#So that's why even posting as small as a quote or a music on my instagram is a huge things for me

[pleasedontcareaboutme]

I want to be more authentic on my other social media platforms too, where irl people know me.

But I have such an intense fear of being perceived I sit. For 3 hours. On a post before posting it 😭😭 I literally just stare at it and have an anxiety attack lol.

And even then sometimes I end up deleting it.

Even though I only do it for myself and nobody really cares it's still ajajaja hard.

But I want people to see me more than a shallow human lol

And maybe, even if only one person likes my "true" self, then I'd be happy 🥲

But what if they bully me more ahhah I already am not the most well liked 🥲🥲🥲🥲

THOUGHTS GO AWAY lol 😭

[cerealmonster15]

i dont think i ever felt more annoyed at commercials than when those mean girls walmart ads were playing a few months ago or whenever that was

[fanaticsnail]

Kiss their cheek

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 220-650 for each character

Sanji, Zoro, Luffy, Law, Kid

Synopsis: It was a simple reaction, an impulse you felt organic and out of your control. Their cheek was right there, and the swell in your chest and spike of adrenaline prompted you to lunge forward and capture their cheek beneath your lips. How do they react to such a soft touch? Do they shy away, or do they respond in kind?

Notes: I have hit a follower milestone and I am freaking out about it. I don't normally post about the follower count, but this is simply too incredible to not mark the occasion for. To distract myself from the sheer number of you that found my writing good enough to follow, I have a little drabble for you to enjoy for my favorites. To quote the goodest and bestest boy there ever was: “Thank you for loving me.” I love you all too. Art is not done by me, found on Pinterest

Themes: cheek kisses, feelings, monster trio, supernova trio, crewmate!reader, unrequited love, confessions of love, no prior romantic relationship, gn!reader, pure fluff, A little OOC while I'm still learning about a couple of the blorbos.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @cinnbar-bun

Blackleg Sanji

“Dinner was beautiful as always, Sanji,” you cooed at him, swooping forward and collecting his smooth cheek beneath your lips in a small kiss, “Well done, Chef.” Holding his cheek in contact with your lips for a few moments longer before pulling away with a broad smile. 

“You’re most welcome, love,” he returned your affectionate demonstration, his lips finding your cheek and grazing your flesh with his lips. 

Both of you reacted as if this touch was not uncommon, not something out of the ordinary in the slightest. This was the first time you had given him this small gesture, demonstrating your appreciation for his hard work with something as simple as a small kiss. 

The fact that this kiss was so freely given to him had Sanji’s heart catch in his throat, his pulse rapidly beating and elevating the flow of his adrenaline through his veins. His family of origin comes from a culture that kisses on the cheeks to greet and farewell friends, acquaintances and even enemies. Why did this kiss feel so perfect against his skin? 

He would do anything to feel your lips on him again, often giving you preferential treatment in the hopes your lips would find his skin once more. Should he gather up the courage to turn his head, claiming your lips within his own, would you turn away? He hoped you wouldn’t. 

Roronoa Zoro

His mind could not comprehend the moment that just befell him. 

It was a simple night of comradery and relaxation. The air felt alight with joyful merriment: Brook playing music, Sanji ensuring each of you had an adequate meal. It felt light: nothing plaguing, hunting, seeking, nor fighting. It was simple, and that is what it felt. 

It being a simple and small kiss against his right cheek.

“You are an excellent first-mate, Zoro,” you laughed up at him, taking his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze, “A noble knight and fearless protector.”

Zoro’s head couldn’t produce a single thought to form a string of a sentence. He had not felt this way, the ignition of a small swell of passion to not involve swordsmanship, ever before. 

In all the realms of intimacy and subtle touches, Zoro was inexperienced in receiving and reciprocating. Zoro was, for lack of a better word, a virgin to such an expression of unbridled affection. 

“Th-Thanks, I guess?” he grunted, his brows arching at you. You giggled, patting him on the shoulder and offering him a warm smile. 

“You’re welcome, soldier,” you cooed up at him before turning on your heel, following the gentle rise in rhythm with your hips, dancing along to Brook’s playing. He followed your movement with a keen eye, more enthusiastic about your gentle sway and soft laughter than he was moments prior. 

Monkey D Luffy

“Oh, Captain!” you smiled at him, hooking your arm over his shoulder and drawing him close to your face, “Your cheeks are so cute. I could just-,” you halted your words, lunging forward and peppering his tanned cheeks with several fluttered kisses, humming throughout each press. 

“Oi, oi, Docinho,” he chuckled, swatting at your hands and writhing within your arms, “Stop that. I am a hardened criminal. I am a captain! You’re not meant to think I’m cute, you’re meant to dote on me and offer me tribute of your loyalty!” You giggled, allowing him to swipe your body away from his. 

His eyes darted away from yours, his lips curved in a soft pout with his brows furrowing in a deep frown. For a moment, you thought you truly offended him by your lips finding his skin. Your eyes widened, your hands shaking defensively to desperately retract your affectionate touch.

“I’m sorry, Captain. I didn’t mean to-,” you were silenced by several inexperienced kisses littering your cheeks, nose and forehead. The cheeky chuckle that followed each of the small pecks only prompted your mind to chase your heart with its rapidity. He placed his hands over your shoulders, laughing whole-heartedly at your frazzlement. 

“If this is the way you’re offering me tribute as a wonderful captain,” he hummed thoughtfully, “Perhaps I’m not so bad at the job after all.” 

Trafalgar D Water-Law

“You work too hard,” you sigh against his cheek, pulling away from his cool flesh and raking your eyes over his face, “You deserve to take a break some time.” You watched the small hue of pink rise to dust over his cheeks, his hair at the nape of his neck standing alert and rigid. 

Unsure what exactly prompted you to seek out your captain’s cheek with your lips, you were regretting the small brush of your lips over his smooth skin the instant you drew yourself away. Watching as Law inhaled a deep breath through his nose, he exhaled a lengthy breath through his lips: following the small gesture with a soft hum. 

“Just know that you’re appreciated, Sir,” you reiterated your stance, ensuring you held your eyes against his to reinforce your seriousness, “I-... We appreciate you, Captain. We love you, and want to help you achieve your goals. Just-... Just know that, okay?” 

Yellow eyes followed your exit, watching every step that you took and hearing the hollow floor ricochet the reverberating tap of your boot heel. His haunted gaze held firm to your retreat, silence growing heavy at the closure of his office door. 

He could not stop thinking about the kiss all day. The way your lips felt against his cheek, the way he felt the small elevation of your smile - the way his heart swelled in his chest, and the way his breath caught in his throat. He wanted to know what it meant. He needed to know if you were being friendly and supportive, or if you wanted more. 

Lips over his cheek, the catching over the words “I appreciate you” with your reassurances that he is loved and worthy of devotion, inhibited him from welcoming slumber for several days. In the hopes of providing him encouragement and loyalty to soothe his rapidly sporadic mind, you aided in him in only finding restlessness. 

Growling at his own racing emotions, he hastily drew up the transponder snail and dialed your personal shell. He awaited the annoying hum, the crackle of the receiver halting as you picked up the call. 

“C-Captain?” your groggy voice called over the snail, “Cap, it’s nearly five in the morning. I clocked off the overnight shift and only just got to sleep-.”

“-Do you love me?” he quickly spurted the words before he could stop them. 

Your mind did not have the capacity to mask your words, given your groggy sleep deprivation. Yawning your answer into the transponder, Law’s heart raced at hearing your words.

“Of course I love you. We all love you,” you confirmed, rolling your neck and taking a moment to collect yourself, “You’re my captain. I pledged my allegiance to follow you, sir. What are you calling me at-?”

“-No,” Law’s voice crackled over the receiver, his tone immediately waking you of your prior tired state, “I need to know what it meant. I need to know what it meant. Why did you kiss me?”

“What?” you began, shaking your head and brows beginning to knit in confusion, “I don’t understand what you’re-.”

“-Why would you kiss me knowing your lips would haunt me? Knowing that that kiss you gave would scorch and mark my heart?” his voice rose as his temper boiled over the edge. “You know I closed myself off to this bullshit. You know what giving me a small amount of your affection would do to me. Why would you-?”

“-Because I love you, Law,” you uttered in a low voice. You flung your legs over the bed, feet finding your sleep shoes beneath your mattress. Your confession hung heavy in the air, your heart and mind fully awake and comprehending your every waking minute. Silence was heavy and swollen with tension, your mind racing over all the possible retorts Law could throw at you. 

Dismissal, execution, exile, abandonment: these were the responses you deduced to be the most appropriate response. In its stead, you were greeted with a small huffed chuckle and a low rumbled retort.

“Come to my office,” he hummed into the receiver, “Show me more. I-I-...” the transponder crackled as Law found his words, “...-I need more.”

Eustass Kid

“In some cultures, it’s seen as a sign of respect,” you nodded your head, bowing your down to him, “It’s an extension of submission and admission to serve beneath a mighty ruler. Hands are the most common to touch, but kissing a cheek is the most intimate expression of-.”

“-Fine, you can kiss me,” the gruff rumble of Eustass Kid’s voice dismissively crackled. He rolled his eyes, turning his cheek away from you to hide the bite of his lip to stifle his rising blush. 

Affectionate touches was not something Kid, nor his crew, were very experienced in receiving. When he offered you the chance of joining his crew to achieve his goals, Eustass Kid did not expect you to dote and coddle each of his crewmen into submission beneath your affectionate touches. As the last member of his crew to be a recipient of your gentle touch, he truly did not comprehend why his heart was beating with anxious rapidity. 

“Only if you’re sure-,” you began, halted by a harsh bark from your captain.

“-I said it was fine, didn’t I?” his gruff voice cut through the air. While his head was still turned from you, he stretched out his right hand to await a small touch from your lips. 

But his cheek was right there. You couldn’t help but spring at the opportunity to rise up to Eustass Kid’s seated position on the wooden bench aboard the deck. He was ripe for doting and peppering a flurry of kisses all over his face, but you held yourself back from such an expression of unbridled affection. You opted to start slow.

Gently touching his shoulders, you stooped down and pressed a sweet and intentional kiss atop the apple of his cheek. You felt his breath catch in his throat, an unintentional whimper halting in his nose at the soft expression of your admiration.

As you pulled away from him, your upper left arm was caught by the wide and firm grasp of the captain of the Victoria-Punk. His face was still turned away from you, but the crimson hue of his pale face gave away the elevation of his heartbeat. 

“I’m sorry, Captain. I should’ve just gone for the hand-,” you began, attempting to tug away from his grip and apologize properly to him. 

“C-Can I-...” he grunted out a gruff cough, continuing to hold his face away from yours, “...Can I have another one?”

[uweinei-02]

How would tsukki and kuroo comfort their gf after crying?!

Thank u, have a nice daay!

how they would comfort you after crying (HEADCANONS) ft. tsukishima kei and kuroo tetsuro

AUTHORS NOTE: my first ever request!? i ended up staying up a bit late last night doing a bit of a character study on kuroo because i really really wanted to get this posted HAHA!! also kuroo's ending quote might be a little cheesy, but that's probably because i feel as though he'd be a very cheesy boyfriend hehe. this might be a bit ooc, so i do apologize if it is, still kinda studying the characters LOLOL

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

TSUKISHIMA KEI (月島 蛍)

the very first thing that kei would do is wipe those tears and hold you in his arms. he's not going to push you about what's bothering you and honestly wants to make sure that you can actually communicate to him without sobbing throughout the whole conversation.

afterwards, he'll ask about why you cried. he'll hold your hand and rub circles onto the back of your hands in order to try to soothe you. he might get a bit pushy, or defensive if it comes to him, but he's very self-aware when he does that and will take care of you.

after the whole ordeal, he'll play some music (highly likely the genre is rnb) in the background for both of you to relax and cuddle to while telling you some interesting things he learned of in a new book that he's been reading (he might end up rambling).

you let out a small sniff, your nose still stuffy from crying so hard. tsukishima pulls you in closer to his chest, heaving a sigh as he then kisses your forehead gently. the music in the background was not too overwhelming, if one of you were to talk then the music would definitely be drowned out.

"did you know that..."

KUROO TETSUROU (黒尾 鉄朗)

will immediately hug you the moment he sees you breaking down in tears and bombard you with questions such as "what's wrong?" or "what happened??" or "did someone hurt you?!" purely because he doesn't know why you're crying.

he's going to push you to tell him why you cried, no matter what. if you keep refusing to tell him, highly likely that he would provoke you into telling him. once you do tell him though, he'll apologize for pushing you so much and would tell you that he just wanted to know what was wrong because he knows it's not good for you to bottle it up.

afterwards, he'll take you out on a walk if you're up for it and you'll probably stop by a cafe or something so you can find a place to munch on. he wants to make sure that you're taking care of yourself. if you're not well, he loves to cuddle with you and would also probably fall asleep on you. oh, did i mention he'll give you plenty of affirmation??????

after spending practically an hour bawling your eyes out and an additional hour of kuroo trying to get you to tell him what was wrong, you somehow ended up at a cafe, eating a pastry as a way for yourself to regain energy. the cafe wasn't too busy, which was something you were thankful for because you weren't even sure if you could tolerate after earlier. yet despite all of that, your boyfriend, kuroo, gives you a reassuring smile, his hand placed in yours as he rubs circles on the back of your hand.

"you're amazing, dear. i can't help but fall in love with you everyday."

[enchantedbarnes]

Uncle Buck Returns

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Single Aunt!Reader

Summary: Our little menace of a nephew has secured a date for you. Here is part 2 to Uncle Buck.

Word Count: 1401

Masterlist: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven

A/N: what in the actual f👀 is going on 😅 I was expecting maybe 10 or so people to read Uncle Buck. My notifications haven't stopped going off since I posted. Thank you so much everyone that read it and enjoyed it. I hope you also enjoy this little continuation. P.S. GIF replies are my love language so if you enjoy send me your best (or worst 😈) 🫶

As soon as the pair return home and walk through the front door, Benji skips his way in shouting, "MAWWAGE! MAWWAGE IS WHAT BWINGS US TOGEVAH TODAYYYY!" Arms high above him as he rushes through the living room in search of his parents.

"Benji, please don't make me regret letting you watch my favorite movie," you sigh, flopping onto the couch, hands covering your face.

He stops short and looks back at you, "Have you the wing?" He bows and giggles, then turns back around to continue on with his search.

"You're back!" Your sister shouts while she snatches Benji up into her arms, covering the small boy in kisses. "Did you have so much fun with Auntie today? Why are we shouting Princess Bride quotes?" She gasps, "Did you get to meet the dread pirate Roberts??"

Benji looks up at her in confusion, "What? No Mom, we saw Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson! And guess WHAT!"

"Ohhh, what?!"

He whispers into her ear and throws his head back laughing like a tiny evil madman.

"You did what???!" She laughs.

You groan from the couch.

She walks both of them over to you.

"Did I understand him correctly, is there something we should know? Are you betrothed to a super soldier?"

"I'm gonna go throw up," you groan again.

Sweating doesn't even begin to cover it.

Your entire body feels like it's on fire.

You agreed to meet Bucky for a late lunch the following day. You've been sitting on the floor by your closet for what you thought was 30 minutes now, staring into the clothing abyss, spiraling into an internal panic.

You don't go on dates. You keep to yourself. It's comfortable. Living in a combined household with your sister and her small family you're certainly never alone.

What are you even supposed to talk about?

Your current job is nothing super exciting to talk about. You do like to go to concerts and musicals... However you can't really imagine the 106-year-old super soldier going to a pop punk or metal show, nor do you imagine him attending Wicked 3 times. Note to self: do not bring up Rogers the musical. Yikes.

Your sister has already talked you off a ledge 3 times since last night when you got home.

While still wallowing in self pity and loathing, two outfits are scattered by you and you have three more in your arms.

Your sister walks by your open door and backtracks peering in.

"Y/n," she sighs, "just wear the first outfit. You'll look great, I promise." She walks over and grabs the armful of clothes from you, dumping them on the bed and grabbing the first outfit. Your favorite pair of black jeans and a sweater you bought specifically because it was so damn soft.

The doorbell rings and your eyes widen. "He's early?!"

"He's on time, you would have noticed if you weren't staring into space for the last hour."

"WHAT?!"

"Don't worry we'll keep him distracted while you finish getting ready."

"Oh sure, don't worry. That fills me with all the confidence..."

"Benji has already asked him to marry you, what's the worst that could happen now?"

"I don't even want to think about the answer to that. So many possibilities come to mind."

You grab your outfit and start rushing around.

"Can I get you something to drink, Bucky?" Your sister asks while she moves about the room.

Bucky and Benji are seated at the kitchen table, just off from the living room. Benji is across from him with his tiny arms crossed on the table, and a very serious look on his face.

"I'm fine, thanks."

"Ok, I'm sure she'll be down in just a moment. Make yourself at home. Hopefully we will see you around again soon," she smiles, "I'm just gonna go switch the laundry over quickly. Benji," she looks down at him while pointing two fingers at her eyes and then over to him, "behave yourself," she warns while leaving the room.

The table stare down continues.

"Where do you live?" Benji asks.

"In the city," Bucky answers.

"You have a house?" Benji fires back.

"Apartment."

"Own or rent?"

"Rent."

"Where’s your office?"

"I don’t have one."

"How come?"

"I don’t need one."

"Where’s your wife?"

"Don’t have one.."

"Yet," Benji squints with a tiny smirk, "but how come?"

"It's a long story."

"You have kids?"

"No I don’t."

"How come?"

"It's an even longer story."

"Do you prefer dogs or cats?"

"Both are fine."

"Do you have one?"

"I have a cat. Names Alpine."

"Is Steve Rogers really on the moon?"

"What's your record for consecutive questions asked?"

"38."

"He's up there all right." Bucky answers with a nod.

"Your metal arm and regular arm match well with how ginormous your muscles are."

"How nice of you to notice."

"I’m a kid, that’s my job."

Bucky raises a brow, "Why am I getting the 3rd degree here?"

"Just checking in on my investments. If this didn't work I was going to ask our neighbor Frank, but he kind of sucks," Benji shrugs his shoulders.

Before Bucky can question the language and what the 8-year-old said, you walk into the kitchen and quickly look back and forth between the two of them.

"Oh no, how long have you two been alone in here?? What did he say?" You ask Bucky, looking over at Benji quickly after, "What did you say??" Your eyes narrow.

Benji grins and holds your purse up for you. "Have fun storming the castle," he cheekily smiles with that glint in his eyes.

"Benji," you glare down at him.

Bucky clears his throat while standing up from the table. Walking over to you he points to a small bouquet of flowers that were already in a vase waiting on the kitchen table, "Um, these are for you…" he smiles.

"Thank you so much, they're beautiful," your reply is breathless while you look at the arrangement filled with a small mix of your favorites.

"He also gave me this," Benji holds up an RC truck with a Captain America shield painted on the side.

"That was very nice of him, did you say thank you?"

"Duh," he rolled his eyes while grabbing the remote to the car and rolling it out to the living room, "Thanks Future-Uncle Bucky," he grins and chases after it.

"Anyone ever tell you guys he's kind of a strange kid?" Bucky whispers conspiratorially while offering his arm to you.

You throw your head back with a quick laugh. "Oh, you have no idea."

Your date is going better than you expected.

You have managed to not make a complete fool out of yourself so far and both of you seemed to be enjoying your time together.

You have apologized multiple times for Benji's antics.

Bucky laughs, "He reminds me a bit of a young Steve and my sister Rebecca combined. Didn't realize that combo was possible, it's a little terrifying. I hope they have great medical insurance," he jokes.

"His father's a nurse, so we have in-house medical on demand. My sister tried to convince me to go to law school so someone can represent him when he undoubtedly tries to take over the world. Guess I can save some money and time on law school now that we have a super soldier plus a Captain America connection that can potentially stop him before lawyers need to be involved."

"Your sister already welcomed me to the family when she opened the door to let me in," he smirks.

You put your face in your hands, elbows leaning against the table in support.

"Well now you know where her small menace gets it from."

Bucky helps pull your chair out for you as you're both about to leave. As you stand up your purse falls off the back of your chair, spilling some of its contents on the floor when it lands.

Bucky ducks down to help collect your things when something shiny appears next to your chapstick. His eyebrows furrow as he picks both up and holds them up to you.

You let out a slightly strangled cough as you realize what he's holding up to you.

Bucky Barnes was kneeling holding up your peppermint chapstick and your Grandmother's opal ring that was supposed to be safely in your jewelry box at home.

...Benjamin!

Next: Part 3 Lord of the Pins

@pono-pura-vida @bitchy-bi-trash @random-writer-23 @jvanilly @clintsupremacy @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction

[silmarillisms]

A Casual Reminder: Sauron Was Powerful

I'm not really sure why, but I've seen a lot of "Sauron was so pathetic, forever in Morgoth's shadow, what a baby" posts lately. And I do get it, I love the wet meow meow too.

But for all intents and purposes, Sauron does not fit the wet meow meow role. We are actually blatantly told that Sauron was greater in the Second Age than Morgoth was at his fall.

Sauron was ‘greater’, effectively, in the Second Age than Morgoth at the end of the First. Why? Because, though he was far smaller by natural stature, he had not yet fallen so low. Eventually he also squandered his power (of being) in the endeavour to gain control of others. But he was not obliged to expend so much of himself. To gain domination over Arda, Morgoth had let most of his being pass into the physical constituents of the Earth – hence all things that were born on Earth and lived on and by it, beasts or plants or incarnate spirits, were liable to be ‘stained’. Morgoth at the time of the War of the Jewels had become permanently ‘incarnate’: for this reason he was afraid, and waged the war almost entirely by means of devices, or of subordinates and dominated creatures. - Morgoth's Ring: Notes on Motives in the Silmarillion

The argument could be made that Sauron being greater at his height than Morgoth was at his fall doesn't mean much, but I would actually posit that it does, and for multiple reasons. Morgoth was the greatest of the Valar. Even in his decline, it took the whole host of the Valar invading from Aman and sinking Beleriand to defeat the armies that Morgoth had assembled - as well as Morgoth himself. It is no small feat for a Maia to amass that sort of power.

Let's take a look at the next paragraphs from the same essay in Morgoth's Ring:

Sauron, however, inherited the corruption of Arda, and only spent his (much more limited) power on the Rings; for it was the creatures of earth, in their minds and wills, that he desired to dominate. In this way Sauron was also wiser than Melkor-Morgoth. Sauron was not a beginner of discord; and he probably knew more of the Music than did Melkor, whose mind had always been filled with his own plans and devices, and gave little attention to other things. The time of Melkor's greatest power, therefore, was in the physical beginnings of the World; a vast demiurgic lust for power and the achievement of his own will and designs, on a great scale. And later after things had become more stable, Melkor was more interested in and capable of dealing with a volcanic eruption, for example, than with (say) a tree. It is indeed probable that he was simply unaware of the minor or more delicate productions of Yavanna, such as small flowers. Thus, as Morgoth, when Melkor was confronted by the existence of other inhabitants of Arda, with other wills and intelligences, he was enraged by the mere fact of their existence, and his only notion of dealing with them was by physical force, or the fear of it. His sole ultimate object was their destruction. - Morgoth's Ring: Notes on Motives in the Silmarillion

This is easily my favorite comparison between them. Sauron became Morgoth's right hand because, although Morgoth had power and ambition in spades, he lacked the mind for strategy that Sauron possessed. Sauron's strength lies in his clever plans, his manipulations, his deceptions. Just as it would have been for anyone else who wore it, the One Ring became Sauron's downfall because it blinded him to the same little things that Morgoth tended to ignore. Sauron lost because he became like Morgoth, not because he was lesser than Morgoth in might.

I'll leave off with a last quote from NoMitS.

Sauron had never reached this stage of nihilistic madness. He did not object to the existence of the world, so long as he could do what he liked with it. He still had the relics of positive purposes, that descended from the good of the nature in which he began: it had been his virtue (and therefore also the cause of his fall, and of his relapse) that he loved order and coordination, and disliked all confusion and wasteful friction. (It was the apparent will and power of Melkor to effect his designs quickly and masterfully that had first attracted Sauron to him.) - Morgoth's Ring: Notes on Motives in the Silmarillion

Sue me. I'm a filthy Angbanger at heart.

Also, here's all of NoMitS if anyone wants to read it.

[aristotto]

(I shall post everything I have not posted here before but deleted from Twitter)

First of hello, hi TUMBLR!!! This is my MD OC. Her name is Ari. Ahhhh a lot of info in the picture too.

(Her eyes are periwinkle by the way (more blue than purple) it may look strange on some screens. On my phone they look pink lol.)

(Before you ask-- Yes I speak french— Spanish and English too, currently learning mandarin. I got the languages autism i guess. —I went to high school in Rhône-Alpes. Studied theatre. I keep everything in english though, I know it's a more common and comfortable language)

Now... Lore.

Ari and her family (mom, dad, little brother) used to live in a small colony about 7-8 hours by foot from the next closest colony, where Uzi and the other members of the cast live in Copper-9. Her father (who I still have to name, but so far in the story he has only been called "Papa" by his daughter, and "Ash" by someone who doesn't even know him) definitely has something wrong with him, with his programming. He is a pathological liar and is quite paranoid, thinking anything can be held against him. This is why after a commercial dispute with a colleague, he decided to leave everything behind and take his whole family with him to another colony.

Oh yeah, here, have some music in the meantime (a friend told me it reminded her of Ari, so I'll leave it here):

I quote one of my writings:

"The family was ambushed as they moved from their previous colony to this one. It was quite the risky move, if I do say so myself. I think Ash is his name? The father. Both his wife and youngest child were killed.

As for his firstborn...

She's damaged.

She played dead. Her voice box was mangled, and even though it was repaired... It seems she doesn't want to speak anymore. Her program must have gotten corrupted. After all she was pretty beaten up, she couldn't even walk by herself that day.

She's a weird one, but she has proven herself to be very useful. Good at sewing apparently, and she's done some mechanical fixes here and there.

Good for her"

Her father is a clockmaker, her mother was a dressmaker. She learnt from both, but she is not an expert in either.

After the incident her father insisted in taking care of her by himself. He knew better, apparently. However... It did seem every fix was temporary, as her knees would stop working again in a matter of hours. Something wasn't right.

Her father is obsessed with control and being called a hero, being called a fighter and a loving father. He wants Ari to depend solely on him, this is why, unbeknownst to his daughter, he has been inflicting her these wounds. Salt water accelerates oxidation, and hidden in a can of antioxidant, the child wouldn't know.

This is when she comes back to school. She doesn't speak to anyone, but other kids seem curious about "the girl with wheels".

One kid in specific was kind enough to say hello one day.

(I am really bad at drawing, but you get the idea).

Doll gave her the bell she uses to communicate.

"You're not broken, you're not incomplete".

These are words Ari would never forget.

They used to be friends. Not close, just occasionally spending time together. As they became older they also grew apart. Doll joined the cheerleader team, made new friends, became more social. And Ari could walk by herself and didn't really need help pushing her wheelchair anymore. They both became their own people.

Ari never stopped thinking about her friend. She had a crush on her but she kept denying her own feelings. How could she? She must've only been confused.

Besides, she would have sworn Doll forgot about her.

She didn't though.

After Doll's parents passed, Ari got her wake up call to start working on mechanics. Despite the pain on her knees, she started sneaking out every now and then to pick up drone scrap parts. She dressed on her father's coat and covered her face, but the rumors started anyways. A limping figure carrying a heavy bag through the halls at night... "The Collector". Beware or it might take your limbs too!

Ari was determined to help reassemble worker drones in hopes of one day helping Doll with her parents, too. What she didn't know was how to recover the cores, so she never really succeeded in bringing anyone back.

She was one day approached by Doll, which surprised her, because she wanted help fixing her prom dress. This day while measuring her she finally realized she felt something more than friendship towards her, but she ever spoke about it.

She never did until it was too late.

Picture this after the events of episode 5, before Doll left the colony. (Forgive my badly done comic layouts)

She broke silence but... also broke her voice box again because well, she screamed, and she hadn't said a word in years.

Last resource... Throwing the bell at her.

Of course that love was not reciprocated.

"Save your tears. We'll talk when I come back, this is not a battle I can run from."

She did not come back.

Ever since the end of the events of the show, Ari has been trying to bring back Doll. A new body, yes, but she wants her to be alright again even if her love is not reciprocated. She doesn't care about that. She just thinks she didn't deserve to die.

I'll end part 1 here.

There's a lot more to go, and very little space for images.

Thank you

[stuckinapril]

i’m finding it so difficult to detach myself and cut off a person who i am very much still in love with but who has repeatedly hurt me and strung me along only to dump me when reality hits and they remember im a real person with flaws and emotions and not some fantasy they created

i’m about to be really mean but this person doesn’t give nearly as much of a fuck about you as you do about them. you’re probably romanticizing them, playing a highlight reel of their best qualities in your head, rewinding all the good moments you might’ve shared w them. meanwhile they weighed your best qualities, replayed your best memories in their head, considered the value you add to their life as a person—and still decided it wasn’t enough and chose to dump you.

this was my biggest blind spot when i was going through things like friendship fallouts or my breakup w my ex. i was like but how can i live without them now!! as if they didn’t choose to severe our connection w their whole chest. you might be like “but they might’ve really struggled to do it” and it’s like okay, but they still chose to go through w it. their reasoning to them was more important than having you in their life, regardless of the tremendous energy and emotion that got expended into the decision. that or it took no energy at all, which just means that they were playacting their care for you and never actually gave a fuck. far more sinister.

from the way you described them, they’re still not mature enough to realize that love is hard work. that it’s not just convenience and feeling good all the time. why do you want someone like that in your life? someone who always goes into fight or flight whenever push comes to shove? not sustainable whatsoever. they literally did you a favor by walking out of your life. they saved you more wasted time and effort and pain that would have no doubt stemmed from their avoidant, erratic, wishywashy nature.

you have to get into the habit of not wanting people who don’t want you, whatever the context. i feel like a bit of narcissism is healthy when it comes to this bc i legit don’t care what a person’s attributes are; to me that’s such a fundamental difference in thinking between us bc i’m the dopest bitch i know. and they still don’t want me in their life ?? like ik what i bring to the table and that would be such flawed, ludicrous logic to me. it just gives me the ick and makes me lose interest in them as a person instantly, even if they were great listeners or had a good music taste or were funny or played the guitar really well. doesn’t matter, they still were shortsighted enough to think a life without me in it was a good choice. romantic and platonic breakups do bother me, simply bc i’m very honest w my love and i genuinely value the people in my life, but these days i’m not hung up on anyone for more than a day bc i will never want someone who doesn’t want me. never never never. i don’t have the compulsive urge to make people who don’t like me like me. i have such a don’t let the door slam you on your way out mentality about it. i’ll simply find someone who’s funny and a good listener and plays the guitar well and still cares enough about me not to dump me when it gets hard. doesn’t have to be one or the other.

also do yourself a favor and don’t fill the gaps for them or try to guess what’s going on in their minds. they dumped you? okay they don’t care about you. they cut you off? okay they don’t care about you. they’re not trying to send you subliminal messages on their ig story about how much they still care—and on the very small chance that they are, you shouldn’t want that. you shouldn’t want someone whose peak effort when it comes to you is posting a sad quote about how lonely they are without actually putting the effort into approaching you, apologizing, owning up to their mistakes. until they actually act on it, their feelings pretty much irrelevant & it’s best to assume they just don’t give a fuck. you don’t want someone in your life who always prioritizes their comfort over maintaining their connection w you. ruthlessly remind yourself of that and move on to someone who doesn’t just give you breadcrumbs, if anything at all.

[saintmeghanmarkle]

Hiding in plain sight? Is this dumb as dirt article about Tyler's allegedly big party proof that there was no party? by u/Positive-Vibes-2-All

Hiding in plain sight? Is this dumb as dirt article about Tyler's allegedly big party proof that there was no party? The other day there was a thread with many commenting on how weird it was there are no photos of Tyler's party other than the one of Harry and Meghan and Gail King and Oprah. I decided to do my own search and nothing. So I read a number of articles and all the articles are basically reprints, all have the same talking points.The article below from Tatler (imo it was a press release from Monteceito) sounds like it was written by a 12 year old. Besides how poorly its written the several main points in the article raise doubts for me that there was a big bash.According to the Tatler article (as mentioned all articles cite the same points) a worker from a nearby lighting company, which had been hired to help decorate Perry's mansion for the party said:"There was ‘a lot of music, dancing and singing,... ‘Lots of speeches and food too. Everyone was having a lot of fun. It was a good party. There were a lot of famous people but I cannot say any more,’ he told MailOnline."If Perry wanted everything hush hush and told hired help to not say anything about who he invited why were Oprah, King, Harry, Meghan, Brian and Tracy Robbins named? Furthermore what person below 80 says things like "there were a lot of famous people there", "everybody was having fun" and "there was a lot of singing and dancing" Who talks that way these days?2) Another oddity and I quote*"Another source also mentioned that a ‘*male person who sounded like Harry was heard making a speech’ at one point during the evening."Who is this source? Why did that unnamed source divulge the name of a guest when the other person apparently was under orders not to name names? How convenient that of all people who were named it was Harry! And how interesting that amidst that big crowd of famous people someone could hear but apparently not see Harry giving a speech. Am I the only one who thinks that ‘a male person who sounded like Harry was heard making a speech’ sounds suspiciously made up? How is that of all the famous people who were there only he got mentioned?Along with the lack of photos of other guests, I personally don't believe there was a big party. Maybe there was a small party of just the people mentioned but why would Oprah and King want to spend an intimate evening with Harry and Markle?The other weird thing about the lack of photos is why didn't backgrid snap other guests arriving at the party since they were in position to snap H&M and the occupants of Oprah's car?https://ift.tt/V1n5uT8 post link: https://ift.tt/rUmSMK5 author: Positive-Vibes-2-All submitted: September 20, 2024 at 06:32AM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit disclaimer: all views + opinions expressed by the author of this post, as well as any comments and reblogs, are solely the author's own; they do not necessarily reflect the views of the administrator of this Tumblr blog. For entertainment only.

[fandoms-writings]

EVENT CLOSED

Those of you wanting to submit a story for the writing challenge at the end of this post, I'm accepting submissions until the end of the year. I'm a slow writer myself and I want y'all to have as much time as you need to join in <3

Welcome to my neon milestone party!

It’s been a few months since I last did a celebration or writing challenge so why not kick off summer with both! I also hit another small milestone, so thank you so so much to all of you for your support 🤍

You must be 18+ to follow me, so you must be 18+ to participate!

We’re gonna have a summer long sleepover, mood boards, a writing challenge, and my requests are officially open for drabbles! 

The cut off is the last day in August!

Under the cut you’ll find all of the ask games and prompt lists and challenge rules! 

Have fun babes  🤍

💎 Rare gems

- Show some love to your fav fics and their authors by sending in some recommendations!

🗒 Ask the Author

- Ask me anything you want about something I’ve written!

📖 Book talk

- Tell me about your favorite book or what you’ve recently read, and why you enjoy it (or why you don’t)

��� Secret admirers

- Anonymously (or not) send a love letter to your favorite tumblr person!

🎶 Karaoke

- Send a song recommendation or I’ll put my liked songs on shuffle and send you which one played first!

🫘 Spill the Beans!

- Anonymously (or not) tell me a secret of yours.

🔍 Clue!

- Send me this emoji and I'll post a wip clue (a picture, emoji, a word, etc) and you guys get to guess what it's about. 

🎩 Top 5!

- Another classic. Send me a category, and I'll tell you my top 5 choices within it. 

🙅🏻‍♀️ Never Have I Ever

- This one's pretty self explanatory I think. 

💌 Love letters (mutuals only) 

- I’ll write you a love letter 🥺

🎰 - Spin the Lottery! (mutuals only)

- send me a lil snippet about you (a hobby, your job, your music taste, etc) and a fandom (or not) I’ll pair you with a character from that fandom🤍

Send me a little something - a song, a character, a trope, a quote - anything to give me an idea, and I’ll make a mood board for you 🤍

If you need one for a story even! I’ll gladly help out 🤍

My requests are open for drabbles! Send me a character (it can be from one of my AUs! or not)  and one or two of the prompts from the list below, and I’ll whip up something small for you! As they get requested, they will be crossed off the list 🤍

Angst: 

"Don't go where I can't follow. . . I thought I lost you." (1/2)

"Why didn't you say how bad it was?"  (2/2)

"You shouldn't be out here by yourself."  (1/2)

"You're a mess"/"I'm not a mess."/"I can tell you've been crying."  (1/2)

"You were supposed to be different. They were supposed to be wrong about you, but they were right. They were so fucking right."  (2/2)

"What are we doing?"/"Why are you doing this?"  (1/2)

"I know you, how else do you think I found you so easily?"   (1/2)

"Choose me."  (2/2)

Fluff:

"You know my door is always open for you, right?"  (2/2)

"Will you taste this? Tell me if I'm missing anything?"  (1/2)

"Let me kiss it better."  (2/2)

"You're exhausted honey. Go back to sleep."  (1/2)

"Can I hold your hand?"  (2/2)

“Is that my shirt?” (2/2)

"Come get me? I miss you."  (2/2)

"You're not as bad as everyone says you are."  (2/2)

Smut:

"stop staring." / "i can't, you're so pretty like this" (2/2)

"Keep your pretty eyes on me."  (2/2)

"You're already wet sweetheart."  (2/2)

"What if someone hears us?"  (0/2)

"Let me hear you make that sound again."  (2/2)

"We shouldn't be doing this."  (1/2)

Characters: (spice it up by adding an au in the ask 🤍)

Bucky Barnes 

Marc Spector / Stephen Grant

Miguel O’Hara

If you don’t see who you’d like me to write for, just ask me about them and I’ll let you know if I’m open to writing for them!

Just have fun with this one and follow the rules below! I'm not really making a theme or anything like that, but if you'd like a prompt from me, just ask and specify what kind of prompt! Also feel free to DM me and bounce around some ideas if you need to!

Rules: 

Use the 'read more' option if what you write is over 500 words. 

Properly list your warnings. 

Your story does not have to contain smut if you don't want it to. 

Dark stories are okay, just no non-con, scat, underage characters involved in sexual activity, DD/LG, bestiality, necrophilia, etc. 

Please use characters that I know, from fandoms I'm in. (If you aren't sure what all is on that list, because I don't post about all of them, just ask!)

Tag me! And use the tag #remisneonparty

Make sure it can be read as a stand alone piece. 

The cut off for this will be the last day of August. I sometimes take forever to write something and want to give you all ample time to submit your stories!

Moodboard and all dividers were made by me, but feel free to use them if you’d like 🤍

Tagging some friends (no pressure!)

@sweetdreamsbuck @shamevillain @pocolatte @perdidosbucky-yyo @treatbuckywkisses @foreverindreamlandd @historygeekfics @barnesafterglow @navybrat817​ @jessybarnes​ @buckysdior​ @honeybloomss​ @banana-cheese-cake​ @sparkledfirecracker​ @sidepartskinnyjeans​ @real-jane​ @archive-obsess​ @mutual-monsters​ @bucksangel​ @thepsychewrites​ @starchildbucky​ @nexusnyx​ @lofaewrites​ @thornsnvultures​ @aquariusbarnes​ @captainsimagines​ @writing-for-marvel​ @heavenlybarnes​ @matchamunson​ @buckybleu​ @boxofbonesfic​ @chloelucia13​ @snugglingbucky​

[mynameisnotthepoint]

Ossan no pantsu EP 5

Disclaimer: I had already watched this drama with subs that were mostly machine translated, so this is less of a first time reaction and more of an "i finally have the whole picture now". This will contain spoilers, so be warned!

As always: thank you to @isaksbestpillow for continuing to provide us with excellent subs to this drama!!

Quote

"That's how it is being a parent. You can't really think with confidence: 'I just handled this the best way.'" (Mihoko to Mika, translation by isaksbestpillow)

My very jumbled thoughts/extras

I am a bit behind with my posts about this series. Work and a cold caught up with me, but I will try to finish this.

Later episodes will deal with this more, but ultimately, older people are left behind by this rapidly changing system. My coworker's husband had to look for a new job at 62 after his bus driving company closed down. He spent months unemployed. Makoto here also knows that he doesn't have a lot to offer except grit and perseverance. You need them to survive a job, but these days you have to have many more qualifications to think about switching jobs. I also noticed that the coworkers call her Shimura-san!! Which also is something that will come back in a later episode.

I also love the fonts and color grading they used to show Makoto's entrance into the office - a contemporary suspense (?) font/music - and then the flashback scenes to when Makoto was starting out that feel very oldschool.

I think it is in this episode that Makoto realises he could be a burden to society. He is, in many ways: people bow down to his wiles (his wife) or ignore/avoid him (his subordinates, his children, even his dog). Throughout this series he comes to a bigger understanding of how respect should be mutual, and is also earned. --- INTERLUDE: Theme song and Daichi's actor Oppan's opening credits song アプデライフ (Updated life) is by the Jpop group FANTASTICS from EXILE TRIBE, of which Nakajima Sota, who plays Igarashi Daichi, is a member (he is a vocalist). This group has two members who have also played in BLs: Yagi Yusei (vocalist, from the My Beautiful Man-series) and Kimura Keito (dancer, from Ameiro Paradox). It is actually through FANTASTICS fans that I first learned about Oppan :) --- My heart aches for both Daichi and Madoka. You can see Daichi's face fall, a sadness creep into his eyes while Madoka tries to explain why he couldn't tell his parents he had a boyfriend. Meanwhile Madoka is just so scared to lose Daichi, so scared to be himself. And Daichi is the one who can muster up a smile, try to make everything seem OK. Madoka is so tall and yet, he always seems to make himself small, hunches over, ridden by guilt. The flashbacks of how they met and how they got to know each other are so well done (@twigtea and @bengiyo have written such good meta about it and the outing scene at the end!!).

Daichi's mom is such a wonderful person. She knows her son, knows when he is being chipper to hide that he is feeling sad. It shows the strength of their bond that he can show his anger with her, although it might be misplaced, as she was the one trying to help him. And Daichi knows, after raising his voice at her, he immediately deflates and apologizes. (my mom is so very similar to his mom. and i can also get angry at her or take her for granted, which i immediately feel sorry about).

BTW: Matsushita Yuki (who plays Igarashi Mihoko) plays Ida's mom in Kieta Hatsukoi AND Kurosawa's mother in the Cherry Magic movie!

I touched upon this briefly in a last post, but I love how they made Kakeru's hair truly look like it has grown out and he hasn't really cut it evenly. Although it does change quite a bit at the school scenes, which were probably filmed later. Through the series, Kakeru not only becomes comfortable wearing make-up outdoors, but also puts a lot of effort into his hairstyles.

I love Mika so much. Kakeru feels down and useless because he is unable to go to school again, and she encourages him to help her with the laundry. We later learn that she doesn't enjoy housework all that much, but in this moment she is happy to see him outside of his room and wants to spend time with him. He is also doing more housework just by helping out than Makoto ever seems to do...

The dynamics in this family are so developed!! Mika talks very differently to Moe, who seems to have the upper hand a lot in their conversations. But I really like how they genuinely seem to get along and want to spend time together. Them evaluating Makoto together if he can attend a barbecue with Madoka and Daichi and Daichi's mom was so funny. Also them preparing for the barbecue together and welcoming their guests together warmed my heart.

ME TOO. Also, this is one of my favourite Kakeru outfits. I truly love his style. Also, after meeting the girls who were nice to him, this meeting with Hasegawa shows Kakeru he can talk to people his age without feeling alienated. It takes repeated experiences liket this to get you to enjoy company again, but he smiles and is happy. (Now Makoto, we don't just assume our child is dating someone, he is literally just sitting next to him and talking - the face touching means nothing!! I do like that this makes the updating even more concrete for Makoto). The second time Hasegawa and Kakeru meet up starts a bit akward, but they talk to each other freely. Yet, Kakeru shuts down when Hasegawa starts talking about school and the baseball club. He'd still rather avoid the conversation and walk away than say what is on his mind. He is going outside, went outside to buy products for Hasegawa, but he isn't suddenly free of his worries and coping mechanisms.

Makoto buying books on queerness and acceptance is what makes Moe believe he has changed. And yet, reading up on things doesn't make you know how to react in real life. Makoto having his subordinates clap for him makes him overconfident, makes him think he knows everything. But, as @bengiyo pointed out, it is really important that he does his updating independently too, he shouldn't just wait for Daichi to explain everything to him.

The scene which hurts the most here is at the barbecue, when everyone has been having such a good time and even Kakeru is happy to watch them from his window. Makoto just says out loud what everyone has been avoiding all afternoon: he calls Madoka Daichi's boyfriend. It was just an unspoken rule that everyone at the party understood: Daichi and Madoka are there. What they are to each other is personal to them. Makoto wants to please, wants to show that he has updated, has such foot in mouth syndrome that he doesn't realise that rule. And Madoka very understandably freaks out. I must say, I have watched this episode three times now, and I have only been able to watch this scene without pausing or fast-forwarding once. It hurts.

What I did notice, in the aftermath, is that there are shots of the characters where Moe and Mika stand together in the foreground, then in another shot Daichi stands in the foreground while his mom is in the back, and Madoka and Makoto are both alone in their shot. I don't know if this was intentional, but it does illustrate how they feel about themselves in that moment in time. Moe and Mika are united in wanting to make this work, Daichi has his mom he can rely on, but both Madoka and Makoto feel alone and afraid in this moment.

An anecdote from when the show was airing: this episode was the one I saw people talk about the most before episodes 8 and 9 aired. It generally frustrated me to no end that people seemed to only focus on "the gays" and disregarded the rest of the story (Moe!! Kakeru!! Mika!! and even Makoto's development). Seeking out explicitly gay characters shouldn't make you disregard a story that is about queerness, about how women are treated, and so much more. It didn't help that a lot of fan translators were only focused on translating Sota's scenes, as they were fans of his group/him as an idol. It is so interesting to have an actual idol in a drama that has a whole story thread about being a fan of an idol group! (I am now just referencing later episodes...).

[laracrofted]

baby, i'm high octane (i)

synopsis: nora rogers has made a name for herself in the documentary world, but lately, she's been running on empty. and then, with impeccable timing, her aunt charlie calls about an eight-week project in san diego: a feature on naval aviation's newest and most elite squadron. she accepts.

pairings: jake seresin x nora rogers (oc), minor bradley bradshaw x nora rogers (oc)

warnings: 18+, minors dni, explicit language, existential dread, alcohol consumption, slutty (affectionate) rooster, eventual smut in later chapters. set after the movie, so spoilers!

note: i have been working on this for many, many months, and every time i went back to edit it, it gained another 500 words, so i need to put it out in the world for my own sake. hope you enjoy!

read on AO3 | series post | next chapter

tagging: @theharddeck as usual, some mutuals (@anniesocsandgeneralstore @roleycoleyland), plus some folks who were nice about the halloween fic (@peakyrogers @t-nd-rfoot @double-j) let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!

[ OPENING CRAWL ]

On March 3, 1969, the UNITED STATES NAVY established an elite school for the top one percent of its pilots. Its purpose was to teach the LOST ART OF AERIAL COMBAT and to ensure that the handful of men (and now women) who graduated were the BEST FIGHTER PILOTS IN THE WORLD. They succeeded.

The Navy calls it Fighter Weapons School. You might know it better as TOP GUN.

The DAGGER SQUADRON is Naval Aviation’s newest and most elite squadron, exclusively made up of patch wearers. Here are their stories…

 [ CUE MUSIC AND FADE TO BLACK ] 

Back in California for less than 24 hours, and Nora already longs for the cobblestone streets and late night espressos and dear god, the accents of the past six months.

She is used to being on the move. Living out of an expertly packed suitcase, down to a science now. Never quite settling down.

Any documentary filmmaker worth their salt learns early to stay light on their feet, ready at a moment’s notice to get the call that takes them halfway around the globe and brings them the quote, unquote next great story. 

This…was a different sort of call.

“You want me to go to San Diego? Why?” 

It was well past midnight in France, which made it more or less dinner time on the other side of the Atlantic. For Charlie Blackwood, a perfectly acceptable time to ring her favorite niece, but Nora had to take the call out on the small balcony that was attached to her hotel room. 

Documentaries weren’t the same as Hollywood films with their wider box office appeal and George Clooney-type stars. Funding was measly in comparison, so Nora bunked with one of the producers for the Paris leg. She and Jenna had worked together before a couple years back, and while Nora knew her to be sugar sweet from dawn to dusk, the 30-year-old woman did not fuck around with her skincare routine and her eight hours. 

At this time of night on a non-weekend, Paris didn’t have much street noise, but Nora was still certain Charlie’s connection must’ve cut out somewhere in the middle of her sentence. Or maybe Nora had heard her wrong. 

International calls could be so fickle sometimes. Right?

“Let me get this straight. You’re asking if I want to leave Paris to go to San Diego…” Nora repeated slowly, leaving ample breathing room between each word, plenty of time for Charlie to cut in and correct her, “and meet with your ex-boyfriend about some Naval feature? We don’t even like him.” 

“You can call him Maverick,” Charlie replied evenly, “Everybody else does.” 

Nora pulled a face. “I’ll call him Pete. How’s that?” 

“He’ll definitely ask you to call him Maverick.” 

“And I’ll still call him Pete.” 

Charlie’s answering sigh was loud in her ear, even through the static, and Nora smiled down at her shoes. She took a careful step around the bite-sized table, stacked precariously full with her laptop, camera, and notepad, and planted her elbows on the railing. Metal creaked gently under her weight.

“Pete… will be fine,” Charlie relented, “and really, Pete is fine in my book. We’re just… two old acquaintances who wanted different things and were never going to work out in the long term. Besides, from what I hear, Penny Benjamin is his new sweetheart now. Well, new old sweetheart.”

She didn’t know who Penny Benjamin was. Must be a real saint to put up with him.

“Good. He won’t be knocking on your door the next time the Navy sends him to Washington to accept some medal then, right?” 

Nora was seventeen the last time Pete Mitchell came knocking on Charlie Blackwood’s door; around eighteen months after Nora’s mom died, making Charlie her legal guardian. He happened to be in town for some medal or some ceremony or some medal at some ceremony.

He left in the dead of night, out the window, and Charlie spent the next two weeks muttering curses about hotshot pilots and their charismatic bullshit.

“That was almost twelve years ago, Nora,” Charlie chided, much less fun Aunt Charlie and much more diplomatic Charlotte Blackwood, employed by the Pentagon in that moment. Nora rolled her eyes. 

“And anyway,” Charlie continued, not letting her get another word in, “Maverick isn’t the main contact. You’d only meet with him because All Hands…” A Naval magazine, print and digital, funding the project, as Charlie had explained in her initial one long sentence explanation before Nora had been distracted by the who and the where. “…wants to focus on his team. Everything is already approved. All you, my love, would need to do is get the golden seal from Cyclone to head it up. He’s the Air Boss over there.” 

“Now Cyclone is a name that I don’t know,” Nora said, then swiped out of the call to look up the definition of Air Boss. “Doesn’t sound like a name made up by a 13-year-old boy who plays too much Call of Duty. He a Captain too?”

“Vice Admiral. You can meet him on your first day,” and Nora’s lips parted in protest, to say that was a little presumptuous, given she hadn’t agreed to anything and was still half a world away working on something else. Charlie cut her off, right at the knees: “Don’t start with me. Your Paris job wraps in what… four, five days?

Three, but Nora didn’t correct her. 

“Normally, by now, I would be getting half a dozen calls every week from you, gushing about what you’ve got going on next; whatever place you’ll be jetting off to this time. This is the first time I’ve talked to you in at least two weeks,” Guilt pinged at her chest, along with a large helping of existential dread. “Have you even signed on to anything new?”

No. And Nora was doing jack shit to change that. 

Her producer was already signed on for a film that would start pre-production ten weeks from now. It was a big one, lots of people to bring on board, and Jenna – literal angel in human form Jenna offered to pass Nora’s name along for consideration. 

Nora still hadn’t given an answer. 

She worried the edge of her lip but said nothing, and Charlie must’ve taken that as encouragement enough to continue on. “It’ll be a short project. Gives you enough time to find something new that excites you. Just… go to North Island and talk to Cyclone. You need a break.” 

Late May breezed across her cheeks, smelling of the sweet pink and white cherry blossoms in bloom at a nearby park. She’d passed it nearly every day, afraid that the end of May would come and Nora wouldn’t ever see them in full bloom before having to leave. They bloomed two weeks ago, almost overnight, and Nora knew that June loomed and with it, the end of another project. 

All that remained was uncertainty. 

She did need a break, though Nora wasn’t sure that anyone other than her aunt and herself would consider working on another documentary to be a break. She couldn’t remember the last time Charlie had even taken a sick day. They were born and bred workaholics the both of them, and usually, Nora thrived on that.

But lately, Nora was so tired. 

Another project could be good for me, Nora thought. Fewer eyes and expectations, without the pressure of acclaim and awards and future grants and questions of what are you doing next tightening like a noose around her neck. It’d be a one and done. She could do that.

“Alright,” Nora said, feeling a little lighter from letting the words loose. That was reassuring, at least. “Start from the beginning. How’d you find out about it? Who are the subjects? What’s the goal?” 

Smile audible in her voice, Charlie started again, “Here is what I know…” 

They wrapped mid-week with the usual fanfare, and the next day, Nora was packed and on a plane back home to Southern California. 

Nora could already tell the Vice Admiral was ready to have the screening process over and done with. He barely asked her any questions before shaking her hand and foisting her onto Admiral Bates who ran her through the rules and regulations for getting onto the base and her accommodations. 

Since Nora was freelancing for a Naval magazine, the United States government would be putting her up for the duration of the project. God bless America. She did not want to find a last minute hotel room in San Diego in June. 

After obtaining a temporary ID card and a neat stack of manilla folders, probably filled with generously redacted background and service records, Nora is promptly deposited in the beachside parking lot of a steel-blue apartment building, faded from sun and brine, with a whole night ahead. 

Showering off the plane eats up a few minutes, as does replying to the check-in email that the magazine contact sent over this afternoon. They would talk more over the weekend and into next week. It was difficult to connect with the time difference, so Charlie had guided the initial communication. 

Calling Charlie drains another half hour, while Nora hums in all the right places and fights to keep her eyes open, chiming in with the occasional observation about North Island and tidbit about the conversation with Cyclone and Warlock. 

“What’d you think of Cyclone?”

She stares at the blank wall across from the bed – all that wide open space and not an art print in sight – and thinks back. 

Cyclone leveled an impassive stare at her over the folder that held her portfolio – apparently faxed over by Charlie before Nora had even agreed to come – and said, “This is an unusual circumstance. Most of the nepotism hires that come across my desk are aiming higher than an eight week contractor.” 

She’d bitten her cheek to hold back a laugh, and Admiral Bates let out a suspiciously timed cough, hiding his mouth behind a balled fist. 

“He was kind of hot,” Nora admits, then has to hold the phone away from her ear to not be deafened by Charlie’s laughter. “What? Just because I lack a father figure, I’m not allowed to appreciate an older man every now and then?” 

“Sure, but I think I’ll draw the line at Maverick.” 

Nora does her best projectile vomit noise, and Charlie laughs so hard that Mr. Charlotte Blackwood – as Nora affectionately likes to call Charlie’s husband John, who always accepted it with a congenial smile that only made her like him more – shouts from another room, wanting to know what exactly is so hilarious. 

She won’t see Pete Mitchell until Monday, and after promising to tell him that Charlie says hello and sends her best to him and this Penny Benjamin woman, Nora hangs up the phone. 

It’s barely 8 PM, and Nora wants nothing more than to crawl under the covers and leech the travel from her bones, but the San Diego sun is stubborn and high on the horizon. She knows her own body well enough to know that an 8 PM bedtime makes for a 3 AM bout of insomnia. 

Boredom finds Nora perched on a cushioned barstool, a fresh t-shirt on her torso and a new coat of red lipstick on her lips, in the crowded Hard Deck bar. Sipping on an Old Fashioned, chatting with none other than Penny Benjamin. 

“Charlie Blackwood,” Penny Benjamin repeats, a surprised but amiable smile on her face. A brown leather jacket sits over her slender shoulders, the same warm shade as her hair, and Nora spots a United States Navy patch on the sleeve. “God, I haven’t seen Charlie in… 30 years now. She may have told you, but I met her once or twice at Top Gun, back before my old man, the great Admiral Benjamin, retired. How’s she doing?” 

“She’s good,” Nora offers, adding as an afterthought, just in case Penny Benjamin was the jealous type. “Married now.” 

Penny sends her a sidelong look, narrow-eyed, that must make the fresh-faced Top Gun hopefuls cower in their regulation boots. Behind the glass, Nora’s lips curve into an amused smirk. 

Things must be going well. Good for them.

Nora swirls the amber liquid, fishing out an extra cherry from the bottom and popping it into her mouth. “She sends her well wishes. She’d probably want me to give you a hug or something, but I think I’d fall on my ass trying to lean over the counter. Consider yourself lucky.” 

“You can give my hug to Pete, but only if I’m there to witness.” 

 “Distinguished Captain Mitchell isn’t much of a hugger? I’m shocked.” 

“Are you kidding?” Penny fills another pint glass for a patron a few barstools down, sliding it down the counter and looking back at Nora with an amused twinkle. “He’ll turn into a robot. He won’t know how to react. Make sure to ask one of the boys to record it for you so I can blackmail him with it forever.”  

Imagining it, Nora is still smiling when Penny’s name calls her to the other side of the counter. Leaving her alone to people-watch and observe the establishment with a filmmaker’s eye. 

Miniature planes hang from the ceiling, swaying in the breeze that cuts in with the opening and closing of the door. A wood island separates one side of the bar from the other, stacked high with an assortment of colorful glass bottles that gleam in the fading sunlight. 

A golden wash spills through the back windows, and the Hard Deck is filling up fast with civilians, veterans, and servicemen alike. They’re the easiest to spot, wearing  their service khakis and all. 

Music swells through the bar, and Nora spies a jukebox in the corner, drawing a line five deep, all waiting for their turn to select the next 1980s classic. She recognizes the current song from her white dad music playlist. 

‘Take It Easy’ by Eagles. Track four, baby. 

Over her shoulder, a tight-knit crowd surrounds the pool table. They throw jeers and jokes at each other with familiarity, and Nora watches them for a moment too long, dragging her tired eyes away when one of them starts to turn in her direction. 

She checks her phone, under the bar, not on top, of course, unless Nora wants to buy the whole room a round. A little after 8:30 now. She just needs a kill another hour or so, and then, that’ll feel like an acceptable time to crawl into bed and sleep for the next ten hours. 

Fingers dancing through her tote, Nora fishes out her favorite journal, setting it down flat on the least sticky surface she can find. Leather-bound, stuffed to the brim with colorful sticky notes and touch-creased photographs. Further searches reveal that Nora left her pens back at the apartment, somewhere in one of those suitcases that had gotten packed and unpacked in an attempt to burn time. 

“Do you have a spare pen?” 

A blue pen rolls over to her waiting hands as Penny passes with a wink and dashes down the counter to fill a round of drinks. She has that endless energy that Nora needs a few coffees to achieve. 

Thinking it makes Nora’s lids feel even heavier. 

Tracks switch again on the jukebox, and Nora hums along to the new song, another winning installment on her white dad music playlist. Has the United States Navy hacked her Spotify account or something? She cuts through the pages like a surfboard through an ocean wave to find a fresh page, and Nora spins the pen between manicured fingers, mouthing the lyrics to ‘Dancing in the Dark’ under her breath. 

Her brain is a firework show, thoughts shooting off high and fast, bursting into a million different directions. Loud and colorful. She can be like this on her best day, but a severe lack of sleep – or in this case, horrible jet lag – makes it a million times worse. 

A long blank stare at the page later, Nora manages to piece a few words together into what might resemble a coherent thought, with emphasis on the word might here.

And right as Nora clicks the pen and presses it down on the page, denting the lined paper beneath the blue ink, an empty pint glass is set down on the counter, a few inches from her left hand. A whiff of cologne fills her nostrils, a little overbearing but still pleasant. 

Fingers drum against the wood, in time with the music, and determined, despite the distraction, to pin down the semi-coherent thoughts that are now fleeing like scattered mice, Nora reaches for her drink and finds it empty save for half-melted ice and an orange rind. 

“Buy you another one, sweetheart?” 

She looks up, in spite of herself, and damn. 

He is handsome as hell, heart-aching levels of handsome, a little like looking into the sun. Like a goddamn movie star, all broad shoulders and perfect, slicked back blonde hair, and easy confidence that fits him like a well-worn shirt. 

He plucks the rocks glass easily from her stunned grip, holding it between two fingers, a loose, almost careless hold, and damn her to hell, Nora swallows against her suddenly dry mouth. 

She really needs to go to bed. Among other things. 

Green eyes study the contents of the glass, then flick back over to her, and Nora is hit with the full force of a mega-watt smile. 

Dimples out. Ready to film a tooth-whitener commercial. 

“Bourbon girl? I’m impressed.” 

“Why?” Nora drawls, and hell, the word comes out of her mouth a little rough. Get it together. Put away the bedroom voice. She clears the cobwebs from her throat. “Because I look like I’d order a cosmopolitan in a dive bar and act surprised when I’m given a vodka cran?” 

He seems to take look as an invitation, dragging his eyes over the soft t-shirt, a little damp over the shoulders from her shower, and the faded blue jeans that hang loosely from her legs, an old pair with a rip in the knee big enough that Nora might soon need to give them a second life as shorts. 

His appraisal stalls out on her blood-red lips, tracing the shape of them, getting the lay of the land. And then, slowly rises back to meet her gaze. All the while, smiling like a pageant contestant. 

“Name’s Hangman.”

Record scratch. He’s a pilot.

Goddamn pilots. 

“That doesn’t sound like a name,” Nora drawls back, matching his conceited-ass smile with her freshly chilled ice-cold bitch smirk. “And I can buy my own drinks.” 

Rudeness isn’t her drug of choice, but Nora clocks him as a tough one. A swift one-two ego punch should do the trick, rejecting his advance and mocking his precious call sign in one fell swoop. Aviators toss those around more than their actual names.

He’ll leave now.

She stares him down, and Mr. Pilot stares right back, eyes amused and sparkling in the twinkling lights dancing right above the bar, tucked between the steins. 

Any minute now.

He doesn’t move an inch, and if possible, the Barbie and Ken smile grows even wider on his perfect face. He’s so hot, Nora kinda wants to break his nose just to make something on his face crooked. 

“It’s my call sign.” 

She is so tired. It trips off her tongue, almost out of habit: “Well, I’m not calling you Hangman. What’s your actual name?” 

Why…. Why would those words come out of her mouth, instead of the ‘Get lost, Malibu Barbie’ that was locked and loaded in the back of her mind? Damn damn damn. 

She doesn’t fool around with pilots, not after Charlie’s history with Pete Mitchell and her own Air Force sperm donor who couldn’t be bothered to call more than once a year. And especially not, when Nora will be working on the base for the next two months. What if Nora ran into him?

The edge of Hangman’s mouth twitches into a slow, dangerous smile, and Nora catches a flash of his canines, ultra-white like the rest of his teeth. 

She fiddles with the pen cap, rolling and bending it between her pointer finger and thumb. Waits impatiently for him to give her an answer that gives her the opening needed to send him packing, back to the pool table to make better use of his bulging arm muscles over there. 

Some co-ed girls push behind him, stumbling and giggling to each other, and in stepping out of their way, Hangman inches forward into her space. Breath warm at her nape, stirring the pale strands loose at her cheekbones, too short to remain tucked behind her ears without a fight.

Clever fingers capture one and brush it back into place, softly brushing against the side of her neck. His words are a low, hot rumble against the shell of her ear: “It’s Jake. Lieutenant Jake Seresin.” 

Oh, Nora thinks, warm all over in a way that has nothing to do with the sticky heat of the night. Oh shit. 

She has the borrowed pen in a chokehold, gripping it hard enough to redden her fingertips, and Hangman – now Jake notices. His grin widens, and Nora forces herself to loosen the hold, to let the blood flow back into her hands, to regain some of her composure.

“Let me buy you a drink.” 

Not a question this time, so Nora doesn’t need to give him a yes or no. 

He’s offered a loophole, one around her own better judgment, without even realizing it. She can just drop her shoulders with casual indifference, as if to say if you insist, and turn back to her journal. Pretend not to feel his intent, most definitely intrigued gaze on the side of her face. 

It’s a free drink, and Nora’s hardly encouraging him. What is the harm, really?

A smug smile crosses his face when Penny comes over, an unreadable expression on her face, and Nora doesn’t stop him from ordering another Old Fashioned. He’s close enough now to feel the evening heat radiating from his tan skin, exposed where the sleeves of his t-shirt cut across his biceps. 

Nora is not enabling anything. Not at all. 

Rooster is on the last swallow of his beer when Phoenix looks over his shoulder and groans, a dramatic and drawn-out sound that would’ve made her an excellent soap opera star in a different life. He barely has time to snort before Bob appears at her side, a look of sudden concern on his clean-shaven face.

“What’s wrong?”

“We’re never getting our next round.” Phoenix rigidly jerks her head in the direction that Hangman disappeared a few minutes ago. Too long ago, now that Rooster thinks about it. “Bagman got distracted.” 

This is enough to bring the rest of the Daggers to attention. They round the pool table one by one, incited by the suggestion that Hangman might get out of buying them drinks. 

“Distracted,” Payback lets out a sardonic snort. He leans on the pool cue like a walking stick, towering over the rest of them with Rooster seated. “He probably forgot to order the round. Idiot.” 

“I don’t blame him,” Fanboy drawls, looking to the center of the room, waggling his brows. “I think I’d let her distract me anytime, anywhere. Is that not the hottest woman you’ve ever seen step foot in this bar?” His eyes go wide, almost panicked, darting to the only woman in their ranks. “No offense, Phoenix.” 

Phoenix shows no sign of hearing him, and Rooster and Payback share a disbelieving look over the WSO’s head, snickering underneath their amazing mustaches. Lucky son of a bitch. 

“Poor girl,” Phoenix muses with a slow shake of her head, sending her loose curls cascading over her shoulders. “Someone needs to launch a rescue mission. He’s practically drooling into her glass. And…” Something changes in her expression. “Did I hit my head in the cockpit this afternoon and not remember it? Does that girl look familiar to anyone else?” 

“Never seen her before in my life,” Payback says, slapping his WSO on the shoulder, which seems to give Fanboy the confidence to add in, “I’d love to get further acquainted though. Think I can swoop in and steal her from Hangman?”

Phoenix has already pulled out her phone, paying no attention to the round of low chuckles and smirks that are shared between the men. Her fingers skate across the screen, faster than an F-18 on descent, and Rooster looks over his shoulder to get in on the joke. 

It takes him all of two seconds to find them, mostly because Hangman has just flashed that thousand-watt smile that could probably blind an enemy dogfighter. 

He leans against the counter, the cocky bastard, with a pint glass in his hand – one that should be in all of their hands right now. Not an empty glass filled with an inch of foam. Looking down at the barstool next to him, or more specifically, at the woman perched there.

Slender, blonde, dressed down in a t-shirt and jeans, and most definitely a civilian. He can’t accurately weigh in on Fanboy’s assessment, at least until Rooster can catch a glimpse of her face. 

“I knew it!” 

All of them startle when Phoenix makes the announcement and looks up from her phone with the victorious expression of someone who’d just shot down Maverick in a dogfight. She waves her phone in front of their faces, too fast for him to make out more than a blur of words and pictures. 

“I fucking knew it. I follow her on Instagram.” And the wide smile on Phoenix’s face be described as nothing short of gleeful gloating. She cackles to herself, leaning over to show the screen to Bob again. “And you little shits made fun of me for loving documentaries so much. Who’s laughing now?”

Documentaries…. 

Recognition tugs at the edge of his drunken memory.

“Her name is – ” 

She turns, and Rooster sees her face. 

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Rooster calls out, and Phoenix and Bob startle at the sudden change in volume, brown and blue eyes shooting up from the phone like Rooster blared an airhorn between their heads. He ignores them. “Am I seeing things, or Nora fucking Rogers, is that you?” 

Everyone in a 10-foot radius looks at him, exchanging looks and eye rolls, dismissing him as belligerent but harmless, but Rooster ignores them, keeping his eyes locked on one woman. 

Cornflower blue eyes survey the crowded room, sifting through the noise to place the voice, and finally, land on him. Surprise softens her features. And as the jukebox switches tracks, another crooning 1980s love song pouring through the speakers, Nora Rogers smiles at him for the first time in half a decade.

“Bradley Bradshaw, from beyond the grave.” 

It really is him. This… six-foot-something hallucination with tree-trunk arms and a ridiculous porn star mustache and a familiar gleam in his eyes that spelled trouble. Did Charlie know Bradley would be here? She might’ve mentioned that. Nora looks up at him… and up again, because goddamn, were all Naval aviators so fucking tall?

An awkward beat passes where Bradley and Nora seem to grapple for the right greeting for a person you hadn’t seen in years and hadn’t seen all that often in the first place and mutually, come up empty-handed. 

They’d met all of four or five times over the years, courtesy of the long-distance friendship that blossomed between Aunt Charlie and his mother Carole after Pete had left his Top Gun instructor post and shipped out again. She could use the extra friend without her husband, Charlie had said. 

And then, Nora got older and became Charlie’s backup plus one to some Naval Aviation functions, usually thrown by Top Gun graduates who passed through when Charlie was a civilian instructor. She’d see him there every once in a while, all grown up and pursuing his dreams of becoming a pilot. 

And then, Nora thinks absently, there was that one time…

She should’ve remembered that Bradley Bradshaw is a hugger. 

Making up his mind for them both, Bradley reaches out and tugs her against his chest. And for one moment, Nora can feel the muscled strength of his arms banded around her torso, the firmness of his chest underneath the open Hawaiian shirt and incredibly thin white tank; can practically make out the ridges of his abs through the fabric. 

It is barely longer than a brief squeeze, but as Nora pulls back, an unnatural but not entirely unexpected lightness buzzes in her chest. She is quick to blame it on the lack of sleep and dark liquor coursing through her veins.

She is feeling all kinds of strange tonight. 

Like earlier, when Jake Seresin handed over the Old Fashioned, an unshakable curl to his lips, and as Nora took a delicate sip, watched the movement with half-lidded eyes; the muscles that worked in her throat. Like Jake wanted nothing more than to follow the path with his mouth, and Nora could picture him sprawled across her bed, clear as a snapshot: chests heaving, sweat dripping, tongue dragging across her pulse point, his large hand a collar around her throat. 

Right then. Silly little thoughts like that. 

Nora clears her throat, tugging at the neckline of her tee, and almost unbidden, like a magnetic pull, her gaze wanders back to him, standing in nearly the exact same spot at the bar, collecting a round of drinks. He apparently owed the group for the last pool game or something.

She can’t help but notice a new tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there a few minutes ago. She can tell, having been slightly too preoccupied with the strong line of his shoulders over at the bar for her own liking. He’d seemed so casual at the bar, so relaxed. 

Is Jake mad? At Bradley, for interrupting them? At Nora, for coming over here?

These seem to be his friends. He was playing pool with them after all, up until Jake approached her at the bar. And Nora was hardly even talking to him at the bar, scribbling in her notebook and entertaining the occasional question as Jake seemed content to stand at her shoulder and watch. 

“What’s your name?” 

“What’re you doing in Fightertown?” 

“What do you do for work?” 

“A filmmaker? Like Quentin Tarantino?” 

And Nora had been incised enough to set her pen down and stare him down. “I make documentaries, and if I did make movies, I’d at least like to be compared to someone decent. Not some piece-of-shit asshole director.”

His brows rose, but Jake looked unperturbed. “Like who?” 

“Like… I don’t know, Nora Ephron or Greta Gerwig. You probably don’t even know who Nora Ephron is, do you? Do you also think Fight Club is a love letter to toxic masculinity?” 

He exhaled a laugh, brows still halfway to his hairline, and opened his mouth to reply when Bradley called her name, and Nora was gone before Jake could get another word in.

Still. Seeing him look so… Tense? Dejected? Annoyed?

It makes her feel off-kilter. 

Maybe Jake just wanted to chat her up at the bar and go back to his friends, not to be bothered for the rest of the night. She’s ruined that plan by coming over here, invited or not. It shouldn’t matter. She can’t stop herself from wondering anyway. God. Why do you even care?

She doesn’t know him, and after tonight, she’ll likely never see him again. 

He starts to turn, and Nora slingshots her gaze back to Bradley, refusing to be caught watching him, who is looking down – and down – with a rose-colored hue to his face. A pair of aviator sunglasses sit crookedly over his eyes, showing her reflection. 

She takes a half-step back to not have to crane her neck so much to meet his eyes. Raises her voice to be heard over the music, much closer to the jukebox now. “What are you doing here? I might be out of the loop, but didn’t you already graduate from Top Gun? Like many, many years ago?” 

“She’s calling you old, Rooster,” Jake cuts in, reappearing and passing out the few bottles and glasses around the circle. Seven total, including another Old Fashioned that Nora probably doesn’t need but still accepts. He shoots her a wink over the glass. “You gonna take that, man?” 

“I was not, you jackass,” Nora shoots back, the second Old Fashioned blurring the lines between her brain and her mouth.

Jake settles against the pool table in a casual stance, arms crossed across his chest, biceps bulging. She must’ve imagined the earlier tension. He seems fine now, watching her with a smirk.

“I didn’t expect to see anyone I knew here. Answer the question, Bradshaw.” 

Bradley’s laugh is a little loud, a little unsteady. One look at the nearest hightop table, littered with empty beer bottles and pint glasses, tells her everything she needs to know. 

Bradley Bradshaw is tipsy. Color shines high in his cheeks.

“‘What am I doing here?’ You’re on a Naval base, darling, which makes me,” Bradley pushes the glasses up the bridge of his nose and with the hand holding the new beer bottle, gestures to his own chest. Covered in that shirt that is… not hiding much, “the law around these parts. I ask the questions around here.” A dark-haired woman rolls her eyes behind his back. “What the hell are you doing here, civilian? You following me around now?” 

Oh wow. He’s so drunk. 

“In your dreams.”

She doesn’t like the look on his face; doesn’t trust what drunk Bradley might spit out next in a public setting, so Nora brings them back to more even ground, summarizing everything with a short and sweet, “I’m doing Charlie a favor” that is more or less true. Gives him the barest rundown of her past 48 hours, all too aware of the four Naval aviators standing within earshot, shooting her curious glances and waiting for an introduction. 

“It’s your turn now.” 

“We were here on a special detachment. Eight months ago. Top secret shit,” Bradley offers in an oh so serious tone. All of his concentration seems to go towards hiding a smile. It’s given away by the obvious twitch of his mustache, dampening the effect slightly. “I can’t talk about it, or Cyclone will shoot me out of an airlock.” 

“We’re on the ground, Rooster.” 

“Semantics, Payback. He will take me up into the atmosphere in an F-18 just to shoot me into space. And then, probably like, come down here and have one black coffee in victory. Happy now?” 

Nora offers, “I actually have some security clearance.”

Some was probably an exaggeration. Charlie set her up with a director who needed an assistant, back when Nora really needed another project under her belt to build her portfolio. Lightly sensitive, all for internal use, of course.

“No shit. Aren’t you special?” 

Drenched in sarcasm, but Bradshaw is looking at her over the edge of his pint glass with a hint of something else in his brown eyes.

Nope. No. Not going there tonight. 

“Now, Bradshaw.” She delivers a light slap to his chest, and Bradley looks down, amused. It’s a little more familiar than Nora was going for. She probably didn’t need another drink. “When are you going to stop being rude and introduce me?” 

His arm settles over her shoulders, swiveling her like a Hard Deck barstool to face the rest of the group. They go down the line, one by one. Call signs, then their first and last names, upon request because Nora refuses to call a bunch of grown men things like Rooster and Fanboy. Phoenix is actually a damn cool name. 

Phoenix, Fanboy, Payback, and Bob.

Natasha, Mickey, Reuben, and Bob again.

“And Hangman,” Jake finishes, a pronounced twang in his voice that Nora didn’t notice before. She was missing the accents earlier, wasn’t she? “We met at a little spot not far from here. I was the devastatingly handsome man buying you a drink.” 

“Sorry,” Nora shoots back, all calm and collected. “I don’t think I know a Hangman. Doesn’t sound like a real name to me.” 

A muscle twitches in his cheek. “Jake.” 

“It’s all coming back now.” And Nora doesn’t mean for it to come out so quiet, so intimate. “Hi Jake.” 

He flashes her a dimpled grin, all soft edges. “Hi Nora.” 

It’s so damn charming that Nora has to bite back an unbidden smile, but with the high-speed attention of an F-18 pilot, Jake catches it, the smug son of a bitch. He lifts his beer to his mouth and shoots her a heated look that curls her toes inside her boots. 

“So,” Phoenix interjects, glancing between them with an all too knowing look that makes Nora flush. “Who is up for another round of pool?” 

She should’ve stuck to her original plan, which would have seen her leave over an hour ago. Already curled up under the sheets for a long, much-needed sleep by now. 

But Nora is having too much fun, sitting on a barstool near the pool table, watching the game and listening to them trade insults and stories (just the non-classified ones, of course) back and forth. All of them seem to know each other well, and Nora learns early on that Captain Mitchell recruited them for this special top-secret detachment a few months back. 

“We’re still here under Maverick as an actual squadron now. We’re… I’m sorry, I’m not exactly sure what I can and can’t tell you,” Bob explains, cutting himself off with a sheepish expression. He is damn cute, clean-shaven and baby-faced. Easygoing. He reminds her a little of a duckling, jabs rolling off his back like water. “You can ask Maverick on Monday. Are you just following him around with a camera or…?”  

She gives him the quick run-down, well aware that the Daggers are all within earshot now, not even pretending not to eavesdrop on the conversation. “It will probably be a good bit of interviews and additional footage. It’s not just about Captain Mitchell. I’ll be focusing on the whole team.” 

“We’ll probably be seeing a lot of you then.” 

It is a perfectly nonchalant observation, but Nora’s heart does a stuttered thump-thump in her chest, the exact same realization piercing through her intoxicated brain way too late. If Maverick is their CO, then Bob is on the team that Nora will be profiling in the feature. All of them are. Which means...

She will be seeing them. Probably every single day.  

Nora manages to get out an even, “I guess so.” 

She remembers the cardboard box of files, sitting unopened next to her overturned suitcase, and wants to bang her head against a wall. Instead, Nora washes down the overwhelming sense of uh oh with a too-quick gulp of her drink. Green eyes burn against the side of her face, stinging like the bourbon in her nostrils. 

Natasha drops onto the next barstool over, providing the perfect distraction from her thoughts. She’s just landed an impressive sequence of shots against Mickey and Reuben, who now stand staring down at the table, hands on hips in identical stances of contemplation.

“I follow you on Instagram,” Natasha admits, snagging her beer bottle from a nearby table and waving off the popcorn that Bob offers her. “And I have to tell you. I have invited these idiots over to watch documentaries with me more times than I can even remember. Tried different topics too. Bob is the only one who ever comes over. Don’t let them convince you otherwise.” 

“Oh, I won’t. I can smell a fraud a mile away,” Nora reassures, a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes to match the other woman, “but I, for one, would love an invitation to watch a documentary with you. Make it a weekly thing while I’m here.” 

And Natasha grins wide enough to inspire warm and fuzzy feelings in her chest. Is this what budding friendship felt like? She has been on the move so much lately. She’d almost forgotten. 

“Nora is my friend, Phoenix,” Bradley cuts in, sunglasses sliding further and further down his nose. His large hand comes up to deliver a playful push to the other woman’s shoulder. “Stop trying to steal her away from me. Get your own friend.” 

“We’re friends now, are we, Bradshaw?” Nora can’t help her laugh, slightly mocking, light enough not to be mistaken as rejection. “I haven’t seen you in like… five years. You probably don’t even know my birthday.” 

He pouts. “Phoenix doesn’t know your birthday either.” 

“It’s in August. She posted about it on her Instagram.” 

“Go away, Phoenix,” Bradley reaches across her again to push at Natasha harder. He loses his balance a little bit and nearly topples into Nora’s lap, only caught by Phoenix shoving against his shoulder. “Don’t let her do this, Rogers. You’re breaking my heart here.” 

“You’re drunk,” Nora giggles, an honest to god giggle, only reserved for drunk Nora. Sober Nora laughs. Drunk Nora giggles. It’s usually a sign to call it a night. “You’re drunk, and I think… I think I might be drunk.” 

“You’re definitely drunk.” 

Nice. Real professional. Getting drunk on the night before her first day and with none other than the only team of pilots on North Island that she is guaranteed to see after tonight. 

“Oh no….” Nora whispers through another giggle, and with a hand that feels disconnected from her arm, reaches up and pushes Bradley’s sunglasses back up his nose. His grin turns wolfish and… “I think I need to go home.” 

“Or…” 

“I can take you. Where’re you staying?”  

Jake pulls his keys out of his pocket and dangles them from a finger, while Bradley straightens, with sudden coordination, to his full height. Out of the corner of her eye, Natasha has paused mid-sip, watching with unadulterated interest, like Rooster and Hangman were the most interesting thing on television. Bob offers her the popcorn again, and Natasha takes a handful. 

“You’ve been drinking.”

“I stopped an hour ago, and I only had two.” 

“She doesn’t know you.” 

“Did you not just say you haven’t seen her in five years?”

“She’s not going home with you.” 

“Jesus Christ…” Jake scrubs a hand over his face, his growing irritation plain. “It’s a ride home, not an invitation to bed. You’d rather put her in a cab with a stranger than have me drive her home? What’s your problem?” 

“My problem is – ” 

Well. This is… rapidly descending into a testosterone fest.

She can feel a dull ache developing in her temple, a heaviness to her lids that is becoming harder to ignore. She needs a strong painkiller, about three and a half glasses of water, and a bed. Preferably tonight. 

“Alright, I’m calling an Uber.” 

 She reaches for her phone, and Jake raises a placating hand.

“Don’t waste money on an Uber. I’ll take you home,” Jake repeats, looking pained, and then, Bradley Bradshaw opens his mouth and takes a big breath, gearing up to restart this idiotic argument. 

“Bradshaw, I swear…” Nora presses her fingers to her forehead and closes her eyes. “In about five minutes, I might sleep on that pool table, so please, I will take what I can get. I’m staying at…” Did Warlock ever give her the address? Goddammit. “It’s… It’s like a blue apartment building next to the beach. It’s not far from here. Know what I’m talking about please.” 

Exhaustion makes her blunt, but Jake looks amused again.. More amused than Nora would give herself credit for inspiring with her drunken rambles.

“I know it. We all live there.” 

Oh. Oh no. 

“Oh. Great.”  

She really will see them every day, even on her days off.  

Something flashes across Bradley’s face, too quick for her to clock it, but Nora is focused on putting hands on her phone, wallet, and keys. Hoisting her bag onto her arm. 

“Well, I’ll come with you.” 

“Rooster. Seriously?” 

“No, I should probably call it a night too, and I caught a ride with Phoenix here anyway. I’ll come back with you guys.” 

Jake and Bradley share a long stare-down that Nora is too tired to even process. It is some sort of telepathic conversation that must be exclusive to Top Gun graduates, or a silent dick-measuring contest. One of the two. 

“Oh,” Phoenix observes, tossing another piece of popcorn in her mouth. “This’ll be interesting.” 

Yeah, Nora thinks. It’ll be something alright. 

It is a short ride back to the apartments. Bradley hums the words to ‘Great Balls of Fire’ under his breath the whole time, over and over in an unending loop, while Nora presses her forehead to the window, breath fogging the glass with the late night temperatures, and closes her eyes. 

It does little to alleviate the weight of Jake’s gaze, dashing off the rearview mirror at every red light. He casts a sideways glance at Bradley, then opens his mouth to say something, but then Nora’s eyelids flutter closed and Jake remains silent, reaching for the radio knob to turn the volume down.

His truck finally rounds the last bend in the road and pulls into the lot, and Nora is damn near crawling out of her skin. She drank two full glasses of water at the bar before leaving. She isn’t buzzed enough at this point to blame the heady warmth on the alcohol. It’s him.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen,” Jake expertly steers the truck, one-handed, into a spot along the front row of apartments. She can see her door from here, spotlighted under a second-floor flood light like a safe haven. “Please keep all hands and feet inside the vehicle until I’ve come to a full and complete…” 

He’s barely tapped the brakes when Nora mumbles a good night and makes a run for the staircase. 

“Alright then,” Jake calls after her through his open window, accent thick from drowsiness. “Good night to you too, sweetheart.”

She shuts her door on his raspy chuckle. 

It echoes in her ears all the same, even after splashing freezing cold water on her neck, stripping off her clothes, and climbing into the bed with the slightly scratchy sheets. Lingers, like the brush of his fingertips down the side of her neck. 

Nora heaves a sigh in the blue dark. “Goddammit.” 

end note: likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. and if you have thoughts and feelings, please shout in my asks or my messages. i'd love to hear from you!

read the next chapter!

[knizuu]

Talk to me abt uhhh anything- Fang, Petey, OC, idc. ANYTHING U WANT💖💖

PLEASE IM GENUINELY INTERESTED IM NOT DOING THIS JUST CUS U LET ME- /gen

I get so nervous writing asks wtf

DUDE IM SO DUCKING HAPPY +omg same </33

COUGH well imma go in order lets go with the

FANG🫧….

SIGHH I LOVE HIM SM. tbh I see how people react to the recent idw miniseries which left the Hooligan fans really sour </33 to me, though, it wasn’t too bad?? I see how it works and honestly the only sad part to me is WHY DID HOOLIGANS BREAK UP AUH but im so used to “sonic canon ew” so like-I should’ve expected that sigh. So I can reason with how excited people headcannon/draw/make whatever of the guy it’s really cool since we all kinda agree? Like even with such a variety we all take the guy lovingly <33 which is sweet :> like its pretty chill-WHCIH IS FUNNY because Im actually really scared in small communities <- i made a post bout it once i-I EAT UP ANY FAN MADE FANG CONTENT FR i love all fangs really [so far] ^ ^ tbh even my school knows that-I did pottery of him, drawn him, spoke of him, my teacher saw a drawing of Fang I did and HE QUOTE: I was looking for that [SIR I GET IT IM PREDICATABLE/silly]

PETEY💠

Ok as much as heartfelt I feel about Fang-Petey is just some other freak of nature my family knows. I’m NOT EVEN JOKING-MY MOM SANG ABOUT HIM WHILE MAKING LUNCH/GEN GEN GEN-cough. Idk why but ever since my brother [the first dog man fan obviously] inserted dog man into my family [by 1. SHOWING MY FANART/BOOKS TO MUM 2. LETTING ME SING THE MUSICAL ALL DAY LON-/positive fs] its been insane/sILLY because-who expected everyone to say “Papa Petey” [i do NOT know how some typo made mo-ok my mom has a Petey problem/sILY AGAIN] in the car-at home…NOT ME THATS WHO. WHY IS PETEY SUCH A NORMAL THING IN MY HOUSEHOLD/positive sigh

OC🌸

OKK well they are ALMOST a wasteland but I have an original story to bring some ocs to life ^ ^ [including-sigh vague mention-the space dog lady and red haired lady ocs i have :3] ESSENTALLY: I’m calling it Brink of Bryony!! [Bryony is about a flower but in plot idk a city??] it’s just a human loser [red haired lady MAYBE] meeting alien folk [Cordella is there…i showed her ONCE] like my self insert hehe [Norolist] because OH NO beeg mister evil guy wants to take over Earth and this NICE alien people gonna protect it! That’s the entire thing, very unserious lmao. Pyrexavul is my precious <33 I don’t think I shared him?? I’ll share em all sometime hehe im too lazy LMAO. So yes yes I’ve been into making that story recently :> !!

ANYTHING🦐

OK SO my Luxury AU has been MANIFESTING MOI cuz i decided: why yes I WILL make a fic bout it!! Yknow just remaking the lore[cough this means me rewriting the first book of DogMan] and putting some stuff into one work ^ ^’ SO FAR I’m really getting into the vibes but what’s crazy is how I turned what I THOUGHT was oughta be a comedy-to a tragedy. No like I KNOW IM GONNA WRITE CUTE STUFF I WILL I JUST-….also might’ve included grief, addiction, ETC I dont even know how I got there 🙂‍↔️but it’s been fun! Especially since it makes me go down a nice study check with me lmao [I’ve been learning the medical field, laws, how media handles stuff, types of _, etc] hehe rubbing my hands together imma be so happy to write it all hehe and with that I’m learning about my characters a lot better! I thought of it more one noted because its a good start but now im actually learning more bout em :0 !! Love reworking stuff, redesigning, it’s been a huge part of me since idk when ^ ^’

COUGHHHH i think that all works out!! TYSM FOR ASKING I CANNOT EXPRESS THE WHIMSY I FEEL RN <33

[dira333]

Blue - Jim Kirk x reader

Note: please listen to colours by halsey while reading. the lyrics might not fit, but the rhythm is what i had in mind while writing

-

Blue is what reminds you of him.

No, blue is the thought that stays with you, whatever you do, wherever you go, as if it’s the background music of your life happening.

It’s the blue sky stretching out over your head when you’re a child, making snow angels on the ground even in the summer.

It’s the sea you learn to swim in and the first bathing suit you are allowed to choose for yourself.

Blue is the color of candy you get when you have to see the doctor and the color of your school backpack.

Blue is childhood, growing up, remainders of innocent happiness.

-

Blue is your Starfleet uniform. You long for the color through the years you have to dress in the stark red cadet uniforms.

Blue is the drink in your hand when you meet him for the first time, in a small bar not too far from the academy.

“James T. Kirk,” he tells you, “But you can call me Jim.”

Blue are his eyes.

“Blue are the people here that walk around,” you tell him after three drinks, “Blue like my Corvette, it’s in and outside…”

You take another sip, your head is spinning and you’re afraid you will lose yourself in his eyes if you don’t take precautions.

“That’s a really old song,” you tell him before he thinks you’re weird. Not that you could blame him.

“Tell me more.”

-

“Blue are the words I say and what I think,” you read from the Post-it note you’ve written the night before after a drink too many, “Blue are the feelings that live inside me…”

You stare down at your own handwriting, at the little post-it note that reminds you so much of the small town you’ve grown up in, where the time seems to have stopped over hundred years ago.

You try not to think of the evening before. Of being asked out by another man that isn’t the one you love. Of saying no when logic tells you to say yes.

“Don’t be so pathetic,” you tell yourself with a bitter taste in your mouth, “Your Lieutenant Y/N, Science Division, Enterprise. You work on the best ship in the fleet. Don’t let that get you down.”

You nod at yourself, repeating the phrase. “Don’t let that get you down.”

“That” is your Captain, your friend, James T. Kirk, Jim, the man with the blue eyes.

“That” is the fact that you love him, ever since you laid eyes on the blue sky and fell in love with its color.

“That” is the fact that you’re too afraid to tell him.

“That” is the half-hearted decision to not act on it, because whenever you think of it, your fingers tremble, your heart aches and cold sweat drips down your back.

Fear is a monster.

-

“Hey,” Jim leans against your desk when you turn up for work.

“Morning,” you greet him with a smile, “I didn’t see you in the mess hall.”

“I wasn’t there. Came here right after I woke up.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Are we still up for drinks tonight?”

“I don’t have other plans,” you tell him before logging into your PADD to access the data Spock asked you to look over.

He laughs and it sounds forced. You keep your eyes averted, not looking at him.

“And you’re just hanging out with me because you have nothing better to do?”

“That’s not true and you know it.”

“Do I? The only thing I know is that Franklin from Communications asked you out yesterday. Uhura told me because she thought we were in a relationship.”

“So?”

“Did you say yes to Franklin?”

“No.” You really want to look at him, but his eyes are too blue for your own good.

“Why not?”

And there it happens. Your fingers tremble, your heart aches and you wait for the cold sweat.

“Don’t ask me that,” you whisper, your voice almost inaudible.

He leans down, his lips almost touching your ear.

“You were red, and you liked me because I was blue. But you touched me, and suddenly I was a lilac sky. Then you decided purple just wasn’t for you…” He quotes your favorite song before turning away.

You know what he’s asking you, telling you, begging you.

“Jim,” you call after him.

Your voice sounds weak, but he turns around anyway, an expectant look on his face.

You lick your lips, panic flowing through you. If only you weren’t so scared.

“I do like purple,” you tell him, unable to voice the feelings that you have. You can only do it this way.

“I love purple,” you tell him, hoping he will understand.

And when he smiles, his eyes light up.

“I love you,” you breathe out.

And everything is blue.

[from-izzy]

addressing my health and writing!!

fun fact: i'm rereading this post as careful as i can because i wrote ~90% of this post with my eyes closed!!

hi everyone!

the title of this post seems so serious but also not so serious at the same time...? 😅

anyways! this is just me updating a little bit of my health and how it's been affecting my writing.

on january 31st 2022, my psychologist wrote a letter to my school addressing that he 'has...identified that [I have]...Sensory Processing Disorder' (words quoted by the letter that was sent out). as far as i'm aware, i specifically have sensory modulation disorder.

i'll try to keep this concise and to the point. in terms of my spd in general, four of my five senses are hypersensitive with my top two being visual and hearing.

i recently just found out an important info by quite literally timing myself. i stayed in my room, lights out and in the dark for 20 mins. during that time, i did nothing but just stare at the ceiling (or i don't know, the spider that went past too) and jammed to some music. after, i started to write.

there is small time gap of 14 mins before i felt a twitch in my right eye. there is a small 1 min gap after when i started to get a headache. for me, i knew this before but i was afraid to admit it especially when i love writing so much but it's clear now that i am hypersensitive to lights.

that's why (at least, i personally feel like this) my writing quality has decreased drastically and writing errors are more apparent than ever. i get people to proofread for me but i'm really bad in asking for help so i usually just try to do it myself to the best of my abilities. the way i explain scenes have also been more boring and bland, and i want to tell you that if you think so too, you're most probably right! it frustrates me more than anything.

i'm trying to find ways to counter this or at least make the time gap bigger. i recently found out that writing in the dark, phone brightness down to the lowest helps and i was able to write for about ~40 mins before i started to get a headache. but unfortunately for my sleep hygiene, no technology should be in my room (i even moved my piano out of my room because of this) and so, i am trying to find another way.

another way i found is that closing my eyes works. fun fact: i'm rereading this post as careful as i can because i wrote ~90% of this post with my eyes closed!! yes it works but you can imagine how hard it can be.

if i can be fully honest, it's actually really hard for me to both read and write these days as well because there is no way i can make out the words without any form of light. when the headache strikes, it strikes and walking in a straight line can become difficult sometimes. the reality is that it's hard to write without reading and it sucks that i can't support anyone's work at the moment, especially when they have supported me so much (i'm so sorry to all the writers out there). there is nothing much i can do right now but to remember and learn the stories in my head as references when i write.

i'm still exploring for more ideas but if you have any ideas, do tell! i would love to try them out!

but i'm not going to stop writing! not when i have ideas to write and stories to share! it's just going to be slow and i'm planning to take it in a pace where i can handle. like i've mentioned before, i don't want to release stories that i'm not proud of.

thank you everyone for the support so far! 'double a decade' reached 100+ notes in less than a week! that's so crazy for me, thank you 😭💕

[kirasworldofwords]

I don't think I ever really introduced myself here so here goes!

First of all, hi! My name is Kira, but you may call me Kiki if you'd like. On AO3, I'm known as "chiquita_chequito", I'm often there just lingering and reading or writing, lol. I'm 22 years old, German with Polish roots and live in a small German town where nothing ever really happens, lol. I have many interests, like certain anime and F1 (especially that as of late) and consider myself a decent writer at least. You're free to quote and/or correct me on that though, lol.

A few random facts about me:

✨️ I'm neurodivergent! I have OCD, ADD and Autism paired with hyperesthesia and ARFID (I know, I know... I should pick a struggle, but alas).

✨️ I also happen to be queer - bisexual as well as somewhere on the aro-ace gradient plus bigender, to be exact. My pronouns are they/she, meaning I prefer "they/them" but am also okay with "she/her". Anything but "he/him" and "it/its".

✨️ My hyperfixation has been cars (as in the vehicles, not the movie) ever since I was a baby. After my first two words, "Mama" and "No", my third word was "Car" in German - the fourth was "Skodda", as per my mom's telling. Surprise surprise, I still love Škodas. 😂

✨️ I play in a sort of marching band that we call Schalmeienzug, there's no direct translation though. It's really fun! Been there for five years now and still love it. 🫶🏻

✨️ Don't ask me how or why but for whatever reason, I can get any song I want stuck in someone else's brain. It works every damn time with just about anyone and yes, I am quite shameless about it. If I have to suffer through having Spongebob music stuck in my brain, then so do you. I have spoken.

✨️ My sense of humor is... skewed at best, fucking dark at worst. That's it. I refuse to elaborate.

✨️ In my free time, I also study Finnish. Thanks, Käärijä, lmao.

✨️ And yes, I love Eurovision. As a queer European girlie, that's a must, lol.

✨️ Regarding F1, my favorite drivers of the current grid are Oscar Piastri, Daniel Ricciardo (noooo, I don't have a thing for Aussies, wdym [also RIP, I am not okay, even if he's not a driver anymore, I will always love him]), Nico Hülkenberg and Sergio "Checo" Pérez. Of the old grid I still somewhat remember (I've been watching F1 since childhood days), my favorites used to be Sebastian Vettel, Kimi Räikkönen and the Nicobergs - aka Nico Rosberg and Nico Hülkenberg. My heart has a special place reserved for Michael Schumacher, though, and it's shaped specifically like his stature. ❤️

✨️ I swear a lot. Like, a lot. I'm not kidding. So... proceed with caution if you're sensitive to that.

✨️ My free time is mainly spent playing video games - I don't have many friends and those I do have don't always have time for me so this is what I revert back to if I don't have somewhere else to be like a performance, lol.

✨️ I drive a black Opel Corsa ecoflex from 2016 and it is my pride and joy. 🫶🏻 Already jokingly told my mom that, if she wants grandkids, she already has one. My car. 😭

✨️ Last but not least, my writing style is quite distinct in the way that I usually write melancholic, if not downright depressing stuff. I guess it's a reflection of my life thus far - again, I will not elaborate.

That should be it from my side for now. If anything else comes into my messy little pea-sized brain, I shall let you know through editing this post - or just completely rewriting it, lmao.

Which means, for now, have a nice one and don't let the bedbugs bite!

- 🍸