#something about jimmy being happy with his ending despite being in the first round of deaths again

[sopuu]

canary’s ascent to death

[succubusphan]

Two Man Team - Chapter 3

Summary: This is the story of two struggling friends who after many trials and tribulations find their way back to each other and build the life they've always dreamed of.

Or how Phil changed his life by talking to random strangers on the internet.

Rating: E

Tags/warnings: Friends to lovers, Friends with benefits, mental health issues (mainly anxiety), Slow burn, Dan is a psych student. Canon divergence (the timeline is altered and some things never happened), Slutty Phil, Angst with a happy ending. The fic spans many years.

Author's Note: Written for the OSPBB 2023 @oldschoolpbb. Thank you @effingmeteors for being my life saviour and beta as usual and to my artist Lin @anironsidh.

Edits and the art will be added at some point, we are busy bees.

POSTING EVERY DAY UNTIL IT'S COMPLETED.

Total Word Count: 75k ish

Read on Ao3

CHAPTER 3: Chandelier

March 2006

Mother’s Day found Phil back home, giggling as he got ready to record his first Video Vlog. This was just another outlet for his creativity, like any of his other film projects. It didn’t need to be anything special, after all, it was not like millions of people would see it. Just a silly little video, that’s all.

He looked around his room, hoping to find inspiration for his YouTube username and saw Richard’s Christmas gift. He opened the scrapbook and smiled just like the first time he saw all the photos, and when he made it to the end, he knew he’d found it. He needed something with an A to show up first in people’s inbox and Richard had called him amazing. Come to think of it, Dan had once called him Amazing as well, Amazing Phil. And so AmazingPhil was created. He had his fun filming and editing, and when the time came, he hit the upload button before he could overthink it. 

After playing a few rounds of Mario Kart with Dan, Phil asked him what he thought about the vlog. Of course, Dan said it was funny and brilliant but he was Phil’s friend, what else was he supposed to say? After some more prying, Dan swore on his life that he loved the video and encouraged him to post more, which Phil appreciated. In turn, Phil encouraged Dan to start his own YouTube channel, especially when he saw that he had gotten his first subscriber already! And 5 comments as well, even one all the way from Australia. It was honestly so fun and a great way to meet new people too.

Dan was hesitant at first, but he promised to think about it. Phil knew that deep down, Dan was still a theatre kid and YouTube could be a great outlet for him. Maybe one day they could post something together. 

A video reply notification came up and his train of thought vanished now that a newer and shinier dopamine rush caught his eye.

---

June 2008

So many finals had nearly put Phil 6 feet under, it was all a blur of sleepless nights, studying, revising and going out drinking. 

His friendship with Callan deteriorated greatly when he got a rude and noisy girlfriend who would stay over more often than not, disturbing their studying schedule and Phil’s filming time. After one too many arguments, Sarah had seen the situation for what it was and followed Phil when he moved into a new flat with nine other people. It was not an ideal situation but it came as a blessing and helped deepen the bond between him and Sarah, especially after cutting contact with Peter when he took Callan’s side and barely speaking with Jimmy who had decided to stay despite being at odds with both Callan and Peter.

Moving during the last month of the term had been stressful to the point where Phil could barely go a day without crying, but he buried his head in his books with Sarah sitting right at his side and gave it his all. 

He felt ready to give up on uni and only kept at it because it was his last term at York. Just a little more and he would be free, right?

Wrong.

Graduation didn’t come as a relief to Phil as he had expected. Every stressful situation, dramatic argument with his roommates, disastrous hookup and his ever undefined situation with Mark piled a mountain of anxiety sitting heavy on his chest. 

His mistake was thinking that going home for the summer as a free man was going to solve his every problem, but no. As it turns out, having an infinite amount of time to think about the state of his life, his absolute lack of direction, or love life was not a good thing.

The fact that he felt somehow disconnected from all his childhood friends had not helped matters either. Ian’s family had moved away, but at least he had reached out and invited him to Brighton. Anja had called but she was away on vacation with her family. Richard hadn’t returned for the summer, he’d gone south to his girlfriend’s house and the others had barely shown interest in seeing him. 

In a way, his home barely felt like a home anymore. His parents were preparing to move away to the Isle of Man, Martyn was touring Sweden with Cornelia and his friend group had basically vanished into thin air.

After only a week of feeling so anxious that he was unable to eat, or speak to anyone, Phil decided to run back to what he knew and enrolled in a master’s degree. It was just one more year but at least it would probably help him get a job related to what he loved: making videos. 

---

October 2008

Phil looked down at his phone and smiled as he sent a winky face to Stephen. He threw himself back on the bed, a wide smile gracing his lips. Every time he chatted with Stephen, Phil couldn’t help the giddy feeling deep in his stomach. He was the first person who truly understood exactly how he felt about making YouTube videos because he had a channel of his own where he posted short films, focusing more on the directorial side of things than Phil did, but they still had their passion project in common. 

Biting his lip and feeling the blush creeping into his cheeks, Phil invited Stephen to join him and his other YouTube friend, Charlie, in Manchester. He watched the screen intently until another notification popped up. 

“Did you ask him yet?” Charlie asked over text.

“Yes! X_x I’m waiting for a reply. What if he says no?”

“O_o’ Nah, it’s obvious he likes you.”

Stephen finally replied. “Sure! Thursday?”

“Charlie has work. Saturday?” Phil offered. It was silly, but Phil felt a bit insecure about meeting Stephen one on one because he was just so cool, so he wanted to bring Charlie to make it more of a friendly hang out than a date. Well, it had been Charlie’s idea after all, so why not?

“Sick! Let’s film something together some other time,” Stephen said.

“Kool,” Phil replied and switched over to the conversation with Charlie. “Saturday!”

“Told you he would say yes!”

“Thanks for coming with us ^_^ u r the best!” Phil replied and threw his phone on the bed, getting up and starting to pick an outfit for the night. If he rushed maybe he could get ready-

He ran back to his bed as soon as he heard the Skype notification and did a quick fringe check while the call connected. He giggled when the first thing he saw was a very dishevelled Dan being vigorously kissed by an old, long haired mutt. 

“Aww, he’s so cute!” Phil said.

Dan laughed and tried to get his dog to settle down. “Stop! Phil is going to think that you are weird!”

“I would never!” Phil said, bringing his hand to his chest in mock offence.

Sammy turned towards Dan’s laptop and barked, letting his tongue hang out the side of his mouth.

“Hellooooo Sammy!” Phil said.

Sammy cocked his head and sat on Dan’s lap, making it so Dan had to lean to the side to be able to see the screen. “Hey, how was the exam?”

“Awful, how else would an exam go?” Phil laughed. “How was your Geo presentation?”

“I think I did pretty well. Nobody else picked Burkina Faso.”

“I can believe that,” Phil smirked. “So how is your school year going so far?”

“I wish I was dead, but other than that, pretty well,” Dan smiled.

“I don’t like it when you joke like that,” Phil frowned.

“Who said I was joking?” Dan let out a humourless laugh. “Anyways, my friend group has disintegrated. Lucy and Tom broke up and now hate each other, Emilio is not talking to me, or anyone for that matter, and Jack told me to fuck off today.”

“Oh… what happened?” This was terrible news for Dan, no matter how much he tried to play it off as something he had expected.

“Well, you know how it is,” he said, absentmindedly petting Sammy as he settled down. “I’m painfully unpopular and they don’t want to get beat up for speaking to me. The inbetweeners can never relax with that. Now that we are no longer a group we are easier targets and since I’m usually the problem, everyone is avoiding me like the plague.”

Phil winced, trying to think of anything he could say to lift Dan’s spirits, but what could he possibly say to make up for the fact that Dan had no friends other than him, again. “Dan, are you sure there isn’t anyone you can talk to about this?”

Dan let out an exasperated sigh. “No, we’ve gone over this so many times. It’s fine, Phil; really. It’s just one more year and I’ll never have to see any of them again.”

“But-” Phil tried.

“I don’t want to talk about it, ok?” Dan snapped, running his fingers through his hair.

“I’m sorry,” Phil mumbled. “I know; I shouldn’t have pushed.”

Dan let out a small sigh. “No, it’s fine. I’m sorry. You are my only friend and the only one I can talk to. I shouldn’t snap at you for trying to help, but just telling you these things helps enough. You know?”

“Yeah, I understand.”

Dan slapped his hands on his thighs, startling Sammy and causing him to leave with a reproachful look on his face. “Sorry, buddy,” He said over his shoulder before locking eyes with Phil again. “Let’s talk about something else. How are things? Are you dating anyone?”

“Nah, not anymore. He-” Phil paused for a second realising he messed up but not wanting to make a big deal out of it. “He cheated on me. Robert was his name. Fuck that guy.”

Dan flashed him a smile. “Yeah, fuck that guy. Are you ok though?”

“Yeah,” Phil sighed, feeling encouraged at seeing Dan smile again. “I’ll admit I cried and all my new roommates helped me set everything he gave me on fire, even the plushie.”

“Noooo, poor plushie!” Dan laughed and let himself fall to the side dramatically.

Phil laughed, relaxing a bit more since Dan hadn’t reacted badly. “Sorry, he had to go. Oh, Also, last year I had a crush on a coworker and I thought he wanted to make out in the basement, but he just wanted me to help him steal chocolates for his girlfriend.”

Dan laughed even harder at that, letting himself fall sideways and kicking his feet in the air. “Stop!”

After watching Dan laugh for way too long, Phil decided to deliver the final blow. “I ended up quitting that job because an old lady threw a chocolate orange at my head,” he said in a monotone voice, eagerly waiting for Dan’s reaction.

“AAAaaaah, I’m going to barf,” he said, clutching at his stomach with tears running down his cheeks. “I can’t even.”

Phil smiled and enjoyed watching his friend laugh at his misery. “Hey, Dan?”

Dan wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and cleared his throat. “Yeah?”

Phil bit his lip for a moment and decided that it was ok to ask. It was Dan after all. “You don’t care that I’m gay, right?”

“Well your MySpace says bisexual so I assumed you liked guys anyway.” Dan shrugged but offered a tiny smile. “So are you gay gay then?”

“Yeah, never liked a boob in my life,” Phil said.

Dan snorted. “Boobs are nice sometimes.”

“For some people,” Phil conceded. “Not for me though.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Dan nodded. “I don’t mind. You are my best friend - and you’re fucking fit. If anything, it’s a plus.” 

Dan was so casual about it, adding a little wink in the end, but his blush let Phil know that he was a bit embarrassed to have said that. Dan was 17 anyway and in a vulnerable position, so Phil didn’t entertain the comment other than to avoid his friend the embarrassment. “I would say I’m severely unfit but thanks,” he laughed. 

Someone knocked on Phil’s door. “Yeah?” He asked.

“Hey, are you coming to the party? Mark’s here,” Sarah said without opening the door. 

“Oh, yeah. You go, I just need to change and we’ll catch up in a bit.”

Dan’s face fell at that. “Oh, you have to leave already?”

“Not right now,” Phil shook his head. “We can still talk for a bit.”

“So you’re still with Mark,” Dan said. It didn’t sound like a question. “I remember you mentioning him a while back. He was at your birthday party.”

Phil frowned, he had never mentioned being with Mark for obvious reasons. He was also taken aback by Dan’s icy tone. “I’m not with Mark. He’s my friend.”

“Right,” Dan mumbled.

There was another knock on the door, but this time it opened slightly and Mark’s head peaked in. “Are you decent?”

“Haven’t been for a while,” Phil smiled. “I’m skyping with Dan.”

“Oh,” Mark said and invited himself over. He sat on the bed at Phil’s side and pulled his knees up to his chest. “Hi, Dan! Cool hair! When are you joining us?”

“Thanks,” Dan smiled, absentmindedly fixing his fringe.

Phil swatted Mark’s arm. “Leave him be, he’s in school. He will have time to party when he goes to uni.”

“So… next year?” Mark asked.

“I’m taking a gap year… but I could come to visit - if you want,” Dan said, looking a bit guarded but at least not snapping at Mark.

Phil raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yeah, if you want…” Dan mumbled.

Phil almost slapped himself for making Dan doubt he would be welcome. “Of course! Do you know where you want to go yet?”

Dan shrugged. “Maybe Manchester… or York.”

“York is ace,” Phil said and both Mark and Dan laughed at him.

“Well, it was nice meeting you, Dan. If you ever want to visit, we’ll take you out and about to some parties - unless you want to stay home, which would be fine. No pressure,” Mark said.

Phil smiled but looked into Mark’s eyes giving him a silent warning. “Why don’t you go make us some drinks while I get changed and chat with Dan.”

“Ok, don’t take an hour or I’ll fall asleep on the couch.”

“Old man,” Phil laughed. “Alright,” he said and waited until Mark had walked out to continue, but before he could say anything Dan broke the silence.

“Are you sure you’re not dating?” He pressed, sounding small. 

“Yes, Dan,” Phil said, not understanding why Dan was so set on the topic and, quite honestly, starting to get a bit annoyed. “Mark doesn’t do dating. He likes to be free.”

Dan’s eyebrows disappeared under his fringe. “And you’re ok with that?”

“Yeah, of course,” Phil said with a shrug. “He can do whatever he wants. What made you think that we were together like that?”

“The way you speak about him and just now, he looked at you like… I don’t know,” Dan said, frowning. “He likes you.”

Phil shook his head. “Mark likes everyone - and that’s ok.”

“Would you date him if he wanted a relationship?” Dan insisted. 

Phil paused, really considering it for a moment. “No, I don’t think I would. I know that he is happy fooling around and I wouldn’t want to ruin his fun. I’m sure I’ll meet someone who wants to actually be in a relationship and hopefully not cheat on me.”

“You deserve that, to be happy,” Dan said.

“Dan, you deserve that too. I know you don’t think you do but I promise that it’s true. Ok?”

Dan ventured a small smile, even if a little unsure. “Ok.” His cell phone pinged and he grabbed it, reading a text, his face falling again.

“Everything ok?” Phil asked.

“Yeah, just my - my girlfriend. I better leave you to it and head out too.”

“Say hi to her from me,” Phil tried but the light in Dan’s eyes was gone.

“Yeah, I will. I’ll text you tomorrow.”

“Do that,” Phil said. “See ya.”

“Yeah, bye,” Dan said and disconnected the call immediately.

Phil was glad that they had been able to catch up after so long but he had the nagging feeling that something else was going on in Dan’s life, something that he was not willing to talk about. Given that Dan didn’t appreciate him asking too many questions, he decided to let his friend tell him on his own terms.

He put on a pair of probably clean black skinny jeans, a black MCR T-shirt and two belts before heading out in search of Mark. The flat was fairly quiet except for Sarah’s room and the singing coming from the kitchen. Phil smiled and wrapped his arms around Mark, hugging him from behind. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Mark looked over his shoulder only long enough to peck Phil’s lips. “Malibu and coke?”

“Sure,” Phil said, stepping back and grabbing the drink Mark was already handing him. “Why did you invite Dan over?”

“I don’t know. He seemed sad. What better for an 18 year old to have friends in uni that can take him to bars?”

“He’s 17 and I don’t think he is ready for bars around here.”

“Of course he is. You just need to keep an eye on him, remind him not to put his drink down and make sure he doesn’t leave with anyone. Or do you think he would rebel against that and leave with someone?”

“No, I don’t think he would, but still. I think he is too young to hang out in the places we do. What if someone offers him drugs or - I don’t know,” Phil said, feeling unsure. “Maybe if we keep an eye on him.”

Mark’s smile dimmed when he realised that Phil was truly worried about Dan. “We can just hang out at mine with people we trust, but he needs more friends.”

“Yeah, he does,” Phil said and took a long sip of Malibu. 

Mark nodded and pressed shuffle on his iPod. “Maybe you should introduce him to Charlie and Stephen.”

Phil nodded. “Yeah, maybe next year.” Perhaps introducing Dan to his YouTube friends would be a good idea. Who knows, maybe by then he and Stephen would have moved beyond the occasional drunk kiss. He tried not to let his mind linger on those memories, he reserved those for his alone time.

---

Summer 2009

Being free from uni was the best. Phil could finally go out with his friends and fool around with some cute guys in York. Having graduated both from his BA and his masters, he didn’t have much of an excuse to stay in the city for long and his parents asked him to come home since he didn’t have a job that could fully support him as Martyn did. 

That was not the only change in his life. Stephen and him were getting quite close and Phil finally admitted to himself that he was developing feelings for his friend, it was not just a crush.

He didn’t want to get too attached yet so he still went out to bars and slept around as much as he could when he visited Mark in York but he still couldn’t get Stephen out of his head. In a moment of weakness, he confessed his feelings for Stephen to Charlie who was incredibly supportive even if he did tease Phil about it and promised to speak to Stephen, maybe figure out if he felt the same way about Phil. 

Mentally, he didn’t feel as isolated as the previous year but he wasn’t doing super well. Ian and Anja had visited but everyone else had basically moved on. Sometimes he just yearned for what no longer was a part of his life and he couldn’t help but take the fact that everyone had just abandoned him personally. His mum had said that it was normal to lose touch with those who no longer share a space with us, that it was a part of life, but Phil simply didn’t agree. He had never intended to basically lose all his childhood friends. Thankfully, there was one person who had stuck at his side through the years, and he didn’t even live nearby. Phil felt like with Dan being an adult, maybe there wasn’t a reason they couldn’t meet anymore. Even their parents knew about their friendship.

On October 16 Dan finally found the confidence to post his very first video, which was amazing and got quite a bit of views, especially after Phil gave him a shout out. It made Phil smile that Dan said he was encouraged to post by “friends,” it was his way of mentioning him without actually naming him. He was so freaking proud of Dan and he made sure to mention it in yet another of their 5 hour long Skype calls.

That day, they talked and laughed until their stomach hurt and tears were streaming down their cheeks. Phil invited Dan over, and even though they had both mentioned the possibility before, this time it actually felt real. After some research, they decided that October 19 would be the perfect date for a meet-up. Dan would be visiting Manchester to check out the uni he wanted to attend and they could go back to Phil’s since his parents were in Florida for their annual retiree trip.

Phil lay down on his bed, listening to Dan’s long rant about a movie he’d seen. The next time Phil opened his eyes, it was already the following morning. He smiled when he realised he had fallen asleep while on the call. His computer was dead but he shot Dan a good morning text and got up to clean his very messy room. He needed to make the entire house look decent for his guest. Sure, his mum had left it in pristine condition but he’d been a bit of a slob when left to his own devices.

He spent the next 2 days putting things in random places because he had overthought everything so much that he didn’t even know what would look normal and what wouldn’t anymore. In the end, he let out a long sigh and reminded himself that Dan had been his friend for years and he knew who Phil was already. The chances of him thinking Phil was too weird by the look of his house were very slim. 

He looked at the time and ran out of the house, barely remembering to lock the door before rushing towards the bus stop. In the end, everything worked out and when Phil saw his tall and lanky friend towering over everyone else in Piccadilly, he knew that everything had been worth it.

Dan did a little trot towards him and surprised him by wrapping his arms around him, pulling him into a warm hug, tighter than any other hug Phil had ever received, and that made him smile and return the gesture.

“Hey! How was the trip?” Phil asked, reluctantly breaking the hug.

“Nice. There was a weird guy staring at me so I switched seats, but other than that it was good. Well worth the 19 pounds.”

“I’m glad!” Phil said. “Wanna head to the Apple Store?”

“Isn’t that where you took Charlie and Stephen?” Dan asked, referencing the pictures they had posted to Twitter.

“Yeah,” Phil said, frowning. Was that bad for some reason? 

“Are you flirting with me?” Dan asked with a wink. “Is that where you take all of your guys?”

Phil let out a shocked laugh, feeling the blush creeping up his cheeks and hoping that Dan wouldn’t think he was a creep. “Shut up. We can go to Starbucks instead if you want.”

“Apple Store first, Starbucks later. I wouldn’t want you to attack me because of your caffeine addiction.”

“Hey! I have it under control!”

“Of course you do, Lester,” Dan smiled, rolling his eyes.

They ran a bit wild all over the city, taking pictures and laughing, getting looks from old people who scoffed at them. The last stop before the bus was the big wheel. Phil stepped into the carriage, guiding Dan in with a wide smile, he was just excited to be able to show Dan all his favourite places and to see things through the eyes of someone who was experiencing them for the first time. 

It was a great day, an amazing day even, but it was also a bit confusing and shocking. 

Phil had always taken Dan’s flirting as a bluff, he’d figured Dan was all bark and no bite, but when Dan called his name and pressed their lips together softly, gently - even expertly - it caught Phil off guard. The kiss made his skin tingle from the tip of his toes to the last hair on his head in a way that he had never experienced before and he found himself responding, losing himself in the feeling, and then - it was over. Dan flashed him a smile without even saying a word and looked out the carriage. 

Bracing himself on the rail, Phil let out a small breath and put his hand to his chest. What it meant - he didn’t know; he would let Dan decide that. 

If Dan didn’t want to talk about it then that was that. Phil was willing to let it go.

---

Phil led Dan into his family home and showed him around, giggling at Dan’s commentary about how haunted it looked even though his parents had been the ones to build it. There were no Victorian ghosts attached to the house because it was simply impossible. Dan still rejected this information which made Phil laugh. Then, an idea popped into his head. “We should film a video together for my channel.”

Dan stopped mid hallway and turned around. “Really? You would put me on your channel?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I?” Phil frowned at the sudden way Dan’s face had fallen, but in a flash, his expression morphed into a bright smile again.

“Alright then, lead the way.”

Phil grabbed Dan’s hand and dragged him into his bedroom, suddenly feeling a bit shy about the bright green carpet and walls his 10 year old self had chosen. “This is my bedroom,” he said, stupidly.

“The famous AmazingPhil bedroom,” Dan said. “Bet you brought many guys up here.”

“Dan, I live with my parents,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“Well, I don’t know, maybe you like to be heard.” Dan had the gall to wiggle his eyebrows at him.

“Ew, no,” Phil said and placed his hands on Dan’s shoulders, making him sit on the bed. 

Phil brought his laptop and sat beside Dan, thinking for a moment. Maybe some audience participation could help. He decided to tweet, asking people to send some questions in, and as per usual, his viewers were being weird about it. 

Dan took pen and paper and, instead of choosing the safest options, he wrote down the most unhinged topics and challenges in his indecipherable handwriting. They took turns reading the questions out loud and let their creative juices flow freely which worked a million times better than Phil would’ve hoped. Filming together turned out to be super fun, so even though it took a long time, they continued until they ran out of material. 

Phil was just saying a few closing words for the video when Dan said “This was the most fun I’ve ever had” and tackled him, nearly pushing him into the wardrobe that stood behind them and effectively knocking the wind out of him, especially when Dan pinned him to the ground with a wide smirk.

Phil felt like he was falling, physically, but he was already on the ground so there was nowhere else to go. Dan hovered over him and for a moment it looked like he was slowly leaning down to kiss Phil again, but when Dan’s phone vibrated in his pocket he sat up and rushed to check his notifications, his face falling as soon as he did.

“Everything ok?” Phil asked.

“Yeah,” Dan mumbled, looking up from his phone. “I’m tired. Can we get to bed?” His voice sounded so flat, almost sad. 

“Sure, you can sleep here and I’ll take Martyn’s -”

Dan shook his head. “Can you stay with me? I don’t want to be alone tonight…” He reached for his duffle bag and pulled a hoodie out, shivering a bit before slipping it on.

“I…” Phil hesitated. What was Dan asking for exactly?

“I just need a hug. I don’t want to have nightmares, that’s all.” Dan pulled at his sleeves until they showed only the tip of his fingers.

Phil nodded and cleared his throat. “Of course!”

Ten minutes later they lay in bed, Phil flat on his back with Dan laying on his side, pressed tightly to his frame, his head resting on Phil’s shoulder and one leg thrown over his as well. It didn’t take long for Dan to drift off to sleep, but Phil lay there in the dark, reliving every moment of their day, their meeting, the Apple Store, Starbucks, The Wheel - the kiss. Then his mind went to Dan’s giggles while they filmed the video, the tackle and almost second kiss - and whatever Dan saw on his phone that upset him. 

Dan’s phone vibrated on the bedside table and Phil couldn’t resist the urge. He reached for it and just turned on the screen to see the notification. It was a text from “Em.” That was probably his cousin Emily, the one Dan didn’t really like, the rude one with a moustache. They were probably arguing again. He set the phone down and finally let sleep claim him.

The following day, they woke up pretty late and they decided to stay in and do a movie marathon, which was super fun. At first, Dan didn’t seem to be mentally present and, for a moment, Phil was scared that things would be weird between them because of the kiss, or maybe he had done something wrong, but Dan assured him that he was fine, just a bit distracted.

He briefly wondered if the call Dan had received the previous night had anything to do with his sudden mood change. Thankfully it didn’t last long. After the first movie, they got a fuzzy blanket, ordered pizza and cuddled up on the sofa, and Phil was happy to feel Dan relaxing into his arms and chatting loads, as usual. 

By the end of the day, they had caught up with all the movie releases they'd missed, finished the pizza and decided to settle down and edit what they had filmed. Phil had taken the time to show Dan some things he’d learned at uni, given him some ‘editing tips’ as Dan had called them, as they laughed and played around with things.

Overall, it had been a fun weekend and Phil knew he would never forget it. 

---

October 25th 2009

Phil was excited to finally post his first video with Dan, ‘Phil is not on fire,’ a sort of remix of odd questions and jokes turned into something that he was very proud of. To their surprise, they received 100 views quite fast, a number they hadn’t been able to achieve on their own at that moment so they didn’t know what to think.

People interacted with Phil’s channel a lot more than before but it could be a one time thing, some sort of glitch on the platform. For the time being, he celebrated the success with a six hour Skype call with Dan and some well deserved Mario Kart.

Dan visited again on the 30th for a late birthday celebration since Mark had promised to take him out to the pubs but hadn’t been available before. Phil was a bit hesitant about how Dan and Mark would get along, because of the age difference and how much Dan questioned Phil about him. In a way, Phil assumed Dan felt a bit insecure being around older people, but luckily, they had gotten on immediately. By the end of the night, they were all moderately drunk and back at Mark’s, playing a very controversial game of Monopoly and eating hotdogs until like 6 am.

Overall it was a good night, even if Phil couldn’t really relax because he felt so protective of Dan at the pub, keeping an eye on any guy who approached him and even monitoring his interactions with Mark.

Phil knew that Mark flirted with everyone and was not interested in people of Dan’s age but - he just didn’t want anyone hurting his friend. Dan had had enough with his recent breakup and he didn’t need any more drama.

Maybe Phil was just jealous of Dan. Honestly, it was hard for Phil to know where he stood with Mark sometimes. He wasn’t in love with him but Mark still held a place in his heart, as more than a friend. It was complicated - too complicated. Every time Phil tried to untangle his feelings about their situation he got a headache and gave up.

That was partially why he had started to focus more on his feelings for Stephen. There seemed to be something there, a potential relationship, definitely more than what Mark was willing to give him. Phil smiled thinking that maybe he could ask Stephen to be his boyfriend at the gathering. A soft snore coming from Dan, who was sleeping next to him, pulled him from his thoughts and made him giggle. He pressed a kiss to Dan’s forehead and shut his eyes.

He woke up well into the morning with a pounding headache, and his mood, as well as his plans, only continued to sour. It was the 31st and he and Dan were due to take the train back to London together to make it to the Halloween gathering with a few hours to spare, but things had gotten complicated early in the morning. Stephen and Charlie were supposed to join them around 10 am but they hadn't and when Mark had texted them, they had simply not replied. 

Mark told them to just go without Stephen and Charlie and apologised for not coming along, but he had to work. He left Phil the spare set of keys and asked them to send pictures later.

Phil nodded and texted them again, trying to figure out what was going on but Charlie sent a vague text saying they couldn’t make it, which was fine… until Phil opened Twitter and saw a picture of them making out Charlie had shared.

His stomach dropped and, for a moment, he thought he was going to cry over Stephen, over Charlie’s betrayal… but he couldn’t. His feelings were contained deep inside him, behind some sort of invisible wall. At the same time, he felt as if there was this sort of darkness surrounding him, was it sadness? Or maybe he was going to faint again. That was getting frequent.

“Phil?” Dan said, sounding almost underwater. “Phil!”

Phil opened his eyes and realised he was on the floor. “Did I faint?”

“I think so. Are you alright? Do you want to go to A&E?”

“No, it’s fine. It happens sometimes,” he said flatly.

“Are you sure?” Dan asked. “You look way too pale.”

Phil let out a noncommittal hum and sat up against the couch. “Yeah, don’t worry about it.”

Dan frowned. “Don’t do that, don’t shut me out. What’s going on?”

“Charlie posted a picture kissing Stephen,” Phil said, looking up at Dan, trying not to cry. “I told Charlie that I like Stephen and he promised to help me with him, but now they are dating. That’s why they cancelled on us.”

“Fuck,” said Dan. “Charlie is a piece of shit. I never liked him anyway, he sounds like a dick.”

Phil wanted to disagree but he knew Dan was right. He was almost sure that Charlie had done it on purpose to hurt him. He was always competing with Phil for one thing or another. Stephen was just today’s prize to him.

“Hey, do you still want to go out?” Dan asked. “We can stay if you want.”

“No, let’s just order pizza and stay in,” Phil admitted. “Please,” he said, his voice shaking a bit as he tried to stay calm.

“Yeah, sure,” Dan nodded. “Do you want me to call Mark?”

Phil shook his head. He didn’t want to see or speak to anyone - just Dan. “Do you want to play Mario Kart?”

“Always. You sit here, I’ll handle the pizza and set everything.”

Phil looked into Dan’s worried eyes and finally attempted a small smile. “Thank you, Dan. You’re a good friend.”

Dan flashed him a smile and went about getting everything sorted. It was crazy that they had met on a random Yahoo chat room nearly 4 years ago and become internet friends and now real friends. Sometimes it was as if Dan was the only person who truly understood him.

Two hours later, feeling a lot better and no longer hangry, he decided that enough was enough. He wasn’t going to let his shit friends ruin their night. It was up to him to keep his promise and introduce Dan to the other youtubers, actually nice ones.

“You know what?” Phil said. “Let’s go to the gathering anyway, we don’t need anyone else. Get the costumes from the closet, I’ll try to find the makeup, we can make it to the next train.”

“Deal!” Dan said.

In the end, Phil was glad to have changed his mind. They had a lot of fun dressed as a cat and a bear, meeting other youtubers, and taking silly pictures that Phil held very dear. That night, like many others, Dan had been the one to make everything right, to make him feel safe and included. In his eyes, there was nothing Dan couldn’t make right.

[riversofmars]

Interrupting my usual broadcast of DW fic to bring you another British gay mess: Please enjoy my first attempt at Caroline/Gillian! And as if I haven't got enough WIPs on, this is gonna be four parts, as it turns out! I don't know why I'm like this :D Anyway here we are due to popular demand!

Gillian takes Caroline up on her offer of moving in together and pooling their resources. A month has gone by and Caroline is surprised at how easy and comfortable life on the farm has become. The arrangement works for both of them: Gillian's financial struggles are a thing of the past and while it isn’t exactly the traditional family set-up Caroline would have wanted, Gillian turned out to be exactly what she needed in a partner to help raise her daughter. Adding romance to the otherwise perfect set-up is a pipe-dream on the headteacher's part, but the more time she spends with the sheep farmer, the more drawn she is to her. Rating: M (language & sexual themes)

Home Is Not A Place - Part 1: The Dinner

“For goodness sake,“ Caroline groaned, as she stepped out of her SUV and right into a puddle. Resigned to her changed situation, she decided from now on she would have to switch shoes after work, from her favourite heels, to a lesser loved pair. There was no two ways about it. But at least then there would be absolutely no danger of ruining a two-hundred pound pair of Jimmy Choos, upon her arrival at Greenwood farm. Of course she wouldn’t mention this to Gillian, God no, otherwise her Christmas present to her might end up a new pair of wellingtons.

In the open court yard of the farm, the wind was biting cold and encouraged the headteacher to hurry up the stairs to the relative safety and comfort of the house. Caroline cursed under her breath as the wind wreaked havoc with her hair, and the cold crept up her legs, underneath her woefully-inappropriate-for-farm-life pencil skirt. The British weather was really giving its all this year to live up to its reputation. Well in the grip of Winter already, it only took Caroline to stay late at work by an hour - like today - and night had already fallen. Preparations for this year’s Nativity were gathering steam and - being the hands-on headmistress she was - there was no way Caroline would allow the theatre department to shoulder the burden all on their own. Working late would usually have required a lot of planning for a single parent such as herself, but things had gotten a lot easier, recently.

“Hiya Caz,“ Gillian called from the lounge, when Caroline closed the front door of the farm house behind her and smiled at the chipper greeting.

“Hiya!“ She called back and pushed her soaked shoes into a corner. With any luck, Gillian wouldn’t spot them and she could deal with them later. The sheep farmer would only get suspicious if she lingered in the hallway for too long. “Evening,“ Caroline smiled as she stepped into the living room. Flora and Calamity were sitting on the sofa in front of the tv, dressed in pyjamas. She walked over to them, pressing a kiss to her daughter’s head and then, for good measure, repeated the gesture on Calamity. The girls were the closest of friends and since Caroline and Flora had moved in at the farm, they had become closer still - almost like real siblings - and Caroline had found herself treating them as such with increasing frequency.

“Wet out, is it?“ Gillian smirked, observing Caroline’s dishevelled head of hair, drawing her attention. The sheep farmer was leaning against the kitchen counter, mug in hand, assessing her over the rim of it.

“What’s this?“ Caroline raised her eyebrows, as she spotted two - and only two! - places set at the kitchen table, complete with wine glasses.

“Girls have eaten. Just having a bit of telly before bed,“ Gillian explained, nodding towards the pre-schoolers that were engrossed in their cartoons. “Lasagne is in oven, thought you might be hungry, with your long day n’all.“

“You made lasagne?“ Caroline asked, though it sounded more bewildered than she had intended. It wasn’t uncommon that Gillian would cook for all of them. She was the one at home, her work was here, it made sense. Caroline was a woman of science, of hard facts, so she liked things to make sense. But for some reason, coming home to Gillian Greenwood - who had cooked for her and looked after her daughter - was still something of curiosity, despite empirical evidence to the contrary. Caroline was still not quite used to it, no matter how much sense it made.

Caroline had managed to convince Gillian of the sense behind them pooling their resources not long after she had floated the idea for the first time. Her and Flora moved in at the farm a month ago, and much to everyone’s surprise - and her mother’s dismay - it worked surprisingly well. This was not the first time she had come home to a cooked meal, it was becoming a regular occurrence, so Caroline was at a loss as to why this time, it felt different. Perhaps it was the absence of Raff and Ellie who - as Caroline now remembered - had been invited to Ellie’s mother’s to parade around the little one. Perhaps it was because there were only two places set at the table. Or perhaps it was the warmth of Gillian’s chuckled as she replied:

“Well, had to make something.“

“You really didn’t have to, I don’t… expect to come home to a home cooked meal every day,“ Caroline felt obliged to state, just for the record, though she knew that Gillian would do whatever the bloody hell she wanted anyway. It wasn’t like Caroline - or anyone else for that matter - had any bearing on what this infuriatingly independent and bull-headed woman did or didn’t do.

“Nice though, innit,“ the sheep farmer shot back with surprising enthusiasm. “Guess that was part of the deal. Least I can do, mind the kids and cook you some tea.“ She gave a shrug like it was nothing; when to Caroline, it was a huge deal. This wasn’t something she would have admitted to, of course; just as she wouldn’t have admitted that there was something very appealing about coming home to Gillian.

“I’m not expecting you to pretend to be my stay-at-home housewife or something, Gillian,“ Caroline tried to brush it off with a joke.

“You better not. Cause that’s not me,“ Gillian retorted with good-natured humour, and it struck Caroline that she was a far cry from the tense, short-fused woman she’d met seven years ago. It was moments such as these, that the headteacher realised how much she had changed. Healing would be too strong a word for it; Caroline couldn’t imagine how anyone could possibly heal from what Gillian had been through, but she seemed to be doing, better. She seemed more comfortable in her own skin, and more comfortable with her life. Secretly, Caroline hoped she had contributed to her wellbeing in some small way; even if it was just by giving her the security that she wouldn’t have to give up the farm.

“Don’t I know it,“ Caroline chuckled. “Wine, too, is it?“ She picked up the bottle on the table and checked the label. It was one of her favourites and for a moment, she wasn’t sure whether Gillian had remembered, or if they’d still had that bottle lying round somewhere. “Is there a special occasion? One month since we moved in?“ It wasn’t like she had been counting…well, she had. But only to be able to lord it over her mother about how long they had managed to stay under the same roof, without tearing each other’s heads off…or each other’s clothes…she added as an after thought. But only for her own amusement, not for public consumption.

“I guess I just…wanted to say thank you…for agreeing to this,“ Gillian huffed, suddenly appearing self-conscious, as if she wondered whether she had made a mistake. Caroline felt guilty immediately. For someone with self-esteem as fragile as Gillian, doubts came quickly, and cut deep.

“It was my idea! It’s to both of our advantage. I couldn’t have carried on the way it was, particularly now that our parents aren’t…able…to help as much as before…“ Caroline was quick to assure her. It had made a lot of sense, and she was glad she had managed to persuade Gillian of the proposal’s merit. Even once their parents had volunteered the money to pay for the work on the roof, it didn’t change the fact that Gillian was barely breaking even financially. Certainly not with the sheep that had escaped a few months ago, and once Raff and Ellie moved out - which was only a matter of time - they wouldn’t be contributing anymore, either. Gillian needed someone with her, and Caroline was more than happy to be that person, for numerous reasons. Some of them she cared to discuss, like the practicalities of it, some she would keep to herself, thank you very much.

“Just wanted to say, I do appreciate it, Caz,“ Gillian interrupted and held her hands up, as if she just had to get that out there - and would shut up now that it was said. “And I hope you’re not gonna regret it.“

“Gillian, we’ve known each other seven years now,“ Caroline couldn’t help but point out, as she set the bottle of wine back down on the table. “Yes, we’ve had our ups and downs, but all things considered, I think we’re about as steady as our parents, don’t you think?“ She gave her a soft smile. They really had come an incredibly far way since they first laid eyes on each other. To this day, Caroline was still embarrassed about her behaviour on the day they’s met, and was beyond relieved that with time, Gillian had come to see the funny side of the whole thing.

“Suppose so. Just without the sex,“ Gillian snickered and took a sip of her tea, hiding her grin in her mug as she seemed to relax again.

“I don’t want to think about our parents having sex, thank you very much!“ Caroline exclaimed, mortified, and quickly turned to check the girls hadn’t accidentally overheard. To her relief, she found them still very much engrossed in their tv show.

“God no. I don’t know if they still can, I mean, at their age…“ Gillian huffed, matter-of-factly. “And with his heart too, better mind his blood pressure hadn’t he… Mind you, probably wouldn’t be worst way t’go. Right in throes of…“

“Yes, right. That’s it, change of subject please!“ Caroline shook her head vehemently and Gillian laughed.

“Go and get changed, didn’t mean to ambush you, it’ll keep.“ She gestured to the oven. “I’ll get little ones in bed.“

“If you’re sure.“ Caroline glanced at the clock. She hadn’t realised how late it was. “How about bath time?“

“All this fun stuff you miss out on when you work late. It’s done and dusted. Go on. You don’t wanna be throwing lasagne down that fancy blouse o’ yours,“ Gillian observed, nodding towards her cream blouse.

“Right.“ Caroline gave a soft smile and watched the sheep farmer gulp down the rest of her tea, before sitting it down in the sink.

“You want me to make you a cuppa first?“ Gillian asked, seemingly confused as to why Caroline hadn’t taken her up on the offer yet, instead lingering in the kitchen.

“No, no, it’s fine, I’ll have wine if that’s going,“ Caroline answered quickly, snapping out of her moment of marvelling at how bloody perfect life was right about now to retrieve the corkscrew.

“Well, you know where everything is by now, don’t you. It’s your home too,“ Gillian observed, with an ease that astounded Caroline, that Gillian didn’t seem to think anything of. She just headed to the sofa where she put an arm around each of the girls from behind. “Right you two monsters, show’s over, off to bed wi’ you,“ she announced, leaving Caroline to forget all about the wine. She just watched the display of perfect family life in awe.

——

“Is it bad that I’m sort of looking forward to Raff and Ellie moving out?“ Caroline mused, watching Gillian’s reaction over the rim of her wine glass. “With the baby and everything, the walls aren’t exactly thick.“

“You knew that before moving in,“ Gillian pointed out. She wasn’t unkind about it, she was amused if nothing else.

“Yes, and I’m not complaining. I just didn’t think I’d be doing this still, at gone fifty, I mean…I’m just glad Flora is through the worst of it now.“ Even now, there were still times where Caroline wondered whether she was too old for all this. She had two grown up sons, starting again with Flora and doing it all on her own had been tough. Thankfully, finally, she wasn’t alone anymore. It wasn’t exactly the traditional family set-up she would have longed for, but she knew Gillian would be everything Flora needed in a second parent. She could also be everything Caroline needed in a partner, but that was just wishful thinking on the headteacher’s part. She would content herself with the way things were, as it was shaping up to be everything she wanted, just sadly minus the romance.

“Nowt saying William or Lawrence couldn’t have started early,“ Gillian retorted and Caroline laughed:

“William? Please!“ They were on their third glass of red and Caroline was feeling warm and relaxed. Her reactions had lost the restraint and reservedness she usually maintained with people, even the ones closest to her. “And Lawrence needs to seriously work out whatever he is doing with his life. And with Angus!“ She had often wondered about his relationship with his best friend. At this point, things could go either way.

“Fair. Not much of a chance of getting knocked up there,“ Gillian chuckled.

“Raff’s done alright though, hasn’t he. Becoming a dad so young and still seeing through his education and getting a good job at the end of it, it’s quite the accomplishment,“ Caroline smiled and delighted in the way Gillian’s face brightened with pride.

“He’s a good boy, our Raff,“ she commented, and Caroline was determined to push the matter over the finish line:

“That’s a credit to you. He couldn’t have done it without your support,“ she added kindly, as she put her cutlery down. Dinner had been a delight, but then by this point, Gillian could have probably fed her anything and she would have thanked her with a dreamy eyed smile. Caroline felt the warmth radiating from her cheeks; a combination of wine, the fire going in the adjoining room, and her own conflicted feelings towards her step sister. For the sake of her own sanity, she refused to refer to her as that whenever possible, particularly in her own head.

“More like in spite of me,“ Gillian huffed, her mood swinging like a pendulum. She had been much more steady in recent years, but that wasn’t to say she was free of the crippling self-doubt that always chose the most inopportune moments to rear its ugly head. “Never would’ve happened wi’ someone else. Not like your boys went and knocked up their girlfriend, is it.“

“Don’t be ridiculous,“ Caroline cut in quickly, but Gillian just downed the rest of her wine and carried on:

“You know it’s true, ‘as bad as his mother’ is what they were saying, and if they weren’t, they were thinking it.“ She gave a bitter laugh that stood in stark contrast to the carefree atmosphere they had enjoyed.

“You have many flaws, Gillian, it’s part of your charm, but being a bad mother? That’s certainly not one of them.“ Caroline was quick and decisive, in intervening. There had been times where she had been quite happy to shoot a snide comment her way herself, but not anymore.

“Hm.“ Gillian’s response was minimal, which indicated to Caroline that she hadn’t listened or taken in what she’d said.

“It’s not!“ She insisted firmly.

“Alright!“ Gillian exclaimed, exasperated.

“Do you think I’d have come here, to live with you, having you help look after my daughter, if I didn’t think you were a good mother and a good person?“ Caroline leaned forward onto her elbows, regarding the farmer with a stern look that she had perfected in many years of teaching.

“’suppose not.“ Gillian folded, just as one of Caroline’s six-formers would have done.

“Well then.“ The headteacher straightened herself up again and proceeded to divide the rest of the bottle in between their two glasses.

“Their faces. When you told them.“ Gillian suddenly burst out laughing and Caroline grinned, recalling the conversation in vivid detail. The pendulum that was Gillian’s emotional well-being, had swung back around.

“Of all the stupid, stupid videos Lawrence has done… that would have been the moment to capture,“ she shook her head to herself, remembering how comical and surreal the whole thing had been.

“It was your Mum more than me Dad, that face she pulled!“ Gillian couldn’t stop laughing; it was infectious and prompted Caroline to launch into a scarily accurate imitation of her mother:

“Caroline, you can’t really be considering moving to a farm, and HER farm of all places. Is that any way for Flora to grow up? What if she…catches something or…“ Caroline could hardly breathe for laughing. “Honestly Mum, what is she gonna catch? Fresh air?“

“Touch of the common farmer, more like,“ Gillian grimaced, but she didn’t seem to care, not really.

“Like she’s never stayed here herself.“ Caroline rolled her eyes at the hypocrisy.

“I think she was more concerned with me, than the farm,“ Gillian pointed out, taking a deep breath to calm herself down - but her face continued cracking up and gave her away.

“Well obviously.“ Caroline just waved it off. They were both used to her mother’s strong opinions, and readily chose to ignore them.

“What will you be doing with Gillian around all the time?“ Gillian tried herself at Celia’s accent which caused Caroline to launch into another laughing fit.

“I don’t know, Mum, maybe we will have a wild sapphic love affair,“ she reprised her witty response with tears of laughter in her eyes.

“You nearly gave her a heart attack an’all,“ Gillian snickered.

“Well, it’s none of her business.“ Caroline took a deep breath, regaining some small measure of self control. “And really, she only has herself to blame. If she hadn’t been on at your Dad about lending you that money, and then telling me they wouldn’t be picking up Flora anymore, none of this would have happened.“

“So really, we should be thanking her, shouldn’t we.“ Gillian grinned after brief contemplation. “To your mother.“ She raised her glass and Caroline toasted her:

“I’ll drink to that.“

The evening wore on, and just as they contemplated opening a third bottle, Raff and Ellie returned with the baby, who was sleeping soundly in his car seat. Thank God for small favours, Caroline thought. They had cleared up from dinner and were lounging on the sofa with the telly on.

“Mum. Caz. Alright?“ Raff greeted them.

“Had a good evening?“ Gillian asked, looking around.

“Yeah great thanks,“ Ellie smiled in response and made her way up the stairs with the little one.

“You watching University Challenge, Mum?“ Raff asked, bemused, as he noticed the program they were watching.

“Through no fault of my own!“ Gillian was quick to point out. She shot Caroline a look who was sitting to the other end of the sofa.

Caroline considered it a safe distance, but not as safe as the other sofa would have been. It was one small thing she allowed herself. It was innocent enough, and Gillian didn’t seem to think twice when their legs intertwined on the two-seater.

The sheep farmer carried on explaining their television agreement to her son: “We compromise, see, she gets to watch something she wants and then I get to watch something I want.“

“Trust her to chose the most obnoxious thing she can possibly find, just to wind me up,“ Caroline interjected but without averting her eyes from the screen. She mumbled the answer to yet another obscure question under her breath.

“Sounds about right,“ Raff chuckled and Gillian leaned over the back of the sofa to slap her son’s arm.

“Remember, it’s a school night,“ she pointed her finger at him.

“Bit rich coming from you.“ He eyed their empty wine glasses. “I feel like the alcohol consume in this house has sky rocketed in the past month.“

“Yeah, well, got to knock ourselves out somehow between the baby crying and you two going at it,“ Gillian quipped, and returned her attention to the television as well.

“You’re just jealous cause you haven’t go a fella right now,“ Raff teased.

“Yeah well, I’m over that for the time being,“ Gillian gave a dismissive wave of her hand.

“Think you’ve finally gone through all the eligible bachelors in West Yorkshire?“ Caroline saw an opportunity to jump in and tried her best to keep the smallest twang of jealousy from her voice.

“And some of the ineligible ones too,“ Raff added, with a smirk.

“OI!“ Gillian exclaimed, shooting him a glare and kicked Caroline’s leg for siding with him.

“I’d better see if Ellie needs some help…“ Raff was quick to make his escape.

“Yeah, you’d better,“ his mother shouted after him.

“I have to say, you have come a long way since we met. From having three blokes you’re shagging staying over in this place,“ Caroline couldn’t help but comment, recalling the fateful night their parents had gone missing and they had stayed at the farm with Gillian’s three merry men - Paul, John and Robbie - all crammed onto these sofas.

“Bet you wouldn’t have come to stay then, would’ya,“ Gillian hummed, her voice surprisingly neutral.

“Could have joined that exclusive club,“ Caroline smirked, the alcohol loosening her tongue enough to make a joke, one too close to the truth for comfort. She forced herself not to think about what else she could be doing with her tongue right about now.

“Caz!“ Gillian exclaimed, and the headteacher couldn’t quite tell whether she was offended, self-conscious or flattered.

“It really is easy to tease you,“ Caroline back-peddled to safer waters.

“Yeah well, you’re living with Yorkshire’s greatest slapper so jokes on you,“ Gillian huffed. “Watch your f-bloody University Challenge.“

“Hm, yes, what will people think,“ Caroline chuckled and did as she was told.

[taetaesbaebaepsae]

hungry eyes (pjm)

Summary: Jimin's summer job is more often than not a pain in the ass, but you seem different than the other girls who need dance instruction at the resort.

A/n: A commission for @kpopnoobsstuff​! 

Warnings: dirty dancing au, some prejudice given race relations for Asian Americans in the 60′s but not a lot of detail, unprotected sex, public vaginal fingering, praise, dirty talk, Jimin is a jackass like over half this fic, a serious ankle injury, angst, mention of sex work (with an age gap), alcohol, smoking

Word Count: 8767 (i have a lot of feelings about this movie)

Rating: Mature

hey, hey hey baby

Of all the things Jimin had dreamed he'd end up doing, working as a dance instructor/gigolo at an expensive resort wasn't one of them.

Julliard wasn't cheap, though, and so every summer he ended up here at Sanders resort, teaching salsa and letting old ladies put hundred dollar bills into the back pocket of his slacks as tips.

Jimin fucking hated the crowd at the resort, hated the way they smelled like new money and champagne, how they looked at him like either a side of meat (the women) or like something that they needed to scrape off the bottom of their shoe (most of the men).

It's better than before, digging ditches during the summer and shoveling snow during the winter because no one is going to hire a Korean boy for an office no matter how good his English.

His hands had cracked and bled, forming callouses where they'd been smooth before and he finds himself running his thumbs over the ones on his palms while waiting for his cue in rehearsal.

When his coworker tells him of a gig he'd done, Jimin's eyebrow raised at his friend's paycheck.

Having to go by "Jimmy" instead of Jimin because the supervisors think his given name is too hard to pronounce puts a bad taste in his mouth, but he needs the money. It isn't as if he can tell his parents he's decided to be a professional dancer instead of a doctor or lawyer like they'd dreamed, and they didn't have the funds to help with tuition anyway.

So he spends every summer rolling his hips for the hungry eyes in the crowd, smiling and pretending that them purring, "Jimmy" in his ear doesn't make him shudder. It's the third summer before anything truly interesting happens.

Jimin didn't even like salsa or ballroom dancing or the mamba or any of the stupid easily learned dances he was forced to perform. He was a classical dancer, ballet being his forte, but this pays the bills and it's a way to keep his father off his back about his choice in colleges.

The older women weren't so bad, they'd give him anything if he whispered "noona," in their diamond decorated ears, but the younger girls, the ones who came there with daddy's money, those are the ones he doesn't fuck with.

The only woman he'd fucked with outside of work, in fact, had been Sunmi, his best friend since childhood, and even that not for years. Sunmi had followed him to Julliard and to the resort but they'd gone their own way after that and it wasn't as if they were ever in love, after all.

Despite the rumors among the staff, Jimin hasn't touched Sunmi outside of dancing in going on three years. He knew they looked like a couple, moved in tune with each other's bodies, and that's why they got paid the big bonuses.

Maybe he still got a little worked up after performances, liked to work up a sweat after at the dancer's barracks, and who could blame him when he sees you slumming it, tapping your toe to the music with your nose wrinkled and a little smile on your face.

He doesn't even have to say anything, just smiles at you, quirks his finger and you bounce forward ungracefully enough to make him laugh.

Sunmi snickers at him but he waves her off, knows she makes her rounds among the male staff that work in catering so she can't judge.

 You know of Jimmy before you ever see him, having several members of the staff tell you in no uncertain terms to stay away from him, that he's trouble. You're surprised by how good he is, you can't take your eyes off him during the first dance performance of the summer. Jimmy Park certainly looks like trouble, with his sly smirk and the way he’d effortlessly flipped up his partner, Sunny, her skirt flipping up to reveal a pair of boyshorts stretched across her perfect bottom, and you’d swear he’d winked at you after.

You don’t think about the dancers for a while, busy touring the resort with your sister, who’d dragged you to the resort in the first place. You’d wanted to stay home and study, but your father had insisted that you join the family for the summer.

It’s boring, more for the older crowd than someone like you, a junior in college. You’re studying business because that’s what your father wants, but you like to write poetry, and you’re usually content to stay in your room and scribble.

It’s hot, though, the air conditioning not doing much to help the humidity, so you go for a walk, hoping there’s a bit of a breeze.

While you’re out, you run into a staff member, a dancer you think, but you aren’t sure, you’d been so busy watching the instructor. 

“Girl shouldn’t be out this late at night alone. Might get in trouble,” he teases.

He’s cradling bottles of alcohol and you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Aren’t you going to get in trouble for stealing those?”

He laughs, loud and open. He’s cute, dressed down in a white tshirt and jeans, not like the stuck up staff members that do catering and management in the resort.

“Not if you don’t tell, baby.”

You bristle, but only a little. That’s what everyone calls you, after all, Baby might as well be your name. You’re the youngest and you’ll admit you’ve always been spoiled.

He shuffles the liquor bottles around to stick out his hand. “I’m BamBam.”

You shake his hand, a bit awkwardly because of all that he’s holding. “Interesting name.”

His face falls, just a bit, but then he smiles again. “You don’t know the half of it.” 

Bambam pauses for a moment, and then cocks his head. “You wanna help me with all this? I’ll show you something.”

You’d been warned about being alone with men, you’d had some experiences in college that you’d never tell your family about, it’s not as if you’re a prude, but especially here, so many staff members whispered about how “dangerous” the dance crew was, but you’ve been bored out of your mind, and Bambam seems sweet, if a little flirty.

You shrug and take a couple of bottles, giggling when he sighs dramatically in relief.

It’s such a long walk that you start to get worried, but eventually you start to hear the music, a surprising amount of bass given the attitude of the resort in general, juggling two half liters of expensive vodka likely pilfered from the resort bar.

BamBam kicks the door open, nearly dropping the liquor, and you manage not to laugh but it’s a near thing. The heat almost hits you in the face, the music louder than you’d imagined, and you find your mouth dropping open, looking around at the dancers.

You recognize a few members of the dance team, but none more than Jimmy, the dancer you’d been unable to keep your eyes from earlier that week.

His partner, she’d introduced herself as Sunny and you’d noticed she was nearly as beautiful as him, is practically riding his thigh, her head thrown back as he moves to the music, and you turn your eyes away, embarrassed.

It seems intimate in a way that makes you feel a pang of envy. You’d had flirtations here and there, even a few flings at college (which you pray your father would never catch wind of), but here? In public, in front of everyone?

You try to tell yourself the heat in your stomach is from embarrassment instead of arousal.

When you look over, Bambam is looking over at you with a sly grin. He juggles the liquor bottles.

“You wanna try it?”

You gasp out loud and hope he can’t hear you over the music.

“The dancing,” he explains, all but yelling over the beat.

“Oh!” You exclaim, and his sly grin widens.

“What did you think I meant?” 

“Nothing! Nothing!” You insist, and finally find somewhere to put down your cargo on a large table next to the wall, just to have something to do rather than be embarrassed.

Bambam shrugs and moves to do the same, and you’re just standing there, looking around at everyone and how free and happy they look, so different than the way they look during performances and during instructions.

Bambam is about to say something to you, leaned in toward your ear, when Jimmy walks up to the table, and you freeze like a deer in headlights.

“Hey baby,” he says in this low but melodic tone, and you have this weird sense like you always do when someone calls you that, as if they know you somehow, know you’re the baby and daddy’s little girl and are somehow judging you for it.

To be fair, Jimmy looks like he’s judging everyone, even when he’s pasted on a smile during a rumba class or smirking during a resort wide performance. You’re not sure if it’s confidence, arrogance, or anger, but you have to admit it’s a little attractive, the way his dark eyes flash when you put out your hand for him to take.

He doesn’t just lead you out onto the dance floor, he tugs at your arm, pulls you close to his chest, looks down at you as if you’re lovers and you suppose the way the others dance, that’s just how this goes, that’s how the dance goes, but when he slides his thigh between yours you can’t help but gasp.

He laughs right at the shell of your ear and it makes goosebumps pop up on the flesh between your neck and shoulder.

“You gotta move your hips, baby. Nobody likes a dead fish.”

It takes a few moments and more of your face feeling hot but you manage to get a rhythm and it’s hotter in here than you’d expected, sweat rolling from the fine hairs at your temples to your neck, his hands on your hips and his eyes on yours and it’s intense, makes you wonder if this is what you’ve been missing out on when you refuse to go with your sister to the staff parties that she’s been trying to drag you to the whole resort stay.

His face is so close you can see the sweat on his brow, the way his full lips are parted, leaning closer and closer in and you could swear he is going to kiss you, you even tilt your chin up, part your own lips, close your eyes.

Then he spins you, instead, and you feel dizzy, open your eyes, and see him striding off toward the back of the building.

You huff out a long breath, torn between storming out into the cool night air or following him, deeper into the humid building, like descending into hell if you were to believe the way your father’s pastor preaches at your hometown church.

You look back at the open door, the breeze cooling the sweat on your body and making you shiver, before you follow him, weaving between the people on the crowded dance floor with murmured apologies.

You follow him all the way out into the night, just on the other side, and you feel a little stupid for your dramatic thinking earlier, watching him exhale smoke from his nose, leaned against he back of the barn.

He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t make any indication that he knows you’re there.

“Jimmy?” You call, and you’d meant to be flirty, aggressive even, but it comes out small in the cold air.

He scoffs, takes another drag from his cigarette, glances over at you.

“What, you gonna pay for a lesson? Bet you didn’t bring daddy’s wallet with you when you followed Bam.”

“I-I didn’t-I don’t,”

He smiles then, not as much of a smirk, and it softens his face.

“Don’t worry,  baby. I'm only teasing. I’m not gonna tell your daddy you’re out here slumming it.”

“I’m not-” your voice raises and he turns his head to face you, one eyebrow raised, and you lower your tone. “I’m not slumming it.”

He shrugs lazily, offers you a drag of his cigarette and you don’t smoke but you place your lips around the end anyway, wonder if you can taste his mouth on it, inhale and manage not to cough.

“Jimmy-” you continue, and he rolls his eyes and your heart races, feeling like you’d said something stupid, and maybe you have because he flicks his cigarette into the night, turns, bracing himself against the wall and when he’s closer you wonder if he’s drunk, you can smell some type of acrid liquor and the leather of his jacket.

“My name is Jimin,” he says, and there’s no slur at all around his words so maybe you’re wrong about that last part.

“Jimin,” you repeat, the name rolling around your mouth, feeling thick on your tongue like the red wine you sip at your father’s dinner parties. You find yourself tilting your chin up again as he nods sharply and your eyes keep flickering between the sharp line of his jaw and his full mouth.

“I know your kind,” he continues, and you haven’t even partaken in any of the liberally spiked punch at the party but you’re the one who feels drunk, your head light on your shoulders.

“My...kind?”

Jimin does that sharp nod again, shifts his body so that he’s standing in front of you now and your shoulders brush the back wall of the barn.

“Mmhm. Come out here on Saturday nights to see what all the fuss is about, you college girls with fur lining your purses, I swear to God I could taste the silver spoon in your mouth if I kissed you,” he breathes, his words rude and harsh but you don’t move, don’t push him away, can’t stop staring up at the flash in his eyes.

That’s what they’ve been missing, you think. That’s what all those college boys you’ve let put their hands up your skirt, grab your tit too hard in the backseat of their muscle cars, even let them fuck you over the hood of said muscle cars, hoping for some kind of thrill because it’s wrong and dirty but all you got was their cum seeping down your inner thigh and their murmured apologies and this ache between your legs. Because they didn’t have this, this energy you can feel in the air, the light in his eyes, something like anger and lust and yearning all wrapped into one.

It isn’t even for you, not really, you’re not dumb enough to believe that, but god, is it something.

“You could test that theory,” you mumble, sure that your words sound slurred, leaning into him, and his chuckle is bitter but it still sends a hint of a shiver down your spine. He traces his finger under your chin, the corners of that full mouth turning up.

“What makes you think I want to, baby?”

You’re cute, he supposes, in that way that all little rich girls are cute, with your bouncy ponytail that you almost always wear, your conservative dresses. After he’d left you outside with just the smoke from his rolled cigarette hanging in the air, he prided himself in not giving in.

He’s positive he could have fucked you, could have coaxed you to his room with a few short words, but he knows from the rest of the dance team (especially from Bambam, who’d bagged his fair share of the rich daughters of CEOs, bank owners, lawyers, doctors, and the like from the resort, considered himself a bit of an expert in the matter), that taking one of those types to your bed leads to nothing but drama. 

Drama wasn’t something Jimin needed, especially since all the odds were already stacked against him in this job (in life, really, but who’s counting?) Jimin wouldn’t consider himself a bitter person, in fact throughout his childhood and most of his adolescence, he’d been positive, optimistic, always smiling. He’d gotten stellar grades, always did what his parents wanted, had even planned to work on law school after graduation. The one class he took was mind numbingly boring, and he had no aptitude for debating. He’d been naïve, foolishly thought that his father would support whatever he wanted to do, and since he felt most alive when he was with his friends, dancing, making their own choreography, he’d approached his father with an application to Julliard.

Needless to say, Jimin became less naïve day by day, after that. It was gradual, his fall from grace, as some people might say. He thought of it more as growing up, as becoming more who he should be - and if that was a bitter asshole who manipulated rich older women into his bed for extra funds, so be it.

This isn’t to say that he doesn’t feel shame about it sometimes, or even guilt, especially like with Mrs. Jensen, nearing fifty but with the most beautiful  green eyes and the way she called him “Jiminie,” had insisted on learning his real name, traced the line of his spine in bed before he got up to dress and murmured how he was the most beautiful boy.

“If I were twenty years younger, Jiminie. Hell, I were only ten years younger,” she’d mourn, those green eyes almost liquid, and he’d smile and tell her she didn’t look a day over thirty and she’d scoff but she’d also smile, and when she smiles sometimes Jimin thinks that if he isn’t careful, age gap or no, he might just fall in love.

In the end, though, he felt okay about what he did, it was a means to an end, and if he judged the denizens of the resort too harshly, that’s because they could take it, no skin off their teeth with their millions of dollars in the bank. They could dry their tears with hundred dollar bills.

It isn’t until daylight the next morning, when Jimin wakes up slightly hungover and chugs a glass of water, when there’s this flash of your face in his head, tilted up to his, this almost hungry look in your eyes.

He’d like to say he’d seen that look before, but he hasn’t. Not quite in the same way.

Jimin doesn’t want to think about it long, and for a while he’s able to distract himself with his morning workout and then rehearsal, but for the first time in several summers, he misses a couple of steps and Sunmi looks at him from the corner of her eye with a sly smile.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, and she laughs and does a little piourette.

Jimin thinks later maybe she was hungover too, or had taken too many of those codeine pills she claimed were for her periods, but she loses her balance and goes down, too quick for Jimin to catch her, off the stage, her foot caught under her body.

She cries out but then bites her lip, hard, knowing that the supervisor was just around the corner, gorging himself on snacks and champagne while they all worked for hours to get the steps just right.

Jimin tries not to show it, but he knows as soon as he hops off the stage that Sunmi’s ankle is broken, and badly. It’s already swollen, already turning a bit purple, a bit of bone poking through, a streak of blood down her foot.

“Fuck,” Sunmi says in a pained whisper, eyes liquid when she looks up at him. “Jiminie, what am I gonna do?”

Jimin knows she doesn’t mean the ankle. He knows she means the next rehearsal and the next, the big dance they’ll be doing at a nearby resort, representing the dance troupe and the hotel. He knows she means her whole fucking life because if she loses this she can’t pay for Julliard.

“We’ll figure it out, jagiya,” he says softly, lifting her into his arms. Sunmi buries her face in his chest and Jimin makes hand signals at a wide eyed Bambam to distract the supervisor while Jimin carries her back to the barracks.

There’s nothing but nervous energy throughout your body the rest of the week, as you sit through your father gorging himself on shrimp, your mother chugging champagne, your sister flirting with the staff members at the buffet. You’re barely able to make conversation, not that anyone notices. You’re used to being ignored, as the baby of the family. All you can think of is the dance instructor’s full lips inches from yours, his finger trailing up your throat before he’s just gone and you’re all but swooning with the smell of him around you like a haze.

You’d seen him a few times that week, watching from far away as he twirled a few women around the dance floor, once at a resort performance, right in front and center, seen the way his nose wrinkled when they introduced him as “Jimmy Park.” He hadn’t given you a second glance, and while it stung, you weren’t one to give up easily, not after how you’d felt when he’d looked at you, really seen you.

You’re sneaking out of the resort room when it’s barely ten pm on the last Sunday, unable to wait any longer and shimmying out the back window just as you had the other night. You manage to remember the way to the barn, and even if you didn’t you can practically feel the music booming under your feet, the faint sound drawing you closer.

Your heart rate increases as you get closer and you stand near the edge of the building, a wallflower as always, but your eyes are searching the floor. You don’t see him anywhere, and after a few moments you’re sure your lip is turning into a pout. You do spot Bambam, your ambassador from the other night, and you figure he might know something about Jimin’s whereabouts.

Bambam goes uncharacteristically quiet when you bring up Jimin’s name, though, face blanching slightly.

You look at him curiously. “Is something wrong?”

He shakes his head. “No. Fine, everything’s fine.”

“Bambam?”

He won’t look at you, rocking back and forth on his heels, and then he freezes. “Hey. Baby.”

“Hmm?” You’re distracted, looking around at the crowd in hopes that Jimin will show.

“Didn’t you say your father was a doctor?”

It’s a whirlwind after that, your brief panic wondering what might be wrong, the internal struggle to know if you should wake up your father or not, knowing he’ll ask what you’ve been doing out and about, waking your father and having Bambam lead you both to the dancer’s barracks, where you see Jimin sitting on the coffee table, getting up when Bambam bursts in with your father, who is carrying his doctor’s bag.

“What the fuck-” he hisses in a low voice, looking right at Bambam and not even acknowledging you.

Your father, for his part, rushes to the couch, where Sunmi is bundled in blankets but still shivering, sweat on her brow, and when your father yanks back the blanket you gasp because her right foot is dark purple and swollen.

For the first time, Jimin looks at you, and there’s nothing but dark fury in her eyes. “Get her out of here,” he demands, and Bambam’s mouth opens and closes like a fish.

“Jimin-” you start, and he scoffs, turns away from you, toward your father, thanking him for coming and explaining what happened, ignoring you as if you were never there at all.

You wait anxiously in the living quarters, and you wince when you hear Sunmi cry out as your father works on her ankle. It takes hours, and while you wait, Bambam explains what happened and you just cock your head, confused.

“Why didn’t she just see a doctor?”

Bambam frowns, but before he can answer Jimin is stalking into the room.

“Yeah, why didn’t she just see a doctor?” Jimin mocks, staring at you with glittering eyes. “It’s that easy, princess?”

You don’t know how to answer, your face feeling hot, and you want to look away but you can’t. “Explain it to me.”

Jimin laughs, bitter and low. “You’d never understand, Baby. We can’t all call daddy and have him throw money at the situation.”

“Jimin, she brought him here to help us, we should be kind-” Bambam protests, and Jimin waves a hand at him.

Jimin turns to you, takes your hand and even though his eyes are still glittering with anger, your breath catches in your throat at his touch.

You’re perched on the arm of a chair and he leans down slightly, brushes his lips just barely over the back of your hand, all the while looking into your eyes.

“Thank you, princess, for deigning to help us peasants,” he says, voice low and charming and absolutely dripping with venom.

Anger rises in your chest, tightening in your throat but you stay quiet, jerking your hand from his and looking away.

Your father tersely gives instructions to Jimin after both Sunmi and Jimin refuse a hospital, and Jimin nods, but you see his face fall when he says something about how she is not to bear weight on her ankle for six weeks at least.

Your father is escorting you out with a blank expression but you’re looking back at Jimin and he’s watching you with those dark, glittering eyes.

It’s only a few days before your father has to go back and visit Sunmi, and he’s barely spoken a word to you, angry that you hadn’t told him about your friendships with the staff, you suppose. You can’t bring yourself to care, you’re an adult and even if he’s paying your tuition, he doesn’t have the right to tell you with whom to spend your time.

You insist on going with him to check on Sunmi, and you do sit with her for a few moments before you hear Jimin and Bambam arguing.

“Can’t someone else do it?”

You know Jimin’s scoff well by now, it seems like that’s what he’d been doing most of the few weeks you’d known him.

“No, Bam, someone else can’t do it! No one else knows the routine, it’s a special stage for Sunmi and me. Maria’s on maternity leave and Sooyoung can’t learn it in two weeks on top of the final rehearsals for the final show.”

“Do what?” You ask softly, standing in the doorway and shutting Sunmi’s door behind you.

“Can’t go a week without princess butting her head in,” Jimin mutters, and you huff out a breath.

“It’s a special dance stage,” Bambam explains. “Sunmi is expected there and so far she’s been able to get out of rehearsals but if the performance doesn’t happen, the supervisor…” he trails off, and you fill in the gaps.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. Can’t fix this with daddy’s money,” Jimin snaps.

“I wasn’t trying to-” you cry out, and then lower your voice. “I wasn’t trying to fix it, I just...I wanted to help.”

Jimin laughs. “Help? How? You shivered when I so much as brushed my hand across your hip when we danced.”

Bambam raises an eyebrow at that and you keep trying to fight down anger.

“I could...I could learn,” you insist.

“You are a dance instructor,” Bambam reminds him helpfully, and although Jimin is still incredulous, that's how it happens.

That’s how you start to spend three days a week at Jimin’s small bedroom, learning the steps to the most complicated dance you’d ever heard of. That’s how you start to fall in love with him.

I wanna know, oh

This is stupid, he thinks, over and over. This is so fucking stupid and it isn’t going to work and I’ll fail and Sunmi will be fired. Hell, I might be fired.

You keep stumbling in the heels you’d be required to wear for the dance and you’re taller than Sunmi so that throws off the whole performance and you only have just a touch of rhythm and you have an attitude and the list goes on and on.

The two of you are two weeks into rehearsals when it all comes to a head. You’d huffed out a long breath or given him a withering stare before, when he’d snapped at you or corrected your steps roughly, but usually you let it go.

There’s not enough room in his tiny space, and it’s not like the two of you were exactly friends, so it’s tense, for the most part.

One day, at the last rehearsal of the week, he spins you and you miss a step, stomp down on the top of his foot with your heel and he cries out and curses.

“This is never going to work,” he mutters when you try to help and you let out an annoyed almost growl that, in other circumstances, he might find kind of cute.

“You could give me a little goddamn credit, you know!” You yell, and he stops rubbing his foot and looks up at you.

Maybe he’d been a little dramatic, it didn’t hurt as much as he’d put on, but if that happened during the performance….

“Credit for what?” He bursts out.

You put your hands on your hips and you’re wearing this barely there white croptop and a flowing skirt and (not for the first time), he notices the swell of your hip, the outline of your breast.

“For one, bringing my father to help Sunmi-”

Jimin barks out a laugh at this, his eyes returning to your face. “Takes a real saint to call daddy-”

“Second,” you continue firmly, voice raising over his, “for working three days a week for hours to try and help you and your girlfriend keep your jobs!”

He opens his mouth to correct you but your voice keeps rising, your eyes full of fury.

“And last of all but most importantly, putting up with your constant bullshit! I can’t do anything good enough for you and I really just want to punch you and leave.”

Jimin pauses, stands up straight and looks at you for a moment. As much as he hates this situation he can’t let you quit. He needs you, more importantly Sunmi needs you, and he’ll never forgive himself if he fucks things up for his best friend because he can’t control his temper.

“Do it, then.”

Your eyes widen. “Do what?”

Jimin pats the middle of his chest. “Hit me, if it’ll make you feel better.”

You look at him incredulously.

He smirks at you, makes a little come hither gesture with his hands. “C’mon, princess. You scared?”

There it is, that flash in your eyes that he’s come to know well even during such a short time, and it makes the hair on the nape of his neck stand up.

You punch him, just at his diaphragm, weakly, and he laughs.

“C’mon, Baby. You can do better than that.” 

He takes a step closer and you just keep looking at him, your canine piercing your bottom lip, still breathing hard from the rehearsal.

He can’t deny it makes his dick twitch in his sweats, the fire in your eyes, the way he can see the outline of your erect nipples through that croptop.

He leans down closer to your face. “Still wonder if I could taste that silver spoon on your tongue,” he whispers, and then you slap him across the face, hard, making him stumble back with a laugh.

He nods, and you start to gasp out apologies but he holds up a hand. 

“Let’s get out of here.”

It’s been hot all week, and there’s on and off summer showers that come from nowhere. The thunder rumbles as you reach the parking lot and Jimin’s car, a clean but beat up Mustang. 

You dance around a bit as Jimin reaches into the pocket of his sweats for his keys but he curses instead. When you look in the window, cupping your hands, you see the keys in the ignition.

You sigh and stand up to tell Jimin but he’s removing his leather jacket and wrapping it around his fist as you watch, open mouthed.

He busts the back quarter window as if he’s reading the newspaper and unlocks the door, leaning over to pop your lock before cranking it up.

You stand there for a moment, shocked and oddly aroused.

“You coming?” He asks, looking up at you from the driver’s seat, and you scramble inside.

“You’re crazy,” you mumble as he pulls off at a speed that should have scared you but instead filled you with exhilaration. 

He looks over at you, as if confused. “What?”

“I said you’re fucking crazy!” You yell, laughing, and he starts to laugh too and you’ve never heard him like that, open and loud instead of derisive and bitter and there’s rain pouring into the back window but he doesn’t care and you can’t imagine ever feeling that free.

You have that feeling again, the one you’d had standing outside the barn with him, that energy like he’s wanting and hungry all the time and just like then, you want more.

You push that out of your head, though, he’s made it clear where his thoughts lie, and that’s with Sunmi. That’s the whole reason you’re doing this, to help her, help them. It’s certainly not because you just want to be near him, because even when he’s angry at you the way you feel with him makes you feel like you never have before, not because you want to memorize the bow of his lips, the line of his jaw, how his eyes crinkle up at the corners when he smiles.

“Where are we?” You finally ask when he’s pulled off into a clearing in the woods.

“You’ll see.” He grabs your hand and tugs you behind him and your heart skips a beat.

You end up practicing at the river for hours, and you ask questions and he answers them, about his family, how he started dancing, Juilliard and why he’s doing this job.

You’re not surprised that he wants more, he’s too good for this place and you can see it, even though you’re no expert.

He talks a lot more than he ever has, tells you so much about himself and you have fun, laughing and talking with him, he’s barely teaching you anything at all.

Finally, he’s sitting on a high log, swinging his legs and looking down at you as you sit on the shore.

“We haven’t practiced the lift because it’s best to practice in the water,” he says, and that’s how you end up waist deep with his eyes on yours and his hands on your hips.

“Ready?” He asks, quietly, as if there isn’t only the woods and the river and the birds to hear him.

You nod, your mouth dry, but then his hands slip up to your waist and you’re not sure you’re ready at all. Of course he’s touched you during rehearsals, here and there, but not like this, not this close.

“Jump,” he commands, and you do, think you’d have done anything he told you, but he lifts you up effortlessly and you try not to stare down at him as your heels lift off the riverbed, try to look ahead like he’s taught you but it’s impossible and when he lifts you over his head, telling you to hold the position, you go straight into the water, coming up sputtering.

He laughs, pulls you close, and does it again, and this time it works, this time you hold it and he slowly lowers you back down.

Your body slides down his, your nipples brushing his chest, his breath on your throat, and surely this is too close, surely you won’t be doing this on stage in front of people.

“Baby,” he murmurs, close to your ear, like it’s your name, and you shake your head.

“Call me Y/n.”

He says your name and you watch how his lips shape it before you tilt your chin to kiss him, pressing your mouth to his without thought, your lips parted.

His tongue in your mouth is hot, hungry just like you knew it would be, and your arms tighten around his neck. You hear the water moving and gasp into his mouth when you feel his hand slide up your thigh, under your skirt, sliding along the river water soaked crotch of your panties.

“Jimin,” you moan into his mouth, and he just kisses you harder, presses his hand harder against your cunt and you want more more more.

You’d imagined it, late at night, sore and exhausted from rehearsing and you could feel his hand on your hip as he’d turned you, slid your hands down your body imagining they were his, but this is so different, so much better than you’d ever dared to dream.

Suddenly, he pulls away from you, and you whine. 

“We should...we should get back,” he says, voice slightly hoarse, and he wades back to shore while you’re left wanting and aching.

would you be my girl?

You’re quiet in the car, your head spinning, and he doesn’t say a single word until he pulls back up.

“Want me to walk you back to the resort?” He asks quietly as he turns off the car.

You blink at him. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He doesn’t  look at you, his eyes down in his lap, and you open the door and slam it when you get out.

Jimin knows he should stay put. He should stay put for so many reasons. It’s too much drama, you’re a guest of the resort, you’re a little rich girl with daddy’s money, you deserve better.

But he sees your shoulders shaking and he can’t help himself from getting out, rubbing your shoulders as he leads you inside. You’re shivering now, it’s after sundown and you’re soaking wet.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, planting a kiss on your shoulder. “I’ll get you some tea and some warm clothes.”

He turns to go and heat the kettle but you grab his wrist, tug him back.

“Nobody makes me feel the way you do,” you say in a quiet and shaking voice. “Even when we argue I-”

“Baby. Y/n. Don’t,” he pleads. He feels like he’s right on the edge of something, like he’d fall over with just a single push from you.

All these things are flashing through his head, moments where he’d let himself notice how he felt when you’d do this little growl in frustration when you missed a step, the way your mouth turned down at the corners when you were focused, how you set your jaw when he said something to make you angry. After just a few weeks he’s all but memorized the lines of your body and he’d blamed it on being focused on the performance but he knows somewhere that it’s something else, that you mean something else to him.

“Why?” You ask, sounding almost pained and he can’t stop looking into your eyes and he can’t speak either so he kisses you first this time, one hand at the nape of your neck to pull you close.

We aren’t from the same world, he should say. It won’t work and I’ll break your heart or you’ll break mine and I don’t know if I can take it.

He should say so many things but instead he says nothing at all, just kisses you and kisses you until you jump just like you did in the water, wrap your legs around his waist this time instead and he carries you to his bed, peels off your soaked clothes while you keep kissing him in between, his mouth, his throat, his chin, and it makes him laugh.

You’re bare beneath him and he doesn’t even realize that he still has his wet clothes on until he slides over you to kiss you again and you hiss.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, and smiles at you and you blink, have this expression he can’t quite pinpoint. “I’m usually better at this,” he finishes after pulling off his tshirt, and you open your thighs with this slow smile.

“We’ve got time.”

His breath hitches in his throat because that’s probably not true, after tonight you’ll probably avert your eyes when he looks at you in public, come to him late at night like all the others.

Instead of saying that, he curses under his breath and looks down at you, slips his fingers through your slick, sliding two fingers inside you as you arch your back.

You’re so wet already and he’s barely touched you and it makes him groan.

“Look at you. Such a pretty baby,” he praises, moving his fingers because he loves the way your face goes slack, your mouth parted as you writhe against his hand.

“God,” you whimper, voice a little slurred. “Please.”

Jimin feels like he might burst before he even gets out of his sweats, wants to make you come before he does but you lock your legs around his waist, surprising him and he falls forward, catching himself on his palms.

Before he can catch his bearings you drag your tongue along his throat and he groans.

“Baby, you’re full of surprises.”

You smile against his mouth and push down his sweats with your feet and it makes him laugh again, he’s found himself biting back smiles so often with you that it feels good to let it out.

Then his cock is sliding against you and you’re so hot and wet that he bites down on your lip. You cry out softly and rock your hips against his, panting out his name and then he can’t do anything else but slide inside you, burying his face against your throat.

He thinks, too late, that he should have flipped you over, focused on your ass and the line of you spine instead of like this, looking down into your face and the way your eyes focus on his. He knows better, but you’re rolling your hips up to meet his and biting your lip and you keep moaning his name and he can’t stop now.

Your nails rake down his back and he leans up to fuck you harder, hoping to focus on your breasts bouncing instead of how pretty you look beneath him. 

“Baby,” he breathes. “I’m gonna-” 

He doesn’t get to finish because you’re making the prettiest sounds, moving your head from side to side and your cunt clenches around him like a vice.

“Fuck. Fuck.”

It’s been fast and sloppy and he’s almost embarrassed when he comes inside you, but you lock your ankles around the small of his back and pull him down again.

After he’s made that tea he promised earlier and you’re sitting crosslegged on his twin bed, facing him, you call his name softly.

“Hmm?” He asks, distracted by how you look now, your hair mussed, skin slightly flushed.

“Does my mouth taste like silver?”

He frowns until it hits him, what he’d said to you that first night, and then he’s laughing again and tackling you to plant kisses along the side of your face.

Jimin is gone when you wake up, leaving you a note to lock up. No heart drawn there, not even his full name, just a -J at the end. You assume he must feel guilty about Sunmi, assume maybe he never meant for things to go too far and now here you are, heartbroken, and you still have to keep your promises and finish rehearsals and this dance with him.

You stay in your room at the resort for two days, until your scheduled next rehearsal with Jimin, and you feel like you’ve cried enough that when you see him, it’ll be easier.

You walk into the studio already dressed in your leotard and shorts, and he’s standing at the record player and even the set of his shoulders looks stiff, and it makes your heart ache.

You don’t speak, just start taking off your sneakers to put on the heels that you have to practice in, and it’s Jimin who says your name, softly. 

Your real name, not Baby, not sweetheart, and it seems like all the tears you’ve cried the last two days are stuck in your throat.

You take a deep breath before looking up and the words come out before you know what you’re saying.

“I know you’re going to tell me that it was a mistake. I know you’re going to tell me you love Sunmi and I understand. Let’s just not, okay? Let’s just not talk about it because I’m embarrassed and I’m sad and I feel stupid-”

Jimin sits on the floor with you, moves close and presses his forehead to yours.

“I don’t love Sunmi. I mean...I’m not in love with her.”

Your heart does a backflip. “But I’m a mistake.”

Jimin lets out a heavy sigh, shakes his head softly, looking into your eyes.

“Jimin,” you whisper, and then he kisses you and you forgot what you were going to say.

There’s two weeks until the performance and you spend all of those days irrevocably in love with Park Jimin.

“Why do you stay?” You ask him one night while you’re lying with your head on his chest after he’d bent you over the arm of the recliner in his room, rough, and you love it but you  know he’s angry because they wouldn’t let him change the choreography of the final dance, wouldn’t let him do anything but teach old ladies the foxtrot.

He’s been stroking his fingers along your spine and you wonder if that was a stupid question when he freezes just for a moment.

“It’s not like it’s easy, Baby,” he says, simply.

“It should be,” you insist, and you press a kiss between his pecs, knowing it isn’t something you can understand.

You know you’re privileged, know that your father would flip his lid if he knew you were getting  fucked by the dance instructor four nights a week and most days too, because your father didn’t think he could provide for you. You’re sure that if he found out, your father would disown you and you’d lose your tuition money and your apartment back home.

So when you and Jimin are walking back to the resort from the studio, holding hands and laughing and you catch sight of your father in a golf cart, you gasp, tug Jimin’s hand to hide behind a nearby building.

Jimin lets you lead him there, doesn’t protest, but his face is like stone when your father passes and you can relax.

“Jimin-” you start.

“Tell me again how it should be easy, Baby,” he says, his voice like ice, and when you try to take his hand he pulls away. 

You make up, eventually, it only takes a day before Jimin gives in to your apologies, the kisses you plant along his shoulders while he’s trying to stretch before practice, but in the end, he’s right.

It’s not easy at all.

just a fool to believe

Jimin knew this thing with you wouldn’t last forever. In fact, he’d been preparing for the performance to be the last night, the last time he’d see you look at him like that. He starts to dread it, starts to stay awake later at night to watch you sleep so that he’d have more memories of your face pressed against his pillow.

He’s always known you’ll leave him, whether it’s in the middle of the night because you realize you can’t let your father find out, after the performance when you’ve done what you’ve said you would, or at the end of the summer, when you’d return home to your college and your friends. Hell, maybe even a boyfriend. He tried not to entertain that, it made his throat feel tight to wonder if you have some Ivy League jerk with a letter jacket waiting for you, but it’s crossed his mind.

He knows he’s not good enough for you, knows that if his own bosses can’t even use his real name to introduce him he’ll never have someone like you, not long term, anyway. He’s used to being someone’s dirty little secret, with this job.

He’s always thought that you’d leave him, but in the end he has to leave you.

You’re full of nerves, counting down the days to the performance, and it’s only three days away when Sunmi comes up to you, sweating on her crutches, and your eyes widen. She’d barely left her room, knows that if the supervisors find out it’s her foot instead of an illness like your father had told them, she’ll be cut from the team.

“Sumni, what-”

“Jimin’s gone,” she bursts out.

“No. No he’s not gone,” you say confidently, but you can feel your heartbeat in your ears.

Sunmi is near tears and she nods her head sadly. “He’s gone, they fucking fired him!” Her voice breaks and you put out a hand to steady her. It feels like you’re moving underwater.

“He wouldn’t leave without...without telling me,” you say, less confident with every word.

Why wouldn’t he? Why would he come to you, a summer fling, someone he doesn’t even know that well?

Because he loves me, you think. But does he? He hasn’t said it. He hasn’t made you any promises.

“What about the performance?” You ask, feeling like you’re floating farther away from her as you speak.

“They replaced him,” she chokes out, crying openly now, and you hug her, comfort her so that you don’t break down yourself.

You find out from Bambam why, and it’s all your fault. Apparently one of Jimin’s so called students had caught you and Jimin in the studio, seen you through the window and in a bout of jealousy reported him for “cavorting with a guest.” It was against the resort’s rules, even though Bambam says all of them had done it, at least once and usually more.

It doesn’t matter. Jimin had been caught and he’d lost his job and probably his tuition and it was all your fault. You’re like a zombie the last three days, your mother asks if you’re okay and your father keeps ignoring you, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You can’t care about anything. You don’t have any idea where he lives, you can’t even write to him, and you lie in bed staring at the ceiling and thinking about how he joked that your mouth must taste like the silver spoon you were born with and how it used to make you laugh.

The night of the performance, your mother demands that you go, dresses you in this stupid pink dress you’ve never liked and rolls your hair, and you’re picking at your food when they announce that the performance is about to start. You’re sitting in the corner, against the wall, hanging your head.

Tears are welling in your eyes as you hear the familiar opening bars, but then there’s a loud feedback sound as someone kills the microphone and you look up, startled.

Jimin is standing at your family’s table, wearing a white tshirt and jeans, a leather jacket, similar to the outfit you’d first seen him in, and you wonder for a moment if you’re dreaming.

Then he says your name. Your real name, not Baby, not sweetheart, and you blink up at him, shocked.

“Nobody puts Baby in a corner,” he says with a smirk, and takes your hand to pull you up.

this could be love

You don’t leave him after the final dance, like he’d thought, but he was right that it wasn’t easy. Nothing worth it ever was, he supposes. You run away with him, live in his tiny college dorm on his twin bed, and he still doesn’t think he deserves you. 

You still apologize for getting him fired from that shitty job and he still cops an attitude and tells you that you’re spoiled sometimes but it ends in hot and hungry kisses or an impromptu dance session around his record player.

It isn’t easy but he wants it, and so do you, and he hopes that in the end, that’s all you need.

[romansrgn]

ch. 8

"I can't believe we just did that." Braelin shook her head in disbelief.

Dante looked down at his naked girlfriend."You regret what happened?"

"No, of course not. I'm just surprised that this was the place we decided to, you know—"

"Make love?"

Braelin raised a brow, surprised at how intimate it sounded. "Is that what we did?"

Dante thought for a moment, and honestly, he wasn't sure. Don't get him wrong, he slept with his fair share of women and could honestly say what he and Braelin just did felt different than the night of fucking he's grown accustomed to with the previous women he had been with, But at the same time, it felt that it was too soon to call what he and Braelin did "making love." Especially since he knew she had some unresolved feeling for her ex despite the constant declarations to him about wanting to see where they could go.

"I think you and I need to put some clothes on before someone walks in and sees you naked, and I'll have to kill them." he kissed the tip of her nose.

Braelin rolled her eyes and stood up."Right because seeing me naked with a swollen belly is every man's fantasy."

Dante gave her a look, "You're only saying that because you don't see yourself the way I do. I just had you and already want seconds."

Braelin popped her hand on her hip. "Seconds?"

"You're right; Sixths is more like it." He smirked, burying his head in her neck. He loved that she smelled like him.

Braelin kissed him lightly on the lips. "You didn't even take any pictures."

"You underestimate me, baby. I managed to get twenty shots before getting in between those sweet thighs of yours."

Braelin laughed. "Ok, this is not a story I'm going to tell the kids once they're old enough to see the pictures themselves."

Dante snorted, shaking his head. "Sex? Check. Photoshoot? Check. How about dinner at any restaurant of your choosing?"

"Didn't we do this backward?"

Dante shrugged. "We can still have sex afterward."

Braelin lightly shoved him. "Ass."

Roman looked over his shoulder at the hand that was placed there.

"Don't be too disappointed. It's only your wife."

Roman sighed, "Do you want to keep doing this? I asked you to meet me here so we could talk, not argue."

Janelle nodded, "I'm here, and like I said, despite your infidelity twice. I'm still willing to work out our marriage."

Roman remained quiet after hearing that.

Janelle wasn't sure what she was doing. She's never been the type of woman to be ok with her man fucking around on her, and she still wasn't. But like she said before. She and Roman had too much history, and they've been through way too much to throw it all away. "I'm not trying to make this difficult. I want everything to go back to the way things used to be."

"I need to do something I should've done a long time ago and be honest with you. Do I still love you? Yes. Do I love still love, Braelin? Yes, and honestly, even after all these years, I still haven't stopped. What happened between Braelin and I shouldn't have happened, but I don't regret it. But what I do regret is how this is all affecting you, and that's why I think we should get a divorce."

Janelle smiled sadly. "I keep telling myself I owe myself more than what I'm giving right now. I'm trying to hold onto something so good and beautiful at one point because despite where we are now, our love was something to fight for, and I thought you felt the same."

Roman nodded, "I do. I did, and that's my point. I need to figure things out, and it's not fair to you or anyone else if I stay in a marriage that I swore before God that I would be in forever. When in reality, I have never done right by you."

"But You think you're doing right by Braelin? You're not. The three of us have been in this entanglement since college. But like fools, we all participate in it because, for whatever reason, we convinced ourselves that you were the right man for us."

Roman snorted, "You never wanted to work on our marriage. You didn't want me to go back to Braelin."

Janelle shrugged. "Despite what I feel about her and the situation. Neither one of us deserves to be led on by you."

"That's not what I'm doing."

"No, you're playing the field. Rounding the bases to see which girl you want to play with for a little while, but then you'll get bored, and then, of course, history will repeat itself."

Roman chuckled darkly. "Yea, and that never stopped you from spreading your legs for me every chance you got either."

Janelle slapped Roman hard across the face. "I was stupid to think you were worth my effort, let alone the time I've wasted on making this work. I wanted to keep you because I love you, but despite that, I realize I'm not in love with you. I know that now because no woman who could truly love themselves would be willing to be a second choice for a son of a bitch like you."

Roman pointed at his wife. "That's what I always liked about you, Janelle. You never hold back, and I appreciate that, so let me return the favor." He stood up, towering over her wrapping a strand of hair around his finger. "Even though we had our good times. You were never her. You will never be her."

Janelle snorted, removing his hand from her hair. "Right now, you'll never be Dante. You remember him. Braelin's boyfriend. You know the same boyfriend she fucked in the middle of her maternity shoot."

Roman's large hands flexed, and his eye twitched.

"Of course, you didn't know that, so let me shed a little light on the subject. According to my good friend, who happens to be the assistant to the makeup artists who did Braelins makeup. Those two were too busy fucking each other's brains out to notice that the building wasn't empty. But I can't blame her. Dante is fine as—"

Hearing enough, Roman walked off, leaving Janelle alone.

Janelle smiled. She would gladly give Roman his divorce; although she did love him, she no longer wanted his cheating ass. She can admit that to herself, but she will be damn if she allowed Roman to get his happy ending after all the pain he caused her. It was one thing to cheat once but twice and then got the woman he cheated with pregnant. He can get the fuck out of here with that.

But was Roman alone in this? No, of course not. It takes two to create a child, and in Janelle's mind, Braelin was guilty as sin and should also pay for her part in this betrayal. But she wasn't going to play the role of the wicked ex-wife. She was going to show Roman that he can't snap his fingers and get everything he wants. So her plan was simple. Give Braelin the happy ending she always wanted, and naturally, it wasn't going to be with Roman.

Roman ignored questioning stares as he walked past them. He immediately dialed Braelin, "Answer the phone, damn it."

"Hey, Rome, you ok?" Naomi asked, immediately noticing the tension in his frame. "Is Braelin ok?"

Roman glared at her while hanging up the phone. "Where's your cousin?"

Naomi raised a brow at his tone, "Probably busy since she didn't answer your call, and with the way your attitude is right now, I'm glad she didn't."

Roman snorted, "Right, because I'm the big bad wolf."

"More like an indecisive fuck boy with good intentions. You don't want to hurt Brae, but somehow you always do. You two are friends who settled on co-parenting, but somehow that's not enough for you. You need to control every aspect of her life because you want to be her life."

"That's unfair and not true. I want what's best for her, even if it's not me. You know that."

"I know that you want to believe that, but your actions speak louder than those pretty little words. You have gone above and beyond to insert yourself into things that don't concern you. You two are not together anymore. Move on."

Roman knew Naomi was right, and despite his actions, he wanted Braelin to be happy, and with Dante, she was delighted. But he couldn't help but covet what he knew was his "Let me ask you something. If you and Jimmy broke up and after everything you two have been through together, would you accept him being happy with someone else? You would find it easy to sit back and watch someone else take your spot. Just like that."

Naomi shook her head. "You know Janelle is actually in this predicament, and I bet to you she seems like a real bitch for being hurt that you want to start over with the mother of your children. But the truth of the matter is you two are the real villains of the story, not her."

"At Least you're honest."

Naomi closed her eyes before turning around to see her cousin standing there. "I didn't mean to--"

"Yes, you did, and you're right. I know I can't take back what I did, and for that, I'm sorry because our actions caused someone else to get hurt in the process, not once but twice. I fucked a married man and got pregnant with his children. It was low down, and as a woman, it was disrespectful as hell. I'm the bad guy, not her."

Janelle clapped her hands, seemingly having heard the entire exchange. "That's the first step to redemption. Accountability, but it doesn't absolve you for what you did."

"It doesn't, and I can't say sorry enough to you, and I know that you can't forgive me--"

"It's not that I can't. I won't forgive you, Braelin. That's the difference. You willingly opened your legs for a married man not once but twice, and because of this affair, you got pregnant knowing I was having issues."

Roman opened his mouth to interject, but Braelin held up her hand, stopping him from commenting any further. She didn't need to be protected from this, especially since she knew she was the one in the wrong.

Braelin bit down on her bottom lip. "I didn't know." she defended. "I found out what was happening with you after I found I was pregnant. That's why I didn't want to say anything because it would be another slap to the face, and I couldn't hurt you like that."

"It's too late, Braelin," Janelle yelled. "I'm hurt either way, and the worse thing about this whole thing is that I'm not even surprised Roman cheated with you because this was always our favorite dance. The three of us. But, what I was surprised about was how weak-minded you still are when it comes to him." Janelle pointed to Roman. "And at first, we could blame it on how young and stupid we were, but the truth is only one of us is still stupid," she said before walking off, leaving Naomi, Roman, and Braelin alone.

"I didn't know you were— that she was." Naomi didn't know what to say to her cousin. She didn't attend for her talk with Roman to end with her cousin being dragged in front of what she can now see as the entire fucking locker room. At some point during the argument, they must've gotten the attention of some of the other superstars, "Maybe we should go somewhere else."

Braelin was numb. She came to Roman to ask what the emergency was since he had called her and texted her ten times. The only reason she didn't answer the phone was that she was already in the building. "No, I'm fine. I just wanted to let you know that I did a maternity photoshoot today.' Braelin looked around the arena of people who still occupied the room.

Roman tensed. "Really, and you didn't think I would like to attend?"

Braelin furrowed her brows at the question. "What are you—" her phone rang. "Hey, baby," she said, looking over at Roman and Naomi before excusing herself.

Naomi ran a hand through her hair. "I never attended for anyone to find out like this. I pushed too far and—"

Roman didn't like that their business was now on full blast, but he could admit it was nice to be open and honest with everything, and it made what he had to do next that much easier. Janelle wasn't the bad guy, but she wasn't the victim Naomi was trying to paint her out to be. He knew she had some tricks up her sleeve, and he'd be damn if he allowed her to interfere with him and his family "Yea, maybe a little. But Janelle is up to something."

"Janelle is not my concern, and considering all the shit you already have to deal with, she shouldn't be yours either."

Roman snorted, "It's hard to tell whose side you're on these days."

"I'm on the side I've always been on, and that's Braelin."

"Oh yeah? It seems like you're more on Janelle's side, and I'm not sure why that is. You and Janelle aren't friends, but from the way you're acting, you two have been friends for years. Braelin is the one that needs you right now. So instead of throwing what we did back in her face every second, maybe you should try to remember she needs you right now." Roman said, walking off. He had a meeting with Paul Heyman. He'll talk to Braelin later.

"I'm glad everything went alright with Tata. Send him my love, ok."

"I will. We're still on for tonight?"

Braelin grinned. "Of course. I should be done here before 9. They don't have much for me so that it might be sooner, and then I'm all yours."

Dante liked the way that sounded but deep down inside; he could never get himself to believe it. "You promise?"

Braelin heard the double meaning behind his question, and now more than ever, she wanted to make that promise to him, "I promise, I'm all yours. I'll see you tonight, baby."

Naomi peaked her head into the room once she heard her cousin end her phone call. "I want to apologize to you."

Braelin stuffed her phone in her pocket. "For what? None of this is your fault."

"It's not, but I don't want you to feel like I'm not on your side. Because I am. I've just been on edge since after Jimmy's surgery."

Braelin sighed, "I know that you've been through a lot lately, and of course, I know you're on my side, Nao. But it just feels like you're punishing me sometimes."

Naomi grabbed Braelin's hand. "I'm not punishing you. Yes, I'm-- I'm upset that this happened. Honestly, I knew what kind of hold you and Roman had on each other. I wish that I intervened before things could get more complicated for you."

Naomi loved Roman like a brother, but after Roman broke things off with Braelin to give his relationship with Janelle another chance, she witnessed Braelin's heartbreak live and in color. If it weren't for Jimmy talking her down, she probably would've killed Roman for what he did to her cousin.

"I don't need--"

"You almost stopped wrestling after you lost him, remember that?" Naomi whispered heatedly.

"I remember, Naomi. It wasn't my finest moments, and I sure as hell don't want to relive them. It hurt. It still does. It's why I'm scared as hell to give my heart to Dante out of fear that he's going to do the same thing Roman did to me."

"Then you need to be honest with him. You're making promises to him that are going to be impossible to keep because you can't stay away from your ex, and now that you're pregnant with his children, it's going to be even harder to keep that much-needed distance."

Braelin whipped the loan to tear that rolled down her cheek. "How did I manage to fuck things up this badly? I didn't want to hurt anyone, but I ended up hurting everyone."

Naomi laughed. "It's your talent, I guess."

Braelin pinched Naomi. "Bitch."

"Just think about what I said, ok."

Braelin nodded. She suddenly wanting to see Dante now more than ever.

Paul Heyman stood at the end of the table, eyeing both Roman and Vince McMahon. "I think this partnership could be beneficial to everyone."

Roman nodded. "A heel turn is unexpected, and it could be what I need to make things more interesting."

Paul grinned, "I agree, so what do you say? Do we have a deal?" He said, extending his hand.

Roman eyed the hand in front of him for a while before shaking it. "We have a deal, and since Jimmy's injured. I want Jey along for the ride."

Vince looked almost skeptical by the idea, but he trusted Paul and Roman to take this new storyline to new heights. "Fine, I'll leave you to it."

"So, here's what I think we should do--"

"We need to involve Braelin somehow," Roman said, interrupting Paul.

Paul blinked. "What?"

"You heard me. Since we're introducing this new heel turn and turning it into a family affair, I think it's only fair to involve not only Jey but Brae."

Paul Heyman had no issue involving more of the company's top talent but last heard, Braelin was close to retiring. "Umm, sure. But I thought she was retiring. "

Roman took a sip of his water. "She was, but now she has a reason not to."

Paul looked confused. "Explain."

"It's simple. She can't wrestle while pregnant, and since she's carrying my children, it'll add more layers to the story while giving her a reason to stick around."

Paul wouldn't call himself a manipulative man in the slightest. He was a smart businessman that knew how to make any situation work in his favor in the name of good content. However, that didn't mean he was against it, or he didn't know it when he saw it and if you asked Paul what Roman Reigns was doing was a manipulation at his finest. But whatever worked, and if Roman wanted Braelin a part of the story, then that is what's going to happen. "Whatever the tribal chief wants. The tribal chief gets."

Roman smirked, "That's what I like to hear."

AN: I know it’s been a while but I wanted to start the new year off right. Thanks to everyone who still reads and comments on this story on both here and wattpad. Stay safe and happy reading!

taglist:  @queenofthearchitect @calicina @never-sawft-princess @5dsinyourdirection @fancybarbii @aria725  @lustyromantic   @kai1996en @angelbaby908 

[potatocrab]

Salvation is a Last Minute Business (18/18)

Chapter 18/Epilogue: We Could Go Places

Madelyn finally earns her happy ending.

“With my brains and your looks, we could go places.” - Frank Chambers as played by John Garfield (The Postman Always Rings Twice, 1946)

That’s all she wrote! Thank you to anyone to joined me on this wonderful journey! 😭

[read on Ao3] | [series masterpost]

June 22nd, 1958

“You’re late.”

Madelyn laughed at the sound of Nick’s voice, calling out to her the moment she arrived at the agency that morning, the bell above the front door indicating her presence. Her amusement persisted as she walked through the lobby, observing the care packages that filled the space. Even Ellie’s desk was covered with boxes and flower bouquets—more than what had been present the previous evening, or the day before that. There were more gifts scattered throughout the room, all sent in congratulations after news of Valentine Detective Agency’s success spread across Boston. Taking down Eddie Winter was one thing but solving a decade-old missing persons case and exposing a government conspiracy was another. Nobody expected the ragtag detective and his lawyer broad to take expose the Institute—not that anybody knew the university were hiding such abhorrent secrets in the first place.

She leaned against the doorway of Nick’s office, surprised by the lack of clutter that typically covered his desk. The stacks of case files and reports had been boxed away, leaving the room the cleanest she’d seen in years. Well, except for the small sprinkling of cigarette ash on the oak wood that he’d failed to hide—hell would freeze over before Nick Valentine gave up that habit. All that remained on his desk, aside from the usual decorations, was a single newspaper and a bottle of Irish whiskey, two perfectly poured glasses on standby. A Sunday tradition. 

Madelyn grinned. “I think I’m right on time.”

“I wonder if Grace Kelly received this many flowers when she won best actress,” she joked, walking over to take her usual seat in the armchair to the left.

Nick chuckled, rounding the desk to join her with the two glasses in hand, the bottle and newspaper tucked under his arm. “I’ll let you know when I start feeling like a Princess.”

“You should see Piper’s office,” he added, passing her one whiskey-filled glass and the weekend edition of Publick Occurrences before sitting down. “Gal’s been flooded with offers from all over the state, including the Bugle, to run their editorial departments.”

“She’ll never take them,” Madelyn contended. “She has enough resources and connections to finally fund a full staff. Maybe finally move into a bigger office and give us the space back so we can do the same.”

Even though Nick smiled at the idea, he reeled in his excitement. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Madelyn feigned innocence, shrugging as she hid her grin behind a generous gulp of whiskey.

He glanced at her curiously, smiling against the rim of his cup as he also took a drink. He expertly diverted the conversation. “So, where were you this morning?”

She considered lying just for the fun of it, but decided the truth was just as shocking. “Church.”

“Madelyn Hardy, once again attending Sunday mass,” Nick replied, shaking his head in humorous disbelief. “I thought I’d never see the day.”

Neither did she. Madelyn was sure she had lost her faith the day her husband died, buried it along with Nate to be forgotten. His death, and her survival was more than guilt—it was sin. And then, one New Year’s Eve party later, everything changed. She’d been tested over the last several months, and despite the grief and the loss, she was also at peace. Nate was at peace. Somewhere along the way, she’d found salvation.

“You could say I’m a changed woman.”

Nick considered her words in comfortable silence, the two slowly drinking their whiskey while exchanging soft, lingering smiles. It was reminiscent of the ‘good-ol-days’, but calmer. He said what she was already thinking. “I’ve changed too. We all have.”

Madelyn contemplated asking if he had any regrets, or if everything they had done was for the best when he silently gestured towards the newspaper draped across her lap. She glanced down, smirking at Piper’s headline. Reunited!

“She’s finally learned to reel it in,” she jested, looking over the picture of Shaun Pearlman—now eleven years old—standing with his parents, Nathan and Nora.

“After such headlines as The Boogeyman Banished, and The Synthetic Truth,” Nick’s laughter was at the expense of their dearest reporter friend. “The article speaks for itself. It’ll take some adjusting, but the kid will be alright.”

Madelyn studied the family portrait again, focusing on their smiling, overjoyed faces. “It isn’t everyday that somebody gets a happy ending.”

“They’ve earned it,” Nick remarked, just the slightest hint of sorrow passing through his light green eyes. Jenny—the heartache would never go away. He remained silent, but his smirk slowly returned, encouraging her to continue reading through the newspaper.

Inside, there was a picture of Hancock—John McDonough—formally announcing his plans to run for mayor in the 1959 election. He had already been working with the interim mayor after his brother’s death, ensuring that any lingering Institute corruption was snuffed out. His platform hadn’t changed much—of the people, for the people—and judging by the large outpouring of support, a lot of Bostonians dug what he was offering.

“Are you going to vote for him?” Madelyn teased, chuckling when Nick grumbled a sigh and rolled his eyes without an answer.

There was another article about Preston Garvey and his Minutemen, reclaiming their post in Quincy now that the Gunners had been successfully chased out of town. MacCready had found a place in their ranks, grinning like the sun was shining out of his ass in the group picture that accompanied the article. It was a good fit for the former mercenary, even if Preston was a little weary about accepting him at first. The network of neighborhood watchmen were supported by the newly reformed Boston Police, Sergeant Danny Sullivan himself promising to oversee their continued partnership.

Correction—Deputy Chief Danny Sullivan—earning quite the promotion after the fall of the Institute exposed and removed more corrupted individuals from power. He was running his own campaign, recruiting the best and brightest minds to fill the ranks throughout Boston’s precincts with the promise that integrity and stability were there to stay.

“Still have a long way to go,” Nick commented, his distrust of the system would linger too. “But it’s a start.”

Madelyn nodded in agreement, flicking her eyes to another one of Piper’s headlines—Mr. Danse Goes to Washington.

“He’s not going to be happy when he finds out about this,” she laughed.

“The Lieutenant will get over being compared to Jimmy Stewart,” Nick replied. “The man’s a war hero, isn’t he?”

Her laughter continued as she read over the article, trying not to imagine Lieutenant Danse in a comedic movie from the past, and instead as the dignified officer he was. The headline was tongue in cheek but accurate—he’d gone to Washington, D.C. to testify on capitol hill about what occurred at Fort Hagen between the Institute and the United States military. He’d also promised Nick and Madelyn that he’d watch over the federal investigation closely, ensuring another cover-up didn’t take place.

“Here,” Nick spoke, standing to snag a second, unseen Publick Occurrences from his desk. “Special edition. Hot off the presses, as Piper would say.”

Madelyn exchanged copies with him, setting down her glass so she could examine the front headline closely. Valentine and Hardy—The Unstoppables.

“So are you the Silver Shroud or The Inspector?” she giggled, covering her mouth.

“Ha, ha, Mistress of Mystery,” he retorted sarcastically, sitting back down across from her.

There was a picture of them standing in front of the office building, the neon light of the agency sign burning brilliantly behind them. The longer she stared at it, the larger her smile became, warmth radiating through her body. She’d never felt more proud or honored to be a part of something important. She felt at home.  

“This is going to give you more exposure than you’ve ever had,” she remarked, tapping the paper with her fingers. “There’s going to be people lining out the door asking for your help!”

“Our help,” Nick corrected with a small smile, leaning forward in his chair. “That is, if you’re still up to the task of being my partner.”

“Of course Nick,” Madelyn answered immediately, unable to stop from grinning. “You’d be hard pressed to find a woman as willing as I am to put up with your brand of bullshit.”

He laughed, louder and heartier than she’d heard him sound in a long time. “Has anyone ever told you how charming you are?”

Madelyn tilted her head to the side. “Funny you should mention that.”

The laughter settled into quiet mirth as Nick looked into his empty glass with a sigh. “I need a vacation first.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he echoed. “Starting with a proper meal. Care to join me?”

Any other time and Madelyn would’ve said yes. She frowned as she shook her head. “I have a date.”

“That’s nothing to pout about,” Nick smirked. The detective—her partner—regarded her with a warm smile. “I can forgive you this one time.”

The warmth had settled in her heart, and she wondered if she was glowing as she smiled at him, the happiest she’d felt in years. Nick reached over to gently clasp her hand, squeezing her fingers as he spoke. “It’s a good look, Madelyn.”

She stood up, leaning over the small distance to place a soft kiss to his cheek. “Thanks, Nick.”

“Sure, sure,” he watched her as she left, lingering only for a moment in the doorway. “See you later, doll.”  

Madelyn sat in the vinyl blue booth of the Slocum’s Joe, gazing out the window and watching as people passed by on the sidewalk. Cambridge wasn’t nearly as busy since the Institute’s downfall, but hundreds of people still called considered the Boston neighborhood their home—including her. She’d made occasional trips to her apartment in the last few weeks but had only recently started living in D7 again now that she was sure it was safe. Codsworth and Dogmeat were more than pleased to have her home, the Mister Handy unit suffering a bout of anxiety after being separated from his mistress—even if it shouldn’t have been possible with his programing. Even now, the robot had difficulty letting her out of his sight, and she laughed when she noticed Codsworth across the street, hovering about as he walked Dogmeat, a leash tied to one of his metal arms.

“What’s so funny?”

She glanced up to find Deacon setting down two cups of coffee before sliding into the booth across from her. Two sugars and a little bit of cream for her, straight black for him. He wasn’t in his usual suit, swapped out for something far more casual and befitting for summer, black wig left forgotten on her bedside table. Of course, he’d never leave without securing his sunglasses—his eyes were only for her to see.

Madelyn titled her head, gesturing out the window as she took a slow sip. “It seems I’m always destined to have somebody stalking me.”

“I take offense to that,” he held a hand over his chest, feigning attack from her teasing words. “To imply that I stalked you.”

Madelyn struggled to contain her giggling behind her cup. “Hmm, and what would you call it?”

“Careful observation from afar,” he said, brows furrowing for a moment as he inspected the contents of his coffee before taking a careful taste—always with the suspicion. You can’t trust everyone, even the barista at their regular coffeehouse, it seemed.  

“What would you call it now?”

Deacon smirked at her flirtatious question. “An up-close and personal liaison.”

Madelyn smiled, her heart racing in excitement as it usually did when they danced around this subject. There still hadn’t been much of a discussion—or a confession—since their infiltration of the Institute. No clear conversation about what their relationship meant. It didn’t stop them from acting like lovers, a constant stop-and-go ever since the evening she got shot, pausing when they needed to focus on the case instead of romance. Now that there were no more distractions, what she desperately yearned for was full steam ahead. She darted her eyes back out the window, forcing her mind to stop before she spiraled into anxiety and doubt. She was happy—right?

Deacon’s hand reached over the table to cover hers. “Do you want to go to D.C.?”

She glanced back to his face, momentarily surprised by his question. Any joke she thought about making—that everybody was going south—fell away. “With you?”

His expression faltered. “No, with Drummer Boy,” he said sarcastically.  

“I dunno,” she nervously laughed, humor the only defense mechanism she could rely on. “Robby makes for a pretty good date when you aren’t—”

“Charmer,” he groaned, fingers tightening around hers, even though a smile dared to pull at his lips.

“Is this one of your business trips?” she persisted. “Or would this be for pleasure?”

“Why can’t it be both?” he responded, and it sounded witty enough, except all traces of humor had disappeared. “Can’t you tell when a guy is trying to be serious?”

Madelyn swallowed, and released a shaky breath. “What is it?”

Deacon didn’t say anything, and she was afraid she’d scared him off with her teasing. Minutes passed before he finally reached up and removed the darkened shades from his face, placing them on the table next to their forgotten coffee cups. Blue eyes locked on blue, but still, he remained silent.

“What do you want?” she prompted, slowly turning her hand over to lace their fingers. “Deacon?”

She’d seen that emotion in his eyes before—just last week—when he tried to tell her something important, and she denied him the opportunity. This time, she wasn’t afraid.

“I want…”

“Je t’aime,” she answered, filling the silence when he trailed off. His eyes widened, the shock quickly subsiding as a bright smile pulled at his lips. Madelyn knew it was a simple saying, but still translated. “I love you.”

“I—”

Not everyday that Deacon was at a loss for words. He suddenly moved, slipping out from his side of the booth and swiftly sliding in to join her. Madelyn turned to meet him, laughing as the butterflies swarmed her stomach like she was experiencing this—love—again, all for the first time. He leaned in close so only she could hear.

“Je t’aime,” he repeated with an ever-growing smile. “I love you too.”

There was nothing left to say, so he kissed her instead. Madelyn smiled against his lips, sighing when his arms wrapped around her in a warm embrace. Deacon was still grinning when they parted, eyes shining with an emotion she wanted to keep there forever. He pulled her close, and she rested her head against his shoulder, switching her gaze back outside.

The sun was shining, and she was happy.

[foolgobi65]

Lois/Clark + travel au + fake dating + “are you sure this is legal?”

again, its kind of a fake marriage and...also again....this is kind of the set up for the fake marriage scenario? i basically used this as an opportunity to write down a bunch of my lois headcanons for a period after superman reveal but before the get together lmao but i hope you still like it!! thank you so much for sending the prompt, i love lois sm and this was i think the first time i’ve really written from her (or actually written out lois and clark lol) so everyone please send feedback re: lois and clark characterizations!!!!

love u to the moon and back!!!!

---

“Clark, what does legal really mean, other than the things our government arbitrarily decided we’re allowed to do?”

Next to her, Clark rolls his eyes and Lois tries not to show the awe that briefly floods her body when she remembers that Superman is Clark is Superman is Clark, which means that when he responds to her quip, it’s not only as Smallville but as Kal-El, who she once named ‘the Man of Tomorrow.’ 

“Nice to see Libertarian Lois make an appearance,” Clark-El quips, and Lois nearly melts. It’s been about a month since what she, agnosto-sympathetic as she’s always been, termed in her own mind as the Revelation. Clark is Superman is Clark, she reminds herself as she always has to, to keep herself from running in as many directions as she can, vainly trying to outrun the fastest man alive. 

Being, maybe. Because he’s not really a man, is he?

Clark, Lois thinks again. Clark Kent from Smallville, Kansas. Son of Martha. Man, man, man. Lois is no fool to think that he could really be anyone else -- Clark, for all that he’s apparently lied to her, couldn’t possibly have lied about this. Superman had always seemed so aloof, so removed from the daily grind of humanity’s issues: sure, he’s saved plenty of cats up trees, but Lois had always wondered if he understood why those cats were so beloved, or worse if he saw humanity as the perennial cat constantly stuck up in trees of its own making. But she hadn’t known Superman, really, hadn’t thought she would be able to. 

Not like she’d known Clark. Clark, of the long-form article following the production of a single plaid shirt he’d been wearing on Monday during the week’s pitch meeting. Clark, who was always falling into step right next to Lois no matter where she was, or who she was up against, his heart the only one that burned like Lois when confronted with the nastiness of the world. 

Clark, who Lois has always considered the most human man she ever met. Clark who is somehow biologically, the least human man in the universe.

“Lois?” Clark’s voice is just slightly strained as if he can hear the thoughts scurrying round and round Lois’s mind, but no Lois had asked about that during those first few terrifying days when up had seemed like down and she’d felt like the shittiest investigative reporter since Arnab Goswami. Clark couldn’t read minds, not really, he’d said -- he could at most see the neurons firing (and wasn’t that a horrifying thought?) but he hadn’t tried to figure out a pattern. 

“But I don’t watch your neurons,” he’d said with what then-Lois had recognized as a hint of human-Clark, who she later realized was just-Clark’s shit-eating grin. “Your mind makes me dizzy enough when I’m just observing from the outside. Can’t imagine what would happen if I was trying to follow your thought process in real-time.” 

Now-Lois shakes her head slightly, unattractive like a wet dog. “Sure it’s illegal to impersonate a pair of massage therapists, but you’re an extraterrestrial traveler, Clark. Do the mighty dictums of the United States really mean that much to you?” 

She knows almost as soon as the last half of the sentence leaves her lips that it’s the wrong thing to say. Clark’s from Kansas, just like he always said. He was raised in Kansas, with Kansas values whatever the hell that means. Christ, she thinks, she’s never been so insensitive to an adoptee in her life. 

A month ago, Clark’s face might have crumpled. Two weeks ago, he might have thrown Lois’s insensitivity right back in her face. Today, though, his eyes only go wide for a second, right before Lois sees them glint with what she can only label as sheer Clarkness. It’s a near cousin of his shit-eating grin, that’s for sure, and if it makes her heart race with a little anticipation that between her, the universe and, if he’s listening, Sup--

Shit. 

But maybe Clark isn’t listening, too focused on what he’s about to say, because he plows on despite her heart rate. “Lois,” he drawls, “I don’t ignore the dictates of the United States because I'm an alien.”  

Oh for fuckssake. “Clark now is not the time to crib off of your much cooler mom’s actual anarchist credentials. You can talk as much theory as you want, but you were the one who just asked if we should continue our pursuit of justice based on legality.” 

Clark scoffs. “Perry suspended us for two weeks, and on day two you called me up and asked if I wanted to go on a vacation.” 

Sometimes, Clark’s whole Clark-shtick makes it so that Lois can’t tell if he’s actually hurt, or if he’s just fucking with her emotions, the ones everyone told him she’d long shot dead and buried behind the house, for his own amusement. She squints, leaning in a little closer to check for his usual tells, and there! Just at the corner of his lip, a slight twitch, so minuscule that no one but Lois could have found it. 

“You asshole! You were bored too!” Lois crosses her arms. “C’mon, would you really have been happy with a normal cruise, just floating on the ocean and wearing Hawaiian shirts while eating shrimp, no care in the world?” She raises her eyebrows, grinning like she’s trying to sell Clark a tub of Crisco. “Isn’t taking down the Mob just so much more exciting?” 

According to her therapist, Lois was never really in love with Superman. Lois was in love with the idea Superman represented -- a good man, powerful without the corruption she saw infesting those with power every day, a man so far above humanity that he was safe from the trainwreck that was Lois’ interior self. He could never really love her back, so Lois was safe loving him, never had to worry about her job putting him in danger or her tongue slicing him up during an argument until there was nothing left but his torn up suit. 

Clark, though, Clark was very real, her therapist said. Says, though Lois hasn’t been responding to her calls since the Revelation. She doesn’t know how quite to say “hey Doc, remember how we’ve been talking on and on about Clark and Superman, and how I have to ‘give up my illusion of safety in order to take a real leap of faith?’ Well, do I have a doozy for you!”  

But anyway, the point her therapist was making was that Clark actually knows Lois, inside and out. Probably better than Lois knows herself, at this point, and he loves her for it anyway. Because he does love her, Lois knows. Just like Jimmy knows, and Perry, and Lucy, and hell the guy at her corner bodega too who thinks that “that nice plaid-shirt guy you’re seeing, who comes in to buy you a whole dozen maple donuts before he picks you up, he’s gonna pop the question any day now Miss Lane!” 

Clark has loved Lois for a long time but never told her because Lois has spent almost the entirety of their partnership pretending to love Superman, afraid of being judged wanting by the only person in the world who could actually make that judgment in the first place. Clark loves her now, but Lois’ parents loved each other too once, and that relationship ended with her mom being just a little grateful that the cancer was actually going to kill her so that she wouldn’t have to put up with the General anymore. Lois knows that Clark thinks she doesn’t love him, that he thinks her love for Superman died in the fire of knowing that Superman was actually her bumpkin friend Clark, but for once she’s too afraid to report the truth. 

The truth, that all those parts Lois’ mother hated in the General -- his stubbornness, his arrogance, his inability to see anything outside of the scope of his gun -- Mad-Dog Lane has too, probably in equal measure. Clark isn’t her mom, but he too is kind, and gentle. Soft sometimes, in ways that Lois can’t believe he manages when faced with the horrors of humanity twice over. He’s her best friend, her partner, but if they added another step to their weird dance wouldn’t it finally be too much? Clark has parents who love him, makes friends easier than Lois can breathe, but Lois has only Clark. Maybe Perry, but even then who knows -- Clark might get Perry in the divorce since he can actually spell. 

“Hmm?” Lois shakes herself again, finally seeing Clark’s hand wave in front of her face. “Sorry, Clark.” 

He laughs. “It’s fine Lois, I was just saying something you’d probably have liked to hear so it’s probably best that you didn’t.” 

Lois clicks her tongue, rounding on Clark. “Well if it’s that I was right about you being bored after an entire two days off, then I don’t need to hear it. I already know I’m right and that’s good enough for me.” 

Clark rolls his eyes. “One of the precious few times you are, since this idea of yours is all sorts of wrong. Beyond the legal thing, which I will remind you, is a matter of having a massage therapy license that neither of us has and as such, cannot in good faith offer massages as part of our jobs as massage therapists.” Funny that Clark seems to have no comment on the whole “fake marriage” part of Lois’ plan. 

Lois brushes off his concern with what she thinks is aplomb. “See that would have been a problem for the Lois-of-a-month-ago, but today-Lois knows something that you apparently haven’t thought about!” 

“Oh?”

Lois beckons Clark closer, and because he loves her, he humors her by leaning in close. “See,” she whispers into his ear, “Today-Lois knows that her partner Clark has super-vision, and can see all those pesky muscle groupings neither of us knows about. Just talk to me in a language we know but the client doesn’t, and we’ll be all good!” 

Clark chokes. “You want me to...use my powers to aid in our...subterfuge?” 

Lois raises an eyebrow. “Are you seriously telling me that you haven’t used them on a story before?” That would be very Clark-like of him, she supposes, but on the other hand, the Clark she knows would never not use a resource to help break a story. And, just like she thought--

“No,” Clark says, flushing beet red -- I made Superman blush! Lois thinks and tamps down -- “No I have, but just not so....” 

“Planned?” 

“No,” Clark admits, “it was definitely planned.” He laughs softly. “Honestly, I think it’s that no one else has ever planned to use my powers, at least not as Clark.” Superman, of course, helps build millions of homes and launches nuclear waste into space: there’re entire forums where top scientists compete to see which of their ideas Superman can help them fulfill. And here Lois is, asking him to use those same powers so that they can fake being massage therapists to coax out leads from horny couples with connections to the Mob. 

She bites her lip, insecure in only the way Superman and Clark have been able to make her feel. Just figures that they were the same person the whole time. “Is..,” Lois swallows, “Is that ok? That I planned it?” Her eyes widen, sudden panic suffusing her body. “Ohmygod Clark, I don’t want you to feel like I’m taking advantage of you, or anything, I mean I definitely think your powers are cool but I love you for your mind first and fore--” 

Everything inside and out of Lois’s brain shuts off. Did she just--

Clark’s jaw drops, wild hope Lois doesn’t even think he realizes creeping into the corners of his eyes. “Did you just--” 

“I..” Lois’ brain is now entirely composed of those moments when your CD skips, no words, no feelings, just skips. 

And then, like the greatest gift and curse the Universe could possibly bestow at once, the Cruise Director’s door opens. “Hello,” she says, glancing down at the names on her clipboard and doing a double-take. “Bumpo and Geraldine McTungus?” 

[porkchop-ao3]

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 23)

Flimflammery

In this chapter, John and reader run a con together :) This part was inspired a lot by Better Call Saul and some of the scams that Jimmy and Marco would pull in season 1! I love writing this kind of thing :P you’ll notice this story focuses on the jobs reader does as well as the romance plot, I just cant help myself!

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

-   

I was up first. I brewed the coffee, poured myself a cup, yawned and stretched and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. Draping my blanket around my shoulders and shuffling across the camp towards the horses with my journal tucked under my arm, I glanced towards Arthur's bed. He was curled up on his side, cheek smushed into his pillow, arm hanging off the edge, fast asleep. I smiled, his appearance endearing. I figured he must've gotten back late with Sean after causing whatever mayhem he had at the Gray's, so I left him alone. I couldn't help but think of the Pinkertons, Leviticus Cornwall, the countless people who wanted him dead or locked up, and seeing him looking so peaceful and harmless curled up asleep like that… none of it seemed possible. 

Who on Earth could be mad at a face like that?

I took a drink of coffee as I sat down by the hitching posts. Some of the horses were still sleeping, including Rayna, bless her. But Jet was awake, chewing his way through a bale of hay, tale flicking, ears twitching. He looked up at me once, decided I wasn't enough of a distraction, and carried on eating. I put my coffee down beside me, pressing the tin cup into the grass until it felt stable enough to leave, then opened up my journal, ready to draw Arthur's gift. I did a couple of warm up sketches; I'd never really drawn horses before, so this would be interesting. I did a couple of little doodles of Rayna first, considering she was asleep and I figured I'd do better without a moving target. 

I approached it the same way I would a portrait, blocking in her basic shape, putting down a few guidelines to plan where her eyes would go, then her ears, her nose, the curve of her neck and the scruff of her mane. I made a mental note to give her a thorough brush later, then sketched away. I produced a few little drawings. Some of just her head, some of her full body. I was certainly doing better with the close ups of her face; proof that I shouldn't run before I could walk. I filled up two pages, remembering to drink my coffee before it went cold. 

Once I felt comfortable with the subject matter, I turned to a fresh page and studied Jet for a while, noting the markings on his face; a white splodge right between his eyes. In the early morning light his coat looked very close to black, but as the sun moved further up in the sky, it hit him and picked out plummy tones on all his high points. I started drawing him, just his head, where he was swooping down to the water trough, noisily slurping away. I took my time just like Arthur advised, keeping my eyes on him as my hand moved slowly across the page to capture the roundness of his jawbone, all the way along the straight plain towards his muzzle. Fully warmed up to the action, I found myself able to look at him more than my page, just like Arthur did that day in Scarlett Meadows. He was rubbing off on me. 

I put a lot into the drawing, very tempted to start again on numerous occasions. I forced myself to keep at it rather than wasting paper, knowing that nothing was set in stone and I could tweak as I needed, rework areas until they satisfied. Jet began to emerge from the page, not just any horse, but him, and I was pleased with my tenacity as I created something I was genuinely proud of. I hoped that Arthur would be proud too, once I gave it to him. 

Pleased with my efforts, I leaned back against the hitching post and settled down to finish my coffee, chewing through a biscuit from the almost empty tin I'd snagged from Pearson's wagon. I enjoyed the early morning solitude, but I could hear movement across the camp as Pearson started his work for the day, butchering up that bear meat, ready to cook slowly throughout the day to keep it tender.  I leaned my head back against the post and closed my eyes, taking a deep, still breath and listening to the wind in the trees. Just taking a moment of peace before the day truly began. Susan would be up and about soon, and she'd find something for me to do.

She was a lovely lady, but I'd soon learned that she didn't take kindly to layabouts. You had to earn your right to sit down and relax, with her sniffing about, so every day it was a challenge to have her catch you doing something worthy of some downtime in the evening. Otherwise, there was hell to pay. 

"Morning, sunshine," the voice caught me by surprise and my eyes snapped open, settling on Arthur's dominating figure blocking the cloudless sky behind him. 

"Arthur. Good morning," I smiled at him, patting the space beside me. 

"Keepin' the horses company?" He mused as he sat down cross-legged next to me. He blew across the top of his coffee before taking a tentative sip. I hummed my affirmation, nodding and glancing out at the animals.

"Well, my coffee buddy was sleeping, so," I told him, and he chuckled. "Exciting night?"

"One way of saying it," he tutted, huffing in mild amusement. "If committing arson is your idea of excitement."

"Well, depends what I'm setting fire to," I joked. "Boxes full'a dynamite are always a good time. Just gotta remember to stand well back." 

"Yeah? What do you reckon to fields of tobacco?"

"Hmm, I'd say that's at least a little exciting."

"Well, you should've been there last night," he laughed. I smiled, eyes lingering on him even when he looked away. I tapped on the tin of biscuits and he took one, crumbs catching in the stubble that he was yet to shave. 

I thought about Isaac, his son, and tried to imagine Arthur as a father. I'd never seen him in that light before, but I could imagine him being good at it. Not that I had any desire to test the theory, I thought, blushing at the very idea. 

It was as if he was reading my mind, with his next words. "I was thinking, last night, laying in bed. I'm glad I told you about Isaac. I don't speak about him much – at all, really – don't wanna bother folk with it. None o' these ever met him," he made a vague gesture to the camp. "They never mourned him, so I felt like a nuisance bringing it up, dragging people into my suffering. But telling you…"

He looked at me, really looked at me, in the eye. It always pulled me out of something when he met my eyes so intensely, as if I forgot the world was real until those moments. 

"I figured, if we're doing this. If we're starting something together, then, you ought to know me. My pain, and all," he continued. "I hope that I can do the same for you, listen to your hardships. You're just like me; lost just about everyone. You put on a brave face, but you don't have to. Not with me, at least."

"Thank you," I told him under my breath, reaching to squeeze his knee. I took his words to heart, and after a moment I sighed softly and spoke. "I miss my father a lot more than I let on."

"Your father?" He repeated. I hummed and nodded.

"I take after him a lot. I loved my mother, of course, but she drank a lot. I didn't notice as a child but as I grew up, I reckon that drove a wedge between us. She never remembered anything I told her, was like having the same conversations every day, stopped me from really knowing her, and her me, I think," I shrugged, then smiled. "But my pa, he used to take me out riding, put me up front on his horse, and we'd sing songs together on the road."

Arthur smiled too, eyes still fixed on me. 

"I miss that. More than anything, I do. But I try to miss it in a way that makes me happy to remember it, instead of sad that it's been and gone, you know?" I looked up in time to see his brows raise thoughtfully.

"That's a pleasant way of thinking, you got there. Something I'll try and keep in mind myself," he nodded. He chuckled and looked up to the sky absentmindedly. "I remember the time I went to see Isaac and Eliza, after he'd started walking. Kid came stumbling out the house when I showed up and you know what I did?"

"What?"

"I burst into tears. I weren't sad. I don't know what came over me, just seeing him growing up, doing stuff for himself, it made me so proud, ain’t ever felt anything like it. Eliza laughed at me, not being malicious or nothin', I just don't think she expected it. Anyway, that's one'a my most treasured memories."

"It's an honour that you shared it with me, then," I told him, stroking my hand across the top of his thigh. He put his hand over mine, stilling it and squeezing my fingers. “I’m glad that you have those memories.”

“Me too. If memories is all I have, I’m grateful for ‘em,” he told me. I glanced over towards Pearson, checking his view of us was obscured before I leaned across and kissed Arthur’s cheek. 

He caught me before I moved back, capturing my lips in a true kiss, one that was quick and risky but just as sweet as they always were. When it ended, we remained close, sharing breath between us and enjoying the moment, despite pushing our luck.

“Been thinkin’ about the other night, a lot,” he whispered. Tone timid, yet there was a look in his eyes that smouldered and dared. I pressed my lips together, letting my eyes drop to his mouth. “Can barely believe my luck.”

“Luck’s got nothing to do with it,” I exhaled a laugh, a sharp shake of my head. Arthur smiled, licking his lips, tongue just barely ghosting over mine and making my breath stutter. “I ain’t quite sure what you mean by that.”

“Lady like you? And it's me who gets to see her like that?”

“Shhh,” I said softly, shaking my head. “You don't need to flatter me, Arthur, you’ve already got me.”

“I’m doin’ no such thing. I mean it, I sure ain’t done anything deserving of this good fortune, you know my life,” he told me through a breathy laugh. I leaned away from him, shaking my head again with a tut. 

“Well, you better wrap your head around it, or get used to it, or something. I don't plan on that being a one off.”

“Oh?” the sound was playful, musical even.

“Mhm,” I nodded, keeping my eyes on the ground in front of me, fire igniting in my belly and, of course, my face. Arthur hummed softly, fingers reaching to brush some of my hair back. He came close and hovered there, mouth inches from my neck. 

Footsteps, light but graceless, scuffing to a stop just a little way away. Arthur’s head snapped up to their owner, and I gingerly took a peek to my left. It was the feller Mary-Beth had been mingling with a fair bit, Kieran. My conversations with him had been few and far between, mostly small talk when we were both tending to the horses; but he seemed like a nice enough guy. Always really timid, though, especially then. His eyes were locked on Arthur’s and he looked ready to wet himself. 

“Mind your goddamn business, O’Driscoll. And keep your mouth shut,” Arthur’s voice was dark, gruff and downright chilling. I hadn’t heard anything close to it since the first time I’d seen him at Horseshoe Overlook, and he’d been yelling at Strauss. It rose goosebumps on my arms and made me feel something in the pit of my gut that would’ve been fear if it was directed at me, instead it was a sort of exhilaration.

Kieran visibly gulped before giving a jerky nod and carrying on his way. I had no idea what the issue between the two men – well, between Kieran and most of the camp – was. It wasn't the best time to ask, however.

Arthur sighed loudly and leaned away from me. I couldn't help but let a small giggle escape, prompting a quizzical look from him.

“We’re not doing well with the whole ‘keeping this to ourselves’ thing, are we?” I said. Arthur scrubbed a hand over his face, releasing a tenuous groan. “Which reminds me. Abigail knows,” I added through another laugh.

“I don’t mind you telling your friends,” he shrugged.

“It wasn't me,” I gave him a look and his expression soured when the penny dropped.

“Dumb as rocks, no good, little bastard–”

“Hey, come on. Don't be like that.”

“Sticking his oar in–”

“Arthur,” I said sharply, capturing his attention. “Just remember he saved my life.”

“‘Bout the only useful thing he’s done since he dragged his scrawny ass back to us.”

“You don't hate him that bad,” I cocked my head and Arthur shrugged indifferently.

“Anyway,” I said suddenly, changing the subject. I presented my sketchbook to him, dropping it in his lap. “Couple pages in, I drew your boy.”

“You did?” he seemed surprised, opening up the sketchbook and flicking through to the drawing in question. He beamed when he saw it, face breaking into an unrestrained smile. It made my heart thump  “Look at that,” he chuckled.

“You like it?”

“You did a fine job on this, of course I like it. Y’ should be proud of yourself,” he patted me on the thigh, began rubbing up and down. “Thank you, princess.”

“You’re most welcome,” I said, preening under his praise just a little. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but his name met my ears from across camp. His hand froze its subtle movement and he looked over his shoulder. A newly risen Dutch was shouting him. He let out a little breath then looked back down at the drawing.

“I better go see what he wants,” he told me, eyes still roaming over the drawing of Jet, thumb kneading the edge of my thigh. “You going out with the girls tonight, that thing John was on about?”

“Oh, that. Yeah, I reckon so,” I nodded. “Are you coming?”

“Ahh, no. I think it's best I avoid that place, last time I was there, Hosea and I caused a little trouble,” he admitted sheepishly, and I didn't ask. “Anyway, you be careful,” he said, giving my thigh one last squeeze.

“I will,” I smiled, seeing him mirror it before he was heading off to see Dutch.

-

Rhodes Parlour House was as pleasant as I remembered it being from the few times I’d been there before. The place was clean and nicely decorated, crisp white table cloths and ornate furniture, a lovely curved staircase dominating the room, a polished bar at the back. Anyone would think we were somewhere like Saint Denis. The place was busy, the piano being played to grace the patrons with a lively tune, men were packed around the bar, others were taking up the tables. Women roamed the place too, but it seemed as though they were looking to make a dollar rather than spend one.

Mary-Beth, Karen and Tilly mingled with the patrons in their own ways; Karen was going solo while the others teamed up together. I was still sat with John, observing as the two of us sat opposite one another in a booth by the entrance. He'd been approached by three different prostitutes, now, prowling like kittens to try and coax him upstairs, and for once I found myself reveling in a perk of being female. Though, I didn't get off completely scot-free, the third of the women eyed me in a way that turned my face cherry pink and made John burst into fits of laughter. Perhaps it was something in my decision to wear pants that evening, despite the other womens' confusion at the choice. 

I'd told them that desirability wouldn't benefit my plan. 

The plan I'd told John all about, explaining that it'd require his assistance. He'd been more than happy to oblige, and now all we needed to do was wait for the right time and the right mark. Lucky for us, a man walked through the doors, dressed to the nines, a lady at least half his age hanging off his arm; fat guy with a perfectly curled moustache, cream coloured suit and a top hat. He looked like money, walked with his gut puffed out a mile ahead of him, and he was sliding into the booth behind us. I shot John a look and he nodded, and I pulled out what was hiding in my satchel. A piece of cloth wrapped around a tiny rock. 

"Alright," I said, not keeping my voice down. "I think I've waited long enough. Do you have my money?"

"Show me the goods, first, then we'll talk money," he replied, leaning back and folding his arms across his chest. I saw the man, who was sitting in the space behind John, turn his head at the mention of the word.

"I showed you. My money, sir," I pressed through gritted teeth, and John sighed heavily. 

"I want another look. Gotta make sure I'm getting the real deal, here," he countered and with a tense sigh I pushed the cloth bundle towards him.

"Alright, one more look, but we agreed a price last week. Remember that," I warned. John unfurled the cloth carefully. He stared down at the small, sandy chip of rock I'd picked up from the edge of Flat Iron Lake, carefully selected, even had little polished parts that shined in the light. It wasn't great, but it'd be good enough for someone with an untrained eye and under the bar's dim light.

John picked it up and held it up to the light, arm stretching out of the booth as he made a show of inspecting it. All the while I could see the guy in the seat behind him taking curious peeks over his shoulder. John made a humming sound, and sucked on his bottom lip for a while, making me wait for some kind of response. 

"A hundred," he finally muttered.

"Excuse me?" I scoffed. "We agreed on two. And I know damn well even that's generous."

"I'm sorry? Who's the expert?" John snorted, putting the stone back down on the cloth and cocking a brow at me.

"I don't care to listen about your education again, sir. Two hundred," I smacked a hand on the table, and the mark finally made his move, slinking out of the booth.

"Excuse me, ma'am, but I can't help but overhear your conversation. This feller trying to go back on a done deal?" He questioned, leaning his palm on the table, back to John, effectively cutting him out.

"Damn right he is," I hissed, jabbing a finger in John's direction in disgust. 

"Maybe I can be of assistance? I'm somewhat of a businessman myself," he said proudly.

"I don't know. I doubt you'll know much about it, unless you're a gemstone expert," I shrugged, shifting in my seat and reaching under the triangle created by his arm and his body to fetch back the rock.

"I ain't an expert in gemstones, but I don't need to be to help you two figure out a good deal. For a cut, of course," he smirked, straightening up again. "What'chu got here?"

I paused for a while, not wanting to appear too eager. I sighed, finally answering; "Australian opal. Mined it myself, this is the last of my lot. Trouble is, I come back to the US for a family matter and I've got every man and his dog trying to swindle me out of a fair deal. This feller's the third."

"Opal? Huh. That dull thing?"

"It's unpolished, of course. They don't come out the ground wrapped in gold ready to go on a lady's finger, you know," I narrowed my eyes at him and he nodded thoughtfully. He picked it up, and I flinched for show. He eyed up my reaction, then put it back down.

"Two hundred, you settled on? What's the issue?" He turned to John.

"No issue, friend. Just doing business. I'm sure you understand, being a businessman yourself," John shrugged. The man looked him up and down. 

"You don't look like the type to be walking around with two hundred dollars in your back pocket," he sneered and John snorted, shaking his head. 

"How'd you think I manage to keep it there? Feller like you, flaunting it, surprised someone ain't tried robbing you yet," John retaliated, and I very nearly laughed. The man hummed, considering his point. "Anyway, no one asked you. Get out of here. Best I can do is one-fifty, ma'am. Take it or leave it."

"I sold chips half this size in Saint Denis for three hundred. I ain't taking no less than two hundred," I wrapped up the stone and pocketed it. 

"Thought you needed fast money," John said, leaning his elbows on the table. The man stayed put, watching the exchange. 

"Not that fast, I ain't willing to get totally ripped off. Two hundred."

"You keep saying that, ain't gonna make the money appear," he laughed, shaking his head at me. I narrowed my eyes. 

"I've got fifty dollars on me, should be buying my wife a fancy new frock from Saint Denis tomorrow, but she can wait. Also got a pocket watch worth a hundred or more depending on who you sell it to. Can give you the name of a feller, a collector, he'll pay top dollar," the man suddenly butted in. My belly squeezed in excitement. 

"Didn't I tell you to get out of here? This ain't your deal," John stood up, meeting the guy at eye level. 

"Hang on, that don't sound too bad," I pondered aloud, staring ahead and pursing my lips.

"We shook hands," John spun towards me, brow mashing down angrily. I laughed maliciously.

"Yeah, we did. At two hundred," I purred, enjoying the way the man glanced between us, eating up every word. John gnawed on his bottom lip for a while, leaning down to my level.

"I ain't got that much on me right now. I can do one-seventy," he told me under his breath, but loud enough for the man to hear it.

"I'll throw in my wife's necklace. Gold. Gotta be worth something, right?" Came his bid. 

"Hey, like hell you will!" His wife yelled from the other booth.

"I'll buy you a new one, sweetheart," he called back.

"Stay the hell out of it!" John spat in his face, but the man was ignoring him, his eyes set on me. I hummed, pursing my lips and looking up to the ceiling. 

"Seventy-five, the watch, plus my wife's necklace. You could get, what, at least three hundred out of all that?" He offered, forehead shiny, hands fidgety. I levelled my gaze to his, kept him on his toes for a few long seconds, then offered my hand to him. He grinned and shook it.

"Fuck you!" John yelled, storming out of the booth, his shoulder smacking into the guy as he stomped towards the bar. He only laughed, glanced at his wife in time to have a necklace thrown at him, then gathered together my items.

We made the exchange, tucked away our goods, and bid each other a pleasant evening. I sat back in the booth, draining my bottle of beer and smiling to myself, pleased as Punch.

[annzybwrites]

Truth or Dare: Coming Out Edition (Chapter 4: Kissing Time)

Read on AO3 | Donate to my Ko-Fi if you like | Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6

A South Park Fanfiction ft. Creek, Style, and Bunny

“Why did we decide to go back to truth or dare again?” Kyle asked. After the cake decorating (the cake actually looked very nice with red and green plaid, despite the mini frosting-fight that Clyde had instigated), they made their way back to the entertainment room. Instead of playing a different game, like Kyle wanted, Kenny had suggested they keep playing Truth or Dare, a suggestion that Clyde took to immediately and wouldn’t shut up about. “Oh, right,” Kyle rolled his eyes, “because Clyde’s a baby.” 

“I am not!” Clyde pouted. “We’ll just pick up where we left off! So it’s your turn to ask someone, Kyle!” 

“I told Kenny to take my turn.” 

“We ended up baking instead,” Kenny replied, shrugging with a lazy grin. “Didn’t want to be rude and keep playing without you two.” 

Kyle sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fine. Butters, truth or dare.” 

“Oh, gosh, um,” Butters put his hands to his cheeks, his eyes looking left and right as he debated. “D-dare!” 

Kyle had to think for a moment before deciding, “I dare you to spin around while singing “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.”” 

A few of the boys snickered with laughter, while Butters just hoped he wouldn’t throw up. He felt a little nauseous afterwards, but he kept the game going. 

“Tweek, truth or dare?” 

Tweek tensed up, his leg bouncing nervously. “Um… truth.” 

Butters beamed and clasped his hands together, excitedly asking, “What was your first kiss with Craig like?” 

“Butters, I love you,” Clyde whispered. 

“Gah!” Tweek flushed and covered his face. “That’s p-personal!!” 

“You can use one of your passes if you want, honey,” Craig reminded him, rubbing his back soothingly. 

“Mmm,” Tweek thought about it, glancing down at the three he still had. He wanted to save those for something truly embarrassing. “N-no, I’ll answer it!” He swallowed, feeling everyone’s eyes bore into him. “Oh, god, w-well - it was… a month and a half in, after we started dating for real…” 

~~~~~

4th grade. 

Tweek took a deep breath in, loving the faint smell of burning leaves on this autumn night. He and Craig were in his backyard, sitting by a small campfire with a tent and a telescope set up nearby. He couldn’t believe their parents were cool with this - they were the ones who always joked about “leaving the door open” when they hung out together. Still, he was happy the night was warm, and there wasn’t much wind. 

“I wish everyone would turn their lights off,” Craig grumbled next to him, sitting bent over with his legs crossed and his head slumped in his hands. “I wanna see the stars.” 

Tweek chuckled and fiddled with the blanket in his lap. “We’ll just have to wait awhile, Craig. Maybe even till midnight.” 

“Ugh,” Craig groaned and closed his eyes. “Too long to wait.” 

“Oh my god, Craig.” Tweek laughed and gently pushed at Craig’s knee. “We could go in the tent and just play games for awhile? That’ll pass the time!” 

Craig thought about it for a moment, staring at the fire with that same, emotionless face of his. “Sure. Sounds fun.” 

Tweek insisted they put out the fire before heading into the tent, being worried about starting a house fire, but that didn’t take too much time. Soon they were sitting comfortably in their tent, Craig playing some matching game on his phone while Tweek watched, his head resting on the stoic boy’s shoulder. 

After a few rounds, Craig lowered the phone, muttering, “Hey, Tweek?” 

“Hm?” Tweek lifted his head so he could look at his face. “What is it?” 

Craig hesitated, his voice getting quieter as he glanced away. “Have you thought about… kissing? At all?” 

Tweek tensed up, his head starting to feel like a cloud. He squeaked and held a hand up to his lips. “K… kissing?” 

Craig nodded, lowering his head shyly. His shoulders hunched up as if to hide himself. 

“Oh, god.” Tweek swallowed, pulling his legs up to his chest. He felt lighting forming in his cloudy head, his thoughts all scrambled from the electricity. “W-well, I… yes! Of course I want to try it, b-but it’s so scary! And you’re sharing spit with someone else - isn’t that unsanitary?! I don’t understand how it’s supposed to feel good! Which is why I wanna try it so I can see for myself, but what if I end up getting a horrible disease and dying! Or worse, you end up -!” 

“Tweek,” Craig interrupted, placing a hand in Tweek’s hair to lightly massage his scalp. “Calm the brain. Okay?” 

“Nnngh,” Tweek groaned and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths. 

“If it helps,” Craig spoke up again, “Lots of people kiss every day, and they don’t die from it. And…” he cleared his throat, getting quiet again, “I really wanna kiss you.” 

Tweek’s heart leaped up into his throat, lighting shooting out from his brain and sending tingling shocks all the way down his spine. Craig wanted to kiss him! W-well, duh, that was normal! They were dating! But, but they were so young, and their immune systems were still developing, and…! 

“We don’t have to do it tonight,” Craig continued when it seemed Tweek was freaking out again. “But I wanted you to know. So you can think about it.” 

“Craaaiiig,” Tweek whined, covering his face. “J-just, give me…” Craig was being so nice about this, as usual. Setting aside his own wants for Tweek’s comfort, even though he panicked about everything. With all Craig did for him, he should be able to give him a kiss. Besides that, he wanted to kiss him - his brain was just making him freak out, making him hesitate. He was so sick of that! “You know what - no!” he slammed his fists on the ground, staring up at Craig with determination. “I, I want to do it! Screw my brain - I want to kiss you!!” 

Craig’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. “You’re… sure?” 

“Yes!!” Tweek got to his knees, scooting close enough to place his hands on Craig’s shoulders. “But, but do it before I change my mind.” 

Craig felt heat pool into his cheeks as he wrapped his arms around Tweek’s waist, his heart pounding in his chest. He really hadn’t expected to actually kiss Tweek tonight, but he was definitely not wasting the opportunity. He sucked in a breath and leaned in, pressing his lips lightly against Tweek’s. His immediate thought was that Tweek really needed to stop biting his lips, but his second thought was: holy shit we’re kissing. Followed by a warmth slowly spreading from his face, down his neck, and settling in the center of his chest. 

When he pulled away, staring into Tweek’s wide, emerald eyes, he said the first thing that was on his mind. “That was nice.” 

Tweek became flustered immediately and buried his face against Craig’s shoulders, his arms curling between them as he tried burying himself against Craig. “It, it was.” Craig’s lips were so warm, and he was so gentle like always. It felt weird at first, his brain making him think of the millions of germs they were sharing, but after pushing that aside… the storm in his brain went away, and he felt… calm. Like how Craig usually made him feel, but more. A happier calm, maybe? He was closer to Craig than ever; he’d pushed aside his stupid fears and was finally able to enjoy something normal and fun. He felt pride blooming in his chest like a late flower, his lips settling into a relaxed smile. 

He loved this. He loved how Craig made him feel more comfortable in his own skin. Not just when they were together, either - all the time. God, just a year ago, he would have probably screamed bloody murder at the idea of him kissing anyone, but now…  

Tweek lifted his head, asking quietly, “Should we try again?” 

Craig didn’t respond - he simply leaned in for another kiss. 

~~~~~

Current time.

“Awwww!” Butters and Clyde both felt like melting after Tweek finished the story. 

Tweek, on the other hand, was shaking and covering his flushed face, even with Craig hugging him close and smoothing his hair back to calm him down. 

“I didn’t know you could be so romantic, Craig,” Token teased, laying on his stomach and supporting his grinning face with his hands. 

“Yeah!” Jimmy snickered. “This changes your wh-whole image!” 

“Shut up,” Craig grumbled, unable to look at anyone right now. 

“You’re so lucky!” Clyde complained, flopping pathetically onto his back. “Both of you!!” 

“Their love shall last throughout the ages,” Kenny prophesied, clasping his hands together as if to pray. 

“Timmy!” He clapped happily in agreement. 

“I can’t wait for the wedding!” Butters chirped. 

“Guys,” Craig cut in, frowning. “Stop. Please.” He shot his eyes back to Tweek before looking at them again, trying to silently bring attention to the fact that Tweek was still curled up and shaking against Craig, his hands pulling tight at his hair. The group fell silent then, feeling a little guilty. Craig just sighed and mumbled something to Tweek, who nodded in response. “I’ll take Tweek’s turn. Kenny, truth or dare.” 

“Dare, baby.” Kenny winked. 

Craig didn’t even have to think. “I dare you to kiss Butters.” 

“Ooooh!” Clyde grinned, sitting back up with the widest grin possible. “Yes! Yes!!” 

“Hold on,” Token held a hand out, being the referee. “For dares involving other people, they have to agree.” 

All attention turned to Kenny and Butters, who were both sitting with a bit more attention. 

“Well,” Kenny started, turning to Butters with a small smile. One of his hands lifted to rub at his neck. “It’s up to you, then.” 

“Oh, geez!” Butters put his hands up to his flushed cheeks. He was smiling, but whether it was out of awkwardness or eagerness, that was up for debate. “Well, I don’t wanna be labeled a coward!” 

Kenny snorted and shook his head. “All right then.” 

Clyde gasped when Kenny went for it. Just a quick brush of their lips, both of their eyes closed as they stayed close for for a few seconds. 

“Wait!!” Clyde scrambled to find his phone. “I want a picture!!” 

“I’ve got you covered,” Craig spoke up, phone in hand. “But I’ll delete it if you don’t leave me the fuck alone with truth or dare tonight.” 

Clyde felt like his soul was escaping his body. “You bastard, you planned this!!” 

“It’s not my fault you lose your phone constantly.” 

The two best friends argued back and forth a bit longer, while Kenny and Butters just smiled at each other. Butters giggled and covered his eyes, while Kenny laughed and poked one of those cute, chubby cheeks of his. 

Stan and Kyle had been watching their friends quite closely and exchanged curious glances, wondering if either of them knew anything about this. They’d talk later. 

“Fellas,” Jimmy spoke up, “let’s keep the game r-rolling, shall we?” 

“Right, right.” Kenny chuckled and finally took his gaze off of Butters. “Kyle, back to you.” 

Kyle narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Hadn’t he just went a few turns ago? “Truth.” 

“Perfect.” Kenny leaned back on his hands, sprawling his long legs out. “Who was the first boy you ever kissed?” 

The circle went silent for the umpteenth time that night, everyone looking at a furious Kyle. 

“Gee, that’s a fucking loaded question, don’t you think?” 

“You already came out to us here,” Kenny shrugged. “Either answer or pass.” 

Kyle just continues glaring at Kenny, ignoring everyone else for right now. “Fuck off. You know it was you.” 

… 

“Holy shit,” Clyde whispered. 

“For real?!” Jimmy’s eyes widened. 

“I’m not surprised,” Token shrugged. 

“When did this happen?” Stan asked, mouth open slightly in amazement. 

“Well, I don’t have to answer that, now do I?” Kyle snapped, not even looking at him. “Jimmy, truth or dare?” 

“Um…” Jimmy didn’t seem to want to get in the middle of this. 

“Kyle,” Stan tried again, reaching for Kyle who just turned away from him. 

“Jimmy, truth or dare?” 

Jimmy chewed at his lip. “Um… da -” 

“Stan and I kissed once!” Butters blurted out. 

“Butters!” Stan yelled, his face turning pale way too fast. “What the fuck!” 

“I, I just didn’t want you and Kyle to be mad at each other again!” 

“I need this story!!” Clyde was shaking his fists up and down in excitement. 

“Everyone, calm down,” Token got to his knees, holding his hands out to try and calm the situation. “We’re getting away from the game.” 

“I wanna h-hear this, too,” Jimmy replied. 

“Same, honestly,” Kenny was looking at Butters with a raised brow, his mouth in a neutral line. 

Butters looked down at the floor, playing with his fingers. “Well, um -“ 

“Don’t you dare say anything!” Stan yelled again, his shoulders shaking, tears at the corner of his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it!”

“Stan,” Kyle held a hand out to him, but Stan slapped it away. 

“I don’t want your pity!” he yelled, closing his eyes. “God, you’re all so fucking obsessed aren’t you!? Can’t a guy just try and figure shit out on his own!” 

“I’m s-sorry, Stan,” Butters mumbled. 

“Well it’s too late for that, isn’t it!” Stan turned on him, tears starting to fall. “What do you guys want to hear? That I’m a fucking mess who doesn’t know if I’m trans or bi or whatever the new thing is!? Because that’s it! Can we move on now! God!” He stood up, wiping furiously at his eyes as he practically ran out of the room. 

Everyone stayed put for a long moment, processing what Stan had just blurted out. The eavesdroppers weren’t that surprised to hear this again, but it was still painful to see a friend break down like that. 

“I’ll,” Kyle started to get up first. “I’m gonna go talk to him.” 

“Wait.” Tweek stood up, not shaking anymore, though his eyes were a bit red. “Let me talk to him.” 

“Tweek,” Kyle shook his head. “I don’t think -”  

“I know what I’m doing.” Tweek turned away from everyone. “He probably can’t face you right now.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean!?” Kyle huffed defensively, crossing his arms. “I’m his best friend!” 

“That’s exactly why he can’t face you right now,” Tweek pointed out, heading after Stan. He stopped just at the exit, turning to look at everyone. “I think we should stop with this stupid game now, guys.��� 

He turned to leave, and everyone else exchanged looks. 

“I think he’s r-right,” Jimmy spoke quietly, rubbing at one of his arms. “Too much drama.” 

“Back to video games?” Clyde suggested with a sheepish grin. 

“Sounds good to me.” Token stood up, stretching out. “Clyde, help me set up.” 

“Aye aye!” Clyde gave a mock salute before springing to his feet. 

Kyle just watched them, still seated on the floor with his legs pulled up to his chest. He stared down at the floor miserably, a hollow feeling in his gut. He didn’t know how to feel about Stan and Butters having kissed before, just like he didn’t know how to feel when he and Kenny had kissed. He’d just wanted to figure things out, and Kenny had been a very vocal pansexual ever since sixth grade (not that anyone was surprised). Who better than Ken to talk about some confusing feelings with? 

~~~~~

7th grade. 

“So,” Kenny was laying on his back on Kyle’s bed, his hands behind his head as he grinned. “You think you like a boy?” 

“Yeah.” Kyle felt like a mouse as he sat on his desk chair, one leg pulled up to his chest, facing Kenny with pink cheeks. “But how do you know for sure?” 

“Well,” Kenny turned on his side, giving Kyle a serious look. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but even with girls you were never really sure if you liked them, right?” 

Kyle sighed and rested his head on his knee, closing his eyes. “No, you’re right. It’s like… I need someone to tell me “that’s a crush” before I realize it.” 

“Well,” Kenny turned onto his stomach, bringing his hands up for his head to lay on. “Did anyone tell you that you’re crushing on this guy?” 

Kyle opened his eyes in surprise, thinking that over. “... No…” 

“Then, why do you think it’s a crush?” 

“I don’t know!” Kyle threw his hands up in exasperation, putting his leg down and turning his chair away. He felt those stupid butterflies brushing their wings against the inside of his chest. “Because… because when I’m with him, I…” 

“You just want to be close to him?” Kenny supplied, his eyes slipping closed. “Hold his hand, cuddle him, make him laugh - kiss him?” 

Kyle hunched over in his chair, hugging himself tightly as he closed his eyes. “Wow, you really are the expert, huh?” 

“I’m not an expert,” Kenny told him with a sigh. “I’ve just experienced a lot. So listen when I say - just tell Stan how you feel.” 

Kyle whipped around, his cheeks turning a rosy red now. “I never said it was -!” 

“You didn’t have to.” Kenny chuckled and sat up, sitting on the edge of the bed with his legs dangling. “But fine, we’ll pretend it isn’t Stan.” 

Kyle just glared at him then, turning to look out the window with a sigh. “You’re infuriating.” 

“I know,” Kenny winked, sticking his tongue out playfully. “That’s why you love me~” 

Kyle flushed more and covered his face, shaking his head. “... I… I’m just not sure if I’m ready to tell him yet. I mean, what if I’m wrong? What if I’m not actually attracted to guys, and this is just stupid hormones talking or something?” 

“Oh my god.” Kenny snorted and covered his mouth before he could start really laughing. “Hormones don’t make you attracted to anything with a pulse. That’s you that’s experiencing the attraction!” 

“Don’t laugh at me!” Kyle snapped, his hands clenching into fists. “God, you’re such an ass.” 

Kenny couldn’t stop right away; he got a few more snickers in before taking a deep breath. “Okay, okay - if you’re worried about that, there’s an easy fix.” 

“Oh yeah?” Kyle raised his brow. “And what’s that?” 

“Kiss me.” 

“What!?” Kyle jumped to his feet, staring at Kenny like he was crazy. “No! Why would I -” 

“I’m a guy,” Kenny started to piece this together for him, kicking his legs back and forth against the bed with a lazy grin. “You can pretend I’m your crush, and if you enjoy kissing me, even just a little, that would prove it’s not “hormones,” right?” 

“Or you’re just fucking horny,” Kyle bit at him, crossing his arms. “I’m not kissing you.” 

“All right, suit yourself.” Kenny shrugged. “But I’m just saying - if you’re unsure, it’s better to experiment with a friend who understands, instead of a partner who could get hurt.” 

Kyle clenched his teeth, searching Kenny’s face. He didn’t seem to be doing this as some kind of kink, or a stupid prank. And what he just said was right - he didn’t want to hurt anyone. Least of all… Stan. It really was one of this things holding Kyle back; wondering what would happen if he worked so hard to start dating his best friend just to find out he actually hated kissing him. Stan was always a mess after breakups - he didn’t want to be the cause of that. 

He swallowed, turning his head away as he mumbled, “Okay, fine.” 

“You’re sure?” Kenny had to check. “I’m not pressuring you, I’m just trying to help -” 

“I know, okay!” Kyle stomped over, standing right in front of him with a nervous twinge in his lips. “I just… want to know for sure.” 

Kenny searched his face, looking for any signs of hesitation. When he didn’t find any, he stood up and gently lead Kyle to be the one sitting on the bed. “Then close your eyes, and imagine I’m Stan - or “whoever” your crush is.” 

“Fuck off,” Kyle grumbled before doing as he was told. He realized his heart was going way faster than before, the thumping loud in his ears as he waited for Kenny to do it already. 

He tensed up when he felt the softest touch against his lips. He didn’t know Kenny could be this soft - wait, he’s supposed to pretend it’s Stan. 

Kyle gripped his comforter tight between his hands, taking a deep breath through his nose as he tried to picture it. Stan standing in his room, kissing him softly. They’re both not quite sure what they’re feeling, but they want to make sense of it together. They’ve…  they’ve kind of always liked each other, but as the years went on their feelings changed. Molded into something new, and… beautiful. And even though it was scary, and confusing, and messy - they were here, in this moment, together, and it felt… right. There wasn’t anyone else they’d rather figure this out with. 

He felt himself start to melt as Stan buried a hand into his hair. He leaned in further, reaching up to wrap his arms around Stan’s neck. But, wait, Stan’s hair didn’t go down to his shoulders… 

Kyle snapped his eyes open, pushing Kenny away as ice slid down his back. He covered his mouth, doubling over as he felt his breaths come too quick, too fast. 

“Kyle?” Kenny’s quiet, hesitant voice reached his ears. 

“Fucky, Kenny,” he whispered, having to gasp for air. He covered his face, moving to lay on his bed and curl up properly. Tears fell right onto the bedspread, and his body started shaking with repressed sobs. “Fuck.” 

“Kyle, it’s okay.” Kenny knelt beside the bed, brushing Kyle’s hair back comfortingly. “Now you know, right?” 

“Now I know and it’s terrifying!” Kyle corrected, dropping his hands to look at him as the tears kept coming. “It shouldn’t have been that easy to imagine you were Stan!” 

Kenny’s jaw tightened, but he decided not to comment. “Look… I know it’s scary to really like someone, but -” 

“But nothing!” Kyle turned away from him then, taking a deep breath. “Why am I doing this to myself!? This is just torture! Like Stan would ever feel the same way? He’s always crawling back to Wendy! Even if he did like guys, I’d never stand a fucking chance!” 

“You don’t know that -” 

“Oh, and you do?” Kyle’s chest started shaking again, and he covered his face right as a sob broke through. He didn’t realize just how much he’d been bottling this up. In a way, he’d almost been hoping that he wasn’t actually attracted to guys, because if he was, then he’d just have to admit that Stan would never feel the same way, that his crush was hopeless. Why did he have to fall for his best friend? “I must hate myself.” 

“Kyle, you’re being dramatic.” Kenny sighed, glancing off to the side. “Look, it’s obvious you’re way too nervous to tell Stan anything right now. So just… wait it out.” 

Kyle tried to control his quick breaths, swallowing and forcing himself to look at him. “Wait it… out?” 

“Yeah.” Kenny nodded. “Just wait. See how you feel in a few months, or hell - even a year. If you still feel this strongly about him after that… well, you can decide where to go when you get there.” 

Kyle started to calm down. He sniffled and wiped at his eyes. “You think… that would be fine?” 

“Yeah.” Kenny nodded. “You can always start gradually, too. Like, tell Stan you’re bi, or whatever you think you are. See how he reacts to that.” 

Kyle scoffed, mumbling pessimistically, “He’d probably avoid me for a month.” 

Kenny frowned, shaking his head lightly. “He’s not as bad as he was anymore. He’s trying to be a better person.” 

Kyle scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Why are you sticking up for him?” 

“Because he’s my friend, too,” Kenny reminded him, crossing his arms. “I care about both of you idiots, okay? Even when you’re assholes.” 

“Like you’re not an asshole?” 

Kenny shrugged, grinning as he joked, “I know I love a good asshole.” 

“Gross!” Kyle pushed him, but he couldn’t help but laugh a bit. “TMI, Ken.” 

Kenny just snickered, hopping onto the bed next to him. “That’s nothing. Wanna hear about the wet dream I had last night?” 

“Absolutely not.” 

“Great - so it started with me in a pancake factory…” 

~~~~~

(Please consider donating to my Ko-Fi! More importantly - ask me questions. I want them XD)

[rainbows-fanfics]

Two Dearest Friends (Chapter 12)

Summary:

Jack Skellington, the Pumpkin King of Halloween Town, meets Sally, a ragdoll created by Dr. Finklestein. A friendship blossoms between them as he introduces her to the world outside of her tower. Sally is falling for him as their relationship grows into something more, and Jack finds the same is happening to him.

A story where the Christmas incident never happens, and Jack and Sally find their happiness on their own.

Pairings: Jack Skellington/Sally

Three men are huddling by the gate. There are frantic whispers that go unheard in the rest of the Graveyard. Their thin statures are pressed against one another, their bony hands clasping around the metal bars. They are inching closer to get a better view of what was seen from afar, Jimmy having the best of luck since he's the tallest. With his accordion strapped around his back, he peeks in between the bars and finds two familiar figures. A ragdoll and skeleton are atop the famous Spiral Hill, both smiling and conversing every now and then. For the most part, it remains quiet, but the few exchanges are all he needs to see. "Any luck?" John asks. Jimmy finally tears his eyes away and shakes his head. "'Fraid not. They're pretty quiet; I can't hear what they're sayin'." "Really?" James tilts his head in response. "You'd think there's some flirtin' going on between th' two of 'em, eh?" "I ain't sure 'bout that, Boss..." Jimmy looks back at their small figures. "They're sittin' pretty close." James trails a finger over his pointed chin in thought. From what he and the boys have seen, Sally goes out a lot when Jack is conveniently nearby. He keeps finding them coming to the Graveyard. But was that a coincidence or not, he wonders? "I still think my bet is going to win," The tallest member comments. "If they felt somethin' for each other, I'm pretty sure they'd be...ya' know? Sharing some spookghetti and eyeballs or stuff like that by now?" James swats at him with the end of his saxophone. "Yer' nuts! Love ain't a quick path! Sometimes it takes years fer two ghouls ta' fall in love." "Okay, okay! You really feel strongly 'bout this, eh, boss?" "If he didn't, we wouldn't be here right now." John comments from below them. "Spying ain't our thing...yet here we are obsessing over Bone Daddy and Fink's girl." "I've got, what th' gals call...'intuition'." James holds up a finger. "Give 'em 'nother year or two n' I'll bet ya' 30 coins more they'll be together."

John widens his lifeless eyes in surprise. "You sure? That's an awful lot for just another gossip couple..." "Trust me, boys. Bone Daddy will fall first; ya' never know what livin' alone can do to a guy. If any of ya' plan on changin' yer bets...lemme' know now." "In that case, I'll raise mine up to 20 on ragdoll." John looks up at his fellow band member. "What about you, Jimmy?" "I'm keepin' it the same. I don't know what you guys see in 'em." Jimmy shakes his head and finally removes himself from the gate. He swings his accordion around his body until it rests comfortably back on his stomach. James and John follow suit and they remove themselves from the scene to follow after him. They round the corner of the Outskirts and stand in their usual spot, preparing to play a final harmony for the night. The night is rather peaceful, and the quiet breeze of the air was one to enjoy. Their melody finally fills the silence of the town, bringing a calm yet beautiful ending of the day. --------------------------- When Sally comes back, there's nothing new waiting for her. The Doctor suffers another headache, scolding her for leaving the Tower and sending her to her room again.  She's surprised he doesn't go through with his threat from before, but doesn't push it. Instead, she tries to keep a smile for the rest of the time she's locked up. She is humming under her breath now, sewing another patch on her dress to pass the time. She doesn't feel bothered by anything, which is a little unusual. She'd actually say she's in a good mood. Talking with Jack again really lifted her spirits. She's gotten to know even more about him, and now she has even more ideas swarming her thoughts while he's not here. Knowing that he's going to come over has finally made her look forward to something. She can't leave the Tower now, not risking the possibility of missing his visit. Even if the outside seems so grand and entrancing, she knows it's worth staying here. Any moment now he could be at their door, and she wants to be the first one to welcome him in.   Sally closes her eyes as she continues to sew, sighing longingly while her thoughts come back to the skeleton man she loves. "Oh, Jack..." She hears noises from outside her door and stands in her seat. The lock comes off and the door slowly opens. Doctor Finklestein peeks in a second after, looking grumpy as usual with an ice pack held over his head. He gives her a dirty look and she returns it with a bright smile. "Good morning, Doctor." She greets. "How are you feeling?" Her abnormal behavior takes him aback. She isn't quite sure on why she said that herself. But she is feeling unusually chipper, somehow distracted from her dislike of Finklestein. She wants to be kind to everyone today. What has she to worry about if Jack was going to be here soon? "Horrible, thank you." The Doctor hesitates. "...And you, Sally?" She stops to think. "I'm feeling...horrible as well, Doctor." "Hmm." He muses, turning and leaving the room. She follows with no hesitation. He stops his chair and turns to her in confusion. "Do you need something? I gave you all your books to study today, yes?" "Well, yes." She admits. "I was just wondering if you needed any help? In the laboratory or perhaps some breakfast?" He rubs his chin in thought. "The latter would be fine, I suppose." He continues his way down, letting Sally follow him until they're at the bottom. She's quick to scurry off to the kitchen and tie her apron around her waist. He leaves for the laboratory and gets himself ready for the day. He makes out the scent of something delicious before he ever gets to the table. "Hmm," He sniffs the air. "I wonder what the girl is making now?" She's been making better meals than his usual soup lately. While he prefers his regular lunch, for it was easier gulping than chewing at his age, he is pleased that she is making progress. A fine housewife in the making, if he'd say so himself. The Doctor goes back to work on taking notes of the small model he made for the straw horse. Igor remains by his side and keeps his attention on his Master. If Finklestein needs something, the assistant grabs it. If he needs something done, Igor does it. And, most importantly, if Igor helps....he gets a dog biscuit. While he is building a new contraption, Sally comes into the room. She places a plate down and pushes it aside from his work. Finklestein, obviously lured to its deathly aroma, pauses from his work. He scratches at his brain as he stares at what is on the plate. Despite his hundreds of years being deceased...he has no idea what it is. "Erm...Sally? You've been following the instructions, right?" "Yes, Doctor." She waves it off. "You should try it. It's a new recipe called 'Rat's Tail'." Igor lingers over the food and sniffs it. He begins to clap while looking over at his master excitedly. Finklestein hesitates before picking up the spoon and taking a bite of whatever was on it. After a moment, he gives a pleased nod. "Ah...tastes worse than it looks, I suppose. Thank you, Sally. This will do." She goes to leave, but stops in her tracks. She turns around and finds the Doctor eating the rest quietly, batting off Igor away from getting a piece. She starts entwining her fingers together. She would really like to get on his good side....it would make a wonderful difference if she did. After everything that's happened, and all. He finally realizes she was still standing there and stops eating. He lifts his head and asks, "My dear, aren't you going to go back to your room?" "I'm just going to stand here until you need me." Again, her creator is confused by her behavior. She is never this willing or obedient. The last time he found her following instructions and acting so properly was too long ago. This change in attitude was...something he'd have to be accustomed to, he supposed. The reason of change was still to be questioned, and he doesn't let himself get fooled so easily. "What about your studies?" He arches his eyebrow. She gives him a patient smile in return. "Why, I caught up with them earlier this morning." They stare at one another. While he is distracted, Igor slides the plate off from the table and starts eating at the scraps. Finklestein goes to take it from him until the assistant runs off. They both hear the plate shatter on the ground only a moment after. Sally cringes while the Doctor angrily waves his gloved fist in the air. "Well...I suppose, since my assistant is taking a BREAK!" He glares at the doorway. "You can help me for today. But just today, you hear me?" She looks shyly at the ground "But, Doctor, why am I not allowed to help you any other day?" "Because it isn't necessary," He replies coldly. "It isn't a woman's job to work in the laboratory. I created you to sew, clean, and cook - nothing more." Sally's face changes into several expressions while the Doctor thinks to himself. How is he going to do things with this new...help? He isn't sure how she will fend in the lab, what with their intellectual difference. This will be the first time she's ever assisted him, so he will have to give her the benefit of the doubt. "Alright, Sally. Please, grab me the crucible on the table over there." He points over to the table across the room with his gloved hand. She follows the direction but nearly trips over a loose nail in the floor. She falls backwards and manages to grab a hold of the table's corner. She clumsily helps herself up and looks at what's on the table. There are a variety of tools laying about, though she can't identify them for the life of her. Her hand lingers over the instruments before cautiously holding one up. Finklestein stares at what's in her hand before shaking his head. She bites her lip as she scavenges for something resembling a...what was it, again? "The crucible, dear." He holds his head in his hand. "It's...to the left. No, that's your right - my left." She can tell by the tone of his voice that he is starting to regret accepting her help. She sighs and grabs the last instrument to the left. She finds she's having trouble holding the thing while she makes her way back to the Doctor. He motions her to set it down on the table, which she complies and sighs of relief. Finklestein begins his work, starting a procedure she doesn't know. She stands to the side and watches him wordlessly. She feels distant and...rather embarrassed. It isn't as if she was trying to impress him, but she can't deny the feeling of being miserable for not knowing what those tools were. He opens his head to scratch at his brain and she perks up when he glances in her direction. "Would you mind holding this for me?" He asks. She comes to his side and holds what was instructed. She says nothing as he searches through a drawer. While he looks for something, the ragdoll admires his work. It looks like a small mechanism, as if it is clipped onto something. When he comes back and takes what she was holding from her hands, she clasps her hands excitedly. This shall be the best opportunity to try and...bond with him. She can do that, right? As if he is more of her...father, than an intended husband... "So, Doctor," She starts. "What is it that you're working on?" "Nothing you need to know. It's just a project." She frowns, her posture loosening. "I'm sure I can understand what the project is, if you can tell me." "I'll tell you if you can name me the difference between a florence flask and an erlenmeyer flask?" He pauses as he waits for her to answer. She opens her mouth to respond, but shuts it before thinking. After a minute of waiting, he resumes his project and shakes his head. She can swear she hears him tsking under his breath. Something twists in her leaves at the sound, feeling the same numbness as before. As if she's embarrassed to seem so incapable to him, only proving her lack of self worth in his eyes. "Sounds to me like someone isn't up-to-date with their studies." "Well, I'm...I'm not really interested in science." She admits. "I like to cook more than I do study..." "Clearly. Hold this still for a moment." He hands something else to her while he works on it in her hands. She attempts to hold it still, but feels herself grow shaky. This thing is abnormally heavy, giving a lot more stress onto her stitches than the other tools did. Eventually, her grip gives out and she drops whatever she had been holding, which crashes on the table loudly. It crushes a few things and a few pieces of glass drop onto the floor, to which she gasps at and takes a step back. "SALLY!" He scolds. "What....girl, what did you do!?" She holds a hand to her mouth before going quiet. She looks at the mess that is now on the floor. She feels both scared and humiliated. She didn't mean to....she had no idea the thing was that heavy! Oh, her stupid hands....Slowly, she starts an apology. "Doctor, I...I am so sorry..." He ignores her and turns to the doorway. "IGOR!" Footsteps rush into the room. When the assistant finds the bits of glass on the floor, he looks between the two. Things begin to click in his dull brain and he starts to giggle, escalating to a low laugh. He goes to the floor and starts gathering the pieces without another word. Finklestein rubs his temples as he turns his wheelchair to face his ragdoll. She backs away from him slowly and fidgets with her hands. Instead of fuming at her, the Doctor sighs. "Please, go to your room. I'm afraid I won't be needing your help. And study a bit more about science while you're at it..." She bows her head before taking her leave. She walks out of the room without looking back. When she comes into the silence inside, she climbs into her bed and begins to think about what has just happened. All of her mistakes that were coated in with her clumsiness...the way the Doctor believes she is incapable because she is a woman...that she is untalented. She thinks about of all these things, and then she gets embarrassed. She scolds herself for ever trying to relate with the Doctor - for being so kind and trying something new. Whenever she does that with him, things only turn for the worse. The tears stream down her face before she ever feels them. Then, she cries into her pillow - cries for what feels like hours in this silence of these persistent, forlorn thoughts... ------------------------- "Sally! We have a visitor!" Doctor Finklestein holds his head high as he yells in the direction of the ramps. A moment of silence ensues after. Normally, he'd be hearing her footsteps about now - but nothing comes. He starts muttering  under his breath. As soon as he is close enough to the ramps, he starts to call her name again. "Sally! Did you hear me? Come down here this instant!" He still sees no sign of his ragdoll. The Doctor releases a frustrated noise and turns his wheelchair around. He wheels himself back to the table in the kitchen, where his visitor currently is. It really is a gracious and rare sight for him. The Pumpkin King barely comes around because of how busy iss. Especially at this time of year! Why is that girl acting like this? She truly is ungrateful if she'd keep the King, of all people, waiting! The tall man sits at the head of the table again, eating some food off of one of their plates. On it is the meal Sally made earlier. The Doctor found more left in the kitchen and raked it for their respected guest. As much as he hates to admit it, he thought the meal would impress him. And judging by the content smile on the skeleton's face, it suffices well.   "This is really great," Jack Skellington comments from the table. "Sally made this?" "Yes, she did." The Doctor grumbles. "She won't come down, however. I'm afraid our tea will have to wait. Igor is still cleaning up in the Laboratory." He waves a bony hand. "This is delicious by itself, really! Rat's Tail is so hard to cook just right." Finklestein observes the skeleton quietly. "I suppose so..." The two of them continue to sit there in silence. The Doctor is a bit tingly in his seat, ready to start conversation but unsure how to. This in itself isn't very rare around the Pumpkin King - sometimes citizens get tongue-tied in his presence. The Doctor is in a similar state; fidgeting around in his seat and clearly affected by his presence. Eventually, it's Jack who has to break the ice. "I understand if it's none of my business, but I am curious as to how things are going with Sally. Is she adjusting well around here?" He decides to be blunt and hangs his head low. "Could be better, my boy. She's difficult; could use some more cooperation." "Cooperation?" He repeats curiously. "Because of our last...erm...meeting, I've replaced Sally's books with more...modern editions. Sometimes her studies are not being completed and her mind seems to be elsewhere." "But is she comfortable here?" He remembers their previous talk - rather ashamedly - and nods right away. "Why, of course she is! I give her a bed, a sewing machine, and extra time for her hobbies. I'd certainly expect that she's alright here." "Hmm." The skeleton muses. He takes another bite before setting his fork down entirely. He is clearly thinking about something, so Finklestein takes this opportunity to change topic. "About the Halloween Project, Jack...I nearly have it finished, but I need to redo the last piece. I should have it done by the morning." Now it's his turn to be interested. The Doctor is quite the perfectionist as far as Jack knows, and this among the occasional times he'd have to redo a part of a project. He can't ignore the curiosity gnawing at his skull. "-That's great to hear! But, if I may ask, what was wrong with that last piece?" "Sally broke it." He replies nonchalantly. He blinks for a few moments, wondering if he heard him right. "She did? How did she do that?" "Well....she offered me some help in the Lab, but she was very clumsy, you see. While I was adjusting the pieces, she dropped it right on the table! Crushed nearly everything and broke a few of my flasks." "I'm sure she didn't do it on purpose." "I shouldn't have given her the responsibility," He shakes his head. "It was all my fault for letting her help me, anyway." The skeleton opens his mouth to reply, but stops himself short and falls silent. He places a skeletal finger on his lip and debates what else to say exactly. He wants to speak more about this - more about Sally, and their relationship. How she's fending here. He just isn't sure when the time will be right to bring up more important matters involving that. "Doctor, I'm...here..." Sally slowly comes into the doorway as the two turn. They find her looking at the ground with a frown until she glances up. The moment she sees Jack, she stumbles and places a hand on the wall to stop herself from falling. The skeleton stands in his seat to help her but she quickly shakes her head. Even he can't help but notice that something about her posture seems a little...sad. "There you are, Sally." Finklestein says. "Can you prepare us some tea? Igor is busy." "Right away, Doctor." She dismisses herself from the room, stumbling to get into the kitchen. Jack watches her before turning back to the Doctor. He isn't entirely sure if she's out of earshot, but it doesn't matter, anyway. This is something he needs to discuss, despite whoever may hear. "Doctor, if I may be bold to say..." He leans forward on the table. "I heard from a dead crow that you don't consider Sally a citizen?" He looks up at Jack, reading into what he's saying. "-And who told you that, exactly?" "It came up between me and the Mayor during one of our meetings," The skeleton replies casually. "I just wanted to know if it's true. You know how it is with rumors and all." He hopes he played that off well. He must have, because the Doctor waves his gloved hand as if it is nothing. He takes a moment to open the hatch and scratch at his brain. During this brief moment of silence, Jack actually hopes it's just a rumor. Fink can't be that unfair to Sally by refusing to register her in the Town! Because then that would mean he attempted to keep her as his property, and that the skeleton is extremely bothered by. His thoughts are interrupted when the hatch is shut and the Doctor leans back in his chair. "As much as I don't conform to such nonsense, I'm afraid they're true. I prefer to keep her away from involvement with the Town." "Yes, but you do know that she is registered as a citizen? At least within our archives." Finklestein tilts his massive head. "That....can't be possible, my boy. I never finished the process, you see..." That confirms his suspicions. "Oh, no, you didn't. I did." Jack laughs. "I noticed it wasn't finished, so I completed it when I had the time. I know how long it takes for you to come into Town, so I thought I'd do you the favor." The Doctor pauses and looks at his King in disbelief. He leans forward and rests his stomach against the table. "May I see some proof of this?" "Of course." The skeleton reaches into his suit and pulls out a stack of papers he purposely kept with him for this visit. He slides it over to the Doctor, reaching the spot in front of him perfectly. He looks at the papers in surprise as he goes through them. He glances at them one-by-one and can't help but notice all the fresh signatures Jack completed. He opens his mouth to say something, but is interrupted when Sally comes into the room. She sets down some cups on the table and pours fresh tea into them. She hands one to the Doctor first before handing Jack his. Their hands momentarily touch as he takes the cup from her. "Thank you, Sally." He gives her a respectful nod. She looks at him in awe before smiling. Her body tingles in delight at his touch, and goes cold when he withdraws his hand. "Of-Of course." She gulps and looks at her creator. "Anything else?" "That'll do." Finklestein waves her off. The ragdoll looks between them before standing off to the side. Her eyes naturally travel to the skeleton before anything else in the room, and Jack catches her stare. When he gives her that smile again, she inwardly melts and feels a similar one grow on her lips. "Ah...so you did complete this." The Doctor sets the papers down quietly. "You could've asked for my permission, you know." "-Didn't need to." He replies. "You filled out all the signatures." "Then I guess you at least remembered about my marriage certificate?" He replies impatiently. Jack blinks once or twice at this, as if he had forgotten. Eventually, he laughs it off. "Ah, yes! I believe the Mayor mentioned something about it the other day. We'll look into it as soon as we can. I'm sure you know that it is the busiest month of the year and all..." "Well, as long as it'll come soon. Sally, be a dear and bring these back to Jack, if you'd please?" He holds the papers out to her. She hesitates before coming forward and grabbing them, attempting to read what was on one before the Doctor coughs loudly. She takes the hint and slowly hands the papers back to Jack. He grabs them and shoves them back in his suit without a word, giving her another thankful nod. He grabs the plate on his table as he fully turns to her. "By the way, this is a horrible dish! The Doctor informed me that you made it." She takes a modest step back. "Oh, yes, I did. I'm glad you like it." He studies her for a moment until turning back to Finklestein. He stands in his chair and clasps his hands together. "I'd like to see the improvements of the straw horse now, if you don't mind?" "Oh!" The shorter man removes himself from the table. "Of course. I, erm...need a moment to prepare it, though." "That's fine." The Pumpkin King smiles. "I'll just head with Sally and ask her how she made this dish taste so awful." The Doctor passes a dismissive nod to Jack and the two depart. Sally realizes she's being ushered into the kitchen and leads him to the back of the tower. Jack ducks under the doorway before climbing down into the kitchen. The skeleton looks around in the darkness and can't help but marvel at the small cauldron sitting in the middle of the room. It is an isolated space. There is a small table in which the cauldron sits on. There is also a window showing just a glimpse of the Town from afar. Racks of cooking spoons and utensils are placed to the side, and there is a tall cabinet just behind the table. "How lovely. It's quite small." He comments. She tugs at a strand of her hair and nods in agreement. "I like it. It feels like it's my own space." He comes to the cabinet and looks over at her for permission to look through it. She gives him a nod and he opens it slowly, looking at the jars stacked on the shelves inside. He admires all of the bottles and notices the Deadly Nightshade tucked into the far corner. He takes it in his hand and circles the bottle around, reading the labels. He picks his skull up to glance at her. "I see you're still using this." She nods solemnly. "Yes...Is that a bad thing?" "Oh, no. Not at all. Whatever you have to do." He sets it back inside carefully. "All of these look so wonderful, by the way. They smell very rich. The ones I have back at home are aged." "Well, for-for the Rat's Tail, I used a few spices. I followed some tips from my cookbook, so that may be why it tasted so...awful." He looks at her and says nothing until she stares at him. Then he makes an amused noise, closing the cabinet and shoving his hands into his pockets again. He takes in a sharp breath suddenly, turning on his heels to face her. "The Doctor told me about what happened in the lab," He begins quietly. "I'm very sorry that had to happen to you." "Oh...he told you about that..." She bites her lip and looks away. She's feels embarrassed again. Why would the Doctor tell Jack about that? She didn't understand. Speaking of her stupidity and clumsiness will just give him a bad impression of her. Now he probably thinks she's dumb...or useless, like the Doctor believes.   "You didn't get hurt, did you?" He asks worriedly. "Glass can really leave nasty cuts. I hope you weren't the one who had to clean that up." "No, Igor did." She shakes her head before shrugging slightly. "I'm not the best when it comes to science." Jack gives her a weak smile. "It didn't seem like something you were too interested in, anyway." He shifts his gaze and notices the window again, walking over to it and gazing out into the town. He rests his hands on the window sill and admires what he sees. It looks very small from here; nothing like the view he has back at the Manor. He can even see his own house standing proudly above the rest. Sally watches his back nervously and plays with her hands while he's not looking. Being alone with him always makes her feel hot. The way he is moving so freely with his lean chest isn't helping... "I didn't actually follow you back here to ask about the Rat's Tail." He turns back to her and avoids her eyes. "It's great to know and all, but...I know you're not as comfortable here as the Doc says you are." She shakes her head to finally conform the rest of his suspicions. He removes himself from the window and approaches her. She cranes her neck up as he gets closer and tugs at her fingers. She can smell his cologne from how close they are. "I wanted to ask you if, well, you'd be interested to meet with me more often?" "H-Huh?" He pauses to think of a better explanation. "I really enjoy your company. I thought a lot after we last met at the Graveyard, and I'd like to know more about you, Sally. We keep seeing each other there, so I figured it could be the best place to meet you. It can become a thing between us - only if you'd like to, of course..." She can't believe what she's hearing! She nearly tumbles over herself in excitement, but the skeleton is quick to catch her before she can fall. She brushes her hair behind her ear and nods several times, completely ecstatic at this invitation. "Of course, Jack. I'd love to." He blinks in surprise before grinning, as if he hadn't expected her to agree. "Great! I'm afraid I can't come until sometime in November - my schedule is filled due to Halloween....How's this? I'll write you a day I can clear it, and we can meet then?" She smiles, feeling tremendously overjoyed. "Yes, that's sounds great." "Fantastic!" He pulls a note out of nowhere as well as a pen. "I'm afraid my day will be busy, so I can only meet you at night, if that's alright with you?" "Oh, yes, I'd actually prefer it if it were dark..." She watches him finish scribbling at the note before handing it to her. She takes it from him and reads the date right away. It's a day that feels very far, but she knows she'll look forward to it. She has to fight the urge to wrap her arms around him. This can mean so many things! She strove for more alone time with him for so long, and here he is offering it to her! She takes a long, shaky breath. Maybe she can tell him now....this warm numbness in her leaves is hard to keep down. Perhaps she'll feel better if she tells Jack how she feels? When she opens her ruby lips to tell him, they both hear a raspy voice yell from the second floor. "It's ready, Jack! And it looks magnificent!" The skeleton passes his friend an amused look, beckoning her to go up first. He follows closely behind and as soon as they are out of the kitchen, they find the Doctor motioning into the laboratory eagerly. They enter and find the straw horse sitting in all its glory in the middle of the room. The Pumpkin King circles it and places a hand on his hip, the look on his face clearly impressed. The Doctor holds his head high proudly in the background, a smug smile clear on his lips when Jack runs a hand along the horse. "You didn't need to, Doctor, but you really improved some other things while you were at it!" "Of course!" Finklestein boasts. "I am the Mad Scientist, after all. It's only my job to do more than what is asked of me." "Well, fantastic, Doc!" He holds his bony hands together. "I'm very impressed. I'm sure the Mayor will be happy with these improvements as well." "Well, my boy, thank you for taking the time to visit! I'll have you know that everything is fine here. Unless you'd like to talk about some more projects, then there really is no reason to be worried." "Then I guess I'll take my leave." The thin man gives him a bow. "I appreciate you letting me come, Doctor." He leaves the room without another word. Sally looks back at the Doctor before following him from behind. Hearing no protest behind her, she picks up her pace and until she meets him at the door. Bashfully, she opens it for him and holds it as best as she can. She tries not to show that she's struggling. "Ah, thank you, Sally. You didn't need to do that." He takes the handle for her. "I'll be sure to see you very soon." He gives the ragdoll one last smile before disappearing outside the door. She watches him climb down to the front gate and wave to her. As soon as he's out of sight, she decides to finally shut the door and sigh contently. Her moment of bliss is interrupted when Finklestein wheels in and clacks his tongue at the sight of her. "Well, that was quite the visit. Thank you for finally cooperating, Sally. With more good behavior like that, Jack's presence won't be such an issue, now would it?" She decides to play along. "Yes, Doctor, you're right. I'll be on my best behavior from now on." She gives him one last earnest smile. He leaves her to stand there by herself. When he's out of sight, she grins and feels the paper in her pocket out of excitement. She runs up the ramps and into her room, where she spends the rest of the day thinking about that fateful day and what will happen.        

[bitletsanddrabbles]

Downton Court Hotel pt. 4

There are places I’m going with this. Places I seriously want to get to. ....I have no idea how to get there, but I think this is the next step. Hopefully I haven’t missed a left at Albuquerque.

Also, since I keep forgetting and have to figure it out again, the way days off with the managers work is as follows: Thomas gets Fridays off, Bates gets Saturdays off, they alternate Sundays off, and if they don’t have Sunday, they get  an extra day in the middle of the week which moves around based on Carson’s schedule. There. Now I just need to remember I said that and I can stop bloody reminding myself with each installment. >.>

Also, since this is an AU, yes, I’m resurrecting a few people. Not everyone, mind. The idea of Mr. Carson having to deal with a Turkish Ambassador dying in his hotel is too viciously amusing, even if it would have happened before the current time line. (And Alex Green can stay dead.) And even the ones I do won’t all make personal appearances. But a lot of them will be back.

Fandom: Downton Abbey

Characters: Thomas Barrow, Jimmy Kent, Mrs. Patmore, Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes

Relationship: Baxter/Molesley, canon pairings

Warnings: Carson, while still a lovable old gruff marshmallow, is also still a pretentious, low key homophobe with unreasonable expectations of his staff.

https://bitletsanddrabbles.tumblr.com/post/179566482379/downton-court-hotel-pt3

"Three days off in a row?" Jimmy gawped, staring at Thomas with an expression somewhere between disbelief and utter jealousy. "Who did you have to murder to get that?"

Thomas tried not to feel smug, but given the look on the other man's face, it was hard. "Only my dignity," he admitted. "And all chance of future peace and happiness, but it'll be worth it."

From the way Jimmy was eyeing him, Thomas guessed the other man didn't quite believe him. Still, even for his best friend he wasn't about to go into detail. He was still paranoid about finding eyeliner Phyllis had somehow missed. "Hardly seems fair," the blond bellboy grumbled. "You getting this weekend off for the wedding and then another full weekend off in just two weeks."

"I don't get 'this weekend off'," Thomas reminded him. "All I get is my regular Friday-Sunday. Bates is the one who gets extra time. I don't even get to come in late Saturday, the rehearsal dinner is too early."

"Oh quit your belly aching," Mrs. Patmore sat herself down in the empty chair on the other side of Jimmy from Thomas and, by sheer dint of being a nosey busy body, smack dab in the middle of the conversation. "At least you get to go to the wedding. Some of us have to work because our help is going to be off playing flower girl."

"Bride's maid," Thomas corrected her. He didn't bother pointing out that she would still have Ivy and Alfred and if she'd really wanted to attend, she probably could have gone to Mrs. Hughes when Mr. Carson had said no.

"Whatever she is," the cook dismissed his correction. "At least Mr. Carson will do double duty for you so you can go."

Thomas would have pointed out that Mr. Carson was not doing double duty for him, but rather doing it for Bates which was not at all surprising because Bates was his favorite, but he was cut off as the topic of conversation walked into the staff room and took up position in the middle of the surrounding chairs. Mrs. Hughes followed right behind him. The staff fell immediately silent and gave the owners their full attention.

"Alright, everyone, attention please," Mr. Carson said, despite the fact that all eyes were on him already. "We have several things to cover tonight. First, as you are all aware, Mr. Molesley and Miss Baxter will be wed on Sunday."

There was a polite round of applause. Thomas couldn't see from where he was seated, but he was certain both the bride and groom were blushing.

"Congratulations to you both," Mr. Carson continued with a benevolent smile that bordered on condescending. "Of course, this means a bit of extra work for the rest of us over the weekend and the upcoming week. Therefore I expect everyone to be running on time, early if you can manage, and no sick days will be granted without a doctor's note."

That wasn't new knowledge either. There had been a fair bit of mutinous mumbling among the younger staff members when that announcement had been pinned to the staff room door, most of it to the tune of how they were supposed to submit a doctor's note if they were hit by a car. Given that no one in the history of the hotel had been hit by a car on their way to work, Thomas wasn't overly worried about it.

"And now for the exciting announcement." Mr. Carson's smile deepened and his chest puffed with what could only be described as pride. It was something he tended to do, Thomas noted, when he was about to say something he thought was on par with the second coming of Christ and the rest of them put more on the level of a root canal. "Two weeks from now, just in time for our newly weds to come back, we will have the privilege of hosting an art exhibition of paintings by the Marquess of Hexham."

There were several impressed gasps from around the room. Thomas was just as glad he wouldn't be there. Hexham meant Lady Edith's cousin which meant Lady Edith, half the staff of the Sketch, and an odd assortment of titled Crawleys. That in turn meant twice as much bowing, scraping, and serving drinks to stuffy aristocrats as usual, and that was on top of whatever other toffs happened to be staying that weekend. Even if Lady Sybil was there, it wouldn't be worth it.

"This will, of course, be a momentous occasion and I will need all hands on deck, both to prepare and while the event is going on. No time off requests will be granted."

A warning bell went off in the back of Thomas's head and he raised his hand.

"We will be converting the - yes, Thomas?"

"Ah, yes, sorry to interrupt," Thomas smiled as pleasantly as possible and tried to keep his voice mild. "I just wanted to be certain – I've already been granted the weekend off."

"Have you purchased plane tickets somewhere?" Mr. Carson asked with a studied sweetness that left Thomas cold.

"Ah, no. I didn't have actual plans yet-"

"Then there will be no difficulty in your rearranging your schedule to help with this."

Thomas stared at him, jaw slightly agape. He couldn't do that. There had to be a law or something that said once time off had been granted, it couldn't be revoked at a moment's notice. Of course, doing anything about it would involve a lawyer and he'd be sacked for opening a law suit and fixing that would take another lawyer, if it could be fixed at all. The hotel paid well enough, but he couldn't afford lawyers. "That's not bloody fair."

"Excuse me?" Mr. Carson, who had started to shift his attention back to the room at large, turned a very stern look at Thomas. "I think you will find-"

Thomas never got to learn what he would find as Mrs. Hughes stepped in, cutting through her husband's lecture with only a slightly raised voice. "We will arrange for you to have another weekend off, Thomas," she assured him in the most eminently reasonable voice imaginable. "And it will not be moved again." She said the last with a sharp look at Mr. Carson.

Mr. Carson didn't look any more pleased about the situation than Thomas felt, but he apparently knew a losing battle when he saw one, because he offered no protest, simply a, "Indeed we will. And now, if we may proceed, we will be converting the dining room into the art gallery proper as the lighting is best there. Meanwhile the main conference room-"

Thomas tuned him out, not the least bit interested. They'd undoubtedly hear the game plan at least fifty more times in one way or another before the big day. Instead he sat and tried not to seethe. It was near impossible when he knew good and well that if it weren't for Mrs. Hughes, he'd have let the maids make a spectacle of him for nothing.

There was a light touch on his sleeve. He glanced to his right and Jimmy gave him a sympathetic smile. He tried to smile back.

"Really, Charles, you can't just go about cancelling people's weekends off without discussing them with it first." Elsie Hughes scolded her husband as soon as they were alone in their office. "Thomas is still a young man. You can't expect him to live for this hotel."

"He'll be forty in a couple of years," her husband replied, as if it were the most solidly logical argument since Plato.

"Oh, well, then, I guess that makes him an old relic!" Elsie rolled her eyes. "Really, you didn't live for any service job when you were his age."

Charles shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He had, in fact, been in service in his late thirties, but it had been not long before that he was acting, a career which had taken him no place and ended  badly. He had often grumbled that those who could make a living at it deserved their knighthoods. "Perhaps not," he allowed, "But I knew an important opportunity when I saw one and could make a sacrifice when necessary."

"That is all well and good, but it is not necessary to sacrifice Thomas's weekend off." Elsie sighed. She felt a headache coming on. "I worry about that boy. He spends too much time alone and has too few friends."

"He could remedy all of that if he'd dedicate less time to being nasty."

Elsie was having none of it. "Oh you think so, do you? Alright, how is this – when was the last time you heard him say he was taking time off to visit his family? Or even come in on Monday talking about the good time he'd had on his day off?" She paused and, receiving no answer, took it as confirmation of her point. "He needs to get out, Charles. He needs to meet people and socialize. He needs to fall in love-"

"I don't want to think about that."

"Don't be such a homophobe!" she scolded. She loved her husband to death and would tell anyone who cared to listen, but if anyone ever told her he was a saint she was going to die laughing. "Really, what would you do if Ian McKellen came for the night? Or Elton John?"

"I'd make certain they had the best available rooms and then not think about what they might be doing in them," Charles replied promptly. He then added, in a very pointed tone, "The same as I would do for any guest."

Elsie pursed her lips and rolled her eyes. "Anyway, all I'm saying is that I wish there was a way to make him happier. That's all."

[comeondowntosouthparkrpg-blog]

Filmore Anderson

Local jock boy extraordinaire joins the Gucci Gang. Filmore has been accepted! You know what to do.

out of character info

Name/Alias: Maevey uwu Pronouns: she/ her Age: 19 Join Our Discord: already there bby Timezone: est Activity: 5 – 7 Triggers: none at all Password: jimmy can fast pass my ass Character that you’re applying for: Filmore Anderson Favourite ships for your character: Filmore/chemistry in character info

Full name: Filmore Joseph Anderson Birthday: July 8th, 2003 Sexuality, gender, pronouns: Pansexual, cis male – questioning, he / him Age and grade: 15, freshman Faceclaim: Joey Birlem Appearance:  Standing at 5’4 and half an inch and weighing in at 106 pounds, Filmore is a young boy with short, spiky black hair and soft green eyes. His face is round with chubby cheeks and light freckles over the bridge of his nose. His body hardly has any fat due to him keeping himself active. His skin is pale and quick to burn with moles, small blemishes, and acne scattered about. His style is pretty straight forward – jeans, t-shirt, jacket, socks, and a pair of sneakers. He usually wears dark or muted colors. One of his favorite colors is red, so he often incorporates it into his outfits.

Personality:  Filmore is pretty typical for a jock – he’s competitive, flirty, and pretty popular with the other kids in his grade. Despite all of that, he is pretty private when it comes to some of his interests. He keeps quiet about his tendency to spend hours on end watching reality shows – most of the time he either watches RuPaul’s Drag Race or just about any of the Real Housewives shows. To most, Filmore isn’t really perceived as smart, but his intelligence is slightly above average – his IQ is measured at 110. However, he doesn’t use his common sense as much as he should.

Aside from everything else, he is a pretty normal kid – normal for South Park, that is – he’s pretty much a heathen. It’s true that he’s much less of a bully than he used to be, but he still messes with kids he doesn’t like – even going as far as getting into a fist fight a couple of times. He’s a partier, often sneaking away to parties with booze and sometimes drugs. History:  On an especially hot and muggy July morning at approximately 6:12, Maureen O’Donnell gave birth to a baby boy with her soon-to-be husband Micah Anderson by her side. They named him after their fathers, Filmore being the first name of Micah’s father and Joseph being the middle name of Maureen’s father. Since Filmore’s birth was unplanned, Maureen dropped out of medical school to be with her baby at all times, leaving the responsibility of providing for the family to Micah. In February 2004, the happy couple tied the knot.

As a baby, Filmore was a quiet little angel – but that didn’t last for too long. When he hit the age of 3, he became an unruly brat, but Maureen still had a big soft spot for him, so he more often than not got away with any wrongdoings. Micah disagreed with Maureen’s parenting, so it often sparked arguments between the two. Micah decided to spend more time at work than at home with his family, picking up extra shifts and just staying over in general.

Filmore stayed pretty much consistent throughout elementary, making middle school his peak and slight decline of bullying and rebellion. In seventh grade, he missed all but 5 days of school, and his only reasoning for ditching was that he just didn’t want to go. His truancy made his parents argue more over his punishments – and as per usual – Maureen would win and let Filmore go do whatever while Micah left to blow off steam. Since he’d missed so much school, his parents’ bank account suffered – due to the many fines that were sent.

During eighth grade, Filmore finally started to mellow out. His bullying was reduced to teasing random students and he’d only get into fights to defend himself. From then to now, he’s stayed consistent – he’s kept his grades at steady B’s and C+’s, and he’s kept himself from getting into too much trouble.

Sample paragraph:  Filmore? At a party? You bet your ass. He had gone to a party in the area that one of the kids in his class was throwing and so far, it’d been going on like any other party. He was currently seated on some gross green couch that another partygoer had probably thrown up on and lazily attempted to clean, and on one arm some girl he’d never seen before was leaning against him, talking about some random shit that he couldn’t hear over the music being blasted from the speakers, and in his other hand was a nearly empty red plastic cup with a sip more of spiked punch inside.

He couldn’t think about anything except the fact that his father was cheating on his poor, oblivious mother with some second rate receptionist at work. Earlier, Filmore had to drop something off from the school to the mayor’s office for some fundraiser and he’d seen Micah near the restrooms sucking faces with the wretched woman that could very well be the downfall of his parents’ marriage. He refused to tell his mother, he doesn’t think he could stand a negative reaction from her. He didn’t want to be the one to see the very second her heart shatters.

Therefore, he resorted to drinking, and he hoped that his overconsumption of alcohol would make him forget about the two pieces of trash tonguing it out by the bathroom – but it wasn’t likely – but he drank anyways to help him relax since he couldn’t get any friends to smoke with him. Headcanons:  { 🔥 } He likes occasionally dressing in women’s clothes – but he’d never tell anyone but his friends that he considers close.

{ 🔥 } He’s only ever been in one serious relationship.

{ 🔥 } He’s got bad anger issues. { 🔥 } He’ll pretty much try anything once.

{ 🔥 } He loves acting, so he joined the theater club at a young age and has been doing it ever since. { 🔥 } He’s a lineman on the football team, the school council’s secretary, and a member of the theater club.

{ 🔥 } Even though he’s kind of scared to wear women’s clothing publically, he’s not afraid to strut in heels –  mostly because he feels powerful in them and he thinks they make his butt look good.

{ 🔥 } He can be pretty egotistical at times.

{ 🔥 } He pretty much lives off of instant ramen and takeout food.

{ 🔥 } He’s very meme savvy – he’s just about always up to date on the latest memes.

{ 🔥 } He loves his friends and tries showing them that he cherishes them when he can.

{ 🔥 } In his free time, he likes to skate – that doesn’t mean he’s too good at it – it’s actually the cause of a lot of his injuries.

{ 🔥 } He commits petty crimes with his friends that the police often overlook.

{ 🔥 } He smokes week, but only with friends, but he also vapes.

{ 🔥 } He’s soft for any and all animals.

Family Headcanons:

{ 👨‍👩‍👦 } Micah works the records annex at City Hall.

{ 👨‍👩‍👦 } Micah is very obviously sleeping with the receptionist, and everyone – with the exception of Maureen – knows.

{ 👨‍👩‍👦 } Maureen is the sister of Rosie O’Donnell.

Anything else: ilusm 💖 and hopefully Filmore 2.0 is better!!!

[doomedandstoned]

South African Rebel Rousers Ruff Majik Return With Greater Madness!

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

Christelle Duvenage Photography

Here’s a band I haven’t given near enough love to. RUFF MAJIK was one of the clear highlights of last year’s compilation, Doomed & Stoned in South Africa and we also had the opportunity to premiere a single just before the band jetted over to Europe to play with Colour Haze, My Sleeping Karma, and The Devil And The Almighty Blues. Johni Holiday (guitar, vox), Jimi Glass (bass guitar), and Benni Manchino (drums) have a very recognizable sound -- the mean sass of Mother Love Bone, the verve of Led Zeppelin, and the boldness of the Melvins, saddled to a very doomed, very stoned warthog drunk on marula fruit and busting straight out of a garage decorated with Electric Wizard, Fu Manchu, and High on Fire posters, somewhere in the vicinity of Pretoria.

Got the picture? No? Fine, call it sludge 'n' roll, then -- sludge 'n' roll with a devilish knack for mischief and an unbridled tendency to call it like you see it. Despite my difficulty in wrapping words around Ruff Majik's approach to music, what matters most is that they're likely to stand out in your mushrooming playlist, because they sound different. Different enough to make you stop what you're doing and ask, "Now who's that track by?"

Building on the momentum of last year's Seasons, Ruff Majik has really been on a roll. Now, they've conjured a new vision: 'Tårn' (2019). By the looks of Anni Buchner's soon to be revealed album art, it has something to do with a tower (and, in fact, that is what the word means in Norwegian). Today, Doomed & Stoned is taking you inside the castle, as it were, for a listen to the album's opening number "Schizophrenic." What's different about this song compared to others in their repertoire is Ruff Majik's decision to dabble in black metal, without ever becoming subservient to it.

As a matter of fact, that's pretty much the case with every genre the band traffics in. Be it stoner, sludge, or punk, these are like toys in the hands of three guys eager to take them out for a joy ride. There are moments when I could hear allusions to The Yardbirds and late-sixties folk rock -- you know, where you'd have a flute solo come in out of the blue. In "Schizophrenic," the guitars seem to take on the folksy character of the wooded instrument, with its whiz and warble. How ingeniously the concept of musical schizophrenia meshes with the lyrical content, too.

Make no mistake about it, though, I'm hanging around for the doom, boys, the doom! Take a song like "I'll Dig The Grave," which is as nasty and muddy as they come, featuring downtuned passages that are almost symphonic in concept. Or its successor, "Dread Breath," which at first blush feels like an old fashioned Soundgarden hoe-down (like "Ty Cobb"), but after it does its stomping, settles down as low to the earth as you could wish for. Ditto to the closer, "Seasoning The Witch," perhaps the dirgiest of doomers on this thirty-six minute spin. Like each of the six songs before it, this charms with an odd, alluring appeal.

I'm beginning to pick up on a distinctive sound and style belonging to Ruff Majik and them alone. Sound engineer Evert Snyman did a stand-up job of capturing the vibe honestly at Backline Studios in Johannesburg. Tårn was mastered in my own backyard of Portland, Oregon by Brad Boatright at Audiosiege, who succeeded in bringing out the nuances, without spoiling its grungy sheen. Keep your eyes peeled for the release on May 3rd via Lay Bare Recordings, with pre-orders happening here.

And now to the premiere before us, the first single from Tårn, the aforementioned "Schizophrenic." The music video was shot and edited by Ruff Majik's own Ben Manchino. "Inspired by black metal, Black Sabbath and psychedelia," he tells us, "the video is a visual trip through VHS glitches and over-saturated colours." Frontman Johni Holiday chimes in: "This video was inspired by our love for Immortal, classic black metal videos, and the psychedelic look and feel of the pioneers and current tastemakers in the stoner rock and doom metal scene."

As for the song itself, that links directly Ruff Majik's muse, Black Sabbath. Here the band reimagines the seminal "Paranoid" as a kind of "fuzz-drenched speed metal frenzy, ending in a riff of pure, bleak doom, with some very dirty doom breakdowns at the very end of it." Pay attention to the lyrics, for they are even more "frenzied and terrified than its inspiration, verging on the edge of schizophrenia," the band explains, adding that it is "an ode to Venom as much as it is to Sabbath.” Sounds like just what the psychiatrist ordered to treat the insanity of my week!

If you dig it, show the band some love and pick up the single on Bandcamp, Deezer, iTunes, or any of your other favorite watering holes.

Give ear...

Lyrics

Hay you looking into my eyes, won't you lend me a hand? Hay you looking in through the mirror, won't you understand? I'm losing my mind, and I don't have the time to bury myself, but I don't see nobody else.

Every morning all I hear is doom. She asks me: "Who the hell are you talking to?" I don't know. Have I taken too much, am I out of touch? I can't keep the ghosts away. No it seems they're here to stay.

Hay you looking into my eyes, won't you lend me a hand? Hay you looking in through the mirror, won't you understand? I'm losing my mind, and I don't have the time to bury myself, but I don't see nobody else.

I've seen it all. The churches burn, the cities fall. And when the serpents came they took my mind away. She says: "Your fever's high, have you been dreaming again?" I said: "Lock me away, I believe I've seen the end."

Hay you looking into my eyes, won't you lend me a hand? Hay, you looking in through the mirror, won't you understand? I'm losing my mind, and I don't have the time to bury myself, but I don't see nobody else.

Hay you looking into my eyes, won't you understand?

Christelle Duvenage Photography

Some Buzz

In a small, secluded mining town in rural South Africa, three friends heard the call of the void, and spat fuzz back at it. Thus, Ruff Majik was born, and the adventure of sex, drugs and mostly rock ‘n roll began.

Ruff Majik set sail to Pretoria, South Africa, where they’ve become infamous for their lively shows and aggressive on stage persona. With their brand of what they call “stoner rock/sludge ‘n roll” they move between slow grooves and breakneck speeds in the blink of an eye, with live shows being described as ‘whiplash inducing.’

Consisting of three members, Johni Holiday, Jimmy Glass and Ben Manchino make up The Atomic Trinity, the relentless noise machine that is Ruff Majik (blessed be the name). Ruff Majik is a power trio, a stoner juggernaut, and they bring good times with them wherever they go.

The Bear by Ruff Majik

The Fox by Ruff Majik

The Swan by Ruff Majik

The band surfaced in 2015 with the release of their first six-track, 'The Bear.' This got them lots of attention from reviewers all over the world. They quickly followed up with 'The Fox' in 2016, that got them into Classic Rock Magazine with the song "Sodoom and Gomorrah," as well as 100, 000 views on the YouTube of the full album -- and counting.

In 2017, Ruff Majik rounded off the animal trilogy with 'The Swan,' which introduced a heavier side to their sound previously unheard, but very much welcomed by fans. Swiftly after this release, they got to work on the follow up album 'Seasons' (2018), which was released in four segments ('The Hare and the Hollow,' 'A Finch in a Cherry Tree,' 'A Dragon and His Hoard,' and 'The Stag in the Leaves') -- one per season, over the stretch of a year.

Seasons by Ruff Majik

Now there's more coming your way, and it's going to be heavier than ever before. The band are very happy to announce their signing to Dutch label Lay Bare Recordings for new album 'Tårn' (2019), set for release on the 3rd of May. Désirée Hanssen from Lay Bare Recordings is excited about the partnership, “You want magic? We'll give you Majik! Lay Bare Recordings is ecstatic to expand the Lay Bare family, with the power trio Ruff Majik! And let us tell you, their music will excite all your senses! Pure, unstoppable power!”

Guitarist and vocalist Johni Holiday adds, “Ruff Majik are extremely proud and excited to announce that we will be joining the Lay Bare family for the release of our new album, 'Tårn'! Lay Bare have been putting out exciting high-quality records for the last few years and we’re very happy to finally join in on the action!"

Follow The Band

Get Their Music

[nightshiftblues]

How Not to Wingman 101 by James Madison

Summary: Madison attempts to wingman for Jefferson, but Hamilton isn’t having it.

Pairings: hamilton / madison (is there even a shipname?) & jamilton (side)

Rating: Teens

Words: 1,748

Warnings: drinking, swearing, sex talk, making out in public-level of spiciness

Note: Absolutely no one asked for this. @cybermanolo mentioned liking this pairing to me a while back and it latched onto my brain for some reason, so. Here ya go.

Jefferson downed his entire pint of lager and slammed it onto the bar counter with vigor.

“I need to sleep with Hamilton.”

James, who had been smiling apologetically at the bartender, whipped his head around to look at his friend as if he’d just grown a second head. “Pardon?”

“I need to sleep with him.” Thomas’ speech was only slightly slurred, but surely he had to be wasted to be saying something like that. “I know he thinks I’m hot from the way he stares when I reach for something on a top shelf. If we screw out the tension, maybe he’ll mellow out and stop being such a prick.” The guy actually smiled, like this revelation was something to be self-satisfied over.

James closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “Thomas, that’s a terrible idea, and as your friend I consider it my duty to save you from your own stupidity.”

“Nu uh.” Thomas shook his head pointedly, curls bouncing. “You’re gonna help me.”

James leaned back on his bar stool and crossed his arms. “How do you figure?”

“I got you a date with Dolley Payne. You owe me.”

“We played Scrabble, I lost and she never called me back.”

Thomas shrugged. “It’s not my fault you’ve got no game. Scrabble, specifically.” He snorted at his own bad joke.

James rolled his eyes and glanced at the booth in the corner, where Hamilton and Laurens were cooped up, attempting to shoot crumpled up receipts into an empty shot glass from the looks of it. Admittedly, if there ever was an opportune moment to go through with this moronic impulse, tonight was the night - it was fairly rare for Hamilton not to be surrounded by the whole idiot brigade. “So, what, you want me to wingman for you?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Thomas nodded eagerly. “I’ll distract Laurens and you tell him how great I am.”

Nevermind, this endeavor was doomed from the get go. “That only works when you’re hitting on strangers,” James hissed. “There is nothing I could possibly say that would make Hamilton change his opinion about you.”

Thomas clasped his hands around James’ elbow and actually resorted into giving him puppy eyes. “C’mon Jimmy James, my best pal in the whole world, please just do this one thing for me, you owe me!” When he realized this approach wasn’t working, Thomas raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Unless you want him for yourself, that is?”

James shot his friend a nasty look over the rim of the pint he was chugging. “That’s ludacris. Let’s go.”

Whatever. He’d get to tell him ‘I told you so’ afterwards.

“That seat is taken,” Laurens sneered as they slid into the booth. James and Thomas both ignored him.

“Having a fun night?” James asked, diplomatic.

“It  started off great,” Laurens said.

Thomas snorted. “Right, really looked like you were having a party over here. Hate to interrupt.”

Hamilton, who had yet to say anything, was eyeing them quizzically. “Did you, like, want something?”

“We’re all adults here,” James pitched his voice up before Thomas could say something snarky and make his already impossible task even more difficult. “Surely we can enjoy a round of drinks after work without acting like petty children.” He shot a warning glance at Thomas at the end of that sentence, partly to placate Hamilton. It made sense Thomas wanted him to wingman for him; as much as James sucked at flirting with people himself, working as a mediator had always been his strong suit.

Laurens opened his mouth, probably to tell them to piss off, but Hamilton raised a hand to quiet him down. “You buying?”

James sighed. “Sure.”

A round of martinis and an only semi-hostile conversation about different brands of gin later, Thomas elbowed James’ side so hard he would probably have a bruise the next day. The tipsy asshole.

“Let’s go for a smoke,” Thomas exclaimed, and grabbed John’s arm.

“Actually I vape-”

“Of course you do, c’mon.”

“Wait, what are you-”

Before Laurens could put up a proper fight, Thomas had hauled him off his seat and dragged him to the exit. Before they disappeared outside, Thomas shot an urging look to James over his shoulder: make him want me.

Fantastic.

James closed his eyes and sighed. How the hell did he get dragged into these situations?

Hamilton seemed amused, tracing the rim of his glass idly with his forefinger. He looked different in this setting than he did in the office, his tie loosened, stripped to his shirt with the top buttons undone and his hair down rather than in a slicked-back ponytail. Despite of the ever-present dark circles under his eyes and the tension he carried in his shoulders, he looked more at ease. Younger.

For some reason it reminded James of that time before their careers diverged and took them on very different paths, back when they would stay at the office together long after hours and write together. Hamilton had been very different back then, more concerned about changing the world than climbing the career ladder.

Well, lots of things had been different back then.

“You’re staring.”

James blinked. Ah, that look had always been the same, as long as he had known Hamilton. That sparkle of self-satisfied, playful amusement.

He cleared his throat and nodded to Hamilton’s empty glass. “Would you like another one?” He didn’t believe in getting people wasted and hitting on them, but Hamilton didn’t seem particularly drunk, or even tipsy. His eyes were sharp and there was only a light dusting of pink on the tops of his cheeks.

Hamilton leaned on his palm and hummed. “Nah, I think I’m good. Thanks, though.” He kept looking at James in that peculiar way, like he was figuring out a puzzle.

“You know, Thomas actually does appreciate your ideas at work. He just gets so passionate about public policy that he’s bad at showing it,” James said.

“Sure he does,” Hamilton smiled. He nodded to James’ lap. “Is that seat taken?”

“I, wh-” James stammered and blushed and Hamilton chuckled, clearly amused. James glanced to the exit, but there was no sign of Laurens of Thomas.

Hamilton started to shuffle over, sliding up to James’ side.

“You know,” James said weakly and tried to inch away from Hamilton. “Thomas had the highest GPA of out year when we graduated.”

“Uh huh,” Hamilton hummed and propped his arm on the back of the seat, behind James’ head.

“Hamilton, I-”

“Remember when you used to call me Alexander? What happened to that?”

James kept his eyes carefully fixated on his glass, avoiding Hamilton’s gaze.

“Things… changed.”

He could tell Hamilton was chewing on his lower lip. A hand landed on his knee, light. James should leave. He should. Thomas-

“They did,” Hamilton admitted. “But we’re being adults over here, right? We could pretend for a while that they haven’t, yeah?”

“Alexander,” James said because using his first name might make him actually listen. “This isn’t why we came over.” He finally managed to look the man in the eye, somehow. He was so close James could feel the heat radiating off his body.

There was something cat-like about Alexander’s smile. “I find you fascinating, James, did you know that?” Alexander traced an unintelligible pattern on James’ kneecap with his forefinger as he spoke. “Jefferson talks and postures and talks some more, but behind the scenes it’s all you, isn’t it? They’re your ideas that he flaunts around, but you’re just happy to sit back and watch, because it’s not about the glory or even the credit for you, isn’t it?”

James’ heart hammered in his throat as he tried and failed to look away from Alexander’s dark brown eyes and the soft-looking curve of his mouth. He wasn’t used to attention in general, but Alexander’s attention specifically weighed on him like a heavy blanket, like ball and chain shackled around his ankle as he was tossed into the deep end.

Alexander leaned in even further, solicitous like he was about to tell James a secret. “Do you want me to go home with Jefferson tonight?”

James looked into his eyes, steady for once, and said nothing.

Alexander seemed satisfied - he grabbed the front of James’ shirt and clashed their mouths together. James gave up on trying to pretend this wasn’t what he wanted and sank his hand into his hair. Alex hummed and opened his mouth as an invitation, and James licked into it like he was trying to get the martini he’d paid for back. Alexander’s hand squeezed on his knee and and he sighed into James’ mouth, tilting his head to slot their lips together more easily. His hair was silky and slippery between James’ fingers and he tried tugging on it slightly, experimentally, and was rewarded with a quiet, guttural moan.

He wasn’t sure how long it lasted or who pulled back first, but eventually they separated, still sitting with Hamilton pressed flush against James’ side and both of them panting slightly.

“Not bad.” Hamilton chuckled and shook his head slightly. “Not bad at all, for a filthy turncoat republican, anyway.”

James licked his lips covertly, still tasting a hint Hamilton’s strawberry chapstick. His cheeks were on fire. “Why did you do that, Hamilton?”

Hamilton finally peeled himself off James’s side, reclined against the back of the seat and smirked. “It’s basic strategy. You undermine the power structure of a fuckboy-flock by going for the second in command.”

James followed Hamilton’s gaze to the front of the bar and cursed under his breath. There at the exit was Laurens, who looked like he was about to piss himself from laugher, and Thomas who spread his arms and mouthed three words at James: what the fuck?

James honestly had no answer to that.

He glared at Hamilton, with his slightly tousled hair and spit slick lips. “That was a dick move.”

Hamilton shrugged. “What, kinda like trying to help someone to sleep with their professional adversary so they can use it against them later?”

“That’s not-”

“Anyway, I don’t fuck republicans.” Alexander eyed James with something that looked disgustingly like regret. “Thanks for the makeout session, though.”

“Screw you,” James growled and left the booth. The worst part was that suddenly he was glad his pants were such a thick material that they disguised his earlier… excitement.

“Tell your buddy that he sure as hell won’t,” Hamilton callled after him. James flipped him off over his shoulder.

[jadekitty777]

Troika - Chapter 3: To Speak Good

Troika - (Noun) Russian in origin, meaning “set of three” or “three of a kind”. It is a three-way dance between people.

Summary: Taiyang has a bad dream, Qrow has homesickness and James has a headache. Not necessarily in that order.Or, a series of snapshot events at different times of this trio’s relationship together.

Rating: T

Pairing: James/Qrow/Taiyang

AO3 Link: Chapter 3

Note: There’s one more after this, and then the story is done!

~

If someone told Qrow five years ago that he’d one day call Atlas his home, he would have laughed.

If that same someone added he’d do it entirely for James Ironwood, he would have told the guy he was more drunk than him.

Now, with the general dozing in the seat beside him and the tall white buildings that encompassed the upper streets of Atlas growing closer as the airship reached its port, he figured he probably owed that imaginary guy a round or two.

They’d both been gone a few months – he on a mission and James on security detail duty for this year’s Vytal Festival, as he often was. Both conveniently put them in Vacuo, so once he’d finished cleaning up an infestation of Grimm in the lower quadrant, he headed to the city, enjoying the rest of his time away with the other man. James was a bit too rigid to really appreciate the less reputable side of the kingdom which was rot with gambling and underground fight rings, so Qrow improvised, taking him to sand-sailing races and hiking trails instead. It was the walk through the hollowed-out mines, once filled with Dust and now left glittering with natural minerals and stalagmites that kaleidoscoped colors across the stone, that truly fascinated the elder man to the point he wanted to explore every inch of it. Rarely seeing him so boyishly eager, Qrow was happy to oblige even long after his feet were aching from standing too much.

It was all worth it if only for the moment he watched James place his hand against one of the crystals, awash in a gentle blue hue from the reflecting light, and Qrow couldn’t help but correlate the likeness of his lover to this place: that even if parts had been forever lost or broken, what remained was even more beautiful.

Of course, he never said it out loud. Spouting poetic nonsense like that was more Tai’s thing.

Qrow had gotten a chance to see his eldest niece too. She, along with Blake and some of the other kids from the old crew, were on a march across Vacuo with the restructured White Fang, hoping to spread awareness on Faunus civil rights using peaceful protest. They’d chosen to complete their pilgrimage at the crux of the festival, knowing the streets would be crowded from the event and the news reels would be more likely to headline their efforts.

So, mostly, Qrow stood in the thin shade of a light pole in a poor attempt to hide from the burning sun, holding up a sign and letting Yang talk his ear off. She had been so happy, animatedly recounting all the sights and cultures she had seen, all the strange foods she had tried, every new place bringing a new excitement. All of it wasn’t pleasant of course. They’d met a lot of opposition on their travels throughout Remnant that she mostly alluded to, but he couldn’t help but swell with pride as he realized his niece had found her way into following her dreams of being both an adventurer and a hero.

He stretched out his arms up above his head, hearing the slight crack of joints stiff from sitting too long, before he placed a hand on James’ metal shoulder, giving him a slight shake. As he started to rouse, Qrow said, “Time to wake up, Rin Tin Tin.”

Blue eyes blinked at him blearily, saying sleepily, “How do you even know that reference?”

“You have met Tai, right? If you think he didn’t own the deluxe boxset and spent every summer vacation watching it, you’d be very wrong.” He said in way of explanation, feeling the shift of gravity as the airship started to descend for a landing.

“I didn’t, because he doesn’t own it.”

“Not anymore.” Qrow said. “Someone accidentally put it in the fireplace.”

“You did not.” There wasn’t an ounce of belief in that retort.

He grinned cheekily, “You’ll never know.”

James eyed him critically. “Well, you’ll be disappointed to know I did find the send button on my scroll.”

“Jimmy, you’ve evolved! What’s next old man? Using the coffee maker?” He snickered as the other reached out and shoved him.

“Oh, shut up.”

He saluted him. But, after a few seconds of silence, said, “Permission to speak, sir?”

James had a better poker face than most, but even he was struggling not to smile. “Denied.”

“Rude, sir.” He considered it a personal victory when he heard the other laugh softly.

“Come on, cadet.” The man said as the plane jerked on its landing. “I’ve got to drop some stuff off at my office, but we can stop at the café first, alright?”

He responded with another little salute. “Sir, yes sir!”

~

Qrow sipped lukewarm coffee from the plastic cup as he watched the man who had bought it for him putter about his office, putting away some last-minute documents that he’d have to organize properly when he was next there. Back before they were dating, he used to ruthlessly tease James about how much of a workaholic he was, until the other eventually told him that he wasn’t the one who once spent literal years out on the field for his own profession. It had been one of the few times someone had managed to make him pause and actually think.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t heard a variation of it before – how the war was over. How he could take a break every now and again. But it was the way James said it, reminding him that years of his life were just gone, that struck a chord with him and suddenly he understood he’d missed so much. He would never get to be at Yang’s graduation ceremony from Signal as the fiery blond cheered. He would never be able to capture the moment Ruby came home, shouting with joy over her early acceptance to Beacon. Hell, he’d never get to see that stupid, goofy smile Tai probably had when he adopted Zwei. The more he thought, the more the key events piled up, the more seriously he considered removing his name out of the Huntsman rotation permanently.

He never did, but he did lessen his prominence in the roster significantly.

So there he was, in the middle of restoration efforts for Vale city, trying to redefine his life choices, when James walks up to him and says, “Why don’t we go get some coffee?”

He hadn’t really grasped the implications when he agreed until he actually had the cup in his hands and was sitting across from the other. “Jimmy-boy, did you just ask me out on a date?”

“That was my intention, yes.”

“Oh.” And maybe it was because, after having worked together in close quarters for months as the war came to an end, he’d found that he didn’t dislike James nearly as much as he used to or maybe it was because he just wanted to have something he hadn’t allowed himself in years, that he found himself tacking on, “Well good.”

And that was the start of their relationship.

Now, as he sipped on the bitter, overshot brew and realized years had passed since that moment, he found himself not regretting the choice.

“So, we’ll be home within the hour.” James said as he shoved a few more papers into his desk.

“Sounds great!” Was the chipper reply from Tai, voice a bit crackly from being on speaker. “Either of you two hungry? I can make dinner.”

When that blue-eyed gaze turned to him questionably, Qrow called, “Something light.”

“Yeah. It was a long flight.” The general agreed.

“No problem. I can’t wait to hear all about your trip.”

With it being so early in the semester at Apollo Academy, Tai wasn’t able to get the vacation needed to join them. Not that he really wanted to abandon his class for that long anyways. Apollo was a small, secondary school designed to support smaller classrooms for children with special needs, such as amputees. Having a daughter and a lover both living with permanent prosthetics, it had sparked the man’s interest in helping others learn how to cope with their new body parts and reach a sense of normalcy again. While looking for work after he’d lost his former job following the whole newscast fiasco, he’d barely paused to think when he applied at the institute.

Watching Tai whoop and holler as he danced around the house after he’d gotten accepted for the position, Qrow could have sworn his friend was twenty again.

James closed another cabinet. “We’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah.” There was a smile in Tai’s voice as he added warmly, “I missed you guys.”

Qrow ducked behind his coffee as he smiled. James, who had paused to stare down at the phone, didn’t bother hiding his own as he said, “Yeah, us too.”

~

As he walked into their home, the first thing Qrow noticed was the smell of something sweet in the air that told him there was some confectionary baking in the oven. “We’re home!” He announced as he held the door for James, who came into the house with their luggage and carefully shuffled around Zwei who, despite his age, still found the energy to joyfully dart around his peoples’ legs whenever they got back.

There was a whistle, Tai standing in the alcove leading to the kitchen, “Zwei, come on buddy. You’re gonna make him trip.”

“It’s fine.” He said, lifting his square suitcase higher when, without warning, the clasp broke and a few weeks’ worth of clothing spilled out over the floor. The lump of dog underneath the clothing shifted and then he was popping his head back up, a pair of plaid briefs on his head.

When James sent a disgruntled look his way, Qrow shrugged, “Hey don’t blame me! I told you to replace that old thing years ago.”

“I still blame you.”

Laughing, their blond lover walked over, unearthing the rest of his poor corgi first before he started to gather up the clothes. James knelt down, seemingly to help, until his hand caught the younger’s wrist and, when he looked up, lent forward to press their lips together. Tai gave a gentle hum, smiling as he wound an arm over the other’s shoulders. They might have stayed like that awhile, if not for the buzzer from the kitchen that pulled them apart.

“Oh, that’s the dessert.”

“I got it.” Qrow said, giving Tai a wink as he passed on by.

“Well,” The wisecrack followed him, “There was dessert at least.”

He could hear the softness of their voices continue on as he entered the kitchen where he was definitely not planning on stealing pieces of whatever confectionary Tai had decided to make. He found the mitts as he pulled open the oven door, and at first, he thought they were cupcakes, until he lifted them out and brought the tray into the light to discover they were actually muffins.

Huh. Today was just full of ironic food choices.

He set it down on the cooling rack and flicked off the oven, before giving the area a look over. Tai, whether it be on the team, in the family or in their relationship, had remained the cook – so his little haven was pristinely clean except for the vestiges of where dinner was being made. There was something shimmering on the stove and, when he lent forward to look through the glass top, saw it was soup – chicken noodle, he guessed. Lettuce, freshly cut and washed, sat in a strainer. On a cutting board, shredded carrots and radishes that were probably going to be mixed in to make a simple salad. The tea kettle puffed out steam where it sat on the counter; he’d bet every lien he had that it was Jasmine. Their table had already been set; wooden chopsticks by his and Tai’s plates and more durable, metal ones for James.

By the time he was peeling off the paper liner from one of the muffins, his best friend was back, rolling his eyes at him. “Really?”

“It’s what you get for baiting me.” He replied before taking a huge bite.

Tai chuckled, before he went back to making dinner, dicing the rest of the radishes. As he worked, Qrow destroyed the rest of his muffin in a few quick bites, then sidled up next to the other. The knife slowed, the blonde observing him from the corner of his eye. “Can I help you?”

“Well I was thinking,” He started, dancing his fingers along the other’s back, but trailed off when the other jolted away. “Uh, you alright?”

Tai flushed a bit. “Yeah, sorry. That surprised me.”

“Geez, you’re getting old too.”

“Make more jokes like that and I’m hiding the rest of the muffins.”

“Forgive me!” Qrow rested a hand over his heart overdramatically, falling against the other’s shoulder. “For I know not what I say!”

His friend tried his best not to snicker but his grin was untamable. He set down the knife in favor of winding his toned arms around him, bringing them flush together. Tai pecked fond, little kisses along his face, until finally he got to his lips, lingering there. Qrow’s eyes slid shut, leaning in to the caress as he raked his hands through blond hair.

It was the hissing of the overflowing pot that drew Tai away this time. “Ah damn it,” He cursed softly before hurrying over to lift the pot off the burner.

Qrow lent back against the counter, watching him as he pulled off the top, letting the steam out to cool the angrily bubbling liquid. His eyes wandered a bit, pausing curiously on the patch of reddened skin around the edges of the heart tattoo. “Your arm…”

“Huh?” Tai glanced at him, then followed his gaze down to his own still-healing skin. “Oh yeah; I got it touched up, remember?”

“Thought you said you were doing that a few weeks ago?”

He shrugged, turning away to stir the soup. “Well, yeah but Ruby wanted to come with me. So, I postponed.”

That took a minute to compute. “Wait. Did you convince my niece to get a tattoo?”

“No, no.” He was grinning almost manically as he pointed the spoon his way. “She convinced Weiss to get one.”

That revelation took longer, but when it did, Qrow’s eyes bulged. “What!? Ice princess got some ink?!”

“Please tell me Winter doesn’t know.” They both glanced over at James as he entered the room, looking weary already. “Otherwise I’ll never hear the end of it on Monday.”

“Well, it’s not exactly in a discreet place, unless she’s wearing a long dress or really tall boots.”

“Just perfect,” Was the sigh of defeat.

Qrow started to guffaw. “So it’s on her leg? What is it?”

“A red rose with the stem wrapping around her ankle. It’s quite pretty actually.” Tai said, sounding almost fond. Whether it simply be for the art of tattoos or over his unofficial daughter-in-law, it was a little hard to tell. “Anyways!” He reached up to pull down some bowls. “Dinner’s pretty much done. Qrow will you pour the tea?”

“You got it.”

As the day faded to evening and the three of them enjoyed dinner together for the first time in nearly five weeks, Qrow felt a familiar wash of calm overcome him. He had missed this: a dog dozing under the table at their feet and them talking about their day. James recounting somewhat irritably about how lack his security team was. Tai excitedly detailing how well the students from his class were doing. Qrow chiming in about the highlights from the festival.

And when James finally remembered to ask, “By the way, what happened to your copy of Rin Tin Tin?”

And Tai answered, “Oh. Qrow was drunk one night and thought the trees on the cover were firewood, so he put it in the fireplace.”

Qrow couldn’t stop laughing, feeling more at home than ever before.

~~~

A/N: So, if anyone is wondering about the chapter titles, I was looking for another “set of three” idea to name them after. While looking for ideas, I found out three is a really common number in a lot of religious practices – and I stumbled upon Zoroastrianism. One of the philosophies is just like the titles of the chapters – Thinking good, acting good and speaking good will lead to a good life. There’s a lot more to it of course, but that’s a basic principle on their lifestyle.

I realized the chapters aligned pretty well with these ideas, so I went with it.

Chapter 1 is all about good action. It certainly fits James and his disciplined nature the most but Qrow and Tai both have their moments on debating “what the right thing to do” is.

Chapter 2 is focused around good thinking, hence Tai’s many bracketed thoughts in which he’s trying to fight his poor psyche with better views (I actually added a few when I decided on the chapter title). Likewise, Qrow’s own thoughts are a bit see-sawed while James is the reassurance.

Chapter 3 has the weakest connection, because Qrow himself is not a “good” speaker seeing as I depicted him struggling with expressing himself and the plot definitely revolved around a “slice of life” style story. The entire decision basically comes down to the ending – where he finds the most peace and happiness in the simple act of talking around the dinner table with James and Tai.

Now, there’s only one chapter left, but don’t worry, I have a great title in mind! Stay tuned, it’ll be up within a week!