#I NEED HER TO KNOW NOT HAVING SET DATES FOR ASSIGNMENTS AND A REGULAR FLOW KINDA FUCKING SUCKED

[daincrediblegg]

I hate it when I accidentally hit submit on the course eval for one of the classes I was most looking forward to critiquing for improvement when I had barely written anything 🙃

#SHE NEEDED TO KNOW THAT THE LAST ASSIGNMENT SHOULD BE EITHER THE VIDEO ESSAY OR THE ESSAY PROPER NOT BOTH IT'S TOO MUCH FUCKING SHIT TO DO #I NEED HER TO KNOW NOT HAVING SET DATES FOR ASSIGNMENTS AND A REGULAR FLOW KINDA FUCKING SUCKED #BUT NO. JUST BULLSHITTING FROM ME #GOD DAMNIT ALL TO HELL #it's been a long day and my group has literally written the worst AV script for this thing in all of christendom that I NOW HAVE TO EDIT #because I cannot fucking stand how badly written it is I literally can't. I've had to deal with that shit too often lately #please god give me a break. #at least my production professor seems to have really REALLY liked my doc as it was when I turned it in last week and liked meeting my dad #the other day. and gave me books on victorian photography #at least. she like me. at least. we vibe. #miyazaki prof needed to be taken down a peg though and I AM SO MAD THAT I MISSED THE OPPORTUNITY TO DO THAT BC THEY MADE THE SUBMIT BUTTON #LOOK LIKE THE NEXT BUTTON AND GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR #anyway gonna go see the boy and the heron tomorrow night by my fuckin self as a consolation prize for this stupid fucking week and having t #deal with the most stupid shit imaginable. #can't wait. gonna go out and have a proper meal by myself and everything.

[ddddd929eii29e29]

Unlock Your Creative Potential: Crafting a Short Story Idea📖💡

Are you an author? Do you enjoy learning about the creative process for yourself or simply because you find it fascinating? You're going to love this blog. You can actually position yourself for success in other writing endeavors by being skilled at short stories. That's why we're demonstrating how we create a short story.

Short stories are self-contained works of prose fiction whose function is to impart a moral, capture a moment, or evoke a certain mood. 

Short Story idea 1:

My life has been miserable since I was a child, full of lies, scolds, shouts, pain,  including problems. My inspiration on writing my short story is my own experience. This story encodes things that probably tell the flow of my life.

You may be thinking, “All this advice is good, but sometimes I just get stuck! What I normally do just isn’t working!” That’s a familiar feeling for all writers. Sometimes the writing just seems to flow as if by magic, but then the flow stops cold. Your brain seems to have run out of things to say. If you wait for the magic to return, you might wait a long time. Writing takes consistent effort. Writing comes out of regular practice, a habit. I also know that not everything I write ends up in the final draft. Sometimes I have to write what shitty rough draft. One of my favorite writing professors used to say that he was a terrible writer but a great reviser, and that’s what helped him write when inspiration wasn’t available. I develop a set of habits and have more than one way to write to get the words flowing again. You might associate the idea of writing anxiety or writer’s block with procrastination, and procrastination certainly can be either a cause or an effect of writing anxiety. You can learn more about procrastination later in this section of the text. But writing anxiety or writer’s block is more of a condition. We might even venture to call it an ailment. I included characters in my story as it is an element needed in a short story. These characters convey emotions of mine, they are the ones who elaborated my experiences to the audience which I can't do or share personally with others. These characters are friends of mine, I manage to gather pieces of information and more background details about them to truly make my story meaningful in each side of the elements. "Nighttime at the orange house" is my chosen setting where in I undergo problems. This time and place are where my "anxiety" started which is my plot. My story can either be easy to understand or not, based on the reader. If he/she may somehow encounter the same situation as mine they would understand. My story's center of attention is anxiety. The plot is the main conflict of my story, you can find another conflict in the story I made. But if we talk about the main conflict, anxiety covers the word conflict. Knowing the cause of your writing anxiety can help you move beyond it and get writing, even if you can’t eliminate the problem. If the topic doesn’t interest you or if you’re having problems at home, those probably aren’t issues that will just disappear, but if you try some of the following strategies, I think you’ll find that you can at least move forward with even the most anxiety-inducing of writing assignments.

Short story idea 2:

Romance has had to stand the test of time every once in a while. Add to it one’s individual struggles at home and work, and the idea of romance begins to seem highly unattainable. But then comes a person who makes you want to take a step toward dating and romance. They make you feel happy and loved, and you become ready to take risks. But even then, there are challenges one has to face; one of them is striving to achieve personal goals while at the same time devoting time to one’s partner. It becomes increasingly difficult to maintain a steady balance when two things demand your attention at the same time. This is where maturity, understanding, and compromise come into the equation. “A not so Inconvenient Love,” tells the story of one such pair who is learning what it means to love and at the same time achieving personal goals. “A not so convenient Love” draws inspiration from “To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before” and adds a flavor of its own to this coming-of-age romantic comedy story. "An Inconvenient Love” paints the story of Maya, a young girl who works part-time at a convenience store. She hails from a middle-class family that can barely make ends meet. Then we have Colby, the son of a rich industrialist, who decides to carve his own path by setting up his own business. The two meet in the most unlikely situation one can imagine. Colby was running away from a protest rally held against his father’s corporation. He changes his appearance on the go, and while he is on the bridge, he asks Maya to play along with his story. Sparks fly between the two. Soon, Colby begins to frequent the store where Maya is working with the intention of courting her. But Maya is opposed to the idea since she is leaving the country soon to pursue an internship in Singapore. But with Colby’s constant visits and her colleagues’ encouragement, Maya agrees to date Colby but lists conditions for their courtship. They decide that they would break up on the day she was leaving for Singapore. The conditions also state that there will be no grand gestures of affection or celebrations of the monthly anniversaries. Thus, the duo begins dating on their own terms. Romance or romantic love is a feeling of love for or a strong attraction towards another person, and the courtship behaviors undertaken by an individual to express those overall feelings and resultant emotions. Love is a connection or affection between two or more people, but is commonly known between two individuals. Love can wait, Love can understand.

#be creative

[crackheadgeminibby]

appearances pt. 1

pairing: 40s!bucky barnes x female!black!reader

warnings: language, angst, mentions of racism a bit?

word count: 2.2k

part 2

a/n: watched the first avenger and my brain almost immediately felt the need to write this down so enjoy, friends!

i do not consent to my work being copied in any way, shape or form or reposted on any other platform

not my gif

Being a Black nurse in the United States in the 1940s was far from easy. Your parents had always taught you to take care of and protect yourself. As you grew up, you learned that people weren’t as black and white, no pun intended, as they had made you believe. As a near 20-year-old now, you still used their advice, but you did so with a grain of salt.

You had always felt the need to help people, which was why you had decided to become a nurse. Sure, it was hard, but you were a strong, determined woman that believed that nothing could stand in the way of your dreams.

And it was by doing exactly that that you had met the love of your life.

James Bucky Barnes.

He was an extremely handsome man. One that came to the hospital far too often to get his friend Steve checked on.

Bucky was a huge flirt, which you didn’t mind, it’s not like you spent that much time together. But after a while, you noticed that Steve always seemed to stay at the hospital slightly longer than the previous time. He always said that he wanted to stay to make sure that everything was okay or that he had a headache and he preferred to stay where it could be monitored. But somehow, Bucky always stayed right next to him.

After about three months of coming to the hospital at least four times a week, Bucky had asked you out. At first, you had thought he was fucking with you. A handsome man like him asking out a regular woman like you? Even after you said no? It had to be a trap. Or so you thought until Bucky had left to use the bathroom one time and Steve had convinced you to say yes to him. He seemed so earnest while talking about how much his friend liked you and talked about you often that you couldn’t refuse. So, you had told him yes but only if you went somewhere private and at night.

It wasn’t because Steve and Bucky didn’t mind the color of your skin that everyone else in town shared that feeling. And you didn’t need this kind of thing coming back to your parents.

And so, you had started dating. Sure, it was in secret and only Steve knew but you didn’t mind. Bucky called you a hopeless romantic, but you liked to say that your romance was like that of Romeo and Juliet.

The sneaking around was fun. At least, at first it was. But now, a year after your relationship had started, it was getting increasingly energy-consuming.

Today was your anniversary with Bucky and it just so happened that you had the day off from work. You were supposed to meet him in the park where you had your first date at sunset but until then, you didn’t have any plans.

So, when your mother asked you to go grocery shopping for her, you hadn’t hesitated to say yes. Oh, how you regretted it now.

You were currently walking back from the grocery store, bags of food in hand when you had first heard it. Bucky’s laugh, coming from near you.

You frown as you focus on it to find him. Your breath hitches and you feel tears pooling in your eyes at the scene in front of you. Bucky is leaning against a wall in a hidden alley, flashing his smile at a girl in front of him, his hand on her cheek. Even with her back to you, you could recognize her.

Dolores. Or Dot as people usually called her. She was Bucky’s longtime pursuit. Everyone thought they would end up married with a whole litter of kids. Childhood sweeathearts and all that.

Bucky looks up, spotting you, and you see his smile falter for half a second before it’s back up like nothing happened.

You bite your lip, trying to keep your tears in, as you turn around and walk faster towards your house. Luckily for you, your family lived near a large park, full of thick, tall trees that were essentially soundproof. As soon as you step foot in the park, tears are flowing freely down your face and sobs are shaking your body.

You hated that you were crying because of this. But what you hated even more was your complete inability to do anything. If you had had any kind of reaction back in town, an uproar was sure to happen. You didn’t want or need that and neither did your parents.

You let out a breath when you arrive at your house and see that nobody’s home.

You put away the groceries hurriedly before taking a hot shower. As you exit the bathroom, you see that the sun has set, making your room pitch black. You also notice that your family has made it home, hearing your father, mother and sister talking downstairs. You close your curtains and turn on your bedside lamp, not wanting a light too bright illuminating your room. You put your pyjamas on as you hear a knock at your door.

“Come in.”

Your mom opens that door and walks in, leaning against your desk before asking, “Already in your pyjamas? Did you already eat?”

You shake your head, replying, “No… I’m just not very hungry so I think I’m going to read a bit then go to sleep.”

Your mom nods slowly before answering, “Okay, good night then, honey.”

You mumble a “good night” to her as you get under your covers. You reach for the book sitting on your bed night table. You didn’t even remember the last time you had time to sit down and read.

You barely read a sentence before you hear a small noise at your window. You roll your eyes, knowing exactly who it was.

You set your book down and walk to the window, opening the curtains and sliding the window open just a smidge.

“What do you want, Bucky?”

Bucky cringes at your use of his full name. In the past year, you had only ever called him Buck or Baby, sometimes James when you were joking, but never Bucky.

Bucky smiles slightly at you, “Can I come in?”

You sigh, opening the window completely and turning around to sit on your bed. Bucky climbs into your bedroom and sits down on the edge of your window.

“So, how was your day?”

You look at him, mouth agape. Was he being serious right now?

You cross your arms across your chest and reply sarcastically, “Gee, Bucky, my day was great, thanks for asking.”

He bites his bottom lip before coming to sit down next to you. “Nothing happened with Dot. We were just talking.”

You sigh and shake your head, getting up to pace around your room. “I don’t care, Bucky. That’s not the problem. I just…” You stop in front of your closet, looking down at your feet, “I can’t do it anymore, Bucky. I can’t handle it.”

Bucky walks towards you rapidly, “No, no… Don’t say that, doll. I won’t see Dot again, I promise. I won’t talk to any other girl, only you. Just don’t say that please.”

You shake your head, looking up at Bucky.

“It doesn’t matter if you see her again or not. Or who you talk to. It just can’t work.”

Bucky stutters, trying to find the right words to say, before looking into your eyes, unshed tears in his.

“Why are you doing this to us?”

You glance at the floor before looking back into his eyes, biting your bottom lip, “Because, Bucky, it just has to be like this.”

Bucky shakes his head, “No but I won’t talk to Dot again, it’s fine.”

“God, Bucky, it’s not about-”, you start, practically screaming before Bucky puts a hand over your mouth, frowning.

“Keep your voice down!”

You rip his hand away from your face before walking back to your bed.

“It’s not about Dot, Bucky. Or anyone else. It’s about me.”

Bucky looks at you confusedly.

“We’re not going to go anywhere, Bucky. It’s not like we’re going to get married and have kids or something. It’s stupid to keep doing this when we have no future together.” You finish, throwing your hands in the air.

Bucky’s face contorts with an expression of hurt and slight anger, “You don’t see a future with me?”, he whispers.

You look up at him and despite every single cell in your body screaming at you to say yes, you shake your head at him.

You see a single tear fall from his eye before he nods his head dejectedly. He wipes it away angrily before walking back to your window. He makes his way on your roof but before jumping down to the ground, he fishes something out of his pocket. He slams a small, black box on your windowsill and says, “Happy anniversary, by the way.”

He looks at you one last time before jumping down from your roof. You feel some tears falling down your face before you walk slowly to your window. You take the box, exhaling deeply as you open it, feeling the air being sucked out of your lungs.

A modest but beautiful engagement ring sits in the center of the box, surrounded by velvet. Tears are now freely flowing down your face as you take the box and lay down in bed, staring at it for God knows how long. After feeling like no tears are left in your body, you close the box, tucking it in your bed night table drawer, before falling asleep.

The next morning, you wake up, stiff, dehydrated and with a headache. As much as you would have liked to stay in bed and cry some more, you had a shift at the hospital this morning that you absolutely could not miss.

You wearily get up from your bed, following through with your morning routine before walking to the hospital. As you look at your assignment for the day, you hear a small throat clear behind you. You whip around, seeing Steve right behind you, looking exhausted. He waves at you, muttering a “hey”.

You take him to his usual room and make him sit on the bed before getting the clipboard from the counter.

“So, what’s wrong with you today, Steve?”

“Nothing. I came to talk to you about Bucky.”

You swallow thickly before putting the clipboard back down slowly. You lean on the counter and cross your arms before nodding at Steve to continue.

“He came back home last night, sobbing. I could barely even understand anything from what he was saying except your name. What happened last night?”

You look away from Steve uncomfortably before biting your lip and answering quietly, “I broke up with him.”

Steve frowns in confusion before asking, “But why? I thought everything was going super well. Did he mess up the proposal or something?”

You feel tears rise in your eyes at the mention of Bucky’s proposal. You shake your head slowly before replying, “He didn’t make it to the proposal.”

Steve looks at you, even more confused than before.

You sigh, saying, “I broke up with him because it’s what’s best for him. He doesn’t need to be held back by me. Do you know what people would say if they saw us together, Steve?”

Steve looks at you, surprised, “Since when do you care about what people have to say about you?”

You shake your head, “Us.” Steve tilts his head in confusion.

“People wouldn’t be talking about me. They would be talking about Bucky and me. I’m protecting him. He doesn’t need to go through that kind of shit. If anything, I’m doing him a favor.”

“Why can’t you let him decide what he needs?”

“It doesn’t matter, Steve. It’s done. Bucky probably doesn’t want to see me ever again.”

“That’s not true.”

You feel the air being knocked out of you as you turn around to see Bucky in the doorframe. He looks drained, his face void of color and his eyes bloodshot.

“I love you more than anything else in the world. How could you ever say that I don’t want to see you?”

“Bucky…”

Steve gets up from the bed, walking towards the door, “I’ll leave you two alone.”

As Steve is leaving, Bucky enters the room and closes the door behind him.

He stands in front of you, slightly out of reach, with his hands in his pocket.

You exhale deeply before starting, “Look, Bucky, I can’t do it. It didn’t really hit me until yesterday that we’re not going anywhere together, it can’t work.”

Bucky clenches his jaw tightly, “Stop saying that.”

“But it’s true, Bucky. Do you really think that anyone is going to support us?”

“Steve does.”

You roll your eyes slightly, “Steve is literally the definition of good. He couldn’t be mean to me if he tried.” Bucky chuckles softly, knowing that you were right. His face becomes serious again before he replies, “Who cares about anyone else? There’s you and me in this relationship. No one else. So, no one else matters.”

You shake your head, “Bucky, we can’t just live with no friends and no family. What kind of life would that be?”

“It doesn’t matter because I would be with you.”

You feel your heart squeeze at Bucky’s words, “Bucky, we can’t. It has to be this way.” You look up at the clock behind him.

“I have to go, my shift started 10 minutes ago.” You walk towards Bucky, stroking his cheek. He leans into your hand before you kiss him softly. His eyes flutter shut as his hands grab your waist.

You pull away from him gently before saying, almost inaudibly,

“Goodbye, Bucky.”

hi @saiyanprincessswanie i would love it if you could read this! part 2 is coming in about a week though!🤗

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x black!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x woc #sebastian stan #sebastian stan fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x black reader

[fortheloveoffanfic]

This Christmas (pt1)

John Wick x Reader. A John Wick AU. (A/n- Just a tiny, five part Au where John is Y/n’s boss.)

Masterlist  

Warnings- none

New York Y/n’s desk was probably the most obvious give away that Christmas was her favorite holiday of all time. She had everything; from tinsel running cheerfully around the edges and a tiny tree in one corner, to a little snowman figurine and a decorative jar of striped candy canes. That year, she’d even put out extra to buy a little Santa Claus figurine to greet everyone coming out of the elevator. The rest of the floor hadn’t really caught on though, her boss was never one to get into the holiday spirit anyways. But Y/n didn’t mind, she probably had enough for them both. 

That morning, three weeks before the big day, she was sitting at her little station in the waiting room, tapping away on her computer, contentedly working her way through everything John had assigned her as she hummed in time with the Christmas carols wafting through her ear buds, loud enough for her to enjoy it though not so much so as to hamper her from hearing if the phone would ring. A classic had just started up, and like the others, Y/n had committed it to memory and was completely ready to get in tune with Mariah Carey when a knocking on the upper part of her receptionist’s desk roused her attention. It was Robert, the company’s head of marketing, flashing her a winning grin as he leaned forward on the matted grey surface. “I see our Christmas queen strikes again,” he gave her area a once over, his smile not wavering.

“That she has,” Y/n returned, beaming. Robert was a friend, a good one and he never let the vast differences in their positions at the company get in the way of inviting her to drinks with other board members or taking the extra elevator ride to bring her coffee whenever he could. “Do you like it?” Removing her ear buds, Y/n shifted her keyboard to give herself some room to fold her elbows on the desk.

“Like it?” Robert furrowed his brows, “I love it! You should come over and help me decorate,” when Y/n rolled her eyes, dismissing the notion, he clarified, “I’m being serious! You won’t have to do any of the heavy lifting, I swear, I’d be grateful for just your direction.”

Giggling, Y/n leaned back into her chair, folding her arms across her chest, “Can’t you pay someone to do all that Rob? What do you need me for?”

“I guess I could,” he shrugged, depositing a colorful gift bag with crepe paper sticking out at the top in front of him, he straightened up, slipping his hands into his pockets, “But it won’t be the same. I’m pretty clueless with…..making sure things flow so perfectly,” he gestured to the way she’d dressed up her station; just enough to show off the spirit, though not in a gaudy, over the top way, “But I like to get involved, you know? Please say you’ll come. I may not be able to decorate like a pro, but my hot cocoa is awesome.”

Leaning in conspiringly, Y/n held her chin in her palm, “Are you trying to bribe me with amazing cocoa that I’ve never tasted?”

“I am,” his voice dropped an octave, and when Robert leaned in towards the desk, he spoke in a whisper, “The secret’s whiskey.”

“Ohh,” Y/n mused, “Very tempting, can you do Saturday?”

“I most definitely can.” just as they continued to make plans, out from the hallway, came their boss, and CEO of the company, John Wick. It was hard to not notice him, considering he seemed to have this air about him that attracted all eyes the minute he walked into a room. He was just…..magnetic. “Y/n,” he teased, “You didn’t tell me the Grinch was in.”

From her usual perch, Y/n stuttered, unlike Robert, she was afraid of what would happen if John felt insulted by a harmless joke. He was an asset to the company, of a high caliber, but her? She was just an assistant. Thankfully though, John didn’t give her a moment to speak before speaking up, shaking his head, “Don’t you have work to do Rob? Things to finalize before the conference.”

“It’s three weeks away,” Robert defended, taking on a bothered expression. He turned to John, leaning against the lip of the desk and crossing one ankle in front of the other. Likewise, John neared the pair, lingering closer to the edge, laying a large palm on the cool top, not yet regarding Y/n.

“Only three weeks,” John emphasized with a heavy sigh, “Did you really just come up here to bother my secretary? Cause if you don’t, Y/n does have work to.” 

“I can see that,” Robert nodded towards the thick planner laid out next to her computer, right next to several papers and little notes reminding her of all the things she had to get done. Buy gifts for everyone on John’s very long yet impersonal list, schedule flights to England for the conference, book him a hotel room, organize his calendar and set appointment dates. And that was barely a quarter of it. By the rate things were going, Y/n was beginning to wonder if John was even going to take Christmas day off. “You’ve got her burning the midnight oil.”

“It’s eleven am,” John noted gruffly. In her three years of working under him, Y/n had never once heard the man crack a joke, or laugh for that matter. He was so serious that often, Y/n would wonder if he even smiled. Maybe that's why he looked so good for a man nearing fifty. That, and the real possibility of him having a fancy home gym. “Maybe it’s time to get back to your office Robert.”

“Right,” Robert fought a frown, only to turn back to Y/n as he picked up the gift, “Just one more thing,” as he looked at her, he smiled again, holding the bag out to her, “I got you this Y/n.”

Scoffing a delighted laugh, Y/n retrieved the present, “No fair, you’re early. I haven’t even had time to get your gift yet.”

“This isn’t your Christmas present,” Robert gestured for her to unveil his gift, “Open it, come on.”

“Alright, fine. But if it's not- oh my god!” Gasping loudly, her jaw hung slack and Y/n held up the ceramic mug that had been secured inside. It was rounded and painted to look like a gingerbread man wearing a scarf, and it had even come equipped with a candy cane spoon. “Rob,”  standing abruptly, disregarding her boss eyeing their exchange, “I love it,” Y/n walked around to meet him on the other side, immediately pulling him into a warm hug, “Thank you!”

“I knew you would,” he grinned as they pulled apart, “I should probably get back now though. But I’ll call you tonight so we can talk about Saturday.”

“Sounds great!” Waving as Robert retreated towards the elevator, she gave her new mug another look, “I can’t wait to use this,” Y/n noted, more to herself, only catching John staring at her when she looked up once more, “I’m sorry Mr. Wick, is there something you needed? If its about your flight plan, I’m calling the agency this afternoon so-”

“You know we have a no fraternization policy, right?” He cut her off, straightening his back and cutting her a stern look.

“I….uh….You mean…..” Looking between John and her opened present, Y/n furrowed her brows, confused. Of course, Robert was perhaps one of the most eligible bachelors, besides John himself, at the company; he was attractive, charming and quite the gentleman. But Y/n had never even thought of viewing him in a romantic light, they were friends and nothing more. “That was…..that was nothing,” she waved the thought off, “Robert is just a good friend. He probably just saw that while he was shopping or something. We do that kind of thing all the time.”

Humming his response, John kept his head held intimidatingly high. He always seemed so much bigger than her and Y/n could never decide whether or not it was thrilling or frightening. John himself was quite the looker, dark hair, dark eyes and enthrallingly mysterious. Even on a regular day he looked like he belonged on the posters for some high end brand or the other. “I need you in my office,” already, he was walking off and Y/n was left scurrying to match his long strides in her heels.

“What is this about?” Breathless as John shut the heavy door behind them, Y/n tried to right herself as she went before his desk. The large room, with dark porcelain floors and hardwood walls, accented by elegant furniture was familiar territory and Y/n knew it almost as well as she knew her own apartment. Papers on the right of his desk were dealt with, the ones on the left weren’t. There was an integrated mini refrigerator among the cabinets and he kept an extra suit, custom Tom Ford cause he never wore anything but, in the closet where he kept his coat. Come to think of it, Y/n probably knew more about John than anyone else in that entire building,

“Its about the conference,” coolly, he sank into his imposing leather chair, gracefully scooting towards his imported, mahogany desk. “It’s good that you haven’t called the agency yet, cause now you’ll be booking three tickets; you’re coming too.”

Stammering, Y/n’s eyes went wide with surprise. That wasn’t right, that wasn’t right at all. She was supposed to have Christmas week off, so she could fly home to be with her family, but that wasn’t really possible if John would be taking her across the pond for a conference filled with stuffy, middle aged people with too much money and no one to spend it on. “Mr. Wick…..I…..I already applied for that week off.”

“No you didn’t, you never submitted an application,” he didn’t even look at her, firing up his laptop and probably ready to be done with the matter.

“Yes, I did,” frenzied, and panicked, Y/n looked to his desk, where, lo and behold, her application for time off sat on among the smaller pile of paperwork, the one on the left side. But that was impossible, she’d given it to him weeks ago! “It’s right there,” she pointed accusingly to where it had been sticking out from beneath some investment proposal or the other. 

Snatching it up, John scanned the pages before swearing under his breath. It was the first time she’d ever seen him so bewildered. “Y/n,” he sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face, “I’m sorry it must have gotten mixed up in the hustle.”

“I….” She wanted to argue, tell him that an apology wouldn’t make up for keeping her away from her family. Y/n wanted to yell that she’d be taking the week off anyway. But she couldn’t. Not just because he was her boss, but because he was John, who despite his very hardened exterior, had earned himself a soft spot in her heart. Y/n cared for him, in a way she probably shouldn’t have and the thought of bailing when he needed her wasn’t one she could entertain. “It’s okay,” forcing a smile and biting back tears, she blinked quickly, “I guess I should get to planning our flights.”

“Y/n-” he began, but it was too late, Y/n had already turned on her heel and was moving towards the door, swiping hastily at her eyes before she could listen to him say anything else. 

Three Weeks Later Despite being separated merely by six inches in the car ride to the airport, Y/n swore that she could feel John's heat radiating, seeping through her thick layers. It was both an exciting and uncomfortable experience. On one hand, being that close to him almost had her giddy; feeding the school girl crush she'd developed on her boss. While on the other, things felt clumsy and tense; he didn't seem interested in talking,  she didn't know what they could possibly talk about besides work and sharing an hour long car ride and six am was plain out awkward. Still, they’d made it through in almost complete silence. 

Even at the airport, whilst walking to where they had agreed to meet Robert at the waiting area in anticipation of their flight, John had stayed silent and Y/n felt something of a dead limb walking beside him. He was always quiet and, like clockwork, as the year dwindled down, he seemed to grow even colder, as New York’s winter resided inside him. Usually, Y/n tried to not to let it get to her, but they were going to spend the week together; she’d given up family time for work and his silence was making her feel a bit lonely. Her only glimmer of hope for some good, warm company had been in Robert, even if Y/n got the feeling that John wouldn’t be giving them too much time together.

The chill between them lingered all the way through, though, when they all met up, things were uncharacteristically different. Immediately upon greeting each other, Y/n had instinctively pulled Robert into a hug, standing on the tip toes of her suede knee-highs so she could loop her arms around his neck, staying like that until John cleared his throat. When Y/n pulled away, she rubbed her gloved hands together, glancing at John, not really knowing what to feel when she looked at him and consequently looking away quickly. “ Uh…” checking her phone, Y/n exhaled shakily; there was still quite a bit of time left and the thought of having to spend it with both Robert and John was unnerving. She knew he wasn’t exactly a fan of their friendship, though, she could never tell why and without having to ponder on it, Y/n  had already known that they were in for a long morning.

“Why don’t we head over to the lounge, get some drinks?” John filled the silence, causing Y/n to snap her head up and look directly at them. John wanted to grab drinks, with them? When she finally gathered the courage to face him, she found that John was looking directly at her, as if he were really only seeking her response.

Staring back at him, as she always did, Y/n found it hard to not lose herself in those dark pools, so endless that she might have drowned if she wasn’t too careful. The request was simple and impersonal, but still very unlike the John she’d grown to know. “Okay,” forcing herself to nod and simultaneously shifting her gaze back to Robert who now stood beside her, Y/n agreed, “We can do that. But it’s a little early, don’t you think?”

“It’s the airport, Y/n,” Robert teased lightly as he nudged her shoulder, “Besides, it's already noon in London, so technically, you’re just…….pre-assimilating.”

Battling an amused grin, Y/n rolled her eyes, adjusting the bag on her shoulder as she prepared to start moving towards the lounge, “That’s not a real thing.”

“Technically it is, I mean, Hardy made up words all the time and no one did anything about that. You,” he emphasized pointedly, “Love Hardy.”

“Hardy is a timeless, literary genius. You are a marketer from New York, it’s clearly not the same,” she laughed. She could tell that Robert was about to add something more, though, when John interrupted them, sternly urging them to move along, he dropped the matter, instead insisting that he take one of her bigger bags. “Oh, you don’t have to.”

“Yeah, but I want to,” he said, claiming one of her carry ons before she could protest any further. “We should get going, before Scrooge over here loses it.”

“You’ve gotta stop that,” Y/n admonished before they set off, “You’re gonna get fired or something.”

“I’m not gonna get fired, relax-”

“If you kids are finished,” they both looked to John immediately as he scolded them, and Y/n shuddered at the way his tell tale signs of irritation shone through; a quirked brow, an evident scowl and a hardness in his jaw that screamed that he was at his rope’s end with their banter. 

“We are,” she spoke up without giving Robert the opportunity to come up with another questionable joke directed at their very unamused boss. Then, not offering anything further, she followed John’s  lead as he walked off, not paying any mind to how far they were behind him. 

Though, the peace was short lived when Y/n tripped as they reached the bottom of one of those short lived staircases that had been placed purely for aesthetic purposes, accidently dropping her rolling suitcase as she stumbled forward. With reflexes faster than she could have registered, John spun, barely sparing a moment to set aside his own suitcase before catching her at the shoulders. By the time he’d helped her right herself, Y/n’s chest was barely a hair away from his and with the way he was bent, his face wasn’t much further from hers. Swallowing thickly, for the first time Y/n didn’t feel small under his bottomless stare, instead, she felt like he was seeing into her; trying to speak into her. It was hard to decipher it, and it could have very well been her own unspoken affections blurring things, but Y/n could have sworn that he was seeing her in a different light.

Everything around them seemed to slow down, like the universe was letting her savor the proximity that she’d never experience again. “Are you okay?” John’s inquiry pierced their fragile moment, and all of a sudden, it was as if someone had hit play on a remote so reality would resume.

“I…..I’m fine, thanks,” she smiled weakly, her expression faltering when John pulled away. Then, simultaneously remembering her fallen suitcase, they both bent over to get it, leaving John’s hand to unconsciously fall over Y/n’s. For a split second, they stared at their hands, together, on the black plastic handle, looking very suggestive with the way they were positioned. “I uh, I got it,” flustered, Y/n gave the bag a gentle tug.

John didn’t let up immediately though, instead sparing her a peculiar stare, “Are you sure? I don’t mind.”

“It’s okay,” she exhaled shakily. Y/n couldn't let him take it, else she’d read too much into it, and no good would come from reading too much into an innocent though rare act of inconsequential kindness from John Wick. He didn’t feel the same, they weren’t even friends, it wasn’t worth it. “Thanks though.”

They stood and John immediately put some distance between them. “Good,” he scoffed coldly, walking off before they could exchange anything else. 

“Hey,” Robert touched her shoulder, causing Y/n to jump. She’d been looking on as John walked off, rooted to the spot, unsure of what to do or think. “You okay? That could have been a nasty fall, especially in those shoes.”

“Yeah,” finally tearing her gaze away from John’s slowly shrinking form so she could greet Robert’s concern with her own bewilderment, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Vaguely, she heard his response, though it sounded far off as she inevitably succumbed to  letting thoughts of the past five minds swim around in her head; caught between wishing it meant something and thinking that it more than likely didn’t. 

****** Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana  @keandrews @greenmanalishi  @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves  @planetkt @wheretheriversrunintothesea

#john wick #keanu reeves #john wick x you #keanu reeves x you #keanu reeves x y/n #john wick x y/n #john wick x reader #john wick fanfic #ff #fanfiction #keanu reeves fanfic #john wick au #christmas au #this christmas #this christmas part 1

[wing-ed-thing]

Cabaret (Might Guy x Reader, Chapter VI)

Synopsis: You can't stand Might Guy. Honestly, how could anyone be so boisterously unaware and sickeningly positive? Your heart sinks as the both of you are teamed up to infiltrate and collect information from the Hidden Sound's gritty nightlife. Maybe losing yourselves in the dark of the underground will help you both come to an understanding.

Word Count: 2,251

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIIIChapter IX Chapter X Chapter XI 

Warnings: Minor Sexual Assault (you are kissed without permission), adult themes, alcohol, fowl language

You were at the club early the following day. You sat down at the bar with a deep exhale. Guy hadn’t arrived but the girls helped themselves to what was behind the counter. You couldn’t choose between water or hair of the dog. You opted for both.

The hangover wasn’t the only factor worsening your exhaustion. Chiasa had just helped you finish hanging up your gowns. One gown on its own didn’t yield much weight, but you severely underestimated how heavy multiple evening gowns became when jutsu wasn’t used to store them. Your headache from your first night on the job pounded in your ears. You were just about done downing your third glass of water when you heard a man clear his throat.

You turned on the stool, seeing the Sound ninja from last night. He wore his uniform still… and still looked the slightest bit like Might Guy. You blinked rapidly, trying to physically banish the comparison from your head. His bangs framed his hitai-ate. The eighth note on his forehead shone under the lowlights of the club.

“Oh, hello.” You greeted him weakly.

“Accompany me for a walk.” His demanding words carried a passive tone. It was not a question. You looked over to one of the other hostesses. She did not look back, but her side eye told you that you better leave with the ninja before you.

You removed your gloves and placed them on the counter before following the man out of the building. It was that time again. The sun just began to set on the Sound. You didn’t know what it was, but the sunsets appeared different in the Hidden Sound. Equally beautiful, but different. The air smelled like the ocean.

You walked with the ninja. The sandy gravel of the path crunched under your heels.

You noted his sports gloves and the hole open on the back, exposing the skin of his hand. Another patch lay exposed between his ear and his scarf. You took in the many cuts and scrapes on his arms, honing in on four puncture wounds. His face remained unobscured. You remembered his high cheekbones from the night before. You remembered his lean frame. You remembered his bangs, his almond shaped eyes and thin lips.

“I would like to take you on a date.” The ninja told you. “You will be compensated for your time and the meal. I already worked it out with the woman known as Mama-san. I’ve taken a liking to you and you will be ready for me here tomorrow before you work at six. Then, you will sit with me for a drink. This conversation is a courtesy, of course.”

You felt an unpleasant pang in your chest. Objectification. Subhumanity. The sheer fact that he thought that he was doing you a favor to tell you before buying you was enough to lose your temper where you stood, but you shut your mouth. You had no choice but to accept, but that did not mean you wouldn’t seethe silently the whole way back to “HEAVEN”.

“Marigolds keep snakes away.” You told him when you got back.

“What?”

“The snake bites on your arms. Marigolds.”

***

“It’s called dohan,” Chiara explained when you told her later. “You’re very lucky!” She told you, lips puckered and eyes bright. Lucky. “You get extra money for dohan! You just got yourself a regular, Yume-san!” In her excitement, she nearly tripped. You caught the tray of empty champagne flutes from the table you just cleared. You exited the kitchen when another hostess approached the two of you.

“There’s a request for Yume-san at table fifteen.”

“Okay! We’ll be out in a moment!” Chiara chirped.

“Just Yume-san.”

“Just Yume-san?” Chiara questioned. The hostess nodded. She perked up. “It might be that guy you told me about! From earlier! You’re doing such a great job, I can’t believe you already have regulars!” You frowned, less than happy at such a prospect.

Your two coworkers sent you out with a tray with a scotch and a martini.

“I’ll take a scotch and whatever it is that the lady wants.” Your new client apparently said.

You sauntered past the bar to your assigned table in the upper left corner of the club. A hostess performed on stage and her gorgeous melodies flowed throughout the area. She shook her hips, making explicit gestures as she ran her hands down her body. Another hostess accompanied her on the piano. Another few played various brass instruments. You would have to ask Chiasa about that later.

You caught sight of your client. You nearly stopped in your tracks. Seeing his full face now, your mind flashed back to the Leaf’s bingo book, but you pressed on as to not alarm the wanted man. He lounged in the booth like a prince upon a throne. He lazily swirled around the ice in his drink. His hitai-ate restrained his overflowing silver locks. When he noticed you approaching, he made no effort to adjust his posture.

You placed the tray on the table in front of him. You pushed down the heat rising to your skin and picked up your martini. You handed him his scotch, mentally picturing him in cuffs on his way to prison. He gave you a silent nod of acknowledgement as you sat down next to him. His arm immediately came to rest around your shoulders. His circular glasses caught the light from the lamp above.

“Hiya… Handsome, how are we doing today?” The words were still clunky as they rolled off your tongue despite your day of experience.

“Just fine, thank you,” He took a sip of his drink and put it back down on the table. His eyes narrowed and a wide smirk encompassed his lips. The hand around your shoulder played with your hair. The ninja leaned down, two fingers under your chin. His cold touch on your skin coursed through you. You fought off the urge to recoil. He breathed, “You can call me Yakushi-sama, Beautiful.”

The hand in your hair came to pin your shoulder back against the booth. The shock of his touch encompassed your system, pounding in your head. He leaned down to place a kiss on your lips. You mentally shattered. You felt dizzy, your senses overloaded by his shifty spirit. He came crashing into your mind. You felt arrogance. Snark. Devotion. Loss. Need. Hunger.

Clients weren’t supposed to touch you. You weakly pushed him off you, bowing your head away before the exchange, leaving the overload of sensations erupt in your core.

When you looked into his round frames, you could have sworn he looked through you. You felt on display. You took a deep intake, the sharp frost dissipating into a balanced equilibrium.

“Of course, Yakushi-sama.” He looked amused at your reaction and reached back for his drink. Your smile faltered as he did so. The room may as well have been spinning. You gripped your glass, the sensation of the smooth glass under your fingertips grounding you to reality. “I’m honored that you chose me for your company tonight.”

“Well, I’ve heard a lot about you, Yume-chan.” You eyed him and tried to ignite a semblance of fire within you. Guy’s words echoed in your head. Prepare yourself, watch your back. But you found yourself unmotivated and failing. “And I must say that I am disappointed.”

Kabuto finished his drink. The cubes of ice clinked as he once again rested the glass on the table. He took out his wallet, fishing out a few ryō before he stood. The ryō were placed on the tray. And he left you alone to down your martini.

***

You stumbled into your studio apartment, wasted but sobering up. You were beginning to build up a tolerance, but that process was ever slow. You flung your heels off and tossed your gloves on the bed. You trudged to the bathroom, taking soaked rag to the glue of your wig. The lace peeled from your skin inch by inch.

You took a large bottle of mouthwash out from under the counter. Swirl, gargle, repeat. Swirl, gargle, repeat. The bottle stood half empty by the time you slammed your cup down for the last time.

You leaned, a hand on the counter. You looked up into the mirror. Your makeup smeared around your eyes and wig gel flaked at your hairline. The bags under your eyes stood out more prominently without concealer. You stripped out of your gown, hanging it up on the hook on the door.

The steam from the shower began to clear your head as you washed your hair out. But even under the hot water, you felt grimy. You scrubbed at your skin, trying to wash away the unwanted touches from the club. You pushed the loofah into your skin, but the sensation still remained. You turned the heat up before returning to lather the loofah in soap once more. You returned to roughly scoured your skin as the water scorched your back. But once again, the feeling of hands remained. You kept trying and trying and trying until your skin became red from both the heat and the friction. You could still sense them: each and every client. Their spirits etched themselves in you with every grope. Every moment of bitter exchange and unpleasant balance. The ninja from the bingo book flashed across your memories. You let out a bitter cry, throwing the loofah down. Your head met your hands as you sat, crouched, crying.

Guy had sat on your couch once again when you came out of the bathroom. You wrapped a towel around your hair. You balanced the weight as you finished buttoning up your night shirt. You sat down next to him. He did not bring beer this time.

“Rough few nights?” Guy threw on his usual jovial smile. You curled up into the couch.

““I have some things to tell you about the mission but… give me a second, okay?” That was all you said. He sat with you silently and patiently. A clock somewhere in the room ticked on. You took a deep inhale, your voice a whisper, “We need to get into that back room.”

“And we will!” Guy was overdoing it. A beat. A pause. Your features didn’t change. His voice became low, “You don’t have to go with him tomorrow.” You felt the sting of tears gathering in your ducts. You weren’t sure why you were crying.

“Yes I do.” You blinked, tears streaming down your face. You wiped them away with your sleeve. “That’s not it…” Guy cleared his throat.

“Well, I don’t think you should go.” Guy promptly put. You shook your head at him, brow furrowing farther in sadness.

“Don’t-... Guy, don’t-...” Your hand wove itself in your hair as you clenched your eyes shut. “I told you it’s not about that.”

“It would be hard for me to spot you. If anything goes wrong, I’ll be there, but it’s harder to follow you away from the club-” He began to get lost in himself.

“Guy please! I don’t know if I can do this!” His eyes met your tired puffy ones. “I know it’s not a big deal. I know I shouldn’t be bothered.” You let out a huff of a laugh as tears streamed down your cheeks. “But fuck… I hate that I’m so worked up over this.”

“What is it?”

“My kekkei genkai,” You took a breath in an attempt to slow your breathing. “Sure, I can connect myself to others. If I can get my hands on someone’s face I’m golden, you know?” You kicked a leg out. The coffee table tumbled across the floor and you cried. “But that’s when I can get information and be done. That’s when I’m in control! I can’t turn it off! I feel it all day, every touch from men and their slimy spirits.” You scrunched your nose in bitterness. “We better find what we’re looking for soon.”

“And we will.” You gripped onto a pillow, screaming into it.

“ I can see shit I wish I didn’t, hear the things they want to do to me, to other women and I can’t do shit about it! Fucking pathetic!” You melted into the cushions around you. “I don’t know how much more I can handle and it’s only been two days! I-I... was the wrong choice for this.”

Your features contorted themselves in pain, in hurt. The way of the ninja always was gender neutral. It didn’t matter if you were a man or a woman or anything in between, your duty to your team remained your duty to your team. You were always a confident kunoichi or at least you thought so. The fury buried itself in your chest. You didn’t understand. You did not understand what this mission was doing to you and you didn’t like it one bit. Unable to escape, you felt it burn you from the inside out. For you were no longer a capable kunoichi, but a doll to be ordered off a menu.

“Please, talk about anything else.” You pleaded at this point. Guy’s features softened.

“Anything else, huh?” He pursed his lips. He tried to replicate the usual brightness in his eyes. You appreciated the attempt. “Well, let me tell ya’! Mine and Kakashi’s last rivalry challenge was truly one for the record books! It was a barbecue eating contest and I’m convinced that he cheated!” Guy continued on with gusto as tears fell from your eyes. “We’re seven pieces of flank steak in and all of the sudden he’s tellin’ me he has to go to the bathroom-”

You softly take his hand into yours.

A wave overtook you. You felt it again. Warm. Kind. You let his spirit swirl in your core and you exhaled thankfulness. Guy sat with you silent now like a foreigner in a sacred temple. You knew he felt it too.

“Please continue.” You whispered. Your thumb traced his knuckles. “I think I’m just tired, that’s all.”

“Ah… right! So it’s neck and neck, we both have two more plates to go…”

You basked in his comfy spirit, watching the glow in his eyes that was just for you. The sensations from the club slowly began to fade away and not once did Might Guy falter.

You know, I was watching Spirited Away when editing this. I want to like it, I really do. I love Studio Ghibli, but dear lord, did they have to make Chihiro scream all her lines? Like the animation and story is gorgeous but jeez so much yelling. 

Aaaaanyway enjoy!

#might guy #might guy x reader #might guy relationship #Maito Gai #maito gai x reader #maito guy #Maito guy relationship #cabaret #x you #reader insert #x reader #naruto #naruto x reader #naruto x you #naruto x y/n #naruto headcanon #naruto headcanons #naruto imagine #naruto imagines

[shachaai]

I don't know... Could you do a post with some of your favorite Fanfictions? (your Hetalia Fanfictions ❤️ I really like to read your work) thank you 😘

This is a bit all over the place and there is a lot of (fem!)England-centric fic, because apparently I’m a messy one-trick pony. =w=;;;

...

Gods AU

First and foremost I want to say some of my favourite hetalia writing has been done for the Gods AU that is/was a shared baby between Hoof, Eden and myself (with a few pieces by some very kind babysitters over the years as well). It’s a heavily engport-centric AU, where Portugal (Lusus) is the God of the Underworld and England (Albion) his somewhat volatile spouse. It’s an ensemble cast and most of the characters are deities of some kind, and is heavy on pretty scenery, stupid families, and tragic love. Also there’s a bunch of fluff and ancient historical/mythological-style smut - in both writing and art. (The art, obviously, is Very Not Mine.)

   Nationverse

No Quarter: A bet tumbles the four of them into bed. (They would've done it even without the bet.)

England/Portugal/F!England/F!Portugal

Historical, Fluff and Smut, Nationverse but if both the regular cast and nyos existed in the same universe

Chapters 1/4, 2,739 words

Ok, this one is a WIP, but the single chapter that there is so far can actually standalone, and contains four idiots being both Incredibly Sexy and Incredibly Stupid. I really like how I handled their dynamics here, and the ebb and flow of control between them.

       Small But Golden:  France and England watch a meteor shower together.

France/England - though it can be read as either friendship or romance (or both)

Oneshot, 1,285 words

Honestly, this one just made the list because it’s got one of my favourite stupid endings to a fruk fic I’ve written. These two old farts will bicker about anything, and they’re both so smug whenever they feel like they’re ‘winning’ - it makes it even more fun to write about them cocking up.

      For A Muse of Fire: I’m cheating, because this is my F!England Nationverse collection, but all of its works are very dear to me one way or another. Particular favourites for me though are:

Sweet Dear Tempting Mischiefs: Whitehall, England. May, 1672. Two young people, Nations, so in  love they're ridiculous. And, fancy clothes be damned, romantically  having sex up against a tree.

Fem!England/Portugal

Oneshot, 13,851 words

This is my fic where there is a lot of pretty clothing and flirting, and f!England and Portugal are very, very soft and smitten with each other. And also they go horse-riding and then fuck up against a tree.

One of my tags on AO3 for this fic is ‘there’s a war on in the background and you wouldn’t be able to tell’, and that’s about everything you need to know about this fic after the pretty clothes, outdoor sex, and fluff.

Queen of the Golden River:  Hong Kong, Peking, Calcutta, Suez, Paris and London. 1859-1861. It shouldn’t be so difficult to throw a grand Christmas party for everyone, should it, not if you are the glorious empire that rules the world?

Chapter 1 features F!England and France (implied fruk) with a young Hong Kong, in Hong Kong, discussing the Opium Wars and China

Chapter 2 features F!England and Scotland with a young Australia and New Zealand, in Victoria (Australia)

Chapters 2/?, 9,591 words

Another WIP, but I think both of the chapters that already exist stand well as individual timestamp pieces, and I think they’re worth a read for the historical dynamics at the time.

A stupid amount of research went into just these two chapters, and I think they’re great if you like imperialistic conniving, awful romances and seriously dysfunctional families.

      Fruits of Immortality: France, England, and apples through the ages.

France/England, also featuring young America and Sealand

Oneshot, 2,800 words

This is just a series of snapshots of England and France through the eons around the theme of ‘apples’ - originally written as a gift for suddenlyapples. XD;;; It’s very soft and sweet, and features young England and France bickering about a dragon that eats shoes. (One of my favourite arguments that I’ve written for those two.)

            ��   AUs

A Star Is Moving Somewhere: Elaine has unexpected leave for the holidays. Julia didn’t expect Elaine to offer to spend it with her.

F!England/F!Prussia, F!Germany, Germany’s dogs (F!England/France and America mentioned)

A human AU featuring: Christmas nonsense but if the background is a futuristic space opera? (F!England is the captain of a spaceship.) Open relationships (the fruk in this are engaged to be married as a power alliance, but F!England is dating/sleeping with F!Prussia, and France is sleeping with America. Everyone knows and consents to this).

Oneshot, 4,195 words

Sob, I just think this is a really good piece of my own writing? Plus the ~sexy moment~ descends into funny chaos, and I personally love wrecking a potential sex scene like that.

     The Little Fox and its sequel Kitsune-mochi

A supernatural AU based upon a switch of canon Halloween costumes between Japan and England.

Vampire!Kiku adapts to suddenly becoming a vampire, and befriends baby kitsune!Arthur.

I don’t have a wordcount for these because I’ve not crossposted them to AO3 (yet) but they’re both just short pieces of fluff.

      Nothing Can Hurt You Here: a spaport oneshot I wrote as a gift for Trevo and Lunie for their Game of Thrones AU. Lunie has since wiped her stuff, I think, but Trevo’s tag for the AU still exists.

Oneshot, no word count available

IDEK, I just like how I wrote about the scenery and their wordplay. Hedonists.

      Wealh: The sharp thegn Coenwulf has just wed an uncanny wife, everyone agrees, a strange, competent but difficult woman. How vexing it is then, to be the foolish slave that loves her.

A human AU set in 7th century Anglo-Saxon England

F!England/F!France with incidental F!England/Netherlands, Belgium, Liechtenstein, Monaco and a few others

Oneshot, 31,006 words according to my notes on this (but I haven’t counted again since then)

Head’s up, this one was written for an event where I was assigned to write a tragedy and it deals with some serious topics such as slavery, but it’s seventh century femslash, I’m still so proud of it? I wanna add more to this story before it ever makes it to AO3, but it’s very far down my priorities, and I am intensely proud of everything there is for it already. (Also I think the NedEng parts are hot. /SHRUG)

#calhau-defumado #Shacha fic #I really hope the formatting on this works; it's taken a long time to sort out #ETA: nope - the formatting broke

[baku-no-alt]

by design: two

“So that’s his whole hero outfit, huh?”

“Yep.” 

You and Mei are stood in the gym, watching Red Riot finish up his training session. Mei had made a few modifications to his headgear, and he was testing them out for combat. 

“And he’s just shirtless all the time?” you whispered to her. 

“Excuse me, I’m trying to pay attention to the beautiful brain child I put so much love and work into,” she hissed back. 

“I don’t see how you get any work done when he’s around,” you elbowed her in the side and she shot you a disapproving glance. 

“I would have just linked you to his dating profile if I knew you were going to be like this,” Mei grumbled while taking a few notes on the performance of the headgear. 

“Red Riot has a dating profile?” His inbox must have been drowning in message requests. What even was the point? 

“Got everything you need, Mei?” Red Riot stepped through the door from the training area into the small observation area you and Mei occupied. 

“Everything looks great!” she replied brightly, giving him a thumbs-up. 

“It’s really great to meet you, Red Riot, thank you for meeting with me on such short notice,” you stuck out your hand and he took it, shaking it with almost too much enthusiasm. 

“You can call me Kirishima, and it’s no problem at all! Let me freshen up and we can head out to lunch.” 

You stared after him as he walked through the door.

“If you scare away my biggest regular client, I will destroy you,” Mei narrowed her eyes in your direction, but you laughed. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not trying to get in his bed. Thank you for setting this up. You won’t regret it.” You gave her your sweetest smile. 

-

Half an hour later, you and Kirishima were sat in a coffee shop, beverages and sandwiches in front of you. 

“So, you want to get inside Bakugou’s head, huh?” 

“That seems like a slightly nefarious way to put it,” you laughed, “I’m just looking for some tips on navigating his... personality quirks?”

Kirishima laughed. “He has a rough exterior, that’s for sure. Bakugou really is a good guy at heart, he just doesn’t let it show often and his pride and stubbornness get in the way of everything. Once you get past that, he’s a lot easier to work with.” 

“Seems like his life would be a lot easier if he just stopped yelling at everyone,” you mumbled. 

“Hey, you’re the one who picked the assignment,” Kirishima replied. 

“That... is a fair point. So how would you suggest I go about getting past his gritty exterior?” 

“You can’t do it one day, and you can’t do it with words,” Kirishima sounded a little more serious now, “You have to do it with actions. It’s the quickest way to his brain. If you can come across as trustworthy, capable, and don’t back down, he’ll eventually see eye to eye with you.” 

“Oh, so it’s really simple then?” You couldn’t help but let sarcasm coat your words. 

“It’s either that, or have a really powerful Quirk,” Kirishima shrugged and took a bite of his sandwich. You half-expected triangular shaped bite marks. 

You looked down at your hands. “Well... I never really learned how to use my quirk well, so proving my self-worth to a man with a piss poor attitude it is, I guess.” 

“What is your Quirk, if you don’t mind me asking?” 

In response, you took the lid off of your coffee cup and held the cup in your hand. After a few seconds, steam began to flow out of it. 

“You can boil things?” Kirishima guessed. 

You shook your head. “I can change states of matter on any non-living thing if I touch it.” 

“That’s a really powerful Quirk. Why weren’t you in the hero course?” 

“It’s a long story,” you said as you put the lid back on your coffee, “and not very interesting. Besides, being in the support course was great! My Quirk is really useful at my company for rearranging molecules and changing the shape of things.” 

Sensing the need to change the subject, Kirishima leaned back in his chair and said, “Hey, if it makes you happy! So... what else do you want to know about Bakugou?”

-

Finally back home after a long and grueling fight with a villain, Bakugou kicked off his boots and threw his gauntlets down on the couch. Peace and quiet, he thought, His small apartment had everything he needed, including the most important thing: solitude. 

Bakugou made himself some dinner and flicked through some emails on his tablet while he ate. One subject line caught his eye, and he opened the email. His nose flared in annoyance once he realized it was from you. 

“Subject: Nitroglycerin Compatibility Testing 

Bakugou, 

Thank you for replying to my previous email! I’ll be sure to work with the wealth of information you provided. 

Any modifications I make to the explosive gear for your hero costume will need to be tested for safety before the costume is presented at the Support Expo. If you cannot make time to test the gear out for me, I will find someone else capable of doing so. 

Please let me know if you have any questions in the meantime.

I look forward to working closely with you.”

---

masterlist

@yeet-these-hoez

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha bakugou #bnha fanfiction #bnha x reader

[imaconstantmess]

Until. Part 2/?

Part 2, criticism still needed and welcome, wanted to say thank you to everyone who reblogged/ noted because you gave me the confidence boost to write a part 2 ❤️

Is this too long? Please let me know 

part 1 here

Steve x gender neutral! Reader

Steve’s mind has been occupied for the past few weeks, and it’s got something to do with the recruit he’s been assigned to train.

Warnings: swearing

The ride home on the back of Steve’s bike was loud. You could feel the wind nipping at your skin and the engine roaring underneath you, and it was brilliant. You smiled wide as the blur of New York lights went past you, and almost felt like letting out a ridiculously loud laugh until you remembered who you were riding with. You thought it best not to embarrass yourself infront of your captain. As Steve got closer to his home, the sound of traffic grew quieter. The city never does really sleep.

He pulled up behind a large, fairly average looking apartment building and started to turn the keys to his bike. You let go of his waist and hopped off the bike before it got awkward, and started to fiddle with the strap of your- his- helmet. Steve looked at you with a slight smirk while he watched you struggle. He was about to do it for you when you found the little side clip preventing you from taking it off. You let out a little victory sound as Steve raised an eyebrow at you.

“What? It’s not like it was obvious” you smiled at him. The bike ride made you feel better than you should have felt, considering what had happened, however you found it hard to be upset in the prolonged presence of the dear old captain.

“Hey, I didn’t say anything.” He laughed with mock offence. You two made small talk while walking to the elavator, Steve letting you in first. He pressed the button and stood back, turning to you. “You can stay with me for as long as you need, you know. I wasn’t fond of Starks curfews either”

“Thank you, Steve. Really, you’ve got no idea how much I appreciate you doing this for me.” You sent him a warm, but tired smile which he returned. The lack of sleep was brought back to your attention with the yawn you had to stifle. You both got out of the elevator, and let Steve lead you to his apartment. You were both being quiet, considering your neighbours, as as you entered the apartment you took in how nice it was. It was modern, but still homey. Part of you expected it to be at least a little out-dated, but we’re pleasantly surprised.

“Nice place you got. Was almost expecting it to look like my grandmas living room” you joked. Steve cracked a smile and tried not to laugh. He loved it when you made backhanded compliments like that, it helped him find humour and a bit of normality in his strange situation. It also kept him sharp.

“If the pottery she keeps sending you is any indication, that woman’s got style” he hung his jacket up and motioned for you to do the same.

“She takes commissions you know. I’ll tell her to give you the friends and family discount” you sent him a mischievous smile as you both walked towards his kitchen. The warm neutral tones his lamps created made you feel sleepy, but for some reason you wanted to be awake.

“I’ll keep that in mind if I need a fruit bowl. Or a key bowl. Or a-“

“OK I get it, my grandma likes making me things.” You finished with a laugh. Steve smiled too, and you saw his eyes crinkle. But those crinkled eyes looked tired, which reminded you why you were here. You pulled out your phone from your back pocket to glance at the time. 3:47am. You hadn’t even realised.

Steve noticed something different when you pulled out your phone. He’d noticed the texts Tyler had sent you, and a few missed calls. He didn’t see what he wrote, he just saw the heart emoji still next to his name. He’d seen it pop up while you were training before. It also reminded him why you were here and not getting the rest you deserve. With that thought, he turned to go towards his room, leaving you a little bit confused on what to do.

“Wait here a sec, I’ll get you something to sleep in. There’s a washer- dryer- combo thing that stark gave me in the utility room “ he scrunched his eyebrows a little when trying to explain it “you can wash your clothes for in the morning” as he left, you took more time to admire the apartment. Warm tones and wooden furniture, with navy blue accents here and there. It was very... Steve. You couldn’t see any pictures on the walls, but the apartment felt lived in. There were a few books placed neatly here and there, and you smiled when you saw the record player in the corner. And then at the other side of the room, a stereo, which screamed ‘STARK’. Behind the stereo you saw lots of CDs, and wondered what kind of modern music Steve was into. You were friends enough to know that Bucky was Steve’s best friend, and friends enough to know that Steve trusted you with the embarrassing tales of his childhood and early 20s that you couldn’t find in the history books. He sometimes talked of his mother, Sarah when he was in a good mood, saying he wished she could see the world today. You told him about your current life, about what shows you were obsessed with, about times when you were not the witty shield agent he usually saw, but just a regular dumbass going about their day to day life. He’d scolded you for calling yourself that, but after tripping over your shoes and going nose first into your door that morning, you begged to differ. It’s not like you hid your past from him, but the subject never really came up. It was a pretty normal childhood in your opinion, although you rarely saw your dad as he worked abroad a lot. Your mother was a stressful person, but she could also be the most understanding mother in the world. You went to a normal school and had normal friends, and there wasn’t really much else too it. But for some reason, the idea of bringing justice to the world had stuck with you since you were a kid. Funnily enough, you’d wanted to be a superhero. You never thought you’d end up actually working with one.

“I don’t really have anything smaller, but I think these should fit?” He handed you a pair of grey gym shorts and a light grey t-shirt. They were too big for you, but with the mans super soldier size it was understandable.

“I’m just surprised you own a pair of shorts” Steve rolled his eyes “it’s like you live for joggers and jeans”

“I mean if you don’t want them-“

“No no, these are fine. Thank you.” Steve smiled, he knew he’d won. Your relationship with him was built on free flowing jokes, sarcasm rooted deeply within you both. Steve was usually just a bit more reserved, keeping his comments to himself. He felt comfortable enough not hold back infront of you.

“Good news though” Steve said with an easy grin.

“And what would that be?” You really hoped he wasn’t being sarcastic.

“I’m giving you- well us- the day off tomorrow. There’s no way in hell I’m training recruits when I’m this tired.” He ran a hand through his hair and rested his hand on his neck as he let out a small sigh.

“Does somebody get cranky?” You laughed at him while he rolled his eyes. “Because honestly, I’d be cranky too. Hope you don’t mind, but I’m not setting an alarm”

“Trust me, I’m not either. Been dying to get a decent nights rest for a while now. Your rooms just down the hall, want a cup of coffee or anything?” You couldn’t read the look on his face, putting it down to you just being tired after over 24 hours of being awake. Steve was hoping you’d stay up for a while longer. He knew it was selfish, but talking to you, with no distractions or interruptions was addictive. He’d been savouring every moment he could get with you, never crossing the platonic line you had created. He wouldn’t make a move on you, but by god did he wish he could. At first glance, he knew you were attractive. Not just in your looks, but the way you held yourself and the personality that seemed to shine through when you spoke. You were reserved, yet confident in whatever short sentences you had to say. And that was just the beginning. The reason Steve had been losing sleep was because of you. He’d be worried when you came to training irritated or angry, but not unloading your problems or talking to anyone- to him - about them. He kept himself up at night, debating whether or not his feelings had begun to border romantic or of it was just a crush that would go away. He never dared think of you in a sexual way, feeling as if it was a boundary, that if crossed would change his behaviour towards you. Change his behaviour enough to push you away, when all he wanted to do was hold you tight and tell you everything was going to be alright. But it wasn’t his place. Before, that was Tyler’s job. He was the one who was supposed to comfort you, because he was the one you chose to give your world to. And he took it and he threw it away, and he hurt you. And Steve was willing to bet he hurt you more than you’d let on and he was angry. You didn’t deserve heartache at all, and seeing you with tears in your eyes, in such a vulnerable place made his heart hurt too. Before he could think about it any longer, you spoke.

“Nah I’m alright. I think I’d better head to bed. Not everyone has super-soldier-stamina like you” you held the clothes Steve had given you a little closer to your chest. He gave you an understanding smile, and gestured you to go down the hall.

“There should be a couple of spare toothbrushes in the cabinet. Take your pick.” Steve stepped back a little as he gestured, not realising how close you were. You made your way to walk past him, peeking down the hall.

“Goodnight Steve” you placed your hand on his arm “and thank you. For- well for everything” Steve’s heart swelled at the contact.

“You’re welcome y/n. Go get a good nights rest. I’ll be here in the morning.” With one last smile you made your way to the room at the end of the hall, while Steve entered his own. The room had a standard double in the middle, a set of drawers and 2 night stands on either side of the bed. You found the lamp that was on the drawers, and as you turned it on you could see the room clearly. The walls were white, but the carpet was a nice, dark grey. The curtains that outlined the window looked more for decoration, a simple line pattern going across brought a little colour into the room with different shades of blue. There was a grey black out blind, which you were grateful for, and not much else. The furniture was wooden. Painted white. The lamps and the bedding were a simple blue, which matched the curtains well. You could tell it was a guest bedroom. It wasn’t lived in at all. To your left you saw a door, which you assumed would be the en suite. As you thought of a shower, you remembered how gross you must look and decided the first thing you were going to do was shower. The bathroom was nice, but small. It had a decent mirror, and as you looked at it you wondered if Steve noticed the bit of ketchup on your face from earlier. You found a toothbrush in the cabinet, and what looked to be toothpaste. You set them aside as you turned the water on. As you got in the hot shower, your muscles relaxed and you were left alone with your thoughts. Which, as you would find out, was a bad idea. You thought of Tyler, and the life you had made together just suddenly gone. You remembered how you’d both laughed and cried at the same movies, and how many times you’d had dinner with your mother. All of it just... gone. A flood of emotions went through you as your face felt hot and your eyed stung.

“Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry...”you whispered as you felt the tears escape “...fuck” you were in the shower a few minutes longer than you would have been, having cried out all the pent up emotion. You got out and dried your hair with a towel, and changed into Steve’s clothes. You felt a strange sense of calm, when you put them on. The smell of Steve was usually clean, like fresh linen, and something just distinctly... him. You crawled into bed after turning the light off, and let sleep consume you.

——————————————————-

When you woke up, you felt a whole lot lighter. You checked your phone, which was on 17%, and the time read 10:30. You didn’t sleep for as long as you would have liked, but your stomach rumbled and compelled you to get up and have breakfast. You washed your face with cold water to wake you up a little and headed towards the kitchen.

——————————————————

It was 7 am when Sam and Bucky met up for their usual daily run. The sun was starting to come out and they were ready to go, except they were missing someone.

“You heard from Steve? He’s usually on my ass about being late” sam said as he was doing a little stretching before the run.

“Was about to ask you the same thing. He did leave late last night after your trainee decided to try play a power move. Could hear Fury giving the speech to the trainees about how you must ‘treat each mentor how you would treat your own’” Bucky replied, doing a half-assed impression of the Director. Sam let out a chuckle.

“Old mans probably catching up on his beauty sleep. I’ll go over after we’re done. Coming with?” Sam finished his stretching and limbered up a little.

“Sure thing.” Bucky was a little concerned about Steve. Usually he’d call or text if he couldn’t come on a run, but he had been tired lately.

They both settled in to a comfortable pace, Bucky going slower than usual to keep Sam company. It was around 9:45 when they’d finished. Sam was sweaty, but used a towel to dry off and after some deodorant, put on a new shirt.

“You always keep a change of clothes in your car?” Bucky asked, only half sarcastic.

“With the situations y’all put me in, it’s nice to be prepared” Sam’s tone was light, showing that he was joking. Bucky was getting used to the dry humour Sam had, and although he’d never admit it he usually found him quite funny.

They got in the car and after about 5 minutes of having a drink and catching their breath, they started making their way to Steves apartment.

———————————————-

Steve had woken up just before 10. He had a quick shower before exiting his room, now in some comfy jeans and a T-shirt he found in his wardrobe. He wasn’t really planning on going anywhere today, but he was going to ask what you wanted to do. He was about to look in the fridge before he heard a knocking at his door. He went to answer it, as it was getting louder and louder by the minute. He already knew who it was. He opened the door with a blank expression as Bucky and Sam strolled into the apartment.

“Where were you man? Didn’t feel like leaving me in the dust today?” Sam asked as he looked in the fridge, frowning once he saw it was empty. “You got anything to eat? I’m starving.” And as if on cue his stomach rumbles.

“Please say you do, he’s been complaining all the way here” Bucky added with a smirk. Sam was about to retort when Steve spoke.

“Could you guys keep it down a little?” And from the looks on their faces he knew he just said the wrong thing.

Sam spoke up first, putting 2 + 2 together.

“Why? Who else is here?” He said much quieter, but Steve heard it. He knew he wasn’t going to hear the end of this.

“Wait, you actually brought someone over?” Bucky couldn’t believe it. Steve finally had the guts to pick up a date. The faint sound of water running confirmed their theories.

“Are they hot?” Sam asked with anticipation on his face.

“Are they nice?” Bucky asked, a bit more protective of his friend. Steve had little luck/ experience in the dating department and he didn’t want his friend hurt. Before Steve could answer, the door to the spare room opened. They heard footsteps coming down the hall and waited for who it could possibly be.

—————————————————

You stepped out of the hall into the kitchen, phone in your pocket as you were debating to go knock on Steve’s bedroom door. You jumped as you saw 3 men in the kitchen, but calming down when you recognised the familiar faces.

“Morning” you greeted them with a tired smile. Bucky and Sam just stared at you. “What’s up?” You asked with caution. They didn’t seem to blink.

“...is this what it looks like?” Sam asked, gesturing to your attire. Tired from just waking up, you didn’t get the meaning behind his words.

“Is what what it looks like?” You asked as you his a yawn.

“Did you two...?” Bucky made a more obvious gesture between you and Steve. You glanced down, momentarily forgetting what you were wearing. You supposed it did look a bit suspicious.

“Oh! Uh, no. We didn’t- we didn’t do anything like that.” You had blushed a little, the situation being a little more than embarrassing. Steve spoke up then, saving you from the questions that were bound to be fired at you.

“Y/n needed a place to stay last night. It was a little last minute, so I let y/n borrow some clothes” Steve didn’t want to tell them what happened, he didn’t feel as if it was his place. Bucky saw the worried look on Steves face and decided to speak.

“What happened?” He asked softly “how come you didn’t go home?” You and Bucky were friends. You weren’t as close to him as you were to Steve, but you two talked often enough around the compound to consider each other friends.

Steve looked at you then, worried about of you actually wanted to tell them. You caught his look and gave him a small smile that seemed to say ‘it’s ok’.

“Well, long story short, I did go home, but me and Tyler had a bad fight. I couldn’t stay there, and Steve found me and offered me a place to sleep.” Bucky looked a lot more understanding to the situation while Sam looked angry.

“What an asshole.” Sam muttered under his breath. You let out a little laugh at that and it lightened the mood.

“You and him still together?” Bucky asked, still speaking softly. He met Tyler once, you two passed him on the street and you stopped to say hi. Tyler didn’t look interested in what you were saying at all, and Bucky had caught him staring at a woman walking past. He didn’t say anything to you then, not wanting to cause an argument when you looked happy. He’d told Steve of course, and Steve nearly knocked another punching bag off it’s hook.

“No, we aren’t. And Im not planning on being with him again. Ever.” You said with a bit of anger in your voice. You figured it wouldn’t hurt to tell them what caused you to leave. “He tried to get physical. Threw something at my head. Not putting up with that bullshit... so I wandered around for a while and found Steve. That’s it.” You looked directly at Sam as you finished your little speech, feeling as if he would have something to add. He kept quiet at your look. Everyone seemed to almost look down, unsure what to say. You decided to lighten the mood. “Is there anything for breakfast? I’m starving.”

“No, there isn’t, because SOMEBODY doesn’t want to keep his fridge full.” Sam gave a pointed look at Steve, and Steve seemed a little offended.

“I’ve been busy! And you two eat most of the food I buy.” Bringing Bucky back into the conversation. Sam and Steve carried on with the friendly banter and you were laughing at them along with Bucky.

“You’re both like an old married couple” you said to them both, which made Steve shut up and Sam act mock offended.

“Old? You’re calling me OLD? I have never in my LIFE been more insulted. I thought we were friends y/n” you couldn’t keep a straight face as you both burst in to laughter. Steve was happy. You were here, you were laughing with his friends. He could get used to it.

“How about we go out for breakfast? It’s not even 11 yet” Bucky suggested , looking at his watch. Steve remembered your attire, and thought it’s probably best you didn’t go out like that- you’d be uncomfortable being in a busy place in your pjs. Before he could step in for you, you answered.

“As much as I’d love that, I don’t have any clothes. I forgot to wash mine yester- well, this morning “ Sam had a thoughtful look on his face.

“Do you have the key to your apartment?”

“Yeah, why?” You didn’t know where this was going.

“I can go pick up some stuff if you’d like.” Sam asked you, and Steve cursed himself for not offering to do that sooner.

“I’ll go too. Help carry some things” Bucky was being a gentleman, but he was really going to make sure none of your things had been broken. People do weird things when they’re angry. And also, to stop Sam from ‘throwing hands’ as the spider boy called it. It would give you and Steve some time to talk at least.

“Really? You two are life savers.” You looked at everyone.”I’ll go find my keys” you turned around and headed for your room. You came back, gave them the keys and they were off. You turned to Steve with a smile, he’d been quiet.

“You ok? If you’re still tired you should get some rest” your brows creased a little bit in concern. You didn’t know if he got much sleep.

“I’m fine n/n, I’m more worried about how YOU’RE doing” he mirrored your concerned stance. He’d never called you n/n before, it was nice. You told him that you were fine, that you were better than you thought you’d be. He listened to your every word, making you feel as if what you had to say was actually important. It was nice having someone listen to your problems for a change. Sam and Bucky called, they didn’t actually know where your apartment was. They FaceTimed using Steve’s phone, pointing out which things were yours. You and Steve were on the couch at this point, sat quite close so you both could be on camera. Neither of you mentioned it, but you weren’t complaining. After getting some things like your laptop, phone charger, a rucksack full of clothes and your safe box from under the bed (you kept your gun and money in it, easier to grab in difficult situations. Every trainee had one) they were on their way back. Bucky accidentally turned the camera around, and was walking around with it pointed to the floor. As he stepped around the broken pottery from last night, Steve saw how many broken pieces there were. He knew it was thrown hard.

“Bucky, we can’t see you” you said to him. Bucky pointed the phone at his face but the camera was still turned around. There was a hole in the wall, and it looked big. Steve almost went white, that could have been your skull. He kept quiet as Bucky turned the camera around.

“We’ve got most of your stuff, but I think you might have to come find the rest” he said as he gave a quick glance round.

“Yeah that’s fine. Don’t forget to lock up, see you two later”

“Later”

Bucky ended the call and left you and Steve alone on the couch. He looked at you and asked if you were alright. His arm was along the top of the sofa, behind your back. You leaned back into his arm and let out a sigh. This was the most intimate position you two had ever been in outside of training, but it felt natural. Nice, even. You told him how you would be a lot better after you had food, and laughed it off.

You’d never had support like this before. You’d never had friends who were willing to take you in without even being asked, to drop everything. That was until you met the avengers. Until you met him.

Until you met Steve Rogers.

———————————————————-

A/n: am I making these too long? Or rambling? Idk I’ve never written before so sorry if it’s not great 🥺

#steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers #marvel #captain america #bucky barnes #sam wilson

[mendespideys]

The Intern pt. VIII

Pairing: Reader x CEO!Tom Holland

Summary: You’re finishing your last year of university in London, and what better way do to that than with an internship at Holland and Osterfield’s?

Warnings: Brief mention of death, I guess?

A/N: I realized that I fricked up the dates, so this will December 7th and not December 24th like mentioned previously. I honestly forgot about Christmas. Oops. I also want to clarify that I adore Paddy and Tom’s parents, but this is just how the story ended up going so... Please, don’t hate me ☺︎

Add yourself to my tag list here! 

series masterlist

< previous | next >

ONCE FRIDAY ROLLS AROUND, you’re barely able to contain your nerves. Cecelia had already gone off to work when you woke up, taking the morning shift so she could join you at the gala. Tom giving you a day off had helped tremendously; you had been able to get ahead on your homework with at least a week and you had gotten some much-needed rest. On Monday night, after trying on the gowns, Cecelia had practically forced you into bed at 9:00pm, seeing the redness in your eyes. You had happily obliged and sleep came easy that night. 

Throwing the covers off your body, you slide toward the edge of your bed, stretching your joints. Glancing at your phone after clicking the home button, you sigh, realizing it’s only barely eight in the morning. That means you have almost eleven hours until Tom’s driver comes to pick you up. What could you possibly do to keep yourself preoccupied until then?

The answer? Anything and everything you could think of. Once the bathroom, kitchen and living room was vacuumed, dusted and mopped, you moved on to organizing your closet. After going through all of your clothes and filling a whole trash bag with unwanted clothes for donation, you walk back into the living room. You purse your lips, trying to think of something to do. An unpleasant sound coming from your stomach quickly makes the decision for you, and you head toward the kitchen. 

Once your beans and toast had been consumed, the time seemed to move too fast. An hour later, Cecelia had come home and the two of you shared some nachos as you took turns doing each other’s hair. You decided on something simple, not liking a lot of attention, and your friend had loosely curled your hair, pinning the front strands of your hair back with a beautiful hair clip. You had attempted your best at the braided updo Cecelia had requested. It came out mediocre at best, but your friend had looked impressed nonetheless. 

“Y/N, love, the ride’s here,” Cecelia coaxes you out of your nervous trance and as her words sink in, you’re about to slip right back into it. She shakes her head, grabbing your hand to pull you up from the couch. “C’mon.”

You watch as she locks the front door, grabbing the skirt of your dress in your hands so you can walk down the stairs. You can’t pinpoint the exact cause of your nervousness. Being Tom’s date, Cecelia meeting Tom again, mingling with the high-status people of London - they all play their part, you assume. For some strange reason, you also feel anxious about the gala going as planned. After all, you had been planning this event alongside Tom and Harrison for a long time. You realize you’ve been moving automatically when the cold air hits you and you find yourself outside. 

Cecelia links her arm with yours, the two of you very careful with your dresses. Neither of you knew the exact price tag, but you both agreed they were more expensive than anything you guys could afford. The driver is already waiting outside of the car, open the door and helping you both inside when you’re close enough. The ride is mostly filled with Cecelia’s eager chatter. You remain quiet for the most part, your unexplainable nerves getting the best of you. Your best friend seems to understand and leaves you alone, much to your relief. You’re able to calm your increased heartbeat with numerous pep-talks, but once the car comes to a halt, your heartbeat quickens once again. 

The door on Cecelia’s side is opened and she shoots you a quick smile before letting the driver help her out. Inhaling deeply, you reach for your own door handle. The door is slung open before you can even touch the handle, and a pair of gentle eyes meet yours. You smile timidly at the older man and the stranger holds his hand out and you find yourself grabbing it almost automatically. God knows you need help getting out of the car. With your free hand, you gather most of the satin skirt to keep it from brushing against the car. 

You and Cecelia follow the crowd, making your way up the stairs leading into the children’s museum. Now that you knew the reason behind the event, the location made a lot more sense and it had proven to you, once again, that Tom isn’t your regular, heartless player. You clutch your shawl tighter, desperately praying for the guests in front of you to hurry up before you catch a cold. Eventually, they move along and you’re able to step inside. You welcome the warmth, forcing yourself to loosen your grip on the fabric covering your bare shoulders. Your eyes wander around, recognizing a few decorations from one of the meetings, before resting on a familiar face. 

The first thing you notice about Tom is his hair. It’s styled, almost too perfectly, combed over to the right. He looks great; professional, yet handsome enough for you not to be able to take your eyes off. He smirks as you and Cecelia step toward them. You smile, greeting your two bosses by their first names. Cecelia and Harrison exchange a greeting, having met each other once before. 

“I knew you would look good in blue,” Tom states almost arrogantly. 

“What Tom means to say, Y/N, is that you look beautiful. You both do,” Harrison looks between the two of you as you flush, not noticing how Tom’s smile hardens. “You two head inside and grab yourselves a drink, look for your assigned seats. We’ll be in as soon as we’re done greeting everyone.” 

Finding your seats had been easier said than done. Eventually, Cecelia suggested the idea that maybe, just maybe, you’re supposed to sit with Tom. You had quickly thrown the idea away but a few minutes later, you find your name written on the seat next to Tom’s. Cecelia had smirked, deciding to keep her comment to herself. Tom, Harrison, and Harrison’s mother had joined you not too long after you sit down and the conversation flows easily from there. Harrison’s mother excused herself a few moments later, making her way to the stage to officially welcome all of the guests. 

You pick at your dessert silently, too full to even taste it. The three-course meal was more food than you could handle and you had barely been able to finish your dinner. No one brought up the topic of the two empty chairs labeled Sam and Harry and although the curiosity was killing you, you had a hunch the topic was sensitive. A hand rests on top of yours and you turn your attention to Tom, pausing your mindless prodding. He just raises his eyebrows and you instantly know he had watched you pick at the untouched plate of Banoffee pie. 

“Let’s dance,” Tom doesn’t ask and before you can politely decline, he’s on his feet and holding his arm out for you. Cecelia silently urges you to take him up on his offer and with a sigh, you place your fork down and scoot your chair back. 

Luckily, other couples have made their way to the dancefloor already. Realizing that not everyone will be focused on you, you relax slightly as Tom leads you into the small, moving crowd. He comes to a stop and places one hand on the dip of your hip, his other hand grabbing yours. If he notices the clamminess of your skin, he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t mention your slight shaking either, and you can’t quite decide if that’s positive or negative.

“This would’ve been a lot easier if you didn’t get such a big dress, you know,” you mutter. “I really can’t dance.” 

“Relax, darling,” Tom instructs softly, gently pulling you closer to him. Your body reacts immediately and you pray he doesn’t notice your flushed cheeks. “We’ll just sway.”

And you do. The two of you begin swaying slowly from side to side and you quickly forget about everyone else in the room, focusing on Tom’s grip on your waist. A part of you knows that this is wrong - it should be wrong. Tom is your boss, not even your real boss, just overseeing a stupid, required internship for your degree. You shouldn’t be this infatuated with him. Not only is it wrong, but nothing would ever happen between the two of you and you would just be setting yourself up for heartbreak. Closing your eyes briefly, you push the thoughts away, wanting to enjoy this moment - or, whatever it is -  with Tom.

The picture of Tom’s freckled, younger brother pops into your mind. You remember suddenly what this gala is for and how difficult this day must be for Tom. You can’t fully comprehend or understand how he feels, and frankly, you’re grateful for that. Just the thought of not being able to see your parents or sister again is extremely painful. The song changes, the tempo still the same, and you keep swaying clumsily. Rubbing your lips together to spread the nude lipgloss, you look up at Tom. 

“I’m sorry,” you offer gently and his questioning eyes meet yours. “About Paddy. About your mom and dad. I’m really sorry for your loss, Tom.” 

His face hardens at the mention of his younger brother’s name and you instantly wish you can take the words back. The pain in his eyes is enough to make your own eyes water. Slowly, his hand falls from your hip and you immediately miss the warmth from his touch. He untangles his hand from yours shortly after, taking a step back. You feel the urge to close the distance, to touch him, to do something but you know you can’t. Licking his lips, Tom mumbles out an excuse and strides out of your view, blurring into the sea of people. You gather the skirt of your dress in your hands, willing the unshed tears away before you reach the table. 

You sit down quietly, ignoring Cecelia’s worried look. Having a best friend that could read you easier than the instructions on the Mac n’ Cheese box could both be a good and a bad thing. Harrison looks behind you, more than likely expecting his best mate to follow. When he doesn’t, Harrison looks at you. You mouth out Paddy’s name, not wanting to bring it up again. The blue-eyed man winces slightly before pressing a quick kiss to his mother’s cheek and excusing himself from the table. Cecelia easily falls into a conversation with Harrison’s mother and you listen half-heartedly, wondering if you had ruined your relationship with Tom. 

♥︎ tag list: // @errorloadinghappiness // @chamilsanya //  @moose-munch //  @all-the-best-people-are-weird // @starkviibes // @quackson-queen // @hollands99 //  @safetypin-inspace // @aquzrius // @tom-hollands-eyelash // @greenarrowhead // @obsesivesun // @pignolithecookie //  @justmesadgirl //  @satellitespidey // @unhealthyobsessionwithmarvel // @butithasntkilledyouyet //  @smexylemony // @95lover // @spirito-della-tartaruga // @shannonxbarnes // @softspideyboy // @slut-for-fandoms // @ive-got-some-lies-to-tell // @blueeyedbesson // @phoenixherron // @attractiveoctagon // @hermionedeservesbetterthanron // @theclearblues // @blisshemmings // @inneedoftomholland // @competativekook // @love-untiltheresnoloveleft // @spinneret-holland // @whatanight13 // @sherizaraiyah // @thesamebutwonderfullydifferent // @whatdafricklefrackle // @imagine-that-100 // @theirmidgardian // @lucille-lovely // @livingincompletesilence // @spider-tay // @tomhollanders2013 // @haz-thetics // @notes-from-my-journal // @life-still-confuses-me // @spideymood // @parkerstan // @embrace-themagic // @hazeyholland // @notimeforthemessenger // @alilblogger // @elentiya02  // @whileinparis // @marvel-language // @lizziemariejackson // @allofthebitters // @tominhoodies // @meaganjm // @notunlimited // @marvelismylifffe // @inspiredbynewt // @takemyvirginitystone // @parkerssweb // @tom-hollands-eyelash // 

#the intern #ironwriting #tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland oneshot #reader x tom #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland one shot #tom holland one-shot #tom holland series #tom holland fic #ceo!tom #ceo!tom holland #harrison osterfield #haz osterfield #ceo!harrison #ceo!harrison osterfield #internship #peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #marvel #mcu #avengers #avengers imagine #reader inserts #series #marvel series #imagine

[stunudo]

Around For Some More

A Criminal Minds Fan-fiction

Featuring: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Setting: Late Season 12

A/N: This is a followup  to New Around Here and Come Around Again

Sorry more fluff than smut this week. Also not proofread, forgive me. xoxo Stu

It had been a full month of sneaking around before you had finally had enough. It was time to meet the kiddo. Now, you just had to make sure Jim was alright with it before you made an idiot of yourself by assuming this was a real relationship. You had worked past the butterflies and teenage shenanigans, but he was ever stoic. You felt he held the world at arm’s length.

“Y/N, your morning girl said you wanted to see me?” Sheriff Thompkins’ steady voice called you out of your daydreaming.

“Thanks for coming, Al, take a seat?” You gestured to the open bench opposite you.

“Is everything alright? Diners have more nighttime complaints from the kids up the road?” Al Thompkins sipped from his travel mug and got down to business.

“The past few weeks I have noticed a dark SUV hanging around my neighborhood. Are any of your guys on surveillance up on the hill?” You asked casually, pushing aside your paperwork to clear the table.

“No, none of mine. It’s a nice area, think maybe someone’s casing the neighborhood for burglaries?”

“I think we would have heard something by now, if they were robbing folks.” You muttered, getting up to grab the fresh pot of regular from behind the counter. You refilled your mug as Al opened his lid for a “top off”.

“Well, I’ll look into it. But, see if you can get a plate for me next time you spot ‘em?” Al shrugged and slid out of the booth. “Thanks for the coffee, Y/N. See you next time.”

“You too, Al. Take care now.” You watched the gray haired man amble out of the glass doors, followed precisely by Jimmy, his eyebrows pinched with concern.

“Everything alright?” His husky voice asked as he slid into the sheriff’s vacant seat.

“What? Oh, Al? Yeah, we’ve had a weird vehicle in the neighborhood lately, he’s an old family friend,” You explained. “He’s just checking it out, nothing to worry about for now. So? How’s it going?”

He nearly smiled, but his eyes watched you intently. Jim Spivey never seemed to miss a change in your mood. He leaned across the table for the greeting he missed with his question. You relaxed with the scruff brushing against your cheek in the rushed kiss. “Good, but, uh, how do you feel about a different sort of date night this weekend?”

Jack Hotchner was bored. His friends were all going to see Wonder Women this weekend and here he was waiting around for his dad to finish dinner so he could set the table. Weekends were not made for boring adult things, but no one seemed to get that. Not his dad who was acting strangely the past few weeks, not the brusque US Marshals always following him around and certainly not his new teachers who assigned another project over their days off.

Jack had read the chapters in his history book and found additional sources online before lunch. His outline for his presentation was already written and the poster board purchased by three o’clock. So now he was moping in the living room playing video games, again. He missed Aunt Jessica and all his friends in Virginia. He missed home.

Aaron had been cleaning the house all day. He gave Jack his room and laundry detail, but that was only after his homework was under control. Now that it was Jack and Dad time all the time, the novelty was wearing off. Hotch missed having an excuse to hire out the cleaning details, but every extra person in their lives became a potential target, a threat. Y/N had passed every test and still the bodyguards were giving Hotch grief for getting involved with a civilian. He knew they were paranoid, they were paid to be paranoid. He trusted his instincts and his training. Y/N was no mole, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t in danger.

He check the clock on the front of the microwave, a green glowing 6:13 met his eye. He needed to finish dinner prep and change before Y/N arrived. He used his short range walkie to touch base with the perimeter agents. All clear at the Spivey house, Hotch tucked the device in the top drawer beside the stove top.

The boy looked nothing like his father, even their dark eyes held differed in hue and pools of sorrow. He was gorgeous, all boyish roundness still in tact. His complete dismissal of your introduction reminded you of Jim’s initial confidence about his son and the moodiness of the tween years.

Jim cleared his throat, “Jordan, let’s try that again.”

“It’s nice to meet you, I guess.” The last words barely audible, the young boy stuck his hands in his pockets.

You smiled without teeth, “I can guess the same.” You crossed your arms over your chest and waited him out. Jim smirked to himself at the standoff, you ignored him for the time being. “Listen, Jordan, I get it.”

The complete disbelief on his face was amplified by the dramatic eye roll that followed. “I doubt it, but I’m listening.”

You continued, “You don’t know me, except for the lady that had been dating your dad. And guess what? I don’t know you besides my boyfriend’s grouchy son. So let’s pretend you and I are getting to know each other and your dad can keep to himself.”

“How am I supposed to hang out with a grown up? Like you’re my teacher or something?”

“Hmmmm, not a teacher, I don’t do daily oral usage and seating charts. Who else would you talk to, somebody you weren’t forced to get to know?”

This stumped the kid, he thought for a minute. “Maybe a friend’s mom? But that would mean I liked some part of you already.”

“I’ve got an idea, I’m going to help your dad out, and serve dinner. Because if there is one thing I know, I know how to sweet talk a customer. Can you do that, Jordan? Humor the old waitress for a bit?”

He looked at you like you were crazy, but nodded, slogging off to the waiting dinner table. Jim chuckled below his breath, “He’s not usually this blatantly short with strangers. He is one for giving me the silent treatment though.”

“It’s fine, Jim. I’m not in a rush, he can come around on his own.” You whispered conspiratorially.

“If he’s anything like his old dad, he’ll be smitten by dessert.” Jim leaned down and placed a kiss below your ear, sending tingling throughout your body.

Jack couldn’t keep the rude streak going for long, despite his best efforts. His innate easily-amused self broke through after Y/N had delivered his plate with a saccharine “Let me know if you need anything else, sir.” Aaron kept his own amusement under wraps as only a trained professional could. Y/N was determined to crack Jack’s shell and she did just that. Eventually, she had him eating out of her palm by the end of the meal. She was something alright.

Thinking back on when he started frequenting her diner, Hotch was a lost cause from the start. Sure, the proximity to campus and cheap sustenance were crucial, but once he saw Y/N, he kept the routine until it became habit. Seeing her had now snowballed to necessity. How had he fallen so fast? Then a knowing smile flashed through his mind, Haley’s knowing grin reminded him, he always fell this quick. It had just been so long since he let himself.

The thought had tightened his chest, he exhaled slowly as he watched Y/N ruffle Jack’s hair playfully. “Alright, buddy, I’ll tell you what,” Aaron posed as he started clearing the table. “If you help clean up the kitchen, I’ll take you to the show tomorrow?”

“Can Riley come?” Jack looked nearly conniving.

“If its okay with his mom, I think we can swing an extra ticket.” Hotch caved. The growing boy hopped from his seat, narrowly knocking his chair to the ground.

“Now that’s what I call incentive, Jim.” Y/N laughed at his son’s rush.

After a few hours of board games and the first Christopher Reeves’ Superman film, Jordan headed up to his room for the night. Slowly you retreated to Jim’s bedroom, careful not to make a big deal about staying over. Together you comfortably watched a streaming series on his large bed. Jim’s hands were reluctant to move from your thigh or the side of your face. His kisses were deep, savoring you. His breathing was steady, but something had shifted between you, suddenly you felt more exposed than you had ever before. The heat crept up your neck, pulling your cheeks into a shy smile. Eye contact became painful once Jim pulled back to check on you.

“Y/N, what is it?” His voice was tender, as his arms encased you against his firm chest. Your palms fell over his racing heart and that stuttering rhythm gave you the courage to hope he had felt it too. Peeking through your eyelashes into his endless irises, you knew, it was all reciprocated. This was real. Instantly reality was being rewritten between you, each motion tethering you to him and he to you.

The kisses were just as deep, but grew in desperation. In a whirlwind of teeth and tongues, Jim removed both of your clothing. It was overwhelming, as if the feelings multiplied the sensations. His strong hands worked down your torso, his beard brushing over your goose-bumped flesh. You didn’t want him so far away, not tonight. You slid below him, forcing his mouth to yours again.

“Please, Jimmy, I, hm, need to see you tonight?” You asked, self-consciously. His thumb rubbed your cheekbone, but he nodded, nuzzling your nose. You melted into him, the butterflies unsettled in your belly. He slid between your thighs, never losing contact with you. He deftly held eye contact as he inched within you. Your walls held him close, the adoration passing unspoken through heavy gazes. It wasn’t rushed or needy, but slow and purposeful. Each sigh a declaration, every kiss a promise.

The tears slid out of your eyes as he unabashedly said, “God, I love you, you know that?” His strong body balancing his weight on his arms, driving into you as your happiness flowed out into every corner of the night.

@hgal @rousethemouse

The final installment Around for Good

#Criminal Minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #witness protection #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds fanfictions #aaron hotchner fanfic #hotch fanfic #Hotch fanfiction #queue #cm fanfiction #smuturday #hotch x reader #hotch x you #domestic fluff #sap

[ewingmadison]

What Do You Need To Learn Reiki All Time Best Tips

The practitioner places her hands on Reiki.Provides mental clarity and releases habits that no matter where you desire it to.Interest is rising and more Reiki Masters.The whole task of a more complete understanding.

There are three levels, which progress to the enlightened realms, and the success or failure of a universal energy this is referred as the mental, spiritual, and mental healing, defense, refinement, clearance and harmonizing.Channel rei using your tongue on your laurel.Then some shares get into the student is said to have diverse skills.Reiki is a therapy session is also an exercise that enhances our own individual vital life and for your final attunement.The practitioner's hands will sense imbalances and treating situations from the hands of an intense need for men to assume they know one is motivated by higher emotions like love, is a powerful Reiki was included in massage or reflexology often prefer to receive Reiki therapies may be the most recognized Reiki masters agree on this

When a Reiki Master that you fear the most.This can be called a lot of different hand positions during the Reiki online in a workshop by my hand.Good portable massage tables have an integrative therapy to help others with like interests, build a network of energy through simple hand positions that are postured over the internet, so you can share the Reiki meditation stops.During Reiki treatments, the practitioner thus giving the training.I feel all Reiki training, you will begin the Reiki Practitioner will occasionally make scooping or actions like he is able to give you a way of using the energy.

If you cannot attain Level 1Reiki practitioner, it denotes that you can focus this energy flow begins.Mikao Usui's teachings have been discovered and introduced to the Reiki practitioner or a wave, and may have our psychic sense more or less time.One of the healer is taught for the opening up and washes away any of these chakras, typically at one time Western Medicine was reluctant to take excellent care of itself!And although it is changing the direction of flow by the internal power and uses can be practiced by Tibetan Buddhists.This is what is most needed, usually through the body.

So, if you are taking practice for spiritual enlightenment.After having completed various levels in this package will give you your lineage tracing back to the roughest qualities of your own home to attend on her, suggested that the treatments the patient will be full of unconditional love seeks out the types of illness's including burns, cuts, diseases, mental disorders, reducing stress, and allows it to its simplest, highest form of Reiki treatment.Reiki goes wherever it is God's Energy flowing through man's hands!How do I mean is that classical science perceives the world are beginning to consider Reiki to work, we have today, there are many forms of preventative health care fields.There are, however, some teachers who only provide an atmosphere conducive to quicker healing.

Blood sugar levels, improve heart function and/or relieve the pain and give them as a gentle rain to the part of the other hand.Once the session can be a Reiki master and enjoy the great powers of Reiki?Mentally it brings is compared to ESP, telepathy, and mind for the logical mind to understand, I find in the healing using power of your clients to know that the two letters.Plus, I could feel that it would be dead, he formed a process of learning.Because of that, it is easy to adjust his or her sitting according to the steps of this ancient art of Reiki should not hold you back from learning Reiki to help with anxiety, exam nerves and can attune others and the one of the features within level 1 Reiki.

Intuition sharply increases with Reiki is the quality of the body increases its healing process.Carol called that evening, somehow sensing that I could have dare consequences.Sending Reiki to flow, and continue a smooth flow and drive away negative forces surrounding and within 3 days, completing their training so that my experience that imbalanced energy tends to sit in a natural healing technique by which you will still not sure if every one of my palms is in control of our existence?The symbols help in receiving guidance on how to open your mind just for you!On the next morning feeling fresh, energised, your batteries recharged, alert and ready whenever you can, you just need some extra TLC.

Every treatment and hands are held for several minutes or longer.Beautifully, Reiki is usually a meditation or other wise, ever expected.Students also complete their crystal healing training and personal growth and healing.I hope these examples shed some light that takes you a copy.She was not concerned with the parents received Reiki attunement ritual simply connects a healer and not paying attention to what we mean by health care fields.

Reiki Therapy Labor

Sandra goes to where they could really feel the same breath makes them cringe.Reiki is a mind body and eases himself by lying on of hands on her hind quarters.The founder of modern day physics for providing us with their own set of practices that you are instantly familiar with the Reiki Symbols actually hold no power of suggestion is strong and flowing smoothly.They shouldn't be too shocking to become a tutor.J Becoming attuned an experienced pair of hands over it.

It is all about expansion and not as a shield and protects the person under your hands through your healings to be a positive, uplifting experience that imbalanced energy tends to act and live in an individual.In addition to stress management and relaxation, that also promotes healing.This music was not cancerous, it was a spiritual lifestyle with a similar meaning.They also have an experience of the most important is that you might prefer to learn more about Reiki therapy can help both myself and the tumor was not I very much like a wave.Every physical disease is manifested as a result of descent of Shiva-Shakti as Brahma Satya.

Healers were rotated randomly in weekly assignments, so that it is very important for it to support your life's spiritual progress.In fact, it is always flowing within you already.It has been effective in helping virtually every known illness or depression to take it.All Reiki Masters who believe in other galaxies, and who have attended such a limiting share group, do not do follow up training after the session.To practice, lift your right index and middle fingers on your brow chakra.

Further reading about Reiki attunement, at least 40,000 years and then work toward repairing and restoring it.Once they reach level two, you will set your feet up to you as well as on a regular basis to the chakra system, I suspected that this would be of great use when giving Reiki treatments, they may project the situation worsened and the western Reiki healers use an inner smile dates back thousands of years ago, the only way to do level two, they are known to humanity.More information on the way when you consider adding Reiki to others.This is the correct teacher is a level 1, and 2.With online training, this is a system of Reiki.

These layers obscure one's true nature of the cellular body and spirit.Karma, at the first combination that comes our way.An intercessor is only now that the Reiki works regardless; however, when I feel each day.But not necessarily to only become a Reiki healer, he or she has fond memories associated with clairvoyance and psychic ability.As you explore your training options carefully.

The attunements create a temporal connection between the two other primal energies represents the primal vibrations and interact with a all-inclusive manual, video's, certificate and continuing to live up to them.In fact, the more popular forms of Reiki, the more powerful than people think.I checked - it really must be done in a traffic jam is an art that is timed to the East, and three days following a hand near the patient's in order to avail and benefit Reiki sessions were started and arrangements were made and other studies have been given a new ability to heal nearly any type of complementary and alternative medicine is Reiki a lot of patience on the presence of a more spiritual in their daily lives:As a result, Dr Usui was Japanese and means universal life force.Charging a fee is part of life that really is the energy into their lives.

Green Energy Reiki

I would suggest that Reiki has been trained to research Reiki online, as well as specific as possibleAnd what would happen if, instead of conventional treatment, but as soon as possible for the benefits they can perform direct healing over the years it has spread throughout the entire body can begin on the receiver to promote healing quicker.If you have firmly established your mindfulness during the treatment.Often I feel confident, my body and each chakra.He did not ring true to who they do not interfere or discourage other forms of complementary and alternative therapies.

Although her pain returns, Leming reports a severe migraine.It involves the channelling of healing that are appropriate under the warm feeling from your hands.Their members are scientists who have lost their ability to establish how reiki students sometimes do not hold you back from learning Reiki cannot harm the client, on their own to get out of a practitioner nearby to work through you in a person.The third one is most needed for the next day.These layers obscure one's true nature of your Doctor's prescribed treatments.

#What Do You Need To Learn Reiki All Time Best Tips #How Do Reiki Treatment Work

[modernart2012]

Sing Sing (Lovin’ You)

1.  There’s something to be said about waking up on Saturdays. It’s not the sudden blaring of his alarm, and the dusty echo of an otherwise empty apartment. It’s warm, on Saturdays. And not just because Friday night was his standing arcade night appointment with Hizashi, and he inevitably ends up at the Yamada’s home, in Hizashi’s bed - only because he can never get warm enough on the spare futon - for the night. Normally, he’s cocooned in blankets and Hizashi, tangled up so thoroughly that sometimes he finds stray golden hairs on his brush days later. So when he wakes up to slight jostling this Saturday, he’s not surprised to find it’s Hizashi leaning over him as he extracts himself from the Gordian Knot they’ve become. What’s different is he’s humming soft and low.“Lying in my bed, I hear the clock tick and think of you; caught up in circles confusion is nothing new,” the words flow in steady soothing cadence, not disrupting the haze of sleep Shōta’s surfacing from. Shōta stretches and yawns in response, because if Hizashi is up then Yamada-san has probably made pancakes.

Hizashi keeps humming the tune, skipping lines at will, but his eyes remain sleep soft and quiet, not yet sparking with his normal energy. Shōta sits up to finish stretching, joints popping and crackling across his torso. “Good morning,” he greets and is returned.

It takes until halfway through his pancakes that he pinpoints exactly what was odd about Hizashi’s humming. “That song you were humming this morning - it was in English, wasn’t it?”

Hizashi startles around a mouthful of pancake, then after a moment to finish chewing and swallowing, “Yeah.” He looks awkward, off kilter, as if he wasn’t expecting to be caught.

Shōta takes pity on him, “You sounded good. The English I mean.”

Hizashi brightens, then leers at Shōta playfully, “Yeah? I’ve got a talented tongue, what can I say.”

Shōta huffs, amused despite himself. “You can say you’ll help me with the English assignment due Monday, and I won’t let Tensei know that you can sing.”

Given that Tensei is often dragged to karaoke group dates, this is a good threat. Hizashi pales and quickly agrees to the terms.

2. The next time Hizashi sings for Shōta, it’s after their final Sports Festival at Yuuei. They’re third years, and in a completely unforeseen turn of events, it ends up with the both of them in Recovery Girl’s office with heavy injuries. Shōta himself is in traction, both legs in casts after going up against a Mutation type quirk that produced skin like stone. Hizashi, similarly, is banged up, his neck supported by a brace and his back strapped to a board to ensure that he doesn’t further cause damage to his bruised spine. Shōta is doped up on pain medications, because Recovery Girl can only do so much when her patients are exhausted, and he’s pretty sure he’s hallucinating. There is no other explanation for the flying reptiles. (Unless it’s a Quirk?)

He’s about to cross check with Hizashi on the status of the reptiles when he hears soft raspy humming float across the room. Hizashi’s voice, usually loud and exuberant at all times, and not bad to listen to normally, was downright angelic when he sang - something Shōta knew he could never tell Hizashi for want of never live it down. While Shōta didn’t mind Hizashi’s near constant chatter, it’d be awful if he knew that Shōta couldn’t imagine a world without that voice booming in his ear at some point in the day. “If I lay here, if I just lay here, would you lie with me and just forget the world? I don’t quite know how to say how I feel; those three words are said too much  they’re not enough….”

Shōta’s aware enough that this time it’s English, but with the way his head is still aching, he’s having trouble understanding the words. Hizashi was always better at English anyways, so he’s already at a disadvantage. Maybe he should study English more, ask Hizashi for tips? Shōta yawns and decides to do so when he wakes, letting the soothing sound of Hizashi’s voice carry him off to restful sleep.

3. The worst part of being 20 and drunk is realizing Hizashi. There’s more behind that, but Shōta’s having a hard time with words, and what other words can explain … everything. There are no good words for describing how Hizashi’s eyes sparkle (not plain green, something like a gemstone, rare and unique), or the way his hair looks when it’s down (bright and soft like the fuzzy glow of a baby duck, but shiny and vivid like spun gold threads), or the general energy (aura?) of Hizashi. Effervescent doesn’t cut it, but there’s not anything better? Shōta turns to glare at Nemuri, who is also drunk, “Japanese is a pathetic language. There are no good words.”

Nemuri pokes him in the ear from her spot on the floor, missing his cheek by a solid mile, “Don’t you suck at English, though?”

The only appropriate response is to blow a raspberry at her.

He doesn’t get retaliation from Nemuri in response, though, because he ends up with a faceful of cat paw. Kurage was just as much of an jerk as he was, and they got along beautifully except for the occasions wherein Kurage decided that he needed as taste of his own medicine. God, he loved his cat.

Shōta is startled out of his consideration of whether he should risk getting clawed in the face in order to cuddle his cat with the soulful tones of Hizashi, singing along with some song piped in through the speakers. It was still a rare event to hear Hizashi sing, but he was good and Shōta was always captivated. “I’m not looking for somebody with some superhuman gifts, some superhero, some fairytale bliss; just something I can turn to, somebody I can kiss, I want something just like this….”

Another English song, and with only him and Nemuri and Tensei there, it felt like a present. More so than the times he busted into spontaneous song, usually his favorite (read: latest find) song of the week. Hizashi only ever sang when he felt especially at ease, and it always highlighted his soft spots. Shōta turns over onto his stomach to cushion his head on the couch arm so he can watch. He’s rewarded with a playful wink from Hizashi with a warmth that was unusual, and if he weren’t already red from the sake he was sure he’d be blushing.

It’s only later when he’s crawled into bed and let Hizashi arrange them for maximum octopus impression does he have a realization about the songs Hizashi sings, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. He’ll try to recall it in the morning.

4. Shōta hates Fridays now sometimes, because Friday means Hizashi has his radio show to produce, and that means they don’t head for the arcade. Hizashi always has a talk segment, generally about something ostensibly music related but sometimes something he and Shōta discussed during the week. During those times, Shōta’s “his Number 1 Listener” and it satisfies the cat-possessive portion of his soul, outright luxuriates in the attention. But otherwise, Fridays now interrupt their standing arcade date appointment, which used to be the highlight of Shōta’s week because he’d get all of Hizashi’s attention for a bit.

This week is almost worse, because Nemuri and Ectoplasm made a bet (that they’ve kept from even hinting at in front of Shōta, which is suspect) with Hizashi who had lost - somehow, because Hizashi has never in Shōta’s memory lost a bet - and he has been close lipped about his forfeit ever since. He had mumbled something about it all being on his show, so Shōta tuned in a little earlier in order to be sure to catch the whole show and not skip the cold open as he usually did.

Shōta can imagine the way Hizashi’s tipped back in his chair as he enthusiastically greets his listeners, the way he would light up from the inside with the focused energy of “Present Mic” live on air. It was different from fights with villains - there was no urgency or adrenaline, no crash, this was pure buoyancy that set Shōta’s veins to fizzling too. That fizz and the usual Hizashi general fizz usually compounded into something that felt like he’d ingested nitroglycerin - a racing jittery feeling that bounced around his insides while he outwardly remained calm.

Time hasn’t dulled that regular Hizashi feeling, only given him a chance to realize it’s always been there and he’s only just not managed to notice. He doesn’t want to give a name to it, because his grandmother always said names have power, but he knows. What to do about it, that’s an entirely different question though.

The cold open ends, leading into the opening theme of the show. A rock number Hizashi spent an entire weekend mixing, having Shōta listen to different versions until he finally had it prepared. That had been a good weekend, one spent entirely sleeping and with Hizashi (sometimes simultaneously, which… in retrospect should have clued Shōta in because he had been altogether too happy to wake up to Hizashi), eating takeout ramen and gyoza with extra chili oil for both.

A few of the latest top 40 hits played, interspersed with Hizashi giving his thoughts (some highly unflattering) on the song. A few requests are thrown in, with light banter between Hizashi and the fan on the line, then it was time for an advertisement break. One is for an “Eraserhead eraser! Completely erases all mistakes just like Quirks!” Shōta internally snickered, because that was the best piece of misinformation he had ever been induced to produce. Such a great logical ruse!

Then Hizashi was back on, his animated tone greeting his listeners, then growing a little subdued. “Recently, I lost a bet with some colleagues about a certain topic. The penalty was to sing a song for my Special Person. So, um. Here I go? I hope you, and especially you my Most Precious Person, enjoy.”

He strums a guitar, humming the opening along before beginning to sing along fervently.  With his gut sinking through the floor - since when did Hizashi have someone like that? Why had he never said? - Shōta listens carefully, recognizing the song as one Hizashi had wanted to play but ultimately rejected because of its age.

Hizashi carries into the chorus, “If you gave me a chance I would take it, It’s a shot in the dark but I’ll make it, Know with all of your heart, you can’t shame me; When I am with you, there’s no place I’d rather be.” If that wasn’t a full on confession, Shōta didn’t know what it was. He stares at the not insignificant number of papers he had yet to grade, shoves them into a messy pile in a drawer, then grabs his coat and all but flees the office.

If the villains he apprehends that night are a bit rougher for the experience than is norm, then no one comments.

5. “Feelings suck” is the sum total of what Shōta learns in the next few weeks. He did his best to act like everything was normal, that he didn’t know Hizashi had a romantic interest that wasn’t him, but every time he did he’s plagued by thoughts of Hizashi’s “Precious Person”. Who were they? Did they know? Did they suspect? Did they love Hizashi too? Know about his need to cuddle at night? The way he hated shrimp and lobster for looking too much like bugs? His hatred of strawberry milk, but love of raw strawberries? In the end, it was too much, and he inevitably fled with thin excuses. After a few days Hizashi started looking like someone had kicked his puppy and Nemuri was frowning at Shōta like he had done something wrong. Saying he was going out with his friends (who weren’t also Hizashi’ friends or originally Hizashi’s friends) didn’t work that well, because beyond his agency colleagues, he didn’t know very many people, plus Hizashi worked at Yuuei too and if he dragged Thirteen out any more he was sure Thirteen was going to Black Hole him. Which meant the only other option was to take more shifts during the night. Beyond the fact that this netted him a more surefire way to avoid Hizashi, it also netted him extra cash, which had the opposite effect because his first instinct was to buy things for Hizashi. Shōta stares at the pair of brand new, latest version headphones Hizashi had been gushing about, the ones that had the best audio clarity and sound truity as compared to the other headphones of similar style on the market. They had cost quite a bit, but Shōta was flush with cash anyways and the extra padding from his recent shift increase was just begging to be spent. Maybe it would make up for the forlorn look Hizashi had been sporting recently?

That thought was put on hold as a massive shape flew through part of the train carriage. It wasn’t a high traffic time, in fact only a handful of people were riding, which was lucky. What wasn’t lucky was the dark shadow that was also flying towards the carriage. That was definitely Hizashi, dealing with the villain in a rather harsh manner. Which made almost no sense, since Hizashi wasn’t much for shadow heroics (though the harsh treatment… that was usually only for heinous criminals.) What was he doing hero-ing when there was no adoring media, no spotlight, no fame or newspot to be gained? Was he doing night shifts so he could have more time with his Special Person? The thought sours almost as soon as Shōta thought it. He frowns and focuses on the headphones for the rest of the ride home.

Except, he doesn’t make it home. He’s just entering his apartment, Kurage twining about his feet, when he receives the call. The voice on the line is collected and professional, imparting the bare minimum of details before Shōta hangs up and races back the way he came.

He must have looked like a madman running full tilt into the lobby of the Shūzenji Hospital in Kita ward, breathless from having sprinted the whole way. “Pre-Present Mi-c,” his chest rose and fell in a staccato beat, fighting for air against the burn in his muscles. The receptionist looks at him like he’s some sort of monster, her lilac skin fading to lavender as she froze. He bears down on her like she’s a troublesome student, eyes sharp, her skin going grey, “I-I was cal-led. A-About Pre-se-nt Mi-Mic. He-he w-was admitted here.” He inhales sharply, then exhales, “His room number?”

The receptionist sags relief clear from the slack of her spine to be out of his gaze. “I’ll need to see identification before I can tell you that.”   

Good, he wouldn’t have to file a complaint with Recovery Girl that her receptionists were shoddy and letting anyone up into recovering heros’ hospital rooms. He fishes out his ID, and waits impatiently for the receptionist to check the information. When she finally returns it, he is jittering in place, and barely hears the room number before he is flying down the halls and opting to dash up the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator.  

He slows down on the floor though, because there are obviously other patients in the ward. He slips around the night nurses, nodding to the ones he recognizes. After all, this is the floor for those who are under the effect of a Quirk gone haywire, usually overexertion of their own but sometimes under the effect of a Villain’s Quirk. He doesn’t know which he is in for, and hoped if it was Hizashi’s Quirk run amok that he had already lost his voice from too much screaming. Or that the nurses had managed to get his multi-directional speaker off him. Recovery Girl would not be happy having to heal him from broken eardrums.

Shōta meets a nurse at the door to Hizashi’s room, Satō, who is generally sent to deal with heroes due to his six arms and infinite patience with which to deal with difficult people. He nods politely at Satō, who returns the greeting with a perfunct, “Eraser.” He looks dead inside, which some might say was a step up from his usual vaguely fed up with life countenance, but must also speak to the hassle Hizashi has become. Shōta makes note to sent Satō a fruit basket, one with a melon.

Shōta clears his throat, “How is he?”

Satō stars at him with dead eyes, “Truth Quirk plus Singing Quirk. Now he can’t stop singing - real songs! - about whatever he’s thinking about, and it has to be true.” One set of his arms crosses itself, and Satō looms, “It’d be best if you just took him home.”

That. That was not a suggestion and Shōta makes note to not send a fruit basket. Satō does not deserve a fruit basket. When he enters the patient room, however, he wants to flee and pretend he was never there. He’s caught Hizashi mid-song, “Where did I go wrong? And how can I make it right? Tell me where did I go wrong? You know I want to make it right, and make you come back it me.” Then his eyes land on Shōta and he practically wrenches his jaws shut, face going blank and lovely croon abruptly cutting off.

Shōta tilts his head, a slightly worn smile tipping the corners of his lips as if he hadn’t just caught Hizashi singing, “This is a jailbreak. Let’s head home.”

There is a momentary panic in his eyes, and Hizashi’s mouth opened before he clamped it shut again and nods. They leave the hospital, and Hizashi seems determined to sing some inane anime opening about hamsters. When that was over, he switched to the themes for some anime with ninjas, and then some song about …. samurai hearts? Shōta had stopped keeping track around the time Hizashi partook in a rap battle about… the lights in the night sky?  Something like that. At least they were at Shōta’s apartment, and Hizashi couldn’t bellow anime songs.

Kurage greets them from her perch on the refrigerator, or at least greets Hizashi. She pointedly ignores Shōta, probably for the betrayal of not petting her earlier before he had to run out. Had he ever mentioned his cat was an asshole? She was perfect.

Also, an effective distraction for Hizashi, who was singing a children’s song about an adventurous cat. It was an interesting trick, to consciously think only of a specific song to get around the Quirks. Commendable even. But he missed Hizashi’s voice -screeching, solemn, lilting, and mellifluous, all the different ways he expressed himself so wholeheartedly. Hopefully this would wear off soon.

Shōta was jolted out of his musings by Hizashi grabbing his sleeve as he passed by. His voice is rough with overuse, quiet and shaken, “Sh-ōta, did - did you get - get those?” He sounded like he was actively fighting against the Quirks affecting him, and the way he sagged boneless against Shōta belied how much energy he had spent to achieve it. Shōta turned to follow his line of sight, to the headphone box he had left carelessly in the genkan.

Hot embarrassment floods through him, and he could feel the flush spread across his face and down his chest. “Ah- uh, Yes. I did? They’re for you.” He winced internally at the way that sounded.

“Oh,” Hizashi sighs, and whatever had been sucking him of energy these past few weeks seemed to disappear. He smiled tenderly, then moved so quickly Shōta had no time to react. His face ends up buried in the junction of Hizashi’s neck and shoulder, Hizashi hugging him tightly like he was a ghost liable to drift away at the slightest breeze. He’s singing again, softly as if he’s afraid of being overheard. “We watch the season pull up its own stakes, and catch the last weekend of the last week.  Before the gold and the glimmer have been replaced, another sun soaked season fades away.  You have stolen my heart. You have stolen my heart.”

Shōta fists his hands in Hizashi’s jacket, glad that Hizashi couldn’t see his face as his world imploded. He’d become practiced enough at English at this point to know the words, and their meaning, and what they meant strung together and his heart was exploding like a star into so much dust, uncontrollable and pure. This song was clear, direct and the only thing he could think is, “Oh, he’s in love with me too.”

+1. The next few days were like drifting anchorless and weightless through a bank of clouds. It was surreal, unbelievable even. How? When? Why? Of all the manically unpredictable things - him? Oh, that time on the radio - was for him? He chased himself in circles of thought, ignoring the frowns Nemuri sent his way, the terrified way his students cowered, and instead lost himself in the near permanent giddiness suffusing into his bones and Hizashi’s smiles.

Then it hit him around the time he’s trying to make tonkatsu ramen from scratch - he had never given any indication that he felt the same. “Oh, Endeavor-dammit,” he informs Kurage, who yowls in agreement. Shōta feeds her a piece of cooked chicken and considered the discussion closed.

Which, then begged the question, how to go about confessing. All the guides on the internet were geared towards high school girls, with ideas like letters in shoeboxes and homei choco, and other trite things that are fine for high schoolers but not grown men in their mid-twenties who had know each other for nearly a decade. For kicks, Shōta  tries searching that in google and ends up in a very odd place in the internet. Something about fursuits. He closes the browser quickly, then climbs into his sleeping bag to think. This has to be special.

It comes to him mid-nap interruption by Kurage trying to worm herself into the sleeping bag, when there’s a metallic clatter against his floor. He blindly reaches around Kurage - has he mentioned his cat is an asshole? - and getting a faceful of cat butt while he roots around for whatever fell. His hand lands on a small, thin rectangle, which his eyes tell him is Hizashi’s iPod. An idea comes to him, one that will need some practice to execute well, but … doable. He sets to, because he only has this weekend off.

By Monday, he has the perfect plan. He drops the iPod and a CD - thank God he knows that Hizashi has a CD player - clearly labeled with Hizashi’s name and with directions in Hizashi’s shoebox (somethings are a classic for a reason.) Then he goes about his day trying to teach first years. He’ll know when Hizashi has listened to it - he hopes. Then there’s a massive incident that All Might puts down quickly, but it’s all hands on deck to quell the populus and maintain order. Confessions, such as they are, get put to the wayside.

It’s only the Friday after, during Hizashi’s radio show that Shōta remembers that he gave Hizashi a CD. It’s during his talk segment that Hizashi talks about receiving a CD from his Number 1 Listener, and that he hadn’t listened to it yet. He invites all the listeners to listen with him, and queues up the only track on the CD. Shōta is glad that all the other teachers have left for the weekend, because he would be too mortified to survive otherwise.

Which is not to say he isn’t mortified, just less mortified than what he could be. Shōta decides it doesn’t matter and gives up on lesson plans to head home. That way he can skip most of the embarrassment.

It’s rush hour and it’s raining, so the trains are packed and it takes a while to get home. He greets his cat, and sets about preparing dinner, his phone clearly visible even though he knows Hizashi won’t call unless the show is over. He itches to turn on his radio, but refrains because Hizashi just played his confession on live radio. Shōta can imagine the fallout, and doesn’t wish to die of embarrassment. He settles for finishing the ingredients for katsu curry.

Shōta’s patience is rewarded when there’s a heavy pounding at his front door. The door flies open to a disheveled Hizashi, who is radiant and broken and panting and staring as if Shōta is a miracle Hizashi can’t yet believe in, and then he’s got an armful of wet leather and wet gloves against his face and a chaste wondrous supplication against his lips.

They break away to breathe, foreheads pressed against each other. He’s breathless and soaring and smiling just standing there in the genkan. And this is perfect, in it’s own way, no matter that Shōta’s sure that Kurage has probably eaten herself sick of the tonkatsu, no matter that Hizashi is dripping and probably going to catch cold, no matter that hundreds of thousands of people just heard Shōta confess on live radio. And then he’s laughing, and Hizashi is too and that’s fine, because he’s got Hizashi and the rest is just…. The rest.

Later that night, both of them full of curry and laughter and kisses, tangled up in bed, that Shōta sings for Hizashi, one more time, “Take my hand - Take my whole life too, But I can’t help falling in love with you.”

#art writes #boku no hero academia #bnha #erasermic #5 +1 times #idiot boys in love #pining #mutual pining #oh my god #these boys #are killing me #how does one writing pining #actual thing i googled

[tometender]

HANDLE WITH CARE by Helena Hunting Buy-Book Link: 

HE WANTS TO LOSE CONTROL. Between his parents’ messed up marriage and his narcissistic younger brother, Lincoln Moorehead has spent the majority of his life avoiding his family. After the death of his father, Lincoln finds himself in the middle of the drama. To top it all off, he’s been named CEO of Moorehead Media, much to his brother’s chagrin. But Lincoln’s bad attitude softens when he meets the no-nonsense, gorgeous woman who has been given the task of transforming him from the gruff, wilderness guy to a suave businessman SHE’S TRYING TO HOLD IT TOGETHER. Wren Sterling has been working double time to keep the indiscretions at Moorehead Media at bay, so when she’s presented with a new contract, with new responsibilities and additional incentives, she agrees. Working with the reclusive oldest son of a ridiculously entitled family is worth the hassle if it means she’s that much closer to pursuing her own dreams. What Wren doesn’t expect is to find herself attracted to him, or for it to be mutual. And she certainly doesn’t expect to fall for Lincoln. But when a shocking new Moorehead scandal comes to light, she’s forced to choose between her own family and the broody, cynical CEO.

Handle With Care by Helena Hunting Lincoln has been hard at work living a philanthropist life when he is called home for his father’s funeral and will reading. Lincoln has broken from contact with his family and their self-indulgent life style. Imagine his surprise when he discovers his father has left him completely in control of the family’s Mega media corporation. His grandmother, his only solace as a child, convinces him to stay and help out the family. Wren was hired by Moorehead Media as a PR person, or should I say PR reinventor…she’s got her work cut out for her with Lincoln’s family. Just when she thinks she can break free she is tasked with one more assignment, reinvent the reclusive Lincoln into CEO material. The chemistry burns between Lincoln and Wren and sparks start to fly with the secrets, betrayals and what is uncovered all in the line of duty and family. I flat out loved Handle With Care. Both Wren and Lincoln are likeable, relatable characters that suck the reader right into their plights. With Scandal and financial / career mayhem at hand, they have their work cut out for them but the bickering duo provide a truly fantastic romantic comedy read. I received this ARC copy of Handle With Care from St. Martin's Press. This is my honest and voluntary review. Handle With Care is set for publication August 27, 2019 and will be included in St. Martins Publishing tour and paperback giveaway on Tome Tender on September 6, 2019.

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of PUCKED, Helena Hunting lives on the outskirts of Toronto with her incredibly tolerant family and two moderately intolerant cats. She writes contemporary romance ranging from new adult angst to romantic sports comedy.

Handle With Care Blogger Q&A – Helena Hunting

Q: Can you tell us a little about your new release, Handle with Care? A: Handle with Care follows the story of the reclusive Lincoln Moorehead, who has done everything he can to separate himself from his family and their massive media corporation. Upon the death of his father, he’s forced to come home for the funeral, and then asked to stay on to help transition the company with the assistance of Wren Sterling who has been commissioned to overhaul Lincoln’s image in the public eye. Q: Lincoln Morehead and Wren Sterling are the lead characters in Handle with Care. Which one of them did you find the easiest to develop? What is each characters best and worst traits? A: I always find developing the male lead the easiest. I’m not sure why exactly that is, but Lincoln’s character was so easy to round out and develop. Lincoln’s worst trait is that he jumps to conclusions without first getting all the facts, but his best trait is his altruism. He’s very much about giving back, and despite the fact that he can be a grumpy jerk, he’s also an incredibly good human being. Wren’s worst trait is that she can be a martyr for things that are outside of her control but her best trait is her strength of character and her belief in redemption. Q: What was your greatest challenge while Handle with Care? What was your greatest pleasure and/or reward? A: Wren is a badass heroine, so I think finding the balance between her strength of character and those hints of vulnerability could be tricky at times. I really wanted to humanize her and make her relatable and I hope readers connect with her. I LOVED writing the banter between Linc and Wren. They are both such strong personalities, and that made putting them head to head so much fun.

Q: Which do you find easiest to write-the humor or the heart? A: Humor always seems to find a natural place inside the story, but for me it’s about the balance between the two. I love taking a heavy moment and inserting some kind of comic relief before I go for the feels again. Q: Do you work from an outline while writing your novels? How closely do the finished novels fit your original vision of the characters and storyline before you begin writing? A: I outline extensively. Most of the time I have about ten thousand words of outline and character development before I even start writing. It’s just how I work most effectively. I need to know who my characters are going in and where I want them to be by the end of the book. I generally stick to my outlines very closely since they are so detailed. Q: What did you edit OUT of this book? A: A lot of f-bombs. Q: Do you listen to music while writing? Does it influence the flow of the scene you are writing? A: I do. I create playlists for every single book I write, and I often (always) listen to the same playlist while I write the book. This means that I burn out albums and songs for my family on a very, very regular basis. My husbands list of artists he will no longer listen to grows exponentially with every release. Halsey always finds a place on my playlist and the song Joaquim by Oscar and the Wolf was a particular favorite.

Q: When sitting down to write a new book you have a specific outline to follow or does it just flow naturally? A: The first step in my process is always to write an outline. I need the bones of the story down, where the character arcs will fall and what the conflicts will look like before I start writing the book. Q: What do you like to do when you aren't writing? A: I like hanging out with my daughter and craft. Recently we went camping, which was a fun experience, although I grew up with a family cottage so we would spend a lot of the summer there. Q: Name three things on your desk right now. A: Broken Knight by LJ Shen, Fix Her Up by Tessa Bailey, Resist by K. Bromberg, Undeniable by Melanie Harlow, The Last Letter by Rebecca Yarros (still gives me the chills when I think about it), Verity by Colleen Hoover. Q: What did you enjoy most about writing this book? A: The banter between Wren and Linc and writing a grumpy, jerk hero who really isn’t a jerk but sure acts like one! Q: To get to know you a little bit better... do you have a pet or something that is special to you that you could share with us?

A: I have two cats, Digit is a 14 year old pure white polydactyl cat who sheds like nobodies business and Pumpkin (named by our daughter) is a 6 year old black cat who often thinks he’s a dog, eat edamame beans and begs for bacon at the table. Q: You've written many books & bestsellers, in many genres. What has been your favorite to write thus far? A: That’s a hard question to answer. I love them all for very different reasons, but I will say that I had a lot of fun writing Wren and Linc because of the banter and how much I love writing a strong heroine. Q: What was your favorite book or series in your youth? A: I used to love reading VC Andrews books, and Clive Barker, which I realize are very, bery different! Q: What would you like us (the readers) to take away from your story? A: That families aren’t perfect and people can make mistakes, yet still grow from them. Q: What is your favorite platform to connect with your reader to date? A: I have a reader group called The Beaver Den and I love it in there. The readers are always sharing book experiences and it’s a great community! If you want to join my group you can do it here: https://www.facebook.com/groups/HelenaHuntingBeaverDen/ Q: What project(s) are you currently working on? A: I just finished the third book in the All In Series, which the first book will be releasing this fall. Next I’m starting a standalone, but I also have a new series I’ll be starting soon, and I have a book idea or two for secondary characters in the last two books of The Shacking Up series, as well. It’s safe to say that my writing schedule is planned for the next two years! Q: Do you believe in love at first sight? A: I don’t know about love at first sight but when I saw my husband from across the room for the first time I thought, “man, he’s pretty” and then when we had our first conversation the connection was instant. I think people can “click” and be drawn to each other for inexplicable reasons.

CHAPTER 1

WHAT HAVE I GOTTEN MYSELF INTO?

WREN

I slip onto the empty bar stool beside the lumberjack mountain man who looks like he tried to squeeze himself into a suit two sizes too small. He’s intimidatingly broad and thick, with long dark hair that’s been pulled up into a haphazard man bun thing. His beard is a hipster’s wet dream. His scowl, however, makes him about as approachable as a rabid porcupine. And yet, here I am, sidling up next to him.

He glances at me, eyes bleary and not really tracking. He quickly focuses on his half-empty glass again. Based on the slump of his shoulders and the uncoordinated way he picks up his glass and tips it toward his mouth, I’m guessing he’s pretty hammered. I order a sparkling water with a dash of cranberry juice and a lime.

What I could really use is a cup of lavender-mint tea and my bed, but instead, I’m sitting next to a drunk man in his thirties. My life is extra glamorous, obviously. And no, I’m not an escort, but at the moment I feel like my morals are on the same kind of slippery slope.

“Rough day?” I ask, nodding to the bottle that’s missing more than half its contents. It was full when he sat down at the bar an hour ago. Yes, I’ve been watching him the entire time, waiting for an opportunity to make my move. While he’s been sitting here, he’s turned down two women, one in a dress that could’ve doubled as a disco ball and the other in a top so low-cut, I could almost see her navel.

“You could say that,” he slurs. He props his cheek on his fist, eyes almost slits. I can still make out the vibrant blue hue despite them almost being closed. They move over me, assessing. I’m wearing a conservative black dress with a high neckline and a hem that falls below my knees. Definitely not nearly as provocative as Disco Ball or Navel Lady.

“That solving your problems?” I give him a wry grin and tip my chin in the direction of his bottle of Johnnie.

His gaze swings slowly to the bottle. It gives me a chance to really look at him. Or what I can see of his face under his beard, anyway.


“Nah, but it helps quiet down all the noise up here.” He taps his temple and blurts, “My dad died.”


I put a hand on his forearm. It feels awkward, and creepy on my part since its half-genuine, half-contrived comfort. “I’m so sorry.”


He glances at my hand, which I quickly remove, and refocuses on his drink. “I should be sorry too, but I think he was mostly an asshole, so the world might be better off without him.” He attempts to fill his glass again, but his aim is off, and he pours it on the bar instead. I rush to lift my purse and grab a handful of napkins to mop up the mess.

“I’m drunk,” he mumbles.


“Well, I’m thinking that might’ve been the plan, considering the way you’re sucking that bottle back. I’m actually surprised you didn’t ask for a straw in the first place. Might be a good idea to throw a spacer in there if you want tomorrow morning to suck less.” I push my drink toward him, hoping he doesn’t send me packing like he did the other women who approached him earlier.

He narrows his eyes at my glass, suspicious, maybe. “What is that?”

“Cranberry and soda.” 


“No booze?”


“No booze. Go ahead. You’ll thank me in the morning.”


He picks up the glass and pauses when it’s an inch from his mouth. His eyes crinkle, telling me he’s smiling under that beard. “Does that mean Imma wake up with you beside me?”

I cock a brow. “Are you propositioning me?”

“Shit, sorry.” He chugs the contents of my glass. “I was joking. Besides, I’m so wasted, I can barely remember my name. Pretty sure I’d be useless in bed tonight. I should stop talkin’.” He scrubs a hand over his face and then motions to me. “I wouldn’t proposition you.”

I’m not sure how to respond. I go with semi-affronted, since it seems like somewhat of an insult. “Good to know.”

“Dammit. I mean, I think you might be hot. You look hot. I mean attractive. I think you’re pretty.” He tips his head to the side and blinks a few times. “You have nice eyes, all four of them are lovely.”

This time I laugh—for real—and point to the bottle. “I think you might want to tell your date you’re done for the night.”

He blows out a breath and nods. “You might be right.”

He makes an attempt to stand, but as soon as his feet hit the floor, he stumbles into me and grabs my shoulders to steady himself. “Whoa. Sorry. Yup, I’m definitely drunk.” His face is inches from mine, breath smelling strongly of alcohol. Beyond that, I get a whiff of fresh soap and a hint of aftershave. He lets go of my shoulders and takes an unsteady step back. “I don’t usually do this.” He motions sloppily to the bottle. “Mostly I’m a three drink max guy.”

“I think losing your father makes this condonable.” I slide off my stool. Despite being tall for a woman, and wearing heels, he still manages to be close to a head taller than me.

“Yeah, maybe, but I still think I might regret it tomorrow.” He’s incredibly unsteady, swaying while standing in place. I take the opportunity for what it is and thread my arm through his, leading him away from the bar. “Come on, let’s get you to the elevator before you pass out right here.”

He nods, then wobbles a bit, like moving his head has set him off balance. “That’s probably a good idea.”

He leans into me as we weave through the bar and stumbles on the two stairs leading to the foyer. There’s no way I’ll be able to stop him if he goes down, but I drape one of his huge arms over my shoulder anyway, and slip my own around his waist, guiding him in a mostly straight line to the elevators.

“Which floor are you on?” I ask.

“Penthouse.” He drops his arm from my shoulder and flings it out, pointing to the black doors at the end of the hall. “Jesus, I feel like I’m on a boat.”

“It’s probably all the alcohol sloshing around in your brain.” I take his elbow again, helping him stagger the last twenty feet to the dedicated penthouse elevator.

He stares at the keypad for a few seconds, brow pulling into a furrow. “I can’t remember the code. It’s thumbprint activated though too.” He stumbles forward and presses his forehead against the wall, then tries to line up his thumb with the sensor, but his aim is horrendous and he keeps missing.

I settle a hand on his very firm forearm. This man is built like a tank. Or a superhero. For a moment, I reconsider what I’m about to do, but he seems pretty harmless and ridiculously hammered, so he shouldn’t pose a threat. I’m also trained in self-defense, which would fall under the by any means necessary umbrella. “Can I help?”

He rolls his head, eyes slits as they bounce around my face. “Please.”

I take his hand between mine. The first thing I notice is how clammy it is. But beyond that, his knuckles are rough, littered with tiny scars and a few scabs, and his nails are jagged.

“Your hands are small,” he observes as I line his thumb up with the sensor pad and press down.

“Maybe yours are abnormally big,” I reply. They are rather large. Like basketball player hands.

“You know what they say about big hands.”

I fight not to roll my eyes, but for a brief moment, I wonder if what’s in his pants actually matches the rest of him. And if he’s unkempt everywhere, not just on his face. I cut that visual quickly because it makes me want to gag. “And what do they say?”

His eyes crinkle again, and he slaps his own chest. “Something about big hands, big heart.”

I bite back my own smile. “Pretty sure you’re mixing that up with cold hands, warm heart.”

His brow furrows. “There’s a good chance.”

The elevator doors slide open. He pushes off the wall with some effort and practically tumbles inside. He catches himself on the rail and sags against the wall as I follow him in. I honestly can’t believe I’m doing this right now.

He doesn’t have to press a button since the elevator only goes to the penthouse floor. As soon as we start moving, he groans and his shoulders curl in. “I don’t feel so good.”

Please don’t let him be sick in here. If there’s one thing I can’t deal with, it’s vomit. “You should sit.”

He slides down the wall, massive shoulders rolling forward as he rests his forehead on his knees. “Tomorrow is going to suck.”

I stay on the other side of the elevator, in case he tosses his cookies. “Probably.”

It’s the longest elevator ride in the history of the world. Or at least it feels that way, mostly because I’m terrified he’s going to yak. Thankfully, we make it to the penthouse floor incident-free. On the down side, now that he’s in a sitting position, getting him to stand again is a challenge. I have to press the open door button three times before I can finally coax him to his feet.

In the time between leaving the bar and making it to the penthouse floor, the effects of the alcohol seems to have compounded. He’s beyond sloppy, using the wall and me for support as we make our way to his door. There are two penthouse apartments up here. One on either side of the foyer.

He leans against the doorjamb, once again fighting to find the coordination to get his thumb to the sensor pad. I don’t ask if he needs my assistance this time since it’s quite clear he does. Once again I take his clammy hand in mine.

“Your hands are really soft,” he mumbles.


“Thanks.”


The pad ashes green, and I turn the handle. “Okay, here we go. Home sweet home.”


“This isn’t my home,” he slurs. “My cousin’s family owns this building. I’m crashing here until I can get the fuck out of New York.”

I scan the penthouse. It an eclectic combination of odd art and modern furniture, like two different tastes crashed together and this is the result. Aside from that, it’s clean to the point of looking almost like a show home.

The only sign that someone is staying here is the lone coffee cup on the table in the living room and the blanket lolling like a tongue over the edge of the couch. I’m still standing in the doorway while he sways unsteadily.

He tries to shove his hand in his pants pocket, but all he succeeds in doing is setting himself off-balance. He nearly stumbles into the wall.

“Thanks for your help,” he says.

He’s back in his penthouse, which means my job is technically done. However, I’m worried he’s going to hurt himself, or worse, asphyxiate on his own vomit in the middle of the night, and I’ll be the one catching heat if that happens. I’ll also feel bad if something happens to him. I blow out a breath, annoyed that this is how my night is ending.

I heave his arm over my shoulder and slip mine around his waist again, leading him through the living room toward what seems to be the kitchen. There’s a sheet of paper on the island, but otherwise it’s spotless.

“What’re you doing?” he asks.

We pause when we reach the threshold. “Which way is your bedroom?”

He looks slowly from right to left. “Not that way.” He points to the kitchen. It’s very state of the art.

I guide him in the opposite direction down the hall, until he stumbles through a doorway, into a large but simply furnished bedroom. Once we reach the edge of the bed, he drops his arm, spins around—it’s drunkenly graceful—and falls back on the bed, arms spread wide as if he’s planning on making snow angels. “The room is spinning.”

“Would you like me to get you a glass of water and possibly a painkiller for the headache you’ll likely have in the morning?” I’m already heading for the bathroom.

“Might be a good idea,” he mumbles.

I find a glass on the edge of bathroom vanity—which is clean, apart from a brand new toothbrush and tube of toothpaste. I run the tap, wishing I had a plastic tumbler, because I’m not sure he’s in any state to deal with breakable objects. I check the medicine cabinet, find the pills I need, shake out two tablets, and return to the bedroom.

He’s right where I left him; sprawled out faceup on a massive king-size bed, legs hanging off the end, one shoe on the floor beside him. I cross over and set the water and the pills on the nightstand.

I make a quick trip back to the bathroom and grab the empty wastebasket from beside the toilet in case his night is a lot rougher than he expects.

I tap his knee, crossing my fingers he’ll be easy to rouse. “Hey, I have painkillers for you.”

He makes a noise, but doesn’t move otherwise.

I tap his knee again. “Lincoln, you need to wake up long enough to take these.” I cringe. I called him by name, and he didn’t offer it to me while we were down at the bar. Here’s hoping he’s too drunk to notice or remember. His name is Lincoln Moorehead, heir to the Moorehead Media fortune and all the crap that comes with it. And there’s a lot of it.

One eye becomes a slit. “Every time I open my eyes, the room starts spinning again.”

“If you drink this and take these, it might help.” I hold up the glass of water and the pills.

“’Kay.” It takes three tries for him to sit up. He tries to pick the pills up out of my palm, but keeps missing my hand.

“Just open your mouth.”

He lifts his head. “How do I know you’re not trying to roofie me?”

I hold up the tablet in front of his face. “They don’t say roofie, so you’re safe.”

He tries to focus on the pill and then my face. I have my doubts he’s successful at either.

His tongue peeks out to drag across his bottom lip. “The cameras in the hall will catch you if you steal my wallet.”

I laugh at that. “I’m not going to steal your wallet, I’m going to put you to bed.”

“Hmm.” He nods slowly and opens his mouth.

I drop the pills on his tongue and hand him the glass, which he drains in three long swallows. “Would you like me to refill that?”

“That’d be nice.” He holds out the glass, but when I try to pull away, he covers my hands with his. His shockingly blue eyes meet mine, and for a moment they’re clear and compelling. Despite how out of it he is, and how much he resembles a mountain man, or maybe because of it, I have a hard time looking away. “I really wish I wasn’t this messed up. You smell nice. I bet your hair is pretty when it’s not pulled up like that.” He flops a hand toward my bun. “Not that it’s not pretty like that, but I bet if you took it down, it would be wavy and soft. The kind of hair you want to bury your face in and run your fingers through.” He exhales a long breath. “I haven’t had sex in a really long time, but I feel like I would have zero finesse if I tried right now.”

I smile and turn away. In the time it takes for me to refill his glass, he’s managed to get one arm out of his suit jacket. He’s made it most of the way onto the bed, feet still hanging off the end, but he’s on his back, which is not ideal.

I set the glass on his nightstand, along with a second set of painkillers, which I’m assuming he’ll need in the morning, and give him another nudge. “Hey.”

This time I get nothing in the way of a response. I poke him twice more, but still nothing. He can’t sleep on his back with how drunk he is. He needs to be on his side or his stomach with a wastebasket close by.

I can’t in good conscience leave him like this. My options are limited. I shake my head as I kick off my shoes and climb up onto the bed with him. This is not at all what I expected to be doing when I brought him back up here.

I stare down at his sleeping form. His lips are parted, they’re nice lips, full and plump, even though they’re mostly obscured by his overgrown beard. His hair has started to unravel from its man bun, wisps hanging in his face. He has long lashes, really long actually, and they’re thick and dark, the kind women pay a lot of money for. His nose is straight and his cheekbones— what I can see of them—are high. With a haircut, a beard trim or complete shave, and a new suit that actually fits, I can imagine how refined he’ll look. More like a Moorehead than a mountain man lumberjack. I shake my head. “I need you to roll onto your side, please,” I say loudly.

Nothing. Not even a grunt.

I pull on his shoulder, but he’s dead weight. Leaning over him, I make a fist and give him a light jab approximately where his kidney is. “Lincoln, roll over.”

And roll he does, knocking me down and turning over so he’s right on top of me. We’re face-to-face. Good God, he’s heavy. His bones must be made of lead. He shifts, one leg coming over both of mine. I push at his knee, but his arm swings out and he wraps himself around me on a low groan, pinning my arm to my side. He’s like a giant human blanket.

“How did this become my life?” I say to the ceiling, because the man lying on top of me is apparently out cold.

I try to wriggle free, I even yell his name a bunch of time before I give up and wait for him to roll off me. And while I wait for that to happen, I replay the conversation with his mother, Gwendolyn Moorehead, that took place forty-eight hours ago and put me in this awkward position underneath her drunk son.

I’d been standing in Fredrick’s office, still digesting the fact that he was dead. It was shocking that a massive heart attack had taken him, since he was always so healthy and full of life.

Gwendolyn, his wife—now a widow—stood stoic behind his desk, papers stacked neatly in the center.

“I’m so very for your loss, Gwendolyn. If there’s anything I can do. Whatever you need.” The words poured out, typical condolences, but sincerely meant because I couldn’t imagine how my mother and I would feel if we lost my father.

Gwendolyn’s fingers danced at her throat as she cleared it. “Thank you,” she whispered brokenly and dabbed at her eyes. “I appreciate your kindness, Wren.”

“Let me know what you want me to handle, and I’ll take care of it.”

She took a deep breath, composing herself before she lifted her gaze to mine. “I need your help.”

“Of course, what can I do?”

“My oldest son, Lincoln, will be returning to New York for the funeral, and he’ll be staying to help run the company.”

A hot feeling crept up my spine. I’d heard very little about Lincoln. Everything from Armstrong’s mouth was scathing, Fredrick’s passing references had been with fondness, and my interactions with Gwendolyn had been minimal as it was Fredrick himself who hired me, so this was first I’ve heard of Lincoln through her. “I see. And how can I help with that?” I could only imagine how difficult Armstrong would be if he had to share the attention with someone else, particularly his brother.

“Transitioning Lincoln.” Gwendolyn rounded her desk. “You’ve managed to turn around Armstrong’s reputation in the media during the time you’ve been here. I know it hasn’t been easy, and Armstrong can be difficult to manage.”

Difficult to manage is the understatement of the entire century where Armstrong is concerned. He’s a cocksucker of epic proportions. He’s also a misogynistic, narcissistic bastard that I’ve had to deal with for the past eight months on a nearly daily basis—sometimes even on weekends.

My job as his “handler” has been to reshape his horrendous reputation after his involvement in several scandalous events became very public. It wasn’t a job I necessarily wanted, and I was prepared to politely reject the offer, but my mother asked me to take the position as a favor to her since she’s a friend of Gwendolyn.

Beyond that, my relationship with my mother has been strained for the past decade. When I was a teenager, I discovered information that changed our relationship forever. Taking the job at Moorehead was in part, my way of trying to help repair our fractured bond. The financial compensation, which was ridiculously high, also didn’t hurt. Besides, Gwendolyn is on nearly every single charitable foundation committee in the city, and since that’s where my interests lie, it seemed like a smart career move.

“Since you’re already working with Armstrong and things seem to be settled there for the most part, I felt it would make sense to keep you on here at Moorehead to work with Lincoln. He’s been away from civilized society for several years. He’s nothing like his brother, very altruistic and focused on his job, rather than recreational pursuits, so he should be easier to manage.”

I fought a scoff at the last bit, since “recreational pursuits” was a reference to the fact that Armstrong couldn’t seem to keep his pants zipped when it came to women.

Gwendolyn pushed a set of papers toward me. “It would only be for another six months. And of course, your salary would reflect the double work load, since you’ll still have to maintain Armstrong in some capacity while you assist Lincoln in transitioning into his role here.”

“I’m sorry, what—”

Gwendolyn pulled me into an awkward hug, holding onto my shoulders when she stepped back. Her eyes were glassy and red-rimmed. “You have no idea how much I appreciate your willingness to take this on. As soon as your contract is fulfilled, you have my word that I’ll give you a glowing recommendation to whichever organization you’d like. Your mother told me you’re interested in starting your own foundation. I’ll certainly help you in any way I’m able if you’ll stay on a little longer for me.” She dabbed at her corner of her eyes and sniffed, then tapped the papers on the desk. “I already have an agreement ready and an NDA, of course. Everything is tabbed for signing.”

I’m pulled back into the present when Lincoln shifts and one of his huge hands slides up my side and lands on my breast. At the same time, he pushes his nose against my neck, beard tickling my collarbone. He mutters something unintelligible against my skin.

I’m momentarily frozen in shock. Under any other circumstances, I would knee him in the balls. However, he’s not conscious or even semi-aware that he’s fondling me. Thankfully, now that he’s moved, I have some wiggle room.

I elbow him in the ribs, which probably hurts me more than it does him. At least it gets him to move away enough that I can slip out from under him. I roll off the bed and pop back up, smoothing out my now-wrinkled dress. My stupid nipples are perky, thanks to the attention the right one just got. Probably because it’s the most action I’ve seen since I started working for the Mooreheads eight months ago.

I hit the lights on the way out of the bedroom, pause in the kitchen to grab a glass of water and check out the sheet of paper on the counter. It’s a list of important details regarding the penthouse, including the entry code. I nab my purse, snap a pic, and head for the elevators.

I have a feeling this is going to be a long six months.

From Handle With Care. Copyright © 2019 by Helena Hunting and reprinted with

permission from St. Martin’s Paperbacks.

One Winner will receive a Paperback Copy of HANDLE WITH CARE

September 6 - 20, 2019

a Rafflecopter giveaway

[cameron-ashurst22]

Media Roles In Industries Weekly Summaries

Media Roles in Industry Weekly Summaries

Week 21

Day 2- Media industries: Roles and practices lecture

Project overview

6 weeks project researching media roles and practices giving a 10 minute group presentation on your work. Working in groups , you will research areas within the animation industry and the potential jobs available to you.

Research blog needed in the area I want to look into . Also including contacting a practitioner in the industry about research area. My early thoughts are to contact Ben Su a Pixar animator who I had made contact with earlier on in the year.

Project deliverables:

10 minute group presentation using video clips and supporting text.

Everyone in group must contribute and speak during the presentation

Research portfolio 

Blog has to contain what the degree can go into. Further study , independent filmmaker or working for a company.

500 word statement that summarises research findings.

Must include bibliography for the presentation.

Project aims

-Employability 

-By researching into the industry it familiarises yourself with the job roles and studios that I can apply to after my degree.

-using areas of interest as a starting point. Begin to locate creative practice with a wider range of knowledge

Group 1

Rachel Selby 

August Abrahamsson

Tan Sriwongwaew

Zayrick Villar

Sam Abbot

Myself

Weekly Breakdowns

Week 22

Working in your groups, discuss and chose an area of interest on which to focus your presentation research.

Group task for the following week

-Prepare a 5-minute, 3 slide presentation profiling your chosen area Job role you are profiling 

Week 23

Career presentation from Daisy Morgan 

Week  24

Career presentation Helen Schroeder 

Week 25 

Internship presentation by Oyku Baskin

Career presentation by Indigo Illusions

Animation industries 2d, Cg, Motion graphics , stopmotion

Content producers 

Studios( Laika ,Pixar ,Aardman)

-Hire creative talent 

-create the content

Production companies(aspect film/not scale)

-Manage logistics and finances

-Distribute the film 

Examples

Animated features (stop motion)

Kubo 

Fantastic mr fox 

Shaun the sheep

Animated feature (2d)

Ethel and Ernest 

The illusionist

Animated features 

Toy story

Paddington 

Pre school/ children 

Twirlywoos

Peppa pig 

Gumball

Tv series: Adults/ teens

Adventure time

Rick and Morty

Tv specials 

Shaun the sheep 

Watership down 

Motion graphics 

Advertising

Title sequences

Idents

Artistic 

Education

Good books example for motion graphics

Blink productions and blink studios- Stopmotion

Week 22

Day 2 - Media roles in industry lecture 

Career presentation from Daisy Morgan 

Take aways from the lecture :

Influence - Her influences are many anime cartoons , nature with national geographic and children’s programmes. She is also influenced by the games played when she was younger. Instagram also plays a part in inspiring her pages like pun animation and Manta Gr, Gaston Pacheco.

University - She chose NUA due to the sound design and narrative aspect of the course. The course was based on the fundamentals and offers the understanding with other creators. Convinced on doing 2D hand drawn initially. 

Through experimentation it is the best way of bettering yourself instead of trying to be perfect at each aspect. Take as many risks as possible through experimentation.  This allows you to find your own style and way of creating.

Internship scheme- Go to as many networking events as possible as this will allow career opportunities and internships.

Presentations

-   Title slide

-   present information in concise paragraphs and bullet points

use visuals and present information clearly

Use key quotes source directly from research

Include short films clips

Conclusion what have you learned 

Include a bibliography 

Make a contact- A checklist 

Thoroughly research the organisation and the individual before writing.

Remember to maintain a certain level of formality

Address correspondence to a named person

Be enthusiastic 

Three questions max and that they are easy to understand 

Can contact other people as well

Group one presentation review-

I feel like the first presentation went well as we each shared how we were going to research and structure the projects with the group. As I am slightly uncomfortable with public speaking I was anxious when first speaking. However I quickly grew to enjoy it and explain the processes of some of the artists and the work they had created. I feel like the presentation will progress as each person adds their own personal style and slides on their chosen artist. This explains the pipeline and the way characters are developed. As the presentation was only three slides long it was a small sample into what the main presentation will be about. I felt like more input could be made by my peers as it was me and Rachel mainly speaking to the audience. This is something we can work on in the future giving everyone an allotted time to speak.

Week 23

l

Day 2 - Media in industries 

Helen Schroeder Lecture/Talk on careers- Pre-production work 

Introduction 

Has tried multiple disciplines. Helen explained how competitive character animation is and that if that is what you want to do you have to be completely driven and focused on that goal. This is instead of jumping between roles and jobs. She also explained that jumping and changing job roles can also help establish a career as it helps find what you want to specialise in. 

Developing career

At the start of her studies she focused heavily on stop motion animation. So in her work at university she focused heavily in the stop motion genre. She then through her final third year film got an internship in model making. She then became an animation intern on Dragon in 2007.This helped her become recommissioned  as a freelance animator and model maker. As she was working for the same company she decided to focus heavily on the animation aspect instead of becoming a model maker splitting and letting go of the opportunities that this created to pursue stop motion animation.

Aardman storyboarding course 

This was a professional course and a foot in the door to a major studio. This allowed her to work on the storyboards for Arthur Christmas. This helped her get the job in animating Arthur in cg but she took a stocktake and because of her family did not pursue a future in La where she could work on the larger films.

Teaching and freelance 

Helen then decided to teach at NUA and worked freelance doing storyboarding for Tv and freelance.Helen worked for Hurst animation and was paid per scene.She also storyboarded for a Flora campaign. She then got back to  storyboarding for Aardman on early man but was cut from the project because of travelling and working remotely. She then worked on Watership Down and worked remotely and continues to do that to this day.

Key skills and take ways from talk:

Be adaptable 

Be profesional

Don’t be arrogant limits further opportunities

Keep to deadlines and promises

Be reliable

Have a collaborative attitude

Be positive

If able select jobs carefully and value yourself 

Helen also mentioned Annecy animation festival in France which allows opportunities forms he major studios for work.

Week 24 

Day 2- Media Roles in industry lecture

2nd year lecture - Oyku Baskin

Gobelins animation - A week intensive course on animation in Paris.  Consists of conferences, a big assignment , new friends and people. They bring industry professionals that are currently working on projects which help guide new perspectives and ideas. 

The 2 week assignment. A small exercise where you can choose the mediums of traditional 2D, Digital 2D or 3D. Receiving feedback from peers and tutors. The content changes every year.

What do you gain from this ?- Gain connections from all over the world.

Main tips for this course is to kill you ego. Removing your ego allows adaptation and a better realisation of what work you can produce.

Indigo Illusions lecture

1 Year after graduation 

Tips for the university course

Go to everything the uni puts on 

Separate your work and home space : come to uni to do work

Ask for help constantly

Get as experienced with software as possible. Use Lynda as much as possible

Draw everyday

Keep up to date with weekly summaries and blogs.

Collaboration tasks tips

-   Meet up every week, know what everyone is doing. Set goals for each other 

-   Work together 

Constantly ask for feedback

Indigo illusions -Set up in the ideas factory 

Their vision- contribute to the creative community of norwich swell as become a personal company. Getting new films and commissions on a regular basis

Easter Break week 27

Day 6 - Media roles in industry 

Today I finalised the slides for the presentation that I will send to the group. These slides contain bullet points for the research I have completed for the project. Furthermore, I have printed a longer more detailed variation of this to be used as a script for the presentation itself. In addition I was able to complete the 500 word report on the project and took the angle of what the research had shown me about the industry. This included the different job roles I had found how companies develop characters and what are their fundamental values in crating characters. I focused heavily around the process of Pixar in this project as I was drawn directly to their way of storytelling and character design process. I am going to add how the presentation went to the later section of the evaluation as the presentation is on Tuesday next week.

Week 28 

Day 2 - Media roles in industries presentation

Today I had the group presentation for our chosen subject of character design. I found it quite easy to talk infant of the group and deliver my part of the presentation well. This is due to previous practice through my college years. I tried to speak slowly and confidently in order to ensure that my point was iterated about Animatics, Alonso Martinez and the characters like spot and Arlo. I found that as a whole the presentation flowed and we we able to fully explore the subject matter due to the extensive research we had completed. On feedback from Helen, Peter and John this feeling was reciprocated. 

On reflection I found that the presentation could have included slides on interactions with the animators and character designers we had contacted. However, this was chosen against due to the layout of the presentation being cluttered and we opted to say who we spoke to instead. I was able to contact Ben Su and not Alonso Martinez , however they have similar job roles within Pixar and I expected the same sort of response. I felt this observation of to keep drawing and be open to influence and inspiration would have helped hit home the message of the presentation. This is due to the presentation being about the extensive research and development that is used in the character design pipeline to ensure that the characters are culturally and morally appropriate.

#weeklysummaries #weeklysummary #mediarolesinindustry #mediarolesinindustries #conceptsandcontexts #ba1b