angelgazing (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
angelgazing) wrote2010-08-09 11:48 pm
angelgazing) wrote2010-08-09 11:48 pm
Entry tags:
I'd like to tell you that I'm ready for whatever's coming...
I had ever intention of finishing this damn bakery thing by tonight, but then I got distracted by, well, all the Eames/Arthur fic on the internet. In my defense, it is very distracting.
Also, this stupid bakery thing is almost 3000 words. And, much to my horror, not even reaching a middle. WHAT IS YOUR DEAL, RANDOM BAKERY FIC? This story is like the one night stand you never meant to see again who just keeps calling. It was supposed to be quick and fun and over. Now it has, like, feelings. WTF.
Proof that I am not just pulling your chain about its existence:
Puck can count on one hand the number of times and places where he's felt like the world is bigger than what he had; when he stood on the edge of something and felt like maybe he had a chance of actually being something better than what everyone expected of him. When the curtain went up at regionals; when Shelby asked if maybe he still wanted to see Beth sometimes; the first time he finished a wedding cake, four tiers, covered in delicately piped designs, and tropical flowers; the first Monday, right before they opened, looking over the displays with Kurt's shoulder pressed to his.
Here, in the bakery, he can still get distracted. Puck can look up in the middle of another cake and feel that way all over again. Like he's sixteen and has the world at his fingertips, just waiting for him to grab it.
Baking is like dancing. You can follow the same steps, but it's never going to be great if you don't like doing it.
And Puck—Puck breathes deep, half-listens to Matt argue the merits of mixing flavors you wouldn't usually put together to Quinn over the whine of Kurt's table saw in the backroom, and keeps an eye on the chocolate Brittany is melting in the double boiler—and Puck loves it.
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Now, back toArthur and Eames writing. :| I liked the first answer better.
Also, this stupid bakery thing is almost 3000 words. And, much to my horror, not even reaching a middle. WHAT IS YOUR DEAL, RANDOM BAKERY FIC? This story is like the one night stand you never meant to see again who just keeps calling. It was supposed to be quick and fun and over. Now it has, like, feelings. WTF.
Proof that I am not just pulling your chain about its existence:
Puck can count on one hand the number of times and places where he's felt like the world is bigger than what he had; when he stood on the edge of something and felt like maybe he had a chance of actually being something better than what everyone expected of him. When the curtain went up at regionals; when Shelby asked if maybe he still wanted to see Beth sometimes; the first time he finished a wedding cake, four tiers, covered in delicately piped designs, and tropical flowers; the first Monday, right before they opened, looking over the displays with Kurt's shoulder pressed to his.
Here, in the bakery, he can still get distracted. Puck can look up in the middle of another cake and feel that way all over again. Like he's sixteen and has the world at his fingertips, just waiting for him to grab it.
Baking is like dancing. You can follow the same steps, but it's never going to be great if you don't like doing it.
And Puck—Puck breathes deep, half-listens to Matt argue the merits of mixing flavors you wouldn't usually put together to Quinn over the whine of Kurt's table saw in the backroom, and keeps an eye on the chocolate Brittany is melting in the double boiler—and Puck loves it.
---
Now, back to