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stoprobbersfic · 1 year

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in every possible way

in every possible way (or: five things nancy wheeler learned about family by having her own)

for @jancyweek2022 day 5: family

this is set in my future perfect ‘verse, so that would be some good/necessary context for this, for what it’s worth. (and yes, i said they had 2 kids. this is just part of the first one.)

read it on ao3

oh my life is changing every day in every possible way and oh my dreams are never quite as they seem never quite as they seem

1. some big decisions feel very small

They toss it around for years, the idea of it. In fact, for a long time an idea is all it is.

She’s the lowest reporter on the newspaper totem pole, working the shittiest stories in the shittiest neighborhoods at the shittiest times of day. He’s trying to fully establish himself as a photographer and picking up bartending shifts on every night he doesn’t have a shoot booked.

And of course there’s the weekends they “go away” for some private time investigating thin spots in the world that may or may not be gates. Their friends think they have an extremely healthy marriage, putting each other first above all else.

Nancy thinks they have an extremely healthy marriage, because after you’ve fought monsters and saved the world together everything else seems like a piece of cake.

Well. Most everything else. That one thing her mother always brings up when she calls, that’s more daunting to her than any Demogorgon or gate ever was.

They’re in no rush, really. And the timing never seems right.

Do you think we should have a baby? She asks him after she says goodbye to her mother and he studies the stack of bills on the coffee table. He smirks at her.

I think we should make sure we can pay the light bill first.

Do you want to have a baby? He asks her as they tuck themselves into the corner of her office baby shower, her manager glowing in the center of a circle of otherwise hardboiled reporters and editors who are – slightly drunkenly, to be sure – oohing and aahing over a hand-knitted set of baby clothes.

I’m about to do her work and mine – when exactly do you think I have time to be pregnant? She shoots back, and he chortles into his glass.

It goes like that for a while, over months and months, until one night Nancy finds herself at their kitchen table, contemplating the brown paper pharmacy bag with the familiar egg-shaped plastic compact inside. That’s where Jonathan finds her, the light around her dimming as the sun sets outside their windows.

“Is everything OK or are you just enjoying sitting in the dark?” he asks, flipping on the light and taking the seat next to her.

She’s quiet a moment, considering approaches, and then just blurts it out.

“I think I wanna have a baby.”

She keeps her eyes squarely on the table, not daring to look at him. Every past conversation they’ve had – short or long – feels ephemeral to her, like they were just playing with hypotheticals. She means it this time. It’s been nagging in the back of her mind for weeks, for probably longer, manifesting in lingering looks at women with strollers on the street and on the L, with watching the toddlers at the playground in the park up the street when she’s taking a walk. In daydreams on her commute – still watercolor blurred and amorphous in their own way – involving Jonathan’s wide palms on her swollen belly, or tiny hands tugging on his shoulder length hair, a little body cradled between them as they sing pop songs to lull it to sleep that have gone from occasional to daily to more.

She had refilled her prescription without thinking, gotten home, and realized she didn’t want to wake up the next morning and take a pill.

His hand, warm and rough, on hers snaps her out of her thoughts.

“Yeah, me too.”

Her head snaps up so fast she nearly gives herself whiplash.

“Really?”

His face is open, his eyes warm brown and dancing. There is no hesitation to be seen. “Yep.”

A weight she hadn’t even realized she was feeling lifts off her all at once, and she lets the smile break over her face. The one she gets in return is just as wide.

His hand is squeezing hers hard enough to hurt but they’re both giggling and she is giddy, practically vibrating with it.

Then a thought strikes her. It stops the giddiness in its tracks. It must show on her face because suddenly Jonathan looks very, very worried.

“Nance? What?”

“Oh god. Does that mean I have to get pregnant?”

She can barely register his laugh before she’s being pulled out of her chair, tossed over his shoulder and is suddenly enjoying a very nice, close up view of his rear end as he sets off down the hall to their room.

“I’m trying not to take that as an insult.”

2. impending fatherhood is sexy

They’re not going to be the first parents among their friends, and Nancy is immensely grateful for that as she climbs the steps to the home Ben and Michelle bought six months ago, halfway through their own pregnancy.

Nancy wonders if they need to start thinking about things like a house or a yard. There are no cul-de-sacs in the city, thank fucking god, but there are dead end streets. If they do have to move, they sure as hell aren’t moving to one of those. That’s too damn close.

She rings the bell without thinking and immediately regrets it when she hears a piercing wail from inside. Stupid, stupid.

The cry gets louder as footstep approach the door and she’s all set and ready to apologize to Michelle but instead finds Jonathan behind the slab of oak, a tiny bundle of blankets cradled in one arm.

“The bell, Nance? Really??”

She doesn’t reply; she can’t. He’s in a t-shirt, his hair’s disheveled, he’s holding a baby, and suddenly every hormone in her body – and man, there are an awful lot of them right now – is rushing to straight between her legs.

He steps aside and she enters on autopilot, trying to figure out the best way to tell him he should give the baby back to Michelle and leave with her, right now, because she wants to climb him like a tree.

“Michelle went to take a shower,” he says, briefly snapping her out of her reverie. “I told her I’d keep an eye on Emma and to take her time. I think Ben’s on his way home but I had just gotten her to fall asleep.”

“Sorry,” she sidles up to his bicep, trying hard to ignore how good he smells, especially mixed with the soft scent of baby powder and freshly laundered blankets. “Hello, Emma.”

“Hello Nancy, thanks for waking me up from my nap so I can scream bloody murder in Uncle Jonathan’s ear again!” He bounces the bundle in time with his high-pitched response.

“Mmm,” she nuzzles his shoulder. “’Uncle Jonathan’ has a nice ring to it but I think ‘dad’ is a lot sexier.”

He raises his eyebrows at her, still bouncing the baby as she starts to calm. “Well we’re not quite there yet but I’m sure you’ll get to fulfill those fantasies someday. Hopefully sooner rather than later.”

“How about today?” She reaches into her purse, fishes around until she finds the little Ziploc baggie and pulls it out. Holds it up so Jonathan can see the pink and white stick with two parallel pink lines on it.

It is both immensely gratifying and incredibly attractive to watch his eyes widen so much she thinks they’re about to pop out of his head.

“Really?” he whispers, almost like speaking too loud would make it not true. “Nance, are you serious?”

“The lines don’t lie,” she looks up at him through her eyelashes. “How long until Michelle is done with her shower, do you think? Because I want to take your pants off with my teeth.”

3. unconditional love really means unconditional

The look on his face confirms to her she’s horrifying but to be totally honest she couldn’t give two shits.

“Did you get the salsa?” she asks as Jonathan closes their apartment door behind him. Eyes the paper bag he’s carrying like she suddenly has x-ray vision.

“I did.”

“And those Mexican candy spoon things? With the sour-sweet?”

“Tamarind,” he corrects absently, clutching the bag to his chest like it can protect him from something. “I did.”

She beams a him. “Thank you. I love you.”

“…Yeah.”

“Oh come on,” she rolls her eyes as he edges into the room. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Um,” he tries, stops, and then just gestures in her direction with his free hand.

She looks down at herself. It’s pretty standard for her lately, 32 weeks into this bullshit ordeal: a pair of Jonathan’s clean boxer shorts, her most comfortable bra, one of his rattier button downs that has long be moved from his work wardrobe to “painting the house” duty, and which is big enough to accommodate her suddenly quite large belly. She swears up and down she blew up like a balloon; after weeks of morning sickness where the smell of just about any food that wasn’t white bread or oranges turned her stomach, she finally got her appetite back. But even then her belly had resolutely refused to show until about two weeks ago; now she suddenly had a little shelf to rest things on whenever she sat down.

Honestly, it was kind of convenient, even if sometimes their son’s kicking knocks over her plate or her cup.

Right now that belly shelf is home to a half-eaten Sara Lee cheesecake she had picked up in the freezer section of the corner store.

“What?” she asks.

He gestures again, this time more clearly toward her left hand. She looks at it, considers, then pops one finger into her mouth so she can eat the pitted black olive off the tip.

“What?” she asks again, a little muffled as she chews. Swallows, then follows it with a bite of cheesecake.

“That is disgusting.”

“It’s good!” she protests as he hightails it out of the room. She hears the rustling as he unpacks her latest cravings and eats another olive. “It’s like, a little salty and a lot creamy and a little sweet. Opposites attracting, like us!”

“Which one of us is the olive and which one of us is the cheesecake?” She can practically hear his shudder. “Nevermind, I don’t want to know.”

That gives her an idea and she swipes another olive, this one on her middle finger, through the cake, scooping up some. Pops it into her mouth and chews thoughtfully. Meh. It’s OK. Not as good as she was hoping for.

When she looks toward the kitchen again he’s standing in the doorway, looking as disgusted as ever.

“Oh come on,” she rolls her eyes, sliding the cake off her stomach and onto the coffee table. Stands carefully, one hand still half-occupied with olives, the other going to the half-done buttons of his ratty old shirt. “I’m not that gross, am I? I mean, you didn’t seem to think I was this morning before I left for work. Or when I came to see you on your dinner break. I believe you thanked me for wearing a skirt, and god for fixing the lock on the women’s bathroom door.”

“You weren’t eating olives off your fingers with cheesecake this morning. Or at the bar.”

“Well,” she pops the last two remaining olives into her mouth and the last two remaining buttons free with her other hand. “I’m not now, either.”

His keeps his arms crossed, his shoulders stiff, as she slowly starts to walk toward him, hoping she can still pull off seductive when her belly’s this big. His eyes are full trained on her (now much more ample, thanks pregnancy) cleavage, though, so she’s pretty sure she’s doing just fine.

“That’s true,” he allows and finally reaches out to her, slides his hands up her side and over her breasts before drawing her close and brushing his lips over hers once, twice, three times. She feels her knees go a little weak. “And I love you no matter what. But would you mind brushing your teeth?”

4. what’s in a name?

Nancy wakes slowly, blearily rubbing at her face as she blinks back the afternoon light. Something feels strange, feels different, feels off—

The baby.

She bolts upright with a gasp, scrambling out from under the covers and skidding into the living room in a panic only to be confronted by the sight of Will sitting in the old rocking chair Jonathan had rescued from his mom’s house years ago and that is definitely coming in handy now.

Will’s got her beautiful baby boy held snugly in his arms, his head bent toward him and long still-bowl-cut hair hanging down like a soft curtain. She thinks it’s funny, all these years and he still gets his hair cut the way his mom used to do it.

She thinks Will maybe have been saying something to her son, or maybe humming, but he looks up when she arrives, a smirk already on his face.

“Forgot you have a kid now?”

“Honestly,” she says, hand on her chest as she tries to calm her racing heart, catch her breath, “I’m not used to getting so much sleep.” Approaches them. “Thanks for letting me nap, by the way.”

“No problem,” Will looks back down at his nephew. “Joe and I were having a great time together. Doing some rocking, singing some songs.”

“And what kind of taste in music are you trying to impose on my firstborn child, eh?” She reaches out and brushes her fingertips over the fine brown hair dusting his crown. She swears up and down every day that he looks just like Jonathan while he swears the opposite, but she does have to admit Joe got her coloring. His chestnut hair and bright blue eyes could come straight out of her own baby photos.

Will grins at her. “Oh, please, like I could ever displace his father’s influence.”

“And what am I chopped liver?” She hears the door open and close behind them, the thunk of Jonathan dropping his photo bag under the coat tree. Lifts her face to accept his brief kiss when he crosses the room. Doesn’t hide her grin when he does the same to the crown of Joe’s head.

“Want me to take him?” he asks his brother.

“You stink like chemicals,” she interrupts before Will can agree. “Go change, and then we’ll give Uncle Will’s arms a break. He let me take a nap, he’s earned it.”

“Excellent, I’ll be right back.”

“No you’re not chopped liver,” Will says like they weren’t even interrupted. “But, come on. You let Jonathan name him Joe.”

Huh? she thinks.

“Huh?” she says.

“It was my brother’s idea right?”

“Well yeah but, like, Joe’s a normal name,” she frowns at him.

“What were your other choices?”

“I liked Adam, but Jonathan didn’t, not for a first name. He also suggested Ian, which was nice, but I liked Joe more.”

Will’s smirk is bigger now, and it makes her suspicions rise.

“Joe?” he repeats. “And Ian?”

“Yeah, what’s wrong with Joe and Ian?”

“You really don’t get it?”

“Get what?” Suspicion is quickly turning to irritation and she suspects Will can read it on her face because he stops smirking quite so hard.

“Joe Strummer? Ian Curtis? The—“

“--Lead singers of The Clash and Joy Division,” she finishes for him, eyes wide. Wheels around to find Jonathan standing in the doorway between living room and hallway, mid-frantic arm wave, as if he’d been trying to get his brother to stop spilling the beans. He freezes, then grins sheepishly at her.

“You like the name Joe, and anyway we already filled out the birth certificate weeks ago…”

“Jonathan!!”

Will cracks up as she huffs her frustrations at him, half-joking and half-not. Oh, she should have guessed. He was far too confident and clear about his name suggestions. Oh, she should have known.

Joe starts whimpering and whining as his own sleep is disturbed and as she chases Jonathan playfully around the room she hears Will still in the chair, singing through his laughter, “Should I stay or should I go now? If I go there will be trouble, if I stay it will be double…”

“So you got to let me know,” Jonathan joins in, cowering behind the rocking chair and his son and his brother. “Should I stay or should I go?”

When he stands up she makes sure the burp cloth hits him square in the face.

5. it is possible to be this happy

Nancy gives the pot of sauce one last stir, lifts the wooden spoon to her lips and carefully blows before giving it a taste. Mmm. Perfect.

Jonathan may be the better cook overall but she’s learned a trick or two over the years.

“Hey Jonathan,” she calls, turning off the burner and putting the lid back on before walking back toward the living room, already starting to unbutton her shirt, “dinner’s ready, do you wanna hand him over to me so I can feed him while you’re setting the—“

She trails off in the doorway, taking in the sight before her. Jonathan is sprawled on the sofa, the light of the television airing Wheel of Fortune flickering across his face. He’s got Joe on his chest, his hand securely at his back. They are both fast asleep.

She does the two buttons of her shirt back up, considering whether she wants to wake them up. After a moment, decides against it. Dinner can probably wait.

It’s a little complicated but she manages to ease the pillow out from under Jonathan’s head and then maneuver herself so that he’s in her lap. Combs her fingers slowly through his hair, soft dark blonde strands she’s been playing with for well over a decade now.

She’s not sure how she got here. She imagined so many lives for herself, from dreams of women’s college with Barb to dreams of being a front page Pulitzer winning reporter. She’s saved the world and had her heart broken, almost lost everything and gotten it back again.

Her chest, her heart, her soul feels so full, like she’s about to burst from all the love in there, for this man and this tiny creature they made together, this tiny little human she would do anything for; walk over hot coals, throw herself in front of a train. From the moment his blue eyes looked into hers her world has felt like it is so full of love that it’s overflowing into a waterfall of feeling and all she can do is be swept along with the current, content to drown.

She thinks maybe that’s what people mean when they say they’re so happy they could die.

She shakes herself out of her thoughts only to find two pairs of eyes staring up at her, one brown and one blue. She smiles down at them both, reaching out to cup Joe’s head, stroke her thumb over the soft crown. Jonathan switches the hand holding his son to his chest and raises the other to cup her cheek.

Yes, she thinks, dinner can wait.

#jancy #jancyweek2022 #jancy fic #jonathan byers #nancy wheeler #my god the kidfic actually came out of me today #AT WORK TO guys i cannot tell you #i did not have time to fine tooth comb edit this #so i apologize for any and all spelling mistakes of which there are probably quote a few #i'll clean it up for ao3 later i promise

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whumpacabra · 29 days

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help girl (gender neutral) there’s a jansenist monk in my brain being mean to me

#not whump #personal #beans speaks #which is to say I’m fighting the moral ocd allegations and. well. not losing but I’d rather be winning.#obv I try to write abt the topics I do with care/a narrative purpose. idk just like.#the hyper vigilance of ‘am I writing torture apologia? am I writing about real world horrors for entertainment purposes?’ is getting to me #which don’t get me wrong I want to reflect on my writing I want to check myself if my post 9/11 right wing upbringing is showing.#I’ve been working on unlearning a lot of shit for a while and I’m happy to keep doing so.#just that sometimes I stress myself out to the point where (and I know it’s a cop out and not viable) I just want someone to tell me #if and where I fuck up instead of constantly screening everything I write for anything Problematic™#which like I said. not viable and I need to keep learning to keep unlearning everything I grew up in. but still.#sometimes I’m tired and scared of myself and don’t want to make anything that hurts anyone #and it’s easier to make nothing than to make something that I need to go over with a fine toothed comb #which again - that’s a cop out and I gotta keep making stuff. just. idk. having debates in my head abt how I depict things w critics that #don’t currently exist and maybe never will so I know it’s just a Bad Brain kinda day.#edit: lmao I figured out what triggered me I am literally just in an emotional flashback struggle trauma is so fucking stupid yall

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aeide-thea · 11 months

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dipping my toe into fandom discourse here, which is never a great idea, but—i really am baffled by the contingent of fans who apparently want AO3 to not only denounce but ban AI-generated works, as if there were any reliable way to distinguish between mediocre writing produced by a human and mediocre writing produced by an AI…?

#i saw someone say elsewhere‚ and agree‚ that all a ban would accomplish wld be to discourage fans who make use of AI from indicating as much #i do personally think the best writing won't be by AIs #or at least‚ it'll have been edited with a fine-toothed comb by a human who's got a really good sense of style and story themself #such that they could've produced the writing unaided‚ and the AI armature is just a crutch #but imo the big issues with AI are like. (1) the dataset it gets trained on—#though like. human artists *also* view other people's art and incorporate it into their body of influences‚ tbh?#we just get mad when they copy someone else's work TOO directly. but it's in their heads informing the art they produce!—#and (2) its potential to put humans out of work—which i have *huge* sympathy for‚ but also… that's been true of every machine ever invented #(also like. fandom is a gift economy‚ not paid work‚ so that aspect of things literally doesn't apply in an AO3 context.)#but like people have brought up the luddites in connection with this and. yeah.#ultimately there's always still a place for human operators and human oversight and human curation of the machines' raw output #and so ultimately i think we'll just have to work out what that place will be in this context #and in the meantime—i'd hope people would disclose when work has been created using AI #which they absolutely *won't* do if sites are out there banning it! people who want to use it will still use it‚ and just lie!#like you can say 'but then you don't get the satisfaction of knowing you're being praised for work *you* did‚ bc the AI did it!'#'surely that sense of being an impostor will discourage people!'#but like. hello. i've seen (and reported) multiple *very clear* instances of fic plagiarism.#the fact that those 'authors' were getting praised for‚ not only work they didn't do‚ but *someone else's* work‚ did not deter them!#saw someone going 'AO3 has its particular set of organizing principles & that's valid! we should just make our own sites where we ban AI!'#and like. hello: if your mini-archive gets popular enough that ppl want to be part of it‚ posters who use AI *will* just lie to you???#(i'm curious abt the overlap between that camp and users who think DNIs are effective‚ lol.)#anyway.#Fannish Ethical Concerns

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tbartss · 1 year

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letting you all know that i am clickity clacking away at the new chapter as we speak

#far from home #I HAVE NOT FORSAKEN YOU I PROMISE #I JUST HAVE AN EXAM TOMORROW #but also this chapter is so.... despicable #you'll see what i mean #i don't have anything to show you because... well it needs to edited with a fine-tooth comb before its even remotely decent for publishing

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mrcspectr · 2 years

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#and then i came home and saw this #i am in complete denial okay #like genuinely mohamed homie r e s p e c t f u l l y i do not believe you #because i'm still looking at marvel's social media and that edit #going over it with a magnifying glass and a fine tooth comb like an absolute psychopath #you're not about to give me jake and then rip him from my hands either marvel studios #(also oscar's real cute here c:)

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dandyshucks-moving · 5 months

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okay i THINK i have successfully updated my tagging system.... we'll see if it sticks, i feel so silly about it but fdsjkl i just... needed smth a bit more specific and also easier to find bc plain old emoji tags with no text don't show up in the suggested tags so i have to go hunt down the emojis every time i want to use them BLEGH

#i do feel very silly about the tags but ITS FINEEE we're all cringe here its okay there is no shame or embarrassment. or there shouldnt be #i need to go through and edit some stuff still bc i did a mass tag replacer and had to do some brute force replacing dfsjkl #so i gotta fine-tooth-comb through it still to edit some posts still #dandyshucks

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barry2018-2023 · 1 year

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one thing that's fun about editing video of urself is hearing urself say things like "goinna" which is like gonna with an "i" in it that doesn't sound like it should be there

#no but honestly the things ive already learned about speech patterns that i never noticed before #if u stop speaking in the middle of ur sentence to start that exact sentence over again is that a stutter? or am i just bad at talking?#its fun going in with a fine tooth comb tho and editing out all my stutters and ums and uhs

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lindszeppelin · 2 years

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holy shit balls, i nearly lost my mind just now lol. i thought my fic was messed up for sure in the way that it got posted, but i saved it.

i love having a heart attack at 3am...LOL

#see this is what i get for not proof reading with a fine tooth comb #and then i try to make edits in the tumblr app and i fuck it up lol #sheesh...okay crisis averted #if for some reason you night owls got to see those fuckups before i fixed them then just refresh. should look better now lol

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nighttimescribbles · 2 years

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mood when you take a look at a bare-ass draft contract and realize that your teammate shat all over its review and that this (and its associated documents) is now a huge backlog that has to be done on the immediate double because the client has been harping about it since last week 😬💀💀💀

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mylittleredgirl · 1 year

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i always sing the praises of having a beta reader if you want that sort of thing, but actually there are two separate fic-editor types:

alpha reader: just fucking uncritically loves your work. #1 fan. fully obsessed with the pairing you're writing to the exclusion of all good sense. might correct a comma or two but they are there to tell you that you are amazing and that you have never done anything wrong in your life and you should post that shit immediately. you ask them "does this part work?" and they say yes before the question is fully out of your mouth. the golden retriever of writing friends. every writer 100% needs one of these in their back pocket.

pros: THE best preemptive defense against the gaping chasm of self-doubt between "post work" and the first kudos.

cons: this is the reason why sometimes you see a fic that has eight beta readers thanked in the author's notes and the main character's name spelled wrong.

beta reader™️: these friends also fucking love your work, but the way they want to love it is to stick their fingers in your fic like a fruit bin at the grocery store and gently squeeze your characters (and commas) to see if they're ripe.

a good beta reader will copy edit your fic, notice if you've used the same sentence three times, and let you know if your sex scenes seem to contain the intended number of dicks per person.

a great one will highlight for you what's unique and wonderful about your writing, will help you problem-solve and plot through long fic, and will lovingly bug the shit out of you with how did she get here? and would he really say that? and is this what you meant? and when you say "oh shit no it isn't" their eyes light up and they go OKAY! let's figure this out!!!

more of a border collie kind of situation.

pros: the best way to polish your fic and grow as a fic writer. in my experience, it's also an incredible way to work through impostor syndrome. knowing someone you respect has been all up in your fic's junk and still says "it's great and you're great, now post it!" is a game-changer.

cons: if they show you what's not working, you're probably going to have to take time to fix it :/

caveats: not everyone who wants to give constructive feedback can deliver it in a way that works for everyone, so if the experience ends up making you feel bad, this is not a good match! it's also VERY helpful to tell your beta reader what level of editing you're looking for. if someone asks "can you give this a quick once-over before i post?" i know they want me to look for obvious mistakes and reassure them that it's post-worthy. if you ask me to "rip it apart" i'm going in there with a fine tooth comb.

(the primary motivation of both of these editor breeds is, of course, that they want you to write more and they want to read it before everyone else.)

bonus mode:

specialty reader: sensitivity readers and subject matter experts! if you are lucky enough to find and motivated enough to use one of these, their job is not to look at commas or to tell you that you're great, but to give advice on something specific in your fic.

edit: check the reblogs for a correction! turns out “alpha reader” is a pre-existing term in some circles for someone who helps you during the process, a lot like the great beta-reader i described above. taking suggestions for renaming my version of the alpha reader above. i’m thinking “hype man.”

#obviously this is your fic and your free time so none of this is required!#if you want to jack kerouak* it up in an ao3 draft and post without a second thought that is your god given right #fortunately or unfortunately for you i think i have a few posts in me on this subject so i’m going to tag it #beta readers #on fanfic #*jack kerouak actually spent years painstakingly editing on the road so it would look like he didn’t edit it at all #but never let facts get in the way of a good turn of phrase you know

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uwmspeccoll · 2 months

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Marbled Monday

It's been a minute since we last posted for Marbled Monday but we're back with an exciting combed French curl or snail pattern! This pattern was created by dropping colors onto the water bath, creating a gel-git (or zig-zag) pattern with a stylus, then combing it once perpendicular to the gel-git with a fine-toothed comb creating a pattern called nonpareil, and finally using a wide-toothed comb to create the characteristic curly swirly snails. This particular pattern uses blue, maroon, cream, and yellow. The marbled paper was used for both the front and back covers and the endpapers of the book.

The book inside the lovely marbled binding is a 1779 ninth edition of Sketches from Nature, which features "upwards of one hundred portraits, or characters, of the most conspicuous persons in the kingdom." This edition was printed for George Kearsly (or Kearsley, 1739-1790) and was written by an anonymous author. It is a satirical piece with humorous profiles of well-known figures and so the names are all printed with blanks in the middles (ie: Mr. G_____s), but in our copy all of the names have been filled in by an industrious owner.

View more Marbled Monday posts.

-- Alice, Special Collections Department Manager

#Marbled Monday #anonymous #gel-git #french curl #combed french curl #nonpareil #George Kearsly #George Kearsley #marbling #paper marbling #marbled paper #Sketches from Nature #Alice

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trickphotography2 · 10 months

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D-Day by TrickPhotography | Chapter 7

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x female!reader

Word count: 6.3k

Synopsis: After finding out his girlfriend is pregnant, Jake is ready to move in and get married. The last thing he expected was to be hit with a six-month deployment at sea and missing the birth of his first child.

18+, minors DNI

Chapter 6 | Master List | Ao3

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Chapter 7

There was a knock on your office door, and it flew open before you could respond. Silently mouthing the words of the subclause you were editing, you held up one finger to stop whoever had ignored the closed door and finished the paragraph. Closing your eyes, you begged for patience and looked up at Joanne. “What can I do for you?” you asked, attempting to sound pleasant.

“I’ve been calling and messaging you to let you know that your 11:30 is here,” she replied with a grin. Your eyes darted to your desk phone - which you’d silenced so you could focus - that blinked with three missed calls. The computer was locked and asleep, and your messenger status was on Do Not Disturb so that it wouldn’t chime.

“I don’t have any appointments today.” You’d planned explicitly for that as your contract bid needed to be submitted to the finance department by Thursday so they could review the final numbers and pass it on to the lawyers for one last look before submitting it to the government contractors. You were currently going through the bid solicitation and comparing it to your submission with a fine tooth comb - even missing one small component could lead to an automatic rejection that would lose millions in potential revenue for the company. “Are you sure they aren’t here to see someone else?”

“No, they said they were here to see you specifically.” Sighing, you woke up your computer, shoved your badge into the reader, and logged in. No calendar reminders greeted you, but you double-checked. Nothing. “Should I tell them you’ll be right out?”

“Sure, just give me a second,” you grumbled. Joanne didn’t even bother to close the door as she left. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you forced yourself to take a few deep breaths before sipping your cold coffee, marking your place with a sticky note, and shuffling the papers into a neat pile. With a quick check of your appearance in your phone camera and touching up your lipstick, you grabbed your badge and cardigan and headed to the lobby. There was a burst of laughter as you slipped the badge into your lanyard while turning the corner.

There, leaning against the counter that surrounded the admin team’s desks, was Jake. Coyote stood beside him, arms crossed over his chest and a bemused expression on his face. Both men wore their flight suits. You stopped in the doorway and raised an eyebrow as Jake caught sight of you, a slow smile crossing his lips, a toothpick clamped between his teeth. “Hey, darlin’.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Coyote, here, and I were grabbing lunch, and I thought you might want something other than that leftover salad from last night.” Sitting at his elbow was a bag and a soda from a fast food place on base.

“Isn’t that sweet,” Joanne gushed. “You wouldn’t happen to be the one who sent her flowers a couple of months ago, would you?”

“Guilty,” he replied, shooting Joanne a grin and letting his accent slip.

“I knew they weren’t from your parents!” Bree - the travel coordinator - laughed, shooting you a look. You flushed.

“Hey Coyote,” you said, “couldn’t rein this one in today?”

“Nope.” He smirked, eyes shifting over your shoulder when voices neared. Stepping to the side, you glanced back to see Glen, Mark, and one of the new QA guys.

“Hey!” Glen said, clapping a hand on your shoulder as he passed. “Thought you weren’t leaving the cave today. Wanna join us for lunch?”

“Actually, I just got mine delivered.” Jake pushed off the counter, all playfulness gone from his eyes and a hard smile on his lips. Since the conversation last week, he’d been encouraging you to go to HR to talk about your coworkers.

“Didn’t realize we had visitors today,” Mark said, eyeing the two men. The company usually delivered lunch to the office during military visits. Forcing a laugh, you shook your head.

“They’re not visitors. This is Jake and Javy. They - ”

“Jake, huh?” Glen shot you a sly grin, hand leaving your shoulder. He’d caught sight of your phone leaving the team meeting and tried to get you to spill on who you were texting about dinner plans. When the man in question nodded, Glen took a step forward and held out his hand - Jake clocked the wedding band. You’d told him the one coworker who usually had your back was married. “Nice to meet you, man. You fly with the Vigilantes?” he asked, nodding to the patch on his chest. Jake’s eyes met yours over Glen’s shoulder after their handshake, and you shrugged.

“Yeah.”

“Nice! I was a catapult officer on the Lincoln.”

“No shit,” Jake chuckled, glancing over his shoulder at Javy. “When’d you get out?”

“Six years ago.”

“Damn, before I got here.” Glen introduced himself to Javy while Jake shook hands with Mark and the new guy.

“He is gorgeous,” Bree whisper to Joanne. Rolling your lips together to keep from smiling, you cleared your throat.

“Thanks for lunch, babe, but I need to get back to work. Do you mind if I leave this here for a second?” you asked Joanne, motioning to the food. When she nodded, you turned to Jake and Javy. “I’ll walk you out. I’m also curious how you got past the gate guard.”

“That was me,” Joanne smiled. “Once Rob told me who was there, and Jake showed him a picture of you two, I let him through.” Your smile was fixed, trying to remember what - if any - photos Jake had taken of the two of you.

With his hand on your lower back and Javy opening the door, the three of you finally left the office and exited into the parking lot. Jake’s truck was next to your car - it was finally released from the body shop on Monday. “You do realize that you just gave the biggest office gossips their best scoop in months, right?” you groaned. Javy laughed and shook his head.

“Kinda his point, I think.”

“He is about as subtle as an anvil,” you agreed, fighting a smile. Jake cackled as his friend rolled his eyes, having caught the Road Runner joke. “Sorry, couldn’t resist.”

“It’s not like I haven’t heard them all before.” After saying goodbye and you reiterating that you wanted to hang out one night, Javy got into the truck.

Alone, you turned to your boyfriend and crossed your arms over your chest. “Jake.”

“Darlin’.”

“I know what you’re doing.”

“Bringing you lunch?”

“You could have saved yourself the trip by writing ‘Taken - Back Off’ across my forehead with Sharpie.”

“If it makes your life easier, I’ll stop by every day,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath and swallowed around the lump in your throat. “Darlin’, you okay?” Clearing your throat, you nodded and looked up at him while touching his chest.

“Thank you, but please don’t do it again.” His green eyes were soft as he nodded, took the toothpick out of his mouth, then leaned down to brush his lips over yours.

“Can I stay over tonight?”

“No - I will probably be working late tonight and need to call my parents. And catch up with some stuff around the apartment.”

“Are you just saying that because you’re mad at me?” Chuckling, you shook your head.

“I’m not mad, Jake, but I do need to get back to work. I’ll call you tonight.” When he nodded, you pushed onto your toes to kiss him again as voices echoed across the parking lot. “Thanks for lunch,” you whispered against his lips before giving him another peck and dropping back to your feet. When he saw your eyes dip to his lips before lifting in a small smile, he couldn’t resist kissing you again, tongue lightly teasing and tasting the wax of your lipstick. Chuckling, you pushed him away and grinned. “Don’t you have somewhere you need to be, Lieutenant?”

“Fine. I’ll talk to you later,” Jake said.

“Be safe.” Glancing at the truck, you waved at Javy, who nodded back.

“I’m going up at 2:30, so if you hear a flyby, that’s me.” Laughing, you shook your head and took a step back.

“I’ll keep an ear out, Seresin.” He clamped the toothpick between his teeth before flipping it. Your thighs clenched, remember what other skills that tongue had, and he winked.

Coyote grinned when Jake got into the truck. “Red’s not your color, man.”

It wasn’t until Jake caught sight of himself in the rearview mirror while waiting in the line to get back on base that he realized your red lipstick was all over his mouth. Javy roared with laughter as he scrambled to grab a napkin from the console before reaching the gate guard.

You’re just as bad at marking your territory. You glanced at your phone and smirked at Jake’s text as you dug into the sandwich he’d gotten you.

No idea what you’re talking about. After putting your phone back on silent and retouching your lipstick, you clicked through some emails before returning to the contract.

At 3:00, you heard the roar of a jet overhead and smiled.

It was after six when you finally left work. There were a couple of texts from Jake and your friends from home, and you were about to call your parents when you noticed a voicemail.

“Hi, my name is Elle Brooks, and I’m calling from NAS Lemoore. I’m calling to offer you an interview for the contract administrator position you applied for. We’re trying to get those scheduled for early next week. If you are still interested in the position, please call me back at 559…”

You stopped in the middle of the parking lot, hand flying to cover your mouth.

“Hey,” Jake frowned when he opened his front door wearing only his boxer briefs and a t-shirt. “You okay?” Rather than answer, you held up your phone and played the voicemail. His grin was blinding as he looked from the phone to you and pulled you into the house. “You have an interview? When did you even apply?”

“Same day as the accident,” you laughed. “I was pissed off and - ” His lips covered yours as he backed you into the door.

“Thank fucking god you’re getting out of there,” he said, resting his forehead against yours.

“It’s just an interview,” you cautioned. “And it’s kind of a long shot.”

“You’re gonna get it.”

“It’s less money.”

“You wouldn’t have to deal with the bullshit at work. The government doesn’t put up with that.” Biting your lower lip, you took a deep breath.

“I really want this,” you said softly.

“Darlin’, they’d be stupid not to hire you. And, listen, I haven’t had to interview for a job since high school, but I’m happy to practice with you.”

“Any info you have about GS contractors on base would be amazing.”

“How about this - Coyote dated a contractor for a while. We have him over this weekend, you get the intel, and we go from there?”

“I love that plan.” Jake grinned, leaning down to kiss you and trying to ignore how his heart had jumped at those first two words.

There was a loud pop, and you quickly brought the bottle of champagne to your lips when it bubbled over the rim and spilled onto your fist. When you shook the liquid off your hand, Jake captured it and brought it to his mouth, running his tongue between your fingers, along your wrist and forearm. Setting the bottle on the counter, you wrapped your free hand around the collar of his khaki shirt and pulled him closer. He could taste the champagne on your tongue as he kissed you, hands sliding under your blouse and gliding against your warm skin.

Your hands skated down his chest, making quick work of the buttons and shoving his shirt off his shoulders to run your hands down his arms. His pins clattered against the floor as he let go of you long enough for it to fall from his wrists. The white undershirt quickly joined it as you worked on the buttons of your own shirt.

Jake pressed open-mouthed kisses to every inch of skin you revealed, his hands on your ass, rocking you against his thigh. When your shirt fell open, you reached for the champagne again and took a swig as he went to one knee to press kisses to your stomach and unbutton your slacks. You buried a hand in his hair and tugged, feeling his answering groan against your hip. He quickly slid your pants and thong down your legs and grabbed your left ankle to have you step out of them. “Come ‘ere,” he growled, guiding your thigh over his shoulder.

The first pass of his tongue over your core nearly had your knee buckling, and you grabbed the kitchen counter to steady yourself. His laugh was warm against your skin as he looked up at you, holding your gaze as he did it again. Playfully glaring at him, you shrugged off your shirt and enjoyed how his eyes zeroed in on your breasts when you took off your bra.

This was truly decadence, you thought - naked in your kitchen with your boyfriend on his knees, taking you apart with his talented fingers and tongue while you drank champagne. Your head fell back against the cabinet, and you clapped a hand to your mouth to muffle your moan when Jake curled his fingers in a come hither motion while sucking hard on your clit. Hips moving of their own accord, you rode his face as he groaned against your core. “Fuckin’ gorgeous, baby,” he said, shifting his thumb to your clit as he ran his teeth along your thigh. With his other hand, he squeezed his dick, which strained against his fly. The sight had you biting your lip and whimpering.

“Ja - ” you choked on his name when his fingers thrust deeper. Grinding down against his hand, your eyes closed.

“Lemme see those pretty eyes, darlin’.” When you didn’t, he nipped at your inner thigh before licking away the sting. “Look at me.” His green eyes were molten when your gaze met his. “Can’t fuck you the way you want until you come for me,” he rasped. “Love this fuckin’ pussy.” A cocky grin crossed his mouth, and he winked before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking hard.

Your knee buckled at the combined efforts of his tongue and fingers. Holding him against your core, fingers clutching the counter to keep you upright, you came with a loud cry.

Lazily, Jake kissed his way up your body as you took another swig of champagne. When he licked into your mouth, your earthy taste mingled with the sweet alcohol, and he groaned. Plucking the bottle from your loose grip, he took a long drink and winked when he caught your eyes fixated on the bob of his throat. After swiping his wrist against his lips, he grinned. “Your neighbors definitely heard that.”

“Fuck the neighbors,” you panted, red staining your cheeks. He laughed loudly while setting the bottle back onto the counter. Jake’s hand wrapped around your neck as he leaned down to brush his nose against yours. His kiss was soft, left hand lightly tracing the curve of your waist, causing goosebumps on your heated skin.

“Welcome to the Department of Defense, darlin’.”

“It’s only a tentative job offer,” you reminded him. After a month and a half, your reference checks were completed - your former coworkers in Florida had been happy to help - and HR had approved the packet you’d submitted to negotiate for a higher salary. With the higher pay grade and step, you would only be taking a $5K pay decrease from your base salary, which would be closed in the next two years. Losing the annual bonus would hit your finances, but the benefits were better. “I still have to get through the background check and get my security clearance upgraded - who knows how long that will take.”

“You’ve already got a secret clearance,” Jake said, stroking his thumb along your throat. “It shouldn’t take long for them to clear you for top secret.”

“Months, babe. It’s going to take months for me to get through all the onboarding, and a lot can happen between now and then.”

“Nothing’s gonna happen. And in a couple of months, you’ll get to tell those assholes that you’re leaving, and I’ll be able to visit you at work every day.”

“Oh god,” you groaned, dipping your head to his shoulder. His lips grazed your temple.

“What?”

“I just realized that - technically - we’re going to be coworkers.” His chest rumbled with laughter, breath stuttering across your skin.

“I’ll be the best goddamn coworker you’ve ever had. In fact - ” You shrieked as he ducked, planting his shoulder into your hips and tossing you over his shoulder, careful not to have you hit the counter behind him. He held you in place by your knees and turned to lightly bite your upper thigh before spanking you. You yelped and retaliated by smacking his ass. After spanking you again, he grabbed the champagne bottle and walked toward your bedroom. “I’m gonna lick this off your tits while you ride me until you come, and then I’m gonna get a third one out of you in the shower.”

Jake was taking your overstimulation after two orgasms without a break as a personal challenge to overcome.

When he tried to pour the champagne over your tits, the majority ended up on the sheets, making you both laugh. His tongue ran between the valley of your breasts as you leaned back, one hand braced on his knee, to pour a stream down your chest. The tendons in Jake’s neck stood out as you swiveled your hips, spelling out a secret, three-word message. His eyes were glued to where you were joined, biting his lip as he watched himself disappear inside you. It was his turn to come with a choked moan, his thumb seeking out your clit to tip you over the edge.

Jake stayed inside you as you came down from your high, collapsed against his chest, and the empty bottle rested against your calf on the mattress. He lightly stroked your face and back, thrusting shallowly as you tried to catch your breath. Eventually, he rolled you onto your side and held you tightly while pulling out. He turned on the shower while taking care of the condom and came back to carry you into it.

With one foot propped up on the side of the tub and the showerhead angled to hit both of you, Jake cupped your core, testing your sensitivity with light touches. His hand rubbed your lower back, protecting you from the cold tile and feeling your hips chase and shy from his caress. Slowly, he eased his middle and ring fingers into you, thumb grazing your clit. He studied your expressions as you bit your lip and whimpered. When tears slipped out from the corners of your eyes, he kissed them away, finger stilling. “You okay, darlin’?”

“Too much,” you whined while clenching around him.

“You’re close, baby. Relax.” His hand left your back to tip your chin up. Resting his forehead against yours, Jake waited for your nod. A soft smile crossed his lips when you did.

You came with a gasp, nails leaving crescent marks on his back. His grin was blinding when you forced your eyes open, tears clinging to your lashes and sweat beading your brow. Jake pressed his hard cock against the crease of your hip and thigh. “Don’t even think about it,” you breathed.

“Already done so good for me, darlin’,” Jake said, withdrawing his fingers from your core. You whimpered as he dragged his fingers along your slit, gathering your wetness before sucking it off his fingers. You groaned, tipping your head back against the tile. His hips thrust against you before he took your hand and wrapped it around his dick. After a few guiding strokes, he planted his hands on either side of your head. You ran your hand along his length, twisting your wrist on the upstroke and teasing the tip. Jake panted against your mouth, eyes closed tightly as he coated your stomach with his cum.

Jake took his time washing your body and carried you to bed, curling himself around you. Just as you nodded off, he murmured something into your hair and pressed his lips to the back of your neck, tightening his hold on you.

“Alright, sit down because we are talking about this.”

“What?” Jake grumbled, throwing a stack of t-shirts onto his bed.

“This shitty attitude. You have been in such a bad mood for the last week, and I’m tired of it.” Grumbling under his breath about how much he still had to pack, he flopped face down onto his bed and buried his face in his pillow. Sighing, you sat and leaned against the headboard, resting your hand on his arm and lightly stroking. After a few minutes of silence, he groaned and turned to look at you. You raised an eyebrow as his hand dropped onto your knee, squeezing gently.

“‘M sorry, darlin’.”

“For?”

“Being an asshole.”

“You mean being more of one than usual?” you teased, leg jerking as he squeezed a ticklish spot on the back of your knee. “It’s two weeks, babe.”

Not long after you got your job offer, Jake was informed that he was going on a short deployment to Vegas. Since then, he’d been alternating between clingy and quietly irritated. More than once, he’d escaped on a run when you tried to ask him what was wrong. But now - the day before he was leaving? He wasn’t going to get out of it that easily.

“I know.”

“We’re not going to sweat the short deployments - I have to go on work trips, too. I mean, I’d just gotten back from a training in DC when we met.”

“I know,” he huffed.

“So if you’re so smart and know all of this, why are you upset?”

“I don’t wanna go.” Chuckling, you shifted down the bed to lie face-to-face with him. He rolled onto his side, eyes closing as you reached out to run your fingers through his hair. He had to go on base later to get a haircut and pick up some boot polish.

“I’m gonna miss you too.” You pressed featherlight kisses to his forehead and nose, his lips curving into a contented smile. For a moment, you debated your next words but knew they needed to be said. “Jake, honey?” He hummed in response. “I…I’m not her.”

“Who?”

“Your ex.” His eyes flew open, brow furrowing. When his mouth opened, you quickly placed a finger against his lips to stop him from speaking. “You told me that she cheated on you when you were deployed. And you’ve been hot and cold since you found out you’re leaving.”

“Darlin’, I’m - ”

“If I’m ever unhappy in this relationship, I’ll respect you enough to let you know before anything happens. I just ask for the same in return.” His hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling your hand away.

“I don’t cheat,” Jake said, his eyes hard. “Never have, never will. Are you telling me you’re - ”

“No,” you cut him off. “No, I’m really, really happy. I just… I’m giving you one deployment to feel insecure about us, but that’s it. I’m not going to put up with this…” You struggled to find the right word before sighing, “attitude.”

“I - ” The words were on the tip of his tongue as he rolled you onto your back, gently stroking the hair from your face. But it wasn't the right time with the specter of his divorce hanging over the conversation. “This is the happiest I’ve been.”

“In a long time?”

“Ever.”

“Even better than the first time you flew?” you teased. He caught the sheen of tears in your eyes and nodded. “Well, now I know you’re lying.” His fingers dug into your sides, and you shrieked and tried to wiggle out of his hold as his hips pinned yours to the bed.

Jake slowly took you apart, pressing every unspoken feeling into your skin. He kept up his mental chant as you writhed against him, mouths so close that you shared every panted breath. IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyou.

The next morning, you lingered in bed as long as possible, trading lazy kisses before you moved down his body to take his cock in your mouth. There wasn’t time for him to reciprocate, though he tried to in the shower, taking care to wash every inch of your skin as you reminded him of the time. He leaned against the bathroom door, dressed in his flight suit, and watched as you quickly did your makeup, a sad smile crossing his lips.

Coyote waited in his car to drive Jake to the base as you said your goodbyes on the front porch. “Be safe,” you said, twining your fingers in the ball chain that held his dog tags.

“I will. I’ll let you know as soon as I land.” Using the chain as leverage, you tugged him down to kiss him goodbye, hand resting on his chest.

“Have fun. I’ll see you in two weeks.” He couldn’t say it when then, not with his best friend hitting the horn and tapping his watch. Jake lifted his hand to flip him off as you laughed and gently shoved him away. “Go.”

The men watched you wave from the front porch as they pulled onto the street before returning to the house to finish getting ready. Jake had given you a key to watch the place while he was away.

“Well, wasn’t that cute,” Javy chuckled.

“Fuck off,” Jake grumbled.

Call you back. Dealing with a minor emergency.

Jake frowned at his phone and texted back Everything ok? You liked his message. His mind raced, a helpless feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. Was it another car accident? Something at work? Had your job found out you were planning to leave and fired you?

He’d been in Vegas for a week, and had another to go. If you needed him, there was no way he could get to you. His thumb hovered over his text thread with Coyote, debating asking if he could check on you. Sighing, he dropped the phone into his pocket as he entered the barracks and went to his room. When his phone rang twenty minutes later, he scrambled to pick it up. “What’s wrong? What happened?” he demanded before saying hello.

“My air conditioner is out, and they can’t send anyone out to look at it for two days,” you groaned. “It’s almost 90 degrees in my apartment.”

“So go to my place.”

“It’s fine. I’ll just - ”

“Darlin’.”

��It’s weird being there without you.”

“Yeah, but I have air conditioning. And I’m pretty sure your gross ice cream is still in the freezer.”

“How dare you besmirch mint chocolate chip?”

“It’s like eating toothpaste.”

“You’re ridiculous. And wrong.” It took a little teasing and joking to get you to agree to go to his house, and he stayed on the phone with you as you packed a bag.

Later, after you showered and settled in and he’d grabbed dinner, he video-called you. You answered on your laptop, and he couldn’t help but grin at seeing you wearing one of his shirts. You asked about the exercise he was participating in. Jake launched into a play-by-play of his day, using his hand to demonstrate some of the maneuvers he’d made.

Cradling a coffee mug, you nodded while stirring the contents. When it reached your desired consistency, you brought the spoon to your mouth and licked the green ice cream. Jake stopped talking, and you looked at the screen to see him frowning. “Are you eating in my bed?”

“Yup,” you said, popping the ‘p.’ He had a thing about eating and drinking in bed - champagne on your sheets? No problem. His bedroom? Only a glass of water was allowed.

“Why?”

“Cause you’re weird about it, and there’s no way for you to stop me,” you grinned. He groaned and rubbed a hand over his face, making you laugh.

“I’m gonna get you for that when I get home.”

“You’re gonna have to get over it - I want to drink coffee and have breakfast in bed with you.”

“You want to eat where we fuck?”

“We’ve fucked in both of our kitchens, so that argument is out.” You heard his muttered ‘Jesus Christ’ and smirked. “Fine, fine. We’ll do some positive associations to help you overcome this issue.”

“Oh yeah?” Jake grimaced as you set the coffee mug on the blanket, which turned into a bemused smirk when you took his shirt off so you were only in your panties.

Picking up the mug, you smiled. “Alright, Lieutenant, I want you to pay close attention. Look at me, sitting in your bed and enjoying this delicious ice cream. Notice the smile on my face? Happy girlfriend, happy life.”

“Pretty sure that’s not how the saying goes,” he chuckled, reaching down to adjust himself.

“Oooh, careful, or I’ll tell Javy that you’re talking about marriage at three months again,” you laughed. He groaned, regretting the friendship the two of you were building. “Anyways, ice cream in bed for me. Happy girlfriend and boobs for you. It’s a win-win.”

“I’m still gonna spank you for breaking my rule.”

“Promise?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. A strange intimacy had grown between you during his deployment, and you’d found yourself talking about things that might have been too embarrassing while next to each other. For example, you’d picked up on some of Jake’s sexual preferences just like he’d picked up on your liking to be held down. During one late-night talk, he told you that he really liked it when you teased him so he could punish you. With some clarification, you’d told him you were more than happy to push his buttons.

“Fuck.” He watched as you collected the cold condensation from the mug and stroked your nipple.

“Too bad you’re not here. Just gonna have to take care of myself before going to sleep.” Jake bit his lip as the image of you touching yourself in his bed flashed in his mind.

“Gonna show me what that looks like?” he rasped, hips shifting on the bed as he slid his hand into his boxers and squeezed his dick. You set the coffee mug on the nightstand before shaking your head and covering your mouth as you yawned.

“Nope. Just gonna have to imagine it.”

“Darlin’, it’s not nice to tease.”

“Oh, I’m aware, Hangman. Just consider this payback for all the times you left me hanging.”

“Pretty sure I’ve more than made up for that.” He watched as you shrugged while getting under the covers, then reached for the laptop and set it beside the pillow so he could see your face. Up close, he could see that you did look tired and sighed, letting go of his dick and smiling. “Go to sleep, darlin’. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Six more days until you’re home.” Your eyes were drifting closed, and he wished he was there to tuck you against his chest.

“Can’t wait. Sweet dreams, baby. I love you.” Your eyes shot open, meeting his wide-eyed gaze on the screen. “Shit, darlin’, I didn’t - ”

“You’re an asshole, Seresin,” you breathed. Hurt flashed across his face, and you laughed. “Of course, you would say that for the first time when you’re deployed.”

“You’re… you’re not mad?”

“That you said you love me? No, of course not. The timing could have been better.”

“Just kind of slipped out.”

“I figured. I.. haven’t had the easiest time winning this game of chicken, either.”

“Are you saying that you…”

“Mmhmm,” you nodded, biting your lower lip and grinning. Jake’s green eyes were soft as he smiled, fingers reaching to trace your face on the screen.

“Darlin’,” he breathed. “Wish I was with you.”

“Me too. Which is why I’m going to be the nicer of the two of us and not say it until you’re here.”

“You’re not?”

“No. Because I want to be able to kiss you when I say it.”

“So you’re gonna make me wait six more days?”

“Yup.”

“I love you.”

“I know.” Jake groaned.

“Did you just Han Solo me?” You laughed.

“I did. Now go to sleep and dream of me.”

“I will. I love you.”

“Goodnight, babe. I miss you.”

It was that way for the next week. Jake would say he loved you, and you would reply with ‘Thank you,’ ‘I know,’ or something along those lines. His heart was in his throat when, on his last night in Vegas, you sleepily replied, ‘I love hearing that.’

As soon as his jet touched down on Lemoore, he hurried to complete his post-flight checks and grab his duffle from the travel pod. Coyote would drive him home after he checked in, giving him enough time to shower before heading to your place. If the timing worked out, he’d get there just as you got home from work.

But as he walked off the flight line, Jake saw familiar silhouettes outside the Vigilantes hanger. He watched as Javy hugged you and nodded in his direction before walking towards the Sidewinders offices. Grinning, he jogged over, dropping his flight bag and duffle as he reached you. With his g-suit on, he couldn’t hold you as tightly as he wanted, but you were in his arms.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I took the afternoon off, and Javy got me a visitor’s pass so I could pick you up.” His gloves were rough against your cheek as he cupped your face, tilting your head back to kiss you.

“Got somethin’ to say to me?” he asked against your lips.

“Mmm, welcome home,” you said.

“Anything else?”

“Oh!” Smiling deviously, you stood on your toes to whisper in his ear. “I’m not wearing underwear.” Jake groaned, wanting nothing more than to spank you at that moment but contented himself with slipping his hand into the back pocket of your jean shorts and shaking his head.

“At your future place of work? Naughty girl.” A flush stained your cheeks as you glanced around. Lost in the moment, you’d forgotten that you’d be working on this very flight line in a few short months, and it probably wasn’t the most professional thing to be seen groping a pilot there. Jake’s fingers pinched your chin to pull your attention back to him. “Eyes on me, darlin’. What’ve you gotta say to me?” You could see your reflection in his sunglasses. You pushed yours to the top of your head before taking his off. His green eyes were soft and expectant as you licked your lips.

“I love you, Jake.”

“I know.” A laugh burst out of you before you could stop, and he grinned. “Say it again.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” His lips crashed into yours, tongue sweeping into your mouth. With one hand on your ass and the other spanning your back, he bent you backward as you clutched his shoulder and buried a hand in his sweaty hair. There was a wolf whistle as a maintenance crew passed, and Jake reluctantly settled you back onto your feet. “I’ve got a couple of things I need to do before we can leave. You okay to wait?”

“Definitely,” you replied. He pecked your lips before grabbing his duffle while you took his flight bag. His arm dropped around your shoulder, and he tugged you close to kiss your temple as you felt the rumble of a jet taking off in your chest.

During a quickie in the shower, true to his word, Jake spanked you for eating ice cream in his bed. After you dried off, he grabbed his dress blues tie from the closet. “You sure you’re okay with this?” he asked, checking again as you lay diagonal on the bed. When you nodded and held out your wrists, he groaned and leaned down to kiss you, cock twitching against his thigh. “Fuckin’ love you, darlin’.” He quickly tied your wrists together, checking your circulation, before guiding your arms over your head and securing them to his headboard post.

Jake kissed away your tears as he kissed back up your body, letting you taste yourself on his tongue after he’d edged you for an hour. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you lifted your hips to grind against him as he wiped the sweaty hair from your face. “Doin’ okay, sweetheart?”

“Hate you,” you moaned, tugging against your bindings as he ground his cock against your slit.

“Told you it wasn’t nice to tease. Now you know how it feels.”

“Says the biggest tease I know,” you huffed. Chuckling, he reached between you to pinch your clit, making you arch off the bed.

“Last chance to change your mind, darlin’.” You shook your head, taking your lower lip between your teeth as Jake shifted his hips so his tip teased you.

Slowly, he pushed inside, making you feel every inch. He savored the heat of you against his bare cock. When your hips were flush, he buried his face in your neck, thrusting shallowly. Unable to touch him, you panted against his temple and clenched, chuckling when he groaned. “Love you,” he slurred when his lips sought yours. “Love you so god damn much, darlin’. M’ perfect girl.”

“Welcome home, Jake,” you smiled when his eyes met yours. “I love you.”

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

Author's Note: 🫣 anyone else see Jake as a pleasure dom? I mean, that man wants to be the best at everything, so why wouldn't he want to be that for his partner? Once again, this was supposed to be a sweet chapter but Jake and Darlin' had a different idea. This chapter covered a lot - new job, first deployment, dealing with insecurities, and kink! Hopefully you enjoyed this and it isn't too off the rails of what you initially thought this was going to be 😅

GS stands for general schedule - basically a civil service job. Everyone has a pay grade and step that dictates what your salary is, with a guaranteed raise on a set schedule if you meet minimum eval requirements. Onboarding for a GS job takes fooooorrrreeeevvvvveeeerrrr - trust me. For Darlin' job, she would have to have a top secret clearance, which can take months to get even if you've got a secret one already.

Thank you for reading - I appreciate every interaction I get with this little daydream that's spiraled.

Read Chapter 8

Tag list: @memeorydotcom; @alldaysdreamers; @kmc1989; @djs8891; @caitsymichelle13; @dempy; @midnightmagpiemama; @lovelyladymayyyy; @caidi-paris; @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby; @bellaireland1981; @lethargicluv; @mayhemmanaged; @tenderclio; @lucypaulette; @abaker74; @trhett21; @misshoneypaper; @schreksdoubledeckerhomechecker; @eternallyvenus; @mavrellover91; @chloeforde

#hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x reader #top gun fic #top gun maverick #jake seresin #Hangman top gun #soft!Jake Seresin #hangman smut #hangman fic #D-Day fic #jake hangman seresin

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nanowrimo · 1 year

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10 Tips for Fast-Drafting

Every year, we’re lucky to have great sponsors for our nonprofit events. Freewrite, a 2023 NaNo sponsor, is a dedicated distraction-free drafting device designed just for writers. Today, author Ashley Poston and the Freewrite team share some tips for completing a first draft of your novel quickly:

Hello from the Freewrite team! 👋 Here at Freewrite, we love a NaNoWriMo challenge, because we’re all about getting words on the page. We asked Author & Freewrite Ambassador Ashley Poston to share her best tips for fast-drafting and getting that first draft DONE!

No surprise, one of her secrets is her Freewrite. But what else does Ashley do to get those drafts done fast?

Here’s Ashley:

I have a confession to make: I hate drafting. It’s the bane of my existence. If I could reach into my brain and take out my story, fully-formed, and just work on the editing bit? I’d do it.

But, alas, that’s not how writing works. (Which is a real pity because I really do love editing. The way you go in with a fine-tooth comb and just torch the entire novel, then rewrite it for the third time. It’s truly majestic.)

Though after ten years, I’ve yet to figure out a way to pull a novel, fully-formed, out of my ears. So, instead, I like making the part of drafting as painless as possible… by doing the most painful, maddening, infuriating thing imaginable.

In other words: fast-drafting.

I’ve perfected the art. I can write a book in a week if I have enough caffeine and a death wish, and with these ten tips, so can you.

1. Find your characters.

Truly, the most important part of fast-drafting is knowing your characters from the outset. In a first draft, you usually find your characters in the middle of the second-to-last chapter. (Or is that just me?) So it often helps to know your characters inside and out from the start. Not only that, but know how they’d react in certain situations, know what would be on their Spotify playlist, know whether they’d have a repertoire of Your Mom jokes up their sleeve. How do they take their coffee? If faced with ten seconds to live, who would they call? Most of these questions you’ll never answer in the manuscript itself, but it’s important to know these people in your head on an intimate level.

2. Use your time(r) wisely.

Setting a timer can be a great way to increase your writing speed. Start with a short amount of time—maybe 15 minutes—and write like the wind, Bullseye! Then shake yourself out, set that timer to 15 again, and repeat. (This is SO easy on my Freewrite Traveler, because it has a feature that keeps time for you, making 15-minute sprints easy-peasy.)

3. Outline.

In addition to your characters, you really should get to know your plot, too, and a great way to do that is making an outline! There are a bunch of different tips and tricks to outlining—I personally use Susan Dennard’s 1-page Synopsis whenever I need to hash out a plot, and Rachel Aaron’s 2k to 10k Blogpost from Ye Olde 2011.

4. No distractions!

Writing is already hard enough, but it becomes almost impossible when you have a cat pronking on you every chance they get. Sometimes, life can just be that—distracting—and you can’t do anything about it. But minimize distractions wherever you can, especially if you’re sprinting. Turn off your phone! Disconnect the internet! And here is where I tell you my Freewrite has saved my butt countless times. I’m horrid at the whole “cut distractions!” bit, but with Freewrite, it’s easy as pie. It’s a lot like a typewriter, so internet? Never heard of her. iMessages? iThinkNot. It’s just you, your words, and the mounting existential dread of existence.

5. Compression gloves. (No, seriously, especially if you write every day.)

This is gonna sound like one of those weird ones—and that’s because it is. But if you’re planning on writing every day for at least an hour, please do yourself (and your budding carpel tunnel) a favor and get some compression gloves. Learn some hand exercises. We don’t call writing fast “sprinting” for nothing.

6. Don’t look back.

It’s so easy to get caught up in trying to perfect the prologue, but this can absolutely hinder you. Take it from someone who loves to make the first chapter perfect—you never will. I promise. Instead, focus on getting your ideas down on paper and worry about editing later. I promise that sentence you didn’t like will be there when you come back to it. It’s not going anywhere. This is another area where my Freewrite helps me focus.

7. Use prompts!

Sometimes, your brain gets stuck. If you feel stuck, or in a corner, use a writing prompt to get the creative juices flowing again! Maybe you’ll never use the scene, but that’s OK. If it means you get going again? That’s what matters.

8. Stuck? Hit the bricks! Real winners quit. But like… not forever.

Writing can be mentally draining, so it’s important to not push yourself too hard, and to take breaks when you need it. Take a walk, stretch, dance it out to ABBA—whatever helps you recharge. And then when you come back to the scene, you’re refreshed and rearing to go.

9. Chunk it up.

Breaking up your writing into smaller, manageable chunks can make drafting so much less daunting. Instead of making the goal finishing the novel, just finish the chapter. Finish this scene. Sometimes, it helps if people set a goal for a certain amount of words a day, but I find that this often just leads to burnout a lot faster. Instead of a word count, set a goal for a scene instead. Turn off the word counter. A first draft doesn’t have to hit a certain number of words—it’s called a first draft for a reason.

10. Practice makes more practice.

Like anything else you do, writing takes practice. I know I can easily hit 5k a day, but that’s because I’ve been writing professionally for a decade now. If you’re just starting out, don’t compare yourself to anyone else. (In fact, this is a great rule of thumb regardless.) Everyone writes differently, and everyone writes in their own time. No one ever asked Van Gogh how long it took him to paint sunflowers, did they? No one told Monet he was taking too long on his water lilies. Writing is an art, so let yourself enjoy it.

I hope this helps you, at least a little, write your next sexy dragon-shifter book! (Or whatever you’re working on.) Godspeed, and just remember: only you can write the idea in your head. Different writers can be given the same exact prompt, and every single story will turn out differently. Keep your eyes on your own paper, your heart full of joy, and chase that story only you can tell.

It’ll be worth it, I promise.

—Ashley

Reminder: Camp NaNoWriMo 2023 participants are eligible for a special Freewrite offer. Find all the details here.

Ashley Poston is the New York Times and USA Today best-selling author of The Dead Romantics. After graduating from the University of South Carolina with a bachelor’s in English, she spent the last decade working in the publishing industry before deciding to pursue writing full-time. When not writing, she likes trying various arts and crafts (she’s currently addicted to building miniature rooms) and taking long walks as an excuse to listen to Dungeons & Dragons podcasts. She bides her time between South Carolina and New York, and all the bookstores between.

Top photo by Djim Loic on Unsplash

#nanowrimo #writing #fast drafting #first draft #ashley poston #by nano sponsor #freewrite

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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 1 year

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Daddy's Little Princess

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader (One-Shot)

Description: You get home after a long day at the office to near silence. It warms your heart when you walk into your living room to see your husband Bradley Bradshaw playing with your eldest and making her laugh as she combs his mustache with a doll's comb.

Disclaimers: AFAB!Reader, Tooth-rotting fluff, Babies, Bronco, Bradley

Word Count: 1167

A/N: Hi, Star here! The Top Gun Brain-Rot still has me by the throat. This was inspired by this post which suggested, Play with his mustache use barbie hair brushes on it. Obviously, the minute I saw it, my brain immediately went yup, that's a Bradshaw and so this fic was born. This is un-beta'd and un-edited by anyone other than me, so forgive any glaring errors.

AO3: Cross-posted here!

My Masterlist

It's been a long, horrendous day. You'd had to go into the office for an important meeting and dress formally for it, too. The worst part was having to leave your husband and children at home alone. Thankfully, it had been one of his few days off-duty from NAS North Island. You'd kissed your babies on their foreheads as you left early in the morning and spent far too long pressed against your husband’s chest before leaving. Traffic in San Diego was no worse than it usually was, so all in all, your morning was typical. It was during your meeting that your day rattled off the rails. Your proposal was not well received. It had been ripped to shreds by every member of the C-Suite present in the boardroom that day. You'd spent the remainder of the day with your team reviewing every inch of the proposal with a fine-toothed comb and writing and re-writing pieces for the follow-up meeting in one week.

After your day, you were flagging as you got into your Jeep that evening to drive home. The one highlight of your day had been the giggle-filled voicemail you'd received during your lunch break. Your daughter's voice had been so sweet with the baby's babbling and your husband's deep tones in the background. It was apparent your mischievous little princess had stolen your husband's phone and called you accidentally. It brought much-needed energy to you and an impetus to finish work as soon as possible.

All the streetlights are coming to life and illuminating the road with a golden glow as you turn onto your street and finally breathe a sigh of relief. Your husband's bright blue Ford Bronco sits in your driveway as you pull in behind it. It's only a few minutes before you're unlocking the door and finally stepping out of your heels. Rather than the giggling stampede you expect, the house is nearly silent. Sure, there is the ever-present low hum of Bluey pouring out of your living room, but the undercurrent of chaos usually present in your home with a 3-year-old, an 8-month-old, and not one but two dogs isn't there at all. You place your bag on the side table and stretch your tense muscles before padding silently to the living room and peeking in. Your son, Arden, rocks in his swing seat on the floor, suckling happily on a pacifier. Surrounding him lies the residue of what looks to be a war zone of dinosaurs versus Barbies, your daughter Maria's favorite game at the moment. You can't see her yet, but boy, can you hear her now.

"Daddy, Daddy! The dinoswars won! I twout the Barbies were gonna win. You tolded me they would win!" Her little voice pipes on and on about how sad it was that the Barbies lost. Interspersed with her chatter, your husband hums inquisitively to keep the conversation going. Your grin grows at your husband's voice when the little miss runs out of steam.

"Baby, maybe the Barbies didn't win because you forgot something?"

"What, Daddy?"

"What magic spell did Daddy tell you the Barbies needed to beat the big bad dinosaurs so you could save Ardy?"

"I hadda brush all their hairs and kiss them."

"That's right, baby. But you forgot one thing." Maria makes a little confused hum, and your husband continues, "You forgot to comb your hair and Daddy's!"

"Oh!" Her little squeal of realization is too cute. "Daddy, help!"

"Gimme the comb, Princess. Gonna make you look all pretty so we can save Arden from the big bad dinosaurs."

You step a little bit closer. The kids are entirely occupied with the game, and the dogs, Tramp and Falcon, are curled up in one of the dog beds. The only person to notice you is your husband, who winks at you from his spot in the war zone of toys your living room floor has become.

"All done!" He proclaims, "Don't you look beautiful?!" He smacks a loud wet kiss against her cheek as she giggles loudly.

"Daddy, wait!" Maria's all bossy now, "We forgot one thing!"

"What's that?" Your husband is the best.

"Your moostach, Daddy!" She's smiling proudly at pronouncing the word mostly correctly.

"Alright, baby girl. C'mere. Let's comb my mustache and defeat these dinosaurs before mama gets home."

He tugs Maria to stand in between his legs and hands her the bright pink doll's comb. He sits there with unerring patience as your baby carefully runs the comb through his mustache, wiggling his upper lip occasionally to make her laugh. It's absolutely adorable to see. Bradley Bradshaw had confided to you early on in your relationship that he was afraid to have children. As he’d lost his father at a young age, he didn't know what it meant to be a good dad. All that fear turned into uncontrollable love the minute he held Maria in his arms, and he'd proven what a fantastic father he was every day since. You’re unbelievably in love with this man. That love only swells in your chest when you see the glittery butterfly clips nestled in his curls and the love in his eyes as he devotes all of his attention to your little princess.

Unsurprisingly, of your two kids, Arden sees you first, giving you a gummy smile and squealing as he wiggles his little body to catch your attention. You step into the warzone willingly, carefully avoiding stepping on any of the toys, and heft your youngest into your arms. He’s warm and baby-soft in your arms as you snuggle him close, breathing in the scent of his baby shampoo and the special detergent you use on his clothes. Hurricane Maria is not to be deterred, though, as she wraps herself around your leg and kisses your thigh.

“Princess, princess, c’mere.” Bradley sounds so fond as he tries to free your daughter from her limpet-like grasp of your leg. “Let Mama and Ardy sit down, baby girl. Then you can cuddle her all you want!” He coaxes her away and pulls her into his lap as he sits on the sofa. You join them, letting the soft cushions conform to your body. Maria joins Arden in your arms, and you finally let yourself decompress.

"Hey, Mama," Bradley murmurs.

"Hi, B," Your voice is soft as you turn your head to kiss him.

"How was your day?"

"Terrible. But it's better now. It’s always better when I have you and our babies in it."

You smile into the kiss he gives you, relishing in your husband's taste before focusing all of your attention on your children in your arms. Maria chatters about everything she'd done during the day, and you converse happily with her. Arden babbles at breaks in the conversation, and you love seeing Maria interact with him. It'll soon be time for dinner, baths, and bed, but for the next few moments, you can rejoice at the feeling of having everything you love at your fingertips.

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

#star writes #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster imagine #top gun imagine #top gun fanfic #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #this is purely indulgent fluff

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