#fellas is it gay to continue to follow the man you love even after he has hardened and twisted in a way that makes him neigh unrecognizeabl

[sandsofsolstice]

happy 15th birthday to this guy and his doomed yaoi

[melanieathene]

Mr. Wonderful

This is a love story.

I'd like to say it was a classic case of love at first sight, but I don't know if that's true.

All I know for certain is that it's a love that was meant to be.

We don't get many quality folk in this dump that calls itself a diner. Truckers who haven't seen a washcloth in days – weeks maybe. Bums who stumble in to get out of the cold, taking up table space long after they've drained the last drop of coffee in their cup. Old folks on a tight budget looking for a cheap meal. Cheaters looking to score, streetwalkers looking to oblige them. Impatient, forlorn, pitiful people. Losers, every one.

He stood out like a sunbeam slicing through a cloudy sky. Clean, well-dressed, and handsome – god, he took my breath away with his movie star good looks. He was way prettier than the models you see in those fancy magazines – the ones I leaf through in the grocery line, but can never afford to buy.

“I'm gonna to marry that man,” I murmured.

Rhonda snapped her gum as she turned her head to follow my gaze. “Him?” She snorted. “Honey, he's out of your league. Married. Or gay. My money is on gay. Look at the long-haired fella he's with. There's something going on between them.”

“I don't care. I want that table. I'll trade you for the party of six.” I hitched my thumb towards table three.

The cackling old biddies sitting there were fussy, but they were surprisingly good tippers. Regulars who liked to meet up after church, or their book club, or whatever. Normally, Rhonda and I butted heads over who got to serve 'em.

“Your loss.” Rhonda shrugged and sauntered away. I saw the good-looking guy shoot a glance at her ample bosom as she walked by.

Gay, my ass.

I popped a couple of buttons on my blouse, the better to display my cleavage. If he liked boobs, mine were an even bigger eyeful than Rhonda's. The rest of the package wasn't bad either.

The green eyes that turned my way as I approached the back-corner booth set me in mind of an emerald I once saw in a store window. Dazzling. No other word for it.

“What can I offer you, gentlemen?” I asked in as sultry a voice as I could muster.

“Well, I don't know,” Mr. Wonderful drawled – and damned if he didn't sound just as good as he looked. “What do you have to offer?” The suggestive smile that accompanied the question set my pulse racing and my cheeks ablaze.

“Dean!” the tall one barked.

Oh-oh. I quickly suppressed a sigh. Jealous boyfriend alert. Abort! Abort!

But it would appear luck was on my side, because the next words out of his mouth were:

“You'll have to excuse my brother. He... He's...” Mr. Tall flung up his hands, as if giving up on trying to explain the unexplainable.

His (hallelujah!) brother grinned unrepentantly.

“I'll have a salad – the house dressing is fine,” Mr. Tall continued, obviously deeming it better for all concerned if he changed the subject. “He'll have the double cheeseburger with fries. And, uh... two coffees, please. Make mine decaf.”

“And pie,” Dean added. His eyes caressed my name tag, before straying over to the curve of my breast. “Apple if you've got it, Sherri with an 'i'. With whipped cream –”

“And a cherry on top?”

“Ahh, a woman after my own heart. Thank you, darlin'.”

I could feel the weight of his stare as I walked away. Who could blame me if I put a little extra wiggle in my walk?

“Not gay,” I whispered as Rhonda and I crossed paths. “With his brother. And he's a first class flirt.”

“Hrmph,” she muttered. “That don't mean nothing. I might bump him from gay to bi, but that's the best I can do for you. My gaydar's never wrong.”

Have I ever mentioned how much I hate Rhonda? She's my best friend and I love her to bits, but she can be an insufferable pain in the ass when she thinks she's right. Which is all the time.

I wasn't going to let her be right this time. Mr. Wonderful – Dean! – was the kind of man I'd been dreaming of for far too many years. I was through with settling for Cracker Jack toys! I wanted a real prize. And there he was... not ten feet away.

A glance over my shoulder at the booth showed Dean frowning as Mr. Tall shoved his laptop towards him. They both seemed pretty engrossed by whatever was on that screen. Real serious, like. So it would appear that I had a little competition after all. Digital competition. Pfftt! I wasn't worried about that. With my looks and bubbly personality, most men easily sway the way I want them to go. I fluffed my hair and unfastened yet another button. Hey, when you're going for the gold, you gotta give it all you've got.

I picked up the tray containing their order and called up my best smile. The megawatt one that best shows off my dimples and pearly whites.

That smile dimmed considerably as I turned to face them.

There was a third person in the booth. Another man. Another looker, with dark, wind-swept hair and heavy five o'clock shadow on his chiseled jaw. Dean had scooched over to make room for Mr. Trench Coat, but they were sitting close. Really close. In fact, they were pressed together from shoulder to hip to knee.

Dean caught my eye as I approached and hissed, “Personal space!”

“My apologies,” Mr. Trench Coat replied in a low rumble that rivalled Dean's for the honour of sexiest voice ever. Though why he was apologizing wasn't clear to me. Dean was the one who hadn't moved over far enough in the first place. The bigger question was where he had come from, though. I hadn't heard the bell ring to announce his arrival. It was a mystery that didn't sit well with me.

“Would you like to place an order, sir?” I said, polite and frosty in the same breath, as I set plates in front of the two brothers.

“No.”

No, thank you. Lovely manners you have, there.

Blue eyes lifted to meet my gaze, staring at me – through me – as if they could see into my very soul.

“No, thank you,” he intoned.

And just like that, I was dismissed. I mattered less to him than the cockroaches in the kitchen.

His eyes turned back to Dean. Dean's gaze fell to his plate. Mr. Tall choked back what could have been a chuckle – or maybe he just swallowed funny.

I beat a hasty retreat. But I wasn't done with table nine yet. Dean was clearly a dessert man. And I had pie as my secret weapon. Homemade pie, too. None of that pasty store-bought stuff most dives like ours serve. I baked it myself twice a week to squeeze a few extra bucks from our skinflint boss, and I wasn't beyond letting that little fact slip when I brought a slice over to Dean. So, take that, Blue Eyes.

Confidence restored, I felt almost generous towards the poor guy. I even brought him a glass of ice water – which he didn't touch. Nor did he thank me for it.

It was a fairly busy night, but I kept glancing over to that corner as I hurried about my tasks. Dean had once again inched closer to Blue Eyes – or maybe Blue Eyes was crowding him? Either way, their knees and elbows were knocking. Mr. Tall noticed this too. Judging from the knowing little smirk he wore, it wasn't the first time he'd seen it happen. But even his eyebrows rose when Blue Eyes casually swiped a fry from Dean's plate, and Dean didn't so much as blink. He'd slapped Mr. Tall's hand when he'd tried that trick not five minutes before, hard, growling something along the lines of, “if you insist on eating rabbit food, don't expect me to share the good stuff.”

Blue Eyes dove in for another fry. And then a third. And then he snagged Dean's coffee and took a tentative sip.

Apparently, that wasn't much to his liking. I had to turn away from the sourpuss face he pulled, just so I didn't laugh out loud. When I turned back, Dean was doctoring his coffee – pouring in creamer and adding tons of sugar – all without taking his eyes off the computer screen or his mind off his ongoing conversation with Mr. Tall. He removed the stir stick from the mug and licked it. Blue Eyes took advantage of his distracted state to grab the coffee and cautiously sample the results. He smiled and took a second, deeper drink. And a fourth fry.

It was with considerably less enthusiasm than I had originally planned that I delivered the pie and declared it was made by yours truly.

Oh, I hovered in the vicinity, ready and eager to reap the rewards of my labour, but I had a sinking feeling that Rhonda – once again – was going to be proven right.

Sure enough, I wasn't the one Dean sought out after the first bite. The look of bliss that crossed his face was all I'd wished for – and more – but it was Blue Eyes he turned to. Blue Eyes on the receiving end of an ecstatic smile. Blue Eyes who obligingly opened his mouth when so prompted, and thus received the second forkful of my pie.

What Blue Eyes thought of it, I'll never know. For at that very moment, the bell that had been faithfully announcing arrivals and departures (except for Blue Eyes', of course) blasted from its place above the door, followed by the door itself. Shattered glass flew in all directions, and the metal frame embedded itself in table five. I heard Rhonda scream, saw her limping for the kitchen with blood seeping from a gash on her left leg. Customers who jumped up, preparing to follow her example and flee, were trampled as a horde of people poured into the diner – fifteen – twenty – maybe more. They looked like a biker gang, all dressed in black leather with dangling chains, all tattoos and piercings and unkempt beards. We've had a lot of bikers pass through. Most of 'em never cause a spot of trouble, though a couple of times we've had rival gangs rumbling in our parking lot. But I'd never, ever before seen black eyes like this lot had. Black. So very black. Like the gates of hell must be...

I'm a little hazy on what happened next. There was a lot of hollering and pushing and crashing. Things flew through the air – tables, chairs, even people.

I slipped in a puddle of what I sincerely hoped was ketchup, and felt myself falling... but, somehow, Dean was there to catch me. He scooped me up in his arms like the hero in one of those stupid romance novels Rhonda likes to read. He carried me through the mêlée, shoved me into the restroom, and told me to lock the door and keep it locked.

He didn't have to tell me twice. I didn't have to see any more to know that whatever was happening out there, it was bad. Really bad.

I just prayed the bathroom door was strong enough to keep it from happening to me.

If there had been a window, I would have climbed out of it and run away.

But there wasn't a window. And I would never have known the end of the story if I had skipped out at the middle.

Two clear voices rang out, rising above the continuous chorus of furious shouts and frantic cries. A sudden wash of light crept under the door, almost blinding me with its intensity. The silence that followed was almost worse than the horrible noise that preceded it.

I'm not ashamed to admit I screamed like a little girl when a quiet knock sounded on the door. I was bawling like one too, I was that scared: snot and mascara smearing my face, breath hitching and heart hammering fit to burst.

“Sherri? Sherri, it's Sam. It's over. It's okay to come out.”

“I don't know you, Sam.” I sniffled and drew closer to the door, but I wasn't about to open it. “Why should I trust you?”

“I'm Dean's brother.”

“Where's Dean?”

“He was injured in the attack. Cas is... uh... patching him up. Don't worry, Dean's in good hands.”

“Is Cas a doctor?”

“No... not exactly. He's... It's hard to explain. Sherri, will you open the door? We have to get you out of here.”

“Dean told me to stay put.”

“Oh, for Christ's sake,” I heard Sam mutter. And then, louder, “Cas! Can you help Dean over here? I need him to convince Sherri that it's safe.”

Slow, shuffling footsteps made their way across the floor. It felt like an eternity before the voice I wanted to hear finally spoke my name.

“Sherri,” he said wearily. “It's Dean. Open the door.”

Blue Eyes was standing there scowling at me when I cracked the door open. His arm was snugly draped around Dean's waist, clearly supporting most of his weight. Dean's arm was slung around Blue Eyes' shoulders, further steading himself. I suppose I should have felt guilty for making Dean come to me in his condition, but I didn't. I flung myself against his chest and hugged him tight. But not too tight, and not for as long as I really wanted to hold him. His quick gasp let me know how much his ribs were hurting him.

“Thank you,” I said, reluctantly stepping back. “Thank you for saving my life.”

“It's what we do. Besides, how could I deprive the world of a five star pie maker like you?” The cocky grin was back and (damn!) it looked good on his face. Even bruised and bleeding, he was one fine looking man.

Blue Eyes' fingers twitched, knotting into the fabric of Dean's shirt. His little finger brushed against bare flesh where the shirt had rucked up. Dean shivered and turned a questioning gaze his way. “Sam will take you home,” he said absentmindedly, as if he'd already forgotten I was still standing there. It was obvious he was trying real hard to fit a puzzle together, as if he'd just found a missing piece and the picture was finally making sense.

Sam ushered me away, his giant hand hovering near my face, ready to shield me from the worst of the carnage, or so I believed at that moment. We were almost to the door when a thought struck me.

“Rhonda!” I exclaimed, suddenly stopping dead in my tracks. “She went into the kitchen. She was hurt.”

“Wait here.” Sam righted a toppled chair and gently but firmly insisted I sit down. I bit my lip as I looked around. Carnage? Where was the carnage? There should have been bodies. Lots of bodies. But there were none, just a strange, dark ash that coated every surface. As if the people had been burned away.

I remembered the blazing light.

Just before it flared, I remembered a voice calling, “Dean! Dean!” Desperation filled the cry. The anguish of a man about to lose all that he held dear. The voice of a blue-eyed man who liked his coffee overly sweet.

And I remembered Dean's voice crying out in reply. One single word: “Cas!” As if the name carried with it a thousand conversations they'd never had – should have had – might now have.

The kitchen door swung on its rusty hinges, and Sam came towards me carrying Rhonda as if she weighed no more than a kitten. She was unconscious, but alive. I felt my heart blossom in relief as I rose from the chair and rested a hand on her arm. Sam led us out the door. Out to the blessed smell of fresh air, where a hint of rain lingered like a promise on the breeze.

I don't know why I turned around for one final look at Mr. Wonderful.

He didn't look back at me.

He and Blue Eyes were too busy staring into each other's eyes.

Slowly, Dean leaned forward. Just as slowly, Blue Eyes tilted his head and leaned in to meet him halfway.

All love stories should end with such a tender, yearning kiss.

And, like I said at the beginning, this is a love story.

It just isn't mine.

Originally posted 2015-03-03. Just thought it might be fun to post some old stories here. :)

[gh0styyt0astyy]

"You can hide from me forever~?" .. emm.. maybe you can do this we hank?(lee hank if it is ok?) No presure

✨ [Run and hide] ✨

( anon. anon *holds ur shoulders* i loved this prompt thank you )

———————————

⭐️ [Summary] — If you asked Hank how he got into this situation, he’d much rather die than say anything. (Lee!Hank and Ler!Deimos + Ler!Sanford)

fellas is it gay to platonically cuddle your homies after they absolutely wreck your shit

key: deimos hank sanford

⭐️ [Warnings] — TICKLE FIC; MILD LANGUAGE; AND CUDDLING AT THE END; if you don’t like then please just scroll on T_T

⭐️ [Prompt(s)]: “You can’t hide from me forever!”

✨ Enjoy ! ✨

— — — —

“Haaaaaank!” Deimos’ gruff voice echoed down a hall; a quiet snicker in his tone as he looked for the merc. Hank, who was currently staked out in a dark room (had the rooms always been this dark? How’d he never notice this?), held his breath.

Putting a hand on the doorframe, Hank leaned out slightly and stared into Deimos’ back.

The shorter guy seemed to be too busy with looking in the complete wrong direction that Hank started calculating his options. Hank had been stalking around this shitty “apartment” that he, Dei and Sanford all called home (Temporary home at least. It’s hard to keep a stable base of operation in this shitty, genocidal state okay?) for at least an hour now. Deimos wanted something from Hank; and whatever game Deimos was playing the taller man didn’t want any partake in it.

“Cmon, Haaank. You can’t hide from me forever now!” Deimos called out again, but beginning to turn around now. Shit. Hank quickly darted into a different room, one with a little more light. At least he could see now.

…However he failed to realize that Deimos could see the faint outline of a shadow, which is ironic really; seeing as how Hank; a 6’6 man can fit inside a tiny crate with no one noticing, yet he forgets to cover his tracks of a shadow.

Deimos’ footsteps came closer to the room Hank sheltered in, and Hank started to crawl backwards to the closet. ‘Shit- shit- shit.’ Hank opened the closet door and quickly stepped inside. Deimos suddenly leapt into the room, a sound of vague disappointment rumbling in his throat. “Damn.”

Hank felt a very light breath leave his chest as he slowly slid down the wall. Maybe Deimos had finally given up his chase. As Hank waited for Deimos to leave the room, he listened to the quieting footsteps. The goggled man silently opened the closet door and looked out, spotting no sign of Deimos. He began to slowly step out of it.

His legs were quickly and suddenly swiped out from under him, causing him to land roughly on his chest with a solid “oof” and a wheeze when something plopped heavily onto his back. “There you are!” Hank could hear the grin in Deimos’ voice.

“Uagh- get off of me you lug.” Hank grunted, reaching back and swatting at one of Deimos’ knees. “Hank, you’re good at hiding, know that? Had me in circles for an hour! You ever play hide and seek when you were a kid?”

Hank was having none of it as he continued to swat and push at Deimos. (Sure the man was significantly shorter than him, but damn; bitch could put some weight when he wanted.) Deimos hummed as he put his head in a hand. “Okay well obviously you wanna move on. So let’s do that! While we’re at it…” A different hand went down to between Hank’s shoulder blades, causing the merc to tense. “Let’s chat! You remember how you crushed my cigs a bit ago?”

Hank did remember that.

“Aaand how you spilled water on me for no reason?”

Hank remembered that too. (And, also Deimos, for your information; it was not for no reason you will NOT burn down another temp home.)

“Oooh or- or how about the time you threw that huge ass centipede at me? Remember that one?”

…Hank remembered that one, as well. Very vividly, might he add.

Hank nodded and Deimos did too. “Yeah. I remember all those too. Especially that last one you asshole.” Hank shrugged. “I mean, it was a little amusing.” Deimos feigned hurt as he put a hand to his chest. “You wound me, Wimbleton.”

Hank started to get antsy now, as he shifted underneath Deimos’ weight. “Will you get off me? Or are you just going to keep me here.” Deimos grinned again. “Antsy, Hanky? Daw okay. I guess I can get on with it.”

“It?” What the hell was “it?” Hank narrowed his eyes under his goggles and when he tried to look back at Deimos three fingers suddenly dug into the soft area between Hank’s shoulders. Oh. Oh that was it. Hank felt his eyes suddenly shoot open as he fell completely limp to the floor, electricity running up his back. His body shuddered with repressed… laughter? Noises. “Deimos—“ Hank spoke through gritted teeth, feeling lucky for the mask covering his betraying face. “Hank.” Deimos answered back. Hank felt himself trying to writhe away from Deimos to no avail. “Shihit.” He hissed, mentally cursing himself.

“Ahha! That’s the response I’m looking for!” Deimos said, taking his other hand and tapping against Hank’s ribs. Making the downed man make a strangled noise into the crook of his elbow. “Pihihihiss ohohoff-!” Hank growled, tried to growl. It was hard to be intimidating with fingers wiggling on your ribs and your back. Deimos was slow, methodical for a moment… before the hand on Hank’s back went from slowly moving to clawing at his shoulder blades. “SHIHIHIT! Deihihihimos you sohohon of a—!” Hank suddenly erupted; Deimos letting out a victorious and satisfied laugh. “Right here is bad? Damn, and I’ve only just started!” Hank tried thrashing his shoulders to get away from Deimos’ hands.

Deimos snickered mischievously, repositioning himself on top of Hank and sitting on his waist instead. “Y’know what Hank? This is super interesting,” Deimos said, one hand continuing to torture Hank’s shoulder blades as the other hand trailed back and forth from his ribs and his sides. “You’re, like, Nevada’s most dangerous Mercenary. And yet I haven’t even been thrown into a wall!” Deimos added, grinning at Hank’s misfortune as the man went limp again. “I hahahahate yohohou—“ Hank hissed through gritted laughter. “Have you even tried getting me off?” Deimos ignored Hank’s previous statement. As Hank began to lift himself with his elbows, Deimos’ hand suddenly shot underneath him and started prodding at his stomach. “YOHOHOHOU BIHIHIHIHITCH!” Hank fell back down.

That’s when a quiet *ahem* and knock on the doorframe made both the men look up. Sanford stood there, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed and an amused look. “Dei, what are you doing to Hank?” He asked, and Hank felt Deimos’ hands slow down until they came to stop. Deimos snickered evily and put a knee on Hank’s back to keep him down. Hank didn’t like that, didn’t trust that evil giggle from Deimos— so he began trying to escape. “San, y’know what I found out?”

Oh shit. He wouldn’t. “What’d you find out, bud?” Deimos you’d better not. “Did you know that Nevada’s most wanted, dangerous Mercenary is ticklish?” That son of a bitch. “Oh, really now?” Goddamnit.

Sanford was waved over by Deimos, and the two started whispering to each other. Hank tried to listen in but to no avail. Suddenly the weight on his back was lifted and Hank tried to shoot away quickly.

But he was grabbed around the waist and pulled back into a heavy chest. Sanford’s arms held onto him tightly as they went back to the floor, except now Hank was sitting up. (Which was better, actually, because being sprawled on the floor like that really isn’t comfortable.) Sanford’s arms were hooked under his, crossed tightly against his chest and keeping him in place.

Deimos was sat at Hank’s legs, grinning at him with a look that could only mean chaos.

“I swear to God.” Hank rumbled, pushing against his captors. Deimos gave an evil chuckle as his hands curled into claws. “Deimos I’m warning you.” Hank pushed at Deimos with his foot, neither of them really acknowledging the now dirty shoe print on Deimos’ jacket. “One.” Deimos said.

…Excuse him?

“Two.” Sanford’s low voice followed.

Hank started wriggling in Sanford’s arms with a little more strength.

…

…

“THREE!” Suddenly both the men yelled— and Hank lost his shit. Deimos’ clawed hands tasering into Hank’s ribs and Sanford’s kneading into his hips. “OHOHOHOH MY GOHOHOD! YOU AHAHAHASSHOHOHOHOLES!” Hank suddenly shrieked in laughter. (It was so much louder than his voice, louder than his usual tone. It surprised all of them and Hank wasn’t sure if he liked the volume coming from himself.) Hank writhed in Sanford’s arms as he fought against himself. “Holy shit! Dei, you weren’t joking!”

“I know! Hank, you’re incredibly lucky that it’s just us who know about this!”

Hank thought about the idea of someone else finding out about…this. Whatever “this” was. Hank wanted to say something but all he could get out was that loud, wheezy laughter. And eventually he stopped trying to fight it, he went limp in Sanford’s hold and gave in. “SHIHIHIHIT! I’m gOHOHNNA KIHIHILL YOU TWHOHOHO!” You know, it’s really hard to be threatening when you’re being undone. His nerves felt like they were being electrocuted and were on fire, Hank’s legs kicked slightly. “GOHOHOD DAHAHAHMN IT! MOHOHOHOVE YOUR HAHAHAHANDS!”

Suddenly it stopped— Deimos’ hands stopped at least. Sanford’s were at his ribs now, poking and prodding between each bone. Hank screwed his eyes shut; Sanford’s hands were so slow and methodical it was driving Hank up the wall. Hank’s face was warm, completely undone to giggling. It was embarrassing.

“San, you wanna know something else?” “Deimohohos.” “Hit me, Dei.” “You behehtter nohohot!” “Hank’s scars are way more ticklish than the rest of him.” “You bihihihitch!”

That bastard. “Reaaaally now?” Sanford’s voice was low again, close to Hank’s neck. Deimos nodded. “Yuh uh.” Hank tried to squirm out again. “I hahahate you!” He listened as Deimos drew in a big, deep breath and felt as his shirt was lifted. (He knew today was a bad day to go without his jacket.) “Deheheheimos I swear to Gohohohod!”

Hank had literally no time to process anything before—

PBBBFFFTRRTTTT!

“OH SHIHIHIHIT! SHIHIHIHIT SHIHIHIT SHIHIT!” Hank squealed, he squealed. (Hank never wanted to die on the spot more than in that moment. Do you think that he could find Jeb or Tricky or someone to strike him down after this?)

Deimos had raspberried Hank’s stomach— against a huge ass scar that went from his left hip, over top and across his navel and to the right side of his ribs.

And Sanford had started blowing smaller raspberries against Hank’s neck, again, on the scars that went across it.

Hank literally felt like he was about to die in that moment. “OKAHAHAHAY! OKAHAHAHY I YEHEHEHEHILD! I YEHEHILD! I’M GONNAHAHAHA DIHEHEHEHE! STOAHAHAHAHAP!” Hank gasped, writhing and kicking his legs. And it was like that, the sensations just stopped. Phantom feelings buzzing through his body and against his skin. “Ohohoh my gohohd.” Hank breathed, his body somehow going limper against Sanford’s. Deimos grinned and Sanford laughed lightly. Hank felt Deimos press against his chest and a light squeeze of a hug from Sanford.

Hank panted lightly, cursing the two mentally. Deimos just grinned up at Hank. “Sooo. I think San and I win!” Sanford hummed in agreement as he nodded grinning too as he bonked his head against the back of Hank’s. “Somehow that went way better than I had expected it to go.”

“You two better sleep with one eye open tonight.” Hank threatened, feeling his body physically relax against Sanford and Deimos. “Yeah yeah, whatever you say.”

[peachy-beomie]

Fellas, is it Gay to Kiss The Homies? <TEN-CENTRIC>

Genre: Light Hurt/Comfort

Pairings: Kunten (Qian Kun x Ten Lee) and implied (Ten x Everyone) [ALL SHIPS ARE SUPPOSED TO BE PLATONIC]

Word Count: 1455

Warnings: Fluff overdose, might give you diabetes /t

Synopsis: Ten just really likes kisses and he wants to give them to his friends. That’s it.

A/N: I wrote this wanting it to be Platonic!Kunten but tbh it may have gotten away from me a little bit so believe what you want ig

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30021543

Ten has always been overly affectionate. In the eyes of Weishennies, Winwin and Yangyang bear the brunt of it. On variety shows and lives Ten can sometimes be found floating around one of his two didis or entirely attached to them. It’s become a joke among fans and members, the way Ten calls Yangyang baby while the maknae responds with countless protests and whines. But something fans are unaware of is that off-camera, the Thai male’s affection extends to all the members. Ten is known to demand touches from most any friend in reach. Even Kun, despite the pairs’ constant bickering. The WayV members have grown used to Ten’s insatiable need to hold and be held. There’s a silent understanding between the 7 roommates. All the boys know that comforting Ten is just more of a physical thing. Each member understands, and some have even become fond of the actions. Most surprisingly Winwin. Though he seems like a total skinship anti, he’s all smiles whenever Ten envelopes him in a hug. 

For the endless love and acceptance of his bandmates, Ten feels so incredibly blessed. But even in such a wonderful situation, there are things Ten can’t have. And lines he dare not cross.

To Ten, there’s nothing inherently romantic or sexual about his lingering touches. To him, spooning with his friends is his way of showing platonic affection. Obviously some things are reserved for romantic/sexual partners: making out and things of the like. But the lines between friendship and partnership are far thinner to him than most. He hasn’t told his friends about his affinity for kisses, having only recently come to terms with it himself. All through his life he’s had these fleeting urges to kiss his friends, and he’d always passed them off as intrusive thoughts. But lately, these urges have become more persistent. When his members are especially kind to him, he feels his attention float briefly to their lips, wishing to give them a small peck. It’s always a peck. A forehead kiss, eskimo, cheek, knuckle, nose; always something innocent. A mere grazing of lips to skin. No matter how innocent the intent or the action, Ten can’t help but feel completely and utterly ashamed. 

Friends aren’t supposed to want to kiss each other, he chides to himself. The dancer already feels like enough of a bother asking to cuddle and hold hands, he fears that by taking the extra step, he’ll lose all 6 of them entirely. So he pushes these feelings deep down, and continues on, hoping the others don’t notice his worry. 

Unfortunately for Ten, Kun prides himself on being in tune with his members’ emotions. Kun first realizes something is wrong during one of the group’s rare off days. He and Ten had opted to stay home, the younger practically BEGGING him to continue watching Doctor Who with him. The two eldest boys have been watching it together for a couple months, and have already plowed through 2 seasons (that’s quite impressive considering how packed their schedules are). Since it’s nearly impossible to refuse Ten anything, Kun finds himself lazing the day away on the couch, carding his fingers through the soft brown locks strewn across his lap.

“Fuck. Everything,” Ten says after they finish the season 2 finale. “Whoever made this episode is a monster.”

Kun giggles, leaning down to wipe stray tears from Ten’s cheeks. “You knew it had to end eventually Tennie.” 

“YEAH BUT THAT WAS SO M E A N!” Ten removes his head from Kun’s lap as the older laughs harder. “It’s not funny!” The Thai man pouts, only eliciting more laughter. 

“Aw you poor thing,” Kun teases, pushing himself off the couch and holding a expectant hand out to the pouting brunette. “C’mon you big baby. Let me make you something to cheer you up.”

Never one to turn down free food, Ten trudges to the kitchen and sits down at the table while his ge gets to work. Ten watches Kun work for 15 minutes before turning to the table and placing a bowl of noodles in front of Ten. The younger looks up at the singer then, an almost indecipherable look on his face. In those few seconds of silence, Kun sees hesitation in Ten’s eyes, an uncharacteristic moment of pause. It’s like Ten wants to do something but he’s restraining himself. Then all too quickly, the look is gone. Ten thanks Kun for the meal before scarfing it down. 

Kun doesn’t bring it up then, or when he sees the same look directed at Hendery the next night while they’re playing Monopoly. He waits a week before finally confronting the boy, having seen the same hesitant gaze 5 or more times by now.

He decided to confront him after their biweekly Just Dance tournament. Kun and Ten were on a team together and kicking everyone else’s asses. After winning their 4th consecutive battle they’d hugged victoriously. When they pulled back, Ten had “the look” written all over his face. And without warning, he pecked Kun on the nose.

Oh.

Ten stood straight in horror, he didn’t even give Kun a chance to say anything before bolting out of the room. The 5 other members followed him with eyes full of worry and concern. They’re only semi-placated with Kun’s promise of “I’ll talk to him.”

Kun opened the door to Ten and Hendery’s shared room to see Ten facing the wall dejectedly, curled tightly into his blankets. The older made sure he moved softly and quietly, not wanting to spook the boy. He sat himself on the bed across from Ten’s huddled figure, not missing the other boy’s flinch. Kun lays down behind the boy, wrapping his arms around his middle.

“I’m not mad Yongqin, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Kun uses Ten’s Mandarin name, knowing the younger loves the way it rolls off his tongue. “I just want to understand, ok?” The older rubs soothing circles on Ten’s arm with his finger.

“I’m sorry,” Ten whispers, almost imperceptibly quiet. 

“Qinqin I told you there’s nothing to be s--”

“No but I am sorry,” Ten says, turning himself in Kun’s hold to face the older, but still not making eye contact. “I-I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I could tell it was bothering you.” Kun says, raising the eyebrow of the dancer.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Kun confirms. “So do you have a crush on me?”

“Not at all,” Ten says honestly. He fiddles with his fingers between their parallel chests rather than meet Kun’s gaze. “I just… hhh I don’t know how to begin to explain it.”

“Take your time.” Kun assures which Ten is exceedingly grateful for. Kun has always been patient and level-headed that way.

“It’s kinda like… you know how you hug your friends? To show them you care about them?” Kun nods easily. “Well, for me… kissing is kinda equivalent to a hug with a friend. It’s just...my way of showing affection I guess,” Kun nods again, taking in every word Ten says. “It became apparent a few months ago. But I didn’t want to bother you guys with it, so I kept quiet. And I know it’s weird and it’s really no big deal if you don’t want to I can--”

“Ten.”

“Yeah, It’s too much isn’t it? Can we just pretend this never happened? I’m really sor--”

“Ten.”

“Look Kun don’t worry about it. It’s really fine. I just want to--”

“Yongqin.”

Ten finally ceases his baseless ranting. Kun rubs up and down the boy’s upper arms.

“Ten it’s fine. I never said I disliked it. If platonic kisses are something you want… something you need,” Kun smiles lightly. “Then I don’t see a problem with that.”

This time Ten actually does look Kun in the eye, cat-like eyes wide with disbelief. “What?”

“Just explain to me what you need Yongqin,” Kun whispers understandingly, and for some reason it makes Ten blush a little. “I’m all ears.”

Ten was left completely dumbfounded. He had just proposed something… crazy.... and yet Kun isn’t running. He doesn’t seem weirded out, or scared, or disgusted. He’s still there. 

“U-um…” Ten starts. “Just… small ones, I guess. Like cheek, nose, knuckles, forehead, hair, that kind of stuff,” Kun processes all this again. “A-and pecks on the lips are nice sometimes… i-if that’s not too much.”

Kun shakes his head and smiles, “Sounds good to me!” And to punctuate it, he places a small kiss on Ten’s forehead, setting the boy’s cheeks aflame once more. 

“T-Thanks,” He says genuinely.

“Of course Tenten,” The older contemplates giving him another kiss for assurance, but he decides that he shouldn’t overwhelm Ten too much just yet. “Anything for you.”

KUNTEN PIC OF THE DAY:

I call this one: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

[twoidiotwriters1]

Déjà Vu (Or are we losing our minds?) -Modern!Shirbert

A/N: That’s right! I’m starting a new (old if you ask the fellas in Ao3 lmao) AWAE series!! I was waiting to have enough chapters and now that day is finally here! I hope you like it -Danny

Words: 3,961

Next Chapter

Chapter One: Make Your Own Decision.

'Two souls don't find each other

                                      by simple accident.'

Gilbert wasn't a morning person.

Medical school was a pain in the ass, he didn't need to say that to anyone– He didn't like to complain at all if he was honest, after all, it was thanks to school that he was going to become a doctor. Still, he missed the lazy mornings on his bed, no worries in the world apart from what his father would make for breakfast.

That was years ago, though. Now he was an adult (or the closest thing to it, anyway) and he had bills to pay, he didn't have to pay rent and that was certainly a good thing, Bash and Mary were a gift sent from heaven after his dad had died, but he still helped around their house, along with the schoolwork he worked on relentlessly while trying to ignore the uncertain future knocking on his door almost every day.

After all the sleepless nights pacing around the kitchen, lights on and coffee maker ready to go, memorizing things and finishing research papers, he's pretty sure this isn't exactly healthy, but if he's bound to have similar routines for the rest of his life, he might as well get used to it.

He tries not to think a lot about that, his future, that is. All around him friends start to settle down, move out to their own places, find love, travel, having adventures while he spends all his weekends locked in his room learning about a new subject that is just as thrilling as any date he could possibly have.

That's a lie, of course. He longs for a break, an excuse to run wild and free just one night.

Luckily for him, that opportunity comes this Friday.

___________________

Anne's in love with the early sunlight, that warm, clear light that slips through her window every morning to announce a new day with no mistakes in it yet was about to start.

She loves the quiet, how time slows down for her while she pours a second cup of tea for her morning readings before heading to school. She loves the muffled noises Diana and Cole make while getting up, letting her know she has to hurry if she wants to start her routine on time.

She's a simple young woman (a very new one at that, if she was honest) and the little things still manage to give her a thrill that parties or any kind of social interaction simply can't.

That's half a truth, of course. She misses the weekly reunions with her Highschool friends, the bike rides with Jerry, her old neighbor, whenever they needed someone to rant about stupid things and none of their friends was around to do so.

Despite all this, she is fine. Anne follows the path to her dream: to become a successful writer for all kinds of people, to tell the stories that people need most at the moments when all hope seems lost and love is scarce.

However, when her Highschool friends text her and Diana about a much-needed reunion, she didn't have to think twice before replying with 'Oh god, YES.'

___________________

The Orchard was fairly known for its homely 'aesthetic' as some would call it, which attracted the younger people that needed a break from their crazy student lives. The diner had originally belonged to Gilbert's dad, but when he passed away, it fell onto Gilbert's hands and him, not wanting to close the place that had so many memories of his childhood, decided to add Bash's name into the papers.

Their dads had been good friends most of their lives, and although Gilbert and Bash aren't the same age, he thinks of him as some kind of older brother who always helped him get through the hard times, especially right after his father was gone. It was only natural that Bash owned half of the diner, after all, he loved the place as much as Gilbert, for his father had worked there in the bar while Mr. Blythe served the costumers.

The two lousy boys had dedicated most of their free, youthful time, to run around the place like they owned it. Now that they did, it was pretty much the same, only that this time they run around placing food on the tables and scribbling people's orders.

After a few months of hectic confusion, Bash's mother practically forced them to hire more staff, since they had their hands full and Gilbert was breaking under the pressure that it was to keep the business going the same as his career.

They hired one of Gilbert's old friends and a few students that lived near the diner. Moody Spurgeon, Prissy Andrews, Charlie Sloane, and the Pauls (They weren't related, they just happened to be named Paul).

That Friday was the last before their winter break, so it was packed with tons of eager students wanting to eat their money away now that most of them were returning home for the holidays. This meant two wonderful things to Gilbert:

One, the diner was going great.

Two, he was getting the well-deserved sleep he'd been lacking for months.

Excluding that night, because that night he was going to get utterly shitfaced with Moody and company after their evening shift.

___________________

"I've never heard of that place before," Anne replied distractedly as she kept grabbing things from the table and putting them inside her bag.

"Students love that place, Ruby says they serve the best food and she's always there, but Jane says she's actually crushing on one of the waiters, though Ruby refuses to either confirm or deny..."

"Ruby's always crushing on someone, though," Cole replied. "If she's still going after all this time, the food must be worth it as much as any cute boy."

"I honestly don't care as long as there's enough room to sit and have a long, long chat with all of you," Anne smiled dreamily. "I've missed them so much! Even Josie– And you know how often she tends to get on my nerves!"

"You wouldn't be missing them so much if you could put the books down every once in a while to hang with us," Diana rolled her eyes. "Honestly Anne, it's a miracle you're not blind or wear glasses at all after all the hours you stay with your face glued to the pages."

"I'd look awful with glasses!" Anne grimaced. "I hope my eyesight stays the same for the rest of my life."

"Well then, take care of your eyes and take a break from those books. Leave your bag here, you won't need it," Cole grinned.

Anne's eyes landed on the bag laying on top of their table. That bag was used for one thing only: To carry as many books as possible in case she got bored, so she could read at any time, any place. Also to carry her keys and pads, but those weren't as important.

"But... what if the girls arrive late?"

"You can talk to us, or are we too boring for you now, Miss Literate?" Diana teased.

"You know that's not it," She rolled her eyes. "Okay, if you want I'll leave the books."

"Perfect," Cole clapped once and got up excitedly. "Let's go!"

___________________

"Gilbert, come back to earth and take this to table three, will you?" Charlie hissed, putting the plate in front of his nose and waking the boy abruptly.

"Sorry!" He jumped, walking hurriedly to said table.

When he got back, Charlie was still there, examining his face.

"Are you sure you want to go out, man? I can tell you're worn out, maybe you should take a–"

"No!" Gilbert growled. He cleared his throat and continued on a much lighter voice after noticing this. "I- Uh, I'll be fine. I'll sleep all I want tomorrow, but today I really want to go out, before you and the boys go back to your homes for Christmas."

Charlie nodded with uncertainty.

"Maybe you should change places with Bash? The kitchen might keep you alert instead of sitting here and wait for people to call you over."

"Yeah..."

"I'll get him," His friend decided, walking back to the kitchen.

Gilbert heard the entrance's bell ring and turned to see Ruby Gillis and a few other girls enter.

Ruby was a good and constant client. He was glad about Bash taking his place because he believed that Ruby had a crush on Moody, and the waiter always took her orders no matter the table she was in, he didn't have enough energy to watch them ogle at each other.

"You okay, Blythe?" Bash patted his back once he and Charlie reappeared behind him. "You're sure you want to go out? With that look, you're likely to scare all the ladies away instead of getting a date for our Christmas party."

"Very funny," Gilbert scoffed. "I'm fine, I just need to stay active."

Before either Bash or Charlie could reply, he rushed into the kitchen, missing the exact moment when three new costumers arrived at the place.

***

"I see why people love it here," Anne said. "I feel cozy just by looking at it!"

"Yeah," Cole agreed, frowning slightly. "We are going to a bar after this, aren't we?"

"Cole!" They replied.

"I'm just asking!" He exclaimed. "It's lovely and all, but I'm not spending my last weekend away from my maniac siblings eating a freaking burger."

"It's likely," Diana retorted. When she noticed Anne's eyes widening, she quickly added. "No one will force you to get drunk, I know you hate how... uhm– Well, how crazy you get."

"I love drunk Anne!" Cole laughed. "Last time I saw her we were playing truth or dare and she was dared to kiss one of my friends, but then I convinced Josie to change the dare and after that Anne grabbed me by the collar and whispered very loudly. 'Thank you Cole. I actually want to kiss you now' and when I reminded her I was gay, she retorted 'Oh, sorry Gay, I thought you were Cole' "

Diana and Cole chortled, Anne shook her head in horror.

"Drunk me is terrible!"

"No! Only her puns are."

"Can we just get a table, please?"

"Oh!" Diana grabbed her arm, pulling her to a distant corner. "They're here already!"

The next few hours passed way too fast. Anne, finally reunited with her best friends, felt as if she was finally coming back to life.

As Diana had predicted, they decided to go to a bar a few streets down the road from The Orchard. A place their waiter, a young man named Moody and who Anne suspected was the waiter Ruby had feelings for, had recommended to them, casually letting them know that he was going to be there after work with a few of his friends. Ruby practically dragged them to the bar as soon as they paid the bill.

"Bet Ruby ends up declaring her love to that waiter in less than an hour, and ends up spending the rest of the Holidays mourning because she scared him away," Josie whispered audibly to Jane and Anne. The former sniggered and nudged Josie's arm. Anne frowned worryingly towards her friend, really hoping that wasn't the case.

___________________

"Who's ready to lose all memories from whatever happens tonight?" Paul asked loudly over the music, placing a bunch of drinks in front of the group.

The boys answered by chugging down drink after drink, getting clumsier as time went by.

Gilbert was having a blast, most of his days he wishes he could go back to being a teenager, slightly more different than the one he was. One that wasn't all that quiet and reserved and bitter about his dad's fate.

He longed for his lost youth, where he would attend parties and go to prom looking sharp, accompanied by a pretty girl beside him. All those teams and clubs he had to leave to stay home and spend the last days of his father's life next to his bed, all those gatherings he missed with people from other places because he had to get the best grades so one day he could be a doctor, so he could save the people he loved... so he didn't have to live through the uncertainty and the uselessness again.

Tonight he was finally getting that, he could pretend he was still just a boy, a stupid boy who didn't know how to drink and most certainly would end up throwing up half his stomach out of his body, but a happy boy at least.

"You know," He yelled to no one in particular. "Did you know, that you guys are my best friends?"

The boys replied with words of appreciation, patting his back harshly. Charlie even hugged him.

"I mean it!" He continued. "These last few months have been shit. There, I said it. Shit."

"What you need," One of the Pauls said, he wasn't as drunk as Gilbert, but he was definitely almost there. "What you need is to get laid."

The boys erupted into mayhem, agreeing with Paul. All of them except for Gilbert.

He frowned, not understanding what they meant.

"I said I'm not tired," Gilbert shook his head, his whole body losing stability and crashing against Moody, who held him in place as if it was normal to lose your ground while sitting on a chair. "I don't need to lay in bed just yet."

"I meant sex," Paul retorted, chugging down half of what he had in his glass.

"Oh," Gilbert sat back, eyebrows raising as if he'd never thought about it before. "Well, that's different."

"You need a break," Charlie slurred. "Or is the good doctor too much of a saint to touch a strange girl?"

"I'm not," Gilbert huffed, drinking what was left of his drink. "I can have sex. I like sex!"

"But Gilbert, you've never had–" Moody started, but was soon cut off by Gilbert's sudden movement.

The young man stood up, leaning on the table and losing all the color on his face. The rest of the group moved away as Moody grabbed Gilbert by the shoulders and straightened him up.

"Gilbert?" He asked, slightly coming back to his senses.

"Bathroom," He said quietly.

"Alright," Moody gulped. "Be right back, guys. Gilbert needs a moment."

___________________

Anne spent the majority of the night talking with everyone, and the problem with that is that she gets thirsty when that happens. Which is a dangerous thing to be at a bar.

Still, Cole -what a great friend he was- made sure to always keep her glass full so she could take sip after sip without having to wait.

She knew she was far from sober when she found herself in the middle of an argument with Josie and Tillie about zodiac signs. Anne was talkative on the daily, but after a few drinks she was simply unstoppable- There was no soul on earth or heaven that could follow her train of thoughts, and right now she wasn't even sure she was following them herself.

"I have to pee," She said, interrupting her own story and sliding out of their booth to stand up.

"I'll go with you," Ruby said, impatient to have an excuse to stand up and look around for Moody, she'd barely touched her drink all night.

"Okay, but it's not like I need help or anything," Anne rolled her eyes, accidentally stepping on Tillie's foot. "Woops! Sorry, Tillie!"

Cole watched her along with Diana, both raising their glasses and making a silent toast for their friend. Anne was finally having fun after such a dull term and it was simply amusing watching her act so recklessly during her drunken state.

"Don't stay for too long Anne," Ruby warned her. "Last time you fell asleep inside the stall and Diana had to crawl underneath to get you out!"

"It wasn't my fault!" She replied loudly. "I hadn't slept at all that week, and the alcohol makes wonders to my insomnia."

"I think you've had enough for tonight as well," Ruby grinned. "I'll get you a cold glass of water once where back in our table, okay?"

Anne nodded, silently making her way into the girl's toilet. Since it was just one bathroom, Ruby had to stand outside, leaning on the sink and examining her reflection on the mirror. Two men, one dragging the other, walk past her in a rush and opened the boy's bathroom harshly, the one who'd been dragged quickly fell to his knees and started vomiting his guts out.

"Oh my god!" Ruby gasped, covering her mouth in horror. "Is he okay?"

"He's fine," The guy said without turning to see her. "He doesn't drink this much often, that's all."

The young man stood up once he made sure Gilbert was doing fine on his own, not choking or anything, and turn to meet the blonde's eyes.

"Oh," His cheeks reddened. "Hi!"

"Moody!" She exclaimed happily. "You weren't lying, you came here after all!"

"Yeah," He smiled. "We wanted to give our buddy Gilbert a good night before we return home. Now I'm not so sure about it..." He grimaced at hearing his friend's grunts and gags.

"I'm with my friends as well, but I..." Ruby blushed lightly, even that she managed to make enchanting. "If you have time, we could seat together for a moment? Just the two of us?"

"Right now?" Moody asked in surprise.

"Well, no," Ruby peered over his shoulder at the boy's bathroom. "Not if you can't, I see your friend is feeling terrible..."

"He'll recover," Moody brushed it off. "He's studying to become a doctor, you know? I bet he'll see his way out now that the alcohol's out of his system"

"You're sure?" The girl inquired.

"Are you able right now?" Moody looked behind her to see the girl's door. "Were you waiting in line or is one of your friends there?"

"A friend, she's also wasted," Ruby said, pondering her options. "But... I guess if she managed to walk all the way here on her own... she can walk back just fine?"

Moody's smile widened.

"We better go get those drinks, then?"

"Sure!" Ruby exclaimed, holding Moody's wrist and dragging him back to the bar.

A minute after her friend had left, Anne walked out of the toilet, mid-conversation with a Ruby she didn't know was no longer there.

"... and the toilets here are so comfortable, I almost felt tempted to have a nap right there, but a promise is a promise– See, Ruby? I didn't stay for too long!" She looked up to find the spot empty, her confidence falling. "Or perhaps I did..?"

Lightly stumbling her way over to the sink, she focused on washing her hands before going back. Her reflection looked back at her and smiled happily, putting some strands of loose hair behind her ear and failing to notice the boy's door opening.

There was a small slate on her right with the words 'Wash your hands before you leave! :)' written with purple chalk that she found adorable. She picked it up to examine it further when a body clumsily crashed against her side.

"Woops!" The man said, not looking up. "Sorry."

Anne raised her brow for a second before turning her attention back to the slate.

Gilbert washed his face and hands, the world less blurry than before but still awfully intoxicated. Paul's comment came back to him and feeling the girl's presence behind his back he decided it was rather convenient.

"Excuse me," He asked, looking up and facing the girl's reflection. "Can I ask you something?"

It took her a moment to realize he was talking to her, the man kept staring at the mirror instead of turning to face her, but she could sort of see his face under the dim lights looking back at her though, and since she was feeling rather chatty, she obliged.

"Sure, what's up?"

"Do I look like I need sex?"

Anne laughed.

"Dunno, why're you asking?"

"My life sucks," Gilbert shook his head casually. "And I'm about to have the worst hangover ever."

"That makes two of us, dude."

Gilbert tilted his head, turning to see her now, taking in her appearance.

"You would have sex with me?"

"Excuse me," Anne frowned. "I barely know you!"

"Yeah, but am I attractive?"

"It doesn't matter, I wouldn't have sex with a stranger."

"Very well, then imagine that I'm not a stranger," Gilbert rolled his eyes, having to hold on to the corner of the sink so as not to lose his balance. "Would you do it?"

Anne started to imagine, she imagined a great deal so she could give a precise answer.

"Well, I'd have to know your medical records cause I don't wanna get any diseases, and then I'd have to find you likable because looks aren't everything– and if I'm having sex with you I probably want something that lasts–"

"Nevermind," Gilbert snorted. "I think we're both better if we don't have anything at all."

"Why's that?" Anne asked irritatedly, this guy was making no sense to her.

"You overthink a lot and I already do that way too much for my own good," Gilbert explained.

"Oh, so you'd rather take advantage of a dumb girl, is that what you're saying?"

"That's what you're saying," He scoffed. "I only asked if you'd have sex with me in a hypothetical scenario but you rambled on with the rest, Carrots."

"I was giving an honest reply," She stated. "And don't call me, Carrots. You sound like a child."

Gilbert laughed loudly at that.

"Better a child than a grumpy librarian," He walked up to her, grabbed a strand of her hair and pulled lightly, with a taunting voice, he added. "Carrots."

Anne's fingers gripped the slate harder than ever as she flung it to the man's head. It was small and thin, so it didn't cause severe damage, but the slate broke in half with a nasty 'crack' that pleased her a bit too much.

"How dare you!" She yelled in drunk anger. "I don't know who the hell you are, but I'm certain no one would have sex with a jerk!"

She stormed off, giving Gilbert no opportunity to apologize. Although he didn't seem to mind that much at the moment, the things around him spun once more and he had to return to the toilet to vomit what was left of his evening drinks, dreading the following morning.

___________________

Anne, Cole, and Diana returned home with rosy cheeks and loud laughter surrounding them. The trio intoxicated in happiness and many, many margaritas and shots.

"Best night ever!" Anne yelled as she let herself fall on the couch, kicking off her shoes.

"Told you it was going to be fun!" Diana grinned, laying beside her.

"My favorite part was to find Ruby making out with the waiter when I went to ask for the check," Cole cackled. "No wonder why she abandoned you in the bathroom!"

"Don't even tell me about it, I had the most unpleasant encounter–"

"Oh my god!" Diana sat up, looking at her phone with wide eyes. "It's four in the morning! We have to be back in Avonlea in less than eight hours!"

Cole and Anne groaned.

"Can't we have a nap first? We packed all of our things already!" Anne whined.

"Please?" Cole fell on the couch opposite to them. "I'm exhausted!"

"Fine..." Diana sighed. "But I'm certain my mom's gonna kill me for arriving late."

"What can she do? Forbid you to go to their Christmas dinner?" Cole chuckled. "Just sleep, Diana."

"Goodnight, guys."

"Goodnight!"

"Sweet dreams," Anne mumbled, half-asleep.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––

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[tilltheendwilliwrite]

I Like Boys

A Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers Story

Master List

Pairing: Stucky   |  Word Count: 2256  |  Warnings: Language

Based on the Todrick Hall song I Like Boys

A/N: With all the crazy in the world right now, I thought we could all use a little something fun and fluffy. This is my first Pride fic, please be kind as I did my absolute best. Love who you love, people. There’s nothing greater in life.

This fic is for @magellan-88​ who inspires me even when she doesn’t intend to.

***

James Buchanan Barnes was ninety-seven years old when his Hydra programming finally broke. He spent two years running from his best friend, another two in cryo, and five after that apparently blipped into nothing. After the fight - were, somehow, they all came out alive - Bucky decided, fuck it! 

How many times had he almost died? How many chances had he had? How many more would he waste before finally living his best life?

So he retired—sort of. 

There was no such thing as "retiring" when your idiot best friend continued to throw himself out of planes and into the line of fire on a regular basis, but Steve did slow down. He took on a more managerial role, was promoted to "General" for his service, and spent his days sitting on his ass behind a desk. 

Bucky liked him there. He liked having Steve unbruised and unbusted at the end of the day, saunter through the door to their joint living space and holler, "Honey, I'm home!"

It was a joke on the blond's part that was wearing thin, for when Bucky decided to live his best life, he'd begun to do some research about what that meant. Be true to you was a big part of it. But to be true to himself, he had to be honest with himself, and honesty meant admitting he'd been in love with Steven "is this a test" Rogers for most of his natural life. 

Sadly, Steve liked girls. Case in point, one Peggy "gonna bust some balls" Carter. 

Bucky couldn't exactly compete with that. She was one classy dame, and it hurt him to know that Steve would likely never move on. This era and it's dating rituals had thrown Cap for a loop. Women were too forward, and Steve - surprisingly - too shy to dive into the world of casual dates and sex. 

For Bucky, it was different. He liked boys. There, he'd said it, but he still hadn't said it to Steve. Natasha, however, was a different story. She'd grown used to him sighing and pining on her shoulder. She said she hated it - she didn't - but she bitched enough for both of them. 

Then she took him shopping. 

While he was standing in some place called Sephora with miles of makeup and aisle of perfume that kind of made him want to sneeze, he had the shock of his life. All this "girly" crap everywhere, but in the middle of it was a guy? A cute guy. With well-groomed hair and this fabulous winged eyeliner - nothing like his Hydra days - wearing really cute skinny jeans and glitter on his cheeks. 

Enchanted, Bucky left Natasha's side and slowly made his way over. The guy, man, guy he wasn't sure, looked up and flashed him a smile. 

"Help you, honey?"

Bucky blinked. He had fantastic skin. "You're so shiny." A flush immediately reddened his face. 

But Sephora Guy, whose name ended up being Ben, laughed and lightly patted his arm. "Aw, thanks, sweets. You looking for some skin care tips?"

Bucky nodded, unsure what else to do. 

"Honey, you came to the right fella!" 

Ben grabbed his wrist and led him to a chair where he bid Bucky sit. For the next hour, he was educated on everything from moisturizer to foundation to why Ben wore makeup. They talked about hair care, skin care, and what it meant to be "out" with such enthusiasm. Bucky had never spoken so candidly with anyone about his sexuality and found it enlightening. 

He left the shop with five hundred dollars worth of product, a list for the hair salon, and a bunch of links to reputable websites if Bucky had more questions. 

The smug on Natasha said she set him up, but he didn't care. He'd had the best day.

And when everything wound up on the counter in his and Steve's shared bathroom, Steve only arched a brow, smiled, and said nothing. 

Bucky continued to learn, research, and occasionally visit the mall to have coffee with Ben or his partner Matt. They were always kind, never impatient, and easy-going. He'd begun to wonder if they hadn't realized who he was until one day he asked, and they both looked at him with amused smiles. 

"Metal arm, slightly brooding, runs around after a "little punk" but now with a much better skin routine? Honey. Please," Ben snorted.

After, Bucky began to explore and try new things. He cooked, found a love for baking, and especially loved baking for Steve. The man refused to slow down, so it never affected Steve's physique, but Bucky found he was a little bit softer around the middle, his face fuller, his body less hard, and he liked it. 

It was nice not to be combat-ready all the time. Sure he could strap on the black and spend nine hours running down Hydra, that hadn't changed, but he had the smallest pudge of a belly, a soft little roll that he loved. 

Then, out of the blue, Natasha introduced him to roller derby. 

Bucky was thrilled! He'd never seen anything so flashy, showy, violent in all his life that was meant to be fun! Oh, sure he'd watch the wrestling that showed up on TV, but he felt most of that was so phony. This? This was chaos. This was mayhem. 

This was freaking awesome!

And the women were great. They were loud and boisterous, or sweet and shy, but when they put on their gear, they all became demons. Natasha occasionally trained with the group known as Red's Devils, a group of women from difficult circumstances she sponsored during the blip. It gave the ladies an outlet for grief, anger, pain that they wouldn't have had otherwise.

Once they met him, they'd put him in a pair of roller skates and dragged him around the track. Of course, with the serum and his enhanced body, getting his balance and figuring out how to move on wheels was cake, and soon he was skating around the room, learning neat tricks and tips from the women catcalling and laughing along with him

Bucky loved it. 

Finally, after seventy years as a Hydra pawn and all the crap that came afterward, he'd figured it out, found himself, and was happy. The only thing he wasn't satisfied with was Steve. 

It was getting harder and harder to pretend like he didn't tent his pants every time the big dumb blond wandered through the apartment in a towel. Or that "Honey, I'm home!" didn’t make his damn heart flutter. Some days it hurt to look at his stupid beautiful face and not want to kiss it. Or punch it. 

He swore Steve's shirts were getting tighter. Sometimes, it felt like his eyes lingered. 

The shit was messing with his head, dammit!

Then, just as the world was getting it's shit back together, the pandemic happened. Covid 19 struck, and everything stopped. The world stood still, went into lockdown, and Bucky wanted to slam his head on the wall.

He had been going to his first Pride event with Ben and Matt, ready to step outside and be who he was, while those who didn't approve could kiss his lily-white ass. He was going to tell Steve. He was going to stop hiding, conforming, resiting who he was. And it all went to shit thanks to a fucking virus.

He was pissed! It wasn't fair! He'd been so prepared. 

Natasha found him pouting on the couch in the common area of the now mostly empty compound. Anyone who could go home was sent home, leaving them running a skeleton crew of people, and forcing as much separation as possible. 

She flopped down mostly on top of him. "Why so glum, chum?"

"Pride's cancelled," he muttered. 

She snorted. "No, it's not."

He rolled his eyes. "We're under a shelter in place order, Natalia."

"I'm aware, Barnes," she huffed. "But Pride isn't cancelled. Just because you can't strut down the street waving a rainbow flag doesn't stop what this month is about. It's about you, celebrating you, and all the people who came before you who fought, screamed, raged against injustice and in some cases, died to be able to stand up proudly and say I'm gay, I'm bisexual, I'm transgender. You can't go out. That doesn't mean you can't celebrate."

She patted his chest and left him sitting there to think about what she said.

***

The music that pounded through the compound jerked Steve's head up. Reports forgotten, he rose and went to look out his office door, only to gape in shock as Bucky, wearing the shortest, tightest, black shorts he'd ever seen and a cropped top that showed off his cute little belly, rolled by on roller skates. He'd cut his hair not long ago, his interest in styling it a new hobby. Right now, it was fluffed high and held there with wax, looking soft and shiny and pretty as hell. Glitter sparkled on his cheeks, on his lashes, and glossed his lips. 

He smirked as he rolled by, blue eyes amused. "Close your mouth, Rogers."

Steve swallowed thickly and followed Bucky down the hallway. Those shorts should be illegal. The top wasn't much better. The cropped top was blue, sleeveless, showing off defined muscles and metal arm. His skin freaking glowed against the blue. 

It was seriously unfair how hot his best friend was, and Steve thanked his lucky stars he'd worn sweats and underwear today that helped disguise the tent forming in his pants. 

When Bucky stooped to pick up a big ass rainbow flag, Steve's jaw dropped. He knew what June first represented, how did Bucky?

Like a moth to a flame, Steve followed Bucky into the common room where Bucky was skating in happy circles, singing along to the music. 

"I like boys, I like pecs, like them arms when they flex. Like that print in them sweats. Tell them, girls, "Thank you, next." I like when they text me sexy pics of 'em, like them abs when there's six of 'em. Tell them girls I'm sorry; I like boys, Mama, boys like me."

Steve's jaw dropped. His mind refused to compute what he was hearing. It blue screened, whited out, and returned in time to watch Bucky drop it low and twerk like he'd done it all his life. 

"I like when they shake it, shake it. I like when they grind real slow. I like when they almost naked. Tell dad I'm so homo. Lights off, doors shut. Tall, dark, clean-cut. Thick with a bubble but. Yup, Mama, I like boys."

A sound like a fax machine escaped his throat as Bucky danced, shook his ass, swung his hips, and sent Steve's mind so far into the gutter he wondered if it would ever come out. 

"Bitch, B to the O to the Y to the S, Boys will be boys, and with boys, I'm obsessed. Boys in their gym clothes, boys in a dress, and if boys are a crime, then I'm under arrest. 'Cause I've been boy crazy since the boy scouts. Fuck the closets, let the boys out. Don't be a camel when you are a llama, period. No comma, bring on all the drama. Mama, I like boys, I like pecs, like them arms when they flex. Like that print in them sweats. Tell them girls, "Thank you, next." I like when they text me sexy pics of 'em. Like them abs when there's six of 'em. Tell them girls I'm sorry; I like boys, Mama, boys like me."

The music continued to play, but Bucky rolled away from the window, leaving the flag he'd been carrying behind on the couch when he skated up to Steve and stopped. On the skates, Bucky was inches taller and caused Steve to tilt his head back to look up at him as he had when they were kids. 

"So," Bucky murmured, a blush under the glitter and eyes suddenly shy and uncertain. "I like boys."

Steve's heart clenched. Before he could stop himself or second guess what he was doing, his hand shot out, grabbed the back of Bucky's neck, and dragged his friend down in a kiss that had been pent up for almost a century. 

Bucky squeaked, flailed once, almost rolled away, and finally wrapped his arms around Steve in a near bone-crushing hug. Lips slanted, mouths softened, parted, inhaled, changed the angle and softened. 

Tingles raced through Steve's body as he kissed Bucky, his Bucky, pouring every bit of emotion he felt into it. Then, he nipped his teeth into Bucky's lip and slowly pulled away. 

"I'm bisexual," Steve murmured. "I've known for years."

"You punk-ass piece of shit! Why didn't you say something?" Bucky barked, but Steve noticed he didn't let go. 

"There wasn't time." He gently squeezed Bucky's nape. "And how do you tell your best friend in the whole world you've been in love with him your entire life?"

"Steve…" Bucky whispered, resting their foreheads together. "You're an idiot."

Steve kissed him again because there was no refuting that logic.

***

From the second-floor observation deck, Natasha turned her phone camera from the scene below to her grinning face. The live stream event had hearts and comments blowing up her Instagram. "Happy Pride everyone. If those two old farts can figure it out, anyone can." 

She blew a kiss at the camera and ended the stream.

-The End- 

[fandomlurker]

A Ponderous Rewatch: Battle for the Planet and Cameos

You know, I keep trying to be minimal with the amount of images I put in these posts, but I think it’s kind of a losing battle…especially when it comes to episodes animated by TMS like the second one coming later on today. I can’t help it, some of the expressions and poses are just too good to not be shared.

In any case, let’s begin with one very small cameo appearance in “Space Probed”:

Our little duo have apparently found themselves abducted by aliens, only to be kept in lab conditions much like the one on Earth at ACME Labs. This is one of those times where I wish I could know the production order of these episodes and not just the air date order… Why? Well, because this small cameo could potentially line up really well with an upcoming episode. Just keep that in mind for now.

With that out of the way, we move on to our next full skit:

And we begin with the Brain expositing to Pinky about how he came up with the plan for this episode.

“Halloween, Pinky: 1938. Mercury Radio Theatre presented an adaptation of H. G. Wells’ ‘War of the Worlds’ that was so realistic, people actually fled the cities believing that creatures from Mars were attacking the Earth. It proved that radio was a powerful tool…and now, Pinky, the advance of technology has brought us an even more powerful tool. Do you know what that is?”

Before we move on, how many of you reading this have heard about this? And how many of you know that this is actually an incident that happened in real life? Yes, people actually fled their homes after hearing this broadcast. Not a lot of people, of course. Not by a long shot. Most just made panicked phone calls to their local police station or to the radio station itself to find out what was really going on. The incident also wasn’t nationwide or anything like that, it was quite local. If anything, the radio play caused much more outrage after the fact than initial panic.

Another amusing anecdote is that Orson Welles was the man who directed, narrated, and played a main character in the broadcast. For those of you who may not be in the know, although Brain was initially based on animator and writer Tom Minton at Warner Brothers, Brain’s voice actor Maurice LaMarche based his voice on Orson Welles. Or, well, as Mr. LaMarche puts it: “The Brain is 70 percent Welles, 20 percent Vincent Price, and I don't know, there's another 10 percent of something else in there. I don't know what. Some people think it's Peter Lorre. I don't know what it is.”.

Strong references aside, I’m betting most of you can see the massive holes in the Brain’s plan already. Hoo boy…

“Umm… The rubber band?”

“The workings of your mind are a mystery to me, Pinky.”

“Ooo! I love a good mystery, Brain!”

You know, this little sequence with Brain nonchalantly stretching the rubber band while walking away from Pinky and Pinky determinedly holding on until Brain lets go off camera and sends Pinky flying is… Well, I don’t know what it is about it, but it’s kind of cute in a weird slapstick way? Like, it’s hard to tell if Brain did that on purpose to send Pinky flying for not understanding his plan…or if he actually wanted Pinky to follow him and tried to lead him to where he was walking but Pinky thought it was some kind of tug-o-war game and Brain got exasperated and let go of the rubber band.

Either way, Pinky doesn’t seem to mind.

“Television, Pinky, is our new tool!”

“We will pirate the airwaves and stage a hoax like ‘War of the Worlds’!”

Brain, you’re very good with that lasso. I’m impressed!

“Three cameras, Brain?”

“Yes… A technique pioneered by the great Desi Arnaz. And with them we will scare the people of the cities, leaving no resistance behind. We will have taken over the world!”

Well, Brain, that technique first being used by Desi Arnaz is a myth (it was more than likely actually pioneered by Jerry Fairbanks around 1947), but I’m going to give you a pass on this because you likely couldn’t fact check this very well at the time.

I do have to give Brain credit for being as dramatic as possible while announcing his plan, though. He really does know how to put on a show.

“Egad, Brain, brilliant!”

And Pinky is, as usual, full of praise and extremely excited about the plan. Look at him clapping and hopping around, aww… I’m starting to think that half the reason Brain goes through with these long, expository explanations of his plans to Pinky despite Pinky not quite following along a lot of the time is just to impress Pinky. Brain needs reassurance and Pinky always provides.

“Oh! Oh, wait, no, no…”

“Why would they be scared of us? We’re so small and we’re practically the size of mice, Brain.”

“We are mice, Pinky.”

“Oh, right! Well, there you are, then. Eh heh heh…”

…Okay, so, Pinky also tends to deflate the praise a bit when pointing out potential flaws in the plan like this, but it’s the initial thought that counts.

Yeah, I know, Brain. I know. But Pinky really is trying to be helpful.

“It’s not a question of size, Pinky. It’s a question of scale! Watch the monitor.”

“*gasp* Zounds, Brain! You’re gigantic!”

“Television, Pinky: The Great Deceptor!”

“Narf~…”

No, you aren’t seeing things. Pinky just…just stands there in front of the TV looking at live footage of a close-up of Brain and sighs in awe and affection while clasping his little hands together. I don’t even think I need to make a “Fellas, is it gay to--?” joke here. All that’s missing is little hearts appearing around his head.

We cut to a little while later, where the duo has everything set up for their broadcast. It looks like Pinky must have done the lettering for their props, since it actually looks decent and nothing like Brain’s scrawlings. Yes, I’m going to continue roasting Brain’s terrible penmanship. It amuses me.

“How is my disguise, Pinky?”

“OH! Is that you, Brain?!?”

“You flatter me, Pinky. Now, throw the switch and let us begin…the Battle for the Planet!”

Title drop! Also, aww. To be fair, Brain, I’m not sure Pinky was intending to be flattering so much as he was actually unsure if that really was you or not. But the fact that you took it as flattery is very telling, I think.

Pinky throws the switch, and the plan is officially underway!

According to the Animaniacs wiki, these people bear a striking resemblance to Elmyra’s family. If that’s what was intended, this is quite the early omen for the horrible “Pinky, Elmyra, and the Brain” spin-off that was made after the regular PatB spin-off. I don’t think I’m going to fully cover that show in the far future. It’s not the fun kind of terrible…it’s just terrible.

Oh hey, they were watching Family Matters! Too bad this is many, many years before they could bear witness to Dark Urkle Tribute.

And there’s Ralph, enjoying coffee and a doughnut.

And…some TV station broadcast folks. It kinda bothers me that these two basically have the same model except for different hair colours.

“We interrupt your regular broadcast to bring you this important news bulletin…”

“What is that?!”

“Someone’s pirated the TV lines!”

“Scientists have just reported that a large, unidentified flying object seems to be heading towards Earth. There is no cause for alarm…”

“…But there probably will be.”

Subtle, Brain.

Oh, hi, Warners! You certainly picked a good time to escape tonight.

“We take you now to our satellite view of the planet, perhaps to catch a glimpse of this fearful courier of the unknown.”

Cue Pinky making ridiculous “shoosh” and “shoom” and “weee!~” noises. Very convincing.

“I’ve just received word that the UFO is about to crash land nearby. There should be a great explosion!”

“I said, THERE SHOULD BE A GREAT EXPLOSION!”

“Hmm? Oh! OH, right, Brain! Narf!”

Nice blep, pinky.

Somehow, people watching the broadcast are still terrified. I’ve gotta admit that I didn’t expect this plan to go this well for this long.

…Okay, maybe I spoke too soon.

“Sorry, Brain…”

“…We’ll go live to the crash site momentarily.”

He says before near-instantly cutting to the “crash site”, still in the same disguise. Brain, honey, I know you’re probably trying to reduce broadcast downtime so that the audience doesn’t start to question what they’re seeing, but you do know that quick cuts like this ruin the illusion of this being a live broadcast…right?

Oh, who am I kidding? Of course he doesn’t know that. As usual, Brain has tunnel vision and expects his plans to go one certain way, and any details that don’t fit his internal narrative are discarded or not even thought about.

Just let me slide on in…

“I’m reporting to you live from the crash site and I…I’m at a loss for words. Can we get a shot of this very frightening scene?”

He’s right. That’s the most frightening…ly obvious cardboard spaceship I have ever seen.

But okay, I love these tiny prop improvisations they had to do. The bare cardboard wings taped to some kind of spray can for the body of the ship, a stray water cooler cup for the cone, test tubes for the thrusters, random little sewing pins for some kind of antenna, a dirty beige blanket to simulate soil for the crash zone… It’s so hastily cobbled together yet so goddamn cute.

Ralph still seems convinced that this is real, though that isn’t saying much.

“I am now positioned close to the…well, I can only assume that this is a vehicle from outer space, its occupants here to destroy the Earth.”

“Oooo!~ OoooOOOooo!~”

“Wait! There is a strange noise emanating from inside. Something seems to be coming out of the ship!”

They made a glove into an alien space suit with a tiny peephole to accommodate Pinky’s face and they fashioned a little belt from something for it, aaaaa! This is so adorable! Look at Pinky trying to be scary! He’s just all >:B throughout this entire scene.

BUG FOGGER

WARNING

CONTENTS UNDE

EXTREME PRESS

GAS

I’m wondering why they couldn’t label it as “bug spray”. I’ve honestly never heard of it being called “bug fogger”. Is that an American thing? (Also: Tiny sandbag wall!)

“Oh my! It’s hideous! Ladies and gentlemen, I can hardly describe this terrifying creature before me, except to say: Run for your lives! Go on! Empty the cities! Leave everything behind!”

“I…I don’t know how long I can stay on the air. I’ll try to get to our aerial view in chopper five!”

Okay, it seems even Elmyra’s family and the broadcast folks are still under the impression that this is actually happening. And Brain instantly cuts again to the aerial view. Brain, I think you’ve been watching too many movies.

“Chopper five, high above the city. The horrible creatures from Mars…invading…destroying everything in their path! Oh, the humanity!”

Since this is a still image the impact is lessened but Brain is rapidly beating his fist against his side to simulate the sound of helicopter blades and it’s actually pretty effective. Well done, lil guy, I never would’ve thought to do something like that. Your foley work is great!

The milk carton buildings still have straws in them to make chimneys! There’s little Chinese takeout boxes as buildings, too! I’m so charmed by all these quaint ways they’ve made their props.

Also, the Pinky-alien has apparently grown to kaiju size now, somehow. Brain, you’ve got to make your hoax at least a little consistent!

“This is no hoax, ladies and gentlemen. I urge you to run for your lives while you can! We’re not making this up just so we can take over the world!”

Goddamnit, Brain. You are the worst liar in the history of forever.

“Oh no! It’s heading this way! Run for your lives! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!”

I just thought these cowering poses Brain did were funny and cute. He is so small and vulnerable…

So Pinky starts to menace the camera itself and—

—Oops. This isn’t going to go well.

Poor, poor Pinky.

“We did it, Pinky. Brilliant performance!”

Holy shit, sincere praise from Brain! I’m sure Pinky will treasure it.

“Undoubtedly, the population has fled in fear from their ‘terrifying enemy’, HA!”

Umm. About that, Brain…

“Let us make haste…to The White House!”

Brain, you may want to at least wait a little while so that people can actually—

Ouch.

WOW, who needs Twitter in this universe when the press is this fast?

“’Battle for the Planet is a comedy smash… World laughs together. Stay home for this one!’”

“Pinky, are you pondering what I’m pondering?”

“Well, I think so, Brain…but if we didn’t have ears, we’d look like weasels.”

“[sighs] No, Pinky… Our hoax…no one went anywhere! No one fled the cities! They found us…humorous.”

If it helps any, boys, I also found you incredibly adorable.

“Where are you going, Brain?”

“Back to our cage, Pinky. We must plan for tomorrow night.”

“Why? What are we going to do tomorrow night?”

I like how Pinky is at first concerned about Brain’s mood and then we he sees that Brain is just walking home to plan for tomorrow night he’s bouncing on his tip-toes after him.

“The same thing we do every night, Pinky: Try to take over the world!”

TO BE CONTINUED because apparently Tumblr finds this post too long otherwise,

[olehistorian]

https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/the-interview-imelda-staunton-is-tight-lipped-on-playing-the-crowns-future-queen-pkzpb76b2

Have you watched Vera Drake lately? Obviously, you have to be in a certain Saturday-night mood to turn off The Masked Singer and choose to put on Mike Leigh’s tale of a big-hearted backstreet abortionist in the East End in 1950. But it’s worth another visit. It’s one of the great British films and turbo-boosted the careers of many a character actor. Leading the ensemble cast in the title role — in an Oscar-nominated, Bafta-winning performance — was Imelda Staunton, who would become queen of them all. And possibly even the Queen. We’ll come to that.

“Just the best, best, best job of my life,” is how Staunton reflects on Vera Drake now. “Yeah, it was very hard to continue after that.”

After Vera Drake, Staunton had the little-old-lady role pretty much sewn up. The “little” is unavoidable. She’s 5ft nothing. In the hotel sideroom in which we meet, she fidgets on the edge of an armchair, sipping a juice a similar shade of green to her blouse and trench coat, which she keeps on throughout the interview. The “old” is perhaps more unfair: she was in her forties when she played Drake. We meet the day before her 64th birthday. “I think a lot of women now don’t think about their age because it’s changed for women, hasn’t it?”

She did “harrowing” again last year in ITV’s true-crime A Confession, playing the mother of Sian O’Callaghan, the 22-year-old from Swindon who was murdered in 2011. But otherwise, of late, she’s been — in the nicest way possible — British cinema’s arch biddy: in the gay-rights drama Pride; in Nanny McPhee; in the Downton Abbey movie alongside her husband, Jim Carter, who plays the long-suffering butler Carson; and as Professor Dolores Umbridge in the Harry Potter films. It all comes back to Mike Leigh. “I wouldn’t have got Harry Potter if my profile hadn’t been upped with Vera Drake,” she says. “They might have wanted me, but I wasn’t, you know, hot enough.”

At the end of last year, it was reported that the ultimate little-old-lady part was coming Staunton’s way: succeeding Olivia Colman as the Queen in series five and six of The Crown. Netflix played it down as “speculation”. But at a charity event at the Ivy before Christmas, Grant Tucker, the Sunday Times entertainment correspondent, asked Staunton’s husband, Carter, what it was like being married to royalty. “Thankfully I don’t have to start bowing to her for another two years,” he replied, “so I have plenty of time to practise.” So it’s true? Staunton’s reply is immediate, polite and professional: “I can’t discuss anything to do with that.” Which isn’t, you’ll note, a no.

She tells me she woke up at 4am today, thinking about her next big gig — Hello, Dolly! at the Adelphi Theatre. It isn’t on until August. Rehearsals don’t start until June. But “to me, that’s 10 minutes”, she says. “I just know the process is beginning. As Jim said, ‘This is the rest of the year, is it?’ I think about it and think about it. ‘How the hell am I going to do that?’ [Past success] means nothing at all, because it’s the next challenge. The more people say, ‘Ooh, it’s going to be great,’ the more I just get so depressed.”

And what success. In the West End, she’s busted free of the twinsets to become a bona fide, big-lunged musical star — a pocket rocket with a trail of five-star reviews and awards in her wake. Her first Olivier was back in 1991, for Into the Woods. In 2013, she won one for Sweeney Todd, in which she appeared alongside Michael Ball. Stephen Sondheim saw her performance and told her she should take on a revival of Gypsy next. The 2016 Olivier followed for that.

Her dog, Molly, a terrier, appeared on stage with her in the early performances of Gypsy, at the Chichester Festival Theatre. One time, during the West End run, a mouse snuck into her costume. “I did the whole first 20 minutes with a mouse inside the sleeve of my coat, singing the song, carrying on the scene. It’s good what your head can cope with, isn’t it?” It’s not the sort of thing that should happen to a Harry Potter star, surely? “That’s what you want. That’s the reality of the glamour of the thing.”

Staunton grew up in Archway, north London, above her mum’s hairdressing shop. Her dad was a labourer. Her mum, a first-generation Irish immigrant, was a big fan of the Queen. She died just before her daughter received her Oscar nomination for Vera Drake, and before Staunton collected her OBE and later CBE from the palace. “She’d have bloody loved all that,” she says.

She went to a convent school — “a really nice one because we had a lot of lay teachers”. Her report cards read: “Imelda could try harder, but she was very good in the play.” Her elocution teacher, Mrs Stoker, pushed her towards Rada, where contemporaries included Alan Rickman, Timothy Spall and Juliet Stevenson. When she got her first job in London, in 1982, it was in a musical: Guys and Dolls at the National Theatre. Staunton, by now used to lead roles, was only in the chorus. “I was thinking, ‘I just played Electra, what am I doing? Oh God.’” But Ian Charleson, Bob Hoskins, Julie Covington and Julia McKenzie were higher up the bill. “That’s what I was doing there: learning, really, really learning. That was wonderful.”

Also in the cast, seven years her senior, was Jim Carter. They married the following year. In 1986 they appeared together in Dennis Potter’s classic TV musical The Singing Detective. But, until the Downton movie, their working lives seldom intersected. “We don’t ever try not to work together — we just haven’t,” she says. “On the Downton film, we got completely overexcited, as we went to work for three days at the same time. What was lovely was doing the publicity together: travelling, just being in a hotel. We made sure we enjoyed ourselves.”

They have had a long-standing pact not to spend more than a couple of weeks apart, a rule Staunton broke to film Ang Lee’s Taking Woodstock (no, me neither). “I think it was five weeks: I was in America and thought, ‘Yep, that’ll do.’”

She enjoyed last summer filming Flesh and Blood, a new four-part ITV drama, on the coast near Eastbourne. “The sea does do something different to you, doesn’t it? I do think it would be brilliant to have somewhere by the sea, but it’s not going to happen.” She’s happy at home in Hampstead with Carter, walking the dog, spending days at the Test match and doing the gardening: “That’s probably an older person’s thing to say. Well, f*** it, you know? It’s healing, really healing. Having a stable place to come back to is quite necessary for me and for Jim, I think. It nourishes us. It allows us to go into a place that isn’t comfortable because you know you can get back to a more comfortable place.”

Flesh and Blood is an example of good parts being written for older people, especially women. “I’m encouraged by it,” says Staunton. “Very encouraged.” It’s not so much a whodunnit as a whodunnwot. In its rather gripping first episode, there’s a mystery body on a beach and a recent widow (played by 74-year-old Francesca Annis) starting a new life with a new fella who has a whiff of the gigolo about him. Staunton is back as the little old lady, Mary, a creepy next-door neighbour with a pair of binoculars and penchant for opening other people’s mail. This primetime drama does contain scenes of pensioners smooching.

“It’s not just for the sake of it,” says Staunton. “This isn’t trying to be ‘Oh, we’re beautiful things having sex later in life.’ There’s a loving relationship developing. The fact that [in one of Annis’s scenes] the dressing gown slips off is not extraordinary.” Would Staunton ever want a crack at being the older woman getting the, ahem, action? “I don’t think that would be required,” she replies. “I don’t think so, no — not unless it was funny.”

We talk about the trial of the film producer Harvey Weinstein. What experience has Staunton had of that grim — and criminal — casting- couch culture? “None. Absolutely none,” she says. “I’m not surprised [that it goes on], but I’ve always been in situations where women are treated equally. In the rehearsal room, women behave as they wish to behave and are listened to, and that’s normal. I never thought, ‘Oh, isn’t this marvellous, somebody’s listening to me?’ I’ve never witnessed it, but I hope good will come out of this. The irony of that” — she pauses to choose the word carefully — “situation is that that man [Weinstein] has made good things happen now. Hurrah.”

It won’t come as too much of surprise that she voted Labour in last month’s election — her MP, Tulip Siddiq, has a 14,000-vote majority in Hampstead and Kilburn, Glenda Jackson’s old seat. Staunton voted for remain. She also featured in a video last year for Extinction Rebellion, organised by Richard Curtis. “It was a friend who said, ‘Could you come along, they’re just doing it today, this bit of filming.’ Well, I was doing nothing else. I’m not climbing up the side of a building, so I’ll go and do that. If I can help, I’ll do that. As much as we can all do, every little bit helps.”

Does she worry about putting her head above the parapet like that? “No, not at all. That’s the only bloody point of any slight fame: you’ve got to use it, to put it to good use.” She has also provided the voice for some polar bears for Greenpeace. “Trump is just an absolute … It’s just a nightmare, and the climate’s a nightmare and Brexit’s a nightmare. And yet I wake up thinking about Hello, Dolly!”

At 64, Staunton seems to recognise that a Vera Drake or Hello, Dolly! might not roll round again. Even Harry Potter was, she says, “a very serious piece of work, weirdly”. She feels lucky that an actor’s life goes on. So no plans to retire? “I don’t think people do, do they? Name me an actress! No, you won’t get bloody Maggie Smith retiring. It’s a very nice job, if you can get it.” Plus, she’s still hoping someone will cast her alongside her 26-year-old daughter, Bessie, also an actress. “I’d love that. Let’s keep our fingers crossed.”

I hope they do give her the Queen job. If there’s anyone who could add some plausibility and empathy to the madcap past 12 months of royal history, from Megxit to the sweat-free antics of Prince Andrew, it is Staunton. I would pay good money to watch her, in standard-issue HRH lemon-yellow frock and tight-curled wig, look up, fix her aide with a stare and utter the words: “A Pizza Express … in Woking?”

Flesh and Blood is on ITV in February

[cole-grey-writes]

Into Dudes

Universe: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Timeline: Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier

Character(s): Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Male Reader

Warning(s): none

Request: Hi :D Idk if this is how to request things but do you think you could write a story about Steve just finding out about his feelings for the male reader and is really scared about being gay but still asks him out for a date? That would be awesome.

A/n: my first request!! so sorry it took so long to get out. My finals are coming up in the next week that I have to study for and all my teachers think it’s a good time to start assigning projects every other day. Anyway, thank you to anon, I really enjoyed writing this for you : )

Growing up, Steve always thought there was something wrong with him. He’s always wondered why his gaze lingered on fellas the same way it lingered on dames. It wasn’t until Steve was eighteen that he figured out why.

It was fall of 1936. Steve’s ma had just recently passed away, which left Steve on his own most of the time, if Bucky wasn’t there because Steve shoved him away when he wanted to be left alone. Steve tried to distract himself from the pain and often went to bars in all the wrong parts of town. Steve met a real nice fella one night that seemed to like spoiling him with compliments and as many drinks as he could take. At the end of their night, the guy laid one on him, telling Steve it was a farewell gift before leaving. Steve’s feelings towards other fellas made so much sense as soon as his lips touched Steve’s.

Steve had never feared much in his life, but he wasn’t able to forget the feeling of another man’s lips on his. The memory was stuck with Steve for almost a week, swirling around inside his head. Steve liked kissing fellas a lot. Too much for his time, in fact, so much so that it scared Steve so far back into the closet that he never allowed himself to feel anything for anyone until the 21st century; until you.

“Why don’t you just go talk to him?” Natasha wonders as she sits beside Steve, not looking up from her phone screen. Steve blushes and looks away from where you sit at your desk, writing reports for Director Fury.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Natasha scoffs. “Right,” she says sarcastically, “and I haven’t been watching you make heart eyes at Agent L/n for an hour.”

Steve sighs and goes back to looking at you.

Steve remembers the first time he met you, after the Battle of New York when he came to work for SHIELD, per Natasha’s suggestion. You were sweet, offering him any help he may need around headquarters even if it was just directions in case he got lost or something. Eventually, you and Steve spent lunch together whenever you were both free from missions.

Honestly, Steve never stood a chance.

Steve had discovered his feelings for you only a few weeks prior to his current lunch break with Natasha. He’d come home from a long and exhausting mission with the Avengers in Europe to find you asleep at your desk, drooling all over your papers. The fear of falling for another fella came hurtling back into Steve all over again, and it caused him to start avoiding you. You haven’t spoken to each other since that night.

“If, hypothetically, I did like him,” Steve says cautiously, “how, hypothetically, would I… go about telling him that?”

For once in the last hour, Natasha looks away from her phone. She smiles and sets it facedown on the table. She looks Steve in the eyes and tells him, “Maybe you should think about coming out first.”

Steve sighs immediately and begins picking at his nails. Just the idea of coming out to anyone is so unbelievably terrifying, it gets adrenaline pumping through his body.

Natasha suddenly puts her hand over Steve’s. “I’m not going to force you to come out, no one will, and you shouldn’t feel pressured to,” Natasha lets go of Steve and sits back in her seat, but doesn’t pick up her phone. “It just might be the first step to asking Agent L/n on a date,” she smirks, and then adds, “if that’s really what you want to do,” Steve nods.

“But, you shouldn’t rush it,” Natasha says, suggesting, “Maybe taking some time to prepare yourself would be a good idea,” and then she picks up her phone and is back to swiping left and right on whatever app she’s on.

Steve does end up following Natasha’s advice. He takes some time to ready himself for his confessions, mostly spending the weekend in bed, on his phone, watching as many coming out videos as he possibly can, in between several stress naps, of course. Steve wakes up monday morning finally feeling slightly ready to come out to you (and hopefully manage to get a date with you, but, you know, one step at a time).

Steve waits nervously outside your cubicle, fiddling with the edges of his suit gloves. He’d wanted to do this in his civilian clothes, but he has a mission briefing with his team in thirty minutes that he can’t be late for.

You get off the elevator and make your way over to your cubicle, texting leisurely. You catch Steve’s attention when you get closer, laughing softly at something on your screen before looking up and noticing Steve standing there. You manage a smile, as small and strained as it may be.

“Long time, no see,” you say, muttered for just your and Steve’s ears. “Haven’t seen you around in a while, Captain,” Steve frowns, taken aback by the name.

You almost never call Steve ‘Captain’ like everyone else does because you thought it was rude to only see Steve as Captain America and not Steve Rogers. Steve would know, because you told him yourself. The only time you do call Steve by his title is when you’re around other agents or your superiors. But, when it was just you two, it was always ‘Steve’ or even ‘Steven’ when you reprimand him for stealing your food.

“Hey, Y/n,” Steve greets back, now completely unsure of what he’s about to do.

Steve watches as you settle into your office, sliding into your chair and giving all of your attention to your computer screen as you log in. “Well, what do you want?” your cool tone causes Steve to stutter, which causes you to look over and furrow your brows at him.

“Um,” Steve tries again and fails, “I, uh, wanted to talk to you.”

“Yeah? And what do you wanna talk about?”

Steve’s face flushes with adrenaline. “It’s, um, really hard for me to say…” this grabs your attention and you face him fully. “Well, first, I wanna apologize for avoiding you for two weeks.”

“I get it,” You shrug, playing it cool even though it did really hurt and confuse you, “sometimes people just need some space.”

Steve grumbles. “... still.”

“Apology accepted, then.”

Steve feels better after that, but still stumbles into his next sentence. You give him his time, but it doesn’t stop the curiosity from wondering what’s turned Steve Rogers into a mess of unintelligible mumbles.

Finally, Steve sighs, frustrated, and steps fully into your office. He starts playing with his hands again.

Its surprising, seeing Steve pouting at his feet like this. You’ve always seen either Captain America, the living legend, or Steve Rogers, the little shit from brooklyn that has no problem stealing from your lunch tray. You’ve never seen him so vulnerable before, and it hits you especially hard with him sporting his Cap uniform.

Steve takes a deep breath, and begins stuttering out, “So, uh… I’m sorta, maybe… into…” Steve makes some vague hand gestures and continues, “... dudes…”

“Mmm,” you hum, understanding all of a sudden. You lean forward so your elbows are on the desk, resting your head in your hands, and taking in Steve not for the first time.

He looks incredibly young, with his eyes as big as saucers and his face completely flushed. And it dawns on you that he really is young, barely twenty six when he came out of the ice and not even thirty now. And his eyes are a very blue… You can’t hold back your smile anymore. You say slowly, “That is really amazing, Steve.”

Steve lets out a heavy breath, almost sounding wet. “Really?”

“Really,” you tell him. “And, I am also... really into dudes.”

Steve seems relieved as he asks, “You really are?” and you hum, nodding while still smiling. Steve’s hearts does the little fluttering thing when he hears you confirm it, the same way it did back in ‘36 when that fella gave him his first kiss.

“Um, so,” Steve stutters some more, “I also might… be into.. one particular dude.” You nod, encouraging him to continue. “Yeah,” Steve says, gaining more confidence, “and this particular dude has been real sweet to me ever since I came to work for SHIELD.”

“Oh yeah?” you wonder, feigning innocence while you continue to smile. “And who might this particular dude be, I wonder?” you might already suspect which direction Steve is headed in, but you didn’t want to jump to conclusions and end up being disappointed, even if the chances of that happening at this point are rather low.

“It’s you,” Steve blurts adorably, a hopeful smile ghosting his lips as he looks down at you smiling like a maniac. It’s a huge weight lifted off of steve’s shoulders, saying it out loud. He hadn’t known it would feel this good to let it all out.

It’s your turn to blush, it seems. Your face darkens with blood rushing through your cheeks. You don’t stop smiling.

“And, uh, I was wondering,” Steve wonders optimistically, with a slight bounce in his step as he moves closer to you. “since, you know, we’re both into dudes… if, maybe, you’d like to go on a date with me?”

You giggle. “Well… since we’re both into dudes,” you say coyly, “I would love to go on a date with you, Steve.”

Steve smiles, really proud of himself.

(NOT MY GIF)

Main Blog // Other Side Blog

((NO ONE HAS MY PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WORK ANYWHERE EVEN WITH CREDIT))

[lonely-canadian-shrimp-universe]

Good Omens:A First Foray

The First Impressions of a Viewer with No Context

I knew a good chunk of the plot because at first I honestly wasn't going to watch it, so I didn't really shield myself from any spoilers on tumblr.

That being said, I was hooked right from episode 1. I went into it thinking I was gonna be all over Crowley (given my other favourite characters in most other franchises) but the first time Aziraphale smiled I M E L T E D. SO PURE AND SWEET Also when "Aziraphale" was said I had a moment of 'oh. that's how you say that' Also the earth and my mom share a birthday. When Nanny Ashtoreth showed up I KNEW I was gonna need more content of her. Wife 100%

The fact that, try as they may, Zira and Crowley are completely incompetent and really only matter in the last like 16 minutes before the end of the world is really great. It's like watching a show that's about the really interesting side characters you get to see for 2 minutes and WISH you got 6 hrs of. Thank you, Neil.

Ep 2 we get to meet Newt and Anathema and omg I love them. I need Anathemas wardrobe ugh. And newt??? disaster Newton Pulsifer??? he's a mood. Not totally sure how I feel about their relationship but I love the contrast of "hey we just met like an hour ago and we're dating now thnks" to "we've known each other for 6000 years but there's no way he likes me the same way? side note, isn't it funny how the world is always emitting a low buzz of love my dear?" "ngk"

Agnes is amazing and I love how sassy she is. 10/10. I love how Aziraphale is not at ALL concerned about being shoved against a wall by Crowley. Like not one bit. He's like "oh finally, it's only taken you 6 millenia" honestly same

Ep 3 gives us the 30 minute cold open who's only purpose is to show how these two kept coming back to each other for 6 millenia, no matter how the last meeting may have gone. Here are a few thoughts:

Crowley has very pretty hair. Also I could 100% see by this point how these two have been gay for each other since day 1. Er rather day 7? Golgotha Crowley is v pretty and learning later that those are traditionally female garments was a treat. That scene was otherwise hard to watch, and they definitely thought so as well. The globe theatre was really fun to watch, I love Shakespeare. Sadly, Hamlet reminds me of my awful 10th grade English teacher. she ADORES that play. So thanks,  Aziraphale.

Bastille= PEAK GAY LOOK

I'd seen the church scene and "you go too fast for for me in MANY a gift,  but hearing them was OOF. Michael Sheen didn't have to go so hard on that line but OH BOY DID HE EVER. I may have cried.

I honestly didn't realize that the intro didn't play until the middle of the episode until I rewatched it??  like that completely flew over my head.

THE BANDSTAND. THE E M O T I O N. AZIRAPHALE WAS SO HURT. he was so torn because so much of him still wanted to believe in the good of heaven, but his heart (or the angelic equivalent) had long ago sided with Crowley. When Crowley came back and asked him to run away to Alpha Centuri??? UGH. that dude instantly assuming they're gay? same. same random dude. same. And omg Crowley praying??? to God??? he cares about humanity and it SHOWS. By this point I was REALLY relating to Aziraphale. His reluctance to stray from what he knows and was told reminds me so much of myself. that A n x i e t y.

the end of episode 4 and into episode 5 HURT. the bookshop? "I lost my best friend"? The fact that Crowley was ready to give up and wallow drunkenly through the Apocalypse because continuing on or running away held no meaning if he didn't have Aziraphale by his side. I cried. On the other hand, defiant Aziraphale? "Angels can't posses people" "Demons can..." YES BBY STOP BLINDLY FOLLOWING ORDERS!!! FREE THOUGHT BABEY!!! Now: Shadwell and Tracy. Shadwell is hilarious and I love him, end of story. He's just so... out there. crazy dude. Madame Tracy on the other hand? AMAZING. her actress (I can't think of her name and I have a REALLY ONE TRACK MIND) absolutely KILLED it. AMAZING. The seance?  That dude who WAS JUST LOVING EVERY SECOND? Loved that so much. still cracks me up. When they first get to the airbase and Crowley compliments his dress and Aziraphales like OwO like fellas they gay.

1970s crowley... the mustache... "Can I hear a Wahoo?" Hastur... love him... "What's a computer" part of me wants to think he's just fucking with Crowley because who wouldn't but also he's so deadpan and yo I can't read expression AT ALL.

Love the fact that Crowley was ready to yeet off to a far off star system light-years away, but at the same times like "you expect me... to go to TADFIELD? In this weather??? Maybe I should drive but I mean, have you SEEN the TRAFFIC Angel? And now the M-25s on fire. Great."

Hastur going from on top of everything and tearing Crowley down to panicking because YOU'RE DRIVING TOWARDS A WALL OF FIRE.

snek eyes :3c

"Young man your CAR is on F I R E"

ALSO the horse people getting lost is peak entertainment. Honestly the horsepeople are great. War? Gorgeous. Famine? Love him. He's got style Pollution??? They're amazing, and also THEY THEM PRONOUNS BABEY. that made me v happy bc I just got used to usin em myself uwu. D E A T H. He knows his aesthetic yall. love it.

suppose nows a good a time as any: THE THEM.

I didn't really like Adam at first, he seemed a bit snobby. he's grown on me now but... ngk. Wenslydale was an instant fave. he's adorable. love him. Brian? total mess. super genuine. Great kid. PEPPER. she's great. she's sassy. she's gonna go far in life. all together, they're a tight knit group and I love them and they're all my children now thabks. and the parallels to the horsepeople? p e r f e c t

Alrighty Episode 6!!!

The beginning terrified me. All this time I was rooting for Zira and Crowley to finally get their happily ever after and yknow how most media is nowadays. There's a reason Fix-it Fics are so popular. So the beginning of the episode scared me. Also Beelzebub 💖

I love the Them vs The Horsepeople. "I believe in Peace, bitch."

I didn't even realize til later that that was Aziraphales sword. didn't even catch that line.

When Beez and Gabriel showed up? THAT DUMB SMILE OF GABES? I really hated Gabriel. The way he treated Aziraphale REALLY rubbed me the wrong way and I just did not like him one bit.

W I N G S. PRETTY WINGS. also didn't even realize that what Crowley did was STOP TIME. LIKE WHSOHDOEBE WHaT? ??

 "it burned down... remember?" uuggghhh kill me with how soft and gentle he's being!!! he knows that bookshop MEANT something to Zira hdoehekdn

T H E B O D Y  S W A P

the caught me COMPLETELY off guard... at first. I was completely unaware right up until "crowley" was attacked. I caught that little "Tickety boo" and I paused screaming like CROWLEY WOULD NOT SAY THAT IN THAT SCENARIO NO WAY THAT IS N O T ANTHONY J CROWLEY W H A T 

The heaven scene solidified my then hatred for Gabriel. I like him now but oof that scene he's still VERY punchable.

Crowley: Nearly threw hands with the Archangel Gabriel

The Hell trial. So Extra. Asking for a rubber duck? iconic! "Michael, dude!" oh mood.

when they switch back and it's all revealed? G l o r i o u s. They played each other so well!!! honestly props to Michael and David, their acting was PHENOMENAL.

The ending. A happy ending. The amount of love with which Zira says "to the world" killed me. I'm dead now thanks to that. I'm typing this from the grave,  that's how powerful that line is. Honestly, knowing next to nothing going in was kind of wild and my crazy reblogging spree actually got some of my mutuals to watch the show which is pretty neat. Going back through 3 more times now, Aziraphale definitely resonates with me the most. I actually have a small blurb I wrote on the positive effects he's had on my perception of myself in terms of stimming.

All in All this show hit me in a way I did NOT expect it to, and I'm glad I found it when I did. I was at a point where I was kinda feeling like I'd never really have a fulfilling relationship because of my asexuality, and then I found good omens. I def read the characters as ace while watching it and it was amazing seeing two characters who can love each other fully, without the need for anything explicit. The show was an instant fav and I'm trying to find a physical copy of the book (that I can afford) so I can read the original text. This is a story that's going to stay important to me for a very long time, I can feel it.

[hogbullpup]

Ruminations-life, love, relationships

For the past nine months I haven’t been pursuing a boyfriend or boyfriends until either 1, my mental health improves, 2, I can move on from being a part-time caregiver for my mom and let my brother take over, 3, I can find a better job/career, or all of the above, but I’ve been feeling so lonely lately that I’m wondering if I should just say “fuck it” and get back on both growlr and twitter. Still, I feel like I haven’t gotten out a lot of my own thoughts about my personal shortcomings in my last relationship and other concerns before pursuing another one, and this is as good a place as any as no one’s really here anymore, so long story incoming...

About 6 years ago, after coming out as a proud lover of large, hefty men I started exploring chub/gainer communities around in the area and after a while found a big fella who ended up becoming my best friend, whom I’ll call C. We bonded very quickly; after a while we were hanging out once a week consistently and I soon developed feelings for him.

Around the time C and I were hanging out and bonding, my dad was diagnosed with stage four bladder cancer and 3.5 years ago passed away. 6 or so months after that C asked if I wanted us to be more than just friends, but I put him off because I was in a bad mental state, partly from my dad's brutal battle with cancer and partly from my own insecurities. This hurt C far more than I knew at the time, and I still don’t forgive myself for causing him that much pain.

Early 2018

Some time later, March 2018, I told C I was being dumb and that I loved him deeply, and we started dating, but he told me that in that time he had discovered the pup community and found a sir/handler, S, who was moving to the area soon with his other 2 pups. I on the other hand in that time had been looking for community with the Seattle bears and chubs, however I felt their scene was kind of cliquey, financially discriminatory, and on occasion racist (despite how physically attractive I found a lot of them--this was really frustrating for someone who is only attracted to bigger, fluffier men).

So in the first couple months of C and my relationship I started exploring the pup scene/fetish online and in a couple of gatherings, and enjoyed a lot of what I saw, but it also left me with more questions than answers (turns out I'm far more switch than dom) and C certainly couldn't answer all of them given the fact that he was still a very new puppy. He specifically admitted that the details of our relationship became harder because I wanted to explore pup play, but at the same time wasn't at all sympathetic because I was partly exploring pup play just because he was into it, which he really didn't like (I also lied about this which still makes me feel sick, and danced around the issue instead of just being honest and saying "babe I just wanted to explore and be involved in the things you like"). This became even harder for me because C was being quickly welcomed into S's family, and got his collar soon after they moved to the area. I didn't want at all to intrude on their family because it would be psycho rude and I didn't even know any of them, but I was also deeply protective of C at the same time, and didn’t know how to handle my insecurities. I wish I had the emotional knowledge then that I do now. Starting to date C was a big change for me going from open-but-committed to my first poly relationship, so I was upset that I couldn't explore poly WITH C. It didn't seem fair.

Jealousy took over and I started telling C that I might want to pursue a family like S had, because if he was able to build a family exclusively of cute, chub pups than so could I. C cautioned me that S got very lucky compared to most, and that the likelihood of me being able to find a few gay partners all of the chubby variety and all of whom are compatible was very unlikely, and even if possible would take years (but, to my frustration, he would never give me a clear NO). While this sat heavy with me and I knew he was most likely right, it didn't help with my feelings of complete helplessness and isolation in my situation. I continued to ruminate. A big part of it that I fully regret and admit to is jealousy, and I had no idea before this whole situation that I was such a jealous person. But there was also massive anxiety--the feeling that there was nothing I could do, a feeling I don't handle that feeling very well, and I think it made my jealousy worse.

So instead of being patient, exploring pup play, enjoying the chub/chaser relationship I had with C, and just seeing how things went, I BADGERED C for some 7-8 weeks with impossible questions like...

"how would dom (me) and sub (him) pup interactions work given the fact he already has a handler?" 

or "how can we ever belong to a larger family unit together (this was a big one for me) if your family is full,"  (I wasn’t his handler’s type anyway. He likes big chubs like I do so deep down I knew this was putting pressure on C to expand our relationship without asking if that was ok first),

or "what if in my explorations I discover I want want to be a handler or just part of a larger family, and somehow want you to be a part of that with me together without stepping on your handler's toes? How will that be possible?" (I knew C was an introvert and probably wouldn’t really have the energy/time to put into another complex relationship like that with me).

I knew that these questions were impossible to answer but still I continued to harass him, even though C told me on multiple occasions I was stressing him out and needed to back off and handle my jealousy and insecurities ("jealousy is poison in poly relationships", he said, and wasn't wrong). And in Fall, after a heated argument, he requested we take a 1 month break, which I spent learning to meditate and mitigate my anxiety and insecurities, while also begging fate for us to be able to stay together. When we met back up, I made my case that I was working hard to overcome anxiety and jealousy, but he told me the damage had been done. I was crushed.

Late 2018

After we broke up I continued to pursue meditation, but to be completely honest it barely kept the anxiety at bay and eventually I just gave up. I lost sleep over losing C for some 5 months, unable to clear my head of all those unanswerable questions for at least 2 hours most nights before falling asleep. I had lost both my best friend and lover, and at the time he was still rooming with my gaming friends and it was awkward for me to hang out, so I just felt alone, which is, without doubt, my one driving fear and what I wanted to avoid at all possible costs.

I remember thinking over and over again that I wished I had never put C off in the first place and had admitted my feelings to him sooner, but at the same time wouldn't have wanted anything to change as far as him meeting S and family. I just wanted things to somehow work between us as I explored what it meant for me to be poly.

Nov-Feb

In the months following our breakup I fought to recover from these feelings of loneliness by STILL continuing to attending pup social events and even a mosh (though I didn't participate in the mosh). It was hard when I would see S and his three pups show up, and I had to fight off nagging bad thoughts every time it happened. Still, I met a couple of very nice chubby pups who I bonded with and became friends. Sadly, despite liking both of them, one couldn't afford to live in Seattle anymore and moved back to Wisconsin, and the other (whom I really liked but was too damaged from my breakup to pursue) got adopted by a couple of husbands and moved just outside of Milwaukee with them. It felt like the universe was picking on me for my fear of being left out or rejected. I was alone again.

Somehow I persisted and survived, but my memories of the few months after that are such a dull blur I'm not sure I was even alive at the time. C and I are good friends again and I have a core group of friends (including him) who I feel close to and game with about once every 2 weeks. I still love him a lot but he's not looking for anything and I need to moderate my attraction to him. Also, time I spend hanging out with him is time I'm not spending looking for a big partner to call my own so I feel weird sometimes when I play around with him and my feelings are so fucking strong. I would like to find a guy I have that connection with who also wants to live together. It's depressing how hard something that simple is to find.

Anyways this has gone on for far too long, but I needed to write down my ruminations somewhere and also double down on goals and reminders for future relationships so I don't make the same mistakes I did before:

-If I'm attracted to a guy as much as I was attracted to C, I need to remember and understand that there probably will be major consequences to putting them off, even if it's for my own comfort.

-If a guy asks me to give him space, legitimately do it, and don't be actively looking for the next opportunity to talk about difficult things.

-If I date a man and he has a master or another family, I need to be happy for him, and not try to follow in his path, unless that's something he would enjoy/welcome (C didn’t, and I didn’t want to accept that). But also emphasize that a family like that is what I’m looking for and ask him to be gentle/supportive with me while I pursue it.

-If I date a man with a master, I need to be patient, respectful, and willing to communicate with him at his pace. After a while I can hopefully ask if I can work to earn the handler/master’s trust to not have to ask permission to do most things with my partner. If that option isn’t available, then it’s probably not the relationship for me.

-Accept that large men who are happy being large and soft are few and far between, and finding one into me is going to take significantly longer than a typical gay relationship, and that if I'm not out there looking, the few opportunities that are there are going to come and go.

-Learn to balance being flexible with knowing my limits, and knowing when to put my foot down. I honestly should have been the first to cut my relationship off with C because he didn't want his partners to cross or for sexual experiences in one bedroom to be shared in the other's bedroom. And right away that should have been a huge warning sign for me because that's something that's very important to me in a poly relationship (though at the time I was very new to poly so that was the first time I discovered what I wanted). I think I partly held on to him so hard because, other than my emotional feelings for him (which built up over some 3+years), there just aren't that many 300+lb non-judgmental guys who are going to find me as attractive as I find them. Regardless, no matter how many boxes a guy ticks for me, if something bugs me that much then I need to not settle.

-Patience. Patience. Patience. I need to learn to relax. It's possible that everything between C and I would have worked out if I'd just been patient. Perhaps not, but I'll never know how much I can accomplish with patience unless I try.

Well, I guess it's time to get back on growlr, dig up my old twitter, and hope for the best.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Matchmaker or stripper sternclay?

I chose the following: “I strip because I enjoy it and it’s good money, but I didn’t expect to be hired for your friend’s bachelor party. hello, professor“

Given the prompt and where it went, This is Not Suitable For you Workplace. It’s a lemon, in the language of the olden times.

Note: I have an additional part of this planned, if people end up being interested in it.

Most days, Lucky Stern likes this job.

Stripping isn’t what he’d imagined he’d do during college. But it keeps his head above water and the loans from overwhelming him. He likes most of his colleagues, and the place he works is in the gay neighborhood, which is relatively safe when he gets off at weird hours of the night. Plus it means he gets more exercise than he probably otherwise would as a student working two jobs.

So yeah, most days are fine.

Then there are days like the one he’s having now.

He’s one of two dancers hired for a bachelor party, a small one at a nice house in the fancy, woodsy part of town. He and his partner are doing one of their favorite routines (Scully and Mulder, with his partner doing the drag for Scully), so he’s feeling confident.

Until he turns around and sees a familiar face.

His professor.

Technically his former professor. Also, technically, the professor he’s had a raging crush on for two years.

Barclay, as he asked his students to call him, was an athro professor, but Stern had him for a folklore class (“Cryptids in American Folklore and Culture”) as he finished his depth requirements during his sophmore year.  It was his favorite class of the year, and that was only partially due to his professor looking like a lumberjack centerfold (he’s on the younger end of professors, that much Stern knows). Barclay made the material engaging and challenging and shared Sterns fascination with cryptids and their role in the world. And so Stern went to office hours, sometimes because he needed a clarification and (most times) to talk with Barclay about his theories or research  or the latest episode of the ridiculous Bigfoot hunting show they both watched.  They kept meeting even when Stern moved into the next semester and the semester after that. His life got busier, but he still made time once a week to drop in on his favorite professor (and time after to go somewhere private to jack off to the idea of having sex in his office).

Hell, he was in Barclays office five days ago, telling him he’d scored a paid internship after graduation that might, one day, get him a job investigating paranormal phenomena.

And now here he is, looking as surprised as Stern feels.

He can’t bolt, he can’t, they’d probably demand a refund and he’d screw himself and his partner out of a nights pay. So he goes through the routine on autopilot, though every time he hazards a glance at Barclay the other man is looking down. Except for when they finish, both down to what could be called a thong, if you were being generous. Then he’s staring, and Stern’s never felt more exposed.

They disappear back into the kitchen (their staging area) even as some of the attendees cheer for more. He tells his partner to go for it, then throws on an undershirt and pants so he can go into the garden and have a panic attack.

He’s doubled over, stress dry-heaving into some shrubs. It’s not that he’s ashamed, but he’s heard so many horror stories about people who stripped having a client who recognized them blab and cost them their job or their social circle or, or..

A water glass enters his vision.

“Thanks.” He rasps.

“No problem.”

He stands bolt upright, turns,  finds Barclay standing in front of him looking worried. For a moment an awkward pause fills the night air.

“Found a way to pay for school, huh?”

“Yes. What do I have to do to convince you not to tell anyone?” He sighs, tries to keep his shoulders from shaking with pent up panic.

“Convince me to-oh, Lucky, hey, you don’t have to anything.” A hand rests on his shoulder, the gesture familiar and comforting.

“Hold on, are there other people who know and are making you do stuff?” His tone is deathly serious.

“No, it’s just, I got a bit jumpy and went into damage control mode. I apologize.” He takes another sip of water, still can’t look Barclay in the eye (he may be the only man Stern actually has to look up to talk to).

“Listen, I know folks who did the same thing and god knows you’re not the only student at the school who’s landed on this as the best way to avoid money troubles. So no judgement or anything from me, okay.”

Stern nods.

“How’s your stomach?”

“Still feels like shit, but less so.”

“C’mon, lemme make you some tea, it might help.”

“I wouldn’t want to keep you.”

“Need a break from the festivities myself, you’ll be doing me a favor.” He smiles and Stern tries not to melt at the sweetness in it.

They head back into the kitchen and Barclay moves through it effortlessly as he grabs a kettle, a mug, and some tea.

“So…how do you know the groom? Or is it grooms?”

“Grooms. I know Ned better than his fiance, met him through friend of mine named Duck. I’m willing to bet Ned’s the one who hired you guys. He can never pass up a chance to be over the top. Plus I imagine both him and Boyd are enjoying themselves.

“Boyd?”

“Groom number two, guy with all the tattoos and muscles.”

There’s a whoop from the other room just as the kettle boils.

Barclay sets the mug in front of Stern before continuing to putter about the kitchen.

“You hungry at all.”

“Not really, what with panic and the puking.”

“Good point. Lemme know if you start feeling different.”

Stern blows on his tea to cool it, catches Barclay looking at him.

He’s blushing.

“Was the Agent Mulder bit something you picked, or just a happy accident.”

“I picked it as one of my go-tos. Everything said to choose things that made me feel confident and sexy and well, you know me.”

“Yeah, future special agent Stern. Can see why you picked it, it looks good on you.” He sticks a serving knife into a pan of brownies. Stern wishes he had an appetite, there’s some really good food in here.

Wait, does he smell buffalo wings?

Indeed he does. There they are, sitting on a tray, probably left over from dinner.

He loves buffalo wings.

“Help yourself.” Barclay grins as he slides the tray across the island to him, passes a napkin along behind it.

Sterns resolve lasts two seconds and then takes a bite.

“These are amazing.” He whispers and Barclay chuckles.

“Thanks, came up with the mix for the sauce myself. Took a few passes to get the texture right.”

“You made these?”

“Made basically all the food for tonight. It’s a hobby, and like cooking for my friends.”

“That’s very attractive.” He murmurs, taking another bite of the wing. Barclay arches an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything.

The kitchen door swings open and one of the guests comes in, a bigger guy wearing dark green.

“Hidin in the kitchen already?” He drawls at Barclay, before catching sight of Stern, “Oh, howdy, your friend out there said you were feelin sick all of a sudden. You doin okay? Barclay behavin himself?”

“Yes, thank you. I’m sorry for leaving you all with less than you paid for.”

“To be honest, think your friend’s got it covered. Only a few of the fellas are into the whole, uh, whole, y’know.” He gestures at Sterns outfit.

“You’re not dying to have someone cute and mostly naked in your lap, Duck?” Barclays tone is teasing.

“If I wanted that, Indrid is right there.”

“How’s he enjoying the dancers?”

“He’s had too many of those hard sodas, so he’s the kind of drunk where all he wants to do is stare at the lamp with the color changin bulb. Relatedly,” he grabs a water glass and fills it, “I ain’t drinkin anymore tonight so I can get us home safe.”

“Here, take Indrid one of these.” Barclay slips a brownie onto a small plate.

“Thanks, man. See you in a bit.” Then he disappears.

“He seems nice.”

“Yeah, Duck’s a good guy. He and Indrid got married about a year ago, think that man’s gonna be in the honeymoon stage for the rest of his life.”

“Is everyone here married or about to be?” Stern had assumed a bachelor party would have more, well, bachelors.

“I’m not.” Barclay shrugs and Stern nearly chokes on his food when the larger man gives him a suggestive look and sits down beside him.

“What about you? Anyone waiting at home to rub your…legs after a hard nights work?”

“That’s oddly specific, and no.”

“Gotta say I’m surprised. You’re the complete package, smart, hard-working, good looking, only a little messy.”

“I’ll have you know I’m very fastidious-oh” Barclay reaches forward, wipes stray sauce from the edge of his mouth. Stern takes a chance, turns his head slightly and brings the tip of the thumb into his mouth and playfully bites it. Barclay inhales sharply, pupils widening, before slowly pulling his hand back.

“Easy, tiger, I’m not making any kind of move until you’re not a student.”

“I don’t have any classes with you, we’re not even in the same department.” Well, that came out as more of a whine that he wanted.

“That’s my policy, babe. I don’t date any students or TAs, period.”

“But graduation’s not for another month.”

“Gives you time to change your mind safely. And if you still want it, then it gives you lots of time to savor the anticipation.” His deep voice is almost a purr as he brings a hand around to rub Sterns neck, pulling them closer as a result.

“You’re a scrupulous man, Barclay, and right now I could kill you for it.”

“Believe me, it’s as hard for me as it is for you. But if we do, well, anything like that, I want to treat you right and on the level from the start.”

He presses a kiss on the top of Sterns head before sitting back.

“Oh HO!”

Stern jumps and Barclay groans

“Hey, Ned.”

“Here I thought you were simply preparing more refreshments and seeing to our under the weather guest.”

“I’m doing exactly that.”

“Barclay, there were specific rules I agreed to when I hired them-”

“So it was you”

“-and one was that there were to be no private sessions OR touching of the performers.”

Barclay is turning shades of pink never before seen by human eyes.

“It’s alright, really, Barclay was just helping me calm down.”

The man, Ned, look’s concerned.

“Did something happen?”

Stern racks his brain for a half-truth to explain the whole thing.

“Ned, this gentleman is a student at the college. He and I know each other, so you can imagine it was a bit of an unwelcome surprise for him to see me here, so I was doing what I could to help him feel better. And so help me, Ned fucking Chicane, if you ever repeat that piece of information about him to anyone, I will never let you near my cooking again.”

“You have my word. My real one.” Ned looks genuinely somber, “now that’s out of the way.” He bursts into a deep belly laugh.

“I’m so sorry, my dear boy, for landing you in such a difficult, but hilarious, situation. I will be sure to inform your employer that we were all extremely satisfied tonight and wish to add a considerable gratuity on top of what your friend out there has collected from my betrothed.”

“Thank you.” And Stern thought he knew academics with bloated vocabularies. This guy takes the cake.

“My pleasure.” He winks at them and heads back out into the living room.

Stern gives Barclay a perplexed look.

“That’s Ned Chicane? The guy who runs the Cryptonomica? How the fuck can he afford this place.”

“I’ve learned it’s best not to ask.” Barclay steps onto the floor, offers his hand, “C’mon, handsome, help me get the desserts ready.”

“Only if you let me lick whip cream off you.”

“Bold, but no. Not for another month.” He hands him serving tool and Stern takes it with a smile.

—————————————–

Stern has been a graduate all of two days.

Last night was spent with his folks, who were delighted and proud and took him out to dinner.

Tonight he’s working the club, and getting more distracted by the minute. Because someone special is picking him up tonight.

He’s changing into his street clothes when Ray, the most classic butch lesbian he’s ever met and the best bouncer in the city, taps him.

“Hey, there was a bigger fella who came in during your last number and watched like a fucking hawk. Saw him i the back parking lot with a car. Don’t recognize him as a regular. You need someone to walk home with you?”

“Was he taller than me and wearing plaid?”

“Yep.”

“It’s alright, I know him. He’s my date.”

Ray gives him a thumbs up as he steps out the back door.

Barclay leans against the side of his car and watches Stern as he approaches.

“Hey there.” He stands up straight, opens his arms and pulls Stern into a hug.

“I didn’t expect you to catch part of the show.”

“Curiosity got the better of me. I wanted to see what it looked like when you weren’t dealing with a massive, unwelcome surprise. Gotta say, you looked pretty damn good.”

“Apparently you were watching me so intently I had to convince the bouncer you weren’t an unwelcome suitor.”

“Nope, nothing but pure intentions.”

“Is that so?” He rolls his hips and Barclay hisses with pleasure.

“I could see you were hard from the other end of the parking lot.”

Barclay grins, and then pulls Stern in for a kiss, mouth hot and hungry against his own. Stern rolls his hips again and Barclay growls, pushes him against the car.

“You got me, my intentions are fifty percent pure and fifty percent ‘if you don’t get in the car I’m gonna lose what’s left of my self control and fuck you over the hood.”

“Jesus.” Stern moans, one hand searching for the handle of the door. Barclay pulls back and grabs it, opening the door and gesturing for Stern to get in.

By the time they get to Barclays place, Stern is close to passing out from excitement.  Barclay is on him as soon as they’re safely inside the apartment, tossing keys and jacket haphazardly towards the kitchen counter even as he pushes Stern up against it. His kisses are only broken when he speaks.

“Goddamn, this is worth every time I had to lock my office door and fuck my own hand after you came to see me.”

Stern moans at the image, kisses his way across Barclays cheek while he tugs at this shirt.

“You’re one-of-a-kind, Lucky. Didn’t think I stood a chance with you.”

“Likewise. God, Barclay OHgod” The larger man grinds against him, hands digging into his ass.

“Where do you want to start? Assuming you still want to ohokay.” Barclay laughs as Stern drops to knees and starts undoing his belt, “hold on, got a condom in my jacket.” There’s a rustling above him and in a few seconds Barclay hands him the foil packet.

“Presumptuous.” Stern teases as he unzipps his fly.

“I wanted to be ready in case we didn’t even make it to the apartment.”

Stern smiles to himself at that as he yanks Barclays pants and boxers down; the man is exceedingly thoughtful and oh. Oh lord, he is big. He cock is thick and long and Stern needs it in his mouth right now.

As he rolls the condom on he notices Barclay looking down at him with just as much affection as lust in his eyes.

Before Stern can take him in his mouth, a hand grips his chin and holds him in a place.

“Something you want?”

“I assumed that was obvious.”

Barclay clucks his tongue.

“You want it, you gotta ask for it.”

“I want to suck your cock.”

“Close, but not quite. Need you to ask nicely.” Barclay uses his other hand to move his cock against Sterns lips teasingly.

“Please let me suck your cock?”

“Much better.” Barclay releases his chin, braces his hand on the counter,  and Stern gratefully opens his mouth, takes the first inch or so in. He shuts his eyes just as warm fingers ghost across his cheek.

Jesus, he can feel his mouth getting sore from the stretch and it’s been a maximum of thirty seconds and something about that idea, of there being so much of Barclay and it’s all his, makes him moan. He pushes his head forward, takes in more of the shaft and rolls his tongue across it. Tries for more, winces when it starts getting close to this throat.

“Easy, tiger.” Barclays fingers card through his hair, “don’t hurt yourself. Need that sweet mouth of yours in good shape if I’m gonna keep fucking it.”

Stern whines, brings one hand to cover the rest of his cock while the other traces zig-zags on Barclays ass.

“I know, you just want to please don’t you?”

The moan that leaves him is instantaneous and he nods. He’d fantasized about partners saying things like that, dominant and sweet all at once, but hadn’t worked up the courage to ask.

He’s kicking himself for not finding a way to practice deep-throating, he’s seen the bulge in Barclays jeans for months (years) and knew it was formidable.

The hand brushing hair from his forehead steers him from those thoughts.

“Don’t gotta worry about how much of my cock fits. I like it fast, with a lot of pressure. Think you can do that for me?”

Stern locks eyes with him as he eagerly nods, tightens his grip and works his hand rapidly, pre-cum and saliva helping him along. Focuses less on depth and more on sucking, pleasure pulsing through him whenever Barclays cockhead makes contact with his cheek.

“Shit, yeah, that’s it. Goddamn, look at you, wanna watch that  face bob up and down on my cock every night.” There’s a sharp thwack as Barclay slaps his other hand down on the counter and groans. Stern keeps his head still, moves his hand as fast as he’s able and sucks hard, tongue swiping at the tip

“I’m close, babe, so fucking close. Lemme hear you, I wanna hear how much you like sucking my cock.”

Stern moans from deep in his chest, lets a series of broken moans punctuate the small jerks of Barclays hips, the only movement he’s made in his mouth.

“That’s it, fuck FUCK, Lucky, baby, so good.” He cums with another groan, one hand dropping down to hold Sterns head in place. There’s a panting growl as he adds, “gonna keep my cock in your mouth for hours one of these nights” and Sterns whole body pings with interest both at the image and at the promise of this being an ongoing arrangement.

Barclay carefully pulls back, and by the time Stern gets to his feet he’s opened a nearby drawer and pulled out a napkin, which Stern gladly accepts.

“That was…damn.” Barclay chuckles, kissing his neck as he finishes wiping his mouth.

“Did I, uh..” Barclay looks at him curiously and he nearly chickens out, “did I do well?”

Something exceedingly hungry flashes behind the taller mans eyes and he strokes a thumb across Sterns lips.

“Yeah, you did. You were real good for me, Lucky.” The chasteness of the kiss that follows these words is in stark contrast to lascivious tone they take as he continues, “you gonna keep being my good boy tonight.”

Before Stern can respond, two things happen: his stomach gives an comically loud gurgle, and his thighs twinge from that nights work.

Barclay chuckles and Stern glares at the lower half of his body.

“How dare you sabotage the mood at a time like this?” He hisses, which only makes Barclay laugh harder as he pulls his underwear and pants back up.

“I’ll make you some dinner. Have a seat.”

Stern drops into a chair and watches Barclay root through the fridge, pulling out a few containers and tossing butter into a pan. His leg is still twinging, so he stands, swings it up and rests his heel on the table to stretch it out.

Barclay drops the wooden spoon he was holding, along with his jaw.

“The dancing helps with flexibility.” Stern shrugs, casually.

“No kidding.”

“The stove is beginning to smoke.”

“Shit! Ah, well, guess you’re having leftover risotto warmed in really brown butter.”

Stern does, and it’s delicious.

As he eats, he slips his shoes off and Barclay motions for him to put his foot in his lap and proceeds to gently rub it as he chats with Stern about the research he’ll be conducting over the summer.

“..So yeah, it’s mostly pouring through interviews and newspapers, but maybe there’s one roadtrip in the mix.” He glances down at Sterns plate, now clean, then smirks at him.

“Care to continue this conversation in the bedroom?”

“Very much so.”

Barclay takes his hand and leads him into a room down the hall. Like the rest of the space, it looks as though someone tried to cram an Appalachian lodge into one bedroom apartment.

“Legs still sore?” He murmurs, arms around Sterns waist and lips grazing the back of his neck.

“Yes, but it’s fine, I don’t want that to get in the way of whatever you had planned.”

There’s a soft laugh against his skin.

“Still trying so hard to be good me, huh?”

Sterns melts back against him with breathy “yes.”

“Then take your clothes off and lay on the bed. Facedown. Underwear can stay on, if that’s more comfortable.”

Stern whips off his t-shirt, tosses his jeans after it and flops onto the bed on his stomach. He can’t really see what Barclay’s doing, feels the bed dip after a few moments. And then something cool hits his thigh. For a second he thinks it’s stray lube and Barclay is getting right to the point, but then fingers begin kneading at his muscles and he sighs into the pillow.

“See, Lucky, here’s the thing; you wanna be good for me, you gotta accept that means I’m gonna be good to you.” Barclays hand presses down towards his calf, stopping to thumb at a knot, “don’t gotta try to give me the right answers or anything like that. Just gotta tell me what you want.”

Slowly but sure he works his way down one leg and then up the other before lightly tapping Sterns ass.

“Roll over.”

When Stern does, his breath catches in his throat; Barclay’s in only his boxers, his body otherwise bare and broad and so appealing Stern thinks this may be a dream.

Barclay runs a hand appreciatively down his chest, drinking him in.

“You act like you’ve never seen me in my underwear before. Which is demonstrably false.”

“Yeah, but I couldn’t do this” the hand moves across Sterns hips, “or this” down to his thigh, “or this” it’s on his cock, gently stroking it up.

“Fair point, ohhhhh.” His back arches as Barclay adds more pressure and he frantically tugs his boxer briefs off, Barclay not missing a beat before taking his cock in his hand. The larger man shifts so he’s laying on his side, hand still working Stern over and lips kissing his cheeks.

“I want you to tell me when you get close. You gonna do that?”

“Yes, Barclay, I promise, I oh, oh fuck.” Barclays grip and pace turn relentless and Stern lets himself be carried away by the feeling until his orgasm starts building.

“Close, I’m, oh fuck you.” Barclays hand stills as he leans in and bites Sterns ear.

“What did I say earlier about being polite?” The growl in his voice makes Stern whimper and wriggle his hips.

“I, I, apologize, please, pleaseplease keep going.”

“Much better.” He starts stroking him again, panting against his ear, and soon Stern feels himself getting close. He could just not tell him. But where’s the fun in that?

“I’m so close again.”

“You wanna come.”

“Yes, please Barclay I want to so badly, I want to come in your hand, wanna come for you, I want, I want-” He’s babbling, he must sound absurd, but Barclay moans, kisses him hard.

“Then be a good boy and come for me.”

Stern bucks his hips, thrusting as best he can in time with Barclays movements and then he’s coming, Barclays name an obscene sound on his lips.

He lays, shaking, as it finishes washing over him, and then Barclay kisses his forehead.

“You did so well. You were so good for me.”

Stern turns his head, makes small, needy noise that Barclay correctly interprets as wanting a kiss. Then he slides of the bed, returning with a towel for the stray cum on Sterns stomach. He’s not quite sure what he’s supposed to do now.

“Do I, should I go?”

“Only if you want to. Be glad if you stayed the night, but don’t want you to if it feels weird.”

“I’d like to, very much.”

Stern means to get up and get ready for bed, or at least ask for pajamas. But Barclay is there and warm and holding him and he’s so happy and so sleepy that he drops off into pleasant dreams, the feeling of Barclays breath slow and even against the back of his neck.

Some disastrous work days, he thinks as he dozes, have very happy endings indeed.

[shipitup-blog1]

Daydreaming p.ii

I’ll Be Your Sinner (In Secret)

_______________________

This is the part, you've got to say all that you're feeling, feeling

Packing a bag, we're leaving tonight when everyone's sleeping, sleeping

Let's run away

I'll run away with you

'Cause you make me feel like

I could be driving you all night

And I'll find your lips in the street lights

I wanna be there with you..

•

•

•

The seventeen-year-old’s eyes droop the slightest bit as he tries to continue the focus aimed at his homework, listening to Mr. Stark’s soothing voice hum along to ACDC and somehow make the addictive rough beats sound gentle and sweet, unknowingly lulling his sleep-deprived Gen Z self. He cuddles deeper into the leather jacket his mentor had given him earlier, curling into himself and breathing in the home-y scent of hot coffee, despite the obvious fact it only adds to his sleepiness, and makes FRIDAY silently turn up the room’s heaters — bless her digital soul.

“Pete, you still functioning?” Comments Mr. Stark, amused when he turns from prepping their short dinner to find Peter slumping; nearly snoozing on the marble countertop.

He snorts in even more amusement as the younger practically jumps up, looking like a disgruntled puppy and whipping his fluffy head of wet brown curls back and forth. “I’m up, I’m up! Of course, sir!” Ever the fanboy trying to make a good impression, Peter even rips off the leather jacket, hastily folding it and setting it onto the seat beside him. “Do you want me to go home, now? That’s alright, Mr. Stark, I’m sorry for bothering you, I really was just on my way to Ned’s, but I- well, the spidey senses warned me not to jump into the puddle but I wanted to and yeah my common sense isn’t very sense-y, so I jumped and I slipped on the snap of something slippy in it, my clothes got drenched and I probably bothered you and Happy because you drove past, saw me, picked me up even if you didn’t have to, so I’m really thankful for that but now I’m all good and you’re offering dinner and I’m so sorry-“

Tony chuckles, freezing Peter instantly as the beautiful wheeze of breath washes over his whole body, ringing in his ears, heating him more than the leather jacket with inner cotton could ever. The chuckle eventually turns into sniggers, then laughter, until Peter’s beet red pouting at Mr. Stark gasping for air against the fridge, wondering what exactly was so hilarious.

“You,” Tony starts, “are fucking adorable,” he wipes away nonexistent tears of laughter, causing Peter to pout some more and contemplate whether he and Mr. Stark getting closer together was really a good thing or a bad thing.

(It was certainly giving him mental heart attacks, he could tell you that.)

The man turns up the heat for the pot of pasta, crossing what little space was between them to lean on the counter like Peter, but stood up, smiling at him. “You’ve been ranting a lot, these days, got lots on your mind, huh?”

Uh, yeah, I’m gay for you, his bothersome mind snorts unhelpfully. And I’d like it if you were gay for me too, as in, your dick in—

Alright, alright! Peter snaps at himself, I get it, now shut up, man.

“-asking if you’ve got any issues?” Tony questions, smile a little less ‘lol’ and a little more ‘¿¿¿???’ The confused grin has Peter grimancing, trying to come up with a sensible excuse for him loosing sleep.

You could tell him that you’re procrastinating with homework, staying up late to work on it because you watch funny videos on youtube! Brain Voice #2 supplies, he’d understand—

“I sneak out at night to do the do with MJ,” Peter blurts.

ABORT MISSION. ABORT THE FUCKING MISSION.

...Damn, sad to say I saw that coming.

Tony doesn’t hear the internal argument Peter’s having with his selves at the moment, instead smirking at the fact this teenage kid thinks he could out lie Tony with lying to Tony. “Yeah,” he drawls, “kid, pretty sure you’re not fucking Miss Michelle. Especially when you’re still calling sex ‘doing the do’.“

The man cocks his head to the side, eyes glittering. “But you could be material for sneaking out.”

“Huh?” Peter blinks, sipping the last of his coffee hurriedly so that he had nothing to spit out in case Mr. Stark surprised him.

He watches him shake his head, sighing but smiling. “Nevermind, you still do your best to follow May’s curfew, and that’s rare for kids your age, so I shouldn’t be bad influence.”

That rubs Peter the wrong way.

“Mr. Stark,” he rolls his eyes, “you’re hardly bad influence, I bet I’ve done things that would definitely shock you if you knew.”

Tony grunts, stirring the spagetthi sauce for them, eyebrows raised, “wow, sport, lemme guess, you came home a minute past curfew? Badass.”

Peter huffs at the mocking tone, standing to sway his way towards the elder, common sense definitely missing as he seductively trails his fingers up Tony’s exposed tan bicep, gently snuggling into him. Slowly, he whispers, “I could be worse for you, sir, I could.”

Tony growls, gripping Peter’s hips in a bruising hold that has the boy whining softly, niping his ear before the former remembers fuck- he’s just a kid what are you doing?

“I meant going on a short late night road trip, Pete,” he tries to clear the rumbling of his throat, nudging Peter back.

The younger simply grins with youthful rose cheeks and touseled locks, looking all too accomplished by the little stunt he pulled, rocking back n forth on his heels and toes. “That actually sounds really fun, Mr. Stark! We should try that after dinner.”

“...I knew you wouldn’t say no to my awesome cooking,” Tony awkwardly jokes, light atmosphere returning and sweeping away the previous heavy beginnings of ‘Sex Haze’ that totally screwed the inappropriate thoughts of his mentee he’d tried burrying ages ago.

[~]

“I don’t think I can take anymore pop,” Peter hiccups as he chugs down another can of cream soda, giggling with his head propped nearly out of the open shotgun window. His fluffy hair whips around in the wind, brushing his face and simply causing Tony to appreciate the adorable beau beside him. The man speeds up, on the empty, no-cameras highway, winking at Peter. “Time to be cliché, go ahead.”

Carly Rae Jepsen’s Runaway is bursting into the night air and Peter’s eardrums, especially because everything’s cranked to eleven, but the boy unbuckles his seatbelt and throws away the can at some rando tree, drunk on sugar, since everything needs to be cranked to twelve, now.

“I’m a fucking adult!” He whoops, hands on the glass of the topless car, standing dangerously on his sock-covered toes at the edge of his leather seat. There’s a few answering crows that have good enough timing that make him giggle deliriously, Tony laughing along because this was incredibly awesome. Really, how did he not come up with this before? The wind rushes past his ears, blushing his cheeks and cooling the previous resting heat in him.

He looks at Tony, who’s already staring back, grinning, and blows him a kiss which he takes in hand and presses to his cheek.

(Maybe Tony didn’t want nothing sexual yet, but Peter’d be damned if he didn’t try his chick-flick-flirting.)

“Let’s run away,” the older starts lowly, tilting his head back to focus on Peter’s dazzling smile.

“I’ll run away, with you,” Peter sings aloud, throwing his hands into the air repeatedly.

Baby, take me to the ceiling

I’ll be your sinner in secret

When the lights go out

Run away with me, run away with me!

The seveteen-year-old can’t stop the adrenaline rush in his veins and the pure joy; pure sappy love in his head, thanking everything and everyone he’s fallen for Tony Stark, because the man, try as he does to deny and hide it, has fallen for him too.

That’s magic, if Peter would ever admit.

Not too surprising though; every moment he spent with Tony was magic.

This your chance, Peter, a voice eerily close to Karen’s echoes to him alone, kiss him.

He studies Tony’s sharp brown hair, saliva-wet lips, handsome goatee and strong form. He stares thoughtfully at those comfy arms that held him steadily when needed, at the hands that could put him to bed with one simple brush, and dopily sighs, a little too whipped for a spider-mixed-teen.

Yeah.

He’s thanking Tony correctly.

Sat down and silent, Peter leans onto Tony’s shoulder, ignoring how he tenses, lowering the radio’s volume. “Thanks for this, Mr. Stark, it’s helped me blow off a bit of steam from the whole MIT and superhero-ing stress.” He sees the clenched muscles of Tony’s arm relax, and runs his palm over them, just to enjoy the sight of those hard ridges stiffening.

“No problem,” Tony answers quietly, probably over thinking the situation like he always did, questioning Peter’s actions for hormones instead of actual crushing-flirting-trying.

“Can I ask for something, right now?” He breathes softly, enraptured by the moonlight on Tony’s face, petting the soft bristles near his cheek and on his chin.

“More cream soda?” His soon-to-be boyfriend jokes, and Peter can’t stop the high giggle that escapes him, because this nervous 48-year-old acted so close to his age it was honestly endearing. “No,” he sits up, wondering if fate put on Carly Rae’s song on purpose, cupping Tony’s face. “Kiss me, please.”

The car stops.

Peter’s heart stops in anticipation.

Tony shakily exhales, closing his eyes, but not pulling away Peter’s lax hands. “Pete-“

“Hold onto me,” he pleads in tune to the song, pressing their foreheads together. Tony told him it was time to be cliché, and he was gonna be as cliché as he could be, right now. “I never wanna let you go,” the whispered truth pulls Tony’s arms to wrap around him, and Peter’s heart speeds again. He almost sobs in relief, that his fella doesn’t casually reject him as usual. For some reason, spidey senses were telling him this was the last chance he had to confess.

The man’s thumb brushes his exposed hipbone gently, breath smelling of coffee and mint in an oddly addictive mix, over taking all of Peter in a way that was so Tony he wanted it candled and burning in his room forever.

“You have to be sure you want this,” Tony mumbles, croaky with something just as pleading as the former, “I don’t know what I’d do if you pull away- Peter, fuck, this is so fucked up.. I’m ruining your life-“

“Ruin me,” Peter laughs, light and floaty, “you ruin me instead, I love it, I love you.”

The kiss that follows is so innocent Peter wants to giggle and cry at the same time, brief and gentle but so, so worth every painful awkward moment between them. It has him shuddering and begging internally for more, yet he just beams at the moment, the first peaks of sunlight poking at his closed lids, Tony’s laughter stuck on replay.

“I love you shouldn’t be said before the first date, kiddo,” he chuckles, sounding high as well, almost glowing. “I think we did this whole thing backwards.”

Peter snorts, pecking him shortly on the cheek, cuddling him like he’s always wanted to, “not really, it’s not completely backwards until you fuck me before we get to the first date.”

“You little shit,” Tony chokes, flicking his ear, only earning a playful kiss to his finger.

It’s the happiest Peter’s felt himself be in weeks, and that’s amazing; Tony’s amazing.

(What he doesn’t know is that this wouldn’t just be the first, but also the last time he’d get to run away from the world with Tony.)

•

•

•

(With their packed schedules, and brief meetings, Peter doesn’t get to drive freely with his lover even once after their sole time, and the last time he sees the savior of his childhood — his Tony — is on an alien planet, when the world turns to gold.

“I’m sorry, I love you,” he wanted to sob.

“I’m sorry,” is all he gets to say.)

_______________________

:)

[acsversace-news]

Warning: This recap of the “Manhunt” episode of The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story contains spoilers.

From the beginning we’ve known that Andrew Cunanan fancied himself a man of finer tastes. Even while on the run for a murder spree, he still took the time to purchase just the right Wayfarer knock-offs or order a surf ‘n’ turf meal from a wealthy john. Did Cunanan wear just any old bathing suit? Nope, it was magenta Speedo all the way. And when it came to rat-infested, crumbling junkie motels, you better believe Cunanan asked for an ocean view. Yes, even the lowest of human existences can leave room for glamour.

“Manhunt” continued last week’s premiere with even more backstory of where both Versace and Cunanan had been in their respective lives before the titular assassination. And like last week, it took what everyone knew about the case (from sensationalized tabloid coverage mostly) and filled in the gaps with new facts, genuine insight, and arresting beauty. Let’s talk about it!

We began with an unrecognizable, anonymous man in disguise.

Underneath this ingenious, identity-concealing ensemble was none other than famous fashion designer Gianni Versace. But this costumed ruse would be for neither heist nor romp. No, he was at a clinic receiving bad news about a blood test he’d recently taken. And while this episode was careful to keep things vague, this scene, added to a later scene in which he could barely walk unassisted, was meant to suggest that Versace’s life had once been threatened long before Andrew Cunanan ever pointed a gun at him. You can probably guess what the illness was. But as a reminder, the ’90s were an especially bad time for a specific group of people.

Versace’s diagnosis played heavily into this episode’s central concept. That he’d been able to fight off his illness using state-of-the-art medicines, he’d slapped the grim reaper across its tacky face, and he’d begun to embrace life as only a formerly dead man walking could. Which, as Donatella Versace noted, made his later murder all the more devastating.

But death comes for us all, even those who can afford to have their facial bullet wounds spackled over and their cremains laid to rest so fabulously.

Even when reduced to several ounces of ash, Versace still flew first class. Honestly touching.

We then cut over to Andrew Cunanan, who was currently speeding on the freeway scream-singing “Gloria.” Which, we’ve all done that, and in my case nearly every day. “Gloria” is one of the greatest songs of all time. As we quickly discovered, Cunanan was only just arriving in Miami, so this act of free-wheelin’ joy came after he’d murdered his first four victims. Yep, he was now murder-jazzed, and it was time to spread his brand of awful in a beach community!

Cunanan showed up at the dingiest motel with the most beautiful oceanfront view in Miami. It was clearly a faded stucco hell pit of junkies and, well, other serial killers I’m guessing. Between the presence of a junkie Max Greenfield and a duct-tape gimp mask, this was like if American Horror Story: Hotel had been crossed with Miami Vice. Into it.

Meanwhile the FBI had arrived in town around the same time, but this local Miami detective lady quickly realized they were terrible at their jobs and had not tried particularly hard to catch this gay spree-killer yet. They hadn’t even made any copies of his “Wanted” poster! And as we’d learn later, citizens were ready and willing to report a Cunanan sighting, which made it all the more frustrating that the FBI had been so slow to spread the word. (Thank God for America’s Most Wanted.)

As you can imagine, Andrew Cunanan made fast friends with junkie Max Greenfield, and after a heartfelt scene in which Greenfield’s character talked about his HIV diagnosis, the two schemed openly about how to make quick cash and/or buy some junk to smoke. An enterprising liar and conman, it was almost charming that Cunanan still resorted to turning tricks sometimes. I guess that was easier than, like, check fraud or whatever.

So, sex work for local lonely hearts was now on the menu! Congratulations, Miami fellas!

Except, whoops … there was the pesky fact that Andrew Cunanan was a total psychopath. Which meant that this john’s simple request to be dominated led him to finding himself suffocating under a face full of duct tape and terrorized within an inch of his life while Andrew Cunanan danced around the room in a pink Speedo.

Yeah this was one of the most disturbing scenes I’ve seen in a Ryan Murphy joint, but the terror was effective. The disturbing vibe continued even afterward, as the terrified john sat watching Cunanan finish a lobster meal, waited until Cunanan left, and then debated whether to call 911 and report the assault. Alas, the wedding ring he placed back on his finger suggested why the crime ultimately went unreported. Again: The ’90s really sucked.

But enough darkness, it was time to remember what made Versace famous! In this scene, Donatella urged Versace to change things up and compete with his more goth-inspired competitors Galliano and McQueen, but Versace made clear that he was in the business of joy and beauty and life, especially now that he had his health back. Donatalla couldn’t help but see his point.

And credit to this show for not only producing a convincing fashion show (with convincingly Versace-ish looks) but also even casting a runway model who resembled Shalom Harlow to play Shalom Harlow! Miss her. Come back, Shalom.

As though we needed more evidence that Andrew Cunanan was unhinged, we got this cute scene where he smoked tons of drugs, then went to the bathroom for some quiet time. In this case quiet time involved wrapping his head and face in duct tape and also admiring the intensely insane serial killer wall he’d created in the bathroom:

Yeah, I think we’d recalled Cunanan as being an out-of-control party boy or whatever, but this series has done a lot to prove he was insane in a scary and singular way. Just a bad-time-guy lookin’ for trouble.

We also got glimpses into the romantic life shared by Versace and his lover, Ricky Martin (as himself, jk). And though their lifestyle of hooking up with men together and going to the clubs was nothing they were ashamed of in their private life, we could sense that the straight world would never understand their situation. Versace himself doubted that his partner truly loved him enough to want to be married (which … gay marriage? What a futuristic concept in 1997!), yet they still were clearly everything to each other. It would be romantic if we didn’t know where this was all heading.

We then got another classic Cathy Moriarty appearance, in which we saw the incident when Cunanan sold a stolen coin to her at her pawn shop and she remembered it enough to contact the police after the shooting. And again, she’d even glanced at her collection of “Wanted” posters before making the sale, underscoring again that the authorities’ slow-to-act tendencies toward gay crime had almost directly led to Versace’s murder. But at least we can all continue to count on Cathy Moriarty when we need her!

I loved this brief scene when a drag impersonator of Donatella showed up at Versace’s manor and demanded to come in and hang out. He was polite enough about it, noting that one Donatella in his life was enough, but still. She DID look fun to hang out with. I probably would’ve let her up.

That night, Versace and his lover went out to the local dance club Twist, and Andrew Cunanan followed them there, presumably to shoot him right there in the club. But Versace ended up ducking out before the encounter happened but not before his lover informed him that even at night, even amid opportunities to be around other men … he still chose Versace and wanted to marry him. Again, except for the line of strangers behind them and the bad ’90s techno wafting in the air, this was an incredibly touching and romantic moment. These two.

Inside, a clearly dejected Cunanan was approached by a random hottie, and he responded by having a borderline meltdown in which he listed all the different fake occupations he’d ever pretended to be. Including, of course, serial killer. But while the random hottie had no reason to think Cunanan was being serious about any of them, it was a chilling notion that someone who had spent a lifetime lying about his accomplishments was now going to try to make a name for himself in a more tragic and gruesome way. Ugh, he was the worst.

“Manhunt” functioned best as a continuation of last week’s introduction to the story and setting. And like last week, it relied on visuals and physical performance more than written dialogue, and was just as spellbinding. Tense, funny, emotional, and troubling all at once, this is a fascinating world to explore and I can’t get enough. Obviously it’s a dark story and doesn’t promise to get any lighter by the end of it, but I can’t help myself. That this is even on the air (and executed so perfectly) is enough to give someone a new lease on life. How very Versace.

[alphacrone]

All Decked Out Like a Cowboy's Dream

[Part of the Blue-Eyed Jack ‘Verse]

CW: food mentions, homophobia mentions, being publicly out

When Jack and Bitty started publicly dating, the internet, well...the internet broke, just a little.

Though they were only known in their respective circles -- most of Bitty’s colleagues hadn’t heard of Jack and vice versa -- it was a big deal. Bitty was suddenly hailed as the “gay Carrie Underwood” and Jack had to order a moratorium on all jokes about his sexy “tractor.” They got the usual “keep your private life private” criticism from the AFA people (“Would that I could, y’all.”) and some nasty remarks from sports commentators, but it wasn’t as if either of them was coming out for the first time.

Mostly they both just had to suffer through the Blue-Eyed Jack memes. It seemed a fair price to pay for being able to date openly.

They’d only been dating a few months when Bitty approached Jack with a nervous, hopeful smile. They were in Vancouver on a short vacation together, walking hand-in-hand through the Granville Island market, pointing at the seagulls stealing food and laughing. They’d wandered down away from the market proper to a boat dock, and Jack read out the silliest boat names to Bitty in a straight-faced monotone. If he were being honest with himself, Bitty hadn’t laughed like this in a long time, even with all the time he spent with his goofy band. Jack was special, and Bitty was very, very lucky.

“So, I, uh, wanted to run something by you,” Bitty said as they fell into a comfortable silence. “You’re not busy on June 15th, are you?”

Jack raised an eyebrow. The Falcs had been knocked out of playoffs in the first round, hence the vacation -- Jack had needed to get far away and Bitty had needed to comfort his boyfriend in person. “I don’t have anything planned. Why?”

“Well, um…” Bitty scuffed his toe against the sidewalk. “That’s the night of the CMT Music Awards. I have a plus-one, was thinkin’ of reaching out to Troye Sivan to be my date, back before you. But, um...I know you don’t like public events…”

“Bits.” Jack squeezed his hand tighter and grinned. “I’d love to be your plus-one.”

“Really?” Bitty let out a deep sigh and leaned up against Jack’s arm. “That’s...I’m happy.”

“I’ve never been to Nashville outside of playing the Preds,” Jack said. “You’ll have to show me the sights.”

Bitty laughed, feeling a million times lighter. “Oh, yeah, I can show you all the crappy dives I used to play at. Oh! And the diner where I used to wash dishes. The fry cook there let me help him, sometimes, on slow nights. He even admitted my flapjacks were better than his.” Bitty sighed, swinging Jack’s arm up and around his shoulder so he could tuck himself in against his boyfriend. “As soon as I hit my break, I sent him money for his daughter’s school supplies. I sent money to every bar owner in the city who gave me a chance, too, and the blues band that found me on the streets that first week and gave me a couch to crash on. There are a lot of snakes in Nashville,” he continued, voice growing softer. “But if it hadn’t been for the good people, I don’t even know if I would’ve survived. I try to visit them all, every time I’m in town. Gotta remember your roots,” he added with a laugh. “When interviewers ask about my family, I tell ‘em that the kind folks of the world are my family, and I’m theirs.”

Jack bent down suddenly to kiss Bitty, soft and sweet. “I don’t know how someone as positive and gracious as you ever agreed to date someone like me,” he said, smile teasing. “But I’m very, very glad.”

“Well, according to TMZ, it’s for your NHL paycheck,” Bitty chirped, slipping his hand into the back pocket of Jack’s jeans. “And this fella here.” He squeezed Jack’s ass, laughing.

Jack snorted and pulled Bitty along the path, back up to the crowded market. “C’mon, I saw a cheese stand inside. I know how you are about fancy cheeses.”

“You get me,” Bitty said, fluttering his eyelashes. “Lead the way, Mr. Zimmermann.”

  Despite Bitty renting a perfectly good house with his band, Jack got himself an overpriced suite in a fancy hotel as a treat for the two of them after the awards. Bitty suddenly didn’t care if Bitty & the Biscuits won anything -- he just wanted to spend the evening drinking with his band and then retire to the giant bed with ridiculously soft pillows to spend some alone time with his favorite person.

Unfortunately, that meant his favorite person wasn’t at the house to get ready with Bitty and the rest of the band. Their rented car would swing by the hotel to pick up on the way, but while Jack got to dress and primp in peace, Bitty was running around the house with three other panicked guys plus their dates and several stylists.

Despite his threat to invite Alexei Mashkov to the awards, Ransom had settled on Lardo as his date because he thought their height difference was hilarious and would make for great red carpet photos. Dex, the giant nerd that he was, had flown his grandmother down from Maine to be his plus-one. Chowder was bringing his girlfriend, Caitlin, whose natural Cara Delevingne brows and Target-sale-rack dress put them all to shame.

Bitty himself was dressed in a snazzy sky-blue suit with the top buttons of his shirt undone. His hair was coiffed spectacularly -- “The higher the hair, the closer to God,” he’d joked with his stylist. -- and his shoes were gold and shinier than anything. Bitty looked good and he hoped Us Weekly agreed.

Somehow, they managed to get the whole band and their dates into the small, white limo on time and headed towards the hotel where Jack was waiting. Ransom and Lardo kept chirping him about “seeing the bride before the wedding” or something equally as dumb, but Bitty simply ignored them and texted Jack that they were on their way.

When they pulled up to the taxi circle in front of the hotel, Bitty literally felt his jaw drop. Because there, waiting, in the tightest jeans he’d ever seen and a pair of gosh darn cowboy boots stood his boyfriend and sexiest man alive. His ass was a national treasure when he wore tennis shoes and basketball shorts; when he wore heeled boots and well-tailored jeans? The Zimmer-booty was the eighth modern wonder of the world.

“Well, shit, Bits,” Lardo said, following his gaze. “You hit the Jack-pot.”

Ransom snorted with laughter and Bitty couldn’t even find it in himself to be annoyed. He wondered how rude it would be to skip the awards and drag Jack upstairs to his suite immediately.

The driver came around and opened the door for Jack, and he crawled in with a shy grin. “You look really, really great,” he told Bitty, taking in his blue suit and styled hair. “You’re gonna steal the show.”

Bitty shook his head slowly. “No, I don’t think I am.”

When Jack cocked his head in confusion, Lardo clarified. “You look hot, Jack. You broke Bitty.”

“Really?” Jack looked surprised, then smug. “But it’s so early in the evening.”

The entire limo ooh-ed in dramatically scandalized tones. Even Dex’s grandmother laughed at the insinuation. Ransom elbowed Bitty in the ribs until Bitty smacked his arm hard.

“Shush,” Bitty said as the car began to drive again. “Let’s just discuss this year’s drinking game.”

“Alright,” Dex said, pulling a piece of paper from his pocket. “Take a shot every time someone trips or falls. Take a drink for every cowboy hat you see. Take a sip for every time Carrie Underwood changes her outfit. Oh!” Dex sighed and shoved the paper back into his jacket. “Chug your drink every time someone makes an off-color joke about us.”

“Great,” Ransom said. “We’ll be wasted within an hour.”

“None of them better say anything ugly about you boys,” Grandma Poindexter said crossly. “Else they’ll answer to me.”

“Wow, Dex,” Chowder said. “Your grandma is, like, way cooler than you.”

The boys chirped and fought the entire ride to the awards, leaving Bitty to reign in his overwhelmed little heart in relative peace.

  They didn’t win.

Bitty really hadn’t been expecting to, but it stung all the same.

Still -- he’d gotten to take drunk selfies with Kacey Musgraves and Jack had found Mike Fisher pretty quickly, two hockey boys in a sea of country stars. (Bitty could see the headlines already: Hockey Invasion?) There’d only been one tone-deaf gay joke about him, and Willie Nelson had smiled at him as he passed by his table. Dolly came over at one point to hug him tightly and make him promise to spend a day in the studio with her so they could record a duet or two. All in all, it had been a good evening.

And it was about to get better.

Bitty’s drunkenness had faded into a tired sort of buzz by the time he and Jack were dropped off at the hotel. They staggered to the room, giggly and sluggish. Bitty jumped onto the bed and kicked off his shoes, relishing the expensive squishiness of the mattress pad.

“You hungry, bud?” Jack asked, closing the door behind him. He shed his sports jacket, revealing the tight, white t-shirt underneath. Lord, he was the spitting image of the country hunk Bitty had dreamt about as a teenager. It suddenly really didn’t matter that Bitty & the Biscuits had lost -- Bitty had his award right here.

“Starving,” Bitty said, trying to sound suggestive, but the rumbling of his stomach ruined the moment.

Jack pulled out the room service menu, sitting down on the bed next to Bitty. “I could go for a burger. You wanna split a dessert?”

Bitty smiled up at Jack. “I want to make a comment about you being my dessert, but I also really want something smothered in chocolate.”

Jack laughed and pulled Bitty up until he was leaning against his chest. “Cheeseburger and fries for me. A ‘molten lava brownie deluxe’ for dessert. And…?”

“Ooh, fettuccine alfredo,” Bitty said with a happy sigh. “Yes, please.”

“It worries me how much dairy you eat,” Jack said teasingly. “And one giant bowl of cream and carbs, coming right up.”

“Just for that, you’re not getting any,” Bitty said petulantly. “Of either sort.”

Jack laughed and kissed Bitty’s head. “Will you love me again if I take you out for breakfast in the morning?”

“Maybe.” Bitty snuggled in closer, biting lightly at the underside of Jack’s jaw. “Will there be biscuits and gravy?”

“Of course,” Jack said. “To continue your diet of cream and carbs.”

“Chirp, chirp, chirp,” Bitty huffed. “It’s like you don’t want to get laid at all.”

“Bittle,” Jack said seriously, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I saw how you looked at my ass all night. I have no fears about not getting laid.”

Bitty pouted and slapped Jack’s stomach lightly. “I knew I should’ve called Troye,” he said grumpily. “Troye wouldn’t be this rude to me.”

Jack laughed. “Troye’s ass wouldn’t look this good in jeans, either.”

“Ugh, just order the food you narcissist,” Bitty said. “You know the true way to my heart is through my stomach.”

“That I do,” Jack said smugly, leaning down to kiss Bitty again before picking up the phone. “That I do.”

“Love you, Cowboy,” Bitty murmured as Jack dialed the front desk. “Love you, too,” Jack whispered. “Hello? Yes, I’d like to order room service…”

[READ PART FOUR]

[OMGCP Country Singer AU]

[My writing tag]

[My online novel, The Discourt Knife]