#i swear no one had an issue with this during wad

[pseudophan]

What’s your take on the twitter argument of sitting wherever you want for the preshow vs sitting in your assigned seat (unless the assigned seat is far as fuck lol)

Some people are saying if you have front row ticket for the show you should give that up for the preshow and let that time be first come first serve for seating. Other people are saying they should be allowed to sit in their assigned front row seat without having to feel like a dick for asking someone to move.

I don’t know how I feel about it honestly but tensions are running HIGH over there

haaaa i have like three posts in my drafts bitching about this argument because it's so unbelievably ridiculous to me but i was like ok let me choose my battles here, however you asked and i've already complained a lot today so fuck it let's go

(i just wrote it all out and i sound so angry bfsdjhf it's not at all directed at you anon i'm sorry! i'm just very peeved by the utter entitlement i've seen from people on this topic in the past week)

essentially it all comes down to people having made something up in their minds and being entirely unable to let go of that idea. literally nowhere does it say you have reserved seating for the preshow, some people simply assumed that and are now very disappointed it's not the case. and like. sucks? i guess? get over it? idk what to tell you. they let you into the room like Right before the preshow starts, there is just not time for everyone to faff about trying to find their assigned seat. additionally, most of the time they want everyone to sit somewhat in the middle of the room rather than all the way to the side (if it's a wide stage anyway) and then you'd have to move everyone whose assigned seats are far to one side and it would be further chaos. just. trust me. it's so much easier to have people sit wherever

i'll actually go as far as to say if you ask someone to move out of "your seat" for the preshow, you are the asshole. because again, that's just not how the seating works. it's first come first serve and if it's so important to you to sit in the front for 20 minutes of yapping you can simply try to be first in line

that being said i also don't really agree with people claiming gold vips have to let silver vip sit in the front for the preshow, like they shouldn't have to deliberately go further back either. everyone has an equal chance and i think that's fair

oh and my least favourite argument for why it should be assigned seating is "what if they don't get out of my seat before the show starts" bro what if there was no preshow and someone sat in your seat before you got in and refused to move, what would you do then? you go talk to venue staff and show your ticket where your seat is labeled. obviously. how is this possibly any different, there's plenty of time between when the preshow ends and the main show starts to sort that out

basically, if you thought you were guaranteed your coveted front row middle seat for the preshow as well as the main performance and are now very sad about the fact that you aren't, i'm sorry, that sucks, disappointment is never fun, believe me i get that. but you have got to stop acting like you've fallen victim to false advertising or you aren't getting what you paid for because it's just not the case in the slightest

[tojipie]

adah … reader sliding toji her panties during a visit … him jerking off with them in his cell … (i know realistically it wouldn’t work bc regulations blah blah blah guards would see it and all BUT but indulge me for a sec) this man would go FERAL FOR THEM ((satosugu would try to steal them deprived freaks))

prison bf toji series linked here <3

content: jerking off, mentions of violence, panty kink .. ? if that’s not a thing ignore that tag

you don’t know what had gotten into you today, truly. 

the idea had popped into your head as you were getting dressed, a little voice in the back of your brain directing your thoughts toward the maxi skirt you’d bought on an outing last weekend.

the fabric was opaque, impossibly silky. ebbing and flowing along the dips of your body all the way down to your ankles. tight enough to show off your figure but not enough to restrict your movements. easy to maneuver in without being too obvious.

that’s precisely why you have no issues wiggling your panties off each hip under one of the prison’s many visitor tables, letting the black lace slip over your knees and around your ankles.

you let one foot slip out of the garment, lifting your leg to brush against toji’s calf slowly.

huh? 

he whispers, amused at what he thinks is a little game of footsie. the inmate palms at the meat of your calf lovingly, traveling down down down until calloused fingers close around your ankle.

oh.

he’s quiet when he says it, eyes blown wide with a mix of shock and arousal. you barely hear him over the bustle of the visitor hall, the small smile gracing his face being your only indication of what he’s about to do.

toji delicately lifts the fabric from around your leg, scanning the perimeter to make sure no one’s looking. emerald eyes bore into yours as your boyfriend balls the garment up in his fist, bringing his closed hand up to his mouth.

and then he kisses it. kisses your panties through the gaps in his fingers without ever looking away, sending a lightning bolt of arousal straight to the deepest pit of your stomach.

you swear you see him stuff the fabric down the front of his pants before he heads back.

˚ ✧ ───

your little gift doesn’t last a chance in the shitty hiding place he picked, haphazardly thrown under the swell of his pillow while he eats lunch in the mess hall. all toji knows is that they were in his cell mates’ greedy little paws by the late afternoon, the two insufferable men huddled around the item like schoolgirls reading a magazine.

“how the fuck did you get these past customs?” geto asks in disbelief, turning the fabric over in the dim light. gojo runs a lithe finger over the lace border in silent interest. 

“didn’t get it in the mail dumbass,” your boyfriend sneers, snatching the black lace from both men with a huff. 

“so y’r broad snuck them to you, huh?” gojo teases, head hanging off the edge of the bunk with boredom. 

toji couldn’t stomp the two young men half to death like he usually would, disappointing as that was. he did only just get visitation rights back again after his last infraction.

the last time he’d beat geto’s face in was after the younger man had got his hands on a picture of you, earning toji 2 months in solitary confinement.

he really did think he was starting to go crazy, spending 22 hours a day in that padded room with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. being fed through a tray slot in the wall like a fucking zoo animal. 

more time in solitary meant less time with you. less time with the picture of you he tacked to the underside of the top bunk with a wad of gum, palming himself slowly as he takes in the sight of your sweet little smile he knows all too well.

less time with the soft clutch of your panties caressing the underside of his dick, catching milky ropes of cum as he finishes all over his stomach on the slab of metal this place calls a bed.

and a whole lot less time of getting to rut into you under the dim light of a spare storage closet, hours after dark. hand closed right around your lips as he takes you over and over and over.

so if toji had to bite his tongue till he drew blood and settle for jerking his dick raw as a distraction, then so be it. at least your little present would keep him good company till’ your next visit.

taglist🏷️

@honeybee54321 @m150-50up @kuryoomi @t4naiis @serendippindots @sillyalo @levixbby @powerrwa @tojishugetiddies @wheredidmycrowngo @unknownspecies @ushygushybaby @ebiharachan @hoshigray @crazychaoticizzy @denypipa @watyousayin @tempest1art @sakuraryomen01 @kariito-art @vkeyy @mxtokko @inumakiiz @rosieee491 @loveme-b4by @suguxo @namjoonsbuspass @tojis-luver @complexivelovely @dancingwithdeities @sunflwrsugar @catvader101 @ktsgrl @princessos-blog @4ut0p5y @swiftsongs-mp3 @mycocoapuffs @adrenepinephrine @na0koz @suguscape @jaswonder3 @bokutosprettylittlebimbo @getousrep @jeannieboys @darkstarlight82 @freebananabeard @vivian-555 @kentokaze @subarusuguru @aroxwq @i-literally-cant-with-this @emikokomura @moonriseoverkyoto

[meadowmines]

OC-Tober/Tojoctober Day 10: Boss

Believe it or not, Goro Goddamn Majima is not the worst boss Aoyagi has ever had. Oh, don't get it twisted--he's definitely in the top five (mostly because of that time he had Aoyagi shot in the back--long story, not what it looks like, it worked out okay but damn).

The night he finally let Aoyagi swear up, he said two things. First, that he didn't do the pinky thing. And second, if you fucked up, he'd make you wish he did the pinky thing.

He has made Aoyagi wish he did the pinky thing, more than once.

And really, if it was just the beatings, that'd be fine. Yes, Aoyagi realizes it's not actually fine and he's aware of how fucked up a view that is but look, it's the goddamn yakuza, a little random workplace violence goes with the territory. No, it's the other shit that costs Aoyagi hair, sleep, and sanity.

He hears "A-kun!" in that particular ominous singsong and just cringes because he knows he's about to get the most pants-on-head bananapants bullshit dumped onto his shoulders. It wasn't so bad when he ran the cafe. Somehow, the boss understood that running a restaurant is a lot of work and the general manager just can't be pulled off the job willam and nillam to emcee drag shows or peddle glow toys or dye baby chicks or whatever. But now that he's the Chief of Safety for Majima Fucking Construction, and now that he has an office in a trailer that's right there inside the gate, he can't go one damn day without getting yanked off his actual job to coordinate whatever extracurricular bullshit the boss got a wild hair up his ass to do. And however bad he gets this shit, Nishida gets it a hundred times worse. Aoyagi did not enjoy having to wrangle pizza and bouncy castles for the entire company, but at least he's never had to organize a citywide zombie LARP so the boss could impress his crush rival.

The boss invades his apartment at the worst possible times, drinks his beer, eats his food, steals his books, overwrites his game saves (and always names his characters something horrid), and is an otherwise intolerable houseguest. He calls Aoyagi and his bro at ungodly hours of the morning asking for a ride to Poppo for cigarettes and beer and swears he won't get in a street fight this time and if he does he won't drag Aoyagi and Nishida into it (he always gets in a street fight and he always drags Aoyagi and Nishida into it). Aoyagi always gets a little frisson of dread when Kiryu-san comes by the job site to hang out with the boss because for reasons he does not even want to begin exploring, they keep screwing RIGHT BEHIND HIS OFFICE.

But Aoyagi does get a little more leeway to call him on his bullshit than most people do, for reasons that are super unpleasant and that we're not going to discuss. He's one of the few people who can say sir, that's a bad idea and you should feel bad straight to the man's face and (usually) not get punched about it. He even gets a free I told you so if that bad idea ends up with him and his bro hauling the boss to the emergency room again.

And everyone knows about Majima beating the shit out of his men when they screw up... but not so many know about Majima just flinging wads of cash at them when they do good. Aoyagi has come home more than once to find autographed wrestling merch on his table that wasn't there when he left and while he's not a fan of the breaking and entering, he appreciates the sentiment.

If he needs to go to the eye doc or pay a bill or otherwise do some bit of mandatory adulting that can only be done during business hours on a weekday, he doesn't even have to ask. It's not even an issue. Shit, one of his prior bosses backed into his car on company time and then tried to dock his pay for taking an hour to talk to the insurance adjuster. Majima would never.

And then there's the gender thing which, damn near from the moment Aoyagi and Majima met, has been a complete non-issue. Unlike, say, this national chain on the other side of the Pacific which fired the top-grossing district manager in the company three years running because that hotshot district manager damaged their family friendly image (read: legally changed his name, cut his hair off, and started wearing a suit and tie to work in the year of our Lord two thousand and one).

Shit, even if you take the rest of the world out of the equation and just think of this in terms of yakuza bosses, Majima isn't even close to the worst. He has a reputation for taking in the rejects no other family will touch. The family of last resort, Aoyagi heard it called more than once, and that was about the kindest term for it.

But every single man in the family says the same thing, Aoyagi included: Majima helped them when nobody else would. Gave them jobs--the kind that could translate to honest ones later on, even. Made sure they had roofs over their heads and food on their tables. Gave them a family that really cared about them--for some of them, it's the only real family they've ever had. Saved their literal lives, in more than one case--including Aoyagi's.

And really? If the tradeoff for that is the occasional stolen book or I told you so run to the emergency room, Aoyagi can live with it.

[rachelsteapot]

Rescued: Tommy Shelby x Female!Reader Pt. 2

Here’s part 2 for all you lovely people :) Read part one Here 

Just to let you all know, I am aiming to post twice a week, Mondays and Thursdays, but I am currently on Easter break so when I return to 6th Form, that may change. I aim to post at least once a week during term time, but that is to be comfirmed. 

Thank you so so much for all the love and support that you have shown me for Rescued. I really wasn’t expecting this much love. You’re all wonderful!

Warnings: None 

Tags: @bat-luna-cat , @nothingleftthaticando

That evening, Tommy Shelby returned to Battersea cats and dogs home. 

He pushed the front door open and entered the foyer, where he had stood mere hours before. No one was there so he sat in one of the slightly battered looking seats and let himself relax. Today had been long, but by his standards, not overly eventful. He wanted to see his new dog, but also this girl that had caught his eye. 

Y/N, on the other hand, was shitting herself. 

The Thomas Shelby was here to collect a dog, one of her dogs, and she hadn’t made any considerations. If she’d have known, she would have had all the dogs lined up and ready. 

But she hadn’t. 

And all that was left to do was pray. 

Finally, she hauled herself from her self pity and appeared behind the desk to see the famous Mr Thomas Shelby light a cigarette. His stunning blue eyes met Y/N’s and her heart thudded in her throat. 

“Please follow me, Bruce is waiting for you,” Y/N gulped, watching Tommy’s coat sweep as he stood. 

Tommy watched as this girl, this woman, gracefully walked across the foyer, opening a different door to earlier. Upon entering, he found her crouched next to Bruce, stroking him gently and whispering. Finally she stood, taking a second to wipe tears from her eyes before she turned to him.

"I hope you love Bruce just as much as I do. He's been at Battersea for a couple of years now and, honestly, he's the best dog ever. I swear, he's got to be part human, he always knows how to comfort you," Almost as if to prove it, Bruce pushed his head into Y/N's hand and whimpered gently. 

Tommy felt his heart melt a little more for this woman. It was clear that this dog meant a lot to her. And for a moment, his heart ruled his head.

"You could always come with us." 

Y/N shot Tommy a confused look. This was not the Tommy she had heard about, and she was not about to become part of some cruel game.

"What do you mean, come with you? You're adopting a dog, not asking to marry me. At least ask me out to dinner first," Y/N blurted before she could stop herself. 

Tommy's eyebrow raised, but so did the corners of his lips. Then, followed a short chuckle.

"The Ritz, 8 PM tonight. Buy yourself a dress, I left an envelope in the donations box." 

"But the Ritz doesn't take dogs-" 

"They will if it's mine, come on Bruce," and with that, Tommy turned and strode out of the kennel. Y/N hurried after him with the bag of dog food, and found the Shelby brother stood next to a very expensive looking Bentley. Bruce followed obligingly and began sniffing at the wheels of Tommy's car while the two humans loaded his things. 

Once the car was loaded, Tommy hoisted Bruce into the passenger seat and shut the door, before settling himself in the drivers side. He turned, leaning out of the window and met Y/N's gaze once again. 

"The Ritz, 8 PM, don't be late," and with that, Mr Shelby and his new companion trundled away down the street. Y/N stood there, dazed, desperately trying to process what had happened. Then, she remembered the envelope. Y/N dashed inside and opened up the donations box, removing a pale envelope with her name printed neatly on it, and opening it. Inside was a wad of cash, easily amounting to near £100, although she didn’t care to count it before she stuffed it into her pocket. 

The next thing that Y/N’s whizzing brain realised, was that she would need to finish work early today, meaning that she would need to confront her mean, and rather sleazy manager, Mr. Smith. Mr. Smith was a middle aged man who tried to cover his rapidly receding hairline with a badly matched toupee. He seemed to have no inhibitions, and where his hands didn’t wander, his eyes definitely did. 

Gulping down bile, Y/N approached his office and knocked on the door. She heard a croak from within and opened the door, stepping into the shroud of cigarette smoke. 

“Mr. Smith, it’s Y/N. I’m just letting you know that Bruce has been paid for and collected, and the money is in the strong box under the main desk.” When she heard a grunt of approval, Y/N continued. “Also, Sir, I hope it’s not too much trouble, but I was wondering if Margerie and Alan could close up tonight without me? I have been having a few women’s issues and I feel I would be of more use tomorrow if I could have a few hours off tonight.” 

Upon the mention of women’s issues, Mr. Smith began to cough and splutter, nodding and waving his hand through the shroud of smoke. 

“Yes, leave, just know it will be deducted from your pay for this week!”

Y/N didn’t need to be told twice. She thanked Mr. Smith, and dashed from his office, wishing a brief goodbye to her co-workers as she went. 

Then, she was running towards the shopping district, once again praying to whatever god may be listening, but this time, in the hope that the shops were still open. 

Finally, it was 8 PM. Tommy had arrived at the Ritz not long before eight, and had settled himself and Bruce into a private room. He had ignored the protests of the concierge in regards to Bruce’s presence, and was adamant that it would stay this way. Now, all that was left to do, was wait. 

When Y/N finally arrived, she was escorted into the room by a smartly dressed waiter. Tommy had stood from his seat to politely welcome his quest, but when he saw her, his world flipped. 

Y/N was wearing a well fitted silver full length evening gown. It had small straps that fed into a plunging back, which Tommy had glimpsed as Y/N had turned to thank her escort. Gone was the ragged, almost street urchin looking girl, and instead in her place stood a young woman who could easily have been mistaken for the daughter of a lord. Y/N held herself differently too. Her posture was relaxed yet elegant, and her hands rested in her lap, holding a small silver bag. 

"Mr. Shelby? Is everything okay?" Y/N's query roused Tommy from his unsaintly thoughts as he cleared his throat and met his guest's eyes. 

"Yes, please, please sit." He directed, pulling out the chair opposite his for Y/N to sit on. She gracefully sat in the chair, stroking Bruce gently who had laid his head on her lap. 

"So, Mr. Shelby," 

"Tommy, call me Tommy."

Y/N gulped, "Tommy, why did you ask me here?"

"Because, Y/N, you intrigue me. I don’t often get to talk to people like you.” Tommy’s voice was calm and measured, a drastic contrast to the storm that was raging in his head. He picked up his glass and took a sip, watching the woman opposite him intently. 

“Shall we order some food? I expect you’re hungry.” 

The rest of the evening passed slowly, time running like honey. Y/N slowly allowed herself to relax, enjoying the company of a man for the first time in what felt like forever. And he was attractive too. 

Towards 10 PM, Tommy moved from the seat opposite Y/N to the seat beside her, their conversation flowing like the alcohol from their glasses.

“Y/N,” Tommy started after a prolonged period of comfortable silence. “How would you feel about coming back to Birmingham with me?”

Y/N was shocked. She had known this man less than twenty four hours and he was already suggesting she uproot her life and move halfway across the country to a completely different city. 

“I don’t know if I can, Mr. Shelby- Tommy. The dogs are all here, and so is my job, and my friends. I can’t just leave,” Y/N felt Tommy deflate slightly, only microscopically, but it was enough. 

Silence shattered the room. It wasn’t warm and comfortable, but cold, aggressive, heart breaking. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Shelby. Thank you for a lovely meal, I hope I may get to see you again. Please take good care of Bruce.” 

Y/N stood and turned, only to feel her hand catch on something warm and firm. 

Tommy felt his heart break as Y/N rejected his offer. This woman was like nothing he had ever encountered. She was intelligent, quick witted, able to drink just as much as he was, and stunningly beautiful. He was not going to let her get away that easily. 

So, Tommy reached out and grabbed her hand as she attempted to leave. He spun her around and pulled the young woman flush against him. 

“I can’t let you go just like that. Y/N, you intrigue me. You more than intrigue me. Please, come back to Birmingham for a day. We can see how it goes. I’ll get you a job at my company, you can meet my family, and then you can decide if you want in or out of my life. Please, Y/N. Please.”

Y/N felt Tommy’s hot breath on her neck, warming her heart. She could feel his body through his shirt, she felt the way that they fit. No one had ever felt so right. So she swallowed her pride and ignored the voice of reason. 

She was going back to Birmingham with Tommy, and that was final. 

[jeogiyall]

Pas De Deux; H.HJ

Word Count; 9.7k

Genre; Fluff, Childhood Best Friends to Lovers, Reader X Hyunjin

Warnings; Swearing, Suggestive, I would advise against reading if you have abandonment issues? It’s brought up a few times,,

Additional; Featured Chan, Felix, Jisung, and Minho; Ballerina Reader, Dance Partner Hyunjin, Reid once again writing about something that she has no idea how to do, (Sort Of) Slow Burn

A/N; when i tell u guys that i literally have no self control,, THE ORIGINAL DRAFT OF THIS WAS 10.46K ASFDSFS someone save me from myself. i’m sorry if anything’s inaccurate, i haven’t done ballet since i was like five and most of my research is from the unreliable internet,,, so if any ballerinas read this and are repulsed i’m sorry asdfdsa. please leave something nice if you enjoy <3<3<3<3

The last time that you saw Hwang Hyunjin was in fifth grade. You were wrapped up in each other on your front porch, him choking out tears as though it hurt. 

“Jinnie!” You cooed while running a hand through his short black hair, “I’m not dying, just going to boarding school!” His cries (along with the ringing guilt in your ears) only grew louder, “You’re really good at dancing, just audition next year!” He shook his head fervently against the crook of your shoulder, wet tears falling onto your skin.

“You know I suck at ballet!” If it weren’t for his palms pulling at his teary cheeks you would’ve giggled, maybe even teased him for the time in class that he almost broke his wrist while warming up at the barre. But he was crying, he was sad, and he was convinced that he’d never see you again. The sight alone was enough to make you pout, which only served to make him cry harder, “You could join my contemporary class for the summer?” He asked with starry, red eyes. It was almost enough to make you say yes.

“You know that I suck at contemporary!” The boy giggled at your counter, a sound that made your heart soar amidst all of the crying.

“Yea, you do...” He brought a hand up to his cheeks, trying desperately to wipe away tears that wouldn’t stop falling, “Just promise that you won’t forget me! I won’t forget you so you can’t forget me!” His pinky finger extended so it was nearly brushing the spot in between your eyebrows, and you were hit by the whispers of your first crush. With the summer days spent riding scooters in your driveway, and the winter ones spent sledding in it. With the long nights spent giggling about nothing underneath a blanket fort, or the endless days spent climbing trees in the bottomless woods behind the boys house. You were hit with the last five years all at once, and you knew instantly that even if he wasn’t standing in front of you with a teary face that you would still promise.

“I promise.” You answered while hooking your pinky in his as if it were a vow.

The school ended up being a perfect fit, your favorite part being the dorm room all to yourself. Even though it was small, and very ugly, it was all yours. Just like the friend group that blossomed out of your first ever co-ed class (which is sadly not a very interesting story. Han Jisung just made you swear to not dislocate his shoulders during partner stretches, and who are you to break a promise? Afterwards you received an invite to sit with him and his friend at lunch, the rest is history. Loud, annoying history.)

Nothing could’ve made it better... Well, nothing except for your sweet friend who had once occupied each thought in your head. Your sweet friend who’s summers were suddenly too full to see you, even for just a day. 

Your sweet friend who didn’t keep his promise.

* 

When it was announced that the contemporary and ballet branches of your dance institute would be merging for a year, your mind immediately jumped to Hyunjin. Despite not seeing him for almost six years. He always had such a passion for the style, making you miss out on hours of homework to watch videos of his favorite performers (it’s not like you minded too much, though.)

Han’s, on the other hand, was pure rage. Pure rage which he was letting out from your bed while watching you unpack.

“I just don’t get why they have to take a ballet class too! I have enough trouble getting solos as is.” The boy pouts while resting his head on your orange wood headboard. You’d feel sympathetic if it weren’t for the fact that he was blatantly lying, Han Jisung had gotten nearly every solo since eighth grade. Instead you roll your eyes dramatically and throw him a wadded ball of fabric from your suitcase. Naturally, he screams.

“Shut the fuck up and be helpful.” You scold, earning a childish whine while he sits up to fold the countless leotards. 

“Remind me why I missed you?” He grumbles just as your other, much nicer, friend walks into the cramped room.

“Aww, you missed me Sungie?” Felix asks, voice booming deeply through the space. The two of you instantly drop the clothes in your hands and run to the boy, which you should reprimand Jisung for seeing as he just lifted a finger. But you don’t, because Felix is here with more freckles than the last time you saw him and fresh pink hair that’s definitely going to be dyed natural again within the first week.

“Yes.” The energetic boy answers while worming his way into your hug. Felix giggles softly while petting Han’s dark brown hair before pressing noisy kisses all over his cheeks. He pokes Felix’s ribs as retaliation, to which the boy screeches (directly into your ear, might I add,) and it’s back to the normal, loud chaos “I will kill you!”

“Hey! No murder in my room, if you’re gonna do that go in the hallway!” You snap playfully, pushing Jisung away while moving back into the hug, “Help me unpack? Jisung hasn’t done shit.”

“Not fair!” The boy shouts from your bed, which he’s already plopped back down on.

“I’ll help, besides do you even want him folding your clothes?” You look over your shoulder to see Jisung with his hands tangled up in three different leotards, then back to Felix with terrified eyes. 

‘No,’ you mouth, eliciting another laugh from your friend. He moves over to the bed as well, then sets Jisungs hands free. The three of you talk mindlessly for hours, rambling on about Felix’s summer home and the month that you and Jisung spent traipsing around the boys hometown.

“How do you feel about the merger?” You ask suddenly, cutting Jisung off in the middle of an embarrassing story about a night spent at his house. Felix sighs deeply while tossing you the rolled leotard (your favorite one, light blue with pearls sewn around the collar,) while Jisung throws a wadded up pair of tights at your face.

“It’s fine I guess, just for a year right?” You shrug while the brunette puts on a grimace, hands suddenly very busy with folding, “They really need that rebuild, building’s falling apart. Ours is way better and we have extra room, so why not share?” 

“Tell that to the rat in my mini fridge.” Han grumbles while passing you a pile of black leotards. You laugh and accept, but not before ruffling his stiff hair. 

“Okay, I’ll make sure to do that the next time I’m in your room. Are you done bitching now?” The brunette pokes his tongue out at you jokingly, to which you respond with blowing a raspberry, “Felix is right, besides how terrible is it going to be? We’re all dancers right, and stuff like that is meant to be shared. Who are we to say that they can’t come and learn?” The room turns uncomfortably quiet, Jisung gnawing at his lower lip while Felix picks up his phone.

“Damn it!” The Australian exclaims as his screen lights up. You and Han look at him with furrowed eyebrows before he rolls his eyes and brings the phone up in between your faces, “Administration says I have to fix my hair.” 

Han doubles over with laughter, knocking the mountain of leotards (followed shortly by himself) onto the floor. You follow his lead, and before you know it the three of you are clutching your sides and wiping away happy tears. Felix’s hands ruffle into your hair with a hum, “Maybe I can try Jisungs color, hmm?” You duck away with a snort.

“No! I draw the line at matching hair!” The brunette defends, hands moving to cover the top of his head. Felix lunges at him, fully ready to engage in a tickle fight. Naturally, Jisung screams as if he’s being murdered. It should be annoying, any other time you would find it annoying. But these are your best friends, one of which you haven’t seen in over a month, and for some odd reason your heart feels so full that it could explode. 

“C’mon Lix, I’ll do your hair. What do you think about blonde?” 

And even though tomorrow your school is going to be flooded with new people, and your classes full of students who have probably never done more than basic positions, in the moment it feels okay. Because one of your best friends is screaming ‘NO DON’T TOUCH MY HAIR!’ while the other assures him that ‘It’ll probably most likely be okay! Look, she did mine!’ It’s a perfect chaos that you wouldn’t trade for anything.

*    

There have been plenty of strange coincidences in your life. Like how your first dog was named Felix, and it’s now the name of one of your best friends (who’s hair ended up looking perfectly fine, thank you very much.) Or how your usual waiter at the diner in Jisungs hometown ended up being the cousin of your first kiss. Or how your dorm room is the only one on the hall with painted walls, that just so happen to be your favorite color. Plenty of weird things, but none are as weird as this. Because you’re sitting on the floor of your second class of the day, ‘Intro To Pas De Deux,’ and Hwang Hyunjin has just entered through the side door. Two minutes late.

He’s hard to recognize at first, seeing as there’s more than an added foot of height and black hair that’s creeping down the back of his neck, but the more you look the more you recognize. Pillowy lips, full cheeks, a freckle right in the set of his eye bags. You’re not entirely sold until he laughs, a sweet and breathy sound. The laugh that’s always been three seconds away from turning into a wheeze.

“What’s wrong?” Jisung questions while pulling himself up by your hands, eyes following the line that yours draw to Hyunjin, “Do you know him or something?” 

You’re about to answer when Hyunjin finally turns around, eyes scanning the room before settling on you. He thinks that you look different, too. Taller and slimmer, everything that used to be squishy replaced with soft muscle. But there’s also the bridge of your nose, your hands that are barely gripping Jisungs, and of course your eyes that are staring at him like it hurts. 

“(Y/n?)” He questions, your name falling from his lips as though it’s meant to do so. You nod, mouth falling open dumbly. The boy takes a step forward then freezes.

“Is anyone going to tell me what’s going on? Or at least help me finish stretching?” Jisungs voice reeks of annoyance, you think that if you weren’t in such a state of shock that you’d flick him on the forehead.

“You go to the contemporary school?” Jisung doesn’t take well to being ignored, puffing loudly while scrambling to finish stretching at the barre. Your brain immediately flashes back to Hyunjins second ballet class in third grade, when you were teaching him your favorite warm up stretches. He ended up tangled in between the barre and the wall, which shouldn’t even be possible, but Hyunjin managed. 

“Um... Yea.” Every inch of your body is screaming to stand up and engulf him in a hug, but your legs feel like jello. That, and there’s a small feeling of anger rising in your throat, “L-let me help.” He plops down in front of you before you can say yes. You don’t have to though, Hyunjin still knows that you can’t refuse him. You take his hands in yours, definitely ignoring the pink flush to his cheeks, and pull his torso towards you. 

“It’s been six years.” The words come out choked, full of the pain from your first summer without him. When you’d spend hours playing out in the sun, knocking on your friends front door every morning. He was never there. 

“Sorry.” You want him to show some type of emotion, let you know that he cares. That he’s actually sorry for breaking his promise, “I tried to come and see you in July but you weren’t home.” 

“I was at Jisung’s house, we spend the summers together.” If you were more angry and less hurt you would say ‘now that I don’t spend them with you,’  but he’s still Hyunjin. He’s still Hyunjin, and you don’t think that you could handle the way he would frown at your snide remark. 

Jisung flashes you a look from his place at the barre that reads ‘Who is this guy and why do you look so sad?’ You let Hyunjin pull you into the stretch while responding with a gaze that says ‘I’ll tell you later.’  Hyunjins grip tightens on your hands as you exhale deeply into the stretch, the light blue fabric of your leotard brushing against the dance studio floor.

“(Y/n,) I-” Maybe it’s the way that he licks his lips before talking, or the fact that he looks so much and so little like your best friend at the same time, or possibly even how you can feel the way that he hugged you at your last meeting sitting on your shoulders like a winter coat, but his hands suddenly feel like fire.

“I have to go!” You exclaim, popping up out of the stretch and onto your feet in one swift motion. The boy looks up at you with puppy dog eyes that spark a feeling so intense in you that you have to look away, “I have to go, I-I’ll um... I’ll see you around.” You dash off to the spot in front of Jisung, silently thanking every star in the sky that Hyunjin doesn’t have a chance to follow you. Because just as soon as you get up someone else sits down and begins to excitedly ask the boy questions (he’s short, with a petite frame and an unfamiliar face. Probably another transfer student.)

“Did he say something to you?” Jisung asks as you jump into your favorite warm up routine. There’s not really a right way to answer, because did he say anything just now? No, but six years ago he said that he’d never forget you. He promised as much, and then spent every moment doing nothing but that. You exhale while your feet continue to move instinctively, a slight sense of peace washing over you at the comfort of a routine. 

“We should focus, class is starting soon.” Jisung whines and argues, but you just ignore him. Similarly to how you ignore Hyunjins gaze on you for the rest of the class. 

*

Ignoring Hyunjin is much easier than you anticipated. In class you can distract yourself with Jisung before the teacher comes in, and lunch is fine enough. While he is there, sitting at a table that’s painfully close to yours, he doesn’t try to talk. Or worse, come and snatch up the free seat across from Felix. But no, he does nothing of the sort. Just laughs with his friends and shoots the occasional glance your way (the one composed of sparkly eyes and lips that are a breath away from pouting.)

But then there’s now, standing in the doorway of your stage chemistry class and Hyunjin is all that you can see. Hyunjin, standing in the center of the room and pressing play on the terribly outdated stereo. Hyunjin, running a hand through his raven black hair and inhaling deeply with closed eyes. All you wanted was to get your jacket, but now you have enough Hyunjin for a lifetime.

Loud, bass heavy music swells in the room as he starts to move. At first the movements are jerky, awkward almost. But then the music decrescendos every so softly and he exhales, then proceeds to move as if the dance is being pulled out of him. As if this choreo is the way that he was programmed to move. When the song peaks you swear that you feel tears prickling the back of your eyes, because this is so Hyunjin. The way he’s dancing with every bone in his body, the way his hair is now dripping in sweat and flying all around him, the way his plump lips suck in air. It’s Hyunjin down to the core, and you’ve missed him so much.

When the music dies you clap slowly, causing the boy to shoot up like a frightened cat. He whips around to where you stand, softening like butter when he sees your frame leaned up against the wooden door frame.

“You scared me!” He shrieks, bringing up a hand to clutch his chest. It reminds you of your last Halloween with him, when the two of you got to trick or treat alone. Hyunjin decided that it would be a great idea to go to a fear farm, in which he screeched and clung to you the entire time. It wasn’t even that scary, he’s just a baby.

“Sorry.” You answer, mouth going as dry as the desert, “You, um... You’re really good.” He laughs flatly while moving over to his dance bag to pull out a towel. You watch as he dabs the sweat away, something stupid and needy churning in your stomach. You write it off as hunger.

“Thanks, I still suck at ballet though.” It’s a joke, you know it’s a joke, but something about laughing feels wrong.

“You don’t.” You take a step into the room, wandering over to where your windbreaker is piled on the floor next to the boy, “I’ve seen you in class, and you’re not bad. Just out of practice.” He lets out another flat laugh while dropping the towel, quickly exchanging it with a water bottle.

“Yea, about nine years out of practice. I barely even remember how to do a pirouette.” He’s trying so hard to make you laugh, just like the old days. The growing tension in your shoulders and lump in your throat is preventing that from happening.

“I can teach you.” You offer while shrugging the jacket on. Within seconds he’s babbling out excuses, which you wave off, “Don’t even worry about it, I need to practice anyways.” You bend down to untie your sneakers before moving to the center of the room, Hyunjin following in quick succession, “So you obviously know the proper foot technique, pointed toes only and all of that. And the retire position is just your foot in the notch above your knee.” You demonstrate it in the mirror, and even though he’s far from being a ballerina he’s done enough classes to know that you want him to copy it, “Yea, good. It looks good.”

“Where are my shoulders supposed to be?” He asks shyly, not used to questioning such simple things.

“Back, always back. Now check that your hips aren’t tilted, I-I’ve always been told to imagine that they’re a fruit bowl.” You steal a quick glance at the boy while he’s adjusting, heart fluttering the same way that it did so many years ago, “Okay, now um... Now put your feet into fourth position, just like that yea, then bend your knees and push off from your back leg.” You do the turn, a motion so natural that it might as well be brushing your teeth, “Like that, easy peasy!” The boy scoffs while bringing up his arms the same way that you had yours just seconds ago.

“Yea, easy peasy for you!”  A soft giggle falls from your lips, bouncing off the walls of the empty studio (as well as Hyunjins ears.)

“C’mon!” You tease while moving around to face him, a soft smile playing at your lips, “You see me mess up in class all of the time, just go for it. The worst that could happen is being wrong.” He nods, then exhales shakily. When he does the turn it’s a bit wobbly, but definitely not anything worse than what you’ve seen before.

“Oh my god, (Y/n) that was terrible like genuinely awful-” The words feel harsh, but he’s wearing a bright smile and laughing like there’s not a care in the world. You can’t help but laugh too.

“No, no! It was fine!” You assure through a laugh as he gets back into position. From the corner of your eye you see him mouth ‘liar,’ which earns him a harsh flick between the eyes, “Just bring your hips a little more forward like...” It’s instinctual for your hand to fall onto his hipbone, something you’ve done to Felix hundreds of times. The main difference is that when you adjust Felix he usually tells you to fuck off, then softly knees your stomach. When you do it to Hyunjin he audibly chokes and you feel fire ignite beneath your fingertips, “Like this. Now go into fourth and try again, but keep your hips aligned!” The boy nods before sinking into position and pushing up into a flawless turn.

“I did it!” He exclaims, hands flying up like he’s about to hug you, “You were right, you were right I did it!” Something about his wide, excited eyes makes every wall built around your heart crumble into dust. So you accept the hug, once again allowing yourself to fall victim to the sweetness that is Hwang Hyunjin.

“I was what, I was... Did you say right?!” He rolls his eyes at your teasing, trying desperately to pretend like he didn’t miss it. It’s useless, because the way that Hyunjin’s holding you let’s you know that he’s missed you just as much as you have him, “Alright big guy, let me go. I’ve got studying to do and shoes to break in.” He whines lowly, arms trying to grab you as you snake away. 

“Can we get dinner together or something?” He begs, hand briefly tangling itself in yours. You fight down the blush rising to your cheeks while pulling your hand away and stuffing it into your pocket.

“Not tonight, you have to keep practicing those pirouettes! But don’t worry, you’ll be seeing more of me... Partner.” Hyunjin smiles widely at your words, realization settling in as quickly as they leave your mouth.

“Do you mean...?”

“Yes,” You exhale, mentally preparing for another bone crushing hug, “I’ll be your partner for class.” 

Hyunjins hug is almost nice enough that you forget about how annoying Jisung’s going to be when you tell him.

*

It turns out that the friends Hyunjin made are almost as amazing as the ones that you did. Everyone was a little awkward when the two groups first merged, specifically Jisung who was still butt hurt about you switching partners. But then Felix got to talking with Chan (the person who’s been mothering your friend ever since he started at the contemporary institute. From the way they talk, Hyunjin would’ve both starved and failed if it weren’t for the older boy,) and suddenly everyone was meeting in your room on Fridays for a weekly game of uno. 

“Absolutely not, you’re fucking cheating!” Minho (the other new face from your stage chemistry class,) shouts while pointing a finger across the card pile and into Jisungs face. The boy moves to jokingly bite at it, causing Chan’s eyes to go as wide as the moon.

“No, no, no! No murder, and no biting what the hell!” You snort at your new friends bewildered expression while passing a canned sparkling water to Hyunjin. He accepts with a smile before mouthing ‘they’re insane!’ Felix sees and proceeds to nail him in the face with your favorite throw pillow.

“Says the guy who sleeps in socks-” Hyunjin throws the pillow back harshly, causing Chan to damn near pass out. It’s all that you can do to not roll over with laughter.

“My feet get cold.” He grumbles with a pout that makes both you and Minho coo from your spots beside the boy.

“Okay, okay, Minho just pick up the cards and let’s keep going? I’m about to finish!” The boy grumbles angrily, all ‘stupid card game’ and ‘I don’t wanna pick up twenty cards!’ You lock eyes with Chan from across the card pile, taking brief solace in the presence of someone else with a functioning brain.

“So we all know that (Y/n’)s about to win, and that she’s my best friend and favorite duet partner,” Everyone answers him with an immediate ‘rude,’ which makes a girlish giggle bubble up in your throat, “which is why it makes me so terribly sad to do this.” You watch closely as he dramatically pulls a card from his hand then places it on top of the deck, a fat draw four staring you straight in the eyes. Everyone goes silent while watching your face fall drastically.

“Hwang Hyunjin, I am going to-” The room bursts into chaos before you even finish the sentence. In the end there are about twelve fresh bruises, six entirely hoarse sets of vocal chords, and one demolished dorm room. Just a normal Friday night.

Except for the way that your heart stutters when Hyunjin mouths a simple ‘love you’ over the bustling group. That’s not normal, but you think that you like it.

*

“Hyunjin, if you keep your hands there I’m going to fall.” You say to your duet partner, whose hands are wandering aimlessly up your torso. They’re supposed to be on your hips, serving as an anchor for your body while it dips towards the ground. 

“Sorry, sorry.” The boy mumbles, not entirely meaning it. It’s impossible to be sorry when he can physically feel your heart speed up beneath his hands.

“Try to sound just a little bit less convincing next time, okay?” You shimmy slightly in a futile attempt to move his hands, which only makes him laugh brightly. If it weren’t for your less than ideal position (halfway bent into a split with every ounce of your weight balanced on the tips of your toes,) you would hit him.

“Do you want me to drop you, because I can drop you if it’s what you want-” The teacher snaps her fingers, pulling everyone’s attention out of the various warm up routines and to the front of the room. Hyunjins hands pull away from your torso so quickly that it burns.

“No dropping dance partners on purpose, that’s the first rule of building stage chemistry.” She chastises, eyes brushing briefly over your friend which causes him to turn thirty shades of pink. You giggle quietly to yourself before sticking your tongue out at him, “But of course, you can’t truly start to build a connection until there’s material. So that’s what we’re doing today, I’ve assigned each group with a pas de deux, or ‘dance for two’. Whoever I think shows the most promise within the next week will be given the opportunity to enter in the regional competition.” She says opportunity, but the stern tone of her voice means that whoever she picks will definitely have to do the competition.

Everyone floods to the front of the class before she even finishes, Hyunjin moving to do so as well before you quickly grip his wrist.

“She didn’t say to go yet, and if we want to qualify for that competition we’re going to have to start kissing up now.” You keep your face forward, chin up and shoulders back, but even then you can feel Hyunjins smile, “What?!”

“You want to do the competition?” He sounds hopeful, nearly childlike.

“Of course! That’s like half the reason I go to school here, the competitive atmosphere.” People are starting to settle back into place, your teacher wearing a look of utter annoyance. Hyunjin doesn’t seem to notice, seeing as his mouth keeps moving.

“I’ve only known how to do a pirouette for a month, and I still can’t really get my double. You’d have a better chance with Han, or-” As soon as the teachers back is turned you whip around to your babbling partner, hands planted firmly on his broad shoulders. It takes a second for his eyes to meet yours, but when they do he nearly melts.

“I don’t want to do it with anyone else, I want to do it with you. And just because your double isn’t perfect doesn’t mean that it’s not good so stop stressing.” He looks down for a second, cheeks growing as pink as your shoes. By force of habit you hook a hand beneath the boys chin and force him to look at you, “I mean it.” He swallows harshly, then nods. With a sigh you let go of the boy and return to your previous (assigned) position. Just in time too, seeing as the teacher turns around right as you settle next to the boy.

“You may check your assignments at the end of class, if you haven’t done so already.” You flash a knowing glance to Hyunjin, almost as if to say ‘I told you so.’ He knows better than to argue.

At the end of class you go up to look with Jisung while Hyunjin gathers your things for you, the short brunette babbling excitedly about the previously mentioned regional’s. 

“I thought that you don’t do partner work?” You tease lightly while ducking down to look at the list.

“I don’t, but neither does my partner! So we’ll just be okay at...” He bends next to, head full of brown hair hitting you straight in the eyes, “Romeo and Juliet?” You bite down a laugh while pushing the boy away.

“Don’t try to fight it, you’re such a Romeo. Just like I am such a... Lise!” The boys face contorts with jealousy as he ducks back down, once again knocking your heads together.

“You guys got La Fille mal gardee? And the ribbon dance?!” You giggle back a small yes while pinching the boys frowning cheeks, “No fair! Absolutely no fair, I have to do stupid Romeo and Juliet and you got my favorite ballet, no fair!”

“It’s my favorite too!” You defend, which ends up being pointless because both Hyunjin and Jisung chorus back with ‘not true!’ 

“Your favorite is swan lake.” Hyunjin states while sliding your dance bag onto your shoulder. Maybe it’s the fondness in his action, or the way that he named off your favorite ballet as though it was a fact ingrained into his brain, but your heart swells so large that you swear it could pop like a balloon. 

“Okay,” you exhale, hand moving to the spot where his fingers were ghosting just seconds ago, “one of my favorites.”

*

At your first rehearsal for regionals you and Hyunjin are given the ribbon to use, seeing as it’s literally the ribbon dance. Practicing without it was honestly getting awkward, which is unfortunate seeing as the boy nearly got it taken away within minutes. 

“Look (Y/n,) I’m a present!” He had exclaimed, causing you to whip around to the sight of your partner with a pink silk bow tied around his chin.

“Oh no, Hyunjin!” You whispered through a quiet laugh, moving towards him to untie it, “You are so ridiculous!”

“What? Am I not a gift?” He pouted while trying to pull your hands away, which earned him nothing but a harsh smack on the wrist. You slipped it off his face and behind your back just as the teacher walked in the door to give the ‘your ribbon is not a toy,’ talk.

At the second you describe the plot of La Fille mal Gardee, which proves to be slightly (read: very confusing.)

“Wait wait wait, she doesn’t even like the other guy?!” He asks while shaking his head cutely, black hair bouncing along with the motion. If it gets any longer he’s going to have to start putting it up.

“Nope, not one bit.” His eyebrows furrow as he starts to grumble ‘this is kind of stupid,’ earning a giggle and a push to the shoulder, “No it isn’t! It’s funny, and sweet! I really relate to Lise and her... Character arch I guess.”

“Isn’t she the girl who needed guarding or something like that?” His tilts to the side, teeth catching ever so slightly on his puffy pink lips.

“Yea,” You exhale with a quickening heart rate, “something like that.” There’s silence for a minute, nothing but Hyunjin shaking his head and sighing softly.

“That’s not you. No one needs to guard you.” For some reason your brain flashes back to the third summer alone (that awkward stage where you were too old to make new friends and too young to go see Jisung,) when you spent everyday walking through the woods alone. Sometimes you would just walk until the sun went down and your only company was the stars, but most days you would find a new place to sit down and hum out the motifs of your favorite ballets, “No one.”

For a moment you think that he’s right.

The fourth rehearsal (exactly one week after the first) is when you get to a stage kiss in the choreography, your teacher describing the motions along with a recording that’s projecting on the back wall. It starts with the boy pulling in the girl by the ribbon, then swooping down to meet her lips with a smile. Then she twirls away, leaving your skin hot and crawling. 

“We’re um... A-are we gonna do that?” Hyunjin asks through a whisper, leaning close enough that you can feel his breath. It’s warm and smells like spearmint.

“We’ll know when we get there I guess, now pay attention!” You push his face away from yours and back to the projection, watching as the couple wraps each other up in the silky ribbon.

When you do finally get there an hour later he looks so nervous that he could puke. Your teacher shouts out the next move, ‘kiss and then twirl away,’ which only adds to the painful drumming of your heart.

“It’s okay, (Y/n,) you don’t have to.” His voice is low, hushed. Almost like he doesn’t want anyone else to hear.

“No, no! It’s okay, I’ll just...” You lean forward as much as you can with the ribbon hugging your waist and press a feather light kiss onto the tip of his nose. The teacher coos, maybe even praises the two of you on the developing stage chemistry. You don’t hear it. You don’t hear anything over the erratic beating of your heart, “I’ll just do that, okay?” He swallows dryly, eyes flashing quickly down to your lips then back up to your sweet gaze.

“Y-yea, perfect.” There’s something building up in the space between your bodies, so thick that you could spread it over toast, “You should twirl away, right?” You nod, wanting desperately to stay. To kiss him in an earth shattering way.

A part of you thinks that you shouldn’t. That Hyunjin has the power to ruin every part of you, and that wanting to give that to him after your hearts already been broken is foolish. But you do, you want to. Because loving Hyunjin feels good enough that the pain doesn’t matter.

After the fifth rehearsal the two of you feel as though you’ve torn every muscle in your body. Your teacher decided within the first twelve minutes that the two of you would benefit from some conditioning, which resulted in you and Hyunjin holding side by side planks (as well as other terrible positions) and muttering curses for a solid hour.

“I’m gonna collapse.” Hyunjin whines, plopping down onto the hardwood floor beside his dance bag. Something that’s probably supposed to be a laugh falls out of your mouth before you pull the water bottle from your bag.

“At least you haven’t been wearing pointe shoes all day.” You groan while moving the bottle to your mouth. A mouthful of water slides down your throat right as the boys face twists into one of horror.

“Oh gosh, oh no I’m so sorry!” You try to wave the black haired boy away, which only makes him feel worse, “No, no! I wanna help let me umm... Come back to my room? I can set up a foot bath with...”

“Epsom salts.” You answer after swallowing another swig of water, “But I have all of the stuff in my room, I can take care of it.” Hyunjin whines again while rolling over onto his stomach and pushing himself into a sitting position. There’s a bead of sweat dripping down the bridge of his nose, something that you shouldn’t focus on. It catches on the tip before falling delicately onto his collar bone.

“I wanna take care of it,” It feels like all of the air has been sucked out of the room, “just... Here, wear my jacket into the building so no one can see that you’re uh... A girl.” You try to argue again, but then your cheeks are squished in between his hand and his eyebrows are furrowed just enough for it to be cute, “Let me take care of you.”

And really, how could you say no to that?

*

“Hwang Hyunjin, you are my favorite person in the world.” You sigh, feet dipping into the warm cloudy water. He plops down next to you with a laugh and arms full of snacks.

“Can I get that in writing? You know, just to prove it to Jisung.” Laughter bounces off of his dorm walls, filling the boys brain with childhood memories. Like the time that you two were riding scooters in your driveway and just as the sun started to set you skinned your knee. Hyunjin had thought for a minute that the shaking of your shoulders was sobbing, but quickly discovered by a tilt of your chin and hands wrapped around your sides that you were indeed laughing. Beautiful, clear laughter complete with sunshine dripping from your skin. It was the first time he can remember thinking that someone was beautiful.

“Yes!” You exclaim, effectively pulling the boy from his memory, “But only if you give me food.” He giggles tiredly, a sound so sweet that it might as well be honey, and tosses a bag of pita chips your way.

“You don’t even have to ask.” 

You’re supposed to go back to your dorm at eleven, thirty minutes after arrival. But then Hyunjin starts talking about anything and everything, ranging from how he met Minho to the old building of his school. The way he chuckles sleepily while reminiscing on water logged ceilings is enough to make you melt.  

Somehow your head ends up pulled against his chest, rising and falling with his breaths. There’s an arm tied around your waist like ribbon, lips softly brushing your hairline as he mumbles endlessly about everything, your leg across his lap as though they’re supposed to be. 

“What time’s it?” You slur, clenching onto the fabric of his shirt. It smells like spice and fresh pine and Hyunjin. So much like Hyunjin.

“Midnight.” You think to yourself that it’s time to leave, that if any of the staff found out about this you’d be dead. You also think that Hyunjin smells like fresh pine and that he’s holding you in a way that you’ve never been held.

The sound of his even breathing and the weight of his arms on you lulls you to sleep in a matter of minutes.

*

When you wake up it’s to the obnoxious blaring of Hyunjins alarm. The boy whines lowly before punching it into snooze. It’s enough to make you laugh, then pull your head away from the cradle of his chin.

“C’mon sleepy, it’s time to get up. What do you have for breakfast?” If it weren’t for your hair tickling his cheek or the way your torso writhes beneath his arm he would be annoyed by your chirping voice. After the hundreds of early mornings school has thrown your way you can’t really help but be a morning person. 

“More sleep, that’s what I have.” He grumbles as you crack the curtains open, trying desperately to pull the comforter over his eyes.

“You need food to fuel your body Hyunjin-” Before you can finish lecturing him an arm shoots up from beneath the gray blanket, crashing your body onto his with a sleepy groan.

“M’ just kidding.” He pulls you under the blanket with him, mimicking the first time he spent the night at your house. You two stayed up until the sun was rising, hidden away from the world by the fluffy pink comforter of your childhood bedroom, “Protein bars are in the closet and apples’r on top of the mini fridge.

It’d be so easy to skip classes and stay here all day, not a care in the world besides the sweet boy that you’re currently tangled in. A part of you wants to melt away and give in, but a bigger part knows that doing that is a commitment. Like saying that you’re his to hold and break however he pleases. It’s the scariest thought that you’ve had in months.

“W-we should get going. Yea?” The words sound like you’ve been choking on them. A fact that Hyunjin takes notice of, eyes growing sad and attentive as his arms wiggle away from your waist.

“Yea, yea. Minho will be here in ten minutes, we walk to pas de deux together.” Before you can help it your expression turns panicked, eyebrows shooting up as your jaw drops open, “Sorry! He’s not gonna tell anyone or anything I promise!” Something clenches in your chest at the sight of him sitting up in bed, black hair sticking up every way that it can.

“I know he won’t, it’s just...” You look down at your body, clothed with Hyunjins sweatshirt and a pair of his long socks (turns out that he was onto something with the whole ‘sleeping in socks’ thing,) “I don’t want him to get the wrong idea.” His gaze shoots up to meet yours, so soft and relaxed that you could cry.

“Which would be?” There’s a pounding in your ears that’s quickly recognizable as a heartbeat. 

“That we’re together.” It’s barely above a whisper, but Hyunjin hears you loud and clear. From the light tremble to the breathy finish, he hears you.

“We could be, if that’s what you want.” He puts a hand on your shoulder, an action familiar enough that it’s normal yet tender enough that your cheeks are flushing pink, “Is that what you want?” 

“I-I, um...” Your heart is screaming yes, that you want to be his and only his. That while you aren’t a girl who needs to be guarded, you are a girl who wants to be guarded. Guarded from everything by Hyunjins thin comforter and strong arms.

But then you think about the promise that Hyunjin broke. The promise that he wouldn’t forget you, and then broke less than twenty-four hours later. You think about how badly you’ve wanted to spend the last day of summer with him every year since. Your mouth opens right as a knock sounds against his door, “Can we talk about this later?” Hyunjin nods lightly while getting up to grab two apples off of the top of the mini fridge. 

“I’m so sorry for however he reacts.” The boy groans under his breath, offering you a light green apple along with an apologetic smile. You accept, smiling back before popping out of bed to pull your dance bag over your shoulder.

“It can’t be that bad, Minho’s level headed.” If it weren’t for the fact that Hyunjin still has a question lodged in his throat he would’ve laughed.

You’re the one who finally opens the door, interrupting Minho mid-knock. At first he looks aggravated, ready to launch into a long speech about how ‘timeliness is important’ and ‘you always fucking make us late’ but when his eyes meet you his jaw goes slack. 

“What the f-”

If the sound of Minho screeching wasn’t telling enough, you were very very wrong.

*

The next four days are spent dancing around Hyunjins burning question, constantly talking about anything else or switching the topic when it seems like he might bring it up. At first he barely notices, simply assuming that you need time to mull it over, but then Jisung and Chan sit in on a lunchtime rehearsal.

The dance is coming along perfectly, so much so that the boys don’t even notice your hesitations. Hyunjin sees it though. Sees the way that your hands tremble before planting on his shoulders, the way that your face looks sad after pressing the soft kiss onto his nose. While he hasn’t seen you dance as much as Jisung or Felix probably have, he’s still seen enough to know that you’re never like this. Never uncertain.

“What was that about?” The boy asks after the rehearsal, hands crossed against his chest. You’re going to ignore him, focus on nothing other than getting out of your pointe shoes and off to your next class, but then his dark brown eyes catch on yours, “Seriously!”

“What are you talking about?” You respond, fingers working quickly to undo the ribbons around your ankles. A sigh leaves your mouth as one shoe slips off and into your bag, quickly moving to the other one before Hyunjin can continue the questioning.

Turns out that your friend is terrible at picking up on social cues.

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.” Your head is briefly pulled up from the floor as his voice grows impossibly soft, your heartbeat faltering ever so slightly. There’s a quiet goodbye as Jisung and Chan leave the studio, “Y-you scared me.”

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, throwing the second shoe into your bag while a lump takes form in your throat. If he wasn’t your best friend then he would think that you’re just tired, or hungry, or anything other than deflecting. But he is your best friend, who knows that being tired or hungry only makes you sad. Your best friend who knows that you’re deflecting harder than you ever have before.

“It’s okay, just tell me. Please.” His last word is so hushed that you can barely hear it, but it’s there. Light, and airy, and perfectly there, “Is this about what I asked?” Before you can help you’re nodding, once again giving this boy every part of you that can break.

“Yea, kind of.” It feels like your mouth is full of cotton, leaving you uncomfortably hot along with speechless. A loud sigh rings through the studio as Hyunjin slides down to meet your height, hands burying into his raven black hair. The sight takes you back to the last day of fifth grade; you and him holding each other on your front porch as if the world was ending, your hands tangled into his hair.

“Is it because you don’t want to?” There’s his eyes on yours, your chest heaving, and nothing else in the entire universe. Just (Y/n,) the girl who wants to be guarded, and Hyunjin, (Y/n’)s beloved.

“No.” 

“Then why didn’t you say yes?” Right now feels like when you’re at a competition, in the middle of a variation that’s been giving you hell since you started working on it. It’s seconds before the hardest part, the one that you’re still not sure of. It’s the adrenaline rushing through your veins and the words ‘now or never’ echoing with each timed exhale.

“Because. How do I know that you won’t forget about me when summer comes?” Your words hit him like a punch to the gut, causing his lips to part and then heave for air. 

“I-I never forgot about you.”

“Yes you did!” There are tears prickling the back of your eyelids, which you quickly blink away before continuing, “I waited for you outside your house every day! And then, when you wouldn’t show up, I-I’d spend every day alone. Doing what we used to do together, but by myself! I was all by myself and I missed you so much, Jinnie. So, so much.” He’s going to tell you that you’re wrong. That while all of those things happened, he never ever forgot about you.

But then there’s that old nickname, the one reserved specifically for family and you. He hasn’t heard it in months, and when he finally does it’s rolling out of your mouth like a plea soaked in honey. Something that’s going to stick with him for forever.

“(Y/n,) please-” You’re up and out of the door before he can even finish.

*

It’s a dreary Friday morning, rain trickling down your window and painting your room a gray shade of blue. With a deep inhale you realize that everything is finally smelling like fall, which only solidifies the fact that you never want to get out of bed. Unfortunately you have a class in half an hour that you do kind of need to go to. 

But it’s not too terrible. Maybe if you were getting up to go take a math class, or run a marathon, but you aren’t. You’re getting up to go to ballet class, and you can wear your favorite leotard again (the light blue one, with pearls sewn around the collar,) and the rain outside is heavy enough to be calming but light enough that you can fend it off with an umbrella. The only thing that could make this morning any better is your favorite childhood breakfast, honey nut cheerios with strawberry milk.

Which is, oddly enough, sitting outside of your door when you open it to head off to the dining hall. A gallon sized jug of bright pink milk next to a family size box of your favorite cereal, just sitting in the middle of the hallway with a folded piece of paper resting precariously on top. Something about this has Hyunjin written all over it. You lean down to pick up the note, reading it about a thousand times over before rushing back into your room to wolf down the breakfast that you haven’t had in months.

‘(Y/n,)

I never forgot you.

Come to my room tonight after rehearsal. Please.

Sincerely, Hyunjin.’ 

When you two do the first full run through of the pas de deux that night he holds you extra tight. Maybe because he misses you. Maybe because he thinks that after tonight he’ll never have the chance to do so again.

But when he opens the door to his dorm room you see pink fluffy blankets folded on his bed. On top of them is a basket, filled to the brim with every last one of your favorite things. Strawberries dipped in chocolate like the ones your mother would make on hot summer nights, snickers bars like the ones that you two would share after days spent in your driveway, glass bottled lemonade like you would buy from the stand up the street.

“I may or may not have also bought your favorite movie. Well, if it’s still Barbie And the Twelve Dancing Princesses.” A giggle sounds through the room, bouncing around the walls and then back onto Hyunjins burning cheeks.

“It is, but don’t tell Jisung!” Rain starts to fall again, the soft pitter patter mixing perfectly with the boys soft laugh. His hand grazes briefly against the small of your back as he starts to guide you into the tight room, “I’m serious! Him and Lix will make fun of me!” The pout on your face is enough to melt anyone’s heart, which is why Hyunjin doesn’t even think twice when his knees go weak as jelly.

“My lips are sealed.” He says, walking over the boxy tv (that certainly wasn’t there last week) on his desk and inserting the disc, “Now sit back and enjoy.”

It’s not a hard request to fill, your tired body sinking immediately into the fluffy blankets and mouth watering each time you bite down on a strawberry. Rain continues to patter softly against the window, the sound occasionally being replaced by a loud roll of thunder which makes the boy next to you jump. You had laughed at the action, asking softly if he was scared. It was a rhetorical question, you know fully well that he’s always been scared of thunder.

“No! Yes, shut up.” And if you mind that the boy cuddles softly into your side, one arm wrapped around the curve of your waist while the other holds a chocolate strawberry, you don’t say so. 

The two of you stay tangled up in each other like that until the credits roll, Hyunjins breathy sigh hitting your cheek as he shifts to get up. You watch with heartfelt eyes as he crosses the dimly lit room, his black hair briefly sweeping across his eyes. You want to reach up and push it away, but right as you manage to sit up straight he’s done with it and headed back to the bed. With a short laugh you realize that your noses are touching.

“Hi.” The word comes at as a short exhale, leaving a taste on your tongue that’s sweeter than chocolate strawberries.

“Hey.” Your heart flutters at the sound, an exhale laced together with a smile, as his arms return to their previous spot around your waist. There’s probably nothing in the world brighter than the smile he wears for you. Stage lights, the sun, every last star in the sky rolled into one. None of it even comes close to the way that his pink lips stretch perfectly from cheek to cheek, “Do you finally believe me?” He brings up a hand to caress your cheek gently, as though to rub away tears that haven’t fallen.

“Believe wh-”

“Do you believe that I never forgot you? That I never forgot any of you, not even the little things like your favorite color or what you liked to eat for dinner. Maybe I pulled away, but I think it’s because even then I knew how badly losing you would hurt. I-I knew that I never wanted to lose you, which is just what I did...” He swallows harshly, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip, “But I’ll never do it again. I’ll never lose you, and I’ll never forget you a-and... And I don’t want to remember you anymore, (Y/n.) I’m so done with remembering, let’s just be.” There’s something stuck in your throat, but it doesn’t hurt the way that tears do. No, this is a release gathering inside of you. One that’s waiting for you to finally give in.

“Hyunjin,” His fingers cradle the curve of your jaw, sending goosebumps down every inch of your body, “kiss me.” And that’s all the confirmation he needs to brush his lips over yours.

At first it’s gentle, almost questioning. Like he’s asking one last time ‘Is this okay?’ But then your hands tangle in his black hair, the way that they’ve been aching to since you first saw him, and he knows that you’re okay. More than okay, you’re in love. With every muscle in your body, you’re in love.

Hyunjin’s hand that was previously holding your face drops back down to your waist and pulls you in softly. They then travel down to your thighs, eliciting a soft gasp from your lips before he picks you up and guides you onto the bed. Every movement is so perfect yet raw, feeling like the stuff of ballets. Until your back hits an unopened glass bottle of lemonade, that is. The sudden cold is enough to make you jump.

“What?!” Hyunjin questions, eyes shooting as wide as saucers, “Did I hurt you?!” A laugh sounds through the room while your hand detaches from his hair, opting instead to reach around your body and remove the glass bottle that’s poking you in the least conventional way possible.

“No.” You answer through soft giggles, bringing up the bottle to lightly tap his forehead, “There’s just a lemonade poking me in the ass.”

He flushes bright pink before answering with a tiny ‘oh’ and burying his face into the crook of your neck. If you were less malleable you would’ve teased him even more, but then there are warm kisses on your skin and nothing in your head.

“I love you.” He whispers, head slowly moving until his lips are against your jaw. You’re going to answer, really, but then there are soft lips on your chin and a smile ripping through your body, “I love you.” 

“M-me too.” You stammer dumbly, body going entirely limp as he (finally) presses another kiss onto your lips. The boy pulls away entirely too soon, but it’s okay. There’s something that you need to finish saying, anyways, “I love you too, Jinnie.”

When you fall asleep that night it’s to the sound of pattering rain, with Hyunjins arms guarding you from the world. 

*

The bus back from regionals is quiet, the few sounds that do come about being Chan and Felix whispering softly or Minho giggling at Jisung snoring. You’re about there too, but who can blame you when Hyunjins hands are buried in your hair (which is both stiff and wavy from a combination of hairspray and braided buns.) If you close your eyes and focus really hard you can even feel the rise and fall of his chest where it’s connected with your back. 

“Who’s gonna keep our trophy?” The boy questions, lips moving softly against the shell of your ear. It generates a warm feeling in your gut, one that spreads quickly to your cheeks and ears.

“We’ll trade it off on the weekends. Like divorced soccer parents.” He giggles softly, moving forward to kiss your temple.

“Are you trying to tell me something?” If you were a little bit less tired, or a little bit less in love, then maybe you’d joke back. But you’re wrapped up in him like a ribbon on your waist, foot nudging against a plastic first place trophy while his lips move against you in a way that you could get drunk off of.

“Never.” You answer, hand coming up to wrap around his as if it were a vow, “Never.”

[singledarkshade]

Trapped

Summary: Rip and John are trapped by a cave in. Author Note: Just to note all my medical knowledge comes from ER and Greys Anatomy.

 Pain was the first sensation he felt as he made his way back to consciousness, it was like several small daggers stabbing into his leg while his arm was numb. As he forced himself not to succumb to the welcome blackness once more, he realised there was someone talking to him.

It took him a few seconds to focus on the voice but finally it became clear.

“Come on, wake up you mad bastard.”

John frowned, Rip was regaining consciousness but with the very obviously broken leg, head wound and possibly a broken arm John knew it wasn’t going to be a pleasant way to wake up. The cave in hadn’t done either of them any good but Rip had shoved John out of the way of falling rocks meaning he was worse off. John had busted ribs and his ears were still ringing.

“Cons…Cons…John?” Rip asked groggily.

“Got it in nearly one,” John noted, moving slowly over to the other man, “Should I ask how you feel or just assume it’s the same as you look?”

Rip licked his dry lips, “Is it that bad?”

“Well you won’t be winning any beauty contests,” John told him, “But you wouldn’t normally.”

“Ha ha,” Rip drawled sarcastically, wincing in pain.

Carefully kneeling beside the other man, John moved his finger in front of Rip’s eyes checking for a concussion, which he clearly had.

“What do you remember?” John asked trying to find out how bad a concussion.

Rip closed his eyes for a moment, trying to focus before replying, “Energy spike. I followed it to these caves, and you were already here. We…we…” he frowned for a moment before grimacing, “You probably set off a security system and there was a cave in.”

“I set off the security system?” John demanded as he ripped a piece of his shirt to try to stop the bleeding from Rip’s head, “I’m sure you were the one who did that.”

Rip grimaced when John pressed the wad of material to his head, “There must have been sensors in the wall and if you’d waited two seconds I could have deactivated them…ow,” he cried in pain as he jerked his leg.

“You might want to sit still until we get out of here,” John told him.

“And do you know when that’ll be?” Rip asked, “Because no one will be coming after me.”

John winced, holding up his communicator and Time Courier both smashed, “Not unless you can fix this.”

Rip sighed annoyed, “There might be some components I can use.”

His eyes closed and John snapped, “Stay awake, Rip.”

“What?”

“You have a concussion,” John told him, “So, until we know it’s okay, I need you to stay awake. That and I don’t want to sit here listening to you snore.”

Rip glared at him, “Why are you here?”

“Same as you,” John shrugged, trying not to wince at the pain in his ribs the moment caused, “Energy spike. I was in the neighbourhood checking up on an old acquaintance, so I said I’d come check it out.”

Rip mused, “So hopefully someone will come looking for you soon but until then we’re stuck.”

John nodded.

“Wonderful.”

 The pain in his leg was familiar, and Rip knew it was broken. He couldn’t see it but had a feeling it was a compound fracture which meant it was not going to be fun getting it fixed.

“Hold on,” John suddenly said, “Don’t you have those things in you to heal you for emergency? Why haven’t you used that?”

“The nanotech emergency medical repair,” Rip nodded, “Unfortunately for them to work I need to be able to contact Gideon. Do you have a working link to her?”

“No,” John replied.

“There you go then,” Rip sighed.

John frowned at him, “You could have just said it wouldn’t work. There was no need for the sarcasm.”

Rip rolled his eyes, “Why is my left arm numb?”

“It’s trapped between your body and the wall,” John told him, “I could move you slightly, but it might hurt like hell.”

Taking a deep breath, Rip said, “Do it.”

“What?”

“I have my own time courier on that wrist,” Rip told him, “It’s probably been broken but between the two of them I might be able to put a beacon together.”

John stared at him before demanding, “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”

“Concussion,” Rip replied.

Letting out an annoyed sigh, John took a hold of Rip’s duster and pulled him slowly so that Rip’s arm was free. The movement jerked his leg and Rip cried out in pain.

“Sorry,” John winced.

Breathing hard, Rip managed to move his left arm wincing to see the Time Courier on his wrist and how badly it was smashed. This was going to be harder than he thought.

                         *********************************************

 John pulled out his flask wishing he had water in it and not the whiskey he’d filled it with.

“What are you doing?” Rip asked.

“Trying to work out if I can turn whiskey into water,” John told him, “You need some. Unless you thought to bring a canteen along with you?”

Rip shook his head, “Didn’t expect to be here this long.”

“Well, you need water,” John told him, “Adding dehydration to the rest of your issues right now is not good. Your AI will be pissed enough as it is.”

“Gideon,” Rip frowned at him, “You know her name.”

John smirked before pushing, “But I’m the one on the ship these days. If you cared so much where have you been for the last few years?”

Rip stared at him for a moment before ignoring the question, “I need to sit up a little if I’m going to be able to create a beacon.”

“Do you remember how much pain you were in when I moved you slightly?” John demanded, “Not to mention it could make you worse.”

“No one knows we’re here,” Rip reminded him, “If I can make a beacon then we have a chance of getting out before we die. I’m willing to take the risk.”

 John winced when Rip screamed as he moved the other man to a seated position. Rip’s leg was a mess and John hated he could do nothing to help with the pain. Rip despised taking painkillers of any kind and he wouldn’t accept John using a magical solution because Rip hated anything that dulled his senses. He’d rather be in pain.

“Okay,” John said when Rip was in a seated position, “How are you?”

“Do I really need to answer that?” Rip forced out through gritted teeth.

Shrugging John asked, “What do you need to make this beacon?”

“Give me your courier and comms link,” Rip told him as he eased the Time Courier from his own wrist, “I have a tool kit in my pocket. Can you give me it?”

Carefully John reached into the pocket of Rip’s duster, it was always possible he had something dangerous in there. He’d almost accidentally blown his hand off during one of their misadventures trying to get a pen from Rip’s pocket. Thankfully, he located the toolkit without any damage to himself, Rip took it with a nod and quickly flipped through the devices he had before getting to work.

It was clear Rip was not as focussed as normal, he kept pausing and blinking as he studied the comms link and the time couriers.

A sudden spark of energy blossomed just to one side of Rip as though a portal was about to open before closing.

“Bollocks,” Rip snapped, working on the connections the same thing happened again making him swear once more.

“What was that?” John demanded, worried when Rip covered his eyes with his hand.

The former Time Master turned to him, “That was not only our energy spike,” Rip explained with a sigh, “But also the energy that started the cave in trapping us.”

“So, you caused all this?” John demanded.

Rip sighed, “It’s a bloody time loop. Trying to escape caused the very thing that brought us here. They happen on occasion.”

“Oh, they happen on occasion,” John mimicked annoyed, “So, what does that mean for us now?”

“Nothing,” Rip told him, “We’ve closed the loop and I should hopefully be able to set up a beacon to let Gideon know where we are and that we need help.”

 Rip felt like his head was filled with cotton wool. It was getting harder to concentrate but he knew if he didn’t then they’d both die in here.

“Rip,” John snapped making him jump realising his eyes had closed, “Stay awake.”

“I am,” Rip shook himself, focussing on the beacon he was trying to make once more.

They sat in silence for a minute before John demanded, “Hold on, you just caused the cave in by opening a portal. Meaning you blamed me for nothing.”

“I blamed you for not waiting to check for sensors,” Rip retorted, “And I’m right. If you’d waited only one of us might have been caught.”

John let out a snort of annoyance, “You literally caused the cave in but it’s still my fault?”

“I know what you’re doing,” Rip said, “You’re arguing with me to keep me awake.”

“No,” John retorted, “I’m arguing with you because you’re a contentious bastard who can’t admit that this isn’t my fault.”

Rip glanced at him, “Fine it isn’t your fault.”

“Oh no,” John frowned, wincing as his ribs protested, “You don’t get to do that.”

“I’m agreeing with you,” Rip replied.

“You’re not,” John spat back, “You’re being a condescending arse.”

Rip shook his head, not looking away from his work, “You wanted me to admit you weren’t to blame, you really need to make up your mind.”

He could hear John swear under his breath, while he made the final few connections. Taking a breath, Rip murmured, “Be listening for me, Gideon,” before he activated the beacon.

 John was getting worried about Rip. After he’d activated the beacon he’d closed his eyes and was getting worse. His skin was pale and clammy, he was no longer as cogent as he had been. John was no doctor but even he could tell that if they didn’t get Rip back to Gideon then the other man was a goner.

Checking the beacon, John winced at his ribs which were beginning to hurt more and more. They were definitely cracked and would start to impede his breathing soon. After what felt like forever, a portal opened at his side and John sighed in relief.

“Gideon,” he called.

“Mr Constantine,” the AI for the Waverider replied, “Where is Captain Hunter?”

“Just behind me,” John told her, “And in a bad way, where’s Sara and the crew?”

“They were visiting family when I received the distress beacon,” Gideon explained, “I came to Captain Hunter immediately.”

John grimaced, “Okay, his leg is broken and he’s unconscious now. I’m going to have to drag him to the medbay.”

“I cannot move the portal’s entrance, I could lose the signal if I do but I am waiting for you both,” Gideon told him, “I am assuming you did not escape injury and are just not telling me how badly you’ve been hurt.”

John rolled his eyes, “Just be ready for Rip.”

Grimacing John took a hold of his friend under his armpits and pulled him through the portal, wincing as Rip cried out in pain. Once on the bridge Gideon closed the portal and John sighed in relief.

“Can you activate his emergency medical whatever it was?” John demanded.

Gideon’s hologram appeared, “I shall but be warned this will not be pleasant.”

Before John could reply Rip screamed, his entire body stiffened as John watched the broken bone being pulled back down into the skin before healing over the wound. He stopped suddenly, falling limply on the ground unconscious.

“I have stopped the nanotech,” Gideon explained, “There is a stretcher in the medbay that you will be able to use to transport him there now.”

John sighed, he needed a drink.

                         *********************************************

 Rip felt warmth covering him and opened his eyes to a welcome sight.

“Gideon,” he breathed as she sat at his side in the parlour.

A fond smile touched her lips, “Hello, Captain. You know I am happy for you to visit when you are not injured.”

Sighing, Rip asked, “John?”

“In the other medical couch having his ribs fixed,” Gideon assured him, “Mr Constantine will be healthy again but unfortunately still himself.”

Rip chuckled, “A terrible outcome.”

Gideon smiled her fingers stroking his hair comfortingly.

“Am I sedated?” Rip asked.

“Your injuries were severe,” Gideon told him, “And if you had not managed to create the beacon you would not have survived much longer. I believed sedating you was the best course of action.”

He nodded, “Okay.”

Standing Gideon offered him her hand, “Since you will be unconscious for some time, shall we take a walk?”

Rip smiled and agreed. They started off the bridge into a garden that looked like the one at The Refuge.

“Where are the crew?” Rip asked thoughtfully as they strolled along the path, “Should I be thinking of a story to tell them where I’ve been?”

“The crew are not onboard and I will return the ship to the moment I left to ensure they have no idea,” Gideon assured him, “Your mission will not be compromised.”

“I wish we could do this together,” Rip reminded her, “But the Legends are needed to keep any aberrations in check, and they need your guidance.”

Gideon nodded, “I know. I would just prefer to be with you, Rip where I could keep an eye on you.”

Hugging her close, Rip sighed, “So would I but they need you more than I do. I will ensure I contact you with greater frequency.”

They continued walking for a few more minutes before Gideon asked, “What about Mr Constantine? Should I blank his memory of your survival?”

Rip considered this for a few moments before shaking his head, “No. I trust John will keep quiet.”

Nodding Gideon gave a small smirk, “I will ensure that he knows how unhappy I will be if he doesn’t.”

Chuckling Rip continued them on the path, he’d could enjoy being unconscious for a little longer.

 Rip opened his eyes and found John leaning over him.

“I have woken up to prettier sights,” Rip grimaced, standing up and testing his leg.

John frowned at him, “That’s the thanks I get for dragging you out of a cave? Typical.”

“Gideon,” Rip called.

“I’m here, Captain,” she replied.

Rip smiled, “Update please?”

“All injuries sustained by Mr Constantine, and yourself, have been mended, Captain Hunter,” Gideon told him, “I have a new Time Courier for you to replace the one you broke.”

“I wish I could stay longer,” Rip said sadly as he strapped the courier onto his wrist, “But I need to return to my mission, and you have to get back to the Legends.”

“What mission?” John demanded.

Rip sighed, “I can’t tell you but,” he stopped the other man from arguing, “I promise you it is important and for the protection of all.”

John stared at him for a moment before nodding, “Okay, mate. I’m guessing I can’t mention this to any of the others.”

“I would appreciate that, Mr Constantine,” Gideon spoke up before Rip could, she added, “And I would be very upset if this information was accidentally revealed.”

Rip forced himself not to smile while he chided, “Be nice, Gideon.”

“I am being perfectly nice,” she retorted.

Shaking his head, Rip offered his hand to John, “Take care of them for me.”

“Someone has to,” John shook his hand, “Be careful. Don’t want to have to save your sorry arse again.”

Chuckling Rip tapped the co-ordinates into his Time Courier, “Strangely I was going to say the same thing.”

With a gentle stroke of the ship’s bulkhead, Rip walked through the portal leaving his ship once more.

 John stood alone in the medbay for a few moments before he started up to the bridge. Taking a seat, he nodded, “Alright, Gideon, let’s go pick up the rest of the nuts.”

“Of course, Mr Constantine,” Gideon replied, “Before we leave however, I would like to remind you that Captain Hunter’s presence should not be mentioned to them at all. His mission is dependent on secrecy.”

“Don’t worry, Gideon,” he replied, “Rip would only leave you for something massively important. His secret is safe with me.”

With that Gideon flew the ship into the time stream heading back to the Legends.

                       *********************************************

 This was based on the prompt by @theadrogna from the RipChat Holiday Exchange that wasn't used at the time. John Constantine and Rip are trapped somewhere, one or both are injured and have to survive long enough to be rescued.

[hetacon]

For Humanity’s Sake

Word Count: 2,668

Pairings: Platonic Moxiety, Background platonic LAMP, Background Romantic Logicality, Background Romantic Prinxiety

Warning: Swearing, physical fighting (really light, it’s one punch), bullying, crying, so so much Patton angst but I swear Virgil makes him happy

______________________________

Summary: Patton has a hard time making friends.

______________________________

By no means was Virgil seen as a kind person to all of his high school. While he was definitely the lone wolf type, he got more involved in getting into others’ business than he should have.

He got into fights basically.

He picked unnecessary fights, got into plenty of trouble, and was in detention fairly often. His parents didn’t seem to care if their son was a delinquent because outside of school, he was no more harmful than your average person.

The difference came with Patton. Patton Hart, Virgil’s best and, frankly, only friend. Well, now, he’d had some others before getting involved with Patton.

Patton Hart was definitely not the most normal of people, not that it was in any way a bad thing. He was cheerful, loved to laugh and talk for hours, sang to himself as he did chores, doodled all over his notes, made silly jokes, anything he darn well felt like doing. He had anxiety that could very well near rival Virgil’s own and that was damn impressive in and of itself. Despite this, he wasn’t very well liked.

See, even with how kind and sociable Patton tended to be, many people found him rather off putting. For one reason or another, if there was a word that people would use to describe Patton, it was this: annoying.

And if that didn’t make Virgil’s blood boil.

Since early childhood, Patton had always been sweet and talkative, going on for hours about his interests, talking about anything and everything he wanted to with a happy demeanor about him. Even then, he didn’t have friends. His mother would tell him that she always saw him as the type to get along with everyone and that everyone liked but Virgil knew Patton saw himself as pretty obnoxious. The other kids only played with him because they were in the same class as him. He was with the same 20 or so kids for 7 years, kindergarten to 6th, and not a single one of them really enjoyed him being there. It was only a nicety if anything.

Patton managed to make some friends in junior high due to common interests but this turned out more than disastrous than Patton would’ve dared to imagine. By high school, he started to realize just how little people actually wanted to talk to him so he started to keep his mouth shut whenever possible.

Virgil Knight completely destroyed that behavior as Patton instantly clicked in a way neither had ever experienced.

For one thing, Virgil actually listened to Patton as he went on long and exhaustingly winding stories, talking up a storm something fierce that Virgil wondered how Patton had ever managed to stay quiet about all of the thoughts running through his head.

Another thing was that they shared a few common interests, the first of which had brought them together being a really obscure movie from 1991. Patton was really into discussing the character growth, psychoanalysis of the characters, the time period and history, and everything in between of their common interests and while it was a bit harder for Virgil to express it to that extent, he listened to what Patton rambled about with no complaint.

One of Patton’s favorites though was that Virgil actually took the time and effort to encourage Patton to talk about the things he wanted to talk about and do the things he wanted to do. It was something special for them both.

Virgil loved Patton with every inch of his heart and he didn’t hesitate for a single second to remind people of that.

Clearly that was going to happen right now, Virgil thought to himself as one of his friends started to ask a question.

“Hey, dude, why do you even hang out with Patton? He’s not really your...” his friend hesitated, sucking in a breath. “I dunno, your style I guess.”

Virgil looked up from his lunch, mid-bite as he held his sandwich in his hands. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he asked a bit cooly, his language not really showing much animosity to it. But oh boy, if things were going where he thought they were-

“Virge, you’re like, his only friend, doesn’t that say something to you? How do you know he isn’t a shitty person or has serious issues or something? I wouldn’t trust him,” another person from the table spoke up.

“You don’t have to trust him or like him, you can’t please everyone. I do though, all that matters to me really. Patton’s not your friend? Chill, means I have no competition for the best friend title,” Virgil hummed out lowly, taking another bite of his sandwich.

A silence fell over the table before finally, someone seemed to say what everyone else was thinking. “Virgil, you know everyone finds him kind of obnoxious right? I mean, he’s always so loud, he clings to you like a lost puppy, and he literally doesn’t know when to shut up. He’s frankly kinda weak, who even needs to be that emotional, dude? Patton’s honestly psycho.”

Virgil’s fist slammed into his face and he was on the table, leaning over to tower over the person in front of him. His hand gripped at his friend’s shirt tightly, watching with a snarl as his friend shrank back a bit, eyes wide and clearly shocked.

“You’re going to shut the fuck up about Patton. He doesn’t have friends because shitheads like you guys can’t understand why someone would love life so much. He is not annoying, he is not weak, and he is not fucking psycho. He enjoys things, he wants to express his emotions rather than cower behind an act like an actual wimp, and he’s my best friend,” Virgil growled out. He snapped his head up to see everyone in the cafeteria looking at his table and he shoved his friend back roughly, standing on the table as he started to yell. “Patton Hart is the best person I could ever ask to be friends for and if you have a problem with business that isn’t yours to talk about, you take it up with me! You got a problem with him? You’re dealing with me before anything else and I will not stop for a single second! Fuck all of you!!”

With that, he clamored off the table, grabbing his food and backpack before storming out, catching Patton’s wrist as his friend was about to enter the cafeteria door he came out of.

“Woah Virgil, slow down!” Patton laughed, running to Virgil’s side, moving Virgil’s hand to hold his. “What’s going on?”

“People suck,” Virgil scowled before his expression softened. “How was tutoring?” he asked gently, kissing Patton’s temple. He smiled to himself in satisfaction as Patton practically lit up.

“Good, just needed a little refresher before tomorrow’s test is all,” Patton told him.

“You meet up with that guy in your class you like?” he asked, smiling a bit as Patton leaned his head on Virgil’s shoulder.

Patton turned a little pink and nodded. “Yeah, he was super sweet about it even if it was a silly reason to get tutoring.”

“My best friend is silly,” Virgil hummed. “But that’s just how I like him~”

_____

Things didn’t get better for Patton as Virgil saw. Not that he exactly expected things to magically get better, for people to understand Patton overnight, and for Patton to have as many friends as humanly possible. But this was ridiculous, truly.

People started to stare at both of them, especially Patton. People wouldn’t even talk to Patton during his classes, at least the ones that knew what was going on. It didn’t seem to affect Patton too much but there were definitely moments, as was happening tonight.

Virgil had invited Patton over for a sleepover weeks ago and was getting everything ready when he heard a knock on the door, hurrying to get it.

Patton was a mess. He didn’t have his glasses for one thing, his clothes were rumpled and messy, and most noticeably was his hair, tangled and tousled unrelentingly, a wad of gum stuck in it. Patton looked close to tears and Virgil just hugged him tightly before ushering him in.

The first part of their evening was spent with Patton laying his head in Virgil’s lap as they watched The Rescuers, Virgil’s hand working through Patton’s hair with a trusty handful of peanut butter. By the end of the movie, the gum was out, Patton had calmed down a little, and Virgil sent him off to take a shower.

Patton came back from the shower a bit later, already in his pjs as Virgil set up for another movie. The night mostly went alright and Virgil was just getting to sleep at 2 in the morning when he heard Patton get you and shuffle over to his bed.

It was silent, Patton didn’t say anything and was turning back when Virgil spoke up.

“Pat?” Virgil whispered softly, grabbing his friend’s wrist.

Patton sniffled. “Yeah?”

“C’mere, you’re sleeping with me tonight.”

There was no hesitation for Patton and within seconds, he was shaking and sobbing into Virgil’s shirt. Virgil could do nothing but rub his back and let him cry. That seemed to be enough for Patton.

_____

“Hey Virgil, have you thought about joining GSA by any chance..?” Patton asked one day at lunch, taking a bite of his peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Virgil looked over to him before thinking, throwing his legs over Patton’s lap.

“Nah.”

“How come?”

“Just haven’t, you goof,” Virgil said, his eyebrow raised. “If you want an answer why I wouldn’t, it’s overrated if I’m not with you and I know you’re not planning on it.”

“But what if I did?”

“Do you?”

“... No.”

Virgil snorted and leaned over to kiss Patton’s forehead. “I have made the executive decision that this school’s gonna have a super exclusive GSA club, headed by the wonderful and responsible club president Patton Hart.”

“And who are the members of this club, Virge?” Patton asked, moving to snuggle into Virgil’s side.

“You and me, that’s all we need. Two gay as shit disasters, no one else matters in my opinion,” Virgil told him, resting his head against Patton’s while silence settled over them for a bit.

“What do we do at club meetings?”

“Talk about gay shit.”

“Does Logan count?”

“You bet your pining ass that Mandel counts.”

“Then Roman does too!”

“We’re gossiping basically then.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what’s happening.”

“Eh, fair enough.”

_____

Patton was currently playing video games with Virgil and as he fell off Rainbow Road, sighed.

“What’s up?” Virgil asked, still focused on the game.

“What do you mean?” Patton asked, raising an eyebrow.

“That was your pensive sigh, not your Virgil-is-kicking-my-ass-in-Mario-Kart sigh. So what’s up?” Virgil chuckled.

“You ever just... Realize that people suck?”

“They really do, screw ‘em if they can’t take a joke, am I right?” Virgil joked, finishing off the race.

“We should watch Mamma Mia, I hope you know what you’ve done,” Patton smiled, finishing the course too. “You’re even worse than Roman with the musical references sometimes!”

“You take that back!” Virgil exclaimed, tackling Patton to the couch, smacking him with a pillow.

Patton laughed loudly and pulled Virgil down on top of him, snuggling into his best friend.

Virgil’s heart melted and he hugged on to Patton tightly. “Dear god, you’re too cute for your own good, c’mere you cuddlebug,” he muttered, happy to feel Patton relax in his hold.

_____

“Soooooo lemme get this straight, Patton-“

“Good luck with that!” Patton giggled, causing Virgil to lightly push him with a snort.

“Shut up,” he said with no malice, kissing his friend’s hair. “You asked him to go over a bit of the math work you guys got assigned and he without prompt just asked you if you wanted to meet up for coffee to do so?”

“Yeeeeep!”

“Shut up you beautiful embodiment of sunshine and rainbows, you got a study date with Logan!!” Virgil shouted, shaking a very giggly Patton.

“It’s not much but it’s spending time with him, yeah? He’s still talking to me, even if it’s about school a lot of the time.. He could..” Patton paused, smiling to himself. “He could maybe be my friend, right? Do you think he would?”

“He’s not a complete blockhead like every single dumbass in this school, he’s gonna like you,” Virgil said with a smile, hugging Patton tighter in his lap.

“Well, as the Patton and Virgil GSA meeting demands, we must now hear from our resident emo about his blockhead!” Patton teased, kissing Virgil’s cheek.

Virgil laughed and hummed. “Good grief, who made you in charge?”

“You!”

“Oh that’s right, my mistake!” Virgil joked, receiving a punch to the arm. “Roman’s been doing a good job, had his whole script memorized today when most everyone else only had half. I just worked on the sets while they were rehearsing but he came over to talk with me when he didn’t have any more scenes. Still as stupid as I like ‘im though!”

“We clearly like two men at the opposite ends of the spectrum, huh?” Patton asked.

“Yep, absolutely. A total nerd and a moron. Strange combo. Think they’d get along?”

“Only one way to find out!” Patton hummed in a sing-song tone, offering half of his pasta to Virgil.

_____

Virgil glanced over to the front door of Logan’s house as Patton was revealed on the other side. Logan was quick to give Patton a kiss and greeted him.

“Wow, your house is really nice, Loggie!” Patton said, looking around.

“Patton!!!” a loud voice squealed from behind Virgil, Roman barreling towards Patton and Logan. He practically tackled Patton to the ground and Patton laughed loudly and fully. “I missed you so so so much! Never leave me alone for a single minute ever again!” Virgil’s boyfriend whined, hugging Patton tighter.

“Roman!” Patton laughed out, hugging back tighter. “I’m never going anywhere! You can’t make me leave, you’re stuck with me!”

“Mmm, perfect!” Roman exclaimed, picking Patton up to twirl him around.

As their antics continued, both of them talking excitedly about Patton’s job at the animal rescue center and Roman’s next show, Logan sat next to Virgil. Virgil watched his best friend and boyfriend talk excitedly for a bit, resting his head on Logan’s shoulder.

“You make him this happy you know,” Logan said quietly, wrapping his arm around Virgil’s shoulder.

“Dude, you’re his boyfriend,” Virgil retorted with a raised eyebrow.

Logan chuckled. “That I am. But you were his first and only friend for a long time. You’ve made him feel like he can take on the world just by being himself. It makes me very proud of the both of you.”

“I just treated him like a human being, you know?”

“Well, when you’ve been treated alien your whole life, it can make a world of difference for someone to see your humanity,” Logan explained, smiling a bit as Patton and Roman dragged Patton’s stuff in from his car.

Virgil smiled too as soon as Patton came back inside, still beaming with the force of a supernova. “He deserves every bit of humanity.”

Patton wasn’t treated well up until he was out of high school but looking at him now, Virgil knew all the fighting and arguments were worth it. Patton truly deserved everything the three of his friends could give him.

______________________________

Taglist: @virgils-paranoia, @marshmallow-the-panda, @anotheregofanficblog

[whumphoarder]

Living the High Life

Summary: Peter gets a nosebleed while on Tony’s private jet. Chaos abounds.

Word count: 1,751

Genre: Fluff, humor, whump

A/N: Thanks to @awesomesockes for the idea, and to @xxx-cat-xxx & @sallyidss for beta reading!

Link to read on Ao3

The plane jostles slightly, causing the seatbelt light to flash overhead. Glancing sideways, Tony sees Peter’s eyes widen as the kid grips the armrests of his seat nervously.

“Hey, chill out, alright?” Tony says with a chuckle. “I don’t really want your handprints embedded in my two hundred million dollar jet.”

Peter gapes at him, his nervous expression being replaced by one of disbelief. “Wait, wait, two hundred million?” He releases the armrests and grabs his open bottle of coke from the cupholder so he can quickly screw the cap back on. “And you were letting me drink soda on it?!” he demands, horrified.

Tony smirks; he always gets a kick out of seeing the kid experience for the first time the same luxuries that Tony himself has been taking for granted since childhood. Private jets are no exception.

The two of them are currently flying out to California for the weekend to visit Tony’s recently rebuilt Malibu mansion, as well as to get Peter campus tours of UCLA and CalTech (two of the schools he’s considering applying to during his junior year). Tony’s excited to see the kid’s response to everything from their upcoming hotel accommodations to actual palm trees.

The plane hits a few more bumps of turbulence. His face draining of color, Peter squeezes his eyes shut tightly and leans back in his seat with a tiny moan.

“Wait a minute…” Tony raises an eyebrow, giving Peter an amused look. “Are you telling me that Spider-Man—a guy who swings from literal skyscrapers through the streets of New York on the daily—is scared of heights?”

“Not heights,” Peter grits out, his teeth clenched a bit. “Just flying. Like, in a plane.”

“Flying?” Tony frowns. “But you flew to Germany with no problem.” Or, at least none that he recalls Happy reporting to him. Though, to be fair, they were all a bit distracted that week.

Peter opens his eyes and shrugs. “Well, that time I was kinda more focused on the fact that Tony Stark pulled me out of school for three days so I could steal Captain America’s shield, so…” he trails off as they hit another bump and gulps. “Just, you know, Parkers and airplanes have kind of a history...”

Suddenly, it clicks. An instant wave of guilt washes over Tony. Of course the kid would have issues with flying after having his parents die in a plane crash when he was only four years old. Hell, Tony was twenty-one when his own parents were killed and he still prefers to drive himself rather than relinquish control of his vehicles to a chauffeur (with the notable exception of Happy).

Tony softens his tone before speaking again. “It’s just a little air pocket,” he reassures. “We’ll be through it soon. And worst case scenario, I’ve got suits on board.”

Peter nods tightly a few times. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll be fine.”

Figuring a distraction is in order, Tony starts recounting a particularly memorable MIT party back in the day during which Rhodey got so wasted he danced on the ping pong table to “Heat of the Moment” until it collapsed under him. By the time he’s done, the kid’s nervousness seems to have dissipated and he’s giggling along, the plane ride all but forgotten.

Once they’re through the turbulence, the flight attendant brings out their lunches and Tony once again has to grin at the kid’s awe.

“Honestly, I would have been happy with like, McDonald’s,” Peter babbles, sawing away at his filet mignon piece with a knife and fork, “but this definitely beats that.” He pauses, frowning. “Unless it’s McRib season. McRibs are the bomb, Mr. Stark.”

Tony pulls a face. “I am going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

Peter giggles. Then the plane begins shaking again—a bit harder this time—and the giggles fade, replaced by breaths which are a little too carefully measured to be natural.

Alright, back to story time. “Hey kid,” Tony begins, “have I ever told you about the time Happy fell backwards into the compound’s swimming pool?”

“Uh, don’t think so…” Peter says, gazing nervously out the window.

Tony launches right in. “So, Happy was doing his laundry, like he does every Sunday afternoon. I swear, the guy separates every single color until he’s got like, seven loads. Total fanatic about it. Now, you gotta understand DUM-E had been malfunctioning for the past few days, and so—”

“Oh no…” Peter breathes out suddenly. The kid turns back away from the window, his hand clamped over his mouth and nose and an urgent expression on his face. “Oh no, not here, not here...” he mutters, his words muffled by his palm as his eyes dart around the plane.

Figuring he has a pretty good idea of what’s about to occur, Tony immediately bends down to grab a paper airsickness bag from under the seat, but Peter has already unbuckled his seatbelt and is scrambling up from his chair, his hand still clamped over his face.

“No, Peter, you can’t—” Tony calls after him, pointing to the still illuminated seatbelt sign, but the kid is already racing toward the lavatory. Tony quickly unclips his own seatbelt and jumps up to hurry after him. He’s halfway down the aisle before the plane hits another patch of turbulence that causes Tony to stagger into one of the other seats.

From inside the lavatory, he hears a crash followed by a sharp “oof!” Tony winces. Maybe he shouldn’t have insisted the bathrooms on his plane be designed four times as large as the cramped ones on commercial aircrafts—it leaves enough room to actually fall down.

“Peter?” he calls worriedly, knocking on the closed door. “You alright?

“Don’t come in!” Peter’s voice yelps. “I’m fine! I got it handled!”

Tony’s worry deepens. “Kid, you really can’t be out of your seat right now. If you’re getting sick—”

“I’m not!” Peter says quickly. “Really, it’s okay. Uh, I just…” His voice trails off, and then, barely audible, Tony hears him mutter, “Oh god it’s everywhere...”

The plane shakes again and Tony stumbles, pressing a hand to the lavatory door to keep himself upright. But Peter must not have locked it because the door pushes open and Tony half-falls into the bathroom, catching himself one-handedly on the corner of the sink. His hand lands in a few drops of something red and wet.

“What the…?” Tony turns away from the sink, taking in the horrific sight. Blood drops seem to be covering every flat surface of the bathroom—the countertop, the floor, the sink. Peter is sitting on the floor beside the toilet, his light gray t-shirt and blue jeans now stained with crimson splotches as he frantically tears off more pieces of toilet paper to add to the growing bloody wad of tissue he’s pressing to his face. Tony blinks at him. “Are you hurt?”

Peter shakes his head. His voice is nasally when he speaks. “I’m really really sorry.”

Tony blinks again. “This is all from your nose?”

Peter nods, looking absolutely miserable. “I, uh, kinda get bad nosebleeds sometimes? Like usually if it’s too dry, or if I get stressed, or… I dunno, I guess if my nose just feels like it?”

“Well that’s... inconvenient,” Tony remarks.

The plane jostles and Peter braces his free hand against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut. “Is it supposed to be doing that?” he groans.

“It’s just turbulence,” Tony assures. “I’ve flown through a hell of a lot worse, I promise. There was this thunderstorm once when I was flying over Portugal when a bolt of lightning actually—” He’s cut off by a pained whine from the kid. Tony clears his throat. “...But, that’s probably a story for another day.” He makes a vague gesture in front of his own nose. “Is it stopping?”

Peter pulls the tissues back to check. Immediately, a fresh wave of blood runs down from his nostrils, causing Tony to wince though the kid seems unfazed. “It’s slowing down,” he says with a shrug.

Tony huffs out a short laugh. “That’s kind of concerning, but we’ll suspend that for the moment.” Stepping further into the bathroom, Tony moves over to the cabinet to locate a stack of plush white towels. He holds one out to the kid, who throws him a horrified look in return.

“I’ll just get blood all over it,” Peter says worriedly. “Those look really expensive.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “It’s a towel. It can’t be more than, what? Forty? Fifty bucks?”

Peter’s eyes widen. “Oh my god, that’s even worse! I was thinking like ten!”

With a deep sigh, Tony chucks the towel directly at the kid’s face. Peter shoots up his free hand to catch it on reflex, leaving bloody fingerprints on the pristine material. He makes a little distressed moan upon realizing. “Mr. Stark…” he whines.

“You’re welcome,” Tony says with a huff. “Now let’s get you back to your seat. Safety first and all that jazz.” As if to emphasize his words, the plane promptly hits another rough patch.

Peter shakes his head, teeth clenched through the jostling. “Can’t. I’m covered in blood. I’ll ruin your two hundred million dollar jet,” he grits out.

“You’re not gonna ruin the jet,” Tony points out. He pauses for a beat. “Just the jet’s upholstery.”

Peter only moans miserably.

Tony sighs. “Alright, we’ll figure something out.”

X

“Whoa, does this seat go all the way flat?!”

Tony chuckles as he adjusts the controls on Peter’s seat to recline it backwards. “Yeah, wonders never cease, kid,” he remarks.

Peter—now wrapped completely in the unrolled emergency parachute from the plane’s cargo area like some kind of nylon burrito—is finally strapped into his chair again. The bleeding has nearly stopped now, though he’s still pinching his nose with tissues to be sure.

Tony pulls a single use ice pack out of the plane’s first aid kit. He squeezes the packet and shakes it to activate the chemicals inside before passing it to Peter. “Here.”

“Thanks,” Peter says. He presses it to the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “And I’m really sorry about all the mess…”

“Don’t worry about it.” Tony waves his hand dismissively. “But you are definitely going to need a shower when we land before you even think about trying out the mansion’s rooftop swimming pool.”

Peter’s eyes widen yet again. “Your what?!”

Tony chuckles. This never gets old.

X

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Arachnids & Phobias

Grand Entrance

Them’s the Breaks

Link to all my fics

[kingsmanstories]

Trust

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Sister!Reader

Warnings: swearing, imprisonment, usual stuff 

A/N: Reader is two years younger than Tommy, three years older than John in this imagine. I hope you enjoy! 

“Sorry I’m late, took longer than I thought to get here and the baby was crying.” Everyone turned to you with a soft smile as you entered Tommy’s office, taking off your gloves and shoving them in your pockets as you sat on the front row next to your oldest brother. Your newborn daughter had picked the perfect time to scream just as you were leaving, and you never liked to leave her unsettled with the nanny. 

Your husband had died during the Russian fiasco, so you assisted in unleashing all hell alongside your brothers in response. Unlike Ada, you were very involved in the not-so-legal side of the business, much to Polly’s dismay especially after you’d had Nancy. 

“You’re forgiven, Mabel.” Tommy nodded at you before addressing the meeting. Standing from his chair and cleaning his throat, he undid the briefcase on the desk, filled to the brim with notes. “I want to let you all know, I made a mistake, and I want to give you all my apologies.” 

You shared glances with your brothers before turning back to the matriarch of the family, who now had a large wad of notes in his hand. “Arthur, you told me not to get involved with the Russians, and you were right. This is for you and Linda, I’m sorry.” Putting the notes down on the table, Linda glared at Tommy before taking them, giving them to Arthur one she’d sat down again.

“Thanks Tom.” Arthur nodded, giving a small smile to the younger man.

Tommy nodded, before moving onto John an Esme. “John, you have innocent lives on your conscience and for that I apologise.” He put another wad of notes on the table, Esme snatching them. 

“Ordinary working men, Tommy!” She hissed, eyes wild and full of anger.

“Yeah, alright Esme,” John sighed, pulling his wife back down to her chair again as Tommy continued. 

“I hope you can buy a house outside of Small Heath with this, and it be a place of a lot more peace.” 

Moving on, Tommy dished out money for Charlie, Curly and Johnny Dogs, before moving onto Polly and Michael, and then finally you. 

A large wad of money was placed in front of you and you swallowed, shaking your head as you looked at it. It was more than enough to secure a future for Nancy and yourself outside of Birmingham, but you didn't know if you could accept it, not for the things you had done. “Tommy, I don't think I can-”

Tommy cut you off, shaking his head. Out of all the Shelby siblings, you and Tommy had always been the closest in bond and closest in age, so you’d spent a lot of time together in childhood and that bond remained strong in adulthood, even after both of your marriages and children. He adored Nancy and you adored Charles, so you visited each other often with the children. 

“Mabel, I need you to accept this. If not for you, for Nancy. Look, with everything that’s happened, especially after Grace, you’ve been by my side through everything and I want to show you that I’m truly grateful for everything you’ve done for Charles and I, even after losing your own husband.” Tommy said, sighing as you got up to take the money, leaning over the desk to embrace him briefly before returning to your seat. 

You felt anxious, though, and you could tell your brother was guilty about something, and you wandered what it was exactly. You could read him like an open book, the way he was acting now was enough to tell you he’d done something he regrets.

Arthur stood, drawing everyone’s attention as Linda followed his actions. “The train for the docks leaves in an hour, we best be off. We’re going to New York, everything will be in the past.” He said, swallowing thickly before leaning down to hug John and Polly, and then you and Ada with promises to let you visit America with Nancy and Karl. 

Just as he was about to reach the door, Tommy’s voice stopped them in their tracks. “You can go, but you won't get very far, brother.” 

“What’s this Tom?” Arthur replied, staring at Tommy with eyebrows furrowed. 

“I spoke to Moss last night, and he said that the Chief Constable of Birmingham had issued a warrant for your arrest.” As the room filled with gasps, he continued. “Murder, sedition, conspiracy to cause explosion.”

As everyone rose out of their seats, Tommy didn’t stop. “John, they’re coming for you as well, murder and conspiracy to cause explosion.” 

Esme’s shrieks filled the air as everyone began to bicker in Tommy’s direction. You were risen from your seat, hurt eyes staring at your brother. Polly gripped onto your hand, and let out a sob as Michael was also wanted for the murder of Father Hughes.

“Polly,” Tommy started, but she cut him off. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Murder of Chief Inspector Chester Campbell.” Tommy continued, Polly falling into your arms as she cried, clutching onto Michael with her other hand.

“Mabel,” 

“Don’t you fucking dare, Thomas, don’t you fucking-”

“Murder, conspiracy to cause explosion.” He continued, hanging his head as if he couldn’t look at your reaction. He’d tried to get you off the hook more than anyone, but nothing could be done to cover up your crimes. 

“When the police get in, do not resist.” Tommy shouted amongst the chaos and screams, police whistles starting to be heard down the corridors of Arrow House. 

“I’ve got a fucking child, Thomas! A fucking baby, and I’m going to fucking hang because of you, you bastard! You screamed at your brother, tears flowing freely down your pink cheeks, a finger prodded firmly in his chest as you felt someone start to restrain you, a police officer. 

Tommy held both of your cheeks in his hands as the police officer began to put the handcuffs around your wrists. “I’ll get you out, alright? I’ve got a plan, yeah? Nancy will stay here until you're out.” He said, ignoring the kicks to his shins coming from you. 

“You better fucking fix this, Thomas!” You shouted as you began to get dragged away to the police cars parked on the gravel.

Thomas stood in the doorway and watched the chaos dissolve into two separate police vehicles, and he couldn’t help the guilt wash over him. 

Stalking to his office to make phone calls, he was going to get his siblings out as quick as he could. 

He couldn't lose any of them, especially you.  

[myaekingheart]

I don’t know if this is because of the casual breakdown I had last night or what but I had some weird ass fucking dreams last night. 

The first I actually don’t remember that much other than that it had something to do with final exams, which makes sense because I’m in final exam hell I MEAN WEEK. 

The second one I remember way more distinctly and it was honestly really, really bizarre and, as an emetophobic, unnerving. I was at a hospital, though it looked more like one of the more recent, high-tech buildings on campus like there was a lot of glass and steel railings and at least four stories that were all open. For some godawful reason, it was just universally understood that it was 2010. I was here with Sleeping with Sirens, and they were all wearing neon and skinny jeans except for Kellin who had on like a blue t-shirt kind of like one I actually own. Him and I specifically were really close, and the whole reason I was at the hospital was apparently to get a pregnancy test done because I suspected I was pregnant with Kellin Quinn’s kid or something??? Like, just as an aside, how much more emo can I get at this point? I already had that dream of nearly kissing Gerard at a treehouse party during a duet, and now this? Damn, it really is 20ninescene up in here. But anyways, the disturbing part of the dream came when, at one point, I got sick. I ran over to this really weird trash can, it was like black metal wrapped in wicker and was SUPER skinny like not much bigger than the cardboard tube that comes with wrapping paper. It wasn’t like typical vomiting, though, but felt extremely real. I was standing there coughing up this shit like how when it gets cold outside and I have a lot of postnasal drip mucus buildup shit that sometimes gets caught in my throat, but I typically never cough it up because I have this irrational fear that that’s going to trigger a vomiting episode. Well, this exact thing was happening right here in this dream, like I started coughing the shit up but instead of regular mucus, it was an obscene amount of pale yellow rubbery putty-like shit that just kept coming in a massive wad snaking out of my mouth and into this super narrow trash can. At one point I brought my hand up to my mouth to try and pull it out of my mouth but it was too sticky and the minute I touched it, I recoiled disgusted because it was like touching one of those stress toys, but soggy or borderline melting. It was absolutely disgusting and really fucked me up. I think when all this was happening, Kellin then ran over to see if I was okay or something but at that point, the dream was basically ending. I woke up super unnerved and grossed out and nauseated, especially because my morning alarm is set to King for a Day so I basically also woke up to Kellin’s voice/screams which is...fine. But as an emetophobic, this dream was just really fucking jarring to me. I don’t know if it’s because last night during dinner, I had another one of those “hi I’m your seasonal postnasal drip and it’s time for me to lowkey choke you” episodes or if it’s because my eating has been shit and I’m paranoid that I’m going to get sick from having an empty stomach like what happened once a few years ago (thanks, eating disorder) or if it’s just because my best friend is currently sick with a severe vomiting issue or what but I woke up just so goddamn fucking freaked out, I swear. I haven’t vomited in five full years and I would like to keep it that way, but I can’t help but fear that this is a bad omen or something. Fingers crossed I’m just overreacting because oof. Big oof. 

[atypical60]

Far be it to not take advantage of Oona’s pre-wedding events to not make it about me. OK?

Remember.  It’s all about MOI!!!!

Anyway, last weekend I flew to Cincinnati for Oona’s Bridal Shower.  You saw a sneak peak at my last blog post but I’m gonna elaborate more on the weekend.

And boy was this a fantastic Bridal Brunch!!

As the Mother-of-the-Bride naturally.

Number 4 is the only one Oona has stressed.  I did that at her shower when we all introduced ourselves.  My sense of humor got the best of me as I introduced myself as “…..as Oona exited my Origin of the World…”  immediately, I was pulled aside and warned in a kind way to NOT say anything like that at the wedding.  (shhhh–don’t tell but I don’t follow rules!)

I took Friday off from work because I wanted a true three-day weekend.  That’s the thing about working in a low-level clerical position—you need permission to get a day off.  In my other places of employment, it was much easier to finagle time off as a freebie—trust me.   I also worked my schedule out to accommodate leaving early on Thursday afternoon so I could fly from Philly to Cincy and enjoy a few extra hours of fun time.

I also took Friday casual to Thursday!  I travel in comfort, but not like a slob! J. Crew and Gabor wigs assisted me!  Mother-of-the Bride travel attire!

It’s not how it started out though.

For some reason, either I hit horrific weather or I have a displeasure of a delayed flight whenever I travel.  I kid you not.  And about 45 minutes before we were to board the plane, an announcement was made that the flight to Cincinnati would be delayed.

Welcome to my jet-sit world.  I spend more time waiting than flying!  I have to say though, that Delta made every effort and boarded us very quickly when the plane arrived!

Besides having an inner hissy-fit, I dealt with this issue by stress eating not one pretzel, but an additional bucket of pretzel nuggets.  Fresh and hot off the press.  The carbs were murder on my gut but felt so good going down.  I also ate a giant bag of peanut M & M’s.  And read trashy magazines.

And an added surprise was that these nuggets of carbs were also drenched in greasy melted butter.  I wonder why the scale isn’t giving me nicer numbers!!

The plane finally arrived and this Mother-of-the-Bride landed after ten in the evening to rain!  I was two for two.  A delay and rain.  It was shocking that a snow storm hadn’t hit!

Cincinnati here I come…

To rain and a delayed flight….

Now…upon departing the flight, one would think I ran to the airport exit to see Oona and Sam.  No.  CVG is a GREAT airport.  It’s so clean and spacious so I couldn’t resist dawdling (now we know where my son, Roman, acquired the gift of dawdle…).  I came across a cosmetics vending machine!  But I didn’t buy anything!

Why couldn’t I find this at Philly airport during the delay?

Then I came across my favorite part of the airport!  Them bones!

Some stop to smell the roses.  I stop to take photos at airports of skeletal treasure!

But it was great to be back at Oona and Sam’s and playing around with my grand puppy, Gracie.

My boo, Gracie.  OMG. She’s so well-behaved..

Oona and Sam are such great doggie parents…I KNOW they will be fantastic human parents!

Friday brought sun and clouds and brisk weather but it didn’t matter.  There’s something comforting in knowing that your daughter and her future husband can brew a great cuppa coffee.  They make it strong—just the way I love it.  And we sat around gabbing before getting ready and heading out to run errands.

The Mr. Coffee is far better than the grandpa Mr. Coffee we have at home.

Even little Gracie was beggin’ for some!

Ahhhhhhhhh…cawfee!!!

Oona had a nail appointment, and since my nails were looking fine, I passed but kept her company while we discussed family and the wedding preparations.

This freakin’ nail salon!  It went on for days!  I was jealous–but then Oona told me the price of a mani-pedi and I was glad to be living in the Northeast where nail salons are plentiful….and far less expensive!

Next stop was Marshalls –Oona picked some workout clothing (I didn’t –I’m lazy).  And I headed for the cosmetics.  Glory be to Gawd—I found two great eyeshadow palettes!

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More on these palettes for my next blog post but boy….at $7.99 each, these palettes were a steal!

We did some food shopping—Sam’s birthday was Friday and his family was coming over for dinner.  Oona looked pensive as she realized time was of the essence—she had to head back to the airport to pick up her best friend and maid-of-honor, Lauren.

Did I say food shopping? I sent this pic to Bonaparte to validate that Pennsylvania is the worst state in the USA because of the State-run, Mob-type Liquor stores!  You can by this at Trader Joes in Cincy!

And that’s where mom comes in—I assured her I could take care of the cake and she could head to the airport for alone time with her bestie!

BTW, this cake is gluten-free, chemical and preservative-free, sugar free, and lower-fat!  Oona added Sam’s favorite candy–Reeses Pieces which are NOT lower fat nor sugar free!  But it was a tasty Birthday cake!

Friday evening, Sam’s family came over for a birthday celebration. Being with Sam’s family is like being with……………. family!!  We all had a great time and I was introduced to a spectacular aperitif/cocktail:  The Aperol Spritz!  This concoction of Aperol, Prosecco, and Seltzer with a slice of orange is the most refreshing drink I’ve ever downed!

You read it first.  Moving forward, the Aperol Spritz will now be called “Mother-of-the-Bride”.   There will be an open bar at the wedding but I may smuggle my private makings!  There’s only 148 calories in one of these!

I drank a lot of them during the weekend.  In fact, as I write this now, I informed the Frenchman that I’ll be stopping at the store for Aperol, Prosecco and seltzer!  He is a bit upset that I am forgoing the beloved Kir Royal but the Aperol Spritz has less calories and with the wedding countdown, every calorie counts!

Saturday was a full day!

Let me tell you something.  Oona and Lauren spent a long time getting their hair perfectly coifed.  Lauren is great with styling and she styled Oona’s hair in perfect beach waves.

I plopped my Jamison wig on—and had extra time to loll around in bed! Oh, the beauty of wigs!

Jamison and Lilly Pulitzer.  You can’t go wrong!

The shower/bruncheon was at LouVino, a Southern-inspired restaurant and wine bar downtown Cincinnati.  What a great place!  The celebration was downstairs in a private room and Oona’s friends, coworkers, future sisters-in-law, mother-in-law and relatives were in attendance.

The upstairs wine bar at LouVino’s. I’m recommending this place to out-of-town guests for Oona’s wedding!

The downstairs room where the brunch was held…

Thanks to Sam’s sisters, the table settings were beautiful..

  Mimosas kept us refreshed and hydrated!

Oh yeah, and water (in the background) also kept us hydrated.  The food was so great that I never took a pic–I was too busy shoveling the Warm Brussels Salad into my mouth!

We played girlie games.  I won Scattergories.  But the best game was where Oona had to guess answers to questions that Sam answered in advance.  For ever wrong answer, a wad of bubble gum was placed in Oona’s mouth!  It was a riot!

It was only natural that I took myself out of the “Guess the Age” game.  I’m no cheater!

Miss Oona getting ready for more bubble gum!  She actually did a great job.  Out of 30 questions, she got 2/3’s correct!

The prize for the Scattergories win..a cute mug and a Starbucks card!!!!!!!!!!! 

Some of the gifts.  Crate & Barrel is very popular–eh???

Happy little wine glasses…

Happy little Oona!

The baking girl was thrilled to receive mixing bowls.  Did I mention I gifted her with a Stainless Kitchen Aid Mixer…just like mine?  I swear the baking is genetic!

This.  This was on Oona’s wish list and she was so happy to receive this!  (Hmmmm maybe she’ll give me her Mr. Coffee machine…)

BFF’s.  They’ve been friends since middle-school.  Two beauties!

This photo of us was taken after I was crying…

..and this is why.  Lauren, Oona’s BFF and Maid of Honor, gifted Sam’s mom and me with embroidered hankies.  Both moms were crying because it was just a touching and generous gift!   I’m crying again!

I was very happy to be in attendance.  Oona didn’t want a shower in Philly simply because she felt that asking my side of the family and her Northeast friends, was asking them to spend too much money—what with the travel to Ohio and the hotel, she wanted to keep expenses down for everyone.  You know—I was very proud of her decision.  I think I raised a very conscientious young woman!

  And the fact Sam’s family has welcomed Oona really made me feel warm and fuzzy inside!

May I present the future Mrs. Butts.  Coming from a very competitive family, it pleases me to have my daughter’s future last name be greatness such as this.  When/if they have children and their children are in competitive activities, they can hashtag:  #MyButtsgonnakickyours  or… #Buttsbekickin’

Some after-brunch fun.  Isn’t that dress adorable?  It’s a Lilly Pulitzer..and those shoes!  The daughter has great taste..and she’s gorgeous!

By the time we got back to the house, the rain came and it was time to head to Sam’s mom’s home for a casual, laid back and fun dinner!

And more Aperol Spritzes!

The recipe?  Three parts Prosecco, Two parts Aperol, One part (a splash) Seltzer and an orange slice to make it nice!

Sunday morning brought forth a bit of a hangover and the flight back to Philly.  Isn’t it funny how when you wish for a delay, the flight is on time?

Gracie was sad to see me go.  I was sad to see me go!

  Minimal dawdling on the return.  There was no delay.  WAIT!  Does that say Air France?  Yeah…but it’s the plane back to Philly…

And despite the timeliness of the flight home, I did manage to get this sweatshirt as a reminder of a great weekend!

I arrived back home Sunday afternoon.  When Bonaparte picked me up, I’m not too sure he was happy to see me because he kept mentioning how tired I looked.  He was right. I had a bad hangover    FOODover, because of all the food I ate.

Yeah. I pretty-much crashed when I arrived home.  Funny how I still think I’m in my twenties sometimes!

Do you ever get sad when you leave someplace and someone?  I was incredibly sad to leave but after I arrived home and unpacked and got to telling the Frenchman about the weekend, the sadness lifted and I felt really happy.  Happy that I was able to enjoy the weekend with my daughter and her future family! And happy to be back sitting next to my husband on the sofa!

And she’s the reason the weekend was a stellar one!  My baby is getting married!

More Mother-of-the-Bride Fun! Far be it to not take advantage of Oona’s pre-wedding events to not make it about me.

[gumnut-logic]

A Little Privacy

Title: A Little Privacy Tales of Sotto Voce Author: Gumnut 8 Sep 2018 Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS Rating: Teen Summary: “Virgil, give yourself a break. Let someone help you for a change.” Word count: 3094 Spoilers & warnings: Spoilers for Season 2 and Sotto Voce  Author’s note: Tales of Sotto Voce is planned to be a series of random fics written in the universe created by the events in Sotto Voce - I highly recommend you read that fic first or these won’t make much sense. There will be no order to the fics or set genre, I’m planning to write whatever comes to mind. Especially since several characters are jumping up and down on said mind. ::rolls eyes:: This first one was just a random thought that managed to jell before the others. It is not necessarily anything that has been asked for, but they should appear later. It is also another example of a fic with a life of its own, though it did eventually go in the direction I wanted it to, it definitely did it with less humour and more action than I had planned. I hope you enjoy it anyway ::hugs::

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

I don’t like it.

You don’t have to. I have a right to some privacy, Eos.

But this will remove you from our sight. John is not happy either.

John will live.

We won’t be able to help you if anything goes wrong.

Nothing is going to go wrong.

How do you know?

He sighed, staring up at the trees overhead for a moment. It was a gorgeous day. The sun dancing through the leaves, the smell of fresh mown lawn from the parklands over the road, cheers and shouts from the sports field as a friendly game of rugby tussled its way across the grass. He had purposefully dumped his hire car solely so he could walk in the sun. It was a short walk to the doctors’ rooms and he wanted to enjoy the calm of the quiet before once again facing his demons.

It’s a doctor’s appointment, Eos. No explosives, no cliffs, no daring escapades, no rescues. I will be fine.

I don’t like it.

So you have said repeatedly.

Virgil…

Eos, I have a right to my own privacy. It will only be for an hour. I will be fine, I promise.

I don’t like it.

Well, I’m sorry, but you will just have to put up with it.

He reached the ivy-covered fence and the wooden gate to the medical rooms and stood for a moment staring out across the park across the road.

See you soon, Eos.

She didn’t immediately answer, probably pouting from his previous statement.

I’m signing off…

Be safe, Virgil.

I will.

And he reached into his pocket and flicked the switch on the isolator he and Brains had developed. It was a small device that interrupted the transmissions of the z-band network. It created a bubble around him that protected him from any digital contact, it isolated him and gave him some privacy from, well, Eos.

It also cut him from communication with International Rescue and wiped him off the grid. Scott and John hated it. Eos, upon discovery of its existence, had been hurt. He had spent a great deal of time speaking with her – once she would speak to him again – explaining his reasoning. She still hated it.

He understood that she sensed his presence far more than he sensed hers. That she was able to be aware of him at all times and removing himself from that awareness scared her. He wasn’t the only one who had been traumatised by the Hood’s recent attack. But he needed his privacy. There were times where he knew he wouldn’t want his niece knowing his every move.

And this was one of them.

The doctor was a high-end specialist, located by Colonel Casey and vetted by Scott and Penelope with a wad of confidentiality forms and a massive background check. Virgil needed to talk about what had happened to him. He was not stupid enough to think he could idly return to his occupation without some form of counselling or psychological assessment and Doc Slick was the answer to that problem.

It had also led to the need for the isolator. His first visit had been cut short because Eos had reacted badly to his emotional state. The receptionist still gave him strange looks when he arrived for appointments - her computer had never recovered. The second appointment had seen the fire alarm triggered by a frantic AI.

Virgil had spoken to her at length, but Eos had only expressed her worry more. The following appointments were more stable, but Virgil couldn’t really speak his mind with Eos in the room. And he needed too.

The doctor didn’t know about Eos, there were no confidentiality forms on the planet that would let Virgil tell anyone about the AI, but he knew enough to know that Virgil was worried about something.

So, the isolator came into play.

He sighed. It was incredibly quiet when it was turned on. He could tell something was missing. The thought of what hid behind his forehead was a disquieting at the best of times, but ironically when he was disconnected from Eos, it came to the fore and bugged him even more.

He should just get it over and done with. He pushed the gate open and walked down the path through the small neat garden to the front door.

Candy was the name on the receptionist’s badge, and she certainly lived up to it with a sweet smile for him the moment he walked in the door. She had been vetted also, Penelope uncovering all sorts of interesting facts about the woman, including the fact she was currently dating two men at the same time. They had been both vetted as well – Penelope was definitely thorough.

“Mr Tracy, how nice to see you today.” She glanced warily at her computer.

He dipped his head politely and smiled a little. “Hi, Candy. How’s your day b-been?” His speech still struggled from time to time and it annoyed him beyond belief. He had never felt so much empathy for Brains. To think the brilliant engineer had lived with it all his life.

“All well and good. The doctor is just finishing up with his previous patient. Would you like to take a seat?”

“Of course.” He walked over to the plush seating by the front window and sat down. A glance at the security camera and sure enough it was pointed directly at him. Another sigh. And he used to think Scott was over protective.

He shot it a very pointed glare and a moment later it swivelled away.

A count to ten in his head.

And it swivelled back.

He grabbed a magazine and buried himself behind it.

The lights suddenly flickered and died. “And there goes my computer.” It was muttered and he looked over the top of the magazine to see Candy glaring at her dead screen. “I’m sorry, Mr Tracy, but we seem to have lost power. This is the second time this week.”

Virgil stood up. “A-anything I can do to help?”

She smiled. “No, no, I think it has something to do with the roadworks two streets over. It will come back on eventually. You sit down. The doctor will still want to see you.”

Sitting back down, he grabbed another magazine and actually found something interesting to read. The isolator denied him access to the network, so his tablet and phone were useless while it was on. So, two-year-old gossip mags were his only entertainment.

He had to wait quite some time. It was unusual and it became apparent why when an ambulance pulled up outside and some paramedics, dragging a hover gurney, ran into the building. With direction from Candy, they disappeared into the doctor’s rooms.

Candy caught his eye and smiled reassuringly, but the worry behind it was obvious. For a moment Virgil was concerned the patient was the doctor himself.  He was about to get to his feet and ask if he could help, but the doors flung open again and a female patient obviously distressed was wheeled out. Doc Slick followed, spouting obs and patient background to the paramedics as they walked.

Virgil went back to his magazine.

Eventually the doctor returned and greeted Virgil with an apology for the delay.

“Understandable. I hope she will be o-okay.”

The doctor half-smiled. “She will be.” He clapped his hands together. “Now how about we have a little talk.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Of course, D-doc.”

Slick grinned and ushered him into his office.

The room looked completely different with the lights down for the count. “Sorry about the power outage. I swear one of the council guys keeps reading his maps wrong. Last week they hit a water main and twice this week the power has been cut.”

“Yes, Candy was saying.”

“Have a seat.” The Doc waved him to the comfortable lounge where he had bared his soul before. He shut the door behind him, and as Virgil sat down, took a seat himself. “So how have things been?”

Virgil shrugged. “Okay.”

“I hear your brothers helped with that earthquake in the Philippines.”

Virgil blinked. “Y-yeah.”

And it began there. Idle talk that eventually cut to the core of his issues. And there were issues. He still had trouble relaxing around John, through no fault of his poor brother. He was frustrated that he couldn’t go out on rescues, particularly like that one in the Philippines which would have required his specific skill set and equipment load. And, of course, there were nightmares.

God, the nightmares. With his connection with Eos, the nightmares took on a whole new meaning. The first time it had happened, the whole of International Rescue had ended up in his bedroom. Eos had been terrified, not understanding what was happening to him. She had calmed somewhat since, once he and John had explained extensively and she became familiar with the signs. Her help had since become invaluable in waking him up during the worst of them and reassuring him that he was okay.

Doc Slick was gentle with his words, but it was inevitable that there were moments of vulnerability in this room that Virgil would dread to show anywhere else. He needed to do this to get better, he knew this, but it was hard.

Consequently, he was usually exhausted at the end of the sessions and today was no different.

He ran a hand over his face as the doctor stood up. The man held out his hand and Virgil took it, hauling himself to his feet. “Th-thanks, Doc.”

Slick smiled a little. “You’re doing great, Virgil.”

“Yeah, I g-guess.”

The doctor fixed him with his eyes. “Virgil, give yourself a break. Let someone help you for a change.”

He had to let out a laugh at that, thinking of his four brothers, his sister, his grandma, Brains and Eos, all of who had been trying to help him so much. He didn’t think there was anything he could do to repay them.

“S-sure, Doc.”

Slick frowned, but ushered him towards the door. “Don’t hesitate to visit when you need to Virgil, but in the meantime, see you next week?”

“Yeah, I’ll make the ap-appointment.”

He opened the door and walked out into the reception area only to come face to face with a lounging Scott Tracy, apparently chatting up Candy. His brother was dressed up in his full IR regalia, leaning on the front desk with that luring playboy smile of his.

Virgil froze in his tracks, the doctor colliding with his back. “What?”

“Oh, hey, Virg.” The casual air faded as his brother looked closer at him. “You okay?”

“W-what are you doing here?”

“Um…” Scott Tracy lost for words. He never thought he’d see that.

Virgil glared at him before turning his attention to the receptionist. Pulling out his credit card and speaking nicely to Candy, he processed his appointment and made the next one. He ignored the doctor greeting his brother, shaking his hand and making small talk.

With a polite farewell to Candy and a nod to his doctor, he grabbed Scott by his arm and dragged him out the door. The mum and her kid in the waiting room stared openly.

Once out on the garden path, he rounded on his brother. “What the h-hell are you doing here?”

Scott wasn’t looking him in the eye, a clear sign of guilt. “Uh, there was a power blackout.”

“So?”

“You’ve been gone two hours.”

“I repeat, so?!”

“Uh…”

Something about the sounds from the park across the road drew his attention. There were yells of amazement and at least one clear word came through.

“You d-didn’t.”

“Virgil.”

He turned and stalked to the gate opening it to the view across the road.

Where Thunderbird One was parked in the middle of the rugby field.

“Scott? Really?” He felt like clawing his hair out.

“Eos and John panicked.” Scott ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, not my best judgement call, I admit.”

“You’ve g-got to be kidding me. One hour. I asked for one hour!”

“It was two! And there was no contact. The whole block is dead, Virgil.”

“It was a p-power outage.”

“It could have been anything!”

“Well, it wasn’t!”

The crowd over the road was getting bigger and there were more than a few looks darting in their direction. Behind them, both Candy and Doc Slick had edged out onto the path, catching sight of the Thunderbird across the road.

“Virgil, are you okay?” Slick looked concerned.

“Ah, sorry, D-doc, I’m fine. Just a mis-misunderstanding.” He glared at his brother again. “I’m going back to my car.”

“Virg.”

“Not n-now.” And he turned his back on his brother and stalked down the formerly peaceful street, listening to first his brother speaking over his comms reassuring some hyperactive voices that Virgil was okay. Then his doctor speaking to Scott.

God damnit.

And the delighted yells of ‘Thunderbird’ across the park.

One hour, just one hour.

One lousy hour to himself.

He made it to the end of the street, turned the corner so he was out of sight and let his back lean against the high fence and dropped his head into his hands.

It was all so hard.

“Hey, sir, are you okay?”

He looked up as a man about his age approached. “I’m okay, no w-worries.” He forced a smile.

The man looked him up and down a moment. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Then please give me all your valuables.” There was a knife in the man’s hand.

Virgil couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing. “You have got to be k-kidding me.”

“No joke, mate. Give me what I want or you’ll pay for it.” Supposedly he thought he was menacing.

Virgil moved. A hand came up deflecting the knife, the other grabbing the man’s free hand and twisting his wrist, forcing him to turn. Another grab at the knife arm, and Virgil dug his fingers into tendons, forcing him to let go. The knife bounced off the pavement as the man yelped. Virgil pushed his weight forward and the man was flung to the ground. A knee in the middle of his back and he was contained. “You were s-saying?”

He said a lot of things, none of them repeatable.

“Listen, I’ve h-had a bad day. Could you p-please just shut up.”

The man fell silent.

Now what the hell was he going to do?

“Virgil?” Scott. Of course, he followed. “What the hell?”

“Can you believe he tried to mug me?”

“Really? Well that was a stupid idea.”

“I think he’s w-worked that out now. Have you got a-anything in that uniform of y-yours I could res-strain him with?”

A few moments later the mugger was tied up with a jimmied IR harness. He kept staring at Scott’s uniform. “You’re a Thunderbird?”

Both brothers ignored him. Scott called the police, and Virgil made a quick verbal statement when they arrived. Eventually they were left to themselves, the only sounds, the mutterings of the crowd down the road. Virgil walked them towards his car further down the street.

“I’m sorry, Virg.”

The engineer sighed. “I know. I kn-now. And believe it or n-not, I can unders-stand.” He caught his brother’s eyes. There had been so many times when Virgil had been too far away to help and would have done anything to be beside his brother.

“Forgiven?”

“Sure.” Virgil shrugged. “Though the c-council may never forgive you after what you’ve d-done to their rugby f-field.”

“I’ll pay for it.” He smirked. “They are lucky I didn’t bring your ‘bird. Remember what you did to that stadium in Oklahoma?”

“Don’t r-remind me. I’m lucky if they’ll ever l-let me in the state again.” He smiled, and on impulse, turned around and hugged his brother. “Thanks, b-bro, for always being there.”

Scott startled, but then returned the hug with gusto. “Always, Virg, always.”

He stepped back after a moment and looked up at his brother. “Now go m-move that t-tin can of yours so they can go back to their game.”

Scott smirked. “I suspect the opportunity to see a Thunderbird outranked their game.”

“Show off.”

“Yeah, them the perks.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Go on, g-get out of here.”

Scott touched his arm, his eyes earnest. “Virg, let her back in. She’s frantic.”

“Aw, hell.”

Scott squeezed his arm. “Yeah.” And with a short wave, he was off up the street.

Virgil turned to his car, climbing in and shutting the door before reaching for the isolator.

The moment it was switched off, he was engulfed.

It was a hug, the swirl of a dress, a sob, a welcome, a jumble of worry, relief and love. Words tumbled through his mind so fast he was only able to capture a few. His heart froze and his mind stalled. Overloaded.

God.

Eos-

And it stopped. She stepped back. And he was breathing again.

He clutched a hand to his chest, panting at the lack of oxygen.

Sorry.

He had never been so glad that Scott had left when he did. If he had seen what Eos was capable of doing, there would have been consequences.

A little slower next time, please. Give me the chance to breathe.

Sorry.

His comm chirped in his collar and touched it with a slightly shaky hand. “I’m f-fine, John.”

“Good to hear.” John’s sharp tone only spoke of worry. “Scott reported the mugging. Eos was concerned.”

“I n-noticed.”

“I was concerned.”

“I’m fine, John. A-ask Eos.” And with that he cut the connection.

Eos, I know you were worried, but there was no need to send Scott.

You were mugged!

Attempted mugging. He regretted it immediately.

But I couldn’t contact you. I couldn’t find you.

Eos, I’m okay.

I didn’t know that!

It never worried you before our connection.

That was different.

Why?

I didn’t know how…important you are.

In what way?

In every way.

He shut his eyes for a moment. Eos, we need to work this out. You can’t call International Rescue every time I go off grid a little longer than expected. A sigh. Let’s get home and then perhaps we can work out a compromise or two?

Yes, Virgil.

I’m not your boss, Eos. I’m just family.

She sent him a smile.

He smiled back.

Pulling out the keys, he started the car.

And yawned.

Letting other people help was hard work.

But he couldn’t help but love them for it.

-o-o-o-

FIN

[seenashblog]

Nash Watches & Rates Cheesy Hallmark & Lifetime Winter Movies So You Don’t Have To

a.k.a. -  Nash Records Her Viewings Of Hallmark & Lifetime Winter Movies, which are fanfic in visual form & are gold. And yes, it’s a apparently a legit sub-genre. Best I can tell, if it’s not Christmas or Valentines, and there’s snow, then it goes. Spoilers abound.)

Note: This adventure has been moved to here from my main blog @seenashwrite, so my SPN peeps can rest assured they’ll not be exposed to this any longer - I have a feeling I’ll not be done purging my soul for a while yet #bless my heart

As per last time during the Christmas round-ups, 4 and 5 stars mean the best of the lot, 3 stars means it’s not necessarily a waste of your time, 2 stars is up to your discretion, and 1 star means it is time you will never get back.

Winter's Dream (Kristy Hot Damn Swanson, Dean Mothafukkin' Cain - Hallmark)

With it packing this level of stardom, how can it go wrong? Understand that I can take or leave Dean Cain, but Kristy Swanson is the shit. 

The official summary/another summary from somewhere:

When a former ski champion re-enters the competitive world after a 16-year-old downhill racer asks for help, she finds a new love and reawakens an old passion.

Former pro skier, Kat, is asked to coach a younger skier, named Anna, and finds love with the girl's widowed father, Ty.

These are both kinda garbage summaries - I mean, they're accurate, but it doesn't paint the whole picture. There's nothing really to spoil, and though it hits a couple things on a winter bingo (still forthcoming), they're more the Hallmark staples, such as the kid (in this case, a really great teen gal who's a good actress) who brings people together, and that the lodge/the resort is in danger of being lost, and somebody teaches somebody else how to skate, and that shit, but the bottom line is it's a fine watch. It's not spectacular, but it's not dipped in cheese, and there's some really pretty shots of the skiing (especially something they do at the end), plus kudos for the body doubles (the ones doing the actual skiing) were spot-on, and the teen actress did an impressive end-of-run stop at one point, you know it's her because she immediately whips off her mask.

Bottom line, this movie woulda been ass if not for Swanson and Cain, who didn't have greeeeat chemistry, though they made it work. In any event, the script was solid - like I say, not a great deal of cheese and any lines that were aren't sticking out to me because they were delivered so well - so I'm actually gonna rate this one decently high.

4/5 stars

.

Love on the Sidelines (this dude who's been in three movies I've seen so far, John Reardon, and some basic blonde chick who is vaguely familiar - Hallmark)

This isn’t technically a winter one, I don’t think, but it’s on, so it counts.

So they try to throw you from the get-go with "Is injured dude gonna be the love interest which is totally inappropriate since he's her boss and clearly got about 12 years on her and has made multiple patronizing comments to her, about how physically strong she is and about her classic car and about her abilities in general, or is it the other dude on the team who took an immediate interest in her and has thus far been polite and respectful and friendly and flirty?"

(By the way, main dude has cock-blocked his friend, but he has a model girlfriend [who is styled to be a stereotype from extensions to heels] and it's also shown he has no idea about stuff she likes/is into, such as her favorite flowers - but chick knew because she had 'em out for their romantic dinner. That's right, it's part of her assistant duties - and she's supposed to be helping him with activities of daily living stuff - is to prep his bone zones.)

If they make dude #2 turn out to be a douche and that main dude is somehow awesome underneath all his shit----- what am I saying, of course they are. The latter, that is. You know I'm right. Hundred percent.

People are like losing their chickens over this jersey she's tailored to be a "girl fit" - you know what I mean, it's not a box with sleeves, there's tailoring to it, so the sleeves aren't so ginormous and it's tapered on the sides. This jersey's been the topic of about three interactions thus far and we're only 40 minutes (so 30 mins airtime) in. They're all "Wow!" and "This is so creative!" and "My wife would love that, where'd you get it!"  Y'all, google for this, that type of jersey, I mean. [pause] Nevermind, here:

I put in the mystical combo of "women's NFL football jersey".

THIS IS REVOLUTIONARY

Hey, and heh-heh.... quick bonus....

WHYENNE!!!! THAT BITCH IS EVERYWHERE

But hey, how else would we know that fashion design is her passion? Scriptin' be hard, yo. Speaking of her clothes skillz - "I think there's more to him," she says to BFF, whose wedding dress she's fitting. First, *eyeroll*. Second, if your friend is trying to watch a football game and learn the basics, don't let them fit you for your farging wedding at the same time. Which is what is happening.

There's twinkly magical music when his hand runs over hers when they're both searching under the couch, feeling around for his dropped cell phone.

*more eyeroll*

I do like the car, it's a red Mustang.... early 70s, maybe?.... but I can say I don't care for the shade of red, it's a little too cherry popsicle or hooker scarlet lipstick.

(My dream car is probs a Mustang muscle in black, but as far as zoom-zooms go, I tell ya, a friend of mine had a Porsche Boxster, and What. A. Ride., and he'd offered to teach me how to drive stick on it - not a euphemism, I swear, I was 16, my dad was his mentor, he's like the child my father never had - I'M A HUGE DISAPPOINTMENT OKAY - so like my big brother, and anyhow, it was so beautiful I gasped at the very thought. But sweet babby jeebus, those suckers are smooth rides. None of this matters.)

Anyway, she keeps having trouble starting it, and I can tell by the sound it isn't the alternator, nor is it the battery, nor is it a belt, nor is she flooding the engine. I know fuck-all about cars as a general rule, but I know those sounds because I've experienced all of them. It has now gone to commercial, as he's just looked under the hood and announced after 3.8 seconds "Yup, I think I see your problem."  He must have x-ray vision. I am on pins-and-needles, shivering with anticipation.

Back from commercial, he's shutting the hood and she's saying "Wow you did it!" and wiping grease from his face. He's got an absolutely wrecked calf/ankle/foot (and straight up, they've done a good job making it all seem legit, props to... well, props... and make-up), but you're telling me he was standing and bent over long enough to get all greasy, and he's supposed to be - most of the time - either sitting or standing with that bitch elevated. This was stupid. This was a stupid, wholly unnecessary scene. Oh except we find out - because it's visible in the back seat - that she's read his children's book.

That's right. He's written a children's book.

Dude's mom: "I think he's dating the wrong type of women". Subtle, screenwriters, subtle. Now he's sneaking and working out. I really hope they show his ankle buckling out at a wicked angle. I'm gross like that. Twinkly music plays as she waits for him in the locker room while he's in with the sports trainer because he shouldn't have been working out.

Forgot to mention there's an awesome dog, this really beautiful Dane, and of course it loves her and hates Stereotype, because reasons for him to go ga-ga. She's honestly not bad, I have zero issue with the actress, nor with this actor, they're actually both good, but between the music and this script, I'm fighting over what rating to give it. (Checks clock) Welp, the next 45 minutes should tell me. It's dragging ass, I'll tell you that, though.

Like, nothing's happened. Nothing. He has an injury, she's his new personal assistant. I can list traits they each have. I've seen groups of moments. I don't know what the story is. Is it just "they get closer and fall in lurve"? That's... not a story. That's a series of facts. People meet their partners/spouses via the workplace all the time. What's the plot? What's the conflict? The obstacles? The tension? The OOMPH, I'd call it, is missing. This is what kills me about most fanfic - they just tell me stuff, they aren't showing me a new perspective or a twist or a unique take or differing interpretation that's still supported by canon, or an inventive plot that or what-the-hell-ever. Dean and Whyenne were in the bunker and they researched and they cooked and they talked about Cas and Sam, and they argued about her going on a hunt, then they kissed, the end! That's not a story, that's a daydream. I've digressed.

Now he's texted her "the emergency code" while she's at her best friend's wedding, and turns out it's because he's cranky because his sister said he's got to learn how to not be the center of attention. And she - I am proud to say - lets. Him. Have. It.  Part of what she says is - Can you do *anything* for yourself?!  And he goes - This!  And he kisses her, and it takes her off guard, but then they go for it, and I am actually happy for them.

Shit. I still hate that this isn't a story, but holy hell the difference when some conflict is introduced. Ahhhhhmazeballs. Conflict, however minor, is what shows us who these people we're watching/reading really are - and no, conflict does not mean angst, nor does it mean some sort of heart-breaking, can't-take-it-back fight, nor does it mean life-and-death, just divergent paths or opinions is all it takes. I've digressed again.

My interest is piqued because we have a half-hour to go, and typically this is how Hallmark blows their wad in the last fifteen.

[time passes]

Okay, a couple things turned out decent. Y'all will *love* what the best friend pulls at the end, and she and her hubby have been great throughout, but this one particular thing was clutch. And everybody had chemistry, family and friends and romance alike. It just can't help the lack of story, and I really detest the manner in which they made lead dude a jerk - there's other ways to do that besides going the lazy route, a.k.a. being sexist. It's not as bad as a two (a.k.a. - this is a matter of taste), because there's some objectively good stuff.... on the other hand, my lord is dragged. So I'm going with a three, because it's a toss-up as to whether you're gonna really like it, or think "Meh".

3/5 Stars

.

One Winter Weekend / One Winter Proposal (Taylor Cole, some other people - Hallmark)

So the former was in last year's winter line-up, the latter in this one. Taylor Cole played Sarah Blake on SPN. I see she's also on deck for some detective thing on Hallmark Movies & Mysteries.

And.... that's all I got to say about that.

I genuinely tried to watch these. They played them back-to-back, and speaking of backs, mine was acting up so I was laid out, and I thought - all right, this'll kill some time. And I fell asleep at 6 p.m., y'all. I took ibuprofen, I was not getting liquored up, I slept plenty the night before, and I fell the fuck to sleep. These movies are boring as fuck. 

I saw no sparks, and there were two couples from which to divine said spark. The co-lead chick was incredibly annoying, she plays everything too perky, and it's really evident in scenes with her romantic interest, who is a good actor and came off completely naturally. Actually, he should've been the main-main male lead, I bet he'd have had great chemistry with Cole, who's a better actor than the dude they had her paired with, but I say all that to say, the script was... meh. The pacing of both movies was weird, and the conflicts that were in them (see above for discussion on what conflict in stories actually is) were nothingburgers. It was stupid. Don't waste your time, seriously.

1/5 stars

.

We interject for a non-review that needs to be mentioned. Oh, Lifetime. Holy shitsnacks.

Double Mommy (I... I don't know... people... - Lifetime)

This is the synopsis:

Ryan discovers his friend Bryce is the father of one of his girlfriend's twin babies and that he date raped her at a party over the summer. With college looming over Bryce's head, he will stop at nothing to make sure that he clears his name.

Because the guys' feelz are what's important, here.

.

The Birthday Wish (Jessy Schram, who only acts one way and that is coked-up squirrel with blonde barrel curls - Hallmark)

This is the official summary, and it should let you know how pleased I was to watch this:

On her birthday, a woman who desperately wants her boyfriend to propose to her wishes for the opportunity to see into the future, with surprising results.

'Cause I love seeing "desperate" and "woman" in the same sentence about my main character! This was precisely what you think based on the summary - though I will say Schram doesn't play it "desperate" so that was kind've a weird word for them to use - she somehow has these premonitions (it's never explained) and the boyfriend's a dick and she ends up with her co-worker who's a great guy. The end.

1/5 stars

.

Once Upon A Prince (Megan Park, who is familiar though I don't know how, and a quite charming British fellow who isn't really, he's actually from Canada by way of New York but sounds really damn convincing - Hallmark)

Also unsure this is “winter”, but it’s worth talking about. Seriously. Still, let's get the shite - and it's minor! - out of the way.

First complaint: they blew their wad in the title. Not that we don't get the scoop fairly quickly, but... welp, no we don't, the beans aren't spilled for a while - they *easily* could've skirted it, and they HAVE, it's very nicely and smoothly done, I mean, you can divine it but it's not plot anvil'd, his situation unfolds gradually across the first act, which is so refreshing. Whoever titled it was the screw-up. I'm looking at you, Hallmark execs. All their titles spoil.

Second complaint... despite the adept nature they handled main dude's backstory, there's a really bad clunker of an anvil in that first bit - we know exactly how he's gonna propose to her in the end because they shoe-horned in really abrupt and almost non-sequitur dialogue for her wherein she tells him her dream proposal not terribly long after meeting him. It was weird and awkward. I mean, the fuck. I get she was still rattled as her longtime boyfriend with whom she had both business and personal futures planned out breaking up with her in the prior scene(s), but shit. They do recover a bit by having our dude - and damn, I love him, I genuinely do - comment something to the effect of "Well oftentimes it's easier to tell a stranger things we can't tell the ones to whom we're close". My point is, they knew it was a dog of a line, but I thought of three options to get the topic out there over the course of them getting to know each other just while I’ve sat here typing this recap - hell, they revisit the damn location later, when they are friends vs. strangers! It was bad writing.

Third complaint... y'all know by now: I hate the fake made-up countries. And this one is (wait for it) Cambria. Google Cambria. Go ahead. I'll wait. [pause] Nevermind, I'll just tell you, and this isn't because I have some bizarre encyclopedic knowledge of the way-back-when in Jolly Ol', it's because - well - I'm a reformed dinosaur nerd, and that overlaps with having an understanding of geology, because fossils. There, I said it. There were charts and sketches and stuff of the various periods of dino development from National Geographics on bedroom walls. I had it bad. For the record, I loved the book Jurassic Park, and the first movie was great, and the rest are good for laughs. The last two are good for mocking. I probably would've been a paleontologist, except for when my Christian father, who at the time  I thought was the smartest man in the world (and he is objectively intelligent in many ways) told me God put the dinosaurs in the earth, that there's no way the earth is as old as science proves. (I say proves, he said claims.) 'Cause, y'know, an almighty being is totes into pranks. Ha ha. Ha ha ha. Funsies. I've digressed.

The quick-and-dirty is that the Cambrian is the geologic period that's from around 550 million years ago. (Okay this part I'll look up, because I'm so nerdy.... yup, I see it's 542-488 mil.) Anyhow, the dude that coined the name found the goods, the exemplars that proved this stage in earth history/backed up earth's age in Wales. And the area now known as Wales used to be called Cambria a way long time ago. Not millions time ago, of course. Trilobites and whatever can't speak... THAT WE KNOW OF. So I don't know if somebody was just like "Oh, that sounds like it could be a country" or somebody was being cute, thinking Cambria wasn't real, like it was something akin to Camelot, I've no idea. Who cares, it's stupid.

However.

Guys.... y'all.... my peeps.... um.... this'n is a keeper, so I'm not going to break it down and spoil it. It is very much worth watching, if you're into these types of movies, because it differs in a huge, very positive manner. Here's why this movie is above average for Hellmark: there's legitimate conflict (see above, re: what that means), and - most importantly - they are friends. They are buddies. They genuinely like each other. This isn't just about romantic love, this is about two people who care about what happens to each other. They care that the other person is living a life in  which they are happy.

There's also some realism here, not because it's an identical situation (it is not, trust) but in the broad strokes, I think of the Prince Harry-Meghan Markle situation. Middleton is uppercrust Brit stock, if memory serves (I'm not looking it up) with some sort of pseudo-distant-whatever royal line connection. She was gold for William, she's a good option for a queen (I mean, I'm sure there's duchesses out there, but that ain't who Wills loved). Now, Markle? So far from what would be called uppercrust. So, so very far. And yeah, yeah, I get that it's not as big a deal since he's not direct but more adjacent in line to the throne, but c'mon. It was a big deal. And you know all the ways why, I won't go through them here. My dude broke about a bazillion years' worth of tradition, and good on him.

And at the end of the day, that's what this movie is about - making your own way, creating your own traditions, adapting the old traditions, having confidence to do the things you're good at, the things you believe you're meant to do, and doing them the way you think is best. Is this a deep movie? No, it's fucking Hallmark, haven't you been paying attention? You think they let us escape without a super-rushed, wrap-it-up-in-the-last-five-minutes ending? You know better. I'll tell you this, though - it may not be deep, but it ain't shallow. And it's the best royal movie we've had so far, despite the too much haste with information-giving in the beginning and with the title and, as you'll find out, a really bleh last line... and of course with him being king of Fossilville. (I'm not letting that go.)

You're going to love him, he's a doll and classy and darling the entire time. You're going to love her, she's self-assured and fun and mature and hard-working. And you're really going to love John the valet. We find ourselves at ratings time and, somewhat shockingly:

5/5 stars

.

Past entries below

Winter Castle (people you’ve never heard of - Hallmark)

Holy shit, cliché on parade and nobody can act?! Jack-friggin’-pot. Zero chemistry amongst anyone, from family to friendship to romance?! Hot damn.

So they’re all at this place for a destination wedding (a.k.a, Selfish And Life-Disrupting And Huge Expense For Guests Thing And Oh Here’s Our Registry Too, come at me brah), and everyone is staying in a hotel. HA! KIDDING! They’re all in this giant faux igloo, and by “faux” I mean there are these church-esque doors in what is, I guess, a specially-flown-in iceberg on land. Google tells me it’s an actual place.

Anyway, through the doors you’ll find hallways (that have people carved into them, not creepy at all) which are lined with rooms. Suites? I never saw a bathroom door, doesn’t damn matter, nobody poos in Hallmark’s world. Oh, also, for lighting, we have Target pillar candles, then everything’s backlit in ‘80s neon:

Are they shitting me?

But that’s beside the point. Point is, it may be pretty to look at but in execution, it’s stupid. No way people haven’t had to peace out and find a new joint to stay in because of near or actual hypothermia. Based on the warm, cozy, wood-floored, windowed, staircase-and-balcony-having rehearsal dinner area in a large building with stone wall exterior, this hotel actually has some, y'know, hotel to it. Lodge? Who cares, but I bring it up because of the standard precocious child who is there to bring everybody together whilst turning into a popsicle.

The poor kid is bundled within an inch of her life, dumb bunny-eared toboggan to puffy jacket, and is burrito’d in a sleeping bag, with a quilt on this bed that looks to be carved out of ice, as well, and I say “as well” because our leading lady is shown frequently perched on what looks to be a chair carved out of ice (fur puffy thing for ass protection) with her laptop on a table carved out of ice when she’s face-timing her Not Gay Male Best Friend in a bow-tie and sweater vest back home, and - bonus! - he doubles as The One Person Of Color. Now, if memory serves, legit igloos made by actual First Nation(s) folks (meaning both Canadian and American - specifically, Alaskan - and probs any groups that found themselves in the way-way-North in the way-back-when and had to come up with this genius or, you know, die) are actually pretty damn warm once the fire gets cranking. Not to say you don’t keep some fierce socks and gloves on, that’s plain smart, but enclosed space with heat is enclosed space with heat - just don’t lick the walls. That’s good advice, igloo or otherwise.

On that topic, via the article linked above, says one of the actresses:

“It’s like an igloo,” Mullen told the Standard. “The further you go into the hotel, it gets colder and colder. As you walk down the hallway into the different rooms, it’s just getting into your bones.” She said every time they called “Cut!,” everyone would put on jackets to warm up.

She’s incorrect - that’s not like an igloo. It’s too big, that’s why it doesn’t stay warm. I have *zero* desire to go to this place. That sounds like Dante’s Frosty The Snowman circle of hell. I digress.

I say all that to say, this movie is straight dumb because the script is basic bitch, they were leaning on the location and hard. It gets a star because they tried in the sense that they did use a unique setting, but the rest was neglected (the story and the casting). Everything else was so blaaaaaand, and the acting was so stilted and unnatural, and they cast the mother with someone who looks the exact same age as the lead gal/her sister (the bride), and then there’s this one chick character who was so pathetically desperate, and the leading man was such a pussy who wouldn’t make a fucking decision, and they had our leading lady be all *sniffle* and tolerating that shit AND SHE JUST MET HIM BY THE WAY, and I just…. ugh.

1/5 stars

.

Royal Matchmaker (Bethany Joy Lenz - Hallmark)

This isn’t an “official” Winter '19 jam, google tells me it’s from the '18 spring movies, but everybody’s bundled up, so I’m calling bullshit. It ain’t half-bad, despite the fact that it’s a “royal” one, who’d-a-thunk? There was one over Christmas that got a 4 (see link up top), and I never would’ve predicted it. But that was an oldie-goldie, this is now. This one has the traditional royal romance beats and, no shit, the sidekick is the same one from another “royal”, the absolutely horrid “Christmas At The Palace”, from Christmas ‘18. I cannot reiterate how bad that movie was - not ”My Christmas Love“ bad, but bad.

All right, so - she’s a matchmaker from NYC, which is at least a new take on what’s coming next - and you guessed it, a prince HAS to get married or some reason, even though it’s mentioned they are under a Parliamentary system and not a monarchy, but he still has to because it’s the 17th century, oh wait no it’s not. The king, who is from a random made-up locale (*sigh*) has hired her (and said partner) to find a suitable wife for his son, who’s presented as the typical eligible rich bachelor, and “presented as” is the key phrase. It’s one of the things I like about this plot, but it doesn’t outweigh the bleeeccchhh.

For one, it wears me out, the making-up of countries. It’s distracting. If you’re gonna do royalty, the right move is to have the royal not be a king/prince but make it a duke/duchess jam, refer to the locale vaguely as a duchy in England or Ireland or Scotland or Sweden or Norway or whatever Americans will fall for, 'cause as a rule, Americans aren’t typically hip to other countries’ jams. Hell, say someone is a prince/princess, but it’s more in inherited title only - that’s what the 4 from the Christmas list did right. Nobody called him “Prince Whatever”, he wasn’t presented as this hot commodity, it was a nothing burger, we didn’t even find out that he had the title til near the end of the movie. I’ve digressed, back to this flick.

I detest the royal garb they’ve got lead dude in at the conclusion, it looks like you or I waltzed into Party City and slapped down $30 and walked back to the set. It’s ill-tailored and in too-bright colors and is, again, something utterly distracting that could’ve been avoided, and same with the king’s, too-small jacket to too-long length of slacks. All the women, including our main gal, are in prom dresses straight off the rack from Sears and J.C. Penney’s. This is not praise. The men are all in identical rented tuxedos with clip bow-ties. Thanks, I hate it.

I mean, and I hate that there’s a ball at the end at all, but it goes hand-in-hand with the core premise, which is that they’re on a tight schedule - ol’ Bethany has 4 weeks. They, of course, fall in love with one another, and props to casting because these two look good together and have decent chemistry, but that could be because Lenz knocks these movies out of the park - this is the third… maybe the fourth… that I’ve seen with her - she elevates everything she’s in. When I mentioned her to a friend, I was told she also elevated some shitty TV show that I never watched, so perhaps you are already familiar with her.

Anyhow, once again there’s too much filler and the ending draaaaaaags and then BOOM it’s done in the last three minutes, which is standard for these movies (both Lifetime and Hallmark), I’d say, about 95% of the time. The story was good in that the prince wasn’t a typical playboy and he kept his philanthropic side a secret because he didn’t want press invading these small villages and whatever he was helping rebuild - he genuinely likes getting his hands dirty and he actually knows how to do shit, he fixes a radiator at a community center at one point. Eh. I dunno. It had such potential in the front half, then just shit the bed in the back half, so it was half of a waste of my time. But you may dig it. It’s far from the worst of Hallmark’s offerings but, again, I think it’s because of Lenz, she’s the only thing getting it up from a 1/5.

2/5 stars

.

Oh… oh mah… what the… we interrupt the winter fare for what looks like a rando that’s snuck in and christ on a cracker, no. No. No. NO. The summary:

A woman begins an online relationship with a famous photographer, not realizing that she is actually communicating with the man’s young son.

This caught my ear because as I was sitting here writing up the last movie, it came on, and I hear this woman’s voice, her typing (so it’s her voice in her mind), then a man’s voice (as she’s reading), and I looked up when the man’s voice started switching to a kid’s (boy’s) voice back and forth every sentence or so - and then I looked at that summary, and….

NO

"Chance at Romance”, it’s called –> 0/5 stars, I don’t even need to watch it, what a stupid garbage fucking premise, and it’s gross, and I hope that shit kid gets punished, like as in, no computer til he’s old enough to own his own home and pay for his own internet, because scumbag kid. If he has the balls to pull this catfishing shitstorm on a fucking adult and gets away with it, what the fuck will he do to manipulate girls his own age? Gross. IT’S A GROSS PREMISE YOU GREETING CARD FUCKTARDS

.

Love On Ice (Andrew Walker, who’s in every fourth movie, and  the lead chick’s familiar her name is Julie Berman - Hallmark)

Former pro skater, now teaching - don’t worry, it’s not the aforementioned “Christmas At The Palace”, despite the similar M.O. - and decides to go for one last run at regionals because the new coach in town who’s teaching the next big thing is like “You used to be the next big thing, why don’t you undo eight years of not training aggressively in, like, a couple weeks and compete against the girl I’ve been hired to make a winner, and I’ll coach you both, because I have a boner for you and your shitty blonde extensions! No, that’s not what he says, but that’s the deal, yo. The next-big-thing’s got an overbearing mother and, once his boner gets found out, here comes a new coach that used to be the former-next-big-thing’s coach, and she’s a horrible actress, she can’t play sneaky-evil to save her life. I liked the two leads, and they did a better job than the other ice skating scenes/movies with concealing the real skater actors, but overall this was as boring as watching paint dry, I just wanted it to be over.

1/5 stars

.

The Perfect Catch (Nikki DeLoach and… shock of all shocks, no not really… our old buddy, Andrew Walker - Hallmark)

I swear, I don’t know if Andrew Walker is on some mission from god, or being punished by him. I’m in the same boat, so I empathize. At least I’m not contracted. I can’t speak for him, but I remain happy for DHJ, that he’s escaped this purgatory, and is safe on the shore… at least, at present.

In any event, this one doesn’t seem like a "Winter official”, but there were jackets and no definite spring or fall standards (pastels or orange leaves), and it’s airing now, so here we are. It seems to be baseball season, so I know they mean for it to be spring, but they are wearing coat-coats, not it’s-still-kinda-chilly light jackets. I don’t fucking care, I watched it, so I’m reporting on it.

It ticks many boxes on the Winter Fanfic Bingo card (forthcoming), specifically the ones that are carryovers from Christmas and will be carried over to all the Hallmark/Lifetime movies regardless of time of year. Because being formulaic, when playing the long game, is cheap and efficient, and in the restaurant business, or products made on a factory line, or in healthcare standards, things of that ilk, you want streamlined coupled with the trieds-and-trues. In writing? Not-so-much. It’s lazy.

And speaking of restaurants, that’s the first box that got ticked - our leading lady owns a restaurant and, next box, it’s in danger of being lost. Other boxes include: our leading man is famous; he’s the character that comes back home, leaves/might leave, then changes mine/comes back, and it’s to stay!; adorable child who ideally will bring everyone together; a character’s parents are dead. Blah-blah. Blah-blah-blah. Blah-blaaaaah-blah-bleh. <—- that had more variety than this flick. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with this movie. It’s vanilla. It’s white bread. It’s mashed potatoes with no salt or a touch of sour cream mixed in, no loading with shredded sharp cheese and crumbled brown sugar-and-cracked-pepper bacon and the barest touch of chives. I’m hungry, shut up.

It doesn’t just get 1 star because it’s not bottom barrel - everyone’s competent in their acting, there’s nothing outlandishly stupid about the script, it’s not shellacked in Velveeta. I will say that they pull a little teensy, micro-twist with how they resolve his balancing a primo offer that in no way should he pass on career-wise fairly realistically. The very last scene is, of course, stupid and embarrassing.

2/5 stars

.

The next movie has palm trees, so officially not Winter. But oof…. it’s got Kelly Rutherford and Cameron Mathison, both of whom are ringers. Hmmm. Yeah, I still ain’t subjecting myself to more than needed for this adventure. Oh, and they continue to play the basic-basic-BAAAAASIC-boring “Hope At Christmas” on Hallmark Movies and Mysteries", if you’re interested. It is a mystery to me as to why they continue to do so. Anyhow, there’s apparently 3 or 4 more brand spanking new offerings from Hallmark for the next several weeks.

More to come. I’ll reblog this with every new entry added to the top, so you can always just keep this post URL bookmarked if you think you missed it. Send an ask if you want to be tagged.

[krugerevengeinej]

Plot list for Jordie lives AU fanfic | part 1?

A/N: Yeah this is an absolute fucking mess but so has been me trying to write this fic. These are just ramblings please do not judge any grammar mistakes. But I really need some feedback on this from potential readers. Just tell me what you think if there's any other things you'd wanna see in this or important shit I forgot. I really just need motivation to actually do this. Oh and the other part is here cuz I used to many fckn bullet points for one post. Yes I know it's not kanejy yet y'all just gotta be patient.

So Kaz and Jordie both live through firepox

But now they have no money, and nowhere to go

They are just two kids out on their luck and stuck in the barrel

Jordie keeps telling Kaz they'll find a way out of it

That he'll protect his little brother

That they won't need to stoop to becoming criminals like so many people there

But as time goes on and their scrounging to survive, working jobs in shitty taverns and gambling dens

A change happens in Kaz

He starts to resent his older brother for his foolishness as he learns more about the harsh unforgiving ways of barrel life

It's the day Kaz truly discovers his gift with the cards

He starts caring a little less

Becoming a little more distant and aggressive whenever Jordie tries to talk about his plan for how they're gonna make it out of this

How they're still gonna be merchers

Kaz just snaps

Then he shows Jordie the wad of cash he'd earned that day

"Where did you get that Kaz?"

The shock in his voice is obvious even if he knows where he's still surprised

Jordie was never really that great and reading people

"Won it" Kaz says

"Kaz you know this is wrong" there is betrayal in his tone, "we promised this wasn't how we'd get by"

"No you said that," "and look where we are now?" He gestures to the dilapidated building with mold and mildew growing in the corners.

Quietly, with disdain burning every word he says, "You that we could beat this city, in order to do that we have to play its game, but your still too dense to get that aren't you?

"This isn't the only way we can still-"

"No we can't! Don't you see that by now! If you're ok with living like a rat, so you don't have to feel guilty that's fine by me. But if you wanna see that smug son of a bitch pay for what he did to us, you're gonna need to get your hands dirty. Or are you still the same stupid farm boy who thinks you can outsmart the system with 'luck and good friends'."

Jordie isn't quite as ok with all of this as Kaz is

But he goes with it

The lever of greed pushing him down this path because Danny he did want Jakob Hertzoon pay

He swears he's not gonna let Kaz go in too deep, that he won't either

But Barrel life miserable as it is can be intoxicating

Picking pockets and locks, working a deck of cards, getting in fights

Kaz had an affinity for such difficult techniques, but it turns out Jordie was better with his fists

They made quite the powerful combination

It doesn't get bad until Kaz is fourteen and Jordie is eighteen and, they end up joining the dregs

By now they've found out Jakob Herzoon is Pekka Rollins

Which means this is going to be a lot more difficult then they thought

They start off as foot soilders

But it doesn't take long for Kaz's devious mind to send him climbing up the ranks

Soon he's running his own cons

And the dregs are prospering

Jordie would have almost been horrified were it not for the fact he was right there by Kaz's side.

He's changed quite a bit

Although he doesn't quite have that same edge as Kaz

He hates to admit he likes it

The flashy clothes

And gambling

And fighting

Lots of illegal adrenaline inducing things

And ya know pretty girls

And guys

Jordie is bi

Fite Me

Like this man with flirt with anything that's got a pulse

whilst picking their pocket

Ahh and then Kaz

He's definitely still Kaz he still gets the nickname dirtyhands

But he's not quite as Kazish ya know

Still has some trust issues

Some problems and shit that will come up later

But he can touch people

He actually ya know talks to people and is a little more charismatic

A surprisingly good trait to have if you think about it

Instead of being so cold and edgy all the time

Yes tho he's still pretty fucking edgy and still wears gloves a lot because they look cool, also has a silver crow tie pin he always wears

Like people kinda trust him

Which is fucking stupid cuz he will take all your money

Like he seems less intimidating

But he's still very intelligent he can read people well

Plan heists of course

Still a master of sleight of hand

He keeps his past problems locked away surprisingly well

Oh yeah and Imogen

That happened

Not till he's like 16 but it happened

Several times

Like they kinda 'date' if you can call it that

But then she ends up leaving ketterdam

Kaz's progress up the ranks of the dregs is a little slower

Like he's not the lieutenant till he's about 18

And that's when he meets Inej

Their meeting would be much different tho

So that would make Inej 17

And she's fucking done with the menegarie

She ends up killing one of the clients

And trying to escape

Running over rooftops

Doing all this crazy acrobatic shit

Kaz fucking sees this

She's getting chased

Knowing there's gonna be hell to pay if they catch her

Kaz is actually in the middle of a job during this

So he has to tear himself away

A little while later and he's on a barge he hijacked

And Inej jumps down onto this boat from the bridge above

But he doesn't even know she's there until he feels her tap his shoulder

Like how the fuck did she do that??

She asks him for help

He's about to say fuck no and draw his pistol when he turns around to look at her

[culbertsonhillsgr]

How To Stink It Up Gracefully

Golf Digest

How To Stink It Up Gracefully

And 29 other tips for having the most fun you can while playing golf 

By Guy Yocom

The hardest questions in golf are the ones that never seem to get asked. Take that cigar-chomping first-tee starter with a wad of cash in his pocket. You’re wondering, Is he as up for a bribe as he looks? If so, how do I solicit a magic-carpet ride to the first tee? Another one: When your opponent hits a hosel rocket into the trees, are you obligated to express sympathy, or can you obey your first instinct and just laugh? How do you ask that LPGA Tour player out on a date, anyway?

No guts, no glory. Here are 30 issues you might have pondered but haven’t quite had the temerity to query your friends about. You won’t find the advice we’ve assembled here in any golf etiquette guide, but it’ll make you more fun to play and hang with. And the starter you greased won’t be offended, either.

1. STINKING IT UP GRACEFULLY

Inside, you’re burning with frustration, despair and self-loathing. On the outside—the only side that matters in a social setting—your friends should see a person blessed with inhuman patience, dogged persistence and self-deprecating humor.

2. RATTLING YOUR OPPONENT (LIKE SEVE DID)

Stand between him and his golf bag so he has to walk around you to get to it. Cough, sniffle and sneeze during his swing, then blame it on allergies. Insinuate yourself into every rules situation involving his ball. Make him move his ball marker on the greens, even when it isn’t exactly on your line. Finally, chip in a lot.

3. HAVING A LITTLE SWAGGER LIKE ARNIE IN HIS PRIME

When you hit it close or jar a long putt, imagine throngs of people cheering wildly.

Tip your cap to these invisible fans. Bow your head humbly. Do not, however, light a cigarette unless you smoke. And only hitch your pants if your waist size is 36 or smaller.

4. DEALING WITH THE RANGER WHEN HE TELLS YOU TO PICK UP THE PACE

You’re dying to explain there’s a beginner in your foursome, you’ve just looked for three lost balls, and the group in front is slow. But just thank him, nod, and play faster.

5. TELLING YOUR OPPONENT HIS PUTT’S NOT GOOD

One day you’ll have an opponent look at his downhill, breaking two-footer for par and ask, “Is the rest of that good?” Your answer, with a smile: “It ain’t bad. That was a beautiful lag.”

6. SWEARING AFTER HITTING A BAD SHOT

Color the air blue without actually swearing. Incorporate the words “suck,” “idiot,” “garbage,” “stink” and “moron.” Don’t yell profanities. Hiss them. Tommy Bolt, the best swearer ever, never screamed.

7. DATING AN LPGA TOUR PLAYER

How do you, a stranger, pull this off without winding up on the receiving end of a restraining order? One way is to write a letter requesting her accompaniment to your prom—it worked for two young fellas who sought respective get-togethers with Lexi Thompson and Belen Mozo. Another way is to be independently wealthy enough to become a regular on the LPGA pro-am circuit. Make trusted friends around the LPGA Tour and the player’s hometown. When you do ask, suggest a multiple-couple group outing at a public venue—a concert, or maybe a bustling restaurant. Good luck, and may Cupid’s arrows find their mark.

8. HAVING THE MOST FUN IN YOUR GROUP

Make the round enjoyable for your friends, and the karma will boomerang. Ask them if they want to walk or ride.

If it’s ride, ask if they want to drive or ride shotgun. Show up with a joke. Be quick with praise and sympathy, slow to complain. Help your buddies. Rake their bunkers, offer yardages, bring over an extra club. They’ll treat you the same, and how fun is that?

9. FEIGNING SADNESS WHEN YOUR OPPONENT HITS A BAD SHOT

Never hint that you actually enjoyed watching him skitter one into the gunch, though enjoy it you surely did. Never feign sympathy, either—it indicates you don’t care who wins, a transparently phony attitude if ever there was one. Best to react like a courtroom judge: attentive, impartial and nonplussed.

10. TOTING A BEER, HOT DOG AND YOUR GOLF BAG

Drink the beer down a third of the way before you leave the window. With the hot dog, go very light on the ketchup or mustard, especially if you’re wearing a white shirt. If you can consume the hot dog in three large bites, it’ll be done and out of your way before you reach the 150-yard marker.

11. TELLING YOUR BUDDY TO STOP HELPING YOU

When swing advice from this wannabe Butch Harmon doesn’t stop, nod attentively, then hand him your 3-iron, toss a ball into a cuppy lie and say: “Show me.” If he happens to hit that shot 220 yards with a high draw, give up. He might be onto something.

12. GETTING GOOD BOUNCES

Call us superstitious, but if you make a habit of whining at the golf gods for bad bounces, the deities will conduct a closed-door meeting and conspire to make things worse. If you accept the occasional rotten bounce as the golf gods just doing their job, they’ll be more likely to open the gates of heaven at the right time, and give you a good bounce when you need it.

13. HITTING A SHOT YOU HAVE NO RIGHT HITTING

Have quick retorts ready for when you fail. “I didn’t win the Powerball last night, so I just had to give that shot a go.” They say the best-looking girls don’t get offers because nobody dares ask them out. Same rule applies here: You’ll never get at that tucked flagstick if you aim for the fat of the green.

14. TALKING TRASH TO YOUR BUDDIES

Address your pal John as if he were a child. Condescend: “Fellas, don’t you think Johnnycakes is improving?” Assign reputations they don’t yet have: “The staff might think you’re a lousy tipper, but I’ll say this: Your swing is looking good.”

15. BUYING A USED CLUB ON EBAY

The “buy it now” button on eBay can be a portal to used-club heaven or junk-club hell. A list of musts as you proceed through a listing: sharp photos (the more the better), all the specs (shaft flex and length, loft and lie), reasonable shipping, decent seller feedback and a hassle-free return policy. The idea is to remove any possibility of surprise when the club arrives.

16. PLAYING WELL WHEN YOU’RE HUNGOVER

You brought this on yourself, so don’t even think of complaining. Chug water like a parched horse. Take one more ibuprofen than usual. Choke down a burger if you can find one: Hall of Famer Tom Weiskopf used to say the combination of bread and grease does a body good.

17. HUMILIATING YOUR BOSS (AND STILL GETTING A RAISE)

If you sense your boss expects you to lose on purpose, find another job. If you feel he’ll tolerate your winning but might take it personally, start updating your résumé. If you sense he wants your best effort because it demonstrates moxy and honesty, oblige. Then wrap him in gold, for he is a rare and beautiful creature.

18. GREASING THE STARTER

Slip him stuff rather than cash. A sleeve of premium balls, with an innocuous, “Have you tried these?” Or a couple of ball markers from your trip to the U.S. Open. He’ll understand. Don’t make a habit of it—just enough to make him remember you.

19. WINNING A BET ON THE FIRST TEE

Most golf is four-ball match play, so come to the first tee knowing who the best player is, and snag him as your partner. Follow that quickly with the bet you want to make. If you’re answering to the other team’s proposition, you’re already on the defensive. Also, be mindful of the serious edge to be had on side bets—the “junk.” If you and your partner are better ball-strikers than your foes, propose larger payoffs for birdies and greenies.

20. KEEPING UP WITH THE BIG HITTERS

After you’ve squeezed every morsel of distance you can by normal means—practice, lessons and tweaking your equipment—there’s one trick left. That’s to swing the club faster and a little more recklessly than you’re comfortable doing. Golf is a sport in which physicality and some aggression can pay off.

21. SURVIVING A NIGHTMARE ROUND

When you’ve hit a gazillion bad shots and nothing is working, reset. If you’re a teetotaler, summon the beverage cart. If you’re not a music person, kick on the tunes. Ask your buddy if you can try his driver. Go left-hand-low. Play a hole barefoot. Anything to get you to the parking lot with a smile.

22. HITTING A GOOD DRIVE WITHOUT WARMING UP

Make a couple of practice swings with drowsy slowness, then tee your ball a shade higher than usual. Swing at 75 percent of your power, concentrating only on making the center of the clubface meet the ball. Regardless of where the shot goes, keep in mind that you aren’t warmed up for your second shot, either: Stretch everything out as you walk to your ball.

23. THROWING A KILLER MASTERS PARTY

Serve pimento-cheese sandwiches. (Recipes are all over the Internet.) During commercials, challenge your guests to say, “Hello, friends” in the manner of Jim Nantz. Conduct an eagle pool—$10 to enter, players chosen by blind draw. Have two TV rooms: one for people who yack through the telecast, the other for serious viewers.

24. CONSOLING YOUR PARTNER WHEN HE’S PLAYING LIKE A DOG

Ever see Ryder Cup partners roll their eyes at each other or give the silent treatment? Of course not, except for Tiger and Phil in 2004. The lesson: Never admonish, scold or cold-shoulder your partner. When he’s hitting it wild, a squeeze on the shoulder or pat on the butt might get him striping it again.

25. TELLING A GOLF TALE THAT’S ACTUALLY INTERESTING

Here’s the outline of a first-person golf story. Read and learn.

Stan got bit by a rattlesnake during our golf trip in Arizona. It was on the fourth hole at Screaming Cactus Country Club. He snaps one into the desert and goes after it. Doesn’t even scream. He just runs back to the fairway, takes a drop and hits. The bites are pinholes. One of the snake’s broken fangs is sticking out of one of them. But Stan wants to finish the hole. Another guy in our foursome calls 911. The paramedics meet us at the clubhouse—after we finish the round. Stan didn’t play any more that trip, but he’s fine. Still has the fang and keeps it in his bag for good luck.

See what we did? The story was told backward, punch line first, and kept in the present tense, as though it’s happening now. And blessedly, it was over in less than two minutes.

26. PLAYING 18 IN UNDER 3 HOURS

You’re going to need an open course, a good set of lungs and people as up for this as you are. Tee to green, ditch the range finder, don’t take practice swings, and remember that when you’re not hitting, you should be walking. On the greens, if you crouch to read a putt, you’re too slow. Don’t mark your ball, and be generous with concessions.

27. PRACTICING CHIP SHOTS WITHOUT HURTING ANY BYSTANDERS

You know those “no chipping” signs by the practice green? How they were allegedly put there to protect the turf? The course operators are playing you. They want to prevent 16-handicappers from trying Phil Mickelson’s greenside flop shot and blading one into the shin of the guy practicing four-footers. Use common sense. Never try to carry the ball more than two feet or aim at a target farther than 10 feet away. And for all that’s holy, don’t try to be like Phil and see if you can hit one left-handed.

28. WINNING YOUR OFFICE POOL

Check out recent form and how the player has fared at a venue. Near home, he’ll have extra fans—and extra incentive. Nothing beats being comfortable.

29. BREAKING THE ICE WHEN YOU’RE A SINGLE JOINING A THREESOME

Start with: “You guys look easy—want to play for a hundred each?” Just kidding. Be polite and deferential, like a party guest. Keep the conversation light, at least at first. Three keepers: Will Tiger play in the Masters? Ever been to one? When did you get that new driver? It’s gorgeous.

30. GETTING YOUR WIFE TO CARE LESS IF YOU PLAY SATURDAY

The real trick is pulling it off Saturday and Sunday, but because we’re starting small, here’s a primer: 1. Arrive home 30 minutes earlier than you promised, and never be late; 2. When you walk through the door, head to the kitchen and start doing the dishes; 3. Press the $40 you won into her hand and say, “I won this because you make me a happy golfer.”

Originally Published on Golf Digest

golfdigest.com/story/30-tips-for-having-fun-playing-golf

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