#i took the second photo in my backyard so it may not look as ~professional~ but im still proud of it

[sunflowerinc]

lyric edits for Evergreen by bears in trees 💚✨

#i took the second photo in my backyard so it may not look as ~professional~ but im still proud of it #bears in trees #lyrics #my edits

[seventhrounder]

I went thru my folder with old hockey magazines I had saved from around 2011 to 2015 and came across this one and thought it could be a fun to make a post about now in hindsight.

This is Jääkiekko magazine from May 2012, they always have a section of "99 questions with ..." and in this issue they interviewed Teräväinen.

I’ve translated the questions I found interesting under the cut! It ended up being about half of the interview. (*) are my additions.

On the cover "seuraava superjokeri" means the next super joker, he played for Helsingin Jokerit so it's a word play from that. Under, on the blue print it says: "The 17-year-old forward will become a first round draft pick in the summer. The natural goal scorer can dominate in SM-Liiga as soon as next season."

In the 2nd photo the headline and lead paragraph goes:

"A post with dents* - A year ago Teuvo Teräväinen was known only within a small number of hockey insiders. Few passers-by recognize him now either but after a flashy rookie season the Jokerit sensation is on the radar of every NHL team and is a strong contender to become a first round draft pick. Next season with Jokerit the talented second line center will be one of the main talking points in the SM-Liiga."

(*references the net Teräväinen had in his backyard and into which he practiced his shooting)

3. You've been described as a magician, top scorer, wunderkind and a prodigy. What do you think of these descriptions?

TT: Heh, those are some descriptions yeah. What can I really say? Don't really wanna comment on them much.

4. How nervous are you about the Draft?

TT: I try not to be nervous as best as I can. In a way I don't have anything to be nervous about since I don't care which team picks me or at what number I go.

6. Which is stressing you more, English interviews or physical tests?

TT: Maybe both. Bench press (laughs) and English interviews can be tough.

12. How far along have you planned your career with, for example, your parents or your agent?

TT: Haven't really planned things with others but I've thought about them myself. I try to go step by step and not jump too far ahead.

14. How does it feel to be so young with all the star players in Jokerit?

TT: How to say it? I haven't felt like I was young but a part of the team instead. The team's been very good with me and they haven't been looking down at me like: "oh he's young". It's been fun to play in an experienced team.

15. Is there a generational gap between players?

TT: You can see the age difference, older players look older but we're all childish, at least with our topics.

17. What does a 17-year-old do in the sauna nights of the team?

TT: I actually haven't been in any yet. I've always been at national team's camps or something.

19. Did you get the number you wanted?

TT: I did, yeah. I could've taken #18 but Semir (Ben-Amor) has it. But i'm happy with #86, it's good.

23. What are your strengths as a player?

TT: Offensive play and with that playing with the puck, passing, IQ, power play and skill, just the usual skill - skill with hands.

24. And weaknesses?

TT: They are to do with defensive play, strength and physicality. Battles and such but I think I took a step forward last season. That's a good thing.

25. Have you ever been "pressed into a mold" or has your playing style gotten to develop naturally?

TT: As a kid the play was mostly offensive/attacking, I didn't have to think about playing defence. Up until 15 years old, I got to attack pretty freely. Playing defence became more important when I started to play in A-juniors a couple seasons ago.

26. On a scale from 1 to 10 how determined are you?

TT: Maybe 8, feels like an 8.

32. What kind of role are you planning to take with Jokerit next season?

TT: I think a pretty big one. I try to be a top player and not just take others' example but give others example myself too. So that someone in the team can take something out of the way I do things on the ice and off the ice.

35. If you could pick anyone, who would be your car driver?

TT: Nico Manelius for sure. He's been my driver this season. I've had others too, like Riku Hahl but he's not nearly at the same level. Nico’s clearly the best.

36. What are the most important qualifications to be a good driver?

TT: The car is obviously important. Hahl's car is totally awful, he takes a lot of heat for it from the guys too. I wouldn't dare driving with him. Manelius is a steady performer, never lets you down.

38. What sports did you play as a 10-year-old?

TT: Hockey and floorball, probably football (soccer) during the summers at the time too.

42. When did you decide to focus only on hockey?

TT: So when I stopped playing other sports? Three years ago, before that floorball was kind of a side thing, I played a couple of games in the regular season and playoffs.

45. Do you follow floorball or other sports? Go to games?

TT: I don't go to games but I like to watch floorball on TV, it's an interesting sport. Sometimes I watch football too but I don't follow it much. Feels like they never score there.

47. Have you ever played with a wooden stick?

TT: As a kid I did play with a wooden stick.

49. You won the hockey players' golf tournament last summer even though there were more experienced players too. Are you good with all stick games?

TT: Well, I've been pretty good in all of them. I've played golf for a long time and still play it.

50. How is your swing?

TT: Pretty bold, kind of a hockey swing. I don't really care where the ball goes - as long as it goes far.

52. What do you think of off-ice training?

TT: Let's just say it's more stupid than being on the ice but you still gotta do it to be better on the ice.

56. Which word describes your professional relationship (with his coach, Tomek Valtonen), tranquil or colorful?

TT: Colorful of course. At times we're joking around, other times it's more serious but the relationship is really good.

57. Coaching you has been described in many words: good, bad, worse. What are they?

TT: Heh, well... I won't tell them here. He (Tomek) keeps the discipline during practices but sometimes when things haven't gone to a plan I've had to jump on an exercise bike in the middle of a practice.

58. What have been the reasons?

TT: I'll quote Tomek: "when I haven't been present".

59. Have you ever tried to turn the resistance of the bike to zero?

TT: (Laughs) Of course I have and sometimes I've even succeeded.

60. Describe your diet in three words?

TT: Greasy, healthy and good!

64. Your first name is not common for people your age. How did your parents come up with it?

TT: I actually don't even know. Maybe they didn't want a usual Ville*....

(*very common name for men of all ages in Finland)

66. Which of these is the most important: skill, unexpectedness or courage?

TT: Skill!

68. Your longest video game stint?

TT: Six hours, at least. I've played a lot of War of Duty lately.

72. The dumbest thing that has made you upset in hockey?

TT: Probably if I didn't get an assist on a goal even though I should have. Or even worse is if I score and they mark it down for someone else.

79. Have you had any concussions?

TT: I haven't had any, I've managed to always dodge them.*

(*ouch, tho it's good the recent one is his only as far as i remember)

84. In 2011 Team Finland finished in the 5th place at the U-18 tournament. Why only as 5th?

TT: Because we lost to Team Russia in the quarter final, just as well we could have won that game too.

89. You didn't get to be on the ice to accept the SM-Liiga bronze medal (because of the U-18's). When and where did you get it?

TT: I actually still haven't received it, I don't know where it is.

93. What is the population of Helsinki?

TT: There's like 5 million people in Finland so maybe around 500k in Helsinki? (to be exact 596k) Did i really get it right...?

94. Who's the mayor of Helsinki?

TT: I don't know, I barely know the president.

95. Do you think the municipalities in the capital city area should merge?

TT: Luckily I don't have to decide but they probably shouldn't.

96. What do you check first in the news paper?

TT: The sports section.

97. Your favorite tv show?

TT: Putous* was pretty good, I liked a lot of the characters. The grandma was pretty good.

(*Finnish live improvisation comedy/sketch show (there are still new seasons, the latest just finished). Every actor comes up with a humor character with a catchy phrase and one of them wins. "The grandma" is Marja Tyrni and I just got such flashbacks from typing this sentence.)

98. Last book you read?

TT: I don't read many books. The last book was a study book, a Finnish book. I wrote an essay on Tiki (Esa) Tikkanen's biography. An eventful book, great career and a lot of chirps.

99. Who should we ask the 99 questions next?

TT: Riku Hahl could have good stories, he's also seen a lot of the world.

#teuvo teräväinen #teuvo teravainen #carolina hurricanes #canes #hockey #nhl #mp #i knew i had this mag but i thought it was from 2014 and post draft #i really didn't rmbr i've been following turbo for this many years??? #good on 16yo me for spending 8 euros on this tho that was excellent thinking

[softkuna]

Sukuna || Interview || Fic

Part 1

Content   ║  Punk!Sukuna x reader. There is an oc version here.

Beauty wasn’t in the eye of the beholder, no, it is in the mind. Sukuna was enraptured. Addressed again, he shifted his posture, leaning into the arm of the couch as she did with her chair. The two were close in their cohort. An air of comfortable conversation lingered between them, much to his dismay. Her question wasn’t unusual. He’d been asked it in the beginning of his career and one where he had a planned answer.

Count      ║ 2,626 K

Consider ║ Swearing. Female Pronouns (she/her).

Creator   ║ This is the reader version. I took the name of the oc out. Hopefully the double post isn’t too weird? I did research on punk fashion, culture, and all which was really interesting. I knew some stuff about it before, but it’s really rich! I hope it’s not too information dense for you guys. Either way, Punk!Sukuna is now my comfort au and writing him is an absolute delight!! Also, Sorry for changing from ‘you’ to she/her ;v; it’s a lot easier for me to write/edit this way.

Sukuna had a lazy grin as he lounged back into a modern cream sofa. His arm stretched across the back of it, ankle crossed over his knee. Eyes staggered from the two cameras set up to the woman talking with some other chick. One held a small stack of papers, the other was grandly gesturing. He breathed out a short-stop breath, wishing they wouldn’t waste his time with bickering. Annoying as it was, it left a thick self-satisfactory lather over his ego.

  “-didn’t you say the band?”

  “Yeah, but this is better.”

  “Sure… but what happens if-“

  Quite frankly, he hated most press and avoided it, so to just have him in the hot seat was a double-edged blade. They didn’t get the whole band, but they did have The King himself. Whatever publicity he thrived off of were live shows, signings, fancams, tangible and real-time events. Interviews were a complete and utter waste of his time. He did a couple in the beginning, but found them pointless, callous even. They all asked the same shit. So, him coming alone was absolutely a note to pin to the fridge, even if it were a passive-aggressive post-it note.

  His head turned to the two going back and forth. It wasn’t until the third minute ticked by that Sukuna felt the flashpoint of his blood plummet, “Yo! We doing this or what? You’re wasting my time here, Eros.”

  The blogger whipped her head to the man with an indignant, “Excuse me?”

  “Eros. Known for being reckless and unreliable? Like your scheduling.” He leaned forward, elbow on knee and chin in palm. The aura of shit-eatery exponentially growing, “You’re not excused, sorry, not sorry Princess.”

  “I think you have the wrong God,” She quipped as she dusted off the front of her outfit. It was a smart look and an intentional one for an interview with a punk rocker. What would strike the best complement than a khaki academic outfit? It consisted of a white high collared button up, sleeves billowing before cinching at her wrists. The blouse was stuffed into high-waisted, cuffed khaki chinos, pleated at the center of each pant leg. Over top, a gray woolen sweater vest. Accessories included various silver rings, a black ribbon to tie under the folded collar, and small silver studs as earrings. Makeup remained that done-up natural with brow, liner, and mascara. Hair had been swept into something similar to a faux 1920’s bob, pulled loosely back. The overall silhouette made the perfect contrast.

    Sukuna wanted to peg her as your average superficial fashion bitch, he really did. Even at the concert, she dressed smartly despite the pathetic look on she wore on face. It wasn’t until afterwards when he saw the burn in her eyes, that he craved for her to prove him wrong.

  Black flats clacked as she approached her own seat, a matching armchair to the couch. She held a certain command once she walked in, instructing him on where to be, which camera to look at, and what the introduction would be. He listened, admiring how her small frame moved to and fro, fixing up last minute edits on a paper, chattering with who he assumed to be a videographer. It was a whole production. One that was hers. The set itself was practically out of a home décor magazine. It was a general space used across the publisher, but she was born to be there. Deserved to be there. Her calculated glee and deliberate positioning of each member made him feel as though he were looking through a mirror.

  The interview process began.

  She sat professionally, legs crossed and leaning on the arm of her chair closest to Sukuna. He was unmoving, that slit to his lip curling upwards as the cameras began. She introduced the blog, the channel, her social media handles. With a smile, she introduced herself, “With me in this special is lead singer of Two Face, the King of Curses – Sukuna.”

  The camera panned to his lazy wave, “Yo.” He looked to her, she looked to him and for a moment she thought she saw a flicker of interest. Maybe the man was meant for cameras after all.

  “After looking more into the punk scene, there’s a pretty interesting history behind it. Revolution, social discourse, poverty, violence, and unity. As someone in the scene, can you talk a little bit about what you know of the background?”

  Sukuna drank in her voice, smooth and warm like the steady strum of a bass guitar. For a moment, he wondered if she sang. He quirked a brow, “Sounds like you didn’t research enough to summarize it yourself,” Eyes flickered to her features, watching as slight annoyance crinkled onto her nose then smoothed, “Let me learn you, Daisy. Starting back from rock in the 50’s, take that, strip it, build it with shit you find in the backyard…” His wrist rolled as his harmonious voice sang on, lacking even a single stutter as he summarized the movement top to bottom, inside and out, “…So, people would make their own records, sell them in plastic bags, they’d scan and reprint photos to make their own ‘zines. Shit was hard to distribute without tech…”

  Much of his dissertation, she hadn’t even found on her own deep dive into the culture. Sure, the anarchist and nihilistic ideologies were well known to pretty much anyone who would listen, but the deep history and connection between communities was far beyond the surface scratched into.

  “There’s a crowd of sub-genres now. Fuck ‘punk is dead’ what even is that bull shit?” Sukuna scoffed, jerking his chiseled chin to the side, “Only thing that’s dead here is – ironically – peoples drive to change.”

  His interviewer sat in silence for a moment, mind spinning. He spoke in the way a well-educated University professor gave a dissertation to his peers, dripping in confidence from his storm of information. He was articulate despite the fowl language, even including a tie in to modern perception. Excitement curled into the recess of her mind. In a delightful turn of events, expectation and reality didn’t match up.

  She leaned forward slightly folding her hands over the arm of the chair, “That was comprehensive. Thanks!” She chuckled, causing the man before her to freeze and thaw with a nod. She continued, “With all of this mention of D.I.Y. culture in punk, let’s talk about Vivienne Westwood.”

  Sukuna kept his attention to her profile as she spoke to the camera, catching himself in the glow of her enthusiasm, “On Kings Road in England, she kickstarted the fashion movement into gear. Now, many would think that with a style such as this, it would’ve been hand-me-downs, pins, self-stitching, but contrary to this belief, many of the clothes in her store were expensive. Knock offs circulated, and seeing as much of it did have that hand-done finishing touch, many decided to take tailoring to their own hands…” Not that this was a competition, but she found herself trying to prove his ‘research’ comment wrong. Her ability to scour and exhaust her resources of fashion history is the furnace that kept her going and she would make it well known that she was not to be challenged.

  The approaching lurch of a stalemate stuck to the walls of the vocalist’s stomach. Something he didn’t think he’d feel for a while. Small stuff over here may not’ve known all there was about the cultural history, but he could feel the crashing wave of fascination washing over him as she spoke. Sure, some of it he knew. Some of it he naturally garnered from stylistic preference and others he learned for marketing, however there was just a certain target she aimed for with such precision that he bled a newfound admiration.

  Beauty wasn’t in the eye of the beholder, no, it is in the mind. Sukuna was enraptured. Addressed again, he shifted his posture, leaning into the arm of the couch as she did with her chair. The two were close in their cohort. An air of comfortable conversation lingered between them, much to his dismay. Her question wasn’t unusual. He’d been asked it in the beginning of his career and one where he had a planned answer. As practiced, “I ans-“

  “You’ve answered it already, yeah, I know. I saw the interview,” Her head tilted to the side, pleasant smile hinting at her trick, “but enlighten me for a second about how your natural style transitioned to what it is on stage. We’ll put up some of the photos taken from last night here,” her hand gestured to some empty space, “You basically turned chiaroscuro and made it a performance. It’s obvious in how each member contrasted with themselves and the stage.”

  The chick didn’t even know who he was a week ago, yet somehow watched every interview since the start? An answer tumbled from the tongue readily, “Punk is like a renaissance of music. Like I said before, it tore down the foundations of what was before and built something new out of it.” The words were succinct, but as her pretty lashes bat, he was goaded into continuing, “Contrast is important. I like art. I like plays. Just ‘cause it’s punk doesn’t mean I can’t have it look aesthetic? Or is that a word only snobby fashion journalists can use now?”

  “Hm. Change ‘journalist’ to ‘vocalist’ and you’re a word away from meeting the requirement,” It was a sour candy treat traded for his lemon warhead.  

  “Ouch. Miss Blog-Spot here has some sass,” His large frame leaned further into the armrest, cheek resting on that fist.

  “Mister Eight-Track here is some a–“

  The videographer clapped his hands, “We have sponsors, you know. We can at least censor him.”

  It was Sukuna’s time to laugh a loud, hyena-like cackle. A large hand smacked his leather-clad knee. She scrunched her nose again, biting back her tongue from childishly jutting out at him.

  As soon as the videographer clapped his hands again, she recollected herself, shuffled her papers, and continued on, “From what it looks like, you took a mixture of old and new high-trend brands and added a touch to them to keep with theme. Even now, you’re wearing a Real McCoy with cone spikes embedded. Is that custom made? McCoy isn’t cheap.”

  Part of him hated her keen eye, but reveled in her raw talent all the same. “I’m not going to bull shit you and say I dumpster dive for my clothes. I like high quality things. What’s the point in making money if I can’t spend it? What’s a bigger ‘fuck you’ than having your version of a top-brand item being worth more than the original?” With a proud glint in his eye, he rolled the jacket off, sure to make a grand display of strong, bare arms as he did so. The muscle tank he wore was similar to the concert before, white with a pocket, neckline was stretched and worn. It hung over the dense muscle of his shoulders and chest. Sukuna could feel the trail of her eyes on him. His chest puffed from her approval. He threw the jacket over his knee, flipping the leather inside out to show where the studs had been placed, “See this? Did it myself.”

  Manicured fingers touched the inside of the jacket, thumbing the connecting points that the studs were pressed in by and sealed. The work was immaculate. Sukuna leaned back, canines gleaming as he saw her mouth move in a silent ‘wow’. He picked the front of his tank top, snapping it up and allowing it to billow back to his body, “Embroidered this, too.”

  He waited for her comment, her praise. Why? Like he needed some two-bit Vanderbilt bitch’s validation. He chalked it up to being praised by a master of the craft. He hadn’t been prepared for her to take the fabric between her fingers and rub it, concentrated brows cinched like a corset. Well-toned abs flinched in response to her delicacy, but she didn’t notice.

  The embroidery was messy and chaotic, but it was obviously intentionally. The way the needlework was so clean, barely leaving a hole from the pull of the exceptionally soft fabric. It wasn’t floral like in the concert, but abstract stitching created crosses and streaks here and there, using the composition of the fabric as like it were a canvas. Experimentalist. It was like touching the work of Westwood herself.

  God, she hated how perfect it was. It squeezed her heart to know that he was so effortlessly multi-talented. She rubbed the fabric between her fingers once more, attention being stolen by his baritone voice. She could practically hear the treble in it, “Ey Princess, you think it’s okay to just touch me?” His breath caught under the arrogant teasing of his words. Not from the words themselves. Couldn’t care less about that. What choked him up was whatever resplendent emotion flared from them when she peered up to him.

  “Let me check the tag.”

  “What?”

  The blogger leaned back, cheekily snapping the shirt as she did so. “Your shirt, can I check the tag? I want to see what its made out of. Also, sorry.”

  Sukuna blinked twice, mouth stupidly hanging open before he leaned forward, “I’ll allow it.”

  He may have tinnitus, but he wasn’t deaf enough yet to miss the mocking ‘I’ll allow it,’ muttered under her breath. He wanted to laugh, but for the second time, the graze of chilled fingertips along his skin shut him up. Along the back of his neck, she fiddled to flip the collar and tug it. Her eyes squinted and a hum escaped her throat. Sometimes she wished she could read upside down. That’s when she sat on the back on the sofa and leaned closer, pulling the shirt to better read the small print. If Sukuna were a cat, he’d lean his head into her. The thought physically bothered him.

  “I knew it. It’s American Pima. Thanks for letting me check.”

  He missed the shiver her touch gave him as she sat back into her chair.

  “While I have more questions for you, this video’s gotten pretty long already, so we’ll have to cut it a bit short here,” She gave a closing statement, motioning for her guest to do the same. With a thanks, the cameras were cut.

 While the editor and videographer chatted together, She leaned heavily into the back of her chair, poised posture slipping into something more comfortable. Long lashes slid closed and a heavy drag of breath lifted her chest. Sukuna’s eyes trailed along her form, contemplating Eros once more.

  She exhaled sharply, “I do appreciate you coming on stage. It’s disgusting how talented you are.” She laughed, cracking an eye open to meet his, “I prepped a lot of questions thinking you’d be short with me. It’s a shame I only got to ask a few.”

  He was surprised himself. It was more than just her talent to make him talk - she may have been the first to see him as an opportunity rather than a commodity. ‘She would be the first and last reporter to see me as a meal’ was the thought he had going into this interview. He had every single intention to shut down her buffet, make it apparent that he was not to be dined on by a single soul. Yet, if his dish were ‘opportunity’, hers would be ‘intrigue’. He wanted to devour it, to know its palette and identify its spices. It was a compulsory urge to order, just to see why he craved it in the first place.

  “Film the next few concerts. Backstage.”

Tags:  @lovesakusa​

#⛩.sukuna #⛩.fic #⛩.punk #🍺.jjk #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #sukuna #sukuna x reader #ryoumen sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen fic #jjk fic

[devilbat]

Quarantine and Chill

Tom Hiddleston x reader

Warning: Just more fluff

Summary: This is part 2 to Quarantin online when the reader finally meets Tom after months of talking online.

               Tom: Biscuiteers, 194 Kensington Park Road, London, W11. Let's say 9 am, this Thursday? Will that work for you?

              When you woke, you'd thought it was all a dream that you didn't just Skype with Tom Hiddleston. That was until you looked at your phone. Finding that Tom had texted you after the both of you said goodnight. Even sent you a photo of himself this time of his far to a handsome face.

         Y/n: Sorry again for crashing on you last night. I've never been there, so sounds great. See you then.

———-

You stood outside the shop of Biscuiteers hoping you had the right place the quaint little cafe was a bit busier than usual as people line out the door distancing themselves from others. You looked at your watch once again. You got to the cafe thirty minutes early. You were not able to stay home. Time seems to go far to slow for your liking.

"Y/n?" A deep velvet-smooth voice purred from behind you, making you squeak out in surprise, turning on your heels to come face to chest with Tom Hiddleston. Not realizing how much taller he was then you.

"Yeah." You said shyly, your eyes fluttered upward to look into those baby blues of his. ”Hi."

"It's nice to meet you, Darling, finally." Tom took your hand being ever, so the gentleman placed a light kiss onto your knuckles. Lingering a minute longer. Tom's eyes never once left yours he smiled as he watched you turn a light shade of pink.

"It's nice to meet you as well, finally." You managed to breathe out.

"These are for you." Tom offered you a lovely bouquet. You could feel your cheek heat up when you took the arrangement. It was a perfect size, and Tom had remembered your favorite flowers.

"Oh, Tom. You didn't have to." You hummed.

"Anything for a beautiful woman." Tom winked. "Shall we grab our coffee and maybe wander around London?" You smiled up at him with a nod.

Tom grabbed coffee for the both of you, even after you laughed at Tom for how silly he looked in his mask when he came out of the shop. He showed you around London. Taking the whole day to play tour guide, Ken.

After a late lunch, Tom took you down to Tavistock street for candy floss and ice cream, a little place called Milk Train. Though you may have told him he was crazy that ice cream and Cotton candy don't go together. Which ensued a small discussion on the right term to call the sugary cloud.

Tom ended up getting cookies and cream on roasted green tea ice cream with colorful sprinkles. You got the unicorn on Matcha ice cream both as a Choo-choo, which was when they added the cloud of candy floss or as you corrected Tom as it's real name Cotton candy.

Tom being the proper gentleman that he was even took you home—not wanting you to walk back alone—even walking you to your door.

"Thank you, Tom. I had a wonderful time." You said shyly. Not wanting the night to end. Tom had been great, and you hoped that he wanted the same.

"I did to Darling." Tom smiled down at you. Both of you stood there for a moment longer, unsure of what to say or do next. "Eheh." Tom was rubbing the back of his neck. "Would you like to come over for dinner sometime? ..... To my home, that is. ... Only dinner and maybe a film."

       You giggled softly at how reassuring that it was nothing more than that. He was definitely nervous. It was nice to see this man be so normal in away. You would have always thought he would be confident in every aspect of his life.

"I would like that, Tom." You nodded with a smile.

              "Really?" Tom's voice cracked a bit overjoyed. Making you giggle. "I mean, you don't think I'm overstepping ." Clearing his throat. "I don't want to pressure you on the second date by having you come over to some stranger home. Who may or may not have his way with you. Not that I'm going to I'll be the perfect gentleman. I mean if you wan-."

            You cut Tom off, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.  "You're overthinking."

            "Eheh." Tom nervously chuckled his hand, running along with the spot that your lips were.

——-

     Tom wanted everything to be perfect. He wanted you to have the perfect night with him. He may have even gone a little overboard to make it so. Purchasing outdoor movie projector and screen. Stringed lights littered his backyard. He searched ideas for the best setting for the movies and dinner. Finally, settling on to large style inflatable mattresses. Every pillow and blanket he owned laid thoughtfully.

         The menu he had made simple something he knew you would like, and he was known for his spaghetti bolognese. You may have mentioned that you wouldn't mind seeing if he did it the right way. It didn't help with his nervousness that you cooked professionally. While he waited on the sauce.

        He almost jumped out of his skin when the doorbell rang. Looking at his watch, you were early. Well, at least he hoped it was you and not his sisters spying on him. He had let it slip to his mom about you. Therefore his sisters knew and had given him a hard time. However, they did help with ideas on his little backyard project.

         Tom grinned when he spied you throw the peephole of his door. Tom noted that you wore comfortable clothes. He wanted you to be comfortable. You didn't have to get all dressed up for him.

         "Hello, darling." Tom greeted you when he opened the door.

           "Hi, Tom. I brought wine. I wasn't sure what to bring." You rambled Tom pulled you into a hug to make you stop. Relaxing you as you hugged him back.

"You didn't need to bring anything, Darling, just yourself." Tom smiled as he took your bag and wine for you as he escorted you outside. "Dinner is just about ready. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable, and I'll be right back."

——

       Tonight's movies: The Jungle Book (Disney version.) starts after dinner, followed by Jurassic Park.  The sign said on a table as you both moved over to the area Tom had set up the movie.

      Tom set up the projector while you got yourself comfortable on one of the mattresses. Few minutes of trying to figure out the machine a few cuss words under his breath. In hopes you didn't hear him.

        Tom finally got the projector working and settled on the other mattress, not wanting to make you feel uncomfortable if he were to get in with you. You looked over at Tom when you movie came up on the screen.

          "Tom, did you mean to have the movie play upside down?" You smile, trying not to laugh.

             "Eheh, No." Tom groaned as he stood back up. To fix the problem. "Before I forgot there is popcorn, sweets, and drinks on the table if you would like at any point."

              "I'm so full from that amazing dinner maybe later. Thank you." You hummed.

             Tom finally settled, and the movie started. You giggled when Tom began to sing out loud. 'Look for those bear necessities.'

           "You, sir, are a dork." You throw a small pillow at the man.

           "Hey, now I saw your feet swaying to the music. You know you were just about to bellow it out." Tom tossed the pillow back at you.

         "You saw nothing, mister. I was rudely interrupted from the movie by off-key singing." You teased sticking your tongue out. Placing the pillow back under your head. "Now, shh it."

         Tom settled down, and you both went back to the movie. Soon the second movie started. Twenty minutes into the film, you decided on some popcorn.

         "Do you want any popcorn?" You asked, looking over at Tom, who was watching you as you got up.

         "Popcorn does sound good. But I can get it, love." Tom hummed, pulling himself up.

         "I got it, Tom. I mean, I'm already up." You smiled, walking over to the cute little setup Tom had put a lot of thought into.

         "Where's mine?" Tom poured as you came back with some candy and one bag of popcorn.

         Carefully you kneeled on to the mattress with Tom. Making sure not to spill any of the contents from your arms, laying everything down on the blanket. Tom corked an eyebrow at you. Humming to the music. While you moved under the blanket.

          "I figured we could share." You shrugged a shy smile played along your lips. Brushing a loose strand of hair back behind your ear.

          "Of course, darling sounds like a lovely idea." Tom moved over just a bit, giving you more room.

         You scooted closer to the man popcorn in hand as you rested yourself against him. Your head was resting lightly on his chest. Tom didn't hesitate to put his arm around you. You both went back to the movie.   

         "Thank you, Tom, this has been the best and one of the most thoughtful dates I have ever been on." You spoke up kissing Tom cheek, almost startling him.

           "You are more than welcome." Tom smiled.

Tom leaned forward, capturing your soft lips with his own, testing the waters almost to see if you would pull away. He paused for a moment only for Your lips pressing back along with his. Your hand that was already resting on his chest, gripped into the smooth fabric of his sweater.

          He kissed you softly, yet there was so much passion behind each movement. His arms wrapped around your waist. Your other hand found it's way to tangled into his soft locks. Forgotten popcorn spilled over the blanket. 

            Only breaking apart when a roar that made you two jump apart. Both of you looked to the screen, chest heaving and out of breath as you saw the T-Rex come back on-screen attempt to kill a car. And two kids screaming for their life.

           "Eheh." Tom laughed as he turned back to look at you. Gently Tom moved so that he wasn't crushing you too much. Some point he had slowly started leaning into you. You bit your lip when you looked up at Tom; his hair was a bit of a mess. You could feel your cheeks heat up.

          "You know for being dead, dinosaurs do have the worst timing." You said breathlessly.

          "That they do." Tom smile kissing your lips once more.

         "Popcorn?" You offered Tom as you took a piece from the pile that was currently on top of Tom's lap.

        Soon the movie came to an end, and Tom was the one that didn't want the night to end. However, he hadn't realized yet that you had fallen asleep. Not until he went to get up to turn the projector off that he noticed. You looked so cute draped over him, with your face practically buried into his chest.

"Darling, the movies over." Tom gently stroked your cheek even though he didn't want you to wake you.

"Mmhmm." You nodded sleepily but didn't show any other signs of moving.

"Y/n?" Tom kissed your forehead this time.

"Five more minutes." You yawned your arm wrapped around Tom's waist tighter.

"All right." Tom smiles as he covered both of you up. Though he didn't intend on falling asleep himself, he did.

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston one shot #tom hiddleston au #tom hiddleston fanfic

[alexhandersenx]

There’s no one to save me

Ivar/Reader (Modern AU)

A/N: Hi everyone! First and most important thing, HAPPY BIRTHDAY LOVE!!💕🎉🎂 @flowers-in-your-hayr I want to wish you all the best on this day, I hope you enjoy this day as much as possible and hope this can make it a bit better! This year may not have been our best birthdays but next year we’ll celebrate them twice! You know I really admire your work but much more as a person! Thank you for always being so so nice, you’re great!💖

Second, here it is, me and my shitty writing. This is the first time I ever write anything (you’ll see) but a lovely little bird came and told me about this amazing surprise (@maggiescarborough​ 💖) and I couldn’t refuse. This is the moodboard I chose bc when I asked Gabi about it, I wrote more of a mini fic than a request (sorry about that, honey😅) so I thought it’ll be easier since I already have an idea.

And finally, to say that this can be considered as the first chapter of a small fic???, Idk,  if you want to read something else, I will continue it and if not, it can stay as a imagine. (Any feedback you want to give is always welcomed and will help me in the future!)

Okay that’s all, I think. Now I'll shut my mouth and let you guys read in peace😊

All credits to this amazing moodboard for the birthday girl @flowers-in-your-hayr​

Words: 3.9k

Warnings: First time writing (biggest warning), mention of death and suicide, cursing, drug dealing, a bit of angst, English not being my mother tongue. (I’m not sure if something else😅).

There you were, (Y/N) (Y/LN), facing the most important case you had encountered in your professional career, which, to tell the truth, was not very long. You were 24 years old and you were a policewoman at the local police station on a small island called Samsø, which together with some others as Læsø, Anholt and Sjælland were known as the 'Kattegat Islands'.

You started there when you were 22, with a lot of effort and after years of dedication, yes, it may sound like a joke, since you were very young, but since your father passed away, you decided to follow in his footsteps. He had become chief of police and worked in what was now your office. His death occurred unexpectedly, one day he went to work and didn't come back, your mother and you didn't know anything, but he had been working on a drug-related case for a long time, and they didn't clarify anything for you after his death either, justifying that it was a case of high danger and a secret file.

When your father died, you were given the belongings he was carrying on the day of his death. You didn't find anything out of the ordinary, just his watch, which had his initials on it, the car keys and his wallet, in which he carried the usual: some money, credit cards and a picture of  your mother and you as a child. From one of the compartments of the wallet, a small fragment of a photo was sticking out. It was very enlarged, only a small part of the face could be seen, it looked like a man, but his face didn't sound familiar to you and besides the fragment was very damaged, so you didn't give it much importance. Although you were intrigued to know the reason for that fragment in your father's wallet and you wanted to know the identity of that person, unfortunately you couldn't do anything about it. You put the items back in the bag and kept it in a drawer that you knew you wouldn't open often since it was with the rest of his belongings.

After this incident, you and your mother faced a difficult time when living at home without him was almost impossible. After a not very long period, you were able to return to your daily life and continued, but however, your mother did not get back on her feet, she went into a great depression. You tried psychologists at first and slowly it looked like she was getting better, but it seems she only did it to fall into an even bigger black hole.

From then on, you contacted a psychiatrist, after a year watching your mother was consumed with sadness you couldn't stand it any longer, even though she was resistant to taking medication you couldn't do anything else. She had been going to the psychiatrist for some time and the truth was that it wasn't going as you expected, your mother had a very negative attitude. She tried to avoid medication when you didn't force her, and for that reason none of the treatments worked.

You were desperate, time was passing, and you didn't know what to do anymore, until one day when you came home and you found your mother breathing very lightly and not responding to any kind of stimulus. She had decided to take her own life with a bottle of pills, yes, how ironic. When she was taken to the hospital, the doctors told you that her vital signs were very bad, the intake of medication had to be over six hours ago, and this had already affected a large part of the system. It was very difficult for her to survive, so much so that she couldn't.

21 years, just 21 years when you were left alone in the world, when everyone was getting drunk and having a hangover and throwing up the next morning, you were there struggling to get where you were today.

Although you couldn't have reached that point without the unconditional support of your father's great friend, Officer Heahmund. He had been like a second father to you, the only one you could lean on when these events occurred. Both he and his wife Anne and their little twins always had a place for you.

You could say you'd been investigating the case for a year and it was huge, really huge. Both you and your colleagues had reached an impasse, you couldn't get anything new, so you decided to take the reins and make a proposal... raid the shelter where the organization was hiding. You had managed, after a long time of tracking them down, to find out that every Thursday at 11.30 p.m. they went out to do business. If you calculated it perfectly, you could set up an ambush, surround the perimeter with your agents strategically, and force your way in, so you could examine the interior for clear, incriminating evidence and wait for them to come back and finally catch them and finish the damn case. From that point on, the game would begin.

Ivar Lothbrook, or also known as Ivar the Boneless, was the person you were chasing. Known to be the leader of the organization. Information about him was quite scarce, the son of a bitch knew how to remain anonymous, you didn't even know what he looked like. Although he also took part in the weekly excursions, he never got out of the vehicle they were in and you didn't dare get close enough to the shelter to see them leave, just as a precaution, so as not to spoil the case. All you knew was that the nickname he had earned was due to a disease he suffered from that made him unable to walk, Osteogenesis Imperfecta.

But you did know something else about his brothers, who were in charge of leading the band when they were doing field work and his brother Ivar was not there. There were three more brothers, the elder Ubbe, the second Hvitserk and the last Sigurd. You had pictures of them, which you had studied to a tee, and they didn't have any kind of background, something that caught your attention because in all these bands it's something common, but it seems that they were playing clean.

Tomorrow would be the big day and you had no margin for error. You decided to leave it at that, not think about it anymore. You opened a bottle of wine and ordered dinner at your favourite restaurant. You were going to enjoy that night quietly before going into action.

That night you practically didn't rest, your head didn't stop thinking and you were fighting against it for a long time, until finally you were victorious, being able to sleep. You promised yourself that it wouldn't be the only thing you would be victorious in.

The sound of the alarm woke you up, it was very early, although there were still hours to go, you had to be ready and needed to do certain things before preparing. You had arranged to meet at 8pm at the police station, you would go over the plan and wait until 10.30pm to put the plan into action. The day went away, you had gone out to buy some things that you needed, you had done some sport to clear your mind and you had taken a bath for an hour and a half which helped to relax each of your muscles that had been in constant tension for several days.

You got out of the shower, you started to fix yourself and for a moment you looked in the mirror, from bottom to top, and you looked into your eyes, you saw your father, you saw him in you.

- “Ivar, Ivar, what little freedom you have left” - You said in a defiant voice as you kept looking at yourself and feeling sure that everything would go as you planned.

What you didn't consider at the time is that in a game you don't always win, and even less when you don't know your opponent.

A phone call took you out of your thoughts, you hesitated for a few seconds before reacting, you went into the kitchen and picked up the phone:

- “Hi, (Y/N) here”.

- “Hello, sweetheart, how are you?” Your boss asked with some concern in his voice.

-  “I'm doing good, getting ready to leave soon. Anything happened?”

-  “No, nothing, I just wanted to remind you, that you still have time to stop this, I can send another partner, I don't want you to do this out of obligation” - said Heahmund, with some hesitation.

- “Heahmund, we've talked about this a million times, I'm gonna take care of it. We've gone over the plan every day; we've looked at alternatives in case the first option doesn't work out and you have an expert in infiltrating other people's homes in charge of the plan... What can go wrong? Trust me, before you can tell, we're in your backyard drinking beers with Anne and the girls, celebrating together as a family, while Ivar the Boneless is rotting in jail” - You said with certainty

- “Ever since you were a little girl I've always admired that about you: Determined, brave and a fighter, which has always made you achieve everything you set out to do - he answered with a broken voice” - I just wanted to wish you the best of luck in the world now that no one is around. See you in a bit, Agent 007.

As he spoke you noticed some concern in his voice, was Heahmund afraid of the mission?... Impossible, he was known for his courage and dedication but in this situation,  you could not avoid that this insecurity that you did not feel for a long time will hit you again.

Since the death of your father you had changed, you had become steel, as you said, you had no heart for anyone, you had focused so much on getting ahead and getting what you had in mind that you had forgotten one very important thing, being a teenager. And now that time was gone.

Still, you burst out laughing when he called you Agent 007

- “Thank you, Jack Bauer” - you said, playing along, referring to those movies and action shows you loved to watch together when you were younger.

You hung up and then felt a sense of emptiness and… fear? No, you weren't going to let that happen. You certainly knew that you had to occupy your mind at that moment, or you would go crazy. So, you connected your phone to the speaker and put on your favourite playlist and time passed with you getting ready until it was time to leave. You took the bike keys, a beautiful Harley-Davidson and got going.

When you arrived at the police station your colleagues and Heahmund were already there, you went over the plan and waited for the exact time to start.

It was 11:15, the game had begun. You were about to head for the first stop on your mission. The aim in this phase was to park in the surroundings of the main highway, where Ivar and his people had to go through, so you could check that everything was in order, and that the usual Thursday trip would take place. You arrived before time, it was night and the highway was slightly illuminated by distant lanterns. The place had been carefully chosen as there were certain points where you could wait in stealth.

As time passed, you became more and more nervous and couldn't help it. There was something in your head that wouldn't let you concentrate. Heahmund noticed it and said:

-  “What's going on in that little head, (Y/N)?” - He said in a sweet tone.

-  “Hmm...nothing, I'm fine” - you whispered as you looked for his glance and smiled.

-  “Come on, (Y/N), I know you too well to know that something is bothering you”

- “Ugh, I hate you Heahmund… what if they don't come, if for whatever reason today doesn't happen” - you said losing your nerve a little

-  “Hey, hey, hey and this? Where's my little fighter? They're going to do it, you'll see, and before dawn they'll all be behind bars”

- “How can you be so sure?”

- “I just know” - he said with confidence and came up to you kissing you on the head

You needed it, you needed someone telling you that everything would be fine, with your 24 years you were tired of playing grown-up, strong and lonely. You had always needed that love, but that side of you was known only by Heahmund and he had always been there to give it to you.

You did not have much more time to get melancholy, it was happening, Ivar and his people could be seen from afar. They were organized in three black armoured cars and four motorcycles guarding the sides. You saw how they passed before you, in a heartbeat everything you had feared had happened, the only part of the plan that did not fall on you had worked. Now everything depended on you. You waited a few minutes and both of you, along with several patrol cars, set off. Some of your colleagues stayed in the place so that they could control when they returned and thus warn those of you who were going to the shelter.

Second stop on the mission, the shelter. Ivar and his people owned an apartment building where they used to stay permanently, it was on the outskirts of town, in the middle of nowhere. You had left your vehicles a few meters behind, also hidden, so as not to cause any noise. You found yourselves walking quietly in the dark with your guns in hand, towards an old building. When you reached the right distance, you appreciated the immensity of the building with enough housing to accommodate several families. The facade was neglected, yellowish-coloured, and you could see the doors of each house, white and many of them peeling and battered. Plus, right next door was what looked like a big warehouse. Everything was surrounded by metal fences.

Your companions began to take their positions as you had planned and you and Heahmund continued to approach, until you reached the side of the fence so that you could climb without attracting attention.

You looked at Heahmund and nodded just as you turned to move forward alone you noticed how he grabbed your arm, your heart racing as he said:

- “I'll keep an eye on everything that happens, the moment I hear something out of the ordinary, even if you don't say the code word, we'll get in and get you out”

- “Damn, Heahmund, you scared me... yes, I know, don't worry” - you said losing your patience a little

And now it was time, holding your SIG Sauer firmly in your hands and checking for the last time that the microphone you were holding in the middle of your bra was properly placed, you were ready to move forward. You approached the front door of the warehouse. If there was anything interesting to look for, it would be there. You pulled the lock pick out of your pocket and picked the lock easily. You opened the door a couple of inches, at that moment your heart felt like it was going to come out of its socket. You checked that the light inside was off, you continued to open it completely and you went inside quietly. It was all dark, you stood still for a few seconds to pay attention to all the sound around you. You could only hear the “tick tock” of a clock. You looked at the wall for a light switch, found it and turned it on. Several fluorescent lights illuminated the big warehouse, some of them failing and blinking making the place even more scary. For a few seconds the light blinded you because of the contrast of the dark night to which your eyes had been used so far. You took a quick look, ducked your head and whispered into the microphone:

- “Clear”

You raised your head and for the first time you stopped to look around. It was immense, the walls were covered with high shelves where there were pots of all kinds, some were full and some were empty, there were boxes, masks, safety goggles, gloves and all kinds of chemical devices. There was a long table on the side with many chairs, some lying on the floor, others on top of the table... that place reminded you of a typical high school lab from which the most you could do was decant a mixture. You were surprised... they were cooking drugs there... "Well, what a dump" you said to yourself; you thought everything would be much more careful and not such a messy place as that.

And in the middle of all that mess, at the end of the room you found a big wooden desk and a big black leather armchair behind it, it seemed that that little space didn't belong in the room, it was all tidy and on the table the only thing that was there was some papers, small pictures and office material. You approached and saw some maps with certain points marked... What were these points? You thought that it could be some meeting place or points of sale, you took out the PDA and uploaded the photo to the police station network.

- “I think I found something, I just uploaded it to the network” -You said in a whisper

You didn't have any answers, nor did you notice much of it, since you got caught up in a huge painting right behind the desk. In it appeared a beautiful young woman with long blonde hair. It was just a painting, but you could feel the elegance of that woman in it. Next to her was a taller man who looked slightly older, shaven and with a long beard with white locks. He was in a suit and showed a great presence just like the woman. But there was something that caught your attention, the look of him, his intense blue eyes seemed to pierce you as if you were seeing them in person. The wrinkles at the corner of his eyes betrayed his maturity. You stared for a while, curious, until you came back to reality, took a quick look again to see if anything could be useful, but nothing. So, you retraced your steps and headed for the door. You tried to communicate with your colleagues again:

- “Guys, nothing else around here, I'm going back to my starting position” - You whispered again.

And at that moment you froze, you were listening to yourself double and your "double" was coming right out the door. Time stopped for you, you didn't understand anything, and the only thing you could think of was to hide behind the door. This one opened little by little and you started to listen how people came in... one, two, three... you were counting the steps to be able to calculate the number of people, you lost the count to the fifth since such a quantity would be impossible to face and come out victorious.

- “SHHHH, shut up... do you hear it?” - said a male voice you didn't recognize.

What you could hear was your breathing shaking through a walkie... at that moment the world fell apart. A police walkie in the hands of those assholes, something hadn't gone right, and you didn't know what.

- “Yeah, it smells weird too, doesn't it?” - said another male voice, but this one sounded much more ironic.

- “I don't know Ivar I don't smell anything... what do you smell?” - Said a third voice, the closest so far to your position.

- “Mmm I don't know it's a disgusting smell, something like... police”

At that very moment they closed the door, leaving you exposed. You saw five men, but you didn't have time for much else as the one closest to you, that you came to recognize was Ubbe, grabbed your arm and made a quick movement blocking it, causing your gun to fall to the ground. He drew you to his body by placing your back to him and holding your neck with his arm, doing a lock around it to immobilize you. You looked ahead, saw a young man slowly approaching you and examining you from bottom to top until your eyes connected, deep blue and intimidating gaze. To tell the truth, he was a very attractive guy, but that idea was automatically erased when you remembered who he was. Something stirred in your stomach, you didn't know if it was fear, hate or a mixture. Slowly a cynical smile appeared in his mouth. Definitely, it was disgust what you had noticed in your stomach seconds ago. You could have tried to get out of that grip, but you didn't see the point, they were five men over six feet. It was impossible, to get out of there. Ubbe kept pressing his arm against your neck, causing your senses to slowly fade away.

- “Well, well, and I thought this wasn't going to be fun" said the boy in front of you in a hesitant voice. - Nice to meet you, I am Ivar Lothbrook - he said extending his hand

That was the last thing you could see and hear before you lost total control over your body and thus your senses.

The game had started... like a shitty one.  

#vikings fic #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar #ivar the boneless #modern ivar #ivar imagine #ivar lothbrok #ivar lothbrook x reader #moder ivar imagine #ivar the boneless fic #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar lothbrook fic #ivar lothbrook imagine

[kisskissbanggang]

Au Pair

[WayV Mystery Member 👀 x Female Reader -- 6.1K Words/20Min. Read -- Fluffy Plot, Fluffy Smut -- NSFW, Living Abroad, Will-They-Won’t-They, Horrible Bosses, Impreg Kink, Tense Situations]

Masterlist | Feedback

When you first entered college, you never quite predicted you would end up on the other side of the world during your senior year, but here you were on a balmy summer day, grabbing your bags out of your ride from the airport. Your Uber had taken you down a driveway long enough to make you think you were miles away from the city, and now you were faced with the most laughably luxurious home you'd ever seen in person.

From what you understood, your interview with the Copelands had gone well for two big reasons: 1) they appreciated all the credentials and materials you'd masterfully prepared, and 2) you were American, which apparently reminded them of home. They were almost cheating the whole concept of having an au pair, because you certainly weren't going to be exchanging much culture in a home like theirs, aside from maybe class culture. They certainly had enough money to do whatever they wanted, which was baffling considering they could've just hired a professional nanny for their son rather than an au pair for the year.

Melissa Copeland stood at the threshold of this near-palace, angular and terrifying in her smart suit. You could practically feel a cool breeze emanating from her as you approached. She finally looked up from her phone, her purse hooked on the crook of her arm like she was about to leave.

"You're finally here. I was about to leave."

You quickly dropped your bags to offer a handshake. A firm, friendly, American handshake. She may as well have been handing off her keys to the valet for how much she even touched your extended hand.

"Mrs. Copeland, I'm so sor--"

"Melissa."

"Er, Melissa, I'm so sorry, my flight was delayed."

"I can see that. I'll make time for a quick tour. Come inside." She gestured to her personal assistant -- a mouse of a girl -- to notice your bags on the ground. She wordlessly lunged forward and grabbed them, then sprinted inside the house with them as gracefully as possible. You followed Melissa into the foyer.

"As I said, I'll make this quick," your new boss droned, "this is the foyer. You'll obviously be staying in the guest room closest to Carson's, which is up the grand staircase, at the end of the west hallway, ergo, yours is the second to last room down said hallway. The Master Suite is at the end of the east hallway. The kitchen is in the back, pool is outside, you can take one of the cars or request a driver from Brent's company if you need a ride anywhere. Not sure when Brent will be home; his business trip has been extended. Carson is at dance lessons right now, and will be back at 3 o'clock. If you need anything else explained, you can ask our head of household, Ai. She's somewhere doing something; she shouldn't be hard to find."

You hadn't left the room. You hadn't walked around the room. Really, Melissa had hardly moved at all while she'd spoken. You were on edge, suddenly wondering if you were in way over your head, only shaken out of your stress as a car rolled up outside the open front door behind you. Melissa casually strolled to the door, her "tour" apparently over as she stopped to regard you one last time. "I'm glad you're here --"

"I am, too, Melissa, you--"

"-- It'll be much easier to reinforce Carson's English with an American au pair. Not to mention all our friends didn't think to get an au pair for their kids. Just nannies. Now we're the only ones." She gave a shrugging smirk as she slipped out the door and into the waiting car. Her assistant scampered back through the foyer, hot on the trail as she quickly followed Melissa.

Then she was gone. You gazed, bewildered, around the giant foyer before making your way up the grand staircase. You peeked into Carson's room, noting how oddly sterile it all looked for a little boy. It looked as though it had been plucked out of an Ikea catalogue... Only not the children’s section. Rather, the room had the sensibility and furnishings of a shrunken design major.

"Lost?"

You whirled around, gasping in surprise as you were faced with a woman who was a good head or more shorter than you and easily your mother's age.

"Er, no," you stammered, "I was just taking a look. Are you Ai?"

The woman smiled warmly. "Come on, then," she nodded her head down the hallway, "I've brought some fresh towels for your en suite."

Ai had led you back down the hall and into the guest room -- easily three or four times the size of your last shoebox of a dorm, not even including the giant bathroom. She gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze as you met Carson once he was dropped back off from dance lessons. A perfectly sweet little boy, Carson couldn't be older than five. He followed the two of you around as Ai showed you the rest of the house in greater detail. She, as well as the Copelands' personal chef, groundskeeper, and Melissa's personal assistant stayed in the staff quarters just off of the kitchen, but you had been deemed necessary to stay closer to Carson. You would be invited to family meals if it was ruled to be best for Carson, but otherwise you weren't needed after dinner time, except to occasionally put him to bed. Tonight you had decided to take dinner with Ai in the common area of the staff quarters.

You sat on the comfy couch in this infinitely cozier part of the house, watching as Ai made you both some dinner. "So," you smirked, "no personal chef for us, then?"

"Don't need one," Ai laughed, shrugging, "besides, it's what, Saturday? He usually gets dinner prepared and runs out of here for the night." She brought the food to the small dinner table as you walked over to join her.

She laid out some ground rules, or "unwritten rules" as she was cryptically saying. "I know it'll be tempting to ask Mrs. Copeland for her opinion on things,” she explained, “but don't. Get ahold of me or one of the others instead. Believe me, you're better off making a guess if you can't. Don't accept a drink from Mr. Copeland. You're young, and you're pretty, and you have a young body walking under that young brain of yours, so he'll try to be tricky eventually. You'll be tempted to get involved with their personal business, but don't. You will anyway, but try not to. We've all been there, we've all learned, but it still happens to everyone."

It only took you a few days of being restless in the giant home for you to begin feeling more confident in your new role. You accompanied Carson to see his various teachers and tutors, but you also began enriching his day-to-day life. First was a couple trips to different museums you wanted to visit, and then a zoo the next week. Carson began joining you as you explored the city, either holding your hand or sitting on your shoulders as you went shopping and eating together. Melissa and Brent were "homesick", so they insisted on mostly American food in the house. Well, that had to change. Carson particularly enjoyed hot pot or anything involving cheese. He helped you feel more curious, but also more alert. You'd only ever babysat a few times as a younger teenager, so you weren't used to the intense protective instincts you occasionally felt, even going so far as to scold an old woman who pinched his cheek one day while in a cafe.

Carson was more than excited to continue your adventures together, barely able to contain himself as you helped him shimmy into his swim trunks one day. The Copelands had a ludicrously beautiful pool, and it was a shame that its only use seemed to be as a tanning bed for Melissa. You walked through the dining room together to the open glass doors leading out to the backyard. You dramatically smacked yourself in the forehead. "Of course," you told Carson, "we did all this work to get ready and I forgot your floaties upstairs. Wait here, okay? I'll go get them."

You could've sworn you only got halfway up the stairs when you heard a soft splash from outside. The hair on the back of your neck rose as your heart firmly sank in your chest. Carson may be a smart kid, but a kid nonetheless. You sprinted downstairs, kicking off your sandals and your cover-up as you were suddenly overtaken, another person whipping past you and diving straight into the pool. You looked behind you, regarding the door to the kitchen still hanging open as a gasp quickly brought your attention back to the pool. Lunging forward, you helped this stranger pull Carson out of the pool when you realized you were crying. You heard yourself choke out a sob as you noticed Carson wasn't breathing, until the man grabbed him under the armpits, hoisted him down over one knee, and gave him a firm thump on the back. Carson spit up a cough of water, gasping into a cry and reaching for you. You pulled the little boy close, clutching him tight as you hurriedly walked him upstairs.

Only after he was calmed down, and you called his pediatrician to see if you needed to take any precautions, and you called Melissa for the sake of transparency, did you finally put Carson down for a well-needed nap. Melissa was frustratingly flippant despite her concern, curtly noting that they should put Carson into swim lessons as soon as possible before quickly having to hang up. You flipped on the baby monitor, grabbing the receiver and heading downstairs to retrieve your sandals and cover-up when you noticed the door to the kitchen was still open. You peered inside, following the wet footprints into the door leading to the staff quarters. The trail of drips led down the hall to one of the bedrooms, and you peeked inside. The bed was neatly made, the desk was well organized, and you let yourself gravitate towards the photos pinned on the opposite wall. Sure enough, the stranger from the pool was in nearly all the pictures, smiling and laughing with friends and family members. You were jolted out of your snooping as a hand landed on your shoulder. You whirled around, faced with the handsome guy in the photos.

"Are you lost?" He laughed, patting his hair dry with a fluffy towel. He had apparently changed into his comfy clothes, wearing a thin t-shirt and some track pants.

"Oh, holy crap," you wheezed, "I am so sorry. This looks so weird of me. It is weird of me! I just wanted to thank you so much for what you did."

"It was no problem," he modestly dismissed, "and it had to be done. Is Carson alright?"

"Yes! He'll be fine. And yourself?"

"I'll also be fine," he smiled warmly, his hand returning to your shoulder, "and you? You'll be fine?"

You nodded, earnestly at first and suddenly crumbling back into tears. You were still a bit shaken up, honestly, enough so that you found yourself leaning into the chest of a man whose name you didn't even know.

"Hey," he soothed, "hey, hey, you did great. You did better than great." He slid a gentle knuckle under your chin to tip your gaze up at him. You realized, now, just what you were doing: crying onto -- and hugging -- a stranger in his bedroom while wearing only a bikini.  You found yourself entirely overcome with embarrassment. Your cheeks burning bright red, you turned and scampered out of the room. 

A couple nights had passed before you could bear to venture back down to the kitchen. This had become a bit of a ritual lately, where you would sneak downstairs when you couldn't fall asleep and have a small snack, or maybe a glass or two of wine while you read. It was a stunning kitchen, just like the rest of the house. You hopped up onto the counter with your glass of Pinot, munching on a couple small slices of gouda while you looked over an article on your phone. The door creaked and you steeled yourself, ready to apologize to Melissa for sitting on the counter and drinking her wine (though you knew you didn't have to and you were already sure she drank enough that she'd never notice.) Instead, in through the door popped the cute guy you'd already made a fool of yourself in front of. You both carefully regarded each other from across the room.

"Is that the Pinot?" He asked. 

"Yes?"

"A Merlot would pair better with that." He strolled over, opening the miniature wine fridge on the counter reserved specifically for opened bottles. He slid out a handsome Merlot and poured you a new glass. "I'm not one for letting it breathe when I'm just snacking, but it's worth trying sometime."

You took another nibble of the cheese in your hand, catching yourself keeping eye contact with the man as you tried the wine. You nodded contentedly. "I'm sorry for the other day,” you offered, “That must've been awkward for you."

"No, not at all. Well, no more than needed, which was only a tiny bit. You were stressed out; I get it." He took the half full glass of Pinot out of your hands and sipped from it. "I'd hate to let this go to waste," he explained.

"Do I get to know your name?"

"Only if you promise not to cry on me tonight," he teased, looking regretful as he saw your reaction. "Too mean? Too mean. My name is Kun."

You introduced yourself and you talked.

In fact, you talked late every night in the kitchen that week. Kun was refreshing, smart, thoughtful. Sometimes you just snacked and joked around, other times he cooked you something and you both enjoyed it while you stayed up talking. Kun’s cooking was always effortlessly delicious, whether it was a grilled cheese or an entire tiramisu he secretly made for you to share. It wasn’t long before he suggested you see each other during the daytime, maybe when Carson was at one of his lessons. It was exciting to think that Kun wanted to spend so much time with you. 

“Are you going to watch me?” Carson asked you while he slipped on his ballet shoes. 

“Not today, bud,” you admitted, apologetic but firm.

“Awh, why? I like when you watch,” he pouted.

“I’m hanging out with Kun while you dance. Is that okay?”

Carson thought about it before nodding. “Yeah. I like Kun. He’s nice. Do you like Kun?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, “I like Kun. Have fun, and I'll be right here when you're done.” 

Carson waved out the window of the dance studio as you left, waving back at him when Kun pulled up to the curb on his scooter. He handed you a spare helmet before whisking you away. 

Kun had brought you to a tiny cafe deep in the city, winding you down side streets and eventually ending up in a quiet corner of a quiet coffee shop, nonchalantly tittering with the quiet small talk that surrounded you as you sipped your coffee. He explained what made a good cup of coffee, and was pleasantly stunned when you matched him beat for beat with your knowledge from your stint  as a coffee snob. He liked how driven you were, even as you insisted you had no idea what you were doing half the time. Having his personal attention was quickly becoming a luxury, something you treasured more and more. Kun was curious if you considered staying past your contract with the Copelands, but it was hard to tell at this point. What all was there to stay for?

His hand gently held yours as you talked, something you hadn’t expected but readily accepted, his casual forwardness making this easy when it would normally make you wary. You didn’t always fall for guys, but it was so effortless with Kun. He was practically beckoning you with open arms and you were practically leaping into them for how carefree this felt. Every touch was gentle and innocent, like he was scared of chasing you away. He didn’t try to kiss you, he didn’t even try to hold you, but he was perfectly content holding your hand. This was easy. 

What wasn’t as easy was work. Carson wasn’t always cooperative, especially with how little he saw his parents. With so many authority figures in his life but no stable rally point, he would act out. It wasn’t constant, but it was regular enough. The silent treatment one moment, or perhaps a whine, or maybe a full-blown tantrum. You were becoming a pro at ignoring onlookers when Carson would spontaneously decide to have a meltdown. 

On a particularly moody night, Carson begged and begged you to come to dinner with him, and suddenly figured in the middle of the meal that he had no desire to eat his vegetables (which was a shame, considering how impeccable Kun got the roast on them.) His whines became tears as you attempted to reason with him. Melissa watched, carefully observing. Brent momentarily caught your attention, an odd look in his eye making you quickly avert your gaze. Once negotiations were finally settled, Brent smiled a small smile, quietly impressed. Melissa, however, had a look of contempt. Had you done something wrong?

Thankfully, Kun was always there at the end of the night to help you vent, just let off some steam as you sat and hung out in the kitchen. In a rare moment of pure spite, you let him know that even though you had no kids of your own, that you were confident that you’d be a better mother than Melissa. To your utter surprise, Kun agreed.

“The way you handle Carson? Perfect,” Kun praised as he poured you another glass of wine, “Melissa’s just being a jerk because it doesn’t come naturally to her.”

“It doesn’t?”

“Of course not. She was all business before Carson from the sound of it, and she doesn’t seem much different. She was Brent’s assistant before she was his wife, you know.”

You pondered that as you sipped your wine. “That actually makes a lot of sense,” you concluded. Kun nodded in return. 

“If it makes you feel any better, it sounds like Brent sees a lot of Melissa in you. I heard him mention it on one of his phone calls he takes in the gazebo out back. I take it that he likes how professional you are and everything.”

It didn’t make you feel better. In all honesty, it hung on you and nagged at you for days. The first time you had really met Brent, weeks ago now, you had literally run into him after bringing some laundry downstairs. Ai would normally grab it, but the brevity still felt odd and you were headed down there anyhow. You had bumped into Brent as you turned a corner, dropping your laundry basket and letting out an uncharacteristic squeal of surprise. Brent was so tall. It was a little intimidating as he had stooped down to help you pick up your clothes, that same sideways smile you saw at dinner tonight on his face as he had handed you a couple of shirts he grabbed for you. His thumb had been right on top of the bundle he passed back to you, dipped into a stray pair of panties that you had dropped with the basket. You had blushed and gathered your clothes before running off. 

You never thought you compared to Melissa, but now you were scrutinizing her as well as yourself. You compared the ways you dressed, the ways you walked, but couldn't see any similarities. What did Brent mean? One day, you sat with Carson in his room as he put makeup on you. He was so interested in coloring and painting, that he got so intensely curious when he noticed you touching up your lips one afternoon. So, you figured, why not let him go crazy? 

“I like your eyes,” Carson observed as he carefully colored your eyebrows. They were currently jet black and very angry. 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Uh huh,” he nodded. “I like your face and your hair but I like your eyes the most.”

“What about Mommy?” You asked curiously. 

“I don’t like Mommy’s eyes,” Carson shook his head. 

“You don’t? What else is different about Mommy and me?”

“Everything,” Carson concluded, “what a weird question.”

It was a weird question, but now you felt better knowing that even Carson thought so. 

Finally, the next day, you’d had it. You went to look for Brent when you were sure he was home. It would just be a curious -- but blunt -- question. He'd been nice enough to you before that you figured he would understand. And you’d laugh about it. You’d heard the door to the patio open and close when you’d been studying up in your room signaling you that he was taking one of his business calls in the backyard again.

You quietly padded down the stairs, through the foyer and into the dining room. A gasp forced itself from your chest before you even really registered what you saw outside in the yard beyond the giant sliding glass doors. Melissa turned from where she straddled Kun’s lap by the poolside, her momentary confusion turning into the most spiteful smile you'd ever witnessed. Kun was frozen under her, his eyes locked on you in an expression you couldn't make out before you quickly turned away, reeling as you rushed back to your room. 

It was an odd feeling, being so betrayed by someone you didn’t feel even belonged to you. Of course you were friendly, of course you flirted a little, but now you just felt stupid for ever thinking that Kun wanted you. Of course he would want Melissa instead, Melissa who stood tall and lithe and was pretty and sexy and well-spoken and so, so commanding. You never knew a person who dominated a room like she did. It hurt seeing her on top of him, and you just felt like a petulant girl for it. You waited for him in the kitchen every night for days, but he never showed. Your heartbreak only multiplied. 

Fine, you figured. If Kun liked sexy then you could do that. You felt a little immature the next evening as you unfolded the new dress you bought from its shopping bag, but it felt proactive. The dress was simple, honestly, but it hugged your body and it wasn't like anything you owned already. You did already own exactly one pair of stilettos, something you only brought for appearances in case you had been asked to accompany the family to a party or other function. Your plan was simple: you'd head down to the kitchen to let Ai know you were heading out for the night and just happen to run into Kun. Your heels clicked on the tile and echoed off the walls as you headed downstairs. Was this petty? Sure, but would it get results? You were confident it would. 

The kitchen was apparently empty at first, but you were surprised to see Brent pop up from behind the open refrigerator door as he snapped open a beer. 

“Hey,” he smiled, “would you like one?”

“Oh,” you fumbled, your fingers playing with the chain of your clutch purse, “no, thank you. I was just telling Ai that I was going out, maybe ask Kun for a ride.”

“Well I saw Kun leave a few hours ago,” he shrugged, “but can we talk? I don't usually have time like this.”

“Sure,” you nodded with a small smile as you set your purse down on the kitchen island, “is it about Carson?”

“No no,” Brent shook his head as he pushed an open beer into your hand anyhow. You absently sipped at it, drawing a grin from him. “It's about you. You watch my son almost all hours of the day and I hardly know you.” He pulled a bar stool out from under the island and invited you to sit. However, he still stood as you talked. You explained school and work and life back home, things you realized you'd talked with Kun about not too long ago. 

“Sorry if I'm rambling,” you winced, setting your beer down. Brent flashed you a dashing smile. 

“Not at all. You're great. It's nice to get to know you.” You blushed deep at the words as Brent brushed his fingers back through his hair. “Admittedly, I picked you. I think I did pretty well.”

“You did? You do?”

Brent nodded solemnly. “You think Melissa wanted an au pair around? Someone to be a better mother than she is? If I weren't so busy, I'd have Carson to myself. That's why I'm so glad I picked you. I liked your resume. That presenter picture you included from that convention was cute.”

Your blush heated your face even more. Maybe Brent was just really forward and blunt like his wife? You shifted awkwardly in your seat when he took a step closer to you. “I'm glad I'm doing a good job,” you offered, tempted to slide off your chair before Brent took another step closer. 

“You're doing a fine job,” he spoke softly, “you remind me a lot of Melissa when I first met her. She always looked so eager to please.” At this he stepped between your knees. Your breath hitched in your throat as Brent stroked your hair behind your ear. Even as you clenched your legs, trying to shut him out, he leaned in even closer. “What about you? Are you eager to please?”

Shameful tears were already welling at the corners of your eyes as you thrashed against him, putting your fists up to fight him off. Brent grabbed your wrists in one hand, holding them tight with a disgustingly playful grin as his other hand trailed down to his belt. 

“Think about it,” he chided, “you're in a house in a city in a country on the other side of the planet. Can you really afford losing this job? Getting thrown out on the street?”

“Brent, please—“

“Call me Mr. Copeland,” he insisted. Brent neared despite your tearful grimace, his lips barely brushing yours before he was yanked off of you. You helplessly watched, relieved and terrified as Kun pulled him back and got in between you. 

“Jesus, Brent--” Kun spat, “what the fuck do you think you're doing?!”

Brent immediately squared up against him. He towered over you, but he was still half a head taller than Kun. “Why is it your business, boy? We were just having a nice chat.”

“Didn’t look too nice to me,” Kun shook his head firmly, “I think you should go.”

“I don’t think you should talk to me like that in my own fucking home,” Brent glowered. 

“And I don’t think I should tell Melissa that you hired an au pair just to fuck, but maybe we should both re-think things.” Kun stood his ground as Brent fumed, ultimately throwing a fist right for Kun that he managed to dodge. He tried again, this time Kun ducking and delivering his own punch to Brent’s stomach. Brent crumpled, the air knocked out of him as Kun grabbed your hand and your purse and pulled you into the door to the staff quarters. He flipped a lock on the inside of the door and marched you down the hall into his room as Brent knocked manically on the door. 

Kun closed his bedroom door behind him and instantly caught you as you fell into him, all your frightful tears catching up to you and spilling onto his chest. 

“Shh,” Kun soothed as he wrapped an arm back around your shoulders, careful not to overstep while you were in this state. He still held you close, stroking your hair. 

“What’re you doing back already?” You asked into his shoulder. 

“Been feeling off all week. Going out wasn’t helping, so I came back.”

“I’m so sorry,” you spoke into his shirt, dipping your head down into his chest. 

“Sorry? Why the hell are you sorry?” Kun grabbed your shoulders, pushing you back just enough to look into your eyes. His jaw was set firm, his eyes still wild with adrenaline and anger. 

“The other day when I saw you with Melissa by the pool,” you babbled, “I dunno, I just felt so jealous, and I just wanted you to pay attention to me like that, too, and it’s so stupid, Kun, I was so stupid--”

“No.” Kun said firmly. “That’s not stupid. You're not stupid. I should've talked to you instead of hiding away.” He let you go, taking a seat on the bed and exasperatedly pushing his face into his hands for a second. You took the opportunity to seat yourself at his desk, thankful that he chose the bed instead. “Melissa and I… It’s complicated. She’s lonely but she’s awful, and I need this job now that I have it. My name will be smeared all over town if I leave on bad terms, especially since I've never let her get everything she wants. But she still comes onto me, and even more since you came here.”

“So the other day?”

“I thought she was out at a meeting and I went for a swim. When I came up for air she was sitting there and got me to come out to talk and, well, you saw.” Kun’s eyes were downcast with his admission. “I'm sorry. And I'm sorry for what happened out there.”

“Is it true?” You asked. Kun perked his head back up to look at you. “Did Melissa not want me here?”

Kun sighed. “No.”

“Brent said she didn't want someone to come and be a better mother than her.”

“I know we've joked about it, but she's tried. It just hasn't come to her yet.”

“That's no excuse,” you shook your head, “she can only be so unaccepting. She can't hire me and hate me.”

“Sure she can. She’s stubborn.”

“That’s not fair, though.”

“No, it’s not.” Kun commiserated. 

The silence settled in the room as Brent finally finished knocking down the hall. 

“You look amazing, by the way.” Kun admitted quietly. 

“Only in this?”

Kun shook his head. “All the time, but especially in this.”

“Why didn't you tell me before?”

“The whole… Melissa of it all. If I told you how beautiful are and how good talking to you feels, and how I adore how you taste my food and you don’t just eat it, and you talk to me and you don’t just listen… It would make everything difficult.”

Your patience hit the tipping point, and you were done waiting for something to happen for you. Kun watched curiously as you stood, crossing the couple short steps stand between his knees. His eyes closed as your fingertips pushed back through his hair, but they opened right back up as you gently lowered yourself onto his lap, your thighs on either side of his. Kun waited, wary of moving too fast for you. Only when you wrapped your arms around him did he return the gesture. You stroked his hair back again, and Kun took the hint to look into your eyes again. 

“So we could've done this a long time ago?”

“We should’ve,” Kun replied. His hands gently pulled you closer where they rested on the small of your back. That was all the confirmation you needed. Your fingers threading back through his hair, you gently, finally, lovingly pressed your lips to his. This loosened him up even more, instantly matching and accelerating your growing passion. 

���How much do--” he began asking against your neck as he placed a kiss below your ear. 

“--Everything,” you answered promptly, “I want to make up for missed time.”

“Everything?” He clarified. 

“Everything.”

Kun nodded with an eager grin, quickly sliding off his jacket and getting his fingers into the collar of his t-shirt. He pulled the shirt off and you were confronted with the heat coming off him. It was so inviting that you instantly reached for the zipper on the back of your dress, pulling it all the way down. You shrugged the sleeves off your shoulders, revealing the lacy bra you had on underneath. Kun nuzzled close, his hands gently on your breasts and trailing around back to the clasp as he drew your lips into another hungry kiss. 

“What if we’d been doing this all along?” You smirked as he tossed your bra onto the desk chair. You grabbed his shirt off the bed and did the same.

“Well, I don’t think I could leave you alone,” he laughed as he kissed and groped your breasts.  “It’d be pretty obvious that you're mine.”

“Think we could've prevented that out there?” You asked. Kun grimaced. 

“Don't talk about it, but for what it's worth, sure. Instead of being here you would be out with me at dinner.”

“Tell me I'm yours again,” you smiled sweetly as you kissed his neck, a giggle escaping you when he shivered in return. Kun grabbed you around the waist and laid you down on the bed. The hem of your slinky dress was already raised on your hips. He made quick work of pulling off your panties, tossing these onto the desk chair as well. 

“You’re all mine,” Kun said seriously as he laid against you, pressing up between your spread legs, “just like I'm all yours. And you only have to say so and I would leave with you.”

“You would?” You gasped as you reached between you to get his jeans open. His length warm in your hands drove you wild, all the emotions you were feeling only amplifying. 

“Absolutely,” Kun assured you as he ground into your hand, “you think working here will be the same?”

“What about Carson?” You breathlessly asked as Kun’s own fingers began exploring your entrance. 

“He’ll be fine as long as Ai’s here until she helps hire a new caretaker. And you’ll be fine. You’re going to be a perfect mother some day.” Those words made you throb in a way you never had before. Even Kun took notice of your interesting reaction as his firm cock probed into your dripping pussy. The wheels in his head visibly turned. “Are…” He carefully began, “are you on birth control?”

You nodded, catching up to his train of thought. A faint idea of what he meant was forming in your head, and you wanted to try. “Kun,” you breathed, “fuck me. Put a baby in me.”

Kun’s eyes lit up, the fire behind them practically burning you. “Say it again,” he ordered.

“Put a baby in me, Kun,” you begged sweetly. 

Kun’s cock throbbed hard in you as began to fuck you in earnest. “Alright, now never say it again if you don’t want me to cum instantly,” he laughed breathlessly as he thrust against you. 

“You sure? What if I ask you to cum in me and knock me up?” You smiled evilly and Kun groaned deep. He kissed you hard as you whined against him. 

“Or,” you teased, your high heels tangling behind his back, “What if I say I want to make you a daddy?”

Kun let out another loud groan, his hips faltering against you. “And definitely never say that again,” he laughed desperately. 

“Kun, Kun,” you pleaded, “it’s so good, you’re getting me there.”

“Yeah?” He gave you a naughty smile, “And you want me to cum, too, right? I'll fill you up and make you mine and put a baby in you?”

Your nails raked into Kun’s back, your feverish moans escaping you faster and more desperate as you neared your peak. 

“Cum for me,” Kun ordered, his lips trailing over your shoulder, “cum for me and I promise I'll fill you up.”

You cried out with your orgasm, your tensed thighs clamping around Kun’s hips and he followed right after. He fell against you, your moans and sighs echoing against each other as your throbbing heat milked his cock dry. The two of you curled up into a sweating heap, breathing each other in in the afterglow. 

“You meant it? About leaving together?” You finally asked. Kun panted his affirmation. 

“I do. I'll strike a deal with Brent. No blacklisting and I won’t rat him out.”

“What about Melissa, though?”

“I’ll tell her once I find a new job. It just won't be obvious it's me.”

“Alright,” you nodded, still catching your breath in Kun’s arms, “so why should I?”

“Because I love you,” he whispered in return, and your heart was fit to burst.

#cznnet #neowritingsnet #wayv fanfiction #wayv fanfic #nct fanfiction #nct fanfic #wayv smut #nct smut #mystery member #SPOILERS AHEAD #qian kun #wayv kun #nct kun #jesus I created this like last autumn???

[minthysugamon]

Everybody wants to rule the world.

Noble Assistant! Namjoon x Assassin! Reader.

1789! AU

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Mention of dried blood,gunshots and other stuff...i mean..it's the revolution..so yeah.

(Credit for the Original Photo: @/athenaa. I only edited it a little bit. But all credit goes to the original artist who posted the photo first in it's original version)

(Painting: La liberté guidant le peuple by Eugène Delacroix)

14 Juillet 1789,

The streets were overcrowded,people were standing for hours in front of the Bastille. Everybody knew...the reunion of the General Estates was chaotic. The deputies spent months to collect all the reviews that could help them make a reform,that could help the Third Estate to have the same rights as the nobility...but instead of that,King Louis XVI refused all the changes that should have been made. So...the whole Third Estate was back to case one. It was no surprise when the King had dismissed the assembly to go back to his residence. But what surprised him was the determination that the future National Assembly had. They swore,they will give France a constitution,they make up the large majority of the country,they can do it without being harmed too much. The King still didn't care about the 1200 Deputies plea for equality. But dear lord,the Regent was wrong for ignoring all the warning signs about the revolution.

But there she was,waiting for her brother to come back,in a house near the Bastille..waiting for the three volounteers to come out with the gun powder. Not as if she wanted to kill or wound someone..but..she wanted to participate. She wanted to see how people will take over the power. Her brother is a Lawyer...Maximilien Robespierre is his name. But since she is a woman..she will never have the chance to become one...she can only learn from him,in secret,because work is a taboo for women.

"Why are you here?" Her brother grabbed her wrist,looking her dead in the eye. He wasn't amused,at all. "I..i just wanted to come..to see if everything was alright...Mère s'inquiète pour vous¹..." He sighed,letting her wrist go,and he bowed his head. "I told you clearly to stay in Arras,didn't i? You are too curious for your own good. One day it will bring you trouble." She cracked a small smile,only for a moment though,and while she exhaled,she whispered a small "Je le sais,mon frère.²" As she sat down,in front of the window,Maximilien went behind her and watched the chaos unfold in front of the Bastille. "What are they trying to do?" She looked up at him,with glassy eyes. She would never admit it but as much as the revolution gave her adrenaline and excited her...she was also scared. Scared of what will happen. "They are trying to get the gun powder...i guess Launey still didn't give in to take the cannons back." He watched as the people were getting more and more impatient,and then,he headed out of the small townhouse. Since she was also the curious type,she headed out after him. "LA POUDRE. LA POUDRE. DONNEZ-NOUS LA POUDRE³". The crowd was screaming for the gun powder. While Launey was still discussing with the three peasants.

While the crowd was roaring outside,Launey was talking with the three peasants. "Monsieur Kim,would you please tell the soldiers to retract the cannons?" The young immigrant who became Launey's assistant just looked at him confused. "But..Maître...it's nearly impossible to get them retracted,we don't have the King's authorisation." And as the three peasants looked at him with an evil expression,the assistant hesitantly said "I will try to persuade them...but i may need your help if anything goes wrong." The keeper of the Bastille just looked at him with a reassuring smile and said "Don't worry,Mon fils,everything will go alright. Just do as i say." The boy went up,and tried to tell the soldiers what was bound to happen if they don't take the cannons back. The soldiers just laughed and told him to piss off. But at the view of the weapons not getting retracted,the crowd was growing louder with every second that passed. The chance of them getting into the Bastille was also increasing with every shout that left their throat. The assisstant of Launey was running back down to the study of his mentor.

"Maître Launey,what are we going to do? They don't want to retract them. I tried to persuade them,but they aren't listening." Launey only sighed,and stood up. "Si vous pourriez m'excuser,je vous en serai reconnaissant.⁴" With that said,he went up with the young man that he swore to protect after his own son died in his arms due to pneumonia,and looked at the Soldiers. "I sent the message of retracting the cannons. Then why do i still see them here?"

One of the armed men was brave enough to say "We thought that your assisstant maneuvered on his own..." and to that,the Master of the Bastille answered clearly,exercising his authority on them. "Whether it's me or my assistant,you are obligated to comply to my wishes and my commands. Whether you like it or not. Now get those cannons retracted before the people think that we want to hurt them."

At the same time,the youngest Robespierre was following her brother. What Maximilien didn't know was his sister's abilities. Nobody knew,but she was the one of the best trained assassins of the country. She went in the crowd and got lost in it,so no one could see what she was about to do. Her plan was to climb to the first floor and open the gate. And it was going well until ths crowd heard a gunshot inside the court of the Bastille. "THEY KILLED THEM. THEY KILLED OUR ALLIES. LET'S SHOW THEM THAT THEY CAN'T MESS WITH US." "Merde...⁵" The swear word escaped her lips as she was near the backyard of the Bastille. But that didn't stop her. Just like how the crowd didn't stop running down the doors.

Namjoon was scared for his life. As soon as the people swarmed in as bees in a beehive,he was becoming more and more nervous. "Maître,what are we going to do?" And his mentor looked at him,with his pale face,then shouted at the brigade. "RASSEMBLEZ LA POUDRE.⁶ GET ALL THE POWDER. AND TAKE IT DOWN. WE WILL ACT ACCORDING TO WHAT WILL HAPPEN." Then he looked back at his assistant,sending him a look full of emotions and calmly said. "Son,go and hide in the study. Lock all the doors. Don't do anything wrong,and they won't get in." And for once,he spoke to him in an informal way,like how a father would tell his son how to hide. "But,Maître-" Namjoon objected to the idea of letting his mentor,but also his adoptive father in some ways,fight for the Bastille. But before he knew,he was pushed into the study by Launey,and he locked the door before going back to his soldiers. "Que Dieu...aie pitié de votre âme...Père...⁷" And with a heavy heart,he blocked the door with a cupboard and the handles with three swords..the more,the better.

While the crowd was swarming in,(Y/n) was trying to get a better view of the situation by climbing the wall of the gigantic fortress which served as the royal prison. "Pour l'amour des cieux⁸...why did that idiot have to cry wolf when nothing was going on..." and as she finally climbed the first floor which had a corridor,she sneaked in,just like a shadow,almost invisible. The people were or too busy trying to free the seven remaining prisoners,or trying to kill any guard that came their way,or to find the gun powder and leave. She was feeling nauseous from the smell of dried blood on the walls of the hall,but she won't vomit here and now,or people will think she's one of the guards or just a simple whore who paid visit to Launey. But speak of the devil. Two men saw her,and started chasing her,so in the first turn,she turned to right,then to the left and continued this pattern until she fell through a passageway to the Study.

Namjoon was shocked when he saw the girl fall through the secret passage,but nothing shocked him more than to see a girl being armed like a professional assassin. "Qui diable est-tu?⁹" his voice came out more shaky than expected. And the girl only answered "Be glad that i'm not here to kill you. Who are you? You don't seem to be from here." If she was being honest...she never saw someone like him. She could only think about the fact that he wasn't here. Thanks to the books of her father and her brother,she quickly guessed that he was from the Far East. "I asked first,mademoiselle." And she looked at him,unfazed. "Look,i don't have the time to play this. Where is Launey,i have to talk to him." And the young man picked a sword up and quickly took her in his arms to put the blade against her neck. "What do you want from him? Seeing how you are dressed and what you're carrying,i am pretty sure that you mean no good. And most probably,you're on their side. Aren't you?" The only thing she could say was a determined "Yes. But,I only want to talk. That's it. If i wanted to kill him,he would be already dea-" her voice was cut off by loud banging on the front door. "LAUNEY,ON SAIT QUE TU ES LÀ.¹⁰ STOP HIDING AND BE A MAN." And Namjoon only looked at the unknown girl,with panic in his eyes,and she looked back at him. "Go,find somewhere to hide. I'll tell them that no one was here." The assisstant looked at her with confusion plastered on his face. "But..you have the chance to kill me now. Why won't you do it?" And she laughed but in a bitter way,trying her best to keep the door closed. "The stars aren't alligned for that today. It's your lucky day today,Sir. Now go. Hide before they kill you." With a quick nod he started to run towards the secret passage,but quickly turned back and looked at her. "Name's Namjoon." And the youngest Robespierre just looked at him,with an amused look and replied "(Y/n). Remember that name when you'll say grace to God for keeping an eye on you. Now go." And as soon as he was out,she let the door break free. With a half smirk and playful eyes,she cocked her pistol towards one of the peasants. "Good Morning gentlemen,beautiful day to cause a revolution i see. It would be a shame if something..or someone stopped this. So i advise you to turn back around,and go on your way to find the much-wanted powder." One of the peasants just laughed at her,but when she shot him in the arm,the other two,unarmed,were quick to run out of the study.

Namjoon still didn't understand why she spared his life,but he was thankful. For once,his luck was immeasurable,and he felt good about it. But the same went for her...(Y/n) still didn't understand what took over her to spare his life and shoot someone,who was playing on the same side as she was. But sometimes...life puts you in a situation where a plot twist is inevitable.

As the battle was still going on in the court,after what felt like an eternity,(Y/n) but also Namjoon realised...whether you're a revolutionary or a nobleman...you have one thing in common. You want to rule the world. Because if there's something in common in the power hungry humans...is the will to rule the world..because Everybody wants to rule the world.

Translation:

¹ = Mother is worried about you.

² = I know it,brother.

³ = The Powder,the powder,give us the powder.

⁴ = If you could excuse me,i would be grateful for it.

⁵ = Shit...

⁶ = Get all the powder.

⁷ = May God have mercy on your soul,father.

⁸ = For Heaven's sake

⁹ = Who the hell are you?

¹⁰ = Launey,we know you're inside there.

(A/n: I know the end is rushed but i hope you guys still liked it. The idea came to me when i had my history exam,and that was in December,but i didn't have time to finish it...so here is a bit rushed-ended one shot about Namjoon in the 1789 French Revolution. Thank you again for your patience,and i hope you guys are doing well! ❤)

#kim namjoon scenario #kim namjoon #namjoon #namjoon au #rm scenario #bts rm #rm au #1789 #1789 AU #bts scenario #bts scenarios #namjoon fanfic #namjoon imagine #namjoon scenarios #bts imagine #bts au fanfic #bts au fic #bts aus

[atc74]

Fire & Air

Square(s) Filled: Breeding Kink for @spnkinkbingo, Wedding for BTZ, Honeymoon for @spnfluffbingo2019​

Warnings: Fluff, surprises, honeymoon of a lifetime, here be the sex y’all, unprotected sex, breeding kink

Summary: Jared Padalecki is the heir and next in line to run his fathers oil company. Y/N Y/L/N is the only child of their biggest competitor. What happens when their fathers decide their personal and professional futures? Can they learn to get along, or even love each other? A follow up to Oil & Water. 

Pairing: Jared x Reader

Word Count: 3434

Written for: @spnkinkbingo, btz bingo, @spnfluffbingo2019

Beta’d by: @alleiradayne thank you for everything

Like Jared’s scent? Buy it here from @scentsfromthebunker!

As a reminder, this is a work of fiction and should be regarded as such. No harm is intended toward the actor(s) or their families.

A/N: This was gonna be hella long as one piece, so I made it two parts. Read Oil & Water first

Despite their reservations, Jared and Y/N were married in his family’s backyard in the presence of family and a few close friends.

“Jared, you may kiss the bride,” the judge announced to conclude the ceremony.

Jared took his time as he lifted the veil covering her face. Her smile, while small, reached her eyes and Jared reveled in the promise they held, of the promises they’d just made to each other. He stepped forward, pulling her into his arms and their lips met in a chaste, yet soft and tender kiss. He returned to his place, her hand in his.

“Jared and Y/N Padalecki everyone!” the judge shouted, a small polite clapping erupted from their guests.

“I’m keeping my last name, by the way,” she whispered to Jared as they walked back down the white runner to the house.

“I’d never ask you to change it,” Jared assured her, keeping her hand tightly in his.

They entered the house and Jared pulled her back to his office for a few moments of privacy. The door clicked shut behind them as he turned to her.

“You look stunning, Y/N. With everything that has been thrown at us the last few weeks, I didn’t exactly expect to be happy today, but I am and wanted you to know. I’ll do everything I can to make you happy, that is my promise to you,” Jared professed to his new bride.

“Thank you, Jared. It will take some time, but I know you will,” she responded. “But now that all this courting stuff is behind us, can you kiss me already?”

“I did just kiss you,” he responded, a smirk on his face.

“No, not that for show kiss. Kiss me like you mean it,” she whispered.

Jared brought his hands up to cup her face, his nose brushing hers as his lips hovered just above her own. His breath fanned over her skin, his hands held her face gently, and then his lips touched hers. Subtle at first, a barely there brush of soft, supple skin.

A delicate whimper left her pliable mouth as Jared slipped his tongue past her lips, tasting her, really tasting her for the first time. His hands tilted her head, changing the angle. His tongue swirled deeper around hers. It wasn’t hurried or wanton. It was passion and promise. It was fleeting and all too soon, it ended.

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open as his lips parted from hers. Her mind whirling with emotions the kiss awakened in her. Her gaze met his as she reentered reality.

“So, was it worth the wait?” he smirked.

“Oh, there’s some room for improvement,” she teased, trying to mask the truth. And the truth was, she had never been kissed like that in her life. His kiss made her feel drunk, made her toes curl, his kiss made her forget. His was a kiss that she wanted to experience over and over and over.

“Duly noted. Now, just a couple more hours and then we have to jet,” Jared glanced at his watch.

“Jet? Where are we going?” she asked, skeptical.

“Our honeymoon, of course,” Jared laughed.

“Why are we taking a honeymoon, Jared?” she probed, but inside, she was giddy. The thought of spending time alone with Jared both excited and terrified her.

“Well, for one, it’s tradition, although nothing about this has been traditional, so I demanded one. Second, I wanted us to get away from the stress,” Jared shrugged. “Do you want to know where we’re going?”

“Yes. No. Maybe,” she giggled, her hand flying to her mouth.

“We’re starting in Europe, but that is all I am going to say for now. I want it to be a surprise,” he mumbled.

“I haven’t packed anything,” she added.

“Don’t worry about that. I gave your mother a simple itinerary and whatever she didn’t pack, we can get. I don’t want you to stress about this at all. I have it all planned out,” Jared assured her.

“Jared, I don’t much care for surprises,” she informed him.

“I honestly think you are going to love what I have planned,” he said hopefully.  “Please trust me.”

Y/N thought on it for a minute. She trusted him enough to open up, so she could do this, too. “Yeah, okay. I’ll trust you.” She reached her hand out for his and together they headed to their reception.

~*~

“A private jet, Jared?” Y/N’s wide were wide as Jared led her into the aircraft.

“I pulled out all the stops for this,” Jared grinned ear to ear. “I also may have given both our dads minor, okay major, guilt trips. So yeah, it’s only the best for me and my bride.”

“Oh I bet they loved that!” she laughed, getting comfortable in one of the oversized lounge seats.

“Not half as much as we’re going to love this trip,” Jared smiled, rather proud of himself, stretching out across the aisle from her. “It’s a long flight, so you might want to get some rest. I’ll set an alarm so we wake in plenty of time.”

“Yeah, okay,” she yawned, the stress finally overtaking her.

~*~

“Y/N? It’s time to wake up. We’ll be landing in about ninety minutes,” Jared gently roused her from sleep.

She stretched, looking around, then remembered they were on a private jet financed by their fathers for a luxury honeymoon arranged by her new husband. “Where are we?”

“Somewhere over the north Atlantic,” he laughed. “You slept almost eight hours. You hungry?”

“I’m starving,” she said, stretching her arms over her head, just as her stomach loudly rumbled its reply.

“Perfect timing then,” Jared said as he disappeared to the rear of the plane and returned with a small cart. He placed two covered plates on the table along with a bottle of wine and two glasses.

“Hmmm, this smells delicious,” Y/N moaned as he uncovered the plates revealing a pasta dish and a spinach salad.

“I hope you like it. I wasn’t sure what your preferences were, so I stuck with something simple,” Jared poured the wine.

“You made this?” she asked, taking a bite. “It’s delicious.”

“Thank you. I spent a lot of time in the kitchen with my mother growing up. I find cooking relaxing,” he shrugged.

They exchanged small talk over dinner, frivolous conversation for a couple just married, but expected for a couple still getting to know each other.

“Your mother packed your bags, labeled one through five. Feel free to freshen up, and pick an outfit from bag number one, please,” Jared instructed as he cleared the dishes.

Thirty minutes later, Y/N returned in a wool sweater, thick leggings, and knee high boots. She had a scarf and a jacket slung over one arm, while the other held a beanie and a pair of mittens. “This doesn’t look like the typical honeymoon attire Jared.”

“Do I need to remind you that we are not the typical couple?” Jared raised his eyebrows, a grin on his face, making his dimples even more prominent. “And this is definitely not the typical honeymoon.”

“You’re very mysterious, you know that?” she smiled, returning to her seat. He sat across from her, dressed in dark jeans, a dark gray button down and a black beanie.

“No, I’m really not,” Jared shrugged her off, looking out the window. “I’m a very simple man, Y/N.”

“Good morning, Mr. Padalecki and Ms. Y/L/N. We are beginning our descent into Reykjavik, please fasten your seatbelts. We’ll be landing forthwith,” the pilot announced.

“Iceland?” she tore her eyes away from Jared to watch the approaching landscape out the window. “I stand by mysterious.”

“You’ll see,” he smiled.

Y/N was excited to see what Jared had planned and she could barely sit still while the crew landed the plane and opened the hatch. The air was brisker than she had anticipated and she wrapped the scarf around her neck, slipped the beanie over her head, then grabbed the jacket and mittens. The sun had just started to rise, dusting the landscape with brilliant oranges and pinks.

Jared had slipped on his own jacket and stepped out of the door, holding his hand out to her. “Ready?”

She nodded and grabbed his hand, a smile on her face. A car waited for them on the tarmac and the driver handed Jared the keys as the steward loaded their bags into the back. “We’re going to stop by the hotel first to check in, then we’ll be back on the road in no time.”

Jared maneuvered the roads carefully and they safely arrived at their hotel. As Jared checked them in, Y/N wandered around the hotel lobby taking in the photos adorning the walls. They were filled with meteorological wonders of glaciers and even Grímsvötn, one of Iceland’s active volcanoes.

“Hey, Y/N? We’re all set here. Let’s get up to our room,” Jared held two key cards in his hand and they entered the elevator.

“Did you see any of those pictures? I’d love to see the glaciers and Grímsvötn,” she hummed happily to herself as the elevator ascended to the top floor. He handed her a key card, yelling out the room number as she took off down the hall as soon as the doors opened.

Flicking the card against the electronic lock, she opened the door, revealing a large suite with a balcony and a king sized bed. “Jared, it’s wonderful!” She exclaimed.

“Only the best, remember?” he chuckled watching her excitement, a backpack slung over his shoulder. “I hate to cut the exploration short, but are you ready for our next adventure?”

“Yes! But please tell me?” she bounced on the heels of her boots.

“No, but you’ll find out soon enough,” he laughed. “Come on, let’s go!”

Downstairs, there were three off road four by four jeeps waiting for them. Jared opened the door and helped her up into the seat before sliding in himself. The man driving greeted them warmly. “Welcome to Iceland! Are you ready?”

“Yes!” they said together.

“We have almost four hours until we reach our destination and there are others to pick up,” he informed them as he pulled out into traffic, two more vehicles following them.

“You ever been to Grímsvötn before?” the man asked them as they made another stop.

“What? We’re going to Grímsvötn? You’re taking me to a volcano for our honeymoon? You’re the best husband ever!” She threw her arms around his neck, hugging him as best she could in the tight quarters.

“Oh! Very nice! Congratulations!” The men in the front seat laughed.

~*~

“Did you know that Grímsvötn has erupted approximately sixty times over the last eight hundred years? But they’re mostly sub-glacial, that means under the ice,” she explained to Jared on their way back to the hotel. The visit to the glacier and volcano had been a full day and they were both drained, but it seemed Y/N was intent on using the last of her energy as she explained everything she knew and had learned about the volcano during the tour.

By the time the caravan of jeeps pulled back into Reykjavik, Y/N was sound asleep. Her head laid on his chest, and his arm wrapped loosely around her waist. He jostled her slightly exiting the jeep but he picked her up gently and carried her to their room. It was well after midnight and they could both use a good night’s rest.

~*~

Y/N woke the next morning in the rather comfortable king size bed, wrapped snugly in the down comforter. Day was just breaking, the dim light filtering through the skylight. She stretched and rolled over, thinking about going back to sleep, when she was met with a wall of heated muscle.

“Hmmm, good morning,” Jared mumbled, his voice deeper than usual. “Did you sleep well?” His eyes flickered open, meeting hers.

“Yeah, I guess I was pretty wiped out. That was quite an adventure yesterday. Thank you so much. That was amazing,” she smiled.

“It was my pleasure, and seeing the pure wonder and enjoyment on your face is thanks enough. I wanted this trip to be a journey, not just a destination,” he replied thoughtfully. “Breakfast?”

“Yes, please and coffee, but first, I have to use the bathroom,” she replied, throwing the covers off and making her way to the bathroom. It was huge with a gigantic walk in shower and deep claw foot tub. It wasn’t until she washed her hands that she realized she was still dressed in her clothes from yesterday, sans the sweater and boots. She made her way back to the bed as Jared hung up the phone.

“Room service will be up shortly,” he yawned.

“Did I fall asleep in my clothes?” she asked, sitting at the edge of the bed.

“Yeah, you were out before we made it back, so I carried you up and took off your outer layers. I didn’t want to cross a line,” he replied sheepishly, rising from the bed and rolling the muscles in his back.  

It was then that she took the opportunity to get her first good look at Jared, without so many layers. His shoulders were broad and muscular, covered in miles of golden skin. His hips were narrow and his ass… A clearing of his throat made her realize she had been staring and she quickly averted her eyes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. We’re married now. You’re allowed to look, in fact, I encourage it,” he smirked, giving her a small wink as he took his turn in the bathroom. His legs were impossibly long with thick, hard thighs.

After he finished, he threw on a t-shirt just as their breakfast was delivered. Y/N poured them both coffee as he took a seat. They dug into their meals, more ravenous than they realized.

“Exactly how much thought did you put into this honeymoon?” she asked, stealing a piece of bacon off his plate.

“Well, I did a bit of research, learned a few things, called a travel agent, gave a few details, made a few requests and here we are,” he replied, taking some of her fruit.

“What kind of research, Jared” she raised her eyebrows.

“The I talked to your mother kind of research. She shared with me some stories from your childhood and mentioned that you had been studying geology, specifically volcanoes, before your dad struck oil, only to change your major to business, with a minor in geology,” he stated. “Why?”

“It was a lifetime ago. A different lifetime. Things change, priorities change,” she dismissed his question. “Daddy needed my help.”

“You deserve to be happy, too, you know. To have something that is just yours,” he empathized, taking her hand in his. “We both do. To have something that is just ours.”

“I am happy,” she said. “Jared, why are you doing all of this for me? You barely know me.”

“I know enough to know that I like you and I want you to be happy. And we’re married now, so it kinda comes with the position of husband.”

“But…”

“No buts. Get showered, we’re exploring the city today,” he informed her.

~*~ 

The next three weeks were a whirlwind of travel, sights, sounds and emotions. The plan Jared laid out took them to all the places she had always wanted to visit, to study, to immerse herself in.

The week in Italy was enough to lose herself in, visiting Vesuvius, Etna and Stromboli. She had always dreamed of seeing active volcanoes, but it was more than she ever could have imagined. On top of that Jared had included Mayon Volcano in the Philippines as well as Mount Fuji in Japan.

It wasn’t until they reached their final stop, Hawaii Volcanoes National Park, that they were able to see an actual lava flow from Kilauea. Their hotel, or cottage really, was situated at the edge of the forest. The natural woodwork, open space and large windows gave the feel of living in the rainforest, not to mention it had one hell of a view.

“Jared?” Y/N whispered in the twilight as they shared a bottle of wine, his arm around her waist as they relaxed on the front steps of their small cottage overlooking the nature reserve. They had been in Hawaii for a week, but only had a couple days left and were enjoying as much as they could before heading home.

“Yes?” He looked down at her with such admiration, and something she couldn’t place. Her mind was all over the place, as her heart beat steady in her chest, pounding out a rhythm that matched his. Over the course of the last four weeks, she had gotten more than a glimpse of the man she had been forced to marry. He was kind, generous, humble as well as handsome and playful. He had melted her heart and breathed life back into her, like oxygen fueled a fire. The kisses and touches they’d shared on their journey only fanned the flames.

“I’m happy. I wanted you to know that,” she smiled up at him.

“That’s all I want for you,” he leaned in and pressed a sweet kiss to her lips, something that had become more and more common, and natural, for the two of them.

“You’ve shown me that I can have more than a career. You’ve given me adventure, spontaneity and fun. You’ve shown me kindness and love,” she murmured against the heat of his strong shoulder.

“I’ll always give you what you need and try to give you what you want,” he promised.

“You made me realize I want more than what I had. You made me realize what was missing the whole time. I want more with you. I want us to be a family. I love you and I want to start a family with you, Jare,” she confessed.

“You lov-, are you-, you want-. You want to have a baby?” he stuttered.

“Yeah, doofus,” she laughed, rising to her feet and holding her hand out to him.

“Oh.. Oh!” he said, as her intentions dawned on him. He rose and took her hand in his, pulling her flush to his chest. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“I’ve never been surer,” she giggled as Jared wrapped his strong arms around her and picked her up.

“More sure,” he corrected her.

“Shut up and kiss me,” she said, her eyes dark with lust.

He carried her through the cottage to the bedroom and gently laid her on the bed, following her down and hovered his long, lean body over hers. Their lips met with a passion and fire that rivaled all the volcanoes they had visited. It wasn’t rushed. It was slow, but needy, as all the emotions and want filled them.

They undressed each other slowly, taking in each soft curve and hard plane. Eyes and hands explored with tentative precision, ghosting over sun kissed skin. Whispers and whimpers filled the room, echoing into the jungle through the open windows. Declarations of love, cries of pleasure, and urges for more.

“Jared!” Y/N moaned, the fire in her belly becoming too much to bear as he thrust home time and time again. “I’m, I’m gon- come with me, Jared. Come in me, knock me up.”

Her words awakened something inside him, like a sleeping beast. His thrusts picked up speed as he spread her legs wider, watching where he disappeared inside her. “Yeah, you want me to fuck a baby in you? Fill you up with my seed?” His breaths were heavy as he fucked into her faster and faster, chasing both their ends.

“Oh god yes! Fill me up!” she screamed, reaching her end. Her body spasmed as her legs trembled against his hold.

“Oh god baby! I’m gonna- gonna fucking fill you up!” Jared groaned as his hips stuttered, his body rigid as he unloaded deep inside her.

Their heavy breaths and the wildlife outside were the only sounds that could be heard as their bodies and hearts calmed.

“That was incredible,” she sighed contently, her hand coming to rest on his chest.

“I don’t think they’ve invented words for what that was,” he chuckled softly, pulling her closer to him. “I love you.”

“I love you, Jared. Thank you for being my air,” she murmured, her eyes fluttering shut and slipping into a restful slumber, dreaming of their life together.

Did you like it? The nicest thing you can do for a writer is reblog their work and tell them, and others, how much you like it!

The Whole Enchilada: @iwantthedean @dolphincliffs @mrswhozeewhatsis @meganwinchester1999 @cherrycokegirls1 @closetspngirl  @roxyspearing @flamencodiva @blacktithe7 @sis-tafics @just-another-busyfangirl @evansrogerskitten @amanda-teaches @hannahindie @wotinspntarnation @winchesterprincessbride @winecatsandpizza @kickingitwithkirk  @wi-deangirl77 @hobby27 @mogaruke @gh0stgurl @paintrider13-blog  @alleiradayne @idreamofplaid

Jared’s Menagerie: @mtngirlforever​ @dean-winchesters-bacon

Others that might be interested, or have asked to be tagged: @saxxxology @thecleverdame @crispychrissy @cosicas-cuquis @wilde-abandon @fatalcrossbow @iamme0456 @kornerstone234

#spnkinkbingo #spnfluffbingo2019 #btz bingo #Jared Padalecki #jared padalecki au #jared x reader au

[sylvan-ingenue]

Shooting With Film in the Modern Age

In early 2018, my parents came into possession of my late-grandfather’s camera bag. Within it were several very expensive lenses and one Minolta xe-5. My father had a fairly good understanding of the camera considering he grew up with it, but never really had an eye or passion for photography. And although my mother was the one who asked my grandmother if we could take the bag, it soon began collecting dust on the kitchen floor.

So the line of succession fell to me, which was a perfectly OK thing. I already had a Polaroid camera since my senior year of high school, and had a Sony digital camera I had been using for the previous year. Which meant I was fairly excited to expand my skills as a photographer. What I didn’t prepare for, was film.

Polaroids were easy. You just pop the back open, slip in the cartridge, fire off a trial shot and you’re good to go. But I had never used film before. I ordered some batteries and a box of 35mm film off of Amazon, crossed my fingers, and hoped for the best. When it arrived, I found a PDF of the Minolta’s manual online and tried to follow the instructions to the best of my ability. Was the film in? Yes. Was it in correctly? Only time would tell.

My first time shooting with the camera felt fine. It was a warm May night and my friends, who are also photographers, took our annual trip to Nahant beach to start the summer off. The sunset was gorgeous, the ocean was a deep shade of blue, and the three of us were beaming. It was the perfect first shoot. That was until, it came time to develop the film.

I sat in the parking lot of Hunt’s Video Store with my parents while my dad cranked the lever to wind the film back into the canister.

“Weird,” he said. “It doesn’t feel right. Can you pop it open?”

I opened the back and there sat the film, out of the canister and fully exposed. There goes all my pictures.

I was devastated. Was it my fault for not putting the film in correctly? Or was it my dad’s fault for asking me to open the back knowing the film could have been exposed? It didn’t matter. We drove home in silence while I texted my friends that all the photos were gone.

It wasn’t until the end of summer that I would try again with the Minolta. This time, I had my dad put in the film, partially so that it had a higher chance of being done correctly, partially so I had someone to blame if things went wrong. I met up with my friends again for a very impromptu photoshoot at dusk in a backyard.

This time, there would be no mistakes. I went back to Hunt’s and had them remove the film, and a day later the pictures were ready. There were only a handful that were viable (the rest were test runs) but I was amazed by the visible difference between 35mm and my other cameras. Even though the images were grainier, and less focused, there was something so incredibly fascinating about them. They were vintage and timeless all at the same time. And I was addicted.

When I returned to Westfield that fall, I spent my first weekend in Stanley Park with two of my roommates and my Minolta. It was a brights and sunny day, the kind of day where it’s impossible to be sad. We wandered around while I snapped photo after photo. When the film was finished, we took a trip to Rite Aid.

Normally, I would go to Hunt’s considering they’re professionals. But the nearest store was in Holyoke while Rite Aid was around the corner. Regardless, they told me the photos would be ready in 2-3 weeks and I should call after 2 weeks. First red flag. I called 14 days later and my photos were still not ready. Second red flag. Three weeks later, I received a call telling me my photos were ready. Third red flag. I walked to the register and was handed an envelope containing blank film and zero photos.

Devastation again. This time though, I was fuming. I would later learn that you can tell from the film what destroys it and found that it was in fact Rite Aid that ruined it. And I couldn’t even hold them liable. On top of it all, it was another set of friends I disappointed by not having the photos I promised them.

It was at that point that I semi-gave up on film. At this point I had a 33% chance of actually getting photos in the end. Maybe film doesn’t have a place in the digital world. There’s obviously a reason it became obsolete and reserved for the few that openly seek it out. So, I put my Minolta away in the bag in my closet for several months.

Christmas day, I received a box full of dozens of 35mm film boxes. Would this be my redemption arc or the final nail in the coffin? I put the film in myself, a risky decision but I would have to learn eventually if I wanted this to work out. And I took pictures of the mundane. Windows, chairs, couches. Just things in my apartment. I wound up the film up in the pitch darkness of my bathroom (just to be safe), and brought it to Hunt’s over Spring Break.

Success! Hunt’s delivers once again. I was now up to a 50% success rate and beginning to crack the code. I tried again as soon as I got back to school, putting the film in once again. I took a chance and returned to Stanley Park, somewhat fearful of losing my pictures all over again. After some minimal trouble winding up the film, I returned to Hunt’s during Patriots Day weekend and thankfully, had another satisfied experience picking up my photos.

I think it’s safe to say at this point that I finally have an understanding of my Minolta. I’m saving the rest of my film for this summer, when the world is a little bit more vibrant. But one thing I can say is that film has taught me more life lessons than I could have ever expected.

I understand loss, and what it’s like to have my time and effort go to waste. I understand patience, and patience that may not even pay off (I’m looking at you, Rite Aid). And I’ve learned to never give up, even when I feel the whole world is pushing against me.

Film is not for the faint of heart. I’ve talked to professional photographers who use it sparingly, and have their own share of horror stories surrounding lost photos. But I’ve also talked to people who are enthralled by the visual aesthetic film, and have considered buying their own Minolta.

It’s not my place to decide if film has a place in the digital world. But what I can say is that I won’t be giving up on film anytime soon. I have much more work that needs to be done.

#photography #journalism #writing #film #film camera #memoir #nonfiction #creative #creative nonfiction #35mm #photographer

[armory-rasa]

Long tutorial time: How to Take Product Photos That Don’t Suck

If you’re trying to sell your handcrafted work online, then your photos matter so much -- I daresay almost more than the work itself.

“Upcycled” items that are literal trash (but attractively photographed!) can sucker people into paying actual money for them. And on the flip side, the best-quality leatherwork in the world is going to look dubious af when the product shots were obviously taken in someone’s kitchen, lit by fluorescent lights and a camera flash.

You will get more sales and you will be able to charge more for your work if you have professional-looking product photos -- not fair, maybe, but true. So today I am going to show you how to create decent-looking stock photos, ie, a picture of just the thing itself on a backdrop.

(The cat is unrelated -- clickbait, really.)

I’ll admit upfront that I am very, very far from being a photography expert, and I'm sure an expert could do better than me, but I can't afford an expert and probably neither can you. And this isn’t about the mechanics anyway, it’s about the setup, and just making these small changes can seriously up your game.

Step one: camera

Unless you've already got a good camera, your best bet is going to be a smartphone -- and make no mistake, smartphones are a close second, not a distant one. Modern smartphones are phenomenal, they’re far better than even slightly-dated digital cameras. They can't get you the soft-focus background that an actual, professional camera can (the lens simply isn't long enough), but you can approximate that effect with photoshop if you want to, and the set-up I'm demonstrating here doesn't need a fuzzed background anyway.

The only critical feature is that your camera can take sharp, in-focus pictures.

If you don't have a good smartphone, find a friend who does and beg/wheedle/blackmail/bully them into letting you use it for a bit.

Honestly, I've got a good camera, and half the time I still wind up using my phone because I’m too lazy to bust it out.

Step two: backdrop

There are a lot of artistic things you can do if you're taking pictures of a product in situ -- action shots, still lifes, pictures of it worn by models -- and all that will help your customers visualize themselves using the item, but it's also vital to have pictures of JUST the thing, pictures that cleanly and clearly show exactly what the customer is going to be receiving in exchange for the money they throw at you -- aka stock photos.

And for stock photos, you don't want to get creative with your background. In fact, if you can use the same background for many/most of your images, it will contribute to an attractive, coherent look for your shop. That means finding a neutral-toned backdrop that will work with any color item you put on top of it -- white, black, grey, beige, basically.

White can mean a lightbox...

(And there are a million tutorials online for how to rig up your own DIY lightbox)

...or another popular alternative is a white table pushed up against a white wall; the seam between the two is visible, but discreet enough that the eye glides right over it.

Black, you can do with cleverdick manipulation of the settings on an expensive camera, or you can find a non-reflective black backdrop -- which is easier said than done. Fine, dense, matte black velvet (think theatre curtains) is the go-to black backdrop, just make sure you run a lint roller over it before taking pics.

Any other color is going to depend on the backdrop you choose -- I personally have had excellent luck with some warm-grey velvet (?) yardage that I picked up for pennies at a goodwill a million years ago. (I’m not sure what it is -- it has the pile of velvet, but shorter?) I didn’t buy it for that purpose, but it’s since proven to be an incredibly versatile backdrop, and I’ve taken to using it for everything:

etc.

And even if you’re not stumbling onto a super-good-deal at goodwill, a yard or two of your chosen fabric will generally do you fine.

What I don’t recommend is:

- shiny fabric (anything shiny is overall more difficult to photograph -- and shiny spots will draw attention to themselves, rather than your product)

- vivid colors (limits what color items you can display on it; will often clash if the item is close-but-not-quite-the-same color (and what looks fine to your eye may not look fine on film); can distract from the item you’re showcasing)

- patterns (again, distracts from the centerpiece; draws attention to the background; moreover, is hell to clone-brush)

Here is all three of them being the perfect storm of not-a-good-stock-photo:

Which is not to say you can’t do something artistic with it...

...but it’s not very versatile, and it’s not exactly “stock photo” anymore.

One of the reasons I really really like velvet for a backdrop is that there’s nothing in the world easier to clone brush. Which happens, for instance, if I get my roll of photos transferred to the computer and realize there’s some lint I neglected to brush off, or if I was too lazy to iron my backdrop so it’s got wrinkles/creases in it, or if the angle I had to take the photograph from clipped the edge of the backdrop--

--it is super fuckin’ easy to clone all that out. (It also takes the burn tool really well, to darken the edges and point the viewer’s attention toward the middle of the picture, see above.)

Other backdrops that can work are fur (or faux fur):

The great outdoors: mulch, leaves, dirt, sand, etc--

(That was taken at my shitty old apartment complex, so I had to carefully remove the cigarette butts from the shot first. -_-)

(I admit I’ve mostly stopped using these kind of outdoor backdrops -- they’re harder to pull off than wood/concrete/fabric -- but in the hands of someone with an eye for composition, they can definitely be used to good effect, so I’m including them here anyway. You just want to make sure that the background isn’t distracting from the item, which you can sometimes do in post by darkening/fuzzing the background relative to the focal object.)

Concrete:

And wood:

In short, there are many things that are (1) unobtrusive and (2) neutral-colored that will make excellent backdrops.

Professional photography backdrops (essentially, the velvet I have) are close to true neutral, not affecting the “feel” of the picture at all, and there are tons of tutorials online to make your own DIY photography backdrops.

Conversely, you can also use a specific backdrop to help create the mood you want to convey for the piece -- concrete for gritty and urban; fur to evoke a rich and sumptuous feeling (or a primitive one, depending on what you’re selling); wood or rough-spun cloth for something rustic; dirt and leaves to take it back to nature.

I’m not going to say the sky’s the limit, because we’re talking stock photos not ARRRRT!!, you gotta rein it in a bit, but you do have a lot of options -- anything that’s not going to clash with the mood or distract from your product.

Step three: lighting

USE THE FUCKING SUN.

Don’t ever, ever use a flash for product photography, seriously, are you some kind of SAVAGE?

Cardinal sin right there; go straight to hell, do not pass go, etc. Lighting like that, your product looks like it’s drunk at a frat party.

Moreover, unless you are a wildly over-funded professional, and possibly not even then, there is no light source superior to the sun. Sure, if you finish your project at midnight and can’t wait to share it, take some snapshots in your shitty studio light and send them to your friends--

--but do not make that your product listing photo. You can do so much better.

(And notice the color difference too -- natural light tends to be much better at capturing color that is true-to-life. The second picture is far more accurate to the actual item.)

*

That said, direct sunlight is a HELL NO go. The shadows it casts are way too stark, and details can get lost because the camera has trouble navigating the gap between the super-dark parts of the picture and the super-bright parts.

And it turned out that I’d never bothered to keep any of the photos I took in direct sunlight (because they sucked), so for the purposes of this tutorial, I had to take a couple of my WIPs outside and go make some.

Direct sunlight:

The glare and the obvious shadows make these photos look strikingly amateurish. It draws attention to the background, highlights the fact that the bracers are just sitting in some lame dead grass. These photos look like someone finished making the bracer, carried it ten feet out into their backyard, and snapped a picture.

Which, yeah, is what we’re doing, but it doesn’t have to look it.

By contrast, indirect sunlight, when I move it four feet over into the shade of the house:

Right away, the diffused light (sort of soft-focus?) is more in line with what you see in professional photos. They still need editing before they’d be ready to roll out -- fiddling with contrast/saturation/white balance; clone-brushing out some of the distracting elements in the background; darker shading around the frame to center attention on the product -- but they have the potential to be decent photos now, instead of being critically flawed from the get-go.

When you’re using sunlight as your source, you’re usually going to be setting up either outside in the shade, or inside next to a window.

The context for some of these shots can also be hilariously un-sexy when you zoom out:

*

Sunlight tends to be much better at retaining the textural details of your work too, because more light means your camera can take a much quicker shot (low light = camera compensates by leaving the lens open longer to collect more light = blur).

If you want to really capture the fine texture of an item, natural light coming from one side (like through a window) is perfect, because of the shadows it casts:

On that note: if you’re trying to use a window as your light source, you may have trouble with the far side of the object being completely lost in darkness:

Which can be artistic, but doesn’t make for a great stock photo.

The solution is not to use another light source, but to use a reflector -- my go-to is white foam-core posterboard:

Which can fill in the shadows that are obscuring parts of your work:

Mirrors or foil can work for this too, but they tend to cast stark/uneven light, whereas the white board diffuses it, and diffusion is pretty much always what you want.

*

On the subject of diffusion: overcast days are your BEST FRIEND. They basically turn the whole sky into a lightbox for you. You get soft, beautiful light from all directions, muted enough to reduce glare, but there’s still more than enough light to keep your camera happy and your details sharp. 

(Man I wish there were more clouds where I lived.)

Here’s an interesting little contrast -- this one was taken on a sunny day, but in the shadow of my house, using a white reflector to move light around:

And then the very next day we had rain, and I was like, hell yeah, and took it outside for more pics:

Obviously both have had the contrast increased to bring out the details, but the mood difference between the two is 100% the weather.

*

And that is FAR from everything there is to say on the subject of photography lighting, but for the purposes of amateur product photography, those are the important bits.

TL;DR:

- Natural light

- Diffused light

*

Step 4: post-production

This is also not something I’m an expert in, I’ve learned just enough to get by and called it good enough. (It’s why I lean on overcast days whenever I can, because it eliminates a lot of the lighting problems that I don’t know how to fix in post.)

But here are some of the things that you will find yourself needing to know, and should be looking up how-to’s on for your graphics editor of choice:

White balance/saturation

Light comes in different colors, but the human eye automatically compensates for it, so often times something looks good to your eyes, but then comes out way funky on film.

Indoor lighting tends to be yellow-hued, because that’s what feels warm and comfortable to humans, but it looks nasty in photographs:

Natural light tends to be white (which is why it gives you more accurate colors), getting more blueish as it heads toward evening:

You can compensate for both by adjusting the white balance, in which the program figures out what white is supposed to look like, and then calibrates all the other colors in the picture accordingly.

Brightness/contrast

Is it bright enough to see the details? Is the contrast high enough to make the details POP, instead of blending together into a muddle?

You can apply brightness/contrast adjustments to the full image, and then (if necessary) go in by hand with the burn/dodge tool (brightness up/brightness down) and add extra highlights.

(Don’t go overboard on this though -- this isn't art, this is a product photo, and if you take it too far from the real object, you are lying in your advertising.)

Blur/sharpen

Are the focal points sharp? Sharp areas of an image are what draws the eye, so if your photos are blurry, they’re no good and there’s no fixing them -- grab your camera and go take some more.

Is your background less sharp than the foreground? A too-sharp background will distract from the central point, so sometimes you can put a very subtle blur on it to trick the eye into ignoring it. (Dropping the brightness and the contrast are also both ways to make the background less eye-catching.)

Clone brush

Basically a mini copy-paste tool, you grab parts of the image and copy it onto other parts. This is good for tidying up your background -- coloring in corners that your backdrop didn’t cover, or removing distracting irregularities.

Again, this is one to be used sparingly, because this is product photography, it needs to be accurate, not idealized. You don’t get to scrub off the imperfections and make it look like you’re better at [whatever] than you are.

The only time I consider it acceptable to use the clone brush tool on the actual product is for editing out flaws in the leather itself. It’s a stock photo; customers are not going to be getting the exact item shown in the photo. I’ll be making a new one for them, one that’s not going to have those exact flaws. (It’ll have excitingly new and different flaws! Such is the nature of organic materials.)

Edge gradients

A subtle shadow around the edge of your picture brings the whole thing together, makes the background recede a bit, and directs the eye toward the centerpiece. Too heavy a hand with this will still look nice, but more staged; it alerts the viewer that you’ve been photoshopping and kills the “I woke up like this~” illusion.

Relatively natural:

Dramatic!

Watermarking

You want people to be able to find their way back to you when your work inevitably gets cross-posted without the source (fuck you in the face, pinterest), so it’s not enough to put your initials or abstract logo or illegible signature on it, you need your google-able name or company name.

At the same time, people have been known to crop out (or clone-brush out) watermarks that are big and tacky, so it’s in your best interests to make your watermark tasteful and inoffensive. (Also: ugly watermarks just bring down your whole image, seriously.)

Some of the pictures above are old enough that they’re sporting my older & less professional-looking watermarks, but what I use at the moment is this:

(But, y’know, smaller.)

Best way to do watermarks is usually to create another layer over your image and blend the two. For dark logo/light background, the settings for the new layer are 1) blend mode: multiply, 2) opacity: 85% (adjust as needed). For light logo/dark background, the blend mode is probably going to be “soft light.” And then just paste your logo in the corner of the new layer -- the blend mode means your logo doesn’t have to be transparent, the program just ignores the parts that are lighter/darker than the background.

*

And that, I believe, is the end. o_O I had no idea I had so many opinions on the subject of product photography.

Again -- I’m not a pro. I don’t know how to use 99% of my camera settings or 80% of my graphics program. (For fuck’s sake, my go-to graphics editor is the bootleg version of Paintshop Pro that I acquired in 1997.) This post represents the sum total of my knowledge on the subject.

But it just goes to show that you can do a lot with only a little, and that your composition and sense of aesthetics are far more important than what gear you’ve got.

#y'all should reblog this #because there are people who NEED TO SEE THIS #much obliged #gremble has opinions #tutorial #photography #diy #making this yo business #long-form tutorial

[the-adaa]

“People Are Rewarded by Close Looking” – Kathan Brown of Crown Point Press on the Enduring Excitement of Printmaking

By Sarah Evers • May, 2019

Photo by Laurie Fraenkel.

Crown Point Press is not your typical gallery; not often do you find an entire printing operation in the same venue as a dynamic exhibition space. Kathan Brown, a pioneer of printmaking in the San Francisco Bay Area, started Crown Point Press in 1962 in a storefront in Richmond, California. Moving to Berkeley and then Oakland in the early years, and settling in San Francisco in 1986, Crown Point began by printing and publishing Bay Area artists including Richard Diebenkorn, Beth Van Hoesen, Wayne Thiebaud, and Robert Bechtle. From 1971 through 1976, Brown and her printers also produced artist projects for New York publisher Parasol Press, which sent Sol LeWitt, Brice Marden, Dorothea Rockburne, and other East Coast artists to work at Crown Point.

What began as a studio focusing on the production of etchings has now expanded to the Crown Point Press of today: a renowned etching studio that is also an authority on printmaking and an important presence in San Francisco’s expanding gallery scene. Crown Point's location around the corner from the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art is one reason why visitors to the gallery come from around the world, but the reputations of its artists and the importance of the books it publishes are a stronger factor. A passion for teaching others about the etching process is an essential component of Crown Point's operations and makes the press stand out from a traditional gallery model.

The underlying message behind all Crown Point's operations is the importance of printmaking, especially etching, along with a passion for keeping the art form alive. Its how-to books on hand-printing processes enable artists anywhere to have successful access. Videos of artists working at the press are available online, so anyone can witness the intricacies of the work. Crown Point Press also hosts summer workshops in which people across a spectrum of experiences can try their hands at etching.

We spoke to Brown about opening her own business, her relationships with local artists, the expansion of the workshop into a gallery, and more.

When did you first become interested in visual art?

I come from an art family. My mother went to the Art Institute of Chicago, and was a practicing artist all her life. She never stopped doing watercolors and drawings, even though it was not easy during the Depression when she was working full-time. My father was a professional photographer and we had a darkroom in our house. I made drawings and paintings with my mother and helped my father develop photographs in our basement. Art was all around me when I was young.

How did you originally become interested in etching?

I studied at Antioch College, which was not known as an art school but had a very good liberal education and was experimental back in the days when most colleges weren’t. When I told my art professor I was going to take a year off to study in London, he offered to get me into the Central School of Art. I said, “I’m not an art major,” and he said, “You should be.” He was persuasive. After a year abroad, I came back to graduate from Antioch with a major in art, and after graduation I returned to London for a second year at Central.

At the end of my second year in London I visited Edinburgh and discovered a dismantled etching press in the backyard of the rooming house where I was staying. The landlady said that students had brought it there to save it from being melted down for scrap during the war. “If you want it, you can take it,” she said. I had a plane ticket to return home, and I turned it in, got a ticket on a freighter, and took the press with me. That press is here at Crown Point now, though we have others we use more.

The press from Scotland in the Crown Point studio.

How did Crown Point Press begin?

In 1959, soon after I finished my schooling, I married Jeryl Parker, an artist whom I had met in London. We installed my press in the studio of an artist-friend, John Ihle, and lived in an apartment across the street. Our son Kevin was born in 1961. In 1962 Jeryl and I rented a storefront space in Richmond, an industrial town next to Berkeley, and lived in a little apartment in the back. We set up an etching workshop in the storefront; that year I got a business license for Crown Point Press. Jeryl was teaching at the College of Arts and Crafts in Oakland, and I ran the shop. I didn't publish at the time; a few local artists paid an hourly fee to work in the studio and have technical advice from me. I was also working as a typist for a company that supplied temporary services to banks and insurance companies.

In 1964, Jeryl and I separated and my grandmother helped me buy a house in Berkeley; it had a big basement for the press, and I could look after Kevin while I worked. I was able to hold classes in my basement studio for the University of California at Berkeley's extension program, and I invited artists to do projects that I printed and Crown Point Press published.  I also worked on my own art in the studio, and in 1964 published a bound book of my etchings accompanied by poetry by Judson Jerome, whom I had met in my college years.

Kathan in the Berkeley studio with her son, Kevin, 1965.

A friend suggested that Richard Diebenkorn might be interested in trying out the etching process. She said he liked using different kinds of mark making, and recommended me to him. He took plates to his studio, and when a painting would get “stuck,” as he said, he would copy the image onto a plate. It would be simplified and print backwards, and this was useful to him. He thought of etching as “a way of drawing.” Diebenkorn was the first artist (besides myself) that Crown Point published. Wayne Thiebaud, who at the time was showing in the San Francisco gallery that showed my own work, was the second.

Richard Diebenkorn, #19, from 41 Etchings Drypoints, 1963, drypoint. Courtesy Crown Point Press, San Francisco.

How did your business grow over the years, from the single press in your home to the current size of Crown Point Press?

In the ‘60s and ‘70s, in addition to holding workshops and publishing and printing artists from California (Diebenkorn, Thiebaud, and Van Hoesen at first, then Bechtle, Tom Marioni, William T. Wiley, Robert Hudson, Chris Burden, Terry Fox), from Europe (Daniel Buren), and New York (John Cage, Joan Jonas, Pat Steir, Robert Barry, Hans Haacke). I also did quite a lot of printing for Parasol Press. Parasol sent New York artists to me: Sol LeWitt, Brice Marden, Robert Ryman, Mel Bochner, Dorothea Rockburne, Sylvia Plimack Mangold, and Robert Mangold. The owner of Parasol Press, Bob Feldman, was very supportive and showed me that it was possible to operate this kind of business.

Wayne Thiebaud, Banana Splits, from Delights, 1964. Courtesy Crown Point Press, San Francisco.

What is the structure of the summer workshops at Crown Point?

We usually have ten people in one workshop with three printers. I start out with an introduction, basically outlining the concepts behind the process. Some of the people who attend have experience in the field, but some have never done etching before. Some are laymen in the art world; others are professional artists. Some teach printmaking. In the workshop everyone has a working space and people begin by getting a plate and starting to work. When they run into something they can’t figure out, they go to a printer, and the printer says “You need to use more of this, less of that,” or maybe they demonstrate: “Copy my gesture for wiping the plate.” That’s the way the workshops are run; they are very individual.

I generally poke around in the workshop, talk to people. I don’t actually do any work in the studio anymore, although I did everything there for a long time, and I understand what goes on there. All our Crown Point printers are really good, and they’ve got it figured out; they know exactly how to handle it all.

The workshops are only in summer, but all year long we have tours, lots of school tours and groups from out-of-town museums, so people can get a sense of what’s going on here. We also sell books about printmaking and art in general. We publish some of the books ourselves, usually when we think they wouldn’t exist otherwise.

The studio during a summer etching workshop, 2018. Courtesy Crown Point Press, San Francisco.

Have there been any developments in printmaking technology that you’ve used in your workshops?

We pretty much do it the same way Rembrandt and Goya did, except with more color. Not much has changed from back when they did it; I think that’s one of the interesting parts. A lot of the process involves using materials and techniques an artist may not use regularly, such as drawing on copper plates using tar, wax, salt, and sugar syrup. It’s all hand done and the materials are so tactile and beautiful.

Tom Marioni creating the etching, The Sun’s Reception, Sausalito, CA, 1974. Courtesy Crown Point Press, San Francisco.

How have you balanced the workshops with the operation of the gallery business?

In 1988, I moved Crown Point Press from Oakland to San Francisco, and Valerie Wade joined us. Her title now is Director/Partner. She handles the gallery side of the business, attending art fairs and developing our network as well as planning and hanging our shows. She and I also discuss which artists to invite to create prints here.

How do you choose the artists you invite?

That is the single most-asked question I get at Crown Point, and I am still unsure how to answer it. Valerie and I are glad to have recommendations from artists who have already worked here, and she is in touch with the art world in general through her attendance at art fairs and her day-to-day networking. In our publishing program, we can only accommodate three, maybe four, artist projects in a year because the printing process is so time-consuming; if we are to stay in business, our published artists must already have developed markets. But, don't forget, we also have summer workshops that anyone can join.

Which artists have worked with you recently, and who are you excited about now?

We’re always excited about the artists who work here, and we always have a great time with them. Charline von Heyl has been here fairly recently, and I like her, and her work, a lot. We had a wonderful show of new (and older) work by Darren Almond, who came from England, last fall. Mary Heilmann is very good. We showed her new color etchings last year. And we have a new project scheduled with Laura Owens, who is from Los Angeles and has worked with us before. Also, I'm hoping we might have a new project this year with Wayne Thiebaud, who was one of the first artists I worked with back in the 1960s; we have published his prints regularly over the years.

Charline von Heyl in the Crown Point studio, 2014. Courtesy Crown Point Press, San Francisco.

Can you tell us about the current show in the gallery?

The 2019 springtime exhibition at Crown Point Press focuses on a set of four recent etchings by Los Angeles artist Mary Weatherford. She is known for attaching lighted neon tubes to the surfaces of her paintings; the prints, without neon, have a strong interior light. “Gesture,” the accompanying group exhibition, reaches back into Crown Point's history to Brice Marden’s “Five Plates” of 1973, and includes later work by Pat Steir, Mary Heilmann, Amy Sillman, Charline von Heyl, Jacqueline Humphries, and John Zurier. In June and July we're featuring a bound book of etchings about California by Fred Martin titled “Beulah Land.” Crown Point published it in 1968; this show is part of a citywide celebration of The Dilexi Gallery, which was an important influence in San Francisco's art history.

Installation view of “Mary Weatherford,” 2019. Courtesy Crown Point Press, San Francisco.

Do you have any advice for collectors who want to learn more about print as a medium?

I think people are rewarded by close looking. These prints have dimension; it might seem, at first, like they’re printed on a flat sheet of paper, but they are actually embossed into it. This is the only print process that does that; in lithography, woodcut, silkscreen, the ink sits on top.

Etchings have a special energy when you look at them closely. I think that when people are able to see this, a light comes on inside and they think, “oh, this is really something different.” And then the door is open to a real appreciation of the process. We aren't just making a drawing on a plate, putting some ink on it, and printing it. It’s much more complex, and although the artist has technical help from our printers, everything is in the artist's control completely.

If you can visit us in San Francisco, you will be welcome; we give tours that include the studio. (If an artist is working in there, we have a secondary studio you can see.) Some of the people who take our summer workshops are collectors. Some are artists, but we also get people who come in and say, “I’m not an artist, or a collector, but I want to find out how it’s done.” This curiosity is always rewarded. No matter how the drawing starts out, when it’s printed, it looks purposeful, because the printing, in itself, provides a kind of presence.

Installation view of “Green by Richard Diebenkorn: The Story of a Print,” 2017. Courtesy Crown Point Press, San Francisco.

Do you have some advice for somebody thinking of opening a gallery right now?

It’s important to establish a close connection to the artists in your network. We learn about interesting artists through word of mouth from the artists we already work with. You also should be ready to pounce on something new as soon as you can. My partnership with Valerie Wade has been essential, as she’s really out in the world and can get a sense of what's going on and which artists might be ready for a project with us.

Looking back, I’m astonished by some of the things Crown Point Press has done. We've printed and published a lot of great art, and the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D. C. and the Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco both have archives of our work. We are lucky to have had a lot of goodwill over the years. Some of the workshop people and printers who have worked here have opened their own workshops. The artists who work with us generally become engaged with what we are doing and often return for another project. We publish books on the etching processes so everyone can learn, and we hope more artists and more printers will become interested in using this medium. The technology is very old, and I think people appreciate the fact that we’re helping to keep it alive.

#Gallery Chat #ADAA Galleries #Crown Point Press

[forever-more-never-again]

Greek Mythology-The Lore of Medusa

I do not own Supernatural*Gif not mine*

This was supposed to be a short drabble story but then I got carried away and whoops its now its ~5500 words

sorta fluff?

This is my second Supernatural Fic, so please leave feedback and comments if you like it!

Warnings: Death, Swearing, Kidnapping, Snakes (I feel like that needs to be a warning), Typical Supernatural killing

Sam Winchester X Reader

Egyptian Lore of Anubis

Masterlist

“So get this,” Sam walked into the Bunker’s conference room, laptop balanced on his hands as he sat across from Dean who was stuffing his face with a burger. Same grimaced at him, “Dude, really?”

Dean frowned, wiping the grease from his chin, “I’m a warrior Sammy, I need my meat. Anyways,” He took a swig from his beer, “What do you have that’s so important.”

Sam shook his head at his brothers antics but got back to his original point. “I think I got us a case. Look here,” He turned the computer so that Dean could see the police report that had caught Sam’s eye, “Victim was found by hikers in the city of Seattle, Washington. Looks like he was turned to stone...literally. Police are saying he was possibly dumped in cement, but autopsy shows no compounds of any regular cement product. And,” Sam raised his finger to emphasize this point, “His eyes were wide open and seemed to be turned into stone as well.”

Dean took another swig of his beer as he pulled the laptop closer. “Hmm, definitely looks like our kind of thing. Any clue about what it might be?”

He glanced up to Sam, who had already stood up and was pulling down lore books from the shelf. “It doesn’t fit any criteria of monsters we’ve seen before. This will be one with a lot of research, I’m certain.”

Dean groaned, “And you know how much I just love research.”

Sam smirked at his older brother, “Well how bout this, you drive and I’ll start looking for something to help us. We’re headed to Seattle.”

*Time Jump*

The winchesters had went straight to the Seattle Police Department Headquarters. After going through the whole FBI introduction, one of the officers led them to the morgue.

“So agents, here he is, the poor bastard.” The overweight officer led the brothers into the morgue, where the body was laid out on a slab.

Sam looked taken aback at the cop’s tone, “Did you know the victim, Officer Mcgowan?”

The officer chuckled as he looped his hands through his belt, “Knew him? Hell every woman within a twenty mile radius knew him. Mr. John Buckley here was a regular womanizer. He was a bit of an asshole, he’s got a list of sexual harassment allegations.”

Sam squirmed a bit as he glanced at Dean. Dean spoke up, as he prodded the stone body, ‘So who found him?”

The officer pulled out his notepad and flipped through a couple pages, “That would be one Miss [y/f/n] [y/l/n]. She was out taking her dog for a hike on one of our more scenic trails when her dog started going nuts. Said he got free and when she found him off the trail, there was John Buckley. Petrified.”

Sam nodded at the officer, “If you don’t mind, we’ll need her address and phone number to contact her. And if we could see those sexual harassment  reports as well?”

The officer let out a sigh, his cheeks puffing out making his beard look fuller. “It’s your playground agents. I’ll see that you get all the specifics.” At that he walked out of the morgue.

Sam waited until he was sure that the officer was out of earshot before turning to Dean, who was now poking at the open eyes of the man on the table.

“Dean!”

Dean looked up, “What? I’m just seeing if its actually stone.”

Sam shook his head exasperated as he read through the information on the man. “Well looks like Officer Mcgowan was telling the truth. This Mr. Buckley was known for taking pictures up women's skirts. Pressing advances onto unwilling woman. Stalking them. He really was the neighborhood creep.”

Dean sighed, straightening up, “Which means every woman in this town is a suspect.”

Sam sighed as well, turning on his phone he googled the address of the victim, “Well I say let’s go check out his house, see if there is any clues there and then go speak to the witness.”

Dean walked past his brother, trench coat swinging past his legs as he walked out of the room back to the officer desk to pick up the information.

Soon they were parked in front of the vics house. Sam straightened up as he stepped out of the Impala and whistled, “Wow, for a creep he sure liked to live in style.”

They were in one of the nicer parts of Seattle, close to Pike Place Market. The house they stood in front of was two stories. White marble pillars and what looked to be ivy wrapped around the base.

Dean pushed past Sam to get inside, excitement evident in his body language. “Oh my god! Sammy! He has a HD Flat Screen 55in TV on his wall! And look, look at this,” Dean raced over to the staircase which had paintings on the wall, “This is a rendition of Van Gogh's starry night!”

Sam looked at his brother out of the corner of his eyes, a smirk growing on his face, “And since when were you a collector of the arts?”

Dean brushed his brother off, “Oh stuff it Sam. Let’s check out his bedroom.”

They headed up the staircase and walked down a hallway to what appeared to be the master suite. Dean pulled out his EMF device and nodded to Sam to open the door, who had his gun pulled out. Slowly they walked into the room. There was piles of clothes everywhere. Fancy sport memorabilia on the walls. A king size bed took center stage with a velvet canopy. Dean snorted when he saw that. Same frowned at him and nudged his head at the closet that was on Dean’s right.

Dean looked down at the EMF reader as he pulled open the closet, noticing no signs radiating from it. When he glanced up, his jaw dropped. “Uhh Sam...You need to see this.”

Sam sighed under his breath, and walked over, “What is it De..wow.” He froze next to his brother.

There on the back wall of the empty closet hung hundreds of pictures of women. Some looked to be professional shoots and others looked like they had been taken while hiding in bushes peering into windows.

Sam looked at all of them. ‘Dean...Look at the ones on the bottom.”

Dean paused at his brothers tone before turning his gaze down to where Sam’s eyes were glued. There, on the bottom of the wall were photos of the same woman, over and over again. In different settings. The woman had stylish [h/c] hair and piercing [e/c] eyes that in some pictures could be seen smiling or laughing. Some pictures showed her walking on a trail, the picture taker obviously hiding off on the side of the trail. Others showed the woman sitting on a couch inside a house. Others had the woman in the backyard playing with a black lab dog, the pictures appearing to have been taken from above, as if from a tree or drone.

Dean looked disgusted as he met Sam’s eyes, “I’m glad somebody got that bastard before I did. He was a true monster.”

Sam started to nod before he shook his head, shutting the door to the closet, hiding the secret they had just unearthed, “That may be true Dean, but we still need to find out what did this to him. I looked back through dad’s journal and the lore books and I can’t find anything on people turning to stone.”

Dean walked around the bedroom before stopping at a desk with a laptop on it. Pulling out the chair he fired it up. “What if it’s not something in lore? What if it's something simple like a lake or a buildup of calcium from being under water?”

Sam came to stand behind Dean as he typed in ‘things that can turn people into stone’.

“I don’t think that’s what it is Dean, this guy obviously had a lot of enemies and if anyone knew about that,” Same gestured back to the closet, “Then someone would definitely have it out for him. We should go and chat with the woman, [y/n], who found his body.”

Dean waved him off, “Yeah, why don’t you go talk to her, I’ll dig around a bit more, see what I can find.”

Sam headed towards the door laughing, “This coming from the man who bemoaned the idea of any research.”

Dean shook his head, a smile on his face. “Go Sammy. I’ll walk back to the motel when I’m done here, and when you come back to the motel, bring some Pie.”

Sam shook his head but headed out of the victims house and hopped in the Impala. Pulling out the notepad where he had written the address, he headed towards the market place.

Trying to find parking in one of the most popular places of Seattle was making Sam frustrated. People were parking in the middle of the street because of lack of parking spaces.

Trying to reign in his anger he pulled around the block, seeing an opening in front of a driveway. He swiftly pulled the Impala in before looking up at the modest one story house he had parked in front of.

It was the residence of the witness, luck was with him. Pulling out his FBI badge and putting on his best jacket, he walked up to the door.

Knocking twice, he waited for someone to answer as he look around the block. He noticed a giant weeping willow right beside the house and took notice of how it would provide the perfect angle for someone to take pictures of the inside of the house and the backyard.

He took a step back when he heard barking coming from behind the door followed by a woman’s laugh and stern, “Down Pepsi! Good boy.” The barking stopped as a young woman opened the door.

She still had a slight smile on her face as she tilted her head up to meet Sam’s eyes. But Sam was stuck. It was the same woman from the bottom pictures in Mr. Buckley’s closet. The woman in front of him had the most beautiful face he had ever seen. He was captivated by her [e/c] eyes that seemed to sparkle with laughter.

The woman was also frozen. The man on her doorstep was a giant, with sandy brown hair and the warmest brown eyes she had ever seen. Shaking herself from her stupor she leaned against the door as she felt Pepsi nudge her legs trying to get past. “Can I help you?”

The man seemed to realize he was staring as he pulled a badge out of his pocket, “Special agent Zepplin, Ma’am. I need to ask you a few questions about that body you found a few days ago.”

[y/n] took a step back, smile now gone, as she invited the agent into her house, “FBI, huh, didn’t know you guys looked into this sort of thing.” She walked in front, leading the man into her living room. “Pepsi behave.” She scolded as her dog sniffed the man’s shoes.

“It’s standard procedure. Sometimes life gets a little boring in the office.” He chuckled as he bent to scratch the black lab’s ears. Pepsi seemed satisfied in his examination as he chuffed and then walked over to the fireplace to lay down.

“Can I get you anything? A water? Soda?” [Y/n] fidgeted slightly as the FBI sat on her couch, he shook his head, “Im good. I just have a few questions for you and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

[y/n] took a breath and then sat on the loveseat across from the agent. She ran her hand through her [h/c] hair, missing the look the agent gave her when she did.

Sam coughed, as he pulled out his notebook. “So the day you found the victim, he was not on the trail you were on, correct?”

[y/n] nodded, “Yeah, if Pepsi hadn’t gotten loose from his leash I wouldn’t have found him at all. He was a good ways off the trail, in the middle of the woodlands.”

Sam nodded and continued, “And when you found him, he was already stone?”

[Y/n] nodded again, rubbing her hands on her jeans, “Yeah, I thought it was cement, but then I saw that his eyes were wide open and were stone as well. I don’t know who could’ve done that to John.”

Sam noticed her naming the victim, “So you knew John.”

[Y/n] gave a cynical laugh, “Who didn’t know him? He was a menace. Always starting fights, stalking women. It became dangerous for women to walk anywhere alone. That’s part of the reason I got Pepsi from the shelter.” She smiled at her dog who started wagging his tail at the mention of his name.

Sam smiled, “You rescued him from a shelter?”

He couldn’t help feeling a tug on his heart at her soulful smile and the way her eyes filled with love as she looked at her dog, “Yes, I went in with the idea of getting a mean looking dog to protect me, but as soon as I saw his small little frame shivering in that kennel, I knew I needed to take him home with me.”

Sam reluctantly tore his gaze away from her face as he looked down at his last question, “Do you know anyone who would be motivated enough to do this to John Buckley?”

[Y/n] tore her attention from her dog, “Every woman hated John, but no one in this town would kill him. We reported him to the police enough we figured someone would stop him, I just didn’t think it would be by killing him.”

Sam stood up, walking towards the door. [y/n] followed him. As he stood on the porch he looked back at her, “Thank you for your time [y/n].”

She smiled at the handsome FBI Agent, “Any time agent. If you have any more questions please don’t hesitate to find me. I���d love to spend more time with you.”

Sam flushed a little at her words, while [y/n] silently screamed in her head in mortification for saying them.

Sam let a smile creep onto his face as he handed her a card with his number on it. “Call me if anything else pops up.”

She nodded and closed the door.

Sam let out a breath he wasn’t realizing he was holding. As he walked back to the Impala his phone went off. Digging it out he answered, “Yeah?”

He heard Dean on the other line, “Sam I think I know what we're hunting and you’re not gonna believe it.”

Sam ducked into the Impala, starting her up, “What do you mean? What could we be hunting here?”

He heard the click of a keyboard as Dean answered breathlessly, “I think we're hunting Medusa.”

Sam laughed, “As in the woman with snakes for hair? That’s just a myth Dean.”

Dean let out an exasperated sigh, “Sam our lives are a myth. If demons and Angels exist then why wouldn’t Greek mythology? It says here that Medusa can turn anyone into stone with one glance and that she, wait for it, has a penchant for going after unfaithful and lust filled men.”

Sam started driving back to the motel they were staying at, keeping his brother on the phone, “You really think a Gorgon is behind this?”

Dean was getting excited now, “Yes, and get this, she was banished to an island, Seattle is next to the water, the body was found in the woodlands, I think she is hiding out in a cave.”

Sam sighed, he pulled up in front of the motel. Dean paused, “Hey, how did speaking with that witness go? Find out anything useful?” Sam grumbled as he shut off the engine and walked towards the room. He hung up on Dean as he opened the door and saw him sitting at the small table with his laptop open in front of him.

Dean put down his phone and turned to his brother, “So? How’d it go? And where’s my pie?”

“I don’t have your pie, and, ‘He continued despite Dean’s glare, “The witness knows next to nothing. [y/n] is just a sweet woman who had to handle a pervy man just as well as she could under the circumstances.”

Dean’s glare turned into a smirk as he noticed how uncomfortable Sam looked and how he was fidgeting. “You like this girl, don’t you Sammy boy?”

Sam sputtered, “What? How? No!”

Dean leaned back in his chair, arms crossing triumphantly across his chest, “Sammy has a crush, awwww.”

Sam gave Dean his bitch face, “Cut the crap Dean, go back to explaining how we can kill this thing so we can get back to Kansas.”

Dean, still smirking, pushed his laptop around so that both brothers could see it. “It’s pretty simple, we have to cut off her head.”

Sam peered at the screen, “Yeah, but it says here we can’t look directly at it or else we risk turning to stone. How do you plan to avoid that?”

Dean scratched his head, “I hadn’t planned that far ahead yet. In the myth it says this guy Persues flew on winged sandals to her cave and used his shield as a kind of mirror so that he wasn’t looking right at her when he cut off her head.”

Sam went to his duffel, pulling out his knives and machetes, “Well, I’m fresh out of shoes with wings and I don’t have a shield at the moment, can you think of an alternative?”

Dean typed into the computer looking for answers as he answered his brother, “I’ll find something, don’t worry. I also think I know where her cave is, so we can find her.”

Sam made a noise of agreement, becoming distracted by the thought of [y/n]. His phone started buzzing, snapping him from his trance. He looked quickly at the number and not recognizing it, answered, “Hello?”

“Hello Agent Zepplin, I know it’s a little early to call, as you just left my house, but I remembered something.”

Sam’s voice caught in his throat as soon as he heard that breathy voice on the other end.

“Agent Zepplin? You there?” She let out a nervous laugh at the silence on the other end.

Sam felt a hand on his shoulder and he turned to Dean who now stood behind him mouthing ‘who is it’. Sam put up a finger and cleared his throat, “Not a problem [Y/n].” Dean’s eyes widened, “What did you remember?”

Sam shooed Dean away as he leaned closer to the phone. [Y/n] sounded cautious as she responded, “Well I’m not sure how much help it will be to you, but about a week before John Buckley disappeared and showed up dead, he was seen hanging out with this gorgeous redhead. She always wore a hat and giant sunglasses, but he seemed to be enjoying her attention. She laid herself all over him in very public displays and he would leer at her when she wasn’t looking. Never seen the woman before, and after John showed up dead, it was like she just up and left. Haven’t seen her since.”

Sam gestured at Dean to follow him out to the Impala, grabbing his machete as he went. By now it was near Nine o'clock and it was nearly pitch black outside.“And you’re positive you’ve never seen this woman before then?”

“I’m sure. Pepsi always acted really strange whenever we crossed paths. It was like he was afraid of her. I never got a name, but she always smiled and waved at me when I saw her.”

Dean mouthed at Sam as they got in the Impala ‘Pepsi?”

Sam waved him off again, “[Y/n] I need you to really think, you never saw this woman again?”

[Y/n] chewed her lip. She was sitting on her couch relaxing, Pepsi curled up by her feet as she talked to the handsome agent on the phone. Before she could reply she heard the doorbell ring. Pepsi looked at the door before he suddenly stood up and whimpered, tail between his legs backing away. “ I’m sorry agent, someone is at my door, hold on.”

Sam sucked in a breath, holding his hand over the speaker of his phone he whispered to Dean, “Drive to that address for [Y/n]. I have a bad feeling about this person who just appeared at her door.”

Dean nodded, face hardening in determination as he gunned his Baby to the street. Sam kept his ear pressed to the phone, trying to catch any snippets from the other line.

[Y/n] walked to the door, holding her phone to her chest. She opened it, surprised when she saw the same woman she had been describing to the agent. The woman still had on giant sunglasses, even though the sun had gone down and had a giant hat on her head, only allowing wisps of red curls to be seen.

“Hello [Y/n]. We have a lot to talk about.” And with that the woman lunged forward and [Y/n]’s world went dark.

Back in the Impala Sam heard the line go dead. He slammed his phone on the dash, “Drive Dean! I think the Gorgon just attacked [Y/n]!”

Dean accelerated faster as he glanced at Sam, “Why would it do that? It only attacks men. Not women. “

Sam, now in fear for the woman who managed to produce emotion from him, ran his hand through his hair as he tracked where they were from the window, “I don’t know Dean but if it is the Gorgon we need to stop it before it kills [Y/n]. You weren’t there. She’s the nicest, sweetest person I’ve met and she doesn’t deserve to go out like that.”

Dean knew that now wasn't the time to tease his brother, but his heart lifted at the tone he heard in his brother’s voice. When this was over, he for sure was going to pursue this [y/n] thing Sam had.

In what seemed to be hours later, but was actually just a couple of minutes, they pulled up outside of [Y/n]’s house. Dean looked over at his brother, “So how do you want to go in?”

Sam looked down at his phone in his hand, an idea forming in his head. “Dean turn on your camera on your phone.”

Dean looked confused but did what Sam said, slowly realizing what Sam was thinking. “You want to look through the camera rather than look right at it, that way this Medusa chick can’t turn us to stone!”

Sam nodded, face serious, as he got out of the car and headed to the door. Dean scrambled out and jogged to catch up, “Slow down man, we aren’t going to save her if we just rush in there.”

Sam sighed, but slowed down. Finally they reached the door, Sam gave Dean a look when he saw that the door was slightly opened. Dean nodded at Sam as they both raised their phones so that they could look through them.

Sam led them in, glancing around the living room. He raised his machete when he heard a sound but lowered it as it registered, “Pepsi?” He whispered. In response another whimper was heard and Sam saw the black lab crawl out from under the couch.

Sam crouched down to the dog as Dean kept lookout. “Hey boy. It’s okay. Where’s your owner, huh?” The dog sniffed Sam’s hand and licked it before whimpering again, this time turning to face the kitchen.

Sam looked up at Dean, who had caught the dog’s look. They moved as one as they walked to the entryway to the kitchen. They swung around the corner and saw [Y/n] tied to a chair in the dining room.

Her eyes darted to the boys, filled with fear. Sam raced over and tugged the cloth from her mouth so she could speak. “You have to get out of here. That woman, she…”

Before she could say anymore the woman walked in behind Dean, “Tsk Tsk Tsk [Y/n] I thought you understood me when I said that I was the only one in your life who mattered.”

Dean swung around when he heard her. Phone raised so that he didn’t meet her eyes. Sam stayed crouched down by [Y/n], keeping his eyes on hers.

“What do you want with her? She’s not like that guy you turned to stone before.”

Sam kept his voice level and calm, as he reached for one of [Y/n]’s bound hands, gripping it tight, trying to tell her it was okay with his body language.

The woman laughed, still wearing the sunglasses and hat. “Oh please. I know that. John deary was worthless scum. I did the world a favor by getting rid of him. Did you happen to see his lovely collection of photos? That’s how I discovered lovely [Y/n] here. I stumbled across it by accident after a sleepover at his house. The very next day he was dead.”

The woman’s tone was neutral as if she was discussing the weather. Sam kept tensing up, He looked up at Dean who shook his head.

The woman continued, “No, [Y/n] here is nothing like that worm. She is pure. She is innocent. So I am going to make her into my other.”

Dean frowned, “Other? What do you mean by that?”

The woman laughed, but this time the sound was darker, sinister. She raised a hand up to take off her hat, and sunglasses. Dean choked at the sight he saw through his camera.

Giant red snakes poured from the hat, attached to the woman's head. Her eyes were a piercing yellow, with slits like a snake. Dean shuddered hoping that the Camera thing worked and he wouldn’t turn to stone.

Sam locked eyes with [Y/n]. “Look at me, only me. Don’t look anywhere else.’

She nodded, silent tears rolling down her cheeks.

The woman stayed where she was standing, staring at [Y/n] with something akin to hunger in her eyes, “Yes, my other half. I want to turn her into one of my kind. She will make a perfect Gorgon. Innocent, untouched. She will be one of the best. Men will come pouring to her, to be in her presence. And each one will face the wrath of those scorned by men.”

The woman took a step and Dean raised his knife, “Not another step devil lady. I don’t know much about you Medusa’s but I do know that you can be killed.”

Medusa laughed, with a flick of her wrist, the snakes on her head hissed, turning to face Dean. “Well that’s not something you see everyday.” He muttered as he swung out and cut one of the snakes off her head, making sure to not look anywhere but the phones screen.

The remaining snakes let loose a scream. They surged forward again as Medusa walked closer to where [Y/n] was still tied down, clenching Sam’s hand.

“You will be mine, [Y/n]. You cannot fight the loneliness you feel. You’re almost thirty and you never had a stable relationship. Men are pigs. All men will do is break your heart and scorn you. Once you become one of us you can have your revenge! You can pay them back for all the tears shed, all the fights, all the anger.”

[Y/n] steeled herself, and as if sensing what she was about to do, Sam shook his head and reached up to stop her. But it was too slow. She turned her gaze onto the Gorgon. Sam looked on, shocked, as she didn’t turn to stone.

[Y/n] Glared, defiant. “Yes. I have cried. I have had my share of fights with boyfriends and lovers. But that is not enough of a reason to kill them! I don’t know who made you so cold, but I’d rather see the good in men, and hope for a brighter future than look back on a bleak past.”

Medusa grinned, oil seeping out of every pour as her voice slithered out, “[Y/n]...so sweet. But once I turn you, those feelings will go away. Don’t you worry.”

Sam looked over at his brother. But he was busy trying to evade and kill the snakes from the Gorgon’s head. They seemed to be acting on their own as they focused on Dean and the Gorgon was facing Sam and [Y/n].

Sam gave [Y/n]’s hand a squeeze before whispering, “Do you trust me?”

[Y/n] glanced down at the brown eyed man crouched by her side. Despite only knowing him for a couple hours, and being thrust into something that seemed to be out of a movie, she realized she did trust him. And once this was all over, she was definitely going to ask him out for coffee.

She gave him a tight nod. He smiled slightly at her before he let go of her hand. He stood up and turned fast, Keeping his eyes down. But before he could raise his arm holding his machete, he froze at the sound of a loud growl.

Surprise at the new sound had him raising his head and he watched as Pepsi lunged towards Medusa, pushing her to the ground.

Medusa let out a snake like scream as the black lab continued to attack her and her snakes. Sam ran up to the fallen Gorgon and welding his Machete, sliced her head from her body.

The snakes fell down dead as the head and body turned to stone. Dean was panting as he put his phone back in his pocket, “The dog couldn’t have come help earlier?” He picked up the head, careful to avoid looking at it before placing it in a trash can, tying the bag shut.

Sam grunted at his brother as he returned to where [Y/n] was still tied up. He started undoing the knots in the rope. He looked up at her face and realized she was going into shock. Her body started shaking and her eyes were frozen wide.

Sam finished untying her and pulled her down to him. Keeping her in his lap he started rubbing her back and whispering. He couldn’t bear to see her [e/c] eyes with so much fear in them.

Dean turned and saw what was happening. He fidgeted in awkwardness before muttering about letting the dog out and walked outside with the black lab.

Sam kept up his whispers for a while before he felt [y/n] relax in his arms.

She looked up at him, “What...I mean.. You weren’t surprised… What type of FBI Agent are you?” Sam sighed, letting [Y/n] climb out of his arms and back into the chair. He stood up, running his fingers through his hair. “I’m not an FBI agent, [Y/n].” He paused, catching her eyes. She stayed silent so he continued, “My name is Sam winchester, my brother Dean and I,” He gestured to where Dean had walked off, “We hunt these kind of things...We hunt monsters.”

“Monsters.” [Y/n] deadpanned. “Monsters are real.”

It wasn’t phrased like a question but Sam answered none the less, “Yes, all those fairytales you read when you were younger and all those horror stories about vampires and werewolves, all those things are real. We hunt them down and protect people, like you.”

[Y/n] seemed calm on the outside, but inside she was screaming, “i see. So you’re not Agent Zepplin,” Sam nodded, “Your name is Sam. Okay. I can work with that. Monsters are real. Okay. The world isn’t all candy and cupcakes.”

[Y/n] knew she was rambling but she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

Sam crouched down back to eye level with her and grabbed her hands. She shut up, looking down at their clasped hands before looking back up into those soulful chocolate eyes.

“[Y/n], it’s going to be okay.” He smiled softly at her. ‘As long as my brother and I are around, we’re going to keep hunting those bastards down. We won’t stop until all of them are dead and gone.”

[Y/n] took a deep breath. At that moment, Dean came back into the house and Pepsi ran over to her and nudged her hands free from Sam. She let out a shaky laugh as she ran her hands down Pepsi’s back.

She looked over at the one called Dean, then back at Sam. Then she said something she never thought would come out of her mouth in her lifetime, “I’m coming with you. I’m going to help you hunt these bitches down.”

#supernatural #supernatural imagine #supernatural x reader #dean winchester #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #medusa #greek mythology #gorgon #men of letters #so get this #rose #please give feedback #please give credit #ask me anything #enjoy #love you guys

[samanthaweekes-blog]

Assessment Three-

Experiment One;

Initially, I had the plan of taking photographs using a mirror in different settings to create the illusion of a window looking from one space to the next. I had considered the possibly of doing a time based work, and somehow breaking the mirror as a way to shatter the illusion (perhaps putting in slow motion or something to make it more artsy, idk). The only problem with this is that I’m fairly superstitious, and I wasn’t willing to risk the seven years of bad luck, and none of my friends were replying to my texts regarding me asking for help. Furthermore, I had also considered creating props (window frame, curtains, etc.) in order to make the illusion more convincing, depending on how successful the images were from this first experiment. At the time I was taking these photographs, I was limited with my options for setting, and decided to first explore the possibilities within my own backyard. The untouched results were remarkably boring, and only after editing through cropping and rotating do I think they began to show the ghost of what could maybe be described as an interesting composition that actually demonstrated some semblance of an illusion.

(original // edited)

On a completely seperate occasion I managed to take some images that were somewhat more interesting, as what was seen and what was reflected lined up more successfully, as well as providing more geometrical shapes which I consider to just generally more interesting.

Experiment Two;

I was intrigued by a stain on a table that I had photographed, just a simple pattern that I had photographed with the mirror at a 90 angle with the camera directly above, and the way that I had captured it reminded me of the Rorschach test for some reason. 

y’know stuff like this like the Gnarls Barkley Crazy music video, you would’ve seen it. Anyway so I was intrigued by these photos and for a while I thought I might continue down this path and do something along the lines of perception//the mind//psychology//these personality tests//etc. (spoiler, I don’t). And so I continued to take photos in this style, finding as many (interesting???) compositions and trying to replicate the original effect. Take a leisurely browse through some of those I selected down below!!

Experiment Three;

At this point I was still interested in the ink-blot test concept, and so I decided I would try and experiment with some filters and rudimentary editing techniques on the incredibly professional editing software Photos, the default program that comes with Apple computers. 

Some of the results were interesting but being honest I wasn’t really vibing with it. This was when I decided to revisit my original idea, and where the second half of experiment one comes from.

Experiment One - Revisited;

On a completely seperate occasion I managed to take some images that were somewhat more interesting that my first attempt at this concept, as what was seen and what was reflected lined up more successfully, as well as providing more geometrical shapes which I consider to just generally more interesting.

(shoutout to patrick for unwillingly modelling in this super high budget campaign)

Experiment Four?;

Not so much an experiment, more just a collection of other images I took that aren’t really a part of any other experiment, but that I still find interesting.

The composition of the last two photos I find interesting because of the combination of the reflection in the door, and Patrick through the door. I think this is a nice place to segue into an intermission of a candid of Patrick...

Final Work;

I set out with this experiment to create photographs that utilised a mirror in order to subvert the audiences expectations. While I did not follow through with my original concept as far as I had wanted to, and my following experiments have no real relevance in my final work, other than redirecting me towards another concept, I think they were instrumental in forming my ideas towards my eventual direction, even if I can’t explain it.

My final work consists of two photographs which, without much analysis, may be confusing to the viewer as to what is going on. However, after a second of consideration, it becomes obvious that it is a simple composition of a mirror and a carefully angled camera. That split second of confusion is the effect I had intended to achieve, and although it may not be entirely successful, depending on the audience, I think the added component of having rotated the photos from their original orientation adds somewhat to the composition being successful.

My main criticism of this work would be that the images together look somewhat awkward, as their visual composition is too similar in that the mirror is in the upper half, and there is a sharp horizontal line cutting both images in half  — they are too similar in this regard. I definitely see the first image as more successful as the mirror provides a more obvious contrast with the backdrop, and the bars within the frame continue more seamlessly beyond the mirror. I would have much rather produced a video work where I ‘shattered the illusion’, but limitations regarding the spaces I could photograph really caused me to rethink my concept, and I still believe the work I produced makes connections to the concept of perception, regardless of the aesthetic resolution of the photographs presented. 

‘

i’d just like to offer my genuine apologies to anyone who actually read this entire post (@peter) sorry if it sounds like I’m taking the piss

#ADAD1001

[whatta-babe]

Sam Holland x Reader Headcanon: Sam Missing Harry

So an anon requested this a while back, and because I struggle so much with writing things quickly, I have just finished it. I expanded the short prompt of the reader comforting Sam when he misses Harry, but I hope that you like it and it is worth the wait!

• As the whole Holland family is so tight-knit in general, you can only imagine how close Sam and Harry really are

• Of course you are Sam’s three year partner and have witnessed countless occasions and small details that show you their closeness

• But the point is, their bond runs deeper than anything else, even you

• You know this and accept it easily because they’re brothers, twins!

• This does not mean that Sam leaves you for Harry or hangs out with him more

• It simply means that you know that if you ever made him choose (which would be never in a million years), you know that he would pick Harry

• And so knowing this, you are stupefied when Sam decides not to go with Tom and Harry on the former’s movie tour

• Harry just nods his head knowingly at his twin

• You guess that he already knows why his brother wants to stay

• Unlike you

• “Babe, are you sure? You won’t see Harry for months!”

• Of course the selfish and clingy side of you wants Sam to stay with you, but you know your boyfriend

• He is going to miss him terribly

• Sam goes on to explain that he wants to stay for his studies, and with a bit of reluctance you accept it

–

• The day of the boys’ departure is sombre to say the least

• Nikki is crying while hugging her two leaving children while Dom tries to comfort her

• Paddy is trying to be more manly and grown it seems as he tries to hold his tears in, but his red face and wet eyes give him away

• Sam’s face is stoic which scares you a bit because his face is usually so expressive

• After Harry, Tom, and Harrison walk through the security, you all leave together

• Sam still doesn’t have any expression on his face, and you weave your hand in his while giving his shoulder a small kiss in silent comfort

• You keep in constant physical contact with him

• Later that night after eating dinner at your boyfriend’s house and cuddling in bed, Sam sheds his first tears into the crook of your neck for his brother

• All you can do is wrap your arms around his shoulders and place warm kisses on his fluffy hair

–

• The first month or so is smooth sailing

• The Hallond brothers can’t speak with their family back home every day which is completely understandable as they fly to a different country so often, and the time zones are completely different

• Sam doesn’t seem to mind, and school is getting tougher so he has that to concentrate on

• When he is feeling a little down, you are always there for him

• Overall, you think that Sam is doing very well

• However as more and more time passes, it gets harder for Sam to not miss his brother

• Sure he is so happy for him to get to be exploring the world and progressing in his dreams to become a director by watching professionals

• And he still jokes around with him and speaks to him and is involved in his life because they are constantly swapping pictures over the Internet

• But it isn’t the same

• He can’t talk to him without the crackle and fuzz of poor WiFi connections

• While he jokes around with Harry he can’t punch him on the arm or ruffle his curly hair

• He can’t lean on his shoulder as they both gaze at the photos that they took

• He can’t hug his twin

• Even though Sam sometimes tries to hide these things from you to get you to not worry about him, you notice anyway

• How could you not?

• You love him so much and know when he is feeling a certain way

• When he gets sad like this, his beautiful green eyes get duller

• His contagious grin looks like it was never on his face

• He just looks heavier

• So you always know

• Depending on the day or how you know Sam is feeling, you alternate between silent comfort and words of encouragement

• Sometimes you crack silly jokes to get him to at least smile again

• After a consistent amount of this, he usually gets gradually happier, and usually with the help of Paddy and Tessa, you guys get him off of his feet

• All of you may take Tessa to the park or fool around in the backyard with the basketball or gym mats

–

• What Sam lives for while Harry is away are the short and sparatic breaks that Tom receives while filming or on tour

• They do not happen frequently and they usually last about one or two days, but it always works for him

• It never ceases to make you shed a couple of tears when you witness their heartwarming reunions

• The twins make the most of what time they have together and go out (or stay in) to do special activities

• You are always invited along by your boyfriend, but you never take him up on the offer because you know how much they need their twin-time

• Even though the traveling Hollands must depart soon after, Sam is quite content

–

• He is doing well until that day

• And that day is Harry and Sam’s eighteenth birthday

• You know that it is going to be rough so you make a plan before hand

• You stay over the night before your boyfriend’s birthday to wake him up with sweet kisses, cuddles, and a homemade Valentine’s card

• An hour passes before Nikki, Dom, and Paddy come into the room with a soft knock and a loud happy birthday song

• You take a video of Sam blowing out the candles of the cake that Nikki made him and send it to Harry

• The day progresses, and all of you head out to town

• You go to the movies, little art exhibits, and Sam plays a beautiful cover of a song on the piano

• You and the Holland family have the same goal- to make sure that Sam has a good birthday and try to get him to not think about his twin thay isn’t here with him

• All of Sam’s actions have been a little sluggish and tense, but he smiles and laughs from time to time

• It is when Sam is opening his birthday presents at the end of the night where things take a turn to the worst

• As your lover starts to grab the gift that is closest to his reach, it lands on the one that Harry sent from whichever country he was in at the time

• With a gasp, Sam practically throws it on the floor and bolts

• After about three seconds of shocked silence, you gently picks it up and follow him into his room

• A part of you wishes that you do not because when you open Sam’s door you find him sobbing into his hands

• This is much worse than anything you’ve seen

• His poor freckled nose is so red, and the tears falling from his eyes look never like they will cease

• A wave of heartbreak washes over you as you witness the love of your life weep for his twin

• You quickly gather him in your arms as best as you can and lay down on his rumpled bed

• All you can do is croon countless sweet nothings into his ear

• The crying goes on for some time with it fluctuating from soft sniffles to wailing

• His salty tears penetrate your shirt as they fall, and his hands grip the loose fabric tightly in his shaking hands

• As your own tears mix with his you rake your fingers through his hair and place small kisses anywhere that you can reach

• “Oh, my love. I know, darling; I know. Shh shh shhh. I’m so sorry, mon ange.”

• After almost an hour of his crying you think to yourself, This can’t go on anymore

• You are aware that it is almost three in the morning where Harry is, but you need to at least try to call him

• Your poor baby needs to see his twin

• You have to stretch your fingers a little to reach for your phone that is on the nightstand, but you succeed in grabbing it and not disturbing Sam

• To your happy surprise, after a few rings, Harry’s face pops up onto the screen

• His eyes are groggy and confused when he looks at you, but all you do is face the camera to your boyfriend who’s face is now tucked into your chest while he cries

• Immediately Harry knows what is going on, and he forces a chuckle

• “You always were the cry baby out of the two of us, bro”

• Sam’s worn out face lifts suddenly at the sound of Harry’s voice

• Ever the gentleman, Sam asks for your phone politely before snatching it up

• They spend the rest of the night/morning talking and open the presents that they sent each other together

Tags: @rissa-rose394

#sam holland headcanon #sam is the best holland #sam holland #sam holland x reader #missing harry #twins #comfort #fluff #kind of sad but not really #harry holland #tom holland #paddy holland #hollanders #cute #hurt comfort #cuddles

[memoriesturntogold-blog]

May 19th, 2018

I was supposed to go to Iowa this last weekend... I told everyone I had a friend who goes to college there; that they were interested in me being a guest student teacher. It was sort of true... I was going to see a friend, and I really was going to participate in this class, and I probably would have taught the students a thing or two, but the friend was someone they would never have expected....  When I lived in Arizona, my cousin Ariel and I were obsessed with physical fitness (still kinda true). She worked the over night shift at Planet Fitness and I'd always come visit her until well after midnight. There was this morning in particular that she asked me to go pick up her paycheck, and I obliged. When I entered the establishment, no one was willing to help me, so I found myself to be incredibly irritated. While I was being undoubtedly miffed, I noticed there was an exceptionally cute guy working with dermal piercings on his face. He noticed my frustration and attempted to assist, but in turn became disgruntled for me because barely anyone would help him either. I didn't want to talk to him at first because I arrived looking like an utter mess. But I eventually got Ariel's check and dipped, and I'm not quite sure how much time had passed, but she set me up on a blind date. My date ended up to be dermal piercing guy. I remember it being last minute and impulsive, because under my scrubs I was wearing a small white crop top with red flowers and ripped white jeans. I thought I looked, not necessarily trashy, but.... dingy.  His first impression of me was already an eyesore, so before I arrived I asked him if what I was wearing was disreputable. I didn't send him a photo, just described what I was wearing. I found out later that the question regarding my clothes was the real first impression before I even met up with him. He liked that I cared about his opinion, and in turn I earned some slight respect. On April 22nd, 2014, I arrived at his apartment complex in Tempe, Arizona. It reminded me of a motel because everyone had to enter their home from the outside. It was beautiful though....it was completely surrounded by palm trees, and admiring the wall of a sand storm closing in was breath taking from the upper balcony. Later on, this would eventually become my new home. With memories I would never have dreamed of fathoming... I watched him walk down the stairs from below, and god this man was beautiful. He had impeccable brown hair, magnificent brown eyes, and the way he looked at me was like he was already in love. I ended up changing my shirt in the parking lot to something more suitable for a date, and while I was doing this I felt him get annoyed, and he just stormed off. He ended up being upset that someone dumped their trash in the parking lot, so he went out of his way to place them where they belonged. That's when I knew I was in love. He hadn't decided where we wanted to go for dinner, so as an Aries I took initiative and chose Denny's. What man wouldn't love late night breakfast?? We arrived and we sat on separate sides of the table so it was easier to make conversation. I remember wishing I could sit right next to him, the way he was looking at me was so distracting. The date went great, and I even paid for the both of us. He secretly didn't like this, for he thought I was trying to get rid of him. But that changed when we arrived back to his apartment and I invited myself up. He was hesitant about it, but he allowed it. You could tell he literally just moved in because the whole place was empty. His 14x10 living room only secured Christmas lights drenched upon his window, for there weren't any real lights to turn on. I thought that was odd. His hardwood floors were bare, and his kitchen was only big enough to fit ONE person at a time. I could touch the stove, sink and fridge all at the same time with no effort. This guy didn't even have a couch, and his bathroom was just as big as the kitchen, if not smaller. There was an area between his bathroom and his bedroom with a mirror the size of a huge flat screen TV, a 5ft wide counter and a sink. Why couldn't the kitchen be this big?? And again, even his room was bare. All he had was a futon and a TV from the 90s that weighed more than I did just sitting on his carpet. His friend AJ was sitting on his futon, the bed that would eventually become mine. Even with all these details, I didn't care. I actually admired him for it. This was all he had, he didn't even own a microwave. He didn't need anything, and he knew this. This was how I strived to be in my life, being as non-materialistic as possible. Being able to get up and go at a moment's notice if for some reason I had to go. At the time... I had no filter. I just said what I wanted when I wanted with no extra thought. It made me out to look careless, arrogant and sometimes annoying. Apparently this was acceptable, because when I walked into his bedroom and saw this little white jackass sitting on his bed smoking a blunt, I said, "Whaddup niggaaa!" He immediately started laughing and said, "I like this girl already!" When he left soon after, Daimen (turns out dermal piercing guy has a name) and I sat on his bed together and smoked a few bowls. There was this incredible, indescribable and intoxicating connection between us. I could feel he was the one, for he did as well, and I needed to do this right. So when sleeping over with him became an option, I went out of my way to let him know that I wasn't having sex with him.

 Again.... it was the way he looked at me.... I just melted. The next day, I went to Lake Havasu for the weekend for a modeling gig. It involved me and Ariel being half naked and promoting boat insurance at this street party. I even met a professional snowboarder from Colorado who bought me a plane ticket to go see him later in the week. I even almost hitched a ride to Australia! While I was only 20, he was 25. So the whole weekend he bought me drinks while I lead him on. I was flattered that this hippie with hair longer than mine with an EIGHT pack was giving me so much attention. But Daimen was always on my mind... I came back the following Monday night, and the moment I got home I went straight to Daimen's. I even ghosted Colorado Guy and the Australian family who offered me a full time nanny position. We had the option of going to a party, and even though I wasn't much of a partier, I agreed go anyway. When we finally appeared, there was EDM music playing and the vibe had felt amazing.  We went directly to the backyard where there was a fire roaring late in the night, and to the left there was a shed where people were playing beer pong. I ended up acquiring over a thousand dollars worth of drugs in my purse, holding it for one of Daimen's friends while he got fucked up, but I actually ended up selling quite a bit of MDMA. I had never really dabbled with drugs much before at this point, so I was hesitant about taking anything. I figured I’d try it just once, just to see what it was like. Which...ended up being the beginning of a year long drug fueled relationship...

I really felt I was in love with him before the drugs. I remember what that connection was like when I was sober, and I KNEW he was my soulmate. But honestly...I can’t remember a time when we weren’t fucked up together....the sex was amazing though. We established a fiery relationship right off the bat. The first night we made love, the night of the party, was incredibly passionate and we were at it until the sun came up. I remember my abs FREAKING hurt the entire day that followed because of the amount of core work my body endured. I literally thought I was going to die.

I’m not sure how this was brought on, or why we thought it was a good idea, but after a week of knowing each other, I moved in. It must have been the initial passion, before we knew what we were getting ourselves into. I’m not saying I regret it.....I just wish I fucking didn’t. When I look back, it’s difficult to remember the good times. There were plenty of them, but it was always when we were fucked up. I can’t remember one decent memory with him while we were sober... Let alone, him. 

When I first started typing this, I wasn’t really expecting to relay these parts of the story, but I feel as though they’re important. It’s important to know the whole story, not just the parts I want to remember. I think he needs to remember these as well....

The second I moved in, we were already doing more drugs, sometimes pairing it with acid. The acid was always amazing...we could watch the sky, the ceiling or  walls for 8 hours just giggling and enjoying the show. AJ would always come home with narcotics that we couldn’t pronounce. He didn’t even care where they came from. But he’d gladly share them for free, and I was always along for the ride. I’m not gonna lie, it was a blast long boarding down the street seeing the world from a completely different view. I enjoyed snorting free cocaine from his heroin dealer, and I enjoyed that he always gave me what I wanted. But when we became sober and our serotonin levels were depleted, he would use these things against me. He thought that just because he gave me a home, a place to sleep, a place to put groceries I bought, and all the drugs I could ask for, that things needed to be his way. I remember that part the most.

There was this night in particular that we were fighting. I went outside sobbing. My neighbor across the way was outside smoking a cigarette, and he came over to console me. He thought cocaine would make me feel better, and that I should go inside and ask Daimen if he wanted to join. I’m not sure what this 50 year old was thinking, or what the fuck I was thinking going into a strange man’s house offering me free drugs. But he agreed, and we went over there. I did half a line and my nose started burning like a MAD man.

Turned out to be meth.

I think Daimen knew before we started, and I think I kinda knew, too. But we were having the worst night, and our only happy experiences together were when we were fucking wrecked. So I disregarded the random glass shards in the white powder, and just let it rip. I didn’t expect it to hurt so bad..

Just that half line.....I was up for 36 hours. Maybe I did more....maybe I didn’t. Not sure if I’m ready to admit that yet. But the 3 of us, along with our 36 year old 2x prison sentenced female neighbor, stayed up until 8am just talking. I’m not saying I condone meth, because I fucking don’t, but that night I had thoughts that I had never fucking imagined having. I went on a 2 hour rant ALONE about what later ended up being about Tibetan Buddhism. I knew absolutely nothing about this non religious practice, but I wrote everything down and looked it all up later and I had described it all to a T. I spent the rest of the day mesmerized by this new way of thinking. I even cried at one point and had to remind myself over and over and over and over again that “one day my thoughts will slow down.” I couldn’t figure out what was happening, but it felt like my brain and my ears were going to blow up.

Right after our 7 hour conversation about Buddhism, the economy, how the hippies have it all figured out, and just life in general, Daimen and I went cliff jumping. I was nervous because I wasn’t sure when my energy was going to drop, but we went and spent the entire day there without any problems. I even remember saying, “guys.....we can fly.....we just haven’t figured it out yet.”

Boy did Daimen and I fly that day.

Once we were doing mushrooms with another neighbor closer to our age, a heavy narcotic pill addict. I was having a conversation with his dog, Mitsy, when suddenly Daimen screamed at me and Derek, “I can’t fucking believe you!”

He stormed out and we kinda just starred at each other in bizarre, dazed confusion.

“You should probably follow him.....” he finally responded after my endless telepathic questions. Apparently.....while Derek was telling a story....Daimen “read between the lines” that had NOTHING to do with me or even another girl, and “knew” that we were sleeping together. I ended up locking myself in our room half the night and watched The Goofy Movie while he banged on the door and screamed at me the entire time. It was nice though....at least I got to feel like God.

The following weekend, we were enjoying the show on the ceiling, probably for the 100th time at this point. There were thousands of different species of birds; swallows, pheasants, peacocks, ravens, doves, humming birds, dragon looking birds, the works. We had just got done seeing the new movie Lucy with Scarlette Johanson, and were inspired to create a better story. Maybe we just wanted an excuse to escape again, we were always really good at that. I think it might have been this same night, I can hardly remember. It was either the night I thought I was pregnant and we were excited, or it was the night AJ came home fucked up on alcohol and heroin, and he was fucking GONE. He barged in excited about something downstairs and he’d just start talking in circles. You know, exactly what super chatty people do; talk in circles and explain what they’re about to explain what they’re about to explain and either never get to the point (or do) or forget what they were talking about. He HAD  a point, he just couldn’t fucking get to it. He spent 45 minutes talking in circles, and I even recorded the whole thing. AJ was frustrated we weren’t understanding him and were trying to rush him to get to the point, so his defense mechanism of dealing with this was ultimately locking us in the apartment. This dude acted like an entire battle was about to blow up, for this tiny little mother fucker held his entire weight to the door for hours. It’s not like we were trying to leave, but Daimen did try to talk sense to him. I think he fell asleep outside the apartment after a while, and we went back to what we were doing.

After AJ sobered up and calmed down, he invited a girl over. It could have been the next day, it could have been a month later. Honestly I can’t piece together an actual time line because of all the fucking holes eroded into my head. But she came, and I loved her. Her name was Bridgette, and she was a beautiful African woman. Totally and completely out of AJ’s league, but we ran with it. We popped MDMA and rode down to Mill Ave, the opposite side of the mall. I remember taking the train for the first time in my life that day, and I remember feeling really weird. Maybe it was because it was the third day in a row I did Molly, or maybe the vibe of our group was just off. But I pretended to have a good time. The only thing keeping my high up was remembering that I was high.

We walked into a shop, I think it was called Hemp HIgh Hippie or something, most definitely had 3 H’s. Or maybe it was the shop next to it....but when we walked in, I felt like I was home. It wasn’t necessarily a metaphysical shop, but it had drug rugs, incense holders, books. I found an astrology book and I HAD to have it. I kept saying, “Guys, we were so meant to be here today, I’m so happy we’re here today! We were meant to be here!” It took me almost 4 years to realize this book was written in my home state of Minnesota.

When we arrived home, Bridgette needed to leave. She didn’t have a vehicle, and I believe she spent her train money on drugs or a book that day. Either way, I was her way home. I remember being avidly irritated, but my loving heart was still there, even if I couldn’t remember it. I drove her home, and when I came back 40 minutes later, I watched Daimen walking down the stairs in handcuffs being arrested.

He was in jail for 9 days, apparently our landlord called the police because she could smell marijuana from our apartment. AJ had his medical card, and I did as well, but not only was it expired, it was only for the state of California. If I had not taken her home, I would’ve gone to jail.

Even though I was miserable without him, I still felt a sense of relief. Not enough to convince myself that I’d ever leave him, but we had developed a bond at that point that I've NEVER created with anyone else, because I will never do what I did with him, with anyone else. But with that being said, I was borderline distraught, miserable, and ecstatic. I was free, but I was afraid to be free. I had become so attached to him at this point that even though he got sent to jail over a drug charge, I still stayed him him. And we would play this game over and over again..

In June, 2014, we were watching The Goofy Movie again and he wanted to have sex with me. I wasn’t really feeling it, but he kept trying. I gave in and it hurt to have his fingers inside of me. I thought it was because I was like the Sahara Desert, I tend to get that way when I’m stoned. But then he started getting obviously upset and actually started to cry. I remember thinking, “....if anyone is going to cry, shouldn’t it be me?”

He gave me herpes... He willingly fucked me unprotected for months knowing this and failed to tell me. I had the worst breakout of my life. He left that weekend and I had another modeling gig at a Foam Party. I got to dance on stage with the DJ I was working for, while Daimen was out of town in Prescott working at a job that I had helped him acquire. I was upset, and I wanted to let lose. My 360lb and 6ft tall black DJ/Manager was feeding me shots when we got back to his house with other models. They all said it was to help me let my guard down so that they could get to know the real me. I didn’t realize they drugged my shots with MDMA. He admitted it to me the next morning when I “woke up” that he gave me 3 point of molly to “help.” I guess I might’ve mentioned the amount I had been doing, so he thought he would “surprise me.” I’m sure he told me he gave it to me that night at one point, but I don’t remember agreeing to it at all. I remember watching raw footage of a series he was directing for a show on NBC, and I just blacked out. I peaked through occasionally, but I could never see anything. But I could hear his deep voice, asking me questions. Really personal questions. Seductively. Wrongfully. Very nauseously. Everything was black, but I could hear his voice. The next thing I know, it’s 10:30am. I’m in a bed I don’t recognize and my clothes are on the floor and the DJ was sitting in a black swivel chair fully dressed playing with his phone.

“Wow....? What the fuck? What happened last night? How did I sleep until 10:30??”

“What do you mean? You haven’t even gone to sleep yet.”

........

June 13th. Friday the 13th. 2014. Him and the other models were all in on it... At least the mother fucker got herpes.

I lied in bed for 2 days. I didn’t even cry. I just faced the brick wall against my curtain-less windows while the sun blazed in my face. I didn’t even care how much the sun hurt. I had the window open during 120 degree weather and I didn’t shut it the whole weekend.

When I finally did get up, I went over to Derek’s. We snorted 80mgs of methedone together, and then I felt better about what happened. Daimen was coming home that day, and I was prepared to pretend like it never happened. What I wasn’t prepared for was how much I needed to make the pain go away, and I was willing to do anything. And sometimes “anything” consisted of doing too much, and too much consisted of blacking out countless times and waking up having a melt down while Daimen attempted to restrain me. I accidentally admitted to him about what happened, but I woke up while confessing, caught myself, and claimed it happened the day before my birthday, the week before I met him. I said it happened April 13th, and he believed me. I never told him it was when I was with him.

I remember after 3 months of ups and downs, that not only was I still craving meth, I also needed to get the fuck out. At one point I packed all my clothes and we were threatening each other like it was nobody’s business. I ended up not leaving, but I never unpacked my clothes. I didn’t need to, because I left soon after. It’s just that......he came with me.

My grandparents said that I could move back in with them, and while I was loading my car he started loading it up with his things, too. I didn’t stop him, I had never been in a situation like this before. In the back of my mind I knew that with him gone, so would all the drugs and the future memories I could’ve had high. With him.

We lived with my grandparents for 9 months together in a camper on the property. I don’t know how the FUCK we lasted an extra NINE months, but we did. It was fueled with fights, me always drinking too much and him always instigating the fights and then blaming me. He would even yell at me about how I talked to my own family, telling me that I’m making him look stupid unless he gets me under control. So I threw a litter box at him.

 On Mother’s day I clipped roses from the garden and wanted to drive two miles down the road and give them to his mom. They ended up going in the trash because he didn’t want me leaving the house or giving them to her in the first place. I still can’t figure out that fucking idiotic mess.

There was another time that I was upset in his direction, and I needed to be alone. I tried napping on the couch, but he kept nagging me. I went to the guest room and tried locking myself in, but it still ended with him screaming into my ears while he forcefully held me down on the bed that I was a fucking bipolar bitch.

Soon after I attempted kicking him out. I remember him throwing his clothes on the patio near the camper screaming, “Is this what you want?! Huh?! I’m LEAVING. I DON’T fucking love you, I STOPPED loving you a long time ago! Is this what you want?!!!” I sat on the porch swing in silence, not even looking at him. He reacted very badly to my stone face, non reaction. So he got down on his knees and begged me, BEGGED to let him stay and that he was sorry.

 And I fucking let him stay.

There was another time we were at his best friend’s frat house. Normally there were a minimum of 20 gorgeous college women dancing in dresses worth more all my tattoos combined. There was always great music playing, the pool in the backyard was always a perfect 80 degrees, there were bongs everywhere, and a typical morning consisted of wondering who the fuck was sleeping on the kitchen floor. We always had mirrors around the house coated in cocaine and MDMA, nothing else really. But this day, it was just the 4 of us. Me, Daimen, Phil, and Rose. I loved Rose. She was beautiful, amazing, and the perfect definition of a lotus. I did 9 points of MDMA that night, I’m pretty sure D and I did the most that night. In the middle of the night, the 4 of us lied by the pool while Rose fed us fucking grapes. It was fucking GREAT. We would take turns wearing goggles and lying down at the bottom of the 9ft pool and we’d watch each other do cannon balls from down below. It was honestly the best day of my life. I just wish I could’ve made sober memories feeling this way.

Rose ended up...losing. If that makes sense. She didn’t want to live anymore. She became homeless, and I gave her a place to stay. She stayed for some time, but she stopped caring. One day she just left, and I never saw her again. I saw her once, and she seemed okay. Apparently found a place to stay. But when I went to go back, she wasn’t there. I don’t know what happened to her, but I never found her again. Phone became disconnected, she stopped going to Phil’s. I like to believe she went back to California....but honestly have a hard time believing she went back to her abusive mom. 

May 2015, I was working at Kohl’s in Mesa down the street from my aunt. I suddenly got a flat tire, and I wasn’t able to pick AJ up from the airport. I called D to relay the message, but he didn’t seem concerned.

“I’ll call you after work, let me know if you find a ride to the airport,” I had said to him. Sun down came around, and I walked to my aunt’s. I called him and he apparently was already with AJ and they were on their way to a hotel party.

“Cool! When are you picking me up?” I asked him.

He never picked me up....all of our friends were at this hotel, and he claimed he thought I was busy with my family. Never invited me to go, never tried to even figure out a way to get me there. Just became radio silent, and hours later I received a photo of a hotel full of people and they were all doing drugs together. Without me. I was fucking livid. I threw my phone in a bucket of water after I told him to FUCK off. I spent the entire next day at this volunteer organization having the worst time. My crew took a photo together at the Children’s Hospital in Phoenix, and because I was standing next to a guy (holding a CHILDREN’S book) automatically, he thought I was cheating on him. Which made the event even WORSE. It was posted on facebook and he just went off on me. I didn’t even have a chance to break up with him, he broke up with ME. Maybe this was when I threw my phone in a bucket....I can’t remember.

I sobbed. I melt-downed SO hard. I was the fucking definition of chaotically unstable. My aunt’s house consisted of her and her husband, plus both her teenage daughters, 14 and 16. And 8 puppies. This was a very cookie cutter family, and none of them still have any idea what D put me through. The only thing their life had in common with mine was that their mom loved wine just as much as I did, so she bought it for me. But I was still being unstable. So while I was crying, screaming, and throwing up in the bathroom (must have been from the withdrawals honestly) she drugged me. She kept pushing this “tea” onto me, even had it in that traditional, cliche Beauty and the Beast tea cup. It was beautiful. I woke up hours later and it was the middle of the night. I woke up alone in Brianna’s bed, groggy. I suddenly remembered what happened and my unstableness arose once again, but not for the last time. This lasted for 5 straight days...

During my last days in Arizona, I wrote him a 3 page letter. Maybe it was 2. Maybe it was more. I drew him a photo (actually Brianna did and I took the credit) and I wrote him a poem. I also wrote my thoughts, about how this needed to happen. We can’t do this anymore. He needs to find a Capricorn. Blah blah blah. Then in the end, I had an epiphany.

“Let’s try this again in 3 years. We need to grow, but separately.” The tangent progressed, and by the end I was feeling quite a bit better. I remember crying, I remember thinking, “I figured it out! I figured it out! I know the secret to life!”

June 7th, 2015 I moved back home to Minnesota.

     It’s been 3 years since I’ve seen D. And looking back on all this, I’m still curious... He’s in college now, enrolled at some school in Iowa. He’s got his shit together, he’s sober, and he’s getting a degree in alternative medicine. His story about his life recently sounds compelling, and I was willing to spend the weekend with him. My mom doesn’t know any of what I’ve said tonight, but she knows enough that....I just couldn’t go. I’m 24 years old now, I moved in with my mom 2 weeks ago because I caught my most recent ex boyfriend cheating on me. I even moved out before noon. Just in time for the 3 year mark...

I thought this was a sign. I thought I was meant to go. But the universe had other plans, because this plan involved my family finding out who I was going to see, and they were fucking livid. I can understand though....I’ve blocked out all of this information for years....I’m not sure if I want to involve myself with him again either. Like I really couldn’t decide up until this morning. And it’s because of what happened last night.

It’s a long story. Not as long as this, but long enough that I don’t want to spend another hour explaining it. I had a date, a questionable Aquarius. Very aloof, very reserved, fucking sucks at communication. I met him a year ago and we had a moment, like a movie moment. I never saw him again until recently, but he was different from when I first met him.. Before he was confident, rebellious, probably because he was on a lot of cocaine. I left his house last week thinking, “God that was awful. I’m definitely never seeing him again.” And I really wish I would have listened to that voice in the back of my head, because when he asked me on a date, I was fucking baffled. I agreed for some reason, only to get stood up. Once again, I chose all the plans. Like always. He was supposed to meet me at US Bank Stadium in Minneapolis last night, but he never showed. Still hasn’t even texted me. I waited for him BEHIND the stage by the front doors of the building waiting for him for 3 hours, when I could have been spending it with Ariel and her new husband instead. I fucked my whole night waiting on a guy I fucking knew wasn’t going to show. I had seen it coming, but I wanted to believe differently. He was a solid winner at only sending me a few vague texts a day, but I still wanted to believe that we could recreate the first experience we shared together. I wanted to believe that he only just felt awkward that an intimidatingly cute Aries was alone with him in his apartment. I wanted to believe that if we hung out in public and had the opportunity to dance, something I just recently found out that I love doing, that it would be different. Maybe he would see my worth, maybe he would come around. But he didn’t. That fucking asshole even told me that morning he was coming when I asked, and he still had the audacity to do what he did. I sobbed for 2 hours during the show. I even missed the Guinness Book of World Records worlds LARGEST pillow fight. I mean, I was in the center of it, but I had my head in both my hands sobbing, probably from starving the previous 12 hours honestly.

An African woman named Marie found me alone, prayed for me, and told me to get up and dance. So I did. I cried the whole time, thinking about my most recent divorce, thinking about how my best friend that I fell madly in love  with just fucking threw me away like garbage, even after I left my husband for him (not really, but still). I thought about the whole day, I thought about Arizona, I thought about all the fucking bullshit anyone has ever put me through. This woman Marie turned out to be an Army veteran. Turned out, her husband that she had 3 kids with cheated on her while she was in Afghanistan, while she was also being assaulted by another soldier. This woman went through all of this, plus so much more, and told me that despite all of this, she was the only woman in her unit and refused to let any of the men see her cry. She told me her story, and I felt pathetic crying for being hungry and being stood up by a guy who I only idealized.

This amazing stranger, this baffling and shockingly strong woman made me realize that God is here for me, always has, and always will, never left, never will. That the universe would never make me go through something I couldn’t handle. That all pain is just weakness leaving the body. So with that being said, the whole experience last night was meant to make me strong. I’m being prepared for something greater, and that’s what last night was all about. Being prepared.

My revelation last night was that I’m never allowing anyone to have an opportunity to hurt me in any way that I find unacceptable. No one gets to steal my soul anymore. No one gets to tell me who I am, what I’m not and what I should be. So with that being said, anyone who has EVER wronged me is gone. Everyone who has ever failed to see my worth doesn’t ever get to have a spot in my life. Not ever again. I can’t look back, wishing and hoping I can change things and make them different. If it’s meant to be, it’ll be. Whether I try to make it or not, whether I hope or wish or force or accept, it will. I’m done trying. I’m done fighting for anyone but myself. I’m all I have, all I will ever want to have, and I’m never trying for anyone ever again. I’m tired of all the fucking fake love. If it’s meant to be, if someone really wants to have a spot in my life, they’re gonna have to try for more than a couple hours. More than a few days. Maybe even more than a year. 

With all of this being said....I’m fine being alone. And I plan on staying this way...

I’m sorry, D.

*Marilyn by G-Easy plays*

#personal #about me #all memories turn to gold #g-easy #marilyn #edm #drugs #meth #abuse #life #hope #love #memoriesturntogold #memories #mdma #storytelling #My writing

[stargleeksil-blog]

Criminal Minds S07E03 “Dorado Falls” review

Episode 03 – Dorado Falls

Hey y’all!

So this episode’s name is too vague for me to make speculations about what might happen ... hoping for something witty and awesome.

Let’s see what happens.

And she’s officially back :)

“Hey, good morning.”

Okay, now I want Prentiss as my BFF. Seriously. Free coffee in the morning before work? Perfection.

“Oh, look at you spoiling me. Thank you.”

“Where’s yours?”

“Oh, I quit caffeine. Trying to relax more.”

“Well, don’t relax too much. You got ten hours of takedown and arrest procedure training to rectify.”

“Since when?”

“Since the hearing.”

“Am I the only one?”

“Prentiss, you’ve been away.”

“Oh, yeah. I guess I can’t complain.”

“Well, especially not to your trainer.”

“Oh! You’re doing it?”

“Don’t get too excited. I’m about to put you through the wringer.”

“You can believe that.”

Oh my goodness, Prentiss’s look of excitement and then confusion is killing me.

Though I’m totally with her on that one. Why is Derek so excited on putting her through the wringer?

“Workplace massacre this morning at Synalock Incorporated. That’s in Charlottesville, which his practically in our backyard.”

“That’s a high body count.”

“Yeah, eight victims in total. All employees, including the CEO.”

Damn.

”Five shot, three were stabbed to death.”

“A gun and a knife. That’s highly unusual.”

“It could be two killers.”

“That would be the first time for a workplace killing.”

“Their business in Internet security for corporations. They didn’t have video surveillance?”

“They just moved into a new building. They didn’t have time to set up their system yet.”

“How is it no one saw anything?”

“The killer was prepared. Highly organized. This was premeditated.”

“He kept his emotions contained.”

“Pretty hard to do for the typical workplace killer who’s mentally ill or outraged about some perceived injustice.”

“The high body count indicates a hell of a lot of rage.”

“One employee, John Owen, was MIA. Local PD haven’t been able to locate him yet.”

Oops.

“Any unhappy clients?”

“Or a domestic situation among the employees?”

“Don’t know, but your friendly neighborhood genius girl will find out.”

“Bottom line is a mass killing is a classic show of force. It’s a way to become known. Which is why suicide, often by cop, is usually part of the plan.”

“So where’s the unsub?”

“He has a reason to stay hidden. He’s not finished yet.”

Well, fuck.

Franklin D. Roosevelt: “Men are not prisoners of fate, but prisoners of their own minds.”

“Absolutely. These are Agents Rossi and Jareau and Dr. Reid.”

I love his cutesy little wave.

“Of course. As soon as we make our assessment.”

Someone needs to put a plug in that whole media coverage before the cops arrive thing.

“So what do we know about the missing employee so far?”

“You said the CEO’s office was ransacked.”

“JJ.”

Let’s go investigate.

“The position of the body suggests he was one of the last ones killed.”

“He tried to escape and almost made it to the exit.”

“Jane Burney and Vinia Dev were here. Jane tried to run, Vinia didn’t.”

How does he know that? Because he’s the most genius genius to ever genius my genius.

...

And, you know, maybe he’s good at his job ... maybe.

“She’s half under her desk, which means she tried to hide and the unsub found her.”

“So these three were stabbed and the rest were shot to death.”

“Yes, but the bloody footprints all seem to come from the same pair of shoes.”

“Given the evidence, if there were a second killer, he’d be hard-pressed to get away without leaving tracks.”

“If there was only one unsub, he used his gun first, emptied his magazine, didn’t have a replacement, and resorted to using his knife.”

“He’d have to be physically fit or at least intimidating enough to subdue so many people.”

“If this were highly premeditated, he would have brought enough ammunition to kill everyone.”

“Unless he had a single target.”

“He killed the rest of them because they were witnesses.”

“We need to figure out who his first victim was.”

“These are contracts Synalock had. What was the unsub looking for?”

“Maybe he was a client searching for his own contract to hide any connection to Synalock after the murders.”

“Ah, everything’s digital these days, though. The hard copy’s just a backup.”

Oh my cute fossil, Rossi.

“So the unsub’s looking for an object, an old record, something not on a computer.”

“Huh. Rossi, check this out.”

“So, uh, Werner was worried enough about his safety to be armed.”

“And he didn’t have time to go for his gun or didn’t perceive the threat to be immediate.”

“Or keeping a gun around was out of force of habit.”

“He was a veteran.”

“A naval officer by the looks of it.”

“A decorated one at that.”

“He was awarded the Navy Cross in 2000.”

“Something else used to be here.”

“Another picture frame.”

Ruh-roh.

“Blood splatter overlay patterns indicate victim number three was over here.”

“Victim number two right here.”

“And finally victim number one right here.”

“Adam Werner was killed first?”

“Looks that way.”

“Which means the unsub made it all the way in here without alarming anyone.”

“He wasn’t threatening.”

“That’s why Werner didn’t pull the gun we found in his office.”

“He could have been the missing employee.”

“He may have taken that photo form his office if he was in it.”

“Why would an employee be interested in Synalock’s contracts?”

“Maybe this is about one client.”

“He could be after specific company information.”

“He had another motive besides killing.”

“It was clean and fast.”

“He sliced through the left carotid and abdominal aorta, major arteries that would bleed out quickly.”

“They all took two .45s to the chest, except for Adam Warner. He took four body shots and one to the head, execution style.”

“Definite overkill.”

“Somebody was angry with the boss.”

“Somebody with hunting skills.”

“Or a law enforcement background?”

“Talk to me, little genie.”

“Well, since you know how to rub my lamp, your wish is my command.”

Facepalming, grinning and giggling all at the same time here.

“I checked the Synalock client list, and the Defence Intelligence Agency is new to them, so there really isn’t anything to report, and everyone else is crazy happy with their service.”

“No complaints logged in?”

“Zero. I’m talking every high-tech blog, every chat room, glowing accolades. No one had anything contrary to say about Synalock.”

“Any employees have a history of domestic disturbances or stalkers?”

“Not that I’d violate privacy laws to check, she says, but the answer is no.”

“So Synalock is clean.”

“As a whistle.”

“Which reminds me …”

“You know how to whistle, don’t you?”

“You just put your lips together and blow.’

Oh my goodness, I love this ridiculous goddess and hunky chocolate adonis so freaking much.

“I love it when you talk old movies. Later, baby girl.”

“With all the overkill on Werner, there’s got to be a personal connection.”

“We’ve located John Owen, the missing employee. He’s been at a Doctor Who convention in San Diego since Saturday. It was a scheduled vacation.”

“Lucky guy.”

“I’ll say. That’s supposed to be an awesome convention.”

Dead here. Because I know I will never find a man as perfect as Spencer in real life.

“So if it wasn’t someone connected to the workplace, who is it?”

“You know, given the precision of the kills, it could be someone with a military background.”

“Or a professional hired by a business competitor.”

“A hit man would just kill Werner. Killing the entire office seems unprofessional.”

“Werner was a Navy veteran. He had DIA contracts. He had close ties to the military. It could be someone from his past harboring an old grudge.”

“Trooper, issue a Be on The Lookout to law enforcement for a physically fit male in his 30s to 40s, possibly a veteran. He appears nonthreatening and blends in easily. He’s armed and extremely dangerous. He most likely will kill again, either himself or others, very soon.”

You know, as serious as this is, the whole “Luke, I’m your father” thing is just too much for me and I cannot control my giggles.

“Are we sure the unsub is their son?”

“Luke Dolan called Synalock early this morning. Garcia confirmed it.”

“Know many 60-year-olds with a boombox?”

Not anymore. Which is sad.

“Trying to mask the sound of gunshots?”

“Could be. Or he was torturing them with sound.”

That metal music was definitely torture, bro.

“Why were they bound and gagged in the closet? Why not just kill them right away?”

“Maybe he was trying to get information from them.”

“About what?”

“Go ahead, Garcia, you’re on speaker.”

“Okay, Luke Dolan was in the same Navy unit as our CEO Adam Werner. That would be the 212th. They were both communication clerks at Camp Patriot in Kuwait. I’m sending all this information to your emails now.”

“Any other family?”

“He has a wife, Jenna. They’ve been separated for years. She lives in Bethesda with her eight-year-old daughter.”

“We need to bring her in for protective custody and to interview her. Send local PD and have our nearest unit meet them.”

“Done and done.”

Duh.

“Okay, it looks like he served thirteen years, honorable discharge in 2005. And now a VP of a biotech company. He was never a Synalock employee.”

“So what happened to this guy?”

“He was separated from his wife about a year ago, but that’s a bit far back to be a trigger.”

“Well, he’s on a rampage of some kind. What if mentally he was reliving a combat situation?”

“It could be post-traumatic stress. Everybody could look like an enemy.”

“Prentiss, this was a close-knit family.”

“Look at them.”

“They couldn’t have been more proud of their son.”

“How bad would his disorder have to be to make him kill his own parents?”

“Post-traumatic stress disorder rarely turns people into killers, but soldiers with PTSD have been known to strangle their wives in bed while having flashbacks or nightmares, believing they’re on the battlefield.”

“In 2005, an Iraqi war vet assaulted two people in Las Vegas, believing them to be enemy combatants.”

“So Dolan’s having a sustained flashback.”

“Pathological disassociation is one of the markers of complex PTSD, although Dolan has been stateside for six years. An escalation of the symptoms is possible, but it would be rare for them to appear out of nowhere.”

“Well, he seems to have made a successful transition to civilian life.”

“Well, at least on paper it does.”

“We should find out if he’s had any symptoms since he left the navy. It could have been the catalyst for the separation.”

“I’ll have Garcia check his records.”

“Hotch, Dolan’s been going through this.”

“Look, old mementos and journals from his days in the service.”

“He didn’t come here just to kill his parents. He came to get something.”

“He’s on some sort of mission.”

“The car’s washed, spotless inside, there’s no paint separation or rust.”

“This accident was recent.”

“I agree.”

“The Navy’s in his blood. he would never let that go without getting it fixed immediately.”

“It might have triggered his condition.”

“I’ll have Garcia run the plates, check for any recent accidents.”

“So, Dolan left his sedan and didn’t take the parents’ car.”

“He was smart enough to know it’d be tracked.”

“He’s either on foot or he’s stolen another vehicle.”

“If he’s capable of doing this, he’s rational and clear-headed enough to evade his perceived enemies.”

“So despite any mental incapacity, he’s still performing at a high level.”

“Just got word the local PD’s at the wife and daughter’s house.”

“Dolan’s unpredictable when he’s on a rampage. We need to go wide. We need to get the profile to the press.”

“Luke Dolan is a Navy veteran we believe is suffering from PTSD.”

“A recent trauma may have triggered this. He is experiencing pathological disassociation and may believe he’s in a combat situation.”

“What this means is, to him, everyone is a potential enemy. Do not underestimate him. Despite his mental state, he has extreme survival skills.”

“Right now, we believe he’s within a 250-mile radius of Roanoke. He is armed and extremely dangerous.”

“It is important that you do not approach him. He believes that he is on a mission, and if threatened, he will kill. So if you see him, stay away and notify the authorities.”

I’ll tell you whatever you want, gorgeous.

“One thing’s been bothering me is the first victim, Adam Warner, was given the Navy Cross in 2000.”

“We weren’t at war.”

“Exactly.”

“You have to show extreme sacrifice, risk life and limb to win the second-highest medal of valor.”

“So what did he do during peacetime to deserve it?”

“So, Garcia’s discovered part of Dolan’s military records were encrypted.”

“I just got the complete file to the Pentagon. He wasn’t a clerk. He was a Navy Seal.”

“Let me guess. Adam Werner was, too.”

“Yeah. Werner was the seal team leader, Dolan was his number two. Their unit was part of JSOC. They were involved in twenty highly classified missions.”

“Which missions were in 2000?”

“Uh, only one. Operation Dorado Falls.”

“See what you can find about it.”

“Will do.”

Good.

“That changes the profile.”

“Definitely.”

“How so?”

“Navy Seals are screened carefully for vulnerability to PTSD. They’re resistant to it.”

“So why would a trained Navy Seal kill his commanding officer and his own parents?”

“I don’t know, but it’s gonna be a lot harder to find him. Very few people on this planet are capable of stopping him.”

“Luke Dolan just evaded a roadblock near his wife’s house. They searched the surrounding area. There’s no sign of him.”

Well, this just turned from crap tp shit.

“Did you notice any recent changes in Luke’s behavior?”

“Did he ever mention Dorado Falls?”

“A mission he was on.”

“Is that why you two separated?”

“You weren’t a priority to him?”

“He had an exit strategy.”

Oh that poor woman. Her husband had an exit strategy from life and she took it personally.

“Okay, so it turns out 6:20 Friday night, Dolan got in a car accident in Bethesda.”

“That must have been after he dropped off his daughter.”

“He suffered minor injuries, he refused medical treatment.”

“Well, his wife said he was fine when he left her.”

“What was his mental state after the accident?”

“Normal. Field sobriety test came up negative.”

“That wouldn’t rule out drug use.”

Well, crap.

“I’d consider schizophrenia, except he’s the wrong age for the first psychotic break. It could be an aneurysm or a brain tumor.”

“Well, one thing’s for sure. He’s having a mental breakdown, but what are the specific features of it?”

“He’s not living in a past time and place, he’s living in the present, with the capacity and intelligence to evade law enforcement.”

Wow, that woman is rattled. Though any sane woman would if her husband was forced out of their house at gunpoint and she was left wondering what the fuck is going on.

“Mrs. Milgram …”

“Ma’am, listen to me. The FBI is in charge of looking for your husband, but I need you to try to remember what Luke Dolan said.”

“Yes, you can.”

“Just close your eyes.”

“Ma’am, I believe that you can.”

“Just listen to the sound of my voice and you’ll be fine.”

“Just try.”

“Close your eyes. There you go.”

“Just relax and breathe. Very good.”

“Now, what were you doing before he broke into your house?”

“Does he think your husband did something to them?”

“Does he mention Dorado Falls?”

Yup.

“All of the Milgrams’ cars are still here, so he must have taken the General in whatever vehicle he came in.”

“He talked about gaslighting. He thinks someone’s trying to purposely distort his reality.”

“He said his parents had been replaced.”

“He sounds delusional.”

“You know, he might have Capgras syndrome.”

Huh?

“It’s a delusional disorder in which one believes that their friends and loved ones had been replaced by impostors.”

“Sort of like Invasion of the Body Snatchers.”

“It typically involves only one sense, such as sight.”

“Basically, the neural connection between the visual cortex and the emotional center of the brain becomes severed, so that looking at a loved one doesn’t elicit the same emotional response one would expect.”

“So you think they’re an imposter.”

“And the interesting thing is that the auditory connection remains intact, so that if they were to hear a loved one speak and not see them, they’d think that they were real.”

“What causes this syndrome?”

“It’s unknown in 60% of the cases, but the rest have an organic cause, such as a tumor or head trauma.”

“He was in a car accident Friday.”

“People with delusional disorders don’t become killers, though.”

“True, but Dolan’s background as a Navy Seal, his knowledge of secret missions, plus Capgras syndrome, could result in extreme paranoia.”

“It’s the perfect storm.”

“Is there a cure for this?”

Nope. Shit.

“So this guy’s stuck with it.”

“He’s not killing for the thrill of it, he does it because he believes he has no other choice.”

“He murdered his best friend and his parents because he believed they were imposters.”

“So if he were to see his wife and daughter, the results could be deadly.”

“Dolan kidnapped the General and didn’t kill his wife because he had never met them before.”

“There may be another reason. He wants contact.”

“Our primary goal right now is the safe recovery of the General.”

“We could. But your help would speed things up.”

“You’re smart enough to see the upside, I’m sure.”

“You help and it goes well, you get your ticket punched.”

“You don’t and it goes south, well, the weather’s not too bad outside the beltway.”

“You know why Dolan’s so worried about this mission?”

“Were there complications?”

Oh damn. She don’t mess around.

“We think his car accident triggered a delusional disorder.”

“We need to know who Luke was close to.”

“Is this Lieutenant Luke Dolan?”

“Sergeant Major David Rossi, United States Marine Corps, retired.”

“I volunteered to call you.”

“I knew your dad, Luke. We were in boot camp together at Parris Island.”

“He’s a good man.”

“Still triangulating a location. Hold on.”

“Now, we can talk, but first I need to know that General Milgram is safe.”

“What’s up with the music?”

“I have no idea.”

You know, I am getting real tired of these writers stealing my thunder.

“Why did you kidnap the General?”

“Do you think we’re holding them?”

God. This guy is off his meds. And pretty bad.

“What have you got, Garcia?”

“Getting closer. We’re in the warehouse district. Stand by.”

“Got it! 3352 Spring Street.”

Go! Go! Go!

“Let’s go.”

“Release the General and then we can talk about your family. He’s innocent.”

“Luke, do you think your father would approve of what you’re doing?”

“Start what?”

What the fuck is this nutcase talking about?

“Why don’t you tell us your side of the story?”

“All right.”

“Dorado Falls was the name of a boat off the coast of Cape Town. It was owned by a South African diplomat who was selling nuclear secrets to Iran.”

“So what’s the big secret?”

“There isn’t one. Don’t get me wrong, lives were lost, but there’s been far worse missions.”

“His mind chose Dorado Falls to build a conspiracy around.”

Well, shit.

“This can’t be it.”

“Garcia, it’s an empty lot with a cell phone repeater. Give me a rundown on the buildings in the area and the years that they were built.”

“All over it like cat hair on a sofa.”

Someone zap her here so I can kiss her.

“Btw, I can usually locate a cell phone within three meters, but sometimes there are circumstance beyond my control, like physical barriers blocking a signal, not being in the satellite’s direct line of sight, which bounces the signal to a repeater.”

“Garcia, tell me you’ve got something.”

“Oh, sorry. Yes, I have something.”

Oh my God, she is the cutest thing ever.

“There is a hotel built in ’74 that is scheduled for demo, and there is a warehouse scheduled for loft conversion that was built in 1928.”

“All right, walls were thicker in the twenties.”

“What’s the address of the building?”

“More GPS signal interference.”

Come on, baby.

“Exact address is … 291 Hope Street.”

“291 Hope.”

“Intel failed to identify … two children aboard the boat.”

“You had to shoot those kids, didn’t you? They were witnesses. Just like everyone at Synalock.”

“Listen, Jenna and Ally are safe.”

“I’ll make you an offer. You let Milgram go and I’ll take his place.”

“But you need insurance. I get that. Let me take his place. Because I’m not just a guy behind a desk.”

“I was a Marine with boots on the ground, just like you.”

“I know what you’ve been through.”

“I want you to get your family back.”

“Where’s Hotch and Morgan?”

“The Spring Street address didn’t pan out. They’re searching the warehouse right now.”

“Luke, I need your exact address.”

“Clear.”

“We got the General. He’s still alive.”

Where the fuck is Dolan?

“Yeah, he used the radio to mask the sound of his movements.”

“We’re on the move.”

“This was all part of his plan to find out who was holding his wife and daughter.”

“But you never said you were FBI.”

“He saw the number I called from. He recognized the FBI prefix.”

“So, what, he’s on his way here to Quantico?”

“I know the head space he’s in. he feels alone right now. There’s no risk he won’t take.”

“As a Navy Seal, he did training here. He knows this place.”

Seal everything.

“An FBI police officer was just found shot to death in the academy parking structure.”

“He’s already here.”

Shit.

“Dolan’s photo’s already been sent on all internal servers.”

“He’s probably changed his appearance already.”

“And he’s got thirteen floors to hide on.”

Fuck.

“We should make a general PA announcement.”

Hey, I know that weirdo.

“No. He believes he’s on a rescue mission that he can pull off. As long as he thinks that, he’ll stay calm.”

“I’ve got hundreds of employees in here and you want me to do nothing?”

Seriously, dude?

“Garcia, I need you on the building’s operations computer.”

“Ready and able, sir.”

“Dolan’s got a police radio. I want all alerts sent through ha secure tactical channel.”

“We can’t take that risk. You’ll be safe in here.”

Good, keep them safe.

“He knows how to be invisible.”

“I got him. He used the dead officer’s ID to enter the seventh floor.”

“Seal if off. Nobody in or out.”

Oh boy.

“Navy Seals never start a mission without an exfiltration plan. Check the exterior and elevator shafts for riggings.’

“Turning exterior cameras now.”

“A member of the seal team said Dolan’s an expert in explosives, disabling and building them.”

“Also be on the lookout for explosives.”

Fuck.

Wack calling, let Rossi handle it.

“Hello.”

“Yes. I was hoping you’d call, Luke.”

“Where are you?”

Shit. He’s there with a fucking bomb and fucking shit I am not okay with this.

“Okay, okay. Easy, easy.”

“Oh, my God.”

“All right, Luke, you don’t want to be aiming that around.”

“Snipers have the building covered.”

“You’re in the crosshairs right now, I can guarantee that.”

“I’m the one you want. You can let my team go.”

“Start an evacuation.”

“Can we evacuate everyone in three minutes?”

“Prentiss, I need his wife in here.”

“No one is seeking revenge here. You’ve created this conspiracy in your own mind.”

“To protect them from you after you murdered your own parents.”

“Your real parents are dead.”

DUDE! What the fuck are you doing?!

“You want to know what’s really going on? You were in a car accident three nights ago and you suffered a head trauma.”

“You don’t believe that’s her?”

Shit.

“Jenna, can you talk to him about something personal, something that only the two of you would know about?”

“When you see your family, you think that they’re imposters, but it’s all caused by an illness.”

“You’re sick, Luke.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Luke, you have to close your eyes.”

“Because you need to know that your wife is real and your eyes will trick you.”

“Close your eyes.”

“First Jenna’s gonna cover up your eyes.”

Shit.

“No! No!”

“JJ, let me have him.”

“Get him out of here!”

“Get him out of here!”

Ah crap, it all went to shit.

Orson Welles: “Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for a moment that we’re not alone.”

“No, I didn’t mandate it.”

Wait. So Hotch didn’t mandate the training? Oh boy, my puppy really stepped in it this time.

“Hey.”

“Uh, Hotch didn’t order my takedown recertification.”

Busted.

“Do you want to tell me what’s really going on?”

“I just thought we both could use a refresher.”

“You mean you thought I could use it.”

“You’re nervous about me being back.”

“Emily …”

“What … you think I’m gonna mess up the team’s rhythm?”

“I get it. But just come out and say it.”

“Morgan.”

“Okay, fine.”

“Yea, I am nervous.”

“But not about you.”

“About me.”

“Emily, I thought I lost you, and I blamed myself.”

“Now, you’re back, but I don’t want to be worried about losing you again and get distracted.”

“So you wanted some reassurance.”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Morgan, I cannot imagine what you went through.”

“It was seven months of hell.”

“How can I make it up to you? I will do whatever it takes.”

“Just give me ten hours of training.”

“Okay, you got it.”

“Shooting range on Sundays.”

“I’m there.”

“And my morning coffee and a neck rub every day.”

“Oh, buddy, you are really pushing it.”

Morgan, you little shit!

Whew. So aside from the craziness of this entire episode, because - hot damn! - this episode was so cute! Morgan dealing with his mixed feelings about Prentiss coming back and being worried he might lose her again, it’s just the most adorable subplot there is.

Also, I just found out that Reid likes to go to Doctor Who conventions, and it just made my day.

Also, I love how they address PTSD and general trauma-coping in military veterans. It’s seriously refreshing how they keep addressing all issues in human psyche around the vast country of the USA. Amazing.

And so, on this ... positive? ... note, I thank you all for keeping on following this stuff.

I’ll see you all next time and - in the meantime, enjoy the rest of the photos of Shemar Moore I’ve been hoarding.

#Criminal Minds reviews #Criminal Minds #reviews #s07e03 #dorado falls #aaron hotchner #Thomas Gibson #derek morgan #Shemar Moore #dr spencer reid #Matthew Gray Gubler #Penelope Garcia #Kirsten Vagnsness #Jennifer Jareau #jj #aj cook #emily prentiss #Paget Brewster #david rossi #joe mantegna #max martini #franklin delano roosevelt #orson welles #poodle #puppy #baby boy #god of chocolate thunder #chocolate adonis #baby girl #tech kitten