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therealvampira · 1 year

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Wish You Were Here, Or I Was There- Gregory Violet x Reader

Published: June 15, 2023- 3:21 PM EST

Word Count: 1480

Pairing: Gregory Violet x Reader

Summary: Weston College was quite the place to be, as many would agree. You weren’t one to have many friends around, but somebody in particular had you falling for them- Gregory Violet. You both knew it, but nobody made the first move, until he finally confesses to you once the semester is almost at its end.

The sound of the charcoal pencil brushing against the paper filled your ears as you sat, trying to enjoy the last few weeks of the semester. It was unusual for most students, besides the prefects, to sit at the gazebo, but Violet made an exception for you, given that you were one of his few friends. It was finally that time of year when the sun would shine through every window and surface on the campus, and the chirping birds could be heard in the distance.

scratch. scratch. scratch.

While it didn’t exactly bother you too much, you couldn’t help but notice the sound of the pencil that had been scratching against the paper almost the entire time you’d been sitting. You occasionally glanced at Violet a few times as his eyes were glued to the paper. He wore a look of determination and focus, with each stroke of the pencil. He raised his head and looked at you for a while, before going back to drawing.

“Are you almost done?” you asked curiously, wondering what he was drawing- you figured he was drawing you.

“Soon. Don’t move.” he said, quietly as always. Violet didn’t like to talk too much while working on a drawing. But that aside, he was truly talented, one of the best artists you’ve seen. He looked to resemble a work of art himself. After a few more moments, he finally spoke:

“There, finished” he said as he put down the pencil. You looked down at the paper, noticing he had captured every curve, strand of hair, and “imperfection” as you’d call them. You were left astounded at his seemingly effortless work.

“It’s perfect…just like you..” he added, speaking a little lower so you couldn’t exactly hear him properly.

“This…this is truly incredible. I don’t believe you drew it so easily” you said, holding the paper in your hands as you examined it with a look of astonishment and admiration.

“It’s not that easy, but I do happen to be gifted in the area of art. I would show you more of my best pieces if you wish, but most of them are in my dorm,” he said with a slight shrug.

“Ah, I see. Well, perhaps some other time, maybe. I’ll be quite busy this evening with exams coming,” you explained.

“Fair enough, I should be studying as well..” he said. The smallest, slightest grin could be seen forming on his lips, but it faded in a few moments.

“Perhaps if we get the time, we could share our different works. I could see your drawings, and you could read some of my stories,” you suggested, trying to lighten the abruptly ended mood.

“I’d be interested to see what you’re always writing, (Y/N). I suppose that could be arranged,” he replied, obviously happy with your suggestion.

With a quick nod, you spoke, “yes, perhaps we could meet again here later. I really must be on my way now, though. I don’t want to hold off on work at this time of year”

“Of course. Until next time,” he said as he waved his hand, watching you leave the school garden, going back to your dorm.

For the rest of the evening, you spent most of your remaining time for the day finishing up homework and studying in your dorm. For a moment, you thought to try and sneak out to see Violet, but you figured it was too risky, especially with the strict school rules. As you put your stuff away and began getting ready to sleep, your thoughts again shifted back to Violet.

Later in the evening, it was almost pushing 11 o’clock when a light tapping sound came from your dorm room door. It was a quiet, gentle knock, as if to get your attention, but careful not to disturb anyone that might happen to be nearby. While you weren’t absolute on who it was, you had an idea of who. However, you were a bit caught off guard, given that it was way past school curfew.

Slowly, you rose from your seat, making your way to the door. As you unlocked it with a swift movement and opened it slowly, you were surprised to see Violet standing before you. Then again, who else would it have been?

“Violet? What are you doing here? it’s far past curfew..” you reacted. His expression seemed to remain unphased by your reaction, but a slight look of guilt could be seen in his eyes. Perhaps your reactive words made him feel a bit bad for showing up at such a late hour.

“(Y/N). I…forgot to give you this…” he said, handing you his drawing he’d made of you earlier that day. You took it from his hands, just as amazed as you were when you’d just seen it. His ability to capture every detail of you, even the stray hairs, was truly incredible. A small smile formed on your lips as you looked back up at him. Only this time, there was a slight blush across his face, painting his cheeks a faint pink.

“Thank you…” you said, your speech trailing off at the end slightly as your mind was now occupied with the image of the boy standing before you. He was…beautiful. It was almost as though if you stayed around him for just a second longer, your heart would jump through your chest. He nodded in response to your thanking him, and seemed to be thinking about something, looking as though he was about to speak- but he didn’t. Instead he paused for a moment, looking at your face as if to examine it, and then looking away briefly.

“May I come in? Is that…fine with you..?” he asked, seeming a bit unsure of his own words. You paused for a moment before finally answering, “Yes, I suppose you can. Just be careful since it is past curfew, after all.”

He took only a few steps into the room, still standing. You were a bit confused as to why he wanted to come in, even though he appeared to be slightly uncomfortable. He seemed to have shaken off some of the discomfort, as he took a few more steps towards you. Violet was now much closer to you, the both of you almost chest to chest. -

“(Y/N)...” Violet spoke, his cold breath tickling your skin. The air now felt so thick that you could almost cut through it. “Would you mind if I do this…this one thing?” he continued.

“What thing..? I’m not sure I understand..” you replied.

“Just..close your eyes…please..” He said in a low voice, almost barely a whisper. Not in any sort of demanding tone, but in a way that he wanted to convince you to trust him. That you could trust him. You decided he’d do you no harm, so you closed your eyes. Despite not being able to see, you could feel the warmth of his body as it drew closer and closer, his breath coming nearer. Barely able to keep your eyes shut, you finally felt his lips press against yours, giving you a gentle kiss. So gentle and soft, it almost resembled a breeze of air.

His hands crept down your arms to find your hands, as he locked his fingers with your own. He looked at you, as if trying to read your expression for any discomfort or rejection.

“(Y/N)..?” Violet spoke.

“Yes?”

“Are we…friends? Or are we..more, now..?”

“I’d like to believe we’re more than friends now. What do you think?” you replied.

“I think so as well..” he confirmed, finally giving the long awaited answer of what has become of you two.

He kissed you one last time, with more passion, making it last longer as if to savor every second of his lips caressing your own. It felt like a breeze of cold air on the hottest day of the year, so soft and gentle, yet refreshing. It felt warm and fuzzy, as if you could collapse into his touch that was almost light as a feather. You longed so desperately for more, before he pulled away from your lips.

“I…must be on my way now. I’ll see you some time around, my..dear…” he explained.

“If you must. I hope to see you soon as well..” you replied. In some part of yourself, deep, deep down, you felt a hint of melancholy. You’d wished this would have happened sooner in the year, and you weren’t sure if you’d see him once the semester ended. This part of your mind, you didn’t even realize, yet you couldn’t seem to brush it off at the same time. It was as though you missed him even though he was there with you.

“Goodbye, love..” Violet spoke as he gave you one more kiss on your cheek, and turned to make his way to his own dorm.

--> 𝓝𝓸𝔀 𝓟𝓵𝓪𝔂𝓲𝓷𝓰: 𝓘'𝓶 𝓷𝓸 𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵- 𝓛𝓸𝓷𝓭𝓸𝓷 𝓐𝓯𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓜𝓲𝓭𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽

♱☾♡ Deep in the past, you know what it meant to me Just a dream, yet something so real I need you to feel, I need you to come with me ♱☾♡

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In the Afternoon: That butler, returning again soon 🕯️🖤

A/N: Hello, reader(s)! I've had quite the chaos going on these past few weeks (more like months), but I've been determined to post something, so have this short-ish Violet fanfic! Good morning or night, wherever you may be, and remember- take care and have some trust in yourself! goodbye, for now!

#gregory violet #black butler x reader #black butler #kuroshitsuji #black butler headcanons

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eviesaurusrex · 2 years

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omg hi!! Love your writing so much and if I could, can I request something for Stephen? maybe something fluffy/smutty?

ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ | ꜱ. ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇ

Stephen Strange x Asgardian!Reader

summary: After weeks apart due to back-to-back missions all over the universe, Stephen and YN were finally able to spend some much-needed alone time with one another.

word count: 1.7k

warnings: allusions to smutty smut stuff, plus a bit of smutty smut stuff, fluff, Stephen (because he definitely is a warning himself), more fluff, super fluff, a bit of altered norse mythology (deal with it)

author's note: First of all, thank you so much for your kind words, lovely anon! I really hope you like this short piece. I definitely had fun writing for Stephen again <3 I hope it wasn't the wrong decision to stick to Sorcerer!Stephen instead of Surgeon!Stephen. But if you'd prefer the latter, please just send me another ask, and I will write for him as well! <33 And because I've been strangely drawn to norse mythology lately, I just had to make the reader an Asgardian and had to play with the relationship between the gods and goddesses, so don't hate me for that! Disclaimer: Please don't come for me when you're a mastermind in norse mythology. This is fiction, so please, for the love of this universe, don't kill me for taking liberties while writing my stuff. Thanks!

MDNI first and final warning

;

The sound of a thunderstorm in the far-off distance let Stephen jolt out of his deep slumber, only interrupted by vivid dreams produced by the memories of the last few missions he had to accept, even though he would've much more preferred to stay back in town. But the universe obviously couldn't save itself, so Wong, Lang, and himself had ventured out into space and other systems to exert their duties and responsibilities as Avengers. At last, Stephen had been glad he had accepted those missions because the woman right next to him had been on duty herself, though she had owned the luxury of staying on their home planet.

Well, his home planet, but not hers because she had been born in a place so magical, the sorcerer couldn't quite grasp it. And if he already had turned his mind to this particular topic, he could also start calling his woman his goddess again because, after all, she was nothing but that.

Slowly, the sorcerer turned in their shared bed in the Sanctum Sanctorum, which they always used as their hiding place as soon as they needed some much-longed-for time alone. After some minor incidents within the walls of the compound—things he wished were never seen by anyone outside their relationship—the couple had decided to stay at the Sanctum where no one would interrupt them. Not even Wong. And after weeks apart, Stephen had been thankful for the quietness of home, which had been only disturbed by the desperate sounds leaving their mouths as soon as he had stumbled through a portal and saw this dream of a woman already waiting for him before she had enveloped him with her arms and legs and had shown him that he indeed was home.

A small smile, entirely reserved for her eyes and presence, etched its way onto Stephen's lips as he propped his body up on one arm, watching her as closely as possible. It didn't often happen that he had the pleasure of watching her peacefully sleeping form, observing her radiant face, counting how often her bare chest with the most perfect pair of breasts he had ever seen moved up and down with each intake and outtake of breath. He was mesmerized, starstruck even, by the most mundane things she did, the smallest movements she subconsciously did in her sleep, the tiniest twitch of her features. If he had been born an artist, he would've painted her day and night, Stephen was sure of it. But gladly, others already had done that over the millennia.

Longingly, his slightly shaking hand raised from the soft bed covers, his arm stretching towards the woman of his dreams who had become flesh, blood, and reality. His fingertips touched the warm, almost burning skin on her shoulder, caressing through the thick strand of ever-changing hair covering the soft skin of her neck on which the sorcerer still could see the marks he had left there only hours prior. A pleased smirk made its presence known before Stephen let his fingers brush the hair out of the way and let them wander further, closer to one of the softest parts of her body while he bent his head down, lowering himself closer and closer to her sensitive neck. The moment his lips touched the first of many of his marks and his hand wrapped itself around her heavy breast, his thumb teasing her hardening nipple with featherlike circles, the woman next to him awoke with a gentle moan, her legs tangled in the sheets, slowly moving, and Stephen knew that she pressed her thighs together, desperately searching for release.

She may be Freyja, goddess of love, beauty, fertility, sex, war, and seiðr, she may have worn one too many names to count them all, but here, now, with him, she simply was YN, the woman he loved, and the woman he knew like the back of his hand. Because she wanted to stay with him, she had added another name to the endless-seeming list. Because she loved him, she had decided to stay far longer in one place than she usually did.

He was the luckiest man in the history of humankind.

"Do you mind telling me what you are doing there?" Her voice sounded tired, but somewhere in its depths was the same tone hidden he had heard during the entirety of last night. So all Stephen did was kiss her neck softly and let his thumb torture the peaking cherry he loved to swallow whole. "I don't know what you mean, my love," the sorcerer whispered at her ear, biting into the soft skin of her earlobe, and chuckled huskily at yet another moan which escaped her parted lips. YN bent her head slightly to grant him better access to one of the most sensitive spots on her body, which Stephen knew how to play like a musician, tickling noises out of her that had once been the first sounds of pleasure in her part of the world. "You are... gods... you are insatiable."

And she loved every second of it.

As she opened her eyes, Stephen was once again looming slightly over her, propped up on one arm, his other hand still holding her breast, his thumb still teasing and torturing her. His barely perceptible touch was enough to let her legs move restlessly, her breath quickening, and wetness pooling between her thighs. He was a sorcerer with how good he played her body, how he had managed to enchant her with every fiber of her being. YN always had been sure how love was meant to feel because it was her creation, but she had been a blind fool all her existence long nonetheless. Her heart sang as soon as the woman only thought about the man watching her now, and her entire being danced in joy when they were together again.

The decision whether to stay or to leave again had been easy for her, and since then, not a single moment had passed in which she regretted it.

"YN?"

Stephen's voice pulled her back into reality, back to him, and YN blinked slowly up at him, humming in question. He observed her closely, and suddenly she realized he had removed his warm hand off the skin of her breasts and had cupped her cheek with it. "Where did you wander off in your thoughts?" It was a normal thing for her, and the man next to her had gotten used to her habits over time. So, YN smiled up at him before pushing herself up on one arm, urging him to lay back down on the soft mattress. Almost lazily, the woman started to trace random patterns over his chest, chin propped up in the palm of her hand, her eyes watching his face with mild wonder. "I thought about how lucky I am to have found you," she dared to whisper into the quietness of their bedroom, only interrupted by the tapping sounds of rain against the windows and the growling thunder in the distance of the city. Stephen didn't say a word, didn't dare to speak up, and waited for her to continue if she wanted. And so YN did. "I always thought I would know how love feels, how much joy it actually can bring one. But all this time, I was so blind and foolish. I thought I finally realized it when my brother brought Jane home or at the sight of the first couple I stumbled upon when I went down here. But everything always only granted me glimpses into the thing I should know all about until you had the audacity to tell me how I'm supposed to fight the one being off I know everything about."

The day of their first encounter was so ingrained in her mind that YN could still smell the earth of the forest and the scents enveloping Stephen from within. Even though they both hadn't had the best of starts, she cherished every single moment of it.

The sorcerer laughed softly under his breath and wrapped his arm around her to pull YN closer against his side. Her hand now laid flat on his chest, right above his heart. "We were an excellent team." Stephen grinned and laughed louder as soon as he felt her hitting his chest. "I remember this day a bit differently than you, love," she teased him but pressed a lingering kiss to the still-smiling corner of his mouth. And then, she turned serious again. "Thank you for showing me what love is, Stephen Strange," YN whispered and suddenly had to fight the urge to cry.

The man smiled softly at her and coaxed YN to lay down right next to him before he turned on his side as well, wrapping her in his arms. Instantly, both pairs of legs tangled into each other under the sheets, pulling each other even closer. He cupped her neck, letting his thumb slowly follow the sharp line of her jaw, and kissed her full of tenderness and utmost devotion. "You never have to thank me for that, YNN. It should be the other way around, my love." Stephen fell silent for a moment and sighed deeply before he kissed her soft lips another time. "Thank you for making me realize that I'm worthy. Worthy of experiencing love, worthy of giving love myself, worthy of being loved by the most gorgeous, intelligent, compassionate, and kind woman ever in existence." Blinking rapidly again to not allow a single tear to escape her eyes, YN stared into his mesmerizing eyes, which always reminded her of the lakes and rivers of Asgard and the blue shimmer of the Bifr��st. They symbolized home to her because that's exactly what Stephen was to her: home.

"Stephen," YN whispered under her breath and let her fingers comb through his salt-and-pepper hair. He smiled that one particular smile at the sound of his name coming over her lips, only seen by her eyes. "Freyja. Mardöll. Hörn. Gefn. Syr. YN." If she hadn't been sure that death was almost impossible for her, she would've sworn she would die at this very moment—her heart beat as if it tried to escape her ribcage. "YN..."

And with her name on his lips, whispered like a prayer to the gods, Stephen kissed her with everything he had and with everything he was—because that was the only thing suitable for the woman he would love until his last day on earth, until his last dying heartbeat.

;

I'm not sure what I'm thinking about this one, so please leave a comment and let me know! I mean, it's not terrible? I think? At least, I hope so. As usual: comments, reblogs, and likes are much appreciated! Kisses to your pretty faces <33

Taglist: @poor-unfortunate-soul-85 @seasonofthenerd @onecrazydirectioner @meeksmusic83 @nyctophilic0vitnir @lastwandastan @harpywritesfic @strangeions @apple-and-berry @ben-er-ino @multifandomrandomgirl @lucimorningst4r @samisubi @hunterofshadows04 @y-napotat @ohchoices @jyessaminereads

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dorylinae-supremacy · 5 months

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💀 Necromancer AU 💀

Wooo I'm home finally time to post my snippet!

Uhhh AU I've posted vaguely about before but its basically Phil being a delulu necromancer who thinks of himself as an artist and ends up accidentally making himself a son (or three) as he decides to explore a new 'era of art.'

Tags: Dark Phil, darker than usual so heads up, explicit gore, i mean its a necromancer au, idk what you expect, dead boar, graphic description of corpses / rot, grubs / insects, ~584 words, you get the vibes as you read.

Phil liked to think of himself as an artist.

Really, if you thought about it, that's what he was. He took what was discarded by others and turned them into wonders of art that few could even begin to imagine.

Sure, sometimes his artworks liked to rebel. Some parts simply rejected their other parts and forced him to find new materials that would actually be able to fit but that's what made it fun. It kept him thinking.

No piece of art was ever truly done, sometimes one might get a bit too reckless and a part might fall off. Luckily as a witch he was able to fix such minor mistakes. He was able to toy with the very material of reality and he could turn it into the most beautiful of pieces.

That's what led him here, he was desperate for a new piece to work on. All others had slowly lost their shine, no longer filling him with satisfaction every time he looked at them. Now he looked at his old works and only saw mistakes, things he could've done better if given the chance. He didn't bother recycling them; the parts felt tainted and useless.

This work would be a brand new start. A clean slate for him to test all his skills on. Luckily there was a market for his discarded pieces, people looking to snatch up whatever shit he decided he didn't want anymore. It'd be pathetic if they weren't giving him such good money for it.

Or maybe that made it even worse? He was never sure. It wasn’t like he cared enough to, after all. They gave him money and he gave them crap. It worked out wonderfully in his favour.

Tonight he was following a path through the woods that led him to his harvesting grounds, a scrapyard that had unwittingly become the source for his most recent materials. The pieces he was able to find always had some knack about them, a quirk that told a story. It made wonderful fuel for his imagination.

He surveyed the ground, sending out little magic tendrils to feel for the telltale spark of opportunity. He always allowed his magic to guide him in his artistic pursuits, the mana that fuelled his veins had amazing taste in scraps.

He shifted the grip on his shovel as he made his way to the first blip, eagerly cracking open the earth below him. A couple minutes of digging and he was soon rewarded for his effort.

In the shallow grave sat a boar, bloated and rotting. Flies and whatever other insects had already gotten to it, maggots working their way out of where they were laid. The stench of death wafted with the disturbed soil but he didn’t let that bother him.

It felt almost welcoming, something so familiar about it bringing him a warm comfort.

There was no doubt that livor mortis had already set in for this cadaver, the fur wet and sticky against his hands as he hefted it out of its pit. Eagerly, he brushed away the squirming grubs from their feeding grounds in favour of inspecting the corpse a bit more.

Some of the insects were clearly still inside, skin writhing when muscles have long gone still. It would do well for a new piece of art. The little skin that he could see was a deep purple in colour, confirming his suspicions of blood pooling.

That wouldn’t do, though.

It wouldn’t do at all.

#dory writes #dorys snippets #necromancer au #dark sleepy bois inc #dark sbi #i guess its enough for the tags

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blazehedgehog · 1 year

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Hello, I have a strange question to ask

I've been having some existential crisis about my understanding of art, but mostly when it comes to Sonic

I'd like to belive that there's no valid answer or approach to enjoying something that speaks to you and partaking in it no matter what, if folks have a better time relating to the musical side of the series and not many other aspects of it, that's fine, like a different era and aesthetic, no problem and I'll encourage it in practice. And I find telling someone "you have low/high standards" offensive honestly, it's way too assumptious.

But I'd be lying if the sea of criticism and hot tales online doesn't get to me, making me question maybe I'm wrong, maybe some opinions are more valuable than others. Like I know my preferences, but what if it all comes from ignorance, or me being lenient on others experiences is some sort of creative failure. Maybe the people who want their specific vision of what they love are onto something and are owed that, even tho it would put folks at even more odds.

I find it very disturbing, the idea of an absolute truth and aiming to find it is very comforting but I just hate the idea as well. It would mean disregarding voices that never had the chance to be heard, perspectives and experiences that don't fit within a coherent vision.

Like I'm from a country that was sanctioned to hell and my first language isn't English nor japanese so Sonic was never accessible for me, so I'm inherently biased against someone telling me something I enjoy is not for me.

A bit of followup to that ask: What I'm trying to say is that while I want to support artistic integrity and respect authorial intent, I just the idea of art being treated like a religion and words of artists (and in sonic's case forgotten manuals sometimes lol) to be treated like holy scripture with a specific "vision" or "direction" everyone should follow Also sorry for lengthy ask

This is definitely a hefty subject to be sure.

I spent 12 years as a paid critic. I wasn't paid very much, and the site wasn't very big, but I still took the job seriously enough that I developed a sense that at some point, you just have to plant your feet and establish your own opinion. You can't walk on eggshells around everyone forever. Battle lines have to be drawn for you to be who you are.

Avoiding conflict with strangers is one thing. But you have to express yourself, your intents, and your feelings at some point. By its very nature, that means you are going to be dismissing someone, somewhere. I don't think that can be avoided. Somebody out there will love the thing you hate, and that WILL generate a conflict.

What really and truly matters is how you are prepared for and handle that conflict. Not every disagreement has to be thermonuclear warfare. And sometimes you might want to defuse, and the other person doesn't. To me, that's just part of life. Have opinion, will argue.

I realize this is easier said than done, but if this kind of stuff bothers you, then... don't let it. It's the internet. If something is bothering you, it's easy to get away from it. Nobody is making you remain in the same argument for days or even weeks on end. Maybe this is just something that comes as you get older, but at some point I realized I valued my time more than just yelling at other people online all the time.

So I... stopped doing that. I put my thoughts out in to the world through places like this blog or my Youtube channel, and if people have a problem with the way I express my opinions, I try to express them better. I don't attack back, I just try to identify what they aren't understanding. Rarely does it start arguments anymore. Does it mean my opinions are right? Probably not. Not entirely, anyway. What even is right and wrong in this context? It's all just perspective.

And once you realize that, the idea of drawing a line in the sand, planting your feet and expressing your opinion, all the arguments and disagreements it may generate just become different perspectives. It doesn't mean you're wrong, it doesn't mean they're wrong, because nobody is wrong. It's all just from where you're looking at the thing from.

Given that we're just talking about Sonic the Hedgehog, and there are no guns, or knives, or real violence happening, ultimately you have to realize: who cares? Find your own happiness. This isn't the fate of the world. It's a cartoon hedgehog. And though you may have started an argument today, the sun will still rise tomorrow. Free yourself and enjoy it.

#questions #bluerthanthoumaybe #sonic the hedgehog #sega #sonic team #ramble #stream of consciousness #does this mean anything? I don't know

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occultsister · 1 year

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@xaleidoscope (Cont.)

He had asked his sister for a chochin-obake and was truly impressed what she was doing on his arm.

He only had to hand her a reference picture and the other was doodling away fiercely, drawing the yokai on his arm, like she had done nothing else her whole life. His eyes were shining and he kept quite as much as he could, he really didn't want to disturb her concentration.

"Would... would you color this later?" He whispered in awe, happy he had chosen to give her that job... Amane was so much better at drawing than he was. He loved to build and visualize but the swift flick of an artist hand hadn't been one of his strengths....

Ever.

Amane wouldn't have put drawing as one of her strong suits but she did enjoy it, almost as much as painting figures. Which she'd gladly admit her brother had always been better at especially when it came to the finer details.

However if there was one thing she excelled at it was drawing yokai, coming in such a variety of looks they always offered something fun and new to try. Some of which she could have drawn from memory at this point.

So when he'd asked for an Chochin-Obake she was all to happy to oblige, those funky little lanterns were so fun. And like any yokai renditions ranged from scary and monstrous to something almost friendly and kind funny looking.

So for this she tried to meet in the middle somewhere, a bit cartoonish and certainly not aiming for realism but still trying to keep a bit of the more monstrous element to it and was quite proud of it too if she did say so herself. Might not have made for a bad tattoo actually, a real one.

"Sure," She chuckled capping the marker as she finished up drawing a bit of drool at the end of its tongue.

"What do you think Luna? Not to bad eh," Reaching down she scratched the dog's ear,

There were a few slight smudge marks but such was the risk of drawing with a marker on skin after all.

Humming she tapped the end of the marker on her chin, "You know I'm almost certain I saw a glimpse of one the other day while taking her for a walk last night," Well maybe it was just her imagination but then again it wouldn't be the first yokai she'd seen so maybe it was.

#just two spooy sibs #xaleidoscope #ic

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katkalis-the-fanartist · 2 years

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Got sick today. Felt so ill that I couldn't finish what I was working on.

So to make up for what I told myself I'd finish, I shall instead go ahead and post this terrifying take of a sleep paralysis demon Yuga:

#this actually makes ME a little uncomfortable #if it disturbs the artist then maybe its really well done?#also sorry about this i know its unsettling but I'll put appropriate warning tags just in case #tw sleep paralysis #tw staring #horror #sleep paralysis demon #the legend of zelda #a link between worlds #albw yuga #my art #fan art #scary

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loveofdetail · 2 years

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I love Terra Ignota in and of itself, but I also love what it (maybe) represents in the SFF landscape. I love that a work this unconventional and demanding got traditionally published, and by a debut author at that. These books were never going to be bestsellers (My local B&N has never stocked them!) but still/instead seem well-poised to take their place as influential sci-fi classics for decades and decades.

I have heard people complain that the first book, Too Like The Lightning, has no resolution and payoff. And actually? This is correct! Because what Ada Palmer has done is written the kind of story where dedicating the entire first volume to setup is not a flaw.

Does that strike you as an odd claim? Does it seem like an entire book of setup could never be anything but a hurdle to overcome? Maybe, for some stories, a begrudging necessity, but not something that could ever be a strength in its own right?

I think literary tastes have converged on a narrow range of easily parsable, reliably sellable plot structures. Hook rising action clear climax and that denouement better not overstay its welcome. I think modern readers assume, almost completely unconsciously, that the reason for this structure's ubiquity is because it really is the "best". Your average goodreads reviewer talks about books as though story structure is a solved problem, a closed case, and doesn't even realize that they think that. So the mere concept "story that genuinely REQUIRES a whole book of setup" is greeted with surprise and skepticism. Could any story REALLY need that? Where were the tough-love beta readers to tell this author to kill their darlings? Okay, maybe you actually have come up with a story (some kind of insane leviathan of a story) that DOES need a whole book of setup—but wouldn't a story that doesn't need that be a better story to write?

(🙄)

Individuals of course vary in their tolerance for deviation from the formula, but even celebrations of unusual story structures are often couched in terms of "making it work" (assuming unworkability as baseline) or, more tellingly still, being "worth it"—as though experimentalism is something the author is required to compensate the reader for.

I've at times needed to reassure people that the second book, Seven Surrenders, "goes somewhere", which is hilarious considering that fully half of SS is unrelenting gas-pedal-to-the-floor nutso. I have had an actual irl conversation with someone who just could not believe, no matter what I said, that book two could have a "more satisfying ending" (oh man, the assumption of "satisfaction" as an inherent literary virtue, satisfying ending functionally a synonym for GOOD ending, let's deconstruct THAT) than the first one. Because if an author were truly capable of delivering such payoff, why not just do it in the first book?

(🙄🙄🙄)

But saying "there's plot resolution in book two I prommy" is kind of missing the point. I straight up do not believe that TLTL's lack of traditional ending is a problem in the first place. On first read, I enjoyed it more than book two. My understanding is that this is not a common opinion! But I loved being dunked into this wild, disturbing, foreign world and just learning about it. Simply being introduced these characters and their ideas was fun on its own. On re-read, it's obvious just how craftily, steadily, calculatedly the author (and/or the in-world narrator) is dripping necessary information to you, which is a different kind of pleasure to experience, but the initial impression is one of directionless, fascinating deluge. TLTL does not feel the need to leave you with any sign of where this is all going, and it is a stronger and more beautiful book for that.

I do understand, both on an artistic and practical level, why people might gravitate toward tight standalones. Terra Ignota is essentially one story told across 1700 pages. That would be a big ask even if everything else about it were mainstream and easily marketable! Is it cynical of me to be shocked and amazed that these books were even allowed to exist, let alone that they have found the readership and acclaim that they have? I honestly don't know.

I want to read more books that are this thoroughly rule-breaking, weird, and challenging—not just in their content, but in more abstract ways like "ending the first book with nothing but dangling confusion" and "including chapters that the in-world narrator never gets around to editing and completing" and "waiting 1400 pages to reveal the full stakes of everything that's been going on". I hope Terra Ignota is a sign that difficult, counter-orthodox genre fiction still has an audience. I love this series but what I would love even more is for it not to be just some solitary fluke miracle.

#HELLO I THINK ABOUT STORY STRUCTURE A LOT #like A LOT a lot #terra ignota

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derangedhyena-delphinidae · 4 years

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numerous issues with “The Aftermath of Seaworld”

When I get time to do so (aka when I’m done with the documentary), I’m likely going to make a video version of this going into the details.

But for right now, I’ve made this. Both as a guideline for me and so everyone can begin to get an idea of the severity of issues involved.

Researching things is time-consuming and can be very difficult - believe me, I know. But I’m of the mind that if you’re making content with the intent of educating people, you have a responsibility to perform a certain level of due diligence. It IS okay to express uncertainty or doubt if you have it. It is NOT okay to confidently assert things that you do not know with certainty.

The video has an anticap slant, and I’m obviously not disagreeing on that front. But again: if you’re gonna go through the trouble of teaching people something. Bare minimum... please make sure it’s actually correct. *** 1) x ‘founded in 1964 and based out of Florida’ - ???? Seaworld definitively began on the west coast, in San Diego, CA. And given that the first park opened in early 1964… things came together before that. Uh? 2) x ‘four people founded Seaworld [...]’ For one… it wasn’t originally conceived as a restaurant, it was originally conceived as an underwater bar/lounge. Two… calling the four guys involved in founding the place “frat brothers” is fucking ridiculous and completely overlooks a) how each was actually involved and b) the overall significance of their contributions to the field as individuals. Hint: like it or not, they were important and did a lot!

3) x If one is going to bring up SWBGCF/rescues while talking about the literal founding of SW, it gives the impression that it’s been around for that duration. It hasn’t. It’s actually a bit unclear when SW started an organized rescue program, but the Fund itself and all that it did came about much later. The rescue information and how it’s presented is actually INCREDIBLY complex, nuanced, and has a fascinating history (from a “bad company behaving badly” perspective). Oversimplifying this, to this degree and in this misinformative way, does the facts of the situation an INCREDIBLE disservice.

4) x [assertive statement about what the name Shamu means] ….Uh actually there’s several explanations for the name Shamu, and the most likely one IMO seems to be the “she-namu” one, not the “friend of Namu” one(? What is this even based on.) 4b) It’s not quite clear if she’s saying “Namu was the first ever orca to be displayed and perform shows” or or Namu was the first to be displayed and, like Shamu, performed shows. Either way, Moby Doll was the first to truly be displayed to the public, not Namu.

5) x ‘Namu died after one year in captivity and you’d think that this might deter Seaworld from doing the same thing again…’ Seaworld truly had nothing to do with Namu. And they leased/took possession of Shamu before Namu died. ‘Again’? What?

6) x “Now, PETA paints a pretty disturbing picture…” [while showing Okura’s artwork] This video segment is, and this is putting it nicely, a pile of poorly-researched BULLSHIT. -Yes, PETA talks about Shamu’s capture, re: the harpooning of her mother. This Youtuber cannot apparently be arsed to look more than 1 Google search into this, as she proceeds to dismiss the information as potentially fabricated. There are two detailed accounts of Shamu’s capture that I’m aware of - in books - and though they have some slight conflicts, it’s absolutely NOT in doubt that the female who was very likely Shamu’s mother was 1) harpooned, 2) died from her injuries and 3) this had been done to make her easier to catch/locate because there was a fucking buoy attached to the harpoon. Which she dragged around for at least 24 hours prior dying. So maybe don’t dismiss that as PETA hysteria, maybe TRY to determine the truth of the matter, which would inform one that it is both true and completely horrifying. -In addition, Okura is an awesome individual who has worked very hard to create a variety of informative artwork for our cause. Okura is NOT associated with PETA and it’s borderline libel in my eyes to use their artwork in this dismissive manner when the primary sources of it can be easily identified online, with full explanations and everything. Do I take special offense to this because of the misuse of artwork? Absolutely. Artists get disrespected enough online. I’m tired of it. This kind of laziness IS NOT acceptable.

7) x ‘timeline is fuzzy about when Shamu died’ …………… it’s…. It’s really not … newspapers are pretty clear about it…..

8) x [complete and utter oversimplification of the lifespan issue, which is not acceptable for anything published in 2020. It just isn’t. If you’re going to bring it up like this, either do the legwork and get into the weeds or stay out.] 8b) [same for reproductive ages. sigh]

9) x if we’re going to talk about when Cornell was involved with Seaworld it’s very important to specify when Cornell was involved with Seaworld and not make it seem like it’s present tense.

10) x “both were rescued by Seaworld” - uh? no. Zero orcas have been rescued by Seaworld. Literally none. The infected-jaw orca was Sandy, whose story is complex and certainly does not involve Seaworld until much later. And many of the orcas in that time period had bullet wounds, often only identified post-mortem because they didn’t seem to hurt the animals much. Also, unflinchingly blending 70s captivity ethics with modern ones is also complete nonsense?

11) x [tilikum coming from sealand] inhales I am going to make an entire video centered on this fucking subject because it’s one of the single most profound arguments for Seaworld being garbage as assessed by US government agencies in the 90s yet everyone utterly fails to mention this. Why?!

12) x what on earth is this nonsense re: quoting a quote from Zimmerman’s article - which has already been removed from its original context, so the original context is not available - and then penalizing the quote for existing as if Zimmerman’s article were the context? That is offensively disingenuous. I honestly don’t know what the original context is, either - but it’s wildly inappropriate to act as if the Zimmerman article is.

13) x this is relatively minor but ‘Paul Sprong’? You literally have his name on the screen. And then mis-reading his age too? While asserting it from a static article published years ago? Effort? Where is it?

14) x ‘another trainer, Peter’ ….. Ken Peters….

15) [weirdly glossing over the widely-available list of orca-trainer injuries/aggressions, despite it being central to the point.] 16) x This pilot whale outrage certainly happened but it was pretty clearly Blackfish that started the cascade of woes for Seaworld. Who has ever asserted this?

17) if you’re gonna just rehash blackfish, tell people to go watch blackfish.

18) x I’ve already gone over the context issue with Seaworld calling out Howard’s statement in Blackfish here (point 23). Which is to say, IN CONTEXT in Blackfish it’s clear what Mr. Garrett is talking about but, divorced from that, it sounds incorrect. But this Youtuber AMPLIFIES the issue by doubling down on the assertion with “no record of a killer whale doing any harm to anyone in the wild.” The surfer event should always be mentioned. Yes, there’s absolutely room for doubt. But there’s also a clear demarcation between an accidental attack (eg mistaken identity, as was likely for the surfer) and intentional one (eg the incidents at marine parks.) Why do people kneecap themselves on this point 18b) please stop acting like Luna represents orcas in general.

19) x “Howard, for all of his research…” … while referring to David Duffus’ b-roll and statements. Uh. 20) x Apparently this Youtuber has single-handedly resolved the dorsal fin issue. You know, the thing that hasn’t been properly researched ever, that has been subject to a ton of debate, that isn’t 100% settled for a variety of reasons, and almost everyone talks about in terms of theories and likely possibilities. 21) x Alexis Martinez wasn’t “torn to shreds.” In a space where even moderate exaggerations are often penalized harshly by the opposition, this kind of blatant nonsense is not welcome. Plus, the reality’s bad enough… you don’t have to make anything up!

22) x *sighs. points at own webpage*

23) Talking about the shows stopping without acknowledging how that’s a bit of a farce is something else. In addition to apparently just flipping to buying what Seaworld’s selling re: its ‘improved image.’

*** Tl;dr video is so unrelentingly full of errors ranging from small to egregious it makes me seriously concerned for the veracity of the rest of this person’s content. The maker of the video provided a list of their sources in their video description, which I will have time to look through in detail later. The above is solely a response to the information they present IN THE VIDEO - which, is very important because let’s be real: a lot of people are not going to look at the list of sources. People don’t even do it when citing papers (no really, you’d be surprised, fml.) For anyone who wants to whinge that I haven’t linked or asserted any sources of my own for my claims… well, remember what I said about time-consuming and ‘I’m busy’? Yhea. Getting all of that together will be part of making a video. So if you want to shrug loudly at my list here… you can, that’s your prerogative, I’m happy to say I DGAF if that’s your takeaway.

What I hope, is that if there’s anything I’ve made clear over the While of running this blog, it’s that I don’t fuck around when it comes to sources and information and do my best to provide what information exists, all of it, not just cherrypicked bits and bobs. Anyways. Here’s step 0 at least. Please don’t share that video. Pretty please.

#seaworld #grumble

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orionshounds · 3 years

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I’ve been knee deep in dsmp lore streams and I just want to ramble about it

Dream smp lore is so good, it’s so good!!! Not only is the story itself just fascinating, but how it’s presented so uniquely through the medium of minecraft of all things is just so cool. One of my favorite parts of the lore is seeing how everyone on the smp has their own “style” they present it in, and watching them find the way they find the most enjoyment in is so cool. Literally no two streamer’s lore stream quite like each others and it’s just incredible! It just speaks to the flexibility of roleplay as an artistic medium and really shows everyone’s individual personalities.

Wilbur was dramatic as hell and wrote eloquent speeches. He started a drug operation under the guise as a country, and it lead to a revolution in which he was able to explore the spiral of a man who loses control of everything he had built. And after his arc and he wanted a break from the server? He created ghostbur, an amnesic comic relief with just enough touch of tragedy that he is still able to make heartbreaking monologues when he wants to.

Tommy is able to run around with his friends and cause as much chaos to his heart’s extent, but there is so much more than meets the eye. He is incredibly social and isn’t afraid to start conflict with a lot of people, bringing them into the roleplay. He doesn’t back down from storytelling either. His character goes through terrible situations and he fully explores the trauma that comes from those experiences. His character goes against the “stereotypical” trauma I see alot in media; instead of being shy or scared he’s reactionary, he’s angry, he’s violent, he’s depressed. I’m actually really impressed with the heavy subject matter this 17 year old teen has managed to portray (I’ve connected with it quite personally at certain points), while still being able to keep the light hearted fun that’s so intrinsic to his personality.

Tubbo isn’t really interested in serious lore as much. Even in dire moments he tells jokes and just has fun. So, in his recent lore, he just streams as normal while putting mysterious writing on screen that he doesn’t acknowledge or have to explain, which I think is just a genius work around for him to participate in lore. He still has his dedicated lore streams sometimes, and when he is in the acting zone he has some of the most powerful moments out of everyone on the server.

Ranboo, while having stake in the greater smp lore, is much more character focused. He presents his lore through long monologues and fucking heart-wrenching voice acting. He loves working in themes of horror and causing a specific feeling in the viewer. So he chooses specific music as a themes for events/characters and creates visual queues in his overlays to draw out that desired reaction. He also values improve a LOT, if something unexpected comes up he just runs with it and he has made huge changes to his lore as early as 30 min before a stream.

Technoblade, while arguably one of the most powerful people on the server, prefers a more light-hearted yet dramatic approach to lore. When Dream was at his house looking for Tommy, Techno had no problem joking around and making fun of him for being homeless. He tore down an entire nation on the server and had so much fun doing it! He’s more of an antagonist than a true villain in my opinion. And lets not forget how dedicated he is to the game, he’s cracked at the craft. He spends hours grinding and creating farms on the smp, for amazing pay offs (his several vault reveals, the withers, etc), most of which weren’t even on stream!

Karl Jacobs is extremely social, so he created Tales from the smp as a way to involve TONS of people in lore while exploring the past and future of the server (it was also a way for viewers who weren’t that well versed in dsmp lore to join and not have to worry about it!). And through this premise, he took the opportunity to develop his own character on the smp; making an incredibly tragic story of a time traveler trying to save his home while slowly loosing his memories. Not to mention the beautifully shot cutscenes of the Inbetween and the Other Side. He includes so many people behind the scenes as well, collabing with other members on lore, hiring building teams and people to make intros and credit scenes, and promoting fanart and fansongs from the community!

Quackity explores his lore through heavily scripted events and amazingly shot cut scenes. While the way he expresses his lore comes at the cost of improv, the payoff of the visuals and story is well worth it! The shots he makes of the smp is downright gorgeous, no to mention he’s the first person to include irl footage in his lore (not counting facecams)! He’s not afraid of thoroughly examining his own character, being one of the only people I can think of that shows us “past events” leading up to something that has already happened.

Badboyhalo, Antfrost, Ponk, Skeppy, Captain Puffy, Punz, Awesamdude, Hannahxxrose all work together on shared lore and the payoff is amazing! By introducing the Egg, a constant antagonistic force that constantly pulls on character’s relationships with each other, everyone is able to stream together to battle for or against the egg! There’s also plenty of room for people to do individual lore that's more intimate to their respective character. They spend hours changing vines, putting up posters, slowly shaping the smp in a way that makes it exciting to watch streams to see just what has changed everyday. Because there’s so many people necessary to tell the egg’s story, it does comes at the cost of time (the egg has been around FOREVER). However, they all work together super hard and I just admire their commitment to the story they’re trying to tell!

And Sam! He has several different “Modes” his character is in (and an entirely separate character, Sam Nook) that he gets to explore lore with. He’s a terrifying warden, he’s a money motivated businessman, he’s a conflicted lover, he’s a traumatized victim of the egg, and just so much more. Through having so many different “roles” in the rp he gets to explore relationships and plotlines with a whole array of people. Not to mention he’s absolutely cracked at redstone and has some of the most impressive builds on the server.

And Puffy! So much of her lore is calling into question the morality of the server and really makes you step back and think critically about the characters. Her character also has, in my opinion, one of the most interesting relationships with Dream, the main antagonist of the entire server, which is just fascinating to watch unfold. Not to mention she’s one of the first people to start exploring the backstory of her character!

George doesn’t exactly do lore. In fact he’s slept through so much of it it’s become a meme. And you know what? That mad man took that and ran with it. He explains his absence in the story by having his character literally being asleep through it, creating mystery where there used to just be an absence. He’s able to goof off with his friends and have borderline nonsensical streams, then at the end sucker punch the audience emotionally by “waking up” and have the viewers question just what was real and what wasn’t?

The smp has the freedom for people who want more independent lore to be able to explore their character’s that way as well!

Hbomb, Connereatspants, and Purpled don’t have a lot of lore on the smp, generally only coming on to have fun with everyone, but when they do have their moments it unfolds in very interesting ways!

Sapnap, Eret, and Schlatt maybe aren’t as active as some other people, but when they are on they actively participate in lore and have lasting impacts on the story (Ex: Eret’s betrayal, Sapnap’s visit to dream in the prison, Schlatt becoming president).

Philza mostly does his own thing, improving the server or making some bomb ass builds. He has incredibly devastating roles in lore (killing wilbur, blowing up L’manberg for the final time, starting the syndicate with Techno), but he also has quieter moments that speak to the depth his character has, such as fishing with fundy or reminiscing about his dead son and how it went so wrong. Like Techno, he doesn’t like to take lore completely seriously, often laughing no matter what’s happening or teasing chat after something big goes down, but his character is solid with a lot of potential for future lore.

Foolish has only started on his character and its already super interesting. The hints at his dark past as a “god of death” and his current conflict with the egg are intriguing as fuck. Not to mention the MASSIVE builds he does for everyone, helping to progress their lore as well.

Fundy has a lot of freedom with his character to participate however much he wants in lore. While generally he’s a trickster who loves to prank people he has enough tragedy build into his backstory he’s able to break the viewer’s heart with a flip of a switch. Not to mention his recent, almost surreal, stream that explored his character’s disturbing dreams that may or may not predict the future.

Niki is very character driven, exploring her character's grief of losing her best friend and her anger of being ignored in the very country she helped create. She has incredibly emotional moments, and even though she’s on her own building an underground city she still participates in other lore via teaming with jack manifold or the syndicate.

Jack Manifold’s lore is VERY character focused, and while he’s described his story as a “B plot that occasionally intersects with the main plot”, the story he tells is still fascinating. Being pushed aside not taken seriously his whole life, his character develops into a fun cartoony-esque villain who begs to be taken seriously, that has the depth of a truly conflicted person who is torn between wanting revenge on everyone who’s done him wrong and just wanting a friend.

Last but not least, the man himself, Dream. The most fascinating thing about his lore is that absolutely none of it is from his pov. All we know about his character is only from what we see from everyone else’s povs, and in his case it leads to a very intimidating villain! Not to mention, mans owns the damn server and yet has made himself the main antagonist! He is the only character I consider a “true villain” on the smp. His voice acting and writing is downright sinister. I could write a fucking essay on how his character’s obsession with power has led him to the point he thinks himself an unstoppable god

Everyone on this server is stunning and I love all of them!!!!!

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even-after-a-millennia · 3 years

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look out with me at this beauty

For @nilefreemanweek2021 and the prompt Childhood. While protesting a pipeline, Nile sees something in the distance that reminds her of a family vacation she took as a child. You can read it below or over on my ao3 account here. Gen | Rated G | 1.7k

“You would think,” Nile said in disgust, “that after how many times these things have broken, we wouldn’t have to be right here, protesting them making yet another pipeline.”

“Profits before the people,” Andy said drily from where she was standing next to Nile.

“Ughhhhhhhh,” Nile groaned.

Nicky and Joe returned from giving out water and food to the other protestors and handed over the remaining bottles and granola bars. Nile ripped one open and tore a bite off viciously.

She looked out, past the line of police officers that were attempting to intimidate her and the other protestors standing in the path of the pipeline. In the distance, she could see a piece of higher land going up into the sky. She squinted, but it didn’t become any clearer.

“Hey, guys, what’s that?” she asked, pointing at it.

Andy looked over. “Oh. I remember that place. We were here in the… uh, late 1800s? Trying to push back the expansion of settlers onto the native people’s land. The tribes in the area had many names for it, but the one I remember is Bear Mountain.”

“Bear Mountain…” Nile muttered, pulling out her phone. She typed “Bear Mountain South Dakota” into the search bar and started reading the results. “Oh,” she said quietly.

“What is it, Nile?” Nicky asked.

“It’s also called Bear Butte.”

She swallowed, then said, “My family and I went there when I was a kid.”

“Would you like to tell us about it?” Nicky asked. He kept one eye on the police, but turned most of his attention to Nile.

The others did the same, settling in for the long haul.

_____________________________________

The field of sunflowers whipped past Nile’s window and to her ten-year-old brain, they seemed to go on forever. Jordan was kicking the back of her mom’s seat and she turned to look at him and said, “Child, if you don’t want to walk there, you will stop that right now.”

He stopped, pouting.

“I’m bored,” he said.

“Look outside, Jordan! You can see forever!” Nile said, trying to distract him.

It worked for a few minutes, but then he was kicking again. Nile’s mom looked at the ceiling of the van, and Nile knew that her patience was being tested.

“Hey Jordan, I spy with my little eye, something that starts with the letter S,” Nile said.

Nile’s mom sent her a smile, which Nile returned.

He looked around, taking in the options. “Sky?” he asked.

“Nope!”

“Street?”

“This is a highway, dummy.”

He frowned and opened his mouth to retaliate, but she just said, “C’mon, you can get it! It starts with S!”

Jordan looked out the window and brightened. “SUNFLOWERS!” he shouted at the top of his lungs.

Nile nodded as her parents took deep breaths, then let them out.

“Your turn!” she said.

Their game lasted another hour, then they stopped at a rest area to go to the bathroom. Jordan climbed on the playground while Nile swung on a swing in the kid’s area, as their parents watched from one of the nearby park benches.

They had been driving since early that morning, but her parents had warned that they wouldn’t arrive at the hotel until late.

“So no swimming?” Nile had asked, trying not to pout.

Her dad had laughed. “Maybe not the first night, but I promise we will swim before we come home.”

She nodded, satisfied.

They were going to Bear Butte in South Dakota. Jordan had giggled when he had seen how close butte was to butt. That had started a conversation about how this was a sacred place for the Native Americans in the area, and while the Freeman’s were there, they were to treat the place with respect.

“Dad, if it’s for Native Americans, why are we going there?” Nile had asked, brow furrowed.

“A few guys in my division went there when they were in Sturgis for a big motorcycle rally. Said that it was a beautiful area and that you could feel the history and spirit of the place in the air. I want to see it for myself,” he explained.

Nile didn’t really get it, but she nodded anyway.

Luckily, Jordan had tired himself out on the playground, so he crashed for a while after they got back in the van. Nile pulled out Maniac Magee, the book one of her teachers had recommended at the end of the school year, and began to lose herself in between its pages.

They stopped for food somewhere in South Dakota, but still had a few hours to go. It was getting dark, the sun setting over the fields as they flashed by, and Nile was entranced by the colors streaking across the sky. She pulled out her folder of paper and tried to recreate it with her colored pencils, but the road was bumpy and the colors didn’t do it justice.

Her dad insisted on putting it on the dash anyway.

“Anyone looking at this vehicle will know that there is an artist on board,” he said, smiling at her.

Even Nile was dozing by the time that they pulled into the hotel parking lot. She dragged Jordan behind her, holding onto his hand, until they could get up in the room.

“Whoa…” she said, looking around.

There were two queen sized beds, a giant tv, a microwave, and a fridge in the room. She went to get on the bed, but her mom said, “Wait a minute.”

She took the covers off and put them to the side.

“Alright, now you can get on. But no jumping. There are people below us,” she said.

Nile frowned. Well, that stopped what she was going to do.

Jordan and Nile got one bed and her mom and dad took the other. They had waffles for breakfast and Jordan thought the machine that made them was the coolest thing. Her dad had actually made the waffles, but he had let Jordan flip the griddle, which he did with glee.

They drove a little bit out of town and parked. Nile’s dad shouldered the backpack that Nile’s mom had packed full of water, sunscreen, and snacks.

“Remember, you two, do not touch the pieces of cloth on the trees. They are prayer cloths and they are not to be disturbed. Do not go off the path. And try to be respectful and quiet. Okay?” their dad said.

They nodded, and set off.

It was a gentle slope upwards at first, and then they were pushing themselves up the hills. There were a lot of trees right by the trail, and Nile watched as the pieces of fabric tied to the trees swayed in the breeze. They were pretty.

Then they reached a flatter area with a wooden railing and looked out to see down the hill and out into the fields beyond.

“Cool…” Nile breathed, taking it all in.

They kept going, and Nile eventually stopped looking ahead and just kept looking around, taking in all the trees and grass and fields around her. They crested a hill and Nile looked down the hill and suddenly stopped.

“Dad, why do the trees look like that?” she asked.

There were many trees that were on their sides, barkless and white against the grass.

“There was a fire here in the late 90’s that burnt up a lot of the trees. The grass has grown back, but the trees couldn’t be saved,” he explained.

“Oh,” she said, feeling a sadness she couldn’t really explain. This was all so beautiful. It hurt to see the remnants of destruction here.

“Hey,” he said gently, kneeling beside her. “Look at it this way. All of this,” he said, gesturing to all the nature around them, “went through something terrible, and it managed to come back from that. I think that’s inspiring more than anything. What do you think?”

Nile thought about it, then nodded.

“Good,” he said. “C’mon, Nile. I hear the view from the top is incredible.”

It took a long time for them to get there. They had to stop for water breaks a bunch and a snack break too. But then they finally took the steps to the wooden platform at the top of the Butte and Nile and Jordan ran to the railing to look out over everything.

“Whoa…”

Nile had thought that she could see for miles before. But it was nothing compared to how far she could see now! She and Jordan ran from one side of the platform to the next, looking out at the different angles and what they could see from each.

Eventually, the novelty wore off, and they settled on one of the benches for a few more snacks and some water.

Nile’s dad was still standing at the railing, and Nile joined him after she finished eating.

They didn’t say anything for a while, just looked out together as the wind rushed over them. She leaned into his side and his arm came around her, holding her there. Any chill she would have felt from the breeze was lost in the warmth from her dad’s body.

“This is the kind of thing that I fight to protect,” he said softly.

If Nile wasn’t so close to him, she might not have heard him.

“It’s really pretty,” she agreed.

He blinked, and looked down at her. “I fight to protect you too, my little river,” he said, pulling one of her braids lightly.

They grinned at one another, the moment broken, then left the railing and its beautiful view behind them.

__________________________________

They had done more on the trip, had even gone swimming in the pool at the hotel. But that first day was the thing that stuck most in Nile’s brain, years later.

“Turns out, that was the last time my dad was home before he was killed in action,” Nile finished. “So I’m glad we got to have that time.”

“I am glad we are here,” Nicky said thoughtfully. “Protecting this view the two of you looked out on.”

Nile’s heart clenched, but she nodded.

“He died fighting for places like this,” she said. She turned to the police officers who were closing in. “Let’s make sure none of these people do the same.”

#nile freeman #nileweek2021 #andromache the scythian #andy #yusuf al kaysani #aka joe #nicolò di genova #aka nicky #childhood #family vacation #fanfic #my fic

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princesssarisa · 3 years

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How "Cinderella Monogatari" Could Have Been Better

I've just finished watching the 1996 anime series Cinderella Monogatari ("The Story of Cinderella"). I'll share my overall thoughts on it later, after I've overviewed a few other versions of the fairy tale. But for now, I'll say that I liked it very much. That said, it does have its flaws. Below are the handful of changes I would make to improve it.

1. Have Cinderella's father be presumed dead through most of the series.

It's awkward to have Cinderella's father still be alive, and not a weak henpecked husband, but merely away on business. Why would Duchess Dalbin so extensively abuse and degrade her stepdaughter knowing that the girl's devoted father will eventually come back? I would have preferred for the Duke to leave on his business trip, and then, a few weeks later, have the family receive the news that his ship was wrecked in a storm and that he's missing and presumably drowned. Only at this point would the Duchess start to abuse Cinderella. This could also add a layer of depth to the Duchess's character. She could be portrayed as genuinely in love with her husband and distraught by his "death," and afterwards she would exclude Cinderella from the family because Cinderella reminds her too much of him, similar to what the 1997 version of the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical implies. But in the final episode, the Duke would come back and reveal that he survived after all: he's just taken this long to recover from his injuries and find a ship home. So we'd still have the blissful family reunion the actual series gives us, but with even more emotional weight.

2. Give Duke Zaral consistent motivation.

I like the series' addition of a "Greater Scope Villain" (to quote TVTropes) in Duke Zaral. But at least in the English dub, his motive seems to change completely at random from "Marry his daughter Isabel to Prince Charles and become the real power behind the throne" to "Murder Charles and force his parents to surrender the kingdom." This could be easily solved, though. Simply place the episode "The Disturbing Painter" (his first real attempt to kill Charles, when he tries to have his portrait painted by an artist who traps his subjects' souls in the painting) after the episode "Traveling Toward Happiness" (where his daughter Isabel runs away with her true love) instead of before. Since the series makes it clear that Zaral really does love his daughter, it would make much more sense for his murderous turn to be caused by losing her, especially if he found out that Charles had helped her elope. To quote TVTropes again, it would be his Villainous Breakdown, and it would give him a real character arc.

3. Cut the episode "Prince Charles's Secret," where Cinderella and her stepsisters are forced to work as maids in the castle.

While of course it's funny to see the stepsisters forced to do the same chores they usually heap on Cinderella, the context is ridiculous. If a wealthy duke like Zaral wants maidservants to spy on Prince Charles, why doesn't he just pay real working-class girls to do it? Why on earth would he insult a family of his own social class by tricking a duchess's daughters into visiting the castle only to have them forced into servitude? And afterwards, why does no one ever mention it again? Realistically, wouldn't a trick like that cause a scandal? The whole scenario is contrived and would be better off cut.

4. Make Cinderella less of a damsel in distress.

Now there's no shame in a heroine not being a fighter or needing to be rescued. But it's still a tiny bit tedious to see Cinderella repeatedly being captured or endangered and Charles repeatedly being the strong one who rescues her. Even after he teaches her how to swordfight in "Lets Get Rid of Those Bandits," she never uses the skills she learned in that episode again, particularly not in the finale when she's captured by Zaral. I say remove Charles from some of the episodes where she's endangered and have her rescue herself instead. Have her use the fencing skills Charles taught her throughout the rest of the series, particularly when she's kidnapped in the finale. Not that she needs to use a sword, but at least she could defend herself with a stick or some other improvised weapon. In the climactic battle with Zaral on the clock tower, I'd have Cinderella and Charles fighting him together rather than just Charles. Again, I'm not saying there's any shame in being a damsel in destress, but it would be more interesting to see Cinderella defend herself at least a little bit more.

5. Have the stepfamily rip Cinderella's dress before the ball, as in the Disney version.

The scene where they rip up her invitation to the ball is already a blatant knockoff of the Disney dress-ripping scene, but without the same power. So why not take the imitation all the way and have them rip her dress as well as the invitation? This would also enhance the next scene where Fairy Godmother Paulette works her magic. In the actual series, the fact that Cinderella is already wearing a fancy gown and Paulette's magic just brings its style more up-to-date is slightly underwhelming. We lose the sheer magic of the dress transformation that other versions of Cinderella have. If her dress were in tatters, this would be rectified.

6. Don't have Charles fall in love with the "mystery girl."

Cinderella retellings that give Cinderella and the Prince most of their romance arc before the ball always have a dilemma: what to do with the plot point of the Prince not knowing his beloved's name or where to find her after the ball? Some versions have found good solutions; this one is mediocre. After his series-long slow-burn romance arc with Cinderella, it's awkward to see Charles become enamored in one night with the girl at the ball, whom he doesn't know is Cinderella. Even if it is just because she "reminds him" of Cinderella, whom he thinks will never speak to him again because he lied about his identity, it still seems ever-so-slightly fickle. I'd prefer to have him only regard her as a friend with whom he can confide about Cinderella. Then, after the ball, instead of being depressed about her disappearance, he'd be depressed because Cinderella "never showed up" even though he invited her. But Alex and Hans would mistakenly think he was moping over the mystery girl and set out to use the glass slipper to find her.

7. Give the stepfamily a gradual redemption arc.

Maybe this is what the series was trying to go for, because there are assorted episodes where Cinderella does especially valuable things for her stepfamily (saving Jeanne's life when they're lost in the woods, learning to swordfight and guarding the house against the bandits, risking her life to find healing herbs for her dangerously ill stepmother, etc.) and momentarily earns their respect. But in every new episode, they're back to abusing her. So in the last episode, it feels very abrupt when they start being nice to her after she's betrothed to Prince Charles. If it were played for laughs like in the 1957 version of the Rodgers and Hammertein musical, and they were clearly only sucking up to her because she was the princess-to-be, it would feel less awkward, but it's not played for laughs. It feels as if we're supposed to see it as a genuine, heartfelt family reconciliation, which is completely unearned. And then when Cinderella's father the Duke comes home, they all reunite as one big happy family and the Duke never even learns that his wife and stepdaughters abused his daughter while he was away!

My solution? Put much more emphasis on Cinderella's gradually earning her stepfamily's respect over the course of the series. Don't have them forget the great things she does for them; have call-backs to the fact that she saved their lives, risked her own safety for them etc. Show them increasingly torn between their jealousy of her and their growing respect and gratitude toward her. While they would still have a final "Kick the Dog" moment by tearing up her mother's dress and her invitation to the ball, I'd show them feeling very guilty as they ride away in their carriage afterward. Maybe Jeanne could ask Catherine if what they did was right, and Catherine would reply that they had no choice, Cinderella looked too pretty, the Prince would have ignored them if he had seen her, etc.; but clearly she wouldn't be so sure. Then, after Cinderella reunites with Prince Charles, there could be a scene similar to the opera La Cenerentola, where Charles would publicly berate the Duchess and her daughters for their treatment of Cinderella and threaten to punish them somehow, only for Cinderella to declare that she forgives them and beg her fiancé to pardon them. This would move them to tears and they would finally, profusely apologize to her for all they had done. And when the Duke comes home, Cinderella's choice not to tell him about their abuse could be emphasized as her way of showing faith in their repentance and giving them a second chance.

I realize that all this would probably take up more than just a few minutes of the final episode. So because we've already cut the earlier episode where the stepsisters work as maids at the palace, I suggest we add a new Episode 23, in-between the actual series' second-to-last and final episodes. This entire episode would take place between the slipper-fitting and the royal wedding, and it would open with her reunion with Charles and end with her reunion with her father. Everything in between would be devoted to her reconciliation with the stepfamily. This would be a much more believable, satisfactory conclusion for them than what the actual series gives us.

It's a good series, but with these changes, in my personal opinion, it would be even stronger.

#anime #cinderella monogatari #fairy tale #cinderella #the story of cinderella #animated series #my opinion #how it could be better #rewriting

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papirfecni · 3 years

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Hello Azra!

I hope you're having a great day 😀.

Look, i don't mean no harm nor want to be hateful to you or anything you do..(but i might actually be), what i'm about to say might be mean and it's probably gonna look like a hate comment or something 😅 but i assure you, i have nothing against you 🙂.

I'm getting this out of my chest bcs i want to, and since you don't reply to your DMs or anything else i thought my last chance is to tell you anonymously..here ...tbh, bcs humans are weird 😒 .

So i was one of your followers/fans and i really liked your work, you were funny and you were entertaining in every way..you might still be (i dunno tho') i even liked your taste in music and i thought it matches mine in a weird way.. i, like any other fan thought highly of you and did anything to be noticed by you 😂 which sounds silly now that i say it.. but it's something that we all do and i'm sure you have done this yourself 😉.

I tried my best to cut you some slack bcs you are famous and i don't know your circumstances or anything about you... but at some point you had me and gave me some of your time and i thought to myself .. 'why did she? i am just as any other excited fan who did everything to be noticed.. why give 𝓂𝑒 the time?'

Don't get me wrong, i knew you were just being nice 😆... but i thought to myself 'does she do that with everyone then? voice chat, play games, share informations...? which is odd.. bcs isn't she scared of creeps and weirdo who maybe have bad intentions...'

I'm a humble one but just like a normal person i got greedy and i felt like we might be friends lol 🤣 i even start talking to some of your close friends and i wished to be as cool just to be friendly with you all (not just you...no offence) bcs for some reasons i found a lot in common between me and you all, but i was too normal and too boring for you maybe a little too nice too 🙃.

The point is, after that you started ghosting me after telling me that we would do it again (play and stuff).. you never reply.. you don't see my comments nor msgs... i know i wasn't special but i really wanted to play more and have fun while i still could at that time 😅.

I just wished you never gave me a chance to look forward to an awsome friendship with such great and fun people like yourselves...

Once again, don't get me wrong.. clearly i have issues 🙃 and if i don't adress them the proper way then they will come and bite me in the butt 😆.

What i'm trying to say here is .. as much as i liked your spirit, your humour but more importantly your 𝒜𝑅𝒯 ofc, now i don't even want to see nothing that has anything to do with you... even your name makes me cringe (the fact that my mother has the same name isn't helping -.-') and i hate that bcs i missed how despite being so invisible back then .. i enjoyed everything you did..

I wish i never made that piece of art that made you follow me which made me feel so guilty for not following you back which is the one thing that led to another until it became no fun no more...

I missed your art and it feels bad now to interact with it after you belittled me and basically made me feel like sh*t (sorry..) when you ghosted and rejected all my requests..

I wish you read this and i wish you don't hate me for being ..umm weird and mentaly disturbed obviously 😅lol despite being anonymous i feel so seen..

you are a great artist and a .. well uuh a funny person? lol (that's all i could think about 🤣) i was a fool to think that you thought of me differently and for being greedy to have more fun time with you and your friends.. so umm i hope you take my honesty as .. umm a point that needed to be ..umm adressed and not as a hate comment or ..umm a speech at this point 😬 hehe

Just a word of advice.. don't say things that you don't mean to fans no more 🤣 they will be excited and they will feel special and it will be disastrous if you don't meet their expectations haha.

Despite feeling guilty for being too honest ..maybe to the mean point, i am 𝑔𝓁𝒶𝒹 that i got that out of my chest, i am trying my best to talk about this silly subject as civilized as possible so you don't get me wrong 🤠.

Good luck with whatever you're doing in your life and i wish you all the best 😺.

P.S: drink more water instead... it's very important to stay hydrated 💧 ✌️

i wasnt gonna respond to this originally but youre getting people i dont even know involved in this fsr so.

sending me shit anonymously expressing why youre mad at me is one thing but going around and telling random people in their fucking CCs about it (and naming me too) like its a warcrime not to respond to your dms personally is really fucking weird. im an average ass person with a hobby who uploads their work online, i’m not a fucking celebrity or “famous” for this or any other reason, i sure as fuck dont have any fans and i genuinely dont understand your obsession with that concept??? why am i the one getting blamed for making you feel special for simply talking to you and being friendly when youre the one acting like i have paparazzi following me around lmao i have classes to attend and study for, i have friends irl and family that i spend time with, i have a tiny group of online close friends i talk to regularly, i eat and sleep - a day is 24 hours for me too lmao. on top of that im generally bad at responding to dms as im very introverted with a terrible memory; it’s never anything personal, i’m simply busy or just forget to text back which my friends are aware of and have no problem with. i seriously had nothing against you, you’re very sweet and talented but you don’t know me, we hung out once for an hour as friends and that was it, i’m confused as to how me not responding was such a traumatic event for you when it’s a normal thing that happens with everyone especially if you’re not close friends. if youre trying to befriend someone you should behave like it and not like youre chasing someone unreachable lol. anyway im glad you got free therapy out of this i really loved the random cursive letters you added for dramatic effect as well as the subtle drags 10/10

#hi tl its ur friendly neighborhood celebrity!!!!#pls go touch grass

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redgillan · 4 years

Text

Under Pastel Skies - 7

Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Modern!AU Bucky doesn’t need anyone, especially not a sugar baby. He isn’t that desperate… but she smiles so sweetly and she’s endearingly awkward, and he’s so lonely. She’s an artist, a painter, the type of person who always puts others before herself. Throwing caution to the wind Bucky offers her a place to live, a place where she can finally paint whatever her heart desires. He doesn’t need much in return; a friend, a muse.

Word Count: 6,480

Warnings: none

A/N: This is long overdue, sorry - hopefully it’s worth it. It’s also incredibly long... idek anymore. I want to thank you all for your patience and support. It means a lot to me.

Wannabe sugar daddies, don’t interact with this post.

You grumbled into your pillow when you heard your phone buzz on the bedside table. Cracking one eye open, you lifted your phone and squinted to read the neon numbers showing on the screen.

7:12 a.m.

You had an email notification, nothing important, but it somehow managed to come through the ‘Do Not Disturb’ feature. You knew you wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep so you got up and padded barefoot into the kitchen.

A smile curled up your lips when you saw the leftovers from your made-up holiday. There were a few cookies and muffins in a plate, a large bowl of cereals, and two dirty milkshake glasses on the counter.

It had been a fun and relaxing couple of days. You ate, talked, played board games, and watched movies in your fanciest loungewear attire. Bucky sought your touch more than usual and it left you a little confused. Every time he touched you, the line between feelings of friendship and feelings of love became blurred.

Bucky was an early riser, always up before you, dressed in his usual khakis and long sleeved Henley shirts with his hair slightly tousled. He looked effortlessly sexy and always had a warm smile for you even though you looked like a hot mess in your mismatched pyjamas, staggering into the kitchen, blindly following the smell of food cooking on the stove.

Today, the kitchen was silent. Bucky was probably still asleep, so you decided to cook breakfast. Maybe, if you were lucky, you’d catch him in his night clothes.

Wasting no time, you made a beeline for the coffee machine. You filled the water tank and measured fresh grounds into the filter, but your task was interrupted when you heard groans coming from somewhere nearby. You soon figured out that the sounds were coming from the living room.

Curious, you silently made your way toward the sound. The shades were up, and you could see the midnight blue sky fading into pastel hues of yellow and pink with the approaching dawn. Under any other circumstances, you would have been completely enraptured by its beauty, but something else caught your attention.

Bucky was standing upside down with his head on a yoga mat. His eyes were closed and his features were set in an expression of serious concentration. You half hid behind the wall and observed him.

You were impressed, his headstand was perfectly vertical and he was doing it without hand support, meaning that he was supporting his entire weight on his neck. He slowly lowered one toe back down, then the other, before he rested his forearm on the mat and lifted his butt toward the ceiling, his body forming a perfect inverted V.

“You’re up already,” he asked, sitting back on his haunches. “I can hear you breathing behind that wall.”

Busted...

You peeked out into the living room and cringed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you but that was sooo impressive.” You walked into the room and perched yourself on the arm of the sofa, facing Bucky who was kneeling at your feet. “How do you do that?”

He chuckled, his cheeks red from exertion and bashfulness. “Practice. Yoga’s good for building strength.”

He looked up at you with a boyish smile, his hair damp with perspiration. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, rolling too close to his eyes and making him squint.

His pants left little to the imagination, the fabric stretched across his powerful thighs, and his sleeveless shirt clung to his drenched chest, outlining his muscles. Your eyes darted to his left shoulder where his stump was visible.

Despite living with him for over two months, you had never seen him in one of those sleeveless shirts before, though you couldn’t blame him since it was the middle of winter and you hadn’t been wearing any either. It was warm inside the apartment but not enough to walk around bare-armed.

“It’s easier to do yoga when the sleeve isn’t slapping me in the face every five seconds,” Bucky said, looking at his stump. “But I can cover it up if you prefer.”

“No! Of course not,” you rushed to say. “I’m sorry. That was really rude.”

“You were just looking, it’s only natural,” he said. “People are curious. Staring... well, staring is different.” His frown smoothed away and he turned to you with a smile. “Are you hungry?”

You smiled down at him. “Starving.”

“I’m gonna hop in the shower real quick, then I’ll start breakfast.”

“Actually, I was about to start cooking before I got distracted.” Bucky looked away, a slight blush covering his cheeks. “But I think we have plenty of food left over from last night.”

“We’re not eating cookies for breakfast,” he said. “We’ll save them for later. Right now we need something healthy.” He grinned as he pushed himself to his feet and ran upstairs. “I’ll be right back.”

You shook your head at his antics and returned to the kitchen to finish making coffee. After all he’d done for you, it was the least you could do. You knew Bucky liked cooking –and he was damn good at it- but sometimes you wondered if this was a fair arrangement.

He had given you a place to stay, money, food to eat, your own artist’s studio, and you had given him... nothing. Admittedly, you knew that your presence calmed him, comforted him. You gave him the emotional support he desperately needed and it was important, but he could also have adopted a pet.

Too tired for coffee or tea, you poured yourself a glass of orange juice, hoping it would wake you up. It worked but your self-deprecating thoughts were still playing havoc in your mind.

You were fixing Bucky’s coffee when he came back downstairs after his shower, and you were pleasantly surprised to find him wearing a clean sleeveless shirt. You met his eyes and found that he was watching you intently. You offered him a smile and leaned back against the kitchen counter.

“Looking good, James.”

He looked down at his feet with a bashful smile as he crossed the room slowly. You observed him in silence while he prepared breakfast for the two of you. It was a simple breakfast bowl with yogurt, granola, fresh fruits and honey but he somehow made it look like a gourmet dish.

“There you go, angel,” he said, setting your bowl in front of you. “What are you going to do today?”

You took a slice of kiwi and dipped in yogurt. “I think I’m going to paint. You?”

Bucky licked his spoon and you stared at it longingly before you quickly averted your eyes. No, you couldn’t be jealous of a goddamn spoon. Catch yourself on.

“I have an idea for a new book,” he said, running his tongue along his teeth to clean them before he spoke again. “I had a meeting with my agent last week. It went well, my old publisher really wants to work with me again. I’m signing my contract this afternoon.”

“Bucky!” you squealed after swallowing your mouthful of yogurt a little too fast. “That’s amazing!”

“Thank you,” he said, staring into nothing with wide eyes. “I’m nervous, scared and excited at the same time. It’s strange, y’know, all these feelings mixed together. It’s a bit overwhelming and I haven’t even started yet.”

“Don’t think too much,” you said. “You’ve done this before, you can do it again.”

“Yeah,” he replied, smiling.

You scraped your spoon around the bowl and licked it clean. “What’s it about? Is it a novel? Can I be in it?”

Bucky chuckled to himself and you figured that every single writer had friends who begged them to appear in their books. You couldn’t help it, the idea of living forever as ink on a page was too tempting.

“It’s not a novel,” he said. “It’s the third instalment of my series. The style is a little hard to explain but this is what I like to say: self-help book meets Bridget Jones’ Diary.”

“I tried to look you up but I couldn’t find anything written by a James Barnes or a Bucky Barnes.” You playfully narrowed your eyes at him. “Are you a fraud? Or are you using a pen name?”

He pretended to think about it. “I’m a fraud.”

“I knew it,” you mock-sighed.

Bucky took your bowl and placed it in the sink along with his. When he started cleaning them, you joined him and took a dish towel.

“I’ll tell you soon,” he spoke after a moment.

“It’s okay, take your time.”

You knew he wasn’t going to tell you what his pen name was, not now at least. His books were a reflection of his struggles, his success, and his fears, and you could understand why he preferred to keep you in the dark for now.

The people who read his books didn’t know him, they were just anonymous faces in a crowd but you were real. You were his friend, his new friend, and your opinion mattered.

“It’s been a couple of years since I’ve published my last book. My agent said that people haven’t forgotten about me but I still have to,” he made air quotes with his fingers, “’show my face’, just to remind everyone that I’m still writing.” He sighed.

“There’s a charity event next month at the museum of Natural History,” he continued. “It’s a huge event, a lot of important people will be there, including some of the most famous gallerists and curators in the country. You’re allowed to say no but,” he paused and turned to look at you, “do you want to come with me?”

You pressed your lips together while you mulled this over. There was no doubt in your mind that it was a great opportunity, one that you would have never had without Bucky, and you knew you had to say yes. But this was your least favourite part of being an artist.

You didn’t know how to sell yourself and you always felt like an arrogant asshat when you spoke about your paintings, even though you had every right to be proud of your work.

You had managed to persuade yourself that this new life would last forever. Eat, laugh, paint, repeat forever. But it wasn’t real. You had to put yourself out there, even if it made you uncomfortable because painting was only half your job.

Something else bothered you. You didn’t want to be the poor, struggling artist who took advantage of a charity event to make herself known. It seemed wrong and hypocritical.

You voiced your concerns to Bucky who looked at you with a pained expression.

“Yes, it’s a fundraiser but I can assure you that everyone at the party will be talking business and exchanging business cards,” he said. “And they’ll compensate with a huge donation to clear their guilty conscience. Is it false philanthropy? Absolutely, and I’m ashamed to say I’m one of them. You’re not taking advantage of a good cause, we are.”

“You’re nothing like them,” you said. “You’re kind and selfless, you’re a good person.”

“I’m not sure that’s true, angel,” he said with a tight smile.

When you opened your mouth to protest, he leaned forward and cupped the back of your head as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, ending the conversation. He had never done that before and you froze, feeling equal parts confused, incredulous and appreciated.

He pulled back and wiped down the sink with the sponge, acting like kissing you so sweetly was something completely normal, like he was unbothered. Meanwhile you just stood there wondering if you would ever be able to breathe normally again.

You pressed your lips together hard and tried to gather your thoughts but your mind was reeling. You were about to leave the room when your eyes landed on a pile of mail on the kitchen counter.

The first letter was a cheesy view of the Tower Bridge, the words ‘Greetings from London’ written in bold cursive letters across the postcard.

You only knew one person who still sent postcards.

Wanda.

“What’s this?” you asked, nodding toward the stack of mail.

Confused, Bucky looked to you then followed your line of sight and saw the mail. “Oh, Natasha dropped these off last night. She wanted to see you but you were already asleep.”

You nodded distractedly while you picked up the postcard. The sight of it filled you with anxiety. Your sister didn’t’ send these postcards often, but every time you received one it reminded you that things were different now. Gone was the happy and supportive family you used to cherish.

Your breath caught in your throat as you read Wanda’s hastily written words.

I’m coming home.

She was coming home. A wave of nausea ran through you and your breathing came shallow and fast.

“Wow, wow, wow.” You felt Bucky’s hand at our waist, steering you toward a chair, and you realized your legs were giving way under you. “Deep breaths, angel. Look at me. There you go!”

“Sorry,” you said. “See what happens when you don’t let me eat cookies for breakfast?”

Bucky smiled at your poor attempt at humour. “Want to tell me what’s wrong?”

You debated telling him but you weren’t sure how to voice your concerns so you handed him the postcard instead. You had told Bucky about Wanda. She had disappeared after Pietro’s death, sending postcards from time to time as proof that she was still alive and well.

“Your sister is coming home.”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I haven’t seen her for six years. She doesn’t know our mom has Alzheimer, she doesn’t know I sold our old childhood home. She keeps sending those postcards there. I gave the new owners Natasha’s address in case they still receive our mail. They’re very nice.” You let out a humourless laugh. “I had absolutely no idea what I was doing when I sold our house, and they could have taken advantage of me but they didn’t. I guess it’s not every day you buy a family house from a 24 year old girl. It probably screams tragic backstory, uh?”

“You did this on your own?”

“Yup.”

Bucky put his hand on your knee and gave you a comforting squeeze. “I’m sorry you had to go through this.”

You looked down at his thumb rubbing soothing circles just above your knee. “Yeah, it wasn’t easy.” You paused, then raised your head to look at him. “Living with you makes my life so much easier. I live in my own little bubble where I don’t have to be an adult. I feel like I can finally breathe. And I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for me and all you continue to do.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he replied, shaking his head. “We help each other. We’re good together.”

“Yes, of course,” you said with a smile. “But we both know it’ll have to end one day. It has to, one way or another. I want to be more independent, start my career and support my family. I don’t want to rely on others anymore. I want to rely on myself.”

“But there’s no rush, angel.”

“I know, but nothing’s gonna change if I stay in my little bubble. I have to do things that make me uncomfortable.”

“What are you trying to say exactly?”

“I’ll come with you to the fundraiser.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up in surprise but a smile broke across his face. “That’s great! But what about your sister?”

You shrugged. “There’s nothing I can do. She’ll probably go to our old house, realize it’s not ours anymore. If she’s lucky they’ll give her Natasha’s address. I’m sure she’ll have lots of questions but she can’t show up six years later and act like our bond is still intact. I’m not at her beck and call. I’m only responsible for myself and, Bucky, I’m so tired of trying to please everyone. I deserve to live my best life, goddammit.”

“I am so happy to hear you say that,” Bucky said, his smile blinding. “Celebratory cookie?”

“Yes! Two cookies, please,” you replied, out of breath. “I’m slightly freaking out.”

You spent the next couple of weeks planning for the event; painting, taking pictures of your work, posting them on Instagram, searching for gallerists and curators you wanted to work with and cross-checking the attendees.

Despite everything, you couldn’t help but wonder if Wanda was already in New York and if she was looking for you.

“Check this out!” you exclaimed, shoving a business card in Natasha’s face before you pushed past her to get into her apartment. “It’s official, I’m an artist.”

She laughed as she closed the door, her eyes on the card. “Hi, it’s nice to see you, too,” she deadpanned.

“Sorry, hi.”

“Well, looks like you’re all set. When’s the party?”

“Next week,” you replied, taking a seat on you former bed, her sofa. “I’m a little nervous, but also excited. I don’t know, it’s a strange feeling.”

Natasha pinned your business card onto the fridge using a magnet before she opened the refrigerator door and retrieved a bottle of orange juice. She took two glasses from the cupboard and joined you on the sofa.

“But, yeah, I’m ready. I have over two hundred business cards, I know who I want to work with, and I even bought an external battery pack just in case.”

“And what are you going to wear?” Natasha asked before taking a sip of orange juice. You looked at her with wide eyes, panic written all over your face. “You forgot to buy a dress,” she concluded out loud. “Why am I not surprised?”

“With everything going on, I completely forgot I had to... wear clothes.”

“I’m sure James wouldn’t mind seeing you in your birthday suit.” She laughed when you practically shoved her off the sofa. “Come on, I’ll help you look semi-decent.”

You groaned. “I don’t want to go shopping right now. Plus, I blew all my money on business cards.”

“Are you kidding me? It’s freezing outside, I’m not leaving my apartment,” she replied, reaching for her laptop. “You’re going to rent it.”

“Ew,” you made a face.

You remembered the formal wear store where you had rented your prom dress. The place smelled like moth balls and sweat, and the dress had given you a rash. Not a great memory.

“Trust me, I know this is your first but I’m a seasoned veteran. I’ve been to dozens of fundraisers, and I had to wear dozens of designer dresses. Do you even know how much a Saint Laurent evening gown cost? You can’t wear the same dress twice. That’s a big no-no. And it’s not just the dress. You need a clutch, a pair of shoes, jewelry, a coat. You have to rent them.”

“You’re giving me a headache.”

She opened up her web browser and typed in the website address for the dress rental. As she entered your size and budget, it was obvious that she knew her way around the website and you had to admit that it was a lot easier than traditional shopping.

You looked at the collection of dresses, not entirely convinced, when you found it. You instantly knew it was the right one.

You stared longingly at the beautiful wine-red dress, made entirely of velvet. The bodice was cut on the bias, the fabric draping itself elegantly to contour the shape of the model’s upper body. The skirt was long and flowing, and the waist was cinched in with a thin black belt.

You clicked on the second picture and Natasha let out a strangled gasp. The open back was draped at the waist and weighted with a crystal on a golden chain.

The dress gave off 1930s vibes, it was elegant and refined but the back was daring and sexy. It was exactly what you needed. You paired it with a black wool cape, and Natasha offered to let you borrow a pair of shoes, jewellery and a bag.

The dress and coat arrived the next day. The woman who delivered them was kind and polite, she stayed in the kitchen while you tried on the dress. Once you gave the all-clear, she handed you your receipt.

The dress was yours for an entire week.

On the day of the gala, you were a nervous, sweaty mess. Natasha’s clutch was on your nightstand, filled to the brim with business cards. Your hair and makeup were already done. You sat on your bed in your underwear, staring at the dress hanging in your closet.

“I can do this,” you whispered to yourself.

You were adjusting the fabric around your cleavage, making sure everything flowed nicely, when you heard Bucky shouting from the kitchen.

“The car will be there in fifteen minutes.”

You took a deep breath and smoothed your hands down the sides of your dress, the tickling caress of the velvet calming you almost instantly. You reached for the handle, your heart hammering in your chest, and opened the door.

Bucky was standing at the kitchen island, looking down at his phone. He looked up when he heard the sound of your door opening.

“Hey, are you-” The rest of his sentence died on his lips as he froze. He stood there, staring at you, his eyes roaming your body in a manner that could only be called amazement. “You look-” He shook his head as if he couldn’t find the right word.

You looked down at yourself, grinning. After weeks of seeing you in your big woolly jumpers, pyjamas and painting overalls, you could understand why this was a shock. It was one to you as well.

“You look beautiful,” he said, his voice sounding strangled.

“Thank you.” He stood a little straighter when he noticed you were checking him out. He wore a dark blue suit with black lapels, a white shirt and a black velvet bow tie. You matched. “You look like a real heartthrob in that suit.”

He laughed and looked away, embarrassed. It was your favourite look on him; when he couldn’t maintain eye contact and his cheeks were slightly red and his nose crunched up a little.

“You’re wearing your prosthetic,” you said, noticing the stiff arm and fake hand.

“Yeah,” he replied, looking at his left arm. “This thing itches like hell, but I don’t blend well in a crowd when I’m not wearing my prosthetic. These people know me, they’ll be looking for me. Let’s not make it too easy for them.”

He finished his sentence with a wink and your entire body threatened to spontaneously combust. Do people still wink? Apparently. You walked over to him and briefly stroked his arm before you walked past him to the bathroom.

It gave him a great view of your bare back and the little crystal nestled just above the small of your back. You didn’t see his reaction but you heard his sharp intake of breath.

You left the bathroom door open while you rummaged through your makeup bag, relief flowing through you when your fingers brushed against your favourite lipstick.

You straightened up and looked at yourself in the mirror. Bucky was leaning against the bathroom door frame, observing you. You uncapped the lipstick and brought it to your lips, locking eyes with him in the mirror.

“Don’t worry, I’m almost ready.”

“I’m not worried,” Bucky replied with a mischievous smile. “Please, carry on.”

You rolled your eyes at his sudden smug expression, trying to look unbothered, but you could feel his eyes on you and you willed your hands to stop shaking. Today was not the day to look like Miranda Sings.

“What’s it called?” Bucky asked from the threshold, spellbound.

“No idea, the label has faded,” you said, rubbing your lips together to smudge your lipstick. “It has probably expired by now, my mom gave it to me when I was a kid.” You blotted your lips and tossed the balled tissue into the wastebasket. “She called it ‘Carter Red’.”

You dabbed the lipstick on your lips. “When we were kids, we used to watch her apply her lipstick. We thought she was the most sophisticated woman in the world. When she was done, she’d turn to us and ask ‘Who wants red lips?’ Then we’d leave the house in our matching red lips.”

Bucky entered the bathroom and took a seat on the edge of the tub. “Did your brothers wear red lipstick too?” he asked with a grin.

You laughed. “Pietro did. Scott was more into nail polish.”

“Do you think I can pull it off?”

You turned to him with a wicked grin and waved your lipstick in his direction. He stood when you took a step closer to him. He seemed to enjoy the playful glint dancing in your eyes. You beckoned him closer like some kind of old witch.

“I’m sure you’d look real cute with lipstick all over your face,” you said, taunting him with your tube of lipstick.

Something in his expression changed, darkened, making you feel hot and cold at the same time. His eyes travelled down your face to your lips, then back up to your eyes. “Yeah, I’d really like that,” he spoke so softly you almost missed it.

It was your turn to freeze. You parted your lips to speak but nothing came out, you just blinked hard and stared at him incredulously, waiting for him to explain what that meant. But he never did, and you took a step back.

Did he just...? Did he just try to kiss you? No! No, that’s silly. Why would he want to kiss you? He was just being playful and you simply projected your own desires onto him.

He took a step back too and gave an imperceptible nod. “The car should be here any minute,” he said, smiling. It was a tight smile and you didn’t like it at all. “I’ll let you get ready.”

After he closed the door behind him, you dumped your lipstick back into your makeup bag and took a long look at yourself in the mirror. You looked deflated, miserable. You sighed... the night was off to a great start.

Bucky waited for you while you finished getting ready. You picked up your clutch, slid your feet into a pair of high-heel shoes, and struggled with your cape until Bucky came to your rescue. To your surprise, his smile was genuine again, and it made your heart soar. Maybe you had just misread the situation and he wasn’t upset, offended –or whatever that tight smile was.

The heels were higher than you were used to, but Bucky gave you an arm to hang onto. The sky was already dark when you arrived at the Museum of Natural History. You walked up the stairs and left your coats in the coat-check room before you took a look around the room.

Hundreds of people were milling around the hall, a glass in their hand as they weaved between the jaw-dropping dinosaur skeletons that were on display. You kept your arm linked through Bucky’s and tried not to stare at anyone.

“Be careful,” Bucky whispered in your ear, making you perk up. “Someone once told me that the exhibits come to life after the sun sets.”

“Remind me to stay away from the Biodiversity Hall,” you chuckled. Then you spotted one of the curators you wanted to work with, you let go of Bucky’s arm and squared your shoulders. “Showtime. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck, angel.”

“God, I’m sweating. Is it noticeable?”

Bucky smiled at you. “No, you look perfect.”

You gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks. I hope I won’t make a fool of myself. I hate small talk.”

As soon as you were gone, someone took your place by Bucky’s side. You grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and made your way over to the curator. You didn’t drink alcohol but the glass made you look like you were part of their little group.

It went horribly wrong; you stuttered when you said your name and everything went downhill after that. While you were talking, he subtly looked around to see if he could find a more interesting person to talk to, which made you stutter even more. Then as you opened your clutch and fished out a card, several others fell at your feet in slow motion.

Between the dress, the glass and the shoes, it was practically impossible to bend over. The curator left and you stood there alone.

“Let me help you,” one of the waiters said. He gathered up your business cards and handed them to you.

You sheepishly took the cards and shoved them back in your purse. “Thanks. Can you take this? I’m not going to drink it.”

“Would you like something else to drink?” he asked as he took your glass of champagne.

“No, thank you. I... I think I’m going to go find my friend.”

You smiled politely at the young man but he had a strange look on his face. He looked like he wanted to say something but hesitated.

“I saw you with Mr. Thomas,” he finally said. “I’m not supposed to talk to the guests but can you tell him I love his work.”

“I’m sorry I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Grant Thomas,” the waiter pressed on. “The writer. I saw you two together.” Then he leaned forward and whispered, “He only has one arm.”

Oh...

Grant Thomas was Bucky’s pen name.

Your face broke out into a huge smile and you started giggling to yourself. The waiter recoiled a bit, confused and a little freaked out. You scanned the room for Bucky.

“Of course, I’ll tell him,” you told the waiter. “He’ll be very pleased to hear it.”

You went in search of Bucky, wobbling around in your high heels, a permanent smile on your face. After walking around for a few minutes, you felt more stable and in control, even going so far as to power walk from room to room.

You found him in the Hall of Ocean Life, entertaining a small group of people. You walked over to him, your heels clicking like typewriter keys. You heard bits and pieces of their conversation as you approached.

“Oh, it’s absolutely lovely,” a woman cooed, a hand over her heart. “Who was your inspiration for your new book, Grant?”

Bucky’s eyes widened slightly when he saw you. You gave him a small wave and he held out his hand in your direction. He introduced you to the group, and while it was strange to hear him say your name, you kept a straight face.

“I’ve looked everywhere for you, Grant,” you told him, emphasizing his pen name. “I should have known I'd find you in good company.”

“Oh, she’s the painter,” the woman said. “Darling, I hope you don’t mind me saying this but-” she extended her arms in your direction “wow!”

The woman next to her looked half amused, half exasperated. “It means you look beautiful in that dress.”

“Oh, she knows what it means, Sylvia.” The ‘oh’ woman swatted Bucky’s fake arm. “Grant, isn’t she gorgeous?”

Bucky looked at you with a fond smile. “Yes, she is.”

“Oh, my heart is about to explode,” the ‘oh’ woman squealed before enthusiastically waving to someone behind Bucky. “Sylvia, darling, take her contact details. We need new blood at the gallery. Please, excuse me, I haven’t seen Michael in ages,” she said, stretching out the last word.

She was gone before you could comprehend what was happening. Her laughter echoed through the room. Oh, I hadn’t seen the back of that dress! Sweet baby Jesus!

You found her whimsical and quite intense but if you had to work for her, you’d probably end up looking like her assistant, Sylvia, who seemed at her wits’ end.

She sighed and opened her leather-bound notebook. There were several business cards attached to the pages with paperclips. You handed her one of your business cards as her boss shouted, Oh, Michael, isn’t this party deliiightful? It was Sylvia’s cue to leave.

“Thank you. We’ll take a look at your work and get back to you as soon as we can. Enjoy your night.”

Sylvia rushed to her boss who was looking around like a lost puppy. When she saw her assistant, a look of relief crossed her face. It was a little over the top but it made you smile.

“So, Grant Thomas,” you said, planting yourself directly in front of Bucky now that you were alone. “Cute name.”

“Agh, I wanted to tell you before the party but...” He shrugged. “How did you figure it out?”

“One of the waiters saw us together. He’s your biggest fan. Said you were talented, humble and devilishly handsome in that suit.”

“The waiter said that?” Bucky asked with a frown as he led you toward an empty corridor.

“I think he has a crush on you.”

“I seem to have that effect on people,” he said, linking his arm through yours.

“So humble.” You entered the Hall of Biodiversity together. “What’s the meaning behind your pen name?”

There was a small pause before he answered. “Grant is Steve’s middle name, Thomas is Sam’s. I wanted to honor them. Steve literally saved my life, and Sam... well, he stood by my side even when we barely knew each other.”

“I’m sure they were touched.”

“Meh,” Bucky said with a grimace. “Steve said it sounded like a fake name, and Sam tried to make me use ‘Thomas Grant’ instead. I think deep down they like it.” He turned his head to look at you. “How did it go with the curator?”

You cringed. “Just to give you an idea, imagine an amateur magician performing at their first show. I was sweating, I stuttered, and I dropped my cards. It was awful.”

He laughed softly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I’m not upset. At least he’ll remember me, right?”

You spent the next couple of hours mingling with a bunch of rich people; most of them were incredibly weird, the others were strangely relatable. You were a lot more cool and collected with Bucky by your side. He always had really nice things to say about you or your paintings, and his words rang true, giving you yet another reason to fall for him.

When you reached the planetarium, Bucky took your hand in his, his eyes sparkling with childlike wonder.

You practically had the place to yourselves, everyone else was either in the Grand Gallery or in the Roosevelt Memorial. Since no one was around, you decided to take your shoes off and walk around barefoot.

You lost track of time, listening to Bucky’s stories about the universe as he guided you along the spiralling walkway.

“We’re just tiny little specks living on a bigger speck, floating around,” he said, gazing up at a model of Jupiter hanging from the ceiling. “Our time here is so limited, our bodies are so fragile.”

“Umm,” you hummed. “At least we’re not at the bottom of the food chain.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, that would be a bummer.”

“Do you know who’s at the bottom of the food chain?” you asked. “French fries. I’m starving.”

His laughter rang out, loud and clear, in the silence of the planetarium. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

You headed for the coat-check room, where Bucky left one of his ridiculously generous tips, and stepped outside, shivering from the cold winter night. You looked up at the stars glistening in the dark sky while you walked the short distance to the fast food restaurant.

You ate your fries in silence as you glanced around the restaurant. It was bright and gave off a friendly vibe. There were several other patrons even though it was almost two in the morning, though you and Bucky were the only ones wearing designer clothes.

Your high heels and clutch rested on the booth next to your hip, and Bucky’s bow tie was tied around your wrist. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a tanned, muscular chest and a smattering of dark hair.

Bucky had removed his prosthetic after you’d found a booth. His fake arm rested on the table, scaring the hell out of the waitress when she came to take your order. Bucky apologized profusely, probably mentally adding another twenty to her tip.

You dozed off in the cab, utterly exhausted, your cheek resting against his shoulder. His arm was draped over your shoulders, his thumb sweeping up and down your collarbone. When you remembered that you still had to remove your makeup before going to bed, you let out a whine and nestled closer to him. He rested his head on top of yours, and you closed your eyes, enjoying his closeness.

A few days later, you told Natasha about the party, and she reminded you to be careful, to protect your heart. She wished someone had given her this advice when she’d met Sam.

It had never occurred to you that Natasha might have feelings for Sam, not because he was an awful person. No, it was quite the opposite. He was handsome and funny, always looking for some kind of trouble. She’d mentioned multiple times that he was really good in bed, which honestly didn’t surprise you.

You knew she liked him, but you didn’t know she liked him.

On your way home, you mulled over the things she had told you. About a block away from your apartment, you took your keys out of your pocket and stared at the little angel keychain, wondering if your feelings for Bucky were real. The line between friends and lovers was definitely blurred but you couldn’t cross it. There was too much at stake, you couldn’t risk ruining your friendship.

As you turned the corner into your street, you spotted someone standing outside the building’s front door. You slowed down, dawdled, so you could observe them.

You couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman, though you suspected a man. They were carrying a traveller’s backpack on their shoulders, blocking your view. Whoever it was, they had a fantastic ass.

They pushed the intercom button, waited a few seconds and pushed it again. When the doors remained closed, they turned around to leave and you came face-to-face with a man with long dirty blond hair, a bushy ginger beard and striking baby blue eyes. You immediately recognized him from the photos you’d seen on Bucky’s laptop.

“Oh my God, Steve!” you exclaimed, startling him.

Part 8

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagines #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel imagine #bucky barnes imagine #redgillan #redgillanwrites

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quantumlocked310 · 3 years

Text

In the Bed of Love - Chapter 2

Moodboard by the incredible @flowers-in-your-hayr!!

It’s Chapter 2! This one switches POV to Hvitty’s favorite Gorgon.

Summary: Our intrepid Hero Hvitserk, burdened with glorious purpose to prove his godhood, takes the epic journey to slaughter the Gorgons, but stumbles in love along the way.

Warnings (so far): greek mythology inaccuracies, slow burn

Ratings + Word Count: [General - 1,765w]

Series Masterlist (contains extra notes about Greek words and some of the Gods mentioned) Now with more Gods!

Extra Relevant Note: Malakas means Asshole in Greek (according to Google Translate)

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The early dawn is quiet, with dew glistening off the statues in the garden, and you’re the first awake in the house. As usual you walk quietly to the dresser where you get the silk robe gifted to you from Dionysus. Enrobed you walk down to the kitchen where you take a small cup of wine and yesterday’s bread out to the garden for breakfast.

There are a few stumps scattered amongst the statues, and you sit on the one closest to one of your favorite statues. Malakas the goose, who thought himself brave one day as he bit the ankles of your sister, Sten. You and Marmor had collapsed together laughing at the swiftest of you being chased at length by the ornery goose. Sten had yelled and screamed at it, to no avail, before finally giving in and glaring it to stone, and proclaiming his name Malakas.

“Good morning, friend.” You greet the goose and pat it on the head, but notice there’s something different about him today. Inside its mouth is a piece of paper, slightly crumpled, with ink on it. You look at it puzzled, then look around the garden a little, but see no one. After dipping your bread in the wine and taking a bite, you put the cup on the stump and grab the paper. Only to immediately start coughing.

It’s a crude drawing of you standing in offense with your shield. Clearly, the artist has no skill, but it’s obvious the figure is yours both in size and you’re the only one of your sisters who can carry a shield as big as this one. You’re a little flattered, and a little suspicious. The gorgons train together every evening, but this paper wasn’t in the goose’s mouth yesterday.

After finishing the bread and wine, while staring at the drawing, a million thoughts run through your head. Foremost concern for your security, and who could be watching. The gorgons were fearsome creatures, and that attracted idiots who wished to prove themselves against a mighty foe. Hence the many armored statues around you. Then curiosity, and why this person would focus on you. Once your foes reached your gates, they usually focussed on the muscular strength of Marmor, or the svelt speed of Sten, not the chunky bulk of your body made for sturdy defence. It was useful in battle, being underestimated. But it was never an advantage for love.

Sten didn’t care about copulation or partnership, and Marmor had a sometimes-something going on with Haphaestus. You loved your sisters, and you loved your life in the Oikos, but there were days when you wanted what Aphrodite and Eros talked about or what you saw at gatherings with Dionysus. Pleasures within and beyond your dreams were always just out of reach, because you were a gorgon, a monster. The risk of loving you was too great.

Why would anyone find you beautiful enough to put on paper?

The feelings well up inside you, and burst. You crumple the drawing in your fist, a few tears escaping your eyes, and immediately regret what you’ve done. Slowly you stand and smooth the paper back out, then go back inside to place it in the drawer of your bedside table.

You put on your clothes for the day, then put on a chestplate and greaves. It’s decided, you will check the perimeter and see if you can find whoever is spying on the Oikos. On the way out you run into Sten who is weaving in the inner garden.

“I’m doing a perimeter check.”

“Would you like company?” Sten responds absentmindedly.

“I’ll be okay. Keep half an ear out in case another one of Philoctetes’ useless heroes is lurking about.”

“I dunno. The last one was cute. Maybe it’s time we had a mortal as a pet.”

You roll your eyes and counter, “I’ll be sure to mention that if I find one. I’m sure they would be willing to live under threat of getting chopped into tiny bits and fed to our snakes.”

Sten turns her head and raises an eyebrow, “You might be surprised.”

You scoff and turn to go, “I’m never surprised anymore.”

As you walk through the garden to the north side of the Oikos, you try to shake off this strange mood that the drawing has put you in. The edge of the cliff is your first stop, and you center yourself listening to the rushing waters of the Styx below. You see Charon in his ferry and raise a hand. As usual you get the most minute nod in return, and you make your way east along the forest border, taking light steps as Artemis taught you, and tuning into your snakes scenting the air.

Over halfway done, and you haven’t found anything of note. A few of the traps Sten maintains have caught small game, and you cut some of the excess string to tie them together and drape the catch over your shoulders before resetting the traps.

On the last leg of your check your snakes perk up. They sway further West and you follow, keeping your light hunting step, and making sure to draw your sword. You go further into the forest until you can no longer see the bright signal of the Oikos, and then you find it. There is a patch of disturbed leaves and earth where a small fire had been. The ashes are almost completely brushed away, and the leaves spread over to make it blend into the ground. If you did not have your snakes to guide you to the scent you would not have found it. Whoever had camped here knew how to cover their tracks.

Unfortunately, your snakes couldn’t help you track any further. They knew if something was prey, or different, but they didn’t have the skills of hunting dogs. Once you found the spot they had scented, they would not know where to track from there, and your meticulous circles around the ashes yielded no more results.

You huff to yourself and when you finally stop, your stomach gives a mighty growel and you observe the sky. You’ve missed the mid-day meal, and it was past time to start daily training. Marmor is going to be insufferable. In your haste to sate your hunger and get to training you neglect the last leg of the perimeter, much to the luck of the prowling Hvitserk who had no idea how close he came to being discovered.

When you reach the edge of the forest there’s a twang and a zing, and you twist behind the nearest tree, shield on your back, pressed against the bark. You watch the arrow dig into the wood of the tree in front of you.

“What the fuck, Sten?” You shout.

“You’re late!” Replies Marmor.

You groan to yourself then shrug the shield off your back and use its shiny metal to see where your sisters are. Slowly, you pull off your catch for dinner from around your neck, and get ready to throw them at your sisters. Raising your shield in front of your body to deflect Sten’s arrows, you launch the strung together animals over your barrier, then shove forward to put your whole weight behind your shield, in hopes that you will shock Marmor and throw her off her feet.

It works. Marmor’s annoyance has her getting thrown off briefly, and the training session really begins. You block and parry, attacking when you can, but mainly trying to cover your open spots when Sten shoots arrows toward you. You’re late, so they’re both going harder on only you.

But your head isn’t in it. The moves are harder to come into your mind than usual, your footwork not as instinctive as yesterday. An off day all because of some faceless enemy stalking in the trees. Who are you kidding, it could just be a traveller. But the way the ashes were buried has you nervous.

And the drawing. Marmor’s sword clangs against your shield just in time. How could you forget? Were they connected? Could you get away with telling your sisters about the perimeter check but not the drawing? You didn’t think so. Your gut is screaming that they’re connected.

But now your gut is screaming, because Marmor kicked you.

“Fuck you!”

“Focus up! What if an idiot hero comes here? You’re not going to win fighting them like this.”

“Oh. My. God. I know!” Your snakes start hissing as they pick up on your anger, and you keep hacking and slashing toward your sister, trying to disarm her even though you know it won’t get you anywhere.

All you want to do is stop and think for a few minutes. Plan your next moves. Figure out who is watching you and why. And why would they draw you? That’s the part that’s gnawing at you the most. There’s a weird fluttery feeling in your chest and you absolutely hate it.

You use your anger to back up your power. Attacking furiously where you would usually stay back and block. You’re reckless and Marmor gets in a few close calls with her sword. You’re trying to block a particularly vicious swing of the sword when you hear Sten call your name, the duck seems to happen in slow motion where you watch the arrow fly just past your brow, and feel the sting of a sword on your thigh. Marmor has pulled her sword down across the top of your shield and you hadn’t pulled your leg back in time.

“First blood!” Sten yells, and Marmor pulls up and stops, only looking a little apologetic.

The wound is just a scratch for you. It stings, and will heal in a few days, but first blood stops the fight.

You rest the edge of your shield on the ground and lean on it just slightly, staring at your sisters. “We have to talk. Inside. It’s not safe out here in sight of the woods.”

“You found something.” Sten remarks. You glare at her. If you’re being watched, you definitely don’t want to be heard.

“Then let’s go eat. You must be hungry, Y/N. You’ve been out all day.” Marmor says, her eyes narrowing and trying to covertly scan the treeline. She walks over and grabs the game you had thrown as a distraction earlier.

Together, you walk back to the Oikos. Quiet and a little sullen. Your sisters don’t like off days any more than you do, and they are anxious to hear what you’ve found.

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x0401x · 3 years

Text

Jeweler Richard Fanbook Short Story #15

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Richard-sensei’s Cooking Classroom

On a bright morning in Kandy, a provincial town from Sri Lanka, a man was standing still in his kitchen. Leaning against the wall was a Japanese book titled “Breakfast for People Who Live Alone”. There were three items on the menu. Just an omelet with ketchup on top, boiled sausages and fruit salad yogurt.

Regardless, the kitchen where the man was standing was an explosion of colors, as if it were the atelier of some Dadaist painter. Perhaps he was wrong in trying to make an omelet, the blond man thought, tilting his head despondently. Loved by the god of beauty, his blond hair swayed smoothly, and on the wall behind him, the exploded omelet was scattered in all directions, giving off an artistic atmosphere. It was obvious that in order to cook an omelet on a frying pan, it was necessary to shake up said pan, but the specific method of how hard one should shake it had not even once made an appearance in his life, much like fairies and unicorns from fictional stories. As a result of him jerking the pan with moderate adjustment, the omelet had flown off, hitting the wall and dripping down under the influence of gravity.

The beautiful man cast his eyes at the opposite side of the kitchen with a melancholic look as well. His golden eyelashes reflected a rainbow-colored prism and shone like an emerald-green sea under the morning sun. In a corner, where a microwave and water heater sat on top of the kitchen table, something orange had burst all over the place from within the microwave. Just why did food blow up so often, the man wondered, silently ashamed of his ignorance for trying to reduce just two rules of thumb to common sense. When he put three vacuum-packed blood sausages in the microwave and warmed them up, the sausages lost their original shape with a faint explosive sound. Obeying the instructions that said, “Bain-marie or microwave”, the man had chosen the microwave, which seemed less difficult, but probably due to some process being neglected or the heating time being incorrect, the sausages had undergone a magical transformation, looking like some sort of eerie monster.

Moving his feet so as not to make a sound, the man headed to the dining room, lightly placing a hand on the large table and elegantly gazing at the tabletop. Fragments of yellow and green were floating on a sea of white.

“Fruits yogurt,” the man whispered, as if it were a magic spell, heaving a spring breeze-like sigh.

It was just chopped fruits floating on yogurt. Taking into account the possibility that he could not cut the fruits too meticulously, the man was out of luck to have a slicer with him, and by the moment he realized that this one was apparently not supposed to be used for fruits but rather for slicing things such as cabbages and carrots into thin pieces, the fruits that he had failed to chop had gone flying over the table, surrounding the bowl of yogurt and instantaneously creating a Genesis-like scene on the tabletop. It was chaos.

On 360 degrees, no matter where he looked, it was a foodstuff hell. After looking around one more time at the artistic misery he had created and sighing coarsely, he started anew and began doing a quick cleaning.

“Morning, Richard. You slept well, I see.”

“Good morning, Seigi. So you wake up early even in Sri Lanka. Short sleepers have shorter lives. Didn’t you go to bed yesterday when it was already past midnight?”

“That’s fine for today. I have a guest here, after all. I’ll catch up with my sleep tomorrow.”

“I have not done so much to be called a ‘guest’.”

“There, there; let’s leave that for after we eat.”

His face looking like he was checking on something, the man whose appearance was impeccable even first-thing in the morning, as usual, glanced at the kitchen and dining room of my Sri Lankan house, and then let out a tiny sigh, stopping by a place close to the garden.

“Hey, could it be you woke up early this morning? Like, around 5AM...”

“Why?”

“I wonder if it was my imagination.”

In this three-story house, the first floor was a shared space for the dining room and bathroom, while the second and third floors had bedrooms. The room that I used as my main one was on the second floor, and the room on the third floor was used when Richard came over to be my overseer, but only the first floor had a bathroom. Whenever someone was going down to the first floor, one could tell by the sound of them stepping on the stairs. That was no big deal when I was alone, but this was the kind of house that would disturb other people’s sleep if I didn’t walk quietly whenever I needed to use the toilet in the middle of the night.

At around five o’clock, probably because I was drowsy, I had the feeling that someone had gone downstairs. I went back to sleep thinking that maybe Richard, who was looking after me despite having a jetlag, felt like having a late-night snack or something, but it was apparently a wrong guess.

Said man, dressed in a soft-looking shirt and the beige pants that he usually wore when he was relaxed, was standing still with eyes wide-open. It seemed he had noticed what was on the table. I was happy with the reaction.

“I’ve got breakfast for us. Hope it suits your taste.”

“Why? You said yesterday that your breakfast was just cereal and fruits.”

“I indeed said this yesterday, but I wanted to show it’s really not like that every single day. I also didn’t want you to worry for no reason.”

Plain omelets, sausages and fruit salad. For some reason, this house had many pottery dishes from European brands instead of Sri Lankan ones, but they were working out well for today. The paintings of green and pink pedicels over a white background were apparently from a German brand. It was actually my first time making a breakfast like this, which looked like it could show up in a commercial for some newly built apartment building and wasn’t as filling as its appearance suggested, but it had been surprisingly fun.

“I saw the recipe book in the kitchen. It’s a present for me, right? Thank you. I was happy to read a book in Japanese after so long, so I decided to make the part that showed up when I opened it into our menu. Now, now, please have a seat and eat up.”

For about solid ten seconds, Richard stared at the one-plate breakfast, his gaze looking like he was seeing a stone that he had never set his eyes on before, but then, after giving a start as if just remembering that I existed, he sat down with his same-old graceful demeanor.

“Well then, shall we?”

And so, Richard ate breakfast next to me. At times like these, this man would become extremely well-mannered, taking notice of and praising the details, such as the fineness of the omelet’s texture and the beauty of the fruit cuts in the yogurt, as if he were evaluating a five-million-yen jewelry or something. Even while being in Sri Lanka, I sometimes thought that if there were teachers like him in middle or high school around Japan, it would save many children.

“Thanks; that makes me happy. I’m benefiting from it too. Getting so many compliments for just boiling sausages.”

I didn’t know very well how to describe Richard’s face when I said that. His expression seemed like it could be the theme of a masterpiece painting, as if the exceptionally beautiful man had suddenly been reminded of an indescribable pain in the depths of his chest, but was struggling not to expose it in his facial expression. When I asked what was up, the reply was a gentle smile. His usual face was already back.

“I believe I have already said this several times, but you are extremely smart. You decipher the texts, assemble the methods in your head and put them to practice. There are more hardships in this process than you can imagine. Nevertheless, you specialize at it. This is clearly a talent of yours. Be sure to cherish it.”

“I will. But, well, I think doing my best because someone else’s gonna eat it also counts.”

For security reasons, I wasn’t allowed to invite guests to this house. I was sometimes called over to the house of a local friend I had made, and then I’d cook a simple dish there, but guests that make several meticulous dishes on the spot were probably not very welcome. So whenever there were days like these, when “guests” officially recognized by the house’s owner, Saul-san, occasionally came over, it was a great opportunity for me have a change of pace.

While thanking Richard for washing the dishes, I cleaned up the dining room and before moving on to stone study, which was my daily routine in the morning (at any rate, I had to examine stones thoroughly, guess their prices and drill the right and wrong ones into my head; pretty simple), I asked him about lunch. Richard-sensei was very busy. No time for leisure.

“You’ll be off again in the evening flight, right? What we gonna do about lunch? If you’re leaving at three o’clock, then you’ll still be in Kandy at noon, right? Can we go to a restaurant I like?”

“What a good thing it is that you found a ‘restaurant you like’ in this country. Allow me to accompany you.”

While smiling, Richard was about to let out a yawn, yet he hastily bit it down. He was like a prideful cat. As I thought, he seemed a little sleepy. When I suggested him to go to bed again, he said that he didn’t mind it, since he was going to sleep in the night flight either way. And yet he was calling me a short sleeper.

I glanced at the dining room and the kitchen. They were neatly organized. From their tidy and orderly state, I could tell with just a look that I obviously hadn’t cleaned them to this point last night. There wasn’t a single speck of dust on the floor. Despite the difference between the inside and outside of the house being so vague. There was no evidence left, but it was clear that something had happened here. Not a murder, but a more peaceful and heartwarming incident. The suspect showed no signs of confessing. So I wouldn’t say anything either. No particular comments on the multiple rags and some food remains at the bottom of the organic waste bag. I only had one thing that I wanted to say no matter what, so I hoped he’d just let me say it.

After finishing the meal, I waited for the beautiful man to stand up, and then I went behind Richard, clutching his shoulders. I was going to say it before he turned around, asking what I was doing. It was best if I didn’t see his face. There was no telling what I could say when I was staring at him in fascination.

“I myself don’t know very well what I’m talking about, so I want you to forget it in two seconds, but I was reeeally happy for this morning. Really happy. To a shocking extent.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I said I didn’t know either, right? I don’t get it, but anyway, I was happy. That’s all! Aight, study time.”

Without looking at Richard’s face until the very end, I started knocking a thousand gemstones in my workspace on the first floor. I had to look over them while it was morning. This was my current job. Richard didn’t say anything else, but his back looked calm under his shirt, so I was a bit relieved as well. Thinking back on it now, I had taken the wrong path at that time. I should have told him “not to overdo it” more clearly.

Two weeks later, Richard came back, but this time, I heard a small explosion at 6AM. Three times in a row. What did it take for things to turn out this way? The current time was already 7AM. Between getting up right now or not, which one would be less of a hassle later on? I didn’t even want to think about what had been made of the dining room. There was no one other than the two of us in this house and this wasn’t a matter that I had to go as far as asking the landlord, Saul-san, for advice on, so I knew I was the one who had to deal with it anyway. I wanted someone to decide in my stead. What should I do?

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