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kakakakashi · 3 years

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Flightless Bird (Part 1/4)

Merry Christmas @wooobuddyletsgetnasty!!!

I wanted to write this as a gift to someone who I’m honored to know. She’s literally an angel on earth. She is doing so much for others right now, and I wanted to give her this piece for Christmas, as a way to give back to her and to show her how grateful I am for her work and her friendship.

Keigo Takami (Hawks) x Reader

Warnings: cursing, implied tattooing without a doctor’s license, lots of words that don’t make sense, idk, man.

EDIT: OMG! I FORGOT TO ADD THAT THIS HAS MANGA SPOILERS & I HOPE I DIDN’T SPOIL IT FOR ANYBODY! I’M SO SORRY! 😭

Word count: 1,246

A/N: Keigo’s phone screen is shattered like 25/8. Change my mind. Anyway, who else is screeching about the latest chapter.

Checking your watch again, you noted that your latest client was late by thirteen minutes. You’d told him to be on time, but apparently, he had another idea. Glancing through the crowd to absentmindedly people watch, you imagined the crowd’s lives. The businessman on the phone was probably on his way to a meeting. Maybe he worked in finance. Maybe not. The little girl holding onto her mother’s hand made a smile quirk on your lips while she babbled on about her most recent lesson in school. However, a familiar figure in the crowd immediately stole your attention.

Sure, he was wingless and retired after his most recent battle, but he was still famous. This was going to ruin everything. You weren’t about to discuss your illegal tattoo business in front of a well-known hero. He’d surely run you in, and you’d end up with fines up your ass for tattooing without a doctor’s license. The client you were meeting with, Keigo was his name if memory served you well, was definitely not getting off to a good start, first, leaving you hanging, and now putting your ass on the line. It was probably best to ask for a rain check.

Strike that, you were definitely cancelling. Hawks, the famed hero you’d spotted, casually approached the bench on which you were currently seated before her reclined on the opposite end. Even without the vermillion feathers trailing behind him, it was obvious who he was. Pulling your phone out of your pocket to message Keigo, you began to wonder if you should even put in the effort. After all, the guy had missed his appointment.

“Sorry I’m late,” the young hero beside you spoke. Out of your peripheral vision, you noticed his iconic honey eyes were focused straight ahead, so you chose to ignore him. However, he continued, “Thanks for agreeing to meet me. I’ve been a fan of your work for years now.”

Raising your gaze from your phone, you skeptically side eyed him. After glancing to see who he could be talking to, you scoffed, “Me?”

“Yeah,” the corners of his mouth twitched up in a small smile, “You’re Y/N, right? The, uh, artist?”

You tried to imagine him sprouting a second head at his words. He had no real proof of who you were, so you knew it was a matter of who could be more convincing. “Sorry, I think you’re mistaken. I’m in marketing.”

It wasn’t a lie. That’s why you specifically chose those words. You ran your own social media page, after all. That’s how you got all your clients. As a matter of fact, you were currently out on business.

“I know.” You glanced at the hero to find him smirking at you with a crooked grin that was usually plastered on magazines. It was obvious he was trying to be charming, and you had to forcibly suppress the impulse to roll your eyes. “That’s how I found you, after all. Although, I can’t really like all your posts from my public account since I am… well… me, and it wouldn’t look good if someone in my line of work was liking photos of your, uh, artwork. I’m guessing you understand since it seems like you recognize me. I’m Keigo.”

You didn’t have to imagine the second head sprouting this time. Genuine confusion flashed across your annoyed expression. “What?”

Upon your disbelief, Hawks reached into his pocket to dig out his phone. He quickly unlocked it before opening the string of messages, holding the shattered screen out for you to read. Sure enough, when you glanced over the messages, you found your exact words in the bubbles. Glancing at the account, you noted the username matched Keigo’s as well. Fuck. You were screwed. You were going to get arrested for sure. Almost reading your mind, Hawks tried to quell your nerves.

“Look, this isn’t some kind of sting operation or anything. I’m coming here as Keigo, not Hawks.” The alias sent a flash of a shadow across his casual expression. The light in his eyes dimmed slightly when he continued in a softer tone, “I can’t do that kind of work anymore… That’s part of why I’m here, actually.”

All the noise of the city went silent to you. This wasn’t a good idea. He was probably lying. After all, he was a trained spy. Although, you couldn’t figure out why they’d send him, of all people, to help capture you. Such a high-profile person wouldn’t be the best choice for this mission, so he could be telling the truth. However, you couldn’t risk anything yet, so you remained still, staring off in front of you and waiting for more information to be offered.

“How about I talk about what I’m looking for?” Keigo figured it was the best way to break the ice, but you remained silent. You weren’t about to give the supposed-ex pro, the master of interrogation and acquiring information, any opening to wipe out everything you’ve worked for. However, while you stared into the sea of people before you, Hawks took your silence as an invitation to continue. “You probably saw the news. My wings got singed off. It left some pretty nasty scars on my back, and I’d really like to cover them up. I thought it might be cool to use some element of my time… in that line of work to remind me that it was all for a reason.”

Without any indication that you were listening, Keigo assumed he was getting nowhere fast. He knew he shouldn’t be surprised with your aloof demeanor, but he still deflated a bit at the thought that his favorite tattoo artist wouldn’t take him on as a new client. Sure, he could go to someone else, but your work hit different to him. He hoped you would be the one to ink him. However, it didn’t look like that was going to turn out, especially when you casually rose from the bench. Keigo watched you shove your fists in your jacket pockets, expecting you to take your leave. However, he was surprised when he heard your voice in that same monotonous timbre.

“Well?” A beat passed while you continued to gaze a hundred miles in front of you. Keigo’s wide eyes glued themselves to your figure, waiting for his response. However, he remained frozen in his spot. “Aren’t you coming? I’ve gotta get a look at your scars in person to see what I’m working with. My place is only a few blocks from here.”

Even if he was trying to set you up, you decidedit wouldn’t hurt if today was a consultation. Keigo and you could exchange information, and simply chat a bit. Maybe you could weasel some information out of him. Obviously, you were nowhere near the caliber of winged hero Hawks, but you were pretty good at reading people. Besides, he had no reason to deceive you. The piece he wanted was going to cost a pretty penny based off of his description, and the risk was worth the payout. Not to mention, taking a chance on him was an awfully appealing gamble.

His expression of cluelessness morphed into a sparkling grin, yet you still didn’t spare him a glance. Although, the little tug of your lips didn’t go unnoticed by Keigo. He quickly stood while you began walking in the direction of your home studio with the retired hero hot on your heels.

#cherry posts about super nerds #cherry has ideas sometimes #bnha imagines #mha imagines #bnha x reader #mha x reader #keigo x reader #hawks x reader #me @ this fic: be free like... well... *looks at the camera like on the office*#i finally started writing MHA guys. i have so many ideas. you have no idea.

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briamichellewrites · 2 years

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Talinda was pregnant and Chester’s family was pushing him to get married. He felt trapped and he wanted to get away from her but he didn’t want to lose being a father. She was a hookup who was showing her true colors by using him for money. He had three kids: Jamie, nine, Isaiah, eight, and Draven, three from two different women. Isaiah was the son of his ex-girlfriend, Elka, who he adopted. Jaime and Draven were his biologically. Talinda and Samantha did not like each other but they tried to get along.

He had supposedly met her at a Playboy party, where she was working as a call girl with other girls. They had hooked up in a closet and she moved in with him after two weeks. Everyone could see she was a gold digger but he was just now realizing how fucked up he was by getting her pregnant. Not only was she a gold digger but she was also a narcissist who love-bombed him. He regretted leaving Samantha and Draven.

Jayde invited him over after he reached out to her. The guys of Bon Jovi had just left, so she was alone. When he arrived, he found her hanging out by the pool. It was a nice warm evening and the sun was going down. They said hello as he walked over and sat down next to her. He rested his head on her shoulder.

She was safe. He had known her for five years and he never got the feeling she would use him. She had grown into a beautiful young woman with hair that had been cut into a chin-length bob. It looked great on her and made her look older than she was. He kissed her forehead making her smile. She looked up at him and he moved some hair out of her face before kissing her.

Something happened. They got lost in each other. He had a pregnant girlfriend but she didn’t matter anymore. Selfishly, he wanted Jayde. She moved on to his lap facing him. Before they drew attention from her neighbors, they decided it was best to go inside and up to her room.

When they did, she closed the sliding glass door and curtains. He removed his shirt before kissing her again. After lifting her on the bed, he laid her down. He stopped and asked if she was a virgin. Yes. Was she ok with him being her first? Yes. Ok. He was going to make her first time special because she deserved it. She ran her fingers down his chest and tattoos after he got on top of her.

Jayde was a huge fan of Bon Jovi, they were aware of that but she talked to them like old friends. They could see her becoming their surrogate daughter, who they looked out for. Whoever raised her had done a great job. She had money and fame but was not spoiled. They knew nothing about her background, other than she was a foster child. The internet didn’t provide many clues as to who she was. The only thing that they read was that she was the youngest Grammy Award winner ever, which they already knew.

She showed them around her house and her studio. It was a nice setup. Did it come with the house? Yeah, it was one of the reasons why she liked it so much. She only knew how to use the keyboard. Maybe she would fiddle around and figure out how it worked. Jon and Richie took the time to explain everything to her.

She had set up on a bookshelf with album covers of Elton John, Bon Jovi, Aerosmith, Linkin Park, Whitney Houston, and Britney Spears. There were also a good variety of different CDs. She had the Backstreet Boys, Bon Jovi, Britney Spears, Elton John, Whitney Houston, Mariah Carey, Linkin Park, Train, Matchbox Twenty, Christina Aguilera, and Bruce Springsteen. Why did she have albums and CDs?

“The albums are more decorative. The CDs I like to listen to, especially if I’m writing for a specific band or artist so I can know their music style. A couple of years ago, I wrote a song with Rob Thomas of Matchbox Twenty. It was either a year or two years ago. I knew some of their music but I wanted to know more about the band, so I went out and I bought their CDs.”

“That’s a smart move. I suppose it would be different than the Backstreet Boys”, Dave joked.

“Much different. I don’t think Rob Thomas wants songs about girls.”

They laughed.

Chester finished inside of her before pulling out. He pulled the covers over their naked bodies before laying next to her. Making love to her was different than Talinda. It had been spontaneous and not an obligation. He felt a genuine connection with her and he loved feeling her body below his. Chester. She never expected him to be her first but she was glad he was. Was it everything she wanted? Yes. Good.

When he got home later, Talinda instantly wanted to make sure he hadn’t been drinking. No, he was completely sober. Then where the hell was he? He was with Jayde, Rob’s former foster daughter. Did he cheat? Yes, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. He went to take a shower not saying another word to her. One, he needed to clean up, and two, he didn’t want to get into a fight with her. He was killing two birds with one stone.

After the kids went to school the next morning, he asked for a paternity test to make sure the baby was his. He had a feeling for a while that she was cheating on him. She denied it. He insisted. After a huge fight, he told her he just wanted the truth. Since she moved in with him, he’s felt like she was using him and that she had gotten pregnant to trap him. He loved her but he would walk out if she was cheating.

The baby wasn’t his. His heart was broken. He stared at her in disbelief for a moment, as he thought of what to say. Then, it’s over. I’m done. He wanted her and her stuff gone by the end of the week. Where was he going? It didn’t matter. He was leaving her! Without saying anything else, he grabbed his phone, keys, and wallet then went to his car.

Where was he going? He was going to visit Mike. Tears were going down his face as he thought about how right everyone had been. She didn’t love him, just his bank account.

He was at Warner Music with Brad. When he got there, they were concerned because he was crying. He told them that the baby wasn’t his. They were devastated. Did Talinda tell him that? Yeah. He loved her and he let that overshadow all of the red flags. She also manipulated and love-bombed him. He hated her and wanted nothing to do with her ever again.

“Good for you for leaving. You are much better without her. One day, you will find someone who truly loves you. Fuck Talinda. She’s a narcissistic piece of shit and I am so sorry she hurt you”, Brad said.

“Sometimes when you love someone, red flags just look like flags. She tried to trap you with another man’s kid. Do what you can to get rid of her because you can do a lot better”, Mike added.

He nodded. “Thank you. I’m going to hang out here because I can’t trust myself to be alone.”

He was more than welcome to stay with them. They didn’t want him to be alone with his abusive mind because he might relapse into drugs or drinking, which only made him suicidal. He was handed a Kleenex. Thanks. He used it to wipe the tears from his eyes. The thoughts telling him to kill himself were already starting, which was why he was happy not to be alone. He was with his brothers who truly loved him.

@zoeykaytesmom @feelingsofaithless @jovichic-bonjovi4ever @borhap-au @beneathashadytree @duffs-shot-glass @geo-winchester

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bulletballet-arch · 3 years

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REALLY LONG CHARACTER SURVEY. RULES. repost , don’t reblog ! tag 10 ! good luck ! TAGGED. I took this from Minnie’s archived Bioshock blog. I’ve been looking for this meme all this month. TAGGING. @hammurabicomplex. @bluuxriising. @ Me - for Sal on @bulletsoverbensonhurst. @immaterialed (charlie) @soypeor (bella) @svmmercmance. @mrflayed. and you!

BASICS. FULL NAME : Eve Delores Littlejohn NICKNAME : Evie, Little Evie (by her maternal side of the family), Delores, Didi NAME MEANING / S Eve is from the ancient Hebrew name חַוָּה (Chawwah), which was derived from the Hebrew word חָוָה (chawah) meaning "to breathe" or the related word חָיָה (chayah) meaning "to live". Delores is a variant of Dolores, meaning "sorrows", taken from the Spanish title of the Virgin Mary María de los Dolores, meaning "Mary of Sorrows." Littlejohn is a surname that has historically been found in England and Scotland. With potential origins being either ‘to distinguish a beloved child that was not the eldest.’ Or, ‘a contradictory nickname for a large man.’ HISTORICAL CONNECTION? : She’s named after her grandmother, Evelyn Hollins.

AGE : 42 BIRTHDAY : June 2 ETHNIC GROUP : Black-American. Meaning she’s mixed with a lot (Some of her relatives are respectively Creole and Italian) but uses Black as a catch-all term. NATIONALITY : American LANGUAGE / S : English, Italian, Spanish, Latin, some French SEXUAL ORIENTATION : Bisexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION : Biromantic RELATIONSHIP STATUS : Verse dependent, usually married -or connected- to Salvatore Scozzari in some way. CLASS : Upper-Class HOME TOWN / AREA : Brooklyn. Spent time between Bedford-Stuyvesant - with her paternal grandfather and Park Slope - with her maternal grandparents. CURRENT HOME : In her childhood home in Bedford-Stuyvesant. PROFESSION : Ballet Instructor. Former Professional Ballerina. ( Other verses see her as a professional thief. )

PHYSICAL. HAIR : Black. In terms of her natural hair, Eve has springy, 3C hair she seldom shows off because she was raised in a family where straightened hair was deemed presentable and professional. EYES : Thin almond eyes. Dark brown. NOSE : Straight and small. FACE : She has a prominent, high forehead, that’s accented with high cheekbones and a pointy chin. LIPS : Full. COMPLEXION : She has a light brown (tawny) complexion. SCARS : None major. TATTOOS : None. HEIGHT : 5′4″ BUILD : Eve has a slender build. One of those people who have been small and petite since childhood. Despite this, she also stays skinny because she is obsessively conscious of the food she consumes. The older she gets the more she weighs, however. USUAL HAIR STYLE : Her hair is cut short. Reaching her shoulders in a neat, even bob. She either curls it in a retro fashion or curls the tips. For work she wears it in a traditional, pinned bun. USUAL FACE LOOK : In public, she appears stoic for the most part. Any emotion shown (such as the length of a smile) is carefully calculated. She has to seem perfect. USUAL CLOTHING : Form fitting dresses. Incredibly chic and fashionable for the time. Shoes include heels - never open-toed, unless she has on stockings. Extravagant earrings. Jewelry that can include either necklaces, crosses, pearls, or dainty rings. Prone to wearing black sunglasses in public.

PSYCHOLOGY. FEAR / S : Thunderstorms, airplanes, creatures like weasels, snakes and ferrets, break-ins, men she doesn’t know, harm coming to her children ASPIRATION / S : Formerly wanted to become a major [black] ballerina in the elite world of ballet, now she just wants to expose more [inner city children] to dance through her job. Personally, she wants her children to change the world in some form or fashion, too. Eve also has good ideas on improving the community, but at the moment has no idea how to go about these ideas. POSITIVE TRAITS : Generous, compassionate, patient, protective NEGATIVE TRAITS : Strict, sullen, hard to read, represses her emotions, secretive MBTI : Advocate - INFJ-T ZODIAC : Cancer TEMPERAMENT : Melancholic ANIMALS : Lioness VICE / S : Pride & Lust FAITH : Christian. Grew up Baptist, but Catholic influences have been around her since childhood. Attended a Catholic High School in Park Slope, her grandmother Evelyn was also a practicing Catholic. GHOSTS ? : Yes and no. She feels that objects formerly owned by the deceased posses the essence of their previous owners and that they essentially live on through these pieces of property. AFTERLIFE ? : Yes. REINCARNATION ? : No, but it’s a romantic concept. ALIENS ? : No. POLITICAL ALIGNMENT : Democratic ECONOMIC PREFERENCE : She likes being where she’s at now. But honestly, being upper class is all she’s ever known. SOCIOPOLITICAL POSITION : Bourgeoisie, basically. The Littlejohn’s represent The Historical Black Elite. EDUCATION LEVEL : College level. FAMILY.

FATHER : William ‘Bill’ Littlejohn MOTHER : Linda Littlejohn ( nee Hollins ) SIBLINGS : None EXTENDED FAMILY : Amos Littlejohn (paternal grandfather) Liza Littlejohn (paternal grandmother) Evelyn Hollins (maternal grandmother) Giuseppe D’Aietti (maternal grandfather) and a wide host of cousins, aunts and uncles.

FAVOURITES. BOOK : Night Song by Beverly Jenkins. The Color Purple by Alice Walker. Some sort of old, French erotic novel that was published before she was born. MOVIE : Eve watches films along the lines of...Waiting to Exhale, Beaches, The First Wives Club and Fatal Attraction. She loves Made-For-TV movies from the time period. In regards to plays, her favorite one is Sunday In The Park With George. 5 SONGS : Meet Me On The Moon / Essence of Sapphire / No One In The World / People / The First Time I Saw Your Face DEITY : Persephone HOLIDAY : New Years Eve, Christmas, Thanksgiving. Major holidays during the colder season. MONTH : October SEASON : Autumn PLACE : The dance studio she works at. WEATHER : Sunny, but cool. SOUND : The voices of Anita Baker and Sarah Vaughn. A skilled hand running over piano keys. Soft trumpets. Running water. Cats making chipper little meows. SCENT / S : Perfume, floral scented lotions, her partner’s cologne TASTE / S : Caramel, the tang of dark chocolate, strawberries coated with either chocolate, or sprinkles of white sugar. Light Vinegar. FEEL / S : Performing in front of an audience. Hot water engulfing your skin after a long day. Satin - whether it be the fabric of her clothes or sheets, your fingers tightly intertwined with another’s, feeling your significant other’s chest raise and lower against your skin with each breath they take. ANIMAL / S : Cocker Spaniels, Afghan Hounds, Cats, Birds - she loves all ( well, a majority ) of animals. NUMBER : Doesn’t have one. COLOR : White, Pink, Gold.

EXTRA. TALENTS : Dance, Eve is trained in ballet when it comes to her main verse. She has attended ballet classes since the age of eight and ever since then she placed all of her focus into it. Similarly, Eve has always had the makings of a good artist - as a child she enjoyed drawing and had informal art lessons with a man who lived in the basement of her grandfather’s brownstone, but she never invested into that half of her. BAD AT : Singing, Being interviewed, Public Speaking (as in Speech Giving), Decision Making TURN ONS : Charisma, Leadership Skills, Temperature Play, Phone Sex, Heavy Kissing, Light Roleplay TURN OFFS : Public Sex, Tearing [ Her ] Clothes, Threesomes, Cruelty, Senseless Violence HOBBIES : viewing plays & some musicals, reading romance novels, shopping, working out (she was into the whole celebrity VHS tape exercise trend), playing tennis, decorating AESTHETIC : Vintage Black Glamour, Black Ballerinas, Champagne and Wine Glasses, Paintings by Melinda Byers and Edward 'Clay' Wright QUOTES : "I'm bad with words, I hope you're good in reading eyes." / "There are truths I haven't even told God. And not even myself. I am a secret under the lock of seven keys."

FC INFO. MAIN FC / S : Lynn Whitfield ( A Thin Line Between Love & Hate ) ALT FC / S : Kylie Bunbury ( Twisted ) OLDER FC / S : Lynn Whitfield ( Greenleaf ) YOUNGER FC / S : N/A VOICE CLAIM / S : Lynn Whitfield

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1 : if you could write your character your way in their own movie , what would it be called , what style would it be filmed in , and what would it be about ? A1 : Recently I decided that if/when I try to write anything serious about Eve again, it’ll center on her being a jewel thief because it presents me more fun, and emotionally diverse, opportunities. That and I have a very specific cover image in my mind. Ideally, her adventures would be a series of books. I have no title in mind, no idea about how ‘it would be filmed’ ( although a style replicating 90s films would be excellent, film grain and all. ) but, I do have a bunch of plots in mind that I really don’t feel like typing out here.

Q2 : what would their soundtrack / score sound like ? A2 : Her score would have a vintage sound (or a jazzy Spike Lee sound, if you will) with instrumentals by Dorothy Ashby (a Jazz Harpist) the Ahmad Jamal Trio, Pharaoh Sanders, Yusef Lateef and Tarika Blue. For music with lyrics, the soundtrack would include the likes of Julie London, Sarah Vaughn, Ella Fitzgerald, and Dionne Warwick.

Q3 : why did you start writing this character ? + Q4 : what first attracted you to this character ? A3 : Whenever I make NPCs for my character’s lives I actually can’t just let them just be NPCs. I start thinking about them too much. Developing them too much. And then I’m like, ‘wow! I really like this character!’ Eve was a different character when I began writing her, and likely wouldn’t be considered the same character as she was previously, if I told someone in real life who knows about my writing (like my grandma) about all the changes she has undergone. Originally Delores was a university professor, because I thought it could lead to interesting interactions with college-age muses. And her previous history with the mafia was also something interesting to tap in. But then I started thinking about what was realistic, what wasn’t realistic, what did I feel comfortable/interested writing? What didn’t I feel comfortable/interested in writing? So as time went on, things would alter about this character. And the new things I came up with attracted me more.

Q5 : describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse. A5 : I have a love/hate relationship with Eve’s quiet demeanor. On one hand, I think quieter characters need love and the ability to be fully dimensional but on the other hand, writing louder characters has always been more fun for me. But really, Eve’s guarded behavior makes writing her stressful in some cases with others because sometimes...if I’m going to be honest...people don’t know how to carry a thread and interact with someone of her demeanor effectively.

Q6 : what do you have in common with your muse ? A6 : We’re both black, we’re both into art (although our exact interests and aesthetics with art differ)

Q7 : how does your muse feel about you ? A7 : Realistically she would think I need to take better care of myself.

Q8 : what characters does your muse have interesting interactions with ? A8 : We skippin’ this question.

Q9 : what gives you inspiration to write your muse ? A9 : Films such as, “Waiting to Exhale,” “The Kitchen” and “Widows.” Books by Alice Walker, like “The Third Life of Grange Copeland” as well as her short story, “Roselily.” The historical mob figure Stephanie St. Clair.

Q10 : how long did this take you to complete ? A10 : A few hours.

#long post #dash games.#headcanons.

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bestofblackwidow · 3 years

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The "Let me go - it's okay," she told him the last time we saw the Black Widow, it was - to say the least - emotional. "Let me go - it's okay," she said to Hawkeye, plunging to her death on the arid planet Sleeping in Avengers: Endgame for the ultimate sacrifice to save the world. While the deaths in the Marvel Cinematic Universe go on - sorry, Iron Man - there was probably no more heart-stopping moment, since the former SHIELD spy who became Avenger gave her life to recover the Soul Stone.

Still, it left the MCU in a bind. For years, a Black Widow film had been mooted, right back to 2004 at Lions Gate Entertainment before the rights reverted to Marvel. When Scarlett Johansson first appeared as Natasha Romanoff - the former KGB assassin with a very particular set of skills - in 2010's Iron Man 2, it didn't take long before questions were asked about a solo outing. Marvel Studios conductor Kevin Feige even held discussions with Johansson, who was then only 25. But there was a caveat, he said. "The Avengers comes first."

While others - Thor, Captain America, Black Panther and even Ant-Man - had their moments in the spotlight, the Black Widow was forced to wait. And wait. And wait. Not that Johansson thought that her character demanded the same treatment; if she was going to be in front of a Marvel movie, there had to be a reason. "Is there anything exciting to do creatively, as an actor?" she says. “Will we be able to do something extraordinary and strong? And something that stands on its own? "It's what makes the independent Black Widow an intriguing prospect: an inauguration of Phase 4 of the MCU promises to step back in time before her dramatic death to answer the provocative questions that still hover over her Crucially, the script transports audiences back to the events right after Captain America: Civil War, after that huge internal confrontation of the Avengers.

Without relatives or an organization that employs her, the Black Widow is alone, says Johansson. "It gave us the opportunity to really show her when she's kind of out of her game, you know? Because of that, anything was possible." The actress was there "from the start" at the script meetings, as they began to figure out how to delve into Romanoff's origins. "You are trying to map all of this ... which is extremely stressful," she laughs, "because there are no guidelines."

Fortunately, Johansson was not alone. In another inspired choice for the MCU canon, Feige recruited Australian director Cate Shortland, best known for discreet dramas like Somersault and Lore. While she was surprised, Shortland was encouraged by the creative freedom that Marvel was offering. “They allowed me to be myself and encouraged me to make a movie that I was passionate about,” she says. "We were allowed to have a lot of nuances and make a character-oriented film."

After several Skype sessions with Johansson, who also receives producer credit, Shortland worked with a Russian researcher to embody Romanoff's dark story: "the red in my ledger", as she told Loki in 2012 in Os Avengers. As she sings in the trailer, "We have to go back to where it all started" - the promising teaser clips of Romanoff as a young man (played by Ever Anderson, daughter of Paul WS Anderson and Milla Jovovich) in a childhood that seems far from idyllic. That's what makes Black Widow a family reunion of the kind that only Marvel would have the courage to conjure. Joining Romanoff is Yelena Belova, a sister-sister and fellow murderer who trained alongside her in the so-called Red Room, the punitive Soviet facility that produced 'Black Widow' spies.

"Their stories intersect," promises Shortland. "They clash." Played by Lady Macbeth's British star Florence Pugh, Belova is more than a physical match for Romanoff. Still, emotionally is where it really matters. "What Yelena does is kind of point to Natasha's pain," says Pugh. “She is part of Natasha's story. And I think that's why we have an opportunity to look at Natasha's story, because Yelena has been knocking on the door and says, 'Hey, let's deal with this pain. ”As Johansson comments, Belova is not just a carbon copy of his own character.

"She is completely alone. She is strong and different. She is so different (from) Natasha." Beside them are Melina Vostokoff (Rachel Weisz) and Alexei Shostakov (David Harbor), two father figures whose own stories intertwine with Natasha and Yelena. "This is the coolest thing with this whole group of people. They all had parts of their past that they regretted," says Pugh. “They’re older. They’ve had more life experience. They know more about the system, about this world they’re all living in.” Harbor, the Emmy Stranger Things nominated star, managed to put an indelible mark on the muscular Shostakov, better known as the Red Guardian super soldier, the Russian equivalent of Captain America. "There is a gangster quality to him," the actor smiles. "And he's covered in tattoos. He's got a beard and those gold teeth. He's crazy." But after years of making bad decisions, he's also full of remorse.

"He's in a bad situation," adds Harbor. "And he needs redemption." Weisz's character, Melina, is another who experienced the rigors of the Red Room, a place that put her in contact with Natasha and Yelena. Marking his first dive at the MCU, Weisz acknowledges that the film addresses the idea of discovering his favorite family. "It's definitely about finding out where you belong and where you came from, and what your background story was, and who you really are, and what matters to you - your ideology, I think." Along the way, Feige made reference to The Kids Are All Right - the 2010 Lisa Cholodenko film about a same-sex couple raising two teenagers. "Which is so weird," laughs Johansson. "You would never expect that from a Marvel movie." no it was the only strange nod to the film. Harbor speaks of Shostakov in terms of Philip Seymour Hoffman's drama teacher in the dramatic black comedy The Savages.

Or even expressing "the pathos of a small town, independent, family-run, weird movie... like Little Miss Sunshine". More understandable cinema references include "things like Logan and Aliens and The Fugitive," says Shortland. "We saw movies like that." Certainly, it's easy to see comparisons between Sigourney Weaver's determined Ripley, from James Cameron's masterpiece Aliens, and Johansson's Romanoff, an Avenger who has no superpowers. "We saw it as a force," says Shortland, "because she always has to dig really deep to get out of shit situations." According to the director, everyone in the production invested in deepening Romanoff - even Scottish composer Lorne Balfe (Pennyworth, His Dark Materials), who replaced Alexandre Desplat's original choice. Balfe looked at the character's origins, says Shortland. “He said, 'I want to put it on the ground, because it has been dug up in the movies in the past. I want to give her that flesh and blood. 'And he created this soundtrack that is really Russian."

However, perhaps the real blow here is to recruit Shortland, the first female director to face the Black Widow (and only the second, following Captain Marvel co-director Anna Boden, to enter the MCU). "This film would not be what it is without Cate Shortland," says Pugh. "I think having her eye, and having her mind with this script, has taken her to a whole different realm." Johansson agrees. "" You can feel it was made from a female perspective ... cooked there. "Although Ray Winstone's casting as Supervisor of the Red Room Dreykov (whose daughter contributed to the abundance of red in Romanoff's book, according to Loki) add more to the psychological battleground that the Black Widow will explore, it also deals with victimization, a very pertinent topic in the current climate. The Red Room itself is where trainees are brutally sterilized. "You will see that these women are hard working and strong, and they are murderers - and yet they still need to discuss how they were abused," says Pugh. "It is an incredibly powerful piece."

Judging by the 2020 Oscars, where Pugh and Johansson had their own private relationship session on the red carpet, the two actors got along very well. "She has a really beautiful career ahead of her ... she's a very special person," says Johansson, excited when Pugh's name is mentioned. More specifically, Pugh may well have more Marvel to chew on, if it is rumored that her character will take on the 'Black Widow' mantle for new adventures. By learning Parkour, kickboxing and knife fighting for role, Pugh can safely cut things physically, though she's reluctant to claim that the Black Widow is just a setup for future outings. "Even though it is obviously where everyone wants to go and want to think - think about what comes next - this film never really seemed to be what he was trying to underline." According to Johansson, however, test the audience who saw the film thinks otherwise. "Her character and her performance are so dear." Now, after more than a year of pandemic-related delays to July 2021), it will not be just a few lucky spectators who will be able to see. Black Widow will even be the first Marvel movie to debut simultaneously on the Disney+ streaming site (with a 'main hit' fee), an understandable move considering the uncertainty that still exists around the world. And in fact, after the success of the Marvel TV shows WandaVision and The Falcon And The Winter Soldier, it doesn't seem like such a strange home. Johansson believes that fans will respond to Black Widow, with this flashback of an earlier part of her life, bringing more poignancy to the Endgame's outcome. "Our goal was for them to be satisfied with this story; that maybe they could have some solution, I think, with the death of this character, in a way. It seemed like people wanted this." Shortland agrees. "We felt that we should honor his death," she says. And the Black Widow will surely honor him.

#blackwidow interview #totalfilm black widow #scarlett johansson interview #cate shortland blackwidow #scarlett johansson #florence pugh #david harbour #rachel weisz

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tsukikento · 4 years

Text

Too Fast For Your Own Good Part 1

(part 2) (part 3)

Pairing: Takami Keigo (Hawks x Reader)

Words: 4814

Summary: Soulmate!AU - the first words your soulmate says to you is written on your body in ink.

Genre/Warnings: Nothing? Fluff maybe?

A/N: I got carried away and this got too long so now it’s two parts! Hahaha oops sorry. Anyways, pls enjoy I spent hella time on this! Also posted on my ao3 @ allie_win

When Takami Keigo turned 13, a small tattoo formed on his back, just between his wings.

The first thing he remembers was the burning sensation he felt in the middle of the night. He remembers yelping from the pain, turning on the light, and looking in the mirror to see what it was.

Takami was worried that something was happening to his wings, but he was relieved to see that it was his soulmate mark, something he completely forgot about.

I know I am.

Takami spent that night staring at the marking, admiring the way they curved around his wings. Finally, he had the promise of love.

The next day, Takami came to training sleep-deprived yet still shining happily. He remembers telling a man at the company about it, only for him to brush it off by saying, “Don’t think about your soulmate mark, you will be a hero with no time for romance.”

After that, Takami did not anticipate the meeting of his soulmate. Those words got Takami through a lot of tough situations. They pathed the way for his personality to form.

When Y/L/N Y/N turned 13, a small tattoo formed on your back, just between your shoulder blades.

The burning sensation that you woke up to in the middle of the night scared you so much that you accidentally stopped time. The colorful world turned gray and you took this chance to turn on the lights and check the new mark.

Your parents expected this and preemptively explained the situation to you. They did not, however, describe the pain you were currently feeling.

You spent as much time as you could looking at the words on your back before turning off the lights, getting back into bed, and letting time once again flow without immediate interruptions.

So apparently you’re faster than me?

The words didn’t leave your head that night, and your parents also questioned the meaning when they saw it in the morning.

A thought that frequently crossed your mind was that obviously you were faster than them. You could stop time! Granted, you couldn’t breathe while you were stopping time, which meant you had to spend time training your breathing, but you could currently go a whole minute without feeling your lungs heat up.

The idea of speed eventually made sense when you were signing up to take the entrance exam at U.A. High School. The professor signing you up asked to see your quirk, to which you paused time, moved to stand next to the professor, and started time.

“Wow, teleportation!” The professor complimented.

Although you were about to correct him, he gave you a number and called the next person up, not allowing you to speak.

Regardless of how many times you tried to correct someone about your quirk, they constantly interrupted you and didn’t listen. Eventually, you gave up, deciding that deception may be the best choice for you.

From there, and into your graduation, you were known as Teleportation Hero: Telethon.

~~ Present Time - Age 20

When you awoke from a deep sleep on your first day off in two weeks, you were greeted by cool air and birds singing on a bright Sunday morning. You yawned, stretched your limbs, and relished in the warm sunshine coming through your windows that juxtaposed the wind passing by your exposed leg.

Today, you had plans. Relaxation plans specifically. A Swedish massage and celebrity-scale facial were waiting to meet you at your 2 pm appointment today, giving you ample time to eat and get ready. You had been anticipating this appointment for the past month, allowing the excitement to push you through the tough and tireless month you had faced.

What made this appointment all the more worth it was the effort you put into yesterday’s mission. An earthquake villain appeared in the city and sent down multiple buildings in their wake. The entire situation was incredibly tiring, from the hours spent stopping time and carrying people out of buildings to the paperwork you filled out till midnight yesterday.

You turned onto your side and grabbed your phone off the side table.

You had a few push notifications from various apps as well as a couple texts from your friend, Kaoruko Awata, regarding the dinner plans you both had and your boss Edgeshot, wishing you a good day off. You smiled at the text and responded before putting your phone away. You would love to spend time responding to fans, but you wanted to use less time on your phone today, choosing to focus more on life and nature.

Eventually, you made your way out of bed and got dressed in some exercise clothes. Your stomach was growling at this point, and you were really craving some waffles and a cup of coffee.

Once done cooking, you turned on the television and reached across your coffee table to grab your coffee and felt your muscles ache, reminding you once again of the day previous.

You got the call seconds after the earthquake, and you immediately rushed over.

Multiple buildings were crumbling down, some were ablaze in wild, red and yellow fires. Heroes were scattered across the scene, all rushing around to help the hundreds of civilians harmed. Some flew through the sky, others working to stop the fires. You didn’t spend much time taking in the scene, opting to begin the rescue mission; you of all people knew the importance of time.

The world thought you could effortlessly transport people from location to location. Opposingly, the process of saving people was rather tedious. You knew the importance of this mission, and you spent as much time as you could in the gray and frozen world you effortlessly created, but you still had to hold your title as Teleportation Hero. At this point, if the world found out you were lying about your quirk, they wouldn’t be able to trust you.

Oh, the hole you had dug yourself was deep and there was no one to help you out of it.

Around 12 pm, you finished your food, turned off the television and pulled out the book you were currently reading. With your busy schedule, you had very little time to read, but your New Year's Resolution was to read more, and this was one of the few days you could stick to that goal.

Regardless of the interesting story, you found yourself drifting back to yesterday’s events.

You had arrived so quickly to the scene that you had no communication earpieces set up and ended up stopping a healing hero to hear about the ongoing battle.

“You okay?” The healing hero asked first and foremost, ignoring your question.

“Just quirk overuse,” You breathlessly replied. “How is everything going?” You asked again.

“Good, but it’s a slow process,” They replied. The healing hero grabbed a few serums off their belt and mixed them together in a small bottle. “The villain isn’t caught yet, but apparently they are narrowing in on him. He’s on the run right now.”

You nodded in response, silently praying that they catch him to ensure that no one else was hurt.

“Here, drink this. It’ll give you a burst of energy,” The healing hero said while holding out a vile of blue liquid.

“Thanks,” You replied and immediately downed the shot. It burned down your throat and you felt the energy immediately rush through. It was definitely increasing your adrenaline. You handed the healing hero the bottle back and stopped time to rush into a new building.

When you realized you had been daydreaming instead of focusing on the story, you silently scolded yourself and grabbed a cup of water to clear your head. You saw the clock read 1 pm, and you decided to get ready now instead of being perpetually late like usual.

You fondly reminded yourself how lucky you were to have a time manipulation quirk that helped counteract your horrible habit of being late.

You ended up finishing the entire process of your massage and facial appointment around 5 pm, giving you less than two hours before your dinner date with Awata. The plan was for her to come over around 6:30, with food in hand, she had just texted you 5 restaurant options for you to judge. You lazed around your house as you looked up each restaurant’s menu and selected your top 2.

From your two, Awata ended up choosing the pizza place and told you that she would call to order right away. About 20 minutes later, you got a text from Awata letting you know that she was on her way.

You replied and went into the kitchen to grab out plates for the pizza. You downed the rest of the water you had been sipping periodically and walked across your small studio apartment to change into a more appropriate outfit than the one you had worn to your appointment.

Once in a comfortable yet surprisingly cute outfit, you moved back into your living room to wait for your friend. It was so uncommon that you got a whole day off without any training or any extra errands to run for work and you were going to utilize every second of rest. You laid down on your couch and quickly got lost in your thoughts.

Your mind wandered to Awata, reflecting on your great friendship with her. Although she was incredibly quiet and soft-spoken, she had the true heart of a hero and craved helping people. Not only that, but she had slowly been getting funnier and funnier due to her job at Sir Nighteye’s office.

You still remembered the smile on her face when she told you that she got the job with a silly joke.

Around 6:30, Awata texted you to buzz her up, and by the time she got upstairs, you had moved the plates and two full cups of water to the coffee table. You got up from your couch at the sound of a knock at your door.

“Hey, Ms. Hero Allstar,” Awata said as she waltzed into your condo with two personal-sized pizzas. “So, what’s it like?”

“What’s what like?” You mumbled, more focused on the steaming pizza that was being handed to you. You both were already drooling at the prospect of gooey cheese and carbs.

“Being so famous!” Your friend yelled as she took on her shoes before plopping down on your love seat.

You scoffed at her comment and rolled your eyes before opening up your pizza, “I’m not even in the top 2,000 heroes.” You grabbed a slice and moved it onto your plate.

“Not after today,” Awata replied, as she joined you in opening up her own pizza.

You looked up at your friend with a confused face, not able to reply because your mouth was filled with pizza.

“Wait, do you really not know?” Awata asked. She reached over and grabbed your television remote, switching it onto a local news station.

The image of two anchors came onto the screen. The view of them quickly switched away to a video of the wreckage from today. “They saved a total of 137 civilians in the span of only two hours. Additionally, no additional damage was caused in the process. This success skyrocketed Telethon to top charts online.”

The screen cut to a scene of you using your quirk to grab multiple people in only a few seconds. You gawked and looked over to your friend.

“It was truly impressive, but what can you expect from a member of Edgeshot’s agency” The female anchor spoke as the screen cut back to them.

“It is,” The male agreed. “In fact, we have some quotes from yesterday about the situation.”

The healing hero from before popped onto screen. “I worked with Telethon for only a moment today, giving them one of my serums to help give them the energy needed to save people. I feel honored I got to be a part of this record-breaking defeat.”

The screen cut to a young boy, possibly 12 years old.

“Telethon was so cool yesterday!” Their face was bright and it warmed your heart to see their support. “Not only were they fast, but they were fast for hours! That’s endurance! Most speed heroes don’t have that, they might even be faster than Hawks!”

The screen cut back to the chuckling anchors and you looked over to your friend as they talked about the multiple videos circling the internet that almost all had millions of views.

“Holy shit.”

Awata nodded excitedly. “I know.” Although quiet, she could get just as excited as you during great events. She was smiling wider than you were right now.

If you were in your right mind, you might have noticed the correlation between the speed comment, Hawks, and your soulmate mark. However, you were too excited about this new fame to even think about it.

The rest of your night was spent celebrating with Awata, both of you having a few drinks and stuffing your faces with indulgent American-style barbecue.

As weeks passed, the fame for you continued to rise. Your rating approval shot through the roof and you were being stopped more often to give autographs and take photos.

Not only had your fame been rising, but so had the idea of you being faster than Hawks. Although you admired Hawks, you kept away from the drama, opting to focus more on improving your skills to meet the new expectations you were being given.

After about a month of this challenge circulating, Hawks couldn’t help but make a comment. He was so much more popular and powerful than this wannabe, and no one was going to stop him from being the fastest hero. He was being bombarded daily for a comment about the speculation of someone being faster than him. Not only did he hate the attention, but he hated how the doubt of his strengths got to him.

One day, when paparazzi were surrounding him and pestering him about the challenge, he snapped and shouted into the camera.

“There is no way Telethon is faster than me and I will prove it! This is my official challenge for them to come out of hiding and actually race me!” He looked straight into the camera and spoke eerily calm, “I am too fast for my own good.”

You still remembered the fear you felt when you watched the clip on the internet only a few hours after it went viral.

You will admit that you made a connection between your soulmate mark and Hawks’ words at the time, but you brushed them off. Too often were you disappointed after talking to a cute boy that you had been admiring.

It’s not like you could focus on relationships as a hero anyways.

The next day, your manager told you that he contacted Hawks’ manager and arranged an obstacle race for that Friday.

“It will be great PR,” They claimed, “Even if you don’t win!”

You reluctantly agreed, not like you had much of a choice, and awaited the email that would contain everything you needed to know from the time and date to the price of tickets.

The prospect made you incredibly afraid. To you, the debating of who was faster was more fun than anything. The idea of having to prove yourself was driving you crazy.

What if you couldn’t hold your breath long enough? What if Hawks was so fast that he beat you before you could even stop time?

You sighed and leaned farther back into your soft couch, wishing that the cushions would swallow you up. Maybe this was all a dream and a nice nap would wake you up?

You bit your lip and read through the email, your thoughts drifting off periodically.

Over the next couple days, you worked privately at expanding your air capacity. Your manager wasn’t allowed to tell you anything about the course, so you had to work hard to perfect your breathing and your speed.

You laid down on the floor of the gym, no one was there because of how late it was.

Your mind got lost in the thought of how you could technically even win a speed race. Sure you would have to run through everything, but to everyone else, it would just look like you were flashing from one place to the next.

A few years back, you met someone else with a teleportation quirk. They described it as flashing place to place, although they were restricted to only moving about 15 meters. You always thought of your quirk as a time stopping quirk rather than teleportation, but it did help you in battles that people just thought it was teleportation.

Grunting, you got up from your spot on the ground and got back on the treadmill. You stopped time and continued to run for as long as you could, dreading the competition tomorrow.

You woke up to your alarm, the sky was gray and a chilly air flooded through your room, making you cling to your blankets. You heard the sound of rain outside and groaned. You checked your phone, but were too tired to respond to any texts you had received that day.

You got out of bed, your muscles aching and started preparing an ice bath. You hated ice baths more than anything else in the world, but they still dramatically helped your aching muscles. As you stepped into the freezing cold water, you tried your best not to focus on how much it hurt to sit in an ice bath.

After only a couple minutes, you practically jumped out of the water, deciding that you had been in their long enough. You wrapped your body in a towel and started drying off as you made your way to your room.

You threw on a sweater and sweatpants to keep you warm and started stretching your muscles. From there, you grabbed yourself a freshly brewed cup of coffee and began applying the makeup involved in your hero costume. You made sure to apply a thick foundation and powder to make sure you didn’t appear too greasy in the photos.

You grabbed a snack once done with your makeup and grabbed your bag with any necessities or costume things you would need. Your manager told you to change there so you simply packed everything you would need.

After double checking that you had everything necessary for the day and competition, you stopped time and casually made your way to the stadium, watching the still rain water in your own gray world.

Luckily, the place wasn’t too far away from your house and you were able to make it there by only needing to start time again a couple of times and take a breath. When you arrived, you were whisked away by your manager who had you immediately get dressed. You then had a couple people fix up your makeup and style your hair.

As this was done, your manager informed you that you would be starting the day with an interview, yours being right after Hawks’. He told you a couple questions they were going to ask and steered you to answer in certain ways.

“We don’t want to give too much away, just make it interesting and fun,” You manager said as the hair and makeup team finished up and left quickly.

You looked at yourself in the mirror and admired the way everything came together before your manager ushered you to the calling curtain. On the other side, you could clearly hear the interview going on between the woman and Hawks.

“So, Hawks, how are you feeling about this whole situation?” The interviewer asked. “You seemed quite angry at all the attention Telethon was getting.”

From your position, there was also a small television that pointed directly at them. You saw the expression of the interviewing as she asked Hawks the question. Her voice was practically dripping with sensuality as she tried to keep Hawks’ attention.

The camera cut to Hawks who was casually sitting back as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “Honestly, I wasn’t. I was upset that I was getting attention. I don’t like when paparazzi follow me everywhere.” He looked from the audience to the interviewer and smirked. “I’m happy that Telethon is getting attention, they deserve it. Granted, I wholeheartedly doubt their faster than me.”

“Oh, really?” The lady inquired. You could tell she was reaching for strings to create drama. She leaned forward and you noted how her skirt inched up just slightly

“Well, I am too fast for my own good,” Hawks replied, grinning and waving his hands to prove his point.. “I’m happy that Telethon is gaining attention, they are a great hero. However, no one will ever be faster than me.”

“Well, Hawks, I’ll be looking for you at the finish line then,” The lady smirked at the blond hero.

You groaned at the obvious bias the interviewer had.

“Anyways,” She started, “That’s all the time we have for Hawks. We are going to take a short break and be back with Teleportation Hero: Telethon!”

The audience clapped and Hawks waved goodbye to the crowd before making his way towards the back. In fact, he was making his way towards you. You gulped down the lump in your throat as your manager began making a few more notes in your ear about what to say in the interview.

You looked down as Hawks approached you, too nervous to look up at him. Not only was he the current number two hero, but he was also your maybe soulmate. You hated to dwell on love like so many people nowadays, but the idea that the Takami Keigo could be the love of your life could make anyone nervous.

He smirked at you as a sound person came up and started taking his mic off of him and putting it onto you.

Your sense of smell was suddenly crowded with a deep musk, that smelled of woodlands and cherries. The smell was airy and delightful and you noted that it had to have been coming from Hawks.

Finally seeing the number two hero up close made you painfully aware of how handsome he was.

His dirty blonde hair naturally swept back because of how much time he spent flying. His golden skin practically glowed as he smirked down at you, making you all the more self conscious.

Most of all, you couldn’t take your eyes off his wings. You were sure your face was mirroring their crimson color based on how hot you suddenly felt. They looked so soft and beautiful and you felt a strong pull to touch them as if someone was whispering in your ear.

As you felt the mic being clipped onto your hero uniform, you attempted to bring yourself back into reality. You swallowed your nerves and looked up at the smirking hero in front of you. You could tell he was amused at how obviously starstruck you were. Even with his mic off, he seemed to linger for a few moments to watch you, his eyes trailing up and down your body.

It made you all the more nervous.

You watched as his mouth opened, as if he was about to speak. However, you were quickly pushed by your manager as they ushered you onto stage.

“Wave at the fans!” They said as you were pushed through the red curtain.

You focused back on the crowd as the flashing lights filled your vision. You tried your best not to squint and wave at the people around you. You were making your way to the chair and the interviewer that was awaiting you, when you suddenly felt a bit overwhelmed. You took a few deep breaths and tried to calm yourself.

You gingerly sat down in the seat and smiled brightly at the woman in front of you.

After the applause died down, the interviewer became speaking. “Welcome, Telethon, we are happy to see you today.”

“Oh, the pleasure is all mine,” You replied. Although annoyed, you could still be nice and spread positivity for your young fans. “As a fairly new hero and not very high ranked hero, it is incredibly surreal to be gaining so much attention and thanks for my work. I keep reminding myself to try my best for all the new fans I’ve gained.”

The audience erupted into applause and you could tell the lady was a bit annoyed that you were coming off as so nice and humble. You brushed off her attitude, knowing that you were being true to yourself.

Regardless of how you acted in your own life, you were a hero nonetheless and wanted to be a good role model for aspiring heroes.

“Yes, yes, I’m sure you’re loving the attention,” The lady, who you still didn’t know the name of, said. “However, do you really think you are faster than the number 2 hero?”

You smiled politely at the woman in front of you, even though you were silently wishing she would be hit by a train. “Actually, I’m here for the challenge. Regardless of whether or not I win, I am always looking for a challenge to better myself and gain new experiences.”

“Oh, so you are just doing this to get close to top heroes like Hawks?” The women interjected, stopping you from further explaining yourself.

“No,” You sternly replied. “Like I said, I personally want new experiences and to keep reaching for ways to become a better hero. For example, I’ve been training for the past two days to prepare, and I know my speed has increased, and I’ll be proud of that even if I don't end up winning.”

The interviewer was practically pouting from your ability to easily recover from her questions meant to stump you. From there, the interviewer asked you a few easier questions, such as one about your employment at Edgeshot’s company.

Eventually, she prompted you to say goodbye to the audience and you politely waved and she asked people to tune in at 4 pm today for the competition.

You waved goodbye as you walked off stage and were immediately meeted by the sound person and your manager.

“That was great,” They cheekily grinned at you, knowing full well how annoyed you were with the rude lady.

“Thanks,” You replied, glad your manager was able to understand you so well. “You mind if I take a breather?”

“Not at all, just be back in half an hour,” He replied, “Your bags are in the green room.”

“Thanks,” You mumbled as you made your way around the building to find the green room. Everyone was rapidly walking around and the whole building was incredibly busy. You groaned and stopped time, using this as a chance to search around a quiet area and find the room.

Not only were you pissed that the interviewer was treating you like a child, but you were ridiculously nervous for the competition. You knew it was supposed to be a casual competition, but Hawks made it seem serious for him. He was the number two hero for god’s sake! If he lost to you, it could ruin his career.

Not only was the moral dilemma of letting Hawks win vs. trying your hardest bothering you, but so was Hawks. In the brief minute you were around him, your body filled with uncertainty and you felt intoxicated on his smell and appearance. Maybe it was you getting caught up in the idea that he may be your soulmate, or maybe it was your body telling you he was.

Regardless of your nerves, you were currently most caught up in anger for the interviewer. You entered the green room, and stared straight at the glorious display of food. You didn’t bother to look around the room as you started time again and groan in frustration.

“So you are just doing this to get close to top heroes,” You mumbled, changing your voice to match how annoying it sounded coming from the interviewer’s mouth. “Like I need it, I’m Edgeshot’s top employee and she would have known that if she did any research before the interview.”

You groaned loudly again and turned to face the couch. No one could explain how flustered you felt when you saw Hawks sitting on the couch, eating a plate of fried chicken. When you met his eyes, you felt his golden eyes bore into his soul.

He adjusted to be sitting up straight and moved to place the plate next to him. He cleared his throat and took a sip of water. You watched him the entire time, too embarrassed to speak.

“So,” He finally began, “apparently you’re faster than me?”

#bnha #boku no hero academia #boku no hero headcanons #mha #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #my hero academia #my hero academy #hawks #hawks x reader #takami keigo #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo x you #hawks fanfiction #takami keigo fanfiction #edgeshot #shinya kamihara #kaoruku awata #bubble girl

330 notes · View notes

who-is-olivia · 5 years

Text

Track 7. Kiwi

Harry Styles x OC x Matty Healy

Harry finds Olivia in a rock n’roll mayhem with another man. [5.1k]

Genre: smut

Warnings: sexual language, substance abuse

May 2012

After few months of touring, it's time to take America. If that prospect alone didn't excite Harry enough, from now on Olivia and Frank will be their opening act, which means they'll travel together. Upon arriving at their hotel in New York, most of the band chooses to rest from the trip but he's electric. So, who better to sho him around than the man himself – Frank.

Unfortunately, after their hangout in London he forgot to get Oli's phone but he's got Frank’s, and they ended up texting a lot. They also have a lot in common, just not in a way he and Oli have.

“Hey, I’m on the cab, where should I go?”

“That depends: do you want to chill or be physically and emotionally violated?”

He snorts, “Does the second one have an address?”

He arrives about an hour later at the Polydor Records Studio and immediately spots a tall-ish man in a red dress casually smoking a joint while leaning on a brick wall.

“Hello Harold!” he gives him one of his wet kisses on the cheek then leads him up a slim corridor with a narrow staircase. “You’re gonna love this, everybody is in there”

“Wait...” he holds him back, “who’s everybody?”

“Just the usual suspects and a few friends from the old label”

“Is your sister here?”

“Of course she is” Harry sighs. “What?”

“Things got a little intense last time, I don’t want it to get weird-“

“It’s already weird then”

“I don’t want it to get weirder!”

“That’s kind of inevitable, just drink and forget about it” Frank presses him up the tiny stairs.

When they walk into the room, it stinks of rock n’ roll. The dim light reveal the loads of music sheets spread over a table along with bottles of Tanqueray and Jack Daniels, a light mist covers the air making the room reek of tobacco and Harry swears he caught lines of powder on his periphery view. It is absolute mayhem.

Franks leads him to another room, opening the door on a bedroom with two women getting it on and immediately shutting it. He opens another and it leads to a studio where he hears only muffled conversations as everyone is quietly watching what a half-naked skinny guy is singing inside a cabin, his chest littered with few tattoos and his hair a stylish mess. Everybody he’s seen so far shows a distinguishing trait, be it the tattoos, the colored hair, the dark makeup, they look so cool... while Harry sports only his jumper and a beanie. He feels terribly out of place, and then he sees her, daring to even crack a smile.

Olivia’s working on the sound table with another guy, moving the controls up and down according to her taste. This time she has a lot less make up on, only a blurry rim of eyeliner smudged around her eyes, her braids are on a messy bun, and she wears a black dress that hugs her upper body tightly and flows freely from her waist to her knee. She’s not unkempt, just not as artificial as everybody else in the studio and way more comfortable than the first time they met, as now she’s not trying to make an impression – although, if she was, she would’ve accomplished that.

The boy singing in the cabin also makes a huge impression on him. If he wore a hat and long sleeves, he could mistake him for a normal boy, but his curly hair with shaved sides and big showy tattoos certainly draw some attention to him. He’s not a terrific singer, but he puts enough confidence in it to mask the lack of formal training. Harry wishes he could sing like that, look like that but – most specifically – be looked by Olivia like that. She’s focused on her work but when she looks at him her face lights up in a very endearing way he’s secretly jealous of.

“‘Cause you’re cold and I burn, I guess I’ll never learn ‘cause I stay another hour or two! That’s for you Oli!” he sings.

“For fuck’s sake...” she mocks nonchalantly to the other guy, who just laughs.

“Oli, we’ve got a visitor!” Frank calls and she turns.

He thinks she’ll just wave him off, or give him a simple nod. He’s not that cool, what’s he doing here? Her indifference would kill him. However, contrary to his expectations, she smiles, runs towards him and laces her slim arms around his neck. Harry is the last person she expected to see in this shit show, but her heart still soars when she sees that dimply smile too pure to be in this room.

“Didn’t think I’d get to see you before the tour” she caresses down his shoulders to his hands.

He holds on to her fists and leans to whisper a bit over-confidently, “I hope it’s a nice surprise” she smiles, still trying to convince herself that he’s here standing before her-

“What’s going on?” the boy speaks on the cabin and his accent immediately rings familiar.

Oli rushes to her coms, still holding his hand, and presses a button. “It’s a friend of mine, come out here and be polite!”

“I’m always polite!”

“And put your shirt on!” she watches him show his tongue, getting his floral shirt off a guitar hook.

“Hey, who’s the new guy?” a girl asks with a cigarette between his teeth, holding a guitar on her lap and sunglasses on her face – even though the room is quite dark.

“I’m Harry”

“He’s not from the label, is he?”

“No, he actually gets paid” Oli laughs, stealing the cigarette from her lips and taking a drag.

“Oh no, give it back!” the girl tries to pick the cigar from between her fingers but they run to the other room where all chaos ensues, “you already finished my pack, you bitch!”

“I’ll buy you another” she stumbles backwards and slams into a guy’s chest, the guy who was singing in the box now with a floral shirt hanging on his back, and he hugs her in a way too familiar way.

“I told you to put a shirt on!”

“It’s too hot out here” he buries his face on her neck but she dizzily pushes him away.

“Matty, this is Harry”

This name rings a bell. Is he not the guy who hit her up and then never called back? The guy from Cheshire who broke her heart? Why is he here and why is she so close to him after all they talked about?

“Oh, you’re the guy who stole Oli from us?” the boy mocks.

“Not exactly...” Harry tries to explain but notices they’re not in the mindset for that.

“Just messing mate” he comes over and shakes his hand, “I’m Matty, this is my mate, George” he gestures to a giant guy who’s on the sound table just behind Harry. They politely wave at each other.

“I liked what you were doing there” Harry points to the cabin. “I didn’t know you produced”

“Got lots of practice, the studios we had to work with were not nearly as fancy, but we learn from hardship” she gasps as Matty pulls a chair beneath them, pulling her to sit on his lap. Harry shifts on his feet.

“That’s true”

“But I missed you guys, I mean, Columbia is giving us all the tech, right?” she points the cigarette at Harry and he nods, “but this is where we were born, you know!” she tells, more to the room than to him. “I remember going to a studio on the other side of the Atlantic when I was 18 and just trying to sound like something other than a little brat, and then skipping weeks of class just to record one chorus, the trips to Europe, I mean... I really missed this”

“We missed you too” Matty coos as he discreetly slides his hand up her thigh, hiding his hand beneath the skirt as he sends her a lustful gaze. Harry remembers the night he was this close, when she looked at him in the exact same way as she looks at this stranger.

“Do you want that drink now?” Frank offers and Harry quietly thanks him for accurately reading the room.

“Yes, please”

They go for the bar at the end of the hallway and while Frank searches through the fridges, Harry glimpses back to find Oli and Matty making out on the chair. His heart sinks. In his mind, he can fix the scene: she straddling his own lap, hands pulling his hair by the roots as their tongues dance to a delicious kiss, her chest heaving against his... a glass clinking pulls him back to reality.

“Got any songs cooking?” Frank asks, uncapping a beer bottle for him.

“Just bits and pieces”

“Then it’s your lucky day: Matty and George are the best producers I know, this album they’re coming up with is fucking brilliant-“

“Yeah, I’m not feeling quite lucky mate” he replies, putting down his beer.

“Well, I can’t do much about it”

“You can give me something stronger than this” he shakes the bottle before his nose.

“You shouldn’t even be drinking, we’re in America you dumbass” Frank argues despite serving him a double shot of brandy.

“I’ll keep in mind” Harry downs it in two gulps and winces.

“But seriously, Matty is a fucking genius, don’t be shy just ‘cause he’s banging my sister”

“I won’t... I just don’t think I can make anything for the album here, like, I’m legally not allowed...” Harry leans on the balcony, feeling the alcohol hit his empty stomach.

“You don’t have to release it, just do something for the pure, unadulterated joy of doing it” he clinks another bottle of beer against his empty glass and drags him back to the studio.

Thankfully, Oli and Matty are not making out anymore, just talking shit in each other’s ears. When they walk into the room, the lights are dimmer and someone in the drums is playing a sick beat, joined shortly after by someone in the guitar. They build a seemingly improvised pop rock tune so contagious even he can’t stay put. Frank pulls him by the hand and leads him to dance shaking his head, making his hair fly all over the place. At some point Olivia appears and joins them, her braids falling from the bun. Harry encircles her waist and pulls her to dance against him, despite knowing very well Matty’s still around, he just gets the instinct and his drunken mind abides to it. She holds him by the jumper, clumping the fabric in her fists as she pulls him even closer, when he’s about to do something about it the song ends.

Only without the beat does he notice the frantic rhythm of his heart when she’s this close. Olivia struggles to breath, and it’s not because of all the dancing.

But she still leans towards him and, between raggedy breaths, whispers: “I’m so fucking glad you’re here”

“Yeah?” he hugs her closer. Instead if answering, she bites his ear lobe teasingly and escape his grasp.

“Wait a bit, I know who you are” Matty calls him out and he turns on his tipsy toes.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you’re that kid from the X Factor who got on the boyband, right? The one from Cheshire” he gestures with a cigarette balancing between his fingers and a glass of whiskey.

Harry sighs mentally, already prepared for an oh-so original boyband joke about choreography and matching clothes. “That’s me”

“You were the talk of the town for like... a year! I fucking loved your album, man” he frowns, “did you wrote any of it?”

“I wrote Same Mistakes and-“

“Fuck...” he grins really wide and Harry is pulled to a halt, “sorry man, I love that shit”

“Thanks, mate” he replies, looking past him to see Olivia strutting towards Frank.

Although Harry fancies himself as quite an observer, he failed to regard how uncomfortable Olivia feels around Matty sometimes – and by sometimes, she means the times when he is stoned. She loves the extensive and meaningful conversations they have about politics and music and film, but when he’s fucked up she can barely pay attention because he looks so broken. When he kisses her, even though it’s just a playful thing, she can barely feel him there and it’s so much more disturbing than not kissing him at all. She can’t shake off that feeling that they’re just messing about, and that nothing about their previous encounter means a thing to him.

She reaches Frank and sighs, pulling him to a hug. “Frankie...”

“Talk to me, bug” he welcomes her, lacing her shoulders.

“He’s doing that thing again with the drink and the cigarette in one hand” he giggles, knowing exactly what she’s talking about. “Can you look even more like a junkie?”

“If one could, Matty would figure it out” he mocks, tugging on her braids. “What about Harry?”

She frowns. “What about him?”

“He told me something happened when you were in London”

“A lot of things happened, but you were too busy getting high in SoHo”

“He’s a nice dude” he smiles confidently and Oli looks back at him, finding him engaged in a heated conversation with Matty but with his eyes constantly fleeing towards her. Frank nudges her annoyingly. “What happened in London, huh?”

“Not enough things”

Frank snorts. “You know, I kind of ship you two”

“Really, Frank?” she laughs.

She looks back to where Harry and Matty are chatting, her fuzzy mind blurring the two together. One of the things about Harry that enthralled her was how similar he is to Matty, they’re both outstandingly talented and charismatic and desperate to be validated by everyone around them, it just happens that she knew Matty first and spent more time with him – which in no way means she doesn’t want the same thing with Harry. In fact, she’s quite looking forward to their tour.

“What have you got, kid?” Matty asks.

“I’ve got a bit I’ve been thinking about, it’s got a hard rock sound to it” Harry explains, pulling another chair for himself and letting Frank sit on the arm of it. “When I was auditioning for the X-Factor, I eavesdropped on a girl calling someone, she was very worked up and she literally screamed on the top of her lungs: ‘I’m having your baby and it’s none of your business’”

“Oh... that is brutal!” Matty gasps.

“Every now and then I remember that ‘cause it’s such an unusual thing to say”

“Totally!”

“And I kind of made a tiny story for that, and it sounds like a... bop... bop-bop... bop-bop bop... and it builds like dun dun dun dun du-du-du-du-dun!”

“Alright, I like that” Olivia says as she comes around with a guitar strapped around her neck.

They spend hours talking about it. When he pitched it he had no pretensions about it actually developing into a song, but watching them get all excited about it makes him feel bad for not being able to release it. He likes it when Olivia looks at him with a hint of expectation, when she wants to figure out a harmony, and with awe, when he presents a good solution. It makes him comfortable to bring all sorts of ideas up. It’s all working out fine until-

“Come on you fuckers, we’re gonna play a game!” George hugs Matty and Harry by the shoulder and forces them to a circle around the coffee table.

“It’s bottle time- Gina for fuck’s sake, take the coke out of here” Frank wipes a straight line of powder over a girl with electric pink bangs. “This is a family home!”

“What’s the game, Frank?” Matty asks over the chatter.

“It’s just a simple truth or dare: I’ll spin the bottle, we’ll take rounds asking, if it points at you, you’ll answer. Everything’s allowed under God’s eyes, and if you don’t want to answer you take a shot and answer another question” he explains.

“Alright, let’s do it” Olivia hypes up, taking a seat beside George.

“I want to start” Matty asks, taking the bottle and spinning it. It points towards Harry. “Ooh... alright Mr. One Direction” Harry feels a tingle down his spine, worrying about what the many ways he could probably embarrass him in front of Oli, “...are you a virgin?”

And just as predicted, Harry blushes like a tomato. “I’ll take the shot”

“Come on! Not answering it is kinda like answering it” Matty protests while Harry shoves the shot down his throat. “Fuck, alright... asking for a friend now, out of pure curiosity... do you dig boys?”

“I think I dig boys and girls” he slurs and Matty points at him excitedly.

“I got you mate” Harry points back humorously.

“Next one, chop chop!” George takes the bottle and spins it at the sunglass girl. “Fiona, my dearest... I dare you to take your shirt off until the end of the game”

“Fucking pervert” she curses, but slides her green buttons shirt past her head and shows off her tits with piercings on both nipples. “Like what you see?” she caresses them, displaying them for George.

“You know I do”

“Ugh, get a room you two” Olivia begs, taking the bottle and spinning it. Harry’s anxiety takes the best of him as he hopes it will point at him but it ends up on George. “Alright, it’s an order now, go get a room”

George and Fiona smile at each other and leave out the door stepping over the coffee table. The rest of the players throw chips and cards on them, almost like people do with rice at weddings.

While they look away, Frank spins the bottle. Right when it’s about to reach Olivia, it stops at Matty. “Alright big boy, what do you want?”

“I want some weed actually”

“Alright, pull it” Franks pulls out a blunt, lights it and drags it longly before leaning across the table. Harry watches curiously as Matty presses his lips over Frank’s and pulls his smoke in a practical but also sensuous way, specially when Matty cups the back of Frank’s neck and press a kiss on his lips. Everyone gathered around starts to cheer and tease, only Olivia expresses a loud ‘yikes!’. Feeling the heat rising, Matty takes advantage of his proximity and licks his nose. “Aw, gross!” they laugh.

The bottle spins another handful of times, and Harry becomes overly comfortable with his drunken head spinning around. He’s laughing at something Gina says when George comes back with Fiona, his neck peppered with bruises when Harry hears someone tap the table before him. Matty is asking and the bottle is pointing at Olivia but they’re both looking at him.

“What?” Harry frowns, heat rising to his face.

“Since they just vacated the room, I dare you” he tells Olivia, “to take Harry over there and do something unspeakable to him”

Olivia narrows her eyes at him. “You little-“

“Define unspeakable” Harry intervenes and her jaw drops.

“Something you wouldn’t dare to share with the rest of this table”

“If you say so” she tugs Harry’s hand and gets up, stopping only to pull her panties down and throw them in Matty’s face. He gasps as she hides not in the room but in the studio, for acoustic purposes...

Olivia shuts the door, keeping the room dark except for the outdoor light that peeks through the windows. As he’s about to ask what she plans to do she pushes him over the sofa, pulling the hem of her dress up and straddling his lap before kissing him passionately. He doesn’t process it immediately but when he realizes he’s kissing the same girl he’s been dreaming about for weeks he cups her cheeks and deepens the kiss, feeling her press against him through the fabric of his pants. He tries to pull her down harder by the hips but she stops him.

“Is this your first time?” she asks with a hint of excitement.

He rolls his eyes, annoyed at the persistence but also flattered by her interest. “Yes”

“Oh my... is this okay for you? You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to-“ she’s cut by his lips on hers.

“This is more than ok” he whispers through parted lips, his kisses sliding down to her neck, over her covered breasts. In the heat of the moment, she begins to grind on him, feeling him grow harder with the motion as he smashes his face against her collar. “I’ve been thinking ‘bout you ever since London, the things I would’ve done if-”

“Why don’t you do them now?” she questions, tipping his chin toward her.

“I thought you’d choose what to do to me”

“I’m taking your V card, that’s unspeakable enough” he chuckles as she runs her fingers down his neck and chest, getting him to look down at his heaving upper body when she comes back to the serious tone. “But it’s your first time, you draw the line”

“Got it” he attaches their lips once again ferociously, making her almost fall out of his lap. His hands move to cup her breasts, giving them a fascinated squeeze before she pushes them out of the way and pulls his shirt over his head. With that gone, she cups the back of his neck and tugs on his hair, making him crane his head backwards as she leans her kisses on the column of his neck. He takes her hips in both hands and grinds upwards, missing the friction she had been creating before all the chatter. He slides his jeans up her crease, wishing he would just bury his twitching erection inside her already. He loses control and grinds too hardly making her whimper, the sound of it so impure he keeps doing it just to hear her cries again. So he takes two finger towards her lips, giving her the hint to take them and suck them, which is more arousing than he thought would be, specially with her looking straight into his eyes as she does it. When he pulls them out, he takes the wet fingers between her legs and strokes her naked crease, causing her to gasp at the contact. “Good thing you took them off...”

“Shut up” he does.

Taking her queue, he toys with her folds, knowing more than she expected for his first time. He flickers her clit teasingly, causing her to part her lips as a wave of pleasure takes over her whole body. Her nails clutch his shoulders, leaving semi-circles on his skin as her head falls in delight, giving Harry complete access to her neck. She bites her lips in expectation when his long wet fingers slide inside her teasingly at first, but then gently fill her up. When he curls his fingers she melts, cuddling her dozy head on his neck where she whimpers incoherently, clutching to his body hot against hers. He moves so good, so deliciously, at the same time pleasing and leaving her wanting – no, craving for more.

“Harry” she cries, “come on...”

“What do you want?”

“I want you to fuck me” she captures his growling lips. Harry unburies his fingers from her and frantically attempts to unbutton his jeans with her help, undressing enough of it for his erection to spring up freely against his stomach. She climbs him again, causing him to look up while she reaches down and slides his length inside her warm cunt just halfway, taking a moment to adjust to him before pushing it all the way to his base. His head falls back in ecstasy as he feels her walls stretching around him, pulling her hips harder down and her body flush against his naked chest.

He’s bigger than she thought he’d be and at first it hurts, a lot. She lets him know by taking control of the movement and making it very slow and languid, barely pulling his shaft out at all. He reaches beneath her skirt and grasps her butt cheeks hardly, putting all that held back tension in his grip and making her sit down on him harder. Suddenly he jerks up in a spasm but instead of pain she feels overwhelming pleasure. He does it again and she moans, that pleasure reaching her whole body. From there he takes control of the rhythm and thrusts up into her at an ever-growing pace.

He holds her in his arms and lays her on the couch, assuming another position and thrusting rapidly inside her. She laces her legs around his waist and lets him wreak havoc on her, shutting her eyes and taking in all the pleasure he has to offer. She loves this position, him leaning over his forearms and his body covering all of hers, almost as if he’s guarding her. When they get tired of the position, he tries to switch it up but they end up on the floor, trying to continue with her on her fours. He fucks her relentlessly from behind, taking full control of her hips as each thrust causes her fall harder on his length. It’s mind-numbing having her so tight around him, her body on fire because of what he’s doing between her legs. But having her on fours doesn’t feel right, he can’t see her face.

“Hey, come here” he pulls her by the waist and sits on his knees so he can pulls her to sit over him. “That’s better” he grins smugly, turning her face to kiss her lips.

“If I knew you could do that I would've fucked you back in London” she teases, not wanting to inflate his ego so much but he deserves some credit.

“I would’ve...” he sighs, feeling his length accommodate inside her as she takes a moment to breath, "I would've too"

As her head falls to his shoulder, he pulls one of her dress straps down revealing one of her breasts. The sensation of it on his palm is nothing compared to the amount of intimacy it took for him to get here, holding her like this, buried this deep inside her.

“Don’t get shy now” she pulls the other strap down revealing her whole upper body. She guides his other hand to cup her tit and squeeze it, “Touch me” she begs him to squeeze harder and pull on her nipples causing her to arch her back.

She takes that same hand and guides it down her stomach, past her navel and right where she wants him the most. One touch on her clit and he can feel how wet she is as it soaks his fingertips, making her cry on his ears. She rolls her hips to his touch and he almost bursts right then and there with the smallest bit of friction, but then she starts ridding him faster, harder, taking his length out and welcoming it in her warmth. He holds her hips, pushing her to keep the rhythm as he’s few strokes away from coming on her.

“Harry, I’m close...” he faintly hears and so he keeps it up, helping her bounce on his lap ever so quickly until her walls twitch and clasp around him hard, her whole body shakes and with one last cry she collapses over his chest.

She heaves, still making unholy noises. He assumes she needs a break, but one glance down at her pretty face, on that pretty neck – not to mention her sweet cunt dripping so hard it wets him down to his feet –, it’s driving him crazy, he can’t stop now. He continues to stroke her folds and nuzzle her cheek, meaning to drain every ounce of pleasure she can give him. Without another word, he resumes the barrage. He reaches for her lips and kisses her passionately, gaining enough speed to feel the first traces of an orgasm washing over him.

He panics. “Can I-“

“Yes! Yes! I'm on the pill!” she cries and feels him burst hot strings inside her, thrusting erratically until falling completely limp.

He struggles to breathe, holding her flush against him. This time he rests his back on the sofa and cuddles her in his embrace, she feels so good in his arms. As his heart rate slows down, he comes to the realization that Olivia was the first woman to ever have sex with him, that beautiful woman that once felt so ridiculously unreachable actually made love to him – what he just felt wasn’t only physical, he felt like his mind and heart intertwined with hers for a moment. Olivia sighs, holding his arms around her closer and kissing the hand that’s closer to her reach.

“Not bad for a first time” she mocks, “you alright?”

“You’re kidding, right?” he chuckles lethargically, pulling her braids off her shoulder so he can kiss her cheeks. She turns in his embrace and engages in a playful, passionate kiss.

They break the kiss and rest for a bit in that position, feeling the heat irradiating from each other. It feels so intimate, so good she wants more. “Fuck me this good again and I might keep you”

“Will I get the chance?”

“That depends” she licks her lips in a tantalizing way. He raises a brow and kisses her languidly again, reaching down to where their sex is still connected and stroking the spot she likes best. Their lips part in a sigh with her whimpering within breathing distance.

“I could do this all night” he insists, feeling himself growing inside her once more.

“Do you want to come to my place?”

“Really? I mean, yes!” he frowns, genuinely elated from her initiative.

“Then finish this and put your pants on”

They exit the studio room to find the living area in absolute mayhem: Fiona and Gina are fighting over something while Matty and Frank make out wildly on the couch, George is crying on the ground with a lit cigarette next to Adam, a member of Matty’s band who hadn’t been around earlier, who’s just cutting pieces of fruit on a bowl. It’s chaos.

“Hey Adam” she greets him while looking at the room. "Where's Ross?"

"Couldn't handle it, hi there" he waves at Harry.

"Hello"

“You guys want some kiwis?” he offers the bowl. "It's all we've got, it's that or coke"

“Hm... yeah, I'll take it” she takes a couple slices and walks holding Harry’s hand behind her, the wild and impulsive urges staying behind as they hit the cold air of New York City.

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and-magical-cats · 4 years

Text

get to know you tag

Ahhhh thanks for the tag @uppastthejelliclemoon!!

Gonna cheat a bit and edit out some of my more boring answers.........

instructions: tag 10 people you’d like to know better

name: Holly

starsign: Aquarius

hogwarts house: Hufflepuff (Ravenpuff if you want to get real specific)

height: 5′4″

favorite animal: rhinos (I used to work with them at one point, baby rhinos are the cutest things on the planet)

dogs or cats: this is a Cats blog, but... dogs.

when you made your blog: I think it was January?

why you made your blog: I could only spam my main blog with Cats content for so long before people started to get driven away lol

reason for your url: Misto is my favorite in any version of Cats, but it’s a nod to my beloved baby boy 2019 Misto and his new line in Jellicle Songs

what am i wearing? technically I am working from home right now so a nice work blouse for video meetings, paired with dirty comfy shorts LOL

dream vacation? Tokyo. If you follow me on main you know I’m a Disney Parks stan and Tokyo Disneyland Resort is THE DREAM. Also I want to see Tokyo’s Cats in the dedicated theater they built just for it!!

instruments? no instruments, but I am a classically trained mezzo soprano who regularly performs opera in my car

celebrity crushes? not even sure if I need to say it but the current focus is Laurie Davidson, with honorable mentions to the perpetual crushes Chris Evans, Santino Fontana, Ramin Karimloo, and Chris Pine

random facts?

10 random facts about yourself that may surprise people

1. what’s your job? SO FUNNILY ENOUGH I am a Cats blog but I work for the most famous mouse on the planet as a graphic designer. Yes, that mouse.

2. if you could, would you go back to school? Did it. Went back after some time away and graduated. Would go back for a masters, but only online.

3. a job you had which would surprise people? gonna cheat and list two, which are professional voiceover artist and safari tour guide

4. do you think aliens are real? schrodinger’s aliens. we won’t know for sure they are until we find them or they find us, right?

5. what’s your guilty pleasure? I mean... it’s CATS. my mom tolerated my full-blown obsession with Phantom when I was a teen but when I told her that I like Cats now she threatened to disown me. but she is a big Les Mis stan and also dragged me to see Mamma Mia on tour (BEFORE the movie made it mainstream) so whatever

6. tattoos? no, I am super uncool

7. any phobias? I do have one legit one which is really hyper-specific, submechanophobia, which is fear of submerged or partially-submerged man-made objects - for me this is usually animatronics. Stems from Jaws the movie and Jaws the ride, which used to be at Universal Studios Florida. I know the sharks aren’t real, they’re robots and THAT MAKES IT WORSE

8. do you talk to yourself? talk to myself, sing to myself, dance with myself, you name it

9. what movie do you adore? I am a basic bitch. I love Frozen (though I acknowledge its flaws).

10. the first thing you remember you wanted to be when you grew up? an engineer (WHY didn’t I follow up on that, I’d actually have money now haha)

I TAG... @snowhite-dahlia, @munkustrap2019, @jellicle-beans, @lejediavatar, and @storyweaverofgondor

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meimei-song · 4 years

Photo

Mei Song Biography

G E O M E T R I C S

↬ Full name ↫

Mei Fan Song

↬ Nickname ↫

Mei Mei

↬ Birthday ↫

February 13th

↬ Birthplace ↫

Northern Wei

↬ Zodiac ↫

Aquarius

↬ Height ↫

5′3″

↬ Orientation ↫

Pansexual

↬ Social Class ↫

Like upper middle class

↬ Wealth ↫

Her family lives very comfortable but don’t consider themselves rich

A P P E A R A N C E

↬ Tattoos ↫

She has the Chinese symbols for warrior behind her ear

↬ Piercing ↫

Just her ears!

↬ Outfits ↫

Mei is often wearing athleisure since she’s usually working out or playing tourney

↬ Accessories ↫

Nothing fancy, perhaps a purse and sunnies?

P E R S O N A L I T Y

↬ Normal mood ↫

Mei is a happy person who loves to smile. She likes everyone basically, and doesn’t care if they don’t like her, she’ll still try to be their friend.

↬ Temper ↫

Mei is extremely patient unless she’s being treated unfairly on the tourney team.

↬ Discipline ↫

Being the daughter of Mulan and Li Shang, her discipline is incomparable.

↬ Strengths ↫

Mei is kind, a team player, athletic, and overall loving person.

↬ Weaknesses ↫

Her weaknesses are that she can be a little naive sometimes but her heart is always in the right place.

↬ Drive/dreams ↫

Mei wants a love like her parents, but without the whole having to go to war and pretend to be a boy thing.

↬ Fears ↫

I’d say Mei is pretty fearless. She was taught to be by her parents. Maybe she’s afraid of like clowns.

↬ Likes ↫

Authentic, homemade Chinese food, Sam, playing tourney, blowing bubbles

↬ Dislikes ↫

sexism, misogyny, racism, u get it

↬ Soft spot ↫

She is soft everywhere, she is a soft person. Her whole body is a soft spot.

↬ Depression ↫

Unnecessary cruelty

↬ Inspiration ↫

Mei wants to make her parents proud and make a change in the world like they did

↬ Role model ↫

Definitely her parents!

↬ Mental disorder ↫

N/A

↬ Habits ↫

Not so much a habit but a pregame ritual for her is that she has to step onto the field with her right foot.

R A T I N G S

(5 Stars means very high strength, 1 star means very low strength aka weak)

↬ Psychological strength ↫

⭑⭑⭑ - She’s soft, so soft, she can be tricked.

↬ Physical strength ↫

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑ - not to brag but mei can tell you that she’s going to beat your ass in four different languages and in a million different ways

↬ Leadership ↫

⭑⭑⭑⭑ - she’s learned leadership from her parents but can get intimated when it comes to taking the lead

↬ Wisdom ↫

⭑⭑⭑⭑ - she has to be wise look at her family history

↬ Intelligence ↫

⭑⭑⭑⭑ - She’s booksmart but like I said, naive

↬ Confidence ↫

⭑⭑⭑ - she’s a shy girl

↬ Endurance ↫

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑ - I feel like she’s really good in hardships

R E L A T I O N S H I P S

↬ Father ↫

Li Shang

↬ Mother ↫

Mulan

↬ Siblings ↫

Only child

↬ Other relatives ↫

N/A

↬ Enemies ↫

She doesn’t have any direct enemies

↬ Rivals ↫

The guys on the tourney team except for Ben, Nolan, and Sam

↬ Friends ↫,

Sam, Ben, Nolan, Kai, Henry, and Jack

↬ Best friend ↫

Sam Westgate

↬ Love interest ↫

Also Sam Westgate

↬ Marital status ↫

Dating!

↬ Children ↫

N/A

↬ Pets ↫

N/A

P A S S - T I M E

↬ Hobbies ↫

reads, hangs out with sam, trains and works out

↬ Talents ↫

she is trained in different martial arts and sword fighting

↬ Sports ↫

only female tourney player BABY

↬ Classes ↫

Womens Studies major

↬ Occupation ↫

Right now she’s just a student

H O M E L I F E

↬ Location ↫

Mei currently lives with her parents in Auradon City instead of in Northern Wei .

↬ House size ↫

It’s of decent size, not a mansion but big enough where the basement is her own studio apartment.

↬ House type ↫

It’s a traditional Chinese home that Mulan and Shang had specifically built for them so they could share their culture.

↬ Level of luxury ↫

it’s a normal home but it’s luxurious compared to the isle.

↬ Outdoor description ↫

There’s a beautiful yard with a tree house and koi fish pond.

↬ Indoor description ↫

It’s a four bedroom if you include the basement, and it really looks like it’s been transported from Northern Wei to Auradon City with how spot on it is.

↬ Bedroom description ↫

Mei’s bedroom is her entire “studio apartment” so it’s clean with a yoga mat and some weights. She does like to indulge in some twinkle lights and cute decor.

L I F E S T O R Y

↬ Age 0-12 ↫

Mei was born and raised in Northern Wei. Both her parents were guards for the Emperor, and they even lived in the Imperial Palace because of it. While she was there, she studied different martial arts like karate, jujitsu, kung fu, and krav maga under her parents as well as learned traditional battle sword fighting. They wanted to each her at a young age so she would learn it faster.

↬ Age 13-18 ↫

At the age of 13, Mei transferred to Auradon Prep, and her parents came with her to Auradon so she wouldn’t have to deal with the move on her own. There, she learned more about her family’s influence on history as well as magic. She found the sport of tourney and immediately fell in love but she only played it recreationally

↬ Age 19-30 (or 25) ↫

Once getting to college, she decided to try out for the tourney team instead of only playing rec. She got a lot of push back from the guys on the team, but lucky enough she had Prince Ben on her side. Mei learned that she loves to beat chauvinistic pigs at things that “girls can’t do” and loves her Women’s Studies major because if there’s anything that her mom taught her-- it’s that girls can do anything.

↬ Darkest secret ↫

Mei doesn’t currently have one she is a good egg.

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janiedean · 5 years

Note

so admittingly I don't know much about springsteen but your top 5/10 springsteen songs and why?

WELL THEN HERE WE GO (sorry this required a long answer) (also if I start going like ‘this is it bUT IN THIS VERSION NOT IN THAT ONE it’s because actually he has wildly different version of the same song XDDD)

*cough* *drum roll* videos for the first five + links for the others as usual xD

one: the ghost of tom joad

youtube

I once ranted about this specific song in detail so here if anyone’s interested, but: it took me years to decide on which one was my favorite overall but then I went for tom joad because it has all. it’s a heartbreaking song that updates one of my favorite ever novels (the grapes of wrath) to current days situations and guys I swear to god the fact that he put to music tom’s speech to his mother in the novel at the end after rehashing the themes in a new light in the rest of it killed me and I want it tattooed, so. tom joad now and always thanks guys. I love this damned song to levels that are embarrassing as hell.

two: no surrender (in the live 75-85 version)

youtube

so: no surrender is originally on born in the usa and actually it’s my favorite song from that record regardless - like, it opens side two and I remember that the first time I heard it was on a tape a friend’s dad (haha) had lent me bc he knew I was into bruce and he was too and I turned it to the second side of the tape and played it and I was like holy crap this is it but then I heard the acoustic live version from the following tour and guys. guys. if you ever had friends you fell out of touch with but still remember fondly and/or friendships you know that even if you don’t talk for a while you’ll always be close when you meet again this is.. just… idk it hit me like a punch in the stomach and it never left. I cried every single time he played it live when I went to see him. no regrets. I love this song sfm and the melancholy in the acoustic version just destroys me.

three: for you (acoustic piano version)

youtube

I 100% realize this is probably a weird choice for top three, but: this was on his first album and the version on there is pretty damned good - it’s about a guy whose girlfriend tries to commit suicide and reminesces about their relationship - and you’d go like why, but: first of all he has some of his best lines in this (my electric surges free I just sdgsldjl) and the entire last stanza where he goes from where I found you broken at the beach to the end is just a knife into your heart, but this goddamned version here just goes and tears your heart out and stomps on it and I swear if there is one thing I want from bruce is that he plays this in front of me next time I see him live because for now I never managed and just - the slow piano kills me. I love it. the fact that when I asked brian fallon in a tumblr q&a his fave bruce song and he said this specific one just confirmed he’s a true intellectual. ;)

four: drive all night

youtube

or: this is the love song. I just. the first time I heard this I fell off the chair or something and it was the studio version which is nowhere near as heartfelt as the live versions and I swear it’s just - it has very lovely lyrics that perfectly balance melancholy and hopeful and don’t make it saccharine, the fucking sax solo destroys me every single goddamned time I hear it and when you get to the end and he says that she has his love heart and soul it’s The Most Heartfelt Thing I Have Ever Heard In My Life Or Close To It and I just, I love drive all night with every inch of my atoms, bye.

five: badlands

youtube

I ranted about this extensively yesterday here so I refer you to it for long rant about it, but tldr: this was actually the first bruce song I ever heard knowing it was by bruce - it wasn’t what got me on that train but it still was the first and like… I didn’t understand it for a long time bc my first run-in with bruce was a hit and miss but then I did and like, this song is basically quintessential bruce because it has all his themes rolled up into one, all the good stuff, everything that is good about his music and most of all live it’s a goddamned religious experience.

so, that was for the top five, but top ten…

six: youngstown (click here for full rant from last year) which was a hard choice but this damned song slays me whether acoustic or electric and I love his use of language and how he built it and how he teaches you things in five minutes pretty much and how the music/mood matches the words in both versions and seems to mean different approaches but still doesn’t change the core of it, and is2g the last two lines and the second stanza and the line he recycled from the mahardige book he inspired himself with when he wrote this are just goddamned out of this world and like this one raised the ladder for years but I just, love it to pieces

seven: rosalita (come out tonight), or: bruce does serious and politics incredibly well but this one is just a delight from beginning to end, it’s fun, I could listen to it for a month without getting tired, it always puts a smile on my face and the entire last part where he tells her to inform her dad he has a record company now so no reason to hate that his daughter is with a moneyless musician is just… so… lovely and fun and lighthearted and I just really love this song a lot ;;

eight: highway patrolman or, there’s no way a top ten bruce songs has no nebraska material from me because nebraska Is A Damn Masterpiece and this one’s my fave off it, but tldr: the utter, absolute way this thing slays you with just voice and guitar and the way he makes you feel about the cop who ends up letting his brother with ptsd from vietnam escape after he accidentally kills someone is out of this world and I just, this one really has a way to make you empathize with the narrator and my heart ;_; (also the movie they made from it which is in that video is really good k viggo mortensen playing the brother with ptsd isn’t leaving me anytime soon)

nine: thunder road (rant attached to the link) or: this one is short and sweet but honest, it’s not The Definitive Love Song To Me just bc drive all night exists. this damned song is a masterpiece in itself. it’s flawless. it has the crescendo, it has the fact that at whichever moment in his life he sings it it works, ‘it’s a town full of losers and I’m pulling out of here to win’ is the most iconic line that ever ended a song or close to it and it’s exactly the kinda love song you wanna hear if you want realistic love song material and just, legendary. okay? legendary.

ten: american skin (41 shots), or: this actually is what got me into springsteen bc I borrowed the live album it was published on originally after my first try with darkness went so-so, I listened to it and was like ‘okay yeah he’s good’, then I got to this one and went like ‘wait a fucking moment this isn’t just good’ (count that I was twelve and understood maybe 1/5th in the english songs I heard), I actually looked it up, went like woah wait aaand listened to it for two weeks straight, bought the record, translated everything by hand, started reading about what the fuck was wrong with the circumstances for which it was written and here I am twenty years later dying over bruce and having been introduced thanks to him to 80% of his country’s societal issues or I’d have had no idea that early in my life. anyway: other than the sentimental value, it’s honestly out of this world good and the live version just nailed it way better than the studio that was released years later and I love bruce a lot, k? k.

thanks for letting me rant ;)

#bruce springsteen #springsteen birthday extravaganza 2k19 #if anyone not from fandom clicks on the rants don't mind the anon hate i started them from ;)#jlannister #ask post

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strandedhaze · 4 years

Text

ONE : MEET NAOMI

FULL NAME: naomi june cheng-bradshaw. PREFERRED NAME: naomi. NICKNAME(S): most people call her nomi, noms, nao, nai and similar variations, elijah calls her nana. DATE OF BIRTH: may 3rd, 1994. GENDER: cis female. PREFERRED PRONOUNS: she/her/hers. ORIENTATION: heterosexual. RELATIONSHIP STATUS: single in main verse. RELIGION: she’s not a particularly religious person. OCCUPATION: press manager for honda racing corporation. CURRENT RESIDENCE: madrid, spain ; she owns a house in the prestigious la finca neighbourhood.

TWO : NAOMI’S BACKGROUND

HOMETOWN: marina bay, singapore. NATIONALITY: singaporean. LINGUISTICS: english is her native language but, asides from it, she speaks spanish, portuguese, italian, french, mandarin chinese and japanese. in some languages, she’s more proficient than others. for instance, she speaks spanish just as well as she speaks english. her spoken japanese is nearly flawless and though she can read and comprehend the language, she can’t write. she’s still getting around to dive deeper into mandarin chinese. EDUCATION: she attended the massachusetts institute of technology - also known as MIT - and she has a double degree in business analytics and management. CRIMINAL RECORD: clean. BIRTH ORDER: first. FATHER: charles bradshaw was born on february 23rd, 1971 in windsor, england. he is an investment banker who resides in between hong kong and dubai. MOTHER: sonoya cheng was born on july 5th, 1971 in sentosa island, singapore. she is a real estate tycoon who resides in between toronto, abu dhabi and singapore. SISTER(S): none. BROTHER(S): edward cheng-bradshaw was born on january 15th, 1997 in marina bay, singapore. he is a software developer manager and resides in san francisco, california. OTHER RELEVANT FAMILY: constance mizuno, sister-in-law. SIGNIFICANT OTHER: naomi is single. CHILDREN: none so far. FRIENDS: to be done. EXES: andrea pagani, marco ricci and aleix martin. PETS: none so far.

THREE : GET UP CLOSE & PERSONAL

HEIGHT: 5′7″ ( 174 cm ). WEIGHT: her weight oscillates between 127 lbs ( 57.6 kg ) and 134 lbs ( 61 kg ). BODY TYPE AND BUILD: she is naturally slim - courtesy of genetics and her fast metabolism - but, despite that fact, she still has a willowy frame. by no means, does she have a hourglass shape with a big bust, tiny waist and thick thighs but with a good, healthy diet and a workout plan ( that she, often, forgets to follow ) consisting of some weight training and fun classes, naomi has still managed to achieve a shape she’s comfortable with. she has particularly long legs and, thanks to all the hot yoga and pilates classes, she holds a rather toned overall body. EYE COLOR: brown. EYESIGHT: she has perfect eyesight though when the work load increases, you’ll find her reaching for her glasses in order to give her eyes a break. she also wears blue light blocking glasses whenever she’s working on a computer. HAIR COLOR: dark brown. HAIR STYLE: her hair is, has always been - and will always be, according to her - long, hitting the middle of her back, at worst, when she goes for a trim to keep its healthy condition and it has a natural wavy texture which naomi has learned to love. styling wise, it rarely gets too eventful... during the season, she’ll throw it on a ponytail or a bun for the race weekends and allow it to dry into its natural texture on the remaining work days. if she’s attending an event of sorts or going out to celebrate, she’ll straighten it or go for a nice blowout. DOMINANT HAND: right. NOTABLE PHYSICAL TRAITS: her lips or, possibly, their plumpness, her legs that often seem endless, her tan complexion and how it makes her dark eyes and hair standout, and for the rare occasions when it makes an appearance, her smile. SCARS AND MARKS: nothing outstanding - she has your average scars and marks here and there. TATTOOS: she has a lotus mandala on the inside of her right wrist, a symbol of enlightenment for her, as well as a way to symbolize all the growth she achieved throughout her life. PIERCINGS: regular lobes. VOICECLAIM: nicole elise. ACCENT AND INTENSITY: having moved out and grown up in london, naomi developed a thick london accent which she never knew how intense it was up until she found herself in massachusetts. the four years spent there, softened the intensity of the british accent and the nearly six years in spain also played a part when washing away what once was a proper londoner accent so, these days, it’s hard to identify what accent she has exactly. it’s more of a mixture than anything specific. ALLERGIES: cherries and insect stings, particularly bee stings. PHOBIAS AND FEARS: extremely deep waters and though it’s not a phobia, she gets really nervous when she’s driving over bridges. MENTAL ILLNESSES: none so far. PHYSICAL ILLNESSES: none so far. SCENT THEY WEAR: it varies depending on a lot of factors, such as season of the year, time of the day, occasion and, above all, her personal mood. during summer, you’ll often catch her wearing soleil blanc by tom ford or replica beach walk by maison margiela, and during summer nights, she'll wear sundaze by byredo. for fancy events, her go-to is bewitching yasmine by penhaligon’s, same way her go-to for nights out with friends is slow dance by byredo. whenever she has an important business meeting, she’ll wear cuir celeste by ex nihilo, simply because in naomi’s opinion, the scent is the definition of boss bitch and throughout race weekends, she’ll go for rose of no man’s land by byredo. le labo’s patchouli 24 and maison margiela’s replica by the fireplace are generally the scents she wears through winter. for date nights where she actually cares to put some effort in and is actually interested in the person, she’ll specifically wear reine de nuit by byredo or santal 33 by le labo. ALCOHOL USE: socially, she does. SMOKING: she doesn’t smoke. OTHER NARCOTICS USE: no. INDULGENT FOOD: she prefers to eat healthy but there’s no denying that every once in a while, she needs to indulge in some soul food. SPLURGE SPENDING: it happens every now and again, but she’s mostly a responsible buyer. GAMBLING: no. ADDICTIONS AND VICES: none.

FOUR : DIG DEEPER

CAN THEY DRIVE? yes, she can drive. CAN THEY COOK AND BAKE? yes and yes. CAN THEY CHANGE A FLAT TIRE? yes. CAN THEY TIE A TIE? yes. CAN THEY SWIM? yes. CAN THEY RIDE A BICYCLE? yes. CAN THEY JUMP START A CAR? yes. CAN THEY BRAID HAIR? yes. CAN THEY PICK A LOCK? yes. EXTROVERTED OR INTROVERTED? extroverted. DISORGANIZED OR ORGANIZED? organized, and she hates when things get messy. CLOSE OR OPEN MINDED? open minded. CALM OR ANXIOUS? calm. PATIENT OR IMPATIENT? healthy in-between and always depends on the situation. OUTSPOKEN OR RESERVED? outspoken. LEADER OR FOLLOWER? she's a leader, all through and through. OPTIMISTIC OR PESSIMISTIC? optimistic, mostly. TRADITIONAL OR MODERN? modern. HARD-WORKING OR LAZY? hard-working. CULTURED OR UNCULTURED? cultured. LOYAL OR DISLOYAL? loyal. FAITHFUL OR UNFAITHFUL? faithful. NIGHT OWL OR EARLY BIRD? honestly, it all depends on the time of the year. HEAVY OR LIGHT SLEEPER? light sleeper. COFFEE OR TEA? tea over coffee, these days. DAY OR NIGHT? night. TAKING BATHS OR SHOWERS? baths. COCA COLA OR PEPSI? none. CATS OR DOGS? both. NETFLIX OR CINEMA? netflix. SHOWS OR MOVIES? both. LAPTOP OR GAMING CONSOLE? laptop. HEALTHY OR JUNK FOOD? healthy. ICE CREAM OR FROZEN YOGURT? ice cream. PIZZA OR HAMBURGER? pizza. LOLLIPOPS OR GUMMY WORMS? gummy worms. BEACH OR POOL? beach. SNOWBALLS FIGHTING OR ICESKATING? iceskating. LITERATURE OR SCIENCE? science. HISTORY OR ART? art. CHOCOLATE BARS OR COTTON CANDY? chocolate bars. XBOX OR PLAYSTATION? playstation. FACE-TO-FACE OR PHONE INTERACTIONS? face-to-face interactions. DRAMA OR SCI-FI? sci-fi. HORROR OR COMEDY? horror.

FIVE : NAOMI’S LIKES & DISLIKES

FAVORITE ACTIVITY: yoga. FAVORITE ANIMAL: giraffe. FAVORITE BOOK: everything i know about love by dolly alderton. FAVORITE QUOTE: ❝ when you’re tired, go slowly. go quietly. go timidly. but do not stop. ❞ — heidi priebe. FAVORITE COLOR(S): it’s a very specific beige/tan colour, a champagne type of shade. FAVORITE DESIGNER: maison christian dior and acne studios. FAVORITE CUISINE: singaporean cuisine, all through and through. there are little things she’s more passionate about than her national cuisine, she often says no one does food like singapore. FAVORITE DISH(ES): hainanese chicken rice, laksa, hokkien fried mee and dumplings. FAVORITE DRINK: matcha ginger latte and bubble tea. FAVORITE FLOWER(S): lotus flower. FAVORITE GEM: diamond. FAVORITE HOLIDAY: new years. FAVORITE MOVIE: currently, it must be parasite by bong joon-ho. FAVORITE MUSIC GENRE: she doesn’t have a favorite music genre. naomi listens to a little bit of everything because for her, it’s more about the songs and artists than the genre itself. FAVORITE SONG(S): xo by beyoncé. GO TO KARAOKE SONG: kiss it better by rihanna. FAVORITE SCENT(S): the scent of gasoline, melting chocolate and freshly baked goods. FAVORITE TELEVISION SHOW(S): la casa de papel. FAVORITE SPORTS: motogp, formula1 and football. SPORTS TEAM THEY SUPPORT: real madrid. FAVORITE EMOJI: probably the 💅🏽 though it’s not what she uses the most. FAVORITE WEATHER: she likes that type of weather at the end of a summer day, when it’s warm but not too much and you walk around the beach feeling that soft breeze of air hitting you, and the day is settling down and all that remains is a wash of what the weather was throughout the day. FAVORITE SEASON OF THE YEAR: summer. FAVORITE PLACE(S): a close tie between her childhood home in marina bay, singapore and her current home in madrid. she loves the memories and how much singapore grounds her, how it freshens up her ties to the culture and reminds her of better days. at the same time, she also loves madrid. the people, the culture and everything in between. both bring her a sense of peace she’s very fond of. SUPERPOWER THEY WISH THEY HAD: teleportation. VACATION DESTINATION: if she was forced to choose, coppenhagen or amsterdam for a solo, self-reflection trip and anywhere in japan or thailand just to unwind.

#tbt / naomi cheng-bradshaw.

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mimisxkai · 5 years

Text

“SHE WAS LIKE THE MOON: BEAUTIFUL TO LOOK AT ─ BUT, IMPOSSIBLE TO TOUCH,

ALWAYS HALF HIDDEN BY WHIPS OF SHADOWS

AND COMPLETELY & UTTERLY A L O N E.”

⌠ 𝑲𝑨𝒀𝑳𝑬𝑬 𝑩𝑹𝒀𝑨𝑵𝑻, 𝟐𝟎, 𝑪𝑰𝑺𝑭𝑬𝑴𝑨𝑳𝑬, 𝑺𝑯𝑬/𝑯𝑬𝑹 ⌡ welcome back to gallagher academy, 𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑬𝑴𝑰𝑺𝑰𝑨 𝑺𝑨𝑲𝑨𝑰! according to their records, they’re a 𝑺𝑬𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑫 year, specializing in 𝑨𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑬𝑵𝑬𝑺𝑺 𝑻𝑹𝑨𝑰𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮, 𝑩𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑯 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑹𝑶𝑳, 𝑯𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑻𝑶 𝑯𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑪𝑶𝑴𝑩𝑨𝑻 + “𝑴𝑪𝑮𝑼𝒀𝑽𝑬𝑹” 𝑺𝑼𝑹𝑽𝑰𝑽𝑨𝑳 𝑺𝑲𝑰𝑳𝑳𝑺 & 𝑵𝑨𝑽𝑰𝑮𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵; and they 𝑫𝑰𝑫 go to a spy prep high school. when i see them walking around in the halls, i usually see a flash of ( 𝑨 𝑪𝑹𝒀𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑳 𝑪𝑯𝑶𝑲𝑬𝑹, 𝑯𝑨𝑳𝑭-𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑬𝑵 𝑪𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑹𝒀 𝑺𝑼𝑪𝑲𝑬𝑹, and 𝑩𝑶𝑾 𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑪𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺 ). when it’s the 𝑪𝑨𝑵𝑪𝑬𝑹’s birthday on 𝟕/𝟏𝟑/𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟗, they always request their 𝑩𝑬𝑹𝑹𝒀 𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑻 from the school’s chefs. looks like they’re well on their way to graduation.

* / CHARACTER INFLUENCES: SANSA STARK ( Game of Thrones ) + CASSIE HOWARD ( Euphoria ) + EMILY FIELDS ( Pretty Little Liars ) + FIONA COYNE ( Degrassi ) + ALLISON ARGENT ( Teen Wolf ) + TANDY BOWEN ( Cloak & Dagger ) + PEETA MELLARK ( The Hunger Games )

* / VINE REFERENCES: x x x *** honorable mention***

* / PERSONAL ANTHEM: PROM QUEEN - Molly Kate Kestner

Hi it’s Bri with another smol child of mines ARTEMISIA. Feel free to like this post or hmu on discord if you want to plot :)

TW: Alcohol, sex. Read with caution.

* / GENERAL INFORMATION

FUL: NAME: Artemisia “Mimi” Monroe Sakai.

KNOWN AS: Mimi, Art, Artie.

AGE: Twenty.

DATE OF BIRTH: July 13, 1999.

PLACE OF BIRTH: Milford, Connecticut.

GENDER: Cisgender female.

PRONOUNS: She/her.

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual ( a growing female preference ).

RELIGION: Christian.

* / PHYSICAL & MENTAL CHARACTERISTICS

HEIGHT: 5′8.

WEIGHT: 130 lbs.

HAIR COLOUR: Brown.

EYE COLOUR: Brown.

TATTOOS: None.

PIERCINGS: Standard lobes & double helix.

BODY TYPE: Petite.

PHYSICAL HEALTH: Peak.

NOTABLE PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS: Long legs, slight front gap between front teeth.

FACE CLAIM: Kaylee Bryant.

VOICE CLAIM: Kaylee Bryant’s speaking voice.

CLOSET / STYLE: Cher Horowitz ( Clueless ) & Fran Fine ( The Nanny ).

ILLNESSES / CONDITIONS: Asthma & anxiety disorder.

ADDICTIONS: None.

VICES: Envy.

* / BACKGROUND, OCCUPATION & EDUCATION

BIRTHPLACE: Milford, Connecticut.

RAISED: Milford, Connecticut.

CURRENT RESIDENCE: Gallagher Academy.

SPOKEN LANGUAGES: English and Japanese.

EDUCATION LEVEL: HS diploma.

FINANCIAL STATUS: Wealthy.

* / FAMILIAL BACKGROUND

FATHER: Kane Sakai.

MOTHER: Reina Sakai [ née Sutton ].

SIBLINGS: None.

BIRTH ORDER: n/a.

RELATIONSHIP WITH FAMILY: Close.

PATERNAL GRANDPARENTS: n/a.

MATERNAL GRANDPARENTS: n/a.

SIGNIFICANT OTHER: none.

* / PERSONALITY

POSITIVE: Joyful, caring, selfless, protective.

NEGATIVE: Hot-headed, codependent, self-destructive, naive.

ZODIAC: Cancer.

MBTI TYPE: ENFJ.

MORAL ALIGNMENT: Lawful Good.

HOGWARTS HOUSE: Hufflepuff.

AESTHETIC: Plaid skirts, tight curls, blushing cheeks, open heart & broken spirit, echoing laughter, pointe shoes, distant gazing, soft melodies, pained smiles, tears on pillows.

* / BIO: Her parents named her after the moon, but even the mood has a dark side. Artemisia, better known as Mimi, was the perfect daughter. Sweet, sophisticated, poised ─ everything two high ranking faculty members of the elite private spy university Gallagher could want in a daughter. Since birth, Mimi was groomed knowing she’d follow in the Sutton ( her mother’s maiden name ) legacy and attend the institute, same as her cousins would. As a child, the reality of it didn’t bother her. Along with the private self-defense and boxing classes with her father and weapons training with her mother, there were other more exciting extracurriculars she had to distract her.

Violin and horseback riding were just two phases that quickly came and went, but her love for dance always stayed. What was meant to be an after school activity soon spiraled into tumbling classes, weekend competitions, and many 1st place trophies. It was like an unspoken issue in her household. Though her love for dance ─ ballet specifically ─ eclipsed her love for anything else, so much so that she hoped to make a career out of it, her parents remained steadfast on her attending Gallagher. Upon entering high school, suddenly Mimi’s lack of time and the reality that her dreams would be crushed began to cave in on her. A usually happy and upbeat girl now only had four years left of freedom. And she held onto those four years the best way she knew how ─ by making memories.

Being sent to a spy prep boarding school 30 minutes from home was the best, and worst, thing her parents could’ve done. Separated from her dance team all week only elevated her anxiety levels, leading her to have full-blown panic attacks when things became too much. Desperate to find some means of control in her life, Mimi turned to what all the rich, spoiled, and rotten kids at her school were doing. Sex. Partying. A bit of crime. Shoplifting here, a quickie there. Mimi longed for some sort of...connection. Some control. Something to make her feel whole now that she was losing her grasp on the life she truly wanted. The weekends were her escape, where she could return home, or better yet to the dance studio, and just let out all of pent up energy weekly stressors had built up inside of her. And that’s how her life was for four years. Trying to survive the week, and let loose on the weekends. She didn’t care how her reputation preceded her. She didn’t care that past boyfriends had convinced her to do things ─ on camera ─ then leaked those things when broken up. It’s not like her reputation mattered anymore. It’s not like the nudes would stop her from going to Gallagher of all places. Not when she had the connections she had. So, she moved onto the next. And the next. Falling in love, falling in sin, and trying to keep her head above water.

When graduation day had come, something changed. Mimi had spent 4 years essentially learning strength and self-assurance in her day to day classes ( after all what was a spy who lacked confidence? a dead spy, that’s what ), so she proposed a deal with her parents. A year. Give her a year to follow her passion. If she failed, she’d go to Gallagher willingly. If not, she’d get to live her life the way she wanted. It took some begging, some pleading, a few fat tears, but eventually, they conceded. Mimi’s first destination was New York. Finding work was hard though, as was school. Places like Julliard and Joffrey already filled their quota for the year and productions had already been cast for the fall. She found luck, though, as a background dancer in a small production Off-Broadway. Better than nothing, and it was a great starter position as she was slightly rusty from not dancing as regularly as she did as a child. What she thought was a shot, only turned into tragedy. A few months in, she did one of the worst things that could happen to a dancer: she tore her ACL. Recovery was imminent but spanned nearly a year. And by that time, her time was up. No dream was fulfilled. No opportunity was given. Mimi packed her bags and began at Gallagher, just like she promised her parents.

Now a second year at the school, Mimi has grown accustomed to that drowning feeling that started during her high school years. If anything, she enjoys the numbness now. Anything is better than the pain.

* / PERSONALITY: Mimi is so glad she doesn’t look like what she’s gone through. From afar she’s still the perfect daughter. Selfless, because helping others distracts herself from her own problems. Kind-hearted, always smiling, the sweetheart appearance. But what most people don’t know is that the smile is for a show, because pretending is a lot easier than wallowing or taking out her anger on someone else. When first attending Gallagher, the loss of something so crucial to her had her on edge. So when a boy from her former school decided to taunt her with some private photos, she snapped. It seemed all those years of her boxing lessons with her dad finally came in handy. She appears to be delicate and soft, breakable even, but how can you break something that’s already broken? By day, she’s the girl everyone wants to know. But by night, when everyone’s asleep, she goes to the gym where a punching bag becomes her best friend. It’s the only form of control she has left.

* / WANTED RELATIONS: People who know her from her past, maybe some girlssss to explore her sexuality with????, at least one confidante, sexual tension, and so on.

#gallagher:intro #this got #long #again #my bad

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thatfairyfangirl · 5 years

Text

True Colors Chapter 13

You woke up in the bed of your childhood, the smell of bacon and eggs wafting up from the kitchen below. You warmer than you ever remembered being in the old home before. Groggily you attempted to stretch, finding yourself pinned down. With half a groan you opened your eyes to see dark tendrils covering an almost heavenly face, one arm wrapped around his pillow the other wrapped around you. Slowly you wriggled your way out, your eyes lingering on him sleeping shirtless in your bed, finding you had to catch your breath at the sight. What is going on with you? Could you actually be catching feelings for one of your best friends?

No time to think about that now. You had work to do before the rest of the world woke. As silently as possible you snuck your way into the attic, retreating to the old studio that started it all. The plan was to use this time home to finish working on Bucky’s gift, but with him here now it was a little more difficult.

Bucky woke to the sweet sound of your music as you put the finishing touches on one of the last few songs for him and him alone before transferring them from your flash drive to a blank CD.

Once you came back into the room the bed was empty and you could hear rustling down below. You closed your eyes hearing the two women berating Bucky with questions. Oh no, were they catching on? Them knowing you’re single would be so much worse, it would give them reason to tell you how worthless of a person you are….again. You burst down the stairs throwing your arms around his strong shoulders...oh god you never expected them to feel this good in your arms. “Hey Buck how about a workout before it gets too late in the day? We missed one yesterday…” His brow curled as he turned his head to you, wondering what exactly has taken over your mind...normally you hated training.

“Umm sure..?”

~ ~ ~ ~

The two women watched as you both sparred across the backyard. It was hard for your mother to admit that you really did seem like a natural at this. Snow caught in both of your hair and on your white knit cap as you exchanged blows, your breath changing to steam in the early winter air. Before you knew it a cold hand was around your wrist, though in this weather it was hard for your skin to distinguish from cold metal or cold flesh...in the end it didn’t matter either way, he was pulling you into a killshot. You had to think fast...but you couldn’t think fast enough before feeling the poke of a sheathed blade poke at your stomach. “You’re getting better.” He huffed as your eyes caught each other, clouds of breath mingling between the two of you. “Next time,” he brought your wrist into your view, turning it to show you his thumb and index finger meeting just under your palm. “This is the week point, twist your arm and pull.” You could feel him holding on tighter as he gave you the instruction, but still you did as you were told, finding your wrist free. Bubblegum hair fell into your face as the hand came to rest on his shoulder, feeling natural there. Your heart tugged at itself as you felt Bucky’s arms wrapping around your waist as his tongue glided across his lips...a motion you have seen him do countless times, but never before it was right in front of you did you realize just how damn sexy it is. Wait a minute, he’s drawing in closer! In a panic you spun, hooking your arm under his shoulder as you swept your leg under him, forcing him to the ground. Bucky felt as if all the air had left his body as he looked up to you, watching your hair shift from pink to rainbowed in a glorious display as you retook your fighting stance. “Much better…” The way the corner of his lips tugged up into a smile suddenly seemed so perfect.

~ ~ ~ ~

Bucky looked around the room as he waited for you to finish in the shower, toweling off his hair as he examined the sheet music that lined the walls, having 100% no idea what most of it meant outside of the names at the top of each piece. After what felt like forever he finally heard the door click open and closed again. “So what’s up with the walls?” He asked turning to see facing the opposite wall, you had only been clad in a small towel barely covering your parts. Thank goodness you weren’t watching him to see how red his face had become.

“Oh, it was something my dad started when I was a baby.” You explained as you reached up to point out the remnants of Brahms lullaby under something labeled ‘Memory’. “I guess it kinda stuck. Mom says I was able to read music before I could read words.” Bucky could feel the blood rushing from his face as your rear began to poke through, showing a tattoo on the right cheek of a small clownfish.

“Geeze!” He sputtered out in surprise as he spun around to watch the other wall. “Maybe put some clothes on?” Stumbling over words as he sat on the bed to pull his clothes out of his bag.

“What’s wrong Barnes? It is my room you are in afterall. Don’t like what you see?” You teased as you sauntered over to the bed. “I am one hundred percent offended! You shall pay!” You joked as you pinned him down watching his face turn to a cherry as your fingertips began exploring his exposed flesh, wriggling over his muscles in an attempt to tickle. The scent of your shampoo in your still damp hair and the feel of your hands on his skin did get a reaction, just not the one one you were looking for, one he needed to surpress. “Should have known you of all people wouldn’t be ticklish.” You pouted before letting out a yelp of surprise as he flipped you over, pinning you to the bed with his lower half.

“Pay back.” He quipped before returning the favor. Soon you were writhing under him screaming in laughter as his fingers found all the right spots to make you giggle and yelp. The assault continued until you were gasping for air between each high pitched giggles, only then did his hands move away from you in a slow bittersweet motion to rest on the bed. Both your hearts raced as you were once again realizing just how close you two were...both physically and emotionally. Would it really be so wrong if…? His eyes sparkled as you propped yourself onto your elbows. You felt as if you were loosing your breath as he leaned in on his hands. Inching closer and closer until you could taste eachother’s breath on your lips, a hair away from touching.

“GET THE HELL OFF OF MY DAUGHTER YOU MONSTER!” You mother screamed as the door flung open. In her hand she held a kitchen knife that she really wasn’t sure how to use for anything other than chopping vegetables. Her eyes darted over the scene, taking in the amount of flesh realizing the mistake.

“Mom! What are you doing?!” You demanded as Bucky just froze, conflicting instincts battling inside him. Feeling the need to protect his ray of sunshine from the possible threat and feeling the need to hide what wrestling on the bed had done to him between his legs.

“I thought...You were screaming…” She stuttered looking over the scene once more, jumping from one conclusion to the next. “And now I see why...Young lady how dare you! In my house! Did I do that horrible of a job of raising you that you can’t respect me and your Nana enough to not fornicate -”

“MOM!!” You hollered. “We weren’t!” Bucky crawled off the bed, letting you up as your hair swirled with conflicting emotions. Your mind a fog of questions over everything. Was what you think was about to happen actually about to happen? Was she actually showing that she cared? She seemed like she was ready to fight the winter soldier for you after all…”He was tickling me”...no need to mention that you liked it. “That’s all.”

“Oh...Well...get dressed, Nana’s ready to do presents.”

~ ~ ~ ~

The sun hung low in the window, setting the white powder ablaze with a brilliant display of orange and pink as Nana bent down to hand out the gifts she had just finished wrapping for the both of you. You were sure you knew what was in the boxes, it was always the same every year since you grew up...something sensible...socks, things like that. As per tradition you always opened yours first. Sitting inside the glittering box was a crochet cap in every color you could think of. Your eyes widened, this was a first. Never have they ever encouraged the rainbows with you. “Nana...This is wonderful thank you.�� You lept up giving her a gentle hug, more grateful of the gesture than the item itself. In their eyes you could see remorse over the words that were exchanged last night. With a half smile she hugged back before returning to working on something for one of your cousins to give on actual christmas day. Bucky was next, a red and white christmas sweater...missing one sleeve...the correct one. “Nanna?” You asked as he pulled it on, wondering where the insult in this was hiding.

Without a word she just waved her hand going back to her work. “Thank you ma’am.” Bucky said softly as he offered his hand to her. He may have not known either of them for very long but he could see the gestures they were making.

She took the hand gesturing for him to come closer. With his ear to her lips she whispered softly “We may not understand her but we do love her.” His lips curled into a smile hearing that as he nodded. “Family calls me Nana, not ma’am. Take care of her for us.” He nodded his confirmation that he would in fact do that.

You then got up handing both your mother and grandmother their packages, pre-releases of both the CDs schedualed to hit the shelves after the new year she had been working on. Your face swelled with pride as you watched them open them only to drop back down as they both frowned. “Dazzler CDs? Really (y/n)?” Your mom asked a little disappointed. “Why would you think we’d want these?”

“Look closer mom.” You nudged as you pointed to track number 3 of the first one, specifically the (feat. Spectrum). “And the other one isn’t Dazzler...It’s Spectrum….me....I made it...I have a recording contract.”

“That’s great sweetheart.” Was all she could think to say.

Bucky frowned watching the less than wonderful reactions, he would have been ecstatic to get a recording of her stuff. “Here Doll, open mine next.” He offered as he sat back down by you, wrapping a comforting arm around your shoulders. Inside the small box sat a small clear square crystal attached to a gold chain. You raised a brow looking up to him questioningly. He simply chuckled, taking it in his hands and fastening it around your neck. “Shine some of your light on it.” He nudged. As your hands glowed bright around the small stone it shone, lighting up the room in a glorious rainbow of colors. The chuckle turned into that 40’s charm smile you had been secretly swooning over lately as he watched your face light up with amazement. “When I saw it I instantly thought of you.” His eyes shot your parents an icy look. “If you don't know what to look for it seems average, but just below that...an explosion of something amazing.”

“Bucky…” You sighed before looking up to him. “I love it.” As you reached up, brushing your lips against his stubbled cheek you wished you didn’t have these feelings, that your heart wasn’t racing just being near him. Afterall...you were sure he’d want a more classic look to a girl, not a walking rainbow with tattoos and piercings all over her. “I just wish mine was half as good.” You added with a sigh as you handed your gift for him over.

Peeling the paper back all he saw was a silver disc of a writable CD. On the case was in your best handwriting ‘good night bucky’ followed by a doodle of a rainbow. You watched as his face lit up with wonder, having a pretty decent idea of what this was. “Is it you?” You nodded, informing him it was for when he was having trouble sleeping. “It’s perfect.” He replied as he pulled you in tighter, your hair pinkening asis lips met your forehead. “I love it.” He added as he rested his cheek on the soft pink, loving the smell, wishing the charade could go on forever.

~ ~ ~ ~

As the night pushed slowly and coldly on Bucky laid listening to the sound of you breathing lightly next to him. Crystal eyes were drinking in the vision of you sleeping in the moonlight like an angel as he brushed a small chunk of silky rainbow hair from over your face to tuck gently behind your ear. It wasn’t that he couldn’t sleep...more like he didn’t want to...didn’t want this dream to end. With a sigh he reached down, planting a soft, barely there kiss to your temple before reaching into his backpack for his headphones, eager to hear what your gift for him held.

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLzuVXopZdSTkrUvUtTWIkvfA4kDQg-dqj

As your gentle glorious voice flowed over him he could feel his heart racing as each song was sweeter than the last. Wide eyed full of hope as he listened he looked down to you as you rolled over, finding comfort and warmth as you cuddled yourself against him…

#marvel #marvel x reader #mutant!reader #avengers #avengers x reader #bucky #bucky x reader #winter solider x reader #winter soldier

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alivingfire · 6 years

Text

in this life

aka rachel writes a bunch of different AUs because sleep is for the weak

read on AO3 here.

In this life, you’re a painter.

Color speaks to you in a way people never could, shades more nuanced than emotions. You blend blue and green and know exactly what the result will be; you blend yourself in social situations and the same cannot be said. You hole up, you burrow. You hermit, your sister says, and she’s teasing but teasing based on truth. You’re okay with the world inside your makeshift studio, because in there you can control everything from the canvas to the ceilings.

You do like some things.

You like the sunflowers in the garden of the house you pass to get to the bakery. You like the way the afternoon light touches the scones in the display case. You like the tiny bakery tables that you couldn’t possibly be expected to share with another person.

You like the smile of the boy at another too-tiny-for-teatime-companions table.

He must be new; you’ve never seen him here before. This is a small village, you’d know if someone like this existed here before this moment. Somehow, you’d have known.

“D’you mind?” he asks, pointing to the chair across from you at the too-tiny bakery table.

Yes, you want to say. Yes, I mind. Yes, go away, I enjoyed the view of you from over there but now you’re far too close and I’m far too clumsy with the words in my mouth and—

“No,” you say. “Please, take a seat.”

There’s no reason for him to have moved to your table. The bakery isn’t even halfway full, no one needed his seat. He’s sipping tea and smiling at you like he knows a secret and thinks it’s something you’ll enjoy.

“Louis,” he says. You assume that’s his name.

“Harry,” you answer.

“Harry,” he repeats. “Your hands are blue, Harry.”

You look down: they are. Well, sort of. Acrylic paint stripes your palms, dusts your knuckles like you’d done it on purpose, trying to play the part of the painter. You didn’t do it on purpose, but you must admit you like the look. There’s blue on your hands in paintbrush-edged stripes: you’d painted the ocean this morning, and it was the same color as this stranger’s eyes.

You look at his hands, just on instinct: they’re green. Familiar paintbrush strokes, familiar colored swaths across his knuckles. Green like jade under a jeweler’s lamp, bright and light, like a high note in a sweet song. He sees you looking and holds up both hands, palms toward you, fingers wiggling.

“Seems we might have something in common,” he says.

You fall in love easier than you should’ve, Louis’ smile less safe than your routines but a thousand times more intriguing. He coaxes you into the world and you coax him into your studio in return, a balancing act of public and private. The first time your sister walks in and sees someone else there inside your sacred space, she shoots you a conspiratorial wink and even waits until Louis leaves before she pounces, demanding details.

You fall in love in the span of a summer, and you paint blue, blue, blue until your tube runs dry and your hands are permanently cerulean. You haul your canvases and brushes and palette and paints all over creation that summer, because sometimes Louis wants to paint a beach scene and a photo just won’t do, and sometimes he wants to paint the exact color of the cappuccino he got at that specific cafe in London, and it’s only three months into this whirlwind of painting all across Britain that you realize he’s slyly been dating you and you didn’t even notice.

You fall in love and realize that you’re now the type of person those too-tiny bakery tables are meant for, your knees brushing Louis’ underneath as you linger over a scone.

You fall in love over a shared canvas, something so incredibly intimate that the butterflies move from your stomach to your hands, making your usually sure strokes shaky. It’s the first of many, Louis promises, stepping back and staring at what the two of you have made together in awe. “This,” he says, “this is important.” And you know what he’s saying is you, Harry Styles, you are important.

In a gallery, twenty years later, that first collaboration hangs in a place of pride, and when someone offers a ridiculous sum to take it home, you look over at your husband, green paint smudged on the inside of his wrist and barely hidden by his suit jacket cuff, and you smile.

“No,” you say. “No, I think we’d better keep this for ourselves.”

In this life, you’re a drifter.

You were born with a suitcase in your hand, as your mother says. You have a ship tattooed on your bicep because you know the idea of home is transient, connected to people instead of places. You spent your childhood tracking mud in from your adventures through the patch of woods behind your house, your bicycle basket equipped with all your exploring necessities: flashlight, compass, beef jerky. You’d tie a bandana around your forehead to keep the summer sweat out of your eyes, and you wouldn’t return until the fireflies lit the way home.

When your friends leave home for college at eighteen, you follow them out — but not for school. You’ve always learned more from the asphalt of the open road than from textbooks. You take your hard-earned money from your high school job flipping burgers and throw it all at a Triumph Bonneville, sold to you by a neighbor who bought it new in a fit of midlife crisis. It’s shiny and warm under your thighs and you shiver as it rumbles to life the first time.

Your saddlebags are mostly empty when you leave your little hometown, but they fill up soon enough. You collect trinkets from Route 66 sideshows and you buy a couple of notebooks to keep track of what you see and do. You do odd jobs when you find them — you mow an old lady’s yard in Kansas City, you hand out flyers for a business in Seattle, you paint a few houses in Tampa. Cities are good for quick cash, but you like the small towns better: little patches of history and strangeness in the middle of nowhere.

You drive the Million Dollar Highway through the Rockies and stop off in Telluride, a boutique town framed by snowcaps and vistas. You can’t afford a hotel room here — tourist traps like this don’t tend to have a Super 8 for the poorer folks — but you do find a dive bar a few blocks off Main Street, a local haunt where regulars go to watch a game or shoot the shit without having to deal with out-of-towners. You slip onto a stool at the bar and are only jostled a little by an exuberant group of men in Broncos jerseys.

“What can I get you?” a bartender asks, and you look away from the little television over the bar — the Broncos just scored, hence the exuberation — and, suddenly, lose your breath.

“What do you recommend?” you ask. The bartender smiles, a touch of a dimple kissed into his cheek. His small, capable hands wipe a rag over a clean pint glass, and he swipes it one last time before turning and pouring you a drink.

“This is a local brew,” he says, sliding the full glass to you. It’s foaming beautifully, deep brown and bubbling like a geyser.

“What’s it called?” you ask, taking a sip. It sits heavy on your tongue, sweet on the way down.

“Face Down,” he tells you, and you can’t help it:

“Only if you ask nicely,” and his grin grows wider.

“I’m off at ten,” he offers.

“I’ll be here,” you promise.

You flirt until he’s off his shift, and then you flirt as you walk to another bar (“Can’t drink where I work, you know the drill”), and then you flirt until you fall into his bed, a little twin mattress in an apartment barely bigger than the matchbox he procures to light two cigarettes afterward.

“So, are you just passing through?” Louis asks, propped up against the wall. His bare chest shines with sweat in the light from the moon outside, windows thrown open wide to catch a breeze and cool the room. The cherry glow of his cigarette flares as he inhales. You exhale your own stream of smoke, clouding the air.

“Maybe,” you say. You’ve got your head in his lap, and you turn to quirk a smile up at him. “Do I have a reason to stay?”

He taps out his cig in an ashtray nearby and leans down, stealing your smile with a kiss. Outside, the fireflies gather to let you know: you’ve found your way home.

In this life, you’re a writer.

Or so your degree says, hanging tauntingly on your wall. You’re trained for this! it laughs at you. You paid good money to sit in front of that blank page all day doing nothing!

Words come to you in the middle of the night when your insomnia taps at your temple and the city noise drones, in the middle of a pub crawl with your mates who don’t seem to have a tenth of the worries you do, in the middle of the morning when you’re staggering out of bed, in the middle of a lunch with your sister where she, unsubtly, tells you that she’s got all types of friends she could be setting you up with. Words bombard you like raindrops at the most inconvenient times, and yet they flood away when you have a pen, when you finally dig out your phone and open a new note to try and get it all out.

You read voraciously about the greats, searching for inspiration. Cormac McCarthy struck up conversations with strangers; you try that. You make friends with people at bars, in the queue at Starbucks, online — you have a dozen conversations going at once, but none of them spark anything new. Junot Diaz had a journal; you try that, too, but when your writer’s block extends to that as well, you throw your journal out the window in frustration.

When you read that Michael Chabon suggested throwing out what you’ve done so far and starting over, you snort and, just to be contrary, save a blank word document and then immediately delete it.

You want to write a story about love and loss, about life and language and a million little things. There’s a story in your stomach and your lungs and etched on the inside of your ribcage but you don’t know how to get it out.

In a fit of pique, you go home for a weekend. Your mum always has an open invitation for you to crash with her, to get your head on straight and be coddled just a little until you’re ready to try again. So that’s what you do, packing two pairs of black jeans and a few worn t-shirts and your well-used laptop and grabbing a train north.

You’re not even there a full minute, you realize later. You hop off the train, scuffed boots barely touching Holmes Chapel pavement, when you bump into someone.

“Whoa, there, steady on,” someone says, grabbing you by the arms to keep you upright. You sway, clutching back, until —

“Louis?”

He’s aged like a fine goddamn wine, you think, somehow breathless even in the privacy of your own head. You haven’t seen him since — god, since sixth form, since your halcyon schoolboy days. Louis was the first one to tell you that you should be a writer, the two of you huddled under the blankets at one of a hundred different sleepovers, flashlight in hand as he read your shaky twelve-year-old writing.

“This is great, Hazza,” he’d praised, and you’d felt like spreading imaginary wings and pulling an Icarus. It has only been the recent years that have informed you that Louis wasn’t just your first best friend, but your first childhood crush, too, that wanting his approval was once as natural to you as breathing.

“Harry Styles,” he says, eyes bright. “What brings you back to your humble roots?”

“Needing inspiration,” you tell him, unable as always to keep him away from the truth.

“Well,” he tilts his head, looking thoughtful, “maybe I can help with that.”

The library where the two of you pretended to study and instead you wrote short stories starring Louis as a pirate or a cowboy or a spaceman that he’d act out for you as his one-person audience. The tree in the park you climbed because he told you you couldn’t do it, and when you fell and broke your arm he cried more than you did. The grocery shop where he used to work when he was seventeen, and where you’d show up to distract him when things were slow.

You don’t know how any of this is going to unlock the story in your stomach, but it’s the first time in years you aren’t worried about it. Your best friend — your first best friend, your first love, your first real critic and biggest fan — has you by the hand and is taking you on a reminiscent tour of your shared childhood: you can give up an afternoon of staring at your laptop screen in frustration for this. You’d give up a dozen afternoons for this.

“Remember this place?” Louis asks. It’s dusk now, the whole day spent together. Louis’ hand is warm in yours, and you wonder now if it should’ve been weird, the way your fingers laced together like they were sewn that way.

For the first time today, you aren’t drowning in a pool of sepia memories. You don’t recognize this place, a squat little cottage on the edge of the village. You don’t think you’ve ever seen this quaint little garden, or the apple tree in the front yard. A cat sits lazily in a window, tail flicking idly as she watches the two of you with half-closed eyes.

You don’t want to tell him that you don’t remember this cottage, not when he brought you all the way here, expecting you to remember, expecting you to know what he’s thinking. Instead, you bite your lip and turn to him, thinking he might elaborate with a story that might jog your memory.

“S’pose you wouldn’t, actually,” Louis muses, and your distress eases a little. He stares at the house, the baby blue paint and the warm glow of a lamp inside one of the windows. “Since I never did ask you what I meant to ask.”

“What?”

Louis turns to you, a rueful grin pulling at his mouth. “Remember when we were fifteen, and you said that all you wanted in life was a little country house where you could write and maybe grow a few flowers?” He gestures to the house, as though you haven’t been able to see it this whole time. “Guess I never really did grow out of wanting all your dreams to come true.”

It clicks, then. “Louis, I—” don’t know what to say, don’t know how to say it, don’t know how to thank you for things I didn’t even know you’d done — “I can’t believe this.”

“In a good way, I hope,” he says, still rueful, still sheepish, like he expects you to walk away. He bought your dream house.

It’s a common problem in your life, not being able to expel the words trapped inside you. This time, however, you’ve got another way to express yourself: you spin Louis by the shoulders and kiss him until all the air in the world has gone, and you’re dizzy and grinning.

“Take that as a yes,” Louis says dazedly.

“Ask me,” you say. At Louis’ still-stunned look, you continue: “Ask what you wanted to ask, what you never asked.”

Louis takes your hand in his, holds it to his chest. His heart pounds a tattoo onto the back of your hand, potent despite its invisibility. “Harry Styles,” he speaks slowly, like a long-memorized script he’s finally getting to act out, “don’t go to London to be an author. Stay here, with me, and write your novel here.”

“Yes,” you say, crowding into him, kissing him again, again, “yes, god, of course, of course.”

The words aren’t stuck, not anymore. The words pour out into one book, two. Your editor suggests you move to London, that way you can participate in the big city scene, be photographed with other up-and-comers.

London has a lot of things, but it doesn’t have a little baby blue cottage, nor the boy who bought it for you.

The cat still sits in the windowsill, and in the spring you plant begonias.

In this life, you’re a sports newscaster.

You’re paid to have opinions — that’s the part you like. You’ve watched football since you were a tiny lad, the Gary Pallister home shirt your father gave you falling to your knees until you hit your first growth spurt at age eight.

It’s not as though you’re a presenter, or anything. You’re not even a commentator. You’re a beat reporter, an opinion-guy who’s allowed to stray a little from the unbiased caution that the big names have to stick to. You’re known for your color commentary on social issues in sport and personality pieces, and you’re friendly with quite a few athletes you’ve interviewed. You’re also one of the first fully out Sky Sports reporters, and you’re known for that, too.

Sometimes that’s good. Sometimes, it’s a little harder.

You want to be good at your job, so you study up. You pick up the intricacies of boxing, cricket, golf, tennis. You subscribe to ESPN and start learning those major sports too — basketball, baseball, even the psuedo-rugby with the tight pants that Americans call football.

Your favorite, though, is hockey.

You don’t have a team, don’t know many of the mascots or even the cities where the teams play. You assume that “icing” means spraying someone with ice on purpose, only to find out that’s not the case at all. You took French in school but can’t understand a word that comes out of most of the players’ mouths, jumbled and exertion-slurred, athletes who are nimble on the ice but clumsy off of it.

Except one.

Tomlinson, a short, quick winger for an up-and-coming team in a small New England city you’ve never heard of. You know less than most peewee hockey players and yet even you can see how soft his touch is, how skilled he is at handling the puck, his intelligence on the ice.

And then he does post-game interviews, and those— well. Those are inspiring.

Bright-eyed and sharp-tongued, Tomlinson toes the line of brash and entertaining, waving off compliments and directing all praise to his teammates, his goalie, his coaches and the staff. He’s hard on himself when he makes mistakes but he glows when talking about his team, the hard work they put in to be successful. When a reporter approaches him about his exuberance during a post-goal celebration, Tomlinson’s eyes narrow.

“Price blocked fourteen shots on goal tonight and mine was the only one that went in,” he says, cool and precise. “Should I not be proud of that?”

You can’t help it. You’re a Sky Sports beat reporter, you don’t have anything to do with the NHL or, really, any American sports at all. You’re not even sure if your contract allows you to do this.

You tweet anyway.

@Harry_Styles — 1 minute ago @Louis_Tomlinson deserves more than just being proud of that goal. If he wants suggestions on some other ways to celebrate, I’ve got ideas.

You don’t expect a reply. You probably should’ve.

@Louis_Tomlinson — 3 minutes ago Careful, @Harry_Styles I might take you up on that

It’s not as though you have a massive fanbase, or anything, especially not compared to Tomlinson, but your Twitter followers definitely notice the exchange. You expect the call you get from your boss to be a reprimand, and are surprised instead to see that they want you to discuss Tomlinson’s quote on the show, maybe write an in-depth article. You wear your best TV suit and spend three long minutes passionately defending an athlete’s right to pride in their accomplishments, and you will your blush away when your tweet is obliquely referenced.

“All I’m saying,” you laugh, praying that you’re not bright red, “is that if the guy wants help celebrating, I’m in.”

“I bet you are,” Julian Waters says, grinning a white-toothed smile as he sends the show to commercial break. Once the cameraman gives the all clear signal, he turns to you with a raised eyebrow. “Careful, there,” he says mildly. “Sport fans aren’t exactly known for being the most tolerant, Americans especially.”

“I’ve handled worse,” you assure him — though, maybe that’s not true. In all honesty, you turned your notifications off an hour after Tomlinson’s reply.

Curious about the state of things (and feeling thick-skinned today), you wade back into social media after the few days you’ve been away. Your mentions are a mess of heart-eyed teenage Tomlinson fans who either vehemently love you or hate you, and middle-aged men wearing Falcon jerseys in their profile pictures who want you to know how much of an abomination you are. You dismiss it all, retweeting the Sky Sports account link to the video of the segment you just recorded. A short minute later, your heart double-thuds at a particular notification.

Louis_Tomlinson retweeted your retweet

And then another.

Message from Louis_Tomlinson

Your hands shake as you navigate to the message, expecting simultaneously the worst and the best possible options.

Hey, thanks for the support. I know you’re getting a lot of flack, hope my reply earlier didn’t cause any problems

You tap out an answer: Even if it did, it was worth it.

Tomlinson’s return is quick, as though he, like you, is holding his phone, waiting for your messages. I’d like to thank you in person. Going to be in Rhode Island anytime soon?

You grin delightedly, a little breathless, and dial up your boss. “Hey,” you say when he answers, “how would you feel about me writing that in-depth report on the road?”

Providence is beautiful in March, chilly and frost-coated. At the airport, you spot a familiar, compact frame in the waiting area, hidden beneath a baseball cap and dark sunglasses, holding a sign that says Harry_Styles.

“You didn’t have to pick me up,” you say, and Tomlinson’s smile nearly twinkles.

“Sure I did,” he says. “Can’t neglect my biggest fan.”

There’s a blurry photograph of you at the next Falcons game, up in the box with the families of the other players. It’s nearly too grainy to make out, but there is one decently clear picture of your back, Tomlinson’s name bold across your shoulders.

When your objectivity is questioned you just smile, knowing that, at least when it came to Tomlinson, your objectivity never stood a chance.

In this life, you’re a surf instructor.

It’s not easy, your job. Sure, you live in a tropical paradise, have a saltwater miracle of a view right out your back door, spend your days oceanside or out catching waves with your friends. But for every eager customer there’s a sleazy one, some guy who assumes that “surf instructor” is actually code for “paid beach girlfriend,” who is only there to stare at your chest as you explain the difference in board lengths.

For the most part, you handle your own. Only a few guys push it far enough that you’re uncomfortable rather than just annoyed, and you’ve been taking self-defense lessons for years. You keep pepper spray under the counter and, according to the contract the customers sign, you are authorized to use it if you feel threatened.

Most of the time, you love your job. Saltwater is where you’re meant to be, and your tiny salary comes with enough perks to keep you content forever. You have a hut on the resort beach where you stock boards and wetsuits, and that’s where she first finds you.

“Can you teach beginners?” she asks, tucking a wild strand of hair behind her ear.

You grin. “I can teach anyone.”

She challenges your confidence, though. The first day, your stomach feels bruised from repeating the motion of pushing up off the board and hopping to your feet, over and over and over again. You have sand in your bikini bottoms and you forgot a hair tie, so the ocean breeze whips the salted ends of your hair into your eyes.

Somehow, Louis looks even worse for the wear. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” she promises, and while you want to believe her, you’re not so sure she’s right. Most people don’t want to put this much effort in during their vacation — she never even conquered the motion of paddling correctly. Usually, this means you won’t see her again.

She seems to live to challenge your beliefs, though.

Bright and early, she does arrive, hair pushed back with an elastic headband and no-nonsense purse of lips firmly in place. An hour in, she’s mastered the push up. Two hours in, you’re on a board in the shallows, demonstrating how to paddle out.

You have one rule. Well, actually, you have two: the first is pepper spray first, ask questions later. The second, which is more applicable here, is that you don’t get attached to guests.

The resort and the surf lessons are your whole life, but that’s not true for anyone else. Guests are only in your life for a few days, maybe a week at most. In the beginning, you’d promise to keep in touch with those you clicked with: now, a few years in, you know better. You’ve seen too many early friendships wither and die.

So, when Louis asks if you’re doing anything after her lesson one day, you regretfully lie and say you have plans.

You don’t want to. You want to take her to your favorite local spot, wear your tiniest sundress and dance close on the warm sand. You want to trade sangria sweet kisses on a moon-bright beach, and wake up tangled in salty sheets.

But she’s leaving eventually, and you can’t fall for someone who has to leave.

Even if it’s already started.

But… she keeps coming back. Day after day, for a week, then two. You wonder if she’s an extended stay guest — you’re not up on your pop culture, maybe she’s famous. She doesn’t say anything that hints at an end date, and at this point, maybe you don’t want to know.

You don’t go up to the main resort often — no need to, when your customers come to you. But one day, there’s an issue with your check, and you have to sort it out. You throw an extra large tank top over your bikini and call that good enough, not even bothering with shoes. After a short walk up to the resort hotel, you step inside the bright, clean lobby — and freeze.

“So, you can leave the beach,” Louis teases. You’re used to seeing her in her athletic one-piece swimsuit and salt-wild hair; behind the counter at the hotel registration desk, she’s in a simple, pure white shift dress and her pixie cut is tamed, smooth and shiny.

“You’re not a guest,” you say, words feeling dumb even as they leave your mouth.

One side of her mouth quirks up. “Astute of you.”

“You live here.”

“Just as of recently, but yeah, that’s true.” She raises an eyebrow.

“Let me take you out,” you say.

There’s a small, awkward cough. You look over to see a small family, all wearing variations of palm frond and flamingo patterned shirts, the dad waving awkwardly. “Is, uh, is this where we check in?”

“Yes, it is,” Louis says, transitioning easily to a professional smile.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” the dad says, pink-cheeked.

“That’s no problem,” Louis says, waving you on, and grinning at your impatient look. “She can wait.”

That evening, she shows up at the hut, grin still in place. She teases you all throughout dinner for assuming she was some sort of tourist, playfully mocking the way your mouth dropped open when you say her behind the desk, but you find a way to stop her jokes pretty easily, her lips soft and yielding against yours.

The next morning, you shake her awake at dawn and take her for a sunrise surf. She rides a full ten seconds before crashing, and she pulls you into the water to celebrate her progress.

Your kisses taste like ocean, and you send her off to work with an unfocused, blissful smile, a bruise the shape of your mouth hidden under her perfect white dress.

In this life, you’re standing on the X Factor stage, and you’re shaking.

Four other boys — four boys you barely think you could recognize, let alone name — are there with you. Tears have dried tacky on your face, your lip still trembling. Sixteen, and flayed open for the nation to see — that’s showbiz, you guess.

Nicole Sherzinger is holding a microphone at the judge’s table, surveying you. “We have decided,” she says slowly, theatrically, “to put you together as a group.”

Your mind blanks. Your heart crashes in your chest.

A boy you barely know jumps into your arms in joy.

Out in the lobby, out of the view of the cameras, he smiles shakily at you, wild-eyed. “I’m Louis,” he says.

“I’m Harry,” you answer.

In this life, you find him early, and you don’t ever let him go.

#MAMA I DID IT! I PUBLISHED SOMETHING!#but.... a few notes #yes i know that hockey louis is basically jack + bitty from omgcp #no i still don't know anything about hockey #no i don't know anything about surfing either #this was written from 8 pm to 3 am and i am Grump today #but i wanted to put something out for the first time in a while #it's on AO3 too if you wanna bookmark!#drabbles #i mean lbr not really #it's 5k

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rhianreesillustration · 4 years

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Studio Visit - Dee Batham and Sharon Robinson at Pin Up UK Tattoo Studio, Sheffield

As soon as we were told we’d need to visit a practitioner in their studio I knew I’d want to go to a tattoo studio. I’ve been to plenty of tattoo studios already, having numerous tattoos myself, but I figured it would be interesting to hang out at one and chat with a tattooist while I’m not being tattooed. Initially I was going to try to go to a local studio (Embody Tattoo in Derby) where I’ve had a few tattoos done by Pippa - unfortunately this fell through but luckily Dee and Sharon were able to save the day at the last minute!

Dee Batham is the owner of Pin Up UK Tattoo Studio, as well as a tattooist and piercer, and Sharon Robinson is the junior artist there who initially started as an apprentice in August 2019.

Dee Batham

Sharon Robinson

I know Dee and Sharon through my mum, who’s been getting tattooed by Sharon since she started her apprenticeship, and I also got a sphinx cat tattoo off her back in October (see below). I’m so grateful to both of them for letting me hang out at the studio at such short notice!

Mum came with me to the studio because my car had thrown a mardy so I needed her to drive me up to Sheffield, but that just meant more fun while we were there!

We got to the studio and Dee was decorating the small kitchen in the back, painting it a dark petrol blue - a cancellation that morning had freed up some time to get the boring but necessary jobs done. I guess somewhat ironically it turned out that Dee hates painting and decorating, which just goes to show that aptitude in one area of art doesn’t translate universally!

Sharon meanwhile was working her way through Friday 13th Flash Day appointments - it’s common for tattooists to do a ‘flash day’ (where they have a selection of small pre-drawn designs available to choose from on that day, often for £13 or £31) on Friday 13th. I asked Dee where this came from - apparently people believed that getting the number 13 tattooed on them on Friday 13th would ward off bad luck, but now it’s just a fun thing to do. Sharon’s first appointment was for a super delicate crystal ball design with ‘XIII’ inside.

There was then a brief interlude while Dee pierced a customer’s nipples - they were braver than I could ever be! Sharon then had another flash appointment, this time for a small but still intricately detailed plague doctor mask (which has ended up being quite appropriate with the current pandemic situation!)

While Sharon tattooed and Dee carried on painting I asked some questions about being in the tattoo industry (in between bizarre comments such as ‘bum-kraken’ - I still don’t know the context of that!) I learned that Dee has been in the industry for 22 years - as long as I’ve been alive! - and that she’s a third-generation tattoo artist who grew up in studios. Sharon got into tattooing last year because, to quote her directly, “I liked to draw on my hands in school,” and got her apprenticeship through a friend who knew of one going, which goes to show that contacts are important! She says her experience as an apprentice has been amazing because she’s been able to meet so many great people, and because Dee has been an incredible mentor. Tattoo apprenticeships vary a lot from what I’ve picked up in the past, and really depend on the mentor’s training style - I’d asked Pippa (who I previously mentioned) what her apprenticeship was like, and although she said she enjoyed it her mentor was very hard on her which made it quite stressful.

With Dee being in the industry for so long, I was interested to see how she thinks it’s changed. It’s always been a boys’ club according to her, which I can definitely see, and used to be very elitist with supplies being hard to get unless you knew the right people or knew how to make your own. Nowadays however the industry is much more accessible, although the surge in popularity of tattoos might not be such a good thing - what she terms the “Kat Von D era” has hurt the industry in her opinion. The likes of tattoo artists such as Kat Von D (a somewhat controversial figure these days) made tattooing fashionable and made a lot of people think it’s easy to do - spoiler alert: it’s not.

Kat Von D

Sharon and Dee are obviously both women in the tattoo industry, and there’s definitely been a growth in female tattooists but I wanted to know if it’s still a “boys’ club,” or if the balance has tipped at all. Dee said that it very much is still a boys’ club, and it’s tough being a woman in a male-dominated industry; you have to be thick-skinned and “one of the boys,” able to give as good as you get, in order to survive in the industry. This was really interesting to hear, because as an outsider following a lot of women in the industry, and tattooed by as many women as by men, I thought maybe it was levelling out but apparently that isn’t the case. While this is somewhat disheartening, especially as a woman wanting to go into tattooing, it hasn’t put me off and I hope that it will change in the future. There are so many incredible female tattooists already (I mentioned a few in my previous blog post) and Dee and Sharon are further examples of this, so I really hope that female presence in the industry will encourage more women to take it up.

Although getting to draw on people for a living might seem like an easy job to some, as with all jobs it comes with its challenges. Dee said that the most challenging thing about it is the people, because “people are fickle.” Customers won’t always listen to the advice they’re given regarding aftercare, what designs will work, and what can and can’t be done. “Because tattooing is very much referral based you need to have a good reputation and be personable to a degree,” according to Dee, however “you can’t hold their hand and go home and be their mum,” you have to trust that they’ll listen to you. I found it quite funny that a job that relies almost entirely on people also has people as its biggest downside!

Because I’m keen to go into tattooing myself, I wondered what advice Dee might have for anyone hoping to go into the industry:

“Have a good portfolio, ask at reputable studios when looking for an apprenticeship. Perseverance is important. You need to be thick skinned because it is tough.”

This is pretty good advice to be honest and nothing I wasn’t expecting to hear. Asking at reputable studios is important because if you have a bad teacher you’re not going to put out good work, and with something like tattooing it’s vital that you learn the correct techniques and hygiene procedures. Knowing what I know now about how male-dominated the industry still is, perseverance would be especially relevant to women wanting to start out as tattooists. I may be quite an emotionally sensitive person but when I need to I’m able to put up quite a tough front - having worked on all male teams (apart from myself obviously) in the past, being able to act like one of the boys is nothing new to me, so I’d like to think I’d be able to cut it and certainly develop a much tougher exterior with experience. The thing I most need to work on now is a proper working portfolio specific to getting an apprenticeship - while I have pieces I’ve done for uni and work I’ve done in my own time, I haven’t done much that could translate to tattooing in a while. Now that we’re in lockdown due to the pandemic and I have a ridiculous amount of free time on my hands, I’m definitely going to crack on with that.

Let’s be honest, you can’t really go to a tattoo studio and not come out with a tattoo, especially when they’re only £13. Sharon had space left in the afternoon after finishing the rest of her appointments, so mum and I both got some small tattoos from her. Mum got a little sphinx cat head, and I got a matchstick with a smoky number 13 coming off it.

Mum being tattooed.

The finished cat!

Stencil on and ready to go!

All done!

Two light stabbings later, Sharon and Dee gave us a lovely hug each and we left them to it to close up the studio. I had a great day hanging out with them, and once we’re out of lockdown I’ve got more tattoos booked with Sharon! I left with a better sense of what I need to do to get into the industry and while I’m nervous about it I definitely feel more motivated.

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