#two blind dates

[alwaysurvalentine]

the love bug - st ficlet

Based on a prompt from my @steddiebingo 12 Days of Christmas card: 'blind date'

wc: 854 | cw: none | more info: modern au, pre-relationship, Steve is a teacher (I'm thinking middle school) and Eddie works at a music store

enjoy! 💛

~

Eddie knows he could’ve saved himself from the chill seeping into his bones by getting dropped off right in front of the restaurant. However, getting dropped off a block away meant he could scope out this mysterious stranger Chrissy’s set him up with. The place they’re meeting has a line of windows that face the street that he’s hoping to use to his advantage. He doesn’t even really know what the guy looks like, but Chrissy said that he’d be there and that he’d have a red rose on the table. Easy to spot. 

To say Eddie’s wary is an understatement. He’s really only doing this to get Chrissy off of his back. Ever since she’s been bitten by the love bug she’s made it a personal goal to help all of her friends find love. Now, did her meddling help their friends Nancy and Barb finally get together? Maybe, but that’s besides the point. Both of them having been dancing around each other for as long as Eddie can remember, not so stolen glances sent to each other every time the group got together. 

Love and Eddie just don’t mix, and he’s accepted that. A series of terrible exes will do that to you. But Eddie’s okay with being alone, it’s not like he’s ever wanting for company, but asking a hookup for something more than physical is just asking to be ghosted. So it’s just fine with him to keep on working at the Music Warehouse and meeting up with his friends for dinner instead of worrying about who is going to help him raise his rats. 

The windows cast a warm light onto the street, ice glittering, and Eddie sees it – a bright red rose sitting next to the prettiest man he’s ever seen. How was he supposed to know that a man named Steve was going to be a modern day Adonis? This is something that Chrissy should’ve warned him about! Now he’s second guessing his maroon button down and black jeans. He would’ve at least done some eyeliner if he’d known, and if things don’t go well he’s going to be talking to Chrissy about what needs to be shared if he goes out with someone. One of those letting him know if he’ll be sitting across from a literal model or just some friend of a friend that works in corporate.

When he steps in, a blast of warm air hits him and he shudders. His cheeks have to be pink from the cold, fingers tingling as he walks over to the table. Steve hasn’t noticed him yet, eyes tracing over the menu instead, and his wire frame glasses just about take Eddie out.

“Uh, Steve?” 

At his words, Steve looks up, eyebrow raised in question only for a moment before a soft smile settles on his face.

“You must be Eddie?”

~

Dinner ends too soon. Eddie could sit here and talk with Steve all night, but the pointed looks from the staff are enough to have him grabbing his jacket.

“Looks like we need to scoot out of here. I think they’re about to close.”

By the sheepish look on Steve’s face he hadn’t noticed the stares. He rushes to grab his own jacket, sliding it on even as he starts towards the door. They don’t even make it to the door before their dishes are cleared from the table. Eddie flashes a quick smile and shrugs when he makes eye contact with their waitress, following Steve out quickly.

“I didn’t realize how late it was getting. Sorry about that.” A light blush covers Steve’s cheeks, eyes turned to the sidewalk. 

“I didn’t mind. Guess it is kinda late though, and you’ve got all those papers to grade tomorrow. Wouldn’t want Mr. Harringtonslacking on the job.”

“Oh hush.” Steve gently shoves at Eddie’s shoulder, a cloud escaping his mouth when he laughs. It might only be their first meeting, but Eddie’s already imagining how nice Steve would look in the summer, moles popping out against tan skin. “I really do need to head out. Dinner was nice.” Steve hesitates for a moment, looking like he’s about to step away before reaching into his back pocket. “I’d like to do it again, think you can just add your number here?” 

When Eddie looks at the screen it’s to an empty contact, cursor blinking away. The phone buzzes and he gets a glimpse of a text from ‘Birdie’ saying ok Steven I’m so glad you’re having fun but… so he rushes to put in his name and number. 

Eddie gets an eyebrow raise from Steve when he passes the phone back, “Oh, ‘Mr. Right’ huh? Very presumptuous of you.”, but the grin on Steve’s face lets Eddie know the risk was worth it. Faintly he hears the phone buzz again and when Steve glances down his eyebrows furrow.

“Oh! I really do need to go, I’m sorry. Have a good night, Eddie!” 

And quick as a flash, Steve steps forward and presses a quick kiss to Eddie’s cheek. 

Looks like he’s been bitten by the love bug too. 

[saturngalore]

my newest sim, cataleya 💘🇵🇦

[grumpyghostdoodles]

Summer nights!

And of course I gave them matching pajamas, who do you take me for.

[saltyfilmmajor]

I think the HeiShin dynamic is great but imaging a love confession between them is nigh impossible because Shinichi wouldn’t confess without great provocation and heiji would be in denial for his feelings or actively forget to confess

[kimbapisnotsushi]

semi 🤝 suga

their coworkers not believing they have famous (?) boyfriends in another country

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

thinking ex-sorcerer!sugu thoughts 😔

[zukkaoru]

🌱 alive & free (look at me!) 🌱

The man is wrapped in a blanket that was likely white at one point but is now smeared with dirt and grass stains. His hair, too, is dirty. Like he’s been sleeping on the ground for more than just one night. Kenji tiptoes over to him. He rolls his shoulder, then kneels down beside the man and pokes him. “Um, sir, are you okay?” The man doesn’t respond. Kenji pokes him harder, putting a little extra strength into it with the help of his ability. The man rolls from his side over onto his stomach, groaning. Kenji breathes out a sigh of relief. That means he’s not dead, at least. “Are you—” he whistles. “Are you hurt?” “Twelve seconds,” the man responds, still facedown in the dirt. “Then, I’m going kill you.”

after the decay of angels incident, kenji makes a new friend and nikolai starts to heal

🌱 22.4k words || kenji & nikolai || post-doa arc 🌱 written for corey @that-was-anticlimactic <3

[wexhappyxfew]

light up my lover's way

BLIND DATES FEST 2024

featuring: Florence 'Flo' Godfrey and Captain Bernard 'Benny' DeMarco + Meatball being the ultimate wingman Absolutely beyond excited to put this out. Florence has been living in my brain for some time, but Masters of the Air and @blind-dates-fest (thank you Merc for the fun!) offered the perfect opportunity to do some writing and recently, with the episodes we've gotten, I've become a big DeMarco fan and wanted to see what I could do. I tried to really nail down how I could write him since we don't have a whole lot of content from him, and I didn't feel the most comfortable writing in the MoTA universe yet just because I wanted to see all the episodes first, but I wanted to give it the old college try and really enjoyed how this piece and how Florence came out! She was a treat to write and considering her story, this was a night for her well deserved! I missed out last year because of school stress and this year, wanted to be kinder to myself and allow some time to test out the waters with writing in MoTA. Please enjoy Flo and her time with DeMarco! :)

The mirror stared back at her with a more than poignant look on her face, as she gazed at her rugged-looking hair that had surely seen better days.

Extensive time out in the sun on the tarmac, with plenty of harsh oils and chemicals meant for planes and not exactly hair would do the trick though. Self-assured, she reached back and ripped a brush through the caramel ends of her hair that were in need of cutting and sighed quietly to herself before glancing back at her reflection.

Lemmons had encouraged her to take the night off - you've been working hard, Godfrey, take the night to get a drink or better yet, a full night of sleep where you're not thinking entirely about all things plane-related. She'd been pretty hesitant, she'd even told him that he was the one who needed the night off, but he'd quickly brushed some dirt off her shoulder, helped her scrub out the paint stain from her OD jacket and then promptly shoved her off in the direction of the celebration in the nearby hall that a good portion of the men and pilots had gathered into. She'd taken the time to gather herself, clean herself up and look presentable, but she was left appearing hesitant to even leave her room.

Florence Godfrey felt more mechanic some days than woman, but on days like that, she usually found some of the Red Cross girls and spent nights trading cigarettes, telling stories and sharing coffee from the potbelly stove in the corner that worked to keep them all warm. Sometimes, she tried to work so stringently that when she got in, she'd lay down and reflect and cry.

But, tonight wouldn't be one of those nights, no, her hands weren't covered in grease, her hair wasn't matted with sweat and her boots weren't soaked with mud and ice-cold water.

No, she actually had washed up, powdered her face, pulled a bit of lipstick onto her slightly chapped lips, and smiled to herself, the dress that fell below her knees a beautiful baby-bird blue.

Lemmons had been right - finally do something for yourself, give yourself the wheel of life. She wanted to do that for herself, more than anything.

The celebration in the hall was dying down - she took a glance at her watch - it was past midnight and people were slowly pouring out, a few couples still slowly swaying in the middle of the floor, some others milling about or talking quietly with gentle smiles in corners outside of the main doors.

Florence smiled quietly to herself - even just to get a drink that wasn't her inhaling water to keep herself from feeling parched. She'd never really allowed herself a freedom like this away from the planes, away from the other mechanics and ground crewmen. She'd always told herself to do her job, do what was needed of her and then bed out and wake the next time she was needed. She had always been like that though ever since working with Dad at the Navy Yard as a 9-year-old, learning all the bits and bobs that made things run and function.

Florence waded into the softly lit bar where only a few people were still at, finishing last minute drinks or basking in the quietly gleaming Billie Holiday singing 'If You Were Mine' over the speakers in the corners of the room. Florence walked up to the edge of the bar and offered a smile at the bartender who came towards her and offered a smile back and nodded.

"What can I interest you in tonight, Miss….?"

"Godfrey. Florence Godfrey," Florence said with a soft smile, "I'll take a French 75 if it's possible." The bartender smiled with a nod and turned away, whisking himself away to start prepping. Florence grinned to herself and then looked up towards the wooden ceiling, covered in pretty lights and patterned carvings.

Suddenly, she felt a presence at her….feet? Florence took a moment to think before looking down and seeing a beautiful, gray dog sniffing at her shoes, a brown harness around his soft fur and his puppy-dog eyes quickly looking up at her in excitement and glee.

"Awe, hello there!" Florence said, kneeling down in front of the mixed-husky dog, petting his face, her heart immediately softening at the sight as she laughed quietly to herself, "Aren't you the prettiest thing I've seen in months." The dog licked at her cheeks and she let out a laugh as she rubbed behind his ears, the dog's tongue hanging out as his whole body seemed to shake with excitement, tail in all directions.

"Hey, Meatball, don't go sneaking up on the ladies," a voice called from behind the dog.

Florence looked up from, if she caught the name correctly - Meatball, the dog - and found instead one of the pilots of the B-17s walking towards her, gentle eyes lingering on her, long enough for a crimson color to rush her cheeks, his hair dark and nicely cut and styled, and the small smile on his face suddenly making her think that this pilot was actually the prettiest thing she'd seen in months. Florence felt a warmth enter her body, a quiet calm overcoming her as she felt an uncontrollable smile cross her lips, as she slowly rose back to her feet and watched the pilot come closer, the thrum of a quiet Louis Armstrong song entering her ears.

"Italian or Swedish?" Florence couldn't help but say as the pilot neared, his eyes deep and dark, but soothing and welcoming all the same. The pilot let out a soft laugh, his eyes trailing down to Meatball, the dog - she'd never get over how adorable that was - before looking to her.

"Italian." he said, with a nod, "Why? Don't think he fits the part?" Florence let out a quiet laugh and kneeled down again to Meatball and scratched beside his little head and laughed.

"I think he's adorable," she said, "how'd you get a hold on him?" The pilot smiled at her and leaned against the bar.

"Boarded a B-17 with me back in Greenland, was a real good sport the whole flight," the pilot said and then shrugged a bit, "I think I convinced him that he'd make a good co-pilot." Florence laughed as she stood to her feet again and looked at him with soft eyes.

"I don't think it'd be proper of me to only think of you as Meatball's Dad," she said, watching the small smile on his face quickly grow, "gotta name?"

"DeMarco. Captain Bernard DeMarco, but you can just call me DeMarco, whatever suites your fancy." he said, before chuckling slightly, before imitating, "Some of the guys like to yell, DeMarcooooo!" Then he looked to her and smiled.

"You don't have to do all that though," he said, leaning closer slightly, "Benny'll do just fine. Special cases." Florence stared at him quietly for a moment and then grinned.

"Benny it is…..Captain," she said, before holding out a hand, "Godfrey. Florence Godfrey, but you can just call me Godfrey, whatever suites your fancy." She smirked slightly at his face as he reached out and shook her hand.

"Some of the guys I work with like to yell," and she woefully imitated Lemmons, "Godfreyyyyy!" She then leaned closer to him and smiled up into his beautiful, tender eyes.

"You don't have to do all that though," she whispered, "Flo'll do just fine…..special cases." Benny stared at her for a moment, before breaking out into a wide smile and gently holding her hand in between them like a sacred piece of life.

"Goddess of flowers," he whispered quietly, his voice a soft rumble, "Flo." She smiled up at him.

"Ma thought it was pretty." she offered to him. He smiled at her in the dimmed light of the bar, that Ella Fitzgerald song she was always forgetting the name of somewhere above their heads, eyes warm and simply, only on her.

"Your Ma was right." he said back to her, staring at her with genuineness and fullness in his eyes. She felt her face warm and let out a laugh at his words, covering her mouth as she did so. Looking back up at him, she watched him stare right back at her and smiled as her hand fell from her mouth.

"I've never seen you around in here before," he said softly, "couldn't help but introduce myself, or well, Meatball, for introducing us." Florence looked down to Meatball, sat patiently staring up between them with his ever-caring eyes that dogs always seemed to have.

"He likes you," Benny said, his hand, which evidently was larger than hers, still clasped around her own, with no sign of disconnecting soon, "he's a friendly fella, but he don't just go up to anyone." Florence's eyes softened as she rubbed her free hand on top of Meatball's soft little head and glanced to Benny again.

"Dogs are probably some of the best creatures to ever walk to Earth," she said with a smile, "Sometimes they know us better than ourselves. I like to think sometimes they're protecting us, or….just there to guide us, be with us, give us someone who unconditionally loves you, ya know?" Benny's smile on his face was something that engrained itself quickly in her mind and he nodded.

"Yeah, yeah," he said softly, "I like to think of it that way, too." For a moment, as Ella Fitzgerald sang her part, the gentle thrum of a bass and brass to follow, they watched each other as if taking in the very quiet moment they had there between one another that night. An unexpected chance for Florence to get out of her normal gear and into a dress, to have her hands free of grease for the first time in a while, and to be looked at by a man with the softest eyes she'd ever seen - with a dog named after an Italian meatball no less.

"I'd ask for your hand in a dance, but I'm afraid that French 75 is calling your name and Meatball would take offense," Benny said, his eyes seemingly nervously flitting to the drink that had appeared at her side before meeting hers again, "and I know you're one of the women who works with the ground crews….I'd hate to steal an evening away from a good drink." Florence watched him.

"You know I work with the ground crews?" Benny nodded with a smile.

"You hang around Lemmons a lot," Benny offered, "and you work hard. We all see that. Buck does, too. Mentioned you were the best of the best. Didn't want to be too forward when I heard you tell the bartender your name." Florence watched him, as he gave Meatball a smile and a pet on the head before he looked to her again.

"Ma didn't raise me to be impolite either," he said with a nod, "and you've earned an off night like this and a drink like that."

"And a night getting to talk to a man like you." Florence said quietly to him, her heart starting to pound as he watched her - no one ever really had mentioned her in the way he had, having noticed her before and even made the effort to talk to her like he had. Her palms felt sweaty, and her mouth felt dry. Benny watched her for a moment as she took a sip of her drink and then looked to him.

"I'd be more than happy to spend a night dancing with you," she whispered.

There was something unspoken behind her words - like the realization was still there, they just hadn't mentioned in. In war, moments like this were precious and sheltered and held close in the palms of their hands. A night with someone with tender eyes was worth more than enough money in the world to her, especially in wartime. The thought saddened her heart and her mind as she stared at Benny DeMarco, with that million-dollar smile and those eyes. Benny let out a shaky breath that he looked like he'd been holding in and reached forward to take her hands in his and leaned forward the slightest bit so the only things she could see and hear were him and his voice.

"With you? I'd consider it a privilege." he whispered and then pressed a soft kiss to her hands clasped in his and then gently pulled her towards the open dance floor where only a few couples were left and had made it this late in the night. Wrapped in each other's warm embraces there in the middle of the floor, Billie Holiday's voice singing in the eves, and the gentle sway of their bodies so intimately close there, Florence let herself dance softly that night with Benny DeMarco.

Florence let herself live a bit for once.

[ravarui]

The bingo of the two redheads. Please enjoy applying. Reactions will vary a lot

[basilone]

Fandom: Masters of the Air Written for: @blind-dates-fest as my second 2024 entry! Introducing: Lucy Jones

Bubbles can’t fly like this.

It’s the first thing that pushes past the loop of flying today up in the sky today flying today that has been rampaging through his head since they sent for him. Harry needs to take only one look at Bubbles – miserable, shivering, looking pale and peaky – to know that his friend’s grounded by circumstances beyond his control. It’s a fact of life that Bubbles would be up there no problem if his stomach allowed for it, just as it is a fact that he’s huddled beneath a blanket looking mightily sorry for himself right now.

He pays Bubbles the same glowing compliment the man always pays him – you look like shit – and is rewarded for it with a supply hand-off and the worst news Harry’s heard all week.

“We’re leading the wing today.”

Harry’s somewhat proud of himself for not dropping any of his supplies. Even prouder of the fact that his voice doesn’t quite squeak, really, when he tells Bubbles he can’t just lead a wing. They can’t let him do that. They can’t just stick him up there and make that happen. Aren’t there rules to this sort of thing?

But Bubbles is talking already – talking mission, talking fact – and Harry’s got no choice but to try and commit it all to memory. He’s creating a visual in his head that he hopes Bubbles stored on paper in that hand-off somewhere. A map, a direction, anything beyond the vague sense of foreboding that resides in his gut and the near-gibberish that’s running its course in the back of his mind. Leading the wing. Leading the goddamn wing.

“Great Yarmouth,” he confirms once Bubbles finishes up. Harry feels as sick as Bubbles looks – all queasy inside – but he nods to make Bubbles feel better about handing off a bombing run like that. “Yeah.”

“Don’t be nervous.”

“And don’t stand so close to your buddy,” pipes up a new, rather upbeat voice somewhere to his left. “Unless you wanna get sick on the plane.”

The first thing Harry sees when he looks in the voice’s direction is a raised eyebrow that could rival his mother’s. The second thing he sees is a white uniform, pristine except for some faded pink stains at the sleeve cuffs, and dark hair pulled into a tight knot. Her face is passably familiar – dark eyes, button nose, little dimple in her chin – but Harry will be damned if he can remember a name to go with that.

“Nobody’s getting sick on the plane, Lu!” shouts Major Egan, clearly knowing the woman a hell of a lot better than Harry does. “Scout’s honor!”

“Boy, you’d better pray that’s true,” mutters the woman – Lu – loud enough for Harry to make out. “Don’t know what the hell you were thinking letting him on the damn plane in the first place. Sick as a dog and all. If this is a virus, John”– she remarks, now raising her voice for Major Egan to hear –“you are gonna regret that take-off like no tomorrow!”

“Hey, if we all get sick, can we be in your club?”

Harry decides he rather likes Lu when she heaves a deep sigh and stalks over to the jeep Bubbles is seated on. She is thoroughly ignoring the major, who’s standing behind her with his arms wide and looking almost as quizzical as Meatball does when DeMarco’s hiding his treats again. Lu slings her bag into the back of the jeep before stepping closer to Bubbles.

“When I drive you,” she says without preamble, “you lean backward as far as you can go. Tilt your head back and breathe. I’ll not have you sick up in my baby, all right?” She pats the jeep’s side almost lovingly. “Any move the jeep makes, you lean the other way. Breathe deep.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Does that help?” asks Harry, curious despite himself. “The breathing?”

“Eh, fifty fifty,” she says, wobbling her hand back and forth uncertainly. “Sure doesn’t hurt, though! Little trick one of the airsick girls taught us. She’s in ops now, but we owe her for that one.” Lu’s hand disappears into one of her pockets. “Got something else that might… Yeah… Hang on.”

“Lu, the club?” asks Egan again, coming to stand beside Harry. “Are we in or not?”

“Which club?”

“Y-Yeah,” shivers Bubbles, “what club?”

“No, John, you won’t be in my Lucy’s Losers club,” she remarks patiently as she pulls her hand out of her pocket to proudly show off a small bottle. “You’ll be chewing on this. Ginger. Keeps you from sicking up in your plane. Keeps whatever he’s got”– she nods at an increasingly morose-looking Bubbles –“at bay, too.” A pause. A frown. “I hope.”

“It’s probably just food poisoning…”

“That is in no way the reassurance you probably intended for it to be,” says Lu, frowning even more deeply at Bubbles as she holds the bottle out to them. “You’ve all been eating the same meals, for crying out loud. You, what’s your name?”

Harry blinks at her. “Me? It’s, uh, Harry. Harry Crosby. Ma’am.”

“Okay, Harry, you take the bottle. John’s going to be popping these like candy if left unsupervised, so I am entrusting you with it.” Her frown vanishes into a bright flash of a smile as Harry takes the bottle from her outstretched hand. He smiles back a little tremulously, not daring to hope that she’s just handed him his actual salvation. “There’s a good man. You hold on tight to that, okay?”

“Hold on to this, too,” says Bubbles, shoving something else into Harry’s increasingly full hands. It’s small, round, and entirely too fragile for Harry to be holding. He swallows as Bubbles clarifies. “Lucky snow globe.”

“Thanks?”

“Lu, if we still get sick despite the ginger and the breathing,” says Egan, clearly not feeling the same slight glimmer of hope that’s taken firm root in Harry’s belly despite his best efforts to remain calm, “I’m going to rename my plane.”

“You do that.”

“I’ll name it Lucy’s Losers. Can just see it now. Nice lettering on the side. Splash of color.”

“You’re forgetting I have friends in high places.”

“Your twin might disown you at last, though,” he counters, smiling. “Can just hear her now. Unbecoming of the Dorrance-Jones name and all that.”

“That’s not new,” snorts Lu, “but my boot up your ass is going to feel real new if you dare put my name on the side of a fortress, John Clarence Egan.”

“You’re not wearing boots, so I’ll be safe.”

“You’re not getting sick,” she warns, smiling back, “so the point is moot. Now go on, off with you. You’ve got a flight to catch, don’t ya?”

“Nurse’s orders,” grins Egan as he strides off toward their plane without so much as a farewell word for Lu and Bubbles beyond a wink. “You ever argue with those?”

“Can’t say I have, sir,” says Harry, trying to keep up while juggling multiple items in his hands. “Doesn’t seem smart to. Like arguing with your wife.” He hasn’t argued with Jean except for that one time she was stressing out over napkin placement at their wedding. Still, the point stands. “They know what’s good for us.” He holds the bottle up to the light. Squints at the pieces of ginger inside. “Worth a try?”

“I don’t get sick easily, but pass it around the plane. Just in case she’s right. It’s a bit of a ride to Norway.”

I’m gonna need all the help I can get. Harry nods. Clutches the bottle a little tighter. Leading the wing. Norway. He takes a deep breath. Then another. Follows Egan up into the fortress and prays Lucy Dorrance-Jones knows her way around queasy stomachs.

It can’t get worse, surely?

[subbyp]

love the idea of zoro/sanji fake relationship scenario wherein zoro just happily takes the opportunity to show all of the affection he has for sanji (mostly in the form of cuddling, random little gifts, and threatening the life of anyone who calls him “vinsmoke”; notably not in the form of refraining from their rivalry in any way) while justifying it as “good acting” as if he has ever been capable of acting in his entire life

[fadran]

I would like to point out that Merry and Pippin spanned the gap between Rohan and Gondor long before Aragorn even returned to the White City. Pippin became a close friend to Faramir and lit the beacon of Minas Tirith, while Merry rode with Eowyn to defend the ancient alliance. Theoden, King of Rohan, was slain on the soil of Gondor to uphold the honor of their allegiance; and Eowyn, dearer than daughter, slew the most ancient foe of Rohan to avenge him.

And then she marries Faramir.

Coincidence? I think NOT

[thoughts-of-caly]

girl i am in need of a story, whats the weirdest thing youve seen or heard of this week?

in real life (boring) we just went back to school bc we were snowed in. we moved campuses and they gave everyone lanyards and half the students literally cannot enter the main study hall classroom. which is also where we eat lunch. its like 30 degrees outside btw. also half of my study hall is randomly in a 5th grade classroom for some reason

in FICTIONAL LIFE (cool, exciting) we were watching she loves me in drama class. if you dont know it its basically a musical of youve got mail in 1930s hungary, enemies to lovers & theyre secret pen pals ok??? lovely little romcom, the scene we looked at all together was hilarious, the songs and jokes are hitting. spoilers ahead obvi

so the owner (maraczek) of the perfume shop they work at is being rlly mean to the male lead (georg). we find out its bc he thinks hes HAVING AN AFFAIR WITH HIS WIFE??? IN *MY* ROMCOM???? anyway it gets worse haha!! the police told him it was actually a different guy wHO ALSO IS A MAIN CHARACTER MIND YOU. but he was so mean to georg that georg quit???? but it was all for nothing??????

shortly after maraczek exits, the delivery boy follows him & says MR MARACZEK NO DONT DO IT????? AND THEN THERES A GUNSHOT?????????????

suffice to say we havent even finished act one of this ROMANTIC *COMEDY* but im like 80 percent sure a character just???? killed himself?????

[unpopularvivian]

Incorrect Ttte Quotes 337:

*Donald and Duck are on a blind date with each other. They're now in a restaurant, sitting in a desk. However, Donald desperately wants to get out of here*

Donald: *Blinking rapidly* 🎵 A tried, gettin the waiter's attention bi blinkin i morse code 🎵

Duck: 🎵 Why are you blinking so much? 🎵

Donald: 🎵 A got somethin i ma ee 🎵

Duck: *Grabs a huge ass knife* 🎵 Here, let me get it out! 🎵

Donald: Na thank ye!

Donald, internally: A dinnae wanna dee…

Douglas, disguised as a waiter: 🎵 Bonjour! Sir wis blinkin at me, is it because yer date is a freak? 🎵

Duck: ......

Donald: .......Na.......

Douglas: *Proceeds to peace out*🎵 Very guid then, bon appetit 🎵

Donald: .... DOUGLAS YE FUCK-

[hlizr50]

ACOTAR Writing Circle

Tis the season for another writing circle, organized by the lovely @azrielshadowssing!! I'm delighted to present part 1 of a Gwynriel fic for this first week.

Parts 2 and 3 will each be written by different authors, so make sure you check out the masterlist once it's posted. I will link it in my future posts, as well.

Part 2 will be posted by April 9 and Part 3 will be posted by April 23!!

These fics will also be posted on AO3!

So, without further ado, may I present to you my Gwynriel Part 1:

Double Blind

~GWYN~

When Gwyn stepped into the training ring not long after midnight she was quite unsurprised to find the shadowsinger already in the middle of a dazzling dance with his trusty dagger. The Valkyrie tried not to stare, but the way his muscles rippled, causing the tattoos on his shoulders to shift and twist like the shadows that constantly surrounded him… Any female – any living, breathing being – would find it hard to look away.

Azriel didn’t appear to be trying to work himself to exhaustion, at least not tonight. She remembered the first time she’d found him driving his fists into the padded pole; how he’d sheepishly explained his attempt to tire himself out enough to find some sleep. All while she wrapped his bloodied knuckles.

Tonight it seemed more like his goal was peace. Grounding. As if he were frustrated by something and needed to refocus. Gwyn chose Mind-Stilling when she needed to do such things, and it appeared that this towering Illyrian male preferred the graceful choreography of the eight-pointed star.

“Fancy meeting you here,” she crooned, making her presence known. Much to her surprise, Azriel’s movements didn’t falter. But she spied the way his lips twitched, one corner of his mouth tilting upward. It wasn’t much of an acknowledgement, but she couldn’t find it in her to complain as she watched his long, lithe limbs moving through his enchanting practice. He was a wonder to behold; beautiful and deadly. And so the priestess made herself comfortable on a mat next to the stone wall and began to stretch, observing the powerful shadowsinger as demurely as she could.

Eventually, as she was bent over in a stretch to her toes, Azriel joined her on the mat, wiping the perspiration from his face with what she could only assume was his shirt. For a moment she thought to scold him for it, but then thought better of it. After all, she’d much rather his shirt be in a ball in his hands than hiding his muscled torso from her view.

“No sparring tonight, Berdara?” he asked, his voice low, betraying nothing of the effort he’d just exerted. Of course he’d taken notice that she had not donned her leathers. Gwyn was also in search of peace this night.

And perhaps the listening ear of a trusted confidant. 

“Your observation skills are so very keen, Shadowsinger,” she teased. “It is no wonder you are the Spymaster.” Azriel reached over and flicked her thigh in playful admonishment.

“Shall I continue to impress you by guessing that you’ve come here for my impeccable conversation?”

“If only the world knew of your conversational prowess,” Gwyn laughed, her nose scrunching with her grin.

“My reputation would be in grave danger,” the shadowsinger answered, leveling her with a look as dark as his voice had been. She supposed it was his attempt to be intimidating, but it only sent her into another fit of giggles.

“Well, we wouldn’t want that.” Gwyn reached over and patted him on the cheek. Her hand fell away as he turned his head and dipped his chin to look straight into her eyes, and she found herself wondering if she really wanted to have this conversation. But she needed someone to talk to about this; someone other than Nesta and Emerie, who were clearly enthusiastic about the idea.

“So what is it, Gwyn?” His voice was so sincere, his expression so gentle and kind. And if Gwyn wanted the shadowsinger to be open and honest with her, always, then she would have to grant him the same courtesy.

“Nesta and Emerie… they’ve set up a blind date for me. And I…” Gwyn swallowed, trying to give herself more strength. “I just… don’t know what to do.” She studied his face, unsure of what exactly she was looking for, as she worked through her whirling thoughts. Had his eyes guttered a fraction? Had a muscle in his jaw twitched? Was his encouraging grin genuine?

“Do you want to go?” he asked. As if it were as simple as wanting to go or not. She sighed.

“I’ve been thinking that perhaps I’m ready to explore the idea of intimacy with a male,” she began, weaving her fingers together as she tried to explain. “But not knowing who it is I’ll be meeting is, admittedly, a bit daunting.”

Azriel’s responding hmm was less than satisfying. But when she cocked an eyebrow at him with a pointed look, she found him gazing up into the night sky. “You know Nesta and Em wouldn’t allow anyone near you unless they knew you would be safe.” He turned to face her again, now with a small, heartbreaking, lopsided grin. “Nesta would eviscerate a male for even the slightest untoward thought.”

“That’s true,” Gwyn agreed with a shrug. This time it was she who looked wistfully into the stars.

You know Nesta and Em wouldn’t allow anyone near you unless they knew you would be safe.

What was she supposed to say? ‘That may be true, but whoever it is, it won’t be you’? And what could she expect in return? Azriel didn’t seem to be disappointed or unhappy that she had this chance.

The silence stretched between them, and for the first time it wasn’t companionable and comfortable. It was suffocating, and not knowing what was going through the spymaster’s head was infuriating to her. But nothing would have prepared her for what he said next.

“Feyre and Cass have been trying to set me up, too.”

Oh.

“We’re just surrounded by busybodies, aren’t we?” she asked, praying that the strain in her voice wasn’t noticeable. Gwyn shouldn’t have been so blindsided by the idea. She knew about his infatuation with the beautiful middle Archeron sister. It shouldn’t be some great surprise that his closest friends would want to help him move past that. And wasn’t that what Nesta and Emerie were trying to do for her, as well? “Do you want to? Meet whoever this female is, I mean?”

The priestess wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”

Gwyn tried to ignore the twinge of sadness and the flare of jealousy. After all, who was she to begrudge him a chance at happiness? Cassian and the High Lady knew him well. They would know a good match.

So, even though her heart wanted him to balk at the idea of a romantic evening with any female other than herself, she took a breath and straightened her spine. “Okay,” she breathed, extending a hand across her body in offering. “I’ll go on mine if you go on yours.” Gwyn watched as he looked down at her hand, then back up at her. How frustrating it was that she couldn’t see beyond his mask. What was he thinking? What was he feeling? What emotions were swirling in those eyes of gold and green?

All he did was take her hand and shake it firmly. There was a tingling that started in her palm and skated around her wrist as he murmured, “It’s a bargain.”

And when she pulled her fingers away from his, there was a winding swirl of black around her wrist. A bargain cast between two friends. And as she looked at it and huffed a disbelieving laugh, she couldn’t help but feel a seed of despair taking root. They had agreed to embark on a potentially romantic endeavor; with different people. It had been too easy for him to agree. Too easy for her.

But she had told herself from the beginning. No matter what she felt for him, no matter their connection, she would never hold him back from what would make him happy. And if that wasn’t going to end up being her…

She would deal with that.

~AZRIEL~

Azriel couldn’t count how many times he’d cursed himself since making that bargain with the priestess. Cursed himself for encouraging Gwyn to pursue whatever male that her sisters-in-arms had determined would be suitable for her. Of course, he trusted Nesta and Emerie to keep her safe. But this male, whoever he was, wouldn’t be good enough for her.

Nobody would. Especially not himself.

But that didn’t mean that his heart and his shadows hadn’t been screaming at him to say something – anything – when she’d said she was ready to explore intimacy with a male. No, instead he’d made a bargain with her that they would both attend their separate dinners organized by separate family members with separate people. And he’d told himself over and over that he was fine with it. If Gwyn wanted to pursue someone else, who was he to say no? As enamored with her as he was, he had no claim on her. He’d had no reason to tell her not to agree to meet this male.

He’d almost caved when he saw her waiting on the balcony with Nesta and Cassian for Mor. For all of them to winnow down into the city and send the priestess on her way into a potential future. Gwyn was radiant in a gown of navy velvet, heavy enough to endure the chilly evenings of the new spring. Her cheeks had grown rosy when he’d given her a small smile, and the grin she’d offered back outshone the moon in the sky. Cassian had only given him a wink.

“I’ll be back for you, brother.”

To Azriel, that was almost as much of a threat as it was a promise.

All the general said when he returned was, “Sevenda’s. The far corner of the balcony, closest to the river.” Cassian made a show of straightening the collar on the spymaster’s jacket and brushing off the lapels. “I’m surprised it isn’t covered in dust, as little as you wear anything other than your leathers.” Azriel just rolled his eyes and gave his brother a half-hearted fist to the gut.

But then Cass sobered, a broad hand landing on the shadowsinger’s shoulder. “You trust me, don’t you Az?”

“With my life.” His brows furrowed in confusion as the general’s golden gaze fixed upon him.

“Then trust me now, brother. You look as if you’re walking to your doom.”

Azriel couldn’t find it in him to explain why it felt like he was. But something in Cassian’s mischievous gaze lit a glimmer of… hope. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad. Perhaps things weren’t as it seemed. After all, few people in the world knew him better than his Illyrian brother. He should trust in that.

So, with a wry grin and a nod, the shadowsinger launched into the sky, heading toward… Gods-only-knew what.

Sevenda’s wasn’t far – a few beats of his wings and a glide away. He could have stepped through the shadows, but the rush of air calmed his churning stomach and pounding heart. As he strode through the dining room he was met with mostly dubious stares, although a few friendly faces stood out. No matter where, his reputation preceded him. And with his great wings and shadows billowing behind him like a cloak, it was no wonder so few people found themselves able to smile at him when he walked by. 

To be fair, he wasn’t smiling at them, either.

When he stepped through the archway onto the back patio his eyes slid to the corner table, closest to the Sidra. And there, sitting at the table with a glass of what promised to be some fruity wine was…

“Gwyn?”

Her eyes grew wide over the rim of her glass, and his heart stuttered as they lit up with recognition and joy. Somehow he pulled his gaze away from those ocean depths to look around. Had Cassian told him the wrong table? There was only one other occupied table on the patio, in the opposite corner, and as he turned back to Gwyn she stood. Her smile was tender as her fingers twisted nervously in front of her, her eyes glittering with mirth.

“I believe we’ve been duped, Shadowsinger.” Her cheeks were a delicious rosy pink, and he was so taken with the pretty blush that he almost missed what she said. But then the puzzle pieces began sliding together with startling clarity. How they both were being set up for a blind dinner date. Apparently on the same evening. Strategically arranged by different parties, yet still connected.

“Surrounded by busybodies, indeed,” he muttered, taking the few remaining steps toward the table and the lovely Valkyrie who was, apparently, the female he was supposed to be dining with this evening. Her shy smile was everything, and she giggled at his grumbling. She seemed to visibly relax, her fingers falling to the surface of the table.

“I know this isn’t quite what we expected, but we did make a bargain.” She lifted her wrist and nodded to the delicate tattoo that was mirrored on his own. “Would you join me for dinner?” Azriel’s face split into a huge grin, and part of him worried he might actually look terrifying.

But this was what he’d wanted – what he’d cursed himself for not suggesting on his own.

“Bargain or no bargain, Berdara. Nothing would make me happier.”

[yume-fanfare]

it's been like a year but i am actually still mad abt how there where absolutely no southern europe locations for the last miku expo. crunchyroll execs when i get you