#i already have 4k

[shittygaypornmagazine]

good evening to people with fatherly issues who are writing a fic about a father figure loosing his friends and family in the most fucked up way possible only to then escape the timeline that it all happened it mere seconds before his death, and end up in the past, finding happiness he never thought he deserved and healing his inner child by helping his past self, and those who read this fic ;)

[canon-gabriel-quotes]

Transcript:

Machine.

Does my ass look fat in this armor?

Audio source

[sentientcave]

Retirement Party

Chapter Three - Smoke and Whiskey

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Contains: No Y/N, Kidnapping, Forcible relocation, Generally creepy behaviour, Alcohol mention, Smoking mention (Tobacco, cannabis), plus-sized reader, female reader, There is something fucking wrong with these guys for real, More reader details given, but we're still pretty vague about it. Even though it is hard for me.

~3.2k

When you go back inside, you wind up wedged between John and Ghost on the bigger couch. Johnny’s stretched out on the smaller one, and Gaz claimed the chair that you’d been sitting in earlier, leaving you with no other option. Neither of them makes any effort to give you more space, even though they could. Ghost’s leg is pressed against yours from thigh to ankle, and John’s pinky finger keeps finding your thigh when he rests his tumbler against his knee. You want to curl up properly, tuck your feet up underneath yourself, but you can't without pressing even closer to at least one of them. At least Ghost isn’t quite as intimidating without his mask on.

After a while, Gaz and Ghost go out for a cigarette. The chair looks inviting, and you’d like to get a little space, but Price’s arm drops around your shoulders casually, pulling you in a little closer to his side. “Relax,” he says against the top of your head. “You’re alright, doll.”

The door opens again. “Soap, we’ve got a spliff, you want?” Gaz asks.

Johnny picks himself off the other couch, grinning. “Aye. An’ then cake?”

“Fuckin’ forgot about cake,” Ghost says. “Hey doll, d’you want some of this? Cap?”

“Who rolled it?” John asks. “Because I’m not smoking one of Gaz’s joints ever again.”

“Oh fuck off, Price, I can roll just fine.”

John looks at you and shakes his head slightly. “He really can’t.”

“I can roll,” you say. “I always do with my friends.”

You can see the calculation running behind John's eyes as he adds new information to what he knows and assumes about you. You want to laugh. You almost do. Most people take one look at you, with your big doe eyes and round face and and sunny disposition and think that you're some innocent little thing. Sure, you tend to live life with your arms open, and that might come across as naive to some, but you're not inexperienced by any means. You're nearly thirty years old, you're by no means a child.

"Let's see, then," he says. "Box on the coffee table has everything."

"Does tha' mean we can smoke inside again?" Soap asks. "It's startin' ta get pure Baltic out here."

John looks at you expectantly. "Up to you, doll."

"It's not my house."

He hums. "You're stayin' a while. Might as well be. It's important that you're comfortable."

You slide to the floor and reach for the box. "Well. You'd better open a window or two. But I don't mind."

Making a fuss over the semantics isn't worth doing. You probably are staying a while. Even if John really won't force you, you'll still need his cooperation to get all your stuff loaded back into the van, and all four of them are likely headed for hangovers.

John tells them to open the windows, and leans forward to watch you break up slightly sticky buds into the grinder. He brushes your hair behind your shoulders for you, and when you tip your head back to look at him, there's something in his eyes that makes your ears warm.

Johnny drops down to the floor on the other side of the table, a crumpled looking joint hanging out of his mouth. You can see what John means about not wanting to smoke it.

"You want a drink, doll?" Gaz asks. "More tea?"

You twist to look at him, hanging over the back of the couch, that handsome face smiling. "Have you got pop? Wouldn't mind a ginger ale."

"Got irn bru too," Soap suggests. "Ye've got some Scot in ye, aye?"

"Yes."

"Didja want more?"

You level an unimpressed look at him across the table. "I should've seen that one coming."

"I'd like to see ye com--"

"That'll do, Soap," John says firmly. "She's not goin' to have sex with you."

"Might feel a bit better if she did," Soap says, shrugging. "Ah'm just sayin'."

"You're not saying anything." Gaz sets an unopened can of ginger ale on the table next to you. "If you're gagging for it, we'll take care of you in a bit."

"And if you don't behave yourself you're not goin' to get anything," John rumbles from behind you. "She's been good. Surprised none of you have been slapped."

"Just the once." Gaz snags the joint from Johnny and sits back in the chair.

Ghost snorts. "What did you do?"

"Surprised her picking her up. My own fault."

You lean back and hold up the neat joint you've been rolling, hooking your arm over John's knee. He sets his whiskey to the side and takes it, holding it up for an inspection. "Nice work, doll," he says warmly. “Got a bit of a wild streak to you, eh?”

The praise makes you glow, despite yourself, and you laugh aloud at the second part, a real laugh, not nervous or bitter. All four of them shift their attention to you at the sound, snapping a tension you hadn’t noticed until you felt it’s absence. It’s important to them that you feel comfortable, and your genuine laughter is the first sign that you’re on your way. They really did think that they’d done you a favour.

Insane. But almost sweet, in a fucked up, unsettling way.

You pluck the joint out of John’s fingers and meet his dark blue eyes evenly, not missing the hunger that sparks into existence. “Got a light?”

John pulls his lighter out of his pocket, a little awkward with you leaning on his other leg, and holds the dancing flame out for you. You have to lean in a little to get to it, so you do, your eyes still locked on his as you inhale, the slight sizzle of paper and weed igniting clear in the otherwise silent room. You can hear the way his breath catches too, taken by surprise yet again. You offer the joint back to him, holding in a lungful of smoke.

“Shite,” Johnny hisses, breaking the heavy silence. “Yer absolutely sure ye dinnae want your cunt licked?”

You blow smoke at him from across the coffee table. “I’m sure.”

It doesn’t take long before drowsy complacency overtakes you. Curling up against John’s leg, your arm still hooked over his leg, you let conversation wash over your awareness, not paying enough attention to pick out one thing or another. John’s hand settles on your head, fingers threading into your dark hair, combing through soft strands idly. When you glance up at him, he’s watching you, blue eyes half-lidded but still plenty aware, a funny smile twisting the edges of his mouth upwards. He has nice lips under that bristling moustache of his, not as thin as you would have expected. His voice is a pleasant rumble when he speaks to the others,

He takes a sip of whiskey, and you follow the bob of his throat as he swallows, the way the tip of his tongue darting across his lips. It takes a moment for you to realize that he’s watching you study him.

“Hello, beautiful,” he says. “How are you feeling?”

For the first time since you’ve been there, you don’t feel scared. Just dozy and content, like a cat curled up next to a fireplace. “I’m alright,” you admit. “It’s been a strange day.”

His fingers flex, not quite gripping your hair, just holding you in place with the lightest pressure, encouraging you to keep facing him rather than turning away. “I imagine so.” His hand glides along to your ear, his thumb grazing over the shell, sending shivers down your spine. “It won’t be so strange tomorrow.”

“No more surprises planned?”

John glances up, looking at each of his men in turn, and then back to you. “Doesn’t look like it.”

“We do have cake, though,” Soap says. “Ye want some, bonnie?”

“Yes please.” You only turn to look at Soap for a moment before John is gently coaxing you back, curling his fingers around your jaw. Can he feel the way your heart leaps into your throat, thrumming like a hummingbird’s wings? It’s hard to look John in the eye, but harder still to pull yourself away. His touch leaves burning traces behind, and you’re all too aware of your body and the way you respond to him. It’s all too much, too soon and too strange.

He catches your hand when you try to brush his away. “Why don’t you come on back up here, doll?” he asks. “Be more comfortable than the floor, don’t you think?”

“No, I’m happy down here.” You tuck your knees to your chest, looping your arms around your legs, extricating yourself from his sphere of influence just a little. You’re still pressed up against his calf, but you don’t need to go that far, you just need to face forward so you won’t get pinned under that blue stare again.

John has a certain gravity, a magnetism that you can’t help but be drawn in by. It would be all too easy to sink into his arms, but the idea that you’d been given to him still bothers you, like a persistent, sharp little stone in your shoe, ruining what might have been something.

You perk up some when Soap hands you a plate with a slice of chocolate cake on it. It's not the prettiest thing you've ever seen, but it tastes incredible, rich dark chocolate and an icing that had so much whiskey in it that your teeth feel funny after a few bites.

"This is really good, Johnny," you tell him. "If the whole military thing doesn't work out, you could consider becoming a baker."

"Thanks, hen. And dinnae think I havena considered it. Gettin' closer to packin' it in awl the time. Just cannae leave Gaz until he's got a good team watchin' his back."

"We've got some good sergeants," Gaz says. "Nitro's got real promise."

"Shivs too. Little devil," Ghost adds. "You need a door smasher though. Those girls are tough as 'ell, but some occasions call for a big boot."

"Aye, ye'd say that, bein' the biggest fuckin' boot the Queen's army has ever seen."

"King now," John points out.

"Oh, fuck if I care which poncy arsed Windsor is sittin' in the big chair."

"Bloody leeches," Ghost agrees.

"I've got Sanderson in mind." Gaz winks at you, like you're in on some secret.

"Gary Sanderson? Is he no' dead?"

"No! Turns out he locked himself in a cryo chamber when the bomb went off. That facility was full of 'em, all kinds of experimental tech. It was finally safe to take a team in and we found him. Nitro started calling him Roach, and it's stuck."

"He's a damn good soldier. Be good for the taskforce," Price agrees. "Would've picked him ten years ago."

"Well, he's had a nice long nap, and he's hopping mad about missing so much. He'll make a good doorsmasher," Gaz says.

"How about that Lucky kid? Nitro’s brother.” Price asks. “He looked pretty promising. Unless his luck ran out.”

Gaz hums, licking frosting off his fork. “He’s a good kid, but his problem is that as soon as Nitro’s around he lets her do all his thinking for him. Splits her focus.”

You sigh, setting your half-finished slice of cake down on the table in front of you, and climb to your feet, wincing at the ache of not moving for so long. You edge between Ghost’s knees and the coffee table and skirt around the edge of the couch wordlessly. No one stops you, and there’s no falter to their conversation despite the eyes that follow you until you disappear upstairs to use the washroom.

As you wash your hands, you stare at your own face in the mirror. You look pretty, even with your eyeliner a little smudged, and your lipstick faded to nothing. The buzz of THC is your system makes you giggle. Pretty enough to kidnap, even.

You think about it for a long moment, and then take your makeup off and braid your hair back so you can wash your face properly, and brush your teeth too. All the weirdness of the day is catching up, and all you want to do is sleep it off. The low buzz of their voices carries up the stairs when you step out into the hallway again, seemingly unbothered by your absence. There's no reason for you to say goodnight-- you don't owe them any kind of civility. But you still hesitate.

Long enough that John appears at the bottom of the stairs. "You alright, doll?" He asks. "Comin' back down?" The stairs creak slightly under his weight as he starts coming up towards you.

"I was thinking-- I'm just tired, is all. It's been a long day."

He stops two steps down, so he's still looking up at you. "I understand. We can talk more in the morning."

"I'm sure there's a lot to discuss."

"If you say so. Already told you most of what I needed to tell."

"Just most?"

He nods, and beckons you closer, a conspiratorial smile on his face. You take one halting step toward him, and then another, until you stand right at the top of the stairs. His big hands catch yours, holding you in place when he moves one step up, taller than you once more.

You stare up at him, and your breathing is turned shallow, your heartbeat rapid and heady. His eyes glitter in the dim light as he leans close, the tip of his nose skimming yours, as if he means to kiss you. Like a deer pinned under the headlights of a rapidly approaching truck, you stand frozen, unsure if you even want to move, or if you welcome the inevitable collision.

He smells like smoke and whiskey when he speaks, his lips so close to yours you can feel the soft brush of breath on your skin. "Forgot to tell you how good you look in my shirt," he purrs. "Been thinkin' to say so all night."

Heat licks across your cheeks, his words waking something dangerous in your core, something that wants his hands on you more than anything else. It’s unfair, what he does to you already, barely more than a stranger, and you want him to be a good man so you can indulge that desire without fear of consequence. It’s been such a long time since someone looked at you the way he looks at you now, an almost indescribable fondness that you haven’t even begun to earn.

“It’s a nice shirt,” you say lamely. “Thank you for lending it to me.” You don’t mention that it smells very pleasantly like him, and how it’s been a bit difficult to keep yourself from sniffing at the flannel all evening.

“You’re welcome to anything I have,” he says, and you know he means it.

“I hope that includes your bed,” you say jokingly, trying (and failing) to diffuse the intensity in his eyes. “Because I think that’s where I’m headed now.”

“Of course it does.” His thumb rubs across your knuckles, the other hand coming up to cradle your cheek. You shake, all nerves, worried that he’ll close the distance and kiss you, but he just taps his forehead against yours instead, eyes smiling. “Off you go, sweet thing. You give us a shout if we get too loud, eh?”

You swallow nervously and nod, taking a step backwards. “Goodnight, John.”

"Goodnight, doll.”

You quickly shut yourself into the other room, flicking on the light while you strip down to your panties and wrap the flannel shirt around yourself again, and tuck yourself into bed. It’s been a bizarre day, and the room feels strange, too open and too dark, but it still doesn’t take long to fall asleep.

Hours later, you wake at the sound of the door opening and clicking shut again. You sit up before you’re fully alert, dreams shredding apart and solidifying into reality as you blink away sleep.

“Shh, s’just me,” John’s voice comes out of the darkness, slurring slightly. You can’t see anything in the darkness, until he crosses over to the window and opens the curtains, letting in a little light from the waxing moon outside. He turns towards her, his big frame silhouetted against the scant light, humming. “Bloody hell, you’re a pretty little thing.” The soft clink of his belt buckle is far too loud in the quiet room, as is the rustle of his clothes as he strips down to his boxers.

“John, what are you doing?” you ask nervously.

“Coming to bed,” he says, like it’s obvious. “M’too old to sleep on the floor, and Gaz is on the big couch.”

“Oh. I’ll move then. I don’t mind sleeping on the floor.” You throw back the sheets and swing your legs onto the floor.

“No, no, stay right where you are.” He swoops over and grips your legs gently, lifting them up and back onto the bed. He smells strongly of whiskey and mint toothpaste, and the clinging remnants of cigar smoke. “We can share tonight. Get things set up better tomorrow.”

“John…”

He slides into bed beside you and easily pulls you close, strong arms wrapping around you tightly, rolling so you’re half on top of him, one hand cradling your back and the other on your waist. “Yeah, doll?” he asks.

“John, we can’t— I can’t sleep like this.”

“Shh, just give me a minute to hold my pretty girl.” He nuzzles against the top of your head. “I’m gonna be so good to you, sweetheart. I promise.”

"You're drunk," you say, holding the flimsy excuse out for him, hoping that he'll take it. You don't want to think about him meaning it. It makes going home look all the more unlikely.

"A little," he admits. His hand drifts lower, fingers dipping below the soft lace of your panties to dig into soft skin around your hip. He groans. "You're perfect. Sweet and soft, so damn beautiful. I'll make you happy. I'll give you anything you want, if you stay with me."

"John! Stop that, we can talk later, just go to sleep."

"I know this all started wrong, doll. The lads got carried away. But this is right. You feel that too, don't you? We'll have to come up with a better story for our kids, hm? Something proper romantic." He kisses the top of your head, humming happily.

"Our kids?" you squeak. "Jesus, John, you can't be serious."

"Course I am. We can start trying whenever you're ready."

Well, at least now you know he's just as delusional as the rest of them. "You don't even know if I want kids."

"You do," he says confidently. "Tell me I'm wrong."

"You're drunk," you say firmly. "Go to sleep."

He chuckles. "You didn't say I'm wrong."

You push away and roll over so you don't have to look right at him. Even in the darkness, you're certain that your face betrays more than you'd like. It was none of his business if you wanted kids. You certainly weren't going to have them with him. "Go to sleep," you repeat.

"Yes ma'am," he says, looping his arms around you again, tugging you close to his chest. "Goodnight, doll."

Thanks for reading!

Image Credits: Banner

Dividers: 1 - 2 - 3 by @/Cafekitsune

[jimmysea]

No more loneliness, little Day.

LAST TWILIGHT SERIES (2023)

[mostlyghostlyy]

"I think..... I miss my wife" but it's me talking about a 60y/o man named Dale

[theinfinitedivides]

'masoom dil hai mera, isse tod diya jaaye… hayeeee, masoom dil hai mera, isse tod diya jaaye, rishta ghamon se mera… haye raam, rishta ghamon se mera, ab jod diya jaaye, jod diya jaaye...' — masoom dil hai mera | heeramandi, 2024, dir. sanjay leela bhansali.

[intotheelliwoods]

-> -> Thanks for the 4K all! <- <-

[johnslittlespoon]

all the actor/celebrity au posts lately combined with troye bringing ross on stage last night for one of your girls has got me thinking...

a musician x musician au where gale is a troye sivan–esque ultra–famous queer pop star, and john's the singer of a well known indie rock band, and he gets asked by gale's team to star in a music video similar to one of your girls...

to everyone who doesn't know him personally, gale feels like this untouchable pop star. he's been in the industry for years, one of those classic 'i used to make music in my bedroom in my small town' stories, working his ass off before finally a song of his blows up and gets traction and then it's such a fast rise to stardom that he doesn't have time to wrap his head around it.

he never gets used to it, but he doesn't get an ego from it; he still hangs out with the same group of friends he's had since high school, and his team does most of his social media posting for him, because it freaks him out having all that attention, as grateful as he is. he's not shy by any means, not like he was when he started out, but he's not the biggest fan of all the fanfare and interviews and being put on a pedestal and all that. he keeps himself pretty distant online, and that coupled with the diva/superstar energy in his music/projects gives him this air of being on another level– a rare type of star all around.

john has a similar story, the whole growing up on the internet thing, making music in his basement in high school with the friends he's now in a pretty popular indie rock band with, working tirelessly to make a name for him and his friends. but that's kinda where their similarities end.

because john is known for being an absolute shit–poster, a little fiend online, a running joke in his fandom that 'john doesn't know that he's famous', 'should someone remind him this isn't a finsta?' type of vibe. he feels so accessible and down to earth, and while he's just as level headed and humble about his celebrity status as gale is, he displays it by being more present and trying to show the human side of it all, vs gale trying to create distance between gale cleven and the gale persona the world knows.

the band is first and foremost john's thing, but as he's grown in popularity, he's of course gotten offers for other avenues here and there, and at the insistence of his manager he decides to agree to try out a modelling shoot one day. he's not naive; he's more than aware of all the comments going on about his looks, stumbles across more tiktok thirst trap edits of him sweaty and shirtless on stage than he can count, isn't all too sfw in some of his band's songs, either.

he finds it all funny, but he also is someone who will always jump on new opportunities/experiences, and he ends up having a good time modelling, and picks up more gigs as time goes on. this is how gale becomes aware of him, somewhat because gale does occasional modelling too, but mostly because he's worked with a lot of big fashion names for tours and videos, so his and john's circles occasionally crossover, though they never actually meet in person.

so then comes this music video shoot, one that gale's been agonizing over for months, planning every little detail and making sure everything is perfect. it's something that drives his manager (marge? <3 gotta include the angel in every au obvs) insane because gale's got so much on his plate as is, but he likes to be so hands on with his projects, and she knows by now there's no talking him out of that. and everything is going great, until the person who's meant to be starring opposite gale has to pull out last minute due to a scheduling conflict or personal emergency or something.

and the usually very collected and put together gale is freaking out. it's the day before the shoot, everyone involved has already travelled to be on location, choreography is set in stone– this is his nightmare scenario, never doing well in situations where he has a lack of control. it's half of what scares him so much about being as famous as he is, is that he doesn't have a lot of autonomy or control over his own image or how he's perceived in the public eye (and digging deeper into backstory, probably stems from wanting to take back control after a childhood filled with being controlled by family.)

but it's situations like these where he's reminded why marge is his manager and he isn't, because she leaps into action the moment they find out about the cancellation, calming gale down so they can put their heads together to find a replacement. they reach out to a few of the names they have connections to, but it's too short notice for all of them, so maybe marge even just resorts to going through the people gale follows on instagram, and stumbles across john's page. he's got a good rep in industry and has worked on less 'conventional' projects before, so marge shuts down gale's fretting over "would he be comfortable with something like this?" by telling him there's only one way to find out, and contacting john's manager.

john agrees before he even hears the full pitch, and he's just as keen afterwards (albeit a bit nervous because by no means is he a professional dancer), knowing it'll be good publicity, and curious to explore a more artsy/out there gig, but also curious about the illusive gale, who he'd been surprised to receive a follow from a few weeks back.

john is flown out that night to the city of the shoot location, barely having a few minutes to change and head to the rehearsal space, where he meets a very frazzled but very thankful gale for the first time.

maybe they both have some preconceived notions about each other, despite having mutual respect and no actual interactions; john probably expects gale to be a bit stand–offish or conceited given his high celebrity status, but finds gale's actually bashful and quiet and easygoing when the cameras are off (when they're on, it's like he flips a switch, slipping into this persona, exuding confidence and sexuality and it honestly blows john's mind to witness in person).

gale probably expects to john to be loud and abrasive based off his well known social media posts, maybe even a little uncomfortable around gale, who is openly queer, whereas john isn't– maybe john hasn't ever stated his sexuality, has never given much thought to it, it doesn't matter much to him. instead he finds john's actually a little shy, much less bravado than he'd anticipated, but very enthusiastic and eager to learn and get the choreo and everything else right, assuring gale repeatedly that he's down to do whatever is needed.

so the two of them rehearse till the early hours of the morning, john taking it as seriously as though it's his own project he's invested months into, and gale gains such admiration for his commitment and willingness to stick his neck out for a borderline stranger (even though he's obviously aware this is a big boost for john's career). john gains a newfound appreciation for gale's work ethic and how much effort goes into every little thing for a huge artist like him.

and inevitably... there is sexual tension during the rehearsals. they're both overtired and sweaty and it's such a strange situation to meet for like five minutes and then jump right into dancing together so intimately, having to shed any inhibitions and self consciousness, but it's a blessing in the sense that they have to get comfortable around each other so quickly. there's no room for modesty or shyness, and john is genuinely speechless at how gale puts business first, and after double checking that john isn't uncomfortable, how he has no qualms about physically directing john, moving him how he wants him.

it's hot to john, the way gale knows exactly what he wants and is so passionate about his vision, and he'd be lying if he said the combination of being starstruck and being lowkey manhandled isn't getting to his head a bit. which is a whole other thing to unpack, because aside from vague acknowledgement of some men being attractive/beautiful, he's never actually found himself flustered by one like this, and it catches him off guard. he stays professional, but he still can't help but let his naturally flirtatious/joking personality slip out as the night drags on; he's like that with everyone he works with or hangs out with, and he thinks it would be weirder if he wasn't like that with gale, like everyone else would somehow notice.

meanwhile gale is fighting his own demons because he's got a very sought–after, very hot, very straight man dropping everything for him and letting him puppeteer him, on top of being so stubborn that even though gale can tell he's exhausted, john's refusing to call it a night until gale does, and THEN as if all that's not enough, john's effortlessly witty and complimentary and flirty. and gale's not one to mix business and pleasure, so he's not even entertaining these emotions, but he can't help but feel flattered by it all, while also reminding himself that john probably doesn't swing that way.

basically they both are discovering they have competence kinks lmao, like objectively they both find the other attractive, but it's not like they aren't constantly surrounded by beautiful humans in their lines of work, so it's more so the emotional side/work ethic that gets them both flustered, coupled with the inherent sexuality of dancing with very little clothing, hands on sweaty skin and toned muscles. but neither of them act on it, too tired by the time they call it a night even if they'd wanted to, and then it's back to their respective hotels to get a few hours of sleep before the shoot.

john isn't called to be on location until mid afternoon, and when he wakes up to his phone ringing and glances at the time, he freaks out, thinking he's slept through the shoot or something because he'd expected to be called early in the morning. he's told that he didn't sleep through it, but he's disoriented until he shows up, when he's told that gale had moved things around, filming as many scenes as he could without him before john was needed for his part, so that john could get more rest. (john swoons. just a little.)

he gets swept up in the capable hands of hair and makeup and wardrobe in his own trailer, and he doesn't see gale until it's time to film, and when he does, he almost doesn't believe it's gale. the glam makeup, the long blonde wig, the form–fitting sheer black dress and heels– gale's pretty as is, but with his features accentuated like that, john doesn't even know what to do with himself, feels like he's going through a midlife crisis at the ripe age of 25. he'd known gale would be in some sort of getup for their choreo, but nothing could've prepared him for this.

it makes it even more endearing that gale seems so awkward about it when he greets john, clearly out of his comfort zone in the ensemble, but john knows there's no way gale doesn't know how stunning he is, it's not a lack of confidence that's making him awkward. john keeps it together, reminds himself to be professional. tells gale it was really sweet that he let him sleep in, that he didn't have to do that, to which gale waves him off like it's no big deal. and he compliments gale too as they walk onto set, tells him, "you look great, wow," tame as he can be, and gale tells him "could say the same for you," and john snorts, gesturing to his simple jeans and boots and lack of shirt, says "feeling a bit underdressed, actually," and it gets a laugh out of gale.

when the cameras are rolling, any of that visible discomfort or awkwardness in gale disappears like someone's snapped their fingers and rid him of it, movements fluid like water, not an ounce of anything other than confidence and power and sensuality seeping through as he commands the camera with his energy. despite his aching body, john's grateful they ran the routine into the ground last night to the point that it's nearly muscle memory, because it's hard to concentrate when gale's looking down at him through long faux–lashes and gloss–plumped lips, caressing his jaw, playing with his hair, the sway of his hips and roll of his waist beneath john's hands so mesmerizing, john's half convinced he's being serenaded by a siren.

the tension would be insane, but equally confusing because neither of them would be able to discern what's an act and what's not, or if it's all just an act, pushing and pulling at an invisible line but never quite stepping over it even once the shoot wraps, both for the sake of professionalism but also for fear of rejection.

maybe after it all, john's on his flight back home and realizes in the whirlwind of everything, he never got gale's number (has a moment of 'why would i need it? this was just a gig' lol okay yearner). john's not even sure at that point what/how he's feeling about gale, the conflicting emotions of feeling attraction to him while in borderline drag doing nothing to help the confusion, especially because he can't excuse the attraction as just that when he was feeling things during rehearsal in casual clothes too.

he knows he could easily ask his manager to reach out to gale's manager for his number, but then he gets in his head convincing himself that if gale had wanted to talk further, surely he would've asked for john's number, since gale has way more reason to be selective with his own with his status.

he doesn't realize that on the other end of things, gale's realizing he also never got john's number, only he's talking himself out of reaching out because he doesn't want to read into john's friendliness as something flirtatious when as far as he knows, john is straight, and this was likely just a job for john, as well as they seemed to get along.

cue miscommunication when one of them actually works up the courage to dm the other on instagram since they're mutuals– either john dms gale something simple, a 'thanks again for the opportunity', and because gale is never on his socials and gale's team doesn't check messages much, it's weeks before anyone clocks john's message, during which john becomes sure he's nothing more than a coworker to gale, which he understands but is sad about. or, gale dms john, but from a private account with an innocuous username that he has just for friends and family, and john never even opens it because the lack of profile picture and generic user blends in with all the other message requests he gets a day.

they only end up reconnecting when the music video actually drops, because obviously it breaks the internet, and john happens to be doing promo interviews and radio shows at the time for his band's new album and tour, so an interviewer of course asks him what the experience was like working on a set like that and working with gale. john gives a glowing review, goes out of his way to praise gale– "the nicest guy you'll ever meet, and the craziest work ethic i've ever witnessed firsthand in hollywood."

when the interviewer asks if john would ever consider working with him again, y'know, the classic question an interviewer has to ask so they can drum up clicks with a 'john egan hints at possible future project with gale cleven!' title, john lays it on thick the way he always does with a wink at the camera and a "he can call me up anytime," but then adds a serious "no, really, i would love to work with him again, he was great."

predictably, the people who are already losing their shit over the music video and making edits and fan theories about the two of them go even crazier, spam–tagging gale and his team in the comments of this interview post, which leads to it eventually making its way to gale, and gale then realizes that john hasn't been uninterested; he must've just not seen his message since surely he would've replied if he had (marge looks at him with so much disappointment when gale mentions his attempt to reach out– "gale, no one with that kind of following is going through dm requests from faceless, private instagram pages, you of all people should know this").

gale hasn't told marge about his possible feelings, but marge isn't dumb; she didn't stand on set for nearly 24 hours with her eagle–eyes and not notice the way gale had been looking at john. to anyone else, it might've just seemed like he was leaning into his persona, but marge has known gale for a long time, and she could tell it wasn't all him playing it up for the cameras.

so marge puts her manager–brain and best friend–brain together and decides that with all the hype surrounding the new song and video, the two of them being seen together in public and making a few posts together would be a great boost for both of them. but she knows gale will never go for it if she voices this to him, because he'd see it as using john for popularity; she reasons that if he doesn't know, it can't be using. so she reaches out to john's manager and figures out when they'll both be back in the same city, and relays her plan as if it's just business, asking for john's manager to let john know that gale will be in town the next week if he wants to set something up, and she gives the manager gale's number for john to contact.

when gale wakes up one morning to a 'hi, this is john! my manager passed on your number to me, hope that's okay. i was told you're in town next week? :)' and then 'egan. btw. lots of johns out there.' and then 'the music video guy.' (john, absolutely panicking on his end, worrying that gale might not even remember his name, not knowing gale's been stalking his socials and confusion–pining just as much as john has been doing the same.)

and then more miscommunication after they arrange to hang out, because john assumes this is just for publicity based on what his manager told him, and he understands, as much as he wishes they're hanging out properly. but gale assumes this is a genuine hangout, because john never says otherwise, until the end of the evening, when gale has to leave for a dinner event and john says "we better take those pics for the 'gram before we say goodbye, or the big guns'll have a fit."

and either gale masks his surprise and then disappointment and goes along with it, thinking maybe he missed a memo or misread things, and this conflict and miscommunication is dragged out even longer, or gale doesn't hide his confusion in time, and john is then equally confused, says "your manager didn't...?" and gale says "sorry, i didn't know; i guess i misread your texts," feeling stupid that he's been thinking the hangout is anything other than a pr stunt. and then there's the awkward "no! no– well, yeah, i was told that this was to promote the video, so i thought– i mean, i would've liked to hang anyway, i just didn't think you wanted to?" from john.

gale is slowly connecting the dots in his head and he's so embarrassed, but also relieved that he hasn't misread things and made a fool of himself. john looks on the verge jumping out of his skin as gale sits quietly, so gale puts him out of his misery, smiles and pushes his irritation about the incident down and says "i do want to, john. i think marge– it doesn't matter. it was a miscommunication, i guess." and all the tension evaporates out of john's body, and he lets out a laugh, and a "oh, thank god. fuck. i was about to walk into the street," and gale lets himself relax too, scoffing at john.

so they decide to have a redo the next week, since they both do feel obligated to take their stupid pictures now to please their teams (and the internet), and thus a tentative friendship is born, the two of them dancing around each other and around feelings because everything is confusing as is, let alone with the way their careers affect every aspect of their lives. so much slowburn, lots of john trying to figure his attraction out and gale keeping his walls up because the thought of literally becoming the person he's singing about in his music video is laughable, he doesn't wanna be strung around or used as an experiment for john.

and john respects this unspoken boundary and also appreciates that they can get to know each other as friends while he tries to stop freaking out every time he pictures him and gale doing less than platonic things. probably a whole lot of chaos on john's end with the absolute tornado that he is, ie: '4am 'am i gay' quizzes taken in the dark of his bunk on a tour bus, asking an openly queer friend from his band if his feelings toward gale are normal, rumours started by a fan that they saw john in a gay club after a show, etc.

because john doesn't do anything halfway– he's ready to literally go out and kiss men and explore his newfound feelings, not just to prove himself to gale, but to figure himself out, because he's terrified of hurting gale since john doesn't have the best track record with relationships. overthinks the shit out of everything and doesn't realize it's not that deep, that liking gale doesn't mean he's suddenly attracted to all men, that all gale wants is for john to be confident in himself and his feelings for him before pursuing anything.

there's a lot of back and forth and messiness and emotions stacked on top of their already crazy hectic schedules and lives, the theorizing and prying from fans and paparazzi, caution from management, but when they eventually have their point of no return moment and cross that line from friends to more, the chemistry is so intense that both of them feel stupid for dragging things out for so long.

when the initial new relationship shyness wears off, the sex is also insane, all the exploration and playfulness (and inevitability of the whole feminization thing coming back into play since that's what starts everything in the first place lol). they're barely able to keep their hands off each other, almost always spending the night at each other's places, stealing as much time as they can to make up for the time apart when there are tours or other events separating them.

they try to keep things private for a while, but with how active john is online, he slips up a good few times– tiktoks where a hat or something of gale's is accidentally left in the background, story posts where john's wearing one of gale's hoodies unthinkingly, mirror selfies where there's a mystery hand or leg in the background. the internet is torn, some convinced it's coincidence, some certain it's all a pr stunt to get people talking, some adamant that they're in a secret relationship. gale's never upset about it; they both just know how much things will change if they go public.

months are spent sneaking around, rarely going on public dates, the odd paparazzi shots still leaking out until it finally gets to the point that there's no point hiding things anymore, it's obvious that they're not just friends. they never actually announce it or make some relationship launch post; they just stop caring, and it's freeing and neither of them expect to be so affected by being able to publicly show affection for each other, but it's such a sweet thing and makes things feel so much more real.

john goes to gale's sold out arena shows and stares up at him in awe and can't believe that gale chooses him every day, and gale goes to john's band's high energy festival sets and watches his golden boy light up with joy every time he glances at him side stage and can't believe john chooses him too.

:-)

lol this post was meant to just be the two lines above the cut but then i got to thinking about origin stories and whoops new au drabble because i'm a master at getting carried away!!

[poisonousquinzel]

ngl real missed opportunity by DC to let Harley and Mr. Freeze become friends during her primary villain arc (btas or other) cause tbh I can't imagine he'd enjoy sitting in his cell listening to Joker brag about all the ways he's cruel, abusive and uncaring towards Harley, a woman who loves him, while Victor's entire goal is to save his wife who he loves dearly ya know ???? and it's not like all of them haven't been locked up together, the other rogues Know. Joker's not like most abusers who try to keep it behind closed doors, he's very public with his abuse.

And just that feeling of like "I am doing everything I can to save my wife, I have become a criminal and have done awful things in the name of love and I just want nothing more than to have her back and You Have Someone Who Loves You That Much, That Much To Become A Criminal As Well And You Repay That Love By ABUSING HER."

[aimeecarreros]

Lee Juyeon highlights in Watch It @SBS Gayo Daejeon 231225

[galvanizedfriend]

I'm about 70% into the next chapter and it's already longer than the other two before, and almost as long as TW3x21. 🫠

[minecraftbookshelf]

If this gets one (1) note I will rant the rant, I require catharsis

[hastalavistabyebye]

Last line challenge

You know the rules.

I have been tagged by @ninjababypowpow x2 @rooksunday @ithillia @mamuzzy-creates-stuff and @izzystizzys <3 y'all are of course uno reverse.

Have some comfort in the hurt of my Echo/Fives/Fox wip.

Echo brokedown. Sobs carving out of his chest, bleeding from his heart, so strong he couldn't stay standing anymore. He fell in the safe warms of his riduure, always there to catch him, even so long later. He wasn’t whole anymore but they still knew exactly how to hold him, as if the prosthetics didn't even exist. He had felt full of grief and pain and rage and betrayal for so long. The sight of the two halves of his heart on this small bed was like a hole in a shuttle letting the void of space empty everything, to the last breath of his soul. Empty and bare. Shaking from relief and the bitter taste of guilt, from not having tried to understand. For having been so quick to hate. He buried his face in Fox’s shoulder, holding both of his anchors as tight as he could, as tight as he dared. 

The rest of the world could fuck itself, the three of them weren’t in one piece, not anymore, but Echo had never felt so complete in years.

And let's add to the mix : @stardustloki @whiskygoldwings @insertmeaningfulusername @the-starry-seas and @corrie-guard-things plus anybody else who has something to share !

[desertduality]

New Ad Astra chapter tomorrow :)

[koheletgirl]

music by @caramiaaddio

poster by @beelzeebub

guys i can't believe they dropped the 50th anniversary trailer today oh my god

[hubr1s69]

biblical