#i just blacked out when you said butch cowboy

[landslided]

Idea: Lawrusso butch4butch cowboy lesbians

the noise i just let out should be studied by scientists. yes ❤️ absolutely

im historically not an expert on cowboys (my friend is tho) so all my ideas and inspiration come from westerns but im thinking:

danielle larusso is new in the area. her mother brought a decrepit ranch with all of their economies and they’re now trying to give it a second life. in doing so they meet mr miyagi, an old man living not far away from the ranch but quite isolated from the others in town. he takes care of cattle and he’s very polite and very kind to danielle and lucille (who have had to deal with their share of sexist assholes since danielle’s dad died). lucille makes business with him to buy some of his cattle and they decide to actually start working together. she invites him to dinner one evening and he never really leaves. he helps her and danielle fix the ranch and also starts teaching danielle how to take care of cattle and especially horses. danielle doesn’t really have her own horse yet but she wants one very badly and so miyagi offers her a beautiful palomino mare for her birthday.

one morning, danielle goes in the barn to take care of her horse and sees another horse already there. a black american quarterhorse and behind it is hidden a bruised and bleeding johnny lawrence. johnny is an outlaw. she used to be a rich girl back in town. her mother had married the mayor of the town when she was a young girl and johnny was promised to marry one of his rich (and old) friends but she fled and instead she joined a group of outlaw who commit petty crimes to survive. she and the other cobras had just done a heist when they were separated while running away and she was shot in the back. she didn’t know where to go. she saw the barn in the horizon and decided to hide there until the police lost her tracks but with the blood loss she fell asleep and didn’t manage to leave the barn before morning.

danielle brings her back home and nurses her back to health (but at the same time she wonders if she should throw her out because johnny is 1) a criminal 2) a fugitive 3) a huge bitch). a little after johnny gets back on her feet, the cobras come and meet her and tell her that they all need to split up for a while because the sheriff is after them, johnny gets really worried because she has nowhere to go apart from going back to her house but if she goes back to laura and sid she knows she’ll be married by force. danielle, who cannot keep her nose out of other people’s business, tells johnny she can stay if she starts working on the ranch. which is how johnny ends up training horses with danielle and mr miyagi.

im also imagining slow burn love story between danielle and johnny: fishing trips that end with taking a swim naked in the lake, talks in front of the fire where danielle learns to like johnny and johnny hides how much she wants to kiss danielle, dinners with lucille and mr miyagi who can see what’s going on there, the two of them racing on their horses. just, lots of domestic shit that end abruptly because kreese, another outlaw who helped johnny escape sid, comes to collect what he believes to be johnny’s debt. he wants johnny to work for him, danielle thinks his intentions are a lot darker than that but johnny tells her that he truly helped so that she just needs to pay her debt back and he’ll leave her alone. except kreese doesn’t leave her alone and mr miyagi has to step in. (you know you gotta have a duel in a western).

johnny gets hurt in the crossfire and it makes danielle realize that she’s in love with that blonde meathead. johnny scares them all by staying unconscious a lot longer than last time. the cobras come to visit and they all wait at johnny’s bedside. when she wakes up, bobby tells her that danielle has not moved ever since she’s been hurt and that she should get her head out of her ass and tell the other woman how she feels. danielle comes to see her, johnny thanks her for taking care of her again and they both manage to say i love you at the same time. happy ending, all is well, they train horses on the ranch until they’re old and grey (but still in love).

[justsome-di]

Nobody Ends Up Dead in a Bathtub, Everyone Keeps Their Organs: Chapter 36 of 37

Summary: Alex is an ordinary, highly-introverted office worker. He clocks in and out and goes home to his little apartment he shares with his younger sister. He hasn’t dated in years by the time his co-workers set him up on a blind date.

The only issue is he and his date are not on the same page. At all.

While Alex thinks it’s a normal date, Damián is under the impression Alex is a client who paid to be there. No-so-quickly, they realize something is up. It’s all a prank. Damián is a sex worker Alex’s co-workers hired as a sick joke.

After reassuring that they’re both okay, Alex decides he wants revenge for both him and Damián. The plan is to use the stigma of sex work and start a 6-week, scandalous fake dating scheme with a big finale at the office Halloween party. Alex’s co-workers will be too horrified to try to prank him again. At least, that’s the plan.

You can also read this on AO3. If you don’t want to wait for new chapters, the complete story is on Patreon for only $4 with bonus stories! If you’re enjoying the story and want to support me in other ways, consider dropping me a message in my inbox or reblogging this post!

True crime provided a little catharsis. Damián couldn’t help but feel a smidgen of glee when the kidnapper of the story was caught by a local group of true crime enthusiasts and, mysteriously, was handed over to police battered and bloody. He punched the air when they showed his mugshot, one eye swollen shut and his lip bloody and split.

It was nice how a community looked out for one another. A child went missing in a small town, police did nothing, and so everyone else jumped in to help. It was a happy ending. He would let himself believe that that happened more often than not.

He leaned into Alex and let his warmth comfort him. He was in his apartment, he was safe, and he had made up with Alex. Good things were going to come, he told himself. He would forget how Jason’s arms felt around him someday. There would be better times ahead.

He’d take some time off from booking new clients and let himself rest for a little bit—even though he wasn’t great at the resting thing. Diego would understand if he canceled their upcoming appointment. He always understood, thank god. Damián would just have to make up three appointments now.

As the credits rolled on the episode, Eve and Leo walked in, Leo glaring in the direction of Alex for a moment before softening his gaze toward his brother. Damián would talk to him later.

“Aren’t you two cute!” Damián cooed.

They were in their costumes. Eve in jeans and a white button-up top, a child’s brown vest with fringe, and a plastic water gun at her hip. And, of course, a child’s hat on her head. It wasn’t a shock that all of the children’s accessories fit. She was quite tiny. Next to Leo, she did look like a child.

“What a cute cowgirl!” Damián said.

“I’m a cowboy,” Eve corrected.

“Ooh. Sorry. Cowboy. Very handsome.” Damián looked at Leo. “And what are you?”

Leo was in a black suit and a headband with lacy bunny ears poking up. “I’m a modest, male Playboy bunny.”

“Creative! I love it!”

“How was the party?” Alex asked.

“It went well,” Eve said. “We had a good time.”

“I got a free book.” Leo waved around a well-loved copy of Stone Butch Blues. The cover was bent and curling. The spine was cracked. “Eve made me take this one. She said it’d make me a better ally.”

“It will definitely do that,” Damián said. “Keep me updated on your journey.”

Eve flopped on the couch next to Damián. “Did you guys make up?”

“Yeah, we’re okay,” Alex said.

“Did you bail on the office party?”

“Yeah.”

Eve groaned. “You didn’t even complete your scheme. This whole thing is anti-climatic. I’m disappointed in both of you.”

Leo sat on the floor by Eve. He threw off his suit jacket and tie to the floor in a pile, immediately getting scolded by Damián. Leo groaned and complained, but Damián dug his knuckles into the top of his head until Leo gave in and picked them up and laid them nicely over the coffee table.

“How do you even pay Damián for it now?” Eve asked.

“I’ll still pay him what I owe him—if he finally accepts it,” Alex said. He looked to Damián. “Will you take it?”

“Don’t worry about it—“

“No, I will. You still did work. We completed some of the scheme.”

Damián sighed and raised his eyes in thought. It was too much math to think about at the moment without his notes. He didn’t care all that much about getting paid at all. The whole thing was a mess, and he had been more than happy to have seen Alex all those times. The $625 was simultaneously way too low and way too high for the past month. Anyone else would have had to pay at least half by now. But he felt bad taking hundreds of dollars from Alex.

“How about we just keep the planning fee which was, what, $75? And then for the first date with Martin and Sam, it was $100, the other was—you know what, just pay $250.”

“No!” Leo said. “Make him pay in full.”

“We didn’t go to the party!” Damián said. “We didn’t finish the appointment!”

“Yeah, but you don’t do refunds.”

“This is different.” Damián turned to Alex and sighed. “I don’t really care.”

“$250 is fine,” Alex said. He pulled out his phone. “It’s low, though. I hope you know Martin told me how much they paid for you that first night.”

Damián waved his hand. “Friends and family discount.”

“Gross,” Eve said. She slipped to the floor next to Leo. “Family discount?”

“Friends discount,” Damián corrected himself.

Alex sent the $250. Damián’s phone buzzed with the payment.

“Are you guys going to hang out with us?” Damián asked.

“Yeah, my social battery is empty,” Eve said. “I can’t go out in public for another week.”

“Don’t you have your exam tomorrow?” Alex asked. “Don’t you want to study?”

“She’s got it down,” Leo said. “She’ll pass tomorrow.”

“And if I don’t know it by now, I won’t learn it in the next 12 hours.” Eve held up finger guns to Alex.

“Leo, are you staying with us?” Damián asked.

Leo didn’t say anything but nestled against Damián’s legs. Damián reached down and very briefly brushed his fingers against the back of Leo’s hair.

Eve chose the next docu-series. It started like any other. A flashy introduction and a vague introduction to the hometown of the victims and then the place of the crime. A voiceover from a townsfolk who was quickly revealed to the camera sitting in his own home. He looked slightly off-camera. His name appeared in little text in the corner of the screen.

Dave Kehler. Jame’s Neighbor.

“He always seemed like a good guy,” Dave said. Predictable. “He went to church with us every Sunday. He volunteered all the time. He donated to the schools. No one thought that he would do what he did.”

Alex relaxed into Damián’s side, lending some of his warmth that made Damián feel drowsy. Beside and below them, Eve and Leo talked about ordering food. Eve was offering to share her stash of hot chips with Leo. It was sweet. Damián paid attention to them more than he listened to the TV. Leo was asking Eve how spicy she could go, and Eve was boasting about her Taki skills.

But all of a sudden the kids stopped talking and looked at the screen and then at each other. Eve looked back at Alex with wide eyes.

A re-enactment on the TV showed a girl in a haze of lights and music.

“Breanne was drugged at the party and later woke up in the bedroom of James Gailey,” a new woman said. Her credentials said she had been a local police officer. “She reported it to the police as soon as she could, and we set her up with some tests and a rape kit. We asked her who did it, if she could remember anything. And she said it was James Gailey. There was no one else who could have done it.”

“It shocked everyone.” The interview went back to Dave. “We didn’t think of James as that type of man.”

“Can we—“ Damián rubbed the back of his head. “Can we change it?”

Eve grabbed the remote and quickly began scrolling through the family-friendly Halloween section on Netflix. Leo suggested an old Disney movie. It wasn’t something he would ever watch on his own. It didn’t seem like Eve’s cup of tea either. But they were both trying desperately to find something super safe, Damián knew. There were minimal non-consensual scenes in Disney films.

Damián pressed harder into Alex. He widened his hips to knock his leg against Leo.

Alex grabbed his hand. “I wish we could do something,” he whispered. “About that guy. I wish we could report it to someone.”

“I already said just being here with me is enough,” Damián said.

“Sucks that the guy just gets to go on with his life. He gets to go to work on Monday and pretend like he did nothing wrong.”

“There’s nothing we can do. If we want to tell anyone, I’ll have to come clean about the sex work, and then that just gets me in trouble.”

“We could just make the guy’s life miserable,” Eve said.

“Did you know where that guy worked?” Leo asked.

“He was at some blockchain start-up,” Damián said. “He owns it. Or at least that’s what he told me.”

Damián grabbed the arm of his sweater. He’d be okay. He’d be okay. Just talking about the dick wouldn’t bring him back.

“Did he tell you what it was called?” Eve asked, grabbing her laptop.

“No.” Damián was catching on. Eve was going to hunt him down. “But he did say he was an alumnus of Columbia.”

Eve began typing into Google. She sat back and looked at her results. “Okay. So, it turns out there’s a lot of Columbia grads who run crypto start-ups.”

Damián shrugged. “It’s okay. He probably made sure it wasn’t easy to find him.”

But Eve didn’t give up. While Alex turned the movie back on and kept his hand tightly around Damián’s, Damián kept stealing glances at her screen. Leo was on his phone, Googling in circles and falling down rabbit holes of LinkedIn profiles and blockchain websites.

Eve had pulled up every social media site known to man along with Columbia’s alumni page. Her fingers were pounding on her keys. She was opening new tabs and had four separate windows open on her screen at once, each wedged into a corner.

Damián tried focusing on the movie. He tried focusing on Alex’s hand. He tried remembering all of the good things currently in his life.

He had Leo, staying with him through graduate school. He had Alex sitting next to him. He had little Eve right there, too. There were good clients who cared about him—who threatened to admit him to a hospital if he didn’t take care of himself.

He was starting to feel a little hungry, and he felt confident enough to suggest ordering late dinners.

He was going to stay with his new—boyfriend? Partner? Alex. Whatever they were at this point.

But he also kept thinking about what they would do if they did find the guy’s company.

Eve hunched over her laptop and blew up one window to fill the whole screen. Damián squeezed Alex’s hand.

“I think I found him,” Eve said.

She turned her laptop to Damián. Jason was staring at him, his bright blue eyes cutting through the screen. Damián looked away.

“Yeah.” Damián nodded. “That’s him.”

“So, first of all, he doesn’t own the company,” Eve said. She scrolled up on the webpage. “It’s run by this guy. Elias Parkwood. This Jason clown is, like, a step below him, I guess.”

“I’m not surprised he lied,” Leo said. “What does it say about the Elias Parkwood guy?”

Eve scrolled even further up. “That he’s the CEO of the company and is devoted to shaking up the industry. He has links to his email. And I think it’d be a real shame if Elias got an email saying someone saw his employee clearly drugging someone in a bar.”

“Oh no, but that could cost Jason his job,” Leo said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Especially if you provide his boss with the bar’s contact information to confirm that there were witnesses. Or even, I don’t know, the brother’s contact information as well since he was there, too.”

“Aw, that would definitely be awful. Too bad for Jason.”

Eve tapped away for a few more minutes. Damián bit the inside of his cheek. Alex took his hand with both of his.

“Oh shit.” Eve had found Parkwood on LinkedIn. “He’s a SUNY grad.”

“Shiiiiit,” Leo cheered. “That’s fucking wild. We can use that.”

“Maybe ask Damián permission before you do this?” Alex said. “Maybe?”

Thoughtful. That was the Alex Damián knew.

“Do it,” Damián said. “But don’t get your hopes up. I don’t know how many tech CEOs are morally opposed to attempted sexual assault.”

There was no way of knowing if his boss had morals. He could be close friends with Jason. There was a possibility—like Andrew, Stu, and Martin—that it had been planned in a group.

Damián discreetly took a deep breath through his nose.

Eve opened a new window and opened her school email. “What do I say?”

“Here,” Alex held out his hands. Eve passed her laptop to him. “I send a hundred emails a day. How about we say, ‘Mr. Parkwood, I hope this email finds you well. I am a comp sci student at SUNY. I was out the other night at the Rex Hotel’s bar, and there was a disturbing scene. A man at the bar had drugged his date and was attempting to leave with him. The man was stopped, and his companion was thankfully helped by a few of us bystanders. It has come to my attention that this man was your employee, Jason—whatever his last name is.

“’Jason left the bar without his date. His date was confirmed to be drugged by bar staff, bystanders, and his brother, Leo, who I also attend school with at SUNY.

“‘Leo has provided his contact information below as well as the bar’s contact information and hours of operation.

“‘It is concerning to see a SUNY alumnus have an employee attempt what everyone was sure was—was date rape. I am confident you feel the same as many of my peers are looking for positive role models among alumni in the tech industry.

“‘Thank you for your time, Eve, Class of 2026.’”

Damián fixated on the coffee table. There was an old coffee ring on it, stained deep into the wood. He could probably lift some of it off when vinegar if Alex were to let him. He’d let it sit for a few minutes, and there would be a good chance he could wipe some of it away. He could make it less noticeable, but it wouldn’t all come away. It had had too much time to set, probably. It hadn’t been wiped away as soon as the coffee had spilled onto the wood.

“Damián?”

Alex touched his shoulder. He had light freckles over his face. They were sprinkled over his nose and high up on his cheeks. Damián wondered if they would come out more in the summer.

“Is it okay?” Alex asked.

Damián nodded. “Yeah. It’s good.”

Alex passed the laptop back to Eve. She and Leo added the promised contact information.

“Let’s not think about it anymore tonight,” Damián said. “He’s probably not checking his email this late.”

Everyone agreed. Eve closed her laptop and laid it on the floor.

Alex turned to Damián. Their faces were almost touching.

And then, slowly but with no hesitance, Alex closed the space between them with a kiss. It was good. It didn’t heal Damián, but it made him feel good. Better. Loved.

There was a dull but forceful thud to the side of his head. He pulled away and looked around for the source.

“What the fuck, Eve?” Alex leaned forward to glare at his sister.

Eve was holding a throw pillow and glaring back. “You can’t make out on the couch I sleep on.”

Damián rubbed his ear. Leo joined in, complaining to Damián that it was gross to watch them kiss.

“Are you a child?” Damián asked Leo. “You can’t watch adults kiss? Do I need to put parental locks on your computer?”

“Alex, I’m telling mom and dad you were making out in front of me—“

“Eve, I’m 33. You can’t tattle on me for kissing a boy.”

Their voices all overlapped, their arguments rising and shifting in new directions.

Damián quickly found Leo’s pout adorable and switched to cooing, leaning forward to Leo on the floor. He pinched Leo’s cheeks and asked if he was feeling forgotten, if Damián just needed to pay more attention to him. He began baby-talking him in Spanish just like their grandmother had done even into their teens. Leo continued to complain about the kissing, and then about the “abuelita treatment,” and then about the quick pecks Damián was pressing into his cheeks and forehead. But Leo didn’t shove him away or move. He grimaced and fussed but stayed put.

Eve, meanwhile, had reached across Damián and was trying to pull Alex’s hand closer to her mouth to bite him. Alex’s voice was getting frantic as he tried yanking his arm away.

When Damián noticed, he tried breaking them up. Leo began chanting in favor of Eve to bite. One of Damián’s hands was trying to calm him while the other tried releasing Alex from Eve’s grip. She was surprisingly strong, and Damián had to re-adjust to try to pull her entire body away.

The commotion continued to rise. The comfortable warmth Damián had felt before was now sweltering heat from exertion and three people wrestling. Their voices were raising until a neighbor began pounding on the adjoining wall and their shouts turned to laughter.

The movie ended without any of them noticing.

[gunslinginnhogtyin]

Though he’s taken notice of their presence, the cowboy seems oblivious to the unspoken back and forth shared between the baristas, more so focused on the man who had invited him into the shop. Though, he does catch that bit about Roland being off work today… did he come in just to make him a drink? Butch would honestly probably feel a little bad if he weren’t so flattered.

When the vampire returns, Butch appears thoughtful at the mention of sweetener though he can’t help but answer honestly, “Mm, I usually jus’ take mine thick n’ bitter.” He preferred his coffee black as the night with no additives—all that extra stuff drowned out the taste of the coffee itself! But he had never been here before and he had never been opposed to trying new things… wait, what had he said? A “latte”?

“Somehow you’d be right.” The cowboy laughs. “What’s a latte, anyhow? He asks, that content smile not leaving his face. “Sounds fancy…y’know what, jus’ give me somethin’ y’think I’ll like—surprise me.” He decides with a shrug, keen on anything that will give him a little bit of caffeine, though he’s not exactly used to the amount of caffeine generally used these days to flavor such beverages. If Roland thought he was high energy now, just wait until he got some of that sweet sugar into his system!

“So how’d you get into th’ coffee makin’ business an’ away from the blood suckin’ one, anyhow?” Now that may have been an inappropriate question depending on how the other viewed it but it’s full of genuine curiosity. Roland indeed didn’t strike him as the traditional undead… he seemed much more civilized and a lot less blood thirsty! He much preferred it that way.

"Creepy? Honey, do i look like the typical undead? I don't think so." Roland teased Butch with a heaping helping of sass in his tone. It was all in good fun though, as was made clear by the smile on his face.

"I decorated most of it myself, yeah. Sometimes my crew makes suggestions or brings things in to display. Some of the artwork hung up here was made by a couple of them."

Upon Roland's entry to his establishment, the two Baristas on staff at the time all greeted him from their stations. He responded in kind, heading towards the back as they asked about his day, and what he was doing back here off the clock. He said something to the effect of bringing in a guest, which had both baristas glancing over at Butch when their manager disappeared to the back. They shared a look between each other, and had a brief conversation all through their eyes and stifled smiles. Seems they knew something he didn't.

Roland came back out with his juniper green apron on, tying it up behind his back. He met eyes with Butch again, and motioned with his head for the cowboy to come up to the counter.

"So! How do you take your poison?" Roland smiled. "Milk? Cream? Any sugar? And I assume just in brewed coffee? Somehow I get the feeling you don't order too many lattes."

[powerfultenderness]

An Odd Couple

This request was from @pizzapocketss : Maybe one of Adrian where he buys matching costumes but reader also buys matching costumes as well so they both just go as whatever they picked for each other?

Rated: T+

Pairing: gn!Reader/Adrian Chase

Summary: When you and Adrian both surprise each other with couples costumes, you come to a fun compromise!

Warnings: Some sexually suggestive dialogue, but it’s nothing explicit. 

Word Count: 1562

A/N: I’m referencing the [Mariners alternate uniform, here’s an example]

⚾[#Vigilante Halloween Masterlist] 🤠

[Masterlist]

[Dividers]

For the first time in his life Adrian was in a serious relationship near Halloween. He always wanted to wear matching costumes with someone, but the age gap between him and his brother was too large for Gut to want to spend his Halloween with a kid. The year Peacemaker got out of prison,  Adrian asked him to wear a matching costume but Peacemaker said no every time he asked.  

Now that he was in a relationship he was excited that he finally had someone to match with! He already knew what he wanted the two of you to go as, and after making sure you'd be up for a couples costume (after explaining that him asking if you "thought we'd still be together next month" wasn’t him trying to break up with you), he went online to look for the costumes.

Even though he ordered both costumes at the same time, one came in a week earlier and he had to hide it from you and somehow keep his excitement down. 

The second costume finally came in and now all he had to do was wait for you to get home. 

-

You texted Adrian to say that you’d be a little late coming home, that you had some extra things to handle at work. That was a little white lie. You immediately ran to your car the second you clocked out because the uniforms you ordered finally came in! 

Yea, you might have splurged quite a bit for Halloween costumes, but Adrian had been so nervous when he asked if you would be open to a couples costume that you thought he was actually breaking up with you! When you asked if he knew what costumes he wanted, he shook his head and said he wanted time to think about it more. 

In retrospect, maybe surprising him wasn’t the best idea.

-

“Adrian!” You called as soon as you got home, bags in hand.

He shouted your name too and ran towards the living room, where the front door opened into.

“I have a surprise!” You both yelled as soon as you were in sight of each other.

You blinked. He blinked.

You noticed the bags in his hands. He noticed the bags in your hands.

“Why don’t you-” “You first!” You once again spoke over each other.

He rocked forward on his feet and motioned to you. “No. I insist, you first.” 

You had a hunch of what was happening, “same time?”

He shrugged and held up his bags in one hand, you mirrored him. “Our Halloween costumes arrived!” “I got us costumes!”

“Okay.” You sat down and patted the seat next to you, “let’s see what you got.”

Adrian smiled, all his doubt about the costume mix up gone in his excitement. He dropped the bags next to you and started to pull out western clothing. Initially you thought cowboy, but as he popped a white cowboy hat on your head you grinned, “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid!” 

“Yea!” He nodded and placed a faux brown leather jacket on your shoulders, making you Butch Cassidy. “You just keep thinking, that’s what you’re good at!” He recited one of the Sundance Kid’s lines as he plopped a black cowboy hat on himself.

“Ooh! And look!” He dug through the bag and pulled out a fake mustache that he held over his top lip. He then leaned forward and planted a big hairy kiss on your lips. “What do you think? Should I grow one for real?” 

You laughed and pushed him off of you. “Not a porn ‘stache! Please!” 

Honestly, you didn’t mind a bit of stubble, or even a beard, but something like that caterpillar that he was holding on his face? Well, it wouldn’t be a deal breaker, but it would…take some time to get used to.

“What! I thought you loved me no matter what!” He leveled a jovial accusatory tone at you.

“I do! But if you really want a mustache like that, then we have to make some adjustments.”

“What do you mean?” He was leaning his head back and puckering his lips to keep the mustache in place so he could have both hands free and rummage through his bag again.

You held back a snorting laughter, “welllll, if you had a mustache like that, I don’t think I could let you go down on me anymore.” Adrian suddenly froze, his black faux leather jacket only halfway on. He looked at you, eyes wide, and the mustache fell off his face. He caught it and tossed it behind his back. “Got it, no mustache!” 

You cackled and jumped up to get the silly thing before it got lost. You held it in place on his face and leaned down to kiss him. “I’m just joking. You’re too good at that for me to actually want to stop you.” 

When you pulled away, he looked up at you with a soft smile that was slightly hidden by the fake mustache and your hands gripping the sides of his face. “I love you.” 

You smiled and kissed him one more time, “love you too.” 

“What’d you get?” He asked once the moment passed.

“Oh! You know what,” you pushed your bags to the floor, “we should totally just go with your costumes!” 

“No! I wanna see!” He whined before he snatched up one of the bags. By sheer luck it was the one with his costume in it!

He gasped as he first grabbed a navy baseball cap with an embossed stylised “S” with a compass rose on the front. The bill was a blue-green, almost teal, color that matched the jersey he pulled out next. If he could smile even wider he would have when he saw that the jersey had been personalized with “Chase” on the back. He quickly replaced his cowboy hat and jacket with the baseball cap and jersey. “A Mariner’s uniform!” 

You chuckled nervously, “yea. To be fair, I ordered those before we lost the ALCS.” 

He frowned. “To those stupid cheaters!” 

“I mean technically they didn’t-” he glared at you. “Yea, yea. Totally! Why don’t you try on the pants!” You quickly changed the subject before he got riled up about the years old cheating scandal.

You knew he liked to wear his jeans a little on the loose side, but you’d taken the measurements from his Vigilante uniform because if there was anyone who would look good in baseball pants, it was Adrian Chase. 

He nodded and kicked off his shoes to do just that. He buttoned up the jersey and tucked it before he zipped up the pants. 

“Ooh, try the socks too!” You said as you handed him a pair of navy knee high socks. 

When you’re right, you’re right. Adrian raised his arms and turned around so you could fully see him in the uniform. His curly hair stuck out cutely from the cap, the jersey flowed nicely, not too loose and not too tight, over his chest and the pants? They were perfect! 

“Do I look like a real baseball player?” He faced you again, dropped his knees slightly, held his fists together like he was holding a bat and lifted his elbows. 

You were smiling so hard it was starting to hurt. “You look so good!” 

“I bet I could beat the Astros!” 

You nodded and stood up so you could kiss his cheek. “You totally could!” 

His grin fell as you continued to admire his costume. “But now what are we gonna do?” 

Oh!

“I have an idea!” 

-

“Happy Halloween!” Peacemaker, dressed as Fred from Scooby Doo, opened the door to his trailer. 

“Let me guess, cowboy and a baseball player? What is that?” He asked as he led you to the back of his trailer, where the others were gathered on his back porch.

You and Adrian laughed and the others turned just in time to hear your answer. 

“Butch Cassidy,” you started. “And the Seattle Mariner!” Adrian finished. 

“I really thought you two would show up in a couples costume.” Adebayo, dressed as a vampire, laughed.

“Uh, we are!” Adrian insisted, again and again as the others corrected him. 

He insisted that you were still matching when about half way through the night, the two of you changed. This time you in the baseball uniform and he in his Sundance Kid costume. 

-

“They just don’t get it!” Adrian complained as he dropped his forehead onto your shoulder, drunk and still trying to convince everyone that you were matching. 

You giggled, also under the influence, and led him towards the front of the trailer. “Come on, our Uber just got here.” 

“Do you think our Uber driver will get it?” 

“Oh yea, probably right away!” 

Adrian scoffed. If Peacemaker didn’t understand, then how could a random stranger understand? He looked up to tell you that you had too much faith in strangers, but when he looked up and saw you smiling at him, he completely forgot what he was going to say. So instead he just smiled and knocked both your baseball cap and his cowboy hat off your heads and peppered kisses on your face, laughing with you the whole time as his fake mustache tickled you. “Happy Halloween!” He finished, his lips landing against yours in a sloppy, sweet kiss. 

Taglist: 

@lululandd

[maggotmouth]

          hillo sexthy legends !!   i’m nora and i’ll be writing margo colby n probs sm1 else bcos lets be real, i lack self-control. u can find her pinterest here n some info abt her sexy self below the cut. plot with me on discord ( hot girl midsommar#8664 ) or in my ims !!  x o x

     * CAMILA MORRONE, CIS WOMAN + SHE / HER  | you know MARGO COLBY, right? they’re TWENTY-THREE, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, ELEVEN YEARS? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to SCRAWNY BY WALLOWS  like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole BLEACH WHITE SNEAKERS POUNDING ON A GYMNASIUM FLOOR, USING THE SAME BLUNT SCISSORS TO HACK THE SLEEVES OFF AN EXES T-SHIRT THAT YOU USE TO CUT YOUR 3AM FRINGE, A WALNUT-SHAPED ACHE IN THE PIT OF YOUR STOMACH FOR THE PERSON YOU COULD HAVE BEEN thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is AUGUST 8TH, so they’re a LEO, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( nora, 25, gmt, she/her )

CLICK ANYWHERE ON THIS SENTENCE FOR SEXII GOOGLE DOC!!

bullet point summary of margo.

—   born margaret but NOBODY calls her that. its colby, coach or margo, and go to the privileged few. margo grew up in the creek commune n then dropped out of school cos of a teenage pregnancy so she was a bit of a cautionary tale back in’t’day (said tht in my yorkshire accent). she now works for summer camps coaching pee wee soccer and pee wee cheer, as well as helping out her beekeeper dad on his honey farm, which is jst north of abernathy creek, and working at scuba on the off seasons.

—  its just her and her dad, and has been for as long as she can recall !! everything she knows about her mum could fit on the back of the weathered passport photo she keeps in her wallet of a stranger who shares her face - her name’s melody, or at least tht was name she used when working as a dancer, she’s from argentina and dropped mag’s dad as soon as someone w more money came along.

—  margo’s father is a beekeeper with his own organic honey company. margo and her dad moved to irving in the early 00s, the summer between grade school and middle school, because her dad had heard about the communal living in abernathy creek and wanted to lend his skills there and live off the fatta the land in a very lenny from of mice and men kinda way.

—  for a few years of middle school margo was bullied for living with the ‘freaks from the creek’, but when they realised how chill her dad was with underage drinking, margo ‘keg-bringer’ colby soon gained popularity among the more renegade students. every so often, the high school parties would happen at her end of town, occasionally with members of the commune even offering the high schoolers a spiritual experience they’d never forget (often in the form of mushrooms) which meant people tried to stay on her good side. to get an invite to a margo colby party handed you a free pass to make up the most ridiculous shit about the commune you liked and nobody else could say anything, because they’d never been to the creek.

—  at school, margo had a lot of ‘behvioural issues’ bcos of undiagnosed adhd, she found it difficult to sit still for hours n write down huge chunks of information n her restlessness was seen as laziness. she was encouraged to do sports, as were most of the kids who weren’t that academically inclined, but she turned out to be pretty hot shit at sprinting, because she grew up surrounded by bee houses and he who runs slowest gets stung, baybeyy!! so yea, in school sports became her LIFE. she was gonna get a sports scholarship to college but ended up dropping out of school in senior year n becoming one of those kids who could have had it all but lost it.

—  she had sex with sutter at a house party when she wasnt really ready because it felt like the right thing to do at the time and everybody else was doing it. she’d attended health class, she’d seen the corny videos. she knew about all the statistics, but she also knew that it had never happened to anyone she knew and the pull out method was basically safer than the morning after pill and way less expensive.

—  a teenage pregnancy knocked her out of the runnings for prom queen and meant she had to leave school early. she didn’t go to college when her friends did, instead she spent the time interviewing potential foster candidates and eating her weight in lindt chocolate while marathoning love island in her room.  

—  she had a son, who she passed off to someone else a couple of towns away.  it was a closed adoption which seemed like the best idea at the time, but she now wishes she had access to his life.

—  after peaking in high school and jumping between jobs for a few years, she got a more permanent role at scuba which she loves with all of her heart and soul, but unfortunately a bar job doesn’t pay the rent.  

—  she works at summer camps coaching  junior soccer and netball on the side. she’s extremely competitive and takes it very personally if her team lose. the kids all call her, coach colby n write her longwinded letters about how they’ll never forget this summer camp before they go back to their suburban picket fence houses n she keeps all the letters in a drawer n takes them out to read when she’s feelin depressed.

—  enjoys surfing and worked for a number of years on resorts like mila kunis’ job in forgetting sarah marshall. she went on to work 18-hour days as a stewardess on luxury yachts which is a part of her backstory i added after watching season one of below deck because i guess i really am that fucking impressionable. met most of her surf friends doing tht but said she’d never in her life do it again bcos it was mostly just picking up after rich white ppl for shit pay. she came back to irving n thats when she started doing the summer camp jobs so she could move out of the creek n get her own apartment. 

—  she never actually finished senior year so she’s currently going to night school at the community college to get through her exams and is trying to save to go to college or open university. she wants to major in criminology. she’s super ambitious but also super adhd so she fluctuates between thinking she can achieve anything to just feeling like a failure n thinkin whats the point

—  used to shoplift to feel joy and as an act of resistance to her hippy commune routes, but now sees herself as a reformed, bin-diving freegan (sims 4 eco living can i get a hell yaaaa). also she thinks it’s totally wrong to steal when you have enough money and clearly don’t need to steal to survive, ppl risk imprisonment for basic necessities, so for her to do it for a brief thrill and some new shades felt a bit derogatory

—  was raised jewish. became a vegetarian as a child because it seemed, at the time, easier than having to explain which foods she was and wasn’t allowed to eat together, so she just cut out meat entirely. still a vegetarian now and dabbles in veganism, although its become less about not eating certain meats in the milk of their mother and more about her global impact / carbon footprint

—  nurses little animals to health in her garden. has a hedgehog name OJ short for orange juice not the other one filthy pig. her and her dad have always been huge animal rights activists and existed on a vegetarian diet. the only one in their house who isn’t vegetarian is their cat, auggie. (short 4 augustus gloop)

—  has a lot of stupid ass stick and poke tattoos. there was a phase during her years as a barmaid where she wanted to train as a tattoo artist n would mostly practice on herself or any friends who would let her

—  she doesn’t form many long lasting friendships cos she tends to be super excited when she makes a new friend and just see them all the time but then it wears off and she can ghost a bit. she’ll always coming pinging back but she’s not the most predictable or loyal friend, sometimes she’ll sleep in your house every night for a week and then you won’t even get a text from her for a month. her best friends are elderly neighbours and houseless people she meets when volunteering at the foodbank. she thinks they’re more authentic than most of the ‘fake posers’ she meets down the vela pier

—  calls herself a butch lesbian but still has sex with men when she wants validation. sexually attracted to some men, especially effeminate men, but only romantically attracted to women. very possessive of the gals in her life.

—  stopped giving a shit about getting older or adhering to anyone elses bullshit standards, realised it was all fake p much as soon as she dropped out of school and one by one her friends just stopped texting her

—  lives in one of the lofts in port apartments. it’s open plan with rugs and lava lamps everywhere. she has a palette bed. its all very ‘sustainable chic’. like, oh wow, a pallet bed that im supposed to think you made from scratch but i KNOW you got it  off ebay because you thought it looked trendy

—  constantly says shes poor but still buys clothes from urban outfitters. sus.

—  frequently found at fannies flirting with the cute bisexual bartender with a choppy black bob.

general vibe / personality

vibrant, vulgar, self-absorbed, tenacious, veers bewteen apathetic and dogmatic, temperamental, flighty, unreliable, magnetic, charismatic, passive aggressive, likes to play devil’s advocate, takes the moral high ground. estp and a leo

likes: 70s music, john wayne movies, black mirror, philosophy, cowboy chic culture, dc comics, the smell of locker rooms,, deep red lipstick, lacrosse sticks, smoking weed from a bong, dogs, karaoke, pet rats, kate moss, late-night strolls, hawaaiian shirts worn open over a bralette, skinned knees, thai food, picking the apples at the very top of the trees, zip-lining, cigarettes, the idea of pegging but not the practical application of it, decorative lamps, LGBTQ+ pin badges, worn-out furniture, twangy electric guitars.

dislikes: girls who call other girls ‘pick me’ girls, woody allen movies, mental mathematics, wealthy children, quentin tarantino, ironing, institutionalised misogyny, the imaginary future, french literature, ‘dump him’ feminism, wes anderson films, spoken word poetry nights, college-educated bar staff who act like they’re better than you,  indie softbois, the general mentality of cheerleading squads.

aesthetics

orange peel, the smell of bleach, skeleton drawings in the margins of a journal, thumb holes poked through the cuffs of your sleeves, bleach white sneakers pounding on a gymnasium floor, setting dumpsters on fire for the hell of it. a hit flask of vodka decorated with hello kitty stickers, split knuckles, alien conspiracy theories and sci-fi paperbacks, doc martens with fraying laces, a child in an oversize bee keepers suit, scabbed knees, not eating your greens, smiling with a mouthful of blood, and piercing your own ears with a safety pin when your dad wouldn’t take you,  a tennis racket you punched through in a fit of temper, feet pounding the earth until your soles bleed crimson, sleeping in a cherry lip balm and scrunchies to keep the wild locks from your eyes.

hoo boy this is getting LONG AS FUCK but here are my wanted plots

wanted plots

ok margo’s been in irving since she was like 10. she’s quite a vivacious person?? she dresses completely instinctively without any sense of cohesion so she stands out. a guy once told her she was wearing the ugliest outfit he’d ever seen and he thought that was so cool and brave of her. but anyway where was i going.. she grew up in the abernathy creek so stuck out like a sore thumb,,,, maybe ppl who were super interested in the creek or maybe poked fun at her bcos of it idk.....

b4 she dropped out, margo used 2 b in with the cool kids at school bcos her dad would buy them booze and rarely ask for the money. maybe a fun plot cld b with some of the ‘it girls’ she used to hang around with b4 she got pregnant n dropped out and they all went off to college n stopped texting her.

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! some1 she feels like she knew before irving ???

since margo literally can’t differentiate between romantic and platonic love, she’s got off with so many of her mates, so i want awkward friendships where they nearly dated, or exes that have now just turned into weird friendships. fwbs. enemies with benefits. all the angst. all the slow burn mutual pining we hate each other narratives

locals who play sports. margo wld be all over community soccer n take it way too seriously. maybe ppl she plays hockey with. girls who she’s like, weirdly intimate with but its not a thing cos the other girls straight !!! what do u mean !! aha just fun !

she works part time at scuba. i want a mate that just goes and sits in there talking to her until her manager gets angry.

she's also a surf instructor and occasionally works as a lifeguard!! gal has like 7 jobs ik but regular swimmers hmu

ppl she coaches at the gym !! she wants to be a personal trainer

i reckon she might have recently started meditating to try and calm down her mind cos its always bustling with thoughts, n i think she’s p interested in buddhism so if anyone’s a buddhist hmu

someone she’s trying to make a zine with on female empowerment and women in film and art, etc. just a very feminist zine. 

TLDR:  angry sports gay, former high school track prodigy turned drop out, who likes feminist literature, wearing leather jackets over slip dresses, and smudged red lipstick.

this was so long !!! im sorry !! if you’ve read this far have a biscuit, love x

[the-mandalorian-clone-lover]

Aces in Spaces Chapter 9

*Stands on a chair* It’s Monday again!!!!!

And Roman and Erica are going on a double date with Butcher and Hannah because I said so :D

Tags: @sunshinepascal​ @rentskenobi​ @obaby-wan​ @maybege​ @princessxkenobi​ @agent-450​

Excessive fluff, country music, more fluff, Butcher being soft, Roman being a sap, Erica being a pain and planning ahead to spite Roman, did I mention fluff?

Masterlist

Reference Photos!!! Erica’s dress is first then Roman’s outfit (ft. Ewan:))

“Starshine?”

It’s called out as Roman fusses with his tie in the mirror, eyes never leaving it and frown etching itself deeper. He hears a giggle from the kitchen before his Starshine appears, the hair on the crown of her head pulled into a ponytail and the rest added in in links down the back, it’s gotten slightly longer he’s noticed, falling to the middle of her neck when down instead of her lips or chin. It’s a small difference, but he notices.

“Your hair’s gotten longer.”

She tilts her head, looking down at the flowing sundress and white sneakers she’s also wearing before looking back at him in the mirror and blinking twice (it seems smug he thinks but he’s noticed and he plans to point it out). “That’s what you needed me for?”

“I need you for a lot of things dear one—”

“Telling you you’re over-dressed being one of them apparently, we’re going to a barn dance Roman it’s hardly a black-tie affair.” It’s teasing but it’s fond and he can’t really complain, turning to look her in the eyes as he gives his best rebuttal.

“You said we were going dancing—”

“Swing dancing” she cuts in

“Yes, and then you said you were wearing a dress”

“A sundress.”

“Which can also be formal” He adds in an attempt at defense and she shakes her head and laughs.

“Not suit and tie formal silly”

He huffs.

“You’re just worried I’m going to put you in jeans again”

He tries not to wrinkle his nose, he really does.

“Don’t act like that” She says placatingly “Butch’ll cry if you don’t wear the cowboy boots.”

He opens his mouth wide to protest but she’s already reaching to undo his tie and his brain short circuits long enough that she’s already moving away with it towards the closet before he can say a word.

“I brought a flannel of mine, if we can’t find anything in your closet that’ll be our back up!”

She doesn’t yell but she does raise her voice to carry out into his room and he is not having any doubts that she is entirely too cheery about this whole ordeal.

“I don’t know how to swing dance.”

Her head pops out of the closet and she pauses a moment before walking over to kneel in front of the edge of the bed where he’s dumped himself in a defeated pile. His hands are resting on his knees so she rests hers on his forearms, murmuring out a ‘balance’ as she bends.

Roman flips his hands over to steady her.

“I’m alright” She says softly before turning her eyes up to him, “I don’t either, but if there’s anyone I’d want to learn how to with, it’s you.”

He smiles, pinching her cheek just barely, eyes roving over her face. “I’m only wearing the jeans if the shirt doesn’t clash. I refuse to clash colors in public, I have a reputation to uphold.”

She grins so ferally he leans back the slightest bit. “You planned that didn’t you.”

She withdraws and sweeps away to the kitchen before coming back through the doorway with a jacket that somehow is exactly the same color as her dress. Roman would damn her if he didn’t love her.

As it stands, he closes his eyes and sighs deeply. She laughs at him.

“I’m not wearing the boots”

“Oh, Come onnnnnnnn”

“No.”

They pull up to the lot in Erica’s car (she’d insisted on driving so she could give Roman a musical education on the way, he’s decided country is “tolerable, I suppose”.), and she texts Hannah quickly before they get out, meeting Roman at the hood of the car to pump him up one last time.

“Worst case scenario, we stay an hour and then James feels sick and we have to leave to get him.”

“James?”

She reaches out to pat the hood of the car gently. “James.”

Roman raises his eyebrows at the car, looking back to her with them still up.

“Welcome to the mind of an introvert, we have plans for everything.” She takes his hand and turns to walk toward the barn. “I once planned the demise of three small countries to get out of a party.”

He sighs again, “I honestly don’t know if you’re serious or kidding.”

She shrugs before seeing Hannah and Butch and calling out to them, cutting off their conversation.

“Did the boots fit him?”

Erica knows she hears Roman growl but she ignores him and smiles widely at Butch instead. “Don’t think I’ll ever get him out of them actually! He loves em to pieces!”

Hannah smiles, “I’m so glad you both could come!! Butch and I have been enjoying it so much and” she pauses before leaning closer to Erica and holding up a hand to hide her words (though they’re still at the same volume) “its easy on the eyes” She finishes with a wink and Erica laughs.

“He’s always easy on the eyes” She says conspiratorially, jiggling the hand of the man in question who’s eyes are currently off in the middle distance. He snaps back to her with a questioning hum and she smiles teasingly at Hannah before they all turn toward the barn again.

“What was that about?”

“Oh nothing, just how amazing you look.” She looks away from him noncommittally, “How big of a stick I’ll need to keep the women away.”

He laughs despite himself before squeezing her hand. “Won’t even see them with you here.”

She smiles at him and it’s his turn to look away, “Probably spend all night looking at my feet.”

They’re walking through the door now and before they head up the stairs she stops him, wrapping her arms around his waist firmly.

“It’s just you and me, we can always hang in the back and eat snacks or make up random steps to confuse everyone else.” She starts listing, lolling her head to the side as she does so “Spend the whole night speaking only Russian and get ourselves thrown out, sit around discussing Star Trek and get shunned...”

He shakes his head and grabs both her cheeks to pull her into a soft kiss that turns into them pressing their foreheads together.

“I can do this, its just more fun if I give you trouble.”

She laughs, “Come on then” she winks, “Cowboy”

“I’m doing this for you but you are on thin ice.”

“I’m on the stairs”

“It’s an expression”

“It’s a barn.”

Roman sighs.

They spend the whole night dancing, Roman (who also definitely commandeered the stereo covertly while Erica occupied the DJ at least once but can’t be held accountable for the second and third time because he might have also been in the bathroom), eventually discarding the jacket for its heat and spinning Erica around in just his t-shirt. They traded partners with Butch and Hannah at the beginning to learn the steps, but they’ve been back with each other for a while now. It’s mostly fast songs the whole night, probably to keep children present engaged Roman thinks, reaching behind him to where Erica is standing to pull her against his back, tucking his hands into her back pockets as hers wrap around his chest. They’ve decided to take a break and watch for a bit, Erica lays her head sideways across his shoulder sleepily, but he starts shrugging to get her attention across the room.

“Look at them, saps.”

Butcher and Hannah are completely wrapped up in each other, twirling and laughing and Butch sweeps Hannah into a dip at the crescendo of the bridge, just as Erica looks up.

“Awwwww.“ Her gaze goes back to Roman. “Like bodyguard, like boss man.”

Roman huffs a laugh. “I’m not a sap” He says calmly, bring his hands to rest over hers on his chest. “I, am…”

“Go ahead, I want to hear another word for it.”

“Whipped.” Comes a slightly croaky voice from behind them and they both startle slightly, turning toward it. They find an old man (who looks weathered and wise enough to be a wizard from a bedtime story) who’s also watching Butcher (who has now picked Hannah up by the waist and is carrying her in a deadlift as he sways so they’re still close) with a slight smile. His eyes fall back to Erica.

“That’s always what we called it, Butcher there’s been waiting for the right one quite a while.”

Erica smiles, “You must be the grandpa he always talks about.”

It isn’t a question and Roman turns to look at her, how many things about Butcher does everyone know except him?

The man smiles a little bigger now, “Are you the Ms. Erica?” She nods, disconnecting from Roman to turn toward the man “He talks about you almost as much as his Sunshine over there, come ‘ere”

She reaches to shake but they end up hugging and she holds on for a second Roman doesn’t fail to notice, he follows along, hoping for a handshake and he gets one, incredibly firm like his grandpa used to give.

“Roman?”

He nods in what he hopes is a confident way and is put at ease when the man smiles again. “Heard good things about you too, Butch says you’re the original sap.”

Erica laughs out loud at this before closing her mouth and putting a knuckle against it as she bites her lips to hide a smile. Roman decides to tell the truth, something about Butch’s grandpa makes him feel comfortable enough to, anyway.

“Can’t let a woman like her get away” He says, looking at Erica with longing as she stands by the mans other shoulder, he wants to reach for her right now, and he realizes there’s finally slow music playing in the background. He turns his head to find Butch again, (he’s set Hannah down and is holding her against his chest, she pauses every few beats to place her chin on his chest and gaze up at him lovingly) heart growing in size at the adorableness.

Then he’s looking back at her, and her eyes haven’t left Butch, so he greedily drinks in the moment of looking at her profile. Her beautifully done hair, the highlights of golden and white blonde that peek through, the neckline of her dress that makes her neck look long and makes him want to lay kisses along it, up the side and behind her ear before holding her head in his hands and kissing all along her face and finally---

“Well. I see he still hasn’t taken up exaggeration. Go on then son, take your woman out there ‘fore somebody else does.” Butcher’s grandpa cuts in on his daydream, drawing Erica’s eyes and he gives the man a look that says he isn’t really sorry for having been caught before extending a hand to Erica.

“May I have this dance, beautiful ace woman of mine?”

She smiles at him, and for the briefest of moments he allows himself to believe that its love on her face not just fondness,

“He’s a good one Ms. Erica, wasn’t sure how I felt about him fakin’ it in those boots but, he’s alright.”

And then she speaks.

“Thank you, Ted.”

She gives the older man a smile, placing her hand on his shoulder before reaching out to take Roman’s.

“I’d love to dance with you cowboy.”

He starts to shake his head at her, prepping a sigh but she’s already taken his hand and started pulling him forward towards the floor and turning to face him.

“Does he know?”

She shrugs, “Butch might’ve told him, but having a Grandpa tell me I picked a good one is always a comfort. Even if I knew already.”

Roman blushes. He hasn’t in years but he can’t stop this one, his cheeks burning red as he looks down between them.

She wraps her arms around his neck, sliding in close and kissing his forehead gently. “You knew that, right? That I think you’re a good one?”

He bites his lip and swallows, finally finding the courage to look her in the eyes. “It’s different when you say it out loud.”

She nods, looking down herself before continuing quietly “I should say it more, I’m out of practice but, I want to try, for you” Her eyes drift back up to him, pausing a second to linger on his lips. “I don’t want you to doubt that I want you either.”

He wraps his arms around her waist tightly, breathing in deeply and sneaking a hand up between her shoulder blades to bring her close enough he can bury his face in her neck. “I like you a lot.” He says softly.

“I like you more.”

“Actually with the boots—”

“Shut up cowboy”

They finish their night like that, holding each other tightly and whispering loving words together (interspersed by comments about how adorable Butch is like this), nuzzling cheeks and noses in an effort to keep the feeling of the night in their memories forever.

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

[townofcadence]

Hearing Butch laugh and seeing him smile like that made it worth it. He was not a real artist, but he could put red triangles on a black helmet, and line them with a little gold paint. And a cowboy hat from a toy and some contact cement made for an easy but cute little finish. He'd been so busy with his project he didn't have time for something beyond some modding, but there was always the future! And Butch liking it so much set off fireworks in his chest. "Tonight I'm your chariot." He jokes, beaming and warm from the kiss to his cheek. "We'll be the coolest cats on the streets."

Artair moves his own jacket from the saddlebag, making room for Valentine. He slides his own on over his arms, before placing his helmet on the seat. He laughs when the carrots are deployed.

"You are very handsome." He grins at Butch. "Thankfully this will just be turns like I showed you but a little faster. But maybe later if you're feeling like it, I can take you out to do something fancier." He took the leather jacket for Butch, and puts it over Butch's shoulders himself from behind. It's a bit big in the midsection, but it should do the trick for the trip out. If Butch wanted more time on the bike, He'd switch with him. He liked baggy clothes anyway.

That said, Artair goes for the other saddlebag for a pair of silk scrunchies with eyes on them. He puts his hair up, before taking a seat on the bike, and patting the leather behind himself when his visor is facing Butch's way.

Butch doesn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to him that they were going to be taking Artair’s bike, but the moment his eyes land on it, he stops in his tracks and gasps audibly. His hat might have even jumped off of his head a little in surprise!

“We’re takin’ yer fancy bicycle there!?” He asks excitedly (though it’s already obvious that the answer is yes), just as Artair pulls out the two helmets and makes his clever little quip. It’s enough to make Butch erupt into laughter; he steps a bit closer, looking at the helmet with a smile that softens the more details he notices the on it. The colors, the little hat, the cursive ‘B’, and even the cat ears—it makes his chest swell pleasantly and he’s eager to lose his cowboy hat and put on the helmet instead. He was keeping it forever.

“Wow—Artair… this’s so neat! Y’didn’t have t’ do all that fer me….” He gushes, genuinely flattered by the amount of thought his companion seemed to put into it all, even the gloves and jacket that were after thoughts didn’t bother him because Artair had thought to bring them anyway so he could stay warm during their ride over.

Artair presents his own helmet and the cowboy laughs when he does, his tail whipping excitedly. “We’re gonna be th’ baddest folks who’ve ever roamed th’ streets with these bad boys!” He chuckles, slinging his free arm around Artair afterwards and standing on his tip toes so he can plant a grateful kiss on his cheek. He steps back afterwards, smiling at Valentine.

“Ya ready fer yer first bike ride?” He asks her, and thankfully she seems unbothered by the loud noise rumbling from the machine, sniffing curiously at the air. “Me too!” Butch muses as if she’d given him any sort of response before moving to open the saddle bag closest to the main seat. “L’right, in ya go!” He takes off his hat and tucks it inside before gently placing Valentine inside of his hat securely. Then, he pulls a brown bag out of his pocket and turns it upside down, dropping a good few baby carrots into the saddle bag for Valen-tiny to snack on, on the way over. She begins to dig in immediately if the little crunch sounds coming from the bag told them anything. He stuffs the bag back into his pocket and then whips around to grab his new helmet, pulling it over his face with an excited grin.

“How do I look!? Like I’m ready t’learn some neat bike tricks?”

[wildeoaths]

LGBTQ Book & Film Recommendations

Hello! As someone who tries to read widely, it can sometimes be frustrating to find good (well-written, well-made) LGBTQ+ works of literature and film, and mainstream recommendations only go so far. This is my shortlist. 

Some caveats: 1) I have only watched/seen some of these, though they have all been well-received.

2) The literature list is primarily focused on adult literary and genre fiction, since that is what I mostly read, and I feel like it’s easier to find queer YA fiction. Cece over at ProblemsOfABookNerd (YT) covers a lot of newer releases and has a YA focus, so you can check her out for more recommendations.

3) There are a ton of good films and good books that either reference or discuss queer theory, LGBTQ history and literary theory. These tend to be more esoteric and academic, and I’m not too familiar with queer theory, so they’ve largely been left off the list. I do agree that they’re important, and reading into LGBTQ-coding is a major practice, but they’re less accessible and I don’t want to make the list too intimidating.

4) I linked to Goodreads and Letterboxd because that’s what I use and I happen to really enjoy the reviews.

Any works that are bolded are popular, or they’re acclaimed and I think they deserve some attention. I’ve done my best to flag potential objections and triggers, but you should definitely do a search of the reviews. DoesTheDogDie is also a good resource. Not all of these will be suitable for younger teenagers; please use your common sense and judgement.

Please feel free to chime in in the replies (not the reblogs) with your recommendations, and I’ll eventually do a reblog with the additions!

BOOKS

> YOUNG ADULT

Don’t @ me asking why your favourite YA novel isn’t on this list. These just happen to be the picks I felt might also appeal to older teens/twentysomethings.

Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe

Clap When You Land by Elizabeth Acevedo - poetry.

Felix Ever After by Kacen Callender - trans male teen protagonist. 

Red, White & Royal Blue

Simon vs the Homo Sapiens Agenda

The Gentleman’s Guide To Vice And Virtue

The Raven Boys (and Raven Cycle)

> LITERATURE: GENERAL

This list does skew M/M; more NB, trans and WLW recommendations are welcomed!

A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara. One of the most acclaimed contemporary LGBTQ novels and you’ve probably heard of it. Will probably make you cry.

A Single Man by Christopher Isherwood. Portrait of a middle-aged gay man.

Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh. M/M affair, British student high society; definitely nostalgic for the aristocracy so be aware of the context.

Call Me By Your Name by André Aciman. It’s somewhat controversial, it’s gay, everyone knows the film at least.

Cronus’ Children / Le Jardin d'Acclimation by Yves Navarre. Winner of the Goncourt prize.

Dancer From The Dance by Andrew Holleran. A young man in the 1970s NYC gay scene. Warning for drugs and sexual references.

Dorian, An Imitation by Will Self. Adaptation of Orscar Wilde’s novel. Warning for sexual content.

Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe by Fannie Flagg. Two wlw in the 1980s. Also made into a film; see below.

Gemini by Michel Tournier. The link will tell you more; seems like a very complex read. TW for troubling twin dynamics.

Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin. Another iconic M/M work.

Lost Boi by Sassafras Lowrey. A queer punk reimagining of Peter Pan. Probably one of the more accessible works on this list!

Lie With Me by Philippe Besson. Two teenage boys in 1980s France.

Maurice by E. M. Forster. Landmark work written in 1914. Also made into a film; see below.

Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides. An expansive (and long) novel about the story of Cal, a hermaphrodite, by the author of The Virgin Suicides.

Orlando by Virginia Woolf. Plays with gender, time and space. Virginia Woolf’s ode to her lover Vita Sackville-West. What more do you want? (also a great film; see below).

Oscar Wilde’s works - The Picture of Dorian Gray would be the place to start. Another member of the classical literary canon.

Saga, vol.1 by Brian K. Vaughn and Fiona Staples. Graphic novel; warning for sexual content.

Stone Butch Blues by Leslie Feinburg. An acclaimed work looking at working-class lesbian life and gender identity in pre-Stonewall America.

The Holy Innocents by Gilbert Adair. The basis for Bertolucci’s The Dreamers (2003). I am hesitant to recommend this because I have not read this, though I have watched the film; the M/M dynamic and LGBTQ themes do not seem to be the primary focus. Warning for sexual content and incestuous dynamics between the twins.

The Animals At Lockwood Manor by Jane Healey. Plays with gothic elements, set during WW2, F/F elements.

The Hours by Michael Cunningham. References Woolf’s Mrs Dalloway. Probably a good idea to read Virginia Woolf first.

The Immoralist by André Gide. Translated from French.

The Song of Achilles by Madeline MIller. Drawing from the Iliad, focusing on Achilles and Patroclus. Contemporary fantasy that would be a good pick for younger readers.

The Swimming Pool Library by Alan Hollinghurst. Gay life pre-AIDS crisis. Apparently contains a fair amount of sexual content.

What Belongs To You by Garth Greenwell. A gay man’s coming of age in the American South.

> LITERATURE: WORLD LITERATURE

American and Western experiences are more prominent in LGBTQ works, just due to the way history and the community have developed, and the difficulties of translation. These are English and translated works that specifically foreground the experiences of non-White people living in (often) non-Western societies. I’m not white or American myself and recommendations in this area are especially welcomed.

All Boys Aren’t Blue by George M. Johnson. The memoirs and essays of a queer black activist, exploring themes of black LGBTQ experiences and masculinity.

A People’s History of Heaven by Mathangi Subramanian. Female communities and queer female characters in a Bangalore slum. A very new release but already very well received.

Confessions of a Mask by Yukio Mishima. Coming-of-age in post-WW1 Japan. This one’s interesting, because it’s definitely at least somewhat autobiographical. Mishima can be a tough writer, and you should definitely look into his personality and his life when reading his work.

Disoriental by Négar Djavadi. A family saga told against the backdrop of Iranian history by a queer Iranian woman. Would recommend going into this knowing at least some of the political and historical context.

How We Fight For Our Lives by Saeed Jones. A coming-of-age story and memoir from a gay, black man in the American South.

In The Dream House by Carmen Maria Machado. Another acclaimed contemporary work about the dynamics of abuse in LGBTQ relationships. Memoir.

Girl, Woman, Other by Bernardine Evaristo. Contemporary black British experience, told from the perspectives of 12 diverse narrators.

> POETRY

Crush by Richard Siken. Tumblr loves Richard Siken, worth a read.

Diving Into The Wreck by Adrienne Rich.

He’s So Masc by Chris Tse.

If Not, Winter: Fragments of Sappho, trans. Anne Carson. The best presentation of Sappho we’re likely to get.

Lord Byron’s works - Selected Poems may be a good starting point. One of the Romantics and part of the classical literary canon.

Les Fleurs du Mal by Charles Baudelaire. The explicitly lesbian poems are apparently in the les fleurs du mal section.

> MEMOIR & NONFICTION

And The Band Played On: Politics, People and the AIDS Epidemic by Randy Shilts. An expansive, comprehensive history and exposure of the failures of media and the Reagan administration, written by an investigative journalist. Will probably make you rightfully angry.

How to Survive A Plague: The Inside Story of How Citizens and Science Tamed AIDS by David France. A reminder of the power of community and everyday activism, written by a gay reporter living in NYC during the epidemic.

Indecent Advances: The Hidden History of Murder and Masculinity Before Stonewall by James Polchin. True crime fans, this one’s for you. Sociocultural history constructed from readings of the news and media.

Queer: A Graphic History by Meg-John Barker. It’s illustrated, it’s written by an academic, it’s an easier introduction to queer theory. I still need to pick up a copy, but it seems like a great jumping-off point with an overview of the academic context.

Real Queer America by Samantha Allen. The stories of LGBTQ people and LGBTQ narratives in the conservative parts of America. A very well received contemporary read.

The Argonauts by Maggie Nelson. Gender, pregnancy and queer partnership. I’m not familiar with this but it is quite popular.

When Brooklyn Was Queer by Hugh Ryan. LGBTQ history of Brooklyn from the nineteenth century to pre-Stonewall.

FILMS

With films it’s difficult because characters are often queercoded and we’re only now seeing films with better rep. This is a shortlist of better-rated films with fairly explicit LGBTQ coding, LGBTQ characters, or made by LGBTQ persons. Bolded films are ones that I think are likely to be more accessible or with wider appeal.

A Single Man (2009) - Colin Firth plays a middle-aged widower.

Blue Is The Warmest Colour (2013) - A controversial one. Sexual content.

Booksmart (2019) - A pretty well made film about female friendship and being an LGBTQ teen.

Boy Erased (2018) - Warning for conversion therapy.

BPM (Beats Per Minute) (2017) - Young AIDS activists in France.

Brokeback Mountain (2005) - Cowboy gays. This film is pretty famous, do you need more summary? Might make a good triple bill with Idaho and God’s Own Country.

Cabaret (1972) - Liza Minelli. Obvious plug to also look into Vincent Minelli.

Calamity Jane (1953) - There’s a lot that could be said about queer coding in Hollywood golden era studio films, but this is apparently a fun wlw-cowboy westerns-vibes watch. Read the reviews on this one!

Call Me By Your Name (2017) - Please don't debate this film in the notes.

Caravaggio (1986) - Sean Bean and Tilda Swinton are in it. Rather explicit.

Carol (2015) - Cate Blanchett and Rooney Mara are lesbians in 1950s America.

Clouds of Sils Maria (2014) - Hard to summarise, but one review calls it “lesbian birdman” and it has both Juliette Binoche and Kristen Stewart in it, so consider watching it.

Colette (2018) - About the bi/queer female writer Colette during the belle epoque era. This had Keira Knightley so by all rights Tumblr should love it.

Fried Green Tomatoes (1991) - Lesbian love in 1920s/80s? America.

God’s Own Country (2017) - Gay and British.

Happy Together (1997) - By Wong Kar Wai. No further explanation needed.

Heartbeats (2010) - Bi comedy.

Heartstone (2016) - It’s a story about rural Icelandic teenagers.

Henry Gamble’s Birthday Party (2015) -  Queer teens and religious themes.

Je, Tu, Il, Elle (1974) - Early Chantal Akerman. Warning for sexual scenes.

Kill Your Darlings (2013) - Ginsberg, Kerouac and the Beat poets.

Love, Simon (2018)

Lovesong (2016) - Lesbian and very soft. Korean-American characters.

Love Songs (2007) - French trio relationship. Louis Garrel continues to give off non-straight vibes.

Mädchen In Uniform (1931) - One of the earliest narrative films to explicitly portray homosexuality. A piece of LGBTQ cinematic history.

Maurice (1987) - Adaptation of the novel.

Midnight Cowboy (1969) - Heavy gay coding.

Milk (2008) - Biopic of Harvey Milk, openly gay politician. By the same director who made My Own Private Idaho.

Moonlight (2016) - It won the awards for a reason.

My Own Private Idaho (1991) - Another iconic LGBTQ film. River Phoenix.

Mysterious Skin (2004) - Go into this film aware, please. Young actors, themes of prostitution, child ab*se, r***, and a lot of trauma.

Orlando (1992) - An excellent adaptation of Virginia Woolf’s novel, and in my opinion far more accessible. Watch it for the queer sensibilities and fantastic period pieces.

Pariah (2011) - Excellent coming-of-age film about a black lesbian girl in Brooklyn.

Paris is Burning (1990) - LANDMARK DOCUMENTARY piece of LGBTQ history, documenting the African-American and Latine drag and ballroom roots of the NYC queer community.

Persona (1966) - It’s an Ingmar Bergman film so I would recommend knowing what you’re about to get into, but also I can’t describe it because it’s an Ingmar Bergman film.

Picnic At Hanging Rock (1975) - Cult classic queercoded boarding school girls.

Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019) - By Celine Sciamma, who’s rapidly establishing herself in the mainstream as a LGBTQ film director. This is a wlw relationship and the queer themes are reflected in the cinematic techniques used. A crowd pleaser.

Pride (2014) - Pride parades with a British sensibility.

Rebel Without A Cause (1955) - Crowd-pleaser with bi coding and James Dean. The OG version of “you’re tearing me apart!”.

Rocketman (2019) - It’s Elton John.

Rent (2005) - Adaptation of the stage musical. Not the best film from a technical standpoint. I recommend the professionally recorded 2008 closing night performance instead.

Rope (1948) - Hitchcock film.

Sorry Angel (2018) - Loving portraits of gay French men.

Talk To Her (2002) - By Spanish auteur Pedro Almodóvar.

Tangerine (2015) - About trans sex workers. The actors apparently had a lot of input in the film, which was somehow shot on an iPhone by the same guy who went on to do The Florida Project. 

The Duke of Burgundy (2014) - Lesbians in an S&M relationship that’s going stale, sexual content obviously.

The Gay Deceivers (1969) - The reviews are better than me explaining.

The Handmaiden (2016) - Park Chan-wook makes a film about Korean lesbians and is criminally snubbed at the Oscars. Warning for sexual themes and kink.

The Favourite (2018) - Period movie, and lesbian.

Thelma And Louise (1991) - An iconic part of LGBTQ cinematic history. That is all.

The Celluloid Closet (1995) - A look into LGBTQ cinematic history, and the historical contexts we operated in when we’ve snuck our narratives into film.

The Miseducation of Cameron Post (2018) - Adaptation of the YA novel.

The Neon Demon (2016) - Apparently based on Elizabeth Bathory, the blood-drinking countess. Very polarising film and rated R.

The Perks of Being A Wallflower (2012) - Book adaptation. It has Ezra Miller in it I guess.

The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975) - No explanation needed, queer and transgressive vibes all the way.

They (2017) - Gender identity, teenagers.

Those People (2015) - They’re gay and they’re artists in New York.

Tomboy (2011) - One of the few films I’ve seen dealing with gender identity in children (10 y/o). Celine Sciamma developing her directorial voice.

Tropical Malady (2004) - By Thai auteur Apichatpong Weerasethakul. His is a very particular style so don’t sweat it if you don’t enjoy it.

Vita and Virginia (2018) - Virginia Woolf and Vita Sackville-West biopic

Water Lilies (2007) - Celine Sciamma again! Teenage lesbian coming-of-age. 

When Marnie Was There (2014) - A Studio Ghibli film exploring youth, gender and sexuality.

Weekend (2011) - An indie film about young gay love.

Wilde (1997) - It’s a film about Oscar Wilde.

XXY (2007) - About an intersex teenager. Reviews on this are mixed.

Y Tu Mama Tambien (2001) - Wonder what Diego Luna was doing before Rogue One? This is one of the things. Warning for sexual content.

[joeal-kaysani]

ask meme - uh, those dudes from the bisexual polyamorous cowboy movie you keep writing essays about

fhjakfhaskjdfhsaf 💕💕💕

(black sails spoilers below, so skip the paragraph about butch’s notp if you haven’t seen it)

Butch Cassidy:

Sexuality Headcanon: This might be a little controversial, but I tend to headcanon Butch as a gay biromantic (though I totally get seeing him as bisexual.) Even though he’s more of the womanizer of the two from what we see in the movie, it always feels sort of performative? Very much in line with how I feel a charismatic gay man would behave in the late 1800s if he were trying to convince everyone around him he wasn’t gay, considering how he easily drops it without a word of complaint in Bolivia. While he obviously loves and cares about Etta, I’m not sure sexual attraction plays nearly as big a role in their relationship as hers with Sundance did, and I think it’s just incredibly convenient for both of them to have a healthy emotional relationship with each other in a way they might both struggle to have with Sundance. I also don’t think he’s averse to sex with women (especially Etta, and especially in the context of their triad), but that if he existed in a later time period where it wouldn’t be a death sentence to be openly gay, he would probably identify that way.

Gender Headcanon: Cis male, perhaps one who would be more in touch with his feminine side if, again, he lived in a time and place where it was safe to explore that.

A ship I have with said character: Butch/Sundance and Butch/Sundance/Etta

A BROTP I have with said character: Butch/Etta

A NOTP I have with said character: Butch/Etta without Sundance in the picture. What’s funny is I actually think the Butch/Etta relationship would be the healthier one if Sundance died (and that’s the only way I could imagine this happening, because Sundance is obviously not leaving Butch by choice or he would have never gone to Bolivia when it would have been safer to split up) rather than the other way around, which is not unrelated to their emotional connection being stronger than their physical one. I just don’t think it would be romantic in nature so much as two people who very much love each other living together platonically and mourning their shared husband, à la Flint and Miranda from Black Sails. 

A random headcanon: I’m actually having trouble thinking of one for Butch but they DID make it to Australia and you can tear that from my cold dead hands.

General Opinion over said character: Baby boy. Baby. Has just three brain cells and he uses them to respect women, be gay and do crime. Absolute icon.

The Sundance Kid:

Sexuality Headcanon: [NSYNC voice] baby bi bi bi

Gender Headcanon: Cis male.

A ship I have with said character: Sundance/Butch and Sundance/Butch/Etta

A BROTP I have with said character: Sundance will only speak to two human beings voluntarily and he’s sleeping with both of them, so there’s not a lot of room for BROTPs with him.

A NOTP I have with said character: Sundance/Etta without Butch wouldn’t be as hard to swallow as Butch/Etta without Sundance, so I don’t really consider them a NOTP, but I’m also just not hugely interested in their story without Butch, either.

A random headcanon: To quote my favorite Butch Cassidy fic ever, Turn of the Century, “Sundance liked to sit and drink and say things so rarely and so deadpan most folks didn’t realize he was the second funniest guy in Wyoming.” 

Also, he really wasn’t cheating in the opening card game and was dead serious about killing Logan if Butch lost that knife fight.

Also also, as a side note, I have a half-finished fic from Sundance’s POV where they get caught in a snowstorm and Sundance is internally roasting Butch for being from Utah, where it doesn’t get nearly as cold as Atlantic City. Then I Googled Utah’s average temps vs. Atlantic City’s and found out it’s actually much colder in Utah, but the mistake felt so fitting for Sundance’s character that I left it in.

General Opinion over said character: How can you not stan the bi-est man to ever live? Love him. Absolutely exhausted at all times and ready to murder someone at the drop of a hat and I can 100% relate.

[madcapmoon]

Highway to Hell: My Life on the Road with the Dead Kennedys

by Amy Linden

In 1981 I moved back to New York City after spending four years in San Francisco. I was 22, and a childhood friend and I shared a two bedroom apartment—rent $300 and change—on East 4th Street, just off Avenue A, kitty-corner to the building where Madonna lived back before she actually was Madonna.

One day, I got a phone call from my friend Klaus Fluoride, the bass player for the seminal punk group the Dead Kennedys. During my last 18 months in SF, Klaus, his girlfriend, three other roommates, my boyfriend/we-got married-for-his-green-card husband, and I shared a huge flat in the Mission District. I wasn’t as close to the other members as I was to Klaus; I had spent a decent amount of time with Darren, (a.k.a. DH Peligro), East Bay Ray, and the inimitable Jello Biafra. It was great to hear from Klaus, especially since he had good news—the Dead Kennedys were embarking on their first East Coast tour.

“We’re coming to New York!” Klaus exclaimed. “You should come out on the road with us!” And why not? I could drink all the band’s beer! I could go backstage. And most of all, I could meet cute punk rock boys! Luckily, I didn’t have to worry about giving my boss notice because I barely had a job.

After arriving in NYC, the band took the Amtrak down to Washington, D.C., where the mini-tour was going to kick off. On the ride down, Klaus raised the possibility of my helping out in some way. Maybe I could write up setlists, maybe arrange the guest list, maybe help move equipment, or maybe I could get up on stage and do “security,” which consisted of grabbing the mic back whenever singer Jello Biafra propelled himself into the audience, keeping the flow of stage divers moving at a brisk pace, and tossing—or more specifically shoving—anyone who climbed up on stage and showed little inclination to move.

That I was totally ill-suited to do security for anyone at anytime, least of all for a high-energy aggressive band with high-energy aggressive fans, should have been obvious. Clearly, none of this mattered. Just like that, I was on stage at the legendary 9:30 Club, wearing a short kilt, beat up cowboy boots, and bandanas wrapped around my wrists, looking out at a packed house of pumped up fans, and trying my best to look butch. Pushing sweat-soaked twenty-year-olds off the stage was not my idea of meeting cute punk rock guys.

Arguably, punk rock’s birthplace was New York. However in 1981, D.C. was the epicenter of the East Coast hardcore scene, with much of the momentum coming from a tight knit, committed crew—many just out of their teens or still living at home—who adhered to a DIY philosophy/lifestyle known as “straight edge.” Being down with straight edge meant just saying “no” to liquor, cigarettes and drugs, which at the time were three of my four basic food groups.

The leading lights of the straight edge crew were Ian MacKaye and Henry Garfield. Ian’s resume included Teen Idles, Minor Threat, and later Fugazi, in addition to founding the influential indie label Dischord Records. Garfield, who worked at a Häagen-Dazs in Georgetown, was the front man for S.O.A. In time, he would change his surname to Rollins, join Black Flag, and become a heavily tattooed, singer/spoken word artist and actor. Henry and Ian looked a bit scary, but like most of the D.C. crew, were as sweet and courteous as their music was aggressive. When they weren’t following me around like I was Bo Peep and they were lost skinhead sheep, Henry and Ian took it upon themselves to protect me from whatever it was they thought I needed to be protected from.

By the time the Dead Kennedys finished up the first of two D.C. shows, I was a cross between big sister and mascot, the affection strictly platonic. There may have been lots of unity, but not many of the D.C. kids were coupled up. All of the passion was directed at the “cause.” It was as though sex, like drugs and alcohol, indicated a lack of discipline.

I remember an odd but telling conversation with Henry. He had invited his friends, the DKs, and me to his small apartment in Alexandria, Virginia. He asked me to come to the kitchen. With utmost sincerity Henry, who was at most  two years my junior, said that he really didn’t like girls, but he liked me because to him I wasn’t really a girl. If memory serves, it was then that he opened the freezer and showed me a dead rat. Touched as I was by Henry’s attempt to let me into his world, I let him know that I was enough of a girl to find a rat-cicle kind of gross. Bless his heart, but this whole meeting cute punk boys was clearly not in the cards.

Ian on stage 3:28

Ian, Henry, and my new skinhead besties travelled to the Baltimore show where they stood in front of the stage, their arms reaching up towards me and sang, “Amy, dance with us!” I might not have been the best security detail but I sure was the most popular. Such displays of affection only served to make my already rocky relationship with Biafra even worse. It was bad enough that Klaus had brought me along, but to Biafra my being serenaded undermined his punk cred, not to mention that he had no interest in sharing the spotlight, especially with some girl in a miniskirt and cowboy boots.

Oddly enough, Biafra’s ire grew even more pronounced when I developed a nasty cough and took to swilling cheap, high-octane cough syrup. Convinced that I would get him sick and that my fits of coughing somehow made the band look lame, Biafra turned mean. He decided that part of my job description involved looking after the equipment, and therefore I had to sleep in the van parked on the streets of the nation’s then-murder capital. This edict was quickly and angrily squashed by Darren, Klaus and guitarist East Bay Ray, who generally paid me no mind, instead concentrating on picking up women. For the remainder of the tour, Klaus and Darren chipped in for a hotel room and kept Biafra off my case. He was a charismatic front man, but Biafra’s actions further convinced me that he was a dick.

Before heading down to Charm City, we drove out to a farm in Virginia to meet the Bad Brain’s explosive lead singer H.R. The Bad Brains were and remain a sheer force of nature, but H.R. could be, shall we say, strange. His home was a punk rock crash pad/Rasta commune filled with kids, women, the other three-quarters of the Bad Brains and the ever-present smell of weed. The Kennedys were there to finalize plans for the punk pioneers to open up at the first of two upcoming NYC dates. Unbeknownst to us, H.R. was in the midst of a verbal fast, something that he did to cleanse himself of negative energy. Instead of talking, he gestured wildly and occasionally scribbled down notes. The next time we saw H.R. and the Bad Brains, they came “this close” to blowing the Dead Kennedys off stage. In fact, they just might have done so.

We encountered a bit of drama in Boston. The concert tickets and local advertising said “DKs” rather than the “Dead Kennedys.” Was it censorship? Maybe. It wasn’t uncommon to shorten the group’s name, yet it wasn’t lost on anyone that the name change had happened in the home of the actual Kennedys. Looking back, I think that Ray, Klaus, and Darren knew that taking umbrage over the promoter’s decision was not worth the energy. But with his customary lack of concern for anything but his own agenda, Biafra became furious.

Adding insult to perceived injury, Biafra began the set ranting and making snarky comments about imprisoned IRA martyr Bobby Sands, who had either just died or was dying as a result of a prolonged hunger strike. It was not one of Biafra’s most sensitive moments. It was also in Boston that the band picked up Microwave, a good natured, muscley young fan who approached them after the show. Microwave was a far better fit for tossing skinheads and guarding amps than a sleep-deprived and tubercular girl. Much to Biafra’s delight, Microwave took over most of the heavy lifting. Literally.

After six cities in two weeks, the traveling circus ended at NYC’s Irving Plaza. An old Ukrainian theater, Irving Plaza was largest venue, and that night it was packed with hundreds of bodies, including the D.C. Straight Edge Boy’s Choir/Amy Appreciation Society. Even though Microwave was now head punk-in-charge, I was in my customary spot off to the right of the bass amp, poised to help out if needed. The energy level was off the charts and the crowd roared, sang along and danced as the Kennedys tore through songs like “California Über Alles,” “Kill the Poor,” and “Holiday in Cambodia.” 

Ian and Henry Rollins dancing onstage during Too Drunk To Fuck

By now I was so in sync with the band’s rhythm that I could almost predict when Biafra would dive into the crowd. And when he did, I ran to the front of the stage to reel him in. Suddenly an over-eager fan grabbed the mic and refused to loosen up his grip. Biafra was floating on top of a sea of bodies, and I had lost control of the mic. A tug of war ensued, and the next thing I knew, the fan got a hold of the mic stand and clonked me. Unfortunately, I was a little drunk; having hit the end of the already-frayed rope, I lost it and tried to kick the fan in the head. Before I could make shoe-to-forehead contact, my opponent put his hands around my left foot and twisted it.

Microwave sprung into action, secured the stand, got the mic and brought Biafra back to the stage as Klaus pushed me behind an amp. The skirmish took less than a minute. As soon as the show ended and the band headed to the dressing room, I became acutely aware of a nagging, swelling sensation radiating from the side of my foot. The pain was intense, so I kept drinking in the hopes that beer would make it all better. I didn’t want to look like a baby or miss the fun—Saturday Night Live’s John Belushi and Mr. Bill were there!

When I was unable to move my toes, it was clear that something really bad had happened. I needed to get it checked out immediately. Ever the gentlemen, Henry and Ian carried me ten blocks down 14th Street to St. Vincent’s Hospital and stayed in the waiting room while I was examined. By now, my foot was completely swollen, and the only way to take x-rays was to cut the boot off, which I begged the doctor not to do. Turned out that I had a severely broken left toe. I was given something a bit stronger than cough syrup, a pair of crutches, and just like that my road trip was over. The Dead Kennedys went back home. I’d had fun. I was littered with bruises but I’d had fun. I never did meet any cute punk rock boys...

*Both videos seem to be from the same 1981 Irving Plaza show but they are dated wrong*

[believerindaydreams]

the title is: this thing wot I don’t even

I'd like you all to know that I carefully tracked down a movie theatre that was showing “The Sting” in summer 1974. Chicago, which makes sense given the setting.

also I spoil the film in some fairly comprehensive ways. Including that it's a horrifyingly traumatic thing, if one happens to be a happy POC hustler...

Hard to write, in the cramped, swaying environs of an eighteen-wheeler's trailer. Be a smoother ride if the driver knew they were here; but then, if he did they wouldn't be in here at all.

Dear Angel Eyes.

Blondie glances at his sleeping partner again, carefully tucks away the postcard. Things are tight with them, sure, but not disastrous yet. Their stake's intact and as long as they have that, they're still in the money.

Admittedly there's not much left besides the stake. Tuco's probably going to have to break out the rainy day slush he pretends not to have until a supperless night's on the horizon, but they'll make it. They've come back from worse.

He wonders just where it is they're going. Arkansas has been new territory for them, also slim pickings; they'd both tired of it quickly and concluded to move out. A truck with Louisiana license plates had seemed as good a bet as any. South again, it'll do his partner good; the closer they get to the border, the better Tuco likes it.

Only once he'd asked, whether they ought to cross over to benighted Sonora; and Tuco had flushed and stammered about passports in such incoherent terms he'd got the picture. Afraid of crossing that border and then not being able to get back again, it makes sense. He's not given to asking questions when there's no need.

Less said the better, sometimes. Something he's got to remind himself of about calling Angel. If the man cared to take him back at all, it'd be with a reprimand and a leash; and that'd suffocate him. It'd be putting Tuco in danger too, in a way worse even than what they do already- and that'd hardly be the worst, but it's the reason most suited to his conscience, somehow.

Blondie lifts a bottle of pop from one of the surrounding crates, swigs it comfortably. They're pretty smart, him and his partner. They'll manage.

Wherever they end up.

***********

"....Chicago? Blondie, what the hell are we going to do in Chicago?"

Fair question. They're a little too far north for the usual routine to work; bars aplenty, sure but their hustle's not worth a damn without some local knowledge. "Play some poker, maybe?"

It's something he's been holding on to, the idea of making it straight; just them and the cards and the other players, no jiggery-pokery or tricks to give them an advantage. More honest than what they do- that does make a difference, despite Tuco's rolled eyes and insistence that a hustle is a hustle and cash is cash.

"Not that again. You remember that time in San Antonio? We were drinking rain water for a week."

"You bring that up every time I suggest we give the hustle a miss. It's- it's rough on you, I know that."

"I'd rather rely on that than our cardplay. Hate's never going out of style." Tuco stoops to the sidewalk, picks up a brightly coloured piece of garbage. "Hey. Look at this, it's advertising that Paul Newman picture you wanted to see."

The Sting. They hadn't had time, with it coming out at Christmas; that season's always hectic for them. An easy time of year to score free dinners, win big off men desperate to stay out late and forget about their families, they both always look forward to it. If not for reasons that would have made sense to Father Paul.

"Be nice for a memento, I guess."

"Better than that. They're mounting a special showing, it says- we could hit the matinee! What about it, Blondie, feel like taking the day off?"

He might demur. Probably should. He lights a cigarillo and lets the silence talk for him.

"A soft seat, that'll be nice after spending the night on crates. I didn't sleep so good- air conditioning! That'll be nice. And you never know, maybe we'll learn something useful. Two hustlers like us, right?"

It is, to all accounts. He'd talked up that aspect to Tuco last December, trying to make a case to waste some valuable time seeing it and he's vaguely ashamed of that zeal now. "If it's a special showing, the ushers might be checking tickets. We'd have to pay up instead of sneaking in, and you don't want to have to miss a meal just to see a motion picture."

"Sometimes I get tired of you playing the martyr, you know that? If you want to go, we'll go."

Now that's not fair. Not fair at all- like Tuco's taking something away from him, that's damn selfish almost- "I better not hear you complaining, then."

"Not a word," his partner says cheerfully. "You know me. If it gets dull, I'll just go to sleep."

***********

As it turns out, that doesn't happen.

Partly because if they're going to do this, they might as well do it right. Tuco splashes out on popcorn and soda and spends forever fussing over what candy he wants, while Blondie waits impatiently by the red ropes, not quite tapping his foot. His partner likes putting him through this, lingering and keeping him in suspense until just before the trailers will start, then presenting the ticket with ostentatious flair.

Happens this time, just like every time. Hard not to take it personally, especially with Tuco carrying a bag of Jordan almonds.

"You know I'm allergic to those."

"I forgot."

It's tiring, how unsubtle his partner's greed is sometimes. "Hurry up. We'll be lucky to get a seat."

He's completely wrong about that, as it happens. There's plenty of seats when they walk in the theatre's cool, reassuring dim- and the fact that the place doesn't console him like it ought is too telling. There's something wrong with him that won't accept being comforted by the here and now, the way his partner can always manage- it's him being spoilt, is what.

Hell. Any cinemaphile might get wistful over a film library and a personal projection room, he supposes. It's an unreasonable thing to want, but then it was an unreasonable thing to have have promised in the first place. No reason to complain if it'd slipped away like the dream it was.

"This is nice, isn't it?" Tuco says, chewing lustily on popcorn. "I hope it's a long film, that'll make me happy..."

"Hush." The screen's begun to flicker.

Paul Newman, Robert Redford- god, they'd been so good together in Butch Cassidy, cowboys and a three-way love triangle. That's given him food for thought a few times, has sort of been in the back of his mind for seeing this followup. He's always thought of Newman as a guardian angel of sorts- ever since The Hustler, when he and Tuco had finally picked up the right word for the way they lived. Somebody who always knows all the angles, somebody who knows where it's at. Might go down, but only with style.

And Redford, Redford's young like him. Able to make mistakes. But he pulls through, he always does.

Like he'll have to do now, in fact: this hustle that Redford's running (not so much a con, more straight up theft) is too much too soon. Eleven thousand dollars and the movie's barely started. A lot of money by '30s standards. A lot of money by theirs, even; he and Tuco maybe couldn't retire on that, but they'd be able to...well, take a few months and stop to think about their future. Who knows what that would even look like.

Tuco's frowning at the screen, and actually passes him the popcorn bucket- a sure sign he's preoccupied- and Blondie can guess why. Redford's partner isn't Newman at all but some black man called Luther, who knows who the actor is. But they've got a good camaraderie together.

They've got a home together. Luther's got a wife, a nice place; so cosy it's almost unbearable. He can see why Redford wants to leave that intact, head up to the big time alone, he'd want that himself (wants)- but it's nice just to see that his film alter ego has somewhere worth leaving at all. More than he had.

"Luther's smart," Tuco whispers to him. Almost quivering with excitement.

Just before the picture upends itself, from light comedy to revenge tragedy-

*********

he should have seen it coming, Tuco knows.

Should have known that nowhere's safe, even in pictures. That he's not safe himself, that's a fact of life he became used to long before he and Blondie hit the streets. But he'd let down his guard this time-

and it's stupid of him, stupid to feel like that's what killed Luther (it was a cop, of course it was a cop)- as though a moment more of keen attention could have changed the celluloid, could have made a film that came out six months ago different from what it always was.

About as stupid as the tears dribbling down from his eyes, that won't stop- and he's terrified now. It's far worse than a tell, letting his emotions get the better of him like this- he's not great at poker but he's not bad at it, but what use will he be next game if he gets worked up like this? He plays with this stuff every day, hate and fear; but shunting it all down channels he understands, playing a game whose rules he knows. This has caught him by surprise-

Tuco Ramirez, you get a grip on yourself. Right this minute.

Before Blondie notices.

A soft hand, faintly pink in the theatre twilight, takes his darker one; Blondie leans close to his ear. "You want to go?"

If it'd been an order, he would have obeyed with tired acceptance; but asking the question fills him with a stubborn need to push back.

(Fuck it, Blondie knows that.)

"We paid. We stay."

As much as he can do, to choke out the whisper intelligibly; he shakes his hand out of Blondie's and grabs up his Duluth from the floor. It's a heavy weight against his knees, packed solid with too much junk. Practical things and debris, keepsakes and even a few sweet little incidentals without any purpose.

It's everything he needs. It's all he has; and he's lucky to have that, luckier far than Luther who wanted too much and got cut down for it. At least he's alive.

That's about all he can think, while the film keeps unspooling and a plot plays out details he's vaguely aware he'd delight in, were he capable of paying attention. Redford seems unhappy about Luther being dead, decides to get revenge on the killer.

(As unhappy as Blondie would be, if one of their hustles went wrong and he ended up on a barroom floor with a bullet in his temple?)

No. No, Redford's not half so caring. There's something he can cling to, that poor Luther couldn't- if he died, Blondie would arrange a more permanent revenge than a mere half-million the mark can easily spare. His partner's hinted a few times lately about getting in with hitmen and assassins- too many Fleming paperbacks, probably- but his blood leaking out, that'd push Blondie to real action. To hire an expert, if the would-have-been priest couldn't manage the job himself.

Which is still not all that much consolation. Tuco hugs the pack closer, and keeps a shivery vigilance through salt-rimmed eyes.

Not at the screen. At the darkness-

and yet when it comes for him it's still a surprise-

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

"I've seen that film," Angel Eyes says, his lips quirking. "Or part of it- there was a black-gloved assassin who shoots a waitress. Rose's idea of a good joke."

Tuco breathes out, slowly. Looks around the gatehouse's safe confines. Sofa, potted herbs, fruit bowl, though that's empty. Everything's here.

"We had a chat about that, Blondie and I. The way you thought he might have put in a word about The Godfather. After we went on the run from you...you know, Blondie was so paranoid the hacienda might be bugged, we didn't get in as much conversation there as we should have. I told him no assassin would be stupid enough to keep records after Watergate, and he said maybe you hadn't put the bugs there."

"Ah. You mean, what if Rose had?"

"Right."

"It's a possibility," Angel Eyes agrees, dipping a ladle in the steaming pot. "I did my best, obviously, but there are limits...did you want to help me with this soup?"

"Sure, sure." Soup would be good, he's starving. "What do you want me to do?"

"Oh. Just stand there and look delicious."

That's when the terror hits him.

The awareness he's tried so hard not to examine. That this home that isn't his was bought and sold in blood, that if he stays he's just as guilty-

by the time Angel Eyes actually walks over and calmly starts to knife him, long scrolls of flesh scraped off him like potato peelings, he's long since started screaming-

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

-wakes up gasping for breath, with his partner holding him tight. The one, Tuco suspects, probably has a lot to do with the other. He wriggles loose a little.

"Tell me you're okay," Blondie pleads.

"I'm okay. I'm awake, mostly." It hadn't occurred to him to ask that question before; but he knows what's going on now.

The two of them are crammed into one small but heavily overbuilt bed, sturdy but with none too many blankets. Blondie’s childhood room isn’t made for comfort. "I've been having bad dreams. Angel Eyes...and that hustler movie from Chicago, I know that was mixed up in it somewhere." Fading quick, for which he's just as glad.

"God, I don't blame you for having nightmares about that," his partner says, and it does sound like his partner again instead of a priest. "Or anything. Can't say as I've slept."

That's not true, Tuco's aware. It'd felt like hours he'd spent awake, with Blondie huddled against him, clinging on for comfort even in his sleep. At least his shoulder's stopped throbbing.

"I wanted to be you, you know that?"

"Huh? Blondie, how'd you mean?"

"The way I got out of this place...that was my first hustle. Convincing your brother not just that I needed to convert, but that I had a calling. Somebody fit to preserve in stained glass- so he arranged a scholarship for me. I've often wondered just who it was I cheated out of taking a place at the seminary. Somebody who'd have stuck with it, maybe."

"That was clever of you." Tuco digs around beneath the bed, fishes a lighter out of his shoe. Flicks it repeatedly, just to see the fire- blurred staccato shots of his partner, looking strangely serene. "If it was this house or the priesthood, I'd have prayed a hundred rosaries to get out."

"It was so much better. I had a purpose. Beautiful surroundings, company, three meals a day I could stand to eat. I couldn't imagine ever complaining when I'd been so lucky- and then you came along. Dragging your pack around everywhere, full of all those tantalising possessions."

"Mmm hmm." He wonders whether what Blondie's describing even counts as a hustle. If Pablo had just looked and found a boy far too much like his little brother, begging for escape. Though that wouldn't be a kind thing to say.

"Griping about the meals, breaking rules, sneaking off to town- you just plain didn't care. It was amazing. Awful, but amazing...I fell in love with that before I even knew you, and then I did get to know you, and that made it worse. And then I caught you just before the monastery broke you."

"Yeah. Well, I'm okay now, you know that." He's pretty sure he is. A dream is a dream.

(He sure can't afford to question a truth that keeps him safe.)

"But you were wonderful, Tuco," Blondie murmurs, yawning. "I wanted to protect that. Finally did. If I've managed nothing else in my life..."

Okay. Maybe he can afford to ask, even should; but not right this second. Not with his partner passed out atop of him- that's such a pain. He can't reach his cigarettes now.

Carefully, with painstaking attention, Tuco reaches down to the floor and gropes around for his pack. Remembers belatedly it isn't there, it's resting on a bedside table in Angel's gatehouse-

there's the sound of a key in a lock. He pulls his arm back and freezes just before the door opens. Aunt Huldah coming to gloat over her charge, no doubt-

"Blondie? Tuco?" 

That way Angel's silhouetted in the doorway. It reminds him of something, but he can't quite recall what.

"Oh. It's you," Tuco says. Sits up with relief. "Yeah, we couldn't get out without breaking something, and Blondie didn't want to do that. What kind of woman locks the bedroom door on her own nephew?"

"One I'm not interested in getting to know. Do we leave him here?"

"God no. That'd be terrible," Tuco says, shaking the sleeping figure. "I wouldn't leave him alone in this house for a million dollars."

(The vague shape of an old joke slips through his mind, saying to Blondie that kind of exaggeration is the stupid sort of lie and he only does smart, but it's too late or too early. He can't make sense of it.)

"Help."

It breaks his heart a little, to hear such a moan in that sturdy voice. "It's okay. It's okay, Blondie, we're going home. Angel's here."

Tuco gets a cigarillo lit, passes it over and looks away while Blondie struggles to compose himself. Less decent than nakedness somehow, he doesn't want to see that inchoate vulnerability.

(Angel's still wreathed in shadow; impossible to tell, how much he sees.)

When he looks back again, though, it's his partner- Blondie with smoke in his face and an unreadable expression, tightly wound up again- and it's a sight that could make him cry if they only had the time but they don't. "C'mon. Let's go before your aunt notices, huh?"

No response: but he and Angel know how to read Blondie’s silences, now. 

The dawn light's just breaking when they slip outside. Angel's taken a risk, parking the car in plain sight; but Tuco settles into the backseat and decides to just be grateful.

"And we didn't even get a chicken. After all that."

"In the trunk," Angel calls. "I thought it'd be better to transport it home alive, or else the meat might spoil. Don't worry, I'll take care of butchering it for you."

That's not nearly as reassuring a statement as his lover seems to think it ought to be. Still. A leg and a thigh for him, the same for Angel, and a bed of warm brown lentils to eat with them-

"Christ, I'm looking forward to that," Blondie says. "Some of your comfort cooking, Tuco, I could do with that."

Right. Yes, well, after putting his partner through a hellish night like that it's only fair to give him a full share- only one plus one is two, and if he's making this for Angel and Blondie both that means there won't be any left for him- well, maybe he's not that hungry. After a night of involuntary fasting and crazy tension, he's too knotted up to have any appetite. "You want it for breakfast? Because that'll take a while to cook."

"No, I want to eat out. Something nice and ostentatious, not like those diner truck stops we went to all the time." And that's not directed at him but at Angel, and not a request but a demand. "Then we can have the chicken later on. God above, going back to that hellhole just made me sick. There's no point indulging in self-denial just for the hell of it, is there? Torturing yourself with thinking what you'd like and can't?"

He swipes his hand through Tuco's hair, and the gesture looks fine but Blondie's fingers tremble on his scalp. "Huh. You took your time getting around to my way of thinking. All those times on the road, when you let me think I always wanted too much."

"Don't know that I was wrong. The kind of money we had, you always did. But maybe it's about time I let myself be greedy too."

There's too much light in Blondie's eyes, the way they've caught the sunrise; Tuco looks at them, at him, and swallows down a sudden raging hunger.

But it’s only fair. To let his partner have what he wants, now they're safe and coddled and won't ever have to worry again.

More than fair.

[archivistsrock]

The Boys in the Band, pt. 2: The Performance

Someone asked for a spoilery review, so I’m going to go into detail here. Maybe a mix of review, plot, and specific cute/hot things that happen during the show. I don’t really consider anything in the show to be “spoilery”, but if you’re planning on seeing this and just love surprises and not knowing anything about what’s to come...don’t read this, I guess. ;) [eta: Okay, so it seems like it’s mostly plot overview with random other observations sprinkled in. I’m not good at this! Also, I go into much more detail about the first half...it’s funnier, has more Matt, and I just peetered out]

Also, read on if you want deets on just how much Matt we see during the shower scene… :P

The general plot of the play is that Michael (Jim Parsons) is holding a birthday party for his friend Harold (Zachary Quinto). The entire play takes place in Michael’s apartment. There is an upstairs (bedroom and bathroom) and a downstairs (living room, mostly). If your seats are really close to the front of the stage, there will be some parts of the upstairs that will be blocked from your view. But they’ve cleverly placed mirrors on the ceiling, so what you can’t see straight-on, you can see in reflections. It’s not a problem at all. I was in the second row and was really worried I’d be too close and have obstructed sightlines, but I LOVED IT. You’re so close to the actors; it’s pretty amazing. I wouldn’t change my seats if given the chance. I think if I was able to see it again, I’d like to have a mezzanine seat. But I wouldn’t give up my up-close seat for the world. It was awesome. For...reasons...if you’re near the front, I think being left of center is better than to the right. Just as a tip, if you haven’t bought tickets yet.

Donald (Matt Bomer) is Michael’s best friend from college. He moved out of the city because he couldn’t handle all the people and stresses of city life. Donald is depressed. Loves to read. Likes to chill on the sidelines and just watch other people. He’s very caring. I totally dig Donald. He’s...a janitor? and works hard, but also has issues with failure that he attributes to his parents. He equates failure with receiving love. He’s known he was gay since forever. He drives into the city each weekend to see his therapist and visit Michael. He knows the other men that are invited to the party, but he isn’t in their friend group. He knows them bc he knows Michael, iykwim. He and Harold don’t seem to particularly like each other. Maybe bc they’re both best friends of Michael so there’s some competition/protectiveness?? idk. Haven’t thought about it enough.

Michael lives beyond his means. He’s also pretty depressed and has issues with being gay. I mean, that’s a huge theme of the play. How these guys deal with living in a time and place where society clearly doesn’t support or approve of homosexuality. As many of the actors have said in interviews, it’s interesting to see the play and notice how much things have changed, but also how many things in the play still resonate today. Oh, I guess it’s important to point out that it takes place in 1968.

The play starts with Michael in his apartment getting ready for the party. His doorbell rings and Donald enters. ::raucous applause:: The next 15 minutes (I’m really bad with time, so don’t take too much stock in that) is Michael and Donald talking with one another about their parents, lives, etc. General banter of friends. Donald notices that Michael is not drinking alcohol and hasn’t been for the last few weeks. He can tell because Michael gets mean when he’s drunk (keep this in mind). Michael says his therapist encouraged him to lay off drinking bc it’s obviously becoming a problem for him.

It’s been a long day and Donald needs a shower. ::extremely raucous applause:: So Matt strips down to his undies and walks around a bit. Lays on a bed. Adjusts himself. Lots of this is only seen through the mirrors on the ceiling. Not sure about people in the mezzanine? They might be able to just see him laying there, idk. Then he wanders to the shower and strips...ALL THE WAY DOWN to shower. So yes. Not only do we see Matt’s ass, but we see his dick, too. Where I was sitting, I only saw it in reflections, but still. HEY THERE, MATT’S DICK! :P Whether or not other people in different seats see more or less of him, I’m not sure. This is why I say that the left is better than the right. The shower is on the right side of the stage, and there’s a sink/pedestal in front of the shower. So I think some people’s view of Matt in the shower is blocked by the sink? I was at enough of an angle where it wasn’t a problem. People were literally gasping. LOLOL.  The theater was definitely a-twitter. Lol. [random aside that I saw Angels in America during this trip, and in that play Lee Pace gets naked and just walks around the stage in the buff, so I guess it was my week for seeing ass and penis on stage? Lol]

Then he gets out and puts on a towel and walks around in that for a while, which is nice. Then he goes into the bedroom and changes and you can see him in his undies briefly (lol pun) again. So anyway, THAT HAPPENS. Lol

While Matt is showering and getting ready, Michael’s phone rings. It’s his old college roommate, Alan (Brian Hutchison) who’s having a breakdown of some sort and wants to come over and talk to Michael. The problem? Alan is straight (or is he??) and “square” and doesn’t know that Michael is gay.  Which is a problem bc a bunch of gay men are about to descend on Michael’s apt. Michael tells him to quickly come over with the hope that he will arrive and leave before too many people show up (lol right).  But honestly, who’s listening to Michael at this point bc OMG MATT IS NAKED. Seriously, I think I just stared at Matt for 95% of the show regardless of who was talking. Lol. It helped that I read the play beforehand and watched the movie so I knew what was going on.  ;)

So Michael tells Donald that Alan is coming over and warns him that Alan doesn’t know he’s gay so don’t act gay. Donald is mildly offended and has a funny line about sitting with his legs spread and talking in a deep register. Lol. But anyway, Jim and Matt are great together and you can really see their friendship (well, Michael and Donald’s friendship). They’re very funny together. The doorbell rings and we all think it’s going to be Alan, but it’s the first of the party guests – Larry (Andrew Rannells), Hank (Tuc Watkins), and Emory (Robin de Jesus). Hank and Larry are a couple (with issues). Emory is unapologetically flamboyant. He is hilarious. So Hank was married (he’s in the process of getting divorced) and has 2 kids. He’s the most stereotypically masculine of the group. He’s bi, “with a definite  lean in one direction” (hint: not chicks). He’s a math teacher. The oldest of the group. He’s dating Larry, who’s a bit of a man-whore (and a commercial artist). Larry doesn’t believe in monogamy, and this makes Hank sad. So this is a running issue between the two throughout the night. Andrew is hilarious in the play. He has GREAT facial expressions and reactions.

So Michael introduces everyone and it’s a bit awkward between Larry and Donald. Clearly, they have some sort of history (spoiler alert that’s pretty obvious: They “know” each other because they fucked in the baths once, but never spoke to one another. Yes, they enjoyed their fuck). Throughout the night, Larry is continuously coming on to Donald. Leaning into his space, stroking his arm, etc. It’s pretty great.

Doorbell rings again. Michael warns everyone about Alan and to PLEASE ACT STRAIGHT. Cue lots of hilarity with Emory who is just not into pretending to be butch. So he opens the door...and it’s not Alan. It’s Bernard (Michael B. Washington). Bernard is black (relevant to later parts of the play). He works at the library (a bookstore? Can’t recall which now). Anyway, he knows Donald bc he’s always supplying Donald with books. Lots of comments on how Donald reads a shit-ton. Bernard is besties with Emory.

More hilarity and banter ensues. There is a song and dance number (Donald does not participate, but Matt looks cute standing there and he does cute mini hand/arm motions). While they’re all dancing and being silly, the doorbell rings, but no one hears it but Hank, who goes to open the door and...it’s Alan. So he walks in on all the guys doing a choreographed dance. AWKWARD. Michael is all...”Uh...we’re just being silly!” haha. Yeah. More introductions. Emory is Emory and is pissing Michael off with his refusal to stop being camp. Alan takes to Hank because he’s the most traditionally masculine. Hank and Alan talk about their kids and Larry is getting increasingly pissed bc Hank is hiding the fact that he’s gay and with Larry (although they’re all—poorly-- hiding the fact that they’re gay). Michael goes upstairs to speak with Alan and what his breakdown/problem is.

So the action shifts to upstairs, but we can still see everyone downstairs. So they’re all acting like they’re at the party and are fake talking, etc. This is when Larry really gets into Donald’s space. He’s pissed at Hank because Hank are Alan were being all chummy. So he’s taking it out on Hank by being extra flirty with Donald. Donald isn’t really..opposed?...to it, but he’s maybe a little confused and awkward about it bc...hello?!? Hank is here? What even...? lol.

So upstairs, Alan decides he doesn’t want to talk about his issue and instead talks about how attractive Hank is. Lol. He also likes Donald. Alan’s been downing drinks (Donald is kind of the unofficial drink maker) and he’s drunk. Then he gets all homophobic and says shitty things about Emory. Michael gets a little pissed and goes downstairs while Alan stays upstairs in the bathroom.

Downstairs, the doorbell rings. Michael answers it, expecting it to be Harold (the birthday boy who is clearly very late). It’s a young studly guy dressed as a cowboy (Charlie Carver) who sings Happy Birthday to Michael and kisses him. Oops! Wrong guy! Cowboy is Emory’s gift to Harold. Harold was supposed to answer the door. But cowboy is early (you’re supposed to show up at midnight bc you’re a midnight cowboy!) and Harold is late, so...yeah. Didn’t work out. Then Alan comes downstairs and thinks Cowboy is Harold. Emory says, “No, he’s FOR Harold.” Alan is increasingly hostile and Emory is done with the fucking charades. Emory makes a comment about Alan’s wife, and Alan goes fucking berserk and starts punching Emory while calling him a bunch of gay slurs. Alan is pulled off Emory who is bleeding. Chaos is breaking out. The doorbell rings. Donald answers it and in walks Harold (Zach).

Harold is quite the character. He used to be a professional ice skater. He describes himself as an “ugly, pockmarked Jew fairy”.  He’s high. He’s very sardonic. He looks around and it’s like...WTF is happening? Lol. Alan is passed out on the floor. Emory has blood all over his face. Cowboy sings happy birthday to Harold, kisses him, then Harold reads the card tied to him and starts laughing hysterically.  (this technically ends the first act in the play, but there’s no intermission or anything so the action keeps going)

[Note Larry leaning into Donald’s space in the background]

Bernard and Emory go upstairs to clean up. Up until this point, the play has been really really funny. The general tone is pretty light and humorous. At this point, the tone starts to change dramatically. At some point, I don’t remember exactly when, this change is made blatantly clear by the lights going dim, and all the action on stage freezes, aside from Michael. He heads to the bar and pours and downs a drink. Remember what Donald said about Michael when he’s drunk? MEAN. So this marks the turning point. Light go back up, action resumes. [I’m not sure what I think about them doing it this way, but it hammers the point home that Michael is now drinking and things are about to get dark, so eh. Whatever. ] Michael gets increasingly asshole-ish. You really start to hate Michael.

Alan declares he’s going to puke, so Hank leads him upstairs to the bathroom. Michael and Harold exchange barbs. You really start to wonder why they’re friends. Every time Michael takes a drink, Harold proclaims, “Turning!” Like Donald, he knows alcohol turns Michael into an asshole. Michael is getting drunker and meaner and Harold is not one to just put up with things.  If something gets dished out, he’ll deal it right back ten-fold. But while brutally honest, he’s not being as downright cruel as Michael, who even starts throwing racist remarks at Bernard and cruel comments to Emory (which really horrifies Donald).

Alan comes downstairs and proclaims his intention to leave, and bizarrely announces that Hank should leave with him. This leads to the announcement that Hank and Larry and lovers, and basically the charade is up and hey! We’re all gay; and btw, we think you are too, Alan. Michael won’t let anyone leave and invents a “party game” for them all to play. Basically, you have to call someone that you’ve truly loved. You get different amounts of points for various things – if someone answers, you say who you are, you get the person on the line that you want to speak with, you tell them you love them. A total of 10 possible points. Donald and Harold are immediately like, YEAH NO. Not playing. So Bernard and Emory both call people. Does not turn out particularly well. I literally cried for Bernard. Michael B. Washington does a phenomenal job.

Hank and Larry have it out again, but they end up calling each other, saying they love each other, and going upstairs to have sex in Michael’s bedroom.

Michael starts harassing Alan and telling him he should call their other college roommate, Justin, that Michael is convinced Alan was in love with. He’s in total asshole mode. Alan dials a number and ends up telling the person he loves them. Michael grabs the phone assuming it’s Justin..it’s not. It’s his wife.

Alan leaves. The mood of the party has degenerated into a total morose atmosphere. Harold just goes off on Michael with a huge truth bomb about how self-loathing Michael is and how badly he doesn’t want to be gay, but guess what? You’re gay and you’ll always be gay. He then takes off with Cowboy. Emory and Bernard (who is super drunk by this point) then leave, and Michael has a breakdown. He basically starts hyperventilating and is comforted by Donald. He pulls himself together and leaves to go to a midnight mass. Donald stays behind to read a bit, after assuring Michael that he’ll be back next weekend. The play ends with Donald reading and the silhouette of Hank and Larry making love upstairs in bed.

So yeah, I was much more brief when it came to the second half, in part bc it’s not as much “fun.” It’s much more dramatic. Very good, but not as fun to retell, and as far as Matt goes, aside from the end scene, he kind of disappears in the second half. I mean, he’s physically present and had lines, but there is definitely more focus on the other characters. He kinda just hangs in the periphery watching everything go down. And silently flirting with Larry lol.

All the characters do a stellar job. Charlie Carver/The Cowboy has the smallest role. He’s basically a big dummy, and provides some comic relief with his idiocy and innocence.  Tuc (Hank) does a great job, but his role isn’t as humorous or flashy as the others. Michael B. Washington is great as Bernard, and I was really feeling for him at the end. He has a great monologue that delves into race and slurs. He and Emory have a touching moment. Robin de Jesus is hilarious as Emory. Jim does a good job as insecure Michael. Apparently, he wears special shoes during the show because of his broken foot. I would not have known anything was wrong with his foot. He’s pretty spry walking around that stage. He does a good job playing a mean asshole. Lol. Andrew has hilarious reactions and facial expressions. Zach is hilarious as Harold. Very sarcastic and kind of deadpan? He has a very interesting way of speaking. Harold is super weird, and Zach does a super job. He comes in late in the play, but has an integral part once he arrives. And I love Donald. His role is definitely not as flashy as some of the others, but I feel you really get to know and like Donald.

You laugh A LOT during the first half of the show. You still have funny moments in the second half, but it is also more shocking and dramatic. Pretty thought provoking. And thinking about the time period that this play takes place in (1968) and how tough it was to be out (or not out) at that time, and looking on stage at the all gay cast...it’s a pretty special feeling. They look like they probably have a blast on stage every night.

I happened to be there on Zach’s actual birthday, which was funny because it’s his character’s birthday in the play. When Matt opens the door and it’s Zach standing there, the first line Donald says is, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Harold.” He said it VERY pointedly and I was like !!!!!!!! So that was special. Oh! A Matt insta post:

If you aren’t going to be able to see it, you can watch the original movie. Obviously, it’s not as cool as seeing your faves in the role, but the original play, movie, and the revival are all very faithful to each other. Same dialogue and everything. The movie does add a few scenes at the beginning outside of Michael’s apartment, and some of the movie takes place outside on a balcony instead of all inside, but those are very minor details. I think they cut out a few lines of dialogue in the revival so they could cut down on the time, but offhand I don’t recall what they cut out. I’ll have to read the play again. So you’ll hear all the stuff that happens and all the funny lines and stuff that they say in the play. Then you can envision Matt in the role of Donald. I like Matt’s portrayal of Donald better than the original actor’s, but OBVIOUSLY I am biased. lol

[rahirah]

via Barb's Place (again stolen from shadowkat) 1. How would you describe your current fashion style? Uh... no clue. I decided some time back that I had two clothing objectives: I wanted to feel comfortable, and I wanted to look decent. There are a lot of looks I like that just don't work on me. Instead of focusing on what I couldn't wear, I decided to concentrate on finding things I liked that I DID look good in, and building a style around that. So I went through my closet and got rid of a bunch of things that I'd bought because they looked good on the rack, and started replacing them with things that looked good on me. I take some inspiration from soft butch/tomboy-ish styles, but with a lot of modifications. What it boils down to is, in summer I wear jeans and assorted short-sleeved shirts or tank tops, and in the winter I wear jeans and long-sleeved shirts with a sweater or a jacket or sometimes a vest if I want to be fancy. Boots/sneakers/sandals as weather dictates, no high heels except for costuming. 2. What’s your favorite decade for fashion? 90s-present, if I bother to think about it? The 80s were fun in some respects, but I couldn't pull those looks off then, and they're vaguely appalling now. The 70s are right out. 3. Formal or casual? Casual. 4. Thrift store, boutique, or online? Thrift store, occasional online. 5. Do you like to accessorize? Earrings always, wedding ring and another similar ring inherited from my father's family always, occasionally a necklace or bracelet if I'm dressing up. I use a belt with pants that will slide off my hips if I don't wear one, and that's about it. 6. What piece of clothing do you spend your money on the most? What piece do I spend money on the most, or what piece do I spend the most money on? It's two different things. I buy pants and shirts most often, but the individual pieces I've spent the most on have probably been either shoes, or my Elaborate Handmade Steampunk Hat. 7. Do you wear hats? I should, because AZ is Skin Cancer Central, but I have a small head, and so I have a hard time finding cheap ones that fit, and if I wear one too long, I tend to get a headache. I have some knit caps that I wear in the winter to keep my head warm, one good leather cowboy hat (they kick you out of Arizona if you don't own at least one cowboy hat) and a sort of safari-dude-looking sun hat. And two incredibly awesome steampunk hats for costuming. 8. What is your opinion on wearing socks and sandals together? If it's cold enough to wear socks, I won't be wearing sandals. If you like 'em, though, go for it. 9. What colors do you like to wear? Blues, greys, reds/pinks/burgundies, red-toned browns, black, white, ivory as long as it's not too yellowy. Purples are meh. Avoid orange/yellow/green like the plague. 10. What fashions do you hate? I don't really have a fashion that I hate. That's expending entirely too much energy on fashion. If I don't like it, I just don't wear it. 11. What do you think of body piercing? Neutral. I don't like pain, and I doubt I'd ever have anything but my ears pierced. Besides, I have vague allergy/sinus issues a lot of the time, and having a nose piercing of any kind when you have to blow your nose a lot seems ill-advised. And anything else tenderer, imagining the pain makes my tits want to retract inside my body. (That said, I do want to get a cartilage piercing in one or both ears eventually.) 12. Do you like dyed hair? I don't like dying my hair to hide grey, and I refuse to do that. I don't mind dying it now and then for fun effects. 13. Can you wear heels? What is the highest heel you can wear? I can wear 1-2 inch boot heels with no problem. I don't like wearing anything much higher than that. I have a few 3-4 inch chunky heeled shoes, but I wear them very rarely, usually only for costuming purposes. Stillettoes, no way. 14.Do you have any experience with makeup? Tried messing with it a couple of times in my late teens/20s, decided it was pain in the ass, chucked it and never looked back. 15. Have you ever worn a uniform or traditional clothes? Choir robes. A Girl Scout uniform. That's about it. 16. What’s your favorite piece of clothing? The leather jackets I've got that it's too hot here to wear. :cries: 17. Have you ever had to wear something you didn’t like? Who hasn't? I think the thing that's stuck in my head most over the years was a pair of second-hand Oxfords that one of my aunts sent Mom in the yearly Big Box Of Hand-Me-Downs that we got from our older cousins. They were too big for me, nothing like anyone else at school wore, and heavy and clunky and uncomfortable. I hated them. Mom loooooved them, and couldn't understand why I didn't want to wear them. 18. How do you feel about wearing fur? I can't afford fur, but honestly, I love the look and feel of it. I'd never buy anything endangered, but I'd be fine with stuff like hair-on hides where the animal's being killed for food anyway. 19. Do you prefer simple or detailed outfits? Simple for everyday, but I don't mind detailed for special occasions. 20. How often do you wear jewelry? Earrings and two rings, almost always, anything else, rarely. 21. Do you have any souvenir clothing from trips or concerts? A couple of t-shirts. 22. Do you paint your nails? Very rarely. I'm not very good at it. That would improve with practice, but I don't like the feel of polish on my nails. It makes my fingers feel heavy. 23. What are your favorite pair of shoes (add a photo if possible)? A pair of vintage Doc Martens. 24. Do you carry a bag, backpack, purse, or something else? I have a leather messenger bag type thing, a backpack, and some smaller purses. Depends on how much I'll be carrying and how fancy the occasion is. 25. What does your hair look like right now? Very short, bleached on top. In fact, if I had to pick THE most important fashion thingy not to cut corners on, it would be get a good haircut. It is SO worth spending a little extra to go to someone who really knows what they're doing. And don't be afraid to lay down the law about what you want, either. 26. Have you worn something you or someone you know has made? Yes. My mother and grandmother made a lot of our play clothes when we were small. And I've made a lot of costumes over the years, and a few regular pieces of clothing. 27. Have you made any clothes/ jewelry? Yes. I was into beading for awhile and made a lot of necklaces and earrings. I still have a few of the necklaces. I've also made lots of costumes over the years, and a few regular pieces of clothing. 28. What are your thoughts on perfume/cologne? Neutral. I don't wear it myself, and I have a very poor sense of smell, so when people describe a wild profusion of scent notes they get from a perfume, all I can do is say, "Uh... sweet, I guess?" 29. What do you wear to go swimming? A swimsuit. 30. What would be your ideal outfit? Jeans, Doc Martens, long sleeved shirt with a vest, leather jacket, maybe a belt, earrings. I can only wear this for like three weeks in the middle of winter. :P comments

[hale-of-stiles-heart]

two awkward teachers au for Destiel?

Not sure if I really hit on the awkwardness but I hope you like it anyway! (also on ao3!)

When Dean graduated high school, he had been sure that his days of developing puppy dog crushes were over. But he had been wrong. So utterly wrong.

Because there he was at thirty three years old with a stomach full of butterflies and a face the color of a cherry. All because one of his co-workers had complimented his outfit.

Christ, he was pathetic.

He was a college professor for God's sake, he molded young minds and all that bullshit, he should not be blushing like a little schoolboy. Yet there he was, standing in his empty classroom with sweaty palms and a racing heart.

It was Cas' fault really. With those big blue eyes of his and his pretty pink lips and his messy hair that made it look like he had just gotten thoroughly fucked. With his dark stubbled jaw and radiant smiles.

With his perfectly pressed suits and dorky trench coat and backwards tie. With his awkwardness and his fascination with bees and the way he tilted his head to the side like a confused puppy.

Yeah, it was totally Cas' fault. That fucking asshole.

Dean had met Cas five years ago when he had started teaching at the University of Kansas, taking over for Professor Donatello Redfield who decided to retire after thirty years of teaching. But while the older man, who retired to a cozy house on the outskirts of town with his cat, had taught both chemistry and history Dean was purely a history buff.

He had always been a history junkie, from the time he was a little toddler running around in the backyard playing cowboys. His parents had thought it was adorable, indulging him whenever he asked to watch old black and white movies or begged to go with his dad to classic car shows.

Besides his dad and his uncle Bobby, his childhood heroes had been Eliot Ness and Samuel Colt. In high school, he spent as much time studying as he did chasing skirts.

The only problem was that when the time came, his family couldn't afford to send him off to college. His grades had been wonderful but just not enough to get him a scholarship.

So, with his other options exhausted, he followed in his dad's footsteps and enrolled in the army the day after he turned eighteen. He trained to be a mechanic, never actually see seeing any combat, and after a four year stint, the government paid for him to go to school.

He studied history at KU, focusing primarily on American history and dabbling in a bit of ancient civilization. After another four years, he graduated with honors and was offered a job replacing Professor Redfield.

He had met Cas just a few days later while he was moving into his new office — he had his own office! — a friendly face who offered to help him unload some of his boxes from the backseat of the Impala. Dean had been grunting and groaning as he tried wrenching one of his boxes of books out of the backseat when a deep, gravelly voice had come out of the blue to ask, "Would you like some assistance?"

Dean had been so startled, he had jerked upright and promptly smacked the back of his head against the roof of his baby, cursing at the pain. Shaking himself, he had backed out of the backseat to find the source of the husky voice that may or may not have had gone straight to his dick.

He had found the most gorgeous man he had ever seen standing by the back of the Impala. He had been wearing a quintessentially nerdy sweater vest and a shy smile.

After gawking at the man for a few minutes, Dean had shaken himself again and accepted the man's offer, handing him one of the lighter boxes. They had walked in comfortable silence to Dean's new office where one of the maintenance workers, Joshua, was scraping Donatello's name off the glass inlay of the door.

"Oh, you must be Professor Winchester," the yet to be introduced man commented as he followed Dean into his office. "Donatello's replacement."

"Call me, Dean. Professor makes me feel all old," Dean had countered as they set their boxes down on his already cluttered desk. After wiping his palm on his jeans, he held out his hand, greeting, "Nice to meet ya."

"I'm Professor Novak," the man returned, shaking Dean's hand. With a smile, he amended, "Castiel Novak."

"Well, alright, Cas," Dean had laughed under his breath. "You mind helping me out with the rest of my boxes?"

"It'd be my pleasure, Dean," Cas had returned with a beaming grin. Their friendship had flourished from there.

It turned out that Cas' office was just down the hall from Dean's, that he taught both literature and theology. He was a favorite among students despite his sometimes too formal demeanor, largely due to his empathetic nature and rather lax deadlines for assignments.

He and Dean had coinciding breaks between their morning and afternoon classes, giving them the opportunity to get to know each other better over lunches consisting of the cheapest junk food the school's vending machine had to offer. Typical topics of conversation spanned from their teaching plans to their personal lives to their favorite television shows as they sat in Cas' office and drank too-weak black coffee.

Apparently, Cas had a ridiculously huge family, admitting that he had scores of siblings he had never actually met before. All of them had been given either Biblical names or names of angels according to Christian mythology, thus Cas' fascination with theology.

Dean had countered stories about Cas' older brother Gabriel with jokes about his moose of a younger brother who had just gotten engaged. When Cas told him the meaning of his name — speed of God — Dean told him that he had been named after his maternal grandmother.

They shared all sorts of family anecdotes from the time Dean carved his and Sam's initials into the Impala to the time Cas' brothers Gabriel and Balthazar had taken him to a strip club for his eighteenth birthday, only for Cas to admit that he was pansexual and while the women were very attractive he would rather go to a male strip club. They had even exchanged baby pictures so they could laugh at the mischief they had gotten into while still in diapers.

Dean had ribbed Cas for days about his car, an old Lincoln Continental that was unbelievably fitting for Cas. In turn, Cas had teased Dean about the copy of Busty Asian Beauties he had found in his office while helping him tidy up his desk.

Their routine of having lunch together on weekdays and occasionally hanging out on the weekends when neither of them had any other plans had continued for the next four years. And somewhere along the line, between the afternoons spent teasing each other and the nights at Dean's apartment binge watching Dr. Sexy, Dean had fallen head over heels for his best friend.

Which is why Cas' innocent comment about Dean's tie bringing out his green eyes turned the over-compensatingly butch, army vet, tough guy history professor into a pile of blushing goo. He was seriously fucked.

Especially when Cas sent him a wink afterwards before flouncing out of Dean's classroom to get to his own before his students showed up. When Dean's students arrived, shuffling into class with tired eyes and cups full of Starbucks coffee, he was still struggling to will away his blush.

He somehow managed to make it through his lesson about the atrocities committed by white settlers without embarrassing himself any further. As he handed out study guides for their next quiz, he resolutely ignored the way one of his students raked her eyes over him like he was a piece of meat.

Maybe his tie brought out his eyes a little too much.

He gave a quick little lecture about studying that was met with a chorus of exaggerated groans and a round of simultaneous eye rolls before excusing his students. As they filed out of the room, he grabbed his phone and shot a quick text to his friend Charlie, I think Cas just hit on me.

Charlie, the school's resident IT expert who taught an afternoon computers class on Tuesdays and Thursdays and was a friend from high school, answered a few seconds later. What?! 👀👀👀

Dean glanced at the clock as he typed out his response. Cas still had another hour left of class before his break, his theology class only meeting on Thursdays.

He said my tie brought out the color of my eyes then he winked at me! He winked at me! Dean texted her, feeling frantic. His palms were suddenly sweaty again as he replayed Cas' words over and over and over again, trying to eek out any hidden meaning, any intent.

He wasn't good at subtle flirtations, he was more of an actions over words kind of guy. Sure, he could charm the pants off anyone — well, almost anyone — but that was just when all he was looking for was a one night stand. A wham bam thank you ma'am, or mister, before he never saw them again.

But Cas was different. He deserved more than a meaningless hookup in the back of some dive bar or dirty alleyway. He deserved something special and romantic, like something Dr. Sexy would come up with.

Like rose petals spread out on luxuriant silk sheets with candles lit around the room. Like breakfast in bed with heart shaped pancakes and a steaming mug of his favorite earl grey tea.

Or maybe a nice massage after a long bubble bath with one of those bath bomb things that Charlie was always raving about. Dinner at a fancy restaurant that served more than just burgers and fries before a walk on the beach to watch the sunset.

Cas deserved all that and more. But Dean had no idea if he could give him that.

The longest romantic relationship he had ever maintained had been in high school. Even then, in the two years he had dated Cassie, he had been an idiot, a stupid teenage boy who was too fixated on when he was going to get laid again to bother sending his girlfriend flowers on her birthday or taking her out to dinner.

But hopefully, Charlie could help, even if it was just to tell him that he shouldn't get his hopes up. He eagerly awaited her response.

When his phone dinged with her reply, he couldn't open the message fast enough. And what did you do??? Charlie's message read.

I didn't do anything, Dean admitted, biting his lip as he mentally kicked himself for just gaping like a fish out of water. He left before I could do anything.

Oh, Dean. 😔 Charlie replied, her disappointment palpable in the text. That little emoji she included just seemed cruel.

Fortunately, she made up for any insulting, pensive looking emojis by sending him instructions. Alright, here's what you're gonna do. Go get him some flowers and flirt that perfect ass of yours off.

Are you sure? Dean sent back, his brows knitting together in consternation. He didn't want to fuck anything up just because he read too much into an innocent comment that meant nothing.

Have I ever steered you wrong before? Charlie returned challengingly. A second later, she tacked on, Except for that one time. It's not my fault he turned out to be straight!

Alright, thanks, Char, Dean answered, chuckling to himself at the memory of the time Charlie had set him up on a blind date with a guy so straight it was painful. At least the chicken wings had been good.

His phone chirped a moment later with another message from Charlie. He smiled as he read it, I better be the maid of honor at your wedding.

Sure thing, kiddo, Dean shot back before pocketing his cell phone and checking the clock again. He still had forty five minutes until Cas' class ended, which should have given him enough time to run over to the florist on Third Street, especially if he disregarded the speed limit.

*        *        *       *       *       *

Dean made it back to the campus with ten minutes to spare, carefully tucking the bouquet of flowers he had purchased into the inner pocket of his jacket. He was careful not to crush any of the pristine petals as he hurried back into the main building and made his way back to his office.

He had been surprised by how busy the flower shop had been at ten a.m., finding a long line when he made it to Happy Petals. The line had moved along quickly enough, most people picking up online orders.

When it was his turn at the counter, he abruptly realized that he had no idea what kind of flowers to buy. The only person he had ever bought flowers for was his mother and he always got her the same thing, a bunch of sunflowers.

Luckily, one of the women behind the counter took him aside to help him put together the perfect bouquet. Apparently, there was an entire language of flowers, full length books detailing the different symbolic meanings of the flowers.

He had admittedly felt like a bit of an idiot until the woman, a brunette with kind blue eyes in a bright yellow apron, had patiently asked a few questions about who exactly the flowers were for. After Dean ended up rambling for ten minutes about how sweet and kind and mind-blowingly smart and handsome Cas was, she arranged a beautiful bouquet that was perfect.

Pale blue peonies made up the majority of the bouquet along with darker blue chrysanthemums. They were complemented by immaculate white roses and white lilies.

It was perfect for Cas. The blues reminded Dean of Cas' heavenly blue eyes while the white blooms were reminiscent of the wings of angels that Dean inexplicably associated with Cas.

He just needed to work up the nerve to give Cas the bouquet. It was much harder than he thought it would be.

He ended up pacing in his office, pausing every so often to glance over at the bouquet he had gingerly set on his desk as doubt started creeping into his head. What if Cas hated them? What if he thought Dean was an idiot for ever thinking their relationship could be anything more than platonic?

With a heavy sigh, he tugged his phone out of his pocket and snapped a quick picture of the bouquet. He sent the picture to Charlie, inquiring, What do you think?

Omg Dean those are perfect! Charlie announced a mere second later. She followed it up with a string of heart eye emojis and an encouraging assurance, He's gonna love them! Almost as much as he loves you 😜

You're an idiot, Dean informed her before closing out of their conversation, his phone buzzing with a new message from someone else. It was Cas.

Just finished up class, Cas informed him, his statement punctuated by a smiley face emoji. I brought leftover pizza if you'd like some. I'll be in my office.

Alright, now or never, Dean thought as he grabbed the bouquet from his desk. With a steeling breath, he left his office and started down the hallway towards Cas'.

He paused outside of Cas' door, taking a few deep breaths to brace himself for whatever might happen. Balling up his fist to let himself into Cas' office, he instructed himself, C'mon, nut up, Winchester.

He hid the bouquet behind his back as he strolled into Cas' office with a bright grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. Cas was sitting at his desk, hunched over his laptop as he munched on a slice of cold reheated pepperoni pizza.

He looked up as Dean entered the room, his face lighting up even as he continued chewing. Pausing in his typing, he waved Dean further into his office, gesturing at one of the two tufted barrel armchairs in front of his desk.

Cas set his slice of pizza down, wiping his hand on a nearby napkin, and stood. He rounded his desk to grab the box of leftover pizza from the coffee table by the old Chesterfield sofa beside one of his bookshelves.

He set his hip against the front of his desk as he set down the box of pizza, opening it to show off its contents. But for once Dean wasn't interested in food.

He made his way over to the front of Cas' desk, ignoring the confusion on Cas' face in favor of taking a deep breath and presenting the bouquet. He felt like a little kid offering a single daisy to his crush, the root still attached along with a clump of dirt.

"What...?" Cas murmured, trailing off as he looked up at Dean, his eyes narrowed in confusion. He glanced between the flowers and Dean's face, then back again.

"They're for you," Dean blurted without any further preamble. "I just thought... You deserved something nice, y'know? And I thought you'd like blue... The, uh, the peonies, I think, they match your eyes... I just— This was stupid, huh? I'm so—"

But before Dean could utter another word, Cas was shooting out his hand to wrap it around Dean's tie and yank him into a kiss. Any and all apologies that Dean had bouncing around his head were silenced as Cas' warm, slightly chapped lips moved against his in a wet glide.

He carefully set down the bouquet on Cas' desk before inching close enough to wrap his arms around Cas' waist, reeling him in closer. Cas hummed contentedly against Dean's lips as the other man enthusiastically returned the kiss.

Charlie was a freaking genius. Dean was sure to tell her that a few hours later.

And the tie? The one that brought out Dean's green eyes? He wore it on their wedding day.

Send me Destiel prompts!

[theconservativebrief]

Richard E. Grant has been a familiar face since his breakout role in the British black comedy Withnail & I, in which he played the perpetually drunk out-of-work actor named in the title. He’s had a long stretch of strong work since then, ranging from supporting roles in movies like The Age of Innocence and Gosford Park to roles on TV shows including Girls and Game of Thrones.

His latest big-screen role is as Jack Hock, the roguish sidekick to Melissa McCarthy’s down-and-out writer Lee Israel, in Can You Ever Forgive Me, based on the real-life Israel’s memoir. The pair meet in a dingy Upper West Side bar in the middle of the afternoon. Mutually lonely and prickly, they develop a sort of friendship and then a partnership in crime, when Israel starts forging letters by famous writers and passing them off as the real thing to sellers of rare books.

Both Grant’s and McCarthy’s performances drew praise during the film’s fall festival run. Grant’s take on Jack is electric — he’s a live, uncontrollable wire, an endlessly cheerful fast talker, and a delightful hustler with a misanthropic streak that stands in stark contrast to Lee’s more straightforward bristly exterior. But he’s also sick and lonely, slowly wasting away, and his friendship with Lee is, for a time, a cure.

Can You Ever Forgive Me? is as much a buddy-heist comedy as drama. Mary Cybulski / Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation

In person, though, Grant is charming, friendly, and delightful. On an October Saturday in Manhattan he sat down with me for a few minutes to talk about the film, his role in it, the loneliness of characters like Jack in New York in the early 1990s, and why Melissa McCarthy is “impossible.”

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

Alissa Wilkinson

How did you get interested in Can You Ever Forgive Me?

Richard E. Grant

I got a call from my agent in November [2016], saying, “You have 24 hours to read this script.”

I said, “What is it, like, Mission Impossible? Is it gonna explode?” And she said, “No.” And I said, “Well, who’s dropped out? Who’s passed on it, or dead?” And she said, “Don’t concern yourself with that because it’s irrelevant.” I said, “Do you know?” She said, “Read the script.” So I did, and I saw there’s Melissa McCarthy playing Lee Israel and Marielle Heller, I knew from Diary of a Teenage Girl. I said, “Yeah, great, when do we start?”

Alissa Wilkinson

Did you know Lee Israel’s story before?

Richard E. Grant

I didn’t know her story, but I had her biography of Tallulah Bankhead, which I’d read, and which is really good. I had her name on my bookshelf but this story, I didn’t know. I thought, “How is it possible that I didn’t know about this story?” It’s such an extraordinary, grand feat of literary ventriloquism that she pulled off, passing off these letters of really great writers of such disparate talents and styles in the 20th century. I thought that was an amazing thing.

Now her story’s out there. I just wish that she was alive to see how celebrated it is for her crimes. Crimes of passion really.

Alissa Wilkinson

That’s a good way to put it — passion for whom?

Richard E. Grant

Passion for the written word. Passion for the great writers who may have become more neglected from an audience now that don’t know the breadth of Noel Coward or Lillian Hellman or Dorothy Parker — these people that she held in such high esteem.

Alissa Wilkinson

The movie is about Lee’s story, but it’s also almost like a buddy heist.

Richard E. Grant

It’s a buddy heist. It’s like a buddy road movie to me, one that happens to go through the highways of Manhattan, from bar to bookshelf to bar to bookshelf to seedy apartment and then back again. Like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid in the Wild West of Manhattan and downtown in the 1990s, without the guns and the pistols. There’s no dead bodies.

Alissa Wilkinson

And that makes you Robert Redford, right?

Richard E. Grant

In your dreams. More like Ratso and Joe Buck in Midnight Cowboy, probably closer to the mark.

Melissa McCarthy and Richard E. Grant in Can You Ever Forgive Me? Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation

Alissa Wilkinson

All good road movies have a journey of discovery built into them. Your character is not the main character — but you still have your own arc. How did you approach him?

Richard E. Grant

Lee Israel’s memoir was astonishingly scant on detail about him, which tells me how eccentric she was — thinking that she was the only person involved in this story. I know the producers who knew Lee, who spent years trying to get her to write this story, who knew all the ins and outs — which is what the screenplay fleshed out so cleverly.

He was from Portland. He was blonde, was tall, was charming, had died of AIDS at the age of 47 in 1994, used a stubby cigarette holder because he was a chain smoker but thought he wouldn’t get cancer by using that, had been in jail for two years for holding at knifepoint a taxi driver in a dispute about a cab fare, which absolutely fit the bill. That is as much as I knew to go on.

And also the fact that she praised him, because once she had been rumbled by the FBI and couldn’t go out and sell these letters anymore, she got him to do it. Where she thought he might predictably get $500 or $600 for a letter that she conjured up, he came back with $2,000 or more. That was testament to how good he was at scamming or schmoozing people.

Alissa Wilkinson

Hustling.

Richard E. Grant

Yeah, just a hustler. A street-grifting hustler.

Alissa Wilkinson

And yet he’s very lovable in the film as well. She’s a downer, and he’s very cheerful in a manic way.

Richard E. Grant

I always think of them in animal terms. I think of people I meet in animal terms: what kind of animal are they, first and foremost? She’s a porcupine to his Labrador. He will just go schmooze, wag his tail, and lick anybody into submission until they finally give him some food, give him a shag, give him a bed, or give him a bone to go chew on, figuratively. I thought that was the most bizarre dynamic: Two animals that would never, ever be together, but somehow they go through little journeys together.

The odd couple, plotting. Mary Cybulski / Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation

Alissa Wilkinson

So you end up with an odd couple dynamic.

Richard E. Grant

Exactly. Walter Matthau and Jack Lemmon in The Odd Couple, 1968 — that was the other movie reference along with Midnight Cowboy that I thought of. It’s what the essence of this movie was.

Alissa Wilkinson

I’d somehow had never seen the original Odd Couple until this summer.

Richard E. Grant

You’d never seen it?

Alissa Wilkinson

I know! But it’s interesting that both that movie and this one are about single people who band together to find their own family. And then drive each other crazy.

Richard E. Grant

Lonely people in a city — millions of people, but you can still be lonely as a cloud surrounded by everybody.

Alissa Wilkinson

The fact that your character and Melissa McCarthy’s character find each other in the bar in the middle of the day tells you everything you need to know.

Richard E. Grant

Absolutely.

Alissa Wilkinson

Part of the reason this movie is so appealing to me is that I’m a New Yorker, but I wasn’t here in the early 1990s, when the movie is set. So it’s a New York I didn’t know. It looks kind of dingy. Were you here much during that time?

Richard E. Grant

I first came here in 1989 — 42nd Street in Times Square, all the sleaze of that. It wasn’t all floodlit and touristified like it is now. There were sex joints and strip joints. There was hustlers. You felt like you were in a kind of post-apocalyptic landscape: “Hold onto your wallet, keep your head down.” It had a sort of seedy, fascinating, roughish quality. Nothing had been gentrified to the degree that it has now, when you have to have a lot of money to live in Manhattan.

I had done a movie with Sandra Bernhard. We played husband and wife in Hudson Hawk with Bruce Willis, which was a disaster. Sandra was living in the Meatpacking District. And I was so shocked in 1991, because on more than one street corner I saw men who were dying of AIDS. Young, younger than I was, who had placards saying, “Abandoned by my family, no medicare, no money, please help me.” It was so shocking to see that.

In the middle of this film — it doesn’t make a big deal out of it — Lee says to Jack, “Can I trust you, telling you this story about this scam that I’ve got going?” And he says, “Oh, you can tell me, because I don’t have anybody else to tell; all my friends are dead.” He’s flippant about it. And then of course, at the end, you realize that he is dying of AIDS.

That really hit home. I thought, that was the reality of that generation. There are no photographs of him. I imagine his backstory: He would have been abandoned by his family. It was pre-social media, so there were no photographs. Polaroids that might’ve existed were gone. All his friends were dead. He’s somebody that lived and grifted, lived for the day. As soon as he got any money from some shady deal or whatever he was involved in, he just spent it. He wanted to live a life of pleasure and then pay the ultimate price at a very young age.

Alissa Wilkinson

The movie has a huge undercurrent of anxiety — being anxious about where your money is coming from, whether you’ll be able to have healthcare. A lot of writers I know — including myself — walked out of the screening and said, “Well, that’s a horror film,” because of how familiar that feeling is. It’s something we’re seeing here and in Britain, something that’s resonating with a lot of people.

Richard E. Grant

And the loneliness! I walk around the streets now — the silhouette of our age is heads down to a tablet or a mobile. People are not looking at each other. We see people, couples having dinner and they’re looking at their mobiles and they’re not talking to each other. That need for connection is so strong in this story. People have responded to that in this movie.

Richard E. Grant and Melissa McCarthy at the premiere of Can You Ever Forgive Me? in Toronto in September 2018. Photo by Suzi Pratt/Getty Images

Alissa Wilkinson

So what was it like playing this character alongside Melissa McCarthy?

Richard E. Grant

[Grins slyly] You can’t even imagine what a nightmare it was to work with her. I mean, can you really imagine how difficult that was? She’s so grumpy and uncooperative. She was Lee Israel. All this persona of her being warm, cuddly, and lovable in real life? Ha! She should not be up for any awards at all, because she is that person. She is impossible.

Have you seen her today?

Alissa Wilkinson

No!

Richard E. Grant

Oh, you’ve been spared!

Alissa Wilkinson

The first role I ever saw her in was on Gilmore Girls — have you watched?

Richard E. Grant

Yes, I have.

Alissa Wilkinson

Her transition from that to Bridesmaids and then a career in comedy was such fun to watch.

Richard E. Grant

She’s also done a huge amount of drama off Broadway in the early 1990s, so the fact that she’s come full circle in a sense and now playing this role in a movie is not what I think people have expected to see her in. Yet she mines the comedy and compassion out of it in a way that only she can.

Alissa Wilkinson

What was your dynamic like on set, since the dynamic between the two characters was so important?

Richard E. Grant

[The grin returns.] It was terrible. Oh, it was terrible. We hated each other. Never saw each other. I didn’t speak to her between takes. It’s just awful.

No, I absolutely worship and adored her and we’ve become great friends. That was the bonus. I think it’s the only movie I’ve ever been on when you have days off you think, “Oh my god, what am I gonna do, I’m in New York?” And you’re gonna go see this show and you’re gonna do that and this museum, that art gallery, see these people perform and every day we had lunch together when I was working. That’s real testament to the bond that we forged on this. I think it certainly shows in the final movie.

Alissa Wilkinson

The movie is also suffused with books. Did you do any supplementary reading?

Richard E. Grant

Yeah. I’m a voracious reader so I re-read the Tallulah Bankhead biography, and I read the other books that she’d written, and then of course, the memoir that the film is based on and the great writers that she loved. The fact that she liked the most caustic and witty writers of the 20th century was in such contrast to this porcupine saying, like, “I’m not budging.”

The fact that she was so politically incorrect, uncompromising, and unwilling to change anything — even in her court confession. She could have been contrite and full of public remorse while privately thinking, “Oh, fuck the lot of you.” She just says quite blatantly, “Well, yeah, I know it wasn’t the greatest thing that I’ve done, but it’s the best work I’ve ever done, and it’s the best time I’ve ever had.”

The fact that she says that, you kind of go, “Yes!” She’s just the most quintessential unlikely romantic heroine that you could possibly conjure up and I loved her for that and I know Melissa did too.

Alissa Wilkinson

She takes so much pride in the fact that she thinks her forgeries are better than the real thing.

Richard E. Grant

“I’m a better Dorothy Parker than Dorothy Parker.” I guess Lee really was that fantastic.

Can You Ever Forgive Me? opens in theaters on October 19.

Original Source -> Richard E. Grant on playing a “Labrador” to Melissa McCarthy’s “porcupine” in their new movie

via The Conservative Brief

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Hey stupid! Yeah, you across the dutch – Kiwi scribe lays in boot

Rattue goes on to list the latest salary cap scandal in the NRL – the 90th by his count, with no sign of abating.

Fair call? Chris Rattue sledged Michael Cheika, the cricket team and Nick Kyrgios among others.

Photo: Rugby.com.au, AAP, EPA

He looks at our erstwhile passions of summer: “The nation which produced legendary and respected tennis icons such as Rod Laver, Yvonne Goolagong and Margaret Court now comes up with knuckleheads like Nick Kyrgios and Bernard ‘the Tanker’ Tomic.”

Enough, already?

No, Chris had barely cleared his throat.

“As for cricket, there has never been a sadder more pathetic episode in sport than the sandpaper scandal in South Africa, the nadir for a team which had spun out of control on anger and arrogance.”

Perhaps, he might be kinder to the Wallabies?

Fault: Bernard Tomic is an enigma.

Photo: AP

“As for rugby . . . sophisticated, clever, that’s how the best of Australian rugby used to be. There were elegant leaders like John Eales and Rod Macqueen, and never-to-be-forgotten players such as David ‘Campo’ Campese, Mark Ella, Stephen Larkham and many more . . . What have we got now? Whinging Michael Cheika and a team which doesn’t know what it is about.”

He finishes: “Hey, if the once great Australian sports nation is determined to be a sporting laughing stock, it’s a free world.”

Too harsh? Too unbalanced? Too brutal?

Nuh.

Too shay.

But hey, at least we’re light years ahead of those Kiwis in politics, and are not infected by the same stupidity there.

Oh, wait!

Hopping to it

Good around the house: John Hopoate.

Photo: Fox Sports

As you will see in the quotes section, we have it on the sincere authority of Will Hopoate that his father John has another side: “If people saw him at home, they’d see mum is the real boss, she’s got him under the whip, vacuuming and doing the dishes.”

As one who’s had my fair share of goes at Hopoate Snr over the years, I am glad to hear it. In similar spirit, as one who has criticised Josh Dugan many times, and those who only go to children’s hospitals as the cameras roll, a reader sent me a story this week that showed another side.

It concerned his eleven year-old grandson Gabe Smith, who was diagnosed with a brain tumour and admitted to the Randwick Children’s Hospital, where Dugan came across him . . . and held on, going to see him many times thereafter, through all his many treatments and even into palliative care at Manly’s Bear Cottage, where he would stay for four hours at a time.

For yes, young Gabe tragically didn’t make it, and died in July. Dugan and his girlfriend attended the funeral at the Avoca Beach Surf Club and stayed for the wake.

So, there you go. Just as I struggle to put the public Hopoate I know of with the private figure described by his son, I can’t quite fathom that the Dugan described above is the troubled, swaggering bruiser we know – but accept that it is.

Still, if it turns out that Greg Norman has a humble side, that Shane Warne actually delights in Dosteovsky, and Nick Kyrgios is releasing a motivational lecture , I’ll give up!

Fat chance

Très drôle, as we say in the classics. The 53-year-old pro golfer from Michigan, Scott Parel, see, was asked at the end of the second round of the PGA senior tournament what he thought of his chances of winning.

“I think I have two chances – slim and none. And I think I just saw Slim heading out of town.”

It might be straining the metaphor a little, but Slim came back and tucked into the buffet something fierce, because he soon became Huge, and Parel shot 63 on the final round to win the whole thing.

Lunch date

As mentioned, this year’s Cauliflower Club lunch is at the Hyatt Regency on Sussex St on October 12, with special guests Wally Lewis, Michael O’Connor and Ricky Stuart on deck, and you can book at www.cauliflowerclub.org.au.

This week though, our Chair, John Fordham, secured a very interesting auction prize: a big lunch with all of Bob Dwyer, Alan Jones and Rod Macqueen.

Father’s Day

Reluctantly, I must accept that there is some chance that, for Father’s Day, some of you won’t be buying or getting my own latest book, Monash’s Masterpiece, the 93 Minutes That Changed the World. In that case (sniff), allow me to recommend Greg Growden’s The Wallabies At War, which looks at the stunning service of many Wallabies from the Boer War onwards, or Michael Visontay’s Beyond the Stereotype: A Celebration Of Jews In Australian Sport.

Both are, as you’d expect from two long-time Herald scribes, exceptionally well-written and chokka with good yarns.

In Growden’s book, my favourite is about the great Stan Bisset – a man I was proud to call a friend – who was decorated for his bravery on the Kokoda Track where, during the Battle of Isurava, his brother Butch was riddled with machine gun bullets. Stan carried Butch to a clearing, where he held his hand through the night, singing him songs from the old days, till he died just before dawn. Vale, great men.

Steve who?

Take a hike: All Blacks coach Steve Hansen.

Photo: AAP

Meantime?

Meantime, reader Michael Milgate reports that when about to head off on a hike along New Zealand’s spectacular Milford Track with his daughter last year, they were encouraged to have dinner the night before with other hikers. As dinner is being served, his daughter finds herself in the company of a group of charming strangers, one of whom is notably robust, resplendent in a black tracksuit, introduced as “Steve” but addressed by his companions as “Coach”.

“And what do you coach?”

“Rugby,” he replies.

“Oh, and is it a local team?”

“Have you heard of the All Blacks?”

Oh . . . pass the bread?

Short and sweet

The way forward for the Wallabies? Fitzphile Robert King has the answer! “In the same way T20 has rocked the cricket world,” he writes, “let’s push for a shorter version of the Bledisloe Cup. We will play the first 35 mins only, two-man lineouts and no scrums. I understand Lord Bledisloe died in 1958 so he can’t object.” That works!

What They Said

Lovely writing from Matthew Johns on the early days of Johnathan Thurston: “He first came to the Bulldogs in the mid-2000s and he looked like a rabbit trying to find a hole in a barbwire fence. He was a ducker and a darter . . .”

When ESPN commentator Brad Gilbert asked Nick Kygrios after the first round if all his carry-on was to get himself going, Kyrgios replied: “Not really. It keeps me relaxed.”

Tennis umpire Mo Lahyani to Nick Kyrgios during a break in the second round of the US Open, asks him to carry on with more purpose:

“I want to help you. I want to help you. I’ve seen your matches: you’re great for tennis. Nick, I know this is not you.” Kyrgios won nineteen of the next 25 games to win the match. There was hell to pay.

Helpng hand: Mo Lahyani and Nick Krygios. Illustration: John Shakespeare

Will Hopoate on his dad: “For most of my life I’ve seen the John Hopoate off the field, and that’s the man I respect and love as a father. The bloke you see on the field and off the field are two different blokes. If people saw him at home, they’d see mum is the real boss, she’s got him under the whip, vacuuming and doing the dishes.”

Venus Williams laughs at the prospect of playing her sister, Serena, in the American Open: “The last time we played, in Australia, it was two against one. At least this time it’s fair.” On that occasion, at the 2017 Australian Open, Serena was pregnant.

Barry Hall: “I got no income, and there’s no real light at the end of the tunnel of when that will change or when that will be. So it’s a big cock-up.”

Collingwood President Eddie McGuire on another Pies player testing positive: “The last person to find out anything to do with drugs is the club itself. It’s an AFL issue. They have control of everything that goes, as far as the testing is concerned. In fact, as the president of the club I’m not even allowed to ask about these situations.”

Carlton coach Brendon Bolton on the upside of having won two games for twenty losses this season: “In some time we’ll look back and say this time paid us back.” Sure you will, Coach.

Wayne Bennett following the Roosters game: “I could make a headline easily, but I won’t tonight. I’ll leave you with this guys, you’re all journalists here, you see what I see, why don’t you write the stories?”

Eels coach Brad Arthur on the wooden spoon, after his side lost 44-6 to the Cowboys last Friday: “At the end of the day, I’m in charge. Someone has got to claim responsibility, that’s me. I feel a sense that I’ve let people down. It’s just embarrassing. I have to face up to it, I can’t run and hide from it.” Coach? Look to the blokes laughing and joking within seconds of being on the wrong end of a 40-point drubbing – and wipe them. Start with Jarryd Hayne, who was doing precisely that.

Gus Gould: “Sunday afternoon at Jubilee Oval. One of the great pleasures of life.” Andrew Johns: “Gus, you’ve gotta get out more.”

Team of the Week

Fond farewell: Thurston waves goodbye to the Cowboys home crowd last week.

Photo: AAP

Johnathan Thurston Plays the final match of his extraordinary 17-year career tonight, against the Gold Coast Titans.

Richmond and Hawthorn How very odd. Between them they have won 24 Premiership flags and yet next Thursday, for the first time, they contest a finals match.

Argentina Pumas Snapped an 11-match losing streak in the Rugby Championship by beating South Africa.

Sunshine Coast Lightning Gone back to back to claim their second Super Netball title. So I suppose it does strike twice!

The second annual Chappell Foundation Golf Day To raise money for the homeless, it will be held on Tuesday September 11 at the spectacular NSW Golf Club, La Perouse.

Italy Has just banned all advertising for gambling, most particularly including sponsorships of sporting teams. Watch this space!

Caloundra Won their first rugby grand final since their foundation in 1982, beating Noosa.

Twitter: @Peter_Fitz

Peter FitzSimons is a Herald journalist, columnist and author, based in Sydney. He is also a former Wallabies player.

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