#i think el would play jolene for him and he’d love it so much

[astrobei]

the will byers would/wouldn’t like taylor swift debate is so tired like can we please talk about something else for once. for example: which (if any) flavors of country would will byers enjoy. discuss.

[alphacrone]

country singer bitty accidentally writes a hit about nhl player jack

Based on this post about the inspiration for Dolly Parton’s Jolene, which is somehow even gayer than the song itself. Bless you, Dolly.

It had started out so innocently.

Bitty had been tired after hours of this meet n’ greet, and when that tall drink of water walked up to get his autograph, Bitty couldn’t help the words that tumbled out of his mouth.

“Gosh, well aren’t you the most handsome fella I’ve ever seen,” he said, reached for the outstretched CD--CD! Who even bought CDs anymore?--and readied his Sharpie. “What’s your name, hun?”

“Uh, Jack,” the man said, pretty eyes going wide. If he’d been more awake, Bitty might’ve felt bad for making a fan uncomfortable. But if this Jack really were a fan, then he certainly wouldn’t have a problem with another man complimenting him. And besides, he was handsome, with his wide shoulders and high cheekbones and eyes as blue as the summer sky.

“Jack,” Bitty repeated, signing the CD with little flourish. “Jack. That’s a nice name. Jack. Jack. That sounds like it should be a song, like a good, ol’ fashioned folk song or something. Blue-eyed Jack. Jack with the blue eyes.” He chuckled at his own Beyoncé joke, fatigue weighing heavily on his shoulders. “Here you go,” he said, handing Jack the autographed CD case and smiling widely at him. “Have a great day, Blue-Eyed Jack.”

“Thanks,” Jack said, giving him a shy grin. “You, too.”

Bitty sighed as he turned and left, watching a little too intently as he walked away. So it wasn’t just his face that was beautiful. Bitty would leave that out of the song.

The next fan stepped up, a preteen girl with a bad case of brace-face, and Bitty greeted her with a tired smile, all thought of Jack gone from his mind.

  Despite his fatigue, Bitty couldn’t sleep that night. He rarely could on roadies. It wasn’t the proximity to his band that was the problem--Bitty found the sounds of Chowder snoring to be comforting--but more the act of travelling that made Bitty antsy. He kept a small, potted fern next to his bed, hoping that it would make him feel rooted, but it rarely worked. With a sigh, Bitty pulled out his phone and scrolled through Instagram, hoping the ridiculous myriad of selfies from his guitarist, Ransom, would lull him to sleep.

When he enlarged the first photo on Ransom’s page, however, Bitty nearly dropped his phone. There, squeezed between Ransom and Chowder, was Blue-Eyed Jack. He looked even more handsome in this photo, eyes brought out by whatever filter Ransom had used. Met this mofo today, the caption read. #gofalcs #providencefalconers #zimmboni #bittyandthebiscuits

“Falconers,” Bitty murmured to himself. That was the hockey team his band loved, the one whose games he watched from time-to-time. The only player he could name was Alexei Mashkov, however, because of the shrine to him the boys had built over Ransom’s bunk. He wondered if Blue-Eyed Jack was one of Mashkov’s teammates.

Jack, Bitty thought, closing his eyes against the glare of the phone. Blue-Eyed Jack, don’t walk away. Blue-Eyed Jack, I’m here to stay. Lovely boy, can’t you see? Blue-Eyed Jack, come back to me.

“Oh.” Bitty sat up straight, smacking his head against the bunk. “OW.”

“Mmgh-” The bed above him rustled as Ransom woke. “You okay, Bits?”

“Hit my head,” Bitty whispered. “Thought of a song.”

“Cool,” Ransom muttered, clearly still mostly asleep. “Have fun.”

Bitty didn’t respond; he’d already pulled open his Google Docs app and was jotting down everything he could think of, brain whirring away, jumbled up with thoughts of pretty eyes and shy smiles.

  Bitty and Ransom wrote the song in a week. By the time their roadie was over and they were back in L.A., the entire band knew Blue-Eyed Jack and their manager, Lardo, got them into the recording studio as soon as she could.

The song was a bigger hit than Bitty ever could’ve imagined. Though he was out--and one of the first publicly gay country singers to not be dropped by his label--Bitty rarely sung directly about men and being attracted to them. It seemed risky, in the past; fans might not care what he did in his personal life, but that was a far cry from listening to two minute and forty-three seconds of a man loving other men.

Blue-Eyed Jack met plenty of resistance, of course, but the support was what totally overwhelmed Bitty. He cried every day that the song stayed at the top of the charts, and was met with merciless chirping from his bandmates. At the end of the day, though, they’d all pull him into a big group hug and let him cry with happiness.

“Dolly Parton’s been tweeting about you,” Ransom said one day, a few weeks after the single had been released. “Dude, I think she wants to duet with you. Dude. Dude.”

“I think I’ve died,” Bitty said, flopping back dramatically on the couch, head landing in Ransom’s lap. “Am I dead? I feel dead.”

Ransom looked up from his phone. “Very possible. Let’s write a song about it for the CD.”

And, yes, their label was now working towards a brand-new album, to feature and be named after Blue-Eyed Jack.

“M-kay,” Bitty hummed, closing his eyes as he thought about a fun twist on death for the next song. The support of fans has slain me dead, tell Dolly to sing at my funeral-

“How’d you even come up with Blue?” Ransom asked, tossing his notebook onto the coffee table. “It’s simple but, like, genius.”

“Oh, ha,” Bitty said, rubbing at his eyes. “You remember that stop in Boston? Where we met with fans for hours before the concert? I met the most beautiful man in the world, there, named Jack, and I was so tired I told him I’d write a song about him, he was just so pretty.”

“El-oh-el, Bits,” Ransom said with a snort. “He was really that pretty?”

“You should know,” Bitty retorted. “You met him, too. On your Insta.”

“Wait…” Ransom scrolled through his phone again, brow furrowing. “Are you talking about Jack Zimmermann?”

“He’s in the pic with you and Chowder,” Bitty said with a shrug. “Hashtags about the Falcs.”

“JACK FUCKING ZIMMERMANN?”  Ransom lept up from the couch, hands in the air. “BLUE-EYED JACK IS ABOUT THE LEAD SCORER IN THE FUCKING NHL? THE FIRST PLAYER TO OPENLY DATE A MAN? BITTY, WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?”

Bitty sat up, a little taken aback. “He’s gay?”

“Not the point, Bits,” Ransom hissed, grabbing Bitty’s shoulders. “He’s Bad Bob’s son. He’s magical.”

Bitty shrugged, wondering if Chowder and Dex would have the same reaction. “He’s also very pretty.”

“I’m tweeting about this,” Ransom said, scurrying to the door. “I’m tweeting this. This is epic. This is- I don’t even know what this is.” “Rans!” Bitty lept up, chasing him out of the room. “What’re you doing? Stop that!”

Bitty felt his phone buzz, knowing it was a Twitter notification without having to look.

Justin Oluransi @canadianbiscuit

Apparently @omgittybitty wrote Blue-Eyed Jack about @jlzimmermann1 and didn’t realize it???? EVERYONE SHAME BITTY W ME #shame

“You’re such a dick!” Bitty shouted as Ransom high-tailed it up the stairs to Dex’s and Chowder’s bedrooms. “I swear to Jesus I’m gonna replace you! Just you watch, you traitor!”

All he got in response was Ransom’s laughter and indignant shrieks from Dex and Chowder in response to the tweet. Bitty sighed and stalked off to the kitchen to bake, knowing already that he would be donating the pies that came out of this to the lovely couple nextdoor.

  The tweet went viral.

Ransom was banned from pie for weeks.

  They ended up on the east coast again to promote the new album before its release. Bitty had eventually forgiven Ransom, and the hockey community as a whole seemed to find the event more funny than offensive. The Falcs had replied to the tweet excitedly and Alexei Mashkov had followed them all on various social media platforms -- as did his teammates Birkholtz, Nurse, and Knight -- much to the excitement of the band.

Bitty told the story over and over again in different interviews that week as they bounced around TV studios, radio shows, and promotional events. He was starting to grow tired of talking about Jack Zimmermann--there were several songs on the album he was really excited about, but no one cared about that when they could chirp Bitty for his crush on a stupid hockey player.

They had a night off after an event in Boston, and Bitty was looking forward to finding some nice restaurant and turning in early, but the boys kidnapped him and pulled him into an Uber before he could protest.

“We’ve got plans, Bits,” Ransom said, slinging an arm around his shoulder. “You’re gonna love ‘em. Promise.”

“You’re still on thin ice, Justin,” Bitty sniped. “Watch yourself.”

The boys and Lardo just laughed and they rode away from the city, through some truly impressive traffic, until they hit 95. Then they were cruising, making smalltalk with the driver and chirping each other like little kids.

It wasn’t until Bitty noticed the signs on the side of the road that he realized just where they were heading. “Providence?” He asked, eyes narrowing. “Is this some sort of joke?”

“No joke,” Chowder said simply. “They’re playing the Flyers tonight. We’ve got tickets!”

“Really great tickets,” Dex added. “Lardo got in contact with their PR people-”

“Who’ve been loving the publicity from Rans’ tweet,” Lardo added.

“-and they sent us seats right up on the glass. It’s gonna be wicked ‘swawesome.”

‘Ugh, I hate you all,” Bitty said, crossing his arms. “The internet’s gonna eat this up and make my life miserable.” “Yep!” Ransom agreed. “Also, we’ve got passes to meet the team after.”

“Driver,” Bitty said, leaning over the console. “Driver please unlock the door and let me throw myself from the vehicle, thank you.”

Sadly, the driver just laughed, and Bitty resigned himself to his fate.

  Admittedly, the game was great. Even if the announcer did introduce Zimmermann as “Our very own Blue-Eyed Jack,” much to Bitty’s chagrin. But now, as they waited in a back room to meet the team, Bitty wondered if he still had time to escape. Ransom’s arm around his shoulder was tighter than he’d like, and meant running probably wouldn’t be an option.

“Holy crap, dudes!”

A very large man--Birkholtz--burst into the room, grinning at them all. “If it isn’t the band that made Zimmer-dick legendary!”

“That’s us!” Ransom said cheerfully. Bitty fought the urge to hide his face in his hands.

Behind Birkholtz came Nurse, Knight, and Mashkov, all greeting them exuberantly. Mashkov pulled Bitty into a tight hug, lifting him straight off his feet.

“Jay-Zed’s on his way,” Knight said easily, shaking hands with Lardo and Dex. “He’s been itchin’ meet you guys again since the song came out.”

“Oh, Lord,” Bitty whispered. “So he doesn’t hate it?”

Knight and Nurse exchanged an incredulous look. “Hate it? Dude,” Nurse laughed. “He loves it.”

“Oh.” Bitty felt his cheeks flush. “Well. That’s good.”

“You guys wanna get drinks once Zimmboni gets here?” Mashkov asked.

“Yes!” Ransom and Chowder shouted at the same time. Dex shrugged and nodded, trying to look cool. Bitty just sighed.

“What about me?”

Bitty felt his heart skip a beat. There, in the doorway, stood Jack Zimmermann, his eyes as blue as ever and his cheeks pink from the game. Lord, if Bitty hadn’t already written a song dedicated to this man’s beauty, he’d be writing one right now.

“Oh,” Jack said, a small smile blooming on his face. “Hi, again.”

“Hi,” Bitty said, forgetting basic human language as he drank in the sight of post-game Jack, freshly showered and glowing.

“Alright, we’ll meet you guys at the exit,” Birkholtz said, ushering the others from the room. “Have fun, use protec-”

He was cut off by Knight, who all but shoved him out the door, winking at Jack.

Then they were alone and Bitty thought he might pass out.

“So, um.” Bitty scratched at his neck. “I hear you like the song?”

Jack nodded, eyes cast down at his shoes. “I do. A lot. You really...wrote it about me?”

Bitty nodded quickly, not trusting his voice. Jack looked pleased, and the light of it in his eyes made them look even bluer and prettier.

“The guys mentioned getting drinks right now,” Jack said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “But, uh, I could really go for some food right now. Euh, dinner. With you? Tonight? Now?”

Bitty chewed on his bottom lip, nodding with every word Jack added. “I’d like that,” he said.

“Great.” Jack just smiled at him for a moment, then seemed to remember he needed to say something else. “I know a great Italian place not far from my apartment…”

Bitty felt his body burning at the implication, and nodded again. “That sounds perfect.”

“Perfect,” Jack repeated, and he held out his hand. Bitty took it and let Jack lead him from the room. They were almost at the parking garage where Jack’s car was kept when Jack paused with a wicked grin and asked, “So, you really think my face is that pretty, eh?”

Bitty pouted. “You keep up that chirping and you’re eating alone, mister. Teasing’s reserved for the third date.”

Jack laughed and kept walking, squeezing Bitty’s hand. “Guess I’ll have to wait until then.”

Bitty nodded, unable to hide his smile. “Guess you will.”

[READ PART 2]

[My writing tag]

[OMGCP Country Singer AU]

[My online novel, The Discourt Knife]