#my boyfriend oc: static

[kuromispamton2000]

i did the gays! bisexual boys and their respective ships

SMG3 and SMGP are bisexuals!

Trickster Mr. Puzzles is bisexual as well and present you his main ship, Signal! an oc tv head of my boyfriend he created him just for ship with trickster mr. puzzles lmao Trickster Mr. Puzzles is multiship tho and my boyfriend as it isn't me allow any character i make to ship em with whoever i want..so Trickster Puzzles still can be ship with anyone else like a close oc of a friend or idk lmao

BASED OF THIS IMAGE

[sunshiney-day]

uhm

[ladyveronikawrites]

AIN'T NOTHIN' BUT A GOOD TIME

Lady Midnight's Kinktober in the Concrete Jungle 2024

Pairing: Nicholas Ruffilo x Jolly Karlsson x OC x Noah Sebastian

Cw- masked men, roleplaying, sensory deprivation: blindfolds, scarf as bondage, unprotected vaginal sex, mean ex boyfriend, double penetration, oral sex (male and female receiving), mild thigh slapping, spitting, vaginal fingering,  jerking off, facial, cum eating,  revenge kink if you squint, getting caught, voyeurism, THICK DICK NICK, one hot foursome, If I missed anything please let me know!

AN: a little self-indulgent fic, Star Wars characters ahead - Nick as Kylo Ren makes me feral lol - pärla means 'gem' in Swedish

AO3 || Wattpad || Word Count: 3k || masterlist || Taglist sign up

dividers by saradika-graphics

Ruby swipes on her signature red lip as she looks over her outfit in the full-length mirror by the front door. She adjusts her boring brown Jedi robes Nathan insisted she wear to juxtapose his Darth Maul. She scoffs to herself knowing damn well he has no idea who Darth Maul is and probably found the costume at Spirit Halloween. Reluctantly she sighs, the distant dream of her Sabine Wren cosplay lying buried under clothes in her closet never to see the light of day.

Her phone chimes, ripping her from her brief moment of sadness. 

She frantically types ‘OMW’ as she slides into the Uber.

Nathan <Ru, I have been waiting for over an hour.>

She can hear Nathan’s anger through the screen, silently sending a prayer for the driver to go faster. Ruby and Nathan were high school sweethearts that turned into an on-and-off-and-on-again situationship while they were away in college, but when Ruby dropped out of college to pursue music full-time as an indie artist - things went sour really fast. He never understood her passion for music, too self-absorbed in his reputation at the Ivy League university he got into thanks to his wealthy parents. 

Her fingers freeze over the screen as her heart shatters into a thousand pieces. 

Nathan <You know what, since it seems like you don’t care about MY time, we are done. For real this time. Don’t even bother coming.>

Tears stream down her face as she powers down her phone and shoves it into her purse. He can go fuck himself, Ruby thinks to herself - and she gets an even better idea. 

“S-sorry but can you take me downtown instead?” she asks, her voice wavering slightly as the realization sinks in. She takes a deep breath, drying her tear-stained cheeks as the driver pulls up to Nathan’s most hated bar- which happens to be her favorite, Third Base. 

The bar is bustling as she walks in. It’s been updated since she had been there, all those months ago when Nathan was doing a semester abroad in Rome. Ruby instantly fell in love with the quaint charm of the dive bar. It didn’t help that the bar owner was ruggedly handsome, the kind of personality that was homegrown from a small town. She ached for the slow stroll of home instead of the hustle and bustle of city life. Festive Halloween touches add to the ambiance and that’s when she realizes other patrons are also adorned in costume.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” his familiar twang wraps around her like a warm blanket. She should probably be sobbing into her wine glass in a rose-scented bubble bath in the comfort of her home instead she replies with “Whiskey neat, double.” She notices he’s the only one not dressed up, even his bartender is sporting a risque outfit. 

Ruby is about to mention the lack of costume when he asks “That kinda night?” Ruby downs the drink without a word, slides off the metal bar stool, and makes her way to the old jukebox in the corner of the bar. She scrolls through the CDs not really impressed with the selection. 

“Not finding what you’re looking for?” A distorted voice has Ruby turning. She opens her mouth to grumble about the lackluster music selection, but her brain turns to static. She’s met face-to-face with Kylo Ren. 

“I-” 

“Here, you might like this.” Another man dressed up as a Mandalorian pushes between them. Ruby stands in awe as the two men fight over a CD. Her awe turns into appreciation as she notices the small details in the homemade costume. Whoever’s in the suit spent hours making it.

“Can I buy you another drink?”  A deep voice comes from the bar.

She turns and freezes. “N-nathan? How’d yo-” She is silenced by a red-painted finger as the man towers over her. Realization strikes her that this man is too tall to be Nathan. 

“Nathan isn’t here Jedi.” Boldly, the stranger spits in her face - playing into the villainous role - yet Ruby can’t help but be even more aroused. 

Ruby finds herself being shoved into the back seat of an SUV. Not in a kidnappy way but in a rushed I-want-to-devour-you-way. The look Darth Maul is giving her has her pussy throbbing. She slides her way in as Kylo and Mando hop in the front. Warm lips pressed against her and; at this moment, she couldn't care less if she was covered in red and black body paint by the end of this. She pulls him in closer as his gloved hand teases the waistband of her leggings. Her head thuds against the window when he slips his fingers inside her as his tongue explores her mouth. Suddenly, his long finger slams into the sweet spot and she bites down on his bottom lip, hard. 

He groans, “You gonna surrender, Jedi?” 

“Fuck, don’t stop,” she whines as he finger fucks her all the way to her apartment. By the time they get to her apartment, his gloves are drenched and the back seat is damp where she was sitting, but Ruby could give a single fuck as in the span of 30 minutes she had already had more satisfying orgasms than Nathan could ever give her. Maybe it’s the adrenaline or the thrill? Probably both. If one of them can satisfy her alone with his fingers imagine all three of them.

“You wanna do this Jedi?” Kylo Ren asks once in Ruby’s apartment.

“It’s not every night you get three masked men in your apartment,” she smirks her hands roaming over his black robes. 

“You’ll have to wear this,” the foreign Mandalorian slides a blindfold over her eyes. 

“That’s fine,” her breath catches as her hands drift up to grip Ren’s mask. “Can I take this off?” 

Abruptly, she finds herself pressed against a solid chest behind her and warm lips devour her own. She tangles her fingers into long hair and he groans when she yanks. 

“I was not expecting long hair, but it’s so soft.” Ruby twirls a strand around her finger. Her hand cups his cheek and pulls him into another kiss.

“Ren’s not the only one here Jedi.” Her heartbeat skyrockets at the memory of Darth Maul in the backseat of the car. The way he towered over her, his eyes dark with lust, and his voice made her pussy flutter.

 The mattress groans with the added weight and Ruby’s mind begins to spiral. She yelps with teeth and stubble brush against the skin on her inner thigh. Fuck, Mando has facial hair that's fucking hot. Ruby giggles as he inches closer to her core and at the same time remembers how Nathan can only grow a pathetic and patchy beard. She squirms, aching for roughness against her pussy..

“Oh you’re a feisty one,” Maul whispers in her ear as he settles down beside her. Suddenly, her hands are bound loosely with something smooth and soft. Her brain rationalizes one of her summer scarves that hangs from the hooks over the door. A part of her hopes it’s her favorite one, the black one with skulls. 

“Our red hot Ruby.” he nips at her ear and at the same time one of them pinches her nipple. Ruby yelps at the sudden pain, endorphins surging through her body. “You like a little pain with your pleasure, hm?” 

Smack

A large hand makes contact with her inner thigh. “Fuck! Yes,” Ruby yelps. “Yes, I like pain ‘n pleasure!”

Lips brush against her cheek. “Our little pain slut.”

“Our little pain slut,” Mando mumbles against her throbbing clit as he sinks two thick fingers inside her. 

“Fuck,” she groans as her pussy walls stretch from the invasion. 

“God Ruby… have you ever- “ he trails off, lost in thought. He sucks her clit between his lips and thrusts his fingers into the spongy sweet spot. Ruby writhes as the coil winds tighter in her core. Large hands clamp down on her shoulders to keep her steady as her body starts to tremble. In a silent scream, the dam breaks, and euphoria floods through her body as she releases herself onto Mando’s face. She writhes oversensitive and overwhelmed as he laps up everything she gives him. 

“Little, pärla” Mando pants, “You are divine.” 

Ruby finds herself being pulled gently to sit upright. “Here’s some water,” Ren says softly, handing her a glass of water.

“Thank you.” Her cheeks warm to the kind gesture. “Nathan never took care of me like this.” Her lips press into a thin line and her shoulders slump forward as her mind flashes each disappointing experience. 

A warm hand settles on the small of her back, gently rubbing up and down. “Ain’t nothin’ but a good time, hm?” Mando whispers seductively, his breath is hot against the shell of her ear.  

Ruby briefly wonders if that would have been the track he chose at the bar. Her heart flutters at the parallels and she enthusiastically adds, “Hell yeah!” 

She squeals at first when hands grip her hips and hoist her onto his lap. His hard cock

“You ready for a good time, sweetheart?” Ren asks before pulling her into a heated kiss. His free hand roams over her tits as another set of hands rubs up and down her thighs. Sandwiched between the two men her heart races with anticipation. 

“Got any lube, darling?” Mando asks as Ren pulls her up onto her knees. 

“In… the… drawer…”  she replies between kisses. Her heart leaps into her throat when a cold and wet finger circles the tense muscle of her asshole.

“Can Mando fill you up back there while Ren plays with your pretty pussy?” Maul’s baritone makes her spine tingle. Mando’s finger stills at her back entrance and Ren nips at her other ear. 

“Can I watch?” Maul asks, pulling the blindfold off and Ruby’s eyes widen, taking in the sight before her. Ren’s stormy blue-gray eyes captivate her first, then his soft smile and tint of pink on his cheeks. She can’t resist carding her hand through his hair, so smooth. He leans into her touch, entranced by the gentleness. The world around them darkness slightly and she briefly forgets about the other two. She could stay here, locked in his gentle gaze but her eyes begin to wonder. Her other hand traces the tattoos on his shoulder to his wrist where in the corner of her vision she spies his large thick cock. 

Suddenly, a gloved hand grips her wrist and twists her sideways. His fingers entwine with hers as the other grips her chin. “Don’t forget about us, Jedi.” His deep brown eyes are piercing and she notices that his face is the only exposed skin free of paint. His abdominal muscles flex as her gaze lowers, she huffs disappointed that he is clothed from the waist down.

Her eyes widen at the sound of a deep moan. Maul tilts her head back so she can see the man behind her. His grasp loosens completely and she twists her body more to see Mando better. 

“Hello, pärla,” he moans her nickname, his eyelids flutter closed as he strokes himself. 

“Looks like Mando’s ready. Are you?” Maul asks. 

Ruby remains fixed on watching Mando touch himself. She mutters a breathless, “Yeah.” 

“Come back to your supreme leader.” A tinge of pain pricks at Ruby’s scalp when Ren fists her hair and tugs. She moans as the pain melts into pleasure. 

“Finally showing me your dark side, Ren,” Ruby smirks. “I like it.” 

“Good.” Ren crowds into Ruby’s space, thrusting his hand around her throat. He squeezes slightly then releases pressure completely. “Lean back.”

Ruby adjusts her stance to straddle Mando’s hips. Together, Mando and Ren guide her to lower herself onto him. Maul groans beside them.  The stretch takes her breath away, if only for a moment as the hand tightens around her neck and lips crash onto hers. Ruby succumbs to the sensations letting Mando set the pace while she battles for breath with the fallen Jedi. Ren shoves her back against Mando’s chest by the throat. She sucks in the air when he releases his hand, chest heaving with every inhalation. 

“My turn,” Ren growls, nipping at her earlobe. He squeezes the soft tissue of her breasts as his mouth trails kisses down her torso. Grinning he spreads her legs apart wider and his lips gently kiss her tummy before descending through her silken folds. Mando thrusts into her as Ren teases her other hole with his tongue and then sucks at her clit. She’s teetering on the edge of bliss when it is abruptly ripped away.

“No cumming yet darling.” Mando stills inside her just as Ren flattens his tongue licking one final time before pulling away. 

“Do you want a taste?” Ren asks, his lips ghosting over hers. Her mouth drops open to respond but without warning, fingers slide their way in. Disappointment sours her stomach when Ren leans over and kisses Mando. Greedily, she flicks her tongue around Ren’s fingers in hopes of vying for his attention. 

“Is our Ruby a little jealous she is getting attention?” Maul laughs. In the heat of the moment, Ruby had forgotten all about him. “No… you aren’t jealous, but your needy little cunt is.” Desperation flashes through her as she bites down on Ren’s fingers. Ren huffs a laugh against Mando’s lips, 

“I heard that cunt is still needy, hm?” Ren tilts his head, his gaze scanning over her body. A small whine leaks out of her mouth. He slides his fingers out of her mouth and onto her throat. His lips curl into a devilish smirk, “You want more?” 

“Yes, yes, yes, please!” Ruby’s lashes flutter when Ren sinks into her dripping pussy. 

“So tight-” Ren groans.

“Dude, I can feel you,” Mando gasps when Ren bottoms out.

“This is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” Maul muses.

Ren holds her steady as Mando slowly thrusts in and out of her. 

“Feeling good?” Maul whispers lowly in her ear.

“S-so good, so full.. he's so big” Her words melt into nothingness when Ren flexes inside her.

“Fuck fuck fuck, I’m gonna come… don’t-” Ruby whines as Mando and Ren alternate thrusting into her ass and cunt.

“Ru, you home? I saw your car out front.” Her ex’s voice booms through the apartment, his words slur together in one long word. But she can’t be bothered as pressure builds in her core. 

“Shhh,” Mando shushes her with a hand to her mouth

“Maybe,” Maul leans over and whispers turning Ruby slightly towards him. Grinning he offers his eager cock to her and she eagerly nods. Ren smacks Maul in the arms when he moans as Ruby takes him into her mouth. 

The bedroom door swings open and Maul’s cock throbs between her lips. Ren and Mando are too far gone to care when -

“WHAT THE FUCK!”

Ruby sighs against Maul’s softening cock slipping it from her mouth while she is still being pounded between two beautiful men. It takes all of her strength not to come when she leans around Ren to stare Nathan dead in the eyes. 

“Fuck! You!” she groans as she comes, flipping Nathan one and then sucking on each of her middle fingers. Her eyes roll back as she catches a glimpse of him stalking out the door. When the door slams shut she sinks into Mando as euphoria floods her body.

“Damn, that was hot!” Maul says impressed. Ruby peers up through her lashes at Maul who’s stoking his now hard cock. 

“Yeah?” Ruby cocks an eyebrow. Without hesitation, she pulls his free hand and sucks on his middle finger. 

Maul sucks in a curse. “Damn girl, fuck.” Ruby bites down at Maul’s finger, not painfully hard, but enough when her hair is yanked back and she is pulled off. 

“Wh-”

“Open up,” Mando commands as he grips her jaw forcing her mouth open. Ruby opens her mouth wide and sticks her tongue out with anticipation. Mando lowers his hands to rest around her throat squeezing gently. Ren tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear before leaning down to suck on her nipple. She jolts when he bites down, her pussy walls clenching around his semi-hard cock. Mando slides his hand down her middle to circle her clit as Ren plays with her tits. 

“Fuckfuckfuck,” Maul curses as he splatters his cum all over Ruby’s face. Small whimpers come from her open mouth as another orgasm wrecks through her. She swallows then licks her lips and smiles up at Maul before pulling him closer to lick and suck at his softening cock. She hisses when Ren pulls off her tit with an audible pop. 

Ruby hums satisfiedly, leaning back against Mando, as Ren slides out of her. Before he can say another word, she mumbles, “Baby wipes in the bathroom down the hall.” 

She doesn’t open her eyes but sinks further into bliss as Mando rubs his hands up and down her arms. “You did so well for us Pärla,” he whispers in her ear. All she can muster is a hummed agreement. 

“Let me clean you up,” Maul offers when Ren returns. She blinks to find soft brown eyes and a dazzling smile to greet her. “Thank you,” she whispers. “All of you,” she adds when Ren takes Maul’s place in front of her to press a gentle kiss to her cheek. As Ren and Maul redress, Mando steals more kisses as he helps Ruby up to dress her. 

“Here,” Maul hands Ruby her glass of water. “You can call me Noah.” 

“Hi, Noah.” she flashes him a dazzling smile in the afterglow.

“Food?” Ren asks before adding,” The name’s Nick and he’s Jolly.” 

“No please- you guys can go, I’ll be alright.” Ruby dismisses, gesturing to the door.  

“Please?” Jolly wraps her up in his arms. “Dinner and a movie and we will leave after that.”

“We just don’t want you to be alone,” Nick adds. 

“Fine.” Ruby relents as her stomach rumbles. “Thai food and the new Deadpool movie.” 

The four of them settle on blankets and pillows in the living room with Ruby in the middle. She finds herself leaning against Jolly’s shoulder and for the first time in a long time has finally felt at peace.

👑Royal Readers👑

@deathblacksmoke @mysticdoodlez @sitkowski @snarkysolaris @collapsedglasshouses @shilohrosechicken

@cookiesupplier @iknownothingpeople @dominuslunae @agravemisstake @the-ancient-fae

@itsafullmoon @philomenie @th4t-em0-k1d @baddestomens @rumoured-whispers

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@omensbrainrot @99png @awkwardalex @fadingangelwisp @theanarchymuse95

[siriusthenurseryattendant]

[Sirius hummed contently, slightly tilting his head at the oddly specific yet not specific title he was given.]

[He slinked off toward the sound, crouching down so he could crawl, which he much preferred over walking, on his padded fingertips and feet. His tail flicking side to side to provide light when needed.]

“Taquitoooo~ I’ll make you into a little bite-sized rotisserie chicken if you’ve broken something important~”

[He whispered under his breath while peeking under a larger piece of furniture.]

“Uhh… the side of the road?…”

[He said, shaking his head to process the new person.]

“Uh- I don’t know what to do with him now! I just.. spontaneously adopted him and I’m uncertain how to take care of him…”

[He holds the rooster in his hands, it fits perfectly in the palm on one of them, yet he uses both of hold, and nearly smother, it gently.]

“I was hoping you’d.. be able to help? Somehow?.. and uh- sorry for the.. less than ideal meeting! I’m Sirius, Sirius Star! I’m… something to Static, but that’s still to be established!”

[He said cheerily, giving a small bow as he didn’t really want to let go of his newly found pet.]

"yeah, ah- i- can try to help out-? I don't know too much about these types of animals- but I can always learn-?"

"nice to meet you, Sirius. Glad you pass the Static spontaneous-ness check-"

[abiiors]

on the road // george daniel x oc

valentine's week - day 5: lovers' quarrel

a/n: this is a bit shit but i wanted to resurrect george and cleo and give them a valentine's day because i miss them. also because i need motivation to finish the series cw: nothing much, just a bit of crying wc: 3k

if someone had told cleo a year ago that she’d be spending valentine's day with george daniel, with her boyfriend george daniel, she would have cackled until her stomach hurt. she would have called them insane for even thinking such a thing and moved on with her life. 

but the night before the big day, cleo sighs into her pillow and turns to glare at her empty bed, and by extension her empty apartment. 

turns out she actually isn’t spending valentines day with her boyfriend—not in the way she wants to, at least. 

she picks at a hangnail and hmms noncommittal to whatever matty’s just said on the phone. 

“are you listening to me?” matty asks, and she can practically imagine him snapping his fingers at her. “i said george is picking you up tomorrow. 8 am.”

cleo gapes and sits up in her bed. “no he’s not!”

there’s a silence on the other end of the line, some static. “uhhh… yes he is,” matty says, confusion clear in his voice. “i just confirmed that with him.”

“no, i meant… he doesn’t have to. i’ll take the train.” she chews on the pad of her thumb, waiting to see how matty would react to this. predictably, there’s some shuffle on the line. then the background noise dims before matty speaks again. 

“cleo,” he begins, exasperation clear in his voice. “have you fought again?”

her first instinct is to be defensive. what does he mean again?! it’s not like they fight a lot! sure they bicker maybe, sure they bicker a bit more than a regular couple whatever that means but they don’t fight. well…

apart from a few days ago. and she’s still dealing with the fallout from that. 

“you did, didn’t you?” matty sighs. “no wonder george was so short with me.”

“it’s just a spat,” cleo mumbles and massages her temples. “‘s fine, matty. i’ll take a train tomorrow. he doesn’t need to go out of his way.”

she expects him to argue back, to insist that george should pick her up as planned. instead he just hums. 

“sure,” matty drawls. “if you’ve got 160 quid to throw away, be my guest.”

cleo almost chokes on air then, her eyes wide as saucers. “fuck off!” 

but matty only laughs at her. “it’s either that or a road trip with george. you pick.”

and then the little shit hangs up, leaving her to fume in silence. 

cleo curses at her empty room, at the any and every train operator she can think of. she even plops herself back on the bed to dramatically check for train tickets only to discover that matty absolutely wasn’t lying. once the annoyance drains away, though, her eyes sting with unshed tears. her throat feels tight. 

she really misses george, so much so that she doesn’t even want to sleep in the empty bed anymore. but she settles for hugging the other pillow tightly and closing her eyes. 

cleo promises herself that she’ll talk it out with him tomorrow. she has to. there’s no way she’s going to be stuck with him in a car for six hours while they both fume silently in their respective seats and not talk for the entire duration of it.

george is there 8 am just like matty said. cleo looks at him through the window of her apartment, curtains half drawn so she could sneakily ogle at him and gauge his mood. to her annoyance, his face is absolutely blank. 

not that that’s the first thing she sees of course. 

he’s in a plain white t-shirt that fits him perfectly—it’s just the right amount of loose on him, the sleeves cut off at the perfect point on his arms and the sun reflects on his stupidly gorgeous hair making them shine. to cleo’s utter annoyance, he looks fucking hot. just like he always has. 

on top of that, he’s leaning against the car, a cigarette dangling between his lips so carelessly, every time he holds it between his fingers, the rings on his hand glint and her mind flashes with all the times she’s spent obsessed over those fingers, all the times they’ve made her feel maddeningly amazing. over and over again. 

he takes his phone out to type something and two seconds later her phone buzzes. 

something warm spreads through her chest—sure, they’re mad at each other but at least he’s texting her. at least, there’s some form of communication. 

she runs to look at her phone and it’s like a bucket of cold water’s  just doused the warmth in her chest. it’s not a text from george, it’s a text from matty – he’s waiting downstairs. where are you?

then a moment later – pls don’t make me your messenger pigeon

she stomps like a child and staches the phone in her back pocket. then, just to be annoying, she takes extra two minutes to perfectly apply her lipgloss—let him wait. she’s not in the mood to be nice to him anymore. no matter how good he looks. 

by the time cleo gets to the car, it’s already ten past eight. his eyes widen just a smidge when he sees but he quickly schools his face into a neutral expression and flicks the cigarette butt away. then he stomps on it a couple times and turns, about to go to the driver-side door, leaving cleo to gape at the back of his head. 

he’s never, never let her open the door even once since they got together. not even a single time. but this time he simply slides into his seat and taps impatiently on the steering wheel without saying a word. 

cleo yanks the car door open and slams it shut once she’s inside, she even clicks her seatbelt in place with a scoff and then resolutely turns to the window, turning her face away from him as much as possible. 

by the time they’re out of her neighbourhood and onto the freeway, she can feel his burning stare at the back of her head, so much so that she can’t help but turn around slightly and take a peak at him from the corner of her eye. a muscle feathers in his jaw when someone honks at them and george mutters a low curse under his breath. 

it’s the first time she’s hearing him speak today, and even this isn’t directed at her. the realisation makes her throat feel tight but she refuses to cry any more about the fight than she already has. and so cleo stares straight ahead, vowing not to be the first one to break the silence. 

“coffee?”

cleo startles when george speaks out of nowhere. they haven’t been driving for that long, only about an hour judging by the time blinking on the car’s radio but the tension in the vehicle is thick enough to cut with a knife. 

he looks at her briefly and then points to a costa on the side of the road. cleo nods and waits for him to park the car. 

“i’ll get it for you,” he mumbles just as she’s about the exit the car and flees before she can make a single noise of protest. 

cleo just sits there, absolutely stunned. 

is this what it’s going to be like for the next six hours? tense silences and george running out on her whenever he has the chance to? bitterly, she thinks about how he can’t even stomach spending any more time with her than absolutely necessary. sighing, cleo closes her eyes and gathers her knees to her chest.

“i just… i don’t get you!” george almost yells, exasperation coating every syllable. they’ve been at it for thirty minutes now. ever since since they got back to her apartment from fucking ikea of all places. 

every since george mentioned “their” home and cleo shut down on him. 

“what’s not to get?” cleo yells back. she can’t even bring herself to stand up and fight, she just sits in the corner of the sofa, a throw blanket on her lap almost like a shield. her hair’s a mess from running her hands through it so many times but her scrunchie is around george’s wrist and the middle of a fight is not the time to ask for it. 

“cleo…” he tiredly rubs his face and her heart cracks just a little. “we’ve been together for four months. it’s been amazing. hasn’t it been amazing for you?”

she just nods, not trusting her voice enough to speak. 

“an we’ve lived together before!” his voice cracks. 

“that was different! we were roommates. not– not—”

“oh you can’t even say it now?”

he completely stops pacing then and stares at her intently. cleo tries not to curl into herself under the sudden attention, she tries not to let the anxious ball in her stomach get the best of her. she tries not to be such a bad girlfriend. 

but one look at george and she knows she’s doing a pretty shit job of it. her heart breaks at how upset he looks but cleo can’t bring herself to say the words he really wants to hear. 

“so it’s a no then,” he sighs, “you don’t want us moving in together.”

the weight of his hope settles on her chest, almost suffocating her and george’s shoulders slump. 

“okay,” he says quietly and picks up his car keys. 

cleo doesn’t move when she hears the front door shut softly or when his car comes to life and drives away. she just fidgets with the blanket and wallows in self pity. she could have said yes so easily. 

but cleo’s scared of how much she likes him—maybe even how much she loves him at this point. she’s scared of going all in so soon after how it ended up for her the last time. she’s scared of letting him see the cracks in her armour. 

she wants to make a decision so badly! but her heart wants to give in and her brain reminds her of the last time and cleo can only sit there miserably on her sofa and not come to a decision at all. 

“cleo?” his voice makes her head snap up and she blinks against the sudden brightness. “did you fall asleep?” 

she’s about to say something but her throat feels clogged and her eyes sting. quickly, she averts her eyes from him and takes the coffee cup from him. george lingers by the door, almost like he wants to say something but then he shuts it gently and goes back to the driver's seat. the whole time she says nothing, not for lack of trying. but she knows the moment she opens her mouth the dam is going to burst and everything’s going to come out and she definitely can’t stand another fight within the first hour of a six hour roadtrip.

so she shuts up and takes a gulp of her coffee, hissing when she scalds her tongue. 

“you okay?” george asks, then inhales like he’s about to say something more but cleo quickly hums and turns to her window once again. 

with a pang in her chest she realises it’s a caramel latte with extra drizzle of caramel, her favourite. even in the middle of a fight, he’s remembered her favourite. 

she chokes out a quick “yeah” and takes another sip of her coffee. it’s so sweet, she knows george would make a face instantly if he had a sip of it. she wants to see him make that face now—his nose all scrunched up, his mouth twisted in a grimace. and then she wants to kiss the grimace away. 

quietly, george slides his hand into hers over the gear stick. and that’s the thing that finally breaks her. big fat tears roll down her cheeks like she’s a cartoon character and she can’t fucking stop sniffling like a child. 

“oh baby,” he whispers softly and cleo just cries harder. she’s already made a mess of everything, she can’t stomach his kindness on top of the guilt. but he’s having none of it. 

george takes the cup from her hands and puts it in the cupholder. then unclicks her seatbelt, slides his seat back and, as if she weighs absolutely nothing, he pulls her from her seat and onto his lap. his hold around her is so gentle, it makes cleo cry harder. 

“i’ve messed up everything,” she wails and buries her face in his chest. his t-shirt is so soft (she makes a mental note to steal it later) and fuck, he smells so good too. everything about him is familiar and nice and he’s just… he’s her george. but then his hand wraps around the nape of her neck and she remembers his sad face from a few days ago. 

she remembers his quiet “okay”

“you haven’t, love—”

“no i have!” she states adamantly, “i made you sad.”

he holds her even tighter then, his fingers gently stroking the back of her head but he doesn’t say anything. at any other time she would have huffed and bickered with him about using her own tactic against her, about staying silent until she feels the overwhelming urge to fill it. 

“can i ask you something?” george asks and she lifts her head up to look at him properly. up close, cleo realises how tired he looks. there are circles under his eyes, and she could easily attribute them to late night studio sessions but she has a sneaking suspicion she’s the reason behind them. 

she can so clearly imagine him too, tossing and turning in his bed, waking up from a half-sleep only to find her not there, not spending the night with him just like she does at least five times a week. 

“yeah,” she chokes out again. 

“do you really not want us to live together?”

“that’s not—” her throat closes up again and she swallows forcefully, “i didn’t mean— it’s just—”

“okay deep breaths,” he encourages and starts rubbing small circles on her hip. the pad of his thumb is rough and scratchy, it creates just the perfect kind of friction against her skin that keeps her grounded. and cleo does as she’s asked. 

when she feels sufficiently calm, she tries again. “it’s really scary,” she starts and looks at him again to try and gague his reaction, but george just presses a kiss to her temple and encourages her to go on. “the last time i let someone in so quickly, it didn’t… it didn’t end well.”

“i’m not him,” his jaw ticks for a moment but he swallows again and gives her another little kiss. 

“i know you aren’t. you could never be.”

“so then…why?”

it takes cleo a minute to mull it over in her head. he’s right to ask that question. he’s right because she has absolutely no answer for it. 

“i don’t know,” she mumbles quietly and looks down in shame. they stay like that for a minute. no one moves, no one speaks, but cleo feels his desperation. she knows he wants it so bad. fuck! she wants it so bad—

“a drawer,” she says. “i’ll clear out a drawer. and we can work up from there? please?”

for thirty whole seconds he says absolutely nothing and cleo’s brain conjures up horrible scenarios—he’s going to flinch away from her and tell her to get out of his car. he’s going to call her something hurtful and abandon her in a fucking costa car park an hour away from home. he’s—

george snorts. “did you just suggest exposure therapy?”

cleo blinks at him in surprise. for a beat they both stay silent, and then just like that cleo cracks up, george following suit. two seconds later they’re giggling like teenagers. a couple more tears leak from her eyes but this time she knows it’s not tears of sadness. she’s laughing too hard for that. 

“you’re a fucking idiot,” george flicks her nose and she kisses him. it's their first kiss in the last few days and if she could melt, right here in his lap, she would. she would be an absolute puddle right here but george holds her together and kisses her back so deeply that her head spins. she kisses him with equal ferocity and in that moment none of it matters, not their fight, not this stupid roadtrip, not even her fears. in this moment he’s the only one that matters. 

“but you’re my idiot,” he whispers on her lips once they pull back just enough to breathe. cleo is breathless and blushing. she hasn’t been kissed like this in, well…days, and she kind of hates the fact that they’re in public. 

“i am,” she nods and hugs him tightly. “sorry for being such a loser,” she mumbles into the crook of his neck and feels him nod sagely. 

“‘s alright. not everyone can be as perfect as me.”

“fuck off, george!” she pokes him in the sides, “or i’ll—”

“or you’ll what, huh?” he pokes her right back, “revoke my drawer privileges?”

“too soon!” she whines but they’re giggling once again, kissing each other like they’d die if they don’t make up for the last few days. 

“we’re going to be so late,” she mumbles once they’ve stopped kissing. “matty’s going to yell at us, i hope you know.” 

george just shrugs and looks at her like she’s the best thing he’s ever seen. it makes cleo’s chest ache, it makes her whole body tingle. 

“i’m going to give you the best drawer in my apartment,” she promises. 

“yeah?” he smiles at her and kisses her forehead again. it’s so tender that she almost cries again but george tickles under her chin. silently cleo makes a promise to herself—she’s going to get over this silly fear. she’s going to be the girlfriend he deserves. and most importantly, she’s never going to make him sad again. he’s far too precious for that.

lemme know what you think <33

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[bobthedragon]

an extremely self-indulgent comic of normal good boyfriend activities.

transcript under the cut!!!!!?!

----

6 pages featuring my OC "Kid" and bat's OC Elliot/"Riven".

page 1: the two of them are lounging in Kid's "bedroom" (the storage closet of an abandoned library). Elliot is reading a binder labelled "RIVEN NOTES" about himself and Kid is laying on him and looking at tv static on his phone.

Elliot: "Hey hun, I thought of a game" Kid: "a 'Sleep-Over' Game?" Elliot: "Yeah. you know 'Truth or Dare'?" Kid: "Is this the game?" Elliot: "Yeah, I figured it was something to do- why, are you not into it?" Kid: "I will Not back Down. Are you going First?"

page 2: Elliot eats a single cornflake and looks at Kid.

Elliot: "... Truth or Dare?" Kid: "Dare." Elliot: "Aw shit, uh. I dare you to let me lead next time we dance together- with OUT bitching." Kid: (labelled as "Quantifiably the better lead") "... As you Wish, Little Prince, I will do as asked- Truth or Dare?" Elliot: "Give me a Dare too" Kid: "... Can you eat Rocks?" Elliot: "UH. with my?? Eels?? sure??" Kid: "I Dare you to Eat a Rock."

page 3

Elliot: (with "JESUS CHRIST" written over his head) "What fucking rock??" Kid: "..." (he looks around, then pushes himself up) "I can Get a Rock." Elliot: "Go get a rock sweetheart -- Nothing Ridiculous, I ain't gonna swallow any BOULDERS 'r CORNERSTONES for you" Kid: "I will Get a Rock." (he goes outside)

page 4: Kid stands stock still in the grass, witnessing many things and categorizing them as Rocks or Not Rocks.

a Brick is a Rock, a Jagged Stone is a Rock, a House is Not a Rock, an Acorn is Not a Rock, a Stone Buddha Lawn Figure is a Rock, a Cement Parking Bumper is a Rock, a Dead Squirrel and Ants are Not Rocks, Dirt is Tiny Rocks, and the Moon is Also a Rock.

Kid: (he locates an APPROPRIATE ROCK and brings it in) Elliot: "Did you find one?" Kid: "I Have a Rock. Should I Wash It?" Elliot: "Yes?? Please was the Rock you are Forcing me to EAT."

page 5:

Kid: "Sand is just Small Rocks." Elliot: "..." Kid: (he washes the rock and returns) "I Washed the Rock." Elliot: "Thank you. Would you like to Deposit it Yourself?" Kid: "It Would enrich the homo-erotic nature of the act." Elliot: "the Top priority."

page 6: Kid carefully feeds Elliot's eel the rock.

Kid: "It is Done." Elliot: (elliot says nothing here, but a sign shows "~Ta Dah~" as the eel swallows the rock) Kid: "It was a Quartzite Pebble." Elliot: "Yeah?? Am I gonna Die now??" Kid: "You TOLD me you would NOT?? So we will SEE I SUPPOSE???" Elliot: "Truth or Dare, in the meantime~" Kid: "Truth!" Elliot: "Hmmmmm..."

end!

[laracrofted]

baby, i'm high octane (i)

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

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

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

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

read on AO3 | series post | next chapter

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

[ OPENING CRAWL ]

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

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

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

 [ CUE MUSIC AND FADE TO BLACK ] 

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

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

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

This…was a different sort of call.

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

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

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

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

International calls could be so fickle sometimes. Right?

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

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

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

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

“And I’ll still call him Pete.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Three, but Nora didn’t correct her. 

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

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

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

Nora still hadn’t given an answer. 

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

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

All that remained was uncertainty. 

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

But lately, Nora was so tired. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’d you think of Cyclone?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Things must be going well. Good for them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you have a spare pen?” 

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

Thinking it makes Nora’s lids feel even heavier. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Buy you another one, sweetheart?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bourbon girl? I’m impressed.” 

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

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

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

“Name’s Hangman.”

Record scratch. He’s a pilot.

Goddamn pilots. 

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

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

He’ll leave now.

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

Any minute now.

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

“It’s my call sign.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let me buy you a drink.” 

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

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

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

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

Nora is not enabling anything. Not at all. 

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

“What’s wrong?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I knew it!” 

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

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

Documentaries…. 

Recognition tugs at the edge of his drunken memory.

“Her name is – ” 

She turns, and Rooster sees her face. 

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

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

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

“Bradley Bradshaw, from beyond the grave.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She is feeling all kinds of strange tonight. 

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

Right then. Silly little thoughts like that. 

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

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

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

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

“What’s your name?” 

“What’re you doing in Fightertown?” 

“What do you do for work?” 

“A filmmaker? Like Quentin Tarantino?” 

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

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

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

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

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

It makes her feel off-kilter. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh wow. He’s so drunk. 

“In your dreams.”

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

“It’s your turn now.” 

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

“We’re on the ground, Rooster.” 

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

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

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

“No shit. Aren’t you special?” 

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

Nope. No. Not going there tonight. 

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

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

Phoenix, Fanboy, Payback, and Bob.

Natasha, Mickey, Reuben, and Bob again.

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

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

A muscle twitches in his cheek. “Jake.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She will be seeing them. Probably every single day.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re definitely drunk.” 

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

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

“Or…” 

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

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

“You’ve been drinking.”

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

“She doesn’t know you.” 

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

“She’s not going home with you.” 

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

“My problem is – ” 

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

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

“Alright, I’m calling an Uber.” 

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

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

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

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

“I know it. We all live there.” 

Oh. Oh no. 

“Oh. Great.”  

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

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

“Well, I’ll come with you.” 

“Rooster. Seriously?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She shuts her door on his raspy chuckle. 

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

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

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

read the next chapter!

[impossiblenightmarenerp]

I watched Scott Pilgrim takes off so uhhhhhh OC ART LETS GOOOOO

This is my SPTO OC, anytime their name is said it's just a bunch of unintelligible static (hence the nickname) When drawn it is either a black box or scribbles. He is Matthew Patel's Weird Cryptid Boyfriend <3 More art soon 👁️👁️

[thenixkat]

Okay, for the ask game let's go *throws darts at wall* 12, 29, 21, 1, and 17 for *more darts* Frenchfry, Dakari, and Zan

12. What animal would your OC have as their His Dark Materials daemon?

I do not know much about the scifi series with deity assigned fursona souls. So...

Frenchfry- Human? Something intelligent, large, social, and with good stamina.

Dakari- In universe? A draft breed wyvern or furnace breed cattle. Something big and sturdy with a steady and calm temperament. But also something that would absolutely fuck your shit if you do manage to piss it off.

Out of universe? I'm picturing something like a Harris hawk. Something social and intelligent and associated with wide open spaces. But also can fly.

Zan von Drake- Hmmm... something like a bittern or a vampire finch? Something not very large that can decently camouflage or hide. Something flighted to reflect how often he finds himself uprooted and on the move. Something predatory or parasitic.

29. Gun to their head, what is your OC’s fursona?

Frenchfry- Thinks the idea of a fursona is a silly human thing. But would have some kind of swan for a fursona. The whole big, powerful, majestic thing plus swimming is neat and not something pigeons really get to do.

Dakari- In universe? A bull firedrake or tarasque. Something big and powerful with a great defense that most animals think twice about messing with. Gentle giant vibes.

Out of universe? A bull bison for the same reason.

Zan von Drake- vampire bat. It drinks blood and is quite cute.

21. What kind of classic horror monster (vampire, werewolf, alien, etc.) would your OC be?

Frenchfry- Alien. Especially the strange unknowable super advanced types of aliens.

Dakari- Would be a monster hunter from a long line of monster hunters that turned away from the family calling b/c he's a horse girl and wants to raise horses. Otherwise a giant monster on the whole being big as shit for his entire life and living frequently surrounded by smaller people.

Zan von Drake- He's submitted to his fate of being a vampire but he sees the appeal of the Creature from the Black Lagoon types and Frankensteins.

Was your OC influenced or inspired by any particular fictional character(s) when you made them?

Frenchfry- On a mix of City Face from Gunnerkrigg Court and the general idea of cute mascots for magical girl teams.

Dakari- Not to my knowledge. But is made in the same mold of the gigantic hot dude archetype that I usually put in my works.

Zan von Drake- Yes. He was inspired by a mix of Hotstreak from Static Shock, Rocco one of the half-vampire antagonists from the Vampire Kisses: Blood Relatives books, and the werebat boyfriend from the My Boyfriend is a Monster comic books.

17. Who would your OC main in Super Smash Bros?

I know nothing about Super Smash Bros. I have not played this game. I have been at social gatherings where it was being played by people but I know jack shit about it.

Frenchfry- would try using every nonhuman character at least once. Would like Yoshi best.

Dakari- Bowser. Kirby.

Zan von Drake- Pokemon Trainer. Mewtwo. Ness.

[jayspaceinc]

15 Lines of Dialogue: Celia 💜

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

1. “Mami,” She waved her hands off her hair. “I like my hair like this. Our hair is pretty just like this, naturally. If I change my mind, you’ll be the first to know.”

2. “What can I say? I live for gossip, continue. But while we’re in a store so people can think we have interesting lives. Plus, Skater Chick Outfitters is having a sale,”

3. “We’re on the third floor, pendejo.”

“Hey! I speak Spanish too. Don’t try to treat me like a no sabo kid and just call me shit on the sly.”

“Who said it was on the sly? I said it right to your face.”

4. “There’s a lake. No sealife and it gets regularly cleaned,” Celia started grabbing their bags, handing Kori her backpack.

“How would you know it gets regularly cleaned?”

“I asked the ranger when we came in.”

“The one you were flirting with?”

“I wasn’t flirting. I was being… friendly? Something like that.” No surprise she couldn’t tell the difference between platonic and romantic interactions.

5. “Did we figure out dinner?”

Greyson held up the grocery bags he had on his arms. “We’re making ramen.”

“And s’mores!”

“The second one was his idea. Not mine.”

“S’mores sound great though.” Celia hummed as she took a peek into the bags. “Thank you for getting all this, Greyson. You’re such a strong man, aren’t you?” She pushed his glasses that were starting to slip back up

“Celia,” Greyson choked, as his face turned pink.

6. Girlfriend girlfriend girlfriend. Shut up. What do you know about being a boyfriend? Celia gripped onto the fork and plate she’d been holding in her lap, the fork slowly folding back on itself as her thumb pressed it down without even realising.

“Do you want another fork?” Kori offered her own, her plate finally clear. At least she had eaten.

“Why do you say that?”

She pointed to the completely bent fork in her hand.

“Oh. This. It’s fine,” Celia straightened the fork back out as much as she could. “See? All good,” She shoved the rest of the eggs down and gave the plate back to Greyson.

7. “I have a loose idea but I’d rather enjoy breakfast right now. What are you making?”

“Huevos rancheros.”

She snorted and covered her mouth. “I’m sorry, say that again for me please?”

“Huevos rancheros?” He repeated, this time a bit confused.

“God, you’re cute but boy do you know how to butcher some Spanish. It’s huevos rancheros not huevos rancheros.”

“Is that not what I said?” He asked, still lost on what the difference was in how she said it versus how he did or how he had said it incorrectly.

8. C: ding dong. mission control to kori: what’s ur coordinates?

C: that means how soon r u guys going to b here?

9. He dialed Celia’s number, almost in fear of what she would say.

“Yes?”

“I’m at the hotel but.. I can’t afford any of this. At all. In my defence! They hit me with a bunch of crazy charges! I mean 240 credits for roses? Just get some plant power person and regrow them.”

There was static on the other end for a long while before Celia sighed, “If you want something done, you have to do it yourself. Okay. Sit tight and try not to cause any more trouble than you already have.” She hung up the phone and left him to his lonesome.

10. “The moment a charmspeaker leaves, the effect wears off. Enchantment is well..” She looked over at the clerk that was still staring at her and waved. “It's much easier to get what you want, let’s just say that.”

“That’s because you flirt with them till they’ve just about ruined their shorts.”

“I have a process, Kori. You know this,” Celia popped a piece of gum in her mouth to rinse out the hotel clerk taste. “Alright, moving on, we officially have a place to sleep for the night which brings me to our next task–”

11. “What’s wrong with just being with one person? You’ve done it before.”

“But that’s not who I am.. There’s a reason it didn’t work out between us,” Celia said, pushing the food on her plate as she became uninterested in what would shortly become another monogamy lecture.

“Because you weren’t willing to make the commitment.”

“That is not what happened,” She snapped. He looked up from his tablet and her angry expression immediately softened. “Perdon.. it’s.. still a sore spot for me. I just don’t have what you and Mommy have where I can see myself with just that one person for my whole life.”

12. Celia closed her eyes for a moment and sighed as she looked in the distance once more. “I’m glad some people are happy and in love today. That couple over there has been there since I got off the elevator. It’s like I can hear their love.. Soft bells.. a violin to pair.. a hint of piano in the background, and is that a light harp i hear being plucked?”

13. “And if something should happen?”

“If something should happen..” Max let out a light chuckle. “You're the co-leader, use your wit and I’ll see you on the other side. Take that however you’d like,” He gave a dog whistle for Ayden to come to his becking, walking off down the hallway opposite to them.

“‘Take that however you’d like’,” Celia mocked before angrily spewing off a slew of Spanish curses.

“He didn’t mean it like that,” Summer said, jumping to Max’s defence for once.

“Oh whatever. You’re on his side because the barrel isn’t pointed at you. Let’s just look through the stupid fucking rooms.”

14. “Psychics are the last people you want to piss off.”

“Is that a jab?”

“It’s a warning,” Celia flicked him in the ear and went back to her seat.

15. “Hm. Do you wanna hang out for a little bit then?” He asked as they approached her door.

Celia sighed to herself, her hand resting on the doorknob. “Honestly, not really.”

Ayden pouted and his shoulders slumped in.

“Not tonight at least, I’m a bit tired.”

“From earlier today?”

“From all of my life. Goodnight, Ace,”

Bonus:

More art!

[semi-sketchy]

As for the OC thing, I don't have an inherent problem with them existing (I mean, it's not like I don't have my own OC...), and I can even understand being mindful of wanting them to fully be their own person, as opposed to *just* something that Sonic influences. But of course, IDW has handled them very poorly, with most of them either being just plain shit (like Surge), or the ones who could have been great being ruined to the point of fatigue (like Tangle).

I got my own OCs, too. They're a lot of fun! I will finish their refs one day I just keep drawing dogs instead

I think Sonic as a series is very open to new characters. Unlike something that follows a completely linear story/timeline (like Xenoblade), it's incredibly easy to add someone new to the cast since Sonic is always traveling, looking for the next adventure and meeting new people. If a new character is introduced, it doesn't interrupt the overarching story since each one is relatively self-contained. You can hop in anywhere and that's something I love.

When you have a static character like Sonic who isn't going to have major development arcs, it makes sense to show how his positive attitude and heart of gold inspires others. The story isn't about following his personal growth; it's about how he touches the lives of others.

He helped give Tails confidence after he was bullied, he inspired Amy to become stronger so she could keep up with her hero, taught Blaze she didn't need to shoulder everything alone, showed Chip the world he never knew, and was there for Shahra when she was finally freed from her abusive boyfriend. It's not just Sonic either, this even extends to other characters, such as Amy reminding Shadow what he was created for.

I think that's actually a strong suit of the Sonic series and considering how large the cast is, I believe Sonic Team sees that, too. Which is why I'm missing it so bad in IDW.

Lots of the comic cast are just kinda there and that's okay, not everyone in the game cast is specially touched by Sonic, I mean the Babylon Rogues didn't exactly have a takeaway. Although, there hasn't really been anyone new that Sonic has had a personal impact on.

Tangle was a fighting adrenaline junkie already, Whisper opened up because of Tangle, Tails is just housing Belle and she finds closure on her own, Jewel is...I'll be honest I haven't quite figured that out yet, she really just exists.

Lanolin DOES get inspired to do more because of Sonic, but that's all off-screen and when she doubts herself, it's Tangle that picks her up — not Sonic. The closest I feel we've gotten to a character that Sonic has really affected is Surge and...yeah, she's her own bundle of problems.

I believe Surge and Kit were supposed to be Sonic's consequences — something to make him reflect on his mistakes and possibly take some responsibility for it, but it became condescending. It served for him to double-down on how he was right instead of acknowledging that his actions enabled their creation and continued to cause them pain.

I just saw projection. Surge spouting off about Sonic's holier-than-thou attitude, flinging the criticisms Flynn had gotten at Sonic and digging in his heels that he was right. (I know Stanley handled them after #51, although it appears the writing process is very much a collaborative one and she does try to mimic his style.)

There was nothing learned, nothing gained, no growth for anyone, the arc didn't matter, which is a problem the comic has suffered from before. I recognize it's a challenge with continuous stories, things happen because they're entertaining to read, but there really was no takeaway with any of it.

It's a shame because it'd be so easy to apply the obvious angle of getting close/succeeding in your goal doesn't fix the actual problem. The pain and anger doesn't go away, but now you don't have anywhere to direct it to. That's what I wanted to see with them, but of course, as Flynn said, this isn't something smarter.

[disneyanddisneyships]

Imagine an AU where Jason tries to do THAT again to Aponi in hell

And Al overhears and is just like:

Enjoy being sad.

Alastor x OC fic

Warnings: s3xual as*ault, r*pe, ab*se, this is probably triggering so read carefully (talking to u julia).

Today was the day Aponi planned on confronting Jason about what happened when they were alive.

She had been planning this for days and finally worked up the courage to call her ex boyfriend to tell him to meet her at the hazbin hotel.

She paced around her room, hands nonchalantly being placed on her stomach.

She walked downstairs at the perfect time to see Jason walking through the door.

"Jason...." she muttered. He didn't say anything.

Aponi took him up to her room and locked the door. If Vaggie found out he was here, Aponi would have to physically restrain the moth from doing something.

"What do you want Lilly," Jason asked as he sat on the chair in her room.

"I wanna talk about what happened," Aponi replied.

"Oh my God. Here's what happened my little flower; I gave you a few kisses and you went and killed yourself and our baby," Jason scoffed.

"That's not fair, asshole. You and I both know what you did," Aponi defended.

"Oh. You want me to do it again baby girl?" Jason asked as he stood up and walked toward Lilly with a smirk. "No one cares down here. I can do whatever the fuck I want," Jason muttered dangerously as he pinned Aponi against the wall.

Aponi's eyes widened in fear. "Jason no. Get off," She stated calmly.

"No. Stay still you little bitch," he growled as he moved to take off her clothes.

Aponi pushed him away. And went to unlock the door.

Meanwhile from outside, alastor was roaming the halls, specifically next to Aponi's apartment.

"Hel-"

Aponi's scream was cut off.

"Come here, bitch!" Someone yelled.

There was rustling behind the door.

"SOMEONE HELP ME PLEASE!" Aponi screamed.

Alastor was quick to all but kick the door down only to find Jason and Aponi on the floor, Jason on top if her holding her down while Aponi was on the bottom, tears running down her face as she struggled to get up.

"Who the fuck are you? Can't you see were busy?" Jason asked.

Alastor processed what he was seeing, noticing more things such as aponi's pants being down and the forming bruises on her face. Not to mention Jason's hand wrapped around her neck where alastor knew was sensitive.

Alastor's eyes narrowed as the environment glitched around them.

"Get off of her," Alastors voice got deeper as the static got louder.

That's when Alastor made his shadows charge at Jason, knocking him away from Aponi who sat up and began coughing and holding her neck gently.

Alastor wlaked toward Jason who was being held down by the shadows.

"I'll enjoy this," Alastor muttered before charging at him, the screams of the lowerclass demon echoing through the hazbin hotel.

Aponi sat against one of the walls, eyes wide and trying to slow her breathing.

It almost happened again....

How could she be so fucking stupid? She should've known this would happen.....

Tears began to spill nimbly from her eyes as she continued to stare wide-eyed into nothingness.

She was pulled back to reality by Alastor kneeling in front of her.

She was startled and she screamed, pushing away from him as if he was Jason.

"Lilly, darling, it's just me! It's just me!" He soothed as he sat down and pulled her on top of him so he was cradling her.

"He almost did it again......" Aponi whispered.

An hour or so later the two were downstairs at the bar.

"Woah. What happened to you?" Husker asked when he saw the bruises on Aponi's face.

"Ah you shoulda seen the other guy," Aponi joked.

"..... was it your ex?" Husker asked.

Aponi turned away.

"Look I'd say 'I told ya so' but you don't need that right now.... I'll go get some ice," husker stated.

"You told him?" Alastor asked.

"He was the only one I told about Jason coming over..... he warned me against it but i didn't listen," Aponi muttered.

Husk came back with an ice pack.

"Here. This should bring down the swelling, kid. Are you okay?" Husk asked.

"I've been better.... but thanks.... I'll listen to you next time," Aponi gave a weak smile.

Alastor glanced at her neck, the mark around it bruising up worse than usual.

That's when Angel walked through the door.

"Hey hey hey! What up guys!" Angel shouted as he made his way closer to Aponi. He stopped. "Who?" He asked.

"What?" Aponi responded, confused.

"Who the fuck did that to you?! I'll kill em 20 times over if I have'ta!" Angel shouted.

"Calm down Angie.. alastor already took care of it....." Aponi muttered.

"It was ya fucking ex, wasn't it?!" Angel asked.

Aponi nodded.

"Did he get far?" Angel asked once again.

"...... he didn't get what he wanted. Don't worry," Aponi replied.

"Can I hug ya?" Angel asked. Aponi nodded and the two embraced.

[static-errorcode]

incorrect quotes with my ocs

Static : I have so much energy, I want to run a marathon or commit a crime... which should I do?

Galaxy orb: Please don’t get arrested.

Static : No promises! <3

Potion: Why not both? Get creative!

Static : Wonderful suggestion, thank you.

Galaxy orb: Please don’t encourage them, Potion.

------------------------------------------------------

Galaxy orb: Didn't you die?!

Static : That was weeks ago, dude. Things change.

------------------------------------------------------

Galaxy orb: Remember, Planty, don't do anything I wouldn't do.

Planty: I think I crossed that line when I got a date.

------------------------------------------------------

Static: *Laughs* Babe, you had a crush on me? That’s embarrassing—

Potion: We’re married.

------------------------------------------------------

Salad: Are we fighting or flirting?

Kill code : I'm pinning you against a wall with my hand around your neck-

Salad: Your point?

------------------------------------------------------

Shelly: *Gives a bouquet to Lampy*

Lampy: You know I'm allergic.

Shelly: That's the point.

------------------------------------------------------

Lampy: Are you laughing at that video of Banna and Cone fighting?

Glitter jar: No.

Glitter jar: I'm laughing at the comments.

------------‐-----------------------------------------

Shelly, on the phone: Oh, hey man! Sorry for accusing you of murder last week.

------------------------------------------------------

Potion: I still have no idea how I’m attracted to you...

Static: Yeah, well, you’re stuck with me, and no take backs, honey.

------------------------------------------------------

Potion: Two brooooos!

Static: Chillin' in a hot tub!

Potion: Five feet apart 'cause we're not gay!

Static:

Potion:

Static: *tearing up*

Potion: Babe, c'mon...

Static: AND HERE YOU REALLY HAD ME THINKING WE HAD SOMETHING.

Potion: Babe...

------------------------------------------------------

Kill code: Okay, but if your not gay then why are you always holding my hand and kissing me and telling me I’m your boyfriend?

Salad: Dude- Its satire!

Kill code: THAT'S NOT WHAT SATIRE MEANS!

------------------------------------------------------

Static: Guys, there’s a monster under my bed and it’s really ugly.

Glitchzy, on the bottom bunk: Honestly, fuck you.

------------------------------------------------------

Static: And what did we learn, Kill code?

Kill code: Tackling someone isn’t the correct response to being asked a simple question.

------------------------------------------------------

Static: Am I a boy? Am I a girl? It doesn't matter. I'm going to burn your house down.

------------------------------------------------------

Static: Hey, Potion, do you have feelings for me? Potion: Yeah, anger.

------------------------------------------------------

Kill code: I’m here for the cult stuff.

Glichzy: How did you find us?

Kill code: I saw your ad on craigslist.

------------------------------------------------------

Glichzy: Yeah I'm LGBT.

Glichzy: cuLt leader.

Glichzy: God hates me personally.

Glichzy: cowBoy hat.

Glichzy: *sniffles* Trying my best.

[blarrghe]

Unusual OC associations

Big thanks to @scribbledquillz for the tag! I'm not sure who's done this already but @ringneckedpheasant @rosella-writes @n7viper @plisuu and @melisusthewee have fun!

I have done this for Taren before but by gods I will do it again! Also for Violet she is big on my mind rn.

Seasoning:

Taren: sweet paprika, cinnamon, cloves, those cans of chipotle pepper in adobo sauce ...he's a warm boy 🥰

Violet: purple basil, annisseed, lavender, rosemary, nustershums, rosewater, hibiscus. Not necessarily all together lol but you know what? concoctions. If it's purple, an edible flower, or an acquired taste, I think it suits.

Weather:

Taren: grey days on the brink of storm. Damp, you can smell the rain coming and feel the static.

Violet: hot girl summer! Bright sunny beach weather that's a bit too heavy in the air.

Color:

Taren: green, gold, auburn, brown, all the earth tones and some light blue for good measure.

Violet: do you even need to ask? Also royal blue, silver, white, and black.

Sky:

Taren: thick with interesting clouds, clear and starry.

Violet: a clear blue day, a summer nighttime thunderstorm

Magic power:

Taren: well, spirit healing. Spirit communion and intricate rituals/glyphs also

Violet: walking bomb, irreverent illusions

House plant:

Taren: potted pine tree that got too big so you had to plant it in the yard. It will get taller than your house it will live for a hundred years.

Violet: straight up mini cactus. In a silly colourful pot with googly eyes.

Weapon:

Taren: kill 'em with kindness and when that doesn't work settle it with fists.

Violet: caltrops, potion bombs, poisoned daggers

Subject:

Taren: linguistics, linguistic anthropology

Violet: organic chemistry

Social media:

Taren: Matchsies! ;) LiveJournal, goodreads

Violet: vine

Make-up product:

Taren: glitter eyeliner (his boyfriend did it it was just like that meme)

Violet: lipstick, poison nail polish like the Warden in Holes.

Candy:

Taren: those little guava candies, dried mango, weed gummy

Violet: twizzlers, sour gummy worms, candy necklace

Fear:

Taren: abandonment

Violet: nothing!! (hurting others)

Ice cube shape:

Taren: hearts 💕

Violet: spheres, dry ice

Method of long distance travel:

Taren: ship, aravel

Violet: horseback

Art style:

Taren: very detailed fine lined tattoo art, traditional embroidery

Violet: old school sailor tattoo art, peanuts style cartoons

Mythological creature:

Taren: faun

Violet: griffins!

Piece of stationary:

Taren: does a tattoo quill and mallet count? Ink.

Violet: fancy letter opener...

Three emojis:

Taren: 🌿🛤📚

Violet: ☠️💜🐶

Celestial body:

Taren: stars, specifically the constellation tenebrium

Violet: Venus

[jobrookekarev]

So I Showed up on Your Doorstep

Chapter One of Eleven 

Words: 3,793

Summary: On his way home from work Alex gets a frantic call from Meredith saying that Jo and Luna are missing. As he pulls up to the farmhouse, he sees them on the porch. When Jo turns to look at him, her face is bleeding and bruised. 

Fandom: Gray’s Anatomy.

Relationship: Alex Karev/Jo Wilson, and Jo Wilson/OC. 

Characters: Alex Karev, Jo Wilson, Luna Ashton-Wilson, Meredith Grey. 

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences. 

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Abuse, Domestic Abuse, Bruising, Car Rides, Porch Swing, Toddlers, Soft! 

Read at AO3

Read at FFN

……………………………………………………………………

The evening drive from Kansas City to Baldwin City was one spent driving on back roads over the plains. There weren't many other cars that made this journey, so Alex was mostly alone on the dark highway. He pushed the button on the steering wheel again to change the radio channel. He didn't get good cell reception out here otherwise, he would listen to the music from his phone. Unfortunately, the radio was just the half static filled sound that was either country music or pop, neither of which were his favorites. As he flipped to another channel, the radio cut out as a call came through. He saw Meredith's name light up the screen on the car dashboard and quickly hit the accept call button.

“Hey Mer. what's...”

“Jo's gone!” Meredith said in a frantic voice. 

Those two words made him almost hit the break as Alex's heart stopped. “Gone, what do you mean she's gone?”

“She's missing. Link and I can't find her anywhere. She's not answering my texts or anyone else's, I've tried calling her, and she won't pick up. She didn't show up for work this afternoon, and she didn't call Carina, or Bailey or anybody else. She's just gone, Alex. She's gone!”

“Okay, okay, well, something must have caused this, right?” Alex asked as Meredith hadn’t told him anything about Jo’s life now. “Is there anything that's happened recently, anything that's changed? Anything that could make her want to leave?” 

He could barely focus on the road ahead of him, but he kept going. He figured that the sooner he could get back to the farmhouse, the sooner he could help Meredith find Jo. His mind raced with the possibilities of what could have made her want to run. It had to have been something significant, as Jo stopped running long ago. Even when Paul showed up, she didn't run. However, that was back when he was there with her. Now she was on her own. 

“I don't know,” Meredith said, letting out a breath, her voice still filled with worry. 

“Well, start from the beginning. When did you notice she was gone,” Alex said as he picked up speed on the dark road, gripping the steering wheel tightly. Luckily, he was just a few minutes away from the farmhouse. 

“When she didn't show up for work this afternoon. Link and I tried to call her, but she wouldn't pick up, so we called her boyfriend, Tom. She's been seeing him for a few weeks, but I'm sorry Alex,” Meredith said with a sigh, knowing exactly what was going through his head. 

“It's okay, it's good that she's moved on,” Alex said, trying to convince himself that he meant what he said. “What did he say? Does he know where she could have gone? Did anything happen between the two of them?”

“No, he said that everything was fine. He said they met up at the park and had a good time together, but she left early to put Luna down for a nap.”

“Luna?”

“Yeah, Luna is Jo’s daughter. She officially adopted her back in August. Luna was the daughter of one of Jo's patients and a NICU baby. Jo had been looking after her since her mother died in May of last year. God, if anything happened to Luna, Jo would never forgive herself, but if anything did, they would have shown up at the hospital, not just disappeared,” Meredith said, still trying to make sense of it all.

“Okay, well, did you check the Loft? Is anything missing? Jo has a folder that she keeps taped to the bottom of the cabinet behind the couch and a backpack hidden in the closet. Are those still there?” Alex asked, Jo always kept a go bag and the folder.

The emergency bag and folder had all their important documents, her Social Security card, birth certificate, medical records, food, water, clothing, and medical supplies. It used to be just her stuff, but after she proposed, Jo added all of his important documents to the folder and made a second go bag for him too. It was one of the things that made him realize that when she said she didn't want to go anywhere without him, she meant. When he left, he took his documents and left hers there. He left her there.

“I don't know, Link and I went to her penthouse, Jo’s new place. It looked mostly intact, but her suitcases, some clothes, and some of Luna's stuff were missing. That's why I called you. I wanted to ask if you knew any place where Jo might go or if she had contacted you at all or just anything?” Meredith asked, seeming more desperate than before. 

“No, I haven't heard from her. I'm sorry, but maybe I'll give her a call and see if she'll pick up for me,” Alex said as he pulled into the driveway. Jo always picked up for him, but that was before he left her. 

As he pulled into the driveway, Alex let out a sigh. He tried to rack his brain for any place that Jo would go, but all he could think of was home, Seattle. When he pulled up in front of the house, he realized there was a rental car parked in front of the garage. As he looked up at the porch, he saw a figure sitting on the porch swing with a baby in their arms. It was Jo. 

“Mer, I think I found her,” Alex said as he grabbed his phone and ran out of the car, his heart racing in his chest as he climbed the porch steps. 

He knew it was Jo from the moment he saw her, and as he got up to the top of the steps, he paused. There she was, sitting on the porch swing and gently rocking it back and forth, holding a sleeping Luna in her arms. He remembered the night that she showed up on his doorstep after her fight with Myers. Back then, she was sitting on the porch swing, shivering in her hoodie. Just like she was now. 

Just like she had that night, Jo was staring straight ahead. He could only see half her face, but as she turned to look at him, her eyes full of tears, and he saw the bruises on her cheek. They were starting to form in back patches along her cheekbone and she had a split and bloody lip.

“I'm sorry, I didn't know where else to go,” Jo said as the tears started to fall again. She looked away from him and down at Luna as she held her closer. 

“Alex, Alex,” Meredith yelled into his ear as he didn't realize he was still holding the phone.

“I found her, Meredith. Jo’s here in Kansas,” Alex said as he slowly walked over to her. She refused to meet his eye again as she held her hand over her face and cried.

“Is she alright? Is Luna with her? Are they okay?” Meredith asked, as panicked as she was when she first called him.

“Jo, what happened?” Alex said as he kneeled down in front of her, he reached out and put his hand on her knee as Jo just shook her head.

“I was so careful. I thought he was good, but he wasn't. I didn't think, I didn't think it would happen again,” Jo said as she just sobbed even harder.

“Mer. Jo and Luna are safe with me, but I gotta go. I'm going to take care of them, I promise, but whoever Tom is… he needs to be in jail,” Alex said as Jo finally looked up, her eyes were still brimming with tears, but she nodded.

[transolar]

Evil Lovecore is such a banger name

I'd absolutely love to hear more about your ocs and their story/world

THANK YOU it has that name bc when checking to see if the blog url was open for a friend, I accidentally took it, and started putting my oc stuff there >:3. ALSO its about gay sex and good friends, it is ANTI romance

its an urban fantasy, so it's set in modern day and I need to make a timeline.

Basically, if you die, and you want to live enough you come back as a Deity! There are four types of Deities! Angels, Demons, Guardians, and Watchers. Deities have titles that are like "Angel of Hearts and Flowers" and they have abilities that often time relates to their titles!

The story itself is very much a Queer Person Drama (/pos)

There are a bunch of offshoots and prequels and sequels I've made, but the original story is about a road trip!

Sweetheart is the Angel of Hearts and Flowers, and she was killed by her at the time boyfriend, Angel of Static and Sickness (Static). So. A couple years later she decides she wants revenge. So she enlists a random human she found, Keys, and her friend, Guardian of Infinities and Waves (Infinity), to go on a road trip with her to kill him !! (spoiler: he does not get killed)