#wes mitchell imagine

[escapingrealtiylovinginsanity]

I've only watched the first 5 episodes and I'm obsessed! I am convinced that there is no part Jesse Lee Soffer can play that I won't love. I went to binge on some content for him and couldn't find anything (Big sad). So, I had to make sure he had at least one story. I'm still learning his character so this is probably not perfect.

Wes Mitchell Key 

You didn’t know what the hell you were thinking. The relationship wasn’t new but had been long distance since the beginning. Now you were standing in front of his apartment door, one travel-on bag thrown over your shoulder. You had jet lag from the flight all you wanted was a hot shower and any flat surface to sleep on.  

But now standing here anxiety twisted in your stomach clawing its way up your throat. You reached in your pocket pulling out a key. It felt heavy as lead in your palm and caught the light in the shine of the new metal. You had never used it before and half wondered if it would even really work in the lock. 

You and Wes had been officially together for eight months after steadily talking for three. It didn’t take a genius to know that Wes had trust issues. He didn’t talk about his childhood much, but the random snit bits that he had shared you knew it had been on the rougher side. He was slow to trust and despite his apparent mastery at reading suspects needed blunt direct talks to know where he stood in his personal relationships. 

You two hadn’t seen each other in person more than a handful of times. It had forced a strong foundation built on communication and genuinely enjoying the other company as opposed to falling into bed together because it was easy and lonely. Wes had openly admitted that he tended to do that in a lot of his previous relationships because he “wasn’t good alone”.  

It had been a major red flag and forcing you to keep the pace slow. He was charming, funny, and incredibly good looking and you didn’t want to get your heartbroken.

It didn’t stop you from falling in love with him.

Neither of you had uttered those words yet. Wes didn’t seem like the type to make that proclamation without meaning it and you didn’t want to back him into a corner. 

The feeling of him keeping parts of his life separate from you had caused more than one fight. It always happened in the same pattern. You would bring it up, he would acknowledge that he did it and promise to try harder to be more open. For a while, he would and it would get better but he always seemed to hide behind that last layer of protection. His reflex to protect himself at any cost. You loved him and tried to be patient with what he was working through but the pattern was incredibly frustrating.  

The last one had stuck pretty well. When he came for a week's visit, he had given you his key. He hadn’t said it but you knew it was his way of showing how much he trusted you. You couldn’t help but wonder if it had been an empty attempt to appease you. After all who would go across the country to actually use the key?  

You had only been to his apartment in Budapest once and he came to see you three times. When you met him, you didn’t even have a passport. While seeing each other hadn’t been frequent, the sex was always absolutely mind-blowing. 

Now you felt like quite the hypocrite as you had been hiding your own struggles from him. Things had gotten so bad, so overwhelming at home that you had packed a bag and paid for a flight on a whim. You couldn’t even remember if you packed underwear. Your brain had been like watching static on a TV and it was only halfway through the flight that you remembered that Wes wasn’t even home. He was currently in the Netherlands.  

You felt a gaze fall heavy on you. You look over your shoulder to see a man watching you stand in front of the door holding a key and making no attempt to open it for way longer than necessary. You scrabbled to put the key in the lock and let out a grateful yet slightly surprised breath of relief as the key twisted in the lock butter smooth. 

A glance back showed the man's suspicions seemed settled as he headed down the hall. Then you remembered the alarm and rushed in to type in the password letting your bag carelessly fall to the ground with a heavy thunk. You watch in anticipation after typing the code in. Wes would be the type to constantly change his code but the light turned blissfully green.  

You turned around to see the almost obsessively neat living room. It had a modern feel but it felt only half lived in like Wes hadn’t completely moved in even though he had been living there for over a year now. It looked exactly the same as when you had been there last. The only difference is the lack of pillows and blankets thrown on and over the couches. It was clear that he had done that for your comfort when you had been staying there.  

You stared blankly into the space. Should you call Wes to let him know you have invaded his home? A yawn forced itself from you and your exhaustion came over you in another harsh demanding wave. It had been over a 12-hour flight and you hadn’t been able to sleep at all. Thoughts of calling Wes were easily forgotten with the promise of sleep.  

You walk into his room and are washed in the scent of his cologne and aftershave still barely clinging to the enclosed space. It brought a soft comfort to you. A tease of his embrace. You paused thinking about how awful you must smell and all the germs you had no doubt gotten from the shared space of the airport and then the plane. Your fickle mind had you turning on your heel to the shower turning the water hot.  

As you rinsed off you noticed the only product that Wes had was a 3-in-1 body wash, shampoo, and conditioner. You didn’t even have it in you to care as you scrubbed yourself down with it only unconsciously noticing how awful it made your hair feel. You dried off sparing only the bare minimum amount of time towel-drying your mess of tresses before climbing into his bed. You sank into it with a sigh cocooning yourself in his blankets and before you could think twice you were out like a light. 

Wes entered his apartment quietly. Resetting his alarm before heading to the bedroom. He set his bag down gently as he headed to the bed. He sitting beside you brushing the still damp and tangled tresses off your face. You barely moved still deep in sleep. His eyes analyze you worriedly before leaning down and dropping a soft kiss on your forehead. 

Wes had been gathering his things when his phone had chimed alerting him that someone was at his door. He glanced briefly at his phone thinking it might be a person walking too close to his door or a package arriving he had forgotten he ordered. He had done a double-take when he realized it was you. You hadn’t mentioned anything about stopping by.  

He thought maybe it was a surprise visit. It had been a while since you had seen each other in person. The long flight explained why he couldn’t reach you the last few times he had called. He quickly dismissed that notion. You knew he was still in the Netherlands doing a job and he had given you no idea of when he would be back because he hadn’t known himself. If that wasn’t enough there was your slumped posture, hair thrown haphazardly up in a messy bun with thick chunks of hair escaping, only one carry-on bag thrown over your shoulder. He could feel your exhaustion through the screen, not the excitement you usually had when finally getting to see him again. 

He had watched with growing concern as you just stood at his front door with the key in your hand. You stood that way for so long that he thought his video might have frozen. It stung when he realized it was indecision. He had silently willed you to open the door but still you stood unmoving.  

His stomach clenched with guilt. It was his fault that you were hesitating. You had told him you felt like he had a life he didn’t want you to know. That he always had his walls up. He knew the truth and accepted the burden of trying to fix it. He thought he had been doing a good job and that it wasn’t a big deal.  

Watching you fight with yourself if you were truly welcome in his home or if you would be invading it spoke louder than your words ever could. They cut deeper too. Far past the walls that he had spent his life building. He was just about to call you and tell you to go inside when your head whipped backward clearly startled by something. Then you turned back with purpose and put the key in the lock. It didn’t give him the relief he was hoping for. You hadn’t chosen to go in, you had been pushed too. How long would you have stood there without that nudge? 

The flight home was short but it felt long. His mind was in fix-it mode and whirling with what was the right thing to do when he got home. He wanted to talk to you about your relationship. There was nothing more he wanted than you being around. How deeply he cared for you. He wanted to know what that hesitation meant to you about your relationship because he knew what it meant to him. 

Even though Wes desperately wanted that to be the first thing he did. He knew it wasn’t the right one. He needed to find the underlying cause of what would cause you to spontaneously fly across the country. What had happened? And how did it build up that fast? Hadn’t he just talked to you a few days ago? You had been a little quiet but it had been late your time so he hadn’t thought much of it. Had he missed something so major? How long had whatever it was really been going on? 

Wes tried to suppress his worry not wanting to alert the team that you were there until he knew what was going on. He knew an attempt to run when he saw it, he had done it enough himself. When the group had asked if he wanted to get some drink before they had all returned home, he had feigned tiredness. He had beelined for his home. 

Wes smoothed the blankets over you gently, considering his options. He sighed deeply standing up. You looked vulnerable and small twisted in the blankets and curled up into a ball. You were in a deep sleep. You had barely moved since he had walked in. It wasn’t worth waking you up.   

[anghraine]

One of the highlights of the description of younger Kirk as a bookish and severe Academy instructor is that Gary Mitchell, the friend describing him that way, seems to have been his student back in the day and was trying to pass his notoriously difficult "think or sink" class at the Academy.

Present-day Mitchell mentions reading "that longhair stuff you like" to Kirk (now that he's acquired godly powers that include being able to read Spinoza) and there's this random lore drop about how Mitchell helped a lab technician with a crush on Kirk orchestrate her dating campaign, in hopes that it'd distract Kirk enough for Mitchell to survive his class.

It seems pretty widely accepted that Kirk had a romance with Mitchell himself at the time, which is not my take at all, BUT honestly it's hilarious to me that there's this whole Clueless-style "student matchmaking plot to get a strict teacher a girlfriend so he'll chill enough that you can pass the class" history established almost immediately about Kirk. Comedy gold, especially since Kirk and the lab technician ended up in a long-term relationship and he nearly married her.

Bonus: Kirk and Mitchell became close friends but Kirk is still incredulous at the idea of Mitchell voluntarily reading Spinoza in the episode. And when Mitchell flips into obnoxious god mode and describes Spinoza as simple and childish, Kirk is pretty evidently affronted and alarmed. It's not surprising that Kirk has big philosophy opinions given that futuristic humanism is half his personality, but the idea of him as a former philosophy instructor with Spinoza feelings who goes to space and still can't escape Bad Philosophy Takes is incredible. Even by Season 3, it's just like:

KIRK: Dr. McCoy saved your life. PARMEN: I am losing patience, captain. KIRK: And you consider yourself a disciple of Plato?!

[endless-ineffabilities]

chem ov pocketshot #1 🌙

Darling coming home late to their flat after filming, to find Ewan already asleep on his side of their bed. She'd quietly sneak in, giving him a wide berth so as not to wake him up.

But in the morning, she'd find that he pulled her to him sometime in the night, and his body cocoons her own—with his arm wrapped tightly around her waist, his leg draped over hers, and his nose pressed to the back of her neck.

E: I'm kinda offended you didn't cuddle me.

D: Didn't want to wake you up, babe.

E: Excuses, excuses...

D: Well we're cuddling now so—

E: Not enough. You'll have to make it up to me.

D: ... How?

E: Hmm... well... it seems like he's awake...

D: oh for the love of—

[terrorofthetrident]

being a ewan mitchell stan is subconsciously preparing yourself to lose his characters to death, them just being abruptly taken away, or them having some unfortunate outcome.

[canon-toaster]

Audrey Klein and Leonard college AU because i love them and i wanted to draw different interactions between them

bonus colored Audrey below

[fyeaheddiemunson]

This is the actual battle I need in my life

[compacflt]

the thought of icemav celebrating christmas together makes me a bit crazy. what do they give each other???

usually nothing . That’s kind of a big deal. in the 80s/90s they’d (reluctantly) celebrate Christmas with carole and bradley (who took that shit kinda seriously) so they wouldn’t really do anything by themselves. Maybe go out for a nice clandestine dinner just cause. After Carole dies and Bradley’s papers get pulled from the academy, ice’s low key newfound interest in celebrating christmas is one of his many many ways to try and normalize relations between him & maverick and try to improve their relationship in the conspicuous absence of the rest of their family. but yes he does make an effort—as does mav—to take advantage of holiday time to be with him as often as possible so, though their schedules don’t always line up, after 2006 they spend about 3/4 xmases together

Ice has very few hobbies besides a.) lovingly working on his cars & plane and b.) reading, so he is exceptionally easy to shop for (as most hobbyless men are): nice tie pins, cufflinks, those unnecessarily expensive hardcover books about weird random topics you find in airport bookstores, fountain pens, nautical /aeronautical themed paperweights, nice leather watchbands etc. highbrow rich guy stuff

Maverick has sooooo many stupid little hobbies that each last between 4-6 months so he is ridiculously hard to shop for— “i thought you were into woodworking so i got you some tools :)!” “uh no that was in April. im trying to learn how to make wallets now” :( so mostly if ice ever gets him anything it’s usually just an expensive dinner date in the city or cash in a blank card or a blank signed check for airplane parts for the next year. Buy whatever you want idc <3

any and all gifts are given with extremely little fanfare PLEASE don’t make it a big deal… hidden around the house with a little “merry xmas!” note attached, or shoved into each others suitcases pre-leaving-for-navy-reasons, or unceremoniously dropped into one’s lap while he’s watching tv, “here you go,” “oh, this is nice, thanks!” Et cetera. love language of gifts/acts of service, but, like, very quietly.

[852853]

Wes Mitchell

can somebody please make Wes Mitchell fics please

[remus-poopin]

Lily Evans’ groovy playlist for independent witches

Mostly 70s/60s pop rock, soft rock, and folk pop!

Track list:

1. I Feel the Earth Move - Carole King

2. Queen Jane Approximately - Bob Dylan

3. That’s The Way I’ve Always Heard It Should Be - Carly Simon

4. Move Over - Janis Joplin

5. With My Face On The Floor - Emitt Rhodes

6. Love Calls You By It’s Name - Leonard Cohen

7. In My Life - The Beatles

8. Keep It Warm - Flo & Eddie

9. All Things Must Pass - George Harrison

10. Lily of the Valley - Queen

Other playlists:

Bill Weasley, Nymphadora Tonks, James Potter, Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Fred and George Weasley, Sirius Black, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, Severus Snape

Cover art link + Tumblr:

@ceooftrash

[escapingrealtiylovinginsanity]

Wes Mitchell

Key

[noirvette]

there’s something about chase atlantic and their songs that make me want to write

[chiaraanatra]

You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feelin’ | Part 4

Summary: Goose meets you at the O Bar after a couple of drinks and a conversation he wished would never end he believes that he’ll never see you again. Little did he know while this may have been your first meeting, it would not be your last.

Warnings: ANGST but with a happy ending, plane crash, mentions of hospitalization, concussion, and stitches, swearing, flirting, Goose being a hopeless romantic, Silly Goose, use of Y/N and she/her pronouns, kissing.

Word Count: 3012

Songs: Great Balls of Fire by Jerry Lee Lewi

A/N: This is the last part of this series but I will be posting a short fluffy epilogue. Thank you for all the love on this series! As always I know nothing about planes, aviation, engineering, the Navy, or how a med bay works.

《 part 1 || part 2 || part 3 || epilogue 》 《 m.list || ao3 》

After dinner, you two of you talked for hours about everything from your families to your careers and hobbies. Nick left your house around 11 pm. You both wished that night would never end but you both knew tomorrow would be another early morning.

You walked the tall aviator to the door, he slipped on his shoes before turning back to you. “Please tell me this isn’t a one-time thing. I know this is complicated with Top Gun and everything but I-“

Before he could spiral, you leaned up to wrap your arms around his neck and connect your lips with his once more. His hands found their way to your waist. You kissed him slowly for a few moments before pulling away, your hands meeting his cheeks. “I like you too, Nick. It’ll be a bit complicated, but I’d like to see where it goes.”

A big smile made its way to Goose’s lips. He nodded his head before pulling you into his arms and kissing your forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.”

Goose pulled into his driveway sitting in his car for a few moments. He couldn’t help the stupid smile that was plastered on his face. He noticed Mav’s living room light turn on. Wonder what he’s still doing up.

He walked across the few feet of yard that separated the two aviators’ rentals. He knocked on the side door just outside the living room, gaining the shorter pilot’s attention. Goose let himself in.

“Still awake?” Mav said as Goose took up a spot on the opposite couch.

“Yeah.” Goose had a perplexed look on his face as he thought over all that had happened in the last 6 hours.

“What's up?”

Goose didn’t answer, trying to think of exactly what to say.

“Talk to me Goose.”

Goose let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, “you’re gonna think I’m crazy, Mav.”

“No more than I already do.” The shorter pilot joked as he leaned back.

“I think I’m in love…”

“With Stinger?” He leaned forward and Goose nodded in response. ”Bullshit! How pussy drunk are you?”

“God Mav, get your head out of your ass. I didn’t sleep with her! She cooked me dinner we talked, we danced to the radio, we kissed…” He could have gone on about how your lips fit together perfectly, how soft your skin was, and how badly he wanted to stay by your side forever but he knew he was gonna get enough shit from Pete for what he was about to say. “Mav, I’m telling you I’m going to marry that girl.”

Pete could barely believe what he was hearing but he knew from the look in his best friend’s eyes that he was dead serious. “Shit… Guess I better get my dress whites ready.”

In the 9 weeks since having dinner at your place, you and Goose began dating each other in secret. Private dinner dates, long walks on the beach, sneaking kisses in the elevator, or behind the F14s parked in the hangar. Thankfully the two of you were better at keeping things under wraps than Mav and Charlie.

On a rare day off, the four of you decided to meet up at a small bar near the base. Mav, Charlie, and you were sitting in a corner booth, Goose saw a piano and decided the empty joint needed a bit of music.

Music rang through the upright piano and throughout the small bar before his voice began to do the same.

You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain

Too much love drives a man insane

You broke my will, but what a thrill

Goodness gracious, great balls of fire

“Doesn't he ever embarrass you two?” Charlie was asking both you and Maverick, but the pilot was the first to answer for you both.

“Goose? Hell, no!” He had a wild smile on his face that faded ever so slightly, “well, there was the time. . .

“Admiral's daughter?” Your words quickly pulled Mav from his thoughts.

“What?” You could see the nervousness grow on his face.

“Come on, Pete. He told me all about the time you went ballistic with Penny Benjamin.”

“Did he?” Mav’s gaze moved towards the Hawaiian shirt-clad, piano-playing RIO, “well, that's great.”

“He’s told me about all of them, Maverick. Quite the past I must say,” you giggled.

“Uh-huh… All right, thank you, Stinger. I'm gonna go embarrass myself with Goose for a while.”

Mav’s voice joined Goose’s.

I laughed at love 'cause I thought it was funny

You came along and you moved me honey

I've changed my mind, this love is fine

Goodness gracious, great balls of fire

“For as much as I get a kick out of teasing Maverick…” You paused taking a sip of your drink, “from what Goose has told me one thing's for certain: there are hearts breaking wide open all over the world tonight.”

Charlie looked at you with confusion, “Why?”

“Because unless you are a fool, that boy is off the market. Goose says he is 100 percent, prime time in love with you.” You let out a small laugh at the way Charlie’s jaw fell open a little. You turned your attention towards the two aviators.

“Hey, Goose, you big stud!”

“That's me, honey.” He glanced towards you lowering his sunglasses.

“Take me to bed or lose me forever.” You shouted across the empty bar.

“Show me the way home, honey!”

 You drag Charlie over to the piano and the four of you finished out the song.

I chew my nails and I twiddle my thumbs

Real nervous, but it sure is fun

Come on, baby, drive me crazy

Goodness gracious, great balls of fire

Goose pulls you on top of his lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him deeply. Mav may have been in love with Charlie but those feelings could never match what you and Nick felt for one another.

Jester’s voice came through over the coms. “Okay, gentlemen, this is hop 31. Two weeks to graduation. Top Gun trophy is still up for grabs, so every point counts.”

Goose’s voice was the next to come through. “It’s a beautiful Friday morning here in sunny San Diego. It's the bottom of the ninth, the score is tied. It's time for the big one, gentlemen.”

Ice was checking over his gauges as they approached the proper height. “You up for this one, Maverick?”

Mav gave a cocky smile as he talked into his mask, “just a walk in the park, Kazansky.”

Slider looked out on the radar, “contact. Multiple bogies, 165. Two miles. Looks like they're going away from us.”

“Ho, I see them, tallyho, right 2 o'clock. I'm in.” Just as he was about to lean into the curve Ice cut him off.

“I'm in.” With his plane just ahead and to the right of mavericks he was able to cut him off.

“That son of a bitch cut me off.” Mav was pissed and Goose could tell by the sudden Gs that hit him as the plane curved to trail behind Ice and Slider.

The two plains closely tailed the three bogies. “Come on, come on. Jesus Christ. Ice, take the shot.” Mav was getting impatient, and Goose could tell.

“Come on, Ice, get the hell out of there,” Goose called into his mask.

“I can't get the angle. I'm too close for missiles. I'm switching to guns.” Ice flipped the switch on his weapons system to guns but still didn’t take any shots.

“Ice, fire or clear.” Neither Mav, Goose, nor Slider could understand what was taking Ice so long to line up the shot.

 “Look at this! Jesus Christ, I can take a shot right here!” Mav had a clear line of sight just past Ice and Slider’s plane. If Ice moved, he would have the shot in seconds.

“I need another 20 seconds, then I've got it.” Mav still couldn’t tell what Ice’s play was outside of wasting time and costing Mav the Top Gun trophy.

“I'm moving in. I've got the shot.” Mav called.

“Come on, Mav, let's get in there! Goose encouraged. “Come on, Mav!”

“Maverick's getting impatient, Ice. Come on, take the shot!” Slider called.

“Ten more seconds, then I've got him.” Ice was precisely lining up his shot and taking far too long to do so. He knew it Slider knew it and most of all Goose and Mav knew it.

Goose let out a groan of his own frustration. “Come on, Ice, get the hell out of there! Let's do it, Mav.”

“Ice, come off high right. I'm in.” Mav’s voice commanded over the coms.

Ice tried to buy himself a bit more time. “Five more seconds.”

“Come off high right, Ice. I'm in.” Mav began slowly moving his plane into position, pushing Kazansky out.

“I'm off.” Ice shifted his trajectory allowing Mitchel to take his place. “Shit!”

There was a sudden wave of turbulence and alarms began to blare. “We're in his jet wash!”

“Ho! Holy shit!” Mav desperately tried to get the plane under control.

“This is not good!” Goose was quickly checking things over in an attempt to help aid in the recovery. He turned when he heard a sudden silence from his left. “Shit, we got a flameout, Mav! Engine one is out!” The same lack of sound came from his right shortly after. “Engine two is out!”

“Goose, I'm losing control! I'm losing control! I can't control it! It won't recover! Shit!” It was impossible for Mav to gain control back and the G-force was beginning to press him forward.

“It's coupling up, Mav! We're out of control. This is not good! This is not good!” Goose could feel them begin to head into a tailspin.

“Mayday, mayday. Mav's in trouble. He's in a flat spin. He's heading out to sea.” Ice called out as he watched his wingmen spin out of control, unable to aid them.

Goose watched as the altitude gauge began spinning. “Altitude 8,000, 7,000. Six. We're at six, Mav.”

Mav’s face was practically pressed up against the glass. “I'm pinned forward, Goose. I can't reach the ejection handle! Goose, you're gonna have to punch us out! I can't reach the ejection handle! Eject!

“I'm trying! I'm trying!” Goose was desperately trying to reach for the overhead ejection handles, working against the intense Gs.

“Eject! Eject! Eject! Watch the canopy!”

The coms went dead, and your entire body stiffened. You excused yourself from the conference room where you were observing and listening in on the training exercises. Charlie quickly followed suit.

“Oh my god… Oh my god…” your voice was almost as shacky as your body.

“Charlie wrapped her arms around you, enveloping you in a hug. “Common we can meet them at the medical building.” Her voice was surprisingly calm, but you could tell by her stiff figure that she was freaking out just as much as you were.

You both ran to the parking lot, jumping into Charlie’s Porsche Speedster before the blonde woman sped over to the medical building across the base.

It felt like you were waiting forever. Charlie was seated in one of the worn teal chairs while you wore a trail in the tail floor from pacing back and forth. No one would tell you or Charlie anything. Apparently, top security clearance meant nothing when it came to the medical ward being HIPPA compliant.

“Y/N… Sit down, honey.” She patted the seat next to her. you took up her offer, feet in pain from the hours of pacing in your heels.

Charlie wrapped her arm around you pulling you into a comforting hug. With all the time you spent with her at Top Gun, the two of you had become close. “I… I can’t lose him, Charlotte…” You could feel tears stinging your eyes. You had yet to cry in the hours between the crash and now, too mentally shocked for your body to produce tears.

Before she could speak any words of comfort a nurse walked into the room.

"Charlotte, Charlotte Blackwell? I have a Pete Mitchel requesting you.”

She looked over at you with empathetic eyes. “Do you want me to stay with you…”

“No, go…” you gave your best attempts at a weak smile. You watched as she followed the nurse. You rested your head in your hands.

Your mind began to fling itself into worst-case scenarios. What if he’s… he’s… Before you could finish that thought you heard your name. “Y/N, Y/N Y/LN.” You shot up to be greeted by the sight of another nurse. “I have a Nick Bradshaw requesting you.” You stood up and followed her down the sterile hallways. Relief had yet to grace your tense mind or body.

The walk to his room felt like it took even longer than your stay in the waiting room. Your mind was deathly quiet, refusing to think of what state Nick could possibly be in.

The nurse stopped in front of a closed door, “You can go on in.”

You paused for a brief moment before opening the door. You walked down the small hallway that led to the open space that was Nick’s room. You were greeted by Nick laying upright in his hospital bed. His eyes immediately brightened at the sight of you. “Honey!” He made an attempt to swing his legs over the side of the bed.

“Don’t move.” You rushed over to the chair next to his bed, pulling it as close as you could before taking a seat. Nick immediately grabbed your hand and kissed the top gently before pulling you just a bit closer so he could gently kiss your lips.

You pulled back slightly, taking in the sight of the fresh stitches on his forehead, his disheveled blonde hair, and the few bruises and scrapes along his arms. “How are you…” Your voice was soft, much softer than you intended.

“Head’s a little fuzzy. They’ve been scanning, poking, and prodding at me since I got here. As far as they can tell I was lucky to walk away with just a mild concussion and a couple of scrapes and bruises.” His tone is nonchalant as ever and one that you feared you would never get to hear again.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding as tears began to spill over onto your cheeks.

“Honey, honey…” He gently grabbed both sides of your face, wiping the tears that began to stain your cheeks away with his thumb. “I’m okay, everything is fine.” He gently pulled you closer to him, making space for you on the bed.

Without a second thought, you climbed in next to him almost scared to touch him for fear he might break or disappear.

Nick appeared to have read your thoughts. “Come here,” he pulled you closer to him, allowing your head to rest on his chest. “I-I was so scared… I thought I lost you…”

“Common now.” Nick brushed the tears away from your cheeks. “You didn’t think you could get rid of me that easily, did you?” He tilted your chin up and gave you that big smile that always made your heart flutter.

“Hey before you get too comfortable, can you do me a favor.”

You looked up at him and nodded, “anything…”

“Hand me my flight suit, it’s hanging in the bathroom.”

You looked at him with slight confusion. “Sure…” You got up and walked a little way down the small hallway to the on-suite bathroom. As you were grabbing the suit for reasons unknown to you, you heard some rustling. You grabbed the suit and made your way back Nick. He was now standing beside the bed. “Nicky, you should really be laying down…”

“I’m fine, now sit.” You handed him the flight suit and took a seat on the edge of the bed. “Now close your eyes, I don’t need you seeing my bare ass in the hospital gown.”

You couldn’t help but giggle and roll your eyes but the expression on his face was a serious one, or at least as serious as he could muster. “Okay, okay.” You placed your hands over your eyes as your head rustles come from your boyfriend.

“Now Mav said I was crazy… Don’t open your eyes yet.” He said as if reading your mind once more. “But I know when a thing is right.”

“Nicky what are you talking about.” There was a moment of silence, and you couldn’t help but open your eyes. You were greeted by the sight of Nick in his hospital gown on one knee with a small black box in his hands.

“Nicky…”

Before you could form a coherent thought, “look I knew the last 9 weeks, have been a whirlwind, the last several hours especially. But I know then a thing is right and Y/N this is right.” Nick opened the small black bock revealing a small diamond ring on a single band. “Y/N L/N… Will you make me the happiest man this side of the Mississippi?”

You stared at the ring and then back at the blonde holding it. “Nicholas Bradshaw, are you asking me to marry you?”

He looked at you then back to the ring as if to confirm the answer for himself, before looking back up at you. ”Well, this is not exactly how I had planned to do it. But yes, yes, I am. If you’ll have me.”

More tears began to prick your eyes before you began to franticly nod. “Yes, yes, one-thousand times yes!” With a smile wider the tarmac, Nick placed the ring onto your ring finger. You practically jumped into the aviator’s arms as he stood up. His hands quickly made perches on your hips before his lips met yours.

He smiled against your lips before pulling slightly away so he could look into your eyes. “I love you, Mrs. Bradshaw.” “I love you too. Mr. Bradshaw.”

Epilogue

Tags: @luckyladycreator2 @saturnsbabe69 @belleroguewolf @goosegirl98 @desert-fern @bellamy1998

While this series may be over, I am in the works on some Hangman fics!

As always, feedback, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!𝑊𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑎 𝑏𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑑? 𝐿𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 💜

[gotbuckleys]

hey. imagine buck and tommy decide to live together in tommy’s little fixer upper. buck installs one of those ring cameras for security but like…then imagine buck is trying his hand at like…idk insta reels. he sets one up facing the front door from the inside and records like six months worth of home comings because it’ll be cute right? a way to capture his man and their life that he can keep forever like the scrapbook he still has from thomas and mitchell.

so. theres quite a few captures of tommy coming home from work, buck greeting him at the door with a kiss. theres tommy coming in from a run and grinning as soon as he catches sight of buck through the hallway, in the kitchen. at some point theres ones of tommy coming in and dropping to his knees to greet the belgian shepherd they adopted after one of tommy‘s old military buddies hit him up about taking the dog on because he was getting redeployed.

theres a few of tommy easing the door open silently and closing it gently because buck is in sleeping off a 48. theres a few of tommy barreling in shoulder first after his own 48, dead on his feet, hanging his keys up on the hook just out of frame and then resting his forehead against the wall for a few seconds before trudging upstairs.

theres one of tommy and buck slamming the door open with their hands all over each other, and buck throwing a cheeky grin at the camera while tommy mouths at his jaw and manhandles him further inside. theres one of tommy opening the door gently with jee-yun‘s hand in his own and buck behind them smiling softly. theres even some of tommy opening the door and buck materialising so he can scare the shit of him.

and maybe a few months in, theres one where tommy comes home and makes eye contact with the camera for a few seconds (but buck doesn’t clock this until he edits the footage).

and maybe a month or so after tommy clocks the camera we get a home coming. but this time, its buck opening the door. only to be greeted with tommy on one knee, open box in hand. of course, buck’s smile is bright enough to crack the sky in two. and when the ring is affixed and tommy has buck in his arms and they are spinning around and giggling like a scene out of one of the romance films tommy adores, we see tommy stop and settle his hands around bucks waist, tuck his nose into his curls, and wink at the camera.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Sandra Newman’s “Julia”

The first chapter of Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four has a fantastic joke that nearly everyone misses: when Julia, Winston Smith's love interest, is introduced, she has oily hands and a giant wrench, which she uses in her "mechanical job on one of the novel-writing machines":

https://gutenberg.net.au/ebooks01/0100021.txt

That line just kills me every time I re-read the book – Orwell, a novelist, writing a dystopian future in which novels are written by giant, clanking mechanisms. Later on, when Winston and Julia begin their illicit affair, we get more detail:

She could describe the whole process of composing a novel, from the general directive issued by the Planning Committee down to the final touching-up by the Rewrite Squad. But she was not interested in the finished product. She 'didn't much care for reading,' she said. Books were just a commodity that had to be produced, like jam or bootlaces.

I always assumed Orwell was subtweeting his publishers and editors here, and you can only imagine that the editor who asked Orwell to tweak the 1984 manuscript must have felt an uncomfortable parallel between their requests and the notional Planning Committee and Rewrite Squad at the Ministry of Truth.

I first read 1984 in the early winter of, well, 1984, when I was thirteen years old. I was on a family trip that included as visit to my relatives in Leningrad, and the novel made a significant impact on me. I immediately connected it to the canon of dystopian science fiction that I was already avidly consuming, and to the geopolitics of a world that seemed on the brink of nuclear devastation. I also connected it to my own hopes for the nascent field of personal computing, which I'd gotten an early start on, when my father – then a computer science student – started bringing home dumb terminals and acoustic couplers from his university in the mid-1970s. Orwell crystallized my nascent horror at the oppressive uses of technology (such as the automated Mutually Assured Destruction nuclear systems that haunted my nightmares) and my dreams of the better worlds we could have with computers.

It's not an overstatement to say that the rest of my life has been about this tension. It's no coincidence that I wrote a series of "Little Brother" novels whose protagonist calls himself w1n5t0n:

https://craphound.com/littlebrother/Cory_Doctorow_-_Little_Brother.htm

I didn't stop with Orwell, of course. I wrote a whole series of widely read, award-winning stories with the same titles as famous sf tales, starting with "Anda's Game" ("Ender's Game"):

https://www.salon.com/2004/11/15/andas_game/

And "I, Robot":

https://craphound.com/overclocked/Cory_Doctorow_-_Overclocked_-_I_Robot.html

"The Martian Chronicles":

https://escapepod.org/2019/10/03/escape-pod-700-martian-chronicles-part-1/

"True Names":

https://archive.org/details/TrueNames

"The Man Who Sold the Moon":

https://memex.craphound.com/2015/05/22/the-man-who-sold-the-moon/

and "The Brave Little Toaster":

https://archive.org/details/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_212

Writing stories about other stories that you hate or love or just can't get out of your head is a very old and important literary tradition. As EL Doctorow (no relation) writes in his essay "Genesis," the Hebrews stole their Genesis story from the Babylonians, rewriting it to their specifications:

https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/41520/creationists-by-e-l-doctorow/

As my "famous title" stories and Little Brother books show, this work needn't be confined to antiquity. Modern copyright may be draconian, but it contains exceptions ("fair use" in the US, "fair dealing" in many other places) that allow for this kind of creative reworking. One of the most important fair use cases concerns The Wind Done Gone, Alice Randall's 2001 retelling of Margaret Mitchell's Gone With the Wind from the perspective of the enslaved characters, which was judged to be fair use after Mitchell's heirs tried to censor the book:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Suntrust_Bank_v._Houghton_Mifflin_Co.

In ruling for Randall, the Eleventh Circuit Court of Appeals emphasized that she had "fully employed those conscripted elements from Gone With the Wind to make war against it." Randall used several of Mitchell's most famous lines, "but vest[ed] them with a completely new significance":

https://law.justia.com/cases/federal/appellate-courts/F3/268/1257/608446/

The Wind Done Gone is an excellent book, and both its text and its legal controversy kept springing to mind as I read Sandra Newman's wonderful novel Julia, which retells 1984 from the perspective of Julia, she of the oily hands the novel-writing machine:

https://www.harpercollins.com/products/julia-sandra-newman?variant=41467936636962

Julia is the kind of fanfic that I love, in the tradition of both Wind Done gone and Rosenkrantz and Gildenstern Are Dead, in which a follow-on author takes on the original author's throwaway world-building with deadly seriousness, elucidating the weird implications and buried subtexts of all the stuff and people moving around in the wings and background of the original.

For Newman, the starting point here is Julia, an enigmatic lover who comes to Winston with all kinds of rebellious secrets – tradecraft for planning and executing dirty little assignations and acquiring black market goods. Julia embodies a common contradiction in the depiction of young women (she is some twenty years younger than Winston): on the one hand, she is a "native" of the world, while Winston is a late arrival, carrying around all his "oldthink" baggage that leaves him perennially baffled, terrified and angry; on the other hand, she's a naive "girl," who "doesn't much care for reading," and lacks the intellectual curiosity that propels Winston through the text.

This contradiction is the cleavage line that Newman drives her chisel into, fracturing Orwell's world in useful, fascinating, engrossing ways. For Winston, the world of 1984 is totalitarian: the Party knows all, controls all and misses nothing. To merely think a disloyal thought is to be doomed, because the omnipotent, omniscient, and omnicompetent Party will sense the thought and mark you for torture and "vaporization."

Orwell's readers experience all of 1984 through Winston's eyes and are encouraged to trust his assessment of his situation. But Newman brings in a second point of view, that of Julia, who is indeed far more worldly than Winston. But that's not because she's younger than him – it's because she's more provincial. Julia, we learn, grew up outside of the Home Counties, where the revolution was incomplete and where dissidents – like her parents – were sent into exile. Julia has experienced the periphery of the Party's power, the places where it is frayed and incomplete. For Julia, the Party may be ruthless and powerful, but it's hardly omnicompetent. Indeed, it's rather fumbling.

Which makes sense. After all, if we take Winston at his word and assume that every disloyal citizen of Oceania is arrested, tortured and murdered, where would that leave Oceania? Even Kim Jong Un can't murder everyone who hates him, or he'd get awfully lonely, and then awfully hungry.

Through Julia's eyes, we experience Oceania as a paranoid autocracy, corrupt and twitchy. We witness the obvious corollary of a culture of denunciation and arrest: the ruling Party of such an institution must be riddled with internecine struggle and backstabbing, to the point of paralyzed dysfunction. The Orwellian trick of switching from being at war with Eastasia to Eurasia and back again is actually driven by real military setbacks – not just faked battles designed to stir up patriotic fervor. The Party doesn't merely claim to be under assault from internal and external enemies – it actually is.

Julia is also perfectly positioned to uncover the vast blank spots in Winston's supposed intellectual curiosity, all the questions he doesn't ask – about her, about the Party, and about the world. I love this trope and used it myself, in Attack Surface, the third "Little Brother" book, which is told from the point of view of Marcus's frenemy Masha:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250757531/attacksurface

Through Julia, we come to understand the seemingly omniscient, omnipotent Party as fumbling sadists. The Thought Police are like MI5, an Island of Misfit Toys where the paranoid, the stupid, the vicious and the thuggish come together to ruin the lives of thousands, in such a chaotic and pointless manner that their victims find themselves spinning devastatingly clever explanations for their behavior:

https://www.bbc.co.uk/blogs/adamcurtis/entries/3662a707-0af9-3149-963f-47bea720b460

And, as with Nineteen Eighty-Four, Julia is a first-rate novel, expertly plotted, with fantastic, nail-biting suspense and many smart turns and clever phrases. Newman is doing Orwell, and, at times, outdoing him. In her hands, Orwell – like Winston – is revealed as a kind of overly credulous romantic who can't believe that anyone as obviously stupid and deranged as the state's representatives could be kicking his ass so very thoroughly.

This was, in many ways, the defining trauma and problem of Orwell's life, from his origin story, in which he is shot through the throat by a fascist: sniper during the Spanish Civil War:

https://www.rjgeib.com/thoughts/soldiers/george-orwell-shot.html

To his final days, when he developed a foolish crush on a British state spy and tried to impress her by turning his erstwhile comrades in to her:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Orwell%27s_list

Newman's feminist retelling of Orwell is as much about puncturing the myth of male competence as it is about revealing the inner life, agency, and personhood of swooning love-interests. As someone who loves Orwell – but not unconditionally – I was moved, impressed, and delighted by Julia.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/28/novel-writing-machines/#fanfic

[rootedinrevisions]

Cop Car

SUMMARY: You and Jake enter a restricted area to watch the planes take off. It's all fun and games until the two of you end up cuffed in the backseat of a car. Things only get worse when your dad, Pete "Maverick" Mitchell arrives on the scene. Loosely based on/inspired by Cop Car by Keith Urban because apparently my thing lately has been making fics out of songs.

WARNINGS: None

WORD COUNT: 3.5K

TAG LIST: @omgbrianab I @shanimallina87

The faint roar of jet engines reverberated in the distance, a low hum that vibrated through the night air. You were wrapped up in Jake’s arms, your back pressed against his chest as you both lounged in the truck bed, staring at the vast sky above. There was a thrill, a kind of reckless energy, in sitting just beyond the "No Trespassing" signs, so close to the runways where the Navy's finest pilots took off.

Your heart raced, though it wasn’t from fear of getting caught. It was from being here, next to him. You felt the soft thud of his heartbeat as you lay back against his chest, your body cocooned in his warmth.

“You sure this was a good idea?” Jake’s voice was low, tinged with amusement as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer.

You grinned up at him, the glow of the airstrip lights casting soft shadows across his features. “Since when have you ever cared about breaking the rules?”

He chuckled, running a hand through his messy blonde hair. “Fair point. But if your old man catches us—”

You cut him off with a playful laugh, turning in his arms so you could look up into his eyes. “We’ll be fine. I’ve got a plan.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got a plan?”

“Mmhmm,” you nodded confidently, leaning in closer until your noses almost touched. “If we get caught, I’ll just tell them how much I love planes. They’ll understand.”

Jake shook his head, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, I’m sure that’ll get us out of any trouble.”

You leaned back against him, your eyes flicking up to watch as another jet took off, its engines roaring to life and tearing down the runway before disappearing into the night sky. There was something magical about it, watching those planes cut through the darkness. You’d loved planes ever since you were a kid—since the first time your dad had taken you up for a ride.

Sighing contently, you snuggled deeper into Jake’s embrace, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back. The moment was perfect, just the two of you, wrapped up in each other. All the worries of tomorrow didn’t matter. It was just you, Jake, and the thrill of being somewhere you weren’t supposed to be.

“Hey, look,” Jake said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Another one.”

You followed his gaze, watching as a fighter jet lifted off into the air, its sleek frame disappearing into the starry sky. For a second, you imagined what it must be like for Jake—to be up there, soaring through the clouds, with nothing but the horizon ahead of him. You admired his ambition, his drive.

“What’s it like up there…you know when you’re flying?” you asked, watching another jet take off, its lights blinking against the darkness.

Jake’s laugh was low, vibrating through your body as his arms tightened around you. “It’s the best feeling in the world…besides being here with you.”

You smiled, tilting your head back to catch a glimpse of his face, the shadows from the runway lights dancing across his jawline. There was something about being here, just the two of you, that felt untouchable—like nothing could ruin this moment. It felt like the world belonged to just you and him.

But then, out of the corner of your eye, you spotted it—the glow of headlights approaching from the other side of the fence. Your heart skipped a beat.

“Uh, Jake,” you murmured, sitting up a little. “We’ve got company.”

Jake followed your gaze, his jaw tightening as the headlights got closer. A black SUV with the words “Military Police” emblazoned on the side rolled to a stop just a few feet away from Jake’s truck.

“Shit,” he muttered, sliding out of the truck bed and extending a hand to help you down. His expression was still calm, but you could feel the tension rolling off him as the door to the SUV swung open.

Two officers stepped out, their faces stern and their postures rigid as they approached. The taller one, a gruff-looking man in his mid-40s with a salt-and-pepper beard, was the first to speak.

“You two realize this is a restricted area, right?” His voice was sharp, no-nonsense.

You exchanged a glance with Jake, your heart thudding in your chest. “Uh, yeah,” Jake said, holding up his hands in surrender. “We were just watching the planes. Didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”

The officer’s eyes narrowed as his gaze shifted to you. “And you? You got identification on you?”

Your breath caught in your throat. You weren’t on base legally, and you knew it. While Jake was a Navy pilot with all the right credentials, you were just the daughter of one of the Navy’s most legendary pilots. That wasn’t going to help much right now.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “I… I don’t have any ID on me.”

The second officer, a younger man with a buzz cut, stepped forward. “Name?”

You hesitated, glancing at Jake before answering. His green eyes were serious, silently telling you to be honest. There was no talking your way out of this.

“Y/N Mitchell,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

The officers exchanged a glance, clearly recognizing the name. “As in Captain Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell?” the first officer asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

You nodded, your heart sinking. “Yeah… that’s my dad.”

The older officer exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple as if already anticipating the headache this was going to cause. “Well, Miss Mitchell, you’re not supposed to be here. You’re aware of that, right?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Jake cut in. “Look, this is on me. I brought her here. She just wanted to see the planes. I’ll take full responsibility.”

The officer gave Jake a once-over, clearly unimpressed. “And you are?”

“Lieutenant Jake Seresin,” Jake said, pulling his Military ID card out of his wallet and handing it over. The officer examined it under the flashlight before handing it back, his expression still stony.

“You know better, Lieutenant,” the officer said, his voice low and stern. “You’re military personnel. You should know what ‘No Trespassing’ means.”

Jake clenched his jaw but nodded. “Yes sir, I know. I screwed up.”

The officer gave a nod to his partner, who immediately stepped forward and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. “I’m afraid you’re both coming with us,” the younger officer said, reaching for Jake’s wrists first.

“Wait, is that really necessary?” you asked, panic rising in your chest as you watched them cuff Jake.

“Afraid so,” the officer replied, his tone almost bored. “Regulations.”

Your breath quickened as the officer turned to you next, holding out the cuffs. “Turn around, ma’am.”

You swallowed hard and did as you were told, the cold metal of the cuffs clicking around your wrists. The reality of the situation began to set in, and for the first time, a sliver of fear crept in.

Jake met your eyes, and despite the cuffs, he managed to give you a reassuring smile.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice steady, “it’s gonna be fine.”

You nodded, trying to calm the rapid beating of your heart. You wanted to believe him, but the weight of what could happen hung heavy in the air.

The officers escorted you and Jake to the back of their patrol car, opening the doors and motioning for you to get inside. You slid in first, Jake following closely behind, the door slamming shut behind him. The inside of the car smelled like leather and disinfectant, the overhead light casting a dim glow across your faces.

You slouched against the seat, biting your lip to keep from laughing at the absurdity of it all. Jake caught your eye and raised an eyebrow.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice soft as the officers stood outside making phone calls.

You nodded, resting your head against the seat. “Yeah, I’m okay. Are you?”

Jake exhaled, his gaze drifting toward the flashing blue lights reflecting in the window. “Your dad’s gonna kill me.”

You let out a soft laugh, the tension easing slightly. “He might. But hey, at least we’ve got a good story now.”

Jake chuckled, leaning his head back against the seat, his eyes closing briefly. “Yeah, some story. 'Remember that time we got cuffed for watching jets take off?'”

You grinned, leaning your head against his shoulder. “You know, we could try to make a run for it.”

His eyes snapped open, and he turned to you, disbelief written all over his face. “You’re crazy.”

You shrugged, a mischievous glint in your eye. “Maybe. But you love it.”

He shook his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah,” he said quietly, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “I do.”

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, the weight of the situation fading as the minutes ticked by. Outside, the officers were still making calls, seemingly in no rush to let you go. But you didn’t care. In this moment, sitting in the back of a patrol car, cuffed and facing who knew what kind of trouble, all that mattered was being here with Jake.

He glanced over at you again, his expression softening as he took in the way the blue lights danced in your eyes. He couldn’t help but think how beautiful you looked, even in a situation like this. And for a second, all his worries about tomorrow and whatever consequences awaited him melted away.

“Your dad’s never gonna let me see you again, is he?” Jake asked, half-joking, though there was a hint of concern in his voice.

You smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. “We’ll figure it out.”

Just then, the familiar sound of car tires on the gravel made you both look up. The unmistakable silhouette of your father, Captain Pete “Maverick” Mitchell, appeared in the distance, his boots crunching rhythmically against the gravel as he approached the patrol car. The blue and red lights cast long shadows over his form, and even from inside the car, you could see the tightness in his jaw and the intensity in his eyes. He was pissed, no doubt about it.

Jake shifted beside you, his relaxed demeanor faltering for the first time since the police had shown up. His face fell, the reality of the situation finally hitting him. “This is gonna be bad,” he muttered under his breath, glancing sideways at you.

You could only nod, your stomach twisting with a mix of dread and embarrassment. If there was one thing that had always been constant in your life, it was your dad’s protective nature. And now, seeing him storming toward the car—where you sat in the back, hands cuffed, with Jake beside you—it felt like you were about to face the full force of it.

Just as Maverick reached the car, the officer nearest the door gave you and Jake a nod, his face stern as he reached for the door handle. 

“Alright, out you two,” he said, his voice gruff but controlled. 

He opened the door, and the cool night air rushed in, cutting through the warmth of the enclosed space. Jake was the first to move. He slid out of the seat with a quiet grunt, his wrists still bound by the cuffs as he straightened to his full height. The officer standing nearby gave him a once-over, clearly unimpressed, before placing a hand on Jake’s arm to guide him to the side of the car.

Then it was your turn. You followed Jake’s lead, scooting across the seat and stepping out into the gravel. The moment your feet hit the ground, you felt the weight of everything hit you all at once—the flashing lights, the tension in the air, and your dad’s unwavering gaze locked on the two of you. The officers didn’t waste time; you were both led a few paces away from the car, standing side by side as Maverick looked between you and Jake with that intense, assessing stare.

Jake, to his credit, stood still and silent, his jaw clenched tightly. You could sense the regret rolling off him in waves. His shoulders were stiff, and for once, he seemed unsure of what to say. Not that there was much he could say to fix the situation.

Maverick’s eyes moved between the two of you, taking in the sight of his daughter cuffed and standing beside Lieutenant Jake "Hangman" Seresin. His frustration was palpable, but the way he lingered on you for a second longer made your stomach twist. This wasn’t just anger—this was disappointment.

The older officer cleared his throat, drawing Maverick’s attention for a moment. “Captain Mitchell, sir,” he said, more formally now, clearly aware of the gravity of the situation.

Maverick’s gaze didn’t leave you and Jake, his arms crossing over his chest. “What’s going on here?”

The officer quickly explained, outlining how they’d found you both in a restricted area and how neither of you had proper authorization. The moment he finished, there was a beat of silence. Maverick’s eyes narrowed as they settled on Jake.

“Lieutenant Seresin,” he said slowly, his voice deceptively calm, “care to explain why I’m getting a call in the middle of the night saying my daughter’s in the back of a patrol car with you?”

Jake straightened up, squaring his shoulders. “Sir, it’s on me. I brought her out here. I didn’t think—”

“No, you didn’t,” Maverick cut him off, his voice sharp. “You didn’t think at all, clearly.”

You winced at the harshness of his tone, knowing this wasn’t going to go over well. The officer standing beside Jake glanced between the two men, but remained silent. Maverick’s gaze shifted to you, and the weight of his stare made your heart sink.

“Y/N, you know better than this,” Maverick said, his voice firm but with an edge of concern. “You know what happens when you break the rules, especially on a military base. What were you thinking?”

You looked down, unable to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Maverick sighed, running a hand through his hair before turning to the officers. “Can you take the cuffs off?”

The younger officer hesitated for a moment, then gave a small nod. “Sure, Captain.” He stepped forward and unlocked Jake’s cuffs first. Jake gave a slight nod of thanks but didn’t move otherwise, still standing rigid beside you.

Then it was your turn. The officer released the cuffs from your wrists, and you immediately rubbed at the sore spots where the metal had bitten into your skin. The weight of the cuffs was gone, but the tension hanging between the three of you was suffocating.

Maverick gave the officers a short nod, signaling for them to step back. Then he crossed his arms again, his eyes flickering between you and Jake. “You two are lucky it was just the military police who found you,” he said, his voice low but filled with authority. “Do you have any idea what could’ve happened if this got reported up the chain? You’re both smart enough to know better.”

Jake shifted beside you, finally finding his voice again. “Sir, I take full responsibility. Y/N shouldn’t get in trouble for this. She was just with me. If there’s any punishment, it should be mine.”

Maverick’s gaze hardened as he stared down Jake, a long silence stretching between them. Finally, Maverick spoke, his voice cold. “This isn’t about punishment, Seresin. This is about trust. You’ve got my daughter out here, breaking rules, putting herself in a dangerous position, and you didn’t think for one second about what that means?”

Jake flinched, guilt flashing across his face. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to put her in danger.”

Maverick exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he turned to you, his expression softening just slightly. “You okay?”

You nodded, feeling the weight of the situation settle even heavier on your shoulders. “Yeah… I’m okay. I’m sorry, Dad.”

“We’ll talk about this later,” Maverick said, his voice gentler now, though the tension still lingered. “But you’re coming home with me.”

He turned back to Jake, his face hardening again. “And you, Lieutenant… this doesn’t go on your record, but if you’re serious about my daughter, you’d better start using your head.”

The night air hung heavy as Maverick walked back toward his car, his command still lingering in the space between you and Jake. Though the cuffs were off and the immediate crisis seemed to be over, you couldn’t shake the knot tightening in your chest. Maverick wasn’t letting this slide easily, and both you and Jake knew it.

“Lieutenant Seresin,” Maverick called out, his voice stern and carrying authority, making it clear this wasn’t a request.

Jake, who had been silently rubbing his wrists, snapped to attention. He straightened up, his posture rigid, falling back into his role as a Navy officer. “Yes, sir.”

Maverick’s gaze hardened as he took a step closer, his voice unwavering. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to say goodnight to my daughter, and then you’re going straight back to your quarters. No stops, no detours. Understood?”

Jake nodded, his usual confidence visibly absent. “Yes, sir.”

Maverick’s eyes narrowed slightly, the warning in his expression unmistakable. “And Lieutenant… Don’t think this is over because you apologized. You put her in danger tonight, and that doesn’t sit well with me. I expect better from you.”

Jake flinched at the words, his jaw tightening as the guilt in his eyes deepened. “I understand, sir,” he said quietly. “It won’t happen again.”

Maverick held his gaze for a moment longer, then nodded toward you. “Go on. Say goodnight.”

Jake exhaled and turned toward you, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of regret and something softer, more vulnerable. As he stepped closer, he hesitated for a second, glancing briefly toward Maverick, then back to you.

Without saying a word, he pulled you into a hug, wrapping his arms around you with a tenderness that melted the tension in your body. You let out a shaky breath, resting your head against his chest as the warmth of the embrace momentarily blocked out everything else—your dad’s watchful eyes, the police cars, the chaos of the night.

Jake leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead instead of your lips, a gesture that felt protective, as if he were trying to shield you from the weight of everything that had happened. “I love you,” he whispered against your skin, his voice rough with emotion. “This won’t change anything. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

You nodded against his chest, your throat tight with unspoken words. “I love you too,” you whispered back.

Jake squeezed you gently one last time before letting go. You could see the strain in his expression, the regret hanging heavy in his posture as he pulled away. He gave you a small, reassuring smile as if trying to make everything feel less complicated, even though you both knew it wasn’t.

You reached out, pulling him in for one final hug, a silent goodbye filled with the promise that things weren’t over between you. Jake closed his eyes briefly as he held you, then slowly stepped back, his hands lingering on your arms for a moment longer before he let you go completely.

Turning away from you, he walked toward Maverick, who stood by the car with his arms crossed, his expression still stern but no longer as harsh. Jake gave him a sharp nod, acknowledging the silent tension that still lingered between them.

“Get going, Lieutenant,” Maverick said, his voice firm. “And don’t let me hear about you being anywhere other than your quarters tonight.”

Jake nodded, his voice steady but low. “Yes, sir.”

Without another word, Jake turned and headed toward his truck. You watched as he got in, glancing in your direction once more before he started the engine. The sound of his truck pulling away filled the quiet night, and soon enough, the taillights disappeared into the darkness.

Maverick let out a slow breath once Jake was gone, his rigid stance loosening ever so slightly. He turned toward you, his expression softening as he stepped closer, his eyes searching your face. “You okay?” he asked, his voice quieter now, filled with the concern of a father who had been shaken but was trying to hide it.

You nodded, though your heart was still racing. “Yeah, I’m okay,” you said, though your voice wavered slightly. “I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

Maverick sighed, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as he pulled you into a hug. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” he murmured, patting your back gently. “Let’s get you home now.”

You leaned into him, finding comfort in the familiar embrace, but even as you walked with him toward his car, your thoughts remained on Jake, his whispered promise still echoing in your mind.

[endless-ineffabilities]

chemical override (nocturnal file) 18+

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: oh, no! What is this? Did I let my imagination get the better of me again? To those of you asking for smut, this is one way we can satisfy those desires. Oh, and no taglist for this file - whoever finds it, finds it. It'll be our (and Ewan's!) little secret.

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Aemond's patience is sorely being tested.

The battle is on the morrow, and the Blackwood bitch refuses to relent useful intelligence on the enemy's doings.

Aemond had captured her as a prize of war, and kept her in the dungeons of the Red Keep. He would visit her every so often, trying to get her to break, to see her relentlessly vexing spirits dimmed.

But to no avail. She is as stubborn as her entire, rotten lot. This bastard daughter of House Blackwood, a formidable swordswoman in her own right, would be someone whom Aemond might admire, if the circumstances were different.

If he did not hate her with every fibre of his being.

It is callous, almost desperate. He did not know of his precise aim when he asked the guards to deposit her in his chambers.

Yet here she is.

Hair matted and skin decorated with grime and mud and dried blood. The blood isn't even hers - she had clawed and fought tooth and nail when Aemond attempted to subdue her. And he did. But it feels as if he had gained nothing out of it.

Only the presence of this rough and foul-mouthed bastard girl, a sorry excuse for a lady.

If only she did not possess a fire that Aemond hadn't seen before in anyone else. If only she wasn't so fucking beautiful.

"Do you plan to question me some more, One-Eye? Or are you finally going to kill me?"

With those words, Aemond realises that he never planned to kill her. Nor does he ever wish to. She is his prize, after all.

And his prize throws him off guard with another query, "Or perhaps... you would do away with all this pretense and fuck me like your whore?"

"What the fuck did you just say to me?" Aemond lunges forward and grips her jaw. She only smirks, as if enjoying it, "I've seen the way you look at me, One-Eye. You'd sooner bed me than get rid of me, admit it."

He towers over her figure, imposing and formidable, and yet it is she that has the upper hand. He feels unsure for once. Of what is to happen next. Of his own compromised desires.

So she decides for him, when she rises on her tiptoes and presses her warm mouth to his.

It feels wretched. It is revolting, kissing the enemy, and yet Aemond finds himself leaning closer. He drags her to his bed and pushes her down atop the sheets. She flops like a rag doll, groaning in protest, but then spreads her legs wide open, inviting him in.

"Fuck you, bastard," he licks a stripe down her neck, his actions negating his words, "You are nothing to me."

"By all means, One-Eye," she only purrs, "fuck me."

That is all he needs. He rips off all trace of clothing from their wanting bodies. Positioning himself, he torments her with his hardened cock prodding at her wet cunny.

With an animalistic growl of both rage and surrender, he thrusts inside, and she feels him deep in the warmth of her cunt. His balls smack against the skin of her arse, and again when he slides out and back in. All the way in.

"Gods, One-Eye," she traces the scar on his cheekbone with one delicate finger, the motion gentle and almost foreign, "you're not letting me go after this, are you?"

"Never," he rasps, connecting his lips against hers, resuming his thrusting. "Uhhhhh, fuck, fuck," he moans against her parted mouth, his sounds turning into hissing when she resorts to digging her nails into his back as he slams his cock in roughly, right to the hilt.

"What will... become of... me, hmm?" she asks, in between panting. Their bodies grow sweaty, glistening in the candlelight. The lewd sounds of his cock fucking her aching pussy is like music to his ears. He cradles her face with one hand, and responds, "You will be mine. You are mine."

"I can't be, now, can I? You're still in New York," she says.

What did she say? Aemond startles, sitting back on his heels. With his cock still buried inside her, she follows suit so she sits on top of him. He nearly loses his mind when she gazes at him, biting her lip in the most lustful manner.

"I've never ridden a dragon before," she says, slowly gliding her pussy up and down his cock. "You feel so good, baby."

"B-baby?" Aemond does not understand the moniker. Is it customary among the Blackwoods to call a lover such? What a strange thing. And what did she mention before? What of this New Ark?

"I wish you were with me," she moans, bouncing on top of him, pressing her breasts against his face. Milking his cock like her life depends on it, and it just might. This Blackwood bastard would have leverage if she had dragonseed in her belly.

"I am with you," he breathes, before kissing her again, but she quickly pulls away.

"No you aren't, Ewan," she protests. "You're away."

Ewan?

"Ewan!" he hears someone call out. "Ewan, we yelled cut a while ago!"

Aemond - Ewan - blinks against an onslaught of bright light. The set is illuminated once more. He sees you still sitting on top of him, grinning impishly. But you're not fully naked as he thought - you wear pasties on your breasts in the same shade of your skin, as well as matching underwear. He looks down at this cock, and sees it covered in some fitted piece of cloth.

"Where are we, Blackwood?"

You only giggle lightly at his confusion, "Ewan, baby, are you still in character?"

"My... my name is Aemond."

"Oh, baby," you press your forehead to his, "of course it is. My Aemond."

"That was beautiful, you two," a woman approaches them, "All in all, a perfect take."

He hears himself speak, but he doesn't fully understand what he means, "It's easy because we are in love in real life, I suppose."

The Blackwood girl - you - shuffle over to the edge of the bed, and a woman comes forward and uses some brush on your face.

This is not the Red Keep. He is not Aemond?

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to knock some sense into himself. When he opens them again, he finds himself transported in what looks like your hotel room in LA.

"Ewan," he hears you whisper. He looks down and the both of you are naked under the sheets, cuddling each other. He feels lighter now, more content. The sensation that he no longer possesses his long, silver hair washes over him.

Because he is Ewan, his identity sliding back into place like a puzzle piece.

And you're his love.

You place a kiss on his chest, then the crook of his neck, and finally, his lips.

"I want you," your words come so sweetly, so faint, and yet it sends shivers down his spine.

He feels your soft touch gliding against his skin, your fingers tracing the contours of his abs, then down, down, to his erect...

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Ewan's eyes fly open. He looks around the room frantically, trying to right himself and return to full consciousness.

He's in his hotel room in New York. The digital clock reads 4:40 AM. This would be the day of his meeting, and it's way too early to be awake.

That dream. Oh, fuck, that dream.

It has rendered him warm all over, covered in a sheen of sweat. He feels something straining under the covers. Under his boxers. Some thing to deal with.

A remnant of the dream, and of you.

Of you. It's depraved, and he feels like a hypersexual teenage boy. But it wouldn't be the first time. He reaches for his phone and finds his favourite picture of you.

The screen illuminates his face in the darkness. His other hand shamelessly creeps its way in the shadows, down below.

And with heavy-lidded eyes, and a yearning heart and body, he dreams.

soooo, I think we all know what he did at the end 😉

I know this is not direct, full-on, real-person smut (I'm still on the fence about that) but whatever works, eh?

thanks for participating in our secret sessions! See you for part five of the series <3