#BarcaLounger

[thecoparoom]

BarcaLounger fashion show, 1960

[misforgotten2]

Wait, are you describing a chair or a woman? In either case I have not.

Sunset The Magazine of Western Living    November 1960

[stone-cold-groove]

Presenting the BarcaLoafer - your dream chair come true!

[poetmellifluou-s]

I believe you mean fungi-loungers and fruitons.

Weird chairs

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

Could you write a story with 90’s slash where he’s drunk and is being all lovey and touchy in front of the rest of the band? And the band is surprised seeing him like that? With like fluff but also smut?

A/n: There isn't a whole lot of fluff but it is there in parts, I'm sorry I really suck at writing fluff lol but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless <3

Warnings: Smut, Slash is drunk, oral(f receiving), fingering(f receiving), if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

You’d dropped by the studio with lunch, a regular routine you’d fallen into. It’s become so regular that the guys started chipping in and making requests, multiple stops at a time even. You didn’t mind if it meant getting out of the house and getting to spend time with your boyfriend, Slash.

This time, however, you walked in on a very different scene.

Slash was sitting in a chair, his guitar on the ground beside him and he couldn’t reach it. Instead of standing up to get it he just kept lazily reaching for it over and over again.

He had a bottle of Jack Daniels in his other hand, half empty and it was still cold. There were a few empty bottles on the floor around him.

Duff came over and took the bags of food from you. “He was like this when he got here.” He said, his voice quiet so Slash didn’t hear, not that it would really register with him.

You let out a heavy sigh and nodded. “Figured.” You chewed your cheek and went over to Slash, taking a seat on the armrest of the barcalounger he was on. You pulled his hair out of his face to get his attention. “Hey baby, what are you doing?” He looked over at you and it took a minute for him to register who you were but when he did the biggest smile came to his face.

“You’re here!” He gleamed, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into his lap. “Missed you so much!” He said as he littered kisses all over your face, you couldn’t help but giggle, even though his breath reeked of alcohol.

“It’s only been a few hours?” You said, looking up at him with a raised brow.

“Oh, shut up, that’s too long!” He whined, a pout tugging at his lips. Slash always had been super pouty. You threw an arm around his neck and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

“The fuck is this?” Axl’s voice boomed, though he didn’t seem mad. You glanced around and noticed that all eyes were suddenly on you two.

“What do you mean?” It’s not like they didn’t know you two were in a relationship and it’s definitely not the first time you’ve been affectionate with Slash.

“Slash has feelings!” Steven exclaimed, a wide smile on his face.

“We’ve never seen him so...” Duff trailed. “Cuddly?” You shrugged and relaxed back into Slash who stared at you with nothing but fondness in his dazed eyes.

“Why don’t you stick around?” Axl asked. “Keep him in check so we can actually get work done.” You agreed and everyone got back to work.

Except for Slash.

He refused to let go of you for even a second, which made it much harder to play guitar. He zoned out and wouldn’t speak at all. All he did was nuzzle into you, kiss you and run his hands over you, crossing over more and more sensitive spots.

Slash drunk wasn’t your favourite, but him being so openly affectionate was sweet to you. You told yourself it was because he wanted to do it when he was sober but just didn’t have the courage to. It made sense since the main cause of his drinking and drugging was because he was introverted and it made it easier for him to exist with humans.

What started as innocent touches quickly turned sexual as he kept trying to get his hands under your waistband, constantly pulling and tugging at your clothes, kissing your neck and shamelessly grinding his crotch on your ass.

You tried to get him to stop but he wouldn’t, saying he just loved you so much and how he needed this, needed you. The band around you guys kept laughing at it which only spurred Slash on.

It crossed a line when you looked away and Slash lifted your top, revealing your chest on the one day you didn’t feel like putting on a bra.

You pulled your shirt back down and got off of him. “The fuck is wrong with you?” You scolded, glaring down at him. He looked right back up at you with nothing but desire. But he seemed confused, like he didn’t know what he did wrong.

Slash stood and wrapped his arms around your waist. “I just wanna love you.” He mumbled, words slurring together.

“Come on,” Axl teased, “just let him love you.” The rest of them were all giggling as well. You rolled your eyes and stormed off, angrily dragging Slash behind you, ignoring how he stumbled on his own feet to keep up with you.

Outside their studio space was a long hallway leading into many more hallways and a few more studios but among them were janitorial closets and other small rooms for little things scattered between. Perfect for you to push Slash into.

You locked the door behind you with the intent to scold him but he was already on his knees and tugging on your waistband again. “Slash, are you kidding me?”

“No.” He answered in a cheeky tone, big smile and giggling as he pulled your pants down. You should’ve stopped him but you didn’t want to. His touches bothered you in front of everyone but you couldn’t say no when he could make you feel so good.

Slash pulled your panties down and licked between your folds, licking up your slick before focusing on your clit. He couldn’t stop giggling which only sent vibrations straight through you. Your hands buried in his curls as your hips bucked to meet his lips, bordering riding his face. He didn’t even seem to notice, getting off on giving you pleasure.

You caught him palming himself through his leather pants so you kicked his hand away. “Only good boys get to cum.” You said, voice breathy as you continued to push his face into you. His hands gripped your thighs, needing to occupy them somehow so he wouldn’t touch himself he pushed one finger into you before adding another.

The small closet quickly filled with your moans and Slash’s muffled giggling along with lewd noises. You were sure that if anyone passed by they would hear but right now you didn’t care as your first high crashed down on you and you held Slash’s lips to your clit as you gushed on his face.

You pulled away and Slash’s body relaxed. He’d been holding himself up on his knees but he let himself hit the ground, now looking up at you like a proud puppy.

[stwritings]

Bestfriend!Eddie who has never thought of you in an explicit way. You’ve been friends since middle school and are now well into your 20’s, stunning all of your mutual friends by your consistently platonic relationship (through no fault of your own).

Following a spontaneous night of drinking, you ended up sleeping over, having accidentally gotten a little too wine drunk whilst hanging out. This wasn’t the first time you had spent the night in the Munson’s trailer. Normally, you and Eddie would take turns sleeping on the pull out bed, alternating each time so at least one of you could get a good night’s sleep during your stay.

On this particular night, Wayne was off work, making the small cot unavailable. Despite Eddie offering to sleep on the barcalounger, his uncle wasn’t having any of that.

“Boy, i don’t want you sleepin’ upright in here. Lookin’ like the damn exorcism chick, freakin’ me out.”

He had a point.

You both made your way to his bedroom to get set up. With alcohol flowing through your veins, the prospect of sharing a bed together didn’t seem like a big deal to either of you. You settled in for the night, borrowing an old t-shirt and some clean boxers of his to sleep in.

It was a particularity cold night and you were notoriously selfish in your sleep. You greedily pulled on the blanket throughout the night, stirring Eddie out of his sleep. He woke up shivering, glancing around in confusion until he was conscious enough to remember your presence.

He grumpily turned to face you and quickly snatched the blankets back so he could be covered once more. His rapid movements caused the duvet to slide off of you, exposing your sleeping body as you laid on your stomach, one leg hiked up to your side. This position caused the boxers you were wearing to ride up your ass ever so slightly, really showcasing your figure. Eddie paused for a second as his brain short-circuited. He stared at you, his best friend of 10+ years, stunned and confused by the way you were unintentionally making his boxers feel tight.

[keanuquotes]

The Enduring Appeal of Keanu Reeves He battles evildoers in 'John Wick 4,' manufactures two-wheel pieces of art, and is worshiped by the internet, but Keanu Reeves swears he's just a normal guy. And he’s got the scars to prove it. Ky HendersonMar 15, 2023 9:00 AM EDT It’s easy to look cool when you’re riding a motorcycle, but it’s hard to look cooler than Keanu Reeves on a brisk, sunny afternoon in Los Angeles. He rests his left hand on his thigh and steers with his right, which gooses the throttle as he weaves around slow drivers. He wears a form-fitting black canvas motorcycle jacket that accentuates how trim he is—even more fit than he appears on-screen—and a beat-up Shoei helmet. He leaves the visor up, choosing instead to shield his eyes with sunglasses the Terminator might wear to a Hamptons garden party. Reeves looks at home and at ease on a motorcycle. He looks cool.

At a gas station stop, he suggests switching bikes. We’re each riding cruisers made by Arch, the motorcycle company Reeves co-founded with designer Gard Hollinger in 2011. The company produces high-end, highly personalized production bikes; I’m on a 1s, the company’s new $100,000+ sport cruiser. Reeves is on an older model, KRGT-1, but it’s his personal Arch, a true one-of-a-kind. It's the only Arch ever painted YK Blue, a color Reeves and Hollinger commissioned based on the ultramarine pigment famously mixed by mid-century French artist Yves Klein. Reeves says all that’s left of the paint is in a tiny can stored somewhere at Arch in case the bike’s paint ever needs touch-ups.

Which it most certainly would if, let’s say, some idiot were to put the bike down in front of a horrified Reeves while riding down the Pacific Coast Highway. Thankfully, there’ll be no lowsides today. Although the bike is beefy, with a 2,032cc V-twin powerplant, it’s easy to maneuver and comfy as a BarcaLounger.

Keanu Reeves stands in motorcycle factory holding blue mug Brian Bowen Smith

Reeves eventually leads us back to Arch’s factory building, which is nondescript from the outside but artfully decorated inside using shipping containers to separate working areas. Metal fabrication is done behind one; customer bikes are lined up in another with technicians hard at work. After Reeves dips outside for a cigarette—the 58-year-old both looks like a much younger man and smokes with the frequent abandon of one—he leads us to a small conference room.

“I like meeting people, but I’m a little reserved,” he warns as he settles into an office chair, looking far less comfortable than he did on a motorcycle. “How much of my private life do I want to talk about? I don’t know. Otherwise, let’s hang out.”

When Reeves was growing up in the Yorkville neighborhood of Toronto, he was consumed with existential thoughts. He discussed death a lot more than the average 11-year-old, for instance—but not because he wanted to die. He just wanted answers to big questions. Perhaps not entirely unrelated to his interest in mortality, he was also obsessed with the biker gangs that periodically motored into the neighborhood. It wasn't pods of dentists letting loose on weekends. It was leathers, patches, menace—the whole deal. And Reeves loved it.

“They looked exotic,” Reeves says. "They looked to me like they were free. Plus the bikes were cool and sounded great.”

Despite his childhood fascination, Reeves was in his early 20s before he first rode a motorcycle. It happened at a movie studio in Berlin—where else?—when he saw a woman on an off-road enduro bike in a parking lot. He approached her and asked if she’d teach him to ride, which she agreed to on the spot. (If you’re wondering why a woman would do that for a total stranger, search “Keanu Reeves in the 80s” in Google Images.)

Not long after he got back to Los Angeles, he bought a 1973 Mk2a Norton Commando, having long admired the classic brand. That bike currently sits in the Arch shop, which is notable for two reasons: One, few longtime riders are lucky enough to be able to hold onto their first bike. Two, over the years Reeves has…suffered some mishaps.

“Yeah, I’ve fallen off a few times,” he admits of the accidents he’s had on a variety of bikes. He takes a swig of water, then corrects himself. “Not ‘fallen off.’ Crashed. I’ve got a couple of hit-by-cars. A couple of going-too-fast. I’ve laid a couple of bikes down but I was riding in the winter, so that’s not really ‘crashing.’ That’s about it. The usual stuff.”

He’s broken ribs, knocked out teeth, sliced his leg open so deep that bone was visible. His most spectacular accident occurred in 1988, only a couple years after that day in Berlin. Reeves was riding alone at night in Malibu’s Topanga Canyon when he took one of the twisties too fast. By the time he came to a stop, he was lying on the pavement wondering if he was about to die. As you know, he didn’t—but he did fuck himself up pretty bad.

“I ruptured my spleen,” he says matter-of-factly. The widely reported version of the story goes that he needed the organ removed, but Reeves says it’s still intact. “They sutured it up and put a Band-Aid on.” He has a gnarly scar running vertically from his sternum down to his belly button, but in the right light it just ends up accentuating his abs because, well, he’s Keanu.

Reeves first met Hollinger through a mutual acquaintance about two decades after that crash, when Reeves wanted a custom sissy bar—basically, a backrest for a passenger—added to his 2005 Harley Davidson Dyna. Hollinger, who at that point was a relatively well-known, well-respected customizer with his own small LA shop, wasn’t interested.

“I knew I could build him the world’s most expensive sissy bar,” Hollinger says, “but I also knew it wouldn’t be satisfying for either of us.”

Instead, Hollinger spent the next five years completely reimagining the bike. He’d work in spurts, changing or adding something, then handing the bike back over to Reeves for months. By the time the bike was finished, Hollinger says, about the only parts of the original Dyna still remaining were the engine and the serial number on the chassis. Today that bike—a chromed-out ride fit for Mad Max—is displayed in the shop, the inspiration for what eventually became Arch.

Keanu Reeves on motorcycle wearing black canvas jacket and sunglasses Brian Bowen Smith

Eventually being the key word. When, during the long process of modding the bike, Reeves first suggested to Hollinger that the two team up to start a motorcycle company, Hollinger didn’t have to think about his answer.

“I knew what a tough business it is, what a challenge it would be—and that it would not be a great investment,” Hollinger, now 63, says with a laugh. “It was a wonderful motorcycle I built and it was wonderful getting to know Keanu, but starting a motorcycle company sounded like a horrible idea.”

Reeves didn’t relent. As the pair became better friends—and as the motorcycle continued to take shape—they’d have long conversations about the realities of starting the company. Hollinger would show up to their discussions with pages of questions written on a legal pad, but what gradually eroded his hesitation was the thoughtfulness with which Reeves described the experience of riding a motorcycle.

Finally, nearly convinced, Hollinger asked Reeves to boil everything down to one reason why they should do something as seemingly crazy as starting a motorcycle company. The actor came up with it on the spot—a reason Hollinger immediately understood, which allowed him to envision the company and its worth as an opportunity to do something meaningful and long-lasting.

“Because,” Reeves told him, channeling the mortality-obsessed 11-year-old kid gawking at dudes on motorcycles, “we’re going to die.”

Related: 2023 Arch 1s Sport Cruiser Is the American (V-twin) Dream

There have been many jokes made over the years about Reeves being a dummy, but after spending about 8 seconds with the guy it’s obvious he’s keenly intelligent. I mention that I read lots of sci-fi and fantasy books as a kid, which prompts him to ask whether I have opinions on several titles, followed by recommendations to read several others.

Thing is, his idiosyncratic public persona—which is sort of like Ted (not Bill) if Ted were a little more shy and a much better dresser—isn’t an act. Reeves isn’t trying to fool his critics or fans. And he isn’t really putting on an act in an attempt to prevent people from knowing who he is. He’s just this very singular, introspective, likable person who happened to become a pop culture icon.

All of that said? He can be pretty goofy. His physical mannerisms are sometimes at odds with what he’s saying, like he’s being controlled by feuding puppeteers. He speaks haltingly, stopping and starting and stopping again, often all in the same sentence, as he considers what exactly he wants to say or, just as likely, what he doesn’t want to say. More than once over the course of an afternoon he giggles—yes, giggles—at something he says or thinks, placing his cupped hand over his mouth like a theatrical school child hiding laughter; the gesture is as strange as it is endearing. He's somehow both laconic and verbose, calm and keyed up.

Although Reeves has long been known as “The internet’s boyfriend,” he’s currently dating—sorry, internet—acclaimed visual artist Alexandra Grant. The pair first collaborated on the 2011 book Ode to Happiness after having known each other previously; in the following years they collaborated on other projects and co-founded the small book imprint X Artists’ Books. Their romantic relationship began about five years ago but only became public knowledge two years in, when they arrived at a red carpet event together.

When asked about Grant, Reeves leans back in his chair as though trying to put both metaphorical and literal distance between himself and the idea of discussing his personal life.

So, uh, maybe it’s best to make it about bikes: What’s Grant’s opinion of Reeves’ (occasionally injurious) motorcycle fixation?

“She used to have a motorcycle, so she’s fine with it,” Reeves says. Then he pauses, as he so often does, seemingly considering whether to say anything more. “She hasn’t ridden in a while.”

Despite his lifelong love of bikes, Reeves hasn’t ridden them much in his movies. There’s a brief scene in the landmark 1991 indie film My Own Private Idaho. There’s some riding in 1996’s Chain Reaction, including one scene in which he manages to outrun an exploding hydrogen reactor. He’s technically on a bike in John Wick 3 while battling bad guys, but that was all done while stationary in front of a green screen. He has no interest in shoehorning Arches into his movies, though a couple of Arches are featured in the futuristic 2020 video game Cyberpunk 2077, in which he also played a major role.

Reeves says there’s a brief motorcycle scene in the upcoming John Wick 4, a movie whose eventual existence might have been laughed at when the original film debuted. Despite the series’ current status as an unstoppable franchise juggernaut, it originally wasn’t even planned as a franchise—and it certainly didn’t appear destined to be one after John Wick received a somewhat tepid theatrical reception in 2014.

“It had some success in the theater, but it really became more popular in second viewings,” Reeves says. “So the studio asked if we wanted to do another one.”

Reeves does more than just kick unbelievable amounts of ass in the movies; he’s also had a hand in plotting out the sequels. The genesis of the third and fourth installments, he says, took place while he and director Chad Stahelski were on the road promoting the second and third movies, respectively.

“Generally, Chad and I cook ’em up while we’re doing press tours,” Reeves says. “We talk about what we’d do next if the current film does well. I’m like, ‘I want to ride a horse and do a horse chase!’ And Chad says, ‘Yeah, we can do it in Central Park!’”

Reeves says he doesn’t know what comes next for him, but John Wick 5 will almost certainly be an option—if he wants to do it. He’s currently developing a TV series, and maybe he’ll make the motorcycle road movie he’s long thought about making. He’ll also no doubt continue riding bikes and growing Arch because he loves doing both.

He says he may continue BRZRKR, the comic series he co-writes. He won’t stop helping others via his philanthropy (he declines to discuss other than to say it’s “in health and the arts”). And he’ll burnish his already-glowing reputation as, in his words, “a pretty respectful and considerate person,” because that’s how he likes to treat people.

“I’m just,” Reeves says as his mouth curls into a smirk and his arms shoot out in front of him as though he’s pleading to be believed, “a normal guy.”

via keanuworld

[lesbiandarvey]

i love this scene so much.. danny as thee quintessential sitcom wife whining about his husband forgetting their anniversary and then casey asks our anniversary? with his mouth full like some kind of bumbling sitcom dad, give him a barcalounger and a remote and he is every husband character for the past 30 years of bad tv. and the next line that implies they got drunk and hooked up years ago

[krylov-space]

One „Obese Robert“ - with a side number plate, (possibly?) more noisy cans and an aftermarket seat.

Still unsure if this really is a „hot rod“ or rather a „noisy barcalounger“…

(Seen while checking on the status of my Livewire.)

[ceruleanmusings]

Big Time Secrets - Lucy & Mason

going a little bit different with this one. the guys are involved peripherally but i wanted to give a better insight to their relationship with one of the girls on the show.

@partiallypearl @raging-violets

---------

Big Time Rush’s and Camille’s shouting faded down the hallway once they streamed out of Lucy’s apartment. Lucy and the Mason girls stared at the open doorway; bewilderment written all over their faces. Save for Jazz, who snickered while pulling the bowl of popcorn onto her lap.

“So…you knew they were figure skating the whole time?” Lucy asked, head slowly turning to face the giddy girl.

Jazz snorted, stuffing popcorn into her mouth. “Of course I knew.” She tossed a piece into the air and caught it with a triumphant smile.

“Why didn’t you say anything? Because of you, I had to deal with an axe-wielding maniac all day!”

“Because Knight asked me not to and I prefer that my boyfriend can trust me.” She tossed more popcorn into her mouth. A second later an explosion of popcorn flew around the room due to the pillow Lucy threw at her knocking the bowl out her hands. Unperturbed, Jazz’s smirk, if possible, got wider.

“I don’t see what’s so funny about it! They ruined my choreography!” Sammi said with a huff. Perched on the arm of the couch, she crossed her arms, thin bangles slid down to mid forearm. “Do you know how many hours I wasted for that showing? Camille at least kept her lines clean but Kendall; I swear, he forgot everything I taught him! I can’t put my name on that! No ma’am! Samantha Mason Does. Not. Lose!” The bangles on her arms and the hoops in her ears shook with the force of her ensuing clapping.

“And you thought Logan was bad?” Jazz asked, giving Sammi a look. Jerking her thumb in Sammi’s direction, she added, “Try having to deal with that every day for the last two weeks.” It all came out afterward that Sammi had Kendall and Camille’s skating instructor. While she was more adept at roller skating, she had figure skating for a few years in her youth before switching over. James, Logan, and Carlos didn’t take it too well when learning that both Sammi and Jazz kept the secret from them, yelling about breaking a “No Secrets Between Friend Groups” code.

Jazz threatened to break something of theirs in return and it wasn’t related to a code.

“Besides, this is kind of your fault,” Mel pointed out from where she was tucked in the corner of the couch. She dug her elbow into Sammi’s leg only to flinch when Sammi reached out and flicked her behind the ear.

“How’s this my fault?” Lucy asked.

“If you hadn’t brought up that game of secrets in the first place none of this would’ve happened,” she said. “Then I wouldn’t have had to deal with Gustavo and Aunt Kelly, the cookie monsters. Emphasis on monsters.” She patted her arms as she spoke, plumes of flour bursting and curling into the air. “We could’ve been writing The Guys’ last song but noooo, they needed to get more of those cookies. I was in the zone, too.”

“You really should’ve seen that coming though,” Sammi said from where she sat poised on the arm of the couch, one leg over the other, ankles crossed. “Remember Christmas ’00?” At Lucy’s raised eyebrow she explained, “She straight up stepped on Jazz and knocked Mel into a chair to get first dibs for our Christmas cookie swap.”

“Yeahhh, I got my first set of stitches that year,” Mel said, lifting the hem of her jeans. A crescent-moon like scar webbed around the curve of her kneecap. “Who knew a Barcalounger had so many sharp parts. I think Jazz still has her shoe print on her back, too.”

“Wow. And I thought the guys were crazy,” Lucy muttered beneath her breath, tucking her hair behind her ear. Then she shrugged in nonchalance. “But the cookie insanity thing wasn’t my fault. Besides, why didn’t you just ask Mickey to make them? It would’ve saved you the time.”

“Because she was busy going to camp,” Mel said. With a swing of her head, she turned an accusatory glance the silent sister’s way.

Sitting on the floor, Mickey’s head bent over a popsicle stick bird house. But with a tall ceiling and thin walls, it resembled more a little pavilion than a bird house. Silence stretching, she slowly looked up only to jump at the four pairs of eyes set on her. “What?” she asked.

“Well, unlike the rest of us, sounds like you had a fun day,” Lucy said.

Frowning, Mickey eyed the gleam in her eye. “It was okay.”

“Easy for you to say when you roasted marshmallows and had sack races and did arts and crafts,” Jazz said. She idly pulled a kernel out of her thick hair and popped it into her mouth.

“All you did all day was sit back and watch all this blow up. With popcorn,” Mickey pointed out.

“But I didn’t get marshmallows out of it.” Pressing her finger into Mickey’s forehead, she pushed her sister’s head backward with a poke. “Besides, you and James looked awfully cozy cuddled up on the floor.”

Lucy, Sammi, and Mel reacted all at once: “What!?” “Excuse me?” “Say what?”

“Back up.” Sammi held her hand in the air, as if pressing a large pause button. “I need context.”

Huffing, Mickey relayed the story: how James talked her into making gourmet corn dogs for an apology to Carlos, how he talked her into pretending to be Heather Fox’s agent on the phone to figure out where she was in town, and how he talked her into helping him and Carlos turn the Palm Woods into Camp Wonky Donkey and to play games with them in an effort to get Carlos and his camp crush back together. All because she had to abide by the “Don’t Break Carlos” Heart’ code.

Mel shook her head. “That’s crazy.”

“I know,” Mickey said.

“No, I meant that they went to a camp that’s actually named Camp Wonky Donkey,” Mel said with a snort. “Was Camp Lame taken?” She and Jazz snickered, reaching over the table to slap a high five.

“Anyway, in the end Heather ended up writing a note to tell James she liked him and not Carlos which was…eh.” She made a face and waved her hand, batting away the thought and the returning annoyance of reliving witnessing the moment. “And then Lucy ran up and you know what happened.”

“Which reminds me…” Lucy’s words stretched out as a sly smile came to her face. “You never told us what your secret is.”

Mickey blinked. “Huh?”

“Everyone’s been spilling or keeping or trying to crack secrets all day. The ice skating, the cookies, the camp thing, sneaking around. You’re the only one who hasn’t said anything. So out with it.” Leaning forward, she sat nearly nose to nose with Mickey while wiggling her eyebrows. “What’s your secret?”

“I don’t…” Mickey gulped, forcing the lump in her throat down. “I don’t have one.” How did this suddenly become about her? She’d been doing nothing but minding her own business.

Leaning back, Lucy rolled her eyes. “Everybody has one.”

“What’s yours?” Mickey asked, irritating sparking inside her. That felt too familiar.

Lucy laughed. “Oh, I don’t keep secrets. There’s no point. Besides, everything you need to know about me you’ll find in my music.” Her head tilted to the music equipment spread around the room, from the piano, to the various microphones, to the range of acoustic and electric guitars leaning against one another.

“That’s a bit of a cop out don’t you think?”

“Don’t change the subject. C’mon, Mick, what’s your secret?”

Thundering footsteps and thumps on the wall grew. Mickey sighed. Saved by the bell! Shouts and grunts accompanied the rolling thunder, with a loud whooping leading the way. One wouldn’t be wrong for assuming a train had somehow made its way through the halls of the Palm Woods but it, in fact, was just the boys and Camille running along the floor for another lap chasing Carlos around. They looked worse for wear this time around, with Logan having to carry Kendall along on his back instead of letting him hop around on his foot. He used one of his crutches as an extension to poke at Carlos. James looked as if he’d been through a shredder, his clothes hanging off him in tatters, and Camille came up last, dragging her leg behind her with her once free hand stuffed in a vase.

Lucy pointed at the empty doorway. “How…?”

“It’s best not to ask,” Sammi said with a wave of her hand. “You’ll never get a good answer.” Releasing a long sigh, she slapped her hands on her knees and got off the couch. “Let’s go help them.”

“Why?” Jazz and Mel wore identical confused expressions, noses wrinkled. Mickey suspected half of it was due to, for once, not being involved in their issues and the other half was due to Sammi being the one to suggest helping them. She tended to stay away from their “white boy shenanigans” as much as possible. Unless she found a way to get something out of it, anyway.

“Yeah, I really don’t want to be dragged into anything else today,” Lucy added.

“You can’t be dragged into something you set in motion. And it’s the ‘I Will Take Responsibility for My Actions’ code,�� Sammi shot back.

“Oh my gooodddd!” Lucy’s head tilted back at her exasperated exclamation. “Fine! But after this, I’m making my own code. It’s the ‘No One Makes Binding Codes Ever Again’ code!”

“Orrrr!” Jazz popped out of the chair, eyes lighting. “We can make a bet with Mr. Bitters that he’s the one who has to clean up everything they destroy.”

“I like that one better,” Mel said with a wicked grin.

Their bundle of friends moved past the door again, this time with Carlos struggling to run with Camille grabbing his ankle and James holding him in a headlock. Logan, now running much slower and panting, pulled up the rear with Kendall still on his back. Sammi, Mel, and Jazz hurried out the room after them. Mickey started to follow but Lucy stopped her, standing in the doorway.

“You don’t exactly like me, do you?” Lucy crossed her arms and tilted her head to the side, scrutinizing Mickey through squinted eyes. “That’s your secret, right?”

Figures Lucy wouldn’t let her off the hook. Still, the accusation had her heart drop and all the saliva get sucked out her mouth. Her eyes darted around, looking for an exit, but Lucy had her cornered on her own turf. “It’s not…that. Well, not exactly…” She fiddled with the hem of her bright yellow Camp Wonky Donkey t-shirt.

“Thennnn what?” An elongated squeaking sound came out of Mickey’s mouth as she struggled to find the words. Lucy, despite looking amused, rolled her eyes. “Don’t act all innocent now. I can handle it.”

She probably could. Very little seemed to faze her and maybe that was the problem. That her choices and actions didn’t seem to bother her, no matter how much they messed with someone else. Did she not care? Mickey looked just past Lucy’s head when she spoke, voice quiet but firm, “I don’t particularly like that you mess with my friends’ feelings.” Lucy moved to reply but Mickey kept on, her words building atop of one another, nearly colliding in her haste. “None of this would’ve gone on if you didn’t purposely bring up a game that would cause…this.” She gesticulated wildly around the room.

“I didn’t know it would cause this.” Lucy mimicked her gesticulation. “Trust me. You didn’t deal with Logan. No one would willingly want to.”

“It’s the guys,” Mickey said, exasperated, as if the two words held all the explanation in the world. (Which they did.) “They can’t play a video game without getting into some sort of death match. Getting them to spill secrets about the horrible things they’ve done to one another? That’s not opening a can of worms, that’s throwing a grenade on it. And you pulled the pin.”

“It was just a game.”

“It’s…it’s not fair to others to have them messed with for the sake of someone else’s entertainment. Feelings aren’t a game.” Not to me.

The longer Lucy stared at her, the more Mickey’s skin prickled and itched. Right when she felt ready to jump out of it, or form some sort of apology for something she probably didn’t need to apologize for, Lucy slowly nodded her head. “Alright. Fine. I get it. You may have a point. For the record, I was just—”

“Trying to make things interesting?” Mickey asked wryly.

“No. well, yeah, but no. I was just…trying to make…friends? Small talk and all that stuff…” She made a retching noise and Mickey nodded. Boy, did she understand that. She and small talk were mortal enemies. The accompanying awkwardness could kick rocks as well. “I’m still new and the guys are…well, the guys. And Camille’s great but kind of…all over the place? So I thought if we could get to, well, the good stuff first it’d make being new…easier.” Mickey stared. Lucy Stone was…unsure? She’d come in with such an aura around her, shaking up the guys’ worlds so bad, it was hard to grasp that even she had been worried about something as normal as making new friends. Mickey bit her lip. Maybe she’d been too hard on her? With a loose shrug, Lucy went to leave only to stop and lean back in the doorway. “Oh, and don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me!”

Even with the smile Lucy flashed at her, Mickey’s stomach turned at the following wink.

That secret was easy to keep and, maybe it wouldn’t be true after some time.

But if Lucy ever found out her real one, the one she was just coming to grips that existed, she wasn’t so sure that one could be kept quiet.

[spockvarietyhour]

Got his lil stone barcalounger, truly he's at home.

[thecoparoom]

Give your husband a BarcaLounger

1957

[romirola]

💖💚 For the snippet ask game~

👁 share a snippet where the character is very visually engaged/a snippet with description

From this ask game (Still open!)

Thanks for this ask, @pinksparkl! It was a very interesting exercise to consider. I pulled a snippet from Balancing Act featuring none other than 'grumps of the group' Sweetheart and David... I chose this section because there's a lot of glancing, looking, etc.

He glanced over to the other side of the room to check on Angel and Sweetheart for what had to be the thousandth time in the last hour. Angel was typing away on their laptop, handling some emails before they finally set their status to ‘out of office’ for the rest of the day. Per Starlight’s advice, Angel wanted to keep to the plans of purchasing some supplies for the upcoming pack anniversary party. David had made it clear that he was not in the mood for anything even party-adjacent, but Angel had persisted (first with rhetoric, then with romance), eventually coaxing David to cave to their wishes. When Angel and David realized that everyone else in the pack but Sweetheart had something to occupy their time, the couple invited their friend to tag along with them for the day. Everyone was well-aware that Sweetheart was prone to overthinking and worry, especially when they were alone. Loneliness compounded with a mixed-up core would only intensify the poor investigator’s abject misery, so they jumped at the chance to stay close to Angel and David for the day. 

Whereas David had parked himself on the barcalounger as he waited for Angel to finish, silently plunging himself into deep despair, Sweetheart was lying on the floor, two pillows tucked under their sacrum. Their long legs were straight up in the air, toes pointing to the ceiling. Sweetheart’s arms were at their sides, palms facing up in a gesture of acceptance, at least, attempting to embody that concept. At the side of their head sat their silver thermos with the D.U.M.P. logo stamped in black, filled with water. They would’ve been the picture-perfect image of relaxation, if not for the way their eyes were scrunched tightly and their jaw worked back and forth, scaping their top teeth against their bottom teeth. 

David tipped his head to the side, as if that angle would tell him why Sweetheart had put themselves in this ridiculous pose. “Careful,” he warned lowly. “If you stay like that any longer, all the blood will rush to your head.”

Sweetheart’s eyes popped open, glaring daggers at the alpha. “Shut up, David!” they snapped. “Viparita Karani relaxes the body, grounds the mind, and calms the heart, okay?” Sweetheart huffed, their speech strained and tight. 

“Mhmm.” A soft snort from David reached Sweetheart’s ears. “Sure,” he noted in a voice devoid of any inflection, raising a thick eyebrow. “You look like the epitome of relaxation.” He gestured to their clenched fists. “No stress at all.”  

Fed up with David’s commentary, Sweetheart dropped their knees into their chest and gave themselves a slight squeeze before they rolled up into a seat. “Maybe that’s because someone is lumbering around the room and interrupting me with stupid jokes.” They drained their thermos of water, scowling at David all the while.

[nancydrewwouldnever]

RANDOM MUSING: Your life as a commuter is not complete until you have an improperly secured BarcaLounger fly off the back of a pick-up truck straight at your vehicle while merging onto the freeway.

Thank goodness I do not have bladder control issues.

[popironrye]

What is Erin’s favorite thing about Dwayne? 🩷

OH! Well where do I start? 🤩

Well for starters, I'd imagine they'd meet when Darla drags the boys to the bowling alley she works at. And from the get go, as it usually go, Erin takes a liking to Dwayne because he's so tall and handsome. 😊Erin's favorite surface level thing about Dwayne is of course his long beautiful hair. Dwayne and Erin take turns laying around snuggling in the barcalounger pose (basically laying with you back in your partners lap and torso) playing with each others hair.

When they began to talk, Erin was hooked by Dwayne's sweet smile. He approached her first and asked her out. Dwayne is unbelievably kind to Erin. He stands up for her when she's being accosted by strangers, encourages her to stand up for herself when her boss takes advantage of her and loves to shower her in gifts.

Erin loves to show affection physically. And Dwayne is more than happy to oblige. While they keep things tame in public with hand holding or piggy back riding, when they're at her home or the cave, Erin gets clingy! Always wanting to be held.

[adiarosefandoms]

Absolutely devastated to spread the news that Matthew Perry, who played the King of Sarcasm and best Friend, passed away today, October 28th, 2023.

It’s reported that he drowned in a hot tub and paramedics were unable to revive his heart, drugs were not found on the scene and thought not to be the cause.

From episode one with the line “and I just want a million dollars!”, I knew Chandler was going to be my favorite Friends character. The smart remarks, the awkwardness and commitment issues, and the emphatically deep kindness he possessed under waves of sarcasm defined that character from the very start. And nobody could have played that character like Matthew Perry, a king of sarcasm in his own right.

Only 54 and clean for two years, this devastating news came as a complete shock to everyone in and out of the public eye.

Wishing the fellow Friends the best as well as his many other loved ones, fans of his work can only sit down on there well worn couches and BarcaLoungers, cup of coffee in hand, and rewatch the series that made us all fall in love with Matthew Perry.

Rest in peace fallen Friend.