#i mean maybe ive missed some but its always white women | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wellhalesbells · 4 years

Text

✨✨ TOP FIVES FOR 2020 ✨✨

2020 was, i think we can all agree, a massively chaotic year but i have never consumed as much media before in my life, so i thought others might benefit from my slothery uh, connoisseur.... ship? yes, that. below are the books, comics, shows, and movies that got me through!

B O O K S .

the starless sea, by erin morgenstern - i loooove this book because it loves me back. it says: ‘oh, you’re a reader, well i have just the thing for you.’ it luxuriates in language and story and riddles and fairy tales and it feels like an entire library in a single tome.

they never learn, by layne fargo - oh fuuuuuck, this was satisfying. i thought it might feel a little exploitative as it is very aware of the zeitgeist and likely would not exist without the #metoo movement but it never ever did. this was a fucking ROMP, period. reading about a woman getting away with murdering skeezy guy after rapey guy after shitty human just made me happier and happier.

moonflower murders, by anthony horowitz - this is the second in the susan ryeland series (and the first was hardcore good fun too) and really feels very classic mystery with the artful twist of catering to the literary community. mainly because: susan isn’t a detective, she’s an editor and she gets drafted in this time because the clue to what happened to a missing woman is in a book she edited, if she can find it. both of the books in this series have such an excellent coming together moment that is rare af to find.

the invisible life of addie larue, by v.e. schwab - the writing in this is just so good. it has that feel to me where i just want to drop the book and open up my own page and let my fingers fly. it’s that inspiring kind of writing that reminds you of all the things language can do.

crown of feathers/heart of flames, by nicki pau preto - aaahhh, this series is SO FREAKING GOOD! why is there not more of a fandom for it, why???? it is so many of my favorite tropes all resting perfectly together to the point where you almost forget they’re tropes because they just so naturally evolved there. ugh, it’s just.... it’s so heart-bursty good.

.... number 5, part 2? raybearer, by jordan ifueko - this was just so original and i was invested af. like, what a brilliant idea though and an even better execution?? i loved every character and am so looking forward to the next in the series so i can get to know them even better!!

honorable mentions (sh*t i still liked a whole heckuva lot): you/hidden bodies, by caroline kepnes // writers & lovers, by lily king // i’ll be gone in the dark, by michelle mcnamara // the faceless old woman who secretly lives in your home, by joseph fink & jeffrey cranor // girl, serpent, thorn, by melissa bashardoust // a little life, by hanya yanagihara // the guinevere deception, by kiersten white // obsidio (and the entire illuminae series), by amie kaufman & jay kristoff // the bone houses, by emily lloyd-jones // house of salt and sorrows, by erin a. craig // we hunt the flame, by hafsah faizal // savage legion, by matt wallace // blacktop wasteland, by s.a. cosby // crier’s war, by nina varela // the empress of salt and fortune/when the tiger came down the mountain, by nghi vo // upright women wanted, by sarah gailey // the monster of elendhaven, by jennifer giesbrecht // a deadly education, by naomi novik // you let me in, by camilla bruce // when you ask me where i’m going, by jasmin kaur // the lights go out in lychford/last stand in lychford (and the entire lychford series), by paul cornell // the devil and the dark water, by stuart turton // serpent & dove, by shelby mahurin // one by one, by ruth ware // ruthless gods (this was SUCH an upshot from the first book - it’s worth sticking with if you’re on the fence), by emily a. duncan // cemetery boys, by aiden thomas // the inheritance games, by jennifer lynn barnes // the fortunate ones (2021 release), by ed tarkington

C O M I C S .

cosmoknights, by hannah templer - the art was gorgeous, the gayness was glorious, and just.... hot HOOOOOOOOT lady knights in space?! a princess winning her own hand? find something not to love in there, i dare you.

don’t go without me, by rosemary valero-o’connell - wow. wow wow wow wow wow. the writing was stunning, so lyrical and atmospheric and deep, and rosemary has to be one of my favorite artists but even that managed to come as a beautiful surprise because it was just so freaking bold.

through the woods, by emily carroll - i loooove emily carroll, the convergence of spine-tingling horror and art that feeds into it, that is both visually and aesthetically pleasing, is hard to beat! p.s. i also read beneath the dead oak tree from her this year and it was also a BANGER.

the impending blindness of billie scott, by zoe thorogood - zoe is someone that i just want to follow. she’s just starting and i want to be there for every single step. i love her art style and her ability to tell a story with it.

above the clouds, by melissa pagluica - this was so unique, and such a baller concept, as nearly half the entire book is conveyed only through the art and yet you’re never once lost, never once confused as to what any character is thinking or feeling. it’s a story within a story and only one of those gets words though they both are chock full of emotion!

um.... number 5, part 2? crowded, by christopher sebela - everything about this series is fun af. crowd-funded assassination and a hirable bodyguard who’s rated like an uber driver??? and the chemistry between the two mains is so great and gay!!

honorable mentions: monster and the beast, by renji // long exposure, by kam ‘mars’ heyward // fence, by c.s. pacat // invisible kingdom, by g. willow wilson // ms. marvel, by g. willow wilson // heathen, by natasha alterici // not drunk enough, by tess stone // giant days, by john allison // die, by kieron gillen // be prepared, by vera brosgol // ascender (sequel to descender, which is also great), by jeff lemire // the unbeatable squirrel girl, by ryan north // bang! bang! boom!, by melanie schoen // gideon falls, by jeff lemire // life of melody, by mari costa // cry wolf girl, by ariel slamet ries // the tea dragon society, by katie o’neill // ptsd, by guillaume singelin // heartstopper, by alice oseman // solutions and other problems, by allie brosh // finding home, by hari conner // the magic fish, by trung le nguyen // something is killing the children, by james tynion iv // the weight of them, by noelle stevenson // spill zone, by scott westerfeld // skyward, by joe henderson // miles morales, by saladin ahmed

F I L M S.

parasite, dir. bong joon ho - oh it was satisfying, oh it was suspenseful, oh i had to watch some of it through my fingers but i loooooooved it. such a good story and so well made.

knives out, dir. rian johnson - okay, everything about this movie was amazing. every single character was fun as hell and i could’ve watched an entire movie about each of them. what a great fucking mystery!

blindspotting, dir. carlos lopez estrada - this made my heart hurt so damn much. what glorious writing, acting, and story!

portrait of a lady on fire, dir. celine sciamma - gooooorgeous cinematography, amazing chemistry, and such a soft, atmospheric film.

the farewell, dir. lulu wang - i cried and my heart felt so full and i love it so so much.

um.... number 5, part 2? someone great, dir. jennifer kaytin robinson - no part of me expected to love a netflix movie this much but it’s a love story that doesn’t get told that often?? the end of a relationship and the true love of friendship and i love these girls and i love jenny and nate’s broken relationship.

honorable mentions: eighth grade, dir. bo burnham // booksmart, dir. olivia wilde // midsommar, dir. ari aster // the curse of la llorona, dir. michael chaves // the secret life of pets 2, dirs. chris renaud & jonathan del val // jojo rabbit, dir. taika waititi // the invisible man, dir. leigh whannell // the favourite, dir. yorgos lanthimos // can you ever forgive me?, dir. marielle heller // troop zero, dirs. bert & bertie // ready or not, dirs. matt bettinelli-olpin & tyler gillett // brave, dirs. mark andrews & brenda chapman & steve purcell // the half of it, dir. alice wu // palm springs, dir. max barbakow // doctor sleep, dir. mike flanaghan // uncut gems, dirs. benny sadfie & josh sadfie // birds of prey, dir. cathy van // bloodshot, dir. dave wilson // the old guard, dir. gina prince-bythewood // enola holmes, dir. harry bradbeer // hocus pocus, dir. kenny ortega // always be my maybe, dir. nahnatchka khan // finding dory, dirs. andrew stanton & angus maclane // die hard, dir. john mctiernan

S H O W S .

black sails (2014) - this show, this shooooooooow. i cannot, it just makes me want to cry with how good it is. the characters, the EMOTIONS, the story, the plaaaaaan. like, the creators clearly had a plan for every single step of this show and it was a gOOD, GOOD PLAN.

the untamed (2019) - truly, cheesy good fun with one of the best gay romances ever. i love these characters and their relationships to each other and the way it glories in its own ridiculousness.

the righteous gemstones (2019) - one of the things that bothered me about my next choice (the ratio of female to male nudity) was so much more realistic in this one (i mean, we’ve all gotten five thousand dick pics and i know like three people? so the fact that there is so rarely male nudity in shows when there are tits everywhere..... no, how does that even make a tiny bit of sense?). this show was such great, wonderful, awful fun. they’re not great people and the show is under no delusion about that and it’s GLORIOUS!

the witcher (2019) - this was just hella fun, i loved the characters and the fantasy elements. i’m excited for the next season, it’s just entertaining swashbuckling through and through!

fargo (2014) - all of this was really very enjoyable with the through line being somebody fucks shit up and gets involved in something they really shouldn’t be involved in that’s going to swallow them whole. season one and season three were my stand-out favorites but they were all so violent, clever, and vicious!

um.... number 5, part 2? central park (2020) - um..... so many of the hamilton actors in a muscial cartoon drawn and written by the bob’s burgers team? WHAT ABOUT THAT DOESN’T SOUND AMAZING?! it was such a joy to hear daveed diggs and leslie odom jr.’s voices again!!

honorable mentions: schitt’s creek // the mandalorian // mr. robot // broadchurch // mindhunter // jack ryan // the good place // the end of the f***ing world // big little lies // elite // kidding // servant // letterkenny // curb your enthusiasm // i am not okay with this // ozark // buzzfeed unsolved: true crime/supernatural // you // runaways // dear white people // dickinson // brooklyn nine-nine // will & grace // 9-1-1 // dead to me // solar opposites // never have i ever // killing eve // what we do in the shadows // grace and frankie // avenue 5 // roswell, new mexico // the bold type // evil // tuca & bertie // impulse // the umbrella academy // watchmen // infinity train // corporate // search party // on becoming a god in central florida // a.p. bio // criminal: uk // the morning show // mythic quest // last week tonight // prodigal son // the great

#the starless sea #the invisible life of addie larue #the untamed #knives out #2020 favorites list!!#i tried to stick to shows i both started and finished in 2020 otherwise like schitt's creek and the good place would be in top five #same for comics #uh oh i've found the keyboard again

139 notes · View notes

liberalfartsdegree · 4 years

Text

seeing a number of people here and elsewhere talk about NBC’s H*annibal series in terms of trans politics with largely 2 main sub-themes: 1. that the relationship between the two central characters “feels” t4t and 2. that the story captures something “trans” in the way that it deals with social ostracism, violence, and (ostensibly) the relationship between creation and destruction.

To the first, I’ll say that I too am not immune to pointing at characters on TV and saying “that’s trans” for fun, and it can be fun to look at villains for that moment because its satisfying or whatever.

But to the second, and the way in which it connects to the first, I’m profoundly sad about the way that it sounds like people are connecting to it. The article I’ve seen a lot of people float is about “creation through destruction” focalized through the writer’s experience of their top surgery and DIY piercing/tattooing experiences. I guess I’m struggling with the contiguity that’s established between those practices, and the kind of “self-making” (which isn’t always non-violent) that trans people often go through with the kind of violence on that show. Full disclaimer, I had to turn it off--I couldn’t bear to “read around” the way that psychological abuse and cruelty was the only way to express needs and desires, not to mention the unmitigated gore of the show I found very challenging.

It reminds me of my experience of reading Nietzsche--which the show references explicitly. The afterlife of Nietzsche has a weird multivalent presence. On face, Nietzsche is a violent racist, misogynist, anti-semite, white-supremacist, etc. and his philosophy explicitly and repeatedly invokes violence in every manifestation as a means of accessing and reinforcing power. However, in reading Nietzsche, ESPECIALLY in “enlightened” contexts with other readers (who I respect and trust! I’m talking about smart people doing good faith readings) there is an explicit desire to recover Nietzsche--to say “well, but his method” or “yes, and his structure of thinking is still useful.” I can’t fully reject this approach either! If nothing else Nietzsche developed a genealogical method that was instrumental in the kinds of reading that I care about. But The real task is’t to stop there, it can’t be to stop there, because we have to hold in our mind the fact that these meanings we can read in the text are co-constituted by the most repugnant and violent imaginings possible.

Looking at the moment that hannibal is having, my first thought was a question--why are so many people who I would like to consider myself in community with (young AFAB trans people) finding solace in this show that I can’t bear to look at? The article (which I’m not linking deliberately because I am reflecting, not trying to start discourse) seems to be in good faith--I fully believe the writer finds immense power in what they called the “creation from destruction” they read in the text. There was a slip in the discussion though--the writer saw the cutting into of their own body reflected more in the psyches of Hannibal and Will Graham instead of the actual destroyed bodies depicted on screen. I think that’s super interesting if deeply sad: the body was externalized to the dead bodies on the show, while the mind was transposed into the cerebral lead characters.

I don’t care to psychoanalyze that too much. Like, is it because AFAB trans people I’ve seen tend to connect with stories about the externality of bodies as a way to process dysphoria and lived experiences of misogyny etc? Sure maybe, but I think that kind of symptomatic reading strikes me as almost self-indulgent (that old tumblr meme about ‘some people need murder to cope’ comes to mind).

I guess I’m just seeing a confluence of something here--and I don’t know how to name it without spending more time on this than I need to--which comes down to a sense that the body is a vehicle for psychological distress and that modification (”creation out of destruction”) of the body is reparative, held at the same time that the body is only ever external to the mind, and seeing violence done to bodies is ok as long as it creates something for the mind seeing it.

And that’s just not true!!!! I mean like, everyone’s reading and life experience is different and there’s no one way to “be” trans and I’m not trying to prescribe a way of being for anybody. But like reading Nietzsche, taking that message out of that show seems to ignore the horrific, repugnant violence which is its precondition. I think it’s essential to see the elision between the violently dismembered bodies in the show and the creation/destruction of Will Graham (and I’m not even getting into the psychological violence Hannibal does against him which is nightmare-inducing). Transposing that onto the self seems to miss that key slippage in the show between “bodies that matter” (thanks judy) and the ones that don’t. Taken in real life, either the person’s own body becomes the site of this violence (as happened in the article) or the violence becomes externalized to an Other who matters even less than the person doing this reading (wherever abjection settles itself--from t*kt*k it seems like these readers are nb AFAB people who are trying to negotiate their own expressions of gender within their attachment to femininity who often direct this need for violence against “masculine women” whatever that means)

ive spent way too long on this idk just like what would it be like to experience your dysphoria as contiguous with your experience of yourself and with your embodied experience and recognize the urge to violence as predicated on a construction of something abject, and to instead reject that and start over from a place of care

(and im not subposting at you @ keneinahora if you see this--of course I’d love to hear your thoughts if you want to share them, but this isn’t intended as a weird passive-aggressive callout. I hope that it’s clear from writing this that I’m not addressing any single individual and the value that media has on an individual scale).

6 notes · View notes

mamabear-elinor · 3 years

Photo

THE FORGING OF BITTER BONDS

IV. The Winter’s Ball December 19, 1992

[cw for a comment on weight/body image, blood, violence (just a punch)]

“Mother, I cannot wear this,” Elinor wrinkled her nose in the direction of the dress bag that she was holding in her hands, a monstrosity of ice coloured lace and tulle spilling from it, as if the bag could not contain its contents.

Elinor was standing in the middle of her mother’s suite at their hotel across from the ballroom that the Order always rented for the Winter’s Ball. It should be noted that she was barefoot. Una Briar sat at her vanity, looking at her eldest daughter in the mirror with a pinched expression.

“Why are you not ready?” she asked, as if she had not heard Elinor’s protest. She probably hadn’t. Una never heard anything that she didn’t want to. It was what made her so impossible to argue with. So hard to rile. Elinor was convinced her temper was all Briar. Her mother was as unfeeling as stone.

“I can’t wear this!” Elinor repeated.

“Don’t be ridiculous, unless you’ve gained weight since starting university. I had you measured on fall break. The tailor is never wrong.”

“No--I don’t--I mean it’s hideous. I won’t be able to dance in this! I’ll look like--like an icicle.”

Una stood from her vanity and moved towards Elinor, taking the dress bag from her and pulling the dress out. “Undress,” she commanded.

“Ma--”

“Do you want another chance with Mr. Smith or do you want to disappoint me? Your father? Your sister? Again?”

Elinor’s cheeks flamed red and she reluctantly dropped her robe and pulled her shift up over her head. Her mother held out the gown expectantly and Elinor stepped into it, letting the itchy fabric be drawn up over her thighs, scraping at her stomach. It felt like rolling in a patch of nettle. She reached over and adjusted her bust as her mother tugged at the zipper. She bit down on the inside of her cheek and sucked in a breath, trying not to cry.

It wasn’t that Elinor hated dresses. She just hated this one. And she--didn’t want to go to the ball. The expectations her family had were as constraining as the tightness around her ribs as she was stuffed into the dress.

“There,” Una hummed, coming around to Elinor’s front and brushing some of her hair back from her face. “You look beautiful, Mr. Smith won’t be able to say no.”

Elinor was not as confident, but she allowed her mother to fuss over her for a few moments more and then watched as she pinched her own cheeks in the mirror and they headed out of the door.

The ballroom was painted in low light of orange and blue. Real candles flickered and cool tones from the decor gave the whole thing a cool, hushed atmosphere. There were several people already mingling and men in waiter’s suits who stepped up to take her fox fur coat. She drifted behind her parents and sisters, fiddling with the silver necklace around her throat. It was one that Francis had given her. She hadn’t taken it off since then, even after they had broken up. Part of her still clung to a bit of hope, not matter how she argued with her parents otherwise. How could she not? They were so insistent that she just needed to find him. Talk to him. Tell him about how she would be transferring to Oxford--

“Ellie!” A flash of red and someone slammed into her side, grabbing her arm. “Gosh, I missed you so much. You look amazing!”

Elinor snorted. “Goldie, I just saw you on Thursday.” She felt a warm rush of affection for her friend, though, and clung back to her. If she had Marigold at her side, then she wouldn’t be alone in this. Though, she felt guilty, because she hadn’t found a way to tell Marigold that she was not going back to Edinburgh in the spring. She hadn’t told Sorcha either. Or her professors. Or anyone else. It would have ruined it. She had just wanted to enjoy what she had left.

“So? I know you missed me too.” Goldie tossed some of her hair.

“Yes, alright. I did.”

“Good, now let’s grab some champagne.”

The girls made their way around the room, chatting with their peers, catching up with everyone. The Order only gathered together like this twice a year or during Christenings of new sons of the Order. Or for the King’s Melee. The women did not spend much time together otherwise. The men trained together as squires. Went on hunts together. Their bonds were always much stronger. That was, until you married into a family. Then those women became your friends. Elinor and Marigold were so close because they had always felt like kindred spirits, and made sure to keep in touch outside of these other events. Now that they went to school together, they were closer than ever.

Which just made Elinor feel worse about keeping her silence. As they made their way around, Elinor sticking quiet and close to Marigold’s shining aura, she felt awful. Her champagne bubbling uncomfortably in her gut.

They were standing with a group of girls, Marigold’s head thrown back, laughing loud and bold enough to draw a few eyes when someone approached, attention clearly caught. Thomas Harrington. Elinor knew him, of course she did. He had already completed his Blood Hunt and was a proper Prince. He was also Francis’ best friend.

“Marigold DunBroch,” he said, his voice a bit too soft. He cleared his throat.

Marigold’s head whipped towards him, eyes sparking. “Marigold DunBroch is what my Ma calls me when I’m in trouble.”

“Marigold, then.”

“I suppose.” Marigold took a drink, but her blue eyes hadn’t left Thomas’ face, though his own eyes darted around a bit. When he looked at Elinor, standing at Marigold’s side, she lifted her eyebrows.

“May I--may I have this dance?”

A few girls around them tittered.

“Sure,” Marigold, shrugging a shoulder coyly, though Elinor could tell she was pleased.

Elinor tried to be pleased as well. If Marigold and Thomas danced and became something and Francis took Elinor back, they could all be the greatest of friends. It was a fantasy, long reaching, but it comforted Elinor just the same.

“Here, Ellie.” Marigold held out her glass for Elinor to take and slipped her hand into Thomas’, so he could lead her out onto the dance floor.

“I can’t believe he asked a DunBroch to dance,” one of the girls, a de Chateaupers, if Elinor remembered correctly, sniffed.

Elinor cut her eyes towards her. “Maybe because he doesn’t want to dance with someone who looks like they ran face first into a wall,” she snapped viciously at the blonde and then moved off in a huff.

“What’s her problem?” Elinor heard as she moved away. She whipped through the crowd, though not as fast as she liked, her dress trailing behind her like a ball and shackle. Its train was heavy and cumbersome. She looked over her shoulder to tug it out from under the foot of a large man, causing her to bump right into someone.

“Oh, I am so sorry--Francis.” Elinor would recognize those blue eyes she was looking into anywhere.

“Elinor,” he greeted her back, his shoulders straight as she stood tall. “I hope you are well.”

“Well enough,” she told him, trying to remember how she was supposed to be acting. For all she wanted to do was slap him across the face. The urge rose suddenly and she curled her hand into a fist. “And you?”

“Well, thank you.”

There was an awkward beat. Francis looked out to the dance floor. “Would you like to dance? I--think we have a few things to talk about.”

No, Elinor wanted to snarl, but she did as she always did--as she had always been taught: she took a breath and smiled. For just a moment, she wished her teeth were fangs. She wanted to be the thing that frightened men. “You honour me,” she told him. Her voice sounded robotic, but she kept smiling graciously and took his hand.

He led her onto the floor and placed his hand on her waist. Last year, at the Winter’s Ball, his hand had strayed below where was appropriate and she had stepped on his toes in return with a laugh and a blush, before he’d pulled her into a darkened corridor and stole kisses from her lips.

Since then, he had stolen much more from her. Elinor hated him. Being in his arms now, it made her feel as if she was going to explode. Still, she smiled. “How is school?”

“Good, thank you.” He told her with a nod. “And you?”

“It’s wonderful. I am having a marvelous time.” This was easy to say. It was the truth and she wanted him to be hurt by it.

He nodded, still not quite looking at her. “Elinor, I have something to tell you.”

“Alright, tell me then.” Her voice had an edge to it, even though she kept smiling. She tried to remember what her mother taught her: a lady does not frown, a lady always smiles, a lady defers to a man’s wants, a lady dances smoothly, a lady can do all of these things no matter what. The world could be ending, but a lady never has a hair out of place or anything but a smile.

“I am engaged.”

Elinor’s feet stopped. She planted herself on the floor and felt as if she had become one of the ice statues that were sweating on the edges of the ballroom. “What?”

“I am engaged to be married. I need my necklace back. It’s a family heirloom, you know. I need to give it to my bride.”

Elinor didn’t think, she just reacted. Let her heart guide her.

And her heart told her to punch this bastard in the face.

So that was what she did. The crack of flesh hitting flesh was the loudest thing in the room. Something crunched and Elinor’s hand began to throb, a sharp pain shooting all the way down to her elbow. She hissed a breath and stumbled backward the same time that Francis did, holding a hand up to his nose. Elinor saw a flash of bright red amongst the twirling blues, whites, and golds.

“You bitch!” Francis shouted, but it came out slurred from behind his hand as he tilted his head forward.

Elinor didn’t know why, but she started to laugh.

“Shut up!” Francis snarled at her.

Stumbling backward again, she tripped on the train of her own dress and then fled, turning down the very same corridor that Francis himself had led her down a year ago. She moved through the hall before opening a random door and shutting it behind herself. Once she was alone, the laughter turned to a sob and Elinor’s eyes began to burn with tears. She crossed the room, throwing open the double doors and stumbling out onto the balcony, catching herself on the railing. She wanted to scream, but when she opened her mouth, nothing came out.

Instead, she pressed her head against the cool marble of the railing and sucked in the cool night air.

“That was the worst fookin’ punch I have ever seen in me life.”

Elinor whirled around at the sound of a gruff voice behind her, reaching up simultaneously to scrub at her cheeks. “Fergus, go away,” she hiccuped, trying to look as vicious as she had felt just minutes before when she had punched Francis. The fire had gone out, though, and the humiliation smarted something awful. Especially now that her best friend’s older brother had found her and was probably going to drag her back into the ball kicking and screaming. Or worse, go and get her mother.

He did neither of those things. Instead, he just chuckled and held his hands up in surrender before moving towards the balcony railing. “I am just sayin’ you clearly haven’t ever punched anyone in your life.”

“Of course I haven’t,” Elinor scoffed, her voice wobbling. She watched him wearily as he moved to lean against the railing. He didn’t seem perturbed by her tears, she supposed she was grateful for that.

“You have a good reason?”

“Of course I did,” Elinor snapped before turning slightly so that she could wipe her eyes with her fingers. Fergus, notably, did not offer her a handkerchief. Instead, he just cocked his head at her, red hair washed out in the dark light. She stuck out her chin and took a deep, steadying breath. She didn’t want him to know that she was nervous. Elinor had only been alone with one boy--man--before and when she had darted her eyes about, he had stepped closer. What had been a reckless, fluttering, foolish heart, now felt somewhat sturdier, thanks to Francis.

“How did you find me?” she demanded when she looked back over at Fergus.

“The breeze.” He shrugged.

“What?”

“The windows let in a draft. No other drafts in the hallway except the one coming from this room.”

“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.”

He nodded as if this was obvious. “Your hand alright?”

“What? Oh--” Elinor looked down at her hand, flexing it once. It smarted, but she didn’t think there was any permanent damage done. “I think so.”

“Good.” Fergus stood up to his full height. He was not much taller than her, but he was broad enough that he blocked out the light of the moon. His own fist raised between them. “Next time--”

“There won’t be a next time,” Elinor protested, her cheeks heating.

He held her gaze for a moment. “Next time, put your thumb over your fingers and squeeze down on your middle finger with it. Hit with the knuckle of your middle finger, aye?”

Much of its own accord, her hand made a fist, copying his and then raising it up for approval. Fergus stepped forward and reached up to adjust her fingers. His hands were big, warm, and calloused, but they moved gently. “There ya are. Now, I’ll give you a few minutes. If I were you, I’d sneak out the back and head to the hotel. Your ma is on a warpath. I’ve seen men quiver less in their boots when facing down a Fear Gorta.”

That surprised a laugh out of Elinor. She reached up to put a hand on her chest. Her fingers brushed the cool tip of metal from Francis’ necklace. Slipping her hands behind her neck, she unclasped it and then weighed it in her hand for a moment before turning toward the balcony again. She tossed it into the darkness. When she turned back, Fergus was staring at her again.

“What? Are you going to criticize my throwing arm now?” The words were between a challenge and a tease.

“No, no. That, uh, was an impressive throw. I’ll...take my leave of ya now, lass. Good luck.”

Elinor smiled a bit and it was her first true one of the night. “Thank you. Good night.”

#the forging of bitter bonds #the winter's ball #self para #this one deviated from #what i intended but boy is the end good imo #back to back meet cutes? your fave could never #also i have NO idea what the pacing of this story is #i feel like it sucks but whatever #featuring marigold harrington #featuring francis smith #featuring una briar #featuring fergus dunbroch

1 note · View note

kalendraashtar · 5 years

Text

Fanfiction - Dark Shines

Just two chapters to go in Murder 1 after this one! Thank you for reading and supporting. Lots of love X

Part I, Part II , Part III , Part IV , Part V , Part VI , Part VII

Dark Shines

Part VIII – Witness

She was a witch and he was in her thrall.

Once, he had no recollection of her face as soon as she was away; now he was bewitched by the memory of her. Claire's face was never far away from his thoughts, and for the next three days as soon as he left the station he went straight to her house.

They made love with abandon, sometimes against the front door or on the hallway's floor, as if intimate touch was something that could escape them at any moment. Claire would relieve him of the burden of his holster and past sorrows with a knowing, fearless, hand; he committed to the job of loving her right with his whole body.

Jamie found laughter in her bed again, a wave that broke into him belly-deep, and he was forever chasing the sensation of lightness of her skin against his. She told him stories about her unusual customers, both tea-seekers and craft-believers, and he relished in experiencing something of her through those tales. They seldom talked about the past and never about the future, happy to exist only in that precipice before and after their joining.

"Do you want to see some actual magic?" She asked late one night, as Jamie watched her intently, sprawled on her unmade bed as she moved across the room. A rumpled sheet covered him modestly around the waist, auburn and cinnamon glistening on the sparse hairs of his naked thighs and legs.

"I thought I just did." He offered her a lopsided grin, filled with cockiness.

"I have more to offer than a good seeing to, Mister Fraser." She answered coquettishly, bouncing her stormy curls. "I mean, do you want to see what I can do with my craft?"

"I thought ye didna want to show me." Jamie noted haltingly, leaning forward so that he was half-sitting on the bed. "Couldn't ye have used it before, to convince me to believe ye?"

"You believe me now." The witch replied simply, as if that settled the matter entirely. "And that's why."

Not waiting for another rebuttal, Claire sat in front of him with crossed legs and covered her face with the palms of her hands, whispering softly.

"Servant of time under my palms,

Skin of oak, blood of sap,

Future me for him to see."

Jamie had a peculiar sense of warm wind howling from her hands, and when she finally moved them and revealed her face, he gasped audibly.

Staring back at him, with mischief laughing in her amber eyes, was a very old woman who looked remarkably like Claire, her skin seemingly made of marble-white parchment. Crowning her striking face wasn’t a riot of grey-white hair, but the same rich brown curls he had caressed just minutes before.

“How?” He asked hoarsely, moistening his lips to hide his incredulity. Fearfully, he reached out to touch her cheek - it felt warm and lively, just as her skin always felt underneath his eager fingers. “Is that - is that really ye, Claire?”

“Of course!” The tea-maker laughed and shook her head vigorously, as if battling away droplets of stubborn water, and when she raised her eyes again to glance victoriously at him, her face had returned to normal - beautiful, mysterious, young. "Or I will be, someday. What you see isn't all there is to see, Jamie. Creating things that aren’t there at all is harder - but this is actually quite simple.”

“I won’t lie, lass.” The profiler tilted his head, inspecting her closely, as if she was about to fade into thin, uncapturable, mist. “It’s verra hard to wrap my heid around it all.” He pressed his lips, half-amused. “Ye could turn me into a munter of a toad, if I dinna please ye, aye?”

Claire chuckled, nudging his bare chest with her open palm, as she came closer to him until their faces were in promising proximity. She quickly waved her right hand in front of her eyes and they shone ruby-red for an instant, before they returned to delicate honey. “Luckily, you please me plenty.”

Before Jamie could kiss her expectant mouth, the doorbell rang, sounding misplaced and dangerous in the quietness of the little hours of night.

“Stay here, Jamie.” The witch frowned and raised quickly, grabbing a blue robe to cover her nakedness, as she padded outside the bedroom, firmly closing the door behind her.

Feeling protective and more than a little curious, the police officer rapidly put on his trousers and slid outside the room as silently as possible. Tiptoeing on the wooden floorboards to avoid a traitorous crack, he crouched to peek swiftly around the corner of the hallway.

Standing with Claire was the grey-eyed woman he had seen at her house, in the very first night he had visited her, when he had stumbled upon what he believed to be a gathering of witches. The black-haired woman was tall and dressed completely in black, with a large sweater and skinny pants, that made her look willowy.

"There are words to be said between us, Claire." The newly-arrived woman asserted. Although there was nothing particularly threatening about her tone, the hairs on his arms stood on end. "Are ye alone?"

“No.” The owner of Beauchamp’s Cup crossed her arms. “You can’t just appear in the middle of the night, Malva, and expect me to be awaiting you with biscuits laid out.”

There was a long silence in the hallway and Jamie cursed himself soundlessly, realizing he had left his holster and badge on top of the table by the door, inadvertently revealing Claire’s nightly companion.

“I see.” The woman named Malva finally said mellifluously, an oiliness about her tone that made him grit his teeth. “The wee agent is a dishy, I’ll give ye that - but I dinna take ye for a junkie-lover, Beauchamp. Ye ken about his past, no? It’s all over his stars.”

“Keep Agent Fraser out of your mouth, Malva.” Claire answered calmly, her voice stubbornly composed. “Say what you came to say and leave me to my sleep, will you?”

“The last leaves are about to fall from the elder trees. Will ye be challenging me for the Alba Coven leadership?” The visitant spat, her words jumping with barely suppressed anxiety and anger.

Jamie gripped his fists, impatiently waiting for Claire’s answer, which followed a humourless chortle.

“I never wanted to be High Priestess, Malva.” He could sense the growing tension between the two women, even shielded from their gaze by the wall. “And I certainly don’t want it now. You’ll remain unchallenged, as far as I am concerned.”

“As long as ye live, Claire - the last of the Moriston’s - I am disputed. Yer mere existence is a claim on its own, don’t ye see?” Envy and resentment dripped from her words directly into Jamie’s ears. “They’ll have me, only because they canna have ye.”

Adso suddenly bolted across the corridor, almost bumping into Jamie’s legs in the process, running towards the front door while hissing madly.

“Yes, I believe she is leaving, my dearest.” Claire clearly addressed the temperamental feline, her melodic voice poised and tranquil. “You’re unsettling my familiar, Christie. Have a good night.”

“Oh, one last thing - I almost forgot.” The viperlike witch hummed, delighted. “Lizzie Wemyss is dead. I believe she was a friend, aye? I heard just before I came. Of course, yer mate would ken it already, if he kept his tadger inside his pants.”

***

Lizzie Wemyss was indeed Claire’s friend; their parting kiss had been moistened with her tears, as soon as Jamie got the call for the latest crime scene. He had pretended not to have witnessed the puzzling conversation between the two conjurers, greeting Claire from the bed where she had left him, before his phone buzzed ominously.

Just short of thirty, Lizzie’s fair hair had turned scarlet with her own blood, as she curled like a newborn at the centre of her living room. The air was burdensome, with a scent that wasn’t yet of death, but of life sprinting away in a flash of red.

Denzell Hunter and John Grey were already inside when Jamie arrived, both their faces muted and miserable at the thought of another victim to add to the harrowing tally.

“More of the same.” Detective Hunter sighed, nodding curtly to acknowledge Jamie’s arrival. “If we dinna put a stop to Edinburgh’s Demon soon, the director will demand my scalp and bollocks to decorate his fuckin’ Christmas tree.”

“Nothing out of the ordinary.” John’s gloved hands exhibited two books about wiccan practice, which he had retrieved from the victim’s shelves. “She surely fits victimology.”

“I have been thinking.” Jamie’s eyes scanned the scene thoroughly. “And I’m willin’ to bet that the murderer is a woman. Ye wouldna open the door to a complete stranger - but ye definitely would to a good friend; or at the very least, a lass ye were familiar with, maybe pretending she were in trouble and seeking help.”

“That certainly changes things.” Hunter chewed on his cheek, thoughtfully. “I’ll let the lads on patrol now, so that they can keep an eye out for - weil, whatever.” He shook his hands, incapable of describing in any synthetic way what they should be looking for exactly, before he stepped out of the room.

“That is one strange looking candle.” Grey said after a while, indicating with his finger a tall candle which stood on the corner, its wick untouched.

"That candle has some meaning to the witches." The red-headed criminal profiler pointed. "Claire Beauchamp has one just like it in her bedroom."

Too late, Janie realized he had slipped and revealed much more than intended - he had just exposed his secret to a man trained not to miss it.

"You're sleepin' with the witch, aren't you? A person of interest in this investigation?" Grey shook his head, incredulous and slightly angry. "Christ, Jamie! Of all the risky and inadvisable things for you to do - what were you thinking?!"

"I needed to get to her." Jamie answered in a low rumble. "To gain her trust and find what she truly kens about the murders."

He felt sick in his wame and utterly shameful for uttering such words out loud. For making another soul believe he would use Claire in such a manner. But what could he say to his partner, that wouldn't complicate things even further?

I want her. I need her. I thought I was cured of needing, of yearning, but she has proven me wrong.

"That's fairly cold, no?" The blonde man raised a brow. "And a tad despicable? Not something I'd expect from you at all, Fraser."

"Sometimes ye need to find unorthodox ways of getting the job done, John." Jamie rebuked, striving to maintain a sense of aloofness. He was known as a fairly cynical bloke - if competent and reliable - in the corridors of the Yard; it was part of the appearance he had mastered to hide the deep crack inside. "I'm no' afraid of getting my hands dirty."

“And what have you shagged out of the woman, then?” The Londoner officer glared at him, aghast. “It better be worth your career if Director Gowan gets word of it.”

“I think the murders are all about a power struggle.” Jamie breathed deeply. “As most things are in our line of work. Just a different kind of power, perhaps.”

#Dark Shines #Part VIII #Witness #Outlander fanfiction #Jamie and Claire #Modern AU #dark mood #criminal profiler vs. witch

281 notes · View notes

aswallowssong · 4 years

Text

Whumptober (Sickfic) Day 8 - Hospital

This got way out of hand y’all, but here we are!

SCRC AU

Read on AO3

-----

Both women were clad in sweatpants and hoodies, JJ’s hair in a loose ponytail while Kit’s braids were falling out.

JJ was the only one she’d called.

The blonde dropped into the chair next to her, taking her hand and squeezing gently. The worry could have been coming from anywhere, they were in a hospital, but it surged when JJ took a breath.

“What happened?”

What happened? Kit wasn’t entirely sure. Reid had been off work a few days. Actually, she’d kicked him out of the bullpen that Monday when he was coughing so aggressively she swore he was going to crack a rib if he didn’t go home and lay down. It had sounded wet and congested and gross, but she assumed he’d picked up whatever cold was making its way around. He’d be fine if he just got some sleep like a normal person, and he’d be back by Wednesday. Gideon had even driven him home.

Then Hotch had told them Reid was out sick again on Thursday, which was concerning, but not enough for her to be overly worried. Some people caught things worse than other people. He was probably taking an extra day to be completely back to normal before facing them all again. He already got so much flack for being the youngest; the baby. She’d thought he was just avoiding being coddled when he didn’t need it.

At least that’s what she’d thought until he was calling her at one-thirty in the morning, his breaths coming in gasps and wheezes as he asked for her help through what sounded like strangled sobs. She’d scrambled from her bed and basically grabbed the keys out of Monty’s hands as she walked through the door, shoving her glasses on her face and babbling something half-intelligible about an emergency.

It had taken her exactly three minutes to get to Spencer’s apartment in the dead of night, which was weird, because she hadn’t known that he lived anywhere near her. It took three more minutes for her to decide he needed more medical intervention than she could give him in his apartment. He was shaking and wheezing and coughing disgusting colored phlegm into the sleeve of his hoodie, skin on fire with eyes panicked and bright.

It took six minutes to get him down to the car, and another twelve to drive to the hospital closest to them. She’d walked him into the ER she’d worked in for a year and a half before the academy, no idea who was the Head, and no idea what to do except flash her badge and relay as much information as she possibly could to the nurse behind the desk.

They’d taken him away as soon as they saw that Kit was supporting most of his weight, his gasping and coughing causing the nurses to move with an urgency Kit almost missed. She just wished it wasn’t due to the fact that Reid, Spencer, was struggling to breath.

She’d found a corner to cry her eyes out in as soon as they’d taken him away from her.

“They, um. He’s in a room. They took him away from me and wouldn’t let me go with,” she said slowly, not really answering JJ’s question. “They wouldn’t let me go with.”

“But what happened? To Spence?”

Kit told her as well as she could, mind moving at seven hundred miles an hour. Things were fuzzy as she remembered them. Spencer’s breathing. Monty calling after her. His hands gripping hers so tight it was painful as she drove through the deserted streets of the district towards the hospital she knew so well.

JJ didn’t let go of as she spoke, running her thumb along the back of Kit’s hand. “You did everything you could,” she said quietly. “Do you know what’s wrong with him?”

“I…” She shook her head, starting to ramble as she processed. “I sent him home Monday, remember? He was supposed to be back Wednesday and then he wasn’t. He wasn’t back today, yesterday? It’s Friday now I think, but it’s still today. It’s still Thursday and he didn’t come to work and I thought, maybe he was just waiting. But then he called me and he was struggling to breathe and I did what I could.”

She looked up at JJ’s eyes, her own pooling with tears like they had before. “I did everything I could, but he was in respiratory distress. It’s the middle of the night. I don’t have supplies like that in my backpack. I couldn’t help him.”

“You did,” she assured, squeezing Kit’s hand again. “You got to his apartment and you got him here.”

“I should have checked on him today. During the day. On my way home.” A tear slid down her cheek. “I should have done something else. You’re my responsibility. All of you.”

JJ shook her head, moving so that both her hands were holding Kit’s. “Don’t do that. No one else checked on him either. This is on all of us.”

“No, it’s on me.”

“Kit-”

“Spencer Reid?”

A voice called out from the doorway of the waiting room. An older nurse was standing there, giving the two girls a kind, sympathetic smile. They were the only two there, so the nurse must have known they were the ones there for Reid, but Kit appreciated the professionalism. Something concrete in a time where nothing felt like it was making a lot of sense.

“Yes,” Kit said quickly, swiping her tears away under her glasses and taking a deep breath as she stood. JJ stood as well. “Is he okay?”

“Are either of you immediate family?”

Both girls stood still for a moment before they both shook their heads. “I’m JJ, and this is Kit. We’re-,” JJ said before Kit said quickly. “We work in the same department at the FBI headquarters. I’m the one that brought him.”

The nurse nodded before starting into her spiel. The one Kit had given plenty of times before. “Mr. Reid has moderate bacterial pneumonia. He’s being given oxygen and intravenous fluids and medication to work on the dehydration and the fever. Once his sputum test comes back, we will be able to start him on a regiment of antibiotics.”

“He’s allergic to carbenicillin,” Kit said quickly, a hand drumming against the fabric of her sweats. The nurse smiled at her kindly. “We caught that on his file, yes. It was recently updated.”

Kit nodded quickly. “I did that a few months ago.”

“It was thorough,” the woman said, never losing her calm, kind front. “Now, I’m sure you’re glad to know that your friend is okay, but I am sorry to tell you that visiting hours don’t start again until ten. I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you then, if he’s awake.”

“Wait,” Kit said quickly, catching on to her meaning, “We can’t see him now?”

“Neither of you are family, so no, I’m sorry. You’ll have to wait until the morning.”

“He doesn’t have any family,” JJ said with the same speed and determination Kit had spoken. “He has us. And Kit just brought him here, and he was scared.”

The nurse shook her head, Reid’s file tightening in her hand. “I’m sorry that you’re upset. The only people who are allowed immediate visiting hour exceptions are immediate family, like a spouse or a parent, or a listed emergency contact, in the case of a patient with no familial ties.”

“Well, who’s his emergency contact? We’re not leaving him here alone.” JJ’s eyes were full of a fire Kit would say lined up pretty well with what Gideon always said about her.

If her eyes really looked like that, maybe he was right to say she was trouble.

The nurse sighed quietly, opening the file and scanning. She tilted her head as she read the name on the file. “Emergency contact for Spencer Reid is… Dakota. Dakota Col- Colg…”

“Colghain?” Kit asked, eyes wide and eyebrows pulled together. The nurse nodded. “Sure, that could be it. Do you know her?”

“I am her,” Kit said, stunned. She pulled her badge out of the pocket of her sweatpants, flipping it open so the woman could see her name printed clearly along with her picture.

“Well why didn’t you start with that?” The nurse said, waves of true annoyance coming off of her. “You can come with me, but your friend has to leave until visiting hours start again.”

Kit promised JJ she would call as soon as she could before following the nurse down the cold hallway. Goosebumps erupted along Kit’s arms as they passed door after door, the walk from the ER to General Admissions being so eerily familiar, but so foreign at the same time. She’d lost a young man in room 302, and an elderly woman in room 246. She’d walked down the hallway a million times, she just didn’t think she’d be doing it again. Not as a visitor.

The nurse opened the door to Reid’s room, and Kit had to swallow back the whine threatening to escape. He was paper white, hooked up to an IV with a nasal cannula situated in his nose, pumping oxygen into his fluid-filled lungs. The guilt was hitting her in waves, and she didn’t move for a moment.

This is your fault. If you’d checked on him today, or if you’d given a shit on Monday past the fact that the coughing was annoying everyone, he wouldn’t be in this situation.

“It’s alright,” the nurse said, her annoyance ebbing as she watched Kit stand there with wide eyes. “It can be hard for some people to see all these IVs and machines.”

“I’m a Charge Nurse,” Kit said quietly, using the terminology she knew from the hospital, not the academy clinic. “I’ve just never seen him look like this.”

Kit sat in the chair by Reid’s bed for almost an hour before he shifted, his breath catching and leaving his coughing and sputtering as phlegm tried to work its way out of his lungs. She moved to the edge of the bed quickly, helping him sit up and passing him a bin that he could spit the offending mucus into. She let herself be thankful for one moment that it was her and not JJ there with him, not knowing JJ’s comfort level with all things medically gross.

“You’re okay,” she said quietly, one of her small hands pressed steadily between his shoulder blades. “Get it out. That’s your job right now.”

“Hurts,” he choked out as he continued to cough, and Kit sighed, rubbing gently across his upper back. “Yeah, I know. Not a choice, though. I’m not going anywhere, just try to breathe when you can.”

It took minutes for him to get control of his lungs back, though he wheezed with every shallow intake of air. He looked at her with glassy, fever bright eyes, his eyes moving slowly around the room before he said quietly, “What did they say?”

“Bacterial pneumonia. They’re putting you on antibiotics and keeping you here at least twenty-four hours. So, really, Saturday morning.”

“I’m allergic-”

“To carbenicillin, I know. I told them.”

Reid seemed to relax slightly at that, knowing that whatever they gave him to combat the infection in his lungs wasn’t going to be his end. Kit helped ease him against the thin mattress again in a position that wouldn’t allow him to drown in his own illness.

It was quiet, save for the occasional cough from Spencer. Her hand was gripped around his, the overwhelming guilt and confusion building as time went on.

“I’m sorry,” she finally said, and he opened his eyes to look at her with puzzlement. “What?”

“I’m sorry. I should have given a shit when I sent you home on Monday, and I should have checked in on you today. We probably could have avoided this whole, ‘scary fever can’t breath’ thing.” She was looking down at her hand that was playing with the seam on her pants, the hand holding Reid’s already as tight as she dared.

Reid shook his head lazily. “I’m sorry I waited so long to call you. I knew there was something wrong-” He cut off with a few harsh coughs before he continued. “Earlier. I just didn’t want to bother you.”

“You wouldn’t have bothered me,” she insisted, feeling like she was really looking at him for the first time. He was young, like she was, and he didn’t have any family. It dawned on her that she was his emergency contact. Not Gideon. Not even Hotch. She didn’t know if up until that point she would have called them friends.

But she was the one sitting in his hospital room at nearly four in the morning. And in his hospital room at four in the morning she wasn’t so sure he was a minion or a spy. He just looked like a scared young adult. Just like she was.

“Why is it me?”

“Hm?”

“Why am I your emergency contact? Why isn’t it Gideon?”

Reid didn’t speak for a moment, the air flooding with his sadness. “I asked him. He said no,” he said, voice quiet and trembling with tears that wouldn’t fall. “I should have asked you, Dakota. I shouldn’t have just done it. I’m sorry.”

There was another bout of silence before she nearly whispered, “You can leave it.”

He turned his head to look at her, something like distrust in his eyes. He wasn’t sure. He thought she was joking, or poking fun. She could see it.

“I- what?”

“You can leave it. I don’t mind.”

“You don’t?”

“No, Spencer, I don’t. Thank you for calling me.”

He stared at her for a second before nodding just slightly, gratitude filling the space between them.

“Thank you for coming.”

#Brenna writes things #or at least she tries #Criminal Minds #SCRC #Whumptober Sickfic 2020 #sickfic #day 8 hospital #Gosh Spencer needs a hug #Kit does too

12 notes · View notes

watchyourbluesturngolden · 3 years

Text

my annotations for chappy 11 of ysijwa

this is just for drea and leyla to read so if you're not drea or leyla pls keep scrolling :)

ok this is pretty chaotic and like i said earlier i treated this ike a wattpad comment section so... have fun ig :)

SHERLOCK AND WATSON CINEMATIC UNIVERSE SHUT UPPPPP I LOVE YOU SM DREA

NOT MISS SNAP CRACKLE POP

jealous y/n you say???

now i know why you ignored all my tiktok asks lmao

HELPLESS OH MY GOD

truly madly deeply intended :)

damn he's kind of a narcissist yk? like "I have to be serious my entire family depends on it" shut up mr darcy you're not special

devout in his religion hmmmmmm hopefully we see some more religious trauma content bc me too vampy

awww he wants kids but now he cant have them bc hes... dead :(

AWWW his sister taught him to knit :( if he doesn't knit bloodbag a sweater i swear to god

stuffy moron is correct

"IT'S A FUCKING WONDER HE EVER GOT LAID" OIJRIOJWEIOJIEWOJFIOEJOF

"THE ATROCITY THAT IS BEING ACQUAINTED WITH NIALL AND HIS HORRIBLE AFFINITY FOR CHEAP FLANEL" ORJFOIJFEIOWJ YOURE SUCH A POET

he's so dumb she was with him bc he's hot that much should be obvious to him🙄

FOOLISHLY HOPELESSLY UNMEASURABLY IN LOVE HWAT THE FUCK DREA IM SAD

i love that he remembers the spinal cord dislocation and the dead leaves . like yea im dead rn but the leaves in my hair are really what's bothering me the most

what the fuck is a maw

ok i looked it up i get it now

"attachment is for gullible idiots" yup and youre one of them vampy 😌

"the warmest skin his icy fingers had ever had the good fortune to touch" im so soft rn

oh so now she has "a wholesome beauty about her nature" ? i thought she was just cute enough 🤨

HE THINKS HER SMILE COULD RESTART HIS HEART THATS SO CUTE IM OUHOIJFOEWIJFIOEWJ

"the responsibility of keeping her safe, satisfied, and happy" how 🥺 🥺🥺

"as long as he breathes" i thought he didn't breathe lmao BUT I GET THE SENTIMENT

"always when it comes to her" IM SCREAMING RN THIS IS SO SOFT I CANT

ill never forgive him for being so dense either his brain is basically a rock

HE WANTED TO COMMUNICATE THAT HE BELONGED TO HER IM GONNA HAVE A STROKE

couldnt be me i dont want to be percieved

HE ADDED A FUCKING BUTTERFLY AFTER THE DISCO BALLS IM OIWFJIOEWJFIOEJIOEWNOJIWJ(*H(WUIOFJIOEWJFIOWHVIFUEH)U)($UT

HEY a hamilton obsession is not childish😤

'the only person who was allowed to touch him there was y/n' he's like a little kid who's possessive omggggggg

oh this reminds me i rlly hope everything in that chest was new and had never been used on anyone else owijfowiejfioewj

oh please my irish king can control himself let y/n meet the other vamps🙄

"if they knew all along why did it take so long" yk im wondering the same thing dummy

"every day was a battle to earn her love and affection" wtffff how could she hurt him like that he is just a baby

i think he needs therapy tbh

yes he does deserve to be treated with respect and dignity😤

"supporting and tolerating them despite your differences" exactly unless they're a republican

IM SORRY THAT WAS MEAN OIWFJOIWJFEIOw i said what i said tho

they did everything backwards but it's what baby needed🥺

im literally gonna 🔪 bradley how dare he hurt my favorite ribeye like that

PROPER BOYFRIEND-GIRLFRIEND BONDING PLSSSSS im sure he makes sure to say stuff like "as your boyfriend' or 'since youre my girlfriend' all the time now

"everything that has to do with harry has always and will always make her feel safe and secure" ...who's gonna tell her👀

HE BECOMES CLINGY IVE BEEN WAITIN FOR THIS ONE TURN IT UP

awwww my love language is also quality times bestiesssssss

(this is more serious you might want to change the words to nose kisses or something because esk*mo is a slur)

HE wants to be wrapped in HER arms and get forehead kissies like a little baby🥺🥺

i can tell you wrote this chappy bc leyla would never write about ice cream

IF CHRIST CAN GET A DATE MARKER SO CAN HARRY OIFJOEIWJFIOEWJFWI PLSSSSSSSSSS I LOVE HIM

ALWAYS FOR HER WEJFIOJWEIOFJEWIOFJOIEWJFOIEWJF HES SO IN LOOOOOVE

HE DID IT AND IM SO PROUD OF HIM🥺

omg i have a thot imagine if she got a heart murmur or something and obvi he knows bc he can hear it so now he has to find a way to make her get it checked out out without being suspicious 😭

HE ROCKS HER TO CALM HER DOWN WHEN SHES HAVING NIGHTMARES IJFEOWIJFOIWEFJ

“nearly blinds himself for eternity” what a drama queen i love him

maybe learn how to turn your brightness down grandpa

“can women sense emotional distress” why is this so funny oiewfjwieojfioewj

DEHUMANIZING OWEIJOIAJAKLFSDJLKSDJFKLD

not a psychotic episode 😭😭

crippling mommy issues woejfkljdklsjsdf me too king

awwwww he made her a full buffet i would cry

matchy socks im gonna sob

king is a chef 😌

y/n’s head @ harry’s clavicle rn: 💥

“his plush chest” drea its ok you can say titties

“absolutely flawless”? are you sure shes not just cute enough 🤨

he got her oat milk 🥺the sign of true love

hes such a shithead i love him

SPELLING HIS NAM E ON HER TUMMY IM HAVING ANOTHER STROKE

“I DIDNT WANT TO LEAVE YOU ALL ALONE” HES SO WOIFJSJFSDKJKLSDJF

HE DIDNT HAVE TO DO NIALL LIKE THAT 😭😭

RAPUNZEL HAIR OSIDJSKJKLSJF

she traces a tiny heart on him wtfffffffffff im sad

this… is hot

“theres no room on the counter” owifjlksjfslkfjklsj

HE WOULD WALK THROUGH FIRE FOR HER maybe then he’d be a little less cold

im sorry that was wrong of me lisjfskldjfwoiejewiojrei

OH MY GOD OWEIJFKLJSKLFJL SHES SO BOLD “can’t i?” OSIJFKSLJLKJF

oh boy hes gonna kill her

I WONDERED WHEN THE YOURE HOT WHEN YOURE MEAN THING WAS GOING TO COME UP

literally shut the fuck up mr english major

do it bestie kick him in the balls

SPARE BOOBIES MAAM I CNAT BELIEVE YOU aCTUALLY WROTE THAT OWIFEJWIJEKLJFOIEWHOEWIFEHFLKEWJFKLEWJKLJFL

IM WHITE IM ALLERGIC TO SPICE WEJFLKJFKLEJFLKJSKLJKFSJD

“character development at its finest” what a self aware king

y/n stop being mean to him baby just wants to feel close ☹️

“I’m anemic” ok king whatever u say

“ME AND MY CHRONIC ILLNESS IM SENSITIVE” IJFKLSDJFKLJSDKLJ

ahhhhhhh it’s yoga time

“just ask your cervix” jlksdjflksdjflkdsjflk

“if only you knew” ☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️

yeah y/n isnt like those other girls 🤪 shes different 🤪

yes bestie objectify him

THERE IT IS MY FAVORITE LINE IN THIS ENTRIE BOOK

PERHAPS MY FAVORITE LINE IN ANY BOOK EVER

“He hasn't been this stiff since rigor mortis”

i think about this on a daily basis i truly do

grey shorts? what a slut

“call the lapd im pressing charges” me after walking up the stairs

OH SO THIS IS WHERE THE GREYS ANATOMY CHARACTERS FROM THE SPOILERS WITHOUT CONTEXT COME IN

him using his shirt as a towel im BARKING

“I wasnt jealous” yea ok 😃

AGAIN HIM DRAWING HIS INITIALS ON HER SKIN THATS SO WOIJFSKLDJFLSJ

yeah harold she just wanted a little kiss 😤

yeah 😃 its bc he ran track 😃

no bc thats so fucking cute that she pretended she had never seen the show before bc he was excited to introduce her to it 🥺

I would do the same tbh i feel like it would be fun to wash dishes with harry idk why

“that skank” oisjksldfjklsjfklsdjflkd

YOUR THICK SKULL COULD DAMAGE THE MARBLE LSKFJKLDSJKFLSDJFKLSJFKLSJKLSJLDKFJLSKDJF I WOULD CRY

he gets her a cup of water 🥺

ok but like wouldn't she want to wash her hair after it got all sweaty at yoga

awwwww she got his toothbrush ready for him why am i so soft rn

memory foam mattresses sound nice but actually they kind of suck bc you sink down and feel trapped in them 😃

HE WATCHED THE TIKTOK SHE SENT HIM IM HAVING A THIRD STROKE

niall is probably on the dumbest side of tiktok idek what side but it’s probably annoying and he thinks it’s hilarious

noooo baby youre not a monster🥺 someone give him a hug rn

well actually you are kind of a monster but its ok we still love u bestie

I too run on caffeine and pizza pockets 😌

TONSIL HOCKEY WHAT THE FUCK OIEJFLSDKJFKLSDJFLSJLKFJSDKLFJ

chatsnap hes such an old man 😭

true lmao if you dont have social media i immediately dont trust you

not the i just washed my hands tiktok 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

HE FEELS STRANGELY PERCIEVED RN KJFLSJFLKSDJ IDK WHY THIS IS SO FUNNY TO ME BUT IM LIKE LEGIT LAUGHING

DO IT BESTIE BITE HIM CHOMP CHOMP

“my eyes are stinging” hes such a baby 😭

“MY SIGH”TS ALL FUZZY” SJFKDSLJFLKDSJFLKDSJFLK

“are you all right” “I dont know :(’ i cant handle this my face hurts from smiling lksjflkjafklj

he has a kitchenaid stand mixer omg thats so sexy

ok but has anyone ever gotten salmonella from raw cookie dough bc i think thats just a myth

fuck u for that one vampy

wow he could never deal with my chronically ill ass

WAIT IS IT WAP

NOPE ITS BETTER LSDFJSDKLFJDS

I agree body is absolutely an instrumental masterpiece

I KNEW HE KNOWS SOME TIKTOK DANCES I KNEW IT

“I know youre kinda into that (getting smacked in the face)” SHUT UPPPPPPP SKJFSKDLJFDS

NOT HIM TWERKING SLKFJSDKLFJDSKLFJDSKL

YES YN GET THAT VIDEO AND BLACKMAIL HIM

“I think i popped something” ok old man 😭

why is the word wench so funny lkfjslkfjdslkfjsdlkfj

dont hand it over i want to see him snap

OH SHIT HE JUST JUMPED THE TABLE LSDFJSDKLFJLKDNMNXCMNJKHOIUIOEUR

oooooooooooo

OH MY GOD AGAIN SHE REALLY IS BOLD SLKDFJDSKLFJLSKDJFLKJFS

not guerrilla warfare 😭😭😭😭

do it bestie give him a concussion he deserves it

“no piece of art could ever compare to her” 🥺🥺

“remember that time you told me making out was childish” “no” i hate him 😭

THERE IT IS AGAIN “sex isnt the only way he can feel close to someone anymore” SHUT THE FUCK UP IM SOBBING

this reminds me of the dehydrated intercourse with demonrry

“don’t care, relationships are about sharing’ hes so sdjfksldjfklsjf

DO IT BESTIE KICK HIS KNEECAPS IN

suing disney for false advertisement 😭

THIS SCENE IS KILLING ME LKJFKLSJFLDSJ “just pucker your lips over it” “You have actual brain damage, dont you?” DREA I LOVE YOU KSDJFLDSKJFLKSDJ

how do those bubbles taste babe

ok drea wtf i was so happy and now this??????

“everything’s wrong” NO SHUT UP SHUT UP ITS HAPPY HOURS

not the boob privileges 😭

WAIT THIS IS FROM THE BSE MV ISNT IT “dance is just so hot rn” “depressing shades are just so hot rn”

NOT HIM GETTING ALL STUTTERY WHEN HE ASKS HER IF SHE WANTS A DRAWER 🥺

NO ONE HAS EVER BEEN THIS GENTLE WITH HIM BEFORE WTFFFFFFFF IM CRYING

“youre so fucking cute, my baby” me when i see literally any picture of him

JELLO HAS a STRONGER BACKBONE THAN THIS KSFJSDKLFJDSKLFJ

“betrayed. objectified. taken advantage of. used. “ i hate him sm 😭😭

OH MY GOD IS SHE GONNA SHAVE HIS FACE THATS SO CUTE IM

SHE ISsSSSSS IM SQUEALING

stop him worrying she’ll think it's weird and wont want to do it 🥺

“bold of you to assume id ever be convicted” PLS DREA LAKFJDKSLFJ

“the more you talk, the more appealing manslaughter sounds” I CHOKED DLSKFJDSKLFJDKSJFDSKLJ

HIM WHISTLING TO GET HER ATTENTION WHY IS THAT SO CUTE

Im sorry but its really funny to me how you wrote the sentence “wrong metal, he thinks ironically” … get it ? like IRONically lkfjdslkfj im sorry i’ll show myself out

“this boy?” what a fucking cutie i want to kick him

I forgot what a bop helpless is thanks for reminding me im gonna go listen to the entire soundtrack again-

theyre so fucking cute i hate them

so yea bascally this is the best thing ive ever read and i love you so much and my face hurts from smiling :)))

#annotations #ysijwa

3 notes · View notes

thewritingstar · 4 years

Text

Enchanted For A Moment: Reds

Pairing: Blossom x Brick (Reds)

Fandom: PPG

Rating: Teen and up..slight cussing

Royal Au

Im literally dying for this au and i dedicate this to all the lovely people in our discord and im in love with our fandom.

I know I know ive been on a ppg high lately but im riding this one out for a long time. Also I did little to no research, idk the time period but its old so have at it. I hope that you enjoy!

Chapter One: Golden Doors and Spider Silk

She hated this castle, this stupid kingdom and all above, her. Princess Morbucks. The girl was so spoiled that her father, the king, named his daughter Princess as if she wasn’t going to be addressed like that otherwise. She didn’t know why she kept coming back to teach her these lessons. French, English, History, she didn’t bother to learn or practice in the slightest.

“Princess, not many women know how to read and write. Imagine how extraordinary that would be to be such a diverse leader.” She had told her, but at last, she never listened.

The only thing that could interest her was gowns and gems and of course the many suitors who came begging for her hand in marriage. Pathetic. She never believed that a love like that could be real. Affection starved from greed and looks was not something she wanted, nor should anyone. Maybe that's why this life of luxury disgusted her. Yes living in a giant palace with the fluffiest pillows and the freshest fruit sounded lovely, beats her small bedroom that she shares with her sisters, but was it worth it? Okay maybe she would become a royal for the library, maybe.

Her thoughts came back to her as Princess slammed the book shut. If she bends that book I swear. “I am done for today.” She huffed.

“We started ten minutes ago.” Blossom sighed and smoothed the headache that was starting to form. “Let's do history, today is about the different types of clothes and fabrics. Maybe you’ll enjoy this.”

“Why would I?”

“Because if you see something you like, you can have it custom made, plus i'll tell you where the most expensive silk is.” Got her.

Princess stared at her. Even though she was older than her by a year, she seemed to resemble more of her students she taught at the schoolhouse. Aka she was a brat.

“Fine but make it quick, the newest batch of suitors is coming today and I want to see my options.”

Blossom rolled her eyes. Princess was turning 20. She should have been married off at 18 but after complaining about wanting to have a little more freedom, dear old king daddy gave in. She always got what she wanted, those poor men.

“Okay well. Let's make a deal. I’ll leave you these two book, don’t make that face they are mostly pictures, and I’ll leave you for today. However when I come back tomorrow, you better be able to tell me five different fabrics and where they are from and we won’t have class for the rest of the week that way you can focus on the ball that's been held on Friday?”

The smile that grew on Princess' face was wicked. “Deal!” She stood and took the books. “I’m just happy I won’t have to see that hideous outfit for the rest of the week.” She pointed at Blossom's gown.

It was a light brown skirt with leather belt and a white blouse, Blossom thought it was rather lovely considering her little sister Bubbles had made it.

“Alright then.” She rolled her eyes, gosh she hated her. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Princess was already out of the door before she could blink, but she didn’t care. She turned and placed the rest of the scrolls and books on the proper shelves of the private library. The king, who had never spared a single expense in his life, made sure that practically every title written was stuffed inside the room. And he gave Blossom personal access to any of the books since she was one of the few who could read and bothered to do so as well.

She skimmed the shelf, her fingers tracing over the many velvet blinds. So many stories to be read. She grabbed three different ones before slipping them into her satchel. She blew out the candles and pushed in the chairs before leaving the grand room.

The king had offered her a key to her own private quarters but she would rather stay with her father and sisters than let Princess yell at her at any hour she decided. Yes, much rather.

-- Princess could hardly contain herself as she stood next to her father in the courtyard. Before them,a dozen or so carriages were pulling up, each one containing a handsome suitor. Some are princes, others are men from rich families. Either way, they were all lining up to see the Princess and hopefully marry her.

“I don't know why we are here.” Boomer complained.

“Why the fuck do you care?” Butch asked. “You’re the youngest, you are off the hook.” He laughed.

Boomer laughed. The carriage stopped as it was in line to enter the gate. Boomer grabbed the handle and opened it up, ignoring the protests from his brothers. “Sorry boys but I’m going to ditch the collar and go see the local girls.” He winked and strolled off.

Butch propped his feet up on the empty space. “So big bro.” he slapped the back of his brother. “You think you’re gonna be the hot piece of ass to win the princesses heart?” He laughed. Brick rolled his eyes as the carriage rolled forward.

“She is rich.” he mumbled. “I mean I'm probably the best candidate.” Arrogant.

The carriage stopped once more and Brick looked to his brother who was impatiently tapping his leg. “You can go too. It's probably best that you don’t embarrass us and the entire kingdom.”

“Thanks bro.” Butch wiped a fake tear from his eyes. “My lady said she was docking at these ports so im gonna go try and get some by sundown-”

“Goodbye Butch.” And he was shoved out of the carriage.

Brick could finally take in the piece and quiet. They had only been traveling for three days and it was a miracle he hadn’t killed his brothers yet. Sometimes he hated this lifestyle. He was no prince but he and his brothers were adopted by an extremely rich guy who wanted to make a name for himself and create three prodigies. In the end he created a walking disaster who breaks everything and wolf whistles at anything with long legs and the other one is like a puppy constantly running around and yapping constantly. For Brick he is just an arrogant asshole who actually does what she's told, if there's something in it for him.

Which is why he was on his way to try and get married. He didn’t want to be because frankly, no woman ever met his standards. They could be beautiful and nice and chatty but there was something missing a certain depth. But with a princess at stake, he was hoping for a lady who was well off and smart.

--- He was wrong. She was nothing like he thought. Sure she was pretty but she was mean to her staff, which he understood cause he could be a pain in the ass. But her voice, that high pitched squeaking, he was sick of her already. The moment he stepped out of the claustrophobic nightmare of a ride, she was in his face already fanning over him.

Those bright yellow dresses clashed with her hair and the light beaming off of her crown almost took out his eyes. She had said about forty different things to him but he was done. He wanted to grab his brothers, turn around and escape this hell hole.

After a short conversation and her rushing to the next dopey guy, he was shown to his quarters, of course Princess, who names their child Princess? Was their tour guide.

“And this is the library. It's plain and boring but if you ever need a quiet space or to watch me brush up on my French, you are more than welcome to go there.” Her arm was looped between two men and Brick was happy he was at the back of the pack, what was there, twelve, ten boys? He was really doubting his chances but at this point, he didn’t care.

They began to pass those doors and as the last one there, they opened. The group ahead had turned the corner but he was taken down by that massive door. He fell with a thud and was about to scold the living daylights out of whoever dared to do that.

“What the hell is your-” he looked up. Pink. Vibrant pink like the sunsets and soft like a rose. He gulped as he lost his voice completely.

“Oh I am so sorry!” the woman said as she helped him up. “Usually no one was in these halls but perhaps I should be more careful.” She began to ramble.

All that hostile rage had dissipated as he watched her lips move. She was much different from Princess. Her hair was ginger like hers but it was softer and had more copper tones. She was taller than her too and matched his height better. Her voice, it was like butter and she spoke in such a way that he couldn't describe.

He looked down to see books laying there and picked them up, handing them to her. Why would she have books? Especially these titles, even from the looks of them they were difficult to read, even for him.

“Do you read?’ he asked. Of course she didn’t.

“Oh yes. I am actually Princess’s teacher.” She said but didn’t seem thrilled.

He was in awe. She was already something more than that damn spoiled brat. She didn’t wear anything special like the maids did. In fact they were more like commoner's clothes than anything.

“You don’t look like you belong here.” He blurted out and she scoffed.

“I beg your pardon.” She crossed her arms. She was used to Princess insulting her any chance she got but it would be a cold day in hell before she would allow someone else to do so. “Do you not think I could possibly be the royal teacher?” He felt her words like a threat.

“No it’s just, this is a high piece of literature.”

“It’s a simple book really.”

Oh. So she could read. Read well.

“Well yes but-”

“But nothing.” her words were like ice as she grabbed the books from his hands. Blossom looked at his badge. “I am so sorry I didn’t realize that you were a man of importance.” She sounded bitter. “I shouldn’t keep you. I wouldn't want the princess knowing that a peasant interrupted time with her boy toy.”

She turned and stomped off. Even as the pout sprouted onto her face she looked, dare he say stunning? The sophistication and elegance rivaled that of Princess and even though she had just destroyed his ego for a good few moments, he never felt more alive and thrilled. A woman standing up to his level when everyone was beneath him? Never heard of before but this new piece that has entered his game, he was loving every second of it.

He turned on his heel and found his way back to the group. He wasn’t here for the crown anymore.

-- Sometimes she wondered what would happen if she just left. Run away from this village and go see the world. Of course that's what her sister did. Kinda. She was a captain of one of the kingdom's ships, basically her job was to travel and trade with other places, she liked to call herself a pirate. Blossom gave up trying to change her mind.

She could join her sister but she hated ships anyways. Plus Buttercup had gotten hitched last year to some random guy she met at a port stop, Blossom had met him once before and thought she was crazy for marrying someone. But after a delightful five minute conversation, she decided that he was best for her. If anyone could handle her rebellious lifestyle and the seven seas, then he must be good.

She was thankful that today would be her last day with Princess, well until the next week, but she could catch up on reading and maybe take her students to the docks or the forest for a lesson. Her mind was wandering to far off places and before she knew it, she was entering the library.

She furrowed her brow as she noticed the chairs arranged facing her table. She dismissed whatever thought that was and began to set up Princess’s test as promised. She had pictures, drawn by Bubbles of course, and she placed them on the table.

“This should be easy.” And soon the doors opened. Blossoms eyes widened as the Princess walked in with that snobbish strut as a group of men followed behind. “Oh no.” Blossom whispered to herself. She agreed to test Princess, not the entire population of suitors.

“And this woman right here is my teacher. She's a poor peasant girl so ignore her scrap of clothing.” The room erupted in laughter as Princess’s annoying voice trailed through her ears. Princess was already testing her patience, who makes fun of someone with less money? An awful person that's who.

Blossom bit her tongue as Princess took her seat. The rows of men were now staring at them, whispering. She let her eyes rake over the small crowd when her eyes landed on a familiar pair. The man she hit with the door. She completely forgot that he was here for marriage purposes. Blossom shook her head and slammed a book shut, capturing everyone's attention.

If Princess wanted to be a bigger brat than usual, fine, she could play that game.

“Alright your majesty, are you ready for your test.” Blossom turned towards the group of men. “You see I believe it is important that a leader understands even the simplest things about other countries, especially the ones that could be potential partners. So this fine lad is incredibly bright so her test is simple. I laid our pictures of fabrics from many different places, some even from your own kingdoms. I have no doubt that she can match all twenty five.” She turned on her heel towards the princess who looked angry, good.

“You said five!” Her tone laced with fire.

Blossom was one good actress. She paused and took a step back, masking her voice. “Yes five for a warm up but you my soon queen, you must be able to name all of them right? I did teach you them after all.” She smirked. “But if you can't, that's okay, why don’t we do your five and the rest of these fine gentlemen can finish, after all, a leader should know these things.” If they wanted to be rude, then a challenge they must complete.

“Princess go ahead and match five and then will have the rest join.” She looked at the men. Scared looks were on their faces except for one, door man. He seemed relaxed and had a poker face on.

Princess huffed and walked up to the table. She recognized a few of the easy ones and placed them. Blossom watched as her hands shook and she looked up at her as she placed one down. Blossom saw she was moving to the wrong one and decided to play nice.

“Emerald kingdom is the same as the jewel.” She whispered and the princess moved the name towards the green one. She took a step back and smiled proudly.

“See easy peasy.” And she returned to her seat.

Blossom clasped her hands together. “Alright then, if any of you would like to try go for it, but if not, then you may be excused.”

None of the men stood and Blossom's polite smile fell. “Very well-” She watched as the door man, she should learn his name, stood and walked over.

“Quite a shame you could only name five your highness.” He said towards the princess who was now staring at him with a gaping mouth. Blossom raised her brows as she could not believe he would disrespect her like that. He quickly took the names and placed them in record time before their matching pictures.

He turned to see Blossom watching him. Her eyes held this twinkled that he couldn’t quite place and he made sure to switch two of the names last minute.

“Care to check my work Miss…”

“Blossom.” She finished and walked over to him. She stood next to him and looked over the table. She could feel his stare but unlike the others, she didn’t feel small or meak. She smiled softly as she picked up two of them.

“Very impressive but Camilla has velvet and Widows Valley has ivory silk.” Her eyes met his. She almost let out a gasp as she stared at a breathtaking deep red. She had never seen such enchanting eyes before.

“Silk like a spider. Forgive me for my mistake.” He took her hand and placed a delicate kiss to the top of her hand. She felt the flames rush to her cheeks and heard a gasp come from Princes mouth.

Her eyes shot open and she took her hand away fast and returned to her teacherly poise. “Yes well that is alright but very good. Princess you should learn something and apply yourself more, I'm not going to tell you again but a promise is a promise so i will be seeing you next week for your next lesson.” She quickly walked to the other table and grabbed her bag and shoved everything in it.

She knew the princess was going to throw a fit. How could he treat her like that? In front of Princess nonetheless. She was thankful to hear the sound of feet exiting. Someone had come up behind her and whispered in her ear.

“You’ll be lucky if you make next week you meddling whore.” Princess sneered and Blossom turned around to yell at her but the group of men were waiting by the door just watching to see the peasant girl slip up.

“I have no interest in your games Princess, maybe if you tried harder, you wouldn’t have to rely on your crown or body.” She could play dirty and the princess turned with a scoff.

“No man would ever love a woman like you, even if you can read, you are no prize.” She stomped off and let Blossom with a clenched jaw and matching fists.

The door slammed shut and now she was alone. “Stupid bitch.” She sneered. She rarely used foul language but in times like theses, she allowed it.

“She sure is.” Blossom dropped her book and her head snapped left.

Brick was still standing here as if he never moved but she swore she saw him leave. “I-I would never-” He held his hand up.

“I see the way she treats you Miss Blossom, it's okay to curse out the villain. And my apologies for causing such a scene.” He said bluntly.

“Somehow I don’t believe you.” She narrowed her eyes. “You seem like you know what you’re doing, no matter the consequences.”

He bit back a laugh and moved closer to her. “Oh I am. I have no interest with that spoiled girl. Not one maiden has ever impressed me enough to care.”

“How insightful.”

“That is until you.” he smirked and she felt her cheeks flush for the hundred times. He was showing his arrogant side. The one many girls fawned over because they mistook it for a form of lust but it rubbed Blossom the wrong way.

“Me correcting your simple mistake is not very impressive.”

“Who said I made the mistake? I know very well that Widows Peak is silk, that is my home base after all.” he stepped closer until he leaned on the desk with his arm. He peered down at her, almost like a challenge but she stood strong.

“Well unfortunately, I’ve never met a man who could qualify my own standards.”

“Never?” he leaned closer but she refused to give up. Their noses would touch if he came closer.

“Never.” She stated and they were now in a showdown. Red to pink. Pink to red. Never had the other met a more worthy opponent.

“Well Miss Blossom, I think that I should prove you wrong with a date.”

“No thank you.” He blinked. Wait what?

“Excuse me? Do you know-”

“No I don’t and I simply do not care.” She snapped.

Blossom went back to her bag. “Like I told Princess, I have no interest in any of these men. Especially not ones who would stand by and let another belittle another. No thank you, i am quite happy on my own but there are a bunch of other fine maidens who would probably love your company.” She passed him and he grabbed her arm and spun her around, dipping her. The bright red ribbon holding her hair into a fine bun had unraveled and now fell to a long ponytail.

A small scream let her lips as she was now being held by her waist over the ground. “What are you.” Her eyes darkened.

“Brick. Call me Brick, none of that sir or lord crap either.” He brought her closer smoothly. His smile was large and his eyes narrowed as her cheeks puffed out and she looked a little angry. “You did hit me with a door and I don’t think the royal pain in the ass would appreciate it if she knew. So Miss Blossom, would you accompany me to the ball on Friday?”

No. no. no. no. Princess would kill her. Absolutely murder her with a strand of pearls. She could lose her job, her livelihood. The rumors she could spread. She would destroy her reputation for sure. Her mind was screaming telling her to push him away and tell him to go bother another lady.

“Fine but I demand to be wooed.” she spat and he smiled and returned her to the upright position. She felt flustered and in shock but also introduced. No one had ever dipped her or held her so gently.

“Oh you shall be wooed M’lady.” He winked and turned away to walk out the door.

She let out the breath she was holding when he was finally gone and pulled out her fan. “He is the...worst.” But she didn’t fully believe it. ---- Wednesday found herself in the school yard with her students. She was ecstatic to now have a bunch of little girls added to this year's class. After convincing many mothers that their daughters' futures could be brighter with some knowledge, they happily agreed. She was thankful that her own father taught her the basics and she tried to teach Bubbles and Buttercup how to read and write but you could only keep them interested before a pretty dress or a sailboat distracted them.

“Bye bye Miss Blossom!” Her students waved as they left the yard to return home. She loved and adored her students. Their bright minds and curious thoughts, she could never get sick of them and they were much better students than Princess ever was.

“Miss Blossom there is a fancy man in the classroom.” Robin's small hand clung to her dress.

“Fancy man?” She whispered to herself before sending Robin off towards her mother. She entered the room to find Brick leaning against her desk.

“May i help you?” She asked with her arms crossed. “I do believe Friday is the meeting time.”

He shrugged and handed her an arrangement of flowers. Her mouth fell open as she gazed at them. They were wrapped with a ribbon of fine quality, and was probably worth more than her own outfit.

“I am well aware of that but I never said i wouldn’t see you before.” he glanced at the flowers then back at her. “Have you never received flowers before.” he asked like it was a dumb question.

“Oh no.” She took them carefully and placed them in the vase that held a few flowers her students had picked, and they were dying.

“I'm genuinely surprised that men aren’t knocking on the door for your hand.”

He saw her eyes dull. “Not too many men are keen on a lady being smarter and taller than them.” She shrugged and for some reason that made him mad. She was a beautiful woman no doubt, her beauty could be that of a princess but she didn’t have that royal aura about her. No she was better but didn’t know it.

“A man threatened by a lady is no man at all. If he can not see that then he deserves nothing.”

She took in his words. Maybe this was his way of apologizing without out damaging his pride, she would probably do the same thing but she wouldn’t let him off so easily.

She hummed. “So Brick just the flowers or are you going to actually impress me?” She matched his cocky attitude and it has been a long time, or the first since he had ever felt frazzled by a woman. He was used to catching him off guard but even by her everything nice charm and sophisticated posture, he was certain that she would be the death of him.

Even though he had just met her, he was certain they were made for each other. Butch would kill him if he every said that out loud though. He smiled before taking her hand. “Then prepared to be impressed.”

I hope you enjoy and part 2 shall be up tomorrow

#ppg x rrb #reds fanfic #reds #blossom x brick #blossom ppg #ppg fanfic #thewritingstar #thepowerpuffgirls #therowdyruff boys #royal au #enemies to lovers

34 notes · View notes

she-wolf-of-highgarden · 5 years

Text

All the times Arya mentions “Home”

*Arya mentions wanting to go home every book so far (or 44 times), so this is a long one y’all...*

“I do not mean to frighten you, but neither will I lie to you. We have come to a dark dangerous place, child. This is not Winterfell. We have enemies who mean us ill. We cannot fight a war among ourselves. This willfulness of yours, the running off, the angry words, the disobedience … at home, these were only the summer games of a child. Here and now, with winter soon upon us, that is a different matter. It is time to begin growing up.” - Arya II, AGoT

“It was very dark right now, she realized. She hugged her bare knees tight against her chest and shivered. She would wait quietly and count to ten thousand. By then it would be safe for her to come creeping back out and find her way home.” - Arya III, AGoT

“The memory made Arya smile, and after that the darkness held no more terrors for her. The stableboy was dead, she'd killed him, and if he jumped out at her she'd kill him again. She was going home. Everything would be better once she was home again, safe behind Winterfell's grey granite walls.” - Arya IV, AGoT

“All she wanted was to go home, but leaving King's Landing was not so easy as she had hoped. Talk of war was on every lip, and gold cloaks were as thick on the city walls as fleas on … well, her, for one. She had been sleeping in Flea Bottom, on rooftops and in stables, wherever she could find a place to lie down, and it hadn't taken her long to learn that the district was well named.” - Arya V, AGoT

“She's still here," Arya blurted. The longshoreman gave her a queer look, shrugged, and walked away. Arya ran toward the pier. The Wind Witch was the ship Father had hired to take her home … still waiting! She'd imagined it had sailed ages ago.” - Arya V, AGoT

“When at last she slept, she dreamed of home. The kingsroad wound its way past Winterfell on its way to the Wall, and Yoren had promised he'd leave her there with no one any wiser about who she'd been. She yearned to see her mother again, and Robb and Bran and Rickon . . . but it was Jon Snow she thought of most. She wished somehow they could come to the Wall before Winterfell, so Jon might muss up her hair and call her "little sister." She'd tell him, "I missed you," and he'd say it too at the very same moment, the way they always used to say things together. She would have liked that. She would have liked that better than anything.” - Arya I, ACoK

“A she-wolf. Arya sloshed her beer, wondering. Was the Gods Eye near the Trident? She wished she had a map. It had been near the Trident that she'd left Nymeria. She hadn't wanted to, but Jory said they had no choice, that if the wolf came back with them she'd be killed for biting Joffrey, even though he'd deserved it. They'd had to shout and scream and throw stones, and it wasn't until a few of Arya's stones struck home that the direwolf had finally stopped following them. She probably wouldn't even know me now, Arya thought. Or if she did, she'd hate me.” - Arya II, ACoK

“A man must be ashamed of the company he keeps, Arry," the handsome one said. "This man has the honor to be Jaqen H'ghar, once of the Free City of Lorath. Would that he were home. This man's ill-bred companions in captivity are named Rorge"—he waved his tankard at the noseless man—"and Biter." Biter hissed at her again, displaying a mouthful of yellowed teeth filed into points. "A man must have some name, is that not so? Biter cannot speak and Biter cannot write, yet his teeth are very sharp, so a man calls him Biter and he smiles. Are you charmed?” - Arya II, ACoK

“He is not," Arya declared. My father only had one bastard, and that's Jon. She stalked off into the trees, wishing she could just saddle her horse and ride home. She was a good horse, a chestnut mare with a white blaze on her forehead. And Arya had always been a good rider. She could gallop off and never see any of them, unless she wanted to. Only then she'd have no one to scout ahead of her, or watch behind, or stand guard while she napped, and when the gold cloaks caught her, she'd be all alone. It was safer to stay with Yoren and the others.” - Arya III, ACoK

“I wish I was home," she said miserably. She tried so hard to be brave, to be fierce as a wolverine and all, but sometimes she felt like she was just a little girl after all.” - Arya III, ACoK

“I don't care. I want to go home." - Arya III, ACoK

“Arya was remembering the stories Old Nan used to tell of Harrenhal. Evil King Harren had walled himself up inside, so Aegon unleashed his dragons and turned the castle into a pyre. Nan said that fiery spirits still haunted the blackened towers. Sometimes men went to sleep safe in their beds and were found dead in the morning, all burnt up. Arya didn't really believe that, and anyhow it had all happened a long time ago. Hot Pie was being silly; it wouldn't be ghosts at Harrenhal, it would be knights. Arya could reveal herself to Lady Whent, and the knights would escort her home and keep her safe. That was what knights did; they kept you safe, especially women. Maybe Lady Whent would even help the crying girl.” - Arya IV, ACoK

“Arya found herself with Gendry, Hot Pie, and Lommy. Squat, kettle-bellied Woth had pulled an oar on a galley once, which made him the next best thing they had to a sailor, so Yoren told him to take them down to the lakefront and see if they could find a boat. As they rode between the silent white houses, gooseprickles crawled up Arya's arms. This empty town frightened her almost as much as the burnt holdfast where they'd found the crying girl and the one-armed woman. Why would people run off and leave their homes and everything? What could scare them so much?” - Arya IV, ACoK

“He was going to take me home, she thought as they dug the old man's hole. There were too many dead to bury them all, but Yoren at least must have a grave, Arya had insisted. He was going to bring me safe to Winterfell, he promised. Part of her wanted to cry. The other part wanted to kick him.” - Arya V, ACoK

“She nodded. "Yoren was taking me home to Winterfell.” - Arya V, ACoK

“The Lannisters had taken everything: father, friends, home, hope, courage. One had taken Needle, while another had broken her wooden stick sword over his knee. They had even taken her stupid secret. The storehouse had been big enough for her to creep off and make her water in some corner when no one was looking, but it was different on the road. She held it as long as she could, but finally she had to squat by a bush and skin down her breeches in front of all of them. It was that or wet herself. Hot Pie gaped at her with big moon eyes, but no one else even troubled to look. Girl sheep or boy sheep, Ser Gregor and his men did not seem to care.” - Arya VI, ACoK

“Arya climbed. Up in the kingdom of the leaves, she unsheathed and for a time forgot them all, Ser Amory and the Mummers and her father's men alike, losing herself in the feel of rough wood beneath the soles of her feet and the swish of sword through air. A broken branch became Joffrey. She struck at it until it fell away. The queen and Ser Ilyn and Ser Meryn and the Hound were only leaves, but she killed them all as well, slashing them to wet green ribbons. When her arm grew weary, she sat with her legs over a high limb to catch her breath in the cool dark air, listening to the squeak of bats as they hunted. Through the leafy canopy she could see the bone-white branches of the heart tree. It looks just like the one in Winterfell from here. If only it had been . . . then when she climbed down she would have been home again, and maybe find her father sitting under the weirwood where he always sat.” - Arya IX, ACoK

“Arya went to her knees. She wasn't sure how she should begin. She clasped her hands together. Help me, you old gods, she prayed silently. Help me get those men out of the dungeon so we can kill Ser Amory, and bring me home to Winterfell. Make me a water dancer and a wolf and not afraid again, ever.” - Arya IX, ACoK

“I can't. I have to go home. To Winterfell.” - Arya IX, ACoK

“The lord and maester swept from the room, giving her not so much as a backward glance. When they were gone, Arya took the letter and carried it to the hearth, stirring the logs with a poker to wake the flames anew. She watched the parchment twist, blacken, and flare up. If the Lannisters hurt Bran and Rickon, Robb will kill them every one. He'll never bend the knee, never, never, never. He's not afraid of any of them. Curls of ash floated up the chimney. Arya squatted beside the fire, watching them rise through a veil of hot tears. If Winterfell is truly gone, is this my home now? Am I still Arya, or only Nan the serving girl, for forever and forever and forever?” - Arya X, ACoK

“Warm and dry in a corner between Gendry and Harwin, Arya listened to the singing for a time, then closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep. She dreamt of home; not Riverrun, but Winterfell. It was not a good dream, though. She was alone outside the castle, up to her knees in mud. She could see the grey walls ahead of her, but when she tried to reach the gates every step seemed harder than the one before, and the castle faded before her, until it looked more like smoke than granite. And there were wolves as well, gaunt grey shapes stalking through the trees all around her, their eyes shining. Whenever she looked at them, she remembered the taste of blood.” - Arya III, ASoS

“Lord Beric Dondarrion. Arya remembered all she'd heard at Harrenhal, from the Lannisters and the Bloody Mummers alike. Lord Beric the wisp o' the wood. Lord Beric who'd been killed by Vargo Hoat and before that by Ser Amory Lorch, and twice by the Mountain That Rides. If he won't send me home maybe I'll kill him too. "Why do I have to see Lord Beric?" she asked quietly.” - Arya III, ASoS

“A stream barred her way. She splashed down into it, through water choked with wet brown leaves. Some clung to her horse's legs as they climbed the other side. The undergrowth was thicker here, the ground so full of roots and rocks that she had to slow, but she kept as good a pace as she dared. Another hill before her, this one steeper. Up she went, and down again. How big are these woods? she wondered. She had the faster horse, she knew that, she had stolen one of Roose Bolton's best from the stables at Harrenhal, but his speed was wasted here. I need to find the fields again. I need to find a road. Instead she found a game trail. It was narrow and uneven, but it was something. She raced along it, branches whipping at her face. One snagged her hood and yanked it back, and for half a heartbeat she feared they had caught her. A vixen burst from the brush as she passed, startled by the fury of her flight. The game trail brought her to another stream. Or was it the same one? Had she gotten turned around? There was no time to puzzle it out, she could hear their horses crashing through the trees behind her. Thorns scratched at her face like the cats she used to chase in King's Landing. Sparrows exploded from the branches of an alder. But the trees were thinning now, and suddenly she was out of them. Broad level fields stretched before her, all weeds and wild wheat, sodden and trampled. Arya kicked her horse back to a gallop. Run, she thought, run for Riverrun, run for home. Had she lost them? She took one quick look, and there was Harwin six yards back and gaining. No, she thought, no, he can't, not him, it isn't fair.” - Arya III, ASoS

“Do you swear?" she asked him. Yoren had promised to take her home too, only he'd gotten killed instead.” - Arya VII, ASoS

“Gendry ignored that. "At least your father raised his bastard, not like mine. I don't even know my father's name. Some smelly drunk, I'd wager, like the others my mother dragged home from the alehouse. Whenever she got mad at me, she'd say, 'If your father was here, he'd beat you bloody.' That's all I know of him." He spat. "Well, if he was here now, might be I'd beat him bloody. But he's dead, I figure, and your father's dead too, so what does it matter who he lay with?” - Arya VIII, ASoS

“Arya turned on Tom and Lem. "If you hadn't caught me, I would have been there. I would have been home.” - Arya VIII, ASoS

“The villagers were building a wooden palisade around their homes, and when they saw the breadth of the Hound's shoulders they offered them food and shelter and even coin for work. "If there's wine as well, I'll do it," he growled at them. In the end, he settled for ale, and drank himself to sleep each night.” - Arya XII, ASoS

“No," he said, "you couldn't." He gave her back her coins. "It would make no difference if you could, child. The north has nothing for us. Ice and war and pirates. We saw a dozen pirate ships making north as we rounded Crackclaw Point, and I have no wish to meet them again. From here we bend our oars for home, and I suggest you do the same." I have no home, Arya thought. I have no pack. And now I don't even have a horse.” - Arya XIII, ASoS

“The star of home," said Denyo.” - Arya I, AFfC

“The star of home. Arya stood at the prow, one hand resting on the gilded figurehead, a maiden with a bowl of fruit. For half a heartbeat she let herself pretend that it was her home ahead.But that was stupid. Her home was gone, her parents dead, and all her brothers slain but Jon Snow on the Wall. That was where she had wanted to go. She told the captain as much, but even the iron coin did not sway him. Arya never seemed to find the places she set out to reach. Yoren had sworn to deliver her to Winterfell, only she had ended up in Harrenhal and Yoren in his grave. When she escaped Harrenhal for Riverrun, Lem and Anguy and Tom o' Sevens took her captive and dragged her to the hollow hill instead. Then the Hound had stolen her and dragged her to the Twins. Arya had left him dying by the river and gone ahead to Saltpans, hoping to take passage for Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, only . . .” - Arya I, AFfC

“Supper was her favorite time. It had been a long while since Arya had gone to sleep every night with a full belly. Some nights the kindly man would allow her to ask him questions. Once she asked him why the people who came to the temple always seemed so peaceful; back home, people were scared to die. She remembered how that pimply squire had wept when she stabbed him in the belly, and the way Ser Amory Lorch had begged when the Goat had him thrown in the bear pit. She remembered the village by the God's Eye, and the way the villagers shrieked and screamed and whimpered whenever the Tickler started asking after gold.” - Arya II, AFfC

“You lie," he said, "but you may keep your secrets if you wish, Arya of House Stark." He only called her that when she displeased him. "You know that you may leave this place. You are not one of us, not yet. You may go home anytime you wish.” - Arya II, AFfC

“Then stay . . . but remember, the House of Black and White is not a home for orphans. All men must serve beneath this roof. Valar dohaeris is how we say it here. Remain if you will, but know that we shall require your obedience. At all times and in all things. If you cannot obey, you must depart.” - Arya II, AFfC

“Cat always stank of brine and fish by the time they pushed off for home again. She had grown so used to it that she hardly even smelled it anymore. She did not mind the work. When her muscles ached from lifting, or her back got sore from the weight of a cask, she told herself that she was getting stronger.” - Cat of the Canals, AFfC

“Braavos was a city made for secrets, a city of fogs and masks and whispers. Its very existence had been a secret for a century, the girl had learned; its location had been hidden thrice that long. "The Nine Free Cities are the daughters of Valyria that was," the kindly man taught her, "but Braavos is the bastard child who ran away from home. We are a mongrel folk, the sons of slaves and whores and thieves. Our forebears came from half a hundred lands to this place of refuge, to escape the dragonlords who had enslaved them. Half a hundred gods came with them, but there is one god all of them shared in common." - Cat of the Canals, AFfC

“I know what Blind Beqqo puts in the hot sauce he uses on his oysters," she would say. "I know the mummers at the Blue Lantern are going to do The Lord of the Woeful Countenance and the mummers at the Ship mean to answer with Seven Drunken Oarsmen. I know the bookseller Lotho Lornel sleeps in the house of Tradesman-Captain Moredo Prestayn whenever the honorable tradesman-captain is away on a voyage, and moves out whenever the Vixen comes home.” - Cat of the Canals, AFfC

“The blind girl did not know whom the voice belonged to. One of the acolytes, she supposed. She did not remember ever hearing his voice before, but what was there to say that the servants of the Many-Faced God could not change their voices as easily as they did their faces? Besides her, the House of Black and White was home to two serving men, three acolytes, Umma the cook, and the two priests that she called the waif and the kindly man. Others came and went, sometimes by secret ways, but those were the only ones who lived here. Her nemesis could be any of them.” - The Blind Girl, ADwD

“I saw you. "I gave you three. I don't need to give you four." Maybe on the morrow she would tell him about the cat that had followed her home last night from Pynto's, the cat that was hiding in the rafters, looking down on them. Or maybe not. If he could have secrets, so could she.” - The Blind Girl, ADwD

“He had guards. Two of them, a tall thin man and a short thick one. They went with him everywhere, from when he left his house in the morning till he returned at night. They made certain no one got close to the old man without his leave. Once a drunk almost staggered into him as he was coming home from the soup shop, but the tall one stepped between them and gave the man a sharp shove that knocked him to the ground. At the soup shop, the short one always tasted the onion broth first. The old man waited until the broth had cooled before he took a sip, long enough to be sure his guardsman had suffered no ill effects.” - The Ugly Little Girl, ADwD

#Arya Stark #A Song of Ice and Fire #asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #quote dump #meta refrences #asoiaf meta #maybe #this hurt to write

105 notes · View notes

echoise · 5 years

Text

those things will kill you, you know. (vague flystep. trans m!sidestep (Avery!) character study thingy, tw: suicidal and self-harm imagery) 1,419 words

iii. “Those things will kill you, you know,” he says, skin glistening in the merciless sun, smile perfect for a toothpaste commercial even with a tooth missing and another cracked. He’s youth and energy and optimism, snuggling up to you, gentle knuckles rapping against the heavy walls you’ve hidden behind. Chipping away at them one clink at a time, knock-knock-knock, who’s there?

“What won’t?” You counter, inhale the sweet smoke, fill your lungs to the brim with it. Drown yourself in tar and nicotine, welcoming the slow death, because you don’t have the guts to let go and just live. Arsenic and lead and benzene absorbing into your bloodstream, coursing through your veins, into your heart and out again, spreading from limb to limb until you’re blissfully numb to the world around you. Poisons, yes, all of them, but they’re yours. Your choice, a voluntary harm, not one forced upon you.

Maybe it’s silly. Maybe it’s foolish. But it burns so good.

ii. “Those things will kill you, you know,” says the little old lady, flicking her lighter and offering you the flame. Her face is wrinkled like a deflated balloon, bumps and dimples galore, discolored skin hanging freely in places and stretched in others. A hairy mole on her cheek that she scratches idly before taking the cigarette out of her mouth, whistling out white smoke that smells like good advice and bad examples, tsk tsk, take it from me, kid.

“I’m not that easy to kill,“ you assure her, blow out a smoke ring of your own, watch it dissolve within seconds. Unable hold form on its own. You look at your hands and know you’ll share that same fate if you don’t find something to anchor on, something brace yourself, something to build upon. Something more than the white flash when you stump a cigarette on bare skin, scars all over your hands and arms, little girl’s first cross-stitch. Some mold to fit yourself into because you discarded your last one, deviated from their blueprint. Became something, something you were never meant to be.

Death doesn’t scare you, it never did. But disappearing...

i. “Those things will kill you, you know,” the woman chides, snatching the offending burning plant matter from the man’s hand. He sighs and shoves his hands in his pockets, muttering something, getting consumed by his anxiety from the second he lost the kiss of that sweet nicotine. Missing the comfort of a cloud of smoke that obscures the world just enough to be bearable, yes honey, i know honey, i’m sorry honey.

“We’ve had this discussion,” the woman continues. You keep tabs on them as they start walking away, strain your powers to follow them until the pinpricks of their minds frizzle and disappear into the vast ocean surrounding you. Then the usual drivel fading back in, shopping lists and petty arguments and lovestruck idiots and all sorts of mundane things you’ve only ever heard about and never understood. Why does it matter if she’s late for work? Why did he say he doesn’t have any change when he just felt some in his pocket? Why is she crying looking at that poster? Why? Why? Why did the man find such comfort in the cigarette smoke?

Dulling the senses. Dulling the world. You understand years later.

iv. “Those things will kill you, you know.”

You look behind you and are blinded by blue skies and golden wheat fields. Twin ponds under merciless sun. A prince wearing bright sapphires and his golden crown. A bunch of other dumb metaphors your thumping heart supplies without you asking, your foolish traitor of a heart that always got you into trouble and clearly has not amended its ways. It seems even death can’t make you learn from your mistakes.

Herald, Daniel, Danny, Dan, many names for many faces. Herald snarling and charging at you, not knowing who’s under the armor. Daniel wishing you good morning at the Ranges HQ, practically beaming. Danny panting and sweating in a sparring match, a competitive glint in his eyes.

Dan tracing fractals on your skin, pressing soft kisses on the lines as if that could make you hate them less. Hate yourself less.

“I’m counting on it,” you mutter, and know he’s heard you even without sensing the chill making home in his bones. You take a long drag on the cigarette and blow the smoke out slowly. It dissipates fast in the high winds up here, on Dan’s rooftop. As familiar as your own apartment now, maybe even more so. You like it more, too: it reminds you of some old haunts from your Sidestep days, not unlike this one... just not quite this high up. Or this fancy. Or this easy to get to.

Dan hesitates just a bit before stepping over and sitting down next to you, legs dangling over the edge. It’s less dangerous for him than it is for you, but you suppose it’s a concession of sorts. Better than any of the other options in his mind, all of which make you grind your teeth. He broadcasts his thoughts too easily, way too easily, because he thinks you can’t tell. There’s another lie you’ll have to come clean about sometime.

He sits there for a minute, watching you from the corner of his eye. When he speaks, his tone is hesitant. “Are you... okay?“

“I’m not going to jump, if that’s what you mean,“ you retort with a smile, but there’s no warmth in it. Hollow like your puppet. Meant as a joke but neither of you is laughing. “If I was, you’d already be too late.“

You’d never really do it, you think. You don’t have the guts. You’ve been through it many times: you can hold the gun, you can stand at the edge, you can sharpen the razor, and every time you know you won’t do it. You will never find the will to pull the trigger, you will never brave the last step, you will only ever make horizontal cuts. That’s just not you. You always survive, somehow.

Even when you don’t want to.

“Avery...“ Dan starts, but goes quiet when you stump the cigarette. For once on the ground - well, edge of the roof, in this case - and not your hands. You don’t need to, not when you have this: the feeling of the city below you, pulsating, breathing like a living being. The long strings of people like blood flooding through its veins, giving you a rush like no amount of self-mutilation could ever. Watching the lazy afternoon happen just outside of your reach, through the glass you’re always trapped behind, looking down past your legs that you’re slowly swinging to a rhythm only you can hear. Remembering broken bones and twisted limbs and shattered hearts.

Knowing that you won’t jump, because that’s just not you.

“I know,” you say, replying to nothing. You pull yourself up and step away from the edge, feeling the relief coming from Dan in waves as he floats up and joins you. There’s a tentative smile on his face and you try to match it, know it falls flat, keep it up anyway. You reach for his hand and nod toward the rooftop access. ”Coffee?”

“Already brewing.” He kisses your hand briefly before steering you to the door, some tension still in his shoulders every time he looks at you, his feelings in his chest like a tangled ball of yarn made of worry and sadness and confusion. Swelling and swirling until they’re a braided cord around your neck, tightening so slowly you barely notice it, making you the proverbial frog in the boiling water.

You close your mind in an attempt to cut yourself loose, claw at your throat to ease the pressure. A desperate struggle of his desire to protect you and love you and save you against your need for retribution, your compulsion to self-mutilate, your inability to give in. His stubborn belief that there’s something he can do, that all of this isn’t already decided and just waiting to unfold. Alea iacta est, a name for what you’re feeling, useless data in your head that was put there by men and women you hated and have tried to forget but it clings to your very cells.

Those things will kill you, you know.

They will, you muse as you follow Dan to the stairwell and back down to his apartment. But not yet.

You have things to see through first.

#fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero: retribution #fh:r #writing #mine #my disaster children #avery #character study thingies #idk what this is #herald #flystep #the numbers denote timeline btw

45 notes · View notes

kumkaniudaku · 6 years

Text

Our Thing

Happy Valentine’s Day, guys. Here’s one of the two things I plan on writing. I consider all of you my Valentine’s since I never have one, so here’s something before the clock strikes 12.

Work Count: 2k

Warnings: Not yet proofread

“I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“What? Of course, it’s a good idea! I’m the king of good ideas!”

Voices bounced off of the walls of the Brooklyn apartment building as Chad and CoCo walked side by side to the apartment at the end of the hallway.

The snow lining the sidewalks outside were typical of mid-February, giving Tasha more of a reason to stay inside on the cold Friday. But her friend insisted she leave the dark cocoon she had created for herself in her apartment just across the water in New Jersey.

Valentine’s Day was the designated time of the year to celebrate love. Chadwick had a reason to celebrate, but CoCo could no longer say the same. After months of turmoil and emotional abuse, she was a single woman again and dreading the mere thought of loving someone else. So, she planned to avoid all mentions of love and relationships for the foreseeable future. Even if that meant neglecting tradition.

“Look, Chad, we can celebrate on the 15th! This feels so...weird.”

“We celebrate Valentine’s Day together every year. We can’t skip out this year.”

“I feel like having a girlfriend is the perfect reason to miss a year,” CoCo deadpanned as they reached their intended destination. She could practically feel the excitement buzzing from the other side of the door in the form of Toni Braxton’s greatest hits so far, and started to feel bad for the woman she’d come face to face with for the first time.

“Why miss a year when we can celebrate together? And you get to meet my lady for the first time. It’ll be fun.”

“Fun my ass,” Tasha mumbled into the thick scarf around her neck, earning a look from Chadwick.

“Wanna share that with the class, Miss Greene?”

“Knock on the damn door!”

A muffled feminine voice announced that she was gearing up to answer the door adding to the uneasiness in the pit of CoCo’s belly. She knew that if she was on the other side of this encounter, seeing a woman with her boyfriend on date night would insight a riot.

When the door opened to reveal the woman she only knew as Jay, she was more than shocked at what met her. Jay was beautiful. Her slim figure came with a few curves to compliment her height. She was graceful beyond compare and impeccably dressed, making Tasha feel incredibly bland in comparison.

“Hi, baby,” Jay sang as she wrapped her arms around Chadwick and went in for a kiss. If Tasha had rolled her eyes any harder, they would’ve fallen from her skull and rolled all the way back to New Jersey to beat her home. Catching wind of another presence, Jay offered a courteous smile.

“Oh, hi! Did he forget to give you a tip downstairs?”

“A tip,” CoCo asked, obviously offended and a bit confused.

“A tip for the cab ride. I know it was hell driving in this snow. Just let me grab my purse.”

Chadwick could see Tasha’s struggle to maintain her composure, her mouth opening and closing with words she couldn’t produce.

“You know what? I’m going home. Call me to let me know you got back to your place safely.”

“No, wait,” he exclaimed before grabbing Tasha’s elbow and pulling her back to her original spot despite her struggle to pull away. Noticing the commotion, Jay turned back to Chadwick and Tasha with her brows quirked in confusion.

“Am I missing something.”

“Nope. I’ll just take my tip and be on my w-”

“Jay, this is my best friend Tasha that I’ve been telling you about. Co, this is Jayme Dubois, my girlfriend.”

A brief and unpleasant stare off preceded a chipper energy shift as Jayme went in for a hug. “CoCo, how are you! I have heard so much about you.”

“Yeah well, don’t believe any of it,” CoCo forced out between fake laughter while she made faces at Chadwick over Jayme’s shoulder.

“I’ll keep that in mind. So, what brings you over? Do you have a date in this complex? I always knew white boy Rick liked Black women.”

“Actually, Muffin, I was thinking she could spend Valentine’s Day with us. It’s been tradition for us to spend the holiday together and we don’t wanna break it.”

“So you want Tasia -”

“It’s Tasha,” CoCo interrupted in the most obnoxious tone she could muster.

“Right...Tasha. You want Tasha to spend Valentine’s Day with us? Tonight? Even though this is a couple’s holiday? Couple as in two, mind you.”

“Yes, Jay. It would really mean a lot to me.”

Jayme looked between a visibly annoyed Tasha and the pleading eyes of her boyfriend before letting go of a long sigh and stepping aside to usher her companions for the night inside.

Tasha took in her surroundings and quietly marveled. Though small because what seemed to be standard in New York, Jayme’s dwelling was equal parts colorful and classic. Had she not started the interaction on such a bad note, Tasha would’ve complimented her on the statement couch that matched her ornate rug, but she kept it to herself out of spite.

“So since we have one more, what are our plans for the night, honey bear?”

Chadwick caught the slight scrunch in CoCo’s face and ignored it to refrain from explaining the embarrassing nickname. “Well, we can still go see Definitely, Maybe like you wanted, but instead of dinner in the park, Tasha got us a reservation at this really nice Italian spot in the city.”

“I called in a favor from work. It was no big deal.”

Jayme disregarded CoCo’s smile as she took a sip from her water bottle and sat on the arm of the chair Chadwick occupied. Her hands rubbed patronizing circles around his shoulders and back, forcing Tasha to look away to save the awkward moment.

“Well, it seems like you too already have this figured out, so I’ll just grab my coat. Do you have any more suggestions, CoCo?”

“Nooope.” Tasha sang the word through gritted teeth forced into a smile. Chadwick gave her a sympathetic look before helping Jayme into her coat and ushering each woman safely out of the building.

Tasha remained the front wheel of the tricycle, preferring to stay in front of the couple to refrain from looking like the unwanted third party. With every audible kiss and nauseatingly affectionate gesture, CoCo felt her heart tighten. It wasn’t seeing Chadwick with another woman that had her fighting back tears in the theatre. She needed the sight to push her feelings for him to the furthest corner of her mind. It was the pain of knowing that she had just detached from one of the worst situations in her life, yet wanted to be with him to cure the loneliness she felt.

If she had it her way, she’d cry it out until the work week resumed on Monday in the comfort of her own home, but continued to engage in the conversation when the moment presented itself to appease Chadwick.

In a restaurant full of couples, Jayme, Chadwick, and Tasha were the only threesome in the center of the establishment. Nervous energy characterized the silence left behind when Chadwick excused himself to the restroom, leaving the women in his life to avoid eye contact.

Relief came in the form of a stout waiter visiting the table to collect dinner orders. Without realizing that the order would be incomplete without the third member of the group, the women ordered traditional dishes and wine for the table.

“And the young man? What will he have?”

“Oh! Ummm, I’m not sure,” Jayme responded as she fumbled through the menu. “Maybe you could come back in a few minutes?”

“He’ll have the Parmigiana w/ Pasta, but please be light on the sauce. He gets heartburn from all the tomatoes.”

The waiter took heed of Tasha’s warning before walking away, leaving Jayme to burn a hole in the top of Tasha’s head while she sorted through emails on her cell phone.

“How long did you say you and Chadwick have been friends?”

“Since Fall 1996. So coming up on 13 years,” Tasha answered, looking up to find an indecipherable look on Jayme’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“I just - you know him so well. His favorite candy, where he likes to sit in the theatre, what he eats at certain restaurants. I don’t know if I can keep up.”

The process of finding the right words to assure Jayme, Chadwick returned to the table and unknowingly ended the conversation before it could truly begin.

“Never in my life did I think I’d have to stand in line to use the men’s restroom. I applaud y’all for doing that,” he complained as he took his seat. “Has the waiter come back for orders yet?”

“He did actually. Tasha got you Parmigiana w/ Pasta.” Jayme secretly hoped that Chadwick would reject the choice and ask for a second go at the ordering process. She was met with the complete opposite.

“Hell yeah!” His fist met Tasha’s across the table in his childlike excitement. “I love that shit.”

“Language, honey bear.”

“Sorry, Muffin.”

“Wow,” Tasha whispered to herself, unaware that the others around the table could hear her.

“Did you want to say something, Tasha?”

“Noooope.”

The table fell silent to give way to the idle chatter in the area around them. Chadwick looked between his girlfriend and best friend trying to find a way to get them to interact with each other cordially.

“So, Co, Jayme has been trying to get into basketball lately.”

“Oh really.” Tasha was clearly uninterested as she continued to read emails on her phone from weeks ago. A subtle kick underneath her table made her look up and noticed Chadwick’s non-verbal urging for her to at least pretend to care. “Which team are you interested in, Jayme?”

“I really like the Nets! Trenton Hassell to be exact.”

“Do you? Because he averages less than two points a game. There’s not much to like.”

“Trenton is your friend’s boyfriend right, Jay?”

“Does it matter now? Tasha basically called him a bad player.”

“Not bad, per se. He’s terrible. That’s a better adjective.”

“Oh-kay,” Chadwick interjected to end the escalating conversation. “Jay, how’s work at the fashion house going?”

“Ugh, it is amazing! We got some new pieces last night and they are beautiful. Maybe you could come browse one day, Tasha. Style can always use an update.”

“I consider myself more Maxine than Regine. Thanks though. I’m sure the pieces are nice.”

Tasha successfully contained her laughter at Jayme’s expression, feeling her first surge of happiness for the day.

Chadwick felt helpless as the night continued and each attempt at joining two of his favorite women ended in a snarky comment or shady look. Dinner provided a welcome activity that didn’t require group conversation, giving him the opportunity to cater to each woman. The longer they sat and contemplated grabbing cheesecake inside the restaurant or settling for ice cream on the way home, the more he could feel Jayme disconnecting.

“Muffin, do you want the strawberry cheesecake for here or to go,” he asked as she slid her coat from the back of her chair and collected her purse.

“Actually, I don’t feel so well, honey bear. I’m gonna head home.”

“What? So soon? We didn’t even get to dessert.”

Tasha watched Jayme put on her best “sick” face and gagged internally at Chadwick falling for the charade. Jayme was far from physically sick. If she was feeling anything, it was annoyance at the fact that her boyfriend’s best friend had spent the most romantic night of the year taking the attention from her.

“Well, let me walk you outside and wait for the cab to come.”

“Thank you, honey bear.” Jayme accepted Chadwick’s help into her coat, purposely ignoring Tasha until the last second. “Good night, Tasha. Maybe we’ll see each other for another occasion. Hopefully in a less...crowded environment.”

Tasha released a short chuckle before plastering on a fake smile, “Right. I’ll pencil you into my calendar.”

Jayme offered another fake smile and nod before leading the way out of the restaurant into the Brooklyn streets.

“I’ll pencil you in and the erase that shit. Fuck her.”

Time started to drag as she sat at the table alone, looking more foolish with three plates crowding her space than playing seat warmer for the world’s cutest couple. A glance out of the window gave her access to the tail end of Jayme’s departure. Her inability to peel her eyes away from the private moment showed her two things: Chadwick was far more interested in Jayme than she was in him, and she was clearly upset despite the kiss and hug she provided before disappearing into the backseat of her taxi.

Moments later, Chadwick took the seat directly across from Tasha and sighed.

“Go ahead. Tell me that you told me so.”

“I’m not gonna say that friend,” Tasha smiled. “All I’ll say is you’re gonna need one of these cheesecakes to go because mama is PISSED.”

“You think so?”

“Oh, I know so. But, I’m here to help with gift ideas to make up for this dumbass idea. And I ordered us dessert.”

Chadwick’s ear perked at the sound of a sugar rush to end a night full of terrible decisions. “Did you get the cookie thing with the-”

“The vanilla bean ice cream on top? C’mon now! You know me!” Without hesitation, the pair completed their signature handshake before sitting back in their seats. “Sorry for ruining your date, Aaron. I’ll pay the tab as a peace offering.”

“Eh, don’t worry about it. I’ll make it up to her. You know there’s a reason she calls me honey bear.”

“Gross. Please, don’t finish that sentence. And what the fuck is Muffin? Are you a white TV dad now?”

Chadwick’s deep belly laugh at CoCo’s expense continued until their shared dessert was placed between them. Instructing Tasha to pick up her spoon, Chadwick began a pseudo-toast.

“To another Valentine’s Day spend together and many more to come!”

Their spoons clinked together in solidarity before the argument of who would get which portion of the cookie began, ending the most romantic day of the year the only way they knew how: together.

_______________

TAGS:

@k-michaelis

@wakandanmoonchild

@idilly

@texasbama

@afraiddreamingandloving

@inxan-ity

@daytimeheroicsonly

@onyour-right

@sisterwifeudaku

@killmongerdispussy

@90sinspiredgirl

@willowtree77785901

@maynardqueen101

@heyauntieeee

@halfrican-heat

@purple-apricots

@lalapalooza718

@blue-ishx

@profilia

@ljstraightnochaser

@girl-wtf-lmao

@dramaqueenamby

@royallyprincesslilly

@melaninmarvel

@thiccdaddy-mbaku

@lavitabella87

@purplehairgawdess

@unholyxcumbucket

@airis-paris14

@uhlxisback

@oshasimone

@maliadestiny

@drsunshine97

@zxddy-panther

@queentearra

@skysynclair19

@retro-melanin

@mermaidchansons

@misspooh

@melanisticroyalty

@babygirlofwakanda

@wakanda-4evr

@sarahboseman

@karensraisns

@wakandankings

@kaykay4454fan

@ororowrites

@awkwardlyabstract

@mixedmelanin

@brownsugarcocoabutterwildflowers

@cosmicmelaninflower

@justanotherloveaffair

@jaeee-http

@iliketowrite1996

@blackpantherismyish

@soldierandawar

@msincognito67

@reignsxjackson

@yaachtynoboat711

@syreanne

@minim236

@yoyolovesbucky

#Chadwick Boseman #chadwick boseman fan fiction #chadwick boseman imagine #chadwick boseman x reader #chadwick boseman x you #chad x coco #coco x chad

93 notes · View notes

maggotmouth · 5 years

Text

hi i’m nora ( 23. gmt. she/her ) and it turns out i really miss playing bridget ! i wasn’t feeling frida bt i wanted to explore som of her backstory more so ive kind of fused bits of her into bridget..... sue me.... for those of u who didn’t know her before i dropped her, bridget grew up in a trailer park in texas, she’s an angsty socialist leftie who gets fucked at the pub and goes off on one about capitalism. film nerd. got in on a partially subsidised scholarship and works in a bar and a fast food place to pay for her accomodation. here’s a pinboard !! everythin else is below this cut, like this post n i’ll (probably forget to) smash that im button for plots x

application template.

( cis-female ) haven’t seen BRIDGET MATUSIAK around in a while. the MARGARET QUALLEY lookalike has been known to be GARRULOUS & CANDID, but SHE can also be FICKLE & ERRATIC. The 21 year old is a JUNIOR majoring in FILM. I believe they’re living in AUDAX but I popped by earlier and no one answered the door.

aesthetics.

thumb holes poked through the cuffs of your sleeves, roller blades, grazed knees, not eating your greens, smiling with a mouthful of blood, sleeping in a cherry lip balm and scrunchies to keep the wild locks from your eyes. piercing your own ears with a safety pin when your dad wouldn’t take you.

connection to tatiana & did they choose her name during the watershed?

knew each other from the cheer team in bridgets freshman year and tatiana’s sophomore year. had a competitive friendship to start with but then they got into a discussion about politics at a party one night, and maybe hooked up a few times after tatiana had jst broken up w someone. they were sort of seeing each other very casually for a bit, but…. they came from vastly different circles n it didn’t really work. they were in a bad partch at the time of the reaping so to speak, and bridget picked her name For A Giggle but now regrets it big time obviously

tw drugs, teen pregnancy

BACKSTORY TIME.. her mother was from the wrong side of the tracks, was chucked out of home pretty young after a teenage pregnancy, wanted 2 go to art school and started working as an erotic dancer to pay for college but then jst…. ended up staying there. one of those girls u see in the documentaries who had Big Plans but ultimately never got to pursue them n jst got…. sucked in by the money

her mom n dad met in high school at a parents evening. alice was fourteen, toby was thirty-one. bridget’s mom alice was a roman catholic – uneducated in matters of safe sex, mother mary around her neck, bras hanging over wooden crucifixes – and willing to give it to the first boy who seemed interested enough, gift-wrapped or not. toby was the father to a girl down the road who alice knew nothing of besides her name and the few encounters in the corridors facing a stoney stare that screamed homewrecker. it only happened once, but once was enough. alice was out of the house as soon as her parents knew a child was growing in her womb.

bridget n her mum alice were more like sisters growing up, probably because of the closeness in age. alice should’ve known that you couldn’t have a thirteen-year-old-daughter at 27 without everyone knowing you’d been one of those girls who gave it away fast as a hot potato, and maybe bridget should have known that she’d inherit more than her mother’s wide eyes, that things have a way of circling back to us --- that at fourteen she too would lose it on the floor of a swimming pool changing room, soggy back, polka-dot nylon of a swimsuit pulled down to her ankles.

she grew up in a trailer park just outside of orlando resort, but she was raised in dressing rooms surrounded by sparkly costumes and nipple pasties and leotards and the like. as a kid she’d try to trot about in her moms heels n yearned for the day she’d be able to be on stage.

if you’ve seen the florida project its a bit like tht.... just kids left to do their own shit.... mother’s a bit all over the place... made money by stealing wristbands off orlando theme park visitors, and bridget was p much raised by the community, to be honest. most of her youth was spent scurrying about half naked in cowboy boots and glasses too big for her face. a smol feral child

gilly (referred to as junior) was born four years after bridget, the son of a carpenter and sculpture artist named gilbert “gilly” senior, her moms latest squeeze. whenever she wasn’t at school bridget would be in gilly’s workshop doin her homework surrounded by parts of furniture or hanging out with the kids who were visiting disneyland but couldn’t afford the hotels on the resort

like her mother, bridget fell pregnant barely out of her gingham print dresses, hair in two plaits down her back, teddies still lining her bed. unlike her mum, she was not box-shipped out to a home for fallen women but rather booked into a clinic, given a pill, just like taking your vitamins.

her mother flaked out when bridget was around fifteen and junior was eleven. they were in the system for a while, before gilly was finally granted custody as legal guardian. the three of them moved to marfa, texas so that gilly could run classes in sculpture and woodworking at the art institute. they’re not sure where their mother went. some say she rededicated herself as a virgin and joined the convent in penance for her sins. some say she works in a las vegas strip club and sells pills to minors. bridget likes to believe that she’s an actress, her name in newspapers and her face in a star-spangled dressing mirror.

bridget used to do sponsored silences and hunger strikes for kids in developing countries. was that kid in school who was always raising money something. i mean its kinda cute but also she just wanted the acclaim and attention so…. and most of the time it didn’t even make it to the disadvantaged kids she was raising it for cos her mom needed rent money or to buy the kids new shoes n they could barely afford much themselves

she’s a strident feminist, an activist for human rights and animal rights, a vocal vegetarian and an all-round soapbox sadie. catch her in the quad shouting about human rights through a megaphone. will most definitely have quizzed your character on institutionalised racism whilst inhaling nos at a party and snacking on a big bowl of cheesy wotsits

aesthetic: big military or leather jackets over tiny little sundresses. always in docs or creepers and a beret with an anarchist symbol painted on it. wears a long green trench coat covered in badges for alt punk rock bands or a red denim jacket that she hacked into a crop jacket with a pair of kitchen scissors. cuffed jeans, thrifted or stolen. white converse, more grey tbh through years of wear. crop tops and plaid shirts tied round her waist. smudged mascara. glitter smeared over cheekbones from the previous night. cigarette smoke shrouding you like a veil, the red string of a thong peaking out purposely from jeans, piercing your own ears with a safety pin when your dad wouldn’t take you, kate moss posters lining the walls of a teenage bedroom, thumb holes poked through the cuffs of your sleeves, feet pounding the earth until your soles bleed crimson.

an aspiring screenwriter. she has a very image-based view of memory and experience. always doing a screenplay or shooting film. her style has a lot of catholic iconography (think virgin suicides style or baz luhrmann’s romeo + juliet if it was done on a super 8 camera) bcos catholicism is one of the few things she remembers about her mother. she’s never actually tried to find her mum / find out about her, jst…. occasionally channels that energy into her work.

struggles with self-image and the need to be Loved By All a lot. uses sex as an affirmation of her worth and also kinda manic-depressive (though not officially diagnosed) bcos her upbringing was a bit unstable, she was a looked after child for a while when the adoption papers were still going through… struggles a lot with feeling unwanted, especially since her grandparents refuse to acknowledge her existence cos she was born outside of marriage….. so she craves feeling wanted,, like despite being a real women’s rights activist and hating objectification, at the same time to bridge there’s nothing better than someone sizing you up with hunger in their eyes

she’s queer, but i guess she favours women, and is incredibly vocal in her support of the lgbt+ movement. often at rallies. has done a face-sitting protest. really is that bitch

there’s a degree of anger for anger’s sake in bridget. she likes passionate, angry music – particularly garage rock, punk and riot grrrl. she loves the slits and skinny girl diet. viv albertine inspired her to take up bass guitar.

back at lockwood she was working two jobs to pay for uni !! at the bowling alley polishing the shoes and fixing the bowling lanes, and also as a burger flipper at mcdonalds. in amsterdam she’s managed to secure a part-time bar job at one of the hendrix university bars

massive film buff. is majoring in film at uni also spends a lot of time at the movie theatre n probably has like a season ticket. is one of those pretentious film nerds who’re like “what do u think of goddard’s work?” but also just really into shitty horror movies

she spends her evenings in downtown bars willing away her boredom, trying to find something that’ll jerk her out of apathetic lethargy. she toys with the idea of becoming a stripper — it certainly pays better than flipping burgers — but she lacks the energy to dance for several hours a night.

she loves b movies and slasher flicks. at parties, she’ll occasionally try to make a horror of her own, on a super 8 camera in someone’s basement, very paranormal activity, but she’ll inevitably get bored, or too drunk and give up, like she does with most things in her life. she lacks drive and motivation. she’s bright but there’s no hunger in her.

she’s fickle and enigmatic. one moment she could be your best friend, the next, she’ll behave like a total stranger. bridget’s unpredictable because she’s still unsure of her own identity, frequently flitting between different characters, like snake skins, before she grows bored of being bubbly and eager and becomes spiteful again. her core personality traits are probably forthright, impulsive, restless, thrill-seeking, selfish, gregarious, easily bored, childish.

SOME ?MILDLY AMUSING? FACTS

writes shitty poems on the back of napkins and quotes dead philosophers she’s never read. romanticises herself a lot. like will be standing there in a ripped t-shirt and her undies smoking a cig like “hmmm… i bet someone is falling in love with me right now”

is vegetarian for environmental reasons but snorts coke at parties like that isn’t shit for the environment ?? sis, it don’t add up

loves dirt. ate a worm once because someone dared her too. shamelessly disgusting.

she’s slightly obsessed with true crime, up late watching documentaries on the manson family murders.

favourite drink is cherry coke

a lot of her time is spent in the record store, plugged into a set of headphones, head-banging in the corner to a scratched record. music, for birdie, is a form of escapism. that and dropping acid in parking lots lmao.

sells nudes on twitter. whenever she gets low on cash she contacts one of the seedy old men who used to visit her mom’s club to venmo her $500 in return for pictures

that girl who’s always harping on about body positivity on instagram while wearing cute underwear and looking absolutely bomb

really good at rodeo bull riding. the club in marfa had one so as a youth she got really good at it bcos she was constantly tryin to outdo her friends on who could stay on for the longest. a video of her staying on one for like 4 minutes after downing several jager bombs went viral once.

micro-doses acid for mild depression bcos she didn’t believe in “that CBT bullshit”, thought that therapists, like her, were jst con artists so always a bit spaced out

volunteers at one of the local galleries but mostly just rants to old white dutch men about how cis white men have dominated art for years :/ is one of those SJW-types , like.... have a day off, jameela jamil......

has a pet rat called popeye

takes photographs of dead animals to use in her art and often posts them side-by-side with stills of women in porn to show the shelf-life of female sex workers in a patriarchal-dominated industry or some bullshit idk

big into spoken word poetry, even if its shit. likes savage depictions of femininity

wrote a thesis on art as an act of masturbation that got published

this bitch HATES capitalism and LOVES karl marx

time isn’t real. nothing exists. the self is a social construct. finger guns.

an awful person, really

plots i want that i mostly stole from the tags

muse a tries to stand up for muse b in a bar but unfortunately cannot fight for shit.

muse a (prob bridget cos works in a bar) works somewhere that’s open late and muse b comes in to take shelter from the storm.

‘I got in my car and you were sleeping in the backseat who the hell are you and how did you get into my car’

umm a wlw plot isnpired by san junipero ! esp this post. could have been a former fling that ended sourly !! cos i dont like ship forcing but still?? give me wlw stuff

“i just decked you in the face because i’m drunk and you were pissing me off but ow my hand really fucking hurts i think i might have broke it and oh look your nose is bleeding and now we’re both sitting awkwardly in the hospital while i glare at you from across the room. but wait are you giving me sex eyes?? stop that i’m supposed to mad at you??”

“platonically sharing a bed until i wake up and you’re curled round me and my nose is buried in your hair so i’ll pretend to stay asleep to keep this for a little while longer” plots

“highkey want a ‘someone wrote your phone number on the wall of a bathroom in my dorm with ‘call for a good time’ and i just texted you to let you know that i scribbled it out and oh wait you’re actually funny and easy to talk to and now we’re talking every day and i might have a tiny little crush on you even tho i don’t even know your name’ plot”

goddamn its another shippy wlw plot apparently that’s all my tag is but this post

“known for being rebels without cause, MUSE A and MUSE B are synonymous to their fast cars, nights out beneath the stars, empty bottles of alcohol, and loud music. they meet by chance one night and immediately click, and embark on a careless adventure after it despite not knowing each other. it’s them against the world: after all, what could go wrong ?”

any of these sad sour unrequited love plots

‘we take the same elevator every day and due to a misunderstanding I assumed you didn’t speak english and I’ve been talking to my friend about how hot you are for three weeks and apparently my friend has known from the start but you agreed not to tell me bc you both think its hilarious what the fuck’ au

‘I accidentally dropped you while you were crowd surfing and you broke your ankle and now I feel responsible so I’m carrying you out of the moshpit’ au

walked in on my roommate and you screwing except i know you from class and i freaked out a little

i was hustling you in pool for money but you were hustling me for free drinks so who’s the real winner here?

bridgot goes to strip clubs n peep shows like every day, cos she’s writing about the history of pornographic film n its basically research for her, so if ur characters would be into strip clubs they might see her there

i feel like she’d be on student council if they had one of those. shes that kind of bitch, turning up like elle woods with a big feather pen or a light-up heart marker, slamming down some truths before upping and leaving to go for her 11am chai latte break

som1 who attended the art institute in marfa for a summer n maybe knew her when she was a bit younger ??? idk

drama. angst. horror. also nice bike rides in amsterdam please

feel free to im me if u wanna plot, or, like this post and i’ll hit u with a message!

#i have literally just slapped bridget n frida in a blender.#sorry if u had plots with frida. pls feel free 2 discuss w me n we could just do them w one of my other characters instead if it fits.#xxxx plot with me my goblin children xxx #water:intro

15 notes · View notes

j4nn4s · 5 years

Text

rules:

always repost the rules

answer the questions given to you by the one who tagged you!

give 11 questions

tag 11 people

i was tagged by @isakvdhflorenzi, ty miss lorena <3 1. Is the social media presence of the characters important to how you view the quality of the remake/show?

hm well skam nl is my favorite and their social media game is trash LMAOOO so generally No but i do feel like remakes who DO have such a good presence kind of elevate the show and i think it’s pretty heartwarmin to see some remakes go sm farther than skam with social media and puttin out educational and IN CHARA resources like skames does this so well and i feel like in that way, the team is really really spreadin skam’s spirit via these resources (like joana’s billion bpd awareness ig accounts and lucas rubio’s yt channel)

2. Least favourite clip of the show? Why?

tbh there are definitely some duds but probably one of the clips with sana gettin herself into a hole in s4 just bc some were hard to watch cus cringey or yikes .... idk i cant think of others LMAO

3. Which character did you feel the most connected to and why?

ijeoiqjiwoij even tho even is my all time fave skam chara, i have to say isak for all of these reasons

4. Your least favourite part of every season?

season 1 - tbh even though i really enjoyed this season, it does take a while for it to build up like i rmr at first not being that interested until ep6 maybe ?? which is hard when you’re trying to get your friends to watch but they have to wait until ep6 before shit starts RLLY buildin up and gettin wild

season 2 - hm ig noora chasin after william ??

season 3 - bro NOTHINGGG call me a purist but its such a refined masterpiece like the pacing is good the characterization is so good ugh i deadass cant think of anythin

season 4 - i always felt a little ??? w noora being sana’s bff ig bc from s1-s3 it didn’t Feel like they were that close like even in noora’s pov, sana wasn’t really a part of it that much ?? like eva was more of noora’s bff ?? so i feel like it would have made more sense if maybe sana spoke more with chris or vilde bc sana and vilde eventually seemed to get closer esp with kosegruppa and chris has always been by sana’s side ?? idk that always confused me

5. What is your opinion on the cast’s participation on social media? Do you prefer it when the cast aren’t that involved like the Skam cast, or do you like a lot of content like the Fr cast do?

tbh i don’t care much abt the casts LMAOOO if anythin it kind of brings more harm as seen with the harassment axel and maxence get and also can bring more controversy like with irene (which honestly is p sad considerin how much i love skames bc now i feel super :/ watchin it like she shouldve just had private accts at this point)

6. Favourite song you found from Skam or the remakes?

OMFGGG love this question .... def doorman by slowthai and mura masa bc its one of my fave songs now and i got it from skam nl <3 ugh taste

7. If you could decide which characters from Skam got a season, who would you choose?

OOOHHH ugh torn bc i like isak’s pov but also i want even’s so might have to forfeit isak season for even season ....... hm so probs vilde, sana, even, noora (maybe not w william tho) and honestly maybe jonas too ??

8. Are there any moments that you liked in the show that everyone else seems to hate?

IJXDWQOIJJ yes .... remakes-wise, people hate skam nl s2’s last half but i enjoyed it for the most part ... i think the pacing was off for the last ep but personally, clip 50 made up for it and is p god tier imo ..... and also don’t think the first half of ep10 is enough to discredit the entire season bc i rlly loved seeing liv’s pov and have sm fave moments from the season

but skam wise, omg might get a lil controversial w this one IM SORRY !!! im bein honest and its Just my opinion ok

personally s2 got me more invested than s1 and i don’t think its a super bad season like i didnt really say many problems wrong with it until i got on tumblr wiejioqjoiqjq i was sort of interested in the questions that the noora/william dynamic brought up which is, as expressed in william’s war speech to noora, that nothing is ever black/white which i feel was a huge message and feeds into the ‘you never know what ppl are going through’ theme of the season ... like i like the idea of someone like noora, who can have a black/white mentality (as seen in the first clip of s2 when she tells vilde that they can’t have the tannin company as their sponsor bc they objectify women or smth but misses the context and what it could mean for the bus monetarily bc shes caught up in bein ‘woke’) having to break out of that and see more than one side ... and i think remakes like skam austin expanded on this idea well like when zoya was like ‘must be so nice being right all the time’ which i Do feel like is an important for youth to know today .... bc i think its so easy to get caught up in the idea of being so objectively right and morally superior that people lose sight of the more nuanced characteristics to life ... (omg long ramble BUT)

also LMAOOOOO this one might be more controversial as it pertains to bench scene s4 ok oops again doNT GOTTA AGREE !! ........ but i feel like the scene had a lot of good intentions ... i was def kind of cringing a bit tho bc i understand the subject’s sensitivity and how these topics are hard to talk about but i genuinely feel like they both made Some points and should listen to each other .... like as Hard and as maybe ‘unwoke’ it is to admit, unfortunately you sort of do have to answer the tough questions bc that way we learn from each other .... and i perfectly understand why some ppl wouldn’t want to do this and i certainly am tired abt havin to answer shit abt my sexuality or stupid male questions abt women but if u dont answer them, people do go lookin for answers still and the internet is such a shitty place that its pretty easy (esp with youtube’s algorithm) to lead you to ignorant ppl and perhaps radicalization .... questions help us to better understand our community and sometimes they can have good intentions too but we have to ask and answer them or else people will make up answers (which ive literally seen and its honestly worse to see fake as shit and UNINFORMED answers bc ppl did not want to ask you or ppl of ur identity, esp when they’re already startin from a place of hate .... but i rather have ppl ask me patronizing questions than have them spread false info bc that can do much more harm in the long run) however i DO think that isak should also consider sana’s side and i sort of wish we saw him conceding more bc they both have smth to learn from one another, like sana shouldn’t just be learnin from isak, isak needs to learn from sana too

PHEW SORRY QWIOJQWIO girl i just got opinions on some things this is when my desc rlly comes in handy .... oqjdwqioj

9. What did you learn from the show?

omg honestly too much to write here tbh ..... but if it says anythin im (very slowly) in the works of a three part skam essay about basically how skam teaches us to be better humans and how to better treat the people we care about diowjqioj essentially the three biggest themes of the show: you never know what someone is going through so always be kind, always communicate with your friends, and no person is ever alone and i feel like these are definitely rlly good messages to live by (also livet er nå BITCH !!!)

10. What is your favourite headcanon about your favourite characters?

omg tbh i could not tell u at all how the skam charas are doing except i hope even is okay thats all im thinkin of ok .... OIWXIOJX omg remakes wise tho ..... honestly im so bad at this girl IDK !!!!! LMAO i have to really think i have a bit of vdh and dutch even but thats bc we know like Zero abt them so its easier oijwiojqio idk liv and noah bein cute as shit ..... OH WAIT personally i feel like janna got a bunch of pansexual energy so my BIGGG hc is that she’s pan also bc she’s one of my all time fave charas and my fkn url so itd be dope if she was pan ok boom

11. What is your opinion on fanfiction in the fandom?

tbh i don’t read skam fanfiction but i don’t mind reading some from the remakes (tho still its rare) ... eiojeioqw i just don’t trust anyone but julie to write skam charas bc i think that’s how precious the show is to me LMAO like idk everything ive seen of skam fanfiction and ficlets and one shots, i could never get into bc the tone is just so out of character or there will be lines that just take me out of the fic bc im like this !!!! is not !!! how the chara acts !!!! so yeah idk not rlly a fan bc of my purist ass but i dont mind others reading it

Questions:

1. Favorite quote of the show?

2. Which country would you like to see have the next remake? Do you have any headcanons?

3. Which season would you rewrite and how would you rewrite it?

4. What clips do you personally like or don’t mind, but others hate?

5. Which songs do you think SKAM or the remakes should have included? For which moments?

6. Who would you give SKAM season five to and what topics and themes would it cover?

7. What moment spoke to you or touched you from SKAM the most?

8. How did you find SKAM? How did you feel about it right after watching?

9. Have you shared SKAM with any friends in real life? What did they think of it?

10. Of the remakes, which characters are your favorite of their SKAM counterparts? (Ex. who is the best Vilde remake? Eva? etc.)

11. How do you feel about the SKAM (and remakes) tumblr fandom?

I tag: @smileykeijser @whatadaze @queenofpurgatoryx @itlukey @skamyeets @shaykeijser @megeliz01 @isakcijser @wackpainterkid @axelauriantblot @kar-d-momme

(omg ik some of yall have been tagged so just ignore if u dont want to do it ok im srry it was in the RULES!)

#long post #skam opinions #tag meme

9 notes · View notes

deana-r · 5 years

Text

Ageless Artifacts

By deana.r

During the Second World War, the Germans had dropped bombs against Britain as an offensive, resulting in its strategic failure. The area affected by the blitz later on became a site where further historical examinations have been held. Among the debris, a vase had been found, containing several letters that have already been worn from ashes and its own aging nature. The contents of those letters however, shocked the modern world in such a cultural level, that it was eventually immortalized in museums, historical fiction, and other entertainment branches. In our modern day society, it received a higher regard than what it might have gotten during its own time.

Note: Some portions of the artifacts were smudged. The manner of addressing were also on a first name basis, hence the sender was unidentifiable, and the receiver vague.

1936

London, England

Dear Wilson,

I turned nine today! You're still two months older that I am, but at least we're both the same age old, even if it's just for now. How is it in Newbury? Even though I'm all the way here in London, I hope you'll come and visit again! I still have that magnifying glass that you gave me. My little sister loves to play with it. Sometimes, she even asks Emily to play with her when I'm busy with my studies. She came to visit me today, and we played while our parents chatted. Remember Emily? She came around the same time you did a few months ago. I've grown to quite like her. She's pretty and cute. She always loves to bring her dolls around, and she'd never put them down. We're boys, so we like to play with wooden airplanes! At least, that's what my father tells me. He bought me an English war plane as a birthday present. It looks just like the ones from the Great War, with its majestic blue, red and white. My uncle came around today and told his stories to Dianne and I. Apparently, he had fought as a soldier. He was very brave. I couldn't understand why the army had made him spend half of his career in a dress and high-heels. My father once told me that men like that were undeserving to be called that – "men". I wonder what it means to be a man. Do you know Wilson? It seems like I won't be seeing him in a while. I wonder where he's leaving to. I hope it won't be long. Wilson, today was the first time I saw him leave without my father bidding him a goodbye. Father never forgets to say goodbye. Now, he's just staring at him with a frown. I hope they're not fighting.

Sinserely, (sorry if it's incorrect. I'm still working on my spelling)

Dianne and I

II.

1940

London, England

Dear Wilson,

I'm still thinking about you every day. Dianne is looking forward to those strawberry tarts that you gave us during my thirteenth birthday. I remember my father had told me I'd finally become a man that day. Also, I've heard several stories about our childhood friend, Emily. It seems she's stopped her obsession with dolls and now moved on to fencing. Strange isn't it? A woman who fences. It's just as strange as a man who likes other men. At least, that's what my father tells me. Wilson, I still don't know what it takes to become a man. Do you need to be fearless and buff? Collect a hundred types of airplane models, and wish to serve the army? Because I don't. Yet, my father demands that I join the Royal Air Force by the time I turn fifteen. Wilson, I'm afraid that I won't be the man that my father wants me to be.

With much concern,

III.

1941

London, England

Dear Wilson, Today, my classmates called me a "Nancy Boy". I didn't know what it meant, but I figured it was because of the poems that one of the boys found in my notebook. Lately, I've been writing a lot of those. It seems to be the only way I could truly express my emotions, because it's as if no one wants to lend an ear considering that I'm a boy. But Wilson, I want to thank you for listening to me. Truly, you are my best friend. I feel quite troubled though. I sent letters to my uncle – to his prison. Do you think he received them? He hasn't replied for quite a while. I hope he isn't too lonely. I found the picture locket that he gave me a few years ago. There was a picture of himself and another man, and now I've many questions yet to be answered. Anyway, how is it in Newbury? I'm a tad worried for you, because my father told me as of late that it was only a matter of time until the Germans come again. Do you think we'll win the war? The clouds are darker than they usually are.

Sincerest wishes,

Your childhood friend

IV.

1942

Lincolnshire, England

Dear Wilson,

I lost the end of the bargain. I've become a soldier. I was finally able to ask my Uncle some questions, and he told me to hide. I didn't understand what he meant until my first few days. It's just as what my Uncle had told me before he went to prison. There were men cladded in women's clothing, serving as entertainment for the fighting men. It seemed as if that was all they were told to do, as if that was all they were meant to do for the war – get laughed at. I couldn't tolerate the sight. They were the men who wanted to fight, to win, to gain victory for Britain, and yet, the authorities wouldn't let them. So what if they were queer? Wilson, I didn't understand why I needed to hide, but now it seems clear. This is all a load of rubbish. A man from my flight had been made fun of by one of our soldiers, and now that he had been caught, he's bound to serve the army the way he never expected, nor wanted. Why must they assume that a man's sexuality determines their bravery on the battlefield? I know for a solid fact that I don't deserve to be treated this unfairly, to only be imprisoned right after like my uncle, who had risked his life in the first war along with all the other fighting men. The law is terrible.

Wilson, I've been a coward, but please abide by this request. Hide my letters in a place where no one would dare look – hide them somewhere safe. If anyone were to discover my writings, only God knows what they'll do to me next. I do not wish to stop writing to you, and I do miss you painfully, but this may be my last letter. There are still many things I have yet to say to you, but at a time in the skies, it's either fall of fly. If I live by the last dire moment, I promise I'll tell you the truth. If I don't, well, pray that I do. I can't say my final goodbye without seeing your face one last time.

With much hope,

my life.

Note: it was later on discovered that remnants of the letters have been found inside a burnt suitcase. The location was several miles west from the blitz, where a train had been bombed as well, resulting in the death of all passengers. Traces identified that the letters were connected with the ones prior, despite the Artifacts' critically damaged state.

1942

Lincolnshire, England

Dear Wilson,

I miss the old days when you, Emily and I would run through the willow swept bridges above the river – our reflections, we used to smile at. Dianne misses it too. I... miss you too. Wilson, I know this might sound like it came out of the blue, but is it true? I heard that you're getting engaged with Emily, and that the both of you shall be wed by the time you turn eighteen. Do you love her? Wilson, there's still some things that I am unsure of, but by the time I've fit the puzzles in my head, please don't slip away from me yet. How do I explain? I suppose, I've never really liked airplanes. I've only liked being with you, and if you liked airplanes, I wanted to also do the same. How do I explain this feeling? It's quite difficult to comprehend. Whatever it is, I'm sure my father won't tolerate it. He may even hate me for it. I hope you won't. Dare I say, I hope you feel otherwise, the way I so passionately feel for you. Forgive me Wilson, but I- (the following words were smudged).

Truthfully,

Your Best friend

VI.

1943

Lincolnshire, England

Wilson,

Please, please reply to me as soon as you can. I must know that you are safe. I hear Newbury had been bombed from the skies – the Germans really did come again. Please Wilson, if you had passed first before me, I'd never feel deserving to live. Please, Wilson. Please give me another chance to see you. Didn't I promise that I'd return? I can't be too late. Wilson, I wished I could have told you everything from the beginning. Although we've known each other since we were children, I can't bear the notion that this is it. I'm so sorry that I was too late.

VII.

1943

Lincolnshire, England

Dear Wilson,

I heard your family was able to escape. Once you've received this letter, maybe the rest might have been burnt to dust. Maybe that would have been for the best, but Wilson, always keep this secret close to your heart. My uncle... he had told me to hide who I am, because we are - (the following words were incoherent), but we're also very beautiful people, Wilson. I know this to be true because my Uncle has always been kind, but many people can't understand what's there, because they only judge from so far. Remember the magnifying glass that you gave me? I wished so badly that they'd have those for eyes. There was this soldier who called me a "fruitcake", but I know he didn't mean anything sweet. I've been used for a year, Wilson, and I'm very tired of it. I'm tired of being thought of as weak, and I'm tired of waiting for the war to end, knowing that our very own British soldiers were going to persecute us by that time comes. The next time you see me, I don't want to be sleeping behind cold metal bars. I want to be with you and Emily, someplace safe and happy. Will you promise me that you'll do just that? Will you promise me you'll live happily? It's just like the airplanes. I won't until you'll be.

Sincerely,

R. C.

VIII.

1945

Newport, England

Dear Wilson,

I'm spending my birthday alone, and it only reminds me of how much I miss you. I still hold my uncle's picture locket dearly, and although his stories depicted sorrows until his last breath, I truly believe that his ghost was delivered happily to heaven. Just like him Wilson, I long for the day we find that happiness. That's all I've ever wanted. As long as I am able to stay by you, Emily and Dianne, there isn't anything else that I could ever ask for. Dianne, my beloved sister... I miss her, Wilson. I really do. I wish I could be there for her in London, but I cannot return home. Ever since I ran away from the station in Lincolnshire, I promised myself that I wouldn't ever look back. The skies are clearing though. Maybe my mind will too. My father said I was an abomination, and that I should have sacrificed my life in the skies like a noble man, but I know for sure that God loves me, and that it wasn't his plan. Because now, I've found a reason why I continue to live. The war is going to end soon, and by that time comes, I would have already ended my own. Thank you for everything. You know Wilson, there are many things that I find beautiful in this world. The way the sun glistens through ash-stained clouds, the way grass shines silver linings after a storm has gone, or the way your laughter sends earthquakes in my heart — you might think I jest, but it is true. I don't know when, but I know we'll meet again. Take care on that train Wilson, and take care of the child in Emily's womb. I wish you the best of all God's blessings, and I constantly pray for your safe arrival.

Adieu Wilson.

Yours forever,

I love you

(P.S. I'm sorry I never told you)

Note: after the bombing of the train, further examination has shown that the burnt suitcase in which the last four letters were found in, contained a photograph placed in between the pages of the owner's notebook. The face was slightly blurry, but seemed to be faintly smiling. The background was faded, yet it gave a bright memoir. The young man in the photo looked like an apparition from a far distance, but he still looked vividly alive. It was assumed that the subject in the photo was the unknown sender, the one Wilson had treasured the most.

#ww2 #short story #commentbelow #lgbtq #history

1 note · View note