#i miss it when i would create a canvas and then expand it more and more as i went along | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

grapejuicestyless · 6 months

Note

hey, i eat up everything you write!!! i would love to request maybe a sunshine y/n vs grumpy Conrad (or harry .. I think it will work for either) set in college ! maybe it’s because i’m in uni right now but i am a true sucker for uni based stories 🥲😭 maybe she could be an art major or literature? … eee just an idea !!! thank you 🌟🫶🏻🧚🏻

Mona Lisa

Harry Styles x fem!reader

Summery: You always kept your head up. Each inconvenience was simply a coincidence. But even the biggest balls of sunshine need a break sometimes.

Her chest expanded out, cheeks puffed up, lips pursed in a tight line. Her hands shook under the weight of her textbooks. Her tote bag was slung over her shoulder, but the cautious girl feared that even with the extra wiggle room between the canvas bag, all her things would break it and leave her with nothing at all to aid her.

Her late start had taken the energy out of her, the stairs had taken away her willpower, and the red marks littering her latest exam papers had taken away her spirit. Paint cracked over her knuckles and glasses pulling her hair back, she heard her mothers voice in her head.

“Don’t do that, you’ll stretch them out and they won’t fit properly. Though they still seemed to fit fine, the slight sliding down the bridge of her nose every so often proved her mother right.

She had picked art as her major. She had ambitions, goals and aspirations. Her past teachers had complemented her craftsmanship. Her skill behind an easel. Picking up her paper as an example, using her to demonstrate how to execute certain techniques. It didn’t excuse her from her other classes, however. That was her own decision to make. The idea of having no other classes but ones revolving around the arts would drive her academic side crazy. So each new semester, she enrolled herself into a few classes she didn’t really need to take, but would enjoy. Or so she thought.

It wasn’t like she was stupid, she thrived in the past. In many ways, she was a poet. She had a mind like no other, the words would simply come to head as soon as the pen hit the paper. But math taken away her vanity, and history was a drag more so than not. God, she couldn’t bear to sit through another lecture about some old white guy who would otherwise mean nothing to anyone if it weren’t for the many who refused to let them and their scandalous actions go.

Y/n knew better than to complain. She knew how privileged she was to even be able to attend a school as such. She didn’t have the wealth, but she had the motivations in her past that had driven her to a certain level of success. Something good enough to land her scholarships. She was good at keeping her head up, more so than not. Each struggle would only create another work for her to make.

It was normal to feel down, even knowing this. She was simply glad to be able to step over the threshold to her apartment. The key couldn’t turn fast enough in her eyes. All she longed for was a little warmth and maybe a cup of coffee to keep her going for the rest of the day. More than that, she longed for him. The man who so graciously wrapped his arms around her shoulder every night and whispered sweet nothings to her. Singing messy melodies and dedicating the lyrics to her while she sleeps.

Her shoulders sagged, only to stiffen when she saw how the December nip had come through her roommates open window.

But she didn’t grumble something mean under her breath. She had known she must’ve done it once or twice before too. Her roommate who she loved very much surely hadn’t meant any harm.

Her slippers were inviting, and his sweatshirt hanging by her door was the final piece she was missing. His smell, welcoming and warm. He smelled of toasted vanilla and pine. There were hints of hair gel in the sleeves, from how often he ran his hands through his hair. She didn’t mind the fray in the hem or how the strings were missing from the hood. It was Harry in every sense. And it was enough for her.

She thought that was the end of it, truly. She figured she could take a deep breather and let the stress of the day ease out of her veins. That now, with the university behind her and her classes over for the day, she could settle into her work and let the soft melodies of her playlist distract her.

Sitting on the floor, her legs folded neatly in front of her, she picked up her brush delicately between her fingers and her thumb, twiddling it around and biting her lips. When she went to reach for the paint the cap seemed looser than usual. When she picked it up, the top fell to the floor, spinning out to a step a few feet away. Her acrylic dried out presumably from sitting open for days while she worked on her studies and pushed away her art classes.

Portfolios were bare, sketchbooks a mess and worse, she was falling so far behind she was grinding out projects at an inhuman pace. All to simply be rejected or judged poorly. Nothing was ever enough and soon she would become just another burn out if she couldn’t pull it together.

Picking up the bottle, she searched for any signs of wet paint still surviving. She squeezed and turned it hoping to find a glimmer of anything. When she let go, in defeat, remaining acrylic splattered across her cheats and into her hair. Sticky and half dried.

Setting the bottles down, she reminded herself to breathe. To remember how she’d even got here. She was lucky, she had already made it farther than most of her old peers.

‘It couldn’t possibly get any worse.’ She thought out loud, keeping up her fading smile to try and keep her eye from twitching. Ever the optimist, she decided to simply move on, enjoy a nice brewed cup of coffee before settling down to watch one of the shows she had thrown herself into to distract her from the harsh realities of the stressful life she was living currently.

Trudging a few feet from her room to the kitchen, she saw the counter sprinkled with brown and white sugars and flour. It was a mess, one her lovely roommate had left, but one she could deal with later. She didn’t mind the chaos so much.

What she did mind was the sticky note attached to the coffee pot, stained brown on the bottom, grounds stuck underneath it on the stove. It was pink with curly lettering and a half hearted frowning face. ‘Out of coffee. Running to the store tonight after class.’ It read.

It shouldn’t have pissed her off, but her blood was heating up and her brain pounded in her skull. She couldn’t cozy up, it was far too cold. Fine. Her paint was dried. She was tired a few night ago, honest mistake. She could go buy more soon. Her coffee was gone. She found it in herself to brush it off, smiling to herself at the sight of a fresh pot of coffee for the morning. The longer the wait, the more worth it, it would surely be. She could be patient. She was patient.

She would focus her anger into something productive. She could wash the dishes, she guessed. Clean out the sink that was littered in stained plates and empty mugs. She would scrub until her fingers resembled those of her grandmas. Finger tips littered with wrinkles from decades of love, only hers would be shriveled from the constant presence of water bathing them.

And she forgot about her worries for a minute. Hot water running over her skin, mug slowly filling under the stream of water as her eyes drifted off. She saw herself sock clad feet, dancing along the tiled floors to a soft melody that resembled a love song. And beside her was a larger pair of feet, swaying along to the beat and laughing along about how neither of them knew how to dance. But they would learn.

They had the whole world at their feet and their youth still surrounding them. These were the good years, and it could only get better.

The door opened with such veracity, she was so sure it would come off the hinges. Startled, her head whipped to the door, already on edge, already struggling to calm herself down.

“Y/n/n?” His accent was thick and low. She had never felt more relieved to see someone so much.

His eyes were the purest shade of green she had ever seen. They put her art to shame. It’s why she never painted him. There was more mixture of colors that could capture the way they twinkled. Even when they were dim with anger or despair, they held so much depth it felt so impossible to paint. No talent could make her lose herself in the greens like his eyes could.

“Harry.” She breathed his name out like it was the best thing she could ever have. He could see the way her eyes gleamed and glistened at him, lips pulled into a genuine smile, softer than usual, but he blamed it on her eight a.m class.

She smelled like espresso, the coffee pot filling with murky water in the sink. Coffee and paint. She didn’t set the mug running under the water down, but the overflow splashing onto her knuckles reminded her to put it on the drying rack.

When she turned, he was there, a hand guiding her closer to him on her back, and lowered eyes looking into hers.

His lips felt like heaven on hers, and she wished he would have kept them there forever, but much to her dismay, he pulled away just as quickly as he came. Already dropping his bags down and grumbling about something that had happened in his organic chemistry class. Something about his professor, or whatever. She stopped listening to lean on the counter, she reminded herself to try and breathe.

“God, he’s such a moron.” He moaned, rubbing his temples. She did the same with her back turned. When she faced him, she plastered on a false smile.

“It can’t be that bad.” She tried to reason. He rolled his eyes, grumbling about how she was far too kind, too patient. So she turned her back to him again, fighting away the urge to grumble something back to him. Kindness was not the same as optimism, something that was wearing very thin in the usually very bubbly girl. It was that trait she carried so much over that balanced out the bad that Harry could bring. His glass-half-empty point of view and his constant grumbling about anyone who wasn’t her.

He continued complaining about his day, unaware of how his love was just a few feet away, struggling from her own stress, gripping the counter so harshly her knuckles turned white.

“Sometimes I wish I was an art major like you. God, it seems so much easier.” He didn’t mean it like that, she knew he didn’t mean it like that. She agreed, even. After all, she wasn’t taking organic chemistry or studying the human body in such depth as he did. She studied Van Gogh and Picasso. The crazy man who really wasn’t all that crazy who cut off his own ear. She reminded herself to breathe, just breathe. But when she took that deep breath in, it got stuck.

Why couldn’t she breathe? Why was it stuck in her throat, refusing to escape? She grew frustrated, not with him, but with herself. Tears brimmed her eyes so much, even the plates right beside her blurred into a haze of nothing. There was nothing left to distract her, to keep her up. The sink was empty, she was just running the water by now. And the sound of it should have calmed her but instead she felt very similarly to some of the greats. She could cover her ears and scream all she wanted. But would it ever be heard?

The soft shaking of her shoulders alerted him first. How pitiful she sounded, silently crying and huffing up small gasps to keep her sorrow that way. But he was so smart, in her eyes, even though he thought the exact opposite, even smarter than herself. He knew before she could even try to pull herself together.

“Love, hey.” His voice was soft, like he was unsure of what to do. And when he turned, he couldn’t help but feel ashamed. There she was, his love crying and falling apart so openly and all he could do was stand there like a big idiot.

Luckily for him, she’d made the first move, wrapping her arms up around him so tightly, all he had to do was pull her closer.

“Y/n/n, whats wrong?” He rubbed her hair, pulling the ends gently between his fingers.

“I’m a failure!” It was rare that Y/n broke down like this. It seemed impossible on some days. How upbeat and unfazed she carried herself. Always walking around with a warm smile plastered on her face. But she was only human. It had to happen sometimes. It was only natural.

Pulling her away, he held onto her to keep her steady. His thumbs rubbed at her tears gently. Her gorgeous eyes, once sparkling were now clouded by her own sadness. A wave of emotion he somehow hadn’t read from her moments ago.

“I mean, look at me, Harry! I’m barely scraping by in my math class, I’ve been surviving off of the same three paintings all semester and I smell like wet dirt! And don’t you dare say I don’t because I can smell it and I can see the grounds on my skin! Right next to the dry paint that I can’t even use!” Harry couldn’t help the way he laughed. Not at her, but for her. To her, the smell of coffee and paint was something so sickening. He would think the same if he were her. Inhaling the fumes every second of his life for years. But to him, she was a breath of fresh air. The chaos in her life something so extraordinary compared to his LED white lab lifestyle he had submitted himself to.

His hand wrapped around hers, which was now poking into his chest pathetically, her lips quivering like it physically pained her to be so upset.

“What?” She sniffled, almost embarrassed by the intensity of his gaze. Normally so stone cold, but one she had learned to read over time. The very small changes in the way he crinkled his nose or moved his brows. She couldn’t read it now, though. Not with the blinding tears falling down her cheeks.

There was no amount of times Harry could swipe his thumbs over her cheek, more and more would stain them it seemed like. And he didn’t quite get it. How could he? While she was breaking down about her failures all he could see was a woman who had already given so much and held no bitterness to those who caused her the pain. She could only reflect it back onto herself.

And while she talked down on herself, crying about her stress and how run down she must have looked to him, all Harry could think was how she could be Mona Lisa if Mona Lisa had a prettier face.

“Nothing.” He whispered, voice sticky and wet from not talking for so long. Her tears rolled down slower until nothing was left, eyes stuck forever searching his for any sign of disgust, but it never came.

“I just love you, is all.” Y/n could’ve laughed at how sappy her otherwise grumpy boyfriend was being. His dopey smile and kind eyes looking at her in a way she hadn’t seen all day. She almost forgot completely why she was upset, if it weren’t for the empty hole in her heart still eating away at her.

“I love you too.” She laughed, more so at herself than him at how quickly her frown had turned into a smile.

“Good.” He took her hand, slotting her arm around the small of his back so that his could rest over her shoulders. He could rest his head over hers and whisper all the sweet nothings that always seemed to charm her into a lavender haze.

And the laughter she emitted only reminded the both of them of how peaceful even the heaviest of rains could be.

To Harry, in many ways Y/n was the sun. Sometimes the clouds like to cover it, but they always pass by, and the sun comes out again.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #yn x harrystyles #fine line harry styles #harry styles angst #hslot harry #harry styles

176 notes · View notes

taanoir · 4 months

Text

Milo found himself back in the position of babysitter. Jimmy was crushed by his father's passing. He didn't want to be home and Rita didn't want him out alone.

Milo knew Evie saw it, but she was grieving deeply, and didn't have the capacity to address it. Jimmy and Rita were back off the wagon. He saw it in their faces, heard it in their voices and saw it in their actions. Milo didn't love the roll but he did love the girls and wanted to make sure they were cared for.

Gene was working hard towards another promotion and dealing with his own grief. Milo had learned that work was his way of dealing with things, which wasn't helpful in this situation. Milo felt isolated in a house full of people. Not to say that he didn't miss Julian himself. Julian had always been kind to him, before Milo moved in Julian had offered to create an art studio for him on the third floor. Milo had declined it, he didn't want to impose, but the offer still made him feel wanted in the family outside of Gene.

Milo's relationship with his nieces was strong but in the shadow of Julian's passing he found that roll expanded. He helped Tiffany try her first foods. When Nicole lost her first tooth, Uncle Milo was her first stop. Milo was conflicted, "these are firsts their parents should be here for, not their uncle. Part of me is happy for the girls, they are getting bigger and doing all kinds of neat things, and they want me there for them. I love that and I'm glad I can be. Another part of me is sad for their folks, these are moments they won't get."

Milo had less time but making art became a personal priority. His paintings were selling for significantly more and he was starting to become well known in the San Sequoia art circles. Not to mention he was making a comfortable income selling his work through the Berkley Art Center. After years of struggling he was finally getting noticed.

Some days, Milo felt that his creative pursuits were the one thing he did for himself, his art became his respite. He could concentrate his joy, grief, frustrations and pride on to the canvas.

He adored the girls, he was glad they hadn't moved out. Some days the clouds gathered and he would think back to Gene's big promotion and their decision to stay, there were pangs of regret but then the reality of the situation would crash in. "What would this look like if it was just Evie here with them?" danced in his mind.

Gene had wanted to go, "let's just pack our stuff and start our own life. Away from my parents, my brother, all of it. Just you and me, like we always talked about." Milo had been the one to suggest they stay, "We have our own space and your parents aren't getting younger. If there's a problem, who catches things? Your parents are going to ask for your help, which is going to be harder if we move. You don't want to be an extension of your brother but I know you, you're not going to leave your parents in a lurch. If they get sick or there's was a problem, you'll have your bags packed to head back here faster than Carl Lewis".

That conversation played in Milo's mind every time he started feeling overwhelmed. He chose this, even all those months ago when Jimmy and Rita were living sober and Julian was a picture of good health. Milo knew in his heart it was the right call, just some days it was all too much.

#ts4 gameplay #historychallenge #childrenofcalisto #gen 8 #addiction tw

4 notes · View notes

multiple-authors · 10 months

Text

11 August 2023

Sat on my lunch break in the park writing stream of consciousness. Whatever comes to mind I will write. I am listening to some soft techno. It's a little windy but the sun is quite warm. Sat wearing a miniskirt and a t-shirt on a bench, just near the restaurant I work at. I am feeling energised and currently pretty stable. I feel like something is missing. I really hope I can get a good balance under control in the next few months. I know what the answers are, I just need to do the work to visualise them. I am on the verge of finishing the Barbie painting. I just need to decide if I want to do a few things first. The wet floor... The walls (they need to give more direction than just a flat colour)... Touch-ups... The borders of the painting. Plan of action: (1) complete the touch-ups with a time limit, (2) complete the painted border with a time limit. Now the walls and the wet floor I am unsure how to proceed. (3) Paint direction on the walls. I think the walls will allow me to create a direction in the painting. I will do this quick without thinking too much; 45-minute time limit. (4) With the puddle pattern decided from tomorrow's lunch break, do the wet floor with a time-limit of an hour. I will decide the puddle patterning tomorrow on my lunch break. Be confident and just go for it. 1pm is the deadline, on Sunday. Don't think too much about it. It's already a lot better than I think it is. I've just looked at it for too long. I just need to finish it now and not worry too much. Then I will finish me laughing and me fighting. I will separate myself from the making when I'm making them. No ego. Just making. That's all I'm there to do. And just give it my best and that's more than enough. They're already special. Finish me laughing by Wednesday midday. I just need to finish them now. And more on. I need to be more gentle to myself. Kinder. Things will get better, I promise. With the boundaries I set on social media, it will be better. Expand my idea of myself, it is limitless. Imagine the best version of myself. What do I truly desire? I desire to be able to make paintings with less emotional attachment. Not to say that they would not be emotional. Why am I attached emotionally to them? It is my ego. If I let go of my ego, play the character of myself, then can I become unattached? I am just a vessel to do the work. Big things are coming my way. A gentler life is coming my way. What is the biggest problem I have with myself right now? Other than money? It is being too perfectionist with my work. I need to let go. What does letting go look like? Maybe I should set specific time limits to my paintings. Rather than painting until they feel done. I don't have the luxury of time right now. What does it look like? Can I make bigger paintings faster? If I paint with thicker paint, alla prima. I know the texture and consistency of the paint now. What do I prefer? I prefer not seeing too much of the canvas. Well-primed, over-primed. What I liked about the others were the glossy shiny finish. Confident with placement of objects. Drawing will be the way to help me, or quick paintings. With new paintings, work very quickly. No need for perfection or being super tight about things. Find a short-hand for shrubbery, for trees, for water. Make a collection of painted water in art history.

To-do:

Separate myself from the making of the work when making it, place ego on a shelf Make a collection of painted water in art history.

Paint with less perfectionism. Set myself up for being freer when I make my work.

Look at the shorthands I've created in my work so far and lean into them.

Paint from the forestry of Ida lissner

I feel a little on edge right now. Why? Overwhelmed with to-dos. Need to make it easier for myself. Just need to paint and draw a lot of things in my world for a visual vocabulary, this will take time and that's ok – enjoy the process. Final images we can have a process for. I know my plan for finishing these paintings, they'll be done so soon. Then I just need to map out nice and easily my new way of working that is faster, more agile, confident in visual vocabulary. In the meantime, do what I know is good for me. I am already doing those things today and I am happy. I have a nice shift ahead of me. I'm about to eat some really nice food with nice people. I am a good person and I love myself. Even if I doubt it. Doubting it is ok. I am ok. I am safe. Big things are coming to me. Think of how far I have come. I am not at ground zero right now. All is good. Big breaths.

0 notes

kathrynnagy · 1 year

Text

Nature Captured in Paint Strokes

Nature in Oils is a small corporation created in 2011 by artist Grant Hacking. Hacking runs his cooperation all on his own in North Conway, New Hampshire where his home and studio is located

Hacking photographed with one of his paintings

“Nature in Oils” is also a book written by Hacking where he created a collection of paintings inspired by nature. In the book, you will find many art pieces by Hacking, along with his life story and all about his career. The name comes from his inspiration being nature, and he uses oils to bring his reflections to life.

The book “Nature in Oils” by Grant Hacking

When I asked Hacking what his inspiration for his work was, he mentioned that both of his parents were artists. “My parents met in art school and so I grew up surrounded by art ever since I was little,” he said. His father would paint just for fun, but then soon realized he could make a living off of it and so he did. When I asked how long it took him to figure out he had the talent, he said, “I think that painting is definitely genetic so I was able to pick it up from a young age.” He won many art competitions and different awards when he was a child.

Hacking’s life story is anything but ordinary. He was born and grew up in Northern South Africa. His parents placed in him a love for wildlife by traveling around Africa. Hacking also has a love for photography and has captured so many unique moments of African wildlife.

Hacking in South African wildlife taking photographs

In 1990 he moved to the states and continued his work specializing in African animals but has expanded his work. I asked Hacking what to tell me about what he paints now and he said, “a bit of everything. Mostly I paint wildlife because it’s a very good seller because people in this country love the outdoors,” he said. Wildlife is a small fraction of artists with a very large audience which is very beneficial to Hacking. Along with wildlife, he also has created many extraordinary landscape pieces.

A landscape piece created by Hacking

Nature in Oils has work in galleries across the country. The galleries are in Colorado, Nashville, Charleston, Florida, Montana, and Utah. Hacking also promotes his work in several ways. One being art shows. This year, hacking was in art shows in Charleston, South Carolina and Nashville, Tennessee. Hacking mentioned this year was a very special and exciting year due to his complete sell out in Nashville. He even said that he almost didn’t do the show, but had to pull a few strings and everything worked out even better than he had imagined. “It’s all about showing up,” he said.

Hacking’s show set up in Nashville

When it comes to painting, every artist has their own style and preferred materials. Hacking uses only oils for his paintings and he uses them on linen which he specifies is a fancier form of canvas.

Hacking performing the beginning stages of a painting using his oil pants and linen canvas

Each painting needs a special frame and Hacking emphasizes how carefully each frame needs to be created to fit the art work perfectly. One of the many unique things about Hacking is that he makes his own frames which gives him the opportunity to make sure everything goes together. He is very thoughtful and cares so much about his clients. When someone buys a painting, he makes sure that the frame will work well with the environment of their home. “I love the look of old African wood that you could find on the ground and I try to replicate that and add things like gold leaf to make it more upscale,” he said.

Hacking’s process of making the frames in his workshop. This is one of the final steps: gold leafing.

Covid was a hard time for everyone and many businesses. However, when I asked Hacking about its effect on Nature in Oils, he jokingly said, “I miss Covid… I’m just kidding, but the one good thing that came out of it was that it was an amazing time for my business.” When covid first hit, Hacking thought his career was over. “I thought, that’s it. I don’t know how I’m gonna sell my work and make money anymore,” he said. Hacking has always been good at figuring out how to stay successful. He talks about how he decided to do little paintings and record himself doing this to give people some entertainment and hopefully sell his work.

Hacking painting for an audience

“I would take videos of these little paintings and decided to send them out in emails to everyone hoping it would help and I just watched my computer light up with emails from people wanting to buy… I couldn’t believe it,” he said. Nature in Oils continued doing extremely well after that.

One of the mini frames Hacking sold during the pandemic and the set up he had for his videos.

Nature in Oils is an exceptionally inspiring corporation and is amazing at capturing nature’s beauty. Hacking is an outstanding artist with a beautiful life story that he shares through his art. He continues to put smiles on peoples’ faces and share his talent with the world. When I asked Hacking what one of his favorite parts of his work was, he said, “when people are struggling, they turn to artwork. And I love being able to provide that artwork that makes someone happy.” Grant Hacking grasped his talent and created something so beautiful with it that continues to inspire everyone.

Hacking photographed with a painting he created

1 note · View note

therenlover · 3 years

Text

The Boy With The Easel (A Young Artist!Helmut Zemo x Reader Oneshot)

(Hey! If you end up enjoying this fic, it’s the first chronological part of a new fun expanded AU I’ve created with @creme-bruhlee! Their fic Bliss is part of the same timeline and takes place about a year after this one, so you should check it out!!!)

Synopsis: About a month into your first semester at Novi Grad’s top university, you finally meet the strange young man that you’ve taken to calling “easel boy” in the back of a bookshop. From a distance, he always seemed cold and aloof. As you get to know him, though, you realize things aren’t always what they seem.

Tags: Meet Cute, College AU, First Meetings, Coffee Date, Artist!Zemo, Embarrassment, Awkward College Kids Falling In Love

Rating: T

Warnings: Very Vague Mention of Sexual Content, Swearing, Zemo Says The Word Daddy In Reference To His Father and The Reader Thinks It’s Kinda Hot

Word Count: 7000~

This fic has been crossposted to my AO3!

------

The University of Novi Grad

Fall 1996

Mornings in Novi Grad could be beautiful if you knew what to look for.

Sokovia was… different from America in many ways. From the language to the scenery, you often found yourself adrift in the strangeness of it all. There had been nothing quite as old as the buildings in the historical district of Novi Grad back home, no towering grey behemoths serving as a reminder of a bygone fight against Soviet invasion in the memories of your childhood. Still, though, there was beauty in the strangeness nonetheless.

From your tiny room in the Helena Lyudmila International Scholar’s dorm, for instance, you had a perfect view of a large campus courtyard hosting a statue of the donor by the same name. She was some royal who had invested in education a few hundred years ago, and by the looks of her metal likeness, she had been quite pretty. The sight of her shining in the early morning sun was one of the things that made uprooting your whole life seem worth it in the end, no matter how silly that seemed.

There were other small comforts that you had found beauty in during your first month attending your prestigious university, too.

You found beauty in the way the sunlight streamed over the rooftops like the opening to an Oscar-winning film. In the sound of traffic below and the overcast skies above. Sandwiches from corner stores, wildflowers growing in the median of the road, cups of the worlds best black coffee served steaming by scowling attendants at the cafe; Everywhere there was something small and kind and just familiar enough to relish in, more than able to distract you from the stress of living hand-to-mouth in a country where you didn’t even know the language. It made it all worth it.

That being said there was something else too…

Someone else to be specific.

The campus tended to run like clockwork. The same groups of students would walk past your window to their classes, the same professors would get their coffee and lunch at the little cafe across the square, and every weekday morning at 8 am on the dot, easel boy would set up his palette and canvas and paint the same bustling street.

He was talented, that you couldn’t deny. Even from the 6th floor, which was a considerable distance away, it was possible to admire the detailing and consistency with which he painted. His talent wasn’t when kept you captive at your window in the morning, though. Though you were sure his art was beautiful, he himself was a thousand times more stunning.

All dark eyes and dark hair and dark clothes, he parted crowds with his piercing gaze alone. He was always dressed like the protagonist of some awful artsy film. Massive argyle sweaters, untucked button-ups, corduroy jackets, and flare bottomed pants that must have survived his father’s wardrobe from the ’70s… his style was as close you could get to atrocious while still being impeccable as possible, and that wasn’t even getting started on the smudged black liner always present under his persistent gaze. You had never had the pleasure (or embarrassment for that matter) of meeting him in person, but you were sure that you would have had the same awed and slightly frightened reaction if you ever did. He could have been plucked entirely from the pages of some awful romance novel.

You were well and truly smitten with the idea of him.

If you looked at your morning routine through the eyes of a stranger, you’d consider yourself odd for your strange obsession with him, but you didn’t look at it like that. It wasn’t an obsession. You never overstepped your bounds. He was simply pleasing to look at and so you did. That didn’t constitute as obsessive, right?

Even if it did, you weren’t causing any harm.

Easel boy, as you had come to refer to him, was simply a tool you used to ground yourself in your new and frightening environment. Nothing more. If you ever met him, you would surely hate him from the short interactions you’d seen him have with strangers. They never ended well. He would remain an unattainable, attractive ideal in your mind until he eventually faded away into a funny memory you’d share with your kids one day.

Until then, though, you would watch him from your window before your morning classes and refused to feel guilty about it. So, that was that, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

On the morning in question, you had woken up a little late and in a foul mood. In preparation for a test in your foundations of algebra course you had spent the better part of the night pouring over formulas while your upstairs neighbor’s bed slammed repeatedly into the wall and floor. Though you were sure they were having an excellent time, you were most definitely not. It all culminated in you missing your original alarms and despite the fact that your first class started at 10, you were exhausted, furious, and not looking forward to missing breakfast to finish the assigned reading you had put off the night before. The only thing keeping you from throwing in the towel and just giving up was the promise of seeing the painter.

So, when he arrived for the day at 8 am sharp, you were positioned at the ledge by your window, textbook in hand with a mug of instant coffee at your right. It was like a breath of fresh air.

As usual, he retrieved a small pack of cigarettes from the back of his eternally paint-stained jeans only to bring one to his lips and light it quickly. He always smoked before he worked, and just like always, he took an extra cigarette from the pack to tuck behind his ear for later. Then, he got to work setting up his easel and the small stool where he set his palette.

Pulling tubes of acrylic, brushes, and pencils from his well-worn messenger bag, easel boy flipped out the kickstand without any problem and set his thick, pre-primed canvas on the worn metal. You watched in fascination. Art had always seemed so unattainable to you. Instead, you were drawn to the more academic. The man before you, though, created beauty with an ease that had evaded you all your life, and it had you both jealous and entirely intrigued. Slowly, you reached down to take a sip of your coffee as you let your eyes drift back to your reading.

Learning about ancient Babylon was far less interesting than watching him, though.

When you next looked out the window and away from your work the handsome artist had created his base sketch already. How did he do it so fast? You assumed it was practice. He had been drawing the same 3 buildings every weekday morning for at least a month, so after a while, it must have been second nature to measure out the lines and put things into perspective. You smiled. He tended to have that effect on you.

The process was repeated until a little before 9:30. You would read a few paragraphs then look up to watch the painting progress from a sketch to a full-fledged work of art. It was good today from what you could see. The colors were a bit more muted than usual, but that was only on account of the awful, dreary overcast sky that threatened to dump rain on the city at any time. Overall, you would have considered it a masterpiece. Easel boy didn’t seem to think the same.

He regarded the painting with a sort of begrudging satisfaction that bordered on disappointment before he pulled the second cigarette from behind his ear, lit it, and began the process of packing up his materials. You finished the last of your coffee watching him do so. Smoking, well, smoking tobacco at least, had always been a vice you had avoided and yet you often wondered what it would feel like to take a drag of one of his cigarettes after it had been between his lips. Then, the magic lifted.

He folded up the flimsy easel, tucked it away with his materials back into his messenger bag, hoisted the stool under one arm and the painting under the other before taking off at a brisk clip down the street away from your window. You watched him until he was out of sight.

You were snapped from your concentration by a knock at your door.

“Y/N,” a heavily accented voice called, sending you scrambling for your bag, “If you are not outside in the next 15 seconds I will break down your door,”

Shit.

“Coming, Sasha!” You wailed. It took about 10 of those seconds to grab your backpack and shove your textbook inside, an extra 2 to check your appearance in the mirror- you looked slightly disheveled, but it was the best you were gonna do after the night you’d had. Besides, it wasn’t like you were doing anything important. You didn’t need to be dressed for a date -and you were opening the door for a quick save at the 14th second. Your door was safe for another day.

Out in the hall waited Sasha Balandin, arms crossed and grey eyes piercing in the flickering light of the terrible overhead fluorescents. As a fellow international student, you had become fast friends with Sasha. He was a little rough around the edges, and definitely didn’t take your bullshit, but he was a rare friend. “I have been waiting for 10 minutes,” he griped. You tried your best to look apologetic. “Don’t do that,”

“Do what?” You asked, closing and locking your door behind you as you began walking down the hallway.

Sasha huffed. “Do not pretend you were not too busy ogling that painter in the courtyard to hear me knocking on your door,” His Russian bluntness was on full display now as you shook your head in mock disbelief.

“I can’t believe you’d accuse me of something like that!”

“It is not an accusation if it is true,”

“There’s no way you know for a fact that I was watching him again,”

“But you were. This happens every week,”

You sighed, pausing at the top of the stairs. “I was,”

Taking the stairs in twos, Sasha sighed. “You are too soft, Y/N. Besides, you have said so often that he seems like an asshole. Why do you continue to get all mushy at him out the window if this is the case?”

“Because… well, because…” for a moment, you floundered in search of an answer that wouldn’t make you sound like a complete freak, but you found that there really wasn’t one. It came down the one small factor. “He’s just really hot, okay?”

The look Sasha gave you could have killed. He kept his mouth shut, though, choosing to let his silence shame you more than anything else did. It worked. For the entire trip down the stairs and the mile-long walk to your lecture hall, you felt the weight of shame heavy on your shoulders. Or maybe it was just your backpack. You didn’t know which you’d prefer. He did start speaking again eventually, going on about some party you had missed in favor of studying, but the feeling never left. Even as you sat down for your lecture it was still at the forefront of your mind. In fact, you were so busy thinking about your crush on easel boy and the problems with it that you barely paid attention to the professor’s rehashing of the Epic of Gilgamesh.

Your error only hit when the professor flipped the PowerPoint to the final slide.

“Before you go, I want to remind you that you have a paper on the importance of Enkidu in the Epic is due at the beginning of class this Friday. The details and requirements should be listed in your syllabus. Class dismissed,”

Fuck.

Friday was only two days away.

You were so screwed.

The problem was, you didn’t have a spare copy of the Epic of Gilgamesh just lying around your dorm room. Usually that wouldn’t have been an issue, the professor for your current history course used English for her slide because her particular history course was specifically for first-year international students. Unfortunately for you, though, you hadn’t been taking notes. Instead, you had been daydreaming about how it would feel to have easel boy blow his cigarette smoke in your face and then subsequently scolding yourself for having thoughts like that about a total stranger. In a terrible twist of fate, the professor only held office hours after her last classes on Mondays and Fridays, so even getting the information from her then was off the table. Dread began to pool in your stomach.

Any other student would have been able to cut their losses, rent a copy from the library, slog through it in a night, and write the damn essay even without the help of the classroom slides for context. The only problem was all the books in the library were in Sokovian, and you still barely knew how to order a coffee correctly. Reading the language in a full Cyrillic alphabet would just be impossible, especially for a book as stupidly old as the Epic of Gilgamesh.

In short, unless you could get your hands on a copy in the next day or so, you were absolutely, well-and-truly fucked.

Sasha was quick to find you as the hall cleared out, waiting near your seat as you packed away your notes. “That was all bullshit, no?” He asked, but the second he took in your slightly panicked expression he stopped short, pinching the bridge of his nose and breathing deeply. You knew what he was going to say before he ever said it.

“Something is wrong. You were not paying attention. Were you thinking-”

“Yes. Okay? Yes, I was thinking about him,”

He shook his head slightly. “I am concerned for you,”

“Who isn’t?”

Despite his usually stoic demeanor, that made Sasha huff out a soft laugh. “You got yourself into this mess, Y/N, you will get yourself out somehow,”

Your jaw dropped as you slung your bag over your shoulder and started making your way towards the door. “You’re not gonna help me?”

“Though I would love to be helpful, you forget that my English is poor. It will do me better to read the book in Sokovian myself than to use the information from class,”

Oh, yeah. You winced. “Sorry, Sash’”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he shrugged as you walked out onto the lawn, chilled to the bone by the wind that whipped in every direction.

A storm was brewing. It might not fully take hold of the city for a few hours yet, but it would make the walk to your evening class absolute hell if the rain fell as hard as it had several weeks prior. You could only hope that it wouldn’t start until after you had walked home. Your odds were looking slim, though, based on the way you could already hear thunder clapping in the distance. After a moment you hit the edge of the sidewalk where your paths would diverge.

“Good luck with the paper,” you offered weakly.

Sasha replied with a sharp, “Good luck with your crush,” and then he was off in the opposite direction without another word. Sasha was blunt like that, never overstaying his welcome or lingering when he didn’t need to. There was something enviable about it. What you wouldn’t give to be able to simply say things as they were without an unnecessary sugar coating to save face and spare feelings. It lingered on your mind for the whole half-mile walk to the campus bookstore. Speaking of which...

There was only one place where you might possibly find an English copy of the Epic of Gilgamesh. It wasn’t the big student bookstore, most of the textbooks there had been in Sokovian, Russian, or German and you hadn’t even tried to set foot in their actual book section. No, your only hope was the tiny hole-in-the-wall bookstore you had stumbled upon during move-in. It was only about half a mile away from your dorm from any of your lecture halls, so you often found yourself wandering inside when you had time to kill. They were one of the only stores you’d come across that sold anything in English, magazines included, so despite the fact that the young cashiers rarely spoke your language you often found that the back shelves of that tiny shop kept you from going mad.

Now, they might also be keeping you from ruining your GPA.

You could only hope. If anybody could save you, it was them.

Ducking in through the small doorway, you were greeted by the soft ring of the bell above your head. The attendant at the register simply regarded you with a polite nod. You had seen her there before and she knew you barely spoke a lick of Sokovian, so she didn’t attempt a pleasantry. Instead, she simply let you wander through the entrance and into the towering bookshelves, passing a few other faceless shoppers on your way towards the back. You were grateful for her nonchalance.

If there was anything worse than feeling foolish for not knowing Sokovian, it was being talked down to in perfect English by a Sokovian citizen. Most interactions left you wishing you’d actually taken anything away from your high school French class other than emotional trauma from your teacher and a caffeine addiction. Damn America and its terrible public-school language programs…

The path to the English classics section was one you’d walked many times since discovering the book store. It was right in the very back corner of the shop, tucked away where the city natives wouldn’t have to address or see it. You had snagged a copy of Pride and Prejudice a few weeks back, so you knew exactly where to search. The only problem was slogging through every single book on the shelf in search of the one you were looking for.

Your eyes scanned the wall.

Gilgamesh, Gilgamesh, Gilgamesh…

Gilgamesh!

On the 6th shelf up sat one small copy. Score! You were saved! As you reached up to grab it, though, you were met with yet another roadblock. The shelf it was on was juuuust a little too high for you to reach. Oh, come on…

You hopped a little, extending your hand up as far as it could go, but your fingers just barely brushed the spine. Somewhere behind you, you could hear footsteps. Then someone coughed to suppress laughter. The shame was plain on your face. As your flannel rode up and you stretched up in one last desperate attempt to grab the book when suddenly someone, you assumed the same person who had been laughing at your misfortune, spoke.

“They have stools, you know,” he said, accented voice thick with amusement. The English surprised you, but you assumed they used it for your benefit. You were in front of the English language books after all. Besides, the shame of it all kept your mind from questioning it too much. “For reaching the top shelf,”

Of course they had stools.

If your face hadn’t already been burning with embarrassment it definitely was now.

In a split-second decision, you decided playing dumb was the only way you could walk out of the situation with any dignity left at all, so you plastered on a confused smile and spun around to greet the stranger. “Really? I had no cl-”

You stopped short.

Oh.

Oh no.

You’d know those paint-stained jeans anywhere.

There, with his hands in his pockets and the most self-important, thin-lipped smirk you had ever seen, was easel boy in all of his cocky, intimidating, hot glory. Had you really noticed how hot he truly was before? It didn’t feel like it. Not now that you’d really seen him close up and reveled in the way his dark eyes hypnotized you with their smudged liner that felt borderline obscene. You could smell him too, all charcoal and turpentine and cigarette smoke. If you had it bad before when he was just a blurry ideal out your window, you were completely and utterly smitten now.

He regarded you with a sort of practiced annoyance, and yet there was a strange softness to it that you hadn’t found in many native Sokovians, especially ones that saw you as the stupid, bumbling American wandering blindly around their country.

“Would you like my help?”

“Huh?” You were so lost in his eyes that you couldn’t even focus on his question.

“To reach your book. Would you like my help?”

“Oh!” With a brisk nod, you stepped away from the shelf to make room for easel boy, “yeah, I’m just trying to grab that one there. The, uh, Epic of Gilgamesh,”

In one swift movement, he was stepping right beside you to easily reach up and grab the offending piece of literature. The closeness of it all nearly sent you into a tailspin. That wasn’t even mentioning the way your heart thudded just a little faster when he finally handed the book to you, his calloused fingers brushing against your own. You barely find a grip on your brain strong enough to thank him through the fog of embarrassment and attraction. Eventually, though, you managed to choke out a placation as your eyes explored the cover of the book.

“Thanks for that,”

“It was no problem,” he shrugged. He didn’t move though, still standing just inches away from you. When you looked up from the book you found his eyes were still on you, watching intently as if he expected something from you. The answer to what he actually expected was a mystery but you could tell he wanted something. When you didn’t speak, he spoke for you. “So, The Epic of Gilgamesh? That’s definitely a bold choice,”

You looked up at him sheepishly through heavily lidded eyes. “It’s not a choice at all, actually. I’m only buying it so I can write an essay,”

“Ah,” Something about his tone was almost disappointed as the conversation stalled.

You quickly changed the subject to the first thing you could think of.

“Your hair is really nice!”

“My hair?”

“Yeah… your hair,”

Smooth move, dumbass.

Easel boy’s expression seemed to soften once more as his signature grin crept back onto his face. “Thank you, I grew it myself,” Between his accent and the way he was looking at you like he was going to eat you alive, you weren’t exactly sure how you hadn’t had a heart attack yet. Still, the attention was nice, even if it was bourne out of you repeatedly embarrassing yourself in a never-ending cycle of fuckups. He ran a hand through his loose brown hair. “I like your shirt. Very American,”

Silently, you cursed yourself for not taking a few extra seconds to pick out a better outfit when you woke up. Standing next to him, even while he was dressed in his paint-stained jeans and undone button-up, you looked like a wreck in comparison. He didn’t seem to be speaking from a place of judgment, though.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was being nice, but that couldn’t be the case… could it?

“Maybe it’s just that I haven’t met very many Sokovians that are fond of America, but I’m not sure if that was meant to be a compliment or an insult,” You joked. It was a bit sarcastic, the lilt of your voice masking your deep insecurity, and to your surprise easel boy laughed. He really laughed. From your place beside him, you could almost feel the warmth radiating off of him as he shook his head.

“It was definitely a compliment,”

Oh.

Your heart skipped a beat.

That was a new revelation.

You steeled yourself with a deep breath. Fuck it. It was now or never.

“I, uh… I’m Y/N, and you are?”

He regarded you once again with that strange expression of expectation. “What?”

“I asked for your name,” you repeated, and yet he still stood, slightly dumbfounded, staring down at you with that same expectant expression from earlier. For a moment, you almost thought he expected you to know it already. That fact was quickly glossed over when he moved to rub the back of his neck with his hand, eyes drifting down to the floor.

“Sorry,” he chuckled, “I’m not very good with people. My father thought college might help me finally connect with my peers, but I don’t think he expected that I was the problem, nor do I think he expected me to pick a degree in the arts,” Suddenly, he paused and stuck out his hand to you. “I’m Hel. It’s very nice to meet you Y/N,”

With only a moment of hesitation- because wow, your name had never sounded more right on someone’s lips -you took his large calloused hand in your own and shook it gently. His palm was warm, his fingers lingering on your own for just a moment even as he pulled away. It wasn’t much, just a soft brush against your flesh, but it sent a flash of heat and liquid confidence through your chest.

“Is that short for something?” Your eyes met his in the soft yellow glow of the overhead lamps. Seeing him like this, so up close and personal, he looked a lot more human than he had from your window. Sure, he was imposing. Underneath the initial harsh facade, though, was something softer and almost poetic. You weren’t an artist by any means but if you had been, you had no doubt that he’d be your muse.

“It’s short for Helmut, but only my father calls me that, and only when he’s cross, which, unfortunately, is most of the time,” he chuckled, “Besides, it’s an old man’s name. It doesn’t suit me,”

The words left your mouth before you knew what you were saying.

“Well, it’s better than calling you easel boy,”

Shit.

Today really just wasn’t your day, huh?

In the split second where you were mourning your chances with the most stupidly handsome guy who had ever shown any interest in you, you almost missed the way Helmut’s eyes lit up at the admission.

“Easel boy?” His voice was teasing, but not demeaning. That didn’t do much to ease your mortification, though.

“Is there any chance that I can get you to forget I said anything?”

“If you already have a nickname for me when we’ve barely met, I think you already know the answer to that question,”

His knowing smirk was enough to get you pleading. “You can’t just let me off the hook this once?” you begged, scrubbing a hand across your forehead in a desperate attempt to get away from his piercing gaze. The things those brown eyes did to you could be classified as obscene… “I will genuinely do anything if you don’t make me explain myself right now Hel,”

Hel quirked up an eyebrow. “Anything?” The way your stomach turned at just one word from him was both terrifying and extremely exciting. It felt like a promise. Without hesitation, you nodded. That made him smile. “In that case, get coffee with me today?”

Once again, you were rendered speechless.

“My treat,” he added, “unless you’re not interested…”

“No!” Your answer left your lips embarrassingly fast, “Or- yes? No, no, I think I meant no. No; I am very interested. Yes; I would like to get coffee with you,” There was a hint of shame in your words, but only a hint. After the day you’d had already, there wasn’t very much there to be ashamed of. Still, that same pit of dread began to open up in your stomach as you mulled over your choices.

Thankfully, Helmut continued to take it all in stride. “Wonderful! Is there anything else you’d like to do here before we go? It’s best we leave soon if we want to beat the rain,” He offered up his arm as he spoke like some sort of Disney prince. It was, by far, the cutest gesture you had ever been lucky enough to receive.

You linked your arm with his without hesitation. “As soon as I pay we can get going,” He was warm. It radiated off him in waves just like the warm hints of tobacco and wintermint that seemed to seep from his skin and clothes. With that, you made your way to the front desk as Hel shot you a sly smile.

“Who said anything about letting you pay?”

True to his word, he didn’t let you pay for a single thing for the rest of the afternoon.

The two of you made your way up to the cashier together, and Helmut only separated from your side to grab his wallet before you could grab yours. He then spoke in rapid-fire Sokovian to the lady at the register and pulled what could only be described as a wad of Sokovian koronas while you set the book on the counter, and from the looks of it, she seemed more than pleased with the two of you. Who wouldn’t be, especially when Hel seemed to insist that she keep the excess? In the end, after the book had been wrapped nicely in a paper bag and deposited in your backpack, Helmut held the door open for you like some sort of gentleman and followed you out into the grey afternoon.

Then, you were off down the street on Hel’s arm, pushing through the wind and the biting chill that had settled in the air.

“So, you don’t sound like a big fan of your dad,” you asked, half laughing as you attempted to broach conversation once again.

Helmut groaned beside you. “My father is a menace who is unable to understand that some people want more in life than to sit behind a desk all day making phone calls. In fact, most of my family is the same way. The only reason I haven’t completely cut them off and changed my name is the money,”

“I assume you get a lot of it if it’s worth sticking around someone you hate so much,”

“Never ask a man about his net worth,” he chuckled, gently elbowing you in the ribs, “but yes, I’m very comfortable. I have my own apartment just far enough away to be considered off-campus with my own car and as much money as it takes to keep me happy and getting good grades; Daddy makes sure of that,” The word daddy was a deep sneer, barely there in the wind, but something about it sent butterflies through your stomach. Well, that was never something you thought you were into… “Little does he know, I’m not here to make money. I’m here to find inspiration worth my time while out from under his thumb,”

You snorted softly. “Artistic and rich? You’re just ticking all the boxes, Hel,”

“Good for me. Would offering help on that essay of yours endear you to me further?”

“Absolutely,”

The next 5 minutes you spend discussing the Epic of Gilgamesh. Surprisingly, in one of the first stokes of good luck you’d had all day, Helmut seemed to be one of the only people on earth who knew plenty about Enkidu off the top of his head. When he was the one lecturing you in his smooth, heavily accented timbre it was so much easier to pay attention to something so very tedious than when you heard it from your aging and often monotone professor. In fact, you were so enthralled by his retelling of the tale that you barely noticed you’d made it all the way to the cafe that sat across from the international dorm.

If you didn’t consider Hel to be smart as a whip and twice as clever as he was smart, you would have thought it was a coincidence. It couldn’t be though. No, there was no way anything was a coincidence with Helmut around. You shot him a smile when he opened the door for you and ushered you inside.

“You know Hel,” you muttered, “I’m starting to think you might know more about me than you initially let on,”

He shrugged. “You’re American, so it’s unlikely you live anywhere else and I wanted to make the walk home easy. It’s supposed to rain, you know? Besides, despite the… interesting waitstaff, they make the best pastries in town right here in this cafe,”

“Did you mean it when you said you were paying?”

“Absolutely,”

“Then I can’t wait to try one,”

The two of you were seated quickly (you assumed it had to do with the waitress finding Hel as hot as you did, because you caught her looking at him from behind the counter and whispering excitedly in Sokovian to her coworker at least twice over the course of the meal) and the conversation flowed easily as you waited on your coffees and the deserts Helmut insisted on splitting to let you try. Millefeuille, pear tart tatin, chocolate devil’s food cake, and a towering plate of apricot kołaczki awaited you, and they kept you sitting and talking and snacking for over an hour as you really got to know each other. The more you learned, the more you fell in love with the man across from you.

Over the course of the afternoon, you learned that Helmut was majoring in studio art while minoring in psychology just because it interested him, he hated the Beatles almost as much as he hated Freud’s theories on women, his favorite color was purple, and he spent most of his free time reading or getting high off his ass in his massive studio apartment in what you now knew was one of the most expensive areas in the city. He, in return, sat at rapt attention across the table as you gushed about your life in America, your reasons for going to university in Sokovia, your favorite books, and the ridiculousness that was trying to pass college-level classes in a country that seemed to avoid English at all costs.

Eventually, though, you did touch upon his nickname.

“I just thought it was really interesting that you did the same thing every single day, no matter what,” you explained, grabbing one of the last kołaczki from the plate and ignoring the powdered sugar that stuck to your fingers, “and by watching you… I don’t know, I guess it kind of felt like I had another friend who’d share breakfast with me in the morning if that makes sense,”

Hel nodded, swallowing his last bite of chocolate cake. “I understand completely. It can be lonely, coming to a new place without any friends or connections, but you were brave enough to take the leap. I admire that,” He brought his napkin to his lips before crumpling it and setting it one of the now empty plates before him, “But I can’t say I’m not a little disappointed that you didn’t watch me because I’m attractive,”

You nearly choked on your pastry. “Well, I wouldn’t say your pretty face didn’t help…”

The grin that spread across his face was heartstopping. He grabbed a napkin from the little holder next to the two of you and grabbed a pen from one of his pockets as he spoke. “In that case, you should join me tomorrow morning. Bring coffee if you can, I never have enough hands to bring a cup for myself, but even if you can’t bring some, if you want to come and watch me work I’d be more than happy to have a companion for the morning,” he paused for a moment, flustered, “or every morning, for that matter,”

“That sounds like a deal,” Your cheeks were hot, but not from embarrassment this time. No, it was anything but, because here you were across the table from a kind, attractive, intelligent Sokovian boy with money to spend and time to spare for you. You couldn’t help but feel a little bit proud too. He wanted you back, after all. You could see it in the way his eyes lingered on you just a little longer than he should, and even more plainly in the way he wrote his phone number in bold blue ink on the napkin and signed it with a doodle of a heart before passing it across the table to you.

“I’m going to go pay,” he said quietly while standing, “but I’ll be back in a second to walk you out. Alright?”

“Alright,”

There was something strangely similar to sorrow sitting in your chest when you watched him walk away. The sight of his ass as he went made up for it, though. Once he was obstructed by other patrons, you turned your attention to the napkin in your hands. Hel’s handwriting was neat as far as artists’ handwriting goes, but it still held a sort of looseness in its curves, a freedom in the way the numbers had flowed effortlessly from his pen. You popped the last kołaczki in your mouth as you admired the blue ink before devouring the final bites of pear tart and millefeuille. How had you gotten so lucky to have someone like him giving you his number and buying you pastries? You pondered the bizarre nature of it all until Helmut returned.

You stood quickly, folding the napkin and putting it away in your pocket. “Ready to go?”

“If you are,” he replied. In an instant, you were standing beside him again as he opened the door for you. The wind was even stronger now, strong enough that his loose hair whipped wildly around his forehead from the force of it. You couldn’t help but giggle at his appearance.

He caught you off guard as he walked you across the street. “You have such a pretty laugh,”

It was like you were seeing him again for the first time. You fiddled with the strap of your backpack as you got closer and closer to the door to your dorm. “Thanks. I’m pretty fond of your laugh too,”

Then, you were there, just two college kids standing awkwardly before your first departure.

“So,” you said before you could stop yourself, “when I tell my one friend all about this afternoon after my math class tonight, should I say it was a date?”

Hel’s cheeks flushed pink. “You can call it that, if that’s what you would like it to have been,”

“I think I would,”

“Good, good,” he let out a little chuckle, “I’m glad. Would you… would you consider going on another? I promise I have much more to offer than just small talk and tips on where to buy the best pastries,”

Looking into his brown eyes, so full of uncertainty and hope, you knew you couldn’t have denied him even if you wanted to. Still, you weren’t going to give in to his advances without a little bit of taunting. It made it fun, a game to be played where, hopefully, you both would win big in the end.

“That depends,” you teased, letting your lower lip catch between your teeth, “what do you have in mind?”

Helmut shoved his hands into his pockets as he rocked back and forth on his heels, pensive. “If you want to, we could go to my place and I could actually show you all of the paintings I’ve been working on while you watched me. The view from the rooftop is lovely too. We could have dinner up there while looking out over Novi Grad. I have to warn you, though, it’ll probably be takeout. I’m an atrocious chef,”

Slowly, a brilliant smile spread across your face. “Does Friday work?”

The smile Helmut shot back was as bright as every star in the night sky and even more enthralling. “Friday is perfect. Can I pick you up at 7?”

“As long as you come in that fancy car you were talking about,”

“Then it’s a deal,”

“Well,” you turned away, walking up the steps towards the door before turning back to him, “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Hel, and I’ll bring coffee. Have a good night,”

“You too, Y/N. Parting is such sweet sorrow and all that,”

With that, he gave one last short wave before turning on his heel and pulling out a cigarette from the pack in his pocket. You watched him walk away until he turned the corner and disappeared from view. Only then did you enter the punch code and race up the stairs to your room.

Your back was pressed to the door of your dorm room the second you had shut it, your hands clutching at your chest in a desperate attempt to keep your heart from beating right out of your ribs. The second you were in the privacy of your own place, your cool facade had melted away to reveal just how much of a wreck you really were.

He had invited you over to his apartment.

He liked you.

Easel boy really, honestly liked you.

No, not easel boy. Helmut. Hel.

Hel liked you, and he invited you over to his apartment, and you had plans to meet him with coffee as he painted the next morning.

You smiled softly under the fluorescent lights and pulled the book that had brought you together from your backpack. It seemed so unassuming now, just a fresh paperback with an unbroken spine, but in reality, it was so much more than that.

Hel.

It was such a nice name. You liked it a lot.

Now you couldn’t wait to see what else you liked about him too.

------

a/n: I have been so excited to start sharing this AU with you guys, and it’s finally here!!! If you liked this fic, I once again will direct you to Bliss by @creme-bruhlee because that’s technically next in chronological order for this AU. I hope you enjoyed!!!

TAGLIST: @tatestripedsweater , @elaineygrace, @multiyfandomgirl40 , @lovelymischief , @rami-malek-trash , @avgravy , @wh0re-4-techno , @forcebros , @sugarsweetkiss , @grandmuffinsharkbailiff , @killsandthrills , @novasstudy , @thnksfr-ptrkstmp , @inmate-marmalade, @alanathedeer , @your-pixels-are-showing , @shit-post-things , @bbarton , @sux-ubus , @halefirewarrior , @janelongxox , @rax-writes , @mossybank , @simsiddy , @xxspqcebunsxx , @be-cautious-around-bri , @metaphorical-love-for-a-car , @frothonthedaydreams

#zemo #helmut zemo #baron zemo #baron helmut zemo #zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #baron helmut zemo x reader #fanfiction

218 notes · View notes

imagine-lcorp · 3 years

Text

Written In The Stars (One Shot)

Request

Hi! Can I request something like Lena falling in love with an alien reader?

A/N: Hey guys!!! First one shot of the year!!! Let’s hope we can keep the rhythm this time...also I broke my phone so I’ll probably be less active on the app...the writing is still going tho so yaaay! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this one and as always, let me know what you think! Love ya beautiful people!

Lena Luthor x Alien!R//Word Count: 2,204 -------------------------------------------------------

When she was younger, Lena Luthor used to look at the night sky with infinite awe. The map of stars that hung above the Earth had been the place where she could find solace and a sense of peace. The stars were never alone, always needing one another to form their constellations. They reminded her she was also not alone even if it seemed like it.

However, as she grew up most of that wonder translated into scientific interest, which started to diminish as she found herself enthralled by more practical sciences. The sky, as vast as it was, was a mystery she recognized she couldn't unravel in her lifetime. She needed to focus on more earthly things, but she was content to be another curious viewer of such canvas of light.

Being a curious viewer, however, was something that changed abruptly when the existence of extraterrestrial life was proven by no other than Superman. Even more when it was known the Earth had been a refuge for many more aliens than it was possible to believe. The stars had reached the Earth, and they came bearing their own cosmic forms of life.

The population had been divided between those that accepted and welcomed the space travelers and those that rejected the idea, defending their right to their land and planet, fearful of an unstoppable invasion, living with the enemy and whatnot. For a while, Lena found the latter to be a matter of great concern. She wanted people to feel safe and believed they had the right to know who among them was or not an alien.

It wasn't until Kara came to knock that idea off, presenting her with an alternative story and reminding her that those aliens too had a right to their own freedom. She opened her eyes to the reality most of them lived. They were mmigrants of desolated planets, seeking shelter from wars and just like Superman, seeking a new home after their planets had been shattered. There were a few bad seeds, yes, but most of them were only looking for a better life. Wasn't that enough to give them a vote of confidence?

Her alien detection device was then transformed into an image inducer, a new gadget that helped aliens conceal their true appearance if they wished to look physically human. It was great to blend with the crowd, and it was a great success in the alien market.

"Miss Luthor, Kara Danvers is waiting for you in the conference room." Jess told her one day as she arrived to the office.

"Kara?" She found herself surprised by the sudden visit of the journalist. "Does she want another interview?"

"No, she has come along with someone else. She said she only needed a few minutes with you."

"Alright." Lena said leaving her purse on her desk and taking a couple of files from Jess to revise them later. "Let's see what it is."

Lena Luthor entered her conference room to find two figures chatting amicably at the room table. One she could recognize immediately, with her golden locks and bright smile, the other she had no idea who it was but as soon as your eyes were on her she was curious to find out.

"Lena!" Kara said rising from her chair, with you following suit. "Thank you for meeting us in such short notice. We promise not to take too much of your time."

"Kara, of course. How can I help?"

"Well, actually, I would like to introduce you to (Y/N) (Y/L/N)." At the mention of your name, you stepped forward, extending your hand to Lena. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Luthor."

"Lena, please." She said taking your hand.

"Then, please, call me (Y/N)." You said with a firm grip and a kind smile, something rare for Lena to see during those days.

"(Y/N) is the leader of an alien race residing in National City." Kara continued with a proud stance.

"Is that so?" Lena replied with a raised eyebrow and the hint of a smirk on her lips. "Is (Y/N) your real name?"

Lena's words prompted a chuckle from you, and you decided to clarify before there were any misunderstandings.

"It's my chosen Earth name. I don't think you have enough tongues to be able to pronounce the real one." You said with a playful smile. "Also, I wouldn't go that far. I am what you would call a representative, and it is of a small group only. Miss Danvers here is just too kind."

"She is, indeed." Her smile only grew bigger as she saw Kara fail to conceal a little pout.

"Well, you're still a great representative." Kara said.

"But to what do I own the honor of you visit?" Lena said gesturing to you to take your seats again. Kara smiled at you and moved along with you towards your seats.

"Right." You said pulling a small box from your jacket. "I'm here to deliver this."

Lena took the little box from your extended palm, her curiosity growing as she inspected its contents. Inside she found a little black matte icosahedron, nothing extraordinary by the looks of it.

"What is this?" She finally asked.

"The alien community wanted to thank you for creating the image inducer. It has helped a lot of people, especially those of us that don't exactly fit into the human shape." You started to explain as she inspected it.

After the launch of her device, Lena recalled, the company had received countless letters and e-mails, most of them in gratitude for helping the aliens in National City as they were still fighting for acceptance within the human population. It helped them find jobs, housing and places to be without having to worry about their looks or if other people reacted negatively to them. It helped them feel safe.

Only then Lena understood the impact it had on other's peoples lives and how her work had helped them accomplish that.

"So this is a thank you gift." You moved your hand and placed a finger on one side of the icosahedron.

Lena was startled as the other sides of the new device in her hand started to open. Suddenly the room was filled with a clear colorful light, but it was more than that. It was lines and spheres and points and spirals well defined. It took her a moment to realize what it was but Lena found herself looking around the conference room with a fascination she thought she had long lost. As the conversation followed, you explained Lena the device in her hand was a space chart. It contained information about several planetary systems, their galaxies and stars, and common routes to reach them, you said as if it was nothing but a travel guide.

Lena turned her eyes towards you a few seconds later, ready to declare her own gratitude when she noticed your expression. You were staring at a far corner of the room, not with the usual distant look of a daydreamer or that of someone who has lost interest in the present moment. You were looking with intention and, more than that, with longing in your eyes.

"It's wonderful. Thank you." Lena finally said, pulling you out of your thoughts. You blinked a few times before the smile returned to your face.

"If you ever wish to know a bit more about what's out there, you can always consult it and if you need help navigating it, I'll be more than happy to help."

Lena thought about it for a moment more. While she had long ago left her intentions of unraveling the skies, she saw a chance within those stars. This was the opportunity she had been hoping to find in National City. If she could gain the trust of the alien community, she would be able to expand her work and better help not only them but the whole city. To help put the world back together instead of tearing it apart. She was more grateful then to you, for giving her that chance.

Besides, she thought, it was also a chance to fulfill her curiosity about you.

It wasn't long after that meeting that you were back at her office, teaching her how to use the space chart. Her attention bouncing from the lines of stars and planets to understanding the technology behind the device. While her studies on science and astronomy made it easy for her to identify the structure and functioning of the chart, and the several celestial bodies it showed, she still had to learn how to translate that into terms she knew and relearn the names people used to refer to their own planets and stars. You did your best trying to explain how both things worked, which she highly appreciated.

As days passed, Lena took a new liking to your teachings which turned into more personal reunions. You didn't limit yourself to talking just about stars or planets but about the different cultures that inhabited them. Mentions of your home planet became more regular and you even used it to contrast the big differences between Earth and the rest of worlds you had known. Lena was delighted to indulge in such conversations, taking in as much as it was possible.

The way you talked about your home planet, your country, if such concept even applied, your family, your house, everything, was enough for her to look at you with the same awe she used to look at the stars when she was younger. She knew she wouldn't get to know all the stars in the universe but just knowing you, she thought, made up for it all.

"The sunsets there were hours of golden light washing over the citadel, and the nights were, oh, the night was too beautiful with its waves of light across the sky." You told her one day as you both had finished one of your reunions.

You were leaning against Lena's balcony, both of you observing the sun go down behind the city skyline.

"You know, I don't think you have ever showed me where you're from." Lena said, crossing her arms and taking a step towards you, seizing the opportunity. You had showed Lena at least dozens of planets, especially those closest to Earth's solar system but yours, for everything you talked about it, somehow still remained a mystery.

Lena felt a slight pang in her chest as she saw the smile in your face turn sad.

"No, I suppose I haven't." You said and after a moment, where you seemed to ponder a few options, you moved your head, signaling Lena to follow you back inside her office.

You took the space chart from her desk, activating it and moving your hands again until the hologram in the room moved, showing a single planet in the center of the room. You took a few steps back and gestured to Lena to take a closer to look at it.

"Here it is."

The planet, surrounded by seven moons, was a very Jupiter look-a-like. Lena was instantly enthralled by the colors and the stripes, swirls and waves that formed the planet's atmosphere. The hologram displayed a name in a language Lena certainly didn't know and that made her wonder just how many tongues she would need to pronounce it correctly.

"It's beautiful." Lena said, still looking at it.

"It was." You replied, and she turned to look at you with a confused frown and a question clear in her face.

You moved the chart once more, reducing the image to show the whole system your planet used to be a part of.

Lena saw other nine planets but only one caught her attention as its name was being displayed in an alphabet she actually recognized.

"Krypton." She whispered, eyes widening in shock.

Everyone already knew the story. How the almighty Kryptonians had traveled to Earth when their own planet had been destroyed. But no one, including her, had thought too much about what it had meant for the rest of their own little universe. Lena imagined it then, an explosion setting a chain reaction. Not only one but several worlds shattered, with their people trying to escape the path of destruction.

Lena's eyes landed on you once more, finally understanding the longing she had once seen in your own eyes. She also knew, in some way, what it was to lose your home. So she approached you, slowly taking your hand and muttering an apology, for whatever little comfort it could give you.

"It's alright." You said looking intently at her with a reassuring smile. "I found a new home."

"And I'm glad you found it here."

You made her feel at home, Lena thought and, as she smiled back at you, she thanked the stars for giving you both the chance to find a home along each other, and hopefully, one day, a home for you both.

#lena luthor imagine #lena luthor imagines #lena luthor x reader #lena luthor x you #lena x you #alien!reader #alien reader #alien!r #lena luthor #one shot #request #written in the stars

271 notes · View notes

thisisthehardestthing · 4 years

Text

Purple Pill - Shinso x fem!reader

18+, WAREHOUSE UNDERGOUND RAVE AU, DRUG USE

[edit:i am actually crying. thank you, Zo, @joyousandverywarlike, for making me this amazing banner. it’s so beautiful and it’s exactly what I imagined his eyes to be like]

I should make a banner for this but I’m lazy and honestly, 420 subscribers snuck up faster than I expected (cough thanks @lady-bakuhoe and @animewh0re)

WARNINGS: Hard drug use, unprotected sex, orgasm denial

Authors note: idk how many of you are in the underground techno scene like I am, but please, be safe. It’s easy to get sucked into this lifestyle. If you know anyone that has lost their way, or you feel like you are yourself, reach out to someone. As always, inspired by Myst Paris . They’ve always made me feel safe during these experiences. Here’s a spotify playlist if you want to listen while reading.

PURPLE PILL

You don’t like the colour purple. In fact, you absolutely despise it. You actively avoid it, yet you’re always surrounded by it. You like red. You enjoy blue. But not together. You can’t escape it, especially tonight, with him around. So you try to forget, push everything out of your mind and focus on the present, it’s why you’re here, after all. You want to be numb, feel nothing and everything at once, so devoid of thought that your body can’t help but be overstimulated.

There’s no denying it, the way you feel the bass thumping through you, controlling the speed at which your heart beats. It’s fast, throttling your muscles as your feet step, hips sway. Your hands move up your thighs, pinching the hem of your skirt, always a skirt, pulling it up until it slips from your grasp. You trail your hands along your waist, tugging at your skin before you cross them, finding a place on either end of your clavicles, chest expanding and contracting as you writhe for the beat conductor. Your head swings side to side, predatory, searching, snakelike, before your fingers crawl up your neck and past your ears, in the air, flying. It’s so fucking good, and with your chin up, eyes closed, there’s no purple.

There’s a siren in the music, trickling in, winding up a build as you stare at the ceiling. It’s brutalistic, chipping cement, a few skylights missing glass, hinting at the late night and early morning. It’s a waning moon, no longer full but emptying out into something new, transformative. You moan, pure ecstasy drifting with the music to join the cacophony of smouldering bodies surrounding you. It’s sweaty and delicious. You feel an empty cup crush beneath your boot, and you realize you’re still on the ground, not weightless. So you pretend, hands reaching sideways and down, brushing against moist shoulders briefly. They swipe yours in return, acknowledgement of souls trying to soar, before you’re alone, hugging yourself with only the sound as a blanket. The beat drops and you’re back to stomping, feral movements.

You’re so lost that you don’t see it. Lavender flames part the sea of bodies stomping to the beat, as though burning them, changing to mist. A wildfire is heading straight for you. Damn purple.

“Funny seeing you here,” his voice is deeper than the bass of the music, vibrating through your skin and into your bones, boiling your marrow. It peels your eyes open, dragging you back to earth. The lights strobe, flashing into your dilated pupils. You’re electric, buzzed. He’s blocking the view of the DJ, of the crowd, your lifeline. Everything is in focus and moving.

“Your hair is alive, Shinso,” you mumble, staring at the mess of purple on his head. “It’s making me sick.” He chuckles as you grab a fistful, dragging him to slouch. It’s soft, how disgusting, so you’re rough.

“Oh, kitten, what low-grade shit have you already taken?” he asks, eyes lilac, pupils narrow, sober. Unfortunate but expected; he doesn’t use when he deals.

You shrug. It was half a pill hours ago, remnants from last week's reverie found in your earplug holder. It’s four in the morning, but the night has just started. The bass flips, a new beat lifting the melody and you bounce, still fisting his hair. He grimaces, prying your grip from his locks to hold your palm, unburnt even though you’d just touched fire. His fingers massage and knead the flesh as you sway. The lights flash. Red, blue, red, blue, fucking purple, so your eyes shut, pulling his lithe body against yours, fingers dancing under his shirt and up his spine. He chuckles.

He smells like lavender and spice, and you wince, face contorting in pain at how it stabs your lungs, cutting through the fog of your fading high, unwanted purple. Still, you press him closer, needing touch, forehead rolling between the dip of his pectorals, before your lips rest on his shoulders, almost biting, looking past and pining for the DJ. He’s a deity controlling the bodies of everyone in the warehouse, yet you feel cut off, held captive by the man wrapped around you, a prisoner, safeguarded. You feel Shinso sigh, his breath cool against your sweating neck. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you deeper into his field of flowers, you inhale poison.

“Want something a bit stronger, kitty?” he’s husky, like leaves rustling in autumn, auburn against a periwinkle sky. He knows you’re not where you want to be. He’ll help you get there.

“Mmmm,” you hum in response, the hands on his back pawing and pressing the fabric of his shirt. It’s a soft cotton, or perhaps hemp. It’s nice, white, a canvas to paint on. Your fingers trace over the hills and valleys of his muscles, hips grinding against his, digging your nails into his skin. You don’t see it, but you feel the blood, red, wondering if you can create some blue, digging harder. Then the beat drops and you begin to stomp, feeling a fresh sense of clarity, focus, drive with the music. Shinso hisses.

“Careful with the claws,” he muses, the hands on your hips releasing to unzip the body-bag sandwiched between your bodies. You press your palms flat, feeling his heart beat in his back, syncing with yours but not with the bass.

He moves stealthily, slowly, hand snaking against your bare chest and over your bralet, a tease. His knuckles brush your nipples as he pulls the zip down. You pull your head off his shoulder to stare into those dark eyes, they’re bored and calculating. You’d shiver if it wasn’t for how warm it is, heat trapped under his gaze, sweat glistening on your skin, dripping down his neck.

His sweat. It’s reflecting the lights, cyan and scarlet swirling together so quickly they morph into violet. You press the tip of your tongue to the roof of your mouth, running it up and down, you’re antsy, coming down. His body is ice cold beneath your touch, burning holes into your fingertips. He smiles lazily, his hand withdrawing completely and suddenly, there’s too much space between your bodies.

“You got water?” He asks, serious, no hint of a smirk. He doesn’t wait for you to respond, lifting a hand to your lips, a bottle already open and waiting and you open your mouth for him to pour it in. “Don’t swallow.” He says it almost too late so you push the liquid into your cheeks, right leg bouncing in an effort to stay still, the music calling you. You need to dance. There’s distortion and a steady beat as you stare at a rolling back to your left, mesmerised and longing to feel the silky skin, brown, not mauve.

Your gaze rips to the man in front of you when he crouches, ducking below eye level of the singular, mandatory bouncer, not that they would stop him. He’s got a syringe and small glass vial in his hands, and without looking at you, he pulls out a carefully measured amount, just a few milliliters, if that. He knows your tolerance so well. You remember the last time he gave you GHB, the euphoric mania that blossomed, and you grin with sealed lips. At least it’s not a purple pill. He crooks a finger and you bend forward, a moth to his lilac flames, letting all the water pool forward to avoid burning your mouth.

“Careful, kitten, remember what I told you?” he asks, steady hands waiting for your nod before he expels the acrid drug between your lips and you swallow quickly, making sure it’s the water that carries it, diluting it. In seconds, he’s packed it all away and passes you the water bottle. You chug it, extremely thirsty, suddenly on edge at expecting something to hit you at any moment.

There’s a howl to your right, a whine to your left, and you let out a moan as the music suddenly picks up double time. Your hands fly to the back of your neck, forearms pressed snugly to your ears, falling into the beat until sensations pull you back out. Shinso won’t let you go that easily, and you don’t want to leave him. He’s still kneeling, as though in prayer to your body and motion. It’s empowering to see him beneath you, amongst the dirt. He’s untouchable and yet here he is. His palms drag up the length of your calves as he places kisses along your thighs, fingers inching higher until they’re under your skirt, kneading the flesh of your ass, a thick index trailing along the crease of your underwear. You roll your hips, feeling his finger slide between your folds. Your teeth chatter, remnants of the previous pill, and you shudder against his hands. One of your hands finds refuge in his hair once more.

“Shinso, not now,” you whine, tugging him up. He stands, large palms splaying against your lower back again, arching it as you step together, rhythm flowing through your bodies. This time, he smells like smoke and geranium, a burning flower. His hips are pressed against yours, cock obviously hard, waiting, expectant. His lips come to your ear and he gives you a kiss before tasting the sweat near your hairline. It’s a threat, you’re inside him now, swallowed by purple.

“Hmm, did you just tell me to wait? After I gave you what you needed.” He’s tutting, his tone condescending, sending shockwaves through your ear canal, flipping a switch in your brain. You need to be alert, you’ve made the mistake before, tread carefully. You inhale, breathing in his fire, almost choking on ash.

“Dance with me,” you say, stretching more of your neck for him to reach, his lips soft and soothing. He’s sucking down on the skin, pulling red marks to the surface that will turn to blue then eggplant.

No, you pull away, head jerking out of his reach but he quickly resumes, fingers tangling behind your head to bring your face close to his. He doesn’t kiss you, not yet. He merely surveys your emotions with half-lidded eyes, calculating how long it’ll be before you’re floating away. You can’t stop bouncing, heightening the friction between your bodies. He’s starting to sweat now, you can see it beading in his hairline. You realise he must’ve been behind the DJ booth, where there’s restricted access, privacy. Something taps your lips and you open your mouth, compliant, thankful for something to suck on apart from your tongue.

“Kitten, you don’t tell me what to do,” his whisper makes you shudder. He’s planning something, lilac eyes becoming amethyst, bewitching. His fingers are bitter, sharp, like the green stalk of a flower, and you’re addicted. You curl your tongue up, swirling it around, feeling the bumps of your muscle curl against the miniscule grooves of his fingerprints. He pushes them in deeper, roughly, and if you were tighter, wound up, sober, you might’ve gagged. Instead, you feel the saliva begin to pool around your teeth, coating his knuckles and dribbling down your chin as he fucks your mouth with his hand. There’s no telling how long you’re sucking on them, time nonexistent, but the music slows, crashing periodically, like helicopter blades coming to a halt.

Then there’s quiet.

You hear the squelch in your mouth, the popping of spit. The pressure spreads from your throat down, and ice begins to frost in your gut, travelling up. Something is creeping. The contorting bodies begin to holler, whoop, moans of pain mixing with cries of pleasure as the next deity set’s up. You let your head fall back, his fingers slipping down your chin to grasp your throat, spit cold against moist flesh. He’s growling, you realise, the rumbles from his chest trembling in his fingertips. Has he been waiting for you all night?

It feels like an explosion behind your eyes, going off in your mind, sparking everywhere, and suddenly, you’re weightless once more. If it wasn’t for Shinso’s hand wrapped around you, who knows where you’d have floated to? The lights strobe again, faster, more urgent, the bass kicks off in a hurry, there’s a scream underneath the music, chilling your bones. Hardcore. You find yourself massaging his forearms, biceps, shoulders, fingers toying underneath the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re too clothed,” the statement leaves your lips, finding yourself dizzy with energy, talkative. He’s in hyperfocus, the flames of his hair sparking off purple, rising to join the stars above. You can see the glint in his normally dull eyes now, brought about by the onslaught of your new high. He grins, lips pulling like a cheshire cat, twisting his face, and you drag his neck down to meet your lips. There’s another shriek in the beat and you pull back, breathless. “I don’t like it, not this, let’s go get some air?” Words tumble around you as they pour from your mind incoherently, against his smiling lips. His nods, forehead rubbing yours.

“Of course, kitten. Follow me,” and your hand is wrapped with his as he tugs you sideways, the bodies weaving around his straight path to the side of the warehouse. He tugs you to the front when you turn to the back, thinking of catching your breath in the outdoor area reserved for those that might be getting overwhelmed, tripping badly or need a release. That’s not his plan. Another scream and you grip his wrist with a vice, feeling the bass throttle your bones as you walk closer to the music, violent, bruising. He pushes past the metal railing, and you cross the barrier from purgatory into hell, so close to the speakers you can feel yourself become the music, imagine the screams, until you can’t.

The door is shut, cutting off the cries and beat, only the thrum can be heard in the room, a never ending thump rattling your bones. You can’t stop moving, the music calling you to return now that you can no longer hear it. You’re bouncing as you walk, almost skipping when Shinso sits and pulls you on top of him in a straddle. His hands find the plush of your ass, kneading it between those sinful fingers. The room is dark, the shapes blending into each other, the lightbulb colouring the room as a monotone; violet, UV. You prefer red. You moan as his lips find yours once more, with no worry of interruption, and you grind your hips down on his cock beneath the rough fabric of his pants. He unclips his bag from his chest, not breaking the kiss, before unclasping the back of your bra, tugging the flimsy material down your arms and to the floor. You’re hungry for him, starving, and for the first time that night, you want to devour plum.

“Take this off,” fingers tug at his shirt, mumbling against his lips as you stare into his eyes, falling into the deep well, almost past the point of no return, your high slamming the back of your mind, desperate. Let it in, a voice whispers and you shiver when Shinso raises his eyebrows, following your command.

“Hm, I thought you told me to wait, kitten,” he muses, dropping his shirt on top of your discarded bra, his fingers going back to your ass before running over the bend of your hips, digging them into the fold. Your hips are making the smallest circles, rolling against his erection, feeling how he twitches beneath your folds and his zipper.

“Nuh-uh, fuck me.”

His chest is pressed against yours, nipples rubbing together, teasing, the friction almost too much to bear. Fuck, you need more. You pull him in close, fingers tangling in his hair, burning your palm but you don’t care, crashing your mouth against his to feel whole. It’s not enough.

Let me in.

The metal button is undone and you lift slightly to unzip, tugging at the fabric as he accommodates your movements, helping just enough so that his cock springs free. Your heart is in your throat, choking you with want, desire. He pulls the bottom of your thong to the side, grazing against your slick, groaning at how wet you are. You mewl, his nickname for you taking shape. Your hands rest on his shoulders, steadying your vibrating bones, the pounding in your mind almost peaking. Shinso places a steady hand on your hip, under your skirt, the other finger teasing your folds open, keeping your underwear to the side.

“Say please,” his voice is cool, detached, regarding your flushed face and wild eyes with a boredom in his own. It makes you breathless.

“Please, Shinso.”

He brings his face close to yours, lips spread ear to ear like the ones between your legs as you feel the silk of his cock tap your entrance. The blacklight distorts his features, turning them rabid, unholy, dangerous, magenta. You begin to lower, but he keeps pressure in his hands, slowing your descent painfully, torturously. You can feel your chest heave, toe curling in your boots, pussy throbbing at the stretch. You mumble a mmmmpf, from behind closed lips, pushing yourself down.

“Patience, kitten, you’ve been teasing me for a while now,” Shinso smirks, lopsided and disgustingly seductive, twitching his cock as he lets you fall another inch. You’re stir-crazy. Your fingers tap against the ultraviolet skin of his shoulders, toes furl and unfurling, lip caught between nibbling teeth and eyes rolling up, all in an attempt to stay still.

Let me in.

He let’s go and you drop. You land with a thud, feeling stretched out beyond belief, the high no longer slamming against the door but rather kicking it down. Each bang makes you tilt forward, rising your hips up slightly before forcing his tip to hit your cervix once more as you lower. You’re slow, riding him timidly, as you revel in feeling so full, heart leaping out of your throat and floating above your head. Then faster, as you feel the bass of the music vibrate through his skin, the wall behind his head shaking, and your very cells begin to rattle along with it.

“Fuck, yes, Shinso,” you’re moaning, feeling talkative as the GHB creeps into your veins, mumbling words of praise at the man beneath you. He regards you coolly, biding his time, waiting until the high takes over completely.

“Please, fuck me, Shinso, please, god, please move.” You’re begging him now. Why won’t he thrust up? You focus on his eyes, the way they drink in your bounce on his cock. Shinso ‘tsk’s’, and his hands still your movements, keeping you seated, grounded, whining. Your mouth doesn’t stop trembling, lower lip swollen from all the biting. Your ankles shake from the need to walk out, back to the souls ascending to heaven, leaving their bodies behind, leaving you at his mercy.

“Mm, kitten, you’re awfully chatty for someone that just wants to be fucked,” Shinso purrs at you, keeping one hand firmly on your hips, bruising you, marking you, hurting you blissfully. You gyrate, feeling how he swirls within you, poking the sides of your walls, so damn full. You open your mouth to respond, but you’re silenced, gagged and restrained. His fingers invade, and you suck, replacing the gnawing of your cheeks to focus on the intruder between your lips.

“There you go, that should shut you up, pretend it’s my cock,” his fingers are impossibly long, moving slower than before, when they were plunging. It’s a relief, having something to suck on, relieving pressure in your neck and ears and jaw and hair and oh, you moan. The hand on your hip slide to your ass.

Smack!

Let me in.

It’s him. Amythest and Byzantium, lavender and lilac, fucking purple. He wants to be inside you, controlling you. You’re so empty, chest hollow with cheeks and cunt stuffed, so you suck, gyrate, pulse, all together, all at once. Impatient as ever, you feel the tip of his cock graze your most tender spot. With the hand that is not dominating your mouth, he holds your hips down with a vice. You crave him enough to defy him, ecstasy rolling through your core with his roll of your pelvis. You can’t see him, eyes staring into your mind in euphoria, at a galaxy, but he’s there, standing behind the entrance and exit, waiting.

“Do you want me that badly?" he asks. Shit, he's cornered you. He won't give you what you want unless you answer him, but the moment you do, you will be under his control. He'll only make you wait longer for the release you so desperately need. The alarm bells are ringing, don’t fall for the trap. His questions are dangerous.

You nod your head, shocked at how you can contain your words when you're so vocal, high off your mind, incoherent thoughts refraining from babbling out. Shinso smirks, releasing your hips, letting you fuck yourself on his cock, whining and moaning and writhing, hands gripping his hair, the cushions of the couch behind him, running through your own locks before looking at the ceiling and humming, tears pricking up at the corners of your eyes. You gag on his fingers as they slip in deeper. It's too much, feeling so full, so empty, needing more, so much more.

Shinso's hand releases you, tongue lolling out of your now empty mouth, searching for warmth. There’s bruises on your hip bones, the pressure like a ghost over your skin, still apparent. You whine, biting your tongue before sucking it to stay quiet, swallowing your words as you press up against his chest. You're sweating, and thirsty, for water, his sweat, his mouth, fingers, cum, anything. The sheen of your bodies reflect violet in the blacklight, and he’s glowing. You’re a moth to his purple flame.

"If you want me to touch you, all you've got to do is ask." He whispers against your ear, breath teasing your skin, teeth blinding, eyes dark.

Let him in.

“Yes,” your consent is apparent, simple, all consuming, and Shinso grins, stands, flips you like a rag doll. Your body is his to use how he wishes. You’re floating, completely euphoric, manic, body tensing and relaxing. You need more. You’re watching your body get fucked from above, soul vibrating on a higher plane of existence. He feels good, so, so good.

Drool drips down your chin, smearing against the backrest of the couch. The weave of the fabric leaves more marks against your cheek, red indents turning to magenta, sangria, wine, perfect companions to the bruises on your hips. Your body is filled with mist, clouds, swirling around as Shinso thrusts into you from behind. They leave your mouth in gusts as you moan, loudly, taking over the muffled thrum from the bass. His large palm splays against your lower back, pressing down as he angles his hips up, wrecking you.

“That’s right, kitten,” his voice is thunder, rumbling in the room, against your skin, pricking up goosebumps. “I’m the only one that can make you feel this good.”

His fingers are lightning, burning like ice as they reach around for your clit, slick with sweat, adding a delicious friction as he circles the nerves. More fog slips from between your lips as you whine, moan, mewl, plead. The fabric of the sofa cushions bite into your knees, you feel how the static creeps down your calf and into your toes, each ricochet of Shinso’s hips sending an oscillating wave of pins and needles down your leg. Your fingers grip what they can, coming to rest beneath you to try and peel your face from the backrest like velcro.

You can see yourself convulsing around his cock, walls clenching rhythmically, winding you tighter and tighter. He’s thrusting deeper, harder. You’re going to cum, the release lying in his next thrust, and then it’s gone. Shinso pulls out, fingers flying from your clit to pinch the skin of your ass as his length comes to rest in the middle, his balls bobbing against the folds of your sex. You’re crashing, a wave collapsing in on itself as your orgasm is ruined by his touch, or lack of. Tears stream out of your eyes, shoulders shaking as you sob at his denial.

“Shinso, please, don’t stop, why’d you stop?” His cock slides against the crease of your ass, you can feel the warmth fading, cooling against your skin. You roll your hips to try and trap his length between your folds again, but he turns, slapping your throbbing pussy with four fingers, making you cry out.

“I need to hear you say it,” he commands, making you turn your head, peering over your shoulder at his sadistic smirk, fisting his cock just out of reach of your sopping cunt. You whine at the image; he’s bathed in glorious, royal purple. You’re frozen, unable to move and grab him. Your soul sucks back into your body, trapped under his gaze, nails digging into the sponge beneath. He spanks you, muscle trembling, the shock pushing you forward as you collapse with your face pressed into fabric. You can’t breathe.

“Say what?” you ask, voice muffled as you roll your forehead side to side, your need for touch insatiable, “I’ll say anything if you’ll just fuck me.” Your inner thighs tense up, trying to relieve the aching pressure in your core.

“Hmm, kitten, so desperate, aren’t you?” his cockhead is at the entrance of your slit, teasing up along it, daring you to lean back and swallow it. You moan, and then a sting blooms as his palm comes down on your tender skin. “Answer me.”

“Yes, I’m desperate, please,” you’ve let him in, there’s nothing you wouldn’t do to clutch on to your high with twisted fingers, they’d have to pry it from you. Lavender invades every inhale, burning your lungs, acid taking over your senses. He bends over you, across your back, and whispers into your ear, cool breath fanning the heated flesh.

“Would you like to cum?” he asks, the tip of his cock slipping between your folds. You can feel the edge of his head, the curve, as your lips wrap around it greedily, throbbing, sucking him in as he keeps it at bay. You nod your head furiously, dragging it against the sofa, tears darkening the fabric, tasting the sweet salt on your lips.

“Well, too bad, kitten,” he says, your pussy cold as he withdraws, falling down next to you. His large palms wrap around your cheeks, thumbs wiping at the streaks beneath your eyes, like miniscule cuts beneath your skin. Your heart drops to your stomach, lips back between your teeth as you chew, metal flooding your tastebuds. “Come sit on my lap instead.”

So, you clamber onto him, eagerly lining up your entrance once more to sink down and feel full, satisfied. You’ve always hated the colour purple, but you’re addicted.

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

I wanted to put this at the top, but it was getting long, but I appreciate you guys so much.

Thank you @joyousandverywarlike for being my light in the darkness and @hisoknen for making sure I’m properly tagged. @whats-her-quirk for always hyping me up, i love you soul mate. @league-of-thots ;)

This was lowkey inspired by a thirst Zo and I did in the Harem discord after reading Snack Run by @lookslikeleese so go check that out!

#purple #purple pill #shinso x reader #shinso #shinsou #shinsou x reader #hitoshi shinso #bnha #bnha fanfics #mine #my writing #follower celebration #fan ficiton #shinso hitoshi #boku no hero #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #anime #claudia writes

1K notes · View notes

nightgirl250 · 4 years

Text

Masterpiece 18+ NSFW

gif credit to @buckybarsn

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

This is for Bee’s 5k senses challenge. @negans-lucille-tblr I hope y’all like it. Its the first 18+ ive ever written and so yeah. My sense : Touch and got number 1

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

Warning : 18+, This is the most smut i’ve ever written. I feel sinful. But light Bondage! NSFW. PLEASE DON’T READ IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE OR A KID.

Klaus x Reader

There was one rule Klaus had but never voiced when painting or in his studio. It was short and sweet, but not simple. The type of rule that is broken by the click of heels or even the smallest voices.

The rule of no noise in the studio. The one place in the world where voices and loud noises were just pure disturbances for your artistic lives. Especially talking. If someone were to start talking while you write you would begin to write down their words, while Klaus would lose focus and make a mistake.

You, a novelist, and him a painter. That's one hell of a tall-tale. There was only the sound of a keyboard and paintbrushes running on canvas in the studio. And tonight was no different.

Sitting on the studio couch you typed away on your laptop. The room was burning hot with the Louisiana heat. All the windows were shut and even with the a/c on blast, you felt on fire having since thrown off your blanket and pants and even bra since sweat began to pool.

You’d switched your typical home outfit for one of Klaus’ grey henleys. It was light air and breathable.

You smile as Klaus enters the room with bags of new materials. He went looking for a new type of paint as he was 'expanding his materials. Wanting to paint on something new'.

‘Hey Darling, How was it?’ you sign as he places down the supplies and walks over to you.

Even with the rule of no verbal talking, Klaus still spoke to you. Through tugs of hair and light traces, you both got familiarized with non-verbal talking. From sign language to kisses, writing letters on paper to tracing them on each other’s body.

The two of you loved the quiet in the studio. You never spoke in the studio, not even loud music beyond your headphones.

All-day Klaus had been scouring the city looking for new materials and dealing with the latest “I want to be King,” movement from Marcel. You two had barely spoken. You’d missed the Hybrid King.

Klaus runs his fingers through his hair, his hair looks soaked from the heat, and with no leather jacket on, his bright eyes and stressed face made your frown, as he signs ‘ there was no ice cream’. His words make you roll eyes and nearly kick your computer from your lap.

Klaus smiles at your reactions before signing ‘Don’t worry, love, I’ll order some for you in the morning’. His words made you smile as he went behind you.

You shiver as Klaus runs his cold, rough, and calloused hands over your warm chest. It wasn’t foreign for him to do this regularly, but what’s new is you shivering.

His icy hands cooled your warm body, creating a small minute of bliss away from the heat. Klaus lightly grazes his nails between your cleavage. Tilting your head back you place a kiss on his forearm as a ‘thank you’ for the cool down. Klaus doesn’t respond but instead lets warm lips latch around your neck letting his human canines pinch at your skin.

A small moan passes your lips. Pulling him closer to you before placing a kiss on his lips.

‘What’s got you in the mood?’ you trail on his forearm as the metallic taste of blood and bourbon makes you quiver and growl. You could feel Klaus' smile on your lips as he runs his hands over your nipples, pinching and twisting them. Pulling him closer you continue to kiss Klaus, letting the frustration of the heat onto his gentle lips until you pull away for air.

Klaus takes heavy breaths as he bends your head back and traces letters on your chest, not breaking the kiss, they are gentle and sweet, but you can feel the frustration beneath the surface, as you lick Klaus’ lip for permission, only for him to suck you in and lightly dig his nails into your breasts before he traces out 'Y', 'O', his hands grazing gently on your hot skin as he proceeded to add more letters.

Making sure to keep the silence the two of you don’t share a word as you follow along with his pattern.

'Nothing my Love, it’s just that you look so good it hurts in my favorite shirt' he wrote while tugging your lips between his teeth. Your nipple hardens from the cold, no longer soft and tender from the heat.

Gently taking his arm you trace ‘if I look so good then maybe you should take a picture.’

Placing your laptop on the ground and turning to face Klaus, you give him your full attention sitting on the armrest of the couch. Nipples poking at the grey fabric of the shirt.

His eyes darken seeing your swollen bottom lips as you grab him by the belt loops and pulling him close.

Klaus grabs your hips and winks, which makes you smile. He accepted the challenge.

Steadily your hands crawl beneath Klaus’ shirt and rake your nails against his abs chest spelling ‘unless you’re scared’.

Klaus’ hand drops from your waist, making you whimper from the loss of heat relief. Wrapping your legs around Klaus’s frame, he winks and presses his cold fingers to your lips and covers your eyes. Your face tingles the cold sensation seeps into your skin.

His lightly sweaty shirt cools your inner thighs while his hands cooled your face. Completely sweet but short-lived.

You take a deep breath as Klaus grabs your wrist and glides his warm tongue across your veins, he doesn’t move his hand from your eyes and lips. Klaus listens to the jump of your heart and twitches of your thighs. Your heartbeat was like a drum transitioning between fast and slow tempos. Erratic yet rhythmic.

He knew you were going to love this. Klaus drags his tongue, letting the warmth overtake you as he draws out more letters on your body.

His saliva lit you like fire as his tongue runs you ragged. Your eyes flutter as a small whimper passes your lips. ‘Stay put. Eyes close’ he writes before stepping back.

Keeping your eyes closed, Klaus walks over to the new materials he brought. The sound of plastic moving made goosebumps form on your back. Klaus stays silent as he prepares the area. Grabbing a clean tarp he splays it on the floor. The sound of metal, paintbrushes, and doors make your curiosity rise. Until a familiar cloth wraps around your eyes, you smile feeling Klaus’ lips hit your cheek as he ties the blindfold, asking you to put your hands out.

You jolt as a cool thick liquid hits your warm palm, nearly making you scream, Klaus chuckles and taps your head from your reaction telling you to remember not to speak, before drawing a circle on the cold puddle in your hand. You nearly miss the message as jitters travel through your arm like electricity.

You nod your head and stick your tongue out. Telling him you are okay and are willing to continue. Klaus places a gentle kiss on your nose, before grabbing a large paintbrush. Gently push the brush in the puddle of paint in your hand, watching your thighs shake from the rough grainy bristles. Your lips part as the cold paint is gently splayed on your inner forearm.

The cold temperature makes you mewl in bliss as the bristles lightly scratch against your skin. Like ice cream on the hottest day of Summer, the paint cools your nerves while the bristles run across your skin.

It feels like icicles gliding across your skin as Klaus takes a fingertip of paint and runs it along your chin down to the collar of the shirt. Klaus watches as you lean into his touch, leaning back to give him more access.

Placing down the paint brush, Klaus slides his shirt off you. Letting your breasts hit the open and warm air.

Calmly he picks you from the armrest of the chair and blows three times air into your ear. Telling you ‘that he’s got you’ before setting you gently down on the covered floor. The sheet’s soft and cool yet Klaus’ tongue is hot and warm.

A small moan passes your lips as Klaus glides the brush against your waist. This time it’s smooth and smaller, not the coarse rough one from before.

*He must have changed brushes* you thought as legs shake. You lean into his touch as his hand wraps around your throat and takes your nipple between his lips. Careful of your windpipe he applies pressure, Keeping eyes on how your hips rotate towards him as he lays on top of you.

As if on instinct, your hands cling to Klaus’ shirt, nails digging into his skin. Klaus bites down onto your nipple and drapes the paint brush across your skin. Moving in sync, each suck or moan from your lips equalled one swipe of his brush.

A sweet system, as your legs wrap around his pulling him close to your heat. Klaus smiles and drops the paint brush with a clack.

Tired of the games, Klaus bites and sucks down hard on your nipple. Heart racing, your eyes flutter from beneath the cloth. You nearly scream if it wasn’t for the room you're in.

In less than a second Klaus unlatches from your breasts and puts your legs above his shoulders. His eyes staring at your beauty. He took in how the paint highlighted your features. From the extricate roses on your hips to the thorny roots on your arms and stomach. With hickies, bite marks, and scratches connecting the entire piece.

Even with your eyes closed away, thighs trembling on his shoulder and laying on a cool tarp. You were his masterpiece.

Klaus sticks his tongue between your folds, keeping his eyes on you as you bite your lip. Dripping wet, you run your fingers through his hair.

Slowly he opens your folds, licking each side, pushing them apart. Taking in your sweet scent and flavour. Not even going to your clit as you lift your hips towards mouth.

Klaus licks and sucks all the juices from the inner lip folds, before running the tip of his tongue over the clit. Your legs shake as he continues the process.

Starting off slow, before wrapping his mouth around it and sucking it. Long, hard, and slow. Klaus doesn’t change tempo or speed as he finishes off his masterpiece.

#nightgirl250 #bees5ksenseschallenge #klaus mikaleson imagine #klaus mikealson x reader #smut #The Orginals #tosmut

372 notes · View notes

kittybellestark · 3 years

Text

Valentine’s Day

This is soft boi Peter celebrating Valentine’s day the best way he knows how too.

I’m a little late with this I know. But but but I’m also right on time? Anyways please enjoy this. It’s really not angsty at all. There’s a lil bit of insecure Peter, and some miscommunication but this is some soft stuff okay?

Valentine’s Day was probably Peter’s favourite day of the year. He loved the pinks and reds and the extra excuse to cherish all the people he loved. It was cheesy and corny, but did Peter ever love the day. He never got to celebrate it for what it actually was-a romantic day- not with his short fling with Liz and not with MJ either. But that’s okay, Peter loved the day anyways.

He didn’t really understand people’s hatred for it. Yes, it was now mostly just a capitalist ploy to have everyone buy into, but it was more than that for Peter.

Valentine’s Day was an excuse Peter was able to use to show the few people he had left that he appreciated them. It was a day of celebrating love and a day to fall in love with yourself. Peter liked that.

He worked hard on finding what he could make that could fit into the Valentine’s theme without being too obvious. it often took months of work and crafting to make sure he was content with what he’d gift to everyone.

For Ned it was a portrait of the two but made of Lego. For MJ (despite the relationship ending they were still friends) sketchbooks where he made the paper and bounded it himself. For May a new throw blanket, made with the chunkiest yarn he could find at the discount store. For Happy a keychain with a little toy car attached, painted to say ‘Happy Taxi,’ on it. For Pepper a crocheted cardigan this time with crushed velvet and for Tony a painting of his mother.

He was good at making things for other people, to show them his appreciation and love. He worked tirelessly on them, letting it take up his free time. But it made him happy to know that he made something with his bare hands and was able to gift it to someone he loves.

No one really understood why he gave these gifts other than May. She would always give him a small smile and a hug and then the next day he’d get discounted chocolate. May was the only one who knew that Peter did all the work himself. Everyone else just thought he purchased them. Which was fine.

No one needed to know about the sleepless nights or bleeding fingertips. They didn’t need to know how long he spent working on each individual thing. And they most certainly didn’t need to know that Peter was selling some of his own possessions to be able to fund their gifts.

Peter didn’t really plan on telling any of them either. Why should he? He’s showing his appreciation to them, learning these new skills and then becoming good at them is just a way to learn and to show his love. Besides, he wants to show his appreciation, not force the people he loves to gift him something back.

Maybe the presents he gifts them end up shoved in the back of closets or tossed out after a month. That was fine. Just because he was showing his appreciation doesn’t mean they have to show theirs. Valentine’s Day is Peter’s favourite day, it doesn’t mean that the people in his life also need to like it.

But now it was nearing Valentine’s Day and Peter and Harley were kind of sort of maybe a thing. Honestly, Peter wasn’t very sure at this point. It wasn’t like Harley was one for talking about these things. But they had made out a few times and seemed to dance around any possibility of feelings.

Harley wouldn’t talk about his feelings, he was never very open about his emotions. Besides, Harley had a reputation at school for his relationships, if anyone could actually call a hook-up a relationship. Overall, Peter was very confused. Harley was sweet and kind. He made jokes that only Peter would get and casually sling his arm over Peter shoulders. Sometimes at the tower they’d find themselves cuddled on the couch when no one was around or sometimes Peter would find himself pressed against a wall as Harley tried to bruise his neck.

There weren’t officially together, due to the lack of communicating, which meant they technically weren’t exclusive. Peter wanted to be exclusive, but every time he tried to talk about it Harley would deflect and change the conversation. But now it’s coming close to Valentine’s Day and Peter doesn’t want it to be weird. Harley only started going to school with them this year, and while he’s been in the same friend group as Peter, it doesn’t mean he won’t look at the gift wrong. Most people think that Valentine’s Day is inherently romantic. And Peter really doesn’t want to freak Harley out, especially not when they’re still... enjoying each others company.

It’s not like Harley ever celebrated Valentine’s Day the way Peter does. No one really does. So this might scare Harley. He could think that Peter believes their exclusive and while that is what Peter wants, Peter is also very, very painfully aware that that the two of the just hook up.

Spotting Harley already at their lunch table, created the perfect opportunity for Peter to explain his version of the day. Ned and MJ would be there, which would let them serve as proof that Peter just likes Valentine’s Day. So Peter hurried over to their table and sat across from Harley. It didn’t take much longer for Ned and MJ to join them and everyone to fall into their easy banter.

“So! Valentine’s Day is next week.” Peter couldn’t help the little shoulder shimmy, showing his excitement.

“Yeah, loser, what’d you get us this year?” MJ snorted.

MJ thought Peter’s idea of Valentine’s Day was cute. She was morally against the Hallmark Holiday but she indulged Peter by always accepting his gift. MJ would always roll her eyes and make some remark of her not celebrating the day but would always thank Peter for the gift. She knew the day was important to him and wouldn’t ever flat out reject Peter’s way of showing he cares.

“I can’t ruin the surprise, you’ll just have to wait,” Peter rolled his eyes, bumping his shoulder against hers, “but Harley has never been here for a Valentine’s Day before.”

“Valentine’s Day is a romantic holiday to take advantage of susceptible couples what of it?”

“Peter doesn’t celebrate the day like that,” Ned explained. “He uses the day to show the people closest to him he cares. So he usually buys us all something he thinks we’ll appreciate.”

Harley raised his eyebrows surveying Peter like this was some sort of mystery when it was really simple.

“Yeah, I mean my family is like all dead, so I like to show the people that I have left that I appreciate them. Valentine’s Day is a good excuse. Also not tainted the way other holidays are with missing my family so...”

“Peter!” Ned scolded, “You can’t just drop the dead parents card, that makes people uncomfortable.”

Ned threw a pack of crackers at Peter in punishment, not that it actually ended up hitting Peter. Instead Peter caught it before cracking opening up with a cheeky grin, popping one of the crackers into his mouth.

“Listen, if I can’t talk about how my parents are dead because it makes other’s uncomfy then I don’t want other people talking about their alive parents because it makes me uncomfy.”

The group laughed before getting back onto track.

“Anyways, Harley, I’ve got everyone else a gift for Valentine’s Day, can I get you one or does that make you uncomfortable? I don’t mind either way, and you don’t have to get me anything back, I celebrate the day differently and I don’t expect anyone else to celebrate the way I do.”

Harley seemed to consider Peter’s words, his eyes squinting slightly and his head tilting to the side. There was an edge of discomfort and something else Peter couldn’t really identify painted onto Harley’s face. Peter bit onto his own lip waiting for Harley’s answer and really couldn’t help but notice how pretty the boy was.

“Peter buy’s the best gifts. Last year he bought me this quilt and I literally cannot sleep without it now.”

The amount of times Peter bled over that stupid quilt- it wasn’t a stupid quilt. It was actually really cool. Peter went from thrift store to thrift store finding cool t-shirts and fabric swatches. He found an old sewing machine- from the 50′s no less- that hardly worked and he fixed up the best he could. No one really made parts for a sewing machine that old anymore, not with them being antiques and everything. But because it was so badly damaged, he got it for next to nothing. Fixing the thing had taken what felt like a century, and the research behind it along with creating all the necessary parts was extremely painful. But the quilt was worth it, and Peter was able to get all the bloodstains out. Ned loved the thing. It was big enough to fit on a king bed, not that Ned had a king size bed now, but there was a possibility he’d get one in the future.

“It’s true, last year Peter got me this painting done of my Grandmother in Washington protesting. I still have no clue how he found that.”

Finding a picture of MJ’s grandmother was already very, very hard to do. But he managed to find a picture when he was over at MJ’s house once and cross referenced it from a textbook from the early 2000′s. From there he had the picture enhanced and expanded. Then it was just a matter of tracing the picture onto canvas, and learning how to paint. The whole thing was a wreck and Peter was positive that he was going to ruin the whole thing multiple times over, but eventually it resembled to actual photo and then started to look decent. By the time Valentine’s Day came around he only needed a frame, and Peter was okay with the idea of just purchasing a frame was more than enough.

“I do happen to know a lot of people, and they also know people. And a few of them owe me some favours.”

“Peter there’s no way you know enough people to find something like that.” MJ rolled her eyes.

“I personally know three, no five billionaires, but I only consistently talk to three, I know not one, not two but three groups of super heroes, then I also know a bunch of other vigilantes and not to mention I know so many small business owners. It’s called networking M, it’s an extremely important skill to have.”

MJ scoffed in response, now taking her turn to bump her shoulder into Peter’s.

“I don’t know why I ever broke up with you, you could have networked me into a world take over.”

“Maybe because we both realized we weren’t straight, I’m bi, you’re a lesbian? Wait no that was a power move, lesbian-bisexual solidarity. Honestly I’m not too sure anymore, might be the long distance thing we had going on, we used to sit kiddy-corner to each other at lunch. It was much to far to support our relationship.”

Ned pretended to gag, but in actuality was trying not to laugh.

“You guys were insufferable when you were dating but it’s marginally worse now.”

“It’s because we’re gay,” Peter answered.

“Bitches.”

“Say’s the token straight friend,” MJ quipped.

Ned stuck out his tongue, and crossed his arms over his chest.

“So am I buying you something or not Harls? Whatever you’re okay with, I don’t expect anything back.”

“I’m only sayin’ yes because of those wonderful testimonies. I better be dazzled Parker.”

The table cheered. Peter couldn’t help the pit of anxiety that started to form in his stomach. Now he had a week to make Harley the perfect gift and make sure that the message behind it didn’t lead to far on the romantic side. Up to this point Harley was clear about the one thing they’re not, which is the one thing Peter wants the most. So now this gift not only was going to be rushed, but not put any more pressure onto Harley then there already was.

This was going to be tricky.

The week went by faster then Peter was expecting. Valentine’s Day was the next day and Peter had just barely managed to pull together something, somewhat decent for Harley. Between his friends and the occasional make out session in the alley way behind the school, Peter was genuinely surprised he managed to make things work.

He scoured the internet and libraries looking for the perfect thing. Harley had been getting increasingly homesick, bringing up certain stores and area’s of Rosehill that he missed the most. So Peter found old pictures, many of them pre-dating Harley, and some from when the town was first established and he learned to stretch canvas and print the pictures onto it. Before printing the pictures Peter printed the headlines that the town had that really stood out to him, some from the city being founded, to others about Tony Stark making an appearance in town. With the pictures printed on top the headlines were only visible in certain lights.

Peter really hoped that this gift wasn’t too much.

“May?” Peter called from his room, each gift was laid out across his bed, except the one for May, ready for inspection.

He paced around his room, worried that nothing was good enough, that he had made a mistake somewhere. Maybe the cardigan was too loosely crocheted, or the painting of Maria wasn’t accurate. The sketchbooks not enough, the Lego portrait not the right colours. Maybe everything was completely wrong and now it was too late to restart them. This would be so much easier if Peter just purchased some gifts for everyone instead. God, what if he had over stepped with something.

May walked into his room, a smile forming on her face at each display of affection her kid created for the people he cared about. Peter taught himself new skills to try and create things people would love and he never, ever took any credit for his own work. All Peter ever wanted to do was show people that he cared and loved them.

“Peter these are beautiful. When are you going to be giving them out tomorrow?”

Peter shook his head.

“I’m going for brunch with Ned, MJ and Harley. Then after that Harley and I are going to the tower, so I’ll be able to give Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts their gifts. Then Happy will be driving me home so I can be here for when your shift ends, so he’ll get his then. And then you get yours tomorrow night,” he explained voice rushed, and face flushed. “I think I overstepped though, with Harley. Honestly probably Mr. Stark too. I don’t know. It’s not like they’ll be keeping this stuff long term anyways right? It’s not actual quality, they’ll keep it out of curtesy then toss it out when they no longer feel like I’ll be offended. I mean, Mr. Stark probably won’t because that’s a painting of his mom, so it’ll probably just end up in storage. But Harley will. May, he’s going to think I’m such a loser for getting him this, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

May hummed, pulling Peter in for a hug. The boy melted in her arms, hugging her back. Peter rested his head on her shoulder, and tried to calm his breathing. May could feel him trying to force himself to match her own.

“Baby, you made them all thoughtful gifts. You put your heart into this stuff. They’ve all been so good at accepting and appreciating the things you’ve given them. Now I don’t know how Harley will react to your gift, but I don’t think you over stepped. You’ve been pinning after that boy for months now and if he can’t see how much of a gem you are from this then he needs to open his eyes a little wider. Peter Benjamin Parker, you are a beautiful soul and these things you made for everyone reflects exactly who you are.”

“Okay. Sure, yeah. Alright. Tomorrow will be fine.”

It wasn’t fine.

Well, it was fine, it just didn’t go over the way Peter was hoping for. Brunch went pretty well. Peter and Ned sat next to each other in a both, with MJ directly across from Peter and Harley next to her. They all drank milkshakes and all got different breakfasts. Peter ate crepes, MJ ate waffles, Ned had pancakes and Harley had a typical eggs, sausage, bacon and toast. Their group was there for nearly there for two hours when they started to wrap things up. Which meant it was time for Peter to give them all his gifts.

“I think Harley should get his first, because it’s his first time being here for Peter’s version of Valentines Day.”

MJ winked at Peter after her suggestion. She knew about their complicated web of a relationship.

“Yeah!” Ned agreed, “we’ve all gotten years of this so Harley gets the honour of going first.”

Peter nodded in agreement and Harley smiled. All the gifts were in canvas bags, leaning against the window of their booth. It was best for proper protection, and also made carrying the canvases a lot easier.

“Show me whachu got darlin’. I’m sure you found somethin’ great.”

He pulled out the canvas with a picture printed of Rose Hill’s town square, from some time ago. A few of the businesses in the were shockingly still around, and there happened to be a festival going on at the time. Peter had tried his best to find out what festival could have been happening but unfortunately there wasn’t much information online.

“Alright, so I managed to find this, but if you don’t like it I can have it returned,” he couldn’t return it, but Harley doesn’t need to know that. Really, Peter would either put it in storage or he would burn it.

Peter handed it over with a smile, Ned nudging him just a little bit. Harley took it, and stared at it for much to long without a reaction. His face remained blank, jaw set and Peter felt his stomach drop. Peter had really believed this was something Harley would like, but maybe he misread what Harley meant by homesick.

Peter felt like an idiot.

“Okay well, MJ here’s yours.”

He pulled out the homemade sketchbooks, each in a different colour and tried not to look back at Harley. MJ took the notebooks, flipping through the pages a smile on her face. There was orange and red and blue and green, enough of a variety to give her a challenge when drawing, or to set the mood.

“They’re all 100% recycled paper. I know you were saying you were running low on sketchbooks and wanted to find some more ethically made ones so...”

“They’re wonderful Peter, thank you.”

She reached out and squeezed his hand. No sarcastic remarks this time, a clear sign that MJ didn’t approve of Harley’s lack of reaction. Peter shook his head and MJ frowned.

“Okay Ned, this one is for you, be careful it’s a little delicate, not that it can’t be fixed but if you drop it then that’s it.”

“Yeah, yeah just let me have it.”

Peter handed over the Lego portrait, it was large, to say the least, the background red and it was accurate as it could be for plastic blocks. Ned gasped, and his grip tightened on the portrait. Peter watched Ned put it down and was pulled into a quick side hug.

“Dude! This is so cool, this is us! I can’t wait to put this on display in my room. This is so cool, they better make us into a Lego movie now.”

Everyone except Harley laughed. MJ and Ned both gave Peter looks of confusion and he didn’t have a response other than a shrug. This wasn’t the reaction any of them were expecting Harley to have. Not this silence. But Harley just continued to sit there, looking tense, no longer looking at the picture gifted to him.

“Okay, well Mr. Stark is expecting us at the tower in the next hour and we’re an hour and a half away so Harley and I should probably get going.”

Alone time could help. Or it could make things worse. They only had to sit through a bus ride and a subway trip before the tower. Maybe then Harley will have something to say. Besides they both have to work with Tony together. It’s a lot of time to spend together.

The group of teens all walked out of the diner, saying goodbyes and as they separated, gifts in hand. Peter followed slightly behind Harley as the made their way to the bus, trying not to accidentally destroy Tony’s or Pepper’s gift by taking up too much room on the side walk. He couldn’t help but notice the tight grip Harley used to hold on the canvas and Peter was very worried that Harley was going to stretch it or break the thing.

Peter tried to start conversations with Harley. But every question ended with a shrug for an answer. It was clear to Peter that somehow, someway he royally screwed up. The bus ride was bad, the subway ride was awkward but the elevator ride up the tower was unbearable. Any reaction would have been better, in Peter’s eyes. He would take Harley screaming and tossing the canvas, never wanting to see him over this horrid silence. It was too tense, and Peter was genuinely worried that making any sort of sound or movement would make things crumble. At least he wouldn’t be at the tower for too long.

The elevator doors opened to the penthouse and both the boys exited. Harley stormed off to his room and Peter went to the kitchen. After hearing Harley’s door slam shut Peter put his bags down onto the island and checking to make sure that there’s no damage on either of the gifts.

Tony entered the area, a big smile on his face. He was dressed up a suit jacket being carried in his arms. Tony and Pepper were supposed to be going out on a date, apparently Valentine’s Day is a great excuse to leave work behind for a few hours.

“Hey Roo, thought you and Harley would be hanging out?”

“Yeah, we were supposed to but I’m gonna head home. I just wanted to make sure you and Ms. Potts got your gifts. Right, yes okay first of all happy Valentine’s Day second of all I have gifts.”

Tony rolled his eyes with a fond smile. He placed his jacket down on one of the stools, and jumped up onto the island counter. He was careful to not disturb the things that were already on the counter.

“Why is it that you get to buy Pepper and I gifts but then when I try to buy you something it becomes a whole thing?”

“Because when you buy me gifts it is typically something that is over the top. You tried buying a chocolate company because I was sad they were discontinuing my favourite kind. Our idea of gifts are very different.”

Peter stuck out his tongue and Tony flipped him off.

“Okay, fine whatever now gimmie. You bought me a gift that means you can’t just not give it.”

The teen laughed pulling the painting out from the canvas bag. He handed it over and Tony took it, flipping it around to see Maria. Tony’s one hand went and covered his mouth and Peter gave a small smile. Tony gave himself a minute to recompose himself before reaching out his hand to touch his mothers face.

“Pete... How did you find this?”

Peter shrugged. “I know some people, and they also happen to know some people. They happened to not know that this was your mom and were trying to sell it so I got it.”

Really Peter saw a picture of Maria in the Penthouse, took a picture of the picture, stretched canvas went to the art store bought supplies. Sketched out Maria, tried putting down a base coat, cried because it was ugly, Tried painting it again, cried a little more while repeating “trust the process,” and the eventually it started to look vaguely familiar. Peter hated the process from beginning to end, but the painting itself was goo enough to gift so that was great too.

Just then Pepper walked into the room, hair curled and in a beautiful dark blue dress. She smiled at Peter before taking notice of Tony and the painting in his hands. Pepper grabbed onto Tony’s leg with a soft sigh. Peter felt like he was infringing in their moment when Tony looked up and her and Pepper ran her fingers through his hair.

“I uh, I didn’t get it framed, I didn’t feel that was right to do. I thought you might like finding a frame that fits your moms personality or making one, I dunno.”

“No, no, no that’s perfect. Thank you, Peter, this was just- thank you.”

“Literally no problem, Mr. Stark. I also got one for you Miss. Potts, though it’s not like an emotion one, I just thought you might want something for comfort when at home.”

Pepper tilted her head, a smile playing on her lips, eyes crinkling just so. “Peter, you really didn’t have to buy me anything.”

I know,” Peter dragged out his words head bobbing back and forth as he reached into the bag to get the sweater.

Once it was out of the bag, Peter all but pushed it into Pepper’s arms. She unfolded the soft crushed-velvet cardigan. It was a deep purple colour, and used a simple enough pattern. There were a few golden buttons sewn on in case Pepper would want something that buttoned up. Getting Pepper’s measurements weren’t too hard for Peter, he just logged into FRIDAY’s servers, then went searching through things he doesn’t have access too and then wrote down everything he needed to know. Luckily for Peter, Pepper and May roughly were the same size, so May was his model in the end. The Cardigan should reach to just above Pepper’s knees and be slightly oversized on her. The entire process was painful, using a crushed velvet yarn was an ambitious move, especially considering that Peter’s crocheting skills are very basic. It was overall a success but a painful one.

“Oh wow, Peter this is really nice.”

She put on the sweater, lifting up one finger up before rushing to the bathroom to look in the mirror.

“Peter this is so nice? Where did you find this? The quality is incredible and you can tell this is handmade by someone who cares for their work. Also It’s soft and, oh my god there’s pockets. Tony, honey, look, pocket’s I’m just saying that there’s not enough pockets in the world. I think I could fit a book in these pockets.”

Pepper stepped out of the bathroom and Peter was very happy to see it fit her properly. Her hands were deep in the pockets lifting the two sides of the cardigan up to showcase that the pockets were in fact real. She dropped her arms to the side after a moment, taking her hands out of her pocket and giving a little twirl.

“This is probably my new favourite sweater, Peter. Thank you.”

“It’s no problem Miss. Potts. I’m going to head out now, happy Valentine’s Day.”

Both the adults wished Peter well and on his way out Peter had seen Happy and was able to let the man know not to pick him up later as well as give him the little keychain. Happy pretended to think the Happy Taxi keychain was very funny. Peter knew he did in fact enjoy the joke, as Happy had put it onto his keyring immediately. And Happy doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to- at least not when it comes to Peter.

The journey home from the tower was rough. Peter couldn’t help but thinking of Harley. By the time Peter got home he was consumed by everything he could have possibly done wrong. Maybe the gift was too much. Or not enough. Harley might actually hate the pictures that Peter picked out. Peter could have messed things up earlier and Harley just felt this was the right time to ice him out. Did Peter’s breath stink the last time they hooked up? Was he too clingy or just not good enough? Harley has a few people he hooks up with at school, which he’s stopped with everyone except Peter, so maybe Harley was upset with Peter.

Peter just wanted to scream. He tried his best to be what Harley wanted, to go with whatever flow was being set. Harley didn’t seem to want anything serious so Peter stopped trying to define what they were. They’re friends who kiss and that’s fine, except maybe Harley never wanted any of this and Peter pressured him into this. The entire thing was a mess, and Peter wished he knew what he did wrong.

Boys are complicated.

Harley is complicated.

It was March 1st before Harley started to talk to Peter again. Their group of friends had been tense, Ned and MJ did their best to keep things from getting awkward. None of it really worked. Harley would talk to everyone but Peter, and when Peter would try and talk he would be glared at instead. But finally after two weeks of nothing Peter got a text.

Come over now ?

Peter’s anxiety went through the roof, but this was good right? A step in the right direction? Peter wasn’t so sure what it could mean, but talking was definitely better than nothing. So Peter responded and made his way over.

This could be the end of their friendship. What if Harley friend-breaks up with Peter? That would be mortifying. To be called over just to be told that Harley no longer see’s Peter as a friend is nightmare. It could be a reality. Peter must have messed up badly if Harley was calling him up to friend breakup.

One Peter made it up to the pent house he was surprised to see Harley making popcorn in the kitchen. Peter had stepped out of the elevator, arms crossed over his chest, moving to sit at the kitchen island.

“I’m making popcorn. We’re watching a movie.”

Peter couldn’t help but nodding too fast too soon. He didn’t much like the way Harley was talking or Harley’s tense shoulders. It was too matter-of-fact. Harley didn’t have the emotion’s that usually filled his actions and move, not a single nickname or pushing his accent to sound stronger. This was just Harley without the usual charm and it worried Peter.

They both moved over to the living room once Harley was done with the popcorn. Peter sat down in his usual spot- on the left end of the couch and Harley, well Harley just a little bit farther away than usual. It wouldn’t have been too noticeable to Peter if Harley hadn’t shut him out.

But now Peter noticed everything.

He couldn’t help but notice the way Harley’s heart was beating just a little bit faster than it usually did. Peter noticed the way Harley would not relax, how each movement was carefully thought out. Harley wouldn’t let himself take full breaths, and Peter could feel the vibration on the floor from Harley bouncing his foot.

Peter was so focused on Harley, trying to find out Harley could possibly be thinking. He wasn’t paying any attention to the movie was playing, or even what Harley’s actions were. Peter was so focused on trying to understand everything about Harley that he missed it when Harley moved.

Well, Peter missed it up until there was lips on his neck.

Harley’s hands moved to Peter’s waist, trying to pull Peter up on top of himself without losing any contact. The tension in Harley’s muscles started to relax, and Peter couldn’t stop himself from melting into Harley.

This- Peter could be what Harley wanted like this. He can be pliable or rough. Whatever Harley needed, whatever Harley wanted, Peter could be it. It’s easy to be good and in the moment with Harley. There was no talking, sure, that wasn’t great. But kissing? Sitting on Harley’s lap? That was good.

Here, Peter can be whatever Harley wants him to be. No picture on a canvas or anger. The attention isn’t solely wrapped around the lack of talking between the two, but of them together. Peter can be what Harley wants, he really, can. He just need too-

No. Peter can’t be whatever Harley wants. Not without the communication. And definitely not with everything that’s happened in the last two weeks. Every day Peter has ran through what exactly went wrong on Valentine’s Day. Whether it was the gift, or the place, maybe it was some sort of unknown expectation Harley had. But it led to nothing. Peter felt like nothing. Peter doesn’t what to be nothing, not even if that’s what Harley wants him to be.

He can’t be here, not like this.

“Harley, Harley, stop.”

Tears burned in Peter’s eyes as he forced them shut and turned his head away. Harley pushed Peter off of his lap without a second thought, and Peter hated how that felt personal.

“Darling, what’s happening? Did I do something to upset you?”

Peter wanted to hate that honey-thick accent, but he also just wanted that concern to be real. Not that the concern was fake- Harley wasn’t the type to fake concern- but Peter wanted it to be more than just situational. He wanted things to be deeper, Peter wanted Harley to care about him the same way he cares about Harley. And if Peter couldn’t have that, then he wanted to hate Harley and his stupid accent, and southern charm, and blue eyes and not-quite-brown-but-not-really-blond-hair.

So he straightened his shoulders out, and took a deep breath in. Peter opened his eyes to Harley only being a few inches in front of him. Barely enough room to breathe, but also way too much room. Peter sat more up right and shook his head.

“I can’t do this Harley. I can’t be the person you call for a good time. You haven’t spoken a word to me since Valentine’s Day, and now this is it? We just make out for a little bit and I have to pretend like I never felt like I was the one to do something wrong? I can’t do that.”

Harley pulled himself backwards, his hands pressed into the couch. His head was tilted just a little bit the the side, eye’s flickering back and forth as he thought.

“You literally gave me a present for Valentine’s Day, Peter, I wasn’t okay with that.”

Peter wanted to pull his hair out- he really did. He stood up and walked around the coffee table one hand tugging lightly at his hair while the other stayed at his hip.

“Why would you tell me that you were okay with me getting you something for Valentine’s Day if you’re going to be uncomfortable then. I asked you so I could avoid this. You even saw me give MJ, who is my ex-girlfriend, a present and Ned one. If you were not okay with it then why did you tell me to dazzle you?”

“Because I thought you’d buy me something. But you didn’t. Nobody has ever heard of Rosehill let alone sold pictures of it with headlines from the town’s news paper. You made that. I don’t want you treating me like I’m special.”

Harley also moved to stand, making his way closer to Peter. With every word he jabbed a finger in Peter’s direction, his voice getting louder as he continued. His face was patchy-red and Harley’s jaw was set tight.

“I don’t buy shit for anyone on Valentine’s Day, Harley. I made the Lego portrait of Ned and I, and MJ’s notebooks, I also painted Mr. Stark’s Mom, and crocheted Pepper a sweater, and May a blanket. Also I made Happy a little Happy Taxi keychain with working headlights. I don’t claim to buy anyone’s gifts. I do it all myself. So my bad for making you feel special for doing a two minute Google search and printing something out I’d thought you’d like. I spent months making gifts for everyone, except yours because I just didn’t know you well enough. I did what I could, but everything I gave was made by me.”

The room fell silent again. The teens stood face to face, just a few feet away from each other. Harley’s blue eyes were filled with anger and disbelief and Peter couldn’t help but feel hurt. They stood there, starring at each other for too long, breathing too heavily. The movie continued to play, casting different lights across the room and they all just seemed to fit too well.

“Okay,” Peter finally broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper, “okay. I’m going home. I really cannot do this anymore, Harley. The ball is in your court now. Just- if you decide that we’re not going to be friends or whatever can you please not just ignore me at lunch? It’s awkward. Also it’s not fair to MJ or Ned. And please don’t tell anyone I make their gifts, I don’t want them buying me something out of guilt. I do it because it’s important to me. Other than that, if you want to stay out of my life or whatever you decide it’s fine. I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable. I’m really sorry, Harley.”

With that Peter turned away from Harley. He hated that he was the one that was bringing things to an end. Is that even what this was? Peter gave Harley the choice, it doesn’t mean that Harley will choose to burn everything they’ve had to the ground, but he could. This could be it. No more friendship or laughing or kissing. It’d all be over. All because of a stupid picture and Peter’s need for attention.

That’s all it was ever about. Attention. It had to have been. If he was being rational, then Harley’s silence wouldn’t have bothered him. Peter wouldn’t have met with Harley after school or during lunch. This was all Peter’s fault. He just liked the attention.

No. No. That wasn’t it. It couldn’t be. Peter liked Harley. He wanted a relationship with Harley. It’s not like he didn’t try waiting for him or communicating what he wanted. Peter tried to give Harley all the time he needed. It just wasn’t enough and now Harley has a choice. This wasn’t over a picture, or attention, it’s about Harley.

So Peter walked away. He made his way to the elevator where FRIDAY already had the doors opened and waiting for him. Harley just needed time, to figure out what he wants. That’s all this is. Time. It’s not an ending. It just feels final.

Peter turns around and smiles at Harley, tipping his head forward. Harley is still all the way across the living room, just watching Peter walk out on him. The doors started to close when Harley finally, finally called out to him, making FRIDAY re-open the doors.

“I’m sorry for freaking out. I just thought you were trying to make me feel bad for not getting you anything.”

Peter sighed, “I don’t care if you get me anything, Harley. It’s my holiday, not yours. No one get me anything in return, it’s why I don’t say that I make the gifts. But I stand by what I said. I’m not doing this weird friends who make out thing anymore. I can’t be waiting around for weeks because you’re upset and wondering where things stand between us. You’re either in this or you aren’t. I can’t be another name on a list you work your way through because you’re bored.”

“Darling, you’ve never been another name on my list. I swear it.”

Harley made his way from around the couch and Peter stepped out of the elevator, but not enough to really be in the room. The both of them were saying their words a little too loudly, and it all felt like too much.

Peter could feel the heat burning his eyes as he tried his best to to cry in front of Harley. His jaw ached from the feeling and everything in him said he should just leave. Cut his loses and leave. But Harley was here, pretty as ever, with his splotchy-red face and freckles. Peter just couldn’t convince himself to leave.

“Cindy. Brad. Sarah. Ashley. Josh. Eric. Damion. Brittany. Jessica. Me. That’s a list, Harley. I tried to be okay with it, I swear. But there’s only so many times you can brush me off when I try to talk about it. You can’t tell me I’m more than just a name on a list when it’s all right there.”

Tears started to roll down Harley’s face first. Harley’s hands shook as he tried to wipe them away and Peter tried not to sob at the sight. Peter stayed where he stood and Harley moved forward into Peter’s space. He lifted his hands up to Peter’s face, thumbs on Peter’s cheeks and finger’s tangled in Peter’s hair. Harley cried as he held Peter, and Peter did his best not to lean into Harley.

“I’m so sorry, Peter. I’m sorry that I’m scared and that I wouldn’t listen to you. I like you so much, sweetheart. I’m so sorry that I made you feel like this. I’ll do better. Please, honey, I don’t want to lose you.”

Peter couldn’t stop himself from sobbing. Tears streamed down his face as he let himself fall into Harley. He wrapped his arms around the taller boy, and Harley had one arm wrapped around Peter’s back and the other holding onto the back of his head. Peter was relieved to hear that Harley wanted him to stay. He just couldn’t imagine a life without Harley.

“We can be boyfriends, if that is also what you want Peter. I know I’d like that a lot. Just the two of us, no one else. How’s that sound?”

“Yeah, I like that, just the two of us, no one else.”

Harley tried to laugh as he held Peter, but it didn’t work out well. Instead the two just held each other as they cried. Finally releasing the emotions they held in during their fight, and instead of being left alone they got the comfort of each other’s arms.

The elevator closed. The movie played on. Peter finally got the one.

taglist: send an ask/dm to be added.

@peter-is-a-bean @jean-and-diet-coke @dead-inside-pt2 @they-were-cloudsinmycoffee @parkersjiggle @7peternotparker7 @thatonecrackheadshipper @kevinthewoman @faline4you @lynxshinon @narutoyaoifan @pastelwheeler @thecrazymarvelfan @bonjour-gays @thebestqueenoftheworld

13 notes · View notes

diariesofthehermit · 3 years

Text

Consciousness and Physical Reality: Why we Need to Analyze the Nature of the Mind Once Again

Introduction

Part of the failure of an earlier post I wrote was that I was not very clear as to where I was coming from. I do not follow or profess any religion, though I am fascinated by all different belief systems. However, I do think that we , in modern society, have allowed our thinking about the universe and existence to stagnate. Partially, this is because we have fooled ourselves into believing that there are only two possible sources of information: knowledge acquired through the scientific method and knowledge based on faith. Between these two, I always choose knowledge based on the scientific method. However, there is a third source of knowledge: direct perception or appehension. And I believe it is through direct perception that we may find the key to unlocking some of the mysteries of existence. Specifically, direct perception and observation of our subjective experiences.

And before I continue, let me make a disclaimer from the outset: despite where this argument may appear to be going, I am not a dualist- nor am I a materialist. My thinking is inspired by a new wave of philosophy, but more on that later.

On Consciousness

I would like to start by asking a question: what is consciousness? Most of us believe, and rightly so, that our consciousness originates with the brain. We would say that consciousness is identical to the electro-chemical signals and patterns within our neural networks. I would not disagree. However, I do not believe it is fair to say consciousness is reducible to these neural networks.

Let us use a metaphor. I am on my computer right now. When I type on the keyboard, words appear on my monitor. It would be incorrect to say that my hits on the keyboard were separate from the images on the computer; clearly one produces the other. However, the images on the screen are not reducible to the presses of the buttons on my keyboard. There is an aspect of them, the image themselves, that would not be adequately described if I only bothered to speak about the process of touching the keyboard itself. This is roughly the relationship between electrochemical signals and conscious experiences.

The signals in the brain are certainly connected to my subjective experiences, but the images that I see, sounds that I hear and sensations that I feel would not be adequately described through speaking on these signals alone. What the brain contains is data or information. This data is transformed, through our conscious minds, into the images, sounds, tastes, smells and sensations of our subjective experiences- but though these are informed by the data, they are not reducible to the data.

This all sounds like dualism, I am aware, but I am not a dualist. I am simply trying to explain why a materialist understanding of the mind is inadequate. It is not that the mind has no material basis, it is that the word "material" only has meaning in conjunction with its antonym "immaterial". To say that the mind is material is to say that it has no immaterial characteristics, but upon a closer, honest inspection you will find that this is not true and that actually neither term is adequate; both must be discarded in favor of precision.

What is the missing piece? What is there in consciousness besides thoughts, sounds, smells, tastes, images and sensations? The answer is awareness. We often equate consciousness to thought, but consciousness and thought are not identical. Think of the sentence fragment: "I am aware of". This is how consciousness works. "I am aware of the ball." "I am aware of the tree." "I am aware of my anger." "I am aware of my thoughts." In everyday language and thinking, we usually understand that there is a distinction between awareness and the object of that awareness. It is awareness, not thought, that is the basis and foundation of consciousness. Awareness is the canvas on which all our subjective experiences are painted, it is the light which illuminates and powers all other mental functions. It is the "substance" or "clay" of subjective experience. Without awareness, there is no mind and no being.

Awareness is not knowledge, it is the faculty of being able to know, or to experience. Most people, for example, believe that a computer is capable of computing complex functions and mathematical equations. They do not necessarily believe that the computer is aware of itself doing so. If they did, we would probably not throw them away so casually. Computers hold data and information but, according to conventional wisdom, lack actual awareness. How would we program awareness into a computer? No one really knows. We don't truly know where awareness comes from, or what it is composed of.

We can program a computer to think, give it highly advanced AI, but we would only ever be able to guess if it was truly aware. There is no way to test for it, no know way to study pure awareness scientifically. We can measure brain activity, but brain activity correlates to the thoughts we are aware of and not to awareness itself. We cannot even be sure that individuals in deep sleep lack awareness, because awareness is not equivalent to or necessitates memory formation. Furthermore, we have a problem within our scientific understanding of the mind. "Awareness" is nonphysical. It cannot be measured. It has no weight, volume, shape or velocity. It has no measurable attributes altogether. Yet, somehow, it is produced by an apparently physical brain that does have those properties.

The problem

How can an entirely physical brain produce something nonphysical and completely immaterial? Matter and energy are known to interact, recombine and transform but not to create or destroy each other or especially anything completely unlike themselves. There is no ready scientific answer, and the easy solution is thus to pretend that the nonphysical or immaterial aspect of consciousness (awareness) simply does not exist.

A potential solution

There is another possible solution, however. Perhaps the immaterial (awareness/subjective experiences) and the material (matter/the brain/neurons) are simply two sides of the same coin. Perhaps the true nature of matter is consciousness, or awareness. We know, certainly, that part of the intrinsic nature of the matter within our brain involves consciousness. Which, then, is the simpler solution: that physical matter somehow produces, through an imperceptible and unknown process, an immaterial awareness that is entirely divorced from itself (dualism), or that matter and subjective awareness are in fact the same entity viewed at from different angles?

Maybe this sounds like materialism, but it is not. If the premise that matter = consciousness is true, then consciousness does not "arise" from the brain. Consciousness is the brain...and also the stars, sun and moon. If the matter in our brain has an intrinsic nature which involves consciousness, and the matter in our brain is not "special" or "different" from matter elsewhere, than why should consciousness (which we have already said is not equivalent to thought) be limited to the matter in our brain? To presume otherwise is to be a closet dualist pretending to be a materialist. To think otherwise would depend on the assumption that consciousness is something produced by the matter in our brain, and therefore not identical to it.

Consciousness is not divorced from physical reality, consciousness is physical reality. Again, to say otherwise is a form of dualism. Materialism supposes that subjective experiences do not exist, and that there is only electrochemical signals in the brain. Your conscious awareness proves that otherwise. Dualism supposes that awareness comes from something outside the brain, and is separate from it. Science proves that otherwise. The equating of matter and awareness is the best solution that we have. After all, what else would matter be anyway? We know what matter does, but not what it is. All the known properties of matter are descriptions of its behavior (it attracts this amount of other matter, takes up this much space, takes this shape, moves at this velocity etc.) and not of its substance. To say that awareness itself is that substance is to solve the hard problem and the mystery as to the essence of our material universe.

This is not solipsism. I am not saying that "your mind is all that exists." Other minds exist, or at least it is healthy to assume so. There is more to the universe than you, or at least this is what we must believe to be functioning members of society, but what those other entities are composed of could simply be conscious awareness. Atoms, protons, neutrons and electrons could all represent incredibly simple and fundamental forms of awareness, or subjective experience. Awareness, therefore, would be the building block and foundation for the entire universe. This view is known as panpsychism.

Conclusion

I came across this view while reading a book called "Galileo's Error" by Philip Goff, and it expanded my thinking. I hadn't consciously realized that my thinking about the mind fluctuated between materialism and dualism, and how deep down I felt neither were truly adequate. Panpsychism allowed me to fully accept the reality of my nonphysical awareness without negating the truths of science or the external universe, and to think more deeply about such things as existence, my relationship to the universe and philosophy. I would encourage you to consider this position as well.

#consciousness #reality #panpyschism #philosophy #spirituality #animism #shamanism #advaita #nonduality

3 notes · View notes

avidrawsthings · 3 years

Note

If you were to give Stands to other HPHM characters who would you see and he best candidates and why?

Starting with why: It's simply because I wanted to explore their characteristics more. It's in part why I initially cut it down to 4 others outside of Reina and Ricardo (Talbott, Rowan, Barnaby and Ben). Torvus was definitely a top contender but in the end I left him out since I've never drawn a centaur before and on top of that I wanted to keep the profiles to a minimum so I wouldn't be overwhelmed. I'm still not sure why I burn out easily. Just the 5 I worked on (Reina was already completed this time last year) took months of work, on and off.

For the time being I'm leaving the following 8 characters as ideas that I might get to at some point. I at least already figured out their powerset and even have placeholder names for each of their Stands (the only official one is Torvus'). Placeholder names will be highlighted in blue. Anyway, onto the chosen characters!

As usual, I tried to make it as short as possible but it still ended up being lengthy. Sorry about that XD

Torvus

I'd like to think his Stand manifested sometime after the arrowhead was stolen from him, and it helped contribute to his exile. Torvus wanted nothing to do with his Stand at the time, thinking it was some kind of bad omen. It wasn't until after befriending Reina that he understood that wasn't the case.

Stand: Sagittarius

Powers/Abilities: Can summon numerous arrows he can control the trajectory of. Can also create elemental arrows, allowing each type to produce different effects.

Jae

He'd totally have a Stand that would help him in seeking out and selling his contraband. It manifested for him some time before he started Hogwarts. As he's not confrontational, his Stand would also help him to avoid getting caught, and make a quick exit if necessary. He'd have a Colony type Stand, meaning it's composed of small units with the power and strength divided between them. Jae's count would be a unit of about 1000 maximum, which can go around undetected, gathering items and intel. His range would be massive, at it extends to places he's already been to no matter the distance.

Stand: Work Smarter Not Harder

Powers/Abilities: Can multiply itself to 1000 units maximum. The units are smart enough to take orders from Jae and seek out what he asked them to get. They can move around undetected, gather around Jae to help him hide, and can combine to form portals for instant travel from one place to another. They can also be sent out to spy and replay conversations back when asked.

Diego

His Stand manifested some time after he started school. His abilities would help expand his skills as a duelist, so they'd consist of short range teleportation and creating blinding lights to stun his opponents. He can also absorb sunlight to boost his Stand's own power, and can create some pretty sturdy shields when enough power is stored. However, being the honorable guy he is, Diego will rely on his own skills when dueling classmates. In the case of more serious threats, he'll summon his Stand.

Stand: El Dorado

Powers/Abilities: Blinding lights, short range teleportation, blinding lights to stun opponents, solar light absorption and shield generation.

Badeea

Being very imaginative and highly creative in her own right, her Stand would reflect that by expanding on her skills as well. Being so focused on her art, I can totally see her not even realizing she had such a "spirit" at first. She strikes me as the one that hasn't stopped painting from the moment she picked up her first brush as a little kid, and she saw her Stand as a byproduct of her spell creation.

Stand: Avant Garde

Powers/Abilities: She can bring art to life outside of the canvas, so even items she draws are made real as long as it's nothing too complicated. She can also create different paints to create different effects, like mirror paint, glitter paint and so on. I'm thinking of maybe also letting her create paint copies of herself to increase productivity.

Andre

His Stand would manifest around the time he realized his potential as the Fashion Wizard extraordinaire. While I already have an OC with the following abilities (from my story Earth 14), I felt they'd suit Andre just as well. He'd have Cloth Creation and Manipulation. While it gives him balanced offense and defense, outside of duels, Andre sticks to his fashion designing.

Stand: Haute Couture

Powers/Abilities: He can create outfits that come to mind out of any cloth he knows of, and can also manipulate the properties of existing clothing. Simple fabrics can be made as durable as shields from various spells, and in the cases of opponents, distract them by using their own clothes against them.

Liz

I went the Rowan route in my au and gave her a few personality tweaks of her own. This Liz began coming out of her shell with the help of Rowan and the others, improved her people skills and learned to not be so reckless when it came to valuing creatures over the safety of people (like with the Chimera incident). I wanted Liz to be more than just the "animal lover that prefers them over people" person. She learns to value both sides and gained enough skills to be willing to duel for their safety if necessary. Her Stand would manifest sometime during their 6th year, once it nearly hit home that R was not above murder to get what they wanted.

Stand: Sanctuary

Power/Abilities: The primary power is Summoning. Liz's Stand takes the form of a deck of cards, with each card containing a magical creature she's familiar with. The deck grows with each new creature she learns about. Said creatures can be summoned from these cards to serve various purposes (fighting, defense, transportation, etc). If the summons are defeated, they'll simply return to their card for future use. All summons are loyal to her.

Ismelda

In this setting Ismelda gradually matured out of her whole edgy phase and became a more rounded out person thanks to her friendship with Reina and the others. She stayed friends with Barnaby while distancing herself away from Merula throughout their 5th year. While she still likes messing with people, it's easier to tell there's no malice behind her words. I don't know why I like this idea so much, but her Stand would take the form of a large doll that can split into 40 smaller ones that can move freely on their own. When it's time to fight, their form changes into half-human, half-spider.

Stand: Arachnophobia

Powers/Abilities: The Stand can split into smaller variations of itself and move around freely. They gain half-spider forms when they switch into battle mode, and in addition to enhanced speed, they can also produce different webs to provide different results (elemental webs). The webs are very powerful and can be used to trap and imprison opponents as well.

Chiara

Of course best girl is gonna be the healer of the group. Honestly with her desire to be a Healer and helping around in the Hospital Wing, it suits her perfectly. Her Stand manifested some time after she was bitten by a Werewolf as a child. She saw her Stand as a wonderful gift after seeing it was capable of healing. As her knowledge and experience in healing grows, so does her Stand's capabilities.

Stand: Medela

Powers/Abilities: Healing. Early on she was already able to reduce the healing time required for most injuries. Her Stand evolved to heal broken bones, internal/external injuries and lacerations in a matter of seconds, and with high surgical precision. It can also heal most injuries inflicted from Dark Magic, and later on can even restore missing body parts depending on the severity of the damage. The healing also extends to other creatures, animals and even plants. While it can't cure lycanthropy, as a passive effect it grants those afflicted with mental clarity so that they won't lose control when transforming, bypassing the need for Wolfsbane Potions. This extends to Chiara herself. By her 6th year her Stand could split into 5 copies of itself to heal more people in a short amount of time.

#ask avi #jjba au

1 note · View note

whispersafterdusk · 3 years

Text

Lost in Time - ch 16

It was hard to take his eyes off the contraption attached to his wrist.

The Hi-Def was a tiny computer that was held to him with a comfortable canvas and leather wristband; the screen was two inches square, sleek and shiny, and edged with a polished steel casing. The device had two small buttons on one side but, as Eli was demonstrating, the majority of the computer's functions were controlled either by touching the screen, poking at the hard light projection that came from the screen, or using voice commands. So far the only button function he knew how to set whether the device operated exclusively with screen-touched commands, hard light commands, voice only, or any combination of any of them; that had been the first thing Eli had taught them, even before they'd finished the elevator ride down.

They were now all gathered within the facility, standing together around a computer console on what they considered the "ground" floor (which was the bottom-most floor the main access elevator could reach) and on the monitor was a larger image of the Hi-Def's screen. Eli was frequently switching between projecting out of her own Hi-Def and using the computer monitor, depending on what she was instructing them to do - it was a lot easier for them to see on the larger monitor than it was in the projection without crowding one another. ((Continued below cut))

"So here," Eli said, gesturing with her free hand at the monitor, "is the communications panel. You can set up a quick-response voice command to open it without needing to manually navigate here in the same area for all the other voice commands I showed you earlier. It's fairly self explanatory on this landing page -- you can see the list of Hi-Defs in range here. I've already programmed in the "names" of your Hi-Defs, using your names, to make it easier."

Asher looked down the list and could see his name along with Eli, Arlo, Sam, Remington, Adam, Mali, and Gale's name was there as well (though Gale wasn't presently in the room with them - his name was outlined in bright red). There seemed to be loads more empty spaces left but he knew Eli had only made nine of these so far...she must have thought ahead and programmed with the intent of making more in the future. Neat.

"I've set it so, by default, it'll always broadcast to all Hi-Defs within range. If or when I ever add more to the network I'll start programming in some set group defaults but for now we don't need that." Eli turned away from the screen briefly and rapidly navigated to the communication page on her own Hi-Def, then set it to project into the air in front of her. "If you aren't wanting to talk to everyone all at once you can select a specific person or group from the default list, or create your own personalized groups of people -- and, like everything else, you can set up voice commands to get here quicker. Anyway..."

He watched as she reached out and "tapped" (it was so weird to be tapping on light that was solid...) Arlo's and Sam's name, which highlighted them in a bright green.

"So I've got my recipients selected," Eli said, smiling a bit as they turned toward Sam and Arlo - her voice was coming out of their Hi-Defs now (it was a weird effect hearing her from multiple places at once). "All you have to do then is just talk. It's pretty decent at picking up your voice even if your hand is down at your side as well as filtering out background noise but there's still a chance other things might be heard through it so be mindful of that. You can adjust your incoming and outgoing volumes here-" she indicated a double pair of up and down arrows, "-and there's an element of proximity when it comes to outgoing broadcasts." She raised her wrist to her mouth then. "If you need to be very quiet, for example," she went on in a bare whisper, "just get it closer to your face if you can."

Asher couldn't hear the words coming from her lips but could hear her clear as day coming through on Arlo and Sam's Hi-Defs - a whisper that was coming through at a normal volume.

Eli then reached out to tap Arlo's and Sam's names again, returning them to the dull tan color they'd been before she'd selected them, then demonstrated sliding both incoming and outgoing volumes down to zero. "If a Hi-Def is out of range the name will be in red and if you try to select it it'll give you its best estimate as to how far away you are from being in range. This will be based on the last time you WERE in range, so it's not going to be completely accurate -- normally these would be tethered to a satellite and could give you measurements down to the inch but we're in short supply of those. One thing to keep in mind for the future is even if we get all the signal towers up there may still be areas where you're considered out of range because the signal can't reach. Places like being in deep valleys or underground, or if you're somewhere there's a lot of metal or 'things' between you and the towers like trees, dirt, concrete... Again, wouldn't be much of a problem if we had satellite support too but we'll have to make do."

"Can these be accidentally turned on?" Asher asked. He waggled his wrist slightly. "I'm not going to start broadcasting my snoring if it turns on while I'm asleep?"

Eli shook her head. "Accidentally? No. It can detect heart and respiration rates so if you hit a certain threshold it'll assume you're asleep or unconscious and will disable all outgoing broadcasts and turn on a tracking indicator. If I NEED to I can turn the outgoing back on from here-" she patted a hand on the computer console "-so we can get audio of your surroundings, assuming you're within range. Incoming broadcasts won't be muted if you're asleep or unresponsive however."

"Neat. Can we set up alarms on this thing?"

"You mean to wake yourself up, or to alert others?"

"Both?"

Eli pointed to a spot on the projection that had a large exclamation point on it. "That there will send out a distress signal by default if you double tap on it. If you press and hold..." She jabbed it with a finger and held it there; the button flashed from red to yellow, then expanded out into a new menu that was overlaying the communication page. "It opens up this secondary menu where you can set up custom ones with your own messages and sounds. If you're looking for an alarm clock that's in the clock and calendar functions."

"Wait, you said there's a tracking indicator?" Arlo interrupted. "Even if we're asleep?"

She nodded. "Yes. There's no way for these to tell the difference between sleep and unconsciousness so a tracking indicator will turn on no matter what."

"That's...a bit weird, isn't it?" Sam asked, looking between her Hi-Def and Eli.

"Is it?" Eli asked. "I know where you all live so I already know roughly where you sleep."

"...true," Sam replied. "I guess it's not so weird when you put it that way. Does it track you any other time?"

"Not automatically, and it's not something that just anyone would've or will have access to," Eli answered. "I can, from either this computer or my Hi-Def, track any of you at any time. Normally I'd have no reason to and there were really, really, REALLY strict rules on how and when you could use the tracking function and, if we were back in my time, you could be thrown in prison if you were found to have misused or abused access to it. It's meant to be a safety feature - if someone goes missing or silent unexpectedly I can look to see where you are and if need be we can head out to do a rescue."

"So not everyone will have access to the tracking thing but will WE have access?" Asher asked, gesturing to everyone standing about. "It's not much use if you're the only one who can and you're the one who goes missing."

"I'm giving you all permission to do so but only from here," Eli said, patting the top of the computer. "It's another security thing - if someone takes you out and gets your Hi-Def we wouldn't want them figuring out how to track the rest of us - which is also why I want you all to definitely set up the voice lock command like I showed you. That'll minimize the risk even further."

"Could Paulina do the tracking if asked?" Sam asked then.

Ha...Paulina. Pauline's successor, in a way. Technically Paulina was an altered copy of Pauline that didn't need a name (because it wasn't a living AI) but they'd all agreed to renaming the working console just so they could refer to it and have everyone know exactly what was being discussed. Paulina ran both the computer as well as all of their Hi-Defs - one big copy of Pauline and nine more tiny ones.

"Yes, and no," Eli finally replied. "I'd have to program her to be able to do that. As of right now no, that's not something I have her set up to do because of all the variables that would have to go in to it. She SHOULD, in theory, be able to do it just fine since Pauline tracked people within the facility but there'd be a difference between the check point sensors and signal towers that -- well. I'm not going to get into the technical aspect. Let's just leave it at 'yes, possibly' for now."

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Sam nodding, looking satisfied with that answer; he looked up again as Eli turned back to the computer.

"A couple other things here - this button will mute your outgoing, double tap it to quickly mute both incoming and outgoing, and then double tap it again to unmute them. This one here opens the menu to set up your own communication groups. Press, hold, drag and drop, then hit the title bar here and either verbally or manually name it. When you do that it'll appear here..."

Asher watched as she backed out of the new menu and landed back on the main communication page, then she gestured at a smaller button that had what looked like a capital V on it; when she poked at it another menu opened and it had blank text fields on it that looked identical to the ones on the main page.

"This is where your created groups will be stored - like with individuals you can set up quick or verbal commands to broadcast to a group." She let them all get a good look at it then closed it, and then quickly flipped all the way back to the main screen of the Hi-Def. "That's all for now - don't want to overload you all with information. Feel free to play around with it, there's nothing you can do to these that I can't reverse."

Remington tapped a few fingers against his screen. "How sturdy are these things? I'm worried I'll scratch or break it somehow."

Eli chuckled. "You'll probably break the casing its in before you actually damage the screen. I don't have access to the alloys the casings were originally made out of so they're not quite as indestructible as they used to be. -- but don't get me wrong, breaking them IS a possibility, just not a very high one. You don't need to treat them like spun glass but also don't be using them as hammers or whatever - just wear them normally like you would any other article of clothing and you'll be fine." As she spoke she set the computer into a stand-by mode; the screen went black but not the dark black that indicated it was powered off entirely - that had been another concept to get used to...a "black" that still put out light.

"So...how do we start mapping Portia?" Asher asked after a pause. "This thing has some sort of scanning function, right?"

She nodded at him. "It does but we're not going to worry about that right now. We only have two signal towers up at the moment - the one here attached to the elevator platform that's interfacing with the working sensors in the facility and one that Selene attached to the schoolhouse's roof that currently is too far away to communicate with anything here but will still work if YOU all are within its range. Until we get the other towers up and figure out how to power them you'll be relying only on your onboard storage and, when it comes to mapping, that's not going to count for much because the data that generates the maps -- ...ok, again, not going to get technical, but suffice it to say that it won't be possible until we get the entire thing up and running."

"Gotcha," he replied. Honestly he was most looking forward to the mapping part...it'd give him an excuse to pick a direction and start walking during those times he wasn't on guard duty.

Asher had been born in Ethea and raised in Highwind; in a few ways Portia reminded him of Highwind - of home - so he assumed that was probably why he liked it here so much, and why he was itching to go poke around. All the wide open spaces, the beach access and harbor, the neighboring desert...all of it was something he'd been hoping he'd get a chance to fully explore before he had to go back to the Pigs's headquarters in Lucien. Now that he was carrying a Hi-Def it seemed like he had a really good reason to stick around even longer - once he'd helped get this spy problem under control he'd then be free to help map out Portia and the surrounding region, and then if these things got expanded across the continent...

Eh, well. He shouldn't get ahead of himself. The only reason he even had one was because Eli had the parts to build it; they could cover the continent in the needed signal towers but that wouldn't make more Hi-Defs appear out of thin air. And if expansion was out of the question then he probably wouldn't get to take his Hi-Def out of Portia -- and even if he wanted to keep it and leave there'd be zero reason to since all the useful stuff he was excited over wouldn't work once out of range of the signal towers.

He tapped his screen to turn it off and looked around; the others were fiddling with their Hi-Defs and Eli was still sitting on a stool next to the main computer console - she didn't seem to be paying attention to anyone or anything in particular at the moment though she had one hand resting idly across her own Hi-Def's screen.

After a few breaths she looked up suddenly and met his eye - must have sensed he was looking at her, or something. "When do you think the rest of the towers will be up?" he asked.

She took a moment to consider, then shrugged. "Hard telling. Selene is having to make molds and cast some parts, then we'll have to test strength and durability. We could technically make do in the short term but we can't guarantee we can dig up the right parts forever. And I'd rather not have to dismantle a ton of things," she added after a moment, waving a hand around herself to indicate the facility. "I'd like to...actually utilize this place. Don't know what for just yet but..." She fell silent then offered up another shrug. "We were always taught to use whatever we had at hand if things went south...I'm as far south as someone can get but it feels like tearing my own house down. I want to keep this place standing - find a reason to bring life back to it."

"Maybe as a school?" Remington offered, without looking up from his Hi-Def.

"Nah. We're moving Stewart to the clinic, remember?"

Now Remington did look up. "I remembered, yeah, but medical stuff isn't the only thing folks could learn."

Asher looked between the two of them as they spoke and was able to watch the slow progression of Eli's expression from confusion to a guarded curiosity.

"What do you mean?" she went on finally.

"Well..." Remington started, drawing out the word as he closed all the menus he was perusing. "You're teaching all of us some ranger things, and fitness and strength training. And you know all about the Old World since you lived in it. I bet people would flock from all over the continent to meet and learn from you."

Eli's expression went neutral. "True. But I'm not exactly a school teacher. I'm a soldier, and I imagine your church would have more than a few things to say about my teaching anyone on a large scale."

"They don't hold any authority within Portia or the rest of the Free Cities," Arlo said into the brief pause that followed. "They can hold all the opinions they want but they'd be inviting a lot of trouble if they tried directly interfering in a town's business or with their citizens."

Eli shrugged again. "Even still, I'd rather not kick the proverbial hornet's nest. Just because they don't have authority doesn't mean they can't or won't try something, whether that "something" is them riling up the populace against me or directly taking action to remove me from the picture - which is what would have happened in my time, and often did if someone was trying to incite something without regard to the laws."

Asher clenched his jaw at that last part; the Church Enforcers were a...particular lot. They traveled around and destroyed relics they deemed dangerous (which usually meant ANY relic they could get their hands on) and had been known to get into conflicts with civilians on the regular. The conflicts were violent at times but not usually fatal on either side; he couldn't think of any accidental deaths that had happened within recent years but could see the potential for them if the Church thought Eli, her knowledge, and anyone she shared that knowledge with was a threat. If similar had happened even back in Eli's time when, as history detailed, the world had been living in what amounted to a utopia...guess humans really hadn't changed much in three hundred years.

"Yeah, well, we just make sure that doesn't happen," Asher found himself saying, and then immediately stopped as all eyes shifted to him. He'd...not actually intended to say that out loud since it was only a half-formed thought but too late now. "Not...not that I'm suggesting we pick a fight with the Church or anything. Or have a gaggle of body guards following Eli around-"

Eli snorted. "By the Three I'd hope not."

He grinned at that. "-BUT, what we CAN do is take some steps to make sure a confrontation doesn't happen, or doesn't have a reason to happen. That means keeping people away from places they don't belong - which is something we do now anyway - and also not turning a blind eye to churchfolks who like to make up stories about things or people. I know Arlo's dealt with that here already," he added after a breath, looking to the man.

Arlo in turn nodded and crossed his arms. "I have. Thankfully Lee understood early on exactly where Gale and the Civil Corps stood on the topic -- the few things he spread around were squashed quickly and, to my knowledge, he's back to his usual sermons without 'embellishing' them."

Asher looked back to Eli. "Yeah, that - squash the lies, and just be careful about things - Portia might have opened all her other ruins for exploring but there's a lot of them across the continent that're closed, period, because they're too fragile, dangerous, or too many people rely on whatever's in them to be fairly distributed. It'd be up to Portia to set rules on who gets to come in here and why but if you end up turning this place into something everyone can use then we'd know who's here and for what reason, and anyone without a good reason can be shown the door. An Enforcer is going to stick out like a sore thumb if they come anywhere near Portia anyway. And the Church HAS come around on stuff like water filtration, powered tools, electric generating gadgets...they're definitely trigger happy on everything they come across but even they can be made to see the benefit to things eventually."

"And besides," Sam picked up, "it's not like the enforcers are assassins or anything. At most they can arrest people in the regions they have jurisdiction in, and at best they get arrested themselves for causing problems."

Adam grunted. "Threat of jail hasn't stopped 'em from arresting in places they don't have power in. There's a lot of bullhonk out in the world that you lot don't see in a town like this. They're not friendly."

"They're NOT murderers though," Asher interrupted, shooting Adam an annoyed look. "But accidents do happen when they get a bit...overeager in their work and yeah, sometimes they do try to step out of bounds if they feel threatened or justified."

Eli looked between the two Pigs. "I think we need to have a chat on what these enforcers are, what they do, and what they're SUPPOSED to do. Are they reigned in by law at all?"

"Of course. Doesn't mean they stick to it," Adam answered. "Same as anyone."

Mali shook her head and gestured for Asher and Adam to quiet. "WE," she said, gesturing to the Pigs, "would be happy to discuss the politics and laws of the wider world. Whenever you'd like to just let us know."

Eli nodded. "I appreciate it. I'll be busy this afternoon so maybe later tonight, or even tomorrow."

Asher could see her glance over to Arlo and give him a barely perceptible nod; guess whatever she was up to this afternoon included him, or the Civil Corps, or both. After another pause in the conversation Eli stood up and again invited them all to play around with their Hi-Defs, reminded them to set their voice locks, then headed out of the room with Arlo following along a few moments later.

For one brief moment he contemplated following them; everyone else had their attentions back on their Hi-Defs so he doubted they'd even notice if he slipped out. But, it was pretty clear, when neither Remington or Sam moved to leave, that whatever Eli's plans were for the afternoon they included Arlo and just Arlo...if others were welcome she probably would have said something. He looked around at everyone again -- whether he followed Eli and Arlo or not he did know he wanted to get back out on the surface and into fresh air; the Research Center, with Stewart's help, had fully repaired the air system down here so he logically knew that fresh air was always circulating but it didn't stop the feelings of mild claustrophobia and stuffiness he got when he was down here for awhile. He'd give Arlo and Eli time to get back to the surface then would head that way himself and tuck himself into a quiet corner of the tent while he fiddled with the Hi-Def.

Asher flipped through the screens back to communication and sorted Mali and Adam into a separate group he labeled "Flying Pigs," and then slid all three of the Civil Corps members into their own group as well. Setting up the voice commands were easy ("call Pigs" and "call Civil" respectively, since Eli had suggested "call" as a command word to use) and then he found his fingers hovering over Arlo and Eli's names; after a moment to consider he slid the two of them into another custom group.

Adam and Mali might be his fellow Pigs but he wasn't especially close to either of them - before now he'd not even had a chance to talk to them much since they were always doing their own things; he was closer to Greg than he was to anyone else in the Flying Pigs but only because they'd shared a bunk room at headquarters up until Greg got married and moved in to a house with his wife. Arlo reminded him of Greg in a lot of ways and, despite having watched him fail the entry exam multiple times, Asher was still convinced that Arlo would make it eventually and was looking forward to being there when he finally did (and hey - he hadn't had a bunk mate since Greg moved out and Arlo would be expected to spend his first two years living at headquarters as a rule).

And, when it came to Eli... Well.

He titled their group "Buds" but held off on setting up a voice command. For now.

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

"Hey you!"

Harrison took a moment to reply (he hated being interrupted mid-sentence when reading) but found himself smiling up at Lily as she leaned over his pile of books.

"Hello there - I didn't hear you come in."

She giggled and patted a hand on top of what was basically a barricade of reading material lined up along the outer edge of the little table he studied at. "Gee, I wonder why."

He felt his face go a bit red but he laughed quietly all the same and quickly moved a few stacks of books down to the floor near his feet. "Sorry. What are you up to today?"

"I came by to ask if you had any letters or anything you'd like me to take back to Lucien."

"Back to Lucien?" he repeated. A sinking feeling hit him - she was leaving?

Lily nodded. "Uh huh. It's about time to head back home to check in with mom - I try to stay away only a couple months at a time. If I come home at regular intervals then she worries less." She paused and squinted at him, then waved her hands frantically. "But I'm coming back! I'm going to come back!" she added in a rush. "I just have to let her know I'm ok!"

"Oh," he said, letting out a loud breath. "Ok. Yes, that - that sounds like a good thing to do. Um..."

He'd had a pad of paper here somewhere... As he started sorting through the folders and remaining books on his desk Lily stood there and rocked back and forth from heels to toes, like she usually did when standing still (well, not STILL - she seemed incapable of not moving some part of her when standing around idle) and then she bent to yank something out from under a pile on the corner.

"Here you go-" she held out the writing pad to him with a grin.

"Thanks." He grabbed it and leafed through the pages inside; there was a half-completed letter in here somewhere...ah. Carefully he pulled the page free and flipped it around to show her. "I sort of do. When did you plan on heading home?"

"I'd planned on heading up to Sandrock today and catching the bus north but I can wait until tomorrow."

"I can have this done here in a few minutes if you really want to leave today."

Lily wrinkled her nose and sighed. "I don't REALLY want to leave but I have to. BUT, like I said, I'm going to come back. I even have a job lined up for when I come back, too!"

Harrison blinked at her. "Oh?" How long had she planned on leaving without mentioning anything to him...?

"Mmhmm. That old lady farmer is willing to hire me on as an extra farmhand to help with the spring planting and all the little baby animals that'll be born or hatching here soon. That'll earn me enough that I wouldn't have to worry for awhile."

"How long will you be gone?" he asked as he fished around for a pencil.

"I'll probably be back within a week." She hummed to herself for a breath, then spun on a heel to face the door. "I'll be back in a bit for that, ok?"

"All right."

Harrison watched her skip out of the clinic and huffed out a sigh. He shouldn't be too surprised or disappointed that she'd be going home but logic and sense rarely went hand in hand with... The "L" word felt a bit too much at this point but he was definitely interested in her, and she in him. It was highly unfair for him to expect her to stay here, just because he was here, without giving any thought to her own needs or obligations.

Quickly he skimmed over the letter; he'd been halfway through detailing everything he'd done so far in Portia - this wouldn't take long to finish.

Not long after Lily had left the doors opened again; Dr. Xu came in leading someone with a heavy bandage taped to their chin. Harrison paused in his letter writing and watched as Xu led the man over toward the Uplifter, and lifted the machine's dust cover while directing the man to pull over a stool.

"Would you like a hand, Dr. Xu?"

"That would be welcomed, Harrison, thank you."

He got up and came around to help the patient position the stool in front of the Uplifter. "Here, just sit here and -- yes, like that, and sit up straight. Dr. Xu will lower that part there that looks like a plate and adjust it near your face."

"And this thing'll be able to fix it?" the man asked. His voice was obviously pained and also slurred, as he didn't seem willing to move his mouth and jaw more than he had to.

"It'll close the wound and there shouldn't be any scar visible, yes," Xu answered. "Go ahead and take the bandage off while I get the last few steps completed. This will sting briefly as it starts up but will numb soon after-"

Harrison looked from the man to Dr. Xu as Xu cut off mid-sentence; the doctor was patting at the side of the machine and looking confused. "What's wrong?"

"Hmm. The manual for it isn't in its usual slot. Have you seen it?" Harrison shook his head and Xu hummed to himself. "Well. I have the steps memorized but I had wanted you to follow along in the manual as I worked."

"Perhaps it accidentally got mixed in with Phyllis's things when she moved to her new practice?"

"It's possible," Xu replied, nodding to Harrison. "When we finish here would you mind walking out there to check?"

"I need to finish something quickly before that but otherwise I don't mind at all."

Xu smiled and began to input the commands into the Uplifter's computer panel; Harrison leaned over to help the man on the stool remove the bandage, and then winced when he saw the injury -- it was a deep wound, with jagged edges, and he could see the white of bone beneath it. Once Xu had all the commands in place he settled the headpiece of the Uplifter over the man's head fully and hit the Start button.

"No talking," Xu said then. "This will take several minutes."

Harrison could see the man flinch as the machine whirred to life but afterward the man sat calmly, unmoving, as the Uplifter did its work.

Since there would be some time to kill while the machine mended the injury Harrison returned to his table and went back to his letter. Assuming there weren't any other emergencies or distractions he should have this done well before Lily came back for it.

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

"How many keys were on the keyboard I was using?"

"Fifty six. Fifty seven if the secondary power button counts."

"Good. How many birds over there?"

"Fo- no, five."

"And what are they?"

"Sounds like common house sparrows."

"Right. Cows in the field?"

"Unfair question - McDonald said one was in labor."

"Assume the calf hasn't made an appearance yet."

"Fourteen."

"Horses?"

"Three. The rest were in the barn still."

As they walked along Eli nodded approvingly at him; these early techniques she was teaching him were hard to describe but when put into practice Arlo found they weren't so impossible as he'd initially thought.

"How far off is the Dee-Dee?"

Arlo paused; he was certain he hadn't seen or heard the Dee-Dee that ran between here and town yet but if Eli was asking, then...

All right, so maybe he shouldn't feel so confident in himself just yet.

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

Harrison's letter was safely in her pack; he'd written out his parent's address and on the back of the envelope he'd even given her a crudely drawn map of how to get there from Lucien's town square.

It was going to be a really simple matter to find his family.

The bus had dropped her off at the stop just outside of Lucien's border; a group had gotten off with her and as they all filed through the little turnstile to get off the platform Lily tried to tamp down her irritation at being jostled by all the careless people around her.

And then finally she was out into the night, and free. No one in the near vicinity, and no one paying any attention to her when she passed.

There was a run down shed on the northern side of Lucien that held old, rusted gardening equipment. The padlock looked equally as rusted but she knew that was just for looks; her key turned soundlessly in it and, after making sure no one was around, she slipped inside and picked her way among the clutter until she came to an empty workbench with a heavy burlap rug pinned underneath the bench's front two legs. She flipped the rug aside to reveal a trap door and used a second key to open it before sliding down the ladder and into a cramped, barely lit tunnel that led to a considerably more comfortable room with padded chairs, a few bunk beds, and a tiny kitchenette.

Normally there would be three or four people here, waiting; tonight there was only one - a dark haired man, short and squat, with a ruddy complexion and face dotted with pimples and acne scars. He was listening to a small radio and when Lily stepped into the room he spun around with one hand going for a gun holstered at his side. When he finally registered who she was he visibly calmed, then an instant later growled at her angrily.

"What are YOU doing here? Captain Xan didn't-"

"Shut up," Lily snapped. She stomped in and yanked Harrison's letter out of her pack before letting the bag drop to the floor. "Through sheer dumb luck I stumbled on something that we can't pass up. Call him down here."

Grunting and puffing the fat man got up out of his chair and shoved passed her to go back up the tunnel she'd just come from. Lily yanked the envelope open, took the letter out and flattened it across a table, then carefully opened the envelope's seams so it too could lay flat.

She waited longer than she wanted to but soon the scarred man came back, huffing and puffing and with his face even redder with exertion; behind him trailed a rail-thin man with a shaved head, seven piercings in his left ear, and what could be mistaken for smile lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes. He was dressed in old, stained clothing, and had a heavy apron tossed over one arm -- it would seem Xan was still working his cover job as a butcher over on the southern side of Lucien's market district.

"What brings you back early, Lily?" Xan asked. His tone was smooth and calm but Lily could tell by the way his jaw bulged a bit that he was gritting his teeth -- she didn't know what he'd been told by the fat messenger but it was clear he was mad at her.

"An opportunity fell into my lap," she answered. With a light touch she turned the letter and envelope with its map around to face him, then pushed it across the table toward him. "There's a doctor in Portia, with a student who sounds just like him. And that machine we've heard of exists and does exactly as rumored - I have the manual to prove it. Doctor and student are roughly the same size and height as well."

Xan's face broke into a cold smile as he gingerly picked up the envelope and studied the map; that was one thing Lily liked about Xan -- he understood her ideas and plans without her having to painstakingly spell it out for him. "Have you acted on it?"

"Not yet. I think it best if we have some bargaining chips first. I've charmed the student so it won't be odd for me to be seen in and around the clinic -- and besides, the lock on their doors as well as on the doctor's desk are ridiculously easy to pick. We can take out the doctor and force the student to replace him once we have the appropriate motivation in place for the student."

Xan nodded slowly, tapping the edge of the envelope against his lower lip as he thought; it was several minutes before the man spoke again. "We'll prepare a place to hold everyone -- we will, after all, need ready access to the doctor so we can feed information to the student, so that the illusion holds. When will the All Source be moved into the clinic?"

"That I'm not sure. I found all the information about their plans to expand the clinic but construction hasn't started yet, nor was there any hint as to when it would."

"Wait until construction is under way, then you may act," Xan ordered. "I'll send Marcus and Evangeline to back you up directly, and will have others standing by to get the All Source secured and away when the time comes. Leave the hostages to us."

"What do you want me to do in the meantime? They know someone has been keeping an eye on the facility."

"Do whatever you have to to keep your current cover intact," Xan replied. "Is the suit secured?"

Lily jerked her head toward the pack on the floor. "I need a few replacement wires - one of the Flying Pig bitches shot me in the arm."

Xan turned around toward the ruddy-faced man. "Tell Steven we need the filament wires, immediately." When the man nodded Xan turned back to her. "You've done exceptionally well -- I'll make sure you get a bonus. Take some time, rest - actually visit your mother if you so choose. Leave the suit here for Steven though."

Lily nodded. "Understood. Is anyone staying here tonight?"

"Just Howie," Xan said, gesturing toward the fat man. "-who SHOULD have already left to fetch Steven, yet here we are."

At that Howie about fell over himself to scramble from the room again; Xan let out a short chuckle that trailed into a sigh.

Lily wrinkled her nose and picked up the letter, offering it to Xan who took it and carefully folded it with the envelope. "I will go home then. I'm in no mood to share a space with an ugly idiot."

"Fair enough. Tell your mother I said, thank you for the chamomile. It made a very pleasant tea."

"I will. You know where to find me."

Wordlessly Xan nodded and turned to leave; Lily gave him plenty of time to have disappeared into the night before she too left the underground hidey hole and headed out into the evening air. Steven had repaired the suit before so she wasn't concerned about leaving it behind.

She took her time walking home and stopped at the front gate to take a steadying breath and get her mind back into "happy go lucky airhead Lily" mode. It was so exhausting to keep up that facade but knew if she didn't play the right part then her mother would ask questions she'd rather not answer.

With an inner grimace but an outward smile Lily pushed the gate open; the front windows were open to let in the night breeze and the lights were still on. "Moooooom," she called out as she walked up the path toward the front porch. "I'm hooooooome!"

#Lost in Time #lit #Lost in Time - ch 16 #Arlo #Sam #Remington #Mali #Dr. Xu #Duvos #Lucien #My Time at Portia

3 notes · View notes

gummybuddha · 4 years

Text

Doom Eternal

I beat Doom Eternal within the first month it was out, so after reaching its glorious but predictable ending, I decided that I would marinate on the game before writing anything about it. I also decided to avoid another playthrough, even though the game is enjoyable enough to warrant one, especially to a higher difficulty where the game is sure to shine.

I wanted to cleanse my gamer pallet a bit, so I played some games in my backlog, letting my time with Doom Eternal sink in my subconscious. There it has stayed, untouched and without as much as a recollection other than to chuckle at the memes that have resulted from the game’s rather brief story moments.

This is my current relationship with Doom Eternal, it is something I experienced at one point that allows me to make inside jokes with other people, but for some reason, I don't feel any call to revisit the game, at least not until the story DLC comes out.

Multiplayer was fun, but it lost its luster real quick. Compared to the original Doom's cooperative multiplayer and Death Match modes, Battle Mode feels a little lacking, even for as good as it is. Which is a shame, because I could see Battlemode being really good, it's just something that needs a little community and dev support backing it to become something a little more lasting, and I am not sure if either faction is up for that.

Doom Eternal is a great game, but if I am comparing it to the sheer cultural force of what Doom 95 was, I quickly find that while Doom Eternal is a great tribute to the house that Carmack and Romero built, it feels like it's presenting an interpretation of what Doom was and can be while missing the core beats of why Doom 95 was such a juggernaut.

To me, Doom Eternal is the Triple-A conclusion of Brutal Doom, the mod most notoriously known for upping the gore level to an already bloody game, so this:

Becomes this:

Now I got nothing against Brutal Doom. I enjoy it, I enjoy the power fantasy it provides. Everything it does, it does on top of everything the original Doom presents. It leaves nothing on the floor, it adds to the notion of what Doom is. But Doom 2016 and Doom Eternal are both games that try to copy this and push it into the modern age with top of the art visuals and buttery smooth gameplay. What is presented is game development on the highest level, to deny the game at least that, would be a crime. It’s good. But it’s not Doom 95 good. Doom 2016 already hit the speed bump. As good as Snap Map is or was, it can’t hold a candle to the various map making programs that have held up some of the best work from the various map makers from the Doom community.

Having a community able to make content for a game that pushes it’s lifespan to two decades and a half, is no joking matter. It's the life blood of the Doom community and it’s the biggest element missing from the newest Doom Trilogy. That alone, is probably the sole reason that Doom Eternal and 2016 don’t stay in my mind for very long, the sheer adrenaline rush of both games means that no stone is unturned, so when you hit the end of the ride, there is no reason to go back unless you want the best challenge the games can offer in the hardest difficulty, after that, you have seen it all. Compare that the original Doom, and you quickly see how Doom 95 became a canvas for those eager to see how far they could push the earliest mapping tools. To this day, there is nothing that impresses me more than Doom maps.

You can show me all the fancy modern video game levels and I might pick a few of my favorites, but there is a reason this became a meme.

As well intentioned as it was, Snap Map felt like a slap in the face. For some reason the devs at Id thought the community would be happy with a Halo Forge equivalent map maker for Doom, without even bothering to consider that map making for the original doom was entirely built out of the community, it was never something offered from the original devs apart from Carmack giving his blessing for people to mess with the original code, probably the single greatest gift a creator can grant his fans. I played with Snap Map, but to me, it was not interesting, it offered little compared to the sheer amount of accomplishment I would gain in actually taking the time to learn how to map for the original Doom, so it’s no surprise that Snap Map is missing from Doom Eternal.

People have asked id about expanding on mapping and modding in general, and id’s official response thus far is that Doom Eternal would be too complicated to launch with mods, which to me, just sounds like such a bullshit response to the demand. Now I get that there may be some person reading this and thinking that holding a grudge against the modern Doom Trilogy (You know they are gonna do a third game...come on this is the game industry...) simply because it does not have a way to make maps and mods is silly and I get that. I also understand that using the tools to make a map for Doom 95 is way quicker than trying to do it for a game like Doom Eternal. But that does not mean people would not love to try, that there would not be some super dedicated members of the community that would not figure it out and make awesome stuff, or people forming super modding teams to create awesome projects because those people exist, and those are the people that should be encouraged to enter the game industry because those are gonna be the most talented people with the most passion, or at least that’s what I think anyway. Maybe that is my hidden gripe with Doom Eternal, it's a great game that shows the opulence of modern games, but also highlights everything the industry gave up to get here. The game pokes at my suspicion that there will be less people like John Carmack, and not more of them, and that games and how they are enjoyed will become more insular, and less about community.

#Doom #Doom Eternal #Doom 95 #id #software #doom 2016

23 notes · View notes

ftauriellas · 4 years

Text

chicago’s very own auriella yates has been spotted on madison avenue driving a porsche 718 spyder , welcome ! your resemblance to jasmine tookes is unreal . according to tmz , you just had your twenty - fifth birthday bash . your chance of surviving new york is uncertain because you’re guileful , but being unadulterated might help you . i think being a virgo explains that . three things that would paint a better picture of you would be the lingering scent of her perfume on crisp white sheets , the soft touch of short satin dresses against her thighs , and the soft glistening of diamonds during golden hour .

hi again , kitty gorls ! it’s jin showing up on your dash for the last time with my sweet peach miss auriella yates . she’s a rendition of a hailey b . chara that i have , so she’s quite the mess , but as lovable as ever ! as you’ve probably figured , i didn’t have much muse for guiliana anymore so i decided it was best to let her go and bring someone else ( also , i’m really sorry about not fulfilling that starter call . please don’t hate me 🥺 ) . my muse is soaring for auriella so be prepared for me to slide into your dm’s for plotting up a storm ! that being said , here’s another long one !

basic information .

FULL NAME : auriella kaia yates .

NICKNAME(S) : auri , mostly .

BIRTHDATE + AGE : september 9th , 1997 + 22 .

ZODIAC : virgo .

HOMETOWN : chicago , il .

GENDER : cis female .

NATIONALITY : american .

ETHNICITY : african american , brazilian , west indian , barbadian , and european .

HEIGHT : 5′5″ .

LABEL(S) : the harlequin , the trust fund baby , the vainglorious , the coquette , and the sovereign .

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION : biromantic .

SEXUAL ORIENTATION : bisexual .

LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN : english and learned basic french in high school .

OCCUPATION : socialite , makeup artist , and businesswoman .

POSITIVES : impulsive , alluring , unadulterated , facetious , and melodious .

NEGATIVES : complaintive , acquisitive , guileful , starry - eyed , and bellicose .

biography .

auriella yates is the sixth child of eight , born to simone and joshua yates in the windy city of chicago , illinois . she has three older brothers ( chance , charles , and clark ) , two older sisters ( adriana and amelia ) , and a younger brother and sister ( calvin and aurora ) . patrick and simone for some reason found joy in naming their sons with c names and their daughters with a names , but it works for them nonetheless . the family could afford such a grandiose lifestyle in chicago thanks to simone’s lifestyle and wellness brand called honey & lemon ( goop , who ? ) that has since expanded from a newsletter to e - commerce , pop - up shops , a magazine , and a podcast . patrick , on the other hands , is a famous vegetarian chef that has launched three cookbooks while also having his own cooking series on the food network along with a cookware partnership at target . together , they own a vegetarian restaurant in downtown chicago called lemongrass .

growing up , since auriella had so many siblings , she never had an uneventful day . their parents strongly believed in their children playing outside instead of being stuck in front of the television all day , so they often took advantage of their large backyard when they lived in the suburbs of chicago . they were the parents who let their rowdy bunch ruin their perfect grass because they wanted to play in the mud . their parents may have afforded them luxuries that others didn’t have and while their parents had been busy people , patrick and simone refused for their children to be raised by nannies . they were heavily involved with everything that their children did , ranging from their pre - school graduations to their high school proms .

auriella had always been a rather outgoing girl throughout high school , and she knew she was cute so she started an instagram page when she was about thirteen or so . originally , her pictures were just cringey dirty mirror pics and photos with her friends , but as she explored the app more and more , she discovered makeup and her love for it ! so , despite the terrible youtube - tutorial makeup that she tried to recreate , auriella never gave up on her ability to do better . as she moved through high school , her makeup skills got better and better , so once she graduated , auriella knew what she wanted to do in life !

she went on to attend make up first in chicago , and obtained certificates in basic makeup i + ii , media makeup , and media: runway , editorial , and fashion . once she was finished with her schooling , auriella went on to grow her brand and get her name out there . she used instagram a majority of the time , and thanks to that and word of mouth , she grew a significant following and went on to have a few celebrities under her belt . thanks to the help of her parents , auriella decided that she wanted to get into the makeup business entirely , and decided to stick her foot into makeup production .

the brand originally only focused on her favorite thing : eyeshadow palettes ! the palettes were originally rather small , consisting of four to six colors as they perfected the formula . she eventually began to receive rave reviews and decided that it was time to expand into everything else : mascaras , lip products , foundations , blushes , highlighters and everything else under the sun . from there , kaia beauty is now being sold in sephora , ulta , and on kaiabeauty.com ! she had the second largest foundation drop ( following fenty beauty because we stan miss rihanna in this house ) .

that being said , running her own business is one that auriella is still getting used to despite it being two years since the launch . she’s thankful for the expansion of her brand and she’s still working out of her townhouse because she hasn’t found the perfect space for a headquarters just yet ! it’s one of her biggest dreams at the moment and she wants to expand kaia beauty into skincare but the end of the year .

personality .

the label she mostly identifies with would definitely be the harlequin . she can be really loud and playful at times , and she can easily get called out for not taking things seriously .

at the same time , though , she can be pretty sexual in her speech . she has no problem with people looking at her differently for doing so . she really lets a lot of things roll off of her shoulders , but she’d be a liar if she said that some things didn’t get to her .

auriella can be really full of herself and simple compliments can typically leads to her going on and on about herself , so please feel free to shut her up at any given time ! much like anyone her age , she can be found prowling around on instagram or twitter and can never go shopping without taking at least three to seven mirror selfies .

headcanons .

she lives in a beautiful townhouse on west fourth street and she’s really proud to say it because she bought it with her own money ! she likes to be different so she really hates range rovers and instead drives an audi q5 ! sounds kinda dumb since she lives in nyc , but she likes it because it gives her freedom to go where she wants when she wants to .

she never leaves the house without a purse and never without a pair of earrings on ( she thinks she’s ugly without them ) . she’s obsessed with all things cartier and she loves to accessorize , but not to much . she keeps scrunchies in her purse at all times , so if you need one just ask !

when it comes to her style , i draw a lot of inspiration from instagram if i’m being honest . she wears a lot of denim shorts , oversized tees , cropped sweaters , bodysuits , chunky sneakers ... honestly , the whole nine yards . for some examples click x , x , x , x , x , and x .

she’s been vegetarian since she was a kid because that’s all her dad ever cooked ! sometimes the scent of meat makes her sick and sometimes she fakes it so people will leave her alone . she’s definitely the one who shows up to the function with her fake burgers , but you know she has a bottle of vodka along with it .

finds joy in doing the little things ? she’s not the greatest at art but really enjoys buying a canvas and trying her best to recreate or create something ! probably gets a lot of art ideas from tik tok ( those kids are seriously talented ) and really likes to do her makeup even when she has no place to go . she loves laying on her couch and doing nothing ( and sometimes she might be kinda naked when she does it ) .

secret .

okay so , auriella’s secret is that an ‘ anonymous ’ source leaked her nudes to the press , but her parents paid off publications from releasing them . that was mostly done because she was about 17 / 18 in those pictures but of course they’re not age on them so there’s that ! the source of course wasn’t that anonymous and it turned out to be an ex ( which is really gross so this won’t be a wanted connection ) , but she’s not ashamed of them by any means !

#wealthyhq:intro

13 notes · View notes