Endless Summer post-canon, Vaanu ending / deep space AU / Jake x F!MC / hurt no comfort
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He hoped to hear her voice once again, something else than the dreadful message she left them all those years ago, but her answer did not come in words. Instead, what came was a faint echo of her laughter, a memory of the way she looked at him that afternoon after they got married, when they both thought they still had tomorrow. His knees buckled underneath him. She loved him—was glad he found her—was proud of him.
Proud. Like he’d done something with his life other than refuse to let go of her.
Jake McKenzie stood still on this alien world two and a half million light-years from home with his hands hanging useless at his sides, and cried like a child into a sealed helmet where he couldn’t even wipe his face.
Endless Summer post-canon, Vaanu ending / deep space AU / Jake x F!MC / hurt no comfort
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Two suns. Twin shadows. Two pairs of moons. Everything here came two by two, holding hands. And stayed that way a good few billion years, just to rub it in his face.
And then between all these pairs, there was a lonely little rock, Vaanu’s planet, the one where the other half of his heart had to be. Barely a speck of purple light when he first saw it, so small on the viewport he could cover it with his thumb.
This your home, Slimer? You keepin’ my girl in a nice neighborhood?
Endless Summer post-canon, Vaanu ending / deep space AU / Jake x F!MC / hurt no comfort
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You cannot frighten a man with a fall if he’d already hit the ground.
Thirty years ago, the universe took Jake's wife away, leaving behind a hole torn in the sky. When a signal starts repeating from the other side of the void--every year and a day, without fail--he knows exactly who is asking for help.
Project Perseus is a one-way ticket to a dead planet in the Andromeda galaxy. For the rest of the crew, it's a suicide mission. For Jake, it's the only chance to get her back.
Consider this your official warning. A new ES WIP is in the drafting phase, and 'Hurt No Comfort' is once again not a suggestion. I do not know what's wrong with me and I am so sorry in advance to my two beloved babies and anyone who ships them. You are not safe here.
AKA: a fic in which Taylor picked the Vaanu ending, and Jake never forgot his promise to find her again.
I’m back to working on Broken Chains. This one won’t be quite as heavy as the chapter preceding it! 😈
For a moment, Jake froze, but then he sat beside her and rubbed her back as she dissolved into sobs. “It’s all right. But please don’t tell her I made you cry…”
Estela laughed through her tears but couldn’t keep them from coming. So much had been bottled up for too long. After an age, the tears slowed, and she was left hiccoughing into her friend’s shoulder.
“Feel better?”
“Maybe… a little. I’m just… sorry I lost my shit with you. This has just been…” She shuddered.
“Water under the bridge. But, if you wanna talk…? The usual host of the sharin’ circle can’t be with us, but I’ll try and keep the sarcasm to a minimum.”
Estela nodded, but for a long while remained quiet. Some things she didn’t talk about, not to anyone. Not to anyone except for Taylor. But, she told herself, Taylor was right there with her. She grasped her wife’s soft hands gently.
“This… isn’t easy….”
“Ya don’t have to--“
“No, I… I do.” She took a deep breath. “So… uh…just before I got the letter saying my mother had died, she wrote to me, begging for help. She knew her life was in danger, that she was running out of time. Tio Nicolas and I did everything we could, but there was no getting anyone in or out of La Huerta without going through Rourke. I’d been trained all my life to take care of myself, but the only person I wanted to protect was so far away, and scared… and I couldn’t reach her. This… feels the same. I’m helpless, Jake. I can see Taylor right there in front of me, but she might as well be miles away. And the whole damn time I know that any second she could be ripped away from me forever, like Mom was. I can’t stand it.”
Jake rubbed her shoulder pacifyingly. “I think I’m getting why you took my head off…”
“Yeah, because you were being an ass.” She swallowed, hard and painful. “For so long I wasn’t scared of anything, I figured I had nothing to lose. But then I found Taylor. And now…”
“… now you’re basically re-living your worst nightmare come true.”
Estela bit her lip, holding back from crying, and nodded. “It must have been like this for you… with Mike. I’m sorry. And then… the person you most want to run to for comfort isn’t even there.”
For a few moments, Jake was quiet, forced into reflection. He certainly did know that feeling; having survived what should have been the worst trauma of his life, only to go through it all over again.
I guess Endless Summer is just the one thing that I come back to every few years huh? Here’s to Endless Summer in 2026, I love these idiots.
This time I actually got around to draw more than just my favorite and my MC!!! Wow!!
Closer looks and incoherent art rambles below the cut.
So here’s some of my favorite drawings from this fanart collection:
As you might be able to tell: I like Jake.
Also another few things.
Do I draw MC very different from his canon sprites? lol yea mainly because this man has taken on an identity of his own and drawing him jacked or with neat hair just feels wrong. Also the blue eyes- God. The day I draw Patrick with blue eyes is the day I die.
Also the drawing with a gun is from a fic that I will probably never finish but hey if I continue at this rate it might be done in 2036. Maybe.
ALSO I AM JUST noticing that I have drawn every single Catalyst except Diego??? What is like actually wrong with me? I am so sorry I just forgor.
Who knows. Maybe I can get hyperfixation brain to get to focus enough to get through a second batch of fanart where I can give Diego, Zarah and my other MC (Andie) the time of day.
(Also maybe Michelle and Fiddler because I need to draw this woman with her evil situationship)
In addition I tried to emulate the ES art style more closely than the last time I drew them and man. This style has the noses so close to the lips that I realized how far apart I draw them lol.
Also my cool ideas of drawing Sean and Estela with their zodiacs died at the altar of I’m not awesome at drawing animals yet.
~3700 words / Jake x Taylor / Endless Summer F!MC / and absolutely nothing romantic for Valentine's day... or so they tell themselves
Originally posted on AO3 as part of my Love, Lust, and Laundry collection. (visit AO3 for a little closing bonus! 😈)
@choicesficwriterscreations
“So, about this Valentine’s day tomorrow. Let me get this straight.” Taylor leaned against the doorframe. “It’s a special holiday for celebrating love? And for one day, everyone has to be the most romantic version of themselves?”
“Pretty much, yeah,” Jake agreed from the couch, not looking up from his phone.
“Doesn’t really sound that bad if you ask me.” She broke off a piece of chocolate from a bar she held in her hand and popped it in her mouth.
“I’m telling you, Princess,” he sighed deeply. “It’s all just a psyop designed to sell more chocolate. What does cocoa and sugar have to do with romance anyway?”
“…oh.” She looked down to the bar. “So you’re not into sweets then? Noted.” She shrugged and broke off another piece. “No problem. More for me.”
Jake finally looked up at her and caught her very self-satisfied smirk as she held the square to her lips and slowly slid it into her mouth without breaking eye contact, then licked her fingers. His heart did a very complicated lurch as his blood rushed down south, something that would have been a medical worry had his wife not been involved.
“Changed your mind, Top Gun?” Taylor pushed off the wall and sauntered towards him. “Don’t worry, I can share.”
She stood in front of him and broke off one more piece, still smiling that sultry smile.
“…If you ask nicely,” she purred.
Jake looked up at her through his lashes and summoned the most lethal smile he had in his arsenal, then leaned forward, caught her wrist and brought her hand to his mouth. Closing the distance, he bit the chocolate out of her hand, grazing her fingertips with his teeth just to prove a point.
“That’s not asking—” her voice faltered when he kissed her fingertips one by one, pretending he was just after the last crumbs of chocolate.
“Thought you said something about sharing?” he murmured, pressing one last kiss to her palm. “Thank you. That was very generous of you.”
“That wasn’t—”
He pulled her down to his lap and cut off her protest with a kiss that was all the sweeter for all the chocolate involved. When they broke off, she was breathing hard, and he couldn’t help but feel smug.
“This,” he said, tracing a line from her cheek to her collarbone, “is absolute peak romance to me. My wife trying to seduce me with a piece of chocolate in our messy living room.”
“Thought you said chocolate was a psyop, Top Gun?” She threw her head back and laughed.
“Yeah. That was before you weaponized it.” His hands settled on her waist as he studied her face. “I guess I’m not a very complicated man. Or very romantic. So don’t expect me to be any different tomorrow. Unless… you want me to?”
“Hmm.” Taylor cocked her head to the side. “What would you even do?”
“I don’t know. The whole romantic movie thing? Fancy dinner? Flowers? Candles? Poetry? God, please don’t say you want me to write poetry.”
Taylor shuddered. Maybe she imagined the exact kind of poetry he was capable of.
“Absolutely no poetry. And candles are fire hazard,” she sighed. “Well. I don’t think I care about any of these. I guess that’s just… I don’t know. Too cliché?”
“Says the woman who went straight for the honeymoon suite in the Celestial. It literally had rose petals and candles everywhere on the floor.”
“Nobody expected me to clean those. Also, the hot tub was a selling point.”
“More like a health hazard. And also, you weren’t paying.”
“Shut up. I seem to recall you were enjoying the… amenities pretty thoroughly.”
Jake beamed. “You mean the dresser? Or the bed?”
Taylor just rolled her eyes in response. His hand went to her cheek, cupping it gently.
“Okay, so just to make sure we’re on the same page,” he said, looking her in the eye. “You don’t want me doing anything extra tomorrow? No clichés? No scheduled romance? No roses and candles in the bedroom?”
The corner of her mouth tugged up in a smirk. “Well, if you ask me, the actual bedroom part sounds kinda appealing.”
“We can do that.” He pulled her closer. “We’re very good at that part.”
“Deal,” she said, and broke off another piece of chocolate.
“Care to share that?” he murmured, following it with his eyes.
Taylor brought it to her lips with a devilish grin.
“Make me.”
Jake’s alarm went off at six like always. Taylor looked up from her pillow, mid-snore, eyes glassy, and immediately faceplanted back. He got out of bed quietly, though by now he suspected he could have made as much noise as he wanted, and it wouldn’t make any difference. Mornings were not Taylor’s thing. At that hour, she wouldn’t wake up even if a bomb went off.
On autopilot, he went to the kitchen to make coffee for them both. Hers: loaded with cream and sugar until it barely even qualified as coffee anymore, waiting in a thermal cup until she wakes up. His: black, strong enough to strip paint.
While waiting for his coffee to turn from lava-hot to somewhat drinkable, he grabbed his lunch bag, then opened the fridge looking for something to make into a sandwich, and froze. Sitting on a shelf, front and center, was a plastic container filled to the brim, with a sticky note slapped on the lid.
Tried to make our leftovers into that rice and beef thing, but accidentally made it nuclear. I can’t eat it. Take it all, you have no tastebuds anyway.
—T
He cracked the lid open and tried a few bites. Spicy, sure, but nowhere near nuclear. He could bet that was no accident, she just did his favorite. Taylor was a better cook than she gave herself credit for.
“Liar,” Jake whispered affectionately and shoved the container into his bag, downed his coffee in one gulp, then grabbed a new note from the stack and scribbled his own message.
Caution: hot. Don’t burn your tongue.
I like it sharp.
—J
He stuck it to her cup, set it on her nightstand, leaned over the blanket burrito on the bed and tousled her hair. She didn’t even react, still dead to the world.
He backed out to the hallway and shrugged into his jacket on his way out, dropping the keys into his right pocket. He’d been fighting the muscle memory for over a week and lost every time. Two Mondays ago, he’d caught it on a door handle and ripped it open in a hurry. He’d been meaning to fix it, there was a sewing kit stashed somewhere, but somehow by the time he got home, he either forgot about it or was too tired, and mending his jacket somehow always fell to the bottom of his list. He blindly reached out to the floor, but the keys weren’t there.
Surprised, he patted his jacket. The keys were… inside. He twisted the fabric to look at the miracle.
It was fixed.
Technically.
The stitches were uneven, obviously done by someone who had held a needle for the first time in her life. The thread was slightly too dark which made the patch job even more visible, and the fabric was bunched in one corner where she pulled too tight. A drill sergeant would have an aneurysm looking at the job.
But she’d seen it, and fixed it without telling him.
He ran his thumb over the bumpy stitches, then looked towards the bedroom, where Taylor was still snoring.
Damn you, Princess. You can’t stop yourself from fixing things, can you?
Taylor woke up at seven forty-five to her second alarm. She reached blindly to her phone and swiped it off, stretched with a yawn and then she noticed it: the coffee on her nightstand. The first thing she always did as soon as she rolled out of bed was to go to the kitchen, barefoot and still groggy, and make a fresh batch. But now the coffee was already waiting for her, with a scribbled note stuck to the cup. She snorted, reading the message.
The coffee was surprisingly decent. Jake always brewed it too strong, too bitter, and she tried to mask it with so much sugar and cream that he called it a dessert; and yet now he did it for her, exactly the same way he so despised.
Not a romantic man, my ass.
She grabbed her phone, smiling.
On her way back home from work, Taylor stopped to get groceries.
No extras today and nothing fancy, she told herself, wandering through the aisles and checking items off her shopping list. Bulk bag of rice, vegetables, some cut of meat she wasn’t exactly sure was the one she’d planned to buy, two kinds of beans, pasta, bread.
But then her hand drifted, on its own accord, to grab a bottle of the better whiskey. It’s on sale, it would be a shame to let that deal slide, she reasoned with herself. And besides, we don’t have to drink it today, it can wait for a special occasion. And then she grabbed a bar of chocolate in a red wrapper with little pink hearts and threw it to the cart, too. After all, yesterday Jake found and ate the one she stashed for later, and she deserved some chocolate. Especially when she got that extra generous tip at work today. Right?
The house was still empty by the time she arrived. She dropped the bag in the kitchen and immediately headed to the bedroom to do the sacred ritual: home is where the bra comes off. She sighed with relief at the freedom, tossed it to the hamper, and thought briefly about showering before starting dinner. But then she remembered the heater in the apartment, with the tank that was so small it was barely enough for one decent shower. If she took it now, Jake would come back home, sweaty and tired, and would have to shower in cold water.
Not that he’d complain, but still. She could be a good wife for once and let him have it. And he’d better appreciate her sacrifice.
She was halfway through the dinner prep when the front door opened. Jake walked in looking worn out, but the moment he saw her, his face lit up.
“Hey. Missed me, Princess?”
“Hey.” She kissed him hello. “Long day? You’re late.”
“I was in the library.” He reached to his backpack and produced a book with a flourish. “Look what I got you. It’s the third book in the series you liked.”
Taylor blinked and set the knife down, wiping her hands on her shirt to take the book out of his hands. “No way. Did you bribe the librarian? She told me there was a waiting line last time I asked about it.”
“Mm, might’ve used some of my charm. Turns out it works on abuelas too.” He flashed her the practiced grin to remind her exactly how strong his powers were. “Well, and it’s in Spanish. But you said you want to practice reading more, so I thought…” He looked up, suddenly unsure, and added quickly, “but don’t worry, I can help you translate the tricky parts.”
Taylor leaned in to kiss him again. “I need to have that offer on paper. You said it was an absolutely ridiculous story.”
“Because it is. And I don’t get why all these guys on the covers have to be shirtless,” Jake grumbled, jabbing the illustration. “If he’s a duke, surely he can afford a shirt?”
“You’re not the intended audience, Top Gun.”
“Right, and you are,” he snorted. “Just sayin’. If you want to look at a hot shirtless guy, you only need to ask.”
Taylor looked at him, arching one eyebrow. “You’re not a duke.”
“I could be a scoundrel.”
“Could be?” She laughed and poked his shirt-clad chest. “Pretty sure you already qualify. Now, go shower, scoundrel. I saved you the hot water. You’re welcome. Don’t use it all up.”
“As you wish, my lady.” He bowed down and kissed her knuckles. It would have been an innocent kiss straight out of a regency novel, if not for the daring look in his eyes. “Shall I return shirtless like one of your dukes?”
She rolled her eyes. “You shall return posthaste to help with dinner. Seriously, be quick. I’m starving.”
“So much for romance,” he sighed, already heading to the bathroom. “Fine. I’ll be quick.”
For a moment, Jake seriously considered not wearing a shirt just to drive his wife crazy, but ultimately decided against it. As much as he believed in her, being shirtless around hot pan and Taylor didn’t really seem like a safe combination.
I called it, he thought a few minutes later, when she dropped the mixing spoon into the sauce, and in an unusual stroke of genius, dove for it with her bare hand. She shrieked, immediately jerking her hand back, and the sauce picked this exact moment to bubble up and splatter onto her stomach.
“Ow!”
He instantly turned the tap on, grabbing her wrist and shoving her hand under the cold stream, at the same time rolling the sauce-splattered shirt off her stomach. The skin looked flushed, but thankfully it seemed the only casualty was the shirt itself. Her fingers were definitely burned though, blisters already forming despite his quick reaction.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah.” Taylor removed her hand from under the stream for a moment, winced, and immediately put it back. It must hurt more than she expected. “Can you bring me a new shirt? This one is ruined.”
“Sure thing.”
He grabbed the first thing he could find, which was one of his button-downs. When he went back to the kitchen, she already took off the splattered victim of a culinary crime and was holding it to her chest.
Oh. That’s… convenient.
A big grin spread on his face. Pretending to be a gentleman, he helped her slide her hands into the sleeves, making sure to get a good view while he did so.
“Are you going to help me button it, or are you just going to stare?” Taylor deadpanned, hand still under the stream, front of the shirt hanging open.
He leaned down and did one button approximately in the middle.
“There,” he said, still grinning. “Perfect. Structural integrity achieved.”
“Seriously, Top Gun?” She rolled her eyes. “That’s one button.”
“I know. I counted. You’re lucky you got that one. I preferred the open concept.”
Taylor fought a smile and lost. “You’re impossible.”
“Told you I would make a damn good scoundrel.” He kissed her cheek and carefully fished out the spoon from the sauce using a fresh one. “I guess it’s ready?” he asked, licking it clean.
“Edible?”
“Yeah. We’ve eaten worse.” He passed her the second spoon.
“High praise,” she snorted, but nodded after tasting it. She turned off the tap with one decisive motion, reached to the top cabinet and took out two bowls with her left hand.
They moved to the couch. The dinner was not great, but not terrible either, and they both were too hungry to be picky anyway.
“How’s your hand?” Jake asked, taking her empty bowl and setting it on the coffee table next to his.
“Still hurts,” she admitted, looking at her fingers. “But I’ll live. I don’t know what I was thinking. Brain fart, or something.”
“You’re allowed not to be smart all the time, you know,” he said, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer.
“Mhm. You’re only saying that to make me feel better.”
“I wouldn’t dare.” He was silent for a long moment. “Is it working?”
“No. I think—”
Click.
The room plunged into absolute darkness. The hum of the refrigerator and the rattling of an ancient ceiling fan died.
“Seriously?” Taylor groaned in the dark.
“Probably a blown fuse,” he sighed and stood up, already reaching for his flashlight. “Let me check.”
“I think it’s more than just our apartment,” Taylor said, gesturing outside. She got up and went to the window, pulling back the curtains. “The whole street is dark. Maybe the winds took something out.”
Jake joined her at the window. Sure enough, the whole neighborhood was pitch black.
“Could be.” He shrugged. “The power grid here runs on duct tape and spite. If a tree went down, it could be hours until they fix it.”
“Do you know what this means?” she laughed, and when Jake turned the light towards her, he saw her holding a box of matches she already fished out of the junk drawer. “Looks like we’re doing candles after all.”
“Oh the horror.” He smiled back at her, even though she couldn’t see him. “I remember a certain someone saying candles are too cliché. And a fire hazard.”
“A very romantic fire hazard,” she corrected, already striking a match. “Adapt and overcome, Top Gun.”
Jake wisely decided not to comment on the sudden change of tune.
She lit the candle and set it down on a coffee table. It was an old, not-even-half-used citronella candle she’d bought a while ago, hoping it’d repel the mosquitoes. The mosquitoes did not get the memo. If anything, they seemed to double up their efforts, drawn in by the lights, and the candle was quickly retired to the junk drawer and never mentioned again.
As the flame steadied and the light cast soft shadows on the walls, the atmosphere suddenly turned cosy despite the wind howling outside.
Taylor turned to face him. Bathed in the candlelight, golden flickers catching in her eyes and her hair, she looked breathtaking. And Jake decided he didn’t really mind the bug repellent smell that much.
“C’mere,” he demanded, sitting back on the couch and opening his arms.
“Give me a minute.” She went back to the kitchen, lighting her way with her phone. “I got you something. I planned to wait for a special occasion, and I know we agreed not to do anything romantic today, but you already made me coffee in the morning, and then you brought me a book and helped me with my hand, and now we have a candle and I think—”
Jake squinted at the bottle in the dim light and his eyebrows shot up.
“The good stuff? Princess, we’re not millionaires.”
“It was on sale,” she defended herself quickly. “It would be a sin to leave it on the shelf.”
He just smiled at her and cracked the seal.
The glasses were in the kitchen, and he didn’t bother. It felt like miles away. He just took a swig out of the bottle, hissed with appreciation at the burn, and passed it to her. Taylor took a small sip and curled closer to his side, cradling the bottle to her chest.
“You know,” she mused, smiling at her thoughts. “For two people who said they won’t be doing anything romantic today, we’re doing a terrible job. Candlelight. Fine spirits. Cuddling in the dark. Objective failed, Top Gun. This is accidentally very romantic.”
“You started it,” he murmured. “You gave me your lunch. And fixed my jacket.”
“I did a terrible job.”
“But you did fix it.”
If Jake was being honest, he felt quite grateful that the very conveniently timed power outage made it easier to hide his face right now.
“You know what would make it even more romantic?” he asked, struck by a sudden thought.
“Please don’t say poetry.”
“Close, but no. I meant music. Let’s set the mood.” He pulled the phone out of his pocket and his face fell. “Great. No cell service. Cell towers must be down too.”
“Welp,” she sighed dramatically, taking one more sip and handing him the bottle back. “I guess the romantic mood is ruined.”
He took one more swig, closed the cap and carefully set it on the floor behind the couch before turning to her and taking both her hands into his.
“No, it isn’t.” He looked at her and grinned like a Cheshire cat. “I know a song.”
“Jake, no. Please don’t—”
Too late. He started singing.
“Today is gonna be the day…”
“Oh my god, that’s so terrible—”
“…I don’t believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now…”
“Jake, please stop!” She had to wipe tears off her cheeks.
“…And all the roads we have to walk are winding, and all the lights that lead us there are blinding…”
He was completely off-key, absolutely butchering it, and she was laughing so hard she could barely keep upright.
“There are many things that I would like to say to you…”
“Please, stop, I can’t breathe,” she wheezed.
“You’re gonna be the one that saves me—”
Taylor did the only thing she could think of, that is kissed him to shut him up. He kept humming against her lips for a second before giving up and just kissing her back.
“Nobody understands my artistic vision,” he sighed when she finally let him go up for air. “My rendition of Wonder—”
Her hands moved to the one button responsible for the structural integrity of the shirt, and he suddenly forgot what he was trying to say.
“You know, there was one more thing we both agreed on,” she said with a sly smile, fingers twisting the button.
“I was wondering when you’d remember.”
She sat back, holding his gaze in the flickering light, and deliberately undid the button. The shirt slid off her arms and pooled at her waist.
