antfunke

[antfunke]

@teaganharper​

Ant had read a lot of things about open adoption in the last few months, and none of them had really prepared him for the reality. It was awkward, he couldn’t lie. Nothing had really warned them that not only would he be getting a son in the deal, he would also be getting a... sibling? A co-parent? A cousin? That was the worst part, maybe-- That he had no idea where he stood with Teagan. He had no idea what Teagan even wanted to be. 

Even worse, what if they changed their mind? 

Ant shifted Oscar in his arms, wishing Cooper was home to be a buffer between Ant’s anxiety and reality. “Do you want to hold him?” he asked, immediately wincing. God, they had given birth to him, they could hold him any time he damn well pleased. 

“Sorry, I’m not-- Obviously no one is used to this. I...” Ant huffed, fiddling with the blanket wrapped around Oz. “I am so sorry, I swear I’m not trying to be weird about this.”

[antfunke]

"Technically I've been dodging everyone's calls," Ant says, the teasing not stopping him from reaching out to pull Claudia into a casual hug. "It took us exactly four hours to figure out that having our cell phones on was the perfect recipe for a grumpy baby and a sleep-deprived teen. You should have just come over, kitten; We'd love to have you."

And he means it. Settling Oscar has been a long, tiring experience for all four of them, and having outsiders in their space is the last thing any of them need, but as far as Ant is concerned, Claudia is one of them. He'd explained as much to Randy, that first awkward week: Our family is weird, I get that, and you don't always have to like it, but be nice to Claude. She was here first. For all that they're friends, Ant does see Claudia as his first go at parenthood, the only reason he had the bravery to take Cooper's hand and say 'Let's do this'. Sure, they're not exactly a typical father-daughter relationship, but it's the closest he's ever had to it.

Not that he's had much to compare it to.

"I'm serious, I always have time for you, but I would love to have you and the boys all home at once."

@antfunke

she wanted to spend more time at the funke-flynns. really she did. it was just a matter of the timing. they had randy, and the baby, and everything seemed to be just falling into place for them all over again. how could she explain her own problems to him without dragging in the far reaching implications that she was a liar. had always been a liar. but she wanted to try and start making some amends. or maybe she just wanted lunch with the only father figure she had left.

she had been changing her own life all the same, drastic shifts happening in the off beats of his own. there had yet to be a moment where she could pause and just explain everything. she didn’t know how honest she could be, but she wanted to try. would it be true to say it was ever since that night he came to her apartment and said he loved her, was in love with her, that they didn’t have to be apart. or would it be all those cancelled dates, all she had to do was pick up the phone and he would disappoint ant again. would it be when they first slept together some messy unlabelled thing that only cooper had known about, by virtue of being a watcher, looking on the sidelines and running into the truth. heaven forbid it be their first kiss, so long ago that it could only be seen as betrayal to admit to such a thing.

she could hear it now. concerned tone, eyes questioning. seven years ago and you let him go? you let me try and convince him there would be someone better than you? 

she figured they would sort it all out over drinks. she really thought they could. and then she looked at his face, and suddenly she was nothing more than twenty one again, trying to find her own footing in the world. she’d never been able to explain herself back them, how could she now. “i think you’ve been dodging my calls!” she smiled, settled immediately into old teasing. she knew his life was stressful, she was learning to accept that she was no longer the only child who might lay on the couch for an afternoon doing nothing more than petting dogs that came into reach. she had a place of her own now. “i can’t believe you’ve actually got an hour for me.” 

[antfunke]

Bill Hader on SNL (263/?)

[antfunke]

THE LAST FIVE YEARS

music by Anthony Funke-Flynn

THE CHARACTERS:

Jamie Wellerstein : Any gender, 25-30, must be Jewish. A rising novelist. Quirky and self-assured, Jamie is charming and successful. However, they do not take relationships seriously and can often be misogynistic. Often pushes the blame onto other people, but genuinely tries to be supportive and inspirational. Their story is told from beginning to end.

Cathy / Cody Hiatt : Any gender, 25-30. An aspiring Broadway actor. Ambitious, temperamental, and losing patience with their lot in life. They do their best to be a good, supportive spouse, but Jamie’s infidelity and immaturity irk them. Still, they are just as dedicated to make their marriage work as they are to their career and force themselves to be an optimist. Their story is told from end to beginning. 

THE PLOT:

In 2014, Cathy Wellerstein finds a letter from her husband, Jamie, telling her that he’s left her. In 2009, Jamie Wellerstein meets Cathy Hiatt for the first time. 

Cathy’s story moves backwards, through summers in Ohio and nights in Jamie’s shadow, back to the day she fell in love. Jamie’s story moves forwards, through temptations and victories, until the day he realizes he can’t stay. The plots only intersect at their wedding, with the scenes merging into a duet. 

[antfunke]

Mmmwhatchasay Julian and Claudia have been hanging and banging

No. That’s-- No. They would never jeopardize the family like that. They know wouldn’t just betray that for sex. Come on. 

[antfunke]

Mmmwhatchasay Cooper couldn't take it any more and his car accident wasn't all an accident :/

Fuck you. 

Like, I know you’re wrong, and I’m about to tell you exactly why, but first of all– Fuck you for even joking about that. 

Cooper would never leave me. Or. I don’t know, he might, but not like that. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t do that to me. 

[antfunke]

I lost my mind and made 24 gifs of his stupid face and I’m posting them all [4|4]

[antfunke]

@funkycooper

I think you are deeply human. You did a terrible thing, but do I think that defines you? No.

[antfunke]

@funkycooper​

The moment Cooper's fingers tightened around Ant's, Ant was awake, yanked from his doze by hope. Cooper's eyes were still closed, his face still a sickly pale, but Ant could see the furrow his brow, the first movement Ant had seen in hours.

"Coop?" Ant said, he squeezed his husband's hand, leaning forward. "I'm here. Come on, wake up for me, sweetheart. Please?"

[antfunke]

You love him,  you do, and here's the miracle: he loves you too. You are allowed to lick off the colour from his lips to listen to the hymns in his pulse to bask in the sunlight of his voice You are allowed  to have him. You love each other, you do, and here's the tragedy: it's not enough. You are allowed  to watch the sun swallow him whole and burn him up to stain your fingers to the bone holding him together to count the constellations in his eyes as they blink out You are not allowed  to save him.

you can love him, but you can’t keep him ( j.p. )

[antfunke]

@coraxsamson​

He didn't know where Cooper was.

Cooper's phone was off, and as the minutes ticked into hours, the paranoia in Ant's head only mounted. Dread had settled into his gut the moment he'd pulled in only to notice that Cooper's truck was gone. Ant knew something as wrong, as surely as he knew that he needed to find Cooper, fast.

So Ant fed the dogs, hands shaking, and proceeded to make a lot of very bad decisions, very quickly.

Which was how he found himself outside of Cora Samson's office, shouldering his way past her secretary with a little growl. He pounded on the door, ham fisted and angry-- "Samson," Ant barked. He can hear the secratary behind him, probably calling for security, and aggressively does not give a fuck. If they've killed Cooper, they can do whatever the fuck they want to him.

It doesn't matter. None of it fucking matters, except getting answers.

"Where is my fucking husband, Cora?"

[antfunke]

"No." Forcing the word out of his throat felt like physical effort, a small, vital thing that left him exhausted. Everything made him tired, now, but nothing helped him sleep. Not that Ant was doing himself any favours, really-- A bed would help. A dark room. But neither of those could be found here, and here was where Cooper was, and the thought of going home to an empty bed had tears rising in his eyes again. A few times, he'd started to drift off in the small chair beside Cooper's bed, but in the hazy borders of sleep, panic struck. Every time, he woke again, terrified of losing Cooper while he slept.

Ant tried to push the emotions away now, for Claudia, by clinging to a little humanity. "Thank you, though," he said, turning to her-- The bruise, sickly in fluorescent lighting, pulled him flat. Ant wanted to ask where she'd gotten it, whose fist matched the shape... It was a script they'd followed a thousand times, and Ant could not find it in himself to repeat it again. Those conversations never ended well for him, left him frustrated at his own helplessness, his own impotent rage, and...

Ant honestly thought if he added one more thing he could not fix to the pile, his heart would simply shatter.

"Hi," he said, instead.

Ant knew it must look odd, the way his eyes had avoided Cooper's still form since Claudia walked in, but he can't-- There was something in him that told him if he acknowledged it, that this was real, happening in a world outside his own frenzied ken, that he wouldn't be able to take it.

He didn't know what else to say. "I really," he settled on, "hate hospitals."

@antfunke​

the hospital was the last place she wanted to be. the hallways filled with rushing nurses, the waiting rooms and all of those family pacing and waiting. there was never good news in a hospital. she hadn’t slept more than a handful of hours, wrenched from her own self loathing into the very real pain of cooper’s accident. she couldn’t let ant sit in the hospital alone, not for a second longer than he absolutely had to. although the nurses were less than helpful when giving directions. that was until she’d slammed her hand on the counter and said she was looking for her father. that cleared things up a bit.

she rounded the corner, finally at the right room, the disheveled composer her give away, no thanks to any signs. “hey.” she hated that she had nothing else to say, nothing to offer except for the fact that she’d shown up. hours late, bruise yellowing on her face from where someone had landed a solid blow. moments like this made her wish that she was better, if not for herself than for ant. “want a coffee?”

[antfunke]

Ant unfolded himself from under the table with as much grace as possible, wincing as muscles twinged in his lower back. He was getting too damn old for these kinds of shenanigans. Charles and Jerome's conversation is muffled in Ant's ears, unimportant when measured against the question in Charles' eyes.

A question that the voice over the speakers soon echoed.

"Challenge completed. Mr. Funke--"

"Flynn," Ant added under his breath.

"Please choose a winner."

Ant blinked, his gaze shooting up at the ceiling in incredulity. "What? They hit at the same goddamn time. I know you have cameras."

"Please choose."

"Based on what? It was a tie!"

"Choose."

Ant's brow furrowed. "No."

Silence overtook the train car, and for one, brilliant moment, Ant though he had actually managed to pull one over on Prometheus. He should have known better.

"Competition Dare #1 Results: Charles Irons and Jerome Castillo, minus 180 points."

The words hit Ant like a physical blow. He felt his organs move as one inside him, as if he were still spinning, and his chest went tight. "You can't fucking do that. They played your stupid game!"

The voice went on, unpeturbed. "Mr. Castillo. Your personal card, please."

charlesirons‌.

Reality is distorted. The illusion of the working train rips at the seams when it begins to tilt. Charles shifts with it at first until he realizes that this is not a simple “bump” like the others before it; it’s a constant derailment, persistent in its quest to tip them overboard and into the wall. He takes a different strategy than the others, whose man priorities seem to be avoiding getting smacked by anything and everything that will fall on them, but Charles has competition bred into him. In the moment, being hurt is a small price to pay for the amount of points that are on the table, and it’s not simply just winning them; it’s not losing them.

He slides on the nearest table, gravity helping him fit on top of it as he sits before his palms press hard on the storage compartment above him while feet ground themselves on the bolted down seats. He takes a breath, holds it for a moment as his eyes close, just so he doesn’t see everything wind up upside down to have his stomach match the twisting scene. The cards that were once spilled out onto the floor are now fluttering past his face, feeling their edges brush him before one takes a bite of his cheek, catching him at the perfect angle. It’s just enough for him to crack open his eyes, just in time for him to notice a porcelain vase come tumbling down towards Jerome’s anchored down body below.

The Irons’ DNA code is rebelled against, as Charles’ hand smacks it away, costing him. He loses himself without the friction of his stance, making him tumble out onto the floor, into the aisle. The only consolation he can possibly see is that next to him is also Jerome, somehow befalling a similar fate. But at least they’ve halted to a stop, and Charles’ forehead rests against the carpet to simply breathe out.

“I’m glad we didn’t eat before that,” he mumbles into the threads before he can lift his head up, eyes on Ant, snapping back to the game at hand. Who was it? Who was first? Who is going to win? Who is going to lose?

@gilded-castle​

A vase shatters beside Jerome, catching his attention, and he’s forced to look up. First, he sees Charles losing balance, tumbling into an aisle, and then at Ant, who managed to squeeze himself between the former floor and a bolted-down desk. This brief moment of distraction makes Jerome lose focus, and he soon tumbles along the same path as Charles. The thin, hard rail of a train chair shoots pain into Jerome’s shoulder when he collides into it on his way down. Luckily, the train comes to a stop. And though he’s spending a good minute rubbing his shoulder and wincing, he’s able to get up and steady himself again.

It doesn’t occur to him to ask about points.

“Speak for yourself,” Jerome quips, in spite of having eaten little other than a banana before all of this occurred. He squeezes his shoulder again, moves that arm around just a tad. It still hurts. “I take it it doesn’t get much gentler than this.”

@antfunke

[antfunke]

fabiancbishop·:

Anyone that could have observed the interaction may have surmised that Fabian had a crush on the composer, but there was nothing romantic in his anxiety creeping into his heart as he was internally arguing with himself at how he had agreed to have Anthony make so much trouble for him to get a drink–a drink Fabian shouldn’t have even been allowed to have.

“Oh, there’s no need for special treatment. I didn’t mean to impose on you in such a way,” he tried to sway him, but followed along his side loyally regardless. He didn’t even feel the need to ask who Jules was, only imagining whomever it was was either too fond of alcohol that it had to be stored away or they were barely around that it was reserved for special occasions. How Fabian had found himself entered into the mix in either regard still flattered him as much as it confused him by the generosity.

“I’m finding that Prometheus Productions has a kaleidoscope of personalities,” he answered with mixed emotions before offering a resilient smile. “I cannot discuss details, I’m afraid, but I can tell you that I will have to ask you to sign your contract relatively shortly when we are afforded more time, of course. Ms. Samson informed me that you would be interested in participating in an event Prometheus Productions was developing in the coming weeks.”

Ant waved off Fabian's protests easily, leading the man into the kitchen. It was the space Ant spent the most consistent amount of time in, making up for all the missed family dinners of his childhood. When your memories mostly consisted of reheating casserole and hoping your mom came home before you passed out on top of your homework, you tended to get a little anal about making sure your husband came home to a warm meal and a smile-- At least, that was Ant's experience. The impulse had spread to the rest of their friends as well, with Ant bullying the league over for dinners and brunches and whatever excuse he could think of to feed them all.

It was quieter in the kitchen, with most of the party leaking out of the house and into the surrounding grounds. A few of the dogs had found themselves in the pet beds scattered next to the large sliding doors, watching the commotion from safety. Ant sighed as he stepped through the doorway, a grin curving across his face.

"This is where the magic happens," he told Fabian as he walked to rifle through their liquor cabinet. They had another, larger one in the den, filled with gifts of fancy whiskeys and rare finds, but this was for more personal, everyday use, just as the IPAs Cooper drank after work were kept separate from the pretentious shit they served the guests. Ant supposed that was a metaphor of some sort; They were still the same men they had been in that crappy one bedroom downtown, they just kept that a little separate from the men they needed to be now.

"I mean that personally and professionally. I have an office upstairs, but I don't write there-- I either write on the piano on the balcony or here, in my head." Ant snorted, gesturing at a table. "I wrote half of The Social Network's theme on my phone, covered in cake batter." He pulled a face. "I was trying to make baumkuchen. It didn't end well."

He pulled down the bottle and flipped a glass out of the drying rack on the counter-- Iz had teased him for even owning the object, telling him he was bringing down the property value by admitting he did his own dishes, but Ant was set in his ways.

Ant laughed at Fabian's description of Prometheus, although some of that faded when he mentioned the upcoming event-- The Cancellation event. Sure, there were no planned Cancellations, not in Ant's docket, anyway, but from what little he'd been allowed to read, points were definitely involved. "Ah, yeah." Ant tried not to frown, but they were literally talking about playing with people's lives, here. "Apparently they're doing something to shake up the leaderboard a little, and I figured it would be good if they had a volunteer with a leveler head. The, uh, what did you say? Kaleidescope? Yeah, that's real nice for making art, but less nice for keeping people alive."

"Besides, Coop can't, he has to keep his cover, and I figure at least one of us should be there."

[antfunke]

eveaustero·:

“My hero.” Eve laughed softly in response to his assuring words, welcoming his touch. She was an affectionate person, even with those she considered barely acquaintances. Besides, Ant was the birthday boy. He deserved all the hugs and love one could give, and Eve had plenty of that. 

When the conversation steered towards her attire for the night, she took a step back of her own and extended her arms out, fully ready for her costume to be examined. It’d been a last minute type of thing and definitely something a little more out there for her; but it was either this or be Claire’s wolf, and as much as Eve adored her best friend, she did not want to be a wolf. 

“It’s dumb, I know.” She made sure to give her own thoughts before Ant gave his own, but his were the exact opposite, and it did in fact make her feel a little better about the whole ordeal— enough to get a bashful smile on her face, which only grew when Norah was brought into the mix.

Admittedly, Norah had become one of Eve’s favorite projects, and it was difficult to not feel proud about it. She’d just never been great at compliments. “That’s so sweet, thank you!” Eve gushed. “You should be congratulating Julian, though. He brought it to life.” It being her words. Her story. “Couldn’t have done it without him.”

Eve was a sweet girl, and that made Ant very, very afraid for her. Sweet didn't last very long in LA, and Eve's presence here had already lasted longer than most. It was a near miracle that she'd made it this far-- Ant had to wonder if it were all an act. Secretly, he hoped it was; Even if she was one of the most terrible people on Earth, it would be worth it if she had just a bit of strength. Someone he had to fight was better than someone he needed to protect.

Ant had enough people to bleed for already.

But as Eve shyly accepted his compliments, Ant had to admit that he wasn't exactly great at shutting himself off from picking up new attachments. That was his biggest flaw, he had to admit-- The desperate need to see a friend in every new face.

"I hope you haven't been telling him that," Ant said with a small, teasing smile. "His head is big enough already. The only reason we have room for anybody in this house is my years long campaign of being mean to him. Please, Eve, you have to help me. I'm so tired. Someone has to remind him he's human while I sleep."

Ant looped his arm through Eve's as he spoke, leading her slowly through the crowd to the kitchen. He'd hidden the good wine from the party-goers. It wasn't really a wine kind of party, and he'd bought shitty Whole Foods wine for the sangria and the cocktails. Eve, though, he was sure, deserved better.

[antfunke]

the reveal of ant’s “private” anonymous twitter.

[antfunke]

smile-sucker‌:

“When you were my age?” Jordan asked. “How old do you think I am?” She was 33 years, 7 months, and 20-something days old, if you really wanted to get into it. But, fuck, if she made him feel like an old man? Then Jordan is all for it. Plus, she knew the kind of crazy shit Ant did when he was young. What were they, less than ten years apart? Jordan can’t believe she wrote all that shit in her twenties.

“Dick still works!” Jordan offered up a high five. All the shit she wrote and he’s dragging her to a bar like an old friend. Funny guy. Weird, too, but Jordan could respect that. 

“Thanks man! I made this myself. Love your couple’s costume by the way. I always thought those tiny guys were fucking.”

Ant's eyes flick over Jordan's body as he shrugged, his gaze detached and analytic. It had been a long, long time since Ant had looked at anyone but Cooper. "Like 29? That's when I was in the depths of my craziest shit-- Which you know, given that I'm pretty sure you're the one who leaked my medical records." He hadn't exactly been pleased about that, more concerned about how people were getting that kind of information than with people knowing about his 'sordid' past. Ant wasn't ashamed of who he had been back then-- Without that idiot, he never would have met Coop.

Laughing, Ant went for the high five, walking backwards to the bar. "Really? Holy shit, that's amazing. I've never been able to do anything crafty like that." He gestured down at the costume he was wearing. "This is all commissioned. Thanks, though; We try. It would be a little easier picking out costumes every year if Hollywood would just make gayer movies." With the last of his words, Ant raised his voice, shouting out over the small crowd milling around the pool. A few people cheered, some laughed, and Ant grinned at Jordan. Leaning against the bar, Ant gestured to the bottles laid out on the shelves behind.

"What's your poison, Ryder?"