#he has his sol filter on

[guiltymepleasures]

Sol used "I'm not going home tonight" on Sun Jae.

💯% effective

[castiellesbian]

party city wig. blurry wife. jenny the vampire. death by phallic rebar. john lives down the road. el sol. one piece of toast representing there aren't two pieces of toast. "[through tears] this is agent bon jovi." weird color filter the entire episode that was bad even for late seasons spn. two back to back carry on my wayward sons. vampires with clown masks for some reason. robert singer laughing when dean gets pied in the face. sam naming his son "dean" which we know because it was embroidered on his overalls. dean shitting outside deleted scene. dead kansas in the original script. jimmy in heaven but no cas in the original script. the job application in dean's room. shirtless jared. the episode being short so they could fit in more walker ads. dean saying he's "fading fast" then has a 5 minute long monologue. stupid forehead touch i have to see j2 doing photos for at every convention from now until eternity. they couldn't bring back misha because of covid but they had the entire crew crowded on the bridge maskless. car was raptured.

[leclercsredhelmet]

Mañanas de Café y Mate ☕︎ Franco Colapinto

A/N: hi hi i'm back and with another Franco blurb! i was inspired by one of my favorite songs which i listened to while writing this so here you go, hope you all enjoy reading this!

“Cariño, eres un amor. Cariño pintas en color. Quiero tanto devorarte. Esta vez besarte si es que soy capaz” ~ Cariño, The Marías

Sunlight filters in and the rays hit your face warming your cheeks, a stark contrast to the cold air hitting your skin courtesy of the air-conditioned room. Snuggling closer to your sheets you turn and the usual spot occupied by your boyfriend, Franco is empty. Yawning, you sit up and rub your eyes before looking out the window, the sun is on display and you smile.

“Another sunrise, another day worth living,” you tell yourself and sit up. Your feet hit the cold floor and you stretch before walking to the bathroom. After freshening up in the shower, you take your hair out of the braid and shake your curls which are a little unruly. Before heading out you grab your glasses and open the bedroom door. Making it out of the hallway the smell of breakfast wafts around the apartment, walking through the small living room you see Franco in the kitchen. 

His back is to you and his hands move at a focused pace. Smiling at the sight, you walk further in and hug him from behind. “Al fin decidió salir el sol” he says and you let out a laugh. (The sun finally decided to come out) “Buenos días mi amor,” you say with a chuckle. (Good morning, my love) Franco wraps an arm around you and kisses your temple, “Que raro que nada se está quemando,” you say teasing him. (Weirdly, nothing is burning) Franco looks at you with a shocked expression, “Oye boluda, solo fue una sola vez!” he says annoyed and you laugh because it’s cute when he gets annoyed and his accent is more noticeable. (Hey stupid, it was only one time!) 

“Si ajá, fíjate que ha pasado más de una vez pero está bien tú dices que fue una sola vez” you reply smiling.(Yeah sure, I think it’s happened more than once, but it’s okay that you say it was only one time) “Bueno cariño pero es que vos me pones muy distraído cuando estás aquí en la cocina y me confundo,” he says and you just laugh. (Well darling it’s because you distract me a lot in the kitchen and I get confused) “Ah así que ahora la culpa es mía?” you say indignantly and his cheeks flush. (Oh so it’s my fault now?)

“No, no,no, no, yo no dije eso, la culpa es mía entera,” Franco says and you burst out laughing. (No, no, no, no, I didn’t say that, it’s my fault alone) Grabbing the towel he playfully smacks you. “Joder Y/N, casi me cago del susto,” he says and you laugh harder. (Fuck Y/N you scared me shitless) 

Facing him you stand on your tiptoes and peck him on the lips before turning to grab two plates, setting them on the counter Franco drops in the medialunas, and shakes his hands because they are hot and you giggle. Taking the pan he serves the scrambled eggs and you open the fridge to take out the jams and cheese. Putting them on the table you wink at him as he passes with the plates and he laughs at you. Going to the cupboard you grab his mate gourd and he picks out a mug for you. Smiling, you look at the mug which you had gotten from a shop in Old San Juan, last summer when visiting your parents in Puerto Rico. 

He switches the mugs, making you laugh. You have your coffee mug and he has his gourd, reaching for the Yerba Mate you hand it to him and he passes you the pot with coffee. Pouring the coffee you open the fridge and get some milk which you place in a pot and heat on the stove. Franco is busy making his mate while you make your coffee. “Café con leche y Mate en la mañana,” he says while walking towards the table and you laugh. (Coffee with milk and Mate in the morning) “Somos nosotros si fuéramos bebidas,” you comment and he laughs. (That’s us if we were drinks ) “Tenés razón cariño,” he says. (You’re right darling) Franco and yoi take a seat at the table and as usual, you sit cross-legged. Sipping some of your coffee you wink at Franco who is staring at. “Dios, te ves tan jodidamente radiante en las mañanas con mi camisa, sos perfecta,” (God you look so fucking perfect in the mornings with my shirt, you’re perfect)  he says and you chuckle. Franco places the open medialunas on my plate, “Gracias, amor,” you reply, thanking him for the compliment and for opening the medialunas. (Thank you, love) Taking some jam with the knife you spread it across the media luna and garb another knife to spread some cheese and close the medialuna. 

A sunray comes through and it hits Franco’s face at the right angle, it makes his brown eyes look lighter. “El sol te está dando y te ves muy bonito,” you blurt out, which makes him blush and laugh. (The sun is hitting you and you look very pretty) Reaching over he places a kiss on your lips which lands with a plop and you giggle. Mornings like this one when we settle into our easy routine are some of my favorites. Franco can make any day better with his antics and energetic nature but calm days with him when neither of us has to worry about work is our little blessing. You fall into a comfortable silence while eating, Franco occasionally throws in some comments that almost make you spit out your coffee and by the time you’re done eating none of you have been able to hold in our laughter. 

“Oye amor, que tal si vamos al parque a leer y luego vamos de compras, tengo que ir a comprar unas cosas para el programa esta semana,” Franco says. (How about we go to the park to read and then go shopping, I need clothes for the show this week)  You mile at him, “Suena como una buena idea!” you tell him happily. (It sounds like a good idea!) Standing up you grab the plates and carry them to the sink, feeling Franco’s eyes on you, you smile.

Arms wrap around your frame as you’re doing the dishes and he presses small kisses on your neck, a giggle escapes you and Franco takes it as a sign to keep kissing me and his hands slide under your well his, shirt. “Franco tengo que lavar los platos,” you say as you his warm hands on your stomach. (Franco, I have to wash the dishes) “Solo sigue lavando platos que yo me encargo de los demás,” he says flirtily and you laugh. (Just keep washing the dishes and I’ll take care of the rest) Franco’s lips find the corner of your jaw and he leaves a trail of kisses until he reaches the corner of your lips and kisses you again. 

When the last plate is placed on the drying rack he spins you around and squeezes your waist so you jump and hook your thighs around his waist. Franco looks up at me and you look down at him, his lips press down hard against yours and you kiss him back matching his energy. Your fingers tug on his hair and he groans, “Tenés sabor a café en tus labios,” he rasps and you fight the urge to laugh. (Your lips taste like coffee)  “Y los tuyos a mate” you say.(And yours taste like mate)  Franco keeps kissing you and he squeezes your waist which makes you let out a soft moan. Briefly, you pull apart and your foreheads touch. You were too wrapped up in having his lips on yours to notice that he had carried us back to the bedroom. 

Your back meets the soft mattress and you look up at him to find him staring at you, as if you’re something heaven-sent and that makes your insides turn into liquid. “Sos perfecta maldita sea,” he says and I smile. (Fuck you’re so perfect) “Avanza y ven acá,” you say, your voice has a sense of urgency and he laughs. (Hurry up and come here) Once he’s close you grab his shoulders and pull him down so he can kiss you. His hands are on your sides and lifting the shirt. Pulling apart he lifts the shirt from your head and discards it on the floor.

Franco and you are a mess of tangled limbs on the bed and you look up at him while cupping his cheek. He leans into your touch and then leans down to kiss you sweetly. “Creo que debemos dejar el parque para más tarde por razones obvias,” he says and yoi laugh. (I think we should leave the park for later, due to obvious reasons)  “Idiota,” you say and he laughs before burying his head in the crook of your neck to kiss you there. (Idiot) “Soy tu idiota,” he replies against your skin and his hot breath makes a shiver run down your spine. (I’m your idiot)

The park would still be waiting for you both by the time you’re done but having slow mornings at home full of love with Franco is a rare occurrence and when it happens it’s only right that you enjoy it for as long as you can.

[splinkoplinko]

I'm gonna share some Guilty Gear LGBTQ+ "headcanons" that are most likely canon. Most of these go off of the idea that Elphelt's Magnum Wedding Instakill (MW) doesn't override sexuality.

Despite my claims of these being most likely canon, most things here are not directly confirmed by Daisuke Ishiwatari, ArcSystem Works, or any other individuals involved with the making of these characters or the Guilty Gear franchise and the following should still be taken as headcanon as these are my readings of certain things I've found in the games. You have been advised.

May - Bisexual, possibly confused lesbian - She does, in fact, fall in love with Elphelt here, but has a thing for Johnny, possibly. The thing with Johnny is that she might not actually have a crush on him. From my own experiences, it's possible that May could be overly obsessed with Johnny, and may be misunderstanding her obsession and hyper fixation on him as a romantic interest in him. This idea also makes the whole Johnny and May thing less creepy as Johnny is her dad, and, I believe is supported by one of MW lines being "C-Could this be romance?! Oh my gosh!" implying that how she feels for Elphelt during Magnum Wedding is different from how she feels for Johnny, possibly even completely redefining romance for her, which is pretty huge for someone who's been seemingly romantically attracted to someone for years.

Millia - Bisexual, possible preference for women - She 100% had romantic and sexual feelings for Zato, which he manipulated prior to his death. Because of the sexual manipulation from Zato, it seems that she is not keen on being involved with a man again in any way. However, in MW, she falls in love with Elphelt, even going as far as to say "Have I chosen the yuri route..?" This doesn't really explain the "preference to women" part of this idea, but another quote of Millia's is "This is a whole new world...!" which, at least to me, shows that she experiences romance with a woman in a much more positive way than with a man.

Elphelt - Pansexual - When MW is used against herself, Elphelt says "I-I'll just take anyone...?" So like, yeah. Also she fell in love with herself, that's pretty gay.

Baiken - Bisexual - I'm pretty sure that she and Anji are confirmed to be a thing? I could 100% be wrong on that. However, when Baiken gets hit with MW, she falls in love with Elphelt. Despite that, she seems very reluctant, which could be shown as rejection (which I'll get to because it DOES happen), but I interpret this instead as denial of her feelings. This is further emphasized by her character, being a cold, lone wolf type of person. This can be seen in her platonic relationships as well, in which, only really accepting the company of Anji (possibly not platonic) and Delilah with Delilah being her latest friendship. The idea of her being in denial is in the line, "Won't work. Try to fall for someone el...?!" which, in my interpretation, means that she doesn't believe she's good enough, but is cut off by the sheer amount of love she's feeling from MW.

Jam - Bisexual - She wants to hire "cute boys" (boys she's attracted to) like Ky Kiske to work at her diner. In both Jam's Story ending 1 and Bridget's story ending 1 of Accent Core Plus, Jam actually hires Bridget to work at the diner. While Bridget identified as male then, she now identifies as female, though, that might not mean much. What means much more is her MW line, "Cute girl maybe ok, too." which implies that "cute girls" (GIRLS she's attracted to) would be hired as well.

Jack-O' - Bisexual - Is Aria, wife of Sol Badguy. They're also together in the ending of Strive. Reason that she's bisexual is because she refers to her and Elphelt as a couple in her MW line "Birth of a new-age couple?!" so that's pretty cut and dry.

Kum - Lesbian - When hit with MW, she falls in love with Elphelt as shown by the line, "Romance filter severely damaged!" meaning that, well, romance. Duh. I say lesbian specifically because, to my knowledge, she doesn't show attraction to any men, really just Elphelt, if anything were to come out where she shows attraction to a man or if I missed something that does the same, then I'd say she's bisexual. But for now, she's lesbian.

Venom - Gay - Now for the part that proves that MW doesn't override sexuality and that all of the above characters are attracted to women. Venom is canonically gay, this isn't a headcanon, this is just outright confirmed. However, it's important to note that Venom resists the romantic nature of MW as shown by his lines, "My loyalty cannot be broken!" "You cannot tempt me!" and last, but not least, "Lord ZATOOOO!" The fact that Venom, who in canon is exclusively attracted to men, does not fall in love with Elphelt in MW, means that the above characters DO fall in love with Elphelt and ARE attracted to women.

Bedman - Aroace - Completely rejects the concept of being in love ("Damn witch! You cannot take my heart from me!" "Are you trying to corrupt me?) when hit with MW, and, in one line, exclaims, "You cannot replace Delilah!" which is just comparing the effects of MW to his only other relationship, which is platonic, which is with his sister, which makes me feel like it's not at all romantic or sexual to him in any way.

Ramlethal - Aroace - At first, I thought she could be lesbian, but one of my friends who knows a lot more about GG lore and Ramlethal in specific than me argued that she's Aroace, citing one of her taunts in Strive that implies she has no concept of romance and that it's kinda gross to her. He also said that her saying "Is this my true self?" is about her experiencing human emotions, which she doesn't believe she can do (at least during Xrd's story mode). He, however, did say that as her concept and expression of human emotions develops, things could change, and she may end up developing romantic feelings, but that is not definite. As of right now, Ramlethal is aroace, at least in my books.

Testament - Nonbinary with attraction to men - I don't know if Testament has any attraction to women, but I read their intro lines in Strive with Johnny as them being a thing, as Johnny offers to go out to eat after their fight in one line. Testament is confirmed to be nonbinary though.

Johnny - Bi or Pansexual, though could still be straight? - This one veers much more into headcanon territory, but it's possible that Johnny could be bisexual or pansexual as he may in a situationship with Testament, as I mentioned just above. Testament does, however, present more femme than masc, and does use feminine pronouns alongside gender neutral and masculine pronouns, so it's possible that Johnny simply counts Testament as a woman and is still straight.

Bridget - Sapphic transgender woman - Bridget is a trans woman in canon, however, it's not confirmed if she is attracted to men, women, neither, or both. However, Daisuke once made some very interesting art where May is gripping Bridget's butt pretty strong (which is really just more evidence for May being sapphic), but Bridget doesn't seem troubled by it or anything soooo. Also, of the 2 characters that have special lines when defeated by Bridget in Strive, May gets 2 lines while Bridget herself only gets 1, no one else has a special line at this time.

I-no - Pansexual - Pretty sure she'll top anyone, even people who claim to be tops. This is basically just a headcanon, but apparently she teases both men and women when defeating them, soooo.

BONUS!!

These characters are, in my opinion, heterosexual despite this being contested in some smaller aspects of the community.

Sin - When hit with MW, one of Sin's lines is, "Farewell... virginity..." so yeah, he's straight. Idk, could be bi, but I see no evidence for that. Most people say he's aroace because he's so young, childish, and dumb, but Dizzy fell for Ky around the same age soooo...

Dizzy - When hit with MW, it feels like she's rejecting Elphelt, much like Venom and Bedman, saying "I'm married!" "I'm sorry, I can't!" "I-I have a son..." much less like a denial of feelings similar to that of Baiken. I don't think her sexuality is contested as much as Sin's is, but I still feel like this is worth mentioning.

yeah i think that's it really

END

If you have any other pieces of evidence for OR AGAINST my ideas and evidence, then please share!!! I am open to CONSTRUCTIVE criticism :3!!!

Reminder that MOST of these aren't technically confirmed to be canon, so take these as head canons if anything, not cold, hard facts!! And please, do not be rude about these either.

Also, do not deny ACTUAL canon (Venom being gay, Bridget being a transwoman, and Testament being nonbinary) as that is not cool and disrespectful to the ideas of Daisuke himself!!!

Thank you for reading, and I hope you all have a great day ^^!!!!!

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Poor wife reader having a bad day and just wanting to be held but Bruce locked himself in the cave to work and her just “I thought having a husband meant I’d have someone to hold me at night” (not in a mad or petty way just a “I’ve had a bad day and so I’m really sensitive and maybe saying things without thinking or filtering them”) and it shooting bruce right in the heart.

I just want to see bruce learning how to be a healthy partner after shutting everyone out for so long

"Are you alright?"

You glance up from your mug, cradled carefully in your hands and force yourself to smile. "Just a long day."

Alfred nodded, "Is there anything-"

"No, I'm alright, thank you. I'm just going to finish my drink and go to bed."

"Very well," Alfred said. "I think Master Bruce is... preparing for a trip if you'd like me to alert him you've returned home."

You shake your head and card your fingers through your hair, "I'll leave him to it. When I called him earlier he seemed... busy." And grumpy. You add silently. And you can't regulate other people's emotions right now. Today was hell. And Bruce was busy. A case he couldn't tell you about.

When you looked back down at your mug, curled around yourself for comfort, Alfred suspected it was more than a long day. You had a full plate. And it seemed like more was added every day. Meetings, appointments, and now interviews and adjusting to having a very public marriage... He didn't envy you.

Or wonder why you might not particularly want company. Just the breif glimpses he's had into your day to day made him wonder how you didn't pull your hair out. So he took his leave. Letting you enjoy some semi silence and a few moments just to have no one speaking to you. And made a mental note to keep more of that particular tea in the pantry. You seemed to enjoy it more than the others. Or at least... you were most familiar with that one. He shuttered to think what would have passed for tea in your house growing up.

____________

When you slipped into the bedroom, rubbing your neck, Brucce looked up from his packing.

He might be going to Dubai as Batman but... Who knew if Bruce Wayne could smooth some things over for him. It happened like that some times.

"I didn't know you were home," he said blinking. "I thought you had a late meeting."

"I wasn't feeling well," you shrug. "I just wanted-" You break off. What you wanted was to curl up in his lap and go to sleep. But. If he was getting ready to go there was no point.

"Sweetheart," he said, frowning slightly, "If this is about earlier-"

"When you hung up on me? No."

"I had another call- Hal-"

"You're a part time super hero. I get it. I just-"

"Spit it out," he prompted, smiling a little. You didn't want to hurt his feelings. And you were tired.

"I just wish I didn't feel like a part time wife."

That hurt. And he tried not to let it show on his face, but it must have. Because you winced and started stammering apologies.

"Oh sweetheart," he sighed. He knew you'd been lonely. Almost from the start. As soon as the honeymoon was over and real life slammed back into focus.

"I know Gotham has to come first. And the the Justice League but I just... I'm sorry I shouldn't have said anything."

He can see you bracing for a fight. That you were reading his body language and it told you he was angry. Yours of experience telling you that he could hurt you. That he could use things you'd told him in vulnerable moments to smack you back in line- and that you're ready to roll over to avoid the pain- and that hurts too.

Because he is angry. But not at you.

All you ever wanted was him. His time. His attention. All the gifts he bought for you were nice. You appreciated them. But all you wanted was a quiet night in, half asleep on his chest.

No diamonds, new cars, or fancy dinners would do that for you. He could hand you his credit card and send you to Paris on a shopping spree and you MIGHT buy something but- more probably you'd just shrug and go look for a stand that sold fresh pastry. It was one of the things he loved about you. You'd learned to march to the beat of your own drum. To love generously. And that's why as you stood there apologizing, all he could do was let the words wash over him.

"You should come first," he corrected.

"Bruce-"

"No listen," he said, crossing the floor to you carefully and taking your hands. "You should come first. And I'm sorry that you can't right now. I'm going to make it up to you-"

"You don't have to," you murmur, looking away.

"Yes, I do," he said, tilting your chin up slowly. "I don't know how. Or when. But I'm going to make this right."

"I'm a big girl, I understand that you have responsibilities-"

"And taking care of you is one of them," he reminded, pulling you against his chest and hoping that he could hug you hard enough to make you understand."And it's an honor. And a privlige. And a responsibility all that the same time. You shouldn't feel like a part time wife, sweetheart."

"I'm sorry-"

"I'm not," he said simply. "Because now that I know there's a problem I can fix it."

[laracrofted]

baby, i'm high octane (vii)

synopsis: over the course of the last month of the documentary, nora makes some decisions.

pairings: jake seresin x nora rogers (oc)

warnings: 18+, minors and ageless blogs dni, all of the usual warnings, swearing, existential dread, spoilers for ocean's eleven lol, smut (like a little bit, oral sex, allusions to sex) (wc: 12.7K)

note: y'all, it's been so long, i'm so sorry 😭 but i hope the ridiculously long chapter makes up for the wait. last chapter before the epilogue woo!

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Nora spends the whole weekend with Jake.

She doesn’t plan to spend the whole weekend with him. It’s one of those things that just kind of happens, like getting caught up in a good book and realizing it’s been hours and you haven’t moved an inch.

It’s not something she does. It’s more what she doesn’t do.

She doesn’t kick him out on Thursday night as soon as Jake has his pants on, doesn’t push him barefoot in the direction of the door with a Thanks for the sex, come back anytime. 

She doesn’t make up a half-hearted excuse, some reason that she needs to be up early in the morning to keep him from sleeping over.

It’s so simple, really.

She never asks him to leave, and so, Jake stays. 

On Friday morning, Jake brings her coffee in bed. 

She is still half-asleep, sheets all bunched up under her chin, hair fanned messily across the sun-warmed pillows, cheeks flushed. A wide cat-like yawn escapes her as Nora stretches her arms above her head and reaches for the coffee with a slightly hoarse thank you.

Holding the mug in one hand, she rubs the harsh sting of sunshine from her eyes, knuckles creating starbursts on her eyelids, while Jake sprawls across the bed.

He is shirtless, a gold shimmer of chest hair running down his abdomen and disappearing under the black waistband of his boxer shorts. A ripple passes over his ab muscles as Jake stretches out and gets comfortable, searching for her leg through the crumpled pile of sheets.

He strokes a comforting pattern across her calf, across the curve of her knee, and back down again, propped on his elbow to watch her face. 

“How’d I do?” Jake asks, nodding to the coffee. His voice is a low murmur, soft as the blueish morning light that filters in between the sheer curtains.

Holding his gaze, Nora raises the mug to her lips and takes a long, luxurious sip.

She almost sighs out loud. It’s perfect. 

A half-faded conversation from last night pulls at the edge of her mind, muddled by drowsiness and sleep, like a dream.

She was half-awake, already caught in the deep tide of sleep, almost pulled under from the head rush that washed over her in the late hours of the night after Jake kissed damn near every inch of her and got back in line for seconds. A fuzziness in her fingertips, like Nora was taking her first dizzied steps off of the Tilt-A-Whirl at Pacific Park on the Santa Monica Pier, finding her sea legs in the closeness of him; a kind of gravity in the warmth of his chest, pressed against her bare back. 

He wrung another orgasm from her minutes before, and in the afterglow, Nora melted into him like warmed butter, letting out a satisfied hum in the darkness.

Lips warm on her shoulder, Jake asked, “How d’you like your coffee?” 

Her lids were so heavy, and Nora let her eyes close.

“Hm,” Nora hummed. “Guess.” 

He chuckled, and Nora’s lips curved at the sound, at the warm puff of breath on her nape.

“Can’t ever make it easy on me, can you, Hollywood?” 

“Oh,” Nora yawned out. “Not a chance.” 

Jake shifted behind her, closer, and Nora sank further into the warm embrace of his muscular arms around her, so secure and solid. Comforting. Her own personal space heater in the form of a hot Naval aviator. 

Who would’ve thought a man called Hangman would be such a cuddle?

And more, who would’ve thought she’d like it so much?

His fingers tangled with hers as Jake seemed to consider his next words, his guess.

“‘Course not. Let’s see. It’s….” Jake’s lips found the hollow beneath her ear, and Nora breathed a shallow gasp. “What? Oat milk and vanilla?” 

All of the sudden, Nora felt very awake.

Her eyes flew open, and Nora startled, but Jake was too octopus-like around her for her to crane her neck around and look at him. 

“Wow,” Nora said, her raised brows audible in her voice. “Tracking me, Lieutenant?” 

“I’m observant.” Jake shifted again. “It’s part of what makes me a great pilot, sweetheart.” 

And was that a hint of self-consciousness in his sleep-slurred voice? Underneath all of that self-assured confidence and bottomless bravado?

She kind of wanted to see if Jake was blushing.

His fingers flexed around hers, and Nora lightly squeezed his hand.

He squeezed back. Kissed the now-familiar curve of her shoulder and said, “Also, you drink the same thing every day. I’d have a hard time not noticing.” 

“Yeah?” Nora smiled. “You must spend a lot of time looking at me.” 

“Ever since I saw you, I haven’t wanted to look away.” 

There in the dark, Jake’s words sounded like a confession, so open, so sincere.

She drifted off to sleep in his arms, a smile on her face, a pleasant and gnawing ache in her chest.

Now, vanilla and sugar on her tongue, Nora says, “Not bad, Lieutenant.” 

Another sip. Another blissful half-sigh. 

“It’s actually so good,” Nora concedes. “It’s perfect.” 

A smile pulls at the edge of his mouth, and Jake replies, softly, “Good.” 

A quick kiss glances against the side of her knee, and Jake sits up and brushes her hair from her pink cheeks.

She is flushed from sleep; warm from the sun and him. 

He’s sitting so close; looking at her with such open adoration that she feels like she’s burning.

“You’re staring,” Jake drawls with a slow smirk. You have a staring problem. His voice is like the low rumble of a distant summer storm and slightly hoarse, and Nora wants to wrap herself in it like a blanket and sleep the rest of the day away.

Instead, Nora carefully sets the coffee on the nightstand and cupping his face between her hands, kisses him.

For once, she catches him off guard. 

A deep, surprised sound punches out of him – half exhale, half groan. 

She loops her arms around his strong neck, pulling him in, needing to be closer to him. Her fingers brush over the shorter hairs at his nape, curl in the longer strands, damp from where Jake must’ve showered before Nora woke. Dark gold, like a bottle of maple syrup in the sunlight. 

Catching on, Jake bends a hand around the back of her neck and rolls her underneath him on the mattress, following her down, his mouth on hers the whole way down. He swipes his tongue across her bottom lip and into her mouth, and Nora opens for him with a sigh. 

It’s slow and natural. 

Would it always be like this? So easy? she wonders as Jake slides his hand up her side, fingers fanning across her ribcage and higher. Would it be as easy as falling asleep in his arms and waking up to the rich smell of coffee in the morning and kissing slowly like both of them know there will be other kisses, other mornings?

His hand cuts across her abdomen, and Jake covers her breast with his palm, and Nora lets the thought go, like the end of a balloon string, and arches into him. 

There are suddenly too many layers between them.

And impatient, Nora kicks the sheets away and, hooking her leg around his hip, pushes his boxers down and frees his cock. He groans against her mouth, a sweet and rough sound, a reverent sound. 

One hand comes down to hold her against him, rough palm sliding across the back of her thigh and up and up, and Nora shudders against him as Jake runs his fingers through the wetness that’s building between her legs. 

He still has his other hand on the back of her neck, pad of his thumb swiping across her thrumming pulse, and hell, Nora almost wants to reach up and pull his hand around, urge him to spread those broad fingers across her collarbone, across her throat and – 

Another time.

She breaks the kiss and breathes, “Turn over,” against his mouth. 

And Jake – damn him – does this thing with his fingers that makes her brain go blank for a solid five seconds. Like Nora’s been put on airplane mode.

A grin dimples his cheeks as Jake looks down at her, lids low, lips parted just enough to show his teeth. “Now, isn’t that my line, sweetheart?”

She bites down on her bottom lip, holding back something halfway between a laugh and a moan. “Just… get on your back.” 

It’s actually obscene how effortlessly Jake flips them.

He reaches for her again, moving to pull her forward and settle between her open legs, hand around his hard cock, but Nora plants her hands on his stupidly broad shoulders and pushes him back down. 

He could so easily resist her, but Jake lets her lead.

He looks up at her from the pillows with a familiar gleam in his eyes. “What’re you up to, sweetheart?” 

“You know…” Nora murmurs against his neck. “I had something I wanted to do last night.” 

She kisses down his neck, across his shoulders – his beautiful shoulders – and down the center of his chest, memorizing the golden skin and hard muscle in the blue morning. He really is so goddamn handsome. 

His gaze is molten, melted gemstones. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

She moves down his abdomen, admiring the way Jake’s muscles shudder under the soft press of her lips. She notices Jake is holding his breath, and Nora smirks. Good. She wants him a little uneven. 

She looks up at him from under her lashes. “You wouldn’t let me suck your cock.” 

“I was being a gentleman,” Jake argues.

“Well, in that case, allow me to thank you.” 

Nora runs her hand over his cock, stroking him once, twice, and puts her mouth around him, and Jake makes a choked sound, breathing in sudden and sharp, a fragile sound that quickly fades into a broken groan.

“Christ, Nora…” Jake groans, reaching down, his large hand settling on the back of her head, like Jake needs something to ground himself, fingers threading through her hair. 

She hums around him in response, and Jake lets out a breathless, “Fuck,” that’s as flattering as a compliment.

It’s all moans and groans and soft breaths and Nora sweetheart Nora Jesus Christ until Nora looks up at him and murmurs coyly, “Come for me, cowboy,” and half a breath later, Jake finishes in her mouth. 

She swallows with a smug grin, and Jake swears again, his cheeks darkening.

He drapes an arm over his face and lets out a string of breathless swears that make Nora laugh.

“Are you okay?” Nora asks, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She stretches out next to him as Jake catches his breath.

“I think I might be dead,” Jake mumbles from under his arm, voice muffled, “but good news, I’m definitely in heaven.” He lifts his arm slightly and looks at her sidelong, slanted green eyes full of suggestion. “You wanna be my plus one?” 

Her laugh splits into a gasp as Jake slips a hand between her legs.

The coffee is cold when Nora reaches for it again, finding her breath between sips, resting her head on his flushed, sweat-misted chest, but she can’t bring herself to care. She drinks every single drop.

Saturday comes in a blink, and Nora drags Jake to the farmers market in Little Italy.

Or rather, Nora gets dressed in the morning, trading his oversized button-down for a white shirt and a pair of overall shorts, and starts saying, “So I’m thinking about going to the farmers market if you want…” and Jake immediately grabs his keys, a horseshoe shaped bottle opener dangling from the keychain. 

She loves to visit the local markets of new cities as a way to get to know them.

In San Diego, Nora has made a habit of going to the Little Italy Mercato every other weekend to stock up on fresh produce and browse the local art that’s for sale, a whole spread of gorgeous art prints, ceramics, and glassware. 

A few weeks back, Nora found a handmade pitcher the color of blue bottle-glass and started filling it with fresh farm-grown flowers ever since. A bright spot of color on her bedroom sill. 

It should feel weird that Jake’s there – stepping into this Saturday morning ritual that’s only ever been hers – but it’s actually nice, really nice. 

He holds her hand as Nora walks around the street, wandering an aimless zig-zag between the stands, doubling back for the ones that catch her eye.

Her reusable bag grows heavier on her shoulder, slowly filling with fresh fruits and vegetables and even, a heart-shaped bottle of raspberry wine from a Temecula winery, and Nora’s shoulder begins to ache. She moves the bag to her hand and rolls out the minor discomfort in the muscle.

While Nora is distracted at the flower stand, Jake pulls the bag from her loose fingers and swings it over his opposite shoulder and links their hands again.

At first, Nora doesn’t even notice. She is busy sliding her credit card back into her wallet and clicking the no-receipt button on the iPad screen, but the older woman who is wrapping the flowers for her doesn’t miss a thing. She makes enough fuss for the both of them.

“What a nice young man.” 

Nora almost snorts. She really wants to laugh, but doesn’t want to accidentally offend the nice woman who has no idea of the effect those words will have on the man behind her. Jake nudges Nora’s hip, biting back a grin, and collects the expertly-wrapped bouquet from the vendor. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” Jake drawls with a dimpled smile so sugar-sweet that Nora could spoon it into a bottle and use it to sweeten her coffee in the morning. Asshole. 

She looks at him sideways, and Jake is already looking at her, a victorious lift to his mouth, like You see? See the sweet old lady who thinks I’m nice?

As Nora wades back into the crowd, a little flushed, Jake leans down and says, “Hear that? I’m a nice young man,” right against her ear.

Now, Nora does laugh.

“Debatable,” she says.

He laughs. His breath is warm on the side of her neck, and Nora feels his lips brush against her skin, against her hair, for the briefest moment. Shorter even, barely even a blink.

It’s a cloudless morning, but Nora holds back a shiver.

I could kiss him, she absently realizes. She wouldn’t have to do anything more than turn her head, maybe raise her chin, and she would be kissing him. She can just do that now. 

She slows at the realization, but Jake is smiling, sun-bright, and asks, “You hungry?” 

She feels warm in a way that has nothing to do with the summer breeze, the late morning sun on her freckling shoulders and cheeks. She basks in the feeling, in the buzz of a beautiful Saturday morning that’s brought half of San Diego out into the sunshine. 

Her stomach grumbles, and Nora nods.

“Come on, I know just the place,” Jake says. 

His hand slips out of hers to find the small of her back as Jake leads her out of the crowd.

Back on Coronado Island, Jake drives along Orange Ave for a while before pulling into the parking lot of a cute diner called Starboard Side. 

This must be the place Jake mentioned on the Fourth, Nora realizes, where he wanted to take her on a date. 

She is smiling to herself when Jake opens the blue door for her. 

It’s the very definition of charming. Sun-soaked and eclectic with deep blue wallpaper on one end of the diner – covered in a nautical pattern of anchors, ships, and ocean waves – and wood paneling on the other, painted a bright sunflower yellow. 

She steps around a cluster of people who are waiting around the made-to-order coffee counter, either waiting for their order or waiting for one of the blue stools along the counter to be available, and Jake leads her to a booth in the corner.

“This is the best booth in here. It’s got the best window,” Jake says firmly and also in a way that makes her feel like he is waiting for her to agree with him, like a puppy waiting to be patted on the head. Like Jake picked out the best booth in the diner to impress her.

It’s equal parts endearing and ridiculous, which somehow makes it all the more endearing. 

Smiling, Nora slides in across from him, the sun-bleached vinyl under her legs warm against her bare skin. “It’s beautiful. Do you come here a lot?”  

“I’ve been coming here for years,” Jake answers, “since I was first at Top Gun. It’s the perfect amount of miles from the base for a morning run so I’d run here and back and carb load in between. Do you like pancakes or waffles?” 

“Who do you think I am? Pancakes, of course,” Nora says, and Jake’s smile crinkles the corners of his eyes.

“They’ve got really good pancakes.” 

He slides a laminated menu across the checkered table and points to one of the dishes in the Starboard Combos section, and as Nora follows along with his recommendation, walking her through his go-to orders, her hair slips into her face.

It’s been everywhere all morning, a little wild from the warmth of the day, a little windswept from the sea salt breeze coming off the ocean, frizzing and curling around her shoulders. She almost got fed up and braided it on the drive here, but all morning, Jake has been playing with the loose strands of blonde hair, absentmindedly reaching over and running it between his fingers on the Coronado Bridge, brushing it back from her face in the market check-out line when Nora’s hands were too full to do it herself. 

He’d been doing it in bed too, curling a strand around his finger and complimenting the smell of her shampoo.

Every easy and casual touch sends a little thrill dancing through her stomach so Nora left it down.

She sweeps it over her shoulder and studies the menu.

A smiling waitress comes by to grab their orders and flits over to collect a stack of dirty dishes from the next table over, a spiral notepad tucked into the band of her brightly colored apron. She returns a few minutes later to set down their coffees and is gone again.

It’s just them now. Just them again. 

She stirs the coffee with a metal spoon, oversized ice cubes clinking gently against the sides of the wide-mouth jar. She licks the sugar from the spoon and sets it back down on a paper napkin and watches him.

He rests his cheek on his open palm, curving his other hand around the chipped handle of the baby blue diner mug and watches her back. 

He ordered his coffee with cream and sugar and his eggs sunny side up, and Nora snatches up those little shining details like a magpie. She adds them to the picture of him in her mind.

He likes his coffee a little sweet. He likes pancakes. He likes her.

A golden beam of sunlight slants through the large window at their side, the best window in the whole diner. It’s almost noon, and in the afternoon light, Jake looks relaxed and thoughtful, edges softened, all dimples and laugh lines.

She notices a small hole in the collar of his shirt – barely even noticeable – and Nora latches onto that small imperfection like a lifeline, proof that Jake isn’t something Nora dreamed up. He’s real, heart-achingly so.

“So…” Nora says.

“So…” Jake echoes.

So…

So, what does this mean?

So, what do people talk about on first dates that feel like fifth, sixth, seventh dates?

So so so.

“So,” Nora says again. A complete sentence. She rests her chin on her interlaced fingers, mimicking his posture, half leaned forward, shoulders relaxed. “I have a question for you, Texas.” 

His lips quirk. “Yeah? What kind of question?” 

She dips her chin, lips pursed against a smile. “A very important one.” 

A dimple springs up in his cheek as Jake drawls, “Hit me, Hollywood,” in a voice full of Texas.

“What is…” Nora reaches for her coffee. Draws out the suspense. “…your favorite movie?” 

The corner of his mouth kicks up, and Nora narrows her eyes.

“Careful now. There are wrong answers here.”

“I’m not worried, sweetheart,” Jake replies with a casual sip of coffee, sprawling posture matching his words. “That’s an easy one. It’s Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Robert Redford and Paul Newman. Got anything harder for me?” 

Asshole, Nora thinks with affection.

A cowboy movie for a cowboy. Of course.

And Nora lets out an approving, “Good movie,” instead of damn. 

Because maybe, just maybe if Jake had god awful taste in movies – like, I respect you less as a person now bad – Nora could pour sand over the sparks that kick to life in her chest whenever Jake’s arm so much as brushes against hers. Damn damn damn.

And Jake’s smile is a little smug, a little knowing. “You like that I like good movies, don’t you? It kinda turns you on.” 

“I’m not answering that,” Nora says, which might as well be an answer, and Jake’s grin sharpens.

She pointedly ignores him, cheeks warm, and sips her coffee. “Is there a story there? Or are you really that much of a cowboy?” 

He makes a noncommittal sound, not ignoring the question, not answering either.

This is a date, not an interview, Nora reminds herself. She doesn’t push.

He brings the mug to his lips and asks, “What about you? What’s yours?” 

“Oh, I – ” Nora makes a face. “I don’t know if I have one.” 

Shaking his head, Jake shoots her a disbelieving look. “You’re not getting out of this one, Hollywood, not a chance. You have to have one.” 

Nora laughs. “I don’t know. It’s all just so subjective. I like a lot of movies for a lot of different reasons.” She gestures to him. “I mean, don’t you? Doesn’t everyone?” 

“Sure,” Jake says slowly, “but you must have a favorite.” 

“That’s what I’m saying. A movie can be a favorite for any number of reasons, like, if you see a movie at the exact right time or maybe, with the exact right person or both, and it’s almost like the movie found you and not the other way around.” 

A half-smile forms on his face as Jake listens to her.

“It’s hard to pick one favorite. How do you compare that – that raw emotional experience – with a movie that’s objectively very good from a craft perspective?” 

“You tell me, sweetheart,” and Jake chuckles when Nora gives him a look. “Alright, what about two movies?” 

“Two?” 

“Yeah.” He holds up two fingers. “Pick two favorites.” 

Two favorites. She can probably do two.

Thinking for a moment, Nora says, “When Harry Met Sally. One, because it’s amazing movie and the best rom-com of our time, obviously.”

She waits expectantly until Jake echoes, obviously, with a smile.

“Two, because I watched it in high school with my mom. I was supposed to go to this pool party that a girl in my grade was throwing for her birthday, but I got super sick, and I was so upset. It was like, all I’d been looking forward to that week. My mom canceled her plans and stayed in with me.” She smiles at the memory. “We spent the whole night on the couch, eating pizza and watching a Meg Ryan marathon on cable. It’s been a favorite of mine ever since.” 

Gaze warm, Jake absorbs this with a nod. “What’s your second favorite?” 

“Ocean’s Eleven,” Nora answers without hesitation. “I was obsessed with George Clooney when I was a kid. I once wrote him a letter and asked him to be my step-dad. He never got back to me, unfortunately.” 

His laugh lights up his whole face. “God, of course you did. How’d your mom feel about that?” 

“She would’ve gotten on board. It’s George Clooney,” Nora says simply, like it’s obvious. 

His foot brushes against hers underneath the table, his ankle slotting into the space between hers, and something about it feels so intimate that Nora almost shivers.

After a moment, Jake offers, “I saw Butch and Sundance with my dad.” 

An answer to a question Nora didn’t ask out loud. 

Surprised, Nora pauses. “Your dad?” 

A nod as Jake runs his hand over his nape. “Austin had this retro movie theater that used to play old movies on Saturday and Sunday mornings for real cheap, like five bucks, maybe even less back then. My football practice got rained out one weekend, and for once, my dad wasn’t working so we went to see Butch and Sundance. It’s probably the best afternoon I ever had with him.” A fraction of the  seriousness washes from his face as Jake winks and adds, “And I’m that much of a cowboy, sweetheart. You should see my Stetson collection back home.” 

A charmed smile pulls at her mouth, and Nora chooses her words carefully. “You’ve never mentioned your dad before.” 

One of his shoulders rises and falls. “We’re not close. He was kind of an asshole even then, always on me about every little mistake I’d make during games, every A-minus that should’ve been an A. He only got meaner as I got older.” He sighs and rubs his hand over his face. “My parents split up when I was in high school. He was a real dick to my mom during the divorce, so I don’t see him unless I have to now.” 

“My dad’s an asshole too,” Nora says. “George Clooney would’ve been much better.” 

Jake laughs, and Nora smiles, kind of proud of herself.

The waitress comes back with their food, and Nora slides the plate of blueberry pancakes and scrambled eggs in front of her. She carefully unrolls her knife and fork and sets the napkin across her lap. She doesn’t want any crushed blueberry stains on these overalls. 

An unladylike sound almost escapes her mouth at her first bite, and Nora closes her mouth around the sound. 

“You were right about the pancakes.” 

“Of course I was.” 

Nora rolls her eyes, and Jake chuckles.

Washing it down with a sip of coffee, Nora says, “You never told me your second favorite movie.” 

Jake breaks off a piece of whole-wheat toast and dips it in yellow egg yolk. He pops it in his mouth and grinning around the bite, replies, “You already know my second favorite.” 

“I do?” She sets her fork down, already sticky with maple syrup.

He nods, not giving her any hints, waiting for her to catch up with him, to keep up. 

She wracks her brain for any movie Nora had ever heard Jake mention. She can’t think of a single one. She's about to fold her cards and ask him to tell her until – 

“Oh my god. You’re full of shit.” 

“I’m not,” Jake says, amused.

She stares at him, mouth open slightly. “You can’t be serious. Your favorite movies are Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, one of the best Westerns of all time, which has been preserved by the Library of Congress for being culturally significant, and – ”  

“How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days,” Jake finishes with a grin. He cocks his head. “What can I say? I love McConaughey.” 

His smile splits wide open when Nora bursts out laughing.

After, when Nora is leaving the diner, full of good food, Jake walks ahead of her to check the parking meter, and watching him, Nora has the most disorienting urge to walk over and wrap her arms around him. Press her cheek into the wrinkle of soft heather gray fabric between his shoulder blades. Inhale the smell of his cologne like Nora’s done it a million times before.

This is new, Nora reminds herself. It’s so new.

Except when Jake glances over his shoulder and looks for her, green eyes darting down to run over her bare legs, and smiles, wide and affectionate like he didn’t just spend almost two hours across from her, like he could spend all day looking at her and never get sick of it; nothing about it feels new.

It feels like Nora’s already waist deep, right in the middle of something vast and all-consuming, something bottomless. 

And when Jake extends a hand behind him, reaching for her, eyes as green as dew-covered grass, Nora steps into the daylight and links her fingers with his, filling in the gaps, somehow it’s the most natural thing in the whole world.

Two more weeks pass, and Nora’s with Jake more than she’s not.

He sleeps over so often that Nora clears a spot on the bathroom counter for him to leave a spare toothbrush, and likewise, Jake starts to keep her favorite brands of cold brew and creamer in his fridge. 

Coffee in bed becomes something of a weekend routine.

Once, in his apartment, Jake brings her coffee in a Lone Star State mug, which looks like one of those souvenir mugs you might find in an airport. It’s covered in a patchwork of orange and light blue doodles: a cowboy hat, a horse, a Sheriff’s star.

“Beth bought it for me when I left for my first deployment,” Jake explains when Nora asks him about the mug, running her fingers over the delicate outlines. “So I’d have something to remind me of home.” 

They go on a second date. A third. A fourth. 

He finds a dine-in movie theater in La Jolla that’s doing a 90’s Rom Com series all summer and takes her to a 35mm showing of Clueless, listening attentively as Nora explains the difference between digital and film projection in excruciating detail on the drive there, a smile on his face.

On the mornings that Jake doesn’t stay the night, Nora orders an extra coffee – with cream and sugar – from her favorite coffee shops and meets him on the base a half hour earlier than the rest of the Daggers. She kisses him in the quiet of the Ready Room until 8:00 AM rolls around. 

It’s all meaningful looks and stolen kisses; late night drives with the windows down, the wind in her hair, his hand on her thigh; rolls of film, not yet developed. It’s something for them, something good. 

They keep it under the radar in front of the Daggers.

She’s not worried about them finding out, but Captain Mitchell is an extension of the Daggers, and Nora would really like to keep Aunt Charlie’s ex-boyfriend in the dark about her sex life for as long as possible. Forever, even. 

Also, she still has a month left in her contract, and while she’s pretty sure the Naval magazine wouldn’t fire her for sleeping with one of the film subjects in a documentary like this one, she’s not so sure that she wants to put it to the test.

So, for now, under the radar it is. 

After the Fourth of July, Javy officially gets his orders to report to Maverick's squadron. He goes back to Lemoore to wrap up some loose ends with his old C.O., and Jake meets him there the next weekend to drive a U-Haul back down.

And Nora emails the magazine and lets them know that the documentary will have one more Dagger. 

Nora has more than enough time to weave him into the narrative of the film, and anyway, Javy is an official member of the squadron now. He is as much part of the story of the squadron as the other Daggers. 

Plus, Nora hasn’t forgotten how excited Javy was about the film. It’ll be seamless, her version of rolling out the red carpet for him.

On his second day, Nora pulls him aside between drills and sits him down in front of the camera.

It’s a good interview, which doesn’t surprise her in the slightest. He’s a lot like Jake in that way, effortlessly funny and charismatic with a glowing movie star smile. Her cheeks hurt from smiling by the end of the interview, completely and thoroughly charmed. 

After, Nora walks back to the Ready Room with him, and Javy asks, “How was that?” 

“Super good,” she tells him. He holds the door open for her, like a gentleman, and with a smile, Nora crosses the threshold ahead of him, looking at him over her shoulder. “No, but really, it was great. You’re a natural.” 

On the couch, Jake grumbles, “I thought I was a natural,” and Nora swats at him on her way past.

Everyone gathers at the Jake’s apartment later that night to eat some pizza and watch a movie.

Nora is curled up on the opposite end of the couch as Jake with an unsuspecting Bob between them. At one point, Jake looks around the room and stretches his arm casually over the back of the couch, and Nora feels him fiddling with the end of her braid.

She hides her smile in her next sip of white wine.

She is peacefully watching the movie, drinking the wine and sharing a bowl of extra-butter popcorn with Bob when Natasha comes back from the bathroom and plops down on the carpet again with a smirk on her face.

“Hangman.” 

“Yeah?” 

“It’s nice of you to host and all, but next time, if you’re going to leave your bedroom door open, can you tell your girlfriend not to leave her underwear on the floor?” 

Nora chokes.

A popcorn kernel shoots into her airway, and Nora coughs into her wine.

Jake subtly drops his arm behind the couch, letting go of her hair.

Looking down at Natasha, Jake raises his brows, like oh, who, me?, and smiles a familiar cat-like smile, unbothered and calm. “Sure, Phoenix. I’ll pass along the message.” 

It’s immediately obvious that Natasha expected him to say anything but that.

She gapes at him, and meanwhile, Nora wishes it was possible to elbow Jake through Bob.

She curls further into the armrest and swallows a mouthful of wine that’s almost too much, wine dribbling out of the side of her mouth and onto her shirt. 

What happened to under the radar?

And when did Nora leave his apartment without her underwear? 

Is she wearing underwear now?

She pats her hip under the guise of smoothing out a wrinkle in her sweat shorts. All clear.

Natasha spends the last 30 minutes of Ocean’s Eleven grilling him – and when Jake smiles that infuriating plastic smile and doesn’t reveal anything, pivoting to Javy – about whether Jake does, in fact, have a girlfriend while Nora pretends to be engrossed in the movie and not eavesdropping. 

“Wow, so Danny gets the money and the girl in the end. Good for him,” Nora says.

Bob gives her an odd look. “Haven’t you seen this movie before?” 

She reaches for her wine again as a diversion, only to find the glass empty. Goddammit. 

When Natasha is still in interrogation mode during the credits, Nora gathers the plates from the living room and escapes to the kitchen, hoping to hide in there until Natasha has even given up or gotten bored.

And knowing her, the latter is far more likely than the former.

Her peace ends about 30 seconds later when Bradley follows her.

He leans against the counter and unrolls the bag of cheese balls that Nora just clipped shut. Tosses one into his mouth. He grins at her knowingly, and Nora narrows her eyes at him in warning.

Don’t say a damn word. 

Still, Bradley observes, “You followed my advice, Rogers.” 

He’s not loud, but Bradley’s not exactly quiet by nature.

She sends a nervous glance into the other room and hisses, “We’re not doing this right now.” 

She dumps the crumbs and uneaten pizza crusts into the garbage and stacks the dishes next to the sink. Turns on the sink to give them a little more privacy because if Nora knows him, Bradley has never left well enough alone in his life.

“Fine.” He knocks back a handful of cheese balls like a shot of vodka and dusts his hands off in a shower of orange crumbs. Nora looks between him and the roll of paper towels at his elbow with a scrunched brow. He doesn’t seem to notice and barrels on, “But listen, as a friend, can I ask you for something?” 

“What?” Nora deadpans.

“Can I have like a 10 minute warning before you tell Hangman we slept together? I’d like to protect the goods.” 

He gestures to his face, but Nora has a feeling Bradley also wants to protect something else.

She stifles a laugh. “He’s not gonna punch you for something that happened five years ago.” 

“You don’t know that.” 

“Except I do know that because I already told him.” She points to the counter behind him. “Can you hand me that bowl?” 

He pauses mid-crunch and doesn’t move. “You told him?” 

She sighs and reaches around him for the chip bowl herself. “Yes, Bradshaw, I told him.” 

“And Hangman didn’t punch me?” 

“Guess not.” 

“I feel like I should be offended.” 

She stares at him, incredulous. “Did you want him to punch you?” 

“That’s not the point, Nora,” Bradley says, exasperated, like Nora is the one who’s being ridiculous here. “I can’t believe you told him without telling me. How’d he take it?” 

“He didn’t care,” Nora says. She squirts dish soap onto a sponge and scrubs the potato chip grease from the bowl. “He actually thought it was funny.” 

She suspected that Javy might’ve said something to his best friend about their conversation at the roller rink, and Nora didn’t want any lingering suspicions to turn into something bigger than the truth, something that might affect Jake or Bradley in their already high-risk jobs. 

So Nora told him.

He seemed surprised at first.

And then, Jake laughed.

He laughed so hard that Nora hit him with a pillow to get him to stop.

“You and Bradshaw?” Jake chuckled. “You’re so out of his league, sweetheart. Jesus.” 

“We were both drunk, okay?” Nora exclaimed. She felt a certain amount of protectiveness over her 24-year-old self and her weakness for men with big arms and sad eyes. Really, who could blame her? “He was older and hot and sad and – Would you stop laughing at me?” 

“Funny,” Bradley repeats flatly. 

Her lips twitch. “He asked if I’d always been passionate about volunteering with the elderly.” 

A cheese ball rolls down his chest and under the fridge, and Nora bites the inside of her cheek.

Bradley purses his lips. “Now I feel like I should punch him.” 

Eventually, Natasha decides that Jake must be messing with her – “Hangman couldn’t possibly be dating someone. He can never shut up. We’d all know about her.” – and Nora manages to make it out of the night unscathed with the rest of the Daggers none-the-wiser.

(Except Javy, who gives her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder on his way out.)

A week later, Nora is working late in the Ready Room. 

She is leaning on her elbow with god-awful computer posture – one knee pulled up on the chair, a mist of sweat on her brow from the heat – and Jake pops in to the room to let her know that the Daggers are headed to the Hard Deck for an after-work drink.

“You gonna be much longer?” Jake asks. “Want me to wait for you?” 

He sets his chin on her shoulder, watching her fingers move across the keyboard, kissing a spot underneath her ear that usually makes her brain go back, usually makes her sigh and melt into him, but Nora stays strong.

It’s just this one last thing. 

She blows out a grounding several-seconds-long breath to keep herself focused. 

“I’m almost done,” Nora replies evenly, impressively evenly, actually, “so don’t distract me.” 

His lips pull into a grin against the side of her neck.

For his part, Jake doesn’t say anything else. He gives her space, leaning against the window, and watches her in silence. 

She saves one last file, and once the external hard drive is properly ejected, Nora slams the laptop shut. She spins around to look at him, her elbows on the back of the chair, and Jake has his arms folded across his chest, looking effortless and handsome and effortlessly handsome in his black shirt.

Her lip catches between her teeth.

“Hi,” Nora breathes.

Expression soft, Jake says back, “Hi, sweetheart.” 

“How was your day? Good?” 

He nods. “You?” 

She does the same, a dip of her chin.

Evening sun pierces through the open blinds, drenching the room in a copper hue and making it at least five degrees warmer, if not more, and Nora looks him over in the glow. Drinks him in like an Old Fashioned. Her favorite drink.

They’ve been talking a lot about those lately. Favorites. 

Favorite movie. Favorite song. Favorite time of day.

When Harry Met Sally. Gold Dust Woman by Fleetwood Mac. That moment right before sunset when the whole sky and ocean turns pink.

She’s starting to realize Jake might be one of her favorites too.

She motions him closer, crooking her finger, and Jake bends indulgently, eyes bright.

She reaches for him. Coasts her palm along the slope of his chin, the cut-glass curve of his cheek, the prickle of stubble on his strong jawline. 

She kisses him on the cheek and rests her lips there. Mumbles against his skin, “You could use a shave, cowboy.” 

She feels him smile, feels the muscles in his face stretching and working.

“You don’t like the stubble, sweetheart?” 

Nora actually does like the stubble. He looks a little more rugged, a little more like a cowboy. She can imagine him on a ranch in Texas, a sunburn on his broad shoulders, riding horses in his real-leather cowboy boots and his real-denim jeans, tipping his Stetson at her with a wink and a broad grin on his ride. She might like it a little too much.

“Well,” Nora drawls, “I didn’t say that.” 

As Nora pulls back with a grin of her own, Jake catches her chin between his index and thumb and kisses her.

It’s such a good kiss that for a moment, Nora lets herself forget everything else.

She lets herself forget their surroundings; let herself forget the afternoon she spent making a list of gaps in the footage because she has less than fourteen days to fill them in, less than fourteen days left here.

She lets herself forget the rising number of unanswered emails in her inbox and her one-way plane ticket back to New York at the end of the month. 

She lets herself forget anything that isn’t Jake’s hands on her hips, urging her to her feet and pushing her back against the table, hands sneaking under the hem of her shirt, and Nora’s hands in his hair, tousled from the wind and a little damp from his post-flight shower, smelling like soap and jet fuel. 

She loses herself in him, in this.

A door creaks open, and she doesn’t even notice.

“Are you still here, Nora? Phoenix wanted me to ask if…” 

All of the air rushes out of Bob mid-sentence. 

He makes a noise like a punctured balloon – a kind of stunned Oh! sound – and quickly shuts the door again.

Nora breaks away from the kiss, but Bob’s long gone now, picture frames rattling in his wake. 

“Oh… Oh my god.” Nora puts her hands over her face and lets out a panicked laugh into her palms. “What are the odds I could ask him not to tell anyone?” 

“Slim to none,” Jake replies helpfully. “He’s probably already told Phoenix by now.” 

“No way. It’s been like 30 seconds. How….” She grabs her phone, and not four seconds later, an incoming call from Natasha pops up on the screen. She presses decline with a startled sound and drops her phone back on the desk, like it’s a snake that bit her.

What the hell? Are Bob and Natasha telepathically linked?

Jake laughs. He looks far too smug for Nora’s liking.

She squints up at him. “And what exactly are you smiling about? I could get fired.” 

She’s not really going to get fired, but she is feeling dramatic enough to say it anyway.

“You’re not gonna get fired,” Jake fires back without missing a beat. He hooks a finger in her belt loop and pulls her closer. “And I’m smiling because as much as I’ve liked having you all to myself these past few weeks…” A deliberate kiss against the column of her throat as Jake slides his palm up the same path. A breathy sigh. “... I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t be happy to not have to sneak around anymore. Now, I’ll be able to kiss you anytime I want.” 

“Is that a Sweet Home Alabama refer– oh?” 

He cuts her off with another kiss, leg sliding between hers and up, his hand around the front of her throat.

It’s a long while before Nora packs up.

She’s only been at the Hard Deck for a few minutes when Bob comes over, looking sheepish, and apologizes with an Old Fashioned in hand.

“I’m sorry, Nora, I should’ve knocked,” Bob says, his shoulders rounded, contrite. “And I’m sorry I immediately told Phoenix.” A pause, and Bob’s cheeks redden a little. “And Fanboy and Payback and also, Rooster and Coyote, but both of them already knew.” 

Nora laughs. “Jesus, Bob, I didn’t realize you were such a gossip.” 

His blush deepens. “I’m sorry. I really thought everyone knew but me, but I guess Rooster and Coyote were the only ones.” 

“It’s okay. We weren’t being very discreet,” Nora admits. She accepts the Old Fashioned with a forgiving squeeze of his arm. “Is Natasha mad? Like on a scale of 1 to Witness Protection?” 

He pulls a face. “I think, more than anything, Phoenix is more mad she wasn’t the first one to figure it out. She’s also pissed Rooster knew and didn’t tell her.” 

“I’ll let him take the heat for this one,” Nora says conspiratorially. 

Bob smiles. “Probably a smart move.” 

She kills the next half-hour and change at the pool table with Jake.

He’s apparently taken not sneaking around anymore to mean have his hands on her at all times. He stands too close and slips a hand into the back pocket of her jeans while Nora is trying to take her turn. Cheater.

Natasha comes over in the middle of a game, nursing a Blue Moon.

She stands at Nora’s side and looks down at the game. “I guess I should’ve known,” she says in the matter-of-fact tone of someone who has processed their surprise. “He’s always staring at you lately. You were either hooking up or in desperate need of a restraining order.” 

“Jury’s still out on the restraining order,” Nora replies dryly and smiles when an eavesdropping Jake looks up sharply. He meets her gaze and shakes his head, a smirk hanging from the corner of his mouth. 

A wrinkle between her brows, Natasha asks, “Is it pretty casual? Or are you guys like, dating now?” 

“No,” Nora answers while at the exact same time, Jake calls, “Yes.” 

A swooping feeling fills her stomach.

They haven’t used that word yet. Dating.

Dating has weight. Implications that Nora isn’t prepared to deal with right now.

Like, if they’re dating, what happens when she leaves? 

And yet, foolishly, Nora really likes the sound of it.

She wrinkles her nose but doesn’t correct him, and Jake grins, like he’s won something.

Natasha observes this interaction with vague fascination.

“I’ll let you two figure that one out.” Natasha hoists herself onto a barstool, legs dangling, and nods to Jake. “I’ve got the next game with you, Nora. Hangman’s been hogging you over here.” 

She and Natasha play a couple of games – first alone and then, against an overconfident pair of ensigns fresh from the Naval academy who wander over to hit on them. They win 40 bucks each off of them and send them packing.

And when Jake wraps his arms around her shoulders from behind, grinning lips pressed against her cheek, Nora spins around and kisses him on the mouth and doesn’t give a damn who sees. 

On the last Friday of the month, Nora sends off the last few files and pieces of footage and organizes a wrap party for the documentary. 

She loves this part of the filmmaking process – after weeks, months of work, a moment of pause and celebration and achievement. It’s such a singular and special experience to create something from start to finish, and Nora wants the Naval aviators have the chance to share in that moment with her. See what the last eight weeks have been for. 

Captain Mitchell ends the day a few hours early and gathers the Naval aviators in the room where Nora first introduced herself to them all of those weeks ago.

A sharp sense of deja vu washes over her as Nora finds herself at the front of the room once again, eight weeks older. She’s not looking out on a group of half-acquaintances, practical strangers, watching her with caution and curiosity. These are her friends. She sees nothing but excitement and anticipation in their eyes.

It’s always a bittersweet feeling, and Nora pushes down the overwhelm that rises in her chest, sticking to the sides of her throat. She swallows hard.

Bradley cups his hands around his mouth and calls, “Speech! Speech! Speech!” 

She exhales a laugh, relaxing. “I do have a little speech. More of an introduction, actually.” She links her fingers and holds them in front of her stomach to give herself something to do with her hands. “Making something like this is never easy. It’s almost always disruptive, but I felt so welcome here. You made it feel easy.” 

She continues, “I’m only contracted as the filmmaker so I’m not doing the final edit of the film, but I didn’t want to send it off into post-production without showing you something that represents your hard work and dedication. You’ve volunteered a lot of your time to this project. It’s as much your achievement as mine.” She plugs in her laptop and pulls up the video and smiles. “I have a few minutes of footage for you.” 

A chorus of whoops and cheers, and Nora presses the play button. 

Text appears on the black screen as Nora quietly sits down.

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.

A video of Captain Mitchell fades in, and Bradley claps loudly and shouts, “Let’s go, Mav!” 

Natasha shushes him – and maybe punches him in the shoulder because Bradley lets out a pained groan.

“These men and women,” Captain Mitchell says on the screen. “This squadron. There’s never been a squadron like this one in the history of the Naval aviation.” He fades to voice-over over a rapid-fire reel of in-air footage: Jets cut through the blue skies at impossible speeds, perform incredible high-speed maneuvers, again and again and again. A black screen as Captain Mitchell declares, “These are the best fighter pilots on the planet.” 

A small smile dances on Nora’s lips, anticipating.

What follows is a straight-forward but effective pattern.

Each Dagger appears on the screen and says their call sign, and Nora clipped something from their interview – a good anecdote, a particularly memorable quote – with footage of them in the air or b-roll of them on the base.

On the screen, Jake – Lieutenant Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin, reads the lower-third – flashes a 1000-watt smile to the side of the camera, and Nora smiles despite herself. He was looking at her. She remembers it so vividly, sitting there, pretending not to be charmed by him, pretending not to want him.

Next to her, Jake leans over and whispers, “You remember when you told me you didn’t like me after this?” 

“Shut up,” Nora whispers back, smiling.

He grows closer, lips brushing her ear. “Now, why would I? We both know how much you love to shut me up, sweetheart.” 

A rose pink blush spreads across her cheeks, and Jake chuckles.

Behind him, Natasha kicks his chair. “Zip it, Hangman. Stop flirting during my big moment.” 

And Natasha’s JUST loud enough that Captain Mitchell hears.

He looks over with a frown. His gaze snags on where Hangman’s arm hangs ever-so-casually over the side of his chair, his pinky finger brushing against the side of Nora’s hand. 

Pete Mitchell huffs out an amused exhale and shakes his head and thinks about all of the improbably and impossible ways that history seems to repeat itself. He looks over his shoulder and spots a familiar figure, slipping into the back of the room unnoticed. He nods to them and directs his attention back to the screen. 

A short round of applause breaks out at the end of the video, and Nora beams.

She does a little half-bow at Natasha’s insistence. 

“Thank you. You can stop now,” Nora laughs. She collects her laptop from the podium and holds it against her chest. “A military base isn’t the best place for a real wrap party, but Penny’s been kind enough to host us at her house tonight so I’ll see you all there, but while I’m here and still on the clock, any last questions?” 

A beat of silence. 

A familiar voice rings out from the back of the room.

“Can I ask one?” 

Shock burns down the length of her spine, a sparked fuse of a stick of dynamite, and Nora straightens. 

“What the fuck?” spills out of her mouth. She gapes. “Charlie?” 

Standing in front of the red-and-blue Fighter Weapons School emblem, a leather bomber around her shoulders, a pair of aviator sunglasses in her graying curls, Charlie looks like one of her old photo albums come to life. A wide smile stretches across her face, making her look three decades younger. 

What? How? And again, what?

“Last I checked,” Charlie says with a smooth smile. She nods to Captain Mitchell. “Maverick.” 

“Charlie.” He doesn’t sound surprised. “Good to see you again.” 

Nora is mostly definitely surprised. Stunned. “But… Charlie, what’re you doing here?” 

Charlie leans against the back wall, arms crossed, effortlessly cool.

“Pete here was kind enough to let me know about the wrap party, and I thought, what the hell? Maybe I should take one of those vacation days the Pentagon is always on me about.” Her expression softens as Charlie takes her in. “It’s good to see you, sweetie.” 

Charlie’s here. She’s here.

Nora blinks rapidly.

And promptly bursts into tears. 

Half an hour later, Nora is sitting at a high top in a secluded corner of the hotel bar where Charlie is staying. 

She orders an Old Fashioned from the waiter, and Charlie orders a glass of Pinot Noir and swirls the maroon wine around in her glass like a seasoned professional. Nora’s never really understood the point of doing that – something about letting the wine breathe – but it does make Charlie look pretty sophisticated.

Then again, with her red lips and her Grace Kelly curls, Charlie always looks pretty sophisticated. 

She sips her wine, lipstick un-smudged, and studies Nora over the glass. 

Nora prepares herself for the inevitable barrage of questions.

Something along the lines of, So what happened? Did you lose your phone? or maybe, Why did you start crying in the middle of the Naval base like a certified head case? Both of which are fair enough questions. 

Bob was the first one to recover from his alarm and procured a packet of Kleenex from one of the pockets of his flight suit. He offered her one with a sympathetic smile, and Nora blew her nose with a grateful nod. 

To his credit, Captain Mitchell snapped into action and quickly ushered the rest of the Daggers out of the room.

“Let’s give them some privacy,” Nora heard Captain Mitchell say as Charlie wrapped her in a hug. His voice grew a little sterner, a little harder. “You too, Hangman. Let’s go.” 

She opened her wet eyes, and Captain Mitchell had his hand on Jake’s shoulder, but Jake was looking at her, concern plain on his face, his lips downturned. 

She gave him a watery smile, and Jake’s shoulders visibly relaxed.

He was still the last one out of the room. 

Now, Charlie looks her over and comments brightly, “You’ve got some color in your cheeks. Are you spending a lot of time on the beach?” 

She blinks. That’s… not a question Nora was expecting.

“They put me up in an apartment right on the beach, and the Daggers like to go down to North Beach and play volleyball and football, so I hang out with them sometimes.” 

“You play football?” Charlie asks, skeptical and amused.

“I read.” 

“Ah. Of course. Anything good?” 

What is happening right now? “Yeah, sure, I guess.” 

“Good.” 

Charlie drinks her wine and doesn’t ask anything else.

Nora stares at her. “Charlie?”

“Hm?” 

“Aren’t you going to ask?” 

“No.” 

She almost laughs. “No?” 

“No,” Charlie repeats simply. She flags down the waiter and points to the appetizers on the Happy Hour menu. “Excuse me. Could we get an order of the whipped ricotta and then, the truffle parmesan fries? You can charge it to my room. Thanks, hon.”  

Nora stares at her aunt like she’s been body snatched, and Charlie sighs. 

“Listen,” Charlie starts. “You haven’t called me in weeks so clearly, whatever you’ve got going on is something you’re not ready to share with me right away, and if I know you at all – and I like to think I do – I know I’ll get absolutely nowhere if I push you.” She picks up her glass and swirls it again. “So, we’ll get a couple of drinks and split some appetizers, and when you’re ready, you can tell me what’s going on.” 

They do exactly that.

Nora orders a second drink and spreads honey-drizzled ricotta across pieces of baguette and fills Charlie in on the last eight weeks, every minuscule and probably uninteresting detail about the documentary and the squadron. She does, however, gloss over a few crucial details about Jake, as is her right as guaranteed by the Fifth amendment. She’s also not quite sure how to explain it herself. 

And eventually, when her drink is down to ice and the bread down to crumbs, Nora tells her aunt what’s going on. 

And Charlie listens.

She listens to everything.

Every doubt and fear. Every uncertainty that’s been weighing Nora down for the past year and a half, making her feel like she’s caught in a bear trap, like she can’t move, like she can’t breathe. 

Admitting all of these big and all-consuming feelings to Charlie is scary and freeing in equal measures, but in the end, where there was once a pit in her stomach, she feels relief. She feels one breath closer to the surface. 

When Nora is done, her mouth is dried out. She chugs half a glass of water.

And almost spits it all back out when Charlie’s first words are: “So why don’t you quit?” 

“What?” Nora asks, more of a stunned syllable than a question.

“If you don’t want to do it anymore,” Charlie says plainly, “don’t.” 

Her brows are high on her forehead as Nora asks, bewildered, “So what? Give up?” 

“I didn’t say give up,” Charlie sighs, and it brings Nora back to her teen years when Charlie would accuse her of being difficult on purpose. “I said quit.” 

“They feel like the same thing.” 

“They’re not.” 

She bites her lip and looks over Charlie’s shoulder and out of the window. 

“Isn’t it like…” Nora blows out a breath. “If I quit now, isn’t it like I’m flushing six years of my life down the drain?” 

Charlie shrugs. “You still did a lot in those six years. Changing your mind doesn’t take away from any of those accomplishments, but now, maybe it’s time for you to do something else, something you like more. Start over.” 

Nora sits back. “You say it like it’s simple. Easy.” 

“It might not be easy. It most likely won’t be, but it is that simple, yes.” 

Words catch in her throat, and when Nora says it out loud, her voice sounds small. “I’m scared.” 

Her aunt’s face softens. She reaches across the table and cups Nora’s hand.

“You’re allowed to be scared. Everyone’s scared.” 

She blows out a shaky breath to keep herself from crying again, but a slight crack in her voice gives her away. Damn. “Yeah? When’s the last time you were scared you couldn’t do something?” 

God. She regrets the words almost immediately. 

She sounds childish, petulant, but right now, Nora feels like the 16-year-old who snuck Charlie’s red lipstick from her make-up pouch and got busted because she accidentally put it back uncapped and ruined the inside of the bag. Or like the 21-year-old who ordered an Old Fashioned for her first legal drink because Charlie used to drink them at home and hated it so much that Nora wouldn’t drink another for four more years. 

Like all Nora ever wants to be is someone that Charlie can be proud of.

All of the sudden, Charlie looks very far away. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared than when your mom died. She made being a parent look so easy, and I got to be the cool Aunt Charlie on the sidelines, and then, she was gone, and I was so scared I’d fuck up and undo everything.” 

Nora’s eyes burn. “Charlie, I never… You never said anything.” 

“Of course not,” Charlie dismisses with a shake of her head, curls bouncing. “You were still a kid. You were grieving. You needed stability, and I knew I had to do my best because sometimes, you’re scared and you do it anyway.” 

“Fail with your whole heart,” Nora quotes softly, and Charlie squeezes her hand.

“See I could’ve never come up with something like that, but god, your mom…” Charlie wipes at her eyes with a cloth napkin and smiles. “She was born to be writer. When I got my first interview with the Pentagon, I had less than 24-hours notice. I was living in New York at the time, and I’d need to hop on a train and hope I could find a hotel for the night when I got down there."

"Honestly, I thought about not going, but your mom sat me down and said, ‘Charlotte,’” and Charlie straightens her spine and does her best impression of her sister, “‘You get your bony ass to Grand Central, and I’ll call every damn hotel in DC and find you a room. You got the interview, and now, all you have to do is follow through and take the leap.” 

“And you did,” Nora finishes. “You did the interview, got the job, and the rest is history.” 

“I did. I followed her advice. I decided that if I was going to fail, I should do it bravely.” Charlie squeezes her hand once more and lets it go. “It’s your turn now, sweetie.” 

Nora goes to the bathroom to clean up her mascara and when she comes back, Charlie is signing the check.

She checks her watch. “It’s almost five o’clock. Do you want to head over to Penny’s?” 

“Give me one second.” Nora reaches for her purse and pulls out her phone. “I have to call someone back.” 

Penny Benjamin lives in a beautiful house in La Jolla that looks like something out of Architectural Digest magazine. 

A classic California bungalow with off-white siding and wide blue-trim windows and a garden wrapping around the side, summer green dotted with pinks and yellows and reds; on an elegant cliffside, overlooking the Pacific. 

It’s a good half hour from San Diego so when Nora and Charlie arrive, the street is lined with cars.

Last week, Nora asked Admiral Simpson for a full list of everyone who’d been on the base during the making of the documentary and forwarded the names to Penny for the wrap party. When Admiral Simpson asked her why she needed them and she explained – she wanted anyone who’d so much as stood on the tarmac while she’d been filming to be included in the celebration – she could’ve sworn he looked a little impressed. 

Still, Nora is surprised to see him in the garden, chatting with Admiral Bates with a beer in his hand, a pretty woman next to him who must be his wife. 

“I’m gonna go say hi to Warlock and Cyclone,” Charlie says, patting Nora’s shoulder, and Nora nods and watches her go.

She doesn’t see Penny anywhere so Nora goes into the house and finds her in the kitchen. She gives her a quick hug and hands over a bottle of Prosecco – which Charlie had insisted on stopping for on the drive because Charlie couldn’t possibly show up to her ex-boyfriend’s current girlfriend’s house without an expensive bottle of something. 

“What am I?” Charlie asked. “Some kind of asshole?

“Oh, Nora,” Penny gasps, hand fluttering over her heart. “This is your party. You didn’t need to bring me something.” 

“Oh please. Charlie’s outside. It’s from both of us,” Nora waves her off as Penny admires the bottle. It was the prettiest one in the store. “Thank you so much for doing this by the way. Your house is so beautiful.” 

Now, Penny’s the one to wave her off. “No, no, I was happy to do it. We’ll all miss having you around, even Pete. He probably won’t say it himself, but I’ll say it for him.” Nora smiles widely, and Penny shoos her out of the kitchen. “I’ll open this up and bring it out, but you get your butt outside and enjoy the party.” 

Obliging, Nora makes her way back outside. 

A makeshift bar is in the middle of the garden, and Nora finds her aunt pouring herself a glass of wine.

“Come on,” Nora nudges. “You can meet some of my friends.” 

They make the rounds around the garden. She introduces Charlie to Natasha, who looks as starstruck as Nora has ever seen her. 

Shaking her hand firmly, Natasha asks, excited, “You were Maverick’s instruction at Top Gun, right?” 

“One of them,” Charlie answers coolly.

“You knew Viper then? And Iceman?” 

“I did.” 

“So cool,” Natasha breathes, and Bob nudges her with a small, side smile.

“Charlie,” Bradley calls out and rushes over to give her a big hug, lifting her kitten heels off the ground. It’s been a few years since Bradley last saw Charlie so Nora’s not surprised that Bradley and Charlie have a lot of catching up to do. She’s happy to listen and chime in every so often. 

Awhile later, Bradley leaves to grab another plate of food, and gaze sweeping across the garden, Charlie turns to Nora and asks, unexpectedly, “Are you going to introduce me to your boyfriend?” 

Nora manages not to blush. She raises her brows. “I would if I had one.” 

“Really?” Charlie asks, like, Is that the story you’re going with? “Then, who’s that handsome man over there making moon eyes at you?”

Shit.

Nora looks over, and sure enough, even in the middle of a conversation with Javy, Mickey, and Reuben, Jake doesn’t seem to be paying one damn bit of attention to anything coming out of their mouths. His eyes are on her. Always on her. 

She bites back a smile. And beckons him over.

He crosses the garden in a few long strides and after Nora introduces him (“This is my aunt, Charlie Blackwood.”), Jake greets her with a nod and an extended hand. “Jake Seresin, ma’am.” 

“Jake,” Charlie repeats with recognition. “It’s nice to finally meet you.” 

Finally? Nora frowns slightly. She’s never mentioned him before this afternoon.

His lips part in a wide, charming smile. “Likewise, ma’am.” 

Charlie looks amused. “You don’t have to keep calling me ma’am.” 

“He’s from Texas,” Nora offers like an explanation, a little too quickly, and Charlie’s arched brow makes her cheeks grow warm. She avoids her eyes, squinting at the horizon and pretending to be fascinated by the gulls over the beach. 

Charlie’s not fooled. She smirks and asks, “Texas, huh? What part?” 

“Austin,” Jake replies. It’s a visible effort not to add ma’am at the end. 

“You don’t say. Did Nora ever tell you that my husband John went to UT Austin?” 

A spark lights up his eyes, and Jake seems to be doing fine on his own so Nora leaves him alone to grab another drink in the midst of an in-depth discussion of the Texas Longhorns. She spots Ethan and Chris on her way back and gets pulled into a conversation with them, saying goodbye and wishing them luck in their next projects in case Nora misses them later.

When Nora returns, Jake and Charlie are still talking. She must like him.

Jake smiles at Nora and in his brown sugar voice, says, “I’ll let you enjoy the rest of the evening with your niece, ma’am. She’s pretty spectacular.” 

She could kick him. Or kiss him. Or both. 

“She is,” Charlie agrees. “Nice to meet you, Jake. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you.” 

She could kick both of them. 

When Jake is out of earshot, Charlie comments, “He’s very charming.” 

Nora almost laughs. “I know.” 

“He likes you.” 

She does laugh now. “Believe me, I know.” 

“He’s the one who called me,” Charlie adds casually, and Nora whirls on her.

“What? You said Captain Mitchell called you.” 

Charlie shakes her head, smiling, a knowing smile. “Pete was the one who forwarded me the invite, but Jake called me.” A chuckle. “He called me ma’am on the phone too.” 

She smiles despite herself because of course.

“What’d Jake say? What made you come?” Nora asks.

“He said that you needed me and you probably wouldn’t call me and tell me that outright, but you were having a hard time.” Charlie looks at her sidelong, lips curled at the ends, a dimple in her cheek. “He knows you pretty well, your not-boyfriend.” 

Nora looks for him again. 

She finds him on the other side of the garden, laughing at something Bradley is saying, hair a golden halo in the summer evening sun. He called Charlie. She never asked, never needed to ask. He just… knew.

And Nora falls a little bit in love with him right then and there; in the same way a little bit of rain falls on your window at the beginning of a mid-August storm. 

A preview before an inevitable downpour. 

Evening begins to blend into night, and Nora sits on the steps of the porch to watch the sunset.

It’s a good vantage point. She can see everyone and everything.

Bob brought a deck of cards and now, the Daggers are playing a game of Bullshit on a massive picnic blanket that Penny brought outside for them, and Penny’s daughter Amelia sits with them, giggling when Bradley loses and pretends to stomp off. 

Nora watches as Charlie goes over to Captain Mitchell and gently puts a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry about Ice. He was a good man.” 

Captain Mitchell nods, his mouth a line, emotion crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Thanks, Charlie.” 

He opens his mouth to say something else, but Nora looks away.

He gave her privacy earlier. She’ll return the favor.

A step creaks behind her, and Nora dips her head back to see Jake.

“Hi cowboy,” Nora greets, and Jake grins down at her.

He drops onto the step next to her, arm stretched behind her. 

“How’d it go with Charlie?” Jake asks.

“Good,” Nora says. She rests her chin on her palm, her elbow on her knee, and studies him closely. “She told me that you called her. How’d you even get her number?” 

“Bradshaw,” Jake replies. He meets her gaze and holds it, green on blue, sparkling like the ocean. “Seemed like, maybe you needed her.” 

Her chest aches, and Nora says softly, “Thank you.” 

His wide palm spreads across her leg, fingertips dangling to brush against the inside of her thigh. “How long’s she staying?” 

“A week. She changed her flight. She’s flying back to New York with me, instead of D.C.” 

Silence falls like an anchor, plummeting to the ocean floor. A muscle works in his jaw, like Jake’s chewing on his next words. “What happens now?”

For her? For them?

She doesn’t have all the answers, but Nora at least has this.

“How do you feel about long distance?” Nora asks, watching him carefully.

A smile flickers on his face as Jake realizes what Nora is asking. 

“California to New York? I can probably swing a few flights, cash in some miles.” 

She sets her hand over his, fiddling with his fingers. “That’s sweet, but I was actually thinking more like, North Island to here.” 

“Here?” He looks confused, adorably so, and Nora holds back a smile.

“Turns out that Charlie has some empty-nester friends here from her Top Gun days. They’re looking to rent out their guest house for the rest of the year. It’s not far from here actually, within walking distance of the beach.” She can feel her heart pounding like Nora’s running a marathon as Jake slowly start to understand. “I turned down the offer, Jake. I’m moving back to California.” 

She called Jenna from the hotel bar. She was a little bit annoyed with Nora, understandably.

Her first words were, “Are you kidding me? You waited until now to tell me this?” 

But after a few minutes of Nora’s apologetic I know, I’m sorry, I know, Jenna was ultimately supportive.

“Damn, Nora. This is a real loss for our industry, but I’m happy for you. If you never need a connection in Hollywood, call me. I know people who know people.” 

And one day, Nora might take her up on that, but right now, Nora needs a break. A real one. And California feels like the right place for her to take one. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed it  here until she came back.

“You’re staying,” Jake repeats slowly, like Jake’s afraid to believe her.

She reassures him with a nod. “I still have a storage unit back in New York so I have to go back, and I have a few things left at Charlie’s, but Charlie’s coming to help me clean it out and move what I need. And…” Nora drifts off and for once, the uncertainty doesn’t seem so scary. It’s wide open and hopeful. 

Jake wipes his hand down his face and sets his hand on his chest, right above his pounding heart, looking utterly relieved. “You’re… god, Hollywood, you’re gonna give a man a heart attack someday.” 

“You love it,” Nora teases.

He lifts his chin with his knuckle, holding her gaze. “I really, really do.” 

And when Jake kisses her, it feels like maybe he means something else.

Cheeks warm, Nora looks out at the horizon, and it’s that perfect time between day and night when the whole ocean is a watercolor of pale pink and purple. She kisses the carved dimple in his cheek and leans into his strong shoulder, and Jake tucks her under his chin, rubbing his thumb across her palm, over her heart line.

Breathing in the smell of the ocean and him, Nora closes her eyes and catches her breath.

end note: charlie, my beloved. i didn't mean for this to be so long, but i hope you enjoyed 🩵 likes are always appreciated, but comments and reblogs make my whole day. i love hearing from y'all.

want to be tagged in the epilogue? fill out this form!

[chungledown-bimothy]

buddy's kind of heartbreaking, actually.

no question, the kid's a victim of a cult, and because of that, he was targeted as easily manipulable for whatever scheme kipperlilly's going going on with sol/helio and raising dead gods.

his worldview is narrow-minded, black and white, and filtered through some deeply harmful lenses, but there's naivety and innocence there, too. unquestioning belief that people's lives would get infinitely better if they listened to him. that he is doing good for the world.

i'd be shocked if he has any idea of what the rest of his party is really up to.

[catboydogma]

years of nothing have subsided

codywan week 2024 sol master list (solsterlist)

@codywanweek 2024 day 8 prompts: 5th anniversary

notes: title is, of course, from anniversary by autoheart (The codywan band of all time). this concludes my contributions to this year's codywan week. whew! i haven't written this much in consecutive days in a long time lol. thank you very much to everyone who has taken the time to comment, i couldn't have made it to all eight prompts without y'all. thank you to the mods as well for running the event + the wonderful prompts. here's to another successful year of being Normal about Those Old Men!

wc: 1,823

cross-posted to ao3

The weekend came upon Cody with a vengeance. Before he knew it he was watching his class of younglings—Jedi Junior Padawans and clone cadets alike—filter out of the training salle with a sense of acute exhaustion. They were good kids. Mostly. But, hells, Cody was sure he hadn’t had that much energy as a cadet. The hand-to-hand module was progressing right on track—mostly due to Cody’s own diligence and rigor, and partially due to Obi-Wan having an uncanny sense of when to show up with a round of snacks and odd tasks to provide breaks.

A text alert made his comm chime from where Cody had left it half-buried in his bag. He started in on unwrapping his hands and slung a towel over his shoulders, blotting the side of his face against his shoulder. He had just enough time to grab a shower and change before—

OWK: Dinner tonight with Rex, yes? I can turn the heat down on the roast if you are indisposed

C: Yes. Class finished. ETA 5. Do not forget the paprika. And stir. The fond is key to the flavor.

C: None of your peppers.

OWK: They might add a nice kick

C: You will put the entire pepper in after alleging that it will be quote a shame unquote to let the rest quote simply lay around unquote. No peppers.

OWK: Ah, if you insist…

With a new sense of urgency rising, Cody decided his normal cooldown stretch could be cut short by a few minutes. It could be said that he trusted Obi-Wan with his life. But he did not trust the man with his recipes.

Cody’s shower was blessedly free of any and all interruptions—Obi-Wan had tasked himself to making some steamed buns. He had to go down the hall to Quinlan to source some eggs for the filling, which resulted in Quinlan following Obi-Wan back into their apartment like a stray massiff. At least by then the roast had finished and Cody could more successfully fend off attempts to add things even if the attempts were now on two fronts.

“So, who else are you expecting?” Quinlan asked as he eyed the fourth plate Cody put down.

“Rex will be joining us,” Obi-Wan said with a fond smile sent Cody’s way. “He’s back on-planet refueling for the time being. Cody’s been trying to angle for getting him set up somewhat closer.”

Cody just shook his head. Rex had always been a stubborn kid. Yeah, maybe Cody had hinted a couple times that now CoCo Town had a nice little ujalayi and specialty sweets store that stocked just the kind of things Rex was obsessed with. And maybe he had casually let Rex know that Ahsoka Tano was back on Coruscant and working closely with the same relief group that Fives and a recovering Echo had attached themselves to. But the man was free to come to his own decisions.

“He’ll always find his way back to you,” Quinlan said to Cody, reaching out to steady the wide dish of slow-cooked roast still simmering in its own juice. Cody looked up at Quinlan, startled by the strangely—for Vos—earnest comment.

“Thanks,” Cody said. For the comment or the help with the dish—he wasn’t sure yet.

Quinlan just winked at him and lounged back in his chair again. “Hey, good thing the kids aren’t in-Temple, actually. You’d have randos just dropping in all over the place once they get a whiff of this. Cody, you’re wasted on this guy. He thinks raw crab is a culinary delicacy.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said drily, looking over Quinlan’s head to meet Cody’s eyes. “What a terrible thing, to have uninvited guests dropping in without prior notice or warning. I can’t imagine what one might do in such a scenario.”

Yeah, that was Vos in a bucket. Insightful and touchingly reassuring one moment. Clever asshole in the next.

A polite knock sounded at the door and Obi-Wan—who had been pretending not to be standing around and waiting for this exact thing—waved a hand at the control panel.

“I come bearing gifts!” Rex announced hastily. Smart. Cody would have to bide his time to get his mandatory headlock in before Rex left for the night.

“Oh, this looks lovely,” Obi-Wan said in delight. “Did you go all the way to Little Keldabe for this?”

“Nah,” Rex said, grinning at Cody over his sheet pan of ujalayi. “There’s this new place down in CoCo Town that Cody recommended to me a bit ago. Figured I’d go over and see what all the fuss is about. They’ve got a good selection on hand.”

Little shit.

Obi-Wan cast an all-too-amused look at Cody as he relieved Rex of the tray and set it down on the counter further into the kitchen. “Sit down, you came just in time. The nai wong bao will take a bit longer, but that’s for the best.”

Cody accepted compliments of his cooking with good grace and the four of them passed most of the meal in peace—for a given value of sharing a meal with Quinlan and Cody’s vod’ika. There was some inherent property to Quinlan that made Obi-Wan operate on 20% more smug when they were in close proximity.

And then, just as Cody was beginning to get suspicious at the noticeable lack of overt shit-stirring, Rex gave him a jaunty little grin.

“Happy anniversary to the both of you, too. I would’ve thought the two of you’d be doing something with just the two of you tonight, so I appreciate you making the time.”

“Oh, shit! You didn’t say anything, Obi,” Quinlan said, shaking his locs back and eyeing Obi-Wan with vicious glee. “That’s so sweet! What is this, six years? Seven years?”

“Five,” Cody said automatically. He wasn’t one for anniversaries. It was a date on a calendar. There was no reason for him to assign some arbitrary importance to a day and celebrate his relationship with Obi-Wan when he could celebrate their relationship any day of the week. Anytime. Any place. In the main room. The shower. Over the counter, a couple memorable times.

He’d assumed Obi-Wan felt the same way—the man never brought it up.

“Is it really today?” Obi-Wan asked, looking much too invested in this. “I hadn’t thought it was such… public knowledge.”

“Yeah, I mean.” Rex showed Obi-Wan a still from a datapad he’d had tucked away somewhere and Cody blinked as a wash of recollection swept over him.

One of their first engagements together—not just a ground skirmish or a dogfight above atmo, but a real drawn out battle with both Obi-Wan and Cody commanding from the frontlines—had been a turning point in the regard Cody had held for his General. Somehow Rex had gotten his hands on a holo of the two of them afterwards. They were both covered in blood and sweat and Cody thought that the fuzzy dark spots on Obi-Wan’s robes had been charred blaster holes at the time. They were tucked away next to a holo-table with a map of the enemy forces the 501st and 212th had been routing, heads bent together, shoulders brushing. Even more damningly, holo-Cody had a faint smile on his face as he watched his General gesture about the table.

“Oh,” Quinlan cooed at the same time Obi-Wan let out a faint “ah.” Cody, whose senses were now finely attuned to this sound from Obi-Wan, instinctively turned to look at him.

“You didn’t forget our anniversary, did you, Cody?” Obi-Wan asked plaintively.

“I should be asking you that question,” Cody said. He could not let this slander go on unchallenged. “You didn’t even mention it this morning.”

“—really heartwarming stuff,” Rex said to Quinlan as he swiped across his datapad and showed Quinlan another picture. “Look at that. Five whole years, wow.”

“Does our anniversary mean so little to you?” Obi-Wan asked. His eyes somehow got rounder and he laid a hand over Cody’s. “Five years is a significant milestone, Cody. I can’t believe this from you…”

Cody turned his hand over to trap Obi-Wan’s fingers in his. “I made you dinner, sweetheart. I can’t believe it took a reminder from Rex, of all people. And you didn’t even get me anything—”

“—‘s a good one.” Quinlan nodded approvingly and poked a finger at the screen of Rex’s datapad. “You should send that to Dex. He’ll get you free lunches for the rest of your life for that one.”

“Do excuse me,” Obi-Wan said cordially to Cody. He turned and lunged across half the table for Rex’s datapad—Rex turned out of the way just in time and Quinlan cackled, throwing his head back and eyes squinting shut in mirth.

“You two saps are disgusting,” Rex half-shouted at Cody as he skipped back from the table to escape Obi-Wan’s clutches. “Really, neither of you remembered your own anniversary? Prime’s tits, Cody. You really do deserve each other.”

“Show.” Cody pointed a threatening finger at Rex and smoothed his other hand down Obi-Wan’s back soothingly.

Rex gave Cody a shit-eating grin and flipped the datapad around to reveal a holo taken of Obi-Wan asleep on a fully-armored Cody’s shoulder. His hair was messily tangled over half his face and the light caught on a line of what was quite clearly drool dropping from the corner of his open mouth to Cody’s cuisse. Holo-Cody had his helmet off, glaring bloody murder and pointing two portentous fingers at the viewfinder. There was a telling patch of lines and imprints on one of holo-Cody’s cheeks—like he’d fallen asleep on the shoulder of someone wearing Jedi tunics.

Obi-Wan let out a sound of devastation and half-heartedly tried to make another grab for Rex. It was clear his heart wasn’t in it. “And you would do this to us on our very important fifth anniversary, Rex…”

“If it were that important, you wouldn’t have gotten it from me,” Rex said.

Cody let himself get a good chuckle out of that as he turned his head to press a kiss to Obi-Wan’s temple. “Yeah, alright. I was under the impression that you didn’t care for anniversaries.”

“I don’t,” Obi-Wan said with stiff dignity as he pushed himself to his feet and retreated into the kitchen to check on his steamed buns. “And I was under the impression that you had no strong feelings about them, either.”

“Five years is a long time,” Cody said thoughtfully. Maybe they could do something just this once. Just the two of them. Obi-Wan smiled at him over as he returned to the table with a tray of sweets and Cody couldn’t stop himself from smiling back. Yeah… maybe the two of them could try out having a special occasion just for the two of them. Nothing fancy. All he needed was Obi-Wan here with him.

[juststoriesintheend]

II. Bulabird

Chapter Pairing(s): Master Sol x f!Reader; Osha Aniseya x f!Reader

Chapter Content: reunion, unrequited to requited feelings, love admissions (kind of), sex pollen, consent talk

Word Count: 3,846

《 [series masterlist] 》 《 I 》 《 III 》 《 IV 》

Your eyelids make an awful scratching sound when they open and your vision is flawed, blurry as if filtered through a screen, but the image you fix upon remains as familiar to you as your own reflection.

“Hey, bulabird.”

There are few things in this galaxy you know as well as you know yourself. The Force, the Temple, the way Sol’s hair spirals in on itself when damp, the weight of your saber in your palm… But you never thought you would know the sound of Osha Aniseya’s voice again.

“‘sha?” Your voice comes out garbled when the weight of your tongue proves too heavy to counter.

Through the haze, you think you glimpse a smile and the sheen of artificial lighting on nut brown skin. It’s hard to tell. Everything feels confused, as if the galaxy has been painted over with a great brush and left only smudges of reality in its wake. The light catches on something vaguely hand-shaped, and your body confirms it moments later when Osha’s knuckles brush your temple. It burns like a brand on your skin, but it brings with it the aftertaste of pleasure like candle wax on your fingertips or an itch scratched just right, and you chase after it, face dipping low to catch her palm when she starts to withdraw.

“What happened to you?” she murmurs.

You wish you knew. Your mind has been lost to itself for what seems like an eternity, but then, anything that exists outside of this singular moment feels as unreal as a dream. There’s only the fever raging beneath your skin and the bite of relief that Osha’s touch brings.

“Don’t,” you rumble when she tries again to extract herself. Your fingers are desperate in their attempts to wrap around her arm, to twine themselves with hers, anything so long as she stays. “Hurts.”

Something shifts above you and a whiff of her scent floods your senses - sweat and sand and everything Osha. It takes you a moment to realize that the strange sound of moaning is coming from you.

Her hand smacks against your cheek when you finally manage to drag her back to you, the force of your need nearly flattening her atop your body, and the sweetness of it shoots ice through your veins. This is what you needed, this whisper of skin on skin to soothe the agony of your clothing and the heat and the eternal suffering of this Force forsaken planet.

“Woah, hey, easy there-”

“You make it better,” you try to explain, all while rubbing your face into the rigid flatness of her palm.

A few fleeting seconds of tranquility shudder through your bones before Osha is retreating again, though she doesn’t go far. Her palm shifts to your forehead where sweat has beaded so heavily that it’s pooling along your hairline, dripping slowly down the back of your head to your neck. She exhales through her nose and it hits you just below your eyes. Another strange sense of relief floods through you. Like the kind when Sol had caught you at the base of that sand dune, when he’d saved you. Something so deep within you that it might as well have been stitched into your flesh.

Sol…

It’s the thought of him that brings you clarity enough to start analyzing your surroundings. Metal and light, somehow both cold and scalding hot. It’s the Polan, you realize belatedly, but it looks so unfamiliar to your eyes, almost alien. Perhaps it’s Sol’s absence that feels so off-putting. You’re so used to his presence that to be without it when you feel so lost, so sick to your stomach, is almost debilitating.

“Where… is he?” you croak.

Osha’s face swims before you, in and out of focus, in and out of thought, but you think she looks sad. Or unsure? It’s so hard to tell when everything inside you seems to be on fire.

“Sol?”

You nod frantically, moaning as another wave of heat crashes over you and beats you back into submission. “He was… He said…” Acting on its own instinct rather than any sort of conscious thought, one of your hands reaches for Osha while the other… “Need ‘im, Osha, I-I…”

Pleasure spikes up your spine when your hand rubs a few soothing strokes against the storm between your legs. And by then, the rest of the universe just falls away. Whatever coherent thought you had, whatever you might have said or done, it’s nothing compared to the blinding relief of steel-hot pleasure and the driving need to take take take until there’s nothing left but your heartbeat and your hope.

Leaving the Jedi behind had been the right thing to do, no matter how it broke her to do so, but leaving Sol and leaving you had hurt the most. It’s why she ran when she realized Mae was alive, though she may not have understood it at the time. More than anything, Osha wanted to avoid all of this - the pain a reunion would carry, the guilt of what once was fading into obscurity because of her, the emptiness of a lifelong yearning for something she could never have. But the Force, it seems, has other plans. At least, that’s what Sol might have said to her once.

Now, though, she looks upon your face, twisted and pained, damp with sweat, and she feels a surge of memories wash over her. The scent of your skin in the mornings when you would walk into the courtyard, meditating together under the shade of the Great Tree. The flash of your saber reflected in your eyes, bright and brilliant. Every small and fleeting moment spent pining after you, hoping you might notice her…

In the present, stuffed into containment within the walls of the cockpit, Sol’s presence flickers in and out of the corner of her eye. She can’t feel him in the Force anymore, but she doesn’t need to. She knows exactly how worry looks on him, she knows it from the years spent inflicting him with her own particular strain of chaos.

“Sol,” she starts, some last ditch effort to talk him down, but the glint of panic in his eyes when he rounds on her is enough to stifle that need.

“No.” He says it in the same tone he used on her once before - just once, so many years ago. It’s a glimpse of something un-Jedi that persists deep inside him, something angry and fierce. Osha thinks he might call it attachment. “Find another way.”

Irritation flares in her chest. “There is no other way.”

“There is always another way,” and she thinks she sees fear in his eyes, some unknown terror that claws at his gut the same way it claws at hers.

He has always been the one to hope, clinging to his Jedi tenets as she once clung to her mother’s skirts. But Osha learned long ago that hope is a fickle thing. She knows what ails you, what pulls you apart at the seams and stokes its fire in you, and she knows there is only one way to save you from its flames.

She sets her jaw. “You know there isn’t. Not this time, Sol. We have to help her.”

“Not like this. It’s not right.”

No. It isn’t. Guilt is a ghost that’s haunted Osha her entire life, but it flares to life now in the face of your predicament because this should never have happened, and it wouldn’t have happened if she’d never run in the first place. Like she might have once been a Knight, a Jedi standing tall and proud at your side if she had only chosen to be a good Padawan. Like Mae wouldn’t have burned their home to the ground if she had chosen instead to be a good sister. This isn’t right, but it’s the only way she knows to save you. And she would rather condemn herself to a lifetime of guilt for saving your life than a lifetime of guilt wishing she had tried.

“I can make something, a drink with a low dose that she can share with- with one of us.” She lowers her eyes at the thought of Sol being the one to take care of you, how it would burn in her chest knowing that he would be the one to… when she knows it’s everything you’ve ever wanted. “And you can burn the pollen off together like you’re supposed to.”

Sol’s face is wrinkled in horror. “No,” he says again, disgusted.

“It’ll save her,” and she finds that she’s trying to convince herself as much as she’s trying to convince him.

Sol pivots so his shoulder is all she can see, but his face is turned toward the door, toward you. She wonders for a moment if he can feel you the way she once did. Like it was second nature. Like you were an extension of the Force, of her own heart, a beacon in the starlight.

His voice is broken when he speaks. “I know it will.” If she didn’t know any better, she would think he carried the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders.

Osha thinks she understands. “Then we have to try.”

Several seconds tick by. The ship is quiet, save for the creaking of the hull when the wind picks up and the muffled, labored sound of your breathing trickling through the door and into the cockpit.

“She asked for you. She wants you, Sol.”

The entire galaxy seems, for a moment, to stop, frozen in place as her words sink into her Master’s skin. She can see understanding swirling across his face, burning him alive as he processes it. “I can’t.”

“Then what? You want me to do it? She doesn’t��� She doesn’t want me like that.” Though she thinks of the desperation in your bones and the frantic need to touch her body to yours, the way your heat and glassy eyes and soft, wanton cries set her body aflame, and she feels shameful for wishing that you did. “It would be wrong to force that on her.”

Sol takes a breath that rattles in his chest. “I can’t, Osha,” he says as if the entire universe might collapse in on itself if he dared to sacrifice his pride in return for your survival. “And I won’t.”

Something bitter and icy-hot scalds its way from her stomach to her throat, bile built from the ashes of the love she’s harbored for you all these years and the stench of regret and the festering wound of a child begging to be heard. Sixteen years he’s known you, and for the past six of them she suspects that both of you have become close - close enough to work together on a mission, to stand side by side on an alien planet and seek her out. Do those six years mean nothing to him? Is the devotion that lights your heart not enough for him? Does he not love you enough to try?

“Don’t you understand?” Her fury bursts from her chest like a saber igniting in the dark. “She’s dying! And you won’t even try? Not even to save her life? Sol, she needs you!”

“It is not saving her life that concerns me, but the consequences of my actions if she survives.”

The consequences? Osha stills. A part of her wants to demand a better excuse than that, because what consequence could be worse than letting you die? But another part of her, a part that feels so alive and raw that it hurts to breathe, finds that a half-reflection of itself in the depths of Sol’s dark and distant eyes.

She swallows. “What do you mean?” But somehow, she thinks she knows.

Familiar, umber-blackened eyes flicker with uncertainty and shame, eyes that Osha has known nearly all her life but have never been so heavily tormented as they are now. At least, not since the day she left Brendok. A chill creeps down her spine.

His mouth parts to allow space for words that never come. She loses count of how many times he seems to start a sentence only to silence himself before a single thought is spoken. The torment in her Master’s eyes spreads far and fast like a wildfire, leaving destruction in its wake until Sol is so knotted up in his despair that he stands before her now as little more than a shell of the man she thought she knew. And there’s only one thing she’s ever known that could shake him so deeply. The same thing that’s shaken her to her core a thousand times over.

The realization strikes her in the gut, punches the air from her lungs. She diverts her eyes, desperate to give Sol his privacy in this moment and also to find a reprieve from the shock, but all she can think is that there are too many threads tying the three of you together, too tangled to make any sense of. Because she loves you. And you’ve always loved Sol. And now she knows that he loves you back, but it’s too much too late and all at the wrong time.

Ten years’ worth of growing up a Padawan, of growing up his Padawan, awakens an instinct in Osha that she thought she had matured past in her last few years of freedom. She feels the burning need to ask - for permission? Guidance? Advice? Each idea is more ridiculous than the last because he’s as compromised as she is, both of them struggling against their selfish desires in an attempt to fix an impossible situation. A situation with no right answers and no clear winners. Because even if Sol had agreed to help you, it wouldn’t be in the way you’d want. It wouldn’t mean anything, couldn’t mean anything, not to a Jedi. And now, to save your life, Osha must place one foot in Sol’s shoes and the other in yours. Keeping her love for you in check while also knowing that consummating her most intimate desire with you will ultimately lead to nothing. Because you are a Jedi. Because you won’t allow yourself attachments. Because she is nothing more than a memory compared to the shining brilliance of the Order.

Accompanied by only the pulsing of her heart and the shaking hesitance of her breath, Osha closes her eyes and makes a choice. The only choice she can make.

“I need you to stay with her. I’m going to find those flowers.”

The unfortunate side effect of being a Jedi is the awareness of one’s surroundings that the Force supplies. Sol can sense the atoms of starlight as they beat upon the Polan’s hull, warming it. He can sense the crashing of the waves along the distant shore and the surge of life that swims below its surface. He feels the breeze as if he were outside, bare to the world save for his skin. He can sense Osha as she retreats, farther and farther away, rushing for the nearest cluster of purple flowers that she can find. And, more prominently than anything else on this planet, Sol can sense you.

Now that he understands what it is that clouds your mind and rips your better judgment from your consciousness, he feels frozen. Because he can feel every. Single. Thing. That you do to yourself, every desperate attempt to soothe the ache that racks your body. It doesn’t matter that he’s isolated himself on one end of the ship and left you behind closed doors on the other. Your arousal is so strong that it permeates the very air he breathes, it seeps into his skin and brands him a traitor.

His teeth grind together, his hands ball up into fists, and Sol employs every meditation tactic he knows to fortify his mind against the onslaught of your Force signature, but in the end, he finds that his own worst enemy is neither the flower that poisoned you nor the desperation in your body, but the selfish desires of his own soul. A selfishness he thought he left behind on Brendok.

Because he would rather not have known. The rest of his life could have been happily spent at your side, even if he could never pursue the secret longings of his heart, the things he only ever dared to dream of. For he would have seen your face in the mornings before classes with the younglings. He would have heard your laughter over dinner. He might have touched his essence to yours in the rare moments of mediation spent in each other’s company, and it would have been enough for him. But now that he knows, now that his love has been almost-spoken and your own feelings practically confirmed, Sol finds that its existence is a blade to his gut.

Horror, guilt, and shame coil up in the base of his stomach, rattling like a snake as he attempts to find peace in the battlefield of his mind. You’re in pain. And when you’re not in pain, you’re pleading for relief from the chaos raging through your bloodstream. It would be so easy to make excuses, he knows. To accept Osha’s offer, such as it is, and claim that he is doing his duty as your friend, as a fellow Jedi, putting your life before honor, before the Code. It would be easy because it would be true; Sol would do anything for you, and there was once a time where he would have done anything he could to get what he wanted. But the last time he’d been so careless with his dreams, an entire coven had been wiped out and Mae…

Indara’s words come to him then, unbidden but a blessing all the same - do not confuse her feelings for your own - and it solidifies his resolve. Your feelings for him do not matter, neither do his feelings for you. He cannot and he will not allow himself to be blinded by something that could never be. It would be taking advantage of you when you have no chance to speak coherently for yourself, and Sol could never forgive himself for taking that from you.

Decision made, he pulls up the hood of his cloak and stalks for the ship’s main exit. He needs to put as much distance between you as possible. He doesn’t want to hear you crying out his Padawan’s name in the throes of your pleasure. He doesn’t want to know what you sound like when you beg. He can’t. He can never, ever know.

“I need you to listen to me, okay?”

Your head lolls to one side as you struggle to maintain some sort of eye contact. A blob of color shaped vaguely like Osha swirls before you, but your head is so dizzy and your throat is so dry, it’s too difficult to focus on anything but the endless, mindless, bone-crushing ache. Still, you try.

“‘sha…” It’s the best you can do.

The top of the Osha blob bobs - a nod, maybe. “I know. I know it hurts, just stay with me, bulabird.”

There’s a ringing in your ears and a mess of damp, sweaty cloth under your back, between your thighs, bunched up behind your shoulder blades. And the ever-present, ever-consuming need to slake your thirst no matter the cost. Your hands slither down your stomach to try and dull its bite, but Osha’s hands are quicker and stronger.

“Stop,” she grunts as she pins your arms down. “Just stop and listen to me.”

You feel your entire face wrinkle with the force of your frustration. “Don’t. ‘sha, it hurts, I need-”

“I know what you need and I’ll give it to you, but have to fucking listen to me first! Okay?!”

A more logical you, more sound of mind and body, might have listened, especially with that tone. But you’re so far beyond logic now. As it is, all you can think about is the fact that she’s manhandling you and it feels really good. Too good.

“You’re sick,” she says some heartbeats later. “There’s a flower here, a purple flower, and the people here use it for their marriage rituals. By itself, the pollen is lethal. It jacks up your blood pressure and gives you a fever that’ll kill you, but when it’s combined with liquid, it becomes an aphrodisiac. Okay? Are you with me? Do you understand?”

You only manage to catch every few words. You’re too busy bucking your hips up into Osha’s leg to properly pay attention, but you catch something about a flower and marriage, and that sounds nice to you. It sounds like something you might have dreamed of as a child, before the Jedi, before the Code.

“Hey.” Fingers wrap around your chin and maneuver your head until you’re forced to look the Osha blob in the eyes. At least, what you think are eyes. Your vision’s been swimming in and out of focus for longer than you can recall. “Answer me. Do you understand?”

You nod lazily, not for any real reason other than Osha told you to and you want desperately to please her. It’s a strange sensation. New and unknown, but you think… maybe you like it.

“There’s only one way I can keep the pollen from killing you, and it’s by making us a… a pleasure potion. Like the locals do for their weddings. And then I…” Osha’s head bobs as she comes sharply into focus. “We have to work the pollen out of our blood together. With sex. Do you understand?”

With her thumb still pressing into your chin, you find it impossible to open or close your mouth without great effort. Or perhaps it’s not her thumb at all but the sudden rush of adrenaline that screams through your veins at the mere mention of “sex”. Suddenly, it all makes sense. You’ve known, of course, that shoving your hands down your pants and rutting against empty air isn’t exactly normal, but it hadn’t clicked in your mind that the animalistic urges pooling in your belly and the flame blazing in your chest were one in the same. You’d sort of thought that maybe you were losing your mind.

“I need to know you understand me.”

Sex. Anticipation pounds hard and heavy behind your eyes. Blood. It burns. Flower. Wisps of purple swirl at the edge of your vision, casting Osha in undulating shades of violet. Wedding. Like new life, new beginnings. Death. Reunion with the Force. You think you understand.

When Osha speaks again, she speaks with the thickness of sorrow and fear and the watery sound of tears. “I don’t know how else to save you,” she whispers.

But your body knows. Moaning softly against the pressure of her weight as it presses you into the floor, you wriggle an arm free and grab at whatever you can reach. “Save me,” you beg with what remains of your sense. “Osha...”

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[seekforwarmth]

hello and welcome to this month’s fic rec featuring my favourite works from what i’ve read during the past weeks. as always, please check tags before reading. if you liked the fics please reblog their posts, leave kudos and write a nice comment. happy reading! rec tag | more rec lists

— harry/louis —  

໑ I See You Shiver With Antici-- (SAY IT, SAY IT) by @homosociallyyours (G, 666, strangers, meet-cute, the rocky horror picture show references) Harry has elaborate costumes planned for each night of the Rocky Horror Picture Show screenings at the indie movie theater downtown. The cute guy taking tickets seems appreciative.

໑ Lazy mornings by @lvinlou (spanish, E, 1.2k, established relationship, pwp, morning sex) Las mañanas perezosas eran definitivamente las favoritas de Louis. El sol ya iluminaba toda la habitación y un nuevo día ya había comenzado para otros, pero no para ellos dos. Y Louis presentía que, a juzgar por la mirada hambrienta del ojiverde y la manera en que apretaba su trasero, no saldrían de la cama en al menos un par de horas más.

໑ always tell the truth by anditsonlyforthebrave / @HARRYSC1NEMA (NR, 5k, acquaintances to lovers, dentist harry, patient louis) Harry is Louis' dentist and getting a wisdom tooth removed shouldn't be the end of the world.

໑ You Were Always Mine by GoldenSunflouervol6 / @sunflouervol6 (E, 6k, enemies to lovers, a/b/o au, blood, injuries) Prompt 45: A/B/O fic where Louis and Harry have a lot of mutual friends but they don’t get along (mostly Louis doesn’t like Harry). One day, Louis turns up on Harry’s doorstep covered in blood and asking for help. (Inspiration: Prompt #126 from the BLFF 2021).

໑ Spaces Between Us, Hold All Our Secrets by Whoopsiedaisiesss / @shining-louist (NR, 6.4k, enemies to lovers, anxiety attacks, mean harry) The one where Louis suffers from anxiety. His rivals with Harry makes this even worse. Until one day he accidentally calls Harry duringone of his panic attacks.

Harry just wants Louis to feel better. He always does.

໑ Leave Like The Summer Breeze by @larringiscaring (E, 6.5k, strangers to lovers, farm au, farmer harry, stranded louis) When Louis and Zayn are stranded in Alabama, a farmer offers them shelter. He just asks for one thing in return.

໑ The Writing on the Wall by @stylinsonwritingpalace (E, 6.7, exes to lovers, teacher louis, author harry) When BookToker Louis receives a gift basket filled with all his favorite sweets, wines, and stuffed animals alongside the new Harry Styles book, he's shocked at the story he finds in the pages.

໑ we can follow the sparks by moon_rose25 / @darkinfinity (M, 6.7, a/b/o au, strangers to lovers, scenting, implied omega drop) “I, uhm, this is gonna sound weird, but my friend is an ER doctor and he kinda taught me what to do in this kind of situation,” the man takes a step closer to Louis, “He said a close presence of an unmated alpha and light scenting should keep an omega from dropping, so I, uh, I can help you.”

or

Louis nearly drops in Harry's bookshop and sparks fly from then on.

໑ Muffins & Cigarettes by sweetkalachuchi / @neverforpickles (M, 7.5k, established relationship, rich harry) Louis pouts.

“You can’t pout your way into this, Louis”, Harry said as he was fixing his tie, watch and rings glinting against the soft sunlight filtering through the window.

“Of course, I can. Watch me.”

໑ Please, don’t say you want me by pjinkfleur / @pinapplouis (T, 9.3k, strangers to lovers, a/b/o au, royalty, arranged marriage) Prompt 496: ABO/royalty AU. Where Omega Prince Louis is forced to marry alpha King Harry by his father for the benefit of their kingdom. After the wedding, Harry lets Louis know that he didn’t want a mate and to not expect a relationship from him. Since they are already mated, Harry has to officially reject Louis’s omega to break ties. This practice is so taboo that he doesn’t know the omega has a maximum of a year left to live after rejection. As time goes on, the omega gets weaker and weaker.

໑ Hello, my name is Louis by tedtokat / @tektokatt (M, 9.7k, strangers to lovers, mean harry) Prompt 148: Louis is a scam caller. Now this isn’t exactly the job of his dreams, but it pays well enough for him to continue doing it. Louis is a very anxious person, making it hard for him to talk, so he’s very shy when he inevitably scam calls Harry. Harry ignores the scamming, but after a certain number of calls, he’s had enough. Here ensues mean Harry at the beginning, sensitive Louis who doesn’t know what is going on half of the time, and if the author is up for it, autism-coded Louis too!

໑ is ur mother worried? by @outropeace (E, 12k, acquaintances to lovers, college au, fraternity, himbo harry) In retrospect, Louis should’ve seen it coming. Way before, his ex tried to “spice” their sex lives with a threesome, they simply didn’t work as they should, not just in bed but outside of it too.

From early on in the relationship, it was evident that Leo wished for someone different from Louis, not better or more, just different. And Louis was very aware of this, but Leo was his very first love and no matter if said love was nothing more than a memory, it was difficult to let go.

At the end, Louis didn’t have to do a thing because Leo decided to pull the plug in the worst way possible.

He cheated on Louis with Harry Styles.

໑ we can start a family who will always show love by @lvinlou (spanish, E, 12k, a/b/o au, single mother louis, PE teacher harry) "¿Les gustaría pasar por un helado? Quizás podamos seguir esta charla allí".

Alfa y omega se sumieron en su propia burbuja, concretando el flechazo que sintieron al verse por primera vez. Louis aceptó con un leve sonrojo tiñendo sus mejillas. Ambos adultos se sonrieron, sin reparar en la confusa mirada que les envió el adormilado cachorro, quien durante el viaje a la heladería se preguntó por qué su mami había decidido cambiar repentinamente sus planes habituales de jugar un poco y tomar una siesta junto a él.

Sin embargo, no se quejó cuando frente a él tuvo su helado de fresa y chispas de colores favorito, agradeciendo a su profesor y, ahora, amigo de su mami.

໑ part time soulmates (full time problem) by localopa / @voulezloux (M, 12k, enemies to lovers, a/b/o soulmates au, physical pain) sworn enemies harry and louis are soulmates. everything is going smoothly until the pain hits.

໑ Wait until you're sure by tommilfson / @tommilfson (E, 13k, friends to lovers, a/b/o au, best friends pact) Prompt 465: Louis and Harry are best friends who made a pact. If neither of them has found love by the time they’re 30, then they’ll get married. It was all laughter and fun until Harry realizes they’re celebrating his 30th birthday and in a few months, Louis is gonna be 30 too. So, he struggles to find someone for Louis to avoid being together, but Louis just keeps rejecting all men Harry introduces to him (because he has feeling for him, of course), which really upsets Harry. They argue about that and Louis says something like “wow, it’s that bad to be with me?,” accepting that Harry simply doesn’t feel the same. Louis moves for a couple of months with another friend and Harry has all this time to understand his feelings, realizing that he loves Louis too and wants to be with him. But when he goes to tell him, Louis is already seeing someone else. So what’s Harry gonna do to get Louis back?

໑ Kiss Me Once, Kiss Me Twice by @harriblou (M, 13.4k, enemies to lovers, college au, baseball player harry, physics major louis, arguing) “You’re a fucking brat, you know that,” Harry muttered through clenched teeth, bones already burning with the pure desire and hatred mixing in his body. It was an intoxicating rush of adrenaline and something else that probably came with fucking Louis Tomlinson. He squeezed his neck just a little tighter. “I can’t stand it.”

Their lips were brushing against each other, just moving with the ragged movements of their mouths and harsh breathing.

“You’re a lying piece of shit dickhead,” Louis muttered right back. That was all he did, challenge and nag. He loved to have the last word and Harry let him because he used all his energy to fuck him mindless.

໑ in deep devotion by ifthat / @lovehl (E, 15.6k, friends to lovers, a/b/o au, mistaken identities) “I think the folk here think I’m an Omega,” Harry voices out loud.

His suspicions began shortly after he arrived to Wright. Wherever he goes, this strange behavior follows. That type of treatment reserved for Omegas.

໑ Bend the Rules by @youreyesonlarry (E, 16.8k, friends to lovers, chef harry, video game developer louis) Prompt 588: Lous hires a ‘ghost cooking’ service because his family is worried he’s not eating well and he wants to impress them by showing them what an amazing cook he’s become. The service includes sending a discreet cook to your house and have them get everything ready so that you only serve and take the credit. Problem is, his sisters (can be OCs if that’s more comfortable) get to his flat earlier than planned and the actual cook has to hide in the master bathroom for hours. Louis is mortified. The cook is amused and helps him to clean and well. Gives him a thorough service. Feel free to pick your fave as the cook.

໑ give my heart a holiday by Ashisinlove / @ashisinlove28 (NR, 17k, friends to lovers, university au, bad puns, pining) AU where Louis and someone else both like Harry but Harry obviously likes Louis and is oblivious to the other person with scenes like Harry’s sitting with his legs on the coffee table and the other person wants to walk across and Harry doesn’t see them, so they have to say excuse me, but when Louis wants to cross he doesn’t even have to say anything because Harry sits up, puts his feet down, and gives his undivided attention to Louis.

໑ Wait For Me by cherrygelb / @cherrygelb (E, 17.4k, neighbours, single dad harry, student louis) Moving to a new place always comes with a few challenges. For Harry, it’s trying to start over after his divorce, while still doing his best taking care of his son. Though just like every parent, he is not infallible, so some mistakes are bound to be made, settling into his new role as a single-dad. For his son, Davie, moving means he has to get used to all the changes happening in his life through no fault of his own. Discovering a secret passageway on their new property lets him form an unlikely friendship with the young man and his dog he finds on the other side.

໑ Heart Eyes by @smittenwithlouis (E, 21.5k, enemies to lovers, incubus louis) Harry is a dedicated sentinel with a strong aversion to demons, and Louis is the lovesick incubus who will go to any lengths to win Harry's heart.

໑ Impractical Magic by @crochetsunsets (M, 21.6k, strangers to lovers, curses, witch louis, royal harry) "You're a witch?"

"Yes."

“So all of this–us–it’s all a lie?”

"No."

or Louis and Harry have both been cursed since birth. What happens when they're forced into proximity? Will their curses reign, or will they have their happily ever after?

໑ Death Wish by Speechless / 0__Speechless (E, 22.6k, enemies to lovers, vampire slayer louis, vampire harry, banter) Louis hates vampires, he lives his life trying to kill as many as he can, night after night, year after year.He hates them.Then why the fuck is he kissing one?Again.“I mean it, Harry.” Louis says, into his mouth this time. “You need to get the fuck away from me.”   Based on Prompt 403: If having more chemistry with a villain than with your own boyfriend was a crime, then Louis would be in jail. Or the hero slowly falls in love with the morally grey character AU

໑ There is Thunder in Our Hearts by thecheshirepussycat / @the-cheshire-pussy-cat (E, 39.7k, hellcheer au, acquaintances, cheerleader louis, musician harry) 1986, Hawkins Indiana.

Stoner, nerdy, metalhead Harry Styles sells drugs to the boy of his dreams, seemingly perfect overachiever, head Cheerleader Louis Tomlinson. It wasn't supposed to become a Thing.

OR, a Stranger Things HellCheer au (without all the death)

໑ Define me again by Hazzascul_07 / @hazzascul (M, 54.3k, established relationship, amnesia au, accidents, read tags and author’s notes) His entire life literally flashed in his mind, vision growing more and more weak and he fought unconsciousness. Memories and the picture of Louis lying unconscious in front of him altered and flickered, so rapidly that he felt dizzy with how fast his mind was whirring.

What happens when you die? God he was so, so, so, fucking terrified.

All his senses gave out, last thing he felt was Louis' hand in his and then, everything went black.

໑ the face of love's rage by @outropeace (E, 67k, a/b/o au, royalty au, enemies to lovers, murder, read tags and author’s note) Seven kingdoms, two sinners and one big secret.

— rare pairs / categories —  

໑ In The Dark by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13 (gen, T, 666, haunted house, choose your own character) It’s the dreams.

He’d be fine without the dreams… suggesting things. If he could face all this - whatever this is - with a clear, rested mind.

໑ Crush by @allwaswell16 (louis/niall, T, 1.4k, co-workers, office au) When Niall stops smiling around the office, his co-worker Louis sets out to lift his mood with the help of their office mates.

໑ it's the summer of our love by localopa / @voulezloux (louis/ryan ross, G, 3k, gym bros, sexuality crisis) ryan is in love with his best friend and gym bro, louis. the problem? ryan is straight.

໑ Got My Chaos Automatic by LetTheMusicMoveYou / @letthemusicmoveyou28 (louis/liam/zayn, E, 3.1k, established relationship, canon) The one where Louis comes home from tour feeling exhausted, yet antsy. Luckily, Liam and Zayn are there to put him back together.

໑ softer than satin by cinnamons / @sunbellylou (louis/joel miller, E, 4k, established relationship, pwp) “Wanna go back to bed,” Louis whispered languidly, voice partly muffled by his boyfriend’s lips on his. “Mm, but we just got up, baby,” Joel murmured. Lips touching softly with each syllable. Hands groping the soft flesh around Louis’ hips, kneading at the skin there and feeling his curves.

໑ Feeling Feline by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13 (louis/niall, T, 4877, magical au, animal transformation) “I’m telling you,” drifts through the cracked door, and Louis’ ears prick, twitching with interest. “There’s something wrong with that cat.”

“Have you talked to Liam?” asks another voice, worried. Louis thinks it’s the tall one with curly hair. Taller one. They’re all tall when you’re ten inches high.

“Not medically wrong,” the blond one says. “But I swear, and I know this sounds nuts, but I don’t think he’s a cat?”

໑ lonely in [paris] by f_ckromeoandjuliet / @louiesonlyangel (louis/awsten knight, T, 5.8k, strangers to lovers, canon au, coming out) Summer flings are complicated and healing comes from the strangest places.//Alternate version of Louis's tour where he's in a secret relationship with Awsten Knight from Waterparks. Based on Awsten tweeting at Louis.

໑ if i'm being honest by @disgruntledkittenface (girl direction louis/niall, E, 22.2k, acquaintances to lovers, falling in love, cats)

Niall is perfectly happy in her dating life, always finding a reason to break things off before her relationships get serious. When she finally gets a chance with Harry, her dream girl, their friend Louis makes her promise to give her a real chance. The only problem is that Harry has a cat… and Niall is not a cat person. Instead of running like she usually does, Niall has to figure out how to live with an adorable menace. And when it starts to feel like love, Niall has to decide: Is she ready for the real thing?

Inspired by Must Be Love.

໑ all tumults and feelings by camilevol6 / @svnflouwervol6 (louis/carlos sainz jr, E, 24.4k, strangers to lovers) The search for euphoria in a world that seems to be spinning out of control is perhaps what drove Louis to visit the heart of a city as vibrant as Barcelona. Everything is warm and bright on his holidays, even at night, where he finds solace in desperate lips and comfort in beautiful brown eyes that break his heart by making him realize that he has always been more fond of emerald tones covering the irises of his lovers.

[dragongirlintestines]

Hunger Over Levin-3, Part 1

A vore fic featuring Thorne and Prin (@wolfgirlguts)

Ashvale station, in the orbit of Levin-3, has lain derelict for several years. The only things keeping it functional are the autonomous maintenance systems, still diligently scrubbing oxygen filters and purifying water. Designed to last, the half-mile long series of abandoned habitation rings has become a favorite stop of pirates, mercenaries, and others who would otherwise prefer to lay low for a few days. It's a far cry from the tourist-heavy resort destination whatever megacorp built the structure intended it for.

However, such shadowed corners of the galaxy are ideal hunting grounds for monsters.

Content warnings: Mentions of Sex, Blood, Gore, Graphic Digestion, General Cruelty.

Retro-rockets fire as a lone shuttle makes its final approach to Ashvale station, its raider crew cramped from the arduous journey and ready to spend some time reveling in their recent spoils. The raid had gone easier than expected, and they have some time to waste before they're due to rendezvous with the rest of the fleet.

Six bodies cross the umbilical between fuselage and installation, a mix of soft furs, ears of various shapes, and one tough, scaly hide. Two foxgirls, one red and one silver, mischievous grins flashing in the half light. A deergirl with an impressive rack of antlers spins an ill-gotten amulet around one finger, while a bright-eyed rabbit boy follows closely behind, eagerly chatting to her about something. Behind those four, standing two heads above the rest, a broad croc gal trudges, hauling one unwieldy laser cannon over her shoulder. Finally, a wolfman with greying muzzle follows, his walking staff thrumming with arcane power.

"Did you see the way that one looked when we busted down the door?" the rabbit remarks to the doe, "Priceless! I never get tired of those corpos' reactions when they realize they've fucked up!"

One of the vixens turns and smirks back at him, "Maybe we should see if we can get you to make that same face tonight!"

"I think you'd look quite cute begging for your life like that," the other vixen chimes in, moving to flank the leporine young man. A blush crosses his face as he recalls the pair's reputation for needing to burn off excess energy after a raid.

Similar jests continue as the motley crew make their way through slowly rotating habitation rings, finding a cluster of rooms around a common dining hall. It would seem the last residents to make use of the station had a sense of thieves-honor, and kept the rooms decently well maintained before their departure. The halls themselves are silent, lights extinguished except when the approaching party's life signs trigger their activation. The revelrous sound of footfalls and energetic excitement echo back and forth as the pirates set up for several sols of post-raid debauchery.

Not one of them notices as another small shuttle silently glides in to dock alongside their craft.

--

"Ahhh, it was so nice of them to leave that booze behind the bar! I was worried we'd have to dip into some of our own stash tonight!" sighs the red-furred vixen, reclining on a bed laden with pillows. The bunny boy, now thoroughly winded, rests his head on her slightly chubby belly, too exhausted and drunk to do anything about the mix of fluids matting down their fur. Beside them, the other vixen lays an arm across the pair, completing the rabbit sandwich.

"Yeah, and we still wouldn't have to if you hadn't drank half the bar, Shay," the silver fox groans, a teasing grin playing across her face as she gazes longingly into her girlfriend's eyes.

"Shut up, Bella," The other shoots back, flicking her partner's snout playfully. Above them, something creaks in the station.

"I didn't think we were that rough…" Bella jokes, before turning back to her lovers. "Whatever."

"Uggghhhh…" moans the cottontail between them, as he begins to roll off of Shay. "Gotta piss, do you know where the toilet is?"

"Nope! Let us know where it is when you find it!" Bella laughs. "Maybe after you use it. Unless you're into that, Ollie!"

"Ew. No." he deadpans as he disentangles himself from the horny vixen.

"Okie! Take your time, I'll get Shay here warmed up for round four!"

"Those stupid horny foxes…" Ollie thinks to himself as he leaves the room, unable to help but glance back at their still-throbbing cocks. It doesn't go unnoticed, and Shay shoots him a mischievous wink in response.

--

"Where is the damn bathroom?" The rabbit finds himself thinking, as he meanders through the hallways of the derelict station. The thought crosses his mind that this kind of poor design may have been one of the factors that led to its failure as a resort, and he chuckles to himself.

Up ahead, one of the sensor lights flickers on.

"Hello?" he calls out, wondering if one of his comrades was also up and about. As he casually strolls towards the light, it flickers out again, before reigniting when he comes in range.

"odd…" he mutters to himself.

"If I remember tomorrow, I should check that out and see if anything else is malfunctioning" he thinks. He is, at least sometimes, the responsible one of the crew. Finally, his wandering eyes catch sight of a sign, and he sighs in relief as he realizes his search has come to an end.

--

As the heat of the dryer cleans the fur on his hands, one of Ollie's ears perks up, as he hears the sound of footsteps outside the small lavatory. "I'll be out in a second!" he calls, hoping whoever is waiting didn't have to search quite as hard as he had.

Paws still slightly damp, he hurries through the door, and gently closes it behind himself. Turning back around, adrenaline spikes in his veins as he finds his vision filled with a mass of ashen blue scales. A pair of digitigrade legs, each foot tipped with sharp, bony talons ten centimeters long. Behind them flicks a long tail, pale golden ventral scales underneath contrasting with the same blue as the creature's thighs.

He slowly lifts his vision, trying not to stare too hard at the slight bulge in the golden scales and wide hips sitting just above his eye level. The creature's torso is a mass of muscle and flesh, and nestled between her breasts sits a strange device, a grey half-sphere glowing with baleful blue light. Hoses run from this core, most punching down into the flesh of the creature, but as his eyes follow two of them up to its left where they join into a terrifying mess of metal and synthetic muscle. A prosthetic arm, though he considers that it may have simply been an "upgrade" to the flesh it once was, given how its construction speaks of pure violent intent. It ends in a set of three fingers and a thumb, each tipped with sharp, polished points, the whole hand larger than his head. The terrifying metallic claws of the creature's left arm, however, seem barely an upgrade when he compares to the equally terrifying fleshy right arm. The whole body is framed by massive blue wings, tucked neatly up against its back.

Finally, he looks up to the creature's head, crocodilian to a certain extent, with pale ivory horns protruding from a mane of blue hair. Piercing, lightning-blue eyes leer down at him, and a pale red tongue runs along her lips as she looks down, hungrily.

"h… hello." he stammers, before the creature's metallic claw wraps around his torso and lifts him three feet off the ground, slamming him painfully against the door he just closed.

"Hey there, little snack," The creature growls, a wicked grin splitting its lips, revealing two dozen vicious teeth, each three inches long. Pure terror shoots through his veins, and he screams, every molecule of air he can expend tearing out of his lungs in a desperate cry for someone to save him.

Be it through sheer bad luck or a cruel twist of fate, he can hear a fox's scream of pleasure echoing faintly back through the halls of the station.

"Shame," the beast laughs, "you'll need that breath to run." It whips around, hurling Ollie's limp body 15 feet down the hallway. He bounces and tumbles, and feels several of his ribs bruise from the impact. "Get to it, little meat,"

"Meat?" he thinks to himself, unsure if he heard correctly, before the creature's draconic maw speaks again.

"I need to work up an appetite before dinner."

Oh. He heard correctly, he realizes. She wants to eat him. His mind races, the thought that a fellow sapient would stoop to something so taboo. Sure, some sapients would give in to their predatory instincts, but even the most depraved raiders stuck to hunting non-sapient animals.

"What, did I break you already?" a laughing growl peals from the beast's throat.

He doesn't need to be prompted. He needs to get back to his crew. They have weapons there. Victor might be able to weave a spell to bring her down. Or he could just be leading the monster to them. To devour them all.

No time to worry about that though. He needs to run. Now.

His paws scramble against the metallic floor, struggling for purchase. After agonizing seconds he pushes himself up off the ground, tearing down the corridors of the station.

He takes the forks on instinct, first left, then right, right feels correct here; there's no sense of direction, he just has to hope that by some miracle these labyrinthine corridors don't come to a dead end, and that he doesn't end dead.

No such luck. One wrong turn, and he rounds a corner into a common area of sorts. A large window looks out over the infinte void of space, the peaceful horizon of Levin-3 turning carefree down below. It would be beautiful, if he were anyone else.

To him, all it spells is despair. He's trapped here, in this beautiful lounge, with a monster between him any anyone who could save him. He's going to die here. He's going to die and be devoured by some sort of unhinged dragon woman. He's going to die and then she's going to slaughter his crew and no one will ever find their bodies.

No. he's not given up yet. Though the beast's pounding footsteps echo distantly through the station, he might yet be able to hide. He takes a chance to look around, noticing several doors labeled "penthouse suite" around the corners of the room.

He picks one, and to his relief, it opens with a quiet hiss. He dashes through, and finds a button with a padlock icon on the other side. His paw slams into it frantically, and the door gently clicks behind him. The lights in the room turn on, revealing a dusty, but lavishly decorated suite. A couch, table, and entertainment suite are laid out in front of him, with a kitchenette occupying one corner of the room. Through another doorway, he spies a comfortable looking bed, equally lavishly furnished.

He just needs to stay calm, and hopefully that… thing… will leave him be. He doesn't want to think about what that means for his friends, but that's a problem for when he makes it out alive.

Bile surges in his throat as exertion finally catches up to him, and he leaves a mess on the carpet as he retches. Recovering slowly, he tiptoes his way to the bedroom, tucking himself underneath the bed, behind the bed runner. It's sheer, and he can see the door through it, but it's as concealed as he can hope.

--

Agonizing minutes pass, and he can feel reverberations as the massive creature treads her way through the halls of the station.

"Did I put enough distance between us? Did she lose my trail?" Oliver wonders to himself.

The motion sensor lights turn off in the room, and he realizes the station itself kept his trail, writ large in pale LED lighting. A single, heavy footfall shakes the floor, and he knows death awaits right beyond the door.

A surprisingly gentle knock breaks the silence, followed by a mocking falsetto growl.

"Room service!"

A momentary pause that could last a lifetime. A prey animal trapped in its own nest holds its breath desperately hoping against hope that his doom would turn her gaze elsewhere.

"Ah well, worth a try," comes the growl, taking cruel pleasure in its little joke.

Metal shrieks against metal as hardened steel talons punch through the door, tearing through the it like paper. Blue scales fill the doorframe, and the creature stoops to let itself in. It sniffs a moment, then wrinkles its nose at the small vomit stain on the floor. A low, throaty growl escapes its lips, as it scans the room.

Oliver's eyes fall upon it at the same time as the beast's. A clean trail of pawprints in the otherwise pristine carpet of the room.

The beast crouches down, taking its time to crawl towards the poor rabbit's hiding place. "I didn't know you thought of me this way," she croons as she steps slowly, deliberately towards the bedroom. Stooping again through the second doorway, it presses itself to the ground. It lifts the bed runner, making full eye contact with one terrified lagomorph. Her claw lashes out, filling his vision, metal fingers splaying around his ears. He feels crushing pressure around his skull, and wonders if this is the end.

It is not. She pulls him out from under the bed by his ears, pain shooting through his scalp, and he can feel something warm run down the back of his neck.

"nononoNONONO!" he screams and kicks as she lifts him slowly up off the ground, before forcing him down onto the bed. Not too long ago, he remembers dreaming of something similar with a certain vixen, but this is much less desirable. For the second time within the hour, a scream rips its way through his throat, hoarse and ragged.

The monster does not allow it to last. She climbs up onto the bed after him, its lightweight orbit-alloy frame cracking under half a ton of draconic flesh. Her claws wrap around his arms, and those terrifying jaws crack open impossibly wide. He tries to squirm, but his arms are held tight to his torso, leaving only his legs to flail helplessly against the air, while the beast lifts him towards her rows of flesh-rending fangs.

The deathly maw snaps forward, driving daggers into his arms and gut, forcing the last screaming breath out of his lungs. He shuts his eyes, not wanting to stare down the yawning throat that pulses and throbs, eager for meat. It is only when she takes another hungry swallow, teeth this time piercing his soft ass, that he realizes this monster has no intent to chew. Her tounge dances along his abdomen, and a growl of pleasure reverberates up through the throat around him. Wretched, hot air wafts up from within its throat as he feels its tongue play across his body, tip winding its way into gaping wounds, lapping at his freely flowing blood. The agony is exquisite, but he can only manage a tiny whimper.

Again, the creature swallows, her tongue slipping between his thighs to push him deeper down her throat, rubbing against a sensitive nub of flesh. He is cruelly reminded of a joke Shay made about "playing with her prey" when her tongue had been in a similar position earlier that night.

He can feel as his ears slip into her gullet, and his face is pressed firmly into the soft entrance. Another burst of adrenaline kicks in, and his whole body flexes and writhes, raging against the terrifying thought of being digested alive. His arms, now free of the claws holding them in place, desperately grasp at something, anything, that he might use to pull himself out. Too late he realizes his paw has grasped something bony and round. Murderous jaws once again slam shut around him, and his hand is quickly turned to a mangled, bloody mess as it is impaled between dragon teeth. Likewise, his writhing legs are stilled as daggers sever nerves in his thighs, before pressure builds and he can feel a femur snap beneath several tons of bite force.

Her prey now somewhat more subdued, the dragon tosses her head back, letting gravity aid in pulling this morsel down her throat. One leg hangs limply outside her maw, as the still living meat is hungrily dragged into her throat. The rabbit can't even feel as she wraps her tongue around that limb, and lazily drags it down with the rest of him, not a care given for the disfigured mass of flesh it has become.

The throat is crushingly tight around Oliver, but compared to the bite force he had just experienced, it feels downright gentle. Peristaltic motions pull him ever deeper, and he cannot help but whimper, knowing in his heart that there is no escaping now; only slow, agonizing death. As he whimpers, his body shakes, and tears fall from his eyes, mingling with the esophageal mucous surrounding him. The beast's gullet, ignorant to his misery, pulls him ever deeper.

He feels a gentle pressure against his head, which gives way as the esophageal muscles push him into a more open chamber. He gasps, and immediately regrets it. Painfully acidic fumes burn the sensitive inside of his nose, down his throat, all the way into his lungs. A moment later he opens his eyes, another immediate regret. The throat pushes again. His face is plunged into chemical soup, immediately searing his corneas blind. Now panicking in sightless darkness, he can't help but thrash wildly with what little strength he has left. He feels himself fall for a brief moment, and a weight lands on top of him. He realizes that he can't feel his legs anymore.

As he thrashes, he can hear that same rumbling growl from before, only now it emanates from all around him.

"Mmmmm… yeah. I should get rabbit more often…"

He can feel something pushing on the stomach walls, as the beast rubs her slightly swollen gut. To an outside observer, were it not for the occasional bump, it would be barely obvious that an entire sapient had just been tucked away behind those scales.

"Shouldn't have crushed his legs though… they'd probably feel real good kicking in there…" Impotent fury surges through his mind as Ollie realizes she's taking pleasure in his digestive demise.

"Let me out! You fucker!" he screams, his voice hoarse from his previous exertions, as well as the scouring acidic air of her guts.

"Hmmmm… Aww, does food not know its place?" the monster ackowledges him, pure cruel mockery in its voice.

"Why… We're both sapients… You're a monster…" he moans, delirium starting to set in from lack of air.

"Oh I'm aware, you're hardly the first delicious little morsel to call me that."

"You've gotta let me ou- glrk" the poor rabbit's voice chokes as cruel hands force him under gastric juices. Bloody chime quickly surges into his throat, violating his insides. His tongue feels slippery as it begins to melt, and he finds himself unable to speak as his vocal cords sear through.

"Oh, no, I've still got a whole meal to worry about before that…"

Muscular claws push down on the belly, and it clenches painfully around him. He feels burning inside his chest, and pressure outside. Something twitches, then gives. His ribcage collapses, crushing his heart. Sensation begins to fade.

"I wonder if Prin's caught anything yet…" the bunny hears, moments before hopping off the mortal coil.

[salt216000]

ULTRATOBER // COMFORT

Content Warnings: basically implied torture. It is not heavily dwelled on, but Prey is being kept in an entirely dark room for a decently long time as punishment for breaking rules. AO3 Link! Original Prompt List Link!

Tepreymel finds himself on the bad side of the Council.

Feels like years.

Tepreymel has been sitting alone in the dark with no company aside from the soft glow of his own wings, which has only faded over time. By this point he is in near pitch blackness.

The first few days, Solariel was there, sitting on the other side of the locked door, offering mindless conversation that kept Prey distracted from the sinking anxiety and fear. But something must have happened. The Council must have found out that Solariel was interfering with Tepreymel's punishment, because hours go by with no sign of him. Then days.

If he got in trouble... Prey would never forgive himself. All he had to do was stay out of trouble, stop asking questions, but now he's here, and potentially getting his best friend in trouble for it as well.

He cracks open one eye. It illuminates his surroundings, barely. Prey is quick to shut it again, tucking his wings in closer, because what else can he do?

Silence. All he can hear is the thrum of his pulse. There is nothing else.

No steps outside. No whispered words that he cannot make out. Only himself and the unrelenting darkness.

By the time something different happens, Prey has dozed off. He almost believes the light is a dream, but no, Asher steps into the room, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. Far more gentle than when he had thrown Prey in here to begin with.

"You have spent enough time in here, Tepreymel. I do hope you have learned your lesson?" the larger angel inquires with a voice that is much too soft. Prey doesn't trust it. He cannot help the way he quivers under the scrutiny of the Council member's gaze.

Still, Tepreymel murmurs, "yes, Holy Council. I have learned. I will not do it again." He does everything in his power to stop his voice from shaking.

"Good. You may leave now." A few moments pass, and Tepreymel does not shift, too overtaken by fear like a rabbit dazzled by a lamp in the night. So Asher adds with a sigh, "I am truly sorry it had to be this way. None of us wanted to do this to you, especially Sithiel, but we cannot treat you differently. I so dearly wish we could have lessened your sentence, but you have to trust us. Do not plague your mind with these endless questions."

Each word is spoken with the silken smoothness of an angel who has had millennia to manage his tone, and yet it still soothes Prey just enough to get him moving. He does not offer a response verbally, but he does dip his head, before walking towards the light.

He exits into a largely unremarkable hallway. To most, the stained glass windows lining the hall are standard, but right now? The coloured light that filters through is magnificent to Prey's eyes, filling him with-- emotion. Happiness to be out. Frustration at the Council. Fear at what had happened to Sol.

Sol!

Where is he? Please, please, please say he wasn't put into a dark room of his own, please Lord--

Arms wrap around him and Tepreymel jumps, before his full body shudders with a sob. Solariel's wings wrap around him too in a full embrace.

"I missed you so much. I tried to get you out earlier, but the Council said it wasn't possible. I'm--"

"I'm sorry if I got you in trouble," Prey cannot help but to whisper, his voice barely audible over the rustle of feathers.

Sol pauses. He clearly doesn't expect that. "...You didn't do anything. I chose to stand by you and break the rules. My actions are not your responsibility."

"But--"

"I will not hear another word."

It feels like his soul is filled with bricks; his body is heavy, Solariel has to keep him propped up. The other angel ever so gently bumps his helmet against Prey's, "we shall return to your quarters, I have gathered extra blankets in preparation. You deserve to rest somewhere comfortable after this ordeal."

Tepreymel does not have the strength to argue, not as unseen tears roll down his cheeks. He allows Sol to guide him, finally letting his shoulders relax. It's over. He's okay. He does his best to ignore what he is sure is Asher's gaze burning into the back of his head.

[fereldancore]

I started playing Dragon Age Origins for the first time in 8 years or so. Plumbed in the old PS3 and let’s go to Thedas kids!

Yes I am a fem mage named Sol, and yes I did flirt with Cullen because I have only played the game as a male elf rogue before.

But dammit, I really liked how proud of her, he was at her Harrowing, just running his mouth off at everyone in the tower with no filter about how fast and efficient her test went. Cullen has a deep infatuation with my character (even NPCs and Jowan are very aware of it and mention it), That poor Chantry boy cannot mask his feelings for shit, even his boss has had enough of his pining as Cullen was specifically selected to hold a sword to Sol’s neck during her Harrowing test. Life and death decided over a magical dream involving sassing a glowing knight, dealing with a mouse/bear traitor, a giant sloth quiz show host and an evil pile of lava.

If she screws up this fever dream test and turns into a monster, he is ordered to instantly decapitate her. Fair enough, the Harrowing test is an important method of ensuring Mages are strong enough to repel demons.

But, the fact that he apologetically explains this fact in detail almost apropos of nothing in a friendly chat with her just afterwards is so unusual, when he could easily stayed anonymous as Sol was asleep during the entire experience and knew nothing of the Harrowing beforehand. He just HAD to apologise.

As the conversation continues, Sol can choose to ask him go somewhere ‘private’ alone with him, he takes a hot moment to work out her meaning and instantly becomes incredibly flustered, but doesn’t say he does not want or like her, he just stammers out ‘That would be inappropriate’ over and over and runs off downstairs.

I don’t understand how there is anything creepy or weird about his actions, he is just painfully honest, takes his job that he has pledged his life to super seriously, has no filter, incomplete social skills and is a literal teenager. I cannot for the life of me equate him as NT either.

Gonna go through the wringer later when I have to go back to the tower *sigh*.

BUT FIRST FUN AND GAMES IN THE WILDS AND MEETING MA BOI ALISTAIR.

[chipthekeeper]

Acolyte episode 3 commentary by me, a person with no filter:

- I'm extremely nervous about this one, I'm….not gonna lie. Like in a good way, I think I'm going to enjoy it a lot, but like, tomorrow, when the whole world has seen it, it's gonna be ugly……….Who cares though!

- Alright here we go oh my god, and Mother is the thumbnail so [giggles]

- [creaky old door groans].............I'm terrified, like—

- [weakly] I'm gonna have a heart attack…………Oh it looks like Aldhani [tears in eyes]

- oh pretty tree, pretty birds, oh, maybe not bird, maybe it's a bug. not important

- [pausing for yippy dog next door] Really gonna have a fucking dog, barking right now, what, god, shut the fuck up

- It's too much Aldhani I'm gonna cry

- (hooded figure appears behind the girls) who the fuck is that!?! Oh. Sol?! Oh nooooo…what is happeningggg [nervous chuckling] I have a bad feeling about this

- ooooh! Planets-wha-what [scoffs] I was starin’ at that

- (Aniseya arrives) [gasps] MOTHEEERRRRRRRRR

- “did anyone see them?” “I do not believe so” [snorts] innnnncorrect

- [gay gasping] THERE WE GOOOOOOO [deep sigh]

- hm. Fraught lesbianism, here we go. My favorite genre

- This is just gonna be me doing a lot of hmmmmm

- I definitely keep getting confused, which is which here…….which witch is which

- Man I'm gonna be really mad if she's actually dead. If they did pre-bury these gays…well, keep me from getting my hopes up I guess…

- “Tell her you love her” “i love you” [snorts] yeah, buying it

- “you think you want something different than life in this coven” Are they giving Wheel of Time vibes? Or only because I've watched that episode like..48 times…

- Ugh, the moons!!....Whaaaat?

- Well this answers the question of who's braiding their hair. That's really fun. That's a really cute detail, actually I like that

- Does this planet also have a ring? Wait, that would make sense. We see ssssomebody flying through a ring later? Ohhhh are we coming back??

- (ascension ceremony starting) This is hot, can I move here?

- Definitely bookmarking Brendok as a place to have characters…hang out

- Do they have to climb up the pit? Is that what the ascension means? [laughing at own joke]

- [ears perking up] Unnatural, huh?

- OH my god that’s….The moons are doing the eclipse thing like in the logo hh my god….The red one in front of the blue one….

- [delighted chuckling] ohohoho what is happening….

- Woah! Magic tattoo!!

- *kitten squeaks again* Biggs go lay down. It’s a very tense moment, go lay down

- [doubtful grunt at Indara] You're stationed on that and you think it's uninhabited? Why would you be there?

- Kelnacca, you narc

- Aww Sol. He has instant dad eyes

- Sol no! Put that away–oh. Just kidding

- We don't take children, we just…entice them with toys…..He's like luring her into the back of his van…….She is into it though, so [noncommittal mumbling]

- “There are only four Jedi. Who would miss them?” That's….not good math

- “and what happens when the jedi discover how you created them?” [idiotic 12 year old boy voice] By fucking…

- Yeah, fun little dysfunctional family. I love it

- Poor Oshie…..

- (Tommen/Torbin on screen) I have a…just desire to see Ser Pounce

- (he takes her blood) Testin’ those middies!!!

- (indara explaining the jedi test, “tell us what you see”) A cup! A speeder!

- “she promised she would fail and she broke her promise” She tried!!

- (telling Mae to go with Koril) That's a great idea…

- I was dead wrong about everything I thought about Aniseya but…I fucking...love her

- Oh don't make me cry. Don't make me cry

- No love for your hardass mama though, that’s fine

- Oh my god the stuffies! What are they….

- “i’ll kill you” uh jesus christ! That's going to help you get what you want…………you little psycho…

- Shiiiiiiiiiiit….

- What is this? A vault in their room…….ah. Laundry chute……Seriously, what is this?

- We're not done, clearly….’cause what happened with Torbin and...

- [sees mother lying “dead”(?), turns into sad simba] No, no, get up. We’ve gotta go home….

- What is…[whines] You cannot. That's…….they’re leaving shit out

- “Mae started the fire” How would you know?!

- “You’ll never feel like this again. I promise” Oh damn Sol. Don't do that

- Why was this not twice as long? How am I supposed to wait another week? God!

- [lots of deep sighing] That went by so fast and I'm…..not happy

I was happy actually but immediately desperate for more

[ghost-with-a-teacup]

𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐒𝐤𝐢𝐞𝐬 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏; 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader (Sol) AND Keegan P. Russ x Reader (Hatter) Author's Note: Hi!! As we all know, I have recently fallen into the deep dark hole that is the Call of Duty franchise (not that I mind :3), and from this I have made a lovely mutual @bloodonmyhands-1221 !! Furthermore, we have begun collaborating on a brand new series, 'Darkened Skies' featuring relationships with both Simon and Keegan (funnily enough I both bought and completed the COD: Ghosts campaign today lol). Here's the first chapter!! I didn't write it, this is brought to you by Hatter themselves :)) Happy reading!!

“I’ve got visual… But I’ve got to tell you Keegan… I’m not seeing shit,” Hatter scans the area, she had been told to sweep.

“Well doll face, take another look… There was a report from the other squad that they saw heavy movement over this way for the last few days,” Keegan’s voice filters through the radio.

“I’ve been staring at the same ugly landscape for the last thirty minutes… All I see is,” Hatter moves her binoculars towards the east, “Oh look… there is a lovely spot of grass…. Oh look, a tree,” she moves to look to the west, “And on this side, ladies and gentlemen, we’ll see a car that has seen better days, it probably needs an oil change, by the looks of it.”

“You’re a brat.”

“So, I’ve been told,” putting down the binoculars, Hatter takes a quick glance around her surroundings one last time, “Come to think of it… Why am I out here? I fucking outrank your ass.”

“Because of that prank you pulled on Merrick…”

“Fucker doesn’t know when to relax… He had it coming.”

“You’re an evil woman.”

“It’s why you love me, so much.”

“Yeah, we’ll go with that.”

The information, they had been told by a patrol, seemed valid – but questionable to say the least… It had been weeks since they had seen any lingering members of the Federation…

Or really anyone else for that matter.

She had thought… 

‘Is this really over?’

The silence was almost too good to be true – it was the first real moment, she could stand outside and take a deep breath of air, without having to keep her rifle close to her chest.

Ever since the world went to shit, she had been running and fighting for her life – blood had been permanently stained on her hands to the point where washing it off, just seemed like a waste of time.

She had been fighting one war after another.

She was used to the gunfire and explosions…

The silence – had become deafening.

“You two are making me nauseous,” another voice filtered through the radio, there was a brief flicker of distortion as Hatter adjusted her radio.

“Look,” she speaks into the radio, “Just because Mr. Tall and Grumpy isn’t here to get your panties out of a wad doesn’t mean you got to rain on my parade.”

The voice laughed, “As I recall… and I defiantly can recall because you are NOT quiet… Keegan tired you out.”

“SOL!” You yelled at your friend and teammate.

“Fucking hell,” Keegan cut in, “Can you not?”

There is a mocked chorus coming from Sol, as she begins to repeat Hatter and Keegan’s eventful night.

“Remind me, to kick your ass when I get –“

There is a slight movement to the east; but it catches Hatter’s eye.

“As if you can kick my ass,” Sol continues.

“If she doesn’t kick your ass, I will,” Keegan comes to her defense.

“PLEASE, you all love me too much for that,” Sol retorts with a soft snicker, but Hatter blocks out their conversation as she focuses. 

Pulling her binoculars from her lap, she tries to find the movement once again.

She sees wildlife; birds flying in the sky, while a deer or two runs across the broken pavement. 

The movement had seemed lanky in movement, clouded in darkness -  a shadow slithering across the scorching heat.

It looked human.

Pulling her rifle, she readies herself.

“Hatter?” Keegan calls out.

She is too focused to answer, not wanting to give away her position – she moves with calculated and light footsteps.

“Hatter, what’s going on?” Sol chimes in.

There!

The shadow lingers by a group of charred cars, the movements are sluggish – she can make out the form and knows it’s human.

She can see the wisps of blonde hair, dancing in the gentle breeze.

“Hello?” She steps around the car, trying to get a better read of the person.

But they either don’t hear her or chose not to.

“Are you hurt?” 

The body stops.

She doesn’t know what comes over her.

Hatter was curious by nature, and it was her curiosity that usually got the better of her.

It got her in trouble.

Dropping her weapon, she makes her way towards the person, keeping her distance; hands staying close to the handgun strapped to her thigh.

“Excuse me?” She tries to keep her voice neutral.

But in truth, she was shaking. 

She steps closer, wanting to see their face.

“I’m not going to hurt –“

The person couldn’t be no older than maybe twenty, a beautiful young girl with bright green eyes.

“Mam?”

The woman doesn’t acknowledge her as her eyes search far and wide, crazed and erratic.

Hatter can see she is scared; she can see her visibly shaking as if she was standing in the deepest pits of snow.

Her lips are moving, she’s mumbling nonsense, incoherent words that don’t seem to make any sense.

“Mam, are you hurt?” 

Hatter dares another step.

It happens all at once – it catches Hatter off guard.

The mumbling stops, as does the crazed look and trembles.

“DON’T LET THEM TAKE ME BACK!”

Hatter jumps back, gun at the ready as the woman leaps forward, hands searching for the handgun.

“No!” Hatter tries to fight her off, refusing to kill a civilian.

She feels the weight of the handgun moving as the woman takes it from her holder.

“DON’T!” 

The woman steps back, gun in her hand, pressed to her temple, “I refuse to be their puppet… You have to stop this… Stop this before it’s too late.”

“Stop what?”

Hatter watches in slow motion as the gun goes off.

The splat of blood is warm.

It flickers across her skin like raindrops.

She stares at the woman’s lifeless body, the blood pooling around her like a halo, soaking into the dried earth. She sees the faint shimmer of silver on the woman’s hands, as she spots the wedding band.

It makes her own wedding band itch with guilt and fear.

Hatter had witnessed death; it doesn’t bother her.

But…

This leaves her stomach turning in knots – leaves her on the edge of sickness and rage.

“HATTER?” Keegan’s voice echoes through the radio.

With a trembling hand, she grasps the radio.

“Keegan, we’ve got a problem.”

[clearwillow]

Hi, I really love your work, especially the Mating Fever Series. If you are still doing the writer's asks, could you answer:

🍬

🔪 🦷

Thanks!!! I appreciate what you do!!

Hi @serstudiesalot! That's so nice, thank you! Yeah, I can still answer the writer asks!

🍬 ⇢ post an unpopular opinion about a popular fandom character

I feel like Sesshomaru as a character didn't get a lot of personality beyond "older sibling gets the raw deal" and while I think it's great that fandom has been out there building lore for him, it's hard for me to actively seek out new creations featuring him. No fault of anyone in recent years - but way back when I got blindsided in fics where he was put up on a pedestal at the expense of a lot of other characters, and it didn't sit right. Give him good points, give him faults, make him fart in his sleep, but it's not doing him any good if the only way to glam him up is to dump pig crap on everyone around him, you know? Unless there is literal pig crap and he's set up some elaborate prank, then it's just funny.

But I've seen that done with many characters across fandoms through the years. Like Relena-bashing fics, iykyk

🔪 ⇢ what's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

I've covered merman bullshitting/pantsing lore and looking for guy's perspective on different things, so there's not a lot of other weird stuff I've researched, I don't think? The closest behind those might be searching for pranks as inspiration for the plot of a fic I haven't started yet. Which...there's not a lot of good pranks anymore. It's all about being mean or trying to physically hurt another person, which isn't what I was wanting at all.

🦷 ⇢ share some personal wisdom or a life hack you swear on

If you don't have the means to make coffee when the power's out (maybe you don't have a kerosene heater for some reason, don't own camping equipment, etc) all you need is ground coffee, coffee filters, twist ties, a pot of water, a cookie sheet rack, and tea lights.

Place 4-5 tea lights on a saucer, light them, and slide it under the cookie sheet rack. Fill the pot with water and set it over the lights.

Take a coffee filter and put however much coffee in the center. If you've only got a Keurig or some other fancy machine you're SOL I guess unless you can McGuyver it. You're going to bring the sides up of the filter to create a sachet; tie it off with the twist tie. If you want to get the same strength as your coffee machine, make two. Drop them in the water when they're tied tight and cover with the lid.

It will take some time but it does work. I had to use this method when we had no usable outlet in our kitchen after an electrical fire. Don't like coffee? Soup will heat the same way. Or you could brew tea. Just keep an eye on the tea lights and swap them out as they expire.