#sigh. I am tired of crashing out and counting down from $150

[anonymolly]

I am simply going to scream

[trickphotography2]

First and Goal

Hangman hosts a college football day for the Daggers, only to have Payback bring a history making Angel. (Hangman x female Reader fluff, no use of 'you')

Completely self-indulgant college football fic after seeing Glen and Danny at the Texas and Miami games last week. Fic contains some trash talking of Miami and Alabama. No physical description of the reader, callsign is Syla (pronounced like Cilla) and she's a Florida State fan.

Word count: 1.5K

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Jake tore his eyes away from the television when the doorbell rang, huffing as the Game Day announcers stalled on making their prediction of who would win the Texas vs. Alabama game. Phoenix pushed away from the kitchen island where she and Coyote were grazing on the snacks he’d set out. 

“Come on, come on, come on,” he grumbled as two hosts picked Bama. Planting his hands on his hips, he pressed his lips into a thin line when Lee Corso called for the fight song to play, and the twang of Sweet Home Alabama started.

“Roll Tide, I guess,” came a sigh beside him. Jake’s gaze snapped to the woman, taking in her crimson shirt, Navy regulation bun, and furrowed brow as she watched the antics. 

“Hey, hey, hey! Oh no, wait a minute, wait a minute. That’s not the right song - play Texas’ song!” 

“Yes!” He pumped his fist as Corso put on the Hook’em head. 

“Thank Christ.”  

“Not rooting for your team?” he asked, facing her. She rolled her eyes, pointing towards the logo on her chest - a Seminole head.

“Might wanna get your eyes checked - garnet, not crimson.” A slight southern accent colored her words. “While I appreciate Bama for making Tim Tebow cry, their fans are insufferable. I’m ready for them to get taken down a peg. If the Longhorns are the ones to do it, I guess I’ll put up with more of the Gig ‘em nonsense.”

“Hook ‘em,” Jake corrected, and the smirk curving her lips made him think she knew exactly what she was doing. 

“Giving Hangman shit already, Syla?” Payback asked, tossing an arm over the woman’s shoulder. The woman grinned up at the pilot and raised an eyebrow. 

“I have no idea what you mean,” she laughed. Jake felt a shot of disappointment at the fond look that passed between the two. “But if you’re Hangman,” she added, turning her attention back towards Jake, “this is for you. Thanks for letting me crash.” She extended a bottle towards him - Wolcott bourbon, bottled in the bond.

“Thanks. Syla your name or callsign?” 

“Callsign.”

“You stationed here?”

“Soon, but I’m in town for the show.” 

“The…” he frowned, then nodded. “You’re a Blue Angel?”

“That I am.” The Blue Angels were the Navy’s flight demonstration team. Stationed at NAS Pensacola, they were the most high-profile squad that toured across the US. It’d made the news that they finally had their first female aviator on the team two years ago. “At least until the end of the tour, then I’m headed back to TOPGUN.”

“Oh, come on,” Fanboy grumbled, watching as the University of Miami quarterback was sacked. Across the kitchen, Syla pumped her fist and silently cheered while nursing her water bottle. Jake smirked into his beer. Fanboy and Syla had exchanged some good-natured shit-talking since Florida State and Miami were in the same conference and would be playing against one another later in the season. 

When she’d shared the story behind her callsign - Syla, short for See Ya Later Alligator - Fanboy had gone red in the face laughing as Jake chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” Bob asked. 

Heaving a sigh, Syla explained, “My team is FSU Seminoles. We hate the Florida Gators, and there was a Gators fan in FRS with me. Our COs got tired of us shit-talking the whole season and decided to punish us by making our callsigns have to do with our rivalry. So I’m Syla, and he’s Renegade after our mascot.” 

“At least it’s not Swamp,” Jake offered, thinking of how Gainesville, where the University of Florida was located, was nicknamed ‘The Swamp.’

“Yeah, that cost me 150 pushups.” 

“Run, run, run, run, run!” Syla screamed, jumping off the couch with Jake beside her. 

“Come on!” he yelled. When the player was tackled after a 40-yard run, he whooped and held a hand to Syla, who laughed and slapped his palm before leaning around him to high-five Fanboy. 

“Fuck. There’s three of them,” Phoenix grumbled. 

The afternoon passed into shouts of “He was wide fucking open!”, “No! Sit his ass down!”, “Where’s the damn flag?”, “Pass interference!” and “Find it! Find it!” During commercials, they quickly learned about one another - Syla was a Florida girl born and raised in Tallahassee. She’d graduated from FSU and attended as many games as possible during the last three years she’d been stationed in Pensacola. Touring with the Angels made it hard since she was on the road from March to November, but the constant travel was worth it to be the first female Blue Angel. She was looking forward to the stability of being an instructor at TOPGUN and not living out of her duffle bag.

Syla retrieved her uniform from Payback’s car at halftime and disappeared into the bathroom. “She’s nice,” Coyote told Payback as Jake stepped into his backyard. 

“She’s great. Pain in the ass perfectionist, but that’s what got her on the Angels.” 

“She’ll be a good trainer,” Phoenix added. “Have you seen that diamond maneuver they pull?” 

“So, how do you know each other?” Jake asked, glancing at Payback.

“We met in flight school and kept in touch from there.” 

“You guys…” Rooster cocked an eyebrow.

“Nooo,” Payback quickly replied, then shuddered. “She’s like a sister. A sister,” he repeated, pinning the other men with a stern, warning look.

A while later, the door opened, and Syla peeked out, her eyes meeting Jake’s. “They’re about to kick off.” 

“Be right in,” he smiled back. After collecting the empty beer bottles from his friends, he jogged back inside. Syla had swapped out her jean shorts and t-shirt for her dress white skirt, and white tank top. She declined another drink - she’d sipped a glass of bourbon earlier before switching to water, saying that she needed to be sharp for work later - but accepted a soda. 

The Daggers drifted in and out of the house, Payback sometimes joining them in the cheering squad, but Syla and Jake were glued to the game. When Texas threw a 39-yard touchdown to pull further ahead, Jake screamed and jumped around his living room, much to the amusement of his friends. Syla whooped and clapped, raising her hand for a high five. Their palms slapped, and his fingers curled around hers, giving a quick shake before collapsing beside her. His shoulders brushed against her as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, hands clasped and covering his mouth.

“We gotta head out soon if you’re gonna make the dinner,” Payback said as the game clock wound down. 

“Shit,” Syla groaned, glancing at her watch. Between plays, she quickly slipped on her blouse, lower lip between her teeth as she watched the action and did up the buttons. Jake couldn’t help but glance at her legs as she swayed beside him, their knees touching as she tucked in her shirt.

When the quarterback took a snap and dropped to his knee, Jake exploded off the couch, whooping as Texas won. Without thinking, his arms wrapped around a laughing Syla, lifting her off her feet as he celebrated his team beating the Crimson Tide on their home field.

“Syla, we really gotta go,” Payback said. 

“Fuck, okay, uh,” she said, stepping out of Jake’s reach and patting his shoulder. “Congrats on the win. It was nice meeting all of you. I’ll hopefully see you in a couple months if I don’t get reprimanded for being late for dinner with the top brass. Oh, and Fanboy - I’ll think of you when I’m in Doak for the game in November.”

Smirking, Fanboy held up his hands, his thumbs touching to make the Miami ‘U’ signal. She gave him a saccharine smile and did the same; all her fingers were down except her middle ones, so she flipped him off. “I’ll walk you out,” Jake offered, grabbing Syla’s bag from the dining room table. Payback narrowed his eyes at the other man. “It sucks you can’t watch your team play tonight.” 

“It’s fine,” she shrugged, “we played our hard game against LSU last week, and it’s an easy match-up this week. I’ll just duck into the bathroom and check the score every once in a while.” 

“What time do you fly tomorrow?”

“Gates open at 0800, and we’re the closer at 1520. Why, gonna come to the show, Hangman?”

“You never know,” he winked. “Heard the Angels do a pretty impressive diamond formation.” 

“18-inch clearance, wingtip to canopy,” she smirked. “If you come, I’ll be in the blue and yellow flight suit.”

“I’ll keep an eye out.” Chuckling, she took her bag, their fingers brushing and sending a pleasant tingling sensation up his spine. “Good to meet you, Syla.”

“You too, Hangman.” 

Payback paused beside Jake when she walked away and hissed, “No.”

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Notes: The Blue Angels are based out of Pensacola and just welcomed their first female pilot in 2023 - callsign Stalin. I miss seeing them buzz the beaches and hear them practice in the afternoons. They tour the US and Canada, and the clips I've seen are phenomenal. If you haven't seen the pilot perspective of the tight diamond formation, I highly recommend it.

The 0800 and 1520 are military time, so it's 1520 is 3:20PM.

Read part 2, Overtime.

[thechosenburrito]

Intro to Love: 1.4-Thanks for Ghosting Me

Word Count: 1,581

Description:

Xochi and Carson are on their way to study when they’re rudely interrupted.

Author’s Note:

Almost done with Chapter 1!  Maybe I’ll be done tonight!

Previous Chapter: 1.3-I Can See Right Through You

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It's hard to sleep when you feel like shit.  That's why I only slept for 30 minutes after my little episode the night before.  The clock read 7 o'clock which came as a shock to me as I usually only see it followed by a "pm".  I stayed in bed for a couple of hours, scrolling through an endless stream of nothing on my phone.

My stomach growled out of nowhere.  I smiled a bit when it wasn't immediately followed by nausea.  I got up and pulled a cold slice of pizza from the fridge.  I was able to finish a small slice and figured I could use this time to take an extra-long shower.

It was nice to shower some of the sadness away.   But, when I got out, my eyes were still puffy and had dark circles under them.  This wasn't unusual for a college student.  However, I generally try to present myself as someone who didn't have a mental breakdown the night before.  I dried my hair in front of the mirror in my room.  Drying my thick dark hair required using my blow-dryer on the maximum setting, which isn't optimal for dorms with paper walls.  My true hair revealed itself.  It was wavy in strange places and I had a sort of cowlick in the front.  I plugged in a flat iron to tame the crazy mess.  

I touched the dark bags under my eyes.  I considered putting concealer over them, then on the red marks on the side of my nose, and maybe followed by the weird freckle on my right cheek.  At that point, I didn't really feel like doing make-up anymore.  I looked closely at my eyebrows.  A bit over-grown, but thick brows were in.  I think? Oh well.  I toweled off and pulled on a tank top and hoodie ( Of course with proper supportive garments underneath).  I pulled on a pair of jeans and slipped on my black canvas sneakers.  The iron was finally hot enough and I got to work on my hair.  I've done this a million times, which made it the perfect time to let all my stupid thoughts out.

What if they made really tiny curling irons for eyelashes?  Actually, I don't want that THAT close to my vulnerable eyeball.

Am I strong enough to stand on the tips of my toes in these shoes?

Of course, I put the iron down and tried it out.

"Ow."

Not yet.  Next time for sure.

Should I become a beanie person?  Are beanies secretly my thing?

I pressed my hair to my head and imagined a beanie there.

Nope.  My head is a weird shape.  Guess I can't go bald either.

I finished up my hair and unplugged the iron.  I still had a couple of hours to kill and an orange soda from the vending machine down the hall was calling my name. I grabbed my room keys and wallet and headed down the hallway.  I passed a few early risers on the way.  Do people actually wake up this early? For fun?  I kept scrolling through my phone to avoid eye contact.  I wasn't really feeling the whole 'interaction' thing.  At some point, I realized I was scrolling and not even looking at anything.  Not my best moment.  A sponsored post caught my eye and made me audibly groan.

God, another ad for a Team StrikeForce! (TM).

"Even Superheroes need clean teeth!  Use StrikeForce SuperClean Toothpaste to fight back against plaque!"

StrikeForce was essentially a government-backed superhero team.  They purposely sought out conventionally attractive people with the most vanilla powers ever to represent the "ideal striker".  And they made sure to throw in some token minorities.  You had a strong girl, a flying man, someone that blasted fire from their hands,  and some other generic power. Speed maybe?  Telekinesis?  I did my best to avoid any media with them in it. They were essentially glorified cops who spouted government-approved messages like "It's cool to protect your chip from harm so keep yourself and others safe!  " and "Remember: Public use of powers is against the law!  Only teams like StrikeForce are allowed so everyone can be safe!". Right after the lightning storm, they actually did some important things like stopping individuals who abused their powers.  But, once people realized they could get away with more crimes by keeping on the down-low,  the StrikeForce lost their bite and became the government puppets on kids' backpacks we all knew and loved.

I sighed a bit.  Being critical was too tiring.  I quickly realized that I was going to crash. I didn't expect my sleep debt to catch up to me so quickly. I started getting everything to make coffee but hesitated at the thought of drinking something caffeinated after last night.  

I'll make a cup of tea first.  That'll cancel out the caffeine.

Yes, that's exactly how biology works.

I put on water to heat up and chugged an iced coffee from the fridge while it brewed.  Chasing ice cold coffee with nearly-boiling tea made my insides feel like an absolute mess of clashing temperatures.  

Phone buzzed.

(C) I forgot there's a staff meeting in the study room today.  Wanna go to the library instead?

I paused a moment before replying.

(X) Yeah that works.  I'm good to leave whenever you are

(C) Cool, I'll be downstairs in 5

(X) ok see you then

I threw all my supplies in my backpack, grabbed my keys, and started making my way to the dorm lobby.

I saw Carson chatting with someone at the front desk and laughing.  I'd seen the guy at the front desk a million times and barely made eye contact, except the time I got locked out of my room and was forced to talk to him.

I slowed down my pace and stared at my phone as if I didn't notice before taking a breath and walking up to him.

I struggled to plaster on a normal-looking smile.

"Hey! Ready to get going?" I asked, too cheerily.

"Yeah, just-"

A phone alert when off on all three of our phones.

"MISSING: 20 YR OLD FEMALE, 150 LBS., 5'6", STRIKER, LAST SEEN IN PURPLE SWEATER ON JUAREZ ST 9 AM. SEE LOCAL MEDIA."

My breath caught in my throat.

"Oh no.." I whispered.

"Wow," said Carson. "Juarez Street isn't even that far from here.  Do you think she was a student?"

I shrugged.  The guy at the desks scoffed.

"How do I turn these off? I hate the sound of those dumb ass alerts going off all the time," he said in a huff.

It was Carson's turn to shrug.  He pulled on this backpack.

"Ok, we should get going.  Let's be careful though.  We don't wanna get snatched up!" he said with a laugh.

I smiled and we headed out the door.  We walked for a bit in awkward silence before Carson casually broke it.

"So why did they have to put that the girl was a Striker? Doesn't exactly help identify her," he asked.

"Probably to make sure no one ever looks for her,"  I sighed.

"Really?" he responded innocently.

"Uh no. Ha, not really. I was just making a joke about how people don't tend to like Strikers," I tried to keep from stumbling over my words. "A lot of the time, when they find..uh...a body... they check to see if they're a Striker to help identify them."

We stopped at an intersection.  I decided to let Carson cross first, thinking they wouldn't try to hit me if they saw him first, even though there was only one car quite a bit away.

"Oh yeah.  That actually makes sense since they have..." he rubbed his shoulder "..those chip things.  Do you think it hurts?"

"I don't..." I heard the sound of a car speeding up.  I turned only to be met with the unmarked marked white van only 10 feet away from us.

I didn't have time to scream.  I lunged at Carson, praying that I'd grab onto him in time.  As soon as I got my hands on him, I did my best to think permeable thoughts.  

I watched the bumper pass right through us.  For a split second, I could see into the interior of the van.  The driver was wearing a bandana over his face and sunglasses, but even with both of those, you could tell he was sure that he turned me to roadkill.  I caught a brief glimpse of the back of the van.  I could make out a dark hunched figure and maybe some rope, but it was all going too fast.

We both hit the ground hard.  I was pretty grateful that I landed on a person and not the asphalt.  I rolled off him and tried to catch the breath that got knocked out of me.   It immediately occurred to me that we were both still in street, and I started helping Carson onto the curb.  His arms had some scrapes on his arms and a couple of holes in his T-Shirt, but otherwise, he didn't look too bad.  We collapsed onto the curb.

"Holy shit.  We got lucky." I managed between breaths.

I turned to him, but his face wore an expression of shock rather than relief.

"No.  That was beyond luck.  We should be dead." he said darkly.

He turned to look at me so quickly, I shot right up.

"How did you do that?"

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Next Chapter: 1.5-The Good, The Bad, and The Unmasked

a/n:

I can’t think of anything clever to put here but you should totally send me asks and stuff