#bandstand fic

[acefictionwriting]

Ways Johnny Simpson is Warm

His Smile

When Johnny enters the bar you own, he is talking with Davy. However, when he sees you, he immediately smiles. His smile is warm. It makes your chest feel warm as your heart beats faster. Your face feels warm too, as you can’t help but blush as he half-runs half-walks over to hug you as a greeting.

His Hugs

Johnny’s hugs were warm. He always seemed warmer than anyone else, especially when you were entirely wrapped in his arms with him gently kissing the top of your head. You could feel his heartbeat he was holding you so tightly. So happy to see you. This happened everyday. You loved it every day. You smile up at him.

His Eyes

Johnny pulled back from the hug and looked at you with such warm and kind eyes. So in love you could see it on his whole face. His Green-Gray eyes met yours. The way he looked at you never failed to warm something in you, some emotion in you, that no one else could reach. No one else could touch that part of you, and warm it as he could.

His Voice

“Well Hey, Sweetheart! Hey, we just got done with the gig down the street, is your shift over? I feel like dancing!”

You know his shift ended an hour ago. You knew he and the boys had been drinking from the way Wayne and Davy were struggling to stand. You knew he thought they had just finished. you also knew your shift wouldn’t end for another half an hour. You didn’t have time for dancing. There wasn’t even live music in the bar tonight.

”Sure Johnny. I’d love to dance with you. I’ll put on your favorite record.”

There was his smile again.

His Laugh

You turned the music on and headed back to where Johnny was sitting with the band. He was laughing over something Davy said. His laugh was loud. He never tried to hide his laughter. He saw you and you once again his eyes brighten. He walks over to you again, and takes your hand. He kisses your hand softly while keeping eye contact.

“Hey! Do you wanna dance? The record that makes me think of you is on.”

“I would love to Johnny.” You said softly, smiling because his smile is so cute and contagious.

Bonus:

Johnny Simpson’s hands are cold. His hands shake. Both from his PTSD and his nerve damage. His hands are cold, but when he holds your hand to drag you to the dance floor, it makes you warm. Today, his hands were lightly shaking as one of his arms snaked around your waist for a slow dance. His hands were freezing against your dress, where you could feel it through the fabric. However, as his cold hands held you and sent chills through your body with how cold he was, you felt hot. Johnny Simpson wasn’t just warm. Johnny Simpson was hot.

[evergreenstringbean]

Fanfiction Masterlist- evergreenstringbean

Please read AO3 tags prior to reading! Some of these are old. Some of these were written for tumblr challenges. Sue me if they're cringe now.

Blue text will detail crossover fanfictions, but are included in both fandom lists. Green will signify oneshots, purple will signify multi-chaptered works. All are completed.

Bandstand

Keeping The Ghosts Away (Nick Radel/Wayne Wright): It happens every night at the same exact time. Wayne doesn't know that Nick isn't asleep this time.

Water and Smoke (Jimmy Campbell/Johnny Simpson): They all want to go on a beach vacation. Jimmy knows he can't handle it, but agrees.

Pets Are The Best Medicine (Nick Radel/Wayne Wright): Nick wants a dog. Wayne, of course, doesn't. Nick, of course, doesn't listen.

Thoughts (Jimmy Campbell/Nick Radel): Jimmy doesn't know why his thoughts seem to never listen to him.

Parallels (Jimmy Campbell & Julia Trojan): Julia can't face the band after Donny tells her what happened to Michael. Jimmy comes to visit her.

Once Upon A Time (Jimmy Campbell/Aaron Miller): Jimmy's so grateful to have Aaron in his life.

Forward (Jimmy Campbell/Johnny Simpson): Jimmy can't move on. But he can more forward.

Palliative (Character Study- No Ship): Palliative Coping: Making the situation more tolerable or keeping it under control without directly taking care of the problem.

Something in Return (Jimmy Campbell/Angelo Maggio): The band is exhausted after a nationwide tour. Jimmy most of all. A night at the Blue Wisp sounds like a good idea to relax. Turns out Jo has hired someone new.

Another Language (Jimmy Campbell/Angelo Maggio): Impromptu duets lead to interesting thoughts as Jimmy learns more about the new employee of The Blue Wisp. Continuation of "Something in Return".

The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals

Here It's Safe and Sound (Ted Spankoffski/Henry Hidgens): Henry doesn't mind the silence anymore, but he really needs a break from it.

Still The Dance Goes On (Ted Spankoffski/Henry Hidgens): Showtunes help Henry with whatever emotion he feels.

Everything's Perfect/Nothing's Real (Ted Spankoffski/Henry Hidgens): Henry theorized this exact scenario thirty years ago. But what if it wasn't simply a theory?

Marvel Cinematic Universe

Which Direction is the Right Direction? (Peter Parker & Tony Stark): It's been one month and Peter gets a call in the middle of class. "He'd tried putting it into his computer, that hadn't worked at all. He'd tried looking through old archives that Pepper had allowed him to scan, nothing. He even tried asking Karen, hoping perhaps the man had sent something about it to him without him knowing. Nope. So, it looked like he was stuck with a million questions and no right answers."

The Postcards Protocol (Peter Parker & Tony Stark): Peter finds out about the Postcards Protocol, and wonders why it's called that.

Prisoner of My Past (Peter Parker & Tony Stark): Peter's finally figured it out, with help from Tony. Sequel to "The Postcards Protocol"

IT (Movies)

some time can bring perspective that we need (Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier): "The moment he made it to the surface, he was booking it out of the house and made no effort to stop. When panic set in with Eddie Kaspbrak, it failed to stop until he was absolutely sure he was out of danger. He was blocks away from Neibolt before he was able to stop for breath, and he was almost regretting tossing his inhaler into the fire while his lungs burned from the exercise. His heart was pounding in his chest, and his mind was swirling with questions he didn’t know the answers to." In which Eddie Kaspbrak gets the ending he deserves.

To Start Over...Somehow (Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris): Most of the things he’ll think about are simple. What his plans are for the days ahead, new ideas for material that he’s now, finally, writing on his own…and how the world is one cruel, fucked up place. / or / Richie is learning to cope alone.

letting go of what might have been (Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris): Richie's got it all under control...but sometimes he doesn't / or / Richie's still coping.

words we leave unspoken (Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier): Richie "Trashmouth" Tozier has 1500 words left to live. He has more than 1500 words left to say.

From Here to Eternity (Musical)

Something in Return (Jimmy Campbell/Angelo Maggio): The band is exhausted after a nationwide tour. Jimmy most of all. A night at the Blue Wisp sounds like a good idea to relax. Turns out Jo has hired someone new.

Another Language (Jimmy Campbell/Angelo Maggio): Impromptu duets lead to interesting thoughts as Jimmy learns more about the new employee of The Blue Wisp. Continuation of "Something in Return".

Sanders Sides

If I Didn't Believe in You (Roman/Logan): Roman doesn't want to go to another party. Logan knows what's really happening.

There Was Janus (Roman/Logan): Roman and Logan get to know each other after working in the same touring production for the last month, when Logan asks how Roman got into acting.

Must Be a Dream (Character Study- No Ship): Logan's alone, but not completely. An imagining of post-WTIT after Logan sinks out of the living room.

Roundabout (Virgil/Roman, Logan/Patton): Virgil's got a new job as a school secretary, a vast change from his old life. He quickly befriends a few fellow faculty members, including one happy-go-lucky drama teacher. As the year goes on, and Virgil begins to form stronger bonds, his reluctance to revisit parts of his past may begin to put a strain on the relationships he holds dear.

When You Smile (Remy/Emile): Remy just wanted to grab a quick coffee. He didn't anticipate the cute stranger dancing in line. Part of the "Roundabout" canon.

Borderline (Established Roman/Virgil & Logan/Patton, Janus/Remus): Following the unexpected death of their mother, Roman and Remus are tasked with cleaning out their parents' attic. Old photos bring up old memories, old trinkets bring up old feelings, but a stack of letters may begin to distort the thoughts of their childhood, or bring their thoughts of it to new light. A world continuation of Roundabout.

The Old Guard

When The Sun Lights The Room (Joe/Nicky): “We should do something today. We could pick up some flowers at a shop this evening,” Joe offers to his love, squeezing his hand in an absent check-in to make sure the man is in fact mentally there as he’d claimed to be. A matching squeeze confirms so and he takes a deep breath. “He should be here.” Thirty years ago, Joe and Nicky lost their son. The "finality" of death still gives them whiplash at the tricks it plays.

Always Starting Over (Joe/Nicky): Nicolo di Genova has lived many different lives. He's fought many wars, saved many lives, and donned many names. But everything's over, and he's too cold. In which Joe loses his immortality and Nicky struggles to cope.

Stand By Me

Think of Me Fondly (Chris Chambers & Gordie LaChance): Gordie LaChance was twelve going on thirteen the first time he saw a dead human being. Gordon LaChance was thirty-eight going on thirty-nine when the newspaper headline knocked the wind out of him.

M*A*S*H

this is life, with the heartache it brings (B.J. Hunnicutt/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce): It starts with an average day. It ends with nothing being the same. Or, if the American Songbook's "Tribute to the Troops" broadcast took place in 1952 and landed on the ears of the 4077th

Good Omens

I hope you blink before I do (Crowley/Aziraphale): Crowley, after a Hell of a time, sleeps.

Spies Are Forever

All's Fair in Love and Death (Agent Curt Mega/Owen Carvour): Following the final death of Owen Carvour, Agent Curt Mega is thrust into a mission that seems simple at first glance. Retrieve a fellow agent from a completed undercover mission. However, there are a few caveats. For one, the "fellow agent" is a Slozhno. For two, Curt is meant to retrieve the agent in 2016. With the mix of following his mission, learning all about Tatiana's son, and grappling an entirely new world, Curt must leave every stipulation of his real present life behind to protect a potential future at stake.

Detroit: Become Human

So Goes the Roll of the Dice (RK900/Gavin Reed): Gavin Reed and RK900- known as Nines- are ready to move in together, for "convenience" or whatever they claim. What looks to be the ending of a long investigation results in Gavin re-examining the ghosts of his pasts, and the android of his potential future.

[gingerpeachtea]

wip ask game! <3

ty @the-sparkling-diamond-satine for tagging me!! :D

Prompt: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

graceland:

something’s in your eyes

mcb threesome

you touch my leg and i insist (but i wake up before we do it)

mike tshot

if i make it to the morning (chapter 2)

mike headache and gay people

polyamickfic

mjcb sleepwalking

there are things he can’t tell him (johnny traumaturro)

mike shower gone wrong real not clickbait

smoke signals

mike whump yayyyy

moulin rouge:

burning suns

reading

sickfic (modern au)

polyfic

orchestrations

christian/satine/nini threesome

stomach kiss

giving

window wip

braindead:

otherwise occupied

gareth storm augh scaree

laurel bug ears

laurel sickfic of all time

laurel sickfic sequel

adhd laurel

ocd laurel

death on the stairs

laureth hi (5+1)

bandstand:

cat fic

davyjulia religion fic

jimmydonny nightmare

ivory pool (julia nightmare)

agents of shield:

fancy mission fic

keep your beady eyes on me (make sure i don’t turn to dust)

bkeoat (bus kids existence of all time)

bkeoat squeakquel

i stepped through—there was no floor

tarps

don’t leave a stranger

fitzdaisy wall of valor

tagging: @emeraldelysium @bumblingest-bee @aaronstveit @dandelion-writes @the-river-rix @elysabeththequeene @saint-ossifrage <3

[joyfulsoda]

Interview With Geoff Packard

Hi! It’s been about a week or so since I’ve posted about the fact that I had an interview I had with Mr. Packard, and I figured I would write up a transcript of the whole thing just because! I would post the audio, but the quality is not the best and also I do not like the sound of my voice on recordings. The entire interview was about 16 minutes long and both he and I speak pretty fast (there are a lot of words), so there will be a td;lr at the bottom.

For context, this interview was for a music class I’m currently in, where we had to present on a song that we like - specifically on how the music was written to make us feel, and how it actually made us feel. We could only play two minutes’ worth of whatever piece we chose, so I chose Proud Riff because it’s under two minutes and I figured I could put the clip from the show into my presentation. The idea to ask about an interview came later!

Before I begin, he was an incredibly nice man to talk to and I was super, super nervous but that went away a few minutes in! He asked if I planned on recording it and that he would be okay with it, I said I was, and then we got right into it!

-------------

Me: “So, to begin, obviously because you portrayed Wayne on Broadway, I thought it would be interesting to ask how the music influenced your performance. So, as an actor, how did the music of Proud Riff make you feel?

Him: “How did it make me feel..? Um, well, I think the music is sort of optimistic, I feel like it sort of bops and it’s sort of a swing tune and it’s sort of lighter than what is going on in Wayne Wright’s world. Although, the sort of genesis of that song was a conversation Andy Blankenbuehler and I had - Andy Blankenbuehler, the director, choreographer- (laughs) Tony Award-winning choreographer... We had a conversation about what their day-to-day lives may have looked like, and how we don’t really represent a lot of that for the rest of the guys, we see sort of what Donny goes through, but the rest of the guys that came back from the war, we didn’t get to see what their day-to-day was.

“And so, there was a couple iterations of what that Proud Riff would be, and we decided it was how Wayne would be spending his time at home, getting his kids ready for pre-school or school or something, and how he... sort of locks into a habit, or locked into a habit, y’know, he was obsessive-compulsive and he... really used his habits to sort of survive during war time. And we talked about how he probably gained that sort of germaphobia that he has in the play in his trench warfare, because of the necessity to keep everything clean and to have a clean, firing weapon, and all that stuff. So... We talked about that. On an otherwise normal, sunny day, what he might be doing during the day, and that’s where that came from. And so I think the music is sort of sunny, cheerful, and he’s... slowly, y’know, through the habit of cleaning his gun, is trying to stay sunny, and just simply can’t. And I think that’s where the minor changes come towards the end of the song, if I remember correctly. And all the rhythmic hits at the end that are physicalized through tap, and the sort of twitches that Wayne would have- that’s sort of a manifestation of his memory coming back, or him not being able to control those memories.”

Me: “That, actually, was really insightful. And y’know, like... you can kind of see that on stage, but to hear that directly coming from you, it’s like “oh, so that wasn’t just up to interpretation, that was actually what was happening.”

Him: “Yeah! You know, I think- so, for anybody that might be listening to this, I teach at the University of Michigan now, and so, the next generation of theater artists are what I care deeply about, and certainly when I was training, or when I was a young person sort of experiencing shows or reading a play for the first time, I often thought: “Wow! How do they come up with this? This is, y’know, Arthur Miller just writes a play and just, hands it in, and this is the thing?” And what I’ve learned over time is that it’s much more of a collaboration from all parties involved, so, it’s not that Richard Oberacker and Rob Taylor wrote everything you saw on stage in one sitting and then shared it with us- they wrote a lot of it and had a first draft, then we all collaborated and had different ideas that helped them have other ideas. It did not occur until previews, I think, of the Broadway production. We had done a production at the Paper Mill Playhouse that did not have that piece in the show at all, but through conversation and through an idea of how to give a little more insight in their lives, they created that.

“And I should mention, a large part of that creation came from Greg Anthony Rassen and Bill Elliott, who were the orchestrators of the piece. They wrote all the dance pieces and orchestrations, too, so they were very involved in that sort of collaborative process, and y’know, that’s what you got to see on stage.”

Me: “That’s really cool! Well, um... With that last question, you kind of answered the other questions I was going to ask, um...”

Him: “Sorry.” (imagine someone saying sorry in all lowercase).

Me: “No, no, that’s totally fine! I was just going to ask like, how the music influenced what Wayne was doing on the stage, and you answered that with him twitching and, y’know, him having his physical manifestations of trying to stay sunny, and how some of the stuff he did towards the end of the piece coincides with the minor tones and all the hits and stuff, so thank you so much for that.”

Him: “Mhm.”

Me: “So, because I wanted to keep this short, I didn’t have many questions to ask you- relating to Proud Riff; can I ask just, like, one personal question that doesn’t relate to it at all?”

Him: “Sure!”

Me: “Just because I was curious, uh, because Wayne is a Lieutenant in the show, I was doing some research and I found out that most Officers have college degrees, and I just wanted to ask what you think he might’ve gotten his degree in, because- well, I don’t know, it was just something I kind of wanted to know.”

Him: “Yeah! Oh my god, I’d have to go back to my original, sort of, research journal... Um... For that. I feel like at one point in time, I knew where he went to college, and I knew what he studied, but I don’t- I mean, y’know, in my mind what he studied, and it’s not in the script, and I don’t remember really talking about that- I know we talked about him being a Lieutenant a lot, and how that would have led to him being a leader, and not being very content under Donny as the leader of the band (laughs). But what would he study..? The thing that comes to my mind is something mathematical, so I wanna say an engineer of some kind.”

Me: “Oh, that’s interesting!”

Him: “Well, I feel like he, of all of the musicians in the band, he was obviously the most strict and maybe square of everybody? Y’know, I wouldn’t call him an improvisor, y’know, he has that famous line “If it ain’t on the page, it ain’t on the stage.”

Me: “I was actually gonna mention that when you said what you did about him and Donny not gelling well at first.”

Him: “Yeah! Well, you know, he is the only officer in the group, and what that would mean for these gentlemen, y’know, they know that more than- oh, what would they be called, I wanna say muggles and it’s not- civilians! They would know that more than civilians, so we talked about the relationships in that way, but yeah, I think he would be- I forget what it was, but I think it’s sort of engineering, or something that involves something that can be accomplished through math, and that has a specific answer and an end to it.”

Me: “That makes a lot of sense for him. Well, that all I really wanted to ask.”

Him: “Do you still have some time? Do you have any more questions? I mean, we’ve got three more minutes.”

Me: “Well, let me see if I can think of something, uhhhhh..!”

Him: “Oh, remind me, did you see the show- did you see it live, or did you see the Fathom Events recording?”

Me: “I really wish I could have seen it live; however, in 2017 I was only 14, and going from [REDACTED LOCATION] to New York was... Well, that wouldn’t have been possible, unfortunately, so I’ve only been able to see the professional recording, and- and I love it, I need to rewatch it again. But yeah, y’know, I do really love the show, I like going back and looking at all the little details that happen, like not necessarily what the focus is on the stage, but also looking at all the side interactions- like, there was one time I went back and watched, and I noticed that in Breathe, right after Davy makes his comment about Nick, the “choreography” bit, you walked over to Mr. Ellis, and y’know, Davy just gave Wayne a salute, and it was the funniest thing to me for forever. And these aren’t things that you notice on the first watch-through, but going back and looking at all of it is just- it’s just fun.”

Him: “And the interesting thing about the filmed version of it is that, since film and TV is such a visual medium, the editors, which I think Andy (Blankenbuehler) was a part of, they sort of tell you where to look. If you think about all the things that you’re like “Oh, I missed this from the filmed version,” there’s infinitely more moments like that when you have a whole stage that you can look at. So unless it was in a wide shot on the Fathom Events version of it, you only got to see what the editor wanted you to see in those moments, so... Y’know, that’s why I was asking you if you saw the live version. I really loved the Fathom version, and I’m so grateful that it exists; there’s really no substitute for being in the room. Although you can’t, y’know, you can’t rewind, it, so... (laughs) You just get what you get, you know?”

(After this point, we have a short conversation about me! There are a few identifying details in this section that I don’t feel comfortable sharing, though, so I would rather not type them out.)

Ta-da!

Td;lr:

Proud Riff was meant to give an insight into Wayne’s everyday life.

It shows how on an average day, the sun might be shining, but Wayne is still struggling.

Wayne most likely developed his germaphobia due to being involved in trench warfare, out of the necessity to keep everything clean and working.

(Including this just because some people might not have seen interviews where it is confirmed) Wayne has OCD, cleaning his gun is a ritual.

The taps are meant to be a physical manifestation of the memories that haunt Wayne- the ones he cannot control.

Proud Riff was not in the Paper Mill Playhouse production of the show.

Wayne obtained a degree in engineering or something relating to math. He likes how they have specific answers and ends.

Wayne is the only Officer in the Donny Nova Band. He usually takes on leadership positions and does not enjoy Donny being the band leader at first.

Wayne is, in Geoff Packard’s mind, the most strict and square out of everyone in the band. 

Wayne is not an improvisor.

There were a lot of side interactions onstage that we did not get to see in the Fathom Events recording. Sad day. :(

[lupismaris]

Like realistically I acknowledge that in sound mind and body Flint would never do karaoke or sing in front of people

But i also believe in my heart of hearts that if you got enough drinks in him and called him too chicken shit to sing in front of people, and added the caveat that Charles Vane would and had in fact sang multiple times in public (for better or worse), he would then be convinced to do a round or 2 of karaoke

[randofanficrecs]

Today's random fic comes from the Bandstand - Oberacker/Oberacker & TaylorNavigation and Actions fandom, Pulled Me Apart (I'm So Open) by aintweproudriff

Chapters: 3/3 Words: 4,674 Fandom: Bandstand - Oberacker/Oberacker & Taylor Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Johnny Simpson/Davy Zlatic, Nick Radel/Wayne Wright, Donny Novitski/Julia Trojan, past Donny Novitski/Michael Trojan Characters: Davy Zlatic, Johnny Simpson, Donny Novitski, Julia Trojan, Nick Radel, Wayne Wright, Jimmy Campbell Additional Tags: Sharing a Bed, cliches, canon typical nightmares and trauma, canon typical alcoholism, the whole dnb is gay and there's nothing you can do about it Language: English Summary: "They did make their way up to the room, Davy holding out hope the whole way up that Donny had been wrong about his mistake and the two of them were actually getting a room with two beds. Upon opening the door, however, Davy had to let go of that wish. One bed, clear as day." OR I love to write tropes

[fandomscraziness22]

making moodboards for my old fics is one of my favorite pastimes! check out right this way and read about how lovely Bandstand is and how many parallels there are to jatp!

[thinkinginscripts]

Ch12... ouch...

i don’t think we’ll talk about anything else all day

fuck i can’t wait to see the continued devastation i wake up to in the morning 🙏

[losyanya]

I could not wrap my mind around why Aziraphale was so Stoked to make his offer to Crowley to return to Heaven, when it's so clear to all of us that it's the last thing Crowley wants, that the very offer is so hurtful to him. I mean, the angel was about to POP with his good news!

Aziraphale is prone to assume what's best for the other person and what the other person is thinking (see him telling Crawley "I know you!" in 2500 BC, when they hadn't even seen each other since the Flood 500 years ago. Yes, he was right about Crawley in that situation - but that's still one presumptuous statement). But where did it all go so wrong on this particular line of thought?

I think it goes back to the last time we see Azirpahale refer specifically to Crowley's angelic origin.

It has been brought up previously by @kedreeva and others, such as in this discussion, that this line was Already a tentative offer for Crowley to seek safety in return to Heaven, or at least an expression of hope that things could back to the way they were. And Crowley does not say "I don't want to go back to being an angel". He says

It's old history. It's not worth bringing up because it has passed and will not return.

What Crowley says is

And he means "The angel of the past - that's not me. It is no longer me, and has not been for ages. I am what I am now - take it or leave it."

But what Azirphale hears is "HEAVEN WON'T FORGIVE ME. There is no way back and it's not worth talking about BECAUSE THEY WOULD NEVER EVER LET ME BACK IN."

So of course he races back from Metatron to tell Crowley that yes, yes they would! yes, he Can be forgiven!

Aziraphale reads into Crowley's words a well-suppressed wistfulness... that is not there. I hear the echoes of so much post-s1 meta and fic saying "now that the Armageddon is over, they need to have a chat, they need to go back to what was said in the bandstand, painful as it was, and talk it through!"

I think they never brought it up once.

[insomniamamma]

Forever's Gonna Start Tonight: Joel Miller X F! Neurodivergent!reader

A/N: hey, you all remember how Spinner was supposed to be a one-shot? LMAO. I am incapable of one shots. I started this around last Valentine's Day and felt too intimidated to finish it. I guess most of the fandom wanted to take Joel to the big dance. So I shelved it for a bit, and then, while struggling with another WIP, I revisited this and found that I still really liked it. And you know what? Fuck it. Two cakes.

Warnings: A smidge of angst. A bit of awkwardness. Mentions of crappy people in Spinner's past. Spinner is neurodivergent. This is a direct sequel to this fic, so you should probably read that one first. Dancing. Very soft kisses. Spinner is meant to be a reader inset, but she's right on the line between RC and OC.

Ellie’s already up and  gone when Joel comes downstairs, scrubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Of all the teenage orphans he could’ve ended up with he’s stuck with one who has no concept of sleeping in on a Sunday.  A mug of herb tea waits for him on the table with a saucer placed over top of it to keep it warm, and he feels himself smile, Ellie looking after him in her way, a curled scrap of paper pinned by the mug, marked with her laborious printing. Joel frowns. Ellie likes to leave him little notes when she makes it out of the house before him. Usually a shitty pun. Ellie collects puns the way a crow goes after shiny things. He cradles the mug in his hands for a moment before making his eyes focus on the note. 

Valentine’s in two days. Ask her to the dance you pussy. Joel groans. Her. You. He’s been thinking of you. More than he expected to. Paired up with you on patrol and the weather went to shit. Bad luck and punky wood that wouldn’t do much more than smolder in the stove. Your hands were so damn cold. He knew from the moment you’d finally stopped shivering and relaxed against him and started snoring into his neck that you’d become a problem. The same way Tess was a problem, Ellie is a problem. Tommy is a problem. And now there’s you. He has to remind himself sometimes that he’s safe, that Jackson is safe, that he and Tommy and Ellie are safe here. And now you are counted into that worried toll.   

He’s been thinking of you. The way your eyes will flick up and hold his before darting away. Your eyes turn away but then you smile, just a little. a soft dimpling of your cheek, like the two of you have a secret. And you do, he thinks, that night curled together, your freezing hands cradled in his, zipped your sleeping bags together like a couple of kids on a camping trip, the feel of you going lax against him, your face, your cold nose tucked into his neck, curled his arm around you and you burrowed in closer. A thread of tenderness strung between you.

 Walked you home after he found you in the square. He knows you’re not brave, but you were brave that night, even though you shook as he pulled you up from the bandstand steps, walked you home, your arm hooked through his like he’s some old time gentleman but it made you smile even if you wouldn’t quite look at him.   This is me, your porch light flickering slightly, power from the dam isn’t always consistent, there’s so much to do, so much maintenance, so many things left to rot, and he doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but you surge forward and hug him, arms banded tight around him, feel him stiffen and then his arms come up around you, tucks you tight against him, cups the back of your head and draws you close, nestles you into the column of his neck, feels you relax in to his hold.   “Thank you,” you breathed against him, allowed yourself to be held and then withdrew, caught your cold hands in his and squeezed.  “Anytime, honey,”  Your eyes didn’t quite meet his, but your cheek curved in a smile and then you closed the door between you. 

 He thinks about the two times he’s held you, the two times you’ve relaxed into his arms, but you still can’t meet his eyes. You might never meet his eyes. Joel decides he’s okay with that. The soft arc of your smile is enough.

 He settles beside you, bowl in hand, venison chili and cornbread. Your eyes flick up to him and you nod, acknowledge his presence and then go back to eating, the cornbread is nice and grainy and sweet, the chili is thin but warm and decently spicy, more potatoes and sunchokes, tough beans than venison, this is the deep of winter and things are lean, find yourself daydreaming about Olive Garden of all places, the soup and breadsticks, so much food that you always had to take some home and you feel a nudge at your elbow. Joel says nothing but slides you a bit of paper folded into a compact triangle, and you feel yourself smile, glance at Joel and he’s busy sopping up his chili with his cornbread, looks nonchalant but you can feel the bounce of his leg beneath the table, tuck some cornbread into your mouth and chew, unfold the complication of paper, yellowed with printed blue lines, ripped out of some notebook.  Will you come to the Valentine’s Dance with me? Yes. No.  The implication being that you circle your choice and hand your answer back to him. You pull a nubbin of charcoal out of your pocket and draw a circle around the “Yes”. Hold the fiddly bit of paper in your palms, not sure how to turn it back into it’s triangle shape, so you press it into orderly thirds and slide it back to him. Steal little glances at him as he reads your answer. His leg stops bouncing under the table, and when you look at him, he’s smiling.   “See you Saturday, Spinner, Joel murmurs. And you think you hear the smile in his voice but your are never sure.

 

Saturday. Saturday. Shit fire and save the matches. You said yes. You circled yes on that stupid note, like a stupid high school kid. Your experience of dancing is limited to court dances on the Ren Faire circuit with a dash of square dance and reels. You’re not sure how to act, you’re not sure what to wear. Do you have to dress fancy? Do you have to paint up your face? You have no idea what to expect so you do what you always do when some social expectation evades you.  You go and ask Maria. Bring the tiny pair of socks you’ve been working on, still not entirely pleased with the final color, more brown than yellow, still working through different mordants. You wish they’d managed to snag a display of Rit from that Walmart, but nobody thought it was important.   “Spill it,” says Maria, knows you well enough to know when something’s bothering you.  “I don’t like the color, the mordants—“  “I know all about the mordants. C’mon. Spill.”  “Joel asked me to the dance.”  “And you said yes.”   “I said yes.”  “So what’s the problem?”  “What if he’s messing with me—“ Maria laughs but then rests her hands lightly on your upper arms, a touch that means grounding, that means truth, something you would not tolerate from anyone but her.   “Do you know that man to have a sense of humor? Other than those terrible puns he saves up for Ellie?”  “Guess not. It’s just--“ You’re not sure how to word it, did plenty of dancing at Ren Faire, carefully proscribed steps and agreed upon roles, danced at your wedding reception with your ex mouthing the steps into your ear so you didn’t fuck it up, semi-formal dance in the seventh grade your mom fixed your hair and put you in a powder pink dress with a sailor collar and you’d spent the whole evening the darkest part of the gym you could find, waiting for it to be over.  “I don’t know what I’m doing, do I need a dress because—“  “It’s not prom, says Maria, No one’s gonna be fancy. Except Tim.” You feel yourself smile. Tim with his his button down shirts and fussy little bowties, tall, whip skinny and twice the age of God. No one quite knows how he made it through the outbreak, but he knows how to make explosives so no one is in a real hurry to ask.   “Tim’ll probably show up in a three piece suit.”  “Wear something with no holes and you’ll be fine.” You frown and Maria grins at you.  “That’s not exactly helpful.”  “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

 Through the next couple of days, Joel is there like he always is, a steady, unobtrusive presence, the two of you side by side over the deep sink in the caff, dish duty but you don’t mind. Soap and scrub and pass them along to Joel who rinses and sets them in the racks to dry.   “Joel?”  “Hmm?”  “I can’t dance.” He huffs laughter.  “I’ve seen you dance.” And you feel heat rising in your face, ears going hot. Someone had played the Chieftains on the juke in the Bison (hang out there more often now that you know Joel is there) and the bit of step-dancing you’d picked up on the Ren Faire circuit had come out.  “Not like normal people do.” Scrub the dishes and hand them off to him. Normal people, you hear him mutter, hold out a bowl for him to rinse and rack but he doesn’t take it.   “I could show you,” says Joel, “You know, so you’re not worried about it.”  “I’m not worried,” you say.  “Yes you are,” he says, wipes his wet hands on the towel slung over his shoulder, “Come here.” You wipe your soapy hands on your pants and stand facing him, lip bit in a frown, he holds up his hand like he means for you to give him a high five. “Give me your hand.”  Lay your palm against his and he laces his fingers through yours. “Put your other hand on my shoulder.”    “Like this?”  “Yep. I’m gonna put my hand on your hip,” he says, “That okay, Spinner?”  “Sure,” and he rests his hand on you, not gripping, not grabbing, starts swaying, foot to foot, back and forth and you mirror him, warm weight of his hand, gentle pressure that swings you around.  “That’s it? There’s no steps?”   “No steps,” says Joel. “Just like dancin at prom.”   “Never went to prom.”  “Really?” You shrug.  “We played Shadowrun instead.”  

 You settle on the wrap skirt, sewn from an old cotton bedsheet. Dyed yellow with a dusty box of Rit you found on the top shelf of a cabinet in the house they gave you. Didn’t turn out as bright as you wanted, but it’s still a nice yellow, like softened butter on a plate, and you like the patterns that the knotted twine made. Pair it with a rust colored v-neck, looted from the Walmart around the time you arrived in Jackson. You know it won’t hold up so you rarely wear it, but it looks nice with the skirt and clings to your curves in a way that isn’t entirely horrible, longies underneath your skirt because February in Jackson is fucking cold. 

 The caff looks different set up for the dance, long tables with their legs folded up, stacked against on wall, folding chairs around the perimeter, paper and fabric hearts hung from the rafters, all hung with old Christmas lights, cast your eyes around and worry, you’ve been stood up before, it wouldn’t exactly surprise you, and then you find him, tucked back by the DJ, cobbled together equipment from the high school’s AV club, too-rah loo-rah too-rah loo-ray-aay— he sees you and smiles, dimples sunk into his scruffy cheeks, stands and hurries to you, takes your hands in his.   “Wasn’t sure you were gonna show.”  “I wasn’t sure either.” Runs his thumbs over your knuckles. He’s beautiful in the low, shifting light, disco ball with a third of the little mirrors missing, little blots of light passing over the walls, catching the silver threaded through his hair-and Everything I do start’s playing, that goofy song from Robin Hood movie, and it’s on the tip of your tongue to talk about how ridiculously inaccurate the movie is, Kevin Costner’s accent was so bad, his hands folded warm around yours.  “Wanna dance?”  “Yeah. Okay.” And you let him lead you onto the floor, his hand laced with yours, your hand on his shoulder, just like you did by the deep-sink, close enough to feel his warmth but not quite touching anywhere beside where your hands rest, and in hand and his hand on the swell of your hip, the two of you turn and turn, Joel doesn’t push. He doesn’t dig his fingers in, just sways you side to side in a slow circle. It’s nice in the anonymous murk, he doesn’t try to dip you or change the pattern, Bryan Addams fades into Cindy Lauper, time after time, and he pulls you closer always liked this song, he murmurs into your hair and you nod, tuck your face into the join of his neck and shoulder unthinking, and then you stiffen, this is where he will push back, drag you back to arm’s length, and maybe ask you what the fuck you think you’re doing, but instead he breathes out a contented sigh and you turn and turn and tun in the broken light, his pulse thrumming beneath your ear, if you’re lost and you look then you will find me, and for a moment the world isn’t broken, and then Time After Time Fades out and the fucking Chicken Dance comes on.  “You wanna—“  “Absolutely not.”  “You don’t know the chicken dance?”  “Of course I know the chicken dance. I fucking hate it.”   “Let’s sit this one out then—“ and then Tommy enters like a meteor, grabs Joel by the arm   “C’mon man it’s the Chicken Dance!”  Joel shoots you a beleaguered see what I have to put up with look and lets his brother haul him onto the floor. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else on the planet, but he knows all the moves, the contrast of his grim expression and the shimmy of his hips as he wiggles his imaginary chicken tail is too much for you and you laugh bright and bold, the loud bray your parents said was unladylike, your ex said made you sound like a donkey, and for a second that old fear spikes, but no one’s looking at you, no one notices. Joel glances your way and smiles before his brother grabs his hands and swings him in a delirious apple hooch fueled arc while the accordion does it’s thing.   The music changes again and Joel extricates himself and plops down in the folding chair next to you.   “No Macarena?”  “Gotta draw the line somewhere, Spinner.” 

 A string of fast songs plays and the kids take over the floor momentarily, some recognize and some you don’t, Joel rests his hand on your knee and you lay yours over his, sit back and let them have their fun, sip strong apple hooch out of pitted plastic tumblers, burns a little going down, but makes you warm inside. You lean against him and his hand leaves your knee, arm comes up around your shoulder.   “Is this what prom was like?” Joel frowns.   “The music’s kinda the same,” he says, “But everyone was dressed up all fancy. There was lots of drama. Lots of people crying about who asked who and who dumped who.”  “Sounds stupid.”  “Yeah, I guess it was. All that shit seemed so important and now—“  “We didn’t know.” Your eyes hold his, deep wells in the dim shifting light, even though it makes you want to squirm, too many times told look me in the eye when I’m talking to you, too many times told to stop staring, stop being weird, “Joel. We didn’t know.” He turns from you and stares out over the floor, nods his head, and you wonder if you’ve said it wrong, but his arm is still draped warm over your shoulder, looks troubled, but then the lights drop and a few familiar piano notes sound and the kids scatter into the dark, confused—turn around every now and then I get a little bit lonely and you’re never comin round turn around  “Oooh this is a good one—“  “C’mon, Spinner, let’s dance.” The floor fills with couples, mostly harried survivors like you and Joel, the folks of Jackson old enough to have danced to this song in stuffy school gyms hung with crepe paper streamers and balloons, Love’s Baby soft and Darkkar Noir and flop sweat.  Maria and Tommy sway with their foreheads pressed together and eyes closed, Ellie dances theatrically, mouthing the lyrics like a cartoon opera singer to the delight of a cluster of sugared up kids who’ve formed a loose ring around her. The configuration has shifted, both your arms draped around his neck, his hands on your hips, the pretense of space between you forgotten, some murky memory of the your middle school English teacher reminding people to save room for Jesus when you danced, had no idea what that meant at the time, but now you have some idea, Joel warm and strong and flush against you, gentle susurration of his breath in your hair, warm beat of his pulse beneath your ear.   “Joel?”  “Hmm?”  “You remember this video for this song?”  “There was football players or somethin. People with glowing eyes.”  “And Ninjas. Don’t forget the ninjas. I think there was an angel too.”  “And a guy in a fencing mask,” says Joel, “I think?”   “You’re right! Glitter poured out of it when he lifted it up!”    “Then she was just some professor all along, like she dreamed the whole thing.”  “Just a dream.” You whisper against his neck and he holds you all the tighter.

 Eventually the lights come up. Happy Valentine’s Day! Ez’s voice booms through the mic and you wince, for those of us lucky in love it is time to take that noble sentiment elsewhere—  god, I hate that guy.   — For those on clean up duty now is your time to shine. Everyone else needs to skedaddle. I will now play some skedaddlin music. And true to his word, that shit techno cover of Cotton Eye Joe starts playing at migraine levels, stagger out into the frigid night, clear and still and biting cold, got a bit more tipsy than you intended. Cider for when the seasons turn, applejack for the dead of winter, but Joel is right beside, hand hovered just over your hip in case you falter.   He’s walked you home enough times that it’s not a question any more. You don’t have to. I know. Got nowhere else to be, Spinner.   “This is me,” you say, you always say, faint flicker of your porch light. Power from the dam is not always the most steady. So many things left to rot, so many things to fix.  “I know,” he says, like always, You hug him, squeeze your arms around him tight.  “Thank y—“  “Stop that, Spinner. You don’t have to thank me for loving you-“  “You love me.” You draw back from him. It comes out as a statement and not a question, and here’s where he will retract, will back pedal,  say he didn’t mean it, it was the applejack doing the talking, the applejack and the music from when you were both young and none of this had happened yet.  “Yeah, I do.” And when you hook your eyes to his, they are wide and deep and dark with worry, and you can’t look at him, gaze slides to the curve of his shoulder, the shape of him against the starshot sky, so much brighter now that everything is over. His hands find yours and, his thumbs brush back and forth over your knuckles. And you have so many questions, since when? That freezing night on the trail? Before? After? Why?   “For real?” Is the question that comes out, and you hate how small you sound, how your voice wavers. Squeezes your hands in his.  “For real.”  “Since that night?”  “I think so. I don’t know. Holdin you, it felt right. Feels right. Shit. I’m real bad at this-“ You laugh, breath plumed out like dragon smoke,   “Me too.”  “Tommy used to make fun of me. Said I could never tell when girls were tryin to flirt with me.”  “I can’t flirt to save my life. Never could. None of that ever made sense to me.”  “Good thing I didn’t try some crappy pick up line, huh?”  “Very good thing. There was this one guy in high school he started walking around me like this—“ You drop Joel’s hands and start orbiting him, watch that lovely smile crawl it’s way up his cheek.  “—and when I asked him what the fuck he was doing he said, I’m part wolf, baby, we always circle our prey.”   Joel guffaws, his eyes screwed up in crinkled crescents, rests a desperate hand on your shoulder as he doubles over— “That is. The dumbest. Goddam thing I have ever heard in my life—“  “I didn’t know whether to laugh at him or punch him. So I just kind of stared at him. And he went away.”  “I bet he did.  Look, Spinner, I didn’t mean to blurt it right out like I did but I do mean it. You don’t—“ He swipes his hand over the back of his neck, “If you don’t feel the same m’not gonna push. Shit, I’m sorry-“ You reach for him unthinking and cradle his stubbly cheeks in your palms. His eyes are big and wide and shining, he’s scared, you think, at least as scared as you are, and the words aren’t coming. In a movie you’d have some perfect come-back, something you could say that would make all the things roiling in your mind seem clear and concise. In a movie there’d be a declaration, something that would roll out of you and the music would swell, but now there’s only Joel’s warm, dark eyes and the yellow thrum of your porch light and the brittle chill in the air. You can’t say. You can’t make what you’re feeling, what you’ve been feeling, resolve into words, so you kiss him instead, press your lips to his and he kisses back, mirrors you, warm, calloused palms cradle your face.   

Not sure if it’s you or him who deepens the kiss, mingled breath and gentle touches, soft meeting of lips and tongues and hands, feels fevered and rushed and right,  he tastes like applejack and when you break for air he rests his forehead against yours.   “Wow.” He breathes against your lips.  “Yeah.” Leaned into each other, foreheads pressed together, swaying together, a bit like dancing together in the caff, no disco ball just the bright and brittle sky, a million pin-point stars stitched through the black.   “You can come in if you—“  “We both been drinkin”  “You don’t want—“  “I do, but I wanna do this right,” draws the backs of his fingers down the curve of your cheek, “I want to love you the right way, honey. We’ve got time.” You wrap your arms around him and tuck your face against his neck where it feels safe, cups the back of your head in his warm palm, cradles you close.  “Does this mean we’re going steady? Do people still say that? Going steady?” Joel chuckles, and you feel it, low rumble of laughter transmitted from his chest to yours, threading beneath the beat of his pulse in your ear.   “Yeah. I think we are.”

[thezestywalru]

Hello! Thought I'd do a "two sentence Wednesday" because my brain wants me to post what I have so far for this new fic I'm writing for validation but I know if I do that, it will never be finished. 

To summarise the plot: It's Bridgerton, specifically Polin, and a 1940s post WWII au inspired by one of my favorite musicals called 'Bandstand'. Colin has just returned from the war, during which his best friend in the army was killed by a grenade. A composer and piano player before the war, he decides to write a movie musical for a radio contest, he checks in on his friend's widow, who agrees to help him write the story and lines if he writes the music. The two of them grow closer, held back by the knowledge of what he saw and the past. 

"'Find something quick,” the man warned Colin. “I’ve been to three funerals this month.”

Colin froze. He, too, had attended the funerals he could for the men he knew overseas. It wasn’t out of the ordinary. Something in the man’s tone made him pause and listen.

“Nobody’s talking about it because those lads came back fine a while ago.'"

[ivys-head-is-spinning]

Get to know me!

Hello, my name is Ivy! I decided to do a get to know me thing so here we go.

Pronouns: She/They/He

Queer. Mostly into girls, somewhere ace and I don’t care all that much about pronouns.

I'm a minor. Be normal please.

Type one diabetic.

Autism and ADHD with a side of anxiety and depression (maybe ocd too idk). Self diagnosed and HEAVILY researched. Believe me I did months of research before I allowed myself to use the words and I spoke to my therapist so don’t come for me. I am just simply not able to get official diagnosis right now but I’m going to as soon as I move out (hopefully)

Jewish ✡️ and Canadian 🇨🇦

Don’t interact with me if you are sexist, homophobic, transphobic, antisemitic, ableist, racist, a pedophile or any other shit like that. I will block you.

My newsies strike name is Fidget!

♋️🦀 and INFJ

I vent a lot on here btw. Gotta do it somewhere.

My special interests:

NEWSIES (mainly that's what I post about)

Disney

Broadway and musicals- the one's I've seen live are Hamilton, Wicked, & Juliet, Lion King, Frozen, Hadestown, Little shop, Six, Aladdin, New York New York, Anastasia, RENT, The Devil Wear Prada musical, Mamma Mia, Without You (which is Anthony Rapp’s solo show), New York New York, Water for Elephants and The Outsiders. (and a few others but I was too young to remember.) The musicals I've seen online are Newsies (duh), Dear Evan Hansen, Heathers, The Prom, West Side Story, If/Then, Lempicka, Falsettos, Great Gatsby, Bandstand, Waitress, Legally Blonde, Bonnie and Clyde, 21 Chump Street, Ordinary Days, The Last 5 Years, In the Heights, the Mean Girls movie musical (the actual musical is next on my list) and Tick... Tick... Boom!

I also love The Violet Hour, In the Light, and In Pieces.

Julie and the Phantoms

Music! But only the very specific artists that I like. Some that I love include Age of Madness (Jeremy Jordan's band), Laura Osnes, Ben Platt, Sara Bareilles, Idina Menzel, All Time Low, Olivia Rodrigo, Chappell Roan, Eden Espinosa, Christy Altomare, RØRY, Disney, Shoshana Bean, Negative 25, musicals, really anything sung by Jeremy Jordan (or other broadway stars I like but that's a whole other list)

Currently hyper fixated on Newsies, Bandstand and Supergirl!!!

Other things I like include:

Plants

Stars

Axolotls

Octopuses

Fun facts

My marble collection

Tangled the Series

Supergirl tv show (the one with Jeremy Jordan)

Hazbin Hotel

Helluva Boss

My tumblr moots

Arts and crafts

Fan fiction

Find me on ao3 @ javidiscannon99! Please go read my Newsies fic.

Matching profile pics with @ya-what--ya-erster

Ask me about my ✨special interests✨

Please send me questions, and feel free to DM me I’m always up to chat as I love making new friends on here (fair warning I’m a little awkward and struggle with social cues lol)

Cheers!

Ivy

(here’s the link to my ask game!)

[gingerpeachtea]

happy friday!! 🌹🌹🌹🌹

happy friday!! :D <33 idk if u go here but. have four sentences of bandstand fic:

“Feeling indulgent tonight, are we?” Davy said with a wry grin, swirling dredges of amber around in his own glass. “My mother’s stressed,” Julia said. She politely thanked the bartender, and winced at the burn of alcohol down her throat. “It’s getting to me.”

(for every "🌹" i get, i post a random sentence of a random wip!)

[joyfulsoda]

Making designs for the DNB has unlocked something unstoppable in me. Fear me.

Based on this post.

[juniperss]

“First Steps First” Jessamine ‘Lark’ Waterson (OC) x Neil ‘Chick’ Harding

A/N: so I’ve really been wanting to write something for Jessamine and Chick for a while but was super anxious and self conscious about it for a couple of reasons. The first being that I don’t write much fanfiction anymore and the second is because I’m not wholly convinced I nail the atmosphere of period shows/movies. But this idea just wouldn’t leave my head so I’m biting the bullet and swallowing my doubts!

This fic takes place in episode 4 during Dye’s celebration party (I can’t get over Harding saying “single fillies”, okay?) and inspired by the song “First Steps First” from the musical Bandstand. The song they dance to is “It’s Been a Long Time” and I don’t care that this version came out in 1945, it’s my favorite LOL

also hey autocorrect pls stop changing Chick to Chuck, thanks

Word count: 1,730 words (😧)

Warnings: none, other than the fact I don’t know how the military works so please ignore inaccuracies🤡😂 this is about the FICTIONAL version of Col. Harding

I saw that you said it was okay to tag you in OC stuff @rosies-riveters, so I hope this is alright and that you enjoy!

“Pardon my brashness, dear

Seeing you standing here

Dancing's more customary

For a soirée."

As much as Jessamine Waterson took pride in her work as a nurse on the Thorpe Abbots base there was no denying the fact that it was grueling, emotionally draining and often went without the accolades that came with other roles in the war. And while most days she was just fine with that, today had been particularly tiresome and Jessamine was glad for the change of pace the evening’s festivities allowed. The anxious energy that had gripped every person on the airbase had been exchanged for easy laughter, jokes, and celebration. After all, it wasn’t every day a pilot and crew successfully flew 25 missions. 

As she sat with Beth and Ginny, an American nurse and mechanic respectively, who had become two of her fastest friends, listening idly to them chat about the dances they’d returned from moments ago, it took much of Jessamine’s will to avoid allowing her gaze to linger for too long on the man who had just entered the room. She had spent months chiding herself for the way her heart started racing at the mere thought of Colonel Harding being so near and despite the effort she put into acting completely normal on the instances their paths crossed, she feared her feelings were all too transparent. 

 It was inconvenient to have a crush during war and even more inconvenient that it was on a man who was not only a good handful of years older than she was, but compounded by the fact that he was an American soldier. An American soldier who was dashingly handsome and confident, who had just looked in her direction and caught her staring. Jessamine busied herself with the drink in front of her trying to ignore the heat burning in her ears.

 “Oh well that was just adorable.” 

Beth’s voice with it’s charming southern accent was usually a source of soothing reassurance and good advice, was now riddled with mischief and good natured humor now that the two women’s attention was focused on their friend. “You know there’s no shame in a little flirting, a little conversation. Why don’t you go ask him to dance?”

Ginny nodded in agreement, leaning across the table, “It’s not like you’ve never spoken to him before,” before turning conspiratorially to Beth, “remember how she gave him pain medication for his headache that one time.” 

Jessamine’s hands came up to cover her face, the full weight of her body resting on her elbows as she suppressed a groan and a laugh. Of course the two of them remembered the  first time she had met the Colonel; a simple exchange of names and him asking for something for a headache. Jessamine, partly sleep deprived and partly fighting off the butterflies in her stomach fumbling with the bottle before spilling a handful of pills across the floor of the nurses station.

It certainly wasn’t necessarily the most romantic or charming first meeting on her part, but Col. Harding had only smiled before kneeling and helping her gather the runaways. There had been a quip about how she could’ve just said no that resulted in flustered laughter from her and another grin from him. And her friends hadn’t let her live it down since she confided about it to them the following day over breakfast. 

“I’m surprised he said anything to me after that.” Jessamine admitted and revealed her face to her friends. Though there had been more interactions with the Colonel after that, they remained confined to mostly professional settings save for a few pleasantries while off duty. “And to answer your question, Beth, I’m certainly not going to bother him and ask for a dance!” 

Ginny rolled her brown eyes and tossed her head back in a sign of exasperation, looking up to the ceiling pantomiming someone experiencing a great tragedy which in turn caused another round of laughter at the table. “Well, if he asked you to dance, would you say yes?” Beth finally asked.  This time all the hints of teasing had left her friend’s tone and there was nothing but curiosity and sincerity. 

Jessamine nodded slowly, allowing the fantasy to tease at the corner of her mind just for a moment but unable to answer because just as she parted her lips to reply another voice cut in. 

“Excuse me, ladies.” Colonel Harding’s voice sent a rush of heat through Jessamine’s body and she felt her posture straighten. She pried her eyes off of Beth to glance up, up, up at the tall soldier now standing beside their table and found that, despite him addressing them all, he was looking determinedly at her alone. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but I was wondering if I could steal Miss Waterson for a dance.”

“You’re not interrupting at all, sir.” Ginny chimed in, eyes flitting from the Colonel to Jessamine, “In fact, we were just talking about how much Jessamine was wanting to dance.”

Oh, that Ginny was going to get stern talking to later, Jessamine promised herself, but at that moment she was already standing. Hardings’ hand reached out and enveloped hers as he guided her to the dance floor. 

"Isn't the band sublime?

And as it happens I'm

Just in the mood to do

A two-step, Do step

Out on the floor with me.”

The two of them found a place surrounded by three or four other couples just as the band changed from the upbeat, two step to a slower tune that made Jessamine’s heart pitter faster. If Harding felt any nervousness at the now much more intimate situation the change of song put the two of them in, he didn’t show it. Instead he wrapped an arm around her waist with the ease and confidence of a man who knew what he was doing. Her breath hitching just slightly before she felt him placing the flat of his hand lightly, respectfully against her back. 

Every nerve was firing at once, each hair on her arms standing on end, she was sure of it as her mind raced. She was trying to remember just how one slow danced fighting through the nervousness, when she felt the firmness of her foot under her own. 

“I’m so sorry, colonel.” The apology came out high pitched and squeaky and with the attempt to pull away from the man in front of her. But Harding kept his gentle grip and shook his head.

 “It’s not the first time someone’s stomped on my foot. At least this time it wasn’t on purpose. And Neil is fine, or Chick if you think Neil is too familiar.” 

There he goes again, Jessamine thought, being so effortlessly charming and saving me from my own awkwardness. Sometime in the desperate squeak of an apology she had been repositioned to properly be dancing. One soft hand held in his much larger one, the other placed on his shoulder, and her face precariously close to his as she found herself peering up at him. The rhythm was easy to find with Neil leading and the familiar trumpet crooning at the stage and Jessamine had to fight to keep her eyes from closing. 

“Might you be charmingly coerced

No need to be so shy

Take reassurance, I

Know how to guide you through

The worst steps, first steps first

 “It’s not too late to admit you picked the wrong dancing partner.” Jessamine finally found her voice and the confidence to add just a bit of a teasing tone to it, a smile itching at the corner of her lips. Her cheek had come to rest just slightly against his shoulder as they swayed to the music and as a result her voice was slightly muffled by the material of his dress shirt.

 “You’re selling yourself short. It’s been at least a minute since we’ve had another incident. You’re a natural.” Each time he spoke she could feel the rumbling of his chest against hers and her head felt dizzy with the warmth and solidity of him. 

“And I’m certainly not going to say that after I finally got up the guts to come ask you for a dance in the first place.” Neil’s confession took Jessamine by surprise and she pulled back to look him in the eyes searching for any signs of jest but only finding an intensity that sent her stomach exploding into a storm of butterflies. 

“You...you had to work up the courage to ask me?” The image of Colonel Neil Harding having to work up the nerve to ask anything of Jessamine was too comical to be taken seriously but there was no denying the truth behind his statement. “You’re a beautiful woman, Jessamine. And smart and successful. Hell, you’d have every reason to reject a dance from an old colonel like me.” 

This was almost too much for Jessamine to take and she struggled to wrap her mind around his confession. All she could do was blink dazedly up at him as her cheeks flushed bright red. A smile broke out across Neil’s face and he laughed, arm tightening around her waist for a moment. “I hope that wasn’t too out of line and that I haven’t just read this entire interaction incorrectly. But your friends made it pretty clear to me earlier that you felt the same about me.” 

Oh…oh…oh it was all coming together now.

Jessamine couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up from her chest and she leaned forward to rest her forehead against his shoulder. His own rumbling laugh was mixing with hers and soon Jessamine had relaxed with the words of his confession replaying in her mind. The song faded and another slow ballad picked began, nothing but their breathing and the shuffling of shoes on the floor mixing with the music to fill the space between them.  “So,” Neil murmured, dragging Jessamine’s attention to his face once again, “you do feel the same?” 

This time, Jessamine didn’t shy away from the intense and earnest way he was looking at her. Instead she lifted herself up on the tip of her toes just enough to bring her lips to his cheek. 

 She would have words with Ginny and Beth about this. But later…after another dance. 

Yes, after another dance with Neil.

[obsessivelollipoplalala]

Post-S2 Fic Promotion Time

Summary: After being punished in Heaven for being in love as angels, Aziraphale and Crowley spend the next 6,000 years pretending their relationship never happened. Rating: E Chapters: 6/? Tags: Pre-Fall, Angel Crowley, Crowley has Trauma from the Fall, Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages, Post-Season/Series 02, Anxious Aziraphale, Mutual Pining, First Kiss, Guilt, 6000 Years of Repression, Arguing, Crying, Rejection, Getting Back Together, First Time, Angst with a Happy Ending

As the summary says, this fic features Aziraphale and Crowley through the ages, with the important difference of each scene in the timeline (some from the show, some made up by me) being altered by their attempt to ignore their former romance in Heaven as angels, and Aziraphale blaming himself for Crowley's Fall :D It’s a lot of angst, especially with Aziraphale thinking his romantic feelings are dangerous for Crowley, but it’ll have a happy ending.

This is a WIP, but the next chapter will tackle the events of s1 (the bandstand...👀), so we're going to catch up to the Final Fifteen soon enough.

Read here, please and thank