Tumgik
#I live in a personal hell I’ve curated for myself
otrtbs · 2 years
Note
I've been curious abt ppl who major in art history! Do u have to be able to actually do art to major in it? And once u do what job can u get with it? It's so intriguing I have so many questions!!
as an art history major, for undergrad, I had to take one core studio art class
we learned basics like shading, dimension, color theory, etc and we had to work in so many different mediums (clay, oils, acrylic, watercolor, ink, i made a stop motion art piece??)
IT WAS HELL FOR ME BC I CANT CREATE ART LIKE THAT IM NOT A PERSON WHO CREATES ART and the way it was structured, I was in that class with actual studio art majors so they were bringing up wonderful artistic works for class critiques, and I’d pull up w my “art” haha
it was only one class though and I lived. The reason behind it was essentially “how can I judge things like shading and line work as an art historian when I’ve never attempted them myself?” IT WAS HUMBLING!!!
Job-wise you can do so much! Curatorial work, Galerist, Auctioneer/auction house work, Art Critic, Museum work (outside of curating there’s front of house/education), teaching, archival work, conservation work, art law (if you go to law school haha)
I hope this helps!! 💕
20 notes · View notes
witchthewriter · 2 years
Note
hey again!! i hope you’ve been doing good, it’s always a joy seeing your writing on my dashboard. i was wondering if i could participate in the ship event?
fandoms : mcu, grishaverse, stranger things
a little about me! : i define myself as queer (attracted to whoever basically, regardless of gender or whatever) and asexual, and i use any pronouns. 
my mbti type is enfp, and i’m a libra if that helps any <3
i’m pretty outgoing! i like talking to people, i just suck at small talk lmao. apparently i come off like i’m flirting with people a lot of the time whoops-
shitty jokes are my jam. i have a mix of 13 year old boy and grandpa humour.
i’m creative but work in sporadic bursts, i’ll do nothing all day but then bust out a painted jacket because i get a surge of energy at one in the morning
big fan of organized chaos, my room is kind of cluttered but i know where everything is. i’ve got a personal vendetta against minimalism
i love making stuff for people and giving them gifts! it’s my love language lmao
i kickbox and do mma, i like the contrast of me having bright pink hair but being able to kick ass ahsgdgg
i also play bass and guitar! can’t sing for shit though
dream job is either as a freelance illustrator or museum curator. something that i’ll enjoy but will still give me time to myself. my idea of hell is having an office job
Want one? Here be the rules 🦋
I actually literally want to be your best friend. You are CHAOS PERSONIFIED and I love it. I really hope you enjoy your ships <3 message me whenever!!!
What the ships have in common:
⋆ They’re lively/outgoing  ⋆ Fun-loving ⋆ Chaotic ⋆ Interesting ⋆ They literally ARE the party / scene/show stealing
𝐌𝐂𝐔/𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐥
Tumblr media
𝐷𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑖𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛
I ship you with Valkyrie! (Pls keep in mind I haven’t seen the recent Thor movie so if things don’t make sense ... idk man, I guess they’ll just not make sense ;) ) 
I think you would be absolutely brilliant together. Valkyrie would not shy away from you at all; you would make her life even more exciting (which is hard to do btw). I think people would be incredibly intimidated by the both of you too. 
𝐻𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑛𝑠
・Pick each other’s outfits. I think you two would be ICONS. Like seriously. 
・You know she has responsibilities and duties, but she juggles them really well. 
・She likes to call you really over the top names, like ‘sugar bun,’ ‘sweet cheeks,’ ‘bunny boo.’ She likes embarrassing you
・You two love sparring with each other. Both very competitive and are always trying to one up each other. 
・She likes slow dancing with you thought - look up the song, ‘I’m Kissing You’ by Des’ree. It’s literally your guys’ song.
𝐆𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞
Tumblr media
𝐷𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑖𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 
I ship you with Jesper Fahey! (And don’t worry, I looked up his sexuality and he’s bisexual.) 
 𝐻𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑛𝑠
・When he first laid eyes on you, his breath hitched. Even in the Grishaverse you found a way to go against the crowd. 
・Relationship tropes: ‘chaotic duo,’ ‘something usually breaks wherever you too go,’ ‘aggressively supportive.’
・I do feel as if there is angst in this relationship - especially at the beginning. You would see Jesper as this playboy who wouldn’t even notice you. But he thought you hated him. Obviously that wasn’t the case. Not unti lnej was like ‘pull your head out of your asses guys c’mon.’ 
・Wants you to feel as included in the gang as possible. You were probably hired as Kaz’s bodyguard due to your training. That’s how you’re associated. 
・You become a part of the inner circle; it’s Kaz, Inek, Jesper & you. 
𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬
Tumblr media
𝐷𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑖𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 
I ship you with THE Eddie Munson <3 absolute king. Okay, so just like with Jesper, you two would be absolute chaos. Just shenanigans outright wherever you go. I definitely think you and Eddie would be a more traditional couple. In the sense that ... it makes sense you’re together. You’re very similar personality wise. 
 𝐻𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑛𝑠
・Met at your job; you worked in a record shop and Eddie was a regular there. Obviously you knew the rumours about him; his ‘devil worshipping’ and one day you decided to ask him about it... 
   “Summoned any demons lately, Eddie?” You asked casually. 
“Ugh - what was that sweetheart?” He looked at you with his eyebrows raised, one arm on the counter, the other reaching for his tapes. 
   “You know, with your satanic worship and such...” You trailed off, and gave him a cheeky smile. 
“Oh definitely. I was going to ask him about my homework question.” 
・You guys are really cheeky with each other; constantly flirting, until one day one of your friends was in the store as well and asked if you guys were together. 
“What...” you looked at Eddie, and suddenly an idea came into mind. 
“Yeah, how’d you find out?” You looked at your friend with a comical expression; eyebrows raised, eyes wide. 
  Eddie played along, after all he did have a secret crush on you ... 
“I think she might be my soulmate,” Eddie said breathlessly, taking you into his arms and pressing your head to his chest (forcefully it was all very very dramatic.) 
・And when your friend had to go, you said: “why don’t we hang out ... you know ... a date ...” 
    He was shocked. 
And immediately said yes, but tried to play it cool. “I mean ... I guess ... I’ll check my schedule.” 
・I could literally talk about you two all day. You’re so easy to write about - I think the gang would know you previously because you work in such a popular store. 
・You would be great friends with literally everyone. You’re so outgoing and they all love you so much. You teach Max how to defend herself, you talk to Lucas about basketball, Dustin literally has a crush on you etc. 
12 notes · View notes
Text
Repost: Just Something I’d Like to Say About Jimin
Because of the tone of asks I’ve gotten recently from ARMYs I assume (?) are worried Jimin stans. This is a completely unplanned post and written almost entirely off the cuff.
I’ve tried but I really don’t see what those who fret about him or care enough to type non-stop about how untalented, evil & worthless he apparently is, see.
Despite people who claim Jimin craves attention and blah blah blah, Jimin has always just kinda done his own thing. Acted like a slut when he wanted to. Acted like a hermit when he wanted to. Acted like a hyung when he wanted to, to every other member. Acted like a brat when he wanted to. Acted like a calculating Slytherin libra when he wanted to. Acted MIA on social media when he wanted to.
Here’s how the guy spends his time:
He goes to the dentist.
He dances barefoot.
He stays up all night watching movies and playing video games.
He reads manga, manwha, and manhua. Apparently a lot of it.
He runs 8 km every day. 8 km. Every day. That is marathon-level training (42 km).
He visits museums and apparently buys art almost as frequently as Namjoon does, according to a well known Korean curator.
He eats out.
He lies down on the couch wishing it was possible for someone to bathe him
He falls asleep on the couch
He visits friends. (Can we someday have a conversation about how cool Ha Sungwoon is? Listen to Can’t Live Without You here)
Apparently since he has nowhere to go during the pandemic, he’s stopped shopping for outfits, now he shops for sweatpants.
He makes music with J-Hope.
He works out. Does CrossFit with Yoongi. Works out with Jung Kook. 
He prepares for his online and in-person concert on March 10th - 13th.
He visits resort destinations like Jeju.
He listens to music.
He continues with his full time job as an idol.
He has sex. (please don’t ask me for a source on this one)
And so on. Based on things he and other members have said (as well as the museum curator). 
What, exactly, is the issue with this?
*
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
*
Here are some things his band mates and self-declared brothers have called him or said to refer to him:
A catalyst
A tardy brat
A dragon
“His voice is my taste. It is what I like”
“God-Jimin” or 갓지민
“The Dongsaeng that’s like a Hyung to [me]”
“The one who carries this song”
Penicillin or blue mold
You are me, I am you
A happy pill
A “man’s man”
And so on.
*
Another thing there’s hardly a point to saying cause duh: he makes good music.
*
For additional reading you can refer to my recent Jimin asks here, here, here, and here.
I’m not certain I’ll be taking any extremely worry-toned asks in the immediate future because I honestly don’t see it - I don’t see the point of it. Maybe I don’t know the guy enough and it’s true he’s idk what. He’s not my bias after all. It’s possible there’s something I’ve missed, though I generally acquaint myself with every interview I’m aware they’ve ever done. If you have a genuine concern please feel free to send me an ask about it - that, I will answer if I can. 
I could be wrong, but I don’t think I am. I think Jimin is fine and hot as hell.
The End.
*
Originally posted: February 16th, 2022 9:54pm
16 notes · View notes
femchef · 2 years
Text
Over the last few weeks, I’ve found myself in the position of reassuring fandom people (observers, creators, writers) and. I’m going to say it all here - and I want you all to take a deep breath - deep, in and out, maybe a good four or so times - and listen.
Opinions from antis don’t matter - especially when they enter into your space, that you made for yourself and your fandom friends. They really don’t.
Do you know why so many of us oldies love ao3? It’s that marvelous tagging system. Tags are like the warning colors on a poisonous frog okay? The person who ignores all the things they don’t like in the tags, who jumps in and then gets upset - because they don’t like the ship, or the content, or they don’t like au’s or plots/timelines deviating from canon, or they don’t like OCs or SI’s, they don’t like XYZ-cest, etc - that person does not matter.
If they leave a rude or combative or argumentative comment - well cool, bro they are entitled to their opinion but that opinion has no bearing on what the creator is doing in their story. At all. That comment can be deleted, that person can be blocked or just flat out ignored. They’re shouting into a void of relative anonymity on the internet and I cannot emphasize exactly how little that actually matters at the end of the day.
I’m certainly not going to apologize for liking what I like. I’m here to have fun. “Your fav is problematic” hell yeah, my fav is problematic - it makes them interesting. I don’t care that you don’t like them? Why should I care if you don’t like the things I like? I don’t like gray colored cars - I think most of them are ugly. My opinion doesn’t matter to a person who likes the gray car they’re driving? There is absolutely no reason my opinion should matter to them at all.
If my neighbor across the street has tacky colored curtains in her windows, am I entitled to thinking they’re tacky? Heck yes.
Am I entitled to walk into her house uninvited and then throw a tantrum because her living room decor is hella tacky? Uh no. No I’m not. Friends listen - those ugly-ass curtains are my first and only necessary clue telling me we are not gonna agree on style choices.
Besides, my neighbor doesn’t get to bitch at me because I have a two foot tall tin rooster sculpture on my back porch. If my neighbor feels like telling me it’s tacky - “well ok? What’s your point? It’s my rooster”.
So if I’m scrolling on ao3 and see something tagged with a ship or topic I don’t like, y’all I’m gonna give it a miss. Just. Skip right over it. It’s not my sandbox - which is another thing.
You used to see in disclaimers from older fandom sites something to the effect of “I’m just playing in [XYZ author]’s sandbox”. I really love that, because at the end of the day, we are all here to have fun. If you’re not having fun, that’s totally ok!! You can go home, you don’t have to share this sandbox with other people! That is 110% alright to take your bucket and go dig somewhere else! No one is going to build the same sandcastle. This is what curating your experience on the internet and in fandom is ALL ABOUT. If you’re not having fun - if you’re uncomfortable or unhappy, it’s ok to move on. It’s good and healthy to move on!!!
To keep with the sandbox metaphor:
We’re all here to have fun. If someone says something in a fandom space (discord, twitter, tumblr, ao3, literally anywhere), and it makes you upset - you need to put a little distance between you and that situation. It doesn’t matter if it’s an anti or someone super hard-line about their favorite RPF boyband shipflavor. If you get more than passingly annoyed, and you can’t set it aside, then it’s time to go home for the day. Come back tomorrow to hang out. It’s okay. It really, really is.
I’ve seen some authors and artists who let aggressive commenters drive them away and it’s really heartbreaking. Fandom spaces are weird and fringey and goofy and fun and expressive. It’s so fascinating - it’s a space where a lot of people who create in it are doing so with no expectation of compensation beyond the pleasure of the creative act and (maybe, hopefully, joyfully) other people will appreciate the thing they made. So while we’re here, let’s go over another point:
1) The creator doesn’t owe you anything.
2) People invading your creative space with rude criticisms or demanding comments about your update schedules do not matter.
As a person creating fanworks - I am so happy when I get notes or kudos or comments or questions!!! It helps keep me creative! It helps cheer me up on a really bad day!! They’re wonderful.
But you’re not paying me to make stuff for you. You didn’t purchase a product or service from me. We didn’t enter into any sort of contractual arrangement. I am literally not beholden to you at all.
Authors and creators don’t owe you anything. If you decide you don’t like something about their work or art or even things more personal - politics, opinions, car colors, whatever - that. Is. OKAY. It’s so totally okay. That means you get to move on to something or someone you like more! You are not beholden as a reader or as a creator!!!
Look. Do I enjoy fanworks tagged parental!Roy in the fma fandom? Heck yes - I eat up found family like a starving woman who’s never seen a buffet in her life. Do I enjoy fanworks tagged Roy/Ed in the fma fandom? Hell yes - absurdly intelligent people with trauma and daddy issues is catnip for me. I don’t have any problems separating these two in my head. They’re different genres. Do I also love Ed/Win ships in the fma fandom - hard yes, there’s something nostalgic and whole-grain sweet that is for sure my cup of tea. Do I also love Win/Pan ships? Chaotic girlfriends 210% yes. What about Havoc/Al? Eh. Not really my jam, I tend to give that a miss. Ed/Envy? Nah, that’s a hard no for me. Does this mean I’m going to go into a fic with tags I’m not interested in or actively dislike and read or interact with it anyway?
Uh no. No I’m not.
But what about if it just pops up in a fic and it wasn’t tagged and I wasn’t expecting it?
Well - that’s a little inconvenient for me as a reader, but. Beyond leaving a polite comment asking the author to consider tagging the significant thing I didn’t like, I just. Stop reading. And move on.
That’s it. That’s all that should happen.
Oftentimes the best thing you can do is just. Let. It. Go. If you’re not having fun in the sandbox anymore just go play in a different one - go home, go hang out with other people. But just. Let it go.
Same thing applies to comments - someone drops a comment in your inbox that they really hate xyz and they want you to know they’re upset about it? Just delete the comment. You are not their therapist. You’re not their meatspace friend. At the end of the day, the person who submitted their comment is an anonymous person to you, and it’s not your job to manage their feelings or their discomfort. You don’t have to be an asshole about it - trigger warnings are a thing - but, conversely, they don’t have to be an asshole about it either.
This post is getting a bit long. But please - the salient point is that you should be having fun in your creative spaces out there, you have no reason to feel ashamed of the things that make you happy or bring you joy.
Antis don’t matter at the end of the day. Let them die mad about it. Just have fun playing in the sandbox.
7 notes · View notes
Text
Neal Francis
I’m going to write a little bit about my current obsessions. I’ll get into my life and such later in more details, but I think giving some background on my current loves and interests will make daily updates easier as we progress. I’m an old school LiveJournal weirdo from back in the day, and I’m glad that vibe still exists on Tumblr. Side note to anyone cooler than I am: if I’m using Tumblr wrong, forgive me, and let me know. I will take criticisms with the love they’re intended and given, but if they’re non-constructive and/or just mean, you can fuck right off.
Neal Francis is an amazing musician and songwriter who comes from Chicago. He’s 34 years old, and plays anything with a keyboard. He also plays guitar, bass, drums, and I’m sure a whole slew of other instruments competently, but keyboards, synths, piano, clavinet are his main instruments. His vibe is 70s inspired, music, clothes, attitude. He’s obsessed with Allen Toussaint, sounds like Stevie Wonder (musically), and looks like Paolo Nutini.
That’s actually how I found his music. I was doing my daily Twitter search for any news about Paolo and a new album, and I came across this post from Colemine Records about Neal’s new instrumental release of his amazing and perfect first album, Changes, and the likeness was uncanny.
Tumblr media
I decided rather than simply ogle the man, I would see if his music was any good. Any good! Any good? He’s amazing. His first album, Changes, is perfection. It’s funk, groove, soul, rock, dance all rolled up. I started following him all over the socials. He was small enough, at least in May of 2021 when I started listening to him, that he ran his own socials, responded quickly to comments, and chatted with his fans. He responded directly to my comments many times, and the connection was/is lovely. I consumed any videos, interviews, live sessions, podcasts that I could find. I learned of his influences through this Spotify playlist that he curates. It’s my default I’m-going-for-a-walk music, as most of the songs he’s chosen have a walking pace groove that’s uplifting, and sets a good pace to actually get my heart rate going.
I discovered rather early on, that he’s a sober person, and has been sober since late 2015. It made me appreciate even more going to shows sober as hell, and just drinking up every ounce of vibe I could. I’m not sober, by any means, I drink lightly and smoke weed almost daily, but I also don’t have a (substance) addictive personality. I’m sure navigating that in the world of music, which seems to rely heavily on binge drinking, abusing your body with substances, and generally being an asshole, is quite hard. Being a sober person in general is not easy, so being a sober MUSICIAN must be bonkers. Kudos to you, dude, for living the life. His album, Changes, highlights a lot of that struggle. The lyrics are obvious to those who know about his struggle with alcohol and drugs, and they were lovely, personal songs that also allowed for joy and dancing.
His second album came out at the end of 2021. It was called In Plain Sight, and I totally took credit for naming the album, even though his song was written prior to my hearing his music.
Tumblr media
In Plain Sight was another perfect album! How does he keep doing that?? Amazing. I’ve seen him twice now in concert in Boston, and both times have been mind-blowing. His band is so fucking tight. I almost skipped his opening show for Marcus King in Boston, because I don’t really know Marcus King’s music, but I decided why not. It was a Sunday evening. I had all the time in the world to leisurely take the train up to Boston. I went by myself, which is truly how I prefer to take in a live show. Arrive when you want, leave when you want, get totally immersed in the music without anyone chatting in your ear. I’m doubly glad I went, because he popped up at the merch table after his set, and I was able to get a picture with him.
Tumblr media
He’s always touring. He’s gotten some good press recently, played at some big festivals, including Newport Folk Festival, and he seems to be connecting with music lovers all over the world. If he’s playing near you, I STRONGLY urge you to take in one of his shows. Bring your comfiest dancing shoes!
youtube
1 note · View note
Text
The other day my sister and I were having a conversation about gifts and thoughtfulness.
I kinda giggled a bit thinking back to it. I realized something sitting here in my thoughts while my baby naps. It’s the first silence and alone time I’ve had all weekend.
We both questioned perhaps we just weren’t worthy, but I raised question to maybe I’m simply not sharing enough of myself to be known that personally. Where people can see random, niche things in their day to day lives and think of us. I explained that I loved giving gifts I perfectly curate to each personality of said person. I could explain with such ease why I chose every single aspect of that gift. I’ve literally done it for my husband, when his birthday was a month after our official dating status date. Down to the gift bag. Whereas I always seem to receive half-thought generic gifts every woman gets. Don’t get me wrong, I can get jiggy with precurated purchases from the advertisement seasonal aisles. Especially if the brand is one of my preference, color, texture.. whatever. But lately it’s just felt so, impersonal. I think it was due to me explicitly and bluntly stating what i wanted to receive. I didn’t beat around the bush, or drop little hints. I don’t think a gift card is impersonal, hell it’s a huge hit for me if you get it specifically for a place you KNOW I favor. That’s thoughtful as fuck.
Anyway I’m rambling, but, what if despite sharing so much of ourselves and thinking we have a good understanding within the people we associate with.. perhaps we actually never share our true likes and interests as much as we think we did. We both have a tendency to trauma dump more than anything. The rough shit sticks to people more than the little details. Details. We share too many irrelevant ones, it’s easy to get lost in all of that. I was thinking more about it and I’ve made my whole personality while being in survival mode. I never had the genuine opportunity to pursue and nurture my passions. Being in poverty didn’t help our hobbies either. When things weren’t stable at home, nothing could be consistent. Life was ever changing and we were navigating it on eggshells. How could I have any passions when I was too busy looking for validation. Any sort of attention I could get, how could I pay attention to my goals if nobody ever paid me any attention!
So maybe it’s not people being impersonal or unthoughtful.. it’s just me being confusing? I’m confused too. Always living life on hard mode in the social aspect.
0 notes
grandpageepa · 2 years
Text
You really got a hold on me
I was thinking. Things fall into pockets visually when I start thinking. I thought you were spectacular, regardless of what you thought of yourself. I was rooting for you even though you treated me badly and encouraged me to treat myself badly. Although you were not worth any space or time in my life, I carved it out for you as I have never done for myself. This year, was the year that things took place and I carved out room for myself. This is where everything changed and I was able to take out all the things that was destroying me, putting them into compartments and throwing them out the window. I have had a long history of forming relationships with bad habits, bad people, bad thoughts, bad places, just a double edged sword and of course, I was drawn in by the excitement, by the thrill, the drama and at this time, in my life, I have finally broken the cycle. I could not fathom living my whole life in constant overbearing anxiety, and to subject myself to this asylum, I confined myself to in all corners of my life, I can not say that I deserved it, but you would say that. You thought people deserved punishment, that’s understandable but if when you think of someone as a whole, judge them based on their integrity, not as a small fraction of your own ego, of your own validation to impose penalties on people for everything that could not be arranged in your mind to be correct. It’s been a year and I have not stopped thinking of my animals, every waking day in every waking moment and open space. The last time I asked about them, you called me a clown as if I haven’t taken care of them for the greater part of their life, as if they didn’t mean a thing to me, as if leaving them in Florida with you was the easiest thing I could do. I literally had no chance, running from wall to wall...hating myself...putting myself through the shredder and not being able to look myself in the mirror. That shit is not easy and sitting here, typing this now...it seems like wow...it didn’t seem like such a huge deal but in reality, it took everything from me and running....in real life through pitch suburban darkness, into ubers, chasing you, chasing the emotions I’ve sewed into you and was hoping that you could cover me with the sweater you never owned. Dark times, and the more I put into words, I feel like I can hear your voice minimalizing and downgrading..one of the hardest, darkest, loneliest times in my life. Although I can imagine, I can walk down memory lane, there is nothing I could trade for my life back. I wish I had more choices. I wish things were different. Then again, if they didn’t go exactly in the shitter as they did, I would never have found myself. I have been on this journey all my life to look at myself in the face, and recognize and appreciate the person standing before me. To not feel guilt, shame, just for existing. All in all, I am thankful everyday for my life. I am grateful for the opportunity to live many lives in one life, to be able to change the things I don’t like, and to build something I can be happy with. The journey isn’t over. There it feels like a mountain of dirt, where a humble dwelling would sit, nested in the sunset, cooling on a calm night under the stars, floating through time. What turned into fleeting moments, suggestive thoughts, that’s all they are. I could never invite you back in. There is no way in hell. I am uncertain at this point, if I could ever invite anyone in not because of the damage you inflicted, or of only the bad I could curate when I think of a relationship, but because I have found so much where I thought I could never find anything. For anything that threatens that sanctity, I feel great irritation and hesitation. I feel whole even with so many factors, that I am not fulfilled with. I still feel that I have all of what I need, to live in my own skin without the constant need of chasing, wanting, needing, hoping, searching. 
0 notes
hobbit--punk · 2 years
Text
Okay, so Hobbitpunk is a thing now. We're doing this.
This started because of... well, you can read it here. But the basic premise is that I love punk and I love cottagecore, but can't seem to find an online community that isn't mostly about “the aesthetic” without practical lifestyle ideas. Look, I love a moodboard as much as the next person, I really do. But I can only handle so many scripted TikTok videos and screenshots from Animal Crossing.
We've all been sitting here pining for a romanticized life that we see in curated media, but the facts of the matter are that most of us can't have that life, not the way things are now. I don't know about you, but I have neither the money nor the skill to go peace out to a farm and live close to nature. It would be a disaster. It would also accomplish absolutely jack for anyone who wasn't me and my husband. I also can't open a bookstore or a tea shop, and I'm WAY too broke to fill my wardrobe with fair trade, sustainably made clothing unless I pick up the needle and do it myself (which... in progress.).
If you're anything like me, you're at best living in a meh apartment that the landlord doesn't take care of, in a city somewhere. You might also be living with family in an environment you can't control, or in a small town where you're literally the only person with your interests. I've done both of these as well, which is why my punk/goth phase waited until I was in my 20s to actually become visible. Heh heh. “Phase.” I'm in my late 30s now.
Anyway. I'm not really proposing an aesthetic. There probably will be one, I can't see this happening without inspiration photos from time to time, but I actually want whatever this is to be a practical lifestyle that everyday doofuses like you and me can do. “Hobbitpunk” is... exactly what it says on the tin. Punk ideals in a hobbity skill set, or vice versa. Tearing down a defunct, bullshit system and replacing it with something wholesome.
The original post included this, as the sort of thing I've been picturing:
Imagine drinking tea while lounging in a room full of mismatched, thrifted furniture that’s comfy as shit, but held together with duct tape. You’re wrapped in a handmade quilt, and reading Karl Marx. There are assorted dumpster dived containers on your windowsill full of herbs and salad greens. You’ll make hot soup for supper, and share it with a half-dozen other freaks who showed up to plan a direct action that will probably involve stolen fireworks. Somebody baked bread to go with the soup, and a friend with a green mohawk and waistcoat covered in patches brought cookies.
From discussions with others, here are some of the ideas.
Ideals: Crafting, anarchy, adventure, home and hearth stuff, homecooked food, radical body acceptance, political activism, books, music, sustainability, feminism, and socialism (or communism, if that's your thing) are good. Transphobia, homophobia, the patriarchy, white supremacy, consumerism, capitalism, abuse, war, and whatever the hell these “Tradwife” folks are doing (I'm still not sure, other than promoting some serious Stockholm Syndrome with your abusers?) are bad.
I'm personally a fan of peace and love, but I do know that sometimes, you gotta swing the frying pan and bash some orcs.
Decor: Your living quarters are probably fine as they are. I'm not telling you to go shopping for this. If you don't like how your place looks now, then keep your eyes open at thrift stores for things like handmade quilts and afghans, good quality cooking tools, and anything that looks cozy and comfy. Don't worry if it matches or not, just make it the sort of place that someone would feel safe in. Books, maps, embroidered pillows, swords, whatever. You do you.
Clothing: Yes, yes, I know there's a “punk uniform” and the Hobbits in the movies had a very specific “look.” We're not cosplaying here. Put down the prosthetic ears. PUT THEM DOWN. Your closet... is probably fine as it is. If you've made it this far in my post, then I imagine you're already kind of halfway there. Dress comfy, and to your tastes. Have fun. You wanna dye your hair purple? Wear a corset and an apron? Combat boots and a wool waistcoat? Go for it.
Just try not to purchase “fast fashion” clothing from WalMart, or wherever. Thrift stores are what I'd recommend. Or learn to sew, and just kind of stay aware of where your fabrics are coming from.
Activities: Learn to make things. Sewing, cooking, woodworking, leatherworking, whatever. Hop onto YouTube and explore. Read books, all of the books. Take care of your neighbors and make sure the people around you are safe. Hunt racists for sport. Steal from the rich (if that's your thing). Rescue animals. Rescue people out of abusive/dangerous situations. Show up to the protests with soup. Find what needs done in your community and do it yourself if you can. Host potlucks and feed people. Go on road trips. Make tea. And beer if you want. Share your skills with the community so others can do the thing too.
If I can pull this off, I'll try to share videos with skills and links to information as I can find it. If y'all find something cool too, please feel free to show it to me. The asks and submissions are open. Do the thing. 
212 notes · View notes
xiaq · 3 years
Note
Hi, I have a question re:sex and Christianity. Small background: I still go to church, and I still live with my parents even though I'm not much younger than you, because housing is very very expensive where I live (pretty common here, I would say about 2/3 of my friends live with their parents and we are decently privileged kids)
Anyway. How does one get over purity culture? To be clear, I've never been told in church not to have sex, I've never gotten the gendered lessons that you got. But I am terrified of having sex. My first real, multi-year relationship just ended and while there was hand stuff etc, there was never any p in v sex (lol I feel 12). But I still had insane anxiety about being pregnant despite being on bc. And I think its because I know my parents would be so disappointed if I had sex. And if I was pregnant I could imagine all the gossip. And honestly I think im from a pretty open church, b/c one of our previous ministers kids recently got married at 8 months pregnant and lots of church people were at the wedding and supportive and her parents were there and everything.
I dont even think I particularly like sex, i might be on the ace spectrum, but how do I remove it from all the anxiety that's tied to it so I can even give myself the chance to find out???
(Asking because it seems like you've been pretty open about purity culture/removing yourself from it)
CW for sex talk (again)
How does one get over purity culture?
Oh man. That really is the million-dollar question, huh? Obviously, I can only answer re my personal experiences, and this is something you should talk to a therapist about, but I can tell you how I’ve tackled it with my therapist at least.
Purity culture is, at its core, an ideology that is perpetuated by shame. If you’re indoctrinated into purity culture when you’re a kid, the concepts become baked into the way you construct your identity, your perception of self, and your perception of your sexuality. It’s practically intrinsic, by the time you’re an adult, to feel shame any time you’re reminded you have a body, much less a sexuality.
According to the chapels I sat through every week as a kid, a girl's body could be 3 things: an intentional stumbling block for men, an accidental stumbling block for men, or unnoticeable. Women were to strive for the third option so as to keep their (and their male friends/authority figures) purity intact. After all, if a boy, or even your male teacher, had impure thoughts about you, it was your fault for tempting them (which, holy shit. I still can’t believe that was a thing I bought into for so long. If my 45 yr old grown-ass teacher had impure thoughts because he could see my 12 yr old collarbone, that sure as hell wasn’t my fault. But I digress.) The Only time a woman’s body can be something else, is when she gives it to her husband, at which point she must suddenly flip the switch in her brain that she is now allowed to be a Sexual Being and she must perform Sexual Duties despite living in outright fear of her own body and sexuality for years (decades?) up until this point. Jesus take the wheel.
Purity culture isn’t a thing you can just decide to walk away from if you’ve grown up in it. Because its ideology is insidious and internalized. So first you need to submit to the fact that you’re going to be fucked up about sex. It sounds like you’re there. Second, you need to interrogate what you believe. If you’re leaving religion behind entirely, you’ll approach removing yourself from purity culture differently than if you still identify as a Christian. It sounds like you might be the latter, which meant, for me, separating what’s actually biblical and what’s shitty, contrived, doctrine that I was told is biblical but is actually more political than spiritual. This helps you address the shame issue.
You need to throw away I Kissed Dating Goodbye and Lady in Waiting and all those ridiculous books you read and reread in the hopes of somehow obtaining impossible marriage perfection and look into actual scripture interpreted within its historical context. I could write a book on this, but the TL;DR is that the text of the Bible was written, translated, curated, and changed multiple times over thousands of years by human beings with human biases and, often, personal and/or political agendas. It contradicts itself! Reading it as it is—a flawed historical document—rather than some sort of God-breathed perfect document—is incredibly freeing. When you do, you’ll probably realize that purity culture is bullshit on a spiritual level. Which is a good start, if that matters to you. Because any time you start to feel shame or guilt you can ask yourself: does God actually care if I wear a bikini or touch a dick I’m not married to? Probably not. Wear the bikini. Touch the dick.
The most important therapy session for me was when my therapist asked what I would do if I got to heaven and God was actually the God I’d been raised to fear. What would I do if he condemned me for being bisexual and having premarital sex and becoming educated, for arguing with men, and failing to isolate while menstruating, and wearing mixed fabrics? If Montero had come out at the point, I probably would have said I’d pole dance down to hell. Instead, I said I would spit on heaven’s gates. If a god that cruel and that pointlessly demeaning really exists—a god who would create in me condemned desire—I won't worship him. The good news is, I’m 99% sure he doesn’t exist. At the very least, he isn’t supported by scripture.
Okay. The final thing you need to do is figure out what you actually want, sexually speaking. This bit is probably the hardest. I’m still in the early stages of this myself. You say: “I dont even think I particularly like sex, i might be on the ace spectrum, but how do I remove it from all the anxiety that's tied to it so I can even give myself the chance to find out???” Bro, I wish I had an easy answer for you. For me, whenever I’m feeling anxious about Sex Things, I tell myself: 1. My God does not equate my worth to my sexual habits. 2. My partner does not equate my worth to my sexual habits. 3. I do not equate my worth to my sexual habits. It seems silly, but reminding myself of those three things is massively helpful. If, after I’ve sorted through those, I’m still anxious or uncomfortable, I stop doing the thing. I evaluate. Am I overwhelmed and I need to try again some other time? Do I just not like the thing? Sometimes it’s hard to tell. Sometimes you change your mind. Sometimes you just don’t know. That’s why having a partner who you trust and who’s willing to patiently explore your interests (and respect your disinterests) is so important. Half the battle, for me, was having a partner who told me they’d be ok with no sex at all. Because that took the pressure off me. If the bare minimum they need is nothing, then anything more than that is a bonus! Hooray! This is maybe TMI, but let me tell you. I thought I was asexual* right up until I was able to have moderately non-anxious sex. Never in my life did I think I would initiate a sexual situation but… I do now. It’s a fun thing to do with a person I love and, holy shit. I am furious that I nearly missed out on it.
Finally, re birth control: I don’t know how you can approach that fear in a way that works for you. If you don’t want to ever have penetrative sex, that’s fine! If that’s a point of anxiety you can’t get rid of, then don't push yourself to do it. If you find out you like other sex things, do the other sex things! If you don't like doing any sex things, don't do any sex things! Also, have you considered sleeping with people who can’t get you pregnant? Always an option if it’s an option you want to consider. ;)
Okay. I hope this was even a little bit helpful. Sorry if it’s a little convoluted, I typed it up in bursts during my work breaks.
*This is not at all to say that asexuality can be “fixed." Rather, it’s to say that things like purity culture can drastically confuse your sexuality in general. If you’re asexual, then this process is still important to discover what you like/dislike. Then you can be explicit about those necesities and find a partner who’s a good fit (if you want a partner at all, that is).
465 notes · View notes
dessarious · 3 years
Text
How the Sirens Adopted a Ladybug Pt1
So when I was writing the last chapter of How to Not Get a Date it went full blown angst. Since that wasn’t what I wanted for that story and rewrote the chapter that I posted but the other idea decided to blow up into yet another story so here we go again.
AO3   Next
“I don’t suppose I could convince you not to steal that?” Catwoman spun around to find a girl in what looked like a dark red armored suit with black spots. In the Louvre at two in the morning. What the hell?
“And just what are you supposed to be?” The girl just gave her a sardonic smile and Catwoman couldn’t help but notice how tired she looked.
“I’m Ladybug. Hero of Paris.” The sarcastic tone was unexpected and it took her a minute to actually process the words.
“Since when does Paris have Heroes?”
“Since some megalomaniac found a Miraculous and decided to use it for his own selfish desires. If not for the fact that he targets people with strong negative emotions I wouldn’t care what you do. But since the last time the curator of this exhibit was Akumatized it was a three day battle, I would really like to avoid it if I can.” She just continued to frown at the girl. That couldn’t be real.
“Did Harley and Ivy put you up to this?” That just got her confused frown mirrored back at her. She was either a really good actress or she wasn’t lying.
“Look, this exhibit is moving to London in under two weeks. Could you please just wait until it leaves Paris to take whatever it is you’re after?” This was so strange. She claimed to be a hero but didn’t seem to care that Catwoman was stealing, just that it would become her problem. Even most of the bats frowned upon that sort of thing.
“So you’re just going to let me walk out of here like nothing happened?” She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, refusing to make eye contact.
“The police have made it clear that it is not my job to apprehend criminals.” There was a lot of anger under those words. Catwoman walked up to the girl and gently lifted her head so she could study her. Seriously, what was it with black hair and blue eyes? Between the bats and Superman she was starting to wonder if it wasn’t a coincidence.
“When was the last time you slept?” She watched Ladybug’s eyes unfocus as she searched for the answer. “How about the last time you ate?” That produced a flinch.
“I can take care of myself.” Well that wasn’t a good reaction. The girl reminded her a bit of Tim and Jason. The sleep deprivation was all the baby CEO but the amorality screamed mister gun nut.
“I’m sure you can. I’ll tell you what; I’ll do what you want but in return you’ll come with me to meet a couple of my friends and let us feed you.” She hesitated but Catwoman didn’t see any worry in her expression. She wasn’t scared of being alone with criminals so it was likely pride holding her back. “I want to talk to you more about the situation here. It’s odd that I haven’t heard about it.”
“No it’s not. The Miraculous magic is very good at containing itself. Very few people outside of Paris have any idea what is going on.” That tone was odd. There was a trace of bitterness but it was mostly resigned.
“How old are you?” The way she held herself said she was experienced in what she did, but everything else screamed that she was still just a kid.
“Old enough to do what must be done.”  Yep, she was dealing with a baby.
------------------------------------------------------
“Will you quit worrying? I’m sure everything’s just fine.” Ivy just shot Harley an annoyed glance. She loved the woman to death but she really needed to take things a bit more seriously sometimes.
“She’s two hours late Harls, that’s a time frame for worry. Not to mention I’ve felt off ever since we got here. There’s something wrong with this city and I don’t like it.” She was constantly on edge and her skin felt like it was trying to crawl off her body. Ivy wanted nothing more than for Selina to get back so they could leave. Sightseeing be damned.
“As always your instincts are dead on.” She let out a relieved breath and turned to yell at Selina for trying to give her a heart attack but couldn’t manage to speak once she saw the person with her. Or rather once she felt the power coming off of them. She pulled Harley behind her and prepared for the worst. Selina was just looking at her like she was insane but the girl was studying her.
“Seriously, you’re scared of a kid?” Harley’s words made her really look at the person and that just made her more worried. Given what she felt this girl was capable of destroying the world without even trying.
“How can you not feel that? The energy radiating from her should be enough that even you should feel it.” Harley and Selina both just looked confused but the girl looked surprised.
“You can actually feel it?” Ivy just nodded. “I’ve never met anyone who could sense the Miraculous before. Whatever you sense though, I assure you I don’t mean any harm. There’s only one person I actually want to maim and I have a feeling when the time comes I won’t even be able to do that.” Well that was… odd. Even Harley was eyeing the girl like she had a screw loose.
“This is Ladybug. She’s a hero here in Paris.” Well that at least explained why she was late. “She’s asked me to hold off on my transaction until it leaves Paris.”
“And you agreed? She’s just going to go to the cops and make things more difficult for you later.” Harley’s words caused anger and hurt to flash across her expression before she controlled it.
“I said I wouldn’t. They wouldn’t take me seriously if I did anyway.” Now she saw why Selina brought her back with her. The girl looked like a stray cat. The stiff way she held herself was exactly like a cat who’d learned that people can’t be trusted, but she refused to run or show fear either. Then Ivy noticed the girls hair and eyes and almost groaned out loud. Selina had been spending so much time with her boyfriend that she was picking up his adoption preferences.
“I wanted to talk with her more about what’s going on here in Paris. We should order food since I have a feeling it’s going to be a long discussion.” Ivy saw the girl's cheeks turn pink and took the time to really look at her. She was the kind of thin that came from not eating rather than just being fit. Her mask hid any bags that might be under her eyes, but even standing still her body was swaying a little. The girl looked like she was about to pass out.
“Of course. Here, have a seat.” Ivy made chairs out of plants for everyone and the girl's face went completely blank before she turned to Selina.
“Is that normal for her?” Harley just started giggling but Selina gave Ladybug a sympathetic smile.
“Yes, Ivy has the power to control plants.” Ladybug let out a relieved sigh.
“Thank Kwami. I don’t think I’m up for another Akuma today.” Ivy shared a confused look with Harley. What the hell was an Akuma?
“You’re fighting people that control plants?” The girl blinked at her in confusion for a moment before understanding dawned.
“No, it’s complicated. I haven’t had to explain this to someone in a long time so I might not make much sense.” She sat while Harley went to order food. Ivy sat across from her and noticed how she melted into the seat. She obviously wasn’t used to being comfortable. When Harley came back in the room they were about to start asking questions when a little black cat shaped creature appeared. It was emitting just as much power as the girl.
“I don’t suppose any of you are willing to spring for camembert?” Harley gave out a squeak of surprise but Catwoman just looked stunned.
“Plagg! Are you out of your mind? Not to mention how rude it is.” Ladybug couldn’t seem to decide whether to be annoyed or embarrassed.
“Given that this one steals for a living I doubt they stand on good manners. Besides, you don’t know if you don’t ask.” The cheeky tone caused an eye twitch in the girl.
“What exactly is that?” Selina hadn’t stopped staring at the creature.
“I’m Plagg, Kwami of Destruction. I power the Black Cat Miraculous.” The girl actually threw her hands up in frustration.
“Tikki’s going to kill us both. Of all the people you could have decided to come out for why would you choose criminals?” Poor kid sounded close to tears and the creature flew up under her chin and started purring. Selina was grinning like a mad woman. Ivy had a feeling things were about to get a lot more complicated.
“Everything will be fine Bug, you’ll see. I’m the Kwami of bad luck and I can feel yours shifting.”
“I thought you said you were the Kwami of Destruction?” Selina sounded far too amused. Ivy shook her head at the woman. She still didn’t understand how no one else could feel the danger here.
“I’m both, just as Tikki is the Kwami of Creation and Good Luck, which is the Miraculous that gives Ladybug her powers.” The Kwami suddenly flew right up to Ivy to study her. “You’re an interesting being. Your abilities are inherently creation but you use them to destroy as well. She could be a good influence for you Bug.” Ladybug let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose.
“I’m not using your powers to smite the people you think have wronged me Plagg. And I would really like to stop having this argument.”  
“You act like it’s an opinion rather than a fact. Even Tikki agrees with me there.” The Kwami sounded indignant and more than a little angry. The energy around it was getting steadily stronger. They really needed to divert it’s attention.
“What were you saying about camembert?” The Kwami perked up immediately but Ladybug cringed.
“Kwami need food to recharge and while just about anything will do in a pinch they each have favorites. Plagg’s favorite is extremely smelly and extremely pricy cheese. Which I haven’t been able to provide for awhile now.” Plagg’s expression dropped at her tone.
“Oh kit, it’s not your fault.” The creature flew back to her and began purring again. Ladybug wouldn’t look anyone in the eye but Ivy could feel the guilt and worry coming from her. Whatever was going on this kid needed a break.
“I just need to go change. Then I can run to the store while we wait for the rest of the food.” Plagg looked ecstatic at Selina’s announcement. Ladybug looked mostly worried but there was a bit of relief under that.
“I wasn’t kidding when I said it was expensive. I feel bad enough, don’t let them guilt you into buying something that isn’t really necessary.” Selina scoffed.
“I know exactly how temperamental some creatures are about food and given Ivy’s reaction I’d like to stay on their good side for the moment. Besides, the money isn’t an issue.” She was walking out of the room before the girl could respond. Instead she frowned at Plagg who was still looking after Selina.
“I thought we agreed no more surprises.”
“Tikki and Wayzz agreed, I didn’t. Besides, an opportunity is presenting itself that we don’t want to miss.” Ivy shared a confused look with Harley, who just shrugged at her. Ladybug seemed just as clueless about what they meant. That couldn’t be a good thing.
AO3      Next
311 notes · View notes
ixalit · 3 years
Note
(1/2) I'll you my personal reasons for not watching tfatws- the directors, writers and everybody involved has said that the show picks up right where endgame ends and honestly speaking, that movie brought me a lot of pain, heartbreak and of course to continue the plot line tfatws will have to acknowledge and to some extent even justify Steve's ending & the decision to go back in time. So yeah, even if it's probably addressed only in the first episode and few minutes, that's what the show's
(2/2) premise is built upon(the assassination of Steve's character arc which breaks my heart every time i'm reminded of it) So I've decided to isolate myself from the current mcu track and filtering all the tags and their new shows (including wv) I'm not discouraging or boycotting anyone who is excited for the new content but for the sake of my own mental health+happiness I'll be curating my own fandom experience which I believe is totally within my right,not something i should feel guilty about
Yes, you’re free and welcome to engage with whatever you want in whatever you ways you want. I’m truly not trying to start an argument here or tell you how to be in fandom, but you made some points that I want to respond to so I’m going to reply to this in pieces.
the show picks up right where endgame ends and honestly speaking, that movie brought me a lot of pain, heartbreak and of course to continue the plot line tfatws will have to acknowledge and to some extent even justify Steve's ending & the decision to go back in time. So yeah, even if it's probably addressed only in the first episode and few minutes, that's what the show's premise is built upon(the assassination of Steve's character arc which breaks my heart every time i'm reminded of it)
Yes, I would assume so, seeing as it’s set in the same universe as MCU canon and takes place after Endg*me. But since when is official canon the end-all be-all? Haven’t we, as Stucky shippers, always taken liberties? Haven’t we always picked and chose specific details so that it fits our narrative better? Haven’t we written countless fics of multi-verses and fix-its and completely ignored everything except the basic premise of canon?
So yes, FATWS will probably mention Steve. And it most likely reference the events of Endg*me. But where does it say you need to like or accept or even believe the events of Endg*me to watch a show that is, quite frankly, not about Steve at all?
I've decided to isolate myself from the current mcu track and filtering all the tags and their new shows (including wv) I'm not discouraging or boycotting anyone who is excited for the new content but for the sake of my own mental health+happiness I'll be curating my own fandom experience which I believe is totally within my right,not something i should feel guilty about
By definition, what you’re doing is boycotting (definition: withdrawing from commercial or social relations with something as a punishment or protest). Maybe not people, but definitely the show. Maybe you’re protesting Endg*me and not a black lead, but that’s still resulting in the show getting less views, being less popular, and resulting in less recognition for said black lead.
I’m sorry that thinking about Endg*me and the assassination of Steve’s character arc brings you so much pain. That sounds really hard. It’s not my intention to make you feel guilty for taking care of your mental health so much as it is to bring attention to the passive racism I’ve seen heavily on tumblr the past few weeks. Obviously please take care of yourself and your mental health first.
I know in previous fandoms I’ve been in, the moment it started invading my mental space and affecting my emotions so much, I’ve benefitted from taking a step back and looking at the big picture - this is a fictional story, with fictional characters, who we absolutely love, but at the end of the day live in our heads.
I bet we all have versions of them in our minds that vary based on what we admire about them, the fics and art we consume, and the canon and fanon we accept. Because of this, we can actually think about them any way we want. Because they are not real people, we have the power to accept or not accept things without letting it affect the rest of the story or characters.
In my view, canon is the skeleton of a house. It provides the basic shape, the structure, it gives everything a stable foundation. But as you build the house and fill in the insulation and drywall, you can change things. You can make additions or remove parts. You can fill it in however you want. And when it’s finally together, you get to choose the details - the lighting and cabinets and flooring - that you want because it’s your home and no one else’s. Hell, you could even sell the house and start over on a different plot.
I’m in fandom to have fun with fictional characters and escape from real life stress. And if I need to bend the rules of canon to what I like so that it continues to be a fun place for me, I damn well will do that.
Anyways. All that to say. I understand what you’re saying about hating Endg*me and not wanting to see that continue. All I’m saying is you can still promote Mackie in his first lead in Marvel. You can still give it clicks, even if you don’t watch the episodes. Or you can have a friend tell you where to skip to avoid any mention of Steve and Endg*me. You can reblog the press tours and gifsets without accepting the narrative it builds off of. You can still support a black lead in an Avengers production.
52 notes · View notes
Text
on avatarhood post-fearpocalypse
Not sure how to write this one down. When I haven't been actively putting it off, I've been starting and deleting this for the past hour or so. I think a place of honesty is the best way I can carry forward. So, uh, four things:
1. This isn't really much of a lost connection. Sorry.
There are some people I encountered that I do, genuinely, want to see and/or hear from again. There are others that, while I don't want to see again, I am morbidly curious to see where they ended up. The only problem is that, well, in some ways I did lose connection! Internet connection. Voluntarily.
After the apocalypse, I just didn't touch the internet for months. It was annoying as hell, but I absolutely had to. For the first month after I got home, I kept most of my electronics in a box. Stayed as far away from social media as possible, and am still trying to. This is because--
2. My domain was... weird.
As in: my domain was my phone. I think.
No, I wasn't (physically) trapped inside of it, or attached to it in a dependent way. Well, I guess in some ways I was trapped in there, right? When I realized that my phone was... I don't know, malevolent? Influencing me? Influencing others? When I realized that, I tried to break it or throw it away a few times, but it'd remain in tact, or just come back like the world's weirdest boomerang.
But even during the apocalypse, it was just a normal phone (aside from not running out of battery). It was my only degree of normalcy, so I started to make diary vlogs. I thought it was really funny how TikTok was still operational, so I decided to post some there for kicks just to see what other people thought. Hell, I just wanted to know if there were other people still out there.
I didn't want to think about the implications. I still don't. Call me a coward if you'd like: I certainly do.
3. I need to find someone else like me.
The main reason I'm writing this here, now, is that I want to know I wasn't the only one who had a domain like this. I hadn't realized how literal some domains were until everyone else in my life started to talk about it, and for--er, reasons--I wanted to keep my mouth shut just in case whatever I said gave someone the wrong idea.
I really need to hear that I'm not the only one whose domain wasn't a place. I really want to hear that there's someone else out there who--I don't know, wasn't confined to a location but was still afraid. Apparently there were some people who just can't feel afraid and weren't affected, and there was this whole thing about Melanie King "severing a connection" or whatever, but... I was neither of those things.
I've always been a little emotionally detached, but that didn't mean I wasn't fucking terrified, y'know? I could see the Change from my apartment window and I thought my family's mental illnesses were finally catching up to me. There are so many things I thoughtlessly recorded that I ended up deleting once everything stopped. I don't even know why I thought it'd be a good idea to keep those, even if it was just to reaffirm to myself that it was, in fact, happening.
Recently I bought a new phone. The dread remains all the same whenever I look it.
4. I think I was an Avatar.
I tried to delay the inevitable as long as I could, but that was probably, deeply, unfair. And this is starting to get away from me very fast, so I think I need to get to the point, like, now.
I don't want to get too deeply into it--"it" being all the warning signs and personal trauma and whatever the fuck entails "becoming an Avatar." I might have even been an Avatar even before the Change; I genuinely don't know, but it doesn't matter much to me anymore.
(My personal opinion is that, in the apocalypse--and if evidence suggests, before it--there was a spectrum with two ends when it came to the entities: the fearful and the feared. One ate, one was eaten, and your point on that spectrum could be shifted at any time. Any time.)
That aside, I genuinely don't know what entity I "served" or whatever. It was part coping and part survival the entire way through for me. Beholding seems like the obvious choice, since I was recording and talking to people, but... I embodied a lot of other things too. I think if I explain it, it'll make more sense:
Sometime into making my vlogs, I started running into other people. They'd always be a little bewildered to see me, but whatever torture they were enduring or inflicting would just... come to a halt. In the beginning, I didn't even realize that the people were going through hell: I was just so relieved to see someone that I'd call out to them, ask them how they were doing, sit with them and just relish the company of a human being for awhile. I didn't even realize the camera was recording some of the time.
And those first few times, I'd practically beg the person (or people) to come with me. They always accepted, even though I was simultaneously super clingy and closed-off. They always put up with me and my stupid phone. But they were never able to stick around.
By the time I stopped remembering faces, I stopped asking.
I had resolved to find somebody important to me in the very beginning, so I was always travelling. But I never stopped trying to talk to anyone I found. I'd always say some shit like, "Care to introduce yourself to the viewers?" and, "So tell us what traumas are going into your cringe compilation," and other influencer lingo just to lighten the mood, but some things--referring to the "viewers" and speaking about myself in the plural--became reflex.
And our conversations always came with the expectation of speaking of some sort of trauma. A tiny part of me always looked forward to it: I always tried to remind myself that people wanted to talk about themselves, their problems, and to be able to talk; that I was just one of many people in a bad situation and that I shouldn't prioritize my own suffering.
But I think... well, if I describe it, there's no damn way I won't be called a sociopath by someone. So just assume that I uncomplicatedly enjoyed their pain and pat yourself on the back for being able to believe you're still morally upright after all this time.
Sorry. It's just... I've been thinking about how people might respond a lot. I've curated a lot of this just to make sure no one tries to witch-hunt me while still trying to keep my story believable.
I think that's a sign to stop digging my own grave.
Apologies for how long it got in the end there, haha. I'm trying to... not really put this all behind me, I don't think any of us can. I've accepted what had become of me--or, well, I'm in the process of it--thus why I'm back on the internet in the first place.
I haven't gotten rid of the old phone yet, because... I've been thinking about uploading some of the videos I've recorded. From the Fearpocalypse. I desperately want to delete all of it, to keep it out of reach (my reach, particularly), but I... I think it needs to be archived somewhere. Anywhere.
You’re not an advice column, but since I’ve already gotten this far… well, I shouldn’t ask more than that. If I upload those videos, and you recognize me or yourself, feel free to reach out. I live in East Texas, but I somehow stumbled across some domains in Britain, Egypt, Japan, the Philippines, etc… (I didn’t learn about the Entities until the late leg of the apocalypse, so I was just trying to find domains that seemed to connect to the fears of the person I was looking for. Lots of Lonely, Slaughter, and End domains.)
(ROSE’S NOTES: damn another long post, I don’t know what to say. I uh. I hope you can find comfort in the internet again. I personally don’t know what i’d do if I had that domain. The internet is a safe place for me and has been for nearly a decade. Damn. Rose getting into stuff she should talk to a therapist about huh? Anyways. I guess to make a post that’s already long longer, I hope this post has made you feel better. I hope you find someone to talk with who understands what you went through. Take care my friend)
24 notes · View notes
bi-writes · 4 years
Photo
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
notorious: reboot — chapter eight  genesis
This is our genesis, and ours only; once we start this chapter, what will end it?
type: series, alternate universe detail: mob!tom word count: 12.7k warnings: mature language and themes, mature sexual and nsfw content included in this chapter (oral fem!receiving, unprotected sexual content, overstimulation, cum play) series masterlist music playlist by mood, curated just for notorious
There were many things you could tell about a person from looking at their hands. They could be dirty or clean, adorned with jewels or nothing at all, nails painted or chipped or bare, cut or bruised or scratched or completely, utterly soft. Sometimes they wore wedding rings, sometimes they didn’t, sometimes they had ink circling around their fingers. Hands were interesting storytellers, and oftentimes you found yourself finding more about someone from the way their hands were kept rather than listening to them speak. Sometimes people lied. Their hands couldn’t lie, all they could do was simply be.  
It was so quiet here. You could barely see anything in the darkness, but there was a sliver of light coming from the candle in the far corner of the room. The wax had melted almost all the way, the wicker barely lit, but it was enough that you could still see clearly what was beside you, who was beside you.
Your head was propped up on a soft pillow, but Tom’s hand was beside it, palm flat against the bed, and you could hear his gentle breathing. You brought your hand up to trace Tom’s knuckles, which were slightly split. They had bled, you could tell that much, and there were yellow and purple bruises dotting the dry, cracked skin there. His nails were well groomed, but you could tell he picked at them because of how his cuticles were ripped a bit, the edges of his nails a bit rugged.
Hands of a killer. So why doesn’t it hurt when he touches me with them?
You turned his hand over, following the callous along his palms. Blistering, dry, and used, Tom’s hands were a reflection of the dirty business you both had chosen to run in. It didn’t matter where you were in this business, it took something from each and every being inside of it. You and Tom were young, but you had been thrust into a world of secrecy and anarchy where your worth was determined by nothing more than where you stood in a line of hundreds, blanketed by tradition, ritual, and kings without mercy.
You had seen too much, but it was enough that you were numb inside at times. Death did nothing to you any longer. Blood was nothing but a stain, and guns were just accessories. Judges, cops, and lawyers were the men and women on your payroll, and funding amateur killers was just a part of your work. Love was a luxury, children became heirs, and money was your lifeline. One mistake could cost you your head, one wrong move could dismantle your operations, and without a throne to sit on, there was no need for you except to bleed you dry of what you had and to leave you for the earth to swallow whole.
Daughters become enemies.
Only ruthless, cold individuals that were truly dead inside could sit on thrones made of bones. You had to be willing to do anything to put the crown on, and even then, it could slip right off of your head in a moment.  
Rivals become lovers.
You had never known anything else. You had never tried to be anything else. Your mother loved you, but she didn’t try and take you away from this life; she had thrust you into the world headfirst, and she made you who you were.  
Sweet faces become killers. She made you a killer.
You wondered who had made Tom. Staring at the soft tufts of curls on his head, you wondered who had taught him to hold a gun, to point it at his target, and to not hesitate pulling the trigger.
You wondered what kind of burdens he carried on those broad shoulders of his. You wondered what hid between the curves of his muscles, what truly defined the scars along his back, and what kind of blood had been spilled against those crackling knuckles of his. You wondered who had taken the light inside of the little boy he had once been and crushed it. All kings and queens had lights inside of them once, even you.
We lose them, and then we spend forever trying to find it inside of others because of what is broken inside of ourselves.
There was a map on his skin. From the tips of his fingers to his toes, Tom had a map. Scars and the occasional tattoo, indentations and uneven patches of skin, defined muscles that ached and stretched and breathed. Some people were meant to be kings, and Tom was one of them, but there was a part of you that wished that Tom had never seen the metal of a gun or the inside of someone’s body or the way life left someone’s body slow, then quickly all at once.  
I wish you never knew what it looked like when there were stars in their eyes, right before they saw a vast nothingness.
There were people inside of you, souls that wanted to be discovered, but you and Tom had buried them so deep that neither of you knew who they were anymore. Tom had mentioned once that he used to watch movies until his eyes were red from the glare of the television screen. He mentioned once that he had felt the vibrations from dancers on a stage, the echo of voices across the emptiness of a theatre, and he mentioned once that there had been light inside of him once when there were spotlights warming up that single spot reserved onstage.
Tom would never know that little boy. Tom would never see what that little boy could become, and he would never get to tell him that he was meant for so much more than this dirty, dirty business. There were songs inside of him, but he would never get to sing them, and for that, a part of you hated whoever had taught Tom to be who he was. They had robbed Tom of every good thing he could’ve been, and now here he was, with scars on his hands, cuts along his back, and a light inside of him that would never, ever be allowed to illuminate whatever soul was buried underneath all of the death and destruction he had built up for so long.
Boys become assassins, and girls become paper dolls.
You wondered if he would hate your mother for the same reasons.
You leaned over and kissed Tom’s forehead before slipping out of bed. You opened the door to your bedroom, going into the kitchen. You were at your apartment this time, and Tom had come with you that night, and he simply didn’t want to leave.
You and Tom had been through hell hours before, but there was something different between you now. There were no secrets between you, and now, it felt strange. For so long, you and Tom had been pretending, lying to each other and falling for each other at the same time.
One and the same.
It was still dark outside. The city lights glowed at night, so bright and awake even in the dead hours of night, and that was how it always was.
You noticed something by the door. There was a white envelope on the floor, as if someone had slipped it underneath the door to get it to you. You bent down and picked up the envelope, turning it over in your hands. The envelope was meant to be white, but it had yellowed from age, and it was dry and crinkly in your hands. There was no return address, just a scribbling on the back in handwriting you thought you recognized but couldn’t decipher.
my baby is all the back read.
You slipped your finger into the opening, ripping the envelope open. Inside was a letter, written on blank copy paper. It was written in scribbly black ink, smeared occasionally, as if it had been written in a rush. You looked around, to see if anyone was around, because it felt as if you were being watched. The apartment was quiet, and there was nothing around you.
You looked back down at the letter, opening it up all the way, smoothing out the folds.
To the only love I’ve ever known,
I don’t know when you’re going to be given this letter. I don’t know if you’ll ever receive it, but if I never write this, then there is a chance that you will never know the truth. I can’t leave this place knowing you might always be kept in the dark.
There is too much I’m going to miss. I tried to do right by you all these years, but now I fear perhaps I’ve just given your father the weapon he’s always needed. He has no ambition, none at all, to do right by his men. Your father is a coward, and he always will be. He takes advantage of even the most precious things in his life, and he has neglected you since the day you were born.
There is going to be a day when he needs you. There is going to be a day when your father will not be able to say no to you, and that day I fear more than anything else in this world, even death. I tried to give you the tools you would need to succeed, but I fear that my time has run out to finish the difficult job I started with you. I’m not finished. I want to keep doing more for you, but my time is running out, and even writing this letter is wasting what little I have left, but I need you to know the truth.
Your father will never understand what it takes to run this kingdom he’s built. I have tried for years to get him to listen to me, but anything I say, he ignores. One day, it’s going to get him killed, but that is the least of my worries. My worry is what comes after, what continues after your father is gone. As much as he wants to pretend it isn’t true, you are going to be the one sitting at the desk. You will be the one left when the dust settles.
I dreamed of being able to sit there myself. When I lived in New York, I was used to being the princess. After marrying your father, I had to get used to being what was left behind. My hatred for him grows every single day, and if I had it in me, I would be done with him. It would be him instead of me, but I’m not meant for those kinds of things. It isn’t in me, and I don’t think I’ve ever been meant for this kind of life. I hate myself for getting involved, and even more, I hate myself for bringing the most beautiful angel into this life.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry I did this to you. I should’ve left, I always knew I should’ve left. I should’ve taken the only good thing to ever happen to me and dragged her far, far away.
I planned on letting you live a normal life. Your father never wanted you to follow in his footsteps, and I planned on letting you grow and learn and go to college and live the normal life that I always dreamed for you, but you were my only hope. You were the only weapon I had against your father, and I’m sorry. What I did was selfish.
I made you like this because I wanted you to be better than him. I wanted you to be better than all of them. Everyone in this world is lonely, ugly on the inside and out, and incredibly stupid. They lack all the good qualities that soldiers should have, because that is what living in this hell is like. You will always be at war, and I wanted you to always have the tools to survive in the disgusting world that these men have built for us.
I needed you to be better.
Your father tonight is going to tell you that I left. You are going to find the drawers of my clothes empty, you are going to find most of my things gone, and you will never see me again. He’s going to tell you that I went far away, perhaps, maybe even to the fucking moon. Your father is going to tell you a lot of things tonight.
All of them will be lies.
Your father is going to kill me tonight, and I’m going to let him, because if I don’t, you will never become who I need you to be. I’m being selfish again. I fear I might hate him more than I love you.
Don’t trust him. Ever. Even if he seems like he is on your side. He will never learn until it’s too late, and by then, nothing will be able to save him. It’s you, and it will always be you, and I hope he dies knowing it.
He doesn’t deserve you. And he never has. He never will.
I love you more than anything in this world.
mama
You put the letter down slowly, running your hands through your tangled hair. Your hands were shaking a bit, and you felt like there was something stuck in your throat, making it hard to breathe.  
She made your bed. Now you have to lay in it.
You picked up the letter again and went into the bedroom. Tom was awake, sitting up against the headboard, an unlit cigarette in his mouth.
“Was wondering where you went,” Tom said lowly, striking a match to light the cancer stick. You came towards the bed slowly, still holding the letter, and Tom finally looked at you, standing there with a strange look in your eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“This…this came. Someone slid it…u-under the door,” you said softly, putting the letter onto the bed. Tom switched the lamp on, and he picked up the paper, holding it in front of him. He took the cigarette out of his mouth and let out a slow breath, his eyes running over the page. The silence was killing you.
“You said your mum disappeared,” Tom said finally, tapping off a bit of ash.  
“That’s…that’s what my dad told me,” you whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed. “It’s why I left New York. Why I left…Ri.”
It changed everything. It changed me.
“Your mum says otherwise,” he muttered, narrowing his eyes. “Is this real? Do you believe this? I mean…who would just put this under the bloody door? How could this just appear on your doorstep? Timing is right suspicious, don’t you think?”
“It’s my mom’s handwriting, Tom, I’d know,” you said defiantly, taking the letter back. You folded it up again, putting it into the bedside drawer. You slid back into bed, scooting close to Tom. He put his arm around you, letting you lay your head on his chest. You were silent again, the room was silent again, and it was enough time for you to have a single tear falling down the length of your cheek, your whole body feeling cold all over.
“Your father’s a lying twat,” Tom scoffed, and you stared off into the distance.
“He killed…my mom,” you said weakly, and Tom stubbed the cigarette out, putting a hand to your head and kissing your forehead. It was tender, but it was not warm enough to stop the tears that followed quickly behind, dropping silently onto the pillow. “H-He killed her, Tommy.”
And she killed me.
You weren’t sure how to feel about the letter. Your father had told you your mother had left, that she was gone, and even though you knew that those kind of antics could never be that of your mother, you believed him, or at least you forced yourself to believe him.  
Because you weren’t ready to face any other alternative.
You had cried over her, mourned over her, and then you had let her go. Part of the coldness of your personality was trying to steel yourself from losing anyone else. You distanced yourself from Mariposa after, changing your number and refusing to go back, making it your mission to focus all of your pent-up anger and aggression and sadness to becoming whatever kind of heiress your father needed you to be.  
Nothing in that letter was really a surprise to you, but it felt like a slap on your face knowing it came from her. Your mother had truly seen through every single lie, and just like your father, she had used you to do her bidding. She made you feel like she was on your side because she needed you to be somebody for her. A secret weapon, a key hidden under a mat, an iron sword that had rusted over and been long forgotten. She had been waiting for the perfect moment to polish you clean, reveal you to the world, and she stepped face-first into death to do it.
She can call it whatever she likes. She can call me a savior, a soldier, a daughter. I suppose mothers use their daughters just the same; this business rubs off on even those we admire. On those that we think we love.
“He made plans with you, yeah?” Tom asked gently. You blinked, coming out of your thoughts. “Plans for Saturday night, didn’t he?”
You nodded slowly, “yes. We made plans for…how it would go, yes.”
Tom smacked his lips a bit, clenching his jaw. “You’re going to tell me every detail, y/n. Don’t leave anything out, no matter how small or insignificant you think it is. I have a feeling your father is going to fuck the both of us over. And we’re not letting that happen, yeah?”
Has it rubbed off on you, Tom?
“Yeah,” you breathed. “Okay.”
Will you use me just the same?
Tom moved your head, making you look at him.
“You and I, love,” he murmured, and you nodded again, putting your hands over his. You shared a tender kiss, and you pulled away with a smile on your face. The lack of distance made you warm all over. Tom knew everything. There was nothing black between you, nothing holding you both down. You had been so lost before, and there was an uncertainty that weighed inside of you. You weren’t sure how to deal with your father, to deal with whatever feelings had grown in you, and although you had worn a straight face, there had been nothing but panic in you.
There was nothing to be afraid of anymore. Tom had you, closer than he ever had you before, and you knew he wouldn’t let go. Tom was going to take care of you, and you had to trust that, because otherwise, you were as dead as you were the day before.
“You and I, Tommy,” you said softly, and skin against skin, you knew he had you, because you could feel the tenderness in his touch. There was nothing to fear anymore. There was nothing worry about.  
Because I am yours. And you are mine.
Tumblr media
You met his eyes in the mirror. He looked incredibly handsome, freshly showered and smelling sweet, a beautiful suit on him. He was wearing black tonight to match you, and he ditched the tie and unbuttoned his dress shirt underneath, just enough to see a glimpse at the chain he was wearing. You remembered when you and Mariposa used to get ready like this, smiling at each other in the mirror, but now it was Tom, and he wasn’t shying away from checking you out. He was adjusting the watch around his wrist, his dark eyes running up and down your figure.
“You should close your mouth, baby,” you said softly as you smoothed out the front of your dress. “You’ll catch flies.”
Tom chuckled lowly, shaking his head, and you hiked up the skirt of your dress to slip your thigh holster on. He clenched his jaw at that, and he couldn’t help himself. He came close to you, pressed up against you from behind, and you bit back a smile as he smoothed a hand down your back, over the curve of your hips.
God, who said she was allowed to look like this?
“Jesus, fuck,” Tom muttered, watching you secure the gun underneath your dress. “Couldn’t get any more beautiful, and then you pull shit like this.”
“Shut up,” you laughed a bit, putting your dress back down, much to his dismay. “Now you’re just saying things because you want something.”
The word was in the air, but Tom pretended not to see it. He liked the chase. He had never had to chase anyone before, but it was fun. Having you so close yet so far away made him ache all over, but the look in your eyes told him it would be worth it.
Tom grinned at you in the mirror, “of course not, love…never. I’m simply commenting on how absolutely mad you drive me when you do things like this. If it happens to turn you on…” Your smile broke out as he kissed the side of your neck, “perhaps it’s just a bonus.”
You let Tom tilt your head to the side more, let him kiss the skin there. There was something possessive about it, and after a few minutes of wet teasing with hungry kisses, you pushed Tom off of you and grabbed your jacket, laughing to yourself.
Tom guided you to the elevator of your building, and he kept a hand on the small of your back as you walked. He always kept a hand on you now, a sweet, small detail that you appreciated. You both got into the back of the car he ordered, and while you sat on opposite ends, he had a hand on your knee as he looked out the window.
You remembered meeting Tom here. As he helped you out of the car, the familiar doorman gave you and Tom a nod as you passed the line. Tom went for your hand this time, and you looked down in surprise as he intertwined your fingers. You bit back the smile on your face as he led you by the hand. His touch was warm. You liked this, more than you thought you would.
People had always talked about you being Tom’s girl, but the label always made you spit at them. You had a name, and you expected them to use it. You didn’t need to be behind a man for it to mean something, for you to matter, and you made that clear from the beginning. Tom liked that, he knew from the start that he adored your independence. It was attractive and fresh, and for once, a woman with personality had stood up to him, and she was absolutely full of fire. It was one of the reasons he fell for you so fast and so hard. You were beautiful like that, always steady on two feet.
A queen, Tom had thought to himself. A righteous queen, and her eyes are hungry, just like mine.
You noticed Mariposa wasn’t at the table. Harrison was sitting there, and he looked incomplete without Mariposa beside him. He looked on edge, staring out into nothing, and he was bouncing one of his legs impatiently.  
“Harrison,” you greeted him as Tom shooed his brothers to the side for room to sit in the booth. “Where’s Ri?”
Harrison sniffed a bit, shaking his head, “don’t know. She was supposed to be here a few minutes ago,” is all he answered. You let go of Tom’s hand, and at that, his head turned to you.
“I’m going to go take a lap, yeah?” You assured them. Tom tugged you back with a hand on your wrist, and you were surprised when he put both hands on your face, capturing you in a kiss that caught you off guard. The boys at the table shifted nervously as you kissed, even Tom’s men watching intently as you embraced without shame. Eyes closed, hands in your hair, Tom had you in just a few tender kisses, lowering yourself to sit beside him to give him a better angle. Harrison smirked a bit as he watched, shaking his head as Tom licked over your bottom lip dramatically. Tom pulled away casually to light a cigarette, letting you go finally, and you sat there dumbfounded for a moment, taking deep breaths as you fought the smiling growing on you.
“Be careful,” is all he said, his face unbothered as he reached over and took a sip of Harrison’s drink. You stood up on two feet again and smoothed out the front of your dress, avoiding the knowing looks from Tom’s brothers.
You left the table to make your way around dancing, sweaty bodies and through flashing lights. You were looking every which way for her curls. Maybe she got held up at the bar, or there was a line for the ladies room.  
That’s a stupid thought. There are no lines for Holland girls.
You spotted her curls finally, done up in a glamorous bun, strands of her dark ringlets falling to frame her pretty face. She had her legs crossed, showing off the sparkling heels she always wore. You knew they were hers by the scuff at the bottom of the heel. She had been wearing the same stilettos for months, a gift from Harrison, and she never wore anything else, despite having a closet full of shoes. You followed the curve of her bare arm, adorned with a few golden bracelets and her fingers decorated with rings to match. Her nails were long and manicured, a deep red color that she always preferred. She had a fierce smile on her face, fluttering her long lashes as she spoke to whoever was across from her, and you could tell she wasn’t flirting by the way she sat up straight.  
Mariposa had two ways of talking to men. The first way was distracting them, and she would twist her curls around her finger and lean forward so they could peek down the neckline of her top. She was beautiful, and they would always stare, and she would always get what she wanted. This time, she still had her jacket on over her corset top, and she was talking, her eyes narrowed and her posture straight and tall to convey her confident nature. She was saying something that was meaningful, and whoever was across from her needed to listen to whatever she had to say.
You came closer, and when she noticed you, her entire face fell, and she paled a bit. You stood at the end of the table, and you blinked when you noticed who was sitting across from her. You almost pulled the gun out from under your dress, but laughing voices from the table over reminded you where you were. There was nothing you could do but hope the candle on the table caught the sleeve of suit on fire and consumed his deranged soul in a fiery death.
“y/n—” Mariposa tried to explain, but you caught her off.
“Johnny boy,” a bitter smile grew on your face. “Mmm…you love being in places you don’t belong, huh?”
His eyes brightened a bit when he saw you. He looked older, much older than you last saw him. His face had sunken a bit, maybe a few more wrinkles there. His eyes were still bright and green and warm, and his hair had darkened just a bit from the dirty blonde it used to be. He still kept his hair a bit greasy and slicked back, and he still wore suits that were too big for him, a watch you knew he couldn’t afford, and a smile on his face that didn’t belong there.
Giovanni was the Sicilian man your father always wanted you to end up with. You called him Johnny to insult him, because you always knew how much he hated being American, and he preferred being called by his name in Italian. You refused him that, always calling him “Johnny baby, Johnny boy,” and each time making him angrier than it had the time before. He didn’t even know how to speak Italian. He was always trying to impress those above him, and your father was the man whose ass he kissed most frequently.
When he should’ve been kissing yours.
Your fears about an arranged marriage were valid. When your father told you the news about your mother and you had hurried back to California, mourning your mother wasn’t the only thing your father expected of you. When you had left for New York, your father knew you as someone that liked to get in trouble but would fall in line if he needed you to be. He had no idea what New York had done to you.
You knocked on your father’s study door, adjusting the leather jacket over your blouse. When you heard his voice, you came in, your boots sounding on the creaking wooden floorboards of the old house, an awkward sound in the deep silence that surrounded the walls of his office. You stood there frozen as the door closed behind you.
Your father was standing up from his seat behind the desk, De Luca beside him, and his lackeys lined up along the walls. Giovanni stood there in front of the desk, his own father holding him there with a hand on his shoulder. You brushed your hair back a bit, coming forward to stand in front of the desk.
“What’s going on, daddy?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest. “You called for me.”
“Well, y/n…things have been complicated in business lately,” your father explained, gesturing big with his hands. “We lost 20% of the ports in Italy because of some of the raids, and Giovanni’s father has generously agreed to get to work on acquiring the land back again on a few conditions.”
“That’s great,” you smiled bitterly. “What does that have to do with me?”
The men in the room shifted a bit, and you looked around at them all, turning back to your father when you had read the room enough.
“Oh, daddy,” you let out a breath. “No, you didn’t.”
“You know, y/n, there are things we do for business that make—”
“20%?” You scoffed. “That’s what you value the rest of my fucking life? My life is worth 20% of your Italian coast, yeah?”
“y/n—” Your father was mortified. He had never heard you speak like that, nor talk back to him like that. here were a lot of things you learned how to do in New York. One of those things had been to use your voice. You weren’t a little girl anymore, and you were adamant on standing up to anyone that got in the way of your interests.
Giovanni? That was against your interests.
“No,” you interrupted him. “Find another way.”
“There is no other way,” your father growled. “I made my deal, now it’s your turn, y/n.”
“y/n, c’mon, I’ve known you as long as I can remember,” Giovanni spoke up, coming close to you. He even had the audacity to put his arm around your waist, pulling you towards him. You looked up at him, your mouth opening in disbelief, and you felt his fingertips digging into your back, slipping under the fabric of your jacket. “It wouldn’t be so bad, yeah? Can’t say you haven’t thought about it.”
He was grinning, like he had won something, and you scoffed a bit.
“You’re right, Johnny boy, I have thought about this,” you leaned forward a bit, your face close to his. You moved your arm around to put your hand over his on your back, and you smiled sweetly at him before grabbing onto his wrist and twisting his arm enough to hear something crack in it as you pried him off of you.
Giovanni screamed loudly, and your father put a hand to his forehead as you held Giovanni by his arm still, holding pressure there as you continued to pull at his arm. You turned to his father, narrowing your eyes.
“Make a different deal,” you demanded. “Now.”
“You can’t just—”
Giovanni screamed in agony again as you pulled back his arm, using your leg to kick Giovanni onto his knees.
“Make a different deal,” you said again. “Or I’m going to make sure Johnny can’t even wipe his own ass again.”
“God, Dad!” Giovanni cried, doubling over as you held onto his arm. “Fuck, just do it, Christ!”
“Son—”
“Do it, do it!” Giovanni begged as you heard something crack violently as you bent his arm just a bit more. You were using the heel of your boot now, and using the weight of your body, you strained the length of his arm, the sounds only making your point more serious. “Jesus, fuck!”
“Perhaps, Mr. y/l/n, we can decide on a price instead.”
Giovanni walked around with a dislocated shoulder and broken fibula for months. Your father was furious with you, but he had no right to be. You had been so insulted that your father thought he could get away with something like that, and for a while, you made his life a living hell with his business partners. You had one message to get across to your father.
Don’t ever try and control me again.
You weren’t going to roll over and obey like the rest of his men. You had a purpose, not a position, and marrying you off to a misogynistic bastard wasn’t going to work. It was the beginning of your pursuit to be heard and seen, not used. That beginning had your father thinking twice about whether or not to barter you off like property, and it had started the growing, fiery mutual hatred between you and Giovanni.
You never expected Giovanni to grow a pair and come all the way to New York to entice you, but Giovanni was also absolutely terrible and would do anything to try and get the upper hand on you. He had been for years, and you were foolish to think he’d stop now.
“Hey, baby,” he greeted you, his eyes darkening and falling over the length of your body. He whistled a bit, lowly, rubbing his chin. “New York has done you well, y/n. Is this your new look now? I like it.”
“Ri, I think you should get a refill,” you said firmly, grabbing the glass of wine out of her hands and downing it. You handed it back to her, empty, and she stood up slowly, her fingers wrapping around the stem of the glass as you sat across from Giovanni. “Go on.”
Mariposa looked between you two before walking away, and Giovanni followed her, his eyes watching her as she disappeared into the crowd.
“Hmm…I see you and Miss Muñoz are still friendly,” he winked at you, “and I can’t blame you. I mean…fuck, look at her.”
You scoffed a bit, “you’re still as much of a dickhead as I remember. Whose ass did you kiss this time to get yourself here?”
Giovanni tsked, “y/n, don’t be that way. I came all this way to see you, I thought you’d be happy,” he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I wanted to see my baby girl before she got all done up…all ready to take on Holland territory. I mean, that’s why we’re here, isn’t it? Gonna marry that piece of shit, aren’t you?”
You tapped your fingers on the table, clenching your jaw, “you know, I don’t remember my father inviting you in on family matters,” you smiled knowingly at him. “I don’t ever remember one of his…lackeys being in on operations like this. I seem to remember that only people that matter, only people that could contribute, got to sit it on important meetings. It’s bad for business when men at the bottom know about things like this, so I’m sorry, Johnny baby, that information is…classified.”
He laughed a bit, licking his bottom lip with a roll of his eyes. “Your father promised me a lot of things he’s yet to deliver on. Maybe bringing me with him is how he plans on giving me what I deserve finally.”
“Promises he had no way of guaranteeing,” your eyes were sparkling. “My father was simply mistaken, and he had to learn from those mistakes.” You stopped tapping your fingers, tilting your head to the side as you met his eyes and didn’t back away from his glare. “I do as I please, Johnny. Nobody tells me what to do, nobody can.”
“And what are you doing here?” Giovanni raised a brow. “You’re nothing but a whore for your father, letting the Hollands degrade you…all for your dad to get New York again, I think that’s what he said.”
You sniffed a bit, shifting in your seat, leaning forward more.
“If you think I’m a whore, then you’re as blind as you were years ago,” you said lowly. “That’s not how it works here. If I ask something of the Hollands, they do it for me. And no, it’s not because I sleep with any of them. It’s because unlike daddy’s business, where boys like you are running errands, there’s only men here, and they don’t ignore women because their dicks are too small.”
Giovanni snickered a bit, “you know, I don’t think I would’ve liked to have you as my wife anyway.”
You smiled a bit, gripping his collar and pulling him close. “You’re right, Johnny. I wouldn’t want to embarrass you in that relationship.” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as you licked over your bottom lip. “You know…cause my dick is so much bigger than yours.”
Poking at his insecurities was always your defense because it worked every time. Giovanni was the equivalent to a child and commenting on the size of him always seemed to get him angry enough to do stupid things.
Giovanni stood up abruptly after you let him go, but he was forced back into his seat when he bumped right into Tom. The color ran out of his face when he realized who he was in front of, and he scooted back into the booth, away from him, and Tom snatched the drink right out of Giovanni’s hands, tipping his head back and swallowing it all. You bit back the smile on your face as the glass hit the table, and Giovanni was visibly sweating.
“Mm…” Tom scrunched his nose. “Vodka and seltzer? What a terrible choice in liquor, mate.”
“Holland,” Giovanni straightened out his jacket, and you saw all the fight drain out of him. Intimidated by Tom’s glare, he held out his hand for Tom to shake. “I’m…Giovanni. I work for y/n’s father.”
“Mmm…so you work for y/n,” Tom corrected him, and Giovanni just pursed his lips. You watched as Tom pulled a chair out and took a seat, spreading his legs a bit as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and slid some matches your way. You stroke one of the matches, leaning over to light it for him, and you dropped the match into Giovanni’s glass. Tom took a few puffs of the cancer stick before passing it to you, letting you take a drag.  
Giovanni watched the entire time. His eyes darted between you and Tom, watching intently as you both looked at one another, as if you were communicating silently, understanding one another.  
“He just came to say hello, Tom,” you said finally, letting out a breath of smoke, and Tom turned to finally grace Giovanni with his eyes. He leaned back in his chair, holding the cigarette between his index and forefinger as he looked Giovanni up and down.  
“Oh, to say hello, eh?” Tom was taking up space with the way he sat, knowing exactly how to intimidate others just by the way he positioned himself. “Mate, I can’t help but notice the way you look at y/n. I think…” he leaned forward and blew a breath of smoke into Giovanni’s face, “you should have more respect for my fiancé. Because being disrespectful to my fiancé means you’re disrespecting me, and I don’t bloody care for men that don’t respect me, do you understand what I’m saying?”
Your heart tightened a bit in your chest. You didn’t need Tom to stand up for you, and he knew that, you had been doing it for months yourself. But hearing him do it anyways, it was sweet. You had yet to hear Tom tell you that he loved you, but there was no denying it now, not here.  
Giovanni shifted in his seat, brushing his hair back. He nodded finally, fiddling with his fingers.  
“It wasn’t…it wasn’t like that,” Giovanni assured him, his voice breaking, and Tom tilted his head to the side.
“Are you calling me a liar?”
“No! N-No,” Giovanni shook his head adamantly, “I meant…y/n and I, we go…we go way back. We’ve known each other a long time.”
“I see,” Tom laughed a bit, looking between you and Giovanni, his smile so sinister. Giovanni laughed with him nervously. “I see, so…because you and y/n know each other, it’s alright for you to act like a bastard, yeah?”
Your eyes glowed as you watched Tom break Giovanni down like a wall made of glass. Giovanni was scared, and you adored seeing him like this. You adored Tom, who was spitting venom in his ear, all for you. You couldn’t do much except stare at him lovingly.
“I think…you should apologize,” Tom said finally, and Giovanni gaped at Tom, blinking in disbelief. “I think your father would appreciate that, wouldn’t he, darling?”
“Mhm,” you agreed, standing up. Tom brought his hand around your waist as you took a seat in his lap, and he passed you the cigarette as you met Giovanni’s eyes. “Let’s hear it, Johnny. What do you have to say to me?”
Giovanni was proud, so proud. He had an ego even bigger than Tom’s, and he hid behind your father to throw insults at you. But here, in New York, your father wasn’t in charge anymore. What a Holland said was how it went, and there was no viable contradiction to it. Your father was not here to back up Giovanni and his unrealistic desires, and Tom was in your corner now.  
I am yours, and you are mine.
Tom squeezed your hip, kissing your bare shoulder before trailing up and planting soft kisses to your neck. You smiled at Giovanni, reaching up and tangling your fingers into Tom’s curls to encourage him. Your eyes were dark and alight with contentment, and Giovanni could do nothing anymore. You were untouchable here, and there wasn’t a thing he could do to bite back at you.
“I’m sorry, y/n,” he hissed through his teeth, and you blew Giovanni a kiss.
“Mmm…submissiveness suits you, Johnny,” you purred, standing up from Tom’s lap. You tapped off the cigarette as Tom stood up from his seat, straightening out his suit. “Tell daddy I said hello, and that I hope all is ready for tomorrow. Nine o’clock, right?”
Giovanni grimaced, biting back the words he was dying to say to you, but Tom was still listening, a look on his face that dared him to open his mouth. Giovanni simply nodded slowly, and you stubbed out the cigarette onto the table, tossing the ashes at him. Tom watched as you started walking away, smirking as he took a handful of your ass in one hand, following you. You let him, licking your bottom lip as he squeezed, and you grabbed onto his hand as you backed up into the wall, bringing him with you.
“Thank you,” was all you said, and Tom just pursed his lips, glaring down at you. He wasn’t angry, that wasn’t it. If he was, he would’ve gotten you both alone, in private, and he would’ve told you exactly what he wanted you to hear. This was different. He was seething, his chest rising and falling heavy, but he wasn’t angry.
“Who was that?” Tom demanded, touching under your chin. He wanted answers, clearly. You smoothed out the collar of his dress shirt, fixing it over his jacket. You sighed a bit, shaking your head.
“Nobody,” you said softly. “One of my father’s…I don’t even know what to call him. Tried to marry me off to the guy once upon a time,” you were pulled away from him abruptly as he pushed away from the wall, “wait, Tom—”
Oops.
Tumblr media
You sat in silence in the car, sitting on opposite ends in the backseat, but this time, Tom didn’t have a hand on you. He was staring out the window, bouncing his leg, a hard look on his face as he ran a hand through his hair, fluffing the curls out of the product that kept them tidy. Tom had been acting this way all night, something itching at him, something bothering him, and it kept his head preoccupied.
“You didn’t care to tell me about that fucking tosser, eh?” Tom asked finally, his voice hard. You took a deep breath.
“Tom, honestly, I didn’t think I’d ever see him again,” you explained, shaking your head. “I definitely didn’t think my dad was going to let him go on a trip with him, especially here, when we’re getting…married and all.”
Tom laughed a bit, “you know, y/n, I thought we were on the same page. I thought we were going to stop fucking lying to each other when the situation at hand is so fucking sensitive, that I could lose my bloody head!”
You scrunched your nose a bit as he raised his voice, and you smoothed out the skirt of your dress.
“Tom, I didn’t know,” you said again, sighing. “He surprised me just as much as he surprised you. Don’t yell at me.”
You rode in silence again, staring down at your painted nails as the car stopped and drove in the congested Midtown traffic. After a few minutes of Tom silently brooding, you were taken back when Tom reached over and grabbed both sides of your face, pulling you to him and kissing you hard. It was the same way he always touched you, always grabbed you, where his fingers slightly tangled in your hair and his palms were warm against your face and his grip was tight and firm. He pulled away shortly, licking over his bottom lip as he stared down at you. The touch of his rings cooled your face just a bit, but you still felt hot all over from his kiss.
He pulled back completely and sat straight again, resuming his previous position. He didn’t say anything or acknowledge how passionate the kiss had been, and you were grateful, because you were still recovering from it. You turned away from him, reaching up to touch your lips, and you smiled to yourself. Tom wasn’t upset with you; no. Tom was jealous.
When you looked down at your hands again, you paid attention to Tom’s diamond band, still on your ring finger. He had yet to get you an engagement ring or something of your own, but he never asked for his ring back, and you continued to wear it. Smoothing your finger over it, it was almost symbolic. You had taken it right off of Tom, but he was content in you having it and keeping it because he trusted you.
Because he loves me.
You hoped everything of his was that way. Once you took his name, you would have a whole other position to take on, a whole other empire to think about. He would give it to you, but there was no tension or fear between you because he trusted you, and you trusted him. In just a few days, you and Tom were not just business partners with benefits. You were connected to him, and he was connected to you, and nothing in your life had ever felt so seamless, so complete. It had to stay that way.
It just has to.
You turned your head to look at Tom. He was still looking out the window, but his nervous leg had stopped bouncing, and he was still, his legs spread a bit as looked at the city that belonged to him. His jaw was a bit hard, and he kept flexing and unflexing his fingers, curling them into fists and out of them. His mannerisms were calm and slow, but something was bothering him still. Perhaps the same thing that was bothering you.
From the moment you met Tom, you knew he was going to be hard to resist. You were a woman, and women had needs, of course they did. Tom was insufferable, a complete arrogant, egotistical, and excruciating pain in your ass, but God, was he beautiful and God, did he dress well. Tom exuded the money he made, he cleaned up like it, and he acted like it. You had always hated that personality in the men you met, but for Tom, he did egotistical and arrogant far more sophisticated and far subtler. He was good at being bad, he was good at being rich, and there were days when you just wanted to slam the door to his office shut and force him against it.  
I mean, aren’t you marrying him?
Truthfully, you had no idea what you were doing. You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, shaking your head. It wasn’t the time to think about those things. You and Tom had work to do, and none of it involved ripped clothes and tangled sheets.  
You’re trying to merge kingdoms, not get hot and heavy with him. Focus.
The car stopped, and Tom opened the door. He stood on the sidewalk, waiting for you, and he held out his hand for you to take. You intertwined your fingers, and Tom shut the door behind you, helping you onto the sidewalk. You looked up at your apartment building for a moment, and even though there was a chill outside, you kept Tom there, not moving from your place on the sidewalk.
Tom sighed, letting go of you for a moment to light a cigarette. He took your hand again as he put the lighter away.
“What is it, y/n? What do you have to say?” Tom asked, as if he knew there were words itching to be spoken. You swallowed a bit, stepping closer to him. You reached for the ring on your finger, taking it off and holding it up for him to look at.
“Is this…what are we doing?” You wondered, a bit breathless. “Tomorrow, we’re supposed to…get married. That was the plan, it was always the plan, but…things are different now. There’s no secrets, Tommy, that changed things.”
“Nothing’s changed,” Tom countered, and you pursed your lips.
“You’re an idiot if you think nothing’s changed, Tom,” you argued. “I just…I just want the truth, Tom. That’s all.” You met his eyes, shaking your head. “I just want to know that…even if being married to me isn’t what you want, that…that you’ll still have my back.”
Tom let out a slow breath of smoke, away from you, before taking the ring out of your hands and putting it back onto his own finger. Your face softened a bit, and you swallowed hard, trying to fight down the feeling crawling up inside you.
No, no, no.
Tom reached into his suit jacket, pulling something out of one of the pockets. You looked down as he opened his palm, and you let out a shaky breath as you saw it. There, in his hand, was a thin solid gold band with a single rectangular diamond. He took your left hand in his, dropping the cigarette and stubbing it out before slipping the band onto your ring finger. You had nothing to say as he brought your hand up to his lips and kissed your knuckles before intertwining your fingers again and tugging you towards the building.
The silence told you enough. Tom had always planned on going through with it, and even though neither of you were sure about the future, you were sure about each other. Tomorrow night, you would marry him, and he would marry you, and even though both of you would be pretending, the vows would be real.
The beginning would be true.
You punched in the code for your door and used the key to unlock it, opening it. Tom held it open as he came in after you, and Tom shut the door as he backed you up against it, resting both of his forearms on either side of your head. You swallowed hard as you met his eyes, barely able to see him with the lack of lights on. The moonlight peeked in through the windows, but it was only enough to see half of his face.
“Tom,” you said finally, “what are you—”
He captured your breath in a kiss, pressing you up against the door. You dropped your purse onto the floor, hearing it clatter as you wrapped your arms around Tom’s neck, pulling him closer to you. He nipped at your bottom lip, enough that you let out a little laugh. All the tension in your body rose as one of Tom’s hands left the door and came up your neck, wrapping around your throat, gripping it firmly.
Oh, you have me, Tommy. I’m all yours.
You swallowed again, something dry, as Tom’s thumb trailed along the length of your jaw and up, tracing the outline of your lips. His touch was soft and hot, and his eyes were watching your reaction. You didn’t move, not at all, not until his thumb went into your mouth and you could wrap your lips around it, your eyes going up to meet his again.
“I’ve seen a lot of things tonight I wish I hadn’t, y/n,” Tom said lowly, chuckling darkly. “And you with that bastard was one of them.”
So jealous.
You gasped a bit as his grip on your throat tightened, forcing you back into the door, his wet thumb rubbing along your chin now.
So possessive.
“Bloody disrespectful that was,” Tom’s lip twitched angrily, and his eyes were so dark, you couldn’t see anything in them. “But you know what pushed me over the fuckin’ edge tonight, darling, eh? You know what it was?”
All mine.
When you didn’t answer, Tom shoved you into the door, your head hitting it a bit hard, and you grunted a bit, letting out a few heavy breaths. You were shivering all over from his touch, thinking about the last time you were underneath him. This time, just his fingers wouldn’t be enough, you knew that much.
“It was you, y/n,” Tom breathed, shaking his head. “You, thinking that I didn’t want you as my fucking queen. And it got me thinking, love.”
You let out a harsh breath as he shoved his knee between your legs, his thigh just ghosting the place you needed him the most. If you weren’t wet before, you were drenched now, hot all over, and completely shivering. Finally, Tom Holland had you at his mercy. He was enjoying every second of it.
Every curve, every dimple, every piece, it’s mine.
“It got me thinking that perhaps you don’t bloody understand what you mean to me,” Tom murmured, licking his lips. “But you will, darling. You’ll understand. I’ll make sure that you understand.”
You cried out in surprise as Tom gripped you by the waist and turned you around, pressing you up against the door again. Your cheek rested against it as he pressed his hips into your backside, dipping his head to the crook of your neck as you felt him, hard and strained against the zipper of his trousers, all for you. Tom kissed under your ear softly, his breath warm as he dragged his tongue up the length of your ear and kissed the edge of your earlobe.  
“You’re a princess today, y/n,” he growled. “And tomorrow, I’m gonna make you a bloody queen.”
With everyone on their knees for you.
You were rendered speechless. Tom was whispering in your ear, his hands were falling down your sides, and you were completely, utterly useless. You whimpered as he gripped the hem of your dress and hiked it up, his hand cupping one side of your ass generously, squeezing. He almost moaned himself seeing the holster strapped around your thighs, your gun nice and snug against your leg.
“Bloody fucking hell,” Tom chuckled. “Look at you, darling…” You leaned your head back against his chest as you felt his fingers tug at the lace of your panties, moving between your legs before he touched between your thighs. He whistled a bit, lowly, “shit, baby, you’re bloody soaked…”
That was an understatement. Your panties were ruined.
“God, Tom—”
“You’ve wanted this,” he observed, gripping the waistband of your panties and sliding them down your thighs. “You’ve wanted me, sweetheart, but you never said a word. You don’t have to hide anymore, y/n. If I’m going to be your husband, you’ve got to be honest with me, eh?”
You couldn’t concentrate as his hands moved between your thighs, and you cried out a bit as he spanked you firmly. Your head was spinning, all you could think about was the ache between your legs and how hot your whole body felt. You knew you were dripping when Tom grasped the handle of the gun, pulling it out of its place and unbuckling the holster so it fell onto the floor. The metal was so cool and hard against your skin, and you froze as he released the magazine from it, the bullets scattered across the floor now. He dropped the gun, and it clattered onto the floor.
God, he’s going to make me come, and he’s barely touched me.
“Answer me, y/n. You’re going to be more honest with me about what you want, yeah?” Tom demanded. “If my wife is bloody needy,” you groaned as he tangled his hand into your hair, forcing your head back again, “if my queen wants something from me,” you sighed with relief as he kissed your neck, “I expect her to say so.”
My wife.
“Yes, Tommy,” you cooed, and you felt him smile against the skin of your neck.
“Good girl,” he whispered in your ear, and you had to bite back a moan. You felt so submissive, so out of your element, but you had never adored the praise more than right now. This was the attractive, hot, kingpin that the city was afraid of, and he was calling you his good girl, his princess, his queen, and you didn’t realize how much you loved being worshipped until right now. You didn’t realize how much you needed someone to take care of you.
You closed your eyes as Tom started to kiss over the back of your neck, one hand sliding up your waist again as the other toyed with your clit, circling it gently just to keep you occupied as he felt up the body he loved more than any other. He had his eyes closed, and he was trying to memorize the curves of your skin, how often your breath skipped as he touched you, how warm you were. You smiled a bit as he fingered the zipper of your dress.
“Go ahead, Tommy,” you said softly. “I want you to.”
Good girl.
Tom unzipped the back of your dress, his knuckles dragging along your spine as he did. His touch was electric, each time his skin met yours was like a bolt of warmth that cascaded all down your back. You closed your eyes again as he began to kiss down your back, butterfly kisses trailing from the back of your neck to between your shoulder blades to the base of your spine, a trickle effect of shivers moving through you. Tom got down onto his knees behind you, and you groaned a bit as he bent you at the hip a bit. He put both hands on your ass, kissing the skin there, biting even.
“You couldn’t get any more beautiful,” he said lowly, and you let out a soft whimper as you felt his curls tickle your skin. It wasn’t long before your knees began to give out, an involuntary response as Tom dipped his head between your legs, his tongue poking out from between those wet lips to slip inside you.
“God, Tom—” You gasped, holding onto the wall for support. Tom put one hand on your hip to steady you and used the other to touch you teasingly. He started out slow, lapping through your folds, humming as he collected the sticky, sweet wetness onto the surface of his tongue, swallowing before delving in for more. With two other fingers, he massaged your bud lovingly, coaxing the most beautiful moans out of you. Tom was smirking like a bastard when he noticed your knees were shaking a bit, your body trembling as you gave into the sensation. “Tommy—”
“Mmm…you’ve got such a sweet cunt, darling,” he murmured, kissing your thighs, his voice a bit muffled against your skin. “Bloody wonderful.”
You leaned your head back, one hand leaving the wall to grab at his stiff curls, pulling on them hard. Tom chuckled a bit, his lips wrapping around your clit, his tongue moving in rhythm as he slipped two fingers inside of you, stretching you nicely, making your eyes roll back in your head as you rocked your hips a bit, feeling a sweet knot forming in your belly.  
“Mm, princess, you’re so bloody tight, yeah?” Tom breathed, pulling away to catch his breath. “You’re close, eh?”
“Tom, Jesus!” You squealed, forcing his head back between your legs. “Don’t stop, what’s w-wrong with you?”
Tom didn’t stop. He stood up from his knees, grabbing you from the waist and hoisting you up into his arms. You held onto his neck as he carried you into the bedroom, setting you down on the bed as he shed his suit jacket and kicked his shoes off. You stopped him from moving too fast, slipping your heels off before sitting up on your knees on the bed, tugging Tom to you by the fabric of his shirt, meeting his eyes as you slowly unbuttoned his dress shirt.
Tom undid the clasp of his watch, tossing it onto the floor on top of his jacket. He undid his cufflinks as you finished undoing the buttons of his shirt, and you slid the fabric off his shoulders, revealing his muscular torso. You couldn’t see much in the dark, but your fingers ghosted over flexed muscle and soft skin, and you let out a breath as you scratched down his stomach. Tom was a sight for sore eyes, and despite the scars and marks that you could feel, his skin was the most kissable surface you had ever seen.
“It’s alright, love,” a gentle noise escaped you as Tom gripped your chin hard with one hand, the other unbuckling his belt and working on his trousers. “I know…it’s hard to fathom how fit your husband is, isn’t it?”
“You’re not my husband,” you said defiantly, and Tom clicked his tongue.
“After tonight, m’love, you’ll never need anyone but me.”
“Bite me, Tom.”
“With pleasure.”
You heard the fabric of your dress tear as he pushed it off your shoulders roughly, grabbing the hem of it and shimmying it down your hips. He forced you onto your back so he could pull it off and toss it behind him, and Tom grinned as he looked down at you, scooting back on the bed as you kicked your panties off your ankle. There you were, like an angel sparkling in moonlight, all bare for him to admire.
All fucking mine.
He caged himself over you, getting on top of you, and you cupped his cheeks, kissing him warmly as you both settled back against the pillows. Despite how dominating Tom could be, this was gentle, this was sweet, and there was no rushing now. Tom brought you up to sit, rolling over until you were straddling his waist, his back against the headboard as you both kissed warmly, your thighs still shaking and damp from Tom’s unbelievable mouth. It wasn’t long before your fingers were threading through his curls again as you grinded down on his lap, chasing your high even though Tom had yet to remove his boxers.
He wasn’t stopping you. Both of his hands were on your bare back, his palms pressing you close as you moved your hips, both of your mouths still focused on each other, kissing, biting, breathing. You were chasing a high that Tom had denied you, not caring how desperate you looked as you leaned your head back and moved.  
Your moan was feverish and shaky as you came, falling onto his chest for support as your hips slowed their pace. Tom gripped you by the hair and flipped you both over, getting on top, and you reached down between your grinding bodies to feel the front of his boxers, feeling how damp and sticky they were.
“Mmm, did you make a mess, baby?” You teased, and Tom pulled at your hair roughly, and you smiled at that, to his delight.
“Aye, you bloody adore that thought, eh? Getting me off without so much as fucking touchin’ me,” he chuckled a bit, and you hummed as he grabbed your leg and wrapped it around his waist securely. You held onto him as you felt the tip of him against your thigh, warm, wet, aching to be touched. You stared right into his eyes as you lowered your hand, finding his cock and wrapping your nimble fingers around him, your lips parting as you felt him for the very first time.
Tom gripped one side of your face hard as you stroked him, your fingers exploring the parts of him you had been deprived of for too long. Tom was lengthy, hard, and throbbing, and he thought you were being cruel with how slowly and tenderly you were touching him.  
“Look at me,” you breathed, and he grunted as he met your eyes again, licking his lips as you slowed your fingers around him. You leaned forward, giving him a kiss beside the mouth before kissing him firmly, hotly, sloppily. “I’m going to make you unstoppable, Tommy. I know what you want, baby, and I’m going to give it to you. You want the world, Tom, and I swear…it’s yours.”
As if I’m not already fucking hard for her.
You couldn’t remember how long you kissed for, but your lips were swollen, red, aching by the time Tom gripped your hips and pushed into you. You arched your back at the feeling, still sensitive from your previous orgasm, but that didn’t stop Tom from sinking into you slowly, not stopping until your hips touched. You clawed at his back, your nails digging in hard. Tom didn’t move, but you could feel him pulsing, aching, dying to do something, anything.
“And I,” Tom sucked at the skin at the edge of your jaw, taking the skin between his teeth as he kissed to nibble and bite, “I’m going to give you the fucking power you deserve, princess.”
What I deserve.
You moaned in his ear as he finally lifted his hips, grunting as he pressed his body as close to yours as possible, the tip of his cock grazing somewhere inside of you that had you crying out in pleasure. Tom grabbed your face again, holding it tight as he moved his hips against yours, watching as your mouth gaped open wider and wider as he found his rhythm.  
“Everyone is going to know your name, y/n,” Tom growled, rutting his hips up into yours, his breath faltering when he could feel you tightening up around him. “You’re going to be a fucking Holland, aren’t you, love?”
“Yes!” You gasped, dragging your nails down his back.
“Say it,” Tom gripped you by the throat this time, forcing your eyes on his as he quickened his hips, starting to lose control. “Fuckin’ say it.”
Mine.
“I’m a—” You moaned loudly as he dug his fingers into your hips, a forceful grip that had you shaking all over. Tom was relentless in his drive to get you seeing stars, and the tip of his cock was hitting the same sweet, aching spot over and over again inside of you. Once he found it, he didn’t stop searching for it, his focus solely on making those sweet eyes of yours milky and white with pleasure.  
“Say it, princess,” Tom demanded, becoming breathless and hot as he moved on top of you. There was sweat lining his forehead, and your nails dragging along his back had become clammy with the sweat dripping down the length of his spine.
“I’m a Holland!” You cried out, biting down on his shoulder, and Tom slowed his pace a bit, picking you up until you were upright with him. You put your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself, leaning your forehead against his as you both moved as one, your hips meeting deliciously, getting faster and sloppier every second you both held onto to one another. Tom was hitting deep inside of you, and you needed to feel more, you had to feel everything, because it had been so long since you had felt anything.  
All mine.
Tom smoothed his hand up and down your back, your panting breaths mingling as the pace quickened again, the knot in your stomach building up sweetly and intensely. Tom was fucking you raw, and you were loving every single moment of it.  
“I need you, Tommy,” you breathed, and he nodded in response, not stopping the quick thrusts he had built up so well.  
“I know,” he whispered, pulling at your sweaty hair, hugging your chest close to his. Skin on skin, the only sounds being Tom’s cock moving between you and your sweet breathless moans as you held onto him. “Be a good girl for me, y/n.”
You whimpered as he said it again.  
Good girl.
It was a command you couldn’t help but obey. For so long, you had tried so hard to be anything but good. Good never got you anywhere, and no one cared about good girls, no one in this business listened to good girls. They ignored good girls, tossed aside good girls, killed good girls.
But here, now, in this bedroom, Tom needed you to be good, and it wasn’t because he wanted to toss you aside, it was because he needed you to be good to give you whatever you wanted. Tom didn’t need you to be good for anyone else except for him.
Your whole body froze as you came around his hard length, your hips stilling and your voice faltering as your vision turned a bit blurry for a moment. Everything was so silent and pleasurable for just a few moments, Tom’s hips slowing their pace but not stopping as he reached his own high. You gasped a bit as you felt him, filling you up and almost making you collapse. It was almost like a second high, feeling him like that, and Tom had to hold you upright as you tried to swallow down all the wonderful feelings inside of you.
You both panted hard, sweaty and exhausted, but neither of you wanted to move. Tom’s cock had softened, but you stopped him as he tried to pull out.
“Just a minute,” you breathed, closing you eyes. “Just…wait.”
The truth was that you had never felt more vulnerable or closer to anyone than this moment. You wanted to hold onto it for as long as possible. Tom nipped at your neck as you relaxed in his lap, and you let out slight gasps as he moved every once in a while. Finally, slowly, you urged him to pull out, and Tom was quick to collect everything dripping onto your thighs and slip those fingers into your mouth, watching you hungrily.
“You’re mine, y/n,” Tom said finally, brushing the hair out of your eyes. You looked down at him, perched on his lap, and you nodded slowly. “Your father is going to have to pry you out of my dead bloody hands to get to you, yeah?”
“Don’t say things like that,” you whispered, shaking your head. “The only way we get out of this, Tommy, is together.”
“You and I, love,” Tom echoed, his forehead against yours again. He left a chaste kiss on your lips. “My ride or die.”
“Two sides of the same coin,” you cooed, and Tom leaned in close enough to kiss you again.  
“One and the same,” you both said at the same time, smiling wide at one another, so enamored with each other that it was frightening.
You tried to remember how Tom looked like this. His handsome features only lit by moonlight, the sweat along his brows, the smile ghosting his swollen lips. Tom was pretty in this light, almost gentle, and you adored being able to see him like this. No one else would ever be able to admire him in this light, and you didn’t care if it was selfish. You didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, and you tried so hard to swallow the fear in your throat. Tom couldn’t know how nervous you were, how scared you were. You had to show him that you were capable of doing this for him, that you had it in you to sit on thrones that weren’t made for you and to take on challenges that were never designed for you to succeed. You had to be better. You had to be more.  
You need to be you.
Tomorrow would be the first chapter in a book you had never planned on writing. For so long, you were sure about where you were supposed to stand, but now you were struggling where to even put your feet as every step felt shakier than the last. Looking into Tom’s dark eyes, you were certain that this was the calm before the storm. Time and time again, your father proved he couldn’t be trusted, and there was something inside you that knew even the things he told you must’ve been a lie.  
“He will never learn until it’s too late, and by then, nothing will be able to save him.”
Your father would only see through you. He would never be able to see you for what you were. You would have to take everything from him because you were certain that he would never give you what you were promised. You would have to take it, and you were relying on Tom to be there to catch you when you did.
“It’s you, and it will always be you, and I hope he dies knowing it.”
This had to be the beginning, your beginning. It couldn’t be anything else. This love, this happiness, it all had to be for a reason, and the right reasons. You had fought so hard to get here, to finally feel in control, and finally, someone was looking at you. Tom was looking at you, and he was in love with you, and you needed to protect it from the world that you were never meant for. You knew it would do anything to tear it away from you, to make you believe that you weren’t worthy of it all, but you had to be better. You couldn’t let this be anything more than the start. It couldn’t be the beginning of anything else. Not the beginning of losing, not the beginning of being alone, not the beginning of the end.
It has to be the beginning of me.
read chapter nine
316 notes · View notes
heymacy · 3 years
Note
how do I make friends on here? I feel like everyone already knows each other and I don't want to be annoying :(
💛 don’t worry my love, i felt the same exact way when i joined the fandom. i was super late to the game in retrospect, didn’t even make this blog until october of 2020. didn’t know who anybody was, who to follow to see what kind of content, nada. i felt like i was adrift at sea 😅
i made sure that my messages were open to everyone, my ask box was set up, and my reply function was on, and then i literally just started interacting with people. reblogging posts, participating in ask games/tag games, making content of any kind (just text posts in the beginning, then fic stuff, then gifs, etc.) and just being kind to everyone i met. since i didn’t know anyone’s story, i wanted to tread lightly, so i made sure to interact with people that i saw putting out kindness and positivity, and refused to follow people i saw engaging in drama. that way, the only people i interacted with regularly became a small group of kind, talented, empathetic people.
i think empathy is what makes people decide whether or not they want to have continued interactions with people. if someone emits an energy and exhibits repeated behaviors that are kind, considerate, and thoughtful, people tend to gravitate towards that. not always for the right reasons, though, so you do have to keep your wits about you.
don’t be afraid to approach people. don’t be afraid to put yourself out there. also, don’t equivocate numbers with connections - i’ve made some of the most significant, life-changing connections on tumblr (i mean, i literally met my wife on here, c’mon) and i have a very very small following, far smaller than what i’ve gathered is average for an active user in this fandom. but i have so many people that i’ve made a connection with at one point or another that are just simply kind and wonderful humans, and those connections only happened because i put myself out there (and only as my true, authentic, bizarrely unhinged self 😅).
i often feel like i found my “people” here, and part of that came with the willingness to be vulnerable. let’s face it, i don’t know a single mentally stable person in this fandom 😭 we’re all a little messed up in one way or another. we’ve all seen shit, and felt shit, and it’s okay to talk about that here.
i’ve also learned that the expectation of reciprocation will almost always lead to disappointment - put yourself out there and expect absolutely nothing in return. just be at peace with your existence. much like you should live for yourself and only yourself, you should post for yourself and only yourself. curate a presence that’s completely, 100%, authentically YOU and the right people will find their way in. 💛
also: hi, i’m macy, i’m a cancer, i speak fluent gifs, i love metaphors and commas, i’m a huge fan of those edits with cartoon characters where they make them look stoned as hell, i enjoy making middle aged white women uncomfortable, and i’d love to be friends 😇 my ask box and messages are always open 💛
9 notes · View notes
not-xpr-art · 3 years
Text
Art Advice #6 - Ways to combat social media fatigue as a creative person
Hi guys!
This week’s topic is something I think any artist who’s predominantly active on social media will relate to; that feeling of utter helplessness at trying to live up to social media algorithms, which can really impact your mental and physical health...  
I want to just offer some advice on how to feel less burnt out from art social media (advice I need to take myself sometimes)...
Ways to combat social media fatigue as a creative person (& how you can make social media overall a better place to be).
As I’ve already said, social media can take a big toll on your mental and physical health, particularly if you’re relying on it for your career (as a lot of artists and other creatives do). 
This blog post aims to offer some small pieces of advice to help make your life a little easier when navigating the world of art social media!
1) Algorithms are built to destroy creativity.
I think we’ve all had that phase where we try and keep up with the fast paced algorithms of social media that demand we produce new content day after day, as well as constantly interacting with other people’s posts and spending a minimum amount of time on the app. And all of this leads to feeling fed up and tired when you’re using that particular social media. 
For me, Instagram used to be such a wonderful place for sharing art. I met many amazing fellow artists, and the community that was formed their was genuinely lovely. Unfortunately, everything changed when the fire nation (Facebook) bought out the company & the whole site became so less friendly to smaller creatives. 
I’ve heard a similar story from a lot of artists, who find Instagram’s focus on excessive posting and engagement, which mainly rewards big influencers or celebrities and not smaller accounts of creative people, incredibly disheartening. The algorithms don’t allow artists to naturally explore their creativity, and it leads to more and more artists getting just completely creatively burnt out.
Of course, this all sounds really pessimistic, but it doesn’t have to be. For me, places like Tumblr and the newly created Artfolapp, which (although not perfect) offer a great alternative to the algorithm heavy apps like Instagram, Facebook or Twitter. As with all socials, there’s a huge element of luck that comes with posting art (timezones, audience, etc can all play major parts in how well your art does), but I always find places where posting doesn’t feel like a chore are a lot more enjoyable.
Alternatively, as simple as it sounds I think a great way to start approaching all social media is to not focus on numbers. Instagram actually recently gave the option of being able to hide likes on others and your own posts, which I actually think is a great idea! Once you become less focused on numbers I think you can breathe a little easier!
2) Numbers =/= Your worth as a creative person.
Following on from my last point, it can often feel like if you’re posts aren’t getting as much attention as you used to then there’s something wrong with the work your doing. 
Of course, this isn’t true at all, and most of us know this. Unfortunately if your posts are a part of your work, and the engagement they have is directly linked to how successful in your job you are (and how much money you make that week), then numbers are a lot harder to ignore. 
My biggest piece of advice for this is to visualise the numbers as what they are; people actually interacting with your work! So even if it’s only 1 person, that’s still 1 entire person who enjoyed what you posted! 
3) Luck be a b*tch, honestly ...
As previously mentioned, there is a lot of luck that comes with being successful on social media. Luck of posting in the right place at the right time, having one person with a bigger platform share your art, etc. 
So there isn’t a lot of advice I can give in this section. One thing I’d recommend is involving yourself in a particular community or fandom. Even if you don’t do fancontent, finding a community where you can meet like-minded people and support each other’s work is a really useful thing!! 
For fancontent (like fan art, edits, cosplay, covers, etc) you can just check out the tags of those fandoms! Even if it’s a small fandom, there is usually some content that already exists for it. Often by following a range of people in the various fandoms you enjoy can also lead to fun opportunities, like fan-zines or collaborations! 
For non-fancontent it can feel like it’s a lot harder to find people to relate to. One thing I’d recommend is to find independent magazines online which specialise in sharing creative works! This can offer great chances to get your work featured, as well as meeting some fellow creatives!
Basically, curating your social media experience to feature people that inspire you & support you not only makes for a more enjoyable time being on social media, but it also means there’s more potential your work will be seen!
4) Passion Pays.
Audiences often know when you’re producing something because you feel like you have to (perhaps it’s fancontent for something you gained a lot of followers from, or a particular style that you’ve done for a long time) rather than from genuine passion, and that can be to your detriment.
My advice is to do what you’re actually passionate about, even if that means that some people may not be as interested. For example, I gained a significant portion of my followers on other social medias from posting Kpop fanart. And although I still do this occasionally, I only ever really do it when it’s something I really want to draw. Even though I know I could churn out a lot of Kpop content that those people who followed me for it would really like, I also like drawing other things & going out of my comfort zone in art. 
And I know that the people who still follow and support me now understand this, and often appreciate that I draw things I’m unabashedly passionate about! It has also made me a lot happier overall with my own work, since I feel like I’m constantly pushing myself to do new and interesting things for me, and not to fulfil the interests of others! 
This can also include a complete turn around of the kinds of things you create, by the way! If you’ve been a 2D artist for ages, but suddenly develop a passion for 3D sculpture, then go for it! Those who are still interested in your work will stick around. As well as this, you’ll grow an entirely new audience with the new creative outlet you start sharing! It’s honestly a win-win situation, and don’t let the fear of people not accepting the change hold you back!
5) TAKE BREAKS!
Possibly the most important piece of advice in this post is to remember to take a break from social media! Even if it’s something you rely on for your job, and the algorithms demand you spend time on them, try to take periods of time during your day to switch off from it. 
Another thing I would also suggest is taking breaks from posting things. I did this in January because I wanted a break from forcing myself to live up to the hell of a posting schedule. I still did art, but without the pressure of having to post things I was able to take time and have a little more fun with it! 
A final thing in this part that I’d suggest is taking breaks from doing creative stuff occasionally. If you’re anything like me, you probably spend nearly every day doing or at least thinking about creative things. And that can become very tiring! Whether it’s taking a week, a few days, or entire months, remember that your creativity and skill aren’t just going to disappear if you take a break from it for a bit! 
I think creative people tell themselves that if they don’t keep posting, then people are going to stop supporting their work. But in my experience, people stick around even if you haven’t posted something in years! Because if someone enjoys your work, then they’re going to stick around regardless! 
TL/DR
Basically to sum up, social media can be hell to navigate with it’s obsessive algorithms and posting schedules. But if you allow yourself to adapt to other sites/apps that don’t rely on those things, don’t fixate on numbers, curate your experience to both be inspiring and supportive, let your passion shine through, and remember to take breaks, then social media can become a lot more enjoyable! 
I hope this post was somewhat helpful to anyone who struggles with this... I have to admit that I often don’t take my own advice in regard to social media, but I thought me posting this could help both of us out lol!
Check out my other Art Advice posts here if you’re interested!
15 notes · View notes
nutley-rp · 2 years
Text
personal
I’ve never been one to spill my metaphorical jelly beans over the internet, preferring instead to drip feed bits here and there that I’ve sanitized and deemed safe to share. I worry about blending online and personal lives while simultaneously wanting to 1) ghost people immediately upon thinking I’ve messed up and 2) sharing way too much. Thankfully, my cautious upbringing has me leaning more towards 1 (without actually ghosting people) but, that said, the idea of oversharing is super weird to me. Like, it just feels like something I’ll regret posting about tomorrow. Why publish something when it’s private crap? Shouldn’t that stay to yourself? Aren’t you going to bother others, IF others even bother taking a look?
This is my final warning to you to stop while you’re ahead lmao. I won’t judge.
Over time this cursed space on tumblr has begun to feel safer, but maybe it’s because I’ve become more confident (or maybe I just don’t give a shit anymore). Instead of it being a performative and curated space for others (and fandoms), it’s more of just...me. Posting increasingly more unhinged nonsense online, sometimes seen by others, sometimes not. So first and foremost, this rant is for myself. Maybe it belongs in a journal but, somehow, this pseudo-private blog of mine feels better to write in. If I regret this I’ll just delete it anyway.
So anyway. I ended a relationship of 4+ years. That sucks.
2022 is going to be wild. Work-wise, the more senior coworker I leaned on is leaving, so I have to pick up the slack and be more responsible. Living-situation-wise, I feel like I’ve never really “adulted” by myself before. I lived with my parents for a hot second after college and then latched onto my ex’s established life. And of course relationship-wise, that’s going to be different. There’s a lot to figure out but I think this is all stuff I SHOULD figure out. It’ll be good for me. A lot of discovery and growth down the road but hell, I’m so lazy and I’m not looking forward to it. But it’s exciting at the same time. There’s a lot to feel and I’m just kind of bouncing between holiday cheer and feeling a little frustrated/empty/afraid. I’m not extremely torn up about the break up. We both knew it was coming and it was like staring down a tunnel for 6 months, hoping for a different conclusion but getting to the end of it anyway. And there were so many good times we shared. I think that’s what makes it so sad. So much worked out, but then, it couldn’t. Not in the long term.
It’s a beautiful thing to “grow into each other” for the sake of love, but I found myself becoming resentful of change, and I shouldn’t have ignored that feeling for so long. I kept thinking - I LIKE WHO I AM. Why should I change? Why should I bend when it doesn’t feel like the other side is bending just as much? What if I just find someone else that can accept me for who I am naturally? Or just live by myself? I know this sounds really negative and I’m tempted to sugarcoat it. I used to think to myself whenever I wrote in my journal - what if I just left out all the bad stuff? Then, I wouldn’t remember that, and I’d only remember the good? It’s being dishonest but like...it’s not like I didn’t do this to myself anyway. I feel myself rubbing against the same urge to sanitize my thoughts for future me but, I don’t know. It is what it is, right now.
Ultimately this opens a lot of doors for me. I’m thankfully financially independent, and I’m...confident, enough, in my professional capabilities to hold down the fort for whatever lies ahead (god, we’ll see). I’m eager to focus on myself for a while. I guess this is why I’ve been unraveling recently - that’s just. Who I am? Who I always was but was holding back? I don’t know. Still debating whether or not I should continue censoring myself like this or if I should just let loose for once, especially since I’m just me now, and not. Us.
Life is wild. Will just have to see.
5 notes · View notes