#BIG CONGRATS TO FUCKING ATLANTA
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pre-show playlist || calum hood
word count: 1.9k+
warnings: swearing
a/n: draft while i write mini series :) not entirely sure why atlanta is the first city that came into my head but it was so if ur from atlanta this one’s for u LOL. also, was actually lol’ing at the fake stan twt tweets i had to make LOLOL
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“Thank you, Atlanta! I love you!” Are the last words you yell into the mic, heading off the stage before the lights go out.
It had been your first show of your world tour after Covid had put the world at a temporary pause, and needless to say, your adrenaline levels were going through the roof. If there’s one thing you loved most, it was performing for the people that love and appreciate you for what you do.
“You fucking killed it! Congrats Y/N,” one of your team members exclaimed, rushing to give you a hug. “Thank you,” you sighed, leaning into their hug. You missed this, you missed travelling the country by tour bus, soundchecking old songs that made your fans go crazy and answering their question, and you missed having your favourite people standing by your side as you did what you valued and appreciated so deeply.
Things were slightly different though, and you couldn’t help but take notice of them.
Calum was by your side your last tour, engulfing you in a big hug and kissing your forehead the minute you got off stage. He was there to help you choose your outfits for each show, to take you to the best restaurants and coffee shops in each city for the minimal hours you spent there, and to give you those loving and reassuring words whenever you got those last-minute butterflies before performing.
You loved Calum, and Calum loved you — there was no doubt about that. But as much as you loved the tour life, it wasn’t easy. Not only was that complicated, being in the spotlight, along with your love, was one of the hardest things you had ever had to do through.
With fake news articles that drew too much attention towards you two, to scheduling conflicts that led to unsolved arguments, to the fans.. that were just being fans (you know.) — it got too much to handle. For the both of you.
So when you started using Google Maps to find five star cafés, taking a bit too much time to decide what outfit to wear, and breathing in and out for longer periods of time before you hopped on stage, you realized that you’d need some time to adjust to the new aspects of touring. And quite frankly, you hated it. You missed it. You missed him.
You missed the way he’d hold you at night in your shared bunk, telling you “Sleep well, you did an amazing job”. You missed the way he’d drag you out of bed to take a daily mirror selfie in the bus, determined to have a photo from each city you visited, and you missed the way he’d-
“Okay, that’s enough,” you whispered to yourself, shaking out of your thoughts and getting up from the couch you were sitting at, taking a moment to regain your energy.
You walked up to the full body mirror in your dressing room, snapping a quick photo before posting it to your Twitter account.
y/ny/l/n: atlanta i fucking loved u, thank u. excited to see the rest of u on tour. x
Within seconds you were getting likes, retweets and replies on your tweet. You took a quick moment to change into comfy clothes and exit the venue, as it was now time to relax on the tour bus.
You opened up your phone onto the Twitter replies to scroll through the replies, and like and respond to a few.
killedmytime: THIS FIT IS SO FIRE
calumsboba: you did amazing y/n!!
yungy/n: bro i lost my phone at the concert i’m tweeting off my laptop rn
You giggled at the last one, responding with “drop ur venmo i got the next one” before continuing to scroll through your mentions and notifications.
disconnectedvol6: @Y/NY/L/N DID YOU PURPOSELY PUT MOVING ALONG ON THE PRE SHOW PLAYLIST
whywontuluvme: @/disconnectedvol6 BRO I WAS THERE EARLIER AND EVERYBODY IN PIT WAS FUCKING LOSING IT WHEN IT PLAYED
wfttwtafff: i’m going to cry @y/ny/l/n is still so supportive of calum even after they broke up
outofurlimit: i’m fucking SCREAMING SHE HAD THE AUDACITY. MOVING ALONG TOO?
heartbakegirl: i cant believe u put moving along on the playlist omfg divorced parents <;/3
Oh God.
Okay, maybe it was just your fans in your responses that took notice of your ex boyfriend’s band’s song. You quickly searched up “y/n calum” and immediately groaned at the loads of tweets regarding your show, that song and that playlist.
notinthesameways: i almost fucking peed myself when i heard moving along i wonder if calum knows y/n put it on her playlist
y/nswildflower: i miss calum and y/n omg
dontstoppa: bro let’s talk abt the fact that out of every song y/n chose the one that’s literally about a breakup AND calum wrote it girlie knew what she was doing
Contrary to that last tweet, you actually had no idea what you were doing!
You didn’t mean for 5SOS’ song to play before your show started. In fact, you hadn’t even made a specific pre-show playlist — you just decided to use your “currently”. Which… has Moving Along on it and with your luck, of course it came on shuffle.
Yes, you listened to their new album. Yes, you thought it was fucking spectacular. Yes, Moving Along was your favourite song off the album because not only does Calum’s verse get your heart throbbing but it also makes you wonder if you popped up into his mind while he was writing it.
And yes, you added it to your on repeat playlist because you couldn’t stop listening to it.
You couldn’t help but wonder if he had done the same thing with your album: thoroughly listen to it, fall in love with it more and more everytime, and add his favourites into his liked songs.
You also couldn’t help but wonder what he’s up to right now. Was he preparing for touring, just like you? You hadn’t seen any posts in regards to shows from their band account, along with the four boys’.
And now you were wondering why the hell he was giving you a call, your heart skipping a beat once you saw the contact name Hood xo appear on your screen, along with his contact picture of you, him, and Duke.
“What the fuck,” you whispered, letting it ring a couple more times before you picked up the phone. “Uh, hi.”
“Hi, Y/N. Good to talk to you again.”
“You too.”
You were scared. You were scared and you’ve never been put in the position of not knowing what to say to him, except now. As much as you tried to say more in response to him, no words would come out.
“You know why I’m calling you.” He simply stated, sounding a lot more confident than you had expected, which took you by surprise.
“Caught me lacking, huh?” You asked, earning a soft giggle from Calum in response. “Okay look, I didn’t even mean to play it before my show. I gave your album a listen when it first dropped and I was like wow this shit is good so I added one of my favourites onto my playlist and I used that specific playlist so I didn’t even think about it and-“
“I’m really glad you listened to the album.” He simply states, your heart skipping a beat as you bring your hand up to cover your mouth. “And I’m glad you found a few favourites on there.”
“Yeah, you guys did so well on it.” You’re nervous. You’re fucking nervous, and you have no idea how Calum is handling this conversation as well as he is. Despite the pit in your stomach, your curiosity got the best of you. “D-Did you listen to mine too?”
“‘Course I did. Fell in love with it, baby.” Your heart flutters at the sound of the pet name that falls out of his mouth, feeling the nostalgia and intimacy his voice is laced with. “Thank you,” you respond just above a whisper, before the line fills with silence. Slightly awkward silence.
Calum doesn’t want to be the one to bring it up. Especially after such a wholehearted, sweet conversation. But he has some questions, and doesn’t want to end this call with unfinished answers.
“I miss you. I miss us.” He confesses, tears threatening to spill from his eyes and he silently thanks himself for only clicking on an audio call, and not a FaceTime one.
“I know.” You respond as quiet as possible, not risking to hear crack in your voice. “I do too. It’s not the same without you here. Tour’s different. I caught myself thinking about you every time I noticed something was off.” You say to him honestly, unaware of the aching in his chest that you caused. He hated the thought of your emotions shifting negatively because of him, and if he could, he would do everything in his power to reverse it if it meant you were happy.
“What happened to us?”
“Cal…” You sigh. You felt this question coming, but you weren’t prepared to answer it. “You know what happened to us. It was just... circumstances, and time.” Was all you could say, with complete honestly.
“Well, what about now? What do the circumstances and time have for us now?” He asks you in a low voice. You shake your head and laugh at the irony of that follow up question, rubbing your forehead with your hand.
“Well, I’m still on tour, so it looks like not much has changed.” You respond, earning a chuckle from Calum. “Shouldn’t you be heading off on tour too?”
“Taking a break first. Don’t really know why, Ashton suggested that we break first before touring and we all just kinda went with it.” He responds. “When’s your LA show?”
“Last show of the tour. Then it’s me time. Staying in LA for quite some time, then gonna try and go back to hometown for a bit.”
“What would you do if I asked you if you were okay with me going there?” He asks, with the slightest bit of hope. It’s worth a shot, he tells himself. It’s worth a shot if it has anything to do with you.
“Then, I’d tell you that I’d love to have you at my last show. Do you want to be there?” You tell him, with a smile planted across your face, unaware of the smirk forming across his as well. “Nothing else I want more than to be there, love.”
“I guess I’ll be seeing you then?” You ask, trying to sound as confident as possible, but you’re well aware that Calum can see (more like, hear) right through your façade. “Let’s see where the circumstances and time take us this time around.”
“Yeah, I’d like that.” “Me too.”
The line falls silent once again, but now it’s comfortable. A silence that warms your heart and calms you down. A silence that eases your mind and relaxes your body.
“Oh, and Cal?” You speak up.
“Yes?”
“Let’s not let the circumstances and time fuck us over again. I’d rather not let go of the best thing that’s ever happened to me a second time around.”
“You are the last thing I’m ever gonna lose again, baby. Mark my words.”
#5 seconds of summer#5sos#5sos imagine#5 seconds of summer imagine#ashton irwin#ashton irwin imagine#calum hood#calum hood imagine#luke hemmings#michael clifford#michael clifford imagine#luke hemmings imagine#5sos angst#calum hood angst#luke hemmings angst#michael clifford angst#ashton irwin angst#5sos smut#calum hood smut#michael clifford smut#luke hemmings smut#ashton irwin smut#5 seconds of summer smut#5 seconds of summer fluff#calum hood fluff#luke hemmings fluff#michael clifford fluff#ashton irwin fluff#5sos5#calum 5sos
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Hometown Love Chapter 3
(jack harlow x reader)
bloo's notes: i am so invested in this series that i be thinking about what i wanna write while im in the shower. enjoy babies!!
previous
it had been a week since the last time you were in atlanta and you would be returning once again tomorrow. except this time you wouldn't be coming back home to louisville, instead atlanta would be your new home. the first time you went to atlanta you got the apartment and the second time you went you basically unpacked your entire life. you took everything in your louisville apartment and shoved it into a big ass uhaul. having all your stuff instead of buying all new things saved you money but also brought comfort and peace.
you had some friends and family help unpack everything and you were grateful for them. but tonight you couldn't help to feel just a bit sad. you were leaving your apartment that you had made so many amazing memories in. as you laid on the floor of your naked bedroom, your brain instantly went back to the first day you moved in.
"omg jack can you believe this place is ours" you squealed. you had been so excited to move in with jack. you two got the apartment after highschool. it made sense for you two. you were always at his house or he was always at your house. "hmm i can't wait to make love to you in every single room in this apartment y/n" jack said to you with a hungry voice. "alright lover boy, you can do that AFTER we get all our stuff moved in" you said emphasizing the word "after". jack did in fact get what he wanted and you weren't complaining. the first night you two had slept on the floor, too tired to put the bed together. "i'm so happy i met you in high school y/n. i don't know what i would do without you. you truly are my number one fan. can't wait to look out into the crowd one day and see your beautiful face as i perform" jack whispered to you. "i am so fucking in love with you jack. i can't wait for you to be a superstar. i just know you'll get there baby. you're so fucking talented" you whispered back. slowly but surely the both of you drifted off to sleep.
the only difference now was that you were going to sleep alone and in the morning you would be on your way back to atlanta.
as you woke up in the morning, you got ready in your apartment for the last time before heading out. a bittersweet moment for you.
~
walking into the new apartment with a big ass smile on your face. you were so happy to call this place yours. you were glad that you came ahead of time and set everything up how you liked it because you were beat as hell.
~
it had been two weeks since you've been in atlanta. work was going great and you actually made some friends. you had just pulled up in the parking garage of your apartment and parked your car, quickly making your way to the elevator to take you to the floor of your apartment. all you could think about was getting out of these damn scrubs. you walked into the elevator, clicked the button to your floor, and got on your phone as you waited for the door to close. "oh shit" you heard as the door was closing and you saw someone's hand stop the doors from closing. "sorry for stopping the elevator from closing" the man said and you looked up to meet your eyes with his. both of your eyes widening.
"y/n?" "jack" you both said in unison. your mind was going a mile a minute. "neelam told me you were moving to atlanta, you live in the building?" he asked, trying to break any awkwardness. "um yeah i actually live on the seventh floor, what about you? you visiting a friend or you live here?" you questioned, you hoped he was just visiting. "uh i actually also live on the seventh floor" he let out a chuckle. 'oh great, just your luck y/n' you thought to yourself. "congrats on being a nurse" he said. "a few years late but thank you jack" you said. he smiled, you were just as feisty as he remembered. this has been the longest elevator ride of your fucking life. finally the bell dinged, implying you made it to your floor. you felt like you could finally breathe again. you got off and before you could say goodbye jack was right behind you. you hoped he would go the opposite direction as you but motherfucker was following you. you made it to your door and watched jack unlock the door right next to you. un-fucking-believable you thought to yourself , once again. you two made eye contact. "well goodnight y/n" jack said and just before he closed his door you let out a quiet "i knew you would be a superstar, good night jack" and you quickly rushed the close your door. you left jack in his thoughts the rest of the night. just by that statement he knew that you kept up with him and just like you, he kept up with you too.
as he was laying in bed, he decided to make a tweet. he hoped you would see it.
"Nothing like a woman in some scrubs 😍😍😍😍 thank you for your service"
and with a click of a button the tweet was posted.
being neighbors with your ex was going to be very interesting to say the least.
next
#jack harlow#jack harlow imagine#jack harlow x reader#jack harlow concepts#jack harlow fanfic#jack harlow fluff#jack harlow blurb#jack harlow imagines#jack harlow fanfiction
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I Got A Shot
Cause now I’m somebody you used to know. Hang at places I used to go.
Jack smirked watching you from across the room. You’ve changed since the last time he saw you, Clay and Sunni updated him of course but seeing you with his own eyes he truly had the chance to admire you.
Name ringin’ bells like school dismissal. But I know you remember, I know you remember.
There he was the man that left Louisville, Kentucky and broke your heart sitting just a few feet away from you. When your friends told you about Jack’s album release party for Come Home The Kids Miss You. It was safe to say you weren’t to thrilled to go but you had nothing better to do.
I get in your mental, yeah touch you with spiritual Hindu.
You loved to play dumb to the fact that Jack and You had a thing in the past because it was your way of dealing with the heartache and pain.
I got a shot, it’s not a pistol.
“Are you really going to act like you never had a thing with him.?” Katrina your best friend told you. She laughed while taking a sip of her wine.
“He’s been looking over here all night Y/N, you know he misses you.” Aneesa told you as well.
And you know I wanna be with you, baby, I miss you, yeah.
“If he truly missed me he would come over here right now and talk to me. Instead he’s sitting all the way up there just looking down on me like a fucking creep.” You spat back at Katrina and Aneesa who threw their hands up in defense.
“I mean all we’re saying is maybe talk to him and give him another chance shit happens Y/N.” Katrina told you before changing the topic to something that wasn’t worth listening too.
“That’s your girl down there?” Drake asked Jack and Jack shrugged his shoulders watching you from the second floor.
I was gon’ take you up outta that lil’ bitty town, but you just wasn’t ready enough.
“She use to be mine but now I’m somebody she use to know, well that’s at least what she tells everyone else.” Drake nodded taking a sip of his Hennessy.
“So little shawty just chooses to act like you don’t exist or what man? You must’ve really broken her heart huh Jackman.” Drake laughed and patted Jack’s back before walking off. Jack sighed he knew he fucked things over between the two of you but he missed you and he knew you missed him.
I know you see me ‘cause everyone does.
“I’m gonna get some fresh air or something it’s getting too crowded in here.” You yelled to Katrina and Aneesa over the loud music they nodded and you walked off. Jack took this as a sign to follow you outside.
“So you just gon act like you don’t know me anymore or what ma?” You heard that familiar Kentucky accent come from behind you. You should’ve known he was going to follow you outside.
“What do you want Jack? We have nothing to talk about. You decided on what was more important years ago remember, so respectfully leave me the fuck alone.” You spat at him your hands shaky as you reached for your phone in your purse to call your brother to come pick you up.
I look in they eyes and I know they ain’t ready.
“I just want to talk Y/N that’s all. You can’t be running away from me whenever I’m back in town. You know I wanted to take you out of Kentucky with me, but you weren’t ready for what was outside of this small town.” He tried to explain to you but you weren’t having it.
“How do you know that Jackman? You don’t know it’s not fair I loved you but you left me here in this small ass town. I wanted to be apart of your journey but now look at you some big rap star huh well congrats Jack I guess you’re a superstar.” You spat at him and pushed his chest slightly.
Jack frowned at you he hated when you acted like this. He knew how bad you wanted out of Louisville just like how he did but he didn’t want you getting washed up in everything in Atlanta or this lifestyle. He wanted you to be his pure and sweet girl forever.
This one right here ain’t sentimental.
“Please I did what was best for you Y/N. You’re my girl and will always be even if you don’t accept that.” He reassured you while tried to but you rolled your eyes putting your hand up.
“Just stop talking Jackman I’m done talking to you at this point. Just leave me alone and do me a favor.” You told him, looking up into his baby blue eyes that once melted your heart along with those freckles.
“Anything baby girl.” He said with hope filled words.
“Act like I don’t exist.”
‘Cause now I’m somebody you use to know.
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Hello. I am, as you know, an American. I turned eighteen in 2014, voted in my first presidential election in 2016, and voted in my second presidential election last week via early voting in the state of Texas.
I’m reflecting right now on the difference between those experiences. This is going to be a very self-indulgent essay.
The 2016 election was in my third and final year of undergrad at Texas A&M University. At the time, I was living with a roommate who grew up in a town of 2,000, all of them members of her church. I loved her very much, but she was the most sheltered person I’ve ever met.
I was only a few years ahead of her. My home growing up was deeply liberal about many of the things that counted, but deeply conservative on equally important things. For me, leaving for college was a radicalization speed-run.
I, a good Memphis girl, moved to Texas and encountered for the first time in my life white homogeny and everything that comes with it. I made most of my friends at A&M through a Christian orientation camp that I attended, then worked at. I went to school at a history department that was overwhelmingly male and war-obsessed.
My second semester, I was randomly sorted into a writing seminar on the American Civil War and Reconstruction. There were eight other students in that class, all of them Texans. By day two I had gotten into a open fight with one of my classmates after he used the phrases “one of the humane parts of slavery” and “the secession declarations are moving and beautiful appeals, if you read them,” and “well I’m not going to criticize my own state.”
We got into at least one yelling match per week from that point forward. It was a formative experience for me-- not just him but the seven other students that took his side every time because they just couldn’t conceptualize anything outside of their own experiences, and frankly, I couldn’t either.
It rocked my world to be surrounded by people who told me, among other things, that their high schools flew the Confederate battle flag or Lee was their all time role-model (because he actually didn’t want to secede! He didn’t believe in it, but Virginia did, so he put his own qualms aside and served his country, and that’s what we all have to do). I ran a survey once by knocking on every door in a dorm hall and asking the two people inside why the Civil War happened.
I feel like you can guess the most common answer I got. Only two said slavery. Six didn’t know what the Civil War was.
The last week of the semester, my class read a collection of recorded oral accounts of freed slaves during Reconstruction. My nemesis told me that he “didn’t realize black people actually had it bad.” At the same time, I was struggling with my sexuality, my relationship to my religion, my relationship with my parents, and a handful of newly-diagnosed but long-existing mental illnesses. I wasn’t having fun.
Over the next three years, I tried my hardest to humanize the people that said disgusting things about minorities, poverty, and me personally. I barely won on that one, and I’m actually really proud that I did, even if it took me a few years. I can trace the biggest change in me directly to my nemesis from the history department, the kid that made me so mad that I started arguing back. I was too scared to do that before.
By 2016, I was in full existential spin-out-- a very suddenly liberal kid fighting my whole family, all of my classmates, and most of my friends in an explosive political climate, the first I had ever participated in.
I voted by Tennessee absentee ballot in 2016. On election night, I ordered takeout for me and my roommate, who I knew had voted red. Confident, like pretty much everybody, that Clinton would win, I was trying to show her that I didn’t hate her. She went to bed after dinner, also so certain that Clinton would win that she didn’t bother to stay up.
I sat in front of my laptop sewing a birthday present for a friend (Kenza, actually), while the votes came in. I wasn’t super alarmed when the map turned red. I just figured the blue states hadn’t finished counting yet.
The map didn’t get any bluer. By 1am, I knew what was about to happen. They called it an hour later, while I was sobbing on my floor. I threw up in the bathroom out of pure anxiety. I got two anonymous messages telling me the asker was going to commit suicide. Neither of them responded to my replies. I don’t actually know what happened to them.
I remember riding the bus to class the next morning and distinctly seeing that most of the racial minorities there had swollen eyes from crying. The girl with the pride stickers all over her laptop didn’t show up that day, and I’m kind of glad she didn’t, considering the way some of our classmates in the back were loudly talking about “the gays.” Hope she’s okay.
My roommate came home completely unaware that Clinton lost. I was crying in my room when that happened. I remember showing her a demographic map of who voted which way. She got visibly upset when she figured out what races how. I think she really did feel guilty.
That Thanksgiving, one of my cousins tweeted, “I can’t wait to go argue with my liberal cousin today. The wins. Keep. Coming,” an hour before he walked into my house. Inauguration day was January 20, 2017. I decided to go to law school a week later, the day the president signed the Muslim ban. That’s when I figured out for the first time just how much power the courts have. The last three years have only enforced that.
I got angrier and angrier during law school, egged on by a few friends but more than anything just... finally conscious of exactly how the American system works and exactly who’s behind it. I still live in Texas, farther west now, and I’m working my first legal job. I’m going to be a licensed attorney next week.
I went back and forth for months about how this election was going to shake out. I knew there wasn’t going to be an overwhelming red majority this time, but my big fear was an election close enough that the Supreme Court could take it. That fear doubled last month, at RBG’s death.
I was hoping for a blue enough victory on election night that there wouldn’t be a week of uncertainty, but that was unlikely, and it didn’t happen. I obsessively refreshed my election map all of Wednesday and Thursday, aware that at least some states would flip after mail-in ballots came in, but unsure which would.
Again, my great fear was a blue victory held down by only one state. Given (I would say “any” chance here, but I don’t mean “any” chance because genuinely jurisdiction or facts or legal merit don’t matter to the Supreme Court) an opportunity to make one (1) decision that hands over a red election, please know that a conservative supermajority would take it. I cannot emphasize enough how true that is and how important it is for all of us to grasp that.
Watching Georgia flip was one of the best experiences of my life, and it’s a little hard for me to articulate why, but I’m going to give it a shot here. I’m southern. I’m from the South, and for this conversation it’s really important that I’m from Memphis, a black city and a center of black music and culture.
When people think about the South, they think of the white South, and on some level, they should. It is absolutely essential to understand the white South in order to understand American history. Let me be 100% clear here. That is not a good thing. American majority history is not good. We are not a good country.
It’s near-impossible to understand why that’s true without knowing exactly what happened in the white South and exactly what is still happening there now. With that, however, is another truth that most folks don’t get.
The SouthTM is white and needs to die. The South as it actually exists is partially white yes, but it is also everyone else that lives here, particularly black folks. Southern culture is black, not white. Georgia flipped because the people that have always, always been there finally got to crack apart the conservative machine holding the South hostage.
That’s amazing. It’s fucking mind-blowing. I watched it happen at 3:30 in the morning days after Election Day, and holy shit holy shit, Georgia flipped. Atlanta won. Holy fucking shit.
I would be terrified right now if only Georgia flipped, because SCOTUS would have found a way to throw out a few thousand votes. Inevitable. Absolutely certain on that one.
With a few states of buffer, I don’t think that’s going to happen. I really do think it’s over.
I came home after work on Friday and immediately went to sleep because I hadn’t really done that since Tuesday. I woke up at noon today, checked the map, checked my messages, and saw what happened while I was gone. After that, I went back to bed until 5:30pm. I’m really just getting up now, after most of 24 hours asleep.
I don’t know if I would say that I’m happy right now, but I am overwhelmingly relieved. I’m under no illusions that a Biden victory will solve everything, but I also do think this is a real thing to celebrate. I’ll take suggestions on how to celebrate right now, actually, since I’m finally awake.
I’ll be angry forever, I think, but this is a good thing, and I’d like to enjoy it. If you’re happy right now, hey, tell me about it. I’ll be thrilled with you. I want to hear it. Congrats to all of us. Love y’all.
#that's me rambling thanks and gig em#there are some things to tag here huh#uspol#politics#suicide#this would be a good time to remind everybody that i am white#so take that into account re: Georgia#personal i guess#not comics sorry
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Send Me Home (1/?)
Read on AO3.
‘The Braves are down to their last at bat, Jeff. And it’s Michael Guerin in the on-deck circle. What’s Ramon’s strategy here? Does he try to jam him up inside or keep firing fastballs and hope Guerin can’t catch up?’
It’s September in Atlanta and the Braves are playing the Marlins. Every game counts as both teams vy for a spot in October baseball. Michael Guerin is a lead candidate for MVP, and he’s always a threat in the bottom of the ninth with two outs and the bases loaded. The sellout crowd roars as his walk-up music begins to play.
I was born to the desert
And to the desert I’ll return
Sun-soaked and leathered
Tattered and tethered
Send me home, send me home, send me home
‘Ramon’s got that curveball, Chip. I’m not sure Guerin’s ever met a fastball he couldn’t hit. Especially in the bottom of the ninth. So, I think Ramon starts with the curveball even if that’s exactly what Guerin’s expecting.’
Michael steps into the batter’s box and takes a couple of quick practice swings, eyes wide and watching Ramon’s every move. He squares his hips and lowers his hands on the bat just a touch. It’s an adjustment he’s been working on for the past month or so with great success. Ramon lets loose his first pitch. As expected, it’s a nasty curveball and a pitch Michael has struck out on more than once during his twelve year career. But this time he’s prepared and anticipates perfectly where the bottom of the curve will land. He shoots a laser to shallow right field, and it drops in for a walk-off single. The dugout empties and everyone tackles him as he crosses home plate, one game closer to October.
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Later that night, Michael sits on the tailgate of his Chevy, beer in hand and staring up at the stars like so many nights before. Several of the guys had harassed him about going out to celebrate, but he’s not in the mood. He’s never in the mood these days. The winning still feels good and the possibility of the MVP is a dream. But for a long time now, he’s felt like there’s something missing in his life. Something essential, something elusive, something just out of his reach.
The truth is that he’s lonely. It’s a truth he can admit to himself when he’s alone underneath the cosmos watching the stars blink down at him against the wide expanse of space.
There have been relationships along the way. Women he’s dated earnestly. Once upon a time, maybe even a couple he could have loved. When he was younger, there had also been a few men. But none recently. The deeply rooted homophobia of baseball to blame. Mostly anyway. It’s strange now - everyone knows he’s bisexual, a simple Google search is all it takes. But he’s fairly certain baseball collectively decided to ignore his sexuality altogether after he got called up to the majors all those years ago.
He wants to believe he’s not afraid to be seen with men. He tells himself it’s just simpler this way, less complicated. Fewer awkward questions and the focus remaining on his athletic abilities rather than his sex life. Besides, only two major league players have ever come out and they both only did so after they’d retired. He supposes maybe he counts as the third. It’s not the stuff of fairytales, and Michael had learned that lesson during his brief stint in Double-A ball.
That feels like a lifetime ago.
Alex Manes’ new album drifts through the truck’s windows. His low, throaty voice practically purring into Michael’s ears. He’s been a big fan of Alex and his music for several years now. They’re both from New Mexico and the way he sings about the desert rings true enough to Michael that listening to one of his songs sends him right back home. Despite their many issues, he misses his brother and sister so badly sometimes he can barely breathe. Alex’s music reminds him of all the things and all the people he’s left behind - for better or worse. A couple of years ago, he’d had the opportunity to see Alex perform live but he’d turned it down. He still can’t explain why.
The night stretches out before him. Beer and music lulling him into a peaceful sleep until a bright light flashes in his face and startles him awake. He sits up and raises his hands peacefully. ‘Hey, Ernie.’
‘Oh, Mr. Guerin. I didn’t recognize you. What are you still doing here? It’s past midnight.’ He clicks the flashlight off and clips it back onto his belt. ‘Congrats on the walk-off!’
Michael shrugs. ‘Thanks. Didn’t want to go home just yet. Like watching the stars at night. But I haven’t seen you in a while. The grandkids still running circles around you?’
‘You know it! Caleb just turned five and is a holy terror. Michelle is eight going on eighteen. I can barely get a word in edgewise between the two of them.’ His eyes shine even in the darkness, crinkling at the edges.
Michael’s heart aches at Ernie’s easy, simple joy, but he manages a genuine smile thanks to the night’s shadows softening the edges of his jaw. ‘That sounds nice.’ He hops off his tailgate. ‘I’ll get out of your hair. Got an early game anyway. Need to get some sleep.’
‘Well, now, don’t let me chase you off. I don’t mind the company. It gets a little spooky at night. You can always come knock on my door if you ever need anything.’ Ernie opens the Chevy’s door for Michael and shuts it behind him. ‘All these other guys with their flashy sports cars and you in this old rust bucket. You’re a weird one, Mr. Guerin. But I like that about you.’
Michael runs his hands around the cracked steering wheel. ‘Most days this truck is about the closest thing to home I’ve got. There’s still desert dirt in the bed and an engine I rebuilt myself. What the fuck would I do with a Ferrari?’
They both laugh and Michael waves and honks his horn as he pulls out of the player’s lot. The streets are mostly empty, cars keeping to the well-lit interstate at night. He decides to stay on surface roads and take the long way home, radio softly playing old country songs. His thoughts drift to tomorrow’s game and the rookie pitcher the Marlins are starting. His own rookie year had been tough, and he makes a mental note to speak to the kid at some point during the game, ask him how he’s doing and if he’s being treated well.
The streetlights along Peachtree illuminate his path through Brookhaven. He crosses into Atlanta city limits and enters Buckhead just as ‘Lay Me Down’ by Loretta Lynn and Willie Nelson starts to play through his speakers. And all too soon, he turns down his street and opens the cedar gate at the end of his driveway, parking his truck and sitting in the darkness until the song comes to an end.
Climbing out of his truck, he unlocks the front door with his telekinesis, slipping inside quietly and deactivating his alarm system. He’d bought the house in foreclosure, spending most of his money on remodeling the mid-century ranch. It’s not extravagant, but it’s the most expensive thing he owns. He’d even let Isobel fly out to decorate the place within a very strict budget, and he’d had to admit she’d done a great job - one side of his front door Atlanta, the other side New Mexico.
But even so, it has never felt like home.
The first few nights he’d spent in the house had been rough. It was too quiet and too soft and too much. More than once he’d grabbed his ancient, worn sleeping bag and crawled into the bed of his truck. Sleeping hard on the uncomfortable. ribbed metal but beneath the stars he loved so much. The morning dew waking him with the sun each morning.
These days he manages to sleep in bed at night, but only because he’d installed two skylights overhead so that the stars would always be his. And only his. He rarely brings anyone home anymore, preferring their house to his. But when he does, he takes them to a guest bedroom. None of them ever seem to mind how empty the space is or how devoid of personality. Four blank walls and a lone bed filling the room. Why would they? It’s not Michael the foster kid from the desert they’re sleeping with. It’s Michael Guerin the multi-millionaire first baseman with the single-season home run record and the aw-shucks, good boy smile.
Tonight he doesn’t bother turning on any lights. He just pads through the kitchen to grab an apple and a bottle of water, undresses and climbs into bed. He takes a large bite of the granny smith and pulls out his phone, calling Isobel.
‘Congrats on the walk-off!’ He can hear another game in the background. Isobel had never watched a baseball game in her life - including any of his - until the day he’d gotten drafted right out of high school. But now she watches all of them. Or as many of them as possible. Her scouting reports are better than anything stamped official and readily available in the team clubhouse.
‘Thanks. Didn’t really see the ball that well tonight, though. Is Max there?’ It’s stupid to ask when he already knows the answer.
‘Out with Liz. They’ve been inseparable ever since she moved back to Roswell. It’s gross and I miss you.’ The sound on her tv goes silent and he knows she’s settling in for a long conversation. ‘Tell me about tomorrow. Any surprises?’
‘No. New kid on the mound just called up. Got a mean slider. Torres has some pain in his wrist so he’ll be benched.’ Michael finishes his apple in two large bites and guzzles his water, listening to Isobel pound away at her keyboard already deep in research mode. ‘Might get me moved up to the number two slot.’
They spend fifteen minutes strategizing. It’s what they do most nights. Isobel critiquing the numbers based on intuition and her own database of knowledge concerning the human psyche, while he runs statistical analyses and probabilities in his head faster than humanly possible. Michael suggests more than once that she’d make a great scout and that maybe when he retires they can go into business together. He’s told her this a million times, but she only laughs him off and reminds him that she already has a job.
‘A worthless job that doesn’t pay you what you deserve.’ He reaches for the tv remote on his nightstand but can’t find it. Not that it matters. He switches the television on with his mind and nods his head through the channels, stopping on an old western and muting the volume.
‘Philanthropy is not worthless, Michael!’ She sighs loudly to punctuate her exasperation. ‘And my salary is not the point - the point is helping people. Besides, I have all of Noah’s money and can negotiate more pay any time I choose.’
That he believes. ‘How’d your date go last night?’ Asking Isobel about her date absolutely means she’ll push him to share something just as personal. But it was her first official date with a woman and he genuinely wants to know how it went. No matter the price he’ll pay.
‘Really, really, really well.’ He can hear the grin in her voice and it makes him smile. ‘She’s a cardiologist and very good with her hands. Valenti makes a pretty superb matchmaker. Maybe I’ll ship him your way because you could certainly use the help.’
Michael rolls his eyes and fakes a groan. ‘You can keep Valenti. Don’t you think it’s weird to have your ex setting you up on dates? Do you really think he’s the best judge of character?’
‘Kyle knows me better than most. He was my first relationship after Noah and he put up with a lot. I trust him implicitly with my heart and yours. Plus, I was the one who broke up with him.’
‘My heart is fine, thanks.’ He lies smoothly and knows exactly how she’s going to respond.
‘I can’t stand the thought of you all the way across the country in that foreign place with no one to go home to at night.’
He snorts. ‘It’s called Georgia, Iz. And I’m not home enough for a relationship to work right now.’
‘Half the guys on your team - on any team! - are married. So that’s a pisspoor excuse. You keep pushing everyone away. Don’t forget who you’re talking to. I know you, Michael. As soon as you start to feel something, the doors slam shut and you become another stereotypical lonewolf cowboy.’ Her voice is loud now, vehement and self-righteous. They’ve reenacted this scene so many times it feels very paint by number at this point. ‘I hardly ever hear a smile in your voice anymore.’
She’s right and she knows it. He used to love dating, meeting new people. First kisses and first fucks. Last kisses and farewell fucks. He lived for those moments and now he hardly ever looks anyone in the eye. ‘We have this conversation at least once a month. And nothing has changed. It’s too hard right now, Iz. I’m too known to ever really be known. Not the way I would want to be. Not in any way that I would trust.’
There’s no use arguing so they move on to easier topics. Max and LIz’s ongoing romance, details of Isobel’s date, Maria’s remodel of the Pony thanks to a very generous anonymous donation. Every word out of her mouth squeezes his heart a little bit tighter until it’s too much and he says goodnight.
Flipping onto his side, he reaches his arm out to the other side of the bed, running his hand over the cold, unwrinkled sheet. His eyes land on the empty pillow no head ever touches and tries to imagine a face looking back at him. A face that might smile suggestively or quietly murmur goodnight. But he’s unable to conjure anything beyond a blank, shapeless outline. It makes him feel pathetic so he yanks the pillow underneath his own head and forces his eyes shut, trying in vain to quiet his mind. Despite his best efforts, sleep takes its sweet time finding him.
The next morning he’s exhausted but gets to the field early. He’d woken up to a cryptic message from Isobel. There’s a surprise waiting for you after the game! Stick around this time, Michael. Don’t make me get on a plane. He’s sure that can’t mean anything good, but he attempts to put it out of his mind for now.
The ballpark is already bustling with activity. Michael heads into the clubhouse to change. He stops and asks Stan, their hitting coach, for some extra work before the rest of the team arrives. He’s worried about how he’s been shifting his wrists recently and wants someone else’s opinion. The adjustments he’d made last night seem to be working, but he’s worried about straining a muscle or tweaking the wrong tendon. Two of his teammates are already on the IL with wrist pain. He doesn’t want to be next, especially with the postseason race and his run at MVP on the line.
Michael finds Danny Marks asleep in one of the clubhouse’s leather chairs. He swats him on the head on the way to his locker, laughing at Danny’s loud yelp. ‘Fuck, man, you’re always asleep. How did you manage to stay awake on the mound long enough to put together two Cy Young seasons?’
‘Talent, Guerin. Talent. You should try it sometime. Maybe then you’ll win MVP.’ Danny yawns and stretches his arms over his head. Michael glares at him. ‘Don’t worry. You’re still the favorite. Our very own diamond darling. No one else is getting their own personal concert any time soon.’
‘What?’ He sits on the chair at his locker, blinking at Danny in confusion. ‘Personal concert?’ Isobel’s strange text message flashes through his head again while he inwardly groans.
‘Oh, yeah.’ Danny grins and crosses his ankles on the table in front of him, brashly enjoying the way Michael squirms. ‘Alex Manes is traveling down from Nashville just for you - baseball’s most beloved first baseman.’ He throws a toy football at Michael’s head, chuckling when it bounces off his curls. ‘He’s not bad looking, you know.’
‘Stop.’ Danny is Michael’s best friend on the team and the only one he feels comfortable enough to have this conversation with. ‘Whose idea was this? Did Isobel do something? Or was this you?’
Michael doesn’t want this. Not at all. And he can’t exactly explain why. Music is personal to him - profoundly personal. Always has been since he was nothing but an unloved kid trapped in various violent foster homes. It was music that had kept him warm at night and music that had loved him best. The only escape available to him during most of his darkest hours.
Over the years, there have been many artists he’s considered favorites. Most of them old country crooners or folk song heroes. Much like Alex Manes. But with Alex, it’s something more. Something he has a hard time vocalizing. They are both from New Mexico. Both spent a chunk of their formative years in Roswell. Michael has read or watched multiple interviews with Alex where he’s alluded heavily to an abusive father. His lyrics certainly do the same. Lots of kids grow up that way - Michael knows he’s not alone in that particular fate - but the way Alex puts that pain to music settles something inside his chest that has never been settled before.
So the thought of meeting Alex worries Michael. They say don’t meet your heroes for a reason. In his head, Alex represents a sense of safety, a sense of home. What happens when they meet and that’s taken from him? Because maybe Alex is a liar. Or maybe he’s a dick. Either possibility is very real. He’s also a vet, and Michael hates, hates, hates the military. And he doesn’t want to hate Alex. Doesn’t want to lose his music. Cannot emotionally afford to lose his music if he’s being honest.
‘Isobel apparently knows someone who knows someone who knows someone. I just didn’t try and stop her. Or Lena.’ Danny’s wife is Isobel’s favorite human. It’s the worst thing that’s happened to Michael since meeting Danny. The two of them have done nothing but make his life one unasked for surprise after another. ‘Besides, even if you hate it, the team could really use some fun before heading into the postseason. Some good old-fashioned team bonding, my friend. And this time, you don’t get to run away. The guys need to see their captain smile every once in a while.’
Michael sighs and changes into his warmups. Danny’s phone rings and he grins one last time at Michael before disappearing for some privacy. Michael decides to push Alex Manes to the back of his mind and concentrate on the game ahead of him. Stan is waiting, anyway. So he’ll focus on his wrists for now and worry about everything else later. The one thing he does do, however, is pull out his phone and send Isobel a very pointed text.
You should have gotten my permission first.
Isobel’s text response is nothing but the angel halo emoji. Michael wishes his telekinesis was strong enough to travel across state lines because he’d like to throw her phone into the wall. Since that option is not available to him, he sends Max a text instead.
Your sister is a menace.
He pockets his phone, not bothering to wait on an answer. Max tends to be too busy these days. Not that that’s anything new really. Unless your name is Liz Ortecho or Isobel Evans, he doesn’t have much time for you.
The morning stretches by as gametime approaches. Batting practice goes well and Michael works with Stan on keeping his wrists from turning too much when he swings. His teammates have all found out about the concert by the time the first pitch is thrown and none of them will let him forget it. Each time his walk-up music begins to play, Danny leads a small group of particularly bad vocalists in a sing-a-long. All of them belting out the lyrics at the top of their lungs. Michael tries to keep the stupid grin off his face and almost suceeds.
He won’t admit it, but he actually begins to get excited. Doesn’t even mind when Max only ends up responding with a snarky text.
Try living less than five miles from her.
He’d give anything to live five miles from Isobel. Michael loves his teammates. He really does. Atlanta has one of the best team dynamics in baseball. Maybe the best. They support each other, love one another, and when they say family, they mean it. Team dinners and family outings are normal even during the off season. Michael doesn’t avoid spending time with them because he dislikes anyone - although there have been various tiffs in the past but nothing long lasting. He avoids them because he loves them enough to let his mouth loosen too much, all his secrets threatening to tumble out with no regard for his safety or the safety of his siblings.
He knows this because it has happened on more than one occasion. Years ago during his rookie years when living hard and drinker harder were his nightly norm. On any given night you’d find him at the bar, four fingers deep into a bottle of bourbon, mouthing off about moving things with his mind. It wasn’t the booze talking; it was his loneliness. The throbbing homesick ache in his chest that only Max and Isobel could smooth away. Once he knew his teammates were shitfaced, he’d let some little comment slip about his abilities. Half of them never paid any attention to the things he said and the other half merely laughed at him.
He’d told Isobel one night about the things he said and she’d yelled at him solidly for an hour. The next day he’d gotten a nasty phone call from Max and has kept his mouth shut ever since that conversation.
Keeping their secret is important. Michael understands that, but the lying exhausts him. He loves Danny and hates that the most important part of himself Danny and Lena can never know. He loves his other teammates, and he doesn’t want to hide this huge part of himself from them forever. The lying has always made him feel unclean - distant and deceptive. Back in Roswell, it had been easier. He hadn’t had many friends and the people closest to him shared the same secret. But now, the people he sees every single day aren’t allowed to know the real him. It breaks his heart in a way he could never have anticipated, making him feel truly alien.
Michael and Isobel had jumped through enormous hoops to keep his DNA secret from team doctors and drug testers. It’s the only reason he’d ever agreed to her mind influence.
A major league baseball player cannot have telekinetic superpowers, alien or not. The cheating accusations would be immediate and relentless - his career over and his name shamed forever. Regardless of the fact that he would never dream of cheating to advance his career. Besides, he’s self-aware enough - or perhaps cocky enough - to understand that his level of talent doesn’t require any telekinetic assistance. Michael Guerin is just that fucking good.
During his last at bat in the eighth inning, Alex Manes’ face flashes on the digital scoreboard high above centerfield advertising the aftergame concert. Michael concentrates on keeping his wrists tight and imagines that Alex is somewhere in the stadium watching him. He swings at the first pitch - a fastball left too high over the plate - and knows he’s gotten every piece of it by the cracking sound his bat makes. He starts a slow run to first base and watches the ball sail over the leftfield wall.
With his signature two claps, he rounds first and enjoys the cheering crowd chanting his name. Stepping on the bag at home plate, his eyes glance back up at the scoreboard, but Alex’s face has disappeared. And suddenly his nerves have returned tenfold at the realization that soon he’ll be face to face with a man he has no idea how to talk to - what to say or even if he’ll get a chance to say anything at all.
Despite the cheers and happy butt slaps from his teammates, the pit in Michael’s stomach stretches wide. In the clubhouse, he checks his phone again and one last final message from Isobel lights up his screen.
He wants to meet you first.
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(Stand-Up) Routines and (Engagement) Rings
Summary: 2 years after the events of IT: Chapter Two, Richie brings Eddie out during one of his stand-up performances in order to ask a Very Important Question.
Warnings: Lots of F-bombs (like seriously there’s 1 for less than every 100 words or something but let’s face it, our gay little balls of sunshine can’t say anything without swearing)
Word Count: 2300-ish.
Author’s Note: The Reddie Fix-it Future Fic no one asked for. :) Enjoy!
CROSS-POSTED ON AO3
Richie Tozier paced back and forth backstage in the theatre at the Venetian Resort as his manager watched him. “I don’t know if I can do this,” Richie muttered.
“Don’t worry, everything is gonna go smoothly,” Brian replied. “You’ll do great. Here.” He handed Richie a glass of what looked like vodka on the rocks.
Richie took a sip and grimaced. “What the fuck is this?”
“Black cherry Vitamin Water,” Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie’s childhood best friend and boyfriend of two years, replied from behind him. “You need to stay hydrated and get your vitamins in. This is the last stop of your tour, I’m not going to let you get sick right when you get a break to come home.”
Richie grumbled but took another sip as Eddie moved in front of him. The things I do for love, he thought.
He could tell Eddie was scrutinizing his outfit. Richie had chosen dark-washed jeans, a black T-shirt, and an olive green suit jacket for his performance this evening.
Eddie brushed some imaginary lint off of Richie’s jacket before giving him a quick kiss. “You look great, babe.”
“Thanks,” Richie replied. His pocket buzzed and he pulled his phone out. He had a text from his & Eddie’s friend Ben. We’re here and in our seats.
Thank fuck, Richie thought, sending a quick k in response. He was glad that the rest of the Losers Club had made it to Las Vegas. Tonight was an extra-special performance – Not only was this the final show in Richie’s “Off the Rails” tour, tonight was the night that he would… Well. Richie would think about that when the time came so he wouldn’t make himself even more nervous.
The lights dimmed. “Showtime,” Eddie said, taking Richie’s glass from him and giving him one more brief kiss. “Knock ‘em dead, Rich.”
Richie took one more deep breath as he was announced.
Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage, Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier!
Richie stepped out on stage, waved at the audience, and grabbed the microphone. “What’s up, Las Vegas?” he greeted with a smile. “You guys feeling good?”
He grinned at the audience’s reply of cheers and hoots.
“It’s so fucking great to be here with all of you. At least now I’m not the only drunk one in the room.”
He grinned at the audience’s laughter. Interacting with his audience and making them laugh always helped calm him down, so he hoped tonight would be the same.
He continued through his act until he got to the final bit, where he usually talked about his & Eddie’s relationship.
“Alright, so I’m gonna get serious for a moment. As a lot of you probably know, I came out as gay a few years ago. Turns out all the dick jokes I made over the years were not only because I am a dick, but also because I like dick.”
He paused as the audience laughed. Here comes the surprise. “So yeah, anyway, I’ve been out for a few years now and it’s been nice not having to hide my relationship with my boyfriend. He’s here tonight, actually, you guys want to meet him?”
He turned to the wings. Eddie was staring at him like he’d grown an extra head. What the fuck are you doing, he mouthed.
Richie grinned and gestured for Eddie to join him onstage. Come on, Eduardo, get your cute ass out here. “Aww, he’s being shy. Come on, babe, it’s ok.” He turned back to the audience. “He might need a little encouragement. Ladies and gentlemen, my boyfriend Eddie.”
The audience burst into applause and cheers. Richie could hear the rest of the Losers in the front row cheering, “WOO, YEAH EDDIE!”
After what seemed like an eternity Eddie finally stumbled onstage, where a stagehand ran out and handed him a mic. Richie suspected that Eddie had actually been pushed onstage, but the important thing was that he was actually out there.
Eddie gave Richie a look that said, you are in so much fucking trouble when we get back to the hotel tonight. “What’s up, fuckwad?” he said instead.
Richie laughed along with the audience.
“So yeah, everyone, this charming fellow here is my boyfriend, Eddie,” he explained. “We’ve been together for 2 years now but were best friends growing up, so we’ve known each other most of our lives. Although we did forget each other for 27 years – long-ass story, involves rampant homophobia and an evil demonic clown. And that was just Eddie’s mother.“
Richie saw Eddie shoot him an exaggerated glare as the audience laughed. "I kid, I kid,” he continued. “Actually, that title goes to his ex-wife.” He could see Eddie shaking his head at him, but at least there was no heat to it. Thank God Eddie knows most of my act. Richie needed to get through that part without accidentally pissing Eddie off before he got to the reason he brought him out on stage.
“So anyway, yeah, we were best friends growing up, then when we were 13 something changed – for me, anyway.” He chuckled. “I used to joke a lot when we were teenagers about fucking Eddie’s mom, but surprise, the whole time I actually wanted to fuck Eddie. Imagine his relief when he found out that saggy old boobs actually don’t turn me on.
We – along with our four other closest friends – have literally been through hell and back together. Twice, actually.” Richie paused again as the audience laughed some more. “But honestly there’s no one I’d rather have by my side in this insane thing called life than this motherfucker. So –” He broke off and turned towards Eddie, digging in his pocket and pulling out the small square box he had been hiding for the past month. He opened it and got down on one knee as a collective gasp rang throughout the theatre. “Eddie, my love, will you make me the happiest man alive by becoming my husband?”
Eddie, who had gasped and taken a step back when Richie had knelt, started nodding tearfully. “Fuck yes,” he said into his mic, then dropped it as he pulled Richie to his feet and into a kiss, burying his fingers into Richie’s shaggy hair.
(Richie had thought when he and Eddie first officially got together that Eddie would nag him to cut it, but it actually turned out that Eddie really liked both Richie’s hair and the noises Richie would make when Eddie would tug on it. Who knew that his Eddie Spaghetti had a hair-pulling kink?)
The audience went nuts, but Richie didn’t hear any of the noise. All he was focused on was his fiance. Fiance, sweetheart, betrothed, HUSBAND, Richie’s brain supplied helpfully.
He pulled the ring, which was a simple platinum band, out of the box and slid it onto Eddie’s finger, pulling Eddie into an embrace. “I fucking love you,” he mumbled against Eddie’s neck.
“I fucking love you too,” Eddie replied. “So fucking much.”
Richie gave Eddie another kiss before turning back to the audience. “In case you guys didn’t catch that, he just agreed to put up with my bullshit for the rest of our lives.”
He wrapped an arm around Eddie’s waist. “Now if you guys will excuse us, we’ve got some celebrating to do. Thank you all for being a part of this with me, you’ve been a fucking fantastic audience. Good night!”
He and Eddie walked backstage to thunderous applause, where Bill, Mike, Ben, and Beverly were waiting for them.
“Oh my God, what the fuck are you guys doing here?” Eddie exclaimed. “I thought we weren’t seeing you until Friendsgiving next month.”
“We couldn’t miss our best friends getting engaged, could we?” Mike replied.
Beverly wrapped them both in a hug. “Congratulations, you two!”
“Thanks, Bev,” Richie replied. “Great to see you guys. Thanks for coming.”
Eddie turned to Bill and slugged him on the arm. “You fucker! I just talked to you on Wednesday and you said you were going to Atlanta for a film shoot this weekend.”
Bill just shrugged and patted both of them on the back. “Congrats, guys.”
“Yeah, congrats,” Ben echoed.
“It’s about time one of you put a ring on it,” Mike added.
“Shit, that’s right, your ring.” Richie picked up Eddie’s hand and gently twisted the ring off his finger. “I wanted you to see – I had it engraved on the inside.” He handed the ring to Eddie, who held it up to the light.
R + E
Eddie looked back up at Richie with a smile. “30 years later and you’re still carving our initials into things.” He pulled out his phone. “Hang on just a second.” He sent out a quick text message, then tucked his phone back into his pocket.
Richie grinned before taking the ring and sliding it back onto Eddie’s finger. “You know, this might be personal bias talking but I think platinum looks a lot better on you than gold,” he said, referencing Eddie’s wedding ring from his first marriage.
Eddie smiled back at him softly. “Yeah you know, I think so too.”
They were interrupted by a stagehand. “Excuse me, Mr. Kaspbrak, here’s your coat that you asked for.”
Richie raised an eyebrow. “Jeez, Eds, are you in that big of a hurry to get back to the hotel to celebrate our engagement? Because you know, the limo is pretty roomy, we could start early.”
Eddie rolled his eyes, digging in the inside pocket of his coat. He pulled something out but kept whatever it was concealed in his hand. He handed Bill his coat. “Here, Bill, would you hold this for a minute? Thanks.”
Eddie took Richie’s hand. “I have something to tell you.”
“Oh my God, are you pregnant?” Richie asked jokingly.
“Jesus, Richie. Just shut the fuck up for a second.” Eddie shook his head fondly. “Anyway, I wanted to show you something as well, something… something I’ve been carrying since the day after my divorce from Myra was finalized.”
He opened his hand to reveal a platinum band very similar to the one currently resting on his finger.
He handed it to Richie. “Check the inside.”
Richie examined the inside of the ring and caught a glimpse of an engraving. He tilted it to inspect it further.
E + R
His jaw dropped and his eyes flicked back over to Eddie, who was watching him with pure love in his eyes.
Eddie took the ring back. “I was planning on asking you to marry me at Friendsgiving.”
“Yes,” Richie blurted. His brain seemed to had gone offline again.
Eddie laughed. “Well considering you beat me to proposing and we’re now engaged I’d assume that would’ve been your answer, dumbass.”
Suddenly an idea struck Richie. “Hey Eds, since we are in Las Vegas, elopement capital of the world, what do you think about getting hitched tonight?” He gestured at their rings then at the rest of the Losers Club. “I mean we both have rings and the most important people in our lives are already here.”
“Are you fucking serious?” Eddie replied.
Fuck, I guess not. “Well, yeah, but you know what actually, nevermind, it was a stupid fucking idea anyway–”
Eddie was nodding his head. “–Shit, Rich, yes. Fucking YES, I’d marry you right this fucking second if we could make it happen,” Eddie replied.
Richie’s heart swelled with relief. “Well okay then, let’s fucking do this.”
Mike had pulled out his phone and was scrolling through it. “The marriage license bureau is open until midnight,” he read off, “so if you guys want to you can go ahead and apply online for a marriage license on the way there.”
“Ben and I rented an SUV while we’re in town, so we can all ride together if you guys want,” Bev offered.
Richie was already texting Brian so he could get a press release together. “Yeah that sounds great, just give us a minute to grab the rest of our stuff from the green room and cancel the limo that Brian had lined up to take us back to the hotel. Eddie hated it anyway, said it was pretentious.”
“That’s because it is fucking pretentious,” Eddie muttered.
“Ok, Beverly and I will go get the car and meet you guys out back?” Ben asked, taking Bev’s hand and giving it a squeeze.
“I’ll come with,” Bill said.
“Me too,” Mike added.
Richie nodded. “Ok, we’ll see you guys in a few then.”
He and Eddie headed back to the green room and gathered the rest of their things.
“That’s everything, right?” Eddie asked him.
Richie looked around. “Uh, yeah, I think so.”
“Ok, good.” Eddie turned towards the door.
“Eds, wait a second,” Richie said quickly.
Eddie turned back towards him. “What is it, Rich?”
Richie bit his lip. “Are you sure you want to go ahead and get married tonight? I don’t want you to feel rushed into anything just because everyone’s here.”
Eddie shook his head. “Yeah, I’m sure. We wasted so much time dancing around our feelings as kids, I spent the next 27 years feeling like half of myself was missing and not knowing why, then when we reconnected I was almost impaled by a fucking monster clown-spider, so yeah. I’m not putting anything else with our relationship off in case some other crazy shit goes down.” He smirked. “Besides, I want to spend the rest of my life annoying the shit out of my husband and the sooner I can do that the better.”
Richie grinned. “And I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life annoying the shit out of my husband.”
Eddie tugged him towards the door with a wink. “Then we better get going.”
#it: chapter two#it: chapter 2#it: ch 2#Reddie#richie x eddie#fix-it fic#tcmf writes#My writing#i love reddie so much y'all#these boys give me feels
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2.
Kianna
I exhaled going through my twitter, seeing as I was tagged in so much shit. I didn’t expect Durk to post Kapri, I didn’t even expect for this shit to unfold so fast.
IndiaRoyale
Niggas will cheat. No how much they say they care about.
IndiaRoyale
And that bitch knew we was together. Grimey. Oh well. Fuck her, him and the baby.
I won’t apologize for posting my child, but obviously India is spreading a false narrative that can fuck up my reputation. Looking down at Kapri with her sippy cup in hand as she fell asleep drinking her water, I propped myself up and went straight to my twitter to clear the bullshit up.
FilipinoBoricuaLee
@KiannaLeeDeLaOz
First of all, me and Durk wasn’t a fling, I was WITH this nigga for two years. They had broke TF up. My child was made while they weren’t together.
9:34 PM - 6/28/2021 - Twitter for iPhone
FilipinoBoricuaLee
@KiannaLeeDeLaOz
Had I not removed myself, I’d still have him sis. So check yourself. And secondly keep my child out your mouth. I’d hate to have to violate you.
9:36 PM - 6/28/2021 - Twitter for iPhone
I listened as my front door opened. Already knowing who it was, I rolled my eyes and placed my phone on the nightstand. I heard his footsteps before he appeared in the door frame.
“Stop going back and forth with her”
“No, check that bitch. Talking about fuck my child. Our child... that shit is out of line. And that’s the bitch you returning to tonight”
He laughed, removing his shirt, and laying on the other side of Kapri. What the fuck was he doing.
“Fuck her Kianna. Deadass, and I put her out. I just wanna be with you”
I exhaled and shook my head.
“I don’t have time for the back and forth shit. And you wouldn’t be saying this had I not posted Kapri”
He shook his head, leaning down to her neck and continued to kiss it. He was in love with her. I love their bond and watching her with him. Joined at the hip. And as was Kapri with her other siblings. His oldest 3 are very well present in Kapri’s life. In fact, I’m close with their mothers. Angelou, Bella and Zayden come here sometimes and all. No shady shit against India, but we kept shit strictly for the kids. She couldn’t do the same.
“Nah, I planned on ending shit with her. She, just .... she’s just not you. Ima go to court for Willow and all. I wanna be with you and only you”
I exhaled. This all couldn’t be at the wrong moment. And Durk has a interview with Big Facts here in Atlanta, I just gave them lighting fluid for the fire. Cutting the light off on my nightstand, I turned the TV on and relaxed my nerves.
I wasn’t gonna let that shit ruin the fact that my baby is gonna be 1 soon and this party is gonna be live as hell.
Durk
Charlamage: How long you been in the A now? Like how you like it
Durk: I love it. Whole different vibe from... from Chicago. A lot more welcoming. Shit is smooth.
With the stupid shit that transpired yesterday, work still continues. I had to fly out here to NY for some promo so I mind as well hit the breakfast club. Ain’t nothing came up about the shit with India, but I feel it coming soon. So far they been keeping it professional instead of personal.
DJ Envy: What’s the difference for you?
Durk: I mean, Atlanta embrace me. I can get more work done, more focused. The music vibe is there too. You know, more family vibe. It’s all love. Drop the beef and get to the money. Chicago, everybody trynna... step on everybody. Niggas reckless.
Angela Yee: Mmmm
Durk: Yeah, Atlanta had what I needed. I had to make that move.
Charlamagne: You talk about giving back to Chicago, looking out for the kids out there, what’s your plan.
Durk: I bought out a fucked up school that got tore up years ago. Revamped that shit, turned it into a youth outreach program. You know, the goal is to, get niggas to see that we gotta be the change, but with how they are out there, it’s hard. Cause ain’t nobody trying to hear that shit.
Angela Yee: In the mean time, just doing your part is all you can do right now
Durk: Fasho. I play my part how I can, team up with my niggas that done seen shit and we get shit.
Angela Yee: Iight so you know we gotta address the latest news in. First congrats on ya babygirl, she’s beautiful
I laughed and nodded my head.
Durk: Preciate it, preciate it.
DJ Envy: How.... how did the drama come about online?
I exhaled and shrugged. One thing me and India agreed on was to never run to the internet. I think that shit only applied to certain shit because she emptied the clip. Had my business all on The Shaderoom. And not that I give a fuck cause I ain’t did shit wrong but, I mean damn. It’s like that.
Durk: I mean.....I never cheated. Me and her weren’t together. I met Kianna a month or two after we broke up and we was together. Real live relationship.
Angela: So there was no back and forth running?
I shook my head
Durk: Nah, Kianna wasn’t and wouldn’t go for it.
Charlamagne: See, my whole thing is, if we ain’t together, what I do outside of you doesn’t matter
Durk: Fasho
Charlamagne: Do you think ya’ll can see past that and be together again.
Durk: Nah, for starters, I ain’t... I don’t wanna be in anything I’m not happy in. And once you say, fuck me, fuck my child, shit is done.
Angela: yeah that was disrespectful
Durk: Durk, so it’s up, and it’s stuck. Ain’t no coming back from that.
Charlamagne: What about Kianna? She fine? She off the market... tell it?
We all laughed and I exhaled.
Durk: Stay tuned
Angela Yee: No wait, we need more on that than that. I mean she’s a beautiful girl, amazingly talented, She’s done my hair before as well as many of the women I know. She has a product line coming out. Like that’s a ideal women, and I don’t say that just because I know her.
Durk: Nah, I love her. I loved her then, I love her now. Time will tell. She know my heart and where... where we stand on shit.
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Title: It’s Over
Character(s): Negan and Reader
Prompt: “I told you not to come back.” || Lesley Gore - You Don’t Own Me
Summary: Negan doesn’t understand that your affair with him is over. You, however, had enough and finally lose control.
Word Count: 2,590
Warning: Violence, and of course, Negan’s vulgar language!
Author’s Note: Thank you @embracetheapocalypsewithme for hosting this challenge! These two prompts actually made me so excited to write for Negan, especially since the song fits so well with him (I think). I had a blast writing this and I hope you, and whoever reads this, enjoy it as much as I did writing it! Thank you again for allowing me to participate in this amazing writing challenge, and congrats on 400 followers! I still think you deserve so much more! :-)
(GIF Source: @heartfulloffandoms)
“Marry me. I can take care of you and –”
You hurriedly climbed out of his bed, shaking your head. You began dressing, pulling your clothes on without a glance in Negan’s direction.
“No. This was a mistake. We shouldn’t have done this again,” you mumbled.
“What? That’s not what you were fucking saying fifteen minutes ago. In fact, I think you were moaning my name. Ain’t that right, doll?” he smirked.
“Negan, I already told you. This is done. We are done. I cannot be some woman you can fuck around with anymore. You’ve got five wives for that.”
“I can make you my sixth.”
You glared, looking up at him with pure anger in your orbs. “Don’t.”
“You’ll be my favorite,” he grinned.
Suddenly, a sad expression washed over you and you dropped your eyes. You had to end this affair with Negan simply because your feelings for him were developing, but you lied to him and told him you couldn’t handle being a secret any longer.
Instead, he proposed to make you a wife and that just angered you even more. You weren’t a woman who liked to share and Negan didn’t understand. You could never be with a man who couldn’t settle down with one woman only.
“This is it. I’m drawing the line here. You can’t keep taking me away from my job, showing up in my room, calling for me to visit you in your office… I can’t do it anymore, Negan. Please respect that.”
Negan narrowed his eyes, standing up and pulling on his boxers and a pair of sweats. He remained shirtless, but you forced yourself to keep your eyes staring straight into his. It pained you to tell him that this affair had to come to an end because the more time you spent with him, the more you found yourself falling in love.
So, naturally, you had to get out before you fell in too deep.
“So, that’s it? You’re just going to kick me to the fucking curb because you have some jealousy issues?” he argued.
“I’m not going to repeat myself to you, Negan. I’ve already told you twice, and I will not say it again.”
Walking over to you, Negan grabbed your chin in his rough grasp. His usual softened eyes disappeared and was replaced with a look of anger and… Pain.
Pain?
You furrowed a brow, trying to pull away from him but he just tightened his grip.
“You still belong to me, doll. You will still be mine.”
As if on cue, you pushed against his chest roughly and stared into his eyes with the same intensity of anger. “You do not own me. Yes, we are all Negan, but only for the sole purpose of your goddamn ego. That is it. I am not your wife and I am no longer your goddamn fuck buddy.”
You began walking to the door before you felt his strong hand grasp onto you. You turned around, surprised to see the brief flash of hurt in his eyes before it vanished.
“You’re making a big mistake,” he said.
“Am I? I don’t think I am. Now, let go of me.” you challenged, pulling your arm from his tight grip.
Negan allowed you to leave his room afterwards, turning his back to you. You could see his shoulders slump forward and his head begin to hang low, but you quickly decided to leave his room before you succumbed to the nagging sensation that your body was telling you.
You had fallen in love with Negan. He was no saint in this new world, but then again, who was? You disagreed with the way he dealt with situations and how he lived his life, but after you realized that you loved him, you needed to take a step back.
Negan was a good man with good intentions, but you knew that falling in love with him was as if you were signing up for heartbreak. He didn’t settle down and he certainly wasn’t looking to either.
He had five wives and still, he wasn’t satisfied if he managed to have an affair with you.
You needed to gain control of your life back. You couldn’t continue living a life where Negan acted like you were his. If he was able to screw around with his wives, then you were able to screw around with anyone you found attractive (though, that never happened).
You thought ending the affair with Negan would be freeing, but it had you contemplating if you were making the right decision. Looking past the infatuation, you knew that letting him go was a better decision than staying with him.
The next day, however, Negan hovered at your work station. Working in the garden didn’t help with your stress since the sun was beating down against your body and the Atlanta heat just made it worse. You looked up from where you were working to see Negan talking to Simon, but his eyes were staring at you.
You sighed, looking away and deciding to walk into the Sanctuary to grab bottles of water for you and the rest of your coworkers.
Negan, however, quickly followed. He gently pulled you aside to an empty hallway and looked down at you. He looked utterly confused and for once, you noticed his wall and façade finally vanishing at the sight of you.
“About last night,” he began.
“It’s over, Negan. Please… Stop trying to find ways to talk to me. Don’t – Don’t come back…” you mumbled shakily.
“You don’t mean that, do you?”
You forced yourself to hold back your tears, dropping your eyes to your boots. “I do, Negan… I’m sorry.”
Negan cleared his throat, taking a step back and tightening his jaw. You glanced up at him to see the blank look in his eyes and without a response, Negan left you standing in the dark hallway as his figure disappeared from your sight.
You leaned back against the wall and tried to catch your breath, the tears sneakily finding its way out as it slowly trickled down your cheek to your chin. You quickly caught it, taking a few deep breaths before walking to the commissary to grab bottles of water.
When you walked back to the garden, you glanced around and noticed that Negan was nowhere to be found. Deep down, you wished that he would fight for you, but you knew Negan didn’t want a woman who wasn’t willing.
Throughout the day, you busied yourself with making sure the crops for the vegetables and fruits were properly growing. You hadn’t seen Negan since your talk with him this morning, so you decided that it was time to move on and focus on yourself.
Once dinner was ready, your supervisor dismissed you and the rest of the workers for the day. You decided to clean up before making your way to the cafeteria, so you walked to your room. You opened the door half-expecting Negan to be sitting on your sofa, but you were disappointed when you realized that your room was empty.
You sighed, changing into shorts and a black v-neck, pulling your running shoes on instead. You looked at yourself in the mirror and sighed. You hoped that your previous self would make its appearance after forgetting Negan and the affair you had with him.
Finally, you left your room and decided to grab dinner. You had a sufficient amount of points built up, but you never used more than you needed. It was always better to have more than less in this new world.
As you made it to the cafeteria and you went in line, your eyes drifted to the noisy mess hall and the many people that were occupying the tables. Despite how things ended with you and Negan, you had to commend him for building a place for so many people.
You grabbed a tray and stepped forward, awaiting your turn. Suddenly, the familiar sound of boots echoed throughout the large room and everyone around you dropped to one knee. You bit your lower lip, slowly lowering yourself to the floor. You knew who it was, but you didn’t want to look up.
His boots passed you, walking directly to the front of the line where he retrieved his dinner. You glanced in his direction, noticing his leather jacket, grey pants and boots all too well. Even from behind, you knew who it was. He was carrying Lucille, but his presence had always exuded confidence and power.
“As you were,” he called, sitting at a table with Simon and the rest of the Saviors.
You stood, quickly wishing that the line went a bit faster. When it was your turn, you told the woman your name and she gave you plate with a small smile. You grabbed a cup of water and began walking to an empty table. As you glanced in Negan’s direction, your eyes met his and once more, you were met with the blank look.
Sighing, you decided to sit at a table that had vacant seats. However, as you sat down, you noticed a man look in your direction and realized he was sitting at the table with you.
“Hi,” he blurted.
“Oh, hi.”
“Are you new?”
“No…”
He was cute, but he was not Negan. You found yourself comparing this man to Negan and quickly shook your head of the lingering thoughts. You needed to move on and make friends.
“It’s just that I’ve never seen you around. I’m Max.”
“Hi, Max. I’m [Y/N]. I usually work in the garden and I’m always too tired to eat dinner, so I grab a snack from the commissary and head to my room.”
He smiled, “Well, I’m glad you gained an appetite tonight. I work with the mechanics, making sure that each vehicle that Negan brings in is working smoothly. If it isn’t, we try and fix it.”
“I’ve never been too good with cars,” you laughed.
“And I’ve never been good with gardening. I guess we can teach each other sometime,” Max smiled.
He was nice and he was flirting, and despite Negan’s lingering voice in your mind, you reminded yourself that Negan didn’t own you. This was your life to live and Negan was never yours to begin with. Sure, you had been his but he was never yours.
“Maybe. Though, I think we both have something in common,” you added.
“And what’s that?”
“We both like to get dirty.”
Max chuckled, taking a sip of his water. “You’re funny.” He moved into a chair much closer to yours, but still remained mindful of your personal space.
You found it endearing and very gentleman-like of Max to respect your boundaries while satisfying his own urges. You made the mistake of glancing in Negan’s direction to see him watching you very carefully. You sighed, shaking your head absently and continuing to eat.
“So, what’s your favorite color? Favorite food? How was your childhood like?” Max teased.
“Those questions sound like they’re meant to be asked on a first date. Is this a date, Max?”
“Certainly not, but I wouldn’t mind taking you out on one,” he smiled.
“Who said I was interested?” you teased, standing up to throw your trash away. You began walking away before Max called your name, smiling in your direction.
“I’ll see you here tomorrow night?” he asked, hopefully.
You smiled, “I guess you’ll find out.”
As you walked back to your room, you noticed Negan waiting at your door. You sighed, walking inside and holding it open for him. He rushed inside, propping Lucille onto his shoulder as he turned to face you once you shut the door.
“What the fuck was that?” he asked angrily.
“What was what?”
“Oh, don’t play fucking coy with me, [Y/N]. Who the fuck were you talking to at dinner?”
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t think I fucking stuttered, doll.”
“Okay, that is enough. You need to leave.”
Negan tightened his jaw. “I get it. You’re trying to make me jealous. I understand. I get it now, doll.”
“No, you don’t, Negan. I am tired of this game we are playing. An affair doesn’t mean that we are tied down to one another. You can fuck your wives, but I can’t see anyone else? How does that even make any sense to you?” you argued.
“Why does it fucking matter? I like you more.”
“Yeah, that definitely makes it better.”
“I’m not just someone you can control, Negan. I’m not your wife. You can’t tell me who I’m not allowed to see, what I’m supposed to wear… You do not own me.”
Negan glared, looking into your eyes. “Are you going to fuck him?”
“What?”
“That fucker you were talking to at dinner. Are you going to fuck him, just like you fucked me? That’s what you do, don’t you? Lure men in and get them to like you and when you’ve had enough, you just toss ‘em aside?” he fumed.
Suddenly, you connected your hand with his cheek with as much strength as you could muster. Tears were stinging in your eyes and you watched as his head turned the other way. The sound of your hand connecting with his cheek echoed throughout your small room and for a moment, you were guilty, but you decided to stand your ground.
Enough was enough and you weren’t going to allow Negan to speak to you that way.
“All I was to you was a piece of ass that you couldn’t get enough of,” you croaked. “So, don’t lie to my face and say that our affair was much more than it was.”
“Don’t forget who you’re talking to,” he threatened.
“No, Negan! I don’t tell you how to run this place. I don’t tell you what you should do, who you should be with… That is called a relationship, not an affair. We are done. What I do and who I talk to doesn’t concern you anymore… It never did,” you spat.
Negan tightened his grip around the base of his bat, looking into your eyes to see if you were serious. When he realized that this was final, he flashed a smile. “You’re right. All you were to me was a piece of fucking ass that wasn’t that good anyway.”
Negan’s mission was to hurt you more than you hurt him, but he was sure that watching you with another man was going to cause him more pain than he imagined. He hid his true feelings for you because he was afraid to love again, but you were never going to know that.
You said it was over and Negan was going to make sure it fucking was.
“Get out, Negan. Just get out.”
“I hope I fucking loosened you up for that piece of shit,” he snarled.
“Don’t come here anymore,” you said shakily as tears strolled down your face. “I told you not to come back and I mean it this time, Negan.”
Negan nodded, putting on his usual façade of the big, bad wolf. “You’re right. This shit is over.”
You bit your lower lip, wiping your tears away and walking him to the door. Slowly opening it, Negan stepped towards you and into your personal space. You shut your eyes, holding onto the doorknob tightly as his scent filled your senses for one last time.
“I’m sorry, doll,” he whispered into your ear with a soft, husky tone and then walked away.
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RTARL’s NFL Week 7 Extravapalooza
I know this is a football post, but the World Series looks like it’s gonna be great. Verlander, Cole, and Greinke vs. Scherzer, Strasburg, and Corbin is RAD. Especially now that MLB has decided to switch back to the non-juiced baseballs. Nothing says “we care deeply about the integrity of competition” quite like drastically fucking with the league’s official equipment when the games matter most!
The Stros and Nats are very evenly matched in my opinion, but I think I’m gonna take Washington to win based on nothing more than pure bullshit and approximately 25 seconds of thought. Nationals in 6, baby! TAKE IT TO THE BANK!
[looks at my record of picking things]
Congrats to the Houston Astros and their fans!
My picks are in BOLD, and all betting info comes to you courtesy of Vegas Insider.
Last Week’s Record: 6-7
Season Record: 35-49-1
Arizona Cardinals at New York Giants (-3)
Ooh, this is a spicy little meatball of a game. Neither of these teams are what I’d call “good,” nevertheless this one rates very highly on the “Watch ‘Em Up Index” patented by my colleague Starkweather.
The combination of the “West Coast team travelling East to play an early game” scenario and the triumphant return of Saquon Barkley led me to choose New York to prevail in a shootout.
Houston Texans at Indianapolis Colts (-1)
Another good game! The Colts deserve all the credit in the world for not going completely into the tank after Andrew Luck decided to call it a career weeks before the season started. They’re legitimately feisty, and it was wrong for me to ever doubt the powers of Jacoby Brissett.
One thing the Colts do NOT do well is pressure the QB, as they sit at just 26th in the league in Pressure % ( QB pressures (hurries + knockdowns + all sack plays (half and full for players, just full sacks for teams)) per dropback). This leads me to believe that DeShaun Watson will make it through at least one more week without literally exploding into chunks on the field, and when he avoids that he’s usually very good.
Miami Dolphins at Buffalo Bills (-17)
Holy shit, when was the last time the Bills were favored this heavily? The WAGONS HAVE BEEN CIRCLED! Buffalo QB Josh Allen has played the Dolphins twice in his young career so far, and both times have resulted in an absolute statistical bonanza for fantasy footballers, so if you play DFS or feel like placing any prop bets, I would advise hopping aboard the Allen Train today.
The Dolphins make me sad. Note that they don’t make me CRY, because I’m not Hootie from Hootie and the Blowfish.
Minnesota Vikings at Detroit Lions (-2)
Man, I feel bad for the Lions. They were boned out of a divisional win on Monday, and now they welcome an even tougher divisional foe on a short week. I still think they’re a good team, but this is a tough spot. My man Kerryon Johnson has NOT had a chance to get it going so far, as for whatever reason the Detroit offensive coordinator is insistent upon trying to run him straight up the middle in obvious running situations as opposed to trying to get him the ball with a bit of space to operate. Seems like a functional running game would take some pressure off of Staff Daddy! Why yes, I am an aggrieved Kerryon Johnson fantasy owner, why do you ask?
The Vikings coming to the realization that their best bet for success is to let Kurt Cousins chuck it all over the yard is hilarious to me, because you know damn well it’s going to cause HC Mike Zimmer’s other eye to explode. His demeanor in press conferences following games where Minny wins after Kurt throws 30+ times could best be described as “just watched his wife’s autopsy.”
Jacksonville Jaguars (-4) at Cincinnati Bengals
Oakland Raiders at Green Bay Packers (-4.5)
I am VERY disappointed that the Raiders have actually been a somewhat competent team so far. Watching Jon Gruden seethe on the sidelines each week was supposed be a major part of my autumn, god damn it. I suppose there’s still time for things to go sideways, but it doesn’t seem like it’ll devolve to quite the level I’d like.
The Packers’ rush defense isn’t very good, which is unfortunate given that they find themselves up against enormous Oakland RB Josh Jacobs this week. Conversely, the best way to attack Oakland is through the air. Despite having Aaron Rodgers, Green Bay isn’t really in a great position to take advantage of this, given the fact that they have basically zero healthy pass-catchers. This game feels like a low-scoring, field-position battle that ends up being decided by a field goal.
Los Angeles Rams (-3) at Atlanta Falcons
I can’t shake the feeling that this game is going to be a blow-out win for the Falcons, and my instincts are NEVER wrong. You know who the Rams’ back-up QB is? That’s right, it’s BLAKE BORTLES! I know it isn’t likely they’d make a switch given Goff’s huge contract, but how many more stinkbombs are they willing to endure before they begin to feel themselves swaying to the siren song of BORT? Jalen Ramsey may demand another trade if that were to happen.
I truly have no idea what the Falcons will do from week-to-week. I mean, I clearly don’t know what ANY team is going to do, but with Atlanta it’s like, EXTRA uncertainty.
San Francisco 49ers (-9.5) at Washington Football Team
The narrative around this game has mostly been “Kyle Shanahan hates the Washington franchise with the fire of 1000 suns and he desperately wants to crush their hopes and dreams,” which is DELIGHTFUL. This game probably isn’t going to be any fun at all for Case Keenum, and then it will be even less fun for poor Dwayne Haskins if the team throws him in there.
The field at Washington is a notorious piece of shit to begin with, and evidently today it’s extremely soggy there. The Over/Under is currently at 39, and pounding the under doesn’t seem like the worst investment in the world if the game’s gonna be a slop-fest featuring one team that wouldn’t be likely to score a whole hell of a lot even in ideal conditions.
Baltimore Ravens at Seattle Seahawks (-3)
In theory, Seattle has the speed and athleticism along their defensive line and in their linebacking corps to keep Lamar Jackson from completely running wild on them. If that’s the case and Lamar is forced to try to beat them mostly with his arm, I don’t think he can do it. Especially given that his best WR, Marquise Brown, is out for this one.
As far as Seattle goes, Russell Wilson is the best. Evidently the national NFL media reads this picks column, because the “Wilson is the MVP frontrunner” chatter began in earnest on all of the talking-head shows this past week following my praise of the mighty DangeRuss. Clearly, nobody was aware that he was good until I brought it to the world’s attention. I’m predicting this is going to be a breakout game for rookie WR DK Metcalf. TE Will Dissly was a big part of Seattle’s passing offense, and those targets have to go somewhere. That coupled with Baltimore’s extremely shaky pass defense likely focusing the bulk of their meager stopping power on Tyler Lockett leads me to believe that DK will feast.
Los Angeles Chargers at Tennessee Titans (-2.5)
In last week’s post I joked that it would be hilarious if San Diego blew a lay-up of a game against the thoroughly depleted Pittsburgh Steelers. Well, it turns out that it wasn’t hilarious, it was actually kind of depressing. Do NOT watch any of this game for any reason.
New Orleans Saints at Chicago Bears (-4)
Trubisky BACK! Whether or not that’s actually good for the Bears long-term is certainly up for debate. At the very least, he’s a much more capable scrambler/runner than Chase Daniel, which I think will come in handy today.
Alvin Kamara being out is huge, obviously. Teddy B not having him around as a world-class safety valve in the face of Chicago’s fearsome pass rush is going to be an issue, I reckon.
This game has the week’s lowest Over/Under (37) for a reason.
Sunday Night Game: Philadelphia Eagles at Dallas Cowboys (-2.5)
Neither of these teams are playing particularly inspired football as of late, which is nice. At least some of the Cowboys’ issues can be chalked up to injuries to key players, and it appears they’re going to have everyone back for this one. La’el Collins and Tyron Smith coming back is huge (literally LOL!!!) for the offensive line, and Amari Cooper returning to join Michael Gallup gives them a legitimately dangerous pair of WRs.
I’m picking the Cowboys to win here, which feels kind of gross, BUT I think in the long term it will only help from a comedy perspective because it increases the odds of Jason Garrett getting a contract extension.
Monday Night Game: New England Patriots (-9.5) at New York Jets
via GIPHY
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Small Projects: Huge Fabulous Antique Armoire Edition
You know what I have to learn and then re-learn and re-learn over and over again? The joy of a small project. That’s what.
Quick. Immediately satisfying. Simple. Cheap. Those kinds of projects. I love them! Specifically, I love to over-think them, then get quickly overwhelmed by them, and then abandon them before I’ve even begun because I haven’t mentally worked out all the kinks. See? What’s not to enjoy?
This used to be easier before I bought my house. The whole house is one enormous project, composed of many different big, expensive, time-consuming, difficult projects. This will continue to be the case for the foreseeable future, which is OK. I bought the thing. I asked for it! I even had some notion of what I was getting into, and I did it anyway. But that doesn’t mean it’s not at times exhausting and frustrating, I think in part because you end up spending so much time and money and energy on things that at least feel much more in service to the house than to yourself living in the house. Something like that?
To illustrate, let’s consider my windows. As with the rest of the house, they are very old. All of them need work, and the work is time-consuming and a pain in the ass, and when it’s all over…there’s a window. The same window that there once was, just in better condition and hopefully better prepared to stay in one piece for the next century. It still goes up and down as before, and still provides light as before. Congrats, house! You have a restored window. Boy do I feel…like I just spent a ton of effort on something that has not made a notable difference in how I live in this house. Awesome, let’s do it 36 more times, and we’ll spread it out over many years to prolong the fun!
My house has a lot of windows, literally and figuratively. It’s part of what I love about it. It’s part of what I hate about it.
SO ANYWAY, as much as I love my home, sometimes part of me might just long for the days when I lived in places owned by other people. Then, my projects were so much more about making myself more comfy and satisfied in my living space—which is, actually, fun and exciting and ultimately the goal of this whole entire endeavor, I recognize. But for me, those smaller projects will never feel like a priority when compared to the mountain of house-things I should be working on at any given time, so I have to be extra-conscious to make time for them every now and then. Turns out enjoying living in your house instead of just working on it all the time can, actually, make the work feel more worthwhile. Huh. It’s almost like…enjoyment…feels good? And…working on something you enjoy is…fun? Big revelations here today, folks.
So let’s think back to the summer, when I bought this big armoire and then we never spoke of it again.
Here’s what I did. I bought the big thing. Then I brought it home. Then I moved all my clothes out of the chest of drawers that had been occupying that wall, put them in a smaller set of drawers, and crammed that smaller set of drawers into my closet and moved the other one to another room to collect dust. Then I moved the big thing into place, wiped it off, took a couple pictures of it for my internet friends, and…
There is no “and” because that’s the whole story. It sat empty for the next six months while I occasionally thought about all these elaborate things I would do to build out the interior without compromising the integrity of the piece (it is, after all, an antique and I don’t want to fuck it up!). I wanted it to hold a TV, but also have storage for…something…which might involve drawers and cubbies and shelves and maybe some fancy twee labels. I’d have to construct a thing out of plywood to the exact dimensions of the interior so that it could nestle right inside, which obviously I’d have to plan, build, dry fit, remove, patch, paint, install, secure…it would have to be attractive and sturdy and hold all the things I needed it to, once I figured out what those things were, which really was the first project…
Enough. End the madness. The goal was not to have an enormous empty armoire in my room indefinitely, no matter how good-looking it is. The goal was to bring this thing into my life and, in turn, see my life improved by its presence. Sometimes (all the time) I need to stop and really think about how to simplify something, because my impulse is often to over-complicate it to the point that it becomes some big thing when all I really wanted was a goddamn TV in my bedroom because TV is my favorite thing and bed is my favorite place and the two in combination just feels so right.
Here is what I did. Try to keep up.
I went to Lowe’s and bought four of these little super-simple shelving verticals. Next to them, there are little packs of shelving clips, so I bought one of those. Then I went to a different aisle and picked up 3 pine stair treads, because they were long enough, a full inch thick, and had a nice bullnose edge.
You’ve seen this kind of shelving, btw. I didn’t, like, discover anything. They’re in every old person’s house in America. For a long time I’ve considered them kind of flimsy and crappy and, I don’t know, something everyone in the 1960s decided was a good idea, like cigarettes.
You know what? IT WAS A GOOD IDEA. Not cigarettes, the other thing. I submit that this shelving is actually rather beautifully designed in its simplicity of use and install, and clearly stands the test of time given how many I have un-installed from closets and stuff over the years. Ain’t a damn thing wrong with it.
(I could have probably scrounged up the wood for the shelves from the basement or the garage, but then again maybe I couldn’t have, and I’d have to break out the router for the bullnose edge, and there is something nice about the shelves all matching and not being some weird cobbled-together solution to save myself $30, and omg why am I even still thinking about this IT DOES NOT MATTER.)
Then I went home and I did something else. I installed all that shit. It took maybe an hour. I wiped down the inside of the armoire. I took out the existing clothing rod. I screwed in the verticals, like three screws per strip because the side panels are thin and flimsy so you can only screw into the thicker stiles and rails. I snapped in the clips. I cut my shelves to size (which, FYI, they would have done at the store for me if I asked/had the patience to find an employee). I drilled a hole in the back for cords to come through because we can only be so precious about stuff and nobody will ever see it.
Want to know something kind of funny? When I went to install the shelving tracks, there were already little holes on the inside of the cabinet that lined up perfectly with my screw holes! Because somebody ALREADY FIGURED THIS OUT. And screwed into the armoire, and not only did I buy it despite its compromised-by-modern-conveniences condition, it took me 6 months to notice and I don’t care even a little bit about it and anyone who’s worth a damn in the future won’t either, because it so doesn’t matter.
I’m getting worked up.
I put the shelves in. They fit.
Then I put the TV in. It’s a 40″ Insignia. It came from Best Buy. It was $200. It’s not the most amazing TV but it’s 100% sufficient and fuck if I’m gonna repack it and take it back to the store because it’s not amazing. It’s FINE and that is the attitude I’m trying to insert more into my life. IT’S. FINE. A great many things are fine being just fine. My mediocre TV is one of those things.
After the TV went in, I put in linens. I love linens. I do. I love sheets and blankets and duvet covers and seeing them neatly stacked in here makes me feel all kinds of domestic and adult about my shit. It’s that subtle difference between hoarding and collecting. Collectors store their shit well. Put it on a t-shirt.
The next day, high on my victory, I felt motivated to make the few little repairs that this piece needed. There were a few little pieces of trim that had broken off but been thoughtfully stored away in that bottom drawer, so I broke out the wood glue and the brad nailer and put them back.
I replaced the knobs on the drawer—one had snapped off in transit, and I was holding out until I found the perfect set of replacements (the original style of knob isn’t especially hard to find, except of course when you’re looking for them), but decided on this day to just replace them with the next best thing I had around. Amazingly, now I can use the drawer AND the gorgeous-even-though-they-aren’t-really-correct knobs look cute and who cares if I never replace them.
Then I wiped down the whole thing with the dregs of a can of Restore-a-Finish, which ran out before I got to the least-visible side and this, too, does not matter.
Someday I’ll have a little more Restore-a-Finish, and a couple of hours to stain and poly the shelves, and maybe the right set of knobs or even a better TV. But I’m kind of not worried about it.
Otherwise, I guess some other things have changed since last time I took photos of the bedroom? Nothing major. I move stuff around a lot. But I finally got a queen mattress for my queen bed! After spending a ton of time researching and comparing all the newfangled mattress companies, I had a nice night’s sleep at an Airbnb and found the mattress they were using for $200 on Amazon. It’s cheap and it’s firm. You can fill in that joke.
The big black and white art used to hang in the house I grew up in! It’s actually 1/2 of a diptych, but I only have a couple of walls big enough to accommodate the whole thing so in the meantime I just hung up one side here. Some people love it and some people hate it and that makes me sort of happy. It’s signed “Reizner 1975.” This is the wall I’d like to eventually add a mantel back to, since it appears one was removed at some point.
I dunno, I moved my lounge chair to another room and moved in my cutie little rocker. Nobody sits in bedroom chairs; they exist exclusively to collect laundry and fill awkward corners.
Mekko is still the cutest. Naked man is still naked.
Small Projects: Huge Fabulous Antique Armoire Edition syndicated from findqueenslandelectricians.wordpress.com
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Week 7 Preview:
Week 7 Preview:
Welcome to the week 7 iteration of the preview written by the Squads’ southern-most member. While I begin to write this, I am struggling to come up with fresh humor to throw at you all. So this preview might be like TJ’s version of a marathon, I’ll only do half it. Although, If I put in half as much effort as solden has put into getting laid lately, then this thing will be longer than Sam’s sweet clean meat after seeing Jared as Han Swolo. Ive rambled long enough so we should probably slide into this weeks matchups like Holla slide into Robins boats, head first.
Matchups:
G-reg 3rd Leg vs The Brady Bunch
So after 3 years of not changing my name from the generic name given, I decided to switch it up. Why not name my Team after Greg. Gotta rep the 7th floor crew while we still can and Greg was about as reliable as Joe Thomas. Hadn’t missed a regular season game in 9, yes 9 years. So next year I’m naming my team after a player Sam’s team, that’ll fuck him over. Now, with Aaron Rodgers going down, G-regs third leg doesn’t have much left to stand on. But after numerous trade inquiries, a new QB will take over and its none other than Big dick Mitch. I square off against Doug this week. Doug is 3-3, that’s such a Doug Record. Doug certainly has some talent on his team, we’ll see if Kareeem Hunt can continue to over perform. Dez will prolyl have a solid game against SF, and Brady will put up numbers against Atlanta, So this one looks to Be in the Shady Bunch’s favor but I cant bet against myself.
So G-reg will show the Brady Bunch his third leg and will come home with a win. In the end, everything is a dick measuring contest anyway. Unless you’re TJ, and you always fall back on the hole big balls thing.
3rd leg>1 shade of grey
Jon SnOBJs vs Crows before Hoes
I’m not sure why Paul named his team this. Are you that big of a Crowell fan? If so, don’t tell TJ. I’m somewhat disappointed pot stirrin paul has been fairly silent this week. Of all weeks, it’s time for a little stirring to get Chads vein popping, as well as the one on his forehead. Going through the rosters this week I noticed one anomaly. Paul not only has one black QB, but he has two. For that reason, I pretty much have to pick team BJ. Team No Bj, is looking thin this week too. A team that once looked like it could catch more balls than Pauly on a Friday night, now just isn’t the same. With the news that Chad is going to start two tight ends and neither is named gronk, jimmy, or martellus, that has made this decision just a little bit harder. But since much of fantasy is due to luck and not managerial skill, which Sam has been proven the last 3 years, I will pick Chad. Despite him starting two tight ends, the only tight end Chad is interested in, is Paul’s.
Jon SnOBjs > Pauls tight end
Hollas Heavy Hitters vs The injured Reserve
I expect big things out of Matty Ice this week going against a weak Patriots secondary. Congrats to Holla for having one of the best looking guys in the NFL according to the research we did at Paul’s, Eric Decker. But Choll has Amendola, also highly ranked. Starting any player who plays the browns is always a good move, its even better if you can start two like Holla, Decker and D. Walker. Across the board, Holla has good matchups, Shady is even going against a weak Tampa D. I’m not sure if either of these managers drafted their teams, set their lineups, or even read this preview. I do however know Holla Bee-bopped and hopscotched around Athens for HC. Casey got in huge trouble from the old lady for being the vicinity of another female while in Athens. And Doug still has a 401K. Got a bit off track there, but so has Sammy Watkins who is one of Cholls wideouts. I continue to expect big numbers out of the rookie Fournette as well as Jordan Howard as the Bears ease in the Pretty Boy Assassin. I think this one goes to Choll despite Hollas favorable matchups. But who knows, even a broken clock is right twice a day, unless you’re Paul who never knows if its right.
Choll Sauce>Guy appreciates Robin’s boats
2 Gurleys, 1 Cup vs Aint EZ being Breesy
To start on a positive note, at least both of these teams are named after players who are actually on their teams. I mean anyone who wants to see a fucked up video should watch the 2 girls 1 cup video. I assume Sam watches it daily. This is a tough one though. I’m torn between hoping for a tie and Sam losing by the smallest margin possible on Monday night. And it’s actually very possible since he is starting captain kirk who plays on MNF this week. But on the flip side, Solden has been firing shots the last few days about getting this preview out so I kind of want him to lose too. I guess as the saying goes, you cant have your cake and eat it too. But I don’t like cake, so Ill have my cake and do whatever I want with it. Outside of Brees and Gronk, Soldens team is weak. Sam is down to Bell and Gurley and a bunch of average guys . So who knows. Both teams being 3-3 makes this a pretty even matchup. But I would be remise if I didn’t remind Sam that I may have one of the worst teams in the league now that ive been battered by injuries harder than Zeke punching his GF, that I beat you. I did my part to ensure you don’t get lucky one more time. But just like Sam on a Saturday night, solden won’t close on Monday. Sam will roll over Solden Harder than his hard part this week. Speaking of your part. If you invested the $25 per month you spend on your haircut, you’d have nearly $150,000 by the time you are 65. Just sayin.
Pussy Repellent > skinny Solden
Julio Tones vs Little Diggs
Speaking of hair, TJ is now the face of Just for Men. That’s a slippery slope bro. Once you start you cant stop. Is Dre into the mustache rides? she must be cuz i see no other reason to deal with that facial hair. TJ is obviously going through a lot of changes lately so we should be nice. He has a girlfriend, ran a marathon, and took action on a hairline that is running from his forehead faster than him running that marathon. So really this matchup is of the haves and have nots with regard to hair that is. Ive been pretty outspoken over the years on my feelings about Derek Carr and more recently Zeke. I really don’t like overrated players. Too much credit is tossed around in a game that is so reliant on the rest of the team and play calls. TJs team reminds me a lot of one of my favorite sayings: Big hat, no cattle. I really like little Diggs Team which is something I haven’t said yet today. He has studs top to bottom, even his bench is stacked. I am not sure how many of these guys you drafted or how you got them, but damn. Now it looks like there is quite a few guys who are dinged up on your roster so that could set you back more than you set Solden back the night you played video game till 930 before going out. Cuz the girls you meet at 930 are definitely your best bet at getting laid.. As I write this I got the message from Chad in the Group me about how much he is enjoying the preview. If only I had more time to tear part him and his jeans that are just alittle too tight I would. I hope casey pees in your bed right before you bring home one of those sculped lesbos.
Little Diggs drags sack on Julio Tones this week.
Little Diggs>Julio Tones
As we head into the weekend, I hope to see you all soon. Im sure chad is getting geeked up for Thursday night football, his least favorite version of the NFL but he’s a football guy so he has to watch it. I hope all of you who went to the jets game rather than come down to Homecoming had fun watching a former Browns QB shred us on a shitty team. I know chads little pecker got hard when he saw the snow started flying in Athens. You guys totally made the right decision.. Its too bad Jared isn’t in the league anymore. Theres some solid material on him. Oh well, his girlfriend probably wouldn’t let him read this anyway. But thanks for reading this far if you did. If not I’m not surprised, I know none of you can last this long.
-Snowman
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