason you don’t go to your daughter or son’s wedding, you need to reevaluate your life. So I’m kind of upset already, because it makes me wonder what MY parents would do. And my mom just keeps commiserating with her, as if her daughter who also isn’t straight, isn’t three feet away listening to this entire conversation. Then my grandpa starts talking about how he’s sending them a Bible as their wedding gift. And not in the “Oh, you need a family Bible” kind of way, but the “You’re going against the teachings of God by getting married” kind of way. So that wasn’t pleasant. However the worst part was probably how my mom, who at this points knows about my own orientation, doesn’t bother to try and have this conversation where I can’t hear it. So I basically get to hear my own mom agree with everything my aunt is saying.

NOW, fast forward to the actual wedding. During the toasts, which are so heartwarming and emotional (“I’ve been praying for you” was said by my cousin’s new wife, and I just started bawling), my grandpa starts to tap his knife against his glass. LOUDLY. One of my uncles, not my cousin’s dad, tells him “Hey, everyone can hear that!” and do you know what my grandpa says? “Good.” SERIOUSLY?? Anyways, nothing else happened during the wedding, which I had a huge sigh of relief about.

NOW, fast forward to October of 2019. Twice a year, my church has something called General Conference. What it basically is, is higher ups in our church talking to us for the weekend. They’re usually really good, even if a little long. We also have a special Women’s Conference and Priesthood Conference. We would switch off which one was happening at each conference, and it would just be a two hour special for either the women or the men. This time, it was the women’s turn. One of our leaders, Dallin H. Oaks steps up to speak.

Let me preface THIS with a little bit of background. For the past SEVERAL conference, Oaks has ALWAYS talked about gay people and how they’re wrong and blah blah blah. Also, at the last Women’s Conference, he stood up and basically talked about how all women should strive to get married and have kids because that’s the greatest joy a female can have. I’m not married, I’m not dating anyone, I don’t really want kids… Suffice it to say, I’m not a big fan of Oaks because he usually makes me cry.

Anyways, Oaks had also talked during the regular conference and hadn’t said anything hurtful so I was cautiously optimistic. BAD decision. I didn’t take notes and I refuse to watch it again, but it was just as bad as the rest of his talks. My family was watching this talk with my aunt (the one previously mentioned), a different female cousin, and my grandpa. It wasn’t a good experience for me, but I was just going to let it go. BUT THEN, we all decide to get some milkshakes. In the car ride, my aunt asks us how we liked Oaks’ talk. I wasn’t going to say anything, but my mom said that she didn’t take any notes because she couldn’t (My mom is trying her best with me, I think she just sometimes doesn’t know what to do or say). My aunt pushes, asking why my mom refused to take notes. My mom just keeps saying she couldn’t do it. So I finally have to come out and say that I don’t like Oaks because I’m bisexual (I didn’t want to get into the whole ‘asexual panromantic’ thing with them because I was already about to start crying AGAIN). I kind of explain how every time our church talks about gay people, they basically say that you can either have a relationship with someone while on earth, but then be punished in heaven or whatever, OR you can be alone on earth and supposedly be blessed in heaven. And how that’s a really sad outlook for gay people. Then my grandpa chimes in by saying that he’s glad he’s almost dead. So basically, my grandpa would rather be dead than attend my wedding if I’m marrying a girl.

TL;DR: I’m pan, lots of my extended family doesn’t really approve, and my grandpa would rather be dead than go to my wedding if I marry a girl.

#mormon #Mormon and gay #dallin h. oaks #family #family sucks #gay #asexual #panromantic #life sucks #general conference #religion #lgbtq

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myastrologyblog · 6 years

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Meaningful New Year’s Resolutions for the Signs

Aries: Plan for your dreams

Aries is a fiery sign who is all about doing, doing, doing, but not so much about planning. They get bursts of quick energy with genius ideas but often never act upon them. This year, Aries, use one of those strokes of genius and see it to completion. Whether this is investing in a new property, creating a business plan, writing a manuscript or planning the trip around the world that you always wanted to take, make plans to take small, incremental steps to achieve this. Whatever big project that you always dreamed of doing, but always seemed so out of reach–now is the time to believe in yourself and see this project of yours come to life.

Taurus: Try minimalism

Taurus, with Christmas and New Years having recently passed, I’m sure you have a plethora of new gifts and clothes in your over-bustling wardrobe, while your poor desk fights for space with your new impulse buys. A good resolution for you is to give up your lesser-used objects and see how much more relaxing life can be without the clutter of them. Minimalism is a lifestyle all about appreciation and value. While not only being more aesthetically pleasing, it can teach you a lot about self-control, the purpose of items and freedom from material fixation. Plus, think of how shocked your friends will be when you stroll up to your next weekend getaway with only hand luggage!

Gemini: Pick up new books

In this busy, digital age, life can become a bit repetitive. We work or study, then we come home and procrastinate on the internet. Reading is a brilliant and great gateway between the two. It’s relaxing, fun and educational. Often in life, after we grow up and leave school, we forget to continue our learning and education. And often when we are in school, we forget about the fun and magic that can be found in learning. Being such a mentally curious sign, there’s no doubt you read a lot anyway, but setting a goal to read styles of writing you haven’t previously explored will open up your mind to new ideas, perspectives and worlds thus adding a bit of well-needed stimulation in an otherwise monotonous week.

Cancer: Practise Gratitude

Cancer is a sign that truly appreciates the good things in life, it’s one of the many great qualities about them. But when things turn bad, Cancer puts on a pity-infused blindfold to the wonderful things and people they do have in their life. To combat those rainy mood days, try practising gratitude often to get you into the groove of positivity. Set a reminder on your phone, keep a gratitude journal or have someone remind you and begin to write down or say aloud three things you are grateful for that day. Gratitude is the opposite of lacking and so you cannot feel both at the same time. Gratitude can instantly turn a bad day into one of the best you’ve ever had, life is all about perspective and Cancer can benefit greatly from learning this!

Leo: Spend more time in nature

In such a busy working age, it’s hard to find the time or energy to do anything other than commute to and from one industrial building to the next. Did you know that three-quarters of children in the UK spend less time outdoors than prison inmates? I’m sure the same can be said about adults. There are so many benefits of engaging with nature. As a bold Leo with so much energy and a real passion for adventure, the perfect resolution for you is to go on more hikes and spend more time doing outdoor activities such as sports or even gardening. Studies have reported how nature is good for our happiness and healthiness. It’ll give you, the ever-venturesome Leo, a sense of adventure as you discover new things, a sense of productivity and good use of your energy.

Virgo: Be kinder to yourself

Dear Virgo, you work yourself so tirelessly sometimes only to come home to more self-criticism. While being a perfectionist has led to many great things in your life, it’s important to remember that it’s okay not to be productive 100% of the time, and it’s also okay to take time to yourself. While your sign is naturally the provider/server of others, you need to learn to use that trait on yourself and serve your own needs. Learn that they are important and that kindness begins at home. You will only learn to be less critical of the world by starting with yourself. While you may not be the pampering type, some self-love and lazy days are exactly what you need in order to ultimately be your most productive and loving.

Libra: Strengthen your existing relationships

Libra, you are a social butterfly, you charm any room and your genuine politeness makes you a lovely gem in everyone’s minds. Unfortunately, you have a way of getting carried away with this gift and end up making more superficial relationships than deep ones. This becomes a problem when you face tough times and realise you are alone in your problems. Your resolution is to reach out to some old or existing friends that life has led you to lose contact with. They’ll appreciate it, and this way, you can rekindle some amazing friendships and thus create stronger, more valuable bonds with people. Taking time out to appreciate and spend time with the people in your life who have been there for a long time will make you, and them, much happier.

Scorpio: Solo-travel

Scorpio, the deep, mysterious and soul-seeking sign. Well, guess what? You’re not going to learn the mysteries of the world by sitting on the couch in your hometown. While extended solo-travelling may not be the most viable options in everyone’s lives, it’s good to experience a trip by yourself no matter how short it may be. It’ll not only give you more insight into the world but also into yourself. This time in a foreign place will allow you to truly be yourself as you shed any reputations you have back home and appreciate the benefits of your own company. You can also forge many new connections, experience once-in-a-lifetime opportunities and learn to trust in yourself, your independence and see the value in transient relationships.

Sagittarius: Start a blog or channel

You have so much to say, and not enough hours in the day to say it, so why not start a blog? Because you are such a busy and often convoluted talker, you might find your comments being brushed off or going unheard by others. However, by sharing your voice on a louder platform you may see the importance of your ideas. You have the gift of the gab so why not make use of it? Blogging, or vlogging, is a great hobby (or career) for an innovative and intelligent Sagittarius. It channels all your creative energy into an organised and thus readable (or watchable) segment that others can understand. Blogging always requires research as well, which makes you learn more every day. It hones many different skills that you excel in such as writing, research, creativity, planning and execution and also connects you with like-minded others.

Capricorn: Get off social media

Capricorn, ruled by Saturn, the planet of rules and restrictions. Yet, you have such a hard time with your unconscious addictions. More than any of the other signs, Capricorn relies on old-fashioned status for respect. That self-respect gets lowered when faced with everyone else’s highlight reels being broadcasted on Instagram and Facebook. Suddenly, you start buying things just for the likes or going places just for the photo-opportunity. Learning to live authentically, in spite of anyone else’s happiness or progress, is vital for you. By comparing yourself to others, you will always be striving for a false sense of happiness. Perhaps a good length of time disconnected from social media would be a great way to boost your real happiness.

Aquarius: Volunteer

Aquarius, the world lover. You are a unique paradox. As much as you love the idea of world peace, ending world hunger and bringing people together–actually having to react to people’s emotions is entirely uncomfortable and awkward for you. But, no true saviour lies behind a screen. People often donate some pocket change to charity at the end of the year and say they did their part, but this will not suffice you. By actively going out into the world and giving people your most important resources– your time and empathy, you will positively be helping the world, and the world will be helping you. This will bring you closer to overcoming your uncomfortable emotions, affecting people’s lives for the better and getting outside your own head with real life issues.

Pisces: Talk to strangers

Now, hear me out Pisces. I know you’re probably already pulling back just from reading the title. Talking to strangers–why would I ever do such a thing? You ask. Because there are so many benefits from this that outweigh the risks. Pisces is naturally a loving and social sign but you are often held back by your own insecurities. Try talking to that person on the bus, or introduce yourself to the cute person sitting alone in a cafe–you never know what will happen and you will be grateful you did it no matter the outcome. By building this essential skill, you will feel so much happier and more free from your internal restrictions. You will also be surprised at how receptive people are to being approached and gain so many new and wonderful connections this year.

#new year's resolution #new years #motivation #wellness #positivity #aries #taurus #gemini #cancer #leo #virgo #libra #scorpio #sagittarius #capricorn #aquarius #pisces #all #astrology #2018 #2019

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welllpthisishappening · 5 years

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All the Subliminal Things (1/?)

Emma Swan does not believe in soulmates.

Or so she says. Because if her soulmate did, actually, exist, he should have shown up by now. So, she must be a fluke, a broken cog in a system that really doesn't make much sense anyway. It is, she figures, why she agrees to meet David's friend before Regina and Robin's wedding. This guy doesn't believe in soulmates either.

She's intrigued.

Until she hears him talk. And everything flips after that.

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Rating: Teen Word Count: I think we’re at like 5K’ish this chapter? AN: Hello, kind internet! I’m back with more words, this time of the soulmate variety as part of the @cssns! I was hoping to post this earlier, but then there was work stuff and lots of lacrosse and more work stuff and, long story short, this is a story and I hope you like it. Thanks to the mods for organizing this event, the ladies on the Discord for listening to me babble about work and stress-fueled writing and @resident-of-storybrooke for that top-notch art. There are more chapters, but I haven’t actually organized them, so I’m thinking we’ll be at three and an update like...Tuesday? Maybe?

Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam.

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“No.” “Emma, c’mon it’s not--” “--No.” “But what about--” “--Negative.” “It could be--” Emma shakes her head, widening her eyes to a size that very likely makes her look as crazy as she feels. The whole thing is ridiculous. And pointless. And not entirely unexpected. In a way that is, actually, entirely expected. “No,” she says again. “Never. No, thank you. Votch. Nee. Nah. Non.” David almost looks impressed. Good. That took about all the mental faculties she’s got left after a stakeout that lasted far longer than she wanted it to and however long this conversation has gone on. Too long.

Any length of conversation is too long for this conversation.

“Did you say nee at one point?” he asks. “Like the Knights who say similar things?” “They literally say nee,” Emma sighs, falling back into the corner of the couch and she can just make out Mary Margaret’s laughter from the kitchen. “That’s their whole schtick. And yes, I did, actually. It’s no. In Dutch.”

“Oh my God, how many languages were there?” “Not at a ton.” “French too, right?” Mary Margaret asks, moving back into the living room with an impressive amount of food in her hands and it takes David less than a full second to jump up. Emma rolls her eyes.

“And Armenian.” “When did you learn Armenian?” “There was an Armenian kid in--” Emma clicks her tongue, tracing back through memories and disappointments and she’s far too tired for any of this. She shouldn’t have agreed to come home with David after work, but she’s fairly certain the only thing she’s got in her fridge is a half-finished carton of milk and she can’t remember when she actually bought a full carton of milk so Emma figures there’s less threat of food poisoning at David and Mary Margaret’s.

Far more convoluted plans, but definitely less food poisoning.

It’s a give or take or something.

“You going to finish that thought or…” David quips, taking an exaggerated bite of the sandwiches Mary Margaret’s made them.

Emma flips him off. Mary Margaret doesn’t try to hide her laugh that time. “I was, like, nine or something,” Emma shrugs. “Somewhere in middle of nowhere Pennsylvania and that girl had just gotten sent back from the last group home she'd been to.” “It’s a real uplifting story, Em.” “I really don’t want to flip you off in front of your wife again.”

David grins. “Eat your sandwich.” Emma does as instructed, chewing thoughtfully and refusing to acknowledge the growing certainty in the back of her mind that David is only biding his time. He’s waiting to strike when she least expects it, catch her off guard so she’ll agree to this whole, ridiculous thing and she’ll probably choke on turkey and swiss cheese in the process and--

“You really don’t want to do it?” Emma groans. She doesn’t choke. That seems like a victory. She swallows instead, glaring at David with as much venom as her exhausted mind can muster and he doesn’t blink. He looks very sure of himself.

“I’m going to get Google Translate on my phone,” Emma warns. “Then we’ll both be driven insane by this and Mary Margaret will probably have to spoon feed us or something.” Mary Margaret shakes her head. “I’m not doing that.” “See! This plan is actually so insane that even picture perfect true love Mary Margaret doesn’t want to go along with it!” “Oh, I didn’t say that,” Mary Margaret objects, and Emma is going to do permanent damage to her spine if she slumps any lower. “I just knew you would say no. David is incredibly stubborn, that’s all.” “Bullheaded,” Emma amends.

David rolls his entire head in response, a sigh that only sounds a little melodramatic when he’s trying to set Emma up with one of his friends from college. For a wedding. That involves Mary Margaret’s step sister. And one of David’s other friends from college. The whole thing is a twisted web or ridiculous that Emma is certain she’ll only be able to understand with some kind of chart, but it’s ended, somehow, with her also getting an invitation.

And a plus one. That she hasn’t filled. Neither, apparently, has this guy. Emma doesn’t know what his name is yet.

“That’s incredibly unfair,” David says, waving both hands through the air and it’s only a little absurd when he’s still holding half a sandwich. “I’m simply looking out for you. And him. Collectively. And individually.” “That was convoluted.” “Only because you’re tired.”

Emma flips him off. Mary Margaret’s laugh turns into some kind of cackle.

“What is this guy’s deal?” Emma asks, well aware of how whiny her voice sounds. But she still can’t shake that feeling in the back of her mind and David and Mary Margaret have a habit of...this.

Because it’s not just a set-up. That’s not the world they live in. Once upon a time, maybe it could have been when people didn’t realize that soulmates were out there and modern science hadn’t conducted enough experiments to realize that they were also exceedingly rare. Maybe it could have just been a meeting through mutual friends, a flash of smiles and shared interests and…

No.

That’s not the world. Now, the world is a desperate attempt to find the one in a bold and underlined kind of way. Soulmates might be rare, but they’re the pinnacle – the goal of everyone from the time they have their first moment. That’s what they call it. The moment. Emma thinks it’s the least creative thing she’s ever heard.

And her’s came when she was sixteen and living in Minnesota, recently returned from the house of a woman who claimed she was going to adopt her, only to turn out to be some kind of actual psychopath who believed they were soulmates. The thought of it still sends a chill down Emma’s spine, partially because she doesn’t like thinking about Ingrid much and partially because of what happened after Ingrid.

It had been fleeting, the whole scene playing out in front of her eyes so quickly sometimes Emma wonders if she just dreamt it. There was a hallway, dim lighting and fingers laced through hers, an arm heavy around her waist and she distinctly remembers she couldn’t feel anything else, no hand pressed against her back or anything to pull her closer. There were words though, a quiet whisper pressed into the curve of her neck and that one very specific spot behind her ear, it’s you Emma, and sometimes, when things go to absolute shit and she comes home to absolutely expired milk, Emma likes to think of it.

That she could be something. For someone.

And that’s not always how it works. It isn’t always a vision. Sometimes it’s a feeling. Or face in a crowd. Sometimes it’s immediate. Or the sudden desire to be anywhere except where you are because anywhere is maybe where your soulmate is standing.

It’s unpredictable and uncontrollable and Mary Margaret and David turned around when they were nineteen years old and knew. Mary Margaret was running late for class. David was early to meet a girl his parents thought he’d get along with.

And that, as they say, was that.

The problem with all of it, of course, is finding them. Emma’s never actually looked for her soulmate and part of her knows it’s cowardice, but part of her thought it could have been Neal and that blew up in her face and, honestly, fuck it.

Her soulmate can find her if he wants to.

She’s also never mentioned that she has one. To anyone. Ever.

So, the cowardly thing is pretty on point.

“Killian does not have a deal,” Davids says, jerking Emma back to reality and Mary Margaret makes a contradictory noise in the back of her throat.

Emma blinks. “What was that?” “He kind of has a deal,” Mary Margaret mutters. “Like just...a tiny deal. Real small.” “That so? How small?” “Minuscule, honestly.” “And his name is Killian? Straight up.” David groans, eating the rest of his sandwich so he can put his hand to much better use and run it over his face. “Maybe don’t open with that.” “It doesn’t matter what I open with, I’m not going to this wedding with him,” Emma argues. She levels David with another look when he hums noncommittally. The feeling keeps growing. Like it’s taking over her brain. She needs to sleep. “Ok,” she sighs. “What is his deal, minuscule or otherwise? Is he, like, desperately seeking soulmate?” Mary Margaret freezes. David grits his teeth.

“Oh my God, that’s it, isn’t it?” Emma shouts, jumping off the couch and none of her muscles were prepared for that. “Are you guys kidding me? I am not doing this. Some creep guy who who only believes a relationship can exist with a soulmate is just--” “--That’s not what’s happening here,” David interrupts sharply.

“No?” “No. This is...ok, full disclosure, Killian doesn’t believe in soulmates. Like at all.” “Why not?” “Neither do you, Emma,” Mary Margaret points out lightly, and she supposes that fair. A coward and a great, big giant liar. It’s not a great combination.

Emma nods slowly, breathing through her mouth. “Right, right. Why?” “Why don’t you believe in soulmates?” “Why doesn’t David’s frat brother believe in soulmates?” “Ok, we were never in a frat,” David grumbles. “Jones--” “--That’s his last name,” Mary Margaret explains when Emma’s brows lower in confusion. “He’s been through some shit. In the last few months. And years, honestly. It’s...well, that’s not my story, but that’s part of the reason why he’s moving here. Fresh starts and opening the bar with Locksley and all that. But, yeah, he’s coming here and Regina gave him the plus one too, which was…” “Not the best,” Mary Margaret supplies, and Emma is close to bursting with questions. She bites her tongue.

David nods. “Exactly that. Anyway, I just think you guys could get along and there’s no soulmate potential here, I swear. Just...a drinking buddy after Regina makes us all pose for pictures.” “I’m not in the wedding party,” Emma points out.

“Yes, but now you’ve got something to look forward to. Jones will totally be down to guess how much everything costs too. He despises elitism.” “How much do you think he paid for his tux?” “That’s a question you can ask him when you meet him for coffee. Tomorrow.” Emma throws a sandwich at him. She doesn’t really think about it before she does it – or the far more mature option of the several decorative pillows on the couch behind her – but the whole thing is purely emotional and decidedly instinctual and she’s gotten, like, six hours of sleep in the last four days.

“Are you kidding me, David?” “Are you?” he challenges, pulling a piece of bread off his jaw. “How old are you?” “Old enough that you can't control my schedule! You are not my mother!” “I’m not trying to be.” “No?” Emma shouts, and she’s half a second away from stomping her foot too. She’s going to have to apologize to Mary Margaret. That other slice of bread landed mayo-side down on the floor. “Did he agree to this?” David opens his mouth, but Mary Margaret answers quicker, a sharp head shake and “he kicked him when he came up with the idea a couple days ago.” In the grand scheme of everything, Emma isn’t sure why that is what makes the difference. It’s not really much of a difference anyway – she’s still certain this an absolutely terrible, God awful idea, but she’s admittedly a little intrigued and being curious has always been a defining characteristic and she can just leave if it’s bad. She’s rationalized the whole thing. David is staring at her.

And the feeling is still there, a quiet something that might actually be hope lingering in the pit of her stomach. It’s weird. Warm. Weird and warm.

“You think he’ll show?” Emma asks, and David shrugs.

“Only one way to find out, right?”

Emma does not do well with the unpredictable. She likes plans and structure and a childhood of being bounced around the foster system has left her with the absolute certainty that nothing is going to work out unless she works for it.

She’s not into spontaneity. It freaks her out.

So it only makes sense that she’s slightly to moderately frustrated when she walks into the coffee shop a few blocks away from her apartment to find it decidedly empty of anyone except a few mid-afternoon workers and one old man reading the newspaper.

“Damn,” Emma mutters, shoulders slumping. She’s going to kill David. Or kick him. No, no kicking. That’s too...whatever.

She bobs on the balls of her feet, awkwardly standing just inside the door and it only takes a few moments of internal debate to decide fuck it and she orders a large coffee. It draws a few curious stares from the previously observed workers and Emma takes some perverse pleasure in whatever their eyes do when she spends at least four seconds pouring cinnamon into the cup.

So, at last check, she’s cowardly and a great, big giant liar and kind of petulant. What a catch.

And she’s only going to stay as long it takes to finish her drink and scroll through her Twitter feed, slumped in another piece of furniture that isn’t hers, but the world is apparently a messed up, vaguely magical place and, at first, Emma is certain it’s the caffeine.

Like it’s making her heart beat too quickly, pulse thudding in her ears and mouth going dry because her tongue might honestly be growing. That’s so gross.

She usually drinks hot chocolate anyway and chocolate has caffeine, but not like coffee and the door slams shuts behind him. It takes him, exactly, four steps to cross the shop, walking right up to the register with an easy sense of confidence that almost makes the leather jacket he’s wearing acceptable and Emma doesn’t blink.

She’s forgotten how.

He looks like David said he would – dark hair that curls slightly behind his ear and David didn’t mention that part. Emma figures he didn’t notice. That’s fair. She’s far too busy noticing it anyway. He flashes a smile when he’s done with his order, a quirk of his eyebrows that might be flirting and the girl behind the counter giggles.

Honestly.

Emma barely hears it. She’s too busy possibly dying. She can’t remember when she took a deep breath last, a mixture of words she’s spent half a lifetime trying to remember perfectly and forget entirely and a single coffee order. He ordered a cappuccino. With extra foam.

That might have been why the girl laughed. It’s a ridiculous coffee order. And the voice is exactly the same.

Her voice.

“Holy fu--” Emma breathes, gripping her coffee cup tight enough the lid snaps off and that’s what draws his attention. Figures.

He pauses, eyes moving from her face down to her stretched out leg and there is coffee on her hand. His mouth opens, only to close again, one eyebrow arching in a way that, honestly, is kind of offensive and clearly judgmental and--

“Were you trying to run away?” That’s not what Emma expects him to ask. She shakes her head, disbelief in every shift of her hair, and that eyebrow is defying gravity. “Were you expecting me to run away? Also, you’re incredibly late, you know that?” “Like five minutes. Where did you park?” “I live a couple blocks away from here.” Killian hums and Emma can just make out the tip of his tongue between his teeth. That’s worse than the eyebrow thing. Way worse. “Ah, that’s why David planned it here. I think that means he’s picking you as the favorite.” “Or he just thinks you’ll be able to find parking easier than you’re claiming.” “Are you questioning the parking thing, Swan?” Killian asks, and oh. Oh. Last names. That’s fine. Emma is fine with that. She didn’t expect him to call her by her first name. That would have been insane.

Soulmates are so goddamn stupid.

Emma shrugs. “I mean...it does kind of sound like an excuse.” “But I’m here,” he argues. “Clearly I’m piqued.” “In a British sort of way?” “That’s pronounced differently. In a my curiosity is sort of way.” “Ah,” she says. “it’s a science experiment then?” They call his name at the counter – extra foam and all, and Killian’s head snaps between Emma and the giggling girl and back to Emma again. He licks his lips. “That’s a very cynical approach, don’t you think?”

“You tell me.” It’s not a very good first impression. It’s a kind of mean first impression, honestly, but Emma can’t get a read on him at all and if Killian Jones is her soulmate he should be reacting less…less. There should be fireworks or something. Metaphorically. Mary Margaret always mentioned metaphorical fireworks.

“Maybe,” Killian says, and it sounds a bit like an admission. “I just--” They call his name again, one hand fisting at his side and Emma knows her eyes widen a bit. Only one hand. “Hold that thought,” he mutters, and she tries to keep her breathing level.

Emma breathes like an actual human for a full twelve seconds.

“Ok,” Killian continues, dropping onto the edge of a table covered with magazines that are several months out of date. “Why’d you show, then?” “Wow, straight to the interrogation, huh? Why’d you show?” “I asked you first.” “I threw a sandwich at David’s face.” He barks out a laugh and it’s like everything and then some and Emma forgets her coffee cup doesn’t have a top on it anymore. She nearly spills it all over herself. Killian’s hand darts forward quickly, the hint of a smile lingering at the corner of his lips when his fingers wrap around her wrist. “You’re going to burn yourself,” he mumbles, tugging the cup out of her hand and there are napkins on the table.

She has no idea where they came from.

She refuses to take that as some kind of sign.

The whole thing doesn’t last very long. There are bunched up napkins and then slightly damp napkins and Killian’s eyes dart up towards Emma more than once, neither one of them saying anything because it kind of feels like the air is made of actual electricity.

Emma swallows. “Thanks.” “Yeah, yeah,” he stammers, which is also probably not a sign. He doesn’t believe in soulmates. She doesn’t want a soulmate.

David wants them to go to a wedding together.

“Why did you bring up the sandwich thing?” Killian asks. “In context, it just…” “Ok, it makes sense. I’m trying to make you aware of how much I did not want to do this.”

Cowardly and a great, big giant liar, kind of petulant and just sort of a jerk. Killian’s eyebrows fly, eyes distractingly blue when he meets Emma’s gaze straight on. That version of the laugh is a bit more skeptical and maybe his own brand of frustration and that’s also fair.

“And,” Emma adds, leaning forward unconsciously. Totally. “I heard you kicked him. So. Grand scheme or whatever.” “Whatever. Who told you I kicked him?” “Mary Margaret.” “Can’t keep a secret to save her life,” Killian laughs, and neither one of them have tried to move out of each other’s space. It should probably be more disconcerting. “That still doesn’t explain why you are here, Swan.” Emma clicks her teeth, twisting her lips so she has something to focus on other than the color of Killian’s eyes. That can’t be normal. “David seemed to think it was a good idea. And I’m...interested.” “In me?”

“Oh, don’t say it like that. It’s not like that.” It is, in fact, exactly like that, but Emma’s starting to suspect several things of varying degrees of disappointment so she doesn’t say that.

Killian grins, the movement slinking across his face like that’s even possible, settling into something closer to a smirk and Emma briefly wonders what it would be like to get her fingers in his hair. She’s fairly positive that’s where her hands were in the moment.

That’s a dangerous line of thought.

“What are you interested in, then?”

Emma jerks back. Her spine hates her. “Why you don’t think soulmates exist.” The silence that follows is overpowering. It’s heavy and never-ending and Emma isn’t breathing again. Her lungs hate her too.

Killian’s gaze shifts, lingering over her shoulder and straight out the window, like he’s staring at something only he can see and Emma regrets the words already. She should have come up with a better plan.

She’s so bad at in the moment.

And she hadn’t noticed the colors on his arm before, only clear when his jacket sleeve shifts slightly and she’s certain she’ll regret these words too. She says them anyway.

“Who’s Milah?” His whole body goes tense, jaw clenching and a muscle in his temple jumping. Emma’s coffee is lukewarm when reaches forward and takes a sip.

“Someone from before,” he says, a finality in his voice that begs more questions and refuses to answer any of them. “That’s why you’re here? To question the soulmate thing?” “No!” “No?” “Maybe,” Emma amends, Killian’s lips twitching. “I just...ok, I’m not big on it either. I think it’s kind of stupid, you know?” “Stupid.” “I’m going to leave if you just keep repeating me.”

He makes a face – not quite a full blown smile, but not a glare either and his eyes definitely flicker towards her lips when Emma takes another drink. “Let’s avoid that then, shall we? So, you’re not big on soulmates because...what? You think it’s forced love? That’s not how it works.” “The likelihood of people staying in a relationship when they’re not soulmates is slim.” “Still. It happens. Soulmates are just a guaranteed success rate. Ruining the careers of divorce lawyers everywhere.”

“It’s stupid,” Emma says again, well aware that she’s repeating herself now and that smirk is going to be a problem. “And people are obsessed with it and, you know it’s--” “--Did you think you had a soulmate once?”

She’s got to stop feeling like her tongue is expanding in her mouth. That’s not romantic at all. This is not romantic.

This is a disaster.

“Of course not,” she snaps. “Why--why would you say that?” “For someone who’s never had a soulmate, you seem to have a lot of opinions on them.” “And you don’t? David was very certain you don’t believe in them.” “Anymore.” Something, something, a light bulb goes off. “Oh,” Emma breathes, eyes darting back to his forearm and the prosthetic hand. “So, uh...Milah. Not just someone from before, huh? A very big, very important someone?” “I’m not having this conversation with you.” He doesn’t shout it and that’s ten-thousand times worse. Emma wishes he did. She wishes he’d stood up and knocked over the coffee table and did something drastic to the ostentatious espresso machine behind the counter. He doesn’t. He stares at her, intent and almost demanding and she can feel the flush rise in her cheeks.

“Yeah, ok,” she mumbles.

Killian sighs. “That was kind of a dick move, right?” “A little, but I don’t really know you.” “I don’t really know you.” “So...curiosity still piqued?” “Yeah, a bit,” he nods. “How often, on average, do you think David and Mary Margaret try and set you up on the idea that this could be the one?” “I don’t know that I’ve ever done the math, but since I got here--” Emma shrugs, twisting a piece of hair around her fingers and she doesn’t think she imagines the way Killian’s gaze lightens at that. “Somewhere in the high double digits at least.” “How long have you been here? You’re David’s partner, right?” “Yes to the second and, uh...like two years?” “And they’re averaging high double digits already?” Killian whistles. “That’s impressive, even for them.”

“You’re not doing a lot to make me all that confident about how the rest of forever is going to go.”

He chuckles, hand wrapping around the back of his neck. “True, but there might be a light at the end of this tunnel and I think David has gift wrapped it for us.” “That didn’t make any sense at all.”

“I’m getting there. There’s a flow to these kind of stories, Swan.” “And if you’re not careful you will bore your audience.” Emma wonders if she’d be able to shave his eyebrows off without him noticing. Probably not. “David thinks we should go to this wedding together,” Killian says. “The word kindred spirits and actual spirits were used several times.” “That’s because he thinks he’s way funnier than he is. Where are you going with this? You actually want to go to this wedding together? Like...like together?” It’s not the most high school thing Emma has ever said, but she didn’t have a normal high school experience so maybe her perception is just skewed. Killian is still smiling at her.

“I think if we agree with this for one night we’ll at least have a few weeks of breathing room. And maybe have some fun, but weddings are already a disaster with all the soulmate shit. People asking if you’re with them or finding them or looking for them at the reception. This covers all our bases.” “You’re cliché obsessed.” “That’s not an answer.” “Was there a question?”

“Yes,” Killian says, reaching out to rest his hand on Emma’s knee. Her brain short circuits. She does not know enough about electricity to keep making puns like this. “I am asking you to go to to this wedding, as each other’s plus ones. We act it all out. We’re together and good and very, very happy and I don’t feel like I spent way too much on that tuxedo.” “How much do you think you spent?” “Too much.” Emma rolls her eyes. “We ignore the absurdities of modern wedding culture, we get our friends and inquisitive strangers to leave us alone because our friends will know we’re just there for fun and strangers will assume whatever they want.” Emma’s stomach flies into her throat. It’s probably a good thing her tongue expanded that much. “Wait, wait, backtrack, you want people to believe that we’re each other’s soulmates? Is that a joke? Are you joking right now?” The tips of Killian’s ears go red, fingers finding the hair at the nape of his neck. “I mean...not entirely.” “That sounds like a yes.” “That’s how it was intended, yeah.” Emma’s brain can not keep up with any of this. There are too many cylinders and an influx of feelings and none of it makes any sense.

This moment sucks. Completely. And totally.

“Thoughts?” Killian prompts, wincing when Emma gapes at him. “Those don’t look like good thoughts really.” “You don’t get to make comments on my thoughts, Jones!” He smirks. She hates him. That doesn’t seem in line with the soulmate thing.

“Ok, ok,” he backtracks. “I’m not saying we have to tell anyone that we’re soulmates. Just that...if people assume, it might not be the worst thing in the world.” “You have a lot of people coming up to you and demanding to meet your soulmate? That confident in your ability to soulmate, huh?” “I’ve never heard it used as a verb before.” Emma scowls, drawing a laugh out of him and she’s probably not cataloguing each shift in sound for her own personal, mind records. Only a crazy person would do that.

Emma is not crazy.

“It’s impressive,” Killian continues. “Your obvious command of the English language. But let me ask you something, Swan. Have you ever been to a soulmate wedding before?” She shakes her head. Strictly speaking, she’s never been to a wedding, but that’s a wholly depressing fact and not going to do her any kind of first-impression favors and she’s heard the rumors. Soulmate weddings are epic and extraordinary and another adjective that probably starts with the letter ‘e’ and even Mary Margaret can’t come up with anything good to say about her step-mother’s propensity towards extreme.

That’s another ‘e’ adjective.

“No,” Emma says, short and concise.

“It’s a lot. Tradition and commitment and, yes, people will think that they can ask you about your own status because everyone’s so hopped up on love that they lose any sense of tact.” “That reeks of bitterness.” “I’m a little bitter that’s why.”

Emma scoffs, but it’s almost a laugh. “Yeah, I get that. Ok, so...we don’t actually tell anyone that we’re soulmates, just agree if they ask?” Killian nods. “And this is...no strings attached, really. We’re just going to make David happy and ignore any other potential setups and this is a convenience. For both of us.” “Exactly. It could even be fun to not drink alone. Cora Mills loves her open bars.”

“Wow,” Emma mutters. “That’s high praise.” “What’s your drink of choice, Swan?” “Is that the deal? I tell you what I drink and we’re good to go on the whole thing? Or is it just a professional obligation?” “It might not hurt to know some things about you,” Killian reasons, a glint his gaze that makes Emma’s stomach flip. It’s still in the back of her throat. “Whisky.”

“Good to know.”

“Wait, wait, wait, you’ve got to explain it again.” Emma shakes her head, continuing to pace the small circle she’s considering claiming as hers and she didn’t quite run out of the coffee shop as soon as Killian left, not even a full hour after he got there, but it was close. Numbers were exchanged. The plan to hang out again was made.

Exactly like that too.

Hang out.

The words make Emma want to gag.

So she does.

And groans.

And Elsa’s eyes dart towards Ruby because Emma had barely gotten out of the coffee shop she definitely hadn’t run out of before she’d yanked her phone out of her pocket and demanded some kind of quasi meeting and Elsa’s apartment is on the other side of town.

Realizing that she may, in fact, be crazy is annoying.

“I can’t go over it again,” Emma groans. “I just..I can’t. This is bad. This is really, really bad.”

“It could be good,” Elsa objects, whatever noise Ruby makes likely doing damage to the inside of her throat.

“She agreed to fake date her actual soulmate,” Ruby yells. She’s waving her hands in the air. Like that will help her make her point. “A soulmate none of us knew she had.”

Emma cannot groan forever. She’s going to try anyway. “It wasn’t a big deal! It was--I had the moment when I was a kid and, yeah, maybe I’ve harped a little and--” “--You? Harp?” “Ok, don’t be rude.” Ruby doesn’t stop moving her hands. “I’m not. I’m confused. You don’t harp, Em. You move on and get over and don’t believe in soulmates.” “Because I knew mine was drifting through space! He wasn’t a threat!” “You think David’s college friend is a threat?” Elsa asks. “The one you agreed to go to the wedding with? And meet again?” Emma doesn’t groan. She sighs. In defeat. It’s worse. “I wanted to,” she whispers, an admission that isn’t that because Killian Jones is her soulmate, but she might not be his and she should have said something.

He should have said something.

She wishes she’d kissed him.

“Yeah, I know,” Elsa says, a note of pity in her voice that’s equal parts unnerving and comforting. “Ok, so let’s rehash real quick. David and Mary Margaret think you and Killian will be good together because you’re both anti soulmate. You, however, have known about your soulmate since you were sixteen when you--” “--Vision,” Emma supplies. “Of a hallway. He called me Emma.” “And he didn’t do that today?” Ruby asks. “No. We were in that coffee place a couple blocks away from my apartment. I think David was being secretly protective.” “Figures. And no first name?” “He called me Swan several times.” “Kitschy.” “That’s so weird though,” Elsa muses, Emma making some kind of noise that may be an agreement. “How often do you think one person can have a soulmate and it not go both ways?”

Ruby makes a face. “I’ve never heard of that before. It’s usually very reciprocated.”

“Fantastic,” Emma hisses.

“And you didn’t tell him?” “How do I bring that up, Rubes. Oh, hey, my partner thinks we’d be a great match because we’re both so totally fucked by this soulmate thing that our greatest defining characteristic is how much we hate it, but, oh, also, guess what, I think you’re my soulmate? Yeah, that’d go over fantastic.” “Think?” “What?” “You said, think,” Elsa points out with a scrunch of her nose. “That’s kind of a lie, isn’t it?”

Emma hates that she blushes. “The world’s biggest, lie possibly." She nearly trips over her own feet. And she knows she doesn’t have any whisky at home. Just leftovers Mary Margaret gave her the night before. “On a scale of one to ten how bad do you think is going to go?”

“Honestly?” “I mean...no, but yeah.” “A twelve, at least.” “Yeah,” Emma agrees, mostly because she thinks they’re already at thirteen and he’d been far too easy to talk to. And attracted to. She can’t believe she ever thought Neal’s voice might have been that voice. “Yeah, yeah. So. It’ll probably be fine, right?” Ruby hums, but her gaze darts to Elsa, an exchange without words that doesn’t need words. “Maybe if we say it some more, it’ll sound better.” “It’ll be fine.” “Once more with feeling.” “It’ll be fine.”

They’re definitely at fourteen now, and the gasp all three of them let out when Emma’s phone vibrates on the couch cushion is ridiculous.

Her hand shakes when she grabs it.

It was nice to meet you, Swan. Maybe next time I can introduce you to espresso and you won’t dump your coffee everywhere.

“Ah, damn,” Emma mumbles, heart hammering against her chest and this is already as not fine as it can be.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #captain swan fic #cs fic #all the subliminal things #this story is named for a jonas brothers song #the author regrets nothing

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wtfzodiacsigns · 6 years

Text

Meaningful New Year’s Resolutions for the Signs

Aries: Plan for your dreams

Taurus: Try minimalism

Gemini: Pick up new books

Cancer: Practise Gratitude

Leo: Spend more time in nature

Virgo: Be kinder to yourself

Libra: Strengthen your existing relationships

Scorpio: Solo-travel

Sagittarius: Start a blog or channel

Capricorn: Get off social media

Aquarius: Volunteer

Pisces: Talk to strangers

Source: myastrologyblog

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peppered-imps · 6 years

Text

conciliate

rated: PG-13; spoilers from Existence to MSIV.

Some time ago, @scully-loves-ruthie sent me a 5 Headcanon prompt in which Mulder makes an imaginary scrapbook for William while he and Scully are on the run.

This was actually the basic plot of a story I’ve wanted to write for a long long time so I was thrilled to receive it. I took some liberties with it and it ended up being very long (the rest is under the cut). I had several versions of this idea worked up already and decided to go with this one for a variety of reasons. I sort of rushed through the ending because I just couldn’t stand trying to perfect it any more. I hope it’s all coherent and doesn’t drag too much. I tried placing themes throughout and I hope they’re not convoluted or lost in all the prose. Thank you so much for this lovely prompt and for inspiring me to finally put this story together. I hope you enjoy it.

---

1. From under the last three weeks’ issues of the New England Journal of Medicine, stacked neatly on her coffee table, the grey and white striped corner sitting askew catches his eye. He runs his thumb across the smooth edge, nudges the journals aside, pauses. Welcome Little One the tidy cursive embossing reads above a small, grainy black and white sonogram inlaid to the cover. His fingers graze the image, he touches the letters.

A gift from Tara, Scully soon informs him as she comes in from the kitchen. His hand snaps back to his side, the ghost of the book’s lettering burning into his fingertips. He tries not to dwell on the shift in her eyes, the nearly imperceptible drop at the corners of her mouth.

He feels loose, untethered. Like he’s drifting. Like he just doesn’t fit anywhere anymore. Too many false awakenings while he was gone left him trying to reconcile nightmare and dream, fantasy and reality. He wanted to come home, wanted it so badly, but didn’t know how. He still doesn’t know.

They sit awkwardly, the steam from two tea mugs and her 32-week-round belly and a galaxy between them. It’s quiet.

2. He remembers the book some weeks after. After he declared his family as his Truth then shunned them in the same breath. (“It’s the only way to keep you both safe,” he’d tried to convince her, tried harder to convince himself. “I’m going to end this,” he said, his tongue tripping over tentative promises he only hoped he could keep.) After he wiped the tears from her cheeks and slipped from their bed. After he held his sleeping son to his chest and listened to his soft snores, felt the warm puffs of breath against his skin. After he kissed them goodbye. After he packed a suitcase with some clothes, some files, and a Dreft-and-William scented blanket and slipped quietly and away into the dewy morning.

The New Mexico desert sweltered on, dry and desolate, the answers he sought swallowed into the void. Answers to a Truth he was sick of seeking.

He misses them. Misses them so deeply in his bones that he can hardly feel anything else. He’s heard stories about amputees who can still feel their severed limbs, still feel the pain there. Phantom limbs. At once gone but somehow still there. It feels like that.

And he wonders if Scully has added to the book. He wonders if she even will. He knows she’s worried about him, terrified for them, but he hopes that their son can still have a babyhood as normal as possible. Joyous, carefree, full of love. He remembers finding his own baby book as a kid, and Samantha’s half finished one, reading through them with a fascinated nostalgia for memories of his childhood he couldn’t even recall. The pages filled with firsts, milestones, hopes and dreams. He spends his time between Truths imagining.

A photo of William in a onesie covered in rockets and planets and little cartoon aliens— ‘like father, like son.’ A satin blue ribbon, once tied around a gift from Maggie, tied into a bow and taped in with care. ‘3 months and getting so big! 14 pounds, 27 inches!’ Another picture— William in his bassinet, his eyes wide and twinkling like the desert stars.

...

The days, weeks, months drag. He keeps searching, forcing back the urge to run, run back home. He’s less and less resistant every day. Some days, he almost does it. Almost says fuck it all, come what may we’ll fight the future together, whatever the hell that even means anymore. But something he can’t identify, something he’s come to hate so viscerally, holds him back. He doesn’t know what else to do so he keeps searching. Keeps dreaming of his Scully, their William. He fills the imaginary pages of the real baby book with firsts that he won’t be there for. The firsts he’s sure he’s already missed.

Baby’s First Smile! Baby’s First Tooth! Baby’s First Word: ‘“Mama?” Actually, “more.” He’s a hungry boy! Like father, like son, indeed.

It’s what keeps him going. They are his strength, the drumbeats of his heart, the very essence of his life. He thinks it’s the only thing that keeps him sane, this unrelenting hope of hopes that he’ll see them again. That he’ll save them. Save them all.

3. He’s in a military prison when his son turns one. Baby’s First Birthday! He holds onto a little glimmer of hope, the only light in this dark dark place. The Truth will prevail, the conspiracy will be revealed. It has to. And he’ll be able to leave it all behind, to do what he’s so desperately wished to for so long now. To be free. To go home.

Skinner is the one to tell him. And his hope is crushed.

His brain mocks and taunts him.

Baby’s First Kidnapping! Baby’s First Cult! Baby’s First (Second, And Third) Near Death Experience! Baby’s First Plane Ride! Baby’s New Parents!

She held him. Kissed him. Said she was afraid he wouldn’t forgive her. Oh, Scully… no…

He wishes she would slap him. Hit him. Scream and yell at him. Hate him. Call him a selfish bastard. But instead her own forgiveness is soft and aching and so so tender. He clings to it, to her.

The only truth he learned, the only one that matters now anyway, is that he’s a guilty man. He’s failed in every respect. He deserves the harshest punishment for his crimes. All that they’d lost, all that he’d taken... And he– cowardly son of a bitch that he is– can’t even tell her what it was for. It will crush her, he’s sure. He’s terrified that she’ll finally see how he failed so completely, understand that her greatest sacrifices were for nothing. He hopes for her sake, and dreads for his own, that she will finally leave him. He wishes the earth would open up and engulf him in the hellfire he surely deserves– wonders briefly if he should just help the hellfire along– but he also knows his loss will irreparably break her and he just can’t willfully cause her any more suffering. He’s caused her enough heartache, more than anyone should face in one lifetime, but she still stands so strong against it. Refuses to believe his complicity. He slew the albatross yet she, as always, wore it around her neck as her burden to bear, the vicious stench of rot and ruin lingering as a reminder of his defeat.

She just holds him and whispers hope into his ear. He tries to believe.

4. They run and run and run. Months slip easily into years, days and weeks blurring in a haze of asphalt, sweat, bleached cotton sheets, and the improbable loneliness of their shared sorrow.

He begs her, guilt and desperation and so much love forcing him to ask, for stories of their son and she gives them to him, her eyes glistening with aching reverence as she speaks.

The habit he formed in the desert, while changed some through the years, still lingers.

Their son is two. He laughs and kicks when his belly is tickled. He never lets go of his favorite blanket. He calls his parents mama and daddy.

He just turned three. He talks in full sentences. He has a dog, big dog, named Comet that he tries to ride like a horse. He always loses his shoes.

He’s four. He had his first trip to the zoo. He had lemon ice for the first time and screwed his eyes shut at the tartness. He pressed his face against the aquarium glass and let his breath fog over the lionfish. He likes the gorilla enclosure. The hyenas scare him.

They look for him everywhere, in each redheaded and brunette little boy. She asks him once, wrapped up in him on a cold winter night in their new old house, if he thinks they would really recognize him. He admits that he struggles sometimes, trying to imagine their son as he ages, his only real memories of a squirmy, fresh, days-old newborn.

But then he remembers Samantha at 14, so different from the eight year old he knew yet somehow exactly the same, and says yes. He can’t exactly explain how he knew then (and realizes with a small prick of shame that he never really told her before) but he tries; the flutter and twist in his gut, his lungs constricting, chest tightening, heart hammering, blood pounding in his ears, one streaming thought– it’s her it’s her it’s her it’s her. Pure instinct. A muscle memory of the heart, the soul. She nods against his chest, satisfied for now, and he pulls her closer.

…

He always tries to tell her how sorry he is. He tries to tell her with words, with little pleading kisses to her shoulder as he spoons up behind her in bed. He tries and tries and tries but it never feels like it’s enough.

She assuages his guilt with gentle touches, soft moans, whispers of love and reassurance. (“He’s your son, too. You did what you could to protect him. To protect us.”) She tries, at least.

…

She studies, renews her license, and gets a job at a hospital, working pediatrics. He sees the joy it brings her, helping people, but beneath that he sees the hurt and longing. He wonders, somewhat absently, if she does it hoping one day to find their son admitted (for nothing dire, of course, perhaps just to set a broken arm or a routine tonsil removal). And then his mind wanders down a different path, old and overgrown and dark dark dark. Maybe she hopes to help these children the way she couldn’t with Emily.

He flashes to a life adjacent. Newborn William held in his big sister’s arms for the first time. Emily encouraging babytalk stories from her months old brother. Playing in parks. Climbing trees. Riding bikes. Barbecues. Birthdays. Christmases. Snow angels. Road trips. Pictures of them both unabashedly littering the house and their offices and wallets. He mentally shakes himself. That way, madness lies. He’s beginning to think madness lies everywhere.

…

The firsts keep coming, rushing in waves, trickling in droplets. They always hit him hard no matter what, these imaginings. The milestones and adventures he hopes his son is having.

First day of school. First little league practice. First time at the beach. First camping trip. First Big Kid Bicycle. He used to share the ideas with her and she used to smile, counter with a few ideas she’s had. But then he noticed how, as time continued on, she stopped smiling with the stories. How it offered less hope and more regret as the years went by.

Eventually, they talk about him less. And less. And less. Then they almost stop talking altogether.

5. She’s been gone for almost 6 months and he’s been gone much longer. The X-Files are re-opened and they’re suddenly thrust back into each other’s everyday. They don’t talk about the important things, just skirt around them, ducking behind file folders and cabinets and autopsy tables to avoid them. They’ve been free for nearly a decade but, he knows too well, old habits die hard and running has become their new normal.

But Maggie Scully’s death brings with it a clarity found only in the darkest of griefs.

Like her daughter, she had watched the weight of his guilt crush his spirit over the years. And, like her daughter, she had been unable to soothe him. But with her final breath, she tries again to ease his pain— always a mother, unwavering in her kindness, even as she stood at the precipice of beyond.

“My son’s name is William, too.”

They talk— really talk— for the first time in what feels like years. Maybe it has been. And suddenly, the dam bursts, the floodgates open, the emotions rushing forth in a wave of honesty and relief, and they finally finally step out of hiding. He stops making hollow promises, trades them instead for purposeful action. He finds renewed meaning in his work, his beliefs, his life. They try again.

…

Maybe for the first time in his life, he truly doesn’t want to believe. He wanted so badly for none of it to be true, she wanted the same, and he tried so hard to keep her from spiraling. But they both knew. He felt it the minute he laid eyes on him, knew she felt it too.

The heart pounding, the chest tightening, the blood rushing. It’s him it’s him it’s him it’s him.

Their son is 17. He lived in a typical two-story suburban house. He had parents who loved him, wanted the best for him. He admired Malcolm X and liked drawing and dabbling in the dark web. He collected snowglobes.

Their son is 17, and he’s dead.

His blood boils, his heart crumples, at the image of their son with a bloody hole in his temple, their son in a body bag. The guilt creeps back, despite Scully’s years-long efforts. How can he not blame himself? How can he ever believe he holds any claim to William– Jackson, he constantly forces himself to remember– after everything? She’s the one who carried him, felt him, held him, soothed his cries, let him go. He just ran.

…

He tries not to focus on himself. Instead, does what he can for Scully. Does everything he can to find Jackson, to protect him. The next few days rush by in a blur of instinct, adrenaline, and raw emotion.

He’s safe. Or as safe as he can be right now.

Later, much later, Scully asks him to stay with her. And in the dark, as it has always been, she soothes his worries, kisses away his pain. She’s not free, but she’s somehow lighter. Stronger than ever. He takes her light, takes her love and her strength, and pushes away from the brood of guilt constantly at his heels. They hold each other, tears of respite soaking their skin.

…

They try to live again after everything is over. After their son dies twice and resurrects himself. After that cigarette sucking bastard is cold and rotting. After burying the last of their friends. After putting away their guns and badges for good this time. After their daughter is born.

Baby books aren’t common practice anymore, most precious memories being stored in the digital stratosphere, but they decide to make one anyway. A new beginning, a new chapter. The pages fill, one by one, with photos, memories, firsts.

On the plain grey cover is a photo. Their weeks old daughter, fingers peeking out of soft blankets, watching her brother in wide-eyed wonder as he smiles down at her.

#wow i'm so sorry this is so absurdly long #and i'm so sorry it took so long to write #i really loved this propmt so much #and i kinda used it as an excuse to write out an idea i've had for a long time #that's why it's so ridiculously long and wordy haha #but i hop eyou enjoy it #can you tell how hard i tried to tie it all together at the end?#my writing #i guess this counts as my first full length publishing on here too #huh #and if anyone wants to send me more 5 hc prompts #bc you somehow enjoyed this #and don't mind possibly waiting a while lol #please send them along

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hcfhhgg · 6 years

Text

Hi @pixiesandink , I hope better late than never...Here your Secret Santa gift. Merry Christmas and a happy New Year and all that. I hope you are having a good time with your snow :-)

By the time Iida and Midoriya returned with their umbrellas, Uraraka was sitting in a garbage container and refused to leave. “It’s my home now.” she puffed, sitting cross-legged, arms folded above her chest while slowly sinking into the mass of thrown away class assignments and shredded meeting minutes: “I live here.”

“It’s a garbage container.”, Iida argued, having faced to many pointless discussions to care much whether his reasons mattered to her.

“Its paper.” She explained: “Soft and comfy. And I don’t have to walk to school at all.”

“That’s inappropriate and probably illegal,” he continued, chopping the air, as he was wont to: “And dangerous on top.”

“It’s a single room flat in a good area,” she shook her head in overplayed disappointment: “People murder for this kind of place. And it comes fully furnished,” she gestured at the paper surrounding her.

“This is the school yard.”

The UA towers stood high to their right, looking foreboding against the grey afternoon sky, the tinted windows reflecting the fading light in deep blue, seeming eternal and calm against the wind beaten branches of near standing trees, shrill signing birds flitting between their branches, hiding from the oncoming storm. It smelled of rain, and the promise of an evening spent huddling in the common room, hoping the electricity would hold while fighting over blankets, their voices drowning out the sound of rain beating against the windows.

Uraraka shifted again, sinking even deeper into her new home, as she aimlessly pulled pieces of paper from the mess. With her head at about Iidas height, she huffed lazily, shaking her head: “What did you think of the essay questions today?”

The other one leaned forwards, setting his forearms against the side of the garbage container, carefully avoiding all dirt and eying his friends new home suspiciously: “I definitively have to study when we return. They are putting significantly more empathies on their humanities program now than they did when my brother went here.”

She nodded her agreement, through she knew nothing about the schools humanities program several years ago: “That last question really got me confused. Did we cover that in class.”

“It was on one of the hand-outs, actually.” Midoriya chimed in from below, having sat himself down on the dirty asphalt besides the containers, his painfully yellow umbrella opened above him, as if to create a small cave consisting only of it, him and the worn out sweater he had thrown over his Uniform: “I hardly understood it through, anyway.” He yawned.

It was the week of test preparation, with teachers drilling theoretical information into them, even putting off part of their physical regime in favour of endless repetition and practise tests.

“I didn’t read those.” Uraraka signed, leaving Iida torn between reprimanding her for not fully following the lessons or scolding himself for forgetting valuable class material.

“I doubt it matter through.” Midoriya went on: “Hardly anyone who is not amongst the top five solved that one. I heard Yaoyorozu say she struggled with it, even.”

“History isn’t her thing huh?” his friend asked past a struggling Iida, still undecided: “But she is so brilliant at Chemistry. Think they will keep a question even the best student can’t answer?”

This made Iida snap. Taking a deep breath and completing a few forceful chops against the unsuspecting air he made his decision known, launching into a lengthy monologue on work ethics, which, to the readers convenience, shall here be reduced to its essence: “Of course they should keep it. As students and future hero we have a duty to meet the highest expectations of not only this school, but society also. It would do you two good to remember…” he started, pushing himself of the garbage container to flathandendly point at Uraraka: “…that even the history of a pre quirk society can be relevant to your work one day.”

“Hm. You think so? But how?” his friend wondered, leaning forwards to look over the side of the container downwards: “He does have a point through.”

Midoriya shrugged, the motion hardly visible through his oversized yellow sweater: “We still have two more weeks to learn, so they might just…expect us to forget everything else.”

“Who needs a hero when you could have someone who understands a gold-standard.” Uraraka laughed, throwing her head back and glancing up at the sky, which was cloudy and unusually dark for a summer day.

“The gold-standard”, it sounded from below, the words torn away from the boy’s mouth, hardly audible against her disinterest. With one hand she took hold of some discharged papers, making them float before pushing them up into the wind. Iida huffed disapprovingly as they where ripped towards the east gate.

“How long can you keep that up?”

“Long enough.” She grinned, watching the paper disappear in the distance: “With something that light till the next shopping district maybe.” A smile broke across her face: “Have you ever drunk like an astronaut?”

Iida huffed, recognizing the abrupt change of topic as what it was, but Midoriya, who knew that the evening would be filled with relentless studying and quiet discomfort, laughed: “With a straw?”

“Yes,” she bobbled her head up and down, her knees sinking in deeper from the sudden movement: “Or like Pacman,” she looks almost proud saying it, snapping her mouth shut trying to imitate the video game character and both boys where struck by the sudden realisation that they would probably soon find out how the dirty brown spots appeared on the common room celling over the weekend.

“Yes”, the smaller boy perked up, his head bumping against the umbrella: “Like an obstacle run, weightless in the air,” he smiled up to them, waving off Iida, whose face softened at the look of excitement on his friends face: “You could train body awareness and agility. Stamina too. With all the - Is it more straining to float liquids?”

“Huh?” Uraraka tilted her head, trying to compare the effort to the lifting of a solid object and coming up empty: “It’s different I think. I can’t actually touch all of it.”

“Oh! So it is all about the surface tension?” her friend asked from below.

“I guess.” She sounded uncertain, twirling a strand of hair around her finger: “Its weird. I was not paying that much attention.” A slight blush crossed her face, remembering the last Saturday night when the common room had been to quiet, with only her and Kaminari sitting on the plush couches, trying to scare the night away with pointless chatter and bad ideas. To throw some drinks into the air had been his suggestion, the kind of drinks as well and she had agreed because she was fifteen and these here the kind of trills she should experience. Nothing more than a slight taste of danger laced with stupidity and laughter. The kind of things that made time pass quicker.

A single drop of rain landed on her face and stopped her in her thoughts, running down her nose and dropping on her lips. Laughing she licked it up, wondering about water pollution and the sense of inner tension floating liquids gave her: “Deku,” she said, reaching backwards for the lid of the garbage container: “ Iida, I think it’s starting.”

Iida looked upwards, at the grey clouds looking just a shade darker than before as he blinked away a raindrop in the corner of his eye. Ignoring the sound of the lid being closed he reached for his umbrella, feeling more drops falling on his thin hair and smiling at Midoriyas quiet mumble: “…he wont like that, he’ll…”

Alarmed his head shot up, starring at Uraraka who smiled at him softly beneath the half closed lid of the container, fitting comfortably and looking cosy lying amongst the thrash, shoulders angled slightly towards him, her legs almost entirely covered by the paper. He blinked as she burst out in laughter, her body convoluting as the scandalised look on his face deepened.

“What are you thinking? We are…” he started, frowning and jerking his head as more raindrops soaked through his hair, the sudden movement letting them drop into his face as he hit the containers side repeatedly.

“Wait, what is she doing?” Midoriya shouted from below, giggling along his friend at the taller boys attics.

“Aw, come on,” despite her apologetic smile, wide and open and not regretful at all, the girls voice was teasing as she tried to wards of the punishing lecture that was sure to follow: “I’m the one without an umbrella.”

“Something any of your friends,” Iida waved at the space behind him, indicating nothing but empty asphalt and rain: “… could have helped you with! Here,” he opened his umbrella, which was wide and dark, looking sturdy and expensive, with light brown studs at the end of its rips, just the kind of model his friends would have expected him to own and held it over the container, leaving his own back uncovered: “… we can share.”

Uraraka laughed again, pushing her head out from below the lid and under the umbrella: “You know that this is exactly the kind of umbrella I thought you had.”

It took her some wriggling and crawling to push herself from the paper, hands folded to activate her quirk a moment before she threw her arms around Iida and, with a forceful jump, let herself float almost vertically upwards, rain and dirt staining her clothing while the taller boy tried desperately to hold onto her and keep them both covered. They must have made for a ridicules picture, because when Midoriya, still seated on the ground in a small circle of dryness, peered at them from below his shelter, he began to giggle, starting with a small, swallowed sound, that soon turned into cut-off pleas to stop, please, of not for Iidas, then for his hearts sake.

It took a few minutes for the two to sort themselves out, like an overworked machine trying to pull a hot-air balloon down to earth, both moving unsuccessfully to avoid each others flailing limps, like two dancers attempting to push each other off balance, as if they where not sure if they should be fighting or help each other to float off into space to never be seen again.

“I am getting good at this.” Uraraka said, after her feet had again found the ground, her friend holding onto her shoulders as if trying to keep her grounded. Her face was slightly pale; looking sickly against her dropping wet hair she spent some time trying to push back. Still she was smiling, proud and exhausted as if she would do this again, in a day maybe, after she had gotten to spent some quality time with her bed: “Who is up for some hot chocolate?”

“I am certainly not ‘up’ anything.” The grip around her shoulders tightened, but she could hear something like happy displeasure in the boys’ voice: “But I would not mind something warm to drink. Are you coming Midoriya?” he asked, already turning towards the dorm, relived about the end of a chaos he had enjoyed all the more for knowing that it would end.

“No”, the boy chimed from the ball of yellow below: “I will not abandon this small heaven of dryness.”

“Huh?” came from above: “You too.”

“I think,” said Uraraka, a slight frown marring her face: “You broke him Deku. Congratulations. No hot chocolate for you.”, she sung, looking smug, sickly and happy at the continuation of their attics.

“But,” the teen whined: “All the dedication and patience that went into staying dry! If I get up now, I will be wet too. And I haven’t done the laundry.”

“You can wear…No.” The girl shook her head, remembering, with glee, giddily excitement and slight remorse the last time her friend had tried on any of her clothes and stretched her fourth best tight fitting shirt to a pyjama: “Your can wear Iidas clothes. Right?”

“Wha-? Yes, I am, of course, always happy to help a friend, even if it would not be necessary if said friend had done his chores.” Despite trying to sound accusatory, waving his hands through the air, the dark haired boy seemed to smile, even through he was shivering in the cold, as he tried to pull Uraraka closer to his body, using her as personal source of warmth.

“Oh really?” she muttered: “I bet…” With a slight tap to the shelve of his sweater Midoriya felt himself lifted off the ground, struggling and trying to maintain contact with the small, round patch of asphalt he had sat one, the ground darkening as the first drops of rain fell on it belatedly.

With a drawn out ‘NO’ the teen gave up his fight, stretching his hand comically towards the disappearing dry asphalt, as he was drabbed along on his right foot, trying and failing to keep at least his upper body dry as he wined along his friends cheerful chants of ‘one of us’, preparing to soon be dropped unexpectedly. He had seen Uraraka before, after all.

They made it halfway to the dorms before she dropped him, letting herself fall dramatically into his arms as soon as he had stood up and she brought her stomach under control, fainting sudden weakness and screaming as he tried to lift her over his head.

“Waaaarm.”, she groaned after he had successfully lowered her and hugged him. He hugged back until Iida threw himself over the two, slinging his arms around both their shoulders and throwing them of balance, seeming perfectly content as they all tumbled onto the ground, just a few meters from their destination.

“Now,” Uraraka chided: “Now I really need to shower.”

“You sat in a garbage container.” He replied as he rolled off them: “You should anyway.”

#pixiesandink #rainyweather #bnha #bnhagenexchange #midoriya izuku #iida tenya #uraraka ochako #writing #my fic

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dramaqueeenamby · 6 years

Text

How I Plot MY Stories

DISCLAIMER: This method works for me. It’s subjective. It may work for you and it may not. Regardless, I’d like to think that there are some objective points in this thing.

1) Inspiration

This is one of those objective things, but I personally find my story inspo from a myriad of ways. Environments, personal experience, conversations, etc. However, my most common (and favorite) method would definitely have to be music. Music always tells a story. You just have to know how to listen to it.

Take for instance Si Una Vez by Selena. In English, it translates to If I Once. Now, if you don’t speak Spanish (I’m real rusty, but I can generally translate pretty well), that’s okay.

Despacito and Gasolina, anyone?

2) Brainstorming

Anyway, this particular song talks about a woman who regrets a relationship that she was in and no longer has plans to return to said person. Now, the first thought that comes to my mind is “what happened that made this relationship so terrible?” Did he cheat? Did she cheat? Did they grow apart? Was there possibly some type of domestic violence-related issues? These questions all serve to help you brainstorm, play around with different broad ideas. If we go with the cheating storyline, who stepped out on who? And who was it with? His friend? Her friend? This also helps you figure out your cast, OC’s, and main conflict, the heart, if you will, of your story.

3) Conflict

Now, here’s where my personal touch comes into play. Okay, let’s say that he cheated. Why? What caused him to step out on their marriage? The first thought that comes to mind is some type of trauma. To him. To her. I did a story years ago about a couple whose marriage was in shambles because of his cheating ways and only revealed near the middle of the story what caused him to walk away.

They’d lost their baby. She’d suffered a miscarriage.

So while the main conflict was his cheating, the reason behind his unfaithful ways was another secret.

Now, this is a little tricky to do because you have to slowly build up to the ‘big reveal,’ dropping clues and such along the way. The easiest way is flashbacks. I recommend alternating so if chapter one is a flashback then chapter two is the current time. The flashbacks should start with how the couple met and build up from there that way readers see the development of their relationship and start to wonder what went wrong.

The other method that is sometimes harder to do is clues. If she lost her child, then have a scene where she is out and sees someone with their children and she becomes uncomfortable. Mention her avoiding certain people, not returning phone calls, etc. However, do not drop too many or make them too specific or else your readers might figure it out.

Instead, have your current chapter focus on his cheating, maybe her trying to track down who he cheated with. In the present timeframe, have a plot twist.

4) Plot Twits

These are a favorite of mine and they’re always pretty damn convoluted. That’s just the way my brain works. You don’t have to have one in your story. Not at all. I just prefer them in mine because I like stories with a bit of suspense. Now, using the Black Panther as an example is good because there are two sides: comics and MCU. I’m a fan of both and implement ideologies from both sectors into my works.

Let’s take someone like Shuri in Space Between and this notion that she’s the informant. I’ve already said that she isn’t so this shouldn’t be a “spoiler.” Someone said that she’d have the least amount of motive, but wouldn’t that make her an even better subject for a twist?

And I tend to disagree that she wouldn’t have a motive. If something were to happen to T’Challa, she would become the ruler of Wakanda and (possibly) the next Black Panther. If T’Challa marries Nala, then Bunme becomes his heir and Shuri is bumped down the line. We know that Shuri is absolutely brilliant and capable of so much. What if she wanted to be queen? She wouldn’t be too happy about some kid who, while she loves, knows nothing about Wakanda taking her “place.”

Like that part at the waterfalls? I could have written a part where Shuri is suddenly quiet when the people started calling Nala their queen because she knows what would happen if her brother were to marry the woman.

Or going back to the cheating scenario, make the therapist that’s treating the couple the one who is cheating with the husband. Make it the doctor. Hint that the husband has a history with the cheater by writing that he seemed uncomfortable in the sessions or appointments. Readers will think it because the couple already has a lot of tension between them instead of this notion that she’s the one he’s sleeping with.

Play around with your characters, search for the point of intersectionality, and draw on it.

5) The Outline

For me, I do this in a number of ways. The first thing I do, however, is write everything that I have (so far) down. I write out my cast (I’m going to use my outline from stories on Wattpad, again, to avoid spoilers) and their brief background after spending a week or such on research to ensure that the veracity of the characters is on point.

Then, after figuring out what needs to happen (I do this by freewriting and brainstorming various ideas that I know could help me build up to the big reveal of one or more of my conflicts. I have a notebook that I write in for that part. ), I do a rough outline of each chapter to figure out how long the book will be. I either use bullets:

Or I use sentences:

Whatever works for you.

Oh, the apps I use are: Google Docs, Evernote, Notes, and iBooks Author.

Now, keep in mind, that these are just rough guides. Your story might end up being longer, shorter, or not include something that was in the initial draft.

All of this happens to me with each fic that I formulate.

It’s okay though because you have something to fall back on and help remember your original plans.

I also create playists of songs that contribute to each chapter or the story as a whole. And, typically, my titles are lines from the main song that sparked the fic or I just name it after the song itself.

Plus, I’m a visual person so I create covers/aesthetics/visuals for my fics. They help remind me of the story and the characters background. Here are some of the visuals that I’ve done for various fics (published and sitll in the making):

Take the Chadwick one. It’s got Siyanda and Simone. One on each side and a split road in the middle as well as a bed. It indicates that he can only go one way aka pick one woman.

That might be spoiler-ish.

6) Final Thoughts

Again, someone requested that I give a snippet as to how I plan my stories, but I figured that I’d just make a post because a lot of you seem enthralled by my hot mess ass, messy ass, works. Lol. But, I needed to get into the writing mood and this helped so I guess it’s a double win? No? Okay.

~Amby

#personal #do not steal my graphics or I WILL hunt you down #confessions of a reformed hacker

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