#-today because there's probably gonna be a lot on the 16th

[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

[harley-michaels-main]

It's been awhile since I did a tier list but I've been into shojo anime and manga recently so I'm gonna rank my top five.

#5: Ouran High School Host Club

Haruhi Fujioka is recruited to join the host club after she breaks a vase!

Ouran is probably one of the best known shojo animes there is. It's funny, light hearted, adorable, and probably is one of the first reverse harem anime to gain a large fan base. And for being made in the early 2000's, the animation still holds up today.

However, the characters do not. There are a lot of things about this show that just did not age well. While I recommend this series I also recommend taking it with a grain of salt. This was made when certain things were socially acceptable that simply are not today.

That is the only reason I would have it at number 5. Other wise, the cast is great. The plot is hilarious. The pacing is well done. Overall, it's a hilarious and feel good show for when you simply don't want to think about what you're watching.

#4 Kamisama Hajimenmashita

After being kicked out of her apartment due to her father's gambling habits, Nanami Momozono must find her place in this world. But becoming an Earth God? How the hell is she supposed to do that?!

This is the first shojo I watched knowing that it was a shojo. I immediately fell in love with the characters and their dynamics. There's complicated back stories as well for those to like to drive a bit more into characters.

Sadly, the anime was rushed to a finish and a lot of the manga was never adapted. While the anime is still great, the ending just feels wrong without having the full story. The manga is completed and I highly recommend reading it. Yet because of the cancelation, I have to put it at number 4.

#3: Yona Of The Dawn

On her 16th birthday, the sole princess of Kouka, Yona, goes to ask her father to reconsider her marriage proposal to the love of her life. Her love had other plans with her father that night.

This is arguably one of the best shojos out there. With an amazing ploy and some of the best characters ever written, your heart is sure to be captured by this.

There is only one season of this however and it sadly looks like there won't be more any time soon.

The reason for this getting third place isn't because of the anime but actually because I just like the other two more. I love the fantasy setting, but I tend to like it more in shounen than shojo.

#2: My Love Story With Yamada-Kun at level 999

After being cheated on and dumped by her boyfriend over a girl he met in a game, Akane Kinoshita sets out to get revenge! By going to an irl game event and make him realize what he's missing out on! If only her luck with shoes was better.

This is a very new shojo with the first season just wrapping up a couple weeks ago. However, the manga has been going strong since 2019 and I have loved every minute of it. Thus has some of the best characters I have ever seen and it just continues to get better. It's also the type of shojo where we get to see the couple progress their relationship as a couple which is amazing.

I will say there are some... spicier bits in the manga so beware of that if it's not your thing. (Nothing explicit is shown)

However we get to see progression from te side characters as well which is also amazing. I love every moment of this and it had me squealing and kicking my feet like a little girl.

#1: Horimiya

The queen bee and the loner realize that maybe they can be their true selves around each other.

This is my all time favorite. I read the manga, watch the og anime, watched the remake, and the missing pieces. I love this story so much.

It portrays realistic relationships and shows that both of the main characters have faults that they work through in their relationship. Not just that, but the side characters get a lot of development as well that makes you rooting for them.

This whole story is so wholesome and it's the perfect thing to unwind to.

#my love story with yamada kun at lv999 #loving yamada at lv999 #horimiya #yona of the dawn #yona of the red dawn #ouran high school host club #ouran host club #ouran #ouran hshc #ohshc #kamisama kiss #kamisama hajimemashita #anime #shojo #shojo manga #shojo anime #romance #romance manga #romance anime

[captainnameless]

@f1-obsessed333 your requested tantrum:

“He does the crime he does the time, Daniel.”

“Well how about, he does the time on your time, Carlos?” Daniel says, exasperated already, 15 minutes into his Little Lando time.

Lando’s still crying, quieter though, and into Daniel’s chest this time, every now and then he adds a foot stomp for dramatic effect.

Carlos groans, rubbing his hands over his face. They hadn’t exactly had a smooth morning either. Despite having the day off Carlos still had a workout planned at 10, which still meant waking up to an alarm clock.

Unsurprisingly, Lando woke up in a sour mood, groggy and pouty all the way through being dressed. He’s rewarded with a kiss anyway when Carlos pulls the hoodie over his head, mumbling something about doing his hair.

Lando’s still soft and rosy, probably half asleep while Carlos moves him onto a lounge chair and starts combing his fingers through Lando’s curls, reaching for the mister to slightly wet his hair.

“Trash Truck, please, Papa.” Lando asks through a yawn, squirming in his seat. He almost always has the iPad, or one of their phones playing when Carlos does his hair.

Carlos almost folds, Lando’s asking so politely, one of his hands rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, peeking over his shoulder to wait for Carlos’ response.

“No Trash Truck, cariño.” Carlos says gently, optimistically reaching for the curl cream.

“Why?” Lando whines, faces souring immediately a pout pressing out onto his lips.

“You used up your Trash Truck last night when you were supposed to be sleeping, remember?”

“Bluey then!” Lando whines, stomping one of his feet. Carlos puts the cream back down.

“No Bluey, Lando. No screen time today.”

Unsurprisingly it sets him off, Lando dramatically slides off of the chair like he’s been shot in some Telenovela, hands coming up to cover his hair in case Carlos might attempt to still do it.

“No! No no no!”

Carlos closes his eyes for a second and takes a deep breath before crouching down next to Lando. “Amor-”

“No Amor!” Lando actually screeches and Carlos has to reach out to cover Lando’s mouth with his hand because he’s not entirely sure how sound proof these walls are.

His reward is being bitten and sending an already full toddler tantrum nose first into a corner.

Foolishly, he thinks taking Lando to the hotel breakfast might lighten his mood, or at least have him in a better behaved state being in public and all but that idea goes out the window when they enter the elevator on the 16th floor and Lando manages to press all the buttons before Carlos can snatch his hand away.

Carlos decides that he’s seen enough, marches Lando right out when the door opens on the 15th floor and up a flight of stairs to order room service instead before going over to Daniel’s floor.

“I’ll take him back.” Carlos says, dropping his hands from his face. “Call Rupert and cancel the workout.”

“No, he’s mine.” Daniel huffs, not willing to give up his time even if it means it’s going to be a little bit harder than he anticipated, the cuddles he gets after a tantrum almost make them worth it. “We’ll be fine, won’t we Buddy?”

“Truck.” Lando just cries miserably into Daniel’s chest.

“Well,” Daniel says with a soft chuckle, arms still wrapped around Lando. “Sounds like we’re starting off with a n-a-p.”

“Good luck with that.” Carlos huffs, reaching over to press a kiss onto Lando’s hand who voices his displeasure through a loud whine. “Papa’s gonna go.”

“We say Bye Papa!” Daniel answers for Lando, taking one of Lando’s arms and making him wave. “Bye!”

Lando just buries his face deeper with another whine, trying to tug his arm back down.

When the door shuts Daniel tricks Lando into a cuddle on the sofa in his hotel room, humming a soft song that puts him right back to sleep. Answering emails is a lot more fun with a cuddle buddy.

#littlef1adventures #lf1a.minific

[elvenbeard]

2077, September

“I’m wondering if this is what Alt meant when she said Soulkiller would… kill my soul. Leave me nothing but a cluster of memories and thoughts… A blurry copy of myself, trapped in a body so adjusted to Johnny already that it would’ve been smarter to just – …”

Look at how far you've come. You're the King of the fucking Afterlife, a Night City legend... but as it is with Night City legends, they tend to die young.

Vince is 28 by mid-to-late 2077, every other person his age has so much to live for, to look forward to... yet his thoughts are still pre-occupied with the same problem they have been since April, just with a new twist: how the hell am I gonna survive my own body trying to kill me now?

He'd been told that Johnny would slowly wipe out his personality, his memories, his existence, but even with Johnny gone now, for good, an amicable separation in the end... Vince doesn't feel the same anymore. Is he even himself still? Or just a not-entirely-accurate copy of the Vince that once was? In the end, did he wipe himself out with the help of Alt and Soulkiller, without Johnny even having a fault in it so much?

Just like after Jackie's death, Vince cannot help but wonder: would it have been better the other way around? Should he have stayed back in Cyberspace, give Johnny a second chance, changed man that he was by then? But this body was Vince's, had always been, logically he knew it... But something was off, not quite the same anymore.

He has so much to fight for now, not even only abstract concepts like a good reputation or "being remembered" that he was so focused on at the start of all of this. In the chaos and hardship he found friends, love, forged connections he could have never dreamt of - in spite of and because of Johnny, and for that he's thankful.

He has so much to lose, more than ever. Giving up is not an option, has never been.

Vince through the years (8/9)

I mentioned many times before that I love the Sun ending cause it fits really well for Vince for many reasons. He's a good merc, but he'd make an even more amazing Fixer with his background, he's hella ambitious, smart, cunning, organised, and just.... hhhh everything!! But the Soulkiller thing still fucks me up so much everytime and the more I think about it. Anyone know the plot-twist of/played SOMA? Yeah... yeah. If you know, you know.

The one thing that always really bothered me about the Sun Ending though, is one of the last things he gets to say before the credits being "I have nothing left to lose" when... no, clearly not. We accept that the council has made a decision but it's a stupid decision! Blaming it on his nerves and not having a good time with Mr. B, distrusting his ass for good reasons, that he says that at that moment XD

That being said... I know everyone has a slightly differently timeline of events, and I wanted to share bits an pieces of mine in this context (still a wip more or less, but I have some set dates for certain events because I love angst).

Thursday, Nov. 5th 2076 -> meet Jackie at Lizzie's, booted from Arasaka

End of December -> First Gig with Jackie

[A lot of the early gigs for Regina and Wakako (but a few of the other Fixers, too), happen during the time of the 6-month-montage for my headcanon]

Sunday, April 4th 2077 -> "The Rescue"

Monday, April 5th 2077 -> "The Ride"

[preparations for the Konpeki Plaza heist in the following days - a bit more elaborate planning would be needed imo than what's shown in game, the Maelstrom meetup alone, esp. if you meet Meredith upfront, wouldn't be something Vince would do over the course of a fun afternoon]

Friday, April 16th 2077 -> Konpeki Plaza Heist, arrival at the hotel in the early afternoon

Saturday, April 17th -> V wakes up in the landfill in the evening

[stay at Vik's to recover - mostly from injuries sustained during the fights and the operation; since this is the future it would probably not be as long as we'd have to stay in hospital with today's medicine; I think V would also get more glimpses into Johnny's memories as he sleeps/dreams]

Tuesday, April 20th -> V is brought home and Johnny appears at night

Wednesday, April 21st -> Breakfast with Takemura xD

[over the course of the next few weeks everything up to "Play it Safe" happens, including the Hunt for Hellmann and the search for Evelyn and the Voodoo Boys; a lot of it is going on simultaneously, but helping Panam and going after Hellmann and such is something that would take at least 3-4 days with minimal travel inbetween - but V could for example talk to Mr. Hands while waiting for the Kang Tao AV to get the meetup with Brigitte scheduled and help Takemura while Evelyn is recovering, and so on.]

Mid-May 2077 -> Attack on the Parade in Japantown (the attack on the parade and the few quests that follow with Takemura's safehouse and V and Johnny escaping to the Motel etc. all happen over the course of 12ish hours in my head, cause it wouldn't make sense to trail off doing gigs or other stuff while Takemura and Hanako sit there and wait super on-edge XD)

Friday, May 14th -> Johnny's wild bender

Sunday, May 16th -> Ebunike & Oil Fields

Tuesday, May 18th -> Movie-Date with Rogue

Thursday, May 20th -> first meeting with Kerry😌

Tuesday, May 25th -> Samurai "Reunion" Concert

Thursday, May 27th -> Kerry has a gig for V

Tuesday, June 1st -> Dark Matter show with Us Cracks (and in the following days Blue Moon's stalker gig, before Boat Drinks)

Friday, June 4th -> Boat Drinks 🚤🔥

[a tiny little peace of mind pls before it all goes to shit XD]

Wednesday, June 9th -> Embers-Meetup with Hanako (headcanon time: I think, with how dangerous and secretive everything is with Hanako, they would agree on sth like her calling V with a date for the meetup at Embers at some point, when she feels it is safe. Maybe he'd still formally agree at some point "all right, starting now, feel free to call me anytime and I'll come, I'm ready"; so there is some plausible reason as to why "Meet Hanako at Embers" sits in your journal for around 20 gigs revolving around Johnny's past without consequences XD)

Thursday, June 10th -> V's 28th birthday, bc I love angst :D (as I said above, the meet at Embers would be something more or less spontaneous, and so he'd be like "aw shit, I wanted to spend my potential last birthday not thinking about the Arasakas' offer too much", not expecting he wouldn't really walk out of the restaurant on his own again. The attack on Arasaka Tower would happen the same night, after the meeting with Hanako, and so by the time midnight strikes and V walks into and out of Mikoshi, it would be his birthday in multiple ways, kinda. Cause ~symbolism~)

[time skip with very important things happening that explain how V got his mansion and became King of the Afterlife]

Thursday, September 2nd -> "Blaze of Glory" - Meetup with Mr. B at Afterlife (I put it in September because Alt's estimate for how long V has to live find a solution to his problem is around 6 months. So, by September half of that time is over, but V'd also have a very reasonable amount of time to plan the Crystal Palace Heist and make it a success, looking at how he managed to survive the main story events in a shorter timeframe. I think the outlook could definitely be seen as positive; also basing this a bit on what a femV romancing River says in the Sun Ending, that "months of prep" went into this "last gig". Also, the very prominent clothing ad "Focus on Winning this Fall" - "fall", as in, the season - visible at the start of the 6-month-montage also kinda makes me think the endings take place during Sep-Nov, cause we love foreshadowing in this house)

Saturday, September 4th -> First Chapter of "Love is Stored in the Olive Jar" XD and from then on we'll see o.o

Oookay.... that ended up being longer than I thought XD But yes... seing what V has accomplished in a relatively short amount of time (and I mean... about 1.5 months can definitely be "a few weeks, at most", if we look at Vik's original estimate of the situation) I think with twice as much time to plan *just one gig* (even though, admittedly, an insane one) his chances of it going right are good. Maybe not 100% according to plan, cause something always goes wrong, but yeah. Fully depends on everyone's V's of course, and whether at that point they *want to* continue fighting, have something to fight for and lose - Vince definitely does - but yeah. I choose to interpret the Sun ending as a positive outcome that gives V another shot at life xD Maybe not in the way he expected buuuut... 👀

Thanks for reading so far if you did, would love to hear different takes and how you'd space out the timeline of the main story for your V!

#cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk 2077 spoilers #cp2077 #cyberpunk vp #cyberpunk 2077 vp #cp2077 vp #cyberpunk v #male v cyberpunk #corpo v #vincent ezaki #my vp #vince's timeline #my headcanons #vince through the years #one more to go and HHHHH #I mean... if you remember my overview post of these a couple months back #you may know what's gonna come #but yeah still my feeeeels ;__; #cyberpunk 2077 meta

[bethanyactually]

9 people you'd like to get to know better

I was tagged by the lovely @pixiestickers--thanks!

3 Ships: Nancy/Ace from the CW's Nancy Drew, Bellamy/Clarke from The 100, Ben/Devi from Never Have I Ever

I'm listing ones I've most recently read fic about, but really the one that's living in my brain rent-free is Nancy/Ace, as anyone who's followed me for the past couple years is unsurprised to hear. Bellamy/Clarke is an old ship but I've recently been comfort-reading a lot of @ponyregrets's excellent fic. And Ben/Devi are blorbos-in-law written beautifully by @catty-words, whose fic I've recently beta-read.

First Ship Ever: uhhh what metric are we using? The first pair I ever remember thinking, 'they're both so nice, they should get married' about was Bob and Linda from Sesame Street, when I was about 4. When I was a bit older, I watched Remington Steele with my mom and thought Laura and Steele should definitely kiss, partly because my mom thought so. David and Maddie on Moonlighting were probably the first ship I could rightfully call my blorbos. The first ship that made me think, "I bet someone on the internet is talking about them," was Mulder/Scully. The first ship I read fic for was Chuck/Sarah from Chuck.

Last Song:

Last Movie: I think it was Elemental, which we watched in Oregon with my best friend and her family when we were visiting a couple weeks ago.

Currently Reading: Re-listening to the Murderbot series in anticipation of System Collapse being released next week, currently in the middle of Exit Strategy. Just re-read @ponyregrets's excellent The 100/The Good Place fusion series, Knocking on Heaven's Door.

Reading The Canterbury Tales with Elliora for school. And we just started reading A Midsummer Night's Dream out loud and it's been SO FUN because Elliora is loving it. We're reading it fairly slowly, with lots of stopping to discuss what things mean, and she finds it hilarious how similar the sentiments of these 16th-century characters are to humans today. She especially liked the lines, "You have her father’s love, Demetrius; Let me have Hermia’s. Do you marry him," when I explained that was basically Lysander saying, "If you like Hermia's dad so much, why don't you marry him." (My kid is enjoying Shakespeare!!!)

Currently Watching: Star Trek Lower Decks, perpetually rewatching Nancy Drew and Elementary, just started a Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency rewatch with @pressdbtwnpages that we're gonna get back to any day now, need to watch like the last four D20 series while I crochet this blanket I'm about to start working on for my best friend's sister.

Currently Consuming: Coffee

Currently Craving: a visit with friends in California I haven't seen in entirely too long

low-key, no-pressure tagging Corissa, Chash, and Kelsey since I mentioned them in this post, along with @demigodofhoolemere, @kiran-wears-science-blues, @somethinginthestatic, @mumbledletters, @the-errant-bard, @pepperf, and anyone else who'd like to do this!

#meme #me #Spotify

[writer-and-thrasher]

So, I'm turning 23 today! ❤️ I wanted to share a bit about my thoughts on birthdays and all that, because this is Tumblr and I can. I hope you'll indulge me.

I hold birthdays as being incredibly sacred. Everyone's, including my own. I believe in birthday magic, that everything that should go right, will go right. I know it's a little silly, but I hold onto it anyway. Birthdays are the one day that the universe is meant to move aside and let you shine.

A lot of this is because, growing up, my birthday wasn't really sacred to anyone else. My dad has only gotten my birthday right twice (11th and 21st), blaming my mom for having my 1st birthday party the day brfore my birthday. Instead of, you know. Putting it in his calendar.

My grandma blew out my 16th birthday candles. And nobody relit them. And I didn't know how to ask for that, especially since I didn't want her there to begin with.

Even the birthdays where people tried, it didn't go well. My whole town flooded. There was a global pandemic (like literally about a day into the lockdown). My friends put on a horrifically sad movie, and I bawled in a parking lot.

But now I'm an adult. I buy my own cake and blow out my own candles. I surround myself with people who will stay up until midnight on the 23rd to wish me a happy birthday on the 24th.

I didn't have the power to make my birthday important as a kid. I couldn't force my dad to remember me or relight my candles (I was heavily discouraged from using lighters after The Incident™️). I couldn't stop a flash flood (still can't, but irrelevant).

But I think that growing up for me is about deciding to take whatever control I have and make my birthday what I want it to be.

And this year, that means staying up until 1am with my best friends, having listened to a 2.5hr long ppt about Riverdale, and seeing Brett Goldstein perform in Milwaukee.

Next year, it'll probably be different. But every year, I'm gonna choose myself. I make my birthday sacred. I make myself proud.

#wrath talk #birthdays #self love #it's a long one folks #but it matters to me so #*shrug*

[charliethemanticore]

please tell me about sayer and bernard roth, and do not pretend to be normal about it 🩷

okay okay okay, anon I am giving you a little kiss on the forehead. I am gonna be going back through my notes so if this takes a hot minute, that’s why.

Update: This is… getting very long so I’m going to do this in sections. Your introduction lies below the readmore. Because I’ve hit 850 words. It really needs an edit. I am not doing that. Have fun. There will be another installment later.

So. Corsets (and Why We're So Weird About Them)

So, a few things need to be established here to understand the roots of modern anti-corset rhetoric. I will be dealing with sexism, ableism, and likely touching on racism within the medical field during the 19th century. If you’re anything like me, you will be angry by the end of this, just hopefully at some guys who have been dead a really long time, and not me. I’m just some guy who is three arbitrary credits off having a degree in History (with High Distinctions, btw. I’m very proud of my disabled ass for my current 6.0 on our 7-point scale)

France, America, and the UK in the 19th century were very Christian in the 19th century. The research I’ve done mostly focused on these countries, however I did briefly dabble in German history because the medical dress reform movement more or less started there, but more on that later.

As many of you know, it is a fairly standard belief in (many denominations of) Christianity* that if you do something Wrong™ then you will be Punished™ with misfortune. During this period, if someone was ill then they had Done Something To Deserve It™. This meant that, often, your physical condition was treated as a shorthand for your moral standing.

* For the purposes of this discussion, Catholicism is included under the “Christianity” blanket, I know many Catholics disagree with that categorization, but I am not writing “Christians and Catholics” fifty times

The medical field was professionalized to a recognizable degree in the 19th century. A lot of that professionalization resulted in super fucked up ideas about gender, race, and disability. The professionalization of medicine was parallel to the rise in global eugenics movement. This will probably surprise no-one but needs to be stated, nonetheless.

Many disabilities are more frequently observed in Women* than Men*. Scoliosis, which was the focus of my research for my major work, was one of these conditions. It followed, therefore, that women were doing something Bad™ that men weren’t** and the easiest options were exercise and corsetry. Now, doctors genuinely believed that women were more delicate and susceptible to disease and injury (both to the physical and spiritual being). For the most part, many doctors did NOT want women to be doing as much exercise as they were recommending for men. So corsets were Public Enemy #1

* I’m nonbinary, I know that the binary is bullshit and biology is weird soup, but I am using the terms applicable to the medical understanding and discussion of the period, it’s just easier when referring to primary texts.

** Many men did actually wear corsets. I want one of the advertisements as a tattoo. They’re great.

Right. So now that we have the basic facts outlined, onward. I will include a reference list below. I might put some of my recommended reading in a google drive or smth if anyone wants that.

So. First of all we should probably talk about what a corset is. “Oh by Charlie I know what a corset is” shush. Maybe you do. Maybe you know what a modern corset is. This is my ted talk and I will be as obsessive about my definitions as I like.

For the purposes of SEO algorithms, a corset is a generic term that could refer to bodies, stays, corselets, true corsets, and anything you can find on google when searching for a fast fashion corset top. A generic term that can be applied wantonly for a thousand different garments from the 16th century to today is not very helpful.

When I say “Corset” I mean a garment that began to evolve from stays in the 1820s and had established itself as the popular foundational garment by the 1840s and remained so until the 1920s. For simplicities sake, a corset is a “rigid bodice” supported by vertical boning (Usually baleen/whalebone. Sometimes steel, sometimes reed, sometimes cording)(1). Its primary function was to support the bust, but they also formed the foundation of popular fashions (2).

Corsets work by distributing weight of the bust (and also clothing) across the entire torso, supported by resting on the hips (think of the difference between cradling a toddler – or a heavy box - and sitting them on your hip)(2). They also formed a smooth surface so that clothing could be tight to the body while limiting wrinkling but, more importantly, IT STOPPED WAISTBANDS NEEDING TO DIG INTO THE BODY TO STAY UP. They could be tight to the body, but the corset would not allow them to dig into the body. They were (USUALLY) custom made to the individual and (USUALLY) only worn to the tightness comfortable for the level of activity for the individual. (I will talk about exceptions later). Tight lacing wasn’t hugely common. Usually the drastic shape was achieved through optical illusion and padding (Bust improvers, bustles, bum pads) (3)(4). If you make the hips and bust appear larger, the waist will naturally appear smaller, regardless of actual measurements.

God this is going to be so long I haven’t even got to the Bernards. Okay so this might have to be in installments.

REFERENCES

1 Steele, Valerie. Encyclopedia of Clothing and Fashion. Kindle ed. Charles Schribner’s Sons, 2005, p. 290

2 Waugh, Norah, and Judith Dolan. Corsets and Crinolines. Abingdon, Oxon; New York, Ny, Routledge, 2018, p. 75.

3 Kunzle, David. Fashion and Fetishism: Corsets, Tight-Lacing and Other Forms of Body Sculpture. Sutton Publishing, 2004, p. 89.

4 Steele, Valerie. Fashion and Eroticism: Ideals of Feminine Beauty from the Victorian Era to the Jazz Age. Oxford University Press, 1985, pp. 62-63

#Corset history #Victorian history #fashion history #academia #i guess #Historyblr #I am so so excited about this #This is the first infodump i've done for fun on this because i burned out on it after my major project BUT I AM SO EXCITED #which is why this is a mess i am so sorry. I want to publish my short story and it's exegesis which is why I'm not just posting that #the Roth and Sayre sections are coming i promise. I want to talk to them both. study them like bugs. Brodhurst too. #Also I don't know if I should put pictures in. let me know if you want pictures in the next bit #Continuing education #Corsets #Vintage styles not vintage values #Part one #Corset Chronicles #Corset Chronicles part one #(thats how i'm gonna tag this infodump series i think) #anon #thank you anon this made my day #part 2 may be tonight or tomorrow depending on spoons

[sugarfluffandallthatgoodstuff]

HMBAU Chapter 1: Spring Band Camp

this is part of my haikyuu marching band AU (acronym HMBAU) and the rest of it is on AO3, but I’m just gonna publish it here too. Enjoy!

Chapter 1: Spring Band Camp

“1ST, 2ND AND 3RD YEARS WELCOME BACK TO ANOTHER GREAT BAND CAMP!!” our head Drum Major Daichi said to us through the megaphone  and I guess decided to speak to us normally (finally)

“For you 1st years who may not know, my name is Daichi Sawamura. I'm a 3rd year and  our band’s head drum major. Standing beside me are my fellow drum majors 3rd years Shinsuke Kita and Kiyoko Shimizu as well as 2nd year Keiji Akaashi. Now may all section leaders and captains step forward so you can introduce yourselves”

Wow. Why didn’t someone have Daichi do the talking last year?!? I remember being bored as piss when our head drum major last year took forever with his speech and made it all sappy and shit.

And oddly Kyotani was the first to step up (probably just wanted to get it over with tbh)

“Kentaro Kyotani snare section leader” “Kozume Kenma Bari Sax section leader” and kenma didn’t even look up from his psp while doing this. 

“Tetsuro Kuroo, tuba section leader”, “Kotaro Bokuto, assistant tuba section leader”, “Wakatoshi Ushijima, trumpet section leader”, “Satori Tendou tenor sax section leader ;)”, “Osamu Miya, flute section leader”

Right after Osamu introduced himself stupid Atsumu had to lose any shred of chill he had and just scream:

“ATSUMU FUCKING MIYA BEST ASSISTANT TRUMPET SECTION LEADER AND MIYA TWIN”

Only for Iwaizumi to step in and hit the bastard in the back of the head

“Iwaizumi Hajime, brass captain”

Honestly after iwaizumi introduced himself I kinda may have gotten distracted by his sleeveless arms and how awesome his handling of the idiot blond was and missed like more than half of the section leader intros untill:

“Tooru Oikawa, woodwind captain. Feel free to ask me for help anytime”

And he was looking straight at me 

Apparently Oikawa was the last one to introduce himself because Daichi immediately started talking again

“Alrighty I know that kind of took a while because there are a lot of us leaders, but I want everyone to have a good first rehearsal!”

And then I heard Suga yell “Alrighty flutes make a circle! We’re going to introduce ourselves to each other! Akaashi, would you like to join us?”

“Sure” 

“Great! This is how we’re going to do it: first and last name, what year you are, what’s your birthday, your favorite food, your favorite color, a hobby or yours, and a fun fact about yourself! After we go we’ll point to someone or say their name. I’ll start. Koshi Sugawara, I’m a 3rd year, December 31st, super spicy maro tofu, black and orange, volleyball, and I am aspiring to be an elementary teacher! I pick Osamu next!”

“Osamu Miya, 2nd year, October 16th, black and white, onigiri, cooking, and I have an idiot twin brother named atsumu. I pick Akaashi next”

Are all the leaders just picking on each other today?!

“Keiji Akaashi, 2nd year,December 5th , nanohana with karashi, blue and gold, drawing/writing, and I’m fluent in 4 languages. I choose Oikawa to go next”

“Hi there! My name is Tooru Oikawa, I’m a 3rd year, my birthday is July 20th, my favorite fodd is milkbread, my favorite colors are white and teal, I love playing volleyball, and a fun fact about myself is I actually am the starting setter for our school’s volleyball team! Hmm…maybe I shoukd pick one of you shy girls how abooouuut…Y/N!”

I froze

“Uh m-maybe n-not m-me I-I’m not that interesting”

I looked over at Osamu to help me out a bit but he betrayed me and said “come on Y/N everyone’s gotta do it, and besides you aren’t gonna get away from it this year. I know you are shy but you need to come out of your shell a bit”

“F-fine you win. I’ll try” and I not liking this shit spoke even softer than before: “My n-name is Y/N L/N, I’m a 2nd year, my-”

And Suga cut in with “I’m sorry for interrupting you Y/N but I’m having a really hard time hearing you, can you please speak up a little?”

“Uh s-sure.” I took in a deep breath and started again

“My name is Y/N L/N, I’m a 2nd year, my birthdays on April 7th,my favorite food is F/F, my favorite colors are aqua, dark heliotrope, and black, so basically all the colors from the aurora borealis, I d-don’t r-really have any hobbies, and I’m not that interesting of a person so I don’t have any fun facts I’m sorry”

All the 2nd and 3rd years were shocked because this was the most they’ve ever heard me say. And Suga basically being the mom of the section decided to say more about me because apparently he wasn’t satisfied with my answers

“What our dear Y/N forgot to mention was that she's captain of the dance team, top of her class, in our school’s top choir, and most impressive of all is she knows 9 languages fluently! And despite being so reclusive she’s very very sweet and loves helping people” he smiled softly at me knowing what he just did

He just focused everyone’s attention onto me 

I looked around frantically for who could take the attention off of me and I caught the eye of Daishou’s ex-girlfriend Mika and blurted out “U-uh M-Mika-san a-are you ok with going next?”

“Sure! I don’t mind! Honestly thought I would never get picked this early so thank you!” she smiled at me and began her schpeal and I couldn’t be more grateful 

What I hadn’t noticed was I had stood up and ran to the bathroom without saying anything

Hopefully Oikawa wasn’t gonna do a surprise jug check today

And then another thought hit me 

The flute leaders and a drum major now knew my birthday

Oh fuck

LE TIMEYSKIIIIIP

Fuck it was cold out here and it was already 10 in the morning

But hey we’ll all get hot quickly despite it being 56° outside 

“Alrighty everyone one lap around the field!”

And with that we were off for the first lap of spring band camp

#shy!reader #oikawa x reader #iwaizumi x reader x oikawa #marchingbandreader #marching band au #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #HMBAU

[sylunisart]

Honestly if you really think about it, some of the poptropica villains we’ve encountered would probably be dead today. That’s because they live on islands that are set in different time periods. So I’m gonna go over which villains would be the oldest chronologically.

I’m not going to include Zeus cause while he does live in Ancient Greece, he’s a literal god and doesn’t really quite count.

First is Scheherazade and Samhal surprisingly, you’d think that it would be Bard who is the oldest villain chronologically but he actually isn’t. Arabian Nights is based off of 1001 Arabian nights, and according to the story, it takes place in the Sasanid Dynasty. This means that Arabian nights would have taken place between 224 to 651 CE/AD.

And then next is Binary Bard. Astro knights takes place in the medieval era obviously, but lets pinpoint when exactly. The first known accounts of knights existing are written in the 8th century and knights were considered obsolete by the 15th century. Obviously there weren’t any highly advanced technology in the medieval era but hey it’s fictional.

This one was a little hard to pinpoint because the fairytales used in this have rather broad eras in which they take place, but to simplify things I’ll be going by the Disney/popular versions. There are a total of 5 major characters who are actual fairy tale characters, but lets start with the princesses first. Snow White is from the 16th century and Cinder is from the 19th century. Now let’s talk about the characters who didn’t show up in any Disney movies. The origins of “The little red riding hood” trace back to the 10th century but the most commonly told version takes place in the 17th century. Our fairytale villain(at the moment) Rumpelstiltskin is most commonly associated with the 18th century, however it is believed that his story goes even farther back than that. The earliest known records of Rumpelstiltskin’s story are traced back about 4000 years ago and was traditionally told through generations by oral storytelling. However for simplicity sake, I’m placing Rumpelstiltskin below Scheherazade, Samhal, and Bard.

I didn’t want to bring up sponsored islands at first but I’m gonna do it anyways. Next is the shogun. The premise of Red Dragon island involves samurais and ninjas. Samurais were established in the 10th century and are commonly associated with the Edo period, which took place between 1603 to 1837. Ninjas were also around in the Edo period aswell.

Next is Captain Crawfish. Firstly, piracy has existed for a long time so we need to figure out how to narrow down what year he lived in. It’s safe to assume that he may have lived in the golden age of piracy, which takes place between 1650 to 1730. Now let me bring up something you probably never even thought about. If you go to Dragon Cove, you’ll see a wise woman there, the wise woman is wearing Qing dynasty clothes. The Qing dynasty lasted from 1636 to 1912, and fair enough, the golden age of piracy sits well in between that era.

Next is Count Bram. Since he is based on Dracula, he would be living in the Victorian era, which takes place between 1837 to 1901

Around the same time frame is El Mustachio Grande. Obviously he would be living in the Wild West era, which lasted betwen the 1860s to the 1890s

Next is Mademoiselle Moreau. According to the wiki, Mystery train is based around the 1893 Chicago World’s fair and the train itself is based on the John Bull train that took people to the world fair.

Next is Ringmaster Raven. The island is stated to take place in 1956 and Raven was exiled from the town as a child in 1936. Believe it or not, he would actually still be alive today, albeit he would be very old, he would be roughly in his 90s at minimum.

Not gonna talk a whole lot about monkey wrench island but fun fact, Red Baroness is based on an actual German pilot from World war 1. Y’all can probably guess who I’m talking about.

Lastly is the villains of Ghost story island, Daphne Dreadnaught and the Magistrate. Henry Flatbottom became the Magistrate in 1929 and has been visiting Fiona’s grave for 50 years, meaning that Ghost story takes place in 1979. I’d say that Daphne too would still be alive, but Flatbottom? The man is like 10 minutes away from death, I doubt he would be still around.

From here on out, all the other villains are from the modern era, presumably past 24 carrot. I’d say about 9 out of all the villains we currently have would be dead in the present timeline if you don’t count Samhal who could still be a genie and Rumpelstiltskin who can be interpreted as being immortal cause y’know magic man. But it’s interesting that these villains being able to live in the modern era is possible thanks to the whole weird time travel thing that goes on when we visit different islands.

#poptropica #I might add character tags later but atm I’m too lazy

[wuornosblog]

6-8-92

Dear Dawn, Im gonna do some feed back to you on all the cheating feelings and lying feelings I have over concerning Arlene . . . I have been nothing but lied to . . . When I was arrested . . . eventually I confessed to selfdefense . . . Well the cops must of got pissed off. Cause I didnt fit there questions right for there “Seriel Killing scam” . . . Anyway [the cops] got pissed off and told the guards to put me in medical lock down, and feed her full of drugs. I was crying like a mother fucker, shaking like crazy., And was DTing and withdrawing from all my alcohol. Plus shook up! . . . So when they offered me a 25 mg Librium pill and 4 . . . 25 mg vistoril pills, I took them gladly … I later learned these were sinous pills not tranquilizers from Arlenes “Doctor” . . . I stayed in this lock down haveing done nothing for 15 days. And now hooked on Visteril. Once they realized I was good and hooked they let me out. Now during the time in medical lock down. My public defender Raymond Cass and [another lawyer] came to see me 4 times. DURING JANUARY The 1st time was cass only. The very first thing he said to me. Was! I am gonna try to do my damest from keeping you from the chair, In the meantinme youll probably get life. And I know you haven’t got a family or financial aid,. Ive been contacted by a women named Jackie Giourx who would like to do a book and movie about you . . . I said. I’m not too interested in this … I want to know about my case. What do you mean “life in prison!” I don’t deserve nothing man! I merely defended my ass . . . He said well we’ll talk about that later. Theres a lot of things I have to check into before I can give you any concrete answers. But right now . . . I came to financially help you! During your jail time your gonna need money . . . If your interested. You need to tell me now . . . I said right now I’m not! . . . So then he left. two days later he shows up, with my old P.D. who represented me in 81 on my armed Robbery charge. “Russel Armstrong” . . . When I saw him I was shocked! And kinda glad. he’s a good defense attorney. And immediately said. Are you going to be representing me . . . he said. No not really! Its all on Jackie again. And that Russel A is willing to become my civil attorney to the movie deal. to make sure everything is legal and honest. Free of charge at that. So I think (a) while. Then said . . . Sounds like a good deal. Then he says. But this will have to be very (a) closed subject and Silent, We could loose our careers over this. So I consider and consider listen more consider and finally agree. He then says. She’s willing to give you 60 dollars a month every month untill the movies completed. Then once completed $150,000 is as far as she’ll go . . . The Son of Sam law cant touch it. Because we’ll have it put in a trust fund. Where as one of us will be gaurdian over it. And will send you any amount whenever you need it. I was all messed up in the head over everything., the drugs (visteril), incarceration, all of it! But still agreed not rationalizing things out. Which today I regret over. The murder charges still were not discussed . . . Now the 16th I confessed and it was now around the 21st when I excepted the deal . . . 1 week later Russel comes to Jail with contract, 9 copies to sign “Why 9?” I later in life figure out why. The other people involved with them getting a piece of the rock. I sign contract on the 31 st . . . next letters on the way. It really gets interesting. The crookedness is so wild and evil. Let me close So I can get on with a new letter. 4-now Love Lee

#aileen wuornos #deardawn #diary entry #radical feminists do interact #radical feminist safe #feminism #radical feminism

[almost-a-class-act]

F,I,N,U for the fandom asks ?

Hell yes, thank you! I am very hungover today and I really needed to type some nonsense.

F - What’s the longest you’ve ever been in a fandom?

Oh boy. It's probably Harry Potter - it came out at the right time to hit me at just the right age and through that fandom I made some great and lifelong friends and got my start writing fic - but it's a pretty poisoned well now. Runner up might be Inception or Captain America. I never went super super hard in either but I feel like I circle back and have a trawl through the tag on AO3 every year or two.

I - Has tumblr caused you to stop liking any fandoms, if so, which and why?

Ah, you know. I'm pretty good at curating my fandom experience. Big fan of the unfollow button and the tag block option. The Shameless fandom was pretty dramatic, I guess! Some big personalities over there, so it ended up being a bit of a quick in and out for me. The One Direction fandom was also A Lot TM on occasion, but it might be about what you'd expect given the age demographic, lol.

N - Name three things you wish you saw more or in your main fandom (or a fandom of choice).

Re: HBO War (specifically Band of Brothers and The Pacific) - I feel like I talk about this a lot but I am pretty picky about characterization. I think there is sometimes a tendency to woobify characters and whatever the emotional payoff is within the fic doesn't feel earned? This is not strictly limited to modern AUs but I do sometimes feel like, the further we get from WWII, the less the characters act like themselves. Many people write banger modern AUs and there are so many fic writers I love in this fandom so this is absolutely not me vagueing about anyone. If you wrote a modern AU featuring my fave ships, I probably read it and loved it. It's just a trope that feels perhaps MORE obvious in this fandom in particular simply because of the source material and the fact that the characters are war veterans with this 1940s sense of masculinity and that can be hard to capture when you remove them from the situation that drives so much of how they behave.

On a lighter note, I also would love more Ed Tipper/Joe Liebgott content! More rarepairs in general, actually. Throw a weird one in the background of your next fic. Let's make this the year we all create a new ship tag on AO3, lol.

Would also love more fan content starring the very few ladies in both shows. I'm trying to pitch in on this one too.

U - 5 favorite characters from 5 different fandoms.

The Sandman - the Corinthian. What, they were gonna give me a hot serial killer with snappy fashion sense who's inexplicably great with kids and I wasn't gonna lose my mind? Shadow and Bone - Jesper, my beloved. Season 2 comes out March 16th, buckle in for a fresh onslaught of wesper fic. A League of Their Own - Lupe. Do you ever love a character and then realize you see shades of yourself in them? She's so fucking interesting to me. SAS Rogue Heroes - Mike Sadler and his poker game in Cairo on Thursdays! Daredevil - Matt Murdock. He's a baby.

#ask game

[fakeoutbf]

hellooo ✨

oof the image you've put of stick seasons in my mind, i NEED to go on a roadtrip immediately 👀 i'm gonna listen to the other albums you mentioned over the break and promptly rot and get into too many feelings. at least i'll have hot chocolate 🤍

like i know we got new music from louis recently, but i'm so excited for niall's music because like that man never goes wrong with his songs and both albums are 10/10 and i will die on the hill that heartbreak weather deserved a live tour! ooh i love all their solo music except for liam 💀 sorry but it's just not my vibe. i enjoy zayn's music a lot and i just love how he drops an album and disappears and does weird shit throughout the year like that's what i aspire to be

italy really is a dream place isn't it 🥹 i think the reason scotland has my heart is because of how quiet and isolated it seems (to me not to everyone) it's seems like a good place to runaway to gather your thoughts and just give time to yourself. i grew up in metropolitan cities and all my life i've been in places that are always constantly running and rushing and so scotland appeals to me a lot 🫣

your answer about love 🥹🫶 i'm gonna sob 🫣

i think love to me is something my grandma taught to me that i'll keep with me forever : love is in the little things and the soft rememberings and the tiny gestures and i'm someone who will always cherish platonic love over romantic love so love is friendship 🤍

if you could experience any time period in the history of things, which one would you go back to? 👀

hi hi 🫶🏻

listening to noah kahan while on break with hot chocolate sounds like a dream! please let me know which end up being your faves 💗

i’m the exact same! i listen to all their solo stuff but i only really liked a couple from liam and i think i only heard his album once through. and ngl i’m kinda glad niall canceled the hbw tour bc i wasn’t gonna get tickets but now i’m 100% going to his next tour bc all the music he releases is incredible. i still have songs from hbw in my top 100 and will probably keep having them until the new album comes out. and i love zayn’s music and new artist ventures so much as well. i would also love to just live my life, drop an album or merch out of nowhere and then chill. while we’re at it, favorite zayn and niall songs?

oh i get that! i’d definitely agree that living somewhere smaller might be more peaceful. i’m from a small city and i don’t feel like it’s fast paced by any means, but i hate how poorly planned the city is. totally inaccessible to pedestrians and the public transport sucks. i had to go to a bigger city for my harry show a couple of weeks ago and the amount of traffic was absolutely repulsive ajenrnsk as well as having to rush everywhere rip idk i think scotland might be much better in that aspect 🫣

i agree so much with your grandma, love truly is about the little things. and i love that you turn to platonic love over romantic love! i’m more of a familial love type person, at least with my mom and grandparents from her side. they’re unconditional support always and i truly don’t know who or where i’d be with them ❤️‍🩹

i’d love to go back to france at the end of the 19th century, just when impressionism was coming up. ngl i’m a bit of an art nerd so it would probably be that or 15/16th century italy for the renaissance period. but there’s just something about impressionist paintings (think monet, renoir, morisot, degas) that just makes me wanna live the scenes painted in the flesh. what about you? when would you go?

i hope you had a nice day today, sending you lots of love 💖💕💓💗💞💝

#btw i loooove your choice of deep questions #i put in the first answer i thought of but then i also kept thinking of like the 70s in the us or uk for fashion/music purposes #and now i’m torn lmaoooo #answered #holiday pals #s 💌

[bunnydetox]

(Wednesday, June 16th) It was a good day 🐇🤎. Omfg the meet up with my long time friend was so amazing, I enjoyed talking to them and catching up. And I socially ate, so I was OVEREATING, which is bad but I exercised a-lot to try and compensate for it. I still kinda ate the recommended calories for maintaing weight, (which according to my very low budget and untrustworthy research is 2,070 calories). I went over that a little bit, but I was just indulging without thinking. Which I have to be careful not to do for the next couple of days because I’m going to be VERY social, because my birthday and family & friends coming down.

Ok! My results today on myfitnesspal was 1,200 (goal) - 2,140 (Food) + 1,137 (Exercise) = 197 (Remaining). I hope I didn’t over-log too much or under-log too much. The menu of the places I went didn’t have calories listed at all 😭 so I had to find substitute meals to replace them! Very upset that it wasn’t an accurate count today. But I did try to burn a-lot of calories as you can see! I wish I burned just a few more. I went over my goal by 940, so I tried to burn the excess and a little bit more so I can still be just a tad bit on track and not screw up my progress totally. I ate really unhealthy things today like ice cream and Oreos and cinnamon donuts. I ate until my stomach hurt! Keep in mind I’m on my period too, so the bloating after was no joke! I was in so much pain, but I still managed to burn off as much calories as I could. (I exercised before I went out and then after). I wish I didn’t eat until my stomach hurt, but it’s hard to set boundaries when I’m socially eating. Also I got 44 oz of water down! I wish it was more but I wasn’t so focused on drinking water today as much as I was eating. I weighed in at 152.4 lbs/69.18 kgs (with my waist trainer). I know it’s still a pound down, but atleast it’s a pound AND some. Meaning I did a good job with slowing that fast drop trajectory. 🍞🤎.

Tomorrow I’m gonna be out with people again! So probably gonna eat the same, hopefully I can workout just the same too. Gonna focus on my water intake a wee bit more, so hopefully it can help me get my stomach full faster so I don’t overeat this time.

[harryssatellitestompers]

Stolen Time

A/N this is united, and probably has a lot of false information as I don't know anything about Cancer

Pairing: Harry Styles X Reader

Where Harry is sick and y/n is an angel

Waring: major character death, suicide , little bit of alcohol addiction

4th February 2009

Dear Diary, Four days ago it was my 16th Birthday. My mum (Anne) got me a diary for my birthday. She told me to write everything down, so that one day when I'm older I can show my kids--and grandkids--what life was like when I was young. I don't see the point because I always get bored when my grandparents talk about life in the stone ages but it doesn't matter. Here's a bit about me: I have a mum called Anne, a sister Gemma and a dad Desmond. My parents broke up when I was 7. Zayn and Liam are coming over soon so I'm gonna go. Bye!

8th February 2009

Dear Diary, Writing that sounds strange since I'm not writing a letter to someone called Diary, It's more future me. There was a new kid in my class today. Y/n. She's really pretty and has super bright eyes. She sat with Louis and his group of friends today, I don't think I'll get to talk to her since she's a "cool kid" and I'm not but she seems really nice. Gemma left for University a few days ago, I really miss her but she calls most days. Liam and Zayn are coming over now byeee!

1st March 2009

Dear Me, I haven't written in a while, that's cause there's been nothing interesting to say. But today the best thing happened. Y/n got partnered with me for a Hpe project. We need to create a game and show it to the class. She's super nice and invited me over to work on it tomorrow. If I've forgotten--which i highly doubt--I have a huge crush on Y/n. Wouldn't it be funny if I married her one day and we were showing this to our kids. Niall Horan is also friends with us now, he used to be with Louis 'group but he got kicked off the Footy team for his bad knee, now none of the pops want him. He's alright though, mainly quiet and only talking to Zayn. X Harry

4th March 2009

I was wrong. Niall is not quiet. He is loud and DOES NOT shut up. he's like a giant, happy, loud cloud floating around and making people laugh. Apparently its because he's Irish. I just think he does it cause he's sad and doesn't want people to know. Y/n has a really nice house. Her parents are super cool too. I think she's rich rich. I'm middle class but she lives it a mansion. She had an older brother but he left a while ago. I think he might be dead, I didn't want to ask. She even sat with us at lunch today. I don't think her other friends liked it very much cause they kept glaring over at spread rumours about me. - H

11th March 2009

I've been at hospital for the past two days. We had a fire drill and I passed out in the field cause the sun was too hot. You'd think that I'd be allowed to go home but the doctors kept me overnight to do some tests. Niall recons its cause I'm dying. Zayn said its cause I'm pregnant and Liam is just worried. Y/n came to visit me earlier, she brought a card, some flowers and Louis. I don't know why she brought him cause he doesn't like me. It doesn't matter though cause he left to get food a few minutes after. Y/n was sitting on my bed beside me and the BEST thing happened. She KISSED ME. Y/N KISSES ME. it was only on the cheek but it was still awesome. I might ask her to be my girlfriend soon. xx Harry

14th March 2009

Y/n and I are dating. She sits with me at lunch now. It's really fun. We have our Hpe game due tomorrow and I think were gonna get an A, Y/n doesn't think so, she doesn't like the written report. Reckons its got to many "flowery" words for an essay, I dunno what that means though. Y/n is on her way here now, we're gonna watch some movies. xx Harry

16th March 2009

Hi, I woke up in the middle of last night. Mum was crying through the phone to dad. I think it was about me. Mum's been really strange lately, she's always letting get whatever I want, but she's extra coddling than usual. I asked y/n about it and she said it might be cause we're getting older and she doesn't want her last kid to leave home. I don't know tho. - Harry

18th March 2009

I have cancer. That's why mum was sad. Cos she knew I was gonna die. I haven't told anyone else, it's only me, mum and Gem who know. I want to tell y/n but I don't think she'd want to be with a sick kid who's a ticking time bomb. I'm taking her on a date soon. To this little park with ducks. She's always loved feeding the ducks. We also got an A on our assignment which was cool. See you soon! X Harry

3rd April 2009

I've learnt a bit more about what's wrong. I have stage 4 Leukaemia. The doctors said that I'd be able to make it if I took my treatments and didn't exhaust myself. I'm starting chemo in a few months. Apparently it'll make all my hair fall out and I'll get real skinny. The day I fainted apparently had something to do with it, cos I'd been feeling really tired and weak, the sun didn't help either. There'd no cure for what I have, but most kids who get it are usually don't die. I went on the date with y/n, she had a really pretty blue sundress on. I kissed her, proper this time we've only been together for a few weeks but I really like her, it's like she's this super bright glowing star. Louis Tomlinson also started hanging out with us, he's y/n's step cousin or something, he nice when he's with her but still a dick when he's with the other pops, he doesn't pick on me as much though which is good. Xx harry

13th April Today was y/n and mine 1 month anniversary, we went to the park again and ate some pizza from this little Italian restaurant it was really nice. We even got to get gelato afterwards. I like spending time with her. Whenever we're alone it's like nothing bothers us. We're in our own little world. She feels like home.

23rd June 2009

Hey, I haven't written in a while cos I've been busy. I started chemo. Its been going alright, I've gotten a lot skinner and my skins kinda pale cause I don't get to go outside as much. I think Y/n knows something wrong. I threw up in the middle of class last week, and again when her and I were studding at my house. She's been really nice about it though, didn't ask too many questions. Louis found out I have cancer. He was visiting his mum or something and ran into me at the hospital, he didn't say anything though, just gave me an awkward side hug and hurried off. After I was finished with my treatment, it took 1 hour and 25 minutes this time, I saw Louis crying on a bench in the garden part of the hospital. I went over and gave him a hug. He stopped crying after a while, mum ended up taking him home with us. He played footy for a while outside with Niall, Liam, Zayn and I, it was pretty fun. See you later!

30th June 2009

I told Y/n today. We were at the park, watching the baby ducklings and it just kind of fell out. She hugged me and we both ended up crying alot. She told me I wouldn't die, cause I'm a fighter. We sat at the park for a few hours before my mum called and said I had to come home. Y/n stayed that night, we didn't do anything, we just sat up all night talking and watching movies. She told me I should tell Niall, Liam and Zayn, I don't know how though.

July 2nd 2009

Today my hair started falling out. I woke up and there was some of it on the bed. I freaked out and wouldn't let mum in my room, she called y/n cause she knew I'd let her in. When she saw me she just hugged me and waited till I told her what happened. She just brought her hands up to my hair and said that she could shave it off for me if I didn't want it to be slowly falling out for the next week. I said yes. After it was done she kissed my head and said I looked beautiful. We didn't go to school today. She's in the shower now. Mum said she could stay for dinner.

July 4th 2009

I told the guys about my cancer yesterday. Y/n was there when they got to my house but went to talk to my mum when I was telling them. Liam got really sad and started crying, Niall sat and listened to everything I said. Zayn sat there in shock. after I told them mum said we could all have a sleepover, y/n left then. The guys were really supportive about it, I told them the chances of my living where really high but they were still sad, We played on my Wii most of the night. Zayn and Niall eating about 20 packets of chips and 3 boxes of pizza between them. Around 2am Liam was passed out on the floor, Zayn and I drew on his face. It's 9 am now, Niall's starting to wake up. Bye!

July 22nd 2009

They put me on new meds cause the old ones stopped working I've been getting weaker, kids avoid me at school and Louis started hanging out with us. His old friends were making fun of me cause I had cancer, he got upset cause of his mum and left. His mum has cancer too, I don’t know if I’ve already said that. I'm at the hospital now, I've got a special private room that I stay in when ever I need to do treatments. I don't think having my own room is a good sign, Niall and louis like it though cause they get to eat the jelly and moose the nurses give me.

August 5th 2009

Hello!

Today was super fun, I went to go see y/n's eisteddfod. In LONDON! She came 3rd and got highly commended. She sang a song called "Salvation" its really sad. But I like it. She has an amazing voice. After her performance I went over and kissed her. She went really red and started blushing. When we got home, we went out to Maccas with the boys for dinner. She also introduced me to one of her friends Zoe, she's nice but kind of intimidating. Liam has a crush on her. Also Niall's getting knee surgery tomorrow morning, he's staying at the same hospital as me, two floors down. I told him I'd sneak in a visit him when it was done.

August 23rd 2009

Happy Birthday Y/N! She's 16 now, same age as me. She had a party at her house with heaps of people. She introduced me to her family (extended as well) and they all seemed really nice. She also introduced me to her brother, he's 19, studying art somewhere. Not dead. He doesn't like his parents much and they don’t like him but y/n seems to adore him. I had no idea what get y/n fir her birthday. I asked Louis and he took me shopping. I ended up getting her a really pretty snow globe. It had what looked like our park in winter, with a frozen pond and two people sitting on a bench. It also plays music, the Disney one about wishing on a star and dreams coming true. I started to feel really tired part way through the party. Y/n dragged me to her room and told me to sleep. Then she went back downstairs to kick everyone out. I kissed her when she got back and called ger and angel, she just rolled your eyes and smiled down at me.

November 14th 2009

Hi!

Yesterday was mine and Y/n's 8 month anniversary. We went to our spot at the park again, and she took me to the ice-skating rink. It was really fun, but I fell over alot. When we were walking home I had a coughing fit and threw up on the path. Y/n called my mum and she took us to the hospital. The doctors did some tests and apparently the Cancer spread to my lungs, they said I'll need new ones as soon as possible, the waiting list is really long. Y/n stayed at the hospital the whole night with me and mum. Gemma's also flying home to visit. Mum left to pick Gem up a few minutes ago, and Y/n is painting my toenails. I don't know what colour, she said it was a surprise. Last night, when the doctors were talking to mum about me, I figured it's highly unlikely that'll I'll ever get to read this when I'm older, let alone to my future kids. I still want to write everything down though. I think I might start writing it to you, y/n, instead of me, all our happy moments so that when I'm gone you can read over it and remember all the good stuff, and that stuff I'm too scared to tell you. It's not Christmas yet but I've already bought you a gift. It's a silver locket of a star, with the word angel engraved in the back. Cause that's what you are to me. You're my Angel. There for me when I'm lost in the dark.

10th December 2009

Hiiiii,

I've been in hospital for the past few days, the doctors said I could go home on the 24th and stay there till new years. I'm really weak now and have to use a wheelchair. They keep putting me on new meds, cause they stop working after a month. I get to go home for Christmas now, until New years, then I'm back at the hospital. Gemma's back again. She’s flying back and forth alot, it'd be costing her a fortune, but I think she's worried about me. You're asleep right now, lying curled up into my side. The nurse came into check up on me before, but left when she saw you there, we're lucky is was Abby and not Rosalind, she would have woken you up and kicked you out. I think you're waking up now, Byeee!

27th December 2009

I made it home. Niall, Louis, Liam, Zayn and you came over for boxing day, we played alot of board games together, Mum and Gem played too. Dad called as well, to wish us a merry Christmas, he doesn't want to see me though, Mum said it's cause he thinks if he doesn't see me when I'm sick, I'm not sick. I gave the necklace to you, I think you liked it. You also gave me a polaroid camera, so that I could take pictures of all the things I love and put them in my hospital room when I weaker than usual. We went for a walk to the park, going extra slow cause I get tired really easily. I told you I loved you, and you said it back. Now that we've said it for the first time we don't stop. Niall and Louis keep teasing us about it. Liam and Zoe are dating now, you and her want to go on double dates. Gem, mum and I are going to watch home alone now. xx Harry

1st January 2010

I'm back at the hospital. I accidentally took some of the alcoholic punch instead of the normal one at your parents new years party, it didn't mix well with my meds. I still got my new years kiss, even if it was in an ambulance. I woke up about half and hour ago, Abby, my nurse, said that your parents had taken you home not long before, I think they’re worried about you, you're hardly ever at home now. I don't know if you know this but you looked really scary last night. Still beautiful but really scary. Screaming at the medics while red and blue lights flashed. I think you thought I was gonna die. You can't get rid of me that easily though.

1st February

I'm 17 today. You took me to the park, I was in a wheelchair and everyone was starting at me. Probably wondering why an angel like you was with a freak like me.

We stayed there for hours watching the sun set. You look so beautiful when he light shines on you like that. We spent the evening planning our future together. You want three kids because you hate even numbers. You also gave me a ring. With the word angel engraved inside and the date I asked you to be my girlfriend. You have one too. You said it was a promise ring. Meaning that we will always love each other. When I asked you why you put angel in my ring you told it was because I saved you. I know it sounds silly, but maybe were soulmates. Wouldn't that be awesome. Gotta go now x H

10th February

I'm getting better. The doctors don't know how but I feel a lot better, I can walk by my self now. You cried when you saw me standing near the fish tanks at the entrance and wouldn't stop hugging me, neither would my mum. I'm at home now. I was even able to shoot some hoops with the boys. It was fun. Until Niall made everyone play chubby bunny, I threw up then. Gem left a few days ago, she was really happy when I told her I was getting better. Mum said that we might be able to go visit her at uni next time instead of her flying out to see us. Also I decided to use my wish. I'm getting us tickets to go to Disneyland in March, we'll be there on our 1 year anniversary. You, me, Gem and mum. It'll be super fun, we also have passes to skip the que, and a three night stay at the resort. I haven't told you yet, I did tell Niall, Li, Zayn and Louis though, they were pretending to be jealous that I didn't invite them. They're excited for me though, they also think I'm gonna propose to you on the teacup ride. I think we're still too young for that. Maybe one day we will get married though. I'd just want our families and a few friends there nothing to big. I know you want that too, not until you've graduated though.

20th February 2010

Hey Y/n, I'm at the hospital again,  My head hurts, and my skins going all blotchy. The cancer is back, which sucks, the doctors said I'm still fine for Disneyland. Mum talked to your parents and they organised that we're not gonna tell you where we're going. Your mums gonna pack your bag and It'll be a surprise.

I gained a few pounds when I was feeling better which was great, I don't look as sick now. The chemo isn't as strong as it was before, and doesn't work as well but that doesn't matter because were going to DINSEYLAND. It makes everything worth it. I don't know how I would have done all this without you, you're always there supporting me, you're my angel. You just walked through the door now. Byee! x H

3rd March 2010

I'm sorry. This was not the way I wanted it to end. We had so much planned that we didn't get to do. I'm sorry for being sick. This is shit. I can see you over in the corner, you're crying, so is mum and Gem. Can you tell them that I love them so much, and I never wanted to hurt them. And that I'm sorry for saying Gem was the worst sister ever when she left for uni.

I know you'll read this soon. Maybe tonight, maybe next week, I wish it was never. This book that was meant for my future self has now turned into one sombre long letter to you.

I like to think that you won't be sad if I go, but I know that's probably not right. You love me, and I love you so, so much. Promise me something. That no matter what you'll never stop smiling. Your smile saves people, you saved me, you're my angel. I know why we met--even if sometimes I wish we didn't, so you wouldn't have to go through this pain--but I think God sends people like you into the lives of those who need cheering up. And one day in the future you'll meet your angel too. They'll find you in whatever dark place you are in and save you, even if you don't realise it. So please angel, keep smiling. Thank you for sticking with me, and I'm sorry I couldn't be a better boyfriend. Who knows maybe we'll meet again someday, as strangers, maybe the we can get the fairy-tale ending we deserve. I'm blessed to have you in my life, and please never forget how much I love you. I'm sorry for letting you down, for not being able to give you the dream life you've always wanted. I know this will be hard, angel I know. You'll feel like your drowning , but eventually you'll learn to swim, and from then on life will be easier, you'll be able to see the time we spent together as a happy memory cast in sunlight, no a sad tragedy. I'll always remember we have had the time of our lives together. But now our chapter is over. I know it's hard to walk away, but it has end, no matter how much we wish it didn’t . Say goodbye to Liam, Zayn, Niall and Louis for me. I love them all. I don't think I've ever cried this much. This sucks. I will miss you so, so much. I'm sorry for everything. I'll be waiting for you, in another life. Hopefully we can meet again somewhere, somewhere far away from this mess. Don forget to smile. I love you. Its time to le

13th April 2010

H,

Happy 1 year baby.

Nothing's the same without you. Even a school it's like a veil of shadows is draped over everything, like the world's lost it's colours. Your funeral was last week.

I hated it.

The people that would bully and whisper about you were crying and talking about how you were their best friend. I know it's selfish but I hated it. I ended up breaking down during your eulogy, Liam and Zayn had to step in.

I met your dad. He hates him self, he's been self medicating since he heard the news, he's not the only one. Anne and Gemma are doing okay, they've got each other to work through it though.

I tried to do what you said, to smile and be happy. I don't know how though. Everything hurts, even breathing, everything I try to talk or do something it's like I'm being strangled. I'm so sorry I couldn't save you, I tried H, I really did.

I guess you really are an Angel now huh? Up in the sky. I know you told me to let you go, that everything will be fine eventually, but how is that possible when my other half is gone? I think I've made you wait long enough, I can already start to feel my body shutting down. I'll see you soon angel.

Love Y/n

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #one direction #liam payne #louis tomilson #nialler #niall horan #zayn malik #harry styles x y/n #harrystylesdies #sad #unedited #im bored #Harry styles fanfiction #Harry styles angst #angst #sad fic #death fic #Harry dies #y/n dies #cancer #cancer love story #harry styles smut #Harry styles sad

[vanderlustwords]

We're Going There || part i

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Please do not repost/translate anywhere. Reblogs/Comments are much welcomed ♥

Masterlist || Taglist

Summary: Bucky's just bidding his time because something's always in the way. When you have someone, he doesn't. When he has someone, you don't. But the way you look at each other, Bucky knows exactly where it's going. [angst with happy ending]

Note: Inspired by the song 'There's No Way' by Lauv ft. Julia Michaels. Bucky as an ex is unparalleled. There'll be 2 or 3 parts to this! Comment to be added to a taglist for the next part! :) *psa this isn’t a cheating fic*

If any of you watch psych, know that I extra love you LMAO

Warnings: Pining, a lil spicy, petnames (honey, doll, baby), a lil angst.

Count: ~3k

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

You fall back against the wall, chest heaving heavily.

You try to pull back, but there's nowhere to go. You don't think you want to go far, anyway. It's evident in the way your hands are clutching his dress shirt desperately.

"We shouldn't. This is a bad idea," you whisper.

His eyes open, and you feel your heart flutter at his cobalt eyes, dark with desires as he stares at you. You can feel his breath on your lips as he pants.

Bucky grins at you, encasing your head between his arms. "Is it, though?" He brushes his lips against yours, sending chills down your spine. "Or has it been a long time comin'?"

Bucky keeps pressing his lips against yours over and over in short, chaste kisses. "I haven't stopped thinkin' about you since the day you left, honey."

He tastes like whiskey and mint, and your hands clench tighter unwittingly. Your body feels flush with heat. You still stand by your words—this was an undoubtedly bad idea. There had been a reason you left after all.

"Admit it," Bucky lifts one of his hands from the wall, cupping your jaw lightly as he caresses your cheek with his thumb. "Six months of all that tension has just been a lead-up to this. We're going there, honey. We're going all the way for good this time."

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

<Six Months Ago>

You felt your heart fluttering in your chest, filled with nerves and anxiety.

It's been two years—two years since you've been James Buchanan Barnes.

Two years since you've broken up.

You run your hand through the side of your hair nervously, trying to not think about it. The last argument, the last words, before silence.

"Are you okay?"

You turn your head over and smile at the concerned look.

"Yeah," you put your hand down in your lap. "It's just been a while since seeing the entire team, you know? So much has changed."

There's a deep, gravelly laugh before a large hand settles on top of yours. "Yeah, you probably weren't expecting to be in Santa Barbara that long, but chasing powered serial killers take longer than you expected, huh? Also doesn't help you met an incredibly handsome man. You nervous about introducing me to the team?"

You cock your brow at him with a smirk. "You nervous about meeting a bunch of superheroes?"

"Oh, but sweetheart, I'm also a superhero," he puts his fingers up dramatically to his temples. "A psychic."

You roll your eyes playfully as your shove him with a laugh. "Santa Barbara may buy that, but I saw through that schtick after our first case. You know Wanda and Vision will know immediately too, right? In fact, many of them will be able to figure it out."

"Well, I mean...psychic is such a loose term. Who can truly say my skills of deduction aren't visionary?" He puckered his lip in avoidance. "What matters is that my visions stay visionary in Santa Barbara. So..."

You sigh, "Already ahead of you. I've already emailed Natasha that my boyfriend, Shawn Spencer, is a fraudulent psychic and to please ask the team to say nothing about it."

Shawn whines, "Babe! You're not going to even try to let me see if I can trick 'em?"

"Shawn...there is a literal magical witch, an AI that can read your mind, a God and multiple trained biologically enhanced agents. You're not fooling anyone here."

"You, my dear, are a spoiled sport," he sticks his tongue out at you, and you laugh as he leans over and kisses your nose. "I'm really glad I could come with you."

You continue to smile because you like Shawn, and Shawn likes you. Despite everything that had happened, Shawn wanted to try to make it work even though you were being hauled back to New York.

You wondered if it would work. After all, you were anxious to see Bucky again, and Shawn had been anxious to leave Juliette behind.

"Me too."

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

Bucky checked his reflection in the mirror for the 16th time that day.

He just freshly got a haircut and had that stubble you always liked. He wasn't trying to do it for you per se...but knowing you were coming back after all this time, Bucky was nervous as hell.

Two years of silence gave him a lot of time to miss you. Shit, he'd been such a punk. He should've let Steve and Natasha smack him upside the head when it was all going down.

Knock some sense into him that he was losing the best thing in his life.

Honestly, the worst part is that Bucky doesn't even remember what the two of you even argued about daily. There had been deep, underlying issues that you had tried to bring up and that he was trying to suppress.

The nightmares.

The lack of communication.

The mandated therapy.

You had felt alone.

Bucky sighed. Shit, he really was an asshole.

But Bucky was ready to prove to you that he's changed. That losing you had changed him. He had gone to therapy religiously and done the work to help himself.

He'd also seen people on and off, no one ever really sticking the landing for him. Bucky knows it's probably because he's holding out for you.

There was a sudden knock on his door.

"Come in," Bucky said as he tried to fix up his hair one last time.

"Hey."

Bucky could see in the mirror that it was Nat. She looked rather tense as she had her arm crossed.

"What's wrong?" Bucky asked as he turned to her. "We should probably head down soon. She's gonna be here in an hour."

"Yeah," Nat said softly. "About that..."

Bucky's heart immediately starts to speed up, worry wracking through him.

"What? What's wrong?" Bucky immediately asks again. "Is there something wrong with her flight? Is she—Did she decide she's not coming back?"

Nat shakes her head. "No, no. She's coming back. I just checked my emails, though, and thought I should warn you."

Bucky stares at Nat, silent as he waits for her news—bad news, it seems.

"She's dating, Buck. She's bringing her boyfriend home with her."

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

Everyone was outside the Compound, ready to greet you, when your cab pulled up.

"It's been way too long," Natasha said as she pulled you into a tight hug. Wanda hugged you right after Natasha let go.

"It's not the same here without you," she said in your ear, and you smiled and patted her back.

"Yeah, I'm really happy to be home too," you say.

Steve pulls you into a hug that lifts you off the ground and a spin. "Good to have you home." He lets you down before he joins Shawn in pulling your bags out.

"I got it," Steve said as he clapped Shawn on the back in greeting and pulled out the bags at once with ease.

"I could've lifted it," Shawn says with a joking jilt of his chin.

"But I just wanted to see your muscles in action. I'm trying really hard to not have a man-crush on you right now. Can we take a picture? Gus is going to be so jealous."

Steve laughs with a shake of his head as he sets the bag down and leans into the frame of Shawn's phone for a photo.

You sigh as you turn to everyone. "Well, this my boyfriend everyone. Shawn Spencer, everyone. Everyone, Shawn Spencer."

"Nailed the introduction, firecracker," Tony smirked as he bumped fists with you and turned to Shawn. "So, this is the famous psychic we've heard literally nothing about except for a paragraph long email today?"

"That would be me," Shawn dramatically bowed.

"Don't buy it one bit," Tony puckers his lips. "But I guess it's just observation skills, meh."

"Please do not reduce my powers to such things, Mr. Stark. In fact, let me get a reading on you," Shawn brings his fingers to his temple, and you sigh again as Tony looks curious.

Shawn does that thing where he squints, and you try to not roll your eyes with a laugh. "You, Mr. Stark, have had three and a half cups of coffee, you've been wearing the same shirt for 3 days now, and you're in the midst of a breakthrough on your prosthetic project but your lovely wife has specifically threatened to strangle you and leave you in the dog house if you didn't take a break. You're supposed to call in and check in with her in the next..." Shawn hums, "ten minutes to let her know how my lovely girlfriend is since she couldn't make it."

Tony's mouth drops. "What—How did you—"

Shawn looks so smug as he cockily swipes his thumb under his nose. "What can I say, the spirits speak to me."

"And it's your B.O. that we can all smell, the coffee stains on your pants and tremors in your hand, you're still wearing a prosthetic prototype, and you keep checking the time so you don't miss check-in time with Pepper," you drawl.

"Ugh, babe!" Shawn whines, but there's a twinkle in his eye.

You shake your head as everyone introduces themselves to Shawn. As people begin to crowd around him, you're finally left with the last person in view.

Your breath hitches in the back of your throat.

Bucky Barnes stands in the back, looking equally winded by seeing you.

He looks...good. Healthier, happier than the last time you saw him. The dark circles have vastly reduced, and while he was always muscular, he looks like he hasn't skipped any meals. He's not as pallor.

The chattering becomes a distant noise as Bucky approaches you.

"Hey," Bucky says first, and his tone is so gentle, so soft that it makes you sigh with relief.

"Hey," you give him a small smile. "You look really good, Bucky."

He smiles back at you, genuinely happy, but there's something sad just underneath it. "Thanks. After you—uh—left, it kicked me into gear to get the help I needed. I don't even have to see my therapist anymore, but I still check in every three to four months."

Your smile gets wider, but your eyes are slightly sad. "I"m really happy and proud of you, Buck," you say, and you are. You really are. But at the same time, you can't help think there's a little tragedy that you had to leave, that things had to end for Bucky to decide to want to help himself.

Bucky swallows. "You look good, too. All that California sun did you good, huh?"

You bring your hand to your mouth as you laugh a little. "It did. It was a good change of scenery."

"Happy to be home, though?"

You stare at Bucky for a long moment before you nod.

"Very happy."

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

Bucky stares at you in the distance as he holds his drink and lingers at the bar.

He watches you laugh and something Natasha says and watches your boyfriend place his hand on the small of your back.

It's just a small get-together to welcome you home, though the floor is packed because so many people are happy to see you. You were always the brightest part of people's day. Of course, they're so glad for you to come home.

Bucky tries to not feel devastated about the fact he probably dimmed a little bit of your light the last few months before it was over and before you left.

But that light looks like it returned, and Bucky is happy for it as much as he's heartbroken. Because it's not him that helped you get that light back. It's your boyfriend, who seemingly only has a wardrobe of oversized jeans, run-down sneakers, and dress shirts. It's a very odd combination.

"How you feelin', pal?"

Steve slides up to Bucky, drink in hand as well, and Bucky just shrugs. Steve knew that Bucky had been so excited for you to come home, so excited to try to make things right and win you back.

"Think I blew it," Bucky admits as he keeps watching you. unable to rip his eyes away. "I should've called her, should've gone to Santa Barbara but I really wanted to get my shit together before I saw her."

Steve purses his lips as he looks down, unsure how to comfort his best friend.

"It'll be alright, Buck," he says as he bumps his shoulder against Bucky's. "If it's meant to be, it will. If not, you'll have her as a friend if you want and there's plenty of fish in the sea."

Bucky snorts. "Now that you're dating Sharon, you're full of wise dating advice now, huh?"

Steve grins. "Can't always be a punk."

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

"You sure you're good out here?"

You nod as you kiss Shawn on the cheek. "Yeah, go on back inside. I know you want to try to lift Thor's hammer. You've got to facetime Gus too so he can be here in spirit. Gus'll never forgive you if you forget."

"Oh, right," Shawn laughs. "Alright, see you in a bit?"

You nod again.

When you're left to your own devices, you let out a sigh.

Things are strange. A part of you doesn't really know if bringing Shawn was the right idea—if trying to make it work was the right idea.

You had seen his phone earlier, just by coincidence, when he pulled it out to check who was calling him.

It was Juliette, probably checking to make sure things were okay.

You love Juliette, you do, and you respect her as a colleague and a friend you've gotten to know. You just try not to think about how she's probably still in love with Shawn, that the reason they had only split up was that she wasn't ready to get married when Shawn popped the question six months ago. Shawn said she had stuttered when he tried to ask her when she'd be ready.

It was surprising to everyone.

You think Shawn's probably still in love with her, too, but he's just too good of a guy to not try to make this work between the two of you.

You can't blame him.

After all, one look at Bucky Barnes had you swallowing back all the feelings, the denial you were still in love with him too. But you were still going to try to make it work with Shawn because you think there's just too much history between you and Bucky to try to make it work.

There were too many hurt feelings, and things left unsaid when it was over.

The balcony doors open, and you jump in surprise.

"Oh, shit—sorry, I didn't think anyone was out here."

You place your hand over your heart and calm yourself when you realize it was Bucky.

"Just getting some fresh air. It's getting a little overwhelming," you let out a chuckle.

"Yeah, you're definitely the center of attention tonight with it being your party and all," Bucky grins, and you grin back.

Bucky comes and joins you over the railing as you peer out into the distance, into the trees and night sky.

Silence envelopes the two of you.

You suddenly feel more melancholy.

"I'm sorry," Bucky suddenly says.

You turn your head and blink at him.

"Sorry?" You repeat unsurely.

Bucky turns to you fully and nods somberly. "For everything that led up to you leaving. For the terrible, terrible things I said. For how I really hurt you when you were just trying to help."

You instantly feel something raw claw at the back of your throat, something stinging in your eyes.

You suddenly hear the last words Bucky had said to your flash in your mind.

"Jesus fucking Christ! Do you know how unbelievably aggravating it is to have you bring this up every other day? I'm not one of your little projects for you to fix. I've asked you to leave it be for me to deal with and you're constantly getting on my case about it. I can't get a moment of peace with you around!"

You pinch your forearm subtly. That had been two years ago. It didn't hurt as much anymore, but it had been those words that pushed you to the outside.

But Bucky is standing before you now, apologizing and looking better, and you just want to let it go.

"It's okay," you give him a small smile. "I know you were just hurting."

Bucky purses his lips because it's not really okay, it'll never be okay, and he wants to make it up to you even if he doesn't know how exactly yet.

"Are you happy?" Bucky asks, and you look surprised.

"Happy?"

Bucky nods. "No one deserves to be happier than you, not in my book anyway. Even though you were gone, I never stopped caring. I'll never stop caring."

The words ring your heart painfully.

A part of you wished Bucky never said that, and a part of you can't help but be elated.

But caring hadn't been enough the first time around. It's probably not enough now.

"Yeah, I think I am," you tell Bucky. "Shawn...gets me. I get him. We're working with what we have and I think that's enough for me."

It's a strange answer, but Bucky nods because despite him thinking you deserve more than that, you said it was enough for you.

Bucky wonders if he should hold on or let go.

But as you smile at him before turning back, the moon illuminating you with a slight breeze, Bucky doesn't think he can ever let go.

So, he's content to watch you.

"I'll always care about you too, Bucky," you say softly. "I hope we both get to be happy. You deserve happiness too, more than anyone. At least to me."

Yeah, Bucky thinks as he feels an odd pang thud in his chest, right against his ribs. He's content to watch until he knows he can't anymore.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfic #buck barnes imagine #bucky x you #avengers x reader #shawn spencer x reader #avengers imagine #v.myfic #s.weregoingthere

[spn-season-16-chronicles]

I posted 992 times in 2021

433 posts created (44%)

559 posts reblogged (56%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 1.3 posts.

I added 2846 tags in 2021

#spn - 627 posts

#supernatural - 625 posts

#spn season 16 - 414 posts

#spnews - 355 posts

#destiel - 230 posts

#misha collins - 191 posts

#nov 5th - 115 posts

#jensen ackles - 110 posts

#castiel - 99 posts

#dean winchester - 80 posts

Longest Tag: 133 characters

#i mean. destiel shippers are definitely unhappy but i heard that wincest shippers are too? so yeah. that says a lot about the prequel

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ONE JENSEN ROSS ACKLES

770 notes • Posted 2021-03-01 20:41:45 GMT

#4

SPNews

16th March 2021

Multiple Misha's Cameo and Creation Conventions vids are published.

Chaos unleashed. Misha says that:

He is not allowed to talk from Cas' POV

The confession was important for him, was a good ending to that character arc

His Cas voice is rusty

He would love to make a movie, miniseries, podcast with whole cast

And address Cas' confession in there (and for Dean to address it) because it remained unexplored

Cas, in his opinion, will probably never retire, will continue doing good

Cas, in his opinion, is now playing ping pong in heaven, recuperating, like Forest Gump

Doubles down on ping pong

He thinks that most authentic tight hug would be best Deancas reunion

"Heller Friends"

"[...]Destiel kiss [...]" ("what would perfect Destiel Kiss be like? Actually I haven't thought about it")

"Still beautiful, still Dean Winchester"

"Hello Dean"

Fandom plans raiding Warner Brothers headquarters (this is a joke (for legal reasons)). Audio in record speed getts edited into confession scene. @stevebeyonce you talented as HELL.

Spn trends on tumblr hellsite dot com and across twitter in different countries.

What will happen tomorrow?

And now weather

1083 notes • Posted 2021-03-16 23:01:03 GMT

#3

So, let's play "find the difference", shall we?

Hmmmmmmm

1727 notes • Posted 2021-01-12 08:55:27 GMT

#2

SPNews

26th June 2021

Kripke tweets apology, says he thought Jared already knew, deletes all his tweets mentioning the prequel (not unlikely most of the people answered with "just talk with each other on normal gc").

Fandom full of respect for Jensen's aunt, who was furiously commenting under Jared's "don't harass anyone" tweet condemning his behavior, and behavior of his stans.

Jensen confuses fandom by tweeting 2 (!) times in one day. Then changes his twitter bio and header and bails. First one is a quotetweet of article listing all the hopes for the prequel. Jenesn's reply suggests that there will be no retconning, series is supposed to be canon-compliant. Second tweet is containing a link to yet another article about the series with short description (in which jensen says he's gonna log off for today).

Bio got changed from "Supernatural hunter. On T. V. and in real life." to "just soldiering on". Fandom sad, devastated, gutted, but mostly annoyed by the timing.

A group gathering spn scripts releases a script for 12x15 "Between Heaven and Hell". Script contains changed/cut line in which Crowley says "Trust me love, it can always get weirder" to Dean. Edit: the group released script for 12x16 "Ladies Drink Free" as well

Misha publishes a video to encourage people to take part in GISH summer hunt. In the video he sits in the bathtub shirtless, with not-his dog, that decided to take a bath with him.

What will happen tomorrow?

And now weather

2140 notes • Posted 2021-06-26 23:38:48 GMT

#1

Dunno man, supernatural NOT trending next to US presidential inauguration feels wrong

2411 notes • Posted 2021-01-20 17:34:43 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review