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#i was inspired by that one girl from final fantasy with belts as the bottom of her dress

writethelifeyouwant · 1 year

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Forbidden Fantasy

Summary: Drawing inspiration from a question they got during their panel, Jared has fun messing around with Jensen backstage.

Pairing: Jared x Jensen (background J2 x Violet Brinson)

Rating: 18+ Warnings: Ephebophilia/Paedophilia Kink Tags: dirty talk, name calling, semi-public sex, bottom!Jared, top!Jensen, bratty!Jared, a bit of top from the bottom, discussion of paedophilia, ephebophilia, dirty talk about younger girls, references to The Boys, references to Jared/Violet Brinson, references to Walker, voyeur kink, filming kink, hand-job, blow job, deepthroating, butt plug, anal sex, feminization, creampie, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT Word Count: 1,834 Bingo Squares: @j3bingo - Name Calling | @anyfandomdarkbingo - Free Space | @anyfandomkinkbingo - Friends with Benefits | @anyfandomgoesbingo - Voyeurism | 2023 Bingo - Role Play

A/N: This is probably one of the more disgusting things I’ve ever written. I wasn't sure if I was even gonna post it 😅 Please read the warnings before proceeding. In no way does this reflect how I feel about Jared and Jensen, this is purely a work of fiction.

The adrenaline from stage was still coursing through their veins, giving them the giddy high that they’d never quite gotten used to from being up there during those panels. Jared walked ahead of Jensen intentionally, pacing his strides in a way that pulled his jeans tight over his ass with every step he took, and he knew without checking behind him that Jensen was watching him closely their whole journey back to the green room. They’d exchanged a very brief look on stage after that question, and Jared hadn’t been able to pull his mind out of the gutter since. The moment the door shut behind Jensen with their bodyguard and convention handlers safely on the other side, Jared spun on his heels and trapped Jensen against the wall, doing his best to tower over him, a knowing smirk plastered on his wide lips.

“You’re incorrigible, y’know that,” Jensen gave him an admonishing smile, his brow raised in a look that Jared was all-too-familiar with.

“Look me in the eye and tell me you haven’t been thinking about it since that girl told you her age,” Jared breathed, his lips skating temptingly-close to kissing Jensen but refusing to close that final breadth of space. Teasing. Waiting. He flicked his gaze up to meet Jensen’s with heavy-lidded eyes, staring through the haze of his lashes as the older man swallowed audibly and took a deep breath, but refused to answer with any actual words. “How hard are you right now?” Jared whispered, his hand coming down from the wall beside Jensen’s shoulder to ghost over the front of his jeans instead, smiling when he found an obvious and familiar shape there.

Jensen let out a shuddering breath, a soft thump telling Jared he’d let his head drop back against the wall, but Jared’s eyes had slid closed as he pressed his face into the crook of Jensen’s neck and began kissing him teasingly as his fingers worked on getting his belt and jeans out of the way. The older man groaned softly when Jared got his hand around his cock and began toying with him, his other hand skimming around Jensen’s waist to cup one of his bare ass-cheeks and squeeze greedily.

“Motherfucker,” Jensen swore under his breath when Jared dropped to his knees and slipped Jensen’s cock between his lips, sucking lazily. Jared got both of his hands on Jensen’s ass and used that leverage to help Jensen fuck his mouth, not that the older man needed much encouragement.

“Do you think she’s already watched it?” he asked, and Jared hummed idly, his mouth too full to answer, but apparently Jensen didn’t need him to. He just kept talking to himself while Jared worked on getting the head of his cock into the tight squeeze of his throat. “It’s too easy for kids to get a hold of that shit these days. Even if she hasn’t watched it, you telling her not to probably means it’s the first thing she’s gonna do when she gets home.”

Jared felt Jensen’s cock twitch and go harder in his mouth and he groaned, sucking tightly along the shaft and pulling off with a satisfied gasp, letting himself catch his breath.

“You love it, don’t you? You fucking sicko,” Jared chided, glaring up at Jensen cruelly from his knees, all the while still teasing Jensen’s cock with his hands, using his fists to make a tunnel for him to fuck into, like a living fleshlight. “You like that there’s fifteen year olds out there touching themselves while they stare at your bare ass–plus all the other twisted shit in that show. Bet you wish you could watch them while they do it. Bet you wish you could show those little girls a lot more of yourself. What do you think they’d do if they saw your cock? They’d probably cum on the spot.” Jared grinned at Jensen as he stuck his fist in his mouth to muffle the moans that he couldn’t contain anymore.

“I don’t know,” Jensen retorted breathlessly when he’d got himself a little more under control. Jared bent down and suckled on the crown of his cock to get another hiss of pleasure out of him, staring up from beneath his lashes to give Jensen a good view of his cock in the younger man’s mouth. Jared knew he liked to watch. “What did Vi do when you finally showed her yours?” he asked teasingly, his hands combing through Jared’s hair and forcing his head further down so he was deepthroating him completely this time, making him gag and stopping him from answering his question.

“Was she even eighteen yet when you got to her?” Jensen sneered, pushing Jared’s face flush with his hips and holding him there, rutting his cock into the spasming channel of his throat as he gagged around the intrusion. “Not that it matters, she still looks like she’s too young to drive, let alone drink. That tiny little body, fuck… is she still tight as a virgin too or have you ruined her yet?”

Jared pulled off of Jensen the moment he was released, coughing and spluttering to catch his breath. Jensen put his fingers beneath the younger man’s chin and forced him to look up, smirking in appreciation at how fucked up Jared’s face must look now with his hair all mussed up and spit dripping down his chin, clinging to his stubble.

“I’m back on set next week,” Jared rasped. He cleared his throat and stood up shakily, not quite trusting his knees to hold him up properly. “Want us to FaceTime you? You can watch her touch herself, fuck her cunt with those pretty little fingers while she begs me to fuck her for real?”

“Yeah,” Jensen scoffed, shoving Jared back towards the couch and making him stumble over his feet. “She won’t be begging for your cock buddy, she’ll be begging for mine. Now, please tell me you’ve got your plug in today,” he looked like he might die if Jared told him ‘no’, and just for a moment he was tempted to.

In answer, Jared quickly undid his own jeans and shoved everything down to his ankles, kicking off the material and getting on his knees, facing the back of the couch so he could lean over it and look back over his shoulder alluringly. “Come see for yourself,” he quipped, clenching around the slim plug he was wearing. It was just big enough to keep him wet and open enough to fuck, but didn’t loosen his hole too much; Jensen liked him tight so, when the mood struck, he could pretend it was some little girl he was fucking, instead of Jared.

“Oh, good girl,” Jensen hummed in satisfaction as he ran his finger down the cleft of Jared’s ass playing with the still-slick end of the plug, tugging it out and watching the hole trying to cling onto the toy. Jared knew what Jensen was doing because he’d made him watch before–positioned him in front of a mirror and played with his hole until it was so pink and open and wet it may as well have been a cunt after all. “You wanna get fucked, sweetheart?”

“It’s not about what I want,” Jared gasped a little as Jensen tugged the toy out and tossed it aside on the couch, leaving Jared’s hole winking around empty air, hungry for something bigger. “I know you wanna fuck me you perv, c’mon. Think about how many teenage girls you hugged today and how hard you had to work to keep from popping a boner in their photo ops. You’d never be able to live that down if you got caught out. Think about how many asked you to hold their hands, and how many are going back to their hotel rooms and fucking themselves on the fingers you touched, because you got them so wet they just couldn’t help themselves. Some of ‘em are probably even looking at their pictures with you while they do it.”

Jared loved winding Jensen up like this purely for the moment that he first pounds his cock inside him, brutal and selfish, using Jared as a placeholder while he pictures what they both really want in their heads. Of course, neither one of them would ever go as far as sleeping with someone under eighteen, but girls like Violet provided a good enough substitute, and when they couldn’t get to her, they had each other to scratch the itch with. Jensen hadn’t actually fucked Violet yet, he’d only watched while Jared did–in person and over video calls–but Jared couldn’t wait to watch him have a go at her. They would absolutely be filming it to save, it would be the best porn they’d ever made.

“Fuck me like you mean it, c’mon,” Jared goaded, and Jensen grunted angrily, pulling on Jared’s hair as he slammed their hips together, fucking him at an almost painful pace.

“Touch your clit,” Jensen panted from above him, one hand coming to Jared’s hip to help anchor his thrusts. Jared leaned his weight onto one arm so he could sneak his other hand down to fist his cock, playing with the head delicately like it was a girl’s clit he was teasing. “Want you to cum for me, baby girl.”

“Need it harder. Please, sir,” Jared whimpered, pitching his voice so it sounded more delicate and feminine. “Fuck my pussy with your pedo cock. Make me cum on it, please, please, please,” he babbled. Jared knew they were both disgusting for finding this so hot, but neither of them gave a damn these days when something like that slipped out in the heat of the moment. It always pushed them closer to the edge.

“Yeah, fuckin’ take it,” Jensen hissed, plastering himself over Jared’s back and fucking him like he was running a goddamn race to the finish. “Your cunt feels so good, baby girl. Can’t believe you’re letting me ruin you like this. No boy your age is ever gonna be able to measure up; you’ll be fucking wrecked for me, won’t’cha. Keep touching that clit, sweetie. Want you to cum first, wanna feel your pretty little pussy milking me dry.”

Jared had to bury his face in the couch to muffle his shout as he came, getting his other hand down underneath him just in time to cum into his palm and not all over the couch. Jensen would probably want to use it to lube up his plug before he put it back in. The older man was now frozen on top of him, his chest heaving and arms shaking as he bit down hard on Jared’s shoulder to quieten his own sounds of pleasure. Jared thought idly that it was a shame they hadn’t been filming themselves this time, he would have given anything to make Violet watch and touch herself while he filmed it to send back to Jensen.

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#DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT #READ THE WARNINGS #J2 smut #anyfandomdarkbingo #j3bingo #anyfandomkinkbingo #anyfandomgoesbingo #2023 Bingo

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cityoftheangelllls · 3 years

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Entry 5 in my historical Disney Princess series: Ariel in the early-mid 1830s!

I thought the 1830s would best suit our little mermaid because 1.) the dresses worn by Ariel in human form, particularly her pink dress and wedding dress, as well as those of the female background characters (outrageously large, puffy sleeves and bell-shaped skirts) closely resembled what was fashionable during that decade, and 2.) “The Little Mermaid” by Hans Christian Andersen was first published in 1837. As for the setting, it would fit to place Ariel in Denmark, since “The Little Mermaid” is a Danish story, but it could also take place in pretty much any other European nation near the ocean as well, as fashion (with the exception of regional folk costumes) remained pretty much uniform across the continent.

Though Ariel has quite a large wardrobe, I did only three of the outfits she wears in the movie for this project: her pink dinner dress, her blue “Kiss the Girl” ensemble, and her wedding gown. I briefly considered doing the “sea foam” gown King Triton creates for her when he turns her human again, but then I considered it to be too much of a “fantasy” costume to translate into an 1830s gown. I also decided to keep Ariel’s flaming red hair, since she IS a mermaid, a fantasy creature, and it’s a defining feature of her design.

Apart from the wider skirt and lowered waistline, for the purpose of better achieving an 1830s silhouette, the pink dress is pretty much an exact replica of this evening gown from 1830 (one of my favorite gowns from the late Regency/pre-Victorian era). When I first saw it, it instantly reminded me of Ariel's pink dress as it appeared in the movie, just more historically-influenced. I referenced this fashion plate (the lady on the right) and this painting for her hairstyle, and based her shoes on this pair . I hope I didn't do too much of a crappy job on the imitation pearl details (another reason why I found the dress so fitting for Ariel's character).

I had a much harder time deciding how I would do Ariel's blue dress before I finally settled on modeling it after this striped dress from 1836 (which I thought would look nice on Ariel and compliment her hair) and this dress (because I particularly liked the fichu/collar and belt). I referenced this fashion plate from 1837 when simplifying the patterns on the first dress (I also hope these didn't turn out looking like crud), and added ruffles toward the bottom of the skirt, inspired by the pink and white striped dress in this fashion plate. I also gave her a bonnet, since I saw many female background characters in the movie wearing them and they were also very fashionable during the early Victorian era, modeled after the ones shown on this fashion plate, particularly the one worn by the lady in the middle. The wide, light blue sash is meant to resemble the giant blue hair bow worn by Ariel in the original design.

This (Danish!!) wedding dress from 1837 (!!!) was a dead ringer for Ariel's wedding dress to me. So I modeled my historically-inspired version of it heavily after that dress, minus the faint stripes (?) on the skirt. I also enlarged the sleeves and added a ruffle along the bottom of the skirt, inspired by this fashion plate, and sea-green details and motifs based on this fashion plate and this dress. I doubt that the green details are period-accurate, but I felt that Ariel's wedding dress would look so naked without the green accents, they're what make it so special in my eyes! Her tiara is modeled after this one from the 1830s-1840s (I have no information on who it belonged to - I would really appreciate if someone who knows can tell me!), I just changed the purple stones to teal. Her hair is also virtually the same as it was with the pink dress. I feel like I could have done better with this one, particularly by adding flowers in her hair or giving her a bouquet.

Commissions info

#disney #disney fanart #my art #ariel #the little mermaid #historical disney #historical ariel #historical fashion #1830s #victorian #early Victorian #Angie’s scribbles

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geniusgub · 4 years

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unauthorized//matthew gray gubler

based on mgg’s new unauthorized documentaries

genre: fluff

warnings: none!

word count: 3.4k

one last apology for the delay on posting these. fuck migraines!! iykyk. anyways, here it is. im really close to 200 followers and when i get there, ill be doing a preview of my new spencer fic called “north” so be ready to see that v soon! enjoy and don’t forget to give me some feedback!🖤

Getting to visit Matthew while he’s filming is a rare, yet special, occurrence. I always try to make the best of it when I get the change to head up to Vancouver, whether it be for a quick weekend or a whole week. When the final season of the show started, I did what I could to get to Vancouver for as long as I possibly could. I’d grown close to the cast, not to mention my boyfriend of six years. I wanted to make the best of this final season and make as many memories as I could, even if I’m not a member of the cast. They always joke that I’m an honorary member.

When, one night, Matthew mentioned reviving the Unauthorized Documentaries for the final season of Criminal Minds, I thought he meant it as a joke. He mentioned it so nonchalantly that I’d almost laughed. I thought he’d be too busy to worry about filming something on his own. But on his first week filming, during one of our first nightly FaceTimes, he ran a whole slew of ideas by me and I knew he was serious.

At least once a week, he would run an idea by me and would judge the quality by my quantity of laughter. I didn’t even need to comment or give my input, he’d just rattle off jokes and concepts and then either check them off or cross them out when I react. He did this every week up until this week, when he started filming.

“Do I look good?” Matthew brings my attention up from my laptop as he tugs on the lapel of his dress jacket, then holds out his hands to reveal his outfit. He’s dressed for the scenes he’s filming today, a scene with

Aubrey, so I’m not entirely sure why he’s so worried about how he’s dressed, but I’m not composing about the open request to check him out. “I’m about to go start filming the documentary with Andy,”

I drag my eyes up and down his body, my fingers stilling over the keys as I admire his figure. When I reach his eyes again, his eyebrows are raised because he can tell I’m doing more than just evaluating his outfit. I suck my bottom lip between my teeth as I nod, pushing my laptop aside and reaching my hands out for him. “You look very good, bunny,”

Matthew chuckles as I successfully grab his hands and tug him closer to me. “No, no,” he doesn’t resist as I twist my fingers in his belt loops, “I gotta go work,”

“I know,” I pout, letting go of him and sitting back in the too-comfy armchair I’m in. I’d give anything to grab him again and drag him into this chair with me. “Go film, I’ll probably be here when you get back,”

“Probably?” He picks up his script and, like the diva he is, checks his hair in the mirror and heads towards his trailer door, peeking back at me.

“I might follow you, I might stay here and keep doing the work I’ve been procrastinating,” I shrug and gesture back to my discarded laptop, flashing with a blank Google Doc, a doc that has been blank for weeks on end. Being a writer is hard and frustrating and not easy, by any means. What made me think getting a degree in writing would be a good idea? Shaking off my frustrations, I smile cutely at my boyfriend, tilting my head to the side. “Give me a kiss before you leave?”

Matthew nods and stalks back over, leaning over to peck my lips. “Whatever you write,” he whispers, warm breath fanning across my face, “will be absolutely amazing and beautiful and I’ll be honored to read it,”

“Oh, you give me too much credit,” I scoff, watching Matthew roll his eyes.

“And you don’t give yourself enough,” he responds, and then hastily checks his watch. “Okay, I’ve gotta go, but this conversation is not over. I’ll see you later. Love you,”

“Love you too. Go be funny,” I wave goodbye at him as he goes bouncing out of the trailer, closing the door behind him, leaving me to my empty Google Doc.

///

An hour later, my head is starting to hurt from staring down at a bright screen so I decide to take a break and get something to eat from catering. I haven’t heard anything from Matthew and I’m not sure what he’s up to, so I grab my phone and throw on one of his hoodies that’s a bit too big on me and head out of his trailer.

As soon as I do, though, I run right into Matthew with a pile of shoes in his hands, making them tumble to the asphalt. He curses and keeps a straight face as he tries to pick them up again. Then he sees an opportunity in me and starts to shove shoes into my hands to help him, but they’re still tumbling out. I resist the urge to laugh because I know this would ruin his bit, and I just let him silently shove Daniel’s shoes into my arms.

But then he runs off, leaving me with shoes in my arms. Without any direction or guidance from my boyfriend, I turn to Andy, who’s holding the camera, and shrug my shoulders, dropping Daniel’s shoes to the floor before walking off to my original destination- catering. Those two boys can clean up the mess they devised. I’m hungry.

Matthew finds me just twenty minutes later, taking me by surprise when he wraps his arms around my shoulders from behind, pressing kisses to my cheek. “Thanks for helping me,”

He pulls out the chair beside me and scoots as close as he can to me, our thighs touching. “I mean, I wasn’t really expecting it but it was funny. I was internally laughing,” I let my head fall onto his shoulder, feeling his arm snake around my waist. I peer up at him, feeling my pupils dilating into hearts at the sight of my stunning boyfriend. I’ll never stop being floored by his eyes and his jawline and his dimples and his lips and his smile and how fucking beautiful he is. “I liked that idea from the beginning.”

“I know you did,” he quips, not-so-sneakily swiping a chip from my plate and popping it into his mouth. “Maybe you’ll appear in another episode. Who knows?”

I don’t see Matthew until the end of the day because he’s busy doing his job, as he should be. I spend my day writing in his trailer and filling up my previously empty Google Doc. When the cast has a long break, Matthew comes in to film a scene that I recognize as the ending to the second episode. He’s sitting at his open trailer door, supposedly watching videos of Daniel modeling. He’d only waved at me when he came in, not wanting to bother my work. I wish he would distract me more. Maybe I’d take action on my fantasy of melting into this armchair with him.

His exaggerated and focused facial expression is enough to make me suppress a giggle, but then I spot a baby girl hat from Shemar on the counter and a light bulb starts floating over my head.

“Psst,” I hiss, and Matthew looks up at me, his eyebrows raised. I hold up the hat to him, and his eyes light up with a childlike excitement. He holds up his hands and I toss the hat to him, and as soon as he puts it on, I let out the laugh I’ve been holding in. “Perfect, you look perfect, baby,” Matthew winks at me and then gives a thumbs up to Andy, putting on his exaggerated face yet again and staring down at his phone. I tuck my face in my laptop so I don’t laugh again, typing diligently.

The next day is when I’m, yet again, roped into Matthew’s documentary. I don’t mind though. His ideas are hilarious and they never fail to make me laugh.

I sit in Matthew’s trailer for an hour without him, staring at a blinking cursor. I don’t write a single word and I know that sitting in the same spot won’t make inspiration suddenly strike. I decide to change my scene up and bring my laptop to catering. I grab a snack and take a seat at an empty table, crossing my legs under me, beginning to mull over combinations of words and debate definitions of words. It’d been relatively quiet in catering for a while, but it all comes to an end when Matthew comes marching up to me.

“Hi, babe,” he says sweetly, a bit too sweetly, pulling out the chair next to me and taking a seat. Like yesterday, I give him a confused look, and when he gives me the same adorable smile that he always does, my heart practically melts. The ways this man makes me fall so easily. I’ll never understand.

“Hi, there,” I respond, and then glance up at Andy holding the camera. “Can I help you?”

“Could you possibly google something for me?” Matthew says and directs his attention to my laptop. The way he’s not giving me any type of attention or physical affection let’s me know that he really is filming his documentary again, so I play into it again. What do I have to lose? I’m not writing anyway.

“Yeah, sure,” I switch to Chrome and pull up Google. “What is it?”

“Could you search Daniel Henry?” Matthew keeps a straight face and it’s moments like this that remind me how great of an actor he is. Who can keep a straight face while regurgitating an incorrect name?

I turn my head to him, biting my lip to hold back my laugh. “Henry?”

Matthew nods. “Yeah, I know, it sounds like a girl's name. I thought it was a girls name at first. Daniel,” He repeats it as if that clarifies anything at all. I just narrow my eyes at him again, and when I don’t search the obviously incorrect name that he’s giving me, he sits back in his chair, finally looking at me again with his eyes narrowed. “Do you-“ he lets out a breath, crossing his arms over his chest, “do you think there’s any chance he could be taller than me?”

“Okay, we can stop there,” Andy cuts us off, dropping the camera from focus.

“I think you missed your calling in life, love,” Matthew chuckles, pulling me into his arms, attacking my face with kisses. “I’m sorry to spring that on you, but-“

“No, it’s fine. I wasn’t really getting anywhere anyway. If you need help with anything else, you know I’m around for the rest of the week.”

Surely, he cashed in on that offer. It was accidental. It was my fault, really. I was just trying to get back to Matthew’s trailer the next day after having lunch with Kirsten and Daniel, to which Matthew jokingly called me a traitor. I heard Matthew’s loud voice from all the way down the hallway and I should have turned and left, but I didn’t.

So, iced coffee in hand, I stroll down the hallway and when I make it to the clearing, I stop in my tracks. Now, you’d think that after being with this man for five years and living with him, nothing would surprise me anymore. But he still has his moments, and this is definitely one of them. He has these wooden boxes and he’s got a roll of packing tape, and he’s taping the boxes to his feet. Maybe this shouldn’t surprise me, because he’s told me about this idea of his, but seeing him actually doing it with my own eyes is a whole different thing.

It only takes him a moment to notice my presence, and when he does, he waves me over. “Babe, babe, hey babe, babe, babe,” he says quickly, waving his hand quickly, holding the wooden box against his foot. “Come help me,”

Keeping up the same attitude I’ve had in the past, I let out a dramatic sigh and drag myself over to him, sitting down on the floor and putting my coffee on the floor. But the moment I do, Matthew snatches it up and starts drinking it as I grab the dangling packing tape. Gosh, if he actually acted like this, I’d have broken up with him forever ago.

I wrap the tape around his foot and the box and then around his ankle, making sure to not make it too tight so that I hurt him. He’s still sipping my coffee and staring into the camera like some cocky asshole when I move onto the other foot, and then I eventually run out of tape.

I sit back on my heels and look up at him. “I’m out,” Wow, this position we’re in right now? If Matthew didn’t have wooden boxes strapped to his feet and we weren’t in the middle of the Criminal Minds offices, I’d probably be reaching for his belt. But I can’t let my mind go there or else we’ll be hooking up in a bathroom or his trailer, and that never ends well for anyone.

“Okay,” he mumbles, and I watch in amusement for way too long as he struggles to get up to his feet. I don’t even help him, I just sit back and giggle. “Here, you can have this back,” he holds my coffee out to me, and just as soon as I reach for it, he pulls it back. “Wait,” he takes a long sip, “okay here.” I finally grab my coffee again and then move to lean against the wall, watching him struggle to take the first few steps with boxes taped to his feet.

He hobbles down the hallway, all the way to BJ and proceeds to ask her to paint the boxes like shoes. And once he gets the shot he wants of this scene, Andy wanders off and he comes wobbling back to me with a cute, dumb smile on his face. “Will you help me get these off?”

I nod, sitting down on the floor again to pull off the tape around his feet. “Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t trip and fall on your face,”

“Me too,” he laughs, sighing with relief when I take the first box off and set it aside. “But hey, this is my last break and then I’m gonna be working late today. I don’t know if it’s worth it to stick around set. I’m not gonna be able to come see you or anything,”

“Maybe I’ll go back to your house. I can make some dinner instead of ordering out,” I pull off the last bit of tape and then swiftly reach up to press it against Matthew’s cheek, watching it hang there limply.

He gives me a deadpan look as I devolve into giggles, falling over his lap and holding onto his misplaced elbow pads to hold me up. “Ha ha, very funny. I’m laughing so much. That was so funny,” His voice is void of any humor as he holds my shaking body from hitting the carpeted floor.

“I know, I’m just so funny,” I quip, pulling myself together enough to crane my neck and kiss his cheek. “But I am probably gonna go back to your house. Sounds like a good idea,”

“Okay, just let me know when you get there,” Matthew pats my thigh and signals me to get up, and once we’re on our feet again, he moves the wooden boxes aside. “I might not respond but-“

“Text you so you know I’m safe. I’ve got it,” I finish for him, fixing the lapel of his jacket. I push my pointer finger against the tip of his nose, making him scrunch it up in the insanely adorable way he does. The sight brings a smile to my face and it makes my heart beat faster. “I’ll see you later, okay? Go be brilliant.”

///

The sound of the front door opening lifts my head, taking my attention away from the glass of wine in my hand and the laptop in front of me, yet again. I glance at the timer on the oven and then jump to my feet, padding towards the foyer.

Matthew is dropping his backpack by the door when I get to him, and pauses halfway through reaching for his jacket. “Hi, love bug,” he murmurs, giving me a weak smile.

I grab Matthew’s jacket for him and slide it off his shoulders. “Hi, bunny,” When I turn to hang the teddy bear jacket on the coat rack, I feel his hands on my waist, drawing me closer to him. He successfully pulls me against his chest, lips leaving a trail against my shoulder. “Long day, huh?”

“Yeah,” he whispers, voice wavering as he tucks his face into my neck, “long, and repetitive, and tiring, and I’m very hungry and I smell food,”

I turn myself around in Matthew’s arms and face him, placing my hands on his cheeks. “I got pizza dough on my way home and I made homemade pizza. It’s in the oven and it’ll be done in about ten minutes. And I poured you a glass of wine too,”

Matthew’s eyes flutter closed and he presses his forehead against mine. “You’re an angel. You’re a goddamn angel, sent from heaven to bless me with your presence,”

“Oh, stop,” I laugh, patting his cheek gently. “Let’s just get wine drunk and eat pizza and watch movies all night. You don’t have work tomorrow and I’m tired of looking at my damn laptop,”

“You make us sound like two teenage girls,” Matthew unwinds from my embrace and wanders into the kitchen, swiping the full glass of wine from the counter. He takes a sip and then pecks my lips again, and I revel in the sweetness of his lips.

Matthew sits at the counter, right in front of my laptop, taking another long gulp of his wine. I check on the pizza, just to make sure it’s not burnt, but when Matthew is silent for too long, I look back to make sure he’s okay. Sometimes when he has a hard or long day at work, he tends to shut down and not open up to me, and I don’t want that to happen. But when I turn to check up on him, I find him leaning into my laptop, his eyes darting across the screen.

I gasp, stepping forward and slamming my laptop shut, ripping it away. “Hey! You know I don’t like it when you read my work before it’s edited and finished,”

Matthew pouts, hiding his face behind his wine. “Sorry, I just- well, you’ve been talking about it so much and it was right here and I wanted to see how it was going,” I go into the other room and put my laptop into my bag, out of sight and out of mind. When I return to the kitchen, Matthew is pulling the pizza out of the oven just as the timer goes off. “If it means anything, of what I did read, it was really good. I only got through the first two paragraphs, but I really loved it.”

“Well, thanks,” I mumble, going onto my toes to kiss his cheek before grabbing the pizza cutter. “I’m not mad, I just-“

“I get it. You don’t let me read your writing until it’s done and I don’t let you see anything I’ve filmed until it’s done,”

“Oh, so, I can’t see any of the documentary until it’s done?”

“Maybe I’ll make an exception for that,” he quips, grabbing the pizza cutter from me and digging it into the hot pizza crust. “I don’t trust you with this thing anymore. Not after you ended up in the hospital last year with Sandy,” he turns to me with a pointed look.

“It was an accident and you know it!”

“Oh, really?” He guffaws, tossing the pizza cutter aside and reaching for my waist. But I dodge him, taking a step back. He accepts this as his challenge, reaching for me again, and when I dodge him one more time with a confident smirk, a playful fire ignites behind his eyes. “Fuck the pizza. I’m coming for you.”

#matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler x oc #matthew gubler #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #matthew gray gubler fanfiction #matthew gray gubler fic #nikos writing #matthew gray gubler one shot

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freebooter4ever · 3 years

Text

Sequel to Caboose

@s-k-y-w-a-l-k-e-r requested “desperate train sex” after reading this slightly enemies to lovers fic about Eugene building up the sexual tension with Snafu on the Caboose during their train ride home. The first part of this next chapter is all awkward feelings and shower sex on a train. I might have made it a tad over dramatic, you’ll have to let me know. The very end part with the parrot has already been posted here but I thought I would repost it all together. Read on to let Snafu and Gene finally resolve that tension!

Snafu lies on the floor of the caboose deck for longer than he probably should. He feels drained, and he's desperately waiting, hoping for Eugene to return.

Eugene doesn't return.

Snafu drags himself off the floor, and finally goes inside alone.

"You okay, Snaf?" Burgie asks when Snafu slinks into the seat opposite him, "You disappeared for a bit there."

Snafu sneaks a quick look at the culprit he's sitting beside.

Eugene refuses to make eye contact and conspires to appear completely innocent. As if Snafu isn't still wearing the taste of whatever lip balm Eugene uses.

"I'm fine," Snafu mumbles. He 'accidentally' kicks Eugene's foot when he settles into his seat.

Eugene doesn't even glance up from his journal.

"What're you writing?" Snafu asks him. Snafu swipes his tongue across his bottom lip. The residue there is sticky, and sweet.

"A letter," Eugene blatantly lies. He stares at Snafu's tongue for a minute too long.

"You're writing a letter in a journal?" Snafu asks, "What are you gonna do...rip the pages out when you're done or something? Or mail the whole book?"

"Leave me alone, Snafu," Eugene sighs.

"Leave you alone, leave the girls alone…is there anyone I'm allowed to talk to?" Snafu prods.

This question is what drives Eugene to finally make eye contact with Snafu. And when he does, he glares.

Snafu grins in return and sinks further into his seat. He stares idly out the window for a minute, but Eugene's pen going 'scritch scritch scritch' in the corner of his vision is too distracting. Of course Eugene would claim the window seat and spend the time scribbling away.

"I can't look out the window with you writing like that," Snafu complains.

"I'm not gonna stop writing," Eugene snaps, "So quit your complaining."

"You could at least give me the window seat, so I could enjoy the view uninterrupted," Snafu points out.

"I need the window for better light," Eugene argues.

"Your eyes already going bad, old man?" Snafu grins.

"I'm two years younger than you…" Eugene sighs.

"Yeah but I don't do all that reading," Snafu says wisely, "They say reading destroys your eyesight."

"That's a myth," Eugene claims, "As bad as your heebie-jeebies."

"Says who?" Snafu lifts his chin in defiance.

"My father's a doctor, Snafu," Eugene sighs again.

"Yeah, an internist," Snafu says, "Not an eye doctor."

Eugene looks sharp at him again.

"See, told ya I pay attention to all your ramblings," Snafu shakes his head gravely.

"I'm not giving you the window seat," Eugene concludes stubbornly.

Snafu opens his mouth to start the argument again but Burgie interrupts him first.

"Snafu there is a perfectly good window seat right here beside me," Burgie pats the bench next to him, "You don't need to antagonize Eugene."

Both Snafu and Eugene abruptly turn guiltily towards Burgie after he drops that particular word. Earlier Eugene had accused Snafu of antagonizing every girl on the train. And now here Snafu is again...antagonizing Eugene. Snafu shuts up, feeling caught. He eyes Eugene furtively and watches Eugene's face go from shock to embarrassment. Eugene is clearly realizing that he could be considered one of "Snafu's girls".

Of course, Eugene is easily the most feisty out of anyone Snafu has met...ever. Eugene's got the best reactions to Snafu riling him up. Not that Snafu can openly tell Gene this with Burgie sitting right there.

"He's not antagonizing me," Eugene insists quietly and then buries his nose back in his journal.

"I'm good. Sitting here," Snafu agrees with a shrug, "Don't need to move." And he pushes further into his seat, as if he can become an immovable part of the cushion.

Except Snafu is not 'good'. Snafu is restless. Eugene is there beside him...all stiff and sitting properly, his beautifully long neck arched like a swan, with singular focus on his writing. Snaf is barely two inches away, but is unable to touch him. He wants to run his mouth up that neck. And now that Snafu knows exactly how pliant Eugene's stupid thin lips are, he finds them impossible to resist.

Imagine being able to spend the whole train ride making out. Three whole days, with nothing to do but kiss Gene. Snafu closes his eyes and briefly indulges in this fantasy. Then Eugene coughs and shifts restlessly in his seat till his thigh budges up against Snafu's and Snafu is drawn out of his idle daydreams.

Clearly he's not the only one itching over not being able to touch.

Snafu starts jiggling his leg up and down involuntarily. He runs a hand through his hair, forgetting that he had styled it earlier. His hand comes out slightly wet and he can feel his hair poke out at odd angles.

'Jiggle, jiggle, jiggle,' goes Snafu's anxious knee.

Eugene's hand clamps down on Snafu's thigh and forces Snafu's foot flat to the ground. He effectively stops the jiggling.

They stare at each other as if both of them are surprised that Eugene had the gall to do that.

Burgie clears his throat.

Snafu hastily stands from his seat and knocks Eugene's hand off.

"Gonna sit by the window," Snafu explains and he scoots between Burgie's and Eugene's legs to sit in the spot across from Eugene. Maybe if he can stare at Eugene longingly with an unobstructed view, it will calm his need to touch.

Snafu lasts for all of five minutes before he realizes the view only makes it worse.

Eugene keeps glancing at Snafu from under his eyelashes in between fevered writing stints, so Snafu knows he really, really isn't the only one having this problem.

Snafu decides to solve it with a nap. He wiggles out of his jacket and props it against the window as a pillow.

"Why move to the window if you're only going to sleep rather than enjoy the view?" Eugene asks snidely.

Snafu glares at him and sits upright again. "Too damn cold against the glass, anyway," Snafu says. He looks around the car, desperate for an idea - something, anything.

Meanwhile Burgie peacefully reads his book, oblivious.

In a fit of inspiration, Snafu notes that everywhere in the passenger car Marines are sleeping on one another haphazardly. He doesn't know why he didn't think of this earlier. Eugene's used Snafu as a pillow plenty of times before, and Snafu's slept on Burgie more times than he can count.

Snafu shoots up from his seat. "Need a nap," he says and scoots back through Burgie and Eugene's legs. He plops down next to Eugene and shoves his wadded jacket into the crook of Eugene's neck. Then, before Eugene can protest, Snafu leans against the other guy, lays his head down on Eugene's shoulder, and pretends to go to sleep.

Burgie continues to read quietly.

"It's cold," Snafu whines and snuggles closer into Eugene's side. His hand slips enough that his pinky makes contact with Eugene's belt. Snafu wants to dig underneath that belt and push his fingers possessively inside Eugene's pants, and fall asleep like that, just because he can. Because Eugene would let him.

"I thought you were boiling hot?" Eugene reminds him.

Snafu glares at him. Whose side is he on, anyway?

Burgie hops up, grabs a blanket from the overhead rack, and tosses it at Snafu's head. "Sleep," Burgie orders, "Maybe then we will have some peace."

Snafu gratefully catches the blanket and throws it over himself. A corner of the blanket lands across Eugene's journal.

Eugene sighs heavily. He twitches the blanket away.

But that leaves a gap for cold air to seep through. Snafu twitches the blanket back in place.

"Well," Eugene says with resignation, "Guess we are napping now." He neatly stows away his journal and tugs the blanket to cover himself as well.

Securely hidden under the blanket, Snafu reaches blindly for Gene's hands. Eugene reaches back and they find each other somewhere around Eugene's left thigh. They twine their hands together and hold on tight.

There's no questioning, there's no shyness when they grab hold. Each of them knew exactly what the other wanted. That calming, quiet security of knowing the other person is feeling equally as much. Too much to hold it all in. Every bit of Snafu's riled up emotions are pouring into Eugene through his hands, and Snafu swears he can feel Eugene's coming back to him.

Eugene settles his head against the seat with a contented sigh, looking relaxed for the first time since Snafu sat down. Snafu cautiously looks up at him to see a small smile on Gene's face.

Carefully, so as not to move the blanket too much, Snafu turns Eugene's arm over and wiggles his fingers free from Gene's grasp. He spreads Eugene's hand out and then uses his own finger to draw a heart on Eugene's warm palm. He traces the heart a couple times to make sure Eugene gets the idea.

Eugene's hand closes around Snafu's finger and gives it an answering squeeze. Eugene then takes hold of Snafu's arm and draws a heart of his own on Snafu's palm.

Satisfied, Snafu goes back to holding both Eugene's hands and tries desperately to keep a stupid smile off his face. "Got you to stop writing," Snafu says triumphantly with his head resting next to Eugene's ear.

Eugene pinches Snafu hard in the tender flesh between thumb and fingers. It's extra painful since Eugene's fingernails have grown a little long post VJ day.

All Snafu can do is wince and wiggle in his seat, trying not to give away the fact that their hands are interlocked under the blanket.

Eugene squeezes his hand again as if to forgive Snafu for his annoying neverending pastime of trying to rile Eugene up, and then they settle comfortably into one another.

"Don't drool on my uniform," Eugene requests before Snafu drifts off to sleep.

Guess what Snafu does.

He wakes with a jerk as the train lurches over an uneven track. A thin trail of drool stretches from Snafu's chin to Eugene's shoulder. Snafu must have been sleeping extremely heavily.

"Morning sleeping beauty," Burgie says.

"It's morning?" Snafu asks groggily.

"Yup, you two slept through the night," Burgie says, a twinkle in his eye, "Almost twelve hours. I think you set a record."

"Fuck," Snafu drops his head back onto Eugene's shoulder. If he sits up any farther he'll have to let go of Eugene's hands still entwined in his.

Eugene sleeps on, like a rock.

"Eugene snores," Burgie announces. He seems to be sharing an inside joke with himself, "That's what woke you up. A particularly loud snore."

"Huh," Snafu says, "I thought the train went over a rock maybe."

"Nope, Eugene made that noise," Burgie tells him.

"Huh," Snafu says.

"Guess you guys'll have to suss out a solution to that once you two get your own place together," Burgie says.

It takes a minute for Burgie's words to set in. Then Snafu glances at him sharply. But Burgie simply sits there with his book, looking as sweet as ever. Snafu decides he's gonna go back to sleep and he snuggles comfortably back into Eugene's side.

And of course Eugene chooses that minute to wake up. Eugene doesn't move, he doesn't open his eyes, but he caresses Snafu's hand in a way that has Snafu wide awake instantly. And then he slowly, excruciatingly slowly, moves their clasped hands further down into Eugene's lap under the blanket. Where Eugene is rock hard.

"Jesus," Snafu breathes.

"What?" Burgie asks.

Snafu remembers that for all appearances Eugene is still asleep. And not secretly pressing Snafu's palm to his morning wood. Snafu snatches his hand back and hastily detangles himself from both Eugene and the blanket. "Nothing," Snafu says grumpily.

Eugene makes a show of "waking up" and calmly stretching. He keeps the blanket covering his lap.

Snafu draws his knees up to his chest and forces his mind to concentrate on anything other than the man sitting next to him.

"Snafu you drooled on me, didn't you," Eugene accuses. He pokes at the wet spot on his uniform.

"It was either that or drool over you," Snafu comments fairly. He lolls his head back on his seat, rolls his eyes to the ceiling and tries to look bored.

"Ugh. I hate waking up without fresh clothes to change into," Eugene wrinkles that perfect nose of his, "Thought those days were behind us."

"Still one more," Burgie says brightly.

"Yeah, one day for you," Snafu laughs, "We've got two."

"Two and a half on the train for me," Eugene sighs, "Three more mornings in this smelly uniform."

"I don't smell anything," Snafu reassures him.

"That's cause your stench covers everything within a half mile radius, Snaf," Eugene says.

Snafu scowls at Eugene, "You weren't complaining 'bout it on the back of the caboose."

"The breeze helped there," Eugene counters, quick as if he had it ready on the tip of his tongue.

Snafu can see a tiny grin under his casually blank expression. Eugene knows he is ticking Snafu off, and Eugene is enjoying it. But Snafu bets that if he helped Eugene out with his morning wood situation, Eugene wouldn't be half so picky about his smell.

Like a lightning bolt, Snafu is hit with inspiration. "You know...I hear the sleeper cars got showers," he says slyly, trying not to make eye contact with Gene.

"Really?" Eugene asks eagerly. Maybe a bit more eager than he normally would be. More eager than he should be.

"Yeah," Snafu smiles broadly, "We're moving up in the world. We're on one of those fancy trains. Running water and everything."

"Do you know which direction the sleeper cars are?" Eugene asks. He's already sitting up and looking perky, despite the morning hour.

"Towards the front, I think," Snafu replies.

Eugene stands and moves to the center aisle. And then pauses, rethinks his goal, and leans down towards Snafu, resting his arm behind Snaf's shoulders. "Hey," Eugene muses, "Maybe you should come with me. I might get lost."

"Snafu is not the one I would look to for directions," Burgie warns casually.

"Hey!" Snafu protests.

"You forget, I went through bootcamp with you, Snaf," Burgie says, "Where everyone learned to never leave you in charge of a map."

"It's a train," Snafu scowls, "You go one way and if you hit the end, you turn around and go the other way. How hard can it be?"

"Guess Sledgehammer can find his way on his own, then," Burgie says.

This leaves both Snafu and Sledge speechless. They stay in awkward silence while Snafu tries to come up with an excuse.

"Well yes. Except...," Eugene says as he gazes soulfully down at Snafu, "...now that I'm standing here, getting pretty close to him, I can honestly say Snaf smells awful, if anyone needs a shower, it's him," Eugene points out, "He should come with me."

Snafu sniffs his armpit. He makes a face. "Sledgehammer's right."

"C'mon, we'll find the sleeper cars," Eugene announces and drags Snafu along behind him by the sleeve of his uniform.

Luckily it doesn't actually take them long to find the sleeper car at the very front of the train. And it takes even less time to locate the blessedly empty shower compartment. Eugene shoves Snafu into the changing room space and squeezes in behind him. There's barely enough room for one man, let alone two.

The tight squeeze isn't too much of a hardship as Snafu doesn't mind being squished up between the wall and Gene's body as Eugene boldly rips Snafu's uniform off him.

"Better not actually tear my shirt, I do have to wear it two more days," Snafu warns him with false sincerity.

"Oh, like you care," Eugene says sarcastically and pushes Snafu's pants down around his ankles.

And it's true, Snafu does not care about a few rips in his button holes. Definitely not when Eugene is touching him, and kissing his bare chest.

"You don't eat enough," Eugene comments in between kisses. He runs his thumb down Snafu's side, hitting each individual rib as he goes. He crouches down and kisses Snafu's stomach, right below his sternum, between the apex of his ribs.

"I smoke too much," Snafu counters, his voice husky. He gets his hands in Eugene's hair and nudges Eugene's head down further. "A little lower, Sledge," he says and throws Eugene a smile and wink. He tries to put a bit of distance in his voice, as if all he wants out of this is Eugene's mouth on his dick.

Eugene looks up at Snafu from under his lashes. Rather than following Snafu's suggestion, Eugene playfully changes course and mouths over to Snafu's nipple. One tweak of Eugene's lips and Snafu is reflexively jutting his hips into Eugene's body. "I'll have to help you quit," Eugene mumbles, "The smoking, I mean."

"You stickin around for that long?" Snafu asks, well aware that his type tends to leave once the sex is over with.

Eugene takes his mouth off Snafu's nipple, and straightens up to look Snafu in the eye. "Of course," he says, "Why wouldn't I?"

Suddenly feeling flustered at Eugene's very serious and easily given commitment, Snafu ducks his head and focuses on kicking his boots off. "Sure you will," Snafu says disbelievingly.

"Snafu," Eugene sighs, "We've been together this long, might as well see it through to the end. I lied to Burgie back there. I've spent so long living with your constant presence, I don't even smell you anymore." Eugene sounds slightly grossed out by this fact. He pushes his face into Snafu's neck and takes a deep breath. At the same time he gets his hands around Snafu's ass and grinds their hips together. "I can certainly feel you," Gene says with a smirk.

Snafu tries to respond in kind. His leg bounces forward on it's own accord, giving Gene more access to rut against him. Caught up in his own enthusiasm, Snafu's foot catches on his pants hanging loose around his ankles, and he almost falls over. Luckily the shower dressing room is cramped enough he simply rams into the wall.

Eugene chuckles at him and holds Snafu's elbows to keep Snafu upright while he angrily shakes his foot out of his stupidly tight uniform.

"Why are you still dressed while I'm butt naked?" Snafu glares at Eugene.

"Cause you havent taken anything off me yet," Eugene answers, smug.

"That's my responsibility now?" Snafu asks.

"Mhmm," Eugene hums as he leans in close once more and rests their foreheads together. Eugene's hands run up around Snafu's ribcage, to his shoulders, and down to his waist again rhythmically as if Eugene is trying to memorize his form.

"You sure took my clothes off fast," Snafu notes. He initially thought Eugene was gonna take him in a rush, with the way Gene fought to free Snafu from his pants.

"I wanted to admire you," Eugene says, with his gentle hands doing every bit of that admiring.

Damn artist boy. "We've been naked together in the showers plenty of times, Gene," Snafu whines, ready to get down to the good stuff, "Nothing you haven't seen before."

"Not like this," Eugene argues. He runs his hand down Snafu's stomach, and finally to his groin. "I couldn't take my time to look then. I couldn't touch you then. You know, I never told you, but I find Snafu's pecker awfully beautiful," Eugene adds, as if Snafu's dick should be framed and hung in a museum rather than hung between his legs or hung as stars in the sky.

Snafu swells with pride. He puffs up his chest and bucks his hips against Eugene's. "Looks like Snafu's pecker is angling up again," he announces, "All for you this time."

"I can tell," Eugene grins and he kisses a sensitive spot on Snafu's neck that almost sends Snafu's senseless.

Snafu kinda wishes Eugene complimenting his dick didn't make him as weak as he feels. Like putty in Eugene's hands. Like if Eugene jerks him off right now, it won't even take too long and then Eugene can go back to admiring Snafu all he damn well pleases.

Eugene laughs in Snafu's ear and Snafu realizes he might have been babbling out loud.

"What if I enjoy admiring you like this? Maybe I don't want it to end just yet," Eugene teases and pauses his hand's movement over Snafu's dick, "You act all haughty like you don't need anyone, but now…"

"Fuck, Gene," Snafu groans, canting his hips desperately, willing to do almost anything, "You're right..."

"Right about what?" Eugene asks with his know-it-all smirk. He moves his hands around to Snafu's ass and leans on him, pressing him into the wall.

"I need you…" Snafu admits, grinding against Gene's leg.

Eugene's fingers dig into the flesh of Snafu's butt and he holds Snafu tight against his body, not allowing him to move even a tiny wiggle.

"Gene…" Snafu groans, "How many times do I have to…?"

"Beg," Eugene orders, his voice and warm breath on Snafu's ear.

That sends an odd chill down Snafu's spine. "Fuck," Snafu complains, "No!" He pushes out of Eugene's grip and shoves Eugene against the opposite wall. "Asshole," Snafu tells him.

But Eugene is smiling. He's got such an innocent, teasing smile. His smile knows something Snafu doesn't. Almost as if this is some inside joke between them. Except if there is a joke, it's gone over Snafu's head.

Eugene's eyes glitter as he looks at Snafu. In fact, his entire body lights up, like he worships the ground Snafu walks on. A truth Snafu is painfully aware of given the number of times Eugene unquestionably obeyed Snafu's orders during the war. He'd follow Snafu into anything, even this. Whatever this is.

Eugene's erection is outlined in his pants. He wants this as much as Snafu does. If it is true that Snafu corrupted Eugene, he's corrupted him fully.

"Show me how you do it," Eugene suggests.

"What?" Snafu asks with confusion. He's about ready to gather his clothes and leave - abandon Eugene hard and wanting in the bathroom just like Eugene left him on the caboose floor.

"I want to make you feel good, so…show me what you do," Eugene gestures to Snafu's dick.

"It's not rocket science," Snafu shakes his head.

"I know, but I want to watch you," Eugene says.

So Snafu saunters over closer to Eugene. He lifts his chin high and places one hand against the wall over Eugene's shoulder. Snafu's other hand takes hold of his dick and starts to masturbate. All while staring Eugene straight in the eye. To Snafu's surprise, Eugene doesn't look away.

"Thought you were gonna watch and learn," Snafu gripes and nods down at his crotch, where Eugene's eyes should be.

"I am learning," Eugene says. He places his hands tenderly on either side of Snafu's cheeks and cradles his head. He keeps gazing into Snafu's eyes which somehow makes Snafu even more fucking turned on than he already is.

"Oh hell," Snafu whines.

Eugene kisses him. Gene kisses him and then slides his hands down Snafu's body and takes over in jerking Snafu off just as Snafu is about to come.

"Ohhhh," Snafu moans. He grabs Eugene's head and fucking devours him, pouring every bit of unreleased sexual tension into the kiss.

Gene inches Snafu closer and closer to the edge till…"Sledgehammer, I'm gonna…"

Eugene smiles proudly and speeds up with encouragement from Snafu, but he warns, "If you dare get my uniform dirty…"

"Fuck you, Sledge," Snafu bites his lip and fumbles Eugene's hands out of the way. Snafu gets there just in time. He comes with gusto, spilling all over his own hands. But thankfully, only in his hands. He drops his head to Eugene's shoulder and pants. He feels a bit stunned.

Eugene rubs his back comfortingly, but Snafu barely feels it.

Once Snafu's collected himself, he leans back and holds his hands up for inspection. "See, not a single drop on your precious jacket," Snafu brags obnoxiously.

Eugene laughs and drags him into another kiss.

"Jesus, Gene!" Snafu protests, "Let me wash my hands first so I can touch you again and not smear cum everywhere!"

But Eugene won't take his lips off him.

Again, not that Snafu is complaining or anything. But it's a bit of a struggle to slide under Eugene's arm and grope for the sink faucets. His face still suctioned to Eugene's, Snafu blindly shoves his hands under the water and slaps them around to get all his spunk off.

Eugene wraps a hug around Snaf from behind, kissing his neck and chuckling at their reflection. "You cut the finest figure I have ever seen," Eugene whispers. He runs his hands down Snafu's abdominal V, and rests them right over his groin.

"Yeah, and how many figures have you seen?" Snafu is sarcastic, "One?"

"I've made quite the study of it," Eugene insists.

"Oh yeah?"

"Mhmm," Eugene says, "I've studied all the old masters' anatomy sketches - Da Vinci, Michelangelo…"

"That gay painter?" Snafu pipes up.

"What?" Eugene asks.

"Michelangelo, the guy who wrote love poems to his male nude models?" Snafu says.

"I don't know anything about that…"

"Da Vinci was gay too…" Snafu says, relishing in Eugene's obvious discomfort.

"How can you be sure of any of this?" Eugene asks.

"Oh please, you think gay erotica is easy to come by in New Orleans?" Snafu laughs, "You weren't the only one reading books on the 'Old Masters' anatomy studies. But for me it wasn't so much reading as it was a lot of looking. Checked 'em out from the library all the time, just not for your reasons." He leans back into Eugene's touch and smirks at Gene in the mirror, "Or maybe exactly for your reasons?"

"I…" Eugene is blushing, "I thought it was a coincidence."

"What? That these raunchy old dudes filled up pages and pages of meticulously detailed male nude drawings? Drawings that maybe turned you on?" Snafu asks.

"I never thought of art that way," Eugene argues.

"You trying to tell me studying those never made you hot?" Snafu teases.

"Well, there was one…."

"Ooooh!" Snafu coos. He comfortably wraps Eugene's arms in front of his stomach, and settles in as if to hear a story, smiling at Gene's blushing face all the while.

"I once saw a slide depicting a portion of the Sistine Chapel paintings..." Eugene confesses.

"Getting hot in church!" Snafu crows.

"The slide was shown in college, not in church!" Eugene protests, "Anyway, one of the male figures was sitting with his torso elegantly twisted and the cloth behind him was draped so it appeared to fall between his naked legs…" Eugene slides his hands down Snafu's body and onto his thigh, "...like the fabric was caressing him sensuously...like…" Eugene trails off and dips his hand between Snafu's own legs. He grips the soft slack muscle of Snafu's inner thigh. "Adductor group" Eugene whispers. He runs his hands down the inside of Snafu's leg, tracing a long line of muscle and disappearing out of sight in the mirror. "Sartorius," Gene names the muscle anatomy on Snafu's body as he goes, "Vastus Medialis. Internal oblique. External oblique."

Snafu closes his eyes. He can't see the muscles Eugene is referencing, but he can feel Eugene's fingers dig deep almost to the bone, massaging the different areas. "Fuck Sledge. Only you could make Latin hot."

Eugene laughs quietly behind Snafu's head. "Only you would think me benignly listing anatomical names was hot," he says.

"Everything you do is hot," Snafu's grin widens.

"Scrubbing barrels?"

"The hottest!" Snafu exclaims.

Eugene chuckles again.

Snafu opens his eyes to watch Sledgehammer giggle. Eugene's whole body trembles, and his mouth forms a wide 'V'. His laugh is pretty hot too.

The door knocks.

They both freeze. Snafu guiltily turns the sink faucet off.

The door knocks again.

"Busy," Snafu yells.

"Hurry it up!" a voice calls, "You're hogging it!"

"No chance!" Snafu retorts.

This time the door bangs as the man on the other side takes his angry fist to it.

Snafu starts to feel nervous. He's unsure how they're gonna get out of this one if the guy outside waits for them to leave.

"Ignore it, we're paying customers," Eugene whispers to Snafu.

"Not in the sleeper car," Snafu points out. The ticket crumpled on the floor in his pants back pocket is for coach only.

"Turn the shower on," Eugene says softly in his ear.

Snafu reaches past the shower curtain and does as he's told. The water drowns out the outside voices, but they still hear footsteps as the guy goes away.

"Get in. I'll get undressed and join you in a minute," Eugene orders.

Eugene being bossy is a bit of a turn on.

"Sure," Snafu drawls. He pinches Gene on the ass and adds, "Gluteus maximus," before he squeezes past the curtain into the shower.

"You pinched the Gemellus muscles, actually," Eugene catches his hand and yanks him into a quick kiss before letting him go.

Snafu slides the curtain shut to let Eugene change, and starts to wrestle with the dumb shower knobs. None of them seem to work the way one might expect. "What the fuck?" Snafu complains and punches the stupid thing. Water comes out. In squirts.

"The shower head's ejaculating," Snafu tells Eugene on the other side of the curtain, "We might need to give it some privacy before we start." Another few squirts and the water eases into a steady stream.

"You forgot the soap," Gene's still clothed arm sticks into the shower between the tile edge and the curtain, and waves the bar at Snafu.

"Don't need soap," Snafu says haughtily.

"Yes you do," Eugene counters and waggles the soap at him again.

"Fresh water and a lil spit shine are all a man needs," Snafu insists.

Eugene shoves the soap into Snafu's chest, "Use the damn soap, Snaf. You filthy grimlin."

Rolling his eyes, Snafu does as he's told and grabs the soap. But he also grabs Gene's arm, and yanks both into the shower with him.

Eugene yelps when the water hits his chest and dribbles all over his uniform. "Shelton!" Eugene sputters, "Three more days! In this uniform!" He can't even get a proper sentence out, he's so angry.

Snafu gives him a better reason for speechlessness by putting his mouth over Eugene's.

Gene immediately forgets about his wet uniform woes and melts into the kiss. He corners Snafu and braces himself on the tile floor using the rubber soles of his boots. His strong stance keeps the two of them steady despite the shaking train. Whatever gunk Eugene styles his hair with melts away too and the long strands over his forehead slowly droop into Snafu's face.

Snafu breaks the kiss, leans his forehead against Gene's and fumbles to get all of Eugene's buttons open. In his haste, he doesn't even bother to pull the shirt out of Gene's pants. He just shoves the open shirt to the side as best as he can and drags Eugene in. The first touch of Eugene's bare skin against Snafu's own chest fulfills almost every secret wish Snafu had for this moment.

Snafu holds him there without kissing without even looking, and just feels it. He thinks he maybe understands now what Eugene meant by simply admiring.

Then Eugene ruins the mood by whispering, "My boots are filling up with water."

Snafu snorts, "Least it's not sweat?"

"You gonna let me take them off this time?" Eugene asks with a smirk.

"Only if you take the rest of it off too," Snafu tugs at Eugene's shirt.

The stream of water slows to a trickle and then stops altogether

"You turned the shower off?" Eugene asks, "Thanks…?" He sounds slightly befuddled. Probably because both of Snafu's hands are gripping Gene's clothes.

"I didn't touch it," Snafu remarks, "Its push button. The thing stops on it's own."

“What?”

“Push button,” Snafu demonstrates by leaning over to press the shower knob again. Water spurts out and hits Gene in the back of the head.

“Who makes a push button shower?” Eugene complains. He ducks away to avoid the water stream that starts steadily trickling down.

“Santa fe railroad company apparently,” Snafu comments.

“I will have to remember to file a complaint," Eugene scowls at the little plastic knob.

"Don't know how you're gonna remember that, you already forgot to get undressed," Snafu tells him, and then playfully pushes Gene back out of the shower, "And don't come back till you're naked, you filthy grimlin."

"My ruined uniform is your fault, Snafu," Gene points out, "You pulled me in."

"Yeah, yeah," Snafu taunts, "it ain't ruined. It just got a free wash."

Gene doesn't say anything else, but if Snafu listens carefully he can hear the titillating sounds of Eugene's belt being unbuckled. A few thuds signify when the boots come off and another quiet jingle as Eugene's pants and belt fall to the floor.

Eugene will be stepping into the shower any minute. Snafu figures he had better turn the water back on, give it a chance to heat up before Eugene joins him.

Despite Snafu's reassurances to Eugene about how they've seen each other naked in many innocuous circumstances, Snafu feels nervous as hell. Eugene is rather flighty and embarrassed when it comes to sex and the last thing Snafu wants to do is scare him off. And this stupid train is making that a tall order.

Snafu slams his hand down on the shower knob and pushes it repeatedly, taking his stress out on the poor thing more than it deserves. The water comes out of the nozzle in spurts, and after twenty or so pushes, finally turns warm. Snafu breathes a sigh of relief and turns his face into the stream.

"Snaf?" Eugene asks softly from behind the shower curtain.

"Yeah?" Snafu asks back.

Eugene doesn't answer.

Snafu moves to peek behind the curtain but Eugene holds it closed.

"You coming in?" Snafu asks.

No response.

"Gene?"

Still no response.

The water trickles to a stop, Snafu doesn't bother to turn it back on again. "Gene, if you want me to use this soap, you're gonna have to come in and make me," Snafu challenges.

"What if you don't like it?" Eugene asks.

"What is there to like about a bar of soap? Soap is soap!" Snafu is confused, "You know I don't do flowers and shit. I'll end up smelling like a hat box." His mother had a Sunday hat she kept on the top shelf of the broom closet in a beat up old cardboard box with a satchel of lavender stored inside. 'Looks nice, smells nice, and no bugs,' was her mantra.

"No...I mean…" Eugene sighs, "I'm not built like those…" he stops, hesitates, and starts again, "Those other guys, with their steel band muscles. The military men who could've stepped out of an anatomical study - all chiseled jaws, and broad chests, and sculpted arms…what if you don't like...me?"

"Sledgehammer, I've wanted to fuck you since the first day you walked into my tent," Snafu says through the curtain, "And you were more freckles than muscle then."

"Yeah I figured, but…"

"But nothing," Snafu laughs, "get your butt in here!"

Again the other side of the curtain goes quiet. Snafu starts to realize that Gene might be serious about this.

Snafu changes his tone, to something a little kinder, and adds further compelling facts to his argument, "I've seen you naked. Many times."

"Not like this," Eugene says again, a stubborn note in his voice.

"I've jerked myself off to the thought of you naked, many times," Snafu offers, "How about that?" He's confident this will boost Eugene's confidence.

"I...don't think anyone's ever said that to me before," Eugene says with mild skepticism in his voice.

Snafu presses his hand to Eugene's on the opposite side of the curtain and the thin, opaque sheet of plastic between them is almost as bad as only being able to hold hands under a damn blanket. "Okay, Gene. I won't pressure you," Snafu says softly, "This stupid shower has enough pressure issues as it is," -in that instant the water pressure changes yet again and spurts of it slap Snafu in the face. He shakes his head free of water and tells Eugene, "Just give me a few to finish here, and then I'll let you have the shower to yourself. All right?" He steps away from the curtain and pushes the knob to fix the stream.

Snafu runs his hair under the shower to wet it fully. A difficult task given that with every bump in the tracks, the stream cuts off briefly. Not to mention Snafu keeps stumbling into the damn wall. He opens the cardboard carton of soap and successfully pulls the soap free, but the minute he tries to scrub his hair with it, the train jostles his hand and out pops the soap bar. Like a weasel. Or Eugene's dick if Snafu could just yank those dungarees off him.

Snafu catches the damn thing, but barely. He rubs it against his head a few times, and then a particularly nasty jostle careens his elbow into the wall and sends the soap skittering to the floor. Snafu grumbles at it, picks it up, and tries again.

This song and dance with the soap continues for a while longer before Snafu gets fed up.

"I'm not coming out..." Snafu announces to Eugene, "...just let me reach…" He thrusts his hand between the wall and the curtain and tosses the soap out of the shower, "Take it! It's worse than a damn jumping bean." The soap collides with the wall and bounces into the sink.

Snafu can hear Eugene swearing behind the curtain as he tries to catch the soap.

"It landed on your clothes," Eugene says, "So if your pants smell like flowers, you've only yourself to blame."

"Better than whatever the hell they smelled like before," Snafu says. He hurriedly runs his hands under his armpits and prepares to exit the treacherous shower.

"Snaf, wait," Eugene says quickly.

"Yeah?" Snafu freezes.

"I changed my mind. Can I…" Eugene's fingers appear around the edge of the curtain. It opens a crack.

It's as if Snafu has been given a second chance at life. The ball is in his court again. Snafu isn't used to the side of Eugene who feels insecure and uncertain. But this? Snafu knows exactly how to handle this.

"Only if you say the magic word," Snafu answers in a tease.

"Please?" Eugene says incredulously, like he suspects Snafu is pulling his leg.

"Nope, wrong word," Snafu insists. He turns around and tilts his head back to let the trickle of water seep into his already drying hair again. Better get ready for when Eugene finally breaks down that curtain. Snafu needs to be wet, and shiny, and vivacious.

"A magic word, Shelton, seriously?" Eugene asks, the annoyance slipping so easily into his countenance.

"Nope, still not the right word," Snafu repeats. He shakes his head, flinging his wet curls out of his eyes.

"You expect me to just start saying random words?" Eugene asks.

"I'll let you know when you get it right," Snafu says.

"Asshole," Eugene grumbles.

"Wrong!" Snafu exclaims.

There's silence on the other side of the curtain. Eugene is really bad at this.

"Are you really going to stand out there alone and bare ass-ed instead of continuing to guess?" Snafu taunts.

"Snafu, just let me in," Eugene sighs.

"Nope!"

"Merriell!"

"Yup, that's the one," Snafu bends his head back again.

Eugene lets out a frustrated mumble. The curtain jerks open. "Close your eyes," Eugene orders.

Snafu closes his eyes and lets the water fill his ears, so for a minute it's just him and solitude. He stops thinking about Eugene, he stops thinking about himself. The only thing he focuses is on is the sound of his own heartbeat...and how difficult it is to stay standing in one place while the train tries to throw him in all directions.

"Well, this is narrow," Eugene observes when he steps into the shower. The metal shower curtain rod squeaks as Gene closes it behind himself.

Snafu hums.

Gene's hands press against Snafu's stomach. They are warmer than the outside air but wet when he slides them around Snafu's waist. The next thing Snafu feels is Eugene's lips kissing his neck, sucking at the water running down his skin. Eugene is dying of thirst and it might be Snafu's fault.

And then the train rattles extra hard, and Snafu is thrown into Eugene and Eugene is thrown into the wall.

Giggles abound.

Snafu opens his eyes.

Eugene looks at him, and Snafu looks at Eugene. Eugene is fucking beautiful, as always. Snafu makes sure to tell him so.

Eugene seems satisfied by Snafu's sincerity.

And finally, they come together and get down to the good stuff.

It isn't easy. Everything - including the inconsistent water spray, the constant need to pound on the button to make water come out, and the occasional bumps in the railroad track - combines to try and kill the mood.

But nevertheless Snafu persists, because Eugene is nude, and wet, and slippery due to Gene bringing the damn soap back into the shower with him. And he insists on using it on Snafu.

Both of them perpetually get too distracted to remember to hit the water button, and eventually they leave it off. But this also means that when Eugene lathers them up with soap, there is nowhere for that soap to go except down. Things get extremely slippery underfoot.

"Should've kept the boots on," Snafu suggests snidely, "Better grip in the soles."

Eugene snorts into Snafu's shoulder and grips Snafu's hips harder to make up for the slick slide of his feet on the shower floor. "Just hold onto me, I'll keep you upright," He says, and smiles adoringly at Snafu's antics.

"You kidding me? You're more unsteady on your feet than I am, soap boy!" Snafu laughs.

It's worth it though, because the glide of Eugene's bare thigh between Snafu's legs is to die for. Their bodies become one single undulating soapy mass. And Eugene's body, for all his insecurities and shyness, feels fucking amazing. Everything is amazing. Snafu hopes no one else needs the shower anytime soon, because Snafu intends to stay in it for the rest of the train ride. All three days.

Snafu is riding high on pleasure till he tries to get his mouth on Eugene's nipple and tastes soap. Snafu chokes, and spits, and Eugene looks insulted. "We need to wash off," Snafu explains. He slams his fist against the stupid button.

"Maybe if we had sex against the water knob, we'd keep pressing it naturally…" Eugene suggests, "That's how sex works, right?" He pantomimes a hammer motion with his hips and Snafu almost loses it then and there.

"Pretty sure we'd break our heads if we tried that in the shower, Sledgehammer," Snafu warns.

They try it anyway.

Sure enough, just as Eugene's dick successfully penetrates an inch into Snafu's ass, the train jiggles again and throws them off balance. Snafu slides under Gene and falls to his butt, and Eugene braces his hands against the wall, straddling over Snafu and looking alarmed.

"Makes it easier," Snafu shrugs and takes Gene's cock into his mouth instead.

Eugene gasps and almost buckles to the floor.

Snafu wraps his arms around Eugene's body and helps him stand.

Eugene leans his shoulder against the shower wall and winds his fingers into Snafu's hair. "Merriell," Eugene pants, "Mer…"

Snafu simply grins and works Eugene closer and closer to the edge. Eugene's arousal is a little hard for Snafu to read. Eugene isn't particularly physically expressive. Eugene's body grows tighter, like he's almost afraid of the point he's nearly about to hit. There's so much visible tension built up in Eugene's shoulders, all Snafu wants is to see that relax - to be the person who can make Eugene's taught string snap.

The only way Snafu knows Eugene is close is by the noises Gene makes. As Eugene loses his control, his moans grow almost too loud for the precarious situation they're in.

Eugene's eyes close, his breaths quicken, and he rolls his hips in one last desperate push.

Everything comes crashing to a climax. The train hits a bump. Eugene moans, his muscles shake. Snafu involuntarily pops off Eugene's dick (like the soap out of Snafu's hand) and is thrown backwards. Eugene slips, having lost total control of his legs. Cum squirts everywhere, all over the blue tile shower wall like Eugene's some sort of Jackson Pollock. He falls and his knee lands on top of Snafu's groin. Snafu stifles his cry of agony and doubles over. Eugene immediately turns from blissed out to worried and apologetic and in his haste to help Snafu, he instead falls in Snafu's lap.

They sit there together in the aftermath and watch the water turn off. The shower walls are still painted in Gene's cum.

"You're a real artist now, Gene," Snafu says, observing the mess. His voice is tight and he's still crouched in pain.

Eugene blinks at Snafu, lets the words sink in, and then rolls his eyes, "Oh god. Don't even start." He slowly gets back on his feet again. He stretches his legs, flexes his feet to grip the tile better.

Snafu grins.

"Snaf?" Eugene says, taking deep breaths as his heart rate goes down.

"Yeah?" Snafu stares up at him, anxious to hear how Gene's taking all this. And not wanting to influence him with Snafu's own commentary.

Eugene swallows a gulp of air, closes his eyes, and leans his head against the cool tile. He accidentally puts his hand in a wet smear of his own cum and doesn't even notice. "Can we do that again?" Gene asks.

Snafu's grin widens, "Anytime."

Gene huffs a laugh. He tries to stand straight, his left foot hits a soapy patch, and Eugene's leg almost goes out from underneath him. Again.

Snafu chuckles as he lifts his arms to prop up Gene's ass and prevent him from falling.

"Sorry!" Eugene gives up on standing and instead slowly lowers himself backwards down into Snafu's lap. The round globe of Eugene's bare butt grows bigger and bigger in Snafu's field of vision.

Snafu is not complaining. He guides Eugene's ass safely down to his level. "I fucking love you," he says.

Eugene spins around to stare at him in surprise. He almost drops his knee onto Snafu's groin a second time, “What?”

The smile drops from Snafu's face and he tries to stop Gene from moving around so much, “Careful!”

“You said you loved me," Eugene says stubbornly.

Snafu scowls, “Yeah to your ass. As it came crashing down onto my face.”

Eugene glares at Snafu, challenging him to refute Eugene's earlier statement.

Snafu refuses to say anything related to the dumbass words that slipped out of his mouth easier than Eugene's soapy feet slipping on wet tile.

Eugene stares him down, clearly stubborn enough to believe that he can win this contest. He underestimates Snafu's ability to go deadfaced. Their staredown lasts for at least five minutes.

Until finally Eugene caves, "Love you too, Snaf." He gives Snafu's knee a friendly push.

Snafu pushes Eugene's face away so his back is to Snafu once again.

Eugene tries to stand on wobbly feet, more determined this time.

Snafu leans forward, wraps his arms around Eugene's waist, and presses his face to Eugene's right butt cheek.

"Snafu, you're gonna make me fall again…" Eugene warns. He braces himself on either side of the shower.

"Right, sorry…balance," Snafu mumbles and switches to Eugene's left butt cheek. To even things out.

"Okay…" Eugene laughs and turns himself around, "Let me help you up now."

Snafu takes Eugene's offered hand but when he tries to get up, the pain in his groin and shoulder where Gene accidentally crushed him flares up in agony. "Give me a minute," Snafu says and tries to hide his grimace. He drops back down to the tile and leans against the wall, pulling his legs close to his chest.

"Snaf?" Eugene sounds concerned.

"I'm fine," Snafu replies with a smile. He wishes Eugene wouldn't stare at him so much, "Just let me sit."

"Snaf…" Eugene sounds increasingly frustrated.

Snafu closes his eyes and wills the pain away.

A gentle hand takes hold of Snafu's wrist and lifts Snafu's hand from where it's covering his shoulder. Eugene replaces it with his own. "Snaf, don't do this," Eugene says.

"What?" Snafu cracks an eye open.

"Make yourself small," Eugene says, "You are allowed to take up space. Even if right now inside this inhumanely cramped shower the only space I have to give you is in my heart."

Snafu blinks at him, "Holy shit Sledgehammer, how long did it take you to come up with that one?"

Eugene grins, "Been thinking about it since you pulled me in with all my clothes on. I'm gonna write it down when we're finished. In my journal. Next to my lengthy descriptions of your pillowed lips."

"We oughta get out of this cursed shower so you can put those clothes back on," Snafu comments. He tries to hold onto the shower curtain to pull himself up.

"Snaf, that cheap plastic will rip right down if you put your weight on it," Eugene warns, "Hold onto me instead."

Snafu does as told and leans half his weight on Eugene's chest. "I don't need you," Snafu insists, staring into Gene's face defiantly.

"I know," Eugene smiles, "But I also know you want me. So...."

Snafu kisses him gently to shut Gene up.

Without all the acrobatics they kept trying before, it's suddenly pretty easy for them both to lean against the shower wall and let the train rock them side to side as they make out.

Snafu is freezing cold. The water stopped spurting long ago, and his toes feel like individual icicles. But every place on his body where Gene puts his hands is warm, and as long as Eugene keeps his lips on him, Snafu doesn't care about all the rest.

"I dreamt we could spend the entire train ride kissing like this," Snafu whispers to Gene.

"Yeah?" Eugene's eyes light up. He trails a finger down the muscle of Snafu's neck, "I'd do it." Eugene leans in and replaces his finger with his lips, "If i thought we could get away with it, I would sit right in the middle of that passenger car, necking with you till we reach Mobile."

Snafu latches on to the last few words of Eugene's sentence: 'till we reach Mobile.' 'We.'

"Fuck, Gene," Snafu says softly.

They kiss till the train starts to slow. "Where the fuck do you think we are now?" Snafu asks, knowing they probably aren't even in Texas yet.

"Tucson probably," Eugene mumbles. He unsticks Snafu's bare skin from the shower wall and pushes him toward the center of the stall, "C'mon we only have a few minutes before everybody is aboard."

They end up getting twenty. Twenty blissful minutes of a perfectly still, unmoving train. The rush from the beginning of their tryst returns. Snafu slams his hand against the shower knob and honest-to-god hot water comes out, melting their fingers and toes, and putting Snafu in a languid, sensual mood. His entire body is nothing but sensation and Eugene is a goddamn dream.

As long as Snafu keeps his hand behind his back covering the shower knob, the rocking of their bodies does exactly as Eugene had originally intended and keeps the water flowing. Eugene laughs a little at how much easier everything is all of a sudden. How they fit together so well now.

Snafu laughs with him. He's genuinely sharing this with Eugene, instead of focusing on how to take what little pleasure he can from this and get it over with as fast as possible.

He's actually disappointed when the train starts moving again. He nearly slides out of Eugene's embrace, but Eugene grabs Snafu's hands and holds him in place.

"We're getting all prune-y," Eugene comments as he examines the wrinkled pads of Snafu's fingers.

"Turnin' into raisins," Snafu grins.

"We should probably get out. Return to our seats. They're bound to be wondering where we got to," Eugene replies.

"Burgie probably thinks we jumped ship," Snafu agrees.

"Do you think Burgie knows?" Eugene asks, his voice turning serious.

Snafu snorts, "What you think he'd be jealous? Florence has your same hair color, Sledgehammer, but she also has a couple of other things I think Burgie'd miss." And he pantomimes two large jugs hanging in front of his chest.

"Snaf," Eugene admonishes, "Do you think he knows?"

"Of course he knows," Snafu rolls his eyes and leans against the shower wall as the train picks up speed.

Eugene sways into him and grabs Snafu around the waist. "We need to keep this secret. We can't tell anyone else," he insists.

Snafu nods. He knows the drill. He saw this coming a mile away, probably far sooner than Eugene did. Eugene with his lofty ideals and blind romance.

Eugene nods in return. He turns towards the shower curtain and yanks it open. Something makes him pause though. Snafu can see the indecision in his hunched shoulders. Eugene looks back at Snafu. And then lunges towards him for one more kiss.

"Fuck you're good at that," Snafu mutters when Gene finally releases him.

"At what?" Eugene asks.

"Final kisses," Snafu says, unable to keep the melancholy out of his own voice.

"That's not a final kiss," Eugene counters, looking confused, "That's a promise."

"A promise for what?" Snafu asks.

"You know...," Eugene shrugs. He turns his back on Snafu and steps out of the shower.

"So that's not you saying goodbye?" Snafu follows him.

"No, Snafu, that's me saying 'hold that thought until I can do it again'," Eugene explains with a wry smile, "Hopefully soon."

"Huh," Snafu scratches the nape of his neck and wonders what else he might've read wrong about Eugene's behavior.

Eugene holds up his still sopping wet uniform with a look of dismay. "It's been hours," he complains, "And still…"

"Wanna trade?" Snafu asks with a gleam in his eye.

"Yeah and have Burgie ask why I've suddenly gone up in rank?" Eugene retorts sarcastically.

Snafu chuckles and turns his attention to the bathroom air vent while Eugene struggles to put on his wet pants.

"What are you doing?" Eugene asks. He sounds tired. He leans against the wall, his pants only halfway up his legs.

Snafu ignores the question. Instead he climbs onto the sink, stands, and braces himself against the wall to reach the small air vent intended to keep the room fresh. He cleverly pops open the vent, catches it before it falls into the little changing room, and sets it down in the sink. "Figure we'll be here awhile," Snafu shrugs, "Give you some chance to dry off." He digs out a cigarette and his lighter.

"I can't get the pants to go over my thighs," Eugene complains, "They're...clinging."

Snafu grins and gestures for Eugene to step closer. With his cigarette hanging out his mouth, Snafu concentrates whole-heartedly on helping stuff Eugene back into his uncomfortably wet slacks.

"I'm gonna be cold for hours," Eugene says mournfully.

"S'why we should stay here," Snafu comments and gestures at him, "C'mere I'll help keep you warm."

Eugene smiles sardonically at him and lets Snafu drape his arms around Eugene's shoulders.

Snafu smokes, and lets the breeze carry it away out of the train.

Eugene reclines into Snafu's arms - his bare back against Snafu's bare chest. Eugene doesn't smoke with Snafu, but he does reach over for Snafu's free hand and starts picking at Snafu's fingernails. Once Gene finishes cleaning the left hand, Snafu obligingly switches his cigarette into that one so Eugene can do the other. Snafu's fingernails have never been so clean.

In the end they hold out their hands to compare.

"Think your nails are nicer than mine," Eugene notes.

"All that milk I don't drink," Snafu jokes.

Eugene takes Snafu's hand in his and kisses his palm.

"Gene, what you said...about stickin around….did you mean it?" Snafu asks quietly, maybe a little skeptically.

Eugene stiffens, like maybe Snafu's question surprised him a little. He turns in Snafu's arms and looks up at him.

Snafu blinks back. He brings his hand holding the cigarette back inside from hanging out the air vent.

Eugene silently gestures for Snafu to come closer.

Snaf balances his cigarette between his lips and carefully eases himself into a precarious crouch on the sink shelf. Fortunately if he falls, he will fall into Eugene. Who will catch him. Hopefully.

Eugene grips Snafu's hips tightly and stares into his face.

Snafu's not sure what he's looking for.

Whatever Gene's looking for, he finds it. He calmly takes the cigarette out of Snafu's mouth, tosses it out the window, and puts his open lips there instead.

Snafu gives himself over to the kiss and lets his butt drop onto the sink. The faucet is a little uncomfortable, but Eugene solves that problem too by shifting his hands underneath Snafu's thighs and lifting him a few inches above the shelf. Once again, Snafu is squished into a corner.

If it were anyone else he'd be nervous, and he'd already be running. Even now, Gene's clothes are so cold and wet that at first Snafu shrinks away from Eugene's hold. But gradually Snafu's skin becomes used to the temperature and when he wraps his legs around Eugene's waist, the heat from their bodies makes the damp bearable.

Snafu wants to stay in this shower cubicle, but he can't think up an excuse for it besides his insatiable thirst for touching Gene. Snafu runs his hands up and down Eugene's arms and asks, "Have I warmed you up yet?"

"Nope, think you had better continue trying…" Gene says and smiles when Snafu draws him into another kiss.

The sky outside the air vent is dark by the time they finally leave the little room. They're driven out by hunger. Eugene's stomach growls incredibly loudly, and they giggle together over how soft they've gone now that they eat three full meals a day.

"Burgie'll never believe me if I tell him your gut is louder than your snore," Snafu says as he helpfully rebuttons Gene's pants and buckles Gene's belt.

Eugene is completely unhelpful in that he refuses to keep his lips off Snafu even for a minute.

"I love you," Gene whispers in Snafu's ear and Snafu worries he's going to turn the words into a new mantra. "Merriell," Eugene sighs as he untucks Snafu's shirt from his pants for the third time that day.

"Gene, we gotta go back," Snafu hastily stuffs his shirt into his pants yet again, without bothering to smooth it.

"Thought you said we could spend the rest of the train ride necking…" Eugene argues and starts unbuttoning the shirt Snafu just buttoned five minutes ago.

"Yeah, in my dream…" Snafu retorts.

"I'm making your dreams come true…"

"Sledgehammer," Snafu finally puts his foot down and pushes Eugene an arm's length away, "We can't stay in here. Burgie's leaving tomorrow."

Eugene stops, and nods, "I know."

"You know?" Snafu mocks.

"Snaf, I…"

"You don't give a shit," Snafu argues, "By this time tomorrow you'll likely never see any of us all together ever again, and you don't care…"

"Snafu, what the hell…"

Snafu elbows Eugene out of the way and forces the door open. He stomps into the sleeper car and down the hall. Eugene catches up to him just as Snafu opens the divider doors.

"Snafu, slow down, I'm coming…!" Eugene says right before Snafu closes the sleeper car door on his face.

Eugene wrenches it open, grabs Snafu's wrist and prevents him from opening the next divider door. They stand there awkwardly, swaying with the train, the tracks especially loud here in the space between cars without any padding to buffer the racket.

"I'm fucking freezing," Eugene shivers at the wind blowing between the cracks and metal joints.

"You stink too," Snafu points out kindly, "Like flowers."

"Snafu, say it," Eugene demands, "Say it, and we can go sit with Burgie for the rest of the way, and I swear I'll be good."

"Why?" Snafu stubbornly asks.

"Because I need…" Eugene braces himself against the moving connector walls.

Snafu pries Eugene's hands off the shifting metal before the dumbass gets his fingers chopped.

"I need reassurance," Eugene admits.

Snafu holds Gene's hands tightly in his own and stares him down. He scowls and keeps his voice as low as possible, "I don't even know what love is, Sledge."

Eugene deflates.

Snafu drops his hands and opens the passenger car door. He walks through and can feel Eugene following him a good step or two behind. Neither of them say much more than a cursory hello to Burgie when they reach their seats.

"How is it you guys look even worse for the wear after going to freshen up?" Burgie asks.

"Shitty shower," Snafu says and slumps in his seat beside Burgie. He props his feet on the cushion across from him.

"No towels, no shampoo, no brush," Eugene says. He glares at Snafu's boots and shifts so he's sitting as far away from them as possible.

"Sledgehammer, why are you wet?" Burgie asks.

"Snafu pushed me into the shower, fully clothed," Eugene deadpans.

"He stunk," Snafu adds.

Neither of them can look Burgie in the eye.

Burgie is Snafu's best friend, and Burgie is leaving. And Snafu can't even tell him about any of this.

The last remaining night and half day is numbing. Eugene still sleeps the soundest when Snafu is there. Gene stretches his legs out as he snores and puts his feet between Snafu's - just to keep some contact. Snafu doesn't sleep. He just watches Gene.

They're all awake, but no one is bright eyed the afternoon the train pulls into Jewett.

Snafu almost feels guilty. Because when he watches Burgie leave, he isn't seeing Burgie, he's seeing Gene. He's going to miss Burgie in a way that will probably be a distant ache the rest of his life. Snafu can imagine living with that ache. He's been through that type of loss before. The real unknown is how in the hell will Snafu miss Sledge.

Burgie never talked about his family much during the war. Snafu once asked him about them. It was in the middle of the fighting back on Gloucester, before Sledge even walked into the picture. And Burgie only shook his head and refused the question. "If I think about them, I'll dream about them. Nightmares where they're dying in my place. It's worse, seeing that, than dying for them myself," Burgie explained. Snafu nodded, knowing Burgie was wise beyond his years. "I don't have that problem," Snafu replied, "Mine are already dead."

Burgie stuck to Snafu like glue after that. They were already friends, in that easy-going way of two people who get along naturally. But Burgie intentionally seemed to keep Snafu a little closer than the other guys. "If my little brother went off to war overseas where I can't protect him, I'd sure as hell hope he'd find someone to take my place for a while," Burgie offered as explanation.

Now Snafu watches Burgie tearfully embrace his real little brother at the train station and Snafu thinks about Eugene's brother, who came home from the European front months ago, who will be in Mobile waiting for Eugene. And about Snafu's baby sister. Who won't be.

These two Marines - Burgie and Sledgehammer - are the two reasons Snafu took himself seriously in this war. When it came down to it, day-to-day, Snafu was never fighting for much other than to preserve the life of the guy next to him. And when it was Burgie and Gene, all that fucked up effort felt worth it. Getting to witness this Burgin family reunion felt worth it.

Now Snafu just has to figure out what to do next.

Sledge claims to have no plans but the truth is Eugene is the kind of person who doesn't even know the meaning of 'no plans'. Eugene organizes every hour of his day, from work detail to meticulously researched cultural experiences. His idea of no plans consists of a financial safety net, parents who will steer him in the proper nuclear family direction, and a whole home full of people who love him.

Snafu glances over at Sledge. Their eyes meet briefly. Snafu is the one to look away.

"She'll come," Eugene says calmly, sure as ever, "It's like you said...it'll take Florence a while to get to Texas. But I'm sure the wait will be worth it."

Snafu clunks his head against the window glass and watches Burgie and his family climb into their dirty old truck - a proper farming truck. "I just said that to make him feel better. I didn't mean it," Snafu mutters.

"Well, I mean it," Eugene says firmly, "I believe it."

Burgie's truck starts driving off as the train picks up steam again. The truck turns onto the frontage road running parallel to the tracks. It almost seems to follow them as the train speeds away.

"You'll probably end up dancing at his wedding," Snafu says sourly.

"Only if you dance with me," Eugene retorts.

"I don't dance with gingers," Snafu complains, "Too hot-footed."

"Have you ever even danced with a redhead?" Eugene scoffs.

"No, but I've seen almost all of those Ginger Rogers movies…" Snafu replies.

"She doesn't even have red hair!" Eugene exclaims, incredulous.

"But she sure as hell can lift her feet," Snafu argues, "Wear a guy out, just watching her."

"You won't dance with me?" Eugene sounds crushed.

Snafu ignores the question and cranes his neck to keep his eye on the truck driving down the road. It's falling behind the train now, unable to keep up with the speed. Soon all Snafu will be able to see is a cloud of dust where his best friend should be. At least it's not a heap of mud.

Snafu remembers the first day he met Burgie in bootcamp. They were assigned as bunk mates, so when rotation happened no matter where they were sleeping - in a tent, on the open ground, barracks, whatever - they stayed together. Snafu had been so blown away by Burgie's sharp eyes, and his stocky compact beautifully built frame, that Snafu had announced to the man point blank, "If you weren't so goddamn straight, I'd be way into you." And Burgie's response, a mildly sarcastic, "Pity me" only cemented their friendship.

Snafu thought Burgie was the most impressive person in the world. Till a silly ginger boot walked into his tent on a godforsaken island and turned Snafu's world upside down.

The cloud of dust on the road beside the train becomes a distant haze. Snafu straightens and turns his face forward, only to fall into those same hooded dark eyes that entranced him the first day they met.

"Scoot over," Eugene orders.

"What?" Snafu furrows his brow at him.

"Scoot over, I want the window," Eugene demands.

Snafu does as he's told.

Eugene props his duffle against the window and leans on it. He spreads a blanket over himself and flicks the corner of it at Snafu. It hits Snafu in the face.

"Hey!" Snafu bats it away.

Eugene flicks it back.

"Fuck you, Sledge," Snafu grumbles. He gives in and rests his head on Eugene's shoulder.

"Fuck you too, Shelton," Eugene replies affectionately.

"You already did that," Snafu whispers lowly, only for Eugene to hear.

"Only almost," Eugene corrects.

"Yeah," Snafu admits, "But an inch in almost counts."

"Next time," Eugene assures him, with a devious smile, "When we're not on a rocking train."

"We'll provide the rocking," Snafu agrees, "No train needed."

"And preferably on a comfortable mattress," Eugene adds.

Snafu laughs, "Think I forgot what those even feel like."

"You shouldn't need to complain…" Eugene says and pats his chest where Snafu is leaning.

"You saying you're even more comfortable than a mattress?" Snafu smiles.

"Sure am," Gene says.

Snafu would have to agree. He can think of a million better reasons to be on top of Gene than comfort, though.

Eugene falls asleep because Eugene is Eugene and he can turn himself on or off at will. But Snafu sits there and stirs. His thoughts circle round and round about what he's going to do about the guy cuddled up with him.

The way he sees it there's two options: the Sledge family receives the questionable joy of having Snafu dropped on their doorstep like a stray cat, or Eugene doesn't show up in Mobile at all and everyone hates Snafu for keeping him away. Neither option is particularly appealing to Snafu.

He has to leave. He's not meant to witness Eugene's family reunion. He knows it.

It's like Burgie and his nightmares. If Snafu watches Eugene go back to his family, then that might start to feel more real than Snafu's connection to Sledgehammer. Better to end it on a high note. Stop it here and in Snafu's memory Eugene will stay Snafu's forever.

/~*~/ We all know what happens next, insert lots of angst and sadness as time goes by, I wrote this next goofy part to fix the end and not leave this fic hanging like Snaf did Eugene on the train. /~*~/

A year later Snafu is living in his lonely godforsaken apartment in New Orleans. The shithole is located on the fourth floor next to a copse of palm trees, which is great for feeling like a person is living in a treehouse, but not so great on the knees. All those stairs.

He sits down at his shitty folding table, propped against the window to give him a good view of the sunset as he eats his shitty meals alone, and rattles a few shredded wheat hunks into his cereal bowl. He mournfully pours the milk on top and slaps at the gigantic mass with his spoon. The milk will seep in and eventually the slapping will turn to chipping, and then the damn thing will become edible.

The window's open and there's a light breeze, something Snafu wouldn't normally notice except for what happens next. A parrot swoops in and drops a letter in his cereal.

It's a good thing his shredded wheat hadn't yet passed the chipping stage, because it takes up enough space in the bowl to prevent the letter from getting soaked. Snafu's ruined more than his fair share of correspondence that way on accident. And no one ever believes him when he explains he couldn't respond to the person's letter because a bird soaked it in milk. They never react well to his suggestion that they write in pencil rather than ink either (ink bleeds more when submerged).

Snafu feeds the parrot its well earned treat before he does anything else. Snafu doesn't do stairs, so he trained the parrots nesting in the palm tree outside his window to collect his mail for him. Well, he trained the parrots to collect everybody's mail. Any mail that doesn't belong to him he takes downstairs or leaves in front of his door. He is not popular among his neighbors.

Once the parrot has its treat, Snafu idly pets its head as he rips open the envelope and unfolds the letter. He recognized the writing the minute he saw the name on the envelope. He knows exactly what is coming:

Snafu you goddamn idiot,

Sledgehammer came to my wedding alone. So tell me: what the hell did you do? I told you not to do anything stupid. Sledgehammer is graciously not saying nothing about anything, so I'm writing to you instead. I don't know what's going on in that fool head of yours, but if you think Gene has forgotten you, think again. You of all people know how hard it was for me to risk my pride, and put my heart on the line, and ask Florence to marry me - someone half a world away who she barely just met. But I knew, and I knew she knew, and we built a life on that. I think the least you could do is afford Eugene that same trust. Make it right, Snafu. Or I will drive to New Orleans and drag you to Mobile myself. Kicking and screaming if necessary.

Love, Burgie

Snafu jumps when suddenly his door bangs. The hinges rattle with the force of whoever is knocking. Snafu has a bad premonition about this.

The door bangs again. The person is not giving up.

Snafu sets the letter down on the table and stands. The parrot flies to his shoulder and hops until it presses against his neck. It stretches and picks at Snafu's hair. The parrots always seem to like curls. Snafu swears fifty percent of their nest comes from off his head.

More banging from his door. Snafu is living in a cheap place, he's fairly certain his poor flimsy door can't take much more of this. So he opens it.

An irate redhead stands on the other side.

Eugene's eyes zero in on Snafu's parrot friend, "Of course you have birds delivering your mail for you, you lazy sonofabitch."

Snafu stands stunned.

"I had that letter in my hand," Eugene points to Snafu's table, "All ready to bring it to you personally after driving all the way to New Orleans to do so…" Eugene takes a deep breath, he is panting from climbing all those stairs, "...when suddenly the rare monk parrot I was casually admiring in the palm tree nearby screeched at me holy murder and dove straight for me. I ducked, held my hands up to protect my eyes, and the bird plucked Burgie's letter right out of my grasp. And then," another frustrated breath for emphasis on his next statement, "I watched it fly through your fourth story window."

"There's a lotta steps," Snafu shrugs, "I don't do steps."

"Merriell," Eugene pleads. He's desperate, out of breath, with tired pretty eyes. He's never looked prettier, yet somehow Snafu always knew he was this pretty. He's Eugene - of course he's still pretty.

"Gene," Snafu drawls, and the name feels the same in his mouth as it always did, all that love and affection right at the tip of his tongue.

Eugene storms through the door and wraps his hands around Snafu's head, and kisses him. He dislodges the parrot on Snafu's shoulder in the process. At first the parrot protests with shrieks, till it moves to Eugene's shoulder, and gets a good look at his hair, and then decides to perch inside it.

Eugene ignores the bird. He kicks the door closed and drags Snafu against his body with all his strength. Eugene is softer than he was in the war, and it's a hell of a lot more comfortable to be engulfed by him. Snafu barely pays attention to the kiss, he's too busy touching. He missed Eugene's neck, his hips, his hands.

All these years...Snafu's finally home again. The bird certainly seems to be making itself at home too - in Eugene's hair. Snafu supposes the parrots must be partial to gingers. He sympathizes.

Snafu starts pulling at Eugene's clothes, trying to drag him further into the room.

"Uhhh, Snaf?" Eugene asks.

"Yeah?" Snafu freezes, his nerves on edge.

"Will the bird stay in my hair...the whole time…?"

Snafu stares at Gene. "You don't like the parrot?"

Eugene backtracks quickly. "Not that I don't appreciate the beauty of being able to observe such a rare species up close…"

Snafu smirks, "Pulling your leg, Sledgehammer." He lets go of Gene and beckons for him to follow. "C'mon, this is a one bedroom. If we feed the parrot a treat and go running into the bedroom it'll be too distracted to follow."

Eugene holds open the bedroom door while Snafu prepares a handful of treats. The parrot knows what's coming. It picks up the already opened envelope and cocks its head beguilingly.

"Looks like you when you want something from me," Eugene observes from a distance.

"Shut up, Gene," Snafu says. He tactfully apologizes to the bird for not being able to give it the attention it deserves right now, but if it will humbly accept his offer of a treat, Snafu would be so grateful.

"Talking to birds now?" Eugene asks, "When did that start? Before or after you broke my heart?"

"Gene, I swear to god I will throw this treat into the bedroom, let the bird follow, push you in, and lock you both there," Snafu snaps.

"More time to study the creature," Eugene counters. He pulls a notebook from his pocket and waggles it at Snafu.

Snafu carefully drops the treat on the plate, and then runs for Eugene, yelling, "Go, go go!" Snafu dives through the bedroom doorway and lands on his bed.

Eugene calmly steps in behind him and shuts the door. "I think you've gone a little crazy," he commented as he climbs onto the bed beside Snafu.

"Loneliness'll do that to a guy," Snafu says with his arms lazily behind his head, looking for all the world like he wasn't fleeing from a parrot five seconds ago.

Eugene lays alongside him and places his hand on Snafu's cheek. "Are you even going to apologize?" he asks.

"I love you," Snafu says instead.

Eugene groans and tips his whole body into Snafu's. They interlock together like puzzle pieces, and Eugene nuzzles his nose against Snafu's neck. "I'd have thought you'd given up on manufacturing chaos by now."

"I gave up alcohol, not chaos," Snafu grins, "S'why I talk to birds."

"I haven't slept in months," Eugene sighs.

"You look it," Snafu agrees. He rubs Eugene's back softly. Up and down, in a soothing manner. Every time his hand slides along Eugene's spine is a treat. Another reassurance that Eugene is alive, and well, and here.

Gene moans and turns his head into the pillow to block out the light.

"The only food I got in the house is shredded wheat and parrot treats, so if you're planning to stay we oughta go to the store before we go to sleep," Snafu comments.

Eugene snores deeply.

#sledgefu #bad germs #happy friday

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ivy-stjames · 4 years

Text

the winner takes it all ( ivy + rory + julien )

𝚆𝙷𝙾: @julien-schuester && @roryslade && @ivystjamess 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽: the evening of thursday, august the sixth 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴: choir room, william mckinley high school for the performing arts 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃: ivy is uncharacteristically nervous for opening night, like always, julien is there for her, but this time rory’s just around the corner.

POSSIBLE TWS: CHEATING

𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐍: Opening Night snuck up on the cast and crew of McKinley High’s production of Mamma Mia faster than any of them could say “here we go again.” With a trip to New York and Los Angeles freshly under their belts, everyone arrived back to Lima feeling reinvigorated and inspired. The show was going to be great. As Julien sat in the make-up chair getting his face patted and his hair styled to transform fully into Sky, he glanced around at his cast mates through the mirror in front of him. He saw Rory, beaming, with LJ and Ruby. There was Joey. Baby. Even Leo and Finn were in his line of sight. It didn’t take him long to clock that Ivy was nowhere to be found. Hm. Weird. Ever since Julien had gone to Ivy’s place on Monday, the energy between them had been extra charged. It wasn’t lost on him that had Eli St. James not burst into Ivy’s room, they would’ve likely crossed another line that would’ve made this little thing they were doing unforgivable. Truth be told, it was already unforgivable, but Julien had found a way to justify in his head that as long as they’d only kissed and nothing more, it wasn’t as bad as what he did to Emory…so maybe it wasn’t that bad at all. Julien still had yet to figure out what to do about Rory. He still hadn’t made up his mind. Whenever he was with Ivy, he felt like they made sense. But whenever he was with Rory…well, he felt like they made sense. He knew time was ticking and that he’d have to pick a lane at some point, but with opening night being under one hour away, his love triangle fiasco would simply have to wait. Julien smiled at the sophomore who had been fixing his hair when she finished, said thanks, and made his way over to Rory. Where the hell was Ivy? Almost on cue, he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He pulled it out just as he reached his girlfriend, giving her a quick kiss on the side of the head as he discreetly read the message from Ivy. can u come to the choir room asap? He had to think fast. “I gotta go to the bathroom,” he said to Rory, giving her a quick kiss as he tucked his phone into his pocket and exited the backstage area where the cast was congregating. Once Julien was in the hallway and out of everyone’s sight, he started sprinting past the lockers until he arrived at the room he was looking for. “Hey,” he said breathlessly, his chest moving up and down dramatically as his eyes landed on a Sophie-clad Ivy, “everything okay?” Julien’s demeanor changed from cheery to concerned in a matter of seconds once it registered that something was wrong. He gently shut the door behind him before he approached her with open arms, “what’s wrong?”

𝐈𝐕𝐘: IVY ST.JAMES HAD NERVES OF STEEL. this was a fact the same as the earth revolving around the sun or a cheerios uniform instantly making someone more desirable, so why she was so nervous come opening night was lost on her. she was prepared and well practiced, so why did she feel like running into dan’s office and spilling her guts in the trash bin? being sophie sheridan meant more to her than probably anyone at mckinley would ever understand. sure, she got leads upon leads and solos upon solos, but this was a part ivy had cherished since childhood. despite all the drama in her personal life, her experience throughout this production of mamma mia sort of felt like her real coming of age and not her bat mitzvah four years prior. usually ivy kept a pretty tight lock on her headspace during show nights, no negative thoughts coming in, nothing got through that could potentially throw her off her game. unfortunately, never had she been involved in a show before where her ex-boyfriend, the girl her ex-boyfriend was seemingly moving on to, julien, and the girl julien was cheating on were all lingering backstage. every turn she feared running into something that would send her spiraling. more nervous about becoming nervous, she stowed away in the choir room where she remained pacing. why was she getting so nervous? how was she getting so nervous? eventually, she came to grips with the fact that there was no calming herself down from this one. pulling out her phone, she sent a text to julien and prayed he wasn’t occupied with anything else. lucky for ivy, julien made his appearance at just the right moment, which, seemed to be happening a lot lately. it was pathetic really, the moment julien opened up his arms ivy moved directly into them. she placed her head on his chest and closed her eyes. the fact his embrace so quickly soothed her made her feel stupid for even summoning him in the first place, “hey. . .” she finally replied. eyes still closed, she began issuing the explanation julien was owed, “i just like. . . i don’t know, it’s so totally dumb. . .” she prefaced before opening her eyes, pressing flush against him, and looking upwards at him. again, her breath caught in her throat simply from the sight of him at this perspective. as much as she wanted to wrap her arms up around his neck, ivy instead pulled away and settled for smoothing out the part of shirt she had just crumpled with her head. “i’m just like. . . kind of nervous i guess. i don’t know if i can like be around leo and rory and your sister and like still be me and do good with sophie i guess.” she rambled, once again meeting julien’s gaze with a slight pout, “don’t make fun of me.”

𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐍: Julien smiled to himself when Ivy clicked into his arms like the final piece of a puzzle. For two people who used to annoy the crap out of each other, they were surprisingly good at comforting each other in a crisis. It wasn’t even intentional half the time. Julien’s instincts were simply compatible with Ivy’s needs and vise versa. Who would’ve thought? Once his heavy breathing finally regulated after his brief sprint to the choir room, he tightened his arms around her and rested his chin on top of her head. “I’m sure it’s not dumb,” he said earnestly, pulling back slightly when he felt her looking up at him. For a moment, as they stared at each other, there was no drama, no opening night, no obstacles—just them. The illusion of that fantasy land barely lasted because in no time, Ivy was pulling away and smoothing out his shirt. Julien’s hands settled loosely at her waist as he looked down at the spot on his chest that she was touching and then back up to her face. Once Ivy got to talking, he knew that she was valid. It was a really intense situation from all angles, but definitely the most intense for her. Of course she felt nervous. It made sense. The longer she spoke for though, the more his subtle smile grew. “Wow, Ivy. St. James is nervous?” he commented in feigned shock, chuckling softly as he found her eyes again, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you nervous. Well, at least not because of a performance. It’s kinda cute.” Julien was being a little too bold for someone whose girlfriend was a couple of hallways away, but clearly that was the furthest thing from his mind. His sole focus was making Ivy feel better and confident that she could go out there and deliver. “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he quickly cut in, smiling down at her dreamily as she pouted, “I’m not making fun.” He took a deep breath and moved his hands to her shoulders as he leveled with her and held her gaze. “Listen to me,” he started, giving her a squeeze, “I know things are complicated and messy right now. I know you’ve had a really hard few weeks. But for two hours tonight, you get to be someone else. You get to use everything you’re feeling and be the best Sophie Sheridan this town has ever seen. If anyone can do it, it’s you. So all that other stuff,” he used one hand to figuratively wave it away, “just leave it at the door. You can do this, Ivy. You’re the most talented person I know. And even if you went out there and messed up, you’d still be the star.”

𝐈𝐕𝐘: IVY WASN’T SURE WHAT GOT HER HEART BEATING FASTER, JULIEN’S HANDS ON HER WAIST OR THE RAPIDLY ACCUMULATING BUNDLE OF NERVES SETTLING AT THE BOTTOM OF HER STOMACH. at his comments about her looking cute, ivy rolled her eyes, though there was an ever so faint smile gracing her lips, “okay, like, how is that not making fun of me? i know i’m cute, but being all like totally insecure is not cute.” she questioned, tilting her head slightly to the side, but never breaking her gaze from his own. truth be told, his following words were hardly a necessity. his presence alone worked miracles to soothe her. while her bubbling anxiety lingered, it felt dulled, numb even. if julien was at her side, what did she have to fear? nothing?. . . exactly. it wasn’t often the two of them just got to be alone and while logically she knew ’bad’ things happened when they were left unsupervised, the invigoration it gave her was worth it. ivy couldn’t explain the seemingly magical way reality seemed to melt and leave her and julien clutching each other in it’s wake, but the comfort that came from each of their stolen moments was the best medicine to life’s problems. as his pep talk drew to a close, ivy found herself fully smiling. each of her worries had been fended off by her knight in. . . a button down and shorts, equipped with his toolbox of all the right things to say. she would’ve managed if he hadn’t taken that next step, gone above and beyond, but he had and it left both her heart and knees feeling weak. “thank you.” she whispered. though she didn’t say a lot, it could be seen very clearly that she was thinking about saying. . . or doing more. there was an odd moment of clarity where ivy felt more certain of her feelings towards julien than she had felt about anything as of late. it was certainty beyond a charged exchange in her bedroom monday night or needing companionship. at least she thought it was certainty, but just to be sure. . . “julien, i need to like check something.” ivy said quietly. before he had the chance to ask questions or to stop her, her hands were around his collar, tugging him down to bring their lips into each others. it was another kiss to add to their ever-growing pile of oopsies, but what other way to get confirmation that this. . . thing they had going did indeed mean something.in the world they had been living in moments at a time, the one away from reality and away from namely rory, it seemed like the perfectly logical thing to do. again, ivy found her thoughts fogging over with a desire to kiss julien, to be near him. would that urge be so strong if it meant nothing? her clouded mind couldn’t confirm or deny more than she had when she initiated the kiss, but ivy figured she wouldn’t want to kiss him so badly all the time if they really were just friends. julien was always there, picking her up, sharing laughs, stealing glances, putting all the pieces together, and causing her to come undone all at once. without considering julien had a girlfriend and without considering the fact ivy hadn’t fully processed what had gone down with leo and overcome it, it added up. ivy wanted it to add up, she needed it to be this simple. there was a seed planted in her heart and ivy was choosing now to command it to be full grown. pulling away, ivy remained near, scanning julien’s face for some kind of reaction, any indicator that he had a similar realization. “julien. . .” she said again, letting out a breath before finally replying to julien’s own comment from a week ago in a los angeles stairwell, “it means something.”

𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐍: Julien came from a long line of pep-talkers, so whether it was right before a big show choir competition or in the final ten minutes of a state championship, he knew a thing or two about the right thing to say and how to say it. So when he came face to face with an uncharacteristically insecure Ivy, he knew what he needed to do. He needed to remind her that no matter how crappy her circumstances were in the moment, she was talented and capable. No amount of drama or complicated entanglements would keep her from doing what she did best: shining. In the confines of the choir room, just the two of them, Julien never broke eye contact and kept his hands planted on her shoulders as he gave her an abridged version of all the ways she was incredible. When he was done gassing her up, he studied her face for any sign that he’d remedied her worries. The smile tugging at the corners of her lips indicated to him that he’d done a decent job. “No need to thanks me, Legs,” he said softly, mirroring her grin as he gave her shoulders a final squeeze before dropping his hands, “I’m just being honest.” As they stood there, shamelessly indulging in their very bad and unsubtle habit of staring at each other dreamily for way too many seconds at a time, Julien was at war with his own thoughts. What were they doing? Why was he here with her instead of with his girlfriend backstage? His overthinking was interrupted by the sound of Ivy’s voice. “Huh?” he asked quickly, snapping back to reality, “check what?” Before he could even finish his question, she was pulling him down by his shirt collar until his lips crashed into hers. Suddenly all of his thoughts quieted—all of them but one: Julien Schuester wanted Ivy St. James. Yes, in a primal physical way, but also in a fall asleep on the couch together way and a hold hands in the car way and a sing each other to sleep way. He was so screwed. Once she broke the kiss, his eyes fluttered open slowly and he looked down at her in complete awe. His breath hitched when she said his name and when she finally answered his drunken statement from nearly a week prior, he nodded. “I know.” Instinct took over as soon as their feelings were out in the open. Julien cupped the sides of Ivy’s face and brought his lips down to hers again, wanting desperately to be closer. The kiss was urgent and clumsy and before he knew it he was backing Ivy into the grand piano in the center of the room. The sound of her body hitting the keys sent a loud clash of cords through the room which shocked Julien right out of the moment. He pulled away from her breathlessly, his hands lingering on her face for a moment until he saw some movement at the door from the corner of his eye. The second he turned his head, his face got hot and his ears began to ring. “Rory,” he breathed out, dropping his hands and his heart as he laid his eyes on his beautiful, kind, talented, funny, deserving-of-only-good-things girlfriend. How long had she been there for? What had she seen? “Rory,” he said again, cautiously walking towards her as all thoughts about wanting Ivy were exiled from his brain, “it’s not what you think.”

𝐑𝐎𝐑𝐘: Nothing would have prepared Rory Slade for today. At the beginning of auditions, she only saw herself as Sophie and was convinced she would land the role, but she didn’t. Then she fully stepped into the role of Donna and felt confident in herself and that if someone was meant to play Donna at McKinley, it was Rory. She was nervous, sure, and she felt like she could hear her heart beating so loudly in her ears. Rory tried not to get herself too hyped up, she always thought it was bad luck to practice before going on. Weird logic, but she thought that if she performed now, she’d forget later or work herself so much up on stage that she’d freak out and dash off stage. After getting into costume which was just a white peasant blouse and overalls, she fixed her own hair and makeup, leaving her makeup natural but beat enough that the audience could see she had makeup on and a pinned look paired with some beach waves to give off an effortless beach look. After she was done, she spent her time with Julien until he abruptly excused himself to go to the bathroom. She didn’t think anything of it, he was just going to be gone for a minute, but then two minutes passed. Then five. Then ten. And as minute twelve was approaching, Rory knew she had to go on a man hunt for Julien. The show was about to start and neither him nor Ivy was anywhere to be found so she went to look for Julien and hoped to just find Ivy after. She looked in the girls restroom for Ivy and briefly popped her head in the boys to ask if Julien was in there. When neither were found, she started looking in other rooms, eventually landing in the ill fated choir room. They were kissing. Julien and Ivy were kissing. Julien, her boyfriend, was kissing Ivy, her rival. The blonde didn’t know how to react; should she scream? Cry? Even react at all? Or just leave the building altogether and tell Leo that she couldn’t perform? Lost in her thoughts, staring at the scene, Julien finally noticed her. She had only been standing there for thirty seconds, a minute tops, but she felt like she had spent her entire life watching the pair kiss. She heard Julien saying her name, but it was just echoing in her head and once he started making his way towards her, she bolted out of the room and out into the hallway, tears beginning to form in her eyes. Don’t cry, don’t cry. You’ll mess up your makeup. But then Julien began speaking. “Not what I think?” Her words weren’t angry, they were strangely calm for a girl who had just caught her boyfriend in the act with someone else, but with the freshly hot tears streaming down her cheeks, her eyes piercing into Julien’s, she didn’t need to express emotion for him to know how hurt she felt. “People have been saying that you were cheating on me and now look! I’m the one who gets to look like a fool for trusting you,” now her emotions were building up. “God!” she expressed, her hands flailing up. “I trusted you!”

𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐍: The wave of peace that Julien briefly experienced while kissing Ivy quickly turned into a storm when he saw Rory. Shit. Shit. Shit. “Rory, wait—“ he called out, quickly jogging after her but pausing at the door of the choir room. Julien was the rope in a twisted game of tug-of-war and the worst thing was? He put himself in that position. His face was hot with shame and embarrassment. How could he have been so stupid? He and Ivy were living in a fantasy land. And why had he even been doing it in the first place? Because he liked Rory, he really liked her. He turned his head to look back at Ivy, who was still standing flabbergasted at the piano. Even though there was a part of him that wanted nothing more than to meet her back at the piano and kiss her again, there was a girl out in the hallway who he’d just hurt beyond belief. What kind of guy would he be if he just let her leave? “I’m—“ he wanted to say something, anything to make the situation okay, but he was at a loss, “fuck, sorry.” He barely looked at Ivy when he apologized but once the words fell from his lips, he left her standing there alone and zoomed into the hallway where he stopped Rory in her tracks. “It really isn’t what you think,” he lied, scrambling to come up with a valid excuse or reason for why he would be kissing Ivy in the choir room. He knew he was shit out of luck. There was nothing he could say. When Rory’s eyes filled with tears and she revealed that people had been warning her, Julien was riddled with guilt. Fuck. Why was he like this? It was all fun and games until someone got hurt. He needed to fix this. “You’re not a fool,” he told her as he approached her slowly, “okay? I am. I’m an idiot. I’m—I’m stupid. I don’t know what I’m doing.”As she started to wave her arms around and get angry, Julien tightened his lips into a line and felt all of his muscles tense. Her words echoed through the empty hallway and he knew there was nothing he could say in the moment that would make the situation better. “Rory, please,” he started, eyes pleading and tone strained. There had to be something he could say to make things better. The words spilled out of him before he could really process it, “I love you.” On cue, his phone alarm went off in his pocket and startled him. “Shit,” he muttered, pulling it out and seeing that they had five minutes until the show started, “we have to get back.” He looked at Rory, completely focused on her and entirely unaware of anything that might’ve been happening behind him. It dawned on him that he had just said he loved her. Did he love her? Had he just said that because it felt like the right thing to say? He was so confused. “I know you’re mad, but can we just do the show and then talk about it? Please?”

𝐑𝐎𝐑𝐘: Watching Julien and Ivy kiss in a romantic way instead of practicing for the musical way made Rory's heart sink and naturally so. No one wants to see their boyfriend kiss someone else like that especially when that boyfriend had a history and everyone had been warning her about the said history, but she thought things were different. Rory had been through this before. Not when it came to Julien and when that did happen, she was the "other girl". It's why she kept her relationships minimal and sexual encounters at a maximum. She couldn't get hurt if she didn't open up to guys, but it was also her weakness. A guy could just flash her a smile and tell her she was remotely attractive and she'd be weak in her knees. Maybe it was the daddy issues or the deep insecurity she held as the second-best at McKinley. And now she really was second best to Ivy St. James in every aspect. Julien was the one thing Rory had that Ivy didn't and now... even the Wicked Witch of Lima had that. She wrapped her arms around her body as if to calm herself down even just a bit but what she had seen in the choir room just kept replaying in her head every time she closed her eyes. She felt so stupid. So stupid for trusting Julien. So stupid for believing he changed. So stupid for falling in love with his stupid dorky smile. And that's when it dawned on her. She was so hurt not only because she believed in him but because she had fallen in love with Julien Schuester and in the same moment she recognized how much she loved him, he had simultaneously broken her heart at the same time. "Isn't what I think?" A scoff left her mouth. "That wasn't a practice kiss, okay? I know what you look like when you have one of those... charged choir room moments," because he had looked at her like that at one point. When Julien started to approach her slowly, she backed away a few steps. She didn't want his semi-comforting words or for him to step closer to her, she wanted to forget what she had seen. No wonder why Emory wanted to beat his car in and break Ivy's nose. This feeling sucked. The tightening in her throat, the tears, her heart beating out of her chest. She felt like someone had quite literally stomped on her heart, but when he uttered those three words Rory almost saw the light at the end of the tunnel which would have been comforting if Julien wasn't cheating on her. "Yeah... I love you too," she said barely above a whisper, using the back of her sleeve to wipe some tears off her face. There was a small foundation stain, but it wasn't a priority of Rory's at the moment. When she heard Julien's alarm ring, she knew it was almost time for the show to start so she quickly sucked up whatever she was feeling and dabbed away her tears. "Maybe," she shrugged. "I don't think there's much more to talk about," she said with a deep sigh. "Break a leg, I guess," she croaked out as she tried to hold in any emotion. Save it for the stage. Turning on her heel, she started walking back to the auditorium to get ready to go on.

𝐈𝐕𝐘: THE FANTASY WORLD THAT RESIDED WITHIN JULIEN SCHUESTER’S LIPS CAME TUMBLING DOWN AT THE SOUND OF A FEW DISCORDANT PIANO KEYS, FOLLOWED BY A SOFT ‘RORY’ THEN A FRANTIC ‘IT’S NOT WHAT YOU THINK’. ivy’s ejection from that little piece of paradise was violent. other than having to make a quick acclimation to this new and tense situation, she had to shove all of eli’s, now proven to be correct, comments from her mind so she could focus on what to do. last time when emory had caught her and julien, ivy had peeled from the scene as quickly as she could, but that wasn’t really much of an option on opening night of a show in which all parties involved played principal roles. faster than they had been caught, rory was running out the door and julien was going after her while ivy remained stunned at the piano, painfully aware of how she had nowhere left to run. both herself and julien should have known better than to walk this fraying tight rope together at this point. they both knew it was a hazard, there was no safety net below them, and one misstep would send them plummeting to the hard surface that was the consequences of their actions. julien paused in the doorway, looking ivy up and down and filling her with the dangerous hope that he may stay with her. as soon as the apology slipped from julien, he was gone, and ivy found herself now knowing what to do. follow him. her feet carried her to the doorway where if she looked just to the left she could see rory and julien, even hear their voices echoing down the hallway to where she was. she was still functioning in a trance like stuporous state. she wanted to run down the hallway and after julien, but her feet told her the threshold of the choir room door was far enough. hearing rory choked up was enough to make anyone feel bad, ivy included. ashamed , she looked down upon her sandaled feet. as much as she tried to assure herself rory would come out of this fine and it was just a small incident that could be brushed off, the longer she eavesdropped the less confident in that she grew. though ivy’s largest emotional reaction came from hearing the words i and love and you leave julien’s mouth and into rory’s ears.it was like a large wound in her chest opened up and immediately caused her lip to quiver. it wasn’t a new gash though, it was about a year old at this point, and while it had been closed for some time, julien had just as easily reopened it as he had sliced it a little over a year ago. suddenly rory and julien’s conversation was muted in her ears and it felt like all she could hear was her own heart heaving in pain with each beat it thumped. what had happened to ten minutes ago when julien was in fact confirming that did mean something? was she just a toy for him to play with when he got lonely and bored? ivy couldn’t find it in herself to believe julien was capable of that malice, she didn’t want to. unable to wipe her tears fast enough, ivy bolted out of the choir room, to the right, and into the bathroom all while a faint jingle of someone’s alarm could be heard at the other end of the hallway. instantly, she locked herself in a stall and tried to rid herself of this used feeling. julien loved rory, and it seemed that ivy's own moments with him the past couple of weeks had meant nothing. julien had lied, and that only made her cry harder. the show was the last thing on her mind at the moment, just herself, the bathroom stall, trying to halt her tears and the dejected feeling that came with an overwhelming sense of loneliness and foolishness.

END

#julien #rory #tw: cheating #discord para #the winner takes it all #//when taylor swift said chase two girls lose the one she was actually prophesizing this moment

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ifyoucouldholdme · 5 years

Text

Never Have I Ever

Pairing: Stenbrough

Word Count: 3137

Read on AO3

Maybe partying this hard was not the wisest choice, but it had been one hell of a week for Stan. After surviving midterm exams, there was also a group project, an oral presentation, and several papers to turn in. As well as his schoolwork, Stan also found himself actively avoid Bill. This turned out to be more difficult than he had first thought since they lived on the same hall of the dorms. Bill hadn’t actually done anything to warrant such a silent treatment, but lately Stan noticed himself developing a strange fixation on his easy-going friend. Little things would catch his eye. Bill’s stardust freckled face. The way he gently bit his bottom lip when concentrating on his novel of the week. Over time, Stan had come to terms with his sexuality regarding his faith and his religious upbringing. That did not change the fact that falling for a straight boy—a straight best friend—was begging for heartbreak. These thoughts couldn’t bother him if he kept himself from constantly seeing Bill.

This is why the glass of Moscato he usually nursed at these Losers’ Club get-togethers tonight became three shots of tequila with a Sprite chaser. The giddy lightheadedness, although not a sensation he usually enjoyed, was miles better than worrying about grades or schoolboy fantasies.

“Stanley, there you are!” An exuberant Eddie appeared seemingly from nowhere. “How did you end up in the kitchen, silly?” Stan had no recollection of making his way to a cross legged perch on top of the kitchen counter, but given the shots and his lovestruck musings, that wasn’t surprising. Eddie just shook his head, giggling. He grabbed Stan’s wrist and dragged him away, “Come on, Stanny-Bird, stop nesting by yourself. We’re about to start a game in the living room.”

“Isn’t Richie supposed to be the one with the stupid nicknames?” Stan teased, finding his voice once again.

Eddie flustered a bit. “Yeah, I guess he’s rubbed off on me, hasn’t he?”

“That’s not all I’ve done to you, Spaghetti, my love,” a plastered Richie crooned from atop their surprisingly sturdy coffee table.

“Fuck off, Tozier,” Eddie retorted with a middle finger and a sloppy wink.

“Will do, babe. Now get in the circle. I want to get some new dirt on you guys.” The boys dropped into place with the others. Stan felt a wave of joy mixed with his drunkenness as he glanced around at the rest of his friends. Beverly and Ben had already squished themselves the sole recliner available. Mike lounged in front of the television, probably already to drunk to move. Bill had, fortunately for Stan, had to finish a research paper of his own, which is the only reason Stan had allowed himself any alcohol in the first place.

“The name of the game,” Richie belted, “is Never Have I Ever! We each take turns declaring something we’ve never done, if nobody cheats,” he shot a narrow glare at Beverly, “and all you dirty sluts that have done it must take a sip of whatever drink they choose. Got it?”

“Shut up so we can get started,” Stan bossed louder than he anticipated. Richie eyed him with a curious gaze which made him tense a little. “Stan the Man! Eager beaver tonight. You’re usually the buzzkill in these things.”

That’s only when Bill’s here. Richie’s expression took a more mischievous shape. Did I say that out loud? Thankfully, Richie either took mercy on Stan or didn’t actually hear anything, because he plopped into his own spot next to Eddie. “Who’s going first?”

Bev leaned forward and almost toppled out of the chair. “I got one. Never have I ever snuck into someone else’s room after dark,” she slurred, sending a challenging smirk in Richie’s direction. He raised an eyebrow as he drank from his beer.

“I see how it is, Marsh,” he replied. Eddie chuckled playfully at the thought of Richie and Beverly duking it out. “Oh, you think that’s funny?” his boyfriend said from under a mess of unkempt bangs. “Alright, then. Never have I ever belted along to Mamma Mia in the shower.”

“Oh, you ass!” Eddie slapped his arm and took a drink. Across the circle, Ben tried to unsuccessfully hide his own raised glass. “See, at least Ben can appreciate some culture.”

Stan watched the ensuing tickle fight, a drunken smile tinged with a touch of longing on his face, unaware of the knock at the door behind him. He loved his friends more than even his own family, but the teasing banter between the couples twisted his chest into a jumbled mess. Every affectionate touch only reminded him that he would never be held by the one boy that he dreamt of. That he would never feel Bill’s hands in his. That when his night terrors woke him in the darkness, he would be alone no matter how fervently he prayed otherwise. At least tonight there was no sign of Bill to make him feel even worse, and he had the tequila to make him feel better.

“Give us a good one, Stanley. I’m getting bored over here,” Mike interrupted Stan’s pity party. He sputtered back to attention.

“My turn already?”

“Yeah, Eddie went to get the door, so you’re next,” Richie nudged him with a bony elbow. “Let’s have some scandals already!”

Stan’s mind drifted and muddled too much to think intricately enough to find anything racy enough for a drunk Trashmouth, so he settled on the first thing his addled brain suggested. “Never have I ever been naked in front of somebody. Well, besides my parents, anyway.” Then again, maybe he could.

“Well, damn,” Richie cawed, as he took another sip of his beer, along with all the other Losers. “I guess Stan the Man isn’t a man just yet. We’ll have to fix that soon, Virgin Stanny.” He gave Stan a salacious wink.

“S-Stan’s a v-v-virgin?” came the familiar voice, giving Stan chills.

Oh, no. No, no, no, no. He’s supposed to be busy tonight. Nevertheless, there stood Bill, cheeks as bright as the tuft of hair brushing the top of his brow. This monolith of Stan’s childhood had indeed arrived. He had tried so hard to avoid the other boy this week, and now he had to maneuver the evening through the haze of alcohol and lovestruck fantasies. Worst of all, because his stupid, unfiltered brain, his crush now knew he was completely inexperienced romantically. Shit.

Mike and Beverly erupted in a cheer upon seeing Bill make his way to the open spot directly across the circle from Stan, because of course he would. “We’re playing Never Have I Ever and apparently already learning some new secrets,” she explained, giving Stan an overly exaggerated grin. The poor boy anxiously bit his lip and stared at Bill, waiting for any reaction. Bill’s eyes were planted on him in an almost melancholy stare.

“I n-noticed,” he plainly stated.

Stan knew he shouldn’t have hidden from Bill and understood that the other must feel confused and likely hurt. After all, his best friend had basically stopped talking to him for most of a week, all because Stan couldn’t handle falling in love with Bill when he knew that Bill couldn’t love him back. Did Stan truly love Bill beyond a silly infatuation? Gazing at the sullen boy across from him—his leader, his inspiration— he supposed he did in fact love Bill. He loved him with all he was, no matter what his father or the Torah condemned. No matter the pain of his unrequited attachment.

“You guys skipped me?” Eddie exclaimed in only slightly exaggerated irritation. Richie tried to appease him with a giggly peck on the cheek but got an elbow in the ribs for his effort. “Aw, chillax, babe. You got up during your turn, and I’m impatient. I just wanna get to the dirty shit.”

“You want dirty?” Eddie snipped, “Fine.” He turned into the circle in a theatrical fashion usually expected from his ham of a lover. “Never have I ever sucked a dick in a public restroom!” Everybody tried to muffle a cacophony of snickers as Richie’s face turned a deep crimson.

“That is totally not fair, Eddie! You were there too.”

“Yeah, but I just gave you a hand job.” He stuck out his tongue, satisfied and victorious.

“M-maybe I should’ve w-waited a f-few more minutes b-before coming over.” All eyes turned to watch a still blushing Bill unashamedly took a drink of his freshly opened beer. Stan’s blood dropped to a freezing chill.

Eddie, intensely intoxicated, missed what was unsaid yet understood. “No, Billy, I said ‘sucked a dick’ not ‘gotten my dick sucked.’”

“I k-k-know.” Eddie stared quizzically at his reddening face. Everybody else was too dumbstruck to properly react. The up until now straight Bill Denbrough self-consciously lowered his gaze and muttered, “Y-you said you w-wanted s-s-secrets…”

What. The. Fuck.

Stan had finally been coming to terms with never having a romantic future with Bill—Straight Bill Denbrough—and now here’s the man of his dreams basically admitting he’s not entirely straight after all. This should have brought him an overabundance of excitement, instead it toppled the so carefully balanced platter of stress that had accumulated inside him all week long.

“Well,” Richie had finally regained his ability to form words again. “Hell yeah, Big Bill!” He half leapt, half scrambled over the coffee table to give Bill an uncoordinated high five. “That’s my boy!”

Why hadn’t Bill told Stan this? They never kept secrets from each other. Except for Stan’s feeling of course, but that was for good reason.

“So, are you like bi then?” Bev asked, the game mostly forgotten.

Did Bill not trust him? Or worse yet, did Bill know that Stan loved him and just pretended to like girls as some shitty way of letting him down without flat out rejecting him?

“N-no, I d-don’t think so. I mean, y-y-yeah, I’ve dated a few g-g-girls, but not really because I wanted t-to. You know what other p-people think about…well, about p-people like m-m-me.”

Bill’s eyes grew misty, but Stan was in too deep of a spiral to notice. On a normal day, he would’ve kept his cool. On a normal day, he would’ve given his polite smile until he returned to his room where he could violently sob in secret. Instead, tonight Stan had alcohol, and he had emotions, and he had to find out that the love of his life was gay by hearing him admit to fooling around with someone else during a freaking drinking game!

“What the actual fuck, Bill?!” Stan erupted. The others snapped their heads towards him, Bill uttering a startled, “W-w-what?”

“You’re gay?”

“I g-guess…is that a p-p-problem?”

Stan scoffed. “No. No problem at all. Let’s keep playing. I’ve got one. Never have I ever hidden a secret from my best friend.”

“Stan—”

“Drink, Bill.”

The confusion across his freckled face now melted into pained anger. “F-fine. Never have I ever avoided my b-best friend with no w-warning. D-d-drink, Stan.”

Stan was not about to let this argument turn on him, even if he knew he did not hold the moral high ground. “Never have I ever felt like I couldn’t trust my friends,” he roared.

“N-never have I ever been a j-judgmental asshole,” Bill fired back, equally outraged. Ben, ever the peacekeeper, tried to deescalate the situation. “Guys, let’s calm down before—”

It was out of Stan’s mouth before he could catch it. “Never have I ever shoved some guy’s dick down my throat!”

Bill gave not retort this time. He just quietly set his unfinished beer on the table. Immediately losing all the fire in his chest, Stan tried to take back his words. “Bill, I didn’t—”

“Stop.” No anger. No stutter. Bill was done. He rose quickly from his spot on the floor. “I think I s-should b-b-be g-going.”

“Bill…” Eddie trailed after him.

“T-thank you for inv-viting m-m-me Eddie. Every one of them caught sight of the tears that started to leak from his broken eyes.” Then he was out the door without another word.

Stan’s entire world swirled to a screeching, sobering halt. “Way to go, fuck up,” he whispered to himself, not caring anymore if someone heard, as his own sorrow trickled over his cheeks. “You lost him for good, now.” The shame overwhelmed him, and he buried his face in his arms. A gentle hand caressed his hunched back as a surprisingly sober voice washed over him. “Well, you definitely were an ass, just now, but you can’t lose Bill that easily.”

“Yeah, right, Bev,” he snapped through a hitch in his breathing.

“Stan, the only reason you’re not getting a major lecture right now is because we know. You don’t have to say it. We can see how much you love that boy.” Stan skeptically glanced at each of the Losers who now gathered around him, expecting faces full of anger and disgust. The looks of concern there instead fueled the rising guilt caught in his throat. “I’m sorry, guys,” he croaked in defeat.

“We don’t need an apology, Stan,” Eddie waved it off, “Just know that we love the shit out of you, no matter what stupid things to do.”

Richie, trying to be somewhat serious added, “I mean, look at the stupid shit I do every day, and I’m still here.”

“Bill cares about you just as much too. Probably more so,” Mike offered.

Stan let out a disbelieving laugh. “Yeah, right. He definitely hates me now.”

“Then go apologize,” Bev directed him, getting tired of his wallowing, “Go show him how you feel about him, ok?”

“What if he refuses to speak to me?”

Beverly flashed one of her patented warm-as-sunshine smiles. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

With quivering knees and a massive clump of dread in his stomach, Stan hesitantly knocked on the door to Bill’s dorm, prepared for the worst. The resounding thud bounced away down the lifeless hallway. Stan waited in excruciating silence, almost ready to leave and try again later, until he heard the muffled pattering of uneven footsteps. The door creaked open, revealing a disheveled looking Bill. He had already changed into a worn shirt and the hideous tie-dye slipper socks Richie bought for his secret Santa present this year. The redness around his eyes and the tissue crumpled in his fist, however, suggested that he had been crying instead of sleeping. The shock of such a distraught Bill almost triggered Stan into another guilt driven breakdown, but he blinked back his own tears, determined to say what he had come here to say.

“Stan,” Bill hoarsely spat in an unwelcome grumble.

“Hey, Bill,” Stan replied in his own terrified mumble. The air was empty and tight for a moment as neither boy knew how to continue. “I need to talk to you,” Stan blurted suddenly. Bills brow furrowed into a frustrated divot.

“I t-think you’ve s-said enough,” he dismissed as he started to close the door. Stan jumped forward, lodging himself between it and the frame.

“Please, just wait,” he pleaded, “I want to apologize. You were just trying to be yourself with us—” Bill’s eyes flickered anxiously to either side of them, scanning the hall. “Not here,” he snapped in a harsh whisper, hastily pulling Stan into his room. The door slammed shut, and he locked it behind them. “It’s n-not safe to talk ab-bout that stuff outside.” The light was off, and a blanket cascaded across the floor, confirming that Bill had indeed been having a breakdown of his own. The thought brought a lump to Stan’s throat. “I’m sorry about tonight,” he said, “I shouldn’t have—”

“No, you shouldn’t have.”

That hurt, but Stan knew he deserved such a blunt reaction. Bill was far from through, though. “Do you kn-know how long I’ve w-wanted to tell you guys? D-do you understand w-what it took for m-me to even tell m-m-myself? I hated m-myself for years. I tried to change. I tried to hook up with g-g-girls, but n-nothing worked.

“B-but things eventually g-got easier. The jokes and the s-slurs I hear from the rest of g-guys in c-class every day didn’t s-scare me as m-much. It was finally n-not the end of the w-world if I was…” His stance never faltered, but now Stan was fully aware of Bill’s reddened eyes and wet cheeks. “I w-wanted to t-tell you Stan, I p-p-promise. I f-finally decided that I had t-to, no m-matter how scared I was. B-but then you stopped t-talking to m-me, and when you s-saw me, you would r-r-run away f-from me. I thought you s-somehow found out on y-you own,” Bill rasped, losing his voice as a new stream of tears poured out. “B-but I never thought that y-you would be that d-d-d-disg-gusted—”

“Bill, you are anything but disgusting.” Stan’s heart couldn’t handle any more of Bill talking so honestly about how badly Stan had hurt him.

“I s-saw your f-f-face. Why else w-would you s-say that?”

“Because I was jealous!” Stan exploded. “All I want is for you to ask me out, or hold my hand, or hell, even just look at as something more than just your friend. God knows, I spend every night praying that you’ll notice me. But finally finding out that you’re gay by hearing about you having sex with somebody else? I’m not strong enough for that. I’m sorry.”

An eternity passed as they stood in the dark, both crying and staring at the floor. Stan wanted to leave, to avoid embarrassing them any further, but he also couldn’t bear to leave Bill alone in such an upset state once more.

“I wish it had been you.”

Stan thought he misheard. He looked up, but the boy in front of him still avoided eye contact. “It w-wasn’t a fun experience. I w-was so lonely, I f-found the first guy who was even remotely interested. When he w-was done, he just cleaned up and l-l-left.” He lifted his head, and whimpered as his voice finally broke, “I w-w-wish I could’ve been with someone I l-love. I w-wish it was you.”

Cautiously, Stan took Bill’s hand in his. The sobbing boy reciprocated the touch, clenching his fingers tightly in Stan’s firm grasp.

“I’m sorry, Bill. For what I said tonight, for avoiding you, and for not seeing how much pain you’ve been living with.” He felt the other’s pulse calming in the comforting connection, almost becoming one with his own.

“Stan,” Bill whispered, “d-does it ever g-get easier?” Stan, never releasing his grip, pulled them together, holding his best friend impossibly close. “Yeah, babe,” he cooed breathlessly into Bill’s neck. “It will.”

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elliedoes · 6 years

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Vulnerable

Sam x Reader

You show Sam how you made it through college.

Warnings: NSFW. Smut, PWP, lap dance, public sex, unprotected sex.

Note: This is for @because-imma-lady-assface‘s What’s Your Fantasy Challenge.

My setting was Club/Bar.

I am not a stripper and I’ve never been to a nightclub, so I’m taking creative liberties with this. And I have realized that I suck a writing sex, but whatever, here you go!

Inspired by the song Vulnerable (Dave Luxe Remix) by Tinashe. (This is a link for an infinite loop, but I highly advise you to listen at least once before, during, or after your reading.)

Masterlist

“Sammy,” Dean shouted as he slammed into his brother’s side and pulled him close with an arm around his shoulders. “I need you to meet someone.”

The deep thrum of the club’s music reverberated to his bones, drowning out most of what Dean said, but Sam was able catch the general idea. He untangled himself from his brother’s hold and shook his head. “We’re here for a case, Dean,” he hollered back and swept over the sweaty, undulating crowd. “Vampires, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean rolled his eyes and waved dismissively. “This is Y/N.” He pulled you from the conversation you were having with your friend and presented you with a flourish of his hand. “Y/N, this is my brother, Sam.”

You smiled awkwardly and wobbled on your heels, “Hi.”

Sam returned it with one of his own, dimpled and shy, and quickly looked you over. The black strapless dress your friend insisted upon clung to your curves and sent a tinge of pink to Sam’s face. “Uh hi.”

“Y/N, is in law school at Harvard,” Dean boasted and slung a heavy arm around you then, apparently forgetting about personal space for the evening. “She’s a Pisces, likes sushi and yoga, and…”

“Dean,” you warned.

“Was a stripper,” he leaned into fake-whisper to his brother accompanied by wiggling eyebrows.

Sam’s eyes grew wide but he soon gave you an apologetic grimace. “You can hit him if you want.” And you did. You shoved Dean away and punched him as hard as you could on his bicep. “Feel better?”

“Loads,” you beamed as Dean grumpily rubbed at his arm.

“Well, I can see you two are hitting off. Have fun,” he chirped with a clap of his hands and slid away to make nice with your friend.

“So, what was that about vampires,” you asked once the two of you retreated to a semi-secluded booth away from the blaring speakers.

“We’re writing a book,” Sam lied, the flush you caused earlier deepened as he spoke. “We figured the best place for vampires was to stalk their prey at nightclubs.”

You blinked and nodded slowly, “I guess so, but people usually travel in packs to clubs. Don’t you think they’d notice if one of their friends went missing? Who’s just gonna wander off like that?”

“You’re sitting next to a stranger away from your friends, aren’t you,” Sam countered. A playful grinned tugged at the corner of his lips as you dropped your jaw and pointed to him, trying to come up with an argument. “Lucky for you, though, I’m not a vampire.”

“Yeah,” you smiled, “lucky for me.” The two of you ducked your heads and laughed. From there you fell into an easy conversation varying from law school to Tennyson and thoughts on the Solo movie, only breaking to use the bathroom or order more drinks.

“Ever thought about going back to school,” you asked, the tip of your finger absently traced the rim of your glass. At some point, the two of you had drifted closer, Sam’s arm had slung over the back of where you sat and your side pressed against his.

He lifted a shoulder in a shrug, “Maybe one day. Right now, I’m okay with my job.”

“Writing about vampires,” you teased and bit at your bottom lip when he dipped his head to quietly chuckle.

“Yeah, writing about vampires,” he nodded and shamelessly eyed your curvaceous figure once more. “So, stripper?”

You groaned and dropped your head to the table. More laughter bubbled from him, but he rested a large hand between your shoulders to comfort your embarrassment. When you sat up, it traveled up to rest on the back of your neck, your eyes fluttering closed for a moment as his thumb ran along your hairline. “Scholarships paid for books and tuition, I was left to cover the rest.”

“Did you enjoy it?” His voice was thick with amusement and when you turned to look at him, his eyes glazed over slightly and dropped to the low cut of your dress.

“I was lucky to be in a more high class joint than The Player’s Club,” you quipped with a wink. “The pay was good, but I still had to deal with some skeeves.”

Sam nodded and his tongue darted out to wet his lips. “I’ve only been to a strip club once,” he admitted, his eyes finally lifted to meet yours. “I tried to talk the girl into going back to nursing school.”

“Did it work?”

“Don’t think so,” he shook his head. “Didn’t get to enjoy the lap dance, either.”

You clicked your tongue and pouted, “That’s not good.” Sam mirrored your frown and you reached up to run your hand along the sharp lines of his cheek. “Well,” you purred and leaned in to bump your nose with his, “I could show you what it’s like.”

He froze at your touch to consider your offer. “If you want,” he tried, and failed, to answer nonchalantly.

You waited until the next song queued up and pushed the table away to make enough room to stand in front of him. The slow, melodic treble washed over you and your hips slowly swayed side to side in front of him. When the bass hit, your body rolled in sync, a slow, sensual wave of curves.

He reached out to rest a hand on your hip and you took his silent cue to climb into his lap and straddle his waist. A pause in the bass had the lyrics instructing Sam to not look away as you laid your hands his chest and slowly ran them over the dark dress shirt to thread into his hair. The beat dropped again and you rolled your hips to grind down into his unmistakable arousal.

His second hand joined its brother, long fingers splayed out on your sides as your body rocked against him in a hypnotizing ripple of curves and sin; each roll of your hips had him clenching his jaw and hissing through his teeth. His eyes threatened to close, but you tugged on his hair, “Nuh uh, Sam, watch.” He nodded weakly and held onto you, thrumming with need.

“You know,” you leaned forward to whisper hot against his ear, “there’s something I never got to do as a stripper.” His crushing grip on you encouraged you to continue, but you didn’t bother to waste your breath on words. Your hand snaked between you to work free the buckle of his belt and the fastenings of his jeans. He lifted his hips and pushed down his jeans while you pulled aside your sodden panties.

“Fuck, you’re huge,” you moaned and lifted yourself to line up with his tip.

“Is that okay,” Sam frowned. You nodded eagerly and sank down on the first couple of inches, the both of you groaning in unison. “Take it easy, don’t want to hurt you.” He held you steady to slowly drop to his hilt and your head fell to his shoulder as every throbbing, veiny inch filled you up enough to where you thought you would explode.

“You’re gonna split me in two,” you laughed and looked down to smile at him. He returned it briefly only to capture your lips for the first time that night. Despite his coyish nature, Sam’s kisses were desperate and relentless, his tongue wrestled yours into submission and ended with demanding teeth worrying your lip.

His hips thrusted into you, urging you to move, and you did once you found the strength to. The song was coming to an end, but you rose and fell in time with the beat. You ground down when your hips met with his, your clit catching the course hair beneath you to send a surge of pleasure through you.

When you set your pace, his mouth sought yours once more and his hands roamed your body. Greedy palms and devilish fingers slid up and down your back, around to your stomach and to the chest he had been eyeing all evening. Large, warm palms squeezed your breasts tight before teasing thumbs brushed over the harden buds beneath the fabric.

It was your turn to hiss and you squeezed your eyes closed, but a firm hand swatted at your ass, and a lustful growl told you to, “Look at me.” Your eyes snapped opened and fell to lustful hazel. “You feel so good,” he groaned and began to met your hips with his own.

“That’s my line,” you replied breathlessly and wrapped your arms around his neck. You initiated the next kiss, all tongue and needy bites as Sam snapped up into you while his hands pulled you down as if he was trying to push deeper inside of you.

“Gonna,” he vaguely warned. You nodded and slipped a hand between you once more to get yourself there as well. His forehead pressed against yours as he continued to slam into you, his gruff moans mixed with your needy whimpers between quick, sloppy kisses.

“Sam,” you whined. The white hot release burst through you, your body curling into him and your insides convulsed around him. He grunted as you squeezed him, unable to hold himself back any longer, and with one last deep thrust, he spilled into you.

Breathless and shimmering with sweat, you pulled back to smirk down at him playfully, “Worth it?”

“Definitely,” he grinned and pulled you down for another simmering kiss.

“Well,” Dean crooned, sliding into the booth with the both of you, your friend in tow, “looks like you two worked up an appetite, how about some dinner?” Your eyes grew wide and Sam’s cheeks flushed but you both shoved Dean, and his obnoxious laughter, away.

#What's Your Fantasy Challenge #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester smut #vulnerable

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balarouge · 4 years

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Meltin’ with Sir Elton John: 50 years of music for a yellow brick farewell in Edmonton | Edmonton Journal

If Saturday night’s all right for fighting, surely there was some room Friday for an almost three-hour embrace from Sir Elton John?

The first of his two Edmonton Farewell Yellow Brick Road shows was a sequined spectacle of rock and roll history/fantasy, from the opening number Bennie and the Jets on, dazzling and sometimes melancholy, but above all gracious and inspiring, especially when the ever-seated John dipped into the highly personal, whether it was through anecdotes of life-saving sobriety or — the night’s musical highlight — he and his eternal songwriter Bernie Taupin’s Someone Saved My Life Tonight.

Elton John and his beard of sparkles. Larry Wong / Postmedia

Dressed in a twinkly glitter tuxedo that drew tiny fireflies on his neck through the night, the hits came quick, the band following the bumping and slightly raunchy All the Girls Love Alice with I Guess That’s Why The Call It the Blues.

On the giant, hyper-high-definition movie screen behind the show, you could see every one of John’s keys reflected in his amazing sparkle shades as he smiled, “We’re excited to be here; we’re ready to play, and we hope you like what you see and hear.”

And how. Noting, “It could have been the Chipmunks, I couldn’t have cared less,” he enthusiastically thanked Aretha Franklin for covering Border so early in he and Taupin’s career, injecting them with confidence. The video above showed young people with their heroes projected onto them, finishing with a family photo of John and his grandmother.

Next, guitarist and band leader Davey Johnstone pulled out the double-neck for the sinaglong Tiny Dancer, which demonstrated how effectively John has threaded into subsequent pop culture. That singalong moment in Almost Famous, 29 years after Tiny Dancer was released, still gives us the cue to belt it out in any public situation as soon as those first eight piano notes hit our ears. The accompanying video of hard times in L.A., complete with the Circus Liquor clown, was breathtaking. As was the production all night, really — from the sculpted frame of John’s accomplishments around the movie screen to the singer’s occasionally coasting-around on his Million Dollar Yamaha grand. He relied on the crowd for Dancer’s high-note chorus, which was just fine by the 17,000 or so, just on the edge of a sold out show.

More superb video behind Philadelphia Freedom, a freestyle dance-off fusing disco, hip-hop and an absolute rainbow of body movement genius dancers. Down on the stage in the real world, not one, not two, but three percussionists included the completely wild Ray Cooper going mad on the congas, Nigel Olsson grinning and singing along whenever the camera was pointed his way, and John Mahon helping hold it all together. Man, what a tight band, extra impressive in their frequent subtlety with just a tambourine slap here, a finger through the bar chimes there.

After the whirlwind, John described his writing process with Taupin where he’ll be handed a song on paper, and, “a little movie will start to appear in my mind,” which he then sets to music. They’ve been at for over 50 years, he noted.

Bennie there, done that. Larry Wong / Postmedia

Cooper and John were extra kinetic for the multi-part Indian Sunset, leading us into the obligatory concert space video, as recently seen for Judas Priest’s killer Take These Chains, speaking of fabulous queer icons with interstellar legacies. This trip to the cosmos was brought to us by Rocket Man, of course (one fan even in a spacesuit, stage right), with John bobbing his head throughout. This was followed by the upbeat Take Me to the Pilot, circling down into Sorry Seem to Be the Hardest Word.

What’s happening?!? Fish Griwkowsky / Postmedia

A Rick and Morty weird-level animation played behind the preposterously good Someone Saved My Life Tonight, Captain Fantastic wandering through an acid-scape of Hieronymus Bosch monsters, which led to another highlight, Levon. This one turned into a full-on jam highlighting each of the players in turn, Johnstone flirting with Day Tripper, John licking his lips like Rudy Giuliani — though without the brain-addled vampire vibe. This got the often-seated crowd up and dancing, and John walked around and flexed, looking extremely happy at the love.

Marilyn Monroe had Candle in the Wind sent her way, a layer of 1974 nostalgia upon an even older layer of Hollywood call-back, the footage of her posing and sometimes crying under layers of makeup and champagne extremely complicated to watch.

Then, a booming special-effects and smoke-machine thunderstorm brought in Funeral for a Friend/Love Lies Bleeding, John changed into a silky, Asian flower print suit and amazing pink glasses.

Things got heated at Elton John Friday night. Fish Griwkowsky / Postmedia

Burn Down the Mission saw John’s piano lit on fire with more on-screen special effects, and after a war-and-surfers montage during Daniel, John got extra personal. “In 1991 I had an epiphany — I hated the way I lived my life. I reached for help and I got sober and I got clean.”

Having saved himself, he was in a better position to help others, including with the Elton John AIDS Foundation. “In 1992 it was a death sentence,” noting now, thanks to medical science, no one need die of HIV-related illness, and that it’s time we “stop the stupidity, stigma and hatred. It’s 2019, for Chissakes, wake up!” He also noted he doesn’t care who you vote for, he’s just here to entertain — though couldn’t resist, “I’m an optimist. In a few years we’ll get rid of the people that we need to get rid of.”

This fired John up for Believe, and a pleasant, sweaty Tom Selleck cabana vibe followed for Sad Songs (Say So Much).

Then John began to slowly say goodbye with style and grace: “This is the 50th year that I’ve been touring. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you. I will miss you guys.

But, “I have a family now and they need me and I need them. I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me led into a raucous The Bitch Is Back, then I’m Still Standing, looking back at his impact on popular culture, including moments of South Park, The Simpsons, The Lion King and a moment squeezed in between but not actually showing the now Disney-owned The Muppets.

Speaking of which, Crocodile Rock was dedicated to his fans, and thus we did all the laa la-la-la-la-la singing of the chorus so John didn’t have to burst anything.

The mighty Sir Elton. Larry Wong / Postmedia

A confetti explosive Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting ended after two and half hours of continuous music, and for the encore — John now in a green and pink smoking jacket with the most regular of tinted shades — Your Song summoned Ewan Macgregor belting it out to Nicole Kidman in Moulin Rouge.

Finally, Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, the video showing off the singer’s former keyboard gymnastics, legs up in the air, meanwhile in Edmonton the piano taking one last roll across the stage (until Saturday night and all that fighting, of course).

Then, amazingly, 72-year-old John dropped his jacket to reveal a tracksuit, climbed onto a Gremlins-style assist-lift elevator and, waving goodbye as he rose up the ramp, disappeared into the wall for good. Timed perfectly, he was up on the screen, walking down the Yellow Brick Road one last time, which melted into a golden sunset.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how to make an exit.

Well done, Sir … with love.

All the Girls Love Alice

I Guess That’s Why They Call It the Blues

Rocket Man (I Think It’s Going to Be a Long, Long Time)

Take Me to the Pilot

Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word

Someone Saved My Life Tonight

Funeral for a Friend/Love Lies Bleeding

Sad Songs (Say So Much)

Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me

The Bitch Is Back

Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting

This content was originally published here.

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tokupedia · 7 years

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Kamen Rider 45th Anniversary File: Gaim

*ominous chimes sound followed by the sound of marching drums* ♫ Got it, Move~ Wooow~ ♬

2013

After a long hiatus with clipshow series to tide fans over, Tsuburaya finally creates a brand new Ultraman Series and Ultraman to celebrate the company’s 50th anniversary: Ultraman Ginga

Neo Ultra Q bring the original Ultra Q concept into the modern day as its “second season” and airs on satellite TV.

Kyoryu plus Humans! After almost a decade, the fandom’s favorite motif of Dino Sentai returns! HEAR OUR ROAR! The invincible superstars of the 37th Sentai, Zyuden Sentai Kyoryuger debut! Perfect-de gozaru!

DokiDoki! PreCure runs alongside the Strongest Braves and Armored Riders as the Pretty Cure series of that year.

Garo: Yami o Terasu Mono debuts on TV and stars a new Makai Knight: Ryuga Dougai.

Kouga returns for one last outing as the original Garo in Garo: Soukoku no Maryu. This film takes a more dark fantasy approach akin to 1980s Jim Henson as it is less about the scares and boobs and more of a gothic Wizard of Oz/Alice in Wonderland tale that the whole family can enjoy with only a little blood here and there.

Gatchaman becomes a live action movie....with disappointing changes made to the source material that upset the fans, resulting in a box office flop as it made it to #6 on the charts for only its first week and then fell hard straight to the bottom in the following weeks. Fans consider it one of the top 10 worst live action adaptations of an anime.

Another dud was the film re-imagining of the 1960s hero Tiger Mask starring Eiji Wentz.

On the more raunchy side of things, Hentai Kamen debuts on the silver screen.

Koichi Sakamoto does two solo film projects: Travelers, a sci-fi action flick starring Nao Nagasawa and Ayumi Kinoshita and 009-1, a movie that commemorated the 75th anniversary of the birth of Shotaro Ishinomori (And haunts my nightmares!)

Nuligumar Z, something that slipped past even my radar. It is a film about a Magical Girl henshin superheroine who fights zombies!

When it came time to plan the next season, Producer Naomi Takebe had an interest in breaking away from the formula a bit as the Kamen Rider series had fallen into certain patterns such as only 2 or 3 heroes each season. The first idea that came about in the Toei studio was that there would be more Riders, akin to Ryuki. The next idea was that each would have a motif unique to each of them, at first the team passed around the idea of birds and insects but Bandai suggested something completely unorthodox: Fruit.

Naomi loved this idea as it was something that was never done before and would give a unique look to each Rider to match their personality. The Toei staff test marketed kids to find out what kinds of fruit they liked, with the most popular being oranges. So they decided to make an orange fruit samurai as the main lead!

In terms of music, Avex got a band outside their record label, reggae group Shonan no Kaze, to perform some of the songs of the show and movies with the actors who play the main heroes doing their own themes. Ei Ei OH!

As for the trinkets, the staff wanted it to be like OOO where the device was easy to swap out. (And because OOO was the highest selling Kamen Rider toys on record to date and they kept trying to get those numbers again despite OOO being a lightning in a bottle happenstance.).

Naomi had one idea about “unlocking potential” and after some brainstorming, the staff came up with the idea of using padlocks as a gimmick and enhance it with the fruit motif. But the staff decided it needed a bit more pizazz so they chose to set the show it in a “Sengoku-like setting”, thus the concept of armors came about. To add more flavor, no pun intended, they chose not just armors from ancient Japan, but ancient China, European Knights, Norse Vikings, ancient Arabian archers and a Roman gladiator!

To add to the sheer bizarreness of this mixture they added a guy famously known for a show about killing young girls in a dark deconstruction of the magical girl genre as its head writer:

Gen Urobuchi, dubbed by fans of his work as “Gen the Butcher” or “The Urobutcher.” A self proclaimed nihilist in terms of his dark style of writing, Gen’s involvement caused quite a stir in the fandom and excitement built up. This happened because the voice of Kivat the 3rd from Kiva, Tomokazu Sugita, worked with him previously and introduced him to Naomi Takebe.

Despite seeming out of place for this type of thing, Gen was a huge fan of Kamen Rider, having read Ishinomori’s Black manga when he was a teen and favorites like Ryuki (which may or may not have inspired Puella Magi Madoka Magica) as well as universal fan faves like the Kamen Rider Black TV Show.

Gen also saw this as a challenge, as he had been in a rut doing nothing but anime for a while and needed a change of pace. He was instructed to make the series like “Early Showa Era” Kamen Rider, which only made fans want to see it more.

Then we saw the costumes.....and the fandom had a schism form as some thought Kamen Rider was “ruined 4everz”.

But Gaim is now one of the more highly praised Kamen Rider shows of recent memory. Many enjoying it for going into darker territory at times, having characters you root for, a few deaths and a genuine sense of danger if the heroes fail in the later parts of the season. Also, a plot that neatly threads together (more or less).

Granted, it also had a few hiccups, like the summer 2014 film that was more or less a forced tie-in to the 2014 FIFA World Cup, Kamen Rider Taisen’s plot and the awesome but forced and disrupting-a-story-arc Kikaider crossover episode to plug the movie Kikiader Reboot.

The praise was so high for the show that internet geek fan website Den of Geek proclaimed it as the best tokusatsu show in years. (I’d like to think Garo deserves that title at least once in a while and every toku franchise has its day when it hits it outta the park, but I’m just a Fox with opinion) I’d say go into Gaim with expectations leveled, as you are automatically setting yourself up for possible disappointment if overhype clouds your judgement.

If you think it is as great as everybody says, great! If you don’t like it, there are (currently as of this post) 27 other shows of varying styles and tone you can try out or other franchises of the toku genre that may be your cup of tea.

But enough yammering...It’s Lord Kouta’s stage now! ORAAAAA!

(Mr. Kazuraba circa 2013)

Real Name: Kouta Kazuraba

“Pluck the fruit of Heaven. That the world may be dyed in your image. Is that the glory you seek? Is that burden one you can bear? Know this. The lives of men are not ours to control, not even our own. We cannot defy the inexorable current of fate that carries us. But what if fate itself were to call you... To change the world? To turn the course of the future? You cannot defy your fate. But the fate of the world is in your hands!”

In a bustling planned community called Zawame City, the Yggdrasil Corporation provides everyday needs, from healthcare to housing to schools. Zawame used to be a small town, but Yggdrasil moved in and made it a pet project. With a large corporation running everything, people in Zawame feel it is like a “castle town” of the Sengoku Era of old.

And in this town, they call home, everyone hails to a Beat Rider song. Beat Riders are special dance groups that lift the spirits of the citizens. Beat Riders also engage in competitions for turf with other Beat Riders dance groups in Pokemon-like battles using Lock Seeds to summon monsters from another dimension called Inves. One former dancer is Kouta Kazuraba, who has given up his life as a member of Team Gaim and fun to basically adult. (I know that feeling all too well). This has caused a rift between his friends such as Mai as he no longer has time for them and after spending time with Team Gaim’s leader Yuya, goes back to his adult life.

Yuya later talks to a Lock Dealer named Sid, who offers him something to turn Team Gaim’s luck around after their loss to Team Baron...

Kouta later gets a text from Yuya, telling him he found “something good” with an image of a strange device sent as an attachment. Mai and Kouta then encounter a dimensional tear and go inside it, After Kouta picks some strange fruit from the dimension, a larger Inves appears and attacks Mai. They find the device lying on the ground and no sign of Yuya anywhere. Kouta puts on the device, as it looks like a belt buckle and it causes the fruit he was carrying to transform into Lock Seeds. The Inves finds them and chases them again back into their world, and after distracting it, Kouta uses the belt and a Lock seed to become what would later be dubbed an “Armored Rider”.

During his battle with the Inves, a mysterious blonde woman appears to warn Kouta that what he chooses next will determine the course of his fate. If he continues to continue, he will be forced to fight until the very end. Kouta kills the Inves and then goes down a winding path of mysteries, alliances, betrayals and revelations of the dark truth of both Yggdrasil Corp. and the Inves.

Looking back on it, that was when the gears were just starting to turn. But, we didn't realize anything at all. We didn't know that our fates were already written in stone. We just wanted the power to reach our dreams. We thought that helped shape us. That's what we all believed. In the endless war that was yet to come. We would discover that for ourselves.

-Kouta Kazuraba

During one adventure, he met his predecessor Kamen Rider Wizard, who bestowed the title of Kamen Rider to him and the two fought an evil sorcerer alongside the other Heisei Riders.

Gear:

Sengoku Driver

Lockseeds

Lockseed Holder

http://kamenrider.wikia.com/wiki/Lock_Vehicles

http://kamenrider.wikia.com/wiki/Armor_Parts

http://kamenrider.wikia.com/wiki/Musou_Saber_Holster

http://kamenrider.wikia.com/wiki/Musou_Saber

http://kamenrider.wikia.com/wiki/Daidaimaru

http://kamenrider.wikia.com/wiki/Ichigo_Kunai

http://kamenrider.wikia.com/wiki/Pine_Iron

http://kamenrider.wikia.com/wiki/Suika_Sojinto

http://kamenrider.wikia.com/wiki/Sonic_Arrow

http://kamenrider.wikia.com/wiki/Genesis_Driver#Genesis_Core_Unit

http://kamenrider.wikia.com/wiki/DJ_Gun

http://kamenrider.wikia.com/wiki/Senyo_Joint

Powers:

Enhanced Strength from the various armors, skilled weapons user with various weapons at Gaim’s disposal which is further enhanced by his final form.

The Jimber Forms give Kouta a specific enhancement: Super Hearing in Jimber Peach, Super Speed in Jimber Cherry and Enhanced Power in Jimber Lemon. Kachidoki Arms generates fire from the war flags that Gaim carries and has an AWESOME Gun that turns into a Zanbatō!

When the “Madoka moment” happens in the show, Gaim basically becomes a demi-god. He has florakinesis, teleportation, spirit mediumship, telepathy, attack nullification, exorcism, healing powers, dream walking, reality warping, time travel (by way of the golden fruit), portal creation, resurrection ability and a healing factor. Kouta also possessed the power to terraform an environment as large as an entire planet.

Even if his Lockseeds are damaged, Kouta can regenerate them to working condition as long as he is alive and bears the power of the fruit.

Kiwami Arms can summon multiple Arms weapons which Kouta can manipulate via telekinesis to attack his opponents (as seen in the game All Kamen Rider: Rider Revolution).

Weaknesses:

Before the “Madoka moment”, all one needed to do to defeat Gaim was destroy his driver as he was an ordinary human or swipe away all his Lockseeds. He also was susceptible to mind control and “Dark Henshin-ed” once in to a black version of Gaim.

As a demi-god, it is shown that while Kouta is a formidable opponent, certain beings can drain his power away rendering him human again and thus able to be killed (Ex. Megahex). If the “back-up” of his genetic data inside the Kiwami Lockseed is destroyed, then Kouta would be dead and gone forever as he would have no means of reviving.

He also can be overpowered by stronger beings, though ones of such god-like cosmic threat level are few in the Kamen Rider universe.

Given his near God-tier status now though, it is a difficult task to even make a dent in him for the average Rider.

Enemies:

Inves

http://kamenrider.wikia.com/wiki/Inves

http://kamenrider.wikia.com/wiki/Advanced_Inves

Inves are beings from another dimension who at first are like Pokemon to the people of Earth, a fun harmless pet they could summon to fight battles in called the Inves Games from Lockseeds. However, it becomes apparent after the first episode that they are far from innocent, as they are wild beasts who feed on the fruit of the Helheim Forest/Lockseeds to grow even stronger and evolve into larger monsters and attack people. However, despite seeming to be mindless, there is a dark secret as to what exactly they are.

http://kamenrider.wikia.com/wiki/Category:Over_Lord_Inves

Some of the Inves posses sapient-level intelligence and these are classified a the OverLord Inves. They command the feral and savage members of their race.

Yggdrasil Corp.

(Riff: Yggdrasil, a subsidiary of EvilCorp Conglomerates United and Amalgamated Cheese.)

http://kamenrider.wikia.com/wiki/Yggdrasill_Corporation

Yggdrasil is a major multinational corporation run by the Kureshima family. They set up their new HQ in Zawame seemingly out of interest in a city development project, but have a more serious ulterior motive in stopping a mass outbreak of the Inves that they believe will wipe out humanity.

Despite this seemingly noble goal of saving humanity, Yggdrasil’s means of doing so are morally questionable at best and outright horrifying at worst.

Word eventually gets leaked that they were going to let 6 billion humans die as they could only save 1 billion in the event of mass outbreak if the Helheim Forest spread. They are then labeled as terrorists by the UN and after a domino effect, including a siege of the Zawame Branch by the Inves, the company went into bankruptcy.

However, its former CEO does try to repent for his company’s sins by helping rebuild Zawame and protecting it in Kouta’s absence.

(Though the Melon Lord wasn’t a bad guy to begin with, just a bit arrogant and misguided in believing there was no other way to save humanity and things went out of his control as the series progressed. Kouta eventually got through to him and the two became friends.)

That’s all for now, I leave you to bask in the metal mustachioed glory that is Kachidoki Arms!

#RiseUpYourFlag!

#kamen rider #45th anniversary #kamen rider gaim #fruit #samurai #2013 #tokusatsu #kachidoki arms #fruit basket #dai dai dai shougun #soiya #this is our stage now #dancing #dj gun #sengoku driver #lockseed #gen urobuchi

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argotmagazine-blog · 6 years

Text

Benevolent Sexism & Chivalry: Tales From A Modern Medieval Warrior Woman

This week of March 12th, Argot is publishing a piece every day inspired by women, womanhood or personal experience of femininity.

International Women's Day was last week, but women and femininity don't disappear.

I’m a nerdy freshman at Case Western Reserve University, hoping to major in Science Fiction and Some Type of Science (I hadn’t picked one yet) when I’m walking back from class. I see a group of guys wearing tin cans on their heads and swatches of carpet on their shoulders hitting each other with sticks. They look slightly ridiculous, but it's weird, so I stop to watch.

A woman in a blue cotton version of an Italian Renaissance dress approaches me. “What do you think of our fighters?” she asks.

I don't want to be rude, so I take another look at the group, trying to find something to compliment. I notice a pair near the back. Their armor is metal and looks right. They are moving more frenetically than the others, and the sounds their sticks make are louder – painful cracks. “Those two look good,” I say, pointing.

She nods knowingly. “Of course – that's Duke Laurelen and Sir Theoderic.”

I am unimpressed with made-up names and titles. “Why do they get to call themselves that? Can anyone just decide they are a duke?”

She looks stunned. “Absolutely not – they have to earn it.”

As soon as she says “earn it,” I see the struggling men in a more noble light. They aren’t just playing pretend – there are real stakes, real consequences to winning. Like earning a belt in Karate but this fighting was not something they would do in strip malls. This was fantasy. “Can girls play?” I ask.

“This is the only full-contact sport where women and men compete equally!” she says, gushing. “Women can become knights or even win the crown of the kingdom! There are no gender or weight classes. Everyone is equal.”

This, more than anything I had ever heard about chivalry or courtly romance, sounds like a dream made real. Yet five years later, after the fifth man says, “I can’t help you get started because you’re a woman and your body is just completely different,” I end up in a basement with a woman who has been fighting for years. She helps me make a belt to hold a leg harness out of scrap leather.

“Of course, you have bigger hips and breasts," she says. "I know nothing about arming your body. I use men’s patterns.”

We see the irony but don’t blame the men. We’ve been raised to see the men’s point of view more readily than ours.

Years later, more comfortable, I ask one of the trainers why he never trained me or helped me get armor together. He answered, “Girls rarely stick with it. You want to give your time to someone who will stay.”

***

It's winter in Euclid, Ohio. My brother-in-law, John, and I are pulling armor out of the trunk of my car and putting the painfully cold pieces on in the parking lot next to the Shore Civic center, I’ve become quite the proselytizer. A week after dragging my brother-in-law to meetings, he has received a second-hand full suit of armor. He fights for a year or two. I don’t even notice the difference in our struggles until now.

I roll my leg harness over so it fits against me properly and kneel down – one knee loose inside its harness, the other bent up in front of me as I fasten the buckles holding the harness on. There are three – one at the bottom, one behind the knee, and one halfway up the thigh. My thigh buckles have always been very loose. I should tighten them but I'm afraid of cutting into my big thighs.

I’m sitting right in the doorway and a woman in gym clothes tries to open the door, bumping into me. “Sorry,” I say, “We didn’t want to lug this stuff up the stairs.”

She nervous-laughs and sidesteps our gear to go down the stairs to the lower level of the parking lot. There’s an aerobics class that meets at the center the same night we do. She’s probably in it.

I finish fastening my leg harness and pick up the gambeson, the padded coat I wear to protect me from the armor. I made it myself, inexpertly. It smells of old sweat, motor oil, dust and duct tape. I grimace and slide my arms in. It ties in front – there used to be two ties, but one broke soon after I made the gambeson. I fasten the neck with duct tape. The weight of the arm harness pulls the neck off my shoulder on the right. Just one of many things that should be fixed, but I never get around to it.

I pick up the cuirass, its plates of mild, fluted steel modeled after a piece in the Cleveland Museum of Art armor court. It also weighs thirty pounds. The front and back are attached with two shoulder straps. I flip it like a sandwich board over my head. I could literally hurt myself putting this thing on. The weight settles comfortably over my gambeson.

“Wow it feels good to wear armor,” I say.

“Oh yeah,” John says. “There’s something about just putting on my helmet that makes me feel invulnerable – like I could be shot by a gun and not get hurt.”

I don’t feel like that. I feel… completed. In my armor I’m not an awkward collection of ugly parts, unable to fit in anywhere. I am an armored combatant. Instantly recognizable as having a place and function in the Society for Creative Anachronism.

I sling my helmet bag on my shoulder and stick my sword through the handles on my shield so I can carry them together. “I’m dressed enough for now,” I tell John. “See you upstairs.”

The SCA meets on the second floor of the civic center. My thighs burn with the effort of climbing the stairs, but the armor is easier to carry distributed on my body.

At the top of the stairs my friend Steve is suiting up. He’s adjusting his gorget around his neck.

“All right!” I set my bag down next to his. “I was hoping for an easy kill tonight!”

He blinks in mock surprise. “You fight?”

Steve is my smack-talk tutor. “So I got your Christmas present. I hope you don’t mind it’s late.” I pause to make sure he’s paying attention. “I got you an ass-whoopin’.”

He laughs. “Great! I can’t wait to see how you wrap it!”

My gorget – my neck protector – won’t snap. While I’m fumbling with it, a brown and yellow gambeson appears behind Steve. It’s Lothar. I jump up. Our breastplates clunk together as we hug.

“Hey little sis,” he says. “We’re going to work on something with you today.”

He turns and says hello to Steve, and I try to work in my ass-whuppin’ line again. Lothar is squired to the knight I am man-at-arms to, so I call him Big Brother and he calls me Little Sister.

Lothar lends me his sword. It’s a shaved-down rattan staff, already showing wear, with a soft leather pistol trigger inside the basket hilt. He wants me to see if I like the feel. His sword is lighter than mine, and a good seven inches longer. I like it immediately.

I’ll never use one like it. The guys on the Armor Archive online say pistol-triggers are an ahistorical abomination and I’ve decided I’m in the authenticity camp.

The sword I made for myself is too heavy and I know it. It has a cross-hilt intended for a bastard sword but I wanted a cross-hilt to be more authentic. It is fat because I grew up poor and I hate the idea of buying a second stick of rattan if not shaving this one down will make it last longer.

I face an athletic man in his twenties. My sword moves sluggishly as he dances in light plastic armor. A seasoned Duke, one of the most respected fighters, watches on the sideline, a hand to his chin. “Hold!” he shouts. We stop and step apart.

He turns his back to me and addresses the young man. “You’re using all arm. You have to swing from the hip. Here, let me show you.”

I don’t mind being ignored. I’m used to learning second-hand.

***

I finally make it into my first tournament, and there is a huge crowd. The ladies from the dancing guild, the scribes, and the people I help in the kitchen are there. I’m shocked and worried at the turnout.

“Why are you all here?” I ask.

A cook, her head wrapped in a veil, says it like it’s obvious.“To see you kick ass!”

A skinny young man dressed as a samurai tells me, “When I become an authorized fighter, I want to fight you. Women are faster than men and I plan to be fast.”

I want the ground to swallow me. I am not Eowyn. I am not Wonder Woman. Twenty smiling faces lay the burden of representation on my steel-weighted shoulders. I stumble into losing two fights and being eliminated from the double-elimination tournament.

***

It’s August, in rural Pennsylvania. I’ve traveled to a huge two-week camp-out “war.” I’ve gotten up every morning at the crack of dawn, put on my armor, and hung anxiously around the fighting field, waiting for someone to train me.

In the evening, I join the fighters from the barony wherever I find them in their household camps. Steve and his knight, Alaric, are talking about training together tomorrow. Another opportunity so easily dispensed to others. Is it the thousandth? I can’t stand watching it slide by. Hot and helpless, I resolve to speak. “Do you mind…” I stammer. “I mean, if it’s not too much trouble, could I maybe join you?”

“Lyonnete!” Sir Alaric slaps his thigh. “You should feel obligated to join us!”

Something swells and relaxes in me. I can go if it’s an obligation.

Later on the field, fighting pick-ups against strangers, I face a man a head taller than me. No matter how many times I hit him, he grunts that the blows are too light to accept. We circle. I deflect. He strikes me. I am dead again.

“No offense,” the man says. “But you are incapable of hitting me hard enough. There’s no point in our fighting.”

I swallow my tears, thank him for his time, and wait for another opponent.

Incapable and worthless and alone, I walk back to my tent, curl up under my shield, and cry.

Around the campfire that night, all the men boast of dukes slain and armies vanquished. I wonder why I can’t beat myself into competence.

***

In the SCA, it is on the honor of the person being struck to declare it is a good blow. A good blow is one that would cut through a light chain haulberk or open-face iron helmet, regardless of what real armor the fighter wears. These are the standards in the Xeroxed packet. Like all SCA fighters, I secretly feel that I take lighter blows than everyone around me. Unlike the men, I wonder if it’s because I’m female, because of unconscious or conscious bias.

I do a lot of upper-body strength training. It doesn’t help.

One day Steve lines up pop cans in his garage for me to hit with my sword. We find I flinch before impact. It hurts, my muscles constricting hard to pull back at the last second all the momentum of my hip-powered swing.

This is a horrible truth to learn about myself, that I’m letting them win, that I am afraid to hit. I cry.

I crush all the cans by the end of the day.

***

We’re doing a fighting demonstration for a group of girl scouts. It’s two of the best fighters in the barony and me. I think it’ll be okay because it’s just a demo, and guys take my blows more readily when there isn’t a tournament prize.

At the start of the demo, the four rows of little girls cheer ecstatically for Lady Lyonnete. I see visions of twenty new recruits, a new generation of lady fighters. I lose my first fight, but their cheers are just more passionate. “Go get him, Lyonnete!” I lose my second fight.

Their cheers get quieter, but some girls are still interested. They ask me questions, asking to hold my sword, asking how come I had to fight that big man on my knees. The knight I'm dueling and his squire are laughing, giving each other pointers. They are treating this just like a practice. I lose eight fights in a row. Each loss makes more girls turn away. There are no cheers anymore. I want to scream because the two men I’m fighting don’t see the girls grow from interested in our sport to depressed, seeing once again something they can never be good at.

***

I am an authorized combatant for ten years. I gain a metal buckler. A better leg harness. A red belt and spurs marking me as a squire. A smattering of tournament prizes: a candle holder, a gorget, nine raw emeralds set in a silver broach. New fighters start to approach me for guidance.

I learn what it feels like to impose my will on a man with strength and skill.

I learn what it feels like when another mans’ will refuses to let him accept my strength and skill.

I start playing football because of my experience as a fighter. It gives me confidence in my strength, in my body.

I learn what it is like not to carry the unspoken burden of representing your gender while competing at a sport. In the SCA, often I was one of two women in a tournament with fifty men. Sometimes the only one among a hundred. In the WFA, we are all women and therefore we are all just football players.

When I come back to the SCA list field, when I see a knight dismiss me as irrelevant, I feel that weight return. I see how our equal sport isn’t equal. It strives to be, but there are all these moments of silence, of friction, of extra steps to reassure the boys that they set the rules and the norms.

No one asks new male fighters if they are just there to look pretty in armor.

No one tells them they have to figure out armor all on their own because breasts are impossible to learn how to fit around.

No man worries about being excluded from friendship with the fighter wives on the sidelines, or that he won’t be welcome with the fighters when they have a “guys night.”

And when some hotshot who thinks his skin is tougher than a rhino’s hide refuses to acknowledge their blows, they will never wonder if it’s just because they are a man.

So I leave. But I leave a part of me behind. I leave behind a beautiful dream of egalitarian chivalry, of men and women being knightly to each other. Every woman who picks up a sword eats away at those barriers a little bit. And if we keep picking those swords up, keep taking the places left by our sisters who were worn down by fighting two battles in every fight, eventually, I believe we will win.

This is Marie Vibbert's first contribution to Argot. Besides selling twenty-odd short stories, a dozen poems and a few comics, Marie Vibbert has been a medieval (SCA) squire, ridden 17% of the roller coasters in the United States and has played O-line and D-line for the Cleveland Fusion women’s tackle football team.

Her work has been called “..the embodiment of what science fiction should be…” by The Oxford Culture Review.

#sexism #women #Marie Vibbert #misogyny #medieval

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junker-town · 7 years

Text

Letter to a younger me about catfish and hockey in Nashville

You don’t think your hometown can truly turn up about anything but you will be proven wrong.

You were wrong about a few things. First; You were born here in Nashville, and it’s never exactly felt warm to you, has it? It’s not a warm place, emotionally speaking. It’s fine if you like church, country music, or ham, and you only like one of those. You can take ham home; The rest, you can live without, and that’s your relationship with Nashville, a place you were born but never really from, exactly.

That part is still true. You’re not really for this place, and that’s fine for both of you. Nashville works really well at a low boil. That lukewarm feeling is sort of by design: It’s a hub for the health care industry and banking and a lot of other businesses that spend most of the day figuring out how to hedge bets against mortality. It is a city that makes most of its bank trying to be something like Las Vegas without the sin, and with a nice sideline on figuring out the optimal way to overcharge patients for IV bags. It’s a place that turned country music into an office job with regular hours. That’s about as Nashville as it gets, historically speaking.

For instance, I parked at the Frist Center for the Arts — paid for by a lot of that drudgery turned into profit— and then walked down Demonbreun Street to Bridgestone Arena to listen to Faith Hill sing the national anthem at an event. That all makes sense. You wouldn’t be surprised by that, or that eventually someone would figure out a way to take all those lovely brick buildings downtown and gentrify them into something profitable and shiny.

This is not a typo: A hockey game will be the biggest thing in town, and Nashville will show the hell out for it like nothing you’ve ever seen there.

You’ll be wrong and surprised about why. You’ll be surprised to hear that the anthem was happening for an NHL game, and that Nashville would mark out for it like it was an SEC tailgate. This is not a typo: A hockey game will be the biggest thing in town, and Nashville will show the hell out for it like nothing you’ve ever seen there.

Oh, by the way, Nashville has a hockey team. Should have led with that. They do, and Atlanta doesn’t, and if you’ll give it a minute only one of these is really surprising to either of us.

You’ll be surprised because Nashville doesn’t really mark out for much that isn’t country music. The Titans won’t really inspire much passion. They shouldn’t, because they are an NFL team, and NFL teams have an allergy to fun, anyway. There’s an SEC team in town, but for the most part that passion will be housed safely and securely several hours away. Most Nashvillians’ sporting embarrassments will be kept in Knoxville, Oxford, Athens, or in other nice sheds visited on fall weekends. You and the team can both fall on your face and say hateful, insane things — and on Monday, it will all be a distant, well-contained mess.

You’ll be surprised that all those Michiganders and Ohioans who come down for the auto industry’s big move south are contagious. Nashville hasn’t ever exactly been deep, deep South — it’s landlocked, there’s a kind of Ohioan blah to the winters here, there’s a permacloud that never moves much in February. Boating under the influence arrests only happen on lakes here, and that feels like an important distinction from places with a coastal option like Alabama, Mississippi, and Georgia. The superstation in Nashville for you isn’t TBS — it’s WGN out of Chicago. Listen to Johnny Cash’s “One Piece at a Time” and you’ll remember that people from here have followed the auto industry back and forth. There’s a lot of country in Middle Tennessee, but squint when you’re downtown and you’ll see a little bit of Cincinnati, too.

It will be Midwestern-compatible in another sense: For some reason, hockey catches fire here. This will happen long before the Predators make the Stanley Cup Finals, and pretty much on arrival in 1998 when they play their first season here. The backbone of the fanbase will have a core of Detroit Red Wings fans. That’s good DNA to start with, you’ll note, a really useful cheat code to have when trying to anchor a winter sport on the northern fringe of the Sun Belt in a medium-sized market where football rules over all. All those kids you go to high school with who miss Michigan, and winter, and hockey? They adapt with a quickness, and start throwing catfish instead of octopi on the ice.

You’ll see people in camp chairs posted up on Broadway on a humid, warm summer night and realize how ripe this place was for this. Along with Birmingham, Nashville is one of the two places in the South where people would watch two drops of rain race down a windowpane if you put it on television. You’ll also see how the Predators’ dedication to making everything as unserious as possible worked in a college sports town with a healthy respect for stagecraft. The mascot will jump from the rafters; The crowd will theatrically thank arena announcer Paul McCann when he notifies them that there is one minute left in each period. For the playoffs the big surprise will be running out a different country singer for each national anthem, saving the pocket ace of Faith Hill for the last home game of the year.

You’ll note that, in its own very country music kind of way, that was a flex. Hell, they even just had an extra Luke Bryan hanging around, and put him on top of Tootsie’s Orchid Lounge to play a pregame concert. You’ll probably think that took some intense planning, but it didn’t: The idea was hatched on Thursday by the Predators, approved on Friday by the city, and on Sunday night big ol’ doofy Luke Bryan was standing three stories over a packed Broadway and singing.

By the way, a Luke Bryan is a country singer. It’s a confusing thing, but in 2017 most male country singers now look like scholarship golfers. The future is terrifying in many ways, and this is one of them.

You’ll also have no idea what he was singing about, because this isn’t for you, and never has been. You’ll also pay zero attention because every Luke Bryan song is the same pop-country mad-lib about trucks, cold ones, that girl, etc. You’ll be okay with this, both because there are way more harmful things in this world than redneck fantasy music that really doesn’t hurt anyone, and also because you’ll have long since realized there are other places where you’re supposed to be. That’s how adulthood works. Pieces are sorted randomly and settle largely where they are supposed to be, and you’re a piece that sorted its way into a place you belong.

You’ll also see all the pieces that are supposed to be here: Guys in realtree camo hats. Guys in bad fedoras. Guys in fishing shirts and Under Armour gear, and especially the guy in the shirt that says “I’ll have what the guy on the floor had” who bumps drunkenly into you sideways on Broadway, listing with a vape pen in his hand. (Vaping is just smoking with expensive accessories. People LOVE it.) You’ll see the guys in Predators shirts with twin hockey sticks and women in boots and Preds jerseys and flimsy rompers, and the dads in Dri-FIT shirts desperately trying to remember where their car is while holding the hands of overwhelmed kids who’ve never wandered through a crowd this big.

You’ll see them throw the catfish, and think how it’s something beyond a joke. A catfish is a bottom-feeding trash fish, the countriest of all country-ass fishes. A catfish is the opposite of glamour, the accident you catch while fishing for other things. You’ll see them throw it and think about the Cumberland river, and how your grandfather would show you the sign he took off a building in downtown showing the high-water mark from a flood there. He kept it propped up against something in his garden, and it said the water got up to 34 feet over First Avenue. A catfish could have swam through the second floor of an office. You’ll like to think one did.

You’ll see Nashville at full flood over a hockey team and think about how in all that not-belonging you’ll see a catfish and feel your own rush of belonging. It won’t last long, but it’ll be there, swimming through the undercurrent, an ugly, amiable fish with ancient DNA that can come through the window at any moment. You’ll see Nashville turn out 50,000 people on Broadway for a hockey team. Even if it isn’t for you, there won’t be anything lukewarm about it. You’d think otherwise, but you would be wrong about that, too.

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