#one of the OCs is getting nicely salted but that's about it
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Kaldur: Why do feel a sudden impulse to talk about a complex personal issue with a Teammate I barely know?
Also Kaldur: It could not possibly be related to my feeling that this issue is too small to take to our supervisor or counsellor, too personal to take to my mentor-who-is-also-my-king-and-therefore-politically-complicated, something my peers would either be inexperienced or uninterested in, and the person I used to speak to about this having fallen off the radar due to his own clone-based existential crisis. No, my sudden and desperate desire to talk about an experience I have been putting aside for months as soon as someone else just barely hinted that they might have experienced something similar must be entirely unrelated and irrational.
#young justice: deathly weapons#Ill-Lit Ships#writing update#3WD#Kaldur'ahm#Aqualad#puts off talking to anyone about something for months. is surprised to find himself desperate to talk about it at the first opportunity#he may be the most mature member of the Team#but he is also#seventeen years old#and so deeply stupid#fully pulling a 'No. It is the children who are wrong.' on himself over something completely understandable#unlike the ocean it is not that deep bro#In which a compulsive diplomat and a terminally clueless small-towner attempt to talk about ~ f e e l i n g s ~#anyway if you're wondering how Chapter 19 is going...#ha ha ha#one of the OCs is getting nicely salted but that's about it#STG I am going to write the entire rest of the story before I write the chapter that is due next
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Dear John || Pt.1
Masters of the Air Fanfiction
Requested: ☑️ My sweet Bri begged for a love-letter-centric Egan fic and with her wonderfully infectious ideas this was produced, the first part of many.
Summary: Major John Egan wasn’t the pen-pal sort but a couple of hours into a dark night full of writing condolence letters, he finds himself wondering why he never tried his hand at the nicer forms of correspondence. Who better to reanimate his numb inspiration than the glamorous Miss Lana Tierney? -the army’s girl next door, the pinup so prolific she was practically a wall paper print and Bucky’s long-standing cinematic crush. It’s not like she’ll read it anyways, tucked up in luxury in Beverly Hills with carts of tedious fanmail burned in her back yard each day, his letter will get lost in the mix. It’s harmless. That thought -and the booze- may loosen his pen a little too much but it’s alright, it’s not like she’ll read it. Right? Right.
It was specified in the request to use or create some of those old WWII dirty acronyms, so in here you have Bucky making up his own for his starlet crush (acorn). I’m ripping off a few ladies here, Lana Turner, Betty Grable, Hedy Lamarr to name a few -the moodbaord is for general aesthetics, I try to keep my fem!readers and oc’s as ambiguous physically as possible. (Besides the fact Johnny Egan finds you mouthwatering, which -be honest with yourself here sweet thing!!- he would.
Rating: 18+ this is the letter writing, vintage form of sexting. i kid you not, this man swings wildly from sweet as pie to downright filthy and vintage slang for anatomical parts is used freely. This would make a better shameful diary entry than a letter but he’s a rogue and he’s in a war, cut him some slack.
Fun game: how many times can Major Egan manage to mention Buck in a horny fan letter to his crush?
Dear A.C.O.R.N.
It is highly unlikely that you remember me, but, all the same, we have met. Now, hear me out, I’m sure fellas say that to you all the time but my point still stands and to match them I’ll do you one better, seeing as how I am not buttering you up for something in return -I have met you, yes, but I have also sung to you.
There. Said it.
Not that you’d recall that either, but then again maybe you would, but either way it doesn’t matter as the entire reason I am writing to you is because it is entirely unlikely you will ever open this god-awful endeavor made of pen and ink.
I am quite drunk, you see.
A necessary medicine. And they do make good whiskey here, one of the few joys they haven’t rationed yet. It’s got me wondering what’s your poison of choice. Something fruity? Or are you an olive sucker? Like that salt on the rim? Or maybe you go for somethin’ silky and warm goin’ down your throat? Which-ever it is, I bet you’d be a surprise, sweet ACORN, I just know it. You were a surprise at the canteen. Back in Jersey? Before shipping out? I know you were on a whole tour and kisses were goin’ for dollars but still, you were a surprise.
A lovely one, really. And that’s the point of this letter. To tell you that you're lovely and while I’m not the pen-pal sort, I’ve written home 80 letters tonight to families whose boys I was supposed to bring home. It got me thinking: Bucky, why the hell don’t you write nice letters? Whyd you only write ‘em now that you gotta? And it occurred to me then that the one silver lining in this whole Air Exec job is the desk, the lamp and the office.
I could write anybody from here. I could write you.
And you wouldn't read it so I could write anything. And it could be a nice letter. ‘Cause I don’t know anybody of yours to tell you anythin’ sad about them and you don’t know me except that I’m alive and drunk. Which is better than those poor eighty two bastards. Which reminds me, I’ve still got two more but maybe Buck will take those, he took seventeen off to his bunk to write from there. Buck doesn't have a desk because he’s not as important as me and he has all the luck.
You’ve met Buck, too, Acorn. He was the appalled pretty one with the straw colored hair pulling me off you after we had our duet. He objects to your nickname, see, even though you didn’t seem to mind. You were lovely, A.C.O.R.N. And I’d not wanna ruin this letter by telling you what it means, not now that I’m actually writing to you and determined to be nice but Buck knows and while he agrees with me as much as any man in the nation that you’ve got the most robust rack on the silver screen -he has objections, you see. So it wasn’t the song or the canoodling he didn’t like, and I still say, he broke up a little love affair that night. Bastard. So I’m writing to you now because as the acronym suggests, I’ve got a goal in my mind in regards to you. I tell myself -Bucky, there’s reasons to make it back.
Reasons, Bucky, reasons. Like Acorn and her halo of gorgeous hair that smelled like coconuts and the way she thought my new lyrics were pretty clever. That’s what you said, acorn, you said they were pretty clever. Now I may have been a little drunk then, too, but I think you might’ve been tipsy, that coke smelled too strong to be straight. I still have the straw you gave me, it’s bent to hell but I’ve taken it up each mission. I’m not counting on it for luck so much as a reminder of the aforementioned reasons. To come back. Your lipstick has mostly worn off but I figure it’s still the same.
You had your precious lips around it. That’s what matters.
And that’s the sorta sentence that makes Buck think I shouldn’t write letters.
But what he can’t accuse me of is being dishonest or vague. I’m being straight with you. You deserve that much, you were lovely and very straight shootin’ yourself, dear little girl. I could pinch your cheeks right now, you’re so sweet. And don’t think me a coward for sayin’ all this under assumption that you won’t read it. I hope you don’t since it’s not worth your time and if you do I wish I’d written less about me and more about you but I need you to know if we were face to face I’d say the same:
You were lovely, you ARE lovely!!!! and I think all your work for us boys is swell and you’ve got the bestest set of knockers any of us have ever seen and I’m stayin’ alive in hopes to see ‘em again some day and while the girls here are swell and sweet they aren’t zippy like you. At least not the ones who’ve put out so far. And if I had you face to face, I’d find a way to make you laugh again and I’d tell you to your face you’re lovely and if I’d been David Nivin in Love Trap with you, I’d have stayed in that little kitchen with you and ate all your burnt flapjacks and watched you in your apron and made babies with you till we were old.
Anyway. It needed saying. And maybe I’ll say it to your face given the chance again. I was working my way up to a proposition for burgers and milkshakes when Buck ruined it. But maybe you’ll tour? Here!! Over here. In England or maybe in Europe once we kick the Nazis bastards out.
Now that’s motivation. That’s a reason! -clear out a nice little swath of land through fortress europe so Miss Lana Tierney can sing in the city of lights surrounded by nothin’ but wine and good food and a buncha boys who love and appreciate her.
Because we do, ma’am. We do.
And make no mistake, I do this to keep the country safe and try to bring as many boys home as I can but every second I also think - it’s where you are too, and so I must continue keeping it safe.
If you, by some godawful chance, do read this letter, please don’t feel pressed to respond or pull out a restraining order. Think of it this way, it’d just be one more “Dear John” letter and the system is clogged as it is. You just deserve a nice letter and my wrist is past sore, one more doesn't matter. And being unable to deliver nice, I’ve written this.
~ I am ever your respectful (and hammered) admirer, Maj. John Egan
P.S. if you do happen to read this I’m sorry. Buck told me not to do this but I just had to Acorn. You’re just too swell and I really have got to get myself to a theater before long, I miss your Angel face.
Masterlist
Thank you for reading! This was entirely out of my usual comfort zone but I’ve had fun writing it and I’m trying to tune my ear to pick up his voice, that’s been stretching. This series will have many letters in it but there will also be fic, so fear not. I’ve got some plans already figured out for this series but I do love a suggestion or ten so have at the inbox with what you’d like to see play out.
Hope you enjoyed, if you’d like to be tagged in future MOTA fics, drop a note below.
#masters of the air#callum turner#john egan#Major John Egan#Bucky Egan x reader#callum turner x reader#masters of the air fanfiction#mota fanfic#hbo war fanfic#Bucky Egan#mine#archive
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Hi! So I want to make a Spooky Month OC but I suck at drawing, do you have any tips or advices about drawing characters in the Spooky Month artstyle?
Okay so, I might not be the right person for this, cause I also am not all that great at drawing in the Spooky Month artstyle, but I did some character design at school so I might be able to give a few tips! Please do take everything I say with a grain of salt tho!
Spooky Month's strong suit is definitely character design. It's SO expressive and well done it's genuinely unreal. You might want to know exactly what your character is gonna be doing, or how their personality is gonna be like, because character design in Spooky Month cares a lot about things like these. For example: Radford works at a cinema, so of course he's wearing 3D glasses, but also his HAIR IS LITERALLY SHAPED LIKE A POPCORN.
So maybe decide on a job for your character, and try to start from there, get crazy with shapes and have fun! Spooky Month characters have designs that are both extremely simple to draw, since they use mostly basic shapes, but also are extremely thought out and meaningful. Another example of great character design is Pump
Now, I have no idea if you already had an OC in mind, but make sure to choose the right shapes to represent it. Something I see around in the fandom is people making these OCs that are like, serial killers and dangerous people and stuff, but then give them the "Lila"-like oval head. And honestly, nothing wrong with that, that's a choice you can use! But still, shapes allow us to understand a lot about how a character is just by looking at them. So you might want to experiment around a bit!
Ovals in Spooky Month are the "good" shape, let's just say. Most character with an oval head are sweet, helpful, kind-natured! It's often paired with oval eyes, so it's mostly a shape that's used for not villainous characters.
Circles are a bit more complicated, because Spooky Month subvertes the Circle Characters. While yes, they're also used to draw children, such as Skid and Pump, so they may come off as unthreatening at first, most main villains, such as Eyes, Bob and Dexter Doll (which is meant to represent the likes of a child, so that's a nice contrast), are mostly circle-shaped.
There's a very wide range of Square characters in Spooky Month. Square characters are usually bulky, big and strong. They often come off as threatening (such as Moloch), but there are so many other fun things you can do with them. Like, take Frank. EVERYTHING in his design should alarm us, him being square-shaped, the black eyes, the wide smile. Yet, he has a shape of the eyes that's very relaxed and chill, so we end up trusting him. As for Dexter, he's a mix of circles and squares, so we can't really understand his intentions right away, because he's shaped in the most confusing way possible. He's just made to be unsettling and leaving us to wonder if he's a bad guy or just an oddball.
You can do SO MANY fun things by mixing up shapes of faces and eyes it's INSANE. Also, you can mix up other characters' features to create a new one, if you're planning to do a fankid or stuff like that. Look at Ross, he's literally a mixture of all his parents' features!
My main tips for drawing in the Spooky Month artstyle are mostly
1) Play around with shapes. Be as cartoony as possible.
2) Try to be consistent with proportions, because, based on personal experience, if you draw the pupils of the eyes slightly off it changes the whole character's expression drastically
3) don't worry too much about details, Spooky Month has a very simple artstyle. You don't have to draw a perfectly anatomically correct hand, just whip up some cartoony three-to-four fingers and you're good to go
4) try to redraw some pre-existing screenshots from the serie to get familiarity with the way Pelo draws expressions. It helps a bunch.
So yeah, that's all! Good luck with your oc :)
#spooky month#spooky month art#spooky month oc#spooky month au#spooky month fanart#radford spooky month#spooky month radford#sm radford#sm ross#spooky month ross#spooky month dexter#dexter erotoph#sm dexter#dexter doll#sm moloch#moloch#spooky month moloch#sm jaune#spooky month jaune#spooky month aaron#sm aaron#spooky month frank#sm frank#spooky month skid#skid and pump#sm skid#pump wonder#sm pump#spooky month pump#spooky month eyes
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famous au but um dumb
@cowboylexapro
if the poets were on social media and famous this is what they'd be known for
(age somewhere between 19-21)
todd
tumblr blog name: toad.anderson
ao3 name: toad.writes
he's technically anon but not rlly
sexiest tumblr account known to man - he's a fanfic writer and an au poster with some occasional og stuff that floods his inbox with asks begging him to publish his og work too - what fandom does he write for? all of them.
his bf proof reads them all even if he's never been in the fandom
he writes fics for his friends when they get famous
in between his novel worthy fanfics are shitty fics of his friends
his followers get rlly confused
he wrote a neil x reader fic until straight girls started claiming it and he took it down becuz the reader was him
todd on his blog: guyss… im so sorry but im taking the neil x reader fic down… im sorry if i offend anyone but the reader was me ❤️ not you - i don't like you all claiming it
after taking down the x reader, he does a neil x oc but the oc is him but with green eyes
neil, after the oc gets described: todd the only person im seeing is u tho 😦 and u have blue eyes
eventually his relationship with famous tiktoker neil perry gets revealed and ppl realize he's not just an obsessed fan
after neil says the thing blog: toad.anderson: guys my real name is todd anderson everyone: omg we wouldve never guessed
after neil and him go public and ppl dont believe that neil is gay he alternates between seething and writing neil fics and taking joy from neil's confusion
todd points out comments that are obviously thirsting over neil and neil still doesn't realize he's being thirsted over
"neil be the father of my children!" "oh i think they meant that in a godfather type way"
todd, at a breaking point, suggests that neil and him post a kissing video but neil doesnt wanna be one of those shawn camilla couples - respect
what if he posted them kissing but he made a historians will call them bestfriends joke but then ppl did🧍♂️
"my bestie and I 🤩 " "NEIL PEOPLE ARE GOING TO THINK UR SERIOUS"
//
neil
tiktok name: neilliard.at.julliard
accidentally tiktok famous for pretty face, charming personality, acting abilities - the theater kids had a claim over him orignially but he's pretty mainstream now
comment section full of old grandmas trying to set him up with their granddaughters
everyones dream bf until he posted about his own bf
neil: my boyfie has a big tumblr and he writes a lot and he really likes frogs and he is also blond and heres his address
hes kinda oblivious about everything
"you want a close up of my collar bones? why ?"
reading comment "'show your abs?' its nice you think i have abs! only my boyfriend can see those tho 😉 "
the comments go wild
people are stitching it screaming for different reasons
all his fans r screaming into pillows bc HES TAKEN NOOO
people are trying to figure out who this mans boyfie is
"he has a boyfriend??" "he's been straightbaiting us!" "NOO HE'S TAKEN" "IS UR BF AS HOT AS U" "look at the way his eyes lit up when he said bf i love love" "this video shows an aspect of society that-"
"tell us about ur bf" and he makes a week worth of videos but its all random stuff
"my bf looks pretty in blue" "my bf likes to put salt and pepper on his fries" "my bf has hair"
the straightbaiting comments come after him posting about pride and having a pride flag in the background of his videos <- they say things like "he's such a good ally"
people attack others in the comments who ask him if hes queer "NO NEIL ISNT GAY NOT EVERYTHING HAS TO BE GAY HE COULD JUST BE A REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY FRUITY STRAIGHT GUY WHO LIKES GIRLS"
"are you gay neil???" -> "not everything has to be gay ppl can just be allys and btw by assuming every ally is gay, ur actually hurting the movement!!!" -> "i asked becuz he said he wanted to kiss his boy best friend on the lips in highschool" -> "he meant it heterosexual-ly"
someone asks him what his type is and he describes todd to the t and they think he likes a short haired blonde
"he likes girls in sweat pants not skirts" "his type isnt ppl in skirts" -- neil would love todd in a skirt but thats not the point
his type: "he's really shy, gorgeous, short dirty blonde hair, uhhhh, really smart, and So much more :))"
he could say my boyfriend is a man who i am dating because i am gay and they would still try to straight-ify him
a grainy video gets leaked of a short haired blond guy jumping into his arms and ppl say things like "its just a girl with short hair"
todd hate writes a neil x male reader fic
he asks his friends for help and they post todd's face everywhere on his recording set
he makes a video like "meet my toddy"
in the video todd says he's a boy and he's todd and he's neil boyfriend 3485757 times and neil is like "omg babe i love u too <33" becuz he doesnt Understand
some ppl r still in denial or think he's bi w/ a preference for girls
straight girls like him becuz he has a pretty face and a general respect for women
during prom season, he gets dmed a lot of websites for buying prom tickets
"don't worry guys! i know i said my high school time was rough, but i actually did go to prom with my bf!!"
//
charlie
twitter name: therealalpha
most popular podcast name: daltons intercourse
joke/bait account ppl took seriously
The Alpha that other alpha posters bow to
says stuff like "SIGMA MALES KISS ALPHAS ON THE MOUTH TO ASSURT DOMINANCE"
the twitter alphas buy into him so bad he's making podcasts and doign interviews and he has no clue how tf he got here but he's riding the high
he advocates for being alpha via kissing ur homies
when he gets famous he begs todd to write a fic about him
todd agrees pretty easily tbh
"ARE YOU EVEN AN ALPHA MALE IF PPL AREN'T WRITING GAY FICS ABOUT YOU"
charlie posts things like "no homo" "only the real make out with their homies" over those black and white pics of muscle-y dudes w/ no context after the neil video he posts "he homo" over one of them w/ no context
at first ppl try to attack him but then theyre like wtf is going on here and realize he's trolling the alpha community
when no one realizes neil is actually gay he makes a podcast episode talking about how he thinks neil is gay gay homosexual gay - he's holding a cigar and wearing a tight hawaiian unbuttoned shirt like "lets talk about this gay gay theater gay boykisser man"
made by @cowboylexapro
//
pitts
youtube name: gerdoesstuff
joint youtube name: idkman
homework help and crafts videos youtuber - relaxed vibes only here to be calm
he gives study and concentration tips and encourages ppl to seek help and companionship and not suffer alone
he paints mugs and looks for bugs
he was on charlie's podcast and they discussed the alpha-ness of making pottery
todd wrote a pitts x reader fic becuz ppl begged him to
pitts printed it out and framed it and put it in his filming set up
he's a regular on meeks podcast too btw and meeks is a regular on his
but when meeks is around things explode so
he has a second channel with meeks where they do silly experiments
theyre posting schedule is non-existent and they also do streams but they never tell you so their viewers just have to hope and find out
knox and him are planning on making a movie review channel but its still not fully thought out so
he makes couple mugs for todd and neil when neil asks for help
he wakes up at 2 am and sends todd prompts
anytime he learns a fun fact he sends it to todd on the off chance todd may need it for a story at some point in his life
anytime he reads anything he's like damn neil will love to act like this character and lets him know about it
he sends charlie alpha podcasters to make fun of
at some point he exposes cam's shitty handwriting for the giggles
knox
instagram name: knoxious.ur.mom.ious
he posted a short on his instagram talking about how he just learned hair grows from the head and not the bottom and blew up for being a dummy - he doesn't know whats going on but he's having a blast
he stirs up drama but on accident
he was on pitts youtube before
out of everyone here he's the only one not making content he's just vibing
eventually he ends up posting background footage of everyone doing dumb shit
when it comes out theyre friends ppl stalk his instagram to find more proof
after that he starts to stir drama but more consciously
hmm what else - idk he's just chilling, getting called out for being dumb and watching his friends do dumb stuff
oh wait when he makes that short about the hair a bunch of commentary channels post about it and he takes it like a badge of honor
cameron
instagram name: cam.studies
pinterest name: cam.studies
one of those aesthetic studying accounts on insta and pinterest - takes nice shots of his homework and his pen collections and his study desk
except its only for the pics his handwriting is atrocious - he has like one page or paragraph of pretty handwriting to post and the rest is scribbled chaos - his pens are never organized by color, theyre just thrown in a box, and his desk is filled with papers and books and never looks clean but its fine he's just here for clout
he ends up sponsoring and reviewing businesses that make those cute study supplies so now he has a hoard - or at least he did until his friends started taking them
he groaned about the cam.studies x {random ass ppl} fics todd wrote but he thinks theyre funny and has them bookmarked
he went on charlie's podcast and the two argued for half of it and then explained how as two alphas they would settle their differences by kissing
his friends help him angle his aesthetic shots at cafes and shit
he got exposed eventually as a fake becuz ppl (cough) posted his real notes which were messy and disorganized
but he played it off as a commentary about how the internet is fake and got more sponsorships
he judges todd and neil but is eating popcorn at the front seat of the drama
meeks
podcast name: chameleon hotel
youtube channel name: idkman
meeks makes a podcast for very stupid intricate crimes. he has a cult following of bisexuals
its stuff like drama over a tree being taken down
"the locals even called their beloved tree 'ole alvin'"
charlie: todd write a meeks x ole alvin fic
he has standards, so he does
he went on charlie's podcast and convinced ppl that being with other men allowed u to suck in their alpha-ness and become the ultimate alpha
but generally he just makes his little silly videos and makes cryptic posts about the neil todd drama
has a joint channel w/ pitts
is up to date with the neil thing and is the one to send neil updates
he tries to convince neil to act out his podcasts (with a lot of success lmao)
he tries to convince todd to write fics based on his podcasts (also with a lot of success)
as payback for the ole alvin x meeks fic he convinces todd (very easily) to write a bunch of dumb charlie fics and todd agrees becuz he has standards
no one actually knows that the poets know each other
they eventually post a group photo
"we need to cancel neil perry for being friends with an alpha podcast guy" "nah thats just charlie"
"yall know hes bi, right?"
"he literally has a podcast about how sucking dick as a man makes u the ultimate alpha male"
it does explain why charlie's alpha podcast go from tiktok actor, tumblr fanfic writer, instagram study blog, fellow podcaster, hw help tiktoker in between his satire of normal alpha tiktokers
half of these things are like copy and pasted from our conversation btw so dont blame me for them
#todd anderson#neil perry#anderperry#dead poets society#deadpoets#dead poets headcanons#neil and todd#todd and neil#dps fandom#dps#charlie dalton#dps fanfiction#dps fic#dps headcanons#dps memes#dps incorrect quotes#meeks#steven meeks#stephen meeks#dead poets#gerard pitts#meeks and pitts#pitts dps#cameron richard#richard cameron#knox overstreet#anderperry social media
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Choose Your Legends 8 ended with lots of surprises, and it's time to celebrate!
I've seen concerning amounts of salt and bashing on the games involved or not, so this will be a positive post! I'm tired of the fandom's dumb takes and toxicity so let's praise everyone for the amazing scores and stories that unfolded during this vote!
First let's start with the link to all the official CYL art since Year 1 of FEH, enjoy the trip down memory lane!
https://fire-emblem-heroes.com/fr/sp/illustrations/
(I nabbed that chibi Soren right away, bless Kita Senri)
CYL 8 Male winners:
🥇1: Alfonse | A beautifully deserved win for our well-written OC lord who keeps the story of Heroes entertaining with his crazy one-liners and unhinged plans, with more tender moments with his family and friends to soften him. I hope we get to see him grown-up like Legendary Veronica.
🥈2: Felix | I love seeing non-lord characters emerge from the voting. His voters have shown their supports 4 years in a row and it paid off! Especially nice win because Felix has been shafted by IS with a silly seasonal and an ok god-sword pre-TS unit.
CYL 8 Female winners:
🥇1: Bernadetta | Just like Felix, her voters lost to circumstances (aka the surprise Gullveig sweep), so I'm glad for them! Plus her post-TS personality should force the writers to tone down the moe nervous trait that flanderizes her character.
🥈2: Female Robin | She's finally free to be in the common summoning pool as herself, not Grima! She has too few alts to her name, and she marks the first time both genders of an avatar have won CYL, so good job!
About the Engage non-sweep, don't get disheartened! The votes for Engage were equal to Three Houses, but they were split between A LOT of fan favourites for both genders, while the FE3H fans rallied one last time for 1 male and 1 female representation, without competition from their lords. It's a respectable result, and the bashing on Engage is disingenuous and undeserved.
I've seen the top 5 from each game and I'm happy to see Finn up there for Thracia and Mae for Echoes. I hope to see Linoan soon, and other alts for Berkut and Rinea. People rallied for Athos to get in the game already, for Lloyd to have new art, for Seth and Titania to get the stats they deserve...
Fan favourites like Lyon or the Black Knight still score high. Azura received love. Even Elincia who's already been very lucky in 2023 got in the top for PoR and RD! I love to see people rally for a Sentinel Nephenee too.
We continue to see Leo and Takumi side by side, chilling in the male top 20 like BFFs. It's adorable.
This CYL8 follows in the steps of CYL7 with no main lords, only favourites and avatars.
Next year I hope to see Jugdral and Elyos win, but for now I'm happy with the 4 we have 🥰
#feh#fe heroes#cyl8#positivity#fire emblem#The salt I see for top 20 characters is pathetic#It's fine if Engage doesn't win year 1 guys...#But the Engage/Three Houses bashing needs to stop#Be happy for the Felix and Bernie fans who are finally free#Fucking be nice to each other we're all nerds here
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what's your opinion on the big 3? When I was hyperfoxed on this series they were the thing I care Abt the most (I enjoyed season 4, obv I'd change some stuff now but I still remember it being atleast ok)
I hate how dirty they did my girl nejire, as far as I'm aware they didn't even do anything with her after the whole pagent thing she just got a small backstory about how she was sad (don't know all of it I haven't been keeping up that well w the manga)
mirios not having a quirky and having to save eri (a girl who I can't imagine would be that skilled at the age she is and has been training on lizards to give his quirk back all together, I'd imagine it taking a few more months but bnhas time is shit so) and coming back in the war arc to punch one person and then basically do noting iicr
The only decently written one was amajiki, I wish they had more going on I think they have a fun dynamic (w them helping taking care of eri and me rlly liking idk what it's called but I love the fluff it brings) :(
Lots of mixed feelings, in all honesty. Lots of mixed feelings.
I'll admit, a big part of my mixed feelings about them is they showed up as the latest, 'Stomp on Izuku's everything' at the point in the story where it was becoming obvious that there was always something stomping on Izuku, and that gave me a bad first impression on them I've never been able to shake... which isn't helped by how they're connected to the clusterfuck of Nighteye, of all people, which is kind of my whole thing with Mirio (warning; I am biased):
As a person, he's obviously nice, but as a character, basiclly his entire reason for existing was, 'give Izuku an existential crisis' and I don't think I've ever forgiven him for that, really. His entire character is just bigger, stronger, older, happier, more capable, more confident, more successful, more loved Izuku, who had a Quirk his whole life and only had to dig deep to find out how strong it, and he, was all along.
Unironically. It's....
It's a really bad look, to be blunt; he feels kind of like a bad fanfiction character written by a bad writer who wanted to put their super special OC in the story, except he's canon.
Since we've never seen him even think something unheroic, there's really nothing that distinguishes him from that impression factual statement, which, again, makes it hard for me to give a shit about him, or even remember him... which is a problem Hori seems to share, lol. It doesn't help that I loathe Sir Nighteye and that most of his development time is spent admiring him, to boot, and that his parts of the story are either empty or focused on a living plot device I can't quite like no matter how hard I try because of how blatant the emotional manipulation is about the biggest story breaking, SOD shattering plot device until Stars and Stripes showed up.
If he ever got any kind of development to flesh him out a human being rather than being either Izuku and/or a heroic archetype, it'd help, but beyond all of that his biggest personality trait is liking jokes, and that barely even comes up. Or, rather, considering both the Final Arc and his response to Bakugou's name, along with Nighteye's own tendencies, 'jokes', maybe.
He doesn't deserve it, I admit it, it's not his fault, but I just can't get past that. He also doesn't deserve to just be forgotten until his big moment of a butt joke, but... MHA, everyone. In all honesty, I'd just like him better if his entire story arc didn't exist in and as some of the worst parts of the Overhaul arc, but he's tainted by that fact.
I freely admit that I am unfairly biased against him, so take all of that with a mountain of salt.
As a side note though, god, the story doesn't seem to realize how badly Nighteye is using the poor kid; Mirio thinks Nighteye is training him because he's worthy, while Nighteye mainly seems to be doing it because he's the closest thing to an All Might clone he can get, bar him actually cloning All Might, even if he grew to like him for who he is. I'm not sure Nighteye ever thought of Mirio with just his Quirk as anything more than a temporary situation; even at the start of canon, when on his own merits he's rising to fame with how successful he is, Nighteye's overall focus is still about getting AFO into the kid.
I almost wish I could see Nighteye explaining how all of his training came down to getting All Might's Quirk, just to see MIrio react and tear Nighteye down a peg about it, except Hori's history of handling these kinds of things means he'd never be allowed to be properly offended on his own behalf, the poor bastard.
Moving on, Tamaki. Out of all of them, he's had the biggest of an on-screen story arc, and in a intellectual way his Quirk is easily the most interesting. Unfortunately, while he has a personality, it feels so bland at times that he's far easier to remember for his Quirk than who he is.
I liked his story, really, but at the time it was overshadowed by Mirio and his everything, and by the time he showed back up it was clear how irrelevant it and he was, so it was more about how (admittedly, very) cool he get his Quirk to be than it was about him, and with some brutal honesty, it's probably because his Quirk is so interesting that he even got that much focus beyond that initial arc by Hori.
And... Nejirie.
In a combat sense she's easily the best of them, really; Mirio is almost purely defensive, which limits him (especially if he's not surprising someone with it) while Tamaki's Quirk, while flexible, is so conditional in ways that can easily hold him back (we only ever see him fight with full preparation; if he's not gearing for a fight he'd be easy to ambush), and like a lot of things in the Final Arc, his big laser canon thing is.... questionable.
Nejirie, though, is just simply powerful. In a setting where everyone has one power and one main application of that power, where you either fly or blast things, but not both, she's the closest I've seen to a 'traditional' super hero, like you'd see in Marvel or DC.
At the same time, though, out of the three of them she least has a story, for obvious reasons, and it's a disgrace, really. If Hori had just spent some time on her, on the her backstory that apparently exists (yeah, I'm not sure where that is either), she could have been so interesting... but really, all she is is the Girl Teammate. Her personality traits are The Girl Teammate's personality traits. She's just The Girl Teammate stamped over all of the interesting stuff, and it's such a waste, it really is.
And finally, as a unit? The Big Three is a shiny toy that Hori forgot in the corner somewhere as soon as he got bored with it. He spent a few minutes oohing and aahing over them, focusing really hard on developing interesting powers, how they could be used, and how strong they were, only to start to lose interest as soon as those powers were established, and he was writing the three of them off before their introductory arc was even over.
#ask#bnha critical#mha critical#nighteye critical#izuku deserves better#my deeply conflicted feelings on Mirio's everything#he doesn't deserve it but still#he's the true victim of the Overhaul arc#i hate nighteye ever so much#hori's chronic hatred of women#the big three is big wasted potential
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Incorrect quotes
Jackson: *talking with Aelan (@islandtarochips OC)*
Alexander: Umm, Sergeant...? *arriving with a bit of shyness*
Jackson: What now? *sighs*
Alexander: We had an accident on the salt water pool, the Lieutenant fell and-
Jackson: Is he drowning?
Alexander: No
Jackson: Then he can figure it out alone
Alexander: But Gun Powder is also in the water...and Elliot hasn't taught it how to swim
Jackson: *froze* ...
Aelan: Jackson?
Jackson: *stands up and runs towards the pool* MICHAELIS! I SWEAR THAT IF SOMETHING HAPPENED TO MY BABY-!
Aelan/Alexander: ...
Aelan: Is this usual?
Alexander: More or less, he really loves the cat
Aelan: While he doesn't hit someone...
Alicia: *playing UNO with Kanoa and Aly (@alypink OC)*
Aly: Here *puts a red 9 and smiles* uno!
Alicia: ... *puts a red 8*
Kanoa: *giggles when is his turn*
Aly: What is it?
Kanoa: I don't know...
Aly: C'mon, throw me anything! I can lead with it *confident* what do you have there?
Kanoa: Hehehehehe *puts a +100 over the deck* eat up, Aly
Aly: ... *gets a tic on her eyebrow*
Alicia: Uhh, Aly?
Aly: *slams the card over the table and tries to throw herself to hit Kanoa* NOA!!!
Alicia: ESPÉRATE ALY! *holds her to stop a possible murder* NO VALE LA PENA! NO, NO, NO! CÁLMATE!
Kanoa: *screeches out of fear*
Luke: Why are we here?
Alicia: Dominique asked me to teach you about...courtesy with our superiors
Jackson: What for?
Alicia: *shrugs* Beats me, but anyway, what do we tell when our superiors starts bickering and say "you should obey me as if I was king!"?
Luke: Uhhh, oh! I'm sorry but Americans don't like kings, have you seen us? We'll fuck you up
Jackson: Well sir, history have taught us that the best way to lead with a king is beheading them!
Alicia: ...
Tiala: *wheezes from the background*
Alicia: I mean, you aren't wrong...
Wraith: Alicia! Focus!
Alicia: Sorry, sorry. Let's try again-
Agnes/Nigel/Tiala/Alicia: *watching at Kanoa asleep on a chair*
Tiala: Are you thinking the same as me?
Agnes: Can I do it? Can I?
Alicia: *giggles* I'll record *takes out her phone* whenever you're ready
Nigel: Ohhh, let's try, go for it Blast
Agnes: *smiles and stand near Kanoa* WAKE UP PRIVATE! ARE FUCKING DEAF?! *screams with Drill Sergeant voice*
Kanoa: *wakes up suddenly, stands and salutes*
Nigel: *laughs* Holy shit it worked!
Tiala: You'll pass me the video?
Alicia: Hell yes *laughing* wow Noa! What good reflexes!
Kanoa: I'll have my revenge *sighs* but I want the video too
Alicia: Of course
Aly/Arjun (@welldonekhushi OC): *walking like normal people down the aisle*
Kanoa/Noah/Aditya: *from the archives room* InTo ThE uNkNoWn-!!
Aly: Uhh...
Alicia: *opens the conference room door* I wasn't the only one who heard that, was I?
Arjun: I heard it too *sighs dissapointed*
Alicia: Alright *looks at the archive room* I'll leave Luke to lead with this *shrugs* want some tea?
Aly: Yep! I have some things to tell too~
Alicia: Ohhh, nice
Arjun: ...Yeah, why not? *nods*
Kanoa/Noah/Aditya: INTO THE UNKNOWN!!!
Alicia/Arjun: *groan*
(90% of this came from pinterest but I lost the videos ;-; sorry. I hope you enjoy this!)
#ocs#call of duty#cod oc#oc#cod mw2#call of duty modern warfare#team charlie#cod mwii#friends oc#friends ocs#random things
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𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐑 𝐅. ─── ☾ 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐁𝐀𝐃
Masterlist || Joaquin Phoenix Masterlist || Wattpad
Word Count: 2.9k
Pairing: Arthur Fleck x Fem!OC
Warning: Anxiety attacks, mentions of drug addiction, swearing, fluff
English is not my native language, so I apologize for any mistake and if you can help me improve it, I will greatly appreciate it. I hope you enjoy it :D
The first and gloomy hours of the morning were always the hardest for everyone in the small city of Gotham, the city that never allows to rest, regardless of what day of the year it was or the situation that each of its inhabitants was suffering. A place known for its high crime rate and poverty was supposed to not promote human trafficking in it, no one in their right mind would want to live there unless they had enough money to squander it wherever they wanted in the most expensive and expensive places. Anyone could buy a nice apartment in the rich part of the city because that was where there was a lot more security, but there was always some crazy person who thought that settling there would be a good idea just to tell others about how he survived a city where crime reigned, even if it had never been the best option, it was not currently and would not be in posterity to settle there permanently; such a gloomy city, with so much tension and self-loathing, only needed a small trigger for everything it was known for negatively to increase to stratospheric and unsuspected levels or to fade as it had arrived.
Its citizens suffered from hunger, sadness, and pain. Each and every one of them had a tragic and horrifying story behind them, whether at some point in their life, they had been insulted by their next-door neighbor for not having shared sugar or salt with him or her, or it was because of some traumatic event that had been considered horrifying enough for oneself that one's mind had completely erased it, even if in reality that person continued to remember it every night in their worst dreams or nightmares that prevented from resting for much more than two hours a day; Living in Gotham was a survival game in which only the strongest or the wealthiest won, and that was what caused the city to be immersed in its small, central chaos.
For Arthur Fleck that was life, a game of survival in which his smile and positivity could not fade no matter how hard the day was. For as long as he could remember, people had always seen him as the 'weirdo', as that classmate who it was better not to approach or talk to because of the strange stupidity that could come out of his mouth and that would cause a great stir in the classroom or as the adult who it is better not to talk to because of how bad he looked, mainly because his extreme thinness and the poor condition of his clothes made people assume that he was some kind of drug addict who could become violent at any moment if they approached him, even if in reality it was quite the opposite and they were only based on prejudices when it came to seeing the people around them. But that was Gotham, a place where it was better to watch your back before some lunatic got the brilliant idea of stabbing you in it.
He just wanted to live quietly, with his mother in their small, run-down apartment, and fulfill his dream in that city where opportunities are scarce or non-existent, where everything could be served on a silver platter as soon as you were born, or where you had to work hard to get everything you wanted. Becoming a comedian was complicated, the mere idea of making people laugh was something that truly made him happy because, from a very young age, he had been told that his mission in this world was to make people happy. But making people truly happy was complicated; Gotham was not at its best for its citizens to forget their daily problems because of a joke from a complete stranger, even if the intention was the best of all.
"Hey! You!"
The scream coming from a strange clown that was traveling at high speed through the central streets of Gotham City caused many passers-by to look around with curiosity, seeing the aforementioned running through the crowd of people who were walking in the opposite direction to be able to recover the clown enormous yellowish plank that had been stolen by a group of teenagers who were barely around fifteen years old; people with some education who preferred to make others suffer rather than fix their own problems and face them properly. They all laughed and made fun of the poor adult who wanted to stand up to them, being shouted and called by the one who followed them.
It was an embarrassing scene for Arthur. These types of injustices were very typical to see in the city, and no one was capable of taking the step to stop criminals who only wanted to annoy a worker who needed to get his money honestly, even if he was a clown who earned very little at throughout the month; Belonging to one of the lowest social scales in Gotham, no one would stop for a poor person, but if it was someone who worked for one of the most important companies in the city, then there would be someone who would stop those young people. Evidently, no one would do anything, no one would notice the poor clown who was running as if his life depended on that sign, except for an intense and curious look of amber tones that did do it, that did notice that underprivileged person and, very contrary to what many would think, he would help someone else under the false mask he always wore with the intention of scaring someone else.
Arthur Fleck, the clown who walked around Gotham with his fist over his heart and on the verge of an asthma attack if he suffered from that disease, shouted in an exasperated manner as he crossed the avenue without realizing that a huge shadow was looming over him with every step he took, without paying attention to the agile steps of that person who was chasing them over the buildings, ignoring any indication that someone else was trying to help him; No, at that moment it was only him against the group of criminals that seemed so slippery to him. The boys were so young, so agile, and he was already a man barely over thirty years old, with a deplorable physical condition and with the health of a small child; It was evident that he would not reach them unless someone gave him a hand.
"Stop them!" He exclaimed again, accidentally pushing a couple whom he simply looked over his shoulder at an apology before continuing his chase. At that moment he couldn't stop to apologize to the citizens he ran over. "Thieves!"
The clown finally thought he saw a small ray of hope when he made sure that the young people were finally turning into one of the alleys of the street and, praying that this one would not have an exit, and they would be forced to stop and return the sign with which he had been working all morning, slipped clumsily on the soggy pavement and continued his run to reach them, without realizing that one of them was patiently waiting for him hidden between some of the boxes to attack him with his own sign. To everyone's surprise, before the hidden young man could even move to hit Arthur with his own sign, a strange weapon that none of those present could identify managed to destroy the sign before it hit the clown's face, causing the grimaces of surprise and fear appeared on the faces of those present; None of the kids had seen the armed clown, and there were no other people in that narrow place but them, or at least that's what they thought.
"What the fuck, man?" Said one of the teenagers strangely, thinking that the clown who was now lying on his knees in front of them had had something to do with the destruction of the board. "How did you do that? Which has been...?"
The entire group, including the adult who was trying to put together the pieces of the plank wet from the puddles of water around them, were enveloped by the darkness of the enormous shadow of the person who had come to the narrow alley to join the party. His soft whistle and his slow steps, with which the heels of his boots resonated, made the young people feel their hair stand on end, and a great shiver ran through their bodies, even more so when they became sure of who they had in front of them; that criminal, that whistle, that mask with small side horns, that intense pulse that he had to destroy whatever she wanted.
Evidently, the boys, making sure who was threatening them with that amber gaze, ran in the opposite direction when they saw who they had in front of them, confusing Arthur into thinking that it had been him who had scared them away in some way; He had been so immersed in his attempt to reconstruct his sign that he didn't make sure who was standing behind him. He clearly noticed the shadow that covered the entire alley, so he turned his head slowly to meet the person who had scared away the young people, gasping when he saw behind him one of the most dangerous thieves in Gotham: Eclipse.
Eclipse was one of the villains that had emerged in the city a couple of months ago, one of the most threatening to tell the truth. Without distinction of age, without distinction of class, she always went after those she considered potentially rewarding targets for her person and extorted them intending to obtain money through threats and slight intimidation; very few had seen her, and people hardly talked about her because of the fear that the simple fact of mentioning her name caused in the hearts of those who knew her, and the only thing they could distinguish about her were her penetrating amber eyes that, before the little light in which she was usually found in Gotham City, they seemed to shine more intensely than the eyes of a feline and that his calm and impassive voice seemed like sharp daggers that he spat from his mouth and that stabbed into the skin of those who met him. They were with her.
"Look at this…" Her slightly threatening voice murmured that Arthur was unable to place. He had never heard her, so she was not a known person to him. "For such a happy man, you don't smile as much now, do you? Come on, clown, show what you have for me."
Eclipse's strange and exaggerated smile was slightly obscured by the woman's dark fiber mask, with which he could barely distinguish a feature of her other than the shape of her face or her amber eyes almost lacking pupils, causing my heart to jump. Arthur's heart was beating hard, and that uncomfortable lump in his throat that he hated so much appeared again for the fifth time during the week, being the first sign that that laughter that he hated so much began to come out from between his lips in such an exaggerated way that it replaced crying in situations of fear, stress, or anxiety. Seeing the sharp fangs of his attacker, his belt full of weapons that could perfectly harm him, and those boots just inches from his face that could leave a big mark on his face if he wanted to kick him, left him breathless. She could be on the brink of death, and he was just going to laugh about it.
Just as Eclipse's smile had appeared, he vanished, hiding any trace of happiness or amusement as he saw the situation unfolding before his eyes. Arthur's outrageous laughter began to appear in a soft tone, at least at first, which he slowly increased as he saw death so close to himself; He would have suffered from robberies, from threats of all kinds, among which his own death stood out, but he had never suffered anything more than beatings or insults. He didn't think she could put an end to his own story.
"What are you doing?" Eclipse asked with confusion as he saw how the clown began to laugh. "Stop laughing. It wasn't a joke. Stop it! It's not supposed to be funny to you, damn it!"
Arthur couldn't stop, his attack prevented him from doing so. Contrary to what the villain expected the clown to do, he offered her a laminated card that Eclipse quickly took, turning her back to him so she could read it better due to the lack of light in the alley, while she listened to his scandalous laughter in the background and read what the card had written.
It was there that the thief's pupils became more noticeable as she realized the anxious situation in which the clown found herself, which managed to confuse her at times because of how she was reacting contrary to how the rest of the population used to do, because which slowly turned to look at him to confront him, this time squatting in front of him while looking into his eyes, watching how the clown tried to cover his mouth and silence his laughter. It was a sad scene; A scared man laughed in the face of death.
"A disorder?" Eclipse questioned as she gently returned the card to its owner, being careful not to upset him further. "I don't know those things, does that mean you're crazy or something? Not in the sense that you have to be in Arkham, but you do need a person and all that stuff. Aren't there dogs that took care of that shit? You know, the ones that give you hugs and everything."
Arthur's rather hesitant nod made the villainess understand him better, at least in part, but her words failed to calm him down. She had never encountered a similar scene, and it was beginning to terrify her because she didn't know what to do or say.
"What am I supposed to do? There may be something..." Eclipse muttered, trying to get some answers to his questions so he could help the citizen dressed as a clown, watching as he hit his chest to calm down and grabbed his throat to avoid choking due to lack of breath.
The thief, seeing the way the clown looked at her with his enormous greenish eyes full of tears, felt something pushing her to place her small, thin hand on one of the trembling knees of the man who was still sitting on the ground while the other took one of his and placed it on her chest, allowing him to feel the soft beat of her heart through the black suit she was wearing at that moment.
Her amber eyes collided again with his greenish ones, this time as if they were mutually in a trance that they hoped would not be broken in a short time, allowing him to guide himself with their breaths so that he could calm down, which he did as the minutes passed, listening to how the sound of his laughter diminished until it finally disappeared through coughs, causing the alley to once again be enveloped in a deep silence in which only the sound of the cars on the nearby avenue and the rapid footsteps of the inhabitants of the city could be heard.
"I have met people who have feared me, there are drunks who have pissed on themselves as soon as they see me, but no one has ever reacted like you," Eclipse murmured with some seriousness, remaining squatted in front of him, without making any gesture that denoted evil intentions towards him.
"And no one has ever calmed me down like you have," Arthur answered softly and shyly, feeling the thin material of the villain's fabric under his fingertips, receiving a frown as he believed he had acted badly. "Sorry."
"Don't say something like that again," the villain threatened, ignoring the gentle caress on his suit before removing the clown's hand from his person in the same way he did from him, standing up again to impose her haughty figure over his trembling one. "I'm one of the villains of this city, you have no right to say something like that. I am cruel, I must instill fear. You must fear me."
Eclipse's voice had tried to be threatening, scowling at him as he bared his teeth, in the same way an aggressive animal did.
"And you have calmed me down, that shouldn't be done by a villain," the clown said again, receiving a soft growl from the person in front of him. "You're not that bad."
At that moment, something seemed to change in Eclipse's eyes, and he saw in Arthur's eyes something more than fear towards her.
Eclipse saw gratitude and happiness.
Arthur saw surprise and remorse, she wasn't so bad after all.
#arthur fleck#arthur#fleck#arthur fleck x reader#arthur fleck x you#arthur fleck x oc#reader#you#oc#arthur fleck imagines#joaquin phoenix imagines#joker 2019#joker#dc
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Brownie Points
“Dad Will” Masterlist
A/N: So I was going through my WIP and I have SO many unfinished Dad!Will fics and revisited some. This one is a fun one that I'm happy I got to finish. Not beta'd.
Rating: G
Word Count: 915
Pairing: Dad!Will "Ironhead" Miller & Teenage Daughter OC (Lucy) & Wife F!reader
Plot: Will tries to bribe Lucy to fix his chocolate craving.
Contains: banter, humor, mentions of health issues
"Moooooom! Dad's doing it again!"
"Really? This is how you do me? After all the times I've covered for you?"
"It's called tough love, dad,” Lucy tells him. “I don’t want you to die!”
“Whoa, whoa, who said I’m gonna die? Did your mom tell you that— hey! Did you tell Lucy I’m gonna die if I have a brownie?” Will shifts his attention to you when you walk into the kitchen.
“No! Even if that was true, I wouldn’t tell her you're dying,” you reply before grabbing the tray of freshly baked brownies to hide. “These are for her school fundraiser. Stop stealing them! You’re not supposed to have sugar anyways,” you remind him.
"You are baking another tray in the oven right now. They're not gonna know one piece is missing!" Will retorts.
“Mom, you wouldn’t tell me if you knew dad was dying?!” Lucy asks, incredulously.
“Well, maybe not right away,” you shrug.
“I’m NOT dying!” Will declares. “Just an acute blood pressure issue, okay? And this whole conversation isn't helping either.”
“WebMD says so right here that death is a possibility from hypertension if you don’t take care of yourself.” Lucy turns her phone around to show Will.
“Everything results in death on WebMD. Don’t rely on that. Take all of that with a grain of salt,” Will says, then goes to the fridge to see what he can snack on.
“Speaking of salt, you can’t have any of that either,” Lucy reminds him.
“If I don’t eat, I’ll die of starvation anyways,” he shoots back.
"Have an apple, Crankypants," you suggest after hiding the brownies.
"I had one already," he mumbles.
After you leave the kitchen, Will lets out a heavy sigh and shuts the refrigerator door, not finding anything appealing to him. He looks over to Lucy who is on her phone. He suspiciously makes his way towards her.
"Whatcha doin', Moosey?" Will asks, pulling out the dining chair next to her and plopping down. "Not still on WebMD, are you?"
"Nah, I'm texting Liz," she replies, her eyes still glued to her phone.
"You know where we haven't been in a while? Astrid's," he says to her.
Lucy glances up from her phone to glare at him.
"Dad--"
"Look kid, I'll give you twenty bucks." He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket. "You can get yourself a couple of cookies if you get me a brownie."
"Daddy," Lucy huffs, putting her phone down. "You know you're not supposed to--"
"Okay fine, I'll settle for anything with chocolate in it," he cuts in, handing her the twenty dollar bill.
"I'm telling mom--"
"Here's another twenty for your troubles," he pulls another twenty dollar bill from his wallet and offers it to her.
"You think you can bribe me?" Lucy scoffs. "I'm insulted."
"If I promise you that car you've been annoying the crap out of me about, would that be worth it?" Will asks.
Lucy stares at him for a moment, wondering if he's bluffing.
"You don't have that kind of money, dad, but nice try." She rolls her eyes and goes back to her phone.
Will leans in closer to her.
"What if I told you I already put the down payment on it and plan on giving it to you as a graduation present?"
Lucy looks back at him with the widest he's ever seen her eyes grow. Not since the last time she believed in Santa Claus and was so excited for him to drop off gifts for her.
"No way!"
"Shh," Will shushes her as he looks around to make sure you're nowhere in sight.
"Wait, if you got it for me already, what do I gain if I get your stupid brownie?" Lucy asks as-a-matter-of-factly.
"I can still return the car," Will replies. "Or give it to your mom instead. Our anniversary's coming up," he shrugs.
"What if I tell mom you're trying to bribe me with a car?" Lucy narrows her eyes at him.
“Come on, you’re killing me, Luce!”
"No, your lifestyle is," she corrects him.
"$50. Last chance," Will digs through his wallet to pull out a ten dollar bill.
Lucy looks Will down for a few moments, considering his offer until the kitchen timer interrupts their staring contest.
"Okay, fine." Lucy snatches the cash from his hand.
Just as you walk into the kitchen, Lucy gets up from her seat.
"I'm going out, mom!"
"Where are you going?" you ask as you pull the fresh tray of brownies out of the oven.
"Going to hang out with Liz and Katie. Don't wait for me for dinner," she answers.
"Do you need money?" you ask.
"Nope, I'm good. Dad got me," she smiles.
"What time are you going to be home?" Will asks quickly.
"I don't know," she shrugs. "Liz is outside. Bye, mom!"
Lucy gives you a kiss and hug then turns to Will.
"Bye, dad," she gives him a hug and kiss as well. "Enjoy the brownies!"
"Wh-what are you talking about?" Will asks, pretending to be clueless.
"I knew it wasn't going to be fair to you so I made a small tray of sugar-less brownies for you," you tell Will.
"And they're fresh out of the oven," Lucy adds.
Will opens his mouth to say something, but he's speechless.
"You-" he starts.
"I'll try not to be too late. I'll keep you posted. Bye!" Lucy says, throwing a sly smirk at Will before taking off.
#charlie hunnam#charlie hunnam fanfiction#will ironhead miller#william ironhead miller#will ironhead miller & daughter oc#triple frontier#triple frontier fanfiction#will ironhead miller fanfiction#dad!will
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baby, i'm high octane (i)
synopsis: nora rogers has made a name for herself in the documentary world, but lately, she's been running on empty. and then, with impeccable timing, her aunt charlie calls about an eight-week project in san diego: a feature on naval aviation's newest and most elite squadron. she accepts.
pairings: jake seresin x nora rogers (oc), minor bradley bradshaw x nora rogers (oc)
warnings: 18+, minors dni, explicit language, existential dread, alcohol consumption, slutty (affectionate) rooster, eventual smut in later chapters. set after the movie, so spoilers!
note: i have been working on this for many, many months, and every time i went back to edit it, it gained another 500 words, so i need to put it out in the world for my own sake. hope you enjoy!
read on AO3 | series post | next chapter
tagging: @theharddeck as usual, some mutuals (@anniesocsandgeneralstore @roleycoleyland), plus some folks who were nice about the halloween fic (@peakyrogers @t-nd-rfoot @double-j) let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!
[ OPENING CRAWL ]
On March 3, 1969, the UNITED STATES NAVY established an elite school for the top one percent of its pilots. Its purpose was to teach the LOST ART OF AERIAL COMBAT and to ensure that the handful of men (and now women) who graduated were the BEST FIGHTER PILOTS IN THE WORLD. They succeeded.
The Navy calls it Fighter Weapons School. You might know it better as TOP GUN.
The DAGGER SQUADRON is Naval Aviation’s newest and most elite squadron, exclusively made up of patch wearers. Here are their stories…
[ CUE MUSIC AND FADE TO BLACK ]
Back in California for less than 24 hours, and Nora already longs for the cobblestone streets and late night espressos and dear god, the accents of the past six months.
She is used to being on the move. Living out of an expertly packed suitcase, down to a science now. Never quite settling down.
Any documentary filmmaker worth their salt learns early to stay light on their feet, ready at a moment’s notice to get the call that takes them halfway around the globe and brings them the quote, unquote next great story.
This…was a different sort of call.
“You want me to go to San Diego? Why?”
It was well past midnight in France, which made it more or less dinner time on the other side of the Atlantic. For Charlie Blackwood, a perfectly acceptable time to ring her favorite niece, but Nora had to take the call out on the small balcony that was attached to her hotel room.
Documentaries weren’t the same as Hollywood films with their wider box office appeal and George Clooney-type stars. Funding was measly in comparison, so Nora bunked with one of the producers for the Paris leg. She and Jenna had worked together before a couple years back, and while Nora knew her to be sugar sweet from dawn to dusk, the 30-year-old woman did not fuck around with her skincare routine and her eight hours.
At this time of night on a non-weekend, Paris didn’t have much street noise, but Nora was still certain Charlie’s connection must’ve cut out somewhere in the middle of her sentence. Or maybe Nora had heard her wrong.
International calls could be so fickle sometimes. Right?
“Let me get this straight. You’re asking if I want to leave Paris to go to San Diego…” Nora repeated slowly, leaving ample breathing room between each word, plenty of time for Charlie to cut in and correct her, “and meet with your ex-boyfriend about some Naval feature? We don’t even like him.”
“You can call him Maverick,” Charlie replied evenly, “Everybody else does.”
Nora pulled a face. “I’ll call him Pete. How’s that?”
“He’ll definitely ask you to call him Maverick.”
“And I’ll still call him Pete.”
Charlie’s answering sigh was loud in her ear, even through the static, and Nora smiled down at her shoes. She took a careful step around the bite-sized table, stacked precariously full with her laptop, camera, and notepad, and planted her elbows on the railing. Metal creaked gently under her weight.
“Pete… will be fine,” Charlie relented, “and really, Pete is fine in my book. We’re just… two old acquaintances who wanted different things and were never going to work out in the long term. Besides, from what I hear, Penny Benjamin is his new sweetheart now. Well, new old sweetheart.”
She didn’t know who Penny Benjamin was. Must be a real saint to put up with him.
“Good. He won’t be knocking on your door the next time the Navy sends him to Washington to accept some medal then, right?”
Nora was seventeen the last time Pete Mitchell came knocking on Charlie Blackwood’s door; around eighteen months after Nora’s mom died, making Charlie her legal guardian. He happened to be in town for some medal or some ceremony or some medal at some ceremony.
He left in the dead of night, out the window, and Charlie spent the next two weeks muttering curses about hotshot pilots and their charismatic bullshit.
“That was almost twelve years ago, Nora,” Charlie chided, much less fun Aunt Charlie and much more diplomatic Charlotte Blackwood, employed by the Pentagon in that moment. Nora rolled her eyes.
“And anyway,” Charlie continued, not letting her get another word in, “Maverick isn’t the main contact. You’d only meet with him because All Hands…” A Naval magazine, print and digital, funding the project, as Charlie had explained in her initial one long sentence explanation before Nora had been distracted by the who and the where. “…wants to focus on his team. Everything is already approved. All you, my love, would need to do is get the golden seal from Cyclone to head it up. He’s the Air Boss over there.”
“Now Cyclone is a name that I don’t know,” Nora said, then swiped out of the call to look up the definition of Air Boss. “Doesn’t sound like a name made up by a 13-year-old boy who plays too much Call of Duty. He a Captain too?”
“Vice Admiral. You can meet him on your first day,” and Nora’s lips parted in protest, to say that was a little presumptuous, given she hadn’t agreed to anything and was still half a world away working on something else. Charlie cut her off, right at the knees: “Don’t start with me. Your Paris job wraps in what… four, five days?
Three, but Nora didn’t correct her.
“Normally, by now, I would be getting half a dozen calls every week from you, gushing about what you’ve got going on next; whatever place you’ll be jetting off to this time. This is the first time I’ve talked to you in at least two weeks,” Guilt pinged at her chest, along with a large helping of existential dread. “Have you even signed on to anything new?”
No. And Nora was doing jack shit to change that.
Her producer was already signed on for a film that would start pre-production ten weeks from now. It was a big one, lots of people to bring on board, and Jenna – literal angel in human form Jenna offered to pass Nora’s name along for consideration.
Nora still hadn’t given an answer.
She worried the edge of her lip but said nothing, and Charlie must’ve taken that as encouragement enough to continue on. “It’ll be a short project. Gives you enough time to find something new that excites you. Just… go to North Island and talk to Cyclone. You need a break.”
Late May breezed across her cheeks, smelling of the sweet pink and white cherry blossoms in bloom at a nearby park. She’d passed it nearly every day, afraid that the end of May would come and Nora wouldn’t ever see them in full bloom before having to leave. They bloomed two weeks ago, almost overnight, and Nora knew that June loomed and with it, the end of another project.
All that remained was uncertainty.
She did need a break, though Nora wasn’t sure that anyone other than her aunt and herself would consider working on another documentary to be a break. She couldn’t remember the last time Charlie had even taken a sick day. They were born and bred workaholics the both of them, and usually, Nora thrived on that.
But lately, Nora was so tired.
Another project could be good for me, Nora thought. Fewer eyes and expectations, without the pressure of acclaim and awards and future grants and questions of what are you doing next tightening like a noose around her neck. It’d be a one and done. She could do that.
“Alright,” Nora said, feeling a little lighter from letting the words loose. That was reassuring, at least. “Start from the beginning. How’d you find out about it? Who are the subjects? What’s the goal?”
Smile audible in her voice, Charlie started again, “Here is what I know…”
They wrapped mid-week with the usual fanfare, and the next day, Nora was packed and on a plane back home to Southern California.
Nora could already tell the Vice Admiral was ready to have the screening process over and done with. He barely asked her any questions before shaking her hand and foisting her onto Admiral Bates who ran her through the rules and regulations for getting onto the base and her accommodations.
Since Nora was freelancing for a Naval magazine, the United States government would be putting her up for the duration of the project. God bless America. She did not want to find a last minute hotel room in San Diego in June.
After obtaining a temporary ID card and a neat stack of manilla folders, probably filled with generously redacted background and service records, Nora is promptly deposited in the beachside parking lot of a steel-blue apartment building, faded from sun and brine, with a whole night ahead.
Showering off the plane eats up a few minutes, as does replying to the check-in email that the magazine contact sent over this afternoon. They would talk more over the weekend and into next week. It was difficult to connect with the time difference, so Charlie had guided the initial communication.
Calling Charlie drains another half hour, while Nora hums in all the right places and fights to keep her eyes open, chiming in with the occasional observation about North Island and tidbit about the conversation with Cyclone and Warlock.
“What’d you think of Cyclone?”
She stares at the blank wall across from the bed – all that wide open space and not an art print in sight – and thinks back.
Cyclone leveled an impassive stare at her over the folder that held her portfolio – apparently faxed over by Charlie before Nora had even agreed to come – and said, “This is an unusual circumstance. Most of the nepotism hires that come across my desk are aiming higher than an eight week contractor.”
She’d bitten her cheek to hold back a laugh, and Admiral Bates let out a suspiciously timed cough, hiding his mouth behind a balled fist.
“He was kind of hot,” Nora admits, then has to hold the phone away from her ear to not be deafened by Charlie’s laughter. “What? Just because I lack a father figure, I’m not allowed to appreciate an older man every now and then?”
“Sure, but I think I’ll draw the line at Maverick.”
Nora does her best projectile vomit noise, and Charlie laughs so hard that Mr. Charlotte Blackwood – as Nora affectionately likes to call Charlie’s husband John, who always accepted it with a congenial smile that only made her like him more – shouts from another room, wanting to know what exactly is so hilarious.
She won’t see Pete Mitchell until Monday, and after promising to tell him that Charlie says hello and sends her best to him and this Penny Benjamin woman, Nora hangs up the phone.
It’s barely 8 PM, and Nora wants nothing more than to crawl under the covers and leech the travel from her bones, but the San Diego sun is stubborn and high on the horizon. She knows her own body well enough to know that an 8 PM bedtime makes for a 3 AM bout of insomnia.
Boredom finds Nora perched on a cushioned barstool, a fresh t-shirt on her torso and a new coat of red lipstick on her lips, in the crowded Hard Deck bar. Sipping on an Old Fashioned, chatting with none other than Penny Benjamin.
“Charlie Blackwood,” Penny Benjamin repeats, a surprised but amiable smile on her face. A brown leather jacket sits over her slender shoulders, the same warm shade as her hair, and Nora spots a United States Navy patch on the sleeve. “God, I haven’t seen Charlie in… 30 years now. She may have told you, but I met her once or twice at Top Gun, back before my old man, the great Admiral Benjamin, retired. How’s she doing?”
“She’s good,” Nora offers, adding as an afterthought, just in case Penny Benjamin was the jealous type. “Married now.”
Penny sends her a sidelong look, narrow-eyed, that must make the fresh-faced Top Gun hopefuls cower in their regulation boots. Behind the glass, Nora’s lips curve into an amused smirk.
Things must be going well. Good for them.
Nora swirls the amber liquid, fishing out an extra cherry from the bottom and popping it into her mouth. “She sends her well wishes. She’d probably want me to give you a hug or something, but I think I’d fall on my ass trying to lean over the counter. Consider yourself lucky.”
“You can give my hug to Pete, but only if I’m there to witness.”
“Distinguished Captain Mitchell isn’t much of a hugger? I’m shocked.”
“Are you kidding?” Penny fills another pint glass for a patron a few barstools down, sliding it down the counter and looking back at Nora with an amused twinkle. “He’ll turn into a robot. He won’t know how to react. Make sure to ask one of the boys to record it for you so I can blackmail him with it forever.”
Imagining it, Nora is still smiling when Penny’s name calls her to the other side of the counter. Leaving her alone to people-watch and observe the establishment with a filmmaker’s eye.
Miniature planes hang from the ceiling, swaying in the breeze that cuts in with the opening and closing of the door. A wood island separates one side of the bar from the other, stacked high with an assortment of colorful glass bottles that gleam in the fading sunlight.
A golden wash spills through the back windows, and the Hard Deck is filling up fast with civilians, veterans, and servicemen alike. They’re the easiest to spot, wearing their service khakis and all.
Music swells through the bar, and Nora spies a jukebox in the corner, drawing a line five deep, all waiting for their turn to select the next 1980s classic. She recognizes the current song from her white dad music playlist.
‘Take It Easy’ by Eagles. Track four, baby.
Over her shoulder, a tight-knit crowd surrounds the pool table. They throw jeers and jokes at each other with familiarity, and Nora watches them for a moment too long, dragging her tired eyes away when one of them starts to turn in her direction.
She checks her phone, under the bar, not on top, of course, unless Nora wants to buy the whole room a round. A little after 8:30 now. She just needs a kill another hour or so, and then, that’ll feel like an acceptable time to crawl into bed and sleep for the next ten hours.
Fingers dancing through her tote, Nora fishes out her favorite journal, setting it down flat on the least sticky surface she can find. Leather-bound, stuffed to the brim with colorful sticky notes and touch-creased photographs. Further searches reveal that Nora left her pens back at the apartment, somewhere in one of those suitcases that had gotten packed and unpacked in an attempt to burn time.
“Do you have a spare pen?”
A blue pen rolls over to her waiting hands as Penny passes with a wink and dashes down the counter to fill a round of drinks. She has that endless energy that Nora needs a few coffees to achieve.
Thinking it makes Nora’s lids feel even heavier.
Tracks switch again on the jukebox, and Nora hums along to the new song, another winning installment on her white dad music playlist. Has the United States Navy hacked her Spotify account or something? She cuts through the pages like a surfboard through an ocean wave to find a fresh page, and Nora spins the pen between manicured fingers, mouthing the lyrics to ‘Dancing in the Dark’ under her breath.
Her brain is a firework show, thoughts shooting off high and fast, bursting into a million different directions. Loud and colorful. She can be like this on her best day, but a severe lack of sleep – or in this case, horrible jet lag – makes it a million times worse.
A long blank stare at the page later, Nora manages to piece a few words together into what might resemble a coherent thought, with emphasis on the word might here.
And right as Nora clicks the pen and presses it down on the page, denting the lined paper beneath the blue ink, an empty pint glass is set down on the counter, a few inches from her left hand. A whiff of cologne fills her nostrils, a little overbearing but still pleasant.
Fingers drum against the wood, in time with the music, and determined, despite the distraction, to pin down the semi-coherent thoughts that are now fleeing like scattered mice, Nora reaches for her drink and finds it empty save for half-melted ice and an orange rind.
“Buy you another one, sweetheart?”
She looks up, in spite of herself, and damn.
He is handsome as hell, heart-aching levels of handsome, a little like looking into the sun. Like a goddamn movie star, all broad shoulders and perfect, slicked back blonde hair, and easy confidence that fits him like a well-worn shirt.
He plucks the rocks glass easily from her stunned grip, holding it between two fingers, a loose, almost careless hold, and damn her to hell, Nora swallows against her suddenly dry mouth.
She really needs to go to bed. Among other things.
Green eyes study the contents of the glass, then flick back over to her, and Nora is hit with the full force of a mega-watt smile.
Dimples out. Ready to film a tooth-whitener commercial.
“Bourbon girl? I’m impressed.”
“Why?” Nora drawls, and hell, the word comes out of her mouth a little rough. Get it together. Put away the bedroom voice. She clears the cobwebs from her throat. “Because I look like I’d order a cosmopolitan in a dive bar and act surprised when I’m given a vodka cran?”
He seems to take look as an invitation, dragging his eyes over the soft t-shirt, a little damp over the shoulders from her shower, and the faded blue jeans that hang loosely from her legs, an old pair with a rip in the knee big enough that Nora might soon need to give them a second life as shorts.
His appraisal stalls out on her blood-red lips, tracing the shape of them, getting the lay of the land. And then, slowly rises back to meet her gaze. All the while, smiling like a pageant contestant.
“Name’s Hangman.”
Record scratch. He’s a pilot.
Goddamn pilots.
“That doesn’t sound like a name,” Nora drawls back, matching his conceited-ass smile with her freshly chilled ice-cold bitch smirk. “And I can buy my own drinks.”
Rudeness isn’t her drug of choice, but Nora clocks him as a tough one. A swift one-two ego punch should do the trick, rejecting his advance and mocking his precious call sign in one fell swoop. Aviators toss those around more than their actual names.
He’ll leave now.
She stares him down, and Mr. Pilot stares right back, eyes amused and sparkling in the twinkling lights dancing right above the bar, tucked between the steins.
Any minute now.
He doesn’t move an inch, and if possible, the Barbie and Ken smile grows even wider on his perfect face. He’s so hot, Nora kinda wants to break his nose just to make something on his face crooked.
“It’s my call sign.”
She is so tired. It trips off her tongue, almost out of habit: “Well, I’m not calling you Hangman. What’s your actual name?”
Why…. Why would those words come out of her mouth, instead of the ‘Get lost, Malibu Barbie’ that was locked and loaded in the back of her mind? Damn damn damn.
She doesn’t fool around with pilots, not after Charlie’s history with Pete Mitchell and her own Air Force sperm donor who couldn’t be bothered to call more than once a year. And especially not, when Nora will be working on the base for the next two months. What if Nora ran into him?
The edge of Hangman’s mouth twitches into a slow, dangerous smile, and Nora catches a flash of his canines, ultra-white like the rest of his teeth.
She fiddles with the pen cap, rolling and bending it between her pointer finger and thumb. Waits impatiently for him to give her an answer that gives her the opening needed to send him packing, back to the pool table to make better use of his bulging arm muscles over there.
Some co-ed girls push behind him, stumbling and giggling to each other, and in stepping out of their way, Hangman inches forward into her space. Breath warm at her nape, stirring the pale strands loose at her cheekbones, too short to remain tucked behind her ears without a fight.
Clever fingers capture one and brush it back into place, softly brushing against the side of her neck. His words are a low, hot rumble against the shell of her ear: “It’s Jake. Lieutenant Jake Seresin.”
Oh, Nora thinks, warm all over in a way that has nothing to do with the sticky heat of the night. Oh shit.
She has the borrowed pen in a chokehold, gripping it hard enough to redden her fingertips, and Hangman – now Jake notices. His grin widens, and Nora forces herself to loosen the hold, to let the blood flow back into her hands, to regain some of her composure.
“Let me buy you a drink.”
Not a question this time, so Nora doesn’t need to give him a yes or no.
He’s offered a loophole, one around her own better judgment, without even realizing it. She can just drop her shoulders with casual indifference, as if to say if you insist, and turn back to her journal. Pretend not to feel his intent, most definitely intrigued gaze on the side of her face.
It’s a free drink, and Nora’s hardly encouraging him. What is the harm, really?
A smug smile crosses his face when Penny comes over, an unreadable expression on her face, and Nora doesn’t stop him from ordering another Old Fashioned. He’s close enough now to feel the evening heat radiating from his tan skin, exposed where the sleeves of his t-shirt cut across his biceps.
Nora is not enabling anything. Not at all.
Rooster is on the last swallow of his beer when Phoenix looks over his shoulder and groans, a dramatic and drawn-out sound that would’ve made her an excellent soap opera star in a different life. He barely has time to snort before Bob appears at her side, a look of sudden concern on his clean-shaven face.
“What’s wrong?”
“We’re never getting our next round.” Phoenix rigidly jerks her head in the direction that Hangman disappeared a few minutes ago. Too long ago, now that Rooster thinks about it. “Bagman got distracted.”
This is enough to bring the rest of the Daggers to attention. They round the pool table one by one, incited by the suggestion that Hangman might get out of buying them drinks.
“Distracted,” Payback lets out a sardonic snort. He leans on the pool cue like a walking stick, towering over the rest of them with Rooster seated. “He probably forgot to order the round. Idiot.”
“I don’t blame him,” Fanboy drawls, looking to the center of the room, waggling his brows. “I think I’d let her distract me anytime, anywhere. Is that not the hottest woman you’ve ever seen step foot in this bar?” His eyes go wide, almost panicked, darting to the only woman in their ranks. “No offense, Phoenix.”
Phoenix shows no sign of hearing him, and Rooster and Payback share a disbelieving look over the WSO’s head, snickering underneath their amazing mustaches. Lucky son of a bitch.
“Poor girl,” Phoenix muses with a slow shake of her head, sending her loose curls cascading over her shoulders. “Someone needs to launch a rescue mission. He’s practically drooling into her glass. And…” Something changes in her expression. “Did I hit my head in the cockpit this afternoon and not remember it? Does that girl look familiar to anyone else?”
“Never seen her before in my life,” Payback says, slapping his WSO on the shoulder, which seems to give Fanboy the confidence to add in, “I’d love to get further acquainted though. Think I can swoop in and steal her from Hangman?”
Phoenix has already pulled out her phone, paying no attention to the round of low chuckles and smirks that are shared between the men. Her fingers skate across the screen, faster than an F-18 on descent, and Rooster looks over his shoulder to get in on the joke.
It takes him all of two seconds to find them, mostly because Hangman has just flashed that thousand-watt smile that could probably blind an enemy dogfighter.
He leans against the counter, the cocky bastard, with a pint glass in his hand – one that should be in all of their hands right now. Not an empty glass filled with an inch of foam. Looking down at the barstool next to him, or more specifically, at the woman perched there.
Slender, blonde, dressed down in a t-shirt and jeans, and most definitely a civilian. He can’t accurately weigh in on Fanboy’s assessment, at least until Rooster can catch a glimpse of her face.
“I knew it!”
All of them startle when Phoenix makes the announcement and looks up from her phone with the victorious expression of someone who’d just shot down Maverick in a dogfight. She waves her phone in front of their faces, too fast for him to make out more than a blur of words and pictures.
“I fucking knew it. I follow her on Instagram.” And the wide smile on Phoenix’s face be described as nothing short of gleeful gloating. She cackles to herself, leaning over to show the screen to Bob again. “And you little shits made fun of me for loving documentaries so much. Who’s laughing now?”
Documentaries….
Recognition tugs at the edge of his drunken memory.
“Her name is – ”
She turns, and Rooster sees her face.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Rooster calls out, and Phoenix and Bob startle at the sudden change in volume, brown and blue eyes shooting up from the phone like Rooster blared an airhorn between their heads. He ignores them. “Am I seeing things, or Nora fucking Rogers, is that you?”
Everyone in a 10-foot radius looks at him, exchanging looks and eye rolls, dismissing him as belligerent but harmless, but Rooster ignores them, keeping his eyes locked on one woman.
Cornflower blue eyes survey the crowded room, sifting through the noise to place the voice, and finally, land on him. Surprise softens her features. And as the jukebox switches tracks, another crooning 1980s love song pouring through the speakers, Nora Rogers smiles at him for the first time in half a decade.
“Bradley Bradshaw, from beyond the grave.”
It really is him. This… six-foot-something hallucination with tree-trunk arms and a ridiculous porn star mustache and a familiar gleam in his eyes that spelled trouble. Did Charlie know Bradley would be here? She might’ve mentioned that. Nora looks up at him… and up again, because goddamn, were all Naval aviators so fucking tall?
An awkward beat passes where Bradley and Nora seem to grapple for the right greeting for a person you hadn’t seen in years and hadn’t seen all that often in the first place and mutually, come up empty-handed.
They’d met all of four or five times over the years, courtesy of the long-distance friendship that blossomed between Aunt Charlie and his mother Carole after Pete had left his Top Gun instructor post and shipped out again. She could use the extra friend without her husband, Charlie had said.
And then, Nora got older and became Charlie’s backup plus one to some Naval Aviation functions, usually thrown by Top Gun graduates who passed through when Charlie was a civilian instructor. She’d see him there every once in a while, all grown up and pursuing his dreams of becoming a pilot.
And then, Nora thinks absently, there was that one time…
She should’ve remembered that Bradley Bradshaw is a hugger.
Making up his mind for them both, Bradley reaches out and tugs her against his chest. And for one moment, Nora can feel the muscled strength of his arms banded around her torso, the firmness of his chest underneath the open Hawaiian shirt and incredibly thin white tank; can practically make out the ridges of his abs through the fabric.
It is barely longer than a brief squeeze, but as Nora pulls back, an unnatural but not entirely unexpected lightness buzzes in her chest. She is quick to blame it on the lack of sleep and dark liquor coursing through her veins.
She is feeling all kinds of strange tonight.
Like earlier, when Jake Seresin handed over the Old Fashioned, an unshakable curl to his lips, and as Nora took a delicate sip, watched the movement with half-lidded eyes; the muscles that worked in her throat. Like Jake wanted nothing more than to follow the path with his mouth, and Nora could picture him sprawled across her bed, clear as a snapshot: chests heaving, sweat dripping, tongue dragging across her pulse point, his large hand a collar around her throat.
Right then. Silly little thoughts like that.
Nora clears her throat, tugging at the neckline of her tee, and almost unbidden, like a magnetic pull, her gaze wanders back to him, standing in nearly the exact same spot at the bar, collecting a round of drinks. He apparently owed the group for the last pool game or something.
She can’t help but notice a new tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there a few minutes ago. She can tell, having been slightly too preoccupied with the strong line of his shoulders over at the bar for her own liking. He’d seemed so casual at the bar, so relaxed.
Is Jake mad? At Bradley, for interrupting them? At Nora, for coming over here?
These seem to be his friends. He was playing pool with them after all, up until Jake approached her at the bar. And Nora was hardly even talking to him at the bar, scribbling in her notebook and entertaining the occasional question as Jake seemed content to stand at her shoulder and watch.
“What’s your name?”
“What’re you doing in Fightertown?”
“What do you do for work?”
“A filmmaker? Like Quentin Tarantino?”
And Nora had been incised enough to set her pen down and stare him down. “I make documentaries, and if I did make movies, I’d at least like to be compared to someone decent. Not some piece-of-shit asshole director.”
His brows rose, but Jake looked unperturbed. “Like who?”
“Like… I don’t know, Nora Ephron or Greta Gerwig. You probably don’t even know who Nora Ephron is, do you? Do you also think Fight Club is a love letter to toxic masculinity?”
He exhaled a laugh, brows still halfway to his hairline, and opened his mouth to reply when Bradley called her name, and Nora was gone before Jake could get another word in.
Still. Seeing him look so… Tense? Dejected? Annoyed?
It makes her feel off-kilter.
Maybe Jake just wanted to chat her up at the bar and go back to his friends, not to be bothered for the rest of the night. She’s ruined that plan by coming over here, invited or not. It shouldn’t matter. She can’t stop herself from wondering anyway. God. Why do you even care?
She doesn’t know him, and after tonight, she’ll likely never see him again.
He starts to turn, and Nora slingshots her gaze back to Bradley, refusing to be caught watching him, who is looking down – and down – with a rose-colored hue to his face. A pair of aviator sunglasses sit crookedly over his eyes, showing her reflection.
She takes a half-step back to not have to crane her neck so much to meet his eyes. Raises her voice to be heard over the music, much closer to the jukebox now. “What are you doing here? I might be out of the loop, but didn’t you already graduate from Top Gun? Like many, many years ago?”
“She’s calling you old, Rooster,” Jake cuts in, reappearing and passing out the few bottles and glasses around the circle. Seven total, including another Old Fashioned that Nora probably doesn’t need but still accepts. He shoots her a wink over the glass. “You gonna take that, man?”
“I was not, you jackass,” Nora shoots back, the second Old Fashioned blurring the lines between her brain and her mouth.
Jake settles against the pool table in a casual stance, arms crossed across his chest, biceps bulging. She must’ve imagined the earlier tension. He seems fine now, watching her with a smirk.
“I didn’t expect to see anyone I knew here. Answer the question, Bradshaw.”
Bradley’s laugh is a little loud, a little unsteady. One look at the nearest hightop table, littered with empty beer bottles and pint glasses, tells her everything she needs to know.
Bradley Bradshaw is tipsy. Color shines high in his cheeks.
“‘What am I doing here?’ You’re on a Naval base, darling, which makes me,” Bradley pushes the glasses up the bridge of his nose and with the hand holding the new beer bottle, gestures to his own chest. Covered in that shirt that is… not hiding much, “the law around these parts. I ask the questions around here.” A dark-haired woman rolls her eyes behind his back. “What the hell are you doing here, civilian? You following me around now?”
Oh wow. He’s so drunk.
“In your dreams.”
She doesn’t like the look on his face; doesn’t trust what drunk Bradley might spit out next in a public setting, so Nora brings them back to more even ground, summarizing everything with a short and sweet, “I’m doing Charlie a favor” that is more or less true. Gives him the barest rundown of her past 48 hours, all too aware of the four Naval aviators standing within earshot, shooting her curious glances and waiting for an introduction.
“It’s your turn now.”
“We were here on a special detachment. Eight months ago. Top secret shit,” Bradley offers in an oh so serious tone. All of his concentration seems to go towards hiding a smile. It’s given away by the obvious twitch of his mustache, dampening the effect slightly. “I can’t talk about it, or Cyclone will shoot me out of an airlock.”
“We’re on the ground, Rooster.”
“Semantics, Payback. He will take me up into the atmosphere in an F-18 just to shoot me into space. And then, probably like, come down here and have one black coffee in victory. Happy now?”
Nora offers, “I actually have some security clearance.”
Some was probably an exaggeration. Charlie set her up with a director who needed an assistant, back when Nora really needed another project under her belt to build her portfolio. Lightly sensitive, all for internal use, of course.
“No shit. Aren’t you special?”
Drenched in sarcasm, but Bradshaw is looking at her over the edge of his pint glass with a hint of something else in his brown eyes.
Nope. No. Not going there tonight.
“Now, Bradshaw.” She delivers a light slap to his chest, and Bradley looks down, amused. It’s a little more familiar than Nora was going for. She probably didn’t need another drink. “When are you going to stop being rude and introduce me?”
His arm settles over her shoulders, swiveling her like a Hard Deck barstool to face the rest of the group. They go down the line, one by one. Call signs, then their first and last names, upon request because Nora refuses to call a bunch of grown men things like Rooster and Fanboy. Phoenix is actually a damn cool name.
Phoenix, Fanboy, Payback, and Bob.
Natasha, Mickey, Reuben, and Bob again.
“And Hangman,” Jake finishes, a pronounced twang in his voice that Nora didn’t notice before. She was missing the accents earlier, wasn’t she? “We met at a little spot not far from here. I was the devastatingly handsome man buying you a drink.”
“Sorry,” Nora shoots back, all calm and collected. “I don’t think I know a Hangman. Doesn’t sound like a real name to me.”
A muscle twitches in his cheek. “Jake.”
“It’s all coming back now.” And Nora doesn’t mean for it to come out so quiet, so intimate. “Hi Jake.”
He flashes her a dimpled grin, all soft edges. “Hi Nora.”
It’s so damn charming that Nora has to bite back an unbidden smile, but with the high-speed attention of an F-18 pilot, Jake catches it, the smug son of a bitch. He lifts his beer to his mouth and shoots her a heated look that curls her toes inside her boots.
“So,” Phoenix interjects, glancing between them with an all too knowing look that makes Nora flush. “Who is up for another round of pool?”
She should’ve stuck to her original plan, which would have seen her leave over an hour ago. Already curled up under the sheets for a long, much-needed sleep by now.
But Nora is having too much fun, sitting on a barstool near the pool table, watching the game and listening to them trade insults and stories (just the non-classified ones, of course) back and forth. All of them seem to know each other well, and Nora learns early on that Captain Mitchell recruited them for this special top-secret detachment a few months back.
“We’re still here under Maverick as an actual squadron now. We’re… I’m sorry, I’m not exactly sure what I can and can’t tell you,” Bob explains, cutting himself off with a sheepish expression. He is damn cute, clean-shaven and baby-faced. Easygoing. He reminds her a little of a duckling, jabs rolling off his back like water. “You can ask Maverick on Monday. Are you just following him around with a camera or…?”
She gives him the quick run-down, well aware that the Daggers are all within earshot now, not even pretending not to eavesdrop on the conversation. “It will probably be a good bit of interviews and additional footage. It’s not just about Captain Mitchell. I’ll be focusing on the whole team.”
“We’ll probably be seeing a lot of you then.”
It is a perfectly nonchalant observation, but Nora’s heart does a stuttered thump-thump in her chest, the exact same realization piercing through her intoxicated brain way too late. If Maverick is their CO, then Bob is on the team that Nora will be profiling in the feature. All of them are. Which means...
She will be seeing them. Probably every single day.
Nora manages to get out an even, “I guess so.”
She remembers the cardboard box of files, sitting unopened next to her overturned suitcase, and wants to bang her head against a wall. Instead, Nora washes down the overwhelming sense of uh oh with a too-quick gulp of her drink. Green eyes burn against the side of her face, stinging like the bourbon in her nostrils.
Natasha drops onto the next barstool over, providing the perfect distraction from her thoughts. She’s just landed an impressive sequence of shots against Mickey and Reuben, who now stand staring down at the table, hands on hips in identical stances of contemplation.
“I follow you on Instagram,” Natasha admits, snagging her beer bottle from a nearby table and waving off the popcorn that Bob offers her. “And I have to tell you. I have invited these idiots over to watch documentaries with me more times than I can even remember. Tried different topics too. Bob is the only one who ever comes over. Don’t let them convince you otherwise.”
“Oh, I won’t. I can smell a fraud a mile away,” Nora reassures, a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes to match the other woman, “but I, for one, would love an invitation to watch a documentary with you. Make it a weekly thing while I’m here.”
And Natasha grins wide enough to inspire warm and fuzzy feelings in her chest. Is this what budding friendship felt like? She has been on the move so much lately. She’d almost forgotten.
“Nora is my friend, Phoenix,” Bradley cuts in, sunglasses sliding further and further down his nose. His large hand comes up to deliver a playful push to the other woman’s shoulder. “Stop trying to steal her away from me. Get your own friend.”
“We’re friends now, are we, Bradshaw?” Nora can’t help her laugh, slightly mocking, light enough not to be mistaken as rejection. “I haven’t seen you in like… five years. You probably don’t even know my birthday.”
He pouts. “Phoenix doesn’t know your birthday either.”
“It’s in August. She posted about it on her Instagram.”
“Go away, Phoenix,” Bradley reaches across her again to push at Natasha harder. He loses his balance a little bit and nearly topples into Nora’s lap, only caught by Phoenix shoving against his shoulder. “Don’t let her do this, Rogers. You’re breaking my heart here.”
“You’re drunk,” Nora giggles, an honest to god giggle, only reserved for drunk Nora. Sober Nora laughs. Drunk Nora giggles. It’s usually a sign to call it a night. “You’re drunk, and I think… I think I might be drunk.”
“You’re definitely drunk.”
Nice. Real professional. Getting drunk on the night before her first day and with none other than the only team of pilots on North Island that she is guaranteed to see after tonight.
“Oh no….” Nora whispers through another giggle, and with a hand that feels disconnected from her arm, reaches up and pushes Bradley’s sunglasses back up his nose. His grin turns wolfish and… “I think I need to go home.”
“Or…”
“I can take you. Where’re you staying?”
Jake pulls his keys out of his pocket and dangles them from a finger, while Bradley straightens, with sudden coordination, to his full height. Out of the corner of her eye, Natasha has paused mid-sip, watching with unadulterated interest, like Rooster and Hangman were the most interesting thing on television. Bob offers her the popcorn again, and Natasha takes a handful.
“You’ve been drinking.”
“I stopped an hour ago, and I only had two.”
“She doesn’t know you.”
“Did you not just say you haven’t seen her in five years?”
“She’s not going home with you.”
“Jesus Christ…” Jake scrubs a hand over his face, his growing irritation plain. “It’s a ride home, not an invitation to bed. You’d rather put her in a cab with a stranger than have me drive her home? What’s your problem?”
“My problem is – ”
Well. This is… rapidly descending into a testosterone fest.
She can feel a dull ache developing in her temple, a heaviness to her lids that is becoming harder to ignore. She needs a strong painkiller, about three and a half glasses of water, and a bed. Preferably tonight.
“Alright, I’m calling an Uber.”
She reaches for her phone, and Jake raises a placating hand.
“Don’t waste money on an Uber. I’ll take you home,” Jake repeats, looking pained, and then, Bradley Bradshaw opens his mouth and takes a big breath, gearing up to restart this idiotic argument.
“Bradshaw, I swear…” Nora presses her fingers to her forehead and closes her eyes. “In about five minutes, I might sleep on that pool table, so please, I will take what I can get. I’m staying at…” Did Warlock ever give her the address? Goddammit. “It’s… It’s like a blue apartment building next to the beach. It’s not far from here. Know what I’m talking about please.”
Exhaustion makes her blunt, but Jake looks amused again.. More amused than Nora would give herself credit for inspiring with her drunken rambles.
“I know it. We all live there.”
Oh. Oh no.
“Oh. Great.”
She really will see them every day, even on her days off.
Something flashes across Bradley’s face, too quick for her to clock it, but Nora is focused on putting hands on her phone, wallet, and keys. Hoisting her bag onto her arm.
“Well, I’ll come with you.”
“Rooster. Seriously?”
“No, I should probably call it a night too, and I caught a ride with Phoenix here anyway. I’ll come back with you guys.”
Jake and Bradley share a long stare-down that Nora is too tired to even process. It is some sort of telepathic conversation that must be exclusive to Top Gun graduates, or a silent dick-measuring contest. One of the two.
“Oh,” Phoenix observes, tossing another piece of popcorn in her mouth. “This’ll be interesting.”
Yeah, Nora thinks. It’ll be something alright.
It is a short ride back to the apartments. Bradley hums the words to ‘Great Balls of Fire’ under his breath the whole time, over and over in an unending loop, while Nora presses her forehead to the window, breath fogging the glass with the late night temperatures, and closes her eyes.
It does little to alleviate the weight of Jake’s gaze, dashing off the rearview mirror at every red light. He casts a sideways glance at Bradley, then opens his mouth to say something, but then Nora’s eyelids flutter closed and Jake remains silent, reaching for the radio knob to turn the volume down.
His truck finally rounds the last bend in the road and pulls into the lot, and Nora is damn near crawling out of her skin. She drank two full glasses of water at the bar before leaving. She isn’t buzzed enough at this point to blame the heady warmth on the alcohol. It’s him.
“Now, ladies and gentlemen,” Jake expertly steers the truck, one-handed, into a spot along the front row of apartments. She can see her door from here, spotlighted under a second-floor flood light like a safe haven. “Please keep all hands and feet inside the vehicle until I’ve come to a full and complete…”
He’s barely tapped the brakes when Nora mumbles a good night and makes a run for the staircase.
“Alright then,” Jake calls after her through his open window, accent thick from drowsiness. “Good night to you too, sweetheart.”
She shuts her door on his raspy chuckle.
It echoes in her ears all the same, even after splashing freezing cold water on her neck, stripping off her clothes, and climbing into the bed with the slightly scratchy sheets. Lingers, like the brush of his fingertips down the side of her neck.
Nora heaves a sigh in the blue dark. “Goddammit.”
end note: likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. and if you have thoughts and feelings, please shout in my asks or my messages. i'd love to hear from you!
read the next chapter!
#am sweating posting this#so please tell me what you think#fic: baby i'm high octane#hangman x oc#jake seresin x oc#jake seresin x nora rogers#jake hangman seresin#jake seresin fic#top gun: maverick fic#laracrofted writes
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✨Out of context lines shitpost Pt. 3✨
Part 1 | Part 2
Quo: Do you want to put the sparkles in the title like we did in-
Nogolsta: Of course. We're not savages.
@mispeltnostalgia and Quo bring forth more shit.
Hello, y'all enjoy the chaos cause i know i do :) -Nogolsta
The batfam but as things we said in public and in class:
Tim: I cleaned my floor, I washed the dishes, I did my h.w, I was productive.
Jason: Damn. The motivation demon possessed you.
Tim: Yeah it did!
Jason: Meanwhile… meanwhile…
Tim: What did you do?
Jason: *softy* torture
Tim: I love that
*high five*
~
Dick: *Starts sinking in his chair sliding under the table*
Also Dick: *Struggles to get up. Almost dies*
~
Steph: look if it's wrong you can blame me. I’ll even give you a crochet hook to stab me
Jason: I’d rather kill you with words
Steph: So I'd get on OC and you would brutally murder them?
Jason: Well, I do have an OC called Steph. Well its Christopher but I can shorten it
Bruce: What are you talking about?
Jason: Murder.
Steph: Specifically mine.
~
Special extracts from Tim’s essay about funeral rites in Egypt:
(Please note these are some extracts from Nogolsta’s essay outline. We don’t question it.)
The brain getting removed via nose with a crochet hook and the rest of the brain goop getting washed out with 💉drugs💉.
The flank (above the hips and below the booby area) is then cut open to scoop out the entire abdomen.
The cavity is then washed with palm wine and then with a ✨spicy blend✨.
Then it's filled with nice smelling things: pure myrrh(dur), cassia (another variation of cinnamon) but no frankincense (they don’t want the dead waking up now do they? Or else it’s gonna cause another Jason Todd). Then they sew the body up.
Body is chucked in natron (godly salt) for 70 days. No longer, no shorter (just like Dick) (Or Damian).
After this, the body is washed and wrapped in linen for that mummy look we all know and love.
Middle class funerals got less care (shockingly).
The body is injected with cedar oil through the butthole and is then plugged up like the hair in the sink.
(Note: Bruce got a call from the teacher about Tim being submitted to counseling.)
~
Dick: *walking backwards* I will make you hydrate
Tim: No you won’t
Dick: you don’t have a choi- *walks into bookshelf and knocks books off*
~
Babs: and we could just sit and read fanfiction. I’m open to any Fandom as long as no romance or smut. I’m not comfortable with that. But I'm open to anything else. Especially ✨torture✨
~
Damian: Did you burn the paper I told you to burn?
Steph: Yeah!
Damian: Do you still have the ashes?
Steph: What? No, I burnt it in the fireplace, I’m not scooping it out.
Damian: *sigh* a pity. I was hoping to put it in a jar and look at it every day, reminding me of my dreams.
~
Wally: Oh no! We haven't been unpredictable enough today! Quick! Say something shitty!
Dick: I didn't bring a sandwich because we ran out of bread at home so Alfred made me a salad but I don't want a salad, I want a ham, cheese and tomato toastie. I mean, I love a salad, but I want a toastie *starts sobbing*
Wally:
Wally: I have regrets.
~
Jason: JANDBHWISHEVWBAKKXNFBFJEJDHRUWIQPD DNDBDHUS RBSKWDIHRVE SNAOSUEB
Bruce: *crying* Please- I will get down on my knees. Please stop.
Jason: NNJsjeuewjjJQJS EBSIWOSUEHEHBWBD RJE sndjjdidiwiwje
Jason: You have to say the ones not in all-caps quieter.
Jason: jwjduruwhsbdjriwi aanwjeiisjd NSNWOWORIRBEBSJA
~
Jason:*whispers* i have a torture idea
Dick: *facepalms in disappointment*
~
Dick: Our father has become a pigeon!
Jason: What?
Dick: *swivels phone to show a snap from Tim of Bruce with a pigeon filter on*
~
4 yo Damian: *grabs onto someone's leg in a crowd*
Jason: "raises the foot holding Damian with disgust* what the fuck are you?
4 yo Damian: you're not my father
Jason: I sure hope not. I haven't got any fuckers like you running around.
4 yo Damian: If you were my dad, I’d be sad.
Jason: Let’s find your dad you little shit.
Note: Nogolsta as a child was precious and savage at the same time
Part 4
#dick grayson#tim drake#bruce wayne#jason todd#dc#robin#damian wayne#batfam#batman#nogolsta says hi#barbara gordon#quotidian writes#quotidian convos#batfam incorrect quotes#out of context#wally west#alfred pennyworth#stephanie brown#incorrect quotes#high schoolers#shitpost#quotidian loves shitposting
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Domestic Facade
Chrollo x (f) OC
A/N: so I started this as a little break from revision and to mess around with writing tropes I hate, but now I’m really into the idea and need feedback on the initial extract. I was going to post this directly onto Ao3 but want to increase my changes of writing more by having a few characters under my belt.
NOT PARTICULARLY PROOF READ
Feeback would be appreciated <3
CW: non applicable
Word count: 1,193
- Content bellow read on -
The early hours of morning began to arrive, sun trickling through open windows, seemingly drawn by the sizzling of eggs. Days like this were nice. Curtains drifting slowly in the breeze, everything at peace. The thought of work -as pleasant as she found it- not weighing heavy on Nirami’s back.
One of her few days off.
Nirami stood beside her kitchen counter, watching as steam billowed from her soon to be breakfast. She loved cooking. Always had, it was so fascinating watching atoms at work.
Sat, ogling, at the way her egg whites puffed up.
The things swayed in her pan with every small movement, don’t play with your food, a familiar voice rang in the back of her head. Her father always did hate this habit of her’s. Counted it a waste of food as stubby legs would dangle idly from her chair, fork prodding at the food she’d left to go cold with a pout. ‘I don’t want it.’ she’d whine, only for a firm voice to barter with her, holding the prospect of desert like a carrot on a stick. Inevitably causing her to cave. At the time, she’d looked at him as if he was the worst person in the world. However, now, standing in a kitchen of her own, she began to appreciate that he placated to her antics.
Slumping the eggs onto a plate, Nirami moved to check on her hashbrowns (an equally as interesting phenomenon to watch as her eggs.), she’d have to pay him a visit, get something to replace the flowers she’d given last time. He always liked Chrysanthemums, it wouldn’t hurt to pick some next time she went out.
A single churn of her salt shaker signaled the dinner bell; she sat down to eat. Tearing her food apart with an almost abnormally meticulous care.
Through her chewing, Nirami turned her attention to the flurry of plants climbing up her walls. A colleague had once suggested the idea of a simple houseplant, to keep her occupied during her parents' passing, a few years ago. A part of her had scoffed at the idea. And now here she was, all sorts of flora scattered around her apartment.
Nirami wouldn’t particularly say it had elevated her grief, but it was certainly a pleasant development. A particularly burnt piece of potato cut through her idle thoughts, maybe she should’ve focused a little more on ensuring her food was edible…The food itself was nice, it always was, for all her slip ups Nirami was a good cook. Eggs oozed; she eagerly wiped up their contents and around fifteen minutes passed before she’d finished. Raising to put her plates in for the wash. A sigh left Nirami as she went about her daily drivel, it was always like this, just as she liked it. The routine had brought solace in times of distress and kept her grounded for her line of work. Never changing, forever trudging along.
Life was simple like this.
Life was good like this.
Life was–
–buzz
The light of her phone flooded the room, its artificial hue reminded her of work. Placing her plate back into soapy water, her eyes scanned the screen’s surface. Unfortunately for her, it had already faded. Forcing Nirami to dry her hands and wander to the side, picking up her mobile, a smile split through her lips. Perhaps changes in her routine were good every once in a while, he was proof of that. Chrollo.
The two had met at her place of work, he’d been dressed to the nines. At the time, she’d taken his attire and assumed he was there to grieve a loved one, offering her condolences. Once he’d revealed he was simply there for an appointment, she’d found herself stumbling over her words. He was kind and quite the charmer, winning her over with ease (and a little coffee).
Since then the two had grown quite close, Chrollo had slotted himself neatly into Nirami’s schedule. Quite the feat indeed. He wasn't around much anymore, had to head back off to work, he’d told her. And so, anytime his name popped up on her phone, it filled her with nothing but euphoria.
The text was simple enough, morning love, yet she still found it hard to respond.
He always did have that effect on her.
Chrollo was far more composed than Nirami. Every word he ever said was picked with poise. She settled for an equally simple response (one most would’ve considered second nature.) morning. The words ‘delivered’ looked back up at her. No doubt he’d take a while to respond, he usually did…
With a sigh, Nirami set back off to do: something. A pleasant hum leaving her as she did. Her apartment was fairly small yet held a large range of activities. She settled for reading.
Plucking one of the many books from its neat place upon her shelf, she didn't particularly know what it was she’d picked. Nor did she care. Everybook in that apartment had been picked apart more times than she could count. Most of them were gifts. Small reminders of Chrollo’s many stays. He’d often send them over, classics and historical pieces, far beyond the ages. A few of them had been in languages Nirami had never even heard of, forcing her hand in learning all sorts of new tongues.
She’d taken to her sofa, swinging her legs onto its surface and brushing her fingers against the pages. Turning to the cover she was finally met by its title: Wuthering Heights. She was familiar with this one, had been when Chrollo had bought her this particular copy. The conversation of that ordeal lay sweet on her tongue.
“Ah, this one’s a particular favorite of mine.” A chuckle rang out as fingers grasped a hard worn cover, moving with almost criminal precision. Finally holding it in view Nirami’s eyes were alight with curiosity before her eyes met the title. “Fitting, a man of nuance, attracted to the definition of it.” A slight look of surprise overtook Chrollo’s features, the act so minute Nirami missed it by a mile. “You’ve read it?” The question wasn’t raised in a way of shock, more admiration, “mhm, a few times over actually. My father used to give me all his mother’s old books.” The conversation spanned for what felt like hours, every answer Nirami gave seemed to give way only for another question. All perfectly eloquent and all perfectly crafted to garner the exact responses he seemed to crave.
It had been like watching a thief at work, the thought was almost enough to elicit a small laugh from Nirami. Her Chrollo, a man who’d shown her nothing but compassion, a thief? Such juxtaposition was a thing of Shakespeare. The idea in itself seemed laughable…With all the ruckus in her life, Chrollo had come as a pleasant break, thoughts of him often flooded her head nowadays. Though she tried her best to filter them at work, he always loomed in some deep recess of her mind. In a way, Nirami guessed he was a thief: he’d stolen her attention in such little time.
Bzz.
#hunter x hunter#hxh#fanfic#writer#ficlet#extract#hxh chrollo#chrollo#chrollo lucilfer#chrollo x oc#oc#original character#x oc
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Jaehaera Targaryen (OC)
Matchmaking (Laenor and Rhaenyra engagement)
Masterlist
“So you would rather sell me off to the lord with the best castle?!”
Viserys’ heart dropped as he watched tears well up in his daughters eyes, clear frustration shining through. Sighing, he takes a seat, “I merely wish for you to be safe and cared for Rhaenyra.”
The princess scoffed at the sentiment, “I would believe that more if you didn’t have the best guard in the realm— it’s only competition being that of Winterfell, and the Starks would rather die then go back on their word—”
“That is enough!”
The air grew tense, thick as Velaryon steel, only filled with the laboring breath of King’s shriveling lungs. His legs grew weak from stress, twitching whilst in the chair and hidden only by the long cloak draping his body. Rhaenyra was no fool. She saw the state in which her father was slowly falling into, the toll of throne no doubt and it’s sharp wrath.
Dropping her face of destain, brought by years of spoiled nature, she took her father’s uncut hand as gently as one would the other. “I understand,” Rhaenyra whispered begrudgingly, “I would just like a chance to make my own match. One chance.”
Fluttering his eyes closed, Viserys felt himself caving as he caressed the back of his daughter’s hand with his thumb. Of course he knew this would happen. He’d always give in. “Alright.”
Sniffling back a joyful giggle, the small Targaryen gave a small peck to her father’s forehead. “I promise not to disappoint you.”
“Just try and be civil,” he said with a short grin of his own, “Your sister has already set out to level the ground for you.” It was as if they were discussing war strategy.
The princess hummed lovingly as she thought of the sight. “I suppose we should hope she’s playing fair.”
“She would argue that always plays fair.” Viserys remarked, letting out an amused snort.
“Nice then?”
They both laughed.
***
The moon was out, shining brighter than the sun the day before, veiling the waves that crashed against the rocks and shore with a gentle kiss. The fizzle of the bubbles drove the laughter already filling the air ablaze. Splashing, giggling, and drinking enough to sink a battalion, two newly kindred souls raced after each other in childish bliss.
One, the dragon child, stopped all of a sudden, causing the other to almost trip atop his own feet— threatening to face plant and get a mouthful of salt. She gaze at the moon in front of her, taking in the beauty of the divinity.
“What are you doing Jaehaera?” The boy asked in slurred words, flipping his curled locks back to squint up at the sight as well.
“Have you heard the story of the moon Laenor?”
Mouth agape like a fool, he answered, “You mean of the Moon goddess and the sun? Of course I have, everyone has—,”
“Nooo, no, no, no, no,” the raven haired girl whines, pulling on Laenor’s clothes as arm like a toddler, until they both inevitably fall to the ground.
“JAE! Seven hells!”
The girl giggled madly. Her limbs sprawled out, laying unapologetically on the friend beside her, ushering him to look back up at the moon.
“I mean the tale of the moon and the dragons!”
Scrunching up his eyebrows, Laenor turned to look at the girl, “What the hell are you on about?”
“Shhhhhhh,” she smacked her finger over his lips, causing him to cough and spit out sand that had stuck to her. “Story time.”
Humming a melodic tone the princess stared at the moon, making her vision go fuzzy as she continued on without blinking. “There’s an old legend that once, when the moon and sun drew too close, because they longed to hold one another after years of torment of watching each other from afar, that the moon cracked in half. She couldn’t withstand the heat of her lover, so she broke,” Jaehaera paused for a moment, her voice growing soft as she finally blinked; a tear rolled down her cheek.
Laenor had seen it, but instead of saying a word, the boy simply wiped her face clean with the pad of his thumb, before joining her underlining hum. He could swear he had heard it once, but he didn’t know where.
“And from her spouted thousands of dragons— some myths claim millions— all born from her. As if she were the egg of life.”
“What happened after that?” He asked, not missing a beat, suddenly enthralled by the story and it’s teller. Perhaps it were the alcohol.
Letting out a breathy laugh, the girl finally turned her head to meet her friends gaze. Laenor may have gasped if he weren’t in awe. He knew her eyes were unique; they mimicked that of her dragon for gods sake. But there they were, bathing in the moons light, and her eyes were now glowing a gold hue he’d never seen until this night. Nor would he ever again.
“It’s said that the dragons weeped for their mother—,”
“Dragons can cry?!” Laenor asked like a child discovering the tooth fairy, as he hugged the wine bottle to his chest.
Laughing hysterically, Jaehaera nodded. “It’s very rare.”
“I’m sorry— I’m just in shock.” He said, realizing he’d cut her off.
“It’s fine, it fine.”
“So the dragons were crying…”
“Yes,” she scoffed, “it’s said that the dragons all weeped so much that they made the ocean. And as the tides started to rise the biggest and oldest of the dragons breathed fire deep into the ocean, and that flame made a crack in the earth below, birthing a mountain containing magma as hot as a thousand dragons fire. It was only until the sun had reappeared that it finally erupted, high into the stars, and the moon was reborn before them all.”
The story would have been counted as a happy ending from all other listeners, including Laenor who was practically smitten with it. Yet the princess seemed solemn.
“What is it? It all worked out right? I mean she came back to life, he children are alive— everyone is living and together,” Laenor rambled as he sat up to cradle the bottle in his hands.
Biting the inside of her cheek the girl nodded. “You’re right.”
Cocking his head to the side the Laenor frowned. “Then why do you look so fucking miserable?”
Snickering, Jaehaera kicked him over. “Dick.”
“I am what I eat.”
Mouth dropping wide, Jaehaera scoffed in disbelief and jumped on top of him to retrieve what little wine was left. “You Whore!”
“Guilty!” He screamed happily, whilst trying his damndest to finish off the bottle.
He failed, to no one’s surprise, and Jaehaera got the last, sweet sip.
Properly worn out the boy laid flat on the wet sand with zero resistance. “Fine have it then. Didn’t want it anyway.”
Jaehaera hummed at the notion. “Good, it’d only worsen the headache you’ll have tomorrow. I suppose I should drag you to bed.” She sighed as she begrudgingly got up.
“As unexpectedly attractive as I find you my dear friend,” Laenor quipped with his arms already out for her to hoist him upright, “unless if you happen to have a di—,”
“Oh do shut it,” the princess interrupted, shoving her hand over his mouth. “You’re meeting my sister tomorrow. And you WILL be telling her of your preferences so you both may come up with a proper agreement.”
“But-,”
“And I will keep reminding you that she will not care about your preferences, for she has not mine.”
“Yes, but your different.” He whines exasperatedly.
“How so?” She retorted with an unbelieving tone.
Stopping in his tracks Laenor stares at her as if she were daft, finally giving up with a smirk of his own. “If you don’t know I won’t tell you.”
Jaehaera scoffs.
“But I will believe you!” He exclaims. “You have not lied to me…yet.”
“Hopefully you will not give me a reason to.” The girl teased, poking his side.
There was a stilled, comfortable silence between the two. Both in their own worlds, not minding the other’s proximity.
“So why we’re you so saddened by the end of the tale?”
Glancing shortly at the moon, Jaehaera smiled. “I’ll tell you when you tell me how I’m different.”
“Guess it’ll be a while then.”
“As stubborn as we are? Most definitely.”
They both laughed.
***
A/n: I did a little spin on the story Daenerys was told in the GOT, hope you all like it.
#lgbt representation#daemon x oc#rhaenyra x reader#rhaenyra x reader x daemon#targaryen x reader#daemon x reader#rhaenyra x oc#targaryen reader#aemond targaryen#rhaenerya targaryen#daemon targeryan#house targaryen#helaena targaryen#targaryen oc#aegon x reader#aemond x reader x aegon#aegon x oc#viserys targaryen#alicent x reader#alicent hightower#alicent x rhaenyra#rhaenyra x harwin#rhaenys x corlys#laenor valeryon#laenor x reader#rhaenyra x laenor#jacaerys x oc#lucerys targaryen
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After the Break
Written for OC kiss week, inspired by day 3's prompt "Sunrise" but not posted on the day of the prompt because I wrote it late.
Word count : 620
Characters : Val and Mark (Valiandra and Rekiev)
Summary : They're just having a nice morning after the end of Break of Dawn, because I think about what happens next a lot.
Mark’s eyes opened when the sun shone right on his face through the window, the blinds open as if he’d forgotten to shut them the evening prior. Squinting, he assumed that it was probably the case – he’d been busy with other things. His eyes drifted down to Val curled up in his arms, his face still streaked with the salt lines the tears had left. Silently, softly, Mark stroked his cheek, knowing the other wouldn’t stir from so gentle a touch. He seemed peaceful, in sleep, and it was so easy to admire him, the curve of his jaw, the chiseled nose that still seemed carved for a perfect statue, and his brown, wavy hair that shone like fire where the sun was hitting.
He was safe, they both were, and yet a faint worry remained nestled in Mark’s chest, the very same one he knew Val had been grappling with ever since he’d killed Dawn.
Gently, Mark pushed a curtain of waves away from the other’s face, and pressed a kiss to his forehead, a silent hope that they could get quiet mornings together, that the bloodthirst would not rise again. When his lips left the other’s skin, Val had opened his eyes, looking half-asleep still, but the hint of a smile was floating on his face and curiosity was gleaming in his eyes.
– What gives ? he whispered, voice still raw.
– Nothing much, Mark responded. Besides that I could.
And with that, he pressed another kiss right where the last one had been, and he felt Val’s arms wrap around him and pull him ever so slightly closer.
– Careful with that, he chuckled, else I’ll start thinking that I can as well.
Mark looked down, surprised, but Val had closed his eyes again and just seemed content to listen to his heartbeat, holding him. With a slight frown, Mark silently caressed down his cheek, before pressing two fingers under his chin to lift his head up, asking the other to look at him. Said other only half-opened one eye with a curious mumble, and Mark felt his cheeks flush, his heart beating a little faster.
– You know you can, right ? he whispered.
There was a pause, where his heart kept beating harder and faster than it even had back then, and he watched Val’s eyes widen in shock. Doubt washed over Mark almost instantly. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything, maybe it was better not to know how the other felt about kissing him.
Val blinked, as if he was trying to dispel a peculiar dream, and his hands trembled on Mark’s back, and Mark was seriously considering the possibility of retreating with a joke until one of the other’s hands hesitantly reached for his cheek. Val’s eyes were seeking approval, slowly pulled him in, giving him every second in the world to reject him. Mark leaned into his touch, shivering as their lips brushed against each other before truly, blindly crashing in one another.
Val’s lips were softer and warmer than he’d imagined, he’d still been thinking about the harshness of the cold marble that had haunted him. Soon they were melting into each other, prolonging the kiss as if they’d waited for it their entire lives, only pulling away when they were both out of breath and blushing and embarrassed.
Mark was smiling, out of words or biting remarks for once, his cheeks a deep red, and as soon as the other one had recovered his breath a little, he initiated another kiss, wanting him again, to prove to himself, to them both that this was fine, that they could.
Val’s soft little grunt as he held him closer was divine.
#ockiss24#writing#my writing#original writing#(i'll crosspost it on my personal website i think)#the emperor#the mage#break of dawn#(ish)
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DAL GETS A BUTCH DWARVEN GF AS A TREAT
dalyria gets a butch dwarven gf as a treat is exactly what it sounds like! It’s the side romance between Branwyn and Dalyria in NLTS. That subplot wasn’t part of my initial outline at all, but somewhere around chapter 6, I realized “hey, this is a good ship and it does cool things thematically.” It’s not going to be anywhere near as long and involved as NLTS because I literally cannot, but I’ve written bits and pieces of it, and I want to get the first half up sometime soonish.
I’m honestly tickled that so many people have expressed interest in Bran and Dal’s story, considering that it’s like…a romance between an extremely minor character and an OC. It’s a different dynamic than wyllstarion is, for sure, but it’s a dynamic that I’ve grown to like a lot.
Here’s a taste of their first meeting, right before Branwyn gets the news about Ulder being injured in Chapter 6:
“They don’t let us salt-of-the-earth types take advantage of the company,” Branwyn says, “but they let us take advantage of the beverages. What’ll you have?”
“Oh,” the woman says, her lips parted in a little moue. She brings her hand closer to her mouth. “I don’t drink often, I’m afraid. What would you recommend?”
Oh, godsdamnit. Branwyn knows when she’s being fed a line, but this one’s always worked on her – doubly so when it’s coming from such a soft set of lips. “Depends on your palate,” she says. “You like drier, or a bit of sweet?”
“A bit of sweet, I think,” the woman says, glancing down at her lap.
“Maybe a red, then. They’ve got a good selection of Ashaban Dusk here – a little flat, but it’s got a nice pluck to it.”
The woman smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind her pointed ear. “You must have a good palate.”
Branwyn snorts. Which, well, hope she hasn’t shot herself in the foot too badly by sounding like an overexcited pig for a moment there. “I just repeat what I hear at parties, for the most part. When I’m out and about, I’ll drink whatever gets the job done.”
The woman’s gaze settles on the badge on Branwyn’s cuirass. She sits up a little straighter, perches delicately on the end of her seat. “Oh! You’re with the Flaming Fist, then.”
#the ask and the answer#brightblueinky#nothing like the sun#me 🤝 branwyn when it comes to getting lured in by pretty femmes who pretend to know nothing about booze#yes it’s important to me that everyone knows branwyn is a butch
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OK I'm gonna send several asks about Orca OC because I've been thinking about several different ideas and I wanna separate them.
First, just some ideas to bounce names off you and see if you like any of then. Zora names are usually two syllables (sometimes three), and carry something of a heavier vowel focus. Here are a few of the ideas that I think sort of capture a "Zora" vibe and I hoped maybe one of them would get you going in the direction you want for the character.
Fura-- sounds like fury, just thought it was neat
Larunda-- straight up stole this name from a water nymph but it sounds extremely Zora-like. You could also go with its variant "Laru". Does come with the risk of sounding too much like the already existent "Laruta" though.
Sera/Sela-- tweaked version of French word for "salt" because she's from the sea
Saumi/u/a-- brackish
Nevi-- tweaked version of Italian word for "snow"
Padot-- just threw together a bunch of Zora names for this one.
Hope these help to some extent.
ahh these are great! (I'm just going to put all of your asks in one post so not to spam anyone)
long answers below ⤵
Would she mop the floor with Link in a spear on spear sparring match?
It really depends. I would say she would beat him out of brute strength but Link can parry lynels, so he’s definitely monstrously strong. But she’s been training with the spear her whole life and can probably outwit him by making him angry, as long as she doesn’t lose her temper herself. I think in a no holds-barred fight she could kill him though, and post-Calamity Link when he’s just woken up wouldn’t stand a chance even if all the odds are with him.
Do you reckon she's on par with Mipha and the other Champions in terms of martial skill, or perhaps just exemplary among the Zora (but not close to a Champion), or was her appointment more of a formality like Urbosa's guards would have been?
Give her another century or 50 years of training and she absolutely would be, but pre-Calamity she’s more of a formal knight there for when Mipha’s unarmed or in a vulnerable position (resting, in unfamiliar environments, stuff like that.) I don’t think she’s like Link with Zelda and trailing her 99% of the time because that’s not even necessary for a warrior as skilled as Mipha. (Mipha’s probably an even better fighter than her knight but it’s always good to have extra support)
What are her chances against a Lynel?
She could kill it! She’s pretty big and strong so she has a higher chance of living than Mipha and Link fighting one together.
A Guardian Scout?
She’s mortal, so a beam could probably take her out, but if she got it onto the ground she could probably dismantle it fairly efficiently.
How many Moblins could she take on at once?
Realistically, probably three or four, given she’s a big target and fairly slow compared to Mipha, who I can imagine being able to take on around five or six. Together they could probably kill at least 15 tho. Teamwork makes the dream work! <3
You've already given a snapshot of what her relationship with Dorephan, Link, Mipha, and Muzu would look like, but what about her reputation/relationship with Zora's Domain as a whole? We know Link finds her intimidating, and strangers likely do too, but would the citizens of Zora's Domain feel that same intimidation or something else?
I think it depends on the Zora! The little kids would love her, since she’s friendly to them, but one of Mipha’s suitors? Or just a scab in general (or a rude tourist)? Yeah they would be terrified. She’s not someone to be immediately unfriendly but she doesn’t like rude people.
Do they perhaps look up to her, or think she's some really cool lone wolf type?
Some people would absolutely think of her as a lone wolf, but the people who actually know and spend time with her just think she’s a nice and respectful person. Little Zora and other knights look up to her. The little Zora think she’s cool, the other knights hope they can rise to a rank like hers one day.
Do they gossip about her and Mipha?
Oh absolutely xD Being a public figure like that, there’s no way they’re not getting gossiped about.
Does she have a Sidon style fan club?
I WANT HER TO OMG
Is this emotional toughness a Link-specific problem due to jealousy?
Yeah, I think so. She also worries that people don’t believe she’s fit for the job, so acts exceptionally tough and professional around people she’s insecure around.
I get that she has something of an aura of scariness, but I guess I'm curious about the particulars. Is she scary because she's the quiet, reserved, unreadable watchdog kind of person?
She’s very much like a watchdog at times and can be quite unreadable, but most people fear her because of her stature and battle prowess.
Is she easily nettled and perhaps overly forceful and aggressive like Buliara is?
No, not at all. She used to be when she was younger, but learnt that’s not helpful to anyone and just makes her charges uncomfortable.
Is she one of those people you can clearly see planning how she would dismantle you on your very first meeting?
If you’re a threat, yes. If you’re just a mildly annoying person or are acting normal and like you have no tricks up your sleeve, probably not.
She'd probably bite her tongue .3.
#asks#zora oc#< i'll go back and tag everything with this so you can filter#lovely themaniskillingusman
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