#so now we have the salty shirley | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

avengersassemble-fics · 4 years

Text

New Perspective

part 06/?? “i feel the salty waves come in”

masterlist

previous part // next part

word count 4k

an: DEDICATED TO THE LOVELY @nobodys-baby-now / @jubileestreetv. you’ve turned into one of my very cherished friends and im so grateful to have found a texas buddy on here. i hope you enjoy your birthday and thank you for always listening to my story rambles.

For the first time in her life, Natasha Romanoff wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, but she had to admit it to herself. She didn’t know what to do to help her friend. First it was the lying sack of shit James, then losing the baby, and now to see her friend reeling from yet another betrayal left her nearly grasping for straws. She knew what mysterious Steve did was wrong and not his place, but she also knew he was trying to do the right thing. And to her?.. He did. James had not been a part of your life for months, and you were starting to do so much better.. She hated to admit that it wasn’t her handy work.

It was because of Steve.

Natasha couldn’t help but wonder if the reason why you were doing so much better during that time was because of the person you had told her so much about. So when she finally came face to face with him she definitely understood everything a bit more. One thing you hadn’t disclosed to her and Wanda was just how attractive the man was, or the way he looked at you with those eyes.

Yup. Those eyes. The man was crazy about you, and either you were blind as a bat or you somehow chalked it up to something else.

That’s something she knew you needed the most help with. Reading people better.

It had been a few weeks since the situation blew up at James’ apartment, you had called her asking to come over to her shared place with Wanda - and of course Natasha agreed. You didn’t tell her on the phone what was going but, but she knew. Natasha always knows. So when you came in, pacing back and forth angry and then stopping in near tears, she wasn’t surprised. And it all but confirmed another thought she had had.

You were starting to feel the same way about Steve.

Natasha was brought back to the present, sitting on the floor of your living room beside Wanda, rolling up glass after glass in newspaper and then bubble wrap. Your place was starting to look more and more like when James moved out: covered in boxes. But even now, Natasha eyed you across the room trying to figure out what was going on inside that head of yours. You were surprisingly calm given the fact you were about to move back in with Nat and Wanda after thinking you had found your person.

Ouch. That actually kind of hurt Nat.

Wanda was the first to try and break the silence, glancing over at Natasha as if looking for permission to do so, and built up a smile for you. “I was thinking maybe the first night you get settled we can all have a girls night. Watch that Brendan Fraiser movie you like so much.”

“Oh god please, we’ve seen it a hundred times,” Nat said.

“Mrs. Winterbourne is a classic, thank you very much,” you chimed in. “Peak Brendan Fraiser content.”

“You have to admit it’s a good movie, Nat,” Wanda elbowed her side. Nat rolled her eyes and shrugged.

“Shirley MacLaine was pretty fantastic.. And Rikki Lake..” Natasha’s voice drifted off, only to then notice her two friends staring at her with raised brows. She sighed and shook her head. “And Brendan Fraiser. There. You happy?”

“Over the moon,” you laughed. Wanda and Nat exchanged a look before continuing. They missed the way you hovered over a picture frame with your fingers, tracing something behind the plastic, before looking up at the time. “Shit.” You mumbled as you wrapped the frame up and moved around the pair to the door.

“What is it?” Wanda asked as you unlocked the door.

“I told Bucky 12--” you stopped mid sentence as you pulled the door open and was met face to face with the man in question. Did Natasha see the way you practically tensed up when you met his eyes? Yes. But you on the other hand swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded a bit at your soon-to-be ex-husband. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Bucky replied. You told your friends you’d be right back and Bucky stepped to the side to let you come out freely. You couldn’t help but wipe your hands down the jeans you were wearing as Bucky let you walk ahead and down the stairs. Each step echoed through the hallways and even in your mind.

Packing up your life (your life with him) was bringing up so many.. Unanswered thoughts and feelings. So when you both made it outside the leasing office, you couldn’t help but notice the familiar, nearly intoxicating scent of his cologne. Bucky was dressed more like himself, not in the suits you had seen him wearing in that god awful penthouse a few times over these last few months. Jeans, a loose but not too loose shirt that showed his arms very nicely (you hated to admit) and it all but felt like too much. Bucky cleared his throat, shuffling his weight from one foot to the other, which made you side eye him.

“You look good,” he said. You looked down at yourself and thought about the state of your hair. You were a mess. Probably hot and sweaty from moving things around all day. So you couldn’t help but chuckle a bit.

“I look awful,” you replied. “I look as if I just did a marathon.”

“Maybe not a marathon,” Bucky chimed in. “More like a 5k.”

“Thanks, Buck,” you mumbled, but you two broke out in a shared laugh. It halted for a moment when the door was pulled open, and one of the assistants asked if you both could have a seat for a bit. You hesitantly agreed and sat on one of the benches and Bucky followed suit. He was careful not to touch his knee with yours as you sat there beside him, and Bucky rested his hands in his lap and took a look around.

“Remember the last time we sat here?” Bucky asked you. You took a deep breath as you thought back to that time, what seemed so long ago. You nodded your head a bit.

“Yeah.. I remember.”

Bucky started laughing. You looked over to him and he tried to cover his mouth to stifle the laughs but they just kept coming. You couldn’t help but smile and turn more to face him. “What’s so funny?”

“I was just thinking about how you were bouncing off the walls while they ran our information,” Bucky said between laughs. “I mean you were frantically whispering about everything that could go wrong. My lack of a rental history, your shit credit score—“

“My credit score wasn’t shit!”

“It was shit, don’t lie to yourself,” Bucky said. When your shoulders fell and you shook your head, you both laughed. It was.. It was like old times. Just the two of you.

“I remember you were just as nervous as me, Bucky,” you told him. Someone started to come down the stairs and you both did your best to hold in your laughs and look as calm as possible (though the person just gave you weird looks). You smiled a bit to yourself as you rubbed your fingers over one of your hands. “You sweat when you’re nervous.”

“I was nervous because I knew how much you wanted this place,” Bucky said. You couldn’t help but notice that serious tone of voice he got, especially when he was telling the truth. “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

Didn’t want me disappointed over an apartment and then went on to have an affair? How strange.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and shrugged your shoulders. “It wouldn’t have been your fault Buck.. We always could have tried again.”

“Could we?” He asked suddenly. Your head shot up from his question and you met his gaze. James Buchanan Barnes, your James, stared back at you with his puppy dog eyes. They were filled with curiosity, and.. Well, hope. Your mouth fell open to answer, or to try and form an answer, but you were saved by the door opening and one of the leasing agents saying they were ready for you.

It was simple. Since you were month to month at that point, it was just a matter of giving your thirty days and returning the keys on the 30th day. The manager had looked away to type on his computer, and you stared down at the paper before you, one line for you, the other for Bucky. He watched you during the whole conversation, and when you didn’t make the first move he wanted to reach over, but he looked at the pen before him and instead took it upon himself to sign first.

You watched him do it, sign his name so effortlessly, and set it back down for you to sign next. With a sharp inhale you reached for the pen and signed your name right next to his. Probably one of the last few times you’d sign your name like that. You set the pen back down and the manager took the paperwork, and took away the drying signature you had your eyes focused on.

(Y/N) Barnes.

So it was done. You rubbed your hands together as you walked towards the stairs, Bucky lingering behind towards the staircase. You took a couple steps up before you turned back to face him, and he had his hands shoved into his jeans, watching you again. “Thank you for doing this.”

“Of course, whatever you need,” Bucky’s voice trailed off. You both stared at one another knowing this was it. But Bucky moved up a step below you, and you froze. “If you changed your mind, and you want to stay here, we can go back in. Tell them to rip up the papers—”

“No I.. Bucky I can’t stay here. I can’t--”

“You love this place, (Y/N)--”

“I also loved you!” You exclaimed. Bucky stopped talking immediately, mouth closing and his eyes shifted, almost darker. You felt the lump form in your throat again as you stared down at him, and shook your head. “You don’t know how hard it’s been to be in there everyday. You were everywhere I looked, hell I couldn’t even cook dinner for the first few weeks because every footstep I heard I thought it was you.”

You felt the sting of tears when you met his eyes again. You shrugged your shoulders, your voice coming out in a near whisper. “It was never you though.. You just.. Fuck, you just left, like nothing mattered.. Like I never mattered.”

“You mattered,” Bucky said quietly. His voice was rough, like he was holding his own tears back, but he did what he did best. Pretended to be strong. “You still matter.. What I did was fucking awful. Nothing will change that (Y/N), but this.. Please I want to fix this. Something. Just do something right for once.”

You didn’t know what he was asking you. He still stood on the step below yours, looking up at you like you were back at that party in college. You felt your heart breaking all over again, but you smiled sadly at him before looking down to your feet. “Sometimes doing the right thing means giving up something important to you.”

Silence filled the air after you said that. You weren’t sure if you were talking about the apartment anymore, really you weren’t sure what was happening. Suddenly, you felt the all too familiar feeling of Bucky’s fingers spreading over your cheek, and you looked up to meet his eyes again. His long fingers moved past your ear and spread over your neck, and his thumb traced over the skin of your flushed cheek. You weren’t sure if you were breathing, but you just couldn’t help but lean into his touch. You had missed this touch so much.

Bucky took another step up, and you were pushed further back until your back touched the wall. You were numb, fuzz filled your mind when all you could do was just stare into those beautiful fucking eyes. Was that your heart pounding in your ears? You couldn’t tell past the intense heat you felt radiating from him, his free hand had somehow managed to grip hold onto your waist, god he was so close to you you were weak in the knees. “Buck--“

“Ask me to stop and I will,” he whispered. Both of your hot breaths mixed with one another, and he stroked your cheek once more. “But I haven’t stopped thinking about feeling you like this for so long.”

“I can’t,” you said back in an equal whisper. “We can’t, Bucky.. Please--”

He looked down at you intoxicating blue eyes, and ran his thumb over your cheek one more time, and then suddenly he pulled himself away from you. You felt as if you could breathe again, but seeing Bucky stop before he made it all the way out your door made your stomach flip again. His hand hovered over the handle and he asked you a question.

“Is it because of Steve?”

You didn’t know how to reply in all honesty. But he looked back over at you with the saddest look on his face, like when his gaze changed that day you broke your news to him. Your mouth fell open to form an answer, but nothing came to mind. But that seemed to be all Bucky needed to see. He pulled open the door and shut it a little harsh behind him. You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat, and step by step walked back up the stairs to your apartment, the threat of tears stinging your eyes along the way.

Phil Coulson was everything you needed in a lawyer.

At first you were very against accepting Tony’s offer to not only recommend counsel, but to pay for it as well. You were grateful just for the chance to go back to work, that that offer felt like highway robbery. But of course, Tony being who he was, told you he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. He said, and you quoted this verbatim, that if you didn’t accept his offer he would proceed to ignore all your calls just to watch the light blink. When he then proceeded to do it for a full week you finally agreed.

Phil was great. You started to meet with him right before you found out about your pregnancy, and weekly after that to prepare. Negotiations between yourself (Phil) and Bucky (someone named Sam) were rough, his lawyer was relentless to say the least. It was the day before your first face-to-face meeting with both parties, because in all honesty you wanted to avoid court at all cost. It should be easy, there wasn’t anything either one wanted from one another, the apartment was gone, neither of you owned any property, no large amount of money.. Phil reassured you this was all a formality. The last step before the courts would dissolve the marriage.

You had opted to walk, which was looking to be more and more of a mistake. The sunshine was quickly being overcome by dark clouds and the distant sound of thunder. You couldn’t help but grumble to yourself, dodging people left and right to make it back to the nearly empty apartment you still called home for another week. You had your eyes glued to your upcoming building but your feet stopped you dead in your tracks.

Steve.

Steve was pacing back and forth in front of the steps up to your building. His back was to you but you knew he was going to turn around any second now. There was no way you would make it inside without him seeing you. God, why was your life like this? You couldn’t see him right now, not after the whirlwind moment with Bucky, not knowing you had to see him the next day.. What if they were still friends? Was this a trick? There’s no way he just shows up the day before everything is about to go down. Maybe if you walked quick enough up the stairs--

Steve turned around and overlooked the direction you were coming from, you could see him scan over each head and face before his eyes landed on you. You tried your best to avoid him, kept your eyes to the ground, but nothing stopped him from still being at the front of the steps when you finally got all the way there. He stood before you like a wall of bricks, and already you wanted to just vanish into thin air. “Can we--”

“Please let me by,” you said in a low tone of voice Steve moved to the side without question, and you hopped up one, two, four steps until you could push open the door to your building. You nearly flung your hand to hold onto the banister of the stairs, taking two steps at a time up, feeling Steve pushing on behind you.

“(Y/N). Please can we just talk for two seconds?” Steve asked behind you. He was following you up, one or two steps behind, and stopped when you got to the top and turned back to face him.

“What is there to talk about?” You asked him. Steve gripped onto the railing and sighed with a shake of his head.

“I know I shouldn’t have turned him away, it wasn’t my place to make that decision. But after everything he said, how he treated you.. I didn’t want him to upset you anymore. You didn’t need that,” Steve tried to explain. He watched as you chewed on the inside of your cheek, arms crossed, and how your eyes shifted back to him when he was done.

“Whether you like it or not.. Steve, he was the father of our child. If he wanted to be there he had the right to.”

“I know,” Steve said quietly. “I know that. But I didn’t care about him at that moment, or right now. I only care about you.”

You gulped. Silence fell between you two and Steve just watched you to try and gauge your thoughts on what he just said. He could see the brow raise in surprise, the crinkle around your eyes as you looked him over, and the part in your lips to catch your breath. But you retreated from him with a shake of your head and grabbed your keys from your pocket.

He wasn’t going to let you run away from him again.

“Go home, Steve,” you said as you turned to go to your door. Steve bounded up those last few stairs and got to your door just in time before you could hide yourself away inside. You had turned back to close it only to be met face-to-chest with him, chest heaving as he looked down at you. Your face was more calm, like you were trying to accept what he was saying. Steve kept to himself, and spoke in almost a whisper.

“Please don’t close me out again.”

You closed your eyes and looked down to your feet for a moment. Steve watched as you let out a small sigh and stepped back and opened your door further for him. Steve took a few steps into the apartment he got to frequent on those few occasions and looked around your place. As you clicked the door shut behind him he saw the few boxes that remained, the emptiness, and Steve shoved his hands into his jacket. “You’re.. Leaving?”

“I’m moving back in with my friends, until I find somewhere to live,” you explained to him. You had moved around him and stripped your jacket off as you sat down on the couch that still was in the living room. Steve nodded a bit to himself, but it still didn’t help him feel better about it. “I can’t be here anymore.”

“This is what you were meeting Bucky over that day wasn’t it?” Steve asked you. You offered him a nod. Steve let out a sigh and shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

“It was time to move on,” you tried to reason, more with yourself then with him. Steve finally took a seat on the opposite end of the couch and leaned forward to rest his arms on his legs. He sucked in some air and rubbed his hands together.

“I know how much this place means to you,” Steve said. He glanced over at you and smiled a bit. “But I know how much more it means for you to finally be yourself again.”

You fell silent. What he had said no one else seemed to have understood about your decision. You didn’t know if Steve knew that, but all he did was smile and look you over. All he did was offer you comfort from a distance. You shook your head and couldn’t help the smile that fell over your lips. “You always seem to know exactly what to say.”

“Because I see you,” Steve whispered. Your smile fell and along with it the gaze you held with him. Steve though didn’t stop staring, taking in every detail of your form. “All I always ever just saw was you. Not the idea of what you wanted others to see.. It was only ever you.”

“Why are you..” your voice trailed off when you looked back up to meet his gaze. Those soft blue eyes looked back at you and it felt like your heart rate fluttered for a moment. “Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because I’m trying to show you that it was never about Bucky, what I was doing with you,” Steve tried to explain. He had taken the opportunity to move closer, but he didn’t dare touch you yet. “Even if I had known about you and Buck, it wouldn’t change the fact I was there for you. Even now. And I just want you to know I’m sorry.”

God he really had a way with words. You were falling right into those large muscular arms with the way he was looking at you and talking to you. You couldn’t deny the fact you had missed him. Steve had become an integral part of your life without you fully realizing it until he was gone, down those steps and out the building when your friends relieved him from his duties. You missed his company, his words, those eyes.. But something in the form of guilt ate at you at the same time.

Why were you upset with him? He thought he was doing the right thing, and though you were angry that he had been another person making a decision for you, he was probably right. You didn’t need to see Bucky at that moment.. You needed to see him. You let out a sigh and Steve watched you in wonder.

“If you make a decision for me again it better only be something like food, or a drink,” you said. Steve’s face broke out in a smile and you did your best not to match it. “But this means probation.”

“I can do probation,” Steve said, maybe a little too quickly. “If it means you’re talking to me again, I can definitely do probation.”

Steve stayed for a few more hours until you were ready to go to bed. You had a big day in the morning after all. Though you didn’t tell him what it was, he didn’t push you to share. His final words to you spun around in your head as you fell asleep that night.

I’ll see you around, angel.

- - - - - - - - - - -

taglist - message me to be added or feel free to add yourself!!

@americasass91 @aerynchromie @royale-skeleton-key @sleepretreat@amillcitygirl @littleprincessma @jubileestreetv @this-dipshit @iwik3it @loganrwebb @heyyouwiththeassbutt @whos-too-bi @little-dark-empress @heykarsyn @snarky–starky @kismet-rising @thenoblenomad @holy-rosewater @feelmyroarrrr @weasleyisourjedi @chewymoustachio @marinettepotterandplagg @inukako @barnesdameron

#modern au steve #modern!steve rogers #Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #steve rogers x you #Steve Rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve x you #modern au bucky #modern!bucky barnes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #Bucky Barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky x ex wife! reader

126 notes · View notes

prettyboy-parker · 5 years

Photo

come with me and escape

words: 4k

warnings: cheating, underage drinking, fem!peter, daddy kink (always), semi degradation, unprotected sex

author’s note: happy summer! I’m feeling really summer-y right now, so this was the perfect way to get those vibes out! as with most dark/taboo themes that I write about, I do not condone cheating in real life. It is used as a plot device/conflict in the story. Happy reading!

listen to while reading:

Escape (The Piña Colada Song)- Rupert Holmes

Does Your Mother Know- ABBA

Santeria- Sublime

Doin’ Time (Cover)- Lana Del Rey

Tony has a hard time relaxing.

Pepper tells him this constantly. They’ll be sitting outside, sipping on some cucumber water, watching Morgan put on her own one-woman play, and Pepper will point out how hard he’s holding his glass. His dentist tells him that he grinds and clenches his teeth in his sleep, he’s getting sick more easily, and he’s lashing out at Pepper.

He assumes the stress is from work, since the launch of the new Stark Phone X is coming up. Or, it could be how his marriage is falling apart. He’s definitely fallen out of love with Pepper. She’s still his best friend, of course, but they don’t romantically love each other anymore. Tony would file for divorce, but his company would take a huge hit.

And he doesn’t want to do that to Morgan.

So, when Pepper announces that they’re taking a family trip to an all-inclusive resort somewhere in Bali, Tony knows he’s not going to be able to relax. He’ll most likely be worrying about his own work while worrying about Pepper’s work the entire time. Also, a 5 year old and a day long plane ride sound like a recipe for disaster.

Tony fully expects his stress levels to multiply by 10.

Tony was wrong.

When he stepped off that god-damned plane, it was like all his worries were brushed off of his shoulders. Pepper definitely looked happy, the salty Bali air raising her mood. Morgan was just ecstatic to be off the plane.

Pepper is in such a good mood that she actually is letting him drink.

“I’ll get a strawberry daiquiri,” Tony tells the bartender, a young woman with dark skin who looks a little too enthusiastic for her job. She hustles off to make the drink, when,

“Everything sucks. I can’t tan. I only burn.”

There’s a gorgeous young man leaning over the bar, plump, pink lips formed in a pout. His damp, chestnut brown hair is pushed back by the Ray Bans perched on his head. His long eyelashes flutter as he looks at Tony, big, brown, doe eyes peering at him as he cocks his head to the side. His pert ass is sticking out, contained in the shortest red bathing suit bottoms Tony has ever seen. A sheer red coverup is draped over his long, milky arms, leaving little to the imagination.

“Why don’t you just get a spray tan?” Tony manages to stutter out, pushing his own sunglasses on top of his head. He wishes he lived in a world where his biggest problem was that he couldn’t tan.

The boy bites his lip and lets out a little giggle.

Tony wishes hecould bite those lips.

“As if!” He exclaims, “I don’t want to look like an orange.” The boy hoists himself up onto one of the bar stools.

The bartender puts Tony’s drink down in front of him and he gives her his resort card.

“That’s fair. Don’t lay in the sun all day, though, if you know you burn.” Tony tell him, taking a sip of his drink.

“That’s very thoughtful,” The boy says, then turns to the bartender.

“Could I get a Shirley Temple, please?” He asks, tapping his fucking French manicurednails on the countertop.

“Not old enough to drink?” Tony asks teasingly.

He rolls his eyes.

“Not legally,” He winks, “Will be in a year.”

Tony smirks at the boy.

“You’re 20?”

“On the nose. It kind of sucks, because I’m not really into guys my age.”

Tony only gets a moment to process what the boy said because Morgan comes bounding up to the two.

“Daddy! Mommy said you’d come watch me on the slide.” She squeals, pulling on the bottom of his swim shorts.

His chances with the boy are totally gone.

On the slim chance the boy didn’t know who Tony was, he definitely doesn’t want to get with someone who’s married and has a kid.

“Did she? She’s crazy.” Tony jokes, leaning down to put Morgan on his lap. He brushes a wet strand of hair out of her face, trying to avoid poking her eye.

“Hi!” Morgan exclaims, waving her pudgy hand wildly at the boy. Tony should be a good dad and tell her not to talk to strangers, but he wants any excuse to keep talking to the boy.

“Hi!” The boy says, waving back at her.

“What’s your name?” Morgan giggles, swinging her little legs donned with pink crocs.

“Peter.” Peter responds, taking a sip of his drink.

Being the child she is, Morgan doesn’t respond.

“Daddy, can you come watch me on the slide now?” She asks, reaching up to tug on Tony’s ear.

“Ouch! And yes, I’ll come watch you.” Tony tells her, putting her on the ground gently. Tony stands up and takes her tiny hand in his, which is already outstretched.

“Bye Peter!”

Peter waves goodbye and winks at Tony.

Yeah, he has to see the kid again.

***

The next time he, or should he say they, see Peter again is at dinner.

Pepper is exhausted because Morgan is complaining about the smell of the seafood and how yucky shrimp is. Tony just wants to go to the bar alone.

While Tony and Pepper try to eat their food, Morgan’s head snaps up from where she’s sulking.

“Peter!” She shrieks, Pepper promptly shushing her. Tony turns around and there’s his boy, swiftly approaching. He’s dressed in tiny, high waisted black shorts and a red Hawaiian shirt that has the top 4 buttons undone. Peter’s face is practically glowing and as he gets closer Tony can see that his shirt has dogs riding fucking surfboards on it.

“Hey Morgan!” He says as he stops at the edge of their table, curls bouncing from his stride over.

Pepper gives Tony a look that says who the fuck is this kid and why does he know my daughter?

“Pepper, this is Peter. We talked for a bit at the bar earlier. Morgan introduced herself.” Tony tells her with a forced smile, wanting to look at the boy instead.

“Oh, you made a friend, Morgan?” Pepper turns to their daughter, who nods furiously, whipping her unruly brown hair around.

“You have a very polite daughter, Mrs. Stark.” Peter says, practically beaming.

What a charmer.

Pepper takes a breath, surprised.

“Why thank you. We try to raise her well.”

Peter giggles and bites his lip.

“You’re definitely doing something right! I have to go eat now, I’ll see you all later!” Peter waves goodbye and trots off to the other side of the restaurant, hips swaying.

“Sweet boy.” Pepper mutters through a mouthful of food.

“Yeah. Sweet boy.”

***

If there is a god out there, he must like Tony.

Because Pepper ends up with food poisoning.

She starts throwing up around 2 in the morning. Google tells Tony that she’s going to be bedridden for a couple of days.

Perfect.

After breakfast, Tony promises Morgan that they’ll spend all day at the pool. She’s ecstatic, jumping up and down. Tony shushes her and helps her get ready for the day.

Peter finds him relaxing on one of the pool chairs, watching Morgan play with her mermaid Barbie doll.

“Tony,” Peter purrs, the older man almost dropping his drink in surprise.

“Peter, hey,” Tony responds, adjusting himself in his chair.

Peter perches himself at the edge of the lounge chair, extending his long legs and crossing his ankles. He’s chosen black swim shorts today, paired with a sheer black coverup embroidered with roses.

“You’ve got your sunscreen on?” Peter asks, hand resting very close to Tony’s leg.

Tony chuckles at the thoughtfulness.

“No, I’ve got this umbrella.” He says, gesturing to the big tan umbrella over them.

Peter gasps, reaching for the spray can of sunscreen next to the chair.

“You still need sunscreen, silly goose.” Peter scolds, spraying Tony’s legs. He can only swallow thickly as Peter takes his dainty hands and rubs the sunscreen in. Tony tries to tear his eyes away as the boy’s hands rub up his thighs. Peter sprays more on his chest and arms, hands massaging the liquid into his skin. He quickly pushes Tony’s sunglasses onto the top of his head, spraying the sunscreen directly into his hands. Tony almost loses it when he starts putting sunscreen on his face, ridiculously soft hands cupping his rough cheek.

“There.” Peter says, wiping his hands on his on thighs.

“Thanks.” Tony manages to choke out, adjusting his swim trunks.

“Anytime,” Peter giggles, standing up.

“Hey, why don’t you sit down? Hang out for a little bit?” Tony offers, gesturing to the empty lounge chair next to him.

Peter rolls his eyes and smiles, climbing onto the chair. He sighs as he leans back, closing his eyes.

“This is my favorite spot.” He tells Tony, keeping his eyes closed.

“What, you come here often?” Tony laughs, shaking his head.

Peter opens his eyes and turns his head, grinning.

“My dad owns the place.”

“Shit, really?” Tony says, surprised.

Peter lets out a breathy laugh.

“Yeah. I’m down here quite a bit in the summer.” He says nonchalantly, picking at the bed of his nail.

“Where are you usually?” Tony asks, taking a sip of his water.

“Massachusetts. I go to MIT.”

Tony smiles.

“No way! That’s where I went.”

Peter cocks his head to the side.

“I know.” He says. He bites his lip and brushes stray curl out of his face. His cheeks are dusted with red, most likely due to the sun, and his sunglasses block his honey brown eyes.

“Do you want to have a drink with me tonight?” Tony blurts out without thinking, too caught up in the boy’s beauty.

His heart sinks when Peter stays silent, eyebrows rising.

“The misses has food poisoning, so,” Tony trails off, face heating up in embarrassment.

“I’d love to.” Peter says softly, pink lips stretched in a genuine smile.

“Really?” Tony asks in disbelief, like a teenager.

“Of course. But I’m going to need your number.”

***

Tony can’t remember being this nervous about a date in a very long time.

He doesn’t even know if it is a date, but he like to think it is. He feels like he has butterflies in his stomach as he waits at one of the bars near the end of the resort. There’s not too many people around, which is nice.

“Hey, Tony.”

The older man turns around, coming face to face with a literal angel.

Peter stands before him, smiling softly. He’s wearing a very skimpy outfit (not that Tony’s complaining) for drinks at 8 at night. He’s wearing tiny white shorts over what looks like a very light pink chiffon teddy. Dusty rose colored silk drapes over his shoulders, wound tightly around his forearms. The cutest pink ballet flats encase his feet, silk ribbon tied into a bow around his ankles. There’s blush dusting his cheeks and clear lip gloss slathered on those plump lips.

“Oh, Pete, Hey,” Tony manages to say, clearing his throat. Peter giggles and bounds up to Tony, stands on his tippy toes, and presses a kiss to the man’s cheek. Tony’s at a lost for words as Peter sits down, leaving lipgloss on his stubble ridden cheek. He’s glad Pepper made sure to find a very private resort, because if there were crowds of people he’d be screwed.

“You look nice.” Peter compliments, thin fingers grazing over the rolled-up sleeve of his gray dress shirt. Tony swallows as he tries to get his shit together.

“Thanks, you do too. Gorgeous, actually.” He blubbers, losing years worth of smooth talking experience

Peter giggles and looks at one of the purple coasters on the countertop.

“Thanks,” He says softly. He brushes a stray curl out of his face, tucking it behind his ear.

“You want a drink?” Tony asks, fiddling with his Rolex.

Peter blinks a couple of times.

“I’m not old enough to drink. You know that,” He teases, swatting at Tony’s arm.

Tony leans in close, lips brushing against the top of Peter’s ear. He hears the boy’s breath hitch. His fluffy brown locks tickle the older man’s nose.

“We can indulge for one night. Isn’t that right sweetheart?” He mumbles, nipping on his ear before pulling away.

Peter’s blush has darkened and his mouth is parted slightly.

He nods wordlessly.

Life Lesson #254: Never give kids alcohol.

Peter’s not really a kid, but he is really fucking light weight.

He’s tipsy after his first drink and Tony would like to avoid a complete blackout, so he denies either of them more drinks around 10.

“Let’s do something fun,” Peter insists as the leave the bar.

“Yeah? Like what?” Tony asks as they enter the near empty hallway, the smell of disinfectant in the air.

“Mini golf,” Peter whispers, bouncing on his feet slightly in excitement.

Tony can’t help but laugh at the boy, wrapping his arm around Peter’s dainty waist.

“Show me the way, princess.” Tony says, not registering the pet name that slipped out. Luckily, Peter just grins wider.

The make their way through the resort, through hallways that all look the same. They eventually reach the outside, the humid air hitting their bodies.

“Here we are!” Peter exclaims, dragging him to a nice looking shed.

“Shit baby, it’s closed.” Tony says, noting the “We Open at 8 A.M” sign perched on the front counter.

“I told you, I know my way around.” Peter giggles as he punches in a code on the keypad that’s connected to the door. It opens and Peter slips inside.

“Hello, sir. Mini Golf is 7 dollars per game, but I think I’ll give you the handsome customer discount,” Peter jokes, wiggling his perfectly groomed eyebrows.

“Oh hush, you.” Tony scolds jokingly, leaning on the top of the counter.

Peter just winks and disappears under the counter.

“What color do you want?” He asks, voice muffled. “You can have anything but pink. I always get pink.”

Tony rolls his eyes and smiles.

“You have red down there?”

Peter pops back up, a red club and a pink club in hand.

“Sure do.” He says, waving the clubs around. He places the clubs on the counter, disappears again, then reappears with two golf balls in his hands, each their respective colors.

“You ready?” He asks, swinging over the counter.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” Tony responds, taking both his golf club and ball in one hand.

Peter takes his free hand and they walk to hole number one.

“I’m absolutely atrocious at mini-golf, by the way. I miss every single time.” Peter huffs, bending over to place his ball on the ground.

Tony tries to tear his eyes away from that ass, but he’s unsuccessful.

“I guess I’ll have to give you a private lesson, then.” Tony smirks, poking Peter in the stomach.

“You’re funny. But I wouldn’t mind,” The boy purrs, looking up at Tony and fluttering his mascara coated lashes.

“Let’s get started, then.” Tony grins and places his hands on Peter’s tiny waist, his own club forgotten on the ground.

“Spread your legs a little more. You need a proper stance.” He says huskily, turning Peter so he’s standing to the side. The boy obeys, then sticks his ass out a little more.

“Like that?”

“Yeah, like that.” Tony growls, his arousal almost clouding his brain.

“Now you need a good grip on your club. Right hand under the left.” He instructs, placing his own hands over Peter’s.

“There you go. Good boy.” He praises.

Peter shudders against Tony, heavy breaths falling from those perfect lips.

“Then you just swing back,” Tony swings the boy’s arms back, “And hit it.” The club hits the ball, narrowly missing the hole.

“Damn. Nearly got it in the hole.” He mutters in the boy’s ear. He slowly moves his lips right down under Peter’s ear, right under his jaw. He sucks the skin into his mouth, biting hard enough to leave a mark. A high pitched whine leaves Peter’s throat as he drops the club onto the ground.

“Kiss me already, god dammit.”

At that, Tony grabs the boy by his shoulders and pulls him in, pressing his chapped lips to the glossy ones. Peter moans immediately, hands flying up to grip Tony’s salt and pepper hair. Tony cups his lower back, dipping Peter down slightly. His tongue eventually slips into Peter’s mouth, the younger much less experienced than Tony.

“Fuck, Tony, we need to get to my room now.” Peter whines once they pull apart, gripping at Tony’s broad shoulders.

“Roger that.” Tony quips, guiding Peter off the mini golf course, clubs and balls long forgotten. Peter leads them to one of the lesser known elevators, kneading Tony’s growing bulge the ride up to his room.

“Damn, baby. So spoiled, a suite all for yourself?” Tony teases as Peter tries to swipe his room key. The boy moans at the older man’s words, pushing open the door weakly.

“Daddy-“ Peter moans, but immediately cuts himself off in embarrassment. Tony can only let out a deep moan, throwing his head back.

“Fuck, such a needy princess.”

Peter falls to his knees, massaging Tony’s cock through his slacks.

“Only for you, daddy.” Peter responds, mouthing over the fabric of the pants.

Tony groans and starts to unbutton his slacks, but his thick fingers are pushed out of the way by Peter’s dainty ones. The younger pushes down the black slacks, then gives Tony’s very visible bulge a squeeze through the fabric. Tony’s hand flies up to grasp Peter’s pretty brown locks tightly. Peter’s long nails scrape against his thighs as he pulls Tony’s boxers down. He moans when Tony’s thick cock springs free, slapping against his stomach. Peter wastes no time, one hand cupping Tony’s heavy balls as the other starts stroking his cock slowly. Tony groans and tightens his grip on Peter’s hair when he sees that the kid is drooling. Peter leans down to wrap his lips around the head of his cock.

“Fucking hell, baby,” Tony moans, Peter lips slipping further down his length. He hollows out his cheeks and sucks.

“Peter, honey, we need to move this to the bed now if you want daddy to last.” He managed to grunt out. Peter pulls off his dick with a satisfying pop, saliva covered lips formed in a pout.

“Poor baby. Daddy will give you what you need.” Tony coos, thumb running over Peter’s bottom lip.

“Take everything off except for your underwear.” Tony orders, kicking off his pants and moving to unbutton his shirt.

Peter nods vicariously and drops his shawl on the ground. He bends over to untie the bows on his shoes, placing them neatly next to the bed. Dexterous fingers unbutton his shorts. His shorts slide down his milky legs and he’s left standing in the chiffon teddy, small cock hard and leaking, covered by the fabric.

“Fuck, you naughty boy.” Tony growls, giving his dick a few strokes.

Peter giggles and hops up onto the king bed, immediately going on his hands and knees.

“Good boy,” Tony praises, making his way to the edge of the bed. He gives Peter’s ass a little slap, pushing the fabric covering his skin away. He climbs onto the bed, kneeling behind Peter.

“Lube?” Tony asks, gently running his hand over Peter’s red cheek.

“Drawer,” He croaks out, pressing his ass against Tony’s cock. The older man leans to the side, sifting through the drawer until his hands hit a familiar bottle. Tony uncaps the lube, squirting some on his fingers.

“Relax, sweetheart,” He coos, brushing his slick fingers over Peter’s tight whole. The boy shudders, back arching at the contact.

“Be good.” Tony orders as he slips his index finger into him. Peter moans, hips desperately rutting into the bedsheets.

“Daddy,” Peter whines as Tony pushes in a second finger, than a third. The older man chuckles as he purposely avoids his prostate.

“Just fuck me already!” Peter cries, trying to fuck himself on Tony’s fingers.

“Needy slut.” Tony grunts, pulling out his fingers and slapping Peter’s ass again. He snatches up the lube, squirting more into his hands and stroking his cock.

“Ready Baby?” Tony asks Peter, gently pushing him over so he’s on his back.

“Yes, daddy.” Peter responds, eyes glistening with tears.

Tony groans and grips the base of his cock, positioning it on Peter’s hole. The boys hips jerk upwards, pretty pink cock slapping against the silk of his lingerie. Tony can’t take it, so he pushes in. Both of them moan, Peter’s high and breathy, Tony’s deep and full.

“So fucking tight,” Tony grunts through gritted teeth once he’s all the way in.

Peter doesn’t respond, just breaths harder.

“So full,” He mumbles, manicured nails scraping at Tony’s biceps. Peter is a vision, brown curls all tousled and cheeks flushed a pretty pink.

“M’ gonna move, that okay, princess?” Tony asks, tightening his grip on the boy’s unblemished hips.

Peter nods and Tony gets to work. He starts his thrust slowly, burying himself in Peter’s tight, wet heat. But when Peter cries out for him to move, how could he deny it?

“Fuck, daddy, harder!” Peter wails, body moving back and forth from the force of Tony’s thrusts.

“Yeah baby,” Tony grunts, hips snapping at a ridiculously delicious pace.

“Gonna come,” Peter moans, squeezing his eyes shut, a tear rolling down his cheek. His lips shine with his own saliva, parted enough to let out another moan.

“Do it baby, come on daddy’s cock,” Tony coaxes. Peter’s body tenses and he’s coming, eyes screwed shut as he paints his chest white. His walls tighten around Tony’s member and with a shout he spills his release inside of Peter.

The older man collapses on top of the younger. Peter lets out a giggle as Tony slips out of him.

“You did such a good job. You were gorgeous. Perfect. Beautiful.”

Tony peppers kisses down Peter’s torso, the boy’s eyes screwed shut, smiling softly at the praise. Tony adjusts the two so their heads are on the pillows and wrapping his arms around Peter’s thin body. He nuzzles into the crook of Peter’s neck, inhaling his scent of sweat, sex, and perfume.

“Stay?” Peter squeaks, pulling Tony’s arms closer to him.

“Of course.”

***

“I wish you didn’t have to leave.”

Tony sighs heavily, running a hand through his messy sex hair.

“You know I don’t want to.” He tells the boy, looking at where he’s seated.

All he’s wearing is Tony’s dress shirt from last night. He’s sitting criss-cross on a wicker chair, staring off over the balcony railing. There’s hickeys down his neck and chest, proof of their slower morning session.

“I always get caught up in this.” Peter says, not looking at Tony. “Fall head over heels for some rich guy that vacations here with his wife, then become forgotten after his trip.”

Tony swallows thickly.

“You know I won’t forget you.” He says, staring at the glass in his hands.

“I don’t think you can promise me that.” Peter says sadly, picking at his ring finger nail.

“I sure can. You’re an angel, Peter.” Tony says truthfully.

Peter smiles sadly.

“I’ll come visit you. At MIT.”

Peter laughs bitterly and shakes his head.

“I will. I don’t particularly want to have dorm sex again, but I can make an exception.”

Peter lets out a genuine laugh this time. He rubs his face with one hand.

“How are you going to explain that to your wife?”

Ah, there’s the dreaded question.

“We don’t talk much anymore. I don’t think she’ll even ask.” Tony says sadly, eyes drifting to the crisp blue ocean in the distance. Long arms wrap around his bare torso. Peter rests his head on Tony’s shoulder, breathing in deeply.

“You know, in an alternate universe, we’re probably together.” He mumbles, squeezing Tony tighter.

“Alternate universes. Funny.” Tony says dryly.

“There’s a reason why we found each other.”

Tony smiles.

“Yeah. There’s a reason.”

#starker #starker fic #starker moodboard

722 notes · View notes

bravebatgirl · 5 years

Text

‘I Look Like My Mother’ (a preview of the new chapter of Anne’s unfinished story

Heya Kindred Spirits. Still salty over AWAE’s cancellation? Because same. There’s still so much more to the story of our beloved fiery red-head, and I’ve decided to write my version of what I believe will encompass the next chapter in Anne’s life.

Here is a little snippet, a prologue if you will, to what will become a 15-chapter story posted on AO3. Please enjoy, and remember to keep tagging #renewannewithane on twitter

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Gilbert,

I look like my mother. My goodness… Just writing that sets my heart alight; warms my soul to its very core in a way I would never have thought possible. You’re probably rather confused at how I came to realise I resembled my long-lost mother. I should offer further explanation as to how I acquired this knowledge.

Matthew and Marilla, bless their hearts, journeyed to Nova Scotia, all with the intent of meeting with an elderly woman who knew my parents personally. They recovered a book that my father, Walter, had gifted to my mother, Bertha, and my dearest Matthew and Marilla saw to it that it was once again in the possession of a Shirley. Me! The very last of the Shirleys. It was titled ‘The Language of Flowers’, and on the very last page was the most treasured gift I could ever ask for: a portrait of my mother, drawn so faithfully by my father. She looked so beautiful, Gilbert. So regal and wondrous. Once, my freckled complexion, pale skin and, most grievously, my horrid red hair haunted me every waking and sleeping moment. Marilla called me vain for obsessing so over my disastrous looks, and she rightfully so. I placed far great an importance that necessary on my outer appearance, when it is the character that matters most. Yet, despite this, knowing that I share my mother’s own red-haired genes brought a new sense of gratefulness to me. For if I even share a fraction of her beauty, I’ll be quite content in never obsessing over frivolous things such as appearance again (plus, hers appeared auburn. Auburn! There is hope for me yet.).

Oh Gilbert, my heart has never felt so undoubtedly whole as it has this day; it seems as though all the jumbled puzzle pieces of my life are finally slotting into place. Along with this incredible revelation of my past, Diana is sleeping across from me and we are mere hours away from beginning the next chapter of our life together! The Women of Tomorrow, embarking on their educational endeavour side by side. Ruby, Josie, Tillie and Jane are also in this boarding house, just down from the hall from us. I feel so blessed that I get to continue my story with a comforting, familiar fragment of my past right by me, every step of the way. Entering womanhood seems less daunting when doing so with these girls.

Of course, another, very significant piece; one I never dreamed of acquiring, is you. I should tell you I have kept pinching myself ever since we bade farewell this after-noon. It still seems surreal, something of a figment of my imagination, that someone like you could ever be interested in someone like me. But it was real, wasn’t it? We finally stopped running away from each other and ran toward each other, finding each other in a twist of fate, time being on our side for once. My cheeks are currently aching from smiling so much. It’s a most welcome ache, though.

In regards to our follow-up questions, I’ll do my best to answer what I imagine yours may be, whilst asking some of my own. First of all, Diana relayed to me that you never received the letter I left for you. Oh, Fortuna, you do work in mysterious ways. While we may never know just how such a significant piece of paper was so heinously misplaced, I want to make it transparently known what its contents were…

That night in which you approached me at the ruins… I must apologise. I was the furthest thing from a clear mind – you can thank Moody’s moonshine for that – and I’m afraid I was rather thrown by your bold yet cryptic words. I’d been confused of my feelings since we practised the White Sergeant (though, if I’m being honest with myself, feelings had existed far longer than that), and I was still reeling from the startling divulgence at the fair that you were courting Winifred. Here was this young, intelligent, persistent man, one who had, in his own words, his future presented to him on a silver platter: the beautiful, elegant woman of high-class, the blessing of her father to enter a marriage, one that would ensure him the less-than-once-in-a-lifetime chance to study at the very most prestigious of schools. Here he was, the most promising future on one hand, and on the other… me. Who was I to stand in the way? Why would I even try to stand in your way? My response was panicked flurry of words, and I was so terribly confused. Yet, not long after… I came to the realisation that I no longer was confused, and my feelings toward you were so transparently obvious, it was as though they’d been written in the stars themselves.

I love you, Gilbert Blythe. I love your unwavering ambition, courage and persistence in striving to achieve everything your heart desires. I love the way you care so deeply for everyone close to you. I love how even though you can be daft at times, you fight for justice, and never judge a person unfairly. I love your handsome eyes and how they always seem to find mine. I’m sorry it took me so long to realise it; and even though we are a thousand miles apart, I am more than prepared to make up for lost time.

Which brings me to the first of my follow-up questions: when did you first realise you had feelings for me? And to what extent are they currently? And finally… are we courting now? Is that something we can do from such a distance? I have many more churning in my mind, but I fear I have taken up too much of your time and far too much paper. I shall save them for our future correspondences.

Oh my goodness, would you believe that I have stayed awake until almost 3am? I simply cannot wait to see what Queen’s has in store for me tomorrow, but I really must rest now if I’m to make an appropriate first impression. I’ve already a plethora of plans for making my place in this town; you may recall I told you I must be a relentless thorn in the side of those who refuse to amend the status quo? Well, my first order of business, along with getting acquainted with my fellow students, is to see what change can be brought about the treatment of the indigenous children at those poor, pathetic excuses of schools. I’ll indulge you further on my progress in later letters, but my first action is to write to ‘The Globe’ and inform them of this discriminatory injustice. Something must be done, Gilbert, and if no one else will make a stance, then I must.

I’m sure by the time this letter reaches you, you’ll have well and truly settled into your medicinal studies at Toronto; but nevertheless, best of luck, Future Doctor Blythe. Don’t let your academic drive slip just because I’m not there to provide competitive stimulation.

I wait in elated trepidation for your response, and am eager to hear just how extraordinary your new life is.

With highest sincerity,

Your Anne

P.S. Suitors are allowed to visit the parlour on Saturday afternoons between 2 and 4. If that knowledge interests you in any way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Flower: Forsythia, represents Anticipation

55 notes · View notes

stuff-of-pi · 4 years

Text

50 Questions You’ve Never Been Asked

@back-in-silver-and-green tagged me and I thought this was super fun!!!

What is the color of your hairbrush? Pink, but I use my mom’s a lot and that one is black.

A food you never eat? Celery. I hate that stuff. Icky!

Are you typically too warm or too cold? Too cold! Someone should totally come cuddle me to fix that <3

What were you doing 45 minutes ago? Eating dinner with my folks :)

What is your favorite candy bar? 100 Grand bars!!! SO GOOD!

Have you ever been to a professional sports event? Heck yeah! I got to rugby games with my family all the time. When I was younger, we used to go to Colorado Rockies games, but baseball is boring (sorry my baseball lovers!)

What is the last thing you said out loud? 我愛你爸爸！(I love you dad!)

What is your favorite ice cream? Extreme Chocoloate Moose Tracks

What was the last thing you had to drink? Water :D

Do you like your wallet? I guess so? It’s really old and is a “masculine wallet”, which my mother never fails to rag on me for

What was the last thing you ate? 滷肉 (LuRou - pork braised in soy sauce) and rice. It was very salty and very yummy

Did you buy any new clothes last weekend? Nope! I was on a road trip with my dad :)

The last sporting event you watched? Highlights from men’s volleyball! So good!!!

What is your favorite flavor of popcorn? Mixed butter and chocolate covered popcorn. Or just popcorn and M&Ms

Who was the last person you sent a text message to? My group chat named “老師’s disappointments” (referring to our Chinese teacher) with my bffs, Allie, Andrew, and Steven. I said “You bitches don't appreciate my memes but I love y'all anyways”

Ever go camping? Yes! I love it a lot and there are TONS of camping spots here in CO! Although our govenor has suspended camping for the entire season :(

Do you take vitamins? Every so often I’ll take 15 mg of zinc and iron bc they help with migraines that appear behind the eyes :)

Do you go to church every Sunday? Yes, I do! Though we haven’t been physically going to church for a couple months now

Do you have a tan? Not currently, but I tan pretty well in the summer. It’s the Sicilian heritage

Do you prefer Chinese food or pizza? Chinese food!!! If I could only eat one ‘genre’ of food so to speak for the rest of my life, it would be Chinese food

Do you drink your soda with a straw? I don’t often drink soda, but when I do it’s usually just straight outta the can

What color socks do you usually wear? Black

Do you ever drive above the speed limit? Literally everytime. I got pulled over once for going 19 over in a residential area and got off with just a warning. Since then, I make a point of never going above 5 over...

What terrifies you? Being alone or having important people in my life abandon me and never receiving closure for that. Also, I’m really terrified of bees when they get close

Look to your left, what do you see? My huge makeup kit

What chore do you hate? Anything to do with dishes

What do you think of when you hear an Australian Accent? @are-you-being-sirius being a little shit in the best ways possible. Also my sunshine hype man, @chaser-not-a-seeker

What’s your favorite soda? Once again, I don’t drink it very often, but I enjoy Dr. Pepper the most!

Do you go in a fast food place or just hit the drive thru? I usually grab fast food when I’m already running late to a rehearsal downtown, so I do whatever is fastest which tends to be the drive thru

Favorite cut of beef? I don’t really eat beef (bc I don’t like it) unless my 阿姨 (Taiwanese aunt) has cooked up some Korean BBQ

Who’s the last person you talked to? My dad

Last song you listened to? Grace by Surfaces

Last book you read? The last book I physically read was Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison, but my dad and I were on a road trip this weekend and we were listening to Otherworld by Jason Segel and Kirsten Miller

Favorite day of the week? Friday, ofc!

Can you say the alphabet backwards? If I try really hard and you’ve got a lot of time, probably

How do you like your coffee? I don’t drink coffee :)

Favorite pair of shoes? I love me some flip flops or plain old boat shoes

At what time do you normally go to bed? During quarantine, somewhere around 4 am. Otherwise, usually 11.

At what time do you normally get up? During quarantine, anywhere between 10 and 11 am. Otherwise, 8 or 9 am.

What do you prefer sunrise or sunsets? Sunset :)

How many blankets are on your bed? Currently, five

Describe your kitchen plates? Our ‘fancy’ glass ones are white with a ring of gold around it and grey scratch marks from utensils. Our nice plastic ones are multi colored stripes or all blue. Our everyday plastic ones are all scratched up solid colors

Do you have a favorite alcoholic beverage? I do not drink alcohol, so no, I do not. My favorite fancy drink though is a Shirley Temple. And I can appreciate a virgin Piña Colada

Do you play cards? Yes! But only the simple ones that don’t involve any actual skill bc I can be Big Dumb

What color is your car? White

Can you change a tire? Nope, but I’m sure YouTube could help me

What is your favorite state/providence? I really do love Colorado and Utah! All of the outdoors stuff is great. Especially where I live, I’m 30 minutes from just about anything I would want to do

Favorite job you’ve ever had? Obviously acting, but for ‘real jobs’, I loved being a waitress for an assissted living center. Most of the old folks were great and made the job fun. Management is what lead me to quit

How did you get your biggest scar? I have a rubbery scar along my spine that’s about 3 inches long that I got from a free soloing rock climbing accident. I have another inch long rubber scar on my chest from when I stabbed myself with a pencil rocket in the third grade :)

What did you do today that made someone else happy? I played the piano for my dad and then we went on a walk together!

I’ll tag @stjernfaerie, @are-you-being-sirius, @chaser-not-a-seeker, @whatsupitswendy, @transaurus, @thisaliennerd, @sugarxbeanie, @w0tchermarauders, and anyone else who thinks this looks like fun/wants to!

#tag game #pi stuff

8 notes · View notes

codetrainwreck · 6 years

Note

As a nonshipper, do you think Taniguchi didn't make LxCC obvious to not offend shippers? mononoke-no-ko's trans says he personally interprets this as a love story and OP/ED show CC/Lelouch feelings. He says it's not necessarily a love between a man and woman but those lyrics... the translation of them seem pretty romantic. Plus he says Lelouch staying with her is like a proposal or something like it? Not buying what he's selling. Maybe these are the delusions of a salty kalulu shipper though.

Uhhh okay so this is long and rambly and I probably barely answered 50% of your question.

First, the recap movies

Tbh I think the changes to the recap movies made it very, very clear they were going for a Lelouch x CC ending. I don’t think they were trying not to offend people. The recaps made it very obvious.

Kallen and Shirley’s roles were both reduced in the recaps. Though Taniguchi claims that Shirley and Lelouch “were dating” in the first recap movie, they barely even interact and it results in Shirley looking like a stalker or something. His comment about how Shirley and Lelouch were “dating” is part of why I don’t think he can do romance lol.

The first recap movie adds in a new scene where Lelouch plays darts while CC eats pizza and they talk about how there’ll be a day when he isn’t with Nunnally anymore. At the end of the scene, the other BKs buzz Zero on the intercom, Lelouch puts the mask back on, and the other BKs come in. Kallen tries to lecture CC to learn how to use a KMF (originally Tamaki’s line from the TV show) but CC gets catty and tells her, “I’m eating brunch tee-hee” with a smug look on her face.

The first recap also adds a few frames of CC watching over him when he’s with Suzaku and Nunnally. The second recap has a new scene where CC turns up her nose and is coy and playful w/Lelouch, saying he never asked her who gave the Emperor his Geass. The third recap has a new scene where amnesiac CC is clumsy, falls over in a position that you somehow see both her ass + her tits, and plays w/her hair. It serves no other purpose than to make her look uwu moeblob.

Next, Revive

So, the quote about Revive was something like… “the song lyrics to Revive are Lelouch’s love for the world, which includes CC”. Tbh, that… actually makes a lot of sense to me?

There is a part in the China arc where Schneizel says something about how the world belongs to the people. With his decision to withdraw because of the Eunuch’s actions and the citizen’s response, it’s thus also implied, “…and rulers belong to the world [to act on behalf of the people]”. However, as R2 progresses, it’s clear that while Schneizel feels he is owned by the world, he does not love it.

In contrast, Lelouch does love the world and he does love the people in it. And as a person with power, with the ability to do something about the state of the world, he shows his love for it by trying to remake the world anew. Though he talks about destroying the world, he also talks of a day when it’ll be more gentle, and he has strong feelings for many people in the world. And of course, that would include CC.

The songs that were specifically written for Geass were like… “I can change the world” (COLORS), “I destroyed the world” (WORLD END), “Did Lelouch leave his mark [when he destroyed the world], or did he fade to obscurity?” (NE:ONE) The progression that, now that we’ve destroyed the world (WORLD END), we bring it back to life (Revive) reallyreallyreallyreallyreally makes sense to me.

The clause about it being “love for the world” just indicates when the singer says “kimi” (you), they’re referring to the world at large instead of a single person. So, the first two lines of the song could be like, “The world spoke to me as I slept for what seemed like an eternity // I embraced the morning that came when I finally woke up“.

Lastly, can Taniguchi and Okouchi write romance?

In my opinion, Taniguchi and Okouchi have no idea how to do romance, but that was to their advantage. Their inability to do romance surfaces in the TV anime plot in the form of Lelouch never hooking up w/anyone. And it was that lack of commitment to a pairing has driven many fans to still be involved in the fandom after ~10 years. The flames of the shipping wars still burn brightly.

rainfall has a post up about the proposal. It’s a translation of the booklet where it talks about this. I would suggest reading that cause I think it paints a different picture than what’s been circulating on Tumblr. But even just reading it in Japanese, it does feel more like Taniguchi is trying to get a reaction out of CC’s voice actress. There’s also the CC story card where CC herself even considers that it’s possible she only imagined him saying her name. Even though the recaps telegraph their plan, the 2 aforementioned tidbits make their relationship seem more “subtle”, doesn’t it?

But, even though I said Taniguchi and Okouchi can’t do romance, the idea that the love between 2 people must be romantic is also admittedly very stereotypically western of me. I think there is a difference in how east vs west see love and write about it in our fiction. karice had a good tweet chain about this before, though not in the context of Geass or even anime. That Lelouch and CC walk off together, showing a bond (or ”attachment” as karice translates it in her tweets) without there being some overly romantic love confession could very well just be a cultural thing.

#code geass #lelouch of the resurrection #asks #lelouch lamperouge #cc #kallen kozuki #shirley fenette #shipping #schneizel el britannia #y'all just ever write so much your ask response has a read more

42 notes · View notes

yoongis-nipple · 5 years

Text

*:･ﾟ✧HAPPY BIRTHDAY COBIE

It’s finally your 20th Birthday!! Congratulations on making it to the 10 whole years before your 30 club, my love we’ve been expecting you, Cherry! :)

All jokes aside, Happy Birthday to you, my best friend and partner in crime. You’re the most strongest person I’ve ever met and I’m so glad to be able to call you my best friend, you’re so important to me and wow, I would be so incredibly lost without you. For almost 8 years, you’ve been my rock and my confidante, you’re the first person I message and want to talk to when I’m in a struggle and you always give me your most honest advice, even if it’s harsh and I’m so thankful for that.

You’re really one of the two people I can truly count on when I’m feeling down, you’re the only person in my life who has been a constant and truly been there for me, most days it feels like all I have is you and Nick. When my dad passed away you were the first person I messaged, the first person who was there and gave me a shoulder.

It’s really hard when your best and only true friend is a whole timezone and country away, it gets so lonely because I wish you were here and I could see and talk to you all the time, I wish it was easy but the difficulty is what makes our friendship stronger, because we haven’t let timezones come between us yet and I don’t see that happening any time soon. Although we both have jobs now and it’s harder, we will always try and make time for each other even if we haven’t spoken in months we don’t let that change who we are around each other. I’m so glad I met you, I say that a lot but, I truly am. You really are important to me and I would do absolutely anything for you, no matter what I will always be there for you, there’s no one else I want to call or even be my best friend, it will always be you. On my wedding day, I want you to be my Maid of Honor, I want it to be YOU who helps me plan my wedding and pick out my dress, who plans my bachelorette party, who gives the Maid of Honor speech for me, and if I have kids, I want you to be their God mother because there’s no one else I trust more than you, I love you so much. You’re so fierce and I love it so much, you’re my biggest supporter and without you I don’t think I could of gotten through the majority of struggles that I did.

What’s even better is that my mom loves you so much, she sees you as her own daughter even though you’re in whole other country, she always asks about you and how you are, how your family is, she loves you a lot, and I’m in the same boat as her honestly, I want you to come visit so bad and show you around Newfoundland and how us dumb Newfies do things. I love our face time calls, and hearing you nag at Nick, seeing your dogs, especially Mina because I love her so much and STOP SAYING SHE’S UGLY! :( she’s oure and good. You’re caring, you’re amazing, strong, funny, kind, reliable, you’re independent, gorgeous, honest, sassy, and at times salty but I love you for all of that. As I’ve always said, you remind me of a laid back wine aunt, living out her boring suburban dream who slips her nieces and nephews a little bit of Shirley Temples with a small bit of alcohol in them at family gatherings, the first mom to call out a parent at a PTA meeting but, in a classy way, never trashy. Video taping every major school performance her children are in and broad coasting it to the world for everyone to see. You’re my soulmate in the form of a best friend and I hope you have the best and biggest Birthday ever because you deserve the absolute world and so much more, you’re my whole queen I love so incredibly much. Happy Birthday, Cherry! @s0ftjaemin

#I love you so much #and im so sorry i wasnt able to celebrate with you today it makes me feel like garbage #have the best day and eat lots of cake for me #<33333333333 #bless cock

3 notes · View notes

royalcordelia · 6 years

Text

If the Sea Should Part (3/5)

Summary: Anne finds herself caught up in whirl of romance and adventure after rescuing Dr. Gilbert Blythe from the sea during a storm. She should let him go, but when she finds out Billy Andrews is plotting to take Gilbert’s life and estate, she realizes there’s nothing that can keep her from protecting him.

• Rated G • 6k words • Read on ao3 • Read on ff.net •

Anne wasn’t sure if it was her wretched parting from Green Gables or the rumbling train that made her feel sick on the way to the Glen. She leaned her head against the window and let the cold pane cool her forehead. Eventually, the rhythm of the train was enough to lull her to sleep - eyes squeezed shut, hands clutching her bag.

She woke the next morning right at the early dawn, bleary and exhausted as if she hadn’t slept at all. Taking nervous steps onto the railway platform, Anne looked out over the Glen. The last time she’d been in a place so foreign, she’d come to Avonlea for the first time, a sparkling-eyed, hopeful child. Now, there was no promise of Matthew Cuthbert and home. She only had herself on this unfamiliar corner of her island.

The landscape was a picture of green delight. Thin fog rose from the warm ground, lilting like songs around the trees bathing in yellow morning sun. The hills bore billowing patches of crops and wildflowers. A faint breeze carried with it the salty spray, rolling the sunrise laden clouds above her head. Clutching her carpet bag just the right way, Anne set off.

It wasn’t as hard to find the Blythe estate as she thought. It took only asking one polite passerby with just enough panicked desperation and she was pointed in the right direction.

Relief ran through her when she finally arrived. By then, her legs were tired, her eyes were red from exhaustion, and her hand was cramping from holding onto her bag so tightly. The soles of her feet made her want to saw off her entire foot and she was in desperate need of something to drink. She nearly cried in relief when she saw a large brick fence with a plaque across the front that read: J. Blythe Estate.

The main entrance waited for her at the end of a driveway high on a hill covered with trees. A grand front door that was right out of Anne’s best imaginations waited for her, though the entirety of the house was just as lovely - cream colored bricks, dozens of windows and towers, ivy growing up the sides. The rest of the property was blocked off by the fence, tall enough that she couldn’t quite see what was hiding behind it.

Taking a deep breath, Anne moved up the steps, heels echoing off of the high ceiling of the porch. She rose her hand to the door knocker and banged it thrice. The door swung open almost immediately and an aged man in a black suit stood, eyeing Anne warily.

“May I help you?” his baritone voice boomed.

“Good day sir,” Anne greeted as evenly as she could. “I was wondering if I might speak with Dr. Blythe.”

“The doctor is out on his calls. Are you in a medical emergency?”

Anne blinked. Did she appear as though she was in a medical emergency?

“Well no, but it’s quite urgent-”

“Miss,” the man interrupted. “Dr. Blythe is an incredibly busy man. If his medical services are required, then you may place an appointment like everyone else. Otherwise, I’m afraid I cannot help you.”

He moved to shut the door, but Anne caught a flash of someone passing by in the background.

“Bash!” she cried out. Bash poked leaned back at the sound coming from his front door, only to be lit up at the sight of her. He looked much the same as he did the day he visited Green Gables, but something about his demeanor was much more businesslike.

“Queen Anne!” he delighted. He walked up and placed a hand on the butler’s shoulder, who eyed Anne with hearty suspicion. His eyes seemed to say - Queen? “Mr. Laurent, this woman is an honored guest of Dr. Blythe’s. Please, if you would accept her as such.”

“Of course, sir. Right away, sir.”

Anne was ushered in, bag taken out of her hands before she could say Careful, the seam in the corner is loose and if you don’t hold it just the right way -

“Miss Shirley Cuthbert, to what do we owe this pleasant surprise?” Bash asked. She must’ve appeared as though she were on the verge of collapse, because his face suddenly turned downward. He gently took Anne by the elbow and ushered her into the sitting room just off of the main hall. “Come, let’s sit you down.”

Anne peered around, admiring the lush room with the eyes of a dreamer. The Blythes had lined many of the walls with bookcases and filled them so tightly with texts that Anne wondered how they didn’t collapse. It was everything the storybooks had described about wealth, everything she’d dreamed in the dimmest days of her childhood.

“I know, I thought the same thing when I first came to live here,” Bash said. “It takes some getting used to, but when you come from where I did, it’s a nice change.”

Anne smiled sheepishly into her lap, wringing her hands nervously.

“I’m sorry to drop in unexpected. I promise had it not been urgent, I would’ve written.”

“You know you’re welcome here any time. Are you in trouble?” Bash asked, leaning forward.

“No!” Anne said quickly. It must’ve been how it looked, receiving her unexpectedly in a disheveled state of distress. “No, I’m not in any trouble. But I do need to speak with Gilbert. When does he return from his calls?”

“It’s hard to say. Sometimes he arrives home in the early afternoon, sometimes not until the middle of the night. What’s the matter, Anne?”

Anne wondered if she ought to get it out of the way and just tell Bash what she’d heard, but before she could, a woman burst into the room with a sheepish young boy at her side.

“Bash baby, I’m leaving this boy in your hands so you can deal with him. Keep him out of the kitchen,” she said in a warning tone. “Paul, you’ll listen to Mr. LaCroix or you won’t be allowed in the main house. That clear?”

Anne stared in awe at the woman and the strength of her fiery eyes. She clearly meant business, hip popped and brow cocked as if she was daring someone to go against her. It reminded her of her Avonlea schoolmarm days, but she hadn’t been nearly so compelling as this woman.

“Yes, Mrs. Lacroix,” Paul murmured ashamed. Anne recognized the woman as Mary, Bash’s wife, from Gilbert’s stories. She certainly lived up to his high praise of her.

When Mary was out of earthshot, Paul turned to Bash and all but fell to his knees to prostrate.

“Bash, I promise I just wanted someone quiet to write and the other boys are everywhere! And I can’t get poetry written if they’re looking over my shoulder, but they always do and I just thought that the kitchen has a few little nooks where I could write.”

This boy, Anne appraised, seemed to be kindred as well.

“Paul, we’ve been over this,” Bash said patiently. “If you go in there when the ladies are cooking, you could get burned or stepped on or worse. Dr. Blythe doesn’t want you hiding where you can get hurt.”

“Dr. Blythe doesn’t understand!” Paul argued.

“Mr. Irving.” Bash’s tone had changed at the drop of a hat. “My word is final. You mean to tell me that in this entire property, you cannot find one spot to write in?”

Paul shifted his weight, red faced and frustrated. His eyes glanced over at the lady sitting the chair watching him with amusement, and some of the annoyance dissipated.

“I’ll look again.”

He stomped off, tossing Anne a little glance of sparked interest as he passed her.

“Sometimes I wonder what Gil was about when he wanted to take on the harbor, his medical practice, and these boys,” Bash sighed.

“If I may ask, how does that work?” Anne asked. Bash rose a brow, so she stumbled to clarify. “Well, I just mean, if you’re the business director of the harbor, and Gilbert is the Glen doctor, then who educates the boys?”

“We haven’t found someone to educate them quite yet. Gilbert was waiting to find someone trustworthy out of Queens, but each candidate refuses to either associate with the boys or associate with me.” He paused. “Or both.”

“But if you could find someone, you’d hire them?” Anne said carefully.

“Of course. We’ve been anxious to educate these boys so they’re not completely hopeless when they go off into the real world.”

“I know the feeling,” she murmured, remembering how far behind she’d been when she first began school. “You know, Bash, I’m a schoolteacher. I used to have the Avonlea school. I taught there for quite some time before the board decided to give it to someone who wanted to save money to attend Redmond.”

“Is that why you came? For a job?” Bash asked, but he didn’t seem irritated or offended at the prospect. In fact, he seemed interested.

“No, I really do need to speak with Gilbert,” Anne answered. “But I packed everything I owned in that carpet bag of mine and decided to take some time away from home for a while. If you need someone to educate the boys, I’d be more than happy to. I love teaching.”

“That...that actually sounds like it would work quite nicely. You’re sure you won’t mind working with orphan children? They can be quite a handful.”

“Oh, trust me, I’ve all the experience I need and then some.”

“I’ll have to discuss it with Gilbert, but I don’t think he’ll have any arguments.”

She might’ve said something, but Anne’s heart tugged the way it did when she felt him before she saw him. Gilbert was home.

“I’m always in the mood for a good debate, Bash. What are we arguing?” he said, sweeping into the room and rolling down the sleeves at his elbows. When he met eyes with Anne, his face turned into liquid sunlight, appearing so happy he might burst.

“Anne,” he murmured, dazed with happiness.

“I doubt you’ll want to argue with me on this one, chief. Queen Anne is a very qualified, very accepting, very lovely schoolteacher. Perfect for one house of boys, no?”

Gilbert laughed, shaking his head to make sense of Bash's implication.

“So many surprises at once! Hello, Anne. You are a sight for very sore eyes.” He reached for her hand, kissing it gently when she offered it. “I didn’t know you were a schoolteacher. I thought you went to Redmond for English.”

“Yes, after attending Queen’s Academy for teaching,” she explained. “Oh, Gil, all that can wait. There is something I simply must discuss with you.”

Sensing the impending importance of her news, Gilbert glanced around at the busy house and nodded. He squeezed her hand, which he hadn’t let go, and said, “Right then, let’s go talk somewhere private.”

With a thankful acknowledgement to Bash as she was tugged away, Anne followed behind Gilbert. Watchful eyes fell on them as they journeyed through the house of long, resplendently adorned hallways, so Gilbert released her hand and gave her a shy smile. As they walked, Anne couldn’t help but notice how handsome he was from this angle, with his soft, brown hair and splendid chin. Gilbert opened the door to a room that could only be the house library. He stood in the entrance that she might walk in before him and take in the sights.

“I do believe we should be able to talk in here undisturbed,” he said sheepishly. Anne’s eyes were fixed on a scenic painting on the wall that looked astonishingly like an orchard in Avonlea.

“It’s my fault for dropping in without warning,” she replied, just as meek. She turned to look at him and found him gazing upon her with unmistakably smitten eyes. Experiencing a lapse in self control, Anne returned the expression with a shy smile. Gilbert let out a joyous laugh, soared forward, and collected her into a warm embrace. She received him in tender happiness, and for the first time since she’d left home, she felt she might truly relax.

“I’m so happy to see you!” he said earnestly.

“And I you!” She pulled herself out of the embrace so she could fix her eyes on him. “But I must tell you something. May we sit?”

At the change in her tone, Gilbert’s smile lost its mirth. He nodded and gestured down to the velvety chaise. When they were seated, Anne collected herself, clutching her fists together so tightly that her knuckles had turned pale.

“Do you know Billy Andrews?” she asked slowly. Gilbert grew his clasped fingers under his nose as he thought.

“Billy...You mean William Andrews? Harmon’s son?”

“Yes, the very same! He’s an Avonlea boy. I grew up with him and he’s as horrible as they come.”

“Why come all this way to tell me this, Anne?” Anne blinked long, trying to keep her thoughts steady.

“Did you know your father was good friends with Harmon Andrews?”

“I had a faint idea. He often told stories of the mischief they got into together.”

“His son, Billy, is second in line for the harbor and the estate. Your father wrote him into his will, likely as tribute to his friendship with Harmon.” Gilbert’s brows cinched together at this. It was clearly news to him. The lawyers had explained the will to him in common language, but they’d left out all mention of Billy Andrews’ role in the proceedings.

“How could you possibly know that? Why, you didn’t even know who I was until after you and I met.”

“I heard Billy talking in town about how he’s interested in taking the estate from you,” Anne explained.

Gilbert scoffed.

“I hardly think a lifestyle as a farm hand gives a man the funds required to buy the harbor and estate. Besides, I’d never leave, especially since the boys are here.”

“That’s just it, Gilbert! Billy doesn’t intend to take it with funds . He says he’s got a rifle, and he spoke as if he was truly intending to use to it.”

Anne’s eyes were wild with fear now, staring back at a jolted Gilbert.

“You say he wants to...to kill me?” he murmured. “He doesn’t even know me."

A tear trickled down her cheek as she took a steadying breath.

“He didn’t know me when he tried to tell the whole town that I was a harlot. He didn’t know my close friend when he pushed him off a ladder, injuring him permanently.” Anger was flaring in Gilbert’s eyes, but not at her. Sensing his rising fury, she took his hand. “Gilbert, I didn’t come all the way across the island to make unfounded claims. I came to tell you what I heard him say, because I couldn’t rest until you knew. Billy Andrews has always been unpredictable and violent. I don’t know if this is something he’s capable of, but if he did something to you and I never told you...”

“I believe you, Anne. You did the right thing by coming here,” he said seriously. “It seems Providence really did make you my guardian angel. You must let me repay you somehow.”

Anne thought this over for a moment, then smiled.

“Well...there is that teaching position that Bash mentioned. You needed someone to educate the boys?” Gilbert smiled and nodded.

“Done.”

* # * # *

Anne could nearly see the sea breeze sweeping into the room on a waltz, gliding around the curtains through the empty space in rhythmic time. Her heeled shoes certainly weren’t clacking into completely silence when she took a few awed steps forward, the sound of them echoing against the walls.

“How do you like it?” Gilbert asked behind her. Not yet turning to face him, Anne allowed herself to smile at the intricacies of the baby blue wallpaper, the grand size of the bay window that looked out over the sea, and the cloud-like softness of the bed. The good doctor had added his own personal touches to the room in a small vase of wildflowers that sat on the bedside table. “Anne?”

She spun around and gaped.

“I’m sure I don’t know what to say,” she stuttered out finally. “It’s all out of a dream. Are you sure you want to give up this blessed space to a lowly school teacher?”

“Anne, you of all people should know how much I esteem school teachers. And you. If you like the room, then it’s yours.” Gilbert sighed, running his fingers along one of the smooth wooden tables along the wall. “This room was my mother’s personal study. I wasn’t alive when she used it, but from what I understand, it was sacred to her. Something about being so close to the beach. There are stairs to the water, you know. I had my staff bring in a bed for you, but if it isn't comfortable, please tell me. My mother always just slept on the chaise.”

Anne gave a small smile, white sunlight reflecting into the room onto her rosy face. Gilbert couldn’t help but feel himself thawing into raw tenderness at the sight of her.

“I’m honored, Gil, truly. I shall read and dream and imagine in this room with as much reverence and sanctity as it deserves. Thank you for preparing it for me, and for the adding the bed. I’ve never been much of a couch sleeper,” she chuckled. Gilbert’s cheeks dimpled, a sight that sent an odd delight through Anne.

“Of course, Anne. If you find you need anything, simply ask.”

“May I trouble you for some ink and a quill, then? I ought to write to Marilla and tell her I’ve made it safely.”

“Already thought of that,” Gilbert boasted, pointing to the desk near the window. “A typewriter for all those lovely musings and thoughts you’d like to write down, and an ink and quill in the drawer for your pen tip to dictate your words.”

“Thank you, Dr. Blythe,” Anne laughed. “I fear you’ve anticipated all my needs and I’ve not realized it!”

“Maybe some,” he admitted with a shy shrug. “Like your need to eat. Dinner is at six, so take your time to get comfortable. I’m just down the hall if you need anything.”

After another humble thank you from Anne, Gilbert left the euphoric redhead to the splendor of the room. Stunned, she tiptoed across the wooden floors as if she were in church and settled on the couch by the window. To think, this breathtaking space was all her own!

When her excitement had been contained, Anne remembered her responsibility. She settled at her new desk with a weighted heart, pulled the materials from the drawer, and began to write.

* # * # *

Blythe Estate North Blythe Harbor Rd. Glen St. Mary, PEI Tuesday, September 26th.

Dearest Marilla,

No doubt you have taken one long look at the return address atop this letter and realized that I have successfully arrived at my destination. I made it here with little difficulty, if not a touch battered and hungry.

I will not trouble you with the grueling details of train-sickness or my unfamiliarity with the Glen. (In truth, the ride was lovely and the Glen is even moreso.) I shall keep my words brief and inform you that Dr. Blythe has been made aware of the situation and intends to begin necessary precautions this evening. There is, however, some news that I fear will send Mrs. Lynde into what Gilbert calls “conniptions.”

I intend to stay here at the estate until further notice. You see, Gilbert has taken on forty-three orphan asylum boys with intentions to care for them, but had no suitable means to educate them. I happened to know a very unemployed, yet very qualified young schoolmarm who has plenty of experience with orphan children. To answer Mrs. Lynde’s inevitable questions - as well to alleviate your assured worries- no, the doctor and I are not involved. Propriety is upheld to the utmost here, as you will recall the Blythes are good Presbyterians, just like you and I.

I am safe here, Marilla. I am happy, well-fed, and employed. I am with people who cherish me as I deserve and excited to spread some of that love to young souls who have had beginnings much like my own. When you have forgiven me for my unpleasant leaving of Green Gables, remind me to tell you of darling Paul Irving, of my seaside bedroom, of the extravagant chandeliers, and of Dr. Blythe - of whom I am increasingly fond and impressed. I would be pleased to receive any response you’re willing to send. I remain

Ever yours,

Anne

(PS - It’s fortunate Gilbert and I did not grow up in the same classroom, for I fear I would have developed a stormy envy towards him. Or maybe it would have been better that way. I wouldn’t feel like such a imposter of elegance and beauty in this home. Oh, Marilla, please do forgive me. I need you desperately. - AS)

* # * # *

Just outside the door of the schoolroom, Anne stood with her eyes closed and her heart only seconds away from bursting out of her chest. She’d never been this nervous with students before, but the circumstances of her students had never felt so dire before. All these young boys, unfamiliar and rough around the edges, weren’t just to be taught their curriculum. They needed to be taught to love and to trust, that their lives were worthwhile and had meaning. Could she do it? Was she strong enough?

Gilbert had all but promised to be by her side on this first day - promises cannot be made when you hold the medical safety of a town in your hands - but had been pulled away with a patient, leaving Anne to weather this storm by herself. She’d be fine, she told herself, she’d weathered worse before.

Pushing open the door, Anne quickly noticed the silence that befell the forty-three boys, their messy heads of hair spinning to the front chalkboard all at once. She caught sneaky sideways glances at her as she walked up the middle aisle. The muscles in her shoulders felt tense, so she took another deep breath, held the edge of her desk with tight fingers, and faced the boys.

They were practically purple, holding their breath as not to be reprimanded.

“Alright lads, let’s all take a keep breath together. I feel we all could use one,” she said finally. Inhaling a stream of air into her lungs, she gestured for the boys to follow. “Deep breath in, fill up those lungs.”

One by one the boys followed.

“Hold it,” she said tersely. “Now let it out, nice and strong.”

All at once, exhales flung out of the boys like slingshots, carrying with them the heaviness of their worries and fears.

“There, doesn’t that feel better?” A few shy smiles greeted her, and Anne felt her heart warming. “I am Miss Shirley. The forty-four of us will be embarking on an academic adventure over the next few months, but trust me when I say that we will be journeying side by side. I won’t leave any of you behind.” Anne brushed a strand of hair away from her face and side. “Easy for me to just throw the word trust around, isn’t it? Let me prove myself to you all.”

Then, surprising all the boys - and perhaps even herself - Anne walked to the front of her desk and sat right upon the top of it, crossing her ankles and folding her hands. The boys gawked; half filled with shock and a delighted thrill.

“Dr. Blythe did not want to trust just anyone with the safety of your futures. I know you boys have seen a dozen faces standing here with the same promises I offer now. You’ve seen stiff-necked, older gentlemen who thrive off of dull memorization. Mustachey, bird-nosed fellows who would rather ridicule than teach. Voluptuous schoolmarms with a proclivity for whooping. Believe me, I have met them all. I met them all when I sat where you sit now, a nervous orphan child with a hunger for knowledge and a desire to gain worth.”

A wave of understanding swelled over the class.

“So every little feeling of inadequacy you’ve got, I’ve felt and overcome it. Every frustration with geometry and latin spelling, I’ve fumed it. I am here to help you with all the challenges you meet this year, because I know you boys are more than capable of achieving great things,” Anne continued. Then, she cocked a brow and threw a warning glance over the crowd. “But I’ll have you know, that means I’ve also heard every shocking word you could utter and thought of every cruel little prank your minds could think of. I will not tolerate such impediments to our goal in this classroom, and if see such happenings, I’ll report it to Dr. Blythe who I’m told was once a schoolteacher himself.”

Anne wasn’t sure if the atmosphere was filled with fear or respect. She was quite ready to show her new students that fear was no place for a classroom. Instead, they could all be comrades in the quest for knowledge and achievement.

“But enough of such introductory nonsense. Grab your slates and a piece of chalk. We’re going outside! Have you fellows ever learned anything about plant cells?”

* # * # *

The next month passed in a flurry of autumn leaves, beautiful while it was there but flown away before Anne could stop to enjoy it. Through means of fate, she’d ended up a member of this beautiful, sundry family with all forty-seven of its members. Sometimes she wondered if it was all real, the kindred connection with her students or the early mornings spent in the kitchen with Mary helping her prepare breakfast for the boys.

Then there was Gilbert - sweet, compassionate, intelligent Gilbert who had a sense of a humor that sent each of the boys howling. Dr. Blythe was most beloved to the boys, a true gentleman that they strived to impress. He still had moved around on his crutch, but was in the latter stages of his healing. Anne found herself in Gilbert’s library at strange hours of the day, mostly during the late nightfall after he returned from doctoring duties. Together they sat in moonshine and candlelight, telling stories and unfolding each other like a damp letter, carefully and reverently.

One night, Anne had been wrapped in the marshy softness of her blankets and bedding when she heard the door down the hall clip shut. Oftentimes, this sound came welcomed to her, for it meant that Gilbert had returned home safely, but on this particular evening, Anne felt a strange sense that she ought so seek him out. Slipping on her robe, she ignored her bare feet and loose cascades of red hair, and made her way to his bedroom door.

He answered immediately when she knocked. He took one long look down at her with a surprisingly hard and unreadable expression and moved that she might sneak in.

“If Mrs. Lynde knew you were here at this hour, she’d certainly drag you home herself,” he muttered quietly, unable to look her in the eye. Anne tucked her arms protectively across her chest and shrugged.

“That would involve her coming into this room at this hour, and I think we’re quite safe from that.” He couldn’t help but smile at that. Anne tilted her head as she peered curiously at him, candlelight turning her face into a half-lit moon. “What’s the matter, Gil?”

Gilbert released a dejected sigh that he’d been holding onto and plopped back onto one of his heavily upholstered sofas. Anne sat beside him, patiently waiting for the man to open himself for her tender analysis.

“Nothing is wrong,” he said finally.

“ Gilbert, you are positively-”

“Alright, alright!” he admonished, running his hand through the messy curls atop his head. “Aside from the terrible ache in my leg and the fact that my father passed away five years ago today” - Anne sucked in a sharp breath - “I lost a patient today. A patient I was positive I could save. I even made the mistake of telling her husband so, and getting his hopes up. But to tell him I’d been wrong and that she wouldn’t…” Gilbert’s lips clamped shut and he swallowed. “I think I took on too much. I can’t be a doctor and run this harbor. I can’t.”

Anne didn’t hold any answers to his problems. His grief was all his own, insecurities too strong a storm for even her to pull him out of. But while Gilbert knew how to treat matters of physical pain, Anne knew a thing or two about aches of the heart.

At first, she simply stayed with him and allowed him to dwell on his thoughts without judgment. In those moments, she was attuned to his shallow breaths and furrowed brow, as well as the wax dripping from the candle on the table beside them.

“Wait here,” she said after a silence. He nodded, barely aware of the ten minutes she was gone as if they passed by in years of haze and cloudiness. When she slipped back into the room, she was a sight that brought relief to him, rosy skin dewy in the evenlight. In her hands she carried a small tray with a sandwich, a steaming hot chocolate, and some of the buttered vegetables they’d had at dinner without him. On the side of the tray, Anne had dropped some of the small chocolate sweeties that she’d used to make the rich beverage in a neat little smiling face. She set the tray down on the table in front of him.

“It’s much harder to think sad thoughts when your stomach is full,” she said simply. “I know you didn’t eat dinner.”

Gilbert’s small smile was her undoing, soft around the edges and genuine in its appreciation. He began to eat, moaning at the first sip of hot chocolate in a way that made Anne look away lest she burn alive.

“Do you think you could talk about it?” Anne asked when most of the meal was eaten. Gilbert set down his ceramic tankard and let out another sigh.

“Mrs. Graham died today of the same thing that killed my father. The same respiratory disease that made me decide to become a doctor. In many cases, it can be cured if caught early enough, but let unattended, it's nearly impossible to manage. I was so sure that I caught it early enough and that I had finally conquered it. But I miscalculated, observed the symptoms incorrectly.” His voice broke, so he took another sip of hot chocolate. “It all hit too closely to home, I suppose.”

“I understand the feeling,” Anne empathized. “Being around the boys and teaching them is like looking in the mirror and seeing my eleven-year-old self. You and I are putting ourselves close to the things that hurt us in hopes that it helps other people. That has to count for something, doesn’t it?”

“It’s not worth anything if I’m not successful,” Gilbert lamented. "People die when I fail, Anne."

“No, I think it’s worth everything no matter the outcome. Tell me, did you ease Mrs. Graham’s pain?”

“Well, yes, as much as I could-”

“And you ensured she was in conditions that made her feel safe and comfortable?”

“Yes. Anne, I know where you’re going with this and-”

“Her husband was there? Maybe her children?” Gilbert held his tongue, giving in after a moment.

“All of them,” he answered finally. “They were all there.”

“ You gave them that. That woman’s soul was content and safe when the night swept her away. You can’t control death, Gilbert, but you can do everything you can to make a person feel like they’re worth something. That’s what your speciality is, I think. And for what it’s worth, I truly cannot believe that her death was by a folly of yours. Sometimes the Almighty just makes up his mind about a thing and we can’t do anything but accept it.”

Gilbert’s jaw tightened as Anne watched one tear trickle down his face. Feeling it hit his nose, he gave a sharp inhale, then brushed it aside with a hand and chuckled.

“I’m in awe of you, Anne Shirley, truly,” he murmured gently. Anne felt like steam rising up and away, smooth in its curve toward dissipation. Gilbert brought the tray of food back to the table, then collapsed back against the couch, leaning his head to the side to stretch the muscles of his neck. A hiss escaped his lips when he shifted his injured leg beneath him.

“Where does it hurt? Just your leg?” Anne asked.

“Everywhere,” he admitted, and Anne wondered if he was talking about more than just his body. Though she was ready to go to sleep, she couldn’t leave him when he was like this, not when his eyes were silently asking for her to stay.

“Turn this way,” she instructed, trying her best not to sound too much like a schoolmarm.

“What are you-”

“Gil, for once will you just listen without question?”

The man gave her an exhausted look, finally giving into her request and turning so that his back was facing her. He sucked in a sharp breath when her hands trailed up his back and neck.

“Do you trust me?” she whispered near his ear. His answer came almost immediately, breathy and broken.

“Yes.”

“Then close your eyes and relax. I won’t hurt you.”

Like the tide rising up at the first hints of the moon, Anne’s hands made a slow ascent through his brown curls, nails dragging along his scalp, until her fingers were pressed up against his temples. His head fell back, a small sigh escaped in resignation to the bliss of her touch. Slowly, her fingers moved in small circles against his head, releasing the tension of five years of mourning and of this new grief. The swirls and tugs of her touch eased the soreness like a hot compress. When the pressure had released, she moved her fingers down the side of his face in a featherlight touch that turned him to fire.

“Where did you learn to do this?” he slurred, drunk on the pleasure of it.

“When I was younger, I often got headaches because I cried so frequently. Matthew did this to ease the pain, to make me feel loved.”

Gilbert shivered. He felt loved, more than loved - encaptured in her tender touch, safe in her ministrations. As her hands carefully massaged the muscles in his neck, Gilbert paid close attention to the electric delight of his nerves wherever her fingers made contact with his skin. He let out another breathy sound when she pressed her thumbs into a tightness in his back, smoothing out the skin until the tension had drained from him like a stormcloud abandoning all its rain unto the ground.

“You’re a good man,” Anne said slow and soft to him as she pressed her palms into his back, her nails trailing behind. “A capable doctor, a kind soul. You are exactly where you need to be. You’ll be okay.”

She could see a salty tear catch the underside of his jaw, then brushed it away. Nudging him so he might turn back to her, she found him looking at her as if his soul had been newly born - vulnerable and tender.

“Close your eyes,” she murmured kindly. He complied immediately this time.

An unexpected thought crossed Anne’s mind. What would happen if she kissed him? Would he recoil away? Take her into his arms and return it sevenfold? The uncertainty frightened her.

Instead, she pressed her thumbs onto his eyelids as gently as she could and rubbed in small circles.

“Do you think you can rest now?” her gentle voice asked when she pulled her hands away.

“I think so,” he replied. Blue eyes slowly slid open to meet hers, more content than they were when she first began. The trouble had left him, leaving behind an exhausted Gilbert Blythe in need of a good night’s rest. Anne reached out and grabbed his hand, giving it a little.

“I’ll tell the housemaids not to wake you unless there’s a medical call. Goodnight, Gilbert.”

She had released his hand and closed the door behind her when finally Gilbert had found the strength in his to whisper, “Goodnight Anne.”

#anne of green gables #anne with an e #shirbert #shirbert ff #shirbert fic #tessa writes

14 notes · View notes

i-gotta-pencil · 5 years

Text

I watched Into The Woods.. here's my thoughts :)

Just a heads up this contains spoilers for this show

Here's the version I was watching it's most of the OBC and it's proshot

undefined

youtube

ACT 1

Thenarrator is in a modern suit I'm d y i n g

I don't like that the bakers wife that old

Jacks mom just kinda bugs me

Cinderella is pretty cool

Little red is a mood

I really like the step sisters dresses tho

I like the hair twisting part

I FUCKING STAN THE WITCH SJDJDJSKSK

I hate the wife :/

"I could've turned him into a stone. Or a chair. Or a jddhksak"

"I had a brother?" "NooOoO"

I really love the witch. She's so overdramatic and I would die for her.

SHE HIT HIS D I C K

SHE LEVITATES WHILE SCREAMING

Jack is a full ass adult

He also has daddy issues

He's also pretty I'd die for him

The step mother's dress is so pretty I want it

I like that the bakers wife is taller then him

Back to Jack he has to be like 6'1 atleast

I don't like little red's "Into the woods to grANdmother's house" she's trying tho so I can relate

CINDERELLAS MOM IN THE TREE. SHE'S JUST IN A TUBE IN A FAKE TREE

Cinderella dress falling? Iconic.

I love how dumb little red is cause mood

I absolutely hate hello little girl

I think the wolf has a dick and I don't stan

Little red reminds me of Shirley Temple

THE WOLF HAS A DICK WHAT THE FUCK

I love how much of a coward the baker is

He's also a dumbass so we stan

I hate the bakers wife so much

I like the set

Rapunzel is also a bit of a dumbass

Little Red is like the same height as the baker and she's wearing flats

I really like how little red delivers her lines cause she delivers them like her teacher forced her to be in the schools spring show

Her costume is also very cute

The baker kissed little red's cheek and she wiped it off and that made me laugh

Also jack is taller than his house

I live for Cinderellas dress for the festival

The bakers wife is a fucking hoe

I really like one midnight gone and I'm so mad it's not in the version were doing:(

I'd die for Jack's actor and that's the tea

Cinderellas prince looks like eddie redmayne

Both of the princes are snacks.

"mooo. mooOOoo"

Rapunzels a dumbass part 2

THE BAKERS WIFE IS SO MEAN

I love rapunzels outfit tho

I also high key love stay with me

The witch and rapunzels are like the only sopranos in this show but go off I guess

I know I'm supposed to hate the witch but you can't make me

I have a love hate relationship with the mysterious man

LITTLE RED'S LAUGH OMG

Also Jack is supposed to be either younger or the same age as Little Red and he is so much taller than her

Rapunzels Princes fall, scream, then another fall is a mood

I'd like to say again that Cinderellas dress is really pretty

Like I'm gonna be really disappointed when she goes back into her village outfit

"Ah don't do that"

The stewards hair makes me concerned

"Shut. Up"

"AhhhhhhhhhhAhAhAhAhAh"

The baker just picking up the cow the yelling that it's too heavy

That bakers little dances

I FUCKING LOVE THE WITCH SHE CAN FUCK ME UP

SHE'S A HOT THOT

CAREFUL MY TOE IS AMAZING

Cinderellas prince leaping onto the horse is a mood

RAPUNZELS PRINCR FUCKING TRIPPED AGAIN

The witch said tits out and I'm here for it

When her cane/wand broke in half smoke came out and I like that

I wish we did a "huge" dance thingy for our show in Ever After

There's like no dancing in our show and that makes me salty

ACT 2

Jacks a man now

Cinderellas queen dress is so pretty

One of the stepsister just full on ran into Cinderellas Prince

I also really like the stepfamily outfits (I haven't seen the dad's outfit yet but it normally sucks :/)

Rip the Baker' s house

THE WITCHES OUTFIT FOR ACT 2 ALSO FUCKS ME UP

I LOVE HER

"who you gonna tell?"

The bakers wife outfit is still the same as act 1 and I still hate it

"I haven't been OUTSIDE all day!"

"allRIGHT"

I just realized little red's wolf cape is just the whole wolf fur

I don't think I've mentioned how cool the stage is

Rapunzel just like me is easily frightened

Rapunzels whole character is just a mental breakdown

Agony (reprise) is a bop

RIP THE NARRATOR NOW THERE'S NO OUTSIDE VOICE

The giants voice bugs me

I really love Rapunzel entering by screaming cause mood

RIP RAPUNZEL WITH YOU DYING HERE I GET TO SIT BACKSTAGE FOR LIKE AN HOUR. YOU ALSO CAUSE THE BOP OF WITCH'S LAMNET.

RIP JACK'S MOM YOU WERE KINDA A BITCH TO JACK. BUT YOUR DEATH WAS DEFINITELY THE STUPIDEST.

this is the only moment the wife is caring and she's gonna die in like 2-3 songs

HERE'S THE WIFE IS A FUCKING CHEATER SONG

Tbh the only reason why I don't like Any Moment is because I like the guy who plays Cinderellas Prince in our show and I might be jealous but shhhh

THEY GONNA FUCK

RIP CINDERELLAS MOTHERS GRAVE. I LIKED HOW IT WAS SET UP.

I still really love Cinderella and I guess this outfit is ok...

I really like the wife's hair down and it's only been down for like 1 song and she's gonna die soon

I really like her song tho. It's really fun to act out

But she still is a bitch during it sooo...

RIP BAKERS WIFE I ABSOLUTELY HATE YOUR CHARACTER. AND YOU HAVE NO REDEEMING QUALITIES BUT YOUR DEATH SCENE IS KINDA COOL.

I really like how nonchalant the witch says that the wife is dead

I LOVE YOUR FAULT OML

I like that little red was running around throughout it to place blame

Jack and little red shove off is great

I also wanna know where the baby went

I ALSO LOVE LAST MIDNIGHT

Jack hid behind Cinderella and little red even tho he's like 6'1

I FOUND THE BABY

I love the witchs cape

RIP WITCH YOU WERE ONE OF MY FAVORITES. YOU WENT OUT WITH A BOOM SQUISH!

The bakers outfit looks like the dad from full house

No more just rips out my heart and stomps on it

Little red's jump when she says I'm excited

No one can hold the baby correctly can they?

Cinderella throwing shade at the Prince

I love the mother/daughter relationship between Cinderella and Little Red

I'd like to restate how much I love Little Red's costume

No One is Alone is going to make me cry

I just realized Little Red's skirt is poofy enough to do like a fallout spiny thing when she turns

I like how the baker does little affectionate things to the baby

Fuck the bitch is back again and her hairs back up

But the witch is back too so :)

I like the slight vocalizing behind the witchs solo bit in children will listen

I like the ending choreography

The baby is lost again

The show is over the end.

#into the woods #into the woods broadway

4 notes · View notes

upontheshelfreviews · 6 years

Text

Of all the animated Disney films out there, few have had a history as troubled or as fascinating as The Black Cauldron. Shaped less by the average process of transforming a novel to film and more by the decade, regime, mindset towards animation and internal struggle of power of the studio that made it, The Black Cauldron is considered the black sheep of the canon; those who worked on it have few fond memories of the experience, and the result of all that blood, sweat, tears, and voodoo curses hurled in Jeffrey Katzenberg’s direction is an odd creature Disney is content to let wallow in relative obscurity. To this day it’s looked down upon by all but a few loyal fans who’ve elevated it to semi-cult status. The story of how and why this is is worth a documentary of its own.

As for my thoughts on the film itself…well…

“It’s complicated.”

I honestly can’t talk about my feelings towards The Black Cauldron without putting it into some context first. And there’s a LOT of context that needs to be explained. Hence why I’ve decided to split this review into two parts. This first half will go over the history of the movie and behind the scenes shenanigans, while Part 2, which is the review I know you’ve been anticipating, will be released next week. So if you want to avoid an engaging history lesson that discusses the climate in which The Black Cauldron was created in depth and go right to the film itself, I suggest you return at a later date. Or go watch Waking Sleeping Beauty. It’s a fascinating, personal look into the struggle that shaped Disney’s Renaissance era and they devote a good chunk of the beginning into what went down during the making of The Black Cauldron.

By the 1980’s, Walt Disney had been dead for nearly twenty years and his enterprise as a whole was lacking a good leader to keep everything together. The live-action films were woefully behind the times, Walt Disney World’s recently-opened second park EPCOT wasn’t meeting attendance expectations, and while the animated films were holding up surprisingly well, the department had to deal with their budgets continually being slashed in order to make up for the failures of the previous two branches of the company.

Politics within the animation studio threatened to tear it apart as well. It was time for the stubborn old guard of Walt’s day, which included the revered animators known as the Nine Old Men, to pass on everything they knew to a ragtag band of fresh recruits with newfangled ideas about how Disney animation should be. Needless to say there was plenty of headbutting and saltiness from each end throughout the ordeal. One of the outcomes was that two no-name pipsqueaks decided to jump ship – Don Bluth, who committed high treason in his contemporaries’ eyes by forming his own animation studio (and giving Disney some admittedly much-needed competition to get their act together), and Tim Burton, who was dissatisfied with the direction The Black Cauldron was taking and felt his own inventive if bizarre contributions were going unappreciated. Bluth is still considered a persona non grata in Disney’s circle for his mutiny, but I can imagine their parting ways with Burton going something like this:

“Tell ya what, loser, if you manage to gross over a hundred million with those weird little films of yours, we’ll make that stop-motion singing skeleton picture you always wanted!”

Things came to a head after it was announced that Disney’s next animation project would be Lloyd Alexander’s popular high fantasy series The Chronicles of Prydain – or rather, taking the first two books of said series and combining them into one 80 minute film.

“It worked for Ralph Bakshi!”

“No it didn’t.”

“Come on, what kind of cockamamie studio would we be running if we devoted an entire movie to each entry in some crummy little fairy tale saga? Or hell, splitting one book into two movies to cram everything in! How do you expect to make bank on that? We’re not made of money, you know!”

“Sir, the contractors are here to go over the building of your swimming pool to contain all your other swimming pools.”

“Thank you, Ramsley. Tell them they’ll receive their deposit once we get the box office returns on Herbie Goes Bananas.”

“Of course, sir.”

Now the 80’s were a golden age for cult fantasy flicks. You couldn’t swing a dead elf around without hitting a Labyrinth or a Princess Bride or a Last Unicorn or a kajillion overlooked Baron Munchausens. Disney tried their hand at this genre with fare such as Return to Oz and Something Wicked This Way Comes and I think they’re good films. Like, really, REALLY good films. But unfortunately they share something in common with the previously mentioned fantasy movies, and that is they were major flops upon release. Yet the animators’ toiled away under the sincere hope that The Black Cauldron would be the one to break that losing streak. They were going to do something unique, something that no other animation studio – least of all classic Disney – had ever done before…

…or they might have if the old guard hadn’t kept stepping in to curb their creativity.

I understand where the former generation was coming from; I’d be pretty grouchy too if I had to train these too-big-for-their-britches whippersnappers who were going to replace me, but one of the reasons why the Disney company was this close to declaring bankruptcy in the decades after Walt’s passing was because it was adhering dangerously close to the mentality of “What would Walt do” instead of trying new things and evolving with the times. The very idea of “What would Walt do” is a paradox; none of us – not me, not the most religious of Disney fans, not even the workers who knew him the longest – could ever really know what his course of action on creative decisions might be, and yet the one thing we do know for certain is that Walt Disney always chose to move forward instead of clinging to the formulas or modes of thinking that were deemed the most successful. His whole body of work reflects that. Walt was one of the first studio heads to embrace television as another method of entertainment instead of fearing its growing popularity over theatrical venues. He not only revolutionized the theme park business but he kept building upon what was already there to enhance the experience and bridge the gap between man and machine, rather than just letting Disneyland sit in the middle of Anaheim and churn out money while it gathered dust. And as for features, well, after he was pressured into making sequels to the successful Three Little Pigs which proved to be less popular than the first, he infamously said “You can’t top pigs with pigs!”. Walt hated repeating himself in order to triumph, and he took every opportunity to push the envelope when it came to the story or technical aspects of anything he touched. He dove head first into the new, and if he made a mistake along the way, he learned from it instead of retreating back into the safe zone. Sadly, in a misguided attempt to keep Walt’s legacy alive, the old regime forgot about that and micromanaged every aspect of the company until it became a time capsule instead of a thriving creative business.

Look no further than the artwork made during the concept stage of the film’s production if you need an example. Here’s some of what the new crowd came up with:

Pretty neat, huh? Now here’s what Milt Kahl and some of Walt’s homeboys pressed on to them.

Compare these sketches to something from Sleeping Beauty, The Sword in the Stone or any silver-era Disney film. It’s too close to the house style from back then. You’d think it was rejected concept art from one of those films. Poor Tim Burton got the worst of it. He shared some awesome ideas for the Horned King’s henchmen, his gwythaints (aka dragon things), and just about anything having to do with the guy not excluding his own living space. The animators adored them, but management, in a move that would be the last straw for Burton, told him they wouldn’t spare the time or expenses needed to revamp the look for the film.

“Redo a bunch of doodles so it’ll look like a bunch of DIFFERENT doodles?! We’re stretched for cash as it is!”

“Sir, your 30-foot diamond sculpture of yourself has arrived. Where shall I have the men place it?”

“Eh, stick it in the ballroom with all the other diamond sculptures, I’m busy!”

“Very good, sir.”

To further quash morale, the animation department was unceremoniously booted out of the original building it was housed in from back when Walt Disney built the studio. They now worked in what was basically a cramped little trailer park across the street.

Tensions were high all around.

Animation, once the lifeblood of the Disney company, was now on life support.

Certain higher-ups were even questioning if they should pull the plug and turn their focus to the parks and live-action films.

“Hmm, they did make those wacky duck cartoons I liked when I was five…then again, I’ve been wanting my own private archipelago for some time now. Oh, nobody has it harder than I do!”

“Sir, just a reminder, you have a meeting with Misters Eisner, Katzenberg and Wells at four.”

“Who?”

“Your new bosses? The former heads at Paramount Pictures? The men who greenlit hit after hit for film and television including Happy Days, Laverne and Shirley, Raiders of the Lost Ark and the Star Trek motion pictures?”

“…Doesn’t ring a bell.”

Indeed, a solution of sorts came in the form of a sweeping management makeover. Out went Ron Miller, in came Michael Eisner and Frank Wells. Together they were something unprecedented – they ran the company in a manner parallel to Walt and his brother Roy, and it WORKED. See, Walt was the idea man as well as the amicable people person; he was able to generate ideas and see them through thanks to his power of persuasion and ability to inspire others. Roy was the sensible subdued banker who calculated what could and could not be feasibly done and brought Walt’s dreams into reality. Through their lifelong partnership and ability to compromise commerce with art, they founded one of the biggest entertainment enterprises on the planet.

I’ve noticed any time where Disney’s CEO is just one person, they’re rarely able to handle that balance of creativity and finance without leaning heavily towards one aspect – which nine times out of ten is always the financial one. When it’s a partnership like these two pairs, however, the company has flourished. Wells was approachable, knew how to appeal to his employees, a good risk taker and vicariously enjoyed the process of bringing a project to fruition. Eisner was known for having some pretty stupid ideas – ideas he’d carry with him once he was given full command – but his business savvy brought the company out of the red and into a new golden age. Working together they shaped Disney into the company we know it as today. Wells was Walt, and Eisner was Roy; the only difference between them being it was Eisner who was the charming face of the company thanks to his many appearances on TV via holiday specials and the Wonderful World of Disney.

“…which is why it came as such a FUCKING HUGE STAB IN THE BACK when he cut corners in the parks, started the direct-to-video sequel line, and divorced Disney from traditional animation, the greedy bastard!! SHELF SMAAAASH!!!”

Also along for the ride at Eisner’s behest was Jeffrey Katzenberg, who was tasked with overseeing the animation studio. Eisner recognized from his years in television that there was money to be made in marketing nostalgia, and what gets people more nostalgic than Disney animation? This decision proved to be both a blessing and a curse. Sure, Jeffrey was one of the pillars in revitalizing Disney’s animated films, but his adjustment from working with the live-action medium to pencils and paper was rocky at best. He quickly developed a reputation among the staff for being passionate about his work but highly volatile. No one knew what could piss him off one day or make him laugh the next. The one certainty was that Katzenberg was a man with a mission. He wanted to bring Disney animation back to its glory days. To the days when the name Disney meant something. In his own words, to wake Sleeping Beauty.

youtube

Joel Hale, producer on The Black Cauldron, scoffed at this. He already didn’t approve of the new animators acting like privileged children and he certainly wasn’t fond of these Hollywood big shots coming in and shaking up the status quo. “Who do they think they are? Sleeping Beauty’s already awake,” he replied.

He was fired almost immediately after.

youtube

And so, down one producer, up several more, nearly seven years after production began and several million dollars over budget, The Black Cauldron finally entered the most anticipated and dreaded stage of the Hollywood assembly line, the test screening. When it got to the part with the cauldron born, animator Mike Peraza counted down to the second the moment he knew the screaming in the audience would commence. And he was right on time. According to well-documented testimonies, the children there not only screamed and cried but fled the theater. As for Katzenberg’s reaction to The Black Cauldron as a whole, it wasn’t a far cry from what was happening on screen.

Indeed, the animators succeeded in creating something Disney had never done before – and Katzenberg HATED it. It was too violent, too frightening, and too distant from all things associated with the Disney name. Granted, I can see why he would feel that way; Disney has gone dark before (The Headless Horseman, Fantasia’s Night On Bald Mountain, the entire second half of Pinocchio, you get the idea), but at this rate The Black Cauldron was coming very close to earning Disney its first R rating. Not mincing words here. The film we have today is the freaking Care Bears Movie compared to the original cut that was screened. There were some pretty gory deaths in the action scenes, the Horned King’s own demise was somehow even worse than the one we’re familiar with, and most notably the cauldron born sequence not only had them kill some unnamed henchmen onscreen but explicitly showed one dissolve alive in the mist. To this day, individual cels of that scene circulate the internet as proof of its existence, and I can only imagine the awe and terror of seeing it play out as it was meant to.

Desperate to salvage whatever he could with as minimal mental scarring as possible, Katzenberg demanded the directors cut fifteen minutes from the film. Not any specific fifteen minutes, mind you, just fifteen minutes. It went down almost exactly like the scene from Amadeus where Emperor Joseph praises Mozart’s opera but asks if he could cut a few notes because he thinks there’s too many. He thankfully backs down when Mozart pointedly asks him which notes he wants him to cut. Unfortunately, trimming a couple of seconds here and there wasn’t enough to mollify Katzenberg, and he took it upon himself to fix his own perceived problem.

Pictured: Katzenburg preparing for an editing session.

Katzenberg shocked all present when he said that this film needed to be edited. They protested that there’s no way you can edit an animated movie, to which Katzenberg replied “Of course you can!” In a way, he was correct. All films, including animated ones, can and should be edited to some degree; either to give a moment some breathing space or get to the point of a scene. The problem is, Katzenberg was NOT an experienced editor in his own right.

Imagine you’re given a fine steak to eat and someone offers to cut it for you. They trim off the fatty bits first, then carve it into equal portions. Seems good, right? But then they start to cut away parts they think may have too much gristle, or look burnt or undercooked, or has one peppercorn too many sprinkled on – parts that you might actually enjoy and would make the experience of enjoying this meal more complete – and you’re forced to watch as they turn a culinary treat into a dinner with an unfortunate amount of its flavor and meat stolen from you. Once you recognize where Katzenberg made those haphazard cuts and alterations, you see the film in a new light, like that steak. You’re left wondering what could have been, how a pretty decent movie could have become a potentially great one.

And how is it that I am privy to such arcane truths?

Because, hand to God, my boyfriend managed to procure a shooting script of The Black Cauldron that was produced before Katzenberg did his hack job.

What, you don’t believe me? Then tremble before me and despair, you heretics!

“BRING. IT. ON.”

• TO BE CONTINUED •

Artwork by Charles Moss.

Milt Kahl and Andreas Deja production sketches courtesy of Andreas Deja’s blog Deja View, which I can’t recommend enough.

October Review: The Black Cauldron (1985) PART 1 Of all the animated Disney films out there, few have had a history as troubled or as fascinating as The Black Cauldron.

6 notes · View notes

easyfoodnetwork · 5 years

Text

Loss of Smell Adds Insult to Injury for Those in Quarantine

Jimmy Vong/Shutterstock

An innocuous but annoying new COVID-19 symptom emerges

Drew Kerr realized it when he was eating sriracha on top of breakfast leftovers from Flushing’s Chinatown. Shirley Adelstein knew when she took a sip of mango seltzer. And Katy Foley discovered she had lost her sense of smell when her husband came running into the kitchen asking what was on fire. Her salmon was burning in the oven and she had no idea.

The loss of smell, which affects one’s ability to detect flavor, is one of the more innocuous suspected side effects of the novel coronavirus now spreading around the world. Last Friday, ear, nose, and throat doctors in the UK sounded the alarm on this new symptom, telling people who experience a loss of smell (ansomnia) to self isolate. Many doctors and health officials in the United States are following suit, calling for it to be added to the official list of symptoms to prevent spread from otherwise asymptomatic patients. Thirty percent of positive cases in South Korea, where testing is widespread, presented with this symptom, according to the ENT report. In Germany, two in three confirmed cases have ansomnia.

The symptom, which can last days or weeks and comes with or without congestion, is believed to be temporary and, compared with the lethal dangers of the virus, low on the list of concerns surrounding this pandemic. In the grand scheme of things, being unable to taste your wine stash for a week is not a big deal. But it can feel like an especially cruel blow to a population already deprived of social contact, daily routines, and, increasingly, ability to work.

“When you lose your sense of smell, you realize how much joy you tie up in the ritual of eating and how much joy you associate with it. Suddenly nothing is enjoyable when you put it in your mouth,” says Maisie Wilhelm, a food world consultant who is two weeks into being sick and just started to gain her sense of smell back after four days without it. “It’s so sad.”

One of the few pleasures of self quarantine is eating and drinking, cooking and baking — and plotting out what to eat, drink, cook, and bake. Traffic to recipes sites is spiking. Restaurant chefs and bartenders with a sudden surfeit of time on their hands are teaching virtual classes on Instagram and Facetime. Many Americans stocked up ahead of this pandemic with creative and ambitious cooking projects in mind. As Americans hunker down for an indeterminate amount of time at home, we turn to food.

“I was invited to some Slack groups for therapeutic baking and cooking that people have been doing and have just have no interest right now,” says cookbook author and illustrator Michele Humes, who fell ill last week and lost her sense of smell four days ago. “People are suggesting that I bake as an abstract intellectual exercise, and no I’m not doing that.”

Humes stocked up her kitchen with all the foods she thought she would want during quarantine and a potential sickness, including hundred-year eggs and pork jowls for congee, and now she only wants to eat food that’s salty. “I got a deli to delivery me a peanut butter banana smoothie. It’s just a simple thing that I can get down,” she says. Wilhelm mourns the cookie dough wasting away in her fridge that she made just before losing her sense of smell.

Kerr, a publicist who lost his sense of smell four days ago but is otherwise asymptomatic, says his inability to smell killed his ambition to cook at all. “I bought all these meats and ingredients for my kitchen and with all this isolation time, I figured I would try new recipes,” he says. Adelstein, a research analyst in D.C., is saving her best quarantine snacks like ice cream for when her senses return. “It is no fun to stress eat when you can’t taste anything,” she says.

Eater’s own Adam Coghlan in London made a stew loaded with garlic to try to shock his taste buds back to life, to no avail. Today he’s trying dishes laced with chilies, garlic, fish, and soy sauce. “I hope it brings back to life my cherished ability to taste.” Others report having tried Vick’s Vaporub, sucking on lemons, putting raw garlic on toast, eating the spiciest and the most acidic food available, and obsessively smelling vinegar bottles in desperation.

Experts say the loss of smell is the temporary effect of the virus attacking the olfactory nerve, and many COVID-19 sufferers report smelling and tasting flavor again within a few days to a week from the onset. In the meantime, Molly Birnbaum, a food writer and chef who lost her sense of smell for eight years after a car accident, suggests playing around with the other senses.

“There are a number of things I did when I couldn’t smell. One is playing around with texture, because you can still feel things in your mouth — combining smooth and crunchy things or using hot sauce because you can feel it on your tongue with the trigeminal nerves.” she says. “Also combining temperatures of things. Something hot with something cold. I ate a lot of ice cream with hot fudge when I lost my sense of smell.”

Birnbaum suggests playing with the color and the symmetry of food, and testing which foods trigger which sense receptors on the tongue. And above all else — to be patient.

• Loss of Taste and Smell Could Be Signs of COVID-19 in Otherwise Asymptomatic People [E]

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/2Jg7BYf https://ift.tt/2vQ4enQ

Jimmy Vong/Shutterstock

An innocuous but annoying new COVID-19 symptom emerges

Birnbaum suggests playing with the color and the symmetry of food, and testing which foods trigger which sense receptors on the tongue. And above all else — to be patient.

• Loss of Taste and Smell Could Be Signs of COVID-19 in Otherwise Asymptomatic People [E]

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/2Jg7BYf via Blogger https://ift.tt/2UFqcCm

#Blogger #cooking #Eater #food #recipes

0 notes