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young-dumb-and-vaccinated · 3 years

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The Sommelier (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 1

Ding dong fannibals I’m back on my bullshit :)

I discovered that I cannot for the life of me be concise so this one might come in a couple parts. I don't anticipate it's gonna go as long as Cult Girl but we'll see. Y/n is an introverted waitress at a fancy restaurant with a crush on a mysterious regular. An encounter with a dangerous criminal pulls her into his world.

Trigger warnings: graphic descriptions of violence; implied drug use; religiously-motivated violence.

In some ways, waitressing was the perfect job for an introvert. Customers didn’t see you as a person, they saw you as an NPC. As long as that was the case, you weren’t expected to engage with them beyond the script: you take their order, bring them the food and they, hopefully, leave a tip. To ensure that, you perfected the art of fake happiness. You were there to make money, not friends.

Well, there was an exception to every rule. Yours was the sommelier.

The sommelier was a regular at the restaurant, but never ordered a meal. He mostly just sat at the bar, drank expensive wine, and watched the people come and go for hours at a time. Among the waitstaff, he was a bit of a local cryptid. Waitresses whispered about the handsome gentleman with an unidentifiable accent and deep pockets. About how lucky you had to be to score a bartending shift on one of the nights he showed up. It got to the point where bartending shifts were swapped like currency, because every woman on staff wanted the chance to meet the sommelier.

One of the more religious line chefs liked to remind you all that the devil would come as everything you could ever desire. He was fully convinced that the sommelier was Satan incarnate, and he wasn’t completely off the mark. Standing at six feet tall with features sharp enough to cut diamonds, the sommelier wouldn’t look out of place in a vampire thriller. He always dressed in dark suits. Your coworkers hypothesized this was so the bloodstains wouldn’t show. Despite the chef’s well-intended (if not condescending) warnings, even the threat of eternal damnation couldn’t scare you off.

As much as you liked to believe you were above stupid workplace gossip, you knew you weren’t. You were never the most socially adept person, but this gave you something to connect over. It’s how you discovered that you and the other waitresses were all in the same boat; broke, lonely and in desperate need of some excitement. And if that came in the form of a wine-loving vampire taking a liking to your restaurant, there were certainly worse ways to go.

Unfortunately, not even the chance at encountering the sommelier could make you look forward to working Easter Sunday. Your manager had you working from noon to midnight that day. As employers went, he wasn’t much of a tyrant. He offered you time and a half and even let you switch from waiting tables to bartending halfway through the shift. He, too, knew how coveted the bartending shifts were. And you weren’t in any position to refuse, either. You quite enjoyed having a roof over your head and food in your stomach.

That didn’t make up for the fact that most of the other twenty-something employees had left for the holiday, and you were one of the few stragglers left available. Easter was the most dreaded workday of the year, because the infamous after-church crowd quadrupled in size and lasted all day. They came in double-digit parties, had no concept of birth control and tipped in prayer. Too many times had you reached for what looked like a generous cash tip, only to find that it was a church pamphlet disguised as a fifty.

You clocked in at noon exactly, after waiting for the second hand to pass the twelve just to be sure.

“[F/N]!” Your coworker, Charissa, grabbed your attention before you could walk away. “I heard you’re at the bar this evening. Congratulations.”

“He’s not going to show up, Charissa.” You rolled your eyes. You decided to go into this shift expecting the absolute worst, that way you wouldn’t be setting yourself up for disappointment. “It’s Easter.”

“You don’t know that.” Charissa nudged you in the side.

You grinned. “Why would a vampire come to dinner on the one day everyone is gonna be wearing a cross?”

“Oh, shit, I didn’t think of that.” Charissa gasped. “Well, good luck anyway.”

The first wave of customers filing through the door and filling the restaurant with noise pushed all optimism out of your head. Sighing, you approached a person that Charissa had already seated.

“Hi, my name is [F/N], I’ll be your server today.” You greeted the first customer in your block. “Can I get you something to drink today?”

The man couldn’t have been a day over twenty-five, if that. He was still lively in a way that meant he hadn’t experienced the drain that was a minimum wage job. He was wearing a shirt that said ‘on fire for Christ’ under a flannel with no buttons. One look and you knew he wasn’t going to tip.

The man flashed a row of eerily white teeth. “I thought you said you would bring the wine?”

You momentarily thought you’d already taken his drink order and shook your head. “I’m sorry, did I--”

“Ah, I see your confusion.” The man shrugged and forced a laugh. “You’re waitressing this week, you and I are going on a date next week. My mistake.”

Great. You thought. It hasn't even been five minutes and I'm already being gaslit.

Any interaction that forced you to go off-script was bad, but this was a particularly irritating diversion. “Would you like to see a wine list?”

“I’m Chase.” He said. “It’s nice to meet you, [F/N].”

“Have you decided on a drink?” You repeated, trying not to grit your teeth too obviously.

"I'll have a glass of your finest coke, please." He faked an English accent, poorly.

"We only carry Pepsi products." You said, dreading how this joker would react to such a minor inconvenience.

He threw his head back and made a face like he had just taken a bullet to the chest. "No, it's gotta be coke! It's coke or nothing!"

"Did you want something else, then?" You tried to hurry him along. "The bartender makes a very nice mimosa-"

He smacked the table as if he had some urgent question. "McDonald's or Chick-Fil-A? There is a right answer, so choose wisely."

"...uh," You mumbled, just praying that he would order a drink already. There wasn't even a Chick-fil-A in the area. "I like McDonald's."

Again, he acted like he was shot in the chest. "Oh, you're down zero to two!"

"If you need a few minutes to select a drink," You said. "I can come back-"

He grabbed your arm and forced a laugh. "I'm just kidding around with you, [F/N]. Pepsi is fine."

You scribbled the order down on your notepad, mostly just to pry your wrist from his grip. You wanted to go into the bathroom and scrub yourself down, but perhaps it was just easier to chop the whole arm off. That way you could get worker's compensation, too.

The tables were filling up and you had spent far too long coaxing a drink order out of this youth pastor creep. You had actual families to wait on. The shift was off to a horrible start.

You made him wait for as long as you could get away with. You took drink orders from three full booths before returning to the youth pastor. Because you knew he was raring to corner you again.

You planted the pop in front of him, the glass already wet with condensation. "Have you decided on a meal?"

"I was just looking over this menu and something caught my eye." He began, looking at the holiday menu your manager had printed off. "This rack of lamb, it's a special, right?"

"Right." You nodded. "It's a pretty large meal, though, so I'd recommend sharing it-"

"No, y'see.." he cut you off. "Jesus was the lamb of god. He died on the cross for your sins. And, look!"

He pointed to the menu. "It says it's a 'praying hands' lamb!"

"Oh!" You forced yet another smile. "I can see the confusion. That just refers to how the rack is arranged."

"I think it's a sign from god." He said.

You demonstrated the shape of the dish with your fingers. "See, the rib bones are long and the racks are Frenched, so the dish takes the shape of a pair of, well, praying hands."

"I'll take it." He nodded furiously.

He took a sharp breath in through his nose and you started to seriously wonder if his definition of "coke or nothing" had a double meaning. It formulated in your head as a joke, but it became more and more of a serious inquiry by the minute.

You leaned in just slightly to get a closer look at his face. Some details you hadn't noticed before were beginning to come into focus. His eyes were vacant and glassy. A small but noticeable stream of blood trickled from his nostril.

"Sir?" You said in a clear, projected voice. "Is there someone I could call for you?"

He turned his head. "Jesus died for your sins."

You looked around the room for any sign of your manager, a supervisor or anyone with a shred of authority. "This man needs help!"

In your haste to call attention to the situation, you didn't see him pick up his steak knife.

"You want to know what Jesus felt when you pierced him?" He muttered, just loud enough for your ears alone.

You felt the serrated knife puncture your skin before you had time to process his words. The pain shot through your body, making you freeze in place.

A chorus of screams filled the restaurant. Blood was pouring from the open wound in a quantity you didn't think possible. Underneath, the knife went straight through your hand and into the table.

The man gripped the handle and gave it a twist, a look of horrifying pleasure on his face. At this point, several people had stepped in to restrain him. He was tall and athletic and could easily overpower many of the other customers, which he did. He found another steak knife and began to cut throats while chanting an incomprehensible prayer.

An older woman claiming to be a doctor rushed to your side. She made a makeshift tourniquet from a napkin and a butter knife. Everything after that was a blur. You struggled to stay conscious as the woman tried to guide the knife from the table while keeping it embedded in your hand.

Soon enough, police and ambulances arrived on the scene. The woman placed you in the care of one of the many EMTs, then rushed away to assist the others.

"I'm just doing what Jesus says!" The youth pastor shouted, before gouging his knife into another man's throat. "Spreading his love!"

The officers notably didn't open fire and made an attempt to de-escalate. Maybe that was how the youth pastor was able to escape.

#hannibal nbc #hannibal x reader #hannibal lecter #hannibal x you #tw religion #tw christianity #long form #tw customer service #tw blood #tw violence

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prettycooregrey · 3 years

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aaaaaaaa @yukiyuuki‘s tags are so good it makes me want to talk abt what I think this panel means some more,,,,

the panel in question:

Post under the cut!

So when I was in middle school I had this blowout fight with my dad about something stupid and it escalated into yelling. But y’know, yelling back at your parents gets you in even deeper shit, so like... it’s best not to.

We had this cheap set of window blinds at the time that we got from a discount outlet that were “supposed” to look like wood but were really just plastic and tbh you couldn’t fool anyone. So in the middle of this fight I feel like I’m going to explode because I’m trapped in a fight with my dad and he’s yelling at me--instead of yelling back, I turned around and sank my teeth into the blinds like a bite block.

Again: these were made of cheap plastic and it left a very clear indent of my teeth. But the blinds were newish, they were a pain in the ass and took two men with DIY know-how to put them up, and my parents had to be careful with money, so they weren’t replaced for many years after. Any time I walked into the kitchen I would see it, and I would feel (irrationally, mind you) ashamed at my “loss of control.”

That’s what the phone is to Mike.

He’s had it for a very significant portion of the comic, over 40 chapters.

This is Call Waiting, page 2. It was posted in June 2011, just over ten years ago now. This is a very long ways back from the current chapter (Eternal Flame).

Oliver’s commentary on the page notes that Mike’s family is pretty comfortable as, in 2008, an iPhone would have been pretty expensive -- especially for a teenager. Mike was so desperate for the phone that he cashed in his birthday and Christmas presents for it so he could text Sandy.

sidenote: It’s been mentioned, probably by Mod Brambles iirc, that Mike’s lockscreen has never changed. It has always been this picture of Sandy from when they were much younger.

During their fight/breakup, Mike threw it very hard and with very little care across the room, causing the screen to crack. Presumably, like my window blinds, this serves as a permanent physical reminder of what happened that night. The phone is his link to Sandy, and represents nearly the whole of their relationship. Every since getting together, Mike and Sandy have met face-to-face twice, and all other communication has been through letters and phone lines. Mike’s cell phone is representative of them as a couple.

And... it’s about what you’d expect from two teenagers who have nothing in common.

In page 64 of Eternal Flame, Mike looks down at his cracked screen and tells his friend that they’re going to “get rid of distractions.”

As yukiyuuki said in their tags, this doesn’t just mean Francis. It means Lucy, too. Mike intends to continue his relationship with Sandy through the phone (with promised schedules calls and more frequent replies). But every time he unlocks it to text her... he’s going to see these cracks in the screen.

another sidenote: I don’t believe Mike would go out of his way to fix the phone within the confines of the narrative. The phone is expensive and a repair would be as bad--touchscreen electronics, if not insured, can be less costly to just replace instead of fixing. And while Mike gets along with his parents, unlike my relationship with my dad, he still understandably shrinks like a violet when they’re angry at him. also, Vero would have to dedicate writing/art to a scene as such and she has better things to be working on irt the comic it’s gonna be soooo funny if I’m wrong.

anyway.

additionally, there’s plenty of analysis on the way Mike sees cheating/cheaters and @bramblepaws put it a lot better than I ever could have, check it out here. the point is that he takes loyalty and commitment very seriously. while it wasn’t technically cheating since she’d dumped him immediately prior, I’m willing to wager that the fact that Mike went out and kissed Lucy as soon as he was cut loose is going to weight very heavily on their relationship for the rest of the time they’re in it, even and especially if it’s only by his own guilt. he absolutely saw this as a hiccup and not a true breakup, since it probably didn’t even last an hour. so not only was Sandy compromising fidelity, (wrt to Bramble’s post: “I really love him”/”you’re so... nice”), so was he.

after all, this wasn’t exactly the same at the other two kisses they’ve shared...

One of these things is NOT like the others, if you catch my meaning.

And while none of these kisses were technically cheating on Sandy or disrespecting his feelings toward her (the first two were before they got back together and the third is, of course, right after their breakup/makeup), Mike has always looked back on them as such because they represent the idea that when Sandy left, Mike fell in love with someone else and therefore he wasn’t “loyal enough,” hence the trauma surrounding being perceived as a cheater by his peers.

yet another sidenote: it occurs to me that these three kisses each have different instigators. the Confrontation one is instigated by Lucy, the Pillow Talk one is instigated by Mike, and while you could argue that Mike instigated in Eternal Flame, the truth is that they both made the decision and came together into that kiss and therefore it was a mutual decision.

so yeah. not only does Mike have another “tally” in his Wasn’t Faithful box, self-imposed and self-inflicted as it is, but Sandy does as well. Sandy’s as-of-currently [checks time] 4:51pm 7/15/21 emotional unfaithfulness (we don’t know how far it goes as the camera’s not on her, but it was unfaithfulness) paired with this third kiss is the coffin for Mike and Sandy that December was for Mike and Lucy (and in a previous post, I described Mike’s behavior toward Lucy in Eternal Flame as the “final nail,” and while we have yet to see Mike and Sandy’s this is a good way to frame the countless parallels between this chapter and December).

Neither of them are going to be able to forget about it. they’re attached to the point that I would describe their relationship as nearly codependent, and absolutely toxic... but it’s no longer a genuine relationship either of them are taking genuine pleasure in. they’ve each has encounters where they’ve experienced pretty explosive chemistry with other people, but they’ve been together since they were kids and for fear of hurting each other and in the unknown variables of new relationships, they’ve decided to stay together.

(please wear safety goggles in the fireworks lab, folks.)

but again, they won’t forget what happened here, and it’s going to have ramifications for how they move forward. the only thing they’ve done by getting back together is delayed the inevitable and gotten other people hurt in the crossfires.

and that’s what the crack in that panel means.

#bittersweet candy bowl #bcb

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rotworld · 3 years

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Voice and Style

an anon asked:

Do you have any tips for learning how to write in a different writing style?

and honestly i just went off the rails lmfao this is a long post, but hopefully it's useful. i wasn't 100% sure what you meant by style, but i assume you mean more along the lines of "voice" than the difference between like narrative, persuasive, etc. but let me know if you meant something else! what i'm going to do is 1) talk about voice in writing, 2) author voice vs character voice and examples, and 3) actually answer the question. i promise 1 and 2 are relevant to get to 3!

to start we need to break down what "voice" is. this is a term that gets thrown around a lot when people talk about writing, and i've heard people get a little heated about it lol but i'll give my take at least. there are actually two kinds of voice: the writer's voice, and character voice. we'll start by focusing on the former.

describing an author's voice is tricky, because it's largely subjective. some parts of it are concrete and easy to analyze, while others are down to the author's personality, perspective, and life experience. while it is something that you continue to hone as you gain experience, it isn't something you can measure or "rank" comparatively. so...what the hell is it lol

if we boil it down to the simplest components, here's what i think goes into voice: tone, syntax, word choice, and perspective. this isn't all that voice is, but these are the fundamental building blocks, and the way you use them is a mix of personal preference/affinity, your level of experience as a writer, and who you are outside of writing.

->tone is often described as the "attitude" of your writing, the mood you evoke with a combination of the other components. in "twelve moments in the life of an artist," david sedaris recounts his struggles with an attempt at an art career and a meth addiction, simultaneously. the subject matter is difficult and emotionally distressing, but because it's sedaris writing it, it's fucking hilarious. it's funny because of the tone, the ridiculous statements he makes, the witty observations and the flippant way he describes things. someone else could write the same story and make it a dramatic tragedy, but sedaris' tone is one of humor.

->syntax is the way a writer constructs their sentences. i know this sounds boring lol but it can play a huge role in a writer's voice. when do you use long and complex sentences versus short and simple ones? do you use repetition, and for what purpose? when do you use active or passive voice? for example, "the monster bit him" vs "he was bitten by the monster." these sentences mean the same thing but have a subtle difference in where the focus is. these might seem like small, insignificant details, but they can drastically change how a work sounds. the rhythm of your writing also ties into syntax.

->word choice is just how it sounds: what words do you use when you write? are you more of a "purple prose" type who likes flowery, detailed descriptions, or are you more sparse and "beige?" do you use certain phrases of colloquialisms?

->perspective is straightforward, too. do you like or have a tendency for 1st, 2nd or 3rd person? there's some variation in 3rd person, too, like omniscient 3rd or close 3rd. i think a writer's strength and preference in this, as well as when they deviate, also contributes to their voice.

but what about character voice? this is kind of similar, but limited to specific characters and how you portray them. it includes their dialogue and word choice but also their perspective or worldview, their opinions, and their personality expressed by their interactions. it's the kind of thing that differentiates characters speaking even without a speech tag to label them. there might be really extreme differences between character voices and the author's voice, depending on the character.

i always feel kind of narcissistic using my own work as an example lmao but i think changeling is a good example, since each passage is super focused on a particular character and their perspective. in first person, or close 3rd like this, a character voice can come out in narration. huntress sounds like this:

The hunt ends. Her catch, meager. Still, she will not waste it. Wolf Mother travels far to see the meat put to good use.

She walks the crossroads, strange paths through the strange world. Sniffs out the road she needs and steps through thick fog. Darkness gives way to orange autumn haze. Eternal harvest season. Blackened corn rots on the stalk. Machinery rusts in the fields. Bloated animal bodies decay in old barns. It is sad and stifling, the stench of forgotten things. And there—the farmer’s son. Lopsided boy. He stands on his porch, wiping blood and grime from his hammer. Distrustful, he watches Wolf Mother. Above, a slow-turning weathervane creaks.

her sentences are often short and choppy. the unusual syntax (the hunt ends. her catch, meager) gives it a feeling like a feral stream of consciousness. rotten corn, machine rust and bodies decaying are visceral, smelly descriptions because her sense of smell is especially strong and she relies on it to interact with the world. in contrast, ghostface sounds like this:

He’s hanging around Haddonfield when She comes calling, because he doesn’t have a realm of his own. Oh, no, no, no, of course it’s not a problem. He doesn’t mind at all, honest! It’s just, you know, he’s real good at this whole ritualistic murder thing. Got a knack for it, you might say. He was something of a professional before he ever got brought on board with an impressive résumé spanning most of the continental United States—not that he’s bragging, of course. He’s just experienced, motivated, highly-organized, versatile, and frankly, overqualified.

this is almost conversational. he's "hanging around," he's "got a knack for it," like the way you talk to a friend. his narration has a very informal and emotive vocabulary. he talks about his skill at murdering people like he's at a job interview, and he's extremely arrogant. my hope, as the author, is that all of this comes across and you get a strong sense of these characters just from brief passages.

finally, we can go back to the original question lol how do you write in a different "style?" i think you have to analyze different styles and voices, and figure out what you're going for. do you want to write something dreamy and surreal, or more dry and sarcastic? what tone are you going for, and how can your usage of word choice, syntax and perspective help you attain it?

i'm giving you homework lmao track down your favorite book and try analyzing the author's voice. take some notes on the tone, and if it contrasts the subject matter or genre (is it cynical? is it nostalgic? is it a lighthearted, fairy tale-esque fantasy or a more somber, gothic one?). also pay attention to the word choice. how vivid or descriptive is the prose? does it evoke certain imagery or themes? (in kraken by china mieville, a story about a giant squid that goes missing from a museum and the chaos that follows, he uses a lot of water and squid metaphors.) use the elements of voice listed above as a checklist of things to look for. if there's a certain writer you want to emulate or take inspiration from, studying their work like this could help a lot.

one last thing: since we talked so much about voice, i want to ask why you want to change your style. you can ignore this part if you want lol this is just a pep talk and something i think is good to mention. if you want to focus on differentiating character voices, or trying out a new style for fun, that's awesome! you can and should experiment with style, but remember that your voice as a writer is something unique to you. it's not something that you have to fundamentally change. we can all learn from other writers and hone or refine our style, but i think who we are on a personal level affects our affinity for certain stylistic choices that form our voice.

for example, on a scale of purple to beige, i lean pretty lavender lmao but i'm not ashamed of that! i was influenced a lot by writers who have a (capital R) Romantic flair to their prose, so i like flowery language and descriptions of nature. if it gets too purple and "in the way" of the story, then sure, i might need to trim down certain passages. but my affinity and tendencies aren't something i'm going to get rid of altogether, rather something i'll practice so they're super polished. once you identify your voice, i think you should embrace it and roll with it.

#rotpeach answers #rot on writing #i apologize in advance for the length of this post #but i thought this was a super good question and it really made me think!#disclaimer i have little to no formal education on the subject but i feel pretty confident about what i wrote here lol

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thejakeformerlyknownasprince · 4 years

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Speaking about disability in fiction, would you say Toph from a:tla is one of the best written disabled character? Is there anything that could've been improved about her character?

DEAR FUCKING GOD do I love Toph. I would humbly submit to have Lady Toph “The Blind Bandit” “The Runaway” “Greatest Earthbender of All Time” “Inventor of Metalbending” Beifong harvest my organs to achieve eternal life if such a thing were possible. There are a ton of things that Avatar: the Last Airbender does really well when characterizing Toph, and a few I wish they’d done differently. [PLEASE NOTE: I am nondisabled, so if I err, please tell me so.]

Is she one of the best-written disabled characters?

She’s certainly a damn cool character whose disability informs but does not define her. I can’t really say if she’s “the best” or one of, because I haven’t read everything, but I can say that I really like her.

First of all, her story is intersectional AS FUCK. Toph’s gender, her disability, and her social class are so inextricably linked that there’s no analyzing any single element in a vacuum. She’s all about being tough and independent. Partially that’s about being underestimated because of her disability. Partially that’s about being commodified because of her gender. Partially that’s about being privileged due to her upper-class upbringing. All three interact to inform her identity.

“Tales of Ba Sing Se” shows that blindness bars Toph from certain aspects of femininity — she can’t perform the traditional motions of making herself up, attracting young men, being pretty and delicate — which causes her to embrace a more accessible masculine identity. “The Runaway” shows that Toph enjoys femininity as well as masculinity, but that she struggles to build nurturing relationships when she’s concerned with appearing weak, and that that sometimes leads her to cross ethical boundaries. “The Chase” and “Bitter Work” are all about how Toph values her independence above all else — because she’s had to struggle against her gender and disability influencing others’ perceptions, but also because she’s had the privilege to avoid helping others due to her social class. In “The Ember Island Players” she loves being represented by a big tough strong man, but she also clearly associates masculinity with power in a way that becomes troubling when contrasted with Aang’s horror at being played by a woman. Etcetera.

Even the whole Earth Kingdom’s role as a sort of middle rung of imperialism – less powerful than the Fire Nation, more powerful than the Water Tribes and Air Nomads — informs both the relative strictness of its gender roles and the ability of individual Earth citizens to subvert those roles. Toph’s identity, like the identities of the other Avatar characters, is inextricably linked to her position in society.

Secondly, Toph has a lot of the features of a complex and agentic character, and her disability is neither ignored nor centralized. She’s often right, as when she becomes the first person to trust Zuko and the only person capable of making Aang an earthbender. She’s often wrong, as when she tries to justify theft with a “they started it” argument or belittles Sokka for being a non-bender. She’s often somewhere in between, as when she chooses to let Appa get taken by sandbenders in order to protect her friends or gets into screaming matches with Katara over matters of procedure.

There’s also the fact that Toph interacts with certain environments differently based on her blindness, drawing attention to (in)accessible aspects of those environments the others wouldn’t have necessarily noticed. She finds sand and wood flooring inconvenient, she hates navigating water and ice, and she initially avoids walking on metal. Although she’s not a big fan of flying, she mostly adapts as long as her friends actually remember that she can’t navigate when they’re on Appa’s saddle.

When conflicts do occur with the environment, Toph puts the onus on the environments and on other people to adapt or help her to adapt. She’s amused and annoyed when Sokka tries to fake correspondence between her and Katara, or stupidly asks why she doesn’t like libraries. She rips the bottoms off of her shoes. She calls attention to her inability to do things like scan the ground while flying when her friends are at risk of forgetting. She plays into others’ assumptions to try and get onto ferries or get away with breaking the law.

Another thing I like: the art style for Toph avoids the trap of “draw sighted person, change eye color, call it a day.” She doesn’t turn to face people most of the time when she’s talking to them, but also doesn’t seem totally clueless as to their relative locations. She gets the lay of the land by stomping her feet or pressing a hand against the ground, not turning to “look” in various directions. She doesn’t bother to keep her hair from blocking her eyes, because her bangs don’t interrupt any sight lines. She’s neither a comically blind character who apparently can’t navigate at all with sound or touch, nor a dramatic “blind” character whose every action comes off as those of a sighted character. Toph repeatedly mentions that she doesn’t get the value in sight, clapping back at the assumption that of course she’d want to be nondisabled.

[Image description: A screenshot from “The Chase,” which shows Toph shouting at Katara, with her face turned away from Katara. Toph is pointing in anger, making it clear that she’s addressing Katara and that she knows Katara’s location relative to herself based on Katara’s voice.]

One last small but important victory for Avatar: it passes the Fries Test. It has two or more disabled characters — I can explain why Zuko counts as disabled if anyone’s not sure — who survive to the end of the story without being cured, and who have their own narratives rather than existing primarily to educate nondisabled characters. As a bonus, they have at least one conversation with each other about something that isn’t disability-related. The Fries Test is meant to be a minimum standard for representation, much like the Bechdel Test, but it’s still nice to know that Avatar passes.

[Image description: A screenshot from “The Ember Island Players,” which shows Zuko and Toph sitting on the floor in a hallway of the theater, talking about the play and about Zuko’s uncle.]

Is there anything that could’ve been improved about her character?

If I ruled the world, or at least the Avatar writers’ room, I’d start with two changes. One’s small-ish, one’s big and controversial.

The small-ish change: tweak Toph’s narrative to make her earthbending super-abilities less directly counter to her blindness. As it is, she has shades of a superpowered supercrip: a disabled character from SF whose superpower primarily acts to nullify their disability, thereby giving them the lived experience of a nondisabled person for most or all of the narrative. Toph is definitely not an egregious example — she’s not Daredevil, who can use his superpowers to read handwritten papers, navigate unfamiliar environments, “feel” colors, detect tiny gestures, and shoot guns. She does embody experiences with blindness like disorientation when flying and frustration with hanging posters. She just also has several instances of not experiencing blindness when she (as she puts it) “sees with earthbending.” I’m not sure what that tweak would look like, precisely, but I’d like to see one all the same.

The bigger change: I’d cast a different voice actor. Jessie Flower is, based on what little I can find on Wikipedia or IMDB, not blind or visually disabled. Disability rights activists are right now fighting hard against the trend of “cripping up,” wherein nondisabled actors use mimicry or makeup to pretend to have disabilities on TV and in the movies. Avatar doesn’t go that far, because it doesn’t have Jessie Flower onscreen in (for instance) contacts that mimic blindness. However, it nevertheless does not cast a blind actor for the role. The issue here is that disabled actors are almost never allowed to play nondisabled roles… and disabled actors are also almost never allowed to play disabled roles either. By failing to find a blind voice actor, the show denied that opportunity to a less-privileged talent.

The Guardian compares the issue to the way that cis actors of the wrong gender are too-often cast in trans roles, men used to play female characters onstage, and white actors used to play black characters in American movies. I never know how much those comparisons make sense, because among other things they completely ignore intersections of those identities. But I also think that it’s sometimes the best way to help people understand why excuses like “but it’s haaaaaaarrd to find blind female actors of Asian descent” don’t hold water.

And here’s where I go from “slightly controversial” to “extremely controversial” and might have to enter Witness Protection. Avatar is getting a live-action adaptation in a few months. I predict that it will cast a nondisabled actor to play Toph. And I predict that the same voices which (rightly!) raised such a cry against “racebent” white actors playing Aang and Katara will be completely silent on the topic of “abilitybent” actors playing Zuko and Toph. I’m saying this on Tumblr partially to get this statement out there:

I am an Avatar: the Last Airbender fan who will ONLY support the live-action show if it casts disabled actors to play disabled characters.

I’m saying it partially because I hope to be proven wrong, either because a blind actress will be cast as live-action Toph or at the very least because Avatar fans will object when a sighted actress is cast. I’m also saying it because I think that fans can and should protest responsibly when marginalized voices are erased by beloved works of fiction. Will casting a blind actress require more “work” to make the set accessible? Probably. Will casting a blind actress perhaps necessitate more CGI for fight scenes than using a sighted one? Maybe. Will it be worth it to cast a blind actress anyway, so that a girl with the lived experience of Toph can portray her on screen and actually get the chance to break into an industry that bars most blind girls from participating? YES.

#toph beifong #avatar #atla #avatar the last airbender #nothing to do with animorphs #disability studies #disability representation #blindness #atla criticism #intersectional feminism #long post #atla meta #anonymous #asks

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thebeltanequeen · 3 years

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The (Blurred? Nonexistent? Inconsequential?) Line Between Canon and Fanon: An Impromtu Essay by Me

I’m currently have an existential crisis. An absolute, balls to the walls, pull my hair out, stare at the walls wondering what the meaning of existence is, kind of existential crisis. Why, you may ask? Because the older I have gotten, the more Fanfiction I have read. That’s normal. Millions of other people read fanfic like me. Well, in the past few years, I have also realized that the more fanfiction I have read, the less shits I give about the actual canon of the media I love. I care less and less about what “actually” happened, and delve into fanon instead. It’s as if the two have SWITCHED ROLES in my brain. The canon is the lie, and the fanon is the truth. This used to not be the case though, so how did we get here? And why… why is this realization sending me into an absolute spiral of insanity? Why do I feel like I have been sucker punched in the jaw? Let me explain.

I’ve been reading and dabbling in writing my own fanfiction for over twelve years. It used to be an escape, a way to further delve into my latest obsessions and become consumed by them. I have this annoying habit of also picking ships that do NOT become endgame, so I’ve always sought out fanfiction as a balm for my shipper’s soul as well. I still read fanfiction as if my life depends on it… but now it’s at the expense of reading new books. Watching new media. When I do eventually dip my toes into a new fandom, I either reject it quickly or become consumed again and make a grab for fanfiction… but in the past few years, something in not only me, but in fandoms in general has shifted.

The difference between me now, and me back then is this… I used to uphold the canon as sacred. Untouchable. Set in stone. The only credible source for the media I consume. All of the fanfiction I read was just beautiful window dressing. A lovely past time to further increase my dopamine intake.

This is no longer the case.

Now, when I read and write fanfiction, it’s as if it is an act of protest. I am actively seeking to reform the narrative. It’s to “take back” the story, the characters, EVERYTHING, for myself. To make it anew. To make it perfect. I’m not alone either. I see you. I see all of you. Now more than ever, I see more and more of us doing this exact same thing.

THIS is why I am having an existential crisis. I have just realized that I will no longer be content with the canon. Ever. Even the canon of my favorite media. It’s not enough. It’s no longer enough. It won’t ever be enough again. Why? Because there will always be places where the canon is falliable. The authors of the canon, are falliable. As an author myself, this is at once an alarming yet powerful realization.

I went to college for creative writing. At the beginning of my academic career, I thought of fanfiction as a beautiful fairytale world. It was glorious, but it was other. Separate. Not as credible as canon. Had I read fanfiction better than the media it was based on before I entered college? Absolutely, but in my head it still didn’t matter because the canon was the word. The canon was the law. As a writer, I held the power of the author (and by extension the power of myself) as sacred. By the end of college, that began to change.

The more I was taught about writing, the more I came to realize that sometimes, authors are just straight up WRONG. Sometimes, there’s soooooo much potential… AND THEY JUST FUCK IT UP!!!!!!! The bones are incredible, but the canon is weak, the logic is lacking, the story makes no sense, the characters don’t reach their full potential and you know what? I’m tired. I’m tired of it. This is why fanon is canon’s salvation. Fanon makes canon look pathetic. But… if I accept the fanon as the reality, and make the canon the lie, does that still make it fanon? No. I don’t think it does. I think fanon has become something other. Something greater.

I have become disillusion by “published” or “credible” books. 95% of the novels I actually buy at the store today are garbage. Trash. Half written nonsense that only serves the purpose of paying people. I’m TIRED OF IT. I’ve become disillusioned by the “power” of the author. I have become disillusioned by canon. FUCK canon, quite frankly. Rip it apart. Dissect it. Take out it’s beating heart and transplant it into a new body. Give it the soul that the narrative was begging for. REVIVE IT. LET YOUR OWN IMAGINATION MAKE IT ANEW. Characters mean too much to people. Fiction means too much to people. Stories mean too much to people for anything less. Only then will you or I be satisfied.

Now, even an impromptu, unedited, gibberish essay is not complete without examples. I’ll start with one that you probably thought of while reading this. Game of Thrones. I think that two years ago, the ending of the most influential show of the entire decade, is where my subconscious began to shift in this direction. Now, I doubt my opionions about GoT are the same as yours, but you know what? It DOESN’T MATTER because FANON CAN FIX THE CANON. The stories that meant so much to millions can be fixed by accepting the fact that THE CANON ISN’T THE LAW! IT FUCKED UP!!!! CANON DOESN’T DESERVE TO SPEAK ANYMORE!!!! TAKE BACK THE STORY AND TRANSFORM IT INTO A VERSION TRULY WORTHY OF THE GLORIOUS BONES IT HAS!!!!!

We also can’t ignore the role that monetization plays in the media we consume. Why leave our fiction in the hands of just the big names? Why let money dictate what is real and not real? WHY SETTLE FOR MEDIOCRE STORYTELLING JUST BECAUSE IT WAS SOLD TO YOU AND THEREFORE IT’S “LEGIT CANON”??? FANFICTION IS FREE, AND THE MOST BEAUTIFUL PIECES OF WRITING I’VE EVER READ WERE WRITTEN BY FANFIC AUTHORS WHO DID IT FOR THE STORY. WHO DID IT FOR THE ART. WHO ACTUALLY DID IT JUSTICE. FUCK THE CONCEPT OF FANON AND CANON. THE STORY WE WANT IS ALL THAT MATTERS. GET MONEY OUT OF HERE.

Ahem. To avoid going on even more of a tangent, I’ll move on and give the example that triggered my existential crisis in the first place. Sailor Moon. To give some background, Sailor Moon is it for me. I have grown up with it. I’ve watched it my entire life. As a child, I ran around with my toy moon rod and desperately wanted to be Usagi. Ironically, I grew up to be quite a bit like her (but with Rei’s temper admittedly). It is my comfort show, my happiness. It makes me laugh, it makes me cry. I never tire of it. It makes my heart swell. I have never, nor will I ever, love any piece of media the way I love Sailor Moon. Flash forward to today, I watched Sailor Moon Eternal, the two new movie adaptations of the Dream arc in the manga (stick with me non-manga and anime lovers). I liked the films, but I was left with a deep, disatisfied yearning. I want back the feeling of complete bliss I experienced while watching the 90’s anime as a child. The problem with this? I’ll never get it back. I’ve just realized this. I’ll NEVER get it back. Why? Because it’s no longer the perfect version of Sailor Moon that it was to my young eyes. Crystal, while good, is also not the perfected version I seek in my adulthood, and Eternal has not scratched my insatiable itch. I am heartbroken because I’ve realized that Sailor Moon in its perfect form doesn’t exist anymore. If I held any canon sacred, it was this. But the story is flawed. The manga is flawed. The anime is flawed. It’s not infallible, as much as it truly, deeply hurts me to admit to the world and to myself. The only perfect version of Sailor Moon is the one in my heart. It’s the one I choose to piece together for myself with the building blocks that others who came before me have handed over.

Another, more recent example of falliable canon is The Grisha Verse. More specifically, the Shadow and Bone trilogy. I was brought in to the fandom by Ben Barnes’ depthless eyes and magnificent scruff. And you know what? I liked the story, but I stayed for Ben Barnes. I liked the Darkling so much that I bought the entire grisha verse books. It was a premature decision. I’ve only made it halfway through Storm and Seige, and you know what? I’m tired of the canon already. It’s not that great. The bones are there, but it could be SO. MUCH. MORE. I haven’t read the crow books yet, and by all accounts Leigh Bardugo has improved tremendously as a writer. Which incidentally proves my point. Authors are falliable. Ergo, the canon is falliable. I can’t help but think while I read these books, “Damn. I could write this better.” and you know what? I’ve read fanfics that HAVE written it better.

Am I saying this to trash Bardugo? Or even GRRM? (Yes I admit to trashing D&D but that’s beside the point ahem…). NO. I am NOT trashing the writers. I’M A WRITER. I GET IT. YOUR STORY IS YOUR BABY. I G E T I T . But I’ve realized, and what I think future authors will also have to realize, is that fiction doesn’t belong to anyone. As soon as it’s out the door, the fiction no longer belongs to the author. It belongs to us. The people. That’s what is beautiful about fanfiction. It’s not here for the money. It’s not here for the clout. It’s here for the fiction itself. Plain and simple. It belongs to no one and everyone.

In the past, I would have fought this. I would have wanted my work’s canon to be law. To be the word, the truth, the way etc. Now? I can’t be a hypocrite. I can’t be selfish. It isn’t about the author. It’s about the vision. It’s about the story, the narrative, the characters. It’s about art. And sometimes, the authors give birth to the idea (and they deserve credit for that without a doubt), but it’s also true that sometimes, someone else just writes it better. Someone else quite simply saw the vision, the story, the characters, more clearly than the author did. I make this vow now, as an author, to strive for the vision. If someone takes my vision and does it better than me, that only improves my perspective of my own story. It improves the world of fiction as a whole. It makes me better.

So, canon? Fuck the canon. Take back the story. Take back the characters. Take back the art. Fiction is ours. It belongs to us, and we can do with it what we please. Let’s strive for OUR OWN perfected version of the media we love. Canon doesn’t truly exist. The concept of Fanon doesn’t even exist anymore in the way we used to think of it. The author’s version of events is their own Fanon of the story. Canon is meaningless now. There is only the story that you accept in your own mind. There is only the story that I accept in my own mind, no matter how different it is from yours. There is only the art. There is only the limitless potential of countless people’s imaginations. Let’s continue to collaborate and celebrate beautiful stories together, in any conceivable way, over and over and over again, until the end of time.

Fin

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abloomntime · 3 years

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A Bloom In Time Ch28 Welcome To Mafia Town P2

(I headcannon the place the Twilight Bell takes you is the Horizon Moonjumper lives in.)

Poppy had stared in front of her when the man yelled and slammed the door behind him. Stopping and staring for a while confused, but she just shrugged it off and started off again. She hadn't taken more than three and a half steps when the door flew back open with an even louder BANG and with more force enough to vibrate the glass of the door and windows of the building and the three stopped and stared at the next wild sight that graced their vision. One- Two-......NO! Around ten men in blue suits marched right out of the door and like some military, marched in a rythume and rows of two fives. Before all turning on their heels and effectively blocking their way to the other side of the docks with all of them staring, but they weren't the only ones. The men working on the docks and one or two that were just casually walking past them just stopped and stared at what was going on. Hattie immediately scowled and brandished her trusty umbrella out of nowhere ready to battle, and Bow shrunk back behind Poppy's legs as a man different from all the others stepped out of the doorway. Instantly Poppy got the feeling this guy had a bad attitude by the way he walked around like he owned the place and the fact. This man had a giant black mustache and goatee, and was a good foot shorter in height compared to every other man there as he walked in front of them. He wore an apron like the rest of the men around here, but with a giant red coat with gold trim, and like Cookie a chef's hat that wobbled with his every step. He marched until he was right in the middle of the dock blocking their way and stood in a stance with his hands on his hips.

"So. We meet again Kid With The Hat!," he shouted in a deep male voice also different compared to the other men she's heard, "And this time you brought along more people from your strange world! You dare show your face here again after what you and your friend did!?"

"Who's that?," Poppy asked glancing down at Hattie's stiff form.

"That's the Mafia Boss," Hattie warned pointing her umbrella right at him, "He used to be stuck in a jar, but after Snatcher made a deal with him for those death wish contracts, he's gone back to being a big bully!!"

".....I'm sorry. He used to be a what and turned back into what after Snatcher did what??"

She didn't get an answer from anyone as the man marched right up to the small group of girls and Poppy watched with a scowl as he made a big scene of 'manly' stomping his footsteps all the way towards them until he was just shy of a foot or two. Hattie still in that 'make one more move and I'll end you' stance but not doing anything as he just stood there in front of them and Bow now clutching her with like an iron trap and pressing her forehead to Poppy's leg. The man wasn't even that tall. Not including his hat, his head came to just barely above her shoulders as he continued to stand in that stance-.....And Poppy couldn't help but get a strange feeling of deja vu at seeing this man. He looked somewhat familiar. A good few tense moments went pass as nether spoke until he made the first sentence.

"Red haired lady! Are you the one who stopped my men from doing jobs?," he asked staring directly at Poppy.

"If by jobs ya mean I asked them nicely to stop harrassin' a poor defenseless ol' man and then defended mahself when one your goons started the fight, then I sure did buckaroo!," she snapped back with that country sass that once made Snatcher's living heart skip a beat. "And what if I did or not? Sounds ta me they'd be better off not doing any jobs if all they do is harass poor people all day for money like they got nothin' else to do!!"

"HA!! Is orders from me!!", he challenged back.

"Well. Then I guess you're one insecure power hungry spoiled rich boy if I had ever seen one!! Did yer mama not teach ya any manners!?"

The entirety of the mafia men watching either gasped or looked on with shocked faces that someone let alone a woman, would dare talk to Mafia Boss that way, and the boss didn't seem to take a liken to that either.

"How rude! You must be very lost lady with the red hair. You're in the heart of our town! STANDING BEFORE THE MOST POWERFUL MAN YOU WILL EVER WITNESS!!" He smirked when some of men cheered their boss on proudly. "In Mafia Town Mafia Boss makes the rules!"

"Well then." Poppy gave a look that one would give if someone had something dum like fish were secretly birds that flew underwater. "I guess ya'll can consider me a rule breaker because anyone wo gives those orders aren't a man or very powerful if ya'll need to hassle money from an old man to keep stable income!!"

The silence was astounding as the Mafia Boss just stared at her flabbergasted and paused. Poppy still staring at him so done with this entire man baby's show off attitude, if he wanted to cause trouble then she could and WOULD dish some of it back into his face well cooked with a side of sass. He still stared at her for what seemed like an eternity before he chuckled and that smile returned to his face.

"You know. I have not seen a woman like you since we left original mafia island with Women Mafia. You dare speak back to Mafia? You have guts, Red Hair Lady.....Mafia like that in a woman.~"

".....What?," Poppy asked. It was the only thing she could force out at that moment.

"What?," Hattie asked just as confused.

"WWWHHHHHAAAAATTTTT?!," SNATCHER roared from the shadow he was stuck in. Yellow eyes narrowing and mouth suddenly becoming more jagged with fangs. "OOP!!" Poppy had taken a step back in shock and stepped in the middle of his face.

If anyone had heard Snatcher's loud yell, and most likely did, they ignored it in favor of watching the awkward interaction between the two adults. And the Mafia Boss leaned closer to her. "Mafia likes strong fight in women. Pretty Red Haired Lady has much fighting spirit!"

Poppy was stunned as she stood there staring at this smaller man with a jaw slightly dropped. Was this guy SERIOUSLY FLIRTING with HER?! After she smashed one of his guys to the ground and slapped another's hand?? Was he SERIOUSLY doing this?? Apparently so because Bow had lift her head enough to look at what was going on and her and Hattie exchanged a look as if they were telepathically asking each other what the world was happening. But no one could've seen what was coming from the furious ghost who moved his face and was GLARING dangerously at the Mafia Boss. He hadn't done anything yet finding amusement in Poppy throwing back her own stubborness into this situation with always made things amusing enough for him wanting to watch, especially since he missed her last dish out of sass back. But now he had quickly turned from amused to FURIOUS with that famous temper he was known for. But it turned from valcanic to NUCLEAR when the mafia boss grabbed Poppy's free hand even making her flinch and blink at the sudden action looking at him with a scowl.....Then realization flashed in her eyes.

"Wait a gosh darn moment.....I know you! I saw your paintin' in the art gallery." And she saw his face spray painted all over everything around town too! That's where she had seen him before!

"So you are familiar with Mafia's greatness? Mafia is greatly flattered.~" Pulling her hand up to his face with that smile like he was about to kiss her hand-

An animalistic like snarl pierced the air and something dark blocked out the son over the three girls and some presence hovered over them that made the Mafia Boss's and Mafia Mens' eyes widen as pure terror poured over them in waves like the ocean as the very large ghosts hunched over the ladies, his face a twisted one of pure rage as he stared the tiny man dead in the eyes. Poppy just stared at the ghost jumping when his enlarged claws gripped her shoulders as he pointed those fangs at the man. ....Her arm slipping away from the man.

"YOU HAVE A DEATH WISH BUDDY!!," he absolutely ROARED out the loudest Poppy had heard him thus far, "YOU WANT TO DIE A SECOND TIME!? OR MAYBE I SHOULD EAT YOUR SOUL!!!" The Mafia Boss yelled and stumbled back away from the shadow monster threatening to eat him and yells came from all sides from the men who either ran down the paths leading from the docks or back into the open resturaunt to escape the shadow monster that had suddenly just appeared. Only annoying Snatcher more that these pathetic fools would even try to act like they had a chance with her. "That's it! WE'RE LEAVING!! NOW!!"

The teleporting worked as quickly as any other time he did it. Purple energy completely took over the world around them like the many times he's done this before and swallowed them all whole. Poppy closed her eyes when purple invaded her vision and the air suddenly shifted again much more aggressive and quickly than any other time she's experienced this kind of thing. A second later she landed onto her side and shoulder with a thud and 'OOF!!' onto soft carpet and a moment after the purple dissappeared leaving the familiar sight of a little alien's space ship and the windows of space. Next to her was the basket tossed over on it's side and half it's contents spilt out onto the floor, mostly the apples that just bounced out of the sack and rolled out onto the carpeted floors. She groaned and forced herself onto her back and sat up, looking up to the figure of the deeply scowling ghost staring back out the window and down at the planet. Hattie was sat on the floor next to him pushing the hat off her face and Bow sitting up next to her.

"Ow. Quick exit much?," she asked Snatcher who looked at her.

"Hey! I just saved your sorry behind from unwanted advances from a total fool! Your welcome!!"

She smiled. "Yeah. To be honest I was 'bout ta deck that mustached peckneck myself. Glad I didn't have to waste any energy of that." She slowly stood up and brushed herself off smiling. "Great timin' purple onion."

"Hmph.....Thanks." He crossed his arms and began to calm down a bit. The raised fluff and extended claws slowly smoothing back to their normal look. Watching silently as she turned and started to pick up the basket and all the things that tumbled out of it. "What are you planning on doing with those anyways?"

"Uh. Put them in that fancy fridge of yours," she said not looking up from her lil clean up. Making sure not of the food got damaged. It'd be a waste if she spent so much on them only for them to be ruined. Thankfully on closer inspection it didn't seem anything was wrong. Fish still wrapped up. Bacon still in package. And the milk bottle wasn't cracked or spilt. Thank goodness. Standing back up with the basket of food she turned to the kitchen.

"Now do you see what I meant about their being danger at every corner around here?," Snatcher asked following behind her as she walked. "It's dangerous and trouble!"

"I appreciate the heads up, but you don't have to watch me over." He opened his mouth- "I SAID I appreciate it." She stopped and looked over her shoulder at him. "And what happened just proved your point a lil bit, but I am NOT a kid or need a babysitter. Sooner or later I gotta make a livin' on mah own after I pay off mah debts while you're helping me. And I mean it when I say thank ya but don't feel like you have to take time out of your day worryin' about me. I can take care of myself."

"And what if you need help-"

"You'll be the very first one I'll trust to help me." With one last smile she turned back and walked the rest of the way up the ramp and into the kitchen to put away the fruits of their adventure. Leaving Snatcher there floating and staring after her, Hattie suddenly running past him into the kitchen to presumably help and still sat there. "What do you have in yer hat?," Poppy said from beyond the kitchen doors. "Coconuts? Where'd ya get those?"

"On the palm trees on the beach," Hattie proudly stated.

He didn't even notice Bow standing next to him until he spoke. "Are you ok?"

".....Yeah. I'll be fine." He turned and started floating off towards the windows in the control room. "Tell Poppy I'm heading back. And if she decides to go somewhere let me KNOW." He floated towards the window as she watched and he disappeared into a cloud of purple.

***********************************************************************************************

The minions walking around doing their normal routes barely paid attention to their own boss who was currently sitting back in his giant arm chair reading the book in his hands. How Black Holes Are Made And How To Avoid Them. The same one he started in the attic. Once he started reading a book he always made sure to finish it, no matter what opinion he had on it. To him why start it if you won't finish it. 'Sides, the kid wouldn't miss a book she never read from her dark attic. A deep frown On his face and irritation seeping from him as he read a 3 step process about how stars specifically were affected by the darkness of a black hole. ....When footsteps approuched he didn't look up and just kept the scowl on his face.

"So you finally showed up huh?," he asked in an annoyed tone.

"Oh relax. You knew I was coming."

He finally looked up to the smiling pink witch in front of her. "Yes. ....BUT I DIDN'T THINK YOU'D MENTION MOONBOY RIGHT IN FRONT OF HER!!!" He yelled out in anger. "WHAT THE PECK DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING?! I THOUGHT WE AGREED YOU WOULDN'T TELL HER OR THAT CORPSE ANYTHING!!!"

"And I didn't tell ANYONE anything," she argued back waving a hand. "All I did was mention his name ONCE. It's not like I went 'Here! Let me spill all the secrets of these ghosts to you and tell Moonjumper all about you'. She probably already forgotten what I said by now." Hazelle walked over until she was right in front of him and sat down on the footstool he always kept in front of his armchair, and looked up to meet his eyes with a blank look. "And I thought YOU were going to talk to HER about him."

"What!? I did talk to her!"

She blinked in surprise. ".....Wait. You did what now? Really?"

"YES!!"

"........" Her eyes narrowed and her arms crossed as she gazed at him suspiciously. "Ok. What exactly did you tell her?"

Snatcher paused for a moment that scowl paving away for a slightly worried look. "I mean-.....Nothing she didn't ask me-"

"Uh huh. And WHAT did she ask you?," she pressed further with that face backing him into a corner he couldn't escape.

"The usual questions you asked when we first met along with everyone ELSE I let live. Where do ghosts come from? How did I die? Things like that."

"And how did you answer?" He remained silent staring down at her and that deadpanned stare turned into a glare and he flinched when Hazelle pointed at her. "You tell me what you told her, Snatcher! I swear! I know this is a sensitive topic but it concerns someone else BESIDES you too and Im not talking about Moonjumper!!"

"Alright! Alright!!".....He sighed and made an almost guilty look that people made when they REALLY did not want to do something. "She asked about how ghosts are formed and I said I don't know which isn't a lie. I don't have any idea. She also asked me if I really ate souls-" Hazelle snorted and he frowned again. "Hey! I couldn't eat other ghosts! That's ridiculous!"

"Is that all she asked?," Hazelle questioned a slight amused from that last sentence.

"I- Uh- W-Well- I mean I don't know if I would consider those actually questions persay- OW!!" His tail pulled itself away when she lightly kicked his tail and gave him a death glare that gave him the impression to just get on with it. "Alright. FINE!! She asked me why I helped her, and how I died.....A-And...If her old prince friend was a ghost too."

Silence rang out as Hazelle blinked eyes going wide and Snatcher looking back down to the book in his lap even though he wasn't reading it anymore. The two old friends still stayed like that for the lonest time and sat there in silence so deathening you could've heard Vanessa yelling 'PRINCE!!' from the few miles away she was in that frozen prison.

"What did you say?"

"What?" he looked up with a dumbfounded look blinking.

Hazelle have him a serious look again but it was a lil softer. "I said WHAT did you tell her? You must've told her something, otherwise you wouldn't have been with her at the meathead's market if it could even be called that. Did you tell her the truth? I sure pecking hope so."

"OF COURSE I DID!! I WOULDN'T LIE TO HER!!"

"Even when you tricked her into that contract?"

"HEY! That was for safety purposes! So it was for a good cause. She's still a free spirit."

"WHAT DID YOU TELL HER YOU PECKING NOODLE!?"

"ALRIGHT!! I TOLD I FROZE TO DEATH BUT NOTHING BEYOND THAT EVEN IF I DID EXPLAIN THE CAUSE OF IT!! AND I TOLD HER MOST GHOSTS DIDN'T HAVE MEMORIES!! SO NO!! I DIDN'T LIE TO HER!! HAPPY?!" He glared at her like he would anything that irritated him.

Hazelle still stared at him with that scowl quietly eyeing him up and down deducting if he was telling the truth or not. "....So....She knows how you died?

"Yes," he growled out.

"So, she knows who you were?"

His face went back to that almost guilty look. "Uh-.....Well not exactly-"

"Not exactly!?" Hazelle face palmed with a groan. "I thought you said you told her how you died."

"I did!"

"And she knows about you freezing to death in the basement?"

"Yes!"

"Then HOW does she NOT know you if you told her?," she demanded peeking at him. "You're confusing me worse than a rubix cude!"

"She asked how the prince friend died and I told her just like her. Locked in a room until the cold kicked in. I just told her I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, which also wasn't a lie, so I never lied."

"........Wait a minute." She looked up fully to him. "Let me get this straight. You told her how YOU died and how her friend which is ALSO YOU died, but told her in a way that didn't let her know YOU ARE YOU?!....That's not helping your situation at all!!!"

"HEY!! What was I supposed to do?! It was sprung on me out of no where!, "he argued back.

"I don't know! Tell her the truth!?"

"I did!"

"SNATCHER!!" Hazelle suddenly stood up and jabbed a poke into his chest with an all too serious look. "Not telling her the WHOLE truth is just as bad! She's gonna think you're two different people!....Well technically you are- But the point is, she's going to see you and her friend as two different individuals which is just gonna bite you in the butt later!"

"Give me some time! I'm still trying to get used to this. If you haven't forgotten there's two people who'll be affected by this."

"........" She sighed and shook her head, backing off and crossing her arms. "Well....You did talk and that's something in of itself considering how pecking stubborn your butt can be. That's a step in the right direction at least." Hazelle gave him a pleading look. "Look. I'm proud you're feeling more open around her, but PLEASE take my advice and don't burn your bridges when the fire can be avoided."

".....Fine. Just....Not now."

Knowing it was no use to press it any further for now. Arguing forever with this stubborn spirit was like trying to drain a dried out an already empty bathtub. Impossible. "Fine. But was there anything else she told you?"

He rolled his eyes with a small smile. "Oh yes. She got into some kind of trouble with that old windbag of a bird and broke something. Now she has to pay it off by being in another fool's play."

".......Seriously!?," she smiled now raising an eyebrow. "I have to stick around you lot more often. I'm missing all the juicy details.~.....In fact that doesn't sound like a bad idea."

"Don't push your luck." Those yellow eyes narrowed.

''I won't. In fact I've been quite helpful with this whole 'My Lover Came Back From The Dead' cliche skit. I haven't said a word."

"And make sure you KEEP it that way!" Snatcher growled and his grip on his book became tighter. If that corpse found out who KNOWS what he'll try to pull. Especially if he spilt all the details to her before he could explain. He didn't see any good outcome from that!

Hazelle waved a hand. "I promise. Witch's honor. Timmy can vouch for that."

He suddenly blanked out.....Timmy...That BOY!! Moonjumper's little oh so polite princey!! He narrowed his eyes again. "And tell that kid not to flap his gums either!"

"Who? Timmy? What would he even talk about? He barely even knows her and only met her for like, two minutes. There's absolutely nothing to worry about with him," She assured him.

Snatcher still didn't look convinced as he looked out the opening of his home out into the woods. "Where is he anyways?"

"We finished our magic training for today so I dropped him off home." snatcher huffed and Hazelle rolled her eyes. "Look. Even if he did say something about her, how much could he say? Your girls have a babysitter? You got a new helper? A woman beat up the mafia? Nothing that really translates to 'Hey! This is the girl you two used to be in love with'."

He hummed. Well....She had a point. When you put it that way, there really was nothing too much to worry about if Moonboy found out about him having a 'helper' or 'babysitter'. He'd never in another thousand years guess it was Poppy of all people. As long as he kept away everything would be fine.

"Besides. What's the worse that could happen?"

***********************************************************************************************

The beautiful silence of the horizon was a rather lonely one when he was all here by himself...Well that's not true. He wasn't always by himself. There was a few of Snatcher's minions forever lost he swiped back in the day, and a few ancient Alpine Goat spirits that occupied the place way longer than he's ever been there, but none of them spoke much, and he always enjoyed the polite company of strangers. Unfortunately those couldn't be forced as he found out rather quickly, but after a long time he didn't need to force those when he finally found a small little family of his own. Timmy was such a polite and good boy. The child he's always wanted if it weren't for HER!! He even had his hair color he used to have when he was a living being like his darling son. Of course he would provide him with all he needs forever as no one else would, and besides his wonderful boy, their was those delightful girls and Snatcher. Snatcher was.....Ok. Being an inferior half of him but nevermind that. He would never know what those dears saw in him. And Hazelle was a nice lady, wonderful. Always knew her way around magic and was a good teacher for his timmy.

The fingers worked like magic knitting the red threads he could summon at will together in the beginnings of a scarf for..someone. He didn't know yet, it was just a nice hobby to pass the time in this vast plain of being while waiting for Timmy to return from his daily lessons with Hazelle. Especially since as of lately he wasn't really feeling up to going out much since that little incident with the tramatizing time piece and Snatcher's oh so splendid idea. He was SO glad to have been transported back here straight away after that, he couldn't BARE to even face Vanessa at any given moment or time. Let's just say he was more than happy to stay here far, FAR away from that crazy peckneck and listen to silence for a good long while. He was more than happy to spend his time knitting away and taking his time to go back out there again.

Click, click, click.

The spirit's red eyes and knitting fingers focused on the small scarf on hand, the only sounds being the clicking of those knitting needles and the chains permanantly clamped on his wrists....And the approuching small footsteps coming right for him. A smile gracing his pale features and those red eyes looking up without stopping those knitting hand.

"Welcome home, Timmy. Were you good while you were out?," the ghost asked the child as he casually walked up to him.

Timmy smiled and nodded. "You betcha! Had a real laugh today actually!"

A clawed, chained hand patted his head before the spirit turned back to his peaceful work. "Good boy. I'm so happy."

"Ran into Bow and Hattie too." He said watching as his ghostly guardian worked along. "They had this new lady with 'em. Never seen her before tho. She threw a Mafia right over her shoulder and dunked him like a ball in a basket, she did when he tried to punch her!"

"Oh really? Hm. That doesn't sound very lady like. " But he still smiled hearing one of those meatheaded brutes had gotten a taste of his own medicine. "But trying to punch a lady isn't very good either, so I guess he had it coming."

"Yeah! It was a real good show! Hattie said something about her being their new nanny or somethin'."

Click, click,click.

"...Oh?" He paused and looked down at him now catching his attention. Snatcher..got those little darlings a nanny? Snatcher? Well, well, well. It seems that shadow finally had a smart idea for once in his existance. Those girls could use someone to look after them when he was off calling everyone fools or doing some other ridiculous thing like that. The edgylord noodle. "Well it seems he had one good brainstorm out of all that hair."

"Mmhm." Timmy was still curiously watching as he went back to summoning threads outta no where and knitting them into something. The next thing he said was just a casual comment thrown into the conversation. "She seemed like a nice person. I think she said her name was Poppy. Like those pretty flowers growing in the Alpine Alps, yeah."

Click, click, cli-

Any limited sounds coming from the moving of the knitting needles and chains came to sudden abrupt halt at that one word. Timmy noticing the sudden stopping of motion from the ghost blinked and looked up at his face. His pale face was frozen staring blankly at his unmoving hands and those red eyes wide. After staring a few seconds into the abyss, Timmy was just about to ask him if he was ok, but the ghost slowly looked at him stopping that.

"Pardon me for asking, but.....Who did you say she was?"

"Uh...Poppy..I think." Timmy reached up to scratch his head. "I'm not sure. Wasn't paying much attention to be honest."

"Tell me, what did she look like?," he said rather quickly giving the boy his fool attention.

"Um..." Timmy crunched his face in thought. "..I don't remember much. Didn't spend much time there, but she was pale with long, red hair."

Moonjumper just stared at him wide eyed for a long silent moment. No......NO! It couldn't be!....Could it? There wasn't any possible way she-...Not after all these years. No. No it must've been some kind of weird strange coincidence. Some other long red haired pale lady sharing the same name. It was quite possible. There was a lot of Philips on his father's side of the family. There was a great chance of a woman with her characteristics having the same name. It couldn't be even remotely slightly possible......Could it?

"Hey. Are you alright there?"

He blinked. "Uh...Y-Yes. Thank you.....But...Please, tell me all you can about this lady?"

#the snatcher #snatcher x florist #Snatcher x the florist #A hat in time snatcher x florist #a hat in time snatcher x the florist #The Florist #florist #florist x snatcher #a hat in time florist #A hat in time the florist #A hat in time the florist x snatcher #A hat in time florist x snatcher #a hat in time snatcher #flowercrown #a bloom in time

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another-f-ing-imagine-blog · 3 years

Text

Imagine if Stephen Strange were your (god)dad

{considering the whole multiverse madness let's spice it up} //also sorry not meant to be tied to faith. I am personally agnostic but thought this could be a cool story. Plz enjoy muah//

A bright red flashed through your eyes as you felt immense pain run through you. Not only was it mourning but the pain of being controlled. You felt as if your mind twisted and bended.. then you finally woke up. You wonder what atrocities you felt before they begun but felt lost. Not only were you blocked from your dream but quickly memorized the surrounding confirming it's originality.

You felt as if you were in multiple world's as once but nowhere close to the disassociation you knew too well.

A new one to these special arts shared by the protectors of earth you felt overwhelmed and asked your higher up (and God father) for insight.

He'd hate this but you genuinely saw him similar to master yoda... All knowing but without the fall of the Jedi? Psh anyways.

As you walked over to his quarters with his classic cape sassing you at the door you felt a rush of pain. Worse than the mourning you've experienced it felt as if your heart both twisted in wickedness and grief.

Stephen looked at you strangely as the moment passed. Little did he realized for you it was an eternity, the heart shattering pain almost like a porcelain vase crumbling to pieces. As all pain and grief you coped with flooded your body you could hear the sadness in a voice wishing to right things wrong.

As soon as you snapped back to reality Stephen looked at you he closed a book and asked for the Intel on magic folks in the western area. How many and who all? You had no clue as you felt overwhelmed by the emotions you once coped with...

" um... God doc... I uh... I feel so sad... Not only do I feel immense pain but... I feel twisted. Almost like what once was is no longer... I don't understand how one person could have this much power" you said in almost a muffle. Not only did you feel the shifts of your special universe but the shifts in time and history itself. In contradiction to the belief of multiple universes, you had felt the disruption of multiple in a moment.

" um... God doc I.. feel like I'm living 3 lives as once. I... This can't be real.." you muttered as another flash begun.

While you were in trance doctor strange asked you questions about your surroundings and whomst you are. As he memorized you every word you felt your earth return.

" I'm. I. I'm sorry sir... I feel like I'm a tv show... Almost like a goldfish trying to escape through elborate tricks..as I.. drown in the water... I... I... Cant-" you said as you shot back to reality. Feeling drunk you rubbed your eyes. should I go back there to understand this misery or let it be?

Before you could question yourself your God father pat you on the shoulder and asked the location..

"oh young y/n... That's because it is more than one person... Now we're off to find a witch and mischief maker"

Was this only a dream and nightmare or a truth you had missed...or maybe the true future you seek.

#dr strange #x reader #marvel imagine #stephen strange

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tokoyamisstuff · 4 years

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Protector - Bucky x Reader

Synopsis: Your boyfriend Bucky Barnes has his own ways of supporting your musical career.

Warnings: Angst, Violence, Bullying

Words: ~4000

A/N: I think this is a good opportunity to tell you that you can always reach out to me, no matter what. If you guys are experiencing any kind of emotional distress, don't hesitate to text me 24/7!

You are not alone. You are loved. You deserve better!💌

Some mornings, Bucky would feel like a bag of bricks when waking up. Most of the time he’d just laugh it off as being “a hundred year old man, after all.”

And today was no different.

He groaned when he felt the phantom pain kicking in, involuntarily waking him up before the sun even rose. The metal plates in his arm turned as he cracked his bones, trying to get his body to listen to him.

After getting the sand out of his eyes, your boyfriend finally turned around - just to be disappointed when he found your bedplace to be empty again.

He knew exactly where you are.

Well, morning cuddles with you were almost impossible due to the strict training schedule you put upon yourself.

It was kinda sad, since you were the only reason Bucky was able to sleep soundly again, without being interrupted by hellish nightmares. Yet you were already up way earlier than a goddamn elite soldier.

To not disturb you, Bucky would stagger to the bathroom first, taking a shower as he heared the “Moonlight Sonata” echoing through the whole house.

When you were playing, your boyfriend couldn’t help but to at least hum the melody, no matter when. His silent voice turned into a loud whistling as he enjoyed a hot shower, before striding to the kitchen.

His enhanced hearing allowed him to experience music in a whole new way - and goddamn it, the way you produced pure art on this piano was unlike anything he had ever heared.

The pace, the rythm, the fact that you never missed one note let alone emphasize the right tones...

Everything was simply perfection.

Especially the way you gave old classics your own twist. It was admirable to have such talent, he thought.

He used his super-soldier powers to sneak up to you playing way too often, as he did today, leaning to the doorframe which led to the living toom, munching on a cereal bar to reveal himself.

For some reason, you didn’t like him or anyone else to listen to you play, humbly stating that you were still way too bad to have any audience.

And that was the one thing bothering him as he scanned your face: You didn’t seem like you were enjoying it at all.

Quite the opposite, actually. The only thing he could see was a tired, strained musician.

Well, artists were always stressed. They were special persons, after all. It was hard to understand them fully, as they often didn’t even understand themselves.

“Music is the art of self-discovery” you once told him, almost tempting him to learn an instrument himself.

And your music was the most soothing thing that ever graced his ear, so shouldn’t you be enjoying it, too?

Today, you didn’t even seem to notice him, that was just how invested you were in your work.

Well, it wasn’t simply a hobby. It was your dream. And he knew just how hard you were working on it ever since you were a child.

Bucky was eager to support you in any way possible, giving you what you needed and trying not to be all too clingy. You needed space sometimes, no matter how much it pained him.

“Good morning, babycakes” he hummed loving, interrupting your trance. James would put his arms around you from behind, quickly pressing a kiss in your hair. “Up so early again, I see?”

Eventually your stony expression would falter and you gave in to his touch, leaning against his bulky chest as you blinked rapidly between still narrowed eyes. A weak “Hi...” was all that escaped your lips.

“You look tired. How long have you been up?”

Things would only get worse the closer that certain date would come “I’m still not good enough…” you stammered, elbows leaning on the tiles and releasing a horrifying sound. “Far away from acceptable, even…”

You already snapped out of it, forgetting your exhaustion and getting ready to start again - but Bucky would softly grab your wrist, putting his other hand under your chin so you would finally look at him.

“Doll, you know that’s not right. You’re amazing! Everyone says so!”

“What would they know.” You instantly regretting that sentence. He meant your friends, after all. “I-I mean, it’s nice and all, but they aren’t professionals. And Thomas says-”

“Shh.” Bucky began to rub small circles on your back until he got to your stiffened neck, carefully massaging it. Your voice sounded so full of self-hatred that even Bucky had to swallow.

As much as he knew you valued his opinion, Thomas was top notch. Anyone elses opinion meant very little in comparison with the best teacher in New York.

He had trained many of the biggest pianists in the world, and you dreamed so very dearly to become one of them.

Bucky was good at reading people, and he had that feeling from the very beginning: That your teacher was an asshole.

But every time he tried to find out more about your lessons with him you’d completely block his attempts or defend that guy.

“He’s my only chance to become better than myself. And he even planned that gig for me. I owe him!”

James bit his cheek until he felt blood coming- Fuck it. He knew just how important that concert was for you and your career. And he’d be damned if he ruined it by being overly protective.

But it was putting a stroll on his heart, too, seeing you that way even though he thought you to deserve nothing but happiness.

Since you helped him to accept his past and love himself again - through loving and helping others. Through loving you, to be precize.

And now he was here, helpless at how to assist you in that time of need.

Right now, he didn’t feel like a hero in the slightest.

So he simply shuffled down on the seat next to you, clumsily starting to play a part of “For Elise”.

That whole time through, you wouldn’t move a muscle as you stared at his big hands with an open mouth. It wasn’t really what one would call well played, but it was a surprise nonetheless.

“Where-”

“My parents” he already started explaining, “They were never quite fond of me becoming a soldier. Considering everything that happened, I should’ve probably listened to them.”

He chuckled, shyly and dumbly as he’d always do when he made a joke that dark, and your glare changed into a compassionate one. Buck didn’t like you pitying him, but he knew it was to no avail.

You’d always care about him. And that wasn’t so bad, after all. He was a lucky man.

“Well, they wanted me to learn something else than the way of hurting and killing people. Bringing them joy, you know? Be sophisticated.” He shrugged, then kept on as his fingers ghosted over the tiles, then wandering to your knee to squeeze the flesh of your leg.

“It was great to impress woman, hehe.” You weren’t really fond when he was talking about his time as a womanizer, yet you loved seeing him reminisce in easier, happier times. “I may be a lunk, but I have one or two asses up my sleeve. I never liked playing at all, but now...It’s the only way to feel connected to my parents. My heritage.”

“Darling...” you sniffled, weakly snuggling up to his chest just to feel his fastened heartbeat. When he put his strong arms around you, it was like all the problems of the world couldn’t affect you any more.

You felt safe.

“Never doubt yourself again” he demanded, silently whispering into your ear after an eternity of enjoying this closeness in complete silence.

With him, you were finally able to relax. And it didn’t take you long until your body gave in, falling asleep as he gently stroked your head and covered you in the most tender kisses.

“I love you, Y/N. And I’m very proud of you.”

...

It was already noon when you awokened, much to your surprise in your bed. Seems like Bucky carried you there.

For a moment, a wide smile stretched over your face as you took in his scent that was present in the sheets.

“Fuck!”

Bucky knew what was going on before you even got downstairs.

“I’m way too late!” you yelled at him, running around in only your underwear, carrying a huge pile of clothes and make-up to the bathroom to get ready. “Why didn’t you wake me up?!”

Your boyfriend did nothing but chuckle at how easily irritated you got when you were stressed, then facing the stove again when you locked the bathroom door behind you.

Loud music jammed out of the radio, and before the song was even finished, you took a seat, being all ready. “You cooked?”

“Everything for you, doll.” When he turned around, Buck was wearing a huge ‘Kiss the Cook’-apron, making you almost choke at your drink out of laughter. “Well, if that isn’t a cliché.”

“A man from the 40′s doing the housework is a cliché?” he mocked as he placed your favourite food on the table, gifting you the most heartwarming smile. “Well, I want to help you wherever I can.”

“You’re simply the best!” you told him between munching quickly, “Sorry that we don’t get to spend much time together, lately.”

“I enjoy every minute, doll. Even if I just listen to you play. As long as I fall asleep next to you, I couldn’t be happier.”

God, he was so sweet all the time. It only caused your guilt to skyrocket.

As soon as the concert was over, you would gift him that holiday on Tenerife as you had planned to! Just the two of you, all alone on a romantic trip, sipping drinks at the beach...

You really needed a time off.

“Lost in thoughts again?”

“No. But I need to go now.” You were already standing up after having devoured that lovely prepared meal in record time, putting on your boots and jacket.

“Doll, you know I can simply drop you out the-”

“Never!” you blurted out, then quite embarassed getting a hold of yourself. “I-I mean it’s fine. You have other things to do, right?”

Of course he had not. It wasn’t even a fifteen minute ride from here. But he didn’t want to pry, so he just sat there with crossed arms, sighing deeply.

“Fine. But I get my goodbye-kiss, right?”

Racing towards him to peck his whole face, hoping it would suffer for the time you were away, you murmured “Love you” and rushed out of the door as quickly as always, leaving the love of your life alone with all of his worries.

Little did you know that the master spy had a plan of his own:

Today, he was gonna find out.

...

“Can’t you do anything fucking right?!”

You flinched at Thomas words, but kept on playing the best you knew how. He dramatically threw his hands into the air, cussing under his breath.

It hadn’t even be three minutes until his first outburst, even though you only played “Flight of the Bumblebee” as a warmup - and in a pace that would even make the composer envious.

But after so many months training, you were already quite used to his ragefits.

“You play this as slow as a snail, for fucks sake!” he added, only making you more nervous with every step he came closer.

“Did I allow you to stop?!” your teacher yelled, slamming his balled fists onto the wooden piano. “Can’t you even do the basics? God…”

You quickly rubbed your face and started all over, wondering why he took you as apprentice in the first place.

If you were that bad, why would he make you play in front of a great audience this Saturday?

But well, you were just too kind-hearted and naive. You thought this was just his method of motivating his pupils to become even better.

“You look terrible. Aren’t you embarassed?! How can I present you to my colleagues if you look like a homeless? Shit!”

He was kinda right. You took the firs things in your wardrobe so you wouldn’t get too late. Thomas hated it, and you were afraid of the punishment And then the messy hair and dark rings under your eyes...

“I’m just a litte sleep deprived” you explained calmly. “I trained the whole night, so-”

Thomas bursting laughter interrupted you, and he’d even wipe a tear out of his face while doing so. “You trained yourself?”

His voice became more grim now, and he got so close that the stinging smell of his aftershave tainted your nose. “Do you think you can train on your own? You’re nothing without me! Get that in your head!”

Your eyes widened with fear when he opened your bag, puling out some scribbles. “And this! Don’t think I didn’t notice you were composing on your own.”

“Plea-” The words dissolved into nothing but a whimper when you saw Thomas ripping apart all of your attempts, everything you’ve worked so proudly on. And he didn’t even read or listened to them...

“You think you’re some hot shit, huh? I told you to stick to the fucking notes! No one wants to hear your version to old classics of the greatest!”

Pressing himself against the piano, he said “I heard you even have a boyfriend. What poor being has to spend his time with you? Or is he a freak, like you?”

Right now, the image of Bucky in your head was the only thing that kept you sane.

“Yeah” you sniffled, even managing to crack a smile when you remembered how uplifting and supportive he was all this time. “He is a freak. The best kind of.”

A loud noise snapped you out of it.

It took you a while to realize what had just happened, but the burning sensation on your cheek, heat rising in the skin told the whole story.

Thomas had slapped you.

“Get that stupid grin out of your face!” He wouldn’t even apologize. It never stopped, wouldn’t it? And you were too weak to fight back, the only thing you were able to do was holding back the tears who were already collecting in the rim of your eyes. “We’re not in kindergarden! Get yourself together!”

"Stop. It. Right. Now…” a menacing but familiar voice called out from the back.

Oh no.

It was Bucky.

“Babe!” you blurted out, running right to him as he was nearing your teacher with firm steps. “H-how much di-did you hear?”

“Enough” he muttered under heavy breaths, shooting an icy glare to Thomas who was still ranting on about how your boyfriend got in here and starting to insult both of you.

His mechanical arm was well hidden under his fabric, yet even if he wasn’t the Winter Soldier anymore, you could feel how he air around him had changed.

This was dangerous.

You needed to de-escaalate this situation - otherwise there’d be a disaster.

“Please.”

Your voice was more than enough to calm him down. But he didn’t understand why you would still protect this cheap excuse of a man.

His eyes wandered down to your shivering from, grabbing on his shirt and whispering “You promised me...Never again.”

Bucky gnarled his teeth, still clenching and unclenching his fists, thinking about how he wouldn’t even need weapons to give that guy what he deserved.

But he couldn’t do this to you.

If that was your wish, it’d be his command.

“Let’s just go home, okay?” You cupped his cheeks in your hands, softly brushing his lips with yours to make him calm down. “Don’t become a monster again. Not because of me. I couldn’t live with that.”

Those words really hit his heart like a bullet never could.

“Allright.” His voice was still dark and gruffed, almost as if he was about to cry at any moment.

He gulped harshly, to remove the lump out of his throat, squeezing your small hand way too hard when the two of you turned around and left - but it was alright. You could bear with it.

Thomas had no idea what kind of wrath he just put on himself, neither what had happened just now. Yet it was in his nature to say more than good for him, so he kept on pouring oil in the fire.

“Yeah, and you never need to come back here, you maniacs!”

One last time, without you noticing because you were too busy crying, Bucky turned around to look at your teacher. And the look in his eyes told him everything he needed to know, pulling shivers down his spine.

This wasn’t over. The last word had not yet been spoken.

…

After the two of you made your way home, you would finally tell him the whole story: About the bullying, the abuse - the violence.

And Bucky felt like the worst partner that had ever been.

How could he not have noticed?

No - it was way worse than that.

He did notice. He knew the entire time, yet he turned a blind eye to the situation at hand.

Why hasn’t he tried to find out?

It was so obvious now. All of your reactions, the excuses. The bruises on your body, telling him you had tripped.

How you cried yourself to sleep sometimes, telling him it was just the stress.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. So sorry...” Tears pattered down his face as he watched your sleeping form, covering you in the blanket.

One last time, he would brush your cheek, placing a kiss on the very same spot before he disappeared.

Because he had a mission that couldn’t be delayed.

It wasn’t all that late, but already dark, due to it being winter. And Bucky couldn’t help to remember how often you ‘forgot your jacket’ after your lessons, walking home in the freezing cold. Was that another one of his punishments?

That man would have to suffer. He’d finish him, take him down for good, he-

No. He promised you: No crimes, no murder - and as tempting as it was, no torture either.

The way to Thomas music school wasn’t that long, but Bucky sure took his time, kicking every stone while pondering just how he could make that bastard pay for what he had done to you.

Not once it came to his mind that you could’ve cheated on him, yet he always wondered why you wouldn’t take him to those piano lessons.

Now he knew, and it was hard to bear with it.

Because you were experiencing horrifying things this whole time, while he was enjoying himself in the safety of your shared home.

That was inexcusable, for him as weil as for Thomas.

Meanwhile, Thomas was the last one in the building, having carefully put together the ripped pages.

“Incredible. Magnificent!” he was talking to himself, playing some of the notes you had written. “One masterpiece after another. If I lable them as my own, that’ll be my second breakthrough after so many years of not producing anything!”

Bucky huffed. It was obvious that your teacher was just envious of you already being more talented than he ever was.

“That stupid bitch is so easily to control. I’ll-”

At that very second, Thomas felt a blade being pressed to his neck, already cutting the first, thin skin layer. He was standing in front of a giant mirror, making him able to see his own blood slowly dripping down his skin.

He began to hyperventilate, trying to grab the arms of his attacker - but to no avail.

While Thomas was struggling, James could see himself in the mirror. It was the first time in years hat he was fully geared, even wearing his muffle again.

You were right. The person in the mirror wasn’t him.

Yet it was a part of him. His dark side.

And he could control it. To do the right thing.

“Move, and I will kill you. Make a sound, and I will kill you. Try to fight or fool me, and I will kill you.”

Oh, he could basically see how that man was almost pissing himself, and he had to keep himself from laughing about it. Yet he kept a straight face, seeing how Thomas listened to every of his commands.

All of a sudden, it was all quiet. Thomas wouldn’t even flinch or cry.

“If you understood what I just said, slowly close your eyes.” And so he did, sweating heavily.

“Not all that mighty now, huh? Do you know who I am? If you do, open them again.”

Thomas was a piece of shit, obviously, but he wasn’t stupid. So he wouldn’t do anything.

“Good” Bucky grumbled, balling a fist in the mans hair. “Since you have no idea just what I am. Now listen: You’ve never seen me. You won’t go to he police. You won’t talk about this at all. No one can help you.”

“Wh-what do you-” Smack. One of his teeth flew as soon as Buckys metal backhand hit his cheek.

“I didn’t allow you to speak, pig. I wanted to wipe that obnoxious grin out of your face, you trash. Or should I cut off your hands, so you can never play again?”

His blade was gliding over Thomas body, leaving marks everywhere. “I should make you as ugly on the outside as you are inside...” He wanted to scream in pure terror, but his survival instinct kicked in, telling him to stay silent. Yet his heart was racing so loudly against his chest that it could be heared from afar.

“Anyway: I promise you, I’ll find you anywhere on this world and make you wish you were dead. Not even god will help you, then.”

Bucky threw the whimpering man to the ground, slamming his combat boot just an inch away from his face, leaving that man a shaking and screaming mess.

“Never show your filthy face to us ever again.”

...

It was the night of your concert, and you were as nervous as never before.

Ever since that day, Thomas had disappeared into nothingness, but Bucky assured you that he was alive. You just knew he had something to do with this - but you trusted him.

He was your protector, after all. And you were already feeling guilty enough for not telling him. It took you forever to convince him that he had done nothing wrong.

Just your luck that the descendants of Buckys old piano teacher were still leading that school, welcoming you with open arms.

Finally, your passion for music was enjoyable again. Life was so much easier after you had opened up to Bucky. Something like that would never happen ever again.

“I am so proud of you, Y/N.”

His words gave you strength and confidence. And when the curtain dropped, you felt as if you had been born ready.

All of your friends were sitting in the first row, with Bucky already clapping before you even started, a giant pack of roses on his lap to throw in your direction later.

He was simply baffled by the way you looked in that formal wear, beautiful as always. But the most important thing: You finally looked happy again. Relaxed, content with yourself and everything else.

Sitting down in front of that magnificent piano, you felt everyones glares being stuck on your every move. Calmly sipping on a glass of water, you cleared your throat.

“The following song I composed myself.”

Everyone was curious about what song you would’ve chosen for your great debut.

“I wrote it for the most important person in my life.” At that moment, Buckys and your eyes met, and you felt yourself melting at his passion.

That was for him. For everything you’ve gone through and experienced together.

And everything that would happen in the future you shared.

“I love you.”

As you began to play your song, fingers dancing over the tiles, you tried to pour all the love you felt for this man into your music, honoring his very existence and the fact that he came into your life.

He was your muse.

And you meant everything to him.

_______

Taglist:

@bepo-is-sorry @fuckthatfeeling@anythingandeverythingmarvel@bucky-fanfiction @blondekel77@kaneki-fuentes @vxidnik@antboyandbumbblebee @lokis-queen05@you-like-this-chain@hiei1300 @lilypalmer1987 @andiyholly@elevenismysweetie@uwu-sebastianstan @seasidespecter @you-like-this-chain @your-pixels-are-showing @wildefire @elfprincess81@escapetheshackles@jellyfishflowers @look-to-the-stars-and-wish@bucky-to-my-barnes @tarithenurse @chennyetomlinson @kenzie-cold-greenkale@jaylarkson @doa1518 @wtfholland @thisgirllikeme@awesome-fangirl-334 @pvnk-bivch @chipilerendi @mandei355@buckybonky@commissioner23 @remember-padfood @chibiyanai@lost-and-wandering-alone @outcastedghost @cautrida@inumorph@meyoko10 @stargurl16 @trashyemonerd@slutforbuckybarnes@tinytravisty @unknownuserhasjoined@otaku-tater@hiddlestoner3059 @tom-fucking-hiddleston-1981@lust-for-pan@fruityflies @iamburdened @death-beetles@shaunamart @fire-in-her-veinz @red-writer13 @libbymouse@lokiscure @i-am-always-famished @alexa4444 @4-a-m @indica-witch @lou-makes-me-strong @phasma-trash @hiddlestoner3059@rocknroll-is-thewaytogo @purpstraw @lovelyangelofasgard@elevenismysweetie@orighami @trashkidsblog @the-resident-demon @littlemartiangurl@thelowkeylokifanblog @za24ever@trubluepensfan @chibiyanai@dsakita @lady-loki-ren@caticorndancingonpainbows @loving-life-my-way@crappyimagines @a-kiddo-with-a-doggo @elwyn7@celestiacq@amor67figment-love @tom-fucking-hiddleston-1981@sweetpeaismylifenow @stanmarvelcu@thewordsinthesky@larryopium @hiei1300 @janepetersonxxx @untoldshortsofthefandoms @lokis-queen05 @saxgirl21 @limedane21 @sparkling-gayyy @lokiscure @getdowntothatfunkysound @emyhonny @randomfandompenguin @marvel-madness @dyanlzbb @inumorph @gian-giannina@chipilerendi @pseudonymfox @neptinite-writings @cautrida@kaneki-fuentes @exhaustedcommonsense @theicecreamhero@killerbumblebee @tarithenurse @sgtbucharest @lokis-helmet@wonderlandteaparty @sweetpeaismylifenow @bionicbishop @red-writer13 @bloodiedskirtts @boohooiamthefool @jackstrenchcoat@chipilerendi @sleeplessnight-pointlessfights @welcomingpayne@crimefightingspiderguy @longlivethereaper @a-wanna-be-emo@lokidoki-e @holy-loki @slutforbuckybarnes @mandei355 @morefics2read @otaku-tater @khatrinaarts @grincheveryday @jessiejunebug @youtxbemusic

If you want to get on the taglist (or deleted from lmao) feel free to ask! ♡

Feedback is always appreciated!

#Bucky x You #BuckyxReader #Bucky x Reader #BuckyxYou #Bucky/Reader #Bucky/You #Marvel #Avengers #Winter Soldier #White Wolf #Bucky #Bucky Barnes #James Buchanan Barnes #Fanfiction #Writing #The threatening scene is heavily influenced by HxH #I just thought it was fitting

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nursmind · 3 years

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| I'm Home |

https://www.google.com/amp/s/hbr.org/amp/2020/03/the-case-for-reading-fiction

P.s: Article above tells you why you should start reading fictions. Most non-fiction readers I know aren't visual type readers so you might not like this change and it's fine really, this is just to encourage our visual-readers to continue reading their fictions and feel good and proud doing so :D (cough there's stigma surrounding fiction readers and we shouldn't pretend like it doesn't exist thus this is a big 'shut up, you're not better' to those plastering said stigma around cough)

Once upon a time, I was an avid reader. I preferred books than movies. I preferred my head than what I can actually see. I preferred lives... (Double meaning wink2)

Until I stopped.

I know exactly why I did. But it's no one's fault really. I was simply in a process of learning what's best for me.

I was a reader. But not a non-fictional ones, I don't prefer being bombarded with facts after facts, spoon-fed and told things in a little too objective-like ways or told to feel certain ways. I'm a reader who lives through the situations, my characters, my worlds - someone who processes situations at hands with millions thoughts and feelings, do not tell me stuff - show them, someone who goes through what I read with a mind that knows it's going to be twisted and turned and changed and not foretold which direction it's going.

Being thrown points after points feels too straightforward more times than not, making me unable to use my imagination-base reading skills effectively for the lack of description in non-fictions. There's also the fact that I read to live through different bodies, mindsets and personalities. In fictions, I'm not the colour I am, not the personality I am, not the gender I am etc. And fictions don't tell about one type of character, it tells about many characters at once. And this is how I learn about perspectives.

Fictions are unique in that they are not shaping one thought-flow but many others, and they even change somewhere in. One story is interpreted many ways based on how much the writer shows (not tell) in their characters.

From fictions I read, I live. And thus I wrote. I wrote stories about how a child mourned her passed mother, the only person who managed to love her being whole - monstrous and beautiful, I wrote stories about how a misfit who has so much love to offer but no one to receive found eternal love in her God, I wrote stories about how a father who broke his child atoned - how he never said sorry but he stayed when everyone left.

But then came the belief in me that reading fictions gave no benefits and it's not what intelligent people prefer and I wanted to be intelligent so no, not fictions then!

This belief was then strengthened by the fact that English fictions which I've always preferred aren't sharia-compliance.

I didn't realize though, me stopping myself from reading fictions had cause me to avoid reading overall. Biggest reading-block of my whole life. With avoidance of reading, I couldn't write stories anymore. My words naturally grew curt and cold, unsuited for storytelling.

But because I'm also an avid writer, I felt lost. I don't prefer non-fiction writing still (lol) but I was also unable to write stories. I don't prefer telling but I also wasn't able to fully show. I don't prefer facts-listing but I also wasn't able to convey situations.

Then Allah showed me poems.

I was happy. I could read and create again. With my lacking storytelling skill though, I subconsciously adapted ambiguity so I could still show situations and make mind gears work. Exactly the reason I create this type of arts in the first place.

Sadly though, it's not enough... And nothing will be.

Once upon a time I was an avid reader. And I came back home to it. I started reading fictions again. I started living lives again. And guess what? Suddenly the reading block I experienced with no way out was lifted bit by bit and I actually enjoy reading non-fictions a little more now after letting myself read fictions. Insert a big laughing out loud here. I learned so many things from that whole seemingly unnecessary process though. Not gonna tell you much, because I already showed them to you (or did I? Lol, told you my writing skill had gone south).

If you are like me, continue reading your fictions but know where to skip or stop. Again, know where to skip or stop. We read to live and create lives, do not by any means make it the reason our soul dies out instead. Souls die little by little when we cross the limit Allah puts out. :) And we need our souls to write. Remember to also vary what you read. Mix the genres, mix the writers, mix! No reading from ONLY cis het white authors, no reading from only white men especially lol and in fact, avoid! Them and miso-g-ny are two peas in a pod! (Not surprised, are we?)

Happy reading!

Wallahua'lam.

#writing #fiction #muslim

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impala-dreamer · 5 years

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Another Life

SPN FanFic

~Y/N remembers Castiel to a very important new life.~

Castiel x Reader, Mentions of Sam and Dean

974 Words

Warnings: Bittersweet Angst

A/N: For my Fic Imitating Art Challenge! Art and title by @mariekoukie6661 and fic by me :) Hope you enjoy!

~ Feedback is Gold ~ My Masterlist ~ Become A Patreon ~

She liked to sit in the cemetery on a blanket beneath the big angel statue. It was stone and cliche, but it was close enough. If only they made statues with trench coats.

Y/N took a deep breath and leaned back, settling on her arms behind her. Her fingertips brushed the grass and she stretched them out happily. Some might find it a morbid thing to do, hanging out in cemeteries, picnicking with the monuments, but Y/N found it comforting. She rested there beneath the aged stone, occasionally picking out a crack to follow to its source, but mostly just being there, close, safe.

Most days she talked out loud, letting the faint wind carry her whispers through the gravestones. She wove tales of bravery, of terror, of love. The statues listened intently and the sunset dimmed the world to set the mood.

Of all the beings she had encountered, human and supernatural alike, he had to be the most amazing. Perhaps it was the fact that, in meeting him, all of her childhood prayers we validated, knowing there really was a god. But it was something more. He was the most amazing thing Y/N had ever seen and from the first moment they met, his name echoed in her soul.

Castiel.

His blue eyes burned bright with Grace that could barely be contained. Often sad or confused, but she liked to think they looked happy when he cast them upon her.

The first time she kissed him, Cas had kept his eyes open, the blue deepening to a cobalt as Y/N surprised him with her tongue. Big hands lifted to frame her face as she massaged his lips with hers, breathing into his mouth like he was the only thing keeping her alive.

Castiel had never experienced such a kiss and he watched closely as her eyes fluttered beneath her lids, lashes subtly twitching, body still but every atom in motion. He felt her push against him, felt her blood pulsing under her skin, heart racing, electrical impulses firing in her mind. He could see her very soul in that kiss and it knocked him for a loop.

She pulled back with a smile, biting the last taste of him from her bottom lip. “Hi,” she said stupidly, lost to the moment and the look of infatuation in his eyes.

“You’re trembling,” he whispered, deep voice cracking over each word.

“I’m in love.” She blushed, cheeks burning beneath his fingertips. “I love you, Castiel.”

He took the leap this time, finally closing his eyes as their lips met, blocking out the universe and every other thought except how good it felt to taste her like this.

Angels weren’t supposed to fall in love, not with humans, not with anything. And yet, he knew he could never let her go.

The air grew a little bit colder, the sky a little bit darker, but Y/N wasn’t ready to leave just yet. She shrugged on her sweater, pulling it tight across her chest, and crossed her legs as she sat up and watched the light flicker through the trees.

A gentle breeze caught her by surprise, the sudden surge of air making her gasp and bring it deep inside. She liked to imagine him on the wind, his Grace reaching out from far away to comfort her. She closed her eyes and let it wash across her face, that sweet caress of the autumn wind.

“You can’t go!” Y/N screamed, voice echoing through the Bunker halls as Castiel walked away, trench coat flapping defiantly behind him.

He turned, polished heel squeaking on the tile. He rushed back to her, face aflame with frustration and worry. “I have to go. Dean needs me.”

Y/N’s chest burned. “We need you,” she cried. Hot tears spilled but were ignored, no caring thumbs reaching up to wipe them away, no sleeve given in comfort. “Please, Cas. I have a bad feeling about this.”

He softened for a moment and put his hand on the back of her neck, drawing her closer. Their foreheads met and his blue eyes fell closed. Just a moment of peace between them. “You always have a bad feeling, Y/N. Trust me, everything will be fine.”

The lie was in his kiss and in her heart as she nodded and let him go.

Y/N rubbed her belly as she spoke, whispering stories of Castiel to his unborn daughter as they sat in the cemetery beneath a poor representation of the warrior she knew.

“I told him I hope you have his eyes, but he didn’t understand.” She laughed at the memory of Castiel’s nose scrunching up in confusion. “They were so blue, little one. So blue. Like the sky.”

Another breeze touched her face, lifting the hair back from her eyes and she smiled.

“Daddy’s up in the sky, little one. Up in Heaven.”

The baby kicked hard and Y/N groaned as a web of pain wrapped tight around her middle. It was getting close. Sam wouldn’t let her sneak away to sit with the dead much longer.

“I’ll be up there soon,” she said softly, massaging the ache in her lower back. “Very soon.”

The nephallium fluttered in her belly and Y/N laughed. “Yes, and you’ll be out and about. I wish I could see you grow up, but I know you’ll be beautiful and strong. I know you’ll be good for Uncle Sam. He needs a friend right now, especially with me leaving.” Tears formed but Y/N choked them back. “He’s lost so much. We all have.”

Orange and pink filled the sky as the sun took its final bow, slipping silently behind the treeline.

“But don’t be sad, little one,” she smiled. “We’ll all be together again. In another life.”

2019 Forever Tags:

@akshi8278 @amanda-teaches @arses21434 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @because-imma-lady-assface @burningcoffeetimetravel @colagirl5 @cosicas-cuquis @cosmicfire72 @courtney-elizabeth-winchester @covered-byroses @crashdevlin @dean-winchesters-bacon @deansenwackles @deansgirl215 @deanmonandnegansbitch @dolphincliffs @dubuforeveralone @emilyshurley @emoryhemsworth @ericaprice2008 @eternal-elir @feelmyroarrrr @flamencodiva @focusonspn @gayspacenerd @hella-aj-the-trickers-son @herbologystudent252 @hobby27 @ilsawasanacrobat @justcallmeasmodeus @katymacsupernatural @lastactiontricia @maddiepants @mariekoukie6661 @meganwinchester1999 @missjenniferb @mrswhozeewhatsis @mysticmaxie @onethirstyunicorn @our-jensen-ackles-love @peridot-rose @pisces-cutie @risingphoenix761 @roonyxx @roxyspearing @sandlee44 @shadowkat-83 @spnbaby-67 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @spnficgirl @supernaturaldean67 @supernatural-took-me-over @thehardcoveraddict @tmiships4life @wegoddessofhell @winchesterprincessbride

#spn fanfic #castiel x reader #angst #fia challenge round1 #one shot

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nekoabiwrites · 5 years

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Paint Me

So, I’ve been on a huge Starkid kick recently and just been reliving how much I adore them. Especially I’ve been watching their more recent shows and Firebringer is one that’s grown on me a lot. I heard Paint Me once again a few days ago and was just hit with sudden inspiration that it’s Royality. So... here it is :D

Song here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ips7iVK_Tx8

AU: Human Pairing: Royality Words: 2291 Warnings: Nothing. Let me know if there is anything!

Summary: Roman is a struggling artist dealing with artist block. Maybe a new addition to his life can help him out and that stranger that’s knocking at his door may just be that...

----

For an entire eternity , Roman had been experiencing the worst bought of artist’s block he’d ever encountered in his life. He would walk into his ‘studio’ – the small spare room in his apartment that had just enough space for all the things he needed to store in there – and recoil at the blank canvas that sat there. It felt as though it was mocking the artist, taunting him every time. It got to the point where, for the first time, Roman shut the door to the room in order to avoid seeing it every day.

It had gone on for what felt like months, not a single idea was coming to his mind. Even when he attempted to do something utterly spontaneous, Roman ended up despising the piece and threw it out of his window into the conveniently placed dumpster below.

He’d been sitting with his head in his hands on his couch after that, wallowing in his own self pity and silence, when a knock at the door roused him. With a grunt of effort, Roman pushed himself off the couch and attempted to make himself look a little presentable before opening the door.

Time stopped as soon as Roman looked through the doorframe.

Standing in front of his apartment door was the most beautiful human he’d ever seen. The soft roundness of his face giving off an air of innocence that was only bolstered by the smattering of freckles dotting his cheeks. His eyes were a rich brown, contrasting the lighter colour of his hair gorgeously. It was almost as though Roman were falling into those eyes as he continued to stare.

The stranger wasn’t doing much better as he was also standing and staring, his soft-looking lips parted slightly in what seemed like awe. Roman could just about make out that the man was holding something in his hands, but he didn’t want to take a second away from those eyes in order to find out what it was.

And then the man outside his apartment spoke and Roman was entirely smitten, if he wasn’t already before. His voice was soft and light, almost giving it a fairy-like quality and it was entrancing Roman with every word, though he realised once the man stopped talking that he’d not taken in a single word.

Roman coughed slightly, “Oh, sorry… I was, lost in thought. What did you say?”

The stranger flushed slightly, his cheeks gathering a dusting of pink that complimented him so well, “I was just, uh, well… I saw this fall out of the window, because I was walking past and it was pretty hard to miss, what with all the colours and such. Um, and I just, I had to take a look, y’know? And when I did, I had to come and find whoever painted it because it’s just so… so pretty!”

The object in the man’s hands was then turned to Roman, who finally glanced away from the man’s face. Immediately, he grimaced, “It’s kind of you to offer such nice words but… it is absolutely hideous. I would know, I made it.”

“We are our worst critics, y’know. I think it’s wonderful!” The painting was turned back around, and the stranger’s eyes traced it, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he did so. “It’s just so colourful and, uh, well, pretty!” The man laughed, a sound that almost had Roman grasping onto the door as his body wanted to dramatically throw himself to his knees because of it. “I’m sorry, I don’t know much about art, but I know when I like something!”

Roman smiled charmingly, “In that case, it’s yours to keep. Considering I was only going to throw it out anyway.”

The stranger’s eyes seemed to sparkle as he gasped and hugged the canvas close to his chest – Roman would be lying if he were to say that he wasn’t jealous of an inanimate object in that moment, “Are you sure?! I-I can’t just take it! Surely there is something I can give you in return!”

There it was. Roman’s chance. He turned on his charm and made eye contact yet again, “Well, if you are so insistent, there might be something that would suffice.” Roman leant on the doorframe, leaning just a little closer, “Finding out your name would be a fair trade, don’t you think?”

Even from where he was, Roman could hear the gulp that the stranger took before he smiled shyly, “I’m Patton. Patton Grace.”

“Lovely to meet you, Patton.”

“Wait! That can’t be a fair trade for this!”

Roman was a little taken aback by the sudden change and Patton suddenly seemed to gain a playful confidence, “Uh, what? I thought…”

“It’s not a fair trade because I can’t take two things from you and just give you one back! That’s an unfair trade!”

“Two things?”

Patton grinned and looked up at Roman through his eyelashes, looking utterly adorable, “I want to know the name of the one who made this fantastic piece of art.”

Roman swore he felt his heart leap at the compliment. It was getting harder and harder to maintain his cool, but he had one last trick up his sleeve in order to get the upper hand – which he assumed would go down well, since Patton was now seemingly almost sort of flirting with him. In slow but smooth movement, he pried one of Patton’s hands off of the canvas that was still pressed to his body and leant down to press a feather-light kiss to his knuckles. Roman looked up at the man before him, smiling softly as he noticed Patton’s cheeks turning a darker pink at the move, “Roman Price” was all he said.

As Roman stood back up, Patton giggled and shuffled about on his feet slightly, grinning wide, “It’s great to meet you, Roman. Now, what can I give you for this painting? I can pay if you want, that’s not a problem!”

The artist waved a hand in dismissal, “You can keep your money, Patton. I have something better than you can offer me.”

Patton stood up straight, clearly attempting to look attentive and not at all flustered.

“You can offer me one of your evenings.”

“What?!” Patton’s face almost glowed red in an instant, but he was still smiling despite his clear surprise. “A-are you… asking me… on a date? Like a real date?!”

Roman couldn’t help but let out a loud laugh at the other man’s reaction.

“Hey!” Patton pouted

“Oh, I’m sorry. It was just too precious.” Roman pretended to wipe a tear.

“Precious…?” Patton suddenly asked, his voice seeming hopeful.

Roman’s mouth snapped shut. It was now his turn to blush and stutter, “Uh, well, um… yes, of course. Precious, um.” He avoided eye contact for the first time, embarrassed that he’d just blurted out such a strong compliment on accident. It didn’t last long, however, as a reciprocated light kiss to his cheek had his head snapping to look back at Patton, who was now far closer to him.

“I would love to. How about… tomorrow?”

There was a beat before both of them broke out into grins and giggles. They agreed to a time, shared phone numbers and parted ways, both utterly enamoured with their chance encounter.

The first date went well, as did the second and the third and the fourth. Every date did. Before too long, the two began to officially date. Throughout all of their courtship, Roman had forgotten about his artist’s block as he had better things to focus on.

But then Patton had come over and wanted to explore a little.

He pushed open the door to the small ‘art studio’ curiously. Immediately, he turned to Roman and grinned, “Oh! Is this where you do all the painting?! Can I go in and look? Oh please, Ro!”

The artist chuckled, “Of course you can, Pat. Just be careful.”

“Psssh!” Patton waved a hand as he turned back into the small room, “Do you think I’m never not careful? Because I am the carefulest!”

“That’s… not a word, dear.” Roman light-heartedly chastised as he leant against the doorframe, watching his boyfriend roam the space. Patton turned and stuck his tongue out, which only had Roman breathing out a few small laughs.

Patton was standing just in front of the second stool that sat in the room which Roman typically used for putting the subjects he was painting on and the sight of him standing there sparked something in Roman. It was so sudden.

“Patton.”

“Hm?”

“I think you might be the muse I’ve been looking for all this time.”

“What?”

“Can you sit on the stool for me? I want to paint you, Patton. I want to capture every detail in the best way I can. Surely, if I can capture your beauty on canvas, I shall understand how to create my own once again. Patton, will you let me paint you?”

Patton’s mouth had been hanging open slightly and his cheeks were turning pink. He then smiled shyly. But that then grew into a grin and giggles started pouring from him. “Sure!”

“Thank you. So much. Just give me a few moments.”

Roman was moving as fast as he could, grabbing paints from the bookshelf that sat at the far side of the room, just behind the easel. He didn’t want to keep Patton waiting too long and he didn’t want to lose this sudden spark of inspiration that he felt. It was as if he was finally going to smash that wall that had been standing between him and the canvas for months now. Once Roman had gathered everything, he sat himself on the other stool and looked back to Patton, who was watching him.

“Now, please sit as still as you can. I’m sorry if this takes a while but capturing perfection will always take a long time.” Roman said softly, causing Patton’s cheeks to get even pinker.

The room was quiet for as long as they were in there. Sure, the sounds of the neighbouring apartments bled through the walls and the noise of the bustling street nearby slipped through the window, but it didn’t impact their space. It was almost as if, in that moment, the small spare room that was used as an artist studio was a world away from everything else surrounding it. However, at some point, Roman started to hum a song that suddenly popped into his head. Then, upon sharing a smile with Patton, he began to sing the words quietly.

“I'll start with how your hair goes The firelight makes it glow Then I'll move onto that cute nose.”

Patton fought not to perk up from his seat as he realised what the song was. Roman had introduced him to so many things that he never knew about and this song – and the show it was from – was one of them. Not to mention, it was one of Patton’s favourites. He couldn’t help but join in at the second person’s part.

“Paint how you see me.”

Roman grinned, pausing his painting for a moment. Ever the performer, he couldn’t help but continue the song.

“Next I'll draw your smile And stare at it a while It just goes on for miles.”

The sound of the brush smoothing over the canvas was their rhythm, as Roman was subconsciously moving along with the tune of the song. It helped Patton continue the song, even though he had to fight to not bob along to the beat that was playing in his head.

“Paint how you see me.

I want to know how you see me And if it's the same as I see you With the colours of love On your paintbrush.

Paint how you see me.”

“Now I'll paint your body You always look so lovely I can't explain these feelings.”

“Paint how you see me.”

Roman gently placed down his brush. He stared at the canvas for a moment, then flicked between it and Patton before letting out a relaxed breath. He turned his attention solely to Patton, standing from his stool.

“I think that I got everything The essence of your beauty I hope you like your painting Of what I see in you.”

Patton shot up and grabbed a hold of Roman’s outstretched hand, which he’d offered as he’d sung. He was buzzing with excitement to see the finished product. Turning under Roman’s arm, causing it to be slung across the front of his chest, Patton stared at the fully painted canvas before him.

His breathing almost stopped for a second as he was quite literally finding the art Roman had produced to be utterly breath-taking. Patton had never seen himself in such a way. Sure, he’d found plenty of things to love about himself and his self-confidence was high enough that he loved his body for everything… but this was so much different from looking at himself in the mirror.

Patton had to say that he looked… stunning. It definitely was him; it had his freckles, his glasses, his eyes, his hair – but it just… was different, in a way that was practically indescribable. Well, Patton had one way to describe it, which he did as he slowly turned back under Roman’s arm to face him.

“I like how you see me.”

The pair smiled at each other lovingly, simply content to be in their small world alone. Patton took a step towards Roman and wrapped his arms around his sturdy frame, relaxing as Roman’s arms circled him. His eyes were still attached to the painting just to the side of him. They both agreed it was one of Roman’s best.

---

My other stuff: http://nekoabi.tumblr.com/myworks Mobile Accessible Masterlist: http://nekoabi.tumblr.com/post/181954641376/fic-masterlist

General Tag List: @not-so-innocent-bi-sander @didsomeonesayprince @llamaly @justanotherpurplebutterfly @iaminmultiplefandoms @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 @lowkeyvirgilobsessed @louisthewarlock @fangsandrainbows @xxladystarlightxx @sleepyssnail @ao-koshka @notalwaysthevillian @pumpkinminette @doces-e--tuga @coloursintheblur @safesandersides

#Sanders Sides #Fanfiction #Royality #Roman Sanders #Patton Sanders #Creativity Sanders #Morality Sanders #Human AU #Paint Me #Song Fic #Firebringer

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jae-canikeepyou · 5 years

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| silence | j.jh

pairing: jaehyun x fem!reader genre: idk actually so maybe fluff?? haha :D a/n: warning incoming bad grammar and not proof read at all omg~ 😂😂 but i dare you to read it anyway~ *winks* enjoy! ~j.

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jaehyun walked to turn a heel at the end of the hallway, entering the classroom with only a few minutes left before his arts professor came. he anxiously looked at the clock, the handle ticking away just like how everything else in his sight faded away. he fixed his bag and placed his books onto the table. sitting back on his chair, sicheng who was behind him, tapped him on the shoulder to ask if he was okay. no response, and sicheng had to let his friend be. the ringing in jaehyun’s ears continued, muffled voices soon brought to complete silence.

just like how he encountered you earlier.

during the lesson switch, to be exact.

he visited you when you got your books from the lockers. something he always did in the morning before you both start your day. if arrived early, he would take you out for a tiny breakfast date. a gentleman indeed. but today of all days, you didn’t talk to him and avoided his calls and messages. more of he thought you didn’t want to see him. not a word came out from your lips whenever he would ask how you were. sure the eye contact was there, but it was just that. conscience led him to think that he might be the reason why you acted this way; cold, hard-to-approach, bothered. it was strange because never in two-year span of dating, had you ever ignored him. he was the jung jaehyun, your boyfriend and lover. there was no way that you-

“jung jaehyun?” mr. park fixed his glasses as he called lad. jaehyun shuffled in his seat, aware that he wasn’t paying any attention when the lesson was already an hour in. “i’ll remove you from the list if you could tell me what van gogh suffered from.” he tilted his head, jaehyun reluctantly shifting his eyes to the board; his name written under the word ‘detention’.

sicheng swallowed his giggles at jaehyun for his unreasonable daydreaming. mr. park could be very annoying at detention, given the fact that he had experienced it thrice.

jaehyun cleared his throat. “he suffered from delusions and episodes-”

“which episodes?” mr. park challenged him.

“psychotic episodes and he had mental instability. because of that it led to a neglect in his physical state-”

“alright, good enough. if i see you daydream in my class again, i think you know the consequences.” he turned around to write points at the blackboard.

another hour of mr. park’s lecture felt like eternity. he didn’t even bother to write down notes because all he wanted was to see you. he had to know the reason of your treatment to him, and once bell rang and the lesson ended on time, he rushed out of the classroom. soon sicheng carried his stuff, not trying to lose sight of his friend.

at the cafeteria, jaehyun spotted you by the counter with your friends. the movements of your shoulders from possibly giggling only meant that you were fine. still he wondered why you ignored him.

minghao and seokmin went to their table to have lunch. they noticed their friend off in a daze, looking at nothing but the concrete wall. he didn’t touch his food nor utter anything upon arriving. “he’s been like that since art history.” sicheng cut the super awkward silence.

“seriously what? he loves art history though.” minghao munched on his salad. “did you ask him why?”

“nah, but i have a hunch it’s got something to do with y/n.” sicheng shrugged.

jaehyun perked up in his seat when he sensed your presence walk pass their table. he thought he saw you smile weakly at him, even if it was just a second long. you looked a little slim from the last time he eyed you from head to toe.

“mhm, yep it’s definitely about her.” seokmin pursed his lips.

clanks of ultensils opposite from seokmin startled him. “i don’t get it” jaehyun hissed, finally munching onto his lunch.

“dude chill you’re angry eating.” seokmin calmed him.

“she’s acting like i’m not her boyfriend. like what the heck did i do?” jaehyun slurped on his drink.

“maybe you did something unconsciously?” sicheng asked with his arms crossed. “i mean you could be a real mess when you drink too many shots.”

jaehyun glared at sicheng, giving him annoyed telepathic eyes that told him you didn’t like it when he drank too much. he knew he didn’t go to the bar this week, and it wasn’t the answer as to why you ignored him.

“you might want to talk to her now.” minghao hesistantly suggested.

“i want to but she’s avoiding me. it’s been three days.” jaehyun slumped on his seat.

“he could turn out worse if it was a week.” seokmin tried to make a joke out of it, only to be responded by a pissed jaehyun.

“jae, what i’m saying is talk to her now?” minghao tilted his head to the side, pointing to your figure by the cafeteria entrance.

“ugh, glad my lessons for today are done.” jaehyun stood up and slung his bag over his shoulders.

you saw how jaehyun hurriedly walk towards to where you were. immediately your legs fuzed with energy like electricity and started to run, afraid of him to come closer. your chest already ached at the fact you’ve been silent treating him for three straight days. the bike you rode on this morning soon came into your view and you ran quickly towards it, pushing it to start peddling.

“y/n! babe! come back here!” you heard jaehyun from behind and as you took a turn at the next street to your apartment. to your surprise, jaehyun too grabbed a random bike to follow you.

the tension was rising. you didn’t care how your hair nearly block your sight. you couldn’t face him now, not today. you peddled as fast as you can, remembering how insisting jaehyun could be whenever there was a minor clash between the two of you. you hear his pants and yells ordering you to stop. “why are you running away?!” he screamed, not giving any attention to his voice crack and the horns of the passing vehicles.

jaehyun noticed how wobbly your ride was, and when you slightly crashed into the apartment’s front yard, his heart skipped a beat, worrying that you might be injured. he wanted to clear things out, maybe apologise for something he knew he didn’t do. it may sound stupid but it was probably the right thing to do so you wouldn’t ignore him this long. “y/n!”

“agh!” your fingers pressing non-stop onto the elevator button. you squealed when you heard his footsteps. the numbers going up were taking too long.

you hurriedly took the keys from your pockets and managed to slip it into the door knob, forcing your way home. the other elevator dinged, and you knew jaehyun was just right behind. “y/n!” he called out. with heavy heart and instinct, your hands found their way to the knob and slammed the door to a close.

but jaehyun was a tad faster. his palms held the edge and without effort, he opened the door, making you stumble backwards. “please talk to me!” he said, seeing your figure run farther into your apartment though you slid slightly at the waxed floor. “babe-”

he had gotten hold of your arm when he entered your room. he chuckled at the sight of you wearing his hoodie. a small you and his huge clothes by the cupboards. he didn’t want to force things onto you, so as you heard his tired legs bringing his body to your bed, you turned around; only to hear jaehyun let out a huge laugh.

“pfft!” you hear him cover his mouth. “why are you like that?” he asked as you held the ends of the strings attached to the hood, your face hidden behind the creases of the knotted fabric.

jaehyun tried to forcibly loosen the creases. “no!” your muffled voice unclear and even if your fingers weren’t pointing at him.

“you can’t hide from me.” he chuckled, his arms snaking by your waist as he pulled you closer. “we haven’t talked in days.”

in utmost apology, you clasped your hands together as if you were saying a prayer.

“i know you’re pouting.” he carried and swung you around. “don’t you miss me?”

you nodded, still holding onto the strings. he gently put you down. “if you love me, you’ll take off the hood.” he patted your head. “let me see my pretty girl.”

like child doing as she was told, you complied to him and removed it. “see?” jaehyun’s smile caused to you to do the same. he planted a kiss on your cheek. “why have you been ignoring me?”

he saw you look at him with slight teary eyes and with your lips pursed, jaehyun knew something was wrong. “babe?” he asked, but you only sighed heavily. “you can tell me anything.”

ignoring him, you played with his hands in response. jaehyun laughed at your actions. you never acted like this. seeing you so stressed in a good way made him discover new sides of you. “y/n why aren’t you speaking?” he pinched your cheeks and you yelped in pain, crouching down as you held your numb body part.

“ow!” you hissed, curling into a ball.

jaehyun’s eyes softened, guilt spread his body. “oh no i’m so sorry. was that painful?” he knelt down to your level to where he could see you.

“of course it does!” you closed your eyes in pain, as if rubbing your cheeks would do any better. after seeing jaehyun’s expression, you sighed in defeat. “i-i j-just had braces..” you hid by your legs and jaehyun scooted in front, wrapping you with his large frame.

“is this the reason why you wouldn’t talk to me?” he bit back a giggle as he asked, caressing your cheeks. “did it hurt?”

“moderate.. my gums still hurt.” you replied. “i’m sorry i didn’t tell you and ignored you for three days.”

“it’s alright y/n. i’m not mad, but i missed you so mu-”

your stomach grumbled in a volume you wished you could turn it down. gosh how embarrassing that was. “you haven’t eaten yet?” jaehyun’s eyebrows scrunched narrowly.

“just today.” a grumble came out again and jaehyun clicked his tongue. “okay, maybe i didn’t have dinner last night as well-”

“babe, you should’ve called me! i could’ve come right away!” he stood and soon he pulled you up too.

“i planned to but i didn’t want to.” you pointed at your teeth. “i’m too shy.”

“i’m your boyfriend. you shouldn’t be shy to me.” he sighed. “i’ll make something quick and easy. porridge would do?”

“but i’m not sick though-” you followed him to the kitchen, sliding onto the wooden floor with your new socks.

jaehyun took whatever his eyes landed on at the shelves, grabbing the utensils to prepare. “y/n, i want you to wait at the couch.”

“but i want to hel-”

“y/n.” his stern voice started you. “no but’s. please? let me take care of you.”

“i can make porridge myself.” you pouted as you wriggled his arm. jaehyun sighed, his lips curved and he agreed that you wanted to at least help him. he bent down for a kiss and you returned it.

“mgh. tastes like metal.” he did the smoulder, teasing you like he always does.

“this is why i didn’t want to tell you!” you let out a tantrum. “that’s it. i’m making my own meal!”

jaehyun laughed and carried you again, swinging you like you were a stuffed toy. you hit him continuously, squealing in all kinds of high pitches. “alright alright! give me a kiss.” he puckered his lips.

“ugh you’re so demanding!” you squeezed his cheeks, but kissed him anyway.

“yep, still metal.” he teased.

smack.

“i should’ve ignored you for one more day.”

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a/n: shoutout to nctzens/jaehyun biased fans who has braces! :D this is for you~

#nct 127 #jaehyun scenarios #nct #jung jaehyun #jung yoonoh #nct jaehyun #jaehyun #jaehyun nct #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun oneshot #jaehyun scenario

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imaginationstimulation · 4 years

Photo

I recently read A Visit From the Goon Squad written by Jennifer Egan.

This novel reads more like a collection of short stories about different characters who are almost inconsequentially related to various degrees.

One obvious theme is about the interconnectedness of all people.

More deeply, the book is a reflection on time and the endlessness of growing up; how our values and, more seriously, our identities change--or don’t--with time.

These are the lines and excerpts I highlighted as I read:

“I’m always happy,” Sasha said. “Sometimes I just forget.” (Chapter 1).

“She could tell that he was in excellent shape, not from going to the gym but from being young enough that his body was still imprinted with whatever sports he’d played in high school and college.”

“...something more than relief: a blessed indifference, as if the very idea of feeling pain over such a thing were baffling.”

“In fact the whole apartment, which six years ago had seemed like a way station to some better place, had ended up solidifying around Sasha, gathering mass and weight, until she felt both mired in it and lucky to have it—as if she not only couldn’t move on but didn’t want to.”

“She wanted badly to please him, to say something like, It was a turning point everything feels different now, or I called Lizzie and we made up finally, or I’ve picked up the harp again, or just I’m changing I’m changing I’m changing: I’ve changed! Redemption, transformation--God how she wanted these things. Every day, every minute. Didn’t everyone?”

“Bennie knew that what he was bringing into the world was shit. Too clear, too clean. The problem was precision, perfection; the problem was digitization, which sucked the life out of everything that got smeared through its microscopic mesh. Film, photography, music: dead. An aesthetic holocaust! Bennie knew better than to say this stuff aloud.” (Chapter 2).

“an urge to confess the malapropism to his fourth grader.”

“As he sipped, a sensation of pleasure filled his whole torso the way a snowfall fills up a sky. Jesus, he felt good.”

“Hearing the music get made, that was the thing: people and instruments and beaten-looking equipment aligning abruptly into a single structure of sound, flexible and alive.”

“The baby he and Stephanie had nuzzled and kissed—now this painful, mysterious presence.”

“He remembered his mentor, Lou Kline, telling him in the nineties that rock and roll had peaked at Monterey Pop. They’d been in Lou’s house in LA with its waterfalls, the pretty girls Lou always had, his car collection out front, and Bennie had looked into his idol’s famous face and thought, You’re finished. Nostalgia was the end—everyone knew that.”

“Rich people like to hostess, so they can show off their nice stuff.“ (Chapter 3).

“Hey, Lou goes. He leans down so our faces are together, and stares straight into my eyes. He looks tired, like someone walked on his skin and left footprints. He goes, The world is full of shitheads, Rhea. Don’t listen to them—listen to me. And I know that Lou is one of those shitheads. But I listen.”

“I can’t tell if she’s actually real, or if she’s stopped caring if she’s real or not. Or is not caring what makes a person real?”

“Lou is one of those men whose restless charm has generated a contrail of personal upheaval that is practically visible behind him:” (Chapter 4, [My favorite chapter]).

“Structural Resentment: The adolescent daughter of a twice-divorced male will be unable to tolerate the presence of his new girlfriend, and will do everything in her limited power to distract him from said girlfriend’s presence, her own mascent sexuality being her chief weapon.”

“Structural Affection: A twice-divorced male’s preadolescent son (and favorite child) will embrace and accept his father’s new girlfriend because he hasn’t yet learned to separate his father’s loves and desires from his own. In a sense, he, too, will love and desire her, and she will feel maternal toward him...”

“Structural Desire: The much younger temporary female mate of a powerful male will be inexorably drawn to the single male within range who disdains her mate’s power.”

“These four are locked in a visceral animal-sighting competition. (Structural Fixation: A collective, contextually induced obsession that becomes a temporary locus of greed, competition, and envy.)”

“The members of Ramsey’s safari have gained a story they’ll tell for the rest of their lives. It will prompt some of them, years from now, to search for each other on Google and Facebook, unable to resist the wish-fulfillment fantasy these portals offer: What ever happened to...? In a few cases, they’ll meet again to reminisce and marvel at one another’s physical transformations, which will seem to melt away with the minutes.”

“Structural Dissatisfaction: Returning to circumstances that once pleased you, having experienced a more thrilling or opulent way of life, and finding that you can no longer tolerate them.”

“My questions all seem wrong: How did you get so old? Was it all at once, in a day, or did you peter out bit by bit? When did you stop having parties? Did everyone else get old too, or was it just you?“ (Chapter 5).

“Your desultory twenties,” my mother calls my lost time, trying to make it sound reasonable and fun, but it started before I was twenty and lasted much longer.”

“The TV is new, flat and long, and its basketball game has a nervous sharpness that makes the room and even us look smudged.“

“Seventeen, hitchhiking. He was driving a red Mercedes. In 1979, that could be the beginning of an exciting story, a story where anything might happen. Now it’s a punch line.”

“...how better to mark success than by going to a place where you didn’t belong?“ (Chapter 7).

“I don’t want to fade away, I want to flame away.”

“It felt impossible, as if Jules’s excitement were being siphoned from inside her, leaving Stephanie drained to the exact degree that he was invigorated.“

“All that can be said for sure is that in the presence of Kitty Jackson, the rest of us become entagled by our sheer awareness that we ourselves are not Kitty Jackson, a fact so brusquely unifying that it temporarily wipes out all distinctions betwen us--our tendency to cry inexplicably during parades, or the fact that we never learned French, or have a fear of insects that we do our best to conceal from women, or liked to eat construction paper as a child--in the presence of Kitty Jackson, we no longer are in possession of these traits; indeed, so indistinguishable are we from every other non–Kitty Jackson in our vicinity that when one of us sees her, the rest simultaneously react.” (Chapter 9.)

“At what precise moment did you tip just slightly out of alignment with the relatively normal life you had been enjoying theretofore, cant infinitesimally to the left or the right and thus embark upon the trajectory that ultimately delivered you to your present whereabouts—in my case, Rikers Island Correctional Facility?”

“Bix and Lizzie’s apartment is tiny, like a dollhouse, full of plants and the smell of plants (wet and planty), because Lizzie loves plants.” (Chapter 10).

“It’s okay,” she says, and you know you should leave it there—it’s fine, leave it alone, but some crazy engine inside you won’t let you stop:”

“He has an optimist’s attraction to everything new—a faith that it will enrich him, not hurt him.“

“The two of you reel away from her. Hilarity keeps you busy for several blocks, but there’s a sickness to it, like an itch that if you keep on scratching, will grind straight through skin and muscle and bone, shredding your heart.”

“We’re going to meet again in a different place,” Bix says. “Everyone we’ve lost, we’ll find. Or they’ll find us.” “Where? How?” Drew asks. Bix hesitates, like he’s held this secret so long he’s afraid of what will happen when he releases it into the air. “I picture it like Judgment Day,” he says finally, his eyes on the water. “We’ll rise up out of our bodies and find each other again in spirit form. We’ll meet in that new place, all of us together, and first it’ll seem strange, and pretty soon it’ll seem strange that you could ever lose someone, or get lost.”

“Sunsan was baffled at first, then distraught. [...] But eventually a sort of amnesia had overtaken Susan; her rebellion and hurt had melted away, deliquesced into a sweet, eternal sunniness that was terrible in the way that life would be terrible, Ted supposed, without death to give it gravitas and shape.” (Chapter 11).

“...all of this bolstered his awe at the gymnastic adaptability of the human mind.”

“...a fibrillating excitement such as he hadn’t felt for years in response to a work of art, compounded by further excitement that such excitement was still possible.”

“A feeling,” Bennie said, rousing himself slightly from his deep recline. “That we have some history together that hasn’t happened yet.” (Chapter 13).

“Her confidence seemed more drastic than the outcome of a happy childhood; it was cellular confidence, as if Lulu were a queen in disguise, without need or wish to be recognized.”

“There are so many ways to go wrong,” Lulu said. “All we’ve got are metaphors, and they’re never exactly right. You can’t ever just Say. The. Thing.”

“They could meander indefinitely, these conversations...”

#A Visit from the Goon Squad #Jennifer Egan #quotes #liteary quotes #book recommendations #book review #bookstagram #bookstagrammer

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pizzapartyfanfiction · 4 years

Text

When Quasi met Bijou

A normal day...so uneventful.

The spring tourists were coming in. Springtime was mostly for monster couples that needed sometime away from their respective habitats.

So many chocolate covered dragon scales. Two natural aphrodisiacs combined.

Quasimodo thought to himself as he scraped some dragon scales into a canister for later.

He sighed. At least there weren’t as many humans this time of year. Less temptation to snatch one of them to finally cook and serve as he had always dreamed of!

The small chef made his way over to the block to sheath the knife he wielded. He looked at his reflection in the window.

The hunchback was pained so deeply at the conflict. He was on probation. No cooking a human. He’d lose his job if he did such a thing.

Another thing was paining the hotel Chef. Seeing Dracula happily married now made him yearn for companionship. He was..in an odd position. Yes he was a gargoyle..yes he was a monster..but he was ..different. Half formed such as the cruel name his terrible adopted human father gave him.

He was not as handsome as the other gargoyles in the hotel. He couldn’t even fly. He felt very inadequate.

He would sigh..looking at Dracula and his freshly turned new vampire wife Ericka as well as Mavis and that human that he almost got to eat that one time. His name escaped him. It wasn’t important.

Even their half human son...uhhh..Dennis? Was it? Even he an INFANT by monster standards and he had several of Wayne’s children flirting with him.

It just didn’t seem fair.

He laid in his tiny bed in the storeroom of the kitchen and pondered to himself..

How long had it been since he’d SEEN a female gargoyle?

400? 500 Years? And that was merely because Peter’s overprotective mother came to the hotel to beat him up when he fired him the first time.

Which she did. Very successfully.

He woke the next evening and began sorting the eggs for breakfast for the Dracula family.

Just as he did every sunset.

However he smelled something new.

Something..lovely.

Esmeralda has ran off after he was frozen by Dracula, how he would kill to have the mouse’s keen sense of smell right now!!

He sniffed around his expansive kitchen.

Chanel no.5...dead lavender flowers...limestone... he thought to himself. What could this be?

“Alo?...” a voice rang out.

A woman’s voice.

Oh..it was the most delightful sound he had ever heard. Buttery and light like a fresh croissant..

“Alooo? Is anyone ‘ere?” He heard her movement. He also heard the unmistakable accent of his homeland. This was certainly the greatest day the hunchback has ever experienced! He had to investigate this delightful dish that had found itself in his kitchen. He quickly scurried up one of his chains to get a better look.

His beady yellow eyes scanned around and heard her trip over. She had fallen over his step stool.

The very first thing he saw was her shock of snowy white hair. She stood.

And oh...she was...a work of art. So small but so elegant. Pale skin..yellow eyes much like his. A pair of red glasses gave her an aide of chic sophistication.He marveled at her movements. She wore a black cape around her shoulders. Was she nobility? ..She was so graceful like a little ballerina. How could she be so perfect?...So beautiful? Who was she? Why was she in his kitchen? She was too gorgeous to be single..she must be here with someone.

“...Zut alores..” he whispered out loud. His raspy but passionate tone echoed and hit her ears. He couldn’t contain his adoration for her.

“Oh? français? Qui est là?” She answered back. Looking delighted to find a kindred. Oh her French was perfection. An even more richer treat than her English. He sighed when he felt his heart flip in his tiny chest.

“...W-why are you here?” He asked. Hiding high up in the rafters.

“Oh. I’m lost. I was on my way back to my room. I am in ze rose tower..” She said looking around for the source of the voice.

“You are far from your room...You are in ze basement...more specifically ze ‘otel kitchen..”

She blushed. She was embarrassed.

“Oh..I’m terribly sorry Monsieur...Could you tell me how to get back?”

He didn’t want her to leave. He wanted to kneal before her and kiss her hand and tell her she was the most gorgeous thing he had ever seen and would be content to bask in her divinity.

”I am sure your ‘usband will be paging you at any moment” Quasimodo quipped spitefully gazing down at with a raised brow.

“Oh. I am not married, Monsieur Voice..I am all alone in zis world..” She sat on the stool she tripped over and gazed up at the curling trying to find him to no avail. If Quasimodo was good at one thing it was hiding.

“...I am as well...Cherie..” he said. Openly flirting now.

She giggled. Her laugh was like a fluffy bloodberry soufflé. Sweet and light.

“Are you a monster or a human?” She asked.

“Oh..I am ze worst kind of monster Cherie..” he said, still marveling at her.

“And what kind is zat?” She asked twirling a finger through her locks.

“A lonely male monster..” he said with a hint of sadness.

“...My name is Bijou...” she said standing.

“..Bijou...” Quasimodo repeated. He’d never heard such a beautiful name...what a beautiful sound...what a completely perfect being she was...he wondered what her lips tasted like but shook himself from thinking anything further.

“...Cherie..Your tower is through ze lobby..take ze purple elevator to ze 16th floor..and you will find ze rose tower.” He said. Oh how he didn’t want her to go..

“Monsieur Voice...perhaps I could come back tomorrow?? I am far from home..speaking with someone who is also lonely and also from France..it gives me comfort.” She blushed. “I’m staying here because I am injured. It’s..scary to me.”

Quasimodo’s eyes went wide...like a date?

“..Cherie...A beautiful woman such as you is always welcome here.” He purred. He realized he could flirt with her confidently as long as she couldn’t see his cursed ugliness!!

She giggled and smiled. “ Same time tomorrow?” She asked.

“Oui..” he said leaning against a wooden beam.

“ Au Reviour. Monsieur Voice..” she said closing the door. She leaned against the door and sighed..her face flushed.

Quasimodo sighed and laughed with exuberant joy as he lept from chain to chain tugging on them as he did the bell ropes in Notre Dame.

He had never felt this way. Everything was different now. “Bijou, Bijou,Bijou!” he would never stop saying that beautiful name!

He noticed something shiny on the floor. He quickly dropped to the floor and examined it. Her earring. A simple pearl.

He inhaled its scent and smiled.

“...Sweet Cherie....A treasure I will keep for all eternity!!!” He fastened it to his chef’s coat and sighed.

Beautiful Bijou...she would never leave his thoughts. Forever.

#Hotel Transylvania #Quasimodo #FanCharactet

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