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a-b-riddle · 1 day

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Part Five

Can't stop thinking about the attempt of reconciliation and reader ain't having it. Our girl is going to be wilddddd y'all. Also goodnight. See y'all tomorrow (maybe)

You call Meredith when you get home.

You. Are. Fuming. She's not sure she can ever remember a time you using so many swear words at one time.

How fucking dare them? Immature? You're the immature one? You were the one trying your best to salvage four failing relationship meanwhile none of those assholes could be bothered to try and keep one. They had one person to manage: you.

"I wanna go out this weekend." "Wear something tight and borderline risk indecent exposure."

"You know what I always say," Meredith begins. "The best way to get over someone-"

"is to get under someone else." You finish. You weren't exactly keen on the idea of bringing someone to your bed just yet, but a little attention would do you some good. "I don't want to fuck someone just yet." You admitted. "I'm more on the getting drunk and making out."

"I didn't know we resorted back secondary school heavy petting?" She teased.

"University, Dear." You corrected. "I didn't peak until after I graduated."

"No." She argued. "You didn't put your books down long enough to realize that boys actually wanted to fuck you." You were glad she couldn't see you roll your eyes. "Saturday work for you? I have a late night Friday and won't be up for it."

"That works."

"Sorry." She apologized. "I plan on getting you absolutely smashed so I need to be ready to play the nanny. I know how you love to get drunk and run off."

It was true. You had always found it hilarious when you were drunk to just run. Quite literally run away. It got to a point during university where Meredith would handcuff you to her so you didn't stray.

"I won't run." Your sober mind promised.

"Uh huh." Meredith's tone told you that she knew that was a load of shit. "I'll text Tabs. Let her know the plan."

The next day at the shop was pretty uneventful. No more unexpected visitors. You still had them all blocked. Not caring if now they decided to offer up some bullshit apology.

Months. This had been a steady decline for six months. A text or a simply sorry won't fix this. You weren't sure anything could.

But it didn't matter. You were done and they obviously were too.

You had picked up enough take out to feed a family, but you didn't plan on making your lunch before work or cooking when you got home. The rest of the week you planned on just going through the motions until you could go out Saturday and hopefully get everything out.

You weren't paying attention as you walked down the hallway to your flat. Fishing in your purse for keys. You were at almost at your door when you saw him.

Sitting next to your door was a familiar face. A face you felt you haven't seen in forever.

“What are you doing here, Kyle?" Your voice was flat as you continued to blindly try and find your keys with one hand. Fuck. You really need to clean out your purse...

“My key wouldn’t work.” He explained. "So I’m out here.”

"I'm aware why you're not in my apartment since I changed the locks," you said, trying to keep your irritation at bay. "What I am asking is why did you come here?"

"You won't return any of our messages."

"You're all blocked, so technically I didn't really get any messages." "Besides, you don't get to complain to me about not responding to texts, Kyle Garrick." Your fingers finally wraps around them. God bless. "If you're here for your things, it'll have to wait. I have to sort through everyone's shit and I don't know whose is whose."

"We need to talk." He explains as you put the key into the lock, opening the door.

"Nah," you say scrunching your nose in that way he used to adore. "I'm good. But you can swing by tomorrow and pick up your things if you'd like." You say before trying to shut the door on him. You were stupid in thinking you could be faster than him.

Dammit.

"I know things haven't been good and I've definitely could have been better,'' he admits. "But can you at least try and let us apologize? Let us try and work it out."

"No." You answered, trying to close the door. Not caring if you had to resort to kicking his shins to get him out.

"Why not?" He countered.

“Maybe because I've already tried, Kyle?” You gave up on trying to shut him out. You were strong, but he didn't have any issues in besting you. “Because I actually tried with you. With all of you. You didn’t need to come here giving me excuses about your life being hectic because I’ve made the excuses for you.” You didn't miss how he practically flinched. He had always blamed his busy life. Family. Work. You stopped caring about whatever excuse he gave you and realized it was just that. An excuse. “I’ve been telling myself for months that everything you guys didn’t do for me wasn’t because you didn’t care about me. It was because of the stress of your deployments is the reason none of you tell me when you get back from until it’s time to fuck. I tell myself it’s because of the fucked up situation of me being with all of you that makes it awkward to meet your families. Families you all have that I now know I’m not worthy of meeting.” He wanted to correct you. You were. You were worthy. He was an idiot. “It’s not that I need your excuses to make me feel like what you did was justified. No matter what it was, it was apparently to you because you did it.”

He took a step back, processing everything you had said. He had been selfish. You were the reliable constant in his life. Someone he believed he never disappointed. Someone he couldn't disappoint no matter how many times he fucked up.

You took the opportunity to slam the door. Quickly turning the lock before he had a chance to open it back up.

God...

That felt good.

You had spent that evening collecting their thing in case Kyle did show back up tomorrow. You wouldn't make their lives easier by sorting all their shit and organizing it. Everything. One box. Let them figure it out. You almost had a mind to add a shirt that you knew didn't belong to any of them just to have them argue over it. Or least make them think there was someone else...

You were almost tempted if not for the premise that you wanted them to realize this was their fault. Their fuck up. But now that you were officially all broken up, you were free game.

#captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #call of duty #john soap mactavish #angst with a happy ending #angst #grovel #jealousy

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theminecraftbee · 2 days

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Wels hums as he walks through the shopping district. He doesn't need much, but with the recent release of Overlord, he wants to hear if any of the establishments are playing it. He doesn't expect it somewhere like the Permit Office--Grian's spent too much time and money getting a song that was as perfectly annoying to be put on hold to as possible--and if it is playing in the log shop, he will laugh. But music tends to spread around Hermitcraft fast, and sure, this isn't about anything specific, but who's gonna miss a good opportunity to dunk on Doc?

He hears the backing beats from a nearby shop and hums along with them, walking down the path--

--then turns a corner and leaps back.

"You," Wels hisses.

Hello. Awfully rude of you not to include me, you know, says the specter.

"No, there's absolutely no reason for you to be here. None at all!" Wels says, throwing his hands up. "The last time I saw you was--gosh, I don't even know. Season Seven?"

Yes, yes, and the only time you saw me, you aren't lying to yourself at all, the specter says agreeably. Come on. We both know I was haunting you for what little of Season Eight you bothered to be around for.

"If you were on Eight then you super shouldn't be here," Welsknight says. He shakes his head and looks up at the shop playing his song. Joel's? Huh. Wouldn't have thought he'd have a reason to make fun of Doc. Welsknight removes his shaking hand from his sword hilt again and starts walking.

On account of you leaving everyone there to die, yes, we're both aware, the specter says.

"Oh, screw you, you wouldn't have done any different, get new material," Wels says. "Also, you aren't real? You're like, all of my insecurities or whatever. You don't even have a real body right now, no one's made you one."

The specter shrugs. I mean, if I'm the worst parts of yourself, really, you're the one who needs better material. Abandoning all your friends to die and then abandoning them altogether--it's a wonder they let you stick around!

Wels rolls his eyes and forces his hand to stay out of his inventory. Wouldn't do to give away that still even gets him. He peaks at another shop. They're playing the song too, but it's ever-so-slightly out of sync, which is kind of terrible. As he does, Cleo waves at him. Their eyes sort of stutter right past Helsknight, which definitively tells him exactly how much body the specter even has to possess right now.

"I'm actually having a great time with my friends this season, so like, the whole 'abandonment' song and dance isn't going to work this time. Started the season with them and everything; hard to even go for 'they'll forget me at the first opportunity' or whatever."

The thing is, the more Wels says it, the more its true. None of the insecurities and pain points that the specter is echoing back at him are what he was actually thinking about. He's been like... fine? Sure, he's definitely still got repressed negative traits, but nothing like "Xisuma's evil twin brother playing around with his head" or "the moon crashing and killing everyone" or "too depressed and burnt out to get out of bed" or "sort of considering abandoning everyone because that's like, his thing" these days. None of the things that should bring the specter that had haunted him since Beef's cloning machine back to him without a body. But Wels is careful about clones outside of something like Vault Hunters, where they're explicitly under his control. He, like, doesn't even armor stand much. So that can't be this either; Helsknight clearly doesn't have a body to be messing with Wels yet!

...Helsknight doesn't even have a body or an actual insecurity to be poking at Wels with yet.

He stops. He puts his hands in his pockets, and turns around to face Helsknight. He is no longer shaking at all.

"Dude, why are you even here?" Wels asks.

I told you, it was rude to leave me out, Helsknight says.

"What," Wels says.

The final bars of Overlord play over the speakers. Welsknight hums and nods before it suddenly clicks.

"What," Wels says again.

Honestly, you're not normally this much of a moron. It was rude to leave me out. Rapping is also my thing.

"Dude," Wels says.

I could totally destroy Docm77 any day. I would obliterate the fool you call a "friend" in ways you cannot comprehend. You invoke a sacrificial goat? I know ways he'd never recover, gods he'd never be able to retrieve himself from. It would be laughable. And you left me out.

Wels stares at the demon from his nightmares.

"You're mad at me because you didn't get to be in my diss track," Wels says.

You let me be in the last one, Helsknight says.

"Dude," Wels says. "Dude, that's pathetic."

Helsknight sniffs. I'm your worst qualities. What does that say about you.

"I didn't even write this for this season," Wels says.

That makes it worse, Helsknight says.

"I don't even know where to start? For one--no, I still don't even know where to start," Wels says. "This is like, the lamest reason you could possibly have to come haunt me. Go away, I'm basking in my like, top 3 charting hit on the Hermitcraft server."

Top three? Pathetic. There are only three songs. You'd be the top song if you'd simply included my power, Helsknight says.

"I can't beat the streaming minutes Grian puts on that hold--look, uh, dude. You're, uh, a very scary representation of my fears and worst qualities and all. Appreciate that. Next time I need to do a diss track, I don't know, maybe I'll invite you? First you've got to stop appearing solely to make my life worse, though. Bring me a cookie or something. I don't know, whatever demons do."

I'm not a demon, I'm a Shadow. We're different, Helsknight says. ...I'll think about it.

When Wels turns the next corner, Helsknight has vanished again. Wels stops in the middle of the street, looks around, confirms the specter has vanished, and then bursts out laughing.

"What the Hels," he says, somehow feeling lighter and more bemused than before. That's a new feeling with his doppleganger. Then, he goes to visit Big Wood. While Doc definitely isn't playing the song of his own accord, Wels figures that Beef just might, and given the day he's having, that would feel like a kind of irony Wels isn't sure how to describe. Besides, he wants to see if Doc will notice if Wels sets the song on loop or something. What can he say--the man's reactions to being taunted are spectacular, and Wels loves seeing them. Call it a bad quality of his or something.

#hermitcraft #welsknight #helsknight #a bee fic #hermitfic #unreality #LOOK MAN I HAD TO.#...APPARENTLY.#i put slightly too much thought into what is effectively A Dumb Bit. i mean not the rap. this fic. this fic is the dumb bit.#i mean the rap is a dumb bit too but not the one i put too much thought into. the fic is #YOU KNOW WHAT NEVERMIND THIS JUST CONFUSED THIS FURTHER. anyway that helsknight huh.

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murdrdocs · 14 hours

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masturbation mention; handjobs; college!art; fem!reader; no spoilers MDNI 18+ w/ ART DOANLDSON

when art donaldson gets a boner, it's nearly impossible for it to go down. he's tried everything in the book. well, everything in patrick's book—taking a cold shower, thinking about his grandmother in her underwear, changing his position. but nothing has ever worked, leaving him to excuse himself at inconvenient times so he could fist his cock until he was satisfied.

but being here with you, art can't do that. he's already flaked on your study sessions one too many times and he really, really doesn't want to have to flake again. for a reason as trivial and embarrassing as a boner at that.

he really didn't mean for it to happen. but he just happens to be in your space, surrounded by your trinkets, watching you move around in a pair of shorts that reminded him of the pair tashi wore that night. which got him thinking about the situation he was in just a year ago. which made him imagine you and him in a situation similar, perhaps even with tashi and patrick there.

you're speaking to him. your hands are moving in patterns that art should recognize, and you're lips are moving, too. but he's distant. distracted.

he blinks twice, shaking the overgrown blond curls out of his face as he fixes his gaze on you again.

"'m ... i'm sorry. what were you saying?"

you drop your hands and place them in your lap. you look disappointed.

"dude. i'm really trying to pass this midterm."

art drops his head. he initially does it in an act of shame, but then he notices your hands resting along your glistening skin and he's suddenly made aware of his boner once more. he groans, resting his elbows into the decorative pillow covering his lap as he covers his face with his hands.

"i know, i know. i'm really, really sorry." he sniffs, straightens up, and focuses all of his attention on studying with you. but now it's you who's distracted.

you tilt your head and eye him up and down. art, worrying that you might have fucking x-ray vision or something, adjusts the way he’s sitting. he thinks he's being casual, but then he clears his throat and looks off to the side and he can hear your small 'oh'.

“haven’t tried thinking about your grandmother?”

art, embarrassed at having been caught, says nothing.

“want me to help you out?” you offer. you say it like a joke, so art laughs. but then you don’t laugh, too.

you’re staring at him, a small smile on your lips as you push your weight into your hands behind you. the twin XL bed can only allow so much room, so even as you’re leaning away from him art feels like you’re right there.

“you’re joking, right?”

you take a second, and then you shake your head.

and that’s how art ends up digging his hands into your sheets as he watches your hand glide over his cock through heavy eyes.

you’re sitting with your feet tucked under your butt, one hand scratching through art’s hair and the other working on his cock.

art’s free hand is pressing into the line of skin between your top and shorts.

you’re doing so well, making him feel so good, but you still ask for confirmation through a low voice.

“does this feel good?”

and your face is so much closer to him than he thought. your voice is right next to his ear. it travels down through him, making even more blood rush to his cock if even possible.

art nods, tearing his eyes away from your hand wrapped around his cock to look at you. but you’re already looking at him, your hand pulling on a loose curl of his while you smile. art smiles back, just before you pull him closer and press your lips to his.

kissing distracts you, so art takes over. he shifts his cock up into your hand, doing the work for you. he circles his hand around your back and pulls you closer until he can feel your breasts pushing against his arm through your shirt. whatever bra you’re wearing must be thin, because art can feel your nipples poking him.

he means to warn you. he wants to let you know before it happens. but you regain some of your focus and your thumb presses into his tip, and he’s thinking about how you told him he had a pretty dick, and he can feel your tits and suddenly his hips are lifting and cock is twitching and he’s cumming all over your hand and his thighs.

#art donaldson x reader #celeste writes misc #art donaldson x you #art donaldson smut #challengers smut

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suguwu · 2 days

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MOON EATER I THREE

"But truly, Master Diluc—why am I here?"

"I would wed you," he says, flexing his hands in his lap. "If you are amenable to it."

minors and ageless blogs do not interact.

masterlist

pairing: diluc ragnvindr x f!reader

notes: i've been sitting on this chapter for a while, so i'm excited to send it out in the world!

content: marriage of convenience, politics, some manipulation, pining, jealousy, some jeanlisa if you squint.

wc: 4k

The winery is almost entirely empty when Diluc steps inside after you. Jean is corralling the few stragglers, giving quiet orders to the remaining knights, her blue eyes as gentle as the summer sky. She’s in ceremonial wear and it hones her; he thinks of a sheathed blade.

“Jean,” he says. “You don’t need to do that.”

She turns to face him, a soft smile curling up on her lips. There’s a faint blush on her cheeks, the color of the pearly dawn. It’s the one she gains when she’s caught doing something she knows she shouldn’t.

(“Father,” Diluc said, innocent as a newborn fawn as Jean and Kaeya shifted at his side. “You wanted to see us?”

His father eyed them with a raised brow. “I don’t suppose the three of you know anything about the pie that went missing from the kitchen.”

Kaeya fidgeted with his sleeve, his slender fingers working at the cuff of it. Diluc elbowed him in the ribs subtly. “No, Father,” he said.

His father studied each of them carefully. Out of the corner of his eye, Diluc saw the blush rising to Jean’s cheeks, a soft pink that was slowly darkening.

“Jean?” his father asked.

“I’m sorry!” she cried out, and Diluc groaned.)

“I was just helping—”

“Jean. You don’t need to help.”

She bites at her lip and Diluc softens. He’d forgotten how much she needed to feel useful. But this close, he can see the bags under her eyes, the deep blue-gray of a stormcloud. “My staff has it under control,” he says. “And you’re a guest.”

“But—”

“Go home and rest.”

“I can still—”

“Jean.”

“Alright,” she says quietly. “I just need to give a few more orders, that’s all.”

He nods and starts to step away.

“Diluc?”

When he turns to face her, he takes a sharp breath. There’s something like sorrow shining through her expression, something bone-deep carved into the curve of her mouth.

“Is this really what you wanted?” she asks. Her voice is gentle, but she’s watching him carefully, her gaze a comet streaking through the sky, the blue of it cutting through the heavens’ tender underbelly. It cuts through him, too.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he says after a moment.

Jean smiles, starshine at dawn, a slow fade of light. “I thought you might say that.”

Diluc stays quiet, meeting her gaze steadily.

“You’re as stubborn as ever,” she says, shaking her head, but her voice is fond.

“Master Diluc? Stubborn? Perish the thought,” Lisa says as she joins them, wrapping her shawl around her pale shoulders.

Jean heaves out a beleaguered sigh, but she can’t quite hide the twitch of her lips.

Lisa laughs, light and tinkling, looping her arm through Jean’s. “Come on, darling,” she says. “Let’s let the newlyweds have their night, yes?” She throws Diluc a bold wink.

Heat scorches across his cheeks, a supernova burn. He’s able to disguise his choke as a cough at the last second, though from the glimmer in Lisa’s jade eyes, he hasn’t hidden it well enough.

“Lisa!” Jean scolds.

The mage laughs again. She’s every inch the cat who got the canary, her lips curling into a delighted little smile.

“Goodnight, Diluc,” Jean says, all but dragging Lisa away. Lisa lets herself be led, snuggling in close to the blonde as they leave. It smushes some of the roses in her hair, but she doesn’t seem to care that she’s leaving a trail of petals behind. Diluc sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Sorry about her,” you say as you join him. “She’s a handful.”

“I’m aware.”

You laugh, picking a cecilia out of your hair and rolling the short stem between your palms. The bloom whirls with it, a ballerina’s tulle skirt, a light dusting of pollen floating down from it to tint your fingers gold. It catches the light as you raise your hand to cover your yawn.

Diluc frowns. “You should go to bed,” he says. “It’s been a long day.”

You hum. “It has been,” you say. “I don’t suppose you intend to sleep soon?”

“I need to speak with Adelinde.”

“Alright,” you say. “Good night, then.”

“Good night.”

He watches you go upstairs, the hem of your dress flowing behind you, a silken spill of moonlight.

You don’t look back.

He turns on his heel. Finding Adelinde is easy; she’s in the midst of giving orders to some of the staff. She hands off a mostly-empty platter of tiny, delicate golden-brown pastries to Hillie when she sees him.

“Master Diluc.”

“Adelinde,” he says. “How is the clean up going?”

“We’ll be done with the food soon. The rest can wait until morning, I believe.”

“Good.”

Adelinde pauses. She looks at him for a moment; her jade eyes have a knife’s edge to them, her gaze an autopsy cut. Her lips draw tight, a wound of a mouth. “You mean to go out tonight.”

“Yes.”

“If I may, Master Diluc,” she says, “you now have a wife.”

“That has no bearing in this. The Knights will be lax tonight, lulled into complacency by the celebration. I heard a few mention continuing at Angel’s Share after they return to the city. I cannot leave Mond unprotected.”

Adelinde does not frown. Instead, her face smooths out into an impenetrable mask, porcelain breathed to life. “Very well,” she says. “At least wait until she’s asleep.”

“The sooner I leave—”

“At least wait until she’s asleep,” she says, voice sharp. “It is your wedding night.”

“When she’s asleep,” he allows.

Adelinde nods. “Goodnight, Master Diluc.”

“Goodnight, Adelinde.”

He goes upstairs quietly. There’s a soft light filtering from under the door to your room. He sighs and heads into the master bedroom, settling at the small desk in front of the windows. He lights the candles with a flick of his wrist; the flames devour the wick, leaping high before settling into a low, sweet glow. He’s just beginning to shuffle through a few papers when one of the hallway floorboards groans, a warning song.

“Diluc,” you say from the doorway. The candlelight barely reaches you there; it casts you into shadows, a new moon’s outline against the velvet of the sky. “May I come in?”

He stands. “Yes,” he says. “What is it?”

You step inside. The cecilias are gone from your hair, but you’re still wearing your dress. Your smile is a bit sheepish, but there’s a secret tucked up in the corner of it. “My dress,” you say. “The maids are all so busy. Can you undo the top few buttons for me?”

“I—what?”

“It’s hard to undo them from this angle,” you say. “Please?”

He takes a breath. “Alright.”

You turn as he steps closer, the delicate train of the dress swirling at your feet, a whirlpool of silk. It exposes the line of buttons marching down the back of your dress, rigid against the soft flow of the fabric.

The buttons are tiny things, pearls that shine like little moons even in the low light. He bites back a curse as they slip against the leather of his gloves. He tries again, gently tugging on a button, but it refuses to come out of the loop holding it tight. He changes the angle, but it’s no use; he runs afoul of the slick surface again and again. He huffs in annoyance and bites at the tip of his index finger to peel off his glove, letting it drop to the ground.

He tries again and finally, the button slips free of the little loop. The fabric separates. His fingertips—rough, heavy with scars from burns and blades alike—brush against the cool slope of your back, skin against skin. He goes still.

You glance at him over your shoulder. You’re still shadow-kissed, but your eyes gleam in the dim.

(“Forgive my forwardness,” you said. “But there is the small matter of lovers.”

Diluc coughed. He glanced at you and saw no hint of a joke. “I beg your pardon?”

“Lovers,” you said, that rosebud smile rising to your lips, petals yet unfolded. “If you should take one, I only ask that you be discreet. I would do the same, of course.”

Something in Diluc’s chest went cold. It was bone-deep, as if the Dragonspine winds were cutting through him. “You would take a lover?”

“I do not know the future,” you said. “But if I should, I would be discreet, as I said. Is that alright?”

Diluc took a deep breath. “If you wish it, I would hardly stop you.”

You inclined your head to him with a little smile. You moved on to another topic like a river current, slow but inexorable. Diluc barely heard any of it, your voice muffled, as if you were speaking underwater. He only came back to himself as you gathered your things and bid him farewell.

“Master Diluc,” you said at the door. He glanced up at you, your features softened in the light streaming in through the windows. “I should mention that I would not mind you in my bed instead of a lover.”

Diluc choked.

By the time he recovered enough to speak, you were already gone.)

He undoes another button. Then a third, and a fourth, each little pearl slipping from its loop with ease. His thumb traces over the salt of your skin until it slips just beneath the fabric. He pulls just enough for the gap between the fabric to widen. He drags his thumb along the crescent moon sliver of revealed skin; a callus catches against you. You take in a sharp breath.

Diluc pulls back as if burned.

“There,” he says, clearing his throat, his cheeks hot. He knows they’ve gone scarlet, that there’s a deep flush painted over his whole face. “They’re undone.”

“Thanks,” you say, glancing over your shoulder once more. Your lashes catch the shadows like a spider’s web. It only serves to better illuminate your eyes. He swallows.

“You’re welcome.”

You study him for a moment before you smile, as soft as the breaking dawn. “Goodnight,” you say.

“Goodnight.”

The door clicks shut behind you. Diluc listens as your quiet footsteps fade away; there’s a distant thud as the door to your room closes too. He sighs, leaning down to pick his glove up off the floor. He slides it back on as he crosses to his closet. The night is still young and he knows what he must do.

When he’s dressed, he opens the secret compartment to his desk. He stares down at the owl mask that’s ensconced there. It gleams in the low light, the severe point of its beak a wicked hook. Diluc tucks it away under his cloak before he opens the window.

With the lush vines clinging to the winery walls, it’s an easy climb down. He looks up when he reaches the bottom. There’s still a light glowing faintly in your window. His chest aches, as if a ribbon is tightening around it, but he ignores it and slips on the mask.

He has work to do.

—

Morning comes far too soon.

Diluc’s room is still steeped in blue, but the promise of morning is apparent on the horizon where golden fingers of light are reaching into the sky, scraping their way through the darkness. The birds are just beginning to stir, their chirps still subdued, a few plucked notes before the melody.

It feels like Diluc has just only collapsed into bed, but the stars that had been watching over him when he stole back into his room have gone out, fading beneath the dawn. He sits up and scrubs a hand over his face, wincing as it pulls at the fresh set of lilac bruises blooming on his right side. He prods at them carefully.

The ache sinks its teeth in as he brushes his fingertips along the biggest of them. It’s still darkening, a galaxy caught under his skin. It remains tender as he gets ready for the day; it takes effort to not compensate for it in his movement.

By the time Diluc heads downstairs, the winery is already stirring to life. A few maids scurry past him; he can hear the vineyard workers starting to make their way through the vines, checking them after the harvest. But most of the activity is centered in the heart of the winery, where the remnants of your wedding reception are. He watches as two of the servants unhook a floral garland from the rafters, petals raining down beneath them. The petals whirl through the air like snowflakes, thick and white, and Diluc brushes one off when it lands on his shoulder. He’s in the middle of plucking another out of his mass of crimson hair when the floorboards whisper your arrival.

“Oh,” you say. “They’re taking them down already? A shame.”

He glances at you. “I am sure Adelinde would be open to keeping them up, should you wish it.”

“It’s fine. I just thought they might keep them up a little longer while they’re fresh.”

“I see.”

You reach out and let a petal drift into your hand. It’s a little bruised at the edges from being shaken loose, but you don’t seem to mind.

“Do you think I could have a few for my room?” you ask.

“A few—”

“Flowers,” you say. “I’m sure many of them are still intact even after the garlands are taken down.”

“Of course. Any that you would like.”

“Thank you.”

“No thanks needed,” he says, adjusting his cuff. “It’s—this is your home too, now.”

You pause. When you look at him, he can’t quite make sense of your expression. “Yes,” you say quietly. “I suppose it is.”

“I hope you will be comfortable here.”

You smile, the slow rise of a crescent moon. “I’m sure I will be. Though I intend to return to Liyue soon.”

“Of course. Do you know when?”

“I expect that I’ll return within the week.”

“Oh? That’s later than I expected.”

“So eager to be rid of me?”

Diluc flushes, the heat of it spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. “No, I—”

“I’m only teasing,” you say. “I haven’t been back to Mond in a while. There are some things I should handle in person.”

“I see.”

You examine him for a moment. Whatever you see must satisfy you, for you glance back at the workers, still diligently undoing the reception decor, autumn come indoors, the flowers stripped away to reveal bare wood. A petal flutters down into your hair; Diluc thinks of the gentle fall of snow. He starts to raise his hand to pluck it out but you shift and the petal drifts to the ground. He halts before tugging at his glove instead.

“Now,” you say, turning back to him, “I need something to eat. Will you be joining me for breakfast?”

Diluc shakes his head. “The vintners asked for me today,” he says. “The earlier I can speak with them the better.”

You hum. “Okay. Have a good day.”

“You as well.”

You flash a small smile before inclining your head to him. “Husband,” you say. You dart off before he can respond. He watches you disappear, the moon dipping below the horizon.

Husband, he thinks.

He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to that.

—

The days roll by. Diluc buckles down to work, caught up in the hubbub of the end of the harvest season. He oversees the grape crushing, the little fruits popping beneath the press until they’re must, all pulp and juice. A few small buckets of grapes are set aside for the children of the workers; they’ll stomp them to their hearts’ content, their chiming laughter drifting through the vines as they cling to each other for balance, their little feet dyed dark.

(“C’mon, Luc!” Kaeya cried, already scrambling towards the tub filled with ruby-red grapes. His eye was shining, starlight bright, a grin spread wide across his face, his usual reticence washed away. Diluc knew it was his favorite time of year; the other boy loved every moment of the harvest season and all that came with it.

“Hurry up!” Kaeya called. He had already rolled up his pant legs and stepped into the tub, his face lit with joy, a summer sun in the autumn chill.

Diluc huffed but climbed in after him. The grapes popped beneath his weight, squishing up between his toes, a pulpy mess of skin and seeds. He stomped once, twice, and felt more of them burst.

Kaeya reached for his hand; Diluc twined their fingers together and held on tight as the scrawny boy started to jump in place. Kaeya laughed wildly, the sound picked up by the wind and carried away like seeds. He jumped again and almost slipped. Diluc caught him at the last minute, hauling him up with a giggle. They joined hands again and began to twirl in a circle, stomping away as they went.

They laughed as they spun around together, holding on tight to each other as juice started to gather beneath their feet. Their skin went purple with it, a galaxy splashed up to their calves. The golden afternoon sun shone down on them; sweat gathered on their brows. But they kept going and going, unrelenting until the last of the grapes had burst beneath their feet.

They panted as they climbed to the side of the tub. Kaeya sat on the edge of it, swinging his feet as the maids went to gather towels for them. He was incandescent with delight, a shooting star streaking across the night sky, and Diluc grinned.

“Good work, boys,” his father said, coming down the path. He’d clearly met the maids halfway; there were towels slung over his broad shoulder.

Diluc puffed up with pride; next to him, Kaeya smiled, shy but pleased. His father handed them the towels and watched as they wiped their feet clean.

“Ready for the next step?” his father asked.

Kaeya nodded eagerly, but Diluc balked.

“Can’t we stomp more grapes?” he asked.

His father laughed, as warm as the sun. “Maybe later,” he said. “But now you need to learn what happens next.”

Diluc sighed.

“C’mon, Luc,” Kaeya said, bumping his shoulder against Diluc’s. “There’s always tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Diluc said. “There is.”)

Diluc sighs, nodding to Connor as he takes his leave. He heads back to the winery; a few of the workers call out greetings, but no one tries to stop him.

Adelinde appears as soon as he steps inside the winery. She inclines her head to him, her hands clasped in front of her. “Master Diluc,” she says.

“Adelinde,” he greets.

“Is everything in order?”

“Yes,” he says. “Everything is ready for processing. It was a good harvest.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“I’ll take some of Elzer’s work with the Wine Guild so he can concentrate on processing. If you see him, please let him know.”

Adelinde purses her lips. “Master Diluc, Elzer is perfectly capable of handling both. You have enough on your plate.”

“My decision is final, Adelinde.”

She examines him for a moment, her jade eyes sharp, a flaying gaze. “You don’t need to make amends for your absence,” she says. “That is the past.”

Diluc flinches. Adeline watches him steadily, her face impassive, but her eyes have softened, have crinkled around the edges, sweetly fond. He flexes his hand, searching for words, but his tongue is leaden in his mouth.

Adelinde takes pity on him. “The vineyard workers are starting the fertilization process today and tomorrow,” she says. “Is there anything you wish to let them know?”

“No. I trust them.”

“Good.”

Diluc adjusts his cuff. “Is that all?”

She smooths her hands over her uniform skirt, as if erasing wrinkles that aren’t there. “Your wife’s travel arrangements are complete. She means to leave tomorrow.”

He nods. “Where is she now?”

“She went to the Dandelion Sea, I believe.”

“By herself?”

“She has an escort. One of the knights. Though it is my understanding that the knight would not be able to return with her due to a patrol.”

Diluc rolls his shoulders, trying to loosen the broad line of them. “When did they leave?”

The corners of Adelinde’s lips creep upwards, an ivy tendril curve, barely noticeable. “A few hours ago.”

He nods curtly. “Thank you, Adelinde.”

“Of course, Master Diluc.” She disappears, light on her feet despite her heels, barely a whisper of sound to accompany her.

Diluc leaves the winery to head to the stables.

—

The Dandelion Sea stretches vast, the flowers rippling in the breeze like waves lap at the shore. The sun is high in the sapphire sky, a halo burning bright, the dandelions stark white under its kiss. There are seeds floating through the air, faintly glowing, scattered like falling stars.

Diluc ties his horse to a tree, leaving her to graze on some long grass, and begins to make his way into the Sea. More seeds come loose, dancing around him like snowflakes; they settle into his mane of hair, the crimson of it bleeding to something darker against the soft white of them. They catch on his jacket, too, dotting the ebony cloth until it’s a glittering night sky.

It doesn’t take him long to find you. He can see faint figures at the edge of the Sea, where the trees cast shadows, a sweet pool of shade. He heads towards you as the breeze picks up. It carries a peal of laughter to him, bright as the sun, swirling around him.

“Oh,” you say as he draws close, standing up before he can stop you.

The knight you’re with comes to attention—far too late. “M—Master Diluc,” he stammers.

Diluc clicks his tongue. The knight goes shame-faced, glancing away from his thunderous visage.

You smile, a glaze lily unfolding under the moon’s tender touch. You touch the knight’s vambrace lightly before turning to Diluc. His gaze stays on where you’re touching the knight still, your fingertips lingering against the metal of his armor.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” you say. “Is something wrong?”

Diluc blinks, vermilion eyes flickering back to you. “No.”

You pause, as if waiting for something. Diluc blinks again. Your smile flickers, a guttering candle. The knight shifts in place.

Diluc turns his attention to him. “You can go,” he says curtly.

“But—”

“You have patrol soon, don’t you, Anselm?” you ask. “You should head out.”

Anselm glances at you. “Oh. Of course.”

“Thank you for accompanying me today,” you say. “It’s appreciated.”

The knight nods, a slight flush rising to his cheeks. He gives you the Ordo’s salute. “Let the wind lead,” he says before turning to leave.

Diluc doesn’t bother to watch him go; he keeps his gaze on you. That rosebud smile blooms on your lips again, as inevitable as the sun’s rise. “Poor Anselm,” you say. “You have quite the scowl, Master Diluc.”

He doesn’t rise to the bait. “Was he going to leave you here alone?”

You sigh. “It’s perfectly safe here.”

“So he was.”

“You’re here now,” you say. “So it hardly matters.”

Diluc bristles. “It matters to me. The Knights have their duties—”

“They cannot attend to every single civilian. The roads to the Sea have been clear for weeks, anyway. Or did you see something on your way?”

He furrows his brow and sets his jaw. “No.”

“The Knights aren’t as incapable as you think,” you say softly. You peer at him through the fan of your eyelashes, the shadow cast by them soft against your cheeks. “And besides, as I said, you’re here now. I know you’ll keep me safe.”

Diluc takes in a sharp breath. He tugs at his glove and glances away.

You don’t seem to notice. Your attention has returned to the Dandelion Sea. The meadow sways gently in the wind, a honey-slow shiver. You trace a finger over a dandelion; it stays whole despite your touch, the Anemo energy holding it together brightening for a breath before it fades again, a firefly glow.

But when you flop into them, the dandelions puff up, the seeds scattering like starfall. They yield to you like a blessing, giving you everything they have. The seeds catch in your hair, your clothing, your eyelashes. You turn your face up to the sky, the sun bathing you golden.

It strikes Diluc that you are pretty.

(Burnished by the light, you were lost amid the golden leaves of the sandbearer tree. You climbed and climbed until you were shining bright in the cerulean sky, a sun all your own. Diluc watched from the ground, mouth agape.

When you glanced down, the shadows crossed your face in bold strokes. It softened you, blurred the edges of you. Except for your smile. Your smile cut through the shadows like a single stark slash of a sun-bright knife.

Diluc looked up at you, at that smile, and suddenly, he knew what pretty meant.

It meant you.)

It’s not the first time he’s realized it, but it feels new. It’s in the curve of your back, a cathedral nave of muscle and bone; it’s in the way the sun filters through the leaves to touch you like a lover, a stained-glass kiss. The dandelion seeds catch on your eyelashes like moonlight, and it hits him again: you’re pretty.

And you’re his.

He pushes the thought away. You might be his, but it’s in name only. He knows better than to assign meaning to it. There’s nothing between the two of you aside from a certificate with your signatures upon it.

But that’s fine.

That’s all he needs it to be.

#genshin x reader #diluc x reader #diluc x you #diluc ragnvindr x reader #diluc ragnvindr x you #bee writes genshin #fic: moon eater

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triviallytrue · 2 days

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Watching something as iconic as NGE is kinda funny because every now and then something happens and you're like "oh! that guy! from tumblr!"

General thoughts:

Poor Shinji. Dude keeps getting put in situations.

The Ender's Game comparison keeps coming up for me - child soldiers utterly essential to the cause. The big difference is that they are just completely flubbing their psychological management in NGE - in Ender's Game they had eyes on the kids 24/7 and maintained in-depth psychological profiles on all of them, whereas in NGE they have loads of money and manpower focused on maintaining the EVAs but their equally-essential pilots are just... going to school. Shinji got punched and they didn't know!

And what is Misato's deal, anyway? She's in her 20s and has a crazy amount of authority (she just requisitioned all of Japan's power) and they're just kinda... letting her manage Shinji? It's not her job, but she's just doing it? She's his commanding officer but also his mom/sister, which is a really bad combo. Also I don't think I'm imagining the grooming undertones, those seem intentional.

The real motivator for someone like Shinji is (of course) his social connections - the two schoolkids and Rei, and then maybe to some degree Misato, and then even more distantly his father. Kids don't put themselves through severe distress just for the abstract concept of "saving the world," especially a world that has thus far been very unkind to them. To bring back the Ender's Game comparison, this feels like a very deliberate point that Graff and friends were aware of (the way they used Valentine as a strategic resource) but in NGE it seems to be mostly happenstance that Shinji made some human connections before completely shutting down.

Rei thus far is an interesting foil to Shinji. Normally I get kind of put off by scenes like the one where he walks in on her, but it gives you a lot of important information about both of them. Shinji, underneath all the abandonment issues and repression, is still a pretty normal kid - awkward, horny in that embarrassing adolescent way, deeply self-conscious. Rei is alien (or perhaps just very autistic). She just doesn't clock 90% of the tension at all. She pilots the EVA without complaint (though perhaps with equal psychological distress, just heavily repressed). She also gets along very well with his shitass dad, which is revealing in its own way.

I'm told there is another child, a red haired one, named Asuka(?), the thus-far only implied Second Child. Wonder why she isn't here yet?

I heard that it was some kind of twist that the EVAs were alive in some sense, but doesn't that naturally follow from the first couple episodes? Unit 01 moves to save Rei without a pilot and then goes berserk to kill the angel. Maybe there's more to the twist that I don't know yet.

What's up with the angels? Why are they here, what do they want, what are they exactly? Who cares. They are a plot device in purest form - they enable the rest of the show, but the show is not meaningfully "about" them. They didn't half-ass it though - the designs are absolutely phenomenal.

Oh, and there's some second project NERV is working on, a human transformation thing that got mentioned once and never again. That will probably be important eventually.

#i'm doing femmenietzsche's suggestion of watching 6 episode chunks as arcs #finished the first last night #nge #arc 1

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torchlitinthedesert · 2 days

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I'd be curious to hear your Ob-la-di Ob-la-da take lol

I claimed Ob-la-di Ob-la-da as a political song. No, I'm not kidding.

Obviously, Ob-la-di Ob-la-da isn't a protest song. It's a perky ska-style number about the happy, everyday life of an immigrant family. And it was released in 1968, when immigration had just become the most inflammatory topic in British politics.

In spring 1968, the UK government proposed a new Race Relations bill, making it illegal to refuse housing, employment, or public services to anyone on the grounds of race or national origin. It was a response to racism, particularly against recent immigrants, especially those from the Caribbean.

Cue a lot more racism, most notoriously from politician Enoch Powell, who gave what is still commonly referred to today as the "Rivers of blood" speech. Powell ranted about sending "the immigrant and immigrant-descended population" back to the countries they or their families had once come from. He was particularly freaked out by the idea that, having come to Britain, people would settle down and - horrors - have babies, eventually outnumbering the white population. Powell was sacked by his party the next day, but he sparked a horrible wave of racist protest and abuse.

All this was brewing over the summer, as The Beatles worked on the White Album, and on this song. What is Ob-la-di Ob-la-da about? It's an everyday love story. The ska style frames Desmond and Molly as Jamaican - which, in a British context, strongly suggests that they're immigrants. The song builds a happy ending out of exactly the things that racists like Powell were terrified that immigrants would do. They work, get married, and have children, who grow up and help with the family business. Life going on, happy ever after.

The Beatles were certainly aware of the tensions sparked by Powell, immigration and the Race Relations Act; they were still talking about it, and trying to write a protest song about it, in the Get Back sessions in January 1969. Ob-la-di Ob-la-da doesn't talk directly about any of that. Its subjects - work, home, children - are the sort of thing that 1970s rock journalists would put down as Paul's normie bourgeois sensibilities.

But normie is where most people live. The song presents Desmond and Molly as deeply relatable. It assumes that their happy ending is something everyone can root for and sing along with. That is not an apolitical act, particularly not in Britain in 1968.

youtube

And people did sing along, in their millions. Ob-la-di was staggeringly popular. The Beatles didn't release it as a single in the UK or the US (though it topped charts in Australia, Japan and Europe). There were multiple competing cover versions. One by the band Marmalade went to No 1 in Britain, and sold about a million copies. Paul's own favourite cover was by The Bedrocks, whose members were all first-generation immigrants from the Caribbean.

(Obviously, there are other questions here about race, music, and appropriation; The Beatles, and most of the artists doing cover versions, are white people singing black music. Hello, history of western popular music.)

As I said, this isn't a protest song. But it has been sung in protest. @beatleshistoryblog found this great footage from a Women's March in London in 1971. Just listen to the first seconds: la la la la life goes on.

youtube

#ob-la-di ob-la-da #racism #the beatles and race #the bedrocks #myplasticadversary #ask #tag for mine or my addition #the women’s march video is a favourite

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mydarlingbat · 2 days

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Batman Europa #3 lemme just inform everyone that i did not feel like making this one, and It's only because I have to do two parts to Batman Europa #3. there's so many wonderful moments in this issue. It'd be illegal for me not to show all of them. Alright let's talk about the first cutout panel from Batman Europa'#3 I would like to elaborate on Batman's patience here. I've already said this before, however Batman has so much patience with the Joker. He literally just sighs and ask the Joker can he stop his babbling. Batman here is obviously just trying to start a fight. He's once again grabbing the Joker recklessly. Batman you can just ask him you know? Plus he already mention he told you, so this just let's me know you want to argue a little, or even chat a little, but I do think he's also making sure the Joker isn't setting him up. The Joker telling Batman is hypocritical question is so funny to me, and Batman responds with 'heh that's funny' I swear theses two are so married. Batman doesn't tell the Joker to shut up until he talks about them murdering each other. I wonder why? What I really wanted to point out that the Joker listens to the Batman and be quiet for a whole hour? I'm in awe to be honest. The fact that Batman is complimenting the Joker again, and chucking too. It gives me life. Batman is so free around him.

Batman's over here thinking. 'What heart?' Nah, I'm just joking around. I have no doubt that he's just flabbergasted by the Joker right now. He is finding out something new about him, and he's just surprise by it, but I love how his mouth slightly hangs open in befuddle way, like is this really happening too.

I can't entirely believe that Batman just stands by, watching the Joker. He so fascinated with this man!!! Batman also refers to the Joker as his closet enemy. What he really meant is his closest friend. It's in disguise. I'm telling you. I mean but why did he choose those words though? He could've have said my greatest enemy. Bruce please stop playing with us here.

Like Bruce are you saying that the Joker has charm? I actually love this page, because Batman's aware of the Joker's charm. The Joker doesn't need to look amazing in appearance. What makes up for his appearance is his charm itself. It's why Batman can be so intrigue by the Joker, and find him attractive. Batman also wanted to know how it feels to be the Joker, and again Batman's kind of complimenting the Joker here.

I just can't with Batman always trying to start a fight here. The Joker refuses to fight with the Batman while they're working together, but Batman continue to try to go back with the usually routine. Let's fight a little. Batman looks like he misses it more than the Joker here to be honest, but here's a theory. I believe Batman desires the touches from the Joker. He's not fighting with him, which involves a lot of touching. This is Batman way of getting that from the Joker, without making it obvious, and the reason I believe this is because after the Joker's touches Batman arm to call him down He relaxes and doesn't seem the littlest mad to be honest. Batman also grabs the Joker constantly, and even chokes him throughout the comic run. The Joker on the other hand isn't trying to fight with Batman, because he feels free touching Batman whatever way he pleases. Batman's the one who has to stop him. I mean Batman can clearly see no one's laughing. The Joker isn't laughing neither. Batman just find a reason to grab the Joker. He waits for the Joker to say anything about him to attack, that's the only way to touch him without him feeling wrong about it. Now this is just a theory. It definitely might not be true, or maybe it's something I deeply want. Lmao

And the way Batman willingly let's the Joker push him away says a whole lot, and not Bruce raising his hand to ask a question. Oh my god! I'm dying. The Joker just over here like 'bats shut up' and Batman is raising his hand like can I ask something. I can't even think of another villain Batman has done this with? It's so funny to me. I just love, love how the Joker speaks to Batman like he's a child, and Bruce takes it. It's just my opinion.

#batjokes #batman and joker #batman #comics #batman x joker #comic books #dc comics #the joker #batmm #dcedit #word's

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maractean · 1 day

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SO!! I don't tend to often talk about anything regarding my irl stuff here - especially more serious stuff. I don't like bogging down the vibes, nor the idea of burdening strangers with my problems - so I would not be making this post if I really, REALLY didn't have to.

But as of the current moment, I am homeless.

It's been a long and tangled up situation, but to put a long story short we got majorly fucked over by our old landlords who evicted us without proper notice. (Yes, I'm aware it's very illegal - no, we can't exactly do anything about that right now. We tried.) This morning we were forcefully removed from the motel we were staying in without warning, an ordeal which was extremely traumatizing.

Currently, I am sleeping on the floor of my brother's office at his work, while my cat, Feather, is stuck in a crate. While it's better than being outside, I am physically disabled and sleeping like this for longer than a few days will likely render me unable to move. Not to mention the fact that I really do not want to have my poor baby crated for longer than I need to.

A very good friend of mine has offered to take me in for the time being until things get sorted back over here!! The only problem is said friend is 7 hours away. My brother, @arcanesprite, is willing to make the drive - something I am incredibly grateful for. But we need to get the money together to be able to make this happen.

We need $300 to rent the car and have money for gas. Because of this, I am opening up $15 Pokemon doodle commissions!

These will be open for as long as we need to get the money together! As you can probably guess, I might not be extremely speedy in getting started on these, but the second I'm able to I will do so! If you can't commission, please PLEASE boost this!!

#signal boost #emergency commissions #commissions open #commissions #pokemon commissions #[very very sorry for this long ass post but it is very fucking necessary]#[please reblog if you can. love you guys]

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rmd-writes · 1 day

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20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thanks @cha-melodius @hippolotamus @mammameesh @kiwiana-writes @happiness-of-the-pursuit for the tags. I'm sure I've done this before but I can't find it to see how long ago!

How many works do you have on ao3?

What's your total ao3 word count?

591,653 but that's inflated by a number of collabs, I think the number is closer to 400-450k

What fandoms do you write for?

RWRB, 911 LS and SC (rarely these days)

Top five fics by kudos:

Excluding any collabs (there's a couple in particular that are right up there)

Everybody needs good neighbours | RWRB | E | 14.3k | neighbours au

to the victor, the spoils | RWRB | E | 19.4k | lawyer au

yours for the afternoon | RWRB | M | 4.6k | coffee shop au

what, like it's hard? | RWRB | E | 65.1k | lawyer au, the prequel

I want you, I need you, oh baby oh baby | RWRB | E | 7k | college au

Do you respond to comments?

Yes, I try to! I'm not always prompt but I do respond to almost every comment

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Happy endings only here. I do have one unpublished Tarlos ficlet that's kind of a Queen Charlotte inspired future fic that is the saddest thing I've ever written which is the result of @howtosingit saying "whatever you do, don't think about X" which of course meant that I did and I wrote it in a fever dream, cried then buried it in my gdocs.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

All of them hahaha

Maybe the ending to what, like it's hard?

Do you get hate on fics?

I've gotten some strange comments but I don't know that I'd class it as hate, as such (thankfully)

Do you write smut?

nah yeah lol

Craziest crossover:

It's not a proper fic, but I wrote this in response to an ask about what would happen in Alex & Henry, David & Patrick and Carlos and TK all met.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not as far as I am aware!

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

yes and I love it! I've done collabs where we each write a chapter, one where we each wrote a chapter and then fully co-wrote the final chapter, a full co-write with @welcometololaland (that ended up morphing into each of us alternating chapters), and I'm in the process of another co-write with Lola atm.

All time favorite ship?

you can't make me choose

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I don't like to say never, but probably the SC paint & sip au

What are your writing strengths?

based on the comments I get - smut with feelings, banter/dialogue, characterisation

What are your writing weaknesses?

World building, pretty metaphors, I'm far too fond of run on sentences to the point where if I was beta reading my own writing there are SO MANY sentences that need to be cut down so that the reader can breathe.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

If it fits the character, I love it! I generally ask a native speaker to help me with translations for accuracy

First fandom you wrote in?

Schitt's Creek

Favorite fic you've written?

I don't wanna choose

I've got no idea who's done this already but I'll tag @welcometololaland @everwitch-magiks @clottedcreamfudge @indomitable-love @three-drink-amy

@never-blooms @freneticfloetry @strandnreyes @heartstringsduet @reyesstrand

@indestructibleheart @orchidscript @maxbegone @carlos-in-glasses @beautifulhigh

and an open tag if anyone hasn't been tagged and wants to play 💖

#20 questions #about me #rmd writes

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booboodaddysblog · 3 days

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Promise

Warnings: alcohol, therapy with a psychologist, self-pity, bad mood

Words: 2823

———

Hour after hour passed, day after day, week after week. He didn't even realize when almost an entire month flew before his eyes. Almost a month when he last saw Marg and talked to her.

He wasn't doing very well. He was sleeping badly, eating badly... Even work wasn't going well for him, but he was going to work. He didn't want to sit at home. He didn't give up like the previous time he betrayed her. Now he was trying to be stronger, but...

- Colin! Why do I smell alcohol from you again?! - Mare pulled over and stopped the car halfway to the place they were just about to search.

Colin looked at her and shrugged his shoulders. He lowered his head, looking at his hands.

- I don't know...

- What do you mean you don't know?! Is this about Marg? - she said a little softly.

- Yes... - he closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

- I know you screwed something up, but I don't know all the details. You know I don't like to gossip. I know everyone around me is talking about it, but I haven't been focusing on it.

- I don't think I'm really coping...

- How often do you drink?

- Usually only in the evenings... after work… - he finally dared to look at her.

- At home or in a bar? - Mare wanted to know every detail.

- The bar and the house. Does it matter? - he raised his eyebrows.

- How much do you drink a day?

- Mare... I really... okay… beer... about four... hmm... - he sighed again - I also drink whiskey... three glasses... usually... - he whispered.

- Oh fucking Christ, Colin! You have a fucking problem! How long have you been drinking like this?! - Mare shouted at him again.

- Hmm... about a month... - he looked out the window, he didn't want to look at her anymore. Perfectly aware that in this way he shows that he is weak.

- Today you will meet with my psychologist. If not... I will inform our chief that you can no longer work with us. You will probably return to your previous workplace. Unless you are fired - she threatened him with her finger - yes... this is a threat and a warning at the same time, Colin! - Mare started the car again - let’s go back to work!

Colin looked at her with terrified eyes. Talking to a psychologist was the worst solution to this problem. He was afraid of psychologists. The only plus was that it wouldn't be their police psychologist. At least his problem would remain a secret... for a while.

——-

It was time to meet with a psychologist. Colin's thoughts were racing in his head and he felt sick. He felt dizzy. He sat in the waiting area outside the office and felt like he was about to throw up. He quickly walked over to the water dispenser and poured a full cup. He drank it all. He was breathing heavily while leaning his back against the wall.

- Mr. Zabel? - the psychologist lady looked out of the office to invite another patient inside.

- It's me, here I am… - Colin said nervously, pushing away from the wall. He pulled a tissue from his pocket and wiped his sweaty forehead with it. He followed her into the office.

- Please sit on the couch and relax. You can also lie down. As you are more comfortable - she sat down opposite him in an armchair.

Colin looked at her confused. Finally, he sat down on the couch. He tried to calm himself down. "I can do it, I can do it," he repeated in his mind.

- Now that you are comfortably seated. Let me start by saying that my patient Mare, has arranged for you to see me, because she is worried about you - she corrected the glasses on her nose and opened her notebook.

- Yes? I think so... I guess so… - he replied uncertainly.

- What is your problem that someone has started to worry about you, Mr. Zabel? - she clicked a pen to start taking notes.

At this sound Colin jumped up slightly on the couch. He was so focused on his thoughts that such a sound had a bad effect on him.

- I...

- Please do not be afraid. Everything we talk about here will stay just between us. I want to help you. Please, allow me to do so.

Colin silently nodded slightly in confirmation.

- Hmm... I... have been drinking too much lately - he focused his attention on his fingers.

- Can I know why?

- I can't cope with private problems. Too much going on at one time - he sighed deeply and forced himself to look at her.

- I understand. What's the problem? - she began to write something in her notebook.

- My girlfriend is pregnant, I mean fiancée... it's almost two months and... - he slightly raised himself on the couch trying to see what she was writing down - What are you writing there?

- Please sit down and don't look. These are my private notes, which will make it easier for me to understand you. But I can't show them to you - she pressed the notebook to her chest so he couldn't look.

- Aha… - he furrowed his forehead and sat down on the couch again. He reached for the water decanter and poured water.

- In that case, please tell me why you are not coping with the fact that you will soon be a father? - she put a pen to her lips, looking at him and waiting for an answer.

Colin noticed this and focused his gaze on her lips.

- Sir? Mr. Zabel? - she snapped her fingers in front of his eyes.

- Oh, sorry - he swallowed his saliva loudly - well... hmm... why? It's just that I've always been used to the freedom in life to... it scares me that I can't afford this child. I can't afford to get married. I can't afford a bigger house. I'm not even ready to tell my mother that she's going to become a grandmother - he said it quickly and wasn't sure she understood everything.

She stared at him for a moment before speaking again.

- Hmm... Mr. Zabel... it's really... hmm... to be honest you are not the only man in this world who has such a problem. Everyone tries to deal with it differently. Some escape into sports, others into work... and still others into alcohol - she shook her head with dissatisfaction - you chose the worst solution. And you know it very well.

He looked at his hands again. He drew in air loudly and let it out through his mouth.

- Yes, that's right... this... I wish I could stop drinking. Or rather, I would like to be able to deal with problems differently.

- I see that you are an athletic man. How about the gym? Do you go to the gym? - she raised an eyebrow with curiosity.

- No... I don't have time for that. I usually run in the morning and sometimes do a workout at home. I get home very late. I don't have time to go to the gym.

- I understand... maybe sometimes... I have an idea. Maybe you will start keeping a diary. You will describe in it all the things you are afraid of and can't cope with. Then you'll read it and start thinking about whether it makes sense and whether you can do something about it - she noted something in her notebook - I think it's a good idea. I don't want you to come to me without meaning to. I know that you can cope with the current situation. Everyone struggles with this. Not only men. Believe me. When too much happens in our lives at one time, you can go crazy. A person starts having doubts and thinking too much - she got up from her chair and walked to her desk. She reached for her business card and handed it to Colin - please, take this and use it only when you really can't handle your thoughts - she smiled at him.

Colin took the business card from her and looked at it silently.

- Please also promise me that you will stop drinking. You are a young and handsome man. Please don't waste your life over such foolishness as alcohol. You may lose your family and your job. I'm sure you don't want that.

He got up from the couch and sighed.

- You calmed me down a bit. I mean you didn't calm me down. You made me realize that I have a chance to somehow cope with such big changes in my life - he extended his hand to her to thank her.

- I believe in you. And believe me, women really don't like it when they smell alcohol from a man - she also extended her hand to him.

They shook hands while smiling gently at each other. Colin nodded his head confirming that her words had reached him.

- How much do I owe? - he reached into his pocket for his wallet.

- No... no. Please, put it back. I don't want anything from you. This was a meeting on the basis of getting to know you and your thoughts. Mare asked me to simply unlock you... unlock your thoughts. You were locked up - she smiled - you were only here for half an hour and I can already see that you are more relaxed. That was the plan for this meeting - she went to the door to open it for him - please take care of yourself and don't do stupid things. Because through foolishness you can lose the trust of everyone around you.

- You are right. I'm going to the store to buy a notebook and I'll write down my thoughts, or at least I'll try - he left the office - thank you and goodbye, or rather, I hope not to see you again.

- Goodbye, Mr. Zabel - she closed the door behind him.

He left the building and headed toward the store. He went inside and moved toward the stationery aisle. He selected a notebook and paid for it.

He was about to order a cab to go home when a restaurant caught his eye. He glanced at his watch.

- It's only 8 p.m. Last drink. I'm done with it tomorrow. Definitely - he moved towards the restaurant.

He went inside and sat down at the bar. Next to him on the countertop he put a notebook and his phone on it.

- What can I get you? - asked the bartender.

- Whiskey, thanks - he pulled a few bills from his wallet, placed them on the bar and moved them toward the bartender.

The bartender handed him a glass of amber liquid. He reached for it and looked at its contents.

- One last time - he said to himself and took a sip.

Colin didn't just drink one glass...he drank three. He was barely sitting on the bar stool. Lately, such an amount doesn't affect him so badly. The bartender refused to pour him another shot of alcohol.

He leaned his elbows on the countertop and closed his eyes. He breathed deeply and slowly. Suddenly he felt a touch on his shoulder. It was light and gentle. He wasn't sure if he thought it was delusion or if it was really happening.

He opened his eyes and looked at her. He felt like he was dreaming.

Marg was here with Roby. They had come to the restaurant for dinner. They were about to sit down at a table when Marg noticed Colin sitting at the bar. He didn't look good. He looked drunk and sad. He was alone. She walked up to him and touched his arm.

- Colin? Baby? What are you doing here? Are you all right? - she sat down next to him, waiting for an answer.

He looked at her with misty eyes. The fact that she was here and approached him as if nothing had happened between them really amazed him.

He rubbed his eyes to sober up slightly. But it didn't help much. Alcohol was raging through his veins. He tried to look at her with the most sober expression he could get right now.

- I just... just had to have a drink - he said slightly confused. Not wanting to go into the details of his mental state right now.

She looked at him with sad eyes.

- You know very well that you shouldn't drink - she grabbed his hand and squeezed it - Were you at work today?

He really didn't expect her to show him any affection now. He had the impression that she had been more frigid towards him at first, but now she was actually nice. But that touch… It was almost as if she had already missed him. Or maybe it just seemed that way to him. It was impossible for things to go back to normal.

- Yes, I was working today... - he said, nodding slightly.

She smiled slightly at him. But in truth, she was sad to see Colin in such a state. She thought he was over it.

- Colin? I have a request. Could you order a cab and go home? Tomorrow morning you have to get up for work. Please don't drink. That doesn't help at all, and only makes things worse. You will feel bad. Believe me. And remember, I didn't leave you, we just have a small crisis. Everything will be fine. I love you...

- But… - he fell silent for a moment.

He was really surprised to hear these words. And the fact that she was still worried about him was also nice. He felt that maybe the situation really wasn't as hopeless as he thought it was.

- Okay, I'll do it... - he was even able to smile a little more after she said those tender words. She was right, he needed sleep, but he knew he would definitely wake up with a hangover.

- In that case, I'll see you at work tomorrow. I've been to the doctor today, he gave me permission to work because I feel better - she kissed him on the cheek - shall we have lunch together tomorrow during the break at work? - she whispered in his ear.

He smiled and felt warm at heart. He really liked the idea. He missed her so much. But he didn't want to show it to her.

- I would like to have lunch together tomorrow, yes... it would be nice to talk to you again... - he said in a slightly trembling voice.

- Great. I'm really happy. Okay, well I'm going back to my friend. I'll see you tomorrow. I love you - she kissed him on the lips and laughed like an excited teenager - Oh, you taste like a whiskey, bleh, but I love you anyway! - she laughed again and walked away towards the table where her friend was sitting.

- I love you too...

He watched her walk away without even bothering to finish his drink. He was actually quite pleased that she came up and talked to him. But that kiss on the lips? She could have given him a kiss on the cheek, then he wouldn't have gotten so hot. He undid a few buttons of his shirt at the neck and loosened his tie more. He drew in the air deeply.

Marg noticed that Colin was watching her and smiled at her. She waved him off and sent him a kiss. She was pleased with this chance encounter. She had not seen him for almost a month.

Colin reached for the phone and ordered a cab. After a moment, he got up from the bar stool, put on his coat and headed for the exit. He deliberately walked past her table and touched her shoulder, smiling. He staggered slightly because of the alcohol he had consumed, but she believed he would be fine tomorrow.

He went outside and looked up at the sky and closed his eyes. He felt more confident as he walked past her table. He tried to take his steps correctly, but it didn't quite work out.

- You are pathetic, Zabel! - he shouted toward the sky and laughed.

One part of his body wanted to stay there with her, but the other longed to be back home to start getting ready for tomorrow. He needed to sober up.

————

@robnovetre

#evan peters #evan is my crush #love evan peters #yyyyyy_okay #american horror story #quicksilver #xmen #kai anderson #colin zabel #colin zabel fanfic #colin zabel smut #mare of easttown #evan peters fanfic #fanfic #evan peters fandom #fantasy

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upontherisers · 19 hours

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in the cold spring

a/n: i'm in a writing mood recently! disclaimer: i haven't read mota or on a wing and a prayer yet so i do not know anything about jack kidd's life beside what is available on the 100th bomb group's website, so consider some details ~exaggerated for dramatic effect~. title is from ml burch's "i feel like giving you things" and this fic is about neither the cold or the spring, but it fits.

Goddamn Air Exec.

Jack says goddamn Air Exec from the moment Bucky tells him that Hughlin recommended him, through two rounds of meetings with Harding—call me Chick—and Bowman—call me Red, through moving into the ops barracks, through shaking a thousand hands, and through getting a desk. Goddamn Air Exec. Goddamn Egan, goddamn Hughlin, and goddamn Air Exec.

His crew, his fort, and his dignity all because Bucky purposely flunked out of the tower. And Buck vouched for him! Goddamn Cleven and goddamn Air Exec. All of his training out the window for a desk in a corner office. He can’t even see the runway through the blinds, just the backroads of East Anglia and occasionally the Land Army girls and their cows. Five hundred hours of flight school for a desk in a corner office and a secretary.

“A secretary?” he asks as Harding points at a small station outside Jack’s newly-labeled office.

Chick nods. “Yes, Lieutenant Keene.” He looks around the busy floor, eventually settling on who he’s searching for. “There she is… Hazel!”

A head pops up from the mass of moving bodies and paper and a woman quickly makes her way across the room, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease. As she approaches, she’s smiling with a brightness that goes all the way to her warm, round brown eyes, hand outstretched for another yet another handshake. Goddamn Air Exec, but he’s less bitter about it.

“Jack, I assume you’ve met Lieutenant Keene—”

“Hazel, I insist.” Her grip is firm and as warm as her eyes.

They met the few times when he had to go to Bucky’s office—his office now—and she was waiting at her station outside. He remembers her as polite but busy, inoffensively curt. Not one of the staff who blathers away, overly chipper and overly interested in the reason for his visit, but also not one of the ones who snaps at him to sit and wait and then ignores him like he’s the reason they’re losing the war. Hazel’s friendly and effective, a good temperament for a C.O. He wonders why she’s in here and not up in the air.

“Good to see you again.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Jack, I insist.”

Her smile widens just so, and he has a feeling that they’re going to work well together.

She turns to Chick and nods to where she came from. “Last of the after actions for the 418th—” Jack pretends that doesn't hurt to hear. He should’ve been up there with his boys. Goddamn Air Exec. “—I’ll have ‘em to Sheila in fifteen, and I’ll be at my desk after that, in case you need anythin’.”

It takes him a moment to realize she’s speaking to him, and he mumbles an ‘of course’ at his shoes. He’s a man who gets waited on now; it would take some time to get used to. She departs with another smile and heads back into the fray.

As Chick leads Jack around the rest of the space, showing him charts and maps and a million other semi-familiar faces, he remains acutely aware of Hazel. She’s speaking to a WAC as they go over some maps, marking here and there, her encouraging smile no doubt prompting stellar work from the younger girl. He’s reminded of Ev, the way his friend’s genial countenance can turn a boring day kicking around the hard stand into a respite and a rough flight home from a mission into a night at a comedy club.

Then he misses his friends—Ev, Dougie, Crosby and the man the navigator has become since getting kicked off of the Crash Wagon. He misses hearing DeMarco and Cleven bicker as they climb into their fort, that damn dog never far behind as Lemmons likes to sneak him out onto the hard stand. He misses the feeling of sitting in his seat and the controls roaring to life under his fingers as he hears his crew get ready at their guns. He misses looking out the window to see Ginny settling into her cockpit to his right, grinning like it’s Christmas morning and popping her gum into her headset receiver to set off Knick Knack at her navigator’s seat.

He even misses Bucky and his plane-to-plane chatter, always vigilant, always watching out for his squadron, his group, and the rest of the wing. He misses the man Bucky can be in the air as opposed to the faux-apologetic fast-talker that landed Jack at a desk in the first place. Goddamn Air Exec.

But then he comes back to Hazel and the scrunch of her nose as she stretches her arms above her head with a yawn. She slumps back onto the desk she’s sitting on, looking around the room curiously before meeting Jack’s eyes and nodding. He nods back before Chick drags him off to some new wonder.

She’s at her desk in fifteen minutes like she told him she would be and sticks her head into his office with a smile. She smiles a lot. “I’m back. Holler if you need anything.”

By the time he can look up from the file he’s puzzling over, she breezes back to her desk and immediately busies herself at her typewriter.

He doesn’t know what to do with her. The other C.O.’s have their secretaries do the standard—take memos, keep their schedules, make coffees—but that seems insulting. She’s here to win a war; he wasn’t going to send her scrambling for sugar. On the other hand, it’s insulting not to utilize her, as sharp and reliable as she is. His father would find her a task and a ring, which he had with his last three secretaries. Jack had no intention of using his rank like that. He’ll find something for Hazel to do. It just has to be the right thing.

And he searches for too long, it seems, because after three days of greeting her when he arrives in the morning and occasionally asking her where certain stationery was stored, she steps into his office post-lunch and plops down in the chair in front of his desk with a sigh. Her eyebrows raise and she wears a bemused smile as she folds her hands in her lap. She reminds him of Bucky for a moment.

“Was it something I said?”

He shakes his head. He’d been hoping she wouldn’t notice his lack of engagement, or perhaps would lean into not having much on her plate. “I’ve never had a secretary before.”

“Most men haven’t.” She leans forward and starts picking at a chip in the wood of his desk. “Your job is my job, too.”

“You seem busy enough.” She does. Every time he looks out into the hall, she’s up to something, whether it’s at her desk, in the filing cabinets along the walls behind her, or somewhere on the ops floor. She knows what she’s doing; he’s the one who’s lost.

Her mouth purses. “Not for long. I’ll be done with the backlog Bucky left by EOD.”

“I’m sorry he left so much—”

Her exaggerated eye roll surprises him. “That’s the point, Jack. It’s too much work for any one man.”

Goddamn Air Exec.

“But that’s why you got me. We’re a team… so,” she raps his desk twice, “put me in, Coach.”

He wants to say something, to have an important Air Exec order or some example for her to follow, but as he looks into her expectant face, he comes up short. He hasn’t eaten yet today, but he’d shoot himself in the foot before he ever made her go to the mess for him. She reads him like a book, which only further rankles his sense of command.

“Well, what’s all this?” She spreads her hands over the papers in front of her.

“Interrogation logs, new crew files—” He points at a pile Chick’s aide had delivered that morning. “I need to get those back to Harding as soon as I sign them.”

“Sign ‘em now and I’ll run ‘em over.”

“No.” This is exactly what he’s been avoiding, assigning her utter tedium.

She pushes the papers toward him. “C’mon.”

He blinks at her before opening the file. It’s some report or inventory request, or both or neither, which he has no idea why he has to sign, but he’ll do it because that’s job along with waiting around and going to briefings and briefings about briefings. Not even a week in and he was ready to crawl out of his skin or at least out the window. Chick denied both his requests to fly so he’s truly stuck in this office for who knows how long. Goddamn Air Exec.

Two signatures, three, four, five—Hazel points to hidden dotted lines, flipping through the pages without a second glance, and Jack can’t help but feel like she’s tying his shoes. That probably flew with Bucky, but it wouldn’t with him. They gave him the promotion because they knew he could do the job well and he agreed. This is something he could be good at. A team of subordinates was a perk of the job, expected for a man of such a station, and he’s grateful that folks were will to help out, but he’d grown up watching secretaries turn from aides to mother-wives and he doesn’t want that for anyone, especially a gal as nice as Hazel. He’ll find something for her to do.

He signs the last page and closes the file as Hazel stands, hand outstretched. Pausing for a moment, he doesn’t pass it over quite yet. “I don’t want you being my errand girl.”

She reaches across the desk and plucks the file from him. “It’s my job.”

She turns on a graceful heel and heads out across the floor, making it to Harding’s office and back before he could find it in him to stop staring at her confident, unaffronted gait. Bright laughter—the brightest he’s ever heard—bubbles out of her as she tucks her skirt under her thighs and takes a seat at her desk.

“You could’ve signed three more reports in the time that took me. Now I’m gonna have to wait for you.” She tsked. “Wastin’ both our time.”

She’s tying his shoes again and that lights a fire under his ass for the rest of the day. He clears the files that had accumulated on his desk plus two rounds of parts inventory from the hard stand and he gets a memo off to London requesting more birds. He feels satisfied by the time he flicks off the light and gathers his jacket and coat. It sure wasn’t flying, but it felt like making a difference all the time. He didn’t know he could do that from behind a desk.

It takes some soul-searching, but he manages to light his own fire for the rest of the week. He maintains his composure through the worst of it, a long fog delay that had half his pilots climbing into the tower to beg him for clearance, a ‘misplaced’ delivery of Mae Wests that somehow ended up with the 418th before they came to ops, and another declined request to fly from Harding. Goddamn Air Exec.

The job gets easier each day, especially with Hazel right outside the door. It does feel more like a team than subordination as they move around each other, trading reports and memos without having to speak. Still, she’s a few steps ahead of him—coming through the door before he can call her to pick up a file, finding this or that form before he can realize he’s misplaced it—but he’s determined to catch up. He comes in early on Saturday and has the summarized after action reports in Chick’s office before Hazel’s arrived for the day. It’s a good feeling when her eyes go wide in surprise and her cheery mouth finds its usual smile.

“Well, I suppose we’re even now.”

“No,” he shakes his head, “not even close.”

If they’re really going to be a team, he’s going to even the playing field. No more having her play governess. Neither of them are here to clean up after someone else.

That evening, Hazel is leaning into Chick’s doorway as Jack leaves for the day, chatting with Sheila.

He mumbles a ‘pardon me’ as he passes and her face lifts at the sight of him. “Major Kidd! We were just talkin’ about you.”

“You were?” he asks as they fall into lockstep on their way out.

“We were sayin’ how nice it is to have an Air Exec who knows what he’s doin’.”

“Bucky tried his best.” He’s lying.

She knows it and she snorts. “He was fun to have around, certainly.”

It’s quiet as they walk. The flights have stopped for the day and if he strains his ears he’d be able to hear the crews working away on the hard stand, but there’s no need for that now. That’s another thing he’s learning—when he’s doing the job and when he’s not. With the warm evening air and the blazing sunset in front of them, he’s grateful for the time off the clock.

He looks at Hazel and is struck by the sight. The light washes her dark cherrywood skin in a velvet glow, sending shadows of her lashes and her nose across her face. He’s suddenly jealous of Bucky and he doesn't know why. She catches his eye and smiles. Blanching, he clears his throat and stares at the ground. His boots are the cleanest they’ve been since he’s been in England now that he’s out of the grease and dust of the planes. Goddamn Air Exec.

They’re nearly at the ops barracks when he realizes that he doesn’t know where she’s going. Does she live in the barracks? Is she one of the girls who’s at a billet in town? Why doesn’t he know? Shouldn’t he know? She’s never in the mess and is so rarely at the Silver Wings. He wonders what she does with her time. He realizes he doesn’t know much about her at all, not her hometown, her family, where she was before the Air Force. The Oberlin pennant on the wall in his office had prompted her to ask into his life, but that’s because she’s always where he is, but he’s never where she is. He wants to be.

“Where’re you headed?”

She comes to a stop. “Home.”

“Where’s that?”

Her wry smile makes his heart skip a beat as she turns down the path leading toward the enlisted barracks. “Good evening, Major.” She never calls him that.

“Some of us’ll be at the pub tonight—Chick, Red, Bucky… it’d be good to see you.” He takes a half-step toward her so as not to yell the offer, maybe she’ll take it if he’s gentle. Part of him hopes she’ll say yes. He wants time with her outside of keeping the group on its feet, just an hour to hear her laugh, to ask her where she gets that charming accent from, to ask her for a dance. Part of him hopes she’ll give him one more good smile and walk away, that she’ll remind him there are rules, lines to be maintained. He’s not going to become his father.

“Good evening,” she repeats and he watches her go. He doesn’t have time to dwell on the ache in his chest as Cros yells at him from across the way. He’ll have his night and she’ll have hers.

He’s not sure if he should apologize for being out of turn when he sees her next, clear the air and make it clear that he’s not… he isn’t going to be that man. He reasons to himself that wants to know her as a teammate, in the same way he’d come to know the members of his crew. It’s what any good leader does. There’s a short speech ready to go when he enters HQ Monday morning after seeing the forts off.

She greets him as politely as she always has, but he gets the feeling he probably wouldn’t be able to tell if she’s upset. Her cards are meticulously close to her chest while she learns about the people around her. It’d be a good quality in a C.O. He thinks of all the women he’d just sent to Norway—Ginny, Vera, Amelie, Suzanne. Hazel would fit right in.

There’s a small box on his desk, no sender address upon investigation. “Hazel?”

“Yeah?” she asks as she gets up from her desk.

“Do you know who this is from?” He’s popping open one end with his letter opener.

“Oh, well,” she starts, folding her arms and leaning against the doorframe, “it’s from my momma” Her inflection is that of an embarrassed and entertained daughter.

A swath of white silk flutters to the floor and he picks it up. It’s a scarf decorated with rows of small and large flowers. From… from her mother?

“I—I, uh, I wrote her about you and she insisted on sending it. Bucky got one, too, when he started.”

He couldn’t recall Bucky ever wearing a scarf. “What’d he do with it?”

She scoffs. “God knows. I don’t think he remembers getting it. It was one of his… one of his mornings.”

“Hungover?”

“Still drunk.”

Closing distance, she takes the scarf from him gently and tosses it around his shoulders. She’s so near now as she starts tying it and he can look at her while she concentrates, her eyes glittering with that hope that never seems to fade. Does her mother have the same eyes? The same round apples of her cheeks, the lovely point of her chin? And her perfume, the faint hint of roses he occasionally gets during the day now in full force as she works. He feels flush and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands or where to put his eyes or what to say. A woman who’d only heard about him in letters sent her daughter to war and is sending him beautiful scarves. That’s the kind of woman who would raise Hazel.

“I always tell her that this is unnecessary, that y’all have mommas of your own to fuss over ya,” she says as she adjusts the knot at his neck and smoothes her hands over his shoulders.

“I—I don’t,” he stammers out.

Her eyes widen and he hates the kick in his chest. “Oh, I’m—I’m so sorry, Jack, I had no idea.”

He waves her off but can’t quite find the words. There’s a yearning suddenly, one he left in the dark years ago, and he doesn’t know what’ll come out if he tries to name it. Hazel puts a comforting hand on his arm and looks at him sympathetically. “Well, I’ll tell my momma to keep sending scarves… only if—if you wouldn’t mind.”

“I could use a few more of these,” he says, glancing down at the knot at his neck. He probably looks ridiculous wearing it without the rest of his flight gear, but the accomplished smile on Hazel’s face is worth it. He’ll bear all the stares in the world if it keeps her smiling.

She gives him one more once over before returning to her desk. “It’s a good color on you.”

“Matches my eyes?”

“Something like that.” She winks.

His stomach flips; he thinks of his father and three weddings.

“Oh,” she calls, “you can keep it on.”

He raises an interested eyebrow.

“The Telergma mission, you’re going. Chick sent authorization this morning.”

Three days later, Ev’s the only one who comments on Jack’s new gear after they finally get the all-clear for engine start.

“That from Franny?” his co-pilot asks. It’s a good guess; his sister would send something like it.

“Lieutenant Keene’s mother sent it.”

Ev scoffs with a shake of his head. “Your secretary’s mother is sending you scarves? Goddamn Air Exec.”

Yeah, Jack thinks, smirking out the window and sitting a little taller. Goddamn Air Exec.

#my writing #hazel keene #jack kidd x oc #masters of the air #straighten up and fly right #jack x hazel #some of y'all have neat little banners for all of your works and i want one of those i just don't know how to make them #also this ended up being way more of a jack character study than a true intro to hazel because i wrote it in his pov instead of hers #also i can't decide if this universe is in present or past tense. who's to say

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smilingbuckley · 2 days

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20 questions for fic writers

Tagged by @diazsdimples

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

302 because I removed some earlier works (2018) from anonymous. I've been writing since like 2016 in general and moved some fics from wattpad to ao3 in 2018/2019

2. What's your total ao3 word count?

1,369,693

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Mainly 9-1-1. Though I also want to write a few more for Roswell New Mexico and The Rookie. I used to write Teen Wolf, Legenfs of Tomorrow and Glee fics. Dipped my toes into a few other fandoms as well.

4. Top 5 fics by kudos

The Human of the Pack (Teen Wolf, 3,149 kudos)

Firefighter Diaz (9-1-1, 3,096 kudos)

5 Times Bobby and Athena Acter Like Buck's Parents + 1 Time They Actually Are (9-1-1, 2,366 kudos)

driving me wild (9-1-1, 2,295 kudos)

this is a place where I feel at home (9-1-1, 2,204)

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes! Sometimes it takes me a few days because it can be overwhelming, but I try to respond to everything. Except ones that complain about something, I tend to ignore them

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I tend to prefer happy endings, but I have I think 3 with sad endings. While unrequited Buddie is very sad, I think the angstiest one is where Bobby is dying and Buck cries in Eddie’s arms. (That ending is sadder than the sequel where Bobby actually dies because in that ending, Buck dies of old age and gets reunited with Bobby again)

If you want to read them, you can find the series here.

7. What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Hmm. I don't know. I try to always write a happy ending. So almost all of them?? I really don't know which one to choose.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Occasionally. I usually delete them. I think only 2 fics got a lot - one where Tarlos was tagged as a background ship but the Tarlos fans got angry that they weren't the main ship, so an entire army of Tarlos fans flooded my comments with anonymous hate comments. And one where Chris is being a teenager and in an argument says that Buck isn't his father or something like that, I think that he wished Buck and Eddie weren't dating? It's been a while since I wrote it. Anyway, I wrote Buck getting insecure and sad and breaking up with Eddie without telling him why and people got mad at me that Buck didn't tell Eddie - though I did that on purpose because Buck was very insecure and didn't want to hurt Eddie with that knowledge. Ended up turning off comments in general for a while.

9. Do you write smut?

Yep. For a long time smut made me uncomfortable and now here I am...

10. Craziest crossover?

Oohh haven't written one in years. I once wrote a Christmas fic back in 2018 where every fandom I was in got connected, but I ended up deleting that one because it was a mess. I think I wrote one or two Glee/The Flash crossovers where Barry and Sebastian were related? Oh, and one with Teen Wolf where Barry and Stiles were related.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I did once get a message that someone copied my fic to wattpad but it was deleted by the time I checked it out. Otherwise, I'm not aware of an entire fic, word for word, being stolen

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! Two actually. And people have reached out recently offering new translations as well.

Right now one of my Teen Wolf fics was translated into Spanish and a 9-1-1 fic to Ukrainian.

13. Have you co-written a fic before?

Not since my Wattpad days

14. All time favorite ship?

Romantically: Buddie.

A relationship (not romantic) in general: Buck & Bobby. They are my favorite relationship of all time. I just love their father-son bond.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will

Oohhhh uhm.... my farm fic. I love the idea of it but it has been more than a year since I touched it and realistically... I probably won't ever touch it.

(My farm fic is an AU where Buck was forced to take the lawsuit money and left to start a farm with rescue animals. He makes up with everyone but Eddie and keeps in contact with Christopher with letters and postcards. One day, Christopher runs away after an argument with Eddie, and he goes to visit Buck. Buck calls Eddie because he has to, so Eddie comes pick him up. But then there's a storm and they're stuck staying with Buck)

16. What are your writing strengths?

I am allergic to saying anything positive about my writing so I couldn't tell you 😂

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Pff. Uhm. Descriptions maybe? I tend to mostly write dialogue. I try to add some more actions while editing but don't always manage to.

18. Thoughts on dialogue in another language

I'm learning Spanish on duolingo just so I can include more Spanish in my fics, but I don't often do it. I do really like it though. I love it when bilingual characters speak the other language.

Back in my Seblaine days, I loved writing Sebastian speaking French. And I don't think I wrote it, but I also used to love Teen Wolf fics where Stiles spoke Polish.

19. First fandom you wrote for

Every Witch Way. I was 11 or 12 years old and new to Wattpad. There were no Dutch fanfics so I wrote my own. I learned English by reading fanfics. (Very important: I was team Jemma.)

The first one I wrote in English was Teen Wolf, also on Wattpad... it wasn't great.

20. Favorite fic you've written

I love writing long fics the most. My all time favorite is probably worth staying for, my nurse Buck fic.

Though a more recent one that I loved writing soooo much is since I met you, I just can't forget you which is my veterinarian Buck x cat dad Eddie fic. I loved it so much.

Tagging: @buddieswhvre @tizniz @steadfastsaturnsrings @watchyourbuck @theotherbuckley @jesuiscenseedormir @loveyouanyway @bidisasterevankinard @chaosandwolves @mattsire @mel-vaz @inkmortal-trash389 @princess-of-the-snake-pit @nilletellsstories @laundryandtaxesworld @specialbrownieeater @m1kayu

#911 #evan buckley #buddie #eddie diaz #911 fanfic #buddie fanfiction #fanfiction #tag games #911 abc #911 on abc

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katlyntheartist · 2 days

Note

Knuckle series is out!! Any thoughts? Does it affect your Jojo and Gang au?

Spoilers for the Knuckles series people! Avert your eyes children!

First, let's talk about the things I liked:

- Sonic and Tails were great for as little screen time as they had. And Maddie trying to be patient with Knuckles while also not strangling him was great, haha. As someone who worked at a Daycare, I related to her dealing with kids like Knuckles and Maddie's facial expressions when she was grounding Knuckles were on point. Also THEY HAVE A PLAIN BED FOR TAILS AND A TRUCK BED FOR KNUCKLES AHHHHH!!!!!

-Pachacamac is a Jedi Force ghost? Alright then. I don't know much about this character outside of Sonic X but I thought that he was fine. And Christopher Lloyd does a great job as usual.

-Wade was not terrible. I like how he has some character growth through the series and at the end he isn't a master warrior/fighter. He's still a goofball but now he's thinking things through and using what he has and his current surroundings to his advantage in a fight, and isn't just hiding and waiting for Knuckles to save him. But him breaking out of the cage in episode 4 was a bit ridiculous. What was that cage made of, cardboard? He really should have broken his hand or something.

-I liked the villains but I wish that we got to see them more involved in the story, especially the buyer. Who was menacing for about five minutes and then was crushed to death like, dang 0-0

-NANA WHIPPLE AND KNUCKLES SPINOFF SHOW PLEASE!!

-Knuckles was the best part of the show. He's the strong tough warrior but with a big heart and good intentions, though a bit misguided at times. Idris did a great job, nothing new there.

And now let's get into the things I didn't like:

-The show is %70 Wade bowling story and %30 Knuckles adjusting to earth and his backstory with Pachacamac and his tribe and his connection to the master emerald and everything else that the show should have been about. The Wade sub plot takes up so much time that we don't get to explore Knuckles. I wished that we had gotten to see him learn to appreciate and call Earth his new home instead of him just accepting it at the end. It just felt so rushed.

-Episode four wasn't awful but I didn't care for it. Also you can NOT show us the Flames of Disaster from '06 and not have Silver or Blaze show up. You can't do that >:(

-Knuckles and Maddie didn't get to have a heart to heart conversation which is what I and many others thought that was what the show was building up to. Also he never gets in trouble for running way and we never cut back to seeing Maddie or Sonic and Tails realizing Knuckles is gone, or even Sonic and Tails trying to cover for Knuckles. I get that the CGI was expensive and voice actor and actor schedules might not have worked out for it to happen, but my point still stands.

-Wanda was useless and you could have cut her out and lost nothing. Don't get me wrong, the actress is good but she feels wasted here. Her character is so annoying and serves no purpose other than to be mean to Wade. And why do we have to have the "siblings who hate each other but make up at the end" cliche? I would have liked Wanda more if she was nicer to Wade from the start and if they had a fun sibling bond with each other. Also if she was able to actually use her skills as an FBI agent to at least hold her own against the gang when they attack Nanna Whipple's house. Also the dad needed to be more comedically villainous, he was too generic.

-Like I said the villains here are fine but the Buyer's whole character is to just show up, have a cool robot fight, and die. We don't get to see him be a threat to Knuckles at all, he just appears for the climax and then is offed in a snap. And the two agents were fun but a lot of their dialogue was graining.

-And that leads me to the main problem with the series. The writing. I'm aware that the writers for the main movies didn't work much on this series, except Jeff did do the first episode. Which is why it's the best one. There is no balance between the jokes and the emotional moments. The show is so focused on trying to make you laugh every five minutes that it sacrifices genuine emotional growth for the characters especially for Knuckles. You know, the whole reason for the show existing in the first place. It suffers the same problems that the live action Ton and Jerry movie had, where the main stars weren't allowed to be the main stars of their film. All of the screen time there went to the human characters who weren't interesting or just plain annoying and mean.

And the dialogue for the show teeters back and forth between actually funny/well written and being dangerously close to obnoxious. And kids shows having jokes all the time isn't a problem. Rottmnt and the Lego Movies are both kid properties that fire off a joke every minute but they knew when to cut back and let the emotional moments shine. The jokes in the Knuckles show felt more like they were pandering to four year old's then actually trying to be funny and the emotional moments felt kind of forced.

I don't want to give any of the writers or anyone who worked on this show a hard time. I can see that everyone worked hard and had fun with this. And I had fun too. There were some good moments between Knuckles and Wade and even a few jokes that got me. But the problems I listed above are just to hard for me to ignore. If you liked the Knuckles series then great for you! I'm happy you were able to have a great time! But for me it was just ok.

Not great. But not bad either. 5/10.

Now, about this affecting Jojo and Gang. I think what I'll do is have comic take place a month after the Knuckles series. And use my AU to focus on Knuckles getting accustomed to Earth and learning to call it home. Basically my AU will do what the Knuckles series didn't.

#katlyn talks #knuckles spoilers #knuckles tv show #knuckles series

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lorcandidlucienwill · 2 days

Text

Day 6 of @nestaarcheronweek

Learn to keep a secret --> Nessian, post-ACOWAR

What if instead of Cassian yelling at Nesta and getting angry at her rejection, we see Cassian trying to reach out in a softer manner?

Cassian paused before Nesta's front door, building his nerve.

Nesta had withdrawn from everyone, even her younger sister. She had flat out told Cassian that she wanted nothing to do with him, not long after she had laid her body over his, choosing death with him. After his confession. It stung, Cassian had to admit, but nothing hurt him more than watching her destroy herself.

He had gone with her a couple of times to the taverns. He hadn't interacted with her directly, of course, but he had observed her. She seemed to be drawn to sensory stimulation, things that drew her out of the darkness that was inside her. Like the music, the drinks, the dancing. So hopefully...his plan would work. It had to, otherwise...he didn't let himself think further.

He was perfectly aware of the fact that his high lord despised Nesta. If she continued on her self-destructive path, Rhysand would do something drastic; Cassian might have to take them both out of Night for the time being, or even permanently. He didn't want to have to do that, but he had to protect her in whatever way he could.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door, waiting.

No response.

"Nesta." Still nothing. Was she even here? Was this the wrong house, or was she already at the taverns?

"Nes, please." Cassian couldn't help the desperation that slipped out on that last syllable. He understood; he really did. Recovery couldn't be rushed. But it was killing him inside to see her like this.

A blast of warm air hit him as the door opened abruptly. His mate looked beautiful as ever, even though it seemed as if she hadn't been eating properly, a plain white nightgown emphasizing her bony shoulders. A shard of ice stabbed his heart.

"What do you want." Her low, cool voice always did unspeakable things to him, but he tamped down on his mating instincts, trying to speak to her normally. "You look hungry. Want a bite to eat?"

"I told you I want nothing to do with you, Cassian," Nesta answered shortly. She was about to slam the door in his face when he put a hand out. "Nes, please. I'm begging you. If you come out today, I'll convince Feyre to give triple your usual amount of money."

Nesta's silvery blue eyes focused all their relentless attention on him. Cassian spread his arms, letting her see it all. He'd given her everything that day she'd beheaded the king of Hybern anyway.

"Fine," she snapped. "Give me a moment to get dressed."

Cassian heaved a sigh of relief, slumping into the snow in front of her house. Part 1 was successful. The hardest part was done.

She came out in a magenta empire gown with black embroidery at the collar resembling the shape of teardrops. Her hair was up in its usual braided crown, and Cassian's heart stuttered in his chest. Even emaciated, she was so heartbreakingly gorgeous, every bit the cunning courtier who was far too good for him.

"This had better be quick," she muttered. Cassian offered her no such assurances, fully aware of the surprise they had in store.

He took her to a place off the main road, with simply, hearty meals, yet very tasty ones. "You should have their Palak," Cassian murmured as they walked inside. "It's delicious."

They took a table near the back, Nesta still saying nothing. A small little critter who seemed to be a ghost except for the long spiky black tail he had came up to them, notebook and pen in hand.

"Order?" Cassian looked at Nesta. Her call. She scrolled the menu on the table before answering, "Two Palaks, please." Cassian's eyes widened in surprise that Nesta had actually listened to him.

"Don't you dare," Nesta seethed.

"I wasn't going to say anything!" Cassian protested.

Nesta said nothing, but Cassian spoke. About how he was retraining his wings after they were shredded, how the Illyrians fared, what her sisters, Amren, and Lucien were up to. He wasn't sure how much she listened to, but she didn't seem inclined to wipe him to dust with her silver flames, at least.

After she wiped her plate clean, she shoved it away from her, standing up. "Can I go home now?"

"No!" Cassian shouted. Nesta raised a brow at him as other people turned to stare at them. "No, I mean, I don't think anyone has ever given you a proper tour of Velaris. Would you like one?"

"I've already seen all there is to see," Nesta replied drily. Cassian shook his head vigorously. "You've only lived here a few months. I've lived here centuries. Come on." Nesta still looked skeptical, but she took Cassian's arm and let him lead her out.

When they were well away from the building, Nesta spoke. "You're a terrible liar, you know. I know you have something planned."

Cassian blushed. "My strength is on the battlefield, not the courtroom."

"Clearly." Well, she sounded amused, at least. Another big sigh of relief.

They walked along in silence for a few minutes before Cassian blurted out, "Do you prefer being indoors or outdoors?"

Nesta raised a brow. "I suppose it depends."

"What about today?" Cassian mentally cursed himself. Subtlety was certainly not his strong suit.

Nesta squinted at him before she smirked. "Today is a nice day. We should be outside."

Move everything outside, Cassian shouted to Feyre mind to mind. Right now.

On it, Feyre replied before shutting off the connection.

"I like outside," Cassian said stupidly to cover for his slow response. Nesta's smirk widened. "I'd imagine so, considering you're a warrior and all."

"Yeah." Cassian was so bad at keeping secrets. His mind was screaming fit to burst, begging him to reveal the big surprise. Nesta only looked around, seeming more at peace than she had in months.

"Let's sit here," Cassian said, pointing to an outdoor table. Nesta obeyed, and the two of them settled onto the bench.

"So," Nesta said, "are you finally going to tell me what you've planned?"

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" Feyre and Elain shrieked as they walked in, Feyre's arms laden with gifts while Elain held the prettiest chocolate cake Cassian had ever seen. Nesta didn't look remotely surprised, a small smile flitting across her face.

Feyre placed the bag on the table, pulling out all the gifts. "I baked this cake myself," Elain said, her face radiant as she placed it by Nesta's side. Feyre furrowed her brow in concentration, trying to sort out the gifts.

"Oh yeah, here! This is my gift: this lovely ring." Feyre slipped it on Nesta's hand. "It's not an ordinary gift; see the flame ornament? There's real magic in there. For a maximum of five uses, you can generate your own wings, so you don't have to rely on one of us to take you places!"

Nesta looked at Feyre in surprise. "That's...thoughtful of you."

"I also got you some nice jewelry, since I know you like sapphires so much." Feyre whipped out a stunning necklace with sparkling deep blue stones with sharp ends. Feyre winked. "It doubles as a knife." She turned one stone, and sure enough, a stunning knife appeared.

"Now my gift," Elain said enthusiastically. She pulled out a large patchwork, showing it to Nesta proudly.

"Er- what is it!"

"It's us!" Elain exclaimed. "This one," she pointed to a crimson lady sewn into the patchwork wearing a crown, "is you. She's chopping wood and wearing a crown, see? And this one..." she pointed to a blue one in the middle holding a bow, "is Feyre, because she was skilled with a bow and provided for us! And this one..." she pointed to a purple one holding a frying pan, "is me, because I did all the cooking!" She pointed to the center piece, featuring all three. "That's us sleeping on that small bed in the cottage." She smiled. "Anyway, I hope you like it. Now for Cassian's gifts."

Cassian stood up, clearing his throat nervously. "I...well....I got you some stuff." He pulled out the first gift; three books bound with ribbon. "I know you like romance novels, so, well...I asked around, and these are some of the most popular ones in Prythian, so I hope you like them." Then, he pulled out his second gift. He fiddled with the ball in his hands. "This is...a symphonia. It captures music in a ball so you can listen to it later. I...noticed you enjoy music."

Cassian turned the ball, activating it. One of the most popular songs at the tavern began to play. He sighed. "I know it isn't much, but-"

Nesta jumped into his arms.

"I love you all," she said in a muffled voice as she pulled away. She sniffed, wiping a tear out of the corner of her eye. "This is the best birthday ever." Feyre and Elain squealed, swinging their arms together in triumph, but Nesta only had eyes for him. "Dance with me," she whispered.

So Cassian offered a hand, and she took it; her slender, elegant hands were so small in his. She was an excellent dancer, and Cassian could by no means compete. But Nesta didn't seem to care, content to be there. She placed her head against his chest, looking for all the world completely joyful.

"You're such a silly boy," she murmured against him. Cassian stuttered. "What? I'll have you know- um, that is to say-"

"I figured out what this was about the moment we left that restaurant," Nesta interrupted, steering him into a spin. "And you're adorable, really, for arranging all this for me." She got on her tiptoes and whispered in his ear, "But you reallyyyy need to learn to keep a secret, Lord of Bloodshed."

#nesta archeron #pro nesta archeron #nestaweek2024 #nessian

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