#Fill in the Blanks: _?_ will WIN this Series in _?_ Games!

[nba24highlights]

JEOPARDY: Fill in the Blanks: _?_ will WIN this Series in _?_ Games! #jeopardy#lakers#warriors#nbaplayoffs#shorts#nbaedits#steph#curry#lebron#fyp#foryou#foryoupage#nba#basketball#stephcurry#stephencurry#warriors#playoffs#nbaplayoffs#edit#nbaedit

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiesongfics.

If He Wanted To, He Would

July Prompt: Any Song Lyrics | Word Count: 2000 | Rating: T | CW: Language | Tags: Eddie POV, Modern Setting, Sports AU, Rockstar Eddie, Baseball Player Steve, Very Public Love Affair, Corroded Coffin, Good Uncle Wayne Munson

I've used lyrics from Take Me Out to the Ball Game & Blank Space.

Even the news is covering it. 

That's fucking ridiculous. There's an animated graphic, a live tracker of where his plane is, a moving dot over the Atlantic, like it's Christmas Eve and he's Santa Claus.

Eddie's gonna make it. He was always gonna make it, even as the press ran the numbers, the miles, and milked every ounce of drama out of it.

He made game one, and game four, and now he's racing back from playing Wembley in London to make it for game seven. The media has tried to sell the idea that Steve wanted the World Series to go to seven, just so Eddie would be able to attend.

Eddie's glad he's getting to see it, of course he is, but if they could have swept it in four, or locked it down in five or six, that would have been fucking awesome. Even if that meant Eddie missed seeing it live, and had to watch on television, in the middle of the night, across the world.

There are a shitton of tiktoks every week, dissecting their every move, looking for easter eggs. Eddie is just living his life, even if a million people are always watching him like a fucking hawk.

Goodie is walking back from the beer garden in the stadium, carrying his plastic cup in his mouth as he fiddles with something in his hands. Not spilling a goddamn drop. Eddie can only see this because he's being broadcast onto the stadium jumbotron.

When he climbs the stairs into the suite, Eddie asks, "Where's Gareth?"

"Got spotted. Now he's taking pictures. I just slipped away unnoticed. Sucker," Goodie says, putting his cup down on the table.

"Unnoticed, huh?" Eddie teases. He won't tell him. He'll just wait until Goodie sees it online for himself. "There's free beer back there you know?" Eddie asks. Neither one of them needed to venture out into the crowd.

Goodie shrugs, "I wanted this kind."

He could have had that kind, could have had any kind, if he'd just asked for it. But no, he wanted to be out among the people. 

None of them are particularly fond of baseball, but they are fond of Steve, so here they are. The whole band doesn't always come, but it's the championship game, so they did.

And the score has been 1-0 forever. 

Wayne is pacing. Unlike them, he loves baseball, even if he's been a little turncoat, switching teams like a lifetime of dedication meant nothing at all. He's gotten a little shit from his friends back home, but Eddie thinks it's honestly very sweet. Eddie loves that Wayne likes Steve enough to put him and his team as his number one with a bullet, now.

It helps that Steve's part of a fucking dynasty. It's fun to win, even Eddie gets that.

Wayne doesn't always hang out in suites. More often than not, he'd rather sit in the stands. Focus on the baseball, not the celebrity that's now surrounding it. But Wayne's been dragged into their highly publicized love affair, and now he's starting to get recognized all on his own, so Eddie worries. 

Plus, he'd rather have him right here, where they can spend time together.

"What's the count?" Eddie asks. 

"3-2," Wayne answers.

Eddie's distracted, filling his plate with the various appetizers that came with the steep price of the private suite. Sliders, pigs in a blanket, and all kinds of other fancified versions of comfort food. He's just scooping some mac & cheese on his plate when he hears his main guitar riff from Buckwild. He puts down his plate, making his way to the big windows just in time to see Steve step towards the batter's box. 

Steve only changes his walk-up music to Corroded Coffin when Eddie's in attendance. He currently walks-up to Milkshake, which is fucking hilarious. He's one of the first openly out players, and he really leans into it, changing up his walk-up music, usually to something a little queer. Eddie knows it's partially to poke fun at himself first, before anyone else can. 

But tonight, it's his song. Eddie's sure he's being broadcast on the jumbotron from some camera he can't even see, and may even be on live television. Eddie watches as Steve briefly points his bat, and at first Eddie thinks Steve's calling his shot, but no. Not unless he's intending to hit a foul ball.

No, he gestured at Eddie. At least where he assumed Eddie would be.

Eddie fiddles with the rings on his hand, moving from finger to finger, twisting them around and around as Steve swings and misses for the second time. Eddie can hardly watch, it makes him so nervous.

"What's the count?" Eddie asks. It's the only question he knows to ask.

"2-2," Wayne says from somewhere behind him. Wayne doesn't stand at the front when it's likely the camera is on them. Eddie gets it, he does, but he'd like him at his side. The windows are open tonight, and the fans in the seats in front of the suite have leaned up to talk to them, to get things signed, and Eddie has done it. They all have. Waving off security.

Nobody is being shitty, just excited, and Eddie's grateful he's been accepted by most of Steve's fans. There was always the fear that he'd be seen as a distraction, and sure, that's been a bit of the narrative, but Steve's in the goddamn World Series. His head is obviously still in the game.

Eddie signed a custom Corroded Coffin jersey with Steve's number on the back earlier, and if that wasn't fucking weird and delightful. And Harrington jerseys have been increasingly spotted at their gigs, from one in the crowd, to a dozen or more.

Steve takes the next ball, and Eddie was terrible at baseball as a kid. He swung at everything. He never had the self-control to wait for something good. 

He's glad he grew out of that, at least a little, because he waited, and now he has Steve. A goddamn home run in human form. 

Eddie's relieved when he hears the crack of the bat finally making contact with the ball, and he watches intently until Steve's safely on first, Eddie leaning out of the open box window, hanging onto the frame, screaming.

He rights himself, clapping hard as he spins in a circle, screaming some more.

Then, Eddie watches as Steve steals second on a wild pitch, and the stadium sound system blares to life with Gimme Three Steps.

Steve dusts himself off from his slide in, and Eddie is so fucking smitten. 

And his ass looks damn good in those pants. His milkshake did bring Eddie to the yard.

It's the seventh-inning stretch, and Eddie hears the familiar, "for it's one, two, three strikes, you're out," being sung by the entire stadium.

He's nervous now. More nervous than he ever is going on stage anymore.

They've made it this far, and he wants Steve to win the whole thing. 

They do win. Steve fielded a grounder, whipped it to first base, and with one last out, it was finally over. Gloves being thrown in the air, lots of hugs and jumping up and down.

Steve did it.

And Eddie smiles.

Steve isn't released, not yet. There'll be interviews, and a parade that Eddie unfortunately can't attend, so Eddie only gets a few minutes in the tunnel with him. Some stolen kisses and a silly groped handful, just giving Steve's cup a squeeze, to make him laugh. 

It's all too brief, but he'll see him soon. 

They go from the game straight back to the airport, Goodie and Gareth both pretty drunk after too many celebratory shots, leaving Jeff and him to babysit as they get wheels up, to head back across the pond. Their world tour, waiting.

They'll make it. 

Steve swears jet-lag is a choice, and Eddie's choosing to believe him.

Another city, and his turn on the big stage, as Eddie looks out towards the VIP tent. Steve waves with both hands over his head, making himself larger, more easily seen.

Steve attended a few Monday shows with Robin, when their schedules lined up enough to allow it. But now his season is over. He's a fucking world champion, and it's the offseason, which is Eddie's new favorite word.

If he'd known he'd fall in love with a sportsball guy, he would have made sure their tour had a lengthy break during this magical offseason.

Next year.

And Eddie is confident that next year is a given. That's how in he is with their relationship, with Steve. They both have their own lives, their own fame, their own increasingly busy schedules. But they make it work, because they want it to work.

The fans have dubbed all their crisscrossing travel as "if he wanted to, he would" and have been straight up swooning. 

Eddie likes that thought, because he does want to, and he knows Steve wants to, too.

He's committed to this thing, and so is Steve. And if that means flying for hours to be there for the important shit, even if you have to turn around and fly right back, well fuck, you do it. And you don't even think about it.

Eddie slips in a pop cover, mid-set, just being silly, because he wants to shout out Steve a little bit extra tonight. He sings and when he gets to "'cause you know I love the players, and you love the game" and the crowd gets behind it. Steve, too, if his hands in the air are any indication. 

He's a pop girlie at heart, and Eddie loves him for it.

Steve is comfortable in his own skin, and he likes what he likes. He's supportive of Eddie, of Corroded Coffin, and very demonstrative with his affection and admiration. The love is always free-flowing. But, heavy metal isn't his thing. Not really. And that's okay.

So, a little pop is injected for his benefit, Eddie saying 'I love you for who you are' right back.

Buckwild is last, is always last, and Steve's here, so that means a subtle lyric change. He only does it when Steve's in attendance, and it makes the crowd go wild. Changing one word is enough to send them into a frenzy, like they're part of something special and sacred.

They are.

When he approaches the lyric, Steve has moved closer, right at the stage, in front of the barricade, and puts his hand up to his ear, hyping the crowd, getting ready for it, and Eddie can hardly sing through his fucking smile.

When they exit the stage, the first face he sees is Steve's, and Steve opens his arms and Eddie hugs him, pulling back and kissing him, over and over.

He's the one. 

The one he loves.

The one he'll marry.

The one. Period.

Steve waves to the crowd that's gathered to watch, and then he puts his arm around Eddie's waist, ushering him away, one more show over.

In bed, Eddie rests his head against Steve's bare chest. These last few weeks have been different, brand new, and exciting. It's the first time they've really gotten to feel like they're coming home to each other. Getting to be in the same place for an extended period of time, Steve following the tour.

Steve brushes Eddie's bangs off his face, and kisses his forehead.

"You were amazing tonight," Steve whispers, and Eddie grins. 

"So were you, working the crowd," Eddie says.

Steve laughs, and Eddie loves it. Steve's not shy. He's had all the media training, probably more than Eddie, because he's got a brand, a team, to protect. Eddie just runs his mouth at-will, always has.

Steve doesn't hide backstage where Eddie can't see him, no, he always makes sure he's supporting Eddie out loud and with his whole goddamn chest.

So, because he wants to, he does.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiesongfics and follow along with the fun! 🎶

Notes: Obviously inspired by the very public relationship of Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce. Goodie carrying the beer in his teeth is straight up a shoutout to Jason Kelce doing that at the Eras tour. 🍺

This one was so hard to stop writing for at the 2k max word count, lol.

[wandascosmic]

you've got a smile that could light up this whole town (2)

wanda maximoff x fem!reader

part two of 'you belong with me' series

summary: basically a wanda series inspired by jim and pam from the office

word count: 3868

warnings: sexual harassment in the workplace, talks of sexism and racism, small mention of blood in a joking setting

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7

“That’s the thing. It’s very sturdy paper,” you speak to the client on the phone. “And on the back it says 100% post-consumer content.” 

You’re on the phone with Mr. Deckerd, the CEO of one of your biggest clients who amounts to about 25% of your commission for the whole year. Wanda makes fun of you for buying a mini bottle of champagne every time you make a sale to him and his company, but you can’t help but celebrate a little. This year, you’re pushing recycled paper on them for about 1% more, so maybe you’ll buy a medium-sized bottle of champagne if you make the sale. 

Suddenly, you hear a static noise in your ear. “Hello?” you ask, wondering if your client is still there. You plug the ear that isn’t touching the phone to hear Mr. Deckerd better, but the static sound continues. “I’m sorry, Mr. Deckerd I think I’m losing-” 

But then you can’t hear anything because your stupid desk neighbor is shredding his papers at his desk. 

“Hello? Hello?” But you can’t hear anything because of the stupid shredder. “Hold on one second,” you reassure your customer, even though you have no idea if he’s still there. 

“Sam! Do you really have to do that right now?” you yell over the shredder.  

“Yes, I do,” he responds, barely paying you any attention. “I should’ve done this weeks ago, actually.” 

You flip him off under your desk. 

“Mr. Deckerd, I'm really sorry,” you speak on the phone. “What were you-” 

You still can’t hear anything, and it makes you give Sam an annoyed expression. “Can you give me one second?” you tell Mr. Deckerd on the phone in your fake nice sales voice. “Yeah, just one second. Thanks.” 

You press the off button on Sam’s shredder with your pointer finger, and he narrows his eyes at you.

You shrug back in response. 

“Hello? Oh, that’s it. Perfect,” you let Mr. Deckerd know. “So, what I was saying-” 

Sam hangs up the phone for you by pushing a button on the docking port and you want to slap him in the face. 

“Hello?” when you hear nothing but the dial tone, you set the phone down and run your hands over your face. “Thanks a lot, Sam.” 

“Retaliation, Y/N. Tit for tit.” 

“That’s not the expression.” 

“Well, it should be.” 

Now you want to punch Sam instead.

“Solitaire?” you ask Wanda, popping a jelly bean from the candy dish at her desk into your mouth and leaning over it to peek at her computer screen. 

“Yeah, freecell,” she tells you, brows furrowing in focus at the game. 

“Six on seven,” you point to the digital cards. 

“I know I saw that,” she nods.  

“So, why didn’t you do it?” you ask. 

“I’m saving that,” she gives a shy smile, “cause I like it when the cards go…” she imitates the shuffling cards. 

“Who doesn’t love that?” you shrug, smiling at her. 

She giggles in response, and you help her win the rest of the game.  

Tony comes out of his office. “Everyone in the conference room,” he announces. “Diversity day seminar.” 

Everyone gets out of their desk to go meet in the room, but you stay on the phone in order to make the sale to Mr. Deckerd.

“Y/N,” Tony states. “Wrap it up.” 

“Yeah,” you nod. “Uh, Mr. Deckerd-” 

“L/N, hurry up, please.” 

“Uh, Mr. Deckerd, I'm actually going to have to call you back,” Damn it, you were so close. “Thank you, sorry about that.” You hang up the phone.

Wanda meets your stride as you both walk in together and she wraps her hand around your elbow absentmindedly. 

The two of you usually sit together, but unfortunately, you were both the last to walk in due to your phone call so you both take a seat on opposite sides of Thor.  

Once you sit down a man from corporate hands you a blank card for you to fill out by writing down a work-related incident you found offensive, and you and Wanda look at each other, knowing exactly what incident you were both going to write. 

A couple weeks ago, the head of corporate, Thaddeus Ross had made disgusting remarks and had acted completely sexist and racist to every single female or ethnic worker in the office. He had reduced every single person to just their ethnicity or sex and had made incredibly vulgar remarks that you didn’t want to think about again because of how offensive they were. In fact, they were so ugly that those who had taken the worst of his comments didn’t come into the office for the next 2 days because of how violated they felt.  

You bite your tongue as you remember the lewd comments he had made about Wanda that day. 

“Wanda’s really easy on the eyes, don’t you think?” he had whispered to you, his coffee breath making you want to push him as far away as possible. “I bet she’d make way more money on her knees rather than behind that desk…” 

You had frozen in your seat, shocked at the words Ross uttered out of his mouth. You were about to reprimand him and let him know how inappropriate his comments were, but you didn’t get the chance because he got called over by Tony right after uttering those awful words. So instead, once he was gone from your sight, you had immediately stood up and gone over to Wanda at her desk while she was faxing documents Bruce had given her to let her know about the disgusting comments Ross had made. 

Wanda’s expression had hardened once you told her, and she had taken many deep breaths to reel in her emotions. “Thank you for telling me,” she had breathed out. “Honestly, I’m not surprised with the amount of times he’s cheated on his wife,” she had told you with a weak smile. Ross always confided in Wanda about his affairs for some reason, and he gave her a copious amount of detail about his nights spent in bed with other women. 

You had watched her brave resolve crumble as she played with the rings on her fingers, a nervous tick of hers, and it made you see right through her act. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, I'm ok,” she had told you, “But I’m never staying within six feet of him again for safety reasons,” she gave a shaky laugh.   

For the rest of the morning, you were able to tell that she was still rattled, with the way she kept zoning out while doing her work and kept playing with her rings and biting her nails. 

So, you decided to do something nice for her to calm her down. During your lunch break, you had gone out to buy all of Wanda’s favorite things. Initially, you had told Vision to do it after letting him know about the incident while he was working down in the warehouse, but all he had responded with was that he was busy and would check on Wanda when he had the chance. 

You knew of his busy schedule, so instead, you thought it would be good to go yourself, and it ended up being so worth it. 

That day, you had bought Wanda chicken paprikash from her favorite restaurant, many packages of the obscure Sokovian candy she really likes, a pocket-sized package of her favorite book series because she was a sucker for miniature items, her favorite perfume because you could tell she was running low based on the way it was becoming less and less strong as the days passed by, a box of chocolates just because, and a mini disco ball, which you bought as a joke hoping it would put the smile back on her face. 

You had definitely gone overboard based on how your bank had called you that day because of how much money you spent, but Wanda didn’t need to know that. 

Plus, you didn’t really care because, well, it was Wanda.  

“Hey, Wands,” you had gone up to her at the end of the day with a plastic bag in your hand. 

Which to Wanda by the looks of it, seemed very heavy. 

“Hi, Y/N,” she had greeted you back softly from her chair. “What’s in the bag?” 

You smiled as you pulled out the mini disco ball, pressing the button so it lit up and placing it on the ledge of her desk. 

“For you,” you had told her, “so every day is a party,” you joked. 

Wanda had picked up the disco ball between her fingers, “you bought this just for the sake of making that joke,” she had answered back with a grin. 

And the disco ball had worked just as you wanted it to, because she had smiled again for the first time that day. 

You shrugged. “Maybe, but it did make you laugh, Maximoff.” 

“Smiling isn’t laughing Y/N,” she said cheekily. Before you could respond she asked, “What’s in the rest of the bag? It’s definitely not that heavy with just a tiny disco ball inside.” 

You slowly pulled out each of the items one by one, making sure to keep the mystery for as long as possible. And it was so worth it, because with every item you pulled out Wanda’s smile widened more and more. 

“Wow…” Wanda trailed off, slowly dragging her index finger over each item as if they were made of glass, until her finger stopped at the candy. “Y/N! They only sell these at that store 40 minutes from here!” her eyes gleamed with worry as she looked at you since there was a snowstorm that day too.

“30 minutes,” you corrected, “and it was nothing, Wanda, honestly. This is supposed to be kind of like a ‘Ross Sucks’ fund. You were shaken up, so I wanted to do something nice for you.” 

Wanda had pushed her tongue against her cheek as she watched you with tears in her eyes. She made her way around her desk until she was in front of you, and had hugged you as tight as possible. “Thank you,” she had whispered while squeezing you as tight as she could.  

As she pulled away a couple moments later, she had kissed your cheek and gave you a soft look while whispering the words, “I’m really glad I have you as my best friend.” 

It was the best gift anyone had ever given her. Somehow, you had singlehandedly turned Wanda’s awful day into one that would bring a smile to her face for the rest of her life. 

The next day, the mini books and disco ball had ended up displayed at Wanda’s receptionist's desk, and Wanda had given you a cheeky smile while popping a candy into her mouth. 

The man from corporate took each of your papers back with a small thank you, eventually creating a large stack. 

“Alright, so I’m here today to talk about diversity,” the man began. “It has come to my attention that a recent issue from an anonymous source has made you all very uncomfortable, so I was called here. We are all still unaware of who made the offensive comments we have heard of, so corporate thought it would be best to put all of the Shield Industry branches through this seminar to be safe. Let’s get started.” 

You started zoning out in worry at losing your biggest client, since Tony had made you hang up the phone due to his lack of patience when it came to being late to an event. After this morning’s exchange with Sam, you hoped he would continue to remain with you as his salesperson. 

You didn’t even notice that you had stopped paying attention until Wanda tapped your shoulder to whisper about how the man from corporate looked a lot like Dracula from Hotel Transylvania, and you responded that you should test if he’s really a vampire by putting blood in Sam’s bag so he’s the first to go.

You don’t know how much time has passed until suddenly, Tony’s voice brings your attention back to the meeting. “Hey man, I’m sorry, but you need to leave.” 

“What?” The man whose name you still don’t know responds. 

Long story short, Tony kicked out the man and forced you all to get back to work simply because he didn’t like his face. 

“Uh, hi, is Mr. Deckerd around?” you spoke on the phone. “Oh, well, could you just have him call me after lunch? Thank you.”

You ran your hands over your face in stress, god, you really hoped you didn’t lose your biggest client. 

“Attention, everyone!” Tony yelled out stepping out from his office. “The replacement seminar corporate is making us go through will occur immediately after lunch, so don’t be late!” he stepped back into his office. 

You’re too anxious to eat anything, so you spend your lunch break playing solitaire with Wanda while she eats the sandwich she packed this morning, since she usually spends it answering calls anyway. It’s the perfect pass-time because you’re still near the phone in case Mr. Deckerd calls, and she’s excellent at distracting you and making your worries fade away. 

The last ten minutes of your break are spent at your desk staring at your phone, the busy tone ringing out suddenly seeming like it's mocking you.

Around 1 pm, a tall short-haired lady walks in, “Hi, I’m here to lead the diversity seminar?” you hear her introduce herself to Wanda at the front of the office. 

Wanda stood up to shake her hand. “Welcome, I’m Wanda. I’ll let Tony know you’re here.” 

She ran into Tony’s office to inform him of the woman at the front, and from your point of view, you could tell that this new woman was attracted to Wanda based on the way she was staring at her from behind. 

“Everybody in the conference room!” Tony yelled out as he stepped out of his office, leading the orange-haired woman corporate hired in the direction of the room. 

Thankfully, this time, you and Wanda walked in a little earlier so you could sit next to each other at the back. 

Wanda had a clipboard in her hands to take notes as part of her job as a receptionist, and while she wasn’t looking, you drew a small smiley face at the corner of her page, a long-time tradition since you first joined the office a year after her. 

“Alright, now that everybody’s settled in, hi, my name’s Pepper, and I’m here to lead the diversity seminar after this morning’s complications,” the lady said, giving Tony a look. “To start off, what can you tell me about diversity?” 

Sam raises his hand. “It means having a diverse background.” 

“Yes, very good. Anybody else?” 

“It means being inclusive to people of all race,” Bruce answers. 

While Nat is answering, Wanda notices the small smiley face at the corner of her page and smiles softly. 

“What about you, hon?” Pepper asks Wanda while she’s lost in thought. 

Wanda’s head snaps up, “Sorry?” she clarifies. 

“What do you think about diversity?” 

Wanda pauses to think for a moment, “I think it’s acceptance of people of different background that’s not only limited to race but also gender, economic status, age, social class, and sexual orientation.” 

“Wow, impressive,” Pepper smirks, staring Wanda down like she’s almost a piece of meat.  

Wanda’s eyes widen and she shifts uncomfortably under Pepper’s stare, as she feels incredibly objectified once again. 

“Nerd,” Sam coughs into his fist. 

But Wanda can’t focus on Sam’s comment, because for some reason Pepper’s gaze is starting to remind her a lot of the way Vision looks at her. 

But it’s probably nothing, it’s probably just that he’s attracted to her because they’re engaged. 

Pepper’s seminar goes on for another 30 minutes, and while she’s discussing an acronym called HERO, you hear the phone ring. 

You don’t mean to be rude, but you’re so anxious you’re going to lose the sale you sprint out of the conference room to answer the phone. 

“Hello? Hello?” you answer, but you get no response. You tap your foot nervously on the ground and hang up the phone, running your hands over your face. 

You really hope Mr. Deckerd answers soon. 

Back in the conference room, Wanda still feels Pepper’s gaze on her and it makes her increasingly uncomfortable. The way Pepper was eyeing her like she was her prey to devour mercilessly made her feel so awfully degraded, like she was just an attractive object to be used and not another person. It made her want to jump out of her seat and run away as far as possible, or at least to you, since you were her best friend after all and you could calm her down with just a touch. 

But Wanda calms down when you walk back in and take your seat next to her, giving her your infamous smile despite the way she can tell you’re stressed due to your stiff posture, and it fills her heart with warmth. 

Pepper is still on the same slide as when you left, so you don’t think you missed much. 

“Diversity, equity, and inclusion are the three factors needed in running an office that feels safe to people of all background,” Pepper continues and you can tell that everyone is starting to get sick of the seminar. 

“How much did I miss?” you whisper in Wanda’s ear. 

“Barely anything,” she whispers back, and Wanda feels her nerves settling. “She’s been repeating the same thing in different ways for the past 5 minutes.” 

You let out a small laugh. 

And Wanda does too. 

And you both try your best to suppress your laughter for the next two minutes.

You sit there for a while trying your best to listen to Pepper’s speech, but it proves to be an incredibly hard struggle because her presentation voice is ridiculously robotic. 

“Excuse me, Pepper,” Sam states. 

“Yes?” 

“What’s diversity again?” 

God, this was going to be a long seminar. 

You were in the middle of zoning out for the third time when the phone rang, causing you to spring out of your seat and sprint out to answer it. 

“Mr. Deckerd!” you greet into the phone the second you get in your chair. “We didn’t lose your sale today, did we?” you chuckle. “Excellent! Okay..” you pull out a pen. “Let me just get your– What’s that? No, we didn’t, we didn’t close last time,” your brows furrow in confusion. 

“I just need your, uh–Oh! What code were you given?” you’re still confused. “Oh, okay. Yeah, no, he’s actually another salesman here.” Oh, now you realize what’s happened. “Yeah, I can redo it if you want to do that. He gave you a discount?” Well played. “No, no worries, I don’t blame you,” you reassure him. “Okay, thanks, have a great day, Mr. Deckerd, it was nice speaking to you.”

You slowly place the phone back onto its docking port, sighing, and putting your head in your arms on the table.  

It was official. 

Sam had stolen your biggest client. 

You walk back into the conference room with your hands in your pocket, noticing that Pepper is coming to the end of her presentation. 

You sit down, thinking about how you hope that Sam enjoys the mini champagne you left on his desk. 

Then, all of a sudden, you feel a soft weight on your right shoulder, causing you to snap out of your thoughts, and the scent of your favorite vanilla perfume fills your senses. 

You turn your head to take a closer look at her, and once you see her face, a huge smile breaks out across your own. 

Wanda Maximoff has fallen asleep on your shoulder. 

And it’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. 

Her features are soft and relaxed, devoid of all the stress the office usually brings her, and Wanda’s delicate beauty is completely on display for you to see. She looks ethereal, as if she’s been crafted piece by piece by every single goddess to ever exist. 

You stare at her for what feels like an eternity, and she seems so soft and so Wanda that it feels like a small delicate butterfly has landed on you, and you never want her to go away. 

The smile doesn’t leave your face as you do your best to sit as still as possible for the next few minutes in order to avoid waking Wanda up while Pepper wraps up her speech.

“All right, everyone, it’s after 5, so you’re all dismissed,” Pepper announces once her presentation comes to a close. “Hope you learned something today.” 

Slowly, everyone makes their way out, and you hear their soft muttering about how the seminar was completely useless as you watch them from your seat, careful not to disturb the brunette angel sleeping soundly on your shoulder. 

“I didn’t know you two were together,” Pepper says once everyone has left, packing up her bag.

“Hm?” you ask. 

“You and Wanda,” she points to you and the receptionist. “She seems very nice, you’re quite lucky.” 

“Oh!” you laugh. “No, Wanda and I aren’t dating. She’s engaged,” you clarify. “And yes, she’s wonderful.” 

Pepper laughs, “Oh, good to know. Sorry for assuming, she just seems very fond of you.” 

“No worries,” you reassure her, “I’m very fond of her too. She’s my closest friend,” you say, giving a small smile.

“Well, I wish you two the best. Have a good day, Y/N,” she waves goodbye to you. “And tell Wanda I’m sorry for making her uncomfortable during the seminar, I recently got out of a breakup and was looking for a distraction and she was the first thing I saw, but it was wrong of me,” she admits. 

You frown. “I’m very sorry to hear that,” you respond. “Thank you for letting me know, I hope things get better for you soon.” 

Pepper smiles and nods, heading out the door. 

As she walks out of the office she can see you staring through the window of the conference room, and she knows that Wanda’s not just a close friend to you.  

You and Wanda are left alone together, and you give her one last soft look before deciding to finally wake her up. 

“Hey,” you whisper causing Wanda to begin to stir. 

“Hm?” she asks groggily, rubbing her eyes, slowly coming back to her senses. "Oh,” she quietly murmurs, slowly blushing as she realizes she fell asleep on your shoulder and lifting her head off.  

“We can go now,” you let her know with a small chuckle. 

“Yeah, um, sorry,” she mumbles apologetically, getting up from her chair and grabbing her clipboard. 

“That’s okay,” you let her know with a soft laugh. 

“Um, I'll talk to you later,” she says shyly, walking out. 

“Yeah, talk to you later,” you agree, following her with a smile still on your face as you look at your shoes. 

And as you pack your bags, the phone at your desk where you lost your best client only a foot away, suddenly, it’s not a bad day anymore.

part 3

[theresattrpgforthat]

The one part of D&D that still hooks me every time is the thrill of character creation. Tweaking all those numbers, the min-ing, the max-ing, all to put together a vision of a character and the life they've led. Are there any solo games that scratch that itch?

THEME: Solo Character Depth

Hello there! So much of what I’m familiar with in regards to solo play has a pretty light character creation compared to games like D&D, because the game itself is where you get to piece together that character’s life. Big shoutout to the Lone Adventurer, a You-tuber who plays solo games and records his play sessions - you might find more games that interest you on his channel!

KUROI, by Candlenaut.

Kuroi is a cyberpunk setting which pays homage to the greatest giants of the Cyberpunk genre, of which the author has been a die-hard fan since the early 90s.

The game is played on a 6x6 inch grid and is a so-called micro wargame. You progress from level to level of a heavily guarded corporate building, trying to fulfill the objectives of your Heist. The game uses a unique Action roll system with two re-rolls (Yatzee style) that you must tactically manage in your turn by using these dice to buy various actions and enhance them. In the game, you can choose several ways to progress through each level, you can be stealthy or manipulate enemies or go all out with your entire arsenal.

This is a micro skirmish game, so much like D&D, your character is built with combat in mind. You play through levels, trying to get around or fight through various enemies. Your character has skills and actions, although rather than rolling for your stats, you distribute a range of numbers according to your strengths. The higher your skill points, the more resources you have, in the form of re-roll. You also have descriptive characteristics, which you can fill in as you like.You can also look at a play through of the game on the Lone Adventurer’s YouTube channel!

Anamnesis, by Sam Leigh.

You play as an individual who has woken up with memory loss. You do not remember who you are, where you are, or what you care about. As you draw tarot cards, you fill the blank spaces of your past and learn more about your present. There is no winning or losing in Anamnesis - the goal is to tell a story and discover the identity of the character you've created.

Anamnesis as a game is entirely about character creation. You use a deck of tarot cards to provide prompts: your character is someone who has to piece together pieces of their backstory slowly, as pieces of the world around them remind them of who they used to be. If you like slowly discovering a backstory using vivid imagery and symbolism, you might like Anamnesis.

Notorious, by Always Checkers Publishing.

Notorious is a sci-fi tabletop roleplaying game for one player. Play to tell stories of the Nomads; notorious bounty hunters who strike fear among the scum & villainy of the universe & follow the dubious code of the Nomad's Guild.

In the midst of an intergalactic war, you'll take on a lucrative contract from one of six factions. The job is simple: bring the target back, dead or alive—no disintegrations.

But your presence won’t go unnoticed. 

Your growing reputation also attracts a series of hostiles. Suspicious locals who simply don’t like you (& their friends might not either), rival Nomads or faction agents working against you.

Notorious feels pretty fleshed out, with races, origins, load out and personalities that all come into play when you create your character. You play through a hunt, with descriptions of your mark and the planets they may be hiding out on determined through random rolls. Part of your character is randomly rolled, but these pieces feel like an outline that you can fill in.

You can check out a play-through of this game on the Lone Adventurer’s channel. If you want to follow the story of a lone bounty hunter like Boba Fett or the Mandalorian, this might be the game for you.

Ironsworn, by Shawn Tomkin.

In the Ironsworn tabletop roleplaying game, you are a hero sworn to undertake perilous quests in the dark fantasy setting of the Ironlands.

Others live out their lives hardly venturing beyond the walls of their village or steading, but you are different. You will explore untracked wilds, fight desperate battles, forge bonds with isolated communities, and reveal the secrets of this harsh land. Are you ready to swear iron vows and see them fulfilled—no matter the cost?

I don’t think Ironsworn really leans into the min-maxing that you’re looking for, but it does have a wealth of character options, especially if you consider the Starforged and Sundered Isles expansions. Characters choose three Modules that can represent your skills, tools, or companions, all of which help flesh out who you were before you started adventuring. You develop the character as you play, expanding on their abilities and forging bonds with NPCs as you complete quests. Your character isn’t a blank slate before you start, but I think much of the fleshing out happens as you roll.

Ironsworn isn’t solely a solo game, but it’s definitely designed with solo players in mind. The base game is free, so you can try it out without having to pay anything before you have to make a decision to buy any of the supplements!

Colostle, by Nich Angell.

Colostle is a solo RPG rulebook that allows you to play a single player adventure campaign through the impossible and incredible world of the Colostle.

The Colostle is a castle so big that there are oceans, mountains and cities within its rooms! There is no 'outside' to the Colostle, everything is within. And stalking these Roomlands, are the Rooks, huge walking stone castle towers that attack anything they see, but hold the Rookstones, the only source of magic in this world.

Colostle uses character classes, similar to D&D, complete with stats attached to your class choice. However, the game uses a deck of cards that you draw to help determine what happens next when you fight and/or explore. You also choose a calling; a reason why your character is questing in this gigantic castle. Compared to many other solo games that I’m familiar with, this game is much more structured and similar to traditional fantasy games, so Colostle might be worth checking out.

You can watch a how-to-play video for Colostle here!

[son-of-a-top-gun]

Sky's the Limit (part 1)

Hello all, so I rewatched Top Gun Maverick last night and was inspired to finally finish this enemies-to-lovers series I've had in my drafts for literally months featuring everyone's fav sexy asshole Hangman!

Warnings: two idiots as usual, Jake being arrogant, innuendo, author fem!reader

Sky's The Limit

You take off your glasses and slump your face into your hands. You had been staring at the same blank document for the last two hours and still had not typed a single word. You hear the bar door swing open and chatter filling the bar, but you do not look away, instead keeping your face in your palms.

When your Aunt Penny had offered you the chance to stay with her in sunny San Diego over the summer to finish your long-awaited second book, you practically leapt at the chance. Back in New York,  your agent, publisher and frankly every literary magazine were rabidly awaiting the next brilliant idea from bestselling debut author ‘Sky Bentley’. What you couldn’t tell them was that ‘Sky’ didn’t have a single clue what that brilliant idea was. So you had leapt at the chance to not be Sky, just for a little bit, while you tried to figure out your next steps.

You had only been in San Diego less than 12 hours before scuttling down to the Hard Deck. You had loved spending your summers here as a teenager, but hadn’t managed to come back since graduating from NYU. You had tried writing in the house this morning, but Amelia had some friends around and you couldn’t think with all their excitable chatter, so here you were. You knew the bar was pretty empty during the day, but the day was rapidly turning to evening and it was becoming less quiet. But you could tune it out. Until.

“You know darlin’, this is a bar not a library right?”

***

When Jake Seresin walked into the Hard Deck that day, he had assumed it was just another quiet evening as usual.  He had strolled over to the pool table as usual, confident that he would win, as usual, when something caught his eye. Unusual.

There was a person sat in a booth, who was…working? It was hard to discern much, except they were wearing a baggy Top Gun T-shirt and what looks like short shorts, although they are sitting cross legged so it’s hard to tell. Judging by this and the messy bun, he thought it might be a girl, but he wasn’t not sure. They had a computer out, but their head was slumped in their hands, with glasses strewn to the side. He had never seen anyone try to work in the Hard Deck in the whole time he has been coming here, especially not at 5pm on a Friday.

“Who’s that?” He asked Javy, who is setting up the balls. 

“Damned if I know.” Jake looked over in thought. Javy elbows Payback. “Hey, maybe we’ve found a girl in California that Hangman has managed not to sleep with.” Phoenix coughs. “Except you of course, Natasha.”

Jake smirked and started walking over. He loved a new game.

“Well, not for long.” Javy sighed. Nat considered the scene more closely. She had a good feeling about this.

“How much are you willing to bet?”

***

“Sorry?”

When you finally remove your hands, your vision is still blurry. You can tell there’s some sort of guy in front of you, in what looks like Navy uniform. Fantastic. It was hard to tell as you looked around for your glasses, but you had dealt with enough of these kinds of guys at family parties. Just another meathead who would say the same old shit as they always did. 

“Pardon my manners, sweetheart but you seem to be lost. The library is -” Before he can finish, you cut him off.

“Oh yes, actually, I think I am lost. I thought I was at the Hard Deck, but from the looks of you this is where Chippendales go to die? I hope you don’t mind but I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling, thanks.”

You hear him laugh a little.

“I’m pretty sure we’re the same age.”

You look around for your glasses.

“Sure, whatever the Viagra guys keep telling you, buddy.” You can see him fold his arms out of the corner of your eye, but you ignore him, continuing to search for your glasses. Silence ensues for what seems like forever.

“I think you’re looking for these, Grandma.” He hands you your glasses, and you snatch them out of his hands.

“Thanks.” You put them on. You see him properly now. He’s tanned, blond and incredibly handsome, like he’s walked straight out of a Hollister ad. He leans back, arms still folding and biceps definitely flexing and your heart skips a little. Sure, it had been a while since you had gotten some, but then he smirks and it’s clear that he’s the sort of handsome asshole who knows how good-looking he is. You roll your eyes and straighten up, folding your laptop.

“I’ve gotta go. It was a real displeasure meeting you,” You stand up, but before you can turn around, you hear a familiar voice.

“Ladybug! It’s you!”

“Bradley?” At this point Bradley Bradshaw swans into the bar, wearing one of his usual god awful Hawaiian shirts and plants a kiss on the top of your head.

“Ladybug?” Navy Ken raises an eyebrow. Bradley turns and rolls his eyes.

“Oh, I should have known you’d be sniffing around here already.” Bradley turns back to you. “You’ve had the pleasure of meeting Bagman, I see?”

“Bagman?” You mimic Bagman’s expression, complete with raised eyebrow.

“It’s Hangman. Although most people know me as Lieutenant Jake Seresin.” Jake winks at you. “At your service.” You scoff.

“If I’m at your service, I think I’ll rather die.”

At this point Bradley lets rip with a belly laugh, placing a hand on a bare stretch of your arm. You swear you see Hangman’s jaw tense a little.

“How do you two know each other again?” 

“Me and Ladybug grew up together.”

“We’re old family friends. Bradley used to babysit me and my sister when we were little.”

“And look at you all grown up now, some bigshot fancy auth-” You shoot him a glare. Bradley is one of the few people in the world you’ve trusted with your secret, and you explicitly told him not to tell anyone. You just wanted a summer to be normal, with no pressure.

“Fancy what?” Jake looks you up and down.

“Academic. She’s a pHD student.” Bradley says immediately. Damn, that was quick, you think to yourself. You look up at him. Was Bradley always this good at lying?

“Yeah. English lit. Here working on my thesis.You wouldn’t be interested.” You make sure to put extra venom in the ‘you’. 

Bagman’s furrowed brow offers a little fake smile, but before he can retort, Bradley leads you over to the other aviators. While you are a little tense going into the group of navy guys, most of them are immediately friendly. You struggle to remember everyone’s real names and call signs, but they don’t seem to mind. In particular, the girl, who is called Natasha, links arms and drags you off to a corner.

“Thank god you’re here. It will be nice to have another woman in the midst.”

“Honestly, it would be nice to just have someone who isn’t a pilot”. Her lanky WSO pipes up. “I heard you were doing a English lit degree.”

“Oh, er, yeah. It’s Bob right?” I mean it was sort of true. Except you had completed said degree about five years ago, but it certainly helped as Bob started enthusiastically talking about books. He was cute, and you were trying to reply, but you found it hard to focus when you could feel a certain pair of green eyes boring into you from the other side of the pool table. You deliberately refused to look in Hangman’s direction the rest of the night, until you couldn’t stand it any longer.

You stride over and gently put your hand on the guy who you think is called Fanboy. 

“Do you mind if I take this?” You pick up the cue. He nods and you turn back to Hangman. “Right, are you going to play me or what?”

He tilts his head in disbelief. “Darlin’ are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Well, darlin’ If it means you stop staring at me like a wounded puppy all night, I’ll do whatever it takes.”

The rest of the squad have all dropped their conversations to turn and stare at the two of you.

“Suit yourself.” He sets up the balls to break, before leaning over to whisper in your ear. “Just remember if it gets too much, you can always beg me to stop, Ladybug.”

You try not to react. After all, it’s better he thinks like this. Having watched him play the last few games, he was clearly a very good player, but you knew you have to play the player, not the game. As you break, the game begins fairly normally. He manages to pot a few in quick succession, looking visibly relaxed with a gloating smile over his beer. You deliberately shuffle, and readjust until you can tell he’s stopped looking at you. This is the time you make your move, potting several balls to take a significant lead. Jake turns back suddenly, his jaw slackening a moment before regaining composure. You can hear Bradley stifle a snigger. Being dragged around from base to base with few kids your age to play with meant that Bradley had grown up watching you whoop the ass of everyone you played at pool since the age of eight. 

“Something funny, Rooster?” Jake’s head swivels around.

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Jake starts playing more ferociously, almost clawing it back until you’re both got two balls left. You walk past. 

“If it gets too much, you can always beg me to stop.”  You look him up and down, before you whisper in his ear. “I like a man on his knees.” Jake’s cheek flushes and with that you pot the final two, claiming victory. You yawn. “I think I need to head home, but it was lovely to meet you all. Well almost all of you.” You blow a kiss to Jake, before waving goodbye and swiftly leaving after giving Bradley a hug. The rest of the group stand in stunned silence.

Jake raises one hand. “Don’t say anything.”

****

Jake lies on his bed. He couldn’t sleep. This was unusual. Well, not the not sleeping part. He always struggled to get asleep. At least, when he was sleeping alone. That’s why he made an effort not to. But tonight was different.

For one, it was rare for him to be alone in bed on a Friday night. But he had been so distracted, he hadn’t even managed to follow up with the pretty blonde who had asked for his number at the bar.

He couldn’t stop thinking about your stupid face.You and your stupid face and stupid glasses and stupid lips and the stupid way you said on your knees-

He got up and paced around the room.

This would simply not do. 

Not only were you completely infuriating, but you beat the great Jake Seresin at pool. Bradley said you were here for the whole summer.  So Jake had some time to get his own back. But how? He had noticed something odd about the way you looked at Bradley when he mentioned your pHD. Something was up, Jake could just tell, and he was going to get to the bottom of it. But not before he had a cold shower first.

part two

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

He Fell First (She Fell Harder)

A You Play Stupid Games, You Win Stupid Prizes (I'm Not a Game You Want to Lose) Oneshot

Past!Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader, Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Description: The Five times Bitsie couldn't keep her eyes (and thoughts) off Jake and the One time Jake couldn't keep his eyes off Bitsie.

Disclaimer: Female!Reader

Warnings: This fic encompasses the entire timeline of the events happening in You Play Stupid Games, You Win Stupid Prizes. As such, there are mentions of cheating, some cursing, sex, sexual themes, as well as a look into Bitsie's mental state during the rough non-consensual sex mentioned in Love Has No Limits, Part Two of the main story.

The content presented in this story is for audiences age 18 and over only. MINORS DNI. I will not be accepting taglist requests from Blank or Ageless Blogs for this story. I do my best to portray adult relationships in this fic. Please do not interact with this story if you feel you are not ready to read about these themes.

Word Count: 7202 

A/N: Hi All! So remember when I mentioned I wasn't ready to let Jake and Bitsie go when I ended the main series? Here we are! I'm so happy to share this new installment in their story with you all! It's also my first time writing a 5 plus 1 style fic, so I hope you all love it.

A lot of this story will not make sense if you've not read the main part of the series linked below.

Thanks to @horseshoegirl and @desert-fern for reading over this oneshot as I was trying to figure out how to write a 5 plus 1 style fic!

AO3: Cross-posted here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted here!

My Masterlist

Series Masterlist

1. Before Bradley Bradshaw

You're not sure why the blond on the other side of the aisle at the Commissary is staring at you. He's beautiful. You know that for a fact because you have eyes, and you're a little weak at the knees at the sight of how he fills out his khaki uniform. He’s probably only staring because you're a mess, with your hair in a messy bun, standing in the commissary wearing a ratty, holey T-shirt and ripped-stained jeans. Moving sucks. It feels like your spine is just stretching out again after hours in the car. Honestly, you’re not sure why you decided to have all your things shipped to Lemoore instead of directly to North Island. Three trips in your car later, and you’ve got everything you need with you, but you now have an avalanche of boxes waiting in your living room to unpack.

Your entire life in boxes is another reason you’d retreated to the commissary. It’s already 6 in the evening, and you want nothing more than to eat something and flop onto the sofa for the night. You’re hoping, at the very least, to pick up a few important groceries, such as milk, bread, eggs, and cheese, to tide you over until you can run to Whole Foods or Wegmans off base. It’s as you’re debating what type of cereal you should buy that the blond first catches your attention. It’s a Wednesday, and there are a surprisingly large number of khaki-clad navy personnel walking up and down the aisles collecting items they need. You’re probably one of the few in casual clothing, but that doesn’t warrant his staring.

It takes far too much effort to turn your attention back to the two cereal boxes in your hands. You can still feel the prickle of his gaze against the back of your neck.

“Y’know, if you’re deciding between Honey Bunches of Oats and Frosted Mini Wheats, I have to tell you that you’re probably thinking too hard.”

You startle, fumbling with the boxes, and stumble back into a broad, firm chest. His laughter is warm and musical as he steadies you with big, warm hands. 

“I’m sorry.” You’re flushed and hoping that you’re not as sweaty and disgusting as you feel with this Adonis of a man so close to you.

“I startled you, huh?” His grin is crooked and wicked, making you grin sheepishly.

“Yeah, you kind of did.” You turn and gesture at the cereal boxes. “So, what makes you think you know the best cereal?”

“Well, I've been eating it my whole life, you know?” His eyes seem to twinkle as he responds.

“So have I. I happen to like Honey Bunches of Oats, you know?”

“All that tells me, gorgeous, is that you haven't put something truly delicious in that pretty little mouth before today.”

You squeak a little because you're not sure you've ever been so close to a man before.

“So, I would suggest Cinnamon Toast Crunch. It's sweet and spicy, just like you are.”

You can feel yourself flush, even as he reaches past you, pulls the correct cereal box from the shelf, and places it in your cart.

“See you around, beautiful. I hope you enjoy your time on North Island.”

You’re a flustered mess as you checkout at the counter several moments later. You think about this flirty stranger as you unpack your house and put everything away for the rest of the week and most of the weekend. A part of you isn’t sure how to handle such casual flirting. Could that stranger have been serious? Did he actually want to see you around North Island? Or was that just something he was saying to be kind?

2. Befriending the Daggers

As silly as it seems, you feel like you can taste cinnamon sugar on your tongue when you and your team are introduced to the Dagger Squad in one of the hangars at North Island.

The reason why is simple. The blond who had been haunting your thoughts all weekend is standing at attention in the front row. His cocky smirk makes your knees weak, and you’re sure that his eyes on you make you stutter as you introduce yourself. Throughout that first briefing, you can feel his gaze track across your form as you take notes in your spiky hand. You think you see him smirk when your hand cramps, and you need to shake your fingers out. Still, it catches your attention in a fleeting moment, not keeping it for longer than a few seconds before the briefing grabs you again.

What follows is a day full of briefings, the problem with the laser targeting system setting your mind ticking into overdrive. Looking at the faces of the others on your team, you can see hints of the same curiosity and the same drive to solve this problem. Of course, it would be asking a bit much to be able to view the plane telemetry data and hardware logs and hear the comms recordings so soon after your introduction to the team. Something tells you you’ll have to wait for that. 

“So, you’re joining us for drinks, right?” It’s one of the female lieutenants, Trace, you think her name is, who invites you out. “We go to this little place on the beach called The Hard Deck. Penny’s amazing!”

“You should join us, Bitsie!” His voice sounds just as good in the hangar as at the commissary, if a bit less worn and tired. The nickname is new, but coupled with the grin he’s leveling in your direction, you’re willing to accept it. You smile sweetly at the blond as he walks up behind Lieutenant Trace. 

“I’m Jake, Jake Seresin. How’d you like the Cinnamon Toast Crunch?”

Before you can respond, though, Trace muscles her way back into the conversation. “Stop making her feel awkward, Bagman.”

You smile gently over her shoulder at Jake as Natasha walks you away, talking a mile a minute. The Hard Deck is a surprisingly homey place. It’s warm and brightly lit, smelling of lemon polish and faintly of yeasty beer. It bothers you a little bit how Natasha doesn’t seem to want to let you go. Jake’s been waiting, sweetly, this whole time. You want to thank him for his cereal recommendations. But she’s introducing you to the others, and you're actually having fun.

Before long, you find yourself in a circle of women, and you’re surprised by how nice it feels. Mara, you've known and worked with for years, but you've never been close. Callie and Natasha are like two sides of the same coin. Both of them are whip-smart and take no shit. They’re the perfect counterparts to you and Mara.

 Looking back, you've never really had many female friends. Most of your colleagues are males, males who don't want anything to do with you outside of seeing you every day and inevitably getting shown up by you. So it’s nice standing at one of the bar’s high-top tables while getting to know your new colleagues and hopefully your new friends.

You’re laughing and smiling, vacantly swaying to the song's beat pouring out of the jukebox when the song cuts out. You startle, then hum as you hear the plunking of keys from the piano on the other side of the bar. When you’d walked in, talking to Natasha, you’d thought the piano was just an ornament, something defunct and unplayable. The tune leaves the wooden instrument echoing with age.

Natasha crows with glee at the sound; all the Daggers roused into a festive mood in moments. “C’mon, you two! You’re in for a real treat tonight!”

The raspy voice that starts singing melds beautifully with the old instrument, lustily belting the words of an old song into the air. It seems to be a normal occurrence. As Natasha dances and pulls you into the fray surrounding the piano, you feel relaxed enough to dance along awkwardly in her wake. The other Daggers are arrayed in a half-moon around the back of the piano, facing a man with auburn curls wearing a cheerful printed shirt. You recognize him as one of the Daggers you haven’t been introduced to yet. He’s feeling the jazzy beat of the song as his fingers dance across the yellowed ivory keys. 

When he peers over the rims of his RayBans, his eyes meet yours. In that instance, the world stops because his smile takes your breath away. You’ve never felt this seen, this beautiful. His eyes sparkle, the color of the whiskey in the glass atop the glossy wood of the piano. You’ve never heard this song before, but damn, if you don’t want to learn the lyrics via osmosis just to see him smile at you for singing along. You’re not sure when the song ends, or even that it does, notes echoing in the suddenly quiet expanse of your mind. You swallow when he stands up from the bench and downs the watered-down whiskey, tracking a droplet of the amber liquid as it drips down his neck. You have to remind yourself to be cool, to avoid glancing at his mouth as he swaggers up to you.

“Hi,” His voice is like woodsmoke, dark and gorgeous as it drips into your ears. “I’m Bradley Bradshaw, but you can call me Rooster. I’m one of the Daggers, but if I’d met you before now, I’m not sure I would forget.”

“Bradley…. Bradshaw?” You’re not sure when Natasha, Callie, and Mara moved away, but when you look, you’re all alone in the corner of the bar with just Bradley Bradshaw for company. 

“It’s a family name.” He drags one of his big hands through glistening curls, his bicep bunching alluringly in the frankly silly shirt he’s wearing. “My dad wanted the alliteration. My mom loved him too much to say no. So here I am.”

“It sounds like you love them a lot.” 

His smile falters at your earnest words, a frown dipping his lips down for a few seconds before the smirk rises back into place. “Yeah, I did.”

Your mind churns, because you feel like you’ve pressed unwittingly onto a still un-healed old wound. You feel like you should apologize, like you have to apologize, but he doesn’t let you. The play of emotions on his face is lightning-fast. Before you can think, he’s already leading you to the next conversation topic: you.

“But that’s enough about me. Tell me about you.” 

You flush and let your life story, a highly edited version, drip off your tongue. You’ve never felt like this before. You feel seen and inexplicably gorgeous, faced with a six-foot-tall man whose eyes seem to see right through you. He makes you feel giddy. 

“What’re you doing tucked away in this corner with Bradshaw, Bitsie?” Jake’s voice makes you smile in a completely different way than when Bradley was making you giggle earlier.

“We were just chatting, Jake.”

“Yeah, Bagman.” It surprises you to see the nearly cruel look on Bradley’s kind-looking face. “We were just chatting. Piss off.”

Jake lifts his hands as he backs away, though you don’t miss how he mouths, “Later, pretty girl” to you over Bradley’s shoulder. You don’t miss the frown creasing on his handsome face, either.

“Does he call you Bitsie often?” Bradley sounds surprisingly concerned as he curls one of his big hands around your waist.

“He just started today.” 

Bradley’s face makes you bite your lips. “I’m pretty sure he’s just teasing me, Bradley. It’s okay.”

“No, no, it’s not.” You can hear the rumble of his voice in your chest as he leans closer. “Sweetheart, he’s making fun of you. He doesn’t take you or your job seriously. He took your cute, little introductory speech and turned it into a mockery!”

“He isn’t making fun of me, Bradley.”

“Yeah, he is, sweetheart.” He tucks a strand of hair behind your ears. “Bagman makes fun of everyone and everything. He doesn’t know how to give a compliment seriously if he tries.”

“He’s just going to hurt you, gorgeous.” 

“No, he’s not.” You scoff.

“Turn around, sweetheart.”

You turn as bidden, expecting to see Jake looking at you with that same sweet look on his face. Instead, what you see is Jake smirking down at a gorgeous willowy blonde with big boobs and sweet, dainty features. 

You, in your frumpy little business casual pants set, look terrible in comparison. When his eyes rise to meet yours, the smile falls a little, but it grows into something smarmy and ingenuine as his eyes meet the man standing behind your shoulder.

“See, sweetheart? The man flirts just to flirt. That’s all he means when he calls you Bitsie. He’ll flirt and then go home with someone else. You’re not his type. But luckily, you’re mine.”

His words make you smile, and you devote the brunt of your attention to Bradley Bradshaw again. You can feel the itch of eyes on you all night long. But when you sneak furtive glances over your shoulders at where Jake is standing with that blonde bimbo draped all over him, his attention always seems to be on her. But you can still feel the itch of his gaze in between your shoulders. 

3. Dating Bradley Bradshaw

After that first night, you keep a close eye on the Daggers, especially how they interact with each other. Jake Seresin always seems to be on the outskirts of the group. Only Coyote goes out of his way to include Jake. Even when he is a central part of the conversation, Hangman seems to prefer biting commands and witty repartee, which doesn’t endear him to his squadron. You hear them all, though, noting the jokes that are so sly and cerebral that they pass the others by. You notice his concern, the tightly wound worry in every muscle as he tries his best to ensure everyone comes back home safe and sound, even in the midst of training.

Something about his attitude still bothers you, though. Or maybe it’s how he always insists on calling you Bitsie instead of your name. He can’t seem to bring himself to give you any respect, either, and it’s starting to piss you off. If you didn’t know differently, you’d assume Jake Seresin didn’t believe you belonged here, working on this team and completing vital work for the Pentagon and the US Navy. So, you dread walking into the pilot’s ready room on base for coffee. You’ve been dragging all day, and you have it on good authority that the pilot’s ready room has the best coffee on base. 

Well, your thermos from home is empty, and you could use the pick-me-up, so you head over there, hoping you can avoid Jake Seresin. All you want is a decent cup of coffee before you’re back to staring at flight diagnostics until your eyes bleed.

The ready room is quiet, barring the ever-present roaring hum of jet engines in flight, and to your satisfaction, there is a pot of coffee waiting for you. You sniff at its contents, a little disappointed because there’s only enough for half a mug once you’ve assured yourself of its relative freshness. You make your mug happily, doctoring it to your satisfaction and taking the time to look around. Bradley and Nat have told you about the days they've spent here between hops while training for the Uranium Mission. The walls are covered in pictures, and you take the time to examine them as you sip your coffee.

When the radio flickers on with an echoey buzz as it connects to the comms of the jets in flight, you startle and whirl around.

“If you’re looking for the Chicken, he’s up in the air.” You have to fight to keep your dismay from showing on your face. You must be at least a little unsuccessful since there is an imperceptible smirk growing on Hangman’s face as he looks at you from one of the sofas. “At least you’ve found the coffee.”

“It’s the best coffee on base, after all.” 

You refill your mug and try your best to ignore Hangman. But when you go to take another sip, you’re met with only the dregs at the bottom of your mug. There’s silence between you as you scramble into the cupboards, looking for the fresh coffee. When you measure the beans into the grinder and fire the grinder up, you deliberately avoid looking for the aviator lying supine on the sofa. You find a modicum of your composure as you measure the grinds into a new filter and fill the carafe of the coffee maker with fresh water. You hit the buttons decisively and hum appreciatively as the scent of fresh bitter coffee wafts from the pot. From the radio set, you can hear Phoenix and Bob on the comms, mostly Bob, as he clues his pilot onto unseen perils in the sky. On occasion, you can hear Phoenix’s measured tone and Bradley’s rough rasp, too.

“So, Bitsie, how do you take your coffee?”

 You startle, sending crystals of sugar skittering across the countertop as Hangman’s voice gets even closer to you than it was before. You’re always impatiently waiting for the coffee to brew, so you always add the creamer and sugar to the bottom of your mug before pouring in the coffee. Hangman chuckles when he sees the sugar dripping lazily out of the torn open packet in a glittering stream. 

“Sugar, huh?” He pushes you away and begins to wipe the sticky substance away but stops once he sees the bottom of your mug. “Fuck, Bitsie, do you pour any coffee into your mug at all?”

“Oh, trust me,” you snap, on the defensive at the sound of his voice so close to you, “I desperately need the caffeine to put up with you, after all.”

Something about the joking look on his face fades away at your tone, though the smile doesn’t. 

“I drink my coffee black, you know?” He chuckles, leaning against the counter as he holds your mug hostage on the other side of him. “I like my coffee hot and full-bodied, a little bitter, but oh, so smooth on my tongue.”

He takes two measured steps into your space. With how close he is, you’re inundated with the scent of his cologne and the bitter tang of jet fuel. “Coincidentally, I like my women like that too.”

“And how do they like you?” One of his eyebrows rises at your statement. “Your women, Bagman. How do they like you?”

“Oh, honey.” He grins as he fills the mug up and turns around. “I promise they don’t have any complaints.”

He sips insolently out of your mug, tongue lapping at the traces of coffee left on the spoon he used to stir the steaming beverage before handing the mug filled with hot liquid back to you. Your mind stutters as Jake Seresin stares you down like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen. “Your coffee isn’t half bad either, Bitsie.” You can feel the warmth of his touch where his fingers brush against yours. “A little sweet, but it figures when the drinker is as sweet as you are.”

When you sip from the mug with your face on fire, it tastes even better than when you make it for yourself. You slip out of the room when a crackle of feedback attracts Jake’s attention. It doesn’t occur to you until you’re sitting in your chair and staring at the after-action reports of the Uranium Mission that you’re placing your mouth exactly where his was in an indirect kiss. 

For the rest of the afternoon, you find your mind tracking to green eyes and a sweet smile bared genuinely in your direction. Your brain feels like a stuck record, trapped futilely in the crosshairs of his gaze from when he’d been teasing you about your coffee preferences.

Worse than the bonfire lighting up in your stomach, there’s the guilt swarming in your belly after what happened. What happened with Jake in the ready room could classify as cheating, right? You’re not exactly sure because you’re not the most experienced. You also don’t want to tell Bradley because what if you have been unfaithful to him? You can’t confide in Natasha either, because she’s Bradley’s best friend. 

Suddenly, your coffee goes from tasting like god’s ichor to tasting like ash on your tongue. Fucking Jake Seresin. Why did he have to go out of his way to make your life miserable?

4. A North Island Night Out

The more time you spent around Bradley Bradshaw, the more it felt like you could fall in love. Bradley’s sweet and kind, and he never once makes you feel bad about your career choice. Sometimes, in those long afternoons stuffed inside a hangar with ceiling fans barely pushing at stagnant air, you wish you could say the same about Jake Seresin. The worst part is how he has reasons to be as cocky and arrogant as he is. He flies his jet like a man possessed, or maybe like a man with nothing to lose. Some of you can’t help but wonder what you would have faced if you'd been going out with Jake instead of Bradley. You're not sure you would have been enough to change his ways.

Bradley, on the other hand? He's like your knight in shining armor. He never minds your rambling or how you babble when you get sucked into a conversation. In fact, you'd argue that Bradley Bradshaw is the first person who has ever taken you seriously. He makes you feel superhuman, like there is never any problem you can't solve. His smile still has butterflies taking flight in thick, cloying swarms in your stomach. He makes you laugh, and god when he kisses you? You feel radiant, like one word will have you taking off faster than an F-18.

A part of you can’t believe him, even now. He hadn't laughed when you'd told him how inexperienced you were, in truth, what you wanted him to give you for your first time.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” He'd groaned into your ear, “Just let me make you feel good, on your terms, as fast or slow as you want me to be.”

You know what he's offering. As fast or slow as you want me to be is his way of telling you to take your time. But you're sure you will explode if you have to make out with Bradley Bradshaw again while rubbing a wet patch into the thigh of his jeans, while his fingers massage over your nipples and his tongue tangles languidly with yours. 

You’ve had sex with him before, the sweet, gentle missionary kind. In fact, you’d argue that it was the perfect way to lose your virginity. But you can’t help but wonder if there isn’t more to sex with a man you love than a few slow moments in bed. You’re not even sure you orgasmed that night, or at least, it never felt like how you’ve made yourself climax. But ever since then, he’s kept you at arm's length. Sex was supposed to be the last step before all of the walls came down between the two of you. Maybe you can finally get Bradley to give you what you want, then? If only this date weren’t starting at The Hard Deck, though if you think back, most of yours do. It’s not like the Hard Deck isn’t a nice bar - it is. But The Hard Deck isn’t the most romantic of venues. 

When you drive up to the Hard Deck in your little car at promptly six in the evening, you’re dressed to the nines, wearing a cute little sundress with a flared skirt and fitted bodice. It pushes your tits up and is nearly completely backless. You’re not wearing much under the dress, just a little lace-edged thong and strappy heels elevating you a few inches. Stepping through the door, it seems like the entire bar falls silent. For several long moments, all you can hear is the tapping of your heels against the floor. People seem to float out of your way as you greet Penny, grabbing your drink from her, a soda in a glass bottle dripping condensation, and walk towards the pool tables in the back of the bar.

Heads turn as you walk past, and you can feel a smug smile curl your lips. On any other night, the arrangement of the Daggers around the pool table would have been normal. You’d be joining them by now, taking your place next to Bradley to hang besottedly on his every word. You’d be the only one not in uniform.

 Tonight, there isn’t a uniform in sight. Tonight, you’re dressed to impress. But you’re not dressed to impress the other Daggers, only Bradley. You hope your sexy little dress will be enough to have the romantic moment you’ve been longing for, finally. All your boyfriend needs to do is turn around and see you. 

Nat and Bob confer in hushed tones as Bradley racks up against the pool table with the cue in his hand. He’s wearing those jeans that you adore, the pair that fits like a glove and with fabric so worn that it’s soft against your hands. Hangman and Coyote are on the other side of the pool table, identical frowns on their faces as they strategize over the configuration of the balls on the worn felt emblazoned with jets.

But it’s Hangman who sees you first with a clattering of his cue as it impacts the floor. His eyes bug out, mouth parting as his eyes rake over you from head to toe. His reaction causes silence to ripple outwards with him at its epicenter. Dagger after Dagger pauses to stare at you. It’s a gratifying feeling. Nat and Callie wink at you, and Nat carefully prods a pink-cheeked Bob into resuming their conversation. The only person arrayed around the pool tables who doesn’t seem to know you’re there is the man you dressed up for. Jake is nearly mute as you clack forward, sipping on your drink greedily because something about his gaze has you feeling hot and flushed. The only time he backs off is when Bradley seems to realize you’re right there.

“Fuck, baby.” Your boyfriend groans in your ears. His voice makes your skin flare hot, and a desperate ache starts between your legs. “Look at you all pretty and gorgeous for me. Let me finish this last round, and then I’m all yours.”

One round turns to two, and then three, and before long, you’re left all alone in a corner of the bar while the Daggers, including Bradley, party like you don’t exist. All of that effort to make it a romantic night, and you’re sitting here like you don’t exist. If you have to watch another badge bunny drape herself all over your boyfriend, you are going to scream or do something drastic. Maybe making out with Jake will get his attention.

“It’s a shame, you know?” You nearly topple off of your stool at the words emanating from next to you. “You look so pretty, Bitsie, and Bradshaw can’t even open his eyes to see his girl waiting for him.”

Hangman sounds so sure of you, so sure that you’re better than Bradley Bradshaw deserves.

“He just wanted to grab another drink.”

“That was three hours ago, Bits.” When Jake chuckles, you can feel your hackles raise. “Didn’t you have dinner reservations or something like that?”

Before you can respond, because yeah, you did, Bradley’s standing there.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Bagman?” Bradley is slurring his words, listing from side to side as he stares the other man down.

“She’s mine, Bagman. Don’t you forget it!”

“If she’s yours, why are you ignoring her and walking around with badge bunnies draped all over ya?”

You can tell by how red Bradley’s face gets that he is one more word from launching himself at Jake. You’re unsure what prompts you to step in, but you do, sliding your hand up to the sweaty curls at the base of your boyfriend’s neck and whispering into his ear. You breathe your need, your want for him, into his ears. You have to ignore the scent of alcohol and sweat wafting sour from his skin, but you succeed in grabbing his attention. 

But a part of you wishes your seductive ploy hadn’t.

You got your wish; your need to have sex with your boyfriend granted. But it’s not anything like you expected it to be. Bradley left bruises on your skin and bruises on your heart. He’d been rough with his touch and his words. But more than that, you can’t help but wonder if this would have happened with Jake. If he’d make you feel better than Bradley ever could. Isn’t sex supposed to feel good? 

Faced with Bradley’s fumbling, you’d been anything but wet between your legs. You’d only started to get there when you thought, selfishly, of Jake. There was no foreplay, no making sure you’re alright. No kissing, no touching. There were no hallmarks of any of the care and gentleness Bradley usually treats you with. The whole experience has you feeling worse than you did in the car as he called you a slut for talking to a colleague and friend. Slut. It’s a word he’d used often with you in bed that night, too. A word that makes you feel guilty, dirty, and disgusting all at once. 

What does it say about you that you had to think of a colleague and friend to get wet instead of your boyfriend?

Whether you realize it or not, that’s the first crack in the shaky, perhaps already crumbling, foundations of your relationship with Bradley Bradshaw.

5. After Bradley Bradshaw

You have work to do; you know you do. But it’s been under a day since you told Jake Seresin how your relationship with Bradley Bradshaw imploded easier than if it had been bombed. Realizing Nat had known, known what he did and condoned the betrayal, his cheating, is another stab to the back that you weren’t expecting. You can't believe how Bradley could harbor less remorse and guilt over having sex with Britney than you did over some harmless, practically meaningless flirting.

What happened to ‘sisters before misters’ and all sentiments to that effect? You’re thankful, truly thankful, that Jake didn’t know and that Mickey and Mara were unaware as well. Being so far away from North Island has given you a sense of clarity you never thought you were missing. 

You’d be lying if you said Jake Seresin doesn’t have something to do with your newfound clarity, too. 

One night, a bushel-load of tears and an unburdening of your heart, and he’s already raised himself in your esteems. It’s in how he’d listened to you, which has your thoughts spinning. Back when your relationship with Bradley was still rock solid, you'd thought Bradley was the only man who could make you feel like the most important person in the world. But you didn't realize how often Bradley’s eyes would glaze over when you got excited. You’re not sure you’ve ever been able actually to talk to your ex. 

Jake let you cry, cry like you’d lost your reason for living. He’d held you while your suppressed grief had unleashed. He’d heard you spill your heart out to him and release all of your pain into the squalling storm winds. Then there was the rage in his face, in his voice, the rage he’d held tightly coiled in the corded muscles of his arm, in the jut of his proud jaw, when he found out Bradley had broken you, dominated your spirit, for a bet. 

You’re not sure why he’s been so nice. He has nothing to gain by being kind to you. He didn’t when he wanted to get you off deck in the middle of the storm last night. Though uncharitably, you’re sure he’d likely wanted you off deck so he could get off deck himself. He didn’t have to make you a cup of coffee or raid his own special stash of granola bars, either. But more than anything, you’d love to know why he let you cry snot and tears all over his uniform when it was well past lights out. You keep thinking back to how it felt to be in his arms, how good it felt.

Unbidden, you pull out the paper Jake had handed you while you were eating lunch in the commissary with Mara and Mickey. It’s nothing special, just a note written in ballpoint pen on run-of-the-mill lined notebook paper. The paper is silky smooth against the pads of your fingers, the edges ragged like he’d ripped the page out of a notebook he had lying around. You can feel the indentations the pen had left on the other side of the page. You can see how the letters slur across the page as he’d written, the ink smudging imperceptibly as he wrote hastily. They’re just lyrics transcribed on the page, and they shouldn’t be thought-provoking. 

It’s from a song you’ve heard a thousand times before, played ad nauseam on the radio with a catchy tune getting stuck in your head. More than the song lyrics, it’s the thought behind those lyrics. Honestly, you’re not sure how he got them for you. He called his sister in the middle of the night when he likely had to get special permission to do so just so he could get some stupid lyrics for you.

You can still see the twinkle in his eyes as he blushed crimson. He’d seemed proud, proud he was the reason for your laughter, proud that he’d pulled the wool from your eyes and showed you how ill Bradley had actually treated you. That look on his face made you feel like levitating. 

You can’t deny it anymore. Bradley Bradshaw may have made butterflies swarm in your stomach, but Jake Seresin made you feel like lightning arcing through the air. He makes you feel wild and free.

+1. The Day Easton is Born

A part of you feels like you should be angry that it took only four years before you stopped being the sole item of your husband’s attention. But you’d be lying if you didn’t feel the same way that Jake did, especially because the cute little thing that’s caught his attention has caught yours, too. 

He’s about four hours old with squishy cheeks, a red face, and a voice that would make his daddy proud. You’re sure that his voice is just like his dad’s, but you can’t say you’ve ever heard Jake’s voice ever hit the octaves this adorable sweetheart hits. It hurts a little bit that you’ve been ordered not to move, too, because everything in you is itching to pick your baby up and hold him in your arms. But Jake’s on baby duty at the moment. If it’s a poopy diaper, you’re more than ready to let him take that burden on.

You tilt the bed up until you’re reclining and tip your head gently to the side until you see the heart rate monitor reassuringly blinking your vital signs at you. When you turn your head to the other side, Jake's standing over the small changing table in your room, leaning down and looking into it. His face looks gentler than you've ever seen it, soft, like a man stripped bare to his basest parts. He has no walls up, no fears, just wonder as he stares down at the little bed. Well, maybe he’s looking a little less awestruck and a little more disgusted because your newborn son does, indeed, have a soiled diaper.

He’s not wearing a shirt. This fact doesn't surprise you because Jake wanders around your house half-naked all the time. At the same time, you’re both in a hospital, and it’s at least 10 degrees colder than it should be. You’re wrapped up in a soft pajama set and wearing a thick cardigan, but you’re still cold. When Jake hefts the small wriggling body of your son into his arms and settles him against his chest, now clean, your heart swells. The baby coos, a little snuffling exhale of breath that squeaks a little as he settles into Jake’s arms. Jake doesn’t seem to realize that you’re awake, either.

“Awww, hey, Buddy.” His voice is a tender rumble, big hands cradling precious cargo with the same surety he flies his jet. “Let’s not wake up Mama, huh? She’s so tired.”

“You took us by surprise, our sweet boy. We weren’t expecting you to show up in the middle of a Longhorns game, for sure. I will say that your arrival was a little more exciting than a game-winning touchdown. I wonder if your Uncle Javy will let Daddy watch the game on his DVR when you’re home? In any case, I do not look forward to replacing my Longhorns rug. You had to pick that rug to make your appearance on, didn’t you? Say, East, what’s the likelihood that your Mama would let me keep it if I wash it off?”

You have to stifle your snickers because the baby chirps and half burps in response. You can vaguely see the dark blue of the baby’s eyes as he blinks in Jake’s firm hold. East’s lips purse and part, and you know it’s only a matter of time before you’ll be in need again. But you’re so in love, and hearing Jake talk to your son might be your newest favorite thing.

“Yeah, I had that feeling. You’ll learn sooner or later that your Mama’s words are law. She’s going to be the disciplinarian between the two of us, for sure. You’re already wrapped around my fingers. I’m not sure I could tell you no for anything.”

He sighs, sounding choked up as he trails a finger down the baby’s soft cheek. “I’ve got so much I want to teach you. How to smile and utilize those perfect Seresin dimples. How to talk your way out of any problem you face. How to make your Mama smile (and maybe cry) every Mother’s Day as we show her how amazing she is.”

He presses a soft kiss to the top of the baby’s head and rocks slightly back and forth on his heels, an action that doesn’t soothe your son even a little. East is squalling already, and you have a feeling he will ratchet up a bit higher in volume if he doesn’t get what he wants.

“Hey, Cowboy.” Your voice is soft as you get Jake’s attention.

“Morning, Bitsie-baby.” His smile is wide as he stares down at you.

“There’s no way it’s morning, Jake.” He shrugs and rocks back and forth a little more as the baby objects a little louder with each sway. “And gimme my son.”

Jake smirked as he transferred the baby, eyes softening as you situated East against your chest, snickering as the baby latched hungrily onto your breast for his midnight snack. 

“So he’s your son when you want him, but he’s mine when he’s got a nasty diaper?”

“Sounds about right, Seresin.”

“Well, he’s a Seresin, alright.” Jake snickers when you swat at his abs. “Made right for your tits, and aren’t they a pretty sight.”

“Not in front of the baby, Jacob.”

“Well, I dunno when I’m going to see them again one on one!”

“Try me when East’s two years old. Because I’m going to need that long to recover from having your big-headed child.” Your voice is as dry as the Sahara Desert as you laugh at your husband.

“Fair enough.” He tucks a wild strand of hair behind your ear and settles on the edge of the hospital bed. You snuggle into his side as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Have I told you how beautiful you look today?”

“I’ll take beautiful over the complete mess I probably am.”

“You look gorgeous, Bitsie!”

You snort. “Jake, I haven’t showered in 48 hours, I was in labor for most of it, and I just had a baby. So what about me looks beautiful to you at this moment?”

“Everything.” He presses a gentle kiss to your temple. “You’ve given me the best things in my life. You gave me your heart and a second chance with you. You gave me a family in you and our little Easton. You’ve changed my life.”

“If I didn’t find you gorgeous because of all of our relationship, then I’d definitely argue it is the memory of the lingerie you were wearing under your dress at last year's Navy Gala.”

“I think that lingerie was pretty life-changing for both of us, Cowboy.” You cradle Easton close and gesture for one of the many burp cloths arrayed on the table on Jake’s other side. “I’m about 90% sure that was the night we made East.” You pat the baby’s bottom gently, grimacing when he lets loose a surprisingly loud belch before cooing angelically. “Well, you certainly burp like your dad, don’t you?”

“Hey!” Jake tugs the baby out of your arms, swaying side to side as the baby’s eyes droop closed. He snuggles East close before laying him into the crib. You watch approvingly as he pulls the crib closer, the same worries about your newborn son in his mind as yours. “I’ll have you know, kiddo, that your mama loves my burps.”

“Don’t lie to our son. He’s not even a day old, Seresin, and you’re already lying to him!”

“Am I lying if I’m telling him the truth? His mama does love me.” You wrap your arms around his waist as he settles back into the hospital bed next to you.

“Yeah, she does.” You kiss his torso, nuzzling in close as he holds you close.

“I love you so much, Jake. I fell in love with you a long time ago, and I’m not likely to stop now. Having this,” you gesture to the hospital room at large, “is better than my best dreams. Though, I would prefer it if you could convince your mom and sister to let us have some time with East alone before they descend on us.”

“You got it, beautiful.” He runs his hands gently up and down your back. God, you're not sure you can give him up, not anymore. Right now, you're pretty sure that if Jake gets out of the hospital bed, you'll freeze solid.

“You were always my dream, Bitsie baby. Forever and always.” You barely hear the words, sleep pulling you under riptide-fast. But a part of you knows Jake doesn't mind. It's always been a not-so-secret fantasy of his, having his family at arm's reach. 

Honestly, you could get used to it too. Your Jake Seresin pillow is the best of the best, after all.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN ON AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR ON TUMBLR BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR TUMBLR, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

Taglist:

@greenbaby12 @eli2447 @the-romanian-is-bae @luckyladycreator2 @lunamoonbby @angeliccks @daisydaisygoose @inky-sun @fighterpilothoe @pulisvertz @wildxwidow @angelbabyange @chaoticassidy @kmc1989 @dempy @shanimallina87 @abaker74 @desert-fern @horseshoegirl @dakotakazansky @sarahsmi13s @teacupsandtopgun @callsignspitfire @roosterforme @mak-32 @beyondthesefourwalls @thedroneranger @cherrycola27

[mysteriousanderfels]

As much as I was sold to Chreon before even knowing about the Resident Evil franchise or fandom, I can't deny that after all this time now dwelling in it, Metaltango has the best fanarts.

The arts for kreon is out of this world breathtaking and I think the reason for it is because this ship seems to be the most popular in the asian fandom of the series. (I think it's the blond x blond, US military sexiness effect).

Another reason that miight weight in is that Metaltango seems to have more... Material to work with canon-wise? I say this with all the awareness and legitimacy I give to all the chreon canon material stuff going on, yet somehow, Metaltango's story feels more potent and more... Past-history-in-your-face all bursting from just one game while chreon is this bumpy on-going story with hints here and there left for fans to fill the blanks if they wish to or not.

Metaltango steal my breath away truly with how gut-wrenching and deep some arts are of them, like... i just stumbled again across a drawing of Krauser's back from which burst a slouching young Leon holding his knees and carrying the dozen dogtags.... Or all the freaking full on doujins stories made about them and drawn with the professionalism of canon material!

That's it, this is a point I've been postponning to make, hoping the urge will fade but it never does as I notice this everytime I check resident evil fanarts.

I still enjoy and feel Chreon is the main pairing for me in this fandom for all the canon and lore reasons that make this ship real. It's the happy-ending-pairing. Kreon is like this super hot affair you can't help but hate to love and you cry over it at the end because it ends in true soap opera tragedy. (To be honest, Chris might actually be lucky that Krauser is dead. I can't even imagine how he'd be dealing with someone as dubious as Krauser lurking in Leon's shadow, making shit even harder for him with Leon)

I guess Chreon wins the fanfic world and Metaltango wins the fanart world.

[eriquin]

Time Travel AU part 2

Maybe I should make this more about Steve being psychic, except that he's not. Once he starts changing things, he's just as lost as the rest of us.

(Part 1) (master post)

Part 2:

Steve managed to get out of grocery shopping by claiming he had homework he needed to do. His mom looked disappointed but his dad congratulated him on not leaving it for the evening. He asked if that meant Steve would be free to watch the game with him. 

His mind went blank. “What game?” he asked, feeling stupid. This was definitely something he should know.

Dad snorted and shook his head. “Game five? World Series? Orioles versus the Phillies?” 

“Oh, right,” Steve said. He remembered this now. “The Orioles are gonna win it all.” 

“They might. They’re awful close,” Dad said. “They’ve won the last three. The Phillies haven’t been playing all that well, I guess. Might be the last one.” 

Steve nodded. “It will be,” he said. “S’gonna be a shutout.” 

Dad laughed. “You dream that too, son?” he asked. Steve felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment as his dad continued. “You sounded pretty sure about it. Want to make a bet?” 

He thought about it for a moment. If this was just a dream, then he’d probably wake back up eventually. And if the Upside Down had been a weird dream, then he could just be imagining what he remembered about the game. On the other hand, if this was him getting a second chance at his life then the game could be a chance to test that. 

“Sure, why not?” Steve said. “What are you thinking?” 

Dad sipped the last bit of his coffee. “How about gas money for the next two weeks?” 

“Mine or yours?” Steve asked. His dad drove to Indianapolis regularly, while all Steve did was go to school and cruise around Hawkins.

Dad clutched his hand to his chest. “You know how expensive gas is these days, Steve? Yours. I’ll pay it if the Orioles win, you pay it if they lose.”

“Boys...” his mom warned.

Steve grinned. “If they actually make it a shutout, will you pay me yours?” 

“Cutthroat. You get that from your mother.” Dad grinned as he said it and held out his hand. “All right, but if it’s not a shutout, you’re getting nothing.”

“Deal,” Steve said, shaking his hand. 

After breakfast, he excused himself and headed back up to his room. It was a little disconcerting how easily he slipped back into being seventeen again. Everything felt distantly familiar and natural, and he was worried that the more he got used to 1983, the less he would remember about what had already happened. 

He took out one of the empty notebooks his mom had gotten him for school that year. Mom got him one for each class, but always ended up using them one at a time, filling them with notes from every class in order until it filled up. It had annoyed Nancy when they were dating, because she couldn’t figure out how he could stand having everything mixed together when he studied. Then again, given the difference in their grades maybe he should have switched to her method. 

There was a blank page in front of him and a pen in his hand and he didn’t know where to start. He frowned down at it all and decided to write the first things that came to mind and worry about organizing it later. That was the events of March 1986. He couldn’t remember exact dates for everything, but he remembered the names of people involved and the things that had happened. He wrote it out like a list, leaving spaces for things that he couldn’t quite remember clearly and hoping he could go back later to figure out the parts that were missing.

When he got to the end, he went back underlined the things that were most important. For now, it was all the names. There were people they’d talked to in the government who might be bad or might be good. Dr. Owens (Stan? Sam?) would have been the most helpful one, but he wasn’t around yet. He’d filled up so many pages of this notebook, though there was a lot of blank space there. The pages about 1983 were the shakiest, but what he remembered was this:

Will Byers goes missing a couple of days before his parents go on their trip

His parents are going away for a few days in November, leaving Sunday and coming back Thursday

Barb Holland disappears from his house when he has people over while his parents are gone

He had people over on a Tuesday (Nancy thought it was weird)

So Will must have vanished over the weekend 

Everything else about the Upside Down happened over that week but he didn’t find out about it until Saturday

He broke Jonathan’s camera on Wednesday

The police talked his parents about Barb when they got back and he got in trouble for having people over

Friday night he went over to Nancy’s house and saw her and Jonathan in her room. He told Tommy and Carol about it and they spent all of Saturday getting revenge for something that it turned out didn’t happen

He had a fight with Jonathan on Saturday, then they fought the demogorgon that night while everyone else went to rescue Will

Steve scratched his head a little. He wished it had been anyone else who’d been sent back, because they would probably know how to stop this. Jonathan would’ve been able to protect his brother. Nancy would’ve made a plan already. And Robin...

God, he missed Robin. Robin didn’t even know who he was yet, and there was no way she would accept that he considered her to be his best friend. 

For now, the best he could do was see if this was real. He’d written down a bunch of the events that he had witnessed, so now he flipped to a new page and wrote down what he remembered people telling him. There was a lot, but his memory was spotty. He didn’t always catch the references they made or understand what the kids were talking about.

What would be helpful to start with was Eleven, the girl with the powers. Where did she come from? How did those kids find her? All he could remember was that it was after Will disappeared, and it had been raining. Dustin had talked about how they’d been out looking for Will in the rain and found her instead. That wasn’t very helpful. It could have been any time that week. 

If he figured out that this was real and not some weird fever-or-Vecna-induced dream, he would have to find someone smarter than him to talk to about all of it.

He didn’t see either of his parents when he went downstairs for lunch, but that was fine with him. Remembering the happy family they’d been before was depressing. Chalk one more thing up to being ruined by the Upside Down. He’d never been able to tell his parents the truth about it all. That, along with the rumors about Barb and his dad’s new position at work, had led them to distance themselves from Hawkins in general. By 1986, they barely spent any time there. They had effectively moved to Chicago. They sent him money for upkeep of the house because he kept refusing to move away. Before the earthquake hit, he had started looking into community college courses just to get them off his back. 

“So much for that,” he mumbled to himself as he made himself a sandwich. The fridge was full, which was nice. He never had gotten as good as Mom was at grocery shopping. He ate at the kitchen counter and washed his plate after, then went back to working on his notes. The longer this went on, the less it felt like a weird dream. Time crawled by. He remembered lazy Sundays going faster than this.

Just after four, his dad called up the stairs. “Are you still home, son?” 

Steve got up and stretched a little. He’d practically filled the notebook with what he remembered, and moving made him notice that his shoulders were starting to cramp from sitting in place so long. “Yeah?” he called down. “What’s up?”

“Game’s set to start in a few. Did you still want to watch it with me?” 

He didn’t remember what he’d done the first time around. He remembered watching the game, but on someone else’s TV. Not Tommy’s either. In his original go-around, he must’ve gone out in the morning to find something to do instead of sitting at home doing his “homework.” His parents probably thought he was coming down with the flu. “I’ll be down in a sec,” he shouted back. The notebook went into his backpack, hidden among all the other crap he kept in there. It wouldn’t do him any good if his mom came into his room and found it.

[ohthehypocrisy]

What if Pokemon Unite was an Anime? Part 1: The Pitch

<<Previous | Next>>

Before a show is made, the very first thing you need is money. Some would argue ambition and drive and a good idea is good enough, but time and energy is also required, and making a show would run a lot smoother if you had money to pay people to make your show for you. Also, there are some shows out there made without any of the above attributes, but I won't say what we're all thinking...

Therefore, if you were to approach Mr. Pokemon himself in the animation department of Game Freak, you would need a solid reason to convince him to make a Pokemon Unite anime. You would also need fluent Japanese to speak to him, but we're looking at the bigger picture here.

This is where having the demeanor of a door-to-door salesman would come in handy, as you, the concept pitcher, must sell Mr. Pokemon himself on the idea and why his company should spend money on a Pokemon Unite anime. Now, animation is not cheap, but the budget isn't all that important, because any dollar amount would turn people away from a product unless they understood what they were paying for first.

That said, don't push your luck. Understanding the market is how you play things safe when making bids. Currently, the animation studio responsible for the pokemon series is busy with Pokemon Horizons, having started a proper arc in Scarlet and Violet's Naranja Academy, and I'm personally looking forward to how the rest of Paldea will appear on the home television screen.

But I digress. Because of the series running on for the indeterminate future, you should understand that a similarly long-running series for Pokemon Unite isn't feasible. You also don't know if the animation studio is working on other projects, so play it safe and make the pitch for a short miniseries, not unlike Pokemon Concierge or Path to the Peak.

You also need to understand that the show has to make money, to make a return on all the monetary investments made by making a Pokemon Unite Anime. Pokemon Concierge got by since it is available to watch only on Netflix (legitimately, anyways), and Pokemon: Path to the Peak was made to sell cards. And also to tell a sweet story about an up-and-comer winning their first World Tournament. But also to sells cards.

And since Pokemon Unite is Free-To Play, any monetary returns have to be done through the in-game shop. Pokemon Unite loves to sell clothing not just for the Pokemon Trainers, but also the pokemon themselves, and it also likes to advertise these fashionable additions ad nauseam throughout the entire playthrough.

(Quick disclaimer; I myself have never made a purchase on Pokemon Unite for various reason. Chief among them being I'm not rich and I'm a responsible adult. Also, Cradily isn't in the game.)

So, if you're gonna convince anyone that a Pokemon Unite anime should be made, you're gonna have to appeal to the lowest common denominator, most of all Mr. Pokemon of Game Freak himself. The show would need to be short, sweet, easy to follow, fun to watch, and should overall make people actually want to get Pokemon Unite and spend money on it.

As such, the animation would be best pitched as a miniseries, focusing on the main character and their pokemon and their journey climbing the ranks from Beginner to Master. Since everyone has a different experience playing this game, each episode can focus on a single conflict that most players experience when playing Pokemon Unite by themselves, or with allies.

But who exactly are these characters? And what kind of conflicts do they bring to the table? That's what we'll be focusing on next time. Since Pokemon Unite is pretty sparse on story, having an animated miniseries is handy for a game to fill in the blanks. That said, the pokemon trainers are avatars for the players, so we can come up with something humorous but meaningful for the characters that represent the average Unite players.

Even the unlucky ones.

You know who you are.

[f0point5]

If you could change next year driver line up, how would u change it?

Hmm this is a tough question because I don’t have too too much knowledge of F2/other series to know who are the best options for replacements, but I’m going to fill them in where I can and and if I’m not sure I’ll leave it blank.

Red Bull - MV1 and DR3 - I actually don’t think Checo has been as much of a problem as people make out this year but I think next year when the field begins to converge and the top teams start coming for Red Bull, he’s going to be a constructor problem. He might even be a driver problem around those street circuits if it’s not guaranteed that Max will win everything else. I think Daniel would happily take the number 2 role from day 1 while Checo struggles to settle into it for the first few races.

Mercedes - GR63 and LH44 - I personally wouldn’t change it, because they’re two great drivers, and I’m here for the chaos. I think Merc would potentially shoot themselves in the foot by binning off one of two good drivers. Neither of them will win a title with the other in the same car but for constructors, I’d keep them both. Also I don’t like Merc as a vibe so these two tripping each other up next year is banter for me. I actually do think LH should retire but I can’t think of anyone on the grid who deserves (both in a positive and negative way) that Merc seat atm so I’m leaving him there.

Ferrari - CL16 and NH22 - Wild I know but hear me out. I think Hulk is SO much better than a Haas. He has dragged that disaster of a car to places it shouldn’t even see on a map in qualifying and he does all that can be done in the race before the tyres cook like Uncle Ben’s rice in a new microwave. I think he would be a great second driver for Charles. He could settle into the role easily, he could provide support not competition. I think he’s mature enough and would be grateful enough to do what needed to be done in a support role but also stern enough to speak up when there’s a problem, which maybe Charles doesn’t as much and Nico could be a good ally for him. I just think Charles could do with a big brother in that team and I think Nico could do that as well as scoring valuable points.

McLaren - LN4 and OP81 - This driver line up will cook by ‘25 imo but I think they’ll be good for another year.

Alpine - PG10 and EO31 - Just leave ‘em there, they’re not bothering anyone except each other.

Alpha Tauri - Liam Lawson and another rookie (Iwasa?)- I know AT are trying to move away from their RB junior roots and they want a strong development driver but it’s my game I’ll play it how I want. I like that they’re a place for young drivers to show their potential and that it’s the F1 finishing school. I think Liam Lawson deserves a chance to show he’s a contender for the post-Verstappen era, and I think Tsunoda is not their plan for Red Bull so he shouldn’t be taking up a seat in AT. I don’t know if they can get a really experienced reserve/sim driver to help with development, maybe give a chance to one of the other guys I’m mentally throwing out of seats, but I think AT should be for the up and comers.

Alfa Romeo - Theo Pourchaire and ZG24. I don’t know Theo Pourchaire too much, but I know he’s doing well in F2, and was in talks with AR for ‘24, so unless there’s another more promising rookie, give him a shot. I’d maybe like to see Arthur Leclerc in the seat just because I think he’s downright adorable but I don’t know anything about his driving. But yeah I think Bottas has had his time, he’s not providing points, Zhou seems to have a good handle on the car I don’t think Bottas is providing much in the way of mentoring. Sometimes you take the old horses out to pasture, I think it’s time. I’m leaving Zhou there another year or two because again I don’t have the knowledge of who else really needs a seat in junior categories, but if there was a stand out junior I’d chuck him. I think the line up would change again in ‘26 because I full believe there’s a seat for Sainz if he wants it, so I say give youngsters a chance while the team is in a transition period.

Aston Martin - FA14 and CS55 - I’m caveating this with it being contingent on Aston Martin recovering some form, because I wouldn’t want Sainz that far down the midfield as they are currently. That said, I think those two in the 3rd/4th fastest car would do BITS. They get on, Alonso is a man who can handle the pressure, and I think could handle Sainz and his family very well. I just see it being a competitive but harmonious pairing, and I think Sainz would calm down somewhat knowing he would for sure inherit free run of the team once Alonso retires (if Sainz doesn’t go to Audi). Also, Lance just has to go. I’m sure he does enjoy it but there’s any number of thing he could enjoy that don’t involve the negativity he deals with in this sport, that don’t involve the spotlight which he seems to hate, and frankly don’t involve being painfully mediocre. Buy a track, buy a car, race for fun. I think the Stroll situation has gone beyond a joke tbh.

Haas - SP11/YT22 and KM20 - I don’t even rate KMag but I don’t think Haas deserve a rookie and I don’t think they can afford one. I don’t think mick Schumacher was any real loss to the grid but it’s clear the Guenther didn’t have the energy, impetus, or indeed the money, to nurture a young driver. I’d give Perez first option in the seat and Yuki can have it if Perez would rather retire. I know it’s my choice but honestly I don’t think either of them would make inroads in a Haas so it doesn’t matter to me, I think they’d both produce an equally exciting performance once or twice in a season. I just think Haas needs to stick with solid, comfortable, and decidedly more experienced drivers.

Williams - AA23 and Felipe Drugovich - I think Alex is a good driver, and I almost gave him the Merc seat, but tbh I think he deserves to be a first driver, I think he deserves to have a team that believes in him built around him, and I don’t think he deserves to have his friendship with George ruined by being his teammate. So I’m leaving him at Williams, to see out that development project, and wherever they get to, he can have the credit. I’d like to see them in that Aston Martin/Alpine fight. I think Sargeant can see himself out; he’s a Mick, too expensive for a small team. I think Williams have the capability to develop a young driver, I think James says and does the right things, I think Alex has amazing mentor potential, I just think it’s wasted on Sargeant. Drugovich has a decent amount of experience, he presumably knows how not to bin it and cost a team money. Worst case scenario he’s a Sargeant, but that’s like a 1% chance. I think there’s a 99% chance he at least costs less.

These takes may be unhinged lol be glad my name isn’t Stefano Domenicalli.

[nba24highlights]

JEOPARDY: Fill in the Blanks: _?_ will WIN this Series in _?_ Games! #jeopardy#lakers#warriors#nbaplayoffs#sho

[gremoria411]

*The following post contains spoilers fro Gundam Iron Blooded Orphans Urdr Hunt, episodes 1-22*

As a follow up to my previous post about Urdr Hunt:

Wistario Afam.

Wistario just doesn’t really….. grab me, as a protagonist. And I’m not sure why, but I do want to extrapolate a little. I like that Wistario has a solid, defined Goal, which is to win the Urdr Hunt, and use the prize money to buy and do up the Radonitsa colony.

Gjallarhorn making a play for Katya upends this - not completely mind, but it causes Wistario to pivot to protecting Katya at the expense of the Urdr hunt. This makes sense, he’s able to recover data from the Urdr hunt without directly collecting it himself since he knows and is friends with roughly 3/5 of the other participants (4/5 if we count the Zan brothers). This is a good decision, but it does still cause him some grief, since he knows he doesn’t have the resources to take on Gjallarhorn.

Then he meets Londo Bron, and makes a steadfast declaration of protection/marriage proposal to Katya. This is where he sorta loses me.

It’s not a bad choice, and I understand it’s borne out of his desire for family, which has been slowly building in the background as the series goes on. Thing is….. him and Katya haven’t really interacted other than collaborating on the Urdr Hunt. Honestly, the only person he’s interacted with enough that I would genuinely believe a proposal would be Range. So when I first heard it, I genuinely thought he was bluffing Londo, but then as things progress he’s serious about it, and I just can’t really fathom why, because they just haven’t interacted in any capacity that I feel would lead to romance. What I’m getting at is that Wistario’s wish to buy Radonitsa and do it up to improve the lives of people on Venus feels like the thing that keeps him “tethered”, I suppose. So I kinda lose him when that gets taken away. I don’t disagree or fail to understand his actions, it’s just that it’s such a big part of his personality that I struggle to parse him without it.

Part of this could be a bigger issue of certain characters not being explored enough - I like Range, Katya and Denmer, they’re all either explored enough for me to like them and understand their actions or have enough going on that I can fill in the blanks myself. But Wistario and Korunaru kind of aren’t, and this wouldn’t be an issue if they weren’t ostensibly the main characters. I like Korunaru, but she suffers because I believe her character could have been combined with Katya without losing much in the process, and I seem to recall the marketing pushing her as important.

I’d like to stress that if there’s some sort of Bio section in-game, or some extra side conversations that flesh them out then that sounds great, but I don’t have those in front of me so I can’t really account for them. Wistario’s just fairly obvious since he’s the protagonist, so he kind of needs to have a defined (though not necessarily strong) character.

However, I do rather like his design. It’s got a youth and energy to it that I think goes well with his desire to re-invigorate Venus’ economy, and his clothing’s functional without looking drab, so it’s believable that this is something he lives and works in. His childishness (at least comparatively. Honestly it comes and goes) and friendliness also illustrate that he’s a positive spirit and force for change in a negative environment (read: basically all of Post Disaster).

[lettalady]

WIP title poll game

Thank you for the tag @myfavouritelunatic - let’s see what mischief I can get into.

The rules: run a 24-hr poll of your WIPs, then write as many sentences for the winner as it gets votes.

(Do works that are on hiatus count? Let’s count them. For giggles.)

[sapphire-weapon]

Sick of you getting shit, it must be exhausting. Here's something else to break it up.

Do you prefer OG or Remake (so far)? Why?

Favourite ships other than Leshley/Eagleone?

Favourite CGI work?

Favourite RE game outside of OG4 and RE4make?

In all fairness, I have no right to complain about getting shit when sometimes I go out of my way to stick my hand in a manure pile. Aeon anon was one thing, but I actually genuinely literally asked for this one LMAO but I appreciate u anon

Do you prefer OG or Remake (so far)? Why? Remake for a few reasons -- not least of all gameplay reasons. I don't see a reason to play OG RE2 ever again -- not to say that I don't see a reason to refresh myself on RE2's story ever again, though. But, at this point, I'd just watch it on YouTube. I have no desire to ever go back and play it again, because RE2make's gameplay is superior by every conceivable metric. I almost feel the same way about RE4 and RE4make, though OG RE4 does have a particular atmosphere slightly apart from RE4make that I really enjoy and might want to get immersed in again sometime in the future.

I also didn't realize just how fucking bad the actual dialogue in OG was until the Remake series started to come out. Like... I always knew that OG wasn't about to win a Pulitzer or anything, but huge parts of it are just total nonsense. I feel like, in hindsight, RE fandom's imagination filling in the blanks did a lot of heavy lifting for us back in the day.

I also just prefer things to be consistent and coherent in the way the Remake series is, simply because it was written and developed all at the same time.

OG will always be important to me and I'll always love it, but I'd be lying if I said I was more excited for RE9 than I was to see where the Remake series is going to go next.

Favourite ships other than Leshley/Eagleone? Chreon and Valenfield are my other two big ones. Jilleon and Cleon are my two B-grade ships that I indulge on every once in a while and enjoy. Everything else falls somewhere on the spectrum of "painfully apathetic" to "yeah it's fine, I don't hate that."

Favourite CGI work? Death Island, and it's not even close. Dylan had a message and a purpose that actually felt meaningful and was connected to the characters in a personal way, which is something that RE villains outside of Wesker and Krauser notoriously and consistently seem to lack. It's also the best characterization for most of the main cast (other than Chris, whose portrayal was mid) that we've either ever seen or have seen in a very long while.

Though I will say that if Leon were to be removed from Damnation, Damnation would run away with the title of "best CGI work" and leave Death Island in the dust. But that's not how Damnation went. So DI wins.

Favourite RE game outside of OG4 and RE4make? The original REmake. RE2make took a swing at it, but REmake is still the undisputed heavyweight champion and the King of Classic Survival Horror. When I think of survival horror as a genre, I think REmake. It is Shinji Mikami's magnum opus for a reason -- and it shines as the highest tier quality of survival horror because he is the father of the genre to begin with. There's something very, very special about that game that I haven't seen replicated since. I think the people who want a Re-REmake are philistines and I'm not joking.

[obitv]

hi hello!!! 🕰 and 🍙 for the ask game

🕰 - What’s something you consider a win in your writing?

OH... finishing a fic just like at all.i have so many wips its insane. also dialogue!!! when people say they like my dialogue it makes me so fucking hsppy bc its the thing i find the hardest to write

🍙 - What story (fanfiction or published work) had the biggest impact on you?

oh GOD... ok ill go with fics and likit myself to two series bc id not ill be here all fucking day but pray for disaster (a killjoys... uh. rewrite? as much as you can rewrite the lore of two music videos and a comic series?) which is the Entire Reason i write in second person the way i do, and dead men walking (a skulduggery pleasant canon divergence rewrite which is SO FUCKING GOOD) which is where i get my "what if i took these briefly mentioned charafters and made them complete peopleand also filled in a ton of blanks left in precanon that we only have hints about. unfortuajtely for dmw you Need to read the entire 9 mainline series books to understand 90% of it but pfd is fine to go into as a total beginner since almost all of the worldbuilding is either headcanon/fanon or is explained anyway. ive been keeping up with pfd for 3 years now and dmw foe two i just cant let either of them go theyre my darlings

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

New Rules

Part 1 of You Play Stupid Games, You Win Stupid Prizes

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader, Past! Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader

Description: You feel adrift and lost when your relationship with Bradley Bradshaw crashes and burns around your ears. As quickly as your relationship ended, you're not expecting to find something new as fast as you have. And especially not with Jake Seresin.

Disclaimer: Female!Reader

Warnings: Cheating, Cursing, Sex, Sexual Themes

The content presented in this story is for audiences age 18 and over only. MINORS DNI. I will not be accepting taglist requests from Blank or Ageless Blogs for this story. I do my best to portray adult relationships in this fic. Please do not interact with this story if you feel you are not ready to read about these themes.

Word Count: 5191 

A/N: Without further ado, here is the first installment of the You Play Stupid Games, You Win Stupid Prizes Universe. I hope you all like it! This is going to be a relatively short three-part story which I've been calling the Before, During and After verse.

AO3: Cross-posted here!

My Masterlist

Series Masterlist | Next Part

Rain collects in pools on the metal deck in front of you, droplets skittering into the night. It's quiet, only you, the clouds of your breath, and the drumming of fat droplets as they spatter on the metal deck. The deck roils under you, rising and falling without rhyme or reason in the undulating waves. It’s storming where you are in the Pacific Ocean, not that you can place precisely what longitude and latitude the colossal naval carrier you’re perched on is at.

But you’re miles away from everything that hurt you and even further from everything you love. You’re officially alone. You might as well be a paper boat in a tempest, at the mercy of the sea. But, as lonely as you are, those feelings are the last on your mind. Your mind is hundreds of miles away, wrapped in the sun, the sand, and a calmer, sunnier sea, trapped in a dream that turned into a nightmare. You get jolted back into yourself when an arm nudges you, and a body sinks down next to you on the cold decking.

"Heya, Bitsie." He's amused. He's always so amused, southern drawl stretching every word, including the pet name he persists on calling you by. "Whatcha doin' out here? I don't know if you noticed, but it's cold and rainin'."

"I noticed." Your voice is dull. Two weeks since you've been on dry land. You feel like a stranger trapped in a body you don't know, with a face you barely recognize in the mirror. The first morning on the carrier, you'd nearly screamed at the sight, seeing your eyes in a face you couldn't, wouldn't recognize. It shows in your actions, too, you know. It feels like your authentic self has retreated like someone is playing at controlling your body like a video game character.

"Oh! I know what it is. You miss your Chicken, dontcha? I bet you wish you were huddled up under his wing right now. Well, if that's all, you should head inside and call ole' Roostie. I'm sure he'd jump for joy at hearing your voice and seeing your face."

Hearing someone say your boyfriend's callsign, even a teasing nickname for it, shouldn't fill you with dread, seeping as cold as ice through your veins. If only he was still your boyfriend.

"He's not my anything, Bagman." Your voice is barely audible over the thunder of rain across the deck. You're not even sure he can hear you over the din.

"What happened?" His voice is more subdued than you've ever heard it. 

A flash of lightning rips through the sky, glinting off two pairs of shiny boots as they're stretched side by side next to each other. But you're spiraling, pulled into the undertow of everything that happened. The joy and pain of your latest failed relationship crash over you in unyielding waves as if you're adrift in the middle of the storm.

The dead-eye laser Lieutenant Miguel 'Fanboy' Garcia had encountered had nearly jeopardized the entirety of the Uranium mission. The Uranium mission would have failed without a stroke of near-divine luck. Everyone, from Admirals to the Secretary of the Navy, had decided unilaterally that something like that could not happen again. So you and your team, composed of mechanical engineers and computer scientists alike, had been shipped to Naval Air Station North Island to work with the squadron who’d run the Uranium Mission and improve the lasers, their targeting systems, and their software. 

That was when you’d met Bradley Bradshaw, callsign Rooster for the first time. It was like you were in a fairy tale. A perfect ray of light had shone over his head, illuminating strands of his hair golden. You felt a breeze brush over your hot cheeks and heard bird songs. The two of you had just clicked. It was easy, talking to him, hanging out, flirting. You nearly hadn't believed it when he’d asked you out for the first time. Bradley Bradshaw? Wanting to go out on a date with you? Obviously, you had said yes.

It had been a whirlwind romance. Bradley was precisely what you had thought you wanted in a man. He was sweet and charming. He never ignored what you were saying and was your partner in every sense of the word. The sex? That was dynamite, too. You’d be the first to openly admit you weren’t sexually experienced. But Bradley had never once made you feel less in your relationship. He’d swept you off your feet, starting with your first date and then every day since. You’d gushed to your family on the East Coast about how much you loved him and thought he was the one.

Sure, maybe two months into a new relationship, your only adult one was too soon to be making those overtures, but you fell and fell hard. It sometimes felt like you had been skydiving; he was the only parachute in sight. You'd consoled yourself that at least he'd fallen for you, too. And at least with Bradley, you'd never have to explain why you were leaving on a mission or a deployment. He'd understand it, just as you would when it was his turn.

While your relationship with Bradley changed and evolved and deepened, you'd also come to enjoy working with the other pilots and WSOs on the squadron. Bob, Fanboy, Halo, and Harvard were all brilliant and helpful in pinpointing exactly where the lasers seemed to fail. Their pilots were great, too. Other than Rooster, you weren't quite as close with the other single-seater F-18 pilots.

Hangman, in particular, had been intent on rubbing you the wrong way. His laugh, his demeanor, everything about him had set you off. From the very first day, he'd been calling you Itsie Bitsie or Bits or something like it. And he'd never told you why either, no matter how much you pestered him. You'd given up after a while. He didn't mean it maliciously, and it pissed him off more if you ignored him.

It helped, too, that Rooster had pulled you aside one afternoon when Hangman was being particularly dickish, kissed you until your knees were weak, and whispered in your ear, "Don't worry about him, lovely. He's just trying to get your attention or get you in trouble. I've got your back. Whatever you need to do to get him to stop, I'll help. But, if you're a good girl and can withstand him when we get home tonight, I'll let you sit on my face until you scream and then fuck you until you're all filled up with my cum." That was the end of that conversation, and as your panties flooded, you'd quickly forgotten about Hangman.

As your team and the Daggers blended and became cohesive, all those personality clashes also eased. Hangman was great to work with when he wasn't acting like a dick, and you always laughed when talking to him. And well, you're only human. You liked the look in Bradley's eyes when Hangman made you laugh. He made you feel wanted when he looked at you like that. You could've sworn that he knew you would only ever go home with him.

The sex was incredibly intense when you'd been polite with Hangman, just enough to send Bradley's jealousy skyrocketing. One incident involving a screwdriver and you in mechanics overalls resulted in fogged windows on a scenic overpass just off base. That afternoon had been especially memorable since base police had rapped on the back window of the Bronco and gotten an eyeful. You had escaped with just a warning, thankfully.

Things changed going into the sixth month of your relationship, your eighth overall in Miramar. Bradley would act the same at work but habitually ignored you when you were at the Hard Deck. He was usually clingy and sweet, always keeping an arm around your waist or kissing your skin. The sudden distance, physical and emotional, had been jarring. By then, your team and his squadron were close friends, decompressing at the bar over copious amounts of alcohol, laughter, and inside jokes. Then there were the nights you’d made plans, and he’d stood you up, calling hours later with plausible excuses. In hindsight, you never should’ve given him the benefit of the doubt. 

In your defense, things had been crazy with the announcement from Admirals Simpson, Mitchell, and Bates of a six-month mission testing out the new software for one pilot, one weapons system officer, and two members of your team, one with mechanical engineering expertise and the other software. The competition had ticked up, and tensions were high, at least for the aviators. The Pentagon selected who would go on the mission from your team and gave the names to the admirals. The Admirals kept the names close to the vest until they selected their pilot candidates. You'd chalked Bradley's exhaustion, frustration, and general downturn in mood to the pressures of being selected as the pilot for the mission. 

If only you'd known the actual reason. 

The Admirals announced the team on Friday afternoon, dismissing everyone afterward. You'd been selected as the software engineer, and one of your closest friends, Mara, was the mechanical engineer selected. Your team had cheered you both excitedly before the admirals called everyone back to order and announced the pilot going on the mission. You'd smiled reassuringly at Bradley, keeping your fingers crossed against your side in a silent plea for him to be selected.

"The pilot on this mission is Hangman. The WSO, Fanboy." 

The words had rung out with a sickening finality. Your head had swiveled so fast to look at Bradley that you'd nearly given yourself whiplash. But no matter how you'd craned your neck, you couldn't find him. You’d battled through the celebrations and raced out to the parking lot, only to see exhaust plumes pouring from the Bronco as he drove away. You texted him, offering to come by his house off-base for combination victory sex for you and conciliatory sex for him and to talk about how your relationship would last while you were in the middle of the ocean for half a year. But he left you on read, and you'd assumed he wanted to lick his wounds in solitude. So you'd left it alone that night. 

You'd messaged him on Saturday, wanting to make the most of any time you had left before you were trapped on an aircraft carrier with only Hangman, Fanboy, and Mara for company. He hadn't responded to those messages either. That had been when you'd started worrying. You'd talked yourself off the ledge of calling the police half a dozen times, imagining scenarios where he'd gotten injured or was drunk and then been injured. Or… or… or. You were half afraid he would think you were overly clingy if you'd called him. You'd slept uneasily that night, worrying about your boyfriend's health. Incommunicado wasn't his thing.

When you woke up the following day, you decided to go to his house. You had second-guessed your decision until 11 o'clock, not wanting to wake him after he'd been so tense for so many weeks. Bradley never slept well when he was stressed about something.

Everything looked alright as you pulled into the driveway behind the blue Bronco that was his pride and joy. He'd given you a spare key a couple of months into your relationship with an open invitation to join him in the house he'd inherited after his mom had passed away. He’d told you with a sheepish, sad, soft smile that it was too big a house for one person. It was an offer you'd taken advantage of before in your relationship, albeit after calling first. As you unlocked the door and stepped in, you'd rationalized that Bradley would be safe and sound if nastily hungover in his bed at the very moment.

The foyer was the same as it always had been, except for the stupidly sparkly and tall high heels sprawled across the floor. Bradley had always been a friendly guy. One of his friends probably crashed at his place. You'd felt for the poor girl looking at the shoes she'd been wearing the night before.

But if he had company, the house would be full of the smells of breakfast and coffee, with his favorite eighties playlist blaring from the kitchen. The house was absolutely silent as you trod up the stairs. You didn’t want to disturb him. You resolved to leave a note if he were sleeping. That resolve had fallen flat when you'd heard the breathy moans that spilled through the open bedroom door. 

Your heart had cracked a little, then the denial set in. Maybe he'd been watching porn? It had been a weak excuse, even in your own head. You had crept forward breathlessly, and that's when your heart shattered into a thousand tiny shards. Shards that had cut into the softness of you. Shards that were still lodged in your chest. He was home, but you doubted the girl bouncing on his cock was a friend. She was gorgeous, with her head thrown back and perky tits jolting with each movement. She was thin and blonde, waspish, her hair long and dangling down her back as he grasped at the silken strands. 

"Yeah, baby, come on, just like that." His voice was a hissed whisper, sweat dripping down his face as he mouthed at her skin, at her flushed pink nipples.

"Oh! BRADLEY!" She'd simpered and screamed, "Bet I give it better to you than your girlfriend ever can. Come on, baby! Oh! Oh! Oh! You give it to me so good. You’re so big!"

"God, yes! She's such a goody two shoes, Britney!" 

The sound of flesh smacking wetly echoed through the room.

“She’d never even been fucked. Did you know that?” His curls were sweat-matted and falling into his eyes. It had been her hand that brushed them away. She’d laughed then, as something sick had pooled in your stomach.

“I had to teach her everything. I can’t believe I took a bet so far!”

Bradley had growled about how much he hated you, that a couple hundred bucks weren't worth six months playing pretend, and you couldn't stand there to hear anymore. If you were a bolder woman, you'd have burst in there and broken up with him on the spot. But instead, you'd driven away as fast as you could.

You'd broken up with Bradley Bradshaw in the parking lot of an In-n-Out hours later over a text message, passed along your affections to Britney, and called her a whore and him an asshole. In a genuinely vindictive turn, you’d told Bradley that Carole would’ve hated the man he grew up to be and then blocked his number.

"Bitsie! Hey, Bits!" Bagman sounds worried. "Are you back with me?"

You loll your head exhaustively to look into Hangman's sage-green eyes. He looks just as worried as he sounds.

"You're crying."

You lift your hand, touch your cheeks, and stare without comprehending at your tear-stained fingertips.

"What happened, Bitsie? You're usually as sunny as can be!"

"Sometimes," You choke out, "the sun gets hidden by a storm, and paper boats get ripped to shreds by the pounding waves."

He tugs you against his chest until your head is pressed over his heart. His hands rub your back, and that's when you let your pain and frustration out. You know it's probably not right, crying in his arms, but you can't help it. He's one of the only friends, or as close as you have to friends, on this miniature floating Naval city, and he somehow feels like home. What feels like hours later, you finally sit back, letting your hand thwap solidly against the metal you’d been resting against. But you don’t hear the sound or feel the harsh sting. A hand gently cradles your head instead.

“I’m okay, Seresin.” Your voice is all stuffy, your head fogged with the pressure in your sinuses after a good cry. It doesn’t feel right to call him by his callsign or the bastardization of it, not when you’ve just sobbed unflinchingly in his arms. 

“If this is okay, darlin’, I don’t want to know what fantastic looks like.” He’s speaking so gently with you right now, proffering one of those typical mom pocket packs of tissues at you. Your smile is tremulous when you accept the tissue, turning your head away from him to honk into the feeble gauzy square like an elephant with rhinitis. You’re sure you look a sight when you turn back, eyes swollen and puffy, with the tip of your nose irritated like always when you’ve been crying and had to blow your nose. He’s still looking at you exactly how he was earlier, though, like a baby bird with a broken wing. Like you're some tiny precious thing that's injured and needs protection.

“You’ve cried now and done your best impression of a circus elephant.” You can’t help your watery giggle when he tweaks the tip of your nose.

“Do you want to tell me what’s happening with you and Bradshaw now?” 

“I don’t know if I can.” Your voice is whisper-thin, and your vocal cords feel like you've gargled glass. "It hurts too much."

"I know, darlin'. I can see it in your face. Wouldn't it be nice to tell someone if it hurts badly? To share that burden?" He's trying to wheedle the information out of you. And you can feel your resolve wavering. But, in the months after the Uranium Mission, Jake and Bradley had become something akin to friends. They had set aside all of the rivalries they'd had before, and while they ragged on each other, it was friendly. Could you destroy that relationship so quickly?

"Jake. You and Bradley just got to a good place. I don't want to change your relationship with him."

"Darlin’, tell me. Remember, we're on a carrier far away from him for the next six months, give or take a couple of weeks." He's smiling softly at you. "I promise I won't punch him in the face when I see him next for whatever he did."

"How can you assume it was something he did?" You ask, tired of seeing all of your faults in technicolor. You don’t argue with him, though, childishly curling your fingers into your palm, leaving only your pinky out. "Pinky-swear on it."

He blinks his eyes at you a few times before twining your pinky with his own. After pumping it twice, like kids on a playground, he just holds your hand captive. 

"There's your pinky promise, darlin’. You asked me why I could assume it was something he did?" He inhales deeply, chewing on his words before he continues. "I know because I've seen how you are when you're in love with someone. They're your whole focus when you're with them. While you were on Chicken's arm, he was all you focused on. I won’t say he consumed you because you paid attention to all of us. But there was something special about how you acted with him. When we were at the Hard Deck for drinks after work, it was like he was your True North. You always knew exactly where he was. You gave all of yourself to that relationship. He's the guy who leered happily at any piece of ass that walked by."

What does it say about you that someone with a reputation for being self-absorbed saw what you couldn't? You chuckle dryly before letting the whole tale spill, every salacious detail, including what Britney and Bradley had been saying about you in the bedroom. Your words finally run out as you stare at the clouds, tracing the lightning bolts as they zip through the ether. When you turn to look at him sometime after the last words have left your lips, he's glaring at the roiling sea off the deck. His jaw is clenched as the lightning makes his eyes shine golden. 

"He dated you because of a bet? And then he cheated?" He sounds angry, angry, and shocked. "He's supposed to be the most decent guy in the squadron. I promise you, I didn't know about the bet. If he made it, it wasn't with me."

"Did he ever bring her around to you guys?" Did you know? You're not sure if you want to know. But you have to. How many of your friends, your colleagues, had seen Bradley Bradshaw make a mockery of you? Condoned his cheating and lying? Had they covered for him? Had Jake? Who made money on you and him?

"Darlin, I would've told you the minute I had known if he had brought her around. We all would have." His eyes seem so sincere and soft as he looks at you. You can see pity on his face. You know it is. But it feels so good. To have a shoulder to cry on, to have someone tell you you're valid for feeling the way you do. 

"Her name seems familiar, though. I think she's one of the badge bunnies that always goes crazy when he plays the piano."

You have to laugh at that. The resulting sound is something insane choked out between sobs. Six months of a relationship and your complete devotion, love, care, and affection, not to mention your virginity, and he picked a badge bunny over you? 

"I'm sorry, darlin'. He's a fool. C'mon." He's standing before you now, blocking the brunt of the pouring rain from drenching you. "It's wet," he wheedles, wiggling his fingers until you place your hand in his, "let's get you inside. A hot shower, something to eat and drink, and a good night's sleep. That's what you need right now. I'll help you think of what to do about Bradshaw tomorrow, ok?"

You let him drag you up and usher you through the deserted carrier hallways, stopping to shield you from prying eyes with his broad back at every intersection. You can only assume what the rumor mill onboard will say if anyone sees the two of you like this. His uniform is colored caramel, rain soaking every inch, and his boots squelch unpleasantly as he walks you to your quarters. He waits, eagle-eyed, at the door to your quarters until you let yourself in.

"Go shower, sweetheart. I'll do the same and bring you some food from the commissary."

"I thought it would have closed by now?" You ask, your voice pitched low since you know from experience that everything echoes in the belly of the ship.

"The Officer's Lounge never is. I have granola bars in my quarters. I'll bring you a few and a cup of coffee. Cream, no sugar, yeah?"

He smiles at you before turning on his heel and striding away. You go about your shower by rote but spend much longer than usual under the hot water. It's all quiet when you step out and dress in the warmest sweats and sweatshirt you've packed in your luggage.

When you open it, you're not expecting anything in front of your door, but there they are. A single hot paper cup of coffee, prepared just as you like it, and two granola bars, the good kind, with chocolate! You eat and drink quickly, feeling hungry and thirsty after your cathartic release. Sleep tugs at you, and the last thing on your mind is that while Jake Seresin may not look like it, he is a sweetheart on the inside.

You wake up the following morning feeling like the night before is a glorified dream. Did you really cry all over Jake Seresin the night before? On deck in the middle of a typhoon, no less? You feel good, really good. Bradley’s betrayal still hurts, but not as much as the night before. You’ve learned so much about yourself; as much as you miss him, you can admit that he is not forever material.

You’re finally starting to see the sun through the clouds mentally, and from what you can see out the portholes, it’s a beautiful day outside. You dress quickly in your uniform and meet Mara for breakfast in the commissary. Your morning is spent far away from the pilots, making final adjustments to the laser targeting system. It's lunchtime before you see Jake again. He's got a ridiculously cocky smile on his face and a pep in his step. 

"Hey, ladies." He's oozing charm as he sits beside you, setting his tray next to yours. This afternoon's flight tests are going to be interesting. He looks like he’s in the mood to fly more recklessly than usual.

"How has your morning been?" 

“Great! Mara and I finally have the laser targeting system ready for the first flight tests this afternoon.” 

You can see the excitement in his eyes at the thought of flying and flying fast too. Mickey, who'd been following along behind his pilot for the mission, takes the seat next to Mara, and for a few minutes, it is just light-hearted chatter amongst the four of you as you talk about the test flight route and air conditions for the first test of the new systems. It's Jake, of course, who shatters the veneer of professionalism by slipping you a piece of paper. Scrawled on it in surprisingly neat cursive are four numbered points.

Don't pick up the phone. You know he's only calling when he's drunk and alone.

Don't let him in. You'll have to kick him out again.

Don't be his friend. You're only going to wake up in his bed in the morning.

If you're under him, you ain't getting over him.

You can't believe your own eyes. Do you laugh? Or do you cry? Jake Seresin just handed you a piece of paper quoting Dua Lipa's New Rules. Laughter ultimately wins out.

"Oh, my god." You've got your hand over your mouth, choking back laughter. Mickey grabs the paper from you, and it's only a few minutes before all three of you are laughing as Jake's cheeks redden with a blush. You take the note back and get yourself under control, using a napkin to blot the tears from under your eyes.

"What's this, Seresin?" You smile at him gently, knowing he meant well, and wasn't trying to make fun of you. He sheepishly runs his fingers through his hair.

"I called my sister and asked what she would do if she was in your shoes. She cursed me out for waking her up at 4 in the morning, laughed her ass off until her husband kicked her out of their bed, and then gave me that list. She said you'd probably know the song, but it was good advice." 

You goggle at him, surprised at the vehement emotion in his voice. You don't notice you've been staring into his eyes until Mickey clears his throat from across the table. Mara and Mickey are smirking at you, and you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks at the knowing looks they’re giving you.

"Why're you giving her the rules from New Rules, Hangman?" You can hear the confusion in Mickey’s voice.

Jake glances at you, looking for your permission. Instead of letting him tell them what happened, you speak.

"Payback will probably email you about it sooner than later, so here it is. I broke up with Bradley the day we shipped out." You take a deep breath before you spill the rest of the story, albeit without the graphic details you'd told Jake in the middle of the night. Mickey looks disgusted, as does Mara.

Mickey broaches the topic first. "You haven't been yourself since we came on board. Hangman noticed and pulled the whole story out of you, didn't he?" You nod carefully, taken aback at the anger growing on both their faces. 

"I didn't know." Mickey's vehement in his denial. 

"I know, Micks. Jake told me that any of the Daggers would've told me if Britney had been sniffing around and they knew he was cheating."

"Yeah, we would have." He inhales forcefully. "Wait. Britney?!"

You nod, sure you'll never forget the sound of that girl's name pouring out of your boyfriend's mouth as he pleasured her like he was only supposed to pleasure you.

"Shit. I did meet her. He told me she was his cousin from San Francisco. She was supposedly in San Diego for a couple of weeks on vacation. Phoenix backed him up about the lie. She told me she'd met Britney when she and Rooster were in Pensacola for flight training together."

You're aching to sock Bradley in the jaw now. Jake is, too. You can see it in how he’s clenching his hands tight, knuckles growing pale with force. You’ve come to terms with Bradley's betrayal, at least a little. Natasha's betrayal, though? That cuts deep. She was your friend, you'd thought.

As expected of the military, there aren't many women on Naval Air Bases. You, Callie, Callie's wife Meg, Mara, and Natasha had connected fast, taking turns hosting girl's nights and spa weekends. You'd thought the five of you had each other's backs in the man's world you all worked in. Natasha obviously thought differently. 

"Let us help you plan your revenge, yeah? We have six months on a ship to brainstorm ways to make him pay. And that list, it just might be the perfect starting point." Mara's got a devious look in her eyes that promises pain for Bradley Bradshaw.

"I'll brief Callie and Meg on the situation, too, with your permission. Meg will think of the perfect way for Trace to get her just desserts, too." At your nod and a weak smile,  the four of you go on your way. The flight tests will involve all of your concentration, so you put the issue of Bradley Bradshaw in the back of your mind.

When the boys are up in the plane, and the two of you are analyzing all of the data from the instruments connected to the targeting system a couple of hours later, Mara asks you a question in sotto voce.

"Hey. I know it's probably too soon for this, but Seresin's always looked at you differently from other girls flocking to those flyboys when they're in uniform. When the time comes, and you're ready to move on, promise me you'll give him a chance? I don't think the Southern Gentleman thing is an act. He also pulled you out of your funk sooner than anyone else could have."

She's right. Jake had made you feel miles better; he'd let you cry and helped you smile afterward. He'd be so easy to love if your heart weren’t as tender as it is now. You vow then and there to keep yourself from falling for Jake fast and hard. That way means disaster, you know as much after recent experiences. You'd take this burgeoning something brewing between you slowly, if only for the sake of your heart.

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