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rosewaterandivy · 2 years ago

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2. make plans to break plans

Summary: Rumor has it, that hometown hero-turned-teacher Steve Harrington is hot for teacher. The English teacher next door to him at Hawkins High, who also happens to be his childhood friend, that is.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x chaotic!dumass reader

Warnings: no use of y/n - reader goes by Trouble instead, depictions of high school, cursing, dumb group chats & contact names, references to Vine memes, mention of a broken engagement, sad girl hours

A/N: Modern!Teacher AU, English teacher reader, History teacher Steve, slow burn, friends to lovers, romance. Here’s 3.1K of Steve and Reader’s ~feelings~; feedback and reblogs are appreciated, enjoy!

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Then - Fall term, November

The end of the day finds you hunched over your keyboard, furiously typing back a reply to some helicopter parent. You blow out a puff of breath and hit ‘send’ as your door creaks open.

“Hey,” Steve greets pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. He sets his hydroflask down on your desk with a clang and leans against a nearby desk. “You ready?”

“Yeah, gimme just a sec,” you say, logging off for the day. Turning back to your desk, you give him a small smile and shove a few things into your backpack. On Tuesdays and Thursdays the two of you worked at Tiger Library, aka extended tutorial sessions in the library. The extra pay was decent and it allowed you both time to keep up with any grading or lesson planning that had gone neglected during the week.

You rearrange a few items on your desk before swiping a stack of essays to hopefully grade. Steve hits the lights after you, while you nudge the door open with your hip, elbow pressing down on the door handle and balance a backpack dangerously close to slipping from your shoulder.

“Gimme,” he tuts, index finger looping around the strap sliding from your arm, “S’okay, I got it.”

You hum in assent, turning to take the stairs down to the first floor, Steve hot on your heels. “Thanks,” you try to keep your voice level and impassive passing through the corridor. Steve keeps a respectful distance as you stride through the doors of the library.

Something is wrong, but he can’t guess as to what. You’d been off all week; since your weekend bender, really. Nance had dropped you back at The Hideout to get your car and once she’d returned she beelined directly to her room and didn’t say a word.

Nancy rarely has such a visceral reaction to anything, so whatever you had divulged to her was enough to crack the surface of her rage. Having been on the receiving end of it before, Steve knows it’s endless.

But the question remains, why haven’t you said anything to him? You’re friends, thick as thieves and have been for god knows how long. Yes, you’re an unfiltered, oblivious dumbass with poor emotional regulation skills, and he hates that at times. But you are his friend; and Steve currently wants to throttle himself for allowing you to go radio-silent for the better part of a week.

He sighs, for what feels like the millionth time today, he’ll let you be.

For now.

Students have claimed tables and chairs for the evening, notebooks and laptops scattered here and there. Chairs pulled up as teens arranged themselves amongst their cliques, catching up on the latest gossip since the final bell rang.

Making quick work of Vickie’s computer you set up shop, decidedly ignoring her post-it reading ‘Dumb & Dumber - don’t mess with my shit!’ Steve slides in the circulation desk behind you, depositing your backpack at your feet. Silently, you prize the post-it from the monitor with two fingers and pass it to Steve who reads it with a snort.

He snaps a quick photo to send to the ‘elite meeting’ group chat and tosses it into the trash. Queueing up the collaborative playlist for the night, you call out, “Okay team, this is our final Humanities night at Tiger Library before the fall break, so you know the drill.”

The students turn to the circulation desk, conversations falling to a murmur. Steve crosses his arms and leans back against the built-in bookshelf, he gestures between the two of you with his index finger, “Ask either of us a math or science question and you will be vacated from the premises.”

A few laughs and snickers ring out here and there.

“Yeah,” you concur, “Harrington will suplex you into next week and I’ll post it to the school’s socials.”

That shuts them right up.

“Furthermore,” you continue, “The collab playlist is live for tonight and if any of you turkeys forces me to listen to anything that would make your friends and parents ashamed to know you,” you pause, eyeing a few kids menacingly, “I will force everyone present to listen to ska for the rest of the session. Got it?”

Steve shudders and shakes his head, “That is not an idle threat, by the way. She’s done it before and it was god awful.”

Announcements made, you and Steve sign off on a few seat-time papers for the credit recovery kids and settle in for the night. You open your texts to find a notification from Eddie in the group chat. Reading through Harrington and Buckley’s responses, you tap out a reply to Eddie’s question.

💫elite meeting💫

bandcamp 👿: why is my paladin not at Hellfire you schmucks?

god’s fav 😎: spill the tea, sis.

dingus 👽: ooh, if he’s breakin out the yiddish he must be pissed!

trouble 👁️👄👁️: it’s like you don’t even read your emails eds.

god’s fav 😎: whaddup, i’m eddie, i’m 28, and i never learned how to fuckin read ✌️

bandcamp 👿: shut up.

During tutorial nights, someone from the group would be assigned to take care of dinner for whomever else was stuck on campus. Nancy had made a laminated chart and stuck it to the loft’s fridge, y’know, like any completely sane person would do.

You huff a laugh and open your insta feed, clicking on the invite in your messages. ‘Steve has invited you to eat at Chipotle today!’ You select your regular order, tacking on some chips and queso for good measure.

After a while, a student shyly approaches the circulation desk with a worn copy of The Catcher in the Rye and a worksheet in hand. You give her a reassuring smile and invite her to take a seat. As you’re reviewing the questions she’s struggling with, Eddie storms into the room searching for Mike.

“Wheeler,” he bellows, startling the students from their conversations, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

The student at your side jumps in her chair at the sheer volume of his voice. “Oy, Munson,” you hiss, “Can it!” He fixes you with a perturbed glance and strides over to Mike’s table to tear him a whole new asshole.

Managing to get the students back on track, you talk through the more complex passages of the text with the girl, directing her back to the questions when appropriate, and send her off with a friendly wave.

Returning from his circuit around the library, Steve dramatically slumps into the chair at your side, letting out a long-suffering sigh. He shoves his glasses up to his hair in an effort to scrub at his eyes. “What’s got ya down, clown?”

He blows a raspberry and rolls his eyes at your quip. “See that table by the windows?”

“Yeah,” you nod, noting the giggling group of girls, freshmen, if you had to guess. Sneaking side-long glances at Steve before blushing profusely and turning back to their friends. “Ooh, they seem struck by you!” you tease, letting your voice twang in a southern affectation.

“Don’t encourage them!” he admonishes, “They wanted help with geography, I don’t even teach that,” he sulks.

“Steven,” you gasp, “Don’t tell me you never learned to read a map, you are an educator!”

Steve fixes you with a glance, “I’ll have you know, it all gets very confusing in Europe after the dissolution of the Soviet Bloc.”

“Don’t you teach AP World: Modern?”

“Yeah, you know that.”

“A-are you indoctrinating the students, Steve?” you needle him, earning an exasperated huff in response. “Snowflake,” you tsk reproachingly, “Trigger warnings! War on Christmas!”

The taunting continues until Eddie approaches the desk. With a too-wide smile directed at Steve, you cut your eyes across the library to where Wheeler sits trembling like a leaf.

Mike looks well and thoroughly abashed after whatever Munson just lectured him about. Sinking as low in his seat as he did during the parent conference facilitated by Assistant Principal Bauman. Munson had clearly laid it on thick.

Chains jangling against his hip, he sits on the desk. “Hey there, big boy,” he purrs winking at Steve, causing him to blush and sputter. “Light of my life,” he croons addressing you, “A thousand apologies for young Wheeler there,” he nods at the dejected teen in question, “It will not be happening again.” Raising his voice to a louder pitch, hollers out, “Not on my watch!”

“Yeah,” you goad him, waggling your brows, “On god, no cap?”

He stares at you as if you’d grown another head, and leans down to your level. “What fuckin’ Tik-Tok nonsense is that now?”

A notification pings from someone, Steve probably; grandpa that he is, he refuses to silence his phone like a normal person, no matter how many times you show him the focus or do not disturb function.

He throws his keys at Eddie, who catches them before the ring of metal can brain him in the face. Steve pouts as Eddie jangles them triumphantly walking out the door, “Be back in five, hot stuff!”

Steve sends you an annoyed look, “Please tell me that wasn’t directed at me.”

You take a loud sip from his hydroflask and grin, “No, you’re big boy and I’m hot stuff,” you chide. “C’mon now.” Like it’s the most logical thing in the world.

“So,” he mutters escorting you to your car later that evening. “Are you ever gonna spill what went down the other night?”

“Huh,” you kiss your teeth with a wet click, bag slung haphazardly across your arm. “Thought Nance would’ve cracked by now.”

“What d’ya mean?”

You kick at the rocks scattered along the blacktop, refusing to meet his eyes. “Well,” you sigh. A grunt, a huff of breath before you tug at the strap of your backpack and admit flatly, “He, uh, ended it.” You hold up your left hand and wiggle your fingers in proof, and sure enough, no engagement ring in sight.

Steve never truly understood what people meant when they said the phrase ‘seeing red’ until now. Granted, he’d been knocked on the head more than most in his time, but even with the concussions he still had enough sense to know that you were the real fucking deal. And any asswipe that thinks he can do better than you is sorely mistaken.

He should know.

Willing himself not to vibrate with rage, he slings an arm across your shoulders and pulls you to his chest. You sniffle and press your forehead to his neck, he smells clean and comforting like cypress and vetiver with the faintest whiff of laundry detergent.

“M’sorry honey,” he soothes, voice soft and low, subtly rocking from side to side as you fail to stop the tears from falling. “I gotcha, it’s okay.”

Naturally, you completely lose your shit in the school parking lot while Steve holds you. And truthfully, you’re more frustrated than anything because you’d been trying so damn hard to keep it together this week. You thought you’d been doing pretty well, too, until Harrington used his dumb best-friends-forever powers of perception.

Unbeknownst to you, everyone’s been desperately trying to keep their cool.

Nancy was tight-lipped about the cause for your bender last weekend, but occupants of the loft were distinctly aware of how rigidly she held herself after dropping you off. Completely glued to her phone in case you needed anything at all and going so far as to out-law rom-coms for seemingly no reason.

His anger is simmering now, bubbling just under the surface because hell if he’s going to let you see how affected he is. True, he was never the biggest fan of your fiancé, well, ex-fiancé now, but he seemed like an okay guy.

Clearly not.

A wet sob claws its way from your throat as Steve draws you closer, his hand cradling the back of your head. He’s doing his best to comfort you, but there’s only so much he can do in the parking lot of Hawkins high school.

He pulls back briefly to look down at you, searching your face for any signs of discomfort. “Wanna crash at the loft?” He asks, voice hushed, as if he’s afraid to spook you. You glance over your shoulder to your car parked a few spaces away, eyes wide and wet.

Steve feels like he’s lost all language. Doesn’t know any words because you’re stuttering, cursing, and sobbing against his chest like he’s never heard before. He’s at a complete loss as he shepherds you toward his car, opening the passenger door and sliding you into the seat. He has to pry your fingers off from the way you’d latched on to his shirt.

As the door closes, he grabs his phone and types out a quick missive to let the roommates know what’s coming.

🫰freeloaders🫰

steeb🖕: nance, a heads up would’ve been nice

bucko 🤠: 👀

nwa 🔪: oh shit.

dumbass🤘 : stop talking in code nerds

steeb🖕 has changed the name of this group from 🫰freeloaders🫰 to 👊 fight club👊

steeb🖕: trouble is crashing with us, it’s bad guys. like, defcon 1

bucko 🤠: isn’t that the lowest level of defcon?

steeb🖕: not the time robs

nwa 🔪: her fiancé broke it off, that’s why she got shitfaced. didn’t want me to say anything until she was ready

bucko 🤠: what a piece of shit

dumbass🤘: i’m gonna need his name and address, ss# is a plus but not a necessity

bucko 🤠: eddie NO

steeb🖕: eddie YES

nwa🔪 has ‘liked’ this message

“Sorry–” you whisper hoarsely, “I’m–sorry–”

Steve’s mouth falls open, so fucking helpless and confused. “There’s no need for that,” he assures you, “You didn’t do anything hon.”

You’ve barely gotten out of the shower, hair damp and dripping on the tiles of the bathroom. You stand in the doorway, dressed in an oversized Warped Tour shirt from ages ago, one bare foot scratching the adjacent ankle.

Steve had to coax you to shower after arriving at the loft, your face puffy, smeared with tears and snot. Once you had been safely stowed in the shower, Nancy went into crisis-management mode. Delegating tasks to everyone in proximity to her and speaking in hushed tones with your parents on the phone.

Robin was in charge of securing a sub for you tomorrow (and, let’s be honest, one for Eddie, Steve, and herself as well), Eddie was researching moving companies and doing some mild internet sleuthing about your ex, just for his own research purposes, which left Steve on babysitting duty.

You start crying again, hiding the tears in your palms and dropping to the floor, curling up. Shit. Shit. Shit. Steve’s losing it. Can’t even keep you happy for two seconds–which he knows is the easiest job in the world because you have attention span of a goldfish and will laugh at anything.

He’s still perplexed when he drops to the floor with you, splaying his legs around your body, wrapping his arms around your back. His shirt is basically soaked through, sopping with your tears but that doesn’t deter you. You burrow into his chest, hands crawling up his shoulder blades, fingertips digging in enough to bruise, and you cling to him like a lifeline. Steve’s chest swells in pain for you, a hurt he feels down to his bones. You’re shaking with sobs and shivery hot in his arms.

Unable to soothe your tears, Steve gets to work and slides an arm down underneath your legs to secure you against his chest. “Okay honey, hold tight,” he breathes, scooping you up as he rises from the cold tile floor. You press your face further into his chest, sinking so deep into his hold he thinks you might fall right into him. Another choked sob as you nod.

He carries you down the hall and into his bedroom, all dark and quiet. Steve lays you down atop his sheets where you continue to sob fitfully, eyes blooming with fresh tears. He reaches over your body, takes the far edge of the sheet and pulls it around, tucking it beneath your back. He does the same to the other side and soon enough, you’re wrapped snugly in its cocoon. Only your head is visible.

And he knows you’re sad, and it’s very fucking real. The kind of sadness he felt when Nancy crushed his heart to smithereens back in high school. That, but times a thousand.

“How’s that?” he says, breaking the silence now that your cries have died down. “Better?”

You blink at him after a while. Your head jerks a few times, eyes pointedly cutting to the open space on the bed next to you.

Steve shucks his shirt, volleying it to the hamper, and slips in chuckling at the way you inch your body closer to his. His arm falls to rest against your hip, “Okay honey,” he whispers over the top of your head, “Better now?”

“Mmhm,” you sigh, pressing your forehead to his chest once more. “Stevie,” you rasp, voice muffled, “Can you stay?”

“Yeah,” he says right away, fingers sketching along your side, a crease of worry forming between his brows. “‘Course I’ll stay honey, long as you want.”

Steve spends another couple of hours with you, settling down in hopes that you’ll eventually drift off to sleep. He pulls a movie up on his phone, something with little emotional labor because you’re more than likely spent for the week. He lays next to you on the bed, propped up by a pillow or two, his free hand tracing calming circles against your hip. After the credits roll, your swollen eyelids begin to slip shut.

He stays for a little longer, just until your breathing evens out and he knows you’re asleep. As gently and slowly as he can, Steve gets out of bed careful not to jostle you awake and makes his way to the living room. Everyone’s awake and lost in their own little world, it’s quiet save for the sound of clacking keys and mouse clicks.

Settling against an armchair, he clears his throat and says, “She’s asleep, for now.”

“How’s she doing?”

He shrugs, because isn’t that the million dollar question. Steve couldn’t begin to guess at that thoughts rattling through your brain. But he tries anyway, “Uh, not great.”

Silence settles around them once more. Steve stares wordlessly at the ceiling and grits his teeth loud enough for everyone to hear. He inhales a deep, steady breath and it feels like the only one he’s taken in hours.

And for the first time in a long time, he allows himself to fall back on a familiar feeling. To push past all the anger and hurt; the tinge of his own failure he tries not to associate with you, struggles to do that most days, too.

Behind the darkness of his eyelids, there is strangely so much light.

A semblance of hope.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #fanfiction #stranger things #reader insert #the kids aren't alright - rosewaterandivy

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sxfterhearts · 6 months ago

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teaser: jiung being ur soft bf <3

i go absolutely FERAL for jiungs lives fskjfeifjksdfa thank u to whoever made this gif cos i can watch it over and over and-

anyways for the first insecurities!headcannon we have: non-idol/soft bf!jiung and non-idol/insecure gf!y/n

here's the first few dotpoints as a teaser :)

oK so just hear me out here - producer/composer/singer-songwriter extraordinaire choi jiung.

he started out as just a behind-the-scenes guy but awhile back he did a cover of a song he wrote for a popular idol group and blew up on the socials

so now he’s garnered a humble but sizeable following on instagram - just a group of dedicated followers who love his music and tune in to his sporadic insta lives

his fans love it because not only do they get a chance to see the face behind kpop's greatest hits, but jiung also usually does his lives from his studio where he's producing or practicing

which usually involves a bit of teasing and spoilers of upcoming music - fans love guessing which group will get to sing which unreleased song

anyways, it's a typical friday night for jiung. his work week was somewhat disrupted by an impromptu business trip down to busan to meet with his co-producers and potential international collaborators

he got back last night, but had been busy getting back into the swing of things today - just following up on emails, checking in with his team and making sure things in his everyday life are running in order

don't get him wrong - he's utterly grateful for the opportunity to work with such big names in the industry, but work trips and travel always zap the energy out of him

coupled with that the fact that he didn't manage to squeeze in time for the usual sunday date night with you before he left - jiung was feeling drained and in need of some serious T.L.C. (aka tender loving cuddles)

speaking of - he's nearly reaching the end of a short insta live, when his audio and video freezes; spazzing out as jiung's bright red phone vibrates, signaling a call from you...

... and that's it for now !! i have a feeling that even tho its a headcannon it will be kinda lengthy cos i have a lot to say... (let me know what u guys think of that!!!) hopefully it'll be released before the weekend! sending lots of love to everyone who reads this <333

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notyourprof · 1 year ago

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A’s Very Incomplete But Hopefully Easily-Digestible F1 & F1 Fandom 101

Since @powerful-owl's call for F1 Primers, I’ve seen several really nice, detailed, intro-to-race weekend primers, but I wanted to provide a…slightly less intense one for folks who are brand new and aren’t yet interested in learning about the difference between understeer and undercutting. So, just in time for the final race of 2023, in the style of @writesharriet's The Untamed 101, please enjoy A’s Very Incomplete But Hopefully Easily-Digestible F1 & F1 Fandom 101.

1) Okay, fine. What is Formula 1?

Formula 1, aka F1, is an international car racing series that’s been happening annually since 1950*. There is a new racing season each year, and the number of races per year has increased over time. In 2024, there are 24 races scheduled, the most ever, and they will take place in 21 different countries, starting in March and ending in December. Drivers earn points primarily by finishing in the top ten places of a race. (There are other ways to earn points, but that is the main way.) The higher a driver finishes, the more points they get. Each season there are two championships up for grabs: one for the driver who scores the most points, called the World Drivers’ Championship or WDC, and one for the team that scores the most points, called the World Constructors’ Championship.

*Technically, some F1 races happened before 1950, but 1950 was the first year of the championship series.

2) Wait, there are teams? Isn’t racing, like, an individual sport?

Yes, and also yes. There are currently (as of 2023) ten teams in F1, and each team has two cars (and corresponding drivers) in each race. There is a long set of rules that each team must follow when constructing their cars, aka the “formula” of Formula 1. There is, however, flexibility in the rules for team engineers to be creative and innovative, so there are (sometimes drastic) differences between the cars in a given year. The popular names of the ten teams in the 2023 season are: Alfa Romeo, AlphaTauri, Alpine, Aston Martin, Ferrari, Haas, McLaren, Mercedes, Red Bull, and Williams. All ten of those teams will be back for 2024, but a few will have new names.

(Many of the teams have longer names that often include sponsors, e.g. the Aston Martin Aramco Cognizant F1 Team, and some of the current teams have changed names over the years, and/or have upcoming name changes. The intricacies of team/constructor names are a subject for a different post.)

3) Okay but what about the drivers?

Most teams have the same two primary drivers for the duration of a given season, and these days, many drivers will be with the same team for a large part of their career. Most teams also have a third (aka reserve, or backup) driver who can step in at the last minute if a primary driver is injured or ill. It is also possible for teams to replace their primary drivers mid-season. This is especially common among teams that have close partnerships with each other (e.g. Mercedes and Williams) and/or are owned by the same company (e.g. Red Bull and AlphaTauri).

But in general, you can usually assume that the drivers for a given team will be the same for an entire season. This can lead to intense rivalries! (If you like enemies/rivals to lovers, you are in luck in this fandom!) It’s often stated that the only “true” way to compare two drivers against each other is if they are teammates and therefore driving identical cars, because then it’s down to the driving prowess of the driver. (It is, of course, more complicated than that, but those intricacies are again beyond the scope of this post.)

For the past few decades, it has been common for there to be dominant drivers (in dominant cars) who win a number of WDCs in a row. For example, if we look at the WDC winners (and their teams) since 2010, they are:

2010: Sebastian Vettel (Red Bull)

2011: Sebastian Vettel (Red Bull)

2012: Sebastian Vettel (Red Bull)

2013: Sebastian Vettel (Red Bull)

2014: Lewis Hamilton (Mercedes)

2015: Lewis Hamilton (Mercedes)

2016: Nico Rosberg (Mercedes)

2017: Lewis Hamilton (Mercedes)

2018: Lewis Hamilton (Mercedes)

2019: Lewis Hamilton (Mercedes)

2020: Lewis Hamilton (Mercedes)

2021: Max Verstappen (Red Bull)

2022: Max Verstappen (Red Bull)

2023: Max Verstappen (Red Bull)

Unsurprisingly, you will find a lot of fannish content about the recently-dominant drivers.

4) Who are the current drivers? What about next year?

I have a spreadsheet for that! It is incomplete, but I’m working on filling it out, as well as extending it back in time.

You can use the tabs at the bottom to switch between different ways of sorting/viewing the information, i.e. by driver vs by team.

4b) Okay but who are the people I need to know about for fandom?

The drivers you’re most likely to run into in fic, in alphabetical order by last name, are:

Alex Albon

Lewis Hamilton

Charles Leclerc

Lando Norris

Daniel Ricciardo

Nico Rosberg

George Russell

Carlos Sainz

Max Verstappen

Sebastian Vettel

Some of the team principals (essentially, the leaders of each team) show up often as well, mostly:

Christian Horner (Team Principal for Red Bull, married to Geri Halliwell, aka Ginger Spice)

Toto Wolff (Team Principal for Mercedes, married to Susie Woff, nee Stoddart, who is a former driver herself, currently runs the F1 Academy series for developing young female drivers, and deserves her own post)

Common ships are:

Max Verstappen/Daniel Ricciardo (aka Maxiel)

Lewis Hamilton/Nico Rosberg (aka Brocedes)

George Russel/Alex Albon (aka Galex)

Max Verstappen/Charles Leclerc (aka Lestappen)

Lewis Hamilton/Sebastian Vettel (aka Sewis)

Carlos Sainz/Lando Norris (aka Carlando)

5) Isn’t there a Netflix show too? What’s the deal with that?

Yes, there is! It’s called Drive to Survive (usually abbreviated as DTS) and it’s both a great way to get to know the personalities of the drivers and also not a 100% accurate portrayal of the interpersonal relationships between drivers. For example, one of the drivers was so displeased by the portrayal of the relationship between him and a former teammate that he basically refused to participate for the next few seasons. (The relationship was portrayed as far more acrimonious than it actually was.) That said, you can absolutely participate in F1 fandom having only ever watched DTS and never watched a race or any other content! Your experience will just be enriched if you also do things like follow the drivers & teams on social media and start to watch races as well.

6) So what are the barriers to entry?

Well first, you have to acknowledge that this is a very silly sport in which most participants are tax-dodging millionaires and billionaires yet still somehow likeable. Once you get past that...

You need a Netflix subscription to watch DTS, but otherwise, that part is pretty straightforward. Watching the actual races (and everything else associated with a race weekend) is a bit more complicated…

7) Okay, FINE, if I were going to watch a race how would I do that?

First, a heads-up that the actual race (aka the Grand Prix) is not the only thing that happens, there is an entire race weekend. A typical race weekend involves: two practice sessions on Friday, one practice session and one qualifying session on Saturday, and the race itself on Sunday. The practice sessions (officially called “free practices” and abbreviated as FP1, FP2, and FP3) allow teams and drivers to get used to the track as well as play around with different ways of setting up the car. The qualifying session is used to set the start order (called “the grid”) for Sunday’s race. It’s broken down into three parts, and the start order is determined by the lap times the drivers set–the faster the lap time, the higher up a driver starts on the grid. (For the most part. There can be other factors in play such as grid position penalties. Again, the details of qualifying and grid penalties are beyond the scope of this post.)

Note that for the past few years, a few weekends per season are “sprint weekends”, which have a different format. Again, the details aren’t really for this post, but I plan to write another post specifically about sprint weekends sometime in the near future. Even on sprint weekends, there is still the actual race on Sunday.

New fans might not find the practices very interesting, so I would generally recommend starting with a race itself and perhaps qualifying (aka “quali”) also.

(Podium celebrations for the top three at the conclusion of a race involve lots of sparkling wine spraying everywhere.)

7b) Okay, so how would one watch the race itself?

It is…complicated, and very region-dependent.

If you’re in the UK, you need to have a subscription to Sky Sports to watch anything from a race weekend live. Note that if you don’t have a Sky Box, there is only a short period of time in which you can watch a race back…after that, you can only watch race highlights on Sky.

In the US, you need a combination of ESPN cable channels (e.g. ESPN, ESPN2, and ESPNU) and ESPN+ access to watch everything, although sometimes the race will also be shown on ABC. Alternatively, you can subscribe to F1 TV Pro, which gives you live streaming of everything from race weekends, plus access to watch all of the past races.

Frustratingly, F1 TV Pro is not available in all countries (notably, not the UK), and in those countries the only option is F1 TV Access, which is cheaper, but does not include anything from the current season, just the archived seasons. You can check what’s available in your country here: https://www.formula1.com/en/toolbar/content_schedule.html Unfortunately, I am not familiar with other viewing options in other countries, but if anyone adds info in replies or reblogs, I will add it in!

As you watch the race, you will hear the commentators use a lot of jargon that you can find explained in other, more detailed, primers, but even if you don’t understand a whole lot of what they’re saying, it’s still enjoyable to just watch the racing!

Even if you can’t ever watch a race live, F1 puts a lot of content on their YouTube channel, including race recaps and highlights: https://www.youtube.com/@Formula1 They also have a lot of fun content with the drivers (see the “Grill The Grid” series, especially) in addition to plenty of explainers about the tech and design of the cars. The individual teams also have great YouTube channels with lots of general and race-specific information as well as fun content with their drivers.

Okay, I think this primer has managed to be both too much and not enough, LOL, so it’s time to call it. Happy race-watching, folks! 🏎

(If you spot any factual or grammatical errors in this, please let me know so I can fix them! I wasn’t able to get someone to read this over in advance, so it’s very possible there are some!)

#f1blr #f1 fandom 101 #f1 fandom primer

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alanshee-keeper-of-realms · 9 months ago

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Do I say I do?

Synopis: In 1945 Congress and the Senate demand that the Toon Studios of Warner and Disney settle their differences after both are caught forming battlelines. The government forcing them to choose one toon on either side that would be married to each other to cement this bridge.

After being locked up in the water tower in 1934, James Rabbit Aka Yakko Warner would do anything to free his siblings but is he willing to be married off to some Disney Toon named Max Goof for that freedom?

A/N: Something I cooked up for the Yax folks have this sneak peak that I'm sure will make you just as mad as Goofy is over this situation. Yakko is trans as well so TW for misgendering and Misogyny

.........

He growled lowly as the man grabbed his face, Walts eyes narrowing,

"Behave yourself," he said sharply as he moved Yakkos head, looking closely,"Mmm, and you say she's a Warner? Some of the linework it is like ours."

The Warner boss grinned asking innocently,

"Didn't you hear me, Mr Disney? She is from one of your creations. It is why we figured over at Universal and Warner, Yakko would be perfect for your little Max. She is the daughter of Oswald and Ortensia, the Niece of Mickey it would assist in tying the Goof and Mouse families together as well." The CEO chuckled as Walts eyes lit up, his grip tightened, making Yakko wince at the vice like grip, before letting go,

The Animator turned going to his desk,

"She will do then, Max is being redesigned, and she should be as well, I had to go through Marceline over that." He sighed, Yakko could see in his eyes he was tired, he shrugged, pulling out a cigarette,

"It is the government, though. I told her that unless someone else wishes too then this is the only option." He put the object to his lips and lit it, taking a drag he muttered with a shake of the head,

"I don't want to make children grow up faster than they should. However, it has come to this. Just thanking the Lord above that they aren't forcing em to produce offspring, I know Max still has the mindset of a 6 year old, Yakko is that of a pre teen, she has no manners either, one of us would be stuck raising the mongrol to make sure they didn't end up feral."

He took another drag, James had already decided he didn't like this Walt Disney. But it also seemed like he had prior history with his Dad, so he'd play nice for now, putting on a smile fiddling with the skirt he couldn't wait to get out of,

"We are already working on that redesign." The Toon blinked horror shooting through him,

He knew how these animators treated female toons, let alone he didn't want to be, but he remembered Bugs warning of

Keep yer head down, kid, whatever they do to ya, you'll always outlast em and in the future you'll hopefully get to be who you wanna be with your sibs also loose,

"Yakko!" The sharp call made him snap to attention, he realized Walt was looking at him, softening his voice to be like they wanted,

"Sorry sirs, I got lost in thought, you were saying?"

"I was saying that you should go with Minnie and Lillian and get your wedding dress sorted this weekend. The event is 7 months away,"

"And I agreed since your redesign is tomorrow"

#yax #we all love this bs #*heavy sarcasm implied*#max goof #yakko warner #animaniacs #a goofy movie

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andromebaa · 11 months ago

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My 2023 Writing Wrap Up

Stole this idea from Lovova lmao. Let’s see if I can figure out what I’ve been writing this year. I mean, we all know what I’ve been writing but let’s just see it in words:

January

Starting the year strong by not really doing much. Might have been dabbling with some OCs but nothing too notable.

February

Uploaded the start of a fic version of my play-by-post Danganronpa AU Despair’s Legacy to my brand new AO3 account before promptly leaving it to rot. Also uploaded the first chapter of a silly little Oumota fic that I wrote for funsies. This is the start of the Just the Two of Us brainrot. To prove it, I then proceeded to write and upload five more chapters.

Addendum: Completely forgot that the first fic I ever uploaded to my AO3 this month was my Ishimaru/reader smut I wrote like six years ago lmaoooo gotta remember your roots

March

Went cazy and uploaded six more chapters of Just the Two of Us. I was officially obsessed.

Also started doing some initial planning for my other two danganhorror fics.

April

Brain started exploding so I only uploaded three Just the Two of Us chapters this month. Also wrote the side smut story for it, Defragmentation, over the Easter weekend.

May

Started the far more sustainable action of writing only one chapter of Just the Two of Us a month. Also started planning the Moulin Rouge Oumota au that I never finished - sad!

June

Began planning for Oumota Week 2023. Wrote a small sci-fi/horror fic called Facsimile for a Kaito/Maki writing week. Published another two chapters of Just the Two of Us.

July

Through some unholy will I published seven seperate short fics for Oumota week ranging from a mermaid au to a silly family au and a short Haiku poem based on the origin of the Tanabata festival. Somehow published another chapter of Just the Two of Us as well.

August

Wrote my official oneshot smut for Oumota as part of the package deal which I’m doing for each of my main danganhorror fics. Also managed to complete another chapter of the Just the Two of Us. Also started writing REDACTED.

September

Another chapter of Just the Two of Us successfully uploaded!

October

The final chapter of Just the Two of Us is uploaded and I finally allowed myself to rest for like a week or two before going back to the grind.

November

Ceremoniously failed to work on an original junior/YA story for NaNoWriMo and just like start working on my next Danganhorror fic Every Day is Exactly the Same.

December

Uploaded the first chapter of my next Danganhorror fic aka the one where Yasuhiro ends up in a time loop. Got nasty bad Togakure brainrot and proceeded to spend most of the month jumping between the main fic and the smut one shot.

Aaaaand that’s a wrap up! It’s been a very very productive year and although it’s almost all been fic stuff I’ve never been more proud of myself. I started and finished a 140,000 word fic and also wrote almost a dozen short fics on the side too.

I can’t wait to see what this new year will bring! I’m definitely not going to go too hard and burn out but I hope I’ll still be productive! My biggest goal will be to finish Every Day is Exactly the Same and hopefully start a new non-fic project too.

Let’s see how it goes!

#year wrap up #2023 #writing wrap up #fic stuff

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autumntouched · 2 years ago

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Every Time It Comes Around Pt.II

Fic Summary: Hangman and Phoenix have a lot of growing up to do from the first time they meet. Four times Hangman and Phoenix could have realized there is more than insults and competition between them and one time they do.

aka Hangman and Phoenix are messyyyy. but then they grow up. kind of.

Pairings: Phoenix/Hangman, Phoenix/Rooster

Warnings: 18+, NSFW. Language, alcohol consumption, SMUT (Rooster)

A/N: Welp, this one went from a drabble to a saga real fast. Like got way way way out of control. Went from one shot to two chapter I definitely stretched some of the themes. All in good fun...hopefully. From my head to the page with few edits.

Did I try to read a fighter pilot manual to understand maneuvers? Yes. Is the part about flying accurate? NO. Also, I don’t snowboard so please forgive me.

Comments/reblogs appreciated xx

Playlist: Here’s the playlist for this chapter! Some of the themes have direct references to songs and for others, the songs served as inspiration.

The first time it happens, it’s an accident.

Natasha tears off her helmet in frustration. A whole week of working on a maneuver, and she’s still getting it wrong. Well, not wrong exactly but she’s watched several pilots in the class ahead do it without bleeding as much speed as she is. And by several, that really means Seresin.

Becker shoves past her on his way down the flight line. “What the hell is your problem, Trace? I told you we had it over an hour ago. Make me freaking late for my date with your little miss perfect show up there.”

She holds back a retort and once again wishes she’d been paired with Bradshaw for the week. No matter how long it took or what his plans were, he would have kept at it with her until they got it. Angrily, she tugs at the zipper of her flight suit to try to find some relief from the cloying, Mississippi humidity that’s swamped her undershirt and soaked her bra.

“Why helloooo Little Miss Perfect,” someone drawls, and the end of her day really couldn’t get worse because here comes Jake Seresin himself to rub in the fact that he’s watched her fly like shit. Only a few more weeks before he heads to his first duty station, and she can’t wait to get him out of her hair. He strolls out from behind one of the planes at the end of the row.

“Shove it,” she snaps, not at all in the mood after dealing with Becker’s snideness. Seresin’s already changed out of his Navy uniform and into his preppy one of a white t-shirt, pastel chino shorts, and boat shoes, which means he stuck around just to be a pain in her ass.

He smiles smugly and uses his tongue to flip the toothpick in his mouth. “Guess I can go shove the little secret I was going to share with you then too?”

“It’s not a secret you’re an asshole.”

“Well someone’s a little more Little Miss Cranky this evening. I thought you might want to know what you’re doing wrong up there.”

Her flight gear’s getting heavy and her patience even shorter, but her curiosity wins out. “And what’s in it for you, if you tell me?”

Seresin flips his toothpick again and smirks. “Knowing you’re the best because of me.”

Natasha scoffs and adjusts her things. “Your magnanimity is astounding. No. I’m good.” She stomps off.

“You know, you can be so condescending when you’re annoyed,” he says, keeping up with her.

“Too bad that’s a problem only you have to deal with,” she shrugs.

“So I guess you’re sleeping easy about those upcoming rankings then?”

Damn it. He has her there. If she wants to stay in at least the top three, she’s going to have to pull ahead of Hewitt and, for a buffer, Singh.

“I’ll manage,” she grits out. She’ll spend all weekend rereading the manual cover to cover if she has to to figure it out.

“Do you like barbecue?” he asks out of nowhere. She stops again and looks over at him. Seresin narrows his eyes. “Actually, remind me where you’re from again. You might not even be qualified to judge what barbecue is.”

“California, and I know–.”

“Oh no. No, you don’t.”

“Now who’s condescending?”

“Buy me dinner, and I’ll give you that secret. Fair exchange.” He slides his hands into his pockets while she considers what she has to lose. Or gain.

“Fine.” She showers quickly and meets him outside in his Jeep, feeling much cooler in a tank top, cutoff shorts, and Vans. He keeps the aux on low as they leave the base. It’s a country playlist, not something she listens to unless she’s hanging out with her cousins.

“So, do I get to know this secret before or after we eat?” she asks.

Hangman props his left elbow on the door. “It’s all business with you, isn’t it, Trace?”

“With you, yes,” she says, stretching out her legs. “I don’t need anything about me lobbed back in my face at some point.” He seems taken aback. She has no idea why when he’s made it his mission to antagonize the hell out of her every chance he gets. “But if you want to get personal, tell me what it takes to be a so-called qualified judge of barbecue.”

As much as she doesn’t want to be, she’s impressed to realize he wasn’t entirely being a dick when it comes to how much he knows. His enthusiasm cracks some of his cool exterior, and Natasha actually learns something about regional styles and methods. They seem to realize at the same moment that they might be enjoying the conversation, and Seresin trails off.

Fortunately, Natasha finally recognizes one of the songs on his playlist. She laughs. “Well, this is appropriate.” When he looks over with a question pinched between his brows, she points to her shirt. “Barbecue Stain!”

“It’s called ‘Something Like That,’ Trace,” he corrects her, but Seresin grins and turns the volume up as Tim McGraw sings:

“A sailor sky made a perfect sunset/And that’s the day I’ll never forget…”

He starts to sing along with the chorus. “I had a barbecue stain on my white t-shirt. She was killing me in that miniskirt.” He glances over at her with a smirk, and she rolls her eyes.

Harmonizing just to show off a little, she joins in. “Skippin’ rocks on the river by the railroad tracks. She had a suntan line and red lipstick. I worked so hard for that first kiss, and a heart don’t forget something like that.”

Natasha stops singing as soon as he drops off. He insists that she keep going though, nodding and tapping along on his steering wheel while she finishes the song.

When the smoky smell of barbecue hits her nose, she sits up to search the roadside for their destination. Seresin smiles. “You know it’s the real deal if you can smell it before you see it.”

Not too long after he pulls off into a gravel covered area beside what she can only describe as a nondescript shack with four picnic tables out front. Still, three of the tables are nearly full. A large, faded hand painted sign propped against the side of the building reads “Leroy’s BBQ.”

“Guess I should’ve checked to see if you had plans to murder me before I agreed to this,” she jokes, peering past him through the window.

He turns off his car and undoes his seatbelt. “If you want the good stuff, you have to go where people just go for the food. Looks like we’re catching the end of the dinner rush. You’re going to want to get the red velvet, but I guarantee you’ll need it to go. Oh, and this.” He reaches over and retrieves a can of bug spray from the glove compartment. Outside, they spray themselves down.

Natasha follows him up to the window.

“My man!” exclaims the elderly Black man behind the counter as soon as Seresin walks up. He wears a black baseball cap over his graying hair, frameless glasses, and an old red “Leroy’s BBQ” t-shirt that hangs off him as if even broader shoulders and chest once filled it. “How’s it goin’, Mr. Pilot?”

Seresin leans on the ledge that runs beneath the window like this is a regular ritual for them. “Not bad, Mr. Leroy.” There’s more respect in his voice than he gives even most senior officers. His Texas twang is also more pronounced, and she can’t tell if he’s dialing it up here or tones it down around everyone else. “How’s it going? Where’s Ma Lu?”

“Business good, so we good,” Mr. Leroy says, bowing his head slightly. “Don’t worry. She made me put your potato salad aside before we run out. Lu’s over helpin’ her sister tonight. She threw out her back, says she did it lifting somethin’ heavy, but I told Lu that woman probably wasn’t lifting nothing heavier than her skirt. If you know what I mean.”

Natasha covers her smile with her hand, appreciating that he’s found the politest way to say something so rude. Mr. Leroy cackles but noticing Seresin laugh somewhat half-heartedly, he leans forward. “Wait a minute now, Ensign, this beauty here with you? Hello there, Miss. Whowee, you must be somebody real special because–.”

Horrified, she backpedals away from Seresin so fast that she nearly topples into the couple in line behind them. “No, I–.”

“She works with me,” he jumps in, a tinge of pink in his cheeks when he has to grab her upper arm to reel her back from losing her footing. “Don’t get me in trouble, Mr. Leroy. She gives me enough of it already.” He drops her arm like it’s a hot engine and takes a step away. Then puts his hands in his pockets for good measure. “‘Scuse my bad manners for not introducing her sooner. This is Ensign Natasha Trace. We fly together.”

Mr. Leroy looks between them and decides very clearly to keep something to himself. But there’s a knowing lift to his shaggy eyebrows. Another protest rises to her lips, but she pushes it down. They’ve made their point. “Well, real pleasure to meet you, Ensign Trace. Imma have to tell my grandbaby I got to meet a girl Navy pilot today. Isn’t that something else! What can I get y’all?”

Natasha mentally resets and forces herself to push through the awkward moment. “A red velvet to go, and what would you recommend for someone who apparently knows nothing about barbecue?” she jabs at Seresin.

He smiles sheepishly when Mr. Leroy scowls. “He tell you that, Miss Ensign? Don’t pay him no mind. I’ll fix you something good so you know all about it.”

As soon as she’s paid, she suggests saving them seats and escapes before Seresin can answer. His flying tips better be worth it. The sun’s beginning to lower, tinting the sky with vibrant pink and purple, when she slides onto the bench at the end of one of the tables and swings her feet up to hold the seat across from it. Mosquitoes buzz loudly past her ear and around her arms. She slaps them away, grateful for a reason to be slightly annoyed by the time Seresin comes over with two plates sagging under the weight of their food.

Any chagrin melts away with her first bite of the brisket. Sweet, tangy, and tender it falls apart into a mouthful of flavor at the slightest touch of her teeth. A delightful kick of spice tails the first wave of flavors.

“Good, isn’t it?” he asks, lips already covered in barbecue sauce.

She nods, mouth too full to respond. He lets her try everything on her plate before he dives into the promised information. With the same enthusiasm he had in the car, he explains and demonstrates with his hand how to adjust her speed on entry to angle her plane to minimize air resistance as fast as possible and accelerate through the direction shift. When she asks, he also points out several other areas where she could make a few adjustments for better results.

Plenty of the guys have tried to tell her how to fly, even when she’s outflown them, but Seresin’s eye is impressively sharp. He can tell her exactly what she’s doing in the cockpit and how it’s impacting her outcome.

Dusk has fallen around them, the sunlight replaced by floodlights from the shack’s overhang. Insects rattle and whir loudly over the chatter of the other patrons and the occasional car passing along the two lane highway. She feels her shirt start to cling to the sweat on her lower back, but Seresin looks unfazed by the heat as he takes a deep pull from his beer. The front of his dirty blond hair lays flat across his forehead, and in the dimmer light, his normally taunting douchebagness softens into something almost resembling sweet and playful.

Natasha slams the breaks on those thoughts. “But the manual says–,” she starts, getting her mind back on track.

Seresin lowers a rib from his lips. “The manual tells you what your plane should do, not what it can do. It’s the lowest common denominator to keep every bozo who goes up in a jet alive.” He considers her with a long, thoughtful look. “But you’re not exactly the lowest common denominator, are you, Trace?”

She sees his point but also the compliment. “Thanks.” She tries not to sound surprised or too grateful, like she needs his approval to know she’s good at what she does. But, the compliment feels good.

Wanting to settle what happened at the counter, Natasha weighs her next words as she scrubs her fingers. His attention has turned to his cornbread, which he sops through the sauce on his plate before devouring it in three large bites. “You know, this whole time you’re the only guy who’s been single at some point and never made a pass at me. Well, except for the ones who wouldn’t be interested anyway.”

He goes still mid-bite. “Bradshaw?” he blurts then jerks his hand up to catch the crumbs that tumble out his mouth.

“To be fair, I don’t think he would’ve under different circumstances.” She normally ducks out before the guys get too drunk, but Bradshaw can get so wasted that she worries he’ll get himself into trouble if she leaves. And it hadn’t exactly been his finest moment. He’d vomited down the front of his shirt, and she was trying to help him get undressed without smearing it in his hair. Worried she’s given Seresin ammo he doesn’t need, she says sharply, “Don’t tell him I told you that. I was just trying to say that I appreciate it. Even if otherwise, you’re the biggest pain in my ass.”

He gulps down the rest of his cornbread and gives her a flirtatious smirk. “I’ll take that. Better than being a smaller one. And I figured you were just here for the same reason I am. To be the best pilot.”

Of course he always has to undermine anything thoughtful with something so immature. She rolls her eyes. Only a few more weeks until he leaves behind peace and quiet.

At home, Natasha stashes her leftovers in the fridge and sets the red velvet cake on the counter. It looks so tempting. And although she’s still full, she figures it can’t hurt to try a little bit. Breaking off a small piece with her fingers, she brings it to her lips and gives it a tentative nibble then shoves it in her mouth with a groan. She closes her eyes and leans into the counter, overcome by how good it is.

Sweeping the icing from her upper lip with her tongue, she’s suddenly caught up in the sensation of Jake Seresin teasing her lips apart. Tentatively she turns the cake over in her mouth, and he’s deepened the kiss so that his tongue brushes hers, as soft and lingering and smooth as the red velvet’s rich flavor. One hand skims between her shoulders to draw her close to his firm chest as the thumb of the other guides her head back so his mouth can taste all of hers, hungry, scorching, and possessive.

Wait.

Natasha’s eyes fly open. Where the hell did that come from? Her face burns like he’s right there to see her think about him that way. She shoves the cake away and retreats to her room for a night with her vibrator. Clearly she hasn’t blown off enough steam lately.

On Monday, she does as Seresin suggested and manages to throw her instructor. “Yes!” she whoops after making sure she’s changed the comms channel so no one can hear her celebrating.

She’s just scrambled out of her plane when MacGyver strolls up to her. “Good job up there today, Trace. Guess Seresin talked to you?”

“Sir?”

“You were close. Figured you’d nail it with a few pointers.” He claps her on the shoulder and walks away. Natasha stares after him, heart sinking. She’d thought…so Jake Seresin hadn’t wanted to be helpful. He was just following orders. Like he said, they’re both here to be the best pilots.

Bradshaw jogs up to high five her, but Natasha feels its sting more than its triumph.

The second time it happens, it’s not really her fault.

Natasha sinks the ping pong ball neatly into the last solo cup. “Yes!” shouts Rooster, lifting her off her feet and spinning her in his excitement. On the other side of the table, Coyote kisses his girlfriend, Vicky, for a game well played if lost.

Riptide has organized an extended weekend at her college friend’s family cabin in Whistler. Cabin is an understatement considering the breathtaking mountain views from the living and dining room’s floor to ceiling windows. The kitchen is large enough that they’ve set up a folding table for their pre-dinner beer pong game without getting in the way of the first night’s dinner crew. The Korean tacos Jumanji and his girlfriend Paloma are cooking up smell delicious.

Natasha is laughing and trying to wriggle out of Rooster’s grip when the doorbell rings. Riptide crams a guacamole laden tortilla chip in her mouth and hops off her boyfriend’s lap to get the door.

“You made it!” she exclaims.

It must be Hangman. His deployment kept getting extended, and they weren’t sure he would make it back in time. Everything in the kitchen goes quiet as they all register the raised voices.

“I know, okay! But we’re here so can we please try to enjoy the weekend?” Hangman argues.

“Why couldn’t we stay at a hotel?” a woman complains.

“I told you. Everything nearby is sold out. Besides, we’re staying here. This place is huge, Rip! Good to see you.”

“Oh Lord,” Vicky mutters under her breath. Coyote shoots her a warning look that she ignores. “You didn’t tell me he was bringing her.”

He reaches for his drink. “I didn’t know she was coming.” Vicky’s frown says she doesn’t believe that. “Until this morning,” he caves and ducks into his cup.

Great. It’s bad enough Hangman is here but with an annoying girlfriend to boot? Natasha turns to Rooster and motions for him to pass her beer. This weekend is going to be long in a way she hasn’t planned for.

Riptide tries to ease the situation by hyping the house’s hot tub and movie theater, but Hangman’s girlfriend is still pouting when she follows him and Riptide into the kitchen. Almost as tall as he is with chestnut waves, wide sapphire eyes and flawless skin, she would be stunning if she didn’t look like a toddler on the verge of a tantrum.

She turns on him before he has a chance to introduce her. “You didn’t tell them that I’m vegetarian? What am I going to eat?”

Vicky scowls like she has an answer to that, but Coyote wraps an arm around her neck and whispers something in her ear.

“Babe, I’m sure we’ll figure it out,” Hangman assures her, rubbing a hand over her back. “Just…hey, y’all! This is my girlfriend, Cally.” He smiles like they haven’t been arguing since they walked through the door.

Cally gives everyone a sullen wave while they go around and introduce themselves.

The upside of Cally being there is that she demands so much of Hangman’s attention that he doesn’t have time to annoy anyone. Even though Paloma makes a hearty salad to go along with the tacos, Cally insists that he get up from the table to make her a cheese quesadilla. Then she nearly storms off when she learns that all the bedrooms have been taken. By the end of dinner, Natasha seems to be the only one to have found anything to appreciate about her.

Under the guise of changing into their swimsuits for the hot tub, Paloma and Vicky make a quick exit upstairs to gossip. They text Natasha to join while she’s helping with dinner clean up, but Riptide pulls her aside into the bathroom. Her face is pinched with guilt, and she fidgets with the ends of her braids.

“I have a huge favor to ask you,” she says, glancing at the door and keeping her voice low. Natasha expects what’s coming.

“You want me to give them my room,” she sighs, letting her friend off the hook from having to ask.

Riptide grimaces and massages her forehead. “Essentially. If that’s okay? I didn’t think it would be a big deal to give them the air mattress since they confirmed so late, but I think that might be more of a headache than it’s worth. I was going to give them our room, but Drew’s about to lose it after dinner.”

Although Natasha has finally found a reason to be annoyed with Hangman, she feels bad that her friend is stressed during what’s supposed to be her vacation. “Yeah, it’s okay. I don’t mind the air mattress.”

“No, you can have the sofa bed. Rooster already volunteered to take the air mattress.”

Natasha tries to read in Riptide’s expression whether she’s picked up anything from Rooster’s offer, but she seems too caught up in hosting logistics to worry about his motives. “Don’t worry. I promise we’ll have a good time this weekend and laugh about this later.”

Riptide smiles appreciatively and goes to let Hangman know about the switch while Natasha packs up her things.

“Trace, you don’t have to do this.”

She looks up from stuffing her snow pants into her duffel bag. Hangman hovers in the doorway, and if she didn’t know him so well, she would say he looks embarrassed.

“It’s Phoenix now,” she reminds him. “So you think your girlfriend’s going to go from wanting a hotel to being okay with an air mattress?”

“I’ll talk to her,” he says lamely. He glances down the hall then steps into the room and closes the door. “This was her first deployment, and I think it was a lot harder than she expected. I’m trying to–.”

“I’ll let you know when I want to listen to your girl problems, Seresin,” she cuts him off. Natasha swings her bag onto her shoulder.

Some of his usual cockiness returns, and a slow, obnoxious grin breaks across his face. “It’s Hangman now,” he says, gleefully replaying her words to her. “Or Hungman, depending on who you ask.”

Natasha snuffs out the flicker of curiosity about the truth of that claim. “Whatever. I wasn’t asking. If you want to feel bad about evicting me, help me with my board.” She kicks her foot toward where her gear is propped against the wall.

“This is yours?” He hurries on from her exasperated look. “I mean, you must be pretty good if you have a board this nice.”

“I am. Watch out!” she warns just in time for him to sidestep the door from hitting his back as it flies open. He catches it before it can hit her gear.

“Jake?” Cally snaps. Her eyes land on Natasha and narrow. “I’ve been calling you. I needed help with our bags. What were you doing in here?”

“Driving me up the wall,” Natasha says, letting her irritation come through loud and clear. “Take him. He’s all yours. Bed’s changed by the way. I’ll be back in a sec to grab my board and stuff.”

“I got it,” Rooster offers from the hallway behind Cally. He and Coyote have what she assumes are Hangman and Cally’s bags.

“Perfect!” Natasha shoves past Hangman out of the room.

Later that night, she’s curled up under a wonderfully heavy and warm down comforter when the sofa bed dips around her with Rooster’s weight. His nose traces the edge of her ear, sending a shiver down her back. “You still awake?” he whispers.

Natasha rolls onto her back under him, her lower abdomen already curling with molten desire at his hovering heat and bare chest. “And if I weren’t?”

He kisses a sensitive spot behind her ear, silencing her warning that they could get caught before it makes it to her tongue. “Guess I’d have to rub another one out after seeing how cute you looked in your swimsuit.”

“I was more than cute,” she complains, but his appreciation for the red bikini she’d packed for him isn’t lost on her.

“Whatever the word is then for wanting to tear it off you.” Rooster moves his mouth to her neck and the brush of his mustache is doing wild things to her ability to think straight. She wraps her arms around his broad shoulders.

“Did you really…”

He exhales impatiently over her collarbone. “So I was a little desperate. D’you want to tease me about it or find out what I imagined doing to you?” Sliding off the strap of her tank top, he gives her a preview of what he had in mind.

“Not here,” she exhales needily.

“Bathroom?” he suggests. He moves out of the way while she throws off the covers, but then he lifts her off her feet so she can feel exactly how much he’s been enjoying thinking about her in her swimsuit. Her hand is down his pants before he fumbles the door closed behind them.

The next morning, the whole house can hear the full pitched fight between Hangman and Cally about whether or not they’re going to the slopes that day. Still in her pajamas, Vicky jams her finger into the coffee brew machine. “I have not had enough coffee for her to start this early,” she mutters under her breath. She glares over at Coyote. “If you don’t say something, Javy, I will.”

Riptide looks around in defeat. “Let’s just pack the car?”

They’re almost ready to go when Hangman comes downstairs by himself. Natasha finds herself stuck in a car alone with him because Riptide, Drew, Paloma, and Jumanji are in the other one with their ski equipment. He sends several texts then continues to check his phone. His brow furrows more and more each time.

“I think she’s ignoring me.” He tries calling, but it cuts off and goes to voicemail. “Definitely ignoring me.”

Whether she likes it or not, it seems like she’s going to be dragged into his mess one way or another. “Did I miss something or is she not coming because she’s mad she doesn’t have you to herself this weekend?” Natasha asks, keeping her eye out for black ice along the road.

“Please don’t ask me to explain that logic,” he groans, forehead propped in his hand. “But yes.”

She can’t resist being a little bit of a jerk. “You picked a real keeper, didn’t you?”

He makes a sad, non-committal noise and slumps in his seat. Natasha tells herself it’s for all their sakes that she decides to make him an offer. “Look, I can’t believe I’m saying this or even willing to do it, but I’m pretty sure I know how to get her to the mountain by lunch.” Hangman looks at her skeptically, and she gives him a sly smile. “A little FOMO never hurt anyone, right?”

“Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting,” he demands suspiciously. “You want to make my girlfriend jealous?”

Turning into the parking lot, she follows the other SUV to a pair of open spaces. “Who said anything about jealousy? I’m sure everyone wants to know how much fun we’re having up here.”

Hangman looks nonplussed. “Phoenix, of all people–.”

She pulls the parking brake with a shrug. “It seems like the situation might be dire enough. It’s up to you. Do you want my help or not?”

Paloma needs only the suggestion that they send a few pictures back to the house to go into photographer mode. She poses them with the Olympic rings and as a group in no time. Natasha is careful to always be beside Hangman. In one of them, she leans her head into his shoulder, which would have passed for platonic if Paloma hadn’t caught the moment he looked down at her in surprise.

It’s the first Paloma selects among the ones she sends to the group chat. “If this works,” she mutters, “you’re my hero.”

Natasha pats her shoulder. “Hopefully.” She turns to Hangman. “Now put your phone on do not disturb, and try to have some fun.”

By the time they’re on the chairlift, he has over ten missed texts. He frowns and tries to scroll through them, but she covers the screen with her mitten. “You’re on your own if you start moping and ruin this glorious morning for me. You can think about her when you see her at lunch.”

“You sound pretty confident about that,” he grumbles but reluctantly puts his phone away.

As soon as Natasha looks down the mountain with her boots strapped in, she couldn’t care less about Hangman’s girl problems. There’s a nearly fresh plane of powdery snow in front of her and the wind to their backs. She takes a steadying breath to get her bearings and shakes out her arms. For some reason, her first run of the season always comes with the fear that she’s somehow forgotten everything. It’ll pass as soon as she gets going.

“Gonna show me what you got?” Hangman challenges, watching her hesitation.

That’s all the push she needs. “If you can keep up,” she scoffs and launches herself forward.

Before flying planes, there was this, flying down a mountain with the tingling combination of cold air and warm sun on her exposed face as her board carves through the snow and the forces of gravity. She’ll get fancy later when her muscles have warmed up and their memory fully returns. For now she focuses on her speed, tightening her turns and sinking back into the rhythm of her tilts. Her mitten skims the snow, like the shadow of a plane over a still white ocean, and a thrill goes through her as she returns to the unchanging pocket of exhilaration snowboarding has always brought her.

It’s over too fast, just as she’s locking into her rhythm. As she approaches the bottom of the slope, Natasha straightens and lets the board’s friction slow her down while she looks out for Hangman. He’s not far behind her, and she’s a little smug to see that his confidence carries him as much as his skill. But she’s better. Rubbing it in, she unstraps her boot while she waits for him to catch up and pretends to check her watch.

“Are you kidding me, Phoenix! What was that?” His jaw is still slack when he reaches her.

She can’t help grinning. “A warm up. Sweating already, Hangman?”

“A little,” he admits without hesitation on their way back toward the chairlift. He may give her shit in the air, but apparently not here. “Show me how you go that fast?”

“Of course my young Padawan,” she teases. “But first you can tell the group chat that I kicked your ass on the run.”

Hangman takes a selfie of them helmet to helmet. Tongue tucked between his teeth, he types out a message then shows it to her for her approval before sending it off. He scrolls through his messages.

“She wants to know if it’s just you and me up here,” he reports. He scratches his jaw in thought and starts to respond.

Natasha assumed someone as hot–speaking as a completely objective third party observer–as Hangman would be better at this. “I can’t believe I’m helping you manipulate this girl but don’t reply to that just yet.”

He hesitates then slides his phone away. “Who knew Natasha Trace could be such a player,” he drawls, offering her a hand onto the lift that she ignores. “What poor guy is trying to play your games?”

That’s not a train of thought she wants him to follow to Bradshaw, so she says, “I’m single and very happy about it, dickhead. And I’m making an exception so your girlfriend doesn’t ruin everyone’s vacation. I hate games.” The words are barely out of her mouth before she regrets them. “Shit. Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

He deflates. “Why? Everyone’s thinking it. I probably should’ve canceled when she asked me to, but it’s not like I get all that many chances to introduce her to my Navy friends.”

“That’s…sweet.” She’s surprised that she means it, to know that it matters to him that his girlfriend meets his friends. Trying to be more empathetic, Natasha says, “Look, she’s probably nervous about staying in a house with a bunch of people she doesn’t know and disappointed that she didn’t get time alone with you when you got back. Make a reservation for dinner tonight at one of the nice restaurants then surprise her with a couple’s spa date tomorrow afternoon. I’ll settle things down at the house while you’re gone.

They hop off the lift and skate out of the way of the oncoming chairs. “Also, you can tell her now it sucks that she’s not the one up here with you. Hope you’ll be able to ditch me for her after lunch.”

With his goggles covering half his face, it’s hard to read his expression but there’s an intensity around his mouth that makes her suddenly nervous. It dawns on her that this might be the longest stretch of conversation they’ve ever had where he’s spared her his sarcasm and baiting. It’s not her better half, but it’s been kind of nice to play the asshole in their relationship for once. “Phoenix?”

She crouches to set her straps and break the moment. “Yep, that’s what they call me now,” Natasha jokes to dispel the tension.

“I’ll think about her at lunch, okay? Let’s just enjoy the glorious morning.”

Hearing him repeat her words back to her makes her stomach do an odd swoop, like she hit a large drop in the road too fast. “Yeah, okay.” She recovers. “You go first so I can tell you what to do.”

He gives her a salute and a grin. “Aye aye, skipper.”

“Don’t,” she deadpans, but she doesn’t mind that he continues to call her that for the rest of their glorious morning.

“How’d I do that time?” he asks after their last run before lunch. “It felt good, but I–.”

It feels so strange for him to look for her approval that she wants to check under his goggles to make sure this is the same asshole who loves to remind her what an excellent pilot he is. “You’re getting there,” is all she says, ignoring the flutter in her stomach at the determined set of his mouth.

As Natasha promised, Cally is waiting for them. Her hair is beautifully blown out and her makeup perfectly airbrushed even though she’s dressed to ski. Now that she’s beaming, it’s obvious what Hangman sees in her. Natasha left for the day with no makeup and her hair in pigtail braids. Cally hurries over from the table that the house crew saved to kiss Hangman and apologize profusely for their fight that morning. He hooks an arm around her waist to whisper his plans for their candlelit dinner, and she giggles then rests her head on his shoulder.

Natasha buries her sudden disappointment that she’ll be on the slopes by herself later with a plan to try some tricks now that Hangman isn’t there to slow her down. She sits next to Rooster and by the time she orders her grilled cheese and tomato soup, she’s looking forward to the rest of the afternoon.

Vicky leans in when she’s sure everyone’s distracted by their food. “For some reason she thought you and Rooster were a thing,” she giggles to Natasha quietly. “You should’ve seen her face when she found out you’re single. Her attitude got fixed so fast it almost gave me whiplash.”

Natasha’s careful to laugh along but makes a note not to sit by Bradshaw at dinner. Not that anyone pays attention with the tension in the house now past and the fun turned up to full, drunk blast. Everyone, except Rooster that is. He doesn’t ask about Hangman, and he won’t with their arrangement. But that night, as she rides him in the nest of blankets they laid out in the bathroom’s oversized bathtub, he cups her face and draws her close.

Hazel eyes smoldering, he demands, “Say my name. My actual name.”

She blinks through her heady, alcohol blurred haze. “Bradley?” He pushes up deeper into her so that she gasps and falls forward over him, bracing herself on his shoulders and caressing his puckered scar under her thumb.

He kisses her mouth, hard and possessive. “Say it again,” he begs against her swollen lips.

“Bradley.” Her eyes trace his face. She’s struck by how much younger, more vulnerable he looks beneath his mustache. He swallows under her scrutiny, chin jutting out defiantly. She rocks her hips and buries her moan in his mouth. “I want you to fuck me, Bradley Bradshaw.” And he does, in a way he never has, driving away any inklings from that morning and holding his hand over her mouth to muffle the wail drawn from the obliterating force of her orgasm.

The third time it happens, it’s a slip of the tongue.

“I thought we put the do not disturb sign on the door last night,” Rooster complains when a knock interrupts the afternoon they’ve spent not getting out of bed after Turbo’s wedding. “Ignore it please,” he asks, holding onto her thighs when she tries to get off him to get it.

“Shhh,” Natasha teases, putting a finger to his pouting lips. “You’re not supposed to be here.” He captures and kisses the inside of her wrist. One final plea for her to ignore the second knock. She leans over him, deliberately letting her chest rest at his eye level. “The sooner you let me get it,” she whispers, “the sooner I can come back and give you a blow job.”

His eyes go wide and dark, and his hands spring off her. Laughing quietly, she drags on a sweatshirt and shorts.

Checking the peephole, she’s surprised to see Hangman’s date to the wedding, Jamie, standing nervously outside. Natasha leans into the bathroom to check the mirror, making sure it’s not entirely obvious what she’s been up to most of the day. Quickly, she runs a hand through her hair and opens the door.

“Natasha,” Jamie gasps, almost as if she’s surprised to see her. Although casually dressed, she’s as put together as she was at the reception. Before whatever happened with Hangman that left her crying and disheveled. She’d insisted she hadn’t been hurt, but it was clear she’d left him in a hurry.

“Hey, everything okay?” Natasha asks gently.

Jamie gathers herself and holds out a small shopping bag. “I washed your clothes. And got you something. As a thank you for last night.”

Natasha’s touched by the gesture. “You didn’t have to get me anything,” she says, taking the bag. “I just wanted to make sure you got home okay. I’m so glad you were at our table last night. It was so much fun.”

Suddenly, Jamie looks as if she’s going to cry again. “You did? I mean, I’m glad. Me too.”

Natasha sets the bag down inside the door. “Are you sure everything’s okay? Do you want to come in?” Behind her, Rooster stifles a yelp. She should have tossed him some clothes.

Jamie shakes her head. “I need to get going anyway. My friend’s waiting downstairs. But I–-I wanted to let you know that I promise I had no idea what was going on last night so I meant everything I said and did.” She twists her hands.

Bewildered, Natasha tries to figure out what she means. “I never thought you didn’t. What was going on?”

Jamie looks relieved and a little embarrassed. “As long as you’re not upset. I wasn’t sure. Maybe it was all in my head. I probably had too many of those amazing cocktails. I wish I’d thought to ask what’s in them.”

Natasha can tell she’s lying, or at least omitting something, but she doesn’t know her well enough to press. “Well, I think I can say there was nothing going on as far as I know, and I had a lot of fun.” She offers her arms, and Jamie steps in for the hug. “I can’t wait to see where you match!”

“Thanks!” Jamie tells her, sounding much happier. “And if we end up near one another, I’d love to hang out. Okay, I’d better go!”

“Anytime,” Natasha promises. “See you!” She waves and closes the door.

On her way back to the bed, she strips off her sweatshirt and pushes her shorts down her hips. “I kind of hoped it would work out between her and Hangman,” she muses, stepping out of her bottoms and tossing them into her suitcase. “Seems like she’d be good for him.”

When she turns back around, Rooster is sitting up in the bed staring at her incredulously. “You’re not mad?”

“Mad?” she laughs. “About what?”

“Are you serious, Phoenix? After what she just told you.” He draws his legs up under the sheets and rests his elbows on them. He’s close to needing a haircut and the way his mussed curls fall over his forehead makes her want to return to their previous activities.

Natasha puts her hands on her hips. “Are you okay?”

His expression hardens and his eyebrows knit together. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

The humor drops from her mouth. What the hell is Rooster getting angry about now? “Yeah, I’m fucking serious right now. What the hell is the problem?”

“Hangman tried using her to make you jealous and you don’t have a problem with that?”

It’s her turn to stare incredulously. “Were you even in the room? Who said anything about Hangman making me jealous?”

Rooster’s getting worked up, his face flushing. “What the hell do you think she was apologizing for? It doesn’t take a genius to put it together, Tash. She leaves Hangman crying in the middle of the night then comes and tells you something was going on that she didn’t know she was part of. He was using her!”

As much as she wants to believe it, she knows whatever Jamie felt was going on wasn’t only in her head. And Hangman trying to use Jamie to make her jealous makes the most sense. Especially if he has no idea about her and Rooster.

But then again, she hasn’t missed Rooster’s jealousy either. The way he put his hand on her back when he saw Hangman at their table. How he would check in if she was at the bar longer than five minutes.

“And so what if he was?” she argues.

Rooster flexes his fingers out of a fist. He speaks slowly, as if she’s stupid. “If he’s trying to make you jealous then that means he likes you.”

Natasha crosses her arms. “And so what if he does?”

“It’s Hangman!”

“If it’s Hangman,” she shoots back, “then what are you so worried about?”

He opens his mouth then realizes what he’s about to say. She dares him to ask, to accuse her of having feelings for Hangman. Because they both know that when he does that, it’s the end of their friends with benefits arrangement. Sullenly, he looks away.

Natasha’s mouth goes dry. It doesn’t matter that Rooster didn’t say it. Because it’s there, filling up the room and pushing them apart. She’s surprised at the knot in her throat.

“Natasha, please don’t,” he says with a tremor in his voice.

She tries to say them gently, but the words still come out like a stab. “It’ll just get harder.”

Rooster drops his head, chin trembling. “And you can’t.” He looks up at her with tears in his eyes. “We can’t make it work?”

“As friends? Of course,” she promises. “But, what I think you’re asking for? No. I’m sorry.” It probably won’t mean much to him right now, but she hopes that it can save a fragment of their friendship someday. “I knew before I got here this would be the last time. We just had a little less of it than I thought.”

He puts his head in his hands and clutches the curls she’d only recently been looking forward to winding around her finger. Somehow that was five minutes and a lifetime ago. Unable to watch his heart break any more, Natasha flees to the bathroom.

Every so often, she can hear Rooster’s sobs from the bedroom. Finally, she climbs into the shower and lets his scent wash off her. She wants to be angry at Hangman for the mess he started, but her gut tells her that he didn’t mean to do it. And she can’t help but wonder if there’s a kernel of truth beneath Rooster’s jealousy. Hangman couldn’t possibly have feelings for her, could he?

Rooster comes to check on her, and she opens the curtain for him to join her. While they stand naked under the water, she gingerly presses a cool washcloth to each side of his swollen face. He takes her elbows, and Natasha lets him pull her in for one last farewell to what they had.

The fourth time it happens, it’s an act of desperation.

“What the hell was that, Phoenix!” Hangman seethes once they can climb to their feet.

Two hundred push ups and her arms are killing her. She’s going to kill Payback and Fanboy as soon as she has the muscle strength to do so. Bob looks between the two of them.

“What the hell was what, Bagman?” she asks, slaking the sweat off her forehead and flicking it away.

“You got me shot down!”

“Your ego got you shot down, dickhead. You got us shot down.”

“Because I thought you could handle Maverick.”

She knows him well enough to see that he’s dead serious. Hangman watched every other team get their asses whooped today and still thought she had a chance. Of course he gives her a compliment in a moment of total assholery.

“Come on, Bob. I think we need to let someone cool off a little.” Her WSO gives Hangman one final look, as if afraid the daggers he’s glaring might actually stab them in the back, and follows her toward the hangar.

But it’s really her who needs to cool off. Hangman’s going to try to get inside all of their heads to cull the competition. It’s why he wanted to win so badly today. A day one winner is going to set everyone on edge. But then she beat him at his own game. All these years, and he still hasn’t figured out how to get inside her head. Although, their first night at The Hard Deck tells her he might be getting close.

“Is he always like this?” Bob asks, looking over his shoulder again.

“What, already bored?” she jokes.

“I wish,” he sighs. “How are we supposed to fly with him?”

Natasha sighs and looks back at Hangman. “We’re not. We’re flying with Rooster,” she says firmly. If Rooster can get his act together because he’s clearly not handling having to work with Maverick well. But she can crack that nut later. Men are so fucking emotional.

Although Bob invites her to head straight to The Hard Deck, she makes up an excuse to go back to the Navy Lodge and promises to meet him later.

The room’s door has barely closed behind her before she’s stripping off her flight suit and undershirt. Her bra and underwear go into the pile of sweaty clothing.

She’s in such a rush that the water is still warming up when she steps into the shower. But she can’t wait any longer remembering the bunch of Hangman’s muscles during their pushups, the trail of sweat glistening along his temple and down his neck. Her fingers work her clit while her other hand squeezes her breast, fingers pinching her hardening nipple. She’s already wet when she lifts her leg onto the ledge of the tub. Fingers tracing along her slit, Natasha gasps and presses her forehead to the tile.

She closes her eyes and imagines that it’s Hangman's fingers pushing into her, simultaneously gratifying and inflaming her need. On overdrive, her brain flickers through his self-satisfied smile watching her mouth fall open with a cry, eyebrows lifting in curiosity before he peels her thighs wider so he can see how deep his fingers fit her, and nostrils flaring when she thrusts her hips up to take him deeper. Green eyes darken and his breath shallows while the pads of his fingers drag and massage her slickness over the demanding bundle of nerves at her core. “What the hell, Phoenix?” he asks huskily, and she thinks about how much she’s always loved the inflection he puts on her call sign.

Fingers are not enough. Natasha clutches her lip in her teeth to soften the desperate moans rising from her throat. She wants him, wants to feel the stretch of him pushing into her, the friction of his thrusts, the frenetic subduction of their hips until he erupts long and deep inside her. And she wants to watch the look of determination on Jake Seresin’s face, track that deep furrow in his brow, the tuck of his lips, and the taut stretch of his cheeks as he forces her careening over the edge.

Abdomen muscles contracting, Natasha hunches and rocks forward winding everything in her tighter and tighter between her thumb on her clit and the fingers pumping inside her. Water splashes into her mouth through her parted lips. She’s abandoned all attempts to be quiet and comes crying out, “Fucking dickhead!”

The fifth time it happens, it’s a surrender.

Riptide lets Natasha’s final curl fall from the flat iron and sets it aside. Carefully, she runs her fingers through her beautiful work until the curls fall exactly the way she wants. Watching Natasha’s face in the handheld mirror, she tugs a few forward over her shoulders.

“Girl, why are you so nervous?” Riptide laughs. She takes a step back and rests a hand on her pregnant stomach. “You’ve known this man how long now?”

Natasha smoothes out the skirt of her sundress. “I know but dating him is different, Rip. Especially long distance.” They haven’t told the Navy yet about their relationship so it’s been nearly six months of trying to spend time together three thousand miles apart in between crazy work schedules.

Bob rolls his eyes, and it’s like watching a mirror version of her. They’re in her bedroom where Riptide has been doing Natasha’s hair and makeup for her date with Jake tonight. He managed to get enough time off to come for the weekend. Bob’s lounging on her bed watching RuPaul’s Drag Race and lending his moral support. “Why? You talk to him every day. At this point, probably more than you talk to me.”

“I love talking to you, Bob,” she reassures him.

“I know you do,” he smirks around a handful of popcorn. “But I’ve seen your texts and you’ve never told me–.”

She whips a pillow at him to shut him up before he can say what he saw. He gets caught between protecting his glasses and the popcorn and sacrifices the glasses to Natasha’s aim. Riptide laughs and unplugs the flat iron before it gets knocked over. “I’m the one walking around with a stomach that screams I had sex.”

“Is that what being pregnant really feels like?” Natasha asks curiously.

“Why? Are you thinking about it?”

Face burning, Natasha looks between Riptide and Bob eyeing her like she has something to tell them. Or Jake. “No! I’m not. We haven’t even…we’re nowhere near that.”

Bob fixes his glasses. “He hasn’t said I love you yet,” he says quietly. But he doesn’t complain that this is probably what she’s talked to him most about lately. Bob is a saint of a partner.

Understanding dawns on Riptide’s face, and she rubs Natasha’s shoulder. “You know that man can’t keep anything simple.” She has a point. Everything with him needs a touch of drama.

Natasha puts away her makeup while Riptide cleans up from doing her hair. Bob checks his phone. “I think I better head out,” he announces.

“I’ll leave with you,” Riptide decides.

“You can stay until Jake gets here,” Natasha offers. “I’m not doing anything.”

Riptide sets her bag on her shoulder. “It still throws me when you call him that. I’d love to stay but I’ve got some errands I need to run.”

“If you only heard what else they call one another,” Bob mutters under his breath, carefully folding up the blanket he was laying on to avoid getting crumbs on her covers. Natasha’s going to have to be more careful about what she says within his hearing.

She walks them out through the garage. After waving them off, she checks both ends of the street hoping Hangman might get there early but only her neighbor from three doors down drives by. Trying to figure out how to keep herself preoccupied for the next hour, she heads back inside.

Natasha stops in the hall at the sound of music. Dolly Parton sings sweetly and softly, “You waltz right in the door, just like you’ve done before and wrap my heart ‘round my little finger.”

Is that coming from inside her house? She goes toward the living room. Her heart jumps and her hands go to her mouth.

Jake waits in the middle of the room for her with a giant bouquet of her favorite flowers, dahlias in full perfect bloom. His face lights up when he sees her shock. “Surprised, Nat?”

Beyond him she can see that he’s set up a table, lights, and white balloons in her backyard. How long has he been here? “What did you do, Jake Seresin?” she blurts.

He sets the flowers down on the sofa and comes to take her in his arms, swaying her to the music. “Well, to start, I came to see you. ‘Cuz you’re looking better than a body has a right to.” Jake dips her, eyes locked on hers. There’s a simmering intensity in his face that she can’t look away from. “I had all these plans.” He brings her back up, his grip growing tighter to hold her closer. Natasha never wants to leave his arms because suddenly it feels as if he’s holding the whole world in them. Or maybe it’s the way he’s looking at her. “But when I really thought about it, I just wanted you to myself when I told you that we only have three more months of being apart.”

Natasha freezes, staring up at him in disbelief. It’s not what she is expecting or hoping he would say, but it is something she hasn’t considered possible. “How?”

Jake grins. “You know the Navy likes to hurry up and wait so it took a minute before I knew for sure. But one of my buddies from the Naval Academy, he’s the new detailer. A guy out here got deep selected for lieutenant commander so they needed someone to fill his role to which I offered yours truly.”

She throws her arms around him. Only three months! “I can’t wait,” she promises.

He strokes her hair. “Well, I think there’s something else you’ve been waiting long enough to hear,” Jake says softly. She draws back. His expression is unguarded, unusually serious and sincere. “I’ve been wanting to tell you for so long how much I love you, Natasha Trace, but when there was a chance I could show you that I actually mean it–.”

Natasha groans at his stupidity and pulls him into a kiss that nearly knocks both of them off balance. But he steadies them and tilts her face up to deepen the kiss. Eyes still closed when they come up for air, she scolds, “What part of flying twelve hours to see each other for thirty six every month doesn’t scream I love you dickhead?” His lips part to answer, and she pulls him back in. “Don’t answer that. I love you, too, Jake Seresin.”

“Here you come again, and here I go.”

Every Time It Comes Around

#top gun maverick #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #hannix #natasha phoenix trace #jake hangman seresin #bradley rooster bradshaw #hangman x phoenix #phoenix x hangman #phoenix x rooster #rooster x phoenix #natasha trace fic #jake seresin fic #training to post mission

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lavendelhummel · 1 year ago

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20 Questions about writing - another tag-game!

Now that I spend my Sunday doing the music game, why not do it again? Because as I said before but want to say again: thank you for *all* the tags @lilolilyr ! I appreciate all of them a whole lot! But especially the ones about writing!! Because I love writing and talking about it and because I still struggle a bit to call myself writer with my cute little 125k words on ao3 and especially with so rarely finding the time to write recently :( Aaand looks like I just answered one of the questions:

2. What’s your total ao3 word count?

It’s 125418 at the moment (hoping that I’ll finally come around editing the 10k chapter next weekend, that sits on my computer for months now, that would change it quite drastically but we’ll see).

But back to the beginning:

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

Not that many, 7. Most of my ideas still live in my head, mostly out of lack of time to write. It's a very varied mix of length though, my first work are 15 chapters of single one shots, that I posted as one story because I didn't want to take up to much space. Then I have the WiP, that is almost 80k now and not at all finished, I have most of the next chapter finished and it's again quite long. But in between being able to finish that I suddenly started posting shorter works too, one two-shot and one one-shot. And now there is also two new one shots that are a different fandom and the first thing I was able to write since I had to stop for real life stress reasons for a few months, one of them was written together with @lilolilyr, another first experience, writing together, such fun! And then there is also another oneshot collection about pregnancy, that I almost forgot, that I have plans for but tbh they are not very high on the priority list.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Mostly The Wheel of Time (well, Siuaraine aka the fishwives) so far, but those two newer ones are Warehouse 13 (Bering&Wells) and so are many of my unwritten ideas. And I wrote about Marla and Fran from I care a lot.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Well, since there aren't that many, it's all of them expect for those two Warehouse ones.

But to be more precise: for some reason, by far, very far that one-shot collection for I care a lot with 176 kudos. I don't understand this at all, because I wouldn't rec them nor do them this way again, they are quite weird and my first fanfic steps. I definitely see that I have gotten better since then, even though it hasn't been terribly long! Still, I am very happy if people had fun reading this!! Second is the long fic with so far 7 chapters and I think, this can be explained by it having more chapters than the others but also I put a lot of work in it, so it's nice. And then the 4 chapter one shot collection with 48 kudos, then the one shot I wrote as a birthday present for @ginnyjyng and fifth the short mermaid two shot - still planning on writing a longer Mermaid AU! - with 18 kudos.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes, every single one, always so far. Even this one, though it confused me a lot:

And why? Because if someone says something to me, I answer, I react? Because comments make me over the moon happy and I want to show it? Because I love to talk to people and when someone comes to me to talk, yes I will talk! And I think I would feel impolite not to as well, if someone goes out of their way to tell me something about my writing, then I can answer that. And also! I am unfortunately still working on overcoming my shyness in commenting other peoples fics and if I do that and get a reply it makes me a) happy and b) makes it so much easier to comment again because it means I hopefully didn't annoy the person (rationally I know that other people are as happy about comments as I am but... it's not fully rational).

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don't think I have any fic with an angsty ending! Life is hard enough, I want happy endings and also happy beginnings and middle parts! So no angsty endings at all, but you could call the fix-it chapter/one shot of the I care a lot- collection angsty because it deals with the not-so-happy ending of the otherwise great movie (I don't like it anymore, if anyone wants to read about it, better try the follow up chapter, that one is better). And maybe also my new warehouse13 fic, because it deals with Helenas grief and pain, but it's about healing through poetry and both have happy endings!

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Well, all of them then? Happ-iest though... I mean both of the above mentioned because they have a happy resolve? Or rather the ones that are pure fluff, like the birthday one? Or the mermaid one, because sapphic mermaids are the happy ending I am still waiting for for my own life? Btw., even every chapter of the long WiP has its own happy ending. Oh, and I guess chapter7 was a bit angstier too and has a very happy ending! And so chapter8 starts very happy, but unfortunately still unedited in a word document...

8. Do you get hate on fic?

I wouldn't say "hate". But the very first comment I ever got wasn't very positive and I have to admit, it stung for a good while. I am mostly over it now. Well, and the one from above from "weird ass" (why?) calling me "tea snob" (weird ass is right on this one, so I guess its just truth and no hate).

9. Do you write smut?

No, but not because I don't want to or think it's bad. I enjoy reading it from other writers! But I can't do it (yet). I will allude to it though and feel more confident in that the longer I write fic in general, so maybe one day, I will. Right now, I can't.

10. Do you write crossovers?

No, it's not something that interests me. Not even in the little head-scenarios, it just doesn't happen.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don't think so. But again, my fics aren't very plentiful or popular and most very specific, so I don't think they'd be first choice to steal.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, and I can repeat it here again, my fics aren't very plentiful or popular and most very specific, so I don't think they'd be first choice to x (steal, translate, anything).

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Woooohpppp, yes, as I mentioned already, now I have! @lilolilyr and I had fun mentally teasing poor Helena here! It was definitely very different from writing alone, different mindset, atmosphere and feeling afterwards but fun! Different kind of fun than sitting alone at my desk ;) (which is also fun if it's for fanfic). And it was quite spontaneous, we were both actually working on other fics and then interrupted those to do this. Aaand now maybe this new thing that we just thought of? What is going on?

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

I have to say Moiraine and Siuan here! I can't say yet Bering&Wells because I have only been obsessed with them for months, but it feels like an obsession that is going to stick.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but probably won’t?

I only have one WIP that is more than an outline and a few sentences but actual posted chapters, it's Yellow. I do still plan on finishing that, the reason it hasn't been updated is that I couldn't write anything at all for a few months and am easing back into writing slowly (still dont have huge amounts of time). But I am thinking about cutting it a bit shorter than originally planned. It would still fully work in the plot and as I said each chapter has a happy end, so it would just not follow their lives as long but have a finished ending. I have 85% of the new chapter written but haven't touched it since mid-july. It is coming!

In my head I have so many and the thought of giving some of them up hurts but realistically I won't write them all. I'll have to see which ones I'll be able to pursue.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I can bring a flow into the emotions I try to describe, that they feel kind of natural? And I can't be too trope-y or fake, same as I can't lie in real life, so I'd think my writing should be rather authentic? This is a difficult question, but what I can definitely say is that writing makes me feel very good. It's a very special mindset and calmness that it brings, like a little candle that gets lit inside of me.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Dialogue, I'd say. Not that my dialogue is particularly bad, but initiating it instead of describing the protagonists inner world is sometimes a problem. But I am working on it and I feel like my writing is only getting better. I mean after the involuntary break I am a bit rigid and have to get back into practice but in general there is progress.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

The thing is that there are some things I am used to saying in one language and others in another. Before I committed to fanfic I mostly wrote melodramatic poems in Frallemand (because let’s be honest, Freutsch klingt scheiße), maybe 80% French (because that’s what I mostly use in my head for some reason) and 20% German (because that is after all what I grew up with and spent the bigger part of my life with). So, yes, I love using that! But it had to fit the character and the story, have a reason. And I often find it doesn‘t go very naturally in some fics. In my head it makes sense to use multiple languages but in my head lots of things make sense that could be hard to follow on page. The question is what is the character‘s relationship with this language and words in general? Who are they talking to, do they understand? What about the POV is it in the mixed languages too?

Are it words or whole sections? I don’t like just using cliché words in that language and the whole rest in English, no one (me?) talks like that.

So far when I have used another language than English, it was in a way that it got explained during the next few sentences by the characters anyway, so it felt like a flow and not interrupted by translation.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

It was I care a lot. I had been trough a bad few months mentally and was starting to do better, and when I watched that film (and loved it) suddendly I started having ideas and it felt like a fog had finally be lifted. I hadn’t been able to access my creative side for a few years at that point because of stress, and it felt so good. So I tried to never give it up again (obviously I had to take breaks again but I didn’t forget about it like before).

And when I read more interviews with Rosamund Pike because of I care a lot I found out about The Wheel of Time and read the books and got into that.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

My favorite is the least popular. It is a bit of nonsense but so fun and I like the ambiance. Dreaming of waves. The first chapter is serious and actually canon compliant and the second a bit cracky. A bit of siuaraine mermaid fic when I couldn’t write a whole long AU (which I still want to do but we will see when). And now I also like the most recent one I posted, it’s about Helena discovering my favorite poet and so probably as self indulgent as the mermaid one. I got very little feedback on both, especially the last one, so if someone has thoughts, I’d love to discuss them!

Thank you again, so much for tagging me @lilolilyr! I am tagging @lakeofsilverpike and @trollocks-in-my-bollocks. Sorry to both of you, if this feels spammy, I think it is kind of fun and you said you didn't mind spamming. I am curious to know about your feelings on writing, but only do it if you want to! I will stop doing these again now, this took me three days and will spent my time rather on actual fic writing and not writing about writing ;)

#tag game #fanfic #writing #still feel like an imposter in the fanfic world but doing this helped #writing is fun #ao3 #moiraine damodred #siuan sanche #wheel of time #myka bering #warehouse13 #helena g wells

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