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ww2yaoi · 8 months ago

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[here's a little taste of a multi-chapter clegan post-war fic I've been working on. note: I've taken creative liberties with the timeline and John and Gale's post-war lives. it's very much intentional]

Winter 1948

Marjorie Cleven dies on a Tuesday in December, two weeks before Christmas Eve.

John gets the call a few days later. Gale’s voice is steady on the other end of the line, but John knows his heart is broken. It’s the first time they’ve spoken since Marge got sick. After the wedding, there had been some letters exchanged, few and far between, but John has always been a crummy pen pal. There were reunions, but those were annual at most, and John rarely stuck around past a couple of drinks and a war story or two. When they got back stateside in ‘45, he thought the distance would be good for Gale, thought it would help put their past far behind them.

Now, in hindsight, it seems futile. John feels it all rushing back, like VE Day was just yesterday and Gale’s boots are still underneath his bed.

It’s warm in southern Florida. The sun beams down on the tarmac, hot enough to fry an egg on the airfield, sunny-side-up. John watches from the control tower as planes taxi below him. His trainees will be on furlough soon, but he won’t be going home for Christmas this year. Any excuse to maintain the two thousand miles between him and Gale.

It doesn’t last. John should’ve known he could never keep away for long.

Spring 1949

The back of the cab smells like menthol cigarettes and cheap cologne. John drums his fingers against his thigh, feeling suddenly restricted by his uniform now that he’s been let loose in the civilian world. Laramie, Wyoming passes by his window, a cluster of shops and banks and schools on a stretch of agricultural land bisected by historical railways and boxed in by mountains on all sides. The air is thinner here than in Manitowoc, and there are no waterfronts to be found. The terra firma is dusty and brown, the sun a sepia pinprick hanging low in the sky.

The cab weaves through neighbourhoods of modest-looking houses. John had handed the driver the address on a slip of yellowy paper, which Gale had relayed over the phone. John doesn’t know how close they are to his destination, but he can feel his anxiety rising like bile in his throat. He makes nervous conversation, the driver mentioning the geology museum, the fact that the town was named after a French fur trapper who disappeared somewhere in the mountains. It doesn’t do much to calm John’s nerves.

“What brings you to Laramie?” the driver asks, glancing up at the rear-view mirror to get a glimpse of John.

He’s young, probably around Gale’s age. Young enough to have served at least, but he doesn’t comment on John’s uniform. He just peers at him curiously, eyes darting back and forth from the road.

“Visiting an old friend,” John says and tries not to squirm uncomfortably under his gaze. “He goes to school here.”

A moment later, the cab slows to a halt outside of a quaint-looking bungalow. John regards it from his window: white siding, yellow door, slate roof. Rose bushes line the walk-up, not yet blooming, and the grass has recently been mowed.

“Thanks,” John says, fishing a few bills from his pocket and handing them to the driver. “Keep the change.”

The driver smiles at him, close-mouthed, and pops the trunk. John slowly gets out of the car, like he’s trying to delay the inevitable, then fetches his suitcase from the back. He rests it on the sidewalk for a moment while the cab speeds away, looking at the house once more. A gaggle of kids darts down the street on bicycles. A few doors down, a lawnmower springs to life. It’s picturesque, like a postcard Gale might’ve sent him a few years back. John immediately feels out of place, still used to Nissen huts and crowded mess halls and military time. If he wants to turn back, now’s his chance, but he picks up his suitcase from the ground and forces his feet forward, climbing up the porch steps.

He thumbs the doorbell and it chimes. A dog barks gruffly inside the house. John removes his cap from his head and smoothes out his hair. He feels ridiculous, like a socially awkward teenager picking up his sweetheart for prom. His heart is in his throat as the door opens gradually, almost startling as a golden retriever pokes its head through the opening. It squeezes outside and dashes into the yard, yelping happily.

“Archie, get back here!”

John recognizes that voice. The door opens all the way, and suddenly, Gale is standing in front of him. Everything John had thought to say on his way over dies on his tongue. Gale looks practically the same, if not a bit filled out in his middle than he was during the war. His cheeks are smooth and shaven, flaxen hair styled off his forehead in a coif. John could never get used to seeing Gale in civilian clothes, but that’s how he appears in front of him now, crisp, white button-down hanging off his shoulders, navy slacks belted around his waist and brown cap-toe shoes on his feet.

They look at each other for a moment, unspeaking, then a smile splits Gale’s face in two. “Hello stranger,” he says.

“Gale.” John can’t help but return his grin. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

He holds out his hand for Gale to shake it, but Gale takes one look at his outstretched palm and instead, pulls John into a hug. It surprises John, so much so that almost all the air shoots out of his lungs at the contact. Gale’s fingers meld into the muscle of John’s back. It takes John a moment, but he eventually returns the gesture, squeezing Gale gently. They part and Gale turns his attention towards the dog, Archie, who’s taken it upon himself to start digging around in the garden.

Gale whistles. “Come here, boy,” he shouts, clapping his hands, and Archie bounds over.

He pauses to sniff John’s shoes. John crouches down and pats the dog, rubbing his ears, and is instantly reminded of Meatball.

“He’s usually not so ill-behaved,” Gale says. “He gets excited around visitors.”

“I don’t mind,” John replies, smiling down at the dog.

Archie pants, long, pink tongue hanging from his mouth, then he retreats back inside the house. Gale reaches down and picks up John’s suitcase from the porch. John straightens. They look at each other again, a bit too long without words to be comfortable, but John knows they’re both adjusting to being in close proximity again after so long.

“Lead the way,” he says, motioning towards the open front door.

Gale seems to snap out of it. “Of course, come on in.”

John steps inside the foyer and closes the door behind him. The interior is small, but well-decorated and tidy. The ocean blue walls are hung with artwork, the hardwood floors carpeted with rugs. John sets his cap down on a table peppered with framed photographs but doesn’t stop to look at any of them. He follows Gale past the dining room, down a hallway, and through the kitchen to another hallway at the back of the house. Gale opens one of the four doors that line the hall and carries the suitcase inside. John peeks his head into the guest bedroom. A double bed sits against the far wall, night tables on either side of it that host brass lamps with cream shades. On the other end of the room is a cherry wood wardrobe and an armchair to its left, upholstered in a muted green. Above it lies a square window, lace curtains pulled together to drown out the harsh afternoon light. The bedroom is sparse and unlived in, like most guest bedrooms are, but John appreciates it just the same.

“Hopefully this suits you alright,” Gale says, setting the suitcase down beside the bed.

John nods. “Suits me just fine,” he says. “Better than what I have back at base. That’s for sure.”

Gale looks at him. An emotion John can’t exactly pinpoint passes over Gale’s face, something like recognition, bordering on wistfulness.

They return to the kitchen, and Gale beckons John to sit down at a round table in the corner. Archie laps water from a bowl as Gale putters around the kitchen, opening cabinets. He appears tense, but not in his usual stiff, reserved way. His energy is almost jittery, nervous, and he taps a rhythm on the countertop. It’s not like him, at least not like the Gale John knew during the war. He pretends not to notice.

“So, how was your flight?” Gale asks eventually.

“Good,” John says and adjusts his uniform, crossing his legs. “Felt strange not being the one flying the plane.”

“I’ll bet,” Gale replies with a suggestion of a smile. “Do you want something to eat? Some coffee?” He reaches into the cabinet and produces a tin of Foldgers.

“Just coffee, thanks,” John says.

He looks around the kitchen as Gale spoons coffee grounds into the machine. His eyes trace the checkered red wallpaper, the white-tiled backsplash, the laminate countertops, the icebox in the corner. He’s never seen Gale in such a domestic setting, not even during the wedding. Maybe that’s why he stayed away for so long, even when he was invited time and time again. Perhaps he didn’t want to experience Gale so far removed from the world they both inhabited for so many years, a world where the only people they could rely on were their men and each other. Now, there’s no avoiding it. It’s all laid out for John to see.

The coffee maker beeps and steams. Gale rests his elbows against the kitchen counter and looks over in John’s general direction, but doesn’t quite meet his eyes. John doesn’t know what to say to him. He doesn’t know how to fall back into the easy camaraderie they had at the beginning, before the stalag, before the march, before the end of the war. Seeing Gale has ushered back a slew of emotions John has been distancing himself from since they parted ways four years ago. He feels like an intruder in Gale’s home, looking for Marge in the corners of the room but not finding her. Guilt stirs in his stomach, and he asks himself again what the hell he’s doing here. This isn’t his place. This isn’t his life.

“How’s training?” Gale asks. “Are the boys following their orders, Lieutenant Colonel?”

John smirks at that, partly to hide his discomfort. It feels wrong that he should outrank Gale after everything they’ve been through, flight school, then serving together, then imprisonment.

“It’s busy,” John replies and drums his fingers against the table. “They’re good kids. Fucking caterpillars though. So damn young.”

Gale smiles softly. “Were we ever that young?”

“Maybe you were,” John quips. “I feel like my bones have been creaking since before our war even started.”

Gale laughs, and the sound hits John like a fist to his sternum. He realizes suddenly that he’s missed Gale’s laugh so goddamn much. It rings in his ears, out-of-reach and yet familiar, like a favourite song of his he hasn’t heard in years has come on the radio out of the blue. For a brief moment, John regrets denying himself this for so long, even if it was the only way he could get on with his life.

“How’s school?” John asks in turn. “Master’s coming along?”

“Yeah, it’s good,” Gale says, nodding. “I like my classes. Lots of grading, lots of writing, some teaching. I’ve got a meeting on Tuesday with my advisor about my thesis.”

“Well, well, look at that,” John says, the corner of his lips twisting into a grin. “Professor Cleven.”

Gale dips his chin towards his chest, almost shy. “Not just yet, John.”

“You’re getting there,” John says. “Y’know Marge wrote to me about your thesis a year or so back, not that I understood a word. Astrophysics, not exactly my wheelhouse.”

Gale’s face falters imperceptibly at the mention of his late wife’s name, and John immediately feels apologetic for bringing her up without much warning.

“It’s not done yet,” Gale says flatly, his gaze falling from John’s face to look at his interlocked fingers resting on top of the counter. “You can read what I have though if you’d like.”

“Yeah, I might,” John says and grimaces at his own inadeptness while Gale’s eyes are elsewhere.

The coffee maker beeps and Gale goes to it, removing two mugs from the cabinet and setting them down beside it. He takes the sugar out of the cupboard and the cream from the icebox.

John bites the inside of his cheek, knowing what he needs to say but unsure if he has it in him to say it. “Buck?”

Gale’s head snaps up at the sound of the nickname. He regards John with a puzzled look, like he’s no longer used to being called anything other than Gale to his face. The name is a relic from a different time, John supposes, something that belonged to them only, and when John was no longer around to use it, there was no one else around to take up the task.

After a moment, the expression on Gale’s face smoothes out. “What is it, Bucky?”

John swallows, then pushes the words out. “I’m sorry, y’know, that I, uh, I couldn’t make it. To the funeral.”

Gale looks at him for a moment, then his face softens. “It’s alright,” he says. “Marge didn’t much like being the centre of attention anyway.” He pours coffee into the two mugs, then adds sugar to one and cream to the other. “My mother-in-law appreciated the flowers you sent.”

“Oh, good,” John says. “Azaleas were Marge’s favourite, right? I remember them from her wedding bouquet.”

Gale’s eyes grow heavy with sadness. He nods. “Yeah, they were.”

As if on cue, John hears a grumbly cry coming from one of the bedrooms down the hall. It starts off quiet, like a baby stirring from sleep, then gradually gets louder until it becomes a full-blown wail. Archie’s ears perk up before he quickly sulks away.

“Sorry,” Gale says as he grips the coffee with sugar and hands it to John. “I just put her down for her afternoon nap, but she’s in that phase where she’s rebelling against sleep.”

John says nothing, frozen in his seat as Gale crosses the kitchen into the hallway and slips inside the bedroom. John had been so caught up in seeing Gale again that he’d almost forgotten. He stares into the inky well of his coffee, too stunned to drink from it.

Gale emerges a moment later with a bundle in his arms. Now calm, the little girl clings to him, her head tucked into the crook of Gale’s neck as she sucks her thumb into her mouth. She’s wearing cream-coloured footie pyjamas with pink roses on them, her curly blonde hair tangled from sleep. Gale draws circles against her back, rocking her slightly from side-to-side. John regards her carefully. She must be at least a year and a half now, much bigger than she was in the pictures Gale had sent him however long ago.

Gale approaches the table where John is sitting. “Lucy, this is your Uncle Bucky,” he says, pointing over at John. “Can you say hello?”

Lucy turns her head and looks straight at John, and John sees the Marge in her face right away, the slight upturn of her nose, the fullness of her cheeks, the pink purse of her lips, but her eyes are all Gale, blue and round and yawning. She quickly looks away, hiding her face back in her father’s neck.

“Sorry,” Gale says again and rubs her back. “She gets shy around strangers.”

John doesn’t expect it to, but the comment stings. The fact that any child of Gale’s could be a stranger to him is borderline unforgivable.

[To be continued...]

#masters of the air #john egan #gale cleven #clegan #buck x bucky #my fic

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wellntruly · 2 months ago

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Over the last eight months, I have watched 112 features and 6 short films released between 1932 and 1969, in chronological order. This has been a wildly interesting experience. The 30s were a blast. The temperamental differences before, during, and after World War II were faaascinating. I wondered when the 1950s were going to arrive, and then Montgomery Clift was introduced ass first hitchhiking in a leather jacket and a white T-shirt in the opening of A Place In the Sun. “France” was invented in the 1960s, and “the 1970s” were actually invented as soon as the Hays Code ended in 1968. I fell in love with people like Jean Arthur, The Archers, Satyajit Ray, Anton Walbrook, Bette Davis, Joseph Losey & Dirk Bogarde. My affection for Cary Grant and Shirley MacLaine somehow grew, I got oddly bored with Humphrey Bogart rather quickly, and Gregory Peck bless him can’t act, it turns out. My hilarious pre-Code girl Miriam Hopkins started returning in aunt roles after 1949 and I lost my mind. Claude Rains got cucked so many times.

After the jump is the list of everything I watched, but it's just so many and/so really what I would so want is for anyone who is interested in getting into old movies to tell me any kind of movie or mode you already like, and I will be your classic films thesaurus!

In a related story: poster design changes!

#Wellntruly's Watch Log #movies

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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 2 months ago

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hiya not sure if you still write for got? id love me a petyr baelish story where shes the oldest sister to the baratheon kids and sneaks around with petyr? like shes constantly toying with him, annoying him and keeping him on his toes and he just loves it. nobody knows because cersei and jaime would so have his head. she enjoys when he breaks because she gets cuddles with the most dangerous man of kings landing afterwards and he does answer her every beg and call while keeping her under his protection and making his schemes. so he quietly takes care of assassins targeting her or just people he overhears talking shit about her? tysm <3

I've never written for Petyr Baelish before but i like this prompt so i'll give it a shot :)

Pairing: Petyr Baelish x Baratheon!Reader

Warnings: age gap

Words: 1949

He watches you, always watching you flittering around the Red Keep with your long, dark curls swaying around your shoulders as you giggle and gab like a proper princess. Bright, colorful sways of your skirt kicking up in a fury when you and your ladies run late for your lessons. Even when you were seated, there was always energy vibrating around you, like your vibrant soul couldn't be contained by your mortal vessel. Mannerisms akin to a hummingbird.

To the court, you were Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister's perfect first born child. Unfortunately you were born a girl, thus excluded from the Iron Throne but that was fine. You would shine brightly either way, with or without the throne of melted swords of enemies past. At least this granted you more liberty to do what you pleased.

And what you liked to do most seemed to be toying with Lord Baelish's self restraint and patience.

Down in the courtyard you had the odd feeling that someone was watching you. The same sensation you got every time Petyr Baelish was in the vicinity. You had a sixth sense for him. Immediately your gaze snaps upward just in time to catch the figure of Littlefinger disappearing behind a stone column.

You grin to yourself.

Court was insufferable for the most part. Yes, you were allowed to do whatever you wanted while all focus was put on your terrible brother Joffrey since he was essentially Robert's heir (gods help you all when Joffrey does become king).

One thing you'd found to pass the time was playing with Petyr. You'd had a sort of crush on the man since coming of age, finding his quiet disposition alluring (not to mention he had quite the charming face). And being the child of both Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister, you ultimately possessed a confidence that egged you on in your antics. Petyr knew the time of young woman you were. There were many in his brothel who were aware of their good looks and talents and it went straight to their heads.

You simply couldn't help yourself when you so happen to find a seat next to him. Your hand falling underneath the table and perching itself on his knee. His fine jaw clenching when he feels the warmth of your palm spread like fire upon his clothed knee. Fire that seared his bones, taking no time in consuming his whole skeletal frame with a desire for you to move your hand closer to what was really screaming for your attention.

Littlefinger felt the hangman's noose around his neck.

If word were to get out and betray him, Robert Baratheon could easily request his head. The king's retribution wasn't all Petyr feared. Ser Jaime Lannister, your uncle, was always on your guard. Keeping his well trained eyes roving for any threats that may come toward his nieces way. And it was known Ser Jaime didn't allow anyone to take a step toward you without his permission. Your mother, Cersei, was equally protective of her first born. To her, there wasn't a man who was good enough for you.

While he was a valuable asset, that gave him no liberties when it came to the princess. You were first born and the only one of your siblings who really received the king's attention. Maybe it was because you were the only one who came out with dark hair like the king. It could be a number of reasons why Robert simply found you endearing. It was an easy thing to fall in love with you.

Which is why Petyr did little to discourage your behavior.

He certainly didn't mind how your greeting toward him had changed from a casual hello to you kiss his cheek. Catching when you'd softly inhale his scent. You'd bring up the memory of his scent when you were alone in bed. Coming upon one another in corridors, you'd brush up against him. Fingers sneakily graze against his arm as you pass without looking at him. Purposefully putting a pop in your hips as you retreated.

Caution in games like this were required in order for him to keep his head. Petyr kept you at arm's length yet within his sight.

That was not enough for you.

You knew of the secret tunnels all through out King's Landing. The schedule of your guards was etched into your memory. And you also happened to have previously stalked Petyr on a few occasions to get a feel of his daily routine. One day you left your chambers, the knights outside your door none the wiser and went out in search of Littlefinger.

You caught him as he left the Small Council meeting room. The second he walks past your hiding spot, your hand shoots out and grabs his arm; yanking him into the dark chasm.

Completely taking him by surprise, he's about to struggle against you until he hears your voice whisper his name. When he inhales to reprimand you instead you capture his lips hastily before he could escape from your grip.

This may be your only chance to do so. You'd caught his stares many times and thought he reciprocated the attraction.

When you pulled away, you wait for his reaction and try to tame your wildly beating heart. Your eyes are somewhat adjusted to the inky black of the secret passage but making out the features of his face were difficult.

Slowly his hands descend on your hips and finally draws you close to his body. One hand lifts to your face, tilting your jaw upwards so he could be the one to initiate another scorching kiss. He near smothers you against him, aching for you to be closer to him. You managed to do what very little people could ever hope to accomplish: having Littlefinger surrender to their whim.

With that, the game was truly on and the dye cast.

You'd left him stumped after the kiss as you proceeded to push him back out with a giggle and slam the hidden door shut. Petyr's heart was thumping so hard it rattled him to the core. For so many years he thought the only person who'd be able to get such a reaction from him was Catelyn. His heart had always been her's though she made it very clear that she would not have him. Now he finds that you have leashed up his attention like a loyal dog tethered to you.

He was titillated.

From then on you upped your mischief around him. Became emboldened from that kiss for it gave you the answer of Petyr desiring you as much as you desired him.

More than that, you wedged your way into his personal life; his true life of secrets and planning. The wonderful mechanisms of his conniving brain. That only made him more attractive to you. It wasn't brute power Petyr wield, not like the knights who primp and preen around you or the pathetic young lords your father hoped to marry you off to.

No one knew that the most dangerous man in King's Landing sat beside them, sharing a simple meal with a brilliant mind they would never be able to comprehend. They were all fools.

Your antics didn't always please Petyr. Sometimes they irritated every last nerve when he was trying to save face in front of others. In the privacy of his chambers though, he'd only halfheartedly reprimand you once you start planting kisses all over his face.

"Forgive me." You'd mewl into his ear, hands digging into the expensive fabric of his clothes.

He could never stay mad at you.

Petyr would concede the moment your plush lips land on the corner of his mouth. Even worse was when you'd envelope him in your arms, hold him close to you as you cherish a moment alone together in a simple cuddle. Who would have thought that syrupy sweet embraces were the branding irons that scorched your name in his heart.

You hardly ask anything of him and when you do, Petyr leaps for the opportunity to please his beloved princess. No task was too small or too big to Littlefinger. Whatever you wanted, he'd make sure you got it. Another prominent lady of the realm slighted you? Petyr would make sure that her house crumbled to the ground so that she and her family were reduced to beggars. Some pathetic lord being a creep around you? You needn't even say anything for Lord Baelish is already planning on the man's demise.

You were his. Whether he was allowed to put a claim on you or not didn't matter to Petyr. Petyr was a greedy man and didn't like any other man giving you special attention.

Being Master of Coin, he was even able to deter Robert from marrying you off as you were considered of marrying age and eligible lords were already hounding the king for your hand. That may have been the most difficult task to achieve since the flow of suitors was nonstop. All wanted close to the Iron Throne. They didn't care about you. Not like Petyr did. You were his goddess, his muse, his everything. Since being enthralled by you Petyr hadn't given Catelyn a second thought. May she rot in the North with her surly lord.

"What's this?" You inquire, delight shining in your eyes when you examine the beautifully carved box Petyr hands to you when the two of you next meet up in his apartments. You're sitting so pretty on his lap, the complete picture of comfort.

You didn't have to do anything to make Petyr's heart squeeze with adoration. How was he so lucky to have a pretty girl like you on his lap?

He taps on the top of the box. "Open and find out for yourself."

Puffing out your cheeks in faux annoyance, you do so. Smile broadening across your face. "Oh Petyr, its beautiful." You lift the choker styled necklace out of the small box to better admire it. pearls composed most of the necklace with the center piece taking shape of a small bird with a long beak among pink, yellow and green gems.

"Do you like it?" He's smiling to himself as he watches you.

"I love it!" You're practically singing and push the necklace into his hands. "Put it on for me, will you?"

"Whatever my princess desires." Petyr chuckles and easily clasps the necklace around your pretty neck. Placing a small kiss at the nape of your hair.

You hop off of his lap and rush over to the closest mirror to admire yourself. Catching his warm gaze from the mirror, you smile softly. "Why a hummingbird, Petyr? Why not a mockingbird?"

"Too obvious, my love. That and I don't see you as a mockingbird."

"Oh?"

Petyr stands and though his stature is not very tall, he still commands confidence. "No. You arise joy in everyone who comes across you." His hands find their spot upon your hips. "Many pray for the opportunity to catch you standing still."

You lean against him, using your own hands to guide one of his across the plane of your stomach. "And I have such lovely plumage too."

That makes him genuinely laugh. You're the only person who could summon such a hearty laugh from Littlefinger. A badge of honor.

"Yes my darling. The most beautiful plumage in the seven kingdoms." Kissing a trail up your neck, you can't contain a giggle from bubbling forth from you. His facial hair made you so ticklish.

Spinning yourself around, you sneak a kiss from those devilish lips of his. "I'll wear it proudly then."

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kimpossibly · 2 years ago

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THE CHAIN -> e. roundtree PART ONE: drummers' curse

PAIRING: eddie roundtree x fem!reader WARNINGS: mentions of minor injuries (NOTE: some warnings for this story include MAJOR spoilers for this series down the line, so I'll put those beneath the cut. If you don't want to get the story spoiled, then just ignore it ― but I did want to provide the chance for you to get an idea of how the story will go later down the line if you have any sensitive topics you'd like to avoid. please prioritize your mental wellbeing!)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Apologies in advance for making Y/n the drummer and putting Warren on rhythmic guitar. I just loooooooove female drummers. Also can you tell that I love Karen and Camila? Because I love them with alllllll my heart and soul. Another sorry in advance because this one may break your heart a little ― it sure broke mine. NOTES ON THE WORK: I used the timeline from the book, mostly because I couldn't keep track of it in the show haha. I read the book twice before watching what episodes of the show were out, so the lines may blur between the two. For your convenience (and mine, tbh), I'll put the year all the characters were born underneath this note so you can reference it when you need to. I just couldn't keep track honestly. I think in the show they start the band when Graham is fourteen, but in the book he's around 18 when they add Warren on, so it's kind of confusing?? I decided to stick with the book because it was a more physical timeline. Anyways, enough talking, here's your guide! ― YEARS BORN (in order of age) Billy Dunne -> 1947 Camila Dunne -> 1949 Graham Dunne -> 1949 Warren Rhodes -> 1949 Eddie Roundtree -> 1949 Daisy Jones -> 1951 Y/n L/n -> 1951

WARNINGS (SPOILERS INCLUDED): reader has a terminal illness. Discussions about death and loss, depictions of grief, hospitals

It's no secret that the renowned 1970s band Daisy Jones & The Six went through its fair share of ups and downs. Until their inexplicable split on July 12, 1979, they were undeniably one of the biggest bands in the world. While a more detailed account of the band's history will be recounted in a more thorough transcript, this advanced edition will focus specifically on two of the band members: Eddie Roundtree and Y/n L/n. More specifically, it will focus on their individual and combined roles they played in the band's eventual downfall.

THE RISE OF THE SIX (1965 - 1972)

GRAHAM: Y/n grew up next door to us. She was a little younger, two years or so, so we never really gave her a second look. Until the day she wandered into our garage during band practice out of nowhere. She practically ripped the drum sticks out of Chuck's hand and just started...wailing on 'em. I mean, she could make your head spin. Here was this thirteen, fourteen year old girl next door, this kid, and she was the best fuckin' drummer we'd seen. I mean, in the neighborhood. She wasn't Mitch Mitchell, but she was the closest thing we had. And she was too good to be shoved in the back with a tambourine. But we couldn't just take Chuck's spot away and hand it over to the new girl.

CHUCK: I knew right then and there that they wanted to give my spot to the new girl. There was no doubt in my mind. And, you know what? I got it. This chick was good. Way too good. Did I feel threatened by her? Hell yeah, I did. And at the time I probably wanted to tell her to screw off, but now...now I get it.

EDDIE: She was good. Amazing, actually. Graham and I looked at each other and knew that she was something we'd be stupid to pass up on.

BILLY: When Chuck told us he wanted out, we were pissed, of course. We were heading off to open for Winters that week. It felt like things were going to look up, just like I always knew they would, and he was ditching. I know now that that wasn't really what it was ― he'd gotten into college, fan-fucking-tastic. It was a good opportunity for him, a sure thing. But right then it felt like a betrayal.

WARREN: So he ditched, and Billy just turned right to Eddie and said, "Go tell Y/n she's in." And he was just...terrified.

EDDIE: I said, "why me?" You know? It wasn't my band, it was Billy's. And here he was, ordering me to tell some new girl she was in. I was fifteen and could barely ask a waitress for ketchup. At the time, that was probably the last thing I wanted to do.

GRAHAM: He asked why it had to be him, and I told him the truth: he was the least intimidating. Billy, you know him. He had a tendency to get too focused on the task at hand and could get a little...harsh. And Warren? He had one of the biggest personalities you could find. He'd scare her off before we had a chance to offer her the spot...[Pauses] I probably could've done it, in all honesty. I just didn't want to screw it up. Eddie was better with words than I was, and we needed her in our band. Badly.

EDDIE: And I remember thinking, "Here goes fucking nothing."

The doorbell ringing was what got her attention. No one ever used the doorbell. It was always a knock ― that, or someone just walked in. The L/n's front door was hardly ever locked back then. Y/n's mom was a nurse, formerly a school nurse. She didn't want to risk the chance that some kid took a spill and had to limp home on an injured leg. So all the neighborhood knew, if you got hurt playing outside, you could march on over to Miss L/n's place to get yourself fixed up.

Y/n had her own share of walk-ins, too. By the time she was ten, she had seen her mom help out enough kids that she was practically a nurse herself. She could disinfect and bandage and stitch up any old case that walked through her front door. And if someone who was too busted up for first aid? She knew where the keys to the family Winnebago was and how to drive herself and them to the local hospital. She was only fourteen and didn't have a license, but it didn't matter. She was a safer driver than most everyone else on the road.

So when someone rang the doorbell, she assumed that it was someone too injured to knock. She grabbed the car keys and made sure her suture kit was within reach.

When she opened the door, she didn't see the blood and broken bones she was expecting. Instead, Eddie Roundtree stood on her front porch, hands shoved anxiously in his pockets. He looked all right, but that didn't stop her from asking: "You're not hurt, are you?"

"Um. No," Eddie said quickly, taking his hands out of his pockets.

"Okay," she said slowly, eyes narrowing. "Do you want to come in?"

"Yeah, sure."

Y/n turned and walked further into the house, prompting him to close the door and follow her. She led him to the kitchen. "Lemonade? I made it this morning," she offered, already opening the fridge.

EDDIE: That jug of lemonade was bigger than she was. [Laughs] I could barely watch her get it down. I was afraid she'd drop it on her foot. But she just took her time getting it from the fridge to the table. I found out later that her mom bought a pound of lemons a week because Y/n wanted something to offer every kid that came through their front door. [Pauses]. She was just like that.

He gave a nod. Y/n stood on her toes to grab two glasses from the cabinet. She poured one glass, hands shaking from the weight of the jug, and Eddie realized that this awkward silence was probably the best time to transition into his real reason for visiting.

"Chuck left the band."

"Oh," she said simply. "Sorry."

"Don't be."

She paused, looking confused. And Eddie, who's will to live was slowly draining from this conversation alone, raced to finish what he had (awkwardly) started.

"I just mean that...you're in. The band. If you want to be our drummer, you're in."

Y/n paused mid-pour, setting the pitcher down on the counter carefully. She turned around until her back pressed into the kitchen counter, arms crossed over her chest. "And you thought I'd jump at the chance to join?"

"No. No," Eddie said quickly. "We just wanted to offer you the spot if you still wanted it."

"Did I say that I wanted it?"

"No, but―"

"Okay, just making sure," she handed him a glass and hopped up onto the counter, crossing her legs underneath her. "So you need a drummer?"

"Yes. Badly."

She took a sip from her glass and paused, as if weighing her options in her mind. She swallowed. "Are there any other girls in the band yet?"

EDDIE: Yet. Like she knew it was going to happen. It was just a matter of time.

"No, not yet." he replied.

"Then be honest with me: are you guys sleazeballs?"

EDDIE: Sleazeballs. She didn't sugarcoat things. She wanted to know if we were creeps or if we'd let her play drums in peace. I get that, one hundred percent. but back then, it felt like she was trying to accuse us of something.

"No," he said quickly, "Well...Warren can be a little much, but he means well."

She took another slow sip, once again weighing her options in her mind. "When's your next gig?"

"We play pretty much every night, wherever we can find. It might take us a bit to teach you the songs, but―"

"I can learn them," she said confidently. "How soon do you need someone?"

"Soon as possible."

EDDIE: By then, I was terrified she'd say no. All these questions and never once did she seem really interested in joining. I was already trying to figure out which of us would be the least shit at the drums.

"Okay. I'm in."

EDDIE: And that was it. She said yes. I didn't appreciate how much she'd saved our asses right then, but I was relieved. That was for sure.

GRAHAM: Eddie came back, told us she said yes. She couldn't join practice until her mom got home ― she didn't want the house to be empty if some injured kid wandered by ― so we had about an hour and a half to teach her every song.

BILLY: She picked 'em up like [snaps] that. Never doubted it for a single second, either. Once she knew it, she knew it.

EDDIE: She showed up to the first gig in overalls and sneakers. She let Camila put a little makeup on her, too, but we could all tell she hated it.

CAMILA: She was sweet. And, surprisingly, a little shy. I could tell she was a little scared of the boys. That's why she was a little cold to them at first. But she was just the coolest kid. I mean, fourteen years old and joining a rock band? She was a little rockstar, right off the bat. She asked me to put some makeup on her before her first gig with the band. When I gave her a mirror after and asked her what she thought, she said, "I like it, but it makes me feel like a doll. Not a drummer." She liked the glitter the most, though. It became her trademark. She put it on her cheeks, in her hair, everywhere that would catch the light. She'd come off stage and you'd see a little pile of sparkles behind the drum set.

EDDIE: Right off the bat, first gig. It was enough to freak anyone out. She joined the band six hours ago, learned the songs three hours ago, and now she was playing in a club to a couple dozen people. It seems so small now, but back then? It was like starting at Wembley.

Y/n shook out her hands for the eighth time. It wasn't about loosening up for the gig anymore, she just needed something to do that didn't involve throwing a punch or screaming at the top of her lungs. She looked up at Billy, standing at the front of the group, cool and calm as ever, and she had the distinct urge to kick him in the shin. Why did he get to be so calm when she was right behind him, on the verge of throwing up?

She turned to anxiously twisting a single drum stick between her fingers, around and around, faster and faster. Eventually it became so mindless that she barely noticed as the stick slipped from her fingers, clattering to the floor. She bent to retrieve it quickly, hoping no one had noticed.

But, of course, someone did.

"Hey," Eddie said, looking back at her.

"Warren knocked it out of my hands." she said quickly.

Eddie glanced over at Warren, who was a solid two feet ahead of her, physically unable to have knocked a drum stick out of her hands. Y/n knew from that glance that he could see right through her lie. Now she really wasn't in the mood to talk.

EDDIE: She was terrified. And she was lying her ass off about it. I didn't want to run the risk that she choked up in the middle of the show and screwed up our set. So I figured I'd just, talk. And if she wanted me to screw off, she'd tell me. She had a way of saying exactly what she wanted.

"You've heard of the Drummer's Curse, right?" he asked.

She frowned in a way that told him no, she did not.

"First, there's the obvious stuff: drummers have to lug around the most shit out of anyone in the band. Drums sets are heavy and expensive, so there's that. But the worst part is that they're easy to overlook, you know? They're at the back of the stage behind all this shit, everyone stands in front of 'em. Drummers can fade into the background real easy. The best drummers can outshine anyone else onstage. You'll do that one day, but if you're freaked out now, just let yourself fade a little. You'll play better than anyone up there and the crowd'll know it, but you can let them focus on someone else if you want. You get what I'm saying?"

EDDIE: For a second, I thought she was going to punch me.

But then she nodded, wiped off some of the pink lipstick Camila had put on her with the back of her hand, and pushed her bangs to the side. "Drummers' Curse, huh?"

"Some people believe in it, some don't."

"And you?" she asked, turning to him. "Do you believe in that kind of stuff?"

Eddie paused. Shrugged. "Sure. Seems true enough to me."

Y/n nodded. "I don't. It sounds like bullshit to me."

Eddie frowned. She looked up at him. "I'm not going to let myself fade because I'm scared. I signed up for this, you know. The least I can do is own my place. If I outshine you, it's just because I'm that good," she said matter-of-factly. "I will need help carrying the stuff, though."

EDDIE: I didn't know what to say. I mean, [laughs] what the hell do you say to that?

He felt like he'd had the rug pulled out from under him. And then, he surprised himself: he laughed.

And Y/n surprised herself then, too ― she smiled.

EDDIE: That was just...[Shakes head. Smiles.] I don't know.

"I think we can manage that." he said with a smile.

"Ladies and gentlemen...The Dunne Brothers!"

WARREN: If I were still the guy I was back then, I would completely undersell her to you right now. I'd tell you she was an average drummer who was more in it for the thrill than the craft. But that wasn't it at all. She got up there and she just...shined.

GRAHAM: We all knew she'd be scared before the first gig. In fact, she looked about ready to throw up when they announced us on stage. But the second she hit those lights, it was like she was a different person. She waved and smiled like she'd done it a hundred times. The only other person I'd seen do that ― I mean really become another person on stage ― is Billy.

BILLY: That first show with Y/n was a little bit of a trainwreck. We were at least a half beat behind the entire show. And I'm not saying I blame her, but she was new and shiny. We got through it just fine, but I think we all felt it wasn't our best show.

WARREN: That show was bitchin'.

GRAHAM: It was a great show.

WARREN: Back in those days, we'd get off stage and start cheering for ourselves like we'd just won the goddamn lottery. Somewhere along the way, that stopped. We'd just pat each other on the back, say 'good job,' and that was that. But when Y/n got backstage? She was screaming and yelling like it was the best night of her life. And all of us joined in without a second thought ― well, maybe all of us except Billy. He was kind of a hard ass, even then. None of us had ever heard this girl talk louder than a glorified whisper, and then she came out of nowhere with this full-body scream. And who did she run to? Well, I think you can guess.

CAMILA: She just about jumped into Eddie's arms.

Adrenaline is a funny thing. For one, the effect is had on different people can be vastly different depending on who it was. Some people mellowed out, some people amped up. Y/n fell into the second category.

The second she got off the stage, a giddy laugh ripped from her chest, turning more into a scream of triumph halfway through. She was buzzing. Literally. Her hands felt numb ― or, more accurately, they felt like they felt more. Everything she touched was sharp and blinding.

The next person to join in on the screaming and jumping around was Warren. Then Graham. Then Eddie. And then, reluctantly, Billy. Eddie was the last to come off stage, slinging his guitar off his shoulders, and Y/n, without thinking much about it, ran straight to him, leaping directly into his unsuspecting arms.

The others were too hyped up on their own adrenaline rushes to notice that anything out of the ordinary had happened. She wrapped her legs around his waist hanging onto him like a koala. And Eddie, who couldn't deny adrenaline, held onto her back without a second thought.

After a moment, she leaned back, arms still wrapped around his neck, faces inches apart. "Drummers' curse, huh?"

EDDIE: She didn't fade. She couldn't, not even if she tried.

Eddie just smiled and shook his head. "Sounds like bullshit to me."

#daisy jones and the six #daisy jones & the six #daisy jones and the six fanfiction #daisy jones & the six fanfiction #eddie loving #eddie roundtree #eddie roundtree x reader

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wizzard890 · 1 year ago

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I'm very sick so I of course watched this movie about the french revolution:

I didn't expect much, it's a mostly-forgotten movie from 1949. How wrong I was. I was shaken to my core. Is it good? Oh God no. But it. Has. Everything.

A goth Robespierre who works icily on his letters while a guy is getting thumbscrewed two feet from his desk.

Lafayette hiding out in a windmill in the middle of the countryside in full dress uniform, in 1794, presumably so we the audience would believe him when he said he was a general.

A protagonist who seems to have been beamed in from an entirely different movie, who trades film noir barbs with The Woman Who Walked Out On Him Ten Years Ago only they're both wearing wigs.

A Thermidor night cameo from Napoleon, who is shot from behind with the same reverence as Christ in Ben-Hur.

Fouche telling Robespierre that he can't put a law in front of the Assembly that makes him special all time ultra dictator and Robespierre sits back on a big fancy chair with his hands on the arms like a demon and says "but I want to. :)"

A special aside where a nightmarishly butch Saint-Just makes sure we the audience know that Robespierre Isn't Into Women but that he, Saint-Just, crushes puss 24/7.

Thermidor but it's this:

and honestly I can't think of a more worthy 90 minutes of your life.

Oh also the actual meat of the plot is that Robespierre's Death Note has gone missing. His dog helps them find it.

#genuinely weird thing about this movie: robespierre is a maniac but he's very nice to birds so someone at some point cracked a book #anyway I probably wouldn't have enjoyed it if I had fifteen percent more brain cells but I don't #I have seen the past and I foresee the future

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aziraphales-library · 1 year ago

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Hi! I was wondering if you had any fics where Aziraphale has autism and/or Crowley has ADHD? Thank you! ^^

Hello! We have #autistic aziraphale and #crowley has ADHD tags. Here are some more to add to the collections...

Holding Hands by Asexual_Enjolras (G)

Crowley begins to worry when Aziraphale stops holding his hand quite as much as he used to and he starts to panic that he has done something wrong. This is just a silly little story where a Demon asks his Angel to hold his hand again. "And anyway, they like holding hands." - Neil Gaiman about Aziraphale and Crowley.

That Crooked Smile Again by Treestackss (G)

A minisode, if you will. 1949. Eight years since they last spoke, and the demon Crowley insists on taking Aziraphale to a local bebop club. It's stuffy, loud, and worse still, Aziraphale spends the whole evening watching a blonde girl hanging onto Crowley for dear life. Not the night out he envisioned.

Withdrawal by IneffableToreshi (T)

Crowley is just trying not to let his stupid brain destroy him. He could never expected a guardian angel to show up to help.

Be Gay Do Crimes by wyrmy (T)

In The Beginning, there was an angel ( or rather a small boy named after one) and a demon ( or rather a small boy who wasn't always well-behaved) and a walled garden.

They Don't Teach This In School by Rozavie (T)

Aziraphale has been working at Berwick Academy for a very long time, and he could never ask for anything more. Feeding young minds, sharing the beauty of the English language and the written word. He doesn't need anything else. On the first day of the new school year, the instructor meets the new science teacher Crowley, and something about him is very strange, if not eerily familiar. The two strike up a quick friendship, despite their starkly different approaches to teaching, and something a bit more might be striking up between them as well.

You now seem to belong to me by Quinn_Taeyoung (T)

Crowley, a successful criminal, and Aziraphale, an autistic literature student, never thought they would run into each other or have the chance to get to know one another. It was while walking one night that Aziraphale witnessed a shootout between two gangs of mobsters. And witnesses usually don't live long. But the police are already close, so Crowley has no choice but to take the boy with him.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #human au #autistic aziraphale #crowley has adhd #mod d

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nalyra-dreaming · 4 months ago

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Hey Nalyra, how is it possible that Claudia never noticed that her most compromising diaries were missing? In 2x06 she even let Madeleine read some of them and she didn't notice?

That's a good question.

And I think the answer to that lies with the trial and the way Armand (and therefore Louis) narrated it... because I think the series of events is mixed up, rearranged to make sense in the tale, sense to LOUIS.

It would take weeks for Lestat to get to them. And I don't think he would be rehearsing the play with him right away.

Louis says in 2x06: "The Berlin Blockade ended in May. The Geneva Convention was agreed in August. Some of the front pages from that year. But if you look in the filler, in the back pages. Strange crimes reported."

So... the theater burned in August or later, is my takeaway from that?! (I believe that is a banquet with king George VI at Saint-James that is referred to there?! Google was surprisingly unhelpful though, so if anyone has further knowledge here...)

Armand then says: "A telescopic lens stolen from the Observatory at Meudon. A film company shooting the crime thriller 'Porte D'Orient' delayed when its inventory of color film stock is snatched. Then Louis again: A gang of drunkards, hanging off of the side of the Eiffel Tower, all facing south by southwest, all muttering in unison gone by the time police arrive by elevator."

These crimes were supposedly in the time before, in fact they must have been, obviously, since the theater burned at the end. Supposedly throughout during that year.

However, Claudia says: "We've been burying our meals outside Saint Denis. Flowers are starting pop up out of the ground. Lavender, sweet iris, peony. Flowers growing from the dead. Cold things becoming warm."

If we take this as true, then this indicates that the abduction night happened in spring - and that they had been away for quite some time.

Now, we know Louis went a little mad after the trial and the starvation period (no telling how long that was either), which is more than understandable, imho.

IF we take the theater burning in late 1949 as correct (as filed by the Talamasca), then it likely was towards the end of it.

I think Claudia and Madeleine died in late spring.

I think they left Paris in autumn 1948. Louis and Armand both wear coats in Montmartre, but there is no snow.

I think they only took the diaries after Claudia had left.

Because yes, I do not think Claudia would have not noticed if especially those diaries would have missed. But if she left them behind... I mean, she thought she had left it all behind, right, had started a new life with Madeleine.

And, it makes more sense in the whole tale as well, because in order to shift the blame to Santiago, he must have done it behind Louis' and Armand's back... and that is utter BS, imho, since there is no way someone like Armand did not know about the vampires watching them, for example.

I think it makes a lot more sense that Louis didn't notice the diaries gone after Claudia had left - he had probably put them on her desk or into her coffin or even put them away since Armand apparently used her coffin(! She asks him "How do you like my coffin?") and left them there.

And I think it makes a lot more sense that the diaries were taken in the months after Claudia left, as the coven was preparing, and rehearsing. It makes a lot more sense with the time they would need to find Lestat and lure him over, too. It would make a lot more sense with the time they would need to make him do what they wanted. It would make a lot more sense for Claudia to feel like she wanted to see Louis again, too.

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dawnvy · 6 months ago

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SPUTNIK PRESLEY // 25 // SHE/HER 👽♓ soulmate // clumsy, vegetarian, family oriented

Never one to turn heads, Sputnik spent a lot of her childhood watching old television programs that showed up on the scanner. While the modern age doesn't align with old plots, she can't help but daydream of the perfect, enviable human life the TV made possible.

Nikki loves all things techie and loves taking them apart to find out how human technology works. Its like archeology to her.

She knows every movie that existed from 1949 to 1963 and has zero trouble with the ideals of all the kooky shenanigans they show. She would be an absolute terror on a neighborly trivia night.

ENFP personality has made her exceptionally empathetic and because of that she refuses to eat meat - but has a plethora of recipes she would love to share with others. She can't exactly COOK per say? But that doesn't mean she won't give it her best.

LIKES: relaxing at the poolside, spontaneous dates to new places, celebrity watching/stalking, new vegetarian recipes, old television.

DISLIKES: shut in behaviors, anti animal/anti children people, mosquitos, hyper-fixation on her alien abilities, flu season, socks

CONTESTANT ENTRY GUIDELINES 👽💕

Must be either a YA or an Adult Sim

Accepting Human, Spellcaster, Mermaid, Alien and Falien Sims

Must NOT have romantic traits - negative traits are encouraged

Preferring Male Participants, but Sputnik isn't against the idea of flipping the narrative of her dream life for a special someone.

Backstories, likes/dislikes, preferences and skills (except for charisma) are encouraged - careers are a plus in Nikki's eyes.

Maxis Match Sims Only - CC is encouraged but please include it. I own every pack except for the most recent kits and SWJTB.

Please include two everyday outfits, two formal outfits and a swimming outfit - if you want certain CC details to be fluent throughout please add them to other categories, just in case.

You must be okay with any necessary changes I make to your entries: eyes, skinblend, lashes etc. If you want to set all the outfits yourself, I would be happy to keep them - but some personal preferences may apply to changes - please be accepting of that.

DEADLINE FOR ENTRIES IS JUNE 30TH 2024 Please feel free to tag me in posts @dawnvy or use the tag #farfromhomebc to make sure I see your entries. Feel free to shoot me a message if you have any questions - I'd love to talk to you!!

#the sims 4 #ts4 #the sims 4 bachelorette challenge #ts4 bachelorette challenge #bachelorette challenge #sputnik presley #farfromhomebc

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taintandviolent · 2 years ago

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And Where He Goes, I’ll Follow. (Jimmy Darling x Reader)

Summary: You meet Jimmy in a diner as a teenager in 1949, and it’s love at first sight... for you. You follow him until you can tell him how you feel.

warnings: 8.3k words! self insert. female reader, age gap / older men preference, obsession, unrequited love, fluff, angst and eventual smut.

Ao3 link here — full fic under the cut! | Fic playlist here! {Shuffle Off!}!

Tags: @zabelcolin @kaismanwich @elsamars @thewolveswithin @marylovesevanpeters @80strashbag

You almost called out to him right then, wanting nothing more in the whole, wide world than for him to look over his shoulder at you. You remembered every curve of his face, his bright smile, his tanned skin that smelled like sun — in two years you hadn’t forgotten a single thing about Jimmy Darling.You watched him hold the door for Evie like the charming gentleman that he was and heaved a distrait sigh. He waited for her before following her inside.

Your mind was buzzing with emotions. You wondered if Eve remembered you, you wondered if Jimmy, if he remembered when he’d turned the swivel stool in that diner, and told you…

1949

"Tell the ticket lady Jimmy sent ya’,” he said, finishing it with a wink. Cheeks red, your gaze fell to your lap. You were wholly unsure of how to respond to such flirtations, and your heart hammered against your ribs. When you looked back up, he and the rest of his eccentric troupe had left, much to the relief of the other patrons.

The syrup on your pancakes didn’t compare to the sweetness in his smile. You’d screwed your face up in disappointment when you brought a forkful to your mouth, the taste too dull in comparison. Devious thoughts of warm, thick nectar filled your head; you were a lost cause for the rest of the afternoon. He’d turned your little brain to mush with seven words, so much that you couldn’t even hear the chastising your mother would’ve given you for being so lustful. By that evening, Aunt Tessa had agreed to let you go just to ease the ache in her ears.

And you did. In the prettiest dress you’d had in your suitcase, hair freshly curled and the tiniest hint of rouge on your lips and cheeks, you went to that Freak Show. The skip in your step wasn’t at the thought of marvelling and gawking at the individuals that the town called “God’s mistakes,” but to see Jimmy.

You wrung your hands as you stood in line, waiting patiently behind each paying guest. Not that you planned on getting in for free — Aunt Tessa had given you a few dollars for food and tickets.

Finally, empty space was the only thing between you and the lady standing at the foldaway table. She wasn’t sitting down, and as you approached, you saw why.

“What can I do for you?”

You bent your neck all the way back to accommodate the woman’s height. She was broad, elegant, and looked stronger than any man you’d ever seen. A soft breeze blew from behind her, fluttering the silk fabric of her shirt. She smelled like flowers.

“Um… Jimmy sent me.” It came out a weak, shaky jumble of words instead of the confident statement you’d practiced on the way over. You closed your eyes tightly, cursing your jitters.

She glanced behind you. You were the last person in line, and certainly were without accompaniment. Realising that you were a nervous wreck with no parents in sight, the woman brought herself forward, resting the weight of her upper body on her knees. She turned her head, angling her ear towards you.

“One more time, sweetheart.” You took a deep breath through your nose and tried again.

“I was at the diner in town and… and Jimmy — Jimmy sent me.” You shoved the dollar upwards awkwardly, holding it as steady as your nerves would allow.

She straightened up, her thin red lips stretched wide in a bemused smile. “Jimmy Darling sent you? Well.” She leaned forward, gently wrapping her large hand around your petite wrist. She lowered your hand back to your side, wordlessly denying payment, then moved to drop the lid of the cashbox.

“Follow me.”

She led you through the main tent, and you followed proudly, feeling like a VIP guest. A few people leaned out of their seats to see the who, where, and why. Eve lined you up with a perfect spot in the front row and made sure you were settled before darting off behind the stage’s. The calliope music started somewhere from behind a curtain, and your heart took off, like it had in the diner.

A litany of ooh’s and aah’s punctuated each act, but your memory was worth a damn. As you watched the show, you truly hadn’t remembered much of anything. Anticipation had your attention span on a short leash, and each time the Bearded Lady came out to announce a new act, you inched forward on the wooden seat.

He had gloves on in the diner, but as soon as you’d arrived on the grounds, you’d sorted out what ‘freak’ of the show Jimmy was. Lobster Boy! The AMAZING Jimmy Darling! Live! In Person! Banners, Posters — they all showcased each of the freaks rendered in art. Jimmy’s hands were the focus of his posters; four fingers fused in two, formed into thick, fleshy segments. Finally, the stout woman announced the next act in her funny accent, and you scooted forward, hands clasped in your lap.

He was wearing a blue shirt with a brown vest and trousers, and his hair came forward from the crown of his head into a perfect single coif. The show lights followed him as he strolled across the stage, deformed hands at his sides.

“That’s right, folks! For as long as I can remember, I’ve been known as Lobster Boy. Son of Neptune, God of the Sea!” His voice was loud and strong. “But my pincers don’t hold me back!”

Women gawked, making disparaging comments as he opened and closed his claws, showing them off to the audience. ‘Such a shame! He’s good-looking!�� ‘What a waste that is! He’s not half-bad without those things!’

“Watch me juggle!”

And you did. You couldn't take your eyes off him, not for a moment. Your heart felt like a scoop of melted strawberry ice cream. You could’ve watched him juggle for hours, but too quickly, his act ended. One of the balls missed his pocket when he tucked them in.It rolled off the stage and landed with a heavy thud a few inches from where you sat. Unlike you, he didn’t seem to notice. Keeping your eyes ahead, you kicked one foot out and landed it inconspicuously atop the ball, manoeuvring back towards you with the heel of your shoe.

Fate had intervened with that one, you believed that. After the show, you strolled through the rows of empty wooden chairs, twisting your body joyfully back and forth. The tent was empty now, save for Jimmy, who was scouring the stage. He had bent over, lifting the heavy velvet curtain.

“Hell,” he muttered, letting the curtain drop. He spun around to the left, to the right, his back still facing you.

“‘Scuse me,” you started. “Mr. D-Darling?”

His head turned first, body following.

“Hey — I remember you. You’re the kid at the diner.” God, he was every bit as warm as he was in the dinner. Maybe even more. From where you stood, you could smell his body heat, mixed with the dustiness of the field, and the butter of popcorn. Holding the scent of him for a moment longer before speaking, you nodded coyly. With the ball still behind your back, you ground the toe of your saddle-shoe into the dirt floor.

“Well, did ya’ like the show?”

You straightened up, widening your eyes. “Oh! I thought you were just spectacu—- the show was real great. I’m only here for another week but I’m going to convince my Aunt Tessa to come see it too.”

Your slip-up wasn’t lost on him; he’d heard it, and caught it with a smile. “Say, you haven’t seen a —

“A ball?” You held it upwards to him, stretching your arm out. “It rolled off after your act… I didn’t want anyone trying to steal it.”

He seemed delighted by your loyalty as he reached for it. His — well, you weren’t quite sure what to call them in your mind’s eye, but his clawed fingers felt so heavy against your palm, and they covered it completely. Anyone would’ve been repulsed by his deformity, but you weren’t, even up close.

Your breath hitched in your throat. The blazing heat that started in the core of your abdomen and bubbled up to your cheeks confirmed that repulsion was the last thing on your mind. You didn’t register that you were staring until he jerked his hand away, taking the ball along with it. It seemed like he couldn’t set it atop the piano fast enough, before shoving both hands into brown cotton slits, returning himself to normalcy. He had sorely mistaken your fascination for disgust.

“Thanks, kid.”

Panicked and slightly offended that he had called you ‘kid’ twice, you stuttered into your next sentence.

“My name is Y/N.” You reached your hand up again, biting down into the cushion of your lip.

Jimmy hesitated.

He finally took it, and shook it delicately. You exhaled a little too breathily, on purpose.

“Jimmy,” he replied, a small smile blooming.

Between tittering laughs, you nodded. “Oh, I know that.”

The second time, three days later, you were just as nervous, just as focused, but your Aunt Tessa sat next to you, fanning herself with a poster card. This time, your attention was a little less taut, and you were able to enjoy the rest of the acts. In particular, you were dazzled by Amazon Eve, marvelling as she lifted nearly everything on the stage with ease, then stepped down to lift the front row bench on which your Aunt, you and two others sat. She recognised you, giving you a friendly nod before carefully setting you back down. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach, feeling so very special.

If you had to ignore Jimmy — the show was still a delight. Every performer had a shocking talent to share, and you ate each of them up. You stuffed a handful of popcorn into your mouth, eyes softening at the little doll that stepped from the birdcage. Ma Petite was one of the most darling things you’d ever laid eyes on, even though you were well out of your doll days.

You saw the show one final time with your mother, on the day she came to pick you up. She was much less enchanted by the grotesque acts than you were, shielding her eyes as every moment passed. Jimmy juggled again, throwing the balls higher and higher with each rotation. Much to your dismay, he didn’t drop a single one, garnering applause from the astounded audience. He flashed a smile in your direction before palming all three of the spheres.

You didn’t dream of waiting for the entire tent to clear out, not with your mother crossing her arms as you rushed towards the stage. Jimmy had already disappeared, but the tattooed man was kind enough to stop dragging a crate to answer you when you asked where they were headed next.

Once in the car, you had asked your mother, “How’s Grandpa doing?” You rose the octaves of your voice in a slippery way to feign concern. “He’s not far from here, is he? In Tennessee?”

“He is… you know sugar plum, I bet he’d enjoy a visit from us both. Recovery can be awful lonely.”

You sunk into the seat, a devilish grin on your face. “A few days won’t hurt.”

Any guilt you felt from using your grandfather as an excuse fizzled out the moment you stepped into the warmly lit tent in Tennessee. You tucked your dress underneath the curve of your rear, and plopped down on the wooden bench.

1950

You had to wait until the summer of the following year, when school was out, to see your dreamboat again. It just so happened that your best friend’s cousin’s dad was a land owner in Alabama, and had just rented out one of his fields to a travelling freak show. You had almost memorised the show by the fourth time you saw it, except for the fact that Fraulein Elsa, the leader with a wispy German accent, added a knife-throwing act. She asked for volunteers.

Anne’s brother, brimming with misplaced confidence and testosterone immediately shot up. He’d been strapped to the wheel while his college buddies hollered, saying their goodbyes. A few moments later, without so much as a scratch, he jogged off the stage, a newfound confidence in his ability to cheat death. Elsa watched the young men, a disapproving sourness in her dark eyes.

The fifth time you saw the show, by yourself, he’d juggled like usual, but this time, he followed with a song. You were in the front row, and when he dipped the microphone down, almost to the floor, you gripped the bench so hard, your nails sunk into the wood as though it were made of butter.

“Oooooh, you come on like a dream, peaches n’ cream, lips like strawberry wine. You’re sixteen…” He looked right at you, and damn it all — he winked again. “You’re beautiful, and you’re mine.”

You gasped.

“We fell in love the night we met! You touched my hand, my heart went pop, and ooooh, when we kissed…” Jimmy swayed across the stage, a true performer, but you were practically vibrating with delight.

You clutched your hands to your chest, feeling as light as a cloud. Surely, this song was no coincidence. Could that have been the sign you needed? You two would meet after the show, and you’d phone your mother from another state, telling her you were married and had run away to the circus. You’d give his trailer a woman’s touch, painting the wooden cabinets yellow, and buying satin pillows for the modestly sized bed.

Oh sure, you thought. The quickest way to get Jimmy Darling arrested. That’s just terrible.

It wasn’t until you got back home from Alabama three days later that you’d heard the song announced on the radio as holding its place in “the top of Billboard for four weeks now!” The delusional high came crashing down around you, and you cried for hours into your pillow. Your mother tried to console you with a new dress, but it was the same pale blue colour of the shirt Jimmy wore once, so you cried more.

Alabama was too far to visit twice, so you stopped seeing him — in person, anyway. The poster you’d ripped from one of the telephone posts lived underneath your pillow. You fell asleep to it every night, folding and unfolding it with the tenderest of touches. It was a side profile of Jimmy, and his shadow cast was a warped exaggeration.

Eventually, the paper became so fragile that you had to tuck it away in your diary and leave it, along with the dreams of being Mrs. Y/N Darling, a name which was scribbled fanatically through dozens of pages, amongst detailed fantasies of the same subject.

Oh, I love him so much. Will I love him always? I will. Until the day I die, I think. But father says that all of my careless travelling has addled my brain — he doesn’t know that it’s not the travelling, but a boy!! — and I need to focus on my studies. Maybe one day, Jimmy Darling will love me. For now, I must let him go.

You tucked the journal in your bedside table, ushering away your silly teenage dreams. Sticky, humid summers faded into rainy, windy winter seasons. Eventually, the rose-coloured dreams of Jimmy Darling faded away, and your every day was filled with the frivolities of a small-town teenage girl on the cusp of adulthood.

There were hard days, naturally. Days where you dug your nails into your own heart, plaguing it with cruel thoughts of if he’d found a girlfriend, or if he ever thought about you. The last time you cried over him was in the bathtub, in January of 1951. Your father had made lobster for your aunt’s birthday dinner. You’d nearly lost it, staring too intently at the claws, hanging limp on the plate.

Though you didn’t think it would happen, eventually, the searing pain of a lost love turned into a dull ache, to a faint bruise. One that you didn’t know was there until you touched the spot unknowingly.

After that, you had a boyfriend for a few months. You’d kissed for the first time on Valentine’s Day, and then split by August. You got a job at a diner, working half days until you graduated.

June 1952 Jupiter, Florida.

It had started getting hot last month, and the world was alive with the tantalising promise of summer. The diner was usually busy from sun up to sun down, and really, you revelled in the work. There was a certain merrymaking in being a waitress. Folks from town, folks from across the country seemed to find a familiarity in diners — no matter where they were, they knew what to expect.

As you did every weekday, you’d showed up for your shift, uniform pressed and starched, with your apron draped across your arm. You checked your reflection in the glass of the jukebox, and tied the white cotton around your waist.

Tucking an order pad into your apron, you froze. Sitting on the speckled, glossy counter in front of you was a stack of flyers. Bobby, one of the chefs, was stretching up to hang one on the fridge. Your body seemed to quiver from the inside out, running cold and hot all at once as you read the brightly coloured words.

Fraulein Elsa’s Freak Show - Jupiter, Florida! See the marvels, the mystery from all corners of the earth!

“Y/N? .....Y/N!”

Your chest felt like someone had taken a mallet to it, and swung as hard as they could, hoping to ring the carnival bell atop. You blinked and turned to him.

“You ill or somethin’?” Bobby asked, pushing the knuckle of his pointer finger up into the soft underside of your jaw to close it. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Swatting away his hand, you snatched the stack of flyers and brought them up in front of his face. “I’m fine. Who brought these?”

“Hm? Oh. Those. Guy and a girl. Real tall girl. Just a few minutes ago, actually. Why? Are we not supposed to post th —”

“A few minutes ago,” you repeated, trembling. “Was…. Was one of them wearing gloves?”

Taken aback by the interruption, Bobby seemed confused and hesitated in answering.

“Was he!?” You asked again, a little too loudly.

He considers it, and remembers that it struck him odd, wearing leather gloves in the first hums of summer. “Yeah. Why?”

You practically threw yourself into the door, flinching at how hard the bell clanked against the glass. You looked right. A little girl held onto her mother’s hand with one, and gripped the sticky cone of an ice cream in the other. You flipped your head to the left — and on the sidewalk, a few blocks down, The Lobster Boy walked alongside Amazon Eve, who held the rest of the flyers in the crook of her arm.

Insecurity held you back. What would you do? What would you say? Hi, I was obsessed with you when I was a little girl, and I’m still obsessed with you now. You heaved a heavy sigh and returned to the diner to carry out your shift.

As soon the clock hit seven, you met up with your two friends, Susie and Margaret, just outside of where the show was. You’d called them from the diner phone, twisting your index finger in and out of the cord. It didn’t take much to convince them to go. You were all eighteen now, and school nights weren’t a main worry.

“Well, well, well. I was wondering when you’d show up.” You bowed your head sideways, unable to place why you suddenly felt shy. Eve reached to cup your shoulder and give it a comforting squeeze. “Look at you… all grown up.”

At that, it took everything in you not to dip around the table and hug her, pressing your cheek against her chest. She’d also given you a blossoming idea that in two years, you had changed enough to look grown-up. You’d take that newfound confidence right to the door of Jimmy’s trailer one night soon.

“I’m just so happy that you all came to Jupiter, it’s been so — ” you started, before your words were cut short. Susie and Margaret flanked your sides and gasped. “My god, what I wouldn’t give to have your hair! You know, I can never get it to stay up in a scarf — my mother says it’s because I’ve got angel hair.” Margaret combed her fingers through her blonde tresses, and rolled her eyes. “Nothing heavenly about this.”

Eve’s laugh resonated through your chest as she gathered your change, divulging the importance of pin placement. Margaret seemed fascinated by the information, and you were just glad that out of all the stuffy, bigoted people in Jupiter, you had managed to find some of the only girls who would be more enchanted with Amazon Eve’s hair than her nearly seven foot tall stature.

The air was warm and heavy, seeming to hold the sweet smell of popcorn pungently. You ducked into the tent, and almost immediately, you saw him. He was in the corner, leaning against one of the support posts. Two years had been kind to him; although he had maintained all of his boyish charm, there was a new brawn that had settled in.

He was talking quietly to the Bearded Lady, who seemed very concerned with what he was saying. You wondered what it was they were discussing, but as the band of performers flooded the stage, they both scurried off to take their places. It may have laid dormant for years, sleeping like a hibernating bear, but it took just over an hour for your obsession to return full-force.

On Wednesday night, you convinced Bobby and Julie to go. Julie was only waiting two days a week, but you were taking advantage of all workplace camaraderies, big or small.

On Thursday, Bobby wanted to go again. He was just tickled by the Siamese Twins, and needed a second viewing. Somehow, he masterfully convinced the callous, burly cook, Sam, who never did anything besides fill up his truck, go the market, and clock in for work to go, too.

Friday night rolled around, Margaret brought her boyfriend, and Susie brought her younger sister. The ‘freaks’ scared her, so they sat in the back row, while you took your familiar seat in the front row. And for once, you couldn’t wait for the show to end.

You’d parked out in the far part of the field. As soon as the tent emptied, you retreated to the car to keep up appearances. However, instead of getting in leaving the freak show in a cloud of dust, you’d waited. Twenty or so minutes after that, you thought you saw Jimmy strolling out of the big top.

With your friends long gone and the rest of the field mostly cleared out, you finally pushed yourself off the trunk of the car and headed towards the mint-green trailer in the distance. There was a warm yellow glow emanating from the windows. He was definitely inside, and there was no turning back now. You stepped carefully over tall grasses and some discarded cans.

You were finally going to tell him.

You sucked in air through your nose until the breath hurt your lungs and the bust-line of your dress tightened. You gave the door three delicate taps.

“Yea—hang on!” You heard some commotion inside, and the door swung open.

“I’ll be — oh. Uh, hi.”

“Hi,” you cooed. “Can I come in?”

Coughing out a breath, he looked you up and down. Jimmy then hooked his hand on the doorway, and leaned out to survey the area. Everyone was likely in the rec tent, readying themselves for supper. For a moment, he worried that his arrangement with the Tupperware gals had travelled, despite explicit instructions to keep it under wraps.  “Well?” You urged.

Jimmy was never one to deny beauties access to his trailer, so he stepped aside and allowed you in.

As you waited for him to shut the door, you focused on the thumping of your pulse, your heart pumping faster and faster. Back then, you were a little girl with a crush. A silly, jejune, frilly lace-and-bows crush. As you stood in the middle of his trailer, watching him, that childish adoration was stamped out by your big girl passion and unbridled lust. He was in nothing but a white undershirt and his trousers, with an unbuckled belt. You hadn’t seen him in such a… personal setting, and the visual had your stomach tightening into knots that only his fused fingers to could untangle.

“I’m not used to such pretty girls knockin’ on my door… what can I do for ya?”   His attention was on you and you swallowed. You took a few steps closer, closing in the distance. Hushing all the whispers in your mind, you reached up, cupping his face in your hands and pulled him right into a kiss. Before you closed your own eyes, you caught his his big, brown eyes widening before the lids drifted shut.

His lips were as soft as they seemed, exactly as plush and warm as you imagined they would be. For a moment, you felt him instinctually melt into you, sending a violent shiver down your spine. When you parted lips, he gripped both shoulders, gently urging you off. “Hang on a minute…” He swallowed.

“Wh-what’s goin’ on here?”

“Jimmy Darling,” Trying not to feel defeated by his rejection, you squared your shoulders. “I’ve loved you since I first saw you at Robbie’s Diner in Dahlonega, Georgia. September, nineteen-forty-nine. You told me to come see the show, and told me to tell them that Jimmy sent me. So I did. I was freshly sixteen that summer so I didn’t even try it, but I knew I loved you. I was still in school, but I’ve seen at least one show of yours in every state you’ve been in since then. Tennessee. I even hitched a ride with my best friend’s brother to see two shows in Alabama. ”

His eyebrows were laced together; confused, shocked, or maybe both. You righted yourself and started again, keeping your fingers laced behind your back to mask the trembling. “And then you came here, to my hometown; Jupiter, Florida. And I’ve seen every single show of yours for the past week. I’ve been front row. Every night.”

A strong knock thudded on the door. “Jimmy! You decent in there?”

“Yeah!” He shouted at the door, keeping his gaze locked on you. Immediately, the door opened, and Amazon Eve leaned in, poised to ask whatever it was that she’d come to ask, but as soon as she saw you, she stopped.

“Hi, Eve.” Without missing a beat, you turned back to Jimmy, and held your hand out. “Even Eve knows — she’s seen me.”

Eve looked as confused as Jimmy was, but feeling like she was now apart of the conversation, she ducked into his trailer and leaned back against the doorframe. She crossed her arms, the cherry print fabric pulled taught across her biceps.

“Sure have. Ever since Georgia. Y/N came what, twice? Three times — in one week.”

His head swept back and forth between you two, and his lips parted. You wanted so badly to press your own lips back against his, and slip your tongue into the empty space.

“Jimmy,” Eve started, in a low, patronising voice. She wasn’t about to watch this sweet, young girl’s heart crumble into pieces. “Don’t tell me you never noticed.”

You waited, and it wasn’t until he huffed out a laugh that you realised you hadn’t been breathing. Hand lifted to the nape of his neck, he rubbed it anxiously.

“I notice lots of women in the crowd, Evie.”

Eve’s jaw dropped slightly, and yours clenched, teeth creaking against each other. He knew immediately how that landed, and took a step forward, interjecting something about understanding. Your nose felt hot, and the humiliated tears bit at your eyes. He took another step forward, reaching for you. Mortified, you wrenched your arms away, pressing them tightly against your chest. Your breaths were severed by the oncoming sobs.

“No, no, I understand just fine. I spent-spent all of my su-summers—” Another breath. “—knowing you and I couldn’t — p—possibly expect you to know me.”

The tears spilled over, and as you wiped at them with the back of your hand, you laughed at how foolish it all was. Three years of unrequited love wasn’t so easily soothed. As quickly as you dried them, more tears tumbled over, leaving shimmering stripes over your cheeks.

“I was such a fool to think you’d love me, too.”

With the taste of his lips still lingering on yours, you swung around and shoved past Eve. You’d never felt so humiliated, so stupid in your entire life. You trudged through the field, unsure of which direction you were even heading, you weren’t sure where your car was until you heard Eve’s powerful voice behind you.

“Sweetheart! Wait a minute, c’mere!”

The tears had blurred everything, making it hard to navigate, and even though you wouldn’t admit it then, Eve’s stern grip was welcomed.

“Just come talk with me.”

Though you wanted to go home, you were in no state to drive. So, begrudgingly, you allowed you to steer her in the direction of her trailer.

Inside the trailer, you flayed open every layer of your heart as you retold the story, filling in all the untold chapters that only you knew. Eve wrapped both strong arms around you, pulling you to her chest. Enveloped in flowers and the smell of cotton, you wept into her shirt, clinging to fabric just above her breast. She shushed you, resting her chin against the crown of your head. The tears soaked through to her skin, but she didn’t seem to mind. After a moment of her stroking your soft tresses, you felt safer than you had all night. The blubbering subsided, replaced by uncertain whimpers. You pulled away to look up at her.

“Is it because I’m too young?” You asked between broken sobs and sniffles. “He sees me as that shy girl from Georgia, doesn’t he? I’ll be nineteen in October, I…”

“No.” She shook her head, genuinely. “He’s just.. I’d guess he’s confused.” She paused, bringing a white cotton handkerchief from her back pocket.

“That boy can’t see past the title this show has given him. None of us can, really. Men are terrified of me, I haven’t been on a date since nineteen-thirty nine because of who I am.” She dabbed at your cheeks and your top lip, removing all traces of sadness from your face.

“Jimmy thinks every woman takes one look at his hands and doesn’t stop running until they reach the next town.”

“Well, Jimmy is a fool, then! You’re all fools!” You sniffed authoritatively. “You’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen! If I was, well if I…” You hesitated, not sure of how to continue, but Eve seemed to know what you were trying to say, and took your face in one of her hands, the tips of her fingers meeting the start of your hairline. “I appreciate that, honey.”

“OH! What a kick in the teeth that was. I embarrassed myself. I’m a nobody, just a face in the crowd to him and, and —”

Your words trailed off as you forced your heart to callus over. You sat upright on her bed, tracing the stitch lines on the comforter. You’d done this before, you could do it again. “Thank you for being so sweet to me. Tell Jimmy I’m sorry.”

Eve wanted to stop you, she really did. She knew that even with all of her mighty strength, she couldn’t have.

Jupiter, Florida. A few weeks later.

The bench looked empty. It wasn’t, but for some reason, it looked that way to Jimmy. He fumbled, and almost dropped two of the juggling balls. Anxiety crept through his mind as his focus drifted away. He cleared his throat, collecting the balls into one hand, and held out the other.

“And now, folks, from the exotic coast of Siam — our very own Siamese beauties; Bette and Dot!”

The crowd cheered, becoming livelier with whistles and hollers. They were the headliners anyway, he wasn’t going to be missed. The Twins hurried past him, but not before tossing a pair of concerned glances his way, knowing that Jimmy Darling never cut his act short.

He spun around to sneak out of the tent, and collided into Eve’s shoulder. “Hey, woah. Jimmy. What’s gotten into you?”

His chest rose and fell in frustrated breaths. She lifted her arms, opening the tent’s flap. She gestured with her head. He should’ve known better. Maybe it was the fact that she was tall enough to see over all the bullshit, or maybe strength wasn’t her only talent. She was damn near clairvoyant with how well she knew when something was up.

“That girl,” he began. “She wasn’t in the audience.”

Eve sturdied her face, and nodded once. “No, she hasn’t been for a couple weeks now.”

Jimmy reached up to wipe a ribbon of sweat from his brow bone. “I hope she’s alright.”

“She is.”

He looked up at Eve, taken aback by her response. “I checked on her, she’s fine. Healing her heart that you split in half with those hands.”

He groaned, covering his face. “I just thought I was makin’ stuff up, Eve! Women don’t follow me from the tent, let alone across state lines!”

“Well, Jimmy.” Eve inhaled a deep, full breath. “This one did.”

She ducked back into the tent to finish the show. Jimmy spent the rest of the night in his trailer, despondently nursing a bottle of whiskey. Somewhere, a few gulps before the bottom of the bottle, he realised that even though he didn’t know you, he had noticed you without being aware of it. You weren’t just another face in the crowd, but a constant presence in that audience. Once you’d left, he’d realised just how empty that big tent felt.

He didn’t hear the first knock, or the second. It wasn’t English, but he yelled something drowsily at the window on third. Outside, Ethel Darling narrowed her eyes and threw open the door and winced at the potent smell of alcohol that hit her in the face. Jimmy was sprawled out on the floor, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Jimmy, ma’ boy.” Ethel tightened her lips in disappointment, hating that her motherly instinct had been in correct. “What’s this now?”

“Ahh, Ma… I messed it up. There’s a girl that loved me… and I” Jimmy stumbled to his feet, and fell into hugging his mother. Confused, she wrapped her arms around him, petting the back of his head. “I’m gonna’ make it right, Ma. I’m gonna’ fix it tomorrow.”

“Can I get a shake?”

It was nearly time to leave, and your energy was diminishing. Without looking up, you whipped your pad out, flipped to a new page. Your tongue jabbed into the wad of bubble gum in your mouth, forming a pocket. POP! You scribbled shake followed by a dash.

“What kind? We’ve got vanilla, strawberry and chocolate. Five cents extra for a mix.”

The customer was talking low, in almost a whisper. You paid him no mind. It had been a slow day, and you were grateful for the distraction. The last two weeks had been a depressing, colourless, tasteless blur. The busier days were easier. It was the slow days where you heard caramel voices crooning about love over the radio that reminded you of the raw edges in your your heart.

“What’s your favourite?”

“Vanilla and strawberry.”

He slid a wrinkled dollar across the counter top, the green just barely visible underneath the worn leather of a black mitt. “Two of those, please.”

You had only glanced at it a moment before looking away, but as soon as the visual registered, your eyes swept back to the counter and then straight up until you were looking right into a set of eyes so dark, it was like looking into two cups of black coffee.

You slapped the ticket on the kitchen’s counter, and practically ran back to Jimmy, guiding him to one of the empty booths. You sat him down, told him to wait and you’d be right back. Part of you wanted to use the moment to see if you were hallucinating; if he was still sitting at the table, wringing his black gloves nervously when you brought the two shakes… god, I hope I’m not dreaming.

“Order up!”

Nosy, Bobby popped his head up, searching the tables. When he located the new addition to the diner, he opened his mouth as quickly as he narrowed his eyes. His whispered your name harshly, needing confirmation.

“Isn’t that the guy from the freak show!? The one with the —“

So, you weren’t dreaming. You shushed him before scurrying off. Even if Jimmy wasn’t waiting, you had zero intentions of explaining yourself. You shuddered at the thought of trying.

You set the shapely glasses on the table, jolting Jimmy out of whatever dreamland he’d wandered off to. You’d could hardly contain the silly grin on your face; you never imagined you’d be sitting across from him at a diner, but here you were. You playfully plucked the cherry off the top of your shake, dangling it over the frosty rim.

“Did Eve send you?”

A smile cracked across his face, lighting it up. He bowed his head and peeked up at you under his brow, watching the cherry sway back and forth. “Yeah. I mean. Sort of. But I wanted to come see you. I missed you.”

You drew your brows together as you took a sip, thrown off. “Missed me?”

“Yeah. You haven’t been at the show.”

Your stomach tightened. “I didn’t think you noticed.”

“I didn’t think I did, either.”

Skirting around the glass, he reached forward, and layered his gloved hand on top of your own. The leather was warm, and soft.

“But, I did. And I had to come and see you.”

“You don’t have to wear these, you know. I’m not afraid of your hands.” You could sense his hesitation, and recalling Eve’s words, you were prepared to reassure him until you were blue in the face. “Really. I’m not. I bet they can hold a woman just fine.”

He coughed abruptly, choking on the vanilla strawberry, or maybe his own breath. You almost regretted being so forward, but when his hungry eyes swept up to you, pulling you in, all that concern melted away. You reached up, wiping the tiniest, sticky droplet of shake from the corner of his mouth.

“I mean that though, Jimmy. I’m not afraid of them, and I’m not afraid of you. In fact, I’d prefer you over any man that could walk in this diner.”

He searched your face, trying to find a mask, or some part of you that was lying. You had nothing to be gained by lying to him.

“Can we get outta’ here?” He asked.

You spun around in the seat, looking at the clock. You were off in half an hour, and Julie would be here to start the night shift.

“Wait here.” You moved so quickly, you wondered if you were levitating.

“Sam!”

Like a big, old bear, he grumbled and groaned as he turned to face you. Grease stains spotted his apron. His ruddy, puffy face made him appear grumpier than he actually was. He was a bear, but more of a teddy bear than anything else.

“Do you mind if I leave early today? I’ve…” You heaved a sigh. “I don’t mind telling you, the boy I’ve loved for almost four years straight wants to take me on a ride on his motorcycle, and I’m afraid if I don’t get on, I’ll never forgive myself for it.”

Sam looked at you plainly, and grunted as he turned, the physical exertion warranting it. He set the spatula down, and pulled the edge of his soiled apron up, dabbing at the sweat at his brow.

“Mmm-hm. You go, Miss Y/L/N. You tell that boy though, if he hurts you, I’ll make him scrape the grease from these here vents with his bare hands for the rest of his life.”

You immediately wrapped your arms around Sam’s thick neck, singing gratitude over and over again. Maladroitly, he patted your head like a child.

“Go on, get outta’ here.”

Your arms were wound around Jimmy Darling’s torso minutes later as you headed down the dirt round out of town. Each bump and dip, you gripped him tighter as the wind whistled past your ears, lifting your hair up and throwing it around wildly.

Once you’d reached the field where the tents stood, Jimmy pulled around back and parked his motorcycle behind his camper. You were nervous, but that wasn’t his fault. Secretly, you wondered if someone saw the two of you, if you’d be an unwelcome visitor. Surely, Eve would vouch for you and pacify the situation, but the last thing you wanted was to cause any trouble. He opened the door, and beckoned you in with a nod of his head.

Inside, you surveyed your surroundings. The last time you were in his trailer, you’d left in tears. Jimmy seemed uneasy, like he knew this, and wasn’t sure if he should offer you a drink or some water. You turned your attention to him and blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“We don’t have to talk about things now, if it’s eating at you. We could do anything you’d like.”

“Anything?” He asked, before his lips met yours. He lingered just long enough to ignite a fire in your core. His buttery, warm skin against your cool, powdered face was a titillating contrast, and it made you all the hungrier for him. As quickly as he had kissed you, he pulled away, drawing a distraught whimper from your lips.

“Even that?” He asked, hoarsely.

“Especially that.”

The urgency in which he collided with you again left you no time to react, or to control your reactions, for that matter. Jimmy dug deeper, circling his tongue with yours. You moaned desperately into his mouth, taking fistfuls of his shirt to pull yourself somehow closer. He inhaled a deep breath, taking in your scent.

“I’ve never met a girl who tastes as good as she smells.”

You laughed, almost incredulously and nuzzled yourself into the curve of muscle between his neck and shoulder. If only those horrible women could see this. For whatever supposed setbacks his deformity had given him, he made up for it tenfold in charm. You hated even thinking of his hands as abnormalities or imperfections — they were just as special and manful as he was.

They passed over the small of your back, around your hips, where he curled his fingers around them, clenching around the marshmallow soft mounds. All at once, he hoisted you up into his arms and set you on top of the nearby counter. Feverishly, he crushed his lips against yours again. He withdrew and dove back in over and over again, obsessed with the way you craned your neck forward to follow him every time.

His hands slid up your thighs, gathering your dress up to your waist. Jimmy closed the distance, pressing himself between your legs and grunted, grinding his hips against yours. Your breath hitched in your throat. Through the wool of his pants, there was an undeniable definition pressing against the already saturated silk of your underwear.

You rocked your hips back and forth, pressing back into him. He broke away from the kiss to look down at your bodies, his breaths heavy and laboured. A thin sheen of sweat had crossed his forehead, only enhancing the blissed out expression — but you’d play coy. Breathlessly, you asked if he was okay, and reached up to touch his face. He swiftly brought both of your hands around his neck and scooped underneath your ass once more. You were in the air again, but only briefly before your back hit the wall of his trailer.

Now pinned against the wall, your heart was thudding against your ribcage. Jimmy ground up into you, thrusting his hips in a steady motion. You whimpered. With an open mouth, he moaned against your collarbone. You splayed your fingers out over the back of his neck.

“I want you so much,” you somehow managed to get out, despite the jostling of his thrusting. “So much.”

You heard him blindly feeling for the button of his trousers, fumbling to undo them. You should’ve been nervous, but something about the way you felt he craved you made all that melt away. Without warning, four metallic bangs filled the trailer, startling both of you. You felt Jimmy’s arms tighten around you, pressing you closer to the wall. Like two delinquent teens, neither of you said a word, hardly breathing as you waited, hoping you wouldn’t be found out.

“Jimmy! Showtime!”

It was a deep, male voice riddled with as much impatience as it was authority. Jimmy seemed to have a more tetchy reaction with the way he glared at the door. For having such a dark gaze, there was no shortage of blazing fire when he wanted there to be.

“Let’s go! Don’t make me come in there!” The voice shouted again, followed by another stern set of knocks. You reached for his face, guiding it so that he was looking back at you. His gaze softened into something almost sorrowful.

“Don’t worry,” you whispered in reassurance. You’d waited years to be in his arms, another few hours wouldn’t kill you. Jimmy set you down carefully, stealing one more kiss before straightening himself out, and throwing on a pressed shirt that hung on the edge of a small cupboard. He reached into the waistband of his briefs, and adjusted, hiding the evidence of what he’d been doing. He kissed your cheek, and darted out the door.

The tenth time you saw the show, Jimmy Darling couldn’t take his eyes off you, and you, in turn, were transfixed, and deeply elated to hold his gaze every time he cast it to you. It was the first time that you weren’t sitting in the front row. You had snuck in once the show had started, and leaned up against a wooden pole that stretched all the way to the top of the tent. As soon as he came out, he searched the audience for you — and found you. He flirted with you guilefully, stealing wordless exchanges with you whenever he could. The most wondrous and shocking talent of his entire act was that he kept his cool. He was slick, but not slick enough for Eve — who looked like she was on the verge of laughing for most of the show. When you both disappeared shortly after the curtain fell, she didn’t bat an eyelash, knowing exactly where you two had gone.

“Where is Jimmy, Miss Evie?” Her little voice squeaked. He was the only one not at the table, though everyone besides Ma Petite seemed much too starved to inquire. Her delicate tone and cadence was so pure, Eve almost felt bad having to answer her question when the answer was so impure. Eve set her carefully down on the table, and reached for the radio knob, turning it up. “He’ll be late for dinner, sugar. He has something to take care of.”

“What’s that bit in your act, about your hands?”

Adorably, Jimmy paused, looking off, past his trailer as he searched. He must’ve said that speech every night for years, but he still had to recite it all under his breath, head bobbing back and forth as he reached the line…

“But my pincers don’t hold me back.” You nodded as you ran your fingers over the joined segments. “You wanna’ show me how they don’t hold you back?”

They were longer than a normal man’s digits, and certainly thicker. You inhaled sharply, sheepish. How vulgar you’d become. It wasn’t right for you to think it, and you certainly weren’t going to say it out loud, in fear of scaring him off. Still, the hunger in your gaze was unmistakable and that… you couldn’t hide from him.

Exhaling a breath, he laughed. Like a halogen lamp buzzing to life, his demeanour had changed. He was covetous and hungry and his gaze was leaden as it fell to your waist, and then between your legs. You felt him burning holes through the light blue fabric of your dress, leaving trails of heat everywhere he looked.

“Yeah… yeah, I do.” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bouncing in his throat.

Gently, he eased your legs open, holding onto your knees to situate himself between them. Ghosting the soft insides of your thighs, he leaned down, peppering your neck with hungry, wet kisses. You returned some of them, nipping at the warm, salty skin.

There’s an age-old phrase that everyone uses for encouragement. “Third time’s the charm,” It implies that after trying something twice and failing miserably, the third attempt is sure to result in luck. That may be true for some people, but ten was more your number, especially when it came to getting lucky.

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