👀 torturing y’all with more of that John design and scruffy Oscar…

-

Hug ref 1

Hug ref 2

fic writer interview

Tagged by @skogrr Thank you very much! It's a while since I've done one of these, and I've missed them.

Name: Tru/"Oi you" Fandoms (that I write for): Dragon Age, mostly. Still the fandom of my heart. Mass Effect, Deus Ex... uh, accidentally GreedFall? I don't know how or when that happened. Two-shot: Hmm... The actual last two-shot I wrote was Terms & Conditions, a very silly Dorian/Inquisitor modern AU where Gal is the guy Dorian hires to stop his late father's house falling apart. Recently? I suspect that's going to be Driftwood, which can stand on its own as a sort of weird post-canon first-meeting AU, but is trying to tempt me to continue it. (Vasco ends up going looking for Tír Fradí, which has disappeared - and finds it. He also finds De Sardet as a highly avoidant tree god of the island, post-Bad Ending, who transformed against her will. And he ends up falling in love with her anyway.) Weird tree gods! Pining by literal pine! An eventual happy ending! More grumpy commentary by Vasco!

Most popular multi-chapter: Either An Unquenchable Flame or Distraction, probably - both juggernaut pairings, the former close to the game's release and the latter with some fancy forbidden romance, so not so surprising. But surprisingly, Prague, 10:42 PM has done really well, considering it's for a small fandom (Deus Ex) and a rarepair age/rank-difference pairing that I thought would be a one-off experiment? I get it, guys. I like sad repressed stoics too.

Actual worst part of writing: Editing - which can be fun, but that "over and over" stage when you're about to post, especially in a longfic if you fear you've lost the spirit of the thing and the character voices and you can't see the wood for the trees. And when I have to remove a whole scene which Jenga-unbalances the fic, and then I have to redux from the top. Basically, most things to do with pacing. How you choose your titles: I like double-meanings and one word titles. If that fails: quote from a song. If that fails: quote from poetry, but very rarely. Do you outline: Only a little. A bulletpointed list of events or noted-down major lines of dialogue, that's usually it.

Ideas I probably won’t get around to but wouldn’t it be nice: Uh... oh god. I blame so many people for some of these.

Post-Destroy ending where John is attempting to build a shed on Rannoch because that's the kind of thing retired people do, right? and Tali is far better at it than him, and it's just... disgusting fluff.

Actually, just reduxing the early John/Tali stuff with a bit more nuance and a stronger style.

Eva and Kaidan, and their mutually wary first meeting. ("Wow, that's a lot of pomade." "Wow, that's a lot of death-glare.")

AU where Gal and Dorian never met in DAI, and after everything went down, Gal tried to fade into the shadows and leave. He ended up working in Tevinter as an occasional informant/odd-jobs guy the way he was pre-Inquisition. He ends up being a gardener for a bitter, wry magister who seems to hate the entire Magisterium, has recently lost his father to political scheming and murder, and wants to take down the entirety of the remaining Venatori with one staff and maybe his teeth if he has to (hi, Dorian). But first, Dorian's going to drink his own body weight in whiskey and be a recluse for a while and start thinking about time magic again. Gal is trying to keep his head down and should definitely not be falling in love with said magister. Who's someday going to end up at one of the more southerly ports, come across a statue of the great Inquisitor, and go, Oh.

Stuff on Jensen's PT and rebuilding himself post-augs. More of Proprioception, basically.

Mer-AU where Marie De Sardet is still a diplomat attempting to make new connections, just not a human one, and it's a disaster. An awkward disaster. Highlights include her being framed as the beast trying to drown their best captain; her attempting to wobble about on brand-new legs and Vasco's coat while everyone assumes the dear captain has had a few too many; her asking Vasco if his "fascinating markings" glow; them getting into a duel, and her (fondly) getting punted off the side of the ship going "Woo-hoo." OK, I wrote a bit of that, but only a 1k doodle I'll probably never return to.

Non-Naut court AU where Marie gets promised to Bastien D'Arcy, because he's a bit of a layabout but he's also rich, popular at court, and amenable to bribe - [cough] suggestion, and the D'Arcys have prominent trading links with the Alliance. Instead she falls for his far less of a social butterfly, tired, worried-numbers-guy brother Léandre, who's pretty damn uncomfortable around Nauts because he's well aware he nearly got sold to them and he is not the favourite.

Straight-up role-reversal AU (another thing where I've put down 1k that I'll probably never return to), where Marie's Naut name is Paz, and she's a fed-up second-mate who's tired of noble idiots and feels a little strange and conflicted about her mark (and has context for it, because they make frequent crossings to Tír Fradí). Also a little more jaded, without the love of her mother, and not nearly as much of a tryhard as Vasco in canon; she ended up here because she had nowhere else to go and the Nauts were like "Ooh, free kid," and she's well aware. She gets stuck escorting the D'Arcy brothers to Tír Fradí for their new venture and is not looking forward to it. Except one of them is intensely bright and wry and keeps asking questions about the ship and noticing shit he is definitely not meant to notice, and they keep ending up in strange conversations, even if he seems really, really wary and uncomfortable about Nauts.

Some vague stuff about Vasco's thoughts on Jonas and that whole side quest, considering he's also a sea-given and implies sea-given take some shit in the Nauts, and also how damn difficult it must be watching a sea-given's parents endeavour to get their kid back when he knows full well his didn't do that for him.

Actually, just more Vasco POV in general, even though he's damn hard to nail down. I've written much pining for him from Marie's perspective, and I'd like to try things from the opposite. This guy's idea of wooing someone perfectly normally is to panic and then recite Baroque poetry. You know he's sappy as hell in the privacy of his own head, even if he's trying not to be.

Jean and Síora having the "I'm a sad healer who just lost my mother and I'm trying so hard not to crumble under the weight of assisting the leader" mutual talk way too late at night around the campfire and maybe him crying on her shoulder a little, with mutual kindness and the beginnings of attraction, and her finally getting past his jokey-smug facade to understand him.

More stuff about Jean's past in general, and how he wanted to be a doctor before he was dragged away from it by looking after Constantin and being nobility.

Síora and Eseld and the ways they changed over the years; something like an exploration of grief and growing her own will and the ways they very differently view the renaigse. Also maybe more about the en ol menawi magic, if I can worldbuild well enough?

I'd also love to do a GreedFall soulmark AU - it's generally not my kind of trope, I'm not into biological determinism type tropes - just because names and aliases and assumed identities are such a mess in GreedFall and it's a repeated plot point. That said, I feel like it's been done so beautifully in this fandom before that I wouldn't have much to add.

Callouts @ me: So. Many. Commas. So much over-explaining everything. If they get out of the car, your readers do not need a five-page manual of "and then he undid his seatbelt and leaned over to grasp the door handle, and then pulled it, and then stepped a foot out before he almost thought better of it - but no, he was going to get out of this car. The other foot joined the first, and he nearly banged his head on the doorframe."

Best writing traits: People say I have a head for finding small-but-important moments. I'm also told I write likeable protags. People have more than once said my writing makes them feel safe or makes them smile, and I really couldn't ask for more than that. I'll take those.

Spicy tangential opinion: I don't think I have any, really? Oh god, that makes me sound so very boring. Oh! Um. There should be more tree body horror in fandom. And body horror in general. *thumbsup*

No pressure tagging: @artemis-crimson, @eridanidreams,@rainypixel, @aphreal42.

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 23)

Flimflammery

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

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

-   

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Arthur smiled too, eyes still fixed on me. 

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

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, come on. Don't be like that.”

“Sticking his oar in–”

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

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

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

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

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

“You like it?”

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

“You’re most welcome,” I said, preening under his praise just a little. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but his name met my ears from across camp. His hand froze its subtle movement and he looked over his shoulder. A newly risen Dutch was shouting him. He let out a little breath then looked back down at the drawing.

“I better go see what he wants,” he told me, eyes still roaming over the drawing of Jet, thumb kneading the edge of my thigh. “You going out with the girls tonight, that thing John was on about?”

“Oh, that. Yeah, I reckon so,” I nodded. “Are you coming?”

“Ahh, no. I think it's best I avoid that place, last time I was there, Hosea and I caused a little trouble,” he admitted sheepishly, and I didn't ask. “Anyway, you be careful,” he said, giving my thigh one last squeeze.

“I will,” I smiled, seeing him mirror it before he was heading off to see Dutch.

-

Rhodes Parlour House was as pleasant as I remembered it being from the few times I’d been there before. The place was clean and nicely decorated, crisp white table cloths and ornate furniture, a lovely curved staircase dominating the room, a polished bar at the back. Anyone would think we were somewhere like Saint Denis. The place was busy, the piano being played to grace the patrons with a lively tune, men were packed around the bar, others were taking up the tables. Women roamed the place too, but it seemed as though they were looking to make a dollar rather than spend one.

Mary-Beth, Karen and Tilly mingled with the patrons in their own ways; Karen was going solo while the others teamed up together. I was still sat with John, observing as the two of us sat opposite one another in a booth by the entrance. He'd been approached by three different prostitutes, now, prowling like kittens to try and coax him upstairs, and for once I found myself reveling in a perk of being female. Though, I didn't get off completely scot-free, the third of the women eyed me in a way that turned my face cherry pink and made John burst into fits of laughter. Perhaps it was something in my decision to wear pants that evening, despite the other womens' confusion at the choice. 

I'd told them that desirability wouldn't benefit my plan. 

The plan I'd told John all about, explaining that it'd require his assistance. He'd been more than happy to oblige, and now all we needed to do was wait for the right time and the right mark. Lucky for us, a man walked through the doors, dressed to the nines, a lady at least half his age hanging off his arm; fat guy with a perfectly curled moustache, cream coloured suit and a top hat. He looked like money, walked with his gut puffed out a mile ahead of him, and he was sliding into the booth behind us. I shot John a look and he nodded, and I pulled out what was hiding in my satchel. A piece of cloth wrapped around a tiny rock. 

"Alright," I said, not keeping my voice down. "I think I've waited long enough. Do you have my money?"

"Show me the goods, first, then we'll talk money," he replied, leaning back and folding his arms across his chest. I saw the man, who was sitting in the space behind John, turn his head at the mention of the word.

"I showed you. My money, sir," I pressed through gritted teeth, and John sighed heavily. 

"I want another look. Gotta make sure I'm getting the real deal, here," he countered and with a tense sigh I pushed the cloth bundle towards him.

"Alright, one more look, but we agreed a price last week. Remember that," I warned. John unfurled the cloth carefully. He stared down at the small, sandy chip of rock I'd picked up from the edge of Flat Iron Lake, carefully selected, even had little polished parts that shined in the light. It wasn't great, but it'd be good enough for someone with an untrained eye and under the bar's dim light.

John picked it up and held it up to the light, arm stretching out of the booth as he made a show of inspecting it. All the while I could see the guy in the seat behind him taking curious peeks over his shoulder. John made a humming sound, and sucked on his bottom lip for a while, making me wait for some kind of response. 

"A hundred," he finally muttered.

"Excuse me?" I scoffed. "We agreed on two. And I know damn well even that's generous."

"I'm sorry? Who's the expert?" John snorted, putting the stone back down on the cloth and cocking a brow at me.

"I don't care to listen about your education again, sir. Two hundred," I smacked a hand on the table, and the mark finally made his move, slinking out of the booth.

"Excuse me, ma'am, but I can't help but overhear your conversation. This feller trying to go back on a done deal?" He questioned, leaning his palm on the table, back to John, effectively cutting him out.

"Damn right he is," I hissed, jabbing a finger in John's direction in disgust. 

"Maybe I can be of assistance? I'm somewhat of a businessman myself," he said proudly.

"I don't know. I doubt you'll know much about it, unless you're a gemstone expert," I shrugged, shifting in my seat and reaching under the triangle created by his arm and his body to fetch back the rock.

"I ain't an expert in gemstones, but I don't need to be to help you two figure out a good deal. For a cut, of course," he smirked, straightening up again. "What'chu got here?"

I paused for a while, not wanting to appear too eager. I sighed, finally answering; "Australian opal. Mined it myself, this is the last of my lot. Trouble is, I come back to the US for a family matter and I've got every man and his dog trying to swindle me out of a fair deal. This feller's the third."

"Opal? Huh. That dull thing?"

"It's unpolished, of course. They don't come out the ground wrapped in gold ready to go on a lady's finger, you know," I narrowed my eyes at him and he nodded thoughtfully. He picked it up, and I flinched for show. He eyed up my reaction, then put it back down.

"Two hundred, you settled on? What's the issue?" He turned to John.

"No issue, friend. Just doing business. I'm sure you understand, being a businessman yourself," John shrugged. The man looked him up and down. 

"You don't look like the type to be walking around with two hundred dollars in your back pocket," he sneered and John snorted, shaking his head. 

"How'd you think I manage to keep it there? Feller like you, flaunting it, surprised someone ain't tried robbing you yet," John retaliated, and I very nearly laughed. The man hummed, considering his point. "Anyway, no one asked you. Get out of here. Best I can do is one-fifty, ma'am. Take it or leave it."

"I sold chips half this size in Saint Denis for three hundred. I ain't taking no less than two hundred," I wrapped up the stone and pocketed it. 

"Thought you needed fast money," John said, leaning his elbows on the table. The man stayed put, watching the exchange. 

"Not that fast, I ain't willing to get totally ripped off. Two hundred."

"You keep saying that, ain't gonna make the money appear," he laughed, shaking his head at me. I narrowed my eyes. 

"I've got fifty dollars on me, should be buying my wife a fancy new frock from Saint Denis tomorrow, but she can wait. Also got a pocket watch worth a hundred or more depending on who you sell it to. Can give you the name of a feller, a collector, he'll pay top dollar," the man suddenly butted in. My belly squeezed in excitement. 

"Didn't I tell you to get out of here? This ain't your deal," John stood up, meeting the guy at eye level. 

"Hang on, that don't sound too bad," I pondered aloud, staring ahead and pursing my lips.

"We shook hands," John spun towards me, brow mashing down angrily. I laughed maliciously.

"Yeah, we did. At two hundred," I purred, enjoying the way the man glanced between us, eating up every word. John gnawed on his bottom lip for a while, leaning down to my level.

"I ain't got that much on me right now. I can do one-seventy," he told me under his breath, but loud enough for the man to hear it.

"I'll throw in my wife's necklace. Gold. Gotta be worth something, right?" Came his bid. 

"Hey, like hell you will!" His wife yelled from the other booth.

"I'll buy you a new one, sweetheart," he called back.

"Stay the hell out of it!" John spat in his face, but the man was ignoring him, his eyes set on me. I hummed, pursing my lips and looking up to the ceiling. 

"Seventy-five, the watch, plus my wife's necklace. You could get, what, at least three hundred out of all that?" He offered, forehead shiny, hands fidgety. I levelled my gaze to his, kept him on his toes for a few long seconds, then offered my hand to him. He grinned and shook it.

"Fuck you!" John yelled, storming out of the booth, his shoulder smacking into the guy as he stomped towards the bar. He only laughed, glanced at his wife in time to have a necklace thrown at him, then gathered together my items.

We made the exchange, tucked away our goods, and bid each other a pleasant evening. I sat back in the booth, draining my bottle of beer and smiling to myself, pleased as Punch.

Two Dearest Friends (Chapter 17)

Summary:

Jack Skellington, the Pumpkin King of Halloween Town, meets Sally, a ragdoll created by Dr. Finklestein. A friendship blossoms between them as he introduces her to the world outside of her tower. Sally is falling for him as their relationship grows into something more, and Jack finds the same is happening to him.

A story where the Christmas incident never happens, and Jack and Sally find their happiness on their own.

Pairings: Jack Skellington/Sally

She keeps running until she finds a generous shadow cast from one of the walls. She ducks into it and hides, trembling and holding herself together while she listens to Finklestein's voice in the distance. His wheelchair buzzes closer in her direction. She squeaks when he comes into view. He's still wearing a scoff, his lips quivering from the position as if he's held it for hours. He looks around angrily but winces. The bare sunlight must be bothering him. He never really leaves the tower, so the lighting must be awfully hard for him to adjust to. And it's a good thing it is, because if he looked around any closer, he'd have found her only a foot away from him. He finally turns his wheelchair around and disappears out of view, leaving her to sit there in utter silence until the beating stops sounding in her ears. "Oh, now I'll be grounded even longer..." She groans to herself. Why did she have to run!? She could've just let him take her and save all the effort. That's where she was going to end up, anyway! She hears footsteps coming in her direction. Not just one pair, but many. She curiously looks from her spot and finds the Halloween Town band looking around while fumbling with their instruments. They scan every part of the floors and walls, and she doesn't move from her position. Eventually, John's eyes find hers in the dark, and he points in her direction while resting his other hand on his chest. "There she is, fellas!" The members follow his finger and come rushing over. She finds no need in hiding anymore as she surfaces from the dark. She keeps her head down in shame, ready for the judgement of her friends. For them to bring her back to Dr. Finklestein... "Dolly!" James exclaims. "We were lookin' for ya! Are ya' alright?" She frowns but nods her head slowly. "I am. Were you looking for me?" "Finklestein." Jimmy explains as if it was obvious. "He's been looking for you. Said something about locking you up for life once he finds you." "We just wanted ta' make sure yer' okay." James clarifies. She looks at them worriedly. "You aren't going to tell him I'm out here, are you?" The three of them shake their heads, making her sigh in relief. For a moment there, she was worried that they were going to actually blab about her whereabouts. They all come forward to lay assuring hands on her shoulder. Despite the feel of their cold, bony hands...she can't help but smile at their company. "We promise we won't tell. N' anyone who does will be hearing from us." James said. "Don't worry, Dolly." "I don't know how to thank you...really, I appreciate it." "No need. Yer' our friend, n' it's th' least we can do." James assures.

Sally tenses hearing those words, remembering the time Jack said them. It causes her to smile softly, and she brushes a strand of her hair out of the way. The four of them continue to converse as they bring her back to their usual spot in the Outskirts. She decides to catch up with them in this time - asking them about their routines and more of themselves. Getting to know them more was the least she can do as a thanks for helping her out. It turns out that the three of them are homeless, and they describe themselves as "starving artists". They survive off of what monsters tip them, usually getting quite a sum from Jack. They described to her the things the skeleton would do for them, like offering them shelter from the rain and giving them extra blankets when the nights were cold. All this talk raises her admiration for her friend, reminding her of such a wonderful person he is. She knew beforehand that he was friends with the band, but hearing how much he did for them reminded her of what he has done for her as well.

She eventually dismisses herself in fear of overstaying her welcome. She thanks them one last time before wandering around, keeping an eye out for the Doctor. She doesn't know where to go exactly. She decides to follow the path to wherever it may lead, finding a lot of other wonderful sights in the Outskirts while she's at it. There is a hidden garden full of dead trees and plants somewhere, and finds future potential hiding spots if she ever needs them again. She comes back into town and finds Jack is nowhere to be seen. The others he was with are now spread out around town, and she isn't very interested in talking with any of them. She sticks to the corners and backgrounds of the scene before sunset comes. That's when she leaves for the Outskirts again and stands a few feet from Finklestein's Tower. She debates going back. Climbing the steps and sneaking back in...but there's a strong urge pulling her away. She turns on her heel and rests her back against the wall, watching as the sun soon turns into the moon. In the next moment, she's fast asleep with her head on the wall. ------------------------------ "Cock-a-doodle-do!" She wakes to the sound of a dead rooster crowing. It comes from the direction of the Skellington Manor. She jumps up with a start before finally coming to her senses, realizing she's now on the streets instead of her bed. She looks around and sees some of the Vampires shielding themselves from the sun and scurrying into the shadows. The lake dwellers are surfacing from the water and other monsters are walking down the paths into town. She helps herself up using the wall, finding her back hurts just a tad bit. Her hair must've gotten ruffled sometime during the night because she feels her yarn in knots. Her clothes are dirty and she hadn't slept the greatest. She kept waking up, and all she can recollect are the sounds of crickets and footsteps during the night, but nothing else. She rubs her eyes for a moment, ridding the blurriness of her vision. She wonders what to do for the longest time. Then, she remembers what happened yesterday and makes a firm decision to not to return to the Doctor. But where else can she pass the time? The answer is obvious as it was morning. Sally picks herself up and wobbles over to the Graveyard. She pushes through the unlocked gates and climbs down the path. She feels quite shaky this morning - she probably slept on her legs wrong. She keeps having to use nearby graves to support her as she drags herself along. She stops just before the Witch Hazel and Deadly Nightshade, and goes to put her basket down before realizing she no longer has it. She panics and looks around frantically, wondering where it could have gone if it wasn't in her hands. "I lost it!" She exclaims to herself, placing distressed hands up to her face. "No, no, no..." In the midst of her panicking, the gates open. She has no time to hide as the footsteps grow closer and closer to her. When she finally looks up, she finds Jack coming towards her. Unlike her, he seems to be wide awake and as energetic as ever. She can tell by how quickly he skips over to her. He doesn't seem to be surprised to find her here, contrasting to her open mouth and frozen pose. She feels embarrassed as he reaches her and waves at him shyly. "Hello, Jack." "Sally! It's great I found you here. My next guess would've been the Doctor's place, and I didn't want to head there so early in the morning." He moves his hand from behind his back to present her basket. "-You left this yesterday. I tried finding you to give it back, but, well..." She takes it from him, the smile widening on her face. She wants to hug him in thanks for finding it, but has to restrain herself. "Oh, I'm so sorry I ran off like that...I just didn't want to be seen-" "Don't worry about it. I would've spent all morning looking for you. I had a feeling you were going to need it eventually." That reminds her of what she was thinking about only a few minutes ago. She dips her head in thanks before collecting some more witch hazel and deadly nightshade. Jack watches her from the side and remains quiet until she's finished. She tucks them into the basket and shyly looks away, unsure of what to say to him after everything that happened yesterday. Should she apologize for running away? Thank him again for getting her basket? Explain to him why she's here? "Are you alright?" He suddenly asks. She blinks once or twice. "Yes, I'm fine. Why do you ask?" "You look like you've suffered a rough night. I can only assume something is wrong." She pats her hair down and adjusts the ends of her dress. So he did notice the change in her appearance...it makes her flustered knowing he pays attention to that, and she regrets not fixing her hair before coming out here. Still. It wouldn't hurt to open up to him, right? He already lied to the Doctor for her countless of times before, so this shouldn't be anything new. Taking a deep breath, she decides to spill the truth. "I just wanted to get out. So, I left." "I can see that." He stuffs his hands in his pockets. "Would you believe me if I told you that's the sixth time I've ever seen that man leave the tower?" Her eyes widen. "I wouldn't." "At least he didn't catch you." His shoulders relax. "I heard a rumor he couldn't find you and gave up. I figured that's what happened." "I'm sorry if I caused you any trouble..." "Oh, not at all. I'm here because of our prior engagement. Today's when we were supposed to meet; that's why I'm here." She gasps, placing a hand to her chest in surprise and grimacing at her appearance. "-I'm so sorry! I should have dressed right, fixed my hair, certainly not cause trouble with the Doctor-" He places a hand on the side of her arm to calm her down, and she relaxes under the contact. As if it is her body's natural instinct to succumb to anything under his touch. It feels nothing like what she experienced when the Devil touched her in the same place just yesterday. She calms down instantly as she stops talking. He's wearing that smile of his that always manages to send chills down her spine, and wonderful butterflies into her stomach. He soon removes his hand and her side goes cold without it.   "No need to be sorry. I could really care less about your appearance." He pauses. "I think you look just fine." "That's rather silly to say..." She blushes. "Seeing as you're wearing a suit and all..." "I always wear this." He corrects her. "I didn't say a thing then, and I won't say a thing now." She smiles and looks at his suit, admiring it once more. She's always loved his taste in fashion, though she has yet to tell him. It's a flattering combination of a pinstriped jacket and a black getup. His clothes fit him snugly and reveal just how thin he is underneath. It's a perfect match for him that nearly fits his tall frame. She becomes interested with it and takes a step forward to get a better look, turning her head to admire the tails resting against his legs. How has she not noticed them before, from all this time being around him? "I do love your outfit. Who tailored it?" He watches her carefully before replying, "A seamstress, long ago. Back when we had one, of course." She hesitates as her hand hovers over the tails. Her eyes meet with his for a split second before she goes forward to feel its fabric. She feels hot being so close to him like this, and touching his clothes is giving her the same sensation as touching any other part of him. He isn't objecting either; he actually looks interested in what she's doing. She flushes as she slowly drops them back to their rightful place. "What's the story with your bow tie?" "This guy was my inspiration, funny enough." The skeleton taps it. "Bats are my favorite animal. And what wonderful creatures! Quiet things that love the shadows. I'm quite fond of them." She looks at his chest and holds a hand in front of her face. She may not see it herself, but she knows she's completely red by this point. An innocent look at his undershirt made her thoughts go wild, trying to picture what could be underneath that. She tries to rid these provocative thoughts while he glances the other way. "Shall we sit on the Spiral Hill?" He asks politely. She nods and grabs her basket, lifting the ends of her dress up to step over the fence. She's getting used to climbing over it now, finding it was a little of an issue. She's accustomed to its steepness and she knows how to maneuver her way along the hill nowadays. She sits by his side while he rests himself beside her, and they both take a moment to absorb their scenery. It is still very early in the morning - there's a dampness in the air that gives slight chills, but the pumpkin sun should be warming them any moment now. "I'm glad I found you here. It's good to know you're okay. I was worried about you after seeing what happened." "Really?" He nods. "I thought something bad had happened to you when the Doctor threw in the towel. If he couldn't find you, I was hoping I at least would." She feels something soft come into her heart. Like the butterflies that are in her stomach are climbing her body to flutter around in it. She sighs and smiles. It touches her to know that he was concerned about her. The Band was worried as well, but...well, Jack is different. He's everything to her. A "I'm okay," She concludes. "Thank you for worrying about me. I can handle on my own." "I'd say. Hiding from Fink earns a spot in my book. That man's always so thorough with everything he does. You must be good at hiding." "Only if it's necessary...I really didn't want to, but he just looked so...so..." "-Scary?" He finishes. She nods, causing him to chuckle. "He can be persistent. I'd know." She looks at him curiously, the thought of Finklestein's life now coming to mind. He was always so cruel that it never occurred to her how he can be friends with someone as great as the King. The Doctor once told her that she was a burden, and as guilty as that made her feel, she wasn't sorry for it. A question lingers in her mind, and she plays with her hair to grow enough confidence to ask it. "Jack, was the Doctor ever...happier, before I came along?" He looks down at her for a moment before returning his gaze to the sky. He ponders the question for a moment. "He's always said his greatest goal was to create life. I'm guessing he got tired of being alone with his work. Igor was his friend, but I think he needed more love in his death. That might be why he made you."   She tsks. "I think he just wanted a slave. And he didn't get what he wanted, either way." The skeleton looks like he wants to disagree with her, but doesn't. He rubs the back of his skull and passes her a look. "I guess he didn't...I suppose that's what he deserves for treating you like this, after all." "It serves him right." She concludes with a firm nod. The smile returns to his face as he shakes his skull to the side gently. The pumpkin sun is getting ripe in the sky. Afternoon is approaching. Sally wants to take advantage of this time. He's the one who suggested being together like this again, so she isn't going to bore him with sitting here and staying quiet. He's always so informative - maybe she can learn some more out of their session today? She'd love to ask about Halloween, but ever since the topic of the Doctor came along, she can't get her mind off of it. She unknowingly plays with her hair again as she pries once more. "Was he ever nice, before I came along..?" "Oh, Sally, he's always been a good man. Some of the things he said were unpleasant, but he's honest about everything. That's usually what comes with being around for so long; you call it as you see it. People were distant with him, but I always found his intelligence to be inspiring." "Inspiring?" "Believe it or not, I used to hang around his lab often when I was younger. It made me want to do science. I couldn't get anywhere with it, being the Pumpkin King and all, so it's just a hobby of mine nowadays. But the Doctor was who inspired me to try it out in the first place." She listens to the story, trying to picture a younger Jack. Was he shorter? Thinner? It was hard imagining him as a child or anything but an adult. He notices her silence and picks up his story, getting her attention again as he motions around with his bony hand. "The Doctor is a smart man. He's just grumpy after being around for so long. The dead kind of get tired of being dead." She frowns and brings her knees closer to her chest. "He can be nicer to me if he tried..." "I don't mean to be the devil's advocate here, but try and put yourself in his shoes. If you created someone you loved, but they didn't feel the same and poisoned you all the time, I think you'd be a little disgruntled yourself." "I hadn't even thought about that." She presses her finger against her chin. He waits for a moment or two until she shakes her head again. "-I still don't want to go back, though." He laughs. "You really are something, aren't you?" Her cheeks burn while the thudding in her chest beats intensely. She feels tingly with these emotions again...she attempts to distract herself from these feelings with another question. With all of this information he's giving her, she can only assume he and Finklestein have known each other for a long time. And if that's the case, what kind of relationship did they have? The Doctor looks at him highly, but the two act like they've known each other their whole death. There must be something about them that she doesn't know. "Were you two close friends?" She asks. "He's more of an old idol of mine. We've spent a lot of years watching the town grow. We used to partner in experiments, but I haven't done those in awhile. It's hard to keep in touch when he's all the way out of town." "But you stay in touch with me." She points out. "You even invited me to meet you here again." "That I did, Sally." He admits. "That I did." She gently lifts her legs down and plays with her hands. "It's nice to know a little more about him...he doesn't open up to me. Back when I wanted to know, of course." "Do you two talk a lot?" "No. I'm too busy doing what he wants, and even then he tells me not to interrupt him with his work. I'm not interested in what he has to say, anyway. I'd rather talk to you." She looks at the skeleton with a hopeful smile. He returns it, and she finds he's getting more adorable every time she compliments him. She can see the way his shoulders move and the way his stitched smile stretches. She thinks it's very flattering, and wants to see it more. To push her shy boundaries so she can see him, even for a moment, flustered - to fill her hopes in which he may reciprocate what she feels. "I enjoy talking with you. I really should visit the Doctor's more often...A chat every now and then doesn't hurt." He pauses before adding, "-You can try it with him, too, you know. Get his attention by complimenting him." She cringes. He notices her look and rolls his eye sockets. "-I still think it's ironic how the man wants to marry you, but you two know nothing about each other. What would you even do if you were married to him?" She bites her lip nervously. "I don't think he'd appreciate me seeing you, for one..." He looks troubled at her response. "I'm sure I'd have wanted to see you anyway, even if you WERE courting him...You'd do the same for me, wouldn't you?" She notes, right away, the apprehension in his voice. She hasn't noticed, however, the way his posture stiffens and the worried expression spread on his skull. That he truly does believe, for a moment, that she wouldn't have wanted anything to do with him if she was already committed to someone else. "Of course I would..." He sighs in relief. "That's good to know." She thinks more about his words. There is no possible way she would ever consider courting the Doctor. He treats her badly and she isn't interested in him. He's very different from Jack. She's already at terms with her feelings for him, which means she loves him and no one else. Even if he doesn't quite feel the same about her...Her eyes travel to the skeleton frowns. Does he even like her? He's giving hints of slight fondness, but the impression he gives elsewhere is different. There's still the possibility he's courting someone else - but why make a big deal of her being with Finklestein if he was? She doesn't know what to think. "Well, I don't want to take up too much of your day." He suddenly stands beside her, noticing the sun burning high in the sky. "I'm sure you have other things to do besides talking with me." I don't, she wants to say, but instead winces. "I..." She corrects herself and fakes a smile. "-I want to thank you for doing this with me, again. And telling me all of these things I don't know." "That's partially why I'm here, isn't it?" He leans down and offers a hand to her, which she takes and lets him help her to her feet. "I'm just letting you know you're welcome to be curious around me." She flattens down her dress modestly. "Yes, that's true. But I still enjoy your company. As...a friend and all." The end of his stitched mouth falls for a second, but rises the next. He nods and starts climbing down the hill, constantly checking behind him to see if she's following. He doesn't understand this sudden feeling of doubt - of course she'd follow him. Why did he get so much uncertainty after that last question? What could possibly be bothersome about the idea of Sally being committed elsewhere? "Shall I walk you back to Finklestein's?" He asks, ridding these thoughts right away. She waves it off. "Oh, no, I'll return to him later." "Are you sure?" He presses. "He seems quite upset. I could make up an excuse for you if we went now." "No, I'm fine." There it is again. That feeling of doubt - or something along those lines. The skeleton's hand clenches as he returns it to his side, and looks around in thought. The sky is now a healthy orange, but he isn't so much as concerned with the time as he is with...finding what to say. There's plenty he can talk about with her, but the matter was feeling right about it. To discuss marriage and the Doctor...and an uncomfortable combination of both... "Can we do this again?" She asks. "I'm quite enjoying it..." He looks down at her and smiles. She wants to see him again? That's...incredible! And he knows for certain that he feels the same. His talks with her are the highlights of his day! He mentally works through the calendar in his head and thinks of when would be the best. A puzzled look suddenly comes across his skull. "I'm busy the rest of this week with a little more planning." He admits, rubbing the back of his head. "But if you'd like to meet back here Tuesday, I can do that." "Tuesday." She repeats. "That's fine." He grins at her. "You don't ever seem to have any prior engagements, do you?" "I don't talk to anyone much besides you," She rubs her arm. "The Doctor just wants to keep me home, so I can sneak away any day..." He turns around and climbs down the hill to approach the gates. He goes to leave the graveyard, but stops to glance over his shoulder. She is still where she is, watching him with curious eyes. He turns around completely to face her but keeps one hand on the gate. His mind suddenly processes over what to say...he knows it should be a proper goodbye or something meaningful...why else would he hesitate for this long? He'd have already left if it was anyone else. "I'm sure the Doctor misses you." He suppresses the burning in his throat. "And he cares about you, in his own way." "He sure has a funny way of showing it," He hears her mutter to herself. He chuckles and lets his grip release for a second. "If I were him, I'd never give you a reason to leave." Before he can explain himself any further, he leaves through the gates. She eyes his direction in complete awe. There is nothing but silence after his presence is gone. She shuts her jaw and looks around in thought, getting filled with many emotions all at once. She starts to feel tingly again and shifts her weight to her other foot. He is right. If Jack was the one she was supposed to be engaged to...she'd be euphoric! There is no doubt he'd treat her better than the Doctor ever could. He'd probably tell her sweet and gentle things. How much he loves her and how important she is to him...and he'd probably sleep with her and wake her up with kisses on her cheek. And then he'd make breakfast for her so she wouldn't ever have to leave the bed. She blushes at these thoughts and holds a hand to her lips. She can only dream...        

See What a Fool I’ve Been - Part Three

Brian May x Female!Reader

Part One | Part Two

A/N: Hey, everyone! I’m sorry for my inconsistent updates of this fic, I’ve been having trouble writing this particular fic but I’m getting there! The next part will be the final part, so please stay tuned! Thank you all so much for the love and support on my last two posts, you guys rock! As always, feedback is very much appreciated! Much love! -m:)

Summary: Being friends with John Deacon meant being friends with his band mates. This blossoming group of best buds seems logical until Brian realizes he may like you more than a friend. Unfortunately, your oblivious nature and Roger’s constant cock-blocking spells trouble for Brian and the romantic feelings he harbors for you. Young love isn’t always as fun as the movies make it seem.

Word Count: 1,327 words (sorry it’s so short!)

Warnings: cursing 

Brian audibly groaned as the white streaks of sunlight pouring through his curtains temporarily blinded his tired eyes. He pressed on both eyes with the pads of his thumb and pointer finger, attempting to rub the sleep from them. His feet felt cold, looking down he noticed they were hanging off of the bed uncovered, typical. He threw the duvet from his body and onto the floor which was littered with dirty clothes and books, very out of character for neat freak, Brian May. His long legs felt heavy as he attempted to swing them over the side of his mattress and when he managed to do so, a dull ache reverberated throughout his muscles. He grimaced, sitting up with the assistance of his also very sore arms. Taking a quick glance of the condition of his room, he sighed and buried his face in his hands. The past few weeks had been tough, and Brian’s room was suffering as a result. He hadn’t really tidied since he met you a little over a month ago and the idea of what could be living among the mess caused a shiver to climb Brian’s spine. Nevertheless, he pushed himself from the bed; his legs still screaming in pain. The band had had a gig the night before and while the aches the day after hurt, having to watch Roger continue to butter you up after every gig hurt even more. You’d been to a total of four gigs now, the flames of jealousy in Brian’s chest only growing after each. Roger was determined, and Brian envied his persistence, especially since you’d seemingly shot him down every time he’d hinted to the idea of something more. Whether you were truly rejecting him or obliviously playing along, thinking Roger’s sly remarks were merely compliments, Brian didn’t know. What he did know was that he didn’t like it, at all. He felt a welcome sense of relief wash over him when he remembered there was no gig and he’d be able to exist in peace without the constant reminder that you weren’t his, you’d never be his, and that you would inevitably end up shagging Roger. He opened the door to his room and furrowed his brow when he wasn’t bombarded by the screams and vivacious laughs of his roommates. Instead, they were all sat at various points in the room either eating, reading, or both. Brian gave the three a friendly wave as he wordlessly poured himself a cup of coffee.

“Morning, Bri.” Freddie said behind his newspaper, yawning obnoxiously right after. Brian hummed in acknowledgement, taking a sip of his coffee and appreciating the warmth it brought to his cold limbs. The unfamiliar, but welcome, quiet was interrupted by Roger who saw it appropriate to begin stirring the pot.

“It’s a shame we don’t have a gig this weekend. Was so looking forward to seeing Y/N.” He said, smirking as he doodled with a blue pen onto the back of a napkin. Brian inhaled deeply and rolled his eyes, annoyed Roger found it necessary to get everyone riled up this early in the morning. John peered at Roger from behind a magazine, sneering at him.

“Rog, can you please keep it in your pants? She’s my friend, and I’d appreciate it if you’d stop dropping us hints about how much you’d like to get in her pants.” John said, rolling his own grey eyes and focusing back on that month’s issue of Rolling Stone. Roger laughed but didn’t look up, extremely focused on his drawing of what Brian assumed, from his view, was a dog.

“C’mon, Deaks! I get that she’s your friend and all, but you can’t deny she’s fit.” Roger said smugly, grinning from ear to ear with a cockiness that made Brian nauseous.

“Yeah, Rog. I can see that, I have eyes, but all I’m asking is that you not discuss your sexual fantasies involving her with the lot of us.” John said, huffing out an exasperated breath. Roger sat back, disgustingly smug. He shrugged and crossed one leg over the other.

“Can’t help it. I mean, she’s a total babe. Nice tits, and not to mention her bum. I’ll tell ya, I’d like to- “

“Stop talking about her like that.” Brian hissed from the other side of the room, absolutely seething. Roger turned to him, still smug, and gave him a challenging glare.

“What’s your problem, Bri? Are you mad you haven’t got the gall to try and get into her knickers?” He said, smirking as he tapped his fingers on the arm of the couch. Freddie’s eyes widened, and John was still shocked Brian was brave enough to even attempt to call out Roger. Brian set down his cup of coffee and crossed his arms over his chest, his full weight shifting onto his left leg. He huffed, growing angry and feeling slightly flustered. Roger tilted his head with both eyebrows raised, awaiting his reply.

“No, Rog, it’s not that. Just think you should have some respect. You’re being a proper dick right now.” Brian said simply, furrowing his brows Roger’s way. Roger’s face and chest grew red, his reputation of flying off the handle on the brink of being on full display. He scoffed, shaking his head.

“No, Bri. I just think you’re just chapped because I’m not afraid to go after what I want. You envy me.” Roger spit, shifting in his seat to face Brian. Freddie and John were stunned. Arguments among them were always lighthearted, this seemed malicious. Brian laughed in disbelief, shaking his head, curls bouncing softly.

“Envy you? Sure, Rog, if that helps you sleep at night.” Brian said, dismissively waving a hand as he turned to pour himself more coffee, already wanting this conversation to end. Roger was angry now; he didn't like being shamed, especially from the likes of Brian. 

“What the fuck is your problem, May? So, what if I want to shag her? What does it matter to you?”

“Cuz’ I fancy her, alright!” Brian shouted, breathing shaky and fists clenched. The room fell silent and Brian witnessed a rare emotion for Roger cross his face, regret. Only for a moment though, as Roger’s trademark smirk soon returned to its usual position in mere seconds. He leant back on the couch and reached for a cigarette on the stool beside him.

“Well, you’re shit at showing it.” Roger mumbled, lighting the cigarette hung loosely between his lips. Brian’s shoulders relaxed but he grew confused.

“What?” Brian asked, his eyebrows still drawn together. Roger huffed and sat up.

“Brian, you may be an astrophysicist, but you truly are daft. If you would have made an effort to show me you fancied her, I would have backed off. I’m not a complete asshole.” Roger said, puffing on his cigarette.

“News to me.” Freddie mumbled, and John laughed into his hand. Roger promptly flicked him off and all attention was back to Brian, who was still a bit shocked to say the least. Roger sighed frustrated, already reaching for a second cigarette.

“Brian, just grow a pair and go get her. Nothing’s stopping you now.” He said, returning his concentration back to drawing. Brian felt relief flood his chest and a breathy laugh escaped him. He ran to the coat rack, fishing for his jacket and pulling it over his lithe frame. Brian turned to the three men, giving Roger a nod which he returned with a playful eye roll and smile. Brian got to work on the lock of the door, flinging it open. John sat up in his chair, his arms supporting his weight.

“You break her heart and your ass is mine, May!” John called as Brian stumbled out of the door, giving John a thumbs up through the opening before it shut. The remaining three all relaxed in their seats, the previous tension in the room now dissipating.

“This is definitely not how I imagined my morning going.” Freddie stated from his seat and John nodded in solemn agreement, burying his face in a pillow beside him.

tag list: @ourfracturedomens @ladylannisterxo @arrowswithwifi @discoball-deaky @everybodyplaythegame @rogerlad @queenbbarnes @mackers125 @alexfayer @borhapqueen92 @thesecondlastjedi @dashlilymark @joe-mozzarello @goodoldfashionedlovergal @readinghorn @disn3yfreak (this is the official tag list for the fic; if you'd like to be added, please let me know!)

So I found this magazine article about Josh while he was still with Minnie Driver in 2000. You can learn more about his early life, worth reading it!

The Heir Up There: Josh Brolin

Text by John Griffiths | Photographs by Art Streiber Article and photos contributed by the wonderfully generous Dana

It was a full-throttle kind of day, and to the glee of Trevor, 11, and Eden, 6, Josh Brolin has just topped a steep hill with his dusty black Jeep. Now the three are standing among a group of moss-dripping oaks high above their 97-acre ranch near Paso Robles, Calif., taking in the panorama. “When you shout, it echoes for over a minute," says Trevor, just before filling the canyon with a bellow. Dad grins. "There's so much serenity here," says Brolin, "and not that new age kind of peace. It's real, down-home dirt serenity." even if you have to work to achieve it: To get to the spread and the three-bedroom, two-story log house that serves as its locus, visitors must navigate a rocky, twisted, mile-long road, cross a bridge and ford stream (Josh, not everyone has an SUV), all the while trying not to be distracted by grazing deer. Bobcats and foxes roam these parts, too, and there's probably not a talent agent within 200 miles. "This is my world," says Brolin. "I don't trust Hollywood, so I don't take it too seriously."

Presumably he doesn't mind that Hollywood won't be rebuffed. After acting in such indie films as Flirting with Disaster (as the straight-arrow, bisexual Fed) and gamely tackling such roles as a cockroach-battling hero in Mimic and a seductive villain in last year's Mod Squad, Brolin, 32, is pressing into mainstream with this summer's sci-fi flick Hollow Man, as the buddy of Invisibility-prone scientist Kevin Bacon. Josh's dad James, of course, is an entrenched TV star -- Marcus Welby, M.D.; Hotel and the current Pensacola -- while his stepmom of two years is la Streisand herself (Brolin fils calls her Barbra). And Josh's own love? Bright-faced actress Minnie Driver, whom he met at a barbecue in 998 (the pair also heat up the upcoming Mexican-desert drama Slow Burn). But Brolin's surroundings put all those tabloid teasers into perspective, according to actor Anthony Zerbe, a friend since the two gunslinged through the early nineties series The Young Riders. "There's this whole Hollywood aspect to Josh's life, but then he's got his ranch where he takes off his shirt and digs a well," says Zerbe. "The place is a bulwark against the intrusive parts of his profession."

Brolin's father and his late mother, Jane, a "female Grizzly Adams" who nursed ailing animals for the California Department of Fish and game, bought the land in 1975 and built their dream home. Josh grew up here with his brother, Jess, and was an A student at Santa Barbara High, some 90 miles away. "My dad dug the pond," says Brolin, skipping stones on the half-acre body of water. "I was lucky to be around people who appreciate this life." His mom, a "spitfire" who urged him to speak his mind, stayed after the couple split in 1985. Five years ago, she died in a car crash, and Josh, then stage acting and directing in Rochester, N.Y., inherited his childhood home -- and all its memories. In the small office, a shelf of his mom's cookbooks; in the pine-beamed, Santa Fe-influenced living room, cowhide couches and a backgammon table (I broke the glass top when I was Eden's age"); and on a counter in the kitchen, a tin holding his mother's ashes. An unorthodox resting place, maybe, but, Brolin says with a smile, "That's how she wanted it."

Initially, nostalgia inhibited him from making the house his own. "For three years, I didn't move a lamp or change a bulb," he says. Lately, however, he's begun to tinker. Streisand hasn't offered any decorating tips, though Brolin notes that she's "very into her home like I am." She visited once, right after he moved in. "It was falling apart," says Brolin. "She said I should sell it." Instead, he tidied things up, bleached the sun-charred decks, and began combing antique stores for Tiffany lamps and Latin-influenced, carved-wood furniture. Outside, he plans to build a dock over the catfish pond. "When I was growing up, if you slipped walking in, you'd get three fish bones in your foot. It'll be easier for the kids to swim."

But what the one-time pasta chef really wants to master is nonchalant hosting, a la the Europeans. "They have their table outside and take their time," says Brolin, whose specialty is zabaglione. "That's what I want to create." He should have no problem, says Mary Steenburgen, who appeared with the younger Brolin in the recent TV version of Picnic. "Josh has a real sense of beauty." she says, "and he's very nurturing." He's also resolute. While filming Hollow Man, he decided to learn how to play guitar. "He borrowed mine when he could hardly play," says Kevin Bacon. "By the end of the shoot, he played well. If he has an interest, Josh does it." Adds Zerbe: "he's focused, which is why he's good on a Harley and at poetry."

That focus has been trained on girlfriend Driver since the duo's first date (they watched a sunset from his red Dodge Ram pickup). With Brolin's blessing, she has draped antique quilts over worn chairs in the living room, and photos beaming her smile pop up all over the house. And those children's drawings on the fridge? "Those are Minnie's," Brolin says, laughing. Each cartoon has a caption: "Carmine has hysterics when Esmeralda has a tantrum," "Carmine and Esmeralda fight over the remote," and so on. Explains Brolin, "I'm Carmine, the curmudgeon. She's Esmeralda, the beautiful, dancing, Spanish-looking chick who's with the guy with the serious emotional hump on his back." He comes upon "Esmeralda watches Carmine sleep" and grins: "That's nice."

Brolin and Driver seem to have doodled their way into a complementary relationship. "I'm more cynical, she lightens me up," he says. "I can't imagine being with anybody else." He's mum on marriage but admits he's gaga. "Absolutely. One hundred percent." It helps that Driver is smitten with the kids, who spend weekends at the ranch and weekdays with their mom, Alice Adair, an ex-actress with whom Brolin parted in 1995. The London-bred Driver "loves being up here," Brolin says, though the ways of the wild can throw her. When Brolin recently ordered his dog to get rid of a squirrel ("They ruin my property"), Driver turned ashen. "Man, tears -- just wahhh," he says with a wince. "she'd never seen anything so violent ... but that's country life."

These days the former punk rocker with a daredevil streak -- Brolin won the Toyota/Pro Celebrity car race this year (as did his dad in 1978) and he used to skydive -- is sticking to the ground. "Now I think, 'What if the chute doesn't open?' " His current notion of adventure includes checking out the Animal Planet channel with his kids. "This is the first time we've had TV in six years," says Brolin. "We're urbanizing!" He also kicks back by watching Spencer Tracy flicks or spinning Pavarotti on the Wurlitzer jukebox. Or, he'll mend a fence or hit a cattle auction  ("Sometimes I'll take home some 30 cows to graze.") Lest anyone confuse him with a character on The big Valley, Brolin does have a slick of slicker in his. When he's down in L.A. for work "I'll go to a museum or to the Mint for jazz," he says. "I need to be in the city sometimes."

But while the dusty-shoed cosmopolitan dreams of someday living in the south of France or in Greece, it's his homestead that inspires. In the stillness, "my imagination can kind of fly," says Brolin, as he takes in the view from his bedroom window, from the wildflowers to the oat fields to the ducks flying above it all. In winter, those hills are Irish green. Fog rolls in from the ocean and hangs like a blanket." A heavy, happy sigh. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."

Hello just wanted to say you're awesome and maybe kid sherlock being Greg's son and he's trying to get his teacher (the reader) to go on a date with his dad by being too quiet as he deduced that his dad has a crush on his teacher.

Ahhhhh sorry this took ages! I had it set up in my queue and when I updated my app it deleted so had to write it all again! (But I like the way this one turned out because it’s better!) 😅 Enjoy!

———————–

“What’s this?” Greg asked as Sherlock handed him over a slip of paper as the two settled down for dinner.

“It’s a day my teacher has planned,” Sherlock replied and picked up a forkful of mashed potatoes “You have to come with me to school and talk about what you do!” The young boy replied with a mouthful of food.

Greg sent him a glance as if he was silently saying ‘Don’t eat with your mouth full’ before returning his attention to the piece of paper that had a date and a time and the name ‘Miss Y/L/N’ at the bottom. “And parents night is the next day, yes?”

“Yup!” Sherlock spoke without taking his eyes off his plate. Greg smiled and placed down the slip of paper before having dinner with Sherlock.

—

“Please don’t embarrass me…” Sherlock uttered under his breath as he led Greg to his classroom. Greg playfully rolled his eyes and lightly nudged Sherlock “This door on your left, dad.”

Greg followed Sherlock in and was almost floored at the sight he saw before him.

“Morning Sherlock!” You chirped and walked over to him and crouched down to his level before looking up to the man standing next to him “Who’s this?” You smiled and nervously gulped.

“This is my dad,” Sherlock glanced up “He’s a detective inspector.”

“Really?” You enthusiastically replied while standing up “Well it’s very nice to meet you!” You stuck your hand out and Greg seized the opportunity to shake it.

“I’m Greg,” he frantically shook your hand.

“I’m Miss Y/L/N,” you smiled and glanced down at your hand in his. He was still shaking it “Or Y/N, less formal ,” you whispered with a playful smirk.

You both stood in silence for a moment before Greg cleared his throat and eventually let go of your hand. “Well Greg, Sherlock has a seat next to his desk reserved especially for you. We’re going to cover a bit of history before introducing all the parents.”

“S-sure!” He nervously stuttered out and you sent him a nod before turning on your heel. Greg watched as your dress lightly swayed, gently grazing your knees.

Sherlock let out a small huff and dragged Greg to his seat. Greg watched as you taught in the class. He was in awe. It amazed him how much time you spent with each child and how much you encouraged them, even if their answer was wrong. Greg’s heart swelled, especially seeing you getting along so well with Sherlock. Greg had no idea he could talk so much and recite so much information.

“Correct again Sherlock!” You smiled and walked over to his desk, placing a gold star sticker on his jumper. You leaned across and pressed one to Greg’s shirt “Can’t leave you out…” Greg blushed at your teasing tone.

“Okay class!” You clapped your hands together to get everyone’s attention “We’ve got lots of new faces today don’t we? Why don’t we get to know them all?”

Some of the pupils cheered causing you to giggle “Alright, settle down! Why don’t we start with you John?” You motioned for the blonde haired boy to stand at the front with his mum. You sat back at your desk and watched John introduce his mum and what she did. Your eyes would often wander to Greg. You were surprised the first few times seeing him looking at you.

A few students later Sherlock was next. You lightly clapped as Sherlock brought Greg to the front. You sat back in your chair with a smile that kept growing, especially when Greg started talking “Erm hello! I’m Sherlock’s dad, Greg. I’m a detective inspector at Scotland Yard.”

Greg saw a hand shooting up and glanced over to you, not sure what to do. You sent him a nod and a smile of encouragement to answer the question “Yes?”

“Do you have a gun?” A young girl asked and Greg went wide eyed.

“Uhh….”

“Yeah!” Another shouted out “Have you ever arrested someone?”

“Have you ever killed someone?”

“Have you ever seen a dead body?”

Greg was becoming overwhelmed with questions “Alright class!” You stood up “Settle down!” You firmly told them before turning to Greg “Why don’t you tell them why you wanted to be a detective inspector?” You smiled, trying to ease his nerves.

“Yeah, course. Thank you,” he sincerely smiled before talking to the class once more.

—

“I’ll see you all tomorrow!” You stood by the door of your classroom as all the pupils walked out with the person they had brought in. You noticed two faces weren’t in the line.

Everyone had left but there were still two people left in your class. You smiled to yourself seeing Greg on one knee tying Sherlock’s shoe. You grabbed Sherlock’s jacket from the peg by the door that was under a name tag he had made with a doodle of a looking glass on it. You walked over to the pair and handed Sherlock his jacket “Well done today Sherlock and thank you for coming in today Greg.”

Sherlock looked up to the both of you with a raised brow as he put on his jacket. He saw something, even if the two adults beside him didn’t. “Do you want to be a detective inspector too Sherlock?”

“No,” Sherlock simply replied “I want to be a consulting detective.”

“Ohh!” You cooed “Sounds fancy. You’ll have to tell me what the difference is someday.” You walked the two of them to the door and leaned against the frame “Have a good night.”

“Thanks for today, you’re a great teacher!” Greg praised and you bashfully looked to the floor while blushing “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You furrowed a confused brow before realisation hit you “Oh parents night! Of course, I'm looking forward to it…” you trailed off and went wide eyed “I…I mean…” you stuttered out.

“It’s alright!” Greg assured “I understand, see you tomorrow Miss Y/L/N.”

“Please,” you smiled “Call me Y/N.”

—

Greg had managed to get Mrs Hudson to babysit Sherlock while he went to parents evening. He rushed to the classroom after coming from a hectic day at work.

You were looking over paperwork and glanced over to the door when you heard knocking “Greg! Come in!” You waved your hand and he walked into the class “Please take a seat.”

Greg sat down across from you and nervously fiddled with his thumbs “Sherlock is such a great student. He’s so bright and talented. He’s a pleasure to teach!”

“Really?” Greg let out a small sigh of relief.

“Yeah! Well you saw first hand for yourself yesterday and before you ask, he really does talk that much if not more!” You lightly laughed and Greg laughed along with you. Your laugh was like music to his ears. “But I have no concerns, he’s a pleasure to teach and very intelligent.”

“Thank you, I was worried about him settling into a class environment. You see it’s always been us so I was concerned letting him interact with a large group of people.”

“Well he’s taken to it like a duck to water!” You grinned.

It stayed silent for a moment and you were certain Greg was going to say something if a knock at the door didn’t disturb him. You glanced up to the door “Ah Mr and Mrs Hooper! I was just finishing up here.” You stood up and shook Greg’s hand again, wanting to feel his skin crash against yours “Nice to see you again Greg. If you have any concerns please don’t hesitate to contact me.”

He bowed his head and sent you a thin lipped smile before leaving your classroom. It played on your mind all that night what he was going to say.

When Greg returned home Sherlock noticed something different. He couldn’t stop smiling. Sherlock knew you were the cause of it and he was surprisingly happy and okay with it. He loved having you as a teacher and he thought you were the best at what you did and how you taught. In Sherlock’s eyes it was no surprise that Greg had a smile on his face because of his teacher.

Sherlock thought Greg deserved to have that smile all the time.

So he devised a plan.

—

“Sherlock?” You called his name once again, sounding sightly exasperated “What do you think?”

The young boy shrugged and stayed silent. It was very uncharacteristic of him, so much so that you were becoming more and more concerned as it went on throughout the day.

After school was finished you noticed that Sherlock was still sitting in his seat “Sherlock? Is your dad picking you up today?”

He sent you a silent nod and you blinked. This wasn’t like Sherlock at all.

You opened your mouth to speak but as soon as you noticed a figure by the door all words had vanished from your throat.

“There you are! Come on, you’ve got swimming in an hour.” Greg stepped into the class but you stopped him in his tracks by placing a hand on his arm. He looked at it with widening eyes.

“He hasn’t said a word all day,” you whispered.

“What?” Greg asked in the same hushed tones “What do you mean?”

You shrugged and looked over to Sherlock who was reading “He hasn’t spoken all day I don’t know what’s wrong.”

You both turned to look at Sherlock and them slowly approached him “Sherlock?” Greg spoke up “Have you answered any questions today?” Sherlock looked up and shook his head to say no. “Have you spoken at all today?” Sherlock replied the same way as before.

Both you and Greg let out a loud sigh, one that made Sherlock roll his eyes and finally talk “I haven’t said anything because if I don’t perhaps you two might.” You and Greg looked at Sherlock in shock with gaping mouths “Miss Y/L/N my dad fancies you-”

“Sherlock!” Greg cut him off but Sherlock kept talking.

“And Miss Y/L/N you fancy my dad so can’t you both just say that already and get on with it?” Sherlock huffed out. Both you and Greg couldn’t string a sentence together and instead could only utter out constant ‘I’s’. Sherlock grabbed the car keys from Greg’s hand “I’ll get you there, dad.”

When Sherlock left you turned to Greg “I don’t know where he got that from!” Greg held his hands up and felt like he was about to die from embarrassment.

“He’s not wrong,” you blurted and cleared your throat “He never is…” you sent Greg a soft smile.

“You’re right,” he smiled and bit down on his lip “Just like he is…”

You both let it nervous laughs and glanced to the floor, hoping it had the answer to ease nerves. “Do you want to go out at the weekend? Maybe go to the cinema? Get a coffee? Get a drink?” Greg tossed some suggestions at you.

You nodded with a wide smile “I’d love that, let me just give you my number and we can arrange something.” You walked over to your desk and grabbed a slip of paper quickly scribbling your number.

You handed it to Greg and he walked out your classroom with a huge smile on his face. It faded slightly as his eyebrows crinkled together whilst walking to the car. He noticed the piece of paper shining in the sunlight. It confused him until he saw what was on it and let out a laugh, glancing up he saw you by the window shooting a wink his way before returning to your desk. Greg looked back at the paper and smirked at what was on it.

A gold star.

RanSid Gay Dads au fic, you say???? Why yes it is!!!

The heavy pattering sound of rain reverberated in the kitchen as it bounced off the roof of the Anderson home. The family sat in the dining room with bowls full of homemade broccoli and potato soup and fresh bread rolls. Their heads were bowed as John said the prayer.

“Lord God, we thank You for this food that we are about to receive. May it nourish our bodies just as Your Spirit nourishes our soul with the bread of Life. Help us do our part in kind words and loving deeds. Also, Lord, I pray that you bless the dinner roll that my son just took a big bite out off when he thought I wasn’t lookin’.”

Megan giggled as John glanced over at Kyle who sat with a big bite of bread bulging in his cheek.

“We ask all these things in Jesus’ name, amen,” John concluded.

Kyle swallowed his bite. “Sorry, Pop. I was really hungry!” he said before taking a big drink of milk.

“That’s okay, son,” John said with a smile.

Sidney smiled, too, before taking a bite of potato. He glanced over at Megan who was looking at her lap. She seemed distracted from her meal. “Megan,” he said, “are you still prayin’?”

Megan’s head snapped up and she put her attention back to her bowl of soup. “Nope,” she said. She reached for her spoon but suddenly jumped in her chair as if startled. She looked back down at her lap, moving her right arm.

“Do you have a bug?” John asked.

“No, Papa, I don’t have a bug,” she assured him in an innocent voice.

“Yeah, she does,” Kyle stated before digging into his potato soup.

“Bubba, you tattle-tale!” she declared.

“I told her not to bring it inside,” Kyle declared, his mouth full.

“Put it outside, please,” John ordered.

“But he’ll drown in the rain!”

“What did I say, Megan?”

Megan raised the hand that had been in her lap to show him the tiny bug resting in her palm. “It’s just a doodle bug! He don’t bite!”

“Megan…” he warned, looking over the top of his glasses at her.

She let out a huff and pouted her bottom lip as she rose from her chair. “Yes, sir…” she mumbled. She opened the back door and gently set the bug onto the patio so that the winds from outside wouldn’t blow him away.

She plopped into her seat again and slurped up her soup.

“Thank you, sweetie,” John said.

“Megan,” Sidney scolded, “you’ve been told several times to stop bringing insects into the house.” He blew on a small chunk of potato in his spoon to make it cool.

“You’re just as bad as she is, Sid,” John pointed his spoon at him.

“What do you mean?” he asked as he put the bit of potato into his hand and fed it to Bella, their 8-year-old lab mix who was sitting under the table.

They all laughed until the lights suddenly flickered above them.

“Storm wasn’t supposed to be that bad, was it?” Sidney asked, looking at the ceiling.

John shook his head. “Could be the wind. Sounds like it’s pickin’ up.”

“Will it flood, Pop?” Kyle wondered.

���Nah, son. But we may get some thunder.”

“What if we get a tornado?” Megan asked, her voice wavering.

John laughed. “There’s not gonna be a tornado, baby.”

Kyle leaned closer to the table and looked right at his sister. “Maybe it’ll be a…Sharknado! Arrrghhhh!!”

“Eeeeeeeeeee!!!” Megan screamed dramatically.

The kids giggled with delight, but their dads were confused.

“A what?” Sidney said.

“What the hell is a Sharknado?” John added.

“It’s a movie,” Kyle explained, “about this tornado that starts above the ocean and it’s so strong that it pulls up all the sharks from way, way down deep and they become part of the tornado and they eat people as the tornado spins around!”

Sidney put down his spoon. “And when did you watch this movie?”

Kyle bit his lip. “Mmmm…”

“His girlfriend let us watch it,” Megan announced in a teasing voice.

“She’s not my girlfriend!” Kyle said as he started to blush.

“Yuh-huh,” she insisted, “she is!”

“Is not!”

“Is too!”

“Is not!”

“That’s enough,” Sidney commanded.

“Are ya’ll talkin’ about Cynthia?” John said. The kids nodded and John clicked his tongue. “Well, we’re gonna have to lay some ground rules with her.”

“Honey, come on,” Sidney laughed. “It doesn’t sound that bad. Stupid, but not bad.”

“Exactly, Sid. I don’t wanna risk our kids watchin’ goofy crap on Netflix with the babysitter just because you and I go on date night.” He pointed his spoon at the kids. “Next time she’s over, ya’ll are watchin’ Ken Burns’s documentary on the Roosevelts. There’ll be a quiz afterwards.”

Kyle groaned playfully. “Aww, Pop! Come on!”

“I’m serious,” John said, with a not so serious expression.

“Whatever,” Kyle retorted.

“There’s good stuff in that one, boy. Especially about Teddy Roosevelt.”

“Is he the one who always said Bully?” Megan asked.

“Bully!” Kyle shouted.

Suddenly, the lights browned out and eventually went dark with a loud pop and a clap of thunder.

The lights above the table had gone out and John set down his napkin to head to the kitchen. “Nobody panic. I got this.” He returned with a small oil lantern and a box of matches. He turned the knob on the side of it to raise the wick, and then drew a match. After the wick was lit, he placed the glass onto the base and set it in the middle of the table. “I’ll go down to the basement after supper to check the breakers.”

Their mealtime was quiet for a while until Kyle asked, “Pop? Why do we have to ask God to bless our food all the time?”

John buttered his dinner roll as he answered, “Because we thank God for all the blessings and gifts He gives us. Food is one of those gifts.”

“Yeah, but He didn’t buy the food. You and Dad did.”

John paused in his buttering and gave him a small frown, making Kyle shrug. “I’m not being sarcastic, Pop! Honest!”

John smirked and cleared his throat. “Our food comes from the earth and God willed the soil to be fruitful so that our food could grow, therefore ending up in the produce section of the Piggly Wiggly so that your Dad and I could buy it.”

“Yeah, but He doesn’t harvest the food,” Kyle smiled, “farmers do that.”

“God gave the farmers the strength, knowledge, and the discipline to till the soil and harvest the food.”

“Yeah, but He didn’t cook it.”

“Well, that’s even more of a blessing since God gave your Daddy the talent to be such an excellent cook.”

Yeah, but—“

“Kyle,” Sidney interrupted, “your Pop leads his Wednesday night Bible Study Group and he teaches theology. You’re gonna go in circles with him. Believe me; I know.”

Sidney caught John’s eyes and they shared a knowing smile.

“Papa?” Megan said. “Do we still have to take baths tonight?”

“Of course, you do,” John replied. “Tonight’s no different than any other.”

“But it’s dark up there,” she pressed him. “I don’t wanna take a bath in the dark.”

“We’ll put candles in the bathroom so ya’ll can see.”

“Okay, how about this?” Kyle interjected. “What about all the places where the soil isn’t fruitful and people are starving? Does God not bless them? Do they not pray? Is that why they have no food?”

John and Kyle stared at each other until Sidney said, “He’s got ya there, honey.”

“No, not necessarily,” John replied, “but that topic needs to be for another day.”

“Why?” Kyle asked.

“Because any answer I give you right now would be too vague, son.”

“Because you don’t have one, do you?” Sidney asked, slyly.

John sighed and stirred his soup. “Not exactly,” he admitted. The table was silent once more as he took a few bites of his meal. “I will say this, though,” he continued, “it’s okay to question God.” He looked at his husband who was gazing at him with wide, surprised eyes. “It’s true; I do believe that questioning God doesn’t shake your faith; you only want to strengthen it so you ask questions to gain more knowledge. And Kyle, you’re not the only one to ask those questions, either.”

Dinner was silent once more until Sidney could see that the kids had eaten their fill. He stood up and took their soup bowls and went into the kitchen, Bella following close behind him to catch anything that might fall to the floor.

Megan sighed. “Papa, I don’t wanna take a bath in the dark.”

Sidney returned to the table as Megan slid out of her chair. He tickled the back of her neck. “Bella and I will sit in there with you, baby, okay?” He looked at his son. “Kyle, why don’t you go ahead and take your shower?”

“Yes, sir,” Kyle said as he stood from the table. He went over to John. “Pop, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

John put down his spoon and smiled at him. “Why do you think I’d be upset?” he asked.

Kyle shrugged again. “I don’t know…maybe because I ate during the blessing and then I— “

John laughed softly and pulled his son into a hug. “I’m not upset, Kyle,” he assured, “but your questions have made me think. I haven’t asked those kinds of questions in a long time. Don’t be ashamed to ask us anything, you got me?” Kyle nodded and John patted his back. “You’re a good kid. You also stink, so hit the showers.”

“John, don’t tell our children they stink!” Sidney yelled from the kitchen, making the kids laugh again.

After the kids were bathed, the family settled in the den, a row of candles on the coffee table being their only source of light. Megan sat on the sofa clutching her stuffed grey owl as Sidney brushed her hair. They had skipped on washing it because Megan grew nervous about the continuous rolling thunder outside.

Kyle was sitting on the floor at the end of the coffee table, his arms folded on the edge of it as he lazily stared into one of the wicks. Bella lay beside him licking her paws.

“Hey, Dad?”

“Yes, Kyle?’

“May I go get your tablet so we can watch something?”

Leaning back in his recliner, John said, “We don’t need your Daddy’s iPad. We watch TV every night. Why don’t we just talk to each other?”

Sidney gave him an amused look. “Okay, then, honey,” he said, “you go first.”

“Nah, I talk all day at school,” John smiled. “Why don’t ya’ll take the floor?”

“Oh!” Megan exclaimed. “I know. Um, Daddy? What did you think of Papa when ya’ll first met?”

Sidney laughed softly as he began to braid her hair. “Well, Bug, I actually couldn’t stand him.”

Kyle lifted his head and looked at him. “You didn’t like him?”

“I don’t know if it was a dislike, per se, but I certainly thought he was annoying,” Sidney explained.

“Where did ya’ll meet?” Kyle asked.

“College. We were in a sociology class together and— “

“What’s that?” Megan asked.

“That’s the study of human behavior in society.”

“Now, that’s a broad generalization of the subject, Sid,” John grumbled.

“And that’s why I found your papa annoying. He always felt the need to correct everyone.”

“Because everyone was wrong.”

Sidney rolled his eyes. “Good Lord, John,” he smiled, “you never missed an opportunity to argue. I remember you made a freshman girl cry!”

Megan’s jaw dropped. “Papa, that’s mean!”

John pulled his recliner back in its upright position to look at them. “It was a debate on the theme of the book we were reading, and she cried because she knew I was right. That’s not my fault! Hell, I don’t even remember what the book was.”

“It was The Stranger by Camus,” Sidney reminded.

“Oh, Jesus, no wonder she cried,” John groaned.

“Well, Pop,” Kyle began, “what about you? What was your first impression of Dad?”

John licked his lips and grinned mischievously. “Honestly? The first thing that popped into my head was that he was too old to be a student. He always came to class wearing blazers and ties. I thought he was a professor that wandered into the wrong lecture hall.”

“Hey!” Megan exclaimed. “Daddy’s not old!”

“Thank you, sweetie, and, excuse me for wanting to look nice, John,” Sidney said. “At least I didn’t look as if I had just rolled outta bed and put on the dirtiest flannel shirt I could find.”

“Wait a minute,” Kyle said, “if Dad was too old and Pop was too dirty, then what brought ya’ll together?”

John and Sidney looked at each other, puzzled, until John cleared his throat and crossed his arms over his chest. “Well…I guess…even though I thought your dad was a bit snooty…he had a very dry wit that I liked a lot. Took the boredom out of the class.” He glanced at the sofa and saw Sidney smiling at him. “We had the same interests, too, and he grew on me, I guess.”

“What drew me to your papa was his long hair,” Sidney said.

“Oh, God please don’t talk about my hair,” John groaned as he hid his face in his hands.

“Papa had hair??” Megan said, truly astonished.

Sidney gave her a big smile. “Your papa had long, blonde hair that fell to his shoulders.” He paused for effect and the kids’ mouths dropped. “It wasn’t John Travolta’s hair, but it certainly won me over.”

“Is there a picture, Dad?” Kyle asked.

“Of course, there’s a picture!” Sidney replied.

“You can’t show them right now,” John said, “the lights are out.”

“We have flashlights, though,” Megan reminded him.

“We don’t need them,” Sidney said as he picked up his cellphone from the end table.

John’s eye widened. “Oh, baby, come on, please…” he begged.

Sidney searched through his photos until he found what he was looking for. “Aha! Here it is!” he announced. “I found this tucked inside one of my old photography textbooks.”

The kids gathered next to Sidney as they gazed at his phone. It was a picture of a black and white photograph of a man with a strong jaw and bright eyes that looked like they were glowing in the greyscale of the photo. His hair was thick and parted down the middle so that his bright locks framed his face perfectly.

“See what I mean?” Sidney asked the kids. “Look at that mane!”

“Pop looks tough,” Kyle said.

Sidney laughed. “He thought he was.”

“I think Papa was handsome!” Megan declared.

“Girl, I’m still handsome,” John said.

She slid off Sidney’s lap and bounced over to him. “I don’t think you look dirty, Papa,” she said.

John pulled her to him, pressed his lips against Megan’s neck, and blew a loud raspberry.

Megan screamed out a laugh which made Bella bark in surprise. She rose from the floor and glared at him, emitting a worried whine.

John stopped blowing raspberries. “It’s okay, pup,” he assured her. “I’m not hurtin’ the baby.”

A bright flash filled the room as lightning shot through the sky and thunder clapped loudly over the house. Megan shrieked in real terror this time and threw her arms around John’s neck.

“Oh, oh, now, it’s okay, sweetie,” he whispered as he patted her back.

Kyle noticed that Bella was now out of the room. “Bella?” he called out. “Bella, where’d you go?”

Sidney picked up the flashlight that was next to him on the sofa and stood. He carefully stepped around Kyle and pointed the light up the stairs to find Bella standing at the very top and looking down at them anxiously. “It’s okay, girl,” Sidney said. “Come on back.”

Bella whined at him, but didn’t budge.

“Come on, girl,” Kyle called again. “Everything’s okay.”

Megan slid off John’s lap and stood next to Kyle. “Hey, Bella, come back down here.”

Upon seeing both children, Bella slowly descended the stairs and went up to them to lick their faces. Her tail wagged happily as they laughed.

“She was just worried about ya’ll,” Sidney concluded. “Good girl, Bella.”

John stood from his recliner and stretched. “It’s ya’ll’s bedtime anyway,” he grunted.

In an instant, Kyle and Megan asked, “Can we sleep in your bed?”

“I knew that was comin’,” Sidney said.

“Are ya’ll really that scared of the storm?” John asked them.

Kyle shook his head, but replied, “I mean…not really, but— “

“I am,” Megan announced. “I hate thunder! Please, Papa?”

“If we’re all in one room, then Bella won’t be scared,” Kyle deduced. “She’ll only have to look in one room.”

Bella usually slept in the hallway between the kids’ bedrooms and when she awoke in the middle of the night, she would go downstairs to the kitchen to drink from her water dish, and then take a quick look in everyone’s rooms to make sure they were still in bed. She would always go back to sleep after what Sidney called her “midnight patrols.”

“Oh, good Lord,” John rolled his eyes, amused. “Yes, because we gotta keep the dog happy, right?”

“Of course, we do!” Megan insisted, surprised that her papa would think otherwise.

“Okay,” Sidney began, “what if she wakes up and goes into her routine and doesn’t find ya’ll in your rooms? She might wake us all up with her barking.”

Bella had done this once, when she got up for her patrol and found that Megan wasn’t in her room. The dog had run into John and Sidney’s room and barked incessantly until Megan came out of the bathroom. When Megan had climbed back into bed, Bella went back to sleep.

“Easy,” Kyle shrugged. “She can sleep in the bed with all of us.”

“How big do you think our bed is, son?” John asked, putting his hands on his hips.

“We can bring Bella’s bed into your room,” Megan suggested.

Kyle smiled. “Yeah! Good idea! That way we can put it across from ya’ll’s bed and she can see all of us!”

“Ya’ll planned this, didn’t you?” Sidney said.

The thunderstorm continued through the night but they all slept through the worst of it in one king sized bed. Bella’s bed had been placed on the other side of the room in view of them, but after her midnight drink of water, she jumped onto their bed and stretched out at the end of it.

John woke up in the morning to find that the electricity was back on and a dog’s wet nose was pressing into his cheek. “Mornin’, pup,” John whispered.

Bella’s head rested on his shoulder as she lay beside him and upon seeing that she had his attention, her tail thwapped excitedly against the mattress.

She jumped down when he sat up and rubbed his face with his hands. He looked beside him and saw that Sidney was already out of bed and the kids were still fast asleep.

Megan was on her side with her stuffed owl against her belly, while Kyle was on his stomach with his face buried between his and Sidney’s pillow. They were both snoring softly and John smiled at the sight of them. He quietly got out of bed and put on his robe.

Sidney had arranged his and John’s mugs next to the coffee pot. He picked up his black one and poured a bit of soy creamer in before pouring in the fresh coffee. He took a sip and sighed as he closed his eyes to savor the warm beverage.

He felt John’s arm wrap around his waist from behind him and lightly moaned as he kissed the back of his neck.

“Good mornin’,” he said in a deep sleepy voice.

John kissed his neck again. “Mornin’, handsome,” he replied. He nuzzled his nose into Sidney’s hair, making him giggle. “Speakin’ of handsome,” John said, “look what I found.”

Sidney turned to face him but instead saw the picture of a man in his late forties with salt-and-pepper hair and round glasses. He wore a cheeky grin as he looked away from the camera.

“Oh my God, John!” Sidney exclaimed. “Where did you find that?”

“You ain’t the only one with embarrasin’ pictures,” John said. “You know that photo of you at the lake that’s on my side of the bed?”

Sidney rolled his eyes. “Yeah?”

“This charmer’s been hidin’ behind it,” John purred as he smiled proudly.

“Oh, God, get rid of it,” Sidney begged as he hid his face in his hand.

“Would you get rid of my picture if I told you to?”

“Of course not!”

“Then, no, I’m keepin’ it.”