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laracrofted · 2 years

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baby, i'm high octane (iii)

synopsis: time flies on north island, and at an unofficial dagger movie night, nora and jake call a truce. sort of.

pairings: jake seresin x nora rogers (oc)

warnings: 18+, minors dni, explicit language, alcohol consumption, existential dread, belligerent sexual tension, pop culture references, eventual smut in later chapters. set after the movie, so spoilers! (wc: 6K)

note: so... i drafted this back in november and then, accidentally spent three months rewriting it. my bad, y'all!

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tagging // @theharddeck @bradshawsbitch @emorychase @hangmanbrainrot @its-mara-darling @startrekfangirl2233 @kandierteveilchen @frenchyjuju @chicomonks @lostinwonderland314 @cursedtobe @hangmanscoming @dempy @mlibbydp

Time flies on North Island, and after almost three weeks, Nora is starting to find her footing here. She has a routine now – and even better, a new favorite coffee shop to frequent on her way to the base.

After seeing Nora choke down the Ready Room coffee during the first week, Natasha sent over the recommendation. They don’t charge any extra for oat milk, and Nora doesn’t have to drink lukewarm battery acid.

Morning is clear and blue outside, bright and beautiful, and Nora is in a good mood. She walks across the North Island base with a smile on her face, cheeks pink from the sunshine, sipping an iced coffee.

Caffeine doesn’t do much to ease the sudden lurch of surprise when Nora checks the calendar and sees the name Lieutenant Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin on the interview schedule, slotted in under Thursday AM.

Not 30 minutes from now.

“Shit,” Nora mutters under her breath – or at least, means to mutter under her breath.

She must’ve been a little too loud because Technician Chris sends her a questioning glance, lowering the clipboard to make sure that Nora hasn’t knocked over a camera or something dire.

He is one of the two technicians that arrived at the end of the first week. Both are mild-mannered and easy to work with. Nora couldn’t have managed the interviews without them.

Even if Captain Mitchell had asked her to limit the number of interviews per week and schedule them out in advance, not allowing her to do more than one or two a week in the name of, quote, minimizing unnecessary disruptions and distractions.

“Something wrong, Nora?” Technician Chris asks.

He sets the clipboard aside and crouches, clicking a leg lock into place on the light stand. And noticing the conversation, Technician Ethan pauses mid-way through the usual audio checks and pulls the headset down, a line between his bushy brows.

Nora is quick to reassure them, giving them a nod and a tight smile. “Everything is fine. Looks like Lieutenant Seresin will be the next interview. He’s the…” What is a more professional description than obnoxious, yet somehow charming pretty boy? Handsome pain in the ass? “You’ll recognize him. Hangman.”

And since Chris and Ethan are not the ones who’ve been half-heartedly avoiding Jake Seresin for the past two weeks and change, neither is fazed. Technician Ethan absorbs the information with a nod and slips the headphones back on, and Technician Chris goes back to the clipboard, switching the lights off and on.

Meanwhile, Nora mouths a curse and drains the rest of the coffee.

Interviews are par for the course in her line of work, and after years of experience, Nora could probably do a good interview in her sleep and wake up with a dozen viable sound bites. She is prepared, armed with the same set of questions for all the Daggers to answer, along with three or four that are more personalized, drawn from their service record.

All of the questions are light and open, crafted to encourage the Naval aviators to give longer answers and more importantly, tell the personal stories that elevate a film. And as a bonus, Nora gets to learn things that Naval Aviation wouldn’t include in a cut-and-dried file.

Like Mickey ‘Fanboy’ Garcia has passionate opinions on the new Star Trek films. He loved the first two, liked the third fine, and flat-out refused to watch the fourth if Chris Pine isn’t confirmed to return as Captain Kirk. He was persuaded to bump up the rating of Star Trek Beyond from aggressively mediocre to good-ish when Technician Chris reminded him about the ‘Sabotage’ scene in an off-camera aside.

And Reuben ‘Payback’ Fitch earned his call sign from an inescapable and self-proclaimed ‘dark time’ during P’cola Flight School when the Southern man had adopted an action hero-like catchphrase. And when Nora, of course, couldn’t let that go without a follow up question, Reuben repeated it for the camera, “It’s payback time, y’all,” with a charismatically self-effacing grin.

Interviews aren’t always second nature, not even to a Naval aviator who flies a multimillion dollar plane. It is a different kind of hot seat, framed in the lights and camera, and Nora makes a point to run through the basics with them, wanting them to be comfortable.

She isn’t really surprised that Jake gives a damn good interview.

Unlike Mickey, who’d been a little nervous in front of the camera, fidgeting with the cap of the water bottle out of frame, Jake is perfectly at ease. And if Nora thought the Naval aviator looked like a movie star at the Hard Deck, twinkling lights and sunset dancing in his eyes, the Old Hollywood image is even stronger here.

He is a splash of olive green and blonde, a handsome contrast against the obscenely large American flag and the colossal F/A-18AF Super Hornet in the background. Bathed in the fluorescents and the natural light that pours in through the open shutters of the hangar.

Couldn’t have asked for a better interview space, Nora thinks for the umpteenth time, admiring the frame. It really is perfect.

Jake is carefully attentive when Nora goes through the basics.

“Work the questions into your answers because I won’t be in the final cut.”

“Don’t look at the camera. You can look at me, or like, right to the side of the camera, up to you.”

He is a model student, and Nora kind of hates him for it.

“We’re up there every day, training alongside the best of the best…”

Jake is in the middle of an answer, a perfectly crafted answer garnished with an aw shucks smile when Technician Ethan waves a hand to get her attention, tapping the side of his own headphones to indicate an audio issue.

She'd been distracted, scribbling a follow-up question in her notebook, and hadn't noticed when Jake started fiddling with the lav mic, coming loose from the stiff collar of the flight suit.

“Ah damn,” Nora curses, closing the notebook. She sets it aside, tucking it next to the iced coffee from earlier, now mostly watered-down oat milk and half-melted ice, and stands. She calmly raises her voice. “Can you hold on for a second, Jake? What’s going on with your mic?”

“Tape’s comin’ loose,” Jake explains, catching the thin cord before the microphone – small, not that much larger than a zipper – can nosedive down his front. “Can you fix it?”

Can Nora fix it? Yes.

Does Nora want to get that close to him? Debatable.

She could ask Ethan to fix it. He is the resident sound expert after all, but Nora would feel like kind of an asshole, asking him to do something that even the most untrained assistant could do, all under the guise of expertise.

And for what, so Nora doesn’t have to be in close proximity to a hot man? This is so stupid.

She heaves an internal sigh and grabs the nearest roll of gaff tape.

“Lean forward,” Nora instructs, tapping him on the shoulder twice and grabbing the cord from him, and Jake does so without question, turning that stone jaw to watch her snake the cord out of view.

“Should I take off my shirt?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t recommend it.”

A distinct cough. She looks over her shoulder in time to see Technician Ethan tug the headset back down around his neck, looking entirely too casual to not have overheard the comment. Goddammit.

Since Jake is seated, Nora needs to bend down slightly to get a good look at the microphone placement, pinning down the edge of the collar with a perfunctory touch. Hair falls around her chin, blocking her vision, and impatiently, she brushes the loose strands back over her ears.

Green burns into the side of her face, and this close, Nora can feel herself growing warm.

“You have a bit of a staring problem,” Nora murmurs, clipping the mic back into place and holding it there. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

A muscle thrums in his cheek. “Am I making you nervous, sweetheart?”

“You wish.”

Jake chuckles, low and warm, and doesn’t say anything else. He smells like cologne – hints of citrus, patchouli, musk – and his morning coffee, and she can feel the residual heat of the morning on his golden skin.

Holding the mic down, Nora rips the tape with her teeth, an old habit from film school. Smooths the last piece into place. Secures the small microphone in a less conspicuous location and returns to the other side of the camera.

It is suddenly too warm in here for a button-down, even the paper thin one around her shoulders, thrown over the blue jeans that Nora had started wearing when Bradley reached across her at lunch and got engine grease on her favorite trousers. She drops it onto the nearest stool, leaving her in a ribbed tank, as Technician Ethan does a quick sound check.

He flashes her a raised thumb, sliding the headset back into place.

“Now,” Nora starts, all business. She crosses one leg over the other, bringing the notebook to rest on her knee. “Let’s start over on that last question.”

Settling into the seat, Jake shakes out his shoulders, clasping his hands in his lap, and rolls his bottom lip into his mouth. “Roger that, Hollywood.”

And Technician Chris arches a curious eyebrow at the nickname, but doesn’t comment on it. Everything continues without a hitch.

Right after the interview, Nora gets the exciting news.

Admiral Simpson had finally reviewed the schedule and approved the capture of the in-air footage. Weeks after Nora made the request, probably hoping that Team Documentary would get distracted and forget it altogether. It would be a waste of time and resources to do without a good reason, is probably what the Admiral would reason.

Unfortunately for him, the Daggers would never let her forget.

After lunch, Nora heads out to the tarmac and waits during the camera installation. It is a bit of a production, requiring a Naval mechanic to come over and supervise, making sure that Technician Ethan doesn’t accidentally block a control or create a dangerous blind spot.

Sunglasses set over her eyes, Nora looks around at the clear blue skies, soon to be captured in incredible definition. She doesn’t really have anything to contribute, mostly there to observe and answer any questions that the Naval aviators might have.

In ever attentive WSO fashion, Mickey and Bob interrogate them about the safety of the camera, wanting to make sure the G’s wouldn’t make any equipment break off and hit them or their pilots.

From the rest of them, Nora ends up with some variation of “How come Phoenix is the first one to fly with the camera and not me?” or “You should’ve put the camera in my plane, Rogers. Don’t you want your film to have some sex appeal?”

To which Nora responds, “Sure do, Bradshaw. That’s why I put it in Natasha’s plane,” and Bradley shuts up for a while after that while the Naval mechanic tries to stifle their laughter in the cockpit.

She is busy all day. Afternoon slips away in the white contrails, cut across the cooling horizon.

When Nora shows up to Natasha’s that night, a reusable bag over her shoulder holding a chilled bottle of white wine and an emotional support water bottle, Bradley and Reuben have already cracked open a few beers and are in the middle of a heated debate in the kitchen.

Nora slips out of her shoes, setting them down next to the Welcome Home, Cheater door mat that Natasha had gotten in a White Elephant exchange a few years back, and wordlessly puts the wine bottle on the coffee table with a dull clink. It has barely made contact when Natasha swipes it from the surface.

“Remind me why I invited everyone,” Natasha says, setting the screw-top aside and filling a wine glass almost to the brim.

Her dark hair is in two damp braids down her front, leaving wet patches on an oversized Golden State Warriors shirt. Bike shorts peek out from underneath the hem.

Natasha must’ve showered and changed after work. Same as Nora, who traded the stiff denim for loose sweatpants.

“Us and Bob….” Natasha continues, wistful. “It was the dream team. Now I have to deal with these idiots and their zero volume control.”

As if on cue, Bradley gets loud enough that Nora can pick up snippets of the conversation. Something about Heath Ledger in the performance of a lifetime, while Reuben cuts in with a Matthew McConaughey and Kate Hudson related rebuttal. Huh.

“Are they arguing about whether 10 Things I Hate About You or How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days is the better rom-com?” Nora asks slowly, hardly even believing the words that are coming out of her mouth.

Do elite Naval aviators even have the time to watch rom-coms and from the sound of it, memorize the crucial turning point monologues?

“Mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you,” Bradley emphasizes, pounding a fist on the counter. “Have a goddamn heart!”

“What do you not get, Rooster?” Reuben fires back, clapping his hands together with every word. “You can’t lose something you never had!”

“For 20 minutes now.” Natasha shakes her head, exasperated, at Nora’s disbelieving expression. “Don’t ask me, I don’t know. All I know is I wish I had told Bob that Fanboy couldn’t come. We could’ve lived in peace.”

Ever since Nora had given her her phone number the first week, Natasha had been inviting Nora and Bob over to the apartment every Thursday to eat some pizza, drink some cheap wine, and watch a documentary or two. It was a nice break – and gave Nora a chance to get to know them off the base.

Natasha had an older sister who still lived in Northern California, where the Naval aviator had grown up, right outside San Francisco, and Bob was a former Eagle Scout and hardcore animal lover. He was from Montana and could ride a horse, as easily as Nora could ride a bike.

He liked nature documentaries, suggesting March of the Penguins on the first Thursday, and Natasha liked the multi-part series more. It was a Netflix Original that Nora worked on that made Natasha find her on Instagram last June.

Word got around.

Earlier in the week, Bob had asked if Mickey could come to the movie night, wanting an after-work alternative to the Hard Deck, and after that, Bradley texted and asked if Natasha’s open invitation – from forever ago, Natasha pointed out – was still open.

“He probably would’ve shown up,” Nora says, distracted, watching the screen as Natasha clicks through the Netflix suggestions. They’d decided to put the documentaries on hold tonight and watch a movie instead, rather than listen to complaints the whole time. “I need a wine glass. Should I risk it?”

A derisive glance at the kitchen. “I’d drink from the bottle.”

Nora is still laughing when Reuben pokes his head out of the kitchen at the sound and spots her on the couch. “Nora Nora Nora. Can you settle a debate between me and Rooster?”

“I don’t know. Can you get me a wine glass?”

“I’m all over it,” Reuben says, giving her finger guns and disappearing into the kitchen. He returns with a wine glass, waiting until Nora had poured a healthy amount and leaning back into the cushions, gestured for him to continue. “Isn’t How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days better than 10 Things I Hate About You as a rom-com?

“Well, I…”

“Objection! Leading question,” Bradley calls out, poking his head out from the archway, pointing an accusatory finger in their direction. He is a little ruddy in the face, either from shouting or alcohol. “Asking Nora is cheating too. She’ll call it a ‘film’ and give you some pretentious bullshit about the cinematopography.”

“Cinematography,” Nora corrects with a frown. She isn’t pretentious.

“See,” Bradley says, even though Nora definitely does not see, and disappears from view.

She has an opinion, one that has nothing to do with the cinematography and far more to do with the fact that Matthew McConaughey was a certified early-2000s dreamboat. He’s had a few moments here and there since, but Interstellar McConaughey has nothing on Rom-Com McConaughey, strutting around New York City on a motorcycle, pressing a fluttering hand to his heart at the sight of Kate Hudson. Swoon.

Nora says drily, “I think Judge Bradshaw disqualified me. Sorry.”

Reuben lets out a loud groan, like Nora was his last hope, and turns to Natasha instead. “Back me up here, Phoenix?”

“You’re both idiots,” Natasha says, not even looking at him.

The Great Rom-Com debate continues until finally, Jake strolls into the apartment and agrees to settle the argument, taking it all in with slightly raised brows as Reuben walks him through the choices.

“You’ve got 2003 gem, How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, starring the rom-com pairing that defined a generation.” A dramatic pause that makes Natasha rolls her eyes. “And that 90’s one with Heath Ledger and the Bourne Identity girl in it. Which is better?”

It would be impossible to describe the look on Jake’s face as anything less than deeply offended. “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days starring the one and the only Texan legend, Matthew McConaughey?” Jake asks slowly, accent growing thicker with each word. “How could you even ask me that question?”

“Objection,” Bradley cuts in again. “Nothing to do with the movie.”

“Shut up, Rooster,” Natasha and Reuben yell at the same time, and Reuben looks at Jake, expression grave. His palms are pressed together, praying for a miracle. “Final answer?”

“McConaughey,” Jake emphasizes. “No contest. Comedic gold, man.”

An ear-splitting whooping sound. And as only another six-foot-something aviator could, Reuben locks an arm around Bradley’s wide shoulders and drags him down into a headlock. “How you like me now, Cock-a-Doodle-Douche?”

Laughter bounces around the apartment, and even as Bradley throws elbows and grumbles under his breath, Nora can spot the amused grin on his face, peeking out from underneath the mustache.

Wine catches in her throat, snagged on a laugh, and Nora coughs for a good 30 seconds. She sees movement out of the corner of her eye as Jake moves in her direction, already extending a hand to pat her on the back.

Nora waves him off, getting out a hoarse, “I’m cool. I’m good. Thank you,” and coughing into her elbow a final time. Heat burns in her cheeks, hopefully not as noticeable in the blue light from the screen.

Eyes still crinkled from laughter, Jake takes it in stride.

He stops short, instead sitting on the next couch cushion over to unload four bags of chips and a six-pack onto the table. He is as casual as Nora has ever seen him with socked feet and sweatpants, wearing a gray Dallas Cowboys shirt.

Fabric pulls tight across his back when Jake bends forward, accidentally bumping the side of her knee. She scoots back into the cherry red cushions, folding her legs underneath a blanket. His lips twitch.

A lone bottle is perched on the table, directly in front of Nora.

Her brows scrunch. “Is that for me?”

“Sure is,” Jake drawls, looking enormously self-satisfied. “Reminded me of you.”

Without another word, Jake curls two fingers through the plastic rings of the six-pack and carries the beers into the kitchen. Nora tilts her head, watching the bottle like an explosive, and then plucks it from the table, smoothing her fingers over the chilled glass.

And when Nora lifts her gaze, Jake is watching her from the kitchen, already nursing one of the beers from the six-pack. Reminded me of you.

She reads the label one more time, unable to hide the amused smile that pulls at one side of her mouth. It is a California beer brand, one that Nora has never heard of before.

Hollywood Blonde.

“Asshole,” Nora mouths, and Jake winks.

Glass warms under her palms as Nora accidentally holds onto it for too long, running the pad of her index finger over the curling label absentmindedly, and ever perceptive, Natasha notices.

“You drink beer? Since when?”

“I don’t actually,” Nora says simply.

Carefully, Nora sets it back down on the coffee table and pretends not to notice Natasha watching, clearly wanting to make a comment. And in a moment of divine intervention, Bob and Mickey return with the pizza, stacked high enough that Natasha leaps from the arm chair to help them.

She uses the distraction to slip the bottle into the reusable bag at her feet, hiding it from view, and wraps the blanket together around her shoulders. Saved from having to explain that Nora and Jake might have something of an inside joke.

Everyone grabs a drink and a slice. Settles in the living room.

Natasha abandons the armchair, coming over to share the checkered blanket with Nora at the end of the couch, and after Bradley claims the spot on the other side of Nora, elbowing her to scoot over and ignoring her sour expression, Bob grabs an unoccupied section of carpet in front of the couch. He leans back, nursing a homemade Shirley Temple, and smiles when Natasha passes him a throw pillow.

Reuben and Mickey grab the spots next to him, and across the room, Jake sprawls into the armchair, tapping idle fingers against the upholstery. He doesn’t seem bothered to be the only one sitting alone, or maybe Nora reasons, Jake just didn’t want to sit on the carpet.

“Give me some blanket,” Bradley complains, pulling at the edge of the blanket.

Nora elbows him. “Get your own.”

Bradley makes exactly one more attempt to steal the blanket, and then Natasha reaches across the back of the couch and smacks his shoulder. He releases it with a curse, a wounded look on his face.

Natasha ignores him. “Movie suggestions? Anyone?”

Natasha couldn’t have asked a more divisive question. Reuben suggests the entire John Wick series while Mickey makes an argument for an older Star Trek movie or the latest Marvel movie. Nora observes in silence until Bradley wades in with suggestions, making her remember the pretentious comment.

“What about How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days?”

Natasha cackles. And then puts it on.

It is a good choice in the end.

Mickey and Reuben talk through the first 15 minutes, asking the room what other movies this familiar actress and that familiar actress had been in before, until Bob quietly pulls up the IMDB page on his phone and hands it to them, but Nora has seen it too many times to get annoyed.

Across the room, Jake is mostly silent, making an assorted comment here and there. He does, however, launch an impassioned speech about how Benjamin Barry could never ever be from Staten Island with that unmistakable Texas drawl.

“Listen to him,” Jake cuts in during the iconic 'Bullshit' scene, gesturing to the screen with his beer bottle. “You’re tellin’ me I’m supposed to believe that man is a Knicks fan from Staten Island? He’s a Cowboys fan through and through. You could stick a Stetson on that voice.”

Eventually, Natasha shushes him and threatens, “Hangman, I am not afraid to kick you out. Shut up about Texas!” He opens his mouth, ready to make another comment. “Not one more word…”

Jake folds his arms over his own Cowboys shirt, muttering something like Staten Island, my ass under his breath, and watches in sullen silence for the rest of the movie.

After the end credits, Reuben is the first one to leave, saying something about an early morning run on the beach tomorrow. He is signed up to run a half-marathon soon – a celebration when Coyote gets back to Lemoore from a last-minute deployment, which should be any day now, according to Natasha.

“How is a 13 mile run in the middle of June a celebration?” Nora asks while Reuben is otherwise occupied, slipping on his sneakers with a slice of pizza pinned between his teeth, cheese precariously close from sliding down and splattering on the carpet.

“Here I was planning to buy him a couple shots and call it even,” Natasha remarks, putting on a New Girl re-run, and Nora politely declines the invitation to run a casual seven miles at 5:30 AM tomorrow.

Seven. Miles.

During an on-screen True American game, Natasha gets a FaceTime call from her older sister and, with an apologetic smile, ducks into the bedroom to say hello to her nieces and nephews.

And Nora is the last one left awake.

In the quiet, Nora can hear the soft snores and even breaths, rising and falling from the living room, and the constant hum of the overhead light as she tidies up the cluttered kitchen.

Emptying the open beer bottles into the sink and rinsing them for the recycling bin. Gathering the untouched ones to one side of the counter, in case Natasha wants them.

Marinara is sticky on her fingers as Nora rinses a stack of plates in the sink, running a soapy sponge over them with care, back and forth. It is pitch black outside, and Nora can’t make out anything but her own reflection in the small window above the sink.

She looks tired. Normal tired that can be fixed with a solid eight hours and a sleep-in day on the coming weekend. Not the bottomless weariness that drained her to the core, feeling like a chain looped around her ankle with an anchor hidden at the end.

She feels good.

She can breathe a little easier here.

Maybe Charlie was right.

Maybe all Nora ever needed was a break, not to burn it all down and start again. Maybe.

She feels an uncomfortable twisting in her stomach, one that has nothing to do with the tomato and cheese and wine, and decides to leave the thought alone for now.

There’ll be time. Later.

She washes the thought down the sink with the rest of the bubbles.

“Hollywood.”

Nora startles.

“Christ on a…” Nora blows out a breath, setting the plate down in the sink. She presses a damp hand over her racing heart and sends him a wide-eyed look. “Could you walk a little louder or like, announce your presence? Holy shit.”

“Sorry,” Jake says, not sounding it at all. Amusement is clear in his voice, in the subtle smile that dimples his cheeks. “Probably couldn’t hear me over the chainsaw in there.”

Fighting a smile, Nora peeks around him.

Mickey is still passed out cold, shaved head resting on a sleeping Bob Floyd’s left shoulder, mouths yawned wide open. And on the couch, Bradley Bradshaw is slumped under a plush blanket – a silent apology from Nora, pushing him from her shoulder to get free. One of Natasha’s colorful throw pillows has fallen victim to a chokehold, cuddled in the crook of his elbow.

Bradley is exposed as the culprit, letting out an aggressively loud snore that sounds not unlike a broken garbage disposal, and Nora holds back a laugh, pressing her lips together.

“Probably.”

Jake yawns, opening his mouth wide, wiping the sleep from his eyes with a knuckle. He stretches out his tired muscles, folding his arms over his head, dragging the hem of the shirt upwards. She catches a flash of tan abdomen, rippling muscles, and looks away.

His next words are so quiet that Nora almost misses them.

“Need an extra pair of hands?”

Dishes sit to the left of the sink, a low stack of plates with silverware and glasses, leftover wine and pizza grease, and to the right, Nora has started a clean stack next to the overflowing dish rack. Water is already soaking through the dish towel underneath them.

She repeats, “Probably,” and nods.

An unused dish towel hangs over the oven handle – another bright and funky pattern, slightly retro, which is Natasha’s apartment in a nutshell. It is a similar layout to the apartment Nora is staying in, except for the wall between the kitchen and living room, curving into an arch.

Natasha has made it her own, decorating with vibrant oranges and reds and yellows, making it look like some Urban Outfitters stage room in the best way possible. Warm accents are everywhere, and drowsily blinking against the overhead yellow, Jake seems more subdued, edges softened.

He grabs the dish towel, tossing it in the air and then catching it and slinging it over his shoulder in one smooth motion. “You wash, and I’ll dry?”

She passes him a plate, and Jake wipes it down in three efficient motions and creates a new stack on the speckled counter. Holds out a hand for the next one, palm flat and upturned.

Quiet feels unfamiliar between them. New. It hums like a strummed guitar string, and even when Jake is looking down, focused and methodical, Nora feels so aware of him. It should probably alarm her more.

She breaks the silence with a question.

“How did you feel this morning? About the interview, I mean.”

A dimple springs up in his cheek. “Is this a trick question? ‘Cause I felt good about it, but now I’m not so sure.”

“It was a making conversation question. Don’t fish for compliments,” Nora lightly chides, almost teasing in a certain light. She rinses the sponge, squeezing out the bubbles. “You’re a natural. Have you ever been on camera before?”

Jake clears his throat. “I did one a few years back, a feel good piece about some Halloween air show.” He sends her a sidelong glance, pulling another plate from the stack. “It was with some retired Navy officer who took a break every 10 minutes to go smoke a Marlboro Red.”

“Today was probably a much better experience then,” Nora observes, absently remembering her own first interview, “Or at least, I would hope so. I bet I smelled better, at least.”

He chuckles. “You’re much prettier too.”

Nora snorts, and Jake looks pleased.

Water runs down her forearm and dribbles onto the material of her sleeveless tank, and Nora is looking down, rubbing at it with a slight frown, when Jake asks the next question.

“Why did you become a filmmaker?”

It isn’t a loaded question, but Nora hesitates.

“Uh…” She blows out a breath. “It sounded cool, I guess.”

Jake hums. “Bullshit.”

Damn. She glares at his reflection.

“Asshole,” Nora mutters, and in the dark window, the edge of Jake’s mouth kicks up into a smile. She returns fire. “Easy there, McConaughey. Why did you become a bad ass fighter pilot? Nepotism?”

His jaw clenches.

She must’ve hit a nerve, but Jake doesn’t bite.

He makes a soft tsk sound. “My interview is over, sweetheart. It’s your turn now.”

Nora lets out an incredulous laugh, then checks over her shoulder to make sure the sound didn’t wake the other room. She can’t come up with a reason not to tell him, not a real one.

“All right,” Nora starts. “Mom was a journalist. She got me an old secondhand DSLR when I was like, twelve. She probably wanted me to follow in her footsteps and become a news photographer or something, but instead, I fell in love with films.” She smiles at the memories. “She shouldn’t have let me drag her to all those Saturday matinees when I was a kid. Maybe I would’ve been something else.”

“Did you ever want to make movie movies?” And learning from his mistakes, Jake finds a different example. “Like When Harry Met Sally?”

That… is a loaded question.

“He does know who Nora Ephron is. Look at you, Texas,” Nora comments, enjoying the uncharacteristic flush that warms the back of Jake’s neck. It is surprising enough that Nora almost forgets the question. “Not for a long time now, no.”

And Nora holds her breath and doesn't know whether to be disappointed when Jake doesn't call bullshit.

Out of the blue, Jake says, “I grew up with a Blue Angels poster on my wall,” and after a confused second, Nora recognizes it as an olive branch, an answer to the half-hearted question from before. “Grandpa Seresin was a World War II veteran, and Aviation seemed like a good fit for me. I could be a fraction of a fraction, up there with the best of the best.”

“You liked a challenge,” Nora observes.

She looks at him, and Jake meets her eyes.

He grins wide, all teeth. “Still do.”

She scrubs the metal spoon harder than is strictly needed and sets it aside, ignoring the warmth curling in her stomach. She blames the wine.

“We’re back to you now, Hollywood,” Jake continues. He takes the last of the plates and sets them in the cabinet. Crosses his arms over the Cowboys shirt and settles against the edge of the counter. “Didn’t you do a Netflix documentary or something?”

“Did you Google me?”

Jake doesn’t look embarrassed, not in the slightest. “You’re kind of a big deal. What’re you doing here?”

Another loaded question, even more so than the last.

Nora submerges the last wine glass, rinsing the stubborn suds that cling to the glass down the drain, and sets it on the last available space on the drying rack, nestled against a ceramic mug that looks handmade. She shakes her hands over the sink, flicking water onto her shirt, and Jake offers the dish towel.

She takes it, rubbing the moisture from her pruned fingers, and thinks about the question. What is Nora doing here?

She has an answer. Several even.

Nora is passing time between projects or paying back a long overdue favor or making some extra cash during a lull or missed her home state or…

“I don’t know,” Nora admits, soft and truthful, an answer for the yellow warmth of the kitchen light and the blue darkness outside and somehow, the cocky Naval aviator who is looking at her with soft green eyes. “Ask me again in like five weeks?”

His gaze softens. “I will.”

Her answering smile is genuine.

A golden tendril comes loose and falls onto his forehead, and Jake pushes it back, running his fingers through his hair. He lets out another yawn, louder this time, and stretches his arms again.

She shouldn’t watch him. She does anyway, and Jake notices.

A smirk spreads across his face. “You know what I think, Hollywood?”

Nora leans back against the nearest section of counter, slinging the dish towel over her own shoulder. “This oughta be good.”

“You kind of like me.”

She gapes at him.

“You are…”

Unbelievable? Presumptuous? Charming?

“…so full of shit.”

“Nope,” Jake says, shaking his head. He doesn’t have to move all that much to be in her space, not in a kitchen this size. Drowsiness makes his accent thicker, each word syrupy slow. “You like that I can keep up with you. Don’t’cha, sweetheart?”

“Can you?” Nora parries, chin raised, “Can you keep up with me?”

Men like Jake Seresin are a dime a dozen, arrogant and handsome, carrying around egos that could sink a freighter, and Nora has met many of them, so many of them. Every damn one of them would’ve hated that answer.

Not Jake. He fucking loves it.

His smirk deepens. “Want to find out?”

Jake holds out a hand. Both dare and truce.

She stares him down, and maybe later, Nora will blame alcohol and exhaustion and the unwelcome realization that Jake bears a certain resemblance to an early 2000’s Matthew McConaughey in that shirt, in this lighting.

That is later. This is now.

And now, Nora slips her hand into his and shakes it once.

end note: likes are appreciated, but comments and reblogs are amazing. i love love love hearing your thoughts!

read the next chapter!

#fic: baby i'm high octane #jake seresin x oc #jake seresin x nora rogers #hangman x oc #hangman fic #jake seresin fic #top gun: maverick fic #laracrofted writes

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wilcze-kudly · 10 months

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@zukkaonthebrain here's part of the draft of that pirate fic i mentioned lol. Judge for yourself if it's any good.

Four years ago, had you told Hama of the Southern Water Tribe that she would be dreading returning home, she most likely would have boiled your blood. And yet, here she was. Savouring the cold, arctic air from the comfort of the Fire Navy ship she had grown to call home for the last 3 years.

- Feeling nostalgic?- she didn't have to turn around to recognise lieutenant Jee's voice at her side. She had to crane her head to look up into his stern face. He said nothing more, hands still clasped behind his back, regal like the naval officer he once was.

- Perhaps. - she finally answered, looking back into the cold, barren, yet homely snowy wastes.- It's been so long. I don't think anyone would remember me as anything but a cautionary tale.- she shivered a little. Her bones were old and now used to the warmth of the fire nation or the sunkissed deck, after all.

But it still felt as if she had betrayed her homeland.

Jee, ever the gentleman, placed a shawl over her shoulders. The crew had amassed a staggering amount of blankets and furs over the years. All different colours, from various places. On warm nights they would sometimes lay them out on the deck and sleep under the stars.

Today was not warm.

- It's been so long since I've seen these waters. I believe everyone's most likely forgotten me. - she repeated quietly. She flicked her wrist and a trail of water sprung upwards to her command. As if she had to remind herself who she was. Hama of the Southern Water Tribe. Not Hama of the Fire Nation. And certainly not Hama of the Umihebi. Certainly not.

This was always the plan. This had always been the plan. Ever since she was confronted by an eleven year old princess Azula, demanding transport in exchange for amnesty.

----+

The full moon was the only light she needed. She had almost managed to corral old man Ding into the mountain. The man was a nuisance in the village, always loud and brash and had occasionally stormed into her inn already heavily drunk and demanded another bottle of wine. She took great pleasure in pupeteering his blood.

She had just about forced him into the cave when the bushes rustled behind her. Concentration broken, she whiped around just in time to see a flash of red disappearing behind the leaves and hear a tiny squeak.

Oh great. More than 30 years of secrecy out of the window in just 5 seconds. She vaguely heard Ding's footsteps as he sprinted back down towards the village. So goes her success streak.

- I can see you.- she snarled, summoning an ice spike to her hands. - You'd best come out of there before I make you.-

This was no idle threat. Despite the moon waning, she had more than enough time to easily kill whoever had ruined her plans.

There was shuffling and what Hama did not expect was for 3 children to emerge from the brush. Little girls, about 11 if she were to guess. Dressed in noble's clothes, but slightly dirty and dishevelled.

The one in the front held her head high, looking down her nose at Hama. -Waterbender. I am princess Azula, daughter of the Firelord and I have just caught you committing a crime.- those were the last words Hama expected to hear out of her mouth. - However. - the tiny princess continued. -I am in need of assistance and if you prove useful, I offer to pardon your crime. -

- And what if i don't help you, little one?- Hama bit out. This was the grandchild of the man who ruined her life. This was the blood of the family that brought her to this hell, that killed her brothers and sisters, that left her to rot in a dungeon. - What if I kill you right now?-

The princess looked unaffected, as did the stonefaced pale girl behind her. The one wearing pink at least had the decency to squeak and hide behind her companions.

- Then i shall simply defeat you in combat and hand you over to the proper authorities. Or kill you, if you force my hand.- Honestly, the gall of this child. The princess continued, boldfaced in the face of potential bloodbending. - My frien... My companions and I are travelling to the port in East Kidaro. Unfortunately, our transport has become... incapacitated. -

- She means our mongoose lizard ran away.- deadpanned the other girl, who had the audacity to look bored. Princess Azula glared at her, before turning back towards Hama.

- Threrefore. We require your assistance. - the little girl finished. As she stopped talking, her entire body sagged a little, as if she were just putting on a performance.

Spirits. Hama's head was spinning. She could probably wipe the floor with these kids. Probably. The princess's confidence was unnerving to say the least. But did she have it in her to kill three 11 year olds all at once? Perhaps. But for her own sanity she'd rather not think so.

- So. What is your decision?- The little royal put her hands on her hips. Hama sighed. The moose dragon carriages were leaving soon, she had enough money and time and she'd rather not kill a bunch of children so why not?

- Fine. - she muttered, the ice spike melting and clattering to her feet in a puddle. She turned, motioning for the kids to follow her.

It was only once they were on the carriage, halfway there, that Hama thought to ask.

- Why would you be travelling to East Kidaro, anyway?-

The girls all flinched, as if she had just slapped them all simultaneously. The princess glared at her tiny hands balled into fists in her lap.

- I have a ship to catch.- she bit out. - If you must know.-

----+

- There's always time to reacquaint yourself with your people.- Jee gently pulled her out of her musings. - I'm sure they will be ecstatic to have you back. -

He tried to smile reassuringly, but his attention was immediately drawn by Hotaru, their resident navigator and helmsman (and amateur scholar), yelling something about map discrepancies. With one last reassuring squeeze of her shoulder, Jee rushed towards the conning tower.

With no other thing to catch her interest, Hama turned her attention to the two young royals training, a pleasant heat emanating from them. When she first boarded the ship, she had flinched away from the benders, but soon she grew used to it.

It probably helped that she had taught them to assimilate some waterbending techniques into their skillset. She had no waterbenders to pass her knowledge down to, she might as well teach someone.

Even right now, the two were doing the fire version of streaming the water, passing a ribbon of flames between each other with a fluidity one would seldom see among their kind.

Hama couldn't help the pride that swelled in her chest. They may not be the waterbending students she had dreamed of, but they were her students.

Once she saw fire only as destruction and pain, but she had since come around to it's beauty.

One could not help but admire how the golden-red flames turned a cold blue as they left Zuko's vicinity and swirled around Azula, only to warm in colour again as the prince summoned them back.

Azula caught Hama's eye, and inclined her head with an impish smile. Zuko had yet to notice her, but Hama did not hold it against him.

She was in his blind spot, after all. Despite her incredible, if she does say so herself, healing prowess, Hama had been unable to save the sight in the boy's left eye.

Yes, Hama thought bitterly, as she eyed the angry red scar, there was still much destruction and pain left in fire.

----+

To say Hama was lost the first time she boarded the Umihebi would be an understatement. The ship was small, ridiculously small, but still it made her feel even smaller. The metal under her feet. The sound of the engine running. The smell of smoke. Bile rose in the back of her throat. She could almost feel the phantom imprints of cuffs around her wrists.

Of course, princess Azula strutted around like she owned the place, because technically she did. She marched right up to the surly greybearded soldier who stood at the helm.

- Where are my brother and uncle, lieutenant?- she demanded, hands neatly folded in front of her. The man looked down at her, raising a bushy eyebrow. Azula tapped her foot. The man cleared his throat.

- The prince has yet to awaken, princess. - he choked out. - He is currently in his quarters being attended to by our medic. The general is with him. -

- Very well. You will take me there. - the little tyrant demanded. The lieutenant sputtered a bit in indignation, but folded quickly under the piercing amber gaze. He stiffly motioned for them to follow.

Once Hama had been dragged, kicking and screaming down halls like these. Now she was following the princess of the fire nation through them, like a dog. She could at least chuckle at the irony.

She mulled over the lieutenant's words in her head. The prince had not awoken. Hama had heard of the Agni Kai and the boy's banishment. Everyone had heard. But was the burn so severe? She could not imagine a father, even as cruel as the Firelord, hurting his child in any meaningful way. Surely the burn was not that serious. Surely.

They reached the metal door and the man hesitated. He looked back down at the princess, and her young companions. A look of pity crossed his face as he placed a steadying hand on Azula's shoulder.

- Your highness. We're here. - he said quietly -I must warn you... It's not pretty. Not a sight for children. No one would think differently of you if you waited a little to see your brother. -

For a moment the little girl seemed to hesitate, before her face once again gained its signature look of superiority.

- That will be all, lieutenant. - she said, shrugging his hand off her shoulder. - You may return to your post. -

The man stiffened again, saluted and left wordlessly, jaw only slightly agape. Meanwhile the princess confidently opened the door, and marched into the room, her friends funnelling in after her. Hama stayed outside, giving them at least a little bit of privacy.

Not ten seconds later she was nearly barrelled over by the little pink one, who sprinted out of the room, tears in her eyes and hands over her mouth. The girl rushed to the deck, nearly colliding with a wall on her way there.

Well now Hama was curious. She carefully peaked into the room. Right at the entrance stood the princess's other friend, still as a statue. The tiny royal herself was standing next to an older gentleman, another noble by the looks of him.

There indeed was a healer, a young man with spectacles, whos darker skin implied he originated from the colonies. The lad was kneeling next to a mattress on the floor, applying an ointment to the face of the small figure that lay there.

Applying an oily, greasy ointment. To a fresh burn.

- What the fuck are you doing?- she demanded, long dormant healer's instincts kicking in. She brushed past the quiet girl, stomping up to the mattress. - Do you WANT to give him an infection?!-

The healer jumped, dropping the jar of ointment. Hama sat at the mattress, assessing the kid's wound. Spirits. Half the boy's face was covered by a nasty burn. It looked awful, but she steeled herself. She could think about it later. Since no one had yet tackled her, she assumed she was free to continue her examination.

There was a bucket of water. She checked its temperature. Ice cold. Tui and La, it was like they were trying to kill the boy. She passed the bucket to the, for once stunned, princess Azula.

- Heat it up. Not hot. Lukewarm. - the little girl sputtered a bit, and the older noble took pity on her. He gently pulled the bucket from her shaking hands. Soon Hama felt a sliver of heat emanating from him. She turned to the healer. The poor man looked so lost and maybe Hama would have felt bad for him if he weren't just about to commit medical malpractice.

- What kind of healer are you? You don't even know how to treat a Spirits damned burn !-

- I'm uh, actually supposed to be the navigator. - the young man stuttered out.

- Then where is the fucking healer?-

- We don't have anyone else. I was given some first aid training and dispatched here..-

- Well, you're just making things worse. Get out. Out I say! - she shooed the man away and he dragged himself out of the cabin, metaphorical tail between his legs. Hama turned to the old man.

- How is that water coming along?- he simply passed her the bucket. She checked the temperature again. Acceptable.

She paused. This would usually be the moment she would start waterbending. But she didn't fancy getting set on fire. Sure, the princess knew what she was, but the old man...

Oh fuck it. She wasn't about to let a 13 year old die on her watch, if she was worth her salt as a healer. She quickly drew the water out of the bucket. The old man took a rather loud breath, but other then that did not react.

Emboldened, Hama gently led the water to the boy's little face. She let the liquid settle on the mangled flesh, charred skin and frayed nerve endings. Then she reached inside of herself, for the power she had been hiding for so long.

The water began to glow faintly and Hama felt a sense of peace she forgot she could feel. It was almost like she was young again. Back when there was a lull in the fighting and they could actually tend to their wounded.

Her hands trembled a little bit.

Why was she even doing this? She didn't care if a member of the royal family died. She might even rejoice at the news.

But the boy was so small and pale, and the burn was so horrific and apparently inflicted by his father, and he was trembling and sweating and bleeding and he wouldn't survive the night without her... And he was just a child.

So she kept at it. She focused on the wound, daring not turn to face the two other royals. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the princess's other friend, still motionless and looking a little green in the face. Poor kid.

As if sensing Hama's thoughts, the old noble cleared his throat. - Mai, was it? - the girl gave a little nod -Perhaps you should go make sure your friend is doing alright.- she nodded and stiffly turned around, silently stepping out of the room.

There was a second or two of silence before the man spoke again. - Princess Azula, you have yet to introduce me to your friend. -

- Hm? - the little girl mumbled, as if startled out of her thoughts, Hama felt the mattress dip as the Azula sat down at her brother's feet. - This is Hama. We requested her assistance in the journey here and she obliged. In exchange she is to be exonerated of her past crimes. -

- Hmmm.- Hama could practically imagine him stroking his beard. - It is a good thing that you did. I do not wish to think of what would have happened had you not. Thank you.-

Hama grunted, waving a hand, before returning to her work. She wasn't doing this for THEM. She was doing this just because it would insult her status as a master waterbender and healer if she were to let a child die on her watch. That's the ONLY reason.

For a long time after that there was silence, save for the soft hum of the water's healing process. It had probably been at least an hour before Hama was satisfied with her work.

The burn had begun healing over the edges. It would take more work for it to fully heal, and of course it would leave an awful scar, but the boy would live. Looking down at his face he seemed more peaceful too. She felt good about that

She straightened her back, wiping the sweat off her forehead. Spirits, her spine was killing her. Finally she let herself take her surroundings in. The princess had fallen asleep, curled up at her brother's feet like a polar bear dog puppy. The old man sat in his chair, watching Hama intently.

- Thank you.- he said quietly, bowing his head. Hama didn't know what to say, so she just pretended to be checking on the prince's wound again.

- I hear my niece offered you a pardon for your services. Understand that things do not work like that.- Ah well, this was what Hama was afraid of. Serves her right for listening to a fucking eleven year old. At least she could take three fourths of the royal family hostage. But the man she now recognised as prince Iroh continued.

- But, should I employ you as the official healer of the Umihebi, you would be safer. The Crown often exonerates criminals who join the army. After your services are no longer required we will set you off at a port of your choosing and you will be free to go. - he smiled reassuringly and extended his hand.

-Do we have a deal?-

----+

#azula #zuko #hama #iroh #lieutenant jee #ty lee #mai #uncle iroh #atla #avatar: the last airbender #the last airbender #avatar the last airbender #avatar

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burins · 5 months

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happy Sunday a couple people (@feyburner and @try-set-me-on-fire and maybe someone else? if so I forget and I'm sorry) have tagged me in snippet stuff! I still can't write atm and I'm not rly sure when I'll be able to (June?? maybe?? please god let this PT round work) but I have been reading old drafts and I found 6k of ancient catws Sam & Bucky road trip fic that for having been written eight years ago still makes me go oogh. maybe it will also make you go oogh!(don't worry I am not posting all 6k.)

“Steve’s probably told you all about the 30s, right?” Bucky says. He’s sitting in the backseat, right in the middle of Sam’s view out the back. They’re somewhere in Nowheresville, North Carolina, so it’s not as annoying as it was when he pulled this shit in Jersey.

“Not really,” Sam says. He can see Bucky’s silent scoff without even looking, but it’s true. Steve hasn’t told anyone shit about anything. It seems to be his MO. Sam wishes someone would explain to him that the element of surprise doesn’t apply to interpersonal relationships, but probably everyone is assuming that job falls to Sam.

“Really?” Bucky asks. “Nothing? Why the hell am I in your car, then?”

“I mean, he gave me the basics, the two poor little matchboys, y’all had approximately half a penny to rub together, you kept him alive with nothing more than the flame of your undying devotion to warm your little breast, but he didn’t really flesh the story out.”

“Huh,” says Bucky.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Sam says, feeling like he might have made a wrong turn somewhere about five conversational miles back, “he cares about you. We all know he cares about you. And when he does talk, it’s nice stuff, you know, ‘Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky,’ that kind of shit.”

“Your Steve voice needs work.” Bucky’s picking at the upholstery in the backseat. He hasn’t made a hole yet, which Sam thinks is either a major point in favor of Japanese engineering, or Bucky Barnes is reining himself in for the first time in his life.

“Always open to suggestions,” Sam says. The hills roll out before them. Someone else might call them wide and welcoming. His skin prickles. They pass another billboard for another peach farm. It’s faded from who knows how many years of Southern sun, the oranges and reds gone ghostly.

“In 1937, he almost died,” Bucky says.

“I kind of got the sense that he did that a lot.”

Bucky chuckles. “Yeah, he did. This was different, though. We called the priest, and the priest came in and stood over him and said a lot of things about absolution, which was funny because Steve never went to confession after his ma stopped making him go.”

“Really?” Sam can’t help himself. “Sorry, I guess I always thought he would’ve been the altar boy type. What with all the guilt and all.”

They passed a lot of quarries going through Virginia, and Bucky’s smile looks familiar, like it’s been blasted into his face. “No, that was always me,” he says. “Steve was always trying to pick fights with anybody stronger’n him, and that included God.”

“Do you still?” Sam asks. It’s a few moments before Bucky replies.

“I go to Mass,” he says. “I don’t go up, though.”

“Oh.” Sam doesn’t know a lot about being Catholic, but he’s pretty sure the wafer part is a big deal.

“Yeah.”

They pass a field, a strip mall, a large block of concrete that’s either a factory or a prison. Bucky’s plant is slightly too small for the cupholder, and it rattles every time the road gets a little rough. It rattles a lot out here.

“The priest tried to put the oil on him, you know, like you’re supposed to at the very end, but Steve was sweating so much it just slid off him. Father said some stuff about easing his passage into the light everlasting, and he left, and it was just me in there, looking down at this little shit, this little bastard who was half my life. He couldn’t breathe, really, just kept making these scared, choked gurgling noises. It was fucking horrible. He wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop making that noise, and I wanted him to die so bad.”

There’s a hawk circling above them. Sam stares blindly out the windshield.

“I reached out and I put my hand on his throat and I wanted to press down. I wanted to make it easy for him. He always tried so damn hard at things. He kept choking and I just pushed down, just the littlest bit, and it stopped, and god, I’ve never loved a silence so much in my life.”

Bucky’s wrapped his metal hand around the little pot, holding it still. The rattling stops.

“I let go, obviously. I let go, and he finally fell asleep. I guess maybe I jolted something loose, because he wasn’t making that noise the next day.” He laughs. “Or maybe I’m giving myself too much credit, huh? Maybe I’m just trying to make myself feel better.”

Sam pulls left to pass an ancient Honda.

“HYDRA didn’t do shit to me that wasn’t already there.”

“I don’t think it works like that.”

“Nah,” Bucky says. “It does, though. Because here’s the really fucked up thing, okay. More fucked up than me trying to kill my ‘best friend since childhood, inseparable in schoolyard and battleground,’ even. You wanna hear it?”

Sam doesn’t wanna hear it. He doesn’t. But Bucky needs to say it, and so he breaks yet another of his own rules, and he says, “Whatever you need to tell me, I’m listening.”

Bucky snorts. “Sure, Wilson, sure. I can’t remember, is the thing. I don’t know if I did that then, or if it was another scared kid I killed thirty years later. That sound got pretty fucking familiar after a while. Maybe I dreamed the whole thing. I don’t know. I sure as hell can’t ask Steve, can I?”

#my fic #tag games #catws #sam wilson #bucky barnes #mcu

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novorehere · 1 year

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Hey all! Just wanted to give everyone a bit of a content update.

I apologize for the lack of content for the past… year. I’ve been working through some stuff, and it’s been hard for me to find the motivation or inspiration to write. It comes in short bursts, meaning I’ve been (very) slowly chipping away at multiple projects at once. I just thought I’d update everyone on how things are going and make a list (partly for myself) of what I have in the works, what still needs to be done, and what you can expect from me in the future. Admittedly these are mostly obey me fics but I DO have other things tumbling about in my brain, I promise.

Opposite Day: 2/5 chapters finished, the rest 100% planned and around 30-40% written.

I’ve been sitting on an unfinished chapter 3 for almost a year now, and have written good portions of the other chapters in the meantime. This is the project I’m most excited to finish, and I feel bad for abandoning it for so long. Rest assured, I *am* still working on it, and am extremely happy it’s been so well received.

Untitled Simeon Comfort Fic: 75% finished.

Originally I wanted this written for his birthday (which was in February lmao) but as you can see that did not happen. I’ve got the beginning and end all written out, I sort of went off the script at the end with fun purgatory hall family fluff so the only thing I don’t have written is… actually the eating part. This will probably be the first fic I actually post, seeing as it’s the closest to completion.

“A series of Obey Me Vore Headcanons” Re-Write (Title Very WIP) 2.5/7 chapters re-written

This one I don’t think I’ve mentioned on here yet. I’ve grown increasingly unsatisfied with my original obey me headcanons list that I posted last year when I first got into the fandom. A. Because I hadn’t gotten very far into the story when I wrote it and didn’t get the full scope of the characters yet and B. (Most importantly) I feel like I really didn’t do the characters justice.

Since I originally posted it, there’s been a healthy amount of discussion on depth and nuance in vore media and reducing characters to tropes, etc. I’d like to re-write this series to focus less on physical aspects and “how they eat you” but rather more of an emotional and story driven story of why they eat you and their emotions and struggles that come with it. The obey me brothers are incredibly interesting characters, and I’d like to explore them in more depth and show you how interesting they can really be and why I love them so much.

This one might take a while to complete, but it’s gonna happen at some point. I‘ll keep up the original half-finished version in the meantime since I don’t want to delete it and ao3 doesn’t allow privating fics without orphaning them. I know it’s ugly in it’s current state, just know I’m working on it and the rest of those chapters will be overhauled eventually.

“Miss Em”: 80% written (kind of)

I’ve had this one sitting in my drafts for a while now. Originally I had plans to start another multi-chapter series but then Opposite Day sort of went to shit so I scrapped it knowing it was way too ambitious. But now I still have a mostly written Mammon fic in my notes app just sitting there and it would be a shame to just…leave it. I’m not sure what I’m gonna do with this one, Maybe I’ll write the Beel companion piece to it that I had planned and just leave it as a 2-parter. Who knows. It’s really cute, and I want to share it at some point.

Untitled Obey Me mini-drabbles: 60% written

Honestly this wasn’t supposed to be a whole thing. I started randomly writing one day on a burst of inspiration and it turned into little mini “scenario slices” for all the characters and I really like how it turned out. I still need to write for two of the characters and polish up some others, but it’s a fun low-stress thing to work on in between projects. Also excited to share it possibly soon since they’re fairly short and shouldn’t take long to finish (but you know me…)

An unspecified ITWOM fanfic: 0% written, 50% planned

For those who aren’t familiar, “In the World of Monsters” is an amazing novel authored by @vore-toast that just recently received a fantastic ending and epilogue (Please read it! It’s fantastic!) And I really would like to write a little something for it to show my appreciation. I have an idea planned out, but details would involve spoilers so I can’t say much. I’d need to ask for guidance on what exactly to include since the things I would like to write about haven’t exactly *happened yet* but I’ve said too much already… hee hee. I don’t know when this fic is gonna happen, but I swear to you it will. And if my original idea doesn’t work out, it’ll be something. I WILL be writing for this series, mark my words.

Heroes Off-Duty. 0% written, ??% planned

Huh? That’s weird... That one’s not supposed to be there. Ah well, It’s not relevant anyway. Carry on.

#op #Kate says things #‘Finish a WIP or draw 25 cards’#Me with the whole deck: 😎

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ashcoveredtraveler · 2 months

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So ummm I have been thinking about editing and changing some details for my long-fic, "Could We Have Peace?" This isn't a decision I have fully made so these changes may not even happen. I am just rambling here.

So this wouldn't be the first time I changed an aspect of my fic. I have already done it twice before.

I have an old draft of the fic which I uploaded called 'what could have been peace?" And in this old draft Ghost went back during the climb out of the abyss and Howl is still a young vessel. I only had 8 chapters written, and I hadn't uploaded any chapters at that point, so I have able to change it pretty easily.

The second time I changed the fic was when I uploaded chapter 14. At that point I didn't like how soft Orrin was. I thought he would need to get through some character development before becoming a 'good person'. He is a king, he doesn't quite know how to be soft to a personal level. So I put the fic on pause, edit the Pale Kings part and then resumed uploading chapters while putting the note in chapter 15 that I edit PK personality.

Now, I uploaded chapter 33 of my fic, and I would like to change Howl's ability to see.

I have thought about this change for a while, but recently after seeing this artwork, I was actually thinking about doing it.

If I do this then I would have to change Howl's character and how they perceive things. In the fic I always wrote how they liked seeing all the different colors, from clothing to environment. But then if they were blind then they would have to describe what they are hearing, and feeling. Let me go section to section to see what has to be changed

- Howl would escape the Palace as their injuries are catching up with them, meaning their blindness. They would have to wander through Kingdoms Edge blind. I like this image, just them stumbling around until they eventually find Markoth.

- (I initially thought their communication style would change, but I think that they could write just very sloppily)

-(while they are still in Kingdom's Edge they could bet a better sense of their surroundings though the void. They could sense little hoppers and booflies and practice at sensing life.)

- Howl would have a lot more trouble getting out of Kingdom's Edge, which means that Markoth practically has to be attached at the hip to make sure they don't fall. So when their arm eventually falls off, he would only know mere seconds before they collapse.

-The Resting Grounds shouldn't be too difficult of a place to traverse through. They will for sure bonk their head multiple times, but this is their chance to sense other living beings and actually sense their surroundings. I mention in the fic that they loved the colors of the tapestries throughout the Seers hut, so she might let them touch them and explain what is on them. They would certainly love the texture of them and pretty much anything in the hut.

-when they get to Blue Lake, they would enjoy the salt washing over them. In the fic I wrote how they loved the color, and I don't want to take out their hyper-fixation of the lake. They would recognize Quirrel by the sound of his voice when he comes in.

-(now I was thinking if Howl was blind, there was no way Markoth would drag them through Crystal Peaks, Howling Cliffs and then the Emerald Caverns. But I think he knows he doesn't have much of a choice. Besides, they have been getting better and are able to sense lifeforms. So Markoth would assist them though some portions).

- In chapter 26 when Howl has their panic attack, they could have simply gotten stuck anywhere.

-Another tricky section is when Xero and Howl have their conversation in chapter 30, I don't know if Howl would willingly leave their bed and wander when no one is awake. Though they could simply sense where everyone was and check the campgrounds before hand so they know where to go.

- Yet another tricky section is when Quirrel almost falls into a cavern and Howl saves him. How could they have done this? Will I use void as a way again?

- the Howling Cliffs has the same solution as Crystal Peaks

-The Festival I bet Howl would need assistance to get through the Emerald Caverns simply cause there are so many more bugs around. I think they would have the same mentality for dancing and would do it. They would recognize Ghosts name and then sense their siblings.

Now, even if I can make those changes with current chapters, there are a few things in planned chapters that make their sight important.

I know this post was a bit rambling, but I wanted to play around with this idea as I like the concept of blind hk.

#hollow knight #hk cwhp #hk fic #rambling on what changes i can make 180000 words into a fic #hk pv

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shakespeareaddict · 1 year

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Fix Your Writer’s Block (without using AI)

I’ve been posting a lot of AI hate here lately (almost like...it’s becoming my brand....) and one of the things that gets my goat is the propaganda belief that AI can help writers who are struggling with a story in some way, shape or form come up with the next line or fix their plot or what have you. This advice is misguided at best and destructive at worst.*

Still, complaining about something without actionable advice for how to fix it is not really my vibe. So for those of you thinking: “But I really need help!/But what am I supposed to do if I get writer’s block?” I have good news for you: Writers have been tackling writer’s block since...probably the invention of storytelling. There are ways to get around it if you are stuck!

So, here’s a non-exhaustive list of tips and tricks to deal with your writer’s block, no computers necessary:

Put down something mediocre and come back to edit it later. It’s easy to get caught up searching for the “perfect” word or sentence, and waste a lot of time staring at a blinking cursor. But that’s not what a draft is for! Your goal is to get as much of the story out of your head and onto the page as possible; you can always edit it later, once you’ve had some time to think. (Though you might find that when you come back, the “mediocre” bit is actually better than you thought!)

Use a placeholder and continue writing. This is another tactic meant to keep you writing when it’s a small block, instead of falling down a research rabbit hole for an afternoon or otherwise being distracted. If I need to name a minor character who appears for two lines, I will often just ID them by their function in the story and circle back to it. Eg: “Officer <<COP>> took their statements very professionally and gave them his card.” When I edit, the all-caps and the brackets are a big reminder that, wait, I need to name this guy!

This tactic also works for research! If you need to know if bees have teeth or who said a cool quote, don’t spend an hour researching that when you should be writing! That is a problem for editing!

This goes triple for fanfiction writing, especially for a fandom with a lot of convoluted canon. I write a lot of Star Wars stuff and I like to reference “canon” planets and events in my fics; but if I try to research those references while I’m writing, my writing session becomes an endless Wookiepedia Delve. I just put “<<ICE PLANET HERE>>” or “<<CHECK SPELLING>>” as reminders.

I also cheat sometimes and write “<<end scene>>” if I’m not sure how to end a scene.

Take a break. Get up, stretch your muscles, and go do something else for 20-30 minutes. This tactic is perfect for when you realize you don’t know where a scene is going, or you’re stopping and starting a lot with your work. I recommend either light physical exercise or light household chores - something that engages your body without engaging your mind too much, so your subconscious can continue working on the problem.

This is also a great way of sneaking in self-care while writing. Hydrate yourself, go to the restroom, eat if you haven’t eaten yet. This kind of physical stuff has a huge impact on your mood and brain function; your writer’s block might be a symptom of your body needing something!

Go back to the drawing board. I have a bad habit of never outlining before I start writing - I know what the first three scenes are going to be, so I don’t need an outline! Then, about halfway through the story, I realize I have very little if any idea of what happens later. Taking a step back and typing out a quick outline (simple bullet points, like “Conan calls his sister for advice”) helps me keep on focus for the rest of the story, even if I decide to go off-outline.

Rubber-duck the problem. This tactic is for when you notice a larger problem with your work - you realize there’s a plothole, or you’ve written yourself into a corner, or you know how your story ends but you have no idea how to get to there from where you are now. “Rubber-duck debugging” is a programming technique where you explain a problem you’re having with a computer to an inanimate object (such as a rubber duck). Simply explaining a problem can often be enough to help you realize what went wrong.

No rubber duck is required! You can try this technique on dogs, mugs of tea, or family members who don’t know what you’re talking about but who make listening noises at the right time.

Finally, seek help from other writers. There are loads of ways to do this and all that you need is a community of fellow writers - or even just one writing friend! - to reap the benefits. Plus, it works on just about every kind of problem you can imagine having. Asking for help can look like:

Posting a question in a Discord server or other large group chat (eg: “Which of these two sentences sound better?” or “Do you guys have tips for writing betrayal?”)

Bringing your work to a writer’s workshop of some kind (I did a lot of this in high school/college and highly recommend joining a group where constructive criticism is offered, even for just a few months! Not only do you get feedback on your work, but learning to give other people feedback vastly improves your editing skills)

Discussing your problem with a writer friend

Finding a beta-reader (either a friend or otherwise)

*Besides the fact that you are feeding your work to a program that can and will keep it forever and might easily recreate parts of it later without your permission or knowledge, and besides the fact that most AI-generated “writing” isn’t actually that entertaining or good on a technical level so the value of whatever output you get is not actually that high, the best way to learn how to do anything is to practice doing the thing. If you turn to an AI every time you hit a stumbling block in your creative process, you are going to continue hitting stumbling blocks and your skill will not improve long-term.

#writing #writing advice #ai hate

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arcticdementor · 7 months

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It’s been a year and a half. This has languished in my drafts for months, segments getting finished… then forgotten, then another rush hitting… then waning… but now it’s finally done. Some of the foresight having waited so long it became a regular sight… but I am no less confident in its excellence. Here it is My next great assessment in my near future… what does Call of Duty call it? Advanced Warfare series. In Vol. 1 of The Antagonist’s Tech Tree: The Dream of the Motorcycle Warlord we took a deep dive through the advantages and disadvantages of Motorcycles in combat and came to an interesting conclusion.

…

This leads to an interesting implication: Whereas for the US military motorcycles are a legacy technology, held onto in limited numbers for very niche applications, in other forces with different philosophies they are a core and expanding technology. This leads to an interesting avenue of discussion: Which other technologies are like this? Which other mere curiosities or non-military tools become essential pieces of kit with a change in doctrine or philosophical alignment?

…

The Great Toyota War of 1987 was the final phase of the Chadian-Libyan conflict. Gadhafi’s Libyan forces by all rights should have dominated the vast stretches of desert being fought over: the Chadian military was less than a 3rd the size of the Libyan, and the Libyans were vastly better equipped fielding hundreds of tanks and armored personnel carriers, in addition to dozens of aircrafts… to counter this the Chadians did something unique… They mounted the odds and ends heavy weapons systems they had in the truck beds of their Toyota pickups, and using the speed and maneuverability of the Toyotas, managed to outperform Libya’s surplus tanks and armored vehicles. By the end of the Chadian assault to retake their northern territory, the Libyans had suffered 7500 casualties to the Chadians 1000, with the Libyan defeat compounded by the loss of 800 armored vehicles, and close to 30 aircraft captured or destroyed. The maneuverability and speed of the pickups made them incredibly hard to hit, and the tanks in particular struggled to get a sight picture… strafing within a certain range the pickups moved faster across the horizon than the old soviet tanks’ main gun could be hand cranked around to shoot them. Since then Technology has become the backbone of insurgencies, militias, poorer militaries, and criminal cartels around the world. The ready availability of civilian pickups, with the ability of amateur mechanics to mount almost any weapon system in their truck-bed means that this incredibly simple system is about the most cost-effective and easy way for a small force to make the jump to mounted combat and heavy weapon.

…

The remarkable thing about the technical isn’t that they’re some unique capability militaries can’t use… most poorer countries field something equivalent (the Libyans seemed to have screwed up the unit composition of their force)… Rather the unique advantage is how easy and cheap they are for non-conventional or poorer forces to home assemble.

…

This combination of mobility, resemblance to civilian vehicles, and ability to deploy heavy weapons was used to devastating effect by the Islamic State during the 2014 Fall of Mosul. Striking quickly while Iraqi national tanks were deployed elsewhere the small Islamic force entered the city at 2:30 am, striking in small convoys that overwhelmed checkpoints with their firepower, executing and torturing captured Iraqi soldiers and targeted enemies as they went. Even after taking into account desertions and “ghost soldiers” (fake soldiers meant to pad unit numbers so corrupt officials could collect their pay) which significantly reduced the 30,000 Iraqi army and 30,000 police within the city… Even after allowing for all that, the Iraqi national forces still outnumbered the 800-1500 ISIS fighters at a rate of 15 to 1. YET ISIS was able to achieve a total victory and take the whole of the city within 6 days. 2 years later it would take the Iraqi government with American backing 9 months to retake it.

#kulakrevolt #substack #partially-paywalled

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reveries-and-radiance · 2 years

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URGENT!!! TAKING COMMISSIONS SO I CAN AFFORD A PLACE TO LIVE!

I've been down on my luck for a very long time and this month was very hard for me. The heater in my apartment broke so the place has been cold due to drafts and -25 celsius temps. I haven't been able to afford groceries this month as I was barely able to afford February rent. I haven't gotten a single art commission in weeks and now I'm running out of time to get funds for March's rent. My bank account is overdrawn by almost $300 and I have no means of getting a loan or any credit. I haven't been able to properly bathe or wash my hair because I can't afford soap. I've been living in extremely terrible conditions.

Getting commissions has been difficult, finding a job has been near impossible and I can't even afford to commute for work interviews or shifts if I got any.

I just need to raise $300 to take my accounts out of overdraft, $850 for rent, $100 for utilities and $100 to pay back loans. This doesn't even take into account food expenses so maybe another $150 on top of that (this is all in cad).

In total, I need to raise about $1100 usd to stay afloat.

This amount may seem like a lot but in reality, if I was able to get 25 commissions for about $45 each, I could make this amount back easily.

I know that life is hard for everyone right now but it would make a world of difference if less than 30 people took a chance and decided to help me survive in return for art (worth 3 times the price).

If you don't need the art then that's okay too, I am genuinely grateful for any help that I receive. One day I won't be such a loser and will be in a position to give back but I'm not quite there yet.

Here's my paypal if you'd be interested in buying an illustration from me: paypal

Some examples of my work:

1/25 Comms

25 may seem like a lot but I think we can do it! 💚

#emergency commissions #commissions open #taking commisions #support black women #urgent #black artists on tumblr #support black artists #artists on tumblr #support disabled artists #help needed #mutual aid #black history month #support black content creators #donations

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wordsinhaled · 2 years

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1, 15, 30 👀

Do you daydream a lot before you write, or go for it as soon as the ideas strike? totally a mix of both! sometimes too much daydreaming is the enemy of actual writing, though!!! am very guilty of dreaming out an entire sequence of scenes in my head and then realizing i have not written a single word of any of those scenes lmao

15. What’s your favorite time to write? thinking about it some more, i'm not sure i have a favorite time. whenever the words are flowing i suppose is the best time!

30. How much do you edit your fics? Do you edit as you write or wait until you finish the first draft? i am... chronically bad at drafting and at thinking of things as a First Draft, Second Draft, etc. (same thing in academics. coming up with drafts instead of just the Final Thing was always something i struggled with). if i'm writing something short i usually edit as i go and almost never have first drafts for short fics. word choice and things like that, i tend to edit as i go in general for longer fics, i do have drafts just because i haven't figured out or written all the scenes i have in my head yet, or sometimes haven't figured out what order they're best in; plus i tend to only have stamina for short bursts of writing at a time so i end up just dumping everything into a doc... so, right now i have (i think) 3 actual fic drafts (not in order of priority, lol): grunge hob fic, knight!hob ring-kissing fealty fic, and a fic inspired by @valeriianz post about dreamling messy first meetings - in which they don't realize they're actually neighbors and also fight over wanting the same table at the pub... 🥰

actually. well. i'm looking at my drafts on tumblr and i have a bunch of other... random fic fragments in here but i don't think i'd call those proper Drafts ??? ??? i have, like... six different little versions of new inn reunion in here. some vampire fic. some eldritch dream stuff, some eldritch hob stuff. hob receiving a letter from dream. dream and hob just... talking about time, while cuddling? hot mess sadgoth dream being a patron at the new inn and bartender hob. ... i feel like i wrote half of these lil fragments in a fever dream state or something but i. should probably go back and finish some of them, flkjghg

thanks for the ask, ev! <3

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terpernoctem · 8 months

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hi pals

do you know what time it is?

it's time for our ✨monthly personal post ✨ show of hands, who's excited?

i said WHO'S EXCITED

okay never mind, so it rained for about the entire month of january, not even kidding. it rained and it rained and it kept raining for days on end.

see, i left Ireland for a specific reason (burn out excluded): breaking news, i know, but it rained a lot over there. i come back home and it's the most it's ever rained since 2015, people.

do you comprehend?

i think maybe the universe is trying to tell me something

anyways

so it rained a lot and i felt like i was about to rot all the way but i didn't and in fact i (1), got into yoga again, (2) wrote almost 10k, (3) took my very first driving lessons (i'm comically terrible at it but eh), (4) applied to things!

isn't that something??

idk

i don't feel any less lost or you know, useful in any way but it's a start, innit

i've definitely had a couple of bad nights, and what's funny when you live with your parents as an adult is that you still cannot talk to them about serious stuff without feeling like a teenage waste of space? or at least that's how i feel—and i recognize entirely it doesn't come from my parents, god no, they've been great and really supportive, but ughhhh.

what is it about this whole situation that makes me age backwards (and not in a good way)??

in other, completely related news, my birthday is a couple of weeks away, which is always kind of the time i typically freak out about it (last year i booked a last minute trip to edinburgh for that very reason). then i calm down and start to get excited about it.

question is: with the big 30 looming over, will i get excited at all about it this year?

mmh.

it's a daunting thought. let's not—let's put it aside, shall we?

truly, a part of me still can't believe how lucky i am to be able to stay with my parents here on the island—it's genuinely something i didn't think i'd be able to do for a long time— and it's objectively great, i mean, it's summer (well, you know, as summer as it can get), i've got time to myself, i've got my loved ones close.

yet another part of me longs for a more, idk, exciting? life. i might be repeating myself but i feel like i haven't seen everything i'd like to see yet. been toying loosely with the idea of going the self-entrepreneur path, but ugh—

truth is, i can't bear to be tied down yet.

on this week's list: sort out the library situation (mom's library is—oh don't get me started, but i'm gonna fix this), get serious about studying for driver's test, finish drafting my main wip, find a life purpose.

#what's shakin' sugar #suggestions are welcomed

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gabenvrhappened · 9 months

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MoviesOr… Poor Things

Bizarre. That's the only thing I know for sure that I can write about Poor Things. I'm still trying to process everything that I watched and this first line seated on my drafts for ages until I finally decided that I was ready to say something about this brilliant, yet unhinged, movie. It reminds me of the weirdness of Saltburn, a concept that now I know I adore, but here it goes beyond the logical. It's a trip inside the entrails of the human existence, and its patched up substance, that we try to fix with strings and nails.

That being said, I'll start with the beginning. I've been wanting to watch this ever since it was announced because no movie with Emma Stone can be a bad movie. So, there I was heading to a theatre in London that I've been wanting to go to for ages. It looks so opponent on the outside, that you can see whitin your exit at Leicester Square station. However, one thing you need to know about theatres in London: they show 30 minutes of commercials, so you might as well always arrive late because... it sucks. Another thing that sucks: the screens aren't as big as I'm used to, so this is a quest that I'm still on: to try to find a real big screen here.

With all those considerations made, let's embark on the movie. Like I always try to do, I took my seat not knowing a thing about the movie. I let it surprise me. And man, it did. I would have never imagined I would see the things I saw. And I would have never imagined I would sit through an almost three-hour movie with Mark Ruffalo. Sorry, I just don't like his acting, but here, it wasn't that insufferable. In fact, it was good to see him being played and ruled out by Bella Baxter.

Speaking of which, what a witch Emma Stone is. Watching her was magical. As I probably have mention a few times — and I don't say that do brag, it's because my memory is terrible — being an actor myself is a curse because you can't stop noticing other actors acting, so that's one reason more as why I am speechless by Emma's performance. Her movements. Her expressions. I wish I could be a third of what she is. She's a monster. I would have never thought I would see her doing the things she did throughout this crazy journey. It was insane to watch her grow her character from a demented girl (can I say that?) to a cultured woman. The development and the change of the two counterpoints of her main character are so well made, that I can't begin to fathom how she did her preparation for this role. And here I am suffering to do Romeo.

The story of the movie, I should mention, is just as powerful as Emma's performance. An empowering movie that doesn't need to use big speeches to make a point, just like Barbie tried to do last year but failed miserably. That's why it feels so authentic and sharp. The cruelty of the world, the use of the body without shame, the power to be who you want to be without question are messages that are passed to us fluidly. Honestly, I think we all should be a bit like Bella: fearless and fierce. Being a grown woman with an innocent sense of the word is what I hoped we all would have. How large the possibilities would be if we didn't stay trapped inside our adult heart and mind that grew tired of being axed and mutilated? What if we spoke our minds and did what we want to do without shame?

With so many questions and thoughts popping up in our spheres, it's deranged to imagine we could still have time to digest the incredible scenery and designer choices, but everything is patched up so perfectly that we can. The craziness inside and out coexists without much problem. In fact, there are so many shattering aspects of this work of art that it's hard to point out what stands out the most. The scene of the poor people dying from starvation, for one, is so dauntingly haunting that it's almost a crime that it had been followed by the hilarious scene of Mark Ruffalo's character trying to kill an elderly woman on a cruise. Not to mention the whole dining and dance scene, that perfectly shows how pure innocence can be. The title cards from the cities, as well, are just another highlight of the many mesmerizing moments that we get to witness while the lights are off and our senses are on and just shows how dedicated the art team of the movie was while bringing to life this melogamic story.

If anything, the only flaw of the movie is the way they resolved the last conflict. A shoot being blasted in the foot and a poisoned drink being thrown on the face of such a dangerous man? Really? With such an intricate screenplay, these decisions seem… poor (no pun intended). Actually, the whole plot of the sadistic husband felt unnecessary, even though it was kind of necessary since it's part of the resolution of the enigma behind the mysteriously, yet enchanting, riddle Bella Baxter became to be.

Poor Things can be hard to swallow for some, or just a delicious pastel de nata for others. It can be as excitingly normal as an apple being used as a sexual instrument, or weirdly disturbing as animals with different bodies mixed together. Either way, that's the brilliance behind it and its black and white then colorful world, in its human or fish perspectives; it's its own world, in all its glory just waiting to be found, if you have the heart, or brains, to do so.

#MoviesOrGabeNeverHappened

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accountingacademic · 11 months

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Daily Reflection Monday, 23 October 2023

"Isn't it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?" - L.M. Montgomery

Things I'm Grateful For:

Living in Canada, so I don't have to worry about going bankrupt from seeing my doctor (one of several reasons I will never go to the US).

Highlights:

Got my flu shot today! My Covid vaccine was last week because I had to go to a clinic for it, but my family doctor can do flu shots.

Challenges:

Not a major challenge, but I do have another ear infection. I get them every four years almost like clockwork (just a different time of year, but I had one at 4, 8, 12, 16, and 20), so I was due for another one at 24.

I slept in by accident, so I had to cut my workout short. However, less time is better than no time. And I still managed to make it to class in time, even if it was by about 30 seconds.

My student insurance finally activated, but the site is causing problems and not letting me make a claim for the drop for my aforementioned ear infection. So yeah, that's always fun.

My group mates for a Marketing project are having some issues with formatting on Word. I pointed out the Insert Citations feature that Word has (in our Teams group and as a comment), and asked them to fix their citations using that feature. Here's to hoping they actually do it, rather than me having to go through and fix it all myself on Tuesday. I'm honestly afraid that the results of this assignment will end up dropping my average for the course below 80, and I am honestly afraid of losing honours at this point. I have a draft message to the instructor sitting at the ready, just in case.

Emotions:

I was disappointed with myself in the morning because I slept in.

I was also frustrated because I kept hitting every red light on my way into town just in time to actually have to stop (no going through a yellow because there was no time to stop), turning what could have been a 10-minute commute into a 20-minute commute.

Lessons Learned:

Group projects are a pain. Don't expect others to look up how to do citations in the format we were told to use.

Tomorrow's To-Do List:

Get groceries after class.

Try making the claim for my insurance again.

Fix citations in Marketing group project document if necessary.

#accountingacademic #accounting academic #accounting #studyblr #college #productivity #study #daily reflections #october #october 2023 #2023

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skepticamongthefaithful · 1 year

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Almost ten years later, 3 years past when I said I’d publish my first book, and all I’m doing is looking back at my 23 year old self - the raw emotion in first drafts without spellchecks - trying to get back to that level of introspection and ability.

Finding out I had undiagnosed ADHD at the time, it’s little wonder why writing always felt like reliving trauma, and as Hemmingway said, sitting at a typewriter just to bleed.

It feels like the romanticization of self-harm, of self-destruction, and a maladjusted adult simply justifying the all to annoying trope of art being synonymous with suffering.

And yet.

To reach an age where you are defined to your job, where your value is directly tied to what value you can provide to a company, and your “off hours” are spent mentally recovering from the banality of survival in a post-pandemic world where “essential workers” are underpaid and the politics of coworkers boil down to defending that worker exploitation... making yourself bleed for art seems all you can do to remind yourself how to feel.

It’s not good.

It’s not right.

But hearing, “no, this is supposed to hurt,” rather “you’re being dramatic.”

That means something, even if my writing isn’t where it was, because I’m still here... and as long as I carry breath, I should remember to feel, and cry, because I now have a job where I now have the funds to do what I want... my empathy is spared from the disassociation involved with surviving a pandemic “on the front lines” as everyone you ever loved never checks in to make sure you’re still breathing.

At 29, in 2019, I was just starting to think everyone was right about my high school/college theatrics, my nihilism... I was starting to remember how to be a social buttery.

I spent my 30th in quarantine, asking how loved-ones would feel if I died, and what I’d leave behind...

At 33... today... I’m looking back at my 23 year old self, knowing how he always assumed he’d die before 30, how he never planned or set deadlines or had any goals beyond “finish a book,” and yet here I am... still breathing... not wanting to die... trying to get in touch with him.

We have unfinished business.

#writing #writing on writing #personal

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suitwcrthy · 5 years

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*STARTER CALL

Like for a probably short Pre-Bite starter !

#✳ s t a r t e r c a l l.#(my drafts are almost at 30 yet here i am #(i swear these will be short #(anyway if you want babey content hit the heart #(mutuaLS only pwease #* v e r s e ' p r e - b i t e 001.

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ibelongto-tylergalpin · 2 years

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Could you do a Steve Harrington HC where the two of you take all the kids to the pool? They could tease you about being mom and dad 🥺

SLAY IM BACK!!! idk for how long tho cause my motivation to write is disappearing and appearing every few days so LETS HOPE ITS BACK FOR A GOOD AMOUNT OF TIME (also this has been in my drafts forever im so sorry it took so long) also this was not proofread just like any of my other shit and its 3:30 am so sorry if the end kinda sucks I TRIED.

~It was almost the end of summer, and you could tell that the kids were miserable

~Mainly because El and Will had just moved to California and they had no idea when they would see each other again, but also because school was starting soon and they didn’t wanna go back yet

~You were sure that they were at home with the windows open and multiple fans on because it was a little over 90 degrees out, so Steve called Dustin and invited him and the rest over to his house to chill in the pool since his parents were gone for the week

~Before you knew it everyone was at the front door with their towels and swim suits (Everyone meaning Dustin, Mike, Lucas, Max, and Robin)

~As everyone was waiting for the bathroom so they could change, Dustin was bothering Steve because he had no good snacks

~After a few minutes of Dustin’s nagging, Steve eventually gave in and told everyone that Robin was in charge while the two of you went to the grocery store

~The two of you were walking down the aisles, Steve pushing the cart while you grabbed chips and drinks. You also got things to make sandwiches for everyone when they get hungry and ice cream.

~You guys went to the register, paid, and left, but not before the cashier told you guys how cute the two of you looked together

~Steve trying to hide his beet red face>>>>>>>

~You guys got back to his place and saw that everyone was already in the pool

~“I thought I told you guys to wait for us?!”

~“You guys took too long” Lucas said as he shrugged

~“Where’s Robin? She’s supposed to be watching you guys”

~All of a sudden, Robin popped out of the water, causing Steve to scream

~“God, Robin! What the hell is wrong with you?!”

~“Nice shriek, Harrington. Very manly.” Robin said as she swam backwards towards the deep end where Max was relaxing

~You went inside and started putting the chips in bowls and you put the drinks in a cooler while Steve was getting changed. You were going through your backpack trying to find your swimsuit (shout out to everyone who can’t find shit in their bags because its like a bottomless pit)

~You finally found it and as you did you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist

~“Hey beautiful”

~“Hey handsome” You said as you turned around and wrapped your arms around Steve’s neck.

~“How did I get so lucky? You’re so amazing”

~“I know I am” You said as you rested your head on his chest. He pulled you closer and gripped you tighter as he rested his chin on your head.

~“And I’m...?”

~“Fishing for compliments” you said, teasing him

~“C’monnn” he whined

~“Fine. You’re amazing too. And very gorgeous. And you’re the perfect boyfriend. Happy?”

~“Very” You could hear his smile

~“Y’know, it’s really sweet of you to do this for the kids. It’s cute that you care about them”

~“Those little shits are nothing but trouble. I only did this cause I knew you felt bad for them.”

~“Yeah, sure. It’s okay to admit it Steve. You care about them. After everything we’ve been through with them, they’re like family. I know you love them.”

~He stayed silent for a second, not wanting to admit it

~“I hate it when you’re right”

~“Well then you must hate me all the time”

~Steve broke away from the hug and lifted your chin so he could kiss you. The two of you stood like that for a few seconds before you heard a soda can pop open next to you. You looked to the side and you saw Dustin standing there watching you guys

~“Dude. How long have you been standing there?”

~“A loooong time. You guys are cute. It’s disgusting”

~“Get out of here before I kick your ass, Henderson”

~“Steve! Don’t be rude” you scolded your boyfriend

~“He completely ruined our moment!”

~“Doesn’t mean you can threaten him with bodily harm!”

~“Uh oh! Mom and Dad are fightinggg!” Dustin yelled as he walked back to his friends in the pool

~“I’m sorry, what? Mom and Dad?” You said as you walked over to them

~“Yeah. Y’know since the two of you are always looking out for us. You’re the mom, Steve’s the dad.” Mike explained

~“Yeah and Robin’s like the cool aunt” Max added

~“Wow, high praise” Robin said as she floated towards Max and fist bumped her

~“That’s insane. We’re not your parents”

~“Obviously, but whenever we’re out you’re parents of the group. Y’know?” Dustin said, trying to explain

~You just stood there not knowing what to say so you went inside to change

~When you finally got in the pool you were relaxing in the shallow end with Robin and Max while Steve was messing around with the boys.

~After a little while Steve and Lucas called you and Max over and suggested that the 4 of you play chicken fight (that one game where someone is on another persons shoulders and you have to knock down the other team)

~You get out of the pool and force Robin to help you make the sandwiches for everyone

~When everyone’s eating all the kids are like “Thanks mom”

~“I’m gonna push you all in the pool if you keep that shit up.”

~After you’re all done eating you sit there and talk for a bit before getting back in

~Since you were still a little full, you decided to just chill on a pool-floatie and listen to music on your walkman

~You couldn’t relax though, seeing as the boys were starting to get rough again

~“Lucas! Stop throwing water in Dustin’s eyes!”

~“Mike! Be careful! The floor is wet and I don’t want you slipping!”

~“Max! Stop trying to drown your boyfriend!”

~“Dustin stop laughing at Max trying to drown Lucas!

~“Y/nnnnn! Lucas shot me in the eyes with a water gun!”

~“Lucas! What did I say about getting water in Dustin’s eyes?!

~“Steve! Y/n! Help!”

~You and Steve immediately jumped into the pool and swam over to Dustin who was yelling and when you got over he said he got a cramp and that he was okay now

~“I swear to god, Henderson”

~You were lounging on one of the chairs by the side of the pool, finally getting the peace and quite that you wanted, since the kids had started playing Marco Polo

~You just sat there relaxing when Steve went up to you and tried to snuggle up to you

~“Steve! You’re all wet!”

~Instead of getting up he re-positions the two of you so that your legs are to his sides and he’s laying in between them against your chest

~“Ugh I swear to god, Harrington, you’re lucky you’re cute”

~He didn’t say anything in response, instead he just dug his head deeper into your chest and started rubbing circles on your thighs

~The two of you just laid there in a comfortable silence... that was until-

~“OW! SON OF A BITCH!”

~You and Steve immediately jolted up to see what had happened and who had gotten hurt

~You saw Mike on the floor clutching his ankle as Lucas and Dustin scrambled out of the water to run to him

~“What the hell happened?!”

~“I was running to get the water gun so I could shoot Lucas and I slipped and fell. Fuck, it really hurts. I think I broke it”

~“No, you didn’t break it” You said as you examined his ankle. “You probably just sprained it. What’d I tell you about running around the pool, Mike? It’s slippery as fuck! You’re lucky it’s just a sprain”

~You told Steve to run to get the first aid kit in the house, hoping there’d be something to wrap his ankle in. You used to work at the public pool over the summer sometimes so you knew exactly what to do in this situation

~Steve came running back with the first aid kit and you quickly but carefully wrapped Mike’s ankle

~You all decided it’d be best to go inside since the sun was starting to set and they would have to be home soon.

~Once everyone had gone home, you and Steve were laying down in his bed

~“You’re so great with those little shits, y’know? You’re gonna be a great mom to our future kids someday”

~“Our future kids?”

~“I mean, yeah... unless you don’t see us together in the future? Shit, never mind, I shouldn’t have said anything. Just forget it hap-”

~“How many?”

~“Huh?”

~“Our kids. How many?”

~“Oh, I don’t know. I always dreamed of having a big family. Having 5 or 6 little nuggets kinda running around”

~“6?! God damn, Harrington, my poor vagina”

~He let out a laugh and pulled you closer into his chest

~“I mean it doesn’t have to be 6. I could settle for 3″

~“3′s a good number”

~“3 it is. 2 girls and a boy”

~“We’d be awesome parents someday.”

~“Yeah, someday”

#steve #steve harrington #steve x reader #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington headcanon #steve harrington can step on me #stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things 3 #ST #st3 #steve harrington has a breeding kink

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