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grxtsch · 3 years

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lyin’ eyes

[jimmy page x reader]

summary: after relationship troubles, (y/n) decides to leave and hopefully forget all that’s happened. but when she reaches a place that holds many memories, a certain old friend who she shared those memories with was waiting for her to return.

notes: i don’t know what that summary is but i made it up on the spot so don’t even complain abt it :P

also i personally think that this is my best fic so far so yeah enjoy ig 😩🤚

edit: LMAO this was supposed to be based off of the song by the eagles but my brain had other ideas rip

warnings: cheating (idk if i need to warn u abt that but i’m being safe), swearing, fluff

“(y/n) please wait!” a voice sounded from behind you as you dragged a suitcase filled with your clothes and other possessions to the front door.

“no chris, i’ve waited long enough at the damn restaurant and where were you?” you said, throwing your free hand up in the air. “you were fucking this bitch in our— no, your house.” you seethed back at your now ex-boyfriend, who stood with an expression of grief.

“in fact, i don’t want to wait at anymore restaurants for your stupid ass.” his grief soon turned into anger as you spun around on your heels and walked out the front door.

you could hear him shouting some profanities out of the open door, but you managed to block out his voice and instead focus on the sound of your shoes on pavement as you walked with your suitcase to wherever your feet would lead you.

you were completely done with his bullshit. coming home late claiming he was “working”, flirting with other girls when you two were out shopping, and, just like this night, leaving you stranded at some restaurant for some other chick. it wasn’t even the first time he’s done that. you were ready to leave him before this day had even started; you had spent a few days secretly putting all of your possessions into your handy suitcase, only putting away a couple things at a time so he wouldn’t notice the lack of your items in the house.

before you knew it, you were standing in front of a bar that you used to always go to with one of your dearest friends. “maybe he still comes here.” you thought as you made your way through the bar door and straight to a small booth in the far corner of the building. the same small booth that your friend and yourself had always sat at when you both would come here.

his name was james page, which he preferred jimmy, but you just used james instead to pick some fun at him. the two of you were the closest of friends, ever since your childhood where you fell off of your bike and he ran over to check to see if you were okay. he even went with you to your house just to make sure that you weren’t hurt. even as you both had gotten older, you would both help each other out with homework, watch movies together, and he even taught you some guitar chords and tricks.

the downfall of your friendship happened a while after he joined one of his first bands; the yardbirds. he would always be traveling, performing at different concert venues around the country, and even the world. at first you would just call him or he would call you on these tours, which worked well for awhile, until he got so busy with the band that he didn’t have any time to return your many missed calls.

you missed him dearly, thinking of him from time to time during the day. you often wondered what he was doing at the time when you thought of him, whether it was playing his guitar or just relaxing at wherever he may call home.

you stood up to go grab a beer, hoping to wash your thoughts away, when a very familiar sound reached your ears. it was his laughter. the same sweet laughter you grew fond of whenever you’d be around him. you didn’t know how much you longed to hear that sound again until that very moment, it almost held you in a trance until the beautiful sound melted away and the song that the jukebox was playing had replaced it.

“i was probably just imagining it.” you thought. running a hand through your hair to try and focus back on reality, you continued to the bar, a fairly large opening right in front of you that you could get to quickly. when you reached the bar, you heard a familiar voice say, “(y/n)! long time no see!” you looked up to see the bartender, florence. she has been the same bartender since you and jimmy started coming to this bar, usually just to hang out and talk about different things. you were still surprised that she still worked here, she’s not as young as she used to be, but you were glad that she was here and not some other new bartender.

“hey flo! how’s everything been recently?” you smiled lightly, not really in the mood to talk a lot, but willing to make small conversation with your old friend. “quite good dear! it’s been boring without yourself and jimmy constantly making a ruckus in here though, i kind of miss having to tell the manager about how you two broke the jukebox again!” florence joked, causing you to let out a small laugh. “yeah, those were the good old days, weren’t they?” she smiled. “they really were. anyway! how about a drink for you aye?”

“whiskey. any kind will do.” you replied, which flo nodded and went off to get your drink, coming back in record time with a glass about half way filled with the golden-brown alcohol. you smiled and said a quick “thank you” and carefully took the glass, bidding flo a farewell and she returning it.

you walked back over to your seat, the chat with florence clearing your mind of the earlier events and bringing your mood up a bit. she always had that effect on people, making them crack even a slight smile when they’re feeling blue. right as you were about to sit down, the voice that you never thought you’d hear again called out, “(y/n)? is that you?”

you set your glass down, mentally preparing to see him for the first time in a long, long time. holding your breath, you turn around and see him, the jimmy page, your old best friend. “james?” his hair was longer, barely reaching to his shoulder, and it was slicked back slightly, showing his beautiful green eyes. his smile was still the same, and you swore your heart did a backflip when he smiled at you and said “oh (y/n) i knew it was you! i couldn’t miss that gorgeous hair of yours anywhere.”

you were pretty sure that your face was bright red as you smiled bashfully. “oh thank you jim. and i see you grew yours out hm?” he chuckled, running his hand through his hair softly and said “yeah, i just thought why the hell not you know?” “mhm! i like it a lot, it suits you.” you said back, nudging his shoulder with your knuckle.

he grins and mumbles a quick “thanks”. he then looks back up at you and says “wanna sit and chat for awhile? catch up on all the times we missed?” you nod, motioning for him to sit at the opposite side of where your drink is, and he sat, you following his actions and sitting down as well. you grabbed your glass of whiskey and took a long sip of it, leaving only a small amount left in the bottom of the cup. jimmy’s eyes followed your hand as you set it back on the table, then his eyes flicked back up to meet yours, his eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“is everything alright? i haven’t seen you drink like that in, well, i’ve never seen you drink like that.” you sighed, drawing your finger around the rim of the cup gently. “if i’m being honest, no. a year after we, y’know, stopped talking, i found a guy and we got along quite well and started dating.” you noticed jimmy’s hand clenched into a fist, so you continued.

“everything was fine between us, until recently. he started going after other girls, even with me around him. he even asked me on a date just so i would stay, because i told him that if he doesn’t get his shit together then i’m just going to leave. we were supposed to meet at a restaurant, but of course he didn’t show up even when he’s the one who wanted me to go with him and not the other way around. so i went back to our former shared house and found him fucking some random chick that i’ve seen him flirt with before.” you stared at your drink, before grabbing it and finishing it off. as soon as you set the glass back, jimmy’s hand softly reached for yours and held it, caressing his thumb over your knuckles.

you rose your eyes up to meet jimmy’s, his eyes holding a soft, caring look, the same look that you’ve longed to see for many years. “it’s fine though, really. it’s not like i really loved him anyway..” you lied, thinking of when you first met chris, how happy he made you. but you realized that a certain someone, perhaps the someone sitting across from you, had made you happier than chris could’ve.

“(y/n) love, your lying eyes really give away that you did love him at one point, and it’ll take a while to try and un-love him, trust me.” a soft hand came in contact with your cheek, gently wiping a stray tear away that you didn’t notice had fallen. looking back up at jimmy, you smiled at him and brought your hand that wasn’t occupied and rested it against his. “i know jimmy, but i think i’ve already moved on from that asshole.”

his eyes flashed with a glimmer of hope, and he softly nodded, a small smile painting his face. he paused, then cautiously asked; “i know we’ve only talked for a few minutes, and you can refuse this offer, but how about we ditch this bar and go somewhere else?” you brought jimmy’s hand down to rest on the table, holding them both with your warm hands and nodded. “yeah, i’d like that.” he stood up from the seat, pulling you up with him.

“well then, what are we waiting for?”

tag list: @rebel-without-a-zeppelin @asetcrowley @reincarnated70sbaby @thebeatlesuniverse @princesspagey @jonesyjonesyjonesy

#jimmy page x reader #jimmy page fanfic #led zeppelin #jimmy page #john paul jones #john bonham #robert plant #classic rock #classic rock fanfic #i’m so proud of this HELP

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writing-with-olive · 3 years

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The Stonewall Riots of 1969

1) Current State of Being (it was not good, fam, not good)

To set the scene, we’re in the late sixties. We’ve won the second World War, and suddenly everyone’s dealing with the fact that the patriotic frenzy America has been whipped into isn’t really having the same purpose it used to. Thing is, everyone’s still really heated along the basic lines of DEATH TO COMMUNISM AND ALSO COMMUNISTS. During the war, this was helpful. It created a sense of unity. But once the war was over, attention turned inward.

At this time, there was also research that queer people were "sex perverts" and a government report even came out saying

"The lack of emotional stability which is found in most sex perverts and the weakness of their moral fiber, makes them susceptible to the blandishments of the foreign espionage agent [...] the pervert is easy prey to the blackmailer.

This same report also cited a case of a gay man "who's homosexuality was used by the Russians [who were communist] to recruit him as a double agent before world war 1." Basically, the overall gist was that gay people were believed to either be communists now, or they would become communists because their brains were weaker.

Alrighty, but why were they easy prey? First, when it came to communism, they were just as susceptible as anyone else, but after steep laws against queer people were passed, blackmail became pretty real.

So... yeah, let's talk about a couple laws that were in place in the late sixties, shall we?

For the crime of sleeping with a consenting partner in the privacy of your own home you could face anything from:

A light fine

Five, ten or twenty years in prison

A life sentence

Electrical shock therapy

Castration

In addition, to target trans people, police had also dug out a law from the nineteenth century that was originally passed to supress angry tenant farmers who would don disguises and demonstrate against their landlords (law found in subsection 4 of section 240.35 of the New York Penal Code). The law stated that individuals could not wear more than three items of clothing that did not match their assigned gender at birth.If an officer thought you were breaking this law, they could arrest you and take you to a bathroom or similarly private location and have an officer who matched your presented gender either do a strip search or pat you down there to see if things matched.

Things got especially bad when New York realized they’d have to “clean up the place” in preperation for hosting the World Fair. In part, this meant a heavy crackdown on the gay community, and by extention, gay bars.

2) The Genovese Crime Family and Stonewall

At around this time, the Mob was starting to notice that gay bars were an excelent source of profit - since the prohibition era (1920-1933), limited access bars and speakeasies had popped up everywhere and since the gay community already couldn’t be themselves on the streets, they retreated to these more sheltered locations.

Three mafia members decided to open a gay bar because ohhh boy could you rake in some serious profit. Combined, the three of them put up $3500 to “renovate” the Stonewall Inn (which had gone through itterations of being a straight nightclub, straight bar, and gay restaurant in a sort of irregular cycle).

Renovations included building a stage to dance on, painting the walls black, and getting a jukebox. No running water, no fire exit, just the bare minimum. It certainly wasn’t legal.

When they opened (as a bottle club to get around pesky liquor laws), the bouncer would look through a little slat in the door and if you had a codeword or looked sufficiently gay, he’d let you in. You then had to sign up to be a part of the club (about a dollar) and write your name down on a sheet of paper. Of course, no one wrote down their real names.

The liquor in question was stolen, to begin with, and then heavily watered down with... questionably clean water, and then sold at about three times the original price in half-cleaned glasses (glasses were dunked in a bucket and then reused). Since none of the patrons really had high expectations anyway, they went with it. Needless to say, however, Stonewall was not a particularly nice place to be.

With all the money the trio raked in, a cut had to go to the Mafia man who controlled the district, and another cut went to paying of the notoriously corrupt 6th Precinct, to avoid getting the whole place shut down.

Because they were payed off, the police would only conduct their mandated raids early in the night before things got going, and on weekdays - this was when there weren’t a ton of people there, and it was easy to make it look like nothing was amiss.

3) The Raid (this is where shit gets real)

First of all, the thing is - no one knows why it happened. It just.... did.

On June 28th, 1969, at about 2am, the night was in full swing. The bar was crammed full of people dancing and drinking. The air was stuffy as usual and quite dark.

Then the bright flourescent lights come on - the signal that there was a raid and to seperate and to look less gay. The police came through, and called that they were making arrests. Everyone needed to line up against the wall and have their ID’s ready. Of course this was an issue, because just about everyone was legally not supposed to be at stonewall.

As the police began taking people outside, a crowd was going - raids at this time were... unusual to say the least. Some of the queens went into the back of the police cars without much of a fight - obviously they were terrified, but it didn’t look like there was much they could do.

One of them, however, and no one knows who for sure, was having none of this. Though Marsha Johnson and Sylvia Rivera have both been suggested as the starter of the riot, both have denied it, saying it was someone else. Storme DeLarverie, however, has both accepted and denied it was her. In an interview where she confirmed herself as the starter, she described her reaction, saying:

“The cop said ‘Move f****t’, thinking that I was a gay guy. I said, ‘I will not! And, don’t you dare touch me.’ With that, the cop shoved me and I instinctively punched him right in the face. He bled! He was then dropping to the ground - not me!”

She then turned to the crowd and yelled “why don’t you all do something?”

This was when things transformed. Objects started to fly. It was like someone had just punched a hole through the dam holding back the collective anger of the queer community.

A lot of the queer street kids, homeless, desperate, and with nothing to lose, were at the forefront of the fight, throwing anything from stones to pennies to bottles. Here’s the thing: no one really liked Stonewall - it wasn’t particularly nice or inviting or anything like that, but it was THEIRS and they were going to fight like hell for it.

Those being pulled out of the Inn started fighting back too - throwing what they could, kicking, punching, pushing back against the police. Marsha Johnson, a woman some have referred to as “basically a lesbian superhero” even climbed a telephone pole and threw an unidentified heavy object at a police car, shattering the window.

It was chaos and the crowd was still building. The flying objects didn’t stop, and it wasn’t like anyone had great aim - they were just as likely to hit a fellow protester - but there was a sense of comraderie and it made the police nervous. They were calling for reinforcements, but none were coming.

Finally, one of the police chiefs decided they had to retreat into Stonewall. They grabbed a few people as hostages and dissapeared inside, and barricaded the door. The inside of the Stonewall Inn was a wreck. The jukebox had been smashed. Same with the stage, the bathroom mirrors, and the cash register. Broken furniture was strewn on the floor.

Outside, the rioters had yanked a parking meter out of the ground and were trying to bash their way through the door, using it like a battering ram. Each thud made the officers even more nervous, and the captain, realizing things could turn from bad to horrific and deadly commanded his officers not to shoot unless he shot first. He went up to each one, commanding them individually by name, saying that if they shot without his direct sayso, they would be spend the rest of their police careers with only the worst possible jobs. To their credit, no one shot.

Outside, reinforcements finally arrived, armed in full riot gear - helmets, plastic shields, those club/baton things. They came forward in a full on phalanx. Then it started getting really ugly. People ended up lying on the sidewalk with blood coming from their heads or injured in other ways. The crowd started falling back, step by step. Finally, many of them ran.

But not to flee. Instead, they went all the way around the block and came up behind the reinforcement officers. Surprised that there was a new attack coming from behind, it was the police that began to loose the ground, and were forced to retreat back, back, back.

It was into the late, late hours of the night when the riots finally died down to nothing, the last of the crowd finally dispersed, exhausted.

4) The Next Day (aka a giant middle finger to the cops)

The shattered glass sparkled in the morning light the next day - a tribute to what had gone down the night before.

That night, the crowds around stonewall were huge. And it wasn’t just the queer community - the anti-war protesters and Black Panthers had joined in, standing against the even larger ranks of officers. The night before was a tipping point, but if momentum was to keep going, there needed to be sustained effort.

Inside, the Inn was back to normal. The Mafia had repaired the stage, gotten a new cash register, and even replaced the jukebox. It was if the efforts of the police had never even happened. Throughout the night, the queer community went in and out as though everything were totally normal - as if the police didn’t matter.

The riots were even worse than the night before, but the police couldn’t gain any ground.

Despite what was happening and the triumphs of the queer community, the press was a little less enthusiastic, aiming to diminish what had happened, taking the viewpoint of the police, or claiming the riots happened because of a celebrity’s death, and not the decades upon decades of oppression.

5) The Impact (how we got to today)

A year later, a lot of the Stonewall participants gathered to commemorate the movement. There were now several activism groups that had grown since the riots, but there needed a way to keep it growing - keep the flame from dying out.

One woman proposed that they have a march like the Civil Rights movement and Anti-war protesters were having. As soon as the question filled the space, there was unanimous consensus. Yes - they were to march.

It was terrifying. One member remembered fearing that only ten or so people would show up - that it was only going to make them into a laughingstock and nothing more. Indeed, many people had shown up with popcorn to “watch the f*gs” - it was seen almost as a show or performance.

But the moment was anything but. When the member looked back, in apprehension, what he saw wasn’t ten or the anticipated couple hundred people. No more than two thousand people had joined the parade. And not just the queer community - straight New Yorkers were there too. It was a moment of solidarity, and a demand for justice.

Every year since, there have been pride marches around the country, memorium to the community, and to the fight we’ve been fighting for a very long time, and to the patrons of Stonewall Inn who finally decided enough was enough.

6) Sources (because apparently trusting an unsourced tumblr posts is seen as an academic no-no)

(all in MLA because I just copy/pasted them from my research notes and also MLA feels official and all that)

Yardley, William. "Stormy DeLarverie, Early Leader in the Gay Rights Movement, Dies at 93." The New York Times, 29 May 2014, www.nytimes.com/2014/05/30/nyregion/storme-delarverie-early-leader-in-the-gay-rights-movement-dies-at-93.html?_r=0. Accessed 12 Apr. 2021.

Brown, Dalvin. "Marsha P. Johnson: Transgender Hero of Stonewall Riots Finally Gets Her Due." USA Today, 27 Mar. 2019, www.usatoday.com/story/news/investigations/2019/03/27/black-history-marsha-johnson-and-stonewall-riots/2353538002/. Accessed 12 Apr. 2021.

Burey, Jodi-Ann. "'It Wasn't No Damn Riot': Celebrating Stonewall Uprising Activist Storme DeLarverie." The Riveter, Feb. 2017, theriveter.co/voice/it-wasnt-no-damn-riot-celebrating-stonewall-uprising-activist-storme-delarverie/. Accessed 12 Apr. 2021.

Carter, David. Stonewall: The Riots That Sparked the Gay Revolution. 2nd ed., New York, St. Martin's Griffin, 2010.

Duberman, Martin B. Stonewall. New York, Plume, 1993.

Edsall, Nicholas C. Toward Stonewall: Homosexuality and Society in the Modern Western World. Charlottesville [Va.], U of Virginia P, 2003.

Kristi K. "Something like a Super Lesbian: Storme DeLarverie (In Memoriam)." The K Word, edited by Kristi K, 28 May 2014, thekword.com/2014/05/28/something-like-a-super-lesbian-storme-delarverie-in-memoriam/. Accessed 12 Apr. 2021.

---. "Something like a Super Lesbian: Storme DeLarverie (In Memoriam)." The K Word, edited by Kristi K, 28 May 2014, thekword.com/2014/05/28/something-like-a-super-lesbian-storme-delarverie-in-memoriam/. Accessed 12 Apr. 2021.

"The Stonewall You Know Is a Myth. And That's O.K. | NYT Celebrating Pride." YouTube, uploaded by The New York Times, 31 May 2019, www.youtube.com/watch?v=S7jnzOMxb14. Accessed 12 Apr. 2021.

(not in mla sorry) - PBS’s Stonewall Uprising (documentary)

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tagging: @veryunoriginal and @doggo038 because yall seemed pretty interested. Also my usual taglist: @candlemouse @bookdragonfanish @book-limerence

If you want to be added/removed from any of my taglists, let me know! taglists found pinned to the top of my blog :D

#queer history #lgbtq #stonewall riots #greenwich #pride parades #sources are at the bottom :D #sixth precinct #storme delarverie #marsha johnson #sylvia rivera #black panthers #anti-war protesters #american history #gay history #olive's writing vibes #guys if you could reblog this that would be awesome more people need to know queer history #yall are the best!

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chilling-seavey · 3 years

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When Universes Collide - The AU Mini Series

The Lotus Inn is a place we all know well; and a place where all universes collide in a small ripple of the time space continuum. It’s the spot for characters of alternate universes to meet and interact – even those who are from vastly different worlds and timelines. In this one-shot, the characters from the universes of this blog gather for lunch at the Lotus Inn restaurant and discuss their similarities and differences.

Warning: This does contain spoilers to any and all fics on my blog so read with caution if you haven’t read all of them!

A/N This obviously isn’t part of any timeline and is just something I wrote for fun with a bit of help from T-Anon and @randomlimelightxxx! To tell each Daniel apart, they will be called by their fic name as their formal title…it might be a bit awkward at first but it would be the only way to not confuse the heck out of you since there are five nearly identical looking Daniel’s sitting around one table. (Also, I see this play out like a stage performance in my head which is weird).

A/N2 Let’s see how many times the word ‘Daniel’ is used in this story

The Lotus Inn – 11:54am

A table for five sat empty in the corner of the restaurant. The room was trimmed in purple neon lights and decorated in floral pictures with an old brick wall supporting the large bar along the back. It wasn’t busy as the crowd usually came in for the daily after-dinner partying and the quietness of the restaurant was only filled with the bar tender wiping down the glasses to stock.

The door to the restaurant opened and a stream of bright light pooled into the room from the outside, nearly brightening the space more than what the large paned windows along the from wall allowed. In stepped a young man, his hesitation obvious as he stepped over the threshold and his blue eyes scanned his surroundings. He wore a military uniform that was ironed to perfection, donned in two well dressed medals on his left breast, and he took off his matching cap when he stepped inside, offering a stiff nod in greeting to the bartender.

Passchendaele Daniel

Age 22

He was the first to arrive and he made his way over to the reserved table in the corner, sitting on the chair closest to the door. Habit. Made for an easy getaway if it was ever needed. He held his hands together on his lap, back straight, and his flat expression starting to fall into space.

The restaurant stayed silent. The bartender kept to himself and the few other patrons sat on the far side of the room, minding their own business.

The door opened again and a voice fell inside along with another pool of light.

“She’s a one-year-old, Jack, give her a cookie and sing her a song and she’ll go right to sleep. Ask the other two for help; they’re great with her. I can’t come back now, my meeting has barely even started. I’ll be an hour, tops. I think you can survive that long.”

The slightly older man who just came in had his cellphone pressed to his ear and closed the door calmly behind him. He looked a bit flustered and definitely tired; his dyed blonde hair was faded to mostly its natural brown tones again and he shoved his car keys in his pocket messily as he listened to whatever his friend was saying through the line.

Anything But Mine Daniel

Age 25

His blue eyes landed on the young man already at the table and he paused in spot for a moment before saying much quieter into his cell phone, “I gotta go. I’ll call you after.”

He hung the phone and headed slowly over to the table, holding out his hand to the man in front of him.

“Hey. Nice to meet you. I’m Daniel.”

Passchendaele Daniel glanced up at him and then to his out stretched hand and pulled a tight smile before taking his handshake, “Myself as well.”

They shared soft smiles as Anything But Mine Daniel sat down in the chair on his other side. They fell into a momentary silence, not quite knowing what to say at first. It was a strange situation to be in: staring at yourself from another universe and entirely different timeline.

Gentle music filled the restaurant and the two young men glanced across the room to the jukebox. A third stood in front of it, having just slid in a quarter to select a record, and the gentle voice of Elvis brought liveliness to the restaurant. He turned with a pleasant smile, his hair slicked back in a soft wave, and startled slightly by the older two staring back at him.

Heartbreak Hotel Daniel

Age 18

He offered them a crooked smile and headed over to join them, “Hi.”

They shared their introductions – being easy since they all shared the same name and nearly the same face – and Heartbreak Hotel Daniel took his spot across from Anything But Mine Daniel. He glanced over at the man in his old military uniform beside the oldest but looked away against before he could be caught staring. He adjusted the collar of his button-up shirt and dropped his shy gaze to the wood table top.

“What desserts do you offer here?”

The three men all looked towards the bar where another was stood on the bottom brass foot rest of the bar counter to stand higher, holding himself up on the marble top as he spoke to the bartender. He wore a Georgian style suit, dressed poshly down to the puffed tie in the collar of his pale blue jacket and shiny black shoes, his soft brown hair brushed pristinely over his forehead.

Amoureux Daniel

Age 17

The bartender eyed the young prince for a moment and then simply gestured to the menu hung on the brick wall behind him.

“I’ll just take the lot of it.”

He slid a few paper bills across the counter before heading over to the reserved table. His smile was wide and infectious and he offered firm handshakes around the table.

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Prince Daniel of York. Second in line to the British throne.”

“Royalty at our table? That’s unbelievable.” ABM Daniel gaped, eyeing the youngest’s clothes as he plopped himself down in the free chair across from Passchendaele Daniel.

“Forget Royalty. I’m going to be a composer.” Amoureux Daniel tisked as he leaned back and loosened his tie around his neck to let himself breathe before rolling up his sleeves too.

“A composer? I’m in music professionally. What do you play? Piano?” ABM Daniel asked.

“Piano and cello. Piano’s my favourite though.” Amoureux Daniel grinned.

“Mine as well.” Passchendaele Daniel smiled shyly.

“You as well? Oh, splendid.” Amoureux Daniel clapped excitedly. “I was worried you lot would be as lame as my older brother honestly.”

Passchendaele Daniel’s smile fell as fast as it was formed and he dropped his head down. The other three easily saw this change and the youngest two from across the table habitually looked the eldest for guidance. ABM Daniel’s eyes were wide with surprise and he set a gentle hand on Passchendaele Daniel’s shoulder.

He spoke softly, “Are you okay?”

“I…” Passchendaele Daniel took a moment to compose himself before looking up into the friendly eyes of his older counterpart, “I lost my brother in the war. He was my best friend.”

“Shit.” Amoureux Daniel breathed from across from him.

Heartbreak Hotel Daniel slowly pressed his hand to his mouth in shock.

ABM Daniel hesitated a moment but gave his shoulder a friendly squeeze, “I’m really sorry.”

Passchendaele Daniel only shrugged lightly, “It is what it is, I suppose.”

“What war were you in? The First World War or the Second?” Heartbreak Hotel Daniel asked as gently as he could around the obviously traumatised man.

Passchendaele Daniel’s eyes went wide in fear suddenly and he looked between the other three guys, “There is a second?!”

“I didn’t even know there was one in the first place.” Amoureux Daniel said in defence as he reached for one of the desserts before the bartender could even set the plate down at their table.

ABM Daniel and HH Daniel exchanged wide eyed glances before looking back at the frightened soldier. ABM Daniel rubbed his hand over his back soothingly, offering the best reassurance he could, “Not in your time, don’t worry. But I think we need a new topic to talk about now.”

“Please.” Passchendaele Daniel mumbled thankfully.

“Isn’t there supposed to be a fifth one of us here too?” HH Daniel asked.

“I thought so too.” ABM Daniel pulled out his cell phone to check the time.

“What is that?” the other three young men asked him at the same time.

ABM Daniel glanced up at them and looked between their mirrored confused expressions like he was sitting at a table with triplets. Different brunette hair styles and different clothing but all with the same light blue eyes and youthful faces. He looked back down at his iPhone and held it up slightly, “This?”

They all nodded.

“It’s my cell phone.”

“It’s a telephone? Where’s the chord?” HH Daniel asked, leaning over the table to lift it up as if to look for the chord that should have somehow attached him to the wall.

“Where is the handset?” Passchendaele Daniel added. “If there is no handset, how do you hear your friends?”

“I have no bloody clue what the hell any of you are talking about.” Amoureux Daniel laughed through a mouthful of cake.

ABM Daniel smiled and looked between the other three, “I guess that’s right since you are all from the past, huh? Well in my time they make telephones that can go in your pocket. They don’t need chords.”

“That’s brilliant.” Passchendaele Daniel breathed. “And you can talk to your friends into that little box?”

“Yeah. Wanna hold it?” ABM Daniel offered.

HH Daniel leaned over the table to get a look as Passchendaele Daniel carefully took the iPhone from ABM Daniel and cradled it in his two hands like it would break if the wind blew too hard. The screen lit up as a text message came through and Passchendaele Daniel gasped in surprise, staring down at the lit-up screen and the little box that read words.

ABM Daniel reached over to swipe away the notification, revealing his lockscreen wallpaper: a photograph of his family from the day his youngest was born, all cuddled up together on the couch.

“Is that your family?” HH Daniel asked, still leaning over the table.

“Yeah. It is.” ABM Daniel smiled widely, taking his phone to set it on the table for all of them to see, “That’s my wife, Florence, and our girls; Clementine, Penelope, and Lucy.”

“That’s so sweet.” Amoureux Daniel said, “I just had a son a few months back.”

“You have a child?” HH Daniel gaped over at him. “How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

“You have a kid at seventeen?”

“Yes. Ran off and got married young. He’s just born so no need to have a fit.” Amoureux Daniel snickered teasingly. He picked up the plate of desserts and held it out to him. HH Daniel stared down at the desserts for a beat but then shook his head politely.

“My wife is expecting our first child.” Passchendaele Daniel spoke gently.

“Oh, congratulations!” ABM Daniel said, helping himself to a dessert from the spread.

“Yes, thank you.” Passchendaele Daniel mumbled. “I am a bit frightened; I must admit.”

“Parenthood is a scary thing but it’s also the most amazing thing you could ever experience.” ABM Daniel assured him as he slid his phone back into his pocket. “I am sure you will be a great dad.”

Before anyone else could speak, loud muffled music could be heard from outside the restaurant and they all turned to looked out the large front windows; watching as a shiny white Tesla pulled up to the curb. The music cut off as the drivers side door opened and their fifth guest stepped out. His hair was dyed blonde and hair sprayed to messy perfection and the sunglasses perched on his nose were designer, his whole outfit dripping in expensive pieces, down to his leather pants and black boots and silver chain hung around his neck.

He came inside the restaurant and everyone’s eyes were on him – even the bar tender – as he slid off his sunglasses and offered a cool smile to the room.

Qui Totum Vult Totum Perdit Daniel

Age 23

He caught the glance of the other four young men at the table in the corner and he sauntered over to greet them. He offered a handshake to all of them before sitting at the far head of the table, “Sorry I’m so late. Promo ran later than expected.”

He glanced around the table at the four pairs of wide blue eyes staring back at him. There was a beat of silence.

“Wow, this is sick. It’s like I’m looking in four mirrors.” QTVTP Daniel chuckled. He set his sunglasses on the table. The other four pairs of eyes followed the action but they didn’t speak. “You’re right. Need to at least make up for my lateness. Hey, bartender?”

The man looked over to the table as QTVTP Daniel raised his hand up to get his attention, “Pitcher of water, round of beers, and let’s get some appetizers? Give us your top…six sellers. All on my card.”

“You don’t have to pay for all of us.” ABM Daniel said.

“Let me. It’s the least I could do. You come all the way out here to this shabby hotel and I’m thirty minutes late.”

The bartender brought over the pitcher of water, five glasses, and five bottles of beer, setting them all on the table. QTVTP Daniel took out his OffWhite wallet and pulled out his credit card, passing it over to the man with a smooth thanks.

“Let’s drink, boys.” he smiled, rubbing his hands together before reaching for one of the bottles.

“I’m not of age.” HH Daniel mumbled.

“Neither am I.” Amoureux Daniel added.

“I don’t drink anymore.” Passchendaele Daniel said.

“I have to pick up my daughters after this so no alcohol for me either, thanks.” ABM Daniel finished.

QTVTP Daniel looked between the four sitting around him, “Wow. Alright. More for me then.”

ABM Daniel took the initiative to pour the others their glasses of water as he offered a casual question to the late arrival, “What promo were you at?”

“For my record company.”

All four heads snapped back up to look at him.

“You work at a record company?” HH Daniel gaped.

“Own it. Yeah.” QTVTP Daniel chuckled. “My best friend and I have owned our own company for the last…two or so years? We’ve travelled the world together. Made some music. Made a name for ourselves. It’s amazing.”

“Wow. It’s always been my dream to be a signed artist but my parents convinced me to go to university instead.” ABM Daniel said.

“It’s pretty sick.” QTVTP Daniel smirked. “You meet a lot of cool people.”

“Are you well known?” Amoureux Daniel asked. “Do you work with people such as Bach? Or Mozart?”

“Bach or Mozart? Nah. Not yet at least. But we just signed a band that dropped their second album and it went number one worldwide.”

“Good God.” HH Daniel gasped. “You’re like Elvis.”

“I guess.” QTVTP Daniel laughed lightly, taking a sip of his drink as he leaned back in his chair.

“Do you produce too?” ABM Daniel asked.

“Yeah. We do most of the producing but we write and manage too. I have an eye for the industry.”

“That’s so cool. I’m working at a production studio myself. I’d love to run some demos by you…get your professional opinion…bounce some ideas around.”

“Yeah, for sure, bro! That’d be awesome. We can do that later.”

The other three young men stayed in momentary silence, sipping their water with Amoureux Daniel nursing the plate of desserts. He glanced over at HH Daniel on his right, staring at him for a moment, especially the remanence of a bruise that was colouring just under his left eye.

“Did you get in a fight?” Amoureux Daniel asked bluntly.

HH Daniel looked over at him, watching the youngest bite into a truffle, “Yeah. Corbyn beat me up.”

That caught the table’s attention and they all looked at him in surprise.

“Corbyn hit you?” ABM Daniel gaped.

“Mhm.” HH Daniel nodded shyly. “I was trying to stick up for my soulmate and he didn’t like that I was trying to take her from him so he beat me up.”

He stood up and lifted up the bottom of his shirt to show off the fading bruise over his stomach as well. The men groaned pitifully at how obviously it must have hurt.

“My Corbyn is so nice.” Passchendaele Daniel frowned.

“Mine too.” ABM Daniel added.

“Mine’s kind of lame. Everyone in my life is lame.” Amoureux Daniel tisked.

“What? You think you’re better than everyone?” QTVTP Daniel chuckled, taking a sip from his glass bottle.

“Not necessarily. I just don’t want to have to live the same boring life that they think I need to.”

“I’ll drink to that.” QTVTP Daniel agreed.

“Here, here.” Passchendaele Daniel raised his water cup and they all held out their glasses into the middle of the table to cheers through soft laughter.

Their conversation paused a moment as they drank. HH Daniel shifted in his seat slightly, tossing back the rest of his glass of water is he had been deprived for days and set the empty glass back on the table with a loud clunk. QTVTP Daniel slid over a bottle of beer and none of them spoke as they watched him unscrew the cap and take a long sip. The eighteen-year-old grimaced through the drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You’re really going through it, bro.” QTVTP Daniel stated.

“Yeah, I suppose.” HH Daniel grumbled, pushing a hand through his hair.

“Well obviously since he got punched in the face.” Amoureux Daniel added.

“I just…” HH Daniel sighed, staring at the table top, “We have soulmates in my universe and even though I found mine…she doesn’t want me so I’m suck tasting everything she tastes and it being a constant brutal reminder of her.”

“Why doesn’t she want you?” ABM Daniel frowned.

“I’m a loser? Hell if I know.” HH Daniel scoffed, he took another long sip of the beer no matter how disgusting he thought it tasted. At least it overpowered the taste of tea that was grazing his tongue.

“There’s a girl you’re in love with who has a trashy boyfriend? Well, take it from me who has literally been in your shoes,” ABM Daniel reached across the table to grab the beer from the eighteen-year-old, “You get nowhere from drinking away the pain or hating yourself.”

“You had this happen too?” HH Daniel asked softly, hopefully.

“Yeah; was best friends with this girl I was hopelessly in love with and I had to see her go from boyfriend to boyfriend no matter how often I was there for her.”

“So what happened?”

“She became my wife eventually.” ABM Daniel smiled softly, “Just give it time. Don’t push her because she’ll just feel suffocated. Let her come to you. She’ll see what she’s missing.”

Amoureux Daniel held out the half empty plate of desserts to HH Daniel and he finally took a small pastry as the youngest said, “In addition, you are in a universe where you can taste what she tastes and, from my experience, the way to a woman’s heart – and up her skirt – is through her stomach.”

Passchendaele Daniel choked on his water while laughter rose over the rest of the table.

“What do you know about ‘going up skirts’? You’re, like, barely fifteen.” QTVTP Daniel scoffed through his disbelieving laughter.

“I am seventeen, thank you very much, and I have a baby.” Amoureux Daniel corrected, nearly boastfully. “I know just plenty about going up skirts.”

Of course, that was right when the bartender came over with their food and his confused expression had the five young men smothering back their nervous laughter. ABM Daniel and Passchendaele Daniel cleared a space on the table for the food to be set down and all five of them thanked the man before he headed back behind the bar. With a full spread in front of them, they all dug in and piled up a small plate each to start to eat. It was quiet for a moment as they got settled and started to eat, passing the salt and pepper and various plates to each other when asked. It was comfortable.

“So,” ABM Daniel broke their silence first, directing his question to Amoureux Daniel, “how did you and your wife meet?”

Amoureux Daniel cracked a cheeky smile, “Well, she came to England to marry my older brother, but she liked me better, to be blunt. We would sneak around the castle and a few times at night…you know…”

There were two ‘oo’s from ABM Daniel and QTVTP Daniel, while Passchendaele Daniel looked between them all with wide eyes.

“You…You were involved with her before you were married?” he stammered.

“While she was engaged to my brother too.” Amoureux Daniel hid his smirk behind a bite of a mozzarella stick. “My most thrilling and incredible few months, I must say.”

“Oh my gosh.” Passchendaele Daniel’s cheeks flushed a slight pink and he tugged at the collar of his uniform. “That’s…ahem…”

“Did you not go near your wife before your wedding night?” Amoureux Daniel asked bluntly.

“Let’s not go nosing into everyone’s private business.” ABM Daniel said strongly.

“Wait, I’m still confused. Where did you sneak off to?” HH Daniel asked shyly.

The table chuckled lightly – even Passchendaele Daniel cracked a nervous smile – and HH Daniel looked between all of them, waiting for an answer.

“To bed.” Amoureux Daniel laughed, patting him on the shoulder. “You’ll understand one day.”

“I…you…I-I understand perfectly well.” HH Daniel blushed furiously, turning quickly down to his plate and shoveled a nacho in his mouth to avoid continuing the conversation.

“To answer your question,” Passchendaele Daniel continued, trying to keep himself a bit brave and a bit interesting to the four other men, “No, I did not go to bed with Elizabeth until our wedding night. It did not feel right to deflower her until our union was official.”

“Deflower her.” QTVTP Daniel repeated slowly, biting back his smile as he took a sip of his beer.

“Well that’s what it is, is it not?” Passchendaele Daniel said sternly, narrowing his eyes at him. “I like to think that making love is the most sacred act and shouldn’t be just thrown around to anyone.”

“I agree.” HH Daniel mumbled, earning a thankful smile from the soldier.

“Jeez, then I’m quite the sinner.” QTVTP Daniel chuckled to himself. “I slept with my girlfriend on our first date.”

Passchendaele Daniel huffed softly and turned down to his plate. Amoureux Daniel and HH Daniel glanced at each other through the awkward tension that seemed to settle.

ABM Daniel cleared his throat, “Let’s maybe change the topic. This isn’t really lunch appropriate.”

“Wow…you are such a dad.” QTVTP Daniel snorted, shaking his head in near disbelief.

“What’s wrong with that?” ABM Daniel frowned at him. He couldn’t get much of an argument out before his phone was ringing in his pocket and he pulled it out, sighing when he read the caller ID, “Sorry, I gotta take this.”

The other four watched him get up from the table and head across the restaurant as he answered the call,

“What is it now, Jack?”

The table fell into a momentary silence.

Passchendaele Daniel broke it first with a mumble of, “Jack in my universe is dead.”

The other three looked between themselves nervously. They didn’t answer, ducking their heads down to their plates to focus on eating their lunches. No one spoke until ABM Daniel returned and he sat back down with a heavy exhale.

“Sorry, being a dad is a job that is never done. What did I miss?”

Amoureux Daniel, HH Daniel, and QTVTP Daniel just looked at him and shook their heads ever so slightly. Passchendaele Daniel sniffled, keeping his head down, and took a sip of his water.

“Everything alright back home?” HH Daniel asked softly over to ABM Daniel.

“Oh, yeah. My youngest just hates when I’m not within arm’s reach so she’s been giving Jack some trouble. She’s only one so…doesn’t know much better.” ABM Daniel smiled at only the mention of his daughters. “I have pictures…if you want to see.”

“Of course.” HH Daniel beamed.

ABM Daniel took out his phone again and opened up his photos app to swipe through a few and he passed the phone across the table. Amoureux Daniel and HH Daniel shifted closer together to see and QTVTP Daniel leaned over the side of the table to look at the pictures too. QTVTP Daniel took control of the swiping since he was the only one who knew how cell phones worked and they all smiled at the pictures on the screen, ‘awe’ing at the cutest ones.

“The baby looks just like you.” HH Daniel said. “Well…like us, I suppose.”

“Yeah.” ABM Daniel chuckled. “I get that a lot.”

Passchendaele Daniel stayed quiet on his right, eating in silence, and unbothered. He sat as if he didn’t want to draw any more attention to himself. ABM Daniel looked over at him as the other three kept scrolling through his pictures and he reached a hand onto the table to gently get his attention. Passchendaele Daniel looked up at him with a flat expression and almost tearful eyes.

“Are you alright?” ABM Daniel asked softly.

“I don’t do well without my Elizabeth.” Passchendaele Daniel whispered for only him to hear. ABM Daniel was always the best listener and the easiest to talk to and it was obvious to the struggling soldier that he was someone he could trust.

“Do you have a picture of her?” ABM Daniel offered, as some way to keep his mind busy but happy.

A small smile perked at the side of Passchendaele Daniel’s lips and he nodded, reaching into his uniform jacket and he pulled out a small sepia photograph and held it out to his new acquaintance. ABM Daniel smiled thankfully at him and took the photograph, looking down at the old fashion photograph of the gentle young blonde woman.

“She’s beautiful.” ABM Daniel said politely.

“She is. I’m the luckiest man in the whole world to have her. She saves my life every day.” Passchendaele Daniel breathed, his gentle smile grazing his lips ever so delicately as if he was in deep thought.

Three teasing exclaims from across the table caught their attention and ABM Daniel quickly reached over to snatch his phone back. The picture they had swiped to was of Florence in nothing but a small towel blow-drying her hair in the bathroom mirror; a simple moment that ABM Daniel couldn’t help but capture with her in all her natural beauty.

“No more of that.” he blushed furiously as he pocketed his phone again.

Passchendaele Daniel offered his photograph of Elizabeth to the table and the three young men on the other side gladly took it. She was effortlessly beautiful and the three youngest at the table stared at her for a bit longer than was honestly necessary. Passchendaele Daniel bit back a proud grin at their obvious interest.

“I don’t have a photograph of Loretta.” HH Daniel mumbled. “If I did, that would be considered extremely creepy on my part.”

The photograph was passed back to Passchendaele Daniel who pocketed it again and HH Daniel reached to grab another serving from the platters in the middle of the table. A small corner of paper poking out under the dish caught his attention and he wiped his hand on his jeans before pulling it out from under the plate. His eyes went wide at the photograph of Loretta that stared back at him from his hand.

“What’s that?” Amoureux Daniel asked, leaning over his shoulder to take a look.

Surprised, HH Daniel couldn’t find his words for a moment, “I-It’s Loretta.”

The Lotus Inn works in almost magical ways through this ripple in the time space continuum. HH Daniel pulled the picture closer, his heart only aching slightly at simply the sight of her.

“She is hot.” QTVTP Daniel broke the momentary silence.

The four other Daniel’s glared at his bluntness and he put his hands up in defence as he sat back in his chair.

“You can’t have her so don’t even try.” HH Daniel scolded softly before turning back to the photograph.

“I don’t want her. I have my own girlfriend.”

HH Daniel glared warningly at him as he passed the photograph across the table to ABM Daniel and Passchendaele Daniel to take a look at too.

Amoureux Daniel shifted in his chair and reached into his pocket, sure enough to pull out his own picture of Louisa and their brand-new baby son. He stayed perfectly quiet for a moment as he stared at the image himself, disbelieving.

“Oh wow.” he breathed. “It looks so real.”

HH Daniel looked over his shoulder and smiled at the sweet photograph of the young mother holding her baby, “That’s adorable.”

Amoureux Daniel smiled over at him, “That’s my Louisa. And our little prince.”

“Let’s see!” ABM Daniel excitedly held his hand out to take a look at the photograph.

QTVTP Daniel and Passchendaele Daniel glanced over his shoulder with mirrored smiles.

“Damn,” QTVTP Daniel said as he sat down again, “Glad to know we have taste.”

Their pictures were passed around and stories were shared – QTVTP Daniel offering up his phone to show off pictures of his girlfriend and he shared his excited plans to propose to her.

The five young men seemed to find their comfort with each other. Laughter soon filled their table between words of advice and guidance and comfort and soon the food was gone and the drinks were finished and they were all resting back in their chairs through their conversation.

“Is your hair naturally that colour?” Amoureux Daniel asked QTVTP Daniel.

QTVTP Daniel habitually ran his hand through it, fluffing it up a little at the sides, “No, it’s dyed. I kinda like it like this though so I might keep it.”

“It looks cool. Maybe I should go blonde too. Loretta seems to like blondes better anyway.” HH Daniel said.

“No!” The other three at the table said quickly.

HH Daniel looked between all of them in confusion, “Why not?”

“Florence cried her eyes out when I went blonde.” ABM Daniel said. “I swear she was ready to divorce me. It’s not worth it.”

“You look just fine the way you are.” Passchendaele Daniel agreed. “Don’t change just because her boyfriend looks a certain way.”

“Yeah. You’ll regret that.” ABM Daniel nodded.

“I dunno. I don’t regret it.” QTVTP Daniel said coolly.

“You’re not helping.” ABM Daniel snapped lightly, making the rest of the table laugh.

A momentary silence fell over the group, all of them staring into space with content smiles and full stomachs, most topics of conversation well used. The bartender came over to clear the empty plates and they all thanked him once more. ABM Daniel took out his phone to check the time again.

“Well, it’s been over an hour. Maybe we should say our goodbyes. I have little ones to pick up.”

“Yeah.” HH Daniel sighed, setting his napkin back on the tabletop. “I have to pack for college.”

“I have a meeting...” QTVTP checked his watch, “5 minutes ago. Shit. Jonah’s gonna kill me.”

He got up quickly from the table and put his sunglasses back on before taking one last sip of his beer. They all stood up after him and started to gather their things to go.

“Can we take a selfie before we leave?” ABM Daniel offered.

“A what?” HH Daniel laughed.

“A selfie.” Amoureux Daniel breathed. “That’s a ridiculous word.”

“A picture of yourself.” QTVTP Daniel explained.

“Yeah! Come over here.” ABM Daniel took out his phone again and opened up the camera.

“You can take photographs on your telephone? Incredible…” Passcehndaele Daniel breathed as the group gathered behind ABM Daniel and they all leaned in close.

The picture was taken, framing five exact smiles, five exact pairs of light blue eyes, and yet five slightly different hair styles and fashion choices. All their own individual but yet all one in the same.

They shared handshakes that turned into friendly embraces with pats on the back, well wishes, and final goodbyes as they headed their own ways home to once again be seperated by the division of space and time between alternate universes.

ABM Daniel lingered back in the restaurant for a moment, grazing his finger over the table he stood beside with a calm smile. He approached the bartender and ordered a plate of desserts to go – he didn’t get much since Amoureux Daniel seemed to hog them all for himself – and he wanted to bring home his girls a treat. He paid for the cakes and thanked the bar tender before heading out of the restaurant and into the bright sunlit street. His car was parked farther down and he waited in the drivers seat for Florence.

She came quickly out of the Lotus Inn as well, the heavy wind blowing urging her to hold her jacket closed as she rushed down the sidewalk, her dark blonde hair billowing around her head messily and she helped herself into the passenger seat of their car. With the door closed and the wind kept out, she sighed deeply with a content smile and smoothed her messy hair down.

“Hey, baby.”

“Hi, sweetheart.”

They both leaned in for a quick kiss.

“How was lunch?” she asked.

ABM Daniel thought for a moment as he took the car out of park and pulled out onto the street, “It was strange at first but really nice. How was yours?”

“Super fun.” Florence giggled.

“Great! Oh! We took a selfie. I wanted to show you how similar we all looked.” Daniel pulled his phone from his pocket and blindly passed it over to her as he drove through the streets of their city.

Florence took it and typed in his passcode with an excited smile. She opened up his pictures and tapped the most recent one, her smile falling, “Dani, this is only a picture of you.”

“I know!” Daniel laughed. “We looked like quintuplets or something!”

“No…I mean you are the only person in this picture.”

Daniel stopped the car at a red light and glanced over at his phone in her hand. His smile fell as well as he stared at the selfie he had taken before they all parted ways, only his own face captured in the frame, his four new friends missing as if they never existed in the first place.

#anything but mine #🍓#✉#👑#🔪#daniel seavey #daniel seavey x5 #LOL #why dont we #wdw #why dont we fanfic #au #lotus inn #daniel seavey fanfic #btw i typed 'daniel' 207 times

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artificialqueens · 3 years

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Taste of a Poison Paradise, Chapter 4 (Multi) - Joley

Chapter Summary: Brooke Lynn and Kameron finally meet, Denali starts spending more time at the diner, Jaida starts her OnlyFans, and Gigi realizes she can’t avoid her feelings for Crystal forever.

ao3 link

Vanessa has never been the best at focusing all of her attention on one task. Often, when she was dancing on stage, her mind was in three other places. It was a little more obvious when giving a lap dance, but most men didn’t seem to mind or even notice. Except for this time when she called attention to it by stopping mid-gyration and exclaiming, “holy shit!”

The man wasn’t annoyed, instead, he curiously looked behind him. “What? What happened?”

“Some dude’s getting hauled out of here, dumb fucker’s trynna put up a fight. Fly ain’t undone so he must’ve been getting too handsy,” she observed, though her eyes were honed in on Kameron, who took the offender down and dragged him out of the club. “God damn, she’s good,” she murmured, fanning herself.

“Wouldn’t it be more effective to have a man–”

Vanessa decided she was no longer interested in what the client had to say, and was already walking towards the front of the club, getting a better view as Kameron unceremoniously tossed the man out of the club. “What’s his damage, huh?”

Kameron shrugged. “Jan flagged me down, dickwad kept trying to play grab-ass and started throwing a temper tantrum when she cut his dance short,” she explained, then looked over at the bar. “Looks like Nicky’s taking care of her now, though.”

“I’m tryna take care of you, though,” she winked. “You know, take you into the VIP room and…”

“I’m still on the clock, Vanjie,” Kameron gently reminded her, but looped her arms around her waist. “But once our shifts end, we can go in the back and play grab-ass instead, okay?” she offered, punctuating her point by moving her hands down and squeezing Vanessa’s ass.

Vanessa huffed and pouted, but nodded nonetheless. “Fine, but you know how impatient I get.”

Kameron chuckled and kissed her cheek. “Don’t I always make it worth the wait?”

She couldn’t argue with that, so she went back and did her next set, alternating between being on the stage, among the clientele, or waiting in the back. It was the late shift, at least, meaning she and Kameron would be able to clock out at the same time.

There were still about ten minutes left before closing, but Vanessa had considered herself done for the night. She tied her robe around her waist and sat beside Kameron until the last customer left the club. “Fuckin’ finally,” she murmured.

Kameron snorted. “You’re such a fucking brat,” she teased.

Vanessa smirked, getting up and pulling Kameron with her. “You knew what you signed up for, boo. Bratty as hell, but you know I make it worth your while.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that logic,” she chuckled and allowed Vanessa to drag her across the club, back to the VIP room. Then, she scooped the smaller woman up in her arms and carried her to the couch, gently dropping her on it before crawling on top of her. “I bet you’re expecting me to take care of you now, huh?” she purred, kissing at her neck.

“We ain’t here to talk politics,” Vanessa retorted, already trying to tug off Kameron’s shirt and grinning when the taller woman acquiesced.

Meanwhile, Brooke Lynn had done a lap through the club, stopping at the bar with a perplexed expression. “Pri, is Vanjie still here? I told her I’d come to pick her up.”

Priyanka shrugged as she loaded up a tray of glasses to take into the back. “She’s probably still getting pounded out by Kameron in the VIP room,” she told her before taking the tray into the kitchen.

At first, Brooke figured Priyanka was joking, trying to get a reaction out of her. But as she sat and thought for a moment, she realized that there was no reason she would lie about that. She thought she would feel some semblance of jealousy or anger, but they were noticeably absent. Instead, her curiosity – and perhaps arousal – was piqued. She got up from the bar and made her way into the VIP room, quietly opening the door and slipping inside.

Just as Priyanka had predicted, Kameron and Vanessa were in the midst of a passionate encounter. They were both naked and Kameron had one hand loosely wrapped around Vanessa’s throat, the other was steadily thrusting two fingers in and out of her while she showered her with a mix of praise and dirty talk.

Brooke’s eyes widened. She couldn’t have predicted how it would feel to watch her girlfriend having sex with another woman, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away. Still not announcing her presence, she moved to the loveseat perpendicular to the couch and let her legs spread. She hiked up her dress and dipped her hand into her panties, biting her lip as she touched herself to the sight.

“You just gonna sit there and enjoy the show?”

Vanessa’s words caused the other two to stop in their tracks. Kameron looked confused while Brooke froze in place. “You knew I was here?”

Vanessa scoffed in response. “You think I wouldn’t recognize my woman’s pumps click-clacking from a mile away?” She didn��t wait for a response before she continued, “you want in or not?” She nudged Kameron lightly, who nodded in agreement.

Brooke scrambled to her feet, shedding her dress as she moved over to the two of them. She finished stripping down before kneeling beside Vanessa and kissing her languidly. “You want me to sit on your face, baby?”

Vanessa nodded enthusiastically, helping Brooke position herself on top of her and grabbing onto her thighs for balance. Her nails dug in as she eased her tongue into her, trying to match the pace of Kameron’s fingers.

“Shit, that’s it, baby. Such a good girl,” Brooke praised, her head tilting back as she moaned out. But when she held her head upright, her eyes locked with Kameron’s and she didn’t think, she just kissed her heatedly, smirking a bit as she felt the other woman melt into the kiss.

Kameron balanced one hand on Brooke’s shoulder while she thrust her fingers steadily into Vanessa’s pussy, alternating now and then to rub her clit with her thumb. Although the brunette was stifled verbally, it was very obvious when she came. She sat back on the couch, getting herself off while she watched Brooke ride Vanessa’s face.

Brooke’s hips stuttered to a halt as she rode out her orgasm shortly after, then gracefully dismounted off of Vanessa, then sat on the couch. “You know,” she said to Kameron, “I’d been meaning to reach out and get to know you, but this method is a lot more fun.”

——

Denali leaned against the jukebox, humming along to ‘Those Magic Changes’ until she saw Rosé walk in, which prompted her to relocate to sitting at the counter. “I thought you said your shift started at ten.”

“Today’s Tuesday, babe. I start at ten on Wednesdays,” Rosé replied as she tied her apron around her waist. “But it’s cute that you waited for me,” she winked.

“I had to, muñeca,” Denali insisted with a pout. “No one else makes the coffee as good as you do.”

Rosé couldn’t help but laugh softly as she got a pot of coffee going. “It’s the same shit every time, Dee,” she pointed out. But still, she had to look away and focus on the coffee to hide the broad grin that spread across her face. She poured a mug, setting it down in front of Denali. “What’re you eating, today?”

“You, ideally,” she murmured under her breath before looking up at her and replying, “patty melt, extra crispy onions, please,” while batting her lashes. “And a side of fries.”

The waitress nodded, scribbling the order onto the notepad. “You got it, baby,” she hummed, ripping the page out and hanging it up in the window, then ringing the bell for someone in the kitchen to come grab it. “So, how’re you liking the club? I’ll tell you, Jackie is the only person around here I’d trust running a place like that.”

Denali smiled, adding two packets of sugar and a splash of milk into her coffee, stirring slowly before taking a sip, though her eyes never left Rosé. “I mean, of all the strip clubs in the city, I’m glad I managed to find the one run and entirely populated by lesbians. You can’t plan for that sort of luck.”

Rosé snorted softly. “Guess not. You live in the neighborhood?”

“Nah,” she shook her head, “moved to Flatbush from Chicago.”

“Chicago, huh? You get into any fights with anyone over pizza yet?”

Denali shook her head. “Can I tell you a secret?” she leaned in closer, speaking in a stage whisper, “I’ve always liked New York-style pizza better.”

Rosé leaned in closer when Denali did, their faces only inches apart, close enough for her to take in the scent of her perfume – something woody and spicy with a hint of something heady, something almost as intoxicating as she was. “Oh, she’s a culinary rebel, huh?”

She let out a soft breath of laughter, biting down on her lip. “It does sound kinda hot when you say it like that,” she mused. The distance between them seemed to lessen, albeit by the tiniest bit at a time. But then she became aware of the background noise. “You have an order in the window, I think.”

Sure enough, one of the cooks had been ringing the bell for several seconds in an attempt to get Rosé’s attention. “Oh shit,” she laughed, turning and grabbing the plate, setting it down in front of Denali. “Enjoy,” she winked.

“I sure will,” Denali grinned and batted her lashes, her eyes following Rosé as she went to wait on another table. She gazed at her from across the restaurant. She would make a move, she thought, as soon as the moment was right.

——

Jackie stepped out of her office and noticed Jaida on her laptop in the common area. “Whatcha working on, honey?” she asked, sitting down beside her.

“The next great American novel,” Jaida told her. “Nah, I’m finishing up my OnlyFans page. Denali gave me a crash course in how to get this shit done right. Turns out it’s more than just taking what I do on stage and doing it in my room for a camera.”

“I mean, you’re welcome to make whatever content you need to on the stage or whatever if it helps,” she offered with a slight smile. “Anything I can do to help, let me know, okay?”

Jaida smiled warmly. “You’re the best, Jackie,” she tilted her head in thought for a moment before continuing, “maybe you could review the content before I post it? I’ll know it’s ready for the public if it has your seal of approval.”

Jackie nodded, ignoring the warmth that rushed to her cheeks. She nodded quickly, enthusiastically. “Oh my god, yeah. I’m honored you trust my judgment like that.”

“Hey, you stocked this club with top-tier bitches, you’re clearly onto something,” she offered with a reassuring grin. “Check it out, though,” she turned her laptop towards Jackie, “she’s open for business.”

Jackie leaned closer to the laptop, committing Jaida’s username to memory. “Impressive, I’m sure this is going to go over well for you.” She got out, smoothing out her skirt. “I have to take care of some paperwork, you alright from here?”

Jaida nodded. “All good, do your thing,” she said and waved her off. After Jackie retreated into her office, she continued working on her page. She was sitting in silence, which was why she jumped when she realized she was no longer alone a few moments later. “Fuck, how did you do that?”

Gigi shrugged. “I’m not convinced I’m not a Victorian ghost that’s taken corporeal form.” She kicked off her heels and turned to sit cross-legged on the couch, facing Jaida. “Listen, babe, I can smell an ulterior motive from a mile away. You’re trying to show off for Jackie, aren’t you? What’s the tea?”

“Guess it does take one to know one,” she murmured, reclining into the couch and letting out a sigh. “Yeah, okay, maybe I am into Jackie,” she conceded, “but unlike you, I have a good reason for not acting on it – she hasn’t been out of the closet all that long, I’m not tryna bombard her with shit, you know? It’s a delicate situation.”

“My situation is delicate too,” Gigi insisted, only to sigh and quietly add, “okay, maybe not as much, but still. So you’re just gonna wait it out?”

Jaida shrugged. “I don’t wanna freak her out. You, on the other hand, are crushing on someone that popped out of the womb with Doc Martens on, so you have no excuse.”

Gigi flopped onto her back and let out a dramatic sigh. “I know, I know. I just wish there was a way to just… send out some feelers, you know?”

“I cannot fathom how someone can dance naked in a cage one minute and not be able to look a girl with a One Direction tattoo in the eye the next. Literally, all you gotta do is take that confidence you got in the cage or on stage over to Miss Crystal Methyd, it ain’t that complicated, sis,” she did try to stop herself from talking to her like it should have been obvious – Gigi was almost ten years her junior, she had to remind herself. “You just need to try to stop overthinking,” she added in a more calm and gentle tone.

It wasn’t that Gigi didn’t know that, it was simply much easier to think about than to implement. “I know you’re right,” she murmured and sat up. She looked at her phone, chewing on her lip. “Okay, I’m gonna do something before I talk myself out of it,” she decided and stood up. “I’ll report back to you.”

“Good luck, my lil ghost baby.”

Gigi took a deep breath as she walked downstairs to the main floor. Crystal hadn’t arrived yet, so she perched herself on the bar as she waited, swinging her legs and fumbling with the hem of her skirt. Her head popped up when she heard the door open and her heart started to race when Crystal came into her field of vision.

“Hey Geege,” Crystal greeted, playfully tugging Gigi’s ponytail as she walked behind the bar.

“Hi Crystal,” she replied with the lilted laugh that was only ever elicited by the bartender. She reminded herself of Jaida’s words as she got off the bar and followed Crystal behind it. Just use your stage confidence. Picture yourself naked, she reminded herself. “You’re looking hot today.”

Crystal arched her brow. “Thanks? It’s just my usual uniform,” she shrugged and smiled. “You look hot though, but you always do.”

“Thanks,” Gigi twirled her hair around her fingers, batted her lashes, she was doing all of the textbook flirtations she could think of, but she stopped just as quickly, frowning. “Fuck, why does this feel so weird?” she asked herself, but out loud.

Crystal’s perplexed expression deepened. “What are you talking about?”

Gigi groaned and stomped her foot. “I’m trying to flirt with you, but I don’t know how to flirt with someone I actually like because I haven’t in so long. But you’re here and you’re just… fuck, this was supposed to be easier.”

The confusion on Crystal’s face morphed into pensiveness. She was quiet for a moment, then took a few steps towards Gigi. “I’m gonna kiss you now, unless you stop me.” She waited, giving her ample time to back away or speak up. Instead, she got a quick, eager nod. So, she gently cupped Gigi’s face, pressing a deep kiss to her lips.

And Gigi melted into the kiss, relief washing over her body as her arms draped around Crystal’s neck. Her leg went up like the girl in every single rom-com she’d watched and for a moment she felt like she was sixteen, having her first kiss behind the school while cutting gym class. The magic of the moment was only broken when she sensed they were no longer alone. She turned with a glare. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ us,” Lemon retorted, gesturing between herself, Jan, and Vanessa. “We’ve been waiting for this to happen for ages.”

“You kind of owe us a satisfying conclusion after subjecting us to your mutual pining fuckery you subjected us all to,” Jan nodded in agreement. “We’ve been along for this whole journey whether we wanted to be or not.”

“What they said,” Vanessa chimed in for the sake of being included.

Gigi rolled her eyes, though she did not attempt to let go of or move away from Crystal. “You guys are so fucking weird,” she muttered. “But I guess it’s kind of endearing or whatever,” she added reluctantly.

“We’ll leave you guys to finish your moment,” Jan said gently, guiding Lemon and Vanessa out of the main room and upstairs to the common area.

Crystal watched them leave, then looked back at Gigi. “I love our friends,” she grinned.

“I could take them or leave them,” she joked. “Look, we don’t… need to put a label on this or anything just yet. I know this was sudden… I just needed you to know how I felt.”

“You’re overthinking things again, aren’t you?” Crystal looped her arms around Gigi’s waist. “Listen, I know you only allow yourself three emotions a year, so it means a lot that I got to be on the receiving end of one of them. And like, I’m pretty bad at talking about feelings too, so… I dunno, let’s just see what happens.”

Gigi exhaled in relief. This was why she had gravitated towards Crystal so effortlessly, they understood each other, they were on the same wavelength. “So… how about you come back to my place after work? We could get high, pretend to watch some movies…”

Crystal pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. “It’s a date.”

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musedblues · 4 years

Text

Born To Love You [Part: 1]

summary: When Gwilym ropes you into a lie, the truth becomes painfully obvious. When Joe makes things harder, there's no telling if he even has a clue.

a/n: Welcome to my Joe and Gwil love triangle! I hope you're ready for the wild ride! Below, I'm tagging some lovely friends and mutuals who might be interested in reading and/or spreading the word❗I will not tag anyone in the following chapters unless you ask. As always any and all kinds of feedback are greatly appreciated 💖

w/c: 4k

Part 2

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

"Say 'bye-bye!'" You bounced Olive on your hip, encouraging the almost 15-month-old to practice expanding her very limited vocabulary. You stood facing Gwilym in a sunbeam stained train station, among a sea of comers and goers.

"Oh, no, don't make that face love," Gwilym whined when his daughter whipped her head between you and her father, wearing big sad eyes and the mention of saying goodbye. He reached out to brush away her curls, stoping her from fretting any further.

"Come on, it's just like every other day." You plead, giving Gwilym a similarly pitiful glance, a warning not to blow his parting out of proportion. There was a fifty-fifty chance that Olive might lose it the moment her father disappeared from her line of sight, and you didn't need him to make saying goodbye any harder. The sound of a train whistle cut through the air and a crackly announcement came over the loudspeakers. It was time for Gwilym to go.

"Right, but it's not is it?" Gwilym pouted, reaching for his suitcase and huffing a sigh. He was off to London to go live his dreams, acting in a film organized by real rock and roll royalty. It was the first time he'd spend so long away from his daughter, but did you forget to mention he was living his dream?

"We'll visit you in a month, Gwil! Try and have a little fun, huh?"

///

Back at the loft you shared with your best friend his boyfriend, neither of them were home yet. So it was easy to settle Olive down for a nap. The weight of her father's absence hadn't set in yet, so with the miraculous bit of quiet, you started in on a long list of chores. But it wasn't long before one of your flatmates came to disrupt the silence.

"And, how's the happy couple?" James asked with a teasing smirk as he shut the door, meandering to meet you in the kitchen. You hadn't seen each other in a couple of days since you'd stayed with Gwilym, per his request to spend as much time with Olive as possible before he'd left.

"Gwil and I are not a couple." You reminded in the tone of a breaking news anchor, though this was the billionth time you had to say so.

"Then why, when people ask how long you've been together, do you answer with a date?" James pestered, shifting to help you finish putting away the dishes.

"You know it's not worth explaining to every odd passer-by the strange details of our co-parentship. And when we do have the time, no one believes us anyway."

You and Gwilym had given up the long spiel ages ago. Now, when people asked how long you'd been together, you just estimated how long you'd known each other and gave the years out like the prized answer each old woman in line at the grocery store was anxious to hear. Then you'd go off, together. You always seemed to be together.

It started when Gwilym moved in down the street to the home large enough for its own groundskeeper. You greeted your new neighbor with an invitation to one of James' big weekend parties. Gwilym showed up and chatted with everyone like the oldest friend of all. So, you invited him back to the next get together. And the one after that. And more often than anything, you and he would wind up sharing a laugh on the kitchen floor over a bit of leftover takeaway while the parties raged on in the living room.

When you'd had a rough go of a certain day ahead of one of those regularly scheduled parties, Gwilym managed to make it to your home before you did. In his clutch, a bottle of fancy liquor he'd saved for emergency over the top terrible days.

That was the night you discovered that when you were drunk enough, there was something about Gwilym Lee you couldn't resist. His icy blue eyes filled you with an extra bit of warmth. His usually fond smile turned sultry. He followed you to your room, and a tradition of hooking up after one too many shots was born. It happened enough, in fact, that you decided to give it a go when you weren't plastered. But try as you might, the fire between you and Gwilym proved only to rage when alcohol aided it, so you called the whole thing off.

But... then you missed your period. And Gwil was right down the street. And he was always over anyway. And he was thrilled to bits when you told him how you'd planned to keep the baby- his baby.

"Well, it's been a couple of years now, love. Baby or no baby, he's always one step behind you."

"And we tried, James. Gwil wants the same kind of love I do. And we tried for it. You know that." You defended, getting rather upset only on account of how your attempts to really be together never worked. How as desperately as you tried to force it, you and Gwilym couldn't seem to fall in love. Of course, you were glad he was around, and you were moonstruck by the little girl you'd gotten out of the deal. But damn if you weren't a little lonely at night.

"Alright, alright..." James came away from his playful teasing and shifted with an idea blooming in his gaze. "Let's go out! Like we used to. Come on, I'll get Andy to babysit. You know there's nothing he loves more than your child." James chuckled, coaxing you to have a little fun.

"You, James. He loves you." You dreamed of the day someone looked at you the way James and Andy looked at each other. Witnessing their connection was the only reason you hadn't lost hope that romance existed at all.

"Well, he and I are moving away the first of the year and there's no one I love more than you. So let's go out before we're too far to terrorize the same city."

James got his way. The pair of you waited up for Andy to agree to surprise babysitting duty, and then you went straight to some local dive bar.

Your best friend spent the whole car ride there inflating your ego. With one hand on the wheel, James took his other to curl his long dark fingers around your shoulder that he shook while repeating mantras like "You're so hot no one will care about your baggage" and "You'll find the right guy who isn't put off by your familial facade." and "You will find your love."

You'd always longed to fall in love. The romantical kind of love you'd seen idiots slip into and cry over on the movie screen. But it wasn't at the bar that night. There, James only yammered on about his homemade jewelry and the shop he planned to open next spring in the heart of London. How he'd miss you. The sickening scent of fireball overwhelmed the air and a bunch of lonely looking girls lined the bar top, happy to throw themselves into the arms of the first guy who looked their way.

After lingering at a high table with your best friend and shouting conversation over the 80's music blasting from the jukebox, you called it a night and went home to your darling daughter.

///

Finally, it was September. Gwilym had begged you to bring Olive to London for a month-long visit once he'd settled into the swing of his new job. And you weren't going to pass up the mini-adventure.

Gwilym was a sight for sore eyes, smiling warmly as he greeted you at the train station. Though Olive was too busy sleeping to partake in the reunion. She looked so much like him, even with her matching blue eyes shut to dream.

"You have a beautiful family!" An elder chimed on her shuffle out of the train station, waving a boney hand toward Gwilym as she walked away. You weren't opposed to thanking her because it was true. Just because you weren't really with Gwilym didn't mean anything. You and he had this co-parenting thing down to a science by now, and you were eternally grateful he was around.

The ride to his Airbnb was very short, time enough for you to brag about how easy it was to take so much time off work. Before you knew it, you arrived at the quaint flat with Olive still out cold. You carried her inside behind Gwilym who politely offered to manage your bags.

You pushed past a brilliant blue front door to posh one-room flat with an open floor plan. You could see the kitchen from the living room you'd entered into, and passed by a completely black and white tiled bathroom on your way to the bedroom. There, was a cozy-looking king-sized bed, and you found Gwilym had already set up Olive's travel cot in the corner. You rested her in the raised bed, feeling a twinge of gratitude for Gwil's thinking ahead.

"Do you think she'll be good to go out, soon? We've been invited to dinner. I'm very excited for you to meet everyone." Gwilym grinned, settling onto the comfortable navy blue sofa where you kicked back, too weary from travel to begin unpacking just yet. You decided if Olive woke up in time, you'd go. Low and behold that's what happened.

Only after she crawled delightedly into her father's lap, clearly surprised to see him in the new strange setting. Everything seemed settled into place, with your family back together. Olive was happy as a lark on the car ride to dinner, Gwilym laughed most of the way there, too.

You were miles away from home, but there wasn't much to be missed among such sweet, familiar company.

When you made it a casual brewery, you slipped into the loo around the corner to give your fussy daughter a change.

Then in what seemed to be a blink of an eye, it was time to meet the castmates Gwilym hadn't stopped talking about since your arrival. At a comfortably large table in the back of the restaurant, two strikingly beautiful faces held the space to themselves.

"I see a baby!" A man with dark curls spoke up in a unique lilt. It was easy to put his name to his face with the way Gwilym had gushed over his castmates on the ride over.

"And you must be Rami." You nodded his way with a grin, you would have shaken his hand if yours weren't full. There was something magnetic about the fellow, something about his presence that made you feel as if you'd already met.

"It's lovely to meet you, y/n." Rami drew, turning his warm glance from the baby in your arms, to you.

"We've heard so much about the two of you!" The girl at the actor's side spoke up, in a genuine tone. She had to be Lucy. They way Gwilym explained her earlier with words like "sparkling" and "radiant" seemed flirty but you saw now, they were honest descriptors.

You greeted her kindly, saying something about how you'd also heard a lot of good about her and the man she stood just near.

Rami was leaning close to shake Olive's little hand, and to think they said chivalry was dead. Olive took the invitation to lean away from the hold she had on you to place either of her small hands on the sides of Rami's face. He peered at the babe in wonder, as if he might burst into tears.

"She's precious," Lucy spoke up while Rami tousled your daughter's curls.

"Are the others on their way?" Gwilym asked, pulling out a seat for you as your party came away from the greetings.

"Yes! In fact, before they get here..." Lucy spoke up, settling across the table from you as Olive clamored into Gwilym's lap. The charming woman started digging around in her absurdly large tote, pulling a small sparkling gift bag from it, like Mary Poppins might have.

"A welcome gift, for you!" Lucy extended the present with a smile that matched the sparkle coming from the glitter-covered package.

"Oh, my God." You let out a stunned breath of a laugh, hesitantly taking the gift from her clutch. You'd literally just met the girl and she was already a better friend than some you'd known for years.

"My sister is a designer..." Lucy explained as you unveiled a modest faux leather clutch. There were gemstones peppered across the broad stitching that reminded you of opulent fossils.

"This is so incredibly kind, you shouldn't have-" You gazed up to the sunbeam of a girl across from you.

"Actually I picked it out." Rami boasted, leaning over on his elbow with a stretchy grin. Olive took the chance to snatch the glittery gift bag from your loose clutch.

"You've won them both over, it seems." Gwil smiled, raising a brow your way, everyone chuckling in response.

"My best friend makes his own jewelry," You explained, admiring the delicately designed accessory. James would adore the way the gems were stitched onto the fabric. "He'll be jealous of this no doubt." You giggled, catching Lucy's eye as you felt for your phone in your pocket. You were anxious to take a photo and show it off to him, but...

"Oh, I think I left my phone in the loo." You realized, standing as your dinner guests excuses your brief leave. With Olive happy in Gwils lap, you shuffled off to fetch your phone.

Luckily it was tucked away in the corner of the baby changing station where you left it in a haste. You spared an extra beat to check your look in the mirror, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the ultra-pretty company that had made up your dinner table so far.

On your way around the corner to join the party once more, you were too busy pulling up James' contact in your phone to watch where you were going.

You apologized right as you'd run into someone on the other side. The figure reached a hand out to steady the both of you. But as soon as your apology died down, the person you collided with spoke up.

"Holy shit... you're pretty."

The statement wasn't coy, or sultry. It seemed to be stated as though the person had just found something they'd hadn't even known was missing.

As your eyes traveled up a well-dressed figure, you decided the man in question was an actor. You'd come to know many since being acquainted with Gwil. Actors were a breed much like zoo animals, nice to look at but wild and totally unpredictable.

You responded with a nervous laugh.

But when your eye's landed on the mystery man's, something happened. It wasn't phenomenal, or unnerving, but something, somewhere, shifted. His were like smokey quartz, a deep color with a twinge of clarity that reminded you of a fossil. Just like the stones on the clutch you'd been given minutes ago. There was a soft smile on his lips that reached his eyes, and his sculpted face was almost eerily familiar to you. You couldn't help but stare.

You watched his face focus on yours with no sign of any motive besides expressing his interest in you. Somehow, even having just met, you realized there was something more he was trying to say. So with a small nod, you encouraged the words from the tip of his tongue. With a great deal of care, the man said,

"You know how they say your life flashes before your eyes when you're about to die? Well, right when I looked at you, I'm like, pretty sure I just saw my entire future."

Damn, that would have been cheesy if he wasn’t speaking so delicately. Was that a shiver up your spine? Before a decent enough response could escape from your frozen brain, the energy around you shifted dramatically.

All of a sudden, the dark ball cap placed on the stranger's head flew off, and Gwilym's familiar laugh broke your stilled timewarp.

"Look, he's got a perm!" Gwil was clutching the stranger's ball cap in one hand, holding Olive in the other. Your baby was giggling, reaching for the hat Gwilym had stolen with real true laughter.

The man with gemstones for eyes grew a frown and batted Gwilym on the shoulder. His auburn hair was a collection of soft springs, sticking out in all different directions. You were staring again. The stranger snatched his hat back as Gwilym let out a comical sigh.

"I see you've met Joe." Gwilym smiled.

"Joe." You spoke. It took more effort than you'd care to admit to tear your gaze from the beautiful stranger who you realized was meant to join your dinner party all along. He turned his gemstone eyes back to yours and offered a watered-down version of the smile he gave you moments ago.

"This is Y/N." Gwilym held his hand out to you, and normally you would have taken it, and eased next to Gwil. But something about lying to Joe's innocent and remarkably shaped face made your heart lurch. "And this, of course, is Olive." Gwil went on.

Joe's happy expression shined bright as you'd seen it yet, when Gwilym coaxed his daughter to manage a wave. Then he directed his friend back toward the table where the rest of the cast could be found. As you followed close behind Joe, Gwil turned to speak to you.

"She kept trying to eat the glittery gift bag, so we took a trip to throw it away." Gwilym explained, bouncing Olive a little as he told you his story, "Have you got any emergency toys on hand?" He wondered as you moved back to the table.

"Are you kidding?" You chuckled, approaching your spot. Under your seat you retrieved your bag, unveiling Olive's prized possession. A plastic toy bat, with one red eye missing. She never left it out of her grasp for long, and where it even came from you could never quite recall.

That's when the last of the group arrived. Another blonde called Ben. He looked like a fallen angel with messy hair and striking features. You were in intimidating company all around, but somehow, conversation flowed with ease....

"Rami is amazing I can't believe we are lucky enough to work with an absolute legend." Joe burst, falsely bowing to the castmate he raved about.

"A legend, huh?" You wondered, looking to Rami who was already shaking his head.

"No, no. A children's movie franchise, some popular television series, and a handful of B movies do not make me worthy to be here at all." He meant it. You pursed your lips in surprise. He seemed to have a decorated history, and a humble heart all the same.

"Our resident movie star is actually Joseph. Do you know what he was in?" Ben smirked, his clover colored eyes glancing hopefully at you.

"Uh..." You stalled, feeling that same unexplainable shift in the universe as your eyes lock with the man's in the ball cap. You glanced at Joe's gently upturned lips and wondered if his smile was shaped perfectly to cast a spell on you. Thank God Ben mistook your lingering stare on Joe as a sign that you were clueless to his acting history.

"Joe was in the legendary, groundbreaking, tear-jerker that was the very first Jurassic Park."

"And the second!" Rami pointed out.

"Oh my God?" You asked through surprise, suddenly snapping your gaze from Joe's lips to the rest of his face as it turned a dusty shade of pink.

"He's a star." Ben prodded. Rami was casting an overblown lovestruck gaze to Joe, who made some sly remark to his co star too quiet for you to hear.

"I used to love those films growing up." You happily admitted.

"Well, how come your lover has never seen any of them?" Joe gave Gwilym a playful nudge, smiling to the child in his lap even though Olive's focus was on the dirty plastic menu she couldn't quite reach. Before you could explain how you and Gwilym were hardly lovers, and scold him for failing to have seen a classic in the same breath, you were cut off.

"You've never seen Jurassic Park?" Lucy asked Gwilym in shock.

"I was the kid who kept almost dying." Joe smiled, his perfect American teeth flashing your way for the first real-time ever. It was quite a sight indeed.

"Spoilers!" Gwilym whined, swatting at Joe.

"I'm glad to see you made it out alive." You laughed. He was still smiling at you. "I'll have to watch it again very soon, with this nugget of knowledge."

"Yes, she's at the perfect age to learn about the animal kingdom, it's fun for the whole family you know?" Ben spoke, reaching over to poke your daughter's arm. Olive giggled, just as taken by all of her new admirers.

"I think we're off to a good start." You informed. " She's obsessed with birds. That thing is her favorite." You pointed to the plastic bat with wide bony wings between your daughter's hands. She'd lose her cool when the old toy wasn't within reach.

"I'm just gonna go ahead and say it. I love that kid." Ben declared. Gwilym tickled Olive's side, causing her to let out another sweet little giggle. And from then on everyone was glued to conversation about your darling daughter. Gwilym's new castmates seemed more like lifelong friends as they tried to get Olive to say each of their names. She almost got Ben's, and you could practically see his heart melt.

You took Olive back at the end of the night, making your way to the doors of the restaurant as everyone started saying goodbye for the evening. Gwilym was busy listening to Rami do some impression as you parted ways with Lucy, who was quickly on the rise to becoming your new best friend. As you approached the entrance doors however, Joe was blocking your leave. He was stood out of earshot of everyone else, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Hey I'm sorry about earlier- I really didn't mean-" The guy started to apologize as you approached him.

"No! Don't worry about it. I thought it was cute." You admitted a little too quickly, but started to stammer a different response when Joe furrows his brow "Like, funny. But not like I was laughing at you, just- it's okay. Okay?"

You awkwardly smiled, adjusting the hold you had on Olive. You cut him off because you didn't want him to take back what he'd said. No one had ever said anything like it to you. Especially not anyone like Joe.

"Okay." Joe agreed nervously, grinning all the while.

"So... see you tomorrow?" You asked in a hopeful tone- clearing the air and crossing your fingers to see him again.

"Yeah. Of course." Joe nodded, watching as you slowly started to move away from the interaction.

///

On the ride back to the home Gwilym was renting, he was unusually quiet. You thought he'd want to rave about his newfound friends some more, but figured he was probably just exhausted by all the fun.

But even as you shifted topics to chatter about and eventually shuffled into the Airbnb, Gwil was still rather silent. Something was off, and you were worried enough about his unusual disposition to ask what the matter was.

Gwilym nodded as if he'd been caught, and suggested you had a talk after Olive fell asleep for the night.

You tried to stick as close to her normal routine as possible while you put the babe to bed. Thankfully as your worry mounted over Gwilym's odd demeanor, Olive fell asleep.

You eased into the softly lit living room, admiring the decor until you spotted Gwilym wringing his hands as he paced, waiting for you.

"I fucked up." Gwilym turned to you, somber in expression as you stalled in the entryway.

"I... I panicked and well..." He went on, "Lucy and Ben think we're married."

"Married?"

"Tonight, when we were leaving Lucy asked how long you and I had been married and- and it was a reflex to answer how we usually do when strangers ask how long we've been together. Only I understood after the fact that Lucy was asking something very different."

Gwilym's face contorted into something you'd liken to worry as you stood gaping at him.

"And Ben was there and... they just kept asking these questions. And, well, I dug myself in too deep to take any of it back. I feel so stupid." Gwil fretted, pacing over toward the navy sofa and resting on the arm of it.

While you stood taking in the shocking new info, a more heavy realization settled over your thoughts. You might as well have been married to Gwilym Lee. He was always around, and you always seemed to want him to be.

"Gwil... what the fuck?" You asked, boggled. A little angry, but mostly confused.

"I don't know why I just kept lying. I don't know what to do now, I'm sorry," He hung his head as you went on processing his confession.

You couldn't really blame Gwilym, the two of you had been basically lying to acquaintances for years now. But anyone who took the time to actually ask was always given your long confusing backstory. Actually lying was new. But you just couldn't blame him. So... so what if his new castmates thought you'd vowed to each other till death parted you? They'd fade from one screen to another, like most of all of Gwilym's former castmates had before; coworkers who barely took the time to understand the inner workings of your relationship with Gwilym. Because you were always together. What was the use in trying to explain that away?

"I guess..." You sighed, stepping close to Gwilym as you thought out loud. "We'll just say that... Olive kept trying to take our rings off. If anyone asks why we don't wear any." There wasn't much of a different choice, was there?

"We... we will?" Gwilym lifted his head and peered confusedly up to you.

"Well, it's either that or I explain you lied and embarrass you in front of everyone." You let out a humorless laugh, hating the way your comment made Gwilym cringe.

"And there's no use in that. So, if anyone asks, that's what we'll say." You decided, submitting into the spot fate carved out for you alongside Gwilym.

"Thank you." He nodded meaningfully, daring to shoot you a look that relayed just how much he meant what he said.

"Looks like we'll be sharing a bed to top it all off." You chuckled sleepily, spinning away from the main room.

"Well the couch can-" Gwilym sounded pitiful as you drifted away.

"It's a big bed, Gwil. Come on." You sighed, shuffling toward it.

As you silently unpacked and settled your things into the places they'd remained for three more weeks, you came upon the gift Lucy had greeted you with so selflessly. You admired the clutch and the little gems in the sticking that reminded you of fossils, that in turn reminded you of a certain set of eyes.

When you floated to bed with the simple thought of Joe's gaze locking on yours, your chest filled with feathers.

As you closed your eyes to the long day, a dreadful realization settled the flutter in your stomach.

You'd finally found the man you'd been looking for, but you'd signed up for so much more with another.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

@imtheinvisiblequeen @im-an-adult-ish @sonic-volcano @joemazzmatazz @almightygwil @inthedayswhenlandswerefew @slutforbritdick @drivenbybri

#gwilym lee #gwilym x reader #gwilym lee imagine #gwilym lee fanfic #joe mazzello #joe mazello x reader #joe mazzello imagine #joe mazzello fanfic

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thefamoustownofyeadon · 4 years

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I will keep on writing this stuff until someone tells me to stop The Weirdness of Small Islands

The Isle of Man

1991 and 1992

Oddness flourishes in isolated places. I have always found that and most especially with islands which have sort of got left behind or gone their own way culture. The Isle of Man is a great example. Midway between the England and Ireland in the Irish Sea, you could drive coast to coast…north-south and then east-west in no more than three hours. And a lot of those roads are slow ones with high hedged hundreds of years old.

Legally it’s a thing called a Crown Dependency. So it was part of the British Isles but not part of Britain or the European Union. The tax was low and public services generous. Its biggest industries tax evasion and avoidance. But the place was really about oddness. The island had been a mass tourism destination in the 1950s and 1960s, but then it became cheaper and easier to get to Spain or Greece and that massive traffic of holidaymakers from the north of England collapsed.

These days 80,000 people live there, and they are around half native Manx people and half British imports. A lot of them retirees or workers in the hospitals. I got a job on night duty at the islands psychiatric hospital. The place was an unreformed asylum which was stuck in the 1950s. The ward charge nurse literally did not leave his office where he had recreated a number of military dioramas on hardboard bases. All Second World War, North African desert battles. El Ale Mein and so on. He was not seen in the ward except when he walked through it to get to his office and then to leave in the afternoon. The job was a sinecure obtained because he was someone’s nephew. A number of Manx, that is Isle of Man families ran the place, but what little work was done was carried out by English imports like me. The government brought in a chap called Professor Simms a few years later to do an enquiry, and that was his conclusion. He specifically mentioned the man recreating old battles with toy soldiers in his office.

We had left South Africa because two family members were ill. One in England. I wanted to live in a nice place but have access to family and free health care. My UK family lived forty-five minutes away by plane and a supposedly good hospital in Liverpool was even closer .The night job at the hospital left plenty of free time. I was offered a kind of empty hotel caretaker role with unique accommodation for me and my family. The Grand Hotel dominated the seafront in the old tourist magnet of Douglas, the island's capital. A place a lot like a traditional seaside town in the north of England. The hotel had been closed since the late 1970s. The marvellous late Victorian building had 100 bedrooms. My job was to re-open fifteen of these and let them out to Irish migrant workers who had jobs in those hotels and restaurants that were still open. On top of that, I had to keep a general eye on the rest of the building and run a car parking franchise and clamp the cars which parked illegally.

The hotel was like the Marie Celeste. It had been abandoned as it was one day in maybe 1979. We had a choice of 100 of everything. TV sets, Teas Maids, Fridges, furniture. We got a cat and called it Stig of the Dump (it was later to become a world traveller). My kids roller-skated up and down the corridors and along to a wonderful ballroom with tall windows that looked out onto the sea. When we had storms the blown tips of waves would hit the windows in the most spectacular way. The kids would speed around the room on their skates and I would sit next to a jukebox somebody had left and play 1960s and 1970s records. Kids are almost infinitely adaptable, The hotel became their playground. Our accommodation was spectacular. An apartment set aside at the top of the building with every amenity and perfectly decorated and maintained. The furniture was antique. We lived free and were short of nothing. The fire escape was a worry though. I tried it one day, and it swayed. I jumped off quick.

The island had missed out on the Industrial Revolution and for anyone interested in geology, archaeology and medieval history the place was a paradise. I set about discovering every bit of the island on foot with the kids. They have vitiated, with me every Celtic Kiel, castle and geological feature the island has (hundreds). They say now the only came along for Fox’s glacier mints and would rather have been roller skating in the ballroom. Douglas the main town is a dump but the rest of the island is a little paradise.

We had problems though. The building was designated a three appliance, fire engine response building. The fire service had extendable ladders especially for the tallest of buildings. These were always used in the event of an alarm. The hotel was linked up with the fire station so an alarm automatically triggered this maximum all-island response. We had three of these spectacular responses in the fourteen months we lived there. There was a fault in the system which the owner could never get round to fixing. One day after a night shift I woke up surrounded by firemen in full gear. I had slept through the alarm but they had come crashing through our door to affect my rescue.

The high point of all this was TT week, the infamous international motorcycle races which seemed to centre around Bushes Bar which filled two-third of the ground floor of the hotel. As I walked into our building there was always a stink in the reception area. That was the sea washing into the cellars below Bushey’s bar where the beer was brewed and stored. Workers there wore wellies at high tides. Many thousands of people from across the world flock to the island for the two-week racing event. I opened up a few more rooms for those exceptionally desperate for accommodation. The island traffic laws are relaxed for the event.

The road outside our building became a twenty-four-hour party. Biker’s doing completive wheelies up and down the promenade. People being ill in the flower beds. International bands performed in the bar a couple of floors below my bedroom. I can recall trying to sleep whilst the Steve Miller Band played The Joker. I stood up and felt the music reverberating through the polished wooden floorboards. Not everyone can say they have experienced that song in such a way.

After fourteen months we left the island and returned to South Africa. As I closed the front door for the last time the fire alarms went off again and I had to wait for the fire engines. All the chaps knew me when they arrived and were very friendly but it meant we almost missed our flight to Heathrow, and connection back to Johannesburg.

I revisited the island a few years ago with a friend. The Grand Hotel is now a Barclays Bank HQ for those with immense fortunes.

Photos 'My' hotel, A Map showing the position of the Isle of Man, TT Biker, The Shenanigans outside my window The wonderful landscape

youtube

#isle of man #douglas #Galaxy appartments #Ballamona

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gasstationshane · 4 years

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Tales From The DishWasher, Part 1

In a small town, on the north end of main street, on the same side as the dollar store and local ice cream shop, there's a restaurant that is one of the more popular dine in places in town. On the front side, there's a large sign made out of an maroon awning that shades the outdoor tables and chairs for those that want to eat outside or smoke.

On the back side, there's a sign painted on a metal maroon wall with the restaurants name. There's also a lable on the side of the walls that tell you if the doors are for the kitchen or the entrance. If you were to walk in from the back entrance you might wanna make sure your not walking in through the kitchen door. We've had an array of customers that walked in and ended up with a bag of trash falling onto them. One guy even tried suing us because salsa got on his brand new white jeans. Look, even if he didn't see the sign, the door is obviously a kitchen door.

Now if you walked into the actual back entrance, you'd see a small array of arcade machines that were more then likely made in the 90's. The audio from the games faded from years of dust and play time.There's also a small stand of gumball and candy machines, one of the ones where you can get a temporary tattoo for 50 cents each.

A few footsteps and a turn to the right, you'd see the vast open area. Booths to the immediate right and left, a bar on the slightly farther left, tables all scattered around with more booths on the right and left against the walls.

The kitchen area, which would be left at the arcade machines, has a few different sections. The left of where you walk in is the front line cooks area, a grill, friar and a freezer along the front and back as well as countertops with storage cabinets for lettuce, tomatoes, cheese, and other toppings or side foods.

On the right of the entrance is the dishwashers station. A shelf and carts for the servers to sit the dirty dishes on, and a big sink with a sprayer and a few different soap options on the wall. There's of course, the washing machine that's usually used just for sanitation purposes.

Behind the dishwasher station is the shelves where the majority of the dishes that aren't plates or bowls are kept. Most of the kitchen employees keep their stuff there so it's out of the way. And finally, behind the front line cooks, are the back line cooks area as well as the walk in cooler and freezer.

In the dishwasher area is where I work. I spend most of my shifts there and only leaving to put away dishes or use the bathroom or even get a drink. Not everything's normal here though, most of the eventful things happening at night when it's just me and whoever is the main cook that night, and the closing bartender.

We've dealt with a pack of stray dogs that live in the old car wash station across from the dumpster. Their friendly though thankfully, begging me for pets and belly rubs after every shift as well as treats. All of them are a mixed breed between a husky and a wolf. I've taken the liberty of naming them all.

There's Yogi, the big grey and brown male who got his name from how much he looks like a bear. Luna, a blue-ish grey and white one, who got her name from the moon shaped crescent spot on her back. Waffle, a all black one with blue eyes, who got his name by sniffing out the waffle's in my bag one day. Then there's Crash, who's red orange-ish fur makes him look similar to the famous video game character.

There's a few pups too that I haven't named yet because I haven't had time to witness their personalities. Luna, the assumed to be mother of the pups, keeps them in the old storage room of the car wash. I've re done the storage room a bit to give them a bed and a few other things to help her take care of them.

I'm thankful that no animal control or pound people have taken them yet. If they tried, I wouldn't hesitate to take them home to keep them safe. The only reason I'm not taking them home now is because they are used to this place and I don't wanna make them uncomfortable. But believe me, the moment I feel like they are danger whether it be animal control, or them needing a vet visit, they'd be in my custody in no time.

And then there's the mysterious bar truck driver, a trucker who is always at the bar, no matter how early we open. The only time he's not there is when we're closed. He's always wearing a hat, flannel, and some form of camo. He drinks so many combinations of alcohol during his visits, it's a miracle he never passes out or hadn't died of alcohol poisoning. He knows all the words to all the songs on the digital bluetooth jukebox. If you ask him, he'll stop drinking long enough to sing a long to a full song of your choice if you buy him a drink.

And then there's the mysterious puddle of water surrounding the water softener and the pump. The puddle almost always fills the area where the tile is broken. No matter what we do, the puddle never goes away, and is a murky grey color. Sometimes it won't be as much water, but we could be closed for a week and the puddle will still be there. It doesn't help that some water that sprays off from the sink or gets spilled can add to the puddle.

I guess what I'm saying is, weird things happen at the patio restaurant in town. Mostly at night. Weird stuff has been happening even before I started working there. I remember a week before my first shift, there was an incident where all the liquors and vodkas to make mixed drinks were stolen, broken, or empty, as well as ate a whole gallon of ice cream. The whole situation could have easily been blamed on one of the bartenders or other employees at the time, but they were closed that day.

T-Dog, the main front line cook that I close with most of the time, thinks that the bar trucker pick pocketed the key and the security alarm code when we closed early one night. That would make sense, since they closed early the night before and he could've needed to make up for a days loss worth of drinks.

If you ask him, T-Dog always has a somewhat reasonable explanation to any weird thing that happens there. "That puddle isn't mysterious.." He told me after I had accidentally stepped in it again and almost fell over.

"The water softener is leaking, but since we run water so much with the sinks, washers, and bathrooms, the leak doesn't have a big impact. You think the owners would fix this shit, but since it's not causing any problems, they ain't touching it just to save them some fucking money." I always made an effort to hear out his explanations. They may or may not be true but it's way better than my theory about the bar trucker peeing on the broken tile. But my theory would explain the weird smell that happens over there, no matter how much we clean over there.

T-Dog isn't the only cook I close with. Some nights it's Danny, or Jack. Jack tends to ignore the weird things happening here. But he's also the cook that doesn't make me do everything I need to do before giving me the okay to leave.

And I know he doesn't do it because Tobias, Toby for short, is the opening cook in the mornings has told me multiple times whenever something doesn't get done. I see Toby once a week when I actually work a morning shift. He's one of the not so serious cooks, and jokes around every now and then. There was one time where acted like he was gonna knock over my drink.

What's kinda funny, about Toby being the not so serious guy around here, he doesn't believe any of the weird things that I've told him about. He thinks it's rumours to get more customers in.

"Shane, that bar trucker is only here for entertainment purposes. We don't have a stage so he just sits and takes his drinks at night to keep the drunks entertained." He explained. Well.. There was one night that Toby closed for the first time. He learned the hard way that the weird things really do happen here that night.

It was around ten thirty, and we were working on finishing our stuff up for the night when we heard a loud crash come from the cooler. "The fuck was that?" He asked. I shrugged.

"Maybe Alex is still cleaning his stuff up." I replied. He shook his head.

"No.. I saw Alex leave almost an hour ago. There's something back there." I finished taking care of the next load of dishes that needed to go in the washer, before following Toby to the walk in cooler. He was carrying a broom to defend us incase there was something that could attack us or scare it away.

We opened the door slowly to see, not one, not two, but three possums in the cooler. They were snacking on our most recent batch of precooked fish sticks. They looked up at us like a kid who had just got caught sneaking out. Toby went to swing the broom to get the mammals out of there, but as he did one of then jumped on the shelves, knocking down the large ice paddle.

It smacked into Toby and made him fall back. When he landed, the force of the fall against one of the shelves, causing a case of beer to fall onto him. Glass shattered, making him covered in glass shards, beer, and blood. Most of them in his legs and chest.

"Gah!" He cried out as he went to pulling some of the glass pieces. I rushed to the shelf where we keep the first aid kit, handing it to him but he smacked at out of my hands.

"Call an ambulance Shane! A first aid kit ain't gonna fix this shit." He yelled with a look of frustration on his face. I sighed and went to the area where the phone was and dialed the number for the station. When I had explained the situation, the man on the other end sounded genuinely confused.

"You said a Possum snuck into your walk in cooler, and made a ice paddle fall onto your co worker, which caused a case of beer to break onto him??" She asked to confirm what I said.

"Umm yeah that's what happened."

"But how would a Possum get into the cooler?" Possums usually never bothered with the busier end of town."

"I have no idea, but that's what happened!" She let out a sigh.

"And which restaurant in town was this again?" Now it was my turn to sigh.

"Darbie's Patio on Main Street..."

"Ooh that place!" She said, realizing who she was dealing with.

"Please hold." She said. I assumed she forwarded the call to the department that takes care of our cases. As much weird shit that happens here, the department has given us a specific branch and a officer to take care of us.

"Hello, this officer Mark here. Who is this?" He asked in his professional cop voice. Mark was the officer assigned to us, being close friends with the owners. Him and the owners have probably seen more weird shit than I have my whole life.

"Hey Mark, it's Shane Redfield from Darbies Patio. There was an accident with a few possums in the cooler, and now Toby is covered in glass shards." I briefly explained.

"Hang tight, I'll be there with an ambulance in five minutes or less. If there's any big chucks of glass in him, do not let him take it out. If he bleeds out before he can get to the hospital, that's bad news." I thanked him, hung up the phone and stayed with Toby while we waited. The bartender brought us both a drink. He took a long sip before looking back at me.

"Hey Shane?"

"Yeah?"

"..Does weird shit like this happen all the time...?"

To be... Continued

#tales from the dishwasher #tftgs fan blog #dishwasher shane #darbies patio #shane redfield #shane from darbies

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babbushka · 5 years

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Blue Moon (1/?)

New York, 1987. The air was filled with smog and the streets were ridden with crime. Just another day in paradise. Your quiet life turns upside down when a striking man moves in across from you. You’re falling, fast, into a love that could never, ever, happen…or could it?

(Possible minor character spoilers for Pale from Burn This !)

Word Count: 5500

Warnings: N*FW (language, smut)

Chapter 1: Introductions

It was raining again.

You sighed. Working the night shift sucked, but it was good money and you needed it. The diner was empty save for you, the owner-slash-cook Fishel, and a couple drunk big-rig drivers passed out in their booths.

One of them forgot to put out their cigarette, not that it mattered much – the air was just as hazy inside the diner as it was outside.

Outside was pouring rain, making funny sounds on the roof of the building, if you could even call it that. It was all chrome, one long strip of metal that had a couple booths, a table or two, and a bar. The rain shone red and blue when it passed the neon lights on its way to the gutter. This place was exactly forty years old and it felt it.

You had stuck a nickel in the jukebox and were playing old Frank Sinatra, had started wiping down the counter for the eighth time that hour.

“You got an umbrella sweetheart?” Fishel asked, sticking his head through the pick-up order window.

“Nope, didn’t figure I’d need it.” You sighed, turning to face him. You put a hand on your hip and smiled, “The weather man lied.”

“They always do.” Fishel chuckled. He pointed to the front door, where a few coats and hats were hung up on hooks. A little basket held a single umbrella, one that was bright orange. “Take mine.”

You shook your head, your boss was too nice to you. An old Jewish man who spoke in the heaviest accent you had heard since calling your grandmother, he always liked you. You showed up on time, you did a good job, never brought around any trouble.

“Nah Fish I can’t.” You protested. It was your own fault for not bringing one, you weren’t gonna make an old man get wet because of your mistake.

Fishel was stubborn, and he tsked as he came around from the kitchen to stand behind the bar with you.

“Yes you can, I’m driving home, you’re walkin’. Take the fuckin’ umbrella.” He insisted, but you could be stubborn too.

“My shift ain’t over for another two hours.” You pointed out with a smile.

“Your shift’s over when I say it is.” He rolled his eyes, throwing a dish-towel over his shoulder. “Take some hot soup and go home. You’re tired and no one comes on Monday nights anyways. Don’t worry about clocking out, I ain’t gonna dock ya.” He waved a hand to dismiss you.

You weren’t gonna say no to that, that was for sure.

“Thanks Fish, you’re a live-saver.” You said, taking off your uniform hat and apron, folding them neatly and sticking them in a little cubby under the bar. “Give Chaya a kiss for me.”

“You got it sweetheart.” Fishel said as he went back to the kitchen to do the last bit of cleaning up before he too went home.

You grabbed your coat from the hook by the door, a shiny red trench-coat that you had picked up from a second-hand store when the weather had started turning cold. You turned the collar up to fend off the rain and wind, and took the umbrella so Fishel wouldn’t get mad.

You never minded walking to your apartment after work, no matter what the shift was. If it was during daylight hours, there were always people to talk to, say hello and catch up. If it was night-time, it was usually late enough that no one was on the road. Flushing wasn’t nearly as busy as Manhattan at night, you were thankful for that.

Just like any other night, you avoided the shards of glass on the streets and tried not to trip over the broken sidewalks. The rain made things harder than it needed to be, you thought, but you didn’t live so far away that it was an issue for long.

Your apartment was right above your favorite deli, but even that was closed for the night. You were on the fifth floor, but you didn’t even mind the walk-up because your unit had the fire escape right outside your bedroom. You treated it like a fancy balcony, sitting out on the iron and reading. Tonight was not a night for reading – all you wanted was a hot bath after all this rain.

You stood under the small shelter of the overhang as you fumbled with your keys, your hands gone slightly numb from the cold and wet.

“Hey!” You heard a man shout, and turned sharply out of instinct. “Don’t fucking drop that!”

You realized very quickly that the man wasn’t talking to you, he was yelling at a mover who was unloading his shit from a big truck across the street.

“Who the fuck moves in at one in the morning?” You mumbled to yourself, feeling silly for being scared.

You finally get the key in the lock, and open the door to the stairwell. The man on the street is still yelling when the door closes behind you with a heavy thud.

You didn’t mean for it to become a habit, looking for him.

You knew nothing about him at all, didn’t you? If you did, it wasn’t anything you had gone looking for.

It wasn’t your fault that he moved into the unit directly across from you. The buildings were so close, only a one-way street separating them. His building was nicer, had bigger windows. Fucking zoning.

He wasn’t so loud now that he was settled in, he lived alone. Every morning at six you got up to make breakfast, wasn’t your fault that that’s when he made his too. Wasn’t your fault he only ever whipped up a bowl of cereal or maybe some buttered toast. Those windows were so big you could see into nearly his whole apartment if he had kept his blinds open. As it were, you got a view of his kitchen most days.

On the days where he did have the blinds open, you watched him watch TV in the living room. He didn’t like the news, always got up to click off the monitor right at four p.m. You watched him snort coke off a little mirror in his bedroom. Watched him smoke a cigarette or drink a beer on the fire escape.

He never got any calls, and he never sent any out either. At night, you couldn’t hear any sounds of fucking or fighting. You hoped that meant he was single. You wondered if he was lonely.

He came home at the same time you did when you worked a day shift – two o’clock. If you got lucky, the two of you would cross the street at the same time.

You felt wrong, watching him like this. Every day you would make your breakfast and eat it in front of the window. He ate standing in front of the stove, didn’t even bother to sit down. He would put his dirty dishes in the sink and head out the door, and you’d watch him until he’d get in his car.

You wondered where he went to work that was so far away he needed a car.

He looked so slick, with his black leather jacket, dark jeans. He wore a black wife-beater at home, it showed off his arms. He had nice arms, you thought.

“What do you mean his name is Pale?” You asked three weeks later, sitting on the floor of your living room, your best friend sitting behind you with a pair of her hairdresser’s scissors she swiped from the salon where she worked.

“What do you mean, ‘what do you mean?’ He’s from Jersey.” She shrugged, as if that explained anything.

You were getting your split ends trimmed. Nothing fancy, nothing worth making an appointment over, and you were always eager to see your friend.

“Ugh.” You groaned, making her laugh.

“I know, works in restaurant business.” Your friend snipped away, chewing her gum loudly. “I don’t know much else about him.”

The conversation had shifted to the man – to Pale – because you knew that if anywhere was gonna have gossip, it was the salon. And since you were too broke to go into the salon, you thought inviting your friend over was the next best thing. You had asked if she had heard any news about new people, the town loved new people.

“He lives right across from me.” You said with a smile, the kind of smile that meant you were up to no good.

“Right across?” Your friend asked, eyebrows raised.

You nodded and pointed to the big set of windows across the way.

“Like I could chuck a brick and break his window if I wanted to.” You laughed, and she laughed too.

“Do you want to?” She asked.

You hummed, pretending to think for a while. She laughed again.

“I dunno yet.” You admitted, “He looks like trouble.”

You didn’t know what compelled you to say that. Maybe it was how wide his shoulders were, how big his feet looked. You knew what they said about big feet.

“All guys from Jersey are trouble.” You friend winked. “Word on the block is that he’s opening up a new restaurant here.”

“We got enough of those, don’t you think?” You groaned, thinking about Fishel and Chaya, how they don’t need any more competition. Not that your diner was always dry or anything like that…but sometimes you felt that emptiness on Monday nights deep in your chest. You didn’t need any more of it.

“Lots of people in Queens, people gotta eat.” Your friend shrugged.

“I suppose so.” You laughed, you always did like that she was frank.

She put the scissors down, all finished with your trim. She brushed the loose bits of hair off your neck, and you got up to grab the little broom and dustpan to sweep up the ends that were all over your concrete floor.

You had to pass the window to get to the broom, and you lingered in front of it. Pale was smoking a cigarette out on his fire escape.

“He’s kinda handsome, ain’t he?” You asked softly, not moving from the window.

“He’s very handsome, from up here anyway.” Your friend agreed, moving to stand next to you.

She got a glimpse and had her fill, taking the broom from you and going back to the living room to sweep up.

Pale flicked his cigarette and looked up at you.

Your heart leapt into your throat, but you didn’t move. Flight or fight had nothing on freeze.

Pale sucked down his cigarette, staring.

You smiled at him. He frowned.

You stepped away from the window, going back to the living room to spend time with your friend, even if Pale was the only thing on your mind.

For the first time in a long time, Pale was hungry.

Who the fuck were you? How had he gone a whole month living in this new apartment – away from his fucking family, away from his shitty friends, away from everything and everyone – not noticing you? You were all he could notice now.

You lived right across from him. He could fold up the shitty newspaper into a paper airplane and sail it right into your window if you left it open. You never did, and he never would, but that wasn’t the fucking point.

What even was the point? He didn’t know. He liked to watch you. Was that creepy? Was he a fucking creep? No, he told himself, you started it, you were watching him too. You thought he didn’t know, but he knew. But it was okay.

Wasn’t it?

He liked the way you looked, walking back from the little market down the street. You always carried too many plastic bags on your arms, but you still looked good. He liked the way you looked when you stopped to talk with people you knew on the street, probably coming home from work. He wanted to find out where you worked.

Pale jerked off the night he bumped into you on the street.

The bump had been on purpose, he had been watching you from his window long enough to know that on Thursdays you worked until two o’clock, right when he was walking from where he parked his car. He hated parking his fucking car, he would’ve sold it already but he was too attached to it. Sentimental.

It was overcast, and you were wearing a shitty trench coat and heels that were scuffed, but you still looked like a movie star. He bumped his shoulder into you, making you lose your balance just a little bit. He reflexively steadied you with his hands, and you looked up at him, eyes wide.

“Sorry,” You said, all flustered.

He thought that was funny – he had bumped into you, and yet you were apologizing. He hated apologies but he found he didn’t hate that one.

His eyes flicked to your mouth, the way you chewed your lower lip.

He didn’t have a chance to say anything back to you before you were hurrying over to your apartment, the one right above the deli. They made a good sandwich, Pale had taken to hanging around there more and more after meeting your eyes on the fire escape.

He didn’t want you to hurry away from him.

Pale had been thinking about it all day, and when the sun went down, he found himself drawn to his windows. You left your curtains open that night, and Pale caught a glimpse of your naked body as you walked from your bathroom to your bedroom.

“Holy shit.” He said to himself, his cock immediately jumping in his pants.

He shoved a palm over it, groaned at the friction.

You were brushing your hair, facing away from the window, but Pale could see your back in the light of the shitty street-lamps. You weren’t wearing a bra, and when you stood up to put the brush away or do whatever the fuck you were gonna do next, he got a sight of your bare ass – no panties either.

Pale moved just out of the way of the window so that he could lean back on his couch and get his cock out in his hand, unbuttoning his jeans faster than he had ever done before.

He was so hard that it hurt, hadn’t been this hard in a long time. He jerked off slow, wanting to savor the sight of your skin. Was that a nipple he just saw? He thudded his head back against the couch and had his eye trained on your window, hoping you’d walk past again.

You did one better, decided now was a good time to file your nails. You laid down on your bed that was right next to the window sill, your tits proudly on display. One leg crossed over the other, you swayed your foot to music Pale couldn’t hear as you filed your nails. Your body glowed from the street-lamp, and he held his breath.

He wanted to suck on your nipples, have you suck him off. He wanted to bruise you up with his tongue, make you come. He wanted to hold your hair tight in his fist and bite at your shoulder and make you shout out his name.

What was your name?

“Fuck!” he had yelled, shooting his load all over his wife-beater.

His curse traveled out the open window, bounced off the wall of your building. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked, even further in the distance there were sirens. But right across the way, he could have sworn he heard you laugh.

“Shit.” He had said, wiping the come off of his hand onto his shirt, it had to be washed anyway.

He’d go down to the laundry room in a couple days, it didn’t matter.

He fell asleep right there on the couch, and dreamt of the way your mouth might look around his cock.

The next afternoon, he found himself at the deli again, hoping to catch a glimpse of you.

“Hey, are you open?” He asked the young guy that worked the counter.

Pale had only been in the deli a handful of times, but each time he came it was an older guy running it. Pale didn’t recognize this guy, his name tag said Marty.

“Yeah pal, what can I get ya?” Marty said with a smile.

“A pastrami on rye.” Pale said, it was the only thing he ordered, he hadn’t bothered trying anything else on the menu.

Marty stepped over to the meat slicer, and Pale followed from the other side of the counter.

He had been itching to know more about you, and figured since he’d seen you walking into the place on more than one occasion, maybe someone in here could tell him about you.

“Do you know the people who live in this building?” He asked, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, surveying the meats in the glass case.

“Some of ‘em.” Marty said with a shrug.

“I’m lookin’ for a girl.” Pale said, but Marty laughed.

“There’s lots of girls that live here. You gotta be a little more specific.”

Pale didn’t like that answer, he was getting aggravated. He wanted to get high and fuck you into the floor, who the fuck was this Marty guy anyway?

Pale lit a cigarette and smoked it fast, trying to not start a fucking fight.

“I don’t know her fucking name, she lives on the fifth floor.” He snapped anyway.

Marty’s hand stilled, “She in trouble or something?”

Bingo. He did know you.

“No, I just – ” Pale started, he just what? He couldn’t say what he wanted, not really. “I just want to talk to her.” It wasn’t totally a lie.

Marty saw through it anyway. He made the pastrami sandwich and wrapped it in paper for Pale.

“She ain’t home.” He said sharply.

Pale slapped a couple dollars onto the counter and took the sandwich right back to his apartment. He ate half of it before getting irritated and wrapping it back up, throwing it in the fridge.

If he was fascinated with you before, now he was obsessed. He didn’t know what to do, it made him on edge. He wanted to find out everything about you, but didn’t want to scare you away. Did you know that he saw you that night? You had to fucking know, right?

Maybe it was just a coincidence, the sane part of his fucking inner monologue told him. Maybe you had just been too hot, not known that people could see. Maybe you thought it was late enough and that everyone was already asleep. Maybe Pale was just being fucking psychotic.

Maybe he was psychotic, but he was hot for you, and he hadn’t been hot for anyone since – he cut that train of thought off real fucking fast.

You weren’t at your window the next day.

Or the day after that.

Pale was starting to get worried, where the fuck had you gone?

He was jerking off more, couldn’t get the sight of you out of his head. He was almost starting to think he was hallucinating the whole fucking thing, that the coke was twisting his brain about it, that it never happened at all.

Until it happened again.

And again.

You were getting more bold, more brave. You were wearing clothes less and less. Your windows were always closed now, but the curtains were open. Pale went crazy any time he saw you, watched you from his apartment.

He couldn’t get his hands down his pants fast enough – it was bullshit, it should be your hands, your pussy.

Every night for almost a week you were finding ways to drive him insane, reading a book on the fire escape in a see-through shirt and nothing else, talking on the phone completely nude, cooking in the kitchen in your panties.

It was too much. This wasn’t an accident, this wasn’t Pale catching you off-guard – you were doing this on purpose.

He was walking up the stairwell when he heard a couple of his neighbors talking as they passed him by.

“I’m pissed I’m all out of film.” One of them laughed.

“Gonna take pervy pictures?” The other elbowed him in the side.

“Not my fault, she’s the one with her whole fucking cunt on display.” The first groaned, making the other laugh loud – they were drunk, but they were talking about you.

“God what’d I do to get my hands on her…”

Pale’s blood boiled, he hadn’t even thought about the possibility that his neighbors might see you.

He turned right the fuck around and nearly ran down the stairs, crossed the street, and managed to catch one of your neighbors entering the side door to the stair-well.

“Hold it!” Pale called out, and the guy did. Didn’t even ask any questions, “Thanks man.” Pale said anyway.

He was going to put an end to this once-and-for-fucking-all.

It was late, and you were bummed.

Pale hadn’t been home all day, wasn’t at his window. Wasn’t watching you.

You had gotten into bed, and were just about to close your eyes when there was a pounding at the front door.

You jumped, who the fuck was here this late at night? You didn’t think as you went to the door, not even bothering to look through the peephole before you opened it.

“Hello?” You asked, half annoyed. What did they want?

You had maybe a fraction of a second to realize it was Pale, before he had his tongue shoved down your throat. Oh, you got all excited, you knew what he wanted.

He kissed you in the doorway of your apartment, wound an arm around your waist and pulled you flush against his muscular chest. His other hand grabbed your face, held you there as he kissed you. The leather of his jacket was warm from sitting on his skin all day, you brought your hands to grab at the lapels of it.

You were still naked, and your skin felt like it was on fire, like he was burning you with his touch.

Pale walked you backwards and shut the door behind him with his foot, breaking away to look down at you with a frown.

“Jesus you’re such a fucking slut, do you know that?” He demanded, letting go of your face to pinch at your nipple. You moaned, pushed your chest into his hands. “Look at you, where’s your shame? Nevermind don’t answer that.” Pale picked you up and threw you over his shoulder, spanked your ass, hard.

You realized that he had been watching you, maybe for as long as you had been watching him. He apparently knew the layout of your apartment, because he made it to your room with no mistakes. Granted, it wasn’t that complicated of a layout with the one bedroom, but still.

He threw you down onto the bed with enough force that you bounced on the hard mattress.

“I’m gonna have to teach you a lesson, not to go whoring out to just anyone.” He grunted, pointing out your window to the windows belonging Pale’s neighbors.

So what if the neighbors had seen, you thought. You got what you wanted, Pale was throwing his shirt into a random corner of the room, working on getting his jeans off. He wasn’t wearing any underwear, and his dick was huge. You groaned, shimmied up the bed properly.

He crawled over you, his big hands pushing and pulling your legs to fit around his waist.

Your eye caught a glint of metal on his hand, and you grabbed at his wrist.

“You’re callin’ me a whore?” You asked, holding up his left hand that very clearly wore a wedding band.

So, not single then, you thought, disappointed. Not single, but still here with you. You could work with that.

“That’s none of your fuckin’ business.” He grunted, snatching his hand back.

“Okay.” You said with a smile. God you were so ready to get fucked, Pale was lining up his cock and all you wanted was to be filled. Who gave a shit about wedding rings and what that meant anyway?

“Okay?” He asked, suspicious.

“What do you want from me? Yeah, ‘okay.’” You nodded, impatient, and he nodded too.

He wore a gold chain, of course he did. It hung off his neck, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

“Okay.” He said, thrusting into you.

“Fuck!” You moaned, tossing your head back.

He wasn’t gentle, and you didn’t want him to be. He grabbed at your wrists, at your throat, at your tits, as he rammed himself into your wet cunt. He couldn’t get it in you all the way at once, he needed to work you open. You probably should have told him to finger you open, you’ll save that for next time.

Your legs traveled further up his back as he railed you, shoved you up against the headboard with the force of it. He was strong, moved you however he wanted, grunting in your ear and groaning with pleasure.

“Pale – !” You yelped when he found your gspot, rubbing his cock over it again and again until tears were pricking at your eyes.

“You’re gonna come like this.” He said, spitting into your open mouth.

And you did.

He cursed loud when you clenched around him. He kept going, wasn’t anywhere near close to being done, and neither were you, still too keyed up. You came but it hadn’t been enough to take the edge off, you still had more in you.

“Say my fucking name again, you slut.” He ordered, biting your shoulder hard enough that he was going to leave little indents there.

“Pale!” You gasped, gripping his hair in your hand, tugging him away from your shoulder to kiss you, hot, open mouthed and all tongue, “Fuck me Pale, give me more, I can take it.”

He shuddered under your touch, under your tongue. He pressed a hand on your hips to push them down onto the mattress, held you in place and slid further into you.

His cock felt like it never ended, like it was up in your throat.

He worked you open, got you relaxed enough that he could fuck you properly, enough that he could get all the way inside you. You came again, just from the feeling of being so full and the sounds of his breathy groans in your ear.

“I’m gonna fucking train you to take this on the first fucking thrust, you hear that you slut?” Pale babbled, tweaked at your nipple and made you cry out. Tears were spilling over your cheeks from being so over-stimulated, but you didn’t want him to stop.

“Yeah go ahead and cry, best sex you’ve ever fucking had, let it out.” Pale grabbed your face in his hand again, kissed you real deep.

You desperately needed some attention on your clit, but every time you reached down, he smacked at your wrist.

“You tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you. Got it?” He asked, panting, chest heaving.

His hips were starting to get erratic, the sound of his skin slapping against yours was driving you wild.

“Touch me, please – Pale, please.” You begged, sucking on a vein on his neck.

Pale reached a hand between you, rubbed little circles on your clit that had you shouting, eyes shut so tight that you could see stars. You gushed all over his cock, making an obscene noise as he continued to fuck into you, you finally hitting the mind-shattering orgasm that you had been after.

You moaned his name softly on an intake of breath, and that was enough to make him pull out and come all over your tits with a shout.

“Fuck, oh fuck.” He watched his come pool on your chest.

Watched you trace a lazy pattern in it, dragging it around your skin.

He scooped it all up and fed it to you, leaving you only a little sticky. You ate every drop of it, and he licked his lips.

He flopped down onto the bed next to you and pulled you onto his chest. He pinched your chin in between his fingers and tilted your lips up to his. You kissed him hungrily, and couldn’t help but smile against his lips.

“Don’t go getting any fucking ideas, I don’t do romance – I ain’t that kind of guy.” Pale said, breaking the kiss to look at you seriously.

“Didn’t say you were.” You smiled, you knew exactly what kind of guy he was.

“Good.” He said, slapping your ass. “Now sit that pretty pussy on my fucking face, I’m not fucking finished with you yet.”

You grinned, and shuffled around on the bed so that he was resting on your pillow, you were straddling his head, gripping the headboard as he steadied your hips with his hands.

He knew how to eat a girl out, that was for sure. You were hesitant at first, but the way he buried his nose right into your cunt had you whining and moaning and shaking around him. You melted, the whole miserable universe reduced to his tongue fucking you.

He groped at your ass, slid a finger and then two into your pussy to rub at your walls. You couldn’t help but think you were doing this all backwards, that this shoulda come first. You didn’t care, not with the way he was stroking your clit with his nose.

You were almost afraid you were going to break the fucking headboard with how hard you were holding onto it, how Pale had had it slamming against the wall.

You didn’t last long at all, and you came again. He swallowed every fucking drop of it.

Pale fucked you for hours, came all over you, inside you. In your pussy, on your tits, in your mouth, everywhere. You were absolutely covered in it, and it was the best god damned thing he had ever seen.

You were cleaning yourself up now, and he leaned back against your headboard, chain-smoking. You had been gone for a little while now, what the fuck was taking so long?

He hadn’t heard the water start to run or anything, so he knew you weren’t taking a shower. He hoped you weren’t passed the fuck out on the bathroom tile or anything – had you had anything to eat? He shook his head, it didn’t matter.

A minute or two later when you still hadn’t shown back up, he decided it did fucking matter, and he held a cigarette between his teeth as he pulled on his jeans.

He opened the bedroom door, ready to rescue you, when the delicious smell of sizzling bacon hit his nose. His stomach growled loudly, and he realized he hadn’t eaten anything all day.

He made his way to the kitchen where you were standing in front of the stove. You were still naked, completely nude, hair a fucking disaster on your head, back scratched up and shadows of bruises forming, flipping eggs and bacon in a skillet that splattered hot oil onto your skin.

He had to have fucking dreamt you up.

“Doesn’t that shit hurt?” Pale asked, standing in the doorway of the little kitchen.

It was quaint, if he had to pick a word. The room in the apartment with the most fucking furniture anyway.

“Come eat.” You ignored his question, sliding some eggs and bacon onto a plate, and putting the plate on a small circular table.

“How’d you know I’d be hungry?” Pale frowned, making you laugh.

Toast popped out of the toaster just then, and you put them on the plate too.

“You’ve been fucking me for the past three hours, I’d be surprised if you weren’t starving.” You said with a sly smile, “Plus, it’s six a.m.”

“You stalking me or something?” Pale asked, sitting down at the table.

The smog outside was making the sunrise a real pretty orange, but he couldn’t stop looking at you.

“No more than you stalk me.” You said easily, handing him a fork. “They’re real yummy, I promise.”

“Oh yeah?” Pale asked.

“Yeah. I work in a diner. I know all the secrets.” You winked, fixing yourself a plate as well.

Pale grabbed your waist and settled you down sideways on his lap.

“What diner?” He asked, trying to figure you out.

“An old one.” You said, giving him no luck. You wrapped your arms around his neck, kissed his cheek much too sweetly.

“What’s your name?” He asked.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You said back, stealing his fork, and scooping some eggs into your mouth.

Pale ate your breakfast and didn’t dare comment on how good it was. When was the last time someone made him breakfast? When was the last time someone fucking did anything for him?

He didn’t know, but he knew he had to see you again. He knew it from the minute you opened your fucking door, your mouth, your legs for him.

He didn’t know how, or why, but he was gonna make you his.

That’s all for this chapter folks! I hope you all liked it, i’d love to know what you think!!!

Tagging some pals! As always, if you’d like to be added or taken off the list please just shoot me a message! @fullofbees @spinebarrel @oh-adam @dreamboatdriver @bad–bad–man @thecurlycaptain @bourbonboredom @driverficarchive @aweirdlookingtree@rosalynbair@redhairedfeistynerd @adamsnackdriver @glitzescape@arwarz @adamsnacc-kler @kyloxfem@fallin-for-youreyes @kylo-renne

#reader insert #pale x reader #kylo ren x reader #burn this #burn this broadway #adam driver x reader #my writing #blue moon

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mattzerella-sticks · 5 years

Text

Two Left Feet by mattzerella_sticks

After so long in the family business, you need to carve out your own moments to relax. And what better time than immediately after freeing a ghost from its tether to the mortal plane. Especially after nearly dying from its hands.

Although if the ghost didn't kill him, Dean is sure Cas will. Asking him to dance was a tempting offer, one Dean knows would draw him close enough to the sun that his wings might melt. He happily takes Cas up on his offer.

Will the free fall be worth it?

Dean drops onto the floor, spectered hands around his neck dissolving into wispy dust. He stutters a gasp while trying to calm his rapid heart beat, vision slowly becoming more defined. Enough that he can see the outline of the bulbs hanging overhead and not confuse them for strange, indoor stars.

A hand jumps into view, flexed and waiting. Sam arches a brow at him, “Are you gonna stare at it or…?”

“Give me a break,” Dean sighs, grabbing Sam’s hand. His brother hauls him upwards, Dean wobbling momentarily. “You weren’t the one nearly choked out by the kinky ghost.”

“You’d prefer he attack in a bedroom or something?”

“Shut up…” He pokes at his neck, wincing. Their ghost left its mark on Dean in a way he won’t forget for a couple of weeks. Dean hopes they can stop by a pharmacy on their way to the motel, otherwise he’ll need to invest in some turtlenecks.

It was supposed to be a simple salt ‘n’ burn. A break after all the resurrected hijinks Chuck dumped on their doorsteps. Something easy they could handle if their hands were tied or they were blindfolded. Sam showed them the article three days ago about people choking on their food in this restaurant. While not unusual, five people choking in the span of two hours meant the case fell into the hunters' jurisdiction. Sam pressed their suits, Dean readied their I.D.s, and Cas loaded the fresh pound of salt they bought into Baby’s trunk.

Not even a day in Lubbock Sam figured out who their ghost was. The owner’s daughter was talking to them a few feet away from where Dean stood now, telling them about her father. How he started Sweet Ray’s Home Foods to bring people together and have them care about what they eat. And that in his twilight years he felt all the work he did went nowhere. People don’t care about food today - all they want is ambience and presentation. Because Sweet Ray’s was losing more than they were making Ann Marie fed the belly of the trend beast.

“Every time I look at the portrait of Daddy I feel like he’s disappointed in me,” she said, frowning at the kind smile on the older man’s face. Hand poised on his hat as if caught mid-tip.

“Felt like people were disrespecting his food,” Sam whispered to him, “all the people who choked were known food bloggers in the area…” Clearing his throat, he asked, “I’m sure he’s proud of you for staying with the family business… a lot of people are. Local place, been in the area for years… His burial must’ve been well attended?”

She screwed her face tight, considering the question. Dean worried she wouldn’t answer. Deem it too invasive and not important for the case. Luckily she said, “Wasn’t any burial. Came into this world as dust and that’s how we’re gonna go out…”

With their graveyard plan turning to ash he was worried they’d have to do more detective work. Risk tripping over a sore nerve and being cast off from the restaurant before finding the haunted object. But Cas came in with the most important observation. He stared up at the portrait long after the rest of them had their fill. “Your father’s hat,” he asks, “It’s remarkable.”

“It is, isn’t it?” she asked, glancing at it again, “Custom made. Anniversary present from momma - wore it all the time. Wanted it to be cremated with him but I… I couldn’t part with it. So I have it sitting where he always had it, on a bust of Clint in my office.”

Tether found they quickly wrapped up the interview. As Sam left their contact info with Ann Marie, Dean pulled Cas to the side. “Good job pinning the hat. What made you think of it?”

“I honestly didn’t think the hat would be so important,” Cas said, “I only wanted to know if they sold others like it. Thought it might look nice on you…”

Cas walked away, leaving Dean with a flushed face and a mind stuck in an endless loop searching for the correct response. Neither mentioned it again for the rest of the day. Not when they had all the time to kill in the late afternoon where they filled the silence with local news and bad reruns of shows they haven’t seen. Nor as Dean went to grab the hat from the office, touch lingering while he handed his lighter over.

Except he passed a mirror, and Cas’s words returned with full force. He wondered what he might look like in it as well. Dean only had a second to admire it, though, as popping up behind his reflection was the ghost they were hunting. It flung him out of the office and into the dining area, disturbing many of the tables and chairs. Then, without letting up, Ray appeared above him and clung to his neck like a stubborn tie.

It was supposed to be a simple salt ‘n’ burn, but Dean guesses he might be too old for even those anymore.

Cas enters from the kitchen, beers in hand. “I know it’s not a substitute for angel mojo, but,” he offers one to Dean, “it’ll make you feel better?” His neck burns from the weight of Cas’s stare. Thinking about times when all he needed was to brush up against Dean to fully heal him. Except when Chuck left he took all the power with him, meaning Cas was as human as everyone else. A thrilling but terrifying thought.

Dean thanks him with a weak smile, half his face barely finding the energy to twitch. Accepting the bottle, he takes a healthy sip from it and collapses onto a nearby chair that wasn’t overturned.

Sam joined, sitting across from him. Cas opted to lean against the nearby bar.

“Hat burn nicely?”

“Still smoldering when I left it,” Sam said, “Cas?”

“It’s gone,” he told them, “I kept the remains in the skillet, though. Along with a note apologizing to Ann Marie. Hopefully she can add it to her father’s ashes.” Cas glanced away from them, sipping at his beer.

“As long as you didn’t sign off on it then that’s fine…” Dean trails off as Cas pushes off the bar and over to the nearby jukebox. He fiddled with it silently while his backside faced the brothers. Meeting Sam’s curious gaze for a beat, Dean returned to staring at his friend’s rumpled trench coat. “Whatcha doing there, Cas?”

“It’s too quiet in here,” Cas says, “Since we exorcised her father and burnt her hat, I’m sure Ann Marie won’t mind us listening to a song or two.”

“Or drink a few of her beers,” Sam chuckles, sipping from his own bottle.

“That too.” He turns around and smiles, “Any recommendations?”

Dean waves his drink, “Whatever you want… as long as you got the change, that is.”

Cas digs in his pocket for a quarter, refocusing on the records inside the jukebox. Finding a loose coin, Cas slips it into the slot and chooses. A soft melody strums through the speakers as slow and sweet as molasses. He sways on the spot to the music.

It’s an enchanting song, the singer crooning in a deep twang to accompany his guitar playing. Cas twirls, his trench coat fanning behind him. He peeks one eye open at them and frowns. “This isn’t right.”

“Don’t know about that,” Dean says, “looks pretty right to me.”

“No I meant,” he sighs, advancing towards their table. “I shouldn’t be dancing alone. It’s so… awkward . One of you should come dance with me.”

Dean’s grip on the bottle’s neck tightens. He swallows around the bundle of nerves in his throat, made tougher by how the ghost squeezed it. Cas keeps his eyes trained on Dean’s as he steps closer. Only at the last minute he switches over to stand by Sam. “Would you care to join me, Sam?”

Sam schools his features to hide how amused he is. He shakes his head, “Sorry, Cas, I wouldn’t be any good. Was born with two left feet.”

“Shame,” Cas hums, returning his attention to Dean, “Were you, then?”

The haze Dean’s trapped him blocks out most of his hearing. Fluttering his lashes he asks, “Was I what?”

“Born with two left feet?”

Thrown, Dean answers honestly with a meek ‘no’.

“Good,” Cas grins, teeth unfurling like the bright, white banner of Dean’s surrender, “Then come dance with me.”

Disagreement bubbles within him, burst by the sharp blue of Cas’s gaze. He sighs and finishes off his drink. “You know I can’t say no to you, angel.”

Tensing, Dean waits for Cas to pull away from him. Except he never does. Never rages or cries or leaves like he expects him to, like he thinks he should. The first time Dean used that nickname was one tiresome night after putting down some ghouls. They gathered in the kitchen, too exhausted to find their rooms. Barely conscious he asked his friend, “Angel could you put on the coffee?”

No caffeine could compare to the adrenaline shooting through him after saying that. He bit his lip and glanced over at Cas, hoping he hadn’t heard him. But Cas nodded and dug inside the cabinets for the K-cups.

Dean tried apologizing between sips of his coffee. Cas wouldn’t accept it, telling him it was okay. “I might not be an angel anymore,” he sighed, running his thumb against the rim of his mug, “yet I’m glad I can be… your angel.”

He sealed that tender moment in the walk-in freezer of his mind so he wouldn’t have to deal with it, along with every other uncomfortable thought Dean has about Cas. If Dean didn’t focus too much on those feelings than he wouldn’t have to deal with the disappointment that would surely follow.

“Dean?” Cas disturbs him from his trance, “Before the song ends?”

Rolling his eyes, Dean pulls himself forward and into his friend’s space. “C’mere,” he says, dragging him closer with a hand at his back. His other hand tangles with Cas as they sway into the makeshift dance floor the ghost created.

Cas’s hand rests at his lower back. Even if he is human now it still burns like Cas pours all his grace through this point of connection. His head drifts close to Dean’s in a way that forces every nerve to spark and ready for the inevitable. While they share orbits and their breaths mingle, Cas never gets close enough to press skin against skin. Instead leaning away to sway onto his heels.

It’d be easy for Dean to leap first. Their fingers are already tangled together, fit so perfectly Dean can’t believe he’s actually allowed to hold Cas in such a way. His face pinches with the forced tightness he inflicts on his expression. If he let it slip he might scare Cas with the pure fire and delight wanting to break free. If their cheeks did happen to brush or Cas’s eyelashes tickled his nose Dean might burst. Lose all consciousness and only awake after doing something he would regret never being able to remember.

The song starts trailing off and Cas’s expression falters. Like he wants another minute of dancing, to spend more time with him. Dean would trade anything for the song to never end, so he and Cas could dance around each other into eternity. Unable to do that he tries to make the last few chords special and twirls Cas around.

“Hey!” Sam calls, “You want me to throw you a rose?”

Immediately remembering their audience, Dean’s face flushes a bright pink. Dean steps away from Cas and strides towards the exit. “Should probably be getting out of here anyway…”

Dean has his hand on Baby’s door when he realizes finding his keys is impossible. Because Cas never let go of his hand. Or, more embarrassingly, Dean won’t let him leave.

“Uh, sorry there, Cas,” Dean starts, fingers twitching in his hold, “didn’t mean to… leave with you like that.”

“I didn’t mind, Dean,” Cas says, smiling at him like how the sun parts through clouds,“It is rather late, isn’t it? At least we managed to have one dance…”

“Half a dance,” he corrects him, cringing.

“Half a dance…” Cas repeats, expression never faltering, “then we should finish it at some point, don’t you think?”

“What?”

“Might I confess something?” he continues, mouth dipping close to the shell of his ear. Dean’s thoughts stretch and thin until finally his sanity snaps. He nods, not trusting his voice to crack like he was a teenager all over again. Cas chuckles, breath ghosting and leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Seeing the ghost mark you up like that… makes me sad that I cannot remove those bruises like I used to. But I have a solution that would… satisfy both of us.”

His hand not caught in Dean’s slowly rubs at Dean’s neck. There’s no mistaking the subtext, a heady stare following his electric touch hammering the point home.

Dean’s lips stretch wide in a bright grin. “I’d like that.”

Sam barges in, shotgun in one hand and the bag of salt tucked under his arm. “Thanks for helping me clean up, guys,” he says, “Really appreciate it.”

Usually whenever Sam clumsily knocks into one of his and Cas’s moments Dean flings himself away faster than a bullet. Except he can’t find any reason to tear himself from Cas’s side, rooted to the ground happily.

“Catch,” he says after a quick dip into his pocket.

Sam panics, nearly dropping the salt to keep the keys from falling to the ground. “What? Want me to drive?”

“I got choked out by the ghost, it’s the least you can do,” Dean smirks, stepping in time with Cas to the backseat, “Besides… my hands are gonna be pretty busy.”

“Gross. I better not catch you two getting heavy in the rearview mirror.”

“Then don’t be a perv, Sammy.”

Sam sighs and drops the argument, bypassing them to go towards the trunk. Dean opens the door and tumbles into Baby clutching Cas. They giggle like they don’t have the weight of the world on their shoulders. As light and free as smoke off a freshly lit cigarette, rising above the cinders they’ve left in their wake.

“Hey, angel?”

“Yes Dean?”

“Thanks for asking me to dance.”

“Thank you for dancing with me.”

“I can’t say no to you, angel,” Dean whispers, “not now… not ever.” They kiss, a simple touch of their lips against each other. It’s over faster than he can blink. But it’s okay. Dean knows there are more kisses waiting for him. More kisses, more dancing, and more of his angel.

#Supernatural #Spn #Dean Winchester #Castiel #Destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic

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poketin · 5 years

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What a Difference a Day Makes - Golden Lovers

A Golden Lovers fic inspired by the first half of Chungking Express, an absolutely beautiful film. I hope I managed to get across some of that beauty with the most beautiful tag team in the world. Fic title inspired by the song "What a Diff'rence a Day Made," played in the film.

read also on ao3!

Kenny sat at the bar, nursing his sad drink, trapped in his sad head. The last vestiges of his dream were swirling at the bottom of his glass, so far out of reach. He trailed his pinkie in the dregs of his green tea. Was it his fifth double tonight? There was a small collection of drained shot glasses around him, but the bartender could have easily shuffled them around. His heart guessed it was an action of sympathy, to help him look less like he’d been here for over an hour and a half, clearly alone. Pathetic. His brain bombarded him with cynical alternatives. You’re taking up too much space. He needs those glasses for the other customers. You’re woozy enough to accidentally knock them all off the counter and you don’t look like someone who could afford to pay the bar back for the damages. He hadn’t drunk any alcohol, but his head swam all the same.

He rested his chin on the bar, sighing through his nose, watching as the glasses fogged up in front of him. Tired. Clouded. Dominating. It was a pretty good image of his life, all things considered. Especially recently.

Last year he’d been invited to shows all over his home country. Sure, they’d been seedy bars clouded by cheap cigarettes and oppressive perfumes and colognes making his nose itch and his eyes water. On top of it all, the pay was crummy, barely enough to cover his travel expenses. The food he’d survived on during that time had been unspeakably cheap and horrifyingly bland.

But none of that had mattered when he wrestled, he only cared about doing it and doing it well.

He’d had difficulties, met naysayers and sneering so-called “wrestling authorities” that told him he would never make it, that he was too naïve, too optimistic, not interesting enough, not strong enough, not big enough.

He was never enough.

But eventually, he’d been noticed. Over the last few months, a small Japanese wrestling promotion had wanted him to appear in a couple of their shows, even covering his travel costs and letting him stay in a shabby apartment. They were even gonna pay him a little! His dream was being realized before his very eyes. He’d studied the language as hard as he could in that short time, murmuring phrases to himself as he packed his gear, a coat, his important nerdy shirts, one slightly wrinkled button up, a couple pairs of pants, and his old Game Boy. The frigid morning he had hopped on the plane had been one of the best days of his life, and he couldn’t wait to have many more of those in Japan, chasing his dream, doing his best.

But he had arrived almost two months ago. And nothing had happened yet.

After the first month had passed, his hopes had diminished slightly. He’d talked a bit with some representatives of the company when he’d arrived, but after that…He hadn’t wanted to goof off too much in case the company called his apartment and he wasn’t there, deciding he wasn’t serious enough about this and sending him home. He didn’t have much money outside his food (and souvenir) budget to go places anyway. Nor anyone to go with him.

He’d barreled forward without considering how lonely this would all be.

He had messaged friends online, needing contact, a voice of some kind to bring warmth to his silent apartment. But they were always already in bed or taking care of their kids or having a date night with their loved ones. And so he spent the days cleaning his apartment, practicing his Japanese, flipping through weird game shows that he thoroughly enjoyed, and hovering around the phone, waiting. When it got late enough for him to figure they wouldn’t be calling him that day, he’d go wandering around the streets, looking through shop windows, smiling at people even as they crossed the street to avoid him, and taking pictures of any cats he could find.

It was slow going, and, once this first month was nearly over, his spirits falling, he’d decided to buy one can of pineapple every day from the nearby convenience store, each one sharing the same expiration date: the end of the next month. He decided that he’d eat them all at the end of the month, and then…well. He didn’t exactly know. He wanted to push it all from his mind. He needed some kind of goal, something he could hold in his hands and accomplish himself.

The days went by, until he was stacking the 30th can of pineapple on top of the small pile in one of the empty corners of his apartment. He was almost excited, in a way.

And so, just after midnight tonight, his vow only half-way completed, he had cracked open every single one of the thirty cans, and had eaten them. He couldn’t tell if the pit in his stomach was because of his anxious thoughts, or because the pineapple had technically been expired as he ate it, and there had been a lot of it.

He looked out the window and decided two months with nearly no words exchanged with someone other than himself was not what he wanted to end the month on. He threw on his coat and pushed out of his apartment, leaving himself in the night’s care, where it welcomed him in its glittering streetlights and various sounds of late night entertainment.

Kenny passed by bright restaurants, full of smiles and laughter, clubs where neon lights and pulsing music streamed from under heavy black doors, and a handful of arcades that he foolishly searched for a glowing neon sign, or any sign of life at this late hour.

Finally, he stopped at a bar, tucked away into the shadows.

The door was scuffed and scarred, quiet even in the warm orange light that escaped through a small square pane of clouded glass embedded near the top. He breathed in the cigarette smoke that trickled from the gap under the door, the clinking of glasses like a muted gunshot in the darkness.

The shabbiness of it was familiar. Just what he needed.

He pushed open the door and was greeted by a blast of warm air, and the lights of a jukebox. There were a few couples here and there, a group or two sitting at tables and chatting, beers in hand, declaring a toast and then forgetting about it a minute later as they laughed together.

He had sat at the bar, shying away from the long benches and large tables and the people occupying them, and had asked for the non-alcoholic options, of which there was only green tea, and had been served in the only glasses available for the non-drinker at this place: shot glasses.

“If I make it a double, it’s just like a normal glass.”

It wasn’t, but he didn’t push the bartender. Despite Kenny ordering mostly in Japanese, the bartender had spoken nothing but English to him. He felt the enormous time and focus he’d put into Japanese drain out of him.

Another failure.

He couldn’t blame the guy, he was barely coherent in English to many let alone a language he only had a few months of practice in, but his effort crumpled in him, feeling like a waste of time anyway. He still wasn’t enough. He chewed on the ice that had been in the bottom of his glass and had remained in moping silence for nearly two hours. Possibly longer.

Where was the connection his heart was hurting for?

Just coming here wasn’t enough. He wasn’t grabbing any sort of destiny, nor taking control of his dreams…or anything. The only thing he’d been grabbing was another glass of watered down tea, the only semblance of control ordering another drink and choosing which lonely corner or flickering light to stare into. He let his head thump against the counter. He couldn’t go on like this.

Kenny bit his lip and decided.

He was going to fall in love with the first person who walked through that door.

His brain helpfully reminded him that this many failures in one night had basically crushed him, and how another was sure to snuff him out completely. He told his brain to shut up, downing the last of his tea and feeling like there was nothing else to lose. He picked his head up and looked towards the entrance he came in from.

Just in time.

A light caught his eye. A glint off a shiny surface, as a person stepped into the door frame.

He was wearing sunglasses. Indoors. At night. His dark hair fell a bit past his ears, a huge coat dominating his tall frame, his broad shoulders.

Hiding from someone? Something? The whole world, maybe?

His shoes were bright orange. Not exactly subtle.

Kenny couldn’t help feeling excited, tapping at his glass with a fingernail. He could relate to it all.

He saw the shrouded stranger slide into one of the closest booths, the bartender already on his way with a shot glass and a bottle of whiskey. He tended to his drink, swirling it as he stared into the same emptiness that Kenny had occupied for hours.

Kenny thought of the expiration dates on the cans, and was standing before he knew it. He slid onto the bench next to the stranger.

"How's it going?"

Kenny could have kicked himself for the English that sputtered out. The stranger made no move to reply.

"How has the night been treating you?"

His Japanese was shaky, but hopefully still semi-coherent even after this long night. Still, the stranger sat still.

"Erm...Can I get you a drink?"

He pulled at any French memories that could grace his tongue for this moment of reaching out. He found himself grasping at empty air. This wasn’t going well. It wasn’t going bad either. It just…wasn’t going.

"Uh..."

"Your Japanese isn't bad."

The stranger was smiling now, still turned directly to the table but tilting his glass in Kenny's direction.

"Thank you...?"

No name provided.

“I’m Kenny.”

Still no name. The stranger offered something else.

“Sorry, I’m not much of a talker. Not usually at least.” His shoulders drooped by about a millimeter. Kenny felt his heart drop in turn, and tried a different approach.

“That’s alright, we don’t have to talk.”

But Kenny himself wasn’t much of a non-talker, so only a few beats later, after tapping his foot and trying to memorize 3 seconds of the smooth song playing from the jukebox, he blurted something out again.

“What’s with your outfit?”

Mystery man was facing him now, his eyes wide behind his sunglasses (if his raised eyebrows were any indication).

“What do you mean?”

“Well there’s only a couple reasons that someone would be wearing sunglasses indoors, and at night for that matter.” Kenny counted off his fingers.

“One, you’re blind.”

The stranger sipped at his drink. Kenny continued.

“Two, you want to hide from somebody, maybe no one in particular. Just somebody. Sunglasses are good for hiding faces…especially tears. You don’t want to stand out. Ironic, considering sunglasses indoors, at night (he really wanted to stress this) really sticks out.”

The smile was still there but there was something missing. Kenny had an idea.

“Or…number three. You just want to look really cool all the time.” He winked. “Well, let me tell you. It’s working. Really.”

His companion actually laughed at that, and turned to face him. Kenny felt himself grinning in response.

“That one is probably closest.”

His teeth were so shiny, his lips so pretty. Kenny saw himself reflected in the man’s sunglasses, red-faced and smiling and oh-so-eager. Maybe it was better to call it a night, he told himself. Better not to push everything that was Kenny Omega onto a total stranger after only meeting him a few minutes ago. He’d never actually fallen in love in one night before, but…there was something he felt with this guy. Something he’d never felt before, something he couldn’t even name exactly.

And somehow, he knew the stranger felt it too.

Their hearts beat as one, feeling like the oldest and closest friends despite Kenny not even knowing his name. He knew more about the guy’s lips and perfect cheekbones than his actual personality, his dreams and dislikes, his favorite food, what he does for a living, his hobbies. And still, when Kenny accidentally brushed the stranger’s finger with his own, reaching over to wave the bartender over, he swear he could feel it from the guy’s point of view, as well as his own.

He was well and truly connected to this man by the strange inclinations of love.

Kenny cleared his throat, and ordered another tea, as well as another of whatever the man next to him was currently sipping. He knew his Japanese was getting sloppier as the night went on, but he had never wanted to talk more in his entire life. He tried to pull up memories of a terrible Japanese joke book he’d studied the first couple days in Japan, even as he was already saying something.

“So…do you like pineapple?”

And as the night went on and on, their smiles turned to laughter turned to Kenny gesturing wildly about the crazy backflip he’d seen a guy do at the airport, “On an escalator too! It was amazing, let me tell you—"

And among the stories and jokes and whispered secrets about how this guy loved fireworks and had stashes of them in various places, how he ate cheese at every meal (“My doctor is not happy with me.” He was smiling as Kenny wheezed with helpless laughter), how he had tried over and over again to read the same novel for almost 15 years and had hated every attempt, the book worming pictures and authorial intent into his mind without permission, Kenny managed to pour his heart out.

Kenny actually managed to relate to this man, this stranger, his fears and woes that had swirled in his head over the past couple months. His loneliness and isolation because of time zones and outside responsibilities, his hope at a wrestling company finally wanting him and his hurt when all he had found was silence. Even something he’d never told anyone: a bit of his dreams. What he thought wrestling could be, and how he wanted it to be appreciated as the beautiful, exciting, emotional art that it was. How he wanted to change the world.

These feelings had been trapped, buried, with nowhere to go. Kenny showed a crack of vulnerability, and they came rushing towards that outlet, spilling out of his mouth at the slightest inquiring tilt of the man’s head and wry smile at his every other word.

Breathing heavily, Kenny apologized to the stranger he’d no doubt bored to tears with his ramblings. He simply motioned for Kenny to continue, that same mysterious smile on his lips, resting his head on his hand and absorbing every word.

At one point, the stranger’s head dropped closer and closer to Kenny’s shoulder, resting on it just as the bartender shook Kenny out of his own stupor to tell him the bar was closing.

Kenny groaned and made to stand up, but the man resting on him grabbed at his shirt, mumbling.

“Just take me somewhere we can rest, mhm?”

Kenny’s heart pounded. He paid for their drinks, and supported most of the dozing stranger’s weight onto his shoulder as he carried him out of the bar and into a waiting taxi (the bartender waved off Kenny’s sincerest thanks and apologies). He directed the taxi to the nearest hotel and hoped he had enough money for a room after all their drinking.

“Ah. You really meant resting, then.”

As soon as Kenny had gotten a room and deposited the stranger onto the huge mattress with plush sheets, he had immediately fallen asleep. He had done it so smoothly and serenely that Kenny had put his ear to the guy’s chest to make sure he hadn’t died somehow. He brushed a few strands of soft hair on the man’s forehead, trying to tuck them behind his ear, breathing a sigh of relief.

“Phew. No way we were doing that with how much he drank tonight. Plus, I think such emotional whiplash would have killed me.”

He chuckled to himself, plopping into an armchair next to the bed which the stranger was starfished on top of, and picked up the phone to call room service. He paused as he heard a shuffle of blankets next to him.

“Kenny…”

Kenny faced the bed again. The man hadn’t seemed to move, and his breathing remained steady. He seemed ready to fall back asleep at any moment.

“What do you when you’re sad?”

Kenny swallowed.

“Me? I guess…I run. Or walk. Or jog.”

His response was quiet breathing and sunglasses still obscuring the love of his life. Sleep had claimed him once more.

Kenny stared. Then he turned towards the small, box television sitting on the ledge in front of the window and flicked it on, settling back into the armchair and dialing room service once more.

He ordered two helpings of Chef’s salad, intrigued at the weird mash-up of ingredients and the fact this combination existed in Japan or at all for that matter, and ate both of them when he realized he’d already gotten through two movies he only half-way understood and his companion was still flopped in peaceful slumber.

All his trash went into the room’s trash bag, which he tied up and left outside the door. As he made his way back inside, he noticed a flash of orange among the plush, tangled sheets of the bed.

The guy was still wearing his blinding orange shoes.

Kenny remembered his mom saying something about feet swelling when someone slept in high heels, and assumed the principle still applied to most other shoes. He carefully unlaced the shoes, and slipped them off. Noticing a few faint dirt patches along the sides, Kenny brought the shoes to their room’s bathroom, and, wetting the end of his shirt in the sink, proceeded to scrub and shine every part of the shoes.

He seems the type to hate messing up his shoes. They should shine as bright as he does.

A smile quirked at his lips.

After some time of this, when he was satisfied they were extra shiny, Kenny stood up and, cracking his back, made his way to the lace curtains covering their room’s enormous window. He pulled back a bit of the curtains, peeking into the outside world. Blanketing the sweeping view of the city was the faint blue light that blanketed the world just before sunrise.

He headed out.

Kenny agonized over writing down and leaving his phone number, so when he left the room and made his way down to the lobby, he gave the receptionist his number and asked that if a sleepy man from room 702 inquired after him, that they’d give it to him. He stepped into the frozen morning and tried not to look back at huge windows and closed curtains.

His feet pounded the grass as rain fell around him, head tilted upwards, letting the rain pepper his skin. He’d lost count of how many times he’d run in this park near his apartment.

Even after being up all night, he didn’t feel tired. He didn’t feel anything beyond the splash of raindrops.

But he still jumped nearly a foot into the air when his phone rang shrilly in the quiet morning, almost buzzing out of his jacket pocket. Kenny flipped open his jangling phone, putting it to his ear.

“Who…?”

“Check your messages, okay?”

The man from last night….

“What—”

He heard a click.

He had bothered to call him after all that…but what could he possibly mean?

Unless…?

He felt a jolt run down his spine, rushing to grab his coat from the bench he’d left it on, throwing it on and ignoring how soaked it was and how extra soaked he himself now was as he ran from the park, ran from the rain.

He sprinted up the stairs to his apartment, two at a time, three at a time once he got to the top, nearly tripping and slamming right into his door. His hands were shaking, dropping his keys twice before he could finally wrench the door open. He saw the flashing light on the answering machine, and dove towards it. He swear he could feel someone laughing from somewhere.

He pressed play.

#What was on the answering machine? The mystery man’s number? His name? The company finally getting back to him?#Or a goodbye that closes one door but opens several others?#golden lovers #njpw #new japan pro wrestling #kenny omega #kenny omega x kota ibushi #kota ibushi #fanfiction #fanfic #poketin fics #chungking express

14 notes · View notes

shazyloren · 5 years

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At The Bar, We Meet

Summary: Dany's had three bad first dates in February alone, perhaps she was only meant for her pink vibrator after all. That's until someone else arrives at the bar having an equally bad time of it.

Notes: As you know, I am taking part in a challenge on tumblr by user @jonerysfics and @mhysaofdragons in which for seven days from Valentines day I am uploading a new one shot. The prompts have been provided and the stories have all been written and I gotta say you're in for a lot of Jonerys content. So Day 3, 16th February, which is when I'm uploading this, the prompt I chose was 'Bad First Date'. This is my spin on a situation many of us find ourselves in on Valentine's day.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17812064

-----

“What’s wrong with me, Viz?” She sighs as she swirls the content of her glass in her hand. “Am I just some sort of freak magnet?”

Daenerys Targaryen had just returned from her third bad date of the month and given it was Valentine’s Day tomorrow it was safe to say she’d be spending it alone with a bottle of Rose and her pink vibrator.

“Nothing is wrong with you, Dany” He implored from the other side of the bar, filling her drink to the brim again. “You’re gonna meet the man of your dreams one day, I promise you. None of these men deserve the average woman let alone you. Your my sister, the best a man could get, I got your back don't worry about it!”

“Thanks” She puts a smile on, thankful for the niceties but in all honesty she just wanted to sit and wonder what had gone wrong.

One of them, had worked at a pet shop, which was fine, until he’d said that he takes the python to bed every night so it gets used to him. There was no way this side of hell she’d get in a bed with a snake that wasn’t attached to a man.

Fucking weirdo.

She shuddered to just think about it.

Another only wanted sex and told her outright from the minute they sat down in a fancy restaurant, turned out she’d arranged a date with a sugar daddy who was willing to give her £3000 for sleeping with him. Not the man to bring home to Rhaella Targaryen.

And then the one she’d just ran from, offered her a gift of his fingernail clippings and a Manchester United shirt. Daenerys didn’t know which one she was more disgusted by, her father never speak to her again if she wore the shirt and the nail clippings was just outright gross.

One day, I’ll date someone normal.

“Scotch, neat please” She hears a northern accent sound from the seat next to her, a sound which she associated with a bad day. At least she wasn’t the only one.

“Coming right up, sir” Her brother nods and fixes the man up with one. Dany turns sideways to glance at the man who has just decided to sit next to her and when she does, her eyes widen with feint recognition.

I know you…

“Jon?” She asks, unsure if it really is him. He turns and looks at her, his eyes confused for a moment while he sips his drink. Then, it clicks into place.

“Daenerys Targaryen?” He becomes nervous, shakily putting his glass down, and they both know why that is. Time flies, this was a blast from the past she had not been expecting.

Damn, he looks like a right snack … she thinks to herself. Jon Snow, she used to go to High school with him over ten years ago. He was a lot smaller then, in terms of muscle, but she could see his arms and torso almost pulsating through the shirt he had on now.

“How have you been? You look great” She almost smiles suggestively, sipping her own drink. She was eighteen when she last looked into those eyes. I sucked his dick in the school toilets in year 10, 15 years old and way inexperienced . Her luck with men clearly hadn’t changed that much. He says he's been good and thanks her for the compliment. “I haven’t seen you in what, twelve years?”

“About that, I just turned 30” He confirms, a look of reminiscing present on his face.

“What you doing in town anyways? Last I heard you’d flown to New York to work” She asked interested more so in his sudden reappearance in town than the lame dates she’d been on. Anything to stop being traumatised by fingernail clippings...

“Oh, I came back years ago” He said with a chuckle, gruff and causing a slight tingling in Dany's ears. “It was a great experience but, I missed home. My sister Sansa fell pregnant with her partner at the age of 20 and I just decided to come home and work and be a good uncle”

“I get that, my friend Missandei is always travelling the world, comes home every few months. Nothing like the comforts of home, she says” She sighed, looking into her once again empty glass. It was strange how the conversation seemed easy.

“You want a refill, Dany?” Viz asks.

“Go on then, brother. Give Jon one too, put it on my tab” She asks and Jon nods in appreciation. “So why you at the bar then? You haven’t happened to finish up a bad date like me? Or should I say I got the hell out of there as quickly as possible”

“Actually, yes” He laughs to her surprise. Maybe today was the day the universe turned on decent people . “Redhead, nice girl or at least I thought so, she wanted me to do the spaghetti scene from Lady and the Tramp with her at Hotel Paris on Baelor’s street”

“Gods above” Dany’s wide eyed response got Jon laughing. “I thought mine was bad”

“Let me guess, hair strands given as a gift?” Jon snorted.

“Close, nail clippings” The laugh on his face dropped as if he was going to be sick. He asks her if she was being serious, she nodded. “He also gave me a Manchester United Shirt so I had to dip on him, I should’ve known something was off when he didn’t want gravy on a roast dinner, what kind of moron doesn’t want that?”

“There are some strange folk around” Jon agreed, both of them kinda silent for a moment. However, Jon instigates the conversation once again. “How about yourself, what have you been up to?”

He’s hot…

Really fucking hot...

Like bend me over your knee and fist me like I'm nothing hot...

Daenerys, behave yourself…

“I run a non-profit” Dany replies, trying to temper her feelings. “It’s for helping women who’s been apart of domestic abuse get their life back on track, help with hygiene and food and school for their children, other than that I work on my father’s board of executives for his solar company which develop more economical ways to create electricity”

“So long story short, everything you wanted to do in high-school didn’t happen” He laughs, they both have to. A familiar memory of her dancing outside the school toilets to entice Jon in, ringing through their minds. What a wild and free-spirited individual she was then...

“I did not become a dancer, no” Daenerys found it really easy to talk to him, perhaps it was his familiarity. “Instead I just become a woman who has every aspect of her life going accept the one she has an interest in working”

“Pah, relationships are shit anyways” He grumbles and Dany can't help but chuckle at him. The distant memory of a redheaded girl leaving him for some other hotshot man came into her mind.

“You're not still upset about her, are you? Ygritte?” She giggles. His solemn silence answers it all. “Jon, that was Year 12”

“Still hurts” He shrugged, striking her as the type to never get over something truly. “Never met anyone like her since”

“Yes, the lying and cheating type is hard to come by” She cackles before gulping the last of her drink. If she wasn’t careful she’d fall off of her chair. “Look, there’s someone out there, bad dates just mean you’re getting through that shit to find them. Optimism!”

“Urgh, I hate that word” Well at least he’s honest…

“Jon” Dany stated plainly. “You do realise you’re a bit of a snack, yeah?”

“I’m a bit of a what?” He blinks, unaware of what is about to come out of Daenerys mouth.

“A snack” She nods. “Look at you, that curly hair still looks as well maintained as it did at our Leavers ball, your eyes are deep and mysterious, you clearly work out, your accent is gruff and sexy and you smile like a child who just found a stash of cupcakes, you’re a total snack”

“Here we go” She hears her brother mumble and walk off to serve other customers. Shut your face, Viz.

“Okay, that’s a lot to process” Jon chortles, but he knows it’s meant in good fun.

“It’s suppose to be a compliment” Dany speaks sincerely, a hand placed on his knee to show her sincerity. “Any girl who acts a fool, or turns you down, or cheats on you, is a fucking moron”

Well done, Daenerys, just open your legs why don’t you, cut to the chase .

Daenerys wasn’t finished. “And anyways, last week I went on a date with a guy who wanted to put me in his bed with his pet Python, so it can’t ever be that bad”

“People are indeed strange” He agrees once more. Fucking hell if he smoulders at me one more time I'm taking my knickers of now and he can fuck me against the bar .

They were quiet after that, just a small groaning of the jukebox behind them playing tunes and the sounds of snooker cues hitting balls. Dany looked around, anywhere but Jon while she collected her thoughts.

Why not?

That’s all she can find herself to say. So what if she sucked his dick once all those years ago, so what if it’s only because they’ve both had bad dates and they were just looking for a bit of human contact. It’s just sex right, she should at least ask or she won’t get.

“Hey Jon”

“-Dany”

They both realised they’d spoke at the same time.

“Sorry, you go first” Jon offered.

“Oh, okay” She nodded, her eyebrow rising as a little smirk appeared on her face. “You wanna get out of here?”

If there’s any justice in the world, you will say yes, Jon Snow.

There’s a moment where she thinks she’s fucked up, but when the same smirking expression is sent back to her, she knows there’s only one place she’s going tonight, and that was the backseat of her car.

“Depends” He shrugs before stepping off of his seat and whispering in her ear. “Are you going to be a bad girl for me?”

Dany starts giggling, completely surprised that her evening was going to be not all bad and actually looked like quite a promising night. The prospect of showing Jon Snow how she'd improved since the blowie in the school toilets days filling her with fire and want. “Is the sky blue?”

"Excellent" Jon grins, gulping his drink and smashing it on the table. He hops off of his bar stool, guides Dany off of hers and smacks her behind with glee when she begins to lead him out the door, a wave goodbye to her brother.

Now this was going to be a good evening...

#Jon snow #daenerys targaryen #jon x daenerys #jonerys #fanfic #jonerysvalentine #mhysaofdragons #game of thrones

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distant-rose · 6 years

Text

Seal of Fate Prologue (1/8)

Notes: Hi guys! I know I haven’t updated in awhile but I decided to do it with a multi chapter fic. Why? Because I’m insane. Anyway, this is my entry for Captain Swan Supernatural Summer. I hope you enjoy it. I apologise for the late posting on this, I’m visiting friends in Toronto at the moment. I’m hoping to update this fic every Saturday around 5-6pm EST. Please note this hot mess is un-beta’d. I know this prologue feels like an info dump but it’s setting the stage - hence why it’s a prologue. I promise there’s Killian next week. Anyway, special thanks to the admins of @cssns for organising this. Thank you to @welllpthisishappening, @katie-dub and @shireness-says for being my rocks and constant cheerleaders. And last but not least, thank you to @drowned-dreamer for being my amazing artist whose work will be showcased next week when Killian shows up next week. Summary: Emma Swan is looking for only one thing - answers. Abandoned outside a police station in Menemsha, Martha’s Vineyard, Emma has dedicated her life to finding out where she comes from and why she was given away. She finds an unlikely partner in Killian, a selkie she inadvertently summons in a fit of frustration over her cold case. Word Count: 2,700+ Chapters: Prologue | One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Epilogue Rating: T+

Emma Swan groaned as she escaped from the driver’s seat of her ancient Volkswagen Bug and immediately pulled her arms into a long stretch. It had been a long drive from Maine to Massachusetts and apparently all the moving around she had done on the ferry from the mainland to her destination had been cancelled out by the last forty-five minutes she had spent driving from the ferry to her final destination - the small secluded town of Menemsha.

Scanning her surroundings, Emma had to say she was less than impressed. It wasn’t so much of a town as much as a scattering of Cape Cod styled buildings and fishing shacks. There didn’t seem to be a soul around, but then again, she was visiting a bourgeoise tourist trap out of season. It was better this way. After all, Emma wasn’t here for vacation.

She was here on a mission.

Grabbing her bag and closing the car door, Emma headed towards the large building that sat nearly on top of the marina. It was a fairly old building but well-taken care of with a fresh white paint job and newly cleaned windows. The large sign posted in front of the property claimed it was “Granny’s Diner” but Emma was fairly certain it was built originally to be a more residential property than a restaurant.

The establishment was as sparsely populated as the street. There were only three other patrons; grizzled and sullen men who were crowded around a small table by the window that looked out onto the sea. They eyed her warily as she walked towards one of the booths toward the back of the diner but she made a point to ignore them.

As soon as she sat down, a pretty dark haired waitress with vivid red highlights approached her with a small smile that was a shade more inquisitive than Emma would have liked.

“Can I get you some coffee?” the waitress asked, waving an ancient-looking coffee pot in emphasis.

“I prefer hot chocolate,” she replied before glancing up at the clock located above the breakfast bar, scrunching her nose when she realised she has made quicker time in her travels than expected. It was eleven-thirty and her contact wouldn’t be here for another thirty minutes. “Is too early to order lunch?”

The waitress glanced around the diner before looking back at Emma with a wry smile.

“Normally we don’t do lunch until noon but considering that there’s no one here, I think we’ll be willing to make a special exception. What do you want?”

“A grilled cheese and onion rings instead of fries will do.”

The waitress looked almost amused by the order, a smile quirking at her lips as she scribbled it down. Emma merely rolled her eyes in response. She had heard many a remark about her child-like diet in the past but she liked comfort food and the opportunity to eat it was few and far in-between. Private investigation wasn’t as lucrative as it sounded, especially when located in the sleepy state of Maine.

After a few moments, the waitress walked away to bring Emma’s order to the kitchen, only stopping to give the band of men at the other end round of good-natured bantering. The interaction merely confirmed her suspicions about the little fishing village. Everyone probably knew everyone. It was something that Emma hoped would help with her mission.

The waitress returned with her hot chocolate a few moments later with a reassurance that her food would be out within minutes. Emma gave her a brisk thank you, dismissing her with a nod and taking time to drink in more of the diner.

The place looked like it hadn’t been decorated since the fifties with its bold red vinyl seats and monochrome tiling. There was a large jukebox and an ancient looking gumball machine located near the door. Emma was willing to bet her last pay check that there wouldn’t be a single made before 1965 on it. Despite its rather dated decor, it was probably the cleanest greasy spoon that she had never been in.

While the diner had a homey feel to it, its patrons were a lot less welcoming. The men at the other end of the diner were still blatantly staring at her with undisguised suspicion. Unwilling to let herself be intimidated, Emma met their stare with one of her own, locking eyes with a grumpy looking gentleman as she sipped on her hot chocolate. A small surge of pride curled in her chest when the man looked away, obviously uncomfortable and turned to begin talking to his cohorts in hushed whispers.

“Don’t let those knuckleheads get you,” the waitress said when she returned with Emma’s order. “They’re a bunch of old gossips. We don’t get a lot of traffic here in the off-season so strangers are bit exciting to us.”

“I figured,” Emma replied, watching in confusion as the waitress placed down another plate containing a large burger and fries on the table before swinging into the opposite seat. “Um, I know I’m not from around here but is it normal for you to sit and eat with strangers?”

“No,” the waitress replied casually, picking up the burger to take a bite. “But I kinda wanted to get a feel on you.”

“Why?”

“Well, you are Emma Swan, aren’t you?”

“Depends on who's asking...” Emma responded warily after a moment, trying not to let her hackles rise.

“I’m Ruby Lucas.” She held out her hand to shake. “You’re renting out my house for the next two months. Lucky you did that when you did, I was about to take it down for the season. I generally don’t rent it out post-September but I couldn’t resist the extra cash.”

Emma’s shoulders relaxed at this information. She captured Ruby’s hand in a brief shake before leaning back. She popped an onion ring into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “So, you’re Ruby.”

“I am.”

“You’re not what I expected,” she admitted, wiping at her mouth with the sleeve of her jacket absently.

When Emma had looked at the advertisement online, she had assumed that Ruby was far older considering the sleuth of rules and regulations that had come with the rental. They weren’t necessarily unreasonable, but Emma had expected them to be picked from the mind of a finicky old lady rather than the vibrant young woman in front of her.

“Neither are you. Though I can’t say I had a lot of expectations. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a person renting out a beach house in October and November in Cape Cod, let alone in Memensha. It’s kinda why I wanted to meet you here and get a feel, make sure you’re not a drug dealer or something.”

Emma’s eyebrows rose at her words. “You get a lot of those around here?”

“You have no idea,” she replied darkly, stabbing a french fry into a pool of ketchup with more force than necessary. “The island is kinda a hub for them in the summer. They generally come through the docks here because there isn’t much regulation despite all the petitions to Gold.”

“Gold?”

“Yeah, Mr. Gold. Owns the docks as well as the biggest shipping company in the village. Might as well own all of Martha’s Vineyard while he’s at it. He doesn’t care much for rules unless they’re his own,” Ruby said bitterly. “I don’t mean to bore you with local issues but they’re good things to note considering you’re gonna be here awhile.”

“I appreciate it,” Emma replied with a casual shrug, filing away the information.

Ruby leaned back, giving her another assessing look. Emma merely nibbled at her sandwich, waiting for the moment to pass. She didn’t have to wait long, as Ruby dropped her elbows on the table alongside her pretenses.

“So. What’s your story? Tortured artist? Romance writer? You’re not really like Janet Evanovich or something right? I love her books even if the plot gets a little repetitive.”

Emma snorted. “No. I’m not a writer. Private investigator actually.”

“Sounds exciting. What the hell are you doing here?” Ruby asked, eyes widening in surprise at her own rudeness. “Sorry that came out wrong. I didn’t mean to be such a bitch.”

“You weren’t. It’s okay,” Emma assured her with a forced smile. “It’s not like you weren’t going to find out anyway. I’m here on a case.”

“Case? In Menemsha? Are you looking for something? Because I’m pretty sure you won’t find it here. Nothing is here except fish and the occasional heroin crisis.”

“Not something. Someone,” she replied carefully, playing with her food and not looking directly at her.

Ruby sucked in a breath loudly, causing Emma to look up at her. “You’re not looking for David Nolan are you?”

“No. I’m not, at least I don’t think so. Who is he?”

Ruby visibly relaxed, eyes darting to the other end of the diner to make sure that the other patrons weren’t listening in on their conversation. She then leaned further forward and then spoke in a harsh whisper.

“David is this guy who went missing awhile back. My grandmother was good friends with his mother Ruth and he actually used to work in the diner. He just up and left one day, which good on him because this place is a shithole...but Ruth has never quite accepted that he left...kept saying there was foul play involved and hiring people to look for him. She died last week.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Emma replied, unsure what to do with the information.

“It’s fine. I didn’t really know her much. She was kinda crazy, you know? I just wanted to make sure you weren’t chasing after something you weren’t going to get paid for. Don’t want to waste your time here if you don’t have to.”

“Appreciate it. But I’m not sure David Nolan is connected to my case.”

“If you’re not looking for him, then who the hell are you looking for? Because he’s the only missing person I can think of.”

“It’s a bit of a cold case but I’m trying to track down anything anyone knows about a baby that was found outside the police station here in October 1983.”

“What’s so special about the baby?”

Emma couldn’t help but bristle at the question, squirming in her seat and scrunching her shoulders as she tried to keep her emotions in check. It wasn’t as if Ruby knew how personal this was for her.

“It’s not so much the baby. I know where she is. It’s her parents that I’m trying to find.”

“Why?”

“So, she can look them in the eye and ask them that exact question.”

Their conversation dwindled from there as they focused on their meals. When they finished, Ruby took away their plates and returned with keys in her hand.

“Ready to go?”

Emma eyed the other patrons before looking back at her. “Aren’t you, like, working right now?”

“Oh yeah, working super hard on three people who come here everyday and drink all of our coffee. They’re big boys and can handle a coffee machine on their own.” Ruby snorted.

“You trust them behind the counter?”

“If anything goes missing, I know who took it. There’s like barely more than 400 people in this village.”

Emma held her hands up in surrender, unwilling to question her anymore before following her out into the street.

“Do you need me to drive?” She asked, eying the main road to where it disappeared up the bend.

Ruby laughed, shaking her hand in dismissal. “No, it’s no more than a fifteen minute walk. You can walk all of Menemsha in about twenty-five minutes, no joke. Like I said, it’s tiny.”

They walked up the main drag until it broke into a fork. Emma knew from the drive down that one path lead to the main route that circled the island while the other hugged the coast and seemed to lead to more residential homes. Emma eyed the cottages that lined up neatly to face out towards the ocean. They looked incredibly cute but she knew from her perusal of the rental site that they cost more than a fortune. When she relied this to Ruby, the other woman gave her a bitter smile.

“Nearly everyone who lives here works for the three main fishing families - the Golds, the Hermans and the Spencers, the Golds being the largest. They cut pay last year to make up for a bad fishing season which doesn’t help when you’re barely making enough as is. So, renting out properties in the summer becomes a primary source of income for these people. You can’t blame them for it really and if people are willing to shell out that type of cash for a week in this hellhole, I don’t see the harm.”

“Huh,” Emma replied before sucking in a breath as she caught sight of the large house at the end of the road. Ruby followed her gaze, smile turning into a scowl.

“Ah, that’s where the Devil himself lives.”

“The Devil?”

“Gold.”

The house, if it could never be called that, was ten times the size of the cottages that lined the street with a Greco-styled terrace porch that screamed opulence. The lawn was manicured with a meticulously managed garden hugged the perimeter of the property.

It was a gorgeous building and would have belonged on the front cover of any real estate magazine if it weren’t for the large rack located on the front lawn covered in dark furred pelts. Emma didn’t know what type of animal they belonged to but looking at them sent a cold shiver down her spine.

“What are those?”

“Seal pelts,” Ruby responded with no small amount of disgust. “Mr. Gold loves to hunt them and show off their pelts like they’re trophies.”

“I take it you’re fan of seals?”

“Not particularly. They’re cute and all but they’re supposed to be protected. Killing them is a literal crime.”

“Why doesn’t anyone do anything about it?”

“Because no one wants to lose their jobs. A few dead seals aren’t worth going hungry. Listen, Emma, this place isn’t like anywhere on the mainland. We don’t work the same way. I’m not saying we’re lawless but certain people are untouchable. Gold is one of them and I know you’re just passing through, but I’m telling you right now, avoid him if you can. And if you can’t, it’s best not to get on his bad side.”

“Duly noted.”

“I’m being serious.”

“Alright, alright, don’t mess with the creepy seal killer. I got the message. Loud and clear.”

They stopped in front of a two-story house that was buttercup yellow and built the standard Cape Cod style. Though it was three houses down from Gold’s creepy seal skin display, there was cheery aura to the place that Emma appreciated.

“You like it?”

“It’s cute.”

“I thought you would like it since it’s the same color as your car. The inside is just as nice.”

Ruby unlocked the front door, leading them inside. The house was sparse in its decorating but just as light and cheery as the exterior.

“Will it do?”

“Yeah. It’s great.”

“Good. Just letting you know the place does have heat but if it gets too chilly, there’s a space heater in the basement. There’s a washing machine down there too but it’s old so be gentle with it.”

“Okay,” Emma nodded, giving her an assuring smile. “Thanks.”

“And don’t hesitate to contact me if you need anything. If you don’t feel like cooking, you’re always welcome at Granny’s. I’ll give you a discount.”

“Thanks Ruby. Really.”

“No problem,” she said as she walked back towards the door. She paused when she reached, looking back at Emma with a perplexed expression. “And good luck with your case. I hope everything works out for that woman who hired you.”

Emma gave forced another smile and thanked her again. She relaxed as soon as the door closed, dropping her head against the wall and sighing heavily.

It was going to be a long two months.

#captain swan #cssns #cs supernatural summer #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfiction #my fic #my shit #seal of fate

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freezingwintah · 6 years

Text

Blackmail

The precarious star of Underground was on his way from studio to meet with his soon to be boyfriend Papyrus. You see, Mettaton and Papyrus got together because of Frisk who… introduced them upon the skeleton's constant nagging. Needless to say, sparks flew between the two and romance was in the air. Alphys and Undyne (because of her lover she agreed, but wasn't exactly happy about the idea) gave the TV star their approval and some tips about dating for real with someone.

But then, he was always there, butting in or making up excuses why his little brother isn't available for Mettaton at this or that moment. He even sabotaged Mettaton's calls to the skeleton's personal cell phone. He was beyond angry at this point. If he keeps getting in their way, then he and Papyrus will never progress with his interfering. Why, just yesterday he told him that Papyrus wasn't ready yet and made him listen for three hours to his babbling about a family history book. And when he actually called his little brother over, it turned out the damn older brother tricked him. Him, Mettaton the star of the Underground! The gall of that skeleton. Instead, Papyrus suggested they head to Grillby's for dinner. Of course, his brother would be there, too. Spying on them.

And so they went, but Mettaton was raging on the inside. This can't go on. He has to dig up some dirt on Sans or he'll never leave them to have a proper date, alone. As far as he knew, Sans didn't have a crush on anyone or any other embarrasing secret… wait. If he has any, his brother should know about it. Sans was sitting by the bar and they had a rare moment in a secluded corner of the diner, Papyrus doing puppy eyes at him, blushing and fidgeting. He was so precious. Oh, my. No wonder I fell head over heels in love with that adorable skeleton, Mettaton thought. His less adorable brother was talking to the bartender who didn't care much for his antics. Or at least it seemed so to the robot TV star. Hmm… intriguing. He'll ask Papy…

"So, darling... ," he started, shifting his gaze from his soon to be boyfriend to his annoying brother who was chugging down… ketchup? Papyrus leaned over the table, excited. "Yes, Mettaton?"

"Do you know why your brother frequents this bar so much? What's so good about it? The restaurant at the hotel is so much better… but also pricier, but that's beside the point. Is there a reason?"

Papyrus conspiratorially looked around before he leaned even more in, almost whispering. "I don't know for sure, but he comes here ever since we moved here. He's friends with the owner, Grillby." He motioned toward the fire elemental who cleaned the glasses and occasionally stopped to get an order from the patrons. His lips formed a smile. That's very interesting. Mettaton's suspicion got even more affirmed when Sans's voice carried over to their table and he caught the last words. Bad skeleton puns. Again. Then, something caught his eye. He could swear that the elemental chuckled. The ever stoic bartender who was rumored to be emotionless. And the… intimate feeling around them all the more confirmed it for the robot. Oh, he's got some… material to work with. Finally, I'll get the older skeleton brother for getting between me and Pap, Mettaton thought, smirking.

The robotic star enjoyed the evening with his cute cinnamon bun as he secretly called him to the fullest. But all the while, he kept tabs on Sans and his behavior around Grillby. The two were chummy. But both were afraid to take the first step. Why, Papy was the one who made the first step in their case, but what's slowing them down?

He has retired for the evening, but not before he kissed Papyrus on the cheek. His brother scoffed and dragged his little, adorable brother away. "We'll meet up when I'm done at the studio. Toodles!" Mettaton sent his soon to be boyfriend air kiss and the skeleton almost fainted from the overwhelming love he felt. "See ya later, Mettaton!" Papyrus said before he left with Sans in tow. The robot sighed as he went back to Hotlands. While he slipped in his bed, his mind forged a devilish plan to stop Sans for good. Papy will be wholly his.

The next day, he awoke and did his routine showbiz work involving looking good and showing off his legs. He couldn't wait until his work is done as he counted the minutes and hours before he could proceed with his plan. When he broad - casted the cooking show and he was told they were done today, he squealed and ran to Snowdin as fast as he could. Mettaton pulled out his cell phone, huffing all the time when he called. He expected Sans to pick up as he always did and this time was no different. " 'up mettaton?"

"Oh, nothing, dear. I just wanted to talk with you. Come to Grillby's, okay?"

"what's this about? i could get papyrus for you, this is his cell after all."

Mettaton stopped running, his breathing ragged as he yelled out inside the microphone receiver on his cell phone. "JUST COME!" and he hung up and sighed heavily and walked the rest of the way to Snowdin.

He stopped before the outskirts of the snowy town, taking in the fresh, chilly air. It was a good thing he was a robot or he'd freeze over. Mettaton walked over to the famous and only bar in the area and opened the door. He saw Sans seated exactly where Papyrus sat yesterday. Mettaton approached him and sat down, a grin settling on his features. Sans shrugged, but the robot star saw through the skeleton – he was nervous. Oh, he had a good reason to be nervous. After all, Mettaton knew his secret he tried so hard to hide, but failed in the end.

Mettaton made himself comfortable and crossed his legs, smirking at the overprotective skeleton. "I've called you here for a reason. Listen up, you bag of bones. I'm not gonna let you bully me anymore!"

Sans cackled. "oh yeah? how so?"

"You see, I just happened to come across some SCANDALOUS information that I don't think you'll be keen on me spreading –" Sans interrupted him with his cackling, but he pretended the skeleton never cut in. " – so here is the deal. If you don't give me and Papyrus some space for us to do our thing…" His complexion got totally worried, awaiting the robot's further words. "I'll tell Grillby EXACTLY how you feel about him." The robotic star of the Underground couldn't help but laugh at Sans' misfortune. Why, he was the source of his misfortune!

Sans got all blue in the face and Mettaton knew he had him where he wanted – cornered. Ha, take that! No more getting between him and… The skeleton stood up and Mettaton grew anxious. "Wait… where are you going?" he asked as matter of factly, but the skeleton didn't pay attention to him. He walked towards the bar and when he reached his usual seat by the bartender, he halted and talked with him over something. Mettaton couldn't make out the words due to the jukebox, but then bartender grabbed the skeleton and kissed him fiercely, gaining cheering and applause from the patrons.

Now it was Mettaton's turn to turn blue, but in despair. He wanted to blackmail Sans, not help him confess! This is a disaster, now he has NOTHING on him again. Ugh, he was so stupid! Sans came back to the table, chuckling like crazy as he sat down like he didn't just kiss his longtime crush. "hey, this was your plan? grillbz has been dating me since last year, mettaton. thanks for the opportunity to come out, we've been waiting for the right time."

If Mettaton could, he would strangle the skeleton, but he'd never do it. Papyrus would never forgive him for hurting his brother. He just didn't get it. He wants some happiness, but he won't allow his only brother to experience the same thrill of romance?

"Sans, I don't get you. You don't want Papyrus to be happy?"

"i do."

"Then let me make him happy. He's everything I could ever want."

"fine. it's about time i dropped the obnoxious older bro act. i just wanted to see how far you would go for him. you'd even blackmail me for his sake. you're something, i'll give you that."

Mettaton blinked, confused with sudden revelation from the skeleton. The robot star slammed the table, pointing at him. "You did that on purpose!" He settled down when everyone turned their attention on them and Mettaton was embarrassed by his outburst. When the patrons resumed with their rambling, Mettaton exhaled deeply, collecting his thoughts. So all those times in the past, he did that for Papyrus? Not his selfish desire to protect his baby brother?

"I get it, you're a funny guy. And cool brother."

"nah, papyrus is cool."

Mettaton chuckled at that. "He certainly is."

A newcomer came in, looking around. He went for their table. "Aha! There you two are!"

Mettaton blushed when he saw Papyrus. "Oh, Papy! You looked for us? I am sorry we didn't tell you. We just had a… family chat."

"family chat?"

"FAMILY CHAT?!"

Both brothers shouted, appalled.

"Why, of course. Not now, but it's going to happen one day."

Sans coughed nervously, his left eye blinking. "uh, i'll leave you two alone. grillbz didn't hear my knock knock jokes yet."

He went to the bar and ordered his drink, still in shock.

But looking back at his brother who laughed earnestly with Mettaton, he found himself chuckling as well. Papyrus found a good match.

If he however ever hurts his bro… he'll regret ever crossing him.

"welp, grillbz. the cat is out of the bag. how about we head to your home after your shift is over?"

The fire elemental nodded and Sans sipped on his drink, content at last.

Things turned out nicely for everyone.

Everyone was happy.

#undertale #papyton #sansby #MTT is at his wits end because Sans keeps on cockblocking his date with Papyrus #attempt at blackmailing backfires

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