Here’s some of the most amazing and invaluable advice you’ll most-likely ever get from one of my good colleagues and legends in comics/gaming, creator JOE MADUREIRA. It’s what i’ve been preaching to you aspiring artists since i arrived on DA, but i think his POV says it perfectly:
*WARNING: SOME MATURE LANGUAGE*
“DO YOU REALLY WANT TO BE A SUCCESSFUL ARTIST?
Or a successful WORKING PROFESSIONAL?
Believe it or not there is a difference. I’m not usually a soapbox type guy, I don’t like instructing people, and I think I’m a terrible teacher. But hey, it’s Friday and I’m in a strange mood. So here goes:
I’ve noticed that a good number of my fans happen to be aspiring artists themselves. This is for all you guys. I get asked constantly: "Where should I go to school?”“What classes should I take?”“What should I study for anatomy?”“What pencils and paper do you use?”“Should I be working digitally now instead of traditionally?”“How do I fix my poses? Learn composition? Perspective?”“When am I going to develop my own style?” “Who were your influences?”“Teach me how to draw hands!” The list goes on…
Here’s the deal. All of that stuff *is* important, and it may nudge you in the right direction. A lot of it you will discover for yourself.What works best for one person doesn’t work for another. That’s the beauty of art. It’s personal. It’s discovery. DON’T WORRY ABOUT ALL THAT CRAP!
Instead I’m going to answer the questions that you *SHOULD* be asking, but aren’t. These are things that have only recently occurred to me, after doing this for 20+ years. These things seem so obvious, but apparently they elude a lot of people, because I am surprised at how many ridiculously talented artists are ‘failing’ professionally. Or just unhappy. The beauty of what I’m about to tell you is that it doesn’t matter what field you’re in or what your art style is.
In no particular order:
1)DO WHAT YOU LOVE. If you are passionate about what you’re doing, it shows. If you’re having fun, it shows. If you’re bored, IT SHOWS. Some guys are able to work on stuff they have zero interest in, and still pull off great work, but I find that when I do this my motivation takes a huge hit. And Motivation is key. Money is not a great motivator. It’s temporary like everything else. And honestly, I’ve gotten paid the most money for some of the shittiest work I have ever done. That may sound awesome, but it’s not. And here’s why…
2) You MUST stay Excited and Motivated. Have you noticed that there are days you can’t draw a god damned thing? And some days you feel like you can draw anything? It’s 4am but you don’t notice because you are in the ZONE. Your hand is racing ahead of your mind and you can do no wrong?! Maybe it’s some new paper you got. Or a new program you’ve been wanting to try out. Or you just found some amazing shit on DeviantArt, or watched some movie that just makes you want to run straight to your board. This relates to the above because while it is possible to involve yourself in projects you aren’t excited about—maybe you need the cash, or think it will look good on your resume, whatever it is—it’s not going to last. You need to stay fresh. Expose yourself to new things. New techniques. You should be getting tired of your own shit on a fairly regular basis. Otherwise other people will.
3) Check your Ego. If you think you’re the shit, you’re already doomed. You may be really, really good at what you do, but there’s someone better. Sorry. There’s always plenty to learn, even for us old dogs. So when I meet young upstarts who have this sense of entitlement, or a know-it-all attitude, I just have to laugh. Some of the biggest egos I’ve ever witnessed were from people who have accomplished the least. Meanwhile, most guys who are supremely talented AND successful, and have EARNED the RIGHT to have an ego and throw their weight around, don’t. Why is that? It’s because…
4) RELATIONSHIPS ARE IMPORTANT. This may be one of the biggest lessons I’ve had to learn. Early on, I didn’t value my relationships with people. Creatively or otherwise. I felt like I didn’t need anyone’s help and I could figure everything out on my own. Let’s face it, many of us become artists because we are reclusive, social misfits. We’d rather stay inside and draw shit than go outside and play. We like to live inside our own minds. Why not?! It’s awesome in there! And sometimes we don’t want to let other people in. But like I said—you can’t do it alone. I can honestly say that as much as I try to stay current, as much as I try to push my work and draw kick ass shit that will excite people, I would not be where I am today if it weren’t for all the other people I’ve met and learned from along the way. Guys who pulled strings for me. Took risks on me. Believed I was the right guy for the job. You need to manage your relationships.You need to network, and meet people. Drawing comics is still a pretty good place for reclusive types—but if you want to work in big studios—Making games, Films, animation, basically any other type of job on the planet, you’d better start making some connections. Be likeable. Be professional.That doesn’t mean be an opportunistic ladder climber. Fake people lose in the end. Be yourself, but be professional. It’s no secret that when people are hiring, our first instinct is to bring in people we know. It’s human nature. I don’t like unknowns, even if their portfolio is awesome. If we have a mutual connection, if they have great things to say about you, you’re in. If you have AMAZING artwork to show, and I call your last employer and they tell me what a pain in the ass you are to work with, you’re done.Talent and skill only get you so far. I am literally amazed at how often I meet guys that are total assholes and think they are going to get anywhere.
5) Here’s the BIG ONE.The greatest obstacle you will ever have to overcome IS YOURSELF. And the Fear that you are creating in your own head. Stay positive. Stop defeating yourself. There are artists I know that are so damn good they make me pee my pants. I look up to these mofos. I study their shit and I want to draw like them. And they are almost NEVER working on their DREAM project. And—big surprise, they aren’t happy in their job. “Why NOT?! WTF is WRONG WITH YOU?!” is usually my reaction. And the answer is almost always “The market isn’t great right now”“Other stories/games/comics like mine don’t do very well”“The shit that’s hot right now is nothing like mine, It’s just going to fail.”“I’m not sure I’m good enough.”“I need the money.”“Too Risky.”“I tried it before and failed. ” It doesn’t matter what words they use, they are afraid for one reason or another. I know. I’ve been there.
But here’s the deal. YOU NEED TO TAKE RISKS. Guess what? YOU ARE MOST LIKELY GOING TO FAIL. If you want it—REALLYwant it, that won’t stop you. You will learn A LOT. My good friend Tim constantly jokes about how I jump out of planes without a parachute and worry about the landing on the way down. You may think that I’m lucky, that it’s easy for me to say because I’m already successful, that I’m in a different situation than you all are. But it’s not true. Risk is risk, no matter what level you’re at. If you’re already successful, you just take even bigger risks. But they never go away. Everything in life is Risk vs. Reward. Not just in your career. LIFE. You’d better get used to it.
I didn’t know what the hell I was doing when I got into comics. I left the #1 selling book at the time ( Uncanny X-men ) to work on Battle Chasers during a time when 'Conan’ was about the only fantasy comic people knew. And no one was buying it. I wanted to work in games, so I started a game company. I had NO IDEA WTF I was doing. I just wanted it, really bad. We tanked. It failed. No big surprise. But the people I worked with got hired elsewhere and rehired me. I started ANOTHER game Company. We had 4 people and a dream, and some publishers wouldn’t even meet with us, because their 'next gen console’ teams had 90+ people on them. I literally got hung up on. “Stick to handheld games, it’s smaller, maybe you can handle that…” one MAJOR publisher told us. I don’t blame them. But we didn’t let it stop us. Thank god we didn’t listen to them. Vigil was born. Darksiders happened, AND we got to make a sequel. It stands shoulder to shoulder with the best games in the industry, and the most elite and experienced game dev studios in the world. How is that possible?!!! Hardly any of us had even worked on a console game before. I’ll be honest, I was thinking we would fail the whole time. I just didn’t care. If I had to play the odds on this one, I’d bet against us.
Why am I telling you all this shit? This is not me patting myself on the back. It’s just stuff that has somehow only dawned on me recently when it’s been staring me in the face for so long. I feel like I need to wake you guys up!!! I’ve been limiting myself.I’ve gotten afraid.I’ve taken less risks. I saw my career going places I didn’t want to go. I wasn’t happy and I wasn’t excited. And I’ve realized, that all that stuff I just talked about is the reason I am where I am today. Not because I have a manga style, or I draw cool hands, or there’s energy in my drawings, or all the other things people rattle off to me. There are other guys that do all that same shit, and do it better. And amazingly, those same guys constantly tell me “Man, I wish I could do what you are doing.” “SO DO IT!!!!!” PLEASE listen to me—because I want you guys to make it. I want to look to one of you people for inspiration some day when it’s 2am and I need to keep drawing. Stop worrying about all the other stuff—the pencils, the paper, the anatomy, all that shit. It will only get you so far. You’ve already got most of what you need. I hope this helps some people. From the bottom of my heart, thank you for all the support over the years. You are all one of the greatest motivating forces in my life and my career. Sappy but true. Ok, let’s go draw some shit!!!“
Hidden Figures Cast wins the Screen Actors Guild Award for Outstanding Performance by a Cast in a Motion Picture
Taraji P. Henson: Talk to me, God. Listen. This film is about unity. We stand here as proud actors thanking every member of this incredible guild for voting for us, for recognizing our hard work. But the shoulders of the women we stand on are three American heroes: Katherine Johnson, Dorothy Vaughan, Mary Jackson. Without them, we would not know how to reach the stars. These women did not complain about the problems, their circumstances, you know, the issues. We know what was going on in that era. They didn’t complain. They focused on solutions. Therefore, these brave women helped put men into space. We cannot forget the brave men that also worked with us. God rest his soul in peace, John Glenn. This story is of unity. This story is about what happens when we put our differences aside and we come together as a human race. We win. Love wins every time. Thank you so much for appreciating the work we’ve done. Thank you so much for appreciating these women — they are hidden figures no more. Thank you.
“The global mentality is moving towards free world trade and increased market liberalism. A world full of opportunities. A world where dreams can come true. It sounds fantastic, and it is fantastic … for a very small percentage of us. But for the vast, poor majority, the capitalist system only means one thing: death and suffering. While we live out our days thoughtlessly, and stuff ourselves with cheap food, the poor people of the Earth struggle in factories. Wages are forced down to the minimum, while the work hours keep increasing. Unionisation is illegal, and the working conditions are intolerable. Before applauding freedom, we must remember one thing: our over-consuming society stands on the shoulders of the coffee beans from Peru. We gorge on cheap food produced by underpaid children’s hands from India.”
Progress is never fully won. It has to be renewed generation after
generation. We stand on the shoulders of the women and men who came
before us, and march alongside young activists who are leading the way
forward. - Hillary Rodham Clinton
His eyes traveled down your body, underneath his, the red lace bra standing out covering your breasts. He sucked in a breath, your matching lips smirking as the blush rose onto his cheeks. “Want me to take control, puppy?” You whispered, not waiting for a reply; you pushed at his shoulders, you being stronger than him it was no problem.
You hovered his body, releasing your claws and scratching down his shirt, ripping it in half. You licked your crimson red lips, eyeing his defined abs, before kissing down them. Your lips against his chest sent shivers through his body, goosebumps jumping out and hairs standing up. “Oh my god,” he gasped, when your hand slid into the waistband of his boxers, wrapping them around his cock.
// harry and y/n take a trip to MoMA and her art studio, where things get a little messy
paint my kiss across your chest if you’re the art, i’ll be the brush
-bad liar, selena gomez
“You’re prettier than all of the art in here.” Harry states. He flops his long arm across my shoulders as we stand looking at Andy Worhol’s Campbell’s Soup Cans. “I mean, it’s just a bunch of soup cans. I could’ve come up with that.”
I roll my eyes at his cheesy comment and laugh at his unappreciative nature towards art. “It’s Andy Worhal.”
“It’s not creative, y/n.” Harry looks at me and takes my hand in his, pulling me away from the soup cans. His heavy tan sweater sways lightly while he walks. His hands are clammy, just like usual. “You on the other hand, are the most creative, most beautiful person I know. Your art should be here. You should be in here,” he beams.
“I am in here.” I reply, looking up at him. The hat he has on makes him look different- younger, maybe.
“No, like on display. I want everyone to see how beautiful you are- wait no, on second thought, I don’t want anyone looking at you.” Harry shakes his head and takes his lip between his index finger and thumb.
“Why not? You said yourself, I’m prettier than all of the art in here,” I counter, though I completely disagree with his statement.
“Because having you on display would mean that other people would get to look at you and I want to be the only one who gets to look at y/n, the most beautiful and priceless piece of art that ever was.” Harry finishes his sentence with a kiss to my right temple. This leaves my cheeks burning and my mind wondering why this public act of affection is affecting me the way it is. All we would ever be seen doing is holding hands. Never kissing, never even hugging in public.
“People stare at you everyday and you don’t see me having a problem with it.” I cross my arms over my chest, sending him attitude.
“That’s because you don’t see me as a piece of art, love. I look at you and I see the most delicate, most intricate, most delightful thing created.” He flashes a smile at me again, and I wonder why he would ever think I don’t see him as a piece of art. Maybe he’s more than art to me. Maybe he’s my world, my lifeline, the oxygen in my lungs.
Harry yawns. “Can we go to your apartment? I’m tired.” Waking up before the sun does, performing on the Today Show and promising your girlfriend you’d go to MoMA with her can be exhausting.
“Yeah, Haz, we can go home.” I quietly say while he rubs his eyes. His sweater sleeves are far too long, even for his lanky arms. I notice him grabbing onto the ends of his sleeve, to keep the cool new york air away from his skin when we walk out the door. He grabs my hand with his uncovered one, a cool contrast to my always warm ones. Both of our chelsea boots clank on the dirty sidewalk and we do our best to avoid paparazzi, however we do stop to say hello to a few fans.
Once we settle into the range rover waiting for us, I tell Harry that I need to stop by my studio before we go back to my apartment. I say to him that he can stay in the car and that it’ll only be a few moments but he insists on coming up with me.
“Wow, this is intense.” He says closing the door. It’s a small studio with the tiniest bathroom and kitchen imaginable. It was my first home in Manhattan. Harry looks around my work area, careful not to trip over the paint stained sheet I have layed out on the floor to protect the wood underneath. He glances at the canvas on one of my three easels, the one he so graciously gifted me with. “Is this me?” He points to the unfinished painting.
I nod. “Yeah, I started that while you were in Jamaica. All from memory.”
“You’re so incredible.” He comes up behind me and rests his chin on the top of my head. Our height difference always makes me giggle. His arms slip underneath my sweater and shirt, finding spots on my warm torso to leave his cold hands. The contact makes me scream.
“Harry! Your hands are so fucking cold, get them off of me.” I wiggle away from his grasp and he frowns.
“I was trying to warm up, poppet,” Harry tries to justify his actions.
“Well you’re not warming up by putting your freezing cold hands on me,” I say while trying to find the gallery showing application I was given.
“Fine,” he says. “I’ll turn on the thermostat.”
“No Harry, I came to pick up this application.” I wave the paper in front of him. “We can go now.”
Harry narrows his eyes and looks around the studio again. “No, I want to stay here and try something.”
My eyebrows knit together in a confused fashion. He begins walking over to my paints and rummages through the bottles. “What are you doing?” I question.
“I wanna try something,” He repeats. “Strip for me.” He continues blatantly. Turning around, he holds three bottles of paint in each of his large hands. He looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to take off my clothes but I remain wide eyed and completely clothed. Like he said, It’s still very cold in the studio and I have no clue as to what he’s planning on doing. Harry puts the paint down on the table closer to where I’m standing. He walks towards me and takes my jacket off. I reluctantly let him but still wonder what’s going on inside his head. “Can you at least tell me what you’re doing?” I question.
Harry bites his lip, hiding a smile from me. I hate it when he bites his lip because I love seeing him smile, but on the other hand there’s something mysterious to this lip bite. “Just trust me, okay? Look, I’ll even turn on the heat for you and we can stand in front of the heater,” he suggests.
“Harry…” I begin.
He pouts his lip. “Please, poppet?”
I groan as I’m unable to resist his begging eyes. “Fine,” I comply before pulling my shirt off of me, shuddering as the cold air hits my skin. Harry shuffles us closer to the air vent so I won’t freeze down to my bones.
“Pants, too.” He gestures. “Everything, love. I want everything off.” He unbuttons my jeans and moves his hands around my waist so that they’re resting right above my bum. He kneels down so he can be eye level with my stomach. He presses his lips to my already exposed belly button while reaching down my legs to unzip my boots, allowing me to step out of them before removing my jeans. I do this for him since he gets up to take me in. I’m slightly embarrassed, though this is hardly the first time he’s seen me like this. “So beautiful. God, how are you so perfect?” Harry is now standing in front of me, peering down my body.
“I’m hardly perfect,” I whisper. The warm air from the heater leaves goosebumps scattered along my backside, where the air first hits my body.
“But you are,” Harry insists and reaches behind my back, trying to unclasp my bra. I let him do so as I’ve completely given up on trying to understand what he’s doing. He lets my bra drop to the floor and I instinctively bring my arms up to cover myself. Harry shakes his head and grabs my arms to move them to my sides. “Why do you feel like you have to cover up, love?”
I shrug. “I don’t know, I’m just embarrassed, I guess.“
Harry chuckles lightly before pressing his lips against my own, making this our first kiss of the day. It’s tender and sweet, making me want more but he pulls away. “You have no reason to be embarrassed. How many times do I have to tell you that you’re perfect. All of the flaws that you think are flaws make you who you are. You’re perfectly imperfect.” He kisses my lips again. His words make pink blossoms bloom on my cheeks and heat emerge between my legs. He grabs a paint bottle and opens it.
“Harry what are you-”
“I want you to be my canvas. You’re always asking me to paint with you but I’ve decided I want to paint on you.” Harry answers. He grabs a pallet and squeezes the white paint onto the plastic.
“You’re gonna paint on me?” I look at him with disapproving eyes, wondering where he even got this idea from.
“Mhmm.” He dips the brush in the paint. He’s slow with his actions, making me anticipate the cold liquid on my skin. He starts at my left shoulder and I nearly yelp at the cold contact. “Sorry,” he says. I nod and he drags the brush all the way down my arm and stops at my wrist. He does the same to the other side and my body gets used to the feeling. It tickles slightly but the brush he’s using is rough. He says he’s finished with the white and puts the pallet and brush down. “This could get pretty messy,” he states. “And we wouldn’t want me getting paint on my clothes,” he continues, starting to take off his hat and his tan sweater after. He leaves himself only in his white boxers, just like me, only in my dark blue lace panties. I shake my head at his cheeky behavior. “Maybe we should let Ray know he can go back to the hotel. Wouldn’t want him waiting in the car all this time.”
All I can do is nod, completely lost in his actions. He grabs another paint bottle, the lightest blue that I own. Instead of the pallet, he squeezes it into his hand then puts his hands together, spreading the paint on the other. He looks at me adoringly with his pupils dilated and a smile creeping onto his lips. He moves behind me and nudges my arms, telling me to lift them up. I do so and when they’re up far enough, he snakes his arms underneath them and presses his hands against my breasts, leaving two blue handprints on each of them. “Harry!” I gasp.
He laughs and turns me around. “What?”
“You’re so cheeky!” I exclaim, looking down at his blue palms. “You’re too clean, too.” I add. Harry twists his face, confused by what I mean. It’s just not fair that I’m the only one who is covered in paint. I lunge toward him and press my chest on his, transferring some of the paint onto him. I wrap my arms around his neck and he gasps my name. He lifts me up in his arms and I wrap my legs around his waist. I join my lips to his and this one is much needier than the last. He bites my bottom lip before pulling away.
“Mmm, not done with you,” Harry hums. He puts me down and frowns. “You’ve messed up my artwork!”
I look down and I see that I’ve completely smudged the blue paint on my boobs and have managed to get some of it on my chest.
“This just won’t do,” he shakes his head. Harry’s long fingers wrap around the lilac paint and he smirks at me. Before I get to say anything, he squeezes the paint directly onto my chest.“My design is ruined so might as well just make a mess of you.” He shrugs.
“Only if you let me paint on you,” I compromise. I receive a small peck on my lips and he says okay. I smile, feeling giddy that I get to have some fun as well. I contemplate which color I want to start with and Harry has already decided on his next one. He’s going with a bright yellow and I pick up a darker purple than the one he put on me before. I squeeze a little on my finger and reach up to put lines under Harry’s eyes, resembling a football players game face. He laughs and says, “That’s the best you can do?”
I shake my head no. Before Harry does anything with the yellow paint he removes my underwear in the swiftest motion, I don’t even notice that they’re gone until his cold hands are placed on each of the cheeks. “Mm, just a little yellow to brighten the day,” he says. Twisting my back, I see the two yellow handprints left on my bum. It’s like he’s marking me.
“Fuck,” Harry says. “I can’t do it.”
I am staring at the ferns etched above his V line when he says this. I look up at his hungry eyes. “I just can’t do it, y/n,” he admits. “I wanted this to be fun. I just wanted to paint on you, but you’re so beautiful and I’m getting distracted.” He looks down. I look down. I hadn’t even noticed the bulge under his boxers.
“Oh, Harry,” I giggle while bringing myself closer to him. My palms meet his chest and I trace my fingertips over the birds. He hums into my ear and nibbles on the lobe. My knees feel weak but luckily Harry lifts me off of the ground and takes control. One arm is holding me up while the other is wrapped round my back and he grasps my hair in his hand. I snuggle in closer to him-if that’s even possible, and rest my forehead on his shoulder. He’s backed me up against the wall and he pulls my hair so we can be face to face. A wet kiss is left on my neck and he kisses my jawline, teasing me at the corner of my lips until finally pressing his own to mine. He parts his lips and I take this opportunity to stick my tongue in his mouth. He never lets me have this much control and I don’t think he ever will. He pushes mine away with his own, and resorts to biting my bottom lip as punishment. Our breathing is heavy and our skin is hot, thanks to the thermostat that quickly warmed the small flat.
“Y/n, baby,” Harry begs. I kiss him harder, shutting him up. However, he pulls away. “You’re so beautiful. How did I get so lucky?”
“You’re beautiful too,” I smile. He puts me down and his boxers come along with me. They stop at his thighs and I pull them down, kissing his thigh tattoo as I do so. I take him in my hand but Harry pulls me up before I get to do anything. I look at his face and he shakes his head.
“All about you, love. I want this to be all about you,” he tells me. I want to argue, but I also don’t want to do anything. “I want to taste you,” he says. I nod. I nod vigorously.
He lifts me up again and takes us over to one of my work tables and I internally grimace as my bum touches the dirty surface. Ugh, Harry why this table? He’s looking at my body with such fascination, I can’t help but watch him watch me. His right hand glides across my stomach and moves down until he reaches my thighs. I groan at his slowness. I’m so needy for him, I’m so dependent on his touch. He uses both of his hands to push my thighs apart and his elbows rest on either side of them. He kisses the inside of my thigh, trailing all the way up to my core and two unexpected fingers slip inside me. I’m suddenly finding it a lot harder to watch him, my eyes threatening to close with each pump of his fingers. Harry’s face settles in between my thighs and his tongue teases every part of me. I pray he doesn’t stop. I bite my lip in hopes of holding in a moan. He looks up at me and pulls away just enough for him to be able to speak but he fingers don’t stop. “What have I said about biting that, hmm? Moan, baby. Let the whole building know how good I make you feel.”
I do as he says and release my lip from my teeth. An immediate moan escapes my parted lips and Harry grins. He continues to pump in and out of me while his thumb remains outside, rubbing the spot above my entrance. I call his name out, begging for more. He laps his tongue around my folds and I writher under his touch. My legs begin to shake but he refuses my arrival by pulling away. “Not yet, baby.” He says, taking my leg behind the knee with his left hand. His lips meet with mine when he unexpectedly yet slowly thrusts inside of me. He lets out a low groan as he finally gets the relief he’s been needing. He quickens his pace and holds my back up with his hands, pulling our chests together. I bite into his shoulder, feeling so close to where he’s trying to get me. There isn’t any way we could possibly get closer yet Harry still manages to grip me tighter. His other hand is everywhere, as are his lips.
“Y/n, fuck,” he gasps. I feel his back tense under my hands, and I claw at his skin. His thrusts are harder, needier, rougher. His thrusts become pounds which makes me scream but I don’t know if it’s out of pain or pleasure. Maybe pleasureful pain. His hand slips down in between my legs and rubs ferociously. His lips find mine in a feverish approach to pleasure me even more. He’s nearing his high and I’m nearing mine. Everything is pulsing, my heart is threatening to leave my chest. “Let it go, love. Come for me. Come on, kitten,” Harry encourages.
“Harry,” I mumble out, squeezing my eyes shut as I come. This could be the first, this could be the hundredth, but every time, Harry makes me feel like I’m flying. I’m weightless in his arms and I beg him to release. “Come, Harry. I know you’re close, God your cock feels so good. Come in me, please.”
He continues thrusting and leaves scattered kisses along my neck. “Y/n,” he breathes. His legs shake and his movements weaken. “God, y/n.” Soft lips are touching my own and he stills himself, despite the tremors quaking throughout his back and legs. He sighs into my neck and bites down softly. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he says, still tense. Still pressed inside me. His breaths are shallow and rapid. He pulls out of me and I sigh.
“Harry,” I begin, grazing my nails along his skin. He kisses my lips tenderly and presses his forehead to mine. “I love you so much.”
“I love you so much,” he replies and backs away from me, looking at my painted body. “I told you I’d make a mess of you.” Harry laughs while bending down to grab my bra for me. The paint has crusted over and I can’t wait to wash it off of me, though I have a feeling Harry will want to do that for me.
My wet hair is wrapped in a towel while Harry and I are sprawled on the couch watching reruns of friends. His wet hair has drenched my (his) t shirt since he decided to lay his head on my stomach. My palm rests on his chest, rising and falling with every breath. “Are we more like Ross and Rachel or Monica and Chandler?” he asks.
“Definitely Monica and Chandler,” I state. “Ross and Rachel were so off and on, you know? But like, Monica and Chandler were friends first, never thought they’d be together but they’re hands down the best couple.”
Harry nods in agreement. “I’m tired.”
“Hmm, you should be.” I glance at the clock. 2:34. “Go to sleep, babe.” I insist. It’s not unusual for us to fall asleep on the couch but Harry slowly gets up and looks at me with tired eyes. He grabs my hand and pulls the two of us off of the couch. I turn the tv off before he drags us to my bedroom. Immediately, he flops on the bed, not even bothering to get in. “Oh c'mon, Haz.” I nudge him. “Just a little more energy to get you into bed.”
“No,” Harry resists, snuggling his head deeper into the pillow.
I attempt to pull the sheets out from under him. Successfully doing so, I try lifting up his heavy legs to push them under the comforter. He mumbles something I can’t decipher. Though it’s probably just a complaint about me trying to get him into bed. God, it’s like taking care of a child. “Okay, baby,” I say, pull the sheet up to his shoulders and I crawl in on my side. I’m not even in bed when Harry’s arm reaches for any part of me pull me close to him. He manages to grab my torso, completely letting me mold into his position.
We both fall asleep rather quickly, but his hushed snores arrive before mine, though I’m positive I don’t snore. Harry says otherwise. Even though I think he’s lying he says it doesn’t matter if I actually snore or not because he says I’m perfect either way. Perfect, perfect, perfect. He’s always telling me how perfect I am and every day I look at him and wonder how I could’ve been so damn lucky to have this man in my life.
He says I’m the best artist that ever was, but a painter will get nowhere without their inspiration.
(A langst fic inspired by @alienslovetea’s “Frost.” Check their blog out!)
Lightening surges beneath his fingertips. His muscles convulse, clench, loosen. His eyelids flutter as he seizes.
Garbled screams come through the intercom, distorted and lost to his electrified ears. Lance wants to answer back, but he’s locked in place, his body contorting against his will.
Blue shuts down completely, overloaded with power. Electricity still runs through her, burns under Lance’s skin and creates tracks of fire up his face.
All at once the electricity stops dead, though a cooling wave of relief cannot crush the way his body tingles, the way his body aches the way it does.
Lance heaves a great breath, head rolling limply in his seat. He is dazed, shocked — literally and figuratively — lost to the pain he feels. Light flashes and pops outside of Blue, faint behind the dead screen. Lance feels himself being carried, but cannot move to try and fly away. He only hopes it is his team.
The world swirls around him, dips in and out of his vision, plays a game of catch with his eyes. Lance can hear himself breathing, a dry, rattling noise he can’t stand, but he is so, so tired and is willing to put up with it if he can sleep.
Just shut your eyes.
It’s so quiet here.
“LANCE!” A voice shrieks in his ear, jolting him awake. The pain that streaks through him wakes him up more than whoever just screamed, though, but the saltiness of his tears shocks him more. His tears burn, sting, somehow reminder this situation is all too real.
Lance can’t move himself to speak. He tries, he really does, but his throat screams when he swallows to say something. Lance settles for humming.
“It's— it’s Shiro. We’re taking you back to the castle. I’ve got you buddy.”
He hums in acknowledgment, and… promptly blacks out.
“Just a few more ticks,” Allura snaps. Keith gets a vague, sickening feeling of deja vu, a mirror of a situation from years past.
“What’s a few more ticks going to do? Let him out!” Keith urges, impatient. He’s waited so long for Lance to leave the pod, and how’s a few more fucking ticks going to affect his recovery? Keith huffs.
“Calm down, Keith. You’re not the only one waiting on a friend,” Shiro murmurs, and Keith briefly wonders if he’s talking about Lance before turning his attention back to the pod.
“It’s been a “few more ticks,” Allura. I’m opening the pod.“
From the corner of his eye, Keith can see Pidge glaring at Lance’s pod. She looks just as tempted to press the button as he is, but Keith wouldn’t be surprised if Pidge actually—
A hissing sound followed by mist leaks from the pod, which was then followed by a body falling forward. Keith steps forward, catches him, whispers “I’ve got you,” and hope no one hears.
Hunk barges forward, and nearly snatchesLance away from his arms, eagerly searching for signs of life on his groggy face. “Heeeeeeey buddy,” Hunk begins, patting and petting his friend’s hair and face. “I know it’s been a while but how do you feel about eating?”
Keith inches forward a little closer. He wants to see Lance’s face.
“How long have I been out?” was the response instead, Lance’s voice thick and quiet much like one waking up from a nap.
“Too long, pal,” Hunk grins, and Pidge says “Like, a month! Do you know how long we waited for you?”
Lance stands, slinging his arm around Hunk’s shoulder. “Maybe a month?”
Pidge immediately looks surprised before laughing, and even Keith has to admit that was pretty clever. He won’t tell anyone he laughed, though.
“Alright Lance, let’s get you to the kitchen. Some food goo will do you good.” Hunk secures his grip on his friend, totters away chatting like nothing ever happened. Pidge trots after, chattering like a bird.
Keith makes to follow, but he feels a heavy hand, albeit warm, on his shoulder. “How are you feeling?” Shiro asks, just as familiar as always. “I know you were pretty anxious to see Lance again.”
“I’m fine, Shiro,” Keith says, even though he knows Shiro is right and he’s already feeling jittery to catch up. “Thanks for asking.” He says, though it’s more of an afterthought than anything.
Shiro blinks, chuckles, pats Keith on the back. “Alrighty tiger.” He nods his head in the direction Hunk and Lance and Pidge went. The second Keith feels Shiro’s hand retract, he’s off, ignoring Shiro’s laughter and Allura’s inquiries.
“Let’s calm down, okay Lance?” Hunk smiles at him, but the way he holds his body screams of defense. Lance knows Hunk is feeling threatened. His body language reflects that, but Lance doesn’t know how to shut this off.
Frost. Frost everywhere.
It sears his fingertips, encompasses nearly the entire kitchen except for the patches Hunk and Pidge stand on. She stares at him with owlish eyes, fascinated and frightened. “I— I am calm,” Lance says, though it sounds more like a question even to his own ears. A burst of ice shoots from his hands seeing his friend’s distress. “I don’t.. I don’t know what’s happening.”
“Maybe it’s.. you…” Pidge starts, before something clicks and she gasps. “When you were electrocuted inside Blue, maybe, maybe she transferred some of her powers to you. Maybe it was through quintessence, in an attempt to help you survive all the electricity— that really was a huge ball of electricity that fleet through at you, there was no way you and apparently Blue alone could take a hit like that and survive, so, so—”
“Right, sorry. I think you have Blue’s powers now.”
Lance winces, and the frost hardens, thickens to what may be ice. “How do I… how do I control this?”
Pidge shrugs like it isn’t a big deal.
Hunk, however, takes a step forward, nearly melts like the ice does around his foot when he makes it safely. “It seems you want to protect us, maybe? I guess we shouldn't— we should keep you calm, huh?” Pidge starts again, taking a tentative step towards Lance as well. Lance feels like a livewire, jittery, stripped raw and nervous. One wrong move, He thinks. One wrong move.
“What’s going on in here?” Keith stops in, crushing the frost beneath his boot. “Keith, wait—” Hunk and Pidge shouts, but it’s too late. Lance starts, jumping, a spout of cool mist covering the floor and freezing all four paladins in the room up to their knees.
Lance’s heart races, and he feels so terribly stupid for letting go like that. Now his feet are cold and his friends are covered in ice… and he has no idea how to voluntarily melt it.
The conversation that only has the two of us will be hidden for awhile Don’t forget to leave a bookmark This isn’t a full stop its a comma, a beat that has lagged We have to stand shoulder to shoulder when we meet again Snow that is falling covers us In the cold wind, tears roll down my face Even though you’re not here I will draw out footprints for you So that you can come back any time
So this is a short
blurb I just had to get out that was inspired by the recent birth of a friend’s baby and loosely based on their experience in general. Major fluff.
Hella unedited. Enjoy.
I can still remember the look on Shawn’s face when I told him I was finally pregnant. The disbelief that turned into sheer joy because the waiting and the years of trying had finally paid off. That was one of the few times I ever saw Shawn cry.
Now it’s been a month since we came home from the hospital. A month since we officially became a family of three.
To say I was exhausted was an understatement, but my body was finally healing. When the time came again for another diaper run, I offered to go.
“Are you sure? I don’t mind at all.” Shawn insisted. The dark circles under his eyes mirrored the same ones under mine, but none of that mattered when it came to Parker who was fast asleep in his crib. He had done so much to take care of the two of us and he needed a moment for himself.
A/N: Love you
all! This is going to be a loooong chapter! Woop woop! Shit’s getting real!
There’s a lot of dialogue in this part LOL!! I made it extra-long in
celebration of my first ever fanfic (Stone
Cold) turning one on 9/27!
pregnancy, swearing, violence, blood, etc.
ESCAPED? What the ever
loving fuck does she mean ‘escaped’? Was he coming for you?
“Y/n?” Natasha’s voice came over the phone, out of breath.
The gunfire had ceased for a moment, “Are you there?”
“I-I’m here.” You stuttered out, hand shaking as you grabbed
Peter’s forearm in fear, “What happens, now?”
“Clint and Wanda are on their way to come collect you,
Peter, and May.” She grunted, and you could hear a shout coming from her end,
“Tony is collecting your mother.”
“Okay.” You replied, staring numbly at the window in your
shared bedroom. “See you soon.”
When you hung up, you laid a hand on your stomach and turned
to Peter, “Did you hear all that?”
“Yeah.” He replied, jumping out of bed and helping you up.
“Pack what we will need. I’ll wake up Aunt May.”
“I’ll do it. You pack.” You picked up one of Peter’s sweatshirts
from the ground, pulling it over your head and covering your tank top and
shorts. “Don’t forget our school bags.”
You sped out the door and into the hallway, trying not to
panic. It was hard not to. The team had assured you that the cell your dad had
been locked in would hold him. It was supposed to be made for Bruce, if he
Hulked out. You knew this would fucking happen. How the fuck did he escape? Did all the prisoners escape? What the hell
did this mean for you? They promised you were safe…
You threw open May’s door and shook her awake, “Aunt May,
wake up. We have to leave. Now.”
“What?” She groaned, sitting up quickly, “What do you mean
we have to leave? Is there a fire? Are they evacuating the building?”
“No.” You shook your head, pulling the covers off her, “I’ll
explain on the way, but we need to get to the Avengers Tower, now. It’s an emergency. Pack your
things.” You tossed her a sweatshirt and she yanked it over her head.
“Are we safe?” She ran to her closet, grabbing a bag and
shoving her clothes into it. “Are you safe?”
You handed her the work uniform on her dresser, “No. We
aren’t.” You sat down on her bed, laying a hand over your stomach and
swallowing down the panic that was threatening to fry your nerves, “My dad is
“Your dad?” She knelt in front of you, laying her hands over
yours, “Y/n, does your dad want to hurt you?”
“We don’t know.” Your voice was shaking, “Clint and Wanda
are picking us up. We need to get somewhere safe.”
“The Avengers?” She asked in shock, eyes wide. “You know all of them?”
“I’ll tell you when we get to the tower, May!” Your
breathing was getting worse, and the pressure on your chest was increasing,
“Can y-you see if Peter has everything?”
“Sure, honey.” She kissed your forehead in comfort, running
out of the room with her bag and calling out his name.
The paralyzing fear was racing through your veins like ice.
“Daddy! Please!” Your
four-year-old self cried, “I don’t want to, anymore! It hurts!”
“Do it, now.” He
screamed in your face, vein in his forehead prominent with anger, “I’ll kill
Mommy if you don’t!” His gun was pointed to your unconscious mother, her limp
body sprawled on the kitchen floor. “Heal it, or mommy dies!”
You laid your hand on
the little kitten’s face, cradling it to your chest with shaking arms, “But
Daddy, I think it’s dead!”
“HEAL IT NOW OR I PUT
A BULLET IN MOMMY’S HEAD!”
“Y/n!” Peter’s voice brought you back from the memory
playing in your mind. You hadn’t even noticed that he was crouched in front of
your shaking form, nor that you were clutching the bed like you were going to
float away. “Y/n, we have to go.”
May was standing behind him with her hand on his shoulder,
fear in her eyes. You could hear Clint and Wanda in the living room, gathering
what few bags you packed.
The anxiety was making you nauseous, and the baby kept doing
little flip-flops in your belly.
“I can’t keep doing this, Peter.” You sobbed, knuckles white
with the death-grip you had on the bed, “This is all too much.”
“I know, Baby.” He laid his hands over yours in comfort. His
face was pale, and dark circles were becoming a permanent stain under his
usually bright eyes – eyes that were shining in concern. “We can deal with it
when we get to the tower, but we have to go. We need to get you and the baby somewhere safe.”
You took a deep breath, trying to clear your mind. It helped
a little. The pain of the anxiety was still present, but you were beginning to
think clearer. “Okay.” You stood on shaking legs, trying to gather yourself.
“Okay. I’m okay.”
He led you out of the bedroom with his hand around your
waist, mostly to keep you moving. “Alright, we have to go.” He placed your
cross-body purse around your neck, taking the bags and turning to Clint and
Wanda. “Lead the way.”
Clint and Wanda walked ahead of you, in full gear. Their
posture was stiff, calculating, and ready for an attack.
“The tower is secure,” Wanda said to you, accent thick “The
only prisoner to make it out alive was your father, but more were waiting
outside the tower. We will find him, Pachen’ye.” Nat’s fucking nickname was starting to spread.
The stairs were torture. They didn’t want to take the
elevator – fearing that someone would fuck with it – so you were forced to take
the never-ending staircase. Trying to quickly go down many sets of stairs when
your equilibrium was off, and having a giant watermelon in your uterus was not
easy. You couldn’t catch your breath, and you kept slowing down with the fear
that you were going to fall down the stairs.
Eventually, Peter picked you up - bridal style - and you
made it to the ground level with no incidents.
When you reached ground level, you tried to walk through the
lobby like nothing was wrong. You didn’t want to rouse suspicion of civilians,
and get to the tower as fast as you could. Luckily, there were no incidents in
Not until you were in the street.
You jumped as Peter shoved Aunt May to the ground, causing a
bullet to hit the wall versus her chest. Peter pushed you into a crouch as
Clint Opened fire at the shooter, and Wanda created a field around you all.
Civilians started screaming, and running in all directions.
“Wanda, get them out of here!” Clint shouted, running off.
He was yelling something into his comms.
Wanda grabbed Aunt May, hauling her up. Peter threw the bags
into the trunk of the big SUV as May helped you hop up onto your seat. The
windows were bullet-proof, but you still crouched down as far as your belly
would allow. May jumped in next to you and Peter hopped into the passenger
side. Wanda, using her abilities to shield the car, threw it in drive and
stomped on the gas – jerking everyone back.
“Now, what the hell is going on? Why the hell are there people
shooting at us?” May yelled, gripping the bar as Wanda drifted around a corner.
“My dad is part of HYDRA.” You replied, feeling nauseous
from getting tossed around in the vehicle. “He was detained in the tower, but
he somehow escaped.”
“Your dad? How do you know he was there?” She let out a yelp
as a bullet hit the windshield in front of Peter, grabbing onto his shoulder in
panic, “You know, I feel like there is a lot of things you two aren’t fucking telling
“Aunt May, not now!” Peter yelled from the front seat,
grabbing two guns from the glove compartment and handing you the Glock. You
quickly checked the magazine, then clicked it back into place and pulled back
the slide to rack the chamber. You kept your finger off the trigger – since there
was no safety on the gun – and intended it to be that way unless you needed to
“Oh, HELL NO.” May
screamed, anger in her voice, “Why the fuck do you two have guns?! Where the
hell did you learn about guns?!”
You both know Natasha
Romanoff… There was no way that she wasn’t going to teach you the basics of
handling a firearm.
“Aunt May, calm-” Peter was cut off as Wanda cried out and
stomped on the brakes. You were all thrown forward, as the car came to a
screeching halt. “Wanda what the hell?”
She didn’t reply with words – just a groan of pain – and you
gasped when noticed a little hole in the windshield. “Peter, she’s been shot! I
thought these windows were bullet proof!” You leaned back to dig through your
bag, pulling out a tank top and pressing it to her wound. You handed Aunt May
the gun, “Keep your finger off the trigger, unless you intend to shoot. There’s
That earned you quite the look.
Peter unclicked his seatbelt, leaning over the center
console to check her out. He grabbed the comms from her ear and put it in his
own, “Guys, Wanda’s been hit.” He listened for a moment. “Okay.” He turned back
to you, “Tony dropped your mom at the tower, and is around the corner. He’s
going to cover us, and I’m going to drive.”
“Peter, you don’t even have your license!” You yelled out,
leaning back as he shoved Wanda in the middle of you and May, “Do you know how
“I’ll figure it out.” He snapped, throwing the vehicle into
drive, “Left is brake, right is gas! That’s all I need to know, right now!” He
stomped on the gas, and you lurched forward, going fast.
You continued to hold pressure on Wanda’s wound, blood
leaking through the tank top and wetting your hands. Wanda looked at you with a
serious look, “Don’t you dare try and heal me. We don’t know how it will affect
the baby.” She winced as you pressed down. The shot was through her shoulder.
It looked like it had gone completely through, but you didn’t know the extent
of the damage. You could usually sense the extent when you healed someone, but
– like she said – you didn’t know if it would hurt the baby.
“The hell does she mean? ‘Heal her’?” Aunt May held Wanda in
place as Wanda cried out in pain. “Do you have something to tell me, Y/n?”
“I have abilities, May!” You looked up at May’s shocked
face, “I can heal people.”
She was silent. Her eyes shone with – what looked like –
hurt, and her mouth was opening and closing like she was trying to say
something and didn’t know what to say.
That was when things went to shit.
“FUCK!” Peter yelled, slamming on the brakes and jerking you
to a hard stop. “Y/N, get the gun.”
You quickly switched with May after wiping your hands on
your – Peter’s – sweatshirt. You held the gun in your hands, as she applied
pressure to Wanda’s wound. Wanda looked about ready to pass out from blood loss,
breathing starting to get shallow.
“Wanda, don’t pass out!” You unclicked your seatbelt. “How
far away are we from the tower?” You asked, leaning over to get a better look
at why Peter had slammed to a stop. Holy
crap! There were people running everywhere. It looked like a war zone.
HYDRA agents were attacking civilians while the new SHIELD agents – and the
Avengers – were attacking HYDRA.
It was fucking mayhem.
“We’re still a block away.” He unclicked his seatbelt and
turned around to face you, “Do you think you can run?”
“I might be pregnant, but I still have legs.” You rolled
your eyes, “What about Wanda?”
“Leave me for Med Evac.” She murmured, head lulling onto
“Not happening, Wanda.” He turned on his comms. “Tony. We
can’t get through the crowd with the SUV. Wanda needs medical attention, really
bad. Are you sure the tower is secure?” He listened for a moment. “Alright.”
“What’d Mr. Stark say?” May asked, brushing her damp hair
from her face. Wanda’s blood stained her forehead. “What do we do, now?”
“We have to carry her. We can come back for our stuff,
later. We have to go, now.” He opened the door, running to the other side and
opening May’s door to help carry Wanda, “Y/N, carry the purses. Everything else
Your purse was already around your person, and you stacked
May’s on top of yours, “Peter, we only have 15 bullets, each.” You grabbed his
hand as he helped you down from the SUV, “Is that going to be enough? What if
this turns into a shoot-out?”
“I’m wearing my web slingers.” He sighed, glancing over at
May. “We’ll be fine, as long as we move fast. If we start getting shot at… run.
Leave us behind. Get you, and the baby, to safety.”
You shut the door and Peter moved to grab Wanda, throwing
her on his back like a piggyback ride. You kept your gun down, trying not to
attract attention to yourself, and keeping your eye out for HYDRA agents. Small
bombs were going off in the streets, people were screaming, and there was
debris everywhere. It was almost like aliens were attacking, again. There was
so much chaos and damage. Four in the morning, and Manhattan was lit up like it
was midday. There were fires, flashes of light from Tony’s beams, and it seemed
like everyone in the city was awake and terrified.
A big man stepped out from an alley ahead of you, aiming a
gun at Aunt May. “SHIELD bitch!” The man screamed, and Aunt May gasped as the
man charged at her.
The man fell to the ground.
You shot the man twice with shaking hands. Once in the
chest, and once in the neck. Blood had sprayed from his wounds, splattering
against a horrified Aunt May. You could see him choking on his own blood, but
you didn’t want to dwell on it, yet.
You needed to get your baby, Wanda, and Aunt May to safety.
“Keep moving.” You shouted, grabbing May’s arm and pulling
her along. “We need to keep moving.”
“You shot him!” She shrieked, tears streaming down her thin
face, “You actually shot him.”
“I shot him before he could shoot you, now move!” You shoved her forward, feeling a
little bad about being so pushy. “We’re almost there.”
The tower was like a beacon of light. It was so close, you
could almost see into the lobby. You could see Ed from security, standing at
the doors with an M16 in his hands.
When he spotted your group, he ran to the doors, unlocking
them and ushering you in.
“Thank god you guys made it.” He sighed, laying a hand on
your shoulder, “I was worried.”
“We’re fine, Ed.” You were huffing from exertion, free hand holding
your aching lower back, “But Wanda needs to go to Med Bay. She’s been hit.”
He pulled out his walkie, summoning Med Bay down as Peter
set Wanda on the ground, stripping off his hoodie and bunching it under her
head like a pillow. May leaned down to put pressure back on the wound, and
Peter walked over to you.
He immediately wrapped you in his warm arms, holding you
close to his chest. “You’re safe.” He whispered, “Thank god. Oh my god.”
You went to say something, but instead you turned – shoving him
off you – and vomited in the waste bin. The anxiety had made you nauseous,
earlier. Now that you were at the tower, and your adrenaline was lowering, you
couldn’t hold back the bile anymore. At
least you didn’t yak on Peter, again.
You groaned, turning back to Peter, “That really sucked.”
He brushed your hair from your sweating forehead, pressing a
kiss on your hairline, “Were you internally freaking out as much as I was?”
“Probably more than you were.” You smirked, wrapping your
arms around his neck. Your shoulders sagged in relief. You were finally safe.
You shuddered, “I shot a man twice… in the neck and chest.”
His hands went around you, running along your spine, “I
know. I saw. Are you okay?”
You shook your head. “I should be feeling worse than I am.
That was somebody’s baby.” You laid your head against his shoulder, “Should we
be concerned about telling Aunt May everything? I’m pretty sure she heard you
say you were wearing your webslingers. I told her about my abilities.”
He shrugged, “I mean, she caught me in the suit one time,
and I told her it was a Halloween costume. I think she’s been suspicious, ever
since.” He was silent for a moment, and you could hear the chaos on the streets
starting to die down. Then, he moved a hand to your belly, “We should be
careful. All this stress can’t be good for the baby.”
You pulled your eyebrows together in thought, “I wonder if
the baby is going to inherit my ability, or something like it?” You put your
hand over Peter’s, “Spiderman as a father, and a mutant as a mother. This kid
is going to have something.”
“Or maybe nothing.” He shrugged, “It happens.”
You looked over Peter’s shoulder, seeing Aunt May hand Wanda
off to Dr. Cho.
“We should talk to Aunt May.” You grabbed Peter’s hand, and
running your thumb along his busted knuckles. “She needs to know.”
shouted at Peter, throwing her hands up in frustration, “Your him? Spiderman?
You said it was just a costume! You lied to
You and Peter were sitting on the bench at the end of the
bed in Peter’s room in the tower. You were all three freshly showered, and the
sun was starting to shine through the window. You and Peter were sitting on the
couch at the end of the bed, like two teenagers who had just gotten in major
trouble. Which, was not that far off.
“Aunt May-” He tried to explain, but she cut him off with a
“I cannot believe you, Peter! We only have two rules in the
house!” She held up two fingers, “Rule number one: we do not put maple syrup in the refrigerator.” She ticked off the
first finger, and pointed to the second. “Rule number two was that we were
always going to tell each other the truth.” She put her head in her hands, “I
feel like those two rules are fairly simple, and I haven’t been that hard of a
“Aunt May, you’re the best parent anyone could ever hope to
have.” He insisted, standing up, “I just didn’t want you to get hurt.”
“What about you, Peter?” Tears were streaming down her face
and she pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration, “I promised to take care
of you, and how can I do that if you’re risking your life? You should think
about these things, honey. It isn’t just you anymore.” She pulled him into a
hug, “Who else knows?”
“Ned, the team, Y/N, and now you.”
She hit him in the shoulder, “‘The team’? Are you an Avenger?”
“Not officially.” You finally spoke up, hand gently running
over your bump as your kid fluttered around, “They won’t let him become an
official Avenger until he’s a legal adult.”
“What about you?” She let go of Peter, sitting next to you,
“Are you an Avenger?”
“No.” You grabbed her hand, “I just started working in Med
Bay, but I won’t be healing people until after the baby is born.” You looked
down at your bump, “We don’t know if healing people will affect the baby.”
“How long have you had this… ability?”
“Since I was little.” You squeezed her hand, which had moved
onto your belly, “I was born with it, I’m pretty sure. I figured it out around
three or four years old. My dad is a mutant. He has super strength.”
“Your dad is HYDRA?”
“I guess.” You shrugged, trying to lock those feelings in a
box and lock it away, “I haven’t seen him since I was seven. My mom left him
“WHERE THE HELL IS MY
DAUGHTER?!” You heard someone scream from the communal lounge.
“Speak of the Devil.” Peter muttered, crossing his arms in
distaste. You gave him a look. She’s
still your mother. “Sorry. Hard to like her when she threw a bottle at your head a few weeks ago.”
“She what?” Aunt
May turned towards the door, standing up. “I’m going to kick her fucking ass.”
“Aunt May, please.” You sighed, hauling yourself up. “It’s
fine. I healed and I left. I barely see her, anymore.”
Aunt May and Peter looked at each other communicating
something to each other that you didn’t catch, then looked at you. Annoyed, you
followed your mother’s voice and found her standing in the middle of the
lounge, yelling at a dirty Steve Rogers.
“Ma’am, you need to calm down.” He tried to reason with her,
running a hand through his hair in frustration, “Y/n is-”
“Right here.” You finished, rolling your eyes. “Mom, stop
yelling. He can hear you just fine.”
“How the fuck did these idiots lose your father?” She threw
her hands up, bracelets clanking together. She was dressed like they found her
in a club. “I thought The Avengers were supposed to be ‘earth’s mightiest
heroes’? Don’t you have that big, green bastard that fucked up a few cities?
“Mom.” You snapped, pinching the bridge of your nose in
frustration, “Don’t offend the people who just saved your damn life.”
“They did nothing but snatch me up from my date with Mikey,
and hold me against my will.” She was swaying back and forth like she was
drunk. She probably was. “They left
Mikey in the club. How do I know Mikey’s safe?”
“Who gives a flying fuck about Mikey, Mom.” You yelled, crossing
your arms. “Dad escaped and we don’t know if he knows about you and I being in
“I don’t think he does.” Natasha’s voice came from the
She was just as filthy as Steve. Soot covered her whole
body, there was dark spots that looked like blood spatter on her uniform, and there
were bruises forming on her face. She looked like she had gone through the
ringer. She looked exhausted.
“How do you know?” You asked, not wanting to take the team’s
word for anything, anymore. Not after they promised he wasn’t going to escape.
“He immediately went for the weapons and HYDRA, instead of
you. Plus, you aren’t an Avenger and you aren’t in the news or anything.” She had a point. “I think you are safe
for the time being, but it would be beneficial to move into the tower.”
“What about school?” Aunt May’s voice came from behind you,
“The kids can’t just drop out. The school year is almost over.”
“That’s where I come in.” Tony entered the room, clean and
holding a few small boxes in his hands, “I designed these a while ago. I was
going to give these to you as a part of a baby shower gift, but now seems
He tossed the boxes at Peter, who caught them easily. He
handed you the box with your name on it, and you tore into it.
“A watch?” You stared at it, confused. It was one of those
fancy, touchscreen watches that hook up to your smartphone. The band was black
with cute little colored music notes. “It’s cute, but what does this have to do
with my safety?”
“It has a panic button.” Tony sat on one of the couches – a
small drink in his hand. “It looks like one of those Apple Watches, but it is
really my own design. It has all the same functions, but if you press and hold
the little red button for a few seconds, it sends the team a distress signal
with your location.” Tony took a small sip of his drink, then continued, “Plus,
they are stylish. Also, it’s hooked up with FRIDAY, so you won’t be needing a
pass to get into the tower anymore, and FRIDAY is around if you need anything.”
“Cool.” Peter took his plain, black one out of the box -
putting it on his wrist. “So, we can go to school?”
“You will wear this watch at all times, and be escorted by
agents,” Tony stood, sending a look of distaste in your mother’s direction,
“but, yes – you can go to school.”
You smiled, putting on the watch. “Cool, thanks.”
“Now that everything is all fan-fucking-tastic,” You mom
snapped, “Can I leave?”
“Yes. Please, get the hell out of my tower.” Tony waved a
hand in her direction, walking out of the room.
You sighed, lump in your throat. You had no more energy to
deal with anything. You needed to go to bed. You were not about to start
arguing with everybody about your mother. “I’ll call you later, Mom.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll be fine.” She snatched up her purse and
stomped towards the elevators. Steve shot you a sympathetic look, following her
to make sure she found her way to the lobby.
“I need to go to sleep.” You sighed, putting your head in
your hands, “I think it’s safe to say that we are not going to school, today.
It starts in…” You looked at your new, fancy watch. “Actually, it started ten
“I’ll sleep in Y/N’s room.” Aunt May headed back into the
hallway, “You kids go get some sleep.”
OMG! Did you hear
about what happened in Manhattan, this morning?
Why aren’t you guys
at school, today? Ned said he hasn’t heard from you since you told him about
How did that go, by
Fuck, I’m spamming
Wait! Ned just said
your building got shot at, last night!
Are you okay????
Hurry the fuck up and
reply to me, woman!
I WON’T STOP
MESSAGING YOU UNTIL YOU ANSWER ME!
Now I’m worried!!!
“Jesus, Michelle.” You groaned, turning on your side towards
a sleeping Peter.
He looked so cute when he slept. His mouth hung open, just a
little bit, and he would lightly snore. His face was free from any anxious
expressions, his curls hung in his face, and his cheeks got a little red when
he slept. He usually slept with his arm around you, but he had been so
exhausted that he passed out on his stomach, with his arms under his pillow.
It was adorable.
You replied to Michelle: We are at The Avengers tower, actually. Crazy shit happened. Tell you
more, later! We’re all just fine and safe. Baby is doing wonderful! Keeps
kicking my goddamn bladder! Can it be my due date, yet? UGH.
You knew you weren’t going to get any more sleep.
You had to pee. Again.
After kissing Peter on the cheek, you heaved yourself up out
of bed and walked into the attached bathroom. Once your business was said and
done, your teeth were brushed, and you threw your hair up in a bun – you went
to go find Aunt May.
You figured she called into work, so you headed a couple
doors down and lightly knocked on the door to your bedroom.
“Come in!” May’s voice chirped.
You slowly opened the door, pulling the sleeves of Peter’s
sweatshirt down. “Can I come sit with you?”
“Of course, sweetie.” She patted the bed next to where she
was sitting and reading a book, “What’s on your mind?”
You sat down, pulling your legs into a crisscross. You
looked around your newly decorated room – Wanda and Natasha had done an awesome
job – staring at the little nursery corner. There was a crib, changing table,
and a rocking char. The whole room was a grey and cream color theme. The
nursery was gender neutral, had cute little elephants, and was perfect. You
loved the rocking chair more than you would ever admit.
“Y/n?” May broke you from your thoughts, laying a hand on
your knee, “What’s on your mind?”
“I’m sorry, May.” You looked down, grabbing the hand that
had been on your knee, “I’m sorry that we lied to you. We didn’t want to, but
we didn’t want you to get dragged into all of this. Then, you ended up getting
dragged into it, anyways.” You looked up at her, tears forming in your eyes,
“Are you mad at me?”
“Oh, honey.” She leaned forward, pulling you into her arms,
“I could never be mad at you.” She ran her hand up and down your back like
Peter usually did, “I love you, okay? There is nothing that you could do that
would make me mad at you. Disappointed, maybe. Mad? No. I will never be truly mad. I just want you to be safe
and make good choices in your life.”
“I love you, too, May.” You sniffed, tears leaving hot
trails down your face. “I’m sorry I yelled at you so much in the car.”
She chuckled, “I was going a little insane. I needed a
little check.” She pulled back, brushing your hair from your face and wiping
your tears, “How are you feeling? A lot has happened. You shot that man.”
You closed your eyes, “I don’t want to think about that.”
You laid your hands over your bump, protectiveness washing over you. “I didn’t want
him to hurt you, but I didn’t think I was going to kill him. I just… reacted.”
“You saved my life.” She rubbed her hands up and down your
upper arms in comfort, “Thank you.”
“I don’t want anything bad to happen to you,” You confessed,
shyly looking down at your hands, “I need you. You’re like my mom. Better than
She threw her arms around you and let out a small sob, “Oh,
honey. I love you and Peter like you are my own children. I don’t want anything
bad to happen to you, either.”
“Y/N? May?” Peter’s sleepy voice came from the doorway. He
was rubbing his eye with one hand, and running his other hand through his hair.
He was barefoot and in his pajama pants. Luckily, he had thrown on a tee shirt,
because he got weird about May seeing him without a shirt on.
“Hey, Peter.” May pulled back and wiped her face, “Come to
join the sob fest?”
“Why are you crying?” He fell onto the bed, laying across
the bottom of the bed on his stomach. He grabbed your hand, running his thumb
over your knuckles, “Do I want to know why you’re both all weepy?”
“It was a cute moment. Shut up.” You smirked, rubbing the
tears from your face. That was the moment that your baby decided to kick you in
the side, and you let out a huff, grabbing the sore spot. “Jesus, kid. You’re
going to break me.”
Peter put his hand on the spot, rubbing it. He leaned down
and jokingly scolded, “Quit kicking your Mommy.” The baby nudged at his hand.
His eyes bulged from his head, “Did the baby just kick my hand?”
You smiled, nodding. “The baby is sassing you already.” You
chuckled as the baby nudged his hand, again. “This kid is going to be a
handful.” You looked down at your belly, “Quit giving Daddy sass.” You looked
up at Peter, and he had the biggest grin on his face. He looked so in love, already,
and you felt a warmth of love in your chest. The three people in your room –
one in utero – were your family. Nothing else mattered.
You would deal with your father. You would deal with your
mother. You would deal with what happened. You would deal with the repercussions
of telling May. You would deal with all the HYDRA bullshit.
You just needed moments like these.
Moments where nothing else mattered but your little family.
I look at you, and see
the rest of my life flash in front of my eyes. -Unknown
today: my wife + i celebrated our wedding anniversary in 3 days: our son turns 5 months old
we are legally married. we have a child. we are both listed on his birth certificate. i openly use the term ‘wife’ in corporate america + our daily life. i can’t believe how lucky i am.
my heart splits wide open that i get to live this wild, full life. to be alive in this moment, this inflection point - to have all these things that never felt possible when i was growing up, & still, to be close enough to history to know that we stand on the shoulders of giants who came before us.
there is so much more work to be done. the most vulnerable of our community is under attack regularly, & we must continue the good fight. i also have an obligation to live out loud the joyful life i’ve been granted in honor of those who fought for my rights. and damn it, this life is beautiful.
i am the daughter of the queer community who refused to go quietly into the night.
The global mentality is moving toward free world trade and increased market liberalism. A world full of opportunities. A world where dreams can come true. It sounds fantastic, and it is fantastic. For a very small percentage of us. But for the vast, poor majority, the capitalist system only means one thing: death and suffering. While we live out our days thoughtlessly, and stuff ourselves with cheap food, the poor people of the earth struggle in factories. Wages are forced down to the minimum, while the work hours keep increasing. Unionization is illegal, and the working conditions are intolerable. Before applauding freedom, we must remember one thing: our over consummating society stands on the shoulders of the coffee beans from Peru. We gorge on cheap food produced by underpaid children’s hands from India. […] ▬
Skam, Season 1
1. Successful people have brains, but not as much brains as successful zombies. Successful people typically have enough brains to fill one skull and no more. Back away slowly if they have more. 2. Successful people are not soluble when placed in a water bath at 40 degrees celsius and lightly stirred for half an hour. 3. They fart. Based on out probabilistic model, we believe it is highly likely that every successful person throughout history has farted. It is practically the mark of top-notch humaning. 4. They are not made of cake. They may be made of processed cake, but we have tested people made of raw cakestuff and they have some significant deficiencies, to wit: they go dry over time; their legs fall off; they cannot hold a conversation; if left in a public place passers-by tend to eat them; and they are not warm to snuggle in bed at night. 5. We tried standing some successful people on the shoulders of giants but they mostly just fell off. Possibly this was because we didn’t have any giants so we used a shed instead. Now our shed has a hole in the roof and we can see through it which is by any measure a sign of a successful hole, so I think we can all agree that we have learned something about success. 6. After much research, we have also obtained The Box. It is about one metre by one metre by 50cm and a fetching shade of cardboard brown. Nobody is thinking in it at the moment, which means that all of the successful people must be thinking outside it, which is how we can be sure that we definitely have The Box and not just any old box. We are considering hiring it out as a respite space for exhausted entrepreneurs. Please let us know if interested. 7. Successful people have reflections in mirrors and the only roofs they can travel through are ones with holes in them. 8. They do not spout streams of red-hot magma down their slopes at unpredictable intervals. This is the mark of a successful volcano. It is not the mark of a successful person. Learn from our mistakes. 9. Successful people ask the right questions, like ‘when can I get out of this bath?’ and 'can I have some of that cake?’. These are the right questions because we need to get rid of the cake people because they are going dry and our beds are full of crumbs, so we thought we would sleep in the bath, but we cannot sleep in the bath because the solubility test is still ongoing. 10. We are fairly sure successful people sleep. Would you like some cake? We think we have nearly enough data to publish now.