#I left it opened ended for anyone reading to come to their own conclusions of what happened | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thelifeofchuckmovie · 3 months ago

Text

When it comes to ending the world, Stephen King is a repeat offender. He has brought life as we know it to a brutal conclusion several times over the decades, usually highlighting the cruelty and desperation that erupts among the last to go. But his 2020 story “The Life of Chuck” uses doomsday to evoke some unlikely sentiments: Wistfulness. Gratitude. Even joy.

The idea of creating an apocalyptic version of It’s a Wonderful Life is what led filmmaker Mike Flanagan to call dibs on the rights to the novella more than four years ago. The breakdown of society, extinction-level natural disasters, and the disintegration of reality itself is explored through the lens of one relatively meek and mild accountant, played by Tom Hiddleston, whose memories and choices are mysteriously connected to these tribulations. Retirement posters congratulating him on “39 great years” pop up everywhere. But who is this guy? What job does he do (or did he used to do)? And why does it matter so much to the fate of the world? This apparent nobody named Chuck Krantz has lived larger than anyone thought possible.

Having explored King country before in 2017’s Gerald’s Game and 2019’s The Shining sequel Doctor Sleep, Flanagan got involved after reading an early copy of “Chuck” before it was published in the collection If It Bleeds. The Haunting of Hill House and Fall of the House of Usher creator produced the film independently, believing it might be too offbeat for risk-averse studios to greenlight. He even secured a waiver from the striking Hollywood guilds last year to move forward with the shoot while the rest of the industry was stuck in the work stoppage. Now he and Hiddleston are ready to reveal the finished version of The Life of Chuck as it heads to the upcoming Toronto International Film Festival, where it will screen for potential distributors.

Among the skeptics about this adaptation was King himself, according to Flanagan. “His initial responses to me were a little like, ‘Oh, okay. Yeah. If you think that’s a movie…,’” he says. “He did say several times that he thought it would be a challenge to get it supported through traditional means.”

King has now seen the finished movie and no longer has doubts. He described it to Vanity Fair as “a happiness machine.”

“Well, he’s written something very tender and very wise,” Hiddleston says. “I think there is a great wisdom in the soul of the story, which is that it takes courage to hold on to what is good in a world that feels like it’s falling apart.”

Flanagan hopes others see it that way too, although the overpowering dread that begins the story may be more immediately relatable. “I’ve heard it said that every generation feels a little like the world is ending at some point, [but] I still feel like it’s different for us,” the 46-year-old filmmaker says with a mordant laugh. “Institutions we took for granted as propping up our society are failing left and right. Our politics have degraded spectacularly. The sense that it’s breaking down, that the world is moving on, has been increasingly palpable. When I talk to my parents or members of older generations who have been through their own turbulent times, the thing that strikes me is that they’re like, ‘Oh yeah, this is really bad.’”

But…it’s not entirely bad. And that’s the underlying message of The Life of Chuck as its various mysteries play out. “There’s no sense of terror in the way that King drew it,” Flanagan says. “Even as the world feels as though it’s ending, people become introspective, they reach into their past for loves that have left their lives for one reason or another. Strangers engage in open and fearless communication.”

It’s an indie-film variation on the big-budget cataclysm story. “A disaster movie has people meeting the end while running from tidal waves, and this story has people sitting quietly holding hands looking at the stars,” Flanagan says.

The key to it all is Chuck himself, although he doesn’t turn up onscreen until the second segment of the three-act story, which plays out in reverse chronological order.

The beginning is actually the end, as the whole world circles the drain. Caught in this spiral is Chiwetel Ejiofor (12 Years a Slave), a school teacher trying to apply logic to the planet’s troubles; Karen Gillan (Guardians of the Galaxy) is his ex, a hospital worker determined to save everyone she can; Matthew Lillard (Scream) is a construction worker neighbor who finds zen amid the chaos; and Carl Lumbly (Alias), plays a funeral director who has dedicated his life to easing people through death.

The end of the movie is actually the beginning, showing young Chuck (Benjamin Pajak) when he was a boy being raised by his grandparents (Mia Sara of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off and Mark Hamill). The insight of these two—coupled with the otherworldly revelations he finds in an eerie room tucked into the peak of their Victorian home—help him learn to seek out bright spots when life is marred by sorrow and darkness.

In elementary school, young Chuck discovers some important things about himself thanks to guidance from a brusque dance instructor (Samantha Sloyan), and a kindhearted English teacher, played by Kate Siegel, who gives the boy (not to mention the audience) some important information that serves as a code breaker for the story's more cosmic puzzles.

As for the middle of the film: It’s a dance number. That’s when Hiddleston steps in.

Compounding the peculiarity of The Life of Chuck is the question: Why is this song and dance sequence so important? The answer is for the movie to reveal, but it matters a lot. “The life of every human being is a constellation, as expressed in this film,” Hiddleston says. “There are certain moments which will burn most brightly as individual stars. Sometimes it feels like the world is going to hell in a handcart, and it’s full of pain and suffering, and it is—but there are moments of deep joy and deep connection.”

Hiddleston shows the audience this single moment in the life of a buttoned-up fellow who somehow controls the destiny of the world. It’s not necessarily the most important day in his life, but it’s a memorable one involving a street drummer (Taylor Gordon), a lovely stranger (played by Annalise Basso), and a fateful decision to cast aside caution and cut a rug. “It’s a reminder to do whatever it is that expresses whatever gives you that feeling of being alive,” Hiddleston says. “Whether it’s music or dancing or math or writing or creativity—do it. Do it now. Those moments are what you’ll remember.”

Flanagan considered casting a relative unknown as Chuck to “give the audience the experience of ‘Who the hell is this person?’” as the peculiar retirement signs begin to appear in the midst of the apocalypse. But he felt the promise of the Loki star would build more curiosity as the world falls apart. “You grow an enormous amount of anticipation to finally spend time with an actor like Tom, who can be a literal god in one story, and then an everyman in another,” Flanagan says.

A TikTok video of Hiddleston getting his groove on sealed the deal. “He had a completely unfiltered joy on his face,” Flanagan says. “He was a good dancer, but that wasn’t what struck me. I wasn’t amazed by the technique so much as the degree of happiness that was radiating off of him. The look on his face made me smile the same way I smiled reading that particular portion of the book.”

The resulting scene was created in a month-long collaboration between Flanagan, Hiddleston, Basso, choreographer Mandy Moore (So You Think You Can Dance, and La La Land), and Gordon, a real-life percussionist who performs under the name the Pocket Queen. “Taylor was there for all of the dance choreography. She wrote that piece of music for that performance. They built it together,” Flanagan says.

Hiddleston rattles off the lists of influences: “I had to learn in six weeks the full regime of any dance training. We did jazz, swing, salsa, cha-cha, the Charleston, bossa nova, polka, quickstep, samba. We were trying to tip our hat to anything that might have influenced Chuck. It might’ve had a bit of Gene Kelly or Fred and Ginger. Certainly moonwalking—Stephen King is very specific about the moonwalk.”

Precision was not the goal, exuberance was what they sought. “We need to always bear in mind that this man is an accountant. We needed this to be an earnest, escalating explosion of joy, and a remembrance of who he was,” Flanagan says. “It’s a chance to step back into the skin of his younger self, not caring that his feet are going to kill him the next day, not caring that he’s going to wake up with a horribly stiff neck.”

A surprising thing happened while shooting the scene over the course of several sweltering afternoons in the deep South. “I burned holes in my shoes,” Hiddleston says. “I was dancing out on the asphalt in Alabama, and by the time we’d finished, you could see my socks through the soles.”

The sequence begins awkwardly: Chuck is self-conscious as he first hears the busker’s rhythm while walking back from a banking conference. That feeling quickly gets shaken off. “Tom was very committed,” Flanagan says. “He was like, ‘If I look silly, that’s fine. As long as I look happy.’”

Flanagan remembers being in a bad place when he first discovered “The Life of Chuck.” Then again, everybody was.

His copy of the manuscript arrived in March 2020. “That was just as the world shut down for COVID,” he says. “We had been a week away from starting principal photography on Midnight Mass in Vancouver and had fled across the border before it closed to make it back to the States. We were hunkered down in our homes and had no idea if this was going to last for two weeks or if this was going to last forever.”

With everything halted as the lockdown set in, Flanagan had plenty of time to do nothing but read. The new King book seemed like the perfect escape. Except…

“The first third of ‘The Life of Chuck’ just rattled me,” he recalls. “There’s no way he wrote this before the world ground to this bizarre halt—but he did. And the feeling of anxiety, and uncertainty, and that everything was falling apart came roaring out at me. I wasn’t sure I could finish it. It just felt too close to the anxiety I was feeling.” But he kept turning the pages. “By the end of it, I was in tears, and incredibly uplifted, and convinced I’d read maybe the best thing that he’d written in a decade. I just was floored by the thing,” Flanagan says. “So I fired off an email to him right away saying how much I loved the story, how incredible I thought it was, how meaningful, and important, and how it had really tattooed itself on my heart and said, ‘It’s the movie I want to make so that it’ll exist in the world for my kids.’”

King’s response: Not so fast. Flanagan and his producing partner, Trevor Macy, had at that point secured the rights to King’s fantasy saga The Dark Tower through their company, Intrepid Pictures. The eight-book series is threaded throughout King’s other works, and adapting it was a massive undertaking that Flanagan is still working to make happen. Other filmmakers had either abandoned the project, were canceled midway through, or bombed miserably. The author didn’t want him to be distracted. “He doesn’t like to give the same filmmaker more than one thing, because it typically means one thing is not advancing at all,” Flanagan says. “He said, ‘Well, let’s focus on The Tower and I’ll try to keep this one available for you for later.’”

The quest to The Dark Tower remains a priority for Flanagan, but a number of disruptions to that epic undertaking led him to reapproach King last year about Chuck. Intrepid’s deal with Netflix, where they had created Hill House, The Haunting of Bly Manor, and other shows, had come to a close, and Intrepid signed a new development agreement with Amazon. That meant starting over on The Dark Tower. Meanwhile, the threat of a double-barreled strike by writers and actors was on the horizon, stalling nearly every major new project. The industry plunged into another production-halting lockdown, this time over contract impasses rather than a virus.

Since The Dark Tower was suddenly further off on the horizon, Flanagan saw a chance to make The Life of Chuck happen in the short term. “It’s so rare that I get to approach any project that just has not an ounce of cynicism to it. I just really believed in this thing,” he says. “But it was also clear that we would have an incredibly uphill battle bringing the story to any major studio. They would try to make it as familiar as possible, instead of leaning into what makes it so different.”

King gave Flanagan his blessing to proceed. “I was off like a shot,” the filmmaker says. “I think I turned in the draft to him before he got around to sending the formal agreement.”

For everyone involved, The Life of Chuck became a bright spot in an otherwise dismal time, which matches the theme of the film. “There is a profound optimism in this story,” Hiddleston says. “As the world is spinning off its axis, there are moments of magic.”

#the life of chuck #tom hiddleston #mark hamill #karen gillan #chiwetel ejiofor #jacob tremblay #kate siegel #mike flanagan #carl lumbly

180 notes · View notes

procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics · 1 year ago

Text

Patience is the Virtue of a Lady

Summary: As Daemon's wife, you are left humiliated by your errant husband. As the product of an annulled marriage, you are seen as barren and tainted, left to befriend Queen Alicent, gaining the reputation of an unsalvageable woman over the years.

But, the heart wants what it wants, and you have had your eyes on unattainable Ser Criston for years.

Notes: anon’s mind is imploding with the amount of genius in it. thank you for requesting, i was on my knees for this idea

Warnings: smut, religious undertones, afab!reader, daemon is an ass, criston is an ass, reader is genuinely not having a great time (at first ahaha), religious/vow-related guilt, slight size kink?

Taglist: @majesticwren @obsessiveformiyatwins @a-beaverhausen @ilikeitbetterangsty @levithestripper (adding you tentatively, jack, hmu to be added to any!)

based on this request | masterlist | requests are OPEN! (and i'm back to writing!!)

Daemon never cared to hide his straying looks, and you knew of his habits. Whoring, drinking, murdering – and yet, you were lucky for having married a Targaryen Prince. You kept your mouth shut, knowing that you would, otherwise, end like your predecessor, Rhea Royce.

Why Viserys had insisted Daemon marry against his will again, you’d never understand.

You kept your mouth shut, through whores, paramours and treason. You played your part, as everyone did in the court. And when your eyes strayed, they did so secretly and carefully. You chose to stare at someone you could not attain anyway.

A kingsguard was your safest bet at something that would never happen anyway. You seethed against the humiliation of your husband and sought your own distraction. Even when Daemon stared hungrily at Rhaenyra, a girl, you said naught.

Targaryen tradition – you did not know if you could argue with that. But Rhaenyra was barely fifteen. She was beautiful, yes, but even now, the fact that your husband would prefer a girl over you stung.

In the early days of your marriage, you had gone to the sept every day, beseeching the Mother to give you a child, even if your husband refused to touch you beyond a drunken wedding night, in which he had failed to even come close to producing a child. Now, you were glad for your childless state, even if the court whispered that you were barren.

So when Daemon left your shared chambers, which were an order of the king, you bade him goodnight and turned back to your reading. Still, you stared from your balcony out at the small spot outside the Red Keep he always appeared in after a while.

A secret entrance only Daemon knew how to use. You held your breath when a small figure appeared first, silver hair glinting in the moonlight.

Rhaenyra.

A few moments later, Daemon appeared, and they disappeared into the city.

The rumors in the days to come were enough for you to draw your own conclusions, but to your surprise, Ser Criston was soon included in them, which stung more than anything. You’d deemed him safe to keep as your own in secret, and yet, Rhaenyra had not only taken your husband from you, but also him.

It hurt more than the annulment of your marriage that Daemon brought forth. You only nodded through the process, letting the Septon say what he wanted, and Daemon tell as many lies as he needed.

And so, your name was yours again and all you were in court was the former wife of Prince Daemon. Your family seethed, ready to remove you from court until Queen Alicent asked you to become her lady-in-waiting, and you were once again stuck in a court of lies.

Ser Criston grew bitter over Rhaenyra, but instead of becoming your friend, he began to worship Queen Alicent. It wasn’t lust, it wasn’t love, but something queer in between.

In his own twisted way, he once again wanted anyone but you, and it stung when it shouldn’t have. Weren’t you supposed to be past this?

And yet, you tortured yourself, watching as he raised Alicent’s children as his own and continued to barely spare you a glance. The court grew disinterested in you, and you continued to lead a life as quiet as before, turning into a lonely spinster with the years.

Only now, you turned to the Father in the Sept, begging for purpose. For anything to happen in your life that might make it worth something.

And then, Lady Laena died. Beautiful, magical, mysterious Lady Laena, who you’d never known and yet loved for ridding you of your husband was dead.

You attended the funeral, even prayed for her, hoping that she would find peace – a thing you thought highly unlikely for a wife of Daemon. You watched as Daemon once again practically drooled over Rhaenyra, and watched as she did the same. Alicent saw it, too.

“It appears as if some things do not change.” Alicent commented dryly. It was treason, what she said, but her nerves had been frayed for the past few weeks, and she knew you would not speak ill of her to the king. You wouldn’t have made a difference to frail King Viserys anyway.

“No, my queen.” You sighed. “But it is not me he is humiliating this time.”

“That did not make you deserve it.” Alicent replied, ever gracious. She slipped her arm into yours, as if you were still the young, disappointed women you had once been and led you away from the balcony. Ser Criston followed dutifully, and for some reason, it felt as if his eyes were burning into your back.

Rhaenyra and Daemon disappeared together, and everyone in their presence trained their eyes to the ground, pretending not to see. Your hand curled into a fist instinctually, feeling old anger and disappointment bubble back up in you.

Perhaps, if you had been bolder, you could have reigned Daemon in. You could have been queen consort, and saved Alicent all her pain. They were silly thoughts, and yet, they made you leave the room, and make for your chambers.

You almost screamed when you saw a dark figure sitting in them, back turned to you, until you recognized dark curls and white armour.

“I almost thought Daemon had finally sent someone after me.” You mumbled, half to yourself. Criston turned, looking right through you.

“Ser Criston?” You asked carefully. He’d grown older, as all of you had, but his beauty remained to him. Criston stayed silent, still staring.

“Criston?” You tried again, calling him by his first name this time, and slowly, he seemed to see you standing across from him.

“She could have had me, and freedom. She chose this prison, you know?” Criston told you. For a moment, your felt confused, before you realised that he was speaking of Rhaenyra, still heartbroken. Of course.

“What are you doing in my chambers, ser?” You asked. Ser Criston laughed dryly.

“You never deserved what he did to you. Prince Daemon dishonored you.” Ser Criston continued, not answering your question. “A lady so beautiful any a man would have been grateful to have you as their wife, and yet, he threw you away for nothing at all.”

Nothing. He had called beautiful Laena, wild Rhaenyra nothing at all. What treason, and how your heart loved to hear it.

You swallowed down your bitterness, ignoring the fluttering feeling in your stomach as Ser Criston called you beautiful. Yet, you kept your guard up. This place was only an extension of King’s Landing, reeking of corruption just as much. For a moment, you considered whether, mayhaps, this was some kind of ploy.

Ser Criston stood so suddenly you took a step back instinctively. He passed you, and you thought that he was going to leave, tired of your company. Instead, he closed the door in front of him. The lock clicked into place, a cacophony of sound in the silence that hung over the room. You held your breath, praying to the gods that nothing would happen to you.

He began to close the distance between you, and you began to back up, until your knees hit the bed, and you fell backwards. Criston was still walking, still closing in on you like prey, and you felt yourself scramble backwards. The headboard stopped your attempt to flee, forcing you to look at Ser Criston.

He stood at the end of the bed, his hand on his sword. Could you make a run for it? Where was there to run?

His swordbelt unravelled, and the weapon hit the ground with a quiet thud. Criston only waited, staring at you expectantly. What did he want?

Slowly, you felt yourself freeze out of place, dragging yourself across the bed towards the end of it, where he stood solemnly. Carefully, you reached up, putting a hand on his shoulder. You heard him inhale shakily.

“Ser Criston, are you alright?” You asked. A pause, then, a shaky breath and a shrug that turned into a shake of his head. “Ser?”

“I’m sorry.” Criston said finally. Carefully, his hand took yours. You stared down, looking at the dark grey glove that covered his hand, starkly contrasting the white of the rest of his uniform. The leather felt soft against your hand, and it was that you tried to focus on, not the fact that you were holding the man’s hand in yours.

“What for?” You asked, smiling up at him nervously. You hated the position you were in, the vulnerability of it. Your neck was craned to look up at him, and you were practically kneeling on the bed. If anyone found you like this, they would accuse you of unthinkable things… Alicent would never forgive you.

“For not defending you. For what I am to do.” Criston said. “Both tarnish my knighthood, my white cloak… tarnishing you.”

You opened your mouth to speak. “What you are about to…”

As Ser Criston pulled off his gloves, cupping your face with his left hand, you trailed off. You could hear your heart beating in your chest. You wanted to pinch yourself. Surely, you were dreaming. This was not real.

Yet, even if it was, you did not care to move away from him. Instead, his lips found yours, soft and gentle in their own way. You felt yourself reciprocate, though you knew that you should not. You should not be doing this, betraying Alicent in this way and yet…

He sighed into the kiss, and the thought disappeared in the fuzz of your mind. You were unable to think, almost unable to breathe. Gods, how long you had waited for this moment. Weeks, months, years.

“Do not give in.” Criston begged. You paused, breaking the kiss to look at him, but no words left your mouth. He repeated his own once, before something shifted in his eyes. This time, he kissed you less softly, and more so like in the bawdy tales your sister had told you. And you found yourself reeling, your hands against his chestplate to steady yourself.

Even as his hands slip under your dress and travel up your thighs, he begged. “Please, stop me.” He whispered. You shook your head in saccharine betrayal and Criston rested his on your shoulder for a moment. His hands left your thighs, leaving the skin hot and burning, and snaked up your neck, cradling your head. They were big, encompassing your skull and somehow, that made your breath hitch.

Hands that were made to kill, and yet, he was holding you so gently, as if you were fragile. A sudden boldness made you speak.

“Do you want me?” you asked. He lifted his head, nodded almost frantically and you made your choice.

Had the distance between you two really been that dramatically large? It felt as if there was no world around you, only your lips on his, his hands touching, holding as your husband should have held you. As you should have held your children.

Oh how you had longed for years, had none of it, and watched as others had been destroyed, by husbands, by children… yet it still felt so deeply unfair that you could not bring yourself to feel guilty for this little thing. Just this once.

You let Criston kiss you, worship you with his hands as he took his time, carefully unlacing your dress, letting the fabric pool around you. Still, you sat on the edge of the bed, looking up at him. He loomed in his armor, dwarfed you from this perspective.

When you were finally in your shift, you could not help shivering. Criston looked at you with worry in his eyes, before he slipped away, stoking the fire in the furnace. The heat did not match the feeling his hands left on your skin.

He stood before the fireplace, his silhouette illuminated as he took off his armor. The chestplate, the padding, all those parts that shielded him when he did his duties were discarded carelessly on the floor, a stark contrast to his eyes, trained to the ground.

The shadows that flickered through the room, created by candles and fire illuminate the muscles of his back as his dressshirt joined his armor on the ground. You could feel yourself biting your lips to keep yourself from making unladylike sounds.

When Criston returned to the bed, you expected him to push you into the bed, to climb atop you and do what Daemon could not. Instead, he fell to his knees before you at the end of the bed. Confused, you stared down at him.

“What are you doing?” you asked him. He did not answer, his eyes dark as he stared up at you, filled with things you would never tell your septon about. His hands pushed up the seams of your shift until it bunched at your hips.

Suddenly, you felt exposed, and your legs crossed automatically. You sat up straight, as you had been taught, until Criston’s hand returned to your knee, patient, waiting. You understood. Slowly, you uncrossed your legs again.

You still felt exposed as Criston began to place kisses on your knee, even more so when his mouth wandered upwards, towards your thighs. He had kissed your mouth, had barely kissed your neck and now he looked like he wanted to devour your thighs.

Criston took his time sucking marks into the flesh of your thighs, marking it as his, you suddenly realized. And how you loved to be loved.

His mouth moved upwards with a pace that was so slow it almost became painful. You felt a moan escape you, covering your mouth immediately. Criston, looking up again, shook his head. You felt confused – wanton sounds, those were condemned by the church. They could not possibly be what he, such a devout man, would want to hear?

Only, Criston wasn’t that devout after all, was he?

And when his lips touched your cunt in devout prayer, you answered in such currency. Eagerly, his tongue licked a stripe up your cunt, flicking the nub at the top with impatient insistence until you felt your back weaken. You let yourself fall backwards onto the mattress with a girlish ease you had not felt in years, but suddenly it was there, and you were floating…

How had the septons dared to tell you all this was sin? How could that be true? How could it be when-

Criston never ceased his movements when you grew louder, trying to contain your sounds to the confines of your chambers. A knot was beginning to tie itself in your stomach, growing tighter and tighter until you were begging Criston for something – you didn’t know what it was, except that he knew, that he would give it to you.

And then, suddenly, the knot was gone, and something else took its place. You weren’t sure if this was something you had ever felt before because it was all-consuming, washing over you like a golden wave and pulling you under. The tension, the pressure, all of it was gone, replaced by white-hot pleasure and your eyes rolled backwards, your back arching off the bed towards Criston.

Coming down from you high, you felt Criston slowly removing your shift, continuing his worship on your stomach and your chest, sucking and biting skin until he felt you squirm beneath him. It was then that he looked at you, smirking, but you could see that his eyes were full of something no one had ever looked at you with.

Not desire, nor lust, for you had seen those in men who eyed you greedily during banquets. It was not the empty, sad stare King Viserys gave Alicent. No, it was the glances Ser Harwin had thrown at Rhaenyra before her death. The look of adoration Queen Aemma had held for King Viserys all those years ago…

You had no need to say the word, for you knew, and it made your head spin. Could it be?

His hands pulled your shift over your head, until you were bare for him. He was still wearing breeches, but you could see the strain beneath them. Filled with sudden confidence, you pulled him towards you, kissing Ser Criston and wrapping your legs around his waist in a desperation to have him close to you.

Your hands fumbled at the laces of his breeches clumsily, until he gently removed them, doing the work himself. You could see Criston’s cock, half-concealed by the shadows between you and the dark, and yet, you knew it was bigger than Daemon’s. The thought of it made you afraid and your face heat up at the same time.

His hand moved languidly while he leaned down to kiss you. When his hips bucked into his hand, you heard yourself beg him for it, and that seemed to change something in him. Suddenly, Criston seemed hungry.

You could feel him between your legs, and then, you weren’t all that confident anymore. But Ser Criston held you close, whispering reassurances and praise until you could feel him enter you. There was a small stretch, a small feeling of discomfort, and Ser Criston halted his movements for a bit.

When you nodded, he began to move, his body rocking into you. He seemed to know what he was doing when he rolled his hips, stimulating that spot inside of you you had no idea existed in the first place.

The first time he hit it, you felt the air knocked out of you from pleasure. And then, the feeling became a rapid addiction. Your hands dragged his chest to yours, your legs wrapping around his waist again in an attempt to urge him to move faster, harder, to make you feel good.

Ser Criston, the perfect white knight, obliged. He snapped his hips against yours, angling them upwards and giving you something that you had not thought would work that way, feel that way.

“Please, Criston.” You gasped.

“Please what? What do you need, my lady?” Criston replied, his words coming in short intervals. He was just as gone as you, you realized, and that only added to your own high.

“Oh Gods,” you began. “Criston, I don’t know, I- please, please,…”

He rested his head in the crook of your neck again, but this time, his teeth found your shoulder, biting down gently at first. The pain was good. It added an edge you had no idea you needed, brought you back down into a realm where you could form some coherent thought.

The knot you had felt before, the tension that had turned into a coil in your stomach returned with a sudden fervency. This time, the feeling was there more quickly, more intense and it was almost too much. At the same time, you felt as if you would die if it stopped.

Criston seemed to feel it, and only later would you realise that your cunt was clenching around him so tightly that he was having difficulty not to moan as loudly as you. But Criston continued, and he pushed you over the edge, leaving you reeling in pleasure as his hand clapped over your mouth to muffle a scream.

He followed soon after, only that he refused to spend his seed inside you, instead painting your stomach with it. You know why he did it, and yet, it somehow still hurt. Before you could ponder too much on the matter, Criston disappeared, returning with his breeches on and a rag in hand. He cleaned you while you lied on the bed, the soreness beginning to sneak in after your high.

Afterwards, Criston lied down next to you. He did not speak, but he did not pray either, and for that, you were glad. And still, he was the one who pulled you closer. You held onto him, basked in his warmth.

Finally, your patience and virtue had been rewarded. You did not waste a single thought on what would come in the future, only that this was right, and no septon nor Alicent would be able to convince you otherwise (not that you would tell them about this to begin with).

You could feel yourself dozing off in your white knight’s arms, until the alarm bells of High Tide suddenly began to rang. As the castle came alive under the signal, Criston shot up, and so did you. Shouts passed your door, and he scrambled to put on his armor.

Never a moment’s peace in this world.

#criston #criston x reader #ser criston #ser criston x reader #ser criston cole #ser criston cole x reader #criston cole #criston cole x reader #smut #criston cole smut #hotd #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd smut #criston cole imagine #minor #rhaenyra targaryen x daemon targaryen #request #criston cole angst

1K notes · View notes

yuri-for-businesswomen · 4 months ago

Text

i have left

hey everyone this will probably be the last thing i post on this blog albeit im keeping it up for resources.

im eternally grateful for how this community has helped me through prostitution and everything, i have amazing mutuals and i have learned so much 💜

but it has become toxic. many of yall cant handle disagreement and default to being as condescending and obnoxious as possible. one of us calling out a post is not enough, we have to dog pile everyone with a slightly shitty opinion. some of yall have severely lost the plot if you ever had it in the first place. not everything is that serious, especially when it comes to online drama.

im sick of it. so many engage in the same bullshit we accuse online trans activists of. this is an echo chamber. so many just mindlessly parrot slogans and arguments. what im very sick of is seeing single tweets or posts by a nobody, usually anonymous, being spread as receipts and shit. you know how annoying it is when everything a self proclaimed terf somewhere on social media says is taken by trans activists at face value and representative of the community when theyre not even radical feminist, just transphobic? yeah. yet a lot of yall do the same by saving and sharing „receipts“ where some random person who claims theyre trans (or not even) says some fucked up or out of pocket shit. you will always find people like that online, from any politicial „camp“ or ideological alignment!

a lot of yall seem to think that debate is about winning and not like, having an exchange of arguments and let the audience come to their own conclusion

and i just dont hate trans people. in fact i feel kinship to any female or homosexual trans person, anyone except heterosexual males. many of yall dont even realise how male centered you are when you more or less equal the trans community to heterosexual men who have a fetish for humiliation and forced feminisation or whatever. who exist and are an issue and i do wish the trans community at large would distance themselves from those men, but its not all there is to it. yes i agree that we need to protect vulnerable young people, girls and especially lesbians and gay boys, from being pushed into transitioning, i think the age of consent should be put at 21 or something, but we have to acknowledge and consider that there are people who have already transitioned and will transition in the future and i just dont understand how you cant have any empathy for them. no matter what you think about transition, many trans people ARE vulnerable and marginalised. plus consider how many detransitioned women are in this community yet yall talk about trans people as mutilated and shit its gross. in the end we can only try to establish structures that keep people from self harming, but an adult of sound mind has the right to do so anyways, including plastic surgery and trans surgeries. and i want to keep my arms open to them; but a lot of rhetoric around it spread on here will only alienate them further.

right now im saving all my essays in notes so its out of my mind. i have missed the community a lot so maybe i will return at some point but i have also been feeling better since i stopped being on radblr. i miss the rare valuable input and thoughts by other women but overall i have felt unaligned with how things have been handled on here. it has been mostly negative instead of constructive and pragmatic. ive had the impression some of yall enjoy the „being in the in-group“ community aspect more than actually being here for feminist exchange. lack of nuance, lack of empathy, lack of reason. it pains me but i have more and more come to understand why people just block us without engaging on general suspicion because ive also come to be annoyed with some of yall engaging with posts - and im on „your side“.

anyways im doing okay, im going to drug counselling regularly now and am trying to establish a stable life for those of you who inquired, and i hope anyone reading this is self reflected enough to know whether this applies to her or not. bye

#and yeah i may have been guilty of some of this in the past and i dont like that i was swept up in this and distancing myself now

131 notes · View notes

codenamesazanka · 6 months ago

Text

I'm thinking. I'm thinking. it would be cool if all of my dislike and criticism of Deku's actions in this final war arc (and maybe before) was actually supposed to be the intended feeling. That he was supposed to be read as an arrogant little shit with no plan and failed at saving Shigaraki all along. Saving Shigaraki was his ego talking - him wanting to save that Crying Child, because it makes him feel good to be a Hero... in the easiest way possible. He pried open Shigaraki's lid with no regard for how questionable such an act is. He never understood Shigaraki at all.

Deku has the potential to be a great hero. When Yoichi and Kudou talked about his great qualities, it was because they can sense the seed of it at his heart. But it hadn't been cultivated. He does have a drive to save, but it was too early to call it that. He does believe everyone has the same heart, but he hasn't actually come to that conclusion himself. That's why they needed to speak about his own feelings for him. He's 16 years old and thrown into a war. How can anyone have proper development and meta-cognition in such a scenario?

I'm thinking. It was Stain who spared Shigaraki and told him he sensed the seed of a warped conviction inside of him, when all readers saw at the time was an erratic manchild. But Stain was right. Shigaraki's conviction grew and developed and became such a noble desire, but 'twisted' - A Hero, but for the Villains.

Deku just had the high of his life. What if he's about to enter the lowest? He failed to save someone. Society is getting rebuilt and where it goes from now on is absolutely crucial. He's "quirkless" again - that personality is gone so who is he now?

I'm thinking. There's a reason why his agreement with Overhaul hasn't been resolved yet. I'm thinking Compress and his vigilante ancestor's dream of reform can't be just ditched like that. I'm thinking how Deku can fail so incredibly at not realizing why Shigaraki stayed the leader of the League all through the end, and how Shigaraki tells him 'ganbare'.

I'm thinking about Shigaraki, and how he's a fair guy. But he's a Villain. He sensed Deku's intention, understood just how sincere it was, and can respect that. And the guy did just helped heal his childhood trauma. And thus, he's holding Deku responsible for making sure his destruction is permanent, and leaves with a semi-sardonic 'do your best'. I think that's actually just like him.

I'm thinking about Uraraka and Shouto getting two sad looking panels in this semi-celebratory chapter where All Might calls Bakugou and Deku the greatest Heroes. They were the two who actually considered the suffering their Villain went through. They acknowledged the whole of their Villain, their agency and desires, and they supposedly saved them. But there's no celebration for them. Maybe it's because they've seen the truth and can't be unaffected.

I'm thinking about Spinner, who saved Deku from a teammate at the camp raid because he believed in Stain who believed in Deku to be a true Hero. And then Spinner became Shigaraki's most devoted friend and Shigaraki left a message to him, via Deku.

I'm thinking maybe Horikoshi got out all the battle shonen stuff they wanted out of him and now he can do his own thing. He sucks at fight scenes and great at character writing and darker material.

The issue to this thinking is that this hope is sooooo dangerous. I had a similar thought that Endeavor, after the Touya reveal, was going to get some brutal atonement. I thought post-Jaku would be a really cool chance to examine the issues of Hero Society, and that Tartarus being recognized as a human-rights violations would end up somewhere. I loved what I felt was the subtly realistic built-up of the Heteromorph arc, and I still love it, but then it ended up the way it did. I thought AFO's tragic backstory getting revealed could be awesome. I've clowned myself again and again. I guess this is the latest clowning.

And none of this actually saves Shigaraki or brings him back. Rather, his death and last words is pretty much required for this brutal realization and haunting on Deku and the story.

Worse, this all has the potential to make me think Deku is interesting. What am I doing to myself. 🤡

#nalslastworkingbraincell #I'm not even guaranteed to get Shigaraki back with this #what the fuck am I doing #and it makes the League runs off to be vigilantes ending i want much less possible #shattering my dreams

99 notes · View notes

imahinatjon · 8 months ago

Text

Doubt

Dazai x Reader

I Don't like sad/bad endings.

PART 1

"Osamu,

I'm leaving this short letter for you to read when you wake up. By now you should already know I'm not there. That's because I've left. During the night. I came to a conclusion that our relationship was not working, we weren't working, we don't belong together. It hurts me to say this, but it's true. I'm sorry. For leaving like this, but I'm afraid it's the only way. I'm sorry. I really am.

Love, YN"

Of all people is was Kunikida who came to see him. Of course, Kunikida's reasons weren't born from concern, but rather, annoyance. Dazai had missed work. Only for a day but, well, we all know how kunikida is with his schedule.

So of course he went to drag Dazai off to work.

Knocking the door felt wrong though. Call it a detectives intuition, but something was up. Something had happened, and it probably wasn't good.

So he let himself in.

The atmosphere was dark, sour. All colour and life drained from the small apartment shared by two.

Dazai wasn't hard to find either. He was sat quietly in the living room, thinking to himself. He didn't even flinch when Kunikida approached.

The letter was on the floor, inviting the blonde to invade the privacy of the couple living here. He didn't think Dazai would mind.

"Where are they?"

"I don't know"

"Why did they leave?"

"I don't know"

"What happened"

Dazai was silent then. He didn't know what happened. But had been forming an idea in his head on what it could have been.

"I'm not sure..."

"But I might need a favor"

Had this been anyone else who just up and went missing, Dazai would probably be able to find them. But, he wasn't in his best heads pace.

Even back in the office he was still somewhat moping around, despite the usual facade he tried to keep up.

If anyone could find where you went, it was Ranpo...

And probably anyone who was actually thinking properly.

"They went 'home'"

"Home? Wh- ohhh"

"Back to their parents, Guarantee that's why they quit their job too"

"Wait, quit?"

"Hmm. Fukuzawa hasn't exactly put that through yet though. Keeping the decision on hold"

Of course. If you'd come in and quit out of the blue, they were going to know something was up. And they wouldn't be just letting you go without so much as a question.

Now he knew where you were though. Back with your parents.

He knew something happened when you visited together. That your mother probably gave you an idea that had plagued your mind. He just wished he'd asked about it when he had the chance. Maybe you would have spoken to him?

No time for that now though. He had to go over to see you.

Convince you to come back.

Your parents house wasn't too far away. So he was knocking on the door in no time.

Your mother looked around thr sitting room, having heard the door knock. She rolled her eyes and reluctantly stood from where she sat, opening the door with a subtle scowel on her face.

"Oh, Dazai... right? What is it?" She asked, trying to ease her face somewhat.

"Is YN here? I need to see them"

"Yeah... what did they do this time?" she huffed

"Nothing. We just need to talk"

"Hm"

"Please?"

"No"

"It's not really your choice"

"Look, if they haven't reached out to you, then ovbiously they don't want to talk. So get off my doorstep... and don't bother knocking again"

This was not the woman he met that day.

Dazai stepped back, not really wanting to cause a scene. He didn't want to deal with your mother, he wanted to deal with you.

So he made his way around the back of the house, finding his own way to see you.

"Who was that?" You asked your mother, walking out of the kitchen to where she just sat back down.

"No one important"

"Kinda sounded like Dazai...?"

"If you knew that then why did you bother asking?!" She snapped.

You discreetly rolled your eyes and walked out. Heading up to your room, you noticed your door slightly creaked open.

You knew who it was. And you'd be lying if you said you weren't exited. But you were nervous, afraid of the consequences of just leaving the way you did.

Swallowing the nervous bile rising in your throat you opened the door fully, stepping inside your room to face the man you loved so dearly.

You don't even question how he got in.

"YN"

You didn't say anything, just stood beside the door, keeping your distance.

"YN"

He called you again. You should go to him. Talk to him, sit beside him. His face doesn't let you in on how he's feeling, but...

You needed to ask him. You hated this feeling of uncertainty.

"I'm sorry" you said. Shutting the door behind you, and leaning nervously against the wall beside it.

"I had to... y'know..."

"Why?" He couldn't fathom why you had to leave.

"Didn't you read my note? I told you, it wasn't right! The relationship, it just wasn't working"

"Then we make it work!" He didn't raise his voice, he didn't want to be discovered by your mother downstairs, but the expression he let slip was shouting, desperate. Only to be hidden behind an unsettling calm once again.

He released a breath "we talk about what's wrong, why you don't think it's working, and we make it work... unless..." He didn't even want to think about that option, but had to accept it was a possibility, so with a quiet voice, he asked

"Unless you really don't love me"

Your breath caught in your throat. He thought that? Really?

"It's not that dazai. I love you, more than anything. I want nothing more than to be by your side for an Eternity, but I know that it can't happen. I know I'm not good enough, I know I don't do enough, I know I'm useless, I know I'm difficult, and I know you don't love me the way I love you. I can't do that to you or myself" you curled in on yourself, sitting on the floor as you let your feelings spill to him, as you told him your truth.

"I can't selfishly keep you tied to someone like me"

Dazai stared at you for a while, contemplating what you had said.

It was as though you were reading his thoughts. You told him exactly what he'd been thinking. But... those were your thoughts?

"Whoever told you that?" He whispered, sad smile coming to his face and he moved to kneel down infront of you.

"Who said you weren't good enough? When have you ever beeb lazy? Or useless? Your everything to me, and more, your perfect, for me, to me..."

He held your hands up in his own

"How is it selfish to love a man who loves you tenfold"

"I'm... you what?"

"Surely you weren't so silly as to think I didn't love you? I asked you to live with me, I asked you to date me for a reason"

"And thinking back... you must have said yes for a reason?" He asked

You couldn't answer, words caught in your throat, tears threatening to spill. So instead, all you did was launch forward, wrapping your arms around his neck to hide and cry into his shoulder.

You should have spoken to him sooner. Maybe this would have been avoided.

Dazai gently stroked your hair, and held an arm around your back. He wasn't about to interuppt you. But... he'd probably have too soon.

"How about you gather your things and we go back home?"

Pulling back go wipe your eyes you nodded, smile small but present.

He helped you put the few small things you took with you in a bag. He climbed out of your window (telling you how he also got in) and took your bag with him.

You headed downstairs to leave through the front door.

"Where you going?" Your mother asked, standing in the living room doorframe.

"Out"

She raised an eyebrow

"Whatever" she childishly huffed and walked off. Leaving you to your own devices.

So you left.

*extra*

Kunikida sat impatiently in the car, tapping on the steering wheel waiting for you and Dazai. He came along because he was a concerned for your mental heath and wellbeing (and maybe Dazai's too) but now he wished he hadn't, as he waited for you two to get in the car, instead of standing outside hugging and sharing a few pecks and laughs like you spent a whole year a part.

It's been a day! Nearly 2!

When you did eventually get in the car, he was already speeding off, desperate to get back to work.

But not before telling you

"You two really need to work on your communication"

_________________________________________

Not yet proofread.

Masterlist :3

#imagine #fanfic #bungou stray dogs #x reader #dazai x reader #bsd dazai #bungou stray dogs dazai

84 notes · View notes

keewu · 5 days ago

Text

What VOCALOID/utaite song fits the sds characters?

This is basically me combining my two biggest interests haha, but yeah I've really thought about this.

Meliodas: Aun no Beats. So from what I've read and what I think the meaning of the lyrics is. It's a person who mourns the death of their lover, and not being able to be together anymore (we all know why this checks out) the line that stuck out to me was "we were going to be together forever" anyway I really like this song and I think it fits him.

Elizabeth: Yume to Hazakura. This is a really beautiful song and its very melancholy. It talks about distant memories and unforgettable words, tbh I think it just fits her vibe. For Meliodas I had like a reason I don't think I have for this one. But it fits her and it's a beautiful song.

Diane: Lonely Universe. It was HARD finding a song fitting her man. But I think this is cute and it's her feelings toward King. It's in my opinion about a person who loses someone (King making Diane forget about him) and waits for them to come back, like they are always looking for something. It also feels like the person waiting is quite alone which Diane was after she left the giants, she didn't have anyone since the humans found her scary.

Ban: Vita. I gotta give my man a depressing song bro. So I can't really find the "meaning" of the song so I'll just make my own conclusions. It says "I'm living as best as I can" and "dying as best as I can" and I feel like that resonates with Bans character, you can't tell me that man doesn't want to die when he deliberately went to prison to get tortured. It also says "it's getting worse and worse" which I feel like Ban felt when he said that everyone he likes ends up leaving him.

King: Lemon. Ya'll I cannot not give King the yaoi angst okay. So the song is about grieving for a loved one, someone who's already passed (Helbram hehe) it has lines which are very beautiful like "Even the pain from that day, I still loved it all with you" and "more than I knew I was in love with you" (if you can't tell I really like King x Helbram) overall the melody of the song fits him too and overall I really frickin love this song.

Gowther: Hitomodoki. This is a mafumafu song (one of my fav artists btw) and Hitomodoki means kinda like Pseudo-human which in of itself fits my boy here. As soon as I listened to this song I thought how much it fit Gowther and I could go on a super long rant, but instead I'm just gonna drop some lyrics on you cause you'll see what I mean. "Is this hole I had mistakenly opened within my heart" and "In this human form, without becoming a human" and "oh, my heart — I once wished that you would have stopped" like you get what I'm putting down??

Merlin: Rollin' Girl. I had so many songs for her, like bitter Choco decoration, bad apple, lost ones weeping etc. But I decided to go with the old classic depression song. Again from what I read and how I interpret it, it's about a girl who's very lonely and needs help but never accepts it from other people. Even though she's in pain she want to keep "rolling" each day at a time (continue to live) she always wants to be perfect/succeed. Lyrics: "it doesn't matter how It turns out, that's just a downward hill towards more mistakes" anyway I feel like this song really fits her. Also this song may or may not have been my most played song last year and Merlin may or may not be my favorite character hehe...

Escanor: The reason I wanted to die (Boku wa shinou to omottetanowa. So as you can see this is a depressing song once again (all these mfs be traumatized) and its a really beautiful song that really shows how Escanor feels in my opinion. It sings about reasons to want to die and it's about grief and despair but also hope. The lyrics "The reason I wanted to die is because I hadn't met you yet" and "I fell in love with this world a little more where people like you were born" feels a bit like his feelings toward Merlin which is cute.

This is honestly mostly for myself but if you enjoy reading all this thats great!!

#i really like doing these haha #i was thinking id do more happy songs next time since this turned depressing #nanatsu no taizai #seven deadly sins #nnt #sds #7ds #merlin nnt #gowther nnt #meliodas nnt #ban nnt #elizabeth nnt #diane nnt #escanor nnt #king nnt #rant #vocaloid

17 notes · View notes

gorgonwrites · 1 year ago

Text

bound to you, part 3

diluc x fem!reader

wc: 1, 844

author's note: im really edging all of us with this rn goddamn

cw: fem!reader, 18+, no *actual* smut in this chapter but smut from last part is mentioned, MDNI!!!, mentions of anxiety, reader is DEF hiding her feelings, diluc is a soft man because i say so. cheesy "where is my wife" mentioned bc i live for that shit

Did you really leave your door open? You frowned, sitting up in your bed. You were almost positive you closed it, but you had been so needy earlier that your memory felt blurry. You were quiet, though, and no one had a room near your chambers. You fell back onto your pillows, looking out your window at the night sky. Did you really just come undone on your fingers, singing praises to your absent husband? The thought annoyed you, reminding yourself that Diluc pulled away from your touch just this afternoon. You rolled your eyes at the thought and turned away from your window. You considered whether or not you really wanted to know more about your husband, or if your lust earlier had completely clouded your mind. It was definitely lust, nothing more you reasoned. As you kept going over the afternoon’s events, you slowly drifted to sleep in hopes of coming to a better conclusion tomorrow.

“What do you mean he left this morning? I thought he was finished with business for the season?” you were interrogating Adelinde while you ate your breakfast. Diluc had left the winery and no one knew when he would return.

“Like I said my Lady, sometimes Diluc has to go away for weeks on end. It can be sudden, but we get along just fine. Don’t worry too much, okay?” you stared at her and finally let out a huff.

“He said he would spend time with me,” you grumbled, “Not that I care. He can’t stand being near me anyways.” you quickly added after seeing Adelinde’s satisfied smirk as you pouted over your husband’s absence. As she began to clear your dishes from the table, you crossed your arms over your chest. How long would he be away this time?

After a few days of following Adelinde around begging her to give you anything to do, you finally gave up. Your restlessness knew no end, and you were close to leaving the manor to travel back to Fontaine just to have something to do. As you began to actually consider that thought, there was a loud knock on the manor’s front door. You excitedly bolted to the entrance of the manor, ready to give your husband a piece of your mind. You ran past several maids who were also making their way down to the parlor to greet their unannounced guest. You arrived at the door out of breath, and stood for a moment to compose yourself and smooth your hair before you opened it. To your dismay, it wasn’t your husband on the other side. A young woman with ears and two tails stood in front of you with a package.

“Lady y/n? Kirara. I have a delivery here for you from Liyue!” you stared at her, dumbstruck. You didn’t know anyone from Liyue. Confused, you remained silent. Kirara furrowed her brows, checking her delivery address again.

“Lady y/n. That’s you, right? This is the Ragnvindr residence?”

“Ah, yes it is, I apologize for my behavior. I’ll take that.” You gently took the package from her hands, and smiled as the young woman ran off to continue her delivery route. You looked at the name on the package. Lady y/n Ragnvindr. It still felt strange seeing your husband's last name after your own. Feeling the maid’s eyes on you in the parlor, you excused yourself to your chambers where you could open the box privately.

You sat on your bed with the package in your lap, carefully snipping the strings that held it shut. You opened it and found beautiful red packaging paper inside with a small note on top. It read:

I have heard that this is the best paint in all of Teyvat, hand crafted by an Adeptus here in Liyue. Use them to your heart’s content.

-D

It couldn’t be. You continued to unwrap your gift, only to discover an assortment of paint that you had only ever dreamed of. It was indeed handcrafted by a reclusive Adeptus from Liyue, and it was incredibly expensive. Considering all of the colors your husband purchased for you, it meant he had given up a hefty sum for them. Your breath hitched in your chest, and you brought the note to your lips. What would you paint? You briefly thought about repainting Diluc’s portrait but you were quickly engulfed by embarrassment just at the thought. What about the Winery? And the vineyard! They were two things that were incredibly important to your husband. You bolted upright and immediately began gathering your things to set up an easel and canvas outside for the perfect view.

After Adelinde helped you set up your easel on a hill across from the Winery, you quickly got to work. The paints were so smooth and so pigmented you wanted to jump from the excitement. You spent hours that afternoon painting, your mind drifting off peacefully as you worked. Each day you woke up, ate breakfast, and spent hours on that hill trying to capture your home on the canvas perfectly. After a week, you felt you were close to being finished. You just needed a hint of azure blue to finish the sky. You turned too quickly and knocked your paints and brushes all over the ground. With a huff, you crouched to clean up your mess.

Diluc was relieved to be home. He was only gone for a week and a half this time, but he was exhausted. Adelinde greeted him in the parlor, delegating tasks to the maids so he didn’t have to lift a finger as soon as he walked inside. He sighed with relief.

“Thank you, Addy. I’m happy to be home.” Adelinde tsked at the old nickname, but she greeted Diluc with a smile.

“Welcome home, Master Diluc. Would you like to change into something more comfortable?” He did, actually, and he wanted to find you as well to apologize for his abrupt absence. While he had been almost too worn out to venture out to Liyue to tie up some loose ends on wine deliveries to Sumeru, he was grateful for the distance after accidentally stumbling upon you touching yourself as his name fell from your lips.

Damn it, he thought. Of course he was rock hard as soon as the memory flared in his mind. He changed slowly, to let himself regain his composure before he started searching the manor for you. He first went to your chambers, prepared to be more careful than last time. Your door was ajar, though, and he stepped inside only to be greeted by the quiet breeze blowing in from your window. He slowly explored the room, trying to control his urge to pry. He did, however, notice a note at your bedside. It was the handwritten note he sent with your paints. Seeing it set out made him smile, his anxiety being replaced with a warmth blooming in his chest. He moved on, searching the main rooms and even the kitchen in the manor. His anxiety crept back into its permanent home in his chest, and he quickened his pace. He became increasingly stressed after each room, realizing there was no sign of you anywhere. Diluc found Adelinde again in the parlor, agitated.

“Where is my wife?” it sounded more aggressive than he intended, but he was beginning to tire from your continued pushing of his boundaries. He’d give you anything Teyvat had to offer, if only you’d ask. He simply wanted you to stay within the safety his manor provided while he was away.

“Your wife is outside working, Master Diluc.” Adelinde’s usual playful tone was absent from her voice. Diluc rubbed his palms over his face, ready to crack. This was another boundary you continued to push. He appreciated the enthusiasm you displayed, truly he did. He knew his employees adored it about you as well, but as the Master and last remaining heir of the Ragnvindr clan, he felt there were expectations he needed to meet. One of them being his wife not working tirelessly out in the vineyards. Normally Diluc could care less for expectations but with the Lords of Fontaine breathing down his neck, he became increasingly aware that he sometimes needed to play by the rules. He took a slow breath, and thanked Adelinde before heading out to find you.

You finished cleaning up the last of your brushes, carefully picking out each strand of grass that was entangled in the bristles. Satisfied with your work, you turned around and slammed right into your husband's broad chest. You look up, only to see his amused face looking back at you. He seemed relieved about something. You push away from him, trying to create some distance between you. He reaches out and swipes a smear of green paint from your sunburned cheeks.

“Beautiful.” he whispers, his touch lingering. You see the crinkles around his eyes form and you chance a quick look at his lips.

“The painting, of course.” Diluc grins as your expression sours. You could only grumble wordlessly in response. You turned away, hoping to put the final touches on your painting in peace. Your husband didn’t leave, though, and you became increasingly fidgety under his watchful gaze.

“I don’t think I meant to paint for an audience when I came out here.” you were doing everything you could to stifle the joy you felt knowing Diluc was home. The manor felt emptier than usual when he was gone this time but you’d never admit that. You began to consider backing out of your plan of giving this painting to him- it felt too personal. Though you did consider the paints he bought you to be a very personal gift, even if he had no idea that you’d always wanted them.

“You’ve been putting them to good use, I see.” he sounded proud of himself.

“Yes, I have.” you turned and met his gaze, “Thank you, so much. I actually painted this… for you.” You felt a flush rising to your cheeks and you hoped your face was pink enough to disguise it. He tilted his head, and glanced between you and the painting. You continued,

“I know they cost a fortune. You shouldn’t have.”

“It's the least I could do for you, after leaving so quickly. I wanted to apologize for my absence.” That was a first. Usually Diluc came and left the winery without a word. Up until recently you both had avoided each other easily, unconcerned with unnecessary chatter.

“Oh, I- please don’t apologize. I understand how busy you are, there’s no need to dwell on it.” you began to turn away again, but Diluc caught your hand in one of his own. This time it was you that recoiled from the sudden touch, surprised that he’d reach out to you so casually. Your gazes locked, and you could feel your steeled resolve melting by the second.

“Master Dil- ah… Diluc. Would you like to paint with me this afternoon?

#JUST FUCK ALREADY #diluc smut #diluc x reader #diluc fluff #diluc x fem!reader #diluc x y/n #genshin fluff #diluc genshin x reader #diluc loves his wife but is too dumb to realize it yet smh #reader is a brat but we love to see it #diluc ragnvindr

216 notes · View notes

stargazer-sims · 2 months ago

Text

Broken Glass

♫ Broken Glass - David Francey ♫

This will make more sense if you've already read Full Circle

_______________

"Forest, what are you doing?"

Fox probably doesn't have to pose this question. He thinks he has a fairly solid idea without needing to ask; however, if working with kids on a daily basis for the past twenty-plus years and also being a parent to six kids of his own has taught him anything, it's that jumping to conclusions is almost always the wrong thing to do. He'd much rather hear an explanation directly from the child in question.

Now that his and Takahiro's older kids have moved into their newly-renovated rooms in the basement, everyone has to pass by Forest's and Camellia's doors to get to the laundry room. The fact that Forest's bedroom door is open is what catches Fox's attention initially, but the thing that makes him pause and set his basket of laundry down is what he sees on his second glance. His oldest son is sitting on his bed, haphazardly cramming clothes and other items into a large bag. Forest's green backpack is on the floor beside the bed. It looks full to bursting.

Forest looks up briefly. "Nothing."

"It certainly looks like something."

Fox steps onto the threshold of Forest's room, but doesn't go any further. Ever since their kids were old enough to understand the concept of privacy, he and Takahiro have maintained that the kids' rooms are spaces that the kids control. Unless it's an emergency, they won't go in without permission.

"It's none of your business,” says Forest, in a defensive response that takes Fox aback.

"Papa said you were upset when you got home from school today," Fox says.

"Yeah," Forest acknowledges. "I told him I didn't want to talk to him about it."

"He mentioned that. He said he thought you were waiting for me to get home from work."

"Sort of."

"Would you like to talk to me about it?"

Forest shrugs. "I guess I can tell you, but it doesn't really matter. There's nothing anybody can do."

"Maybe not, but I can listen," Fox says. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah, I guess."

Fox steps into the room and comes over to sit on the end of the bed. There are clothes strewn all over it. He picks up a shirt and begins to fold it. "You know, you'd be able to fit more stuff in your bag if you took your time and organized it."

"What?"

"Your bag," Fox says. "Obviously, you're packing. You'd fit more in there if you folded everything. I presume you want to save a spot for your sketchbooks and pencils, don't you?"

His son stares at him. "Are you, like... helping me pack?"

"Don't I always help you pack?"

"We're not going on a family trip, Dad," Forest says.

“I know.”

"I'm the only one going."

"So I figured." Fox lifts another shirt and folds it neatly atop the first one. "Come on. Take all that stuff out and I'll help you fix it."

"Why?"

"If you're running away, there won't be anyone to help you carry your stuff. You should be economical with your storage space so you can fit as much as you can into as few bags as possible."

"How did you...?"

"How do I know you're running away? Let's see..." Fox pretends to think about it. "A kid packing his bag when he's not going to an overnight camp or to a sleepover or on a planned trip? There aren't that many options left."

"Great." Forest sighs and drops the pair of jeans he'd been holding. "So much for a clean getaway. I can't even run away right."

"There's no right or wrong way," Fox says. "Either you go, or you don't. There's no rule book on how to do it."

For several seconds, Forest doesn't respond. He just sits there and gazes at Fox as if he's trying to look inside his brain, to discern in which direction their conversation is ultimately heading. After a while he says, "Are you... you're like, okay with this?"

"No," Fox replies.

"But, you're not gonna try to stop me."

"Would it do any good for me to try?" Fox asks. "You're not the first person in this family to run away, you know. Your grandparents stopped me the first time I tried it, and that just led to me being smarter about it on my second attempt. I sneaked off in the middle of the night, and I was on a plane before they even realized I was gone."

"That's not true."

"You can ask Granny and Grandpa or Aunt Clancy if you don't believe me," he says. "Anyway, I doubt me trying to keep you here would work any better than my parents trying to keep me at home did. If I told you I don't want you to leave, would that make you want to stay or would it make you want to go even more?"

Forest narrows his eyes suspiciously. "I see what you're doing."

"What am I doing?" Fox asks.

"Psychology or whatever," Forest says. "You're treating me like you probably treat your clients."

"It seems to work on them."

"Dad, I'm not stupid. Not that stupid at least. You're trying to trick me into doing what you want, and I'm not falling for it."

"I'm not trying to trick you into anything," Fox insists. "You're still a minor until January, so Papa and I have the legal right to keep you under our roof until then, but if you really want to go now, I won't stand in your way and I don't think Papa will either. I think you're old enough to make your own choices. If you think running away from your problems is a good choice, you're free to test that theory if you want."

"Who says I'm running away from my problems?"

"Aren't you?"

"I'm running away so I won't be anyone else's problem," Forest tells him.

Fox contemplates this. His instinct is to ask his son why he feels that way, why he thinks he's a problem for anyone, but it occurs to him that he might already know the answer. After all, hadn't he felt similarly at Forest's age? He'd often wished he could just disappear so he'd no longer be a burden to the people around him. Although it wasn't the only catalyst for his own flight from home, it'd certainly been a factor in his decision.

The realization that this might be the case for Forest too is upsetting. Even before Forest and Camellia were born, Fox was determined not to make the same mistakes with them that his parents had made with him. He didn't want to raise them — or any of his children — in an environment where the predominant emotions were fear, shame and guilt.

Fox's parents hadn't handled any aspect of his upbringing in an appropriate way, in his opinion, and things only got worse after he was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes at the age of six. Because of his illness, his parents sheltered him to the point where he became afraid of everything and could barely do anything for himself. His entire purpose in life had been to do what his parents said was best, and not to make them angry or sad for any reason or cause them to worry even more.

They'd meant well and they hadn't been trying to hurt him, but unfortunately, their own fear had blinded them to the fact that they were actually far more responsible for Fox’s suffering than any outside factors ever were. They were terrified something awful would happen to him and they were desperate to protect him, but what they failed to understand was that by keeping him away from virtually everything the world had to offer, they'd harmed him even more than he might've been harmed if he'd been allowed to experience things for himself.

The older he got, the less content he was with the way things were. Obeying his parents wishes became more difficult as he began to have goals and dreams of his own. Eventually, the situation devolved to where he couldn't take it any more, and he knew he'd have to do something if he ever wanted a normal life. After his first unsuccessful attempt to leave, he secretly planned his escape and didn't tell anyone anything until he was far, far away.

Although he'd spent the first few months of his time in Japan feeling lonely, scared, out of his depth and questioning the wisdom of his choice, he doesn't regret it now. That adventure, born of desperation, had changed his life completely. He'd met his beloved Takahiro, gained independence and self-confidence, and found hope for a better future. When he finally returned to Canada, with Taka by his side, he felt as if he were a totally transformed person.

A better version of yourself, his sister Clancy had said.

When he and Taka discussed growing their family, Fox knew he didn't want any of his kids to have the sort of childhood he'd had. He and Taka have done their best not to coddle their kids too much, instead encouraging them to explore and experiment and not be afraid of making mistakes. That didn't change when Camellia and Forest were diagnosed with diabetes within days of each other at five years old. Fox was adamant that the twins shouldn't be treated any differently than Matsu or the younger kids simply because they were diabetic.

"It's not a disability," he'd told Taka at the time. "Obviously, we'll have to make a few adjustments, but it doesn't mean they can't have a normal life. There's nothing holding them back from doing whatever they want."

The reality of the twins' diagnosis was far more challenging for Takahiro to accept than it was for Fox, but he agreed that Forest and Camellia should be afforded the same opportunities as their siblings.

For the most part, he and Taka seem to have succeeded. Each of the kids has a strong sense of self and most have their own ideas and aspirations and at least a tentative plan going forward. Camellia intends to work in health care, Matsu is interested in law enforcement like his aunt Clancy, outgoing and energetic Takashi wants to be a journalist, studious Willow is considering a career as a robotics engineer, and quirky, free-spirited Midori wants to study fashion design.

The only one who seems to have no direction is Forest.

Fox thinks that if were up to Forest, he'd never do anything challenging, interact with other people, or even leave the house if it wasn't necessary. He'd stay alone in his room all day, every day, drawing and painting and listening to music. Even Fox had socialized more as a teen than Forest does, and it's concerning.

Fox folds some more clothes and considers his approach.

At length, he ventures, "Where are you running away to?" He tries to make his tone as conversational as possible. "Near or far?"

"I don't know," Forest says. "Maybe I'll go to Japan and stay with Uncle Seiji and Auntie Sachiko."

"Okay. Do you know where your passport is?"

"No," Forest admits.

"And do you know how to get more insulin and supplies for your blood-glucose monitor if you're outside the country?"

Forest looks annoyed. "I don't even know how to get it here. You always do that for me, remember?"

"Because you don't want to make your own doctor's appointments," Fox points out. "If you're not going to live with us any more, you should probably learn how to do that. All our passports are in the top drawer of my desk, and you can use my credit card to book your flight. Oh, and make sure you've applied for a work visa so you can earn some money to live on, and don't forget to let Uncle Seiji know you're coming. Nobody likes an unexpected guest."

Forest's reaction is so sudden and so volatile that it catches Fox off guard. The teenager snatches up the nearest thing to his hand, which happens to be a sneaker, and flings it across the room so hard that it bounces off a shelf and knocks several items to the floor. Then, he leaps off the bed and follows the sneaker's trajectory. One of the objects that toppled from the shelf is a framed photo, and he stomps on it hard enough to crack the glass. Fox can hear it crunching under his son's heel.

"Stop it!" Forest yells. "Just... stop it!" He brings his foot down on the photo a few more times before collapsing onto the floor next to it and bursting into tears.

"What do you want me to stop doing?" Fox asks.

"Stop pretending like this is no big deal!" Forest exclaims. "It's not a joke, okay? It's my life, and this is serious!"

Fox gets up from the bed and kneels on the carpet beside his son. He rests his palm on Forest's back. "I know it's serious, Forest," he says quietly. "It's not a joke to me."

"Then stop acting like it is! Scream at me or tell me I'm an idiot or try to make me stay home. Do something parental and stop trying to play these fucking head games!"

"I already told you I won't make you stay."

"But why?"

"Because you're nearly an adult and this is your choice to make," Fox says. "But, I need you to understand exactly how serious this is, okay? You can leave if you want, but you can't leave unprepared. What if you get sick or you need help? Could you take care of yourself if you were on your own?"

Forest covers his face with his hands in what Fox assumes is an attempt to hide the fact that he's crying. His voice is strained when he responds. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Maybe you can start by telling me what's up," Fox suggests. "Tell me why you'd come home from school on an otherwise normal Thursday and decide that running off to another country would be a good idea."

"Because," Forest mumbles.

"Because...?" Fox prompts.

"Because I'm no good to anyone here. I can't do anything and I'm never going to be anybody, and the only person in the whole world who ever loved me actually hates me now."

"Really? The only person in the whole world who ever loved you?"

"Yeah."

"There are seven other people in this house who love you very much," Fox reminds him gently. "All your grandparents love you too, and so do Aunt Clancy, Auntie Aiko and your cousins."

"Yeah, but none of you were going to marry me some day," Forest says.

"Oh, I see." Fox glances in the direction Forest is looking, and his focus lands on the shattered picture frame. "This is about Caroline."

"Who else would it be about?" Forest demands.

"I had no way of knowing, and you know I'm not in the habit of assuming." Fox says.

Beneath the shards of glass and cracked wood, the image of Caroline Okamoto-Nelson is smiling brightly. She's wearing a deep pink gown and her white-blonde hair is piled high in a fancy style no doubt constructed by her grandmother Grace. Fox recognizes the Willow Creek High gym in the background. The photo was taken at last year's Sweethearts Ball, the school's annual Valentine's Day banquet and dance. Fox recalls how overjoyed Forest had been when Caroline invited him to attend it with her.

"Everybody loves Caroline," says Forest. "She's beautiful and she's good at everything and she has tons of friends. She could have any boy she wanted, but she picked me, the fat kid with diabetes, who has no other friends and who's bad at math and even worse at sports."

"None of that stuff defines who you are as a person," Fox says. "Caroline loves you."

"Maybe she did, up until today."

"What happened?" Fox inquires.

"She wants to break up with me."

"Did she actually say that?"

No, but I can tell she's going to," Forest says. "You know how you just believe something so hard because you want so bad for it to be true? I really thought she meant it, all those times she said she loved me and that she'd marry me some day. I thought we'd always be together, and when we were old enough we'd get married and have a family and everything, but... now that's never gonna happen."

There are a dozen ways Fox could address this, not the least of which would be to say that Forest and Caroline are only seventeen and that it's far too soon for them to think about marriage. Then again, Forest and Caroline have been asserting since they were seven years old that they were going to get married some day. They'd never wavered on that, even when they'd hit their teens, and everyone around them seems to have taken their future union as a foregone conclusion.

"Maybe you should explain everything to me from the beginning," Fox suggests. "Let's get off the floor first though, okay?"

"Okay," Forest acquiesces.

It's a bit of a struggle for Fox to heave his bulk into a standing position, so he doesn't notice at first that Forest is having trouble too. It's only after he regains his equilibrium and catches his breath that he observes his son only has one foot on the floor. Forest is balancing on his toes on the other foot. It takes him a second longer to see the bright red stain on the heel of Forest's light grey sock.

"Forest, your foot—”

More tears leak from the corners of Forest's eyes, and he starts to turn away from his father, but Fox reaches out and touches his arm.

"Sorry," Forest murmurs, although Fox gets the sense that he's saying it out of habit rather than believing he has a reason to apologize for something.

"It's okay," Fox says. "We can go to the bathroom and check it out."

Neither of them says anything as they make their way the short distance to the bathroom Forest shares with Camellia and Matsu.

In the bathroom, Fox gets Forest to sit on the wide edge of the bathtub. Camellia has a little stool she uses to reach the top shelves of the towel cabinet, and Fox gets that and carries it over next to the tub so he can sit down facing his son.

With Forest's foot in his lap, Fox carefully peels off his sock so he can assess the damage. There are three small cuts on Forest's heel, but he can't see any embedded fragments of glass.

"Is it bad?" Forest asks.

"I've seen worse, "Fox tells him. "We can take care of it here. I don't think you need professional medical care or anything." He pats the top of Forest's foot. "Here, put that down for a second while I grab some stuff."

Forest lowers his foot, and Fox hauls himself upright once again. He really needs to start working out, he tells himself.

Ambling over to the sink, he opens the cabinet above it and takes out Band-Aids and antiseptic spray. He's grateful that he went along with Taka's idea to keep first aid supplies in all four bathrooms in the house. This isn't the first time they've needed them, and with all six of their kids still at home, he doubts it'll be the last.

He pulls a few sterile wipes from one of the small boxes on the counter next to the sink, where Camellia and Forest keep their diabetic supplies, and makes his way back to his son.

"That was pretty dumb, wasn't it?" Forest comments. "Breaking the picture frame."

"Probably not your finest moment," Fox says, as he tears open one of the little packets of sterile wipes. "Did you do it on purpose, or was it just because you wanted to smash something and that's what happened to be right in front of you?"

"A little of both, I guess," Forest says. "I was just so... I don't know. Mad isn't even the right word. I mean... yeah, I'm angry, but like, I'm sad and hurt and I feel like crap about myself. You know, as usual."

"Why do you feel like that?"

"Maybe 'cause I'm a huge waste of space."

"Forest, you are not a waste of space. Try again."

Forest sighs. "You don't understand what it's like. You don't know how much it sucks when you're not good at anything and nobody likes you. When you're the kid everybody thinks is weird, and they'd rather bully you than be your friend. But, Caroline..." His voice catches and he continues in a near-whisper. "Caroline stood up for me. She treated me like I mattered. But now, she... she sees me just like everybody else does."

"Tell me what happened," Fox encourages.

"Fine," Forest says. "You know this week at school is Futures Week, right?"

"Yes. You were going to talk to your friend Mohammad's mom about interior design at career day today, weren't you?"

"Mohammad's not my friend."

"Your classmate, then. Little sting coming," he adds as he sprays Forest's heel with antiseptic. "How'd your chat with Mrs. Omar go?"

Forest winces, but he doesn't try to pull away like he would've done when he was younger. "I didn't talk to her."

"Why not?"

"You have to promise not to be mad."

"I'm not going to be mad. Do you want the Band-Aids with stars, or do you want one of your sister's Batman ones?"

"Who cares? No one's going to see it on the bottom of my foot."

"Okay. Stars it is." He applies the first bandage carefully. "What is it that I'm not supposed to be mad about?"

"I..." Forest hesitates. "I, uh... didn't go to the career thing."

"I see." Fox can't say he's shocked. He'd mentioned to Taka just last night that he wondered whether Forest would actually follow through. Whether Forest realizes it or not, both his parents are also aware that his decision to take a year off between high school and university is really just a way to buy time. They know he has no intention of getting a post-secondary education, and although neither of them is thrilled about that, they also know they need to respect it. It is his life to lead, after all. "You were at school though, weren't you?"

"Yeah," Forest says. "In the library. That's where all the trouble started."

"Go on."

"It was stupid Mohammad," Forest says. "He was in there for some reason and he saw me, and then he just had to run and tell Caroline I was hiding out. So, of course she came to get me and she tried to force me to go to the gym to talk to people. When I said I didn't want to, she got mad, and we... we kinda got into an argument and got kicked out of the library."

"Did you get detention?"

"No. Caroline just dragged me outside so she could harass me about my future some more," Forest says. "She's turning into a bully, just like everybody else."

"Why? Because she's concerned about you?"

"Because she's bossy as hell," Forest grumbles.

"She's assertive," Fox says. "From what I've seen, she's got leadership skills and she's good at motivating people, just like her parents. That doesn't make her a bully."

"Trying to badger and guilt-trip people into doing what she wants them to do makes her a bully. She wants to make me fit into her idea of a perfect boyfriend, 'cause apparently I embarrass her and she doesn't want to be seen with me the way I am."

"Which is?" Fox inquires.

"She said she doesn't want to be with somebody with no ambition. She said I don't have any goals and she called me lazy and unmotivated, but that's not true!"

Fox uses the excuse of putting a final Band-Aid on Forest's foot to allow himself to be silent. He has no clue how he's meant to handle this. His immediate thought is that Caroline isn't wrong, which is followed almost instantly by a stab of guilt for thinking such a thing about his own child. Still, he can't let himself be in denial about it. He's learned the hard way that pretending issues don't exist is never the solution.

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

"Forest," he says. "If that's not true, then can you tell me what your goals are?"

The answer, when it finally comes, is not at all what Fox expects.

"It's Caroline." Forest is crying again, and he seems barely able to get the words out. "She's my goal. I love her and I want to marry her and have a family some day, but even if that never happens, I still want her to be happy. That's all I ever wanted, to take care of Caroline and make sure she's safe and happy."

"That's an admirable goal," Fox says. "But I hope you know it has to be Caroline's goal too."

"I know, and I found out it's really not, even though she said it was before. She lied to me, and I believed her like an idiot.”

“I don’t think she lied.”

“How would you know?”

"Because I know people don’t always see the world the same way as adults that they do as children,” Fox says. "Caroline's growing up, and so are you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Forest asks.

"What I mean is, people's priorities change as they get older and more mature. Then they have to figure out what's important and what order of importance each thing is going to get," Fox says.

"I haven't changed my mind."

"No, but maybe Caroline has. I know that sucks and it's hard to hear, but there's not much you can do about it. Sometimes all you can do is accept the truth and try to move past it."

"What if I don't want to move past it?"

"It's okay to feel like you don't want to," Fox says. "Nobody expects you to snap your fingers and get over it just like that, but eventually you'll have to figure out a way to cope with it. If you don't, inside your head isn't going to be a very nice place to be."

"So what? It already sucks inside my head anyway. What's one more betrayal gonna do that all the other rejections and betrayals haven't done already?" Forest stands up and stalks toward the bathroom door, limping slightly on his bandaged foot.

"You don't have to live like that," Fox tells him.

"That's easy for you to say," Forest retorts. "You have everything you want. You're smart and good at stuff and you've got friends and a partner."

"Even people who don't have everything don't have to let themselves suffer. Being happy and comfortable inside your own head isn't about what you’ve got. It's about—”

Forest cuts him off. "I'm done talking about this."

"Okay." Fox acknowledges. "If you ever want to—”

"Why do you think I'd want to later if I don't even want to now? You can't offer me anything useful, like I already knew you couldn't. Plus, you dragged all that information out of me and messed up my plan to leave, so I'm not falling into the trap of having any more conversations with you."

"It's not a tr—”

"I don't care! Shut up and stop wasting your breath trying to convince me how you have my best interests in mind or whatever. I'm staying and you're getting your way for now, so maybe just be happy with that."

"I'm not," Fox says, though he doubts Forest is listening any more. He's not sure where in the conversation he'd lost him. Perhaps he'd never had Forest's real attention in the first place. "I'm not happy at all."

"Good," Forest's tone is acidic. "Maybe instead of telling me I should grow up and learn how to cope with stuff, you should think about how it feels to be me. Maybe being unhappy will get you started in figuring it out."

"If you want to know the truth, I think about it a lot, how it must feel to be you."

"That's bullshit!" Forest shouts. "You don't give a crap about me! You're just upset that I'm not the son you wanted."

"You are exactly the son I wanted," Fox says. "You, Matsu and Takashi are all the sons I wanted. Papa and I love you and your brothers and sisters more than anything."

Forest reaches for the door handle. "Yeah, whatever." He pauses, and then adds vindictively, "You know what? On second thought, I did learn something from you. When I finally do leave, you're not going to know a damn thing about it, and I'm sure as hell not going to call and tell you where I am. Then you won't have to pretend to care about me. You'll never have to worry about me again."

Fox considers himself to be an even-tempered person. He's not the sort whose anger goes from zero to sixty in the space of a few heartbeats, but in the wake of Forest's callous dismissal it's as if something inside him cracks. He springs up from the low stool and doesn't even feel the usual ache in his knees or tugging of his back muscles.

In a few quick strides, he's face-to-face with his son, and he glares with all the ferocity his conflict-avoidant heart can manage.

"Forest Winter Abbottsford, you listen to me." His words come out shockingly, terrifyingly calm despite the racing of his heart. "You can run away from your problems and delude yourself into thinking you're doing it for somebody else's benefit, or whatever. But, I'm telling you right now that if you treat people out in the real world the way you're treating me, you're going to have more problems than you ever dreamed were possible. More problems than you could ever run from, even if you lived forever. Do you understand?"

Forest nods, but it's not in comprehension. It's the most eloquent non-verbal display of sarcasm Fox has ever seen, and it infuriates him.

"Awesome way to express your love, Dad. Great job. Well done."

Some irrational part of Fox's brain is telling him to grab his kid and shake some sense into him, and it's all he can do to keep his arms at his sides. He isn't violent by nature, but still he finds himself needing to actively resist.

Maybe it's because he's done everything in his power for the past seventeen years to demonstrate his love for Forest and to offer him opportunities Fox himself didn't have that Forest's ingratitude feels like a slap in the face. Or maybe it's because, after years of fighting to gain self-respect and working hard to earn the trust and confidence of others, he simply refuses to tolerate disrespect any more.

"I love you, Forest." The façade of calm is slipping away and his voice is starting to tremble. "You can believe it or not, but that doesn't make it any less true."

"Right."

"You know what?" he says. "Maybe you should leave. If you think you can run off and live your own life right now, go for it. Go out and see how hard it is when you're on your own. But when you realize you can't do it by yourself, don't come back and ask me and Papa for help unless you're prepared to apologize."

Forest stares at him. "So, now you're kicking me out?"

"That's not what I said." Fox realizes he's so close to losing it that he's nearly hyperventilating. He can barely catch his breath. "Stay or go. Do what you want. All I'm saying is that if you go, we're shutting the door behind you."

"Fine," Forest says. "I guess my options are pretty clear."

Forest yanks open the bathroom door and storms out, leaving Fox standing there stunned at the rapid and dramatic turn his interaction with his son had taken. He's well and truly shaking now, as the effects of the adrenaline flooding his body fade as rapidly as they'd spun up. He presses his palm against the wall to steady himself. He feels sick.

For an instant, he considers calling for Takahiro, but he's not sure he can draw enough breath to do that. Besides, what could Taka do? A hug and a soft word aren't going to be enough to calm the storm inside him this time.

Of course he'll tell Taka everything later, but what he really needs at the moment is to talk to someone who's removed from the situation, someone who's practical and who's used to managing conflicts in a no-nonsense way.

Someone who knows me better than I know myself.

He uses his hand to guide himself slowly downward until he's sitting on the bathroom floor. Then, he slides his phone out of his pocket and taps out a familiar number.

The line rings a couple of times, and then the clear voice of his twin sister reaches his ear. "Clancy Abbottsford."

"Clancy, it's Fox."

"Holy fuck, you sound terrible," Clancy says. "Are you okay?"

"No." It's an effort to get the single syllable out. "I need your help."

"I'll be right there," says his sister.

He nods, before remembering she can't see him. "Yes, please. Come pick me up."

"Trouble on the home front?"

"You could say that. I'll meet you outside."

"Okay, I'll be about fifteen minutes. I just dropped Grey off at his rehearsal, so I gotta make my way back from downtown."

"Okay," Fox says.

"Don't worry," Clancy says. "Whatever it is, we'll fix it."

I don't know how either of us can fix it, he wants to say, but instead he allows himself to be wrapped momentarily in the protective covering of his sister's confidence. Clancy doesn't even know what the problem is, and already she's sure she can sort it out. This is one of the many things he loves about her, that she's rarely defeated by anything for long. She inspires courage in him, and he can always count on her.

He wishes he had a bigger, better word than thank you, but it will have to suffice. "Thanks, Clancy. You're the best."

"I know," she says. "Take deep breaths and try not to have too bad of a panic attack, yeah? I'll be there soon."

_______________

TBC

#writing #long form fiction #Fox Abbottsford #Forest Abbottsford #meet the abbottsfords #stargazersims

16 notes · View notes

thatseventiesbitch · 6 months ago

Note

Do you think any of the Donna criticisms is valid? Or do you think fans are being to harsh. Also I find it cringy that some fans bleep out letters in the characters names. Like grow up

Thanks for the ask!

I think Donna, like every other character, has her flaws but I have not seen any recent discussion in the fandom about them. The "criticisms" I have seen recently are not ones I believe the show/canon supports. I don't think the newer fans are being too harsh, just inaccurate. They are coming to conclusions not based on canon, but on their own interpretation. Which is fine. It's just not my thing.

The greatest hits:

Donna thinks she's better than Eric.

No, she doesn't. There's little to no evidence of this in the series. On the contrary, Donna is one of the people in Eric's life who builds him up and helps him develop his self-confidence. She tells Eric - and others - constantly what she likes so much about him and their relationship. She doesn't take him for granted - she is obsessed with that boy! People who say otherwise are just cherry-picking (or they truly don't understand the show).

In her own words:

"You wanna know how I feel? Fine, I'll tell ya how I feel. [Opens to random page of her diary] Today at lunch I was looking at Eric when he didn't know it and I just couldn't believe how much I love him and how lucky I am to be with him." -S3E22

Donna never apologizes/the show puts her on a pedestal and acts like she never does anything wrong.

Simply not true. Donna is actually shown to be very reflective and can own her part in conflict (especially with Eric). Just off the top of my head:

S2E20 "Kiss of Death", she and Eric have a conversation where she admits she overreacted and explains why she thinks she did

S2xE6 "Vanstock", she admits she overreacted and tells Eric he's a really great boyfriend

S4xE7 "Uncomfortable Ball Stuff", she apologizes to Eric at the end of the episode and they both agree to figure out their new normal

S4xE27 and S5xE1, she apologizes to Eric for Casey and her role in their conflict all season

S6xE21 "5:15", she admits Eric was right about Mitch and goes to support him in fighting him

S6xE18 "Do You Think It's Alright?", at the end of the episode she admits Eric was right and forks don't matter, she just got all caught up in the wedding stuff and trying to follow the book but she's just doing that because she feels lost and overwhelmed

I could literally just keep going on and on and on! (One thing about me, is I'm gonna bring receipts 😂)

Donna's a bad friend to Jackie.

I do think Donna misstepped at points throughout her friendship with Jackie, but I also take into account how difficult it can be to be Jackie's friend and the kind of friendship Jackie returned to her.

For instance, Donna did tell Jackie that her relationship with Kelso was unhealthy and that she deserved better. Jackie straight up did not want to hear it, and insulted Donna for telling her the truth. Donna didn't initially want Jackie to move in during season 6 but look at why that might be. Jackie moved in and insisted Donna accommodate her (loud ABBA music to feel the vibration on the bed, anyone? 😂), read her diary and left mean comments in the margins, painted her own name on the bedroom wall, etc. Is that all for humor? Of course. Does it help me understand why Donna wouldn't want Jackie to move in with her? Yes. And in the end what happens? Hyde confronts Donna about the situation Jackie is going through and why Donna made her feel small by asking her to move in the way that she did, and Donna reflected upon the situation and changed her mind, did the right thing to help her friend.

I also think far too much is made of her being impulsive and/or destructive when she's under stress.

Yes, she responded to one isolated stressor (the disintegration of her parents' marriage) with those traits - the skipping school and failing classes for attention, making risk choices with Casey, etc. But I would argue that's not Donna's MO, it's not how she always or even usually responds to stress - by blowing up her whole life and making risky choices. For instance, when Eric didn't show up to the wedding. She was pissed and sad, but she sought comfort from her mom - she didn't go on a bender, run away from town, sleep with someone random, marry a stripper *cough, cough*. That's not how we see her respond when she briefly thinks she's pregnant. It's not how we see her respond when Eric decides to go to Africa. Etc.

Anyway.

In the case of Ms. Pinciotti, there's also a small but persistent faction of fans who think Eric can do no wrong and is some tragic victim, and Donna, of course, perpetuates poor Eric's persecution. I've always suspected that kind of attitude is rooted in internalized misogyny. But I don't think we need to open that big ol' can of worms on a lovely Friday afternoon. 😆

*I don't think I've seen the bleeping out of characters' names. I am not sure why one would do that?

#thanks for the ask!#that 70s show #that '70s show #that 90s show #that '90s show #donna pinciotti #donna's defense attorney #eric and donna #eric x donna #otp: mom and dad #my essays

30 notes · View notes

dreaming-of-mossballs · 1 year ago

Text

A Care Package for a Bashful Captain - (Gepard x florist!reader)

Summary: It’s been a month and a half since Gepard left for his mission to retake part of the city. You decide to send him a gift to warm his heart!

▸ Genre(s): Fluff

▸ Word Count: 4.5k

▸ Tags: Gepard x reader

▸ Warnings: Reader is short, food mention, established (platonic) relationship,

A/N: GAH IM SORRY IT’S LATE. Will reader ever sort out their feelings for Gepard? Who knows? Also reblogs are greatly appreciated. Don’t want people following the series to miss out!

MASTERLIST (MORE GEPARD HERE)

Your marker was beginning to run out of ink.

Specifically the one you had been using to cross off days on your calendar. It had been half a month since Gepard had left for his mission on the front lines— and although you weren’t exactly sobbing into your pillow every night, you did miss him.

A lot.

Probably more than the acceptable level.

Those red lines stared at you every day mockingly, reminding you that your friend was fighting tooth and nail for the safety of the city. Thinking about his job as a soldier made your stomach churn.

Was he sleeping enough? Eating enough? What would he do if he got injured?

What if he didn’t come back one day?

His track record of victories should’ve discouraged you from worrying about him, but in fact, it did the exact opposite. You feared he might be crushed by the weight of the expectations placed on him and end up disregarding his own safety for the sake of others.

Although Serval didn’t seem half as worried as you were. In fact, she seemed as cheery as ever when you met her and Molly for lunch on the weekend. She did have experience in running military campaigns, and she was Gepard’s own sister for Qlipoth’s sake! She’d dealt with his absences probably more times than she could count.

And so you came to the conclusion that this level of anxiety about Gepard must be irrational. But attempting to steel yourself and block out thoughts of him didn’t stop your hands from shaking when you handed people their change across the counter of the flower shop.

This kind of feeling was different than the ones you had experienced in the Underworld. Yes, you experienced danger often in the mines, but at least it was just you that was in danger. Not a loved one. This time you were forced to watch someone else fighting tooth and nail.

It felt so viscerally uncomfortable.

With all these thoughts constantly running through your head, it was time you found something to do instead of ruminating over his absence—

—before your head exploded, that is.

While checking out the latest gardening magazines at the library, you spotted a sleeve of periodicals you weren’t familiar with, titled Crocheter’s Weekly.

Huh. This looks fun, you thought, reaching your hand out to grab it. It had last month’s date on it, but it’s not like it mattered.

Anyone can do it! The subtitle exclaimed in garish red font. Fun for both friends and family!

You flipped open the issue curiously. The first few pages were filled with a few photographs of blankets, and a full-page advertisement for a phonograph. On the subsequent ones, you were happily surprised by the variety of works showcased by the magazine. They looked relatively simple, such as a plushie of a cat, a handbag, and a cup holder. Turning the page, you inhaled sharply when your eyes landed on a picture of a woman, who had an intricately patterned blanked sitting draped across her lap. She looked like the founding father of arts and crafts.

She sat upon on a rocking chair with her hands folded wisely, and had narrow eyes with droopy lids. What seemed to be an entire quiver of crochet needles rested at her side.

Large print at the top of the page read “Ask Bertha”. Your eyes scanned the questions asked by, presumably, the readers.

—“Dear Bertha, what is your favorite yarn to use?”

Dear reader,

My favorite yarn is mohair, size three, of course. It’s rather expensive, but has high luster and sheen. It’s quite warm too! I first came across it when my husband visited the market during one particularly cold winter. I crocheted him a pair of mittens which he wore for years! You’ll be sure to earn compliments on your pieces wherever you go!

—“Dear Bertha, will you be at the ‘Knitter’s Convention’ this year?”

Dear reader,

I wouldn’t miss it even if Belobog froze over! I look forward to seeing the creations this year. The theme is “sky”, so make sure to snap up as much blue yarn as you can!

P.S, Margaret from the Fourth District doesn’t stand a chance for first prize, although I’m sure everyone already knew that.

—“Dear Bertha, what brand of Geomarrow heater do you use?”

Huh. That didn’t seem to be a question about crocheting. Next question.

—“Dear Bertha, what should I do if I suspect my husband is cheating on me with an Underworld woman?”

Your eyebrows shot through the roof.

Dear reader,

You have my deepest condolences. The very idea is preposterous. Underworlders are the most brash and uncouth people I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting. I met one the other day and he told me straight to my face that he didn’t enjoy tea! Could you believe he said that even after I asked so kindly? Something about how “it’s just leaf water”. That doctor is strange too, the one they call Natasha. I heard she used to live on the surface but chose the dirt and grime of the Underworld over the Administrative District!

Anyways, about your husband. Get him to sign a prenup and gut him for all he’s worth. Sending my thoughts your way!

Your eyes sprung open as you registered the sewage this woman was spewing.

Oh that’s fucking IT, Bertha. I’ll show you. I thought you were wise but you betrayed my trust!

You tossed the magazine aside with a snort. Yes, cheating was most definitely bad, but being from the Underworld had nothing to do with it. You decided to find a guide on crocheting that was less of a waste of ink.

You soon found a hardcover book labeled “Crocheting 101 for Beginners”.

Much better, you thought to yourself.

You shuffled to the library counter with your chosen material and left in a huff. As you were exiting the library, a thought popped into your brain.

Gepard likes growing flowers, right? Maybe he’d like crocheting too,

You felt a pang of disappointment in your chest as you remembered you couldn’t call him to ask. He was unreachable, out there in that snowy hellscape.

Your days were a little bit emptier when one of your friends was gone, but you knew that to the Silvermane Captain, work came first and foremost. You could deal with him being gone in the meantime.

When you stepped through the door of the Florists, a harsh wind snuck past you and blew some petals off the flowers. You wilted a little.

Even with the Geomarrow heaters keeping the city warm, the wind still managed to make you shiver.

You froze as if struck by lightning.

That was it! You could make Gepard something to keep him warm while he was working. It was probably a hundred times as windy in the Outlying Snow Plains where he fought, right? Plus, it would be nice to show him your appreciation for the work he did.

Your brain was positively overflowing with ideas, and you scribbled them down on a spare order form you found in the filing cabinet.

Hmm, You tapped your chin with your pen. Earmuffs might get in the way of his hearing, so I think a scarf would do, You pumped your fists to yourself in self-satisfaction. It was decided! You would stop by the knitting store first thing tomorrow morning!

❆—❆—❆

Huh. That’s strange,

You slung your shopping bag over your shoulder and tilted your head, peering at the racks of yarn in the aisle. They were sorted by colors in the order of the rainbow— and the entire section containing anything remotely close to blue was missing.

That WITCH. She definitely planned this somehow!

You reflected on the sentence you had read about the crocheting competition with a grumpy expression.

You now had a personal vendetta against her for enacting a monopoly on blue yarn. This woman had the entirety of Jarilo-VI in the palm of her hand.

It wasn’t a good idea to turn the store upside down, or else you’d be proving Bertha right about Underworlders being “uncouth”, so you acquiesced and decided to search for another color.

It was a shame though— blue really would’ve suited him. It would have especially brought out his eyes, which were the color of deep sapphire pools, more clear and resolute than anything you’d ever seen.

You had told him they were pretty a few weeks ago, you recalled, but his face went pink and he changed the subject to his work at the museum.

Half-rolling your eyes in defeat, you froze when you spotted a pile of discounted yellow yarn in the corner.

Yellow… Yellow! That’ll do! You gasped. The medals on his uniform were decently close to yellow. (Although bright purple would have been cute.)

You scooped a bunch of it into your arms, along with a single bundle of white, and sprinted to the front of the store. A shopkeeper with chestnut hair and a brown apron stood organizing a few racks of fabric.

“I’ll take these, please!” You declared triumphantly, dumping your yarn across the counter. You fished your hands into your pockets for the money.

“Oh? How unusual! We haven’t sold anything but blue yarn for the past week,” the worker at the front counter commented. “What are you making?”

Placing the coins on the counter, you replied casually, “Just a scarf for a friend. He’s been on my mind lately,”

You picked up a pair of needles with the size recommended for your yarn and slid them across the counter. “Ah, and these too, please,”

“It’s a nice color. It’ll look good on them,” they smiled at you warmly, wrinkles forming at the corners of their green eyes. Your brain flitted from image to image of Gepard wrapped up to the nose in a yellow scarf, which almost caused you to giggle out loud.

The employee bagged up your items and bade you farewell. The ring of the shopkeeper’s bell announced your departure.

While you were exiting the store, to your surprise, you spotted two very familiar faces.

“Serval! Pela! What are you guys doing down here? Isn’t it a weekday?”

“Right on the money, (Y/N)! We were actually picking up reports from the civil service department,” Serval exclaimed. “The weather’s been awfully cold, hasn’t it?”

You hummed, traipsing over to them with your bag of yarn. “Actually, I’ve been thinking about crocheting a scarf to mail to Gepard. He could use something warm while he’s fighting on the front lines, right?”

Pela paused for a moment thoughtfully before speaking. “That’s a nice gesture. I wasn’t aware you knew how to crochet,”

You smiled sheepishly. “Actually, I’ve never tried. I checked out a book on it recently and decided I should use it for something useful,”

Serval chuckled affectionately. “He’d be so happy if he knew you had him on your mind, right Pela?”

The navy-haired girl narrowed her eyes at her. She sighed.

“I’ve actually been meaning to send a letter to the Captain myself. How about we send him a care package?” Pela suggested.

The Rockstar of Belobog gasped. “That’s a great idea! I’m sure he would love to get a package from you— ahem… us!”

“We can all write letters, and I’ll send him a few more pairs of socks,” Serval twirled a pair of keys on her finger. “They go through them like crazy out there,”

Pela nodded. “Would you allow us to drop them off at your place later?”

“Without a doubt!” You rested your hand on your hip. “Whatever works best for you guys. I know work has been tough recently,”

“It’s hard, but we’ll continue doing our best!” Pela said decisively. Serval nudged her teasingly.

“Want to come with us for lunch?” Serval inquired.

You shook your head sadly. “I appreciate the offer, but I can’t— I’ve got to get started on his scarf,”

“Ah, that’s alright,” Serval nodded with a lopsided grin. “We’ll see you later!”

❆—❆—❆

When you got home, you immediately opened up your book and got to work on the floor of your bedroom.

You first practiced a few stitches with the bundle of white yarn, which turned out to be way easier than you expected. The string formed an orderly pattern which was pleasing to the eye. It was easy to get a grasp on how methodical crocheting was.

When you were about halfway through the scarf with yarn was scattered everywhere, you heard someone rapping softly at your door.

“Come in!” You raised your voice slightly.

Vaska’s familiar brown hair peeped through the crack in the doorframe.

“(Y/N), Eleanor made vegetable soup if you’re hungry,” she chirped. “It has some interesting looking radish in it this time— ooh! What’s that?”

“A scarf,” you responded neatly, turning back to your project. “Want to try? It’s a good way to unwind,”

“Sure. Sounds fun!”

Your co-worker opened the creaky door up the rest of the way and stepped into the room. She sat down next to you with her legs skewed to the side, and you handed her a needle and began enthusiastically instructing her how to get started.

“Here. Let me show you how to do a beginner’s stitch. For the most part, crocheting is pretty repetitive and easy to pin down,” you grinned at her.

You gave her half of the yarn you had bought (you had bought way too much since it was on sale), and let her make whatever her heart desired. It was like when you had started working at the flower shop, just with the roles reversed this time.

The two of you sat in silence until it started to get late, and then you got up to close the blinds. When you got back, Vaska pointed excitedly at the fabric you had started, specifically the ends of your scarf where the yellow yarn had been interwoven with white triangles to form a geometric pattern.

“Your scarf is looking great so far. I like the colors you chose,” Vaska exclaimed.

You shot her a bright smile as you sat down. “Thanks! It’s a gift for someone,”

“Oh? That’s sweet of you. And who’s this ‘someone’ you’re making it for?”

“It’s for Gepard,” you said offhandedly, hoping she didn’t notice you almost dropped your needle. “I figured he could use something to keep him warm while he’s serving,”

“Cool,” she puckered her lips distractedly and raised a blob with numerous appendages. “Check out what I made!”

You stared at it for a few seconds before you chuckled.

“That’s a wonderful olm, Vaska,” you said, amused. It looked exactly like one.

“I think I’ll put it downstairs. I’ll him Daisy,”

“Okay, just make sure to let Meg know what it is so she doesn’t throw it out by accident,”

She gave you an exaggerated gasp. “Why on Jarilo-VI would she do that?? He’ll boost morale. I’m sure of it,”

“Our boss has never exactly been one for liking creatures…” You stopped. “Oh! Would you mind if I borrowed your wax seal set?”

“Go ahead. Just don’t eat them,” she snorted. You shot her a pouty expression.

❆—❆—❆

A few hours later, you had tucked the scarf securely into a cardboard box and placed a layer of packing paper over it. Long after you were sure most of your roommates had gone to sleep, a knocking could be heard at the front door.

You gave a quick call in response before taking a batch of chocolate chip cookies out of the oven.

You rushed over to the door and opened it, with oven mitts still on your hands.

“Hey you guys! Welcome!”

“Something smells good in here,” Serval remarked loudly. Pela shushed her with a worried look on her face.

“Ah, yep. That’s the cookies,” you explained.

Pela abandoned all subtlety and bounded over to the cooling rack. Her eyes seemed to sparkle as she looked at you wordlessly.

“I highly doubt I’ll be able to eat all of those myself,” you quipped good-naturedly. She snapped one up immediately, letting out a noise of satisfaction as she bit into the crunchy edge of the cookie and the perfectly goey inside. “Just don’t get chocolate on your letter,”

“So, this is what you’ve rounded up, huh?” Serval peered into the box on the table. “Here. I’ve got a letter from me, and one from Lynx. She set off for a research trip earlier today,”

“Sounds exciting. I hope it goes without a hitch!” You chimed in.

“I’m sure it will— ah, thanks Pela,” she turned as the smaller female tapped her on the forearm and handed her a cookie. Serval showed you the things she had brought, which were the letters, socks, and a few photographs from Lynx.

There was one of Serval, Gepard, and Lynx together, one of their entire family, one with you and Pela giggling at a cafe where you had whipped cream from a shortcake smeared across your lip.

“Wait, we aren’t seriously planning on sending this one, right??” You looked at Serval, horrified.

“We are indeed!” She took a bite of a cookie. “Mmmmm, (Y/N) these are so good! Are you planning on sending some to Gepard?”

You hesitated briefly. “Uh… no. I didn’t think that was allowed. Plus, the other soldiers might start begging him to have some or something,”

“He’s the Captain. Do you think he’d let people walk all over him?” She retorted, exasperated.

“I doubt he would want to put that much effort into protecting a container of cookies,” you said skeptically.

“YOUR cookies, maybe,” she snorted off to the side.

“What was that?” You challenged.

“Nothing. I was just mentioning he has a bit of a sweet tooth. Thinking out loud,” she closed her eyes smugly.

Pela raised her eyebrows at her friend. “Sending food via mail isn’t allowed. It’s to prevent things from spoiling,”

“Oh— fine,” Serval sighed. “Anyways, mind if I borrow a pen? I need to add something to my letter,”

You gestured to the cabinet that held the writing materials.

“…so, what’s that yellow blob on the windowsill?”Serval motioned a gloved hand over towards the olm Vaska had made.

“Oh, that? That’s Daisy,”

“Uh. Good to know,”

Pela trotted over to where the knitted creature was and picked it up by the scruff cautiously. The crocheted limbs hung limply at its sides.

“Kinda cute, right? I thought it was a bit weird at first, but it’s kind of growing on me,” you interjected.

“Urk! Y-yeah, you could say that,” The intelligence officer pressed a finger to the bridge of her glasses. “Serval and I should probably get going. We have a lot of analysis to get to tomorrow,”

“Whaaat?” Serval complained, a brand new cookie in her hand.“Come on, just a few more minutes. Say… would you happen to have any milk?”

Pela sighed.

“Ugh. Fine…. Just a few more,”

❆—❆—❆

The next day after work, you went to Manya, an administrative official, to ask when their next shipment of mail to the Outlying Snow Plains was. She was uptight as usual.

“The next mail delivery is set for today,” The mint-haired lady said stiffly. “Who do you want to address this to?”

You blinked in surprise. “Ah, I’m sorry, I’d like to address it to uhh.. Gepard Landau please?”

“The Silvermane Captain? I see. We’ll try to get this to him as soon as possible, capiche?”

Manya took the package from you and you bowed to her graciously.

I really hope he likes it…

❆—❆—❆

Meanwhile, in the freezing wastes of the Snow Plains, the young captain was working hard. He was standing in a makeshift meeting tent, pondering over a map placed over a few stray barrels.

It wasn’t often they had the luxury of furniture other than weapon racks and barbed fences, in fact, just last week Franz had gotten caught in one, and it had taken the work of three guards to get him untangled.

With a sigh, Gepard traced his armored hand over a section on the top of the map, running through plans in his mind all the while. His gaze was laser-focused on the weathered paper, anyone passing by might suspect he was trying to burn a hole in it.

“Tory, do you have a moment?” He turned his head towards an officer cleaning off their musket. They lowered it and marched toward him.

“How is progress going on the northern rampart?”

“As predicted, sir,” they answered.

“Hm. Good. We’re setting out as planned tomorrow morning if you could let everyone know it’s been finalized,”

A different Silvermane gunner turned a corner into the meeting tent and waved to get Gepard’s attention. “Cap’n! We’ve got a package for you!”

A package? What on earth is Serval sending me this time? Gepard let out a short sigh. Last time it was a glitter bomb that hit Pela by accident.

She’d spent the better part of a month shaking out the glitter from her uniform.

The Captain took the package from the officer, which wasn’t very heavy, so that was a relief. He checked it from corner to corner to make sure it hadn’t been sent to the wrong person. Yep, sure enough, it was his.

“Sir, I’ll take the night watch for tonight. Why don’t you attend to your mail?” Offered the one who had made the delivery, gesturing with her hands.

“You have my thanks, Dasha,”

The soldier gave a quick salute and picked up a rifle to take with them to the watchtower.

Gepard laid the cardboard container (which was dented on one corner) onto the slipshod table. He used his fingers to carefully pry open the flaps of the box— ready at a moments notice to cover his face in case his sister had found a new way to make lightweight bombs.

Much to his surprise, it wasn’t an explosive.

Inside the parasol was four letters, a few pairs of socks, and some photographs resting on a layer of packing paper. Normally his family waited more than half a month before mailing him something because they all had their own matters to attend to.

He raised a curious eyebrow, wondering if you had something to do with this. His suspicion was confirmed when he went through the letters and spotted your handwriting on one of them.

One from (Y/N)… One from Serval… Lynx… Pela,

Gepard pulled each of the letters out one by one, holding them up to the light he got from the dying lanterns, and set them on the supply crate table in a neat pile like the meticulous soldier he was. He rummaged around in his pockets for the Landau family letter opener he kept on him and used it to slice your envelope open first. It was held shut by a red wax seal with a gilded emblem pressed into it.

Dear Gepard,

Hope this letter finds you well. We miss you a lot! Business has been better than ever at the florists, in fact, Meg is considering me for a promotion!

I made something for you to help keep you warm while you’re on duty. They were out of blue yarn, but I hope you like it!

We’re thinking of you every day you’re gone. Stay safe and warm out there.

Sincerely, (Y/N)

He smiled gently. So it was you who had made the socks. That was very considerate of you.

Next, Gepard read through the letters the others had sent. Lynx’s was silly and made his heart feel much lighter. She was the one who had sent the photographs consisting of the Landau family, her. Pela, and you, laughing with a smudge of cream on your face. He made sure to tuck the pictures in his pocket.

Pela’s letter was professional but loaded with thinly veiled worry. Reaching for Serval’s letter next, he did his best to quell his suspicions about it, and tried to be grateful she even decided to send him something.

Hiya Geppie! It read in bold purple ink.

Is everything all right out there? I know it gets cold as all hell, so I bought a few extra pairs of socks for you. Lynx has been missing you a lot, but don’t tell her I told you that. Hope to see you again soon. Lots of love!

P.S, (Y/N) made us some awesome chocolate chip cookies. Sucks you weren’t there to try them.

Signed, Your oh so doting and loving Big Sis

Gepard snorted, followed by a smile, and tucked the letter back into the envelope. That was followed by a second of hesitation.

It wasn’t quite clicking in his brain. If Serval had sent the socks, what had you sent?

He picked up a pair of the socks just to check. Surely enough, they had the logo of a familiar Belobog department store on them, which checked out with what Serval had said. He pushed aside the layer of packing paper, and his breath died in his throat before it could become a cloud in the freezing night air.

Staring him in the face was a handmade scarf. Bright yellow, like pieces of the sun had been woven into it. White triangles accentuated the ends, and was ridiculously long, long enough to reach his knees. There was pocket on both ends of the scarf for his hands or any tchotchkes he might have.

Gepard held the scarf up to the light of the lantern. The stitchwork looked complicated and VERY time consuming. He could tell a lot of love had been poured into this gift. His face felt aglow with happiness as he imagined you all cheerfully getting together to make this for him.

He was glad everyone seemed safe and happy back at home. It made his work just a little more bearable.

Placing the box in the mail corner for safekeeping, he fastened the scarf around his neck. It was long enough to wrap around his head three times, it was warm and smelled of flowers. Truth be told, it smelled like home.

The Captain propped himself up against one of the walls, along with his guitar case, and drifted off to sleep.

❆—❆—❆

Wait… did the captain always have that yellow scarf??

Dasha snuck another glance at the sleeping Silvermane Guard Captain from her spot on the watchtower.

Gepard opted to sleep in the same spot as all the other soldiers instead of vying for his own tent— that was one of the reasons his underclassman respected him so much. He was constantly reliable, selfless, and strong. A shining beacon of hope always looking out for others.

But tonight, Dasha got to see a different side of a him.

Gepard’s nose was buried in the yellow garment as he slumbered, his chest rising and falling steadily with every breath. His brow was without a furrow, and his face was relaxed, which was definitely a sight to see.

He looked… cozy.

Dasha smiled to herself.

Well, I guess even the Captain has someone looking out for him.

2023 - Dreaming-of-Mossballs - Do not repost/translate without my permission - NO AI

Reblogs greatly appreciated! I love seeing your comments!

#Gepard x reader #Gepard x reader fluff #Gepard fanfic #Hsr x reader #Hsr x reader fluff #Hsr fanfic #Gepard x florist!reader #Hsr x florist!reader #Fanfic #Text #BFABC #Mossball_Writing #Not genshin

73 notes · View notes

nanomooselet · 11 months ago

Text

Episode Six: Once Upon a Time in Hopeland

After last episode's cheerful and uplifting conclusion, it's Wolfwood's turn to suffer! Heh, implying it's ever not Wolfwood's turn.

Okay, sometimes it's Roberto's turn. The boys doing a synchronised shrug in the truck's backseat was such a funny way to demonstrate their weird camaraderie even when they're freezing each other out. They looked like a pair of brooding teenagers.

Did anyone actually believe that the reporters had left the story, or that Vash didn't consider them friends?

Anyway, before we get into it, and because I've complained discussed this extensively elsewhere: Legato, Livio. These panels are from flashbacks to earlier in their lives. The further changes to their designs seem to have them more directly contrasting Wolfwood. So we have Livio, neat and professional, to this sockless loser scruffy untucked Wolfwood, as well as white/blue Legato to black/red Wolfwood.

After yesterday's rehearsal in Rollo, it's time for opening night on Nick's backstory as the "undertaker" assumes centre stage - no doubt against his will. For the moment, Vash is somewhat relegated to the background, but it is by no means a coincidence that early in the episode he starts to openly prod Wolfwood about what's motivating him. Also, Wolfwood interrupting his own cantankerous rant about "babysitting" Vash to save him from getting shot makes me laugh. Sorry, dude, you're still not fooling anyone.

Enter Zazie, Livio, Legato and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad plan. With this, uh, interesting choice of camera angle.

I doubt Knives was consulted about any of this. All other instances of threats against Vash have ended very badly for the threat. Do you want to imagine what would have happened to Legato if Livio had succeeded in carrying out his orders, and Knives found out who was responsible? Having read the manga since, I don't have to. And that's apart from Wolfwood's need to protect being all that's keeping him going. I think this episode and the next are laying down groundwork both for the actual season climax and for whatever comes next.

I said before that Nick was in a bad place, and it's in this episode that we learn just how bad. Leaving aside that his innocence was ripped away and he's been forced into an alien, too-adult body before getting shot and wadded up like bubble gum, he's been coerced into working for the cult holding everyone he loves hostage to his obedience. If he acts out, they're worse than dead. If he escapes, he's replaced. If he dies, he's replaced, so even that's off the table... but judging by the way he reacted to Rollo, he's still got inclinations in that direction. Now his mission's actively being sabotaged by the guy who mocked and tortured him, then coerced him into serving. It's no wonder he doesn't believe in God, or in the cult's angel, or in Vash's good intentions.

Faith means having hope, and that's something he simply cannot afford to have.

And of course it ends on a cliff hanger, so I'll just post these clowns and their stupid axolotl helmets.

Incidentally, axolotls are amphibious lifeforms capable of regenerating limbs, and one of the shapes taken by Xolotl – dog-headed Aztec god of fire, monsters, misfortune, sickness... and twins.

#trigun stampede #tristampparty #i can't talk about the flashback or i start crying #that's a lie i just have to get to bed #but as the series gets into its back half #the emotional damage surely does mount #trigun meta #meta: tristampparty episodes

25 notes · View notes

cangrellesteponme · 1 year ago

Text

NOVEMBER 4TH - SETTING SUN

(read this on AO3 here)

final day of dadbastian week! i come bearing gifts (soul crushing angst)

this one is… well the prompt is setting sun, what else was i supposed to write? a heartwarming conclusion? i'm an evil creature, what can i say.

in which the contract's last day comes. sebastian gets one thing he wanted from his young master, at the cost of everything else.

enjoy!

The initial plan for the day is to let the young master sleep as much as he would like to.

Unfortunately, he is up before dawn and screams himself hoarse at the mere sight of anyone in his room, so Sebastian stands by the door in the darkest hour, waiting for him to discern the present from the memories. It takes a long time, always, but he eventually opens the door.

“I don’t think I’ll go back to sleep. Should we get ready for the day?”

His voice is both brave and fragile, but his still glistening cheeks make the scales tip in favour of the latter. Sebastian carefully wipes the tears away, as he always does.

The day is… odd, as expected.

Sebastian offers to play any game, go anywhere, eat anything at all, and the child agrees without much enthusiasm, even if he seems to enjoy some of it, at the very least.

The oddest part is that he talks, and talks, and Sebastian cannot help but feel like he is the one being comforted. He most ardently wants to say that it is futile and unneeded, as he is not the one who dies today, and that loss surely overshadows any mixed feelings he may feel about it all. But every time he considers telling the boy he is fine, his voice refuses to cooperate and he feels the familiar constriction of his oath, like his own hand around his throat warning him not to lie.

He persists through the day with those feelings unspoken.

As Sebastian hesitates to tuck him in, his young master grows quiet, pensive. With his — quite understandable — propensity for sombre moods, it usually is no cause for concern. Nothing is usual about this day, and the silence weighs heavily on Sebastian’s mind. It is with the urge to lift that that he thoughtlessly speaks.

“Any concerns?”

It sounds like a pathetic attempt at addressing the thousand regrets of the day, laughably concealing them under the veil of doubt. As if any question, any answer, could rid the end itself of its finality. Oddly lenient, the boy does not point it out.

“Many. I am… afraid? Isn’t it odd to be afraid of something I wanted?” he asks, and he somehow looks exactly like the child Sebastian first met that day. The sight is disconcerting, to say the least. Even more so considering that there isn’t much fear in him, comparatively.

Sebastian has seen him afraid before, has terrified him himself many times, but he has never quite looked like this — it is hard to see any fear in him in the complete absence of fight-or-flight, hard to put an adequate name on this aimless and dulled terror, and the calm facade reigning over it all. Sebastian would once have found it fascinating. He is now appalled at the lack of fight left in his young master.

“I would love to say something nice and heartwarming. In another world, I think I would have told you I hope to be born again as your son this time.”

He sighs and leans back into the pillows, and the pallor of his skin makes him seen gone already.

“But we both know my soul is not going anywhere.”

Sebastian wants to tell him many things, but not a single word comes to mind. He only knows human emotions by name, and recognises them only from an observer’s standpoint, for a manipulator’s purpose. None of this knowledge helps him put words on the sinking weight in his limbs currently at war with his hunger — one tells him to stay, stay and watch over his boy, and the other whispers promises of devouring a soul worth his patience, his work, his attention. For reasons he doesn’t understand, Sebastian does not want to think about what he would do if he had an actual choice.

(He fears, deep down, that even if there were loopholes in the contract, he would have given in to his hunger.)

He has been waiting for this day — it was written into the contract, after all, even if he hadn’t expected to suffer from more than hunger pains in the final hour.

Is this loss, he wonders, or perhaps grief? Would those words ever fit the emotions of a being who is more of a force of nature than its own individual? They might, he thinks, as the thought of eternity without this master makes flesh collapse into an aching void where his heart might have been, if he had bothered to give his body more than the appearance of something arguably human.

Unaware of Sebastian’s turmoil, or perhaps unwilling to do much to acknowledge it, the boy looks up at him, tense and expectant.

“It is time, isn’t it?” he asks as airily as if he wanted tea and not death in his cup.

It is, in fact, time — as much as it will ever be. Sebastian is… unsure of how to proceed. Back in the earlier days of the contract, he planned to make it hurt — that was, after all, the best way of consuming a soul — but now… would he hesitate, if the boy cried? Screamed? Pleaded? It is yet another question he wants no answer to.

“Sleep,” he hears himself say, and he is surprised to hear the faintest tremble in his own voice, and to see it mirrored in his unstable hand brushing hair out of the boy’s face. “I will watch over you until the end.”

He looks… stunned — as if the tenderness behind the offer of a painless end and the gentleness in touch and treatment were inconceivable, grounds for stupefaction. Sebastian realises that the kindness he himself perceives as the dominating force in his spirit is still an odd, uncharacteristic behaviour in the child’s eyes. That even though his soul has known easy, freely given affection in his youngest years, it has also faced storms and tidal waves of pain too great not to submerge and taint the memory of every single past act of love, no matter how immense his daily joys once were. That Sebastian himself once was a devastating flood, regardless of his current efforts to be the sun his young master needs.

All at once, he is overwhelmed by the desire to bargain for another day, another month, another year, anything to right past wrongs and give his boy enough warmth for happiness to freely emerge once again. But the sun sets already.

In the quiet that follows, Sebastian tells himself it is the soul’s sorrow he feels, and not his own — as he is, of course, incapable of such emotional depth — even as sobs too loud to be the fruit of imagination echo through the Phantomhive manor. Not that anyone will ever know, either way.

#'having a breakdown after my girl dinner <33'#ekjnfkzejf #thank you to everyone who participated to dadbastian week in any way. much love :)#kuroshitsuji #black butler #sebastian michaelis #ciel phantomhive #my writing #dadbastian #dadbastianweek2023 #dadbastiansettingsun

27 notes · View notes

daisymylove · 2 years ago

Text

Right, I may get some heat for this, but here we go. MAJOR SPOILERS OF CHOT AHEAD, READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION

As someone who had been waiting for this book for TWO YEARS, my main take away is that Chain of thorns ended being an utter disappointment. As a former fan of Game of thrones, and other fans will get my meaning, I say this book gives me season 8 vibes: a ludicrous and incomplete conclusion to something that could’ve been epic, marinated on wasted potential.The thing is, we KNOW everything will turn out alright with the world at the end and the villains will fail, after all, this is a prequel on a ya series.We know that many of those characters are the ancestors of the TMI and TDA gangs, BUT that does not mean it couldn’t have been a very enjoyable story that leaves you at the edge of your seat, for we would get to see HOW things came to be

What bothers me the most is how Daisy’s protagonism was stolen, and that’s a first for a cc lead.

Its hinted several times in TDA that Cordelia was a hero whose name shadowhunter history would never forget.She was the sword that stood between evil and the world, saving it from doom on a byegone era... but she kinda didn’t? I shit you not, Cordelia’s greatest features on this book were to kill Tatiana (seriously?) and bang james on a tub.And that’s all.And if anyone had to kill tatiana at all, that person should be grace, it would be a great end to her arc of abuse, but that’s beside the point here

All the build up of “we must get cordelia in there so she can vanquish belial and end this’’ was for literally NOTHING.

After so many people either doubting her, or saying she was their only hope, after spending most of the book not fighting and staying on the sidelines because of the paladin busyness (and making some unhinged decisions along the way), she doesn’t fight Belial AT ALL. WHAT? If she had stabbed james, would it be cohf 2.0? well yes, but it still would’ve been better than james going “time for suicide mission lololol” and driving cortana to his chest.And the healing blade? where did that come from? That was such a cheap way for him to not die

The trip to Edom was for literally nothing.Sure, it brought her and lucie closer after the strain on their friendship,but that doesn’t require a trip to Edom, they could’ve just talked and sorted out their shit

Kit’s death was ridiculous and UNmourned. Tatiana, who has no training whatsoever, killed him throwing a poisoned dagger on his shoulder. Nevermind that In book one this boy survived an also poisoned gash that ripped his torso open. Who remembers that anyway? Its not absurd at all.

Point being that if youre going to kill him, do it with dignity and give weight to it.We don’t see his funeral, we don’t see the adults finding it out, nor his parents and henry mourning, we barely see the tlh gang mourning.Jem was throughly mourned, AND HE DIDN’T EVEN DIE.Kit’s death was the literary equivalent of the Loki meme “yes very sad, anyway”

On the topics of things we didn’t see, I’m livid that there was so much page time wasted on that senseless love triangle THAT EVERYBODY KNEW WOULD AMOUNT TO PRECIOUS NOTHING, and many important things were either told, or left open.I just wish this love triangle had never happened and Cordelia and matt had remained platonic friends. Give matthew another love interest or none at all, he and james already had enough problems to work through as it was

They could’ve left for france together as just friends you know. They could’ve even kissed on the basis of “why the fuck not? we are both pining and everything already went to shit anyway”, but then realized it was a mistake and let’s leave it at that.Also it came to a point where the romantic stalling of the minor couples was just too much, it felt like page filler instead of the true conflict resolution they needed to set things right and be together.I was reading all that and wondering “all right, but where’s the actual plot?”

the explanation for the family tree was ridiculous.I would prefer some “when the city of bones fell, we lost an awful lot of data, and thats why all the documentation of the period is messed up”

The whole conflict of the clave finding out about Jesse’s identity was resolved too easily at the end

Matthew coming clean to his parents and charlotte being pregnant again was such a big and anticipated moment, and yet all we get is Cordelia telling us what james told her

Charles comes out in front of everyone and we dont see that

Will and tessa cry thinking their kids are gonna die and we dont see that

Thomas’ come out was a bit better, but it was still telling rather than showing

dont get me started on the plot holes.Im pretty sure cc said we would see james get more powers, but all we got was the as old as time cliche of protagonists losing their powers, and that didnt make a slight of sense.They automatically lose their powers after belial “dies”, while tessa remains very much a warlock and a shapeshifter? Make it make sense. Those powers come first and foremost from Tessa, Belial dying doesnt alter the demonic blood on their veins

The cherry on the top of a long list of absurdities, to me, are the watchers. Anyone can correct me if Im wrong, but how in the world there were so many dead silent brothers and iron sisters? it doesnt add up, there should be some of them, but not enough to flood dozens of shadowhunters on their own.The nephilim only have a thousand years of existence, (magnus said more than once that he has met warlocks who had been born before the first shadowhunter was created) and those folks not only live absurdly long lives, but tend to die of natural causes.Jem lived for over a century as a silent brother and aged only two years.It doesnt add up

also am I missing something, or how matthew, thomas and alastair escaped the massive statues was completely brushed over?

The two truths and a lie was total bullshit.It was also said that there would be political marriage, the gang would go to idris and camille and wolsey would make come backs,but none of that happened.

thats it, thats my rant that probably no one will read bc of how fucking long it is

95 notes · View notes