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baronessvonglitter · 3 months

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Cherry, Cherry 🍒 Chapter 1 🍒 “Austin"

pre-outbreak! AU!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: 2K

Summary: new to the city, you befriend Sarah, and in a time of need you befriend her dad Joel

WARNINGS: this particular chapter is safe for everyone to read, but future chapters will contain smut; mild cursing, little bit of flirting; age gap (reader is 18, Joel is 35); reader is tomboyish but otherwise no race specified and will not be throughout the series; until otherwise specified, this story takes place in the summer of 2003 and is AU with no outbreak, no use of y/n.

Author's Note: this was the first fic I ever wrote, after months of lurking on AO3. It's one of my favorites to write and probably my most popular on AO3, so I'm bringing her to the party. In this particular chapter Joel fixes a sink, and I did minimal investigating into the world of plumbing, so obviously any mistakes are just gonna be there.

Series Masterlist

Austin is quiet. So much quieter than where you came from: Houston, the city on the bayou, where there's always something fun to do. Not that Austin is without its charm, it just kind of feels like living on the moon after the hustle and bustle of your hometown, the fourth largest city in the US. But the people are friendly, the vibes are mellow, and you soon begin to feel at home.

Soon you'll be starting college at the University of Texas, a school you've had your eye on since fifth grade. Your mom, overprotective but meaning well, allowed you to stay with your older cousin Sofia rather than living on campus. And you're excited about it because even with a roommate, this is your first time on your own, away from home, about to really live your life.

School starts in a couple months, so in the meantime you get a job at a new Starbucks in town, providing you with a little spending money. The first few days are a blur, making drinks, learning the register. But it keeps you busy, A few times a week a younger group of kids come in, ordering the cheapest things on the menu. One of them, a girl 13 or 14 years old, approaches the counter. She studies the overhead menu with an air of seriousness. "What's in a frappuccino?" she asks.

"Um, coffee, espresso, milk, ice, and syrup blended together, basically. Comes with whipped cream on top. I could give you one to try," you offer, as your manager is out that day.

"Sure," the girl answers eagerly.

You make the cold, frothy drink and hand it to her. "I'm still pretty new at this, so if you hate it, I'm sorry," you joke.

She smiles and walks back to her friends, sipping the frapp.

You work until evening and pick up some fast food on the way home, Getting out of the car with your food you lean back against the vehicle, stretching a little, trying to wake yourself up a bit. Then you hear the sound of a truck coming up the driveway next door and the engine shutting off. There are a couple of voices you hear as the people begin to exit the truck.

"Hey, she's the one who gave me the free coffee today," you hear, and though it likely isn't meant for you to hear, you glance over and see the young girl from earlier today, climbing out of the truck. From around the driver's side you see a man, mid-thirties, tall, well-built, a black t-shirt clinging to his torso. Dirtied jeans and work boots complete his attire. It takes a moment before you realize he's looking at you.

Immediately you glance back at the girl, obviously his daughter. "Hey," you smile and give a quick, awkward wave. She waves back politely and he gives a curt nod and quick wave. They make their way up the front porch and you hear his gruff voice: "You had coffee? Great, now you'll be bouncin' off the walls all evenin'," before the door closes behind them.

"Guess I met my neighbors," you mutter, making your way inside as well.

Over the next few days the girl, who you now know as Sarah Miller, comes to Starbucks, ordering the same frapp every time. "Don't tell your dad I'm giving you all this caffeine," you tell her, hiding a smirk.

Sometimes you give her a ride home from the cafe, though she claims to use the bus now and then. You come to see that Sarah is a lot more mature than you were at her age. You hang out from time to time, swim in your backyard pool, go to the mall, and every time you drop her off you catch a glimpse of her dad, always a figure in the background. You exchange a wave or polite smile and move on.

It's your day off, a Sunday. You intend to spend the day lounging, watching TV. Maybe Sarah will stop by. After making a quick breakfast for yourself you do the dishes. When you're finished, you realize the class ring you'd set on the counter is gone, likely washed down the sink. "Damn!" you exclaim, and text Sofia, who has just left for work.

Go next door and ask Mr. Miller if he can take a look and get it out. He's helped around the house before your cousin replies.

You sigh and put the phone down.

You're a little hesitant going to speak to him. His truck is in the driveway so you know he's home. You knock on the door, feeling self-conscious about your first interaction with him, and Mr. Miller opens the door.

"Good morning," you introduce yourself. "I'm Sarah's friend.. from next door."

"Nice to meet ya, I'm Joel Miller." He extends a calloused hand and you shake it. You've always assumed him to be a man who does hard work for a living, but in your first time seeing him up close you admire his tousled, dark brown hair, his deep brown eyes that seem serious. "What can I do for ya?" he asks in his gentle Texan drawl.

You smile. "Well, I was told you're pretty handy around the house, and I lost my ring in the sink just now." You chuckle at your mistake. "Would it be possible for you to come over and take a look?" You feel really shy about asking this of a man you barely know.

He takes a moment to think, clears his throat, raises his brow. "I suppose I could stop by." His tone is gruff but his manner seems warm enough. "I'll give it a shot. I'm no plumber, but I'll see what I can do." He shrugs.

You smile and sigh with relief. "Of course. I mean, even you just checking it out would be a big help.. whenever you can stop by I'll be here." You don't want to make demands on his time.

"All right.. I'm not doin' much right now, so I could swing 'round if you like. Just let me grab my toolbox."

Once inside, with minimal conversation Joel gets on the floor, under the sink, and gets to work. You wait nearby, trying not to hover, but also wanting to be available in case he needs anything. Plus he's good looking. You watch as he works. His shirt rides up, revealing his torso, and a hint of the waistband of his underwear. Your eyes wander lower until you force them away. To distract yourself you start putting things away in the cupboard.

"Sarah tells me you're new to Austin," he says as he works.

"Yeah, I'm actually from Houston. I'm starting UT in the fall, and staying with my cousin in the meantime. I take it you know Sofia?"

"I do. She's nice. I keep an eye on her place when she's away. Even when you're there."

You mean to say something in reply, maybe 'thank you' but you're thinking about him keeping a protective watch over your home while you're inside, unaware.

"So you're starting university? How old are ya?" he asks.

Something about his question makes you feel like a deer in headlights. "I'll be nineteen in September. On the twenty-sixth."

You can almost hear the smile in his voice. "No shit? That's my birthday. Except I'm far from nineteen. Small world, ain't it?"

"Yeah," you say, sneaking another glance at his torso.

"What're you studyin'?"

"English," you answer, excited to talk about it. "More specifically Literature. I want to write, and maybe one day work at a huge publishing house."

You hear Joel give a grunt. "What do you write?"

"Poetry sometimes, short stories, I have a few ideas for novels."

Another grunt. "You don't look like the type.. the writer type.. no offense."

"What type do I look like?" Your heart races as you realize he's categorized you already.

He peeks out from under the sink and his eyes fix on you in a way that makes you shiver. "I don't know yet. But you're young. Maybe you're the rebellious type." He goes back to work.

You sit on the floor, your back against the fridge opposite him. "How am I the rebellious type to you?"

He's quiet, and you see the gleam of his eyes from where he's under the sink. "Haven't quite figured it out yet.."

You can tell he's having fun with this, and there's a vibration in the air, a palpable chord struck, and you wonder if he feels it too.

"Anything I can do? Feeling kinda helpless over here," you chuckle.

"Just stay out of the way," his voice is more gruff than maybe he intends. Frowning, his eyes focus on an item lodged in the P-trap. He reaches in and pulls out your ring. It's covered in gunk and grime but you recognize it immediately.

"Oh shit! Thank you..." It's your class ring. 'Class of 2003' is engraved on the side, with a princess cut sapphire on top. You put it aside to clean it later.

Joel smirks. "No problem."

"I really owe you one."

"I dunno about that. Just don't go throwin' away your valuable stuff next time, okay?" He's teasing, almost playful.

You laugh "Okay.. hey I'm working at the cafe tomorrow. If you come by I could get you a free coffee." You put the offer out there, testing the waters though you aren't sure why.

"Free coffee? Careful, girl, between giving away free stuff to me and Sarah, you're gonna run Starbucks out of business," he grins. "But yeah, I might have to stop by."

You walk him out, even though Joel says it's not necessary, but you can tell he enjoys your company. "I guess I'll be seeing you around Joel.. Mr. Miller."

He stifles a chuckle. There's a touch of amusement in the way he speaks to you, but he hides it behind a warm, open expression. "Call me Joel. No need to be so formal around me."

"If my mom was here she'd say I was being disrespectful, calling you by your first name." You can't help a little blush.

"I won't complain about respect," he smiles again.

"She's pretty protective of me," you describe your living situation, your freedom that is being given in increments.

"Well your mom might've done you a favor there." Joel looks out past your front porch. "That's probably a wise decision, ya know? What about your dad? He ok with you living far from home?"

You shake your head. "He's not.. really in the picture. My parents divorced about five years ago. My dad went up north, Minnesota I think, and I haven't seen him since.." You feel a little vulnerable revealing this.

Joel's brow furrows and his expression darkens. You wonder if he's thinking about Sarah. You don't know much about her mother and haven't felt okay to ask. "I'm sorry to hear that. Are you all right?"

You shrug. "I guess so. I've managed this long without him.." You give a smile that doesn't reach your eyes. "I shouldn't be bothering you with all this.."

"No problem, I don't mind listenin'. Do me a favor," he says suddenly. "Be careful out there, okay?"

Something about this catches you off guard. "Of course I will."

He smiles. "Good. I'll see you at the cafe tomorrow," he phrases it like a hopeful question.

"Bright and early," you say, feeling a few butterflies in your stomach.

He laughs and nods. "Til then."

You watch him leave and though you cringe at how young, foolish, childish you must appear to him, you can't deny that you feel something, even for a brief moment. Maybe it's nothing. But something about him sticks with you, an odd feeling in your chest. But it's just a dumb, knee-jerk reaction. He has a family, he's twice your age. You're focused on school and your future. Joel Miller is the last person you should be thinking about...

...right?

next chapter ->

divider by @saradika-graphics 👑

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #ao3 fanfic #tlou fanfiction #joel miller au #joel x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fandom #pedro boys #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal cinematic universe

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animusrox · 2 years

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LETTERBOXD

1. The Batman 2. Everything Everywhere All at Once 3. Prey 4. Triangle of Sadness 5. Barbarian 6. The Northman 7. Bodies Bodies Bodies 8. The Banshees of Inisherin 9. Bones and All 10. Avatar: The Way of Water

Grade A

11. Turning Red 12. The Menu 13. Babylon 14. Hit the Road 15. Cow 16. Watcher 17. Funny Pages 18. Mad God 19. On the Count of Three 20. Armageddon Time 21. Terrifier 2 22. Marcel the Shell with Shoes On 23. Smile 24. Glass Onion: A Knives Out Mystery 25. Holy Spider 26. Aftersun 27. The Fabelmans 28. Breaking 29. Decision to Leave 30. The Whale 31. All Quiet on the Western Front 32. Brian and Charles 33. Piggy 34. Saint Omer 35. Thirteen Lives 36. Men 37. The Fallout 38. Resurrection 39. Causeway 40. The Black Phone 41. Official Competition 42. Nope 43. Guillermo del Toro’s Pinocchio 44. Apollo 10½: A Space Age Childhood 45. Till 46. TÁR 47. Happening 48. A Love Song 49. The Outfit 50. The Innocents 51. Jackass Forever 52. BARDO, False Chronicle of a Handful of Truths 53. Montana Story 54. Three Thousand Years of Longing 55. You Won’t Be Alone 56. The Sadness 57. Halloween Ends 58. Pearl 59. X 60. Vesper

Click "Keep Reading” For My Full List

Grade B

61. This Place Rules 62. Fresh 63. Windfall 64. Kimi 65. No Exit 66. Top Gun: Maverick 67. “Sr.” 68. Farha 69. The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent 70. Weird: The Al Yankovic Story 71. Nitram 72. Speak No Evil 73. Run Sweetheart Run 74. She Said 75. White Noise 76. Puss in Boots: The Last Wish 77. V/H/S/99 78. The Wonder 79. Women Talking 80. Hatching 81. Soft & Quiet 82. Scream 83. To Leslie 84. Hustle 85. Chip ’n Dale: Rescue Rangers 86. Dual 87. God’s Country 88. Emancipation 89. Vengeance 90. Fire of Love 91. Bullet Train 92. Incantation 93. The Valet 94. Hellraiser 95. Christmas Bloody Christmas 96. Significant Other 97. Cha Cha Real Smooth 98. Lucy and Desi 99. Not Okay 100. A Christmas Story Christmas 101. Blonde 102. Deadstream 103. Sissy

Grade C

104. The Bad Guys 105. The Cursed 106. Empire of Light 107. A Man Called Otto 108. Broker 109. Black Panther: Wakanda Forever 110. The Princess 111. Beast 112. After Yang 113. RRR 114. Fall 115. Jackass 4.5 116. Beavis and Butt-Head Do the Universe 117. Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness 118. Jennifer Lopez: Halftime 119. Lightyear 120. The Pale Blue Eye 121. The Woman King 122. Violent Night 123. God’s Creatures 124. Ambulance 125. Elvis 126. You Are Not My Mother 127. Emily the Criminal 128. Crimes of the Future 129. The Apology 130. The Lost City 131. Wendell & Wild 132. Trainwreck: Woodstock ’99 133. The Found Footage Phenomenon 134. See How They Run 135. Spiderhead 136. Studio 666 137. Bros 138. Spin Me Round 139. We’re All Going to the World’s Fair 140. Paws of Fury: The Legend of Hank 141. Honor Society

Grade D

142. Thor: Love and Thunder 143. Summering 144. Strange World 145. Glorious 146. The Gray Man 147. Devotion 148. Clerks III 149. The Forgiven 150. Enola Holmes 2 151. Father Stu 152. Jurassic World Dominion 153. DC League of Super-Pets 154. She Will 155. The Bob’s Burgers Movie 156. Whitney Houston: I Wanna Dance with Somebody 157. Hellbender 158. Samaritan 159. Day Shift 160. Sonic the Hedgehog 2 161. Prey for the Devil 162. Troll 163. Uncharted 164. Lyle, Lyle, Crocodile 165. Dashcam 166. Firestarter 167. Do Revenge 168. Catwoman: Hunted 169. The Munsters 170. Amsterdam 171. Fantastic Beasts: The Secrets of Dumbledore

Grade F

172. Mrs. Harris Goes to Paris 173. The Bubble 174. Dead for a Dollar 175. Jerry & Marge Go Large 176. Honk for Jesus. Save Your Soul. 177. Infinite Storm 178. Marry Me 179. Don’t Worry Darling 180. Spirited 181. Disney's Pinocchio 182. Alice 183. Black Adam 184. Orphan: First Kill 185. The Adam Project 186. The Invitation 187. Texas Chainsaw Massacre 188. Ticket to Paradise 189. The 355 190. Umma

Bottom 10

191. Green Lantern: Beware My Power 192. Deep Water 193. Where the Crawdads Sing 194. Blacklight 195. Mack & Rita 196. Memory 197. Me Time 198. Death on the Nile 199. Morbius 200. Moonfall

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writingquestionsanswered · 11 months

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I'm realizing the amount of research I have to do for this year's NaNoWriMo novel (which is a lot), so do you have any tips on doing efficient research for stories?

NaNoWriMo: Efficient Story Research

1 - Go General First

Let's say you're writing a story about a fictional astronaut in the 1960s. It can be tempting to just research everything about being an astronaut, being an astronaut in the 1960s, the 1960s in general, life in Houston, the history of Johnson Space Center, what Kennedy Space Center was like in the 60s, and so on... But there's going to be a lot of data there that never actually makes it into your story. So, a good place to start would be to read a short general overview of those things just so they're in your head. Then...

2 - Get Specific for the Needs of Your Story

Next, look at your plot outline or scene list and make notes about specific details you'll need to know about. For example, if you have a scene that takes place in Johnson Space Center, you may need to research the specific building where that scene takes place and get an idea of what it might have been like in the 1960s. Or, let's say you have a scene where your character is doing some sort of simulation to train ahead of the mission... you would need to research astronaut training in the 1960s to find out what kind of simulation they might be doing for training, or if you already know, you can research that specific simulation. But, you don't need to learn everything there is to know about astronaut training in the 1960s unless all of those things make an appearance in your story somehow.

3 - Placeholders Are Your Friends

Most important of all, just remember your first draft isn't your final draft... you don't need to have every single fact fleshed out before you start writing. If you're writing and you get to something that needs to be researched, put in a placeholder so you can research it later. You can literally type [placeholder] or you can just wing it, and correct whatever you come up with later on with something more factual. Either way, placeholders help ensure you don't spend a lot of time researching things you don't actually need to know about.

4 - Watch Out for Rabbit Holes

You're writing this story because the subject matter interests you, but interesting subject matter can lead us to fall down rabbit holes when we're researching. When that happens, it can be easy to justify it as research, but if you find yourself falling down one while researching, ask yourself, "Will any of this make an appearance in my story? Does it help me understand the subject matter more as a writer?" If not, back out of the rabbit hole immediately.

5 - Break It Up/Get Organized

It can really help to break your research down according to your story. Like, all the things you need to research for Act I, Act II, Act III... or maybe by character or setting. By breaking the research up into like parts in this way, it forces you to sift through it all more thoughtfully and makes you really think about what you actually need to know and spend time researching.

I hope that helps!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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shieldofiron · 5 months

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Pretty Boy Live in Santa Fe, 1977

Part 1/3 Also on Ao3 here

For @harringrove-relay-race. Very happy with how part 1 turned out, and there will be more to come. Thanks to @foxxtastic for the intro and next up will be something stunning from our fearless Relay Race leader @half-oz-eddie

Rated M / 5k words / Part 1/3

Part 1: Into Hades

Rolling Stone Magazine - May 2002

Billy Hargrove arrived after I did, in his lovingly maintained blue Camaro, the subject of his song, “Lady Blue.” “Lady Blue” was recently named #93 on Rolling Stone’s Top Love Songs of the Century.

“I wrote, ‘She’s the wind in my hair, the rumble in my soul.’ I thought it was so obvious,” He laughed, his blue eyes still boyish. “My niece made it her wedding song, I said ‘Really? It’s about a fuckin’ car!’”

He showed me several pictures of his niece, the supermodel Tyler Sinclair. It seems good looks run in the family. He suggested the diner and he ordered waffles, winking when I mentioned that we’ll be here a long time.

The decades have been kind to him, maybe a few more lines. It’s not hard to imagine him stepping right back onto the stage, as if no time has passed at all.

“A little extra glitter on the eyes,” He said with a smile, “to hide my crows feet. That’s all I need.”

I ask what he’s going to wear to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame ceremony for Kaleidoscope's induction and his smile dims only for a moment.

“I think I should pull out some old costumes. You know, the butterfly still fits.”

He was referring, of course, to the sheer butterfly cape costume that nearly had him thrown off the stage in Houston Texas in December 1976. He caved to putting on a pair of silvery shorts rather than the nude underwear it was designed with. He later wore it with the nude underwear on the inside cover of Kaleidoscope, the album that will be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in just a few short weeks. Kaleidoscope was his last album with the iconic Glam Rock band Pretty Boy, which famously broke up at the height of their career while touring for the album, onstage.

It’s not often that a band is inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and there’s a question if all of them will even show up.

“I’ll be there,” Hargrove said, fiddling with the silver band on his middle finger. “I have no problem with seeing him.”

The him is, of course, the lead guitarist and other lead singer of Pretty Boy, Steve Harrington.

Steve Harrington invites me to his oceanfront house in Malibu later that afternoon.

“I haven’t decided if I’m going to go,” He said thoughtfully, his brown eyes darting around the room.

When I mention that Billy is going to go, he seems surprised.

“He didn’t say he was going to punch me, did he?” Harrington smiled, but it doesn’t seem like much of a joke.

For one of the most famous rock stars of the 70s, Harrington is shockingly low key. He wears a t-shirt and slouchy linen pants, and he jokes that he ought to have shaved when I take out my camera. The house is stunning but empty, with miles of blank white walls and overstuffed white furniture.

“I’m looking for a little peace,” He shrugs, “I used to have all these pictures up, all this furniture… It was too much.”

It was hard not to see him as an artist without a muse. He drifted listlessly, picking things up and putting them down as we talked. So it was a surprise to me to hear that he’s been recording.

“I may never release it but… Yeah,” He laughed, “Music. After all this time. Bet you didn’t know.”

He picks up a rare photo from the piano. It’s from the early days of Pretty Boy, before Billy Hargrove. Harrington has his arm around his bandmate, Eddie Munson. Their drummer Chrissy Cunningham is balanced precariously across their shoulders, laughing and cringing at the same time. Bassist Robin Buckley smirks from the corner of the frame, messy bangs in her eyes.

“Who knew, right?” He asked no one, shaking the frame a little.

There are no pictures of Billy Hargrove.

“That’s a… a long story,” He said, when I asked.

But I have time. I tell him Rolling Stone will pay for it. At least that makes him laugh.

It was just by chance that Pretty Boy’s last concert was filmed.

“We were meant to just film in Vegas,” The director, Argyle Molina-Zapata, sat down with me after a private screening of Pretty Boy Live in Santa Fe, 1977, “But there was a freak rainstorm, and I couldn’t get my camera’s out of the back. The crowd was digging it, refused to leave. I remember when Billy hit the high note for ‘Mother Make Me,’ there was this lightning crack… brilliant.”

Molina-Zapata shook his head, “But the footage, what I got of it, was awful. Awful! So I begged Murray to let me come with them to Santa Fe.”

Murray was Murray Bauman, famed tour manager, who handled the Boys, later Pretty Boy from their first album Starfire, all the way to Kaleidoscope.

“And I was lucky,” Argyle nodded, “They had that extra tour bus.”

The tour busses are featured in the first few minutes of the film. They roll around the corner, one reading Billy Blue (Billy’s original stage name was Billy Blue before he dropped the Blue), and the other, Steve’s Six (Named after Steve’s best friends from his hometown.)

“They were nightmares,” Murray Bauman’s voice crackled over the phone, “Nightmares on tour. Separate buses. Separate hotels. Fuck me, I swear to god at one point they wanted separate stages. And the label caved on almost all of it. Fucking nightmare.”

It’s almost impossible to imagine it when you see them on stage together. There’s something electric that passed between Billy Hargrove and Steve Harrington, something that drove crowds wild. They gravitate towards each other on the stage, orbiting like planets until they can share the same mic. They can’t seem to stay apart.

It’s hard to see exactly what happened that night.

“I’ve watched it a million times,” Argyle laughed, “But the only two people who can really say what happened are Billy and Steve.”

What you can see is this: Steve tearing into “Pride & Prejudice”, the lead off Kaleidoscope and the last song of the night.

Billy was trembling, visibly shaking as he sang and Steve harmonized along.

What can I say, if you ask me to walk away?

Baby, there’s no words for you.

Baby. I don’t know what to do.

Billy danced closer, joining Steve, his handheld mic loose at his side.

Can you ever put away your pride?

Is it worth it to not have me at your side?

I guess it must be, because I’m yours,

Regretfully,

Baby.

Billy leans in, sharing Steve’s mic for the bridge.

Is it really a mystery?

What I mean to you, and you mean to me?

Is it really, baby?

Billy shook his head, curls bouncing. He looked into Steve's eyes. He smiled. Steve looks at Billy, and Billy looks at him. It almost looks like Billy mouths something, but bootleg footage also has appeared where it looks like Billy just nodded. Steve goes a little shell shocked, hand freezing on his guitar, falling out of sync.

And then Steve turned away and left the stage, handing his guitar to a stagehand. Billy turned to the crowd, his expression strangely triumphant. He was always magnetic on stage, but this moment transcends that. It somehow feels like he’s getting everything he wants.

So I guess I’m losing you,

You promised me you would and it’s true.

Baby, there’s no words for you.

Baby. I don’t know what to do.

Steve Harrington hasn’t performed in public since 1977.

“None of us knew what was going to happen that night,” Chrissy Cunningham curled up next to her husband, Eddie Munson, on the large white couch of their Seattle home.

They’re a handsome couple still, draped in rock and roll finery. He toyed with the edge of her scarf, and she curled his long hair around her long fingers.

“We had some of our own shit going on at the time so…” Munson shrugged, “Maybe we were distracted.”

Their living room was crowded and verdant, every spare flat surface covered in plants. Their partner, former record executive Jason Carver, puttered in the kitchen in an apron that read Plant Papa.

“Yeah,” Chrissy smiled, “We had some stuff going on at the same time. But still… It seemed like they were getting better. Didn’t it seem like they were getting better?”

Munson shrugged, “The thing about Billy and Steve… they were soulmates. You don’t write music like that and not… it was like they had a second language, just for them. They were soulmates, I really believe that. Everything they did, everything that happened… they could only hurt each other that badly if… yeah.”

When I ask what they did to each other, Eddie and Chrissy just scooted closer together, like teenagers in a slasher, hiding from the killer. She laid a hand over his leg, her two stone diamond ring catching the sunlight.

“Steve never wanted Billy to be in the band,” Eddie shook his head, “but Jim had a soft spot for Billy. And Steve had… I mean Jim was…”

“Jim was like a father. To all of us.” Chrissy’s knee jiggled.

“We were this little tiny band from Nowhere, Indiana,” Eddie nodded, “And Jim believed in us.”

“I was just a junior exec at the time. I was put on the Kaleidoscope tour in case of catastrophic failure, which by the way it was,” Jason Carver is making risotto while we speak, the steam curling the lock of hair that falls over his face. “But it wasn’t my fault although I was high as hell on coke half the time. I guess I deserved to get fired. But Jim was the real deal. Gold records out the ass, best wife in the world, and his daughter, I mean… she was something else.”

They’re referring, of course, to Jim Hopper, producer on Kaleidoscope as well as Billy Blue and The Boys’ records, and the father of pop superstar Eleven aka Jane Hopper.

“Jim was…” Steve Harrington’s eyes always got a little misty talking about Jim, staring out over the ocean. “Yeah, I guess he was a little like my dad. My own parents were always gone. Which is like… I grew up so privileged so like I’m not saying… I just mean I grew up mostly by myself. And we were just so lucky he even agreed to listen to us when we got to LA.”

“I remember that night,” Joyce Hopper’s voice was raspy, cigarette-y in the way only old movie stars are. She’s a gorgeous woman in jeans and a gardening hat, speaking to me while she tends to her garden at her home in Castellammare. “He came home and said, ‘I have the next ones, the next big ones. Fuck, Joyce, they’re brilliant. Unpolished, but brilliant.’”

When I ask about when Jim discovered Billy Hargrove she just laughed.

“If Steve and the rest of The Boys were unpolished, Billy Hargrove was a fucking ten carat diamond,” She said. “But Steve’s band was Jim’s, and he could polish them up how he wanted. And then when he thought they were just right for it… he set the diamond.”

Jim Hopper was a big man, larger than life both in appearance and in personality. His fingerprints are all over some of the best hits of the decade.

Watching him on old interviews, there’s an immediacy to his presence that leaps off the screen.

“My daughter is the one who really found him. She snuck out with her sister and wandered God knows where. And she just… found him. Called me the next morning, saying ‘Dad, you have to hear this guy.’ He was playing in this… terrible club,” Jim said, tapping his cigar on the table of Merv Griffin’s set. “Absolute shithole, pardon my french. And he’s got a great voice, you’ve heard his voice, right?”

“I have,” Merv said.

“I had to get him out of there. He was a star.”

Billy Hargrove was a teenage runaway from San Diego when he came to LA in 1971.

“I had a girl’s backpack from my stepsister, eight dollars, and an extra pair of underwear. By the end of the next week? I had two more dollars,” Billy laughed. “But I got lucky. I met Heather.”

Heather Holloway was a showgirl at Wildwoods, a nightly revue. She found Billy at the backdoor, and took him to her apartment.

“She saved me,” He frowned. “Whenever I needed her most.”

Heather Holloway, Billy Hargrove’s first and only wife, died in 1979.

“I got a job singing at Sugar, this great gay club downtown. It was in the late afternoons, so I had a crowd of about… two. But those two brought two more,” Billy smiled, “Heather would talk me up to all the promoters. He’s a singer, he’s great, you’ll love him, he’s so cute.”

“He was an instant hit,” Sugar’s manager, Bob Newby, tells me by phone as well. “I did have to keep a couple of creeps off him, when he just started he was only nineteen. But even if you closed your eyes… he was a hit.”

“Guys used to think that because I was a part of the entertainment, I was fair game. And let me tell you, the novelty of that wears off mighty quick,” Billy shakes his head.

He shares a diary entry from his late wife of a night in April 1972. He came to her home with blood all over his face.

“Some guy thought because I was a fag…” Billy’s mouth twisted, but he went on, cradling the little marble notebook in his hand. “He could do whatever he wanted to me. When I fought back… he cracked a bottle over my head.”

He’s not just a piece of meat. He’s a person. I don’t understand these people. I just don’t understand, Heather Holloway wrote. I cleaned him up and he’s sleeping now.

The next diary entry is from a day later. April 12. Billy and I drove to Vegas and got married. When we spoke in the morning he said he was afraid for me too, even though I’m careful with the girls. He’s afraid of the cops trying to bust up the Wildwoods and picking me up. At least this way, he says. He and I can come home to each other. Look out for each other. Always. The groom wore band aids and his great velvet pants. The bride wore lavender. It was perfect.

“And lucky too. Because within a month… I met Jim,” Billy smiled. “And my whole life changed.”

Upside Down Records signed Billy Blue, unagented, in1972 and he spent the next year working on his debut album with Jim Hopper.

“I didn’t even realize, when it happened,” Billy shook his head. “A couple of girls came by after a show, wanting to talk to me, wanting to meet me. That wasn’t that unusual. But they were young, far too young to get into the club. And the little one, she was asking all these weird questions. Did I have an agent? Did I know if I had enough songs for an album? Weird fuckin’ questions. And then she said I have to meet someone. To be honest, I thought she was coked out of her mind when she said, ‘You have to meet my dad.’”

“I was not,” Eleven promised me, “coked out of my mind. But that’s just Billy.”

Eleven aka Jane Hopper, meets me backstage at one of her shows. She’s dressed in slouchy leather pants, to match her sister and drummer Kali Hopper.

“I knew he was something special. My dad was always talking about the IT factor. That thing that made a person something special. But I didn’t get it until I saw Billy Blue singing on that tiny stage,” She smiled. “He didn’t just have the IT factor. He was IT.”

It’s odd then, that Billy Blue’s first album had a surprisingly tepid response. His first single, in 1973, “Let Alone,” came in at only 26th for the month of April on the pop charts.

“People liked it,” Billy shrugs, “But I don’t think they knew what to do with it. You have my songs, these like… little pop love songs and ballads. I wasn’t that strong of a writer at the time. It was like half my songs, half covers. And so they’d book me, expecting fucking… Peter Frampton. And here comes this big queer with glitter on his nipples.”

But the lyrics of “Let Alone” would hint at his later songs, a hallmark simplicity that shone off his raw voice and poetry that hinted at a troubled past.

And if you were meant to care for me

You would, and that’s how it has to be

You said I couldn’t go on without you

Ha, look at me, looking brand new

At the same time, The Boys’ song “Paper Girl,” penned by Harrington, was number one.

She’s my paper girl

Wakes me up every morning, right on time

She got me smiling, got my head in a whirl

Picture perfect, paper girl

“Billy didn’t have much commercial appeal. Sex appeal, yes,” Jason laughed, toying with Chrissy’s hair. “But for sales? That’s where The Boys came in.”

“I hated that name,” Eddie said, “To start with we were half girls.”

The Boys had already had a somewhat successful tour under their belt by the time Jim suggested a collaboration with Billy Hargrove.

“It was a nice, short tour,” Steve Harrington glances away when I ask about the first tour.

“It was a nightmare. Balls to the wall nightmare,” Robin Buckley’s voice is a warm crackle over the phone. “Steve went on like thirty overlapping benders at once.”

Her partner, soap actress Vickie Carmichael cackles behind her, at their home in Salt Lake City.

“The thing about Steve is… well… he’s never found a good way of coping with himself,” Robin huffs. “Music was about as close as he ever got. But in those early days, he just kept looking for more and more.”

“You don’t think it was about-” Vickie asked, just barely into the phone.

“No.”

“It was about Nancy,” Eddie said confidently when I mentioned their first tour. “Nancy, Nancy, Nancy.”

The Boys got their start in the late sixties, beginning with Eddie and Steve. Eddie gave Steve guitar lessons, which turned into some talent show performances. They used to practice at Eddie’s Uncle’s trailer.

“That’s where we got the name,” Eddie nodded, “My uncle used to just call us that, and it stuck.”

“I don’t even remember,” Chrissy said.

“That’s not how we got the name,” Steve shook his head, when I mention Eddie. “It was our first gig, after we got Chrissy and Robin. Robin put it down after the headliner kept asking when ‘you boys’ would go on, and kept addressing it to Chrissy’s chest. She blew him out of the fucking water.”

Nancy Wheeler was there that night, writing about local bands for a tiny column in the school paper.

“She was beautiful. Smart. So smart. Could hear her talk forever,” Steve said, eyes falling.

Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler were married in 1972 after they graduated high school.

“Steve made his own choices,” Chrissy shook her head.

That summer, the Boys plus one drove to LA and Nancy Wheeler took a job at Women’s Day Magazine and later, Rolling Stone. Steve Harrington and The Boys got a “steady gig” at La Bonita Rosa on the strip, playing for drunks every night from seven to eight.

“I really liked playing at La Bonita,” Steve said. “The audience, right there. You could smell the sweat. You could see on their faces if you were bombing. And we used to bomb. A lot. But it was a great place to try things. Experiment. We played there for about a year but… it felt too short.”

Within the year they had met Jim Hopper, who got them into the recording studio and sold their demo nearly on the spot to Upside Down Records.

“They had a great sound. They had got this way of playing. Smooth like a polished stone. Everything sounds good sitting in a frame like that,” Jim said in an interview with Rolling Stone in 1981. “Their songs were… catchy, but basic. But they had the sound.”

Upside Down records set the Boys on a US tour after “Paper Girl,” and “Joy to Love You,” both charted.

“It was like… overnight. One day we’re in a studio, messing around. Kid stuff. I was nineteen,” Steve Harrington shookhis head. “But…”

“That tour,” Chrissy trails off, playing with her ring again.

“I…” Steve Harrington scratched his nose. “I was losing it. Majorly losing it. It felt like we had just moved to LA and we were already neck deep. I mean, I had a number one fucking song. And for some reason I got it in my head to call my mom. She told the maid she wasn’t home. And I could hear her over the phone. My mom. So yeah. I lost it. Lost about half my damn mind on that tour. And people will say it was because of Nancy, because we got married just out of high school, and she wasn’t supportive… but that wasn’t true. Nancy saved me.”

“Nancy never wanted him to be in the band. But… she also didn’t seem to care that much either,” Eddie shook his head, “It’s… complicated. Love is supposed to be. Simple. Like the chords of a song. 1-3-5.”

Jason Carver rolled his eyes at that, “Then what are we?”

Eddie grinned, “We’re a band.”

Nancy Wheeler met me on a Thursday in New York City, slim sunglasses dominating her small porcelain face. We get lunch at her favorite deli shop, and she perches at the counter, loafers dangling. She’s an editor at The New Yorker now, but she still has a soft spot for rock and roll, as evidenced by the Grateful Dead t-shirt under her blazer.

“That tour. I didn’t even know anything was wrong. He just came home with a funny look on his face, saying, ‘We’re headlining.’ So I said, ‘That’s great, Steve.’ He just kept… saying it. It was starting to piss me off, if I’m being honest,” She shook her head. “I should have known something was wrong.”

“I wish she had stopped me. But how could you know right? Hindsight is always 2020,” Steve Harrington said. “I mean, she was my wife. How could she not want me home? But that’s just… sorry. That’s not fair to put on her. I chose to go.”

“I flew out to meet them when they were in Indianapolis, visited my family, and I came a day early to see him,” She smiled warmly, and then it fell. “He was… Well, first, Eddie Munson tried to intercept me at the hotel, so I wouldn’t see him. I told him, ‘I’m here to see my fucking husband.’”

Steve Harrington didn’t add any more details about the tour, just shrugged when I asked.

“He was coked up like you wouldn’t believe,” Robin scoffed. “She walked in on him with two girls and coke all over his… well.”

“I just asked him. Do you want to come home? Do you want to get help? Or not?” She purses her lips. “And so he came home and we found a rehab place near Hawkins.”

“The tour kind of… fell apart. Obviously. We had lost our lead singer and guitarist to fucking… Hawkins, Indiana,”

Everything stopped for the Boys. Upside Down offered to let them out of their two album contract, but Steve couldn’t afford to pay it down.

“Rehab,” He shrugged. “Is expensive.”

Right as it seemed that everything would be over for the Boys, things were looking up for Billy Blue.

“Jim was always saying, ‘the record is selling alright, the songs are getting there but he needs a… push,’” Joyce said. “‘He’s so close. So close. He’s a star.’”

“He always believed in me,” Billy smiled, toying with his ring again. “Always. Even when I threw a jug of milk at his head.”

Joyce laughed when I asked about that moment, “He came home saying, ‘He milked me, Joyce. But he’ll fix the song tonight.’”

“And I did,” Billy said. “And the album was going alright. I did a little tour, socal and the southwest. And then one night, Jim brings me this song. He said, ‘I want you to tell me what’s missing from this.’”

The song was, of course, the Boys’ biggest hit, “Hades.” Steve Harrington’s first version was called, “To Orpheus” and the chorus goes:

Don’t turn back don’t look behind you baby

I’m close, I’m right behind

The future's so bright, and I want you to take me

Wanna be holding your hand when I make it across the line.

“It was fine, but just kind of… nothing. It was supposed to be about Eurydice, but it was so… nothing. She just loved Orpheus and that was it. There were no insides to her. She was going to follow him to her doom,” Billy shook his head. “That’s not right.”

This was not the version that made it to the recording booth, of course. The Boys’ single, “Hades featuring Billy Blue,” came out in 1975. The actual chorus goes:

Turn back on me and I won’t forgive you baby

Don’t want you to see me like this

Up ahead is bright, and I want you to take me

If you’re strong enough to cross that finish line

“‘Hades,’ was a real step forward for the Boys. Gone were the teenybopper tunes,” Steve Harrington’s biographer and personal friend Dustin Henderson wrote in his book The Pretty Boy. “Their first album got the kids dancing. But the second proved that they actually had something to say.”

“Still hate it,” Steve Harrington said. “I wrote that song in rehab. It was deeply, deeply personal to me.”

“He came out, all ready. He wanted to start recording right away,” Robin sighed. “Like I mean the next day. All these songs, just pouring out of him. But the label had lost faith in us. And they certainly weren’t going to let us start recording with a guy who had only just earned his thirty day sober chip.”

“The song wasn’t ready,” Billy shook his head. “But I guess he was. Jim said he needed this. So Jim asked if I would come and like… pitch some stuff as a personal favor. Songwriting credit, that’s all it was supposed to be. Get the songs moving, get them going.”

Steve Harrington takes a long time to continue speaking about it.

“I felt it, writing for that album. I felt proud of those songs. They didn’t belong to anyone else but me,” He toyed with some piano keys while we talked, and then finally sat down and began to play something tuneless and half formed.

“That album was all about Nancy,” Chrissy said. “I mean. I know it. You know it. Nancy knew it. And she kind of hated it. But-”

“You can’t leave your husband right as he gets out of rehab,” Nancy said to me, toying with her wedding ring. “When he writes all these songs about how you’re the only thing… Steve was always like that. Heart wide open. That’s why when he met Billy. I almost thought… it would all be okay. That sounds fucked up but. I thought they could save each other. That the music could save him.”

“It was just a songwriting credit,” Billy raised his hands. “Jim swore up and down. I was just gonna come in there and sit down with this guy Steve. But when I walk into the studio, there’s two mics set up.”

“I was the Boys’ only singer,” Steve Harrington shook his head. “And to be absolutely honest, I was kind of a jackass about it. So to have some guy come in and say he’s gonna sing me my song… well…”

“Steve was the only one who would ever argue with Jim, And he let him have it that day,” Eddie laughed. “He called him the most low down, dirty, rat bitten bastard in California, and that he would die rather than give up his band to someone else.”

“I did not want his band. I did not know his band. And I did not care. And his song sucked. And I told him so. And then I sang it. Better.” Billy smiled.

“Billy was…” Chrissy shook her head. “Incredible.”

I ask Steve what Billy was like that first day in the studio.

“He was,” Something passed over his face. “Alright. He has a great voice, alright.”

“I was good. Better. Best.” Billy smiled.

“But he didn’t understand the song. He wanted Eurydice to… doubt. To think she wasn’t going to get out,” Steve slammed his hands on the keys. “It’s been… almost twenty years. I still don’t understand it.”

I asked why he let Billy stay. But Steve doesn’t have an answer.

“They were like oil and water, right away,” Chrissy said.

“Yeah, but oil on the water can catch fire,” Eddie shrugged.

“Jim asked me to stay,” Billy looked away from me, down at his waffles. “It was a favor to the label.”

“If Billy said louder, Steve said mute,” Robin snickered. “It was kind of great, actually. Finally someone called King Steve on his shit. One day I came in and they were arguing over how close the microphone should be to your throat. Almost got in a physical fight over a fucking microphone. I mean, I love Steve. But he always thinks he’s like… the babysitter. It’s his job to do everything for everybody.”

“Like who was this guy? Really? He came into my studio with no shirt on, most of the time still half smashed from the night before, and he thinks he can make all these changes. But Jim keeps telling me it’s just business, the label thinks it’s good business.” Steve frowned, and then smiled, and then frowned again.

“Yeah, I never wore shirts back then. Or underwear,” Billy said with a grin. “I was a rockstar!”

“Steve fought for every song on that album,” Nancy Wheeler patted her lips primly with a napkin. “He only lost on one.”

“Billy Hargove has songwriting credit and lead vocals on “Hades.” Dustin Henderson wrote.

“Billy was all over that album. He’d make some minor suggestion, maybe this chord instead of that, this word is better. And Steve would flip out, yell at him, yell at Jim, threaten to storm out… and then two days later quietly tell me to change the chord, he’d start singing the new words. Billy was there with us about every single day,” Eddie said.

“Of course, it was our biggest hit,” Chrissy laughed. “Everything but that song, Steve did what he wanted. Oh we had Billy in the studio, making suggestions. But Steve did what he wanted except for ‘Hades.’ Jim said that song is the album, and he wouldn’t cut it.”

“Jim was always right,” Steve closed the piano. “The bastard.”

Hades exploded onto the radio in late 1975. They didn’t have the same distribution as their first record, but the Boys had another hit.

“Billy had this way of singing it. Still does. He broke four mics when we recorded it. Singing so loud I had to keep an eye on the cymbals to stop them from shaking. You can feel him, right in your chest.” Chrissy giggled. “Like he was trying to wake all the dead from Hades. If anyone could, he could.”

“It’s a really, really great song,” Robin said.

This song belongs to Billy Blue, Rolling Stone wrote in 1976. The only question now is, what will The Boys do next?

“I remember that article. Fucking… Harrington said that he basically wrote the whole song. But he said, ‘the label thought bringing Billy in was a good idea,’” Billy gets tense for the first time. “I’m not saying I was like… I just mean. It would have been nice. To treat me like an equal. I’m more than just a singer. I’m not just… a piece of meat.”

“Billy was really pissed about that article. I remember, the day after the article came out, we were getting breakfast at this tiny place off La Cienega. Steve had this car back then, a big maroon BMW, and Eddie had got him a vanity plate when he bought it. Stupid thing it said, ‘BIGBOY.’ Anyway, We’re having breakfast, and we hear this screech outside, like an accident,” Robin Buckley gets uncharacteristically quiet as she goes on through this story. “Billy’s car is parked halfway out of the parking lot, and he comes in like a bull in a charge. Billy… he wasn’t some wimpy guy. He was small, but he was strong as hell… He came right over and grabbed Steve by his collar and lifted him right off the counter. And he said, I’ll never forget it because Steve used to recite it from memory, yell it at me, ‘Tell me I’m not dreaming. Is that Steve fucking Harrington? The lead singer of the Boys. Hey man, I love your song ‘Hades.’ How’d you get your voice to sound halfway decent for once?’”

“I don’t remember that,” Steve Harrington said flatly when I asked.

“And Steve used to be a fucking dick in high school. So he starts getting real bitchy, shoving Billy off him, asking what his problem is, why he’s such a dick all the fucking time, when it’s not even his band. And Billy said something like, ‘No one wants your shit band. Not with you in it,’” Robin paused for a moment. “And they just. Stare at each other. Like… daring each other to do something.”

Billy just shrugs when I ask, “I was pissed. I gave this guy a number one hit, and he still wanted to treat me like some… airhead singer the label brought in as a stunt. I’m not just a singer. I’m not a piece of meat. I’m a person.”

When I ask Steve about that day he’s pretty quiet, deflated at his piano. He only wants to talk about the song. The music. Can’t seem to talk about Billy any other way.

“He sang it like he not only knows Orpheus can’t save him, but that he won’t. It was supposed to be hopeful. A happy ending.” Steve said.

“So you still hate the song?” I asked.

“No, I don’t. It’s brilliant. And that’s the whole problem.”

To be continued...

Next up is Half-Oz-Eddie's piece at 7:00 pm. GET HYPE!

#harringrove relay race #harringrove #billy x steve #billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove fic #steve x billy #harringrovefic #harringrovefanfic #harringrove fanfiction #harringrove fanfic #stranger things #my writing #DJATS au #Daisy jones and the six au #tw drugs

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acknowledge-reigns · 1 month

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Point Of View (Poly!Jimmy Uso x Naomi x OC) | 18+!!! SMUT

Description: Jimmy and Naomi have been married for 10 years. When their recently added third, Kira, needs help seeing herself from their POV, they're eager to show her.

Warnings: Established Dom/Switch/sub dynamic, Daddy/Mommy kink, mention of orgasm denial as punishment, fingering, nipple play, petnames, mention of injury, doubts and reassurance, praise, threesome, poly!Jimmy and Naomi.

Song: POV by Ariana Grande

Face Claim: Coco Jones

You can find my other works here.

MDNI!! THIS STORY INCLUDES SMUT. AS ALWAYS MY STORIES ARE KAYFABE COMPLAINT TO SOME EXTENT AND DO NOT DEPICT REAL PEOPLE.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

Sometimes it is easy for Kira to feel like a third wheel. Not because anyone intentionally made her feel that way but when you constantly hang around wrestlers and well... You aren't a wrestler, it's easy to feel that way.

Add onto that the fact that she's in a poly relationship with a married couple that had been together 14 years. She had just joined them about a year ago. Jimmy and Naomi both made her feel just as loved. She just felt to some extinct she couldn't relate to them the way they relate to each other at times.

It wasn't that Kira didn't have the desire to be a wrestler. She'd actually started training when she was 18 or so with Booker T's 'Reality Of Wrestling' in her hometown Houston, Texas, which is where she originally met Jimmy and Jey.

They were close friends back then, nothing more.

One split second miscalculation led to an awful neck injury and that was all it took to injure her to the point of never even getting to make her television debut. With her future in ring out the window, she stayed on with Booker T who became somewhat of a father figure, and under his wing she learned how to run a promotion.

Years later this led to her becoming GM for TNA Impact, where Naomi, performing under the name Trinity Fatu at the time was Knockouts World Champion. The two hit it off, eventually Kira realized Trin was married to her old friend from ROW and they all grew closer and closer until one day the couple sat her down, explained that they were poly and that they both had developed feelings for her. And the rest was history.

It became a pretty fun dynamic. Kira was a sub. A bratty sub, but a sub nonetheless. Naomi was a switch. Domme to Kira but submissive to Jimmy, who was a Dom.

Naomi was a very nurturing, caregiver type Domme which Kira loved. There was nothing like brating until she pissed Daddy off and got spanked then got cuddles from Mommy. Jimmy was the type of Dom that didn't take himself too seriously. He wasn't afraid to joke around and could always make his girls laugh, even durring an intense scene.

When Naomi returned to WWE she brought Kira along with her who served as sort of an assistant to Nick Aldis, but eventually took his place running Smackdown altogether due to Roman and The Rock deciding around wrestlemania that someone connected to the bloodline needed to be GM. Jimmy volunteered her, not that she had minded.

Kira lay in bed, sandwiched between Jimmy and Naomi in their hotel room after Smackdown.

Kira snuggled closer to Jimmy, feeling his strong tattooed arms around her. He kissed the top of her head, and she felt a rush of warmth and affection.

"You okay, babygirl?" he asked, his voice soft and concerned. "You seem a little quiet tonight."

Kira sighed softly, not wanting to burden him with her feelings. "I'm fine," she said, forcing a smile. "Just a little tired, I guess."

Jimmy frowned, sensing that something was off. "You know you can talk to us, right?" he said, his hand gently stroking her arm.

"It's nothing, Daddy." Kira lied. Naomi quirked a brow not believing it one bit.

"No lying, baby. Don't make us have to punish you." Naomi responded.

"The truth, or you won't cum for a week." Jimmy added.

Kira hesitated for a moment, then decided to open up to them. "I just... sometimes I feel like I don't fit in with you guys," she admitted. "You're both wrestlers, and I'm just... not. I don't have the same experiences or knowledge as you do, and it makes me feel a little left out sometimes."

Jimmy listened attentively, his expression understanding. "I'm sorry you feel that way, babygirl," he said, his voice gentle. "We never meant to make you feel left out. We love you just the way you are."

Naomi, who had been listening quietly, spoke up. "Kira, you're an important part of our relationship," she said. "We wouldn't be where we are without you. We love you for who you are, not for what you do."

Kira felt a lump form in her throat as she heard their words. She knew they loved her, but sometimes it was hard to shake off those feelings of inadequacy.

"I know you do," she said, her voice soft. "And I love you both too. I just... sometimes I wish I could relate to you more, you know? Like when you talk about your matches or whatever."

Jimmy nodded, he remembered that day in training when it happened, when Kira landed wrong on her neck and her hopes of a wrestling career died. He could see the pain on her face even now.

Naomi reached out and took Kira's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "We understand, babygirl," she said. "And we're here to support you through whatever you're feeling. We know how much wrestling meant to you, and we're sorry that it didn't work out the way you hoped."

Jimmy nodded in agreement, his eyes filled with empathy. "We'll always be here for you, no matter what," he said. "We love you, and we want you to be happy."

Kira felt a wave of gratitude wash over her as she looked at the two people she loved most in the world. She knew that they would always be there for her, no matter what challenges came their way.

"Thank you," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "I love you both so much."

Naomi leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. "We love you too, babygirl," she said. "And we'll always be here to help you feel included and loved."

Jimmy wrapped his arms around both of them, pulling them close. "Forever and always," he said, his voice firm and reassuring. "Naomi, what do you say we reward our princess for opening up to us?" Jimmy asked, "I'm tryna make her scream so loud we get kicked out the damn hotel." He added, his trademark humor making an appearance.

Naomi grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I like the way you think," she said. "I think our princess deserves a little extra attention tonight."

Kira felt a shiver of excitement run down her spine as she looked at the two of them. "What do you have in mind?" she asked, her voice a little breathless.

Jimmy leaned in and whispered something in Naomi's ear, causing her to giggle. "Oh, I like that idea," she said, a wicked grin spreading across her face.

Kira's heart raced as she watched the two of them exchange a knowing look. She had no idea what they were planning, but she was already feeling the heat of anticipation.

Jimmy and Naomi both turned their attention to Kira, their eyes filled with desire. "Are you ready, princess?" Jimmy asked, his voice low and seductive.

Naomi reached out and ran a finger down Kira's arm, sending another shiver through her body. "We're going to make you feel so good," she said, her voice sultry. "Just relax and let Mommy and Daddy take care of you."

Kira's breath hitched as she felt their hands on her body, their touch sending waves of pleasure through her. She closed her eyes and let herself surrender to their touch, trusting them completely.

Jimmy and Naomi worked in perfect harmony, their hands and mouths exploring every inch of her body. They whispered sweet nothings in her ear, telling her how beautiful she was and how much they loved her. Reminding her that she was their good girl.

As they continued to lavish attention on her, Kira felt herself becoming more and more aroused. She could feel the heat building between her legs.

Jimmy's hands roamed over her body, his touch firm and possessive. Naomi's lips trailed kisses down her neck, her tongue flicking out to tease her sensitive skin.

Kira moaned softly, arching her back as Jimmy's fingers found her most sensitive spot, circuling her clit. Naomi moved lower as well, her lips and tongue exploring the curves of her body.

Jimmy's mouth found hers in a searing kiss, his tongue delving deep as he claimed her lips. Naomi's hands were everywhere, caressing and stroking her in all the right places.

Kira felt like she was in a haze of pleasure, her body trembling with need. She could feel the tension building inside her, and she knew that she was close to the edge.

Jimmy's fingers moved faster, in and out, curling inside her, his touch driving her wild. Naomi's mouth was hot and wet against her skin, and she could feel her orgasm building with each passing moment as Naomi sucked one of her sensitive nipples into her mouth.

With a gasp, Kira finally reached her peak, her body shuddering with pleasure. Jimmy and Naomi held her close, their arms wrapped around her as she rode out the waves of her climax.

"You're so beautiful when you come," Jimmy whispered, his breath hot against her ear. "We love seeing you like this."

Naomi nuzzled her neck, her lips brushing against her skin. "We'll never get tired of making you feel good, princess," she said. "You're ours."

Kira lay there, her body still tingling from the aftershocks of her orgasm. She felt loved and cherished, surrounded by the two people who meant the most to her in the world.

Jimmy and Naomi lay on either side of her, their arms wrapped around her protectively. They showered her with kisses and sweet words. Kira couldn't help the giddy feeling that had come over her, she loved being taken care of by her Doms.

Kira felt a sense of contentment wash over her as she lay there with them. She knew that there would be challenges and obstacles in their relationship, but she also knew that they would face them together.

Jimmy and Naomi had a way of making her feel like she belonged, like she was a part of something special. Kira snuggled closer to them, feeling safe and loved in their embrace.

Jimmy and Naomi held her tightly, their bodies warm and comforting. They talked softly, their voices filled with affection and tenderness.

"I love you both so much," Kira whispered, her voice filled with emotion. "You make me feel like the luckiest person in the world."

Jimmy and Naomi both smiled, their eyes filled with love. "We love you too, princess," Jimmy said as Naomi lovingly played with Kira's hair. "And we'll always be here to remind you just how special you are."

#jimmy uso #jimmy and naomi #wwe jimmy uso #jimmy uso fanfiction #jimmy uso smut #wwe naomi #naomi knight #naomi wwe #wwe smut #Spotify

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honeyspawn · 7 months

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Been thinking about how Lex is constantly getting failed by her potential parental figures.

Obviously there's her parents; her mom is neglectful and abusive, and it seems to be implied her dad left (and based on bts stuff I guess there's more to the story we'll find out eventually).

She's also Tom Houston's favorite student, and they definitely seem to have a caring mentor relationship from the little we see. But ultimately, though it's not his fault, when he took extended family leave, she couldn't take his class anymore and ultimately dropped out. Though neither of their faults, Tom has other top priorities that are not her, and so he fails her in a way.

Then there's Frank Pricely, who genuinely thinks he's helping Lex by giving her "tough love", but at the end of the day he's too selfish to really give her the kind of support that she actually needs (like giving her a raise). He cares about her to some extent, but not as much as he cares about Toy Zone, so she is once again de-prioritized.

Then there's Webby. We know the least about what their relationship was like since it was in the past, but it if it's anything like Hannah and Webby's relationship, I think it must have had something to do with Webby not being able to keep up with how fast Lex was growing and changing as a person. Lex was probably taking on lot of responsibility at a young age, and felt she didn't have time for Webby's silly games. And Webby would have been unable to help her with her troubled home life and financial instability directly, so yet again Lex would have felt failed by her.

At the end of the day, whether it was directly their fault or not, Lex has never been able to fully depend on the adults in her life.

#starkid #hatchetfield #team starkid #black friday #nightmare time #nightmare time 2 #lex foster #pamela foster #tom houston #frank pricely #webby hatchetfield

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rambleonwaywardson · 4 months

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Clegan Astronaut AU - Part 2

Part 1

AU Summary: Had some ideas about the boys as modern day NASA astronauts. Taking place in 2025, Bucky is about to head to the moon as mission commander of Artemis III while Buck is back-up commander and CAPCOM on the ground at NASA. Established relationship (obnoxiously in love).

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who read and liked part 1! I have this whole story very loosely plotted but have no publishing schedule. I'll be out of town this week, so it may be longer before part 3 is up. Also, fun fact, this was originally going to take place in the 70s during Apollo, but I really wanted to write Clegan as out and proud. I think you can see why.

See end notes for term definitions.

September 8, 2025 Houston, TX

Growing up, Gale Cleven was always just Gale Cleven. Top of his class, quiet but kind, a little something wild but innately good. He doesn’t talk much about his childhood, about his parents. He grew up too fast, learned too early that life is unfair, that people are unkind – even the ones who are supposed to take care of you. He grew up with his head in the clouds, dreaming of elsewhere. He wanted to be someone, to do something. He wanted to fly away.

So when he needed money to go to college, he took a scholarship from Air Force ROTC. He would become a pilot. He would get a degree in aerospace engineering. He would learn about math and physics, and about the giant universe he dreamed of. He would do something important, something worthwhile, because he needed to be better than the man who raised him.

Weirdly enough, being an astronaut was never a serious consideration. The space program was about impossible to get into as it was, and getting smaller. The heyday of Apollo and the shuttle were over. NASA was under fire once again in the early 2000s following the Columbia disaster, and space travel just didn’t interest the public, or the politicians, as much as it once did. Gale was fascinated by it, always had been, but he was much more interested in the physics, the math, the engineering. Even as he wanted to be a pilot, he hardly entertained the idea of being an astronaut.

All of this, until he met John Egan.

Freshman year of college, a talk, lanky, dark-haired boy with the most beautiful smile Gale had ever seen barreled into their assigned dorm room and hit Gale’s life like a freight train. He called himself Bucky, and he started calling Gale Buck, no matter how many times Gale repeated his actual name. Bucky Egan was also in AFROTC with dreams of being a pilot. A mechanical engineering major, not because he wanted to be or because the Air Force wanted him to be – physics really was not suited to him to be honest – but because he knew NASA would want him to be. And Bucky Egan fully intended to be a NASA astronaut.

Gale could tell from day one that nothing would stop this boy; he was a force of nature, and if something stood in his way he simply jumped over it.

What Gale did not know from day one was that, 16 years later, this was the man he would marry. What he did not know was that this man would completely change his life.

It was John Egan that, one random night during their time in college, drunk on tequila shots, looked at Gale and said “still think it’s crazy you don't wanna be an astronaut. You’d be NASA’s poster boy.”

Gale Cleven was always just Gale Cleven, future pilot and engineer. Until he met John. Now, standing in a crowded bar in Houston, Texas, he’s Major Buck Cleven, astronaut. One of NASA’s poster boys.

The Hundred Proof Bar, just down the road from Johnson Space Center, is a long-time local favorite of astronauts and JSC employees. It’s decorated with military and space program memorabilia, with a tradition almost as old as the bar itself: once an astronaut goes to space and returns from their mission, they get their astronaut portrait hung on the wall behind the bar, joining a small and coveted community of great pilots, explorers, and scientists. Among the Houston NASA community, having your picture behind the bar almost means more than having it at NASA.

Over the bartop, Gale stares at his own portrait. Like most of the others, he’s in a bulky white EVA suit, one hand resting on top of a space helmet, an American flag in the background. The photograph was taken nearly three years ago, ahead of his inaugural six-month ISS mission, the culmination of over a decade of hard work in school, the Air Force, and astronaut training. You can read the expression on his face like a book in that picture: pure excitement, like it was everything he had ever dreamed of.

Bucky’s picture is right next to his. Even though their first missions didn’t coincide, Jackie, the owner of the place and head bartender, insisted that putting them beside each other was the only correct course of action. Bucky looks just as ecstatic as Gale. Soon, though, there will be a new portrait of him in its place, one specific to Artemis 3.

“Here you go, love.” Jackie sets a glass of soda with lemon in front of Gale and he thanks her before taking a sip. He stands there at the bar, one hand on his glass and the other shoved in his pocket, just staring at the photographs. A little legacy to the world that’s representative of something far greater. They’d really made it, in the end.

“I’m proud of you, you know,” a voice says beside him. Gale looks over at Marge and smiles as she wraps an arm around his back and squeezes.

“Thought you weren’t coming tonight,” Gale says as he hugs her back.

When she steps away, she shrugs. “Miss John’s birthday? He’d kill me.”

Gale laughs, shoving his hands back into his pockets. “Please, you can pretty much do no wrong in his eyes. He’d forgive you.” Bucky had come to love Marge like a sister over the years. Gale was worried at first that they wouldn’t click, back when Marge visited them in college for the first time, but he had rarely been so wrong. They get along like a house on fire, for better or for worse.

Marge shakes her head and chuckles. “No babe, that would be you. Pretty sure John would help you get away with murder if you asked.”

“Who says he hasn’t?”

Marge just shakes her head again. “Well, I just popped in to say hi, wish the birthday boy well.” She pokes Gale in the chest, looking pointedly at him. “I meant what I said. By all means, have fun tonight, but I don’t want to hear about any scandals, okay? I’m good at my job, but the press will have a field day if they get a whiff of the next moon walkers doing anything… unruly.”

“Marge,” Gale says, pushing her finger away gently. “They’re young astronauts. Unruly is their middle name.”

Marge cocks her head and stares him down. Gale tries not to squirm under the intense, disapproving gaze of a terrifying woman several inches shorter than him. “Please just-”

“HEEYYYY!” Cheers erupt around the Hundred Proof as the front door swings open. Marge sighs and looks at Gale with an expression that says ‘you’re not off the hook and you better do as I say,’ but she drops it. Bucky walks inside, followed by Curt, Rosie, and Alex. He smiles and laughs and shakes hands, thanks people for the birthday wishes, hugs friends he hasn’t seen in too long. The place is packed with astronauts, NASA employees, space program families, and even some Air Force friends that were able to make a quick trip in. Gale turns around and leans back against the bar, watching Bucky work his way through the crowd.

He’s changed into a white tee shirt and an old black leather jacket on top of dark jeans, a timeless look that’s followed him since he first met Gale in college. He’s pretty sure the jacket itself has been with him through many of those years. Once he spots Gale, his smile gets wider and he pushes his way towards the bar. First he leans in and hugs Marge tight. “Happy birthday,” she says, ruffling his hair before he lets go.

“Thanks for coming,” he tells her. “I promise I will not be on my worst behavior tonight.”

Marge rolls her eyes. “That may be all I can ask for.” She pats him on the arm lovingly. “Enjoy yourself, okay?” She looks at both of the men standing in front of her – two men that she still sees as college boys; men who she is endlessly proud of and who also endlessly test her patience. “Sorry I can’t stick around, but I have to fly over to Cape Kennedy in the morning for some press. I’ll see you boys in a few days.”

They both hug her again before she walks off, slipping through the crowd effortlessly even in her heels. Bucky turns and looks at Gale, glances him up and down before breaking into a grin again. “You wore something cute.”

Gale looks down at himself, picking at the cuffs of his shirt. He’d picked out a black on black outfit: some nicely tailored black jeans and a black dress shirt with the top two buttons undone, complete with polished black leather oxfords – a look he admittedly knew would please Bucky with the way it fit his body so perfectly, the way it accentuated his shoulders and his waist at the same time. “Did I?” He asks innocently. Bucky nods, biting at his lower lip. Truthfully, everything looks good on Gale anyways. Gale shrugs, smirking at him. “Well, I live to please.” Before Bucky can really get any ideas in his head, though, Gale leans in and puts a hand on Bucky’s hip as he kisses him on the cheek. “Happy birthday, John,” he whispers.

They’re pulled away from each other by the sound of someone tapping loudly on a whiskey glass. Curt is standing on a nearby table, bringing in the attention of everyone in the room. He glances at Gale and Bucky. “Sorry lovebirds, but it’s not your wedding night yet. Give it a rest so I can say some words about Bucky here.” Gale blushes and pinches the bridge of his nose as their friends laugh around them. Bucky takes a step to the side, but still grabs Gale’s hand in his. Curt nods and goes on.

“Most of us are here tonight to celebrate Bucky’s birthday. Quite frankly I’m shocked he has this many friends, but thank you for being here.” He laughs with the crowd as Bucky holds a hand dramatically to his heart. “No, really though, Bucky’s an amazing guy. I’m real lucky to know him, and I’m lucky to have him in that Artemis lander with me when we go to the moon in November.” Raucous applause and cheering fills the room at that and Curt puts his hands up as he yells over them that he ain’t finished yet. He looks at Bucky and raises a glass. “Happy birthday, brother. You’ve worked hard to get here, and you deserve every bit of it. May we make history this year!”

Applause rises again, louder now, and people stomp, holler, and shout as Curt motions for Bucky to take his place on the table. He climbs up and takes in the room. “Very touching, Curt, thank you,” he says. “I’m honored to be commander of this mission.”

“Of all the drunks in this joint!” someone calls out jokingly from the crowd.

Bucky laughs and puts a hand up defensively. “Listen, someone’s gotta make a nest for the rest of you dodos. Make sure it’s safe. Just think of me as an overpaid guinea pig. Or, actually, rather underpaid for the circumstances.” This gets some laughter as well, even as no one in the room would ever truly doubt Major John Egan’s capabilities as a pilot or as an astronaut. They all know it’s true, however, that astronauts are not compensated enough for the risks they face. The money really isn’t why they do it though. “I’m not gonna stand here and wax sentimental,” Bucky says. “So thank you all for being here tonight. Now let’s get this party started!”

–

The evening is a blur of drinks, music, friends, and more drinks. It starts innocently enough, with Bucky making the rounds and greeting everyone he can. He and Gale talk shop for a while with Albert Clark, flight director of Artemis 3, and a few of the flight controllers tasked with monitoring the crew and spacecraft for the duration of the mission. Harry Crosby, FIDO; Jack Kidd, FAO; and Joseph “Bubbles” Payne, GNC. Bucky then declares that they need shots, and he remembers a lot less after that.

At some point, Gale loses track of him while he chats with a few of the engineers at JSC, including a hell of a woman named Helen who flew on the ISS with him. They’ve remained good friends ever since, and she’s about the smartest person and one of the best engineers he knows. He’s happy to talk about EVAs and the astronaut vs. engineer experience working in the neutral buoyancy tank, rockets and lunar rovers, even office gossip and who has the cutest dog (Gale, hands down, no room for objection). But it’s been a long day, and Gale – despite finding himself smack in the middle of the public eye with interviews and networking and photo shoots to the point that he isn’t really sure where he ends and the extroverted facade he’d crafted begins – is starting to feel drained. He talks and he smiles and he nods, but he can feel autopilot starting to take over. He brushes his fingers over the glass in his hand, smearing the cold condensation as he takes a sip of soda water. He’s perfectly sober but the music is starting to make his head pound. He blinks and rubs a hand over the back of his neck.

“Hey Buck,” Helen says, trying to hide her laughter with a hand over her mouth. Gale turns to see what she’s staring over his shoulder at and lets a quiet fuck slip out of his mouth.

“Hold my drink please,” he says to Helen, shoving the glass into her waiting hand before pushing through the crowd to where Bucky is standing in front of the dart board, crouched down so the top of his head is below the bullseye with a hand over his eyes. “And what exactly is this about?” he cries as he pulls Bucky away from the wall.

“Hey!” Curt exclaims, echoed by Alex. They’re both visibly drunk, darts in their hands as they look at Gale with displeasure all over their faces.

“We gotta settle this, Buck,” Bucky insists, trying to tug away from the hand gripping his arm. Bucky may be bigger and stronger than him, but Gale is more sober by about a thousand miles.

“Settle what?” he asks, incredulous.

“Well we ended in a tie,” Alex explains, like it makes all the sense in the world. “So now we gotta settle it somehow.”

The four of them stand in a loose approximation of a circle, staring each other down. Bucky has given up resisting and is leaning lazily back against Gale’s chest, fiddling intently with Gale’s fingers. Gale stands with one hand on his hip and the other wrapped around Bucky’s middle, holding the other man still while he tries to make sense of this. “And… the best way to settle that… is to throw darts at your commander? At my fiancé?”

Curt perks up defensively but his words are slurred. “Oh fuck no! We’re throwin’ ‘em above our fiancé.”

“My fiancé,” Gale corrects, as if that’s the most important part of this altercation.

Curt tilts his head and looks at him, his eyes shifting back and forth like he’s trying to make some sort of calculation in his head. Then he nods and points to Gale. “Yeah, yeah. Your fiancé.” He points to himself. “Our commander. Thassit.”

Alex adds, “whoever gets the dart closest to the top of his head wins.”

Gale rubs his face with one hand, groaning quietly. “No,” he finally says.

“No?” Curt asks, pouting.

“No,” Gale asserts again. “Last thing we need is for John Egan to get kicked off Artemis cause he’s lost an eye. Now give me those.” He pushes Bucky gently to the side – which is met with a grumpy protest – and grabs the darts from Alex and Curt, who are surprisingly willing to hand them over.

“Buucckkk,” Bucky whines, tugging at Gale’s free hand as he gives the darts to Jackie to keep behind the counter for a while. “You’re no fuunnnn. Woulda been jus’ like when Tommy threw one at me tha’ time. Was fine.”

“Curt and Alex are a lot drunker, you dummy. You’ll thank me later.” Very unlikely. He probably won’t remember this later. Gale turns to address all three of the men. “Now go entertain yourselves in less destructive ways.”

–

An hour or two later – who can really say – as the crowd starts to thin out, heading home in hopes of getting some semblance of sleep before a full work day tomorrow, Gale finds Bucky standing at the bar, talking to some of their military friends. Jackie – saint that she is – had switched just about all of them to non-alcoholic beverages some time ago. When Gale tries to pull Bucky away, Bucky pouts and leans against the bar. “Come on, Buck, the night is still young.” It’s past midnight, actually. It’s officially Tuesday, and they have to go to work in the morning. Schedules are packed a couple months out from launch.

Gale shakes his head and wraps an arm securely around Bucky’s mid back, pulling him close. Bucky struggles at first but then pauses, turns his head to press his nose into Gale’s neck. “You smell good.” He sniffs again before Gale feels lips gently kissing his neck, making him freeze and try to keep from blushing too hard.

“Okay,” he grunts, pushing Bucky’s head away from his collarbone while he tries to wrestle the rest of him away from the bar. “It’s definitely time to go home. Come on.”

Saying some hurried goodbyes, Gale pushes his way through the thinning crowd with Bucky half hanging on his shoulder and half stumbling beside him. Turning to look around is not an easy feat with 6’2 of muscular astronaut weighing him down, constantly switching back and forth between shouting out to friends across the room and trying to kiss Gale anywhere he can reach. But Gale manages to find who he’s looking for. Pushing between a small group of tipsy women with a mumbled apology, he reaches a hand out to grab Rosie by the shoulder. “You seen Alex?” he asks, raising his voice over the music.

“He left a little while ago!” Rosie yells back despite their proximity. Gale doesn’t know if he should be relieved that the number of drunk guys he has to wrangle has decreased or concerned over whether or not Alex was capable of getting home alone. But then Rosie adds, “Macon drove him home, don’t worry.”

Gale nods and steps closer. “You drunk?”

Rosie tilts his head to think for a moment, looks around the room, wriggles his shoulders back and forth like he’s trying to test his balance. “Eehhh.” He holds up a hand and tilts it back and forth in a ‘sort of kind of maybe’ motion.

Gale sighs as he pulls away Bucky’s hand, which is grabbing at his chin, and pins it down at his side instead. “Alright, you’re coming with me,” he says to Rosie. Then he points across the room to Curt, who is dancing on a table with a man and a woman to cheers from the crowd around them. He wonders how many people Curt has kissed tonight alone. “Grab him and meet me outside. Y’all can crash at our place.”

Rosie nods and heads off to extract Curt from… whatever is happening over there. Gale looks at Bucky, who is staring at him with his pupils blown wide. Bucky smiles drunkenly and kisses Gale sloppily on the mouth. Gale chuckles, long suffering, and presses his lips to Bucky’s temple. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”

Bucky taps him on the nose. “Cause you love me.” He can’t argue with that.

–

It takes some wrangling, some arguing, a little bit of threatening, and a lot of protesting, but Gale and Rosie manage to drag Bucky and Curt out of the car and through the door of the pretty ranch-style home on Nassau Bay. The second they walk in, they’re assaulted by two giant huskies all too excited to welcome them home. Meatball – who is really Demarco’s dog but has found himself in a weird co-parenting situation between Benny and Gale as the two alternate space missions and other work trips – just about knocks Curt to the tile floor right at the entryway. Pepper – the one year old husky who Gale and John adopted from a rescue earlier this year – slips and slides her way across the floor in her excitement to press her nose lovingly against Bucky’s legs.

“Hiya Pep!” Bucky immediately drops to the floor by the doorway to give Pepper all the hugs and kisses she deserves, laughing as she, very much not small enough to be a lap dog, wriggles her way into his lap anyways. Curt, meanwhile, stumbles away to the living room. “Couch!” he exclaims, before dramatically collapsing onto the couch and burying his face into a throw pillow.

“Shoes off!” Gale calls. Curt groans but awkwardly tries to kick off his dress shoes to no avail. Rosie rolls his eyes and goes to help. Gale bends down to scratch Meatball under the chin. “Benny’ll be home soon, bud.” He’s been on the ISS for over 6 months now and is due for splashdown next Wednesday. Meatball licks Gale’s hand before running out the door into the yard.

When Gale looks down at Bucky, still on the floor even though Pepper has run outside after Meatball, he’s staring forlornly at his feet. He looks up at Gale. “Buck, can you help me tie my shoes?”

“Your shoes are tied,” Gale says matter of factly, hands on his hips.

Bucky looks back at his shoes thoughtfully, touching the laces with oddly gentle fingers. He tugs halfheartedly. “Buck?”

“Hmm?”

“I can’t get them off.”

Gale flexes his jaw, unimpressed, and nods. “Mkay.” He kneels down on the floor and carefully removes Bucky’s shoes, sets them neatly by the door. Then he hauls the man back to his feet. As he leads Bucky awkwardly to their master bedroom, he looks in on Curt, who is already passed out on the couch. Rosie had managed to get his shoes off and ensure he wasn't lying on his back. He then peeks into the first guest room where Rosie, mercifully still in his right mind, has already claimed a bed. “You good?” Rosie nods and gives him a thumbs up. Gale nods back. “See you in the morning.” They are in for a hell of a training day tomorrow. The only saving grace is that at least half of Johnson Space Center will probably be just as hung over.

Gale manages to get Bucky out of his jacket and settled on the edge of their bed before he goes about changing out of his own clothes, stripping down to his underwear before pulling on a pair of sweats. He is acutely aware of Bucky’s eyes tracking his every move until he goes into their en-suite to brush his teeth. Once he’s done in the bathroom, he returns to find Bucky staring out the big picture window at the full moon lighting up their backyard.

He turns his head to look at Gale with wonder in his eyes. “I’m going to the moon, Buck.”

Gale smiles fondly as he sits beside him to look out at the night sky. He wraps an arm around Bucky’s shoulders and presses a kiss to the side of his head. It really is everything Bucky has ever dreamed of, for as long as they’ve known each other.

“Yeah, John. You’re going to the moon.”

Part 3

Terms: EVA = extravehicular activity (space walks and moon walks)

FIDO = Flight Dynamics Officer; monitors the flight path and trajectory of the spacecraft

FAO = Flight Activities Officer; in charge of preparing the flight plan; manages changes in the flight plan and crew activities

GNC = Guidance, Control, and Navigation Officer; operates spacecraft navigation and control software during flight; responsible for spacecraft orientation

ISS = International Space Station

Neutral Buoyancy Tank = giant water tank at Johnson Space Center used to simulate working in zero gravity

#clegan astronaut au #they are so in love #clegan fic #clegan #masters of the air #mota #john egan #gale cleven #bucky egan #buck cleven #gale buck cleven #john bucky egan #buck x bucky #bucky x buck #buck squared

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thebirdandthebee · 2 years

Note

I saw that your requests are open so I have one!!! So for context reader is southern af and gets along with hangman because of it, but is dating bob and he gets jealous. Maybe a little angst and fluff?? Thank youuu

Thanks for sending this in!

Don't Touch My Boots

word count: 1.3kish

Bob Floyd was not Jake Seresin.

He knew that, Jake knew that, and anyone who interacted with either of them for any length of time could easily put that together.

Jake was tan skin, cocky smiles and sharp edges that women liked to test the sharpness of at the risk of injury.

Bob was knowing eyes, rounded shoulders and always gave the benefit of the doubt. They were all qualities that attracted you to him in the first place.

Though Jake was a feast for the eyes, Bob was handsome in a way that radiated comfort and stability - two things that made him irrevocably sexy in your eyes.

You did, however, have a lot in common with Jake. With him hailing from Texas and you from southern Oklahoma, there were just so many things you could chat about when the team got together. Your order at Buc-ees, how much better Austin is than Houston and college football.

“It was a fluke and it will remain a fluke because the Sooners are a dynasty,” you argued, a beer in your hand as you and Jake went at it yet again - your finger threatening to poke a hole through his collarbone.

 “Just take the loss, sweetheart, chalk it up to skill,” Jake defended his beloved Longhorns. He’d get bragging rights this year.

“I swear on Brent Venables and the entire O-line, we’ve got next year by two touchdowns,” she threatened, holding up two fingers. Jake laughed, tapping his beer against hers and taking the bet. They continued on, sharing a loveseat on the deck at Penny’s where a big handful of aviators and crew were enjoying an evening drink with the ocean backdrop.

Bob watched on, half-heartedly listening as Phoenix re-told a story he had heard a hundred times before to the rest of the group. He trusted you inherently - that was a given. But you and Jake shared something he didn’t.

That, and Jake wasn’t always shy about the way he looked at you. Like tonight, Bob’s blue eyes had clocked the way Jake’s line of sight traveled up from your low-slung cowboy boots to the frayed hem of your jean shorts. You had draped one of Bob’s button-downs over your bare shoulders with a white tank top just sheer enough that he could make out the lace of your bra.

Bob could smell the coconut lotion you had lathered on before leaving your apartment earlier in the evening. And while it helped that Bob was the one to rub the shea butter into your skin, he knew Jake wouldn’t mind seeing how soft your skin was, either. His grip on his beer tightened, condensation rolling across his knuckles.

Sure he was grateful you got along with his team, given how much time you spent together, but he wouldn’t mind a bit more distance between the two of you.

His eyes cut back toward the two of you as Jake tugged the loop of your boot, pulling it up into his lap, continuing whatever he was talking about. He watched as you gave the blonde an unimpressed look, but smiled nonetheless as you rolled your eyes.

“They’re purely decoration!” Bob overheard Jake tease.

“We’re in San Diego, Seresin, did you think I was gonna break out my Tecovas?” She asked, giving him shit right back.

“Oh, Tecovas, I see,” Jake said, implying to Bob that Tecovas were some kind of fancy boot.

“Shut it, they were a gift!” He watched you laugh.

“Would hate for you to get sand in your Tecovas,” Jake put his hands up. You punched him in the shoulder.

“You’re such a fuckin’ cowboy,” you huffed.

“American made,” he winked, leaning back in the seat and draping his arm across the back of it before taking another pull of his beer. His fingertips dangled just above your bare shoulder where Bob’s shirt had slid off.

“You’re the worst,” you said, putting your hand on his knee to hoist yourself off the seat. “And the Longhorns still suck,” you stuck out your tongue at him. Bob watched as you neared, but his eyes were on Jake. The blonde took another drink and watched you walk away. “Jake Seresin an absolute clown,” you greeted, sliding your hands across Bob’s midsection and hugging him to you.

“We know,” Phoenix agreed, happily accepting you into the little group that surrounded a high top.

“Havin’ fun?” Bob asked quietly, jealousy clawing up his neck.

“I always have fun with you, Bobby,” you smiled, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “But I might be a little fun’d out,” you could feel a yawn coming on. It was getting late and you both were scheduled for early mornings.

Bob gladly downed the last inch of his drink before setting his glass on the table.

“See ya,” Jake called, using two fingers to point at his eyes before doing the same to you. “I’ll be watching you, Sooner.”

“Later, Longhorn!” You waved him off, sliding your hand down into one of Bob’s back pockets to give him a playful squeeze. Bob held your car door open for you before running around to drop into the driver’s seat. “You’re staying over, right?” You asked Bob, who promptly pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“You want me to?” He asked, starting the car.

 “‘Course I do,” you replied, leaning over to press a small kiss just at the corner of his mouth.

The drive back to your rental wasn’t long and Bob quickly disrobed for bed, hanging his clothes up so they wouldn’t be rumpled for work tomorrow. He watched as you got undressed down a simple pair of cotton panties before pulling his shirt back on and hooking two buttons near your breasts.

You crawled into bed, immediately curing into Bob’s side and hooking a leg over his.

“Bobby, your glasses,” you frowned, reaching up to gently take them from his face, folding them gingerly and setting them atop the ledge of your headboard. “So handsome,” you cooed, stretching up to kiss him gently.

Bob chased the kiss, a hand sliding down your side to hold you against him.

“Can I ask you something?” He prompted.

“Anything,” you replied, looking up at him in a way that made him think he could conquer the world.

“Do you wish I was… I don’t know, that we had more in common?” He asked, drawing a frown from you.

“We have lots in common,” you insisted, nuzzling into his shoulder, “what do you mean?” you pressed.

“I just - I don’t know, I see the way you and Jake talk and - and I wonder maybe -” He had cringed at his own insecurity. “Maybe if I was a little more like him…” he trailed off.

“Then what?” You asked.

“I’m sorry, forget I asked, it was dumb,” he blurted, a blush of embarrassment creeping up his neck.

“Bobby,” you frowned, sitting up and swinging a leg over his lap. You grabbed his hands, placing them on your thighs. “I love you,” you reminded. “Cowboys like Jake are a dime a dozen in the South.” You waved your hand. “If I wanted a cowboy, I would have planted myself in Ardmore and found one.” You slid your hands up his stomach to his chest. “Yeah we can talk football and ranch life, but you’re the man I want to come home to every day.” You leaned forward to kiss the corner of his mouth again and watched as his throat bobbed. “I’m gonna be your wife and the mother of your children,” you elaborated. “Jake’s just going to be the guy we invite over to watch the game,” you said with finality.

“Don’t like him touching your boots,” Bob murmured.

“Next time he does, I’ll kick him right in the shin,” you promised.

#bob floyd #robert bob floyd #bob floyd x you #bob floyd one shot #bob floyd drabble #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd x reader #jake seresin is a cowboy #boomer sooner forever baby

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baronessvonglitter · 3 months

Text

Cherry, Cherry 🍒 Chapter 4 🍒 "Ride Along"

pre-outbreak! AU!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: 2.610

Summary: during your ride along, you and Joel become a bit closer.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, sexual innuendo, flirting, Joel openly gawking at you, you gawking at Joel's delicious biceps, mutual pining (though you're both too nervous to make the first move), you now have a song 🥰, age gap (reader is 18, Joel is 35), reader's race not mentioned, no use of y/n

Author's Note: this was one of the more fun chapters to write! It also brings us the song which (in part) gave me the idea for this story. Give it a listen and tell me you can't see yourself in Joel's truck on a sunny day, windows down, music blasting ☺️

Series Masterlist

The rest of the weekend you spend in daydreams, imagining scenarios that are unlikely to happen, if only to prepare yourself for what may actually happen. Joel is not likely to sneak into your room through your window, nor to approach you in a dimly lit corner at your job. But you like to think you'd have a handle on what would happen next. You like to think he'd be impressed by your maturity, that you're not like other girls your age.

But you have to admit that at the same time you realize you have no idea of the bounds you're crossing, of what lies beyond those daydreams that play out quite safely in your head. You cannot control Joel but it's very likely he can control you, and you're not sure whether that thought excites you or scares you.

Trevor is out of sight, out of mind. He hasn't even bothered to give you a call. Whatever he sensed between you and Joel at the party that night has obviously hurt him, and he's run back to Houston to lick his wounds. You are surprised that you don't think anything about him except mild annoyance.

Should it scare you that an older man is attracted to you? You could easily shut him out, cut it off before whatever this is branches into something uncontrollable. Right now you're safe.

But what if you're tired of safety?

You're living in your cousin's house, per your mother's permission, driving a car that was handed down to you, attending a school that everyone thought was best for you.

So what's wrong with taking a little something for yourself? Figuring something out on your own, even if you might get hurt in the process? Even if you might get rejected?

Curiosity killed the cat, so the saying goes.. But is there any quote about luck? Because it's purely luck that carries you as you catch up with Joel just before he leaves for work one sunny day. Dressed in a white tee with the sleeves rolled up, high-waisted shorts and your favorite Converse high tops, you catch up with him at his passenger window. "I'm coming with you today," you say with more confidence than you feel, now that you're actually face to face with Joel again. You're taking the initiative because he hasn't reached out. Too late you realize you may be an inconvenience.

Joel looks like a deer in headlights, and for a moment you find it so cute. "Oh.. really? I, uh.. sure, that works." He pops the automatic locks on his door and waits until you step in to turn the engine on.

You smile brightly, heart hammering in your chest. "Good, because I'm buying lunch for us later." You put on your seat belt. "Where are we going first?"

He eyes you as you make yourself comfortable in his truck, and it doesn't escape you that his gaze travels up your legs and to your thighs. You wonder if he's remembering how they feel around him. Then he clears his throat and begins to back out of the driveway. "Well, we got two more new jobs that need to be done, so we'll head to those first." His arm reaches across the back of your headrest as he maneuvers the truck onto the street.

"What kinds of sites are they? Residential? Commercial?"

Joel glances at you and a smirk crosses his lips. "You've done your homework on the contracting business, haven't ya?"

You blush with pride. "There's this beautiful thing called the internet," you remind him.

"Ah, that's a foreign concept to a dinosaur like myself," his deep, warm voice sounds serious but there's a twinkle in his eyes. "Actually, they're both residential jobs. New roofing on one, and the other..." he trails off and you realize he's lost in thought, looking down, obviously distracted by the point where the hem of your jean shorts meets the flesh of your thigh. "The, uh, other job.. is rebuilding a garage." You smile as he forces his eyes back to the road, your heart skips several beats.

"Maybe it's time for some music?" you suggest, as the tension is palpable, and you know he can feel it.

"Yeah, sounds good to me." He reaches over and turns on the radio. The end of an oldies song blasts from the speakers, and is followed by another, and you immediately recognize the bright guitar melody, it's the opening of "Cherry, Cherry". With a grin you start swaying along to the music.

"I love this song," Joel says, his expression one of wonderment. "What's a kid like you know about Neil Diamond?"

"Just that this is one of my favorite songs," you reply with a cheeky grin. "And now it'll remind me of this moment."

Baby loves me, yes, yes she does Ah, the girl's outta sight, yeah Says she loves me, yes, yes she does Mmm, gonna show me tonight, yeah

When he smiles at you there's a warmth in his eyes. "It'll remind me of this moment, too."

"Then I guess this is our song," you say with certitude, leaning back against the seat, the wind ruffling your hair. "Joel, can I ask you something.. kinda personal?"

It looks like he's mentally and physically preparing himself for what your question could be. "Sure. What's up?"

You pause, second-guessing yourself. "So, why don't you have a girlfriend? I mean, I assume you're single." Your voice shakes a little as you ask, and you wonder if he can hear it.

Joel reddens slightly. "Well.. I've just been really busy with work and raisin' Sarah. Never really had time to invest in a relationship before."

You want to ask about Sarah's mom. It's been a burning question ever since you've known him, and you haven't been able to get any information from Sarah herself, whose face clouded at any mention of a lack of female presence in her life. For now it doesn't feel right to ask, and you don't want to put a dent in the fledgling friendship between you and Joel. That's a question you tuck away into your pocket for a later time. Your expression turns playful. "I guess it must be harder as you get older."

He gives a little chuckle. "Yeah, as you get older it gets harder. Women start to want kids.. want to get married."

"Are you against getting married?" you ask, genuinely curious.

There's a long silence from him and you worry whether you've crossed a boundary, brought up a sore subject. "I don't know," he answers with a shrug of his shoulders.

"I get it. Honestly the odds are against married couples. Over fifty percent of marriages end in divorce."

"Yeah. I know a lot of guy who've been burned in marriage."

You wonder if he's including himself in that number and your eyes soften. You feel it's callous to prod him and give pointless statistics. "One of my best friends back home is getting married soon. Her boyfriend proposed on graduation day. He's going into the Marines.. I can't imagine getting married at eighteen."

"Well, I can't say I'd be totally against marriage, if it was with the right person." Joel's smile is nervous, and he focuses on driving.

You could ask him what the qualifications are, and measure yourself against them, but you highly doubt 'teenaged college freshman' is one of the distinguishing characteristics he'll mention wanting in a wife. So you gracefully change the subject as you see the job site up ahead. "I'm excited to see you in action," you grin at him.

"You're excited to see me in action?" he repeats. "Well get ready. 'Cause I'll show you how I do it."

Your heart skips a beat and your blush at his innuendo. Is it innuendo?

It has to be, because he continues. "If you want, you can be my assistant. I can tell you exactly how I want things done." He gives you a side-eye and smirks. He drives up to the site and parks.

You bite your lip, taking the bait. "I'm a fast learner." You're flirting, yes, flirting back.

"I'll show you everything you need to know.."

You wet your lips with your tongue, your face still red. "I'll bet there's a lot you could teach me.."

"There is," his voice is husky, almost strained. "I'd enjoy teachin' you."

There's a tingling in your body as the flirtation seems to have taken a serious turn. Your brain locks up, taking the safest route back. "You're funny, Joel." Your smile is forced.

There's a moment of quiet, a silence that is rife with tension. "I'm not tryin' to be."

You look at him. A new tension fills the air, something exciting and new. You swallow hard. "Think we should get out?"

His countenance changes abruptly, back to factory settings. "If you want. They're almost done here, so it shouldn't take too long."

"Trying to get rid of me that quickly?"

He smirks again and hands you a bright yellow hard hat. "Come on, it's hard hat time. Can't have you gettin' hurt while you're my assistant, now can I?"

You put the hat on and it's a little bigger than you need. Seeing that smirk on his face has brought out something within you, and the words bubble up in your throat. "Can't do it without protection," you smirk back.

"Very true," he says, and you admire him with that yellow piece of plastic on his head. "But there are certain times for exceptions."

"Really? When are those times?" You watch him blush. "Come on, you're the expert. You tell me."

Now out of the truck he eyes you again, and this time you let yourself bask in how it feels. "Am I dressed okay?"

He swallows hard and gives a curt nod. "You won't see me complainin'." Just then a hopeful look crosses his face, as if he's remembered something. "You doin' anything tonight?"

Your heart leaps and you shut your mouth tight in fear it may just jump right out and land at Joel's feet. "Um, I don't think so. Why?"

He rubs the back of his neck and you watch, enrapt, as his bicep flexes. "Well me, Tommy, and some of the guys are gettin' together for a beer after work and Sarah's gonna be all by herself. I'm not sayin' she needs a babysitter, but I know she'd rather spend time with you than alone. Would you be okay comin' over, or her comin' to you?"

Your smile is wide so as to cover the hurt you feel that he didn't ask you out, and then you feel foolish for having thought it would happen at all. "Of course, Joel." Though Sarah probably would have come over even without her dad suggesting it.

"Yeah.. thanks. It's just gonna be.. y'know.. catchin' up with some friends who are in town."

You raise your brow, silently wondering if those friends include women, older women who have more confidence and experience than you. "You gonna wear something other than this?" You playfully tug at his gray t-shirt.

His grin is infectious. He obviously likes your teasing. "You don't think it looks good on me?"

"You look good all the time," you reply, walking ahead, smiling, blushing.

You watch as Joel checks out the site, giving instructions to different workers. It's a side of him you've never seen before. You watch him when you know he's not looking, taking in the way his clothes hug him in all the right places, especially his biceps: round, thick and smooth, half-hidden under his t-shirt sleeves.

When you stop for lunch at a sandwich place, you both sit in the bed of the truck, enjoying your meal. "So tonight.." you wash down your food with some water. "Should I have Sarah at my place in case you bring someone home?" It hurts to ask, as if by simply suggesting that such a thing would happen, that it already has.

Joel only shakes his head, a little amused by your question. "I don't think there's much of a chance of that happenin', sweetheart."

He calls you 'sweetheart' and it's like a caress on your skin. You have to remember to breathe. "You never know. You're hot, you have to know that." At this Joel nearly chokes on his food and you chuckle, patting his back until he's okay again. "There are some women out there who prefer a no-strings attached kind of thing."

"No-strings-attached isn't my thing," he says solidly. "I'm gettin' too old for that kinda bullshit. I want strings attached."

His gaze upon you is piercing, liable to steal your breath away. "I guess that's how it should be. Just two people for each other."

"Yeah.. two people for each other." He finishes his lunch and so do you. "We should be headin' to the next site."

He has to be teasing me. It's just meaningless chatter to someone young and inexperienced. He's having fun at my expense because I'm allowing it.

On the drive to the next, you keep quiet, thinking deeply. Oldies play on the radio but you block out the details of who and what is playing.

"Looks like you'll finally be rid of me after this," you tell him once you're parked at the second site. You get out together.

He chuckles. "Yeah, finally. Some peace and quiet."

You smile back. "Aw, you'll miss me."

"Oh, I don't think I'll miss you for one second." Joel puts his hands on his hips, a silly, defiant stance.

You poke his chest. "If you say so."

He pokes you right back. "Yeah, I say so."

"Come on, don't you have a job to do?"

"Yeah, come on, sweetheart. Let's get to work." This plays out the same as at the first site. Your eyes don't even take in the architecture of what these men are doing. You just see Joel.

"I thought I might get to see you in action," you say once you're away from the builders. "I thought I'd get to see you hammering or sawing.."

"You want to see me use my muscles or somethin', sweetheart?" He steps close to you. "I don't think you can handle it."

"You don't know what I can handle," you tell him with a little attitude, your hand on your hip.

"Sweetheart, you're about half my size. I don't think you could handle what I'm packing." He wears a smug smirk. "But I'd love to show you."

Not for the first time you feel a rush of heat to your core. "I'd love to see it.."

He's even closer to you now. Your entire body sizzles. "Maybe it's time I show you exactly what you'd be working with, sweetheart."

Joel's phone chirps and he frowns as he picks it up. The mood, while not shattered, has changed and you're both back on Planet Earth. You can't help but feel a little bummed.

"I have an emergency I need to tend to. Is it okay if I drop you off real quick?"

"Sure," you smile. On the ride home Joel is on his phone, talking to one of the men on his crew, discussing the problem in question. Your thighs stick to the leather seats. Once you're home he gives a quick smile and wave before driving off.

As you walk through the door you get a text from Hailey, a friend from the cafe. party tonight! finally 21! come thru

You said you'd keep Sarah company while Joel is out, but maybe there's a way you can do both..

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divider by @saradika-graphics 👑

#pedro pascal #joel miller #ao3 fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #joel smut #joel tlou #joel miller au #pre outbreak!joel #cherrycherry #pedro boys #pedro pascal character smut #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal cinematic universe

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twopoppies · 3 months

Note

Would you have a rolling stone subscription or any of your followers please? https://www.rollingstone.com/tv-movies/tv-movie-features/american-idol-lgbtq-contestants-1235027350/

It doesn't seem to be behind any sort of paywall for me, but I tend tp be cautious when reposting entire articles because blogs have been taken down for it before. Here's most of the worst of it, though. DM me if you want more and can't access it.

Travis wasn’t aware that he couldn’t carry a tune until his audition aired on TV a year later, in January 2006. Seated in the living room of the same halfway-house counselor who had driven him to the audition, he thought to himself, “God, I do suck.” But the realization was too late. His phone was already being blitzed with calls, first check-ins from friends and family members and then requests for interviews with People and Us Weekly. Soon after, Travis says the LGBTQ+ advocacy group GLAAD (which did not respond to a request for comment on this story) telephoned with the offer of taking action against Idol on his behalf. He thought to himself, “What the fuck did I just do?”

The public reaction to Travis’ off-key rendition of Whitney Houston’s 1993 single “Queen of the Night” is perhaps most succinctly summed up by the title of a YouTube video of the tryout: “American Idol Audition Boy or Girl.” Travis wore bell-bottom jeans in a feminine cut and a white tank top to his audition, pulling his wavy blonde hair behind his ears. Simon Cowell, infamously the harshest critic among the show’s original trio of judges, appeared horrified by the sight of Travis, his mouth agape. After Randy Jackson, the panel’s swing vote, kicked things off by asking the contestant to say “something interesting” about himself, Cowell asked, “That’s necessary, is it?” Cowell proceeded to stop Travis in the middle of his performance, which he called “confused.”

Travis has come a long way since Idol. After pivoting to a successful career in gay porn under the name Kirk Cummings, he retired from the adult entertainment industry and now works as a dog groomer, a profession he finds peaceful. But even 19 years later, he finds the footage of his audition tough to watch. As he left the studio in tears, editors added the theme music to The Crying Game, the 1992 film that uses the sight of a trans woman’s body to shock viewers. Today, Travis presents as male and uses masculine pronouns, but at the time of his audition, he had hoped to someday transition. He even had his new name picked out: Kelly. When he was incarcerated, others would try to dissuade him from pursuing a future as a trans person by telling him that it’s a “really hard life,” and Idol seemed to prove them all right.

“I thought, ‘Wow, if this is how my life’s going to be, then I don’t want any part of it,’” he says. “My experience is not the normal experience of a trans person, but because I had chosen to be on a television show, I saw the worst of it.”

Open cruelty is no longer part of the Idol brand, now that the show is in its second run on ABC after Fox canceled the long-running program in 2015. The series, like much of contemporary reality TV, now trades on positivity, and the annual tradition of airing bad auditions has long been discontinued. But during the height of its popularity in the 2000s, schadenfreude was a major part of the show’s appeal. While launching the careers of instant household names like Kelly Clarkson and Carrie Underwood, Idol was also the show where tens of millions of viewers watched Cowell tell Season Three contestant Heather Piccinini that she’s “ugly” when she sings and belittle Season Five’s Crystal Parizanski for overtanning; he even pulled Parizanski’s mother into the room to humiliate the contestant further. The show’s June 2002 premiere, in which Cowell advised a young woman to sue her vocal coach, made it clear what Idol would be selling.

That feed-them-to-the-lions approach made Idol the number-one program on TV six years running, the longest stretch at the top in broadcast history — but the show tended to prey on its most vulnerable contestants, perhaps unwittingly. Idol producers were forced to issue an apology after Cowell compared Season Six hopeful Kenneth Briggs, who has facial malformations due to Aarskog Syndrome, to a “bush baby.” Season Five’s Paula Goodspeed took her own life outside judge Paula Abdul’s home in 2008 after Cowell criticized the contestant’s metal braces following a performance of the Creedence Clearwater Revival/Ike and Tina Turner standard “Proud Mary.” Goodspeed was reportedly an obsessive stalker who changed her given name in tribute to Abdul, and the contest judge publicly criticized Idol’s producers for not doing more to protect her, saying she alerted them to Goodspeed’s behavior prior to the audition. (A spokesperson for the show did not comment on Abdul’s accusation at the time.)

Among those most targeted by Idol’s alleged abuses were anyone who was outside of the norm, as defined by the extremely narrow standards of Bush-era popular culture. This often included contestants who were experiencing mental health issues, individuals with disabilities, people of color, and plus-size singers like the late Mandisa Huntley, the Season Five contestant of whom Cowell infamously asked: “Do we have a bigger stage this year?” But Idol enjoyed a particularly contentious relationship with the queer contestants who hoped that the series would offer their big break into an unforgiving industry, many of whom had only started to come to an understanding of their LGBTQ+ identities. In another exchange condemned by GLAAD, Cowell told Travis’ fellow Season Five hopeful Charles Berry, who now is an out gay man, to shave off his beard and “wear a dress,” saying that he would make a “great female impersonator.”

Keith Beukelaer, whom Cowell famously called “the worst singer in the world,” knew immediately after his Season Two audition that it would end up being broadcast. “It’s something that I don’t know if I ever fully recovered from,” he says. “I remember it as if it was yesterday.” A devoted Madonna fan, he performed “Like a Virgin” in a green mock-turtleneck sweater, gyrating his body in sync with the song’s suggestive lyrics. Beukelaer has come to understand himself as having Asperger’s Syndrome, although he didn’t have the language for it at the time, and he came out as gay a few years after appearing on the program. He still struggles with the notoriety that his brief appearance on Idol brought, the decades of mockery that followed six minutes of air time.

Cowell did not return multiple requests for comment for this story. Neither did Jackson, longtime host Ryan Seacrest, or Idol creator Simon Fuller — who based the show off his own U.K. series Pop Idol, which aired from 2001 to 2003. But a source close to the production, who requested not to be named in this story, defended the show by affirming that “every single person who came on Idol, whatever their race, color, creed, or sexual preferences, was placed squarely in the firing line for Simon’s barbed critiques.”

[...]

What was a queer paradise for some, however, was a nightmare for others. Of those who spoke on the record, many say that Idol effectively forced them into the closet, and they believe it’s because the show was fearful that an openly queer contestant would alienate the show’s largely conservative viewership.

[...]

There was no rule saying that queer contestants couldn’t discuss their personal lives, but some singers say that Idol made it clear that some things were best kept secret. R.J. Helton, who uses they/them pronouns, went back into the closet and started dating a woman before they auditioned for Idol’s first season, hoping to make their family happy. Helton’s parents always envisioned that they would become a pastor or a Christian music artist, and when Helton’s boy band, the Soul Focus, went their separate ways, competing on Idol felt like a logical next step. Having recently broken things off with their fiancée, not wanting to live a lie, Helton began seeing their Idol stand-in during the season. Although they kept the romance a secret from producers, Helton says the other contestants knew. “None of them cared,” they say. “It was the first time that I felt accepted by a group of people.”

Idol producers never found out about the relationship, but the stakes were nonetheless made clear when executive producer Nigel Lythgoe, the show’s most influential creative voice, pulled Helton aside after seeing them exchange a friendly peck on the cheek with a male member of the crew. “Listen, we love you,” Helton says the producer told them. “We think you’re great, but let’s continue on the sweet side, with the Christian boy thing.” In their on-camera interviews and stage performances, Helton says they tried to tone down their natural ebullience, “butching it up” and staying as quiet as possible. A team of publicists, they recall, followed Helton everywhere “because they didn’t want me to break character.”

In an email to Rolling Stone, Lythgoe asserts that he “never stopped any contestant from coming out” and says he “never would have done so.” “I did work with a number of individuals who, sadly, were struggling with issues around coming out, and I provided feedback that was very common at the time: that they should let their talent do the talking and not allow others to denigrate them based on their personal lives,” he says. “If anyone was hurt by my advice on those issues, I can only apologize, but I only ever wanted to help and support the wonderful young people who competed on the first seasons of Idol, several of whom, tragically, were torn between a desire to live their truth openly and a great fear about how they would be treated on returning home by their families, by their communities, and even by God.”

Helton, now with the clarity of hindsight, wishes they’d had the confidence to present their full self to America. After being dropped from their record label following a 2006 interview in which they came out as gay, Helton recently came to the realization of their nonbinary identity. “I know it was a different generation, but there are parts of me that think: ‘If I could have worn a gorgeous evening gown with a full beard, I could have won,’” Helton says. When producers would tap them on the shoulder to remind them, “Hey, we don’t talk about this,” it made Helton scared of losing the only affirmation they’d ever had. “As a young person, that really plays with your psyche, especially when you’re not used to the spotlight, loads of fans, or the money. You just do what you’re told. I don’t know if that’s selling your soul to the devil, but it did feel like that. They lifted me up, put me on a pedestal, and told me that the pedestal will only be there as long as I play this part.”

Helton’s fellow Season One cast member Jim Verraros has spent years in therapy working to unlearn many of the unfortunate lessons he says Idol taught him, namely that it wasn’t OK to be himself. That education began with the Pygmalion-esque makeover given to the show’s aspiring superstars: Idol immediately traded in his nerdy aesthetic — wiry glasses and jean jackets with the collar popped — for a generic rock look, sleeveless vests with leather cuff bracelets. He got contacts, lowered his voice half an octave, and put away what he calls the “theatrical and stage part of me that comes also from having deaf parents and being expressive.” “It comes at a cost,” he says. “When you’re told that you aren’t enough — or that this version of you doesn’t work — you spend a big part of your life taking parts away from you so that you can achieve those dreams.”

Although Verraros made the Top 10 of his season, he struggled with the role created for him, and the miscasting of a nebbishy gay Midwestern boy as a conservative-friendly heartthrob led to friction with the show’s creative team. Former co-host Brian Dunkleman, who emceed Idol’s first season alongside Ryan Seacrest, says he overheard Cowell and Randy Jackson discussing plans to directly target Verraros, hoping to get a strong reaction out of him that they could film. “We’re gonna nail Jim,” he recalls the judges saying as they were having coffee in an Idol break room. Cowell tended to reserve his harshest critiques of the show’s inaugural cast for Verraros, and following that discussion, he told the contestant live on air, “I think if you win this competition, we would have failed.”

Idol did get the emotional reaction it sought from Verraros in a scene that ultimately landed on the cutting-room floor. Prior to the announcement of the season’s Top 10 finalists, Dunkleman says that Cowell informed the contestants they would be using the “judges’ veto” to oust one of them from the show. “Jim, you’re out of the competition,” Cowell told Verraros, prompting the young singer to burst into tears. (That’s when Dunkleman recalls that Lythgoe came over and instructed everyone to sing a modified version of the Monkees’ “Daydream Believer” to brighten Verraros’ spirits. “Cheer up, sleepy Jim,” fellow contestants sang together in unison.) For reasons that are unclear, Lythgoe opted to backtrack on the judges’ decision, Dunkleman says, allowing Verraros to move forward to the next round after all. “Later that night, I was at dinner and I got a pretty frantic message from Nigel saying, ‘Look, there’s been a change. Jim is back in the competition. Just please don’t tell anybody about anything that happened today,’” Dunkleman remembers. “And then the next night he made the Top 10.”

Those incidents, Dunkleman adds, played a major role in his decision to part ways with Idol, calling the program “evil.” He also recalls that a judging panel needed to be refilmed so Cowell could call Helton a “loser” instead of a “monkey.” “That’s what it was,” he says of Idol. “It was about how mean they were. It was about how shocking this was and how much they were making fun of these singers.” He isn’t sure, though, why the show singled Helton and Verraros out in particular. “Is it conscious targeting or is it subconscious? That kind of undertone, maybe they weren’t even aware of it.”

[...]

AMERICAN IDOL often strained to fit queer contestants into an instantly recognizable mold that producers could market for the widest possible audience. Simon Cowell declared that he would quit the program if Sanjaya Malakar, an affable Season Six hopeful with a perpetual smile, won the competition. Malakar, who is half Bengali and performed with the Hawaii Children’s Theater during his time living in Kauai, was unlike any singer the show had ever seen. He was earnest and goofy, striding up to the judges’ table to dance with Paula Abdul during a performance of Irving Berlin’s “Cheek to Cheek.” He also straddled the lines of gender, flat-ironing his chameleonic locks for a winsome cover of John Mayer’s “Waiting on the World To Change.” After weeks of all but begging viewers to vote Malakar off the show, Cowell commented regarding the latter song: “Maybe it’s your hair that’s keeping you in. I don’t know.”

Malakar came out as bisexual many years after Idol was over, finding himself after taking a job at a karaoke bar in New York where he found freedom in anonymity. What was hardest for Malakar to navigate, he says, was not the constant scrutiny from Idol’s judges but the vitriolic reaction from fans. A MySpace blogger vowed to stop eating until Malakar was sent home, although the contestant outlasted the hunger strike, which ceased after 16 days. The website Vote for the Worst, which urged fans to subvert the Idol system by keeping on its quirkiest and most divisive contestants, took up Malakar as a personal cause.

Looking back, Malakar believes that it’s the ambiguity of how he presented that bothered people so much. The judges and viewers just couldn’t figure him out because, as a 17-year-old kid who hadn’t graduated high school yet, he hadn’t figured himself out. “There was no way to really understand how to define me,” he says. “They didn’t know what culture I was. They didn’t know what sexuality I was. They didn’t know what genre I was. I was this anomaly that made people uncomfortable.”

The queer singers who had the most painful time being reshaped by the Idol system were those who stood out the most, whether they were flamboyant and over-the-top in their performance style, like Malakar, or their gender presentation skewed toward the effeminate. Season Eight runner-up Adam Lambert — who declined to speak for this story, citing his shooting schedule for The Voice Australia, on which he is a judge — has said that queer contestants who didn’t have the ability to hide were used by Idol as “comic relief.” “Anytime someone came on the show that was perceived to be gay or it was obvious enough that they were gay, they were a joke,” he remarked to the British music magazine NME in a 2018 interview. He added: “To be fair, some of them weren’t great singers, but there were a couple of really good singers that came on. And they weren’t taken seriously.”

To illustrate his point, Lambert noted the example of Adore Delano from Seasons Six and Seven, who would later contend on the reality competition show RuPaul’s Drag Race. Delano declined to participate in this story, but in a 2023 Instagram video publicly announcing her transition, she said that she went back into the closet to compete on Idol. Appearing on the show led her to suppress her transness in order to present herself as “something that was so uncomfortable,” she recalled. And yet her effervescent femininity couldn’t be contained: During her second appearance on Idol, she performed a sassy rendition of “Jailhouse Rock” by Elvis Presley that Cowell deemed “hideous” and “verging on the grotesque.” Delano was ultimately eliminated from the Top 16 after a performance of Soft Cell’s queer anthem “Tainted Love” that Cowell declared “absolutely useless.” She dyed her silky hair purple for the number.

Like Delano, Atlas Marshall auditioned for Idol twice, making it to the Top 36 in Season Eight and then trying out again for Season 16. Both experiences were extremely fraught. Following a performance of Meat Loaf’s “I’d Do Anything For Love (But I Won’t Do That)” during her first appearance on the show, Cowell looked at Marshall and remarked, “I think you probably would.” Even as a guileless 18-year-old with frosted emo bangs and angel-bite piercings, Marshall realized it was a “loaded comment.” “The joke around that song is that it’s about anal sex,” she says. After the audience booed Cowell’s remark, Ryan Seacrest, then the show’s sole emcee, invited Marshall to come sit on the judge’s lap, but Paula Abdul intervened and beckoned the contestant to rest on hers instead. Marshall was voted off Idol the next day.

[...] Marshall’s mother, who recently passed away, was a lesbian, and she raised her child in a queer household where it was OK to be “open, flamboyant, and fabulous,” as Marshall recalls. Being taught by Idol that the outside world might mock the parts of herself she was taught to embrace was a rude awakening. “For so long, there was a lot of shame around it,” she says of her first Idol experience. “I felt gross. I didn’t like myself.”

[...]

While the team behind Idol’s current iteration did not offer a comment on the record, the source close to the Fox production contests the idea that the show stopped contestants from expressing their most authentic selves, while adding that “coming out might have damaged certain contestants’ chances for success.” “No one ever prevented anyone from doing so, but there was often a sense — right or wrong — that it would be better if the American public’s vote was based more on their judgment about the performers’ talent rather than their sexual orientations,” the source says.

[...]

Although it would feel convenient to point the finger solely at Idol, the show at its peak reflected America’s culture as much as it defined it. When the series premiered in 2002, polling from Gallup showed that 43 percent of the U.S. populace still thought homosexuality should be illegal; Lawrence v. Texas, the Supreme Court ruling that struck down sodomy laws in the 14 states where gay sex was still illegal, wouldn’t be issued for another year. A majority of Americans wouldn’t support the right of same-sex couples to marry until 2011, during Idol’s tenth season on the air. That was also, coincidentally, the first season not to feature either Paula Abdul or Simon Cowell on the judges panel. Abdul, hailed by sources as a major supporter of queer contestants behind the scenes, parted ways with the program after Season Eight. Cowell left the following year to launch the U.S. spinoff of The X Factor, the British singing competition he created in 2004.

[...]

For all the troubles that some queer contestants say they had on the show, many argue that Idol’s missteps paled in comparison to how cruelly they were treated by the rest of the media, the music industry, and even America at large. Idol voters eliminated Season Seven’s David Hernandez the week after an Associated Press story revealed that he had previously worked as a dancer at a Arizona strip club that catered to a “mostly male” clientele. By that time, photos that allegedly showed Hernandez bartending at a gay nightclub had already been published on Vote for the Worst, although Hernandez says the pictures weren’t even of him. He says that Idol was already well aware of his work history by the time the reports surfaced, as he disclosed the information in the extensive questionnaire the show required contestants to complete; spanning over 100 pages in length, it also asked singers to name their past sexual and romantic partners.

[...]

The media persecution of queer Idol contestants was so de rigueur during the show’s imperial era that few even questioned it. Jim Verraros’ coming out in 2002 prompted a two-page spread in the Globe, a U.S. supermarket tabloid, asking: “Who’s Next?” Chatter surrounding Adam Lambert’s sexuality made the New York Times after photos circulated of the singer, eyes covered in makeup and glitter all over his face, locking lips with another man. Following the Season Two finale, Clay Aiken says that the first question that he was ever asked by a reporter was: “Are you gay?” He wouldn’t formally come out until a 2008 People magazine cover story coinciding with the birth of his son, and for years, he says, confirmation of his sexual orientation “was the only thing that anybody in the press wanted” from him. “I never did an interview where somebody was not trying to ask me if I was gay,” he says, later adding: “Everybody wanted to be the one who got it.”

Aiken says that speculation regarding his sexuality reached such a fever pitch that, for a time, he stopped leaving his house. Even then, there was no hiding from it: “If I heard anybody setting up a gay joke on a sitcom or a late-night show, I held my breath because I knew my name was coming. Eighty percent of the time I was right.” The topic was a frequent punchline of late-night host Jimmy Kimmel, who frequently booked Aiken to appear on his show, and comedian Kathy Griffin spent a full 15 minutes discussing Aiken’s sexuality in a 2005 stand-up special on Bravo. “I do find him to allegedly be the gayest man in the free world,” she said in the routine, calling him “Gayken” to hearty applause from the crowd. Even two years after he had actually come out, a Season Eight episode of Family Guy saw Stewie, during a parody of Family Feud, being asked to name a “popular fruit” and responding: “Clay Aiken.” “I laugh at them now,” he says of the jokes, noting that he calls Griffin a friend. “I find them hilarious now, but at the time, it hurt a lot.”

Full article here

#american idol #clay aiken #adam lambert #simon cowell is a bag of dicks #suicide tw

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kaylinalexanderbooks · 2 months

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Writeblr Questionnaire

Thanks @illarian-rambling here, @paeliae-occasionally here, @willtheweaver here, @honeybewrites here, @urnumber1star here,

And @leahnardo-da-veggie here!

About You:

When did you start writing?

Genuinely I'm not sure, but I do have physical evidence that it's been a while. The first story I wrote was called "In the Dark." I was at the age where I drew several pictures with one color of marker with stick figures and my mom wrote the words for me. I'd say preschool-aged. I think I was three.

Are the genres/themes you enjoy reading different from the ones you write?

I am a person with a huge bias toward fantasy in the things I write and consume. However, I'm not picky with genres, it just happens to be a pattern. I really do love plenty of realistic fiction books. It just so happens that I have exactly one realistic fiction story in my WIP ideas. One. And even then, it needed a gimmick to be interesting for me to write. I have no interest in writing realistic fiction other than that. But I really do love plenty of realistic fiction books!

I want to write a mystery one day, but it'll have to be a fantasy mystery. I do love plenty of realistic fiction mystery books and shows and stuff. I could never write historical fiction, although that isn't a frequented genre to begin with.

Theme-wise, I couldn't say. I don't really care.

Is there an author (or just a fellow writer!) you want to emulate, or one to whom you’re often compared?

Nope. I think people will make their own comparisons, but there's no one in particular I am trying to emulate. I'm just me.

Can you tell me a little about your writing space(s)? (Room, coffee shop, desk, etc.)

Sometimes I just write on the couch or at a random place at school, but I've been going to my desk a lot more. It's just in my room, I'm on a swivel chair, and my laptop is on top of it. Nothing special.

What’s your most effective way to muster up some muse?

Read my old writing or my notes! I see stuff I forgot about or I get ideas from the details. Occasionally I'll check out a video or something if I'm truly stuck.

Did the place(s) you grew up in influence the people and places you write about?

Uh, yes. Why do you think I set the "real world" in a middle-class intermediate school in the greater Houston area on a six-lane FM road with a Sonic, Walgreens, and apartment complex nearby? It's a lot easier to describe things that way. Everywhere else I have to make up a floor plan for interiors and use Google Maps for the surrounding scenery.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing, and if so, do they surprise you at all?

A lot of queer and neurodivergent people. No, that does not surprise me. It me. It accident.

Friends-to-lovers is my most common romantic relationship, but there's also a lot of platonic and queerplatonic relationships.

Interpersonal relationships in general are huge themes of mine and appear in almost everything I write.

Since I write YA, there's a lot of coming of age.

None surprise me.

Your Characters:

Would you please tell me about your current favorite character? (Current WIP, past WIP, never used, etc.)

Oof that's hard. For TSP... I love talking about Carmen. She's such an asshole, but she's super interesting. I want to put her under a microscope and study her. She's a character I'm constantly thinking about. I like seeing why she does the things she does. She's developed into a character I originally didn't think much about, and now I can't stop! She's also funny. She doesn't mean to be, but she's so high-strung and angry that she is fun to write for.

For SOTL, it's Tierney. I have one chapter with him, but that doesn't matter. He's amazing and I love talking about him. He's a mess. He's a nerd. He's awkward. I love him.

Which of your characters do you think you’d be friends with in real life?

Well, the characters closest to my age are Liam and George, and I think I'd be friends with them! Liam may occasionally get on my nerves in the debate side of him, but I think I'd get used to it, especially because his part of the grilled cheese debate is based on someone I actually know and am friends with.

I'm not sure about being friends with the kids, but I do hang out with plenty due to being an educator, and I remember how I was at that age. Out of everyone, Robbie and Akash feel like they'd perfectly fit into my friend group, which may be why I love writing them so much. Individually I think Gwen is the one I'd be most likely to get along with.

I haven't written enough of SOTL, but I'd get along with Jill. Also Ritchie and their group of friends.

Which of your characters would you dislike the most if you met them?

Carmen, I'm so sorry, I would not like you. Gabriel also can get rude and boring. Noelle constantly mentioning her mom would get on my nerves, if I'm being honest. I feel like I could only take Parker in small doses, even if I really like Wade.

I'm not far enough in SOTL to make a decision except for the purposefully antagonistic characters.

Tell me about the process of coming up with of one, all, or any of your characters.

Well, TSP it really depends. Here are all the characters I think are worth mentioning for the entire series.

Originally based on someone I knew before developing a completely different personality: Lexi, Maddie, Ash, Gwen, Noelle, Rose, Kelsey, Carla, George, Hye-Jin, Atsila

They started out as someone completely different in previous drafts and then in the process of developing them I got attached: Jedi, Carmen

I created them for Draft Four as a love interests and then I got attached: Robbie, Akash

I created them in Draft Four to fill up the background: Liam, Ewan, Jazlyn, Wade, Parker, Tyler, Niri, Gabriel, Sam

I needed a name for a prominent figure and then I kept using it and they became important: Raissa

I needed characters for the AU didn't I?: Alex, Issa, CJ, Wendy

Background characters I had no intention of making important: Teo, Xitlali, Anathi

For SOTL, it's simple. Get a character from a fairy tale, nursery rhyme, fable, legend, other public domain work, etc and make them my own!

Do you notice any recurring themes/traits among your characters?

Most of them are queer and neurodivergent. Most are in the 11-25 range given the demographic I write in.

How do you picture them? (As real people you imagined, as models/actors who exist in real life, as imaginary artwork, as artwork you made or commissioned, anime style, etc.)

I want TSP and SOTL to both be in hand-drawn animation, so I imagine them like that. Western animation with anime inspiration like ATLA, Teen Titans, etc is what I typically imagine it in.

Your Writing:

What’s your reason for writing?

I love it!! And also I'd go insane. It's also why I write reviews and analyses of stuff. I've stayed up until 2 am before thinking thoughts on TV shows and I legit can't sleep until I've written an essay.

Is there a specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating coming from your readers?

I've gotten "oh I like this little detail" or "wow good dialogue" or "realistic friendship!!" And that always makes me happy.

How do you want to be thought of by those who read your work? (For example: as a literary genius, or as a writer who “gets” the human condition; as a talented worldbuilder, as a role model, etc.)

I just want people to like my characters, is that too much to ask?

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

I really like character building and details around their lives. I think I'm good at writing consistent characters because I've put so much work behind them.

What have you been frequently told your greatest writing strength is by others?

Dialogue! So many people comment on the realism of my dialogue, and I really like that!

How do you feel about your own writing? (Answer in whatever way you interpret this question.)

If it's at 1 am I think it's awful. When I read my old writing I cringe. Sometimes if I'm in a bad mood my self esteem plummets. But overall, when I look back, I see how far I've come. When I make a revision, even a small one, I smile because I know my writing is getting better. I just get excited about improvement!

If you were the last person on earth and knew your writing would never be read by another human, would you still write?

Yes because it helps me sleep. Were you not paying attention lol

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely what you enjoy? If it’s a mix of the two, which holds the most influence?

No. I write for ME.

Tagging @mk-writes-stuff @elsie-writes @eccaiia @mysticstarlightduck @chauceryfairytales

+ ANYONE ELSE

TSP intro

TSP tag list (ask to be +/-): @thepeculiarbird @illarian-rambling @televisionjester @finchwrites

@nebula--nix @literarynecromancy @honeybewrites @the-golden-comet

SOTL intro

SOTL tag list (ask to be +/-): @illarian-rambling @katwritesshit @wyked-ao3

Under the cut are the blank questions put together for easy copy/paste

About You: When did you start writing? Are the genres/themes you enjoy reading different from the ones you write? Is there an author (or just a fellow writer!) you want to emulate, or one to whom you’re often compared? Can you tell me a little about your writing space(s)? (Room, coffee shop, desk, etc.) What’s your most effective way to muster up some muse? Did the place(s) you grew up in influence the people and places you write about? Are there any recurring themes in your writing, and if so, do they surprise you at all? Your Characters: Would you please tell me about your current favorite character? (Current WIP, past WIP, never used, etc.) Which of your characters do you think you’d be friends with in real life? Which of your characters would you dislike the most if you met them? Tell me about the process of coming up with of one, all, or any of your characters. Do you notice any recurring themes/traits among your characters? How do you picture them? (As real people you imagined, as models/actors who exist in real life, as imaginary artwork, as artwork you made or commissioned, anime style, etc.) Your Writing: What’s your reason for writing? Is there a specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating coming from your readers? How do you want to be thought of by those who read your work? (For example: as a literary genius, or as a writer who “gets” the human condition; as a talented worldbuilder, as a role model, etc.) What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer? What have you been frequently told your greatest writing strength is by others? How do you feel about your own writing? (Answer in whatever way you interpret this question.) If you were the last person on earth and knew your writing would never be read by another human, would you still write? When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely what you enjoy? If it’s a mix of the two, which holds the most influence?

#the secret portal #teaspoon #tsp #school of the legends #sotl #writeblr questionnaire #writers on tumblr #writing community #writers of tumblr #writing on tumblr #writeblr #writeblr community #writing tag game

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bonezone44 · 1 year

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'Get a Grip' (18+)

Watch Model!Joel Miller x Manicurist!Reader

Word Count: 3,8k

Summary: Joel Miller comes to your salon for a manicure, then he invites you to assist him during a photoshoot.

Tags: afab!Reader, hand kink, glove kink, finger sucking, fingering, p-in-v, creampie

a/n: this story came about during a brief discussion of Pedro’s watch modeling era a few weeks ago. Thank you to @xdaddysprincessxx and @iamasaddie for the inspo!

+++++++

Hands. Fingers.

They’re your job.

Every once in a while someone will walk in with a nice set of digits and you admire them while they’re in front of you. While you push back their cuticles and clean beneath the nail. Add the acrylic and the polish. Then they’re out of your mind again as you wait for the next client to plop into the chair and request a full set or a simple repair.

Your repeat clients usually want the nail art. That’s where you shine, to be honest. Delicately painted swirls. Boxes like Mondrian. Gold leaf. Rhinestones. Each nail a tiny little canvas for you to create something unique.

The male customers are different. The masculine ones, anyway.

They want simple hygienic maintenance. Maybe a massage. Maybe they just wanna flirt with a woman while she provides a service. And you appease them. It’s no bother to you.

It’s your job.

It’s just your job.

It’s the thing you do all the time every day and have done for years.

And yet no matter how many times you try to repeat those words in your head, you find yourself salivating over the man sitting across from you–with his playful baritone Texan voice and the beautiful steel and gold Cartier watch on his wrist. Not that you’re one to dig for gold. You simply admire fine craftsmanship.

Just like you admire the fineness of his hands.

The veins that rise on the top of his right hand, over his fingerbones, look like wandering rivers and you really wanna admire them with the tip of your tongue, tracing along their edges. His fingers themselves are long, thick rectangles that you wanna slip into your mouth one at a time.

In simple …admiration.

“Not too smooth,” he says when you pull out your buffer. “They don’t want me lookin’ too clean.”

“Who’s that?” you ask, keeping your voice nice and even while your cheeks feel hot and your thoughts are a million miles away from ‘appropriate’.

“The… oh, whaddya call ‘em.” He hums. “The brand specialists, I guess.” He chuckles. “They hit me up about a month ago. Got a new line coming out that’s–get this–” he says with a flash of his eyebrows. “--’safari’ inspired.” He scoffs.

“Safari, huh?” You roll your eyes. You can imagine the Cartier boardroom of pompous old Frenchmen glorifying the art and tales created during the French expansion of the 1800s—easily brushing past the eugenics-based mission of the violent nationalists. “Colonizers,” you mumble under your breath.

Joel laughs. “My daughter said the same thing.” He shrugs. “‘S no matter. I don’t mind takin’ their money if all I gotta do is have pretty hands.”

Your face burns immediately and keep your eyes and face focusing on the small nail at the end of his middle finger. “So, how’d you get started anyway?” You swallow thickly, trying to ignore the heat building between your legs. “No offense, I guess, but you don’t seem like the pretty boy-type.” Besides the watch on his wrist, he’s wearing plain Levi’s blue jeans and a black t-shirt that you can almost guarantee came from Target. You can tell his brown and grey curls don’t have any product in them and he’s got about two or three-week-old scruff on his face.

He chuckles again and you glance up, watching the deep creases in his forehead soften. “Daughter’s the one to blame for it.” He shakes his head with a smile. “We were visiting Houston and she wanted to go shopping, so I let her pick the mall.” His brows go high. “This little 12 year-old picked a luxury mall and I didn’t realize it til we got outta the truck.”

Your lips go between your teeth, imagining his embarrassment.

“She was so excited, too. She hopped down out the truck and–fyoo!--took right off runnin.” He grins. “I had to chase her down and tell her not to touch anythin. I woulda had to take out a second mortgage to pay for it if she broke somethin.”

“I bet,” you smile. You finish buffing his nails and pull out the moisturizing oil. You begin to massage each of his fingers, one-by-one, rolling the flesh between your thumb and index finger, marveling at how long it takes you to get from base to tip. You were admiring the mathematics of it.

The proportions.

The number of fingers he might could get inside you.

“Next thing I know, she goes runnin into a Cartier store sayin that they can fix my watch ‘cause they got watches in the window.” He shrugs and rolls his eyes. “I was tryin to politely escort her back out, when some big wig saw me and started talkin to me.” He shrugs again. “They took a couple polaroids and got my info. And now every once in a while, they’ll call me up for somethin.”

You stop massaging and stare at him with your eyes big and wide. “I know women who would literally murder to have that happen to them.”

He chuckles and it gets your body even warmer. “Yeeaahh, that’s what I hear.”

You shake your head in disbelief, returning to your task. You can believe his story, too. You’ve only been staring at his hands for a few minutes and you are enraptured by them. Is it the hands? Or is it him?

Or is it all of it together?

You’re not sure. You’re just enjoying the muscle you feel beneath the surface of his nearly square palm, the thick round meat between the web of his thumb and the end of his wrist. You can’t help but admire the basin in the center where the heart and head line lie parallel. Not that you were a palm reader. But you couldn’t help but know a thing or two about the intuitive art.

Hands. Fingers.

They’re your job, afterall.

“What do you do for work?” you ask, because hands like his were used. Too thick not to be. They couldn’t just sit pretty all day.

“I’m a contractor.”

You blink. You look up at him with your brows high into your forehead. “These are not contractor hands,” you say, stroking along his palm. You don’t see a single cut or abrasion. The few calluses he had could barely be considered calluses at all. More like small rough spots.

“I wear special gloves,” he says with a smirk. “It’s a special kind of leather that fits around ‘em real tight.”

“Oh,” you answer, heat fully overtaking your chest and face. You imagine how nice his fingers must look wrapped in a second skin, smoothing over all his contours and lines, making each appendage even thicker and his hands even broader. You imagine what they would feel like, sliding up your bare calves and pulling you apart at the knees. You imagine the soft, conditioned leather moving back and forth across your clit, driving you mad ‘cause your aching for his skin and his touch and his heat.

“You know, I uhh… got a shoot coming up in a couple weeks. I’d love to see you again.”

Your heart races in your chest.

He smirks, his eyes soft and hazy. “You know, since you’re doin’ such a good job takin care o’ my hands right now.”

“Absolutely,” you try to temper your excitement. “Just give me the date, time, and place.” You shrug in a way that you’re sure is very nonchalant. “I mean, I-I-I can come to you if you need me to.” The Pope himself could have an appointment scheduled, and you would cancel it without regret if this man is implying what you are desperately hoping he is implying.

“Well, alright then.” He grins.

—------------

You’re pressed into the door of the hotel room–the one right next to where Joel just finished his photoshoot. He’s got one arm wrapped around the back of your neck, pulling your face into his. His kisses are heavy and fervent. His tongue licks into you in a way that makes you want it even deeper–makes you wanna swallow him whole and keep him inside you. One of his hands is gloved–in one of the ‘special gloves’ he told you about. It’s a camel-colored leather, hand-stitched and form-fitting. And it is definitely not one he uses for work. They fit tight around the heel of his palm, like driving gloves. Must have gotten a new pair from Cartier themselves.

His gloved hand is under your shirt, sliding up your mid-section and grasping your breast. You gasp and moan into his mouth when he starts pinching and plucking your nipple.

“Open up for me,” he says after pulling away from you.

And when you do, he shoves two fingers between your lips, the rest of his hand resting on your cheek, your head still cradled by his arm.

“Good girl,” he coos with a smirk. “Good girl.” He grinds his hardness into your side.

You’re melting into the door behind you, into him, into your own body. You close your lips and suck, not quite sure what to do or how to turn him on. You curl your lips beneath your teeth and slowly bob your head back and forth.

“No no no. Not like that,” he chides you. “This ain’t no cock in your mouth.” He shakes his head. “They’re my fingers.” His eyes are wide and serious. “And I don’t want you thinkin ‘bout anythin else but that. Alright, darlin?” He’s nodding up and down, waiting for you to mirror him.

You nod back the best you can and adapt. You press the two fingers into the roof of your mouth and suck hard, scraping them along your teeth as you pull your head back. Your lips are wrapped tight around them. You rub your tongue back and forth between them as you engulf them again. You watch him as he watches you through heavy eyelids.

“Good girl,” he says again and licks his lips. His gloved hand moves to your other breast, squeezing it with a rough grip. “Good fuckin girl. Suck those fingers,” he says and you can feel him wiggle them in your mouth.

You go weak in the knees and you’re not sure how you’re able to stay upright. By the grace of god, you’re able to reach up and grab his hand. You pull his fingers out and then take only one finger back inside.

He watches you, curious, twisting your nipple in his hand.

Then you add the second finger back in, sucking it. Wetting it. Drool pooling around the edges of your mouth.

You pull those two out and then you suck three fingers in–not as deep and they’re scraping against your teeth more, but you try to give that third finger some extra attention, tracing along the bottom of it with the tip of your tongue.

“You want it bad, huh?” He looks like he’s scowling, but he’s still grinding against you–hard as ever.

You nod.

“You want my hands all over you, baby?” He applies the smallest amount of pressure to his bare, wet fingers in your mouth, causing you to gag.

Tears tumble out the edges of your eyes as you nod.

He pulls his hands away from you and steps back. “I need you on that bed. Naked. Now."

You rush to do as he says, removing all your clothes in a flurry. You barely register the low hum of the A/C and the cool temperature of the room. You’re too focused on the towering man walking towards you, your legs spreading of their own accord.

His lips are tight and he sucks in a deep breath. "That is one good lookin pussy." He unbuckles his belt and rips it from the loops of his jeans. His eyes roam over your body as he tosses it to the side, the buckle thudding against the carpet. He tugs his t-shirt up his stomach and over his head. "Can't wait to make it mine."

Once his jeans are off and he's just as bare as you (except for the glove on his hand), he waves for you to scoot back before joining you.

Joel settles himself on his side, propped up on his elbow. He makes no move toward his hardened cock. Instead, the hand you were sucking on before finds your face again–cradling it. And this time, his thumb tucks itself between your lips.

You suck on it like a straw.

"How many o’ these you think you can fit in there?" He says. But he’s not referring to your mouth. His gloved hand has found its way between your legs and folds. One lone finger is prodding at your wet entrance. He squints and looks down as he pulls it back out–only having gone in an inch or two. The tip of his glove glistens in the warm glow of the room's lamps. He looks back at you with a grin, sliding his finger in deeper. "Wonder if I can fit em all." He bites his lip as he stares at yours, plunging his finger in and out. "Fuck you with my whole hand."

You close your eyes and moan.

"Yeah? That sound good to you?" He adds a second finger, pushing both into you slowly.

You open your eyes and nod eagerly–humming in agreement. His thumb tugs at your cheek from inside your mouth.

Joel chuckles. "Nah, not this time." He licks his lips. His eyelids are heavy. “My cock’s too hungry for it.”

You pull his thumb out of your mouth. You lick his palm, tracing the deep creases with your tongue. "Whatever you want."

He curses under his breath.

His two gloved fingers curl and stroke your inner walls and while the sensation is high-pitched and pleasing, you're more focused on properly worshiping his bare hand.

Your tongue leaves his palm and you turn his hand over so you can suck the knuckles. Fulfilling one of the many fantasies you've had about Joel since first meeting him. You swirl your tongue around the hill of bone beneath the skin before lowering your mouth and suckling.

Joel groans. "You love it that much, huh?" He curls his fingers, scraping against your inner clitoris muscle. "Love sucking on me?"

"Yeah," you whimper as your hips jump.

"Fuck, that’s what I like to hear." Joel removes the two gloved fingers from inside you. He glides them up and around your folds, spreading your slick and teasing your clit.

It feels …different–how the hard and thin seams of the glove create an added sensation. A starker tease alongside the languid movement of his hand.

You look down in time to see Joel adding a third finger inside you, the pressure growing too slowly for your taste. But again, you have another task to attend to.

You suck Joel's pinky in your mouth and bob your head a few times before releasing it. You suck it right back in with his ring finger alongside it.

He grunts and moans, his three fingers jerking inside you. Your pussy is wet and squelching. His lips go tight as he watches his glove shine more and more with your slick.

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth and holds your head in place as he kisses you, biting and tugging on your lips. His tongue pushing in so deep, it feels like he's trying to drink you.

"Fuck, that wet pussy sounds fuckin good. You gonna let me put my cock in there?" He speaks into your mouth.

Your stomach swoops and your body is on fire. "Yes, please, Joel," you moan. "Please fill me up with your cock."

He pulls his gloved fingers out of you. His eyes are big and wide. "You think you deserve it?"

"What?!" After everything? After all the sucking and fawning and–how? How could he deny you? You panic.

"Please, Joel," you whine. You wrap your arms around him and kiss him up and down his neck. "I sucked your fingers so good. I sucked you so good." You're desperate. "I'm so wet for you." You kiss him down his chest. "Never been this wet." You grab his cock, aiming to put it in your mouth. "Please-please-please!"

His gloved hand, covered in slick, wraps around your chin and jawbone, stopping you. "That's not the wet hole I want," he says and pushes you back, flat on the mattress. He quickly settles between your legs. There's no need for him to spit on his cock or glide it through your folds–your leaking arousal on the sheets. He uses his bare hand to guide it to your entrance.

He groans and curses as he pushes in.

"Thank you thank you thank you, Joel," you whisper and whimper as he sparks all your aching nerve endings.

His forearms are on either side of you–his broad shoulders and body cage you in. “Fuck, this pussy is heaven, baby.”

The slow moving roll of his hips is the opposite of your panicked desperation, but it feels delicious. Turning all the glowing embers into full-blown fire. “So good, so good,” you mumble.

“Yeah? You like that cock, baby?” he asks with a smirk.

“Cock’s so good, Joel.”

He thrusts harder, his speed only slightly increased. Each heavy, steady flick of his hips sends a shock wave of pleasure through you. His bare thumb finds its way back into your mouth. “Suck on this ‘til you cum, baby.”

You nod. You can’t imagine what you look like. The lower half of your face feels wet with your spit. Your eyes are barely open, but you can’t stop staring at the beautiful man above you. His furrowed brows. His tight lips. His flared nostrils as he pounds into you faster and faster.

“Good girl,” he says as he tucks his head down and presses his cheek into yours. “Good girl, suckin me so good.” His arm wraps around your shoulder and pulls your body closer. “Knew you’d take good care o’ me. Knew this pussy’d be so wet.”

The heat inside you is building faster than you expected. You’re meeting his thrusts with your own–your thighs slapping into his hips.

“Love suckin my fingers, don’t you, baby? Don’t you?” His lips find yours again and he kisses you with his thumb still in your mouth.

His hips slow down and a desperate groan escapes your lungs, punched out by your diaphragm. You plead, but your words are intelligible.

He pulls his thumb from between your lips. “Whatchu need, baby?” He's rolling into you again, languid and rhythmic.

“Make me come, Joel. Please make me come.”

“You need to come, baby?”

“Please, please,” you whine.

“Alright, alright.” He leans back, his bare thumb back in your mouth and his gloved fingers on your clit. He doesn’t thrust any faster and it drives you crazy.

You try to shift his pace, fuck yourself on him til he gets the point–but instead he stops thrusting altogether.

“You got this, baby, come on,” he says with a smirk, making you do all the work. “Come on.”

Well, except for his hand rubbing circles on your clit. You writhe and squirm on his cock, chasing chasing chasing that fiery, burning heat. It’s there. It’s so close.

“Good girl, good li’l thumb-sucker,” he says and something twists inside your gut so hard you immediately come with a loud whimper. Body pulsing and pussy contracting around him. He grunts and curls his hips–as if he didn’t have a choice but to push himself deeper into your orgasm. He pulls his thumb from your mouth and strokes your chin with it. “Good fuckin girl, comin all over me.”

He falls back on top of you and wraps you up in his arms.

Your vision is blurry and you’re trying to catch your breath when he starts thrusting again–hard and fast.

“Knew you’d be good for me. Knew you’d be so fuckin wet.”

Your body jerks and trembles from the stimulation, and you’re too blissed out to do anything but take it.

“Knew you’d love suckin me.” He speaks through panting breaths. “Knew this pussy’d be so fuckin good.” He pushes himself up onto his hands. “You wanna come one more time, baby?” he asks.

You’re not sure, but you think the noise that comes out of you is one of agreement. You nod your head, whole body bouncing from his thrusts.

“‘M gonna fill you up,” he grunts with his brows pulled tight. “Come with me while I fill you up.”

You want to, you really want to come one more time. And he’s pounding into you so hard, your bodies are slapping again. And his eyes and his voice and the determination on his face.

“Come with me, baby, come on,” he chokes out. Then he groans, heavy and low, and you can feel it–you can feel his milky release spurting out and filling you up. He stays above you, trying to catch his breath. “Didja come again?”

You smile. “No, but that’s okay,” you say. God, he’s beautiful. The way his eyes crinkle at the edges and how his beard frames his face.

“Like hell it is,” he murmurs and pulls out of you. He falls to your side again and two gloved fingers dip inside of you, his come spilling out. “You want my thumb again, baby?”

You nod and he gives it to you. You suck on it, pressing the pad of skin against your teeth. He pulls his fingers out and spreads his seed around your clit in circles, making a big mess of your folds.

You’re still dizzy and still over-stimulated, but his eyes are so big and sweet.

“I’ll stay here as long as it takes,” he says as he alternates between thrusting his fingers inside you and rubbing your clit. His brand-new gloves likely ruined.

You grab his wrist when you feel yourself getting close. When the heat hotter than fire starts to build inside of you again. You pant through your nose, your mouth glued to his thumb.

“Took such good care o’ me, baby.” He leans over you and presses his cheek to yours. His voice echoing through you. “Lemme take care o’ you. Lemme make you come, beautiful. Lemme make you come. Wantchu comin on my fingers every day with this pretty li’l pussy. So good for lettin me fill you up. You sucked me so good. Lemme take care o’ you, baby. Lemme make you come.”

It’s less powerful than your first, but the pulse of pleasure your orgasm sends through you is strong and satisfying. You moan and tug Joel’s hand away now that you're starkly overstimulated. “Oh my god,” you sigh, barely able to open your eyes.

Joel chuckles as his hand slides up your body. “Knew you’d be good for me.”

++++++

a/n: It’s been so long since I’ve written just-smut that I really don’t know how to end it. ‘And then they showered and took a nap!’ lol!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x afab!reader #my writing

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