#if you want an estimate for how long i've been sitting on this

[gamebunny-advance]

"Mesmerizer x 1010"

So, I haven't drawn anything lately because I've been severely depressed (again). When that happens, I seem to always end up drawing Malt Shop!1010~

Anyway, I've had this crossover idea on the back-burner for a while, because I try to avoid too much "it's a reference" kinda art, but I really needed something kinda "brainless" to bring me back from my despair~ (Ironic, given the song's themes).

I made an alternate skintone version because the effect of the eyes turning black doesn't work as well when the scleras are already black XP.

[witherby]

Blood and Teeth

Jason Todd x Reader

You just wanted to get home before dark.

⚠️ Content warning: stalking, attempted mugging, gunshots, non-consensual feeding ⚠️

God, you'd been doing so well.

The job you work is daylight shift, you're always polite and cordial, you mind your own business, and, most importantly, you don't take anybody else's bullshit.

You go to work, you do your tasks, then you go home. You're always in before the sun sets, and if you aren't, you're cozying into the closest hotel you can find and parking your ass there for the night. Then it's rinse and repeat. Little to no deviation from the routine. It's fine.

You don't look for trouble, is the point.

But it sure did find you.

"No! Nonono — WAIT, STOP! WAIT!"

You sprint as fast as your legs will take you, but it's no use. The bus pulls away from the stop and keeps on going, ten minutes earlier than it should've, and leaves you behind. You groan and resist the urge to throw your bag to the ground.

"God dammit." The next one wouldn't be around for at least an hour and a half, and it would be long dark by then. You didn't have the cash on hand for a cab all the way to downtown Gotham, either. You pull your phone out and check how far the closest hotel is, but that's also downtown.

As far as options go, you can either call your brother and ask him to come get you, or walk as fast as your legs will take you and hope you make it back home unscathed.

You start walking.

"It's fine," you tell yourself, white-knuckling the strap of your messenger bag. "You've made it home after dark before and been completely fine. Nothing's going to happen to you. Everything is great. You could use the exercise, actually. A little leg work does a body good, and you spend most of your time sitting at a desk. Yeah. Yeah! It's like walking on the treadmill..."

The small pep talk helps. Taking large strides, you estimate that you'll make it back home in 45 minutes. That's fine! It's all fine!

Except it isn't fine, because twenty minutes in, you become acutely aware of someone following you about half a block back. You test that by crossing streets at odd places and walking around the perimeter of a liquor store, and he remains on the edge of your periphery the whole time. It's absolutely not fine.

You pull your phone out and dial 9-1-1, picking up the pace. Your heart feels like it's leapt into your throat and you hope against hope he changes his mind and fucks off somewhere else.

"Gotham City Police. Where is the address of the emergency?"

"Uh...I'm currently off the intersection of Cherry and Roman," you explain, looking at the street sign, and give the dispatcher your name. "I'm walking South along Cherry. There's a man following me, about...uh, sixty feet back? I think I'm gonna get jumped, and I missed my bus, and I just wanna get home before dark —"

"Okay, alright," the dispatcher says, voice gentle. "It'll be okay. I've alerted units in your area to come by. The closest one is five minutes out. Stay on the line with me."

"Okay," you mutter. "Thank you. I'm just really scared."

"It'll be okay," the dispatcher repeats. "What does the man look like? Are you able to describe him safely?"

"He's kind of short," you explain. "He's got jeans on and a black coat. I think he's blonde, but I don't wanna look behind me and piss him off..."

"That's fine. You're doing great. They're four minutes out. Just keep walking and talking to me."

"Okay. I'm crossing the street now, still on Cherry... There's a book store that's closed on my right. It's called...um..." You squint. You're not quite close enough to see the sign yet, and before you get the chance to better read the lettering, a hand clasps around your arm and yanks you backwards. You scream, cellphone dropping to the sidewalk, and the man is trying to drag you into an alleyway.

"No!" You cry, beating a fist against his chest. "Stop!! GET OFF ME!"

"Shut the fuck up!" The man snarls. You yank a taser out of your tote bag and press it against his side, shocking him. He shouts in pain and spasms, letting go. You stumble back, scoop up your phone, and take off in a sprint. "Get back here!!"

"Hello!?" You yell into the receiver. "He's chasing me! I'm running but he's chasing me! I need help right now, please!!"

"A unit is two minutes out," the dispatcher replies, sounding tense. "Do you have any means of defending yourself? A weapon? Pepper spray?"

"My taser didn't do shit! I don't have anything else!"

"Keep running. They're hurrying as fast as they can, I promise."

"I'm running! I'm going!!"

You pump your legs as fast as they can possibly carry you, then push them to go even faster than that. You're gasping noisily for breath and there's a stitch developing in your side. Your heart feels like it's going to burst from your chest. But you can't stop, because you can hear him running after you, and if you stop you'll most certainly die.

"Please!" You wheeze into the phone. "I can't — please!"

The sound of sirens reaches your ears and you feel almost weep with relief. You start shouting that you're here, you're right here, hurry the fuck up and get here, but you're grabbed again right as the patrol car rounds the corner.

The stalker hooks an arm around your throat and yanks you to his chest. He presses a gun to your temple and you freeze, ice crawling up and down your spine.

"Drop the weapon!" A cop shouts. Two of them hop out of the vehicle and aim their own guns at the two of you. "Put the gun down and step away from them right now!"

"This doesn't have to go down with anybody getting hurt tonight!" The second officer yells. "Surrender peacefully!"

"Fuck your peace!!" The man that has you screams. The hand holding the gun is shaking as badly as you are, and you hope and pray his finger isn't twitching against that trigger. "Back up or I blow their brains all over the street!"

"Don't!" You choke out. "Don't do that! Please don't do that, I'm just trying to go home please don't —"

"SHUT UP!" He snaps. "EVERYBODY SHUT UP OR I SWEAR I'M GONNA —"

Two gunshots sound. You flinch hard, hands flying up to your head to feel for any bullet wounds, but there's nothing there. The responding officers are sheet-white, looking at you like they've seen a ghost.

No, not at you. Past you.

You don't wanna look. You've lived this long not having to see a dead body and don't intend on breaking that streak. Maybe they hadn't intended to shoot to kill? Is that why they seem to scared? But — no, that doesn't make sense. Because if they shot him, the body is on the ground. Their eyes should be on the ground. Not up as high as they currently are.

They're looking at something else.

"Aw, what's the matter?" Chimes a voice behind you, and you turn just as pale as them.

You don't dare turn around. You don't move. You don't breathe. The exact reason why you're so diligent about getting home before sundown every night is standing about two feet behind you, and you suddenly feel like your odds of survival were better with the stalker.

"Why don't you two go on back to the precinct? I've got it from here."

The police continue to stare behind you for several, long moments. They share a look between each other. They look at you. They step towards their car.

You feel your heart drop to your stomach. Cold sweat forms on the back of your neck and your eyes start to water.

"Don't go," you stammer, shaking your head. "Don't. Don't leave me here. Please don't go —"

"Shhhh..." What feels like a block of ice lands heavily on your shoulder and squeezes tight. So painfully tight. You can't breathe. "Don't listen to 'im. Go on, boys. Get."

The first officer climbs back into the car. The second one hesitates just a moment longer.

"I don't like repeating myself. Go, before I run out of fucking patience."

The second cop disappears back into the car, shutting off the lights, and drives away.

You feel like you're going to throw up. There's nothing protecting you anymore. No one around. Just your ragged breathing to fill the silence and the Red Hood practically pressed against your back.

"You know what's coming next."

The voice is low and distorted by a modulator in the helmet. Every word makes your heart race faster and your vision gets spotty at the edges.

"Hey, hey, hey...easy," he teases, the icey hand on your shoulder moving to cup your jaw. Pressure starts to be applied, urging you to tip your head back and expose your throat to the open air. You sob.

"M'just try-trying t'go ho-home."

"Yeah?" The Red Hood coos. You swear it sounds like he's grinning under that fucking helmet.

"I just wanna go home," you repeat, nearly whispering.

"Heard ya the first time. Quiet, now."

He tips your head back until it won't go any further. Through tears, you blink up at a blood-red helmet, reflecting your terror back at you. The hand at your jaw moves up and covers your eyes, eliminating even the small solace of the street lamps and leaving you in total darkness.

"You don't move. You don't run. You don't pull away from me. You keep these pretty eyes shut nice and tight. Do all that and maybe. Maybe. I let you go home. Say yes if you understand."

Your bottom lip wobbles, teeth practically chattering.

"Y-yes," you whisper.

"Good."

You hear the click of latches coming undone and hear him take the helmet off. You feel his other arm come around your waist, pulling your bodies flush together. You feel his breath against your throat.

Getting bitten by a vampire is a terrible experience. It's nothing like the movies and books tell you at all; no little pinch followed by numbness, no erotic tingling coming from the point of contact, no gentle suction like getting a hickey.

It feels like somebody is stabbing you with a fucking fork and then subsequently trying to suck the skin off your bones. It hurts like nothing else you've ever experienced.

You scream, because he didn't say you weren't allowed to do that, and you cling to the arm around your waist as tight as you possibly can, like it's the only thing grounding you to what's happening because it is. It is.

This is why most of Gotham's businesses are closed by sundown, why most people have shut themselves into their homes and settled in for the evening by now, why you were trying to do the exact same thing before you missed that stupid bus. Because ever since the Red Hood started prowling the streets at night, nobody has wanted to be caught outside with him.

He emerged four years ago with a mission and two rules:

1. If he catches you out at night doing some shit you shouldn't, pray you've gotten your affairs in order before he kills you.

2. If he saves you from someone who was out at night doing some shit they shouldn't, he will take payment from you whether you give it willingly or not.

He does not accept money. He does not accept bribes. He does not leave a debt unpaid.

Gotham's resident vampire takes your blood.

[queen-simia]

now that ep 4 is live to the public, I can finally post what I've been sitting (and spinning) on for like a week, wheeee!

Major Monkey Wrench spoilers abound, so putting below a cut if you haven't yet seen the latest episode. And if you haven't seen it (or the rest of the series), you can do so here:

now ON TO THE INFODUMP

Shrike's status

so, since the beginning, I've been putting all my money on Shrike being an artificial being. Not in the sense of robotics/cyborgs and the like, but in the sense of a one-of-a-kind bioengineered creature. Since he was confirmed as an endling (as opposed to just hinted at in past episodes), I'm choosing to take that as a bit of reinforcement; his species is still marked as "unknown" by LAW, and if no one knows what you are and you're the only one they've ever seen, it's safe to assume they assume you're the last of whatever you are.

now, in a leap on my part, I'm further going to postulate that Shrike is actually an engineered squid. As in an honest-to-god Earth cephalopod, albeit in the same sense you can call a human a monkey. I think that maybe our boy Shrike is the end result of years-long genetic modification and breeding programs to create something closer to human shape and intelligence, but with whatever attributes his human creators wanted from squid...

...maybe attributes like producing ink.

"that's stupid, what makes you think that?" Glad you asked, Strawman! Here's what I'm drawing from:

Scratch's nicknames for Shrike

As much as these can be considered throwaways, Zeurel and Ash have been very good about sneaking in foreshadowing in dialogue. I don't fully think Scratch is calling Shrike "squidhead" just to be antagonistic (though in-universe, he certainly is; I doubt the character himself in canon has that kind of insight); I'm choosing to believe it may be a bit of a Chekhov's gun.

Shrike's design inspiration

In Tumblr ask replies, Zeurel's confirmed Shrike's design is based heavily on Humboldt squid, and he finds cephalopods and deep-sea life in general interesting. It's going into meta rather than narrative precedent, but I think for these reasons, having Shrike actually be an ascended squid wouldn't be that far out of the blue.

Shrike's terran connections

It's been established that Earth no longer exists, and what humans remain are persona non grata in LAW space. They're the reason behind the Cataclysm/the creation of Secondary Green, and what artifacts remain are traded on the black market (as implied by Scratch and Jaw Bone dealing in them, neither of whom are exactly upstanding citizens).

Yet somehow, Shrike speaks primarily in a canonically dead Earth language—Latin Spanish—and thinks highly of terrans/terran culture. He apparently is the only being in LAW space who does both. One could argue he picked up Spanish through exposure to contraband as a LAW officer, but even his translated speech is Spanish-accented. That to me is a clue it's his native language, as opposed to one picked up later in life. Maybe he doesn't speak it all that well, but it's what he learned as he grew up.

I believe that Shrike's interest in terran artifacts isn't so much fannish as it is nostalgic, though he doesn't realize it (yet). Remember, we don't know his true age—he's only estimated to be in his mid- to late 20s. He could very well be several decades or even 800+ years old, and for reasons yet unknown he isn't aware of it. Hell, he knows what VHS tapes are and how to watch them, something present-day kids are unfamiliar with right now. Even if he was treated as only a scientific specimen in his youth, something about Earth/its people may have been warm and familiar enough to endear terran mementos to him. But it's now too far gone in the past for him to remember why exactly he loves them so much.

Shrike got no dick

(originally posted to Twitter before the Shittening)

Canonically, the boy is Ken-doll smooth both front and back. Even though he has a gender (Questionably Masc™), he has no sex. Maybe his species could reproduce asexually, but it's pretty unusual for complex bipedal critters to do that. Plus, there's the fact that no peehole and no butthole also mean no bodily waste excretion, which is pretty much a death sentence for most life forms that run on metabolic processes. Therefore, I'm taking all these as artifacts of Shrike's artificial creation (and not just so it's more difficult to make show-accurate porn of him).

The Primaries, LAW, and Secondary Green

So there are three godlike beings that ostensibly also serve as the basis for government, referred to as the Primaries. Only one has been directly referenced as active in LAW government—Primary Red—but given the colors of the three LAW divisions, one can safely assume there must be a Primary Yellow and Primary Blue (whether they also govern, are off doing something else, or are AWOL is a mystery for now). It also just so happens that interstellar travel takes place in subspace pathways in the same colors as the Primaries (with varying speed depending on color), and spacecraft is fueled by "ink" in those corresponding primary colors.

It's also revealed in a news chyron in ep 4 that an intergalactic-capable drive had been in development (and had been stalled by bureaucracy) for at least 20 years, and is now ready to deploy. It's referred to as a Trinity drive, and required Primary Red's approval before it could officially launch. I think it's pretty safe to assume it's a form of propulsion that combines all 3 colors, however the in-universe physics work in that case. At the moment, it's been shown that using the wrong type of ink in a color drive will cause an explosion and a tear in space at best (at worst, we don't know yet), so whatever science went into developing a drive that combines colors must have been fairly dangerous (or potentially threatens to weaken whatever power the Primaries hold over LAW citizens).

Secondary Green

Background details are vital lore sources in Monkey Wrench. If you paid close attention near the beginning of ep 1 (and can easily read backwards text), you already know what's in the box the boys pick up in ep 2: something called "Secondary Green." It was evidently once in Chester's possession, but by the time Kara caught up to him, he'd already sent it on its way to LAW.

The second and third episodes refer to the Cataclysm being caused by terrans. The third episode explains the green corruption's effect on life forms, and LAW subsequently quarantining it to prevent its spread. It also shows Secondary Green corrupting the bit of Them that gets too close into the horrific black-green monster that overtakes the Bucket. The fourth ep has Jaw Bone directly refer to the terrans' "false idol" in reference to the Cataclysm.

While I was typing later paragraphs, I hit upon a possibility I hadn't even considered for what Secondary Green could be. So now, I've got 2 potential reads:

1. Secondary Green was the humans' attempt at recreating the Primaries' power for themselves. Whether this was to undermine LAW or to try to join the galactic stage at the Primaries' level has yet to be seen, but either way, it ended up biting humanity in the ass. Secondary Green and/or a byproduct of it/its creation ended up destroying Earth and a good chunk of its neighboring Milky Way space, and landed whatever humans remain squarely on LAW's shit list.

Now, those of you who remember me from pre-2018 Tumblr also know I'm pretty heavily into Mass Effect. That universe's version of the Milky Way also was governed by an alien-run coalition: the Citadel, which tightly controlled the means to interstellar travel (although the Citadel species did not create these means, they just found and activated them first). Thus, the similarities to the idea of a three-pronged alien government holding the keys to interstellar travel and commerce and forcing you to play nice if you want in have been resonating in the back of my mind whenever I watch Monkey Wrench.

The similarities end in that MW's answer to the Protheans are still very much alive and active, and are directly overseeing galactic travel, commerce, and government. There aren't established mass relays, but every ship contains its own "relay" in the form of ink drives. These can open portals into respective colors of subspace to get from one side of the galaxy to another faster than conventional propulsion (so far, red is the fastest, and blue seems to be the median speed everyday schmoes like our boys can access). And, most importantly, the means of this travel are less an external technological development and more appear to be tied to the nature of the Primaries themselves; these beings are not just obeyed, but worshiped (see Scratch's oaths in ep 3 and the red officer greeting Shrike and Armstrong exchange in ep 4).

However, there are still two very important similarities between these two settings that I think should be kept in mind:

i. Trouble started when humans started sticking their fingers into the galactic government's pie. In Mass Effect, it was shoehorning Shepard into the Spectre program and wriggling humanity's way into the Citadel Council. In Monkey Wrench, it was messing with fundamental forces it didn't yet understand and (maybe) creating human-made Great Value primaries, which resulted in at least one: Secondary Green.

ii. Control over interstellar travel—specifically, access to subspace—is a cornerstone of power. In Mass Effect, you need a specific form of reactor in order to engage the mass relays and "cheat" your way to FTL travel. These relays are heavily guarded and regulated by the Citadel; humanity famously learned this when it activated Relay 314 near Pluto and got a knock-knock from the police in the form of a turian armada. In Monkey Wrench, you need to equip specific color drives and fuel up at ink stations, which presumably are subject to LAW regulation and pricing.

In both settings, Earth appears to have taken a look at the galaxy already being run by someone else and immediately thought, "but how do I get around this?"

Engineering Secondary Green was MW Earth's answer to this question. Unfortunately, it backfired and drove humanity to (functional) extinction and criminal status.

2. Secondary Green is an unintended fusion of Primaries Yellow and Blue. This would explain their current-day absence (provided they don't directly appear in later episodes), and the subsequent fall of LAW enforcement into disorder that Armstrong alludes to in ep 4. Humanity was up to something that attracted the Primaries' attention—perhaps tapping into pocket dimensions, like the one embedded in Shrike's head?—and maybe things went awry. One way or another, Primaries Yellow and Blue's intervention ended in them fusing into a new anti-entity, Secondary Green. Instead of fostering life, their combined and imbalanced power corrupted it.

Left to their own devices (and likely hawkish methods, given Red oversees enforcement), Primary Red sealed off Earth's part of the galaxy and declared humanity LAW's enemy. The quarantine for justifiable safety/life preservation reasons, the outlawing likely to create the narrative that humanity was entirely to blame and not at all any fault of Primary interference (and maybe some vengeance for losing their comrades).

Or maybe, Red is covering their tracks.

LAW and Order

So the League of Aligned Worlds (LAW—yes, it's an acronym) is the current empire ruling civilized space in the Milky Way galaxy, under direct command of the Primaries (or at least Primary Red). There are three established branches: enforcement/military (red, which Shrike was once and has since defected from), science (yellow, which Dr. Agness impersonated), and commerce (blue, as represented by Killix and Sixty-Two, who appear to be led by an as-yet unseen Commander Tezzoree).

Being a centralized civilization, LAW has certain cultural and legal standards it expects its citizens to observe. Commerce and community are enabled by way of implanted universal translators á là Star Trek, but with one specific caveat: swearing is not allowed. It's so not allowed that it's physically punishable through painful translator auditory feedback—interestingly, people in earshot get punished this way as well just for hearing it.

Maybe it's a form of socialization, in that LAW hopes you're nice enough not to want to hurt your fellow citizens by swearing? Or that your fellow citizens, having had pain inflicted on them, will browbeat you into compliance? Either way, it's a window into current LAW space being severely authoritarian in both the moral and legal senses.

This extreme authoritarian approach doesn't prevent corruption, however. Corporate lobbyists exist, as demonstrated by Chester in ep 1, and LAW officials patronizing vice industries like sex work (see the end of ep 3) is not unusual. And current LAW is disorganized to the point of each division being largely ignorant of what's going on in the others: Neither Killix nor Sixty-Two were aware Shrike is a defector, nor do they bat an eye at him admitting as such. Armstrong is able to impersonate a red officer with either stolen or purchased equipment, and even he's astonished that LAW keeps such loose tabs on itself that they still have Shrike registered as an active officer. Dr. Agness is able to get away with impersonating a LAW scientist, and the LAW representatives who collect her don't appear especially ruffled by it.

It's possible that this rigid adherence to authority and subsequent breakdown in the ability to enforce it is due to Primary Red being the only Primary left. The harder you clench your fist, the more sand slips through your fingers, and all that. However it happened, Red is at the moment the only one at the wheel, and they don't seem to be able to keep it together on their own.

aight, so where's this leave us

so for now, I think these are where we may be headed:

a: Shrike was genetically engineered to be in the running as a peer to/defense against the Primaries, but aligned with Earth. He has a means to access a pocket dimension/subspace, could possibly be a source of ink (either as secretion or in the form of his blood), is an exceptional marksman, and possesses anthropomorphic form and (allegedly) intellect. The problem is, he turned out anti-authoritarian, impulsive, and kinda stupid. He was disposed of at some point and now wanders space as the only one of his kind.

b: The same program that produced Shrike also created Secondary Green. Unfortunately, something happened—whether through accident or external manipulation—that turned it into a rampaging force of destruction. We have yet to see whether humans really did just monumentally fuck up, or if LAW is rewriting history.

c: LAW is on its way to collapse through Primary Red's mismanagement. Whether said mismanagement is through the other Primaries going missing on their own, or through a power grab on Red's part is the main mystery.

hooray done for now oh god

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Law and Order - A Once In A Blue Moon Story

Part I

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader

Description: When a blind date leads to disaster, you're almost ready to give up on men. Until he sits down on the bar stool in front of you. This man is different - sensual, gorgeous, confident. He makes you want to live a little on the wild side. What do you do when a night you don't want to forget turns into a forbidden relationship by light of day? How do you cope, especially when he doesn't seem to want a thing to do with you?

Warnings: Rough sex, illicit relationship, dom/sub overtones, toxic relationship, inbalance of power in the work place

Word Count: 5766

Author's Note: Hiya lovelies! It's been a while since I've posted a story on here. I kind of lost my muse and had to find her, and my love for writing all over again.

Thanks to @horseshoegirl @sarahsmi13s and @desert-fern for chatting with me about this story and making sure I'm handling all of the things which happen in the best way I can!

This is going to be a multi-part story. Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged!

AO3: Cross-posted here!

My Masterlist

Series Masterlist | Next Part

Part I

The noise washes over you in waves, inane chatter and shrieking from the velvet booths lining the walls, combined with the genteel clacking of cutlery against china in a migraine-inducing din. The bar you’re in is popular, with tables occupied from wall to wall. Normally, you’d consider yourself fortunate to be seated at one of them. There’s one reason why you’re not. Blind dates have never gone well for you. Either your dates are drab and dull, or you’ve been partnered with the worst men on the planet. Rude, boorish, vulgar, you name it, you’ve been on a date with a man bearing the unsavory trait. Tonight’s date isn’t shaping up to be any better.

You’re sitting at the tiny bar-style table playing with the wine in your glass, watching the carnelian liquid slosh as the liquid warms by the second. Your attention is completely on the droplets of wine sliding down the sides of the glass. Your date could care less. He doesn’t seem to notice your boredom or frustration. In fact, you’re not sure he’s even looked at you all night. He’s chattering about something involving stocks and bonds, the details so boring your eyes nearly roll back into your head while peering over the rim of his pint glass at every cocktail-dress-clad girl in sight. Drinks at this swanky bar were supposed to turn into dinner. You’re not sure this date is going to go that far.

Moreover, you’re not sure you want it to. You’re on this date as a favor for a friend. She’d sworn up and down that this guy was a real gem when she was setting you up with him. She’d spent days talking him up, pointing out how kind and hot he was. Sure, he hasn’t been the worst date you’ve been on. He is easy on the eyes, and nice at first impression. But he isn’t anything special. Maybe you have loftier expectations for your relationships than most. Or maybe you just want to go on a date where you can have a conversation, not be talked at in a mockery of one. In any case, you don’t find yourself too disappointed. You’re starting a new job in the morning and you should be fresh for your 8 AM orientation time - an early night would have been your preference. But your watch says it is already past 7 PM and getting later by the minute. This man can’t seriously think he’s so suave, can he? He’s been sending you alluring gazes and smug grins all night long, uncaring of your silence.

“So, whattaya say to skipping dinner and heading back to my place for the rest of the night?”

You’re not sure you heard him right. Mind churning, you sip on the wine, barely tasting the liquid. You’re not sure what he expects. Did he expect you to jump him the minute he offered? You’re resettling your mental estimation of his intellect downwards by the minute.

“I’m awfully hungry,” you demur. “Dinner sounds pretty good to me.”

“I’ve got something that’ll fill you up back at my place.”

His voice is greasy enough that you feel a little disgusted just hearing it. 

“Yeah?” You make your voice breathy like you’re a little turned on by his display. You lean forward, knowing the deep vee of your dress is showing off the slightest hint of the lace edging your bra. He smirks pompously, chest-puffing outward, eyes tipping to your exposed cleavage like iron ore to a magnet. He has the audacity to lick his lips, and while before you would have let him down gently, now you want to hit him where it hurts - his ego.

“Well, I hope you enjoy it all by yourself.” Your grin is sharp. “Like you probably have been every night for the last few years of your life.”

He looks a little like he’s been slapped, this finance bro, with his lips gawping unflatteringly.

“Do you have any idea who I am in this town?” He’s turning red under the collar, eyes bugging out.

“Nope.” You say the words flippantly, sipping on the last inch of the red wine at the bottom of your glass. You may not like the man, but he has good taste in wine.  “Nor do I care to.”

You lean in then, your off-putting grin widening across your cherry lips.

“I have no interest in getting to know a pompous, over-blown man-child who loves to flaunt their success in other people’s faces. So no. I won’t be coming home with you for a night in. I think I’d throw up if I saw the ‘something that fills me up’ you’ve got over there.”

He’s so angry, his face screws up at your words, the flush creeping up to his face.

“Bye-bye, now!”

He nearly knocks over a waitress and two fellow patrons on his way out of the door, sputtering impotently the entire way.

You’re still chuckling to yourself ten minutes later when a fresh glass of wine is set in front of you. 

“That was artfully done.” You startle a little at the words, your head whipping up so fast that your neck hurts at the sudden motion. The new man settling into the barstool before you is a cut above the gentleman you spoke to. Your face must show some confusion because he continues, “I saw you chase that guy away.”

He’s gorgeous, broad shoulders clad in a perfectly fitted suit. Every inch of his appearance screams luxury and class, from his auburn hair to his well-groomed mustache. He’s got long-fingered hands, one holding a cut crystal glass holding amber liquid, the other bearing a signet ring on the index finger as it rests on the table between you. There are eyes on him from all over the bar, and yet he doesn’t seem to notice. His whiskey eyes settle only on you like you're all he wants to see.

“Thank you.” You grin, sipping on the wine, the rich red liquid delicious on your tongue. “But it was necessary, I’m afraid.”

You nearly gag just thinking about the last words that idiot said to you before he left. At least you had the good sense to cut him off before he tried to strong-arm you into getting in bed with him.

“I kind of overheard what he said.” This stranger is smirking, confidence exuding from every pore. You’re drawn by his easy demeanor, as much as you are by his opening words. Hopefully, they’ll lead to an actual conversation. “It’s obvious he has no idea how to get to know a beautiful woman like yourself.”

“Is that so?” You lean forward again, wondering if a flash of your cleavage will take him in. But he doesn’t take the bait you’re presenting so alluringly. All he does is take off the suit jacket he's wearing, revealing the tanned vee of his neck in a white button-up shirt. You have to hide your hungry glances behind the rim of your wineglass when he rolls the sleeves up to the crook of his elbow.

“Yeah, sweetheart. I’d much rather get to know you instead.” He leans forward too, and as he does, you see gold glinting from between his pecs.

“I promise I’m nothing like that idiot you chased away with your cherry-lipped smile and acid words.”

You shrug, running a finger over the rim of the glass. “I don’t know anything yet.”

He shrugs then, sipping on his drink nonchalantly. You drag your eyes up and down his person. He lets you check him out with good grace, a smirk tipping his lips up and eyes hot as they return the languid glances. “But maybe, just maybe, I’d like to.”

As he’d introduced himself to you, Bradley is a breath of fresh air. You find yourself on the edge of your seat, hanging on his every word. He’s flirty, kind, yet down-to-earth. He's a professional working in the city, loves his family and friends, and reads actual, genuine books. If only your friend had set you up with Bradley instead. Under his knowing gaze, you find yourself spilling things you’ve never told another soul. 

The crowd surges around you as the night deepens. But still, you stay, sitting on the stool, downing glass after glass of plush, rich reds and fruity, dry whites while wishing Bradley was drinking his whiskey off your lips. With each word shared, each story, the spark of attraction smoulders between the two of you. Between one trip to the bar and the next, he settles on the stool next to yours. 

If you thought he was breathtaking across the table, he's heart-stopping sitting next to you. His effect on you is worse because when he's close, you just have to look down to see the mile-long expanse of his legs, muscular thighs practically straining against the expensive wool blend of his trousers.

“Tell me if I’m reading this wrong, beautiful.” His eyes are searingly hot a few inches away from you. He’s got an arm wrapped around your waist, a big hand splayed just under your breasts. “But I’d very much like to take you home tonight.”

You gasp at the feeling of his breath across your lips. One inch closer, and you’d be kissing him.

“I shouldn’t.” Your voice is quiet, a little hoarse from the alcohol, nonstop chatter and laughter. “I don’t usually go home with strange men at the bar, no matter how attractive they are.”

He smiles, tipping his head to the side. His voice is a rumble as he whispers into your ear, tone wheedling, his other hand trailing down the neckline of your dress, fingers hot over the delicate skin of your chest.

“I promise if you want me to stop at any time, I will. I’ll call you a cab and send you home with my number saved in your phone as soon as you say the word.”

You’re losing your words, your arguments at his voice. All the reasons why you shouldn’t go home with a near stranger dissipate with every minute you stare into his eyes. 

“Take me home,” You gasp, sucking in greedy breaths as he plays with your necklace. You knew he was tall when he walked away to get your new drink, but when he helps you off the stool and drapes his suit jacket across your shoulders, he dwarfs you easily. You have a sneaking suspicion you may be in trouble. 

He leads you out of the bar with a steady, warm hand at the small of your back. Despite the crowded streets, a taxi shows up the minute he raises his hand, power and confidence an aura emanating from him. The taxi ride to his apartment downtown is an alcohol-fueled swirl of sensation. Your focus is split between the broad palm splayed over your bare thigh and the filthy litany spilling out of his bitten lips. He keeps the words just barely audible, a placid grin on his face every time the cab driver looks back, and you’re fighting the urge to drag him into filthy kisses the entire way. 

Would you be able to taste the whiskey on his tongue? Or would he taste like the mints, sharp and peppery with an underlying hint of sweetness he’d popped as you left? You can’t know for sure, not until you’ve finally got him behind closed doors.

And what doors they end up being. When Bradley unlocks the doors and ushers you in, your jaw drops to the floor. His living room is a gorgeous, high-ceilinged room, with walls half distressed brick and half grey-toned wood panelling. The floors are soft, sandy wood. While you very much would like to see the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lining two of the four walls, complete with a rolling ladder like you’ve only ever seen on television, your eyes are drawn to the massive windows showing off the beautiful San Francisco skyline, lit up in the night.

“Your apartment is beautiful.” 

“It’s not the only thing that is.” 

You whirl around at the words, fighting the heat threatening to overtake your face. If Bradley looked practically edible languidly sprawled over the barstool, long legs brushing against yours, he looks divine standing in his living room with his bright white shirt unbuttoned to his navel.

“I-I don't usually do things like this.”

You curl an arm around your waist, hugging yourself. Standing here in the center of his cookie-cutter-perfect living room, you feel like an outsider, like the speck of lint or dust spoiling the facade. You don’t belong here. You don’t deserve to stand opposite a man this beautiful, be propositioned or devoured by him. Yet when you glance upward, his face shows you nothing but heat and hunger.

“Shh, sweetheart.” The pet-name makes you shiver, gooseflesh forming on your bare arms and pimpling over your collar bones. “I know you don’t. But we have all night to figure out what you like. We'll go as slow as you need.”

You’re not sure what you’re looking for in his face. Reassurance? Compassion? Want? Hunger? You see all those things and more. He lets you stand there in silence, eyes drinking you in, comfortable just watching and being watched. The more you see, the more you can feel your mind change. With the haze of alcohol thrumming through your veins fading a little, your brain is making more decisions. It was lust, pure and simple which got you here. Now your brain has to decide what you want to do here. More and more, the decision seems to be following him, letting yourself fall. You’ve never been impetuous, not where matters of the heart are concerned. Maybe you should be for once. The words end up tripping off the edge of your tongue of their own volition.

“What if I don’t want to go slow at all?” 

You know what it means when a man smiles at you like that, eyes molten, tongue sliding out to wet his lips. He prowls forward then, feline grace rippling the muscles of his torso. His arms feel like silk over steel as they crush you to his chest. Your heart stutters, breath catching as he leans forward. But he doesn’t kiss you. He seems content to breathe you in, foreheads pressed together. His mustache traces ticklish and light over your upper lip with every breath. You want nothing more than to smash your lips to his.

“I bet you don't, beautiful.” His eyes sparkle in the darkness as he traces one calloused fingers over your lacquered lips. “But I get the feeling you don't know what you want. You've spent all night so far telling me you don't let people take you home on the first night. But here you are, practically gasping for every touch of my skin to yours. So what’s going on in that pretty little head?”

The words make you squirm a little, thighs rubbing together futilely.

“I wonder,” His tone goes soft and contemplative yet light as he slides his hand up the expanse of your soft thighs, tenderly squeezing the muscular flesh. “Were you searching for a man to take you in hand? Someone who would smack that pretty little ass when you're being a brat? Is that why you chased that guy away so easily? Did you know instinctively he wouldn’t be able to do that for you?”

When you moan, it feels like you've lost the game he started playing. But you're not disappointed, not when his lips quirked upwards in a proud grin. And not when you feel his finger sweep over the damp gusset of your panties, teasing and light.

“Fuck, I knew you'd be gorgeous like this.” 

You shiver against him, muscles trembling, fighting against the urge to move his hands where you want them most. But even the slightest motion has those big hands clamping down over your wrists or swatting at the meat of your thigh, just harsh enough that you jolt. Your head is spinning already. 

“You're so quiet, so compliant and obedient, my good girl.” You have to swallow your whimpers at the term of endearment. “I can’t wait to see how good you can be.”

You nod, maybe too eagerly, if the smirk taking over his face is proof. 

“See?” The phrase is almost mocking as he purrs, “So damned pretty and soft and sweet.”

Your voice shakes as you try to collect your composure, breaking despite all the force of your will.

“I'm not that sweet. I can be rude and domineering and brash.”

He chuckles, pointing to a dark hallway, branching off the living room.

“Go to my bedroom, sweetheart. Take that sinful little dress off and sit on the bed.”

You're so gone for this man already. You don’t know his last name, what he does for work, or anything important. But you don’t care. As you trot into his bedroom, all you can think about is how his lips looked as they said, “good girl,” and how desperately you want to be good for him. Your hands are rough as you tug at the suddenly constricting fabric of your dress. You want it off; need the suddenly scratchy fabric away from your skin. When the dress lands on the ground in front of the bed in a bundle of dark fabric, you feel like you can finally breathe.

“Such a pretty girl.” 

You startle at the whisper. You hadn't turned the lights on when you walked in, navigating in the half-light of the streetlights below. A switch clicks in the silence, and you're surrounded by a halo of light. Bradley's in the shadows still, and you can’t see even a glint of his eyes.

“Turn around, baby.” 

You feel exposed all of a sudden, wearing only your lacy bra, barely there panties, and heels. His voice seems to echo around you, muddled and sibilant as they murmur words - orders - your way.

“Hands on the bed frame, beautiful.”

You stumble over your own feet as you rush to follow his instructions. With your eyes next-to-useless in the cool darkness of the room, it feels like your other senses are in overdrive.

“You look hotter than sin standing there like that, gorgeous.” 

You can feel the puffs of his breath over your sensitized skin, the fine hairs covering your arms standing on end at his presence ghosting over you.

“Fuck, you’re so sweet, so compliant and obedient for me. Keep those legs apart for me, now.” 

He chuckles darkly, the sound deep and velvety soft. You have to fight your whine as your knees nearly buckle at the way he sounds.

“You like that?”

You whine when his big hand smooths over the expanse of your back. 

“I knew you’d like having someone tell you what to do. I knew you’d look delicious like this, spread out for me like that. Pretty girl, my pretty, pretty baby.”

Your brain fritzes out at those words, all higher-level thoughts blanking out at the possessive curl to his voice. Your prior dalliances - you'd never call them relationships because they were too short to be labeled as such - were never bold enough to become so possessive with you. You never thought you would like it. But hearing Bradley call you his, even when you know this is only for tonight, makes your toes curl and your panties uncomfortably wet.

“What happened to that fire, huh? What happened to the feisty little thing who sent a man away for asking you to hop into his bed on the first meeting?”

His words are a little mocking as those big hands smooth over your waist, plucking at the waistband of your panties.

“Bet his eyes would fall out of his head if he could see you standing here, just like this. With your pert little ass on display and your pussy all wet for me.”

You moan at the words, gasping at the feeling of his hands as they tug the lacy fabric down, flinching at the snap of the clasp of your bra as he pulls that away, too. Your skin flushes with heat at the feeling of the soft kiss he presses to the small of your back. But the tender teasing touches disappear shortly after. He leaves you standing there, wearing only your red-bottomed heels, aching for his touch, shivering as the cool air wafts over your heated skin. You have a feeling he’s still there, your ears picking up each infinitesimal rustle of fabric and soft brush of footsteps on the floor. He’s just left you standing splayed out for his own amusement. 

How is it possible for you to feel both turned-on and uncomfortably exposed at the same time? Your fingers ache from holding onto the smooth wooden surface of the bed frame. As your patience wanes, your fidgeting increases.

“Bradley?”

You’ve never heard yourself sound like this, plaintive and strung out, aching for someone else's touch. It feels like you’re breaking down walls you’ve never known you had put up. All you can do is hold onto the bedframe and pray you aren’t vulnerable with someone dangerous.

“Nuh, uh, uh, pretty.” The hushed admonishment comes with the press of lips against your shoulder blade.

“If you want me, then you have to tell me exactly what you want.”

You tremble at the words, grip tightening on the burnished wood until all you can feel is the tug of stressed muscles. You let your head fall until your hair is obscuring everything from sight. You’re not sure you can say these words, not without feeling horribly, uncomfortably exposed. 

“Touch me, please.” 

It’s the barest whisper, but you know he hears you. His hands are hot against your skin as they draw you up. You surrender to the sensations of his calloused fingers trailing over your stomach. They’re teasing and light as they shape your breasts, palms hot as they hold you close.

“Oh, baby, you feel better than I even thought possible.”

Pleasure sinks molten and sweet through your veins at the gorgeously rough purr in his voice. You sag against him, barely trusting in your limbs to hold you. You can feel his smile as he presses hot kisses down the side of your throat. The scratch of his stubble makes you gasp. With every press, the ache between your thighs intensifies even further. But Bradley doesn’t move his hands, no matter how you wriggle or try to push his hands down to where you so desperately need them.

“Please, Bradley.”

It feels like you’ve been begging for his touch forever when he finally moves. His hands twirl you around, and you find yourself crushed to his chest. His eyes are molten, prismatic as he tugs you close. It feels like you’re drowning in him. You curl your arms around his muscular neck, staring deep into his eyes as he peers at you.

“Please, what, baby?”

There’s a mocking tilt to the smug grin on his face as he looks you over.

“I told you what I need from you tonight.” 

You whimper at the words, trying to surge up, aching for some more contact from him.

“Kiss me.” 

“Good girl.” You’re not sure you’re ever going to get tired of hearing him call you a ‘good girl”. But then his lips cover yours, and you’re not thinking about anything but him. These kisses, just like all of the others tonight, are hot and claiming. You twine your fingers into the curls at the base of his skull, gasping at the press of his tongue.

“You’re such a good girl, sweetheart.” His lips slip down the side of your neck, teeth scraping over your pulse in a knee-weakening manner. “Mmmm, darling, do you want this to go any further?”

You nod, not trusting your voice to respond in anything other than a breathless, needy moan.

“Well, you know what you have to do, beautiful.”

You’re growling when you wrench his mouth back down to yours. “I just want you to make me cum.” You say the words between needy kisses, pushing the shirt up until you can finally wrest it off. The heat of his skin feels so good against your own. When you look up, the smile taking over his face is breathtakingly gorgeous, eyes blown wide as he lays you down on the pristine, cool sheets of his bed.

“You’re too beautiful to be real.” 

You shiver as he places a kiss against your sternum, open-mouthed and wet. The shiver turns into a moan when he wraps his lips around one taut nipple and sucks. Each rough pass of his tongue has pleasure coiling in the pit of your stomach. It feels like you’re searching for oxygen like you’ve never breathed it before when he finally pulls away. You’re half expecting him to tease you again, when he laves his tongue over the other, nipping and biting. Your moans spiral through the air. You know what he’s doing when he traces those kisses down your torso, but you don’t have the patience for any more teasing.

You tug him into a messy kiss. Your teeth clash against his somewhat painfully, but when he crawls over you, you can’t find it in you to mind.

“Baby, you have to let me make sure you’re ready.”  

“I don’t care.” You’re aware you sound like a complete brat, but Bradley seems endeared by it. He lets you manhandle him onto the bed, eyes shuttering as you settle on his lap, core settled over the sizable bulge in his trousers.

“I want you,” you’re practically sobbing as you grind down in his lap. “I’ve wanted you since you sat down on that bar stool.”

“Please.” It’s a desperate plea. “Stop teasing me. I’m ready.”

“Shh, beautiful. I’ve got you.” He smoothes a hand over the plane of your stomach, uncaring of all the places you hate about yourself. 

You can’t believe your eyes when he finally pulls the remainder of his clothes off. He’s golden and gorgeous, tan glowing as the moonlight loving highlights every muscle. You’re still not sure why a man like him wanted to take you home, not when he looks like he does. His hands smooth over you, parting your legs as he kisses you. Each press of his lips to yours are deep and tender. You search for his lips every time he pulls away and gasp when he nips at the pout on your lips in retaliation. You can feel the blunt head of his cock against your folds as he grinds into you, the rough slide of skin against skin easing as you grow wetter, needier beneath him.

When he presses into you, you nearly come at the first thrust. He’s big and thick, stretching you in a way you’ve never been stretched before. He settles into a languid pace. You feel claimed with each slow thrust, all friction and heat, pressure collecting at the pit of your stomach.

“Please,” you babble, pleading for him to continue, “Don’t stop, please.”

It feels like there’s lightning in your veins. Lightning which crackles and sparks until it feels like you’re one exposed livewire lying on the bed. He gathers you up then, settles you down on his lap, hands clamped on the corded muscle of his shoulders as you go ragdoll-limp in his arms.

“There” It’s a soft, sub-audible moan as he hits that sweet spot inside you that makes you see stars. He fucks you slow and sweet, right there, until you can barely feel your face and your eyes roll back in your head. You jolt when he brushes the pads of his fingers against your clit, massaging the hardened nub until you’re practically screaming his name. That’s how you cum, with soft kisses, shaking in his lap. His hands are big as they cradle your ass. You shiver as he thrusts half-a-dozen more times before finishing, his head resting on your sternum, breath hot against the sweat-drenched skin.

You slump to your side, boneless and exhausted, relishing in the cool press of the sheets. He slumps with you, still buried in you, closer than you’ve ever been to another person. You could drown in the molten sweetness in his eyes, the deep caramel depths drawing you in until it’s all you can see. He kisses you until your lips feel puffy and bruised. When he slips out of you, you ignore the mess, beginning your slow progress as you slide to the edge of the bed. He doesn’t stop you, long limbs sprawled over the sheets of his bed like a Greek god in repose.

He lifts his head, eyes blinking blearily, sleepily as you collect your clothes, pulling on each piece methodically. 

“What are you doing?” 

You flush in embarrassment. “I’m heading home.” 

You can hear the rustle of the sheets as you pull the wrinkled fabric of your dress on. His hands are hot as he turns you around. You’re unbalanced, only one heel on as you look into his eyes.

“You could stay, you know?”

You shiver, tugging him into one final, soft kiss.

“I could. But I won’t.” You step into the final heel before turning around again. His hands are gentle as they tug the zipper on your dress up.

“I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

Bradley nods, curls bouncing, throat working as he looks you over. You’re trying to look at anything but him, not wanting the temptation of his lean, muscular body.

“Be safe.”

Your Uber home is quiet, tense. Half your heart, it seems, is left in that posh bedroom, wrapped in cool Egyptian cotton, drowning in whiskey eyes. Your sleep is just as disturbed. 

You wake in the morning sweetly sore and groggy. But you can’t focus on a mind-blowing fuck, not this morning. Warring with exhaustion this morning as you take a tram downtown are your nerves. You’re nervous. This is the job you’ve been working towards your whole life. Call it fascination from a lifetime of watching legal dramas combined with a love for arguing and here you are. Three years of law school at Stanford and near perfect exam scores and here you are. Standing in a richly appointed conference room with five other rookie law school graduates waiting for orientation to start on your first day.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the Law Firm of Kazansky, Mitchell, and Bradshaw.”

Your head seems to fly up at the words, and at first, you’re not sure whether you’re still asleep or drunk out of your mind. Because your eyes have to be deceiving you. There is no way Bradley is standing in the conference room with you. He’s flanked by a tall flaxen-haired man with a cocky grin and a buxom brunette in the snazziest pantsuit you think you’ve ever seen.

“I’m Bradley Bradshaw, senior counsel at the firm. My specialty is contract law. With me are my colleagues and fellow senior counsel, Jake Seresin, with a speciality of criminal law, and Natasha Trace, with a speciality in corporate law. We’re going to be your mentors at the firm. Let’s get one thing clear. We ask you all to jump, you ask us how high. Work hard, and we’ll have you taking cases of your own in no time.”

You feel like your skin is crawling with each word and each elapsed minute. Your palms are sweaty and your heart is racing as you distractedly count each minute until you’re left in a barren corner of the office in front of two empty cubicles with your training partner, a sweet-hearted brunette with a labrador retriever’s friendly personality named, Miguel “call me Mickey” Garcia. He’s already digging deep into the files Bradley handed over while you take a short walk to Bradley’s corner office. It’s just your luck you’d ended up having the man whose bed you were in last night as your mentor. And it’s just your luck that the first file you’d picked up had a post-it note on it asking for you to come by when you could.

Almost all the shades are drawn when you knock.

“Come in.”

He holds one of those long fingers up as he finishes up the conversation he’s having on the phone. You feel like you’re seconds away from being fired with every insolent look he sends your way.

“You wanted to see me, Mr. Bradshaw?”

He smirks then.

“Yeah, I did.” He shapes your full name with his pouty, kiss-bitten lips, lips you bit last night, as he looks over you.

“Obviously you know nobody can know what happened between us last night.”

“Yeah, obviously.” You wrap your arms around yourself, pretending not to notice how your body aches at the sight of him, for want of him. “So what do we do?”

“Nothing,” He leans forward with a grin. “I'm not sure what last night was like for you, but for me, it was just like any other. I met a passably pretty girl at a bar and took her home. She left in the early hours of the morning after a mediocre fuck. That's it.”

You can feel rage rising, cold and sharp enough that it occludes the edges of the bleeding wound he’s caused with a few callous words.

“Now, I'm your mentor and boss. Professionalism is everything to me. My mom is the best lawyer I know, and one of the partners. She can’t know I fucked up so prodigiously with one of our rookies. And I will do anything to make sure she never does.”

It’s obvious last night meant little to him, much less than it meant to you. You wanted to track him down tonight, wanted to see if he would want to go out with you again. Obviously that isn’t an option anymore.

“Enjoy the files. Let me know if you or Garcia see something I didn't see in them. That will be all.”

Your head is reeling when you walk away, and you're quiet, withdrawn. Garcia doesn’t notice how your skin crawls with every footstep walking past the door of your small office or how you flinch at every laugh and loud conversation. Last night you were a nervous professional, worried about the job but hopeful for your date to go well. Now you’re the rookie who slept with her boss. You're his dirty little secret and he's yours. Your career, your life, and everything you've ever worked for hangs in the balance.

Taglist:

@sarahsmi13s @horseshoegirl @desert-fern @dakotakazansky

@teacupsandtopgun @cherrycola27 @chaoticassidy @kmc1989

@eloquentdreamer @redhope446

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

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

So, in addition to a preview of the Norm one-shot, I've got this look at part one of a long-form two-shot that's been sitting in my drafts since I was about halfway through my first run of the show. I have a (now quite old) ask that fit the vibe of it perfectly, and I've been whittling away at it when the inspiration strikes. I still have quite a bit of work to do on it, including edits, as I'm predicting a final length between 13k-15k words. Could end up more, as I'm really terrible at this sort of estimation, but I wanted to let everyone know I'm still hard at work in the smut mines even if posts have been light lately. Please enjoy a preview from this upcoming Cooper Howard/The Ghoul piece:

Faim Pour Deux

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female Reader

Warnings: smut (18+), angst, drug use, jealousy, mild violence, age gap, sexually rusty old men, amateurish strip teases, nipple play, fingering, dry humping, reader not-so-subtly trying to tempt Cooper to fuck her until he snaps.

"Why don't you get a little more comfortable, darlin'?" Cooper asked, his tone brighter now, a step closer to the normal, cocky timbre you'd known him to have, but still soft as the patter of the rain on the dilapidated roof as he gestured to your unzipped vault suit. "Hop up and take that off for me."

You didn't hesitate to follow his instructions, though you struggled to figure out how to back up off of his lap as your feet dangled off the floor. Cooper offered no assistance, sitting back to watch you slide yourself backwards towards his knees, your cleavage spilling out of your undershirt as you pushed yourself with your hands. Once you found your feet, cheeks already hot from your fumbling dismount, you toed out of your boots before clearing your throat, hands coming up to your navel to grab at the cool metal zipper where it hung, half-undone.

"Take a couple steps back so I can see all of you."

This command took you somewhat by surprise, but, again, you obeyed, double checking the floor behind you before taking two steps back, avoiding his eyes. Rethinking your approach, you grabbed your left sleeve by the wrist in your right hand, tugging it awkwardly to free your arm, jerking the tight material down over your sore bicep in a rather unsexy move before twisting to repeat the move on the right.

Twilight was quickly turning to night, and the few chem lamps you'd set up only provided enough light to see well a few feet in front of you. Shyly, you stole a quick glance his way, struggling to make out any details at this distance, save for the shape and slight glint of his flask as he lifted it to his mouth and took a long draw off of it. His entire upper body was almost completely shrouded in the deepening shadows, but you could see those eyes, sunken deep into that face, glittering darkly at you, trained on you.

"Slowly, now." came that rough voice once more, slightly muffled by the back of his hand passing over what remained of his lips. "Gimme a little show."

You felt your face instantly flame up twice as hot as it had been, your already fluttering heart shifting up another gear into a full-on thunder. You had no idea what he meant—undressing itself wasn't enough of a show? Were you supposed to sing and dance while you did it? Recite US Presidents?

A handful of heartbeats passed, and you realized you were hesitating, but the ghoul in the corner didn't say anything. Your focus shifted, warily, back to removing your remaining sleeve, choosing to work it down from the shoulder instead, this time, focusing on the "slowly" until you could figure out the "show" part. After a few moments, you'd worked the top half of the grimy vault suit down to your hips, letting the arms hang loose at your sides.

If Cooper objected to the way you were going about things, he kept quiet about it, which would be uncharacteristic. He sat, still staring at you, reclined back in the chair as he reached for something else on the table beside him. The familiar sound of a shaking Jet container filled the air as you grabbed the stained, barely-mended tank by the hem, peeling it over you head, leaving you in nothing but your now sad, ratty bra above the waist. The hiss of the canister buzzed down your spine as the material passed over your eyes, giving you goosebumps as you looked to him once more, feeling drawn to that gaze. Your hands moved back to your waist to push the garment the rest of the way down, brushing across your soft abdomen on the way.

The ghoul interrupted you, wordless, his mouth fixed in a sort of pucker as he held the hit of Jet deep in his lungs. He snapped quickly, sharply, his free hand raising up off of the scuffed chair arm, his sewn-on index finger pointed to the ceiling, drawing a series of tight, quick circles with it. You'd seen that gesture before, you realized, feeling that squirming feeling in your gut again. Quickly, you turned to face the door, your back now pointing at your companion.

The feeling of his intense stare still burned into your back, but knowing that, at least for a moment, he couldn't see your face, couldn't read every single thought and emotion off of your like he seemed to so often be able to, let you breathe slightly easier. The arousal that simmered between your thighs was rolling into a boil as you pushed your rear out, back towards him, bending forward ever-so-slightly at the waist as you slowly, slowly rolled the increasingly restricting suit down over your buttocks.

You could swear you heard him sigh in the dark.

Shimmying until the entire garment hit the floor, pooling around your ankles in a faint cloud of dust, you stepped out of it as delicately as possible, sliding it beside your bag with your foot. As you straightened back to your full height, you decided to turn and face him, making eye contact as he took another hit from the inhaler, setting it aside as he leaned back fully into the chair. He tilted his head sideways at you, studying you for a few quiet seconds.

"Let your hair down." he said, voice strained with exhalation.

It took a moment to wrestle your hair down from the old elastic that kept it out of your face, but when the tendrils tickled down your back at last, it made you shiver, your body tingling.

The old man was silent for several seconds, looking you up and down with an expression that was tough to decipher. You'd almost begun to worry that he didn't like what he was seeing before one of his hands snaked down from the arm rest into his lap, palming at his crotch visibly. The other hand extended towards you, that deadly trigger finger crooking towards you commandingly, his gaze never leaving you.

"C'mere, kiddo."

[kaijuno]

My name is Spike Cohen, and I ate 10 pounds of food.

Last Sunday, I went to a hibachi restaurant with my wife, my mother and my cousins to celebrate Mom's birthday.

If you've ever been to a hibachi restaurant, you know that they give you an insane amount of rice.

I usually eat a keto diet. This day would be an obvious exception.

I hadn't eaten all day, so I decided to order extra scallops, in case the laughably large amount of food they give wasn't enough.

My wife doesn't eat rice, so I got her portion too. I knew that going into this struggle.

She also had them give me her shrimp. That, I hadn't anticipated.

But I'm a man, and that really doesn't excuse any of this but I'm going to say it anyway.

When my cousin Sherri asked the chef to give me her rice portion as well, I knew that I was in danger.

As the food continued to pile onto my plate, I had to form a mesa of sorts with the rice, so that the shrimp, scallops, and vegetables wouldn't fall off.

Because God forbid I neglect to eat any of it.

A pile of food would come. I'd eat it, and then get back to chipping away at my Rice Mesa.

And then another pile of food would come.

And then another.

I felt like Sisyphus, except his task at least made him more fit.

Mine put me at serious risk of hospitalization.

Nevertheless, I persisted.

My cousins said that I could take the rest to go and eat it later.

My wife informed them that I would be eating all of this food tonight, because I have a problem.

Minutes turned into hours. Not that I could keep track of time.

Nothing felt real anymore.

What we call "reality" stripped away from what was left of my consciousness.

Nothing existed but me and the endless pile of food.

At some point, the rest of the family was getting bored and wanted to leave, so I had to pack my leftovers into a to-go container.

To put it in perspective, less than half the food was left, and it barely fit into a full size styrofoam clamshell container.

As I packed the food in, my wife and mother insisted that it wouldn't fit.

My own wife and mother.

It hurt me to know that they didn't believe in me. In retrospect, I was probably a little overly emotional because my blood sugar was somewhere north of 800.

But Mark believed.

"It's rice", we both said, almost in unison. "You can really pack it in there."

And we were right.

You can really pack rice in there.

My family pleaded with me, "please Spike, please don't eat the rest of that food tonight. We are worried that you will die."

I said "of course I won't eat the rest of it tonight. I've had more than enough."

But my wife said "he's going to eat this before it gets cold."

"No no" I insisted. "This will make a great lunch for tomorrow."

She continued looking at my family.

"He has a problem."

My own wife.

First she didn't think I could pack that rice into the container. Now she thinks I'll eat the leftovers, when I insisted that I wouldn't.

I was heartbroken.

How could the woman I had pledged my life to, my Queen, my very rib, plucked from me and formed as I doth sleep, have so little faith in me?

It was a long and quiet ride home.

I felt alone, betrayed even.

At this point my blood sugar was hovering somewhere around 1200.

I'd estimate that I consumed roughly 600 grams of carbs, and 43,000 mg of sodium.

(I didn't bother calculating the protein and fat, because counting the macros of this meal seemed like a mockery of God and His creation)

All of this would have broken a weaker man.

But not me.

Unlike many lesser Jews, I am stronger than my addiction to Asian food.

My name is Spike Cohen, and I ate the Food and Nutrition Board of the National Academies of Sciences, Engineering, and Medicine's recommend weekly allowance of calories in one sitting.

This is my story.

[vivalas-vega]

sunshine / jake 'hangman' seresin x reader

heyooo !!! the fic I've been teasing for the past few days is finally here ! I don't know that I'm fully happy with it but I've invested a minimum of 25 hours into this and I had to metaphorically put the pen down at some point. I hope you enjoy, as always please please please let me know what you think!

sunshine / jake 'hangman' seresin x reader

add yourself to my taglist

feel free to buy me a kofi if you like my work!

based on this request! here is your fic @gryffindormarveltwilight :)

word count: 14k (estimated read time: 60 minutes)

warnings: language, drinking, some suggestive humor, brief rooster x reader/allusions to rooster x reader, navy inaccuracies, terrible descriptions of flying a fighter jet pls forgive me

Sitting in your superiors' stuffy office underneath dim fluorescent lighting the only thing you could think of was that your best friend was right. A point that you didn’t want to admit to anyone, let alone her… but that was also a lie, the biggest thought dominating your headspace was her brother. Jacob Seresin. She’d told you a thousand times over to get ahead of it, that you couldn’t keep this secret forever and to just come clean to him and your family but you’d dug your heels in, insisted this was the right way to go about things, and god did you hate eating your words. She was fucking right. 

You were reminded of Thanksgiving two years ago, one of the events in a long list of near-misses where your secret almost came to light.

“Sunshine, your phone keeps ringing, do you want me to get it?” Jake asked from across the couch. You were fully immersed in your novel with your legs stretched out and resting against his, you hadn’t even noticed your phone… or anything else for that matter outside of the world you were holding in your palms.

“Just silence it,” you said as you flipped the page.

“Wait a minute,” he said and the shift in his tone pulled your attention to him. He was staring at your phone screen in shock… or was that confusion? “How the fuck do you know Rooster?” he asked and your blood ran cold.

“What?” you asked and he flipped the screen around to reveal Rooster’s contact photo. You thanked your previous self for cropping yourself out of it because this was going to be hard enough to explain without the addition of you in your khakis. “Oh,” you chuckled, hoping to just brush it off entirely as you sat up. “You know, I kind of forgot he was a pilot, too. I met him a few months ago when I went to San Diego for that convention.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me you happened to meet another naval aviator?”

You shrugged, “I didn’t think you knew him.” You knew he did. “We met in a bar and hit it off, we’ve kept in contact since.” 

“Are you like… a thing?” he asked, disgust evident in his tone. 

You laughed, “no, you know… it is possible to meet someone in a bar and not immediately jump their bones.” you said, trying to deflect this conversation in its entirety. 

“Nope, you’re not flipping this around on me.” Damn it. “I find it awfully suspicious this is the first I’m hearing of Rooster… by accident no less.”

You sighed, “fine, you caught me. I’m secretly a naval aviator too and Rooster was my wingman on a mission in Eastern Europe,” you said, and you didn’t try to sound innocent or sarcastic, just the right amount of indifference for him to not believe you.

He chuckled, “yeah of course you are, and I’m not an aviator, I’m actually a fucking astronaut.”  He added an eye roll for dramatic effect. “At least make your lies believable, sunshine, you know you’d never even make it to basic because I’d have killed you before then.”

You let out a laugh but there was no humor in it, “you’re right… me being in the Navy is definitely far fetched.”

“Top Gun, sir?” you questioned, trying to focus your thoughts on the present and he nodded… not even fully looking at you as he sorted through paperwork on his desk.

“Despite your insistence on keeping your achievements quiet, you’ve caught the attention of a lot of people. Mission is need to know, and apparently I don’t make the cut,” there was a bitter taste on his tongue as he spoke the words. “All I know is the best of the best from every aviation squad are headed west.”

“Yes, sir. When do I leave?” 

“You’re on a plane in six hours. Go home, pack, get your affairs in order. You report for duty at 08:00 tomorrow.”  Six hours. 

“They think I’m a research assistant to a fucking archeologist, Sadie! I mean, how stupid could I possibly be!” Your voice was shrill as you shouted in the general vicinity of your phone perched atop your dresser as you threw things into a duffel bag. You weren’t even concerned with what you were packing, you were more concerned with the fact that the single thread holding your intricate web of lies together was unraveling right in front of you. “You were right the other day when you said he already knows, he just… doesn’t know it’s me. I’ve heard of the infamous Hangman, there’s no way he hasn’t heard of Viper.”

“Just take a deep breath, I mean… I won’t say I told you so, even though I totally told you so.” Good thing she won’t gloat. “What’s the worst that can happen? He’ll be shocked, he might yell at you, he might rat you out to our parents but, maybe that’s for the best.”

“Maybe it’s for the best that everyone finds out I’ve been lying to them about what I do for a living for eight years?” you nearly shrieked as you rooted through your drawers for your one good swimsuit.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to stop taking online archeology courses on the off chance people ask you for specifics? Which… no one ever has because you picked a boring fake job to have, or wouldn’t it be nice to actually be able to tell your parents about your job, your achievements? Did I tell you that Jake actually mentioned Viper to me? Said something about some elusive hotshot pilot very few people have ever actually seen but their exploits have been heard everywhere.”

“Sadie, I called you because you’re supposed to be helping,” you groaned.

“Am I not?” she asked, genuinely sounding innocent and you just glared at the phone… and though she couldn’t see it, she definitely felt it all the way back home in Texas. “You know, you never actually told me how you got Viper as a call sign-”

 “You know what, I have to go.” you said abruptly, cutting her off.

“What are you-” you didn’t bother listening to the rest of the sentence as you hung up and quickly dialed a number you hadn’t in months.

“Hey sunshine,” Jake’s voice rang throughout your room and normally the pet name bestowed on you from a very young age, meant to be ironic considering you’ve never had a sunny disposition, would have been comforting but now it just made you feel sick. “What are you up to?”

“Hey you,” you breathed out. “I just got off the phone with Sadie and I figured I’d give my favorite Seresin a call,” you joked and his laughter on the other end did nothing to ease your nausea. 

“I’ll be sure to tell her you said so. Where are you calling from this time?” he asked and you thought there might be a winch in your chest, each sound from his end of the phone cranking it tighter and tighter.

“Uh, I’m actually stateside for a bit… lab work,” you lied. “What about you, jetsetter? Where’s the Navy got you now?” You were fishing.

“Also stateside, at least for now. Your timing is actually impeccable, I’m packing for a last-minute detachment and you were always better at that than me.” He was referencing all the times you’d wander up into his room just minutes before leaving for one of your shared family vacations, finding him standing in front of his closet with a blank look on his face and an empty suitcase on the bed, leaving you to do it all for him.

You chuckled nervously, “after all this time you still can’t pack a bag without my input?”

“Well, you’ve never forced me to figure it out for myself and the times I’ve had to go without I ended up with all the wrong things.”

“I’m pretty sure this is weaponized incompetence. Where are you headed?” You already knew the answer, but there was a small flicker of hope burning within you. 

“San Diego, all I know is I’ve been recalled to Top Gun.” he answered and you felt your heart drop into your stomach.

“Well,” you started, clearing your throat, “definitely some shorts and t-shirts, maybe a few of those ridiculously tight short-sleeve button-ups you always insist on buying… but none of the bright colored ones, they’re awful.” you said and he laughed. “Throw in those green swim trunks if you plan on heckling any innocent women simply trying to enjoy some sun and surf.”

“Heckling innocent women, how do you know I’m not the one being heckled?”

You laughed, “because I know you, you’ve been a heartbreaker since age ten.”

“I prefer the term rolling stone,” he protested and you laughed again.

“I’m sure you do Mr. Rock n Roll but that is not the perception. Your mother worries.”

“Did she call you again?” he asked, voice going up an octave.

“Oh yes, she asked me if we crossed paths in Bosnia… because, of course we would have while I was in Bahrain, said I needed to talk some sense into you.”

“When were you in Bahrain?” he asked and you internally groaned. You’d said too much. But then again, as you looked at the clock it didn’t really matter how much you said. You could say hey Jake, by the way… I’ve been in the Navy all this time, I’ll see you soon! and it wouldn’t make a damn difference.

“Uh, you know… just a few months ago.”

“Huh, I almost went there a few months ago,” he said and you could hear the contemplation in his tone.

“Small world,” you said breathlessly. “Shoot, urgent text from the lab… I’ve gotta head in, call me when you get settled in San Diego?”

“I will, when this deployment is over I was actually going to try and get some leave… come visit you if you’re still stateside, if that’s alright?”

“Of course it is, I’ll talk to you later.” You fell backwards onto your bed with a huff as you disconnected the call, “son of a bitch.”

The red neon sign above the Hard Deck used to be a comforting image, a port in the storm, light illuminating a pathway towards a night of blowing off steam but right now it felt more like the flicker was mocking you, laughing as you prepared to walk through those doors and undo years of lying and manipulating those closest to you. You knew he’d be there. You were. There was nowhere else for aviators to go when arriving in town. Well… nowhere else aviators would go.

“Oh dear god,” you mumbled to yourself, keeping your head low as you waited for your beer. You saw Phoenix strutting across the bar with Fanboy and Payback in tow and the voice that rang out from the pool table made your blood run cold. Of course he was already here.

“What do we have here? If it ain’t Phoenix,” he said, fixing her with that famous smirk as he stood upright. “And here I thought we were special, Coyote. Turns out, the invite went to anyone.”

“Fellas, this here’s Bagman,” she introduced as you carefully approached, mindful of where you were positioning yourself as you started to slide back into your work persona.

“Hangman,” he corrected.

“Whatever.” she dismissed. “You’re looking at the one of only two naval aviators on active duty with confirmed air-to-air kills.”

“Stop,” he said, and you couldn’t help but chuckle and the faux-display of modesty. Always a showboater.

“Mind you, the other guy was in a museum piece from the Korean war.” she smirked, you’d been deployed with her a few times and you always found her ability to outpace the men refreshing and oh-so-needed in the Navy. 

“Cold war,” Coyote corrected.

“Different wars, same century.” Payback said.

“Not this one,” Fanboy added.

“Who are your friends?” Coyote asked, gesturing to the two of them as they introduced themselves. “And I’m assuming this other aviator with a confirmed air-to-air kill will be gracing us with his presence tonight?”

“Her presence,” Phoenix said, narrowing her eyes as she corrected his assumption. “Call sign’s Viper, if you two made the cut then she definitely did.” 

“Ah, Viper.” Jake chimed in and you felt your ears burn as you watched him from your spot behind a beam. The way your name fell from his lips in such a condescending way made your eyes narrow. “You know, I’ve heard an awful lot about this Viper but… I’ve never laid eyes on her. Pretty sure she’s just a myth, what do you think, Coyote?” he asked and his friend nodded his head.

“You just can’t stand that the person holding you in a draw is a woman.” Phoenix quipped and you couldn’t help but smile.

“No one’s holding me in anything, darlin’, but I can’t say I’m not excited to finally meet this elusive pilot… set the record straight on who’s number one.”

“Oh Jakey,” you tutted, finally emerging from your spot behind the beam as you approached the table and you ignored the way he was physically caught off guard, quickly standing from his perch on the pool table. “I wouldn’t hold your breath because it sure as shit ain’t you.” You looked him up and down once for good measure. “Bagman, and Hyena, was it? Names Viper, pleasure to meet you.” You held your hand out for Coyote with a smirk rivaling Jake’s. For all the fear you had about your secret coming to light you knew you had to come in strong, if you showed up with your tail between your legs like your old teenage self, scared of Hangman’s wrath you’d never get out from under it during training.

“So, you’re not a myth,” Coyote responded, shaking your hand but you weren’t looking at him… you were looking at Jake who’s eyes seemed like they were about to bug out of his head as they scanned you, clad in a matching khaki uniform. 

“No, but she is a legend,” Fanboy piped in and you chuckled at the reinforcements.

“Hey V, knew you’d turn up sooner or later,” she said as she pulled you in for a quick hug and you reached out to squeeze both Payback and Fanboy’s shoulders in greeting. “And who’s this?” Phoenix asked, not picking up on the tension rising between you and Jake as her eyes glanced at the man sitting in standard-issue glasses to your left.

“Who’s who?” Coyote asked, not noticing he was there at all. She looked directly at him as he brushed peanuts off his lap. “When did you get in?”

“Oh, I- I’ve been here the whole time.” he answered with a cute smile on his face and you couldn’t help but chuckle at his earnestness. 

“Man’s a stealth pilot,” Jake finally chipped in, seemingly recovering from your shocking arrival but his eyes still held a lot of questions you knew you’d be hearing later. 

“Literally.” Coyote added.

“Weapons Systems Officer, actually,” the man corrected.

“With no sense of humor,” Jake sighed and you narrowed your eyes at him as he passed the pool cue to Phoenix before he made his way to the bar and you took the opportunity to slip away and follow him.

“Penny, my dear,” he started, leaning against the bartop. “I’ll have four more on the old timer.” he said, eyes darting to Maverick and you knew he’d regret saying that later. Everyone else might have been alarmingly slow at connecting the dots but you knew his presence here wasn’t a coincidence. As far as you knew he was supposed to be in Arizona acting as a test pilot.

“Unprepared for an ambush?” you asked and he sighed, you watched as his bicep flexed when he gripped the edge of the bar.

“You could say that,” he replied dryly.

“Doesn’t sound like the Hangman I’ve heard of… always so prepared for everything,” you shot back and he turned to look at you, expression steeled.

“Well, deception sounds exactly like the Viper I’ve heard of.” You couldn’t be surprised, verbal volleyball with him was always your forte and this time he had genuine cause to be upset. “What the hell are you doing here?” There it was.

“Recalled, same as you.” you answered, as if it was really that simple.

“In the Navy,” he clarified. “You didn’t think to mention this when we were on the phone four hours ago? Or better yet, when you joined?”

“Thought this would be better face to face.”

“What, were you calling just to get information from me?”

“I like being prepared, wanted to know what I was walking into.” you replied, keeping your features calm as you looked up at him.

“And you couldn’t have prepared me for seeing my little sister’s best friend in front of all my colleagues?”

“Your colleagues? Thought I was a little more than that,” you responded, focusing your attention forward and subtly nodding to Maverick who was sitting across the bar in lieu of a proper greeting. “You’re a professional, Hangman, I think you handled it well.”

“Like how well you’ve handled lying to your entire family? How was that dig in Bahrain, by the way?”

“Needed to come up with something to account for all the traveling and lack of contact,” you answered, cutting through to the question beneath the question.

“And where do they think you’re off to now?” he asked as Penny set the beers in front of you. “You know, just in case I need to cover your ass.”

“Croatia. Called them before I called you and Sadie.”

“Sadie knows?” he asked, shaking his head in disbelief. “Why the hell did you keep this from everyone?”

“Are you forgetting the chaos that ensued when you told everyone your plans after high school?” you asked. “Besides, I did tell you in no uncertain terms, you just turned it into a joke.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Thanksgiving a few years ago? When Rooster called?” you prompted and you watched his face fall. 

“Oh my god,” he muttered. 

“Yeah, I knew you wouldn’t believe me which is why I said it to get you off my back… and what you said about killing me before I even made it to basic just proves my reasoning was right to not tell anyone.”

“Wait, so Rooster really was your wingman on a mission?”

“Several.” you answered.

“I don’t understand, I first heard of Viper six years ago. How have we never crossed paths?”

“I asked to keep my accomplishments on the downlow, they thought it was modesty but really I didn’t want you finding out through a Navy newsletter. Truthfully, I don’t know how we haven’t been on detachments sooner, that was just dumb luck.”

“Dumb luck,” he scoffed, looking you over once more. “God dammit. I am happy to see you,” he finally conceded and you let out a laugh.

“Really? I’m not convinced,” you replied as he pulled you in for a tight hug.

“Meant what I said too,” he started, picking up two of the beers and nodding for you to grab the others. “I do intend on winning this tie between us.”

You laughed again, “good luck with that, bud.” you shot back as you walked back to the pool table. You were aware of the questioning eyes but you had no intention of filling anyone in at the moment.

“Bradshaw, as I live and breathe,”Jake said, swiping Bob’s pool cue as you gave Rooster a one-arm hug.

“Hangman, you look… good,” Rooster responded, apprehension clear in his voice and you shared a look with Phoenix.

“Well, I am good, Rooster.” he replied, lining up and taking his shot. “I’m very good, in fact, I am too good to be true.” You rolled your eyes as you watched Phoenix give Rooster an exasperated look.

“So,” Payback interjected, “anyone know what this special detachment is all about?”

“No, a mission’s a mission, that don’t confront me.” You watched in amusement as he made his way around the pool table, oozing arrogance. You’d heard the stories of the cocky pilot but seeing it before you, in stark contradiction to the Jake you grew up with, was jarring to say the least. “What I want to know: who’s gonna be team leader? And which one of y’all has what it takes to follow me?”

“Hangman, the only place you’ll lead anyone is an early grave.” Rooster replied and you watched Jake continue his path with an overwhelming urge to smack the smirk off of his face. If you wanted to, you knew you were the only person here who could get away with it.

“Well, anyone who follows you is just gonna run out of fuel.” Jake shot back, “But that’s just you ain’t it, Rooster? You’re snug on that perch waiting for just the right moment… that’s never gonna come.” He finished, stepping closer. “I love this song,” he added before walking away.

“Well, he hasn’t changed.” Phoenix sighed.

“Nope, sure hasn’t.” Rooster agreed and you chuckled.

“If only you knew how untrue that was,” you said, eyebrows raised as you looked after him, a man almost completely unrecognizable to you now. You were almost impressed that he was able to suppress this new side of himself when he went back home just as easily as you did.

“Thought you were in Bahrain,” Rooster commented and you spared him a quick glance.

“Thought you were in Japan,” you replied simply.

“Looks like your intel is outdated,” he said and you finally looked over to him with a smirk.

“Same goes for you.” You nudged his shoulder with yours, “good to see you, Roo.”

“Does anyone here have a normal relationship with one another?” Coyote asked, watching as Rooster disappeared and as you went to steal some of Bob’s peanuts. 

“This is like a dysfunctional summer camp reunion, Coyote. When have we all been in the same room at the same time?” Phoenix answered.

“Any thoughts as to how this is going to play out?” Jake asked, sidling up beside you as you ordered another beer and you didn’t even look in his direction as you watched Penny mix a drink for someone.

“Thought it was just a mission… none of the details confront you,” you responded and he didn’t miss the air of mockery in your tone.

“I meant between us,” he clarified and you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye.

“Thought we were just colleagues.”

He shot you an unamused look, “are you really going to be like that?” he asked and you shrugged.

“Matching your energy, Hangman. Have to say, I was hoping the rumors were false.”

“Oh yeah? And what rumors are those, Viper?”

“The rumors that you’re an arrogant asshole. Imagine my surprise to find the Jake I know nowhere in sight.”

“Well, imagine my surprise to find out the girl who used to steal my sweatshirts and whine if I didn’t cut the crust off her sandwiches in the Navy with a reputation of being a calculated bitch.”

“I’m a woman in the Navy, what’s your excuse?” you fired back and he nodded his head appreciatively as if to say touche.

He sighed, “I just mean… we have history, how do you want to go about that?”

“Pretty sure everyone here has some form of history with each other, I don’t see why we need to go about it any particular way.” you shrugged and he narrowed his eyes at you.

“Why do I get the feeling this is going to be a long detachment?”

“Probably because you’re right.”

“I just don’t understand why you can’t be a team player. You’re taking this whole Hangman thing too far,” you snapped from your side of the booth. “I’m sick of doing push ups because of you.”

“Ever considered it’s just because you’re the one that’s failing?” Jake asked with a smirk.

“No, it’s just because you’re a shitty wingman, always have been.”

“Now what is that supposed to mean?”

You laughed dryly, “Christmas? Two years ago? You had one job, be a decent wingman. You can’t do it on the ground and you certainly can’t do it in the air.”

“Hold up. Christmas two years ago? What do you mean?” Phoenix asked, having

overheard your latest round of ripping into Jake as she was walking by and you let out a sigh.

“Bagman and I grew up together,” you finally came clean and you gave her an exasperated look as she did a terrible job at masking her shock.

“Wait, like grew up grew up together? As kids?”

“My best friend is his sister,” you explained as briefly as you could. “Well, that makes a hell of a lot more sense than my theory,” she said and you furrowed

your brows.

“What was your theory?” you and Jake asked at the same time.

“I thought you two had slept together on a deployment,” she shrugged and you blinked in surprise. You looked at Jake and waited for him to respond because you were at a loss for words at the implication.

“Your quickness to assume I’ve slept with every woman I’ve come into contact with is frankly insulting,” he said and you bit back a laugh.

“But not entirely untrue,” you muttered.

“Please tell me you have embarrassing stories about him,” Phoenix pleaded and you let out a full laugh now.

“Oh, I definitely do.”

“That will remain in the vault because unless you’re forgetting, I have stories too.” Jake chimed in and you rolled your eyes.

“Hold on, I’ve been deployed with both of you, and mentioned both of you to each other, how is this the first I’m hearing of this?” she asked and you noticed the way almost everyone was not subtly listening in.

“Our families didn’t have the warmest reaction to him joining the Navy, let alone to be a fighter pilot… so I just kept it to myself when I did. Jake didn’t know until last week,” you answered.

She shot him a weird look, “I always forget you have a real name… makes you too human,” she muttered before slipping away and you chuckled. 

“Cat’s outta the bag now,” he said, eyeing you over the rim of his glass as he took a drink and you didn’t miss the way his pupils dilated as Rooster came into his field of vision.

“Buy you a refill?” he asked you and you nodded, allowing him to pull you up and lead you to the bar. “So, you and Hangman have history?” You realized he must have only caught a piece of your previous conversation.

“Mmhm,” you confirmed, “Seems everyone has history with him, including you.” you said as the two of you sat down on the bar stools.

“Nothing beyond the obvious.”

“And what’s the obvious?” you asked and he smirked, sliding a fresh beer towards you.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” he said and you raised your eyebrows at him before he chuckled. “Thought it’d be good to catch up… haven’t heard from you since our last mission.”

“And whose fault is that?” you shot back, with Rooster it was always about what was unsaid. On the surface you weren’t even sure this would be considered a conversation, too much back and forth with not enough shared in each passing remark.

“You know how it is,” he shrugged and you nodded.

“How was Japan?”

“How was Bahrain?” You stared him down before cracking, a smile spreading across your face as you laughed.

“You know I can’t tell you.”

“You know I can keep a secret. Besides, what are friends for?”

“Oh, are we friends now?” you countered, amusement clear in your tone.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize we weren’t.” he shot back.

“Our last communication was you sending me a photo of bird shit on your canopy with a series of emojis that I’m honestly still unsure the meaning of.”

“That’s peak friendship,” he laughed. “What is the story with you and Hangman and why was I not allowed to tell him we knew each other?”

“He’s my best friend’s brother,” you said and realization passed over his features. “He’s a little… protective, and I knew he wouldn’t respond well to me being in the Navy.”

“Ah, well that explains why he looks like he wants to kill me everytime I get close to you,” he said and you looked over your shoulder to find him glaring in your general direction and you let out a laugh.

“That’s just his face when it comes to you.”

“No, pretty sure it’s more than that,” he replied and you raised an eyebrow at him as if to say elaborate. He reached down to grab your stool and yanked you closer, forcing your legs to slide in between his and smirked as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear while you just looked at him with wide eyes. “I give it five minutes, tops.”

“Five minutes for what?” you asked, coming out a little more breathless than you were hoping for.

“The way he looks at you is far more intense than just being his sister’s best friend… I’m just testing my theory,” he said, voice low with how close the two of you were.

“And what do you think these test results will yield?”

“I think he’s going to stew over there for a moment,” he said leaning closer as he looked over your shoulder and nodded slightly, “just like he’s doing right now… and then when I make any sort of indication of taking this further he’s going to come pull you right out of this chair and drag you off.” 

“Hmm,” you hummed, deciding to lean into it if only for the fact that your life was so hectic you had no time for attention like this… even if it was for show, and you let your fingers absentmindedly drag along his forearm. “And how are you going to indicate taking this further?” you asked, your eyes almost daring him.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he teased, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as his fingers trailed along your thigh.

You gave a half-hearted shrug, “contrary to popular belief, I’m not immune to a little flirting… real or not.”

He frowned slightly, “I know you’re not immune or are you purposefully forgetting our first mission?”

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about,” you replied and now it was your turn to smirk. You saw something in his expression shift, like he was accepting the challenge you’d just given him.

“Do I need to remind you?” he asked, inching closer and your breath hitched when his hand rested on your neck. “Because I remember it quite vividly,” he whispered in your ear and you couldn’t help the shiver that raced up your spine. 

“I think it’s coming back to me now,” you said as he pulled back to look at you and he chuckled.

“Incoming.” you furrowed your brows at him as he leaned away but before you could ask him what he meant you felt a strong hand wrap around your arm and yank you upwards and suddenly you found yourself being pulled across the bar and one glance back to Rooster only revealed a smug look that said I told you so. And he did.

“Get off of me!” you yelled as you pushed Jake’s hand off you, crossing your arms over your chest as you glared up at him and squinted your eyes to shield from the sun setting over the beach… now just a handful of yards away in your new location. “What the hell is your problem?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” You just gestured for him to explain. “Rooster? Really?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Please tell me you’re not that dense,” he said and you could see the disappointment in his features but what you couldn’t figure out was why. You just shook your head and threw your arms out in exasperation and he sighed. “Do you really think flirting with Rooster is a good idea?”

You let out an indignant laugh, “you think that was flirting?”

“Okay, I know you’re not that dense.” 

“I know this has been difficult for you to wrap your head around but I have friendships on this squad outside of you that have been in existence for years. Whatever you think you saw was me catching up with an old friend.”

He scoffed, “and he just had to have his hands on your neck and thigh while doing so?”

“And so what if he did? I’m failing to see where this is any of your business and why it gave you the right to physically remove me from my conversation.”

“Figured I’d save you from making a mistake because it’s never a good idea to get involved with someone on your squad… especially on a mission as hard as this one.”

“You would know wouldn’t you?” you countered. “Speaking from personal experience?”

“Don’t do that, you always find a way to turn it around on me.”

“Maybe because you’re always the one in the wrong!” you shouted. “I know that me being here is weird for you, and I know it’s been an adjustment having me in the air with you but that does not give you the right to act like you have for the past eight years. I am not your kid sister’s best friend anymore, I am not a teenager that needs you to bail her out when guys get handsy.”

“Well, you’re definitely acting like a teenager who needs me to bail her out before she makes a mistake that could follow her around for the rest of her career.”

“You are the one acting like a teenager right now! In case you haven’t noticed because you’ve been too busy strutting around like you’re god’s fucking gift to us all, I’ve built an incredible career for myself, and I’m pretty damn good at what I do… I have to be, right? Because I landed myself here with you. Or do you think that was just a fluke? The only reason this is new to you is because I diminished myself to hide from you because I knew you couldn’t deal with the fact that I can handle my own shit now.”

“You think lying to everyone is handling your shit? You hid because you were too much of a coward to own up to it.”

You let out a bitter laugh, “I lied to everyone because they worry. Your mother cries every day you’re on deployment. Your sister calls me twice as much. Your dad goes to church twice a week. My parents check their phones every hour waiting to see if yours sent them any kind of update. It’s easier for everyone if they believe my traveling and being out of service range is because I’m safe and sound, digging up old relics. I lied because I knew you would act like this and I lied because giving our families some peace of mind was worth more to me than getting credit for everything I’ve accomplished.”

He was silent for a moment as he processed what you’d said, and he took a step back as silence permeated the outdoor patio. “I don’t think it was just a fluke,” he finally said and you let out a sharp exhale.

“Well, obviously it wasn’t, I’m a much better pilot than you.” you joked and he gave you a deadpan look. “Every time you snap at me in the air, or dismiss me in the training room, or conveniently occupy yourself elsewhere when my previous missions become the center of focus, you're only reinforcing the reasons I kept this from you. I didn’t want to. Of course I wanted to tell you of all people, I just… didn’t want to feel like I used to when we were growing up. Like the little kid you got stuck with.”

He sighed, “well, now I feel like a jackass.”

You shrugged, “well… you kind of are a jackass.”

“You’re not the little kid I got stuck with, sunshine. I just-”

“I get it,” you cut him off. You wanted this conversation to end before it got too deep, and you could tell by the look in his eyes you were about to jump headfirst into a conversation neither of you were ready for. “Come on, buy me a beer to make up for what a jackass you were.” 

You were on your third run through of the mission today, probably the dozenth this week and each time something went wrong, or you weren’t fast enough, or nothing went wrong and you were fast enough but you missed the target. Between this and Maverick’s constant reminders of just how impossible this mission was, you were finding it hard to push through the noise and focus on your objectives… something that had never been an issue for you in the past. You’d made a career off of keeping your head down and doing what was expected of you no matter how difficult it was but this? Each time you stepped into the cockpit you couldn’t help but think you were training for your death.

“Talk to me, Bob,” Phoenix said as you flew above the dry terrain. You could feel the clock running out, both on this run through and your mission training in general.

“We are twelve seconds late on target, we gotta move! We gotta move,” Bob replied.

“Copy, try to stay with me,” you said as you increased your speed.

“Wait, who’s that?” Bob asked and you cocked your head slightly, waiting for further information.

“Blue team, you’ve been spotted.” Maverick’s voice rang throughout your headset and you winced.

“Shit, it’s Mav.” 

“What the hell is he doing here?” Phoenix asked,

“I’m a bandit on course to intercept, blue team what are you gonna do?”

“He’s twenty miles left, ten o’clock. Seven hundred knots closure.” Bob supplied.

“Your call, what do you want to do?” you asked Phoenix, looking over your shoulder in the direction of her aircraft.

“Continue, we’re close. Stay on target.”

“He’s swinging around to the north,” Bob said as you began to brace yourself.

“Stand by for pop-up.” 

“Be ready on that laser, Bob,” Phoenix ordered.

“Copy, I’m on it.”

“Blue team, bandit is still closing,” Maverick reminded you and you felt tension settling in your muscles.

“Popping now,” you communicated as you sharply moved to a steep incline. You gasped for air as the weight crushed you backwards into your seat. “Talk to me, Bob. Where’s Mav?”

“He’s five miles out, he’s coming fast.”

“Target’s in sight,” Phoenix said.

“Where’s my laser, Bob?” you asked, already feeling the panic creep in.

“Deadeye! Deadeye! It’s no good. Sorry, I can’t get a lock.”

“We’re out of time, I’m dropping blind,” you said with a slight shake of your head as your thumb hovered over the button as you tried to drop it at the exact right moment. “Fuck, I missed,” you sighed as you began your steep climb out.

“That’s tone,” Maverick said and you could hear the disappointment in his voice.

“Maverick’s got missile lock on us.” Bob groaned.

“Shit, we’re dead,” Phoenix cursed.

“Blue team, that’s a fail.” You let out a sharp exhale as you ripped your mask off in frustration. No matter how hard or how many times you tried you were always so close without ever actually making it. “That’s enough for today.” Maverick said as you leveled out and you navigated to flank him. “Bird strike! Bird strike!” he shouted as you tried to avoid the onslaught of birds but it was no use, you felt your jet become unsteady as one flew directly into your engine.

“Shit, left engine’s on fire. Climbing,” you said as you yanked up on the yoke. “Throttling back, shutting off fuel to left engine. Extinguishing fire,” you narrated as you ran through your mental checklist of everything you needed to do. “Fuck, it’s still spinning. Trying to restart,” you tried to keep your voice and your nerves steady but it was no use, the erratic beeping filling the cockpit was threatening to pull you apart.

“Viper, it’s on fire! Don’t start-” Maverick started but you cut him off.

“Throttling up.” You watched as everything flashed at you and you tried to regain control as you quickly lost altitude. “Extinguishing right engine.” Everything was in failure and you were running out of options.

“Viper, punch out.” Maverick ordered as your jet hurtled towards the hillside in a spiral. “You can’t save it. Eject, eject!”

“Fuck, ejecting! Ejecting!” you shouted as you pulled the handles between your feet and the last thing you remembered was watching your plane burn in.

You awoke in a panic, gripping the sheets as a distant beeping accelerated your heart rate and as if on autopilot your hands grabbed for the controls but there was nothing but fabric. “Hey, hey you’re okay,” you heard and you let out a sharp exhale as you saw Jake sitting beside you, leaned forward in his chair with concern written all over his face.

“I don’t- what the hell happened?”

“Bird strike. Thank god you punched out in time but you lost consciousness on the way down. Doc said you’re fine, they’re coming to discharge you soon,” he explained and you nodded as you began to calm down.

“Jesus,” you whispered before another wave of panic rolled over you. “Mav? Phoenix and Bob?” you asked, realizing you’d been so wrapped up in your own cockpit you didn’t even know if the voices coming through your headset were for you or if they were struggling with their own aircrafts.

“They’re good, Mav stopped by earlier to check in and everyone has been blowing up the group chat asking for updates,” he chuckled as he rested a hand on your leg.

“Just another thing to tack onto the long list of failures with this mission,” you sighed, running a hand through your hair.

He frowned at you, “hey, no one faults you for this. You can’t control bird strikes,” he reassured. “Everyone is just glad you got out.” His thumb was rubbing reassuring circles against your thigh and you took a deep breath as you tried to shake off the way he was looking at you. It was concern and… something else you couldn’t place.

“Jake, I don’t… I don’t think everyone’s going to come back from this,” you whispered, it was a universal truth, everyone had thought it at one point or another, Maverick had basically said it without being explicit, and you knew damn well Cyclone didn’t care about casualties so long as the mission was completed. “We can’t even get through dropping the bombs, we haven’t even accounted for SAM’s or bandits.”

“If anyone can do it, it’s us.” he said, voice firm and you knew it was a defense mechanism. He wouldn’t come out and say it but he shared the same fears you did. “Come on, let’s get you up, everyone wants to see that you’re alive and well for themselves,” he diverted but you knew better. He just didn’t want to get into it with you because if he did he wasn’t sure he’d be able to flip the switch back. He had to stay focused and so did you.

The drive to the Hard Deck was silent, much like a lot of your time had been with Jake recently and it made you want to rip your hair out. You couldn’t deal with the hot and cold, one minute you felt like nothing had changed when he brought you your coffee exactly how you liked it, or when you were doubled over in laughter by the dart board and the next he was distant, blowing you off entirely and pretending you were no more than a colleague. You knew things wouldn’t be like how they were back home, this was work and the lives of you and your team were on the line. There were more important things to focus on but when you watched him let loose with Coyote after-hours or humor Fanboy while he talked about some nerdy tv show you couldn’t help but think it felt like a knife to the back. 

“Easy, I know you’re sore even though you’re pretending you’re not,” he said softly as he helped you climb out of the car and you just gave him a deadpan look.

“I’m not pretending,” you protested and he smirked.

“Sure you’re not,” he agreed, even though he really didn’t.

“There she is!” Fanboy cheered as you walked in and you gave a bashful smile, hiding your face behind your hands to shield yourself from the commotion. “How are you feeling? What’d the doctor say?” he asked as everyone looked at you intently.

Bob elbowed him, “you are under no obligation to share your private medical information,” he said, clear disapproval in his tone at everyone’s nosiness.

You chuckled, “it’s okay, Bob. No concussion, nothing broken, just some light bruising in my ribs. Still cleared to fly so it looks like the competition hasn’t been knocked out yet,” you teased.

“Thank god, I couldn’t stand it if you abandoned me,” Phoenix said with a warm smile as she wrapped an arm around your waist carefully. “Are you allowed to drink?”

“It’s actually been encouraged,” you joked and she nodded before disappearing.

“Glad you’re okay,” Rooster said, giving you a sheepish smile. “Scared the shit out of all of us.”

“I like to keep you on your toes,” you replied. “Since I almost died today and all…” you started and he rolled his eyes.

“Oh, so you’re milking this?”

“Mmhm,” you smirked. “Since I almost died today, think you could go play a little something?” you asked and he shook his head with a chuckle.

“For you, I think that can be arranged.” you watched with a small smile as he did his usual routine of yanking the cord of the jukebox out of the wall before sauntering over to the piano. You loved watching the bar crowd around him, watching your new and old friends sing along and bust out terrible dance moves. It made it a little easier to forget the impending doom you were all facing.

“Did you make that happen?” Phoenix asked, placing a glass of bourbon in your hand.

“Not like I had to try very hard,” you laughed, watching as she nearly ran over to join him.

“You’ve always been so good at that,” Jake said, appearing beside you suddenly and you tore your eyes away from watching the fun for a moment to look up at him.

“What’s that?”

“Bringing people together,” he answered, gazing down at you. “This could have been just another detachment. Forced friendship while we’re stuck with each other before we go back to our normal squads, but nothing about that looks forced to me,” he said, turning back to watch Bob twirling Phoenix around, Payback and Fanboy doing the robot to a song completely unsuited for such a dance, Coyote and Rooster singing at the top of their lungs.

“Thank you,” you said and he pulled his attention back to you, an unasked question on his face. “For staying with me, it was nice having you there when I woke up.”

He shrugged, “no problem, you’re Sadie’s best friend… pretty sure she would have flown out here just to kick my ass if I didn’t.” Your face fell for a moment but you quickly recovered.

“Right, just Sadie’s best friend,” you muttered, polishing off your drink in one swig. Suddenly you felt silly, of course that’s only how he saw you. You were naive to think the ‘friendship’ you’d built over the past two decades was nothing more than the fact that you were in his life because of his sister, because your families had bonded over the daughters who couldn’t stand to be apart for more than twelve hours. The quarterly phone calls and drinking sessions past midnight over the holidays were nothing more than circumstantial. 

“Sunshine-” he started but you gave him an empty smile.

“Need a refill,” you said before walking towards the bar and Penny saw you coming, saw the look in your eyes and was quick to pour as soon as you’d set the glass down.

“Gave everyone quite a scare today, you alright?” she asked and you nodded. You knew she wasn’t really asking you about your ejection but you were content to pretend she was.

“All good, comes with the territory,” you chuckled and she gave you a knowing look.

“That one’s on me, consider it your unofficial hazard pay,” she joked and you took a moment to lean against the bar as you collected your thoughts. You couldn’t help but feel stupid  to think that even with the rigors of the job and learning curve of being around each other professionally you’d find some sort of groove resembling the one you settled into back home. You wondered what the hell that even was when you were home. He was always the highlight of your holidays, someone who understood you even though he didn’t know it. You looked forward to sneaking into his room when everyone had gone to sleep with a bottle to talk shit about your families and you shook your head as you sat in the embarrassment of thinking he could have looked forward to that too.

“Sunshine, I didn’t mean-” he started as he approached you and you just shook your head.

“It’s fine, I get it.” you said, focusing your attention on Rooster who was still fiddling with the keys while everyone went back to their groups and listened to it as background noise. “Training is almost over and when the mission is done we can go back to our squads and you can forget about the little kid who’s been following you around for twenty years.” 

“I don’t think you’re a little kid, I really didn’t mean anything by-”

“Jake.” you cut him off, turning to look up at him. “Really, it’s fine. With any luck after this we won’t see each other until Christmas so… maybe it’s better if we just focus on our own shit. We have enough to worry about.” You walked across the bar and slid onto the bench with Rooster who gave you a questioning look.

“Everything okay?” he asked and you nodded, taking a swig of your drink. 

“What do you say to a little Great Balls of Fire?” you asked, resting your head on his shoulder for a moment and with just a few of the opening chords he’d pulled everyone right back in just like he always did.

“It’s been an honor flying with you,” Maverick started as you all stood at attention. “Each one of you represents the best of the best. This is a very specific mission, my choice is a reflection of that and nothing more.” 

“Choose your two foxtrot teams,” Cyclone said and the tension in the room was palpable.

“Payback and Fanboy, Phoenix and Bob.” You smiled softly, that’s exactly who you would have picked.

“And your wingman,” Cyclone added and you felt the anxiety settle in the pit of your stomach. It was between you, Rooster, and Jake… You knew there was a complicated history between Maverick and Rooster, and despite your instability with Jake you didn’t want to be pitted against him.

“Viper.” he called out and the first person you looked at was Rooster who was doing a great job at masking his feelings and he shot you a tight smile. You glanced forward to find Jake looking at you and he gave you a slight nod. You thought getting picked for this mission would feel better than this, but you only felt sick.

“The rest of you will stand by on the carrier for any reserve role that’s required. Dismissed,” Warlock said and your limbs were slow to catch up with your brain as you began to move for the exit to head back to your bunk. You’d been training for weeks yet you felt entirely unprepared. Maverick stepping in as team leader restored a bit of your confidence but even with him leading you knew the odds of actually pulling this off and everyone making it back were slim. Part of you was relieved it was you and not Jake, or Rooster. Rooster still had a legacy to fulfill, and Jake simply wasn’t finished. He had a lot left to learn, and a lot left to accomplish.

“Hey,” Rooster called after you, jogging to catch up and you stopped in front of your door, looking around at the crowded hallway and you subtly nodded for him to follow you. “Congratulations.” he said as you closed the door behind you.

“I’m sorry,” you started but he shook his head.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. You earned this, I know better than anyone how good you are in the air. Mav made the right call… I’m only sorry you aren’t team leader, we all thought you would be.”

“If it makes you feel any better you would have been my wingman if I was,” you offered and he chuckled.

“Not Hangman?”

You sighed, “I trust Jake implicitly on the ground, but… I can’t in the air, and he hasn’t had the best reaction to seeing me in this environment. You on the other hand I know I can trust in the air. You’ve saved my ass several times,” you said with a soft smile.

“Only as often as you’ve saved mine,” he replied. “I think you need to look at Hangman’s attitude towards you through a different lens.”

“What do you mean?” you asked as you slightly tilted your head in confusion.

“It’s not that he sees you as his little sister’s best friend, or the kid he can’t seem to escape… it’s the fact that he doesn’t see you that way, and now he’s forced to face it every day.” 

“If he doesn’t see me that way, then what way does he see me?” you asked, struggling to put the dots together and he just smiled.

“I can’t do all the work for you.” he said, pulling you in for a hug. “I’ve missed having you around, V.”

“I’ve missed having you around too, Roo. Let’s be actual friends when this is all over… which means no more sending me photos of bird shit on your canopy,” you said with a laugh.

“I told you, that’s peak friendship!” he said and you pulled away when your door creaked open.

“Sorry, am I interrupting?” Jake asked as he poked his head in, clearly uncomfortable and you and Rooster both shook your heads.

“No, I was just leaving… I’ll see you before, yeah?” Rooster asked and you nodded, giving his arm a squeeze as he walked past. “Hey, don’t think, just do, right?” he said before leaving and you nodded.

“Don’t think, just do.”

“Sure you two aren’t a thing?” Jake asked as he walked in, glancing behind him to make sure he was gone and you chuckled.

“Scout’s honor,” you replied.

“I just wanted to come congratulate you,” he said and you let out another soft laugh.

“Seems everyone wanted to do that,” you said. “Thank you, I’m sorry you weren’t picked.”

“Don’t be, you were right. You’re the better pilot,” he said and there wasn’t an ounce of dishonesty in his tone. “I need you to have a clear head while you’re up there, but… can we talk when this is all over? I handled this completely wrong and I don’t want to forget about the girl that’s been in my corner for twenty years when we go back to our old squads.” you smiled at the way he rephrased what you’d said earlier.

You nodded, “I’d like that.”

He moved towards the door but turned back to say, “I know Sadie’s your best friend, but just so you know… you’re mine,” before he left and you let out a sharp exhale and flopped onto your bunk as the door shut behind him. You put your hands over your eyes as you let what both Rooster and Jake said sink in and it left you with far more questions than you had when you entered this dorm… so much for having a clear head. You heard the door push open and let out a groan, sitting up to see who was coming to mess with your head now but quickly turned sheepish.

“Jesus, hello to you too,” Phoenix muttered as she walked in and set something on her bunk. “Saw both your boyfriends leave,” she said with a smirk and you rolled your eyes before laying back down.

“They’re not my boyfriends.” you protested and she just laughed.

“Sure they aren’t. How are you feeling?”

“How are you feeling?” you shot back as she sat next to you.

“Terrified, but we’re as ready as we’re going to be.” You sat up and turned to face her fully.

“I’m really glad you’re flying with me, Phe. How badass are we? Not one but two women selected for the uber secret, uber dangerous mission?” you asked and she let out a laugh.

“Super badass, now we just gotta make sure we come home so we can brag about it.”

You stood on the platform with nerves rattling you to your core. You took a deep breath and shook your limbs out as you looked up at your jet.  You reached up to press your hand to its exterior and said, “no funny business today, alright? I wanna come home.”

“Sunshine!” you heard from behind you and turned to see Jake jogging towards you. You stood in silence for a moment before he pulled you in for a bone crushing hug. “You give ‘em hell, okay?” You nodded when he pulled away and you watched him walk to his own jet where he’d be sitting as Dagger Spare. You made eye contact with Maverick who gave you a nod that you returned, a silent exchange that solidified you were in this together.

“Dagger One, up and ready on catapult one.” Maverick said in your ear and you exhaled forcefully, willing any reservations to leave your body with your breath.

“Dagger Spare standing by.”

“Dagger Four, up and ready.”

“Dagger Three, up and ready.”

“Dagger Two, up and ready,” you said as you focused your mind and pushed out anything but the mission. You weren’t going to think about what Rooster had said, or about what Jake wanted to talk to you about when this was all over, and especially not what you were hoping he wanted to talk to you about. Blocking out the noise was what you were good at, and one of the reasons you were selected. Get in, get out, go home. That’s all you had to do.

You launched off the catapult and fell into formation behind Maverick and listened for the command to fall below the radar. The ocean was closer than it had ever been before and somehow it felt so different from your proximity to the ground during training. This was real. This wasn’t a simulation.

“Feet dry in sixty seconds. Comanche, Dagger One. Picture.”

“Comanche, picture clean. Decision is yours.” 

“Copy,” Maverick replied and waited for a beat before saying, “Dagger attack.” Not that it was an option before but there was no turning back now. You watched the tomahawks fly over your head as you assumed attack formation and marked your time as you entered the valley and rounded the snowy ridges. “First SAM site overhead.”

“Looks like we’re clear on radar, Mav.” Phoenix said.

“Let’s not take it for granted.” You knew they were there but you chose to ignore the presence of the SAM’s above you. Worrying about them now wouldn’t do you any good, you had plenty of time for that later. Your only concern was staying below where you could trigger them.

“We got two minutes to target,” Bob said and you checked your radar, increasing your speed.

“Stay with me, Payback.” you grunted as you overtook a curve.

“I got you,” he confirmed.

“We’re picking up two bandits. Single group, two contacts.” Comanche informed and you furrowed your brows slightly.

“Comanche, what’s their heading?” Phoenix asked.

“Bullseye 090, 50, tacked southwest.”

“They’re headed away from us, they don’t know we’re here,” you replied.

“The second those tomahawks hit the airbase those bandits are gonna move to defend the target, we have to get there before they do. Increase speed,” Maverick ordered and you nodded to yourself as you did.

“We got you Mav, don’t wait for me,” Phoenix responded. You lagged as you finally saw one of the SAM’s, a visual you were trying really hard to avoid and your breath caught in your throat as some of the noise started to creep in.

“Stay with me, V, don’t think.” Maverick said to you and you nodded to yourself again.

“Just do,” you finished as you pushed forward on the throttle.

“Jesus, Viper,” Payback shouted in your ear and you chuckled.

“Come on, Payback, you with me?” you asked. “Watch your heads,” you warned as you navigated through a bridge.

“Right behind you!” he confirmed after Fanboy let out some expletives that let you know they were still tailing you.

“Phoenix, stand-by for pop-up strike.”

“Dagger Three in position,” she replied. You heard their grunts through the headset as they fought against the gravity trying to pull them backwards.

“Get me eyes on that target, Bob!”

“Dagger Three, standby, Mav… Standby… I’ve got it!”

“Target acquired, bombs away.” Mav said and you felt your body stiffen as you waited for confirmation.

“We’ve got impact. Check, direct hit! Direct hit!” Bob yelled and you felt a wave of relief that disappeared as quickly as it had washed over you.

“Dagger Two, status.”

“Almost there, Mav, almost there,” you replied as you flew over the ridge.

“Fanboy, where’s my laser?” you asked as you grew closer to the target.

“V, there’s something wrong with this laser… Shit! Dead eye, dead eye, dead eye!” Fanboy shouted and you cursed under your breath.

“Come on, we are running out of time. Get it online!” you yelled back.

“I’m trying!”

“Come on, Fanboy!” you heard Payback say and you were running a risk analysis in your head.

“Nearly there, nearly there!”

“There’s no time, I’m dropping blind.” you said, voice calm and steady as you focused on the target.

“Viper, I’ve got this!” Fanboy tried and you wanted to reassure him but you couldn’t.

“Pull up. Bombs away, bombs away!” you said as you pressed your button before pulling up.

“Bullseye, bullseye, bullseye!” you heard command say but you couldn’t focus on anything as you tried to get oxygen to your brain, the force was compressing your lungs and you could feel the edges of your vision darken as you let out breathless pants.

“We’re not out of this yet,” Maverick grunted. “Here it comes.” you listened as they communicated, trying to evade the SAM’s. “Viper, status.” You wanted to answer but you couldn’t as you flew over the ridge and onto the radar.

“Oh fuck,” you muttered, looking overhead as the missiles launched. “Smoke in the air!”

“SAM on your six, Viper!” Payback warned.

“Deploying countermeasures,” you called as you slammed the button. “Negative contact.”

“Dagger one defending.”

“Talk to me, Bob!”

“Break right, Phoenix, break right! Mav, nine o’clock! Nine o’clock!” It was pure chaos as they exploded overhead.

“Viper, two more on your six!” you heard someone say but you couldn’t tell who.

“Dagger Two, defending,” you said as you hit your flare button.

“Payback, SAM on your nose.”

“Dagger Four defending.”

“Viper, tally, tally, seven o’clock!

“Talk to me, Bob!”

“On our six!”

“Dagger Two defending.”

“Phoenix, break right!”

“I see it, I see it!” Everyone’s voices were overlapping as you tried to look out for yourselves and each other, in all your years in the Navy you’d been in some pretty fucked up situations but this one just felt different. You yelled out to Phoenix and watched as she came close to taking a hit, and you could hear Fanboy’s panicked shouts trying to keep up with what was going on around you. You thought that if you had the time you might throw up, but you didn’t.

“Dagger Two, defending,” you said as you looked over your shoulder to see two on your tail. “Fuck, I’m out of flares!”

“Viper, evade, evade!” Maverick shouted and you whipped your jet around but shook your head.

“I can’t shake ‘em! They’re on me, they’re on me!” You watched Maverick’s jet pass overhead as he deployed his flares but gasped when one hit his tail. Your heart sank as you watched what was left of his jet fall out of the sky and tears pricked at your eyes that you quickly blinked away.

“Maverick!” you yelled, trying to turn in your seat to look for a parachute.

“Dagger One is hit! I repeat, Dagger One is hit! Maverick is down!” Phoenix called out as the wreckage of his plane floated down around you.

“Dagger One status? Status!” you asked with no answer. “Anyone see him? Does anyone see him?”

“I didn’t see a parachute,” Payback replied.

“We have to circle back.”

“Comanche. Bandits inbound. Single group, hot. Recommend dagger flow south. One minute to intercept.” There was a pause before you heard, “All daggers flow to ECP.”

“What about Maverick?” you asked, chest tightening at the thought of leaving him behind. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t.

“Dagger Spare, request permission to launch and fly air cover,” you heard Jake in your ear and you didn’t realize how badly you’d needed to hear the sound of his voice.

“Negative, spare.”

“Dagger, you are not to engage. Repeat, do not engage.” You gripped your controls as you listened to them ask you to acknowledge you heard the order but it all sounded muffled.

“Viper, those bandits are closing,” Phoenix said. “We can’t go back.”

“V, he’s gone. Maverick’s gone,” Bob added and you could hear the sadness in his voice but you weren’t accepting that. You thought of Rooster… of him telling you Maverick had pulled his papers and how despite how angry he was you could see through it to the hurt. He’d lost his father and alienated his only male role model. You thought of him listening in back at the carrier, the regret you knew he would be feeling as he realized Maverick was gone.

“I’m his wingman,” you said firmly. “Daggers flow back to carrier.” you ordered.

“Viper?” “What the fuck are you doing?” Fanboy asked.

“Dagger Two. Return to carrier.” You heard command say but you ignored it.

“Maverick is down which means I’m team leader now, I’m not leaving him behind.”

“Viper, you can’t do anything for him,” Phoenix tried.

“Only if I don’t try. Return to carrier, now.” you ordered again as you flipped around in pursuit of where his jet had fallen. You flicked off your radio and disconnected the overlapping chatter filling your ear. You whizzed back through the canyon and saw Maverick running through the snow covered clearing, trying to evade a helicopter and you used the element of surprise to your advantage… swinging around behind it.

“Dagger Two, deploying missile,” you narrated as you pressed the button but then let out a breathless laugh as you made contact. “Don’t really know who I’m saying that to.” You moved to circle back around and unknowingly triggered a SAM that quickly intercepted you and you cursed as you pulled up on your ejection loops.

You hit the ground with a thud and rolled over onto your back as you let out a groan. “Son of a bitch,” you muttered, “I am so sick of ejecting.” Your muscles ached as you worked on rolling up your parachute and you lifted your head to see Maverick running towards you.

“You alright?” he yelled and you nodded as you stood.

“Yeah, I’m good. You alright?” you asked but were caught off guard when he sent you flying backwards into the snow. “Oh, Jesus,” you muttered as you hit the ground, again. “What the fuck?” you yelled as you got up.

“What are you doing here?” he asked as you threw your helmet to the ground.

“What am I doing here?” 

“You think I took that missile so you could be down here with me? You should be back on the carrier by now!”

“I saved your life!” you shouted.

“I saved your life, that’s the whole point.” he countered and you narrowed your eyes at him as you dusted the snow off your jacket. “What the hell were you even thinking?”

“I’m your wingman!” you shouted, throwing your arms out in exasperation. “That means something to me beyond the mission. I haven’t lost anyone yet and I don’t intend on losing anyone today.” He stared at you for a moment before letting out a sigh.

“Well, it’s good to see you,” he finally said and you put your hands on your hips as you tried to catch your breath.

“Yeah, good to see you too… so, what’s the plan?” you asked and he just gave you that famous Maverick look that said you probably weren’t going to like it.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” you said as you looked at an old plane through your binoculars. “An F-14?”

“I shot down three migs in one of those,” he pointed out and you just gave him an incredulous look.

“We don’t even know if that bag of ass can fly,” you countered.

“Let’s find out!” he said before taking off and your eyes widened.

“Mav!” you whisper-yelled after him. “Okay,” you muttered as you followed suit, stumbling into step with him as you walked out into the open, trying your best to act natural. “There’s a lot of people around.”

“Yeah.”

“There’s more over there.” you said as you looked around as subtly as you could. You knew this mission would be unlike anything you’d ever faced but you really weren’t anticipating being in enemy territory on foot.

“Okay.” he said, looking around. “Let’s start running.”

“Yeah, run.” you agreed, chasing after him into the hangar.

“Once I give you the signal for air, you’re gonna flip this switch until the needle gets to 120. When the engine starts, you gotta pull out the pins and disconnect everything. You understand?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, watching him power it on.

“Once I’m up, stow the ladder,” he yelled as he climbed up and you were quick to fold it away behind him. You gave him a thumbs up as you flipped the switch and watched the dial and when the engine fired on you ran around the jet pulling everything out.

“Ah, shit,” you huffed, struggling slightly as you jumped up onto the wing and climbed into the backseat. “Jesus, this thing is old,” you commented as you looked over everything and tried to make sense of it.

“Canopy?” he asked and you confirmed you were clear.

“Both runways are cratered,” you pointed out. “How are we gonna get this museum piece off the ground?” You looked out the window and furrowed your brows. “Hey Mav, the wings are coming out.”

“Yep.”

“Why are the wings coming out?” you asked but he didn’t answer. “Holy shit, are we really using a taxiway as a runway?” You were absolutely terrified but you’d be lying if you said there wasn’t a small part of you that was absolutely exhilarated. 

“Just hang on,” he said and you flew backwards in your seat as he took off. “Come on, come on, come on.”

“Mav?” you asked, looking ahead of him at the structure you were barrelling towards. “Holy shit,” you muttered as you closed your eyes and felt the wheels lift off the ground. You looked down and switched your ESAT on, hoping they’d see you and send reinforcements.

“Alright Viper, get us in touch with the boat.”

“Working on it, everything’s out. What should I do?”

“First the radio. Throw the uh… the UHF2 circuit breaker. Try that.”

“Sure, I’m not looking at like three hundred breakers or anything… got anything more specific?”

“I don’t know, that was not my department,” he answered and you nodded.

“Where’s Bob when you need him?” you muttered as you leaned down to fiddle with what you could find and your eyes widened when you looked beneath you. “Mav, tally two, five o’clock low. What do we do?”

“Okay, listen. Just be cool. If they knew who we were, we’d be dead already.”

“That’s comforting… what’s the plan?”

“Just put your mask on. Remember, we’re on the same team.” you watched as they pulled up beside you. “Just wave and smile.” You forced a smile as you watched the other pilot gesture with his hands but it wasn’t anything you were familiar with.

“What is that, what’s he saying?”

“No idea. I have no idea what he’s saying.”

“What about that one?” you asked as they changed gestures. “Any idea?”

“Nope, never seen that one either.” Maverick played dumb as he tapped his helmet and gave a thumbs down. “Shit, his wingman is moving into weapons envelope. Alright, listen up. When I tell you, you grab those rings above your head. That’s the ejection handle.”

“Can we outrun them?” you asked, not exactly keen on the idea of punching out for a third time in as many weeks.

“Not their missiles and guns.”

“Then it’s a dogfight,” you said, and he sighed.

“An F-14 against fifth-gen fighters?”

“It’s not the plane, it’s the pilot. What would you do if I wasn’t here?”

“But you are here,” he said and you could hear the apprehension in his tone. “I don’t intend on losing anyone today,” he repeated your earlier words.

“So don’t. Come on, Mav. Don’t think, just do.” He was silent for a moment and your hands flew to brace yourself as he jolted to the side and laid into one of the other jets.

“Tell me when you see smoke in the air,” he ordered and you twisted in your seat to watch behind you.

“Smoke in the air! Smoke in the air!”

“Hang on!” He dropped a missile and led the other plane directly into it.

“Splash one! Splash one!” you cheered, still trying to find your bearings as the plane jolted around. “Here comes another one!”

“Viper, flares, now now now!” he called and you pressed the button, watching as they intercepted the missile. “Splitting the throttles, coming around,” he said as you grunted and placed a hand on the ceiling. “Give me tone, give me tone.”

“You got him, Mav!”

“Taking the shot,” he said as he deployed and you watched the other plane do an evasion maneuver you’ve seen before. “What the-”

“Holy shit,” you said, watching him practically float past your canopy. “What the fuck was that?”

“Hang on, we’ve gotta get low. The terrain will confuse his targeting system.”

“Here he comes!” you shouted as he was hot on your tail.

“Talk to me, Viper, where is he?”

“He’s still on us,” you managed to get out as you bounced from side to side of the canopy. “We took a hit, we took a hit!”

“Damn it.”

“Come on Mav, do some of that pilot shit!” 

“Brace yourself.” You quickly rose in altitude and you struggled to get a breath in as you went careening back into the valley. “I’ve got tone, taking the shot.” he said and you watched the other plane take it out with countermeasures. “Out of missiles, switching to guns.”

“You got him, Mav!” you yelled as the distance lessened.

“It’s not over yet,” he replied. “One last chance.” You watched him use his last round of ammunition to rip into the top of the other jet and you let out a cheer when it crashed into the rocky hillside.

“Yes! Splash two!” you said before you went back to fiddling with the controls, trying to recall anything from initial training back in the day and you exhaled in relief when the system in front of you came to life. “Mav, I got the radio on!”

“Outstanding, get us in touch with the boat.”

“Copy that,” you said just as alarms started ringing. “What the fuck? Where even is he?”

“He’s on our nose,” Maverick said and you really wished you didn’t hear the dread in his tone. “We’re out of ammo. Smoke in the air, Viper, flares!” 

“That was way too close,” you said. “We’re out of flares, Mav! Shit, he’s already on us.” you grunted as bullets began hitting your jet. “This is not good!” Maverick did his best to try and evade but it wasn’t any use. “We took another hit!”

“No, no, no. no!”

“We can’t take much more of this!”

“We can’t outrun this guy, we gotta eject.”

“What?” you yelled, panic creeping into your voice.

“We need altitude. Pull the ejection handles the second I tell you to.”

“Mav, wait-” you started but he cut you off.

“Viper, there’s no other way. Eject, eject, eject!” he ordered and you reached above you to pull on the loops but they were stuck. “Viper, pull the handle, eject!”

“It’s not working!” you yelled back, still trying. “Mav!” You were still rising in altitude and you pressed your hands against the canopy as you realized this was it. You weren’t getting out of this. You thought of Jake, how he was going to have to tell Sadie… how it was going to fall on him to tell your parents not only were you in the Navy but that you were dead. You thought about Christmas Eve’s with him in middle school, dancing with him at his senior prom because even though you were a freshman he’d much rather have danced with you, and laughing at his old school photos while he watched you walk around the museum that was his childhood bedroom with a bottle of whiskey in your hand. It’s not that he sees you as his little sister’s best friend, it’s the fact that he doesn’t. 

“Oh my god,” you whispered, realization washing over you. I know Sadie’s your best friend, but just so you know… you’re mine.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Maverick said and you flinched when you heard an explosion but exhaled in relief when you realized it wasn’t you. You turned to see what was left of the enemy jet floating down to the water as an F-18 emerged through the smoke. Your eyes were wide as you tried to process what was happening… were you actually dead? Is this what the afterlife is?

“Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen, this is your savior speaking.” Jake started and you let out a breathless laugh as he pulled up beside you. “Please fasten your seatbelts, return your tray tables to their locked and upright positions, and prepare for landing.”

“Jake…” you said, looking over at him in disbelief.

“Hey sunshine,” he replied. “I’ll see you back on deck.” he said before flying ahead of you and you couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled past your lips as the adrenaline worked its way through your system.

“Maverick is downwind. No front landing gear. No tail hook. Pull the cable and raise the barricade,” Maverick communicated as you buzzed the tower and you giggled.

“Cyclone hated that,” you muttered and Maverick chuckled as you circled around and felt a jolt. “For the love of god, please don’t tell me we just lost an engine,” you sighed.

“Alright, I won’t tell you that,” he replied. You grunted as you hit the deck and flew forward in your seat at the impact before coming to a screeching halt. You were both silent for a moment, in disbelief that you actually made it back. “You good?” he finally asked and you nodded.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you answered as the canopy raised and you were met with the cheers of all of the crewmen and your teammates. As your feet hit the ground it actually crossed your mind to drop to your knees and kiss the disgusting tarmac you were so grateful for but you had someone to find. Phoenix threw her arms around you and you reciprocated the hug but you were searching the crowd over her shoulder, muttering half-hearted thanks to the people congratulating you and you pushed everyone away as you started walking.

“Sunshine!” you heard and you turned around and finally saw him. You exhaled sharply as you ran towards him but he held out a hand that stopped you in your tracks. “What the hell were you thinking? I thought you were dead,” he shouted over the commotion and you knew you probably should have been apologizing, or explaining yourself but instead you just smiled as you looked up at him. You could see about a dozen emotions on his face, but the one you were focusing on was the one that had been there all along… you’d just been too slow to realize it. “Why are you smiling? This isn’t funny, you really scared the shit out of me. That was reckless, and it- I… Fuck sunshine, I love you so much, I can’t ever go through thinking you’re dead again. Are you even- shit, are you okay? Let me look-” you knew he wasn’t going to stop on his own so you reached out and grabbed onto his flight suit with a smirk, pulling him into you and pressing your lips to his. He reciprocated immediately and you smiled into the kiss as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. He lifted you off the ground as the cheers magnified around you.

“About damn time,” Rooster muttered from beside you but you didn’t care.

“I love you too, idiot,” you said when you pulled away and he set you back down but kept his arms firmly around your waist. “Chalked yourself another kill, looks like I’m going to have to even the score.”

“Always so competitive,” he said with a shake of his head before kissing you again and you pulled away when you felt a hand on your shoulder to see Maverick. He was looking at you with so much pride and gratitude that was only mirrored on your own face.

“Thank you for saving my life,” he said and you felt tears prick at your eyes.

“Thank you for saving mine, sir,” you replied and held out your hand for him to shake, but when he took it he only pulled you in for a hug. You watched him start to disappear into the crowd and quickly turned to grab Rooster by the collar and you gave him a look that had his eyes widening in fear. “I didn’t do that for Mav, I did that for you. Go,” you said firmly, shoving him in the direction Maverick had gone.

“You know, you could have just told me. You didn’t have to be an ass about it,” you said, looking up at Jake who rolled his eyes playfully.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he asked as you hit his arm. “I didn’t know… not until I thought it was too late,” he said, voice lowering as he stepped closer and placed a hand on your cheek, brushing his thumb against your cheekbone to wipe away a falling tear.

“I thought I’d realized too late,” you whispered as he pressed his lips to your forehead. 

“Now we have all the time in the world… after we get our asses handed to us for deliberately disobeying orders,” he said, pulling away when he noticed Cyclone approaching and you chuckled as you looked over your shoulder.

“Hey, if we get dishonorably discharged at least we’re alive and have each other, right?” 

“That’s all we need.”

ONE YEAR LATER

“Cheers to the one year anniversary of Dagger Squad,” Phoenix said as all of your glasses clinked together and you couldn’t wipe the smile from your face as you looked around the room at your team.

“And begrudgingly, cheers to Cyclone who, in his own words, completely disagreed with our tactics and lack of respect for authority, but couldn’t deny the overall effectiveness of our squad,” you added as everyone laughed and you leaned into Jake beside you. “Happy Dagger-versary everyone.”

“Cheers!” everyone shouted as you sank back into your previous conversations and you looked up at Jake as you took a sip of your beer.

“It’s our one year too,” you pointed out and he smirked down at you.

“Don’t you worry, sunshine, I’ve got a whole thing planned,” he said and you smiled as

you rested your head against his chest. “How lucky am I to have had you following me around for the majority of my life?”

You pulled away and playfully hit his arm, “when you say it like that it makes me sound so juvenile!” you protested and he just laughed.

“Hey, those are your words. Besides, you’re the one who followed me into the Navy…”

“And hid from you for eight years!” you said, pretending to be mad but your laughter gave you away.

“It’s okay, you just wanted to follow in the footsteps of the greatest pilot in the world. No one could ever blame you for that.” he teased.

“Are you conveniently forgetting you admitted I was the better pilot?”

“Yeah, but then I saved your life, so…” you narrowed your eyes before leaning up to peck his lips.

“Thanks for that, by the way.” 

“Anytime, sunshine… anytime.”

taglist: @callsignspirit @thegodessc @failuretothrivestuff @olliepig @cruelmissdior @underaveragefangirl @grxcieluvr @amatswimming @camilaricci @nolita-fairytale @dempy @pinkpantheris @aviatorobsessed @tiredqueen73 @pono-pura-vida @binnieslove @nik2blog @waklman @abaker74 @halstead-severide-fan @percysaidnever @memeorydotcom @eli2447 @dumb-fawkin-bitch @djs8891 @Genius2050 @stargazer-88 @chloeforde @kmc1989 @casa-boiardi (if your name is struck through it means I couldn't tag you - sorry!)

[d3adbr3inc3lls]

Tom!Peter Parker x Reader | Headcannons + Oneshot

A/N: I don't know how to write confession scenes, (I'm a hopeless romantic if you remove the 'romantic' part because I've had no experiences with romance) but I tried my best.

Peter is a hopeless romantic.

He'd always steal glances at you whenever you were in class, turning away when his spidey senses told him that you noticed him.

He had a whole list of date ideas if the moment ever came.

Peter knew that it may not happen, but he still liked to update the list whenever he saw a cool place where he could take you.

If he wasn't going to use it, he could always give some of the places to Ned if he needed them, but he mostly kept them to himself.

Especially any places little people knew about.

10/10 thinks of scenarios that would most likely never happen (not unless one of you actually make the first move)

When he does confesses, he has everything planned out.

Sitting down next to him, he lifts his hand to the sun, checking how many fingers fit under the it to give him a rough estimate of something.

“5 more minutes until the sun sets,” He breathed out.

How he knew this was beyond you.

Perhaps he learnt it whilst being in extension something?

Yeah that’s definitely it.

He flicks his gaze at you. He had come here early to make sure the two of you didn’t miss the sunset.

This had to be perfect.

The silence between the two of you was comfortable as you gazed at the waters, the warm oranges of the sun being reflected below.

Hearing Peter sigh, he shifted closer, not enough to invade your personal space, but still closer.

It wasn’t long before the sky was painted with vibrant pinks and oranges,

"There's been something-"

Peter pauses, closing his eyes he lets out a soft exhale, trying to pull himself together before opening them, his chocolate ones meeting your vibrant ones.

"I've wanted to tell you something."

You couldn't help but stare at him, the warm tones of the sunset kissing his face, making him look like an angel sent from above.

With the amount of lives he's saved, he might aswell be one.

He holds your gaze, taking something out of his pocket, only glancing away as it almost slips from his hand.

You freeze as you watch him quickly snatch the object, not giving you any time to process what it is. You've always known his reaction speed was quick and sometimes you swore that he wasn't human.

"I- It's-"

He stammers a bit, his awkward personality seeping back in as he looks at the sunset, only sneaking a glance when you follow his gaze towards the blazing star.

"It's okay if you don't feel the same, but-"

Another deep breath escaped his lips. His chocolate doe eyes meeting your gaze as he fidgets with the object in his hand.

Taking your hand in his, he turns it so the palm is facing up and places the object in his hands into yours.

Closing your hand, his eyes flicker to the object, which you could feel is packaged in something,

"I like you- I've liked you for a while now, and- are you free this Saturday,? We could go to that one Cafe you always talk about-"

[cliperry]

Hello Boys!

They've cracked AMERICA, made an estimated £40 million and rival Justin Bieber in the obsessed fan stakes. What a difference a year has made for ONE DIRECTION.

BY BETH NEIL | PHOTOGRAPHY BY HAMISH BROWN Fabulous Magazine

Trying to keep control of One Direction is, to all intents and purposes, a lost cause.

Just when we've got one where we want him to be (i.e., dressed, present and ready to shoot the cover), another two go AWOL.

At one point, Louis and Liam give their beleaguered security the slip to commandeer a couple of Boris Bikes for an impromptu cycle along the towpath outside our north London studio. Although, this is apparently small fry. Yesterday, when they went missing from the studio, they were eventually found on the roof.

Later, our exasperated photographer has to tell all five in no uncertain terms to concentrate, stop messing about on set and blinking well pose for the picture. Boys, eh? We suggest their management team invests in five large sets of reins and some firecrackers.

Despite their naughtiness, Louis, 20, Liam, 19, Zayn, 19, Niall, 19, and Harry, 18, are all utterly charming throughout our afternoon together. Harry, especially, lives up to his reputation by kissing any passing female at every opportunity.

Entering the room? Kisses from Harry! Leaving the studio? Kisses from Harry! Finished your sandwich? Kisses from Harry! On both cheeks!

Most of all, they really are just the same five boys we first met this time last year, shortly before the release of their debut single, What Makes You Beautiful, when everything kicked off and the whole world went One Direction nuts. Since then, they've sold 12 million records, become the first British band ever to have a No.1 debut album in the States, made an estimated £40 million, scooped a Brit plus three MTV Video Music Awards and taken just 10 minutes to sell out the 20,000-capacity Madison Square Garden in New York for a gig in December. And Harry has overtaken Russell Brand to become the nation's biggest Lothario.

No one could have predicted all that when they finished third on The X Factor back in 2010—least of all the lads themselves, who express genuine bewilderment at just how quickly it's all happened…

HARRY STYLES: "I don't just like older women."

So, Harry, a lot has happened in the last year—do you feel like a different person?

Yeah, now I look different. It's strange because it feels so long ago, but at the same time it's gone so quickly. I think we've all grown as people and we've grown as a group.

Of all the boys, and perhaps for good reason, you've had the most press attention…

I mean, at first, it was a little bit overwhelming, but I now know that comes with the job. Obviously, some things make me laugh and some don't. But I'm not gonna sit here and complain about it.

Are you single at the moment?

Yeah. That's kind of it as well. I'm an 18-year-old boy and I'm having fun. I'm just not having as much fun as people make out.

So you're saying you haven't been romantically involved with the girls you've been linked to, for example Made In Chelsea's Caggie Dunlop, 23, and model Cara Delevingne?

Well, sometimes I am. I'm 18, so yeah, of course I see girls and go on dates. But, for example, I met up with a girl from home for a coffee and suddenly I was going out with her. Stuff like that's funny. But I think if it hurts people, it's not that funny.

You seem very at ease in the company of women.

I have a lot of friends from school who are girls. And I grew up with my mum, Anne, and my older sister, Gemma, so maybe it comes from that. It's very natural, and I've never been awkward around women.

And is an older woman your preference? (Harry dated Caroline Flack, 32, and had a fling with married radio DJ Lucy Horobin, also 32.)

It's really not! I think it's just been a coincidence. I don't necessarily just look at women who are older. I like girls my own age as well. Obviously, my last relationship with Caroline was well-documented and I think it's kind of made out to be that it's only older women I like. But I don't base things on age. It completely depends on the person.

So you'd be quite happy to date an 18-year-old?

Yeah! I'd never be like, "She's not old enough for me." It's who you get on with. I don't think you should make too many hoops for people to have to go through. If you get on with someone and you like them, then great.

What did you have in common with the older women you've dated?

I get that, for example, your references might be different if someone's older than you. If you're talking about TV shows you watched as a child, then your references are so different. But you don't sit and talk about that all the time.

Are you still friends with Caroline Flack?

Yeah. We have a lot of the same friends and I saw her a couple of weeks ago at someone's birthday. We're fine. There seems to be an idea that every time we meet, we argue, but we don't.

Are you going on dates with anyone?

Not really. I'm seeing people when I'm out, but—

Keeping your options open?

I guess so! (Laughs)

The fans can make life difficult—anyone you're linked to, they're very protective.

I know some people get a little carried away, but then there are—

All these women, Harry!

You watch, people will say I'm going out with them by tomorrow morning.

Have you been sensible with your money?

My dad, Joe, is a financial advisor and he basically said that for every £10 you make, spend £6 or £7 of it wisely and have fun with the rest. So yeah, I've obviously had fun, but I'm not being stupid. I've made sure I've done the right things first. I think it's important to buy property, which is what I've done.

What sort of fun have you had with it?

I really don't want to look back on this time and think I could have had more fun. I think cars are probably a luxury—I've got a Range Rover Sport and some other cars. It's nice to be able to give things to your family, too. I think it's just really cool to be in a position where you can think in terms of investing, so when I have kids and things are tough, I can sort them out.

[nieded]

#RAINBOWROAD for Rainbow Railroad Charity Drive Redux Pre-Orders are open!

I am so excited to announce that I am taking preorders for copies of the entire #RAINBOWROAD trilogy starting today! Preorders will be open starting today, February 14th (happy Valentine's!) to March 13th. It will close at 11:59 MST.

Please reblog so we can spread the news!!!!

>>PRE-ORDER HERE<<

This past summer, I did a print run of the first part of the series, Sit Tight, Take Hold and printed 94 copies for charity. Many readers asked for books 2 & 3, and I had many others express interest in a 3-part bundle who missed the first run. I've spent November, December, and January prepping the next parts for print, and I'm so excited to share them with you.

So, what is included?

Option for a 3-book bundle including:

Book 1: Sit Tight Take Hold 424 pages on matte 80lb text paper, color printing throughout. Cover has matte lamination in color. Dimensions of the book are 6x9x.93. Weight ~2 lbs Art by Blairamok (See cover art above)

Book 2: How do you solve a problem like Ezira?, Accept a Little Spin, and Oh, there's a long way to go 408 pages on matte 80lb text paper, color printing throughout. Cover has matte lamination in color. Dimensions of the book are 6x9x.93. Weight ~2 lbs Art by DustandHalos (cover art below)

Book 3: Fools Rush In and bonus content, 0-60 in 3.5 468 pages on matte 80lb text paper, color printing throughout. Cover has matte lamination in color. Dimensions of the book are 6x9x1.06. Weight ~2lbs Art by Pyracantha (cover art below)

PDF copies of all three parts

Option for a 2-book bundle including only Parts 2 & 3 + PDF copies. This is an option for people who already own the first book.

Limited option for Part 1 discounted damaged books (15 available). This does not include PDFs. These books have cosmetic damage to the covers from shipping. Damage does no affect the print quality of the text.

Limited postcards that were extras from the first run (only 8 available)

Remaining Corvette Crowley posters, including A/B grade options, 12x18".

$20 PDFs of all stories that will include all the formatting of the print run and cover art! (Screenshots from the PDF proofs below)

Where are the proceeds going?

Rainbow Railroad is a North American-based organization that works globally to ensure safety and asylum to LGBTQIA+ individuals. This is the same charity we donated to last time, and it was a resounding success. Last time, we were able to fundraise $1,600!

Continued FAQ below:

How much does shipping cost?

For US residents, bundles will cost a flat fee of $10. They will ship via media mail through USPS.

For anyone outside of the US, shipping has been estimated through the cheapest carrier, either USPS or UPS minus $10. Unfortunately, I cannot control the cost of shipping, and I know that it is extraordinarily high. The bundles will weigh anywhere between 4-6+ lbs, which is expensive to ship.

Wait, I'm from the US. Why am I paying more for Media Mail?

While Media Mail typically would cost $4-6, the increased price is to offset international orders, whose shipping will cost anywhere from $20-60 with the discount. I hope you understand. I want to make this as accessible as I can without personally eating any costs. I am not making any profit off of this project.

When do orders ship?

Once pre-orders close on 3/13, I will order the books. There is typically a 2-4 week turn around for them to be printed and delivered to me. I then have to package and ship everything from my house. I hope to have everything shipped 1 month after pre-orders close, but I am only human.

US mail should take 2-8 days. International orders can take anywhere from 2-4 weeks, so please be patient.

If you are only ordering a damaged copy or postcards, both of which have already been printed, I will ship those out sooner.

When do I get my PDFs?

The PDFs and book proofs are the same, and they are 90% done. PDFs will be delivered via email by me once pre-orders close. I am still doing small changes and edits to make sure they are perfect!

If I order a bundle, do I also need to order PDFs if I want digital copies?

NO! PDFs are included with the bundles and only the bundles. You will not have access to them immediately, only once pre-orders close and I email them to you! Like I said, they are 90% finished, and I am stilling making small adjustments. (Kerning, I loathe you!)

What percent of proceeds are going to Rainbow Railroad?

100%! This excludes the cost of printing and shipping. For reference, the first print run cost $1,254 for the books alone, not including shipping and packaging supplies. Anything remaining goes directly to charity. I am not keeping any costs for labor or making any profit on this.

Wait, there's bonus content?

Remember when I said I was done after the trilogy? Well, @tut557 popped into the Discord server and said, 'Hey, what if they played Mario Kart...' This spiraled into a long conversation about all the different media promos they might do, and then I spent this past November writing another 50k of the #RAINBOWROAD universe for NaNoWriMo. This is also available on AO3, and I will be posting weekly while preorders are open. You can find it here.

[a-friendly-fangirl]

"I Can't Hear It Now" is a CaitVi song (and I can prove it)

Ok, I know how this might sound, like I'm trying to make everything CaitVi related and I have no respect for Cait's loss and her feelings.

I promise though, that this might actually make sense... and if it does, then it's gonna be heartbreaking.

FIrst of all, I'd like to say that Freya Ridings' "I Can't Hear It Now" has been my favourite song since the very beginning of Arcane's second season, shattering my soul in enough pieces to make a challenging puzzle. The words and the way they're sung are heartfelt and moving, taking us through the kaleidoscope of feelings Cait experiences during her mother's funeral.

I'm a sucker for good music adding meaning to a show and its scenes and Arcane is exactly the kind of show that'd do that, so I've been eager to fully explore each song in the show's context, starting with this one.

When I first listened to it, I immediately thought that it was Caitlyn pleading Cassandra for guidance through her grief and her sense of guilt, because, as Cait herself admits, her mother left a huge hole in Piltover's political scene and in her own family and she has no clue as to how deal with it.

"Just tell me how to keep breathing while pretending I'm not drowning" seemed to me as something one would ask to their parent, were they a person with an important political role, having to constantly keep up appearances. Caitlyn, young and in mourning as she is after her mother's death, is also left alone to face publicly the loss, because her father is clearly in no condition to do that and she doesn't know what she's supposed to do to be a good replacement for both of her parents. I think everyone would understand, if she were to pray her deceased mother for help.

With time, though, I started rethinking my whole interpretation, because a few elements seemed off. Two are the ones that matter the most:

To be a song about a Piltovan dealing with grief by conversing with her lost one, it would've been weirdly spiritual. Although I don't know much about the city's lore, a quick research clarified that Piltover doesn't seem to have an official religion or religious belief and, in my experience, talking to a deceased person and asking them for guidance is something deeply rooted in spirituality and religion. Of course, when mourning everyone can talk to their lost ones as a form of coping mechanism, but in the song it is explicitly stated that the person Caitlyn is talking to can see her (Where you watch while these dreams gently float away), which is something we never hear from her. Caitlyn, actually, believes exactly on the contrary, which is that her mother has left a duty she doesn't know how to fulfill and she can't turn to her to find her way; in fact, she never appeals to Cassandra in any fashion. She remembers her, probably wonders whether she's proud of her or not, but she never reaches out to her directly. Long story short, then, the lyrics seem directed more to a living person than to a dead one;

Some lines simply don't apply to Cassandra. Look, I know I shouldn't take every word literally, but here some things wouldn't make any sense anyway. Like the way your voice always sounds when you sing to me doesn't appear to me as a line I could ever imagine Cait addressing to her mother. Cassandra, even though she wasn't a terrible mother, was still an estimated Councillor and head of one of Piltover's richest and strongest families. She raised her daughter hoping some day she'd take over and sit proudly on her seat at the Council table. Caitlyn was educated as an aristocrat without wanting to be one ("I know you doubt the merit of your birthright, Caitlyn"), which sparked several arguments between them. Cassandra, despite loving her daughter, could never fully accept or understand her and her upbringing and position probably made everything worse. In other terms, Cassandra wasn't probably the kind of mum that'd sing Caitlyn lullabies. Also, again, the verb is conjugated in the present tense, as if the person addressed in the song was still alive. Just tell me how to keep breathing while pretending I'm not drowning sounded pretty odd to me as well. While it is undoubtly true that Cassandra was probably a professional pretender because of her social position, what Caitlyn is asking for is something much deeper: she's asking to be pulled out from a black hole of sorrow and hatred. It takes experience to put on a good poker face when given such a challenge and, even if we don't know much about Cassandra herself, I could guess that she'd have lacked that sort of knowledge.

Going briefly back to the funeral scene, we can all recall that, while Cassandra and Caitlyn were both in colour, there was also another character highlighted as the heart of that moment: Vi. Vi, who, as it is made perfectly clear through the whole second season, is Caitlyn's anchor. She's the person she relies on the most, starting a war to save her father and letting go of the person she despises the most for her. She goes through her plan with her, asking her what Jinx's fate should be. Vi's the person she turns to when she feels like breaking down instead of her own dad. In other words, in such a desperate moment, if Caitlyn needed someone to talk to, she'd go to Vi.

And that's when the song starts making even more sense:

. There is an ocean so dark down below the waves/ Where you watch while these dreams gently float away: while Caitlyn's saying goodbye to her mother, Vi... watches. Almost like a worried guardian, she keeps her distance while empathising with her girl's feelings, literally watching while their dreams of peace, love and freedom leave with the coffin;

. And there is a silence so soft it's only memory/ Like the way your voice always sounds when you sing to me: this is such a CaitVi thing to me. Do you remember the wind chimes scene? Her thought of Jinx makes the wind grow furious just like her, while the thought of Vi calms her down. When Cait is tormented by the terrifying noise of Jinx's laughter breaking the silence, Vi comes in and restores it. It's no accident that the only music we can hear in the end is Vi's singing, a soft humming;

. But I can't hear it now/ Just tell me how to keep breathing while pretending I'm not drowning: to enjoy silence and not feel suffocated by it, your mind must be at peace. At the very beginning of the season, Cait's isn't. Her anger, her sense of guilt scream loud enough to drown Vi's voice. Still, Caitlyn turns to her, because Vi's the only person in her life that knows what she's going through. In fact, when Caitlyn's losing it, because she has no idea of how to fill the hole left by Cassandra, it is Vi that replies: "It gets smaller, but you never fill it".

So here it is, I rest my case.

[the-indigo-symphony]

Since mottos and slogans have been a hot topic in the plural community lately... I want to introduce one that I've been thinking of for a long while now! It's part rallying cry, part "defiance via continued existence", and part punk in the "spikes as a deterrent" way (if that last comparison makes sense at all, lol – I'm specifically thinking of things like how wheelchair users may put spikes on the handles of their 'chair so others don't try to touch or move them without permission). It's this:

"Plural as in there are more of us than you think."

[PT: "Plural as in there are more of us than you think." / end PT]

I've also considered a longer version that would tie in the queer community/queerness – which I know is intertwined with plurality for many people – and that version would be: "Queer as in here without fear, plural as in there are more of us than you think". What do you all think?

I think it's very to-the-point, and plays on a simple premise: that we're not backing down – not in the face of hate, and not in the face of fear. Especially with the longer version; we're here, we're queer, get over it – and if you refuse to, just know that you can't silence us all, no matter how loudly you try to drown us out. We will always be here. There will always be someone to fight against the hate, to spit in the face of bigotry just by continuing to draw breath. It also has a nod to an older queer sentiment that I think we should bring back for both queer and plural folk alike – that we are everywhere. The cashier that scanned your groceries might be plural. The classmate sitting next to you might be plural. The neighbor across the street might be plural. We are here. There are more of us than you think. And we will not be afraid.

"There are more of us than you think" is also a nod to how statistics are often both misunderstood and just plain lacking in data. People really don't seem to realize just how population statistics translate to real life; how many people they pass by or have brief interactions with fit that "extremely rare" condition they dismissed, because something like "1.5%" doesn't look like a lot on paper, but ends up as a whole lot when you wander out into the world. That's at least one out of a hundred – and that estimate is on the more conservative side about one specific presentation of plurality, and doesn't account for many, many other forms of it. So, yeah, there are definitely more of us than they/you think.

I admit it can be read as a tad aggressive, but that's also part of the point. It's meant to be a very in-your-face type of motto, especially as a spit in the face of pluralphobia and all other forms of bigotry it entangles itself with – racism, sanism, disableism, ableism, religious intolerance, queerphobia, etc.. Yeah, your cashier, classmate, neighbor might be plural – and so what?! Yeah, maybe you should think twice about messing with us, because acceptance is growing and you're not going to be able to excuse your hateful nonsense for much longer without it being called out as such! But on the other hand, I think it can work well as a conversation starter, giving people the prompt to ask, "What does that mean?" In this case, the slogan being so provocative works in its favor! Yeah, actually, I'd love to talk about how plurals go unknown and deserve more awareness, how there are almost certainly more of us than even we can know for certain! And, again, spikes on a wheelchair – taking words as an art form, this slogan is art that's meant to make you uncomfortable, to make you question things; "Art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable.", as Cesar A. Cruz said. It makes you scared or uncomfortable to think about there being more plurals out there than you first estimated there to be? Why does it make you feel that? Is this the result of unconscious bias? Why do you think we, the makers of this slogan, might be comforted by the same phrase that disturbs you?

We're plural as in more-than-one in more than one (lol) meaning of the phrase. More-than-one in this body, more-than-one of us out there fighting the good fight – helping others, breaking down walls, and pushing for a kinder and more accepting future.

Plural as in there are more of us than you think. Fuck your hatred, we're gonna be here no matter what.

[goldenshrikecomic]

Hello, this is gonna be a long one and I hope I don't bother you too much with it but you have something great going and and I think maybe some advice for someone like me who wants to do a longer comic and I took heart in that one ask you recently answered were you said you are plenty of pages ahead of the readers to not get paralysed by a deadline which seems like a no-brainer now that I read that with my own two eyes black on white but I had not thought to maybe go about it that way and I needed to have someone spell it out for me apparently. So to my question.. see, I have a skeleton of a story I have key scenes that need to happen and that I want to happen and I am sure in between things will shift and change and grow and a part of me can't wait for it to happen but- How do you start. How do you get going. It is in my head I have some written notes but most is in my head and I do not want it to remain there and rot I want to draw and tell the story I had in mind but I feel.. paralysed on the starting line of this journey and I am unsure how to go from there because my mind gets caught up in estimates of if I post one page a week that is "only" 52 pages. That seems so little. How many years would it take. Can I do this. And then my mind fires up in passion because I am willing to commit I want to do this I need to do this and I have a good idea of how to pace myself and how to go about it. I have the beginning of it on the back of my tongue and the tip of my fingers I can imagine it so vividly I wish I could animate it (if that wouldn't take up even more time and be insane I would) But somehow I still feel stumped on how to start. How to get over this first hurdle. It might be the executional dysfunction playing a huge part in it, maybe I am overthinking to much and stand in my way because of it, but like... How did you start your comic. How did your journey on GS begin? I know this was a bit of word vomit I am sorry but you are an inspiration and you seem to go about things (from what I could gleam from the asks) in a way that feels like it could work for me too and the way my brain functions but I do not know how to start? I dunno if it makes sense I am no english native and my thoughts are hard to put into words.

This ask has been sitting in my inbox for a while because it's such a loaded question. I have plenty of asks in this tag about my comicing process, so check them out maybe. This reply got lengthy! The more I wrote the more I noticed I feel very inadequate trying to give people tips on making comics. It's such a trial and error process.

I've seen plenty of advice for people wanting to start out comics to just start small, come up with a smaller story to get a feel of it before you go big. And I absolutely understand it in hindsight because I would've done many things differently if I had just tried it out first, but it's not what I did. I wanted to make a big comic, and a big comic I made, as my first project.

I don't think about the years these things take, but it'd absolutely ease your worries if you could come up with a simple style and be able to make pages faster. I've stripped my comic of shading and gotten more lenient with myself when it comes to backgrounds. You absolutely need to cut some corners if you want to make more than one story during your lifetime. It's a limited time afterall! Being able to turn your sketch into a lineart without having to redo everything with a careful hand would help a lot already. And colors, they take a lot of time.

This is not how I went about it in the beginning, but I'd love to tell you to write those things in your head down before you start. Leave holes, just write in what you know because you will forget some cool details if you keep them in. Write the starting point, middle and the end, even with just couple of words. Add things that interest you in the middle of those points. Do you want a sad arc for your character at some point? Write it in. Come up with what makes it happen. Weave it into the other scenes. If you know what's to come, you can add foreshadowing to the earlier scenes. Even if you didn't know what would come, you can take something from earlier scenes and make it foreshadowing. Writing is a fluid process. You can jump around and add things, you don't have to approach it by putting one block next to the other. Once you have the elements you want, you just have to tie those things together. It's the hard part. And you will change your mind about many things when you get to draw your characters and see them doing the things you've written.

The start! I always say it's the worst part, but I've started to think it might be the second worst. I think the worst part comes after you've started and worked for several ten pages on fumes and you finally run out of juice. Picking up after that is hard, for me at least. But if you can manage, it should get easier. You know your characters better by now, and they carry some of their own weight.

Make a canvas. Think about the scene you want to start your comic with. Night or day? Calm or busy? Just doodle, BIG and loose. Add some frames by just drawing lines, move things around, resize. What do you want to portray with the first page of your comic? I like to establish some of the world or atmosphere, and only then move on to the characters.

Don't try to be perfect, in fact leave that first canvas completely unpolished and move on to the next one. What should this page tell? Will you show the character? I'd leave the establishing shot of them as the last big panel. The rest of the page should build up to it. The last panel is important, it's a hook to turn the page.

Come back to polish those pages more only after you have a few of them done. The most important thing is to get yourself away from that first page, because the first page is scary. After five pages you can move things around and start adding ears to your spheres. You've started a comic now. You can go back to the first page and make it nice, because you already have opened the path to continue.

IT'S HARD. But it's rewarding. It's not for everyone but it's awesome if you can make it yours.

[desertfangs]

Is it possible you never knew? [AO3]

Armand/Daniel (with Marius/Daniel and some minor Armand/Marius) - Mature - 5,181 words

As Daniel starts to recover from his madness, Armand pays a visit to the little house in Norway where Marius and Daniel are living, and Daniel worries about what his maker will make of him now.

This is a fic I've been writing on and off in my head since I wrote Into the Midst of Madness but I was never sure if I thought Armand had actually seen him at all during this time. Of course, a lot has changed in my opinion since I wrote that fic and I would probably change a lot of things about it now. After rereading Blood and Gold, TVA, and some of Anne's notes, I decided that yeah, I actually do think they had some contact before PL. Still undecided on how much or how frequent, but it now feels more likely to me that visits such as these occurred.

Anyhow, I digress. I could talk about this stuff and the wonky timeline of it all for hours. (Please hit me up if you ever want to discuss this stuff, it's wild.)

The title comes from a line in the Devil's Minion chapter that felt exceptionally relevant here.

Short Excerpt:

Daniel’s mind is clear. He’s not entirely used to the feeling, but he likes not being mired in a mental fog all the time or singularly obsessive over one thing.

He’s been feeling better for weeks. He’s still building his models most nights, but he’s paying more attention to the radio Marius that left in his work room, actually listening to some of the programs. Occasionally he comes out and sits on the sofa with Marius and they watch an episode of some old sitcom. 

And now, finally, after over a month of Daniel feeling more present and comfortable in his own mind, where he can focus on things besides the models in front of him and the need for blood, he dares to hope he might be improving. 

Marius says as much, speaking the thought into existence as he ruffles Daniel’s short blond hair one night. Neither of them will say that he’s recovered, but they can both agree he’s further along in the process. 

Armand takes the news by deciding to visit. 

Daniel isn’t sure how he feels about it at first. He longs to see him, of course, but he’s anxious about being seen. The Mad Fledgling, the one who giggled his way through his immortal rebirth and lost his goddamn mind. The only one Armand ever turned and Daniel can’t help but wonder if he regrets it. 

He fears he regrets it. 

He fears it every time they have a stilted phone conversation, every time Armand hurries off the line, every time he thinks of their last fight, or how Armand tried to end it all. 

He tries hard not to think of these things, but sometimes the thoughts are inescapable and all-consuming. 

And now with him coming here, there’s nowhere to hide. Daniel is what he is. Almost two decades in the blood and already a mess.

“Not a mess,” Marius assures him, a gentle kiss to his temple as he dresses Daniel in his finest pair of jeans and a brand new polo shirt. He stands behind Daniel in the mirror. Daniel stares at his reflection: a pale young man in his early thirties whose violet eyes shine with preternatural light, whose long fingers tap nervously against the dark denim on his thigh. His short hair falls neatly into place. 

Immortal, forever.

Or as long as he can stand it, anyhow.

“Don’t be morose,” Marius chastises, answering his thoughts out loud. Getting Daniel to speak out loud, to vocalize his thoughts, is part of his recovery. 

“I’m not,” Daniel mutters.

He has no desire to end things. He’s finally coming out of a very long, dark tunnel and seeing the light again. It’s a new lease on forever. 

But there’s that nagging fear that he won’t measure up in Armand’s estimation. That his heart will be weighed and found lacking.

“You’re perfect.” Marius claps him on the shoulders. 

Daniel snorts, laughing slightly as he pulls away.

The doorbell rings. 

He’s early. 

Read the Rest on AO3

[wolfytae-exe]

🩵⊹₊ ⋆ first and last love | CHOI BEOMGYU

pairing: bsf!beomgyu x gn!reader

genre: drabble; fluff, my attempt at simple humour and suggestive.

wc: 1.2k

synopsis: you've had more crushes than you've properly fallen in love. why is that? because of the boy you grew up with who seemed to take up the space in your heart—designed for him only.

warnings: beomgyu's so flirty, physical affection, beomgyu has a way with his confession, kisses, neck kisses, reader so whipped over gyu :< beomgyu satoori >//< not proofread :')

a/n: hi cici!! I was 🫧 anon <3 I hope that you're looking after yourself and I hope you enjoy this! I'm so sorry this was late!

"I can feel your heart beating so fast right now, you good?" beomgyu whispers by your ear. his arms were stretched out above you, one hand lingers by your waist with a soft grip.

you shut your eyes for a second, trying to work on slowing down the pulse of your heart but how can you when the proximity between you was too close.

"can you please just get him off?" you plead softly, refusing to move in case toto will start flying away, his talons tangled in your hair.

beomgyu chuckles at your stiff frame, making tutting noises at toto so he would move onto his arm and place his feathered friend on his shoulder.

"toto, you made them nervous." he laughs but you knew it was out of endearment, and his hand's still on your waist, rubbing up and down your side, relaxing your shoulders from the gentle touches.

no matter how many times you've visited beomgyu's family, and toto, he still hasn't warmed up to you—screaming, or always going straight to the top of your head.

"a-anyway, um, what do you want to do today?" you hastily walk over to his bench window, sitting up right and still a little on edge in case his green friend flies off of his shoulder and back onto your crown.

looking out the window your eyes flicker at the way the trees dance in the wind. perhaps going outside wasn't on the agenda for today.

"you want to make out?"

"sorry what?" you were quick to catch those words. and the return of your heart palpitating in your chest has your cheeks furiously heating up from embarrassment.

"I asked if you want to make out with me." beomgyu walks into the corner of the room where toto's cage is, shuffling the cage so he wouldn't be in sight.

you weren't too sure if he was joking or if he just wanted to catch you off guard, but him asking you this question was not on your bingo card. he always had a special place in your heart. perhaps the reason why your crushes never lasted so long because beomgyu was there occupying your mind and your heart.

"earth to ___?" he calls out your name.

you shut your eyes for a long blink and when you open them you see beomgyu sitting beside you with a small pout and a raised brow.

"are you sure?" you ask. your face mirrors his expression as you turn your body towards him.

"yeah, I've been wanting to kiss you for years. I know you're not talking to anyone right now, so please just let me kiss you." he says it so nonchalantly like it wasn't the most bizarre thing to process.

your best friend—who you've loved all your life—wants to kiss you—because he's wanted to do that from who knows how long.

you scoff out a chuckle, fascinated by the way he managed to confess to you in a way you never thought or heard anyone ever confess to you before.

"I'm being serious, ___. I like you a lot, but I really want those pretty lips on mine." he leans a little closer, an estimate of ten centimetres between you as he awaits your confirmation.

"did you know that I've like you all my life, gyu?" you lean back on your hands, planting them into the cushion of the bench while you look up at the man before you with doe eyes.

"if I say yes, can I kiss you then?" he wasn't backing down.

"how do I know you didn't just fake a confession just to get me to kiss you? or for you to lure out my confession for you?" you probe, narrowing your eyes at your best friend. you know how he works, his little tricks and deception to get his way with things. but beomgyu isn't like that with you. you mean too much to him for him to do that to you, surely.

he sighs, facing the ceiling for a split second before scooting closer on the seat, the sides of your thighs touching and his hand cupping the side of your neck away from him.

"if you don't want me to kiss you just tell me to stop," he whispers lowly, and you figured his daegu dialect kicked in. "or you can kiss me back and I'd be the happiest guy in the galaxy."

you giggle at his exaggeration, but your heart starts to pick up again, your chest heaving slightly when beomgyu leans into your neck, delicately placing a kiss to your skin and another to the side of it and so forth.

your fingers find their way to tangle in his dark locks, sighing after every searing kiss, setting afire to the spot under your ear. once he heard your sweet whimper he transitions those gentle kisses to open-mouthed light sucking.

"beomgyu-" you sigh, eyes fluttering shut after he hums with his lips still latched onto your skin, the vibrations sending tingles across your body. "kiss me."

he smiles against your skin, the hold on the side of your neck a little stronger.

"that's my baby." is all you make out from his mumble before he connects his lips with yours.

it was like a dream come true, as cheesy as that is. but you never knew you'd ever be kissing your best friend, let alone asking you to kiss him.

he was gentle with it–you could feel the longing and subtle passion he had for you. a familiar hand settles back on your waist again, this time his fingers subtly slide up and under your top, his calloused finger tips skimming against your skin.

the room was silent, but the ambient noise of the wind making the trees rustle outside was a contrast to both your sighs picking up, getting heavier by the second.

"mph- gyu-" you attempt to speak between his lighter pecks, "I really hope you like me just as much. because I wasn't lying when I said I've liked you all my life."

you both pull away, foreheads resting against each other, chests heaving, lips plump and wanting more.

"I would never lie to you about that. okay perhaps I did a little." he admits.

you push his chest away from you to take a look at him properly, a hint of disgust visible on your face.

"I mean I don't like you, because I love you, ___." beomgyu was quick to explain, not wanting to let go of his hold on you.

you roll your eyes at him, playfully shoving his shoulder and feigning an angered manner. "you really made me think you were just using me to quench your thirst of kisses, beomgyu."

he laughs but wraps his arms around your torso, pulling you into a hug with his face buried in your neck.

"mmh, I'm sorry. I love you, I love you. I swear I was just messing with you for a sec. I really do love you." he confesses again in between light kisses against the other side of your neck. the sensation had your head reeling.

"okay, lover boy." your chortle quickly turns into a breathy whine. "that spot right there."

beomgyu acts upon your bidding, harshly sucking onto the area then delicately licking the spot.

"you didn't say it back." you can feel him pouting against you before he repeats and sucks on a different area that has your breath hitching.

"I love you. I love you. I love you so much, gyu." you relay, eyes still shut from the overwhelming feeling of slight pain from his teeth interfering but also the adrenaline from finally confessing to your first and, most likely, last love.

© BOBA-BEOM ; all rights reserved. do not repost, alter or translate in any way or platform.

EEK 🫧ANON IS SMILES REVEALEDDDDD

[dandelion-wings]

Now imagining that offscreen canon scene of Nilou coming over to the Homayani estate to help Dunyarzad try on dresses — with Nilou (1) having a crush on Dunyarzad she was considering acting on only to discover that (2) Dunyarzad can't stop talking about her bodyguard in the most obliviously obvious way. It's very sweet and who can blame her?

I also imagined it, and it was a fun bit of angst! But then, being me, I couldn't leave it on a sad love triangle when Dunyarzad has two hands, so I tried to fix it:

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ETA: Now on AO3!

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Nilou's pulse flutters with anticipation as she knocks on the door of the Homayani estate. Anticipation and some nerves; she'd made sure to arrive by the servant's entrance, not the front door, despite having Dunyarzad's invitation in her hand. Dunyarzad might be confident in it, but she's told Nilou before of her overprotective parents.

Perhaps the front door would have been better. The maid who answers this one is baffled by the letter, and Nilou hears her whispering to whoever it is she summons that a legitimate guest would come by the front door, wouldn't she? But whoever she's talking to affirms that the handwriting is Dunyarzad's, and Nilou is let in and conducted to their lady's rooms.

"You're here!" Dunyarzad exclaims, catching Nilou's hands and dragging her in.

She dismisses the servants with a wave of her hand, then closes the door and tugs Nilou over to sit beside her on the bed. Nilou's pulse flutters again, though there's a good foot between where Dunyarzad is and the spot she pats for Nilou to sit. She's afraid she may be blushing.

Dunyarzad, though, doesn't seem to notice. She's too excited about the festival. "I found out about something else we can do. Dehya was out on her day off and found an illegal bookseller. She brought me back an old novel set during a Sabzeruz Festival, which was so sweet of her. I haven't even told her about my plan yet. She got it all on her own, and told me that it mentioned Lesser Lord Kusanali, so she thought of me when she found it."

"That was nice of her," Nilou agrees. "What did you find out?"

"My favorite detail was that in the novel, they gave out special candies shaped like flowers. I thought that would be wonderful for the children."

"That would," Nilou agrees, charmed by the thought herself. "Did it say how to make them?"

"No. I was hoping you could find a confectioner who might have an idea. Or could make a new recipe, if that one was lost." Dunyarzad smiles brightly at her. "It might cost some more money, but I've figured out how to get us more funds. How much did you say you needed for the first round of orders, to start with? You can get estimates for the confectioners later."

"About five hundred thousand Mora," Nilou says, wincing as she says it. "But we can start with the venues, and that will only be two hundred thousand."

Dunyarzad only smiles even more brightly, radiant in her excitement, and leaps back to her feet. "I think I can cover that entirely, to start with. Though you'll have to help me. I know what my parents paid for most of these, but there's a difference between the commission price and what they might be worth for resale. I don't know if they'll be more valuable as a whole, or broken down for the gems and fabric."

Now and then Nilou is reminded that while Dunyarzad may be unfamiliar with the scrape-and-save economics of the Grand Bazaar, she is the daughter of a wealthy man who's known for handling his money well. She goes over to her dresser as she speaks, pulls a drawer open, and pulls out a few bundles of fabric. The first one she shakes out is a long skirt, a shade of red that doesn't suit her current pale complexion, though Nilou thinks it might have when she was healthier. It's embroidered with gold thread and amber beads.

"Mother wants me to keep these for when I'm well enough to attend events with Father again, but...." Dunyarzad's smile only dims a little. "She'll never know if a few have been sold. Dehya gave me the idea, actually. We were talking about her ornaments- you've seen them, right?"

"I've never seen them up close, but I've seen her in the Grand Bazaar before. They're very striking."

"Yes, the desert style is so beautiful. Especially on her." She smiles wistfully, her gaze going distant. Nilou's stomach starts to sink. She knows that look--she suspects she had worn that look this morning as she rushed through her chores at the Theater, given the teasing comments she had gotten. "She told me that they're mostly advertising. Everyone who knows mercenaries can see them and know they're looking at the Flame-Mane. But she also said that if she needs them to be, they're quick cash. In an emergency, if she doesn't have time to earn money, it's all nice enough to sell."

"Oh, there's people in the troupe do that. Though usually they try to just pawn them temporarily," Nilou adds. "Can I see all of them?"

"Here, let me lay them out."

"I'll help you."

Leaping up, Nilou hurries to take the skirts Dunyarzad hands her to lay out on the floor. Their hands brush as they touch, and her breath catches--thinks Dunyarzad's might, too. Some tentative hope still flutters within her as she kneels down to help lay out the selection of skirts.

"Oh," Dunyarzad exclaims, picking one back up. "Not this one, I'm sorry. Unless it's better than any of the others. The Festival does come first, but Deyha said this one looks the best on me, so if it's not especially valuable...."

It's not. Dehya is right, the silvery-blue and dusty purple colors match Dunyarzad's current complexion better than any of the bright colors otherwise on display. Besides that, though, it doesn't have the gold or silver thread of some of the others, it's beaded with pale quartz instead of anything more expensive, and the way it's pieced together would make it difficult to pick it apart in such a way that the fabric's quality would be preserved. Which means that Dehya likes it for how it looks on Dunyarzad, not because she has some sort of eye for value.

"No, that one isn't. These here, the one with the star sapphires and noctilucous jade, would be the easiest to break down without damaging anything, and the pieces would sell very well."

"Good. I've been trying to wear this more often. Dehya said there's no reason I can't wear nice things just to wear them, and she always smiles when she sees me in this one. She has a beautiful smile," she adds, earnestly, that wistful tone again. "People don't often smile around me these days... so when I see hers, it's always like seeing a brilliant sunset. Something worth treasuring, even if no one else notices how precious it is."

Nilou swallows hard, feeling that quavering hope sink down and die. She makes herself smile just as she had before, hoping Dunyarzad won't notice the difference. Even if Dunyarzad doesn't find her smile precious in the same way, she had sounded so sad when she said people don't smile around her. Nilou will never be one of those people who are mourning her early, instead of celebrating her presence.

"I understand," she says, refusing to feel sorry for herself. "If I take this one, I can afford at least the venue expenses, and we'll have a hundred to two hundred thousand Mora left over for other costs, depending on what I can sell the pieces for."

Dunyarzad's expression goes that bright and beaming again. "I'm so glad I could help!"

"We'll make the Sabzerzu Festival an event for everyone to remember," Nilou assures her, bundling up the skirt and scrambling to her feet. She could manage it on stage, but face-to-face with disappointment she can't make herself look this cheerful for long. "I should go start on taking these apart...."

"I don't want to delay you," Dunyarzad says, though she's clearly reluctant to let Nilou leave. "If you can't find the money elsewhere, come back and we'll pick out another you can use. The maids and Mother will notice if they all vanish, but they probably wouldn't notice one or two more."

"I will," Nilou assures her. Dunyarzad is so clearly lonely; Nilou doesn't mind coming back to give her some company another time. She just needs some time to mourn her crushed hopes first.

On the way out, she catches a glimpse of red and gold passing through the same courtyard she is, the Flame-Mane herself, an exuberant grin on her face as she heads for the hall to Dunyarzad's room. Nilou isn't sure if she knows about the skirt-selling plan, so she tucks the bundle closer and turns away. The jealousy she feels isn't fair. That Dunyarzad has someone in her life to smile for her, day in and day out, is what matters.

***

That Dunyarzad is *alive* is what matters, after that. It's not Nilou's fault--everyone rushes to tell her that it's not her fault, which honestly is worse than if they hadn't said anything reassuring at all, but she does know who to blame and it is the Grand Sage--but there is pain in knowing that it had been Nilou who anchored the samsara that nearly killed her.

Dunyarzad wouldn't want her to fret and fuss, though, when there's work to be done to help Lesser Lord Kusanali. Enough people are doing that. And knowing that Dehya is with her while Nilou joins in with that work makes it easier. Nilou's jealousy fades into determination, to do what Dunyarzad would wish her to, and relief, that she can do so without leaving her alone with only her parents' grief.

Whatever Lord Kusanali does to put an end to the scourge of eleazar, Nilou could hug her for it. Does, the first chance she gets, and takes her terribly by surprise--but she thinks their archon, after all her years of confinement, needed the hug.

"Thank you," she says, small and sweet, when Nilou lets go, and puts a hand on her arm. She looks deep into Nilou's eyes, her own eyes at once as bright and innocent as a newly-opened flower and as wise and deep as the forest itself. "Go to your friend! She wants to see you, too."

Nilou goes. And when she sees Dunyarzad with her arm around Dehya's waist, she can only smile, no matter how it stings, because Dunyarzad is alive to hold her and there's no place for sorrow in that joy.

***

Nilou's pulse flutters with anticipation as she knocks on the door of the Homayani estate. Anticipation, but no nerves; she's at the front door this time, confident of her welcome. The Homayanis have become open patrons of the Zubayr Theater. Dunyarzad's invitation in her hand only confirms her right to be here.

The last time she had been here had been the celebratory dinner arranged after Dunyarzad's recovery was confirmed. They had met in the Grand Bazaar a month later for the farewell dinner before Dunyarzad and Dehya left on their desert trip; Dunyarzad had insisted that she wanted to see a performance at the Theater one more time. Nilou does her best at every performance, but she'd put her all into that one, and Dunyarzad had been radiant and entranced.

She's not trying to compete with Dehya. That would be unkind to both Dunyarzad, whom she would never hurt, and Dehya, who since their first meeting has become something of a friend. But she still likes to see Dunyarzad smile so bright.

Which she does now, rising from her chair and holding her hands out to Nilou as she enters Dunyarzad's rooms. No more the enclosing curtains of a stifling sickroom; they've been pulled back, the windows flung wide, the terrace outside alive with pots of flowers.

"You're here! Come out to the terrace," she insists, dragging Nilou along. "I have so much to show you."

Dehya is waiting outside, of course, lounging on a bench beside the terrace's outdoor table. She grins and waves at Nilou, too. "Hey! Good to see you."

"How was your trip?"

"It was wonderful. We met a friend of Dehya's, Candace, in Aaru Village, and she showed us around. I never knew the desert could be so beautiful. Then Dehya took me the mausoleum of King Deshret, and to view Mount Damavand. There's supposed to be ruins at its foot, but we didn't go there this trip."

"Some of the Eremite tribes are responding better to the Akademiya's new outreach programs than others," Dehya says. "The ones around there aren't real friendly right now, and I wasn't going to take my lady into danger. We'll see how that looks in a few years."

Nilou smiles at them both, warmed by the happiness in Dunyarzad's voice. She looks happy--and healthy, her color so much better, her thin frame starting to fill out. The desert has been good for her. Getting to *go* to the desert, to escape the confines through which she lived her life, has been good for her.

"It sounds wonderful," she tells them.

"You should come the next time we visit," Dunyarzad says. "I'm sure you'd like it."

"Maybe in a few years the troupe can tour there. I'm busy with scheduled performances right now, but if we all went together, it could be a cultural exchange. I've heard a lot about the desert dances."

"They'd love you in Aaru Village."

"We can make plans later," Dunyarzad says. "For now, come see what I brought back."

She leads Nilou over to the table, where a lovely array of jewelry and ornaments have been spread out. Nilou gasps in delight. "These are gorgeous. Oh, look at this comb... and this hair clip... and oh, those ribbons.... You're going to be the talk of Sumeru City in these."

Dunyarzad smiles. "They're for you."

"Which ones?"

"All of them," Dehya says. "We had to rent a whole third sumpter beast on the way back from Caravan Ribat for everything she picked up there, and at least half of that was for you."

"That's not true," Dunyarzad says, laughing. "I bought small things! Your cosmetics took up just as much space, and most of it was the silk we brought home for Mother and the rugs for Father."

Dehya waves a hand in cheerful defeat.

"Dunyarzad, I can't take all of this," Nilou protests, her face hot. "It's very sweet of you, but this is...."

Putting aside the emotional weight of such a gift, this is worth more than the Theater makes in a *month*. If Nilou started wearing all of this, people would start looking around for her patron, and she doesn't think Dunyarzad would even think to keep quiet about that. The Homayanis are very kind people who don't need that scandal, and Nilou doesn't need more people than already do to think that her--attention--can be bought.

"You don't have to wear it all at once." Dehya gives her a sympathetic grin. "Pick a new piece every couple of weeks and rotate them out. My lady won't mind."

It occurs to her that a mercenary, someone else who sells her physical skills for her daily bread, might have run into the same sort of interest that dancers and actors often do. Especially a mercenary as attractive as Dehya inarguably is. And her strategy is a wise one.

"I don't want to completely change your aesthetic," Dunyarzad agrees, pink in the cheeks for all the wrong reasons and oblivious to Nilou's real concern.

Not that the aesthetic isn't a real concern, too, as she's established certain expectations to her audience, but--Nilou blushes harder, because that really should have been her first thought. She knows why the other had been instead. Her hopes she's long since peacefully put to bed, but the feelings that Dunyarzad's smile stir in her didn't go with them.

"If you're really sure...." She looks back at the gifts, still overwhelmed. "It's just so much."

"It cost less all together than that skirt I gave you."

"Yes, but that was for the Sabzeruz Festival, for Lord Kusanali-"

"Nilou." Dunyarzad takes her hands again, swinging her around to look directly at her. She looks so terribly, sweetly earnest. "When I was ill, and in despair, your dances always cheered me, and you were always so kind to me when we spoke after a performance. When I was locked away in this house, forbidden to leave, you sent me flowers, even though all the rest of the outside world was happy to pretend I didn't exist. When I wanted to do something for Lord Kusanali, to help celebrate the Sabzeruz Festival, you let me help- you believed I *could* help, even though I was sick and weak and useless. And every time I saw you, every time I got those flowers or read your letters, that time you came to visit... you always smiled so warmly, like a beautiful sunrise. Compared to the joy you brought me, these gifts are nothing at all."

The way Dunyarzad is looking at Nilou makes her knees want to turn to jelly. Her hands tremble in Dunyarzad's, and she can feel her blush blazing even brighter than before. If those words had come from anyone else, even if they'd come from Dunyarzad before she all but confessed her feelings about Dehya during that meeting before the Festival, Nilou would think-

"But you have Dehya," she blurts out, and wishes she could turn to water and dissolve into the terrace's stone.

"I do. And I don't mean to *ask* for anything," Dunyarzad says, her smile growing worried. "But when we went to Aaru Village.... Dehya has Candace, too, and once we'd talked about that, I thought I should at least let you know. It doesn't have to change our friendship, if you don't want it to. I will always value you as my friend before anything else. But," and there's that sweet, earnest look again, now anxious as well, "I have always thought you were beautiful."

Nilou glances frantically at Dehya, who's leaning forward and watching them with intense interest. She gives Nilou a thumbs-up.

"I don't know," Nilou says, overwhelmed. But already, hopes she'd thought crushed to silence are starting to stir again, fluttering within. She smiles shyly back at Dunyarzad. "We should talk about it, shouldn't we? But I *want* to talk about it."

Dunyarzad beams back at her, as excited as she'd been when giving her the gifts. "We should," she agrees, and then she's pulling Nilou in.

She could resist, if she wanted. Dunyarzad is stronger than she was before she left for the desert, but Nilou could easily twist away. And maybe they should talk first. But she doesn't want to. Her heart is racing with excitement, with hope reawoken into joy, and she leans in and kisses Dunyarzad as thoroughly as she possibly can.