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anntoldst0ries · 4 years

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None shall sleep (Ethan x MC)

Book: Open Heart 3, post Chapter 5 Pairing: Dr Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr Noelle Valentine) Word Count/Rating: ~1.8k, T Summary: In the privacy of the diagnostic's office, Ethan & Noelle reflect on recent changes around them. Category/Warnings: Fluff, None Trope: And there was a bit of Hurt/Comfort

A/N: This chapter reminded me of things that have never been addressed... so this is a story of how things left unsaid all collided in my head. Hope you enjoy.

Also - yes, Ethan Ramsey can sing arias. Is anyone still truly surprised by the fact that this guy can do anything?

There is something mesmerizing about watching the lights of day go out, overpowered by darkness, ablaze with colours - from the depths of blue, through indigo, navy and all the way to pitch-black.

About how, in a sense, it washes away all the bothers and allows you to start anew with the next rise of the almighty sun.

Ethan Ramsey was hoping for this exactly, maybe more than ever, but all the signs showed it wasn’t in the cards for him.

Or at least not today.

He stared into the void, interwoven by occasional human figures passing by through the front lobby. No voices of the day were able to reach him on the 7th floor of his kingdom. Behind the glass wall, he was almost in a different world.

It had been yet another day that brought him more gritted teeth, holding himself back and resigned sighs, than actual satisfaction from helping those who counted on him. All these ‘activities’ were not only annoying but also highly energy-consuming.

Bringing the index and middle fingertips to his pulsating temples, he started to compress and massage them in small circles, trying to soothe the pounding inside his skull. He could hear the blood rushing through the highways of his veins, the sound almost drowning out all external stimuli.

But there were certain sounds his expert ear was trained on, the ones he would’ve recognized even in his sleep.

Like the one reaching his ears right now, the sound of the door handle being pressed.

With his back facing the door, he couldn’t see who was trying to impose on his much-needed solitude. But since the unexpected guest did not precede their ministrations by knocking, the possibilities narrowed down significantly. There were only two people on the premises of Edenbrook who could invade his personal space without a modicum of manners.

“Can I help you?” He modulated his voice to ensure the tone was expressing two things: annoyance and irony in the otherwise polite question.

“I’m sorry.” From all the voices, this one he did not expect to hear now. A melodic tone was joined by a scuffle of retreating steps. “Do you want me to go?”

Ethan curled his lips in a tiny smile. They both knew she wasn’t apologetic and that he wanted anything but her to leave.

“No, it’s just that there are only two people in this hospital that wouldn’t bother knocking and I thought it was one of them paying me a visit.”

“Let me guess… Zaid and Baz?”

“No, but in terms of concept, you were actually close…just another type of evil ‘twins’."

“Oh, you mean his majesty King Bloom & his annoyance Dr Carrick?”

“Even as a joke, it sounds creepy and horrible.”

“Well, count me as a third now. Heads up though, I will only stop knocking after twilight.”

It was clear as crystal Ethan’s already specific sense of humor had less than ever space for amusement.

“I brought you this.” She put a brown paper bag on his desk, which immediately revealed the aroma of something delicious. “I figured you’re probably gonna stay here all night, so I thought I’ll pop over and check on you.”

He didn’t say anything, staring into the darkness. Not because he didn’t want to - he simply didn’t know what. This simple gesture was very touching and filled him with gratitude. But he was lacking the right words.

Then, for the first time since she’s interrupted his train of thought, he turned around to look at her. Tired and with puffy eyes, she’d still put everyone else to shame. Even on the worst of days, the light radiating from her turned heads and made the room brighter.

She extended a hand and when their fingers touched, he felt this weird, tingly feeling that has traveled from his palm, through his arm and neck, and then straight to his core.

Pressing him gently against the edge of the desk, she took his glasses off. Then loosened his tie and nonchalantly disheveled his hair. Ethan wouldn’t let anyone else in the world touch them, let alone put them in a state of such disarray.

With her, all the rules existed only to be broken.

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on in this big brain of yours?”

“Smart move, Valentine. You’ve pacified me so that now I will have no choice but to tell you whatever you want to know.”

“You always have a choice, let’s just hope you’re gonna make the right one.”

Ethan nodded, no sound escaping his lips. She knew she’d have to take it upon herself to get any information out of her stubborn converser.

“So, how are you holding up? I want an honest answer."

“I’ve been better.”

“I thought so.”

“It’s just that… Tobias is driving me crazy. His presence really tests my patience… I don’t know if I would’ve stopped myself from punching him had it not been for you.”

“Why thank you, I didn’t know my therapeutic services were that good.”

“They are.” Ethan cleared his throat. “But it’s… not just that.”

Dead silence lingered between them and he knew he had no other choice but to continue.

“The only reason why I haven’t wiped this ridiculous smirk off his face yet is that whenever I look at him, I… I see you in that room with Travis. I’m trying to remind myself that, as much as I hate to admit it, he was crucial to finding the cure on such short notice.”

“Ethan…”

“I already told you” - he interrupted her as if not to stop the words from flowing, afraid they may be trapped forever otherwise - “that there was so much more at stake last time Tobias set foot in Edenbrook.”

She took a deep breath, her eyes going slightly wider.

“The truth is, for me… everything was at stake. I would’ve done anything he’d asked me to, I’d have forgiven him if it meant saving you.”

Elle turned still, all her body movements, her breathing and even her blinking ceased.

It was one of those moments that mean so much but leave you with so little to say.

Using the power of non-verbal communication and their deep affinity, she bestowed on him the most gentle, loving and grateful expression her face could muster after yet another exhausting shift.

Ethan extended his arm and before she realized it, her back was gently pressed to the older doctor’s chest. Having wrapped her slender frame with his broad shoulders, Elle inhaled his familiar aroma. He smelled of comfort and felt like a safe harbor. He nudged her hair with his nose and placed a featherlight kiss on the crook of her neck. She smelled of calmness and felt like coming back home from a long journey.

“So,” - he murmured directly into her ear - “whether you like it or not, I am using you to soften the blow every time I look at Tobias’ face.”

“I think I can live with that.”

“But I can’t guarantee it will always be enough, he is a cocky son of a bitch.”

“Let's make a deal then. I see how much it costs you and I’m not telling you to trust Leland or forgive Tobias, I still believe you should be cautious. Let’s just wait and see where this goes, I think we’ll know sooner rather than later. In the meantime, we should focus on what matters the most, our patients.”

“Where is the deal part?”

“If it turns out you were right, I will hold Tobias and you will punch him. Deal?”

“I believe it should be the other way round. Declan Nash’s face told me your right hook is exquisite, Rookie.”

They both laughed at the memory which seemed so distant now, almost as if it's happened in another lifetime.

But Ethan went quiet again and she felt his body tense up, his arms tightening gently around her. It wasn’t very obvious, but she knew. It still came as a shock how well she actually knew him.

“Ethan? What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Ethan.”

“I’m sorry, I am not the most cheery companion today. You’re probably better off not spending too much time with me before you turn into a cynic.”

“Dr Ramsey, what a pathetic attempt of trying to get rid of me. You’ve never been the most cheerful type and I’ve survived your gloomy companionship, hell, I think it grew on me over time. So I should be ok today, too.”

It looked like silence was very much their third companion today.

“I’m thinking about Francis.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“I’m thinking about how hard it would be not to see. So many beautiful things, colors, all turning into nothingness.”

“I take it you mean the opera?”

“That too, but let’s just say I’ve learned to appreciate things that are right in front of my nose… literally and figuratively.”

The butterflies started somersaulting in her stomach.

“I didn’t want to add more to your plate at the time, but I’ve already felt this way… when we diagnosed Caroline and Leland.”

It was funny that, despite his obvious animosity towards Bloom, whenever his wife was in the picture, he spoke about both in an almost affectionate way. His doctor’s instincts were kicking in, because first and foremost he was a doctor who had his patients’ best interest at heart.

“The thought of not being able to touch you…it reminded me of touching you through the layer of hazmat suit. And now with everything Francis has been through, I just can’t be bothered to think about anything else but you. This is my true personal connection to this case.”

It was her turn to be speechless.

Ethan tightened his grip over her once again, this time protectively rather than out of stress. Slow hum started filling the air, the melody soon joined by lyrics, which he sang in fluent Italian; a private concert, performed for her and her only.

Tu pure, oh Principessa

Nella tua fredda stanza

Guardi le stelle

Che tremano d'amore

E di speranza**

She remembered their patient’s face, which seemed calmer once Ethan started singing the aria before the depths of illness contorted it with pain.

Francis' husband's words echoed throughout her head.

Even though the man holding her in his arms didn’t say it, there was no need.

She knew.

He will always be here.

And she will always be here, too.

-----

** Lyrics - aria "Nessun Dorma" (‘None shall sleep’) from the opera "Turandot".

Translation:

Even you, oh Princess,

In your cold room,

Watch the stars,

That tremble with love

And with hope.

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#ethan ramsey x mc #open heart #open heart fanfiction #ethan ramsey #playchoices #ethan x noelle

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whatiwillsay · 4 years

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t 2017 playlist analysis

Alright folks, whether you’re newly indoctrinated in the swiftgron faith, or have been here for a while, buckle up because boy is there crack coming your way. It should be important to note that these are of course reaches and should be taken with a grain/pound of salt. What you’re about to read is a lyrical analysis of a playlist made by Dianna on her private spotify, titled ‘t 2017.’ Therefore, the only real ‘evidence’ we have to make connections lies in the lyrics, and the general vibe of the playlist.

The following lyrical analyses stems from the idea that Taylor and Dianna may, and I strongly say may have hooked up, possibly around late 2016, or early 2017 (right when this playlist was made). If you haven’t already, I highly suggest reading Cam’s Swiftgron timeline that she has meticulously and laboriously outlined for all of us, so you have more background knowledge on any reaches/connections made. Also listen to her pod for extra serotonin cause I know you bitches want it. Anyway, I digress– I’ll be pointing out only the songs/lyrics that I think are most relevant (and to make this post shorter, I apologize in advance) but I urge y’all to take a look at each songs’ lyrics to see for yourself, because some of these songs seem loud af. Ok happy reading!

Genesis- Grimes

My heart, I never feel I never see I never know Oh, heart And then it falls And then I fall And then I know

This verse talks about the unpredictable nature of love, you never know when those feelings could come rushing in, and there could be days when you feel like you’re never going to love again– gives me cowboy like me vibes with that particular sentiment.

Home and I know Playing the deck above It’s always different I am the one in love

Ok I don’t think this one needs any explanation other than tis the damn season.

1998- Chet Faker

We used to be friends We used to be inner circle I don’t understand What have I become to you

This verse is giving me major the 1 vibes– “rosé flowing with your chosen family” kinda thing. Relationships (yes, even hookups) are hard, especially when you go from knowing someone like the back of your hand, to a being a mere memory. It’s even harder when you run in the same social circles and are bound to bump into each other. What are you to do with all those unresolved emotions/lack of closure? I just find this a bit funny because two years later at SNL, Dianna is actually considered Taylor’s ‘inner circle’ at the afterparty.

Drops- Jungle

When you’re so high, you When you fall from the sky, you So come down from the clouds Come down on me

I’ve been loving you too long

This song sort of encapsulates the feeling of love that is intoxicating, one might even say addicting. In that sense, I’m getting major Style vibes, in that they keep coming back to each other because of that high and intoxicated love. More than anything, this verse reminds me of Clean, and of course Dianna’s infamous tweet, “withdrawals…clearly we had fun” (see Cam’s swiftgron masterpost/timeline for receipts).

Ritual Union- Little Dragon

Straight off the bat, this song gives off major infidelity vibes (something Taylor has been obsessed with as evidenced by Evermore, and of course Babe which btw had a lot of social media signalling/shenanginas happening in 2017/2018). Perhaps Winston was the cuck after all and we did get a swiftgron hookup?

Ritual union’s got me in trouble again I was wonderin’ of a white dress And the mistress And a spirit holding my hand!

You do the math with that one– ivy anyone?

Daniel- Bat For Lashes

Daniel when I first saw you I knew that you had a flame in your heart And under our blue skies Marble movie skies I found a home in your eyes We’ll never be apart

I only have two words to explain this verse– Begin Again

But in a goodbye bed With my arms around your neck Into our love the tears crept Just catch in the eye of the storm

With this verse in particular, there’s this sense of a heartbreaking parting of ways in a relationship. It feels eerily similar to This Love– “your kiss, my cheek, I watched you leave.” There’s also a mention of a storm, and we all love a good old storm in the swiftgron universe (Clean, DBATC, CIWYW).

Can’t Do Without You- Caribou

I swear to god these are the only two lyrics

Can’t do without

I can’t do without you

Make of that what you will.

Touch- Shura

This was the song that had me fully convinced that swiftrgon might’ve hooked up again in the recent past. It’s so fucking loud and I did audibly gasp when I read these lyrics. I’m so tempted to post the entire song because honestly every lyric fits their narrative almost to a t, but I’ll try putting the loudest lyrics here.

There’s a love between us still But something’s changed and I don’t know why And all I wanna do is go home with you But I know I’m out of my mind

This love is good, this love is bad. This slope is treacherous, I like it. If the hookup did happen, it’s clear that it’s a bit hard to just pick up immediately from where you left off. Of course there’s still a lot of love there, it just takes time for those years to melt away.

I wanna touch you but I’m too late I wanna touch you but there’s history I can’t believe that it’s been three years Now when I see you, it’s so bittersweet

Ok this is basically swiftgron’s story right here, I mean come on?!?

I’m running down a dream like Tom Petty, I’m a heartbreaker But then you changed up a relationship, I’m mostly bankrupt There’s a new kid on your block, I gotta hang tough

Cowboy like me anyone?

Yeah, the effect of touch hands is like a miracle How is it you’re halfway across the world when I’m still feeling you? Just a touch of my love, just a little bit Ain’t no love without trust, we gotta deal with this

Gives me treacherous and wonderland vibes– “I’ll do anything you say if you say it with your hands” and “you searched the world for something else to make you feel like what we had.”

iT- Christine and the Queens

I feel like this song gives off major Reputation vibes– controlling your narrative/ ridiculing what other people thought you were, etc.

With it I become the death Dickinson feared With it I’m the red admiral on his ship And I raise with infants for my coronation I’ve ruled over my all my dead impersonations

‘Cause I’ve got it I’m a man now

Sunday Love- Bat For Lashes

This is a literal weekend hookup anthem (major tis the damn season vibes) and is also one of the other songs that convinced me of the swiftgron hookup. Again, please look at all the lyrics and deduce for yourself and freak out like I did, but I’m putting the loudest lyrics down.

See her in blue eyes Numb and shining In the face of strangers In the city lights Where he’s climbing Cupid’s diving And I know that she’s come To spend the night

She is in my bedroom Now I can’t fight

Blue eyed lady coming to your house to fuck you. Ok Dianna, real subtle with that. I’m joking but I snorted when I saw this lyric.

I see her in every place I go Sunday love is so cold Even though I’m falling apart I want Sunday love in my heart

You could call me babe for the weekend cause it’s the damn season. Also “I see you everywhere the only thing we share is this small town.”

Sweet Talk- Jessie Ware

There’s never any doubts when i need you It’s just that you can always make me feel like I am slipping in way too deep And let the shadows hope to hide or break the dreaming, dreaming of us

The vibe of this song is that there’s someone who always pulls you in because they know exactly what to say. They found wonderland and got lost in it.

Dear To Me- Electric Guest

When it’s bad Feels like I don’t know which way I should go But over time I come back and remember The one thing that I know

You’re dear to me and I know

I know I’ve tied so many songs to ttds, but I guess it’s all the more reason to claim that one for swiftgron nation? This verse reminds me of “the road not taken looks real good now, and it always leads to you and my hometown.”

Got It Bad- Leisure

This song was added much later to the playlist on Taylor’s birthday in 2019. All other songs were added early feb of 2017. With this song, I don’t get much except cowboy like me vibes.

Got our different ways with the same old payout Had our own dreams with the same old outcome Had a bad extreme and the same old break down Worked it to the bone with the same old habit

Et voila, that’s the end! I know this was super long so thanks for sticking through. Again please note that these reaches were made because we are a little biased through a swiftgron lens. It’s very possible that Dianna simply likes these songs and put it on a playlist, but let’s be real, gays practically communicate through spotify. This is not fact and not proof for anyone to hound Dianna or invade in her or Taylor’s personal life, this is just for swiftgron fun. That said, I’m personally inclined to believe that something did happen between Taylor and Dianna in 2017 possibly. That’s all I have to say, thanks!

submission⬆️⬆️⬆️

ANON THIS WAS AMAZING YOU JUST MADE MY MORNING!!!

you should make a gaylor blog if you don’t have one already we NEED more of this content!

#swiftgron #gaylor swift #t 2017 playlist #best of #submission

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ghostiesblog · 3 years

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happy 100 followers!!!!!!!!! could you write a small flarrie secret admirer drabble? if not that’s totally ok!! congrats again!!!

Thank you anon!!! This is NOT a small drabble lmao I have no concept of doing anything in moderation. Might even edit it a bit in a while and post it on ao3. Thank you for the awesome prompt. Here ya go:

I'm not magical, I can't read your mind

Pairings: Flarrie | Warnings: none

There’s a rose on Flynn’s desk. There’s a rose on Flynn’s desk. And she has no idea who put it there.

Well- she does know who put it there, she knows that it’s Nick’s job this year to distribute the Valentine’s Day roses and messages, a school tradition that Flynn normally despises and mocks to no end. But someone must have bought the rose, addressed it to her and handed it in and Flynn absolutely cannot fathom who would do that for her.

Definitely not the person she wishes this was from. But now is not the time to think about that.

Almost frantically, she scans the rose for an attached message, or at least an indication about who the sender is.

Nothing. In fact, it looks like the cardboard tag has been ripped off, leaving only the corner with her own name, attached to a piece of string.

“Ooh”, Julie says, waggling her eyebrows, when she spots Flynn puzzling over her flower. “Who’s this from?”

“No idea”, Flynn says, dragging her thumb across the jagged edges of the destroyed tag. “No idea…”

Later in the hallway, Flynn tries her best to stealthily transfer the rose from her backpack into her locker. She fails, obviously, because she when she looks around she catches Carrie blatantly staring at her from a few feet away.

“What?” she snaps, irritably. Yes, Carrie has very clearly been trying to be nicer to both her and Julie, but Flynn is still weary of this new found peace.

She also might be a bit annoyed simply because she got a rose and it isn’t from Carrie.

Immediately, something in Carrie’s posture changes and her face scrunches up.

“Nothing”, she says. “Just wondering who’s stupid enough to send you a rose.”

Flynn feels like she’s been punched in the chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?!” she says incredulously.

“Don’t you hate valentine’s day?” Carrie asks and now Flynn is just confused. Why does she still remember that?

“It’s anonymously”, Julie chimes in unhelpfully. “From a secret admirer”

She sings those last words teasingly, like she’s done all the way through English lesson. Like she has any room to talk with the songs Luke and her write about each other on the daily.

Carrie raises an eyebrow, seemingly unimpressed.

“Someone sent you a rose and didn’t even write their name? That’s so stupid.”

“It’s not-“, Flynn starts and then breaks off. Why does she suddenly feel defensive over this anonymous sender?

“Sounds like a coward to me”, Carrie says with a sickly sweet smile before turning away. “See you in music”, she calls and disappears down the hallway.

“What has made her revert back to demon today?” Julie says, sounding as confused as Flynn feels.

Flynn doesn’t expect any follow up after the rose on Valentine’s Day. It has been fun coming up with more and more wild theories with Julie and the band (the latest being that it’s a ghost who has fallen for Flynn when they saw her setting up the lightshow at the Orpheum), but to Flynn at least it is clear that that was the end of it.

So when she finds a small envelope on her desk the next morning, it takes her a bit to figure out what’s happening here.

Inside, she finds a small piece of paper with, curiously enough, words clearly written by a real typewriter on it.

To: Flynn

I’m sorry I’m a mess,

But you simply make me speechless.

I couldn’t let you go without a note,

After I trashed the first one I wrote,

So let me just say, though this is nothing new,

I seem to have hopelessly fallen for you.

When Carrie catches Julie and Flynn pouring over the poem during lunch while walking past their table, she scoffs.

“A bit cliché, don’t you think?”

Flynn scowls and hides the note with her hand. “Go away Carrie”

“The meter’s off”, Carrie says haughtily before stalking off.

“How did she spot that so fast?” Julie exclaims incredulously.

The next note shows up in Flynn’s bag while she’s working on a Spanish presentation with Nick and Carrie.

Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

I like your music,

And your rapping too

“Now that’s just tacky”, Carrie says, while spying over Flynn’s shoulder.

Flynn rolls her eyes.

Flynn,

No poem today, just wanted to say that your smile made my day.

“They’re not even trying anymore, are they?” Carrie mocks.

With your gentle soul and your kind eyes,

You chase away the clouds in the skies,

Never met a person, so loyal and strong

And anyone who had you, would be a lucky one.

“Skies? This sounds ridiculous!”

Flynn curses the fact that Carrie keeps seeing these.

I’d write you a song, but no melody is beautiful enough to fit you.

Even Julie calls that one cheesy but for once, even though she sits right there with them, Carrie has nothing to say.

Flynn looks on confused while Carrie scribbles into her notebook with a pinched expression on her face, pen gripped so tightly that it looks like it might break any second.

“She needs to finish this new Dirty Candy song by tomorrow”, Nick explains.

“Yeah and I hate everything I write the second it’s on the page!” Carrie growls, clearly completely lost in whatever she’s dealing with.

I try to tell you every day,

But you just take my breath away

These rhymes seem silly and never enough

Forgive me, I am blinded by love

“Coming on a bit strong there.”

And she’s back.

Hi Flynn,

I think I’m giving up on the rhyming- It’s a bit strange, isn’t it? Also I swear I’m not a stalker! Just a girl who likes you a lot and is too scared to tell you.

You looked so pretty at the dance yesterday, and you were awesome as a DJ- you always are.

“Surely you must be fed up with this nonsense by now?” Carrie asks, when Flynn passes her on her way out of the classroom, the newest note folded neatly in her hand.

The thing is- Flynn is annoyed. But not exactly by the letters. Her secret admirer is sweet and earnest, seems to love music as much as Flynn and all of her friends do and the little poems always brighten her day.

What’s annoying is that she still can’t figure out who this mysterious person with a crush on her is. And that the person she wishes it was is intend on mocking the whole thing to the best of her abilities.

Every time a new note shows up, Carrie is there, ready to tear it into pieces with pointed words and vicious critiques.

Flynn tries to not let it affect her too much. Otherwise, Carrie has been perfectly civil, friendly even and it feels like a bit of their old friendship is restoring, slowly, piece by piece. And what she says about the letters is mostly directed at this person that none of them really know, not at Flynn herself.

It still feels personal, somehow.

Flynn,

I had a bad day today, but you were really nice to me. It made it all a bit better. Thank you.

It’s when Carrie one day snatches one of the notes right out of Flynn’s hand to call it “embarrassing”, “awkward” and “clumsy”, that something in her just snaps.

“You know what Carrie”, she says, loudly, almost shouting it even, “can you, for once, just keep your unnecessary comments to yourself?”

Almost immediately, Carrie’s arrogant smile falls and Flynn uses the moment of surprise to steal back her piece of paper.

“You’ve been so mean to this person. I don’t know what your issue is here but I need you to back off on the attitude. I might not know who this is from, so I don’t even know if I like whoever is writing these but I like the letters.”

Carrie looks absolutely shocked, completely frozen in place, her jaw clenched tightly. Good.

“Yes, they might not be perfect”, Flynn barrels on, “but they’re honest, and raw and so, so kind and I can tell that they come from the heart and isn’t that the most important thing?!”

Without waiting for an answer, Flynn picks up her bag that she leaned against the lockers when she discovered the note and brushes past Carrie. She knows she’s a bit too worked up, but it has been a trying week.

Only a few moments later she realizes that she saw tears forming in Carrie’s eyes.

In Spanish class, Flynn notices the glaring absence of Carrie in the seat in front of her and a little bit of guilt starts building up inside of her. She has no idea what’s going on, but something clearly is up so after their teacher finally lets them go, Flynn goes on to try and find Carrie.

The music room is one of the first places Flynn thinks of and sure enough, she can hear gentle piano notes and Carrie’s voice singing very quietly drifting through the slightly cracked door.

Before barging in, Flynn stops short when she recognizes parts of the lyrics. Is that- one of the poems she received only a week ago?

Slowly, she tiptoes into the room. What she sees is Carrie, cross-legged at the piano, bent over her notebook full of scribbles that she’s clearly reading from and that somehow contain parts of the poetry that has been a big mystery to Flynn and all of her friends for so long. Just now Carrie’s singing the words that are undeniable not just poems, but song lyrics, and she has added onto them and-

Flynn doesn’t understand anything anymore.

“Carrie!” she says, before she can stop herself. Carrie flinches and bolts away from the piano, the chair clattering down to the floor in the process.

“Flynn”, she breathes, looking terrified.

“I-“, Flynn stutters, “What’s going on? Is this some kind of prank?” She doesn’t think she could take that.

“No!” Carrie yells and immediately winces at her volume. “No, I would never do that to you”

“Then why-“, Flynn is getting more confused every second, “you wrote those? I thought you hated- the notes, I though you hated the notes”

To her horror, Carrie is now actually crying.

“I do hate the notes, I mean I feel so stupid, you hate Valentine’s Day and then I send you a rose, but I just- I like so much and I didn’t know what to do and I wanted to tell you but I couldn’t and then I wrote you those notes but they always sounded so stupid to me”

Carrie is full on panic rambling now and Flynn is barely processing all this new information that is thrown at her.

“I just couldn’t stop myself and then you said you actually like the notes? But I know you’d never like me, as a person, I mean I am awesome as a performer but horrible as a friend, let alone as a girlfriend and-“

“Carrie-“, Flynn tries to intersect, “Carrie!”

Carrie stops and finally looks at her, wide eyed.

“I do like you, as a person”, Flynn says. Her heart is beating out of her chest but she is not letting this go.

“I- what?” Carrie looks as confused as Flynn felt just a minute ago. “You do?”

“Yes”, Flynn says and now she can’t stop the smile on her face, “I really like you. Actually, I always wished those notes were from you.”

Carrie blinks. “You. Okay. Okay. Um- I really didn’t-“

Flynn laughs. “Deep Breaths Carrie.”

“I don’t really know what to do with this now, I’m not good at all this”, Carrie says, waving her hands around but she’s smiling too now, wider with every moment.

“How about a date? Milkshakes?” Flynn asks and she doesn’t even feel afraid anymore.

“Yes”, Carrie says, her eyes sparkling with happiness. “I’d love that.”

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #flarrie #flynn jatp #carrie wilson #fic #writing #prompts

9 notes · View notes

pippki-writes · 3 years

Text

An Ill-Fitting Name: Snippet 4

NOTES:

Snippet 1

Snippets 2 & 3

Features lyrics from Danny Schmidt’s “This Too Shall Pass”

Faoust belongs to @thebiggestnerd - she writes him, the healer (whose contribution I summarized in this snippet, I don’t think she comes up again much for our murderboy here so I didn’t go too in depth with her) - everyone else is mine.

Longer post, 8,066 words folks! Buckle up.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

The name is like an ill-fitting coat, but it’s either wear it, or go naked in the cold, metaphorically speaking. He knows Faoust will kill him, but he’s not dead yet.

The officer sitting outside the room tilts her chair back on its legs, in one ear her radio turned low and largely ignored, holding her phone out playing music and keeping her other ear tilted to the room and its occupant for signs of life. He listens to the music coming from her phone:

We think too big

We think our self is one whole thing

And we claim that this collection

Has a name and is a being

But deep inside

When every cell divides

Well, it sets upon the rule that states

Self-interest is divine

He scrapes out an involuntary cough, and the officer lets her chair fall forward as she twists to check on him.

She tries to interrogate him, but he can’t talk, and only whispers “no.” He writes on her notepad, “I’m expecting a visitor,” and refuses to communicate further. His intuition is that Faoust will come here for him eventually, though he doesn’t know how long Faoust will let him live. Maybe Faoust won’t come while he’s in the hospital. But hovering over the edge of the pain, death feels certain and he knows where it will come from.

Finally, a visitor arrives. He hears the footsteps approaching, certainly heavier than any of the nurses that have tended to him, and the sound of a respectful shuffling in place, acknowledging the officer guarding his hospital room.

A familiar voice speaks. “Hey. I’m here to see my friend Asmodai, officer…?”

He can hear the sound of the officer crossing her arms, but she neither gets up nor offers her name. “Don’t suppose you might be able to tell me what the hell happened to him and how he ended up here?”

“Nah, wish I could. Is he ok?”

“He’s not in great shape. I’m not a doctor but he’s bad off. And not the kind of bad off that happens accidentally.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Almost as crazy as whoever did this. You don’t have any ideas?”

“Nah. I’m not really an ideas guy. Just a guy who worries about my friends. Can I go see him or...?”

The officer gives a defeated little grunt. “Yeah, sure. Go ahead. We can talk later.”

Dorien walks into the room as though he belongs there. Machines. IVs. In the middle of the room, bed propped up, staring at him, there’s that bastard Asmodai. Dorien takes a moment to breathe, staring back, looking angry. Dorien reminds himself why he is here. Not to kill him. Not to bring retribution. Just information to help Faoust. He clenches and unclenches his hands.

It takes Dorien a moment to realize what Asmodai is doing. The slight, strange sound, chest heaving—he is, very quietly, laughing.

He hasn’t come to terms with how to refer to himself—he is no more Isaiah than he was Asmodai, but he supposes, out of respect for the wish of a self who once knew what it wanted, he will call himself Isaiah until it fits. Or until he’s dead.

Isaiah laughs until the sound breaks into a cough. For starters, this was not the visitor he was expecting. And he can see why he would have been drawn to Dorien. Tall, dark-haired, handsome, and vulnerable. So many of his favorite things. The wizard Asmodai, before he stole his name, had been much the same.

Dorien keeps himself in check, and comes closer to the bedside. He doesn’t want the officer to hear him.

“What’s so fucking funny?” Dorien growls quietly.

Isaiah frowns. Talking will be an effort. He can’t even breathe too deeply, thanks to Dorien’s best attempts to slowly crush his ribs the other night after what he tried to do to Faoust. This is merely a fact—he doesn’t feel particular malice over it. He tries to choose his words carefully, so as not to waste them. There’s no volume, only whispering, but even the whispers are so resolute, so final. The playfulness of Asmodai is gone.

“Too much...to explain. What ...do you want...to know?”

Dorien folds his arms, lest he be tempted to do anything. “C’mon, what do you think I’d be here wanting to know. The magic-blocking cuffs. How do we take them off? Where’s the key?”

Isaiah shakes his head. “Didn’t get...a key. Wouldn’t...have wanted it.”

Dorien glares down at the bastard who nearly succeeded at killing the love of his life, and proceeds to try to get information out of him while texting Faoust. The conversation is slow going. The answers Dorien gets are halting and unsatisfying.

Faoust texts Dorien: "I want to know what he thinks should happen next."

Dorien looks down at Asmodai. “So what do you think should happen next?”

Isaiah sighs, unfazed. “Talking...not exactly....easy. Paper? Pen? Your phone?”

Dorien looks around for paper. He’s dumb, but not dumb enough to hand over his phone. He finds a notepad and a cheap pen in the desk drawer, and throws them on Asmodai’s lap.

Isaiah scribbles, handwriting messy and difficult on the flimsy pad, “He kills me for what” a scribble then, crossing out an “As,” and the writing resumes, “I’ve done. Why wouldn’t he? It’s inevitable.”

Dorien tears the paper off the notepad and holds it up, taking a picture to send to Faoust. “You’ve really fucked up, Asmodai.”

Isaiah’s mouth twitches a little at the name.

Above the top of the note, in the picture, Faoust can see Asmodai staring at the camera. There is no fear, nothing pathetic in the way he looks. Resolute. Certain. Final.

Faoust frowns. He had hoped for a bit more fight. But this is sort of like putting down a rabid dog at this point. It's not enjoyable for anyone involved.

Faoust: "tell him I'm disappointed that it came to this"

Faoust: "tell him I'll be there soon. As soon as my magic is back"

Dorien reads his phone, and before he can speak another note is being waved at him that reads “tell him come talk to me himself. This is fucking ridiculous.” Dorien sighs and snatches the note, snapping a picture for Faoust. There is a touch of defiance in Isaiah’s eye.

Faoust's lip curls in irritation and a tiny bit of embarrassment. Fine.

Faoust makes his way to the hospital, to the third floor, to the charge nurse.

“Looking for my friend,” says Faoust, “A John Doe?”

The charge nurse points with a pen. “The room with the officer. There’s already a visitor and technically I shouldn’t let too many people visit at once, but you know what? The world is hell. This hospital is hell. Go nuts.”

“Amen,” Faoust replies, heading over to the officer. “Hi, I'm here for my friend. I guess I have to answer questions first?”

The officer squints up at him suspiciously. “Damn, did the city call a prettyboy convention and I missed the memo?” She lets the chair rest back on all four legs. “I dunno, what do you know about what happened to your friend?”

“Not much. We were out partying, I know pandemic and all, but spare me the lecture. I told him goodbye and to call me when he got home but he never did.” Faoust pauses. “I heard he's bad. Maybe a hit and run?”

“Sure. Sure. Right.” The officer eyes him for a moment. “You’re a better liar than your friend. Go on in.”

“Liar? I- ugh. Fine.” He gives up on the officer and goes in the room.

“Alright you piece of shit. I'm here. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Isaiah looks at Faoust appreciatively. Yeah, he can see why he did all that shit. He sighs, wishing he could just fucking talk, and settles for hurriedly writing on the notepad.

Dorien mutters softly to Faoust. “He can’t talk..apparently.”

Faoust chuckles a little. “I should expect so.”

Isaiah rips off the note and holds it out. It begins with “A” scratched out and then “I resented the power you had over me. Wanted you to suffer. Wanted to kill you, and Dorien, and take your name, take your power. And didn’t want to kill you. Wanted to fuck and kill with you. Poorer judgment won out. Tried to make you suffer.” He sighs, frustrated at the time it takes to write, already writing on a new note.

Faoust reads the note and sighs. It was just as he thought.

“I wanted to just keep it fun and casual.” Faoust grits out through his teeth, “Why did you have to complicate things?”

Isaiah tosses Faoust a finished note: “No point in apologies. Won’t change what was done. No actions to right it” and starts writing a response to the question, tapping the pen on his chin, thinking.

“Wasn’t as fun fucking and killing without you. Didn’t like that.”

“That's called friendship, you absolute dolt.”

Isaiah pauses, and writes “Asmodai didn’t do well with having friends.”

Faoust runs his hands through his hair in exasperation. “Wait-Asmodai? Third person? Who the fuck are we talking to then?”

Isaiah makes a face. It’s difficult to explain. He writes. “I am. Was. Asmodai. For too long I think.”

He pauses, rolls his eye. He doesn’t feel like Isaiah either.

“I did what he did. But don’t feel what he felt, anymore. Memories, yes. Feeling? No.”

Faoust pauses. “So is..is Asmodai gone?”

“Depends on what you mean. The me that felt what he—I felt?”

Isaiah makes a quiet frustrated noise and slams the pen down. He is so tired of writing. He jots another note, mindful of trying to do magic around either of them. “Can I try magic on my voice? You mind?”

Faoust shrugs. “Go for it.”

Isaiah holds his right hand around his throat, eye closed. Healing has never been his strong suit, but he knows enough to get by. He just needs to be able to talk. His hand glows faintly.

When he speaks, his voice is rough, not much volume to it but it’s more than a whisper.

“If I don’t feel the things I felt when I called myself Asmodai, am I Asmodai?”

Faoust thinks. This complicates matters. “I'll be frank. If I were to leave you be, what would you do? Don't lie to me.”

“I would leave you alone.” Isaiah shrugs. “The things I ...Asmodai...I felt, I know them. Factually. I don’t feel them anymore.” He looks at Faoust sharply. “But I am responsible for what I did.”

Faoust thinks for a moment. “This is complicated. I'll need some time with this. What do you think you'll do when you're out of the hospital?”

“What do you mean, when I’m out of the hospital? You’re going to kill me. No further planning needed.”

“Well, I was thinking about waiting when you got out of the hospital regardless.”

Isaiah sighs. “Wish I’d known that sooner. Might’ve kept this magical existential crisis at bay.” He shakes his head. “No. Probably not. Asmodai—I. Fucked up too much. There was no way he...I...would win. It’s certain. You will kill me.” He shakes his head again.

“Look. I don't want to kill you. Asmodai. At all. At this point it's about putting down an animal. That's all. And now there's this whole thing that you're not even who I knew anymore? This complicates things. Shit, if I were to kill you, it wouldn't even feel right.”

Isaiah makes a frustrated noise. “Fuck. The only reason I’m like this is because you’re going to kill me.”

“Do you want me to kill you?”

Isaiah dodges the question. “Back when I started killing to take power and names, I bound my own name away, far beyond my memory, and it would only come back if I was certain I was going to die. So I could die not as whatever fucking asshole whose name I stole. But as myself. Or at least. In the name I was born with, right?

“I was Asmodai. I was happy being Asmodai. But now?

“I’m no more Asmodai than I am this damn name my shit mother gave me.”

Faoust thinks. “Well, look. Fine. I'll kill you. Put you down. But I have to wait. I can't do anything until I have my magic back.”

Isaiah twists his lips a little. “Hm. Can’t help there. Told your boy here, I don’t have a key for the cuffs.”

This whole time, Dorien has just been watching, arms crossed and not believing this bullshit.

“Yeah,” Faoust says, “I heard. I've just got to wait. So you've got to wait.”

Isaiah sighs again. “Isaiah. Isaiah James. My name.” He shrugs. “Me. Not me.”

Isaiah twists his lips briefly in disgust at the taste of his own name on his tongue. “If you’re going to kill me, you ought to have my name.”

Faoust nods and rubs his face. “Look, I'll put you down. I will. But it's going to take like at least a week for me to get my magic back.”

Isaiah gives another shrug. “You know where to find me. I know what I’ve done. It’s only right.”

“Alright. You're not going anywhere?”

Isaiah gives him a flat look. “Where and how the hell would I manage to do that?”

“I mean, you've got magic. I don't. You could pull out some magic to take yourself somewhere.”

Isaiah rubs his fingers together on his right hand, little sparks arcing between them as he stares vacantly at his hand. “Where would I go? For what purpose? I know my fate.”

Faoust nods, satisfied. “Alright. Well then, we'll be on our way. You've got my number.”

Isaiah nods, dismissing the sparks. “I’ll be waiting.”

Isaiah wonders if it’s worth healing himself--physically, at any rate. He closes his eye and takes stock of all his pain. So many choices. And what else is he supposed to do with his time? The burns, he thinks, he will work on those. He hovers his right hand over his burned forearm, wrapped loosely in the day’s fresh gauze, and slowly works a healing spell, distracted by memories of the fight. Remembering the moment it all turned on him, when help came for Faoust while he had no one. He shakes his head, his thoughts wandering around. So many emotions that ruled him that he’s no longer bound by. Though perhaps he should be. He ought to be more angry. But he is mostly hollowed out. He does not even notice when his thoughts slip over the witch and his magic doesn’t so much as flicker, the healing steadily and slowly knitting in his skin.

Those were Asmodai’s problems.

The worst part is the waiting. Or perhaps the worst part, right now, is the burns on his arm—his healing magic is slow, the process tedious, and his head is empty of any warming memory to draw upon to make the healing go faster. There are memories, so many memories, but as he turns his mind to each of them in turn he feels nothing he can pull from. Perhaps it would have been better not to restore the nerve endings that had been burnt away—as they return, so too returns the opportunity for fresh pain to scream through his senses. And the drugs have trouble working their wonders as his magic interferes with the natural order of his body. Too late now, he’s already started this project. When the nurses aren’t looking in on him, he hovers his hand over the burned arm and continues the laborious process of working healing magic. Healing was never his forte. It still isn’t. Good to know, though it still seems like all he knows is a catalogue of things he was, and now isn’t.

Though perhaps, Isaiah thinks, it’s pointless to dwell on. Does he need that badly to know who he is now, if he’s only going to die? Not that he wants to die. Though, he can tell, Asmodai didn’t want to die in a particularly crazed and desperate way that Isaiah no longer feels. He doesn’t want to die, but then, he doesn’t feel a clear sense that he wants much of anything right now. From the moment the spell he placed upon himself fell away, he has simply accepted the fact of his death. Imminent. Inevitable. Deserved.

Asmodai was awful—not in a way that Isaiah feels, merely as a summary of fact considering the things that he’d done. The drives that motivated him. But to be fair, Isaiah had not been a good person either. No. He had been awful too. Killed people. Tortured them. Enjoyed it. Sought power beyond his measure, and took it.

Killed the dark wizard who taught him everything.

Sealed himself away.

What had he thought would happen, if this spell had ever had cause to come undone? He can’t remember, but he is pretty sure he would not have guessed it would leave him like this. So...uncertain.

Regret implies a level of sadness Isaiah doesn’t feel. He...wishes he had been someone different though. He wishes he had acted differently. Had recognized his limits. Recognized battles he wouldn’t win, and had the sense not to fight them.

The nurse surely notices when Isaiah’s arm does not look as bad off today as it did yesterday, putting fresh gauze on, but says nothing. Discreetly checks the patient chart—yes, third degree burns. It definitely said the patient had third degree burns. But you don’t last long in this town by asking inconvenient questions. Since the patient is conscious now, staring out the window, the nurse offers him his phone from his belongings and plugs it in for him. There’s a crack across the screen, but the phone works.

Isaiah has been working on healing his arm. It is such a slow, deliberate process. He isn’t sure why he’s doing it, but now that he’s started he’s committed to continuing. After all, what else has he got to do? His arm is still a mess of burnt tissue and pain, fresh nerve endings and the testament to his limitations.

Later, he looks through his phone, deleting pictures that bring him no particular joy to look at. Eventually he texts Faoust, “Have you decided how you’ll do it?” and nothing else.

Faoust: “something quick. Could stab you right in the heart.”

The heart had been Asmodai’s favorite, ripped from his victims—sometimes raw, other times he’d toast them before devouring them whole.

Isaiah: “poetic. fitting.”

Faoust: "look man. I really don't want to do this. You could go about your business. I don't care"

Isaiah sighs, and leaves the message on read for a few minutes. He thinks.

Isaiah: “I did wrong by you. I accept responsibility for it.”

Faoust: "and I'm telling you it's fine."

Isaiah waits again before responding.

Isaiah: “now I’m the one that needs to think on that”

Faoust: "Asmodai tried to kill me. He failed. You're here now. Not the same as Asmodai. It's not the same kill for me. Look, I beat the shit out of you. That should cover it. Do you really want to die?"

Isaiah sighs to himself.

Isaiah: “no, I don’t”

Faoust: "then I'm giving you your fucking out. Take it."

Isaiah pauses. Again, Faoust giving him the opportunity not to die, after everything he...Asmodai...he did. After so many times he honestly deserved to die. He was a warped and twisted thing, not right, and surely not to be trusted. But fuck. He didn’t really want to die.

Isaiah: “...ok.”

Isaiah: “fine”

Faoust: "want me to call a healer for you?"

Isaiah: “...seriously?”

Faoust: "otherwise you're going to be stuck at the hospital forever. No offense but I want you out of here."

Isaiah: “sure, sure. If I’m healing myself it’ll take forever”

Faoust: "you can't kill her"

Isaiah: “of course”

Isaiah thinks about the warning, which is fair, considering his history. He doesn’t even feel like killing anyone right now. Which is strange to him. He wonders to himself as he waits if this is the right thing to do, not insisting Faoust kill him. If he’s just avoiding fate and what he deserves. But when Faoust arrives in his hospital room with a healer, and she uses magic to transport the three of them out of his hospital room, he just watches quietly, making no protest. The empty alley she takes them to is cold, and Isaiah’s broken body falls to the ground painfully without a bed beneath him anymore.

He sucks it up, grits his teeth, and withstands the pain and the cold. Not out of any sense of pride, but because he feels he deserves it. He lists out for the healer the procedures the doctors had done, along with his own meager attempts at healing, and in turn, she tells him what she’ll be able to do. The metal they used to set his bones will always bring him some pain and discomfort, and there’s nothing she can do for his eye, the curse--

“The eye,” says Isaiah, touching his cheek lightly, “has been there a long time now. It’s fine.”

The magic of healing is painful, and there is a lot of it to be done. Isaiah doesn’t scream, not the way he did when Faoust beat him in the first place. He endures, and tries to focus on the fact that he deserves this pain. This doesn’t stop a few strangled screams and growls from bubbling up. Faoust watches impassively, satisfied.

When it’s finished, Isaiah breathes heavily for a moment, feeling every nerve on fire, taking stock of how he feels. He sits up, slowly, impressed and in awe. He gives thanks to the healer, to Faoust, and stands up shakily on knees that are no longer shattered. He summons up the illusion of clothes over his hospital gown, with no idea where he ought to go, what he ought to do. When Faoust tells him to get the fuck out of here, he readily agrees. Not the first town he’s been kicked out of. Always violent. Always deserved.

He could teleport himself, but where the hell would he go? There’s nowhere he belongs. There’s a dull ache in his bones, and he picks a cardinal direction and starts walking toward it. The speed doesn’t matter. Isaiah doesn’t strictly need actual clothes. He could use magic to keep himself warm. But the first window shop he passes, he swaps his hospital gown for the outfit on display, and keeps walking. He walks until he’s passed by a sign indicating leaving/entering, the liminal space of one town bleeding into another, goes to the first clean motel he can find, uses his magic to procure a room, and passes out after having walked for hours.

At the hospital, a call is placed to 911. A patient is missing.

The officer assigned to take the report is the same one who had been guarding the room when Dorien and Faoust visited. With the most deadpan expression, she questions the charge nurse on duty, intoning dully, “wow, just fucking vanished, huh?”

She files a missing persons report for “Asmodai / Isaiah James,” because in spite of trying not to hear things she doesn’t want to have to question, she hears them anyway. She makes note of possible contacts / persons of interest, “Dorien” and “Faoust,” and submits her report to see if she can get away with not following up on anything further.

She doesn’t even bother running any checks on any of the names. She doesn’t find anything out about a decades-old missing persons report for a runaway boy of the name Isaiah James out of Ohio. If anyone bothered to fingerprint the victim at all to try to ID him while he was unconscious, the prints have been lost.

After all, a lot of people go missing in this town.

It’s just one more.

Her supervisor literally flips a coin to decide if such absolute bullshit shoddy work will be accepted. Tails. That’s a nope. He rejects the report, and sends her a CAD message: “hit the streets and try again sweetie.”

Officer Dannic “Dani” Voros swears, loudly, in her patrol car in the hospital parking lot, and slams her computer shut. Growls, and opens it again to search for any information she can find about Dorien and Faoust. If she can find anything, she’ll talk to them at least.

Here’s what she finds: no drivers licenses. No arrest records. No voter records. Nothing in any database she has access to. No hospital records, which no, her friend in the hospital records should NOT have looked up for her probably but dammit, this was important. Well, not important to her, but it’s what she was supposed to be doing and she was getting very annoyed with the lack of any hints of paper trail for those two.

She starts angrily and haphazardly googling search terms, and some combination of tall, mysterious, handsome, and Dorien does bring back a tabloid article about the enigmatic artist, which brings up several printed interviews and connections to a particular pre-teen punk rock band apparently bankrolled by Mr. Dorien Godforbidhehavealastname, and the names of its musicians. Actual names. First and last names, unlike those recordless bastards Dorien and Faoust. She searches the names. Property tax records. Bingo. A lead. And an address. She puts the patrol car in drive and heads out. One conversation largely conducted through the few-inch gap of a chained door later, Officer Voros has both probably offended another citizen with an inappropriate joke, and obtained an address for the two handsome strangers that called on her missing person.

The cold rain makes all this work extra annoying. She debates putting off the follow up until more clement weather. Or just never. Reluctantly she puts the patrol car in drive and heads to the address.

She looks at the apartment building as she pulls up. No, correction. She looks at the giant skeleton covered in Valentine’s decorations outside the apartment building as she pulls up. The apartment building itself is an afterthought. As she arrives, the weather around the apartment changes. Suddenly it is clear and 59 degrees.

Officer Voros just stares at the atmosphere and blinks at it like it has personally offended her. She twists in her seat to look back down the street at the weather there, then stares at the apartment again, and sinks back in her seat for a moment, closing her eyes, and thinks to herself, “thiiiiiiis. iiiiiis. some buuuuuuuullshiiiiiiiiit.”

She sighs a very angry sigh, gets out of the patrol car, and goes up to the appropriate door. She raps on the door with her very best authoritative knock.

Faoust opens the door and clocks the cop. “Hm.”

Officer Voros puts her hands on her hips and brightens comically. “And they said I’d never find the secret prettyboy convention! Those bastards once again were wrong.” She smiles, and doesn’t offer her name. “Evening citizen. I’m hoping you might help me with this absolute crazy missing persons case I’ve been cursed with.”

“Oh yeah? Who?”

“Why, your dear friend or whatever bullshit you said at the time. Asmodai? Isaiah? You know, the guy SOMEBODY in this cursed plane of existence beat all to hell and put in the hospital.”

“Wait, wait, wait. How did he go missing? He couldn't stand, let alone walk? How did you lose him?”

“Yeah! That’s the crazy part, he just. Fucking. Vanished. Shattered kneecaps, pelvis, and all. Gone. Between you and me, that’s on the hospital. We weren’t watching him anymore at that point, but now it IS my problem to, you know. Figure out what the fuck happened and make sure there’s not a homicide investigation that should be happening here.”

Faoust shakes his head in disbelief as he tries to come up with a plan. “I could give you his motel room and location if you want? I mean, I haven't heard from him since I went to go see him?”

“Sure, sure. And it’s not like it’s illegal for him to leave the hospital. If he’s fine, I just need to lay eyes on him. It just seems real fucking suspiciously inconceivable how he’d have managed that in the state he was in, ya know?”

“Yeah, no, for sure. Let me go get some paper.”

Faoust leaves her at the front door and digs around in drawers looking for paper and pen. She stands at the front door, looking inside, pondering Faoust the whole while. He hands her a note with the address of the motel Asmodai had been staying at.

“Let me know if you find anything, yeah?”

Officer Voros takes the paper. “Of course.” She takes a blank card out of her pocket, a generic business card for the police department that doesn’t have her name on it. She writes down a phone number and offers the card to Faoust. “You think of anything else helpful, call or text me. Or if your prettyboy friend Dorien knows anything either.”

“Dorien doesn't know anything. At all. Not a braincell up there. But I'll keep it in mind.” Faoust takes the card and pockets it.

“Thanks. Stay safe citizen.” She heads down the steps and back to her patrol car, looking at the address. She knows the motel.

Officer Voros looks back toward Faoust from her patrol car for a long minute before she pulls out. She doesn’t have any sort of proof necessarily, just a feeling that Faoust was lying quite smoothly out of every side of his head right to her face. She types up a field contact for alias Faoust along with the address before she leaves.

Asmodai’s motel room ends up being a dead end. There’s nothing obviously off about the room, but she gets a weird vibe. Still a suitcase here. Some knives. Nothing much else. She does not discover that the room is under a stolen credit card in another name. She doesn’t look up any other purchases that stolen card might have made to connect it to an abandoned rental car that was impounded on Faoust’s street. She types up her report and deletes “went on a wild fucking goose chase because my corporal is a dickhead” from the report.

Officer Voros swears loudly, because she realizes she didn’t ask Faoust if the mysteriously vanished bastard had. a fucking. cell phone number. She groans. She decides she’ll pretend to have thought of that tomorrow, because she doesn’t want to follow up now.

The weak and cloudy light of morning is scattered further by the cheap, hazy curtains pulled loosely across the window. Isaiah wakes up, still dressed in his stolen clothes where he passed out on top of the covers. There it is—a dull ache in his bones, a twinge in his hips and knees as he pushes himself up to sit. He looks down at his palms, and they are smooth and untroubled, marked by nothing but the simple creases of where his hand folds. He flexes his left hand. The countless scars that had made a tangled nest there in his palm, the countless times he’d cut and called upon blood magic and done only a just-good-enough job of closing the wounds, when he remembered to heal himself at all, they’re all gone.

Isaiah doesn’t even have a knife, he realizes. His...Asmodai’s favored knives were either in the clothes left in the hospital, in the rental car, or in the motel room he has no intention of returning to. But it feels like he should have a knife. He has no money, but money isn’t too necessary when you’re flush with magic and short on moral qualms against stealing.

He heads out for the day to get a knife, zipping up his stolen coat. Something simple. New. He goes to the nearest outdoors store and sees a nice Benchmade folding knife with a black-coated blade and white handle and feels drawn to it. With an effortless bit of magic, the knife disappears from the case and appears in his pocket as he leaves the parking lot.

Isaiah flips the knife open experimentally, admires it, turning his wrist this way and that to see the sides of the blade. He unlocks the blade and closes it again, clipping the knife in his pocket. He doesn’t have a plan for it, but it felt appropriate in his hand.

Isaiah has been somewhat skirting around thinking about this fact, but taking the knife in his hand he has to confront it. He’s not someone who can go work a 9 to 5 job, take a little paycheck home, find someone sweet to love him and love in turn. Whatever he does next isn’t going to be some contented kind of life. That wasn’t the lot he was born to.

What he is good at...all he has ever been good at, is violence.

He walks slowly back to the current motel. He takes the knife out of his pocket, opening and closing it as he goes, thinking to himself. Magic, and violence. Magic and violence. This is all he’s ever known. Even if he wanted to do something else, how could he, at this point? He’s not a good person. And surely nothing he is capable of can be used for good ends. He hasn’t killed anyone in so many days now, and strangest of all, doesn’t feel particularly compelled to. Not averse to it either. But the stirring in his blood that craved to see the icy glint of fear through tears before an untimely death doesn’t move him, for now.

Officer Voros follows up with Faoust the next night, gets a phone number for her missing person, and puts in a request for a ping before taking a nap in her patrol car. She’ll follow up further in daylight hours. Before ending her night shift, Officer Voros tries to call the phone number Faoust provided for the missing person. It’s almost 6am, of course he doesn’t answer. She leaves a voicemail indicating for him to call the communications center so they can speak.

The next day, Officer Voros, as soon as assembly is done, goes to her patrol car and puts herself on a follow up before any calls can be assigned to her. She tries calling the number again. Isaiah looks at his phone. A blocked number. He silences the phone without answering, because who would be calling him? He hasn’t bothered checking his voicemail either, since he didn’t recognize the number that called. He’ll check it eventually. He sits in his motel room, opening and closing his stolen knife.

Officer Voros checks the latitude and longitude of the ping. Another motel. It’s within a mile of what technically counts as her jurisdiction, so technically she CAN go investigate her own damn self, OR she can call her counterparts in the next town over to check for her. She debates which sounds like more work. With an agonized groan that can surely be heard two counties over, Officer Voros puts her patrol car in drive and heads for the motel.

Officer Voros checks with the front desk, but thanks to his use of magic there’s no one checked in by the names of Asmodai or Isaiah James. She pulls up the coordinates on her phone to get as close as possible to the ping, and starts knocking on doors fruitlessly, starting with the ground floor. She has an idea, and dials the number again, and faintly hears a ring from a couple doors down. A little excited in spite of herself, she hustles down to the door and knocks.

Asmodai would’ve checked through the peephole before opening the door, if he opened it at all. Isaiah does not care, and opens the door as he silences his phone again, looking up from the phone at the officer.

“There you are, you mysterious bastard! Alive and unmurdered, and my hatred of paperwork thanks you for that.”

Isaiah feels a slight needle of panic, if only because he has done a lot of things that would not put him on the good side of the police. His eye darts briefly to her neck and back to meet her eyes.

“Here I am. Alive. Unmurdered, as you say.”

Officer Voros looks him up and down, frowning. This is definitely the same guy, that’s not a common scar after all, but he’s clearly not just unmurdered, but very significantly undamaged. “Didn’t you have a hell of a lot of shattered bones?”

Isaiah shrugs. “Modern medicine is a miracle.”

Officer Voros just blinks at him. She doesn’t believe him for a moment. “And I don’t suppose you might be able to tell me how you managed to make your way so secretly out of the hospital that they felt compelled to report you as a missing person?”

“Sorry, no. Not sure what the miscommunication was there. Quite obviously, I left the hospital.”

“Quite. Obviously. Of course.”

Isaiah smiles wanly. “Am I in trouble?”

Officer Voros continues looking him over suspiciously. “I suppose not. You left your paperwork from the hospital.” She hands him a stack of paperwork and billing statements. “Somehow.”

Isaiah takes the papers. “Oh, thanks.”

“And the belongings you came in with. Are still at the hospital.”

“Oops.”

“And a bunch of shit I’m guessing belongs to you is all left at another cheap motel.”

“You think?”

“No,” Officer Voros snaps. “I try to avoid thinking whenever I can. But I do think some weird ass shit is involved here with you.”

Isaiah’s hand twitches slightly, and he presses his lips together. “Hm.”

“But shit being weird isn’t my problem. Not my jurisdiction. So I suppose I don’t give a fuck. Glad you’re not murdered. Take care. Call your friends, they’re pretending to be worried about you.” She heads back to her patrol car.

Isaiah slowly lets out a tensely held breath.

Officer Voros sits in the parking lot, wrapping up her report. She tries calling Faoust from her blocked number. He answers, not knowing any better.

“Solid citizen! Faoust right? Your favorite friend-finding officer here. Found your friend.”

“Oh my god! Where was he? Is he ok?”

“He’s better than ok, considering the state I last saw him in. Damn near miraculous recovery. He’s just outside of town, another motel not far off the highway.”

“Oh man, thanks so much for finding him. I'll have to go see him. Are you able to give me the address?”

“That depends, are you going there to murder him?”

“Why the hell would Igo there to murder him?”

“Aaaa I’m just fucking with you. I’ve got a nice neat solved missing persons case here and if you went and murdered him it would just be an assfuck of paperwork that I don’t want to have to deal with is all.”

“Fucked up joke, officer.”

“Yeah, file a complaint on me if you’d like. Oh, right, address,” she says, and gives him the address and room of the Quality Inn where Isaiah is staying.

“Thank you. Despite the fucked up joke, I'm glad you found him.”

“Just doing my sworn duty and all that. Stay safe citizen,” she says and hangs up.

Without fully realizing it, Officer Voros has solved the first missing persons case in the department in nearly a year.

Officer Voros always keeps a spare portable radio among her belongings. She managed to get it more or less off the record, so that when she inevitably loses track of her actual radio again, she can make do with the backup until the original eventually resurfaces, and not get all manner of shit from her corporal for losing her radio AGAIN. She doesn’t think hard on the fact that her radio is once again MIA. It will turn up in time.

In his motel room, Isaiah switches the radio on, and fiddles between channels.

Isaiah lays on the bed, one hand manipulating the knife—open, closed, open, closed, each motion with a satisfying little sound—the other hand resting on the radio on his chest, occasionally following the chatter of traffic to a side channel. An officer keys up, her voice annoyed and muttering over sounds of entitlement in the background—“6676 to 200, switch to 2”—and Isaiah flips the radio to channel 2, partly because he is curious and partly because it sounds like the officer from the other night.

The officer keys up, he’s quite sure it’s her, and a voice that sounds like it expects the world laid compliantly at its feet cuts through the backdrop of everything the officer says

6676: 200 you on?

—this is AMERICA, I have RIGHTS, I demand to speak to your SUPERVISOR, I—

200: go’on whatcha got

—what is your NAME, no WHAT is your NAME—

6676: *you can hear the eye roll in her voice* can you just come over here and deal with this.

There’s a final indignant “do you even KNOW” in the background before the supervisor cuts over the traffic to advise he’s en route. Isaiah’s thumb closes the knife again with a sense of finality. He doesn’t care about the officers, but the woman in the background had the sort of voice you’d love to cut right out of her throat.

Isaiah sits up, goes to put the radio aside but pulls it back in front of him again. He focuses on the radio, whatever traces of grit and grime and little skin cells from the officer still stick to the plasticky radio, and does a tracking spell. He switches the radio off, puts it on the bedside table, and grabs his jacket on the way out the door.

Isaiah returns to his motel room. Hands clean. Knife clean.

He did not appear with an ear-splitting bang, as the witch does. He knows ways to move through shadows and though it isn’t instantaneous, it’s a hell of a lot quieter. Isaiah remained in the shadows, waiting. There, yes, the officer from the other night, and there, that must be 200, the human embodiment of an industrial refrigerator crossed with a boulder, and there. Jabbing her finger, practically frothing at the mouth, hair crisply cut, every line in her body set in the conviction of her own righteousness and that she should get what she wants. Isaiah didn’t even try to listen to what she was saying. It didn’t matter. He waited.

When the officers left, the woman turned to her minivan to get in. Or, that was what she intended to do. But she found as she walked, it was like her body was being pushed and pulled, and the sound had left her voice, and she walked into the shadows across the parking lot.

Without saying a word, Isaiah came up quickly behind her and slit her throat, and before a drop could hit the concrete sent her body and all its rapidly spilling blood deep, deep into the earth below.

Magic cleaned the knife. Magic cleaned his hands. He slipped back into the shadows and hurried to get the hell back out of Faoust’s town.

Isaiah returned to his motel room, everything clean. Feeling a certain ...satisfaction? Correctness? A bit of lost unease dissolved away within him.

Of course, Isaiah reflects on how different this murder was. He flicks the knife, open and closed. When he thinks of himself as he was, he has gotten in the habit of thinking of himself as an entirely separate person now. Asmodai was. Asmodai would have. So on. Asmodai would have taken far more enjoyment from the killing. Asmodai would have tasted the blood on the knife. Asmodai would have savored the delicious fear in her eyes, for as long as possible. Asmodai would have had the possibility of someone to share the experience with, though he resented so much about that fact. Asmodai was an idiot.

Isaiah switches the radio back on, quietly, to have something to listen to, since that’s all he has.

When Officer Voros was handling the latest missing person case early this morning, part of her was perversely satisfied—maybe that bitch descended back to hell where she belonged—and that other part of her, the part made of intuitions that guessed too correctly, that had long ago tried to bring up things that had since gone ignored, the part that she did her best to keep buried, that part felt a sharp jolt of unease. She was, officially, the last person to have seen the missing person. There was a security camera on the other side of the parking lot, and the footage made no sense. The victim—victim? Why was she already thinking victim?—missing bitch, then, started walking to her car, and then turned, and walked off to the far side of the parking lot, into grainy shadow. It didn’t look like someone had called out to her, she just...decided to go on some random bitch walk. In the dark of early morning hours, Officer Voros walked around the spot she went off to, clicking on her flashlight, looking for clues. Nothing.

It seemed appropriate for Isaiah to return to murder on his own...it’s all he knows. He’s not suddenly a good person. He’s not full of remorse for everything he did. It’s all just facts. Things that happened that can’t be changed.

He listens to the radio again today, and thinks with a sort of mirthless chuckle how hypocritical it would be for him to kill some of the people he’s hearing about. “If I were cutting throats for that, have to start with myself,” he thinks, over and over and over. Asmodai craved victims, sought them out. Isaiah is content to see what serendipity will bring.

Isaiah struck out into town yesterday to find a charger for his stolen radio. Listening gives him something to do besides think. He could have just gotten a commercial police scanner, or used an app on his phone to listen in, but that didn’t have the same appeal. He listens carefully, mentally keeping track of the addresses and where the officers are, when it’s announced anyway. The officer from the other night he can find easily enough, but without addresses and nothing to trace them with, magically speaking, finding any of these other officers would be incredibly difficult. Well, to do in a timely fashion anyway.

So he listens, and waits, hoping to feel that same jolt of dead certainty, knowing a voice spoke that would be his to kill.

Isaiah knows. An officer keys up “put me out with an animal problem at” and gives an address, and just before the radio cuts out he hears a man in the background, derisive, say “I don’t understand, it’s just a stupid—“ before being cut off by the end of the transmission. That voice. He felt it, like a nail being slashed at high speed across a chalkboard, a string plucked so hard it snaps, THAT is a man he needs to kill. He is equal parts thrilled and yet feels the calm certainty slipping over him. His knife is ready. He knows where to go. He slips out into the cold rain.

Sliding through shadows. Waiting. The man goes inside, alone. Isaiah slips inside, without a word, the only sound made is his knife blade locking into place. The man finds his voice is gone. The man walks toward Isaiah, against his own will, and kneels before him, fear shining in his eyes. Isaiah looks down, cold, comes around from behind, threads his fingers in the man’s hair and pulls back, hard, exposing his neck. He draws the blade firm and fast across the neck, and like the woman before Isaiah sends the body hundreds of feet into the ground below before a drop of blood can hit the floor.

He looks at the blood on the knife, for a moment, imagines the taste on his tongue like a mouth full of pennies. It doesn’t appeal to him, not right now. Magic cleans the blade, cleans the bit of blood on his hands, cleans the scene of any trace evidence, and Isaiah slips away.

- NEXT SNIPPET -

#an ill-fitting name #My writing #original story #collaborative fiction #Original work #original writing #original fiction #magic fiction #Magic murderer #Snippets #fictional murder #fictional murderer #Fictional incompetent police

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bitchbrisket · 3 years

Text

First Lines Tag

Tagged by @slightlyintimidating

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favourite opening line. Then tag 10 authors!

As all my mutuals have been tagged already, I’ll just tag a couple of people, @tara-stofse and @rapidashpatronus

I’m also going to cheat and give you a favourite line from each one, simply because the first line is rarely the best and why not be a big fat show off where your writing is concerned? Didn’t link because I am a lazy cow but my AO3 profile is at the top of my page.

1. (The Worst Witch 2017) A friend like you – 'Get in loser, we're going shopping!'

Sometimes I come up with good titles and sometimes I desperately flail around and this was the best I could do. Most people should know what the opening line is a reference to and it was the first thing I thought of when the idea of this fic materialised.

· 'I know you think you're hot stuff, but Dimity can run rings around you. You have the acting skills of a potato' she icily informed a miffed Arabella.’

2. (Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries) An education - 'I confess, I fail to understand the point of most of them.'

Again, another crappy title but for some reason, no song lyric or poem came to me on the subject of policemen raiding a Chinese brothel in the 1920s and confiscating vibrators because they look like suspicious instruments. I did lift the first line from the script because that is partly what I based the fic on. 0/10 for originality there.

· ‘The benefit of having so many deities, Lin reflected, was that there was always someone in, should you knock on the door of their shrines.’

3. (The Worst Witch 2017) Poker – ‘Miss Bat scuttled along to the staffroom after her date and walked in, only to halt in surprise.’

Good Lord, I’m really not selling it to you with these boring titles am I? I’ve done the strip poker storyline with the hairpins in another fandom and couldn’t think up a clever title for that either.

· ‘Clothes were strewn everywhere but in front of Hecate, there was a small pile of hairpins and nothing else.’

4. (The Worst Witch 2017) Which witch is which? – ‘Wychwood forest was a mysterious place, full of wrackspurts and helipoaths and blibbering humdingers. Sometimes you'd even see a crumple horned snorcack galloping along.’

Yes, alright I borrowed something off the world of Harry Potter. A fic based off a post off of a popular post on Tumblr and title borrowed off Dianna Wynne Jones I think.

· 'Watch out for the blibbering humdingers!' she shouted vengefully after the troublesome tourists.’

5. (The Worst Witch 2017) They do it with mirrors - 'I've missed you.'

Very general, basic bitch kind of starter. Dial up the smut o’metre because witches are having the equivalent of webcam sex. Written for the Hackle Lemonade Challenge, prompt kink. Wasn’t one of my favourites to write but it does have one of my favourite paragraphs in a smutty fic. Beats the first line anyway.

· ‘She groaned and panted as her climax finally overtook her, glad of the extra support from the solid oak furniture. None of this modern rubbish that couldn't withstand a good hard fuck. There was a time and a place for IKEA but this was not it.’

6. (The Worst Witch 2017) Every inch of you – ‘Ada loved it when Hecate lightly raked her nails down her back.’

Diving straight into the smut for this other Hackle Lemonade Challenge, prompt kink fic. Title entirely appropriate.

· ‘While many people over the years could make it happen, it was a secret delight to know that nobody did it better than her.’

7. (The Worst Witch 2017) The hum of your desire – ‘Ada woke up to an empty bed.’

At least it’s promising. The story can go anywhere when you start off with an empty bed. The bed is irrelevant anyway. They end up on the sofa.

· ‘Hecate Hardbroom was nothing but a meticulous over achiever.’

8. (The Worst Witch 2017) You’re the night sky, trying to make me see your stars – ‘Hecate had been afraid to touch.’

Throws you right into the scene and lets you know there’s going to be a bit of angst in there. I love the song I took the title from (night sky – Leonell Cassio & Julia Mihevc) and I waited for a fic idea to materialise so I could use it.

· ‘Ada could feel her breathing, steady and true, vibrating through to her heart.’

9. (Ghosts) Hide & seek – ‘Giggling madly, she galloped up the stairs to seek out the best hiding place ever.’

With several of the ghosts with backstories we have yet to uncover, the possibilities are endless. Poor Kitty had to die young so I gave her a death loosely based on an English ghost story, using all the unsavoury incidents involving her sister. Title needs no explanation.

· ‘And shimmering obliquely in the corner of the landing, was the answer. The wooden chest. The one from the latest sailing ship that had brought back all that sugar and tea and rum.’

10. (The Worst Witch 2017) When breathing sounds like your song – ‘She hadn't let herself enjoy it at first.’

Luckily the only way from there is forward. For the Hackle Lemonade Challenge 2021, prompt firsts. Not sure where I got the title from, it’s possible I melded a couple of song lyrics together for it.

· ‘I always feel thirsty after a pleasurable experience' she said cheerfully.’

11. (Holby City) There is no goat that foolish – ‘Serena patted down her wide brimmed hat and set off for a walk.’

It’s an ok start to the fic. The title is terrible but honestly, its just hard to find references to goats in general.

· ‘She only just realised that they were conversing in English, not French. The other woman had a London accent. Good. She could shout at her more expressively in English.’

12. (The Worst Witch 2017) Sugar mouse – ‘What is it?’

So many possibilities here. The title does give it away, but still.

· ‘In her nightmares, her grandfather had chased her around with an eyeball on a fork.’

13. (Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries) Stitch up - ‘I’d like to see you operate my sewing machine, Hugh Collins.’

Another shameless ripping off from the script. But nothing else can sum up this fic so perfectly. Title self-explanatory.

· ‘Were sewing machines like dogs? He wondered. Did they take on the personalities of their owners?’

14. (Pushing Daisies) Girls don’t want boys, girls want damn respect – ‘Her boy always had an eye for the ladies.’

What a ridiculously clunky title. But apparently I couldn’t think of anything better. The opening line is much better.

· ‘Calista was reminded of the principal at school that Emerson had crushed on so hard that he'd broken every fire alarm in the school over the course of several months just to get her attention. Some things never changed.’

15. (Holby City) Tell us the tale of a goat – ‘Did I ever tell you about how Serena and I met?’

A solid opening there, full of potential. The title is a bit crap. No, I have no idea why or how Serena would be working on the Italian railway either.

· ‘You dressed one up in a poncho and called it aunt Gertrude?’ Fleur asked eventually. She really couldn’t think of anything better to say.’

16. (Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries) In the gracious light – ‘Jack tried not to let their questioning stares get to him.’

Based partly on the MFMM books, I’m happy with the opening line, it sets the tone. The title comes from Shakespeare’s Sonnet VII. ‘Lo! in the orient when the gracious light.’ With that, it ties in Jack and Lin quite nicely.

· ‘After all, grandmama had warned him enough about the distraction of white girls. She had said nothing about white boys.’

17. (Holby City) Not yet – ‘Bernie wouldn't describe herself as an avid reader these days.’

Title taken from a line in the book Wicked. Opening line is pretty generic. I basically wrote this fic because Elphaba reminds me of Bernie in some respects. Also, premonition, sorry about that.

· ‘In her mind, it was Serena in that cell, stretching out her hand to Bernie and chiding her affectionately for her delay.’

18. (Ghosts) Filth – ‘The Captain paid no attention to Lady Button's shrewish tone two rooms away.’

Simple title, simple opening line. Very direct. It’s the ‘why didn’t the Captain and Lady Button bond over the hot gardener in Lady Chatterly’s Lover together’ fic.

· ‘The Captain sighed. That husband of hers had a lot to answer for. Bastard. He couldn't have killed her by poison or anything, no, he had to push her out of the damn window.’

19. (Ghosts & Holby City crossover) Over the top we go – ‘He couldn't believe it.’

So many things one couldn’t believe, a pretty generic opening. The title is a WW1 reference so not the correct war for the Captain but I used it anyway. Bernie is Haver’s niece.

· ‘The Captain looked pleased but there was an expression in his eyes that Alison thought hid a sob in his heart.’

20. (Holby City) Boobs – ‘Arthur Digby was having a terrible day.’

Title, utterly crap, I know you’ll agree. Opening line, sums it up really. I like it.

· 'Well, call me Da Vinci and I'll paint you like one of those French girls.'

Art wasn't Fleur's strong point.’

So what did I learn about my opening lines? It does reflect my writing style, snappy and concise. I rarely ramble for long. Are they thrilling opening lines? Not usually. Do they set the scene or the tone? Much of the time. They are certainly not the best ones I’ve ever written. Considering that I don’t love most of these last lot of opening lines, I’m going to go with which witch is which? It’s the best one of the bunch, I think.

#fanfiction

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ficsandcatsandficsandcats · 4 years

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Ok I know the really weird humor is a modern thing, but considering the fact that I said the phrase "I want to be the filling in that sandwich" referring to Geralt and Jask with my own mother in the room, I figured this request might get a laugh out of you 😜 Could you do a Jask/Reader (and maybe slight Geralt if you feel like it) where the reader kinda mumbles weird... sexual? things under her breath until Jask overhears and is like "wait WHY do you want me to break my lute over your head???"

Fandom: The WitcherPairing: Jaskier x ReaderWord Count: 774Rating: T for Dirty TalkTaglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @mynamesoundslikesherlock @magic-multicolored-miracle a/n: This was really fun to write. Thanks!

“Jaskier if you don’t put that damned lute away I’m going to smash it over your head,” Geralt snarled.

“You can smash it over my head,” you murmured.

“What?”

Ice cold terror flooded you as you realized you hadn’t said the words as quietly as you’d thought. You tried to force an aloof expression on your face as you looked up to meet Jaskier’s incredulous stare and Geralt’s cocked eyebrow.

“Hmm?” you asked.

“Did you just say he could smash it over your head?” Jaskier asked.

“Don’t be ridiculous Jaskier why would I say that?” you asked. Jaskier shook his head and shrugged but you saw Geralt stare at you a beat longer, a knowing quirk to his brow that you pointedly ignored.

The next time it happened it was harder to wave away. Geralt had been trying to teach Jaskier how to forage for edible plants in the forest. You sat close by, sewing up a hole in Geralt’s cloak as you watched the two men discuss the marks that indicated which berries were poisonous and which weren’t.

“Can’t I just put it in my mouth and be done with it?” Jaskier asked exasperatedly, tired of trying to spot the difference between a strip and a dash.

“You can put it in my mouth,” you thought, smirking to yourself as you tied off the knot on the stitch.

“Is that a standing offer or should I take you up on that now?”

You looked up, startled to find Jaskier suddenly so close, the expression on his face wolfish.

“What?” you asked.

“Oh no, fool me once shame on you, fool me twice, well, I just won’t be fooled! You said, and I quote – shield Roach’s tender ears, Geralt – you can put it in my mouth,” Jaskier recited the words loudly and proudly like a lyric he was especially pleased with as your face burned with embarrassment.

“Oh gods,” you murmured, hiding your face in your hands. You felt Jaskier sit next to you on the log and you kept your eyes shut tight, hoping that maybe if you stayed like this long enough he would just… let it be. But you knew better than that. He nudged your shoulder with his and you groaned.

“C’mon Y/N, cat got your tongue? Or rather, do I have your tongue?” he asked and you could tell by his voice that he was waggling his eyebrows.

“Hmm,” Geralt grunted.

“Oh come on she can take it as well as she dishes it out I’m sure,” Jaskier called to your friend. You pulled your hands away and exhaled deeply.

“So when were you going to tell me?” Jaskier asked, his voice delighted and playful.

“I was thinking on my death bed or yours, whichever came first,” you said.

“Well that’s not the best time to try out a new relationship but I suppose there are worse. Post-death, primarily. Unless you were a vampire which would be rather sexy of you,” Jaskier teased, blue eyes twinkling and fanning the flames of your humiliation-warmed face.

“Don’t tease,” you said, your voice petulant and pouty and only urging him on.

“Come on, admit it, some part of you is glad to finally have it out,” he said.

“No not really! Now it’s all weird!”

“Why is it weird? Oh you mean for Geralt? Eh, he’ll be fine,” Jaskier said, waving in Geralt’s general direction dismissively. The Witcher was gently combing Roach’s hair, murmuring words to her that he was glad neither of you could overhear though it would serve you right if you could.

“No, between us!” you insisted, “Now you know I want to…. Well… you know I want!”

“And that’s bad?”

“Yes!”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t!”

“Who the fuck said that?” Jaskier cried, dumbstruck by your words. You finally looked at him fully, eyes meeting his, trying to make sure he wasn’t joking.

“You mean you’re not… upset?”

“Y/N I’ve been gagging to do all kinds of things to you, Geralt made me leave you alone cuz he said I’d be pestering you and we needed to make sure you stuck around!” Jaskier cried, now pointing accusatorily towards the witcher who just glowered through Roach’s mane.

“Oh gods ok well, should we…”

“Run deeper into the woods until we’re out of Geralt’s earshot and explore what other filth is hiding in that lovely head of yours?” Jaskier finished. You were going to say ‘should we kiss’ but you liked his idea much better. You grinned at him and seized his hand, the pair of you running off with Geralt’s shouts of protest falling on deaf ears far behind you.

#Anonymous #jaskier x reader #jaskier imagines #reader request #drabble

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alex-musicals-tss · 4 years

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Lin-Manuel Miranda Taking A Break From Twitter

Congratulations.

That’s all I can say to you. That’s all I can say to the people who have bullied Lin-Manuel Miranda so much that he’s now taking a break from Twitter.

All I can ask myself is why. Why would people do this? Here’s what I found on the matter and here’s what I think of it.

The first thing is about him… biting his lip? Seriously?! Everyone has a pose! Some people stick out their tongue. Others use their hand to make the peace sign. They don’t get hate for that! Why? Because it’s just a pose for a selfie! It’s not like it’s hurting anyone. Lin biting his lip is the exact same thing. If that’s how he wants to look when he takes selfies then go for it! If he likes it then go for it! It’s his life and it’s his photos! If you don’t like it then okay. That’s completely fine. Not everyone can like something someone does. But you don’t have to bully him for it! If you’re scrolling through Instagram and you see someone doing something you don’t like, then keep scrolling. If you see a tweet of someone doing something you don’t like, then move along! See? It’s not so hard. There is no need to be rude about it! Put yourself in his shoes for a moment. How would you like it if you get constant hate for just adding a pose to your selfie? See? It’s not a great feeling! And you’re causing someone to feel this way for something so harmless. He’s not hurting anybody!

“It works for me, and I'm people. Everyone has tics and poses and gestures that are very "them," and this is one of his. If it doesn't work for you that's OK. Don't marry him! But, also, please don't shame him. He's people, too.”

This was a tweet written by Vanessa A M Nadal based on this matter and she is completely right! As I said before, it’s completely fine if you don’t like something Miranda does. It’s natural not to like something. But cyber bullying him for it is seriously not okay. “He’s people, too.” Stood out to me in the tweet because this is something people forget often with celebrities. No matter how famous someone is, no matter how rich they are, no matter how much power they have, they are still human. They still have a right to be respected for who they are. They’re not just some machine used to entertain people. They’re not just an object with no feelings. They’re human! They’re people! At the end of the day, Lin is a person too.

The second reason why people are bullying Lin is because he said the n-word. At first glance, this does seem like a horrible thing for someone to do as we all know the history of that word. As he is not a black person, he shouldn’t be saying it as it’s extremely offensive.

“It’s so hard not to say n***a at the end of this sentence. I’m fighting muscle memory!” was what Miranda was found saying. However, people have taken out the context of this quote to make it seem like Lin was saying it just to be racist when in reality, he wasn’t! This quote was originally said by Daveed Diggs; as he is a black person, he is allowed to say it as it’s not racist for him to do so. What Miranda was doing was he was quoting something said by Diggs for an audiobook! There is no way this was used to be racist or offensive.

As we all know, that word is a slur towards people of colour. I’m not going to get too much into the meaning behind the word but the reason this word is racist is because it carries the history of racial discrimination towards black people. As I am a white person, it’d be very offensive and racist for me to call someone the n-word! I do not plan on doing so either. But there is a difference to saying it in a racist term or saying it in a way which isn’t racist. Many people are making it seem like Lin said the word just for his own pleasure and if he did then that would certainly be racist. However, it’s perfectly okay to say the word if you’re quoting it as quoting something is very different to saying it.

Some people have been attacking Miranda for still saying the word even though it was blanked out, like how I wrote it earlier on. But I understand why Lin still said it. As it was written like “n***a”, you can still tell what word it meant to be. If he just left it out in the audiobook, it would be confusing to hear as the quote would be changed to: “It’s so hard not to say at the end of this sentence.” And as he’s stating a quote, you can’t really change it otherwise it’s not the exact quote which is meant to be said. I understand that some people may not be comfortable with that word being read aloud but the easy thing to do is just not listen to the audio! It’s honestly that simple. And certainly do not alter the truth just to spread hate to a man who is still human!

Another reason why he’s getting hate and which also comes down under the category of him being “racist” is because of the well-known musical he wrote which is Hamilton. It’s recently been added to Disney+ which I am really happy about! I thought that all things would be positive about this but clearly, I had a bit too much faith in humanity. Instead of people enjoying the awesome show and learning things they may have not known about the Founding Father and first Secretary of Treasury, people have created #cancelhamilton. I was so confused at first how there was anything wrong with the musical. I read a few posts on Instagram and instantly hated the tag as it is honestly so stupid.

One of the reasons why people say it’s racist is because of how little the show talks about slavery. Um, what? This is a musical! Yes, it’s educational. I personally learnt a lot from it as I didn’t even know a guy named Alexander Hamilton existed until I heard the soundtrack. But the thing is, this isn’t a documentary. The musical recording was two hours and forty minutes long with a one-minute intermission which is a reasonable amount of time for a show! You can’t overdo the length of something which is why there are many cut songs in Hamilton such as Let It Go or Dear Theodosia Reprise. And the thing is, there is a cut song which is about slavery! As the show is based in the lifetime of a man who lived for 44 years, some songs were going to have to get taken out. Sadly, this song was one of them but I agree with Lin’s choice as the ending of the song was that Hamilton’s plan didn’t go through so it didn’t add any affect of his life. The song was called Cabinet Battle 3 and the demo track, sung by Miranda himself, was released on The Hamilton Mixtape. I think it’s a great song as it covers the topic of slavery really well. Unlike the first two cabinet battles, this version isn’t all fun and rap. The music is slower and more serious.

“Sir, even you, you have hundreds of slaves” was said by Alexander Hamilton to George Washington, showing that even Washington was a slave owner. And by saying “even you”, it suggests that there are many slave owners too just Washington would seem less likely to own them. So, why would Miranda take out a song about something so serious? As I said before, the musical was already almost three hours long. The show had to end at some point! The song ends with Washington saying, “Madison, execute your plan to the letter. Let's hope the next generation thinks of something better.” James Madison’s plan was to end the discussion of freeing the slaves. As his plan was accepted and not Hamilton’s, that point wasn’t as important in the musical as the other songs were.

Another reason why people say it’s racist is because, wait for it, slavery is involved! The complete opposite to the previous reason. The way slavery is involved in the musical is all down to the Founding Fathers. Most of them had slaves! I’m pretty sure Hamilton, himself, didn’t own any. However, I heard that he gifted a slave to Angelica Schuyler but I’m not to sure if that point is true. The issue is, almost all the wealthy people in those days had slaves. The slave trade is a huge part in history and no matter how hard you try, you can’t run away from it. You can’t change the past! We need to stop running away from the past of slavery and accept it! It was horrible, yes. I remember learning it in school and I found it so shocking the way human beings were treated just because they were black. But no matter how much we hate it, no matter how disgusted we are by it, it still happened. Are you honestly saying that we’re just not going to learn about anything in the past because the people in those days had slaves? I’m sorry but that is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard! Hamilton is fun to watch and is also educational. It teaches teenagers about some of the Founding Fathers, soldiers, and even a little about women’s rights in those days. I think it’s great!

The final point I managed to find is that people are mad about both the fact that Lin included Sally Hemmings and the fact that he didn’t include her enough. Again, two completely opposite points! This shows how ridiculous this is getting because no matter what Miranda does, he won’t be able to “get it right” and that is no way his fault. Stop being so picky about it! Now, let me get on to the point about Sally. The only time she appears in the musical is during the song, What’d I Miss?

“Sally, be a lamb darling, won’t ya open it?” was said by Thomas Jefferson to one of the ensemble members, who in this case is Sally Hemmings. The truth is, Sally was one of his slaves. I think it’s reasonable to add her name into it as it gives her a little bit of recognition. I understand why people could feel slightly uncomfortable with her name being said but the thing is, this isn’t your musical. You didn’t spend six years writing lyrics for the show so please don’t tell Lin what he can and not include! And I do understand the situation with Sally and I’m not trying to sound careless about what happened to her. She was only fourteen and he did awful stuff to her which I’m not even going to go into because it makes me feel a bit uncomfortable talking about it and I’m sure you won’t want to read it. However, if you’re a part of the Hamilton fandom you’ve probably heard of her story already. If you haven’t and you do want to know more about her, you can always search up “Sally Hemmings” and I’m sure it’ll explain there.

For the people saying that her story should’ve been told in the musical, I completely disagree and I’m actually shocked that people even used that as an excuse on why Hamilton is racist! I’m sorry I think I missed the part when the show was called “Jefferson: An American Musical”. This is a performance about the life of the Founding Father, Alexander Hamilton, Washington’s right-hand man, and the first Secretary of Treasury. Not the Founding Father, Thomas Jefferson, the first Secretary of State, the second Vice President, and the third President of America! Sally Hemmings meant nothing to Hamilton. They never even met. I’m surprised if he even knew of her existence! I know that in Cabinet Battle 3, he says “How will Thomas Jefferson find his next mistresses?” which he was implying by Sally, but that doesn’t mean that he knew about her in real life. And even if he did, she didn’t affect him in any way so there is no point of including her anymore in the musical.

Hamilton seriously isn’t racist at all. In fact, it’s one of the least racist things I’ve seen! The Founding Fathers were all white. If one of the Founding Fathers were black, they wouldn’t even been given that title. They would most likely be a slave because that’s how life was back then. Miranda could’ve easily said, “I won’t be including people of colour because I want the musical to be historically accurate.” But he didn’t! Half of the cast are people of colour because they were good enough for the role they played. Lin didn’t take away that opportunity just so the musical would be more accurate to history! I think that’s great and the actors did such a good job too.

The final point which is quite short because I don’t know much about this but there is a sound on TikTok where Miranda is talking about some sexual stuff. I don’t know what he was saying it for but I read up somewhere that it was for an audiobook! I don’t know which one though. I mean, it’s pretty obvious that he was reading something, just by the wording and the way he was saying it. Those type of things isn’t something you just record yourself saying! Again, I don’t see why people are taking out the context for things Lin is reading in audiobooks? I think it’s perfectly fine for Miranda to say those things as he was reading a story. People have complained about the fact that the sound disturbed them; I wasn’t that comfortable listening to it myself! But you have to understand that it’s not Lin-Manuel Miranda’s fault that someone posted it on TikTok. Whatever he was reading would have an age rating and reviews so you wouldn’t accidentally come across something like that. Listening someone talking about sex make me feel slightly disturbed but I understand that Lin was doing his job by reading it and it’s not his fault that someone thought it’d be funny to add the sound onto TikTok!

We need to stop focusing on the things Lin-Manuel Miranda has done which you don’t like and focus on the positive things about him. Like, the fact that he wrote a two hours and forty-minute musical, which is just nonstop songs, about someone’s life is just incredible and inspiring to me! And the way he acted in all the songs were so great! He also told Justin Laboy’s story in 21 Chump Street in the space of five songs. His acting in Mary Poppins Returns was just amazing and it was clear that he enjoyed every second of filming it! And I loved the songs from Moana since I first saw it and when I found out that Miranda wrote the songs, I was so surprised that Lin wrote songs for another thing I enjoyed to watch! He’s definitely one of my idols.

We need to stop focusing on people’s “flaws” and pay more attention to the positive things about them. Especially with celebrities! Like I said before, they are still human with real emotions. They can still get hurt. When Miranda said that he was taking a break from Twitter, I was so upset that people have pushed him this far over the edge 2! He may not be leaving because of the horrible posts people have been making but I won’t be surprised if it is. I saw a reply on Lin’s tweet saying “WE’RE BULLYING THIS MAN OFF THE INTERNET LMAOOOOO” with a video of edits people made with Miranda biting his lip. But actually, it isn’t funny at all. With cyber bullying, you only hear about it with teenagers. You never hear about it with adults! But that’s what it is. This is what all of this is. Anybody who is attacking Lin-Manuel Miranda for the points I mentioned and are making the memes and edits, you’re actually bullying him. You may think that they’re just harmless jokes, but clearly, they’re not! I know that’s not something you hear normally about an adult getting bullied but it’s true. And I feel so sorry for him because some of it is because of a show he spent six years of his life making! He deserves to get praised for it – not attacked!

And if there is a slight chance, you’re somehow reading this, Lin, I just want to say that you have been so responsible with this matter. You could’ve easily snapped and had a go at the people doing this but you didn’t. Instead, you’re walking away from the situation until it’s settled down. You’re such a huge inspiration with everything you do! I really hope things get better for you very soon.

And to all the people out there attacking Lin-Manuel Miranda to the point that he has to take a break from Twitter? All I can say to you is “Congratulations”. I hope you’re proud of yourselves for being so horrible to someone who’s dedicated years of his life for the entertainment of others.

Congratulations.

#lin manuel miranda #cancelhamilton #hamilton #lin #miranda #linmanuelmiranda #cancel hamilton

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schaefferisqueen · 4 years

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AVPSY Song Ranking

Ok so this is avpsy... so .... confession time. erm, I have never watched avpsy the whole way thru..... oops. Ive watched parts of it and I know the plot. but. too long for me to sit thru oops. ANYWAYS sry this took a while erm I had to go and find each song and listen to them to make sure I knew wtf they were. so. took a while once again.... pretty controversial but not as much as my other ones lmao so HERE U GO

13. This is the End (ok so I love evanna Lynch and Richard ,,,,, but this was not a good opener song oops I rlly dont like. it just,,,, not good I dont like the lyrics and um,, harmonies not so good oops and yes I know they had like 2 days of rehearsal in shitty conditions but um,,,, oh well)

12. Senior Year (ok so I kinda like this when it performed at cons see leaky con 2018 but um,,, I rlly dont. the harmonies feel Kinda off to me and ya it doesn't sit right,,,, also u cant rlly see Meredith or jaime the way the set up the staging oops)

11. Tonight This School is Mine (ok so,,, this is ok song I just never rlly vibed with it. like Darren and Lauren do great and I get the whole situation but I just,,,,, dont like it???? idk dont ask me my mind does not make sense)

10. Days of Summer (ok so this is good I love this song normally I just,,,, ya it was sad cuz then harry say bye to everyone and I cry so ya no oops. but it also fun to see everyone together for it so ya that was cool)

9. Everything Ends (I know I know this is ridiculously low like its everyones favorite but I just dont vibe that hard. like it a good song and and hilarious scene especially when Tyler and Joe m show up but its not my fave but HEY top 10)

8. Get in My Mouth (ya I know a lot of ppl hate this song but I think its hilarious Jeff is so chaotic and kills it and the innuendos are amazing also backup dancers slay like go alle-faye sango elona and arielle!!!!!! they kill it I love them also the harmonies are on point also side note Jeffs costume started breaking half way thru the song and its rlly funny lmao)

7. Going Back to Hogwarts Finale (THE FEEEEELLLLLSSSS also fun fact Darren added the ‘I hope you find that swimming pool’ line like 5 min or less b4 going on stage its amazing lmaoooo Albus scarfie potterrrrrrr and Darren and alle-faye r so sweeeeetttt I love themmmmmm and Darren slays)

6. Going Back to Hogwarts (ok so this one was rlly cool cuz they changed the lyrics to match wtf was happening and that is so iconic also joey and Darren legit messing up the lines in the song while looking at the fucking script kills me they so funny I love)

5. Always Dance (aaaahhh this is so good we live for Dylan/Joe duets its great we Stan them also Dylan wearing scarfie is great tooooooo Dylan and Joe sound so good and it such uplifting songgggggggg I love hearing it and it makes me happy and dannceeeee also Joe little boy voice is so funny and the leaping around the stage dance of w/ Joe and Tyler is iconic tooooo also the fact that this whole song was a flashback for ginny and jaime is fucking hilarious as possessed ginny I die)

4. I Was (omfg this song I canttttt its iconic and omg I love Darren and Joe and clark and pierce writing this masterpiece I love themmmmmmmm also if u haven't already find the leaky con 2013 in London of Joe and clark singing this its amazing and they slay and this song is so good and harmonies are so on point and the FEELSSSSS)

3. Wizard of the Year (omfg this songgggggg aj is hilarious and amazing and I can't believe he was only in MAMD b4 this like he wrote songs and shit but this was only the second starkid show he had a role in also aj singing and playing piano and his voice and ugh I love ajjjjjjjjjj he kills it and the song is hilarious cuz its basically a way to diss harry and its great)

2. Sidekick (WOOOOOOO GO JOEYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY king kills this song and I love it and I wish it was in apocalyptour but oops oh well also the homecoming version of this is great tooo and the song is hilarious to listen to/watch for the first time cuz joey is so funny and ur not rlly expecting it at first and omfg joey go OFF its a great song and I am also very impressed that Meredith is able to stay still and petrified that whole time like goddam give her a Tony just for that lmao)

1. When You Have to Go Home (WHOOOOO GO OFFFF BRITTANYYYYYYYYYYYYYY I fucking love this song just cuz of Brittany riffs and its so good and she kills it also fun fact she never knew the words and had to ask Tyler every time right b4 she sang also the two of them have the cutest friendship ever also yes this is my fave song purely cuz Brittany but also Joe on his fake bike is so funny its great I loveeeee)

again, sry this took so long BUT HMB is already done w/comments and every thing and starship is ranked, I just need to write in my comments/reasoning lmao. so the next 2 should come fairly fast! ill update y'all on my starship post, but I need to figure out all the avps songs, listen to them, and rank them still and I haven't started BUT it will happen I SWEAR

anyways love u all!

<3, alimay

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hydemeincradle · 4 years

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I’ll Take Care of Her

Cybird Creative Challenge Day 1: Firsts (masterpost to original prompts: https://hydemeincradle.tumblr.com/post/616992091106574336/cybird-creative-challenge-prompt-masterpost)

Notes: So remember Anise? Well, I kinda threw her in Sengoku... And as she falls to the ground again, she happens to bump into a certain someone special.

Tagging @littlemissyina seeing as I have written about her character, Daisuke. Hope I have done him justice (although I did use most of your words)! And as always thanks to my bestest @stupidoafofspades for checking and editing for me <3 Lastly, while writing this a song came to my mind and it fits perfectly, Mansionair’s Falling. So if you want to join in: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2c21Uw6Pc4c and the lyrics can be found here: https://genius.com/Mansionair-falling-lyrics Word count: 1786

It was the smallest little thing, sat there on his outstretched palm. And yet it made the biggest difference. Deep down I was still afraid, so very afraid, but it was quite simple, take the sweet and try it. I plucked it and slipped it between my lips savouring the intense sweetness and nodding. It was good, real good. The sort of good where I could easily get addicted to such sweetness. Before I knew it, a bag of them was held out to me and I took it, scrabbling inside for another. I wanted to grumble, to protest, my trust was being bought with sugar… and it was working.

“Thank you,” I said sheepish, staring at the pretty pink bag in my hand. “You didn’t have to.”

“It’s the least I could do for treating you the way I did.”

I glanced up at him and he was smiling, not a fake smile –I’d seen plenty of those before– but a genuine one. It wasn’t like I was good at really telling how trustworthy people were, but right now I was alone in a whole different place and he was the only one reaching a hand out to me. A sugar filled one. I smiled back at him, what did I have to lose? I had nothing but the clothes I’d escaped in.

Alright Daisuke, I’ll trust you.

“Well,” I started and quickly spun round in a large circle, turning back to face him. “Nothing happened before now…” My eyes widened at my error. “No wait. Nothing happened before the other food. You just met me and fed me tasty things, ok?”

I nodded at my inclusion. The food at the tea house had been very tasty and it’d be awful to have to forget it. Even if it was pretend forget.

He grinned and it felt like I’d eaten another piece of konpeito with the sweetness I could taste. “Okay, so like we just met, at the tea house then.”

“Exactly. Oh but I still have no idea what I'm doing.” I laughed and held up my new bag. “And I kinda don't have anything except what I’m wearing and this cute little bag.”

“I can set you up at the inn with a room,” he said with a nod. “And I have a few kimonos you could borrow but they will be a bit big on you… but we have a seamstress here that could make a few for you soon.”

I frowned, feeling so guilty, I didn’t want him to feel responsible for me. “That seems like an awful lot. Are you sure that is ok? I don't even have any money to pay you back and I don't know what I am going to do and…” I stopped and sighed. I’d already been through this before after I moved the first time and it had been a pain, and here I was again.

Daisuke waved his hand and smiled. “Don’t worry about it, we can just visit the tea house again and I’ll take that as you paying me back.”

I stared at him confused. “How is that paying you back?”

“Just say yes, and consider it even.”

His smile widened to a grin and I had to snort and look away as I felt my cheeks flush. “Alright, it’s a deal. I am very curious about all the different foods you have, especially if they are just as yummy as what you’ve already shown me.”

“Good,” he said, reaching up carefully and plucking a leaf from my hair. “Shall I show you to the inn?”

I froze for a moment, unsure how to react; his touch had been so gentle and kind. Instead, I just nodded and settled for glancing around at the market before we left; it was full of small stalls and shops with many items I wanted to stop and admire, but behind us the sun was setting and the market closing. I would be back for sure.

As we walked to the inn in the dying light my mind raced around thinking about what had happened. The adrenaline was slowly slipping away as I clung to the safety Daisuke was promising; the knots in my stomach eased and gently unclenched. Only hours before I had been falling, falling, falling from the sky landing in a tree. I’d ran from my home only to be grabbed and interrogated here. My wrists still ached from the bindings and yet… I had to forget. We were starting over.

I pushed the thoughts away as we entered the inn, a building that looked just the same as all the rest to me. This whole place was new and so different from the two countries I had lived in before. It was scary thinking of adjusting again, but the alternative was worse. I would get used to it. I had to. Or I suppose, I could leave again… Daisuke led me upstairs towards an empty room, pausing to grab some clothes from his room next door then handing it to me.

“Here you go, I’ll be just in my room if you need me. I expect you want to rest.”

With a short laugh, I took the clothes. “I feel like I need to sleep forever but I’m wide awake all at the same time. So I think I'm going to wrestle with all this,” I motioned to the ridiculous length that my hair had grown to, “and see if that helps.”

My flailing earned a chuckle and I found myself stepping closer. “Would you like any help with it?”

… Help with it? My fingers found the edge of my sleeve and I twisted it under my fingertips, fidgeting. “Um, well, maybe… I don’t know. Uh, wouldn’t that be a bit weird?”

“I guess?” He shrugged. “I just thought I’d offer. Well, goodnight Anise.”

With a quick wave he slipped into his room and I was left wondering what to feel. My mind was yelling fear, to hide away until rested and keep running, and my gut told the opposite. Each brief touch and smile from Daisuke chipped away at my fear, drawing me closer. I pulled the door shut and sunk down on the funny bed-floor, I needed sleep and a clear mind.

Tattered clothes were dropped with a sigh, the only things left of my life in Cradle. I pulled out a photograph I had hidden deep in a pocket, holding it with all the care in the world; the only thing left of my life before Cradle. And here I was trying to dress myself in a strange man’s clothing, fumbling with the cord and trying to tighten the baggy material. He’d been right, it was too big for me. I wouldn’t have thought it, with me being as tall as him, but he did seem to be hiding what appeared to be a muscled figure under these strange long clothes.

Brush in hand, I attempted to run it through my newly grown hair which now pooled its way to my ankles; it fell heavy and still contained some leaves from my past collide with the tree. Each knot just pulled and tangled, leaving me growling in anger and frustration until I flopped back on the bed in defeat.

Would it really be that weird to go and ask him for help? I wanted to be able to do it all on my own, to take care and fend for myself but… surely it would be ok, just this once?

I made my way back to the hallway, hovering outside of Daisuke’s door hoping he hadn’t fallen asleep or anything just yet. Or maybe I should just go back and try again… I shouldn’t bother him… should I?

“ Psssst... Daisukeee... Um, can you brush my hair? Please?”

The door slid open far too fast for my liking, and I felt my cheeks starting to burn in embarrassment.

A smirk graced his lips as he said, “thought it would be weird?”

I crossed my arms and pouted at the horrible teasing tone that came from his mouth. “It's just... I don't usually ask people I just met if they can brush my hair and it's kind of a weird thing to ask but there is so much of it and the brush gets stuck and I can't reach and,” I admitted quietly, “I need help.”

“Come in and sit down.”

“I normally chop it off when it does this,” I mumbled, shuffling into his room.

Daisuke sat down on the bed-floor and pat the space in front of him. “How short? I think it looks nice like this.”

“You think it looks nice?” I stared at him. Were we seeing the same hair? “Did you not see the leaves still tangled up in there?”

I stood feeling vulnerable, not knowing if it was truly safe, but I took a quick breath and sat down on the bed-floor. I had decided to trust him, so I shouldn’t stop now.

“My hair used to be this short.” I tapped my shoulder and pulled the bulk of my tangled hair to lay on my back. “It seems to be... a condition I have. Gets out of control and I chop it off again.”

With a gentle touch, Daisuke started running the brush through my hair, stopping to pull out a steadily growing pile of leaves. Each stroke of the brush calmed my mind further, until no fear tried to make me flee. I was enjoying my time here, instead.

“Is... Is this your natural colour?”

I was all too aware just how close Daisuke was now, with his voice soft and warm behind me.

“Yeah, it’s um, kinda crazy I know. It's... a thing where I was born. Some people have all sorts of colours.”

I smiled thinking back to the random assortment of colours I’d seen. Although unusual, I had been quite lucky to have mine match quite well. Purple, blue, and pink. Colours I’d grown to enjoy, even now, even with my fear of magic.

“I’ve never seen hair this colour before. It looks nice... different.”

Different. Yes, it was definitely that. The people I’d seen so far had simple coloured hair, blacks, browns, whites. Had he even seen purple hair before?

My eyes slipped closed with the lull of the brush movements, and I could feel myself falling again. But this time I was caught by safe hands. I couldn’t help but think of earlier with my back slumped against the tree, I could barely keep my eyes open and I heard a warm voice say as he scooped me up gently, “I’ll take care of her.”

#CybirdCreativeChallenge #cybird creative challenge #Anise #ikemen sengoku #ocs

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sparklingskz · 5 years

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the other side | kim woojin

▸ genre: fluff, neighbors au

▸ description: you heard a voice from the other side of your wall singing along to the music you were playing, which was... odd?

▸ word count: 2.2k

▸ a/n: sorry for taking a bit long to post.... i’ve just been stressed with school and life :(

The moment you stepped foot into your apartment you sighed in relief, peeling off your jacket and putting your things down on the table.

It had been a shitty day.

Between your teachers giving you way too many assignments, your co-workers screaming at each other and someone spilling their coffee on your shirt, you could definitely say you weren't in the best of moods. That's why you were just craving to get into bed, watch a movie and officially declare the day as over.

The faint smell of coffee on your clothes called for a shower, though.

You made your way to the bathroom, preparing some towels and pressing play on your showering playlist. Yes, you knew the walls were thin and you would probably get complains from some of your annoying neighbors. Did you care? Not at all, because what you needed in that precise moment was to destress, and what better way to do it than singing as if no one could hear you?

Well, turns out that last part was probably not true.

You were shampooing your hair, enthusiastically busting out the lyrics of "Shape of You" alongside Ed Sheeran, when you heard a voice joining you, coming from the other side of your wall. You immediately froze, your voice dying in your throat and your hands coming to a halt in your hair. A tiny bit of embarrassment came over you, when you realized that a complete stranger was actively listening to your party of one. You focused on the voice, which showed no signs of stopping whatsoever and just kept singing even though you had become silent.

Mystery Voice Person was really good at singing, you noted. After listening for a few seconds, you decided to just throw all of your embarrassment out the window and started singing along again, both of your voices mixing together to finish the song.

When the next song started playing, you were half expecting the stranger to abandon the improvised duet-thing you had going on, but the moment Ariana Grande's voice filled the room you heard a small gasp followed by the same voice singing along. You, of course, immediately joined, and admittedly became a bit jealous due to the fact that Mystery Voice Person could hit such high notes so effortlessly.

A few minutes later and to your dismay, you didn't really have a reason to stay in the shower anymore, as you had finished washing up. That meant that it was time to turn off the music, but a part of you wanted to continue singing with the stranger, however odd it was. You let the song that was already playing come to an end, hearing how the person sang the final notes, and then got out of the shower. You stopped the music, and didn't hear any other sound coming from the other side of your wall.

Turns out that Mystery Voice Person joining your impromptu shower singing session wasn't a one-time occurrence, as in the course of the next few weeks it became common to hear the sound of their voice coming from the apartment next to you.

It was like this game that you had created, where one of you would start playing music and, if the other knew the song (which was most of the time), the both of you would sing along to it. Your music taste was really similar, ranging from slow ballads to hype songs that made you want to start dancing in the spot.

With the course of time you figured out that you guys shared both your bathroom and your living room wall, so you started to play music every time you took a shower or when you had free time and were just lounging in the sofa, looking forward to seeing if the stranger would join or not. That was, if he wasn't the one playing the music first.

Sometimes, you would come home from work and hear the faint sound of a song getting louder as you neared your apartment, and a smile would take over your face when you thought of your neighbor listening to it, waiting for you to join.

It was a pretty fun dynamic, to say the least.

Even though you hadn't met this neighbor face to face, the fact that you shared something as simple as music felt special. Sometimes one of the two of you would laugh at some ridiculous song choices the other would make (Barbie Girl was part of your playlist once), and other times you would notice the other had a bad day when their music consisted of pretty sad tunes. When that happened, you always tried to cheer the other up by singing in the most awful tones you could muster, earning some heartfelt laughter in return.

You didn't feel the need to see each other in person (you never happened to meet when entering your apartments anyways), as you considered that singing together was enough. You did exchange names around a week after the first time you sang together, that being the longest conversation you had held with each other.

"So," you said while getting closer to the wall so you could be heard more clearly, pausing the song that had started playing after the last one. "We've been singing together for like a week now and I don't know your name, Mystery Voice Person."

You could hear the sound of a breathy laugh coming from the other side of the wall. "My name is Woojin, and yours?"

"I'm y/n," you said after smiling, pressing play on the song.

Woojin.

It was an ordinary day, same old routine. Getting home, putting away your belongings, preparing something to eat, and then heading to the shower while pressing play on your music.

However, you felt that something was missing that day.

During these past weeks, when you showered at that hour Woojin had joined your singing, which meant that he was usually home around that time.

However, that day you were met with complete silence from the other side of the wall.

You didn't think much of it as first, as it wasn't an obligation of some sort to always be there when the other one played music. People had lives, so Woojin was probably just busy and wasn't home. Or, he just wasn't in the mood to sing that day. Whatever it was, you just hoped he was okay.

You started to become a bit worried when four whole days had passed with no interaction with Woojin. The weird thing is you had actually heard sounds coming from his apartment, like him walking or moving stuff around. You weren't about to go knock on his door and ask him what was going on, because it wasn't like you had an official agreement to what you were doing and you guys definitely weren't friends. Right? You were just neighbors who happened to really like singing together.

On the fifth day of you not hearing any singing from Woojin, you happened to be released from work early and decided to use that time to relax a bit; maybe take a bath, go for a walk or watch something on Netflix while munching on some food. You ultimately decided on the latter, grabbing some snacks from the kitchen and heading towards the living room, ready to just plop down on the sofa and not move from that position for at least a few hours.

It was when you heard the muffled sound of someone crying that you stopped in your tracks, focusing your attention solely on finding out where it was from.

It sounded like it was coming from the direction of Woojin's apartment.

Food abandoned on the coffee table, you didn't lose one more second and got closer to the wall, moving over to the spot where the crying could be heard more clearly. You softly placed your hands on the surface, wondering if it would be appropriate to say something or not.

"... Woojin?" you asked, loud enough to be heard from the other side of the wall but still trying to sound gentle.

The crying seemed to stop for a moment, before Woojin answered.

"Um." It sounded like he was trying to compose himself, followed by a sniffle. "Yes?"

"Are you ok?" You obviously knew he wasn't, but what else could you ask? You weren't about to demand him to tell you what was wrong.

Another sniffle. "Yeah, don't worry about me."

Hell, how could you not be worried when he practically disappeared from your sort-of-friendship without notice, and now he was there, sounding like he was having a hard time?

"Hey, I know we don't really know each other but... If you need someone to talk to, I'm here." After a few moments, you added "Even if it's through the wall."

A few seconds passed in complete silence, and then you heard some movement on the other side.

When Woojin spoke again, his voice sounded much closer, as if he had moved right next to where you were standing. "Um..." He seemed to hesitate for a moment. "It's just that I talked with my parents and they aren't very pleased with the idea of me studying music. They think that it's an unstable career, that I'm not good enough for it, that I'm not going to earn enough money... You know the drill." He sighed.

Well shit.

"Oh... That sucks, not gonna lie." You were able to hear a small chuckle.

"Yeah, so that's why I distanced myself from music for a bit, I'm really confused and thinking if I should just change majors completely." He sounded defeated.

"Woojin, your parent's opinions aren't yours. Do you love it? Do you love music?"

"Yes." He didn't hesitate.

"There you go. That's what matters in the end, the only path you should take is the one that makes you happy. If they see how hard you work for it and how much passion you put into music, maybe they'll see how important it is to you and they'll change their minds. Or maybe they won't, but you'll still have other people supporting you for who you truly are." You stopped your motivational speech for a second, waiting to see if he would say something. He didn't, so you continued. "And you definitely have the talent to study music, trust me. You shouldn't abandon it, as it sounds like you were meant for it."

A few more seconds of silence passed, when you heard him start crying again, and you panicked.

"Wait, did I say something wrong? I'm sorry! Woojin? What's wrong?"

"No, it's just... I really needed to hear that."

You visibly relaxed, and smiled. "Tell me if I'm overstepping, but you sound like you need a tight hug right now, and I'm happy to provide."

You heard the sound of steps getting softer by the second, followed by a door opening and closing. You held your breath in anticipation, just as the sound of your door bell ringing filled your apartment.

Rapidly heading towards your front door, you opened it to reveal a red-eyed, messy haired Woojin. You instantly opened your arms in invitation, and he was quick to wrap his own around you.

It was the first time you were seeing him in person, which meant that you would be able to stop imagining how he looked like every time his beautiful voice reached your ears. You weren't able to catch many details about him as he was currently hugging you, but you noted that he was pretty tall, your face barely reaching his shoulder, and that the smell of his cologne was very pleasant.

You stayed in that position for a few more seconds, and you tried to convey as much support in that hug as you could. He then pulled away, and quickly reached to rub at his eyes with the end of his hoodie's sleeve (he had actual sweater paws).

"Wow, I can't believe this is our first time officially meeting and I'm crying my eyes out." He laughed, and you followed.

"Hey, we've listened to each other's sad playlists, I'd say there's nothing to be embarrassed of after that."

"True, true."

"Are you feeling any better?" You softly asked.

"Definitely... You're right, I need to do what makes me happy, and that's definitely music. I just need a way to deal with my parents." He grimaced.

"You can think about that later, how about we stop standing in my doorway and you come inside to watch something on the TV to distract yourself? At least for a while," you offered.

He didn't hesitate to nod. "But only if we're watching a comedy or something, I can't handle any more crying right now."

You let out a chuckle. "You're picking, then." You moved to the side to let him inside your apartment.

And that's how you found yourself sitting in the sofa with Woojin, movie forgotten in the background as you both got to know each other over a huge bowl of popcorn.

Who knew you would be able to get to know someone over the fact that you sang songs together from two different apartments, only separated by a thin wall?

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creepingsenseofdread · 4 years

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ok I usually don't make long posts but since the semester just started this could be helpful. I've had issues with college before but have acquired some helpful habits and ways to make things easier for me along the way, and wrote everything I could think of in a list. I know there's more, but these are the basics for me. All of this stuff was absolutely not intuitive to me in the past and I had to figure it out through trial and error and reading advice online. Also worth noting that school got a lot easier for me when I went on meds that helped my focus among other things. If absolutely nothing works for you, maybe you need more help and that's ok.

- if having a hard time, do the easy stuff first, and make tasks smaller until you can do them. If you're stuck on starting your easiest assignment, do whatever is easy, like read the first paragraph, or first line, or just open your notebook. Make it so easy for yourself that it would be ridiculous if you Couldn't do it.

- in general, do the thing that's due soonest first, or do the easiest thing first. Just remember that stuff often takes longer than you think, so don't procrastinate (easier said than done I know). Sometimes when it gets hectic, all you can do to manage your work is completing one thing at a time in order of priority. Whatever is due tomorrow and that’s it.

- use a pomodoro timer, or if the distraction is so bad you can't get off your phone, use an app like Forest that'll stop you. Same with blocking sites on your computer. These honestly only work half the time for me, but if you're determined at least try it.

- have hard start and stop times for your work, this semester I’ll try to be done with my homework by 8:30 PM unless there's a major upcoming deadline. Previous semesters the stop time was 9 PM or 10 PM. work like it's your job and that includes clocking out when your day is done. Yes sometimes I get really focused and keep working later, but that isn't a good habit (read next point).

- You have to give yourself leisure time. stopping work on time and taking a break to do something fun or just relax is really important for mental health.

- listen to music with no or really minimal lyrics, like instrumental, video game soundtracks. sounds obvious but sometimes I'll listen to the same album on repeat with words being sung and then wonder why I'm not focused. My favorite artists to listen to for hw rn: Louie Zong, R23X. Favorite video game soundtracks rn: stardew valley, night in the woods. I also made a study music playlist with lots of different artists and songs that are conducive to focusing, I recommend doing that too.

- if you're really unfocused and just sitting there doing nothing and struggling, just take a break and do something else for a bit. Do a chore, play a video game, get a snack or water, go for a walk, then get back to work

- on the flip side, if you get hyper focused, remember to actually eat and drink and sit up straight and unclench your jaw

- GO TO SLEEP IF YOU NEED IT. seriously, I know it can be hard, but if you get nothing done in a day just go to sleep on time, because if you start the next day tired you're already making work more difficult for yourself.

- also be nice to yourself. like in the previous point, if you need sleep, then sleep. eat when you need to, take breaks when you need to. forgive yourself for an unproductive day and try again tomorrow. if you don’t you’re more susceptible to burning out.

#original #god idk i just think if this helps one person it's worth writing out!#also feel free to message me for any #studying advice #i'll try my best to help out

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smile-smile-ichthys · 4 years

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The Lyricist and The Hobi - BTS Fanfic - Chapter 1

I’m bored in lock down so I came back to post a new fic to keep me sane. It’s fluff between an OC from Scandal In The Spotlight falls for J-Hope from BTS.

Three whole years of practise came down to this one game, one game during their time at this week and a half long special event. Her honour was at stake. So were the rest of the boys’, but theirs didn’t matter, not to her anyway. All that mattered to her at that moment in time was winning this round. If she won this round, she won the whole game. And winning the whole game meant she was not spending anything on dinner that night. She gently rocked herself forwards and backwards on her feet, then bounced from one foot to the other to prepare herself as she stood in the lift, heading down to the lobby. The text came through in the chat from Iori, the great princely prince idol in the J-Pop group she was a lyricist for, a minute or two ago, telling her simply ‘Lemony Snicket is in play’. She smirked as she pocketed her phone, but keeping her hand wrapped around it as she began her descent.

When the doors pinged open, her eyes roamed around the lobby, spotting the many different K-Pop and J-Pop idols that were now arriving. Black Pink were currently making their way through the main doors, Iori wouldn’t have hidden it on them so she avoided them. She made her way out of the lift and through the lobby area, her eyes constantly searching, but not drawing attention to herself. As she reached the point where the lobby changing into the bar, her eye caught a glimpse of yellow, they yellow she had been looking for. The yellow of a lemon! She kept walking but swivelled nonchalantly to confirm. Yep. There it was. The one thing she wanted. Now the challenge was to retrieve said item. Realising who the person was she had to fetch it from, she put on her best smile and turned to speak to his manager. Act natural. Act. Natural.

“Ah, you made it here ok I see!” she said, greeting the manager of the one and only BTS.

He turned to face her, as did the whole group, and he smiled kindly since they had gotten on well during the meeting and planning stages of this event.

“Roo, so nice to see you again!” he bowed and she returned the greeting happily “Yes, just waiting for the rooms to be ready, they said it should only be about half an hour or so, been here long?”

“Since early this morning, the boys are…erm…somewhere” She chuckled, knowing fine well they were watching her from the bar area. Couldn’t draw attention to them, they may throw her game. Too much as at stake.

“I’m sure we can arrange a meet before rehearsals tomorrow” he suggested and she nodded, but turned to greet all the boys of BTS.

“Pardon my rudeness, nice to meet you all, I’m Roo, assistant manager, but mainly the lyricist of Revance” she smiled to each of them and they all bowed back. She spotted Nagi waving from the bar and tapping his watch. Ah shit. She didn’t have long. “I’m sure we can talk more later, if you’ll excuse me, I think Nagi needs some help” She pretended to trip over her own foot, nudging into one of the boys, J-Hope to be exact. As she rectified herself, she grabbed the item that was hidden on top of his duffle bag that was around his shoulders and apologised, running off.

In the bar, all six members of Revance were watching as closely as they could. Iori was the one to place the lemon on J-Hope’s bag, knowing fine well he was Roo’s favourite member of BTS. It was his personal test for her to see if she could act professional whilst playing their game of ‘The Travelling Lemon’. He cockily sipped his drink.

“I would have put it on their manager” Nagi piped up as he settled in his chair with his own drink.

“Yes, but you make it too easy, Nagi” Kyo, the leader of the group said, keeping an eye on Roo as she appeared from the lift.

“I do not” Nagi argued.

“Shh, she’s approaching them” another member, Kota, said as they lowered their heads slightly to be kept from being seen.

No matter where they were, what they were doing there, if they were in a hotel it was a tradition to play this game. Roo had explained the game about a month or two after joining the band to help with the lyrics. At first it was hers and Nagito’s game, after all, Nagi was the only one in the group to be kind to her. As the rest of the group warmed up to her, they all slowly began to join in with the game. Even when Ryo came back from his hiatus, it became a game that they all played together, no matter the situation.

The rules were simple. Name the fruit, usually a lemon, a pun like name. It must be hidden in plain sight, you can’t cover it. Each person takes a turn to find, then re-hide the fruit, once it has been hidden, you must tell the next player ‘the lemon/name of fruit is in play’. Whoever is caught by someone outside of the game, ie asked what they were doing, or they find the lemon/fruit, that player is out. Whoever goes on the longest, wins. You could put time limits on if you wished, which this time they did to make it more interesting.

Ryo had started the round, but got called out early by a staff member so he set up shop in the bar. He was always terrible at the game. Kota was the next one to fail, instead of being called out though, he ran out of time. Nagi soon followed, along with Kyo. For a while, it was between Roo, Iori and Taka and that’s when they decided to put a time limit on. Taka failed and happily sat at the bar listening to his music to keep working. Which left Iori and Roo. Roo had to bring the lemon back to the bar without being called out or run out of time to beat Iori.

“She’s not going to do it, she’s going to chicken out” Iori smirked.

“I wouldn’t doubt her ability so much” Kyo laughed as they watched her interact with the manager for a few seconds.

“She’s running out of time” Nagi checked his watch, gestured to Roo causing Iori to smack his head.

“Oi, whose team you on?” he said.

Nagi laughed rubbing his head.

“We’re not doing team this time, but I’d be on hers any day”

“Too true” Kota joined “here she comes”

Roo jogged over and presented the lemon, Lemon Snicket, to Iori.

“I do believe that is a win!” she smirked at him. Iori huffed and pouted, causing Roo to smile more. Deciding to mock him more, she impersonated his princely act “Oh is my prince not happy? How about I send all of my loving vibes to all my beloved fans? A rose? My my, it’s not as beautiful as your smile”

“No no, wait” Nagi laughed more, jumping off of his seat and joining in “You have to do the smoulder” he posed, pouting his lips ever so slightly, offering his hand out to Iori, Roo copying as best as she can.

“They are decent impressions” Kyo chuckled “Got to admit it, Iori, they have you down to a T”

“Hmm” he said, grabbing the hand that Roo offered in her little skit, pulled her to him and began to tickle around her sides.

She writhed and full on belly laughed at his vicious attacks. Nagi happily joined in, always ready for a laugh no matter what.

“Iori, no ah stop!” she laughed, almost collapsing to the floor. He picked her up and flung her over his shoulder. She ‘oofed’ as her stomach hit his shoulder, but flopping in defeat, too tired from the tickle attack.

“Punishment for teasing me so much” he said.

“We still have a bit of time before the press arrive for our arrival, what should we do now leader?” Kyo asked Takashi who reluctantly removed his head phones.

“I think we should go greet some other groups, and maybe get a drink of water for Roo as she’s gone bright red, you ok?” he asked.

“Normally I’d say I’m fine, but not only did BTS see me up here, but so did the rest of the groups, how embarrassing is that?!” she said as Iori finally lowered her to the floor.

“You’ve been with us for three years now” Kyo said flicking her forehead “if we embarrass you, it’s because we care, I highly doubt they’ll think you’re stupid, come on, chin up, let’s go meet some of the groups ready for the week ahead!”

She grinned, quickly rubbing her eyes and putting her professional head on. He was right. They did stupid stuff together all the time, and the fans still loved them a ridiculous amount. So what if some groups thought it was silly to be this close to each other. She loved the boys with all of her heart and soul, would do anything for them, even hiding a lemon. It was time to be their assistant manager and go see the other artists who had arrived for the biggest event in Asian Pop Culture history.

#BTS #SITS #Scandal in the spotlight #j-hope #jung hoseok #fanfic #crossover #bangtan #voltage inc

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the-nerktwins · 6 years

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There’s more to “Another Day” than meets the eye…or, ear…

Sometimes the most interesting thoughts are captured during discussions. I recently began a thread in a Beatles forum I’m a member of, about Paul’s song “Another Day” and the deeper meaning I personally found within it. The conversation veered into two different directions. One was the concept of the lyrical content being overlooked for a few possible reasons, not the least of them being that the protagonist was a woman. The other branch of this conversation veered towards was the musical anatomy of the song and how it serves to add texture to the story the lyrics are telling.

It’s with regret that I report that some participants completely overlooked the musical complexity of this track. To illustrate, here are a couple of key quotes from respondents in the thread I started:

“In contrast to 'Eleanor Rigby, 'Another Day' is cute and perfect instead of full of contrast and dynamics. The cozy comfort of the music itself reflects the bland predictability of the protagonists' life, as depicted in the song. I'm just not sure that's the best approach to take. I think John and George's (Martin) influence would have added some dimension.”

“Yes it's typical of McCartney to wrap a dark story in a cute song. He likes to hide things (even from himself).”

I was left wondering if me and these posters were even listening to the same song! I was also reminded of how ready people are to default to and parrot the (false and grossly oversimplified) talking points that the fandom has been spoon-fed about Paul’s songcraft since the 1970’s. Paul is hardly ever regarded as a valid artist in his own right outside of the Beatles collective, that is terribly, truly wrongheaded in every imaginable way.

I find it galling that many fans still want to hear his early, solo work with a “Lennon filter” applied to it. I’ve seen people saying things like, “This song is good, but if he’d done it with John it would’ve been GREAT!” I completely disagree. McCartney’s compositional abilities by 1967 had evolved to the point where he could “hear” in his head almost exactly what he wanted his final product to sound like. He was adept at articulating his vision to producers, engineers, and bandmates rather early on.

It also hasn’t escaped my notice that certain fans resent his abilities within the confines of the Beatles’ collective since it did contribute to some friction within the band during their late period, and then they turn around and completely ignore his competency when it comes to his solo work (and lament that he couldn’t collaborate with Lennon or George Martin on particular solo songs). It’s a paradoxical mentality and I’m not shy about denouncing it. It gives me whiplash, if I’m quite honest about it!

Since I don’t know (and didn’t ask) the participants about whether they’ve had any experience as musicians, I can make some allowance for the fact that people who’ve played music can hear things in a piece that non-musicians may not pick up on. The thing is, there exist a fair number of sources which could at least illustrate what’s going on musically in “Another Day.”

As for me, since I have a musical background, and I can HEAR what’s going on. To me there are “contrast and dynamics.” The song builds, crescendos, and comes back down again. There's a lot going on in terms of time signature changes, and decorative elements which add texture to the story being told. It’s brilliant! I realize that someone who has little to no musical experience could miss it. There are musically-inclined people out there who can explain it, however, and I went looking online for just that. I conducted two simple Google searches: “Paul McCartney Another Day Musical Analysis,” and “Paul McCartney Another Day Sheet Music.”

With the second search, I found a website which allows the user to play a midi file of the song (with the lead vocals, backing vocals, and every instrument) while the user is taken through the sheet music. The parts being played highlight what’s going on in the song as it’s playing. If someone is inexperienced as a musician, it can serve as a nice, visual aid to see just how complex a composition is, and how much is going on within it. Here’s a screenshot of the site, and a link to “Another Day” for illustrative purposes.

"Another Day" by Paul and Linda McCartney on MuseScore.com

To me this is proof-positive that "Another Day" isn't just a cutesy, fluffy song.

For some further argument in the favor of the musical merits of this song, I stumbled upon comments from fans in the Steve Hoffman music forums, in a thread called "Paul McCartney 'Another Day' Appreciation Thread"

After the bit ".... leaves the next daaaaayyyy..." there's this descending run on the guitar that is perfectly placed, but very difficult indeed to play. – Edgard Varese

yeah, another day is an absolutely killer track. to me its really the perfect song: catchy as hell, yet imaginative and really far more complex than a casual listener would ever realize. i also agree with the thoughts on the rythym guitar. great song to learn for any guitar player, not just for the rythm, but for the chords also. i believe it starts with a g to a b7 with an f# bass and really you've got me hooked from there – andyw676

Listen to the bassline...amazing. – Stateless

I've always loved this song, everything about it really. The undertone of Rigby-esque sadness was obvious to me from the get-go, and the yearning in the "sometimes she feels so sad" bit as the music shifts up and down chromatically always put a lump in my throat. Paul's very good at getting some of the more delicate emotional shadings in his songs. Great song. Thanks for the thread! -- Gardo

That song has some crazy chord changes, and lots of em. Makes it special. – Dave D

To diverge just a little bit into lyrical territory, there were some nuggets of push-back within this Steve Hoffman thread against the typical appraisal of this song, namely it being labeled as “lightweight” or “trite” by certain critics or fans.

Similarly, on "Another Day" if you read the lyrics carefully you may come away feeling not uplifted by a catchy little ditty but a mite saddened by the sometimes crushing loneliness of the modern grind. Personally I love the "At the office where the papers grow..." and "Alone in her apartment she'd dwell..." parts, some of Paul's best lyrics. Remarkable concision. – Dr J

I don't consider it quite as light as I did. It's almost a social commentary on the way women's lives were in the 70s, although not a knock at anyone specific. I admit I'm stealing a little of my wife's analysis. – kevinsinnott

I find it interesting to note that the second poster needed some assistance from a woman regarding his appraisal of the lyrical content. It’s another reminder of the depressing reality that this song is likely written off as superficial and lightweight, and not much analysis applied to it, but because the protagonist is a woman. Just as a lot of our struggles as women are ignored or ridiculed, a song written by a male who sympathizes with our plight is written off as “silly” and “fluffy” by male fans, even if the lyrics have a dark subtext.

To me, the song speaks of something dark and existential going on within the protagonist's psyche, and Paul himself is simply a narrator, imploring the audience to empathize with her as much as he does. And by empathizing with the plight of a woman, Paul unfortunately gets labeled a superficial square who creates “Muzak” and isn’t “Rock N’ Roll” enough. And that’s not right any way you slice it. Even more ironic is that not long after "Another Day," Lennon at the behest of his wife would be singing and talking about Women's struggles for equal rights and the injustice of it all. He glibly missed his former songwriting partner's intent in this song. That's not unlike John at all, however, and that's certainly not the point of this essay. It's just an observation I found interesting.

"Another Day" also speaks to me as an acknowledgement that people who are highly functional can and do suffer depression; people are coached to wear a mask of being “OK” because it’s not socially acceptable to admit you are not OK. Just keep your head down, go to work, do what you’re supposed to do, get on with it, and don’t tell anyone about your problems…

“As she posts another letter to the sound of five People gather 'round her and she finds it hard to stay alive.”

To go back to the song being marginalized as a little bit of radio-friendly, pop fluff, when to me it clearly is NOT for a moment, I want to acknowledge something. Fans were less able to access opposing literature and materials in the early 1970’s, and McCartney himself wasn’t talking much to the press (and unless you’re a brand-new fan, you know why), so I can see why people sort of accepted this viewpoint at the time.

As Erin Torkelson-Weber has pointed out in interviews and on her blog, “The Historian and the Beatles,” Paul’s relative lack of response to the talking points being pushed by John and Yoko within their post-breakup PR campaign, as well as Paul choosing not to give too much weight to the unfair critical appraisal of his work that was tainted by rock music “journalists” essentially siding with John and Yoko, really created a vacuum, allowing for the fandom’s appraisal of Paul’s work to be dominated by this narrative. Therefore, it’s natural that many, if not most fans in 1971 would buy into these sentiments.

What I find annoying is that this tendency continues to persist within the fandom, even among younger fans! This is despite having a considerable amount of evidence available at our fingertips that can serve to point out how very wrong this narrative truly is, up to and including the damn sheet music!

With the ability we now possess to access contemporaneous source material and examine all of it objectively, and the ability to listen to virtually all of his music for free via the major, online streaming services, it demonstrates laziness when people within the fandom choose not to think for themselves regarding McCartney’s genius and artistic merit separate from the other Beatles (namely Lennon).

“Another Day” isn’t the only McCartney work I’ve seen suffer under-appreciation by fans, but it’s an excellent example to illustrate my point, since it was specifically singled out by Lennon and early 70’s rock critics and used as a device by Lennon and the prominent rock critics of the day to publicly mock McCartney and call his integrity as an artist into question.

A lot of McCartney’s solo work is written off in a similar fashion, and what a terrible shame that is. Quite frankly, I think people are depriving themselves of a lot of pleasure by simply dismissing McCartney and avoiding his music (or sticking to his “greatest hits” without delving into his catalog and giving everything a thorough listen), based on these antiquated appraisals of his work.

In conclusion, I hope this essay didn’t come across too harshly. I just hope it may inspire people to listen more carefully to Paul McCartney’s solo work and give him the credit as an artist that he duly deserves.

#another day #musical analysis #my posts #paul mccartney #solo #songs

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