#finally. REAL assless chaps | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

showrunnerihardlyknowher · 3 years

Note

You know how we have pet costumes? Give Jacob one, make him a cute space cowboy😈😈😈

WE'RE BACK BABY

Please enjoy this little ficlet (that was actually my 3rd attempt to write a fluffy ficlet for this universe because all the other ones kept becoming future chapters lmao)

“This is humiliating. I look like sheriff Woody or something.”

“Aw, I was thinking more like John Wayne Gacy, you know?”

“The...the clown serial killer…?”

Angie pursed her lips. “Wait, who was the cowboy guy in all the old movies? Like, before Clint Eastwood and whatever.”

“That’s John Wayne. Not John Wayne Gacy,” Jacob tugged at the sleeves of his costume and readjusted his cowhide vest. “And I don’t feel anywhere near as cool as him right now.”

She rolled her eyes and crinkled her nose. “That’s because you’re not cool. You’re a grown man playing dress up with a kindergartener.”

“So are you.”

Angie straightened her Native American headpiece and threw one of her braided pigtails behind her. “Yeah, but I know it’s stupid, so therefore I’m doing it ironically which makes me cool.”

Jacob sighed heavily but didn’t argue further, instead tugging his cowboy hat down further to shield his face that burned with embarrassment. Being forced into having playdates with his captor’s coworker was nothing new. He had spent plenty of time being Mibao’s sole playmate aboard the ship, doing the best he could to keep the six year girl entertained and not too psychologically damaged. Being the youngest in a sibling group of only boys, he was a bit rusty when it came to knowing anything about kids. Thankfully, Mibao was more than happy to take him by the hand and show up all the “fun” things she used to either do back home or what she would now do with her “kitty”.

Today’s game of choice was dress up. Every day felt like dress up when it came to the girl’s ever expanding wardrobe; she was always dressed in an obnoxiously puffy and sparkling princess dress fashioned with ribbons and bows galore and always with a matching crown. Fine, no big deal, he could slap a tiara on his head and call it a day, he’d worn worse at the few fraternity parties he attended during college. Nope, not good enough. Mibao had a very specific game she wanted to play which involved him wearing a cowboy costume of all things. A very realistic and detailed cowboy costume, assless chaps and spurs and all. Again, he could...handle it for the most part. The only thing that really bothered him about it was all the coos and giggles he received from both his and Mibao’s captors when he finally came out in his new outfit.

And he knew for a fact they took many, many pictures of him.

It didn’t end there, Mibao still had more requests. Angie needed to join in as well and she was required to be an “indian princess” to partake. Naturally, she was more than happy to agree if it meant getting a break from the absolute nightmare of a captor she had been saddled with. So, now Jacob had to deal with the fact that she would have to watch him play pretend in this ridiculous getup. He could never catch a break with her, it seemed, she always had to catch him when he was in the middle of doing something cringe worthy. She didn’t even look half as uncomfortable as him and she was literally wearing half as much clothing.

Or maybe that was exactly why she was so comfortable as she sauntered up to him, making a finger pistol to tip his hat away from his face. “Cheer up, partner,” she teased. “I think it makes you look cute.”

“I think it makes me look like Owen Wilson from the museum movie,” Jacob replied, hoping the shadow of the brim hid his reddening cheeks.

“Oh my God, you are a tiny little twink cowboy, huh?”

“I’d rather be the gladiator guy.”

“You wish you could pull off being the gladiator guy.”

A rebuttal was on the tip of his tongue when Mibao made her appearance from behind the monitor where she had been changing. This time instead of her usual princess attire, she was dressed...pretty much the same, only this time she had a tiny pair or iridescent fairy wings attached to the back. What a fairy had to do with cowboys and indians, he hadn’t the faintest idea. She stopped when she saw the two of them and stuck out her tongue in childish disgust.

“Eww, stop kissing!” She scolded. “You can kiss the princess later, Jake, it’s time to play!”

Jacob had never been more grateful in his life that the creatures idly watching them couldn’t understand English because he just might have died if they heard. He could feel the heat radiating from his nape to his cheeks, putting his hands up in defense like it could keep Angie away from him.

“Wh-no! We weren’t, we weren’t kissing, Reagan, w-we-!”

Angie only cackled, her amusement stemming more from Jacob’s panicked response than the actual accusation of giving him a kiss. “Yeah, cowboy, you can kiss me later.” She winked and nudged him with her elbow as she walked past to where Mibao was waiting.

He groaned, tugging the hat down as far as it would go even if that meant obscuring his vision somewhat. That was totally fine, he didn’t want to look at anyone right now and he did not want to be perceived either. The child was leading them back over to her designated play area scattered with art supplies and stuffed toys for where they’ll play their game of make believe. Angie was already sitting on her knees by the time he shuffled over and beckoned him with a sly smile to come take a seat on the ground next to her. Jacob obliged, but refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing his beet red face.

As soon as they were settled, Mibao immediately launched into the exposition of the scene they would be putting on, including their roles and superpowers (that only she had because she was a magical fairy queen). Jacob was only half listening; the kid usually forgot half of her own rules in the middle of playing anyways because she wanted to change the story and it wasn’t that hard to follow her game of make believe. Instead, he kept side-eying Angie, who was side-eying him back, and every time they made eye contact she would smile and bump his shoulder with hers.

This was going to be a long playdate.

The lab door slid open as Talan walked in, peeling off his bloodied gloves to dispose of them in Ylva’s waste bin. “I need my human back.”

“Aw, why? They’re all having a ball together!” Ylva frowned, gesturing to the miniature trio on her desk. Well, the smallest one and Talan’s pet seemed like they were having a good time, namely at the expense of the other human in a hat. They all seemed to stop at the interruption, his human fixing him with a sneer that he was tempted to match.

“What the fuck is it wearing?” He asked, ignoring all the little protests he got when he grabbed it and plucked the stupid looking feather thing of its head. “I thought you said it’s not nice to torment the humans.”

Edix scoffed at him, though his annoyance was more from Talan being in his general vicinity than anything. “It’s not torment. They were having fun.”

Talan did not look convinced in the slightest, his eyes sweeping over the pup who was pouting at him for taking away its playmate and the other who froze any time he breathed in its direction. Like owner, like pet, he assumed as it seemed to unconsciously inch closer to where Edix’s hand was resting for a better sense of security. Pathetic. At least his pet had a bit more self respect and wasn’t afraid to try and stab him in the hand with his own tools. Of course, it got a sharp flick to the stomach to knock it off, but he could appreciate the gumption.

Talan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, looks like a real party. So sad to have missed it.”

“Like you’ve ever been to a party to know what it looks like.”

“Says the one that only hangs out with plants.”

“Okay,” Ylva interjected, rising from her chair and scooping up her adorable little human. “You’re right, we should probably wrap this up, Mibao’s going to need a nap soon and she likes to fight her naps when she’s excited.”

That was all the excuse Talan needed to dip out without a formal goodbye, though it didn’t escape the corner of his eye how Edix’s human took a half step forward when he left, almost like it wanted to say something. Even if it did, he wouldn’t have cared. As quickly as he had intruded, Talan disappeared back down the main hall of the fauna department to return to his lab.

Edix stood up as well and tucked the data pad he had been keeping busy with under his arm to keep his hands free. He couldn’t help but smile at seeing how much closer his little pet was standing to him, even if it wasn’t by much, even though it was caused by Talan of all bastards. A win was a win in his book. The hand the human had been partly hiding behind curled easily around it to lift it up, immediately cradling it to his chest as usual. It squirmed for a moment but settled quick enough, a clear sign it was also ready to go back to the lab it was accustomed to. For a social species, the little one always seemed so drained after any playdate Ylva arranged for their pets. Fine by him, it usually meant his human was much more quiet and well behaved once it was back in the solitude of Edix’s company, making for an easier work day.

He used his finger to tilt back the wide brimmed hat it had been using to hide its sweet little face a majority of the playdate, earning him a surprised squeak. With the way its baby cheeks were turning an adorable shade of pink, Edix had a fairly good guess as to why it was trying to avoid everyone’s line of sight. Damn, he should have had Ylva take more pictures, this was way too cute for him. It reached up to quickly pull its shield back down and Edix let it with a laugh, cooing as he tugged at its little vest instead which only made it wriggle in distress. Overdramatic little thing.

“Can I keep this costume?” He asked as he followed behind Ylva who was preparing to put her own pup down for a nap. In reality, it meant she was going to have to play with it for at least another half an hour because, much like him, she was a sucker when it came to her human wanting to play. The difference being that Mibao wanted to do anything from coloring to singing to continuing its game of make believe while Edix’s pet always wanted to play chase.

Ylva smiled and shrugged. “Sure, I mean, it’s not like it’s going to fit the baby. It was printed for its measurements specifically, anyways.” Mibao was proving to be difficult in its refusal to relinquish the shiny wings Ylva had designed at its request, something that Ylva quickly made a game out of by setting her pup on the desk and letting it squeal and run while her hands chased after it. That would tire the kid out in no time. She looked back at his human and giggled. “I don’t think it likes it very much, though.”

Oh yeah, that was obvious from the get go, but it didn’t change the fact that it was way too precious for its own good in this type of outfit. Edix actually quite liked the contrast of the dark brown against its pale skin, even more given the fact that it matched the color of its doe eyes perfectly. It was much more appealing than that splotchy green jacket it was inexplicably attached to. He had a feeling it was going to try and strip out of this outfit as soon as it was back in Edix’s lab, provided he gave it its normal suit and jacket to change into. But...maybe he didn’t have to offer it its spare set of clothes right away. Maybe it would just have to hang around in its little boots and hat for a couple hours longer while he finished up his latest report that was just so important to get done. And maybe he would get constantly distracted by how cute it looked while it was definitely pouting at him for not taking off its costume that it took a little longer than usual to finish his work, which meant it spent even longer pouting under its hat.

Decisions, decisions.

Edix waved his hand dismissively. “It’ll learn to love it.”

“Oh, Eddie, don’t be mean to it,” Ylva laughed, not that seemed bothered by the idea of his pet keeping the outfit on for an extended period of time beyond the playdate. “But send pictures if you do.”

#ask #anon #my writing #g/t writing #g/t fluff #g/t ocs #g/t #giant/tiny #gianttiny #macro/micro #gt #please enjoy ficlet mommy buy for u #ive missed them so much #now we just gotta finish chapter 3 and we're really rockin n rollin #also yes angie likes teasing jacob for obviously having a crush on her #and ALSO YES i forgot angie has short hair so we're gonna pretend its because shes been in captivity for so long that it just grew out #and thats how she could braid it #talan simps rejoice for he is here #unfortunately

23 notes · View notes

i-did · 3 years

Note

Ok ok this may be a dumb question but we'll see, what are your thoughts on bdsm + andreil? The vast vast majority of these types of fics have Andrew as the dom (and I get why) BUT theres 1 dom Neil fic and I'm like 99% sure I think I saw u comment on it so I'm assuming ur reading it and enjoying it too. And tbh, I find it much better than pretty much all the dom Andrew stuff, I hadnt realised the potential dom Neil could have until I read it. But anyway, I wanted ur thoughts? 🤲 (this is so badly phrased I apologise)

Lmfaooo being perceived is so weird. I hope I didn't say anything because I remember commenting on that fic and thinking about commenting something about my personal sex life, but I don't remember if I did lmfaooo. Omg okay, all that aside–time to now respond to this seriously.

Okay regarding that specific fic, yeah I read a lot of AFTG fics of all types, I haven't read something NSFW in a while, but when I saw the ‘Dom!Neil’ tag I decided to give it a shot. It’s interesting seeing how other authors go about their ideas and just enjoying their story. It doesn’t align with my personal ideas of everything obviously, but those are my personal HC and that fic is that authors personal HC. I like that they’re exploring something that this fandom doesn’t see explored a lot and is just a fun read, lol. Honestly I give up on most BDSM fandom fics because the depiction of Neil makes me uncomfortable ...almost always. I agree a lot more with this fics concept of how they would explore power vs control in a BDSM sexual sense, than most Dom!Andrew Sub!Neil fics– which I have long ago stopped trying to read.

Okay here are my personal ideas about Andrew and Neil, and how they would explore sex.

Many NSFW HC below the cut:

I personally don’t think canon Andrew and Neil would go into BDSM culture or ascribe to either roll strictly. I feel they wouldn’t like established dynamics like that and would get turned off by that aspect, especially since Andrew both craves control of situations but fears ‘being like them’ and a lot of Dom play is about power dynamics that he wouldn't be comfortable with. Andrew sees power in sex as different as control during sex. He needs a controlled environment, and be in control of the other by having them listen to his boundaries, but he can’t feel he’s overpowering the other person. I don’t think he could do a lot of strictly Sub things either for similar reasons, he would feel like he's giving up control of the situation in a way that could make him very uncomfortable.

Neil on the other hand is also often portrayed as a very textbook sub, but I don't think he is. I see him written as a brat a lot, but personally I don’t see him doing that since a lot of what playing with a brat is, is giving them what they want and denying them what they want and them ‘defying you’ and stuff. It's like a form of playful miscommunication I don't see Andrew or Neil ever actually doing. Obviously all healthy and proper play is outlined and discussed beforehand, but I see Andrew and Neil as needing the actions themselves to be clear and cut and dry.

Neil also gets off on Andrews pleasure, Andrew is the same about Neil, they're almost like a feedback loop of “the other enjoying themselves is inherently hot.” to me, Neil getting off on other people (Andrew) getting off is a very Dom like quality. In turn, Andrew is very turned on by pleasuring Neil, but from the point of his knees, which is almost sub like, he is turned on by sucking someone else off and seeing how into it they are. Either way, I think they both wouldn’t be into hardcore BDSM or BDSM culture but also aren’t vanilla. I don’t see either of them going to leather clubs instead of Edens and going to Folsom Fair and joining BDSM social groups and stuff.

I also don’t think either would ever use titles for the other, I think they don’t call each other by their names often on a day-to-day basis, since usually the people were talking to already know their name, and we don’t need to use it for clarification. I do think–just like in canon with emotionally charged moments–names will be used with more emphasis, especially Abram which is not used frequently.

Side note about my Jewish Neil HC: Judaism rocks because sex isn’t shamed, but rather considered a blessing and a holy act. In fact, it’s a good thing to have sex on Shabbat, G-d is actively like ‘fuck yeah you little humans, enjoy life’s pleasures and each other's company’ sex was designed to feel good and a way to connect. Shabbat is all about human connection with those important to us, and a day of rest away from work, so sex on Shabbat is actually actively a good thing. I don’t think Neil is ever religiously Jewish, but Andrew making a joke about this once would be peak to me. Which also fits Abram, a very Jewish name I HC to be not just Neil’s middle name but his Jewish name, and is used in said holy context of sex.

I think like a lot of healthy adults who are sexually active, they will explore and will be more adventurous to try new and other things, especially when dealing with issues like waning to get off but having touch aversion and issues like that. I have a lot of sex life HC about them actually, ways they navigate erectile dysfunction, mental health, and what they like in a safe environment. They trust each other, and I like imagining different ways aspects of their relationship would change or evolve in my head in all different types of ways, including sexual. I also enjoy giving them kinks and inclinations I specifically don’t have, because it’s like me exploring the concept of why someone else might like something even though I personally don’t. I’m not imagining things that make me uncomfortable necessarily, just things I'm neutral on or don’t see the appeal of, but know why they appeal to others and try to imagine what these characters might think.

I feel canon Andrew and Neil explore sex and dynamics that make them comfortable, I have HC about Andrew possibly exploring pup play and wearing a collar for Neil partially as a “joke” in the beginning, but discovering they really like it. I also HC Neil is really into athletic stuff sexually, he thinks Andrew half dressed with his padding still on and a jock strap is just peak sex appeal. I also think Neil is very sensory, and makes associations with smells and senses easily, so he develops a sweat kink, which leads into his armpit kink. Neil isn't turned on by ‘the bad smell of sweat’ but rather the fact that when Andrew is sweaty he smells like Andrew a lot, rather than after a shower he smells more like soap, and he can’t smell Andrew as much. Andrew on the other hand prefers cleaner sex. He’s not triggered by dirty sex though– he used to suck guys off at an alt dance club and is used to the smell of sweaty balls, it's just not an active turn on. Neil has ‘nothing is hotter than Andrew wearing running shoes and socks, and only running shoes and socks’ energy to me too. I think Andrew feels good about himself in leather, but isn't going to be a leather daddy and wear the leather assless chaps and the cap, he will wear the leather harness that every gay wears to pride, but he wears it just for Neil. Also, Neil loves Andrews pecs, Neil’s kinda a boob guy, but for Andrew’s pecs specifically.

I personally think Andrew and Neil typically don’t have penetrative sex. They do it sometimes–and when Andrew is ready he will bottom more as a way to prove something to himself than anything–but it’s not their preferred way or their ‘go to’. When they finally do, they don’t see it as ‘finally having sex for the first time’, since all the sex they've been having is real sex, even if its oral, hand jobs, etc. I don’t think Neil is naturally inclined to bottoming, and since even the visual of topping can make Andrew uncomfortable, they enjoy sex in any other ways, thigh fucking, docking, Andrew fucking Neil’s ass cheeks, sucking each other off, mutual masturbation, frottage, etc. and it leads to stronger orgasms when they don’t have to hope ever second will be a cliff edge and turn into a panic attack. Safer waters are simply more comfortable for them to swim in, and they deem all sex as equal in ‘value.’ that being said, Andrew likes his ass being ate, as long as its just Neil’s tongue, while Neil is neutral on his ass being ate, but loves doing it to Andrew.

I also think they would explore toys, but not in the way they're often explored in fics, which is very vibrator and dildo centric. I think they would use jacking off toys, the disposable egg kind or some more long term ones, maybe even something they could use at the same time. I don’t see them ever actually using handcuffs or restraints really either. Andrew would see Neil tied up as an equivalent statement of ‘I don't trust you not to touch me’ when he wants to actively progress past that, and shows he trusts Neil by not holding his arms back or letting him touch him. Andrew had to hold down previous partners, but Neil is different, Neil listens. This isn’t my personal opinion about restraint, but it is what I think Andrew would think.

I have no idea if this is what you meant by ‘my thoughts’ but here they are. *puts something in your open palms,* idk what emoji that would be

#ask #aftg #aftg headcanons #nsft #OSHA violation #mailob

54 notes · View notes

babbushka · 4 years

Text

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy

Flip Zimmerman x Reader

3k; N S F W (sex at the station/semi-public sex, spanking, nudity, rope, creampie, name calling, dirty talk, praise kink, rough fast and dirty PIV sex, fingering, titty fixation, desk sex, come feeding)

Part of the Flip Zimmerman NSFW Alphabet // Also available on AO3!

-----------------

“I hate this.” Flip grumbles under his breath for what has to be the hundredth time, as Ron snaps another photo and winds up the film.

He’s down in the bowels of the CSPD, practically naked, wearing nothing but a pair of assless chaps and a cowboy hat, turning towards the camera and trying his damnedest to pose without looking like a total joke. Jimmy’s leaning against the wall of the impromptu photo studio, Ron’s got the camera and the lights all set up, and he hates this.

“No you don’t, or else you wouldn’t be doing it.” Jimmy points out with a little flick of ash off the butt of his cigarette, and he scowls, because despite Flip’s sour mood, Jimmy’s right. He agreed to this of his own volition, and he wasn’t backing out now.

“C’mon Zimmerman, it’s for a good cause.” Ron agrees in his practical cheerful way, and Flip shoots him a glare because he doesn’t need to be reminded that the whole of Colorado Springs is going to see his bare ass.

“Rookie I don’t care what it’s for, if (Y/N) sees me like this – ” He starts, exasperated for a moment, right when the door to this little studio opens, and in you walk.

“Sees you like what honey?” You ask, not looking up at him yet, fiddling with the door still to get it to close properly. Jimmy and Ron stifle a laugh awaiting your reaction, and they’re not disappointed when you finally do look up and see Flip standing there, cheeks out for the camera in his cowboy getup. Your eyebrows shoot up and a huge grin creeps across your face as you appraise him with, “Ohhhh like that.”

Flip blushes straight down to his belly button when you saunter up to him. He’s really naked, you’re surprised to see, he’s not got anything to cover up his cock at all. You glance around at where Ron and Jimmy are still chuckling into their palms as your husband sweats in front of you, and you kiss his cheek sweetly.

“Do you need me to leave? I can go flirt with the chief or something for a while.” You bat your lashes at him, making Flip roll his eyes and grumble to himself before getting his arms around you.

“No – for fuck’s sake, c’mere.” He scowls, grasping tightly at your waist, making you laugh as he pulls you flush to his hard-muscled stomach, your arms wrapping around his big broad shoulders.

“Is that a cattle prod or are you just happy to see me?” You grin, entirely too cheeky, and the boys burst into snickers.

Your mouth starts to water though, because though they can’t see with the way you’re pressed up against him, Flip’s cock really is big, and it’s hard and nudging at your thigh, a long thick line that makes you have to swallow hard. You want them to leave so that you can have your man all to yourself, so you can have that cock to yourself.

“I hate you.” Flip leans down to kiss you, brushes his nose against yours as his hands dig into the flesh right on your hips, holding you close.

“Mhm I can tell.” You smile against his lips, opening up your mouth for him, letting his tongue slide against yours as your fingers curl through the dark brown hair that’s so soft and so thick right at the nape of his neck.

You both lose yourself in one another so quickly, that you nearly forget that you’re at the station at all, forget that Ron and Jimmy are right there watching. You don’t mind, you don’t care if you’ve got an audience – let them look, as long as you’re getting your fill of your man, your husband.

“Take your top off!” Jimmy whistles playfully, and though you laugh, it snaps Flip out of kissing you and he turns around sharply to jab a finger in his best friend’s direction.

“Fuckin’ watch it.” Flip hisses, possessive enough that you can feel your pussy flutter, and Jimmy only puts his hands up in playful surrender.

You pull away from Flip for a little bit and he immediately turns back to face the wall so that his buddies don’t see the raging erection he’s sporting. He couldn’t even cover that thing with both his baseball mitts if he tried, not when it was hard like this.

“Mm, you know what’s missing?” You ask as you walk over to where you set your purse down by the door.

Jimmy and Ron only shrug and shake their heads, but then you fish out some red lipstick and apply it carefully to your mouth, before winking at them and going back over to where Flip’s waiting patiently for you to – kiss his ass?

You try your best not to smile as he turns around and glares at you for being such a pretty accomplice, as you press a smacking kiss right to his ass-cheek, the absolutely rock solid roundest most deceivingly firm cheek in the entire world, as you always said.

“Oh now it’s a party.” Ron says with a handsome grin, and you weren’t sure that Flip could scowl any darker than he was in that moment, making you laugh.

“You know I knew you guys got creative with your undercover disguises but I’m not so sure this is the most workplace appropriate.” You dust off your knees and tease playfully, trying to get your Philly into a better mood. He was always so serious, all the time, he needed to lighten up a little so you wink, “Unless you’re going to a strip club, in which case, I better get to come.”

“No it’s – it’s a calendar, for charity. We’ve got to beat the fuckin’ firemen.” He huffs out, and ohh that explains it. Flip’s had beef with the fire department for as long as he’d been working with the station, you understood the stakes now.

“Everyone loves the shit out of sexy firemen.” Ron nods in agreement.

“Are you guys in it too?” You ask him, directing the question to Jimmy too, who smiles and pops his collar.

“You bet baby, Flip’s the last one we’ve got to shoot because he keeps putting it off.” Your friend explains and you turn your charms back onto your husband, grinning at how so completely Flip he could be.

“Aw be a good sport honey.” You go back over to him, slipping and sliding your hands all across his big firm pecs, getting him warmed up, getting him to melt.

“Maybe he just needs a little…motivation.” Ron asks with the camera ready, and Flip only groans, smacks a hand onto his face and shakes his head.

“I’m going to kill everyone here and then myself.” He’s joking of course, even though he says it with the straightest face possible. His cock is hard against your thigh once again, and you know exactly what’s going to get him to relax and be comfortable.

“What if you tied me up?” You whisper right in his ear, and oh how his cock jumps at the thought, the sight of you down at his feet, all wrapped up in pretty rope, like he’s just wrangled you down himself.

“There’s no fucking way I’m letting you be in this calendar, ketsl.” Flip growls, but you just grin.

“Who said anything about the calendar?” You ask, your hand sneaking a quick squeeze around his shaft and making his jaw clench, his eyes sparkle with excitement. He’s such an exhibitionist sometimes, it thrills you both.

You give him a couple seconds to think it over, and eventually he nods quickly, licks his lips and swoops down for a kiss.

“Hurry the fuck up and get these shots.” He says to Ron, letting you go and getting into the right pose once again.

You quickly get out of the way and Flip faces the wall, turning to look over his shoulder at the camera lens. He even lifts his hand and slightly tips his cowboy hat, and Ron takes as many shots as are left on the roll of film. You think that the addition of the little kiss mark is perfectly placed, right on his ass, right where you know so many women are going to lift the calendar up to their own lips and pretend they put it there.

“Okay now scram, I missed my girl.” Flip immediately strikes up a cigarette, and Jimmy and Ron get the hint.

The second that the door closes behind them, Flip’s on you like a bee on honey. He’s untying your halter top before you even know it, your nipples stiffening from the cool air of the room as he cups and grasps your breasts in his hands.

“Mmmmm I missed these, let me?” He asks, already getting down to their level, and you huff out a little laugh with how eager he is, how he’s already squeezing you tight.

“All yours cowboy.” You pick the cowboy hat right off his head and place it on top of yours, leaning back against a desk in the room. Flip follows your every move, eyes darkening with lust as he presses his face right into your cleavage, nuzzles his nose there and licks at one of your nipples.

“F-fuck.” He sighs out when he sucks the nipple into your mouth and you give a little moan in the back of your throat. He’s looking up at you and you’re smiling down at him through hooded lids, his cowboy hat too big on you and tipping forward, making his dick leak all over his stomach.

“You like that don’t you? Why don’t you fuck me really fast, do something with that hard cock of yours?” You scratch your nails across his scalp, making him shudder and groan as he lets go of your breast with one hand to start stroking himself off.

“You want it? Want this big dick?” He bites and licks at his lip as your tits press right in his face, ribcage expanding with your deep breaths, pushing them out further. “Let me see, show me that pretty pussy.”

You’re good, real good for him, so you hike up your short skirt, showing him your underwear. He hooks a finger around the little scrap of cotton between your legs and tugs it aside, and he groans with how it sticks to you, how glistening and shimmering your cunt is.

From his spot down there on the floor, he pulls your nipple back into his mouth and gives it a good hard suck as he pushes two fingers inside your pussy. You have to lean back onto your elbows for support on the desk as you moan from the feeling, and Flip follows you, thrusting his fingers in and out.

“Oh shit you’re wet, listen to that, listen – hear how soaked you are already?” Flip presses his deep baritone against your stomach as he kisses your flesh, soft skin laid out on the desk for him as he stands up, leans over you and rubs the head of his cock through your folds. “That’s my fuckin’ come from earlier isn’t it? Slut, god you’re so good to me.”

You get a good look at him, at your husband’s well-groomed body, how he’s hairy enough but not too hairy, not covered in it the way some men prefer to be these days. His happy trail leads down to a neatly trimmed thatch of dark hair, hair that’s course and feels so good as it rubs against your pussy.

“U-uh-huh, just for you, all yours, fuck me I can take it.” You know what he means, he’d fucked you when you came to visit him for lunch, had filled you up so much that you could almost feel it sloshing around in your cunt.

You wanted nothing more than to get fucked hard and fast right now, wanted to get tied up and bent over and spanked so hard that you’d see the print of his massive fucking palm for days.

He reads your mind because he’s stepping away for a minute, off to go get rope, off to go give you what you want. You flip yourself over and press your face against the desk, legs spread and feet apart, just the way he likes you.

Your heart is racing when you feel the coarse rope winding sloppily around your wrists, binding them together, giving him a good place to hold on as he roughly thrusts his cock straight into your wanting pussy. It’s easy, real easy, because you’re so used to him, had been so thoroughly fucked by him at lunch. His come squelches out around his cock, and he wastes no time fucking it back into you.

“Oh fuckin’ – ” He grunts out as he grinds his hips as close to yours as possible, just savoring the feeling for a moment.

“Ah – yes!” You gasp, your cunt drooling and dripping all over the floor where you’re bent over. Your mouth drops open and Flip takes that encouragement to roll his hips, pull out and thrust right back in.

He fucks you hard, fast, just like you want, just like you asked. He wraps his hand around your hair and gives it a good tug, stretching your body and arching your back for him as your hands flex and clench around nothing, arms rendered useless by the rope.

His cock splits you right there on the desk, and you can’t help but moan loudly, moan out his name, little pleas of, “Oh, oh faster, Flip, honey – yesyesyes!”

He meets your every demand, and before you know it you’re crying out as his hand cracks down hard on your ass. Flip loves the way your legs shudder and twitch and shake, so he does it again, your cunt clenching down on his cock. He slaps your ass harder, pitches you forward on the desk from the force of it, and you should out his name, tears of pleasure flicking off your lashes.

“Shh, shh ketsl, you’re perfect but you gotta be quiet, shh.” He drapes his stomach across your back and covers your mouth with his palm as he goes back to thrusting inside you. He holds you like this, presses you down harshly against the desk as he rams into your pussy, your cunt taking his cock so well, the head of it nudging right against your gspot. Even with his hand over your mouth you’re still so loud, eyes shut tight, eyebrows drawn up in bliss. He licks his lips and shoves three fingers into your mouth to try and quiet you with, “Suck.”

“Mmmm – ah!” Your body jolts a little as he fucks you particularly right, right on that spot, thrusts over it again and again until you’re gasping and choking around his fingers, spit bubbling and stringing around your palm.

“Oh fuck, fuck you’re so good, so fucking tight.” He encourages as your cunt clamps down hard on him, not yet coming but close, so close, he can tell with the way you’re rocking back with every thrust he gives you, taking as much as you can, greedy greedy greedy.

“Your cock’s huge I’m – I’m oh!” You moan and whine and gasp when he pulls the hand away, using that wetness to push through your folds and rub fast fast fast at your clit, making your shoulder blades pinch back as your back arches and you gush on his cock, “Flip no fair, that’s – oh!!”

“Let me fuckin’ feel you ketsl, let me – jesus fuckin’ – oh my god.” He drops his head down onto your back as his orgasm crashes through him, his hips still moving, still seeking out the hot wet tight tight tight heat of your pussy as it spasms and flutters and throbs around him.

He dumps a fresh load of cum right into your cunt, the head of his cock so deep inside you that it’s practically knocking up against your cervix. He smooths his hand around to cup your pussy as he thrusts shallowly in you, feels how it moves inside your body and comes some more. He’s panting hot and heavy in your ear, as his cock pulses and fills you up to the brim, your pussy only able to take so much, the overflow already dribbling down the backs of your thighs when he pulls out slowly.

Flip loves watching your pussy flutter for him the minute you pull out, like your body is angry that he’s leaving you. He plugs you up with those fingers you were sucking on, fucks come back into you, loves the obscene sound it makes, the sticky wet squelch as he scoops it up off your thighs and feeds it to you.

You’re good, a good girl for him and you lick it off his fingers, that little cowboy hat perched on your head, driving him crazy. He plucks it off your head and puts it back on his own, unties the rope around your wrists and flips you onto your back so he can kiss you properly.

He’ll have to find something to wipe you both down with, and the desk, and the floor…but for now he takes his time kissing you until your breathing both evens out, until you’re sighing happy little whimpers against his lips. He cups and squeezes lightly at your breasts, kisses all over your cleavage when he pushes them together and makes you smile, blissed out real nice and hazy.

“Phil honey?” You ask, one of your hands rubbing idly at his shoulder, comforting and soothing.

“Mhm?” He asks from between your tits, making you giggle and sigh.

“When are we thinkin’ those calendars will be ready?” You ask with a cheeky wink, and he looks up at you, licks across his teeth with a little smile of his own, and kisses you once again.

And if everyone gives him wolf-whistles when he comes into the station a week later after the calendars have been printed, he doesn’t mind, because in the middle of it all, Ron had slipped him a couple photos of you with your arms all around him from before they left the room, and he can’t deny how good you look together.

---------------------

Tagging some pals :) @steeevienicks @heldcaptivebychaos @solotriplets @formerly-anonhamster @lookinsidemyhead @candycanes19 @adamsnacc-kler @whiskey-bumblebee @magikevalynn @tinyplanet-explorers @chelsjnov @romancedeldiablo @helloimindelaware @autumnlovesadam @peterisparker @goodboybensolo @the-marvelatic @miasera @emily-strange @proxyfoxy @disaster-rose @hazydespair @yosoymuyloca @1-800-choke-that-snoke @ktellmeastory @anongirl007 @zimmerxman @okk--maaan @flapjacques @aweirdlookingtree @callmemania-pls @theold-ultraviolence @og-selene @schopenhauerdeathsquad @nekonaomitard @feminine-machinegun @contesa-lui-alucard

#flip zimmerman #flip zimmerman x reader #flip zimmerman/reader #flip zimmerman x you #flip zimmerman fanfic #flip zimmerman smut #adam driver character #blackkklansman #flip zimmerman fanfiction #my writing #flip zimmerman/you #flip x reader #flip/you #flip/reader

617 notes · View notes

caranfindel · 3 years

Text

Episode recap/review: Walker 1.14

I didn't expect to recap 1.14 and yet here I am, still avoiding my unfinished Summergen fic. I'm actually writing this in real time, as I watch the episode. So for once I'm not pretending I don't know what happens. I literally don't know.

We begin with Cordell and Grandpa clearing up the crime scene. How much do I love Cordell saying "Daddy?" A lot. And not in that way, you perverts. It just really brings out the Texan.

Liam is in bed, recuperating. He gets a call (note that he calls himself William professionally, which is news to me, and I like it for whatever reason) from someone asking for a comment, which he starts to angrily refuse before Gramma Walker grabs his phone and hangs up. Gramma Walker going all Mama Bear for Liam is also interesting, and unexpected. But Liam says "I can take care of myself" and she says "No, you can't. None of you boys can." And then looks sadly out the window, where Cordell and Grandpa are taking down the crime scene tape. I just have to think "none" and not "both" means she's thinking of poor dead Hoyt, who she obviously loved like a son, if not more so. (More evidence for the Hoyt is her lovechild file? Maybe.)

Geri shows up, wearing an unnecessary cowboy hat and Hoyt's old jacket. She's bearing Hoyt's last will and testament, written on a bar coaster! Oh, my heart. And in case you can't read it:

If I get shivved in the shower or some old horse kicks me upside the head. For real Liam stamp it and everything - I leave everything to Geri/"Geraldine Broussard"/angle [sic] face sweet lips etc. So that plot I bought over in Tanglewood is for her and whatever I got in my pockets or elsewhere. See ya in the next life.

Angle face!

I'm not sure this would stand up in court, since he didn't even sign his last name, although it is witnessed by William Walker. Anyway, it's a moot point, because the land Hoyt intended to give Geraldine "Angle Face" Broussard is transferring to new owners, effective tomorrow. Which makes no sense. The deal fell apart because he died, and yet it's so soon after his death that the police tape is still up. New owners wouldn't be in the picture that quickly. Reverting to previous owners, because it was owner-financed? Sure. But not new owners. (Whatever, Caranfindel. Move it along.) She asks Cordell to go with her to gather his personal belongings. And to bring the kids. Hmmm, let's see how Stella can mess this up. (Tanglewood is 71 miles from Austin. Of course I looked it up.)

But first, Cordell has to sign paperwork to begin his leave of absence. So he didn't actually intend to quit. I mean, we all knew he'd be back, but I kind of thought he was, at the time, intending to quit for good. Does Connie the HR person have a big old crush on him? There is hand touching and deep, serious gazing.

Touch him, Connie. Touch him for those of us who cannot.

Micki is sitting right outside the conference room where he signs his papers but still acts surprised that he's in the building. Did she not smell the rosemary mint shampoo as he walked by? He thanks her for the flowers and apologizes for not calling her back. And then cancels their lunch plans so he can go off with Geri and the kids.

Someone said this on Tumblr, and I think it bears repeating here. It's interesting comparing Cordell's grief, over his wife and now his best friend, to Sam's grief. Cordell is clearly deeply affected, and is also clearly moving on. Sam is just unhinged.

Elsewhere. The gang stops for lunch and reminisces about Hoyt dressed as Santa, wearing assless chaps. Well. That's memorable. (Also, I know people who did the whole leaving horse manure and pretending it's reindeer poop thing. Some people are just a lot more into Santa than I was.) Trevor (Travis? Whatever) called Stella. She's apparently avoiding him. Probably a good call, sis. Maybe the only one you've made in 14 episodes. (To be fair, I didn't watch the first four.)

Micki shares tacos with her boyfriend, whose name I can never remember, having been stood up by Cordell. She tells him Cordell seemed "off," which is great now, Micki. Why didn't you pay more attention to that feeling last week? The BF thinks Micki herself might be off, because she misses her partner. And she calls him family. Captain What's His Face comes to talk to Trey (that's his name, dammit) and asks if he knows a guy who goes to the same physical therapist's office. Friends, when I've done PT, I don't even know people who go to my therapist, let alone just go to someone in the same office. But maybe folks in Austin are just friendlier than they are round these parts. Oh, wait. The guy is missing, and was last seen in a heated discussion with Trey? What's up with that, Trey?

Tanglewood. Cordell asks the nice lady (realtor? owner?) about Hoyt's "personal affects," and she says "they are probably out grazing." Because Hoyt's personal effects are four horses and a llama. Which Geri owns now. "Where am I going to board four horses and a llama?" she asks. Cordell is oddly befuddled (and adorably, cause y'all know how I feel about befuddled Jared), as if he didn't live on a ranch. With horses. The family business, remember? The kids are entranced. I would be too. It's a damn cute llama. One of the mares actually nursed the llama, so they're family. (Watch out for falling anvils.)

Micki's house. Trey says the "heated discussion" was the missing guy showing him a judo move. Captain asks Trey to ride along and help him investigate, and poor partnerless Micki asks if she can come with.

Tanglewood. Apparently Hoyt's personal affects also included gear for the four horses, because everyone is saddled up. Geri doesn't seem like an experienced rider - she keeps her hand on the pommel of the saddle, which I always heard was a rube move. (At least she's not clutching the saddle horn. No shade. It's hard not to. It's a perfect handle and it's just right there.) Cordell, of course, rides perfectly, as he does everything perfectly.

Everything except his job. And raising his kids. But do I care about those things? Not so much.

Geri thinks the llama looks unwell. What is she, a llama expert? A veterinarian? And what are they doing on this trail ride anyway - taking the herd back to the Walker ranch? It's 71 miles away! It's an hour and a half driving! How will they get the truck? Why didn't Cordell just say "let's go back to the ranch and get Daddy's cattle trailer?" WHY.

(No one cares. No one but you thinks about these things.)

Stella is on her phone, but it turns out she's (allegedly) re-reading Hoyt's last text, not chatting with friends. And then she says she was "responsible for everything." Oh, wait. We're going there? Stella is finally going to face the music? Cordell says it's not her fault, but they're interrupted by the llama, who apparently is in distress. Cordell wants to leave him at a random homestead. Permanently? Like, "excuse me, ma'am, but can you take this llama?" Or just while they get the horses home? I dunno.

August doesn't like this, because the llama and the horses are family. Geri distracts him by claiming Hoyt wanted him to have the jacket she's wearing, although I find this rather dubious, because why did she wait so long to mention it? Why is she wearing it herself? It's a lucky jacket he won from a tarot card reader and card hustler named The Mystifying Mehar, who was "infamous for getting out of trouble because of that jacket." Cordell then asks Geri to go off with the kids while he hangs back and tries to ditch the llama. Oh no, Cordell, don't do that. He's family!

Back at the ranch, Grandpa chases off some more journalists. He also ignores Gramma's concern about his cancer.

Trail ride. We skipped the whole bit where Cordell found someone willing to take in a goddamn llama, caught up with his kids, and told them what he did. They're mad that he wouldn't even try, and then Stella impulsively rides off, almost falling into a revine.

Team Sassyboots 2.0 questions the missing guy's wife. Turns out he left a note. Doesn't sound like he's as missing as they thought. He said he would "fix everything," i.e., their upcoming foreclosure. They check his workshop and find evidence that he was a military contractor, and apparently this means he should have no money problems whatsoever, because they don't understand how money works. His gun safe is empty, so they figure he's on some kind of "black ops" job. And if it's going to be complete by Monday, I assume it's something local, and not a military operation.

Walker Ranch. Someone who is Liam's "political opponent" comes to take care of him? And he's bringing barbeque? Is it poisoned? Gramma says Liam can't have barbecue because he's on bedrest, as if one had anything to do with the other. And... Grandpa wants to go mushroom hunting with her? Is that what the kids call it these days?

Trail ride. Cordell found someone to keep the horses. Temporarily? I'm still confused. Stella and Geri talk about Hoyt, and Stella asks about her forgiving him. Thinking about some forgiveness toward your own bad boy, Stella? She says "the two of you were always kind of like the dream to me," which is odd considering they were off-and-on, while her parents were very much on, and definitely seem more like couple goals. But okay. Stella confesses again that she is responsible, and Geri says "you let love in, maybe; that's your worse crime." I wonder if Stella blames herself for the fake truck crash that started the whole domino effect, or if she even realizes that's what happened. Obviously Geri wouldn't. Hmmm, I wonder what August thinks about all this?

Walker Ranch. Whoever this political opponent is, he must be a family friend, because he gave a toast at Cordell and Emily's rehearsal dinner. "Hey, when did your brother have such long hair," he asks, looking at a picture of the happy couple. Liam is growing facial hair again. I like it. Opponent suggests the spicy barbecue will put hair on Liam's chest and Liam tosses it aside and says "no, dammit, after I spent all that time waxing?" And Liam might drop out of whatever race he's in. I don't really care about that part. Let's talk more about Liam's chest.

I love that they can use actual Padalecki family photos as Cordell and Emily photos. No bad Photoshop needed!

Team Sassyboots 2.0. I don't really care about this missing guy either. Skipping it. You know, I understand this is meant to be an ensemble show, and Jared Padalecki and his stupid pretty face and long legs are not going to be in every scene. But Micki working a case with her boss and her boyfriend just bothers me and I don't want to be a part of it.

Trail ride. They're bedding down in the barn for the night? What the fuck? Where are they? Why didn't they just drive home? I'm so confused! Cordell and Geri talk about Hoyt some more. Cordell makes an awkward comment about "us together" and then amends it to mean all of us together, as in you and me and the kids camping right now, not, like, you and me together together, and then does a little eyebrow thing like whoo, good job, talked your way out of that one. NO, CORDELL, YOU ARE NOT AS SMOOTH AS YOU THINK YOU ARE. Anyway. There's a lot of guilt about poor dead Hoyt. Cordell tells Geri her name is still on the Sidestep lease (lease? I thought they owned it?), as if being part owner of a bar is always going to be a good thing, with no liability at all. And they don't kiss, for which I am grateful. The horses are really acting up. I hope nothing's happening.

Cordell checks on the horses and apologizes to the mare for leaving the llama behind. He realizes he made the wrong choice. "You know what," he says. "Let's go fix this."

I adore him.

Walker Ranch. Grandpa and Gramma have been mushroom hunting and are now getting silly. Um, what kind of mushrooms did you two find? And then Grandpa says "tonight's about Hoyt," which I do not understand. "I saw the joy he gave you," Grandpa says. Yes, Grandpa, and do you not find that even a little bit fishy? And then he decides to build something.

Trail ride. Cordell went and retrieved his llama! He is precious. I love him so much. He has some pratfalls in the same ravine that almost caught Stella, and then his family shows up and rescues him. (Can I point out that his "a-ha-ha" laugh is the same one we heard when he opened his gift from Dean in "A Very Supernatural Christmas" and I'm not sure it appeared in any other episode?) August offers the Lucky Jacket to use as a llama harness to haul the little guy out of the ravine. Oh, and it turns out the llama is about to give birth.

And, while I'm skipping Team Sassyboots 2.0, it's hard to ignore that Micki is now in a UFC fight. That might have been an interesting story after all. Y'all can fill me in.

Walker Ranch. They're building a little stable. Because this big horse ranch doesn't have enough stables. Liam, who was bedridden to the point of not being able to eat barbeque yesterday, is now helping build. He gets a text from his former fiance, who wants to talk. And Grandpa has decided to treat his cancer. Happy endings all around!

Micki's house. She says she was passive-aggressive with Walker because she's afraid of losing him. I get it, sweetie. He's someone you don't want to lose.

Trail ride. August is carrying the newborn llama, wrapped in the Lucky Jacket. Geri wants to cut out before they get to the ranch. She's going to ride the bus home? Seriously? Isn't her car at the Walker Ranch? She and Cordell talk abou their unfinished business. Yeah, like the fact she was probably involved in your wife's murder? That unfinished business, Geraldine? Grandpa meets them before they get to the ranch and informs them he has a strict no-llama policy on the ranch. But luckily, he just built an alpaca stable. They’re alpacas, not llamas. So, Geri called him, but how did he know they were alpacas? Did she send pictures? I am so confused. Anyway. The new family goes into their new home. They name the baby alpaca Hoyt, of course.

Little Hoyt, guys, he's the sweetest thing.

Breakfast. Political Opponent gives Liam a contribution. Oh, I get it. They're running for the same office, and he thinks Liam will draw votes away from his other opponent. Shrewd. Stella calls Trevor and says she might need to leave the past behind. And you are the past, Trevor. Cordell sees a truck pull up and runs out to meet Micki. She apologizes for holding a grudge over him leaving. She tries to shake hands and he hugs her instead. She thinks they can just be friends now instead of partners, and he says they're not friends, they're family. And then she oohs and aahs over the alpacas, which she recognizes immediately as alpacas and not llamas, and also points out that little Hoyt is actually a girl. Oops. Awkward. Cordell is surprised she can just tell. "Most people can." Yeah, you are the worst rancher's son ever. Then Cordell sees the fence is carved with a memorial to Hoyt. Aw.

He is also the sweetest thing.

So. Less drama than last week. More warmth. A ridiculous B story that was as annoying as giving Cas his own plot. Will I still watch next week? Yeah, probably. I have questions. How did Grandpa know they were alpacas? Where is the baby daddy? Can Cordell and his rancher father really not tell the difference between a male and female alpaca? Why is Geri riding the bus home, when her car is at the Walker's? Why is she avoiding the Walker Ranch? Will August ever get his own plot again?

It's just a shame that this episode didn't have any shout-outs to Supernatural, like the last one did...

#walker #recap/review #tv recap #1.14 #spoilers

12 notes · View notes

mooresomore · 3 years

Text

Buck had known that Eddie was from Texas and he figured Eddie had probably worn a cowboy hat for a period of his life, but Eddie always shut down that line of questions when Buck asked them.

Abuela had a couple pictures of a young Eddie in a cowboy hat. Eddie had begged her not to show Buck, but Abuela loved Buck almost as much as Eddie and Christopher, so when Buck asked (ok, pleaded was a better word), she let him have a look at them. And oh.

Ever since Buck had seen the picture, he wanted to see Eddie in a cowboy hat again. Eddie had not been making it easy on him and refused to talk about it every time Buck brought it up. Buck decided it was time to take matters into his own hands.

Finding a store that had cowboy hats in Los Angeles was a little harder than Buck had expected it to be, but now he had the hat in his possession and it was time to put his plan into motion.

Abuela had agreed to take Christopher for the night. They were going to do the Christmas shopping Christopher needed to do for Eddie and Buck.

Buck had gotten Bobby to let them both go a few minutes early; Buck climbed into the driver’s seat of Eddie’s truck and drove them home.

“How are you still a bundle of energy?” Eddie asked as Buck practically bounced on his feet while he waited for Eddie to open the door.

“We have the house to ourselves tonight and I have a surprise for you.” Buck grinned.

“What did you do?” Eddie’s interest was piqued.

“Sit on the couch and you’ll see in a minute.” Buck grinned. “I have to run upstairs real quick.”

Buck came downstairs a few minutes later; he’d changed out of the clothes he’d worn home and he was now wearing one of Eddie’s western shirts (which, wait a minute. I left that buried way back in the closet. How did he find that?), wide open so Buck’s abs were on display, cowboy boots, and a cowboy hat? Eddie was pretty sure his brain was short-circuiting, and his dick was definitely on board with this look (Buck had told Eddie some stories from when he was a cowboy when Buck was still trying to find his purpose; those stories didn’t do this look justice).

“Like what you see, Texas?” Buck asked, coming to sit in Eddie’s lap, grinning as he felt Eddie’s erection dig into his hip. “Oh, you do. Well, it gets better.”

Eddie didn’t even get a chance to ask before Buck hit a button on his phone and the song filled the room. Eddie would have teased Buck about his song choice, but Buck rolled his hips down and Eddie forgot words for a brief minute.

“You wanna save a horse and ride a cowboy?” Buck whispered against the shell of Eddie’s ear; Eddie responded by standing up (lifting Buck up in the process) and making his way down to the bedroom, where he threw Buck back on the bed.

“Oh, you know I do.” Eddie grabbed the cowboy hat off of Buck’s head, putting it on his own head. It was Buck’s turn to gasp out a little as Eddie rolled his hips down and pinned Buck to the bed. “You started it.” Eddie grinned, “but I'm going to finish it.” Eddie pushed the shirt off of Buck’s shoulders and quickly peeled the blue jeans Buck was wearing down his legs. Eddie wasted no time in getting his own clothes off, and getting himself ready, before he was sinking down onto Buck’s dick and riding it like it was the only thing in the world he wanted to do.

“Shit, Eddie.” Buck said, trying to warn Eddie; Eddie kept going, breaths being punched out.

“Call me the other name,” Eddie got out; Buck looked at Eddie for a minute before things clicked into place.

“Hey Texas, I’m...” Buck said, and that’s all it took; Eddie made a mess of Buck’s chest, and Buck only lasted a couple more thrusts later before he too came.

They sat there for a minute, catching their breath. Finally Buck looked at Eddie. “You wanna try to move? I can get us all cleaned up.”

“Ok.” Eddie slowly got up and off of Buck and flopped back on the bed. Buck went to the closet and got a washcloth. After cleaning them up, he grabbed them each a pair of shorts.

“So that was…” Buck said, looking at the cowboy hat, which Eddie had put up on his dresser.

“Yeah.” Eddie said. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” Buck said, getting into bed and opening his arms for Eddie to crawl into.

“Although next time,” Eddie’s voice was soft, “I want you to ride me.”

Buck hugged Eddie tighter. “That can be arranged, Texas.” He grinned against Eddie’s neck.

“Shut up and go to sleep Buck.”

“You too Eddie.” Buck said.

It took a couple of weeks, but then Christopher had asked to stay over with Denny at Karen and Hen’s place, and they both knew what they wanted.

Eddie by this time had bought Buck the appropriate sized western clothing (and so he had to go online to find the assless chaps- sue him). Buck wasted no time in queuing up the song and grinding down onto Eddie’s lap. This time, they lasted a little longer out on the couch before Eddie grabbed Buck’s hand and dragged them to the bedroom. Once Eddie’s back hit the bed, it became the “Buck” show; Buck took his time opening himself up, purposefully dragging it out longer than was truly necessary; he was giving Eddie a show though.

“You ready for me, Texas?” Buck asked, leaning in. When Eddie crashed their mouths together and then all but started pushing into Buck, Buck knew what the answer was.

It didn’t take long for either of them again; there was just something about this that they couldn’t hold out like they normally could.

After Eddie was the dutiful boyfriend and got them all cleaned up and herded into the bed, he looked at Buck, who seemed to have something on his mind. “Whatcha thinking?” Eddie asked.

“Nothing really.” Buck said, the look on his face clearing as he looked at Eddie. “It’s not important, don��t worry about it.”

“Buck.” Eddie said. “We talked about this, remember? We’re supposed to talk about feelings, not bottle them up.”

“Ugh.” Buck said, hating that Eddie was right. “I just...I just wonder sometimes why you’re with me. Like you could have anyone in the world, and someone who’s not near the mess that I am.”

Eddie couldn’t believe what he was hearing. How many times did he have to prove that he was here for Buck and only Buck? “I could have anybody,” Eddie agreed. “But I don’t want anybody. I want you. You’re the only one I want. You are not a mess. You just have a few more paths than the rest of us have taken.” Eddie said. “But that made you who you are. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

The smile and tight hug Buck gave him told Eddie he’d said all the right words; he knew Buck got like this sometimes, but they had been getting better. “Thank you.” Buck said.

“You’re welcome. Now get some sleep. In the morning, we’re going to have a rambunctious child to pick up in the morning who is very excited about the space museum he was promised a visit to. I don’t want to have to deal with a grumpy, whiny boyfriend along with a wild child.”

“You love us.” Buck said.

“I do.” Eddie agreed. “Get some rest.”

#writing #fic writing #buddie #hot #save a horse ride a cowboy #this was definitely inspired by Magic Mike LOL #so apparently i have a thing for Eddie in a cowboy hat as much as Buck does #why is Buck calling Eddie Texas so hot??!

15 notes · View notes

fascinationuniformed · 4 years

Text

Festival Tipi

by Mr. Scade https://www.patreon.com/fascinationuniformed http://iancooketapia.com/ Story originally inspired by the photo above.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Marco unzipped his tent and the light was agony. Immediately, the leftover alcohol beat at his skull like smiths to iron, as if the very understanding of daylight had injected them with energy.

He scrambled inside his tent and found his sunglasses. With a contended sigh, he sat his ass on the plastic of the tent and rested his bare feet on the wet grass outside.

“How’s that headache?” Jen appeared. Before he knew what was going on, a water bottle was in his hands. He drank greedily.

He made a non-committal sound, and then flopped back onto his sleeping bag. He groaned, forgetting that he was lying on a patch of semi-dry farm field and not his feather down bed.

Jen chuckled. “Drink that whole bottle. Go for a piss. Come back, and we’ll start getting you feeling better. Trust me, it feels worse if you stay there.”

And with that, Marco heard her feet mulch on the wet ground towards the sound of sizzling bacon.

Marco’s first festival had so far been a loud, wet, rambunctious and drunk affair. Everything he had heard and more. Constant drizzling rain and mud splatters up to your chest? Check. Popular crap music as well as fascinatingly good unknown bands? He had already bought some CDs he doubted would be available on Amazon. Drunk and a little rude? Well… not just a little rude but in a near-constant state of passive-aggressive confrontational entitlement. It is alcohol, after all! That was expected. Required, even. The drugs had surprised Marco, though, but the more he walked around the festival grounds the more sense their presence – if not outright requirement – made.

Without those drugs, then some of the attractions in the festival would either be empty or burnt to the ground. Especially the tents. Oh, there were tents dedicated to forest spirits, tents designed to put you in a sensorial overload or a deprived state that really made you see things. There was an entire little tipi hut made of furry, soft things that people went in just to, kid you not, roll on the floor laughing. It was called the ROFL Tipi. Going into one of the tents sober was a trip on its own – they were just that good – but seeing the reaction from those whose perception of reality was, should we say, enhanced was a riot. Being on acid must make some of them a truly mind-bending experience.

No. Of all the things that stood out about his first festival experience, it was the bare skin that surprised Marco the most. The grand majority of those showing extra skin were women, with the occasional dude or older gentleman bare chested or wearing naught but a banana hammock. It was on the second day when it suddenly became a pattern, when Marco finally realised it. Perhaps his own heterosexuality affected his perception, but he hadn’t really seen that many guys dressed up like peacocks during mating season. A relatively fit man in naught but a speedo and wellington boots? Yeah, okay. Some heavy set obese man, glowing pale white, in a vest and assless cowboy chaps? Well, someone might be into that. Perhaps the sample size was too small. But the girls? Yes. Not all the women were dressed like rave culture had an illegitimate child with hair metal and then had it raised by Eddie Izzard. But those that were? Neon bikinis with fishnets, plastic-tassels wigs and gaudy, giant sunglasses. Leotards with cut-off breast holes, tear drop-shaped pasties covering the nipples, and that getup wasn’t half as eye-catching as their holographic wellington boots. One girl had high-waisted shorts, a black PVC harness on top, a sheer bra, and pink hair in messy pigtails. Marco noticed the earphones leading to a secret pocket inside her shorts, as she danced by herself next to a bin overflowing with beer cans.

Two days, and Marco had trouble not staring. After all, those outfits were meant not so much to be looked at but gawked at; eye-catching, proudly proclaiming “here’s my woman’s body” and making a statement. If it was political, sexual or just going with the flow of the festival, Marco didn’t know. And the longer he was there, the less he cared to even think about that. Booze, dance and the few hot girls amongst the sea of impractical outfits made it hard to have such lofty conversations with his friends and even with himself.

It was a festival, after all. Rules and normalcy were outside this muddy field. In here, anything went. Possibilities could be bent. People could even look attractive wearing high-waisted jeans!

By the third evening, Marco’s initial anxiety had been drowned and everything felt pretty mellow and right. His gut didn’t feel like exiting in an emergency, and the meal they had made from what was left of their store of tins had been edible. And he managed to keep it in, unlike the bacon-heavy breakfast. That very morning, however, he had learned the dangers of mixing alcohol and weed. But after drinking a little cocktail from one of the health stations – little kiosks manned by some NGO dedicated to safe consumption – he felt more human than usual. He even went for a second one. Whatever that thing was, it felt like all the lies healthy supplements try to sell but, you know, real.

The day had been pretty chill after that. Some shows, some games, a lot of standing around in what had at some point been a green field but could now double as a “junta de embarre”. Come the evening, though, he and his friends were feeling a little bored.

Down the hill, a show of lights and loud synth guitars shook the ground. A mass of people holding glow sticks moved like one wave. With one mind, one body. It was beautiful to witness from far away. And sitting down. Not for the last time that night, Marco rubbed his feet. He should’ve brought hiking socks to this place. Or hiking boots. Something comfortable, at least.

Jen passed a joint to Brando, who tilted his head back as he inhaled. An old habit of his. After a moment, he passed it on. Marco took a drag, and then drew hoops with the smoke and then passed it on to… whoever had made their way into their little campsite. In any other situation, Marco would’ve worried. But the tangy, mellow flavours in his mouth made it easy to not care. It was a festival, after all. Make friends and make love. Rules were abandoned outside these muddy fields.

“D’ya see that?” Jen said suddenly, pointing up to the sky.

They had agreed to no lights at night. Some stars could be seen overhead, but mostly it was the lights reflecting on the clouds. An ethereal, otherworldly show, half-imagined, half-there.

After a while, Jen pulled the hood of her frayed hoodie down and pointedly pointed at something in the dark, past their tents. “We should do the Experience Tipis.”

“Which one, though,” Marco said, a little unsure.

“Take your pick. I would so,” Elongation. The syllable hanging in the air for too long. “Love to go into the expansion tent.”

“The what?”

“Expansion tent,” Jen repeated.

Brando coughed some smoke, rubbing his nose on his shirt sleeve. “She means the spandex tent – tipi, I mean,” He coughed some more. “It is covered in soft spandex and the floor is a big shaggy carpet. Soft. And dry.”

There was general assents at the word dry. The floor mulched under the plastic tarp they all sat on.

“And with the show down there,” Marco pointed down the hill. “It should be emptier.”

“Sounds like a plan,” The person next to Marco turned out to be a woman with a thick accent. It was a pretty accent, though.

They zipped down their tents, and then trudged through trenches of brown-grey mud and slush. Past piles of plastic cups, tin cans and the occasional guy passed out on a wet puddle that could’ve been anything.

A no-nonsense woman guarded the entrance to the Tipi Village. She eyed them, shone a light on their eyes, and sniffed around.

“Strong stuff?” She asked, as she made a note of their festival bracelets.

“Mellow. Could run a mile, but might get distracted by a tree,” Jen said. Whatever that meant satisfied the guardswoman and she let the four of them through.

The Tipi Village was arranged in a horseshoe shape, with the heavily decorated gate at one end. In the middle of the space, there was a big bonfire that turned the people there into eerie shadows. Most were unmoving, some were eating. They were all quiet.

“This one!” Jen cried, opening the flap to the tent with the sign that read Relaxation and Rebirth Tipi.

One girl sitting near the fire glared at them, shushing loudly.

Marco looked at her, in her star-shaped bikini, a row of tiny, strawberry-sized hair buns giving her hair something like a ridged spine. Discreetly, he adjusted his erection. The whole gathering was made up of these festival girls in their gaudy and trashy and, frankly, pretty hot outfits.

“Hey, you coming?” Brando said, waiting just inside the tipi. Some of the light landed on Brando’s face, illuminating the scar on his lip.

Marco was glad for the darkness. It hid just how close that phrase had come to reality.

“Yeah,” Marco said before stepping into a world made of soft pastels inside. Warm lights gave the whole place a colourful glow, not too intense, and very homey.

His friends had found a little step of soft plush green carpet, pink beanbags, and other soft items. Jen was already stepping into what looked like a cocoon hammock made from whatever soft spandex-y fabric Marco felt under his socks. Brando flopped onto a bean bag. While their new friend simply lied down on the plush carpet. She was tall and plump.

With a shrug, Marco went towards them.

The tipi had other people. Some on their own, others in small groups. They must’ve been here for a long while, because they looked asleep or, rather, a little out of it. Every single one of them was just lying down, on the floor, or on the steps, cradling themselves on the soft fabric. One or two seemed to be sinking into their chairs, blissful expressions on their faces. What he did notice was that every single person in the tipi was looking up at some sort of projection of a psychedelic dream. Just looking at it made Marco feel a little dizzy.

“Hey,” The stranger girl said. “Come. Sit down. It is so nice.”

As Marco sat down on a soft plushy chair and—

“Holy shite, this is so soft!” He cried.

“Told you,” Jen said, mumbling like a happy cat.

“It is life, bro,” Brando sighed, already halfway swallowed by the too-soft beanbag.

And Marco couldn’t help but sigh as he let his weight be taken by the plush… object. It wasn’t like any beanbag he had ever sat on – it was like stroking a soft cat and being wrapped in silk all at once.

It was then that Marco looked up and saw the shapes. Not just the psychedelic colours straight out of a Pink Floyd-induced nightmare, but the shapes hiding between the colours, inside the patterns.

“Guys, do you… d-do you see that?”

The patterns were shifting, circling, psychedelic dreams, perfect truths, new realities unheard of. Like every trippy piece of media, ever song composed while high as a kite, like every epiphany about the size of the universe all neatly put together in an impossible pattern of impossible colours.

Marco heard someone shush him. He turned, and from the corner of his eyes saw Brandon’s happy, blank face slowly sinking into the plush chair as if he were on quicksand. With a pop, his friends’ visage disappeared and all that remained was a round, plump fuzzy chair.

“G-guys?” He tried again, his attention snapping to the patterns.

The world felt so soft. So snug and warm and comfortable and, damn, those lights even felt warm on his skin.

Marco moved his neck just in time to see the floor swallow their new friend. It was like she was a leave floating on water, dipping the surface tension but not breaking when, suddenly, the woman disappeared with a pop.

“What the fuck!” Marco tried to get up, but something snapped him back into the plush cahir.

“Shhh… Marco,” Jen moaned hard and long. “It feels so much better when you let it take over.” She moaned again like someone getting their brains fucked empty.

Marco blinked, glancing to the side. Jen’s shape was visible, writhing and twisting, inside the tight green spandex cocoon. Her hands were groping at her boobs, between her legs, as the hammock closed down as if someone was reverse-peeling a banana. With a sigh, Jen’s face disappeared under the fabric before it tightened around her features as if she were being vacuum packaged.

“W-what the—” Marco’s voice was swallowed by the soft, green furry plushness of his chair. He could move his arms and legs, but just barely. The heavy plushness weighted on him, making it hard to kick or punch. Besides, just moving felt so nice that Marco would forget to even fight and just idly start stroking the fabric, letting it swallow him.

As the plushness came over his face, darkness didn’t appear. Instead Marco saw a world of technicolour spark through his eyelids and into his mind.

Eventually, the four of them left the tipi and sat around the fire, staring at it for a long while. Silent, enjoying the orange glow on their bare skin.

Jen sat with legs spread wide, letting the warmth of the fire lick her skin. The sheen of perspiration shinning on her bare midriff, her exposed breasts and naked legs reflected some of the light. If the sweat was from external or internal heat, that was hard to tell. The girl simply sat, eyes staring into a place far away inside the fire. Her star-shaped facepaint impervious to perspiration. Her hair, shiny green, cast a shadow over one half of her face.

Next to Jen, the plump girl coughed a little before she was shushed quiet by all the other festival girls basking before the flames. She looked abashed for a moment, before she leaned closer to the fire. Her neon-green bikini top disappeared under a rain of pink tassels from her plastic poncho enveloped her. Her enormous pink sombrero made her look like a giant, plastic Mexican statue.

A small girl kept playing with her boobs muttering something. Every squeeze sent her body shivering, letting a moan escape lips coloured a deep red. The colour, however, was carefully applied to avoid the scar that decorated her pretty face. The rest of her was wrapped in tight, shiny red spandex, a unitard of some sort, with a plunging neckline. Her arms and legs, however, were wrapped in fuzzy, furry, shaggy, pink hair.

A fourth girl, sat by her friends, looking around nervously. Something was odd about her friends, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. A sound broke her rumination. She turned, seeing a group of guys going into the same tipi she had walked into just a couple of – hours? days? – ago. As she moved, she felt something graze her legs. She looked down, seeing grass tickling her fishnet-covered legs. She giggled, and it made her bouncy tits bounce. They looked nice in their neon-green bikini top. Comfortable, like they had always been there.

“Oh, of course I’ve always had them,” Marco said. “I’ve always been a festival slut.”

Another sound. Someone shushing the boys.

She turned, seeing one of the tipi caretakers approach her. The woman was dressed in stars and tassels, in bright neon spandex and with colourful face paint. She looked hot as.

“Oh, Marcella, darling, you have to look into the fire,” She placed a hand on Marcella’s face and she felt her pussy tingle.

Softly, the caretaker tilted Marcella’s face towards the controlled, multi-coloured bonfire. “Look into the Fire. Let it warm up your heart. Your pussy. Let it fill you with feminine power. Let it burn away what was. Learn to burn bright and blinding. Learn to look like no one could ever look away.”

Marcella shuddered, feeling the warmth of the fire lick her skin. The caretaker’s skin caressing the inside of her thigh.

“Learn to be a festival slut, dear.”

FIN ‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

If you’d like to help me make more of this type of content, and explore new ideas or styles, consider pitching to my PATREON where not only can you see my newest work early, but can even affect the nature of this work!For more of my writing and illustrations, do visit My website. My Twitter| My DeviantArtAll work on this blog should be understood in context. Any portrayals of non-consent are, themselves, consensual between author and reader.

#short story #fiction #transformation story #my story #mcstories #male to female transformation #festival girls

90 notes · View notes

lethbians · 4 years

Note

how about a reddie barn party?

“a barn party?”

“yeah.”

“well what is it?”

mike looks at stan. stan looks at bill. bill, wide-eyed, looks back and forth between the two of them.

“it’s… a party. in a barn.” stan speaks slowly, though the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s trying desperately not to smile.

“well i nuh-know that,” bill says in exasperation, and mike lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and laughs, relieved. he knows bill is smart, he knows—the good grades and power essays will prove it—but sometimes bill’s brain cells took vacations. sometimes bill would write the coolest shit in creative writing class: the kinda shit that mike and bev and richie (so, by proxy, eddie as well) liked to read. horror stories, like the slasher films the losers stayed up to watch (ben and stan preferred anything but horror), though bill has a habit of adding corny romantic subplots that appealed more to ben than anyone else. bill would write those, would blow the whole loser’s club away with those, and then turn around and introduce himself as dilliam benbrough.

his braincells took vacations, but they always came back.

“i meant what is it fuh-for?”

mike shrugs. “for fun.”

“why, do you have other plans that day, bill?” stan crosses his arms, and bill grins.

“i’m in. on wuh-one condition.”

* * *

“are you kidding me?” eddie scowls. “cowboy attire mandatory?”

“i don’t know why you’re complaining, eds; it’s your fantasy come true. i have two words for you, bro.” richie strikes a pose and the sound of his hand slapping against his thigh is too loud in the small space of the clubhouse. “assless. chaps.”

“take it back, bill, please.” eddie looks at bill helplessly, but bill’s too busy flipping through a Sears catalogue to see it.

“shuh-should i get classic brown leather style boots? or should i g-go for a buh-bold black instead?”

bev leans over his shoulder and points to an image on the sheet, her nail polish still wet. “these. they’ll match that plaid you got at the thrifty mart today.”

eddie turns to mike, eyes desperate, but mike just shrugs.

“i’ve been looking for a reason to wear my cowboy hat. sorry eddie.”

richie slaps his thigh again and raises his eyebrows suggestively at eddie. “c’mon cowboy. saddle up, eddie, we’re goin’ full gay cowboy. wanna share a tent with m—.”

eddie, red with fury (and flushed with embarrassment) punches richie’s shoulder. richie cackles, and cackles, until eddie’s pout twists like he’s holding back his own giggles; until stan turns to mike with a flat look and asks if they can be uninvited.

“we need eight to square dance, stan.”

eddie stops mid-tousle with richie and squawks. “we have to dance?”

bill looks up from his magazine and sighs. “it’s a barn party eddie.”

eddie flips him off, and this time they all laugh.

* * *

“oh my god.”

“wow.”

“holy shit, benny boy!” richie puts his hands on his hips and slowly turns in a circle, surveying the empty barn. “you out-fuckin’-did yourself, now!”

“richie tozier!” calls a warning voice from the corner, and jessica hanlon gives him the stink eye from thirty feet away. “you watch your mouth while i’m around.”

richie holds up an apologetic hand, though his mouth quivers with the shadow of a smile. “you got it, mrs. h!”

“nice, richie,” bev smirks. she turns to ben. “seriously ben, this place looks incredible.”

the lights were the hardest part: stringing them up in the rafters, wrapping them around the old wood and across the walls… ben had suffered his share of splinters and spider encounters. it’s a big barn too, and ben’s hands were sweaty from the early june heatwaves (and nerves from the spider encounters). but he’d managed, with the help of mike and his uncle, and now the whole barn was strung with fairy lights and chinese lanterns.

“it’s dreamy,” bev says, looking ben in the eye as she does. “romantic.”

ben goes as crimson as the barn and looks at his feet.

“thanks bev.”

“are you guys gonna’ help set-up or just stand there like raisins on a celery stick?” jessica stands behind the group now, a sheen of sweat on her forehead. “your poor friend is struggling over there and you all are looking at the lights like a bunch of moths.”

mike turns to where bill’s currently putting up the big banner he and bev painted. well, trying to put up the banner. actually, struggling is really the word he’s looking for. every time bill would get one side taped up he’d walk to the other, but just as he’d get that corner taped down the first side would fall again. mike bites his lip and tries not to smile too wide.

they all stand there for another few seconds, watching bill continue to struggle, before mike shakes his head and jogs over to help.

“oh!” bill says as mike pressed his palm to the paper to keep it up as bill fought with the tape dispenser. “th-thanks, mikey.”

“no problem, bill.” mike watches bill attempt to rip the tape with his teeth. “are you going to the barn party with anyone?”

bill pauses, looks up at mike with the strip of tape still in his mouth. “uhh. the rest of yuh-you guys?”

“i meant as a date.” mike’s face is perfectly calm, but the cage of his rib bones shakes noisily with the thumping of his heart. “are you, you know, going with anyone?”

bill starts fighting with the tape again. “uh, n-no.”

“do you want to go with me?”

bill manages to rip off the tape he needs, and finally secures the poster. mike steps back cautiously from the wall, just in case it decides to fall again. nothing moves. mike looks back to bill, who still hasn’t answered.

“yes. yuh-yeah.” bill smiles, a soft thing, and nods. “that’d be awesome, mikey.”

“cool,” mike says, feeling very, very cool. “very cool.”

* * *

“whoa, eds, slow down—eddie, damn, what’re you running for?” richie’s keeping up pretty easily with his long legs and therefore long strides, but eddie’s practically jogging at this point and soon richie’s going to have to do the same. “what’s goin’ on, cowboy?”

“don’t cowboy me,” eddie grumbles, his boots making a little click click with every step as the fake spurs tapped against the sidewalk.

richie stops. “eds, are you mad at me?” eddie’s still walking, albeit a little slower now. “eddie.”

“i’m not mad!” eddie says, madly, though he stops walking too. “i’m just. i’m. ugh!” eddie makes a little noise of frustration and richie tries desperately not to feel so fucking fond about it. “why didn’t you ask me to go with you to the barn party?”

if richie wasn’t already frozen to the spot, that would’ve knocked him out cold. “wh… what? whaddya mean? i’m here, with you, right— “

“but you didn’t ask. you just showed up unannounced like you always do.”

“well yeah that’s just how it is—”

“but why didn’t you ask?” eddie turns, sparks of red on high cheekbones turned orange in the lamplight. he looks like a puppy, ears turned down and big brown eyes hiding sadness under the brow of anger that covered it. the pieces clicked together in richie’s head.

“oh. ohhh. i get it.” richie shoves his hands in his pockets. “you wanted to be romanced.”

“that is not what i said.”

richie takes a few steps forward. “you wanted me to get down on one knee and lend you my kerchief as an invite to the debutante ball.” richie, playing up the western twang he’s taken on, over-pronounces every syllable in debutante. eddie scoffs to hide the beginning of a laugh.

“shut up richie, i was just saying—“

“well, mistah edward j. kaspbrak—

“don’t call me that.”

“— would you do me the honor of bein’ my pardner—“

“i hate you.”

“and accompanyin’ me to the hanlon barn party so i don’t haf’ta ride solo tonight?”

richie’s got his hand cupped under eddie’s chin by now, and the other arm curled loosely around eddie’s waist. in the early twilight glow, richie’s eyes shine with amusement and something else; something that’s always wrapped in every glance sent eddie’s way. love, probably, though eddie’s still scared to say it and richie’s no better. sometimes richie knows he’s in love but he also knows he was in love last year, and the year before, and the year before that one, and every year that goes by richie’s love feels deeper and stronger and real-er. richie used to think love was a peak at the top of a mountain of feelings but being with eddie has him thinking that maybe it isn’t, that maybe love is just a mountain and richie never wants to stop climbing.

“yes, asshole, of course i want to go to the barn party with you.” eddie’s not even trying to look angry anymore. richie wants to kiss him, and he goes to do so, but the oversized rims of their cowboy hats bump together and it makes them both laugh.

“gay cowboys sure have it rough, huh?” richie asks. “let’s try that again.” then he tilts his hat back, leans down, and kisses Eddie properly.

* * *

the lights looked good in the day, but they look downright magical in the dark of night. there’s still a purple tint to the sky, leftover from the stretched out sunset, and though there’s no cracks in the roof to see the stars through, they cast a foggy glow on the grass outside.

the music is loud, but not too loud, and cheerful, but not overtly so. dancing music, is what it is, and most people are inside making the most out of it. stan’s in there with patty, mike knows—he’d seen them spinning circles around everyone else. mike knows for a fact stan doesn’t take dancing lessons, but the way he and patty swing and dance with such ease and grace makes you think it was practiced. mike just thinks that true love shows in the way you move together. you can always see it in the way people dance. it’s about… well, richie and eddie have it too, and richie’s got two left feet and a tragic lack of the “being able to take things seriously” bone.

it’s in the way they look at each other, though, the way eddie’s face pulls into a joyous adoration when richie spins him around the room obnoxiously even though he’s telling richie to put me down, put me down! it’s in the way bev brushes her fingers against ben’s when he hands her a cup of punch, and the way ben’s knee lingers when bev’s knee rests against his where they sit on the bench; like every touch is infinite, and worth every second. it’s in the way stan holds patty as they dance, like she’s something to be held, and the way patty holds him just the same.

fuck, mike knows he’s only eighteen, but he knows what love, true love, looks like.

“the p-party is inside,” bill says. an adjacent thought to mike’s last, suddenly here before him: bill, in all his plaid and leather fringe glory. mike’s heart, a racehorse poised at the startling line, takes off.

“i needed a break from the line dancing. your mom is kicking my ass.” it’s true. ms. denbrough sure knows how to country-shake it.

“she was muh-more excited for this than i was,” bill jokes, and then walks the rest of the way from the barn to the edge of the field where mike is standing.

“you look good.” it’s a bit sudden, maybe, but that thought evaporates when bill lights up with a shy smile. “the cowboy look suits you.”

“thuh-thanks, mikey.” bill’s hand twitches, like he’s going to reach out, but it stays at his side. “your shirt. it’s a g-good shirt.”

nice one, denbrough. bill makes a face.

“i mean yuh-you look strong it it. i mean, handsome. and strong, tuh-too.” bill’s bright pink, and mike couldn’t think him any cuter. “yuh-you know what i mean.”

“i wear this shirt all the time,” mike says, just to see if bill will flush darker. he does.

“yuh-yeah, i know.”

mike’s eyes flick to the barn and back. out here, the music is muffled, but mike can still tell hear andy williams crooning his familiar tune from the speakers inside.

“do you want to dance with me, bill?”

bill’s hand twitches again. “out here?”

mike nods. bill nods, and mike bets his heart is knocking against his ribs just as hard as the one in mike’s chest. mike offers his hand, and bill takes it, and the next moment mike’s got bill denbrough against his chest as they sway to the easy beat of moon river.

it’s in the way bill steps on my feet, mike thinks. it’s in the way he apologizes every time, even when i just laugh and promise him it’s okay. it’s in the way he keeps apologizing, cheeks flushed and hands curled around mike’s arms, until mike kisses him quiet.

it’s in the way that mike’s only eighteen, but he knows what love, true love, feels like.

#reddie #hanbrough #richie tozier #those r the focus but theres also uhhh #benverly #stanpat #but they're on the side sorry #my writing #thank u 4 this i wrote like a madman for 40 minutes #Anonymous

119 notes · View notes

bobasheebaby · 4 years

Text

Howard Wolowitz Prompts

1 “You know, I'm really glad you decided to learn Mandarin.” “Why?” “Once you're fluent, you'll have a billion more people to annoy instead of me.”

2 “NAME does not cry.” “That's true, you'd rust.”

3 “I invented a game. Want to play?” “Sure.” “It's called NAME or DOG NAME. I give you actual quotes I've heard NAME say, and you guess if he/she was talking to his/her boyfriend/girlfriend or his/her dog.”

4 “Settle this. Those little animated pictures on the Internet, are they called ‘gifs’ or ‘jifs’?” “Well, the G stands for ‘graphics.’ That's a hard G, so I'd say ‘gif.’” “What? The guy who invented it says it's ‘jif.’” “I'm sorry, do you mean the guy or the juy?”

5 “So you can never take it (the sweater) off?” “No.” “Not even to sleep?” “No.” “So you're just an idiot?” “It's called proving a point.” “Is the point you're an idiot?”

6 “We have to go over some ground rules about NAME.” “Like when it turns out he’s/she's made of rubber, I don't say anything?” “He’s/She's very real.” “That's what it says on the box. Right next to dishwasher safe.”

7 “Aren't you gonna come with me?” “While you confront your father:mother about his/her sex life? I'd rather go back to that bar in assless chaps.”

8 “OK, is everyone clear on the plan?” “Yes, NAME 1’s going to wet himself/herself I'm gonna throw up, NAME 2’s gonna run away and you're going to die. Shall we synchronize our watches?”

9 “NAME, let me take this opportunity to point out that you are looking particularly ravishing today.” “Not with a thousand condoms, NAME.” “So there is a number.”

10 “Hey, you want to make sure he/she gets nowhere with NAME without jeopardizing your friendship with either of them?” “I'm listening.” “Just tell him/her to do everything you've done with him/her for the last two years.”

11 “On the potty, what are you five?” “It's a potty, what do you call it?” “A toilet.” “That's a little vulgar for the dinner table, don't you think?” “And potty is okay?” “Potty is innocent. Potty is adorable.” “What do you do on the potty, wee-wee?” “If I don't have to boom-boom.”

12 “Try telling him/her it's a non-optional social convention.” “What?” “Just do it!” “It's a non-optional social convention.” “Oh, fair enough.” “He/She came with a manual.”

13 [NAME smiles in a grotesque way] “Oh crap that's terrifying.”

14 “He/She didn't dump me. We were just in different places in the relationship.” “I fail to see how a relationship can have the qualities of a geographical location.” “It's very simple. NAME was living in a little town called ‘Please don't leave me’, while NAME had just moved to the island of ‘Bye-bye!’”

15 “Are you planning on kidnapping a man/woman?” “Sarcasm?” “Yes, but mixed with genuine concern.”

16 “NAME knows football? I mean Quidditch, sure, but football?”

17 “Puppies, how do you stand on puppies?” “A puppy once bit my face!” “Of course it did.”

18 “NAME, there's no place for truth on the Internet.”

19 “I see. I assume since the rest of you have set the bar so low, you're saving the most impressive contribution for last. Go on NAME, dazzle me.” “Well, my power is the ability to pretend like I give a damn about your piddly-ass problem. And that's 24/7 buddy.”

20 “You can't just throw everything in the closet.” “Hey, you can tell me what to do and how to do it, but not both at the same time. This isn't sex.”

21 “We're looking for NAME, not Marmaduke.”

22 “NAME it's the phone!” “I know it's the phone NAME! I hear the phone!” “Who is calling at this ungodly hour?” “I don't know!” “Well ask them why are they calling at this ungodly hour!” “How can I ask them when I'm talking to you?”

23 “Well no, you're mistaken. You give speeches all the time. What you can't do is shut up.”

24 “The way I see it, I'm halfway to pity sex.”

25 “Why do I even try?” “I'm going to fix this right now.” “Okay, but just make it look like an accident.”

26 “Love is not a sprint, it's a marathon, a relentless pursuit that only ends when he/she falls into your arms — or hits you with the pepper spray.”

27 “Look, if you don't want to go to the party, just don't go. You're a grown man. Act like one. Tell NAME you want to spend the weekend having a sleepover and playing video games with your friends!”

28 “Can we take a moment to discuss that I just lied to the government for you?” “Yeah, I would not have done that for you.”

29 “NAME ruined Raiders of the Lost Ark* for me, so I'm trying to find something beloved of his/hers and ruin that.” “Because his/her life wasn't enough?” *[insert any movie, play or book]

30 “I think you broke the dowels. You're not gonna have time to glue it back on. You'll have to nail it.” “With what?” “Does he/she have any pillows or wine glasses?” “He/She does.”

“Great. Neither of those. Try a hammer!” “Did that feel good? You feel like a big man now?”

31 “Why're you being so quiet? You upset or are you just rebooting?”

32 “Come on, NAME, Star Wars.” “I'm pushing play. I mean it. If we don't start soon, George Lucas is going to change it again.”

33 “Come on, one day this may double in value and be worth half what I paid for it!”

34 [Chuckles] “Look at that. There's finally a man/woman in your life you can talk to.”

35 “I shouldn't be raising a kid. I don't even eat my own vegetables.”

36 “I love you. And I'm not just saying that because your breasts are gonna get bigger.”

37 “First take a picture with me.” “Why?” “Well, NAME and I always talked about learning how to make cocktails like this together, so I taught myself and I'm putting this on Instagram so he/she can see it and feel like a turd. Say cheese!”

38 “Stop hitting on my man/lady or you shall experience my wrath.” “I am not hitting on him/her.” “And I am not your Lady.” “And you have no wrath.”

39 “NAME, relax. I am not interested in your boyfriend/girlfriend.” “I hope not. Because you don't wanna mess with me.” [Gets in NAME’s face] “I'm crazy.”

40 “How did you get so brave all of a sudden?” “It's easy. The spider's crawling up your arm.”

41 “Why are you back from your date so early?” “Well, in romance, as in show business, always leave them wanting more.” “What exactly does that mean?” “He/She struck out.”

42 “Sit, you look like you've had a long day.” “Naw, she always looks like that. ... Because she married an idiot.”

43 “You guys never use that space up there. Why not get a table?” “Do you want the long answer or the short answer?” “How come we never get that option?”

44 “You're a putz. Do you what that means?” “Yeah. Do you?”

45 “Excuse me, I happen to be very comfortable with my masculinity.” “How is that possible?”

46 “Oh, you're saying I don't do anything around here? Look at my chore chart!”

47 “Well don't come crying to me when you don't get your allowance.” “It's not an allowance. It's a stipend! And we said we weren't going to call it an allowance in front of my friends.”

48 “Neither of them will be the actual cake. I'm just using it as a bargaining chip to get NAME to agree to the whole wedding party getting rings and us getting one ring to rule them all.” “I forget, which mental hospital are you guys registered at?”

49 “You know what we should do? We should show the closet to NAME.” “Why?” “Are you kidding? He’s/She’s like a savant at organizing. Everything in his/her apartment/house has a label on it. Including his/her label maker, which has a label that says label maker. And if you look really close at that label maker label, you’ll see a label that says label.”

50 “I was so smooth on that date.” “Dude, I made you smooth. You were an idiot.” “Whatever, dude. He/She kissed me.” “It might have been on your lips, but it was my kiss.” “Oh, fine. Let's agree he/she kissed both of us.” “Okay.”

#howard wolowitz #big bang theory quotes #big bang theory prompts #dialogue prompts #writing prompts #quaratine sucks and making these keeps my mind busy #i live in covid 19 hell

17 notes · View notes

delcat177 · 4 years

Photo

Text in captions, if that won’t read on text to voice please let me know <3

This is a half-year old, but I only paid Blobs Magician to help me out once and I’m fresh out of delicately painted acorns and he gave me commission rights so I’ll be tipping him a ziploc bag of goldfish later

I feel awkward writing about all of this--there was a bit of jealousy when I got my hyst (not projecting, I was told flat by a trans friend), and I worry that I may be making other people feel alone, anxious, or less-than in their gender by talking about it. If you feel that at all, please, stop right now. Don’t look in the mirror, because mirrors are scary. Like, really scary, they have ghosts or stuff probably, but also in the genders sense, so instead, look in your head. Look at your self. It’s in there, because it is you. What is happening to me now is a shell upgrade, a hermit crab moving domiciles. I was a boy once, then a young man, then a oldman, and now I’m a oldman with a society man shell. Never mistake the shell for the crab, go “hey crab, I like your shell, I hope you find the perfect shell, because you are the perfect inhabitant” and celebrate that crab. Because we are all crabs, and we are all beautiful, and we all deserve the shells that reflect us as individuals, and anyone who says otherwise can fuck off into a spiny urchin bush and not have a shell. Or. Something. Did I say I felt awkward? I AM awkward. But anyway, drive-in movie totals and such after cut, potential TMI, and protect yourself love yourself, you lovely crabs <333

(with cut ‘cause longtext is looong)

(ORIGINAL POST)

Alt-text: I'm always the last one to know

so uh

I'm a blithe idiot and somehow never processed or dared to dream that this was possible

which makes the timeline look SPECTACULARLY dumb but I was going through SO MANY LIFESTYLE CHANGES

HYST DATE: SEPTEMBER 28, 2016

2017: Me: Man, living in the townhouse has really amped up my leg game, all that up and down stairs.

Me: I'm down ten pounds since the hyst! Megan: That's probably your natural weight. Me: That or getting there. Not surprising, I'm not feeding the beast constantly.

Me: *punches Megan playfully in the arm* Megan: OW goddammit Del that hurt like SHIT! Me: oh my God I'm sorry I didn't mean to! Megan: It's okay, just be careful! Me: That's so weird I'm sorry D8

Me: man is it just me or am I good in bed lately? oh right I'm the only one here...I guess it's because I'm more confident?

Me: ghghjh my hair's thinning out at the temples, well been expecting that one for awhile, at least it waited for 30

2018:

Me: Holy shit, the stairs plus the shopping is paying off! My thighs are HUGE! I wonder if cracking a watermelon with these bad boys is hyperbole. I bet I could though. I BET.

Me: Down to 162 and holding, fuck you past doctors! I just needed ENERGY goddammit!

Me: Wow, I've lost a lot of weight from my face especially. That makes me super happy. Anyway better pluck these stray hairs. ...have I been yanking these more lately? Getting old is weird.

Me: (struggling with shorts) Megan: Do you need a belt? Me: I'M WEARING A BELT (lifts shirt to reveal belt double wrapped around hips) Megan: Well then Me: I just need to buy new shorts, my ass is just GONE Megan: In the meantime maybe pay attention to what underwear you have on Me: yeah thank God for boxers

Me: My acne scars are heck of acting up. I wish I hadn't picked at my face so much as a kid, I guess the pores are just kinda fucked, I've read about that happening.

2019:

Megan: New shorts look good Me: I am so bad at shopping Megan: At least you have them now Me: I'm an assless chap is all Megan: Go to bed Del Me: It's four in the afternoon

Me: My throat feels so *thick* lately. I haven't been hitting the vape that often, why does it feel weird? And why am I noticing my own voice more? I NEVER notice my own voice, I make a point of it. Am I subconsciously pitching it lower like I used to do talking on Skype because I'm more socially active? What is my brain I'm so AWKWARD Me: UGH I'm falling back into derma habits, I haven't picked in my face in years, I think I need to change cleansers. But...my face looks...good? I guess I had this hiding under that baby fat all these years. ...I guess? Me: Am I getting a hump from my bad computer posture? Shit. Me: Oh no, it's not a hump, my shoulders are starting to put on muscle! That's a relief. That must be from the...laundry? Carrying...laundry?

AUGUST 5, 2019: Me: (lying in bed) 2 + 2

Me: wait why am I putting on shoulder muscle now? I've been doing laundry for years, and it's never done that. And my legs didn't get this buff with a routine job where I was walking three hours a d--

Me:

AUGUST 14, 2019:

New Endocrinologist: We'll test your levels to make sure it isn't a pituitary gland issue or (some syndrome I've already forgotten the name of), and it could be because there's some small element of testosterone in the estrogen replacement, but the brain does produce androgens. We can definitely look into switching you to T if you want, but if it's facial hair you're worried about...well, once the follicle is there, it's there. These are irreversible changes.

Me: No on that then but irreversible,, like,, what I have now,, is forever,,,,,,,?

New Endocrinologist: Forever, and I would expect to continue to see muscle gains if you work out.

Me:

welcome to my second puberty please be aware it apparently involves as many mood swings as the first one but i'm tryin'

Since then, it’s been continuing confirm, confirm, confirm.

My acne turned out to be little follicles growing in odd places--not fullblown hair, just enough to irritate the skin while it was developing. Tiny tufts of 1-3 entirely white, downy hairs have popped up in a few places on my breasts. The real fuzz proliferation has been in the southern quarters--with all delicacy, there is no itch like the itch of hair beginning to grow anywhere sweat can proliferate, and I now understand why cis men scratch privates in public. Having NOT gone through a unified social experience with a peer group accepting of such measures, I am sure there is footage on grocery store cams of someone with an agonized expression walking like he has a weasel down his pants and worrying that 30 is early for hemorrhoids. Both have settled in for the most part, leaving me with a very fluffy, barely-there peach fuzz mustache that’s only noticeable in the right light, some spare hairs across my chin and neck that I keep in order, and a profound relief that I prefer boy shorts and swim trunks.

I went through a few weeks of being especially rank despite all the showering and was worried that was my new normal, but apparently T sweats be like that, and I’m back to smelling like...whatever I smell like, probably lavender with our fabric softener. I experienced what I believed was a relapse a month later that turned out to be a false positive--specifically, our thermostat was slowly dying and frog-boiling us until it got hot enough that my sister also went “dear God it is a sauna in here”, leading to replacement of the faulty element and another notch in the “my life is dumb” bedpost.

My face bonebs, which I frankly expected the least out of (when I wasn’t expecting at all), have slowly but surely been rearranging, a visual effect doubled by the much faster redistribution of fat. I honestly have no idea how this one works. I know more about dead bonebs than live ones. I would doubt it if I didn’t have pictures to back it up. I would say it’s easier to look in the mirror now, but I already stated my opinion on mirrors, do it too much and a skeleton will pop out. It WILL. My brain tells me this and it is never wrong about fears and or phobias. Don’t do it kids.

If there’s been a single most beautiful moment so far, it’s been getting back into Steven Universe after a long hiatus, opening my mouth to sing the opening like I did years ago, and realizing all at once that I was singing falsetto. I ran it back, dropped a register, and the first names I sang became those who would believe in me most. There were tears, and later, showing it off, there were fierce hugs. (Yes, the first ep I watched once I realized was Stevonnie, and YES GARNET GOING “GO HAVE FUN” wah)

I can’t begin to express the validation--I am no gender essentialist’s data point, this is MY experience and no one else’s, but I keep going “my aunt had a hyst and didn’t transition and I had one and I am because my brain makes androgens my brain makes androgens MY BRAIN MAKES ANDROGENS IT HAS BEEN MAKING ANDROGENS ALL THIS TIME IT HAS BEEN TRYING” and living in that, living in “not even SCIENCE is against me”, which is a tremendous thing as a scientist. (As a scientist, I would be a blithering dullard to claim this is the only thing that affects or proves my gender, and I do not. Again, TERFs fuck off. This is simply a very validating thing to me, personally, in my experience. I’m not thrilled that I have to underline that this hard dammit internet.)

What lies ahead is...I don’t know! I thought I was done changing, but the post I saw that nudged me to finally do this on here went “you may stop being able to cry for awhile” and this is Important because I have been trying to figure out if I have Sjogren’s but apparently I have androgens which is slightly easier to pronounce. I’m not sure how I feel about that, because transitioning is a lot of “I’m not sure how I feel about this” and then things being okay. I would definitely say that the more I learn, the easier it is to feel steady and normal, which is important because the mood swings have been REAL. This is more than I asked for or bargained for, but I still only have one regret, and that’s that my hyst scars are just slightly asymmetrical and it Bothers Me, but even that is growing on me.

I don’t know how to end this post. I love you all to death, and I hope if you’re seeking transition, you find it and twenty dollars, and if you’re not seeking transition, you still find twenty dollars. Thank you so much for you and all you do and are. Remember--you are great!

Unless you’re truscum. Then this post isn’t for you (dammit Internet) and you can fall off a boardwalk onto a dead fish. Have fun with that!

hekk

#trans #trans mtf #trans timeline #del is a trans guy #gender #gender*#blobs magician #i'm sorry this wasn't sooner i was shy aaaaa #you are all tock to me #and you are all wonderful crabs #let us go for a scuttle #longpost #long post #scrolling

3 notes · View notes

nowweareunstoppable · 5 years

Text

gotta write some shit down quick bc i don’t wanna forget it

so that fuckin girl i’ve liked for a long time and legit thought it was never going to be a thing (and posted that whiny sad timez post about a few weeks ago)... kissed me. and it’s stayin chill and probably isn’t going anywhere bc we both insanely busy and also skittish inexperienced (f/f) daters

but like, just the fact that it happened when i’d convinced myself she was so far out of my league and wasn’t going to ever look at me twice, was such a huge confidence booster.

we were at a party and i wasn’t feeling great so me and her and two other friends took a walk around the block at like midnight, and she was hangin back so i walked slower with her. and the other two got further and further ahead. and then she wanted to sit by a tree in front of the lake so i was like, chill, okay. so we were just talking and she had her hand on my leg which i was still clueless, then she got this fuckin look in her eye and i KNEw she was going to do it and she like took my face and kissed me. legit i had no idea the thought had even run through her head, ever, until she was actively kissing me. i was the clueless disaster queer in all aspects, it’s so funny looking back on all the signals that flew over my head.

so we made out under this tree in this fuckin random person’s front yard (they had a bunch of halloween decorations like ghosts and shit it was rad). she said something about giving the kids a show lol and teased me about this girl i had to text back and had been avoiding.

OH AND THE KICKER TO ALL OF THIS, it was a halloween party right so i was dressed as a cowboy wearing fucking assless chaps this entire time. with my cowboy hat. like, the assless chaps were what finally did it apparently i don’t even know

she knocked my hat off when we were making out and we didn’t realize and had to go back for it and then we walked back for real and held hands and ran around a lil bit.

then i went home and puked bc i get too competitive playing drinking games yeehaw the end.

#idk yall i just never thought shit like this was going to happen to me u know?#like i love myself so much im super cool but im also not the most confident in my physical appearance sometimes?#so i just convince myself people are out of my league and it's safer to like those people bc it'll never happen #and now something happened and im like ?????? does not compute #my actual life #im pretty happy about it tho like for real #even if it goes nowhere like what a WILD THING to happen to me

4 notes · View notes

darkestwings · 6 years

Text

Dream from 6-9-18

A friend (dream friend, not real) and I were taking screencaps of Zak Bagans from ghost adventures so we could laugh about his more ridiculous outfits. We saw there was an episode we had never seen before and decided to watch it. After taking one screenshot we realized Zak's whole ass was basically showing even though his legs were still completely covered. We slowed down the video and zoomed in and decided he must be wearing some kind of assless chaps-type clothing, but it was like assless emo jeans or something... It was so hilarious I apparently was laughing in my sleep (so says my husband). But then it turned scary!

Zak was "investigating" and he hopped up onto a porch and we saw something that stopped our laughing instantly. Attached somehow to his assless emo jeans was a pink dildo that had been inside him the whole time he was just walking around talking shit to ghosts. We couldn't believe our eyes. We needed context.

So for months we worked to get close to him, to be in his sort of circle. We even got our own show on Travel Channel. Finally one day I got to speak with him beyond just a passing "hello".

I told him how my friend and I had seen something we had to ask about. How I hoped he wouldn't get angry because if he yelled at me I would get scared and probably cry. And he said I could ask.

I mentioned his unique outfits (with a straight face somehow) and how we had noticed one in particular that was most unique. I told him which episode I meant and he very obviously knew the outfit I was asking about.

He looked dramatically off into the middle distance, arms folded in classic Zak Bagans pose, and said: "I had been going through some very hard things then, and it made me do some strange stuff."

I was going to ask what the hell could make a person wear a pink dildo and assless emo jeans on his ghost hunting tv show, but in that moment I was sucked into some kind of flashback-reenactment-dream.

I was now a relative (of some kind) growing up in Zak's house alongside him and his sister I had never heard of. His dad was abusive to his mom and sister and also a drunk. One day he accidentally killed the sister and ran off. Zak found her and called 911. It traumatised him obviously.

A year later he was in a full on emo-goth mode and spoke to no one. He barely even left his room.

One night I looked out the front window to see his dad coming towards the front door. Zak wouldn't come out and I knew it was up to me because his mom always took his dad back and she was a wreck right then. So I ran and grabbed 2 baseball bats, one wooden and one aluminum, and met his dad at the door.

"You aint comin' back here," I told him, brandishing the aluminum bat. He just laughed and revealed that he too had a bat, a wooden one!

We swung at each other, occasionally connecting but mostly just knocking each others bats away. At one point I realized we were literally doing fencing moves...with baseball bats...

He managed to fling my aluminum bat out of my hand and he laughed again thinking he had won, but I grabbed the wooden one I had brought along and swung it while announcing "two bats asshole!" thus catching him by surprise and managing to hit him really hard and stun him. While he was stunned I snatched HIS bat away and then faced him brandishing two bats and he finally gave up.

He started crying and saying how sorry he was and how he loved his family and it got really annoying so I just hit him with both bats until he ran away and then I locked the door.

That's when I woke up. I will never know now how this childhood incident led to Zak Bagans choosing to wear assless emo jeans with a pink dildo attachment on the 12th season of his ghost hunting tv show...

#i swaer to god every word of this is true #this is how i dream #please kill me and end my suffering #zak bagans #dream journal #op #onotriel

6 notes · View notes

ouraidengray4 · 7 years

Text

The Mississippi Delta Guide to Gay Pride: Our Life in the Deep South

Kilby Allen and Lindsay Sproul, Wedding Day, Tallahassee, FL 2015

My wife, Lindsay, grew up on the Massachusetts south shore. It’s one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen, all rocky beaches and moored sailboats, old growth hardwoods and colonial houses built before the founding of the country. Visiting her hometown was like walking into an L.L. Bean catalog.

As a child, I spent a lot of time memorizing photographs in magazines and catalogs, tracing the contours of unfamiliar landscapes, wanting to file these images in my imagination, to remind myself that the entire world wasn’t the Mississippi Delta. To describe the Delta, to really explain the intricacies of rural Southern life and geographical isolation, would take days. To approximate the tourist experience of the Delta, listen to Charley Patton’s High Water Everywhere while flipping through photographer William Eggleston’s The Democratic Forest. But if you can’t do that, just imagine the flattest, muddiest land possible. Then picture little towns, houses huddled together, in a sea of endless, clear-cut farmland. It’s the poorest, most isolated part of one of the poorest and most isolated states, and it is extreme in all things: weather, religion, politics, foodstuffs.

Basically, Lindsay and I grew up in opposite universes, and we probably never would’ve met, but luckily, the recession basically forced us both into graduate school. And I can honestly say that the best thing about getting a PdD was marrying Lindsay.

Photo booth reel, New Orleans, LA Summer 2016

We were married in the city hall annex beneath the Bank of America in Tallahassee, Florida. Gay marriage had become legal in Florida by default a few months earlier, but the Federal Supreme Court ruling was still forthcoming, which meant that our marriage paperwork bore the labels Bride and Groom. So technically, Lindsay may be my husband.

"I can finally pronounce you… married," said Bob, city clerk, skipping over the gendered language in his civil ceremony script. It’s not how I imagined my wedding, because I never imagined my wedding. And even though we were in a basement room with a fake, backlit stained glass window, no family or friends, on the Tuesday after I turned in my dissertation, our wedding really was everything the magazines say: The Most Important Day of Our Lives.

And then the rest of life happens. I graduated, and when neither us landed a full time job, we decided to move to the Hudson Valley. We wanted to be somewhere other than Florida, somewhere with mountains. There were plenty of colleges within commuting distance—so many, in fact, that we had to turn down adjunct work because our schedules were full.

But to condense a very long story, it’s practically impossible to make enough money adjunct teaching to survive in New York, even if you teach at three different schools and work 18 hours a day. We spent the year uninsured and too poor to buy food. When the spring semester ended, unable to make rent on our crappy apartment, we were also homeless.

So like the many millennials, Lindsay and I were forced to move back in with mom and dad. My mom and dad, specifically, which meant that we became a married lesbian couple living in Mississippi, a state that was scheduled to enact HB 1523,"The Religious Liberty Accommodations Act," legislation aimed at not only de-legitimizing our marriage, but also supporting (if not outright encouraging) public discrimination against all LGBTQ individuals.

So last June, on Lindsay’s 31st birthday, we moved into my childhood bedroom in Indianola, Mississippi.

The protesters were mostly overweight, middle-aged people in sweaty t-shirts. The queer people were also mostly overweight, middle-aged people in sweaty t-shirts. Without the signage, you’d hardly be able to tell the two groups apart.

I left the Delta for school when I was 16, half a lifetime ago, and my old bedroom was exactly as I had left it: glow-in-the-dark ceiling stars, a Lisa Loeb poster, and dozens of plastic ponies lining the bookshelves, their eyes staring downward.

In Mississippi, I started to become my teenage self again. I was moody and irritable. I ate deep-fried food filled with preservatives. I sweated when I was nervous. (Or maybe that was because it was 105 degrees outside.) Worst of all, the internalized Bible Belt homophobia that I’d spent years in therapy trying to dissipate reemerged with a vengeance.

In all the time we’d been married, Lindsay and I had the luxury of thinking of ourselves as another boring married couple. We lived in progressive cities, and neither of us were the kind of people who woke up in the morning thinking, I’m gay! But suddenly, we lived in a place where we were constantly reminded of our gayness. "You don’t touch me in public anymore," Lindsay said. I was busy rifling through our suitcases, looking for something to wear that was neither plaid nor baggy, or in any way "masculine"—my mother’s term.

"We just can’t do that here!" I heard myself say, and in that moment, I felt completely defeated, because it felt so true. Then I’m sure I cried. We spent most of the time crying, those first weeks in Mississippi, which is one of the reasons we decided to go Pride. Though we’d both been to various Gay Pride events in New York, California, and even in Florida, neither of us is the kind of person who likes big, drunk crowds or assless chaps. Pride always seemed like a party I’d rather avoid, but I still thought of it as that—a party.

Kilby Allen and Lindsay Sproul, Los Angeles 2014

Last summer, Mississippi held its first-ever official Pride celebration. There was originally supposed to be a parade, but in the wake of the Orlando shooting, organizers (or maybe law enforcement) decided that it would be safer to barricade a tiny park in downtown Jackson and surround the entire event with armed policemen. We weren’t surprised by the security, though I assumed it was unnecessary. The event was tiny: half a dozen tents and folding tables, four food trucks, and a single beer line. When we arrived, there may have been 100 people there.

Then the protesters arrived. We’ve all seen pictures of backward-looking hicks holding "God Hates Fags" signs, but this was in 2016. Weren’t we past this?

Lindsay and I were sitting on the grass, watching drag queens sashay in the noonday sun, when the chanting started. A man with a megaphone buzzed in the background while someone born with a penis danced to "I’m Every Woman" while wearing a sequined evening gown in the 100-degree heat. Restless queer people, the novelty of outdoor, daytime drag wearing thin, began to drift toward the barricades to see the real, live protestors.

Lindsay and I were curious too, so we joined the crowd. The protesters were mostly overweight, middle-aged people in sweaty t-shirts. The queer people were also mostly overweight, middle-aged people in sweaty t-shirts. Without the signage, you’d hardly be able to tell the two groups apart. Good thing there was a chain-link fence and a bunch of people with guns between us. Otherwise we might get mixed up.

I reached out and took Lindsay’s hand. I pulled her close and kissed her there, a few feet from the screaming, sweaty face of a homophobe wearing a sandwich board. I finally realized that Pride isn’t a party, and you can’t show up fashionably late. In Mississippi, Pride is still a protest. By the end of the summer, I managed to get a full-time academic job half an hour from my hometown, and Lindsay got a two-book deal for her novels, so we were able to move out of my parents’ house. But we still live in the Mississippi Delta.