#YAY baby Penny

[minhosimthings]

A La Folie ft. Jay

Synopsis: Wounds came and went. All in the circle of life am I right? The greatest warrior among all the kings, Park Jay. For him, seeing blood was like seeing the sky. It was a daily routine which he could not escape. Yes sometimes he had grave injuries, which he wouldn't stop to take care of, with him being a workaholic. But sometimes healers do more than heal physical wounds, and for Jay, you did exactly that.

Pairings: King!Jay × healer!fem!reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, no smut (yet hehe), mentions of blood, violence, domestic abuse, mentions of cheating, mistresses (don't read it if you can't handle it), mentions of food, Jay has a REALLY tragic past sorry bout that, reader is an orphan, also this is really dramatic IM SORRY I CANT NOT WRITE DRAMA, open ending oohh

A/N: EYYY MR JAY PARK WOOHOO Ngl I was so excited to write this but the exams and all made this kinda difficult to write so if anyone has been waiting for this I'm sorry for the extremely long wait. Also yes this wil be in three parts yay. @yunabi436 this is for you baby 😽

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

The French Quotes Series Masterlist

"And from Aphrodite's rotten lovesick blood did the white flowers turn into a darker shade of red, eternally forming the flower of love."

Aphrodite and the hunter Adonis' tale had been one of boars, blood, lust and love.

For the young king of the iron-kingdom of Vadronia (rightly given its moniker), the only thing he cared about in all of those four things were the boars and the blood.

Jay Park's kingdom wasn't the strongest in all of Paradoxica just in a penny's wish and a flick of a tail feather. It was quote unquote 'molten from iron itself' as all its rulers were.

From all of his brothers, Jay was probably the one who took his duties as a warrior seriously.

Well, a bit too seriously, according to the said brothers.

"Jay would you please stop running so fast?" Sunghoon panted, putting his hands on his knees and breathing heavily as beads of sweat dripped from his hair and skin.

The mud track was always the hardest one to trench upon, and with Jay on your trail? It was hell. Atleast that's what Jake and Sunghoon described it as.

"Are you going to be saying that when you're running from enemy horses?" Jay turned back and glared at Sunghoon, the light autumn breeze giving him peace as it whipped his hair around.

"For God's sake Jay, no one is going to invade us now." Heeseung walked into the scene, with much less sweatier clothes and an arrow clutched in his hand, indicating he had come back from his target practice, "Give the poor guys a break."

"Yes please give us a break I'll go down on my knees." Jake was close to collapsing on the floor, his hand desperately clutching onto the nearby flag pole for support.

"You'd go down on your knees for your best friend." Jay scoffed, throwing his head back to shake the sweat out of his hair follicles, because as glorious as they were, the stray strands still annoyed him, "And you." He turned towards Heeseung, who, even though was much taller than Jay, now looked like a dwarf in front of Jay's broad figure, "How many times do I have to remind you to come for practice?"

"It's not my fault." Heeseung jut out his bottom lip, he always loved acting cute in front of Jay even if he was older, "Little princess back at home has been spying on me. And not gonna lie, I am extremely aroused."

"Why did I even ask?" Jay rolled his eyes and stretched out his arms, the bright burning sun reflecting in his eyes like the moonshine he loved so much, which he drank by the fireplace as he penned down poetry he could show to no one.

"So Jayyyy" Sunghoon dragged his words out, "Felt any sparks lately?"

"Ask that question again and you'll be running twenty laps round this track." Jay promptly replied, cleaning his face with the lavender-smelling towel the nearby servant handed to him. He always loved the lavender scented things, it reminded him of the springs with his mother, oh how she would tease him with tiny flowers in his hair, and the clink of her ruby created dagger in her belt. The dagger lay soulless now, sitting in a secretive place in Jay's room, as he stared at it and remembered that moment again and again. His bastard father, no matter how many times Jay had cursed him, he still couldn't get it out of his mind.

His mother, his compassionate, kind mother, didn't deserve to bleed out from his father's turn of blade.

And no matter how many potions he took, the smell of the blood filled ballroom still lingered in his nose at night, when he would jolt awake in cold sweat, wanting to cling onto his mother, but then he'd remember that he wasn't eight anymore, she was gone.

"Jay you're my brother and I really respect you a lot." Heeseung started, sitting Jay down on the oak bench, while Jake and Sunghoon quietly sneaked out, running for their lives back to their horses, "But you've got to find someone to love in your life, you've got to get over your fear."

"Weren't you the one who was complaining about love to Jake and I a few days ago?" Jay raised a magnificently trimmed brow, to which Heeseung chuckled.

"Yep but then I fell into that rabbit hole and I seem to like it, a bit too much perhaps." Heeseung stared into the distance, instantly losing his dramatic moment as the setting sun hit his pupils.

"Yeah, someday when I'm older maybe." Jay fiddled with his fingers, he never could keep them still, "But for now, I wanted to ask if you'd want to come with me on a hunt tomorrow?"

"A hunt?" Heeseung quizzed, lifting himself with much difficulty off of the bench, bow in hand, "You haven't invited me to a hunt in ages."

"Necessity is the mother of invention." Jay got up as well, scented towel still in hand, "And in this case it's that wild boar our men have been hunting since last month, been terrorizing the border between Tarnow and Vadronia now. I'm surprised you haven't noticed yet."

"Consider me blinded by love." Heeseung threw a flirtatious wink at Jay, who visibly gagged, "I'll be there."

"I'll be waiting."

"No no no, Jay, we, under no circumstances, apply essence of Hibiscus to a water snake's venom." A lady with greying hair sighed, bending over a wooden cup, while a sturdy, black haired man gulped heavily and stared nervously at the herbs in his hand.

Jay was never very successful in his healing classes, and under the strict gaze of his teacher, old Mrs.Chun, he was far away from catching the train of success.

"I don't get it." Jay frowned like a child, setting the hibiscus flower down on the table filled with healing equipments of all kind, "Wasn't the essence of Hibiscus supposed to combat this snake's venom?"

The old lady sighed again and rolled her eyes, snatching the hibiscus from the table and setting it into a basket full of the bright red flowers. With her other hand, she picked up a wicker work basket of lavender and lifted it up to Jay.

"Lavender. I said lavender remember?" She smiled up at Jay like an encouraging teacher, "Lavender for the wounds which make a man turn purple, and hibiscus for the blood drops."

Jay mumbled the rule under his mouth before pressing the lavender petals to the venom splanched across the bown om front of him. The purplish colour immediately turned a healing shade of dark yellow, satisfying Jay and letting out a sigh of relief from the old lady.

"Just some more practice and patience and you'll be a good healer in no time." Mrs. Chun patted Jay's arm sympathetically.

"But why do I even need to be a healer?" Jay asked curiously, putting the box of potions up on the shelf where they belonged, "I'm already a warrior."

"Every great warrior needs to know how to tend to his own wounds." The old lady smiled, looking curiously at a green flask, "I made a vow to your mother to never let you fail in this subject."

Jay smiled fondly at the thought of his mother spending her hours in the infirmary along with Mrs. Chun. Mrs. Chun herself was like his mother figure, providing him the hugs his 14 year old self needed so bad years ago.

"And remember Jay!" Mrs. Chun called out just as Jay was about to leave the room, "I won't be here for the entirety of next month."

"But then who's going to look after the infirmary?" Jay turned back and raised a quizzical brow at Mrs.Chun, who smiled gently.

"My apprentice will." She promptly replied, "She's a nice girl, I told her all about your predicament of failing at healing." Jay let out a chuckle at Mrs.Chun's joke, "She'll take your classes alright?"

"Don't miss me too much Mrs.Chun!" Jay laughed, "I'm your favourite remember?"

Mrs.Chun laughed heartily to herself. Oh that boy, she thought, still a bit at heart even if he was a man to the world.

Only a bit of love perhaps, can truly lead him to show this side of him to the world.

Jay sighed heavily as he plopped down on his armchair, the most comfortable one by the fire.

Love, he scoffed, what a stupid, dangerous thing.

He believed his father to love his mother, he believed his mother to love his father even as he went out every night to quote unquote 'find himself'. Mistresses were awful buisness, and no Queen had ever objected her king having one. But of course, his mother had to object, she had to be different. She had to storm in to her husband and his lover and confront them. And his father, fire-filled man he was, had to strike a blade through her belly, making her bleed out in 14 year old Jay's arms.

And of course, Jay, blinded by his rage, had to strike his father back, skilled as his father was, Jay was more fleet footed, and in the blink of an eye, his father and his father's new toy were lying in cold blood on the floor, as Jay sobbed, clutching his mother's body, dead as a fish out of the ocean.

And his brothers had noticed, they had always noticed how Jay was never the same from that day. From the happy boy who loved to write stories and poetry and who hated to even step foot in the training yard, Jay became the mercenary king, ready with his sword clutched in hand, and his poems long forgotten to silence and withering darkness.

But it wasn't to say that Jay was a ruthless ruler, he chose not to take that path, especially not after half the kingdom starved under the rule of his father. It wouldn't have been a lie to say he was the kindest one in all of Paradoxica, except he didn't really show it in the way he spoke or acted, but by the way he controlled the administration and whatnot of the kingdom. This kept his busy, seldom leaving time for any other activities, much to the disappointment of his brothers, especially Heeseung, who had always been the closest to him, who had known what he was truly like, deep inside.

Clutching his eagle feather quill, one of his most dearest ones, Jay dipped the tip into his ink pot, letting the excess ink dry off before pressing it to his leather bound diary.

When he wrote the feelings he couldn't ever say out loud onto the softwood paper, Jay felt a sort of contentment, he had always been a clandestine philophile, so to write his proses on the idea of love, death and misery, was to create a beautiful choreography on his mindset.

Alas, if there was only someone he could show them to, someone who would understand what Jay meant in the lines, even with his messy loopy calligraphy, that would have been a dream truly come true.

But how could a man who wrote poems to challenge the angels of love themselves, ever find love?

But I am a mere narrator, what would I know?

And sometimes, just sometimes, Cupid lurked in the ballrooms of dancing princes and in the dark inkpots of oxymoronic kings.

"I have no idea what's happening, but I'm happy to be here." Sunghoon's beautiful Clydesdale horse pranced around on the grass, as energetic and as similar a persona as her owner.

"Would you tell her to calm down?" Heeseung's own chestnut's hooves guided him towards Sunghoon, "She needs the energy for the hunt." Heeseung easily managed to calm the mare down by scratching behind her eyes, to which Sunghoon drooped since he had been enjoying the prancing around a bit too much.

"Why are we going on a hunt again?" Jake adjusted his saddle, making sure he was buckled in properly to his Fox Trotter horse, "Aren't we above killing animals now?"

"Your best friend tell you that?" The clip clopping of Jay's magnificent Dutch Warmblood sent all of the soldiers to silence, "And if the animal is a wild boar, no we aren't above that."

"Whatever you say, oh great King." Sunghoon snickered, as he did a sort of bow on his horse, making everyone laugh.

"Oh shut up." Jay rolled his eyes, clutching onto his horse's hair, and leaning into his usual stance, "Come on now, don't want to keep a beauty waiting do we?" And with the mighty neigh of his horse, he rode off into the forest, followed by Heeseung, Jake and Sunghoon, who followed with dramatic sighs.

"Sometimes I wonder if he just wants to live in an adventure book and say cringey lines all the time." Sunghoon jested, making the others laugh.

"Where on earth is Sunoo?" Jay shouted out, completely ignoring the statement made about him, as the rest of the three managed to catch up to his horse's pace.

"Probably tending to his vineyard." The wind whipped Jake's hair around, "God knows if he'd ever accept coming to a hunt with us."

"Maybe a grape hunt-"

"Shh!"

Jay's action of stopping his horse, and shushing everyone startled the others, and as the clopping of hooves quietened down, they understood why Jay had stopped so abruptly.

The rustling of the nearby begonia bushes, combined with the noises of an animal which sounded extremely similar to a wild boar, alerted them, as they drew out their swords, daggers and metal tipped arrows, all from treasure chest of Vadronia's amazing metalwork, aiming them at the begonia bushes, as Jay held up his closed fist to give the command.

"Come on out." Jay whispered to no one in particular but himself, as the begonia bushes began shaking more rapidly and the sounds of an animal's footsteps came nearer.

"Hey maybe we should-" Heeseung bagan quietly to Jay, but was interrupted by the ripping of the begonias into shreds.

And there it was, what Jay had been waiting for.

A big wild boar in its full magnificence.

Ivory tusks in full gleam, swathes of brown fur all over its damaged skin, with wounds from previous hints. A ture display of its strength, Jay thought, it wanted to intimidate them, as if to say 'see how many people haven't defeated me yet, why do you think you stand a chance?'.

"Steady now, Lady." Jay patted his horse, which was ever so graciously named Lady, although the mare's personality in battle was far away from a lady's. Jay always preferred mares to horses, he though they were more faster and agile, while horses used their brute strength. And he had a hatred from brute strength. It was what got her killed after all.....

"Jake look out!" Heeseung cried out, snapping Jay out of his daze of staring into the boar's eyes. Of all the animals of the world, he hated this one the most, he hated the way his father loved to hunt them, and how he'd come home from hunts everyday drenched in blood with a boar skull im his hands, from which his mother would recoil from, what with her hatred of the smell of iron.

Hatred, that's all that was there in Jay's life. And that's all there will be.

"Jay, we have to get back come on!" Sunghoon cried, his horse already galloping away. The boar was far too big for them to contain. "Jay?" Heeseung peered back, "Jay no!"

But the sturdy built man's ears heeded no warning as he stepped along to the boar, his sword clutched tightly in hand, the carving of his name in the metal shining bright, as if to warn the spirit of the forest that he has arrived.

"Hyung what's happe-" Jake and Sunghoon's horses had turned back to see why the eldest wasn't coming, only to see Jay stabbing at the boar, while Heeseung tried to get Lady, who was close to prancing away into the depths of the forest.

"Help me would ya!" Heeseung cried, flinging his rope around Lady's magnificent neck, to which Sunghoon and Jake came quick and flung their own ropes, "One of you help Jay!"

"I'll go!" Sunghoon's horse galloped towards Jay, but to his shock, he saw that the boar was already lying, its movements still, and Jay standing drenched in blood.

It was dead.

Jay's sword was decorated with ribbons of maroon.

"Jay what the..." Sunghoon began, but he could find no words. The boar had been big, two times the size and strength of any ordinary man, and now it was kneeling at Jay's command, kneeling dead and cold as a fish.

"It's dead." Jay growled, his breathing too heavy, and his hand clutching a particularly dark spot on his stomach, as Heeseung and Jake came to the scene, having calmed Lady down, "The tusk...."

"The tusk? What about the- Jay!" Heeseung cried, before jumping off his horse and quickly moving towards Jay's graceful falling figure.

The last thing Jay felt was the feeling of wet grass underneath his head, Heeseung's hand over his wrist, and the familiar scent of feminine lavender pressing over him before everything went dark as he had always wished for it to be.

Jay never cared much about his injuries. No matter how big or small they were, no matter if it was a paper cut to the thumb or an arrow head to the shoulder, he would simply say "Injuries happen, it's a part of life" and move on. Which proved to be a source of annoyance for his brothers, especially Jake, who had an eye for healing.

But Jay was a firm believer in the notion that twenty four hours a day simply wasn't enough. He wanted more, he craved for more, more time, more work. Although he wouldn't admit it, everyone was in unison with the fact that he was Paradoxica's biggest workaholic.

And when it came back to the topic of injuries, Jay would still keep working, whether or not he was stuck in bed, because Heeseung had forced him to stay there.

Heeseung remembered Jay's younger days. How Jay would whine and do nothing if he got even the tiniest splinter in his finger. How he would beg for a day off from studies if he merely stubbed his tie against the kitchen ladder while sneaking out to steal pastries. But the horrible incident had changed every aspect of Jay, and now, he wouldn't stop working if every limb in his body was broken.

"All for the good of the people" he reasoned.

Usually Mrs.Chun had taken care of him, scolded him too many times about taking rests whenever he'd come back from battles or fights with blood flowing out his nose. But even then he didn't care. So the vision of waking up to Mrs.Chun's berry scent was a norm for him whenever he'd get injured.

But now, the room wasn't berry scented, and nor was Mrs. Chun sitting in the corner, waiting for him to wake up.

A girl?

A girl, wearing Mrs.Chun's apron, had her head rested against his table, her eyes fluttered close.

Were his eyes tricking him or did Mrs.Chun suddenly become thirty years younger?

Feeling something heavy on his waist, Jay tried to lift his head from his pillow, letting out a guttural groan as he did. God what was hurting him so much? He could feel something hurting at his stomach.

"Your Majesty, lie back down." He heard someone say, and as he opened his eyes, he saw the girl bending over him, forcing him to lie back down on the bed.

Jay stared at her for a few moments, trying to remember who she is before the candle went off in his mind.

The apprentice.

You were Mrs.Chun's apprentice.

"Are you Mrs.Chun's apprentice?" Jay groaned, feeling his head throb and his fingers were aching too.

You nodded promptly, before pushing Jay gently back onto the bed as he tried to get back.

"I'm sorry to inform you, Your Majesty, but you aren't getting up for another two weeks. You were stabbed by a wild boar's tusk." You stated firmly, shocking Jay at how casually you had addressed him, "His Highness Heeseung told me to handcuff you to the bed if you even try to move."

"Handcuff me?" Jay chuckled, moving his body slightly to lessen the pressure on his legs, "Where are you even going to get-"

Jay's sentence was cut off abruptly as your hands pulled out a pair of heavy metal from a secret pocket in the olive green dress you were wearing, and held it in front of Jay, effectively silencing him.

"I'm sorry if that was rude, but you are my patient, Your Majesty.." Your mouth let out a chuckle, sending a weird sensation into Jay's stomach, which he had never felt before, "So, I will do anything and everything in order to make you rest."

"So what may I address you by, My lady?" Jay quizzed you, his head now no longer throbbing for some reason. He studied your features for a while, he thought your eyes were pretty, decorated by a thin lining of kohl. Your figure was pretty too, wrapped in the striking colour of the dress you were in, combined with the beautifully familiar way you wore your hair.

"Definetly not by 'My lady'." You chuckled, picking up your dress, and sinking into a curtsy, "Y/N, you may call me Y/N, Your Majesty."

"Pretty name." Jay complemented, watching you stand up straight from your curtsy and smile impishly at him.

"You've got to take your medicine now." You reached into your apron's pocket and pulled a big vial, which was filled with a bubbling, golden liquid, "Now, according to Mrs.Chun, tricks by pretty people often work on you."

"Pretty people?" Jay scoffed childishly, thinking about whether or not he thought Heeseung was pretty, as you measured out the liquid into a cup, "Mrs.Chun needs to have a check for up there. And do you really think you're pretty?"

You strode towards him with the cup in your hand, and smiled widely. "Well, pardon me Your Majesty, but from the way you were staring at me five minutes ago, yes. I do think I'm pretty."

"Don't get your ego up." Jay warned, taking the cup from you, letting his mind linger for a few minutes on how your delicate fingers brushed his scarred ones softly, "Your parents mus'nt have taught you manners did they?"

"Well, firstly, I don't have parents." You smiled, "And secondly I need to check your bandages, they seem to be bleeding again."

So that was what the pain radiating from his stomach was, Jay thought, as he looked down to see his bandages streaked a darker shade of red. He quickly gulped down the golden liquid in the cup, a visibly disgusted expression forming on his face at how bitter it was, and looked up at you, with widened eyes.

"So...?" He said, expectantly, seeing you fumble with some clean cloth, another vial of what looked like cream, and a safety pin.

"Tell me where it hurts when I change them alright?" You said gently, making his lay down on the bed again, "and uh..."

"What?" Jay questioned, seeing your eyes linger at his wound or more specifically, his ab muscles, "Oh you can touch them it's fine."

"Oh. Oh yeah alright." You said, feeling your face heat up slightly. Bandaging him when he was still unconscious was easier than this, when he was awake. God his stare was so attractive to you, even now, as you gently touched his bandages, replacing them with cleaner cloth, you tried hard not to brush your fingers against his abs.

"Enjoying the view?" Jay asked, a cockish sneer to his voice. "There's a view to enjoy Your Majesty?" You fired back, although you most certainly were enjoying staring at him.

"You're an interesting one." Jay said, trying to make small talk as you lightly pressed against the smaller wounds with the cream, "Y/N wasn't it?"

"Yep." You said with a pop of your lips, finishing wrapping his wounds with a slight tap to check if they were secure, "And please do stay in bed and don't work. If you need anything, I'm right outside. His highness Heeseung has told me to rest in the chambers opposite yours."

The chambers opposite to his, his parents' chambers. God did Jay hate that room, all big and filled with skulls from hunts.

"If you want to you can go home, I can manage on myself." Jay said, his eyes set on yours. Why was it so hard to maintain eye contact with you?

"I know how that idea works." You smiled again, bringing that weird sensation back into Jay's stomach, "I'll go and then you'll order someone to bring you your work, so His Highness Heeseung specifically asked me not to leave. I guess you're stuck with me Your Majesty." You curtsied to finish off the impression.

"Jay." He spoke again, to your confusion, which made him stifle a chuckle, "Please, call me Jay."

"Jay." You smiled to yourself, "Well, ring that bell if you need anything."

As you left the room, quietly shutting the door behind you, Jay had the sudden urge to kick his feet in the air. The room was filled with lavender scent, your lavender scent to be specific, and it gave Jay a sense of calm, which in turn reduced the pain radiating from his stab wound.

Well this would be an interesting two weeks.

"Your Majesty what on Earth are you doing?"

Jay froze in his position at hearing a stern voice. Your stern voice, to be precise.

"Resting?" He said, trying to hide his cheeky smile, as he slowly backed away from his table. Rolling your eyes, you quickly got him back to the bed, worried that his bandages will open back again. But the only thing Jay was worried about was that his work wasn't getting completed.

"How about this?" You asked, as you finally managed to wrestle him back to the bed, "I'll do the work for you, if you agree to rest. It's in that diary right?"

"I can't let you do that." Jay grumbled, reaching for your arm, as you hurried to get to the diary on his table. The cold touch of his hand on your warmer skin made you flinch heavily, which in turn made Jay pull his hand away.

"I'm sorry." Jay quickly apologised, as you rubbed your arm, "I- That's my private diary, I don't really allow people to see it."

"Oh, my apologies then." You curtsied, still rubbing your arm, feeling extremely cold for some reason, even if the warm daylight was coming into the room through the window, "Your Majesty-"

"Jay." He corrected, shooting you the tiniest fragment of a smile.

"Jay." You said again, this time feeling more at ease, "You've got to rest, I'm begging you. Those bandages won't magically heal you until you rest. If there's anything I can do to get you to rest, I'll do it."

Jay's ears weren't actually listening to anything. His mind was too distracted again, by your scent. God damn his strong sense of smell, but you smelled like memories he wanted to forget.

"Tell me what perfume you use and then I won't work." Jay looked up at you with a cheeky smile. He didn't know why, but he felt comfortable to show you his smile, which he didn't often feel with the ladies in their paraffin socks.

"I- that's a peculiar question." You said, not knowing what to feel aboutthe actual King asking you about your perfume.

"I swear on my own grave that I will rest if the great healer Y/N tells me her perfume." Jay recited, keeping his hand on his chest for dramatic effect.

"It's the lavender one we get in the town square from Marcella's." You raised your chin up high, "Now would you rest?"

"Hmmm let me think." Jay dramatically sighed, "No."

"Your Majesty, I will beg." You breathed desperately, "I will seriously-"

"Your collarbone." Jay interrupted, his attention diverting from your eyes to your shoulder, "There's something on your collarbone."

Jay took note of the way your eyes flickered quickly and worriedly to your collarbone, and how you rushed to pull the sleeve of your dress up to cover it, clearing your throat afterwards to clear the awkward air.

"Are you-"

"Your Majesty, I admire the way you hold so much strivance for your work but you really must rest if you wish to keep working for the rest of your life."

The atmosphere of the room had a drastic change, Jay could feel it, as you quickly curtsied, said a quick "excuse me" and hurried off towards the exit.

That wasn't a stain or a birth mark on your shoulder Jay knew it, as he leant back comfortably, and decided to follow your advice for a while.

He'd seen dark marks like that on someone he once knew and loved.

And something in him asked him not to rest (unless it was pretending for you) until he figured out where that bruise the size of a man's hand, came from.

Part 2 coming soon....

Tags: @amazzwon @heeseungshim @kvmariii @mwahvvis @hottiewifeyyyy @sacrificeatmeup @perfectnighttt @yawnzzhoon @yunabi436

#jay park fic #park jay #park jay smut #park jongseong #enhypen jay smut #enhypen jay #enha fics #enha jay park #enhypen jay park #jay fluff #jay angst #jay smut #jay series #enha hard hours #enha hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #jay hard thoughts #jay hard hours #park jay hard hours #comfort enhypen #enhypen #enhypen au #enhypen romance #enhypen royal au #enha royal au #bye bye now

[ladykailitha]

Not All That Glitters is Gold Part 16

Just one more chapter left, and in cased you missed it, I won't be doubling up on chapters per day this week. The last chapter will be out next week.

Doubling up really killed the numbers for these stories, half the time people were only reacting and commenting on the SECOND chapter.

But don't worry, what this means is that your favorites you've been seeing snippets of on WIP will get quicker releases this way.

In this Eddie's rut progresses as normal, they talk about Steve's status, and Eddie and Benny learn some very interesting things about golden omegas.

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8 Pt 9 Pt 10 Pt 11 Pt 12 Pt 13 Pt 14 Pt 15

****

Eddie came to and was sure that at least a day had passed, but he looked at the clock on Steve’s nightstand and frowned. It had only been five hours since his rut had started. He looked in the wastebasket and there were only three condoms in it which fit the time frame.

He looked around, but Steve wasn’t there. He sat up and the sheet that had been covering his waist slid off. He looked down and saw that his dick was sheathed with another condom.

There was some of Steve’s slick on the sheets, but considering Eddie was still in them, he figured Steve couldn’t change them yet.

He could hear Steve humming to a beat in the kitchen and padded out there.

He smiled fondly as he watched the omega dance around his kitchen to the music in his head. Bopping and hopping as he made a wholesome snack.

“That snack looks good, baby,” he said, his alpha rumbling happily, “but I would rather eat you.”

Steve squeaked. “Eddie! You’re awake! How do you feel?”

For the first time since he woke up, he took stock of his body, really examining it.

“Warm, sated...” he said furrowing his brow, “happy?”

Steve beamed at him. “Yay! That means your rut is progressing as it should. It seems like your body is adjusting better to the low light and you’re more lucid.”

Eddie came up behind him and buried his nose into Steve’s scent gland. “All because of you, sweetness.”

Steve squawked when Eddie picked him and spun him around.

When Eddie finally put him down Steve swatted at him playfully. “You absolute menace.”

Eddie cackled. “Yes, but I’m your menace.”

Steve turned around in his arms and kissed him deeply. Their cocks brushed against each other and he let out a low moan.

“So good...”

Eddie nipped at Steve’s chin. “Let’s get some food in us and then I want something else in you.”

Steve snorted. They ate and hydrated before Eddie picked Steve up bridal style and carried him back to the bedroom.

Eddie could feel himself sliding back into the blind haze of his rut, but the scent of the omega underneath him stirred some distant memory, but it was lost in the next moment when Steve moaned.

The pattern continued like that for the five days. Steve and Eddie taking care of each other while Eddie was lucid, Steve taking care him when he wasn’t.

Eddie had never experienced a rut that had gone so smooth. He understood why alphas paid top dollar for an escort to service their ruts if every one was like this.

He knew that he wouldn’t be able to spend another rut without Steve for as long as he was biologically able to experience ruts.

Each time he became lucid, he would become aware for longer. The last day having two hours before the rut took over him again.

But he used those two hours wisely. He talked to Steve.

“Baby,” Eddie said, from the sofa, “come sit for a bit. You know it won’t hit again for awhile, you might as well relax.”

Steve looked over at him and smiled. He padded over to the sofa and curled up onto Eddie’s lap.

“How are you feeling?” he murmured into Eddie’s neck.

“I’m good,” Eddie replied. “This was worth every penny. I see why it’s so popular.”

Steve chuckled. “I’m glad that it’s available to alphas that can’t afford escorts through clinics.”

“That’s a new thing, though right?” Eddie asked. “I don’t remember seeing them when I first presented.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, nodding. “It’s something that a lot of the major escort houses pushed for in recent years, if all alphas can get the same level of care that the rich do, then it lowers the chances of alphas turning feral from bad ruts.”

Eddie grinned. “It would have happened in the last five years or so, would it? Like say when a particular omega became popular?”

Steve blushed but didn’t deny it. Alpha health was something he had been passionate about for awhile. Helping everyone no matter how much money someone had was just the start of what he wanted to do. Mandating sex education for alphas. It was mandated for omegas and beta, but not alphas, because ‘alphas instinctively knew what to do’ with omegas. Which was bullshit.

“I thought so,” Eddie said.

Steve smiled back. “I’ve even got a non-profit going setting up education booths outside high schools for alphas to get pamphlets and other material about their reproductive health.”

“Ooh, ooh!” Eddie said, nearly vibrating with excitement. “We should throw a gala like the one where we met to get the awareness out there.”

“That’s a great idea, Eds,” Steve said, kissing Eddie’s jaw.

They settled down into a warm silence for awhile just taking in each other’s soothing presence.

Eddie nuzzled Steve ear to wake him. “Hey, you tired, sweetness?”

Steve roused himself and looked up at him bleary eyed. “I guess I am. You see this rough and tumble alpha has been keeping my hole hot and full for the few days. Trying to keep up with him is tiring me out.”

Eddie cackled. “Yeah, if he wears you out so bad, you should blacklist him or something.”

“I would, but I’m in love with his cock so...”

Eddie’s head reared back in mock indignation. “Excuse you!”

Steve laughed. He pressed a kiss to Eddie’s scent gland and the alpha purred. Steve’s omega chirped happily in response.

“I love your scent,” Eddie murmured. “It’s not like other escorts I’ve met.”

Steve looked up at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Chrissy, Elinor, Tommy,” Eddie said. “All smell too sweet. Like fruit rotting on the vine. A terrible but apt metaphor for their condition. But you smell spicy. But in sweet kind of way.”

“I do?” Steve really never thought about his own scent before.

Eddie nodded. “Gareth described it like Mexican hot chocolate. You know the kind that is spiced with peppers?”

Steve nodded back.

“Did you ever think that you might be a golden omega?” Eddie continued.

Steve’s eyes went wide. “Never. Like why would I? I’m not special.”

“That’s highly debatable, sweetheart,” Eddie admonished. “But your scent and everything you’ve told me about your family. It’s very possible you could be.”

“Is that why you wanted to court me?” Steve asked, soft and small. Like a mouse.

Eddie pulled Steve in closer. “No baby, I didn’t figure it out until later. I wanted to court you because you are funny and amazing and everything I’ve ever wanted in a mate.”

He lift Steve’s chin up and kissed him deeply. “Plus, I set up the rut way before I put the pieces together. Everything was set to protect me, but it seems to me that it may end up protecting you, too.”

“What do you mean?”

“As you know, golden omegas can only get pregnant during their heats,” Eddie said. “And since I’m a known scent breaker...”

Steve’s eyes went wide. “You think there is a chance I’ll go into a mini heat, don’t you?”

Eddie nodded. “When I first booked you, it was one of the things Robin was adamant about protecting you from.”

“She’s amazing like that,” Steve murmured.

“She really is,” Eddie cooed. “But it looks like our time is up, honey.”

Steve could feel Eddie’s cock harden under his ass. “Come to bed with me, alpha,” he purred. “Let me take care of you.”

Eddie let Steve pull him to his feet and they walked hand in hand to Steve’s bedroom for the last of Eddie’s rut.

****

When Eddie came to he was not in Steve’s apartment, he was in a smaller hotel room lying on a comfy sofa.

“I’m going to have to burn that sofa after all this,” Robin groused from a nearby armchair. “It will reek of alpha for months if I don’t. I can smell you from here.”

Eddie sat up. He was dressed in soft grey sweatpants and a loose white tank top. No underwear, but then he hadn’t brought any. He ran his fingers through his greasy and sweat slicked hair.

“Fuck,” Eddie grumbled.

“Your manager, Benny sent over a duffel of clothes for you for the next three days.”

Eddie saw the small duffel and snatched it up. “May I please request the use of your shower, milady?”

Robin laughed. “Please do.”

Eddie dashed for the door she pointed to and slammed the door behind him. He stripped his clothes and quickly got under the still cold water. He didn’t want to wait for it to heat up because he felt that gross. His dick was most clean because Steve took the time to wipe him down between condom changes, but he washed it good anyway.

The next thing he focused on was his hair, he had to wash it several times before it felt like it was supposed to. He ran conditioner through the ends of his curls with his fingers, gently massaging it in.

Then he worked on getting the sweat and stink off his body. He hated washing away Steve’s scent, but if he didn’t get clean, Eddie was going to scratch his eyeballs out.

Finally satisfied with how clean he was, he rinsed out his conditioner and stepped out.

He dried off quickly and rummaged through the bag.

Eureka!

Underwear.

Eddie got dressed and then cleaned up his mess, hanging up towels and making sure there wasn’t water everywhere. Uncle Wayne raised him better than to make a mess of someone else’s home.

He opened the door to find Robin and Benny waiting for him.

“Hey, Ben Ten, Birdie,” he greeted, concern dripping from every pore. “What’s happening?”

Benny smiled. “It’s nothing bad. Robin and I were just wrapping up the end of the contract.”

Eddie’s shoulders slumped in relief. He had almost forgotten about the whole thing because he was madly in love with Steve. He sat down on the sofa next to Benny.

“So everything is good?” he asked to be sure.

“Yup!” Robin said brightly. “You are now free to pursue the omega of your dreams.”

Eddie chuckled.

He thought for a moment, licking the bottom of his lip.

“Hey, Robin,” he asked, looking down at his clasped hands, “has an escort ever turned out to be a golden omega?”

Robin and Benny shared a glance.

“You think Steve might be one?” she asked. “Because if he is, that would be fucking hilarious.”

Eddie’s head snapped up.

“His parents have called him useless and a disgrace for being infertile for over a decade,” Robin explained. “To have him be a golden omega who could have been sold for ten to twenty times what he got auctioned for? That would be poetic justice.”

He nodded. “So do you think there’s a chance?”

“Sure,” she said with a half shrug. “The agency doesn’t shout it from the rooftops but yeah, there have been a couple of golden omegas that have come out of Starcourt.”

“How did they find out?” Benny asked, suddenly very interested in where this conversation was going.

“A combination of a couple different ways,” Robin said. “The first is how frequent their heats are. Most golden omegas go into heat more often then regular fertile omegas to make up for the fact they can only get pregnant during their heats.”

Eddie nodded, “And Steve’s are within the normal range?”

She waved her hand back and forth. “Kinda. It’s more times a year than a regular omega, but not outside the possibility if you know what I mean.”

“So say a regular omega has four heats a year and golden omega has eight,” Benny said, “Steve’s heat is somewhere in the middle?”

Robin nodded. “Exactly. The other thing is scent. Which you know Steve’s is unusual. But it’s unusual for an omega full stop.”

Benny and Eddie shared a look of confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Alphas scents are spices, like cinnamon, clove, cardamon, or spicy like peppers, or natural woody scents like pine or cedar,” she explained. “Omegas are fruit and floral scents. Sometimes flavors like chocolate or coffee. That includes golden omegas. Infertile omegas have what is always described as rotted fruit. Super sickly sweet.”

Eddie bit his bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth. “But Steve’s is a mix between the two scents?”

Robin nodded again. “Right. The third thing that helps identify a non-tested golden omega is their resistance to scent breakers.”

“Fuck,” Eddie said. “That means he’s not a golden omega. I thought for sure he was. I even told him he was. That he was so special and precious beyond measure.”

She shook her head. “No, Eddie. That’s where you’re wrong. There is a final thing that helps identify if the omega in question is a golden or not.”

Eddie frowned, “What’s that?”

“There’s a reason golden omegas get their choice of any alpha in the country, if not world,” she said fiercely. “And despite what the media likes to paint it as, it’s not just the rich and elite.”

“It’s not?” Benny asked.

Robin shook her head again. “They’re looking for their soulmate.”

It was like someone had scooped out Eddie’s stomach. “Their what?”

“Soulmate,” Robin said. “The person who completes them. Someone who can break through their scent breaking resistance, someone who’s scent compliments their own, someone who when they share their heats and ruts it goes just about as perfectly as two humans can get. And if they meet that person?”

“Oh,” Eddie breathed.

“Oh.”

****

Soulmates! *jazz hands* Yeah, sorry I couldn't help myself.

Part 17

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[seasonsbloom]

bad habit (hangman)

read part ii, read part iii

pairing ; hangman x female!reader

synopsis ; the moment you meet hangman, you know you hate him. and then suddenly, you're not so sure anymore.

“Sweetheart,” he drawls, “when you look like me, you don’t really need any lines.”

wc ; 15k

warnings ; angst, explicit language, mentions of previous character death (reader’s mother dies of cancer), mentions of sexual activity, (some) explicit sexual activity, horrible dirty talk, age gap, hangman is sort of an asshole but not really, inexperienced reader

note ; i cannot believe i am posting this, it is so LONG and i am so embarrassed... at first it was just supposed to be pwp and then it suddenly had a LOT of plot and backstory and then i was at 15k and hadn't even really gotten to the smut part yet and now... i'm thinking... part 2? maybe? let me know if you're interested lol. anyways... first fic... yay?

Fightertown is all sand, suntan lotion, and contrails crisscrossing like latticework across the endless stretch of baby blue that is the Californian sky.

At first, you don’t know how to handle it. You’re from Seattle, which means an average of 156 rainy days a year, and here it feels like the only water you’re ever gonna feel again is the Pacific Ocean and the layers of sweat drying sticky on your skin when you wake up every day. You’re too stingy on your electrical bills to leave the fan spinning circles that herd stale air through your room all night, and it gives you a stuffy nose anyways, so you just suffer through it. Then, in the morning, you spend ten minutes standing under ice-cold water until your teeth chatter with enough force to hurt your jaw, only to forget once more what it feels like not to be hot minutes later.

Penny says you’ll get used to it eventually. But, two months in, you’re wondering if maybe she’s wrong.

“‘Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,/ Men were deceivers ever,-’” you read from the book in front of you. “‘One foot in sea and one on shore,/ To one thing constant never.’ Now, what does Shakespeare mean by that?” 

Amelia is starting to look like she’d rather be anywhere else. You’ve been at it for about 55 minutes, meaning you’ve got approximately 5 more left for today’s session. Usually, you’d call it quits by now and let her enjoy the remainder of her afternoon because she looks tired enough to fall asleep right here at the dinner table, but you don’t want to leave yet. You’d like to think it’s because you’re a sensible teacher. Most likely, though, it’s because the Benjamin residence is airconditioned, and Penny keeps that shit racked up to a moderate 71 degrees all day, and apparently, you’re a selfish bitch who will put her own need for heat relief before her student’s need for a reprieve from Shakespeare.

Which, like. Semantics.

“I don’t know,” Amelia says, chin resting in the open palm of her hand. She probably would know if she’d listened at all, but you’re pretty sure her mind is as much on the popsicles in the fridge as her eyes are on the clock on the wall.

“It means men are moody assholes who can’t stay faithful,” Penny says as she steps into the living room, ignoring her daughter’s scandalized Mom! “Pretty self-aware for the 16th century, don’t you think?”

You hum. “Pretty true, too.”

Penny laughs. “Don’t you know it? Take it as a life lesson, Amelia.” Then she extends something wrapped in colorful plastic in your direction. “Fudgesicle?”

Maybe some part of you should feel bad about exploiting the Benjamins for their aircon and free ice cream, but you’re sort of past that point.

“Thanks.” You take the fudgesicle and start unwrapping it without any further ado.

“Mom,” Amelia, her phone in one hand and her own ice cream in the other, asks as she gets up, “can I go upstairs now?”

“Ask your tutor,” Penny responds with a thumb pointed in your direction.

You shrug, preoccupied mainly with the flavor of chocolate and fudge melting on your tongue. Your bank account doesn’t really allow for luxuries like popsicles anymore, but, God, this must be heaven.

“Yeah, we’re pretty much done with Shakespeare today. Go over those pentameters again before the test, okay?”

“Sure.” Amelia smiles at you, already halfway to the door. “Thanks. See you next week.”

You wave at her turned back, and wait until she’s disappeared before you say, “She’s a good kid.”

Penny snorts. “A little glued to her phone, maybe.”

“I think that’s sorta par for the course.”

“Not very good with Shakespeare, either.”

“Now that’s definitely par for the course with a fifteen-year-old. Be glad they aren’t reading Hamlet.”

Penny laughs. She sinks into one of the unoccupied chairs at the dining table and stretches her legs out with a sigh. She’s already switched her usual cotton shorts for jeans which tells you she’s about to head over to her bar for the rest of the night.

“I guess I should count my blessings,” she says. “At her age, I’d already hijacked two planes with two different pilots.”

Penny’s stories about her teenage transgressions are always enough to make you feel stuck somewhere between awe and profound jealousy. Your own life is downright dull in comparison.

Then again, your life - and especially the romantic aspects of it - are downright dull compared to most things.

“You must have given your parents gray hairs,” you say, packing up your pencil and notebook in your tote bag. It’s not easy with only one free hand, but somehow you manage without leaving a trail of chocolate across Penny’s tabletop.

“I sure hope so.” 

You’re down to the part of your Fudgsicle where the wooden stick pokes out of the ice cream, and try to avoid licking at it accidentally. You hate the feeling of the wood against your tongue, but the whole thing is a bit difficult, as you’re also trying to eat at a pace you know will give you a stomach ache later.

You have to get out of here before Penny sinks her talons into you and…

“You should come by the Hard Deck today,” she says, and you bite back a groan.

Too late.

“I can’t,” you say semi-automatically, “I’ve got work tomorrow.”

Roughly a month ago, you pinned a sheet of paper to the bulletin board at the gas station where you’ve been picking shifts up since you arrived in town, advertising Tutoring for English, Grades 1 to 12. Penny was the only person who answered. Since then, you’ve been coming to the house once a week to tutor Amelia and, unofficially, to be lectured by Penny on all the joys life has to offer.

Her words, not yours.

“No, you don’t. You never work Sundays,” Penny shoots back immediately. Then, at your frown, she just shrugs. “You can’t lie to me, sweetie. I used to do it professionally. It takes one to know one.”

You sigh. “I don’t know that I feel like going out tonight.”

“You’ll feel like it once you’re actually out.”

Having finished your fudgesicle, you place the stick carefully in the wrapper before getting up. You reach across the tabletop and heft up your complete edition of Shakespeare’s plays. The thing is thick enough that you like to keep it by your bedside, just in case you ever wake up to an intruder in your apartment. It definitely doubles as a defensive weapon.

Penny lets out the long-suffering sigh of someone over going through the interminable motions of this spiel the two of you have inadvertently established. “What are you going to do then, tonight?” she asks. “Eat Cup Noodles and read Shakespeare?”

You can feel your face heating up. That really had been the plan.

“Jane Austen, actually,” you mumble without looking at her, clutching the book to your chest like a shield.

“Just… come down tonight, yeah? It’ll do you good to see some people. You’re twenty-three, sweetie. You shouldn’t be sitting around all on your own,” she says gently. “Please?”

The thing about Penny is that beneath her cool-girl veneer, beneath the tough-as-steel attitude of a bar owner, beneath the badass single mom allures, she’s really, really kind. It lets her get away with stuff that would be unacceptable coming from anybody else, but it also means she’s coming from a place of love, most of the time. 

You know this. Which is why the next thing you ask is, “Does your bar have aircon?”

+

The dress was a mistake.

You know it the moment you step out of your Uber. It’s too short, so you just know you’ll be spending the rest of the night tugging at the hem every few minutes. It’s also low in the back where the tightly tied straps of the halter-neck slap against your shoulders, and that means everyone can probably see the patch of acne your dermatologist promised would subside after puberty. Turns out, all men really do is lie. So you’re also going to have to find a wall to perch against and maintain that position until it’s socially acceptable to leave without Penny being angry with you.

In short: you’re deeply uncomfortable.

You don’t even remember why you picked this out earlier, let alone why you bought it in the first place. A mixture of misplaced bravado and alcohol on a night of online shopping, probably. It’s just that there’s this thing you sometimes get, this peculiar tug in your stomach, this strange desire to be seen at the same time that you’re terrified. You want to be invisible, but sometimes you think you’ll die if you don’t get any attention.

Maybe you just want people to perceive you, but without any of the negative consequences that might come with it.

That’s not how the world works, though, a voice at the back of your head tells you that sounds so much like Penny it scares you.

You spend a good five minutes idling by the parked cars, turning your keys over and over and over in your hands. You have half a mind just to go back home.

The Hard Deck is spilling buttery yellow light into the darkness of the night, and people migrate to it like moths to a lamp. You can hear the music and the chattering of voices even from where you’re standing in the gravel parking lot. It’s the sort of thing that should probably make you excited, but instead, you feel the familiar swoop of anxiety in the pit of your stomach.

Ridiculous, you scold yourself. You can’t honestly be afraid of a night in a bar.

Even past ten o’clock, with the sun set beyond the horizon in a display of pinks and oranges and blues so ostentatious it bordered on smugness - like the sky was saying, hey, look what I can do! - it’s still too hot. You can feel pearls of sweat beading in the nape of your neck, the tops of your thighs, the peak of your hairline. If you don’t go in now, the make-up you spent an embarrassingly long time perfecting will melt down your face in a puddle of mascara and lipgloss.

I’ll just stay for a while, you think. I’ll let Penny make me a pink and fruity cocktail, and then I’m going home in an hour. It’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna be okay.

You’re really trying to hype yourself up as you climb the few steps to the front porch. A few people are milling about here, nursing beers, a couple making out towards the railing where the light doesn’t reach.

Inside, the air smells like sweat and beer and good times. There really is air conditioning, but it doesn’t do too much to dispel the heat of too many people pressing into too little space. People crowd towards the bar, a throng of them, as they nudge and poke to beat each other to the next drink order. It’s mostly people from the Army base, you realize, a little taken aback. A sea of short hair and tan uniforms, beers in hands, and smiles on faces. The jukebox is playing a Springsteen tune.

You’re distracted enough that when somebody bumps into you, you let out an actual yelp and almost lose your footing.

Large hands come up to steady you by the elbows. “Sorry, sweetheart,” someone says from behind you.

You turn on your heel quickly. The guy is beautiful, because of course he is. The sort of beautiful you can recognize even when you get only a glimpse of his jaw and shoulders. Tall, tan, fit.

Your heart skips a beat.

He’s also not looking at you at all, hands already gone from you, neck craned to presumably look for someone in the sea of people.

“Didn’t see you there,” he says, and then he’s strutting away from you just as quickly as he’d come.

And, okay… ouch.

Now you regret wanting to be invisible earlier. Turns out the actual thing does not feel good. Not one bit.

A pit opens up in your stomach, and you need to swallow down whatever emotion is rising in your throat. You have the sudden, embarrassing, debilitating urge to cry.

Then somebody calls your name across the room. It’s Penny, waving at you from behind the bar with a massive grin on her face, and you could fall to your knees with relief.

You push your way through the crowd, fighting elbows and knees until, finally, your palms hit the wooden counter. It’s sticky beneath your fingers. You cringe.

“You made it!” Penny cheers. She draws a perfect glass of beer from the tap even as she talks to you.

You’re reluctantly impressed.

“Yay!” you agree, miming sad little jazz hands.

Penny laughs, never one to let even the most pitiful excuse of a joke pass her by. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t show.”

“I did promise,” you say. You didn’t mean for it to come out as defensive as it does.

Penny shakes her head, still smiling. She deposits the beers in the waiting hands of a Navy pilot, then turns to you. “I don’t doubt your integrity, sweetie. Just your commitment to having fun.”

“Yeah,” you agree, slowly letting your gaze wander over the overstuffed bar. “Fun.”

This time, Penny actually snorts. “Just have a drink, yeah? Relax.”

People have been telling you to relax for years now. You’re too tense, you’re too uptight, you gotta loosen up a little. They did it in high school. They did it when you were studying for an English degree in college you haven’t used even once in the year since your graduation. Hell, you’re pretty sure somebody did it when you were still showing up to kindergarten Halloween costume contests dressed up as a Math teacher while everybody else was a Power Ranger or a Princess.

It’s just a little difficult to relax when all you’ve got is childhood trauma, an apartment you can’t afford, friends you don’t talk to anymore, and student loans to pay off until the end of your life.

“I haven’t been relaxed a day in my life,” you say drily.

You can’t be sure because she’s turning to fill a row of shot glasses lined up neatly on the countertop, but you’re almost positive Penny is rolling her eyes.

“I could help you relax.” You know it’s the guy from earlier before you even turn to confirm your suspicion. He’s sidled up behind you, leaning half over your shoulder. This time, he glances down at you and has the audacity to send you a wink. “I’ve been told I’m quite good at that.”

Now that you know he’s a total sleaze, you feel better about how he ignored you earlier.

“Seriously?” you say. “Has that line ever worked for you?”

A grin spreads over his features. You realize he has an incredibly punchable face.

“Sweetheart,” he drawls, “when you look like me, you don’t really need any lines.”

You bristle. A remark you hope will be scathing builds up on the tip of your tongue, but you’re interrupted before you can let it loose.

“Hangman.” You’re seriously confused by the tone of genuine affection in Penny’s voice. What the hell is that about? “What can I get you?”

“I’ll have a round of beers.” He lets his eyes drift down to you again, and his grin grows impossibly wider. “Plus whatever the little lady’s having. You can put it on my tab.”

Little lady. You’re about to vomit on the countertop. You’re definitely not feeling a strange tightening sensation in your stomach. Nope, no way.

“No, thank you,” you say pointedly. “I can pay for my own drinks.”

Never mind you know for a fact you have about ten dollars left in your wallet.

“Come on,” the guy says, nudging you a little where he’s still hovering over you. He’s so goddamn close. You can feel the heat he radiates, can smell the scent of his aftershave, something spicy yet sweet. When he speaks, his chest rumbles with the sound inches behind you. “See it as an apology for knocking into you earlier.”

So he does remember. You’re not sure if that makes you feel better or worse.

Penny is watching the exchange with a raised eyebrow and a twinkle of something you can’t name in her eyes. It’s enough to inspire actual fear in you.

“Let me guess…” The guy pretends to think about it for a moment or two. “You want something pink and fruity, yeah?”

You can’t believe it’s that easy for him to read you, can’t believe the way it has instant, white-hot shame flashing through you. Now you really want to punch him.

Shoulders actually, genuinely shaking with all the anger piling up inside of you, you turn to face Penny. “Scotch,” you say. “Neat.”

Penny is staring at the two of you as if she’s watching a tennis match. Then, you become suddenly and uncomfortably aware of a bar full of people tailgating behind you, waiting their turn to order their drink.

While you’re starting to feel your skin itch with all the attention, the guy seems to have no qualms. His finger appears in your field of vision as he points at you. “You heard the little lady, Penny. One scotch. Neat.”

He over-pronounces the word, the t crisp and sharp, mocking you, and you grab the countertop hard enough your knuckles protrude white beneath the skin.

Penny shrugs and reaches beneath the bar to retrieve a glass and a bottle of scotch. Then, as if calling back to some inside joke, she says, “You got it, Hangman.”

That stuns you.

“Your name is Hangman?” you ask, and you can’t keep the genuine disbelief out of your voice. “What, did your parents hate you? What the fuck kinda name is that?”

He raises an eyebrow, but the smirk remains unrattled. “You got a pretty dirty mouth, huh, sweetheart?” 

“I can curse as much as I like, thank you very much.”

He hums, says, “We’ll see about that.” 

And when you look over your shoulder, you find him staring at your lips.

You whip back around, elbows squished between your body and the bar, heart beating a hundred miles a minute. Blindly, you stare straight ahead, through the open back doors, to where the moonlight reflects off ocean waves. Something is itching beneath your skin now. You have to calm down before you blow your fuse.

“Hangman,” he explains after a moment of silence, “is my callsign.”

That clarifies just about nothing to you. “Callsign?” you repeat. “What are you, a phone sex operator?”

It was supposed to be an insult, but he throws his head back, laughing like you made the funniest joke he’s ever heard. Then he leans forward, all the way into your personal space, chest pressing to your back, shoulders brushing yours, his breath hot against the shell of your ear as he says, “If you want me to talk dirty to you, sweetheart, all you need to do is ask.”

It sort of wipes your mind clean. No thoughts, only your body reacting - stomach tightening, hairs standing on end, a shiver down your spine. Penny sets the scotch down in front of you, then breezes off to serve some other customers. You barely even see her. Your breaths are coming a little faster, your heart is beating a little harder.

Then he straightens up again, all points of contact suddenly gone. If you weren’t sandwiched between him and the bar with nowhere to go, you think you might tip over backward. It’s all so sudden it leaves you dizzy.

He chuckles, and you hold your ground. Refuse to look at him. If he has picked up on just how rattled he’s got you, you’d rather at least not know about it.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not a phone sex operator,” Hangman says. “I’m a fighter pilot. More dangerous, just as sexy.”

You twist around to get a better look at him. Then, for the first time, you take note of the khaki uniform. Nobody, you think, absolutely nobody, should be able to make that color work for them. And yet somehow, it brings out the green in his eyes.

“Bigger environmental footprint.”

It’s pretty weak, admittedly, but this whole night has spiraled into a realm you didn’t plan for so quickly that you can’t come up with anything else. As a result, you’re uncharacteristically out of your depth.

“Bigger everything,” he shoots back, raising a single eyebrow in challenge.

You don’t know how to counter that, so you take a sip of your scotch and then have to concentrate way too hard not to spit it right back out. The first time you ever tasted alcohol, you snuck a gulp from your dad’s class of Whiskey on the rocks. This is almost as vile, if not worse. Years of consuming margaritas exclusively seem to have dialed your tolerance for straight, hard liquor down to a solid zero. 

“You still sure about that drink?” Hangman asks. The amusement is so evident in the upward turn of his mouth that it makes you want to kick his teeth in or hide behind the counter with Penny. One of the two, just as long as you don’t have to keep looking at him. “I’ll buy you something else. Maybe Penny serves juice boxes.”

Just to spite him, you down the whole thing in a single, long drink.

It burns a trail of fire down your esophagus, and you have to fight a coughing fit so violent you’re not sure you aren’t about to choke. Big mistake, definitely. Huge.

You try your best to keep your face neutral, but your muscles aren’t cooperating. At least if Hangman’s smirk is anything to go by, he’s definitely called your bluff.

“Well, you took that like a trooper,” he says drily. 

Anger lodges in your throat.

“You must be the most insufferable pilot in the whole Navy,” you tell him, hoping all the distaste you feel for Hangman translates into your voice.

Not that it matters. He seems to be one of those guys so infatuated with themselves that everything just rolls off their shoulders, like water off a duck’s back.

“I like to think so,” he says amicably. “I excel at most things I try. Always strive for excellence.”

You’ve never considered yourself a particularly violent person, but you’re pretty sure you would have broken his nose right then and there if it hadn’t been for Penny choosing that exact moment to swoop in.

“Here are your drinks, Hangman.” She places them on the countertop, then jabs a thumb towards the back of the bar. Her voice goes a little pointed as she says, “I think your friends miss you.”

He doesn’t look annoyed to be interrupted, and you can’t believe it, but it puts a little dent in your pride. 

Just how stupid am I? you ask yourself, making a point to face away from him again.

Hangman twists his upper body to reach around you, somehow balancing three bottles in each hand, clamped between his fingers like he’s the alcoholic version of Edward Scissorhands. For a moment, you’re completely enveloped by him, in his arms, and it’s too much, definitely too much, goes straight to your head. You can smell him again, the aftershave and the body spray and the sweat, and as his chest presses flush to your back, you swear you can feel the beat of his heart against all that bare skin exposed by the dress.

“You ever need some help relaxing,” he says into your ear, and for an instant, you feel the ghost of his lips tracing against your ear lobe, “you just ask, yeah, sweetheart?”

And then he’s gone, leaving you clutching at the bar desperately. Your legs feel like jello, ready to give out beneath the weight of your body.

What the fuck just happened? you ask yourself silently. Your mind is still completely, absolutely blank.

Penny pops up out of nowhere like a meerkat. Something on her face tells you you’d better run for cover right now unless you want to get wrapped up in one of her schemes, but you’re rooted to the spot.

“So…” she drawls, and the grin blooming on her face is downright devious. “Hangman, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mumble, rummaging through your purse just to have something to steady the tremors in your hands.

“He was so coming onto you.”

“He was not.”

“Oh, yeah, he totally was. That was aggressive even for Hangman standards, and, lord, that’s saying something.”

“Can I get, like… a glass of water?”

Penny ignores you. “You should totally go for it.”

She nods her head in the direction he disappeared, and you can’t help but follow with your eyes. A group of Navy pilots is shooting pool in the back towards the opened doors. Even among all the uniforms, Hangman sticks out to you - blond hair, tan skin, smirk you want to slap right off his face. He’s laughing at something the only woman in the group said - a real, full-bellied laugh - and then, out of the blue, as if he can feel your gaze, looks right up at you. 

Across the chaos of the bar, across the scattered tables, across the people swaying to the ABBA song playing from the jukebox, across the raised beer bottles and lowering shot glasses, he sends you a wink.

Feeling caught, you turn away instantly. Your cheeks feel like they’re on fire.

“No way,” you say. It doesn’t come out as firm as you want it to, your voice wavering, and you have half a mind to ask for a bucket of ice to thrust your head into. Maybe that could clear the cobwebs.

Penny laughs. “You sure, honey? You look like you’re about to spontaneously combust.”

“I’m sure I do,” you agree. “From anger. I’ve never met somebody that obnoxious.”

It’s pretty clear you’re grasping at straws here.

“I’ve known him since he was a student at Top Gun. He’s a good guy,” Penny says. “Deep down.”

“How deep are we talking? Like Mariana Trench? Center of the earth?”

Penny rolls her eyes. “Come on. Stop thinking so much. Go and have some fun.”

You point at the sign hanging above her bar, the one she’s so proud of she has mentioned it to you several times. “I thought you were supposed to help out when somebody disrespects a lady in here.”

It makes her laugh, a genuine laugh full of amusement and affection that bursts out from deep in her belly. She pets your hand gently.

“You can handle yourself. I know it for a fact.” The smile goes from genuine to mischievous. “Besides… you could stand to be disrespected a little. In the bedroom.”

You gape at her retreating back for a moment.

Then you drop your face into your hands and mutter to yourself, “Oh, God.”

Again… what the fuck just happened?

+

“Hangman asked me to give him your number.”

Penny doesn’t even wait until the end of the lesson this time.

You’re at the Benjamin dining table, watching over Amelia’s shoulder as she writes a short paragraph on misogynistic themes in Much Ado About Nothing. All the ice cubes in your water glass have melted, and the condensation leaves rings on the tabletop and damp against your palms.

When you glance up from Amelia’s work, her mother is standing in the doorway to the kitchen, arms folded in front of her chest. She’s grinning. You look back at the notebook and pretend your heart hasn’t just started racing.

Amelia, whose pen has stilled, asks, “What’s a hangman?”

“Who,” Penny corrects. “He’s a guy interested in your tutor.”

“There’s only one c in unnecessary,” you say. “A shirt has one collar, two sleeves.”

Amelia doesn’t seem to have heard you. “Oh my god,” she says. “Is he cute?”

“Very,” Penny answers at the same time that you grit out, “Not at all.”

“Is he a pilot, too?” Amelia asks, shooting her mother a look you don’t miss.

For all that she is just a teenager with all the eccentricities and dramatics that entails, Amelia has what some would call an old soul. She’s always looking out for her mother, always thinking things through to the bitter ends that Penny would rather look at through the lenses of her perpetual rose-colored glasses.

It reminds you of yourself, and sometimes you want to hug Amelia, hold her, tell her she doesn’t need to take on all these battles. That she deserves to be a child, should revel in it for as long as she can. You don’t want her to end up like you, all this baggage and no one to help you carry it.

“Of course.” Penny, unperturbed, pushes into the room and pulls out a chair for herself. “Nobody can resist those Military men.”

You hide your snort behind a coughing fit just so you don’t give Penny the satisfaction of thinking she’s actually funny. She doesn’t deserve that.

“When did you meet him?”

“Saturday, at your mom’s bar,” you explain, pulling her notebook towards you. “And we didn’t meet. He almost knocked me over and then proceeded to mock me for ten minutes. Not exactly romantic.”

Penny rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. He was flirting with her like crazy.”

You pretend to be busy scanning over Amelia’s writing, but you don’t register much past the words Hero and Claudio.

“Which one is Hangman again?” Amelia asks. She sounds much too invested in this for your liking.

“The blond one.”

“Oh, with the green eyes?”

“That’s the one.”

“Wait, he’s so cute.”

You groan and drop your head onto the tabletop.

So yeah, maybe there are people out there with real problems. People that are starving or people that have lost their homes. Compare your situation to them, and your toil will seem like nothing. All that is true. But right now, at this moment, you can’t imagine a fate worse than having both Benjamin women pouncing on you like this.

“Don’t be so dramatic, sweetie.” Penny pats the top of your head like you’re a small dog. A miniature poodle or something. “If anything, Hangman will be a good time.”

You turn your head so your cheek is pressed against the wood of the table and glare at her. “Maybe we shouldn’t discuss this in front of your teenage daughter.”

“This isn’t the worst conversation she’s had in front of me,” Amelia says. She’s doodling something in the top corner of her essay. At your skeptical look, she shrugs. “Mom gets chatty when she’s drunk.”

“What I’m saying,” Penny continues, voice rising just a little, “is that you won’t regret giving Hangman your number. You need to loosen up a little.”

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t notice that innuendo,” you mumble under your breath, then sit back up abruptly. “Absolutely no way. He’s not getting my number.”

“I think it would be cool if you had a boyfriend,” Amelia interjects.

“You and me both, baby,” Penny agrees, leaning across the table to take a sip of Amelia’s sugar-free Mountain Dew.

You are going to start screaming spontaneously any minute now.

“I’m perfectly fine being single.”

Amelia grimaces. “You literally know half of Much Ado About Nothing by heart.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” Penny reassures quickly and gives her daughter a placating look. “Just that you might have a bit too much time on your hands.”

“That’s not true. I work six days a week.”

“Exactly!” Penny smiles from ear to ear. It’s almost angelic, that smile. You can’t believe there’s an actual demon hiding behind it. “Which is why I should give Hangman your number. You have to have some fun at least one day a week.”

“I agree,” Amelia says.

“Am I still getting paid for this?” you ask, glancing at your phone to get the time. “Does this stay on the clock?”

Penny doesn’t answer your question. “I just think anybody in Fightertown needs to go on at least one date with a Navy pilot. It’s a rite of passage, really.”

“Aren’t there any other eligible pilots around then? Somebody nice? Literally anybody else?”

Penny’s smile turns soft. “You’re not seriously trying to convince me you’d be content with a nice guy, are you?”

That gives you pause. “What’s wrong with nice guys?”

“Absolutely nothing. Just… I don’t think nice is what you need at all, sweetie.”

You exhale loudly and then sit up, shaking away the strands of hair plastered to your cheek. “I don’t think I could stand being around Hangman either.”

“I’m not saying you should get married to the guy,” Penny acquiesces, “just… go on one date.”

You think about it for a moment. Think about dressing up in your prettiest dress, waiting outside your shitty apartment complex for Hangman to pick you up. Would he wear his uniform again or civilian clothes? You imagine him in jeans and a t-shirt, a hoodie for when it gets colder, the way the fabric would hug his broad shoulders. Would he take you to a restaurant or to the movies? No, Hangman seems like the type of guy to take you somewhere he can show off, you decide, to go bowling or surfing or something equally embarrassing for you, gratifying for him. You think about sharing a bottle of beer on the beach, the ocean spreading far and wide and blue in front of you, waves cresting, the moon gleaming, his warm hand on your back, his voice so close to your ear. Think of drawing him closer, his breath on your mouth, his touch on your hips…

You shake your head to banish the thoughts.

No way, you think, and something inside of you flutters with the sudden fear of it all, no way I can do this.

“I don’t think so, Penny,” you say. Your voice has gone quiet, dispassionate but firm, and you know Penny will know not to push further. “We should get finished with this lesson.”

Penny is quiet for so long that you know she’s swallowing down words. So you make it a point not to look at her. 

There’s a fear inside of you, a fear that stands in doorways and won’t let you pass. A fear that blocks the pathways of your life. You’ve been static for so long now that you don’t know how to shake it. Sometimes you don’t even know if you want to.

There’s something reassuring about not moving. It means you won’t get lost.

Finally, Penny sighs. “Alright,” she says, rapping her knuckles against the tabletop. “Be good, you two.”

You concentrate on the words blurring and sliding off the page in front of you and ignore the insistent, nagging voice at the back of your head chanting coward coward coward.

+

It’s Friday, but you’re not feeling at all inclined to thank God for it.

The gas station is deserted, which, in your humble opinion, is much worse than when it’s busy. Because no costumers mean nothing to do and nothing to do means nothing to occupy your mind with, and nothing to occupy your mind with means thinking, thinking, thinking.

You’re like a broken record - getting halfway through a thought before you circle back to the beginning, endless loops cartwheeling around and around.

It goes: Penny, Amelia, Hangman, Saturdays at the Hard Deck, Arizona Ice Tea spill in aisle four, Hangman, Hangman, Hangman… record scratch, pause, tape spooling, rewinding, replaying.

You’re so bored you’ve counted all the ceiling tiles four times. On the radio, they’re talking about the weather. The slushie machine is spinning cherry-colored ice with little, gurgling sounds.

The bell chimes, and you barely look up from your phone screen. A few lowered voices, the sound of laughter, and shuffling feet on linoleum floors as the group approaches the glass walls behind which row after row of drinks stands huddled can to can in the blessed cool. You blow a strand of hair out of your eyes.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

And you must have done something really horrible in a past life - there’s no other explanation for why the universe keeps doing this to you.

Hangman is leaning against the counter, one elbow braced on the top, the other arm lifting to flick his sunglasses down to the tip of his nose. He’s smirking, and the expression has become so familiar already that you think it might be melded with his face. You pretend not to notice the sleeve of his uniform straining against his bicep.

“Are you stalking me?” you ask.

“Definitely not.” Stepping away from the counter, he lifts a sixpack into the air. “I’m buying beer.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You got any ID?”

It punches a laugh out of him, and you don’t like it. You weren’t aiming to amuse him - you want to annoy him. You want to make his skin crawl the way he does to you. You want to slip inside his mind and burrow there, stay there, get lodged there. A splinter in his finger. A thorn in his side.

The intensity of it scares you, and when you reach for your water bottle, playing with the cap, your hands are shaking.

He reaches into his pocket and gets out his wallet. The picture on his driver’s license is old; He’s younger in it but no less handsome. His hair is just as blond, his eyes just as green. There's nothing ridiculous about it, unlike the botched photo you took at the DMV years ago.

You glance at his date of birth belatedly, almost like an afterthought, then do the mental math quickly. Not because you think he isn’t old enough to buy the beer. Just to find out how big the gap between him and you is.

Seven years. Seven years… you don’t know what that means. You don’t know why you care.

“Alright.” You move to ring up the sixpack, but he shakes his head.

“Waiting for my friends,” he explains with a thumb thrown over his shoulder.

“You have friends?”

He laughs again. “You’re funny.”

“I’m not trying to be,” you mutter and, resolved not to engage with him any further, pick your phone back up and settle in against the shelf of cigarettes behind you to ignore him.

He is having none of it, and you’re not even surprised.

“I liked the dress better, but those shorts aren’t half bad either.”

You look down at your work uniform of white denim shorts and a hideously orange vest with your name tag pinned to the chest. It is a downgrade from Saturday’s outfit, that’s for sure, but you haven’t settled on how you feel that he remembers it yet.

“I didn’t think you noticed my dress,” you say.

“Sweetheart, you’d have to be an idiot not to notice that dress.”

It has you lifting an eyebrow, seeing an in. “Oh, so you admit you’re an idiot then? Since you ran into me and all?”

His smirk goes just a fraction wider. “Maybe I did it on purpose.”

“You run into girls on purpose often?”

“Only the real pretty ones.”

It makes your head spin because… things like this just don’t happen to you. Not with guys like Hangman, at least. And it’s not even because you think you’re ugly or unappealing. Rationally you know you’re not. It’s just that he’s so… he’s so…

“What, am I so handsome you’re speechless?”

He’s so goddamn insufferable.

“You torturing this poor girl, Hang?” 

You recognize the woman from last Saturday, her sharp cheekbones, the glossy hair sleeked back into an army-mandated but nonetheless impressive coil at the back of her neck. She’s pushed her sunglasses up to the top of her head, which already makes her less of a show-off than Hangman by a mile. The smile she gives you is genuine and warm, and you feel yourself relax.

Anything’s better than being alone with Hangman.

“Oh, hardly.” Hangman shuffles to the side to let the woman heave another six-pack onto the counter. “If anything, she’s the one torturing me.”

There’s a literal ball of fire in your stomach, radiating heat all the way up to your cheeks. You must be looking like a deer caught in headlights right now.

The woman purses her lips. There’s so much derision in this one minuscule expression that it has actual jealousy jolting through you. Man, if only you could look at Hangman like that, you might actually make some sort of impact on him.

“Stop lying, man.” The woman rolls her eyes and then shares a look with you, something conspiratorial, something long-suffering only women can share in the presence of a man severely overestimating his own desirability. “She’ll punch you before she lets you take her out.”

Hangman shrugs. “Fine with me. It’s a fine line between love and hate.”

“What the fuck,” you mumble and busy yourself with the register.

“Is he bothering ladies again?” Two other men in Navy uniforms step up. One, tall, dark-skinned, mustachioed, dumps a whole armful of snacks on the counter, then grins at you a little sheepishly. 

“Always,” the woman answers without missing a beat.

Hangman says, “I’m not bothering her if she enjoys it.”

You’re almost entirely positive that he winked at you again, but you make it a point not to look up and start scanning items instead. 

“You guys need any bags?”

“That’s alright,” the woman answers.

They chat among themselves as you ring them up, but you can feel Hangman’s eyes on you the whole time. It’s enough to make you feeble, clumsy, and try your best not to drop anything.

You don’t know what compels you to say something. By all means, you should stay quiet. Let him leave. Never think about it again.

Instead, you pick up a bag of flaming hot Cheetos and say, as casually as you can manage, “Are you having a party?”

“Bonfire,” Hangman corrects. His elbow is still balanced on the counter, all that tanned skin, and you let your eyes follow the trail of his arm, up to his chest where his name tag spells SERESIN, all in capital letters. You pause there, staring at the name. “On the beach.”

You think that’s going to be it, that you’re going to ring him up and send him home. You’ll bite your tongue bloody before you say another word.

But then he continues, “You should come.”

He hasn’t been exactly subtle in his flirting, so this shouldn’t come as a surprise, and yet somehow it does, enough to stun you. Maybe it’s just your lack of self-confidence, but such a blatant invitation to spend an evening not just with him but with all his friends, makes your brain short-circuit.

“I have to work,” you answer almost automatically, brain operating completely on auto-pilot.

He lifts his shoulders in a noncommittal shrug. “After work, then.”

You open your mouth but can’t come up with another excuse, so you just settle on, “Your total is 42,98.”

You think he will fight you on it like he’s been fighting you on everything since the first time you met. But he just smirks, only one side of his mouth lifting, and gets his card from his pocket.

“I’ll pay,” he says.

When you accept his card, you take painfully meticulous care not to let your fingers brush against his.

The woman watches the whole exchange, and as you glance at her, something unreadable, some tiny flicker of emotion crosses her face before a genuine, slight smile replaces it.

Hangman stores his wallet in his pocket and starts collecting snacks in both arms, as do the other two men. You watch it all with a strange feeling fluttering in your chest, something that grows in your throat, threatening to choke you.

You wonder what it would be like to live in the moment, to stop thinking of consequences, stop weighting every decision with scales, overthinking every issue until you’ve looked at it from every angle and still haven’t found a single solution. You wonder what it would be like to throw your hands up in the air, say fuck it, who cares, wait for the end of your shift and drive down to that beach, get drunk on the beer you sold to the most obnoxious pilot in the history of the Navy, to take him home later and then have him inevitably never call you or text you or even speak to you again.

You wonder what it would be like not to feel the weight of the world drag you down, down, down.

“See you around, sweetheart,” Hangman says, smirking, pushing his aviators back up the bridge of his nose until the green eyes disappear behind the dark shades, until he’s obstructed from view. Until he becomes once more just a guy you pass on shopping streets, too beautiful to be real, too beautiful to ever talk to you. He turns towards the door, the other two in tow.

If he looks back, you think, torn between wishing and dreading, if he looks back, I’ll go.

He doesn’t look back.

Only the woman hangs back, looking at you with the same expression you can’t make light of. Curiosity, maybe. Interest.

“He’s not giving you too much trouble, is he?” she asks after a moment.

Her voice is different now, less harsh somehow. Softer.

You can’t even imagine what it must be like to try and make it as a woman in a world that’s still as obviously run by men as the army. You suppose there’s some amount of adjustment involved, some posturing. A shell as thick as armor.

“It’s… it’s fine. He’s harmless.” You’re surprised at your own words but not as surprised as you are to find that you actually mean them.

No part of you feels threatened by Hangman; no part of you feels unsafe or intimidated. You’ve been hit on by enough sleazy men in bars to know that that’s a rarity.

“He can be a lot, sometimes.”

You snort. “I can tell. If anyone’s in danger here, though, it’s him.”

She raises an eyebrow, and her sunglasses, still pushed into her hair, climb with the movement. “How so?”

“If he keeps going as he has been, I’ll punch him in the face.”

She grins and says, “I don’t doubt it.”

It’s nice. Pleasant. Easy.

You can’t remember the last time you spoke to somebody close to your own age like this, almost like you’re friends. At the realization, your heart gives a painful pang.

“I’m Phoenix, by the way,” she says, offering you a hand across the counter.

You take it without hesitation and smile at her as you tell her your name.

She nods. “We usually hang around the Hard Deck on Saturdays if you ever want to come by.”

“Oh,” you say, “Thank you.”

It’s a genuine offer, you can tell. She doesn’t strike you as somebody who says things she doesn’t mean, and that’s why it’s special to you.

She nods again, says goodbye, and pushes off the counter.

By the door, she pauses suddenly. Then, with one hand already on the handle, she glances back at you.

“He’s not a bad guy,” Phoenix says, face gentle, and you don’t need to ask who she’s talking about. “He’s just… he’s just Hangman. He acts like an asshole, but he’s a softie on the inside.”

You sink your teeth into your lower lip, unsure how to answer.

Phoenix shrugs. “I just thought you should know,” she says.

The bell above the door rings as she steps outside. A gust of warm wind blows in. The aircon groans once and pumps more stale, cool air into the room. The radio is stuck on a Katy Perry song. You tap your fingers against the countertop in a rhythmless pattern, squeeze your eyes shut, and think of the long, long stretch of nothingness that extends before you.

+

Three months ago, you packed your life into a car.

It had never been part of the plan. Because that was a thing you used to have, once upon a time - a plan. You knew exactly what you wanted, from the job to the dog breed to the car. There was a house down the road from your parents, a house with a blue door and a white fence, and a tire swing dangling from the branches of an old, twisting willow tree, and you had known you’d buy it one day since you were five.

When you were eight, you used to run past that house every day to catch the school bus, thinking what it would be like to be up on that swing, kicking your legs and soaring higher, higher, higher, up into the blue of the sky. When you were fifteen, you wondered what it would be like to live in a house with two stories, a house where things wouldn’t be cramped, where you didn’t have to spend fifteen minutes waiting for the only bathroom to be free, where you didn’t hit your elbows and knees and shins and toes on all the nooks and crannies and rusting nails protruding from wood. Finally, when you were twenty, you wondered what it would be like to come home from work to a husband who loved you and kids who smiled at you.

So you used to have a plan. Go to college, get a job, grow up, get married, buy that house. You used to have things figured out.

And then your mother died.

You remember watching her as she began to fade, as she went translucent like the paper she used to wrap your sandwiches in. As cancer dissected her, flayed her open, ate away her edges, a little more each day. As she went from vibrant colors to shades of gray, film history reversing itself. You remember when it got so bad, you left college to go back home, to sit by her bedside every day, to feed her by the spoon as she had once fed you, to read to her from the books you had once studied in 8 am classes, from Bronte and Joyce and Fitzgerald.

One morning you walked into her room, expecting to see her awake, and found that she’d gone cold in the night instead. To this day, you’ll never forget how that felt - the grief of it, instant and cleaving you in two, the panic of practicality, of not knowing what to do or who to call. And then the relief, that horrible, warped thing that welled up inside of you, that you still can’t forgive yourself for, because at least it was finally over, all that suffering and all that waiting around for the inevitable.

It was a small funeral. Your parents divorced years ago, back in the cartoon and apple juice days of your life, and your father was clumsy as always, a stranger in the face of the familiarity you’d shared with your mother. Just a touch of his fingertips to your shoulder at an open grave, a downward twist to his mouth, whispering sorry, kiddo, before he disappeared back into the lovely townhouse with his new family and the younger, more agreeable versions of you, the children he’d actually wanted. Back to sending you a birthday card a week late or a month late or not at all and never calling and never visiting and scheduling Facetime calls he forgot about in favor of dance recitals or school plays.

So then you were alone. Resoundingly. Irrevocably.

You finished college in a daze, graduated just because you had gotten halfway there, and dropping out seemed like a bigger hassle than finishing. Found yourself with a degree you no longer remembered what you had wanted to do with in the first place and all those crippling student loans. 

That house with the blue door and the white fence and the tire swing on the willow tree had lost its meaning. Your plan had turned to dust and slipped through your fingers, had been buried right alongside your mother.

So you sold your mother’s place (because who wants a house full of ghosts anyway, a house where each room reminds you of something that will spend the rest of your life missing from you) and got in your car, and you drove. You drove along the coast, through the thick trees of Washington, past the streams of Oregon, through the deserts of California, and when your car finally broke down in Fightertown, you said, fuck it, whatever, might as well, other places suck too. And you stayed.

It has remained the only time in your life you have ever acted on impulse, ever let your heart decide instead of your head, and you’re still not sure if it was the right decision.

You spend your days now trying to scrape together enough money to pay for your electricity bills and your rent and your gas. Just enough to get a frozen yogurt every once in a while. Just enough money so you don’t have to think about money all the time, counting it, saving it, missing it.

It’s sad, you think, when you’re alone at night, spread-eagle on your bed, limbs dangling off the sides of the mattress, staring up at the water stain spreading like a plume of smoke across your ceiling. A sad, little life with no direction.

You’re wallowing, and you know you are. Your penchant for dramatics is getting the best of you.

Most days, it’s not so bad. You like Penny, and you like Amelia, and the other day you went to see a movie at the theater, and that was nice. You like your books and your music and the Reese’s peanut butter cups you buy with your employee discount at the gas station. You like the beach, the taste of salt on your lips, and how the sun feels on the tip of your nose.

So most days, it’s not so bad. And then sometimes, it is.

Then it settles around like a dark cloud, like a fear you just can’t shake. That nagging anxiety in the pit of your stomach that seems to have no cause and no solution gnaws at you, yaps around your ankles, sinks its fangs into you, and won’t let go.

That’s when you curl into bed (but not under the covers because it’s still California and still too hot and still too expensive to keep the fan spinning) and blink into the nothingness and don’t move. And that’s when you dream, or else the dread of it all will swallow you whole and never spit you out again.

So you tell yourself that’s why you’re here again, at the Hard Deck, for the second week in a row, choosing to spend your Saturday with a bunch of sweaty drunk people instead of a family-size pizza. It’s just because you want to avoid the maelstrom of your mind.

It’s definitely not because you couldn’t stand the echoing loneliness of your shitty apartment anymore. It’s definitely not because Phoenix invited you and just seemed so goddamn nice. And it’s most definitely, a 100 percent certainly, cross-your-heart-and-hope-to-die, not because of Hangman. 

You’ll go to your grave swearing that.

When you shuffle into the bar, Penny stares at you like you’ve grown a second head. It’s early enough that there’s still space to move.

“What the hell?” she says, abandoning her task completely in favor of turning to gawk at you. “What are you doing here?”

You shrug your shoulders, trying for nonchalance even as you feel like there are tiny bugs wriggling beneath your skin. Too many eyes on you. “I was craving a drink.”

Penny raises an eyebrow in what you recognize as the international sign of not convincing enough.

“Who the hell are you,” she asks, “and what have you done with my daughter’s tutor?”

Ducking your head, you clumsily climb onto one of the barstools and fold your arms on the counter. Then you try to look around the bar as inconspicuously as possible.

“He’s not here yet,” Penny says.

“Huh?” Feeling caught, you busy yourself with adjusting the hem of your skirt, so it covers as much thigh space as possible. “What?”

Penny doesn’t even pretend to buy it for your benefit. “Hangman,” she says. “That’s why you’re here, right?”

You stiffen, alarm bells going off in your head. If she can read you this easily…

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie.

“Oh, come on, sweetie.” She pats your hand in a gesture you can’t describe as anything but pacifying. “It’s alright.”

Your face feels hot. “It’s not like that,” you say, but even you can tell it’s a feeble attempt at an argument.

Penny chuckles. It’s not a mean sound, quite the opposite, actually, but it still makes your heart sink an inch or two.

“There’s nothing wrong with being attracted to someone, you know?”

That has you bristling. “I’m not attracted to him,” you protest. “I hate him.”

Utterly unbothered by the note of distress that has snuck its way into your voice, Penny shakes her head, an affectionate smile playing about her mouth. “There’s nothing wrong with a little bit of hate-fucking either.”

The gasp her words elicit from you is downright scandalized. You throw a furtive look at the patrons around you to make sure nobody heard, but that just makes Penny’s smile grow.

At least one of you is having fun.

“I’m not going to hate fuck anybody,” you say and then immediately wish your voice had sounded more firm. Less squeaky.

Penny shrugs. “Alright. It’s a fine line between love and hate anyway.”

“Why does everybody keep telling me that?” you whisper.

Either Penny doesn’t think that worthy of an answer, or she didn’t hear you. Which is fine either way. It was more of a rhetorical question anyway.

“So what do you want to drink, then?” Penny asks, finally seeming to decide to indulge you just a little.

Finally you perk up. “Can you make me a Mojito?”

You spend the better part of an hour sitting at the bar, telling yourself you’re definitely not waiting around for him. You’re only here to get drunk.

But the longer you sit alone, watching people around you enjoying themselves, watching as the chatter goes from quiet to deafening, as the place fills up with a steady stream of patrons, the worse of an idea the whole thing seems like. You can’t remember what provoked you to come in the first place for the life of you.

Suddenly, your bed, a gaping, looming lion’s mouth earlier, seems like the most inviting place in the world.

“Penny,” you call, leaning across the counter and waving your hand to get her attention. “Can I just pay, please?”

“You’re going home?”

“I… yeah. I think so.”

With the way Penny is frowning at you, you can tell she isn’t too pleased, but she doesn’t fight you on it.

“I’ll let you go home, but you’re not paying,” she says.

“Penny, you already pay me. You don’t need to let me drink here for free, too.”

She chuckles. “Oh, I’m not. Hangman said to put anything you drink on his tab if you ever show up again.”

That gives you pause, your stomach tightening. “I can’t accept that,” you say, and your voice comes out strangely choked.

“Oh, but you can.”

It’s Hangman, because of course it is. He seems to have an uncanny ability to show up whenever you do so much as think of him. Like he can sense any mention of his name even from miles away. His ego is certainly big enough.

Grinning, he claims the empty space at the bar next to you, leaning his back against it with both elbows braced on the wood. “I wouldn’t be much of a gentleman if I let a girl as pretty as you pay for her own drinks, now would I?”

“Gentleman,” you repeat under your breath. “We’re just saying whatever now, huh?”

He ignores that, twisting around instead to chirp, “Penny, darling, light of my life, will you get her another… what is that, a virgin Mojito?”

You wish you could come up with something witty, but you’re distracted by the long, long stretch of his legs, and all that comes out is, “I drink them with alcohol, actually.”

“Really? Is it only scotch you have trouble with then?”

Now this reminds you just why you hate this guy. Who cares if he’s handsome? Who cares if your heart starts cartwheeling every time he smirks at you? He’s a certified, purebred bastard, and you’re seriously considering if the satisfaction of breaking his nose would be worth the inevitable lawsuit.

“I don’t need you to pay for my drink,” you say, voice firm this time.

“I know,” he counters, still smiling, “but I’m pretty sure the Navy pays me better than whatever you’re making at that gas station, so I don’t mind. Just stop being difficult and let me pay for whatever you order.” 

The anger settles in your throat, already familiar. It’s difficult to keep it down, to keep your head from exploding.

“Fine,” you grit out from between clenched teeth. Then you turn away. “Penny? One round for everybody. It’s on him.”

The smile slides off Hangman’s face, his expression morphing into something stunned. For a moment, he actually looks impressed.

Then he laughs and shakes his head. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say there was something like begrudging admiration flickering across the planes of his face.

“Alright,” he says, “I’ll hand it to you, sweetheart. That was well played.”

He gives Penny the okay, smirk once more firmly in place. And you, triumph so short-lived that it dies inside you like a pathetic little candle snuffed out by a typhoon, consider letting loose a long, echoing screech. 

Is there anything that will break that steely resolve of arrogance he carries everywhere he goes?

Penny rings the bell, and the answering cheer almost pops your eardrums. You turn away from Hangman before you do resort to violence and drain the last of your cocktail in a single sip.

“I’m going home,” you say and hop off the barstool. It brings you inevitably closer to Hangman, your thighs brushing his, and you pretend not to notice.

“So soon?” he asks, and you don’t need to turn to know he has raised one eyebrow. “I only just got here.”

“Hence my leaving,” you counter drily.

“And here I was thinking you wore this dress for me.”

He doesn’t touch you, but for a moment his fingers hook into the soft pink fabric of your dress, where it flares out around your hips. It’s enough to send a shiver down your back.

The worst part of it all, you think, is that he isn’t wrong. You upended the contents of your wardrobe earlier tonight until every available surface in your room - from the bed to the chair to the floor - was covered in clothes you deemed just not right. This number - flimsy, tight, low in the chest but a little more modest where the hem hits almost halfway down your thighs - was buried at the back of your closet, practically forgotten and with the price tag still on. Even as you laughed at how ridiculous you were being, part of you hoped he might notice.

And now that he has, you’re wishing you could rewind time and exchange the infernal thing for sweatpants and an old flannel.

“You’re way too full of yourself,” you tell him.

“So I’ve been told.” He gives you another once over, and suddenly you feel as if you’re standing naked in the middle of this bar. “This one’s spectacular, too, sweetheart, but I still maintain that first dress was my favorite.”

Somewhere between flattered and fed-up, you shoulder your purse. “Goodbye, Hangman.”

“Oh, come on.” He steps to block your path but makes no further move to touch you. “Have another drink with me.”

You’re about to protest when a gentle hand lands on your shoulder.

“You really need to learn how to take no for an answer, Bagman,” Phoenix says. “The lady’s not interested.”

You can feel the smile spreading on your face. Just in time, you think.

Ignoring Hangman completely, she turns to you. “You wanna shoot some pool with my friends and me?”

You glance at Hangman from the corner of your eye, unsure whether you hope she counts him among those friends or not. Then you nod because Phoenix is still nice, and you don’t actually want to go home to your empty apartment, and playing pool sounds fun just about now.

“Sure. Why not?”

As Phoenix leads you toward the tables in the back, you feel Hangman’s eyes on you like hot irons.

+

You’re five drinks in by the time you give up on pool.

“God,” you whine, lowering your cue. “I suck at this.”

“I’d disagree,” Payback says, staring down at the green felt of the table like he might be about to cry, “but I think you’re right.”

“Hey, we’re supposed to be on the same team!”

He grins. “Sorry, but my mother didn’t raise me to be a liar.”

There’s a warmth flooding your chest, something liquid and light. It might be the alcohol or the unfamiliar levity of it all. You’re more used to intense fits of worrying and anxiety than laughter with people you met only about an hour ago but still almost feel like friends.

“Want me to teach you, sweetheart?” 

Hangman’s sitting on a barstool not far away, nursing his beer. He’s been staring at you since you started the game, and maybe it's part of the reason your cue stick kept going in directions you didn’t mean for it to. Now you can just hear the smirk in his voice.

If you were less drunk, you’d come up with a witty response. But, as it stands, you just say, “No.”

Hangman ignores you. You can feel him behind you even before he steps up, your fingers tensing around your cue, your whole body locking up as if in anticipation, as if in dread. And then he’s there, solid and warm behind you, fingers curling around your arm and moving it backward.

The place he touches you seems to tingle.

“Like this,” he says, voice low and chest rumbling with the sound. He’s speaking right into your ear again, and suddenly it’s impossible to talk, to think, to breathe.

He brings you into position with one hand on your waist, and you can’t believe it, but he’s practically bending you over that pool table in the middle of that bar, and you’re just letting him. His hips press into your own, an insistent weight that makes your head spin, makes you feel like you’re about to slide right off the face of the earth. The table's edge cuts into your abdomen, but you barely even feel it. You can’t register anything past the feeling of his skin gliding against your own as he lets his free hand wander slowly, slowly, down the expanse of your arm.

“Now, just gently…” He guides your arm backward as he speaks, his voice right in your ear, right in your head, his breath against your cheek, the side of your mouth, and you’re dizzy, can’t even see the ball that’s right in front of you, have no idea what he wants you to shoot at. “... thrust.”

The ball lands in the pocket with a resounding thunk.

For a moment, you just blink at where it disappeared.

“Good girl,” Hangman says, so quietly that only you can hear, fingers squeezing just once where he still holds you by the hip, and then he steps away.

It sends a jolt of molten heat through you. Your knees, which felt wobbly before, threaten to buckle. You just stay there for a moment, frozen, bent over that table, feeling like the earth beneath your feet is rolling in waves. A sound escapes you, something from low in your throat that gets swallowed up in the bar's noise - all the chatter and the music and the sounds of the engines running in the parking lot.

And then it’s an ice-cold panic that has you scrambling, standing upright, stepping away from the table, turning towards the group of people around you, and pretending you’re not trembling all over, that your panties aren’t soaked through.

“I’m done, I think.” You raise your cue above your head like a sports trophy. Your voice is remarkably firm for how frail you feel. “Who wants to take over for me?”

There’s a shuffle as a few of the guys whose names you can’t remember start fighting each other for your spot on Payback’s team. You give up after a while and just drop the cue. Somebody catches it before it can clatter to the ground, and you turn your back on them.

Tugging at the folds of your skirt, you try desperately to regain control. The evening is slipping through your fingers like wet rope. You feel unmoored.

Phoenix, grinning from her perch against the jukebox, offers you a swig from her beer bottle. “I think you weren’t too bad.”

“Well, I did keep forgetting if I was supposed to hit the stripes or the solids, so, like….” you admit, accepting the bottle and taking a tentative sip. Maybe this will help calm you. The taste hits your tongue, and you grimace. “Ew. I don’t get how you guys drink this.”

Phoenix laughs at you. “It takes practice.”

“I don’t wanna practice that,” you say. “I’ll just get another Mojito, I think.”

You’re not going to survive this night unless you have another drink. Hell, you might not survive this night even if you have another drink.

You don’t think you’ve ever been this confused. Your mind is a thicket of thorns that bite your skin at any move.

Hangman leans forward in his seat until he’s in your field of vision. His eyebrows are furrowed in a way you haven’t seen before, but beneath them, his eyes glint. It hits you suddenly that he knows exactly what he’s done, that he is perfectly aware of the effect he has on you.

You consider getting that cue stick back and whacking him over the head with it.

“You sure you want another one, sweetheart?”

You frown and say, more forcefully than necessary, “Why? You don’t wanna pay for it?”

“Oh, I’ll pay for it,” he says. “I’m just thinking somebody will have to carry you home if you have another one.”

“Don’t act like you wouldn’t love to carry her home,” Coyote chimes in, grinning and wiggling his eyebrows. At least you think that’s Coyote. Things are starting to go a little blurry.

As you approach the bar, you say, a bite to your words, “I’ll make your dreams come true, then.” 

Penny is busy at the opposite end, so you order from a girl who seems a lot less interested in serving you than the group of aviators currently trying to get her attention. Which you can’t really blame her for.

From behind you, maybe-Coyote keeps going, “You should make some of his other dreams come true, too.”

Phoenix lands a well-placed elbow between his ribs. “Shut up, man. You’re being creepy.”

“I don’t sleep with drunk women,” Hangman says as the bartender deposits a dispassionately assembled Mojito in front of you. “My mother raised me to be a gentleman.”

Your snort is decidedly unladylike, but you couldn’t care less. You’re so far gone. 

“You keep saying that, but I haven’t seen you act like one even once.” Then, as an afterthought, you add, “Also, I’m not drunk.”

You pull your drink towards you, the glass cold with the ice cubes swimming in it, and promptly spill a healthy stream across your own arm and the bartop.

“Sure you’re not,” Hangman agrees smoothly. He procures a stack of paper napkins from somewhere and starts dabbing at your elbow, soaking up the worst of it. You stare at his movement with your head spinning. Why is he being nice? “I’m not a gentleman in the bedroom, though, I’ll have you know.”

He winks at you, and that’s more like the nefarious Hangman you know. It lets you relax a little.

“Christ.” Phoenix looks like she might hurl. “You want to lay it on any thicker, Hang?”

He just shrugs, so casual about it all. You wonder if he’s ever been rattled by anything. If he’s ever felt as out of his depth as you do every time he enters a room. 

“Who doesn’t like it a little rough in the bedroom, Phoenix?”

You can’t believe he said that to her. Part of you expects Phoenix to roll her eyes and give him a piece of her mind, but she just grins, shaking her head.

“Me, actually,” she says. “Just leaves you sore. I prefer it slow.”

“Slow?” Hangman repeats. “You and Rooster would be a match made in heaven. Masters of the geriatric pace.”

“Who’s Rooster?” you ask, wondering if Hangman is trying to set Phoenix up with someone running a poultry farm.

Nobody answers your question.

“It’s been my experience,” Phoenix says, “that most guys only like it rough cause they have no idea how else to do it.”

Coyote laughs at that. It’s obviously meant to taunt Hangman, but he doesn’t react much beyond a tiny upward twitch of his mouth.

You’re left wondering if these are normal conversations people have with their friends. Are you just a prude? You feel like you’re going insane.

And then Bob, who has been quietly snacking on peanuts for most of the night, pipes up, “I think it just depends on your partner. You gotta listen to them.”

Hangman stares at him like he’s just revealed he likes to take his clothes off and perform an Irish jig on top of an aircraft every Sunday. “Am I just supposed to believe you’ve had sex with multiple partners?”

Before you can stop yourself, you slap Hangman’s chest. Admittedly, both the alcohol and the way your head is still reeling have the move lacking any real vigor, but it still leaves you a little stunned at yourself.

“Don’t be mean,” you say. His chest feels very firm beneath your palm, muscles hard and heartbeat steady. Then you realize you’re still touching him and withdraw your hand as if you’ve burned yourself.

Hangman is grinning from ear to ear. “Oh, don’t act like you don’t like it when I’m mean.”

That almost makes you choke on your Mojito. 

“Right,” Coyote says. His teeth gleam white when he smirks at you. “So, how do you like it?”

You freeze. Your mind stumbles, then short-circuits.

“Oh, god, boys. Just leave her alone,” Phoenix sighs. She gets up to sling an arm over your shoulder. It’s a reassuring presence by your side, one that makes you feel a little less like you’re about to levitate off the face of the earth. “You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to.”

Hangman is staring right at you. He’s still smiling, but something in his eyes has shifted.

You can’t look away from him. Your heart stutters in your chest.

“I… I don’t…” you falter.

Across the distance between you, Hangman raises an eyebrow. “What are you, like a virgin?”

It hits you square in the chest.

You know you need to laugh it off, know you need to counter with another quip, another insult, another jab, but your mind is blank. Time seems to freeze for a moment. You can’t breathe.

Your eyes burn, and you realize with a sudden, horrible lurch that you’re going to cry, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Several emotions pass over Hangman’s face in quick succession. The glint is gone from his eyes now, replaced by something like genuine guilt. That’s how you know he was just joking around, but it doesn’t soften the blow at all.

Anger, humiliation, and, worst of all, the remnants of your earlier desire pump through your veins. You feel weak and tired and helpless. A snowglobe shattered on the floor. All of it hits you at once.

You’re painfully aware of all the eyes on you. You’re painfully aware you haven’t said a single thing in way too long.

Hangman says your name, his tone caught somewhere between concern and apology.

I can’t, you think. I just… can’t.

So you turn on your heel and all but sprint for the open doors.

Out back, the air has cooled down to a more bearable temperature, but it does nothing to calm you. Your skin feels several sizes too small, the world is tilting a little bit to the left, as if everything’s written in cursive. In your ears, your blood rushes like a roar.

You’ve never been so embarrassed in your life.

A few tiki torches light a path from the Hard Deck’s back entrance towards the sand of the beach. You follow almost blindly, stumbling down the two steps. The ocean stretches endless and dark blue in front of you. Your sandals fill with sand that scrapes against the soles of your feet.

You walk a few steps until you reach a weathered tool shed with the blue paint eroded by years of wind and salt spray. Only when you’ve found shelter behind it, when you know you’re hidden from view, do you allow yourself to cry.

They’re bitter tears. You’re embarrassed about your display earlier, about letting Hangman get to you, embarrassed because everybody saw. Embarrassed that you didn’t deny it when it isn’t even really true, not technically. Embarrassed that you’re twenty-three and practically a virgin, embarrassed that it matters to you. It shouldn’t matter.

Virginity is a social construct, you remind yourself, and then you just cry harder.

Most of all, you’re embarrassed because you want Hangman. 

It’s the first time you admit it, even to yourself, and the truth of it settles heavy in your stomach. You don’t think you’ve ever wanted someone as much as you want him, and you don’t even like the man. 

It’s ridiculous, humiliating, mortifying, and suddenly you wish you had stayed home tonight, had never come here in the first place.

And then he says your name.

The moonlight paints his hair a blueish shade of silver. He looks impossibly handsome, standing just a step or two away from you with his hands in his pockets, backlit by the flickering of the torches.

Immediately you straighten up and rub your cheeks to get rid of the tears. Your fingers come away stained black with the remnants of your mascara.

For a moment, you and Hangman just stare at each other. The distance between you gapes like an open wound, like a canyon, like an ocean.

Finally, he asks, “You okay?”

You don’t trust your voice, so you just nod.

He looks torn. His jaw moves as he grinds his teeth.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You don’t have to ask him to clarify. You know exactly what he means.

“I don’t know you,” you say quietly.

He makes a strange, strangled sound at the back of his throat, then buries his face in his hands for a second. When he re-emerges, he looks honestly distressed.

“If I had known,” he says softly, “I would have stopped being so aggressive.”

You don’t know how to tell him that that’s the opposite of what you want. You don’t know how to tell him that you don’t know what you want.

You don’t know how to tell him that you know exactly what you want.

Everything’s a mess.

Shrugging, you say, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter?” he repeats, disbelief in his voice. “Of course it matters. I never meant to make you uncomfortable.”

That makes you frown.

“I didn’t say you make me uncomfortable.”

Aggravated, sure. Annoyed, wound-up, frustrated. All of that. But uncomfortable? Never.

That gives him pause, but only for a moment. He goes on, “I shouldn’t have… it was too much. I’m sorry.”

You can’t explain any of this, but you want to. You wish you could just make him understand, but you can’t even make sense of yourself.

Your insides are all tangled.

“It’s not like… it’s not like I’ve never done anything,” you rush to explain. “I did sleep with someone when I was sixteen, but I just… and then there was always so much other stuff that I didn’t have time to date, and then other stuff happened, and I didn’t even want to date, so I just….”

At the look he gives you, you trail off.

“So you’re not a virgin, then?”

“Not… technically,” you confirm, then cringe at how ridiculous it all sounds.

He just stares at you.

“It… what does it even matter?” Suddenly, you’re angry. “Even if I was a virgin, there wouldn’t be anything wrong with it. And it’s none of your business. Why do you even care?”

One of Hangman’s eyebrows raises. “I don’t care if you’re a virgin,” he says, voice perfectly calm. “I care that you’re comfortable.”

That staggers you. “I… why?”

He shoves his hands back into his pockets. “Because I happen to like you.”

Now you’re the one staring. 

That can’t be right. Hangman’s not supposed to like you, not when you’ve just established that you can’t stand him. Not when you’ve spent every night since you’ve met him listing all the reasons why you need to stay as far away from him as possible.

When you don’t answer, he starts talking again. “Why didn’t you just say you’re not a virgin in there?” he asks, jerking his head back in the general direction of the Hard Deck.

You shrug and look away. “I’m not… experienced.”

He waits for you to continue.

“It was just once, with my first boyfriend, and it wasn’t… I didn’t… well, after it was over, I never wanted to do it again.”

Hangman’s expression is unreadable. The breeze picks up, and you shiver, crossing your arms over your abdomen. 

“I’m not…” You swallow. “I’m not confident. I can’t talk about it the way you guys do. So easily.”

He looks at you for a long moment, and when he speaks again, his voice is gentler than you’ve ever heard. “I’ll stop, then. This was too much. I’m sorry.”

But there’s something there, in the words. A challenge. He’s giving you a way out at the same time as he’s giving you an in.

The way he’s looking at you seems to say, Ball’s in your court now, sweetheart.

In your life, you’ve always taken the familiar path. You thought things through thoroughly, made decisions with your head and not your heart. You liked to be safe, too scared to step out of your comfort zone. And so the house with the blue door stayed a dream, one that eventually moved so far out of reach it lost any appeal it ever had.

But then you think of your life stuffed into a car. Arriving in an unfamiliar city and deciding to stay. Diving headfirst into the unknown.

If you have done it once, you tell yourself, there’s no reason you can’t do it again.

“I don’t want you to stop,” you say, voice quiet, hands shaking. “I like it.”

It might be the hardest thing you’ve ever done. Being honest. Here in this moment, with him, bathed in moonlight that dips the worlds in shades of mercury.

It’s almost impossible to get the words out, and then they dangle awkwardly in the air between you. You feel exposed, stripped, flayed open in front of this man who is practically a stranger to you.

Over the beat of your heart hammering away in your chest, you can barely even hear the roar of the ocean.

And then Hangman steps closer to you, bridging that distance. His features are dipped in half-shadows, but you see his eyes flickering down to your lips.

You swallow around the lump in your throat.

“When I saw you for the first time,” he says, and his voice is husky, low, “in that little dress… I wanted to bend you over the bar and fuck you right there. With everyone watching.”

It knocks the air out of you. You let out a choked sound that might be the beginning of a gasp. A jolt goes through the core of you.

He comes even closer, and, instinctively, you stumble backward. He crowds you against the wall of the shed. The wood is rough and cold where it presses against your back.

The stupid nametag is right in front of you then, and it occurs to you suddenly that you don’t even know his first name.

“Look at me,” he says.

In spite of yourself, you listen immediately. There’s something in his voice, not just demanding but commandeering. You don’t think you could disobey him even if you wanted to.

And Hangman’s so close now. Close enough that you can see the specks of gold swimming in his eyes, close enough that you could probably see yourself reflected in them if it wasn’t so dark.

One of his hands is braced against the wood by your head, palm down, and the other goes to cup your cheek. Fingertips trace across the jut of your cheekbone, down, down, down over the planes of your face, avoiding your mouth to ghost toward your chin and then the line of your throat.

You don’t dare breathe.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says softly.

It’s such a stark contrast to his earlier words, so crude, that it leaves you light-headed.

You can smell him; over the lingering ashes of burnt-down bonfires, over the salt of the ocean, there’s the scent of his aftershave. Cinnamon and spice. You think you could get drunk on that smell.

“Hangman…” you whisper because you can’t think of something else to say for the life of you.

He shakes his head, tuts gently. “My name’s Jake.”

“Jake,” you repeat. It’s like you’re in a daze, dumb with the intensity of it all. If this night is giving you anything, it’s a severe case of whiplash.

He hums in response, eyelids going heavy. Lets his fingers trail from your throat, where your pulse is beating like a sledgehammer, down your chest, between your breasts, over the flimsy fabric of your dress. He pauses on your stomach, lets his fingers spread out like a starfish, and just watches for a moment as his hand moves with each breath you take.

When he speaks, his voice sounds almost pensive. “Has anybody ever made you come?”

The sound you make is much too close to a whimper for your own comfort. Involuntarily, your thighs clench together, and you realize faintly just how wet you really are, the skin just below the lines of your panties sticking together.

You don’t need to look at Hangman to know that he’s noticed your reaction.

“It… no,” you admit hesitantly. You’re going to spontaneously combust, you just know it. “Just… myself.”

He grins at that, but it’s not a mean expression. “So you touch yourself?”

It’s so hard to swallow. Even harder to talk, to find words, even to form a coherent thought.

Jake leans closer still, so close his breath traces across your face. “Answer me.”

“Sometimes.” Your voice has gone so quiet you’re sure he wouldn’t have heard you if he wasn’t standing so close to you. Like he wants to climb into your skin.

You’re becoming painfully aware of all the points where he isn’t touching you. A minuscule but safe distance between your hips, your faces, your chests. That arm curving around you, braced against the wall. No point of contact except for the large hand on your abdomen.

You shudder.

“What do you think about? When you touch yourself, what do you think about?”

The muscles in his arm flex, straining against the fabric of his uniform, veins protruding blue through the skin, and it shouldn’t be this hot, but it is. You’re on fire and he isn’t even touching you, not really, but you’ve never been so turned on in your life, wound so tightly, a kite dancing higher and higher into the sky.

You shake your head quickly, unsure if it’s supposed to be an answer or just a way to get rid of the fog that’s descended on you.

Jake’s hand wanders a little lower, almost imperceptibly, just about half an inch, but you think your heart almost fails you.

“I…” you swallow again. Your mouth is dry, and your palms are sweating. Your core pulses with the sort of desire that’s impossible to ignore. “I don’t know. I don’t…”

God, if only you could be casual about this sort of thing. You wish you could say something sexy, something teasing, something that would make Jake feel even a fraction of what he’s making you feel. But you’re just you. Inexperienced, unsure even of what you want.

You choke up, and, to your mortification, tears pool in your eyes again.

“Shh,” Jake immediately shushes you, and his face is almost tender. “That’s okay, sweetheart. I’ll give you something to think about.”

“Oh,” you say dumbly, blinking up at him.

And then it’s back, that signature Hangman smirk, the same one you’ve wanted to slap off his face so many times, only it’s making you weak in the knees now, makes your lips part, makes you wish he would just touch you already.

“I’m not going to kiss you tonight.”

It’s almost shameful how quickly you try to protest, really. If it hadn’t been for those five and a half Mojitos, you would have stuck your head into the sand right here.

Hangman laughs at you, the sound just a little mean. “You’re much too drunk, sweetheart.”

You suppose it doesn’t make much sense to argue. Now that you think about it, you really are drunk. The fuzzy, warm sort of drunk. Just on the right side of intoxicated, where everything feels packed in cotton, and nothing feels impossible.

Even that someone like Hangman might want to dirty talk to you behind the Hard Deck’s tool shed.

“Can you do something for me?” Jake asks.

You can just bite down on the anything that threatens to spill from your mouth the moment he’s uttered the question, and, god, what’s wrong with you? This is getting out of hand.

Dumbfounded, you nod silently.

He leans impossibly closer, his nose trailing along your jawline, and whispers, “The next time you touch yourself… When you’re alone, I want you to lie down on your bed. I want you to spread your legs, and I want you to touch your pretty little pussy for me.”

You clench your eyes shut, breath stuck somewhere in your throat, as Jake’s hand lifts from your stomach. He takes a fistful of your skirt and pulls it up, using his other hand to hold it away from your body. The cool breeze caresses your legs, but that’s not why you shiver.

His fingers slide along the inside of your thigh, from kneecap up to the very tops of them. You can’t breathe, can’t blink, can’t do anything but stand there and hope you won’t dissolve into a puddle.

“And when you fuck yourself,” he whispers, “I want you to think of me.” 

And then he touches his fingers to your core, over the lace of your panties.

If you weren’t so far gone, you think you’d never forgive yourself for your reaction. 

You all but squeak, back arching off the wall, pushing yourself into his palm, mouth dropping open as pure heat spreads through you, like an ache, like a tightening at your very center.

“Jesus,” Jake says, and his voice sounds breathless. “You’ve soaked these through, sweetheart.”

It’s the first indication that he’s affected by this, too, that you’re not the only one impacted, and somehow that’s enough to make you want him even more.

You wonder what it would be like to get him off. What he would look like, sound like. Taste like.

Your exhale is a tiny, shuddering thing. 

“Can you do that for me?” he wants to know. “Touch yourself for me like I asked?”

“I…” You think you would have agreed if he had asked you to lasso him down the moon.

Anything you say, Hangman. Anything you want. Just keep touching me. Please.

“Yes,” you agree. “Yeah, I… okay.”

“Good girl,” he says. His lips press to the side of your throat just once, right where your pulse is pumping at a rapid pace.

And then he steps away, fingers gone from your panties, mouth gone from your neck.

The loss of him leaves you reeling, dizzy, plastered to the wall like roadkill.

Even Hangman looks a little disheveled, but it's minimal comfort.

Again, you feel on the verge of tears.

Hangman clears his throat and asks, “Do you have a ride home?”

It takes an uncomfortable amount of time for the question to even register. You just stare at him at first, blinking owlishly. 

You barely even remember your own name. How are you supposed to answer this?

“I… Uber,” you say.

It’s not even a complete sentence, no verb at all, but it seems enough for Hangman. 

He nods once. Then he takes a moment just to watch you.

Finally, he says, “I changed my mind about the dress.” 

He takes a step back to admire you head to toe. As he looks at you, the torches reflect in his eyes until it looks like they’re gleaming. You’ve never felt so exposed in your life, and it makes you squirm.

You’re still so wet, wetter than you’ve ever been, and you’d do anything for him to touch you. Slide his fingers into you and fuck you right here, behind Penny’s bar, out on the beach where anyone might see. Think you might just die if he doesn’t.

Jake reaches once more for the skirt of your dress, but this time he doesn’t pull it up. Instead, he just lets his fingers dance through the folds once, the touch featherlight. Just a whisper of his digits across your thigh. You barely feel it.

You’re going to shake apart right here and now.

“I think this is my favorite after all,” he says, grins that Hangman grin, and then he’s gone.

You’re left leaning against the shed, breathless, panting, head and heart a mess. Alone, as you stare out at the white foam cresting on the waves, wondering what the fuck just happened.

read part ii

get added to the bad habits tag list !

#top gun maverick #hangman x reader #hangman fic #hangman #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin fic #jake seresin x reader #fic #writing #mine #f: bh #idk how to tag this i'm literally going to cry lmfao

[merchant-wizard-and-jerry]

“Hello, I’m the friendly wizard _____. My name got taken by a fey prince but it hasn’t really hampered my life. Anyways I am new to this wider wizard community and would like to get along. I have a magic book, a cart, and a friend. His name is Jerry, he is a fungus colony that has taken over my magic book and acts sort of as my patron. He…is a little weird but great fun.”

*sound of an explosion in the background, a book flys by being chased by goblin shamans casting fire ball*

“He is…”

“He is fine.”

“Anyways, I am here to sell goods and make a small profit. If you need something I’ll see what I can do : ) ”

“Also apparently I helped smuggle an amnesiac @fattocatto-wizard out of the city in my wagon. That was a shock, though he was just a cat.

Character Cheat sheet

( 3 currency to 16 silver crowns and 2 copper crowns)

(Current balance 76,737.75 currency, one penny, 23 meat pucks, 14 pounds, 2 gold coins one with Julius Cesar on it, 3 naturally-grown mana stones, 2 highly enchant able metal pieces, and one bar, 1 special bug corpse, 671 gold, silver 13, 70 aus, 5kg silver, magic dirt house size. 24 counterfeit currency. Moss/lichen-coded bio stone. An inverse cold torch. 99 BG silver. EMERALD LINCOLN, GOLDEN CARROT, 200 SALTED MEAT DISKS, 200 POLISHED ROCKS, 82 FIGET SPINNERS!, A FULLY EQUIPPED LICH'S DUNGEON, and a cardboard box (magic black marble).” Invisibility stone, a bundle of drake feathers, quantum locked rock, raw gold. 9 Gold coming from the green goblin empire, 50 mushrooms, 92 secret society emblem. 5 trans enchanted gold coins, 2 skull coin, ancient lost civilization fragment, 5 glistening green metallic coin)

(Currently holding baby frost dragon.)

(Jerry’s balance 13 gold, a fancy rock, 1 coin, flower petals (snacks for later), harpy eyes, feathers, vocal cords, and talons)

(Warlocks of Jerry @fungal-boy-witch-yay @ignisuadaroleplay @life-is-okay-rn2 I think that is who it was…)

(Possessions - wealth stone, Antidote stone)

Owner of membership cards

——————————

@the-final-knight-2

@confused-sorcerer

@bi-gender-sorcerer

@the-mighty-dalob

@detectivewizzard

@goblin-wizard-in-the-making

@serious-tabaxi

@weltreths-wanderings

@ignisuadaroleplay (will)

@shittest-wizard-ever

@wizard-wylin-wylerian

@akronus-and-associates (the primordials)

—————————————

@hallowed-the-silver-gun

@jormungand-seas-champion

@crow-natures-wrath

@antros-ember-of-fear

@akronus-the-redeemed

@clockwork-time-watcher

@aldira-born-anew

——————————

@wizard-ghost

@yeast-wizard

@crickled-thorn-thug

———

Perks

———

5% off all purchases

Special requested items

More favorable bartering

———

#wizardposting #wizard posting #wizard #wizard tumblr #wizard shit #wizard island island

[midsummernightwrites]

scream and shout

pairing: bradley “rooster” bradshaw x reader

word count: 1.6k

warnings: pretty angsty, they both fight and yell and swear and say some harsh things, reader is insecure about some stuff, they do make up in the end so yay happy endings

summary: roos didn’t come like he promised you he would and maybe you can understand why he wasn’t there but it still doesn’t stop the angry words and hurt feelings from exploding when he returns home 

notes: i stayed up way too late writing this in one sitting and i quite like how it turned out so enjoy

As you left the school alone, you couldn’t remember another time you had been this upset with your husband. 

Both of you hated fighting and while you bickered every now and then like all couples do, you prided yourselves on your ability to talk things through before they built up to an explosive argument and extremely hurt feelings. 

But right now, as you tried not to cry while digging through your bag for your keys, all you could think about was what you’d say to Rooster once you saw him. 

“For fucks sake,” you swore as your keys fell from your grasp to the asphalt. When you bent down to get them, you felt your phone buzz with a text. 

roos: honey i’m so sorry training just wrapped up

roos: can i still meet you at the school? 

You scoffed as you climbed into your car, tossing your bag in the passenger seat. You debated ignoring his text all together, but the humiliating thought of Rooster showing up and going inside when the meeting was well over was enough to get you to reply. Nick’s teachers were probably already questioning your ability as parents, you didn’t need to give them anything more to think about. 

y/n: already finished

y/n: see you at home

Bradley tried to call twice on your drive home, but you just ignored him. You were barely holding your tears back as it was.

You beat Bradley home, thank god. Since Nick was currently at Penny and Mav’s place, you decided to take advantage of the quiet house. A part of you hoped that maybe after cleaning and tidying up, you’d be a bit more calm and clear headed. 

When Bradley walked in halfway through you emptying the dishwasher, you knew that wasn’t the case. 

“Baby, I am so sorry I missed the meeting. We were running some flight tests and things just ran over and-” 

“I don’t wanna fucking hear it Bradley,” You cut him off, slamming the cabinet shut a bit too loudly. “You should have been there.”

“Y/N, I know I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to miss it, I really wanted to be there.” Bradley’s voice remained calm, but it was clear he was thrown off by your reaction. He dropped his bags and stepped closer into the kitchen. 

You grabbed another plate to put away. It felt a bit childish, but you didn’t want to look at him yet. You wanted to act like you didn’t care enough to stop what you were doing and talk with him about it. A teeny tiny part of you wanted to make him feel as disrespected as you felt and that part of you was in control.

“Yeah right,” you mumbled, drying the excess water before putting the dish in the right spot. When you turned back, Bradley had moved closer, standing on the other side of the kitchen island. 

“What is going on Y/N? I didn’t plan on missing the meeting, stuff came up at work, and I’m really sorry I wasn’t there,” Bradley explained, his eyes trying to meet yours as you looked down at the still open dishwasher. “Why are you acting like I did this on purpose?”

“Because it honestly wouldn’t surprise me if you did!” You snapped, crossing your arms as you finally looked at your husband. “I mean, for fucks sake Bradley we rescheduled this conference three times after work stuff kept coming up. What am I supposed to think?”

“You can’t be serious.” Bradley’s tone dropped as your words made their desired impact. 

“Of course I am! I felt like a fucking idiot walking into that school alone tonight. We waited fifteen minutes before getting started and you still didn’t show. Do you know how humiliating that felt? After already canceling and rescheduling so many other times just so you could be there and then you still don’t even fucking show up! Forgive me for thinking you didn’t care!” Your voice got louder with every word until you were shouting by the end. 

“That’s fucking ridiculous Y/N, you know I care,” Bradley snapped, his arms matching your position. “You know what my job is like, a lot of it is out of my control. I can’t always be there even when I want to be, you know that.” 

“Oh yeah, just use your job as an excuse again.” You rolled your eyes. “It’s always the Navy’s fault, never yours.”

“It’s how my job is Y/N and you knew this going in!”

“I didn’t think it would mean picking up all the pieces and doing the majority of the parenting. I didn’t think it meant being the only one to attend these meetings or schedule his appointments-”

“If you were so mad about all this extra work why didn’t you say anything!”

“Because I shouldn't have to tell you! I shouldn’t have to tell you to care, to be there. You should know to be there at Nick’s fucking parent teacher conferences, especially when they’re telling you that your son might need testing to see if he has a learning disability!” 

“What?” Bradley’s arms fell to his side as he processed your last statement. 

“Yeah, they wanna try to get him on a 504 or an IEP. They think he might have dyslexia, maybe ADHD,” You didn’t notice Bradley start to walk around the counter as you continued your rant. “They explained in depth all the reasons and signs they were observing at the meeting, which you would know if you were there.”

“What, what does that even mean? What’s a 504 or IEP?” You rolled your eyes and Bradley snapped before you could share your next jab. “God, I’m so fucking sorry I don’t know what those terms mean. I’m not a teacher like you, I don’t know this shit off the top of my head.”

“Yeah and that’s why you should be there so you’d know that they’re freaking government protected learning plans to help Nick because he’s struggling that much in the classroom.” You took a small step back as Bradley got closer. You didn’t want him to get too close because it meant he might start to see the cracks in the walls you were trying so hard to put up and hide the real insecurity powering this fight. 

“Okay, look, I’m sorry I wasn’t there, obviously if I had known there were these concerns I would have been there.” Bradley has paused a few feet away.

“Yeah, well, you should have-”

“What Y/N? I should have seen all the signs, I should have known he was struggling at school? I get it, you don’t think I care, but you weren’t talking about any of this to me either. Did you pick up on it, did you know?” 

“No Bradley I didn’t! I know, I’m a horrible excuse for a mother. I didn’t fucking see any signs that my kid was struggling even though I see them all the time with my own students. I was just as thrown off during that meeting and looked like a failure for not seeing that my own son needed help.”

You brushed your hair back in frustration and made the mistake of looking over towards your husband. 

You looked Bradley in the eyes and saw the recognition there. You knew he was starting to see the deeper issue, the real reason behind your fight and you didn’t want to deal with that, not now. 

“Look, just go change and pick up Nick from Maverick’s so I can finish the dishes,” you muttered, turning to put a glass away. 

“What? No. Hey, Y/N, we’re not done talking about this.” You barely recognized the softer tone of his voice as you tried to ignore his attempt to make his way closer again.

“Oh my god, yes we are!” 

You slammed the glass cup against the counter and it shattered. Glass spread all across the countertop and fell to the floor in tiny pieces. You took one step back as you heard Bradley mutter “shit.”

Fuck this evening was a disaster. 

You didn’t even realize you were crying until Bradley was right in front of you, brushing your tears away. “Did you get hurt sweetheart?”

He gently grabbed your hands, looking them over for any cuts or pieces of glass. You tugged them away, shaking your head. 

“No, god, Bradley, I’m, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean any of that, I can’t believe I even said some of those things, you’re such a great father and I, fuck, I’m so sorry.” 

Each apology or phrase was broken up by a hiccup as you continued to cry. You cried because the glass was broken and made a mess. You cried because of all the things you said to the man you loved. You cried because you didn’t know your son was struggling. 

“Hey, hey honey, look at me.” Bradley waited a second for you to meet his gaze before wiping your tears again. “I forgive you, I’m sorry too.”

He pulled you closer as you started to weep more. You cried into his shoulder as his hand created soothing patterns up and down your back. You felt him take exaggerated deep breaths to try and help your body calm down. After a few minutes, once you felt calmer, he continued your conversation. 

“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” he spoke softly. “We’re gonna finish cleaning up the kitchen and then we’re both going to get changed into something comfier. I’ll text Maverick and ask if Nick can stay there for a little longer and then we’ll go on a walk and talk about all of this with clearer heads, okay?”

You nodded and felt Bradley place a soft kiss on your head. As you broke away to finish cleaning up the mess, you knew that everything would work out. 

“I love you.”

“I love you too Y/N.”

#top gun fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #top gun fanfic #rooster x reader #rooster imagine #bradley bradshaw fanfic #bradley bradshaw

[roosterforme]

🎉🎉🎉YAY 3K!! 🎉🎉🎉 Congratulations Em!

Ok, we all know Roo is going to be the DILF-iest dad that there’s ever been, but hot PTA Roo getting all the attention building the sets for the school play.

That’s HER man with the power drill.

Well, here's another future glimpse of Roo and Baby Girl...

This is for my Dagger DILFs 3k party!

You watched your husband as he built the set for the elementary school spring play, Alice in Wonderland. He was currently sweating in the parking lot, drilling the mad tea party table to the wooden base. You were about to hand him some water when you heard the other moms talking about him instead of helping paint.

"He's so hot," one of them whispered to the other. "I heard he's a pilot."

"That's pretty much the sexiest job, isn't it?" the other one asked. "Like mile high club, here I come."

You had to hold back a laugh as the first one said, "He's a pilot in the navy, Mary. Imagine the uniform."

Yeah, they weren't wrong. Your husband was hot. And you and he often incorporated your uniforms in the bedroom.

"Damn. Is he married?" the second one asked.

"He sure is!" you said loudly with a smile on your face. They both watched you carry a water bottle to him. "Thirsty, Roo?"

He grinned up at you, wiping his sweaty forehead with the hem of his shirt. "Yeah, thanks Baby Girl," he said, standing and drinking the entire bottle of water in one go. You took the empty from him so he could get back to work, but he grabbed your arm and pulled you closer to him. "I'm thirsty for you, too."

You softly kissed his lips. "You can't have that until we get home."

He pouted. "Think we can send our little Cheshire Cat and White Rabbit to Penny and Mav's for the night? Because I'm really thirsty, Sweetheart."

You giggled and kissed him harder. "I'll call Mav now. I'm pretty thirsty, too."

You watched him return to his project as the other moms scurried off to paint the completed sets when you winked at them.

"Hey, Mav? I need a favor."

#3k followers party #dagger dilfs #b&bg

[zoeyslament]

CHOIR FRIENDSHIP HEADCANON…THINGIES

I feel like all the headcanons I put out are very romance heavy, but today love loses and I talk about my favourite platonic groupings yay!!

-Constance and Noel. I NEED them to have sleepovers + bake together + talk and gossip and laugh + paint each other’s nails + go ice skating + do all the friend stuff

-Mischa, Ricky, and Penny get together on the weekly to discuss Five Nights at Freddy’s lore over Mtn Dew and Doritos. They have a very elaborate slideshow on it too

-Ocean and Noel have like a sibling rivalry. They hate each other, like each other the next day, fight, then settle it over a game of Guess Who

-Ricky and Constance making little short films together <333 with Penny recording as well, she’s camera shy so she can’t be in them

-Mischa and Ocean get WAY to competitive at choir game nights and thus are forced to either play ON A TEAM TOGETHER or take turns. Neither is ideal

-Penny ALWAYS beats everyone at Twister. It is now Mischa’s lifelong goal to beat Penny at Twister

-Ricky and Mischa go see horror movies when they come out in theatres, sometimes they drag Ocean along because it’s sorta funny when she screams like a baby

-Ocean and Constance 100% played horses at recess as little kids. I bet they liked My Little Pony too.

#rtc #ride the cyclone #headcanon #headcanons #mischa bachinski #noel gruber #ocean o'connell rosenberg #constance blackwood #ricky potts #penny lamb

[criminalskies]

Some Aaron thoughts & HC's (all kind of cozy and domestic)

He gets migraines from fluorescent lights. Thus the lamps in his office.

Aaron shops at Trader Joe's (American store that's kinda fancy.)

Aaron's favorite flowers are forget-me-nots.

Aaron likes almond butter better than peanut butter.

Aaron sends good morning texts. Every. Single. Day,

Aaron likes The Princess Bride and David Bowie

Aaron gives you rides to the office when it rains. Even though you have a car.

Aaron wears reading glasses at night when he's on a case. He takes them off if a member of the team asks him a question.

Aaron's not great at cooking steak and he wishes he was.

Aaron's swim trunks are navy blue with little white sailing ships on them.

Hope this helps Rome <3

thank you levi!!!! i love him all soft and cozy and domestic, let's hit it!

I definitely think he finds the fluorescents to be sensory hell, given the hours he overworks himself with, I think he'd totally suffer from migraines too. The endless coffee and lack of food don't help. Poor baby definitely prefers some soft lamplight, even if it is bad for his poor old eyes, he'll wear his glasses before he turns on the big light.

I think so, I think if aaron hotchner's gonna buy something, he's gonna do it right. He makes sure to have a top quality mattress, suit, and ingredients to cook with at home. Or their semi-fancy premade snacks (thanks for the translation too <3)

I think he'd love forget-me-nots too! not to mention the name ringing true for one of his fears in life, they're so beautiful.

I don't know why but I'm completely agreeing he would.

If he tells you he's gonna do abc for you. He's going to do it. so when you tell him a few weeks into dating that you like good morning texts, it becomes his lifeline. Can't start his day until he's sent you a good morning message. Whether it's 4:45am or 4:45 pm after he was almost comatosed in bed from a case, he's saying good morning.

HE DOES LIKE BOWIE AND TPB!!! I will take no further questions here.

He'd also be the type of guy to keep a gym towel in his trunk JUST IN CASE there's a puddle!!!! you don't want your shoes wet!!! just for you tho <3 I think he loves helping you take your wet shoes off after walking under his umbrella to the car and he'll put them in the boot for you so there's no mess and your feet can get warm under the AC!!

I'm completely obsessed w/ him wearing old man (dilf) glasses!! Mon wrote a fic about it and it has consumed so much of my mind ever since. He'd just look so sexy and wise and professor-ly wearing them.

As a vegan this is so real lmaoooo I always think about me serving him meat substitutes and he's just so happy to eat yummy food it never occurs to him that it's vegan food so one day penelope's like planning a meal for the family of the team and she's like 'can I put you down for vegan?' and I'm like yes pls queen and hotch is like 👁👄👁 and the penny finally drops that I've just never fed him meat or dairy lskdfjdlskjflskdj Idk why I find it so funny that a pro profiler is just like 'YAY! LASAGNE!' and wouldn't notice it's meat/dairy free

10. Y E S. He's such a cutie pie they so would be. Jack has some similar ones with little octopuses (octopi?)

THANK YOU LEVI! these are so freakin cute. <333333

#rome’s wonderful moots! <3 #the lovely levi! #rome’s got mail! #aaron hotchner #Aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotchner thoughts #hotch imagine #hotch oneshot #hotch thoughts #hotch headcanons

[missmitchieg]

i don’t go here but what happened to penelope garcia’s hair ? isn’t it like shoulder length ? did she cut it ? !

/lh , tell me about penelope garcia please ?

Yay! I love talking about babygirl! Ok, so it looks like she did indeed cut her luscious locks so rip to her long princess curls. They will be missed until they grow back. 💖

Ok, so season 1-15 Penelope was MY GIRL, ok? She was MY GIRL.

She's, like, a super genius super cutie and she's super sweet and kind and loves animals. (Seriously, one of the reasons she started working for the FBI is she was a computer hacker and hacked into the website of a cosmetic company that tests on animals and her options when she got caught were literally work for the FBI or her ass is getting thrown in prison. She chose the FBI. We love a queen that fights for animal wellfare. The other reason was she wanted to get away from her garbage, and I do mean GARBAGE, boyfriend and have a better life.)

I'm pretty sure she has ADHD. Maybe autism. IDK, but she's definitely some kinda neurospicy.

She's a walking sparkly neon rainbow. You know the way Flynn's bedroom is described in the one jatp book? Season 1-15 Penelope is that and I love it.

She went ginger once and it was a whole vibe.

Wow, I love her.

She was super nice to her ex boss all the way from s1 to his departure in early s12, and I'm 99% sure was the only one that actually called him bossman or sir bc everyone else just called him Aaron or by his nickname, Hotch. She was really good at making him smile, which actually wasn't that hard but people exaggerate the rarity of a Hotch smile for some reason.

After that, she was still really nice to the replacement he handpicked, Emily Prentiss, who she already adored after working with her since s2.

Hotch was literally physically incapable of saying no to this woman and she fully knew and took advantage of that shit, ok? Seriously, one time, Penelope made a joke like "who could say no to me?" and Hotch just smirked a little bit because he knew he couldn't say anything. Penelope does an incredible imitation of the pleading emoji. Or the Puss In Boots face. Whatever you wanna call this:

"Boss, I want you to hire Tara. 🥺" "Ok. Tell everyone else the position has been filled." "Boss, I don't wanna eat dinner alone. Do you want a veggie omelette? 🥺" "Ok. Do you have jalapeños?"

The hilarious thing is she doesn't even have to make that face. She does it to mess with him.

And then there's her, uh...... interesting little flirtationship with Derek Morgan. Or as Penelope calls him, chocolate thunder. He loves that name and encourages it. He calls her babygirl. They also have about a million other adorable pet names for each other.

*gestures at these gifs* They love each other so much, it's kind of gross. I've said before that before I actually started watching and only had the massive comp of him calling her that, I genuinely really thought Morcia was canon. Like, oh, my GOD, dude. These two are disgustingly obsessed with each other. The shit they say on work calls. He calls her sexy and brilliant Goddess and told her it drives him crazy when "she talks that voulez coucher stuff to him". Like, hello? Honestly, I'm amazed Derek only had to sit through one HR lecture about creating a hostile work environment. Or at least, we only saw one.

Then there's her very sweet friendship with baby genius, boy wonder, good doctor, Agent Doctor Spencer Reid.

MY BABIES. I LOVE THEM. I want them back. Gimme back my Penny², damnit.

And her very sweet friendship with Matt Simmons! Oh, my god. I love them. 🥰🥰🥰

They're cute and I wish at least Penelope mentioned Matt in season 16 more.

Penelope and Luke! Oh, my God. Penelope and Luke.

They are in love and both think it's unrequited and it's exhausting but at least s12-15 were FUN. Mostly.

Season 16 Penelope, though....

Season 16 Penelope got abducted by aliens. Or lobotomized. Hard to tell.

#criminal minds #criminal minds evolution #penelope garcia #i'd go more in depth but this got long oops #i just love her

[wellbelesbian]

Seven Sentence Sunday

thanks for tagging me @blackberrysummerblog!

more of my cotta project! i'm trying to focus solely on this or my greek mythology wip, but i keep getting distracted in other directions. either way though, the first two chapters are written, yay!

As I make my way down the floors of our tower, I nod and smile to others who I know I’ll see at the march, until I reach the fifth floor and run into the local kids.

“Hey!” I wave, and receive a chorus of “hiya, Simon!” in reply. Penny says I shouldn’t interact with the kids in the tower, she thinks they're nuisances, but I remember what it was like to grow up in a place like this, adults looking down on you, and how far a bit of camaraderie can go.

A football comes flying my way, and I manage to catch it, bouncing it on my knee for a moment before passing it back, getting an idea as I do so. “Say, have any of you got any buckets you can spare?”

By the time I get to the field where the march starts, I have seven buckets and a pretty solid plan.

i'm spending all day at my sister's baby shower, so if it's really boring and i'm not too drunk (it's at a pub) i might end up writing.

i tag @ileadacharmedlife @prettygoododds @imagineacoolusername @confused-bi-queer @ic3-que3n @forabeatofadrum @bazzybelle @theearlgreymage @aristocratic-otter @larkral @hushed-chorus @fatalfangirl @ebbpettier @you-remind-me-of-the-babe and @cutestkilla

#six sentence sunday #cotta 2023 #carry on through the ages 2023 #carry on through the ages #tumblr keeps labelling this as mature for saying the word drunk i guess 😒 #it's not an 'alcohol addiction' you dumb app it's one celebration

[transingthoseformers]

The MesoProwl kids refuse to be born except when it can inconvenience everyone the most.

Roddie has twice, Twice, had to play midwife. Which is a weird two penny situation.

Once, when helping Meso unpack Ostsros/Springer from his test tube and Arcee defended them while the ship was invaded.

Then, while helping Prowl pull the "piping hot gray gooey blobmination" (Roddie's descriptor) of Blackarachnia off his spark chamber while they were kidnapped by an alien race who cold into a the black and gold spiderling of Meso's dreams and their unsuspecting shipmates nightmares.

It was the Vok who kidnapped them.

Roddie refuses to endure this a third time, but Sunstorm, polite sane nice Sunstorm, has everything happen as scheduled in the medbay with doctors, Mesothulas, and the recently recruited Anode presiding. Admittedly, everyone spent that day paranoid and suspicious waiting for the other shoe to drop with some disaster.

Glitch is having to make a system and rules addressing this and is frantically studying organic laws about "work daycares" and "parental time off" with increasing despair.

He has no idea what the growth rates should be, so how can he get a number? Should he include maternity leave? What is baby proofing and how does it apply when Blackarachnia has natural defenses that can take down Overlord (she bites him once) and Ostsros has a weapons system?

Only he would be stuck with this kind of nonsense.

When he meets MTMTE Roddie he gets to commiserate about the love boat aspect but not even they have experienced pregnancy.

Yet.

(Brainstorm and Perceptor are a little too interested in Mesothulas new science. And the Scavengers met Connie so are a little less fazed.)

Oh Roddie

Also OOOO BA BEING A MESOPROWL KID, YES

Also yay! Sparklet: squishy goopy addition!

Of course it was the Vok.

You know I don't think I've ever seen Sunstorm described as polite and sane but on the Towards Peace (which I think is what we named it)? Ohhhoh yeah.

Yep yep makes sense, the other two newly invented children decided to come at the exact wrong times and everyone's waiting for a catch on the Sun² kid

Glitch making the smart move: research time

Bae I feel like that's when you need babyproofing the most: when you get a kid who can be wayy destructive 🥰

Only he indeed indeed

Yes. They'd have such interesting interactions, not gonna lie.

Juuuust a little too interested😁

#a glitch in the matrix #maccadam #transformers #mtmte glitch #idw prowl #idw mesothulas #mesoprowl #idw springer #our babychild #blackarachnia #mtmte perceptor #mtmte brainstorm #mtmte rodimus #mtmte hot rod #kinda separate people kinda not? #they're separated via timeline and au stuff #idw Arcee #arcee ftw #mtmte anode

[familyvideostevie]

Yay Emma!!!! Congrats! So deserved my love 💕💕

This is so fun!

🌽 Someone took my fav quote ever from Mr. Darcy so I'll just throw this out there from Eleanor & Park

"Nothing before you counts," he said. "And I can't even imagine an after."

With Stevie, of course.

ily

hiiiii penny! hope ur well, thank you for the support!!! <3 this is cute!! it gave me an idea for some angst, and steve desperately trying to get a point across. so, here's him reacting when someone says something about your relationship at a party, fem!reader __ "He'll be off her soon enough," someone sneers. "She's probably fixing him and then he'll be on to the next."

Your hand pauses midair in its reach for another beer. Whoever it is is just around the corner, just out of sight. But not out of earshot. You probably don't know them anyway -- most of the people at this party are Hawkins kids you haven't met.

"She's nice enough, but not who I'd pick for Harrington. Not a forever girl."

"What did you say?" That voice you do know. It's Steve, and he sounds furious. You take a deep breath and step out into the hall, trying to diffuse the situation before it starts. You smile and it feels brittle.

"Ready to go, Steve?" You don't wait for his reply before you head out of the house and onto the street. It's not cold but you wrap your arms around yourself and shiver all the same.

"Baby, wait up!" Steve catches up to you, his hand gentle on your elbow as he turns you. "Did you hear what they said? Bunch of assholes." It's clear from your stiffness and shiny eyes that you did hear. "Don't listen to them. They're idiots." He rubs his hands up and down your arms.

"I should be comforting you," you mutter. "They were being nasty. It's alright."

"No, it's not," he argues. "They can say what they want about me. They don't know shit. But I don't think you're hearing me. You believed them a little, didn't you?" He's not mad, not at you, but he runs his hands through his hair in agitation all the same.

"Nothing before you counts," he says. "And I can't even imagine an after."

"Steve." You want to scold him, to tell him that every part of him matters, past, present, future, because it's his. It makes him into this incredible boy in front of you. But your chest blooms at his words.

"I'm serious. You are forever if I have anything to say about it." His eyebrows narrow and he looks hesitant all of a sudden. "Well, if you want to be."

"I do, Stevie," you whisper, and you reach for him. He all but collapses into your arms, heartbeat thudding against yours, and presses a kiss to your hair.

join the celebration!

#500atemmasfair #emma's asks #my sweet pals #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #blurbs

[chrystalwynd]

Bailey Becomes a Diaper-Butt- Part 4

            A week later, Bailey skipped into the playroom.

            It was so weird. The first time she walked into this room, it had seemed so stupid, but now it looked like a wonderful adventure-land! There were so many things to do, she didn’t know where to start.

            Aunt Penny had finally taken off her mittens, so she could use her hands again, just like a big girl! Okay, so she was just learning to use her hands and fingers again, but that was fine.

            So much to choose from! Maybe the dollhouse?

            Wait…dolls were for babies. She was gonna play the Nintendo Wii! Yeah!

            Then she saw Kimmy and Sierra playing in the corner with something she couldn’t see. Curious, she went over and saw they were hunched over something that looked like a hat or beret or something.

            “What’s that?” she asked.

            Kimmy and Sierra looked up. “Huh? This? It’s nothing.”

            Bailey immediately figured it was something. “C’mon, let me see!”

            She got closer and leaned in to look. It was a cute little beret. Suddenly Kimmy grabbed it and put it on Bailey’s head.

            Bailey opened her mouth to protest, but suddenly her eyes became glazed. She raised her hands to shoulder level and began snapping her fingers like shark mouths. Her feet took little steps back-and-forth and she started singing: “Ba-by Shark doo doo d-doo doo-doo Ba-by Shark doo doo d-doo doo-doo Ba-by Shark doo doo d-doo doo-doo Baby Shark…”

            Kimmy and Sierra fell on the ground laughing and pointing. Then they skipped away, leaving Bailey helplessly singing the Baby Shark song, her diapered bottom swaying back and forth.

*****

            A small group had gathered around Bailey, watching her sing and sway, when Charlotte finally walked up and took the beret off Bailey’s head.

            “Awwwww,” said Ella, one of the older girls. “Why’d you do that, Charlotte? She was so cute!”

            “Yeah!” said another. “Totes adorable!”

            Bailey blushed.

            “Yes, Bailey’s very adorable,” agreed Penny as she walked up and took Bailey by the hand, “but also very wet. Let’s get you changed, button.”

            “It was Kimmy and Sierra!” wailed Bailey. “Th-They t-twicked me! And m-made me s-sing and d-dance…!”

            “I know, button,” said Penny. “I’ll take care of it.”

            So Bailey once again found herself in the changing room. After she had been changed, Penny let her lay on the couch and watch Disney movies.

            It was ridiculous. Bailey knew she should have been trying to figure out a way to wear big girl clothes again and be the big girl she knew she was! But she was sooooo comfy snuggled up with stuffies and watching Disney movies that, at least for now, she was just going to take a little nappie. But when she woke up, she was gonna show them she was a big girl!

*****

            When bailey woke up, Charlotte was shaking her shoulder.

            “C’mon, bailey,” said Charlotte. “It’s time for dinner.”

            Bailey blinked, then stood up. She was dressed in a Pretty Pony t-shirt and her diaper. Someone must have changed her clothes while she slept.

            She picked up her bear stuffie by the arm and blearily followed Charlotte down the hall, her bare feet padding softly along the floor.

            Charlotte waited for bailey to catch up. She giggled and said, “Kimmy and Sierra got in so much trouble! Aunt Penny made them each take a big spoonful of Nurse Ava’s castor oil.”

            Bailey laughed and clapped her hands, nearly dropping Mr.Bears on the floor. “Yay!”

            When they got to the dining room, Kimmy and Sierra were already in their highchairs being spoon-fed baby food. The state of their diapers indicated that the castor oil had already taken effect.

            Bailey squealed and ran over to the highchairs. She pointed at Kimmy’s obviously full diaper and said, “BABY!”

            Kimmy blushed and stuck her tongue out at bailey.

            Bailey giggled and skipped to her chair. She was gonna eat like a big girl now. She’d show them.

*****

            “No!” said bailey. “I’m not a baby! I’m a big girl! I get to wear big girl pajamas!”

            “Really?” said Penny. “So you’re suddenly a big girl now?”

            Her hair bobbed everywhere as bailey nodded fiercely. Finally they were understanding! They were finally going to treat bailey like the big girl she was!

            “Yes!” said bailey. “I’m a big girl like Charlotte and Ella! Totally!”

            Penny nodded understandingly. Then she suddenly reached over and pulled the back of bailey’s diaper out, taking a peek. “I believe you, bailey, but if that’s the case, then why is your diaper so wet?”

            Bailey blinked, suddenly realizing why she felt so warm and nice down there. She hadn’t even realized she had wet herself.

            Penny smiled tolerantly, then reached out and booped bailey’s nose. “It’s okay, button. Your Aunt Penny loves you just the way you are. Let’s get you changed, shall we?”

            Bailey’s cheeks glowed. “It’s not that full,” she mumbled. “I don’t a change yet.”

            “You don’t want a change, button?” said Penny, a smile playing on her lips. “That’s fine. Go ahead and get in bed and I’ll check on you later, okay, sweetie?”

            Bailey crawled into bed and let herself be tucked in. I’m only letting her tuck me in ‘cuz she wants to, not ‘cuz I want her to!, thought bailey. Then she realized she was really tired, despite her nap, and she found herself dropping into a deep sleep immediately.

@smolbailey

#bailey #diaper-butt

[fnafsbheadcanon]

Let’s upgrade one of the classic AU in this Blog.

Roxy: … Hey what wrong with that mechanic?

Penny: Haven’t you heard? He lost his wife when she was giving birth…

Roxy: … Oh…

Penny: …At least the baby is alive.

Some days later…

Roxy: What is in that stroller?

Penny: Oh! Do you know about that mechanic that you asked me about some days ago?

Roxy: Yes…

Penny: That’s his baby.

Roxy: Why did he bring his baby to the job?

Penny: He couldn’t afford a babysitter. So he brought her to work…

Roxy: …

2 weeks later…

Roxy looking down: …oh… god…

Manager: Well… That’s another catwalk we to fix. SOMEONE GET THE STAFF BOTS TO FIX THIS!!!

Roxy: Boss! That mechanic… IS DEAD.

Manager: He is? STAFF BOTS GET RID OF THE BODY!!

Roxy: … what…

Manager: What with that look Roxy? Look at the bright side. We don’t have to pay him anymore!!! HAHAHA

Later in parts in services…

Roxy: … God… I don’t feel good… after seeing that…

Roxy starts to hear a baby crying

Roxy: ?

Roxy looks around and lands eyes on the stroller. She walks towards it and opens it. And she sees the baby.

Roxy: Oh god! Don’t cry little one. (Pick up the baby) What wrong? You want your daddy? Let’s go look fo- (realizes)

Roxy: …that mechanic… was your father… and you also don’t have a mother…

Roxy stays some minutes in silence holding the baby.

Roxy: At least you stop crying… I need to get Penny to know what to do with you…

Roxy puts the baby back in the stroller but then the baby starts crying again. Roxy pick up the baby again.

Roxy: You don’t want me to leave…

Looks at the baby…

Roxy: Maybe… I shouldn’t give you away… maybe I should raise you… (touches the baby nose and the maybe starts laughing)

Roxy: … Ok… I’m definitely keeping you…

Roxy then notices that the baby has a bracelet in the right arm.

Roxy: What this? (Sees a name in it) …Cassie…

Looks at the baby again

Roxy: Well… Cassie… I guess I’m your new mother…

Baby Gregory AU now with Baby Cassie and mommy Roxy.

YAY!! i just imagine Roxanne and Glamrock Freddy passing each other with their respective babies like this

#fnaf baby au #fnaf security breach #fnaf ruins #penny the trash lady #fnaf roxxane #fnaf glamrock freddy #fnaf cassidy

[meditating-honey-badger]

Fandom: 911 Lone Star | Fic: Pretty Penny | Relationships: TK Strand/Carlos Reyes, TK Strand & Original Character | Chapter: 12/? | Chapter Word Count: | Total Current Word Count: 70211 | Rating: Mature | Warnings/Tags: Past Drug Use, Unplanned Pregnancy, Fluff, Angst, Canon Compliant to the End of Season 3, more tags will be added, picking a wedding date is hard, Stressed Carlos, engaged tarlos, Family Drama, Tarlos, Childbirth Class, Discussion of Birth, possible birth complications, Mildly Graphic Description, it's a bloody nose, discussion of past sexual abuse, Relapse, Overdose, discussion of suicide, Original Character Death(s), Explicit Language, Derogatory Language, Dad!TK, Papá!Carlos

Now that TK and Carlos are engaged, TK is ready to put the past behind him and move forward with their lives. But when he runs into a childhood friend, his entire world is turned upside down.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11

Let me tell you, friends, after struggling to have the time to write this chapter with so much going on in my life (My sister got married, yay! Work has been incredibly busy, Boo!), my ADHD did its best to try to prevent me from editing and getting it posted today. But here it is, finally! I hope you enjoy the new POV! Not sure if it will become regular, but I really needed it to tell this the way I wanted to.

Chapter 12

Carlos fought back tears as he looked at the grim faces around his parents’ dining room Sunday morning. The only thing keeping him from falling apart was that TK was already falling apart. He looked at TK’s red-rimmed eyes, swollen from crying and lack of sleep, and knew he had to stay strong for his husband and baby.

They’d always known this was a possibility — it had been their worst fear since the day they became Kennedy’s dads. Confronting it was an entirely different thing. Just like the lack of sleep and taking Kennedy to get her shots, nothing could have prepared them for this feeling. 

TK reluctantly handed Kennedy to Andrea, then joined Carlos, hugging him around the waist and burying his face in Carlos’s neck. Carlos rubbed his back and waited for someone to come up with a solution. Typically, he was fiercely independent, especially when his parents were involved, but right now he just wanted a grown up — or someone more grown up than him — to make the nightmare go away.

“We don’t have to tell anybody,” Owen said, sipping on a smoothie. He’d made an entire pitcher, but, not surprisingly, he was the only person drinking one. “It’s not like anyone subpoenaed you for the information. It’s very easy to factory reset a phone. Do it, sell the phone, and forget this ever happened.”

“That still doesn’t solve the problem of this Kenny character existing,” Andrea said.

Carlos let out an exasperated sigh. “It’s Kyle, Mamá.”

“Whoever he is, he’s trouble,” his mother answered back. She propped Kennedy on her shoulder and kissed her temple. “Isn’t that right, mi cielo?”

“Andrea,” Gabriel spoke up, “Aren’t you friends with the social worker? Couldn’t you call her up and explain the situation off the record? See what she thinks.”

“Really, Gabriel? I’m surprised you think I would put a friend in that position. Besides, that could easily backfire.”

TK turned around and leaned back against Carlos. “We have to tell social services,” he said. “It’s the right thing to do.”

“Maybe in theory, but not in this context,” Owen said. “The priority here is Kennedy’s well-being, so in that case, saying nothing is the right thing to do.”

“You’re not talking about context, dad. You’re talking about looking at it in a vacuum. Don’t everybody’s feelings matter here?”

“Not to me,” Owen said. “I’m your father, and I’m Kennedy’s Buddy. You and Carlos’s feelings matter. Her well-being matters. I don’t care about anybody else.”

“Buddy?” Gabriel said, raising his eyebrow.

“People would never believe I’m a grandfather anyway,” Owen said.

Gabriel rolled his eyes, and Carlos snorted. His father-in-law was really too much, but at least his heart was in the right place. “Well, I agree with Owen,” he said. “We don’t owe anybody anything. Our family is what’s most important.”

“You’re all saying our feelings are the most important,” TK said, pointing between himself and Carlos, “but then dismissing my feelings about it.”

“Nobody’s dismissing your feelings, TK. We’re just saying that Kennedy is our number one priority.”

“Whatever, Carlos,” TK said, shrugging out of his arms. He walked down the hallway toward the bathroom.

“He didn’t sleep at all last night,” Carlos explained.

Read on AO3

#tarlos #tarlos fic #911 lone star #911 lone star fic #tk strand #carlos reyes #Dad!TK #Papá!Carlos #mhb fic #pretty penny

[starlightandsunshine]

So like I'm back to rewatching Charmed (1998, obviously, yay for like my first fandom ever) again for the umpteenth time, (in a randomised order, of course, because why watch chronologically like a sane person) and I was watching "That 70s Episode" and then looking at additional trivia and episode information as you do, and I came across a comment about how Magic School makes the entire plot of the episode into a plot hole or vice-versa, which just… No.

I'm not going to say that their haven't been some absolute ass-pulls in Charmed that create plot holes in earlier episodes (The cleaners vs "All Hell Breaks Loose" is technically one even though I have Thoughts on that) but the existence of Magic School is really not one of them for quite a lot of reasons that I can't be bothered to go into rn because this post is about "That 70s Episode".

Time travel in Charmed happens in an essentially fifty-fifty split between time travel that intentionally changes the past (like "A Witch in Time" and the whole s6 arc with Chris) and closed time loops/predestination paradoxes that essentially mean the whole thing was one long foregone conclusion from the start (like "All Halliwell's Eve" and also "Imaginary Fiends" if you take it from the time traveller's perspective and not like Piper's). "Forever Charmed" and "Morality Bites" are exceptions to this that sort of hang about in their own bubble for Reasons but literally every other incident even tangientially related to time travel is one of those two (time travel in Charmed is maybe something that I've put a bit too much thought into but that's a different post)

(all my thoughts on "That 70's Episode" as a closed time loop under the cut because it, uh, got really very long)

Now admittedly, I may be coming at this from a slightly different perspective since the first time I watched Charmed I did it out of order and saw a couple of the later seasons first before I watched s1, which means I already knew about magic school and was elbow deep in the shows mythology (specifically relevant here: whitelighters, which iirc hadn't really been delved into at all - I can't remember if the episode w Phoebe finding out about Leo and the little witch boy called Max was before or after this one but either way they don't really start building on whitelighters until "Love Hurts" and s2). But literally the first thing I actually thought about here was that it was a closed time loop where they basically contributed to causing the whole thing in the first place (and hey, I just remembered that there's a different time travel ep in s1 where a warlock comes from the future to change it in the truth episode, so in hindsight I was probably like "oh cool they're showing two different ways it works already").

But I mean really, lets take the time travel out of the picture for a second:

If the sisters don't travel back in time at all, how does this situation play out? Like, Patty gets threatened by a warlock into blessing a ring to give him immunity to her daughters powers and presumably goes home and tells her mother about it and then they bind the girls' powers after Phoebe is born and don't? do? Anything? About the situation. Like in the threeish years between being threatened and dying Patty never tries to do anything about this warlock that is almost definitely going to try and kill her babies? (lets be generous and say that she didn't want to do anything while pregnant, that still leaves thirteenish months between Phoebe being born and Paige's conception, and sixish months between Paige's birth and Patty's death, and even then she doesn't have to actively be doing anything to be figuring out a way to track him down and vanquish him or whatever) Penny "Battleaxe Grams" Halliwell doesn't ever go after him or try to do anything about him and for twenty-odd years just twiddles her thumbs about the situation while he visits every year??? (the very same woman who had a relationship with and then vanquished the freaking Necromancer!) Neither of them ever tell their whitelighter Sam about the whole thing (which, you know, is part of his job description), they never reach out to other witches about this dangerous warlock running around (like say the multiple canonical witches that the Charmed Ones meet that worked with one of them), they never go to the canonical magical school that presumably has plenty of competent magical beings on staff or to the Elders like "Hey you know those prophesised Charmed Ones you've been waiting for? Yeah we had to bind their powers to save them from this one warlock, if you want them to ever be able to use that power you need to help us find a way to get rid of him, K thanks"?? Like I know they're not the Power of Three babes, but come on, they're still Warren Witches and plenty powerful and competent in their own right. They've both gone after tougher opponents alone and it's not like they couldn't work together (and if your argument is "what about the sisters", like it costs zero money to ask Sam or even Victor to watch them for like an afternoon while Patty and Penny go and vanquish the active and real threat to their lives) And like after all of that, after not hunting this warlock down or telling anyone about him or doing really anything at all about the situation for over twenty years, Penny, after being diagnosed with a heart condition, doesn't then ever think, "oh hey, when I die, this one warlock's going to come after them in like twelve months at most because he keeps popping by once a year, I should do something about that, like write a note in the Book or make an addition to my will about it or something"???

Uh, no. They would not do that. That is incredibly out of character for the Halliwells that we know and love. They'd probably have spent the nine months Patty was pregnant with Phoebe figuring out how to vanquish him and destroy the ring , and then if he didn't show up right after Phoebe was born they'd have asked Sam or maybe a couple of other witches they know to keep an eye on the sisters for a couple of hours while they summon Nicholas and vanquish him while he's off guard. The whole situation is over and done with by the time Phoebe turns one and the sisters' powers don't need to be bound at all.

But when you take the time travel into account, the whole lack of proactiveness on Patty and Grams' part makes a whole lot more sense. Because after having to bless the ring and then telling her mother about it, Patty remembers the other people who knew she was pregnant, and being the very much not stupid witch she is goes "hmm, maybe there's something going on there". And then like the plot of the episode happens they steal back the ring blah blah, and lets say that when Patty unblesses it she does it with like a time delay when its first used or it uses the powers of the girls to undo the blessing or even it takes a hot minute to take effect bc like Patty said they didn't have time to test whether or not the unblessing worked or whatever - its magic, we've handwaved way worse in canon - so that Nicholas still has the two minutes of being able to blindside the girls when he first attacks them and they can't use magic that prompts them to cast the time travel spell.

The girls then get sent home and Patty gives the unblessed ring back to Nicholas without letting on that she's unblessed it, fine. But because the girls have now time travelled, Patty and Penny realise that they have to preserve the order of events that led to them time travelling in the first place. Which means that when Phoebe is born they have to bind the girls' powers. Ok fine, they do that. They raise the girls with no knowledge of magic. Except, they're not stupid, they saw how the three girls looked at Patty and how they talked about Grams but not really about their mother, and they put together that Patty dies young. So Patty puts some entries in the Book, some messages for her daughters that she's not going to get to see grow up. Information that she'd rather give them in person but that need to be recorded somewhere for them because she won't be able to - like the Demon of Fear entry, or about magic around babies and so on. She doesn't know when she dies, but she figures it's got to be before Prue is a teenager because there's a different way you look at a parent you lost in your teens to a parent you lost as a child and because if Prue was a teenager then Phoebe was at least seven or eight and the girls would have something to say about her that proves who they are rather than just the wistful looks. And Penny keeps on raising the girls and doesn't do anything about Nicholas even though he keeps coming by, and she puts the vanquishing spell in the Book for when they need it, right by the spell they'd use to go back in time. And events play out like in canon.

The time travel being a closed time loop also neatly provides a further answer that isn't just "we were afraid" for why Patty gave up Paige rather than say, binding her whitelighter powers (like she did canonically) and pretending that she was the child of someone other than Sam (like maybe a one night fling with Victor, which, hey, that's how Phoebe was conceived, it could be true for Paige too!) or even just pretending that she was adopted from a different witch. Because the sisters clearly didn't know she had trouble with pregnancy and aren't very practiced witches, they came back in time to change the past and they didn't once mention a younger sister. There was no fourth daughter that time travelled, so either the three older daughters just left their younger sister behind when trying to stop Nicholas (which, unlikely), or they don't know she exists. So Patty takes the harder option of giving Paige up rather than the selfish one of keeping her and endangering all of her daughters because as previously mentioned, she's a very smart witch and figures out that this is a choice that she already made in the future her daughters travelled from.

But what about Grams wanting to strip their powers in "Pre-Witched"? You ask. Well that's easy, Grams knows she's ill, she looks at her granddaughters who look very much like the three time travellers she met and are about the same age as them too, and figures out that she's going to die soon. Now remember, she met the sisters after they'd already been Charmed for a while and only saw them as a united front that supported each other and were a pretty good team. She didn't see all the difficult growing pains they went through at first or how it took them a minute to get their shit together as a team. So she looks around at her granddaughters, who are not just a mess, but also cannot keep it together for five minutes, or even long enough to take a picture. And she comes to the conclusion that she must have messed up somewhere, that she changed something by accident and stopped them from becoming the tight-knit sisterhood that she saw in her past and she lets her doubts take over and stop her from listening to Patty, who has faith that they'll still pull together. And then, before she can go through with it, destiny strikes, and she dies, which kicks off the events that lead to Nicholas coming to the house and finding her dead and trying to kill her granddaughters who go back in time to stop him and end up causing the whole chain of dominoes that lead to them growing up without their powers and having to time travel in the first place.

Ta-da! Closed time loop. I'm probably forgetting some things, but this was basically a rant post about how not everything big and new about magic in the back half of Charmed is a continuity screw up or ass-pull ft. one of my favourite s1 episodes

…there's also a bunch more thoughts I have about Halliwell's time travelling in general and also specifically them meeting their parents/ancestors when they're young/not yet born and how there are a bunch of repeating patterns that keep popping up surrounding it, but again, that's a different post.

#charmed #that 70's episode #1x17 #patty halliwell #penny halliwell #grams halliwell #charmed ones #time travel #meta post #maybe also slightly a rant #i have so many thoughts on time travel in charmed #but also like this episode in particular bc like #this episode is literally the thing that kicks off the stuff in the start of the show #bc without it they wouldn't only be coming into their powers now! #and there's something about closed time loops thats just #i cannot describe how much i love this episode #and how much of the stuff that happens in this episode can be linked back to later #but also don't come in here and tell me that magic school is an ass-pull bc of this episode #bc this episode answers the q of that in and of itself long before magic school was invented #i can and will happily die on this hill istg #this episode is basically a love letter to the concept of self-fulfilling prophecies #that cause the very action they tried to prevent #which #there's also a really interesting thing about how phoebe's power links in to that #but that's a different post