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ninzied · 7 years

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Where Hearts Touch [OQ]

The many ways that Robin said "I love you,” and one time that Regina finally said it back. Outlaw Bandit. Missing Year. Storybrooke. Dark OQ. [ffn | ao3]

My @lovefromoq fic for @dee-thequeenbee. Thank you @revolutionsoftheheart and @repellomuggletum15 for lending your brilliant brains. Thank you to @loveexpelrevolt, @idoltina, @sometimesangryblackwoman, and some lovely anons for their three word prompts that inspired some of these. And to @sometimesangryblackwoman for the title of this fic.

i. i loved you first (but)

They were not friends, she and that smug thorn-in-her-side, who never met a vault or a jewel he didn’t mistakenly take to be his. Friends didn’t steal, at least not from each other, and they certainly weren’t supposed to gloat about it either – much like the way that damn Robin of Locksley was always so helpfully pointing out how his wanted posters vastly outnumbered hers.

It seemed to be more than a habit for him, to find every way to get under her skin, but the day that she thought to return the favor did not go quite as planned – guards that neither of them had accounted for descending upon them from every direction – and as they scattered into the woods, Robin’s satchel came loose, spilling out dozens of sheets of (it couldn’t be) her. Wanted, for crimes against the Queen, and worth even more of a fortune alive.

It was the deepest form of treachery in her eyes, that he would have endeavored to hide this from her. But without so much as a sorry, Robin grabbed for his papers and then for her hand, tugging them hastily onward as he said into her ear, “Can’t get caught if they don’t have a face to your name.”

“And what about your stupid face?” Regina demanded, hating how uncertain she sounded even as her steps fell in perfect tandem with his – as though she would have followed him anywhere – but there was no time to think too hard on what this could mean.

Robin had caught an arm around her waist before she even realized what she’d tripped on, and at the sound of his whistle there came a cantering of hooves in response, his grip on her tightening as he prepared to hoist her upward. “They needed someone to chase after, didn’t they?”

They were not friends, exactly, never that, but this…this was something else, something she didn’t know how to even begin understanding, and as Robin settled one hand more firmly at her hip and reached for the reins with the other, there were no more questions, only the wind on her skin, pressing them close as they took off in pursuit of the sun.

…

“Are we there yet?” she heard a grumble come from behind her, in a voice that she couldn’t quite place – one of that thief’s many sidekicks, no doubt, given the obvious shortage on manners – and she was fully prepared not to bother with him when that voice carried on in an overloud whisper, “How do we know the Evil Queen’s not leading us straight into a trap?”

Regina didn’t quite catch what the thief had to say in response – Snow was endeavoring to catch her eye, offering one of those too-gentle smiles that was just as unwelcome to her at the moment – but the grouching ceased after that, and their company walked on in a cramped kind of silence while Regina did her best to not set anything on fire.

They were stopped at a stream, debating whether or not to camp there for the night, when they heard the first rumblings of thunder above them. That seemed to settle the issue, and as the thief’s men began hurriedly unpacking their tent sacks (Charming and Snow dashing off to gather wood before the whole forest got soaked), that same mouthy ingrate from earlier was overheard griping, “I thought she had magic. What, is she too good now to do something about this storm?”

Because Snow wasn’t looking, and because, well, why the hell not, Regina – with a grim satisfaction – waved her hand and a bubble spread out of the sky, enveloping their entire encampment. The raindrops bounced off of its surface with tiny pings save for one spot that her magic had just so happened to overlook, right above that ungrateful man’s head.

While he sputtered in protest, Regina swept away from the group and sat herself onto a log, glaring out at the forest and hardly bothering to care when the rain came down on her too. Behind her, she could hear a small child – the thief’s – dancing circles inside the orb she’d created, and her body felt impossibly heavy all of a sudden, moving away to find other shelter an insurmountable task.

All she’d wanted was a moment alone in her castle, where the grief she’d been carrying around would feel right at home again, but even this was apparently too much to ask.

It was then that she noticed the thief by her side – the Charmings would have sent him to fetch her, no doubt – and she was about to make him regret ever breathing when he shrugged out of his cloak, draping it around her shoulders before she could guess what he was up to. He lifted the hood over her head next, taking care to disturb not a hair, and then he stepped back as the rain splattered onto his clothes, already dripping down the sides of his face as he nodded to her.

“Your Majesty,” was all he said, his tone neither questioning nor expecting anything of her, simply letting her be as she stared after him, and this was nowhere close to the solace her castle would bring her but – she supposed – perhaps it could do for now.

…

She slept like the dead that night.

Zelena had given her a good tossing up and down Main Street, and Regina awoke well past the time she would have normally thought to set her alarm, blinking out the sun in her eyes for long minutes before realizing what had pulled her from sleep.

Someone was causing quite a stir in her yard – gleefully so, at the sound of it – and it should have concerned her, these mischievous noises (she glanced at her clock) before half the town had even woken. But there was something familiar in their strangeness, as though she’d heard them once in a dream…

Robin’s boy was galloping around and around her apple tree when Regina stepped onto her porch, his father already coaxing him back with a guilty expression as though he’d known they were about to get caught.

Roland had helped himself to an armful of apples, but at the gentle behest of his father was now obediently returning them one-by-one to the ground, and Regina hesitated a moment before quietly telling him, “I don’t mind.”

“I didn’t think you would,” Robin admitted, and she didn’t know whether to laugh or to scowl at him when he ruefully showed her the half-bitten core of an apple he’d been hiding down by his side. “Come along, my boy, we’ve bothered our good Mayor long enough – let’s not forget we’ve another tree that needs our protecting this morning.”

“That one doesn’t have any apples on it,” Roland remarked, just a bit sullen, and Robin looked back at Regina.

“No,” he agreed. “Something even more valuable, I daresay.”

After a nudge, Roland turned to wave a shy little goodbye to Regina, and as his father took his arm she caught a flash of something red in the boy’s other hand, a glint and then gone as it slipped out of sight into one of his pockets.

She could feel the weight of Robin’s dimples winking back in her direction as she bent down, busied herself with retrieving an apple (one that had not fallen far from the tree, it turned out), and smiled.

…

He could not seem to stop smirking at her, licking his lips as he reached over to refill her pint, and if not for the warmth in his gaze (fast-spreading elsewhere at that), she might have thought to teach this Robin of Locksley some manners as far as the Queen was concerned.

“What?” she asked him at last. The grin he gave her was positively boyish, disappearing behind his cup for a moment, though it did nothing to hide how his eyes kept crinkling at her. And it was so new to her, all of this, sharing a drink and stealing more glances at one another, that she could only sip on her ale and wonder at how very young he made her feel simply by looking in her direction.

She hadn’t come with a plan, apart from knowing this – them – and how they might fit together, and the night felt endless with the way he bit his lip, gazing at her like he’d been given a second chance at things too, and nothing would stop them, not even—

The tavern door was clacking shut, bringing in a fresh wave of noise, and a wobbly-drunk exclamation of “Bloody hell, is that – is that the Evil Queen?” that had Robin tensing, clenching his jaw as he turned toward the door.

“Robin,” she said, but he had already shoved his bench back, unsheathing a blade from his belt. He had the man flattened against the wall, choking around the dagger pressed flush to his throat, when she came up behind them and said, more sternly this time, “Robin.”

At least take it outside like civilized people, is what she’d meant to continue with, but when he craned back she thought maybe he’d mistakenly seen the Regina in her for a moment, and with a greatly strained effort he released the man, letting him crumple with a cough to the floor.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Robin asked her, but there was something guarded in his expression now, refusing to abate even as she took his arm and looked expectantly at the door in answer.

“Look,” he started once they were in the alleyway, “I wouldn’t have killed him, if that’s what you’re—”

“You couldn’t have made him bleed just a little?” she asked him with the slightest pout, and he slackened his jaw at her, his gaze darkening in the most delicious of ways.

“My apologies, I had assumed—” but she never allowed him to finish, fisting her hands into his shirt and pulling him down to her. Their lips found each other’s as though this was not the first time they’d done this, but there was also a carefulness she hadn’t expected from him, a gentle holding back until she opened her mouth to welcome him in, and every hesitation fell away as he drew her up in his arms, tongue sliding heatedly over hers with a half-strangled sound in his throat.

“That’s the one,” he husked as they parted, and she couldn’t know what he meant by this – by the something like relief she thought she might have heard for a second – but she did know her answer when he twined their hands together, nudged his forehead into hers and whispered, “Are you ready?”

…

ii. afterwards your love outsoaring mine

It was, without a doubt, one of their more ill-advised ventures to date, but Will Scarlet had sworn by his “sources,” and gods forbid Robin not give the boy a chance – which was why Regina vowed to put an end to this man once and for all, after she got them out of this mess that he’d sanctioned.

“Your source didn’t think to mention the fact that we were stealing from a dragon?” Robin was shouting irritably at Will, who did not have the opportunity to defend himself before another burst of flames had incinerated the tapestries they’d briefly crouched by for shelter.

A deafening roar shook the castle apart, from floor to ceiling to the very air they breathed in, and they scattered in every direction for cover. Regina ducked beside a wardrobe, scanning the state of the room, when suddenly Robin was tackling her sideways, knocking the both of them over.

“Do you mind?” she grit out, shoving him off of her, just as a mound of rubble came showering down on the ground where she’d been standing not seconds before. The wardrobe teetered and then, with a loud creaking groan, toppled onto the wreckage and splintered apart.

“Come on,” Robin gasped through the cloud of debris, hauling her up by the hand, and she wondered, not for the first time (not that she’d ever admit it), if she would only ever allow him to reach for her like this when there was something to run from involved.

The running did not stop until they were well under cover of the trees. Regina could still feel the whoosh of the dragon circling them overhead, but she did not seem keen on burning down a whole forest in pursuit of a few pesky humans, snorting her displeasure after a moment and drawing back with a flap of her great, scaly wings.

Once the air had settled, Regina turned on Robin with all the fire-breathing might of her own (this was entirely his fault, after all), ready to tear him in two with some choice words she would try not to regret too much later. But the look on his face caught her off guard, and she forgot her own voice as he lifted his hand and carefully swiped a thumb across her cheek, brushing away the soot there.

“You look terrible,” he remarked, dropping his hand back down. “We ought to get you cleaned up. Shall we stop by Granny’s on our way back to camp?” He was sauntering off before she could gather back the breath to destroy him, and oh how she would enjoy the moment when she brought this man to his knees at last.

…

She was going to kill him. That is, if her sister’s winged monkeys didn’t get to him first.

“It was my turn to stand watch,” seethed Regina, glaring down at the grounds as a distinctly Robin-shaped figure patrolled around with one of his men. “I specifically told him—”

“Isn’t it always your turn?” asked Snow as she came pattering into the room, a tray of tea balanced over her belly, and Regina, greatly in need of an audience for all her indignation, whirled on her next.

“Don’t tell me you trust our neanderthal guests to keep this castle safe at night. If you can even call them a step above those primates – at least they know how to fly.”

But Snow refused to engage her, pouring out two porcelain cups and passing one over to Regina. “Here. Drink this.”

Regina drank, steaming all the while, and then she marched with purpose toward the doorway, announcing that she would simply have to call the thief in for questioning just as he was rounding the corner himself.

His sudden appearance startled her so thoroughly that she spilled the rest of her tea onto him, too stunned to resist when he collected the cup from her hands and set it down onto a table. “You summoned for me?” he asked, tone wry.

Unbelievable, this man. “If you’re here,” and she jabbed an accusing finger into his chest, “then who’s out there—” she gestured dramatically back at the window she’d been lurking by earlier “—keeping watch?”

“I was getting Little John situated,” he explained to her patiently, head at a curious tilt as he eyed her more carefully than before. “And then I thought I’d come talk you down from whatever violent end you must have already planned for the both of us.”

“Like you know me so well,” Regina snarled at him, but it came out a bit slurred, and then, to her absolute horror, she seemed to lose control of her feet, stumbling most unwillingly forward as Robin’s arms closed on instinct around her.

Through the edges of her blackening vision Regina could just make out the way he glanced at the tea cup, then back at her before rounding on Snow. “What have you done?” he demanded, voice heating.

That traitor, thought Regina vaguely. Well, she supposed she would have to kill her too, once she…after…

“We talked about this,” Robin was near to growling now, the words a rumbling hum in his chest, and Regina tried to get closer, feeling his hands shift, steadying, all over her back in response. “I recall saying under no circumstances—”

“She wasn’t going to give in,” Snow shot back. “You and I both know that. She needed this, Robin.”

He shook his head, and Regina thought she might have imagined the way his cheek pressed into her hair for a moment. “Not like this.”

She noticed the floor lifting away from her feet, everything turning sideways for what might have been five seconds or five hundred of them – but then they swayed to a stop and all of his warmth was leaving her as some cushiony something grounded her body instead, and she frowned, reaching for him—

“Robin?”

“Get some rest, darling.” She felt the words more than she heard them, caressing gently over her temple, and her eyes closed before she could ask him to stay.

…

“Can they spend the night, Mom? Pleeeease?”

Three sets of eyes were suddenly on her, and she looked between them all with open disbelief. “You just met,” she reminded her son. “Today, as a matter of fact.”

Henry grinned and shrugged and returned, “I know,” looking down as Roland gave an urgent tug on his coat sleeve. The boy gestured pointedly toward the duck pond, where all the ducks were evidently not going to be feeding themselves, and Henry nodded understandingly to him. “Doesn’t really feel like it though.”

“I think I know that feeling myself,” said Robin, idly scratching a thumb over his upper lip and glancing sidelong in Regina’s direction. She found she had to look away for a moment, a smile trying very hard to break though as she tucked back a strand of hair by her ear.

“Mom, please.” The look Henry gave her was heartbreakingly earnest, and she could not forget that she’d just gotten him back for a price, standing aside while he said goodbye to a father who’d barely been more than a stranger to him.

“Well,” Regina said, “I suppose one night would be fine, so we can all get to know one another. But there will be some ground rules—“ which nobody would have heard anyway, because Henry and Roland were already taking off with a heel of bread split between them, laughing giddily all the way.

A rush of warmth spilled into her chest, and it didn’t help matters when Robin drew closer, every memory of the year – of the man – she’d been missing finally settling back into place when she’d never have guessed her heart could fill up this way.

“Hi,” he said, those dimples of his winking most boldly at her, and shouldn’t a year of him doing this have made her more immune to it, somehow?

“Hi yourself.”

He reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together. “I told you we’d see each other again.”

“That’s…not exactly how I remember it,” she said, gently teasing, but something like shyness held her back from anything more than that with him, for now.

“We’ll need snacks,” Henry was saying wisely as they brushed off the last of their breadcrumbs, with Roland gazing up at him all the while, rapt and unblinking. “Lots of snacks. I’m thinking chips, and cookies, and – hmm, I wonder what else you didn’t have in the Enchanted Forest.”

“Allow me to supervise the preparations,” Robin murmured into Regina’s ear when he caught her making a strained little grimace. He pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead before jogging up to the boys – it was probably ridiculous of her, to feel like she’d misplaced something when her hand slipped out of his – and she watched the three of them go, and thought perhaps she could use some time alone anyway, almost dreading the moment she let herself get used to all this.

She was readying the guest room, wondering as absentmindedly as she could whether she should make up the bed for one or for two, when the front door opened again, filling her mansion with an unfamiliar abundance of sounds – of two boys and a father, Robin’s voice booming over them both to unpack their loot in the kitchen.

It was an impressive array of the worst kinds of food, all of them beaming when she mentioned as much, until she spied a box of doughnuts shoved innocuously off to one corner.

“Isn’t that place closed on Sundays?” Regina asked in a very dry tone, raising a brow when Henry hastily pocketed a piece of thin silver metal and side-eyed Robin for help.

“Is it?” asked Robin maddeningly, and yes, thought Regina, it looked like someone would be sleeping in the guest bedroom after all.

…

It was not an easy adjustment, moving Robin of Locksley into the castle with her. Her other Robin (not that she’d let herself see him as hers at the time) had settled right in like he’d always belonged there, so easy and gentle and unnervingly steady with her. This darker-edged version of him, however, could not seem to get comfortable.

There was no shortage of space for him to explore, but all of it closed in with dimness and walls that reached for unreachable ceilings, and he would restlessly prowl every corner and crevice as though she had trapped him there somehow, lured him in and then locked out the sun for good measure.

After years of stowing himself in wide, open barns and languoring out in the countryside, Robin could not abide by the stale air of her castle, nor the excess of a lifestyle he had never desired – clothes too stiff to move in, bathing routines when the nearest stream would have suited him perfectly fine – and her bed, it would seem, was the biggest offender of all.

He would take her there, every night, pinning her down to the mattress with his kisses and his cock buried deep inside of her, murmuring things that would make even her blush to repeat them away from this bed that they shared – that they could have shared, anyway.

He would take her there, but after several sleepless nights of him sighing and tossing about – he found it unbearably soft, he told her, too much give in its plushness for his liking – he took to leaving her instead, seeking out firmer ground in places where she did not feel able to follow.

He would greet her with a kiss in the morning at breakfast, hot and tongue-filled over the curve of her throat, looking much better rested than she herself felt, and it would take more time than she wanted to warm back up to him.

She fell into a fit of sleep one night, unable to stand it any longer, resolving to explode at him if he tried to kiss her again the next day – but when she awoke, shifting around to glare at the sunrise, she found a different kind of warmth draped over her, firmly spread across her back and pressing open-mouthed over her shoulder.

“You’re here.” She hadn’t meant for it to sound like a question.

“Nowhere else I’d rather be,” said Robin, voice still rough from his slumber, “I never should have let you doubt it,” and as he nuzzled further into her with a groan of content, she supposed – just this once – that staying angry with him would have to wait until later.

…

iii. sang such a loftier song

She rose before dawn, feeling around in the dark for her things. She’d packed light; she didn’t have much to her name as it was, and everything that was valuable to her could not, under any circumstances, come with her.

The rest of the forest still had not stirred – she could make out the faint whistling sounds of Little John snoring, of Will Scarlet mumbling things in his sleep – and she made it to the edge of their encampment before noticing the lone silhouette that had waited up for her there.

Robin cleared his throat, crossing his arms and leaning his weight into a nearby birch. “Going somewhere?”

It’s been cute, watching the two of you play house in the woods. In fact, it might just make me sick – wouldn’t you agree, James?

Regina shrugged, turning on him with an eye-rolling boredom. “Look, we’ve had fun working together. But this was never supposed to be a permanent thing, and I think it’s time for me to move on.”

You didn’t think he could actually love you back, did you? Oh, that’s so…sad.

“Is that all this was to you? ‘Fun’?” Robin moved forward, but something in her gaze must have stopped him, a sharpness there that she so desperately needed him to feel – if he tried to reach for her now, she thought, then she might never know how to leave.

“You’re right,” she said. “Sometimes it wasn’t even that.”

“The Queen is still out there,” he argued quietly, ignoring her dig. “You know she won’t stop until she’s seen you dead, or worse.”

Why don’t you let me put you out of your misery, Regina? You look like you could use the rest.

“I’m well aware of the price on my head, no thanks to you.” She pulled a crumpled bit of parchment from her satchel and tossed it over – one of his own wanted posters smirking up at him as he unfolded the corners, his face now sporting devil horns with a mockingly scribbled-in PRICELESS over the original bounty.

Robin stared at it for a moment before meeting her eye, looking for the first time like she may very well be a stranger to him if this had been but a game to her all along.

Let me know if you’re interested in what I have to offer, Regina. Of course, I would hate to see anything happen to the people you care about before you’ve had a chance to make up your mind.

Robin shook his head, brows knitting together. “My men can protect you,” he tried one last time. “I can protect you.”

“I appreciate the concern,” drawled Regina, “but I’d been doing just fine on my own before you came along. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” She shouldered her way past him, half of her burning and the other half falling apart when he made no move to stop her from going. “I have an old friend to see, and I’d prefer not to keep her waiting.”

“Regina, I—”

“See you around, Robin.” She’d never been one for goodbyes, and this was the last she ever wanted with him, so she didn’t look back, knowing what he would see on her face and fearing the worst if she gave him a reason to hope.

(She should have known better.)

…

She hadn’t expected him to follow her, which was her first mistake. Her second was that she let him.

“Is it true?” Robin asked, and she slowed her steps, looking tiredly back in his direction. “That the curse will take away our memories of this place?”

“My dear sister’s parting gift to us.” Regina gave him a flat smile as he came to a stop in front of her, his own expression strangely unreadable. “I’d say you can thank her for it later, but. Well.” Her gaze drifted pointedly out a thin sliver of window, where storm clouds had gathered in the near-distant horizon.

Robin’s eyes were steady on hers, and she found herself drawn back to them, all that deep, open blue bringing time to a standstill when he asked her next, “Will I see you again?”

Of all the possible ways that this miserable curse could unfold, the thought of Robin somehow not coming with them had never occurred to her. She swallowed past a sudden pounding in her throat, unable to find her voice for a moment.

She finally managed a scoff, shook her head as he took a step closer. “You wouldn’t even remember me.” There was a traitorous hitch at the end when she blinked and found him standing over her, in all of his warmth and all of that sunlight she could practically feel on his skin.

He took her face in his hands, and she reached to grasp around his wrists – not to push him away like she’d originally planned, when it was so difficult to convince herself she didn’t want this, to be held by this man and not have the chance to regret it all later.

He brushed his thumbs across her cheekbones. “I could never forget you, Regina.”

His lips were on hers the next instant, bruising and desperate where he had always been patient in keeping his distance from her, and this was – she shouldn’t be – but they were running out of time and she knew nothing else in that moment. She stretched to her full height, body flush against his, and he moved his arms around to hold them together, hands tangling into her hair. He slanted their mouths at an angle, seeking her tongue out with his, the kiss deepening to something exquisite that threatened to lift her away.

She took his lower lip between her teeth, wanting to punish him, half-furious that he would give her this and then take it away in the same breath. His answering groan shot heat through her belly, and they separated for a brief, delirious moment, everything too much and not enough all at once.

Robin cupped a hand around the side of her neck, pressing their foreheads together as their breathing evened to something not quite so shallow, and in that space Regina’s senses finally returned to her. “You should get back to Roland.”

He nudged a kiss to her brow. “Come with me.”

“I can’t,” she whispered, eyes closing again for one helpless second as she committed the feel of his lips to memory, and then her palms slid over his chest, applying the gentlest pressure until he sighed and let her go.

The curse cloud was advancing, a roil of thunder and a jagged flash of violet light that put a more urgent spring in Robin’s steps as he threw her one final glance. There was something in his eyes – something breathless and infinite that she would never know how to say back to him – and she turned away before anything else could take the memory of that from her, too.

…

In the days that followed, she couldn’t be sure who she was anymore. She threw everything she had into her work, into Henry, in an attempt to remind herself; but all she could think about were the things that Robin used to call her – “Milady” to show her he meant it, “Your Majesty” just to watch her bristle at his tone – and how she would never be that person again, not even “Regina” the way he liked to say it when they were alone and couldn’t keep their hands off of one another.

All she could find of herself now was “Regina” the way he’d said it before letting her go, both of them breaking but resolved that they could only ever be apart – but it was fine, she would be fine, if it hadn’t been for the fact that she’d ripped up page twenty-three.

More than knowing it was the only thing she had left of him, she was ashamed to think about how it would have hurt him to see her destroy it, and so every day she returned to that place, searching for the pieces she’d scattered. It came back together section by section, until his face was all that was missing, leaning in to kiss her outside of that tavern.

Regina tore up the forest looking for it, finally resorting to magic, before she was forced to entertain the horrible notion that it had blown across the townline and she’d truly never see him again. Still she returned, at least once a day even though it was now beyond foolish to hope, telling herself she was getting ready to say goodbye.

They must have been just missing each other – their timing had never been great, after all – but then, as Regina was walking down that abandoned road, exactly as she’d been doing for weeks, she looked up and—

She couldn’t move for a moment. “Robin?”

He was there, crouched on the other side of the line, one hand anchored to the ground as he swept his gaze over the road, searching and searching for her, a little piece of her shrinking each time their eyes would have met but couldn’t.

He stared hard at the ground after some time, shoulders finally sagging in a way that made her think this wasn’t the first time he’d done this, the first time he’d been here since she watched him walk away from her.

She couldn’t move, and then she couldn’t stop running, and he couldn’t have heard her but perhaps he felt the air change, or caught a hint of her perfume, because he was scrabbling onto his feet as she ran to him, his face transformed with a smile.

She stopped when she could go no further, and then she saw what was in his hand.

Shaking, she reached for the final piece of their page, held halfway out across the town line between them, and she felt the gentle pull of him grasping onto the other side as she trailed her fingers over his face, his jawline. There were faint indentations in the paper, she noticed; Robin had scrawled something onto the back, and he let go for a moment when she turned it over for a better look.

You dropped this.

Everything blurred, and Regina swallowed back a wet-sounding chuckle, waving her hand over the page. Keep it. Something to remember us by.

She nudged it forward, and he traced out the much tidier script of her message, something wistful in his expression. No devil horns this time, she wanted to tell him, longing for that fairy tale ending in a world that had never been theirs.

Robin retrieved a pen from his pocket, angling it down toward the page. She couldn’t read him quite as well now, his smile losing its brilliance as he scribbled a note in return, and when he looked back up at her – through her, it seemed – she realized she’d been steeling herself, waiting for all of this dreaming to come to an end.

She took the page from him, and Robin attempted another smile for her, but it didn’t quite touch his eyes this time, the light in them dimming as she forced herself to look down.

I could never forget.

He half-raised his arm as if he could reach out and hold her again, his smile soft and warm and almost unbearable to her, to see what little good it would do either of them—

And then Robin took a careful step back, another world of distance now stretched out between them, and this was no place for something like hope, when the only thing left to say was goodbye.

…

“Gods, I missed you.”

He had her pinned to the wall with the front of his body pressed along her back, shuddering into her each time she rolled her hips against the length of his cock just so, and she supposed she couldn’t argue with him, but, well, where was the fun in that?

“You were not even gone a day,” she pointed out, indulging in a secret smile when his hands groped just a bit rougher around her hips, exactly like she’d known they would. They mapped out a bruising path up her ribcage to grab palmfuls of her breasts, kneading them through her corset before hooking a finger into the fabric and yanking down, hard.

“We’ve quite a bit of lost time to make up for, then, haven’t we?” He spun her around, seizing her up with his arms gripped beneath her ass for support. She thought dizzily of another time, another vault, another Robin, as he closed his mouth over one of her breasts, gems still spilling from the broken threads of her corset and plinking all over the floor.

He set her down by her wall of beating hearts, tongue trailing up her chest toward her collarbone, the curve of her throat, and there was a pleasant hum of sensation all around her, the hearts at her back and Robin – mm – murmuring hoarse promises of things in her ear while she shivered. She grasped blindly at his hair, his tunic, tugging it impatiently over his head as he slipped a hand beneath her skirts and sought out the warmth between her thighs.

He slid two fingers into her, adding a third when he found her so very wet for him, his thumb rubbing deep circles into her clit. Everything went blissfully dark for a moment, and she dragged their mouths together, their kisses breaking with sharp, moaning gasps and a groan – ”Fuck, Regina” – as she reached down and took him into her hand.

He hiked her up by the knee, dropping his forehead into the crook of her neck and sucking open-mouthed kisses up toward her jaw as she freed his cock from his trousers. She angled the tip between her folds, sliding back and forth to coat him with her as he uttered another emphatic “Fuck” in her ear.

His lips found their way to hers again, hovering together in a not-quite-kiss, their breaths hitching as he sank into her inch by spine-arching inch. They held still as he filled her, thick and hard and God, so good, and then he was pulling out and thrusting back in, building a rhythm, fucking her into the wall until she had the delirious notion that all those hearts might somehow roll away.

They collapsed in a breathless heat, all tangled limbs and half-dazed kisses that lingered, and then Robin was tugging her back and setting his mouth on her, licking and sucking and pressing into her with his tongue until she moaned his name again, trembling everywhere and pushing him off of her before it all became too much.

He had her spooned, tracing lazy circles around her belly button – still slick with their sweat – when he mentioned, almost offhandedly, “The Merry Men have agreed to officiate for us, by the way.”

She Oh?ed in mild interest as she stretched away from him.

“John has even recommended a ring bearer.”

She wanted to smile as a little boy of about six and a half now darted across her mind, the green cape he was about to outgrow getting caught in the wind behind him.

Robin’s voice was terribly careful as he went on, “There’s just that minor detail where you’ve yet to give me your answer.”

She tensed before she could help herself, half-turning toward him again without quite meeting his eye. “I thought I told you how I feel about…making a spectacle of what we have together.”

“And I thought I made it clear how I feel about you.”

She sat up, and he followed suit, warming her back and then wrapping her up from behind when she crossed her arms in front of her, though it was not the cold she was concerned with at the moment.

Robin nosed a kiss to her hair, reassuring, “There’s nothing coming after us anymore, Regina,” but what was the worst he had known when so much had already come before them? Certainly not the cruelty of Mother, or a sister she wished she didn’t have the heart to forgive, demons brought out of hell and gods who—

It was better this way, not to tempt fate by flaunting her happiness, and if they couldn’t see eye to eye on this matter, then, it wasn’t like he had a choice anyway, he…

“Robin?” He must have felt her resisting, and she recoiled in surprise when he shifted away from her, resignedly gathering his clothes and shrugging back into his trousers.

“Here, put this on.” His tone had gone strangely muted, like his thoughts had taken him elsewhere, and he didn’t wait for her to finish dressing before he rose to his knees, leaving her to stare up at him with his tunic still bunched to her chest.

He was the one who couldn’t look her in the eye this time, wavering in place for a painful half-second before bending down to kiss her forehead. “Let me know when you’re ready, darling,” he murmured, and then he was gone, and she wondered, as all those hearts beat on around her, whether hers had ever learned a damn thing.

…

iv. you loved me for what might or might not be

Everything ached when Regina opened her eyes, like her body could not be convinced it belonged to her, and she didn’t understand what was happening at first. Shadows bent and bent some more across her vision, and as she blinked to adjust, she remembered. The Queen. The apple. The sleep she had chosen in exchange for Robin’s life.

Nothing cooperated with her when she tried to move, a heaviness that she couldn’t quite place settled over her body, and when she looked up, she thought she had imagined him there.

Robin was turned away from her, his face pressed into her side, one arm draped over her middle where her arms had been folded together. He seemed solid enough, but there was no explanation she could think of to make sense of him actually being here, and if this wasn’t real then she couldn’t see what would stop her from reaching for him.

She touched a finger to his hair, as gently as she could bear it – he certainly felt real, the way he shifted toward her in answer, lifting his gaze in a dazed kind of shock – and when a slow, disbelieving smile lit up his entire face, it was as though she had finally woken up after being away from the sun for too long.

“Regina?” He leaned over her, arms strong and steady at her back as he helped her sit up, and then he was grasping her face in his hands and pressing their foreheads together, letting out a shuddering breath as he did. He gasped out a laugh when she curled her fingers around his wrists, and he seemed to realize, just as she did in that moment, that she was every bit as real to him too.

He was peppering her with kisses now, everywhere he could reach, swift, fervent things that showed his relief as much as his desperation, like she might disappear again if he stopped. Regina closed her eyes, feeling him work his way from her brow down the side of her jaw, across her cheek before lingering over her mouth.

“What are you doing here?” she breathed.

Robin nudged the tip of his nose into hers. “I had something I needed to tell you.”

He’d been on the ground beside her – it seemed that she’d found a way to bring him to his knees after all – but as he spoke he moved an arm beneath her thighs, gathering her up to him in one nimble motion.

“I love you,” he said, as he lifted her out of her hollow tree prison, “and no, I’m afraid you cannot stop me.”

Regina wobbled onto her feet when he set her back down, feeling more than lightheaded from the way he was gazing at her, and falling, she thought – swaying onto her toes as he held her more firmly against him – well, he had caught her at least once already, and not falling for him would never really be an option for her.

“I guess I should probably stop trying then,” she told him, and it was worth it for his smile alone.

“I’d say so,” Robin agreed, very serious, but she didn’t have a chance to scowl at him before he was capturing her lips with his, half-bending her over when she arched into him with a sigh. Their tongues met and held together, his mouth moving over hers with a heat that curled up her spine, her whole body stretching to get closer to him.

His hand knotted into her hair, cupping around the back of her neck and angling her sideways to deepen the kiss. He made a hoarse sound that she felt all the way to her toes, burning her everywhere, and when they parted to catch their breath – lips still brushing over one another’s, not yet willing to pull entirely away – she knew she could never settle for anything less than this now.

“We can’t stay here,” she insisted to him quietly, gazing around them while Robin nuzzled another kiss to her temple. “When the Queen realizes what you’ve done—” there was a mischievous crinkling around his eyes at that, and this time Regina managed to glare at least halfway effectively at him “—she’ll come after us both, and then – what?”

“You said ‘us,’” he pointed out, everything about him now winking, down to the very tone of his voice, but at the exasperated look that she gave him he wasted not a moment more, letting out a low whistle toward the treeline ahead.

“Ready for another adventure?” Robin held out his hand to her, and she smiled.

“Always.”

…

v. nay, both have the strength (of the love which makes us one)

She couldn’t sleep.

It should have come easier, considering how tired (so tired) she was. She’d spent more than her share of these lifetimes in some not-quite-awake state of being – missing memories, missing time itself and then somehow condemned to repeat it, like that very same tree coffin she’d once used on Snow, the irony of which would not strike her until later. All those years, and all their curses, always leading one way to take Robin further and further away from her.

In the first days of his absence, she realized she had never slept so well as when she had him beside her, wrapping her up in his warmth and lulling her under before she could even know otherwise. Waging their own private war over who could be up by first light – no contest, for a man who’d been raised by the forest – and every morning would find those twinkling blue eyes smiling down at her while she blinked and blinked, always marveling at where all that light in him came from.

Always, she’d told him, once upon a time.

The moon was tucked away behind clouds when she padded her way outside, hugging her arms together to keep the breeze at bay. She should have thrown on another layer, she thought, but her senses welcomed the cold, coming alive in a way that felt like an act of defiance with all this blank, dark nothing that surrounded her.

She walked on, hardly aware of what drew her forward, until she saw him there, waiting.

He leaned his back into her tree when she approached, his gaze warming as he took in the sight of her. She shyly tucked the ends of his tunic over her knees before reaching to fiddle with the hair by her ear, something she’d never grow out of with him.

Robin smiled crookedly at her. “Looks good on you.”

“There’s someone I know who wears it better,” she shrugged, and he tugged his lower lip between his teeth in answer.

“I suppose I can’t argue with you on that one.”

“I wouldn’t try if I were you,” she told him, a teasing echo of every uncivil thing she’d ever thrown in his direction – so long ago now, it seemed – and for a moment she wanted to lose herself in this memory of them, to run hand-in-hand for the horizon with him until reality couldn’t catch up anymore.

“I miss you,” she said, but still those other words wouldn’t come out.

“And I you.”

But she shook her head like he didn’t understand what she’d meant, trying again, “Robin, I—”

“I know,” he broke in gently, shifting away from her tree and coming to stand just in front of her. His hand reached for hers, glowing a faint blue and passing right through her when he tried to make contact. “I never needed to hear it, Regina. Please know that.”

She nodded, eyes burning, and she hated that she had to look away from him to blink out that awful sensation, but Robin only stepped closer, ghosting a kiss over her lashes. When she closed her eyes she could almost feel him again, there with her, taking her hand as he talked about futures and page twenty-threes.

“Rest now,” he whispered. “I think you already have your answer.”

She woke before daybreak, moving instinctively toward the other side of her bed. It was chilled to the touch, the sheets pristine, the pillows with hardly a wrinkle, and she almost hated them for it. Why had it ever mattered at all to her whether they slept on a bed or stooped like vagrants out in the damn woods, so long as he knew – he had to know, she had to tell him—

She didn’t bother searching her castle – every room told the same vacant story of a place that had never seen the sun, he had never truly belonged here – and she didn’t bother with shoes when she blasted the front doors apart.

The stables were a hillock away, and she took off in a run, the momentum nearly tumbling her down faster than her strides could sustain. When she arrived she found herself breathless for entirely new reasons, unable to bear the thought that he might have already left her.

She heard a soft slumbering sound in the corner, and it took the last of her strength not to simply crumple on top of him. He startled half-awake when she brushed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, making a questioning noise before turning to meet her.

“Hi,” she said, touching a hand to his jawline and kissing him again.

“Hi yourself,” he returned, maneuvering back up against the hay, folding his arms around her as she scooted closer. “Did you really walk all that way here wearing this?” He plucked at the edges of his tunic, rucked up about thigh-high on her now.

“I had something urgent to discuss with you, and it really couldn’t wait.”

“Oh?” He gave the ends of her hair a playful tug, working his fingers through the knots that her trek through the wind had just made. “You look terrible, by the way.”

She caught his hand with hers, meaning to deter him, but he only raised them to his mouth instead, planting a kiss to her knuckles. Those dimples peeked out at her, and she touched her fingers to them, feeling inexplicably shy when he pressed another kiss to the inside of her palm.

“It’s all right,” he told her. “I have a feeling I already know.”

She made a sound of protest as he scooped her into his lap, winding her arms around his neck to steady herself as she looked down her nose at him and said, very stiffly, “I doubt that.”

Robin leaned them further back into the haystacks, mmming in a politely interested fashion, and she toyed with the back of his collar, making rigid squares of her shoulders and pursing her lips disdainfully together before realizing that she was stalling.

He cleared his throat after a moment, settling in with a comfortable groan and acting for all the world as though he intended to doze off right there, in the middle of her very important confession. Well, perhaps he just wouldn’t get to hear it, if he was determined to be this uncooperative. No skin off her back, she—

“For the record,” he murmured, eyes already closing, “I love you too, Regina.”

She froze, wondering, but he seemed to be giving her space, patiently stroking his hands up and down her back until she relaxed into him with a shaken but satisfied sigh. It felt right, more right than she would ever believe herself ready for (always), but this man was her future, and theirs a new story, and this time – this time – there was only the hope of forever ahead.

subtitles adapted from christina rossetti’s “i loved you first: but afterwards your love”

#outlaw queen #oq ff #oq fic #outlaw bandit #bandit oq #missing year #dark oq #regal believer #dimples queen #my scribbles

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endless-vall · 6 years

Text

I’ve kept my promise - Val x Claudius fanfic

Summary: Amidst the celebrations and the upcoming wedding of Kenna and Raydan, Val and Claudius reunite.

Author’s note: I haven’t written for this couple in forever, but they’re still one of my very favorite.

Following “If we stay alive long enough” & Inspired by this drawing of mine from awhile ago.

After the war was declared finally over, and Kenna had defeated Empress Azura, everyone hurried to her side. Val, too.

But as she congratulated Kenna on her victory and urged her to go rest, Val’s eyes were distracted, already searching the crowd for a different person.

She wasn’t exactly doing this intentionally, rather than her body acting before her mind could grasp the idea.

Finally, between a group of fellow Fydorian soldiers as he himself was, she saw him.

Claudius.

An audible sigh of relief escaped her mouth, as she moved along, letting Kenna retreat to her chambers and eyes kept fixated on the Fydorian captain.

Claudius was definitely looking at her as well, his helmet in one hand and the other covering his chest, as if he was holding onto a wound.

A brief moment of concern passed through Val’s mind, but if he was well enough to stand, and walk towards her direction... Then he was probably going to make it.

She grinned at him as he approached her, and he tried bowing before her before shrieking in pain, holding to his - now obvious - wound. “Don’t do that,” Val scolded at him, placing a comforting hand over his shoulder.

She eyed him worriedly again. “In fact, you don’t have to bow for me, at all.” She added.

Claudius had a sly smile on his face, even though his eyes confessed before her that he was still in pain and tremendous exhaustion. “Sure.” He said,

making it obvious he wasn’t going to listen to her, and obey her request.

“At least until you’re healed?” Val tried, taking her walls down and suggesting a truce.

“Very well.” This is a suggestion he was willing to take.

They shared another meaningful smile, before Val pulled Claudius by his hand and motioned him to follow her. “Come on,” She said. “Let’s get you to the healer.”

She dropped him off at the doctor’s office, making sure the healer got to him.

Claudius came a long way since she first met him, and now acted more humbly.

He insisted the healers tended to other wounded before they got to him, and Val stayed and eyed them until they cared for his wound anyway.

The look in her eyes struck more fear in them than Claudius stubbornness did.

After making sure he was alright, she retired to her chambers as well, getting a much needed rest.

She’s positive she slept for the entire day, until she heard a knock over her door, of some servant announcing a grand celebration happening outside, to celebrate their victory and the Queen of Stormholt.

Val groaned in her bed, annoyed at being woken up, but thanked the servant through the door anyway.

Celebrating Kenna, huh? She thought to herself.

Oh well, this is a reason worth enough celebrating. She concluded, and stood up.

She didn’t bother changing into something fancy, rather stayed in her regular clothes. This was Kenna’s moment anyway, so no one should care.

She made her way to the party, taken place in the grand fields just outside the royal palace.

She could see most of her friends already there, and even Kenna herself making an entrance.

“To Stormholt!” Jackson carries a toast as she makes it close enough, and everyone follows his lead, raising their glasses in honor of Stormholt.

Val grabs the nearest mug of Ale she can find, and raises it as well. “To Stormholt!” She calls, and drinks nearly all of it in one go.

She can feel a tap on her shoulder, and she turns around to see Claudius.

Her eyes sparkle as she stares at him, and he clinks his own glass with hers.

Without any words, she downs the rest of her drink with him.

Afterwards, Kenna disappears with Raydan someplace. Val catches it with her eyes but decides against calling it out. She chuckles to herself, playfully, and continues to mingle at the party.

Claudius has to go back and mingle with his troops, eventually, and he reluctantly leaves.

It’s not like she gave him any reason not to. A nasty, annoying voice tells her in her head.

She sighs. It speaks the truth though.

A while later, Kenna and Raydan come back, announcing their engagement and Raydan’s soon to be coronation to King of Stormholt.

The wedding is set a week from that day, and everyone continues to celebrate in their name.

Because of the engagement, the fellow kingdoms don’t scatter, returning to their homelands. Val is thankful to Kenna for that, and she really is looking forward to the wedding.

She pledged her loyalty to Kenna long ago, and she was truly happy for her for finally being able to settle down and her happy ending to this long-going war.

Kenna was, one of her closest friends, after all. Maybe the closest, along with Jackson.

But what Val had in mind wasn’t something she could entrust Jackson with.

So later that week, she manages to catch Kenna for a talk.

“Kenna?” She comes from behind her, sitting alongside Kenna on the porch overlooking the palace’s grounds.

“Val.” Kenna beams. Ever since she announced her engagement she was glowing. “How are you?” She asks with a smile.

Val smiles back. “I’m... Great. Congratulations, by the way.” She blushes. Was it stupid to come to Kenna with this kind of thing?

It was almost time for Kenna’s celebration, after all. Maybe Val was selfish for coming to confide in her.

“Thank you, Val. Was there something you wanted to talk about?”

Of course Kenna saw right through her.

Val felt ever sillier right now.

“Um...” She hesitated, but faced Kenna. “There’s this Fydorian solider. Claudius...” Val started, unsure how to finish her sentence.

“Oh.” The realization seems to down on Kenna, and Val is grateful for that. “I see.” Kenna adds.

An excited smile spreads over her lips and Val is ready to scold at her, not to be so happy and excited about the news she just told her.

“Why don’t you invite him to the wedding?” Kenna suggests.

“He is invited, already.” Val frowns, unsure of what Kenna means.

“Well, yeah... But I meant, as your date?” Kenna makes her point clear and suddenly it makes sense.

“Oh.” Val realizes, and Kenna nods. “That could work.” Val agrees, and Kenna chuckles giddily, wrapping an arm over Val’s shoulder.

Had it been anyone else, Val would probably flinch away from the touch and break the brave person’s arm, who decided to wrap around her, but somehow this gesture from Kenna was an entirely different story.

She realized, Kenna was telling her she could confide in her any time, with that gesture.

“Thank you.” She mouthed at her, resting her head over Kenna’s shoulder for a few moments, overlooking the castle’s grounds with her.

Finding Claudius after that, turns out to be quiet difficult. He isn’t in his bed chambers nor he is in the doctor’s office.

Val’s almost about to give up on finding him today until she bumps into one of his squad-mates.

“Uhm... Excuse me?” She taps him on his shoulder, almost startling him to the ground.

“Ah! Milady mercenary! So nice to see you again.” He engages in conversation.

“Yeah, yeah, you too.” She’s tired of correcting them over her name so she lets it be. She’s about to speak up again when he cuts her off.

“I’m glad you made it through the storm.” He tells her, and Val nods. The last battle with Azura was a storm - A whirlwind, indeed. “As I’m sure Claudius is.” The solider adds, as if he knows something but knows better than to say it out loud.

Val considers threatening him to be careful with his choice of words, but decides against it.

“Speaking of Claudius, you wouldn’t know where he is, would you?” She asks, instead, curiously.

The soldier thinks for a moment, then point in the direction of a gate leading outside of the castle.

“He said he wanted to get some fresh air. I suppose he went that way.” He smiles at her.

“Was I helpful?” He asks, furrowing his eyebrows in concern.

“Very.” She flashes a smile at him and hurries away, not bothering to end the conversation with him before disappearing in the direction he pointed at.

As promised, Claudius was there, overlooking the cloudy sky. He was laying on his back, but when he noticed Val approaching he stood up and greeted her.

“Lady Val-”

“Just Val.” She hugged him as soon as she was close enough, without giving him any further notice. It took him by surprise but he wrapped his hands around her tightly, and they stayed that way for a few long moments.

When they broke apart, Val studied his figure. He seemed to be getting better and she was glad for that.

“You’re getting better.” She commented, proudly.

“I have to.” He noted, a playful smile creeping to his face.

“Is that so?” She raised an eyebrow, unable to suppress her own smile.

“I still have a promise I have to take you on,” He says, the slightest of blush appearing on his cheeks.

“Promise?” She really is unsure of what he could mean, since she never made him promise anything to her.

“You said we’d go out for another drink, if I stayed alive after the battle.” He explained, and the nickle drops.

“Oh.” She smiles. “That.” They both share a brief chuckle.

“Well, maybe I wasn’t referring to the drink when I agreed to that, but It’s still an offer I’d like to take you on.” She notes.

“Not referring to the drink?” He questioned, confused. Val sent a brief look to his lips and the puzzle pieces seemed to connect in his mind.

“Anyway.” She changed subject before she could chicken out, and her hand found its way into his.

He gripped her hand immediately, interlacing their fingers together as if it was the first time he got to hold her, afraid he’d never get the same chance again.

“I wanted to ask you something...” She steps closer to him. “I was wondering...” She starts, his full attention on her. “If you’d like to come to the wedding,”

“I am,” He commented confused. “- With me.” She finished her sentence, playfully nudging her nose at his. They were so close at that moment she could feel his hot breathe over her skin,

Their lips inches apart and aching to be closer together.

“Oh.” He caught up on her words and before even grasping the idea he already called out a “YES.”

Maybe too fast to his liking, considering how flushed he looked a moment after that,

But Val didn’t care.

She took one last step towards him, closing any distance remaining between them. “Good.” She uttered before wrapping her hands around him and pulling him into a much anticipated kiss.

He responded immediately, wrapping his arms around her and lifting her in his embrace. He deepened the kiss until Val felt her entire world spinning around her.

When they broke apart, and he placed her back on the ground, she saw galaxies in his eyes. She was still a little dizzy, giddy from the kiss, and couldn’t - didn’t want to - take her arms off him.

He didn’t complain, though, as he was still holding onto her too.

“We should do that again.” She commented, hinting towards their previous kiss.

“Yeah.” Claudius nodded enthusiastically.

She caressed his cheek and started pulling him down, closer to her. “Oh you mean right now?--” He barely has time to word out before she plants another kiss over his lips.

“Yes, silly.” She snorts out, and takes a moment to appreciate the look in his eyes.

He looks at her as if she’s the best thing that ever happened to him. Val can’t recall if anyone ever looked at her that way, and her heart fills with a warm emotion she can’t quite grasp or explain.

He finally regains his cool, and then he’s looking at her with determination and desire in his eyes. He leans down and their lips meet again.

Val intends to stay there with him, for a while. Maybe forever.

#playchoices #playchoices fanfic #the crown and the flame #val x claudius #val greaves #claudius umad III #claudius x val #tcatf #my writing #fanfic #fanart #art

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jonsa-creatives · 7 years

Note

Fic prompt: Sansa is drunk when Jon returns to winterfell. They discuss potential marriage alliances for each of them, Sansa with a little too much candor... Jon helps Sansa ready tor bed because she's too hammered.

Hi Anon! Thank you for the prompt and apologies for the delay. Real life is sometimes so annoying. Sooo… This sounds like a fun and what could probably be a delicious premise but the romantic in me told me other wise (also I blame the Spotify playlist I was listening to) so here’s the one I did instead.

Summary: From S7 but pre- Dragonstone. I had in mind a scene which explained the LF chokeslam, Jon’s emotions/reason behind that one bit which seems to be puzzling everyone (except Jonsa shippers.. we know why ahem). Hidden feelings, canon verse and slightly incesty. Ending bit inspired by Outlander.

Mood music: Photograph by Ed Sheeran & I Could Fall in Love by Selena

Rated GF - general fluff. Safe to read :)

I hope you like it and I’m so sorry if it wasn’t what you wanted. I’ll do better next time, promise! So many prompts to fill, so little time… *sighs*

Anyways, enjoy!

~ Mod Elle

I’ll Pray for You, Always

It was a knockthat broke the dam. Three gentle raps on the door that caught him unawares, of the torrential flood of thoughts and feelings that had led him up to this point. A point, if crossed, there was no return.

It had already been hours after dusk and several casks of ale between him and Davos that Jon decided it was perhaps better discussed with a clearer mind. The sudden interruption was welcomed indeed. Another soft knock caused Jon to let out a small smile when he recognised who it was.

“It’s late. Bestwe discuss this again tomorrow, Ser Davos. Get some rest.”

Davos nodded andgreeted Sansa as she entered the chambers. “Aye, it is. Till then, your Grace.My Lady.”

Sansa returnedhis greeting with a nod and turned her attention to Jon, albeit only brieflybefore her eyes caught sight of the large map laid on the study before her.

“Setting upfortresses and guard posts, facing the Wall. Hope to get around it soon,” Jonexplained as he watched her examine the various sigils placed on differentparts of the map. In time hopefully, before the dead come marching.

“For the WhiteWalkers?”

Jon sighed andhis hands sought for his goblet. “Aye. Sentry posts. No harm in guarding theNorth from everything else.“

“Are you goingto tell the Lords of your plans then?” Sansa asked as her thumbs ran along themap’s edges. It was an old parchment, a map from the library, one thatresembled another that Maester Luwin once owned as he told stories of the First Menwhen they were little.

“Soon enough.Still up?” Jon looked up at Sansa as he set his cup down. That was the last ofhis ale and Jon realised tonight was going to be another of him keeping watch.Sleep was but a memory.

Sansa sighed wistfully.The nightmares still haunt her and kept her away from her own bed. No. Nothers. Mother and Father’s bed.

“I find it hardto sleep sometimes. Being back here… In mother and father’s room. It’sdifferent, I suppose. Takes some getting used to.”

Jon nodded, he knew well what she meant. It was just the two of them now. And Winterfell Castle. The future of Winterfell and the North rested on both their weary shoulders. Itwas a burden, he could not deny; yet a gift of honour, to be the protector of the very home heknew and loved.

“Lord Manderlysent us a wagon of wine, this morning. From his own press, he said. I waswondering if the King in the North would like to try some,” Sansa held up acask and smiled.

Jon could only chuckle atthe impeccable timing. “Well, I won’t be a good King if I didn’t. I’ll give my thanksto him tomorrow. You didn’t have to send it to me personally, Sansa.”

Sansa pouredsome into Jon’s empty cup and another for herself. “I didn’t want to risk anytalk of battle leaving your chambers, should you and Davos were discussing suchmatters. So I decided to take this to you myself.”

Jon’s lipsslowly curved into a smile. Talk of battles and Sansa. Nothing could be further apart. Who is this girl? This woman? Nonetheless, it was still as clear as day as he remembered it, the moment hiseyes fell on her, as he watched the Knights of the Vale stomp the Bolton armyto their deaths. Sansa did not flinch one bit as the carnage unfolded beforeher. It was almost as if it was another person who led the march and not thesweet Sansa he thought he once knew.

“Well, weweren’t but caution is always good advice. And I need to listen more, or soI’ve been told.”

Sansa grinnedand once again it struck him, the stirring rising within him, as he caught the sparkle ofher pale blue eyes, as blue as the azure sky on a clear summer’s day, againstthe gentle flicker of candle light.

“It’s quitegood, no? Good thing he sent a wagon load of it, perhaps I should thank him toowhen you do,” Sansa giggled as she sipped the last mouthful swirling in her cup.This was very likely her third. Or fourth. Fifth, maybe. It was all a blur. She remembered itwas a large and heavy cask that she carried in her hand. She had lost count howmany Jon had already.

"Aye it is.Very good. I didn’t know you like wine, Sansa. But then.. I suppose I don’t know much about you,now, do I.”

The wine hadbrought a slight flush to her face and made her belly warm, besides her wearymood it lifted. Indeed, it was good. She felt lighter, almost as if she could float, without a carein the world. She could do anything, say anything and be anything she wanted.

“Mmm… Idon’t normally drink, I’ve seen what it does to people but this wine, I quite likeit. And what exactly do you wish to know about me, your Grace?” Sansa teased playfully as she slowly rose from her seat and walked carefully to the edge of the bed. Itlooked awfully like hers. Why yes, it was her bed.

“Sansa, areyou all right? Do you wish to return to your room? I’ll go fetch Brienn-”

“You sillynumpty, this is my room. But you can stay, if you like. I like talking to you,” Sansasaid, her voice in an almost whisper and smiled sweetly at Jon. It was true. If he wasn’this usual grumpy self, Jon was perfectly good company. Sansa liked that he wasfamily, someone she could feel safe with. As long as Jon was with her, nothingcould harm her. Not even her nightmares. Perhaps, tonight sleep would finally come.

Jon watched asSansa slowly lowered her head down till it rested on his pillow, her lovely smile made his heart swell and flutter all atthe same time, a feeling he was quite unfamiliar with, yet highly frequent of late.

“Jon?”

“Yes,Sansa?“

“Have you everthought of sharing your bed, you know… With someone?”

The question joltedhim to sit up, pricking his ears wondering if he had heard wrongly, no thanks to the wine. He wascontent in leaving Sansa in his bed, while he watched her sleep from afar in his chair.It wasn’t meant for sleeping but it would do for tonight. If he could sleep atall, that is.

“Excuse me, LadySansa, what do you mean? I don’t think it’s something we should be discussing-”

“I never thoughtI wanted it. No. Not, after Ramsay. I didn’t want him near me at all. After what hedid to me.”

“Sansa, I-”

“But… But Iwish to be held sometimes. In someone’s arms. Someone whom I love and who lovesme back. I’ve always wondered what that feels like. I never knew and maybeI never will.”

“Don’t say that,Sansa. That’s not true.”

Jon glanced down uncomfortably, at his fidgety fingers as a slight lump formed in his throat.

“Who would wantme, Jon? I’m twice married, both to enemies of our family. Both that I know who don’tlove me. At least not the way I want to be loved. And, yet… here I am stillwondering and hoping if there’s anyone out there who would? I’ve prayed so hardfor it, I must confess. Besides praying for our family. I always say a prayerfor my beloved to come to me. Is that silly? I hope he prays for me, too. Well…Whoever he is. Perhaps, men like you don’t thinkof such things but… have you thought of that, Jon? Don’t you ever wonder?”

There were amillion things he should have said to end the conversation. Or how he couldhave just left his own chambers, at that very moment. That was what he shouldhave done, or at least what he imagined doing.

But hedidn’t. Instead, it was something deep inside that compelled him to leave his chair and approach his bed. It was something else entirely, when he came and sat beside Sansa,whose eyes were slowly closing, blissfully oblivious to anything or anyone around her. Jonlooked at his empty cup and placed it on the floor, afraid and uncertain of hisnext move. This was very strange ground, indeed. Inappropriate and forbidden,yet it was this very nature that made his heart soar in ecstasy and delight. And in love.

His hands itchedto run through the soft copper locks and caress the pale alabaster skin. Sansa, a name that echoed in his mind relentlessly, dayand night, wherever he went and whatever he did. The name that was surely the cause of his unrest and sleeplessnights. Chastising himself for feeling that way only heightened his longing and there was nothing he could do but let it pass.

“Yes, Sansa Ido. I want and wish for the same things you do. Though I wish I had more time.”I wish we had more time. And I wish you weren’t my half sister.

"Hmmm…”Sansa mumbled in response, her voice drifting and her eyes shut as her soft breathing fellinto a rhythmic pace. Jon paused to watch. She was a mesmerizing sight tobehold. Even in her sleep, she had Jon overcome with emotions and thoughts henever knew he had in him.

Lady ofWinterfell; a delicate Northern rose of astonishing beauty. Jon leaned downcarefully and gently stroked Sansa’s cheek, tucking away the stray strands from her face, behind her ears. His lips were only a breath away from hers but it summoned everything in Jon to pull back. Instead, he laid down next to her, his mouthclose to her ear and took in a deep breath.

Aye, I am a manof little faith but I pray sometimes. To the old gods and whoever that takes heed.

“Shield mybeloved, my gentle dove and the love she bears in her heart. Keep her safe fromharm, in this place and every place. On this night and on every night,” Jon whispered as he pressed his lips gently against her temple.

He too, had a prayer. A dear one; one he kept close to his heart.

“That is myprayer for you, sweet girl. Even if I’m not yours, I’ll pray for you that… One day, maybe in another life, you’re mine. To have and to hold. Always.”

thanks for reading!

#jonsa #jon x sansa #jonsa fic #anon prompts #fluff and romance #original content #canon verse #deleted scene headcanon

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101flavoursofweird · 6 years

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You know how I always harp on about how much Azran Legacy was inspired by Laputa: Castle in the Sky? Well, I rewatched Howl’s Moving Castle and now the only thing I can think of is Clive’s Moving Castle.

#Professor Layton #Clive Dove #Studio Ghibli #castle in the sky #howl’s Moving castle #what do you mean AL was inspired by Castle in the Sky?#(someone said that in a comment once)#(I found it so funny that it’s the tag I always use)

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wrenchwitch-blog · 5 years

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Session 4 - A Hand Full of Wild Cards

Hoffstead arrives home and sees that nothing has really gone wrong. The Fordyce clan has holed up for the evening and he retires. Not everyone rests especially well this night. Chuk-Chuk is troubled with the thought that his feathers are covered in blood. Gymwyn is restless, knowing her adoptive father’s killer is still at large. Aurelianna is focused on breaking the key to Gaedren’s ledger, gets a cup of coffee and works into the early hours of the morning.

And Julia has it worst of all. Night terrors fill her mind. A cold, methodical voice nearly forgotten, ‘Do you understand Julia? You are a weapon, a tool. You are to be used at your Master’s discretion.’ A surge of burning pain wakes Julia... but it is gone. Drenched in cold sweat, Julia doesn’t manage to get any more sleep this night.

By morning, Auri has managed to break the code on the ledger and begins trying to find what she can in the book. Organized by date, she manages to locate the debt owed by her parents. It was just a simple high interest loan. When they had trouble meeting interest payments, Lamm asked them to keep an eye out for any ‘especially precious cargo’ leaving the city. They reported a valuable cart filled with magic armors to him, which was promptly robbed by some ‘unaffiliated bandits’. Now Aurelianna’s parents were on the hook for blackmail. Lamm had the receipts, and threatened to turn them into the guard if they didn’t continue spotting for him until their debt was paid.

In the morning, Gabriel greets Julia, who has already gotten the shop all ready for morning customers. ‘I was so worried, with all the commotion last night, and you didn’t get home until late. I am so glad that you’re ok sis!’ The present crew enjoys a cup before heading out to meet Hoffstead at Zellara’s apartment.

In the morning Hoff checks in on his family, where are conveniently all together in the den. ‘Oh brother, do come in and join us. We are scheeeeeeming’ his oldest brother says. Maxwell, Simon, Lara, and Gertrude are all coming up with a plan to bring down their noble rivals, House Zenderholm. ‘Brother, you know how to pick a lock, right? I mean, half Varisian and all? Or surely you know someone who does’ Maxwell condescends. Their plan is to get the sewer entrance near house Zenderholm unlocked, so ruffians and vagabonds will dirty up the place, disgracing them and leaving an opening for, ‘HOUSE FORDYCE TO RISE AGAIN!’

Hoffstead assures them he can take care of it, and inquires on Theodore. He has been locked in his room all night. He has a real bad cold or something, one of his sisters remarks. Hoff checks on him anyway and gets him some water. Theodore is clearly struggling without his drugs. Hoffstead asks his family not to let Theo wander around outside until he is better and heads off.

On the way, Hoffstead bumps into a small mob. They seem to have someone they are calling ‘Queensman’ surrounded, barking complaints about the silver spoon he had in his mouth at birth, and how ‘my bruda’s arm was crushed younger din you, he can’t ev’n lift a mug a ale wit dat hand no more.’ Trying to stop any violence, Hoff steps up and manages to calm the crowd. ‘Tensions are high and we could all use a drink, even if it is the morning, right?’

The young man who was surrounded was a member of a lesser noble household, Amin Jalento. He was already physically beaten nearly unconscious when Hoffstead showed up, but he asks for help with a potion of healing he had on his possession. Feeling a bit better he thanks Hoffstead, mentioning, ‘Maybe us nobles should not walk the streets alone in these sorry times.’ The two end up walking together near enough the Amin’s home that he feels he can make it the rest of the way. To show his thanks, he offers Hoffstead his signet ring, the only real wealth he has on him at the moment. Hoff refuses it and heads off to Zellara’s apartment.

Everyone together, Zellara uses her magic to appear before the group again. She apologizes again, then implores the group to stick together. Her omen came true and they will only manage to survive if they can depend on one another. She believes that they can be heroes if they choose to stand up and do something in these dark times. She says the group should have a name, to help bind them to one another.

After entirely too much hemming and hawing, spending more time than Zellara can manage to manifest, the team decides on the Wild Cards. Nobody sees them coming, and they have a haunted deck of cards as a patron. What more fitting name could there be?

Our Wild Cards then take to the streets, they have seen things are bad, but do not really know how to help. So they spend a few hours collecting rumors. Most of the ships have left port, many of them empty, or carrying just VIPs who paid top dollar to get out of the city fast. Besides that, most of the merchants in Korvosa are travelers. They come in on their carriages, do business, and they leave. Almost every single one has tried to rush out. This has resulted in a major pile up at all the city gates, where every single carriage is being pain painstakingly searched.

They also learn that the majority of diplomats visiting the city have fled. All the remain are those that have too many ties in the city to just up and leave, such as Chelaix’s ambassador Darvayne Amprei. A noted hater of the city, he has been rumored to be undermining Korvosa’s attempts to be recognized officially by the current Chellish government.

Their final rumor is that seneschal Neolandus Kalepopolis has gone missing from the castle. While all manner of theory about King Eodred’s death have tinged their conversations, it is seeming like many are viewing Neolandus’s disappearance with skepticism.

The Wild Cards then bantered back and forth about their best course of action. As long as they wandered the streets with the new queen’s property, they had risk of being caught and punished. Should they walk up and try to return it? Would they be arrested on the spot for theft? Maybe they could drop it in a mailbox somewhere and get it back to her that way. How the heck did Gaedren end up with it anyhow? And there was the lead of ambassador Amprei. Maybe he knew something about the discord in the city.

As they started to get moving, thunder boomed from above. While most of the city was ok, maybe the rains would help the parts that were still burning. And then a shrill voice rang out from a rooftop, ‘Give us the damned ones!! Give us the little ones, or suffer our wrath!’ The party started to ask for more details, ‘THE LITTLE ONES, GIVE THEM TO US NOW!’ After a little more inquiry, the voice screamed enough, and a circle of imps appeared around the wild cards and attacked.

Impish weather was an unfortunate side effect of the Acadamae being in Korvosa. Their emphasis on summoning meant every student needed to conjure at least one imp before they could graduate. But most of the students shot for higher marks, and practiced by summoning several imps in their studies. The result was that two or three times a year a swarm of imps that hid in the lofts of Korvosa would take to the skies, tormenting who they could. Maybe all the riots were making too much noise, or the smoke reminded them of the Nine Hells. But the boom of thunder above seemed to call to the foul creatures.

Things were not looking good for the Wild Cards, imps were resistant to ordinary weapons, and their envenomed tails were taking a toll on the group’s reflexes. In desperation, Hoffstead asked whoever had the succubi statuette to give it to the imps already.

But before anyone could act a voice rang out, ‘HARK HUMANS!! WE SHALL COME TO YOUR AID’ Inspiring his group with song, Chuk-Chuk lead the counter attack, smiting the first imp straight out of the sky. A pair of Korvosan house drakes swooped into the fray. With the tiny dragonkins’ aid, the group managed to take out the imps before swooping off. ‘THERE ARE MORE IMPS TO SLAY, STAY SAFE WARRIORS OF JUSTICE!!’ one cried before zooming off.

The house drakes evolved parallel to the imps. Originally their claws and teeth could not puncture the fiendish hides, but the drakes found a steady diet of silver coated their teeth and got into their blood. In time, they became the bane of imp kind, and impish weather always resulted in a battle between the two, before they would go back into hiding until the next ‘imp storm’

But the Wild Cards were still injured from impish attack, their nerves dulled with neuro-toxins. While they helped slay this lot, why did the imps want the ‘damned ones’? And what could the lot of them do to help?

#crimsonmagikarp

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oasissafariegy · 4 years

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amdoca-blog · 5 years

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diane arbus: in the beginning

I don’t know why the gallery has used lower case lettering in its promotional material.

Hayward Gallery, 13 February to 6 May 2019

Organised by The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. Curated by Jeff L Rosenheim, Curator in Charge of the Department of Photographs: with Karen Rinaldo, Collections Specialist, Photographs; Martha Deese, Senior Administrator for Exhibitions; and Emily Foss Registrar.

Supported by Cockayne – Grants for the Arts and The London Community Foundation and Alexander Graham, with additional support from Michael G and C Jane Wilson. (Hayward Gallery, 2019).

This exhibition primarily features photographs made with 35mm cameras in and around New York City between 1956 to 1962. Most of the exhibition photographs are gelatin silver prints made by Arbus. Most are held in private collections, and in the Diane Arbus Archive at Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

There is also one room displaying A Box of Ten Photographs, a project she worked on between 1969 and 1971. These photographs, on loan from the Victoria and Albert Museum, were printed posthumously by her assistant and student Neil Selkirk (Guggenheim, 2019).

I wondered why nine of these later works are being displayed in a separate room at an exhibition subtitled ‘in the beginning’. Xmas Tree in a living room in Levittown, L.I. 1962 is in the previous room. There is no explanation why. Were they included to show how her work changed over time? They are already kept in London.

There are two rooms of photographs arranged on grids of white columns, “…visitors are free to follow any path they choose as there are only beginnings – no middle and probably no end…” (Hayward Gallery, 2019). I found myself first walking to the back of the room, up and down ‘aisles’ in the opposite direction to other exhibition-goers, to avoid crowding around the prints and to get a better view. Also, what does this statement mean; that her work endures? After visiting the exhibition, I did some reading. I found this quote from a letter she sent to friends in 1957,

“… I am full of a sense of promise, like I often have, the feeling of always being at the beginning…” (Arbus et al, 2012: 141).

I do not know if the organisers of the exhibition are alluding to this remark. I learned that Arbus committed suicide a year after A Box of Ten, a limited portfolio of special prints, with inscribed vellums, was published (Smithsonian, s.d)

Only four sets are known to have been bought in her lifetime, “...by an elite group..” . (Hayward Gallery notice). The notice tells us Marvin Israel designed the packaging, but does not explain who he was. During my reading after the event I learned he was her partner; an artist and, from 1961, art director of Harper’s Bazaar which published her work during the period the Hayward exhibition mainly focusses on.

Between 1956 and 1962 Arbus stopped using a medium format Rolleiflex in favour of a 35mm Nikon (Arbus et al, 2012: 139). Unlike bulky 2 ¼ cameras which “…require the subject’s cooperation and participation…” (Arbus et al, 2012: 59), 35 mm SLRs allow photographers to capture moments and quickly disconnect from the subject.

Images such as:

Old Woman in hospital bed, NYC 1958

Lady in the shower, Coney Island, N.Y. 1959

Man in hat, trunks, sock and shoes, Coney Island 1960

Two girls by a brick wall, NYC 1961

raise the question in my mind about whether these people gave their consent to be photographed, or if some were staged.

In a letter to Marvin Israel she confessed that when visiting the shrine of a disinterred saint , she,

“…got a terrible impulse to photograph her and I tremulously did which wasn’t legal so I pretended to be praying and pregnant…” (Arbus et al, 2012: 146)

In a postcard she sent to Marvin Israel in 1960 she wrote,

“…This photographing is really the business of stealing… I feel indebted to everything for having taken it or being about to…” (Arbus et al, 2012: 147)

I took some notes during my tour of the exhibition of images I found noteworthy. This image Mother Cabrini, a disinterred saint in her glass and gold casket, N.Y.C. 1960 was not among them. I found the story behind the image more interesting. Knowing the photograph is a furtive snap changes its meaning; the exhibition does not explain much. I don’t remember if there was an audio guide. How many people were there like me wa/ondering around the grid?

I did not buy the catalogue, priced at £35, but noted that Revelations was priced at £75. I thought the price was quite high. However, I thought the reproductions were of a better quality and saw that one of the editors was her daughter. I assumed Doon Arbus would be able to share more information about her mother than any other writer. I bought a cheaper copy online.

On reading Revelations I found out that, up until 1958, Arbus experimented with cropping. Photographers and art editors at the time used this technique retrospectively to reveal an image within an image. It could,

“…impose a sense of immediacy, or of a privileged, almost private view after the fact…” (Arbus et al, 2012:52)

Boy above a crowd NYC 1957 illustrates this idea but I do not know whether Arbus cropped it, not having seen the contact sheets. The title does not indicate to the audience what the audience depicted are looking at. They are looking to the left, the boy Arbus wants us to focus on is looking directly at us.

In 1956 Arbus ended her photographic partnership with her husband. She felt her role in their commercial business was as “a glorified stylist” (Arbus et al, 2012: 139). She joined two photography courses taught by Lisette Model (1956 and 57). In the 1940s, Model photographed ordinary people in the streets of New York City.

In 1971 Arbus told students in a master class,

“…In the beginning… I used to make very grainy things. I’d be fascinated by what the grain did because it would make a tapestry of all these little dots…Skin would be the same as water would be the same as sky and you would be dealing mostly in dark and light not so much in flesh and blood… It was my teacher…who finally made it clear to me that the more specific you are, the more general it’ll be…”

(Arbus et al, 2012: 141)

I do not remember seeing Coney Island 1960 (Windy Group) in the exhibition. It is in Revelations, but I am unable to locate the image online. It shows a group of people on a windy beach; a woman is bending over away from the camera and her stripy dress is blowing in the wind. It is extremely grainy; did Arbus intend the grain to suggest a sand storm?

Towards the end of her life Arbus told her students,

“…I remember a long time ago when I first began to photograph I thought, There are an awful lot of people in the world and it’s going to be terribly hard to photograph all of them, so if I photograph some kind of generalized human being, everybody will recognize it…And there are certain evasions, certain nicenesses that I think you have to get out of..” (Arbus et al, 1992:10)

At the Hayward exhibition, I noticed that,

Kid in black face NYC, 1957 is exhibited near, Lady on a bus NYC, 1957.

Was the year-long (1955-6) Montgomery Bus Boycott in Arbus’s mind? Around this time Arbus was trying to find photographic editorial work and took some photographs of litter for a magazine, for which she was unpaid.

“…I followed flying newspapers…running like mad to keep up with dick tracy…” (Arbus et al, 2012: 142)

Windblown headline on a dark pavement, NYC 1956. Most of the photographs in this exhibition are of people. I did not understand the appeal of some of the photographs lacking them, such as those of “…psuedo places…” (Arbus et al, 2012: 163) for example, A castle in Disneyland, cal., 1962, or Rocks on heels, Disneyland, Cal., 1963, but I thought this particular print was inspiring.

I noted a number of photographs taken inside and outside cinemas. Several are of the screen, taken at some distance from it, from the audience’s viewpoint;

A Dominant Picture 1958

Man on screen being choked 1958

had a personal resonance. There is also a close up, probably taken in a cinema, of a scene from the controversial film Baby Doll, 1956.

In Movie theater usher standing by the box office NYC, 1956 an usher stands by the box office in an oversized uniform. It occurred to me, after seeing an online reproduction of this photograph away from the exhibition, that it is reminiscent of a Soviet style uniform. Was Arbus intending to remind us of the 1956 Hungarian Uprising?

In 42nd Street Movie Theater Audience NYC 1958 Arbus’s camera is placed some distance away from the scene. A projector beam cuts through the fug of cigarette smoke. It is not easy to tell what people are doing; there is some blurring, perhaps there are people asleep and a couple kissing. A print made by Neil Selkirk, her student and assistant, is valued at between $20,000 - 30,000. I quite liked the photograph at the exhibition, but I do not think it is that extraordinary.

It seemed to me that Arbus’s intention was to make the ordinary extraordinary and the extraordinary ordinary. In The Backwards Man in his hotel room, 1961 a man is standing in a standard hotel room. His head is directed to the left of the frame, his feet to the right. He is wearing a full length clear plastic mac indoors. Is this to draw attention to his body? After the exhibition I learned he was a contortionist from Hubert’s Dime Museum and Flea Circus in Times Square called Joe Allen;

“… Joe Allen is a metaphor for human destiny – walking blind into the future with an eye on the past…” note in her appointment book (Arbus, 2012:154)

Sontag offered a suggestion as to why Arbus chose her subjects.

“…At the beginning of the sixties, the thriving Freak Show at Coney Island was outlawed; the pressure is on to raze the Times Square turf of drag queens and hustlers and cover it with skyscrapers. And the inhabitants of deviant underworlds are evicted from their restricted territories – banned as unseemly, a public nuisance, obscene, of just unprofitable…”

(Sontag, 1973. 43-44)

There are many photographs of female drag artists in the show. Two different interpretations of ‘woman’ can be seen in the fleshy beauty of Girl in her circus costume backstage, Palisades Park, N.J. 1960, and the haughty and fabulous Blonde female impersonator standing by a dressing table, Hempstead L.I 1959, a coded appropriation of ‘womanliness’.

In October 1959 Arbus started work on a project about aspects of New York life for Esquire magazine, photographing “…the posh to the sordid…” (typewritten letter to Robert Benton, art director of Esquire (Revelations, 2012: 333)

I made a note of the title, Woman in white fur with cigarette, Mulberry Street NYC 1958, at the time of visiting the exhibition, but did not really reflect on the photograph. I felt pressurised by the crowd to move on. The unnamed woman’s stance could be interpreted as expressing her annoyance at being photographed, self-confidence, or self-entitlement. Is she scowling? She fills the frame, and appears quite large. The lights in the background, possibly Xmas street lights, appear to surround her head. Are we meant to see a Valkyrie? The location is Mulberry Street, NYC; the street name made me think of expensive handbags. Is the woman in the background, who I have only just noticed, smiling obsequiously or simply smiling?

For me, Arbus’s titles often suggest a deadpan or sardonic humour, which I enjoy. This title, Miss Maria Seymour dancing with Baron Theo Von Roth at the Grand Opera Ball, NYC 1959, is similar to captions of photographs in society magazines. I don’t know now why I thought this was funny; I did not make adequate notes at the exhibition because I thought I would be able to access the image online at home afterwards.

For some of this work she obtained a Police pass (Revelations, 2012:144); Corpse with receding hairline and a toe tag, N.Y.C. 1959

Looking at photographs of Israel after the exhibition, (Revelations, 2012:145), could this photograph be an inside joke? A notice on the wall at entrance of the Hayward states,

“…This exhibition contains images that some visitors may find upsetting and some that contain nudity. If you require further information, please speak to an exhibition host…”

In postcards sent to Marvin Israel in January 1960 she wrote about a disturbing scene she had photographed,

“… I am not ghoulish am I? I absolutely hate to have a bad conscience, I think it is lewd…Is everyone ghoulish? It wouldn’t anyway have been better to turn away, would it…?” (Revelations, 2012: 145-6).

All layers of society are portrayed in the exhibition. Among the photographs of society people are photographs of performers at the Hubert’s Dime Museum and Flea Circus in Times Square, such as Hezekiah Trambles, ‘The Jungle Creep’. The close up of ‘The Jungle Creep’ is a powerful image. He played a ‘Wild Man of Borneo’ racist stereotype for a living. Tramble’s face fills the frame; the photograph is blurred and grainy. A light source catches highlights in his eyes, perhaps a button over his Adams apple, and a tooth. How many teeth does he have? Are their tears in his upwardly directed eyes? His eyes appear unfocussed. He is photographed from below; he looks monumental.

Arbus photographed various people who she described as ‘freaks’, ‘The Sensitives’ and ‘singular people’. In 1971 she told her students,

“…Freaks was a thing I photographed a lot… There’s a quality of legend about freaks…Most people go through life dreading they’ll have a traumatic experience. Freaks were born with their trauma. They’ve already passed their test in life. They’re aristocrats…” (Arbus et al, 1992:3).

By making us look up at Trambles’ face, did Arbus intend us to see someone deranged? Or a Man with human dignity?

In a notebook she wrote,

“..If we are all freaks the task is to become as much as possible the freak we are...” (Revelations, 2012: 54) and in a postcard to Marvin Israel in 1960 she wrote,

“..Freaks are a fairy tale for grownups. A metaphor which bleeds…” (Revelations, 2012: 54)

In 1961 Arbus completed a story, “The Full Circle” which included portraits of six people including Stormé de Larverie from the Jewel Box Revue’s touring drag artist show, ‘Twenty-Five Men and a Girl’, Miss Stormé de Larverie, the Lady who appears to be a Gentleman NYC 1961.

Neither Esquire nor Harper’s Bazaar published the story with de Larverie. Esquire wanted to leave out Stormé “…due to lack of space. Infinity, the publication of the American Society of Magazine Photographers published the story in 1962 which included de Larverie. Was the de Larverie photograph initially excluded because it depicted a lesbian, or because editors regarded the print as being unremarkable? The Hayward gallery offers no information about de Larverie’s historical importance.

I wasn’t sure if the exhibition was presenting Arbus as a feminist;

Barbershop interior through a glass door, NYC 1957

Blurry woman gazing up smiling, NYC 1957-8

Mood meter machine, NYC 1957

In the barbershop interior we can see men looking at a woman taking photographs in the street at night. Their various expressions include puzzlement, amusement and incredulity. The presence of the woman photographer is only suggested by her reflection in the glass. I am that woman now looking from the outside in. Am I obliged to become involved with what I photograph?

Of the Box of Ten photographs, one of my favourites is,

Retired man and his wife at home in a nudist camp one morning NJ 1963

I see this as a cosy and affectionate. Soft sunlight filters through the net curtains; it is a domestic scene with a twist.

Arbus described her experience of taking photographs in nudist camps in 1971, where she was required to take photographs naked,

“…You may think you’re not (a nudist) but you are…” (Arbus et al, 1992: 4-5)

As a suburban, semi-educated, left-leaning liberal standing in a contemporary Western art gallery, the wall notice warning about nudity surprised me a bit; I wasn’t concerned by the nudity displayed within this context.

Neil Selkirk, who printed the Box of Ten, believed Arbus’s prints look different from other photographers’. She did no dodging or burning,

“…If she ever had the urge or the knowledge to make the print beautiful in a conventional sense, she resisted it. The unique quality of Diane’s prints seems a direct response to what is required if one is extremely curious and utterly dispassionate...” (Revelations, 2012: 275)

He thought she had intended to make the final image look like snapshots or newspaper photographs. To me, the 35 mm photographs in the exhibition generally look like snapshots; the Box of Ten artworks look like beautiful parodies of photographs specific to glossy magazine features. Arbus’ photographs could be seen as diverting, rather like a day out at an art gallery

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Arbus, D (edited by Arbus, Doon, Israel, M) (1992) Diane Arbus, London, Bloomsbury Publishing Ltd.

Arbus, Diane, Arbus Doon, Phillips; S, Sussmann E, Selkirk N, J L Rosenheim (2012) Revelations: Diane Arbus, Munich, Schirmer/Mosel

Guggenheim, K (2019) Diane Arbus: An interview with Jeff L. Rosenheim and Karan Rinaldo. At: https://www.southbankcentre.co.uk/blog/diane-arbus-interview-jeff-rosenheim-karan-rinaldo-hayward-gallery (Accessed on 24 March 2019)

Hayward Gallery (2019) Hayward Gallery Exhibition Guide, London, Hayward Gallery

Metropolitan Museum of Art (2019) diane arbus in the beginning [online] At https://www.metmuseum.org/exhibitions/listings/2016/diane-arbus (Accessed on 30 March 2019)

Smithsonian American Art Museum (s.d) A box of ten photographs [online press release] At: https://s3.amazonaws.com/assets.saam.media/files/documents/2018-04/wall%20text.pdf (Accessed on 30 March 2019).

Sontag S (1973) ‘America seen through photographs, darkly’ in On Photography (1979) London, Penguin Books Ltd

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chubbsismyfavouritechubbybo-blog · 7 years

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idfc - shitty chubbs imagine

song of inspiration - idfc by blackbear (despite having much love for the original, i do love the accoustic very much. in addition, i couldn’t find the official videos for the songs on youtube to link it to, so apologies in advance for that pals!) billy’s p.o.v

rain drops tainted the transparent window, as i looked up at the empty, starless sky, as the night had started to drag on. i was feeling pretty hopeless, and time seemed like i wasn’t even gonna fucking move as my mind continued to spiral in hazy never ending circles. since i wasn’t gonna hit a bottle of vodka, i grabbed my pack of cigarettes and headed outside to put my mind at ease.

cool april air swirled around me, as i sat down on the slight uncomfortable al fresco seats in our back garden. as i lit up my ciggarette, smoke swirled around me in the majestic garden, i closed my eyes to in an attempt to just try to sort my self out - no matter how much i’m overreacting at the moment.

i’m just glad she’s not hiding away in what seems like her own castle, high above the ground; away from everyone. although, it’s become really obvious she’s bloody blind to the fact that i’ve become absolutely smitten with her since the start of the year. she’s probably getting fucked or giving head right now, and i’m sat here getting upset over her like fat, pathetic cunt. but oh wait, i am one. stupid, huh? but, i just wanna hear those pretty lies from her plump raspberry lips, that she loves me - even though i know she doesn’t.

crashes and banging of things falling onto the floor, along with erling laughing at something. not realising that i had dropped my cigarette onto the floor, as i stood up to look at her coming through to the garden, stumbling like a complete drunken idiot. fuck. all i could do is stare at her like a gazelle caught in the blinding lights of a car, and before i could even ccomprehend what was even going on, she sloppily falls right into my arms.

“y/n, why did you get so fucking pissed, eh?” I whispered to her nervously, rubbing her back to try to calm her, while trying to hide my irritional nervousness towards the whole situation. all i got were mumbles and slightly drunken laughs, as she came out of our lukewarm hug. there she stood: smeared scarlett red lipstick, messy space buns with whispy chocolate brown hairs straying away, and snot dribbling from her nose. she looked like she had been slotted somewhere she shouldn’t have been, but was now back home.

“shit, man ... i just ... i don’t kno- i mean, the thing is,” she began slowly, taking a few deep breaths before she continued to speak, “the thing is, i know bottom-of-the-bottle drunk right now, but i have this weird, warm feeling in my stomach whenever i see you or whenever i’m with you. i dunno it’s ju - i think that i’m in love with you, billy. it’s not a stupid year seven crush, i really think this is for real, dude.”

“i mean i didn’t know how it wasn’t obvious to you before, but i think the way i feel is the real deal, y/n.”

“i mean, it was already fucking obvious, billy, and you’re not exactly the most eloquent of folk,” she started to slur slighty, so i put my arms around her hips, and led her inside into the comforting heat of the house, “but, i can’t stand those stupid fucking parties. i’ve had enough of them.”

a/n; i’m kind of proud of this one, but at the same time i don’t think it’s very good. i don’t know, i just think that i’m kind nervous about putting my work out there. anyway, see you soon!

#chubbs #shitty imagine #imagine #youtube #chubbs imagine #i suck at writing and plotlines!!

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andrea-cristina-travel-blog · 7 years

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10 Instagrammable Must Do Vacation Spots

The world is full of majestic places, and so many of them beckon to have their picture taken (though we typically prefer a video). These 10 Must Do Vacation Spots top the list of most Instagrammable destinations around the world. Sure, there are some wonders that did not make the list, and the runner-up section could take on a few more articles of its own. 10 Instagrammable Must Do Vacation Spots Machu Pichu, Peru Machu Picchu is one of those destinations on virtually everyone’s bucket list – and for good reason. This iconic, archaeological World Heritage site (designated by UNESCO in 1983) was allegedly built by the Incan people in the fifteenth century, either as a royal estate or a sacred worship site. The precision of the stone construction, which sprawls over five miles, employed a style and technology otherwise unknown to the area. Its existence is so unusual, many feel that there is no way this could have been constructed by humans alone, at that point in history. Whether a man-made wonder or a product of otherworldly intervention remains up for debate; nevertheless, no one can deny its spectacular beauty or fail to marvel at the mysterious splendor. Rome, Italy When in Rome… This city transports you to a distant time, while simultaneously offering more iconic sites than in any other spot on the planet. Immerse yourself in the quixotic and frantic energy of this bustling metropolis. Enjoy the land’s authentic and delectable cuisine. Sample the region’s world class wine – Frascati, a varietal that’s been produced form more than two thousand years. While you are fully sated, visit prototypes of many of the world’s most fantastic architectural achievements such as the Colosseum where gladiators clashed, and the Pantheon, an elaborate “temple of every god.” You will be just blocks away from the magnificent Trevi Fountain and Vatican City, home of The Basilica of St. Peter. Galapagos, Ecuador The Galapagos Islands, home to myriad endemic species popularized by evolution’s first legend, Charles Darwin, must be seen by anybody and everybody on Earth who have the means. It’s endless and friendly cache of wildlife, includes but is certainly not limited to curious seals, playful sea lions and gigantic sea tortoises are kind to visitors, thanks to a significant lack of natural predators. This 19(ish) island archipelago, sprinkled off Ecuador’s Pacific Coast is a double World Heritage site (land and sea). Each magnificent island boasts its own unique landscape, ranging from barren black volcanic rock to white, pristine sand beaches that bathe in turquoise blue waters. Sydney, Australia A popular destination for everybody from backpackers to billionaires, Sydney has an experience for every type of traveler. Begin your day with a 3.7 mile walking track leading from Bondi Icebergs pool, past Aboriginal rock carvings and culminating with lunch at at a Coogee Beach seaside eatery. Visit koalas and kangaroos at Taronga Zoo, dare to bridge climb at Sydney Harbour and book tickets to the Sydney Opera House, a 20th Century, architectural masterpiece. You will also discover that “Sydneysiders” take their food seriously, with many of Australia’s most awarded and innovative restaurants peppered throughout the city. Wash the culinary offerings down with the fruits of indigenous wineries including Penfolds, Yellow Tail, Wyndham Estates, Norman and others. Barcelona, Spain Cast yourself into the inviting throes of a fascinating mix of cultures and fabled architecture that has marinated to perfection over the last two millennia. A place that has inspired artists such as Gaudi, Dali, Picasso, Miro’ – all of whom have left their indelible mark upon the Catalonian countryside. Iberian visitor mornings include walks along sun-drenched Mediterranean beaches, with afternoons spent traversing towering temple columns, ancient city walls and subterranean stone passages. Enjoy a mid-afternoon siesta because the Night belongs to Barcelona! As the Sun falls, the fun dances into the streets with live music and inviting aromas overcoming the senses. Melt into the fluid moments. Paris, France One visit alone is scarcely enough to absorb Le vrai Paris. That however, that should not deter you from seeking fine balance of café culture, designer boutiques and a handful of popular attractions spoken as, “touristiques.” Purchase a museum pass and explore up to 60 of the “incroyable” urban museums and monuments without waiting in lines. Gaze at the work of Ce’zanne, Monet, Van Gogh, Degas at The Musee’ d’Orsay – followed by tea at the Palais-Royal Gardens, a hidden gem tucked nestled beyond the walls of a 17th century palace. Then you’re off to tour sacred Notre-Dame or the iconic Eiffel tower for the ultimate selfie. Cap off the day with an twilight ride down the Seine on a Bateau Mouche. Ooh-la-la! Tokyo, Japan The fascinating confluence of rich traditional culture meets obsession for modernity. A neon-lit, sci-fi’esque cityscape of soaring towers is juxtaposed with the Kabuki stage and Shinto shrines culture, inextricably linked by the inviting pink of cherry blossoms. Explore evenings in Shinjuku with sky-high lounges, jazz dens, spellbinding lights, with endless action pumping on, well into the morning hours. While fashionistas must visit Harajuku, a gathering point for the eccentric and tomorrow-minded. Tokyo pushes the boundaries of what’s possible, building taller more elaborate towers in the spiritual center-point of this densely populated land. An ageless city that reinvents itself by the moment. Cannes, France Don your biggest sunglasses, long scarf, and hop in a convertible headed for the French Riviera. At playground for rich and famous, there is no shortage of luxury. Every hotel and restaurant, finer than the last, will have you feeling like Cagny or Garbo as you take a stroll down the Promenade de la Croisette, the iconic waterfront avenue adorned with picturesque beaches, eateries and one-off boutiques. Dine al fresco after a visit to March Forville, the incredible open air farmer’s market, featuring virtually anything you could you could ever want to eat – all on colorful display. Or discover the lovely cobbled streets of Le Suquet that wind their way to the city’s apex for a view unmatched. Cannes not only plays host city to the world’s most prestigious annual film festival, but serves as the backdrop for a number of movies including: To Catch A Thief, French Kiss and Femme Fatale. Bavaria, Germany Bavaria with the dramatic Alps as a backdrop, is a story-book forest of castles perched high atop scenic mountains. In fact, Schloss Neuschwanstein was the model for Disney’s Sleeping Beauty Castle. Postcard perfect, your senses will drink in resplendent scenes – the tinkling of cowbells awash in sprawling clover fields. The state capital is Munich, a celebrated for its annual Oktoberfest beer festival where grandiose ompah music rises above the din of lederhosen-dressed attendees reveling in the moment frothy steins. The Romantic Road scenic route starts right in Wurzburg and winds south through pastoral villages and walled, medieval towns, finally culminating in the foothills of the Alps near Germany’s southern border. Explore this region which fulfills its promise of “Gemutlichkeit” (contentedness and comfort) at every turn. Edinburgh, Scotland When you think of Edinburgh, what is it that comes to mind? Golf? Kilts? Or, maybe it’s the incomparable Whisky? Perhaps, it’s all three. Avid golfers gravitate to this bonnie land, home to some of our planet’s oldest and most famous courses. This compact hilly capital of Scotland is charmingly divided into two sections, the medieval Old Town which has preserved much of its medieval street plan and Reformation-era buildings – and then the elegant, Georgian New Town, an area richly adorned with gardens and neoclassical buildings. Perched high above the city are the bold stone turrets of Edinburgh Castle, home to Scotland’s Crown Jewels and the fabled Stone of Destiny used in the coronation of Scottish rulers. It would be safe to say the journey would not be complete, or even worthwhile, without a Scotch Whisky tour. While dining in Scotland was never “the point” of a visit (think Haggis), an influx of innovative chefs have successfully taken Edinburgh beyond pub fare with many popular and exciting eateries to discover. The post 10 Instagrammable Must Do Vacation Spots appeared first on Must Do Travels.

https://mustdotravels.com/10-instagrammable-must-vacation-spots/

#Australia #France #Germany #Italy #Japan #Must Do Travels #South America #Spain #Barcelona #Bavaria #Cannes #Ecuador #Edinburgh #Galapagos #Machu Pichu #Paris #Peru #Rome #scotland #Sydney #Toyko

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viralhottopics · 8 years

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Passion is overrated 7 habits that you need instead

Image: Shutterstock / ChingChing

Its common wisdom. Near gospel really, and not just among young people and founders. Across generational lines, sentiments like those from Steve Jobs 2005 commencement at Stanford have been engraved into our collective consciousness:

The only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven’t found it yet, keep looking. Don’t settle.

In other words, follow your passion. Theres just one problem: Follow your passion is dangerous advice.

Thats a troubling claim, but it comes straight from Cal Newports investigation into the details of how passionate people like Steve Jobs really got started as well as what scientists say predicts happiness and fuels great accomplishment.

Newports not alone. In recent years, a host of leaders, academics, and entrepreneurs have all come to the same startling conclusion: nearly everything youve been told about following your passion is wrong.

Here are seven habits you need instead.

1. Not passion, purpose

Ryan Holiday, author of Ego Is the Enemy:

Your passion may be the very thing holding you back from power or influence or accomplishment. Because just as often, we fail with no, because of passion. [P]urpose deemphasizes the I. Purpose is about pursuing something outside yourself as opposed to pleasuring yourself.

Until about a century ago, passion was a dirty word. Classical philosopher like Socrates and Marcus Aurelius saw passion as a liability not an asset: an insatiable and destructive force. Why?

Chiefly because passion is dangerously self-centered. In fact, our own modern descriptions of passion betray this inward bend: I want to [blank]. I need to [blank]. I have to [blank]. In most cases, whatever word finishes those sentences regardless of how well meaning it might be is overshadowed by the first.

Purpose, on the other hand, is about them, not me. It reorients our focus onto the people and causes were trying to reach, serve, help, and love. In The Happiness Hypothesis, psychologist Jonathan Haidt describes this pursuit as a striving to get the right relationships between yourself and others, between yourself and your work, and between yourself and something larger than yourself. If you get these relationships right, a sense of purpose and meaning will emerge.

Passion makes us bigger. Purpose connects us to something bigger and in doing so makes us right sized.

2. Not passion, picking

Shaa Wasmund, author of Stop Talking, Start Doing:

No is a far more powerful word than Yes. Every Yes said out of obligation or fear takes time away from the things and people we love. When an opportunity appears connected with your passion, its even trickier. Instead of snatching up everything that might get your closer to the life you want, give yourself the space to pick carefully.

Good is the enemy of great. Thats how Jim Collins put it anyway. Learning to say No is easily one of the most vital skills we can cultivate. And yet, even if youve mastered No to the obvious stuff, passion rears its head.

The blinding effect of passion leads us unthinkingly into projects and meetings that, in truth, are dead ends. Worse, they sap time and energy that would otherwise move us forward. When Tim Ferriss asked journalist Kara Swisher what message shed put on a billboard for millions to see, her answer was a single word, Stop.

And thats what picking is all about: slow down, pause, evaluate, weigh, and only then make a clear-headed choice. Picking involves, first, putting a time buffer on our decisions, particularly decisions that appear connected with your passion. Second, running our choices by an objective third party: a friend or colleague who can call out our blind spots.

Sleep on it. Reach out. The sun will rise tomorrow. And be ruthless with your Nos.

3. Not passion, practice

Angela Duckworth, author of Grit: The Power of Passion and Perseverance:

After youve discovered and developed interest in a particular area, you must devote yourself to the sort of focused, full-hearted, challenge-exceeding-skill practice that leads to mastery. You must zero in on your weaknesses, and you must do so over and over again, for hours a day, week after month after year.

We all love shortcuts. The allure of getting more by doing less is seductive. But are there times when doing more equals more? Absolutely.

The classic illustration comes from David Bayles and Ted Orlands Art and Fear where a ceramics teacher divided his class into two groups. The first was told theyd be graded on quality. The other, quantity. To get an A, the quantity group was required to produce fifty pounds of clay pots. Not exactly an artistically inspired assignment. And yet, when grading time came, a curious fact emerged: the works of highest quality were all produced by the group being graded for quantity.

What accounted for this reversal of expectations?

Easy: while the quality group held back laboring under perfectionism the quantity group got busy. They practiced. And thats good news. If greatness came down to passion or worse, talent then itd be reserved for only a select few. Practice means greatness is doable one tiny step after another.

4. Not passion, planning

Liran Kotzer, CEO of Woo.io:

Passion is indeed very important, but what most people don’t know is whats needed to achieve their true potential. Whether its to acquire new skills, get a promotion, or achieve what they want, it all starts with having a plan based on real data and real-world options.

The only word less sexy than practice is planning. And yet planning is a golden thread woven through the lives of artists, leaders, and entrepreneurs alike. The trick here is that plans need not be grandiose. Rather, they shouldnt be.

Optimism is wonderful when it comes to our dreams. However, when it comes to whats next the nitty-gritty actions thatll get us there optimism kills. Infected with passion, our plans lose touch with reality. We overestimate strengths and underestimate challenges. Beyond the real data and real-world options, we build castles in the sky. Thats one of the reasons platform like Woo, which lets you get feedback from companies and headhunters anonymously, are so valuable.

Where passion disconnects us from reality, planning especially planning of the SMART goal and number-crunching variety drives home the true state of affairs.

That true state rescues us from false expectations, show stoppers, and resentment. As a good friend of mine likes to say, The question when youre trying to bring a dream into reality shouldnt be, What going to go right? It should be, Whats going to go wrong?

5. Not passion, positioning

Jason Stone, founder of Millionaire Mentor Inc.:

Passion can only take you so far. After that, if you don’t have the skills, the tools, the resources, the knowledge, and the track-record to move forward, take risks, and expand. Otherwise, you wont be able to position yourself as an authority. Positioning is key to make sure you are ready when opportunity strikes!

Humans are associative creatures. We think and act not in isolation but by comparing and contrasting.

The basic approach of positioning, wrote Al Ries and Jack Trout in Positioning: The Battle for Your Mind, is not to create something new and different, but to manipulate whats already up there in the mind, to retie the connections that already exist. This is especially true when it comes to how other people see us.

Passionate people often come off as self-inflated. Theyre legends in their own minds. Positioning means leveraging who you are and what youve done as a springboard to whats next. It embraces the associate nature of other people and while it still leaves room for confidence acknowledges that how others perceive us is more real, at least to them, than how we see ourselves.

6. Not passion, peripheral

Troy Osinoff, author of My Bad Parent: Do As I Say, Not as I Did:

People that think they completely understand their world are the most susceptible to overlook new opportunities. Peripheral is about establishing an unwavering curiosity to use your existing knowledge in uncovering new patterns and trends both for the sake of your personal development as well as the success of your business or career.

Passion makes us myopic. We become so focused on the desire inside us, we lose sight of whats around us. Objectivity the ability to see the world as it truly is atrophies in the blinding light of passion.

Adopting a peripheral perspective forces us to examine the margins. It widens our view. Rather than rush headlong into disaster, were able to spot not just the pitfalls but the opportunities we would have otherwise missed.

How? By cultivating curiosity. Questions like, What am I missing? What am I ignoring? Who could give me a fresh take? are vital in every area of life. Likewise, so is putting ourselves in new situations, reading books outside our passions, and intentionally pursuing people who have nothing to do with what it is we think we want.

7. Not passion, perseverance

Brian D. Evans, founder of Influencive and Inc. 500 Entrepreneur:

The person who calls themselves a student is more a master than those who try to wear the title. Get up when you get knocked down. Come back stronger, faster, and (above all) smarter. The constant desire to learn and overcome has helped me achieve everything. You must persevere.

Although it might sound odd, perseverance is as much about putting in effort as it is battling ego. Drunk on passion, masters are doomed to repeat failures in the name of pushing through. In contrast, students do more than hone their craft; they learn from their mistakes.

Asked if the Patriots historic comeback in Super Bowl LI was his greatest game ever, Tom Brady replied: [W]hen I think of an interception return for a touchdown, some other missed opportunities in the first 37, 38 minutes of the game, I dont really consider playing a good quarter-and-a-half, plus overtime as one of the best games ever but it was certainly one of the most thrilling.

Certainly Brandy persevered, and itd be nice if that guaranteed success. But sometimes you wont come back to win it. At least, not in the moment. Jobs will be lost. Pitches turned down. Relationships ended. And reviews harsh.

Failure, however, isnt just an inevitable stepping stone toward success. Rejection is part of success itself. As Louis CK put it to a budding comedian, The only road to good shows is bad ones. Just go start having a bad time and, if you dont give up, you will get better.

Is passion a bad thing?

Understood rightly, no. But as the be-all-and-end-all? Yes.

Cal Newports prescription was skill: passion is the result of excellence, not its source.

Far from a magic bullet, passion can mislead us, blind us, and even turn us in on ourselves. Newport was right: Follow your passion might just be terrible advice. Thankfully, these seven habits put passion in its place so that the fire Jobs spoke of doesnt burn out but endures.

Aaron Orendorff is the founder of iconiContent and a regular contributor at Entrepreneur, Lifehacker, Fast Company, Business Insider and more. Connect with him about content marketing (and bunnies) on Facebook or Twitter.