#thanks for tagging me jo!!

[stormbcrn]

GET TO KNOW THE AUTHOR!

𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄 : liza!

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐒 : she/her

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 : i'm good with both ims and discord, i'm just typically a little slower with ims since i am not always able to respond immediately. then ims are also easy to forget if i can't respond right away, so sometimes things get lost. but overall, i'm pretty good with both modes of communication.

𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄(𝐒) : my only muse rn is daenerys. i had big issues with actually writing when i tried to have more than one muse while in school, so i know my limits! plus, what i really love is developing new aus with my writing partners to keep things fresh and fun. i love a good canon-based au, starting at a "what if" scenario and developing it in full. i've dabbled in non-game of thrones aus too (and will continue to!), but find they dwindle for me a lot faster.

𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 / 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒? : oh geez, i probably started on like omegle lol, but i've been on tumblr rp since about 2014 i'd guess?

𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒? : shorter threads have been easier for me to write recently – but when i'm inspired, i'm inspired, and i can write a multi-paragraph thing no issue. so both!! but i may lean towards shorter threads rn just because i feel like those are more manageable for me at this point.

𝐏𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐒 𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄��? : okay so both definitely have their time to shine! sometimes i get in my own head about answering memes but i'm trying to put less pressure on myself when it comes to things like length of a meme response etc. i do love a meme, and am always happy to send memes to my mutuals bc i love u all so much, but plots have my heart. i love love love plotting with my partners and gushing back and forth about ideas and relationships (shippy ones and platonic/familial ones! literally gimme it all). and a lot of times if we've plotted something in the past, it helps me answer memes too. not that my memes always go directly with the plots we've discussed, but plotting gives me an idea about what we both want from a dynamic and how our characters vibe and i think it gives me a lot more to play off of, if that makes sense! basically it's not that i like to write plotted things more than i like to answer memes, it's just i like to plot in general and for me it helps with both.

𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄? : evenings, most likely! i'm about to move though so idk what my new balance will be. you will have to be patient with me as i figure it out

𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 : i love the outlet for creativity that rping provides me, and the people i get to write with are so profoundly creative! y'all truly are the highlight!

𝐑𝐏 𝐏𝐄𝐓 𝐏𝐄𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐒 : i'm sure i could name a few, but putting down female characters or ocs is one that comes to mind first right now, esp. when they are put down to somehow try to better your favorite male.

𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓, 𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐅𝐅 𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓? : yes, love it all! i only write smut with partners i'm comfortable with and where we have an established dynamic. i'm more than happy to send / answer memes where it is implied for anyone though!

𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐒? : i think i gravitate towards muses that i can see parts of myself in (that, or I just like writing female protagonists – basically all my past muses have been female protagonists). idk if i would say i'm like daenerys, but we may share some traits. clearly, daenerys is way more badass than i am, but i think i have some of her resolve and i admire the strength of her convictions and her desire to do good by people. this is going to sound weird, but i think daenerys and i are both observant, we watch and listen before acting (at least she does when she's strategizing – she can be rash in other situations, but can't we all?). we both have a lot of grit in getting through tough situations. I probably cry more than she does though while doing it lol i cry easily when i'm frustrated.

tagged by @dracharenae 🖤🖤 tagging: @timewound, @lovegentle, @realmsdelite, and you! please tag me if you steal, i'd love to read your answers.

[stemmmm]

doodles i did for theseus' guide when chapter 2 was first written a month ago :3

id like to take the blame for ford being hit with the cowboy beam but it's just a more refined version of stumps original design ideas. all of the details on the outfit have a purpose! except the quartz necklace. that ones just for fun

[nevvn]

a little 'thank you' gift for my beloved friend @once-in-a-blood-moon who made this lovely fic ☺️ (go read it here!!! 🫵)

also posting it today because day 19 prompt is 'solomon' 😗

[once-in-a-blood-moon]

solomon couldn't stand your pact marks.

well, no, that wasn't the right way to put it. he was proud, even jealous of your pacts. they were one of the many admirable things about you! he just hated... looking at them. he knew what other people thought when they saw them.

when one would see those marks on your skin for the first time, they would be able to get a glimpse at your relationship with the brothers. one of trust and respect, gathered from just a glance. meanwhile, one would have to be told about his and your relationship. one look at you couldn't decipher all the time you two have shared together, filled with chatting between classes, practicing magic for hours, and endless love.

at first, solomon tried to mitigate this with his own marks upon your skin. wearing lipstick as he placed a kiss on your neck, a few stray bite marks from your time together at night. but those, while fun, were temporary. and solomon needed something permanent.

why not a ring?

(Hope you don't mind me adding on, anon. Thank you for the delicious meal! Literally so honored to read your beautiful work! 🥹)

Getting the ring was the easy part. Getting you away from the brothers long enough to propose...was not.

The lengths Solomon went through to be able to have a private moment with you might put him in a record book as the three realms' most whipped man. With the mask of his "shady" persona secured, he lets his silver tongue weave him through these seven obstacles, the sin of each dripping from it with only you on his mind.

Swallowing his pride, breathing in greed, spitting out envy...his wrath, lust, gluttony, and sloth. A vicious rinse, repeat until he's either buttered them up or grated them down until they finally gave in. But he did it. With the day cleared of any interruptions, his plans were set in motion.

He decides to have a redo of your very first date, flying you up and walking in the sky amongst the stars. It's just the two of you against the ever inky black sky of the Devildom, a place that has become synonymous with your presence. Only this time, there are no surprise gales, no surprise drones -- just the surprise of a velvet heart-shaped box in the inside pocket of his coat.

Solomon brings up fond memories of your time together as you both near the spot he's picked to pop the question. He's filled with a giddy glee that soon you'll have something that binds you to him, something to show the world you're his.

Still, there's a little voice in the back of his head reminding him that you could say no. That perhaps he's not worthy. Does he deserve to have matching rings adorned on his and your fingers forevermore? Does he dare stand by your side as your equal when you are, in fact, so far above him?

He decides it's best not to dwell on such thoughts as this is meant to be a happy occasion, as long as all goes well.

Your feet touch the ground once he lowers you both on top of a cliff that overlooks the Devildom, the moon hanging brightly above. As you take in the magnificent sight, he lowers himself on one knee behind you, waiting with bated breath for you to turn on your own volition.

The moment you do, he knows he'll have to keep this memory stored away with his magic, just staring in awe. The moon is angled just right that it shines right behind your head like a halo. Your eyes are as wide as saucers while your jaw is slacked. With the way you look, he truly wonders if he's in the Celestial Realm.

Nervously, Solomon begins his improvised speech after clearing his throat, "my dearest apprentice, it is with great honor that I'm knelt before you tonight. I have dreamt of this moment more than I'd care to admit, yet I never thought it'd come true. But here I am, willing to give you all of me, if you're willing to give me all of you. You are the sun to my moon, the air in my lungs, the very reason why I believe I've lived so long. I was always meant to find you and work side by side to protect the human realm together. And most importantly, to love you. So, please do this old sorcerer a favor...by marrying me..."

He pulls out the ring box, opening it to offer you the ring within. The blessed box is shaking as he trembles, waiting patiently for your answer.

Happy tears spring from his eyes once you say, "yes." The ring is carefully slipped onto your finger, and a single word comes to Solomon's mind.

Mine.

[darkcreamz95]

So I guess we survived Episode 1 of the Joker Out Cooking Show?

[shoshiwrites]

MEET THE OCS — MOTA EDITION!

Decided to make a little masterpost for Jo's MotA adventures — for convenience's sake, and to have a little aesthetic, as a treat. Jo is my BoB OC who's taking a MotA detour (in a jeep, most likely). Born to German parents in Pittsburgh, Jo moved to Philadelphia in her teens. A keen observer with a sharp and thoughtful voice, Jo tends to live life behind the notepad (she also hasn't gotten a good night's sleep since 1937). In this universe, she heads overseas as a reporter for The Philadelphia Clarion along with her fiancé, where she tries her best to work around a certain major who has a few thoughts about how said fiancé's been treating her.

Jo's main tag | MotA 'verse tag | Prompts on Ao3 | BoB story tag

FICS AND FILLED PROMPTS!

➥ Into the Wind (introduction) ➥ "hospital bed" ➥ "maraschino cherries" ➥ "pinky" ➥ "grabbing the other’s hand to pull them back from something" ➥ "orange sunsets" ➥ "grabbing the other's hand to pull them back to them" ➥ close to you ("gamble" / "quiet" / "kissing out where nobody can catch them") ➥ "pushing a strand of hair behind their ear" ➥ "hiding face in neck" / "kissing the top of their head" (NSFW) ➥ "whispering in their ear, lips touching the skin" ➥ "pinky swear" ➥ "touching foreheads" ➥ the nearness of you (NSFW) ➥ leading with my heart again (mildly NSFW) ➥ september song

ALSO IN THE TAG:

➥ Kay x DeMarco ➥ Ship memes ➥ Answered asks ➥ Graphics and moodboards ➥ AUs ➥ And much more!:)

[waddles-ex-machina]

actually the best thing about season 3 is how fucking VINDICATED i feel as a hardcore johanna fan right from the airing of the first season. up til season 2 aired i was what felt like the ONLY person stanning her in this space and no one cared yeah yeah she's just hilda's boring mom but jokes on you she's also INSANE and wields a BUZZSAW and has more lore than any other character in the entire show. you all LAUGHED at me but LOOK WHO'S LAUGHING NOW

[jolalibrary]

i just wanted to say thank you. and I'll try to keep it brief and won't mush too much cause then i'll cry, and then you'll cry and then, yeah. but...

jo warnings: repeated use of the word thank you.

thank you for making my 2023 - to those who first found me from a different fandom and followed me blindly as i entered an entirely different world, and those who discovered me through one pedro character, and trusted me with another and also to you, the ones who have just discovered me, and given me a go.

thank you to those who let me into their lives, for letting me be a friend and to those i hope to hug real soon (for real-reals). thank you to the silent followers and the ones who show up every time with a banner, and for all the likes, the reblogs, the comments and even just taking the time to read the things i put out. I'm not good at receiving compliments, or thinking i'm worth a damn, but i promise you i appreciate you all.

and lastly, thank you for letting me find joy in a year that has tried to break me, for the days where you all unknowingly prop me up, and the days you knowingly do so because you know i've fallen down.

thank you for being here, for believing in me and telling me, in all your own little ways, that my writing matters.

iloveyou all, jo.

[shoshimakesstuff]

you're gonna have to leave me now, i know. but i'll see you in the sky above, in the tall grass, in the ones i love. you're gonna make me lonesome when you go.

@shoshiwrites' jo + egan — read here.

[gillianthecat]

jumping on the bandwagon...

10 11 12 BL Boys That I Want Carnally

... or have lusted after at some point in my watching career. (My actor crushes wax and wane over time.)

It looks like everyone else is doing characters, not actors, but I was inspired by @lurkingshan's post which only had gifs no names, so I drew my own conclusions. And I'm rarely attracted to the character—they belong with their partner! or are just someone I wouldn't get along with—so listing actors feels more accurate.

(It was originally 10 because I thought I needed to choose only one of the Guardian boys, but then I decided why not both. But I didn't wanna delete anyone else. So now it's 11. And then I remembered War so now it's 12.)

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Lin Zi Hong (Sam Lin) of We Best Love

Jo Hyuk Joon of Blueming

Zhu Yilong of Guardian (can I count it as a BL for the purposes of this list?)

Bai Yu of Guardian (can I count it as a BL for the purposes of this list?)

Man Trisanu Soranun of Step By Step (but only in character) (which is not the same as being attracted to the character)

Meguro Ren of Kieta Hatsukoi

Ji Sung of The Devil Judge (can I count it as BL for the purposes of this list?)

Jung Taek Woon (Leo) second lead of Happy Ending Romance

Shin Myung Sung (side character/second lead) of Happy Merry Ending

Zee Pruk Panich of Why R U? and Cutie Pie

Izuka Kenta of the Pornographer series and Candy Color Paradox

War Wanarat Ratsameerat of Love Mechanics

Because I have to over explain every list I make... These are not necessary the actors I find most beautiful, and there are some actors I think are absolutely insanely gorgeous (e.g. First Kanaphan, PP Krit, and Matsuoka Koudai) that I'm just not attracted to, sometimes because they seem too young, sometimes just because.

[lilacerull0]

sorry for making my blog revolve around a man (ignore the lou reed, bruceyyyy and bdylan posting for a second here). the thing is this is my first crush i am not ashamed of

[pretentiouswreckingball]

little bev maker!

Thank you for the tag @whorerific <3 ur bev looks delish!!

no pressure tags: @static-radio-ao3 @starchaserwrites @anouri @frank-lilac @persimminos @spacexcowgirl @ninety-two-bees @pressedink @moongays (I want u to do this too lane) and OPEN TAG

[kingkatsuki]

💖joooooo! if you were a janitor, what would your jinki be?

Omg Amira🥺 this is such a kind and thoughtful question to ask me, and I feel so guilty that I don’t have a solid answer for it yet.

At first I was thinking about having a bobby pin or hair clip as my jinki, because I’m always pinning my fringe back from my forehead when I’m trying to relax or I’m at home cause it gets in the way— and that could then double up as a weapon. The ends sharpening to a point kinda like how Riyou fights with her scissors. But then I started to think about whether I’d even want to be a janitor that fights like that.

So then I thought maybe my jinki would be an old compass that Enjin found one day on one of his many strolls into the contaminated zone. Thrown into the Abyss because the owner clearly thought it was broken, or unnecessary when they have all the technology up in the sky. And when Enjin presents it to me it’s got a brass chain attached so I can wear it around my neck or in my pocket a little like a pocket watch. But I wonder why he even gifted me it in the first place, and he tells me it’s because I always seem to look lost and hopefully it can help me find myself🥺 but as he activates the jinki it’s used to help the Janitors get in and out of different zones, and to also find our way out of bad situations if we ever get lost or can’t find our way out of somewhere. Like it’s always helping me find my friends— my family?

And later on when me and Enjin finally get together, he carves our initials into the back of it🥺

[once-in-a-blood-moon]

Solomon who’s lived for so long he can’t remember most of the things he’s done so most things feel new to him 🤝 Me who has the worst memory known to man that things I’ve already done also feel brand new

[notasapleasure]

wip wednesday

it's no longer wednesday, but i did post this yesterday then doubted myself and deleted it. but now it is fished from the bin at the urging of @distressednoise! thank you buddy!

Having been reminded by this deliciousness that it was wednesday i decided to share some of the ongoing attempt to forge some in-character build-up out of the concept of 'brasso punches cassian and they have sex about it'. the concept is a hot potato flung gleefully in my direction by @r0b0tb0y and it's fun writing them both being kind of tetchy with each other but. you know this isn't going to be short whenever it gets finished...

also i made them a sad indie music playlist sorry i don't make the rules, the national and elbow just keep writing songs about them.

---

"Ok. I'm really feeling the love here, Cassian. If you just wanted to drink in silence you could have helped yourself from Cavo's store and gone out to the wreck."

He had had a couple of drinks before Cassian had caught up to him, and it was clear he expected Cassian either to match him with talk or match him at drinking the nog. His cheeks were flush with a less than sober colour and his friendly gaze had a tendency to settle a little too heavily on Cassian's mouth between sips of nog. The authoritativeness in his voice was undermined by a hint of wistful longing when he complained about the nature of Cassian's company.

It didn't immediately puncture Cassian's bad mood, to know he was being admired like that - after all, he flirted constantly with Brasso and never got much of a response other than the odd lingering look or dismissive chuckle. It wasn't like Brasso was going to do anything about whatever his precise feelings were, even after a few drinks - they'd tested that possibility to death. He'd stare and blush and hope Cassian didn't notice, and Cassian would pretend not to have noticed, because - well, he'd have said it was because it would be too easy. Let Brasso be the one to make the first move, he was perfectly capable of it - he could be a risk-taker in his own quiet way, despite the image he liked to project. Besides, if Cassian was the seducer it would always be his fault when their friendship inevitably shattered under the pressure of whatever came next. That was how it always went, no point believing it would be different with Brasso, Cassian reasoned bitterly.

He glared as Brasso shuffled to the edge of the bed and reached after Cassian's drink. "Piss off," Cassian cringed deep into the chair, curled his lip and knocked back the remnants in his cup too quickly.

Actually, maybe that was the best way to drink it. He snorted and blinked and his nose fizzed with that awful aftertaste, but then it dissipated and there was just a glow from the alcohol lighting his chest and cheeks.

Brasso snatched the cup from him, tutted, and refilled both tumblers before handing Cassian's back. He looked up as he leaned across with the drink, guileless green eyes beneath long, pretty lashes. A silent plea for Cassian to confide in him, maybe.

Cassian sucked the taste of nog from the inside of his cheeks and met Brasso's eyes with unflinching scrutiny, direct and hot, blazing with a frustration he wouldn't articulate. A challenge that met Brasso's invitation head-on.

It went unanswered, though. Brasso looked down, prim and coy as a stone-layer in ceremonial uniform, and Cassian felt the heat of the alcohol twist and change its form inside him, suggesting ways of distracting himself that didn't involve cheating at holocards, lying about where he'd been, or confessing to any fraternal guilt.

The acrid taste of fury and loathing that proceeded any self-destructive action welled up in the back of his mouth, and Cassian took a more reckless gulp from his refilled cup. He wouldn't let it be his fault, but he'd make up for his earlier failure by provoking some kind of honest action from Brasso tonight. If Brasso wanted to know about Cassian's fuck-ups the least he could do was pre-empt another one by doing something about it himself.

Cassian's eyes roved over his drinking companion, toe to head, and he wallowed in grimly smug anticipation of where the night could go if Brasso would just act on one of those loaded little gestures of his.

Brasso was sitting up straight on the edge of the mattress again, his cup in one hand resting casually on a broad thigh, his knees spread wide and his gaze wandering over the ceiling in a show of exasperation. Even exhausted at the end of the week, skin smudged with oil and stubble too long to be considered neat, Brasso still wasn't dishevilled. His overalls fit him perfectly and the shoulder straps never slipped an inch. His collar was undone far enough to ventilate, but never so far you could see the hairs at the top of his chest. His sleeves stayed where he put them when they were rolled up, even folds against brown, muscle-ridged forearms.

Cassian was yet to figure out his next move with regard to finding his sister, but a different flash of insight had come to him: that he would kill to see Brasso come undone a little. To lose control of himself just a bit. Cassian sipped from his nog and this time savoured the nasty burning sensation on his chapped lips. He wondered what Brasso looked like when he was really furious, or really lost in the throes of fucking. He wondered how red those cheeks could go, how much strength those hands had when throwing a punch or tightening on a throat. He'd wondered these things before, in passing, but never with such deliberation. Never when drinking and laughing, playing cards and bickering - they were always talking, always keeping moving. Never when he'd found himself so restless with dissatisfaction; cornered and forced to stop and take stock; checked by inarticulate, stymied want.

Cassian shuffled in his chair and smirked coldly at the idea of this new distraction. If he could provoke Brasso to some loss of control then - well, whatever happened afterwards could hardly be his fault alone. And he'd be doing Brasso a favour, really - Brasso had been making eyes at him for years and doing nothing about it. It was time for Cassian to help his friend out, the way Brasso had always been so generous with his own assistance.

"It does taste like bantha piss though, Brasso, you've got to see that," Cassian nudged more playfully, gesturing with his cup.

Brasso gave him a withering look in return. "Connoisseur of bantha piss, are we, Cass?"

Cassian shrugged. "I mean, clearly you're the expert."

That kind of jibe wouldn't be enough to scrape Brasso's armour, it just skimmed along the base level of their conversation. As expected, Brasso merely rolled his eyes and took a drink from his cup.

Noticing that Cassian was staring at him, wide-eyed and expectant, Brasso huffed a sigh. "It's an old recipe, Cassian. Not like that watered down coolant they pass off as nog on Morlana One."

The sly glance he gave Cassian would have been subtler had he been sober. As it was, Cassian pretended not to have seen it and nodded, smirking into his cup. "Morlana One? Wouldn't know."

They could play this game all night, Cassian imagined - Brasso trying to coax the truth out of him as Cassian willfully evaded answering.

But Brasso didn't have the patience for that tonight. He gave a huff and pinned Cassian with a glare. "Come on, Cass. Joyride? I don't think so. You've been on Morlana One."

He was so confident he'd guessed correctly - and what's more, he had. It annoyed Cassian more than the game of denial entertained him. His expression twitched darkly and he took another sip of nog. The aftertaste was so pervasive now, it was barely noticeable as an aftertaste, and it was much easier just to carry on drinking. "What the fuck do you know about it?" He tried to cover his tracks with scorn.

"I know that there's a clue in the name: if you've been for a joyride you're usually in a better mood than this."

Cassian's smart reply was on his lips before he could deny anything: "Except that time the life support broke down -"

"Except that time the life support broke down the other side of Morlana, yes, I remember..." Brasso spoke over him and waved a dismissive hand. "I remember every version of that story, you wouldn't shut up about it." The weight of his stare seemed to force Cassian deeper into the upholstery and the thick folds of his coat. "Obviously not the same, is it?"

Cassian's crumpled, angry mouth was hidden by his collar as he tucked his chin into his jacket. He was meant to be teasing Brasso into revealing his own secrets, not being cornered into talking about what he was trying to avoid - fucking Brasso, always turning the tables on him. Always doing it with that steady, patient voice, those quick-moving eyes that scanned Cassian's expression and read all that was meant to be off-limits.  Cassian didn't like to be looked at with pity - but pity was never the motivating factor in Brasso's interrogations. Cassian wished to the stars Brasso would just punch him instead of looking at him like he was doing.

"What happened on Morlana One, then?"

[shoshiwrites]

from the 100 paired prompts list - ⁶¹⁾ peach pits and a pressed shirt collar for Jo and Joe. (yes you heard me.)

The sun rises early in late July, the beginning of August. She’s too warm, lying here in bed, unable to fall back asleep. Outside, a blackbird in a backyard tree sings. A warbler too, as she watches the light on the floor barely touch the murky outlines of their furniture — the dresser, the vase, the lamp, the mirror.

A sleeping Joe lies heavily beside her, soft snores and uncombed hair, the faintest stubble he’ll be shaving away in an hour at most.

Her tongue sticks in her mouth, tastes like teeth. Craving something. None of it’s been too strange, or at least no more strange than how she normally eats. Salt with the sweet, sour with the fat. She won’t ask him, she decides. She can take care of it herself. She can’t sleep anyway.

A few scattered mornings have seen her do this, take the car. Joe doesn’t mind, of course. He doesn’t put the work into it for nothing, he says. She’s dressed loosely, throws an old jacket on over all of it. Takes her wallet, her sunglasses. She almost smiles — it feels almost like stealing a Jeep. The air outside is fresh and cool, not yet hot with the afternoon sun.

The stand she’s thinking of is indeed open, a wooden sign wet with dewy grass. Plump peaches — Sugar May, the farmer calls them — brilliant nectarines and deep purple plums, delicate apricots, a few containers of cherries, like a lipstick ad in Technicolor, come to life.

She doesn’t know him well enough to dissuade the help loading a small box of the peaches into passenger seat, and something tells her he would’ve offered anyway. Something about him reminds her of something gone, his kind and wrinkled smile, faded flannel and work trousers, a lost summer afternoon before the war. He tells her to enjoy the fruit; she tells him she will.

Joe’s up by the time she’s back; she smells coffee from the open door when he’d gotten up from the table at the sound of the car pulling in. She sees his steaming mug on the blue-checkered tablecloth, hers set out on the counter. He’s dressed in blue too, collared chambray work shirt and darker trousers.

He looks surprised, at her early-morning mission, but doesn’t say so. Doesn’t look at her like anything other than who she is — the woman he married, the girl in love, the writer who chased the story halfway around the world and came home to him. He looks like a boy in love, when he looks at her.

“These look good,” he says, taking the box from her after his greeting, the good morning, the kiss he’d pressed to her lips after she’d set hers to his cheek. “Thank you.”

“I thought I might try and bake with them,” she says. “Evie sent over a recipe.”

She pushes her hair back behind her ear, catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Disheveled, hair a little wild from the open car window. Pink-cheeked. She wonders when the doctors are going to try and put her on bedrest. She’s getting there. She doesn’t know how she’s going to handle it.

He’s already holding one in his hand.

“Go on,” she says, smiling. “He wouldn’t let me leave without extras.” There’s a nectarine or two nestled in there, two clusters of plump cherries.

He doesn’t argue, only leans over the sink and bites. The door’s closed, the light beaming through the curtains he didn’t open. She can do this, now. Press her fingers to his, sticky from the sweet white flesh, ignore the clock on the mantle, kiss him breathless against her heart.