#like the hayes steele thing

[starr-ghost]

everything we know about host!vic’s childhood

(a sisyphean attempt to figure out what the fuck their backstory is)

will this make complete sense? no! absolutely not! and it’ll probably change in two weeks time! but i have thoughts and i am announcing them via megaphone

also for ease i’m referring to them as ‘the host’ rather than ‘host!vic’ for the remainder of this post

the host’s birth family

we know the host was at one point raised by both their parents. were they together? god knows. at some point, their father abandons them/the family and moves to miami, leaving the host and their twin sister katie behind. it’s likely this happens when the host is 7 or younger, as they spend a large amount of time with their grandfather and nana from that age onwards.

when the host is 12, they’re still living with their mother and katie, who doesn’t come to their birthday party, implying that at this time either their father hasn’t left yet or, my belief, that their grandfather and nana are taking partial custody of the twins (well, it’s probably more that their mother is kinda just leaving them there for days at a time)

on the topic of the grandparents: we know the host had a grandfather (bill) who was married to their biological grandmother, who died before the host was born. bill then marries nana. the host also mentions their grandmother on their other side, who apparently takes a lot of cruises.

based on all of this, i believe bill & nana are the host’s maternal grandparents, and their unnamed grandmother is their paternal grandmother. this would suggest that they still had some contact with their father’s side of the family after he abandoned them, although considering she’s always on a cruise she may be avoiding the host and/or their family.

at some point after the host’s 12th birthday, their mother abandons(?) them and katie, and the two live with bill and nana for an undetermined amount of time. somewhat soon after this - when the twins are still young enough not to be safe home alone for too long - nana abandons them for four days, leading to bill divorcing her.

after this… we don’t know a ton. katie and the host grow apart, and as katie mentions their father abandoning them but not their mother it’s likely that she reconnected with their mother at some point. at some point so does the host, although they clearly still have a very strained relationship with their mother considering she refused to come to their birthday.

at some point, bill dies and his entire inheritance goes to nana. this isn’t super important to the timeline but depending on when this happens, it might explain their obsession with money as a power symbol. also the hayes steele thing. in my mind those two are connected but that’s up for interpretation.

as the host is apparently set to be the sole person organising nana’s funeral, it’s likely this was true for bill’s as well. we don’t know how old they were when bill died, but given katie’s absence from the funeral planning it could be assumed that she’s living with their mother at this point while the host is/was living with bill?

so, in summary, my best attempt to figure out the timeline is as follows: the host’s parents split up when the host and katie are around 7, and the two are left in the care of their mother, who regularly leaves them with their grandfather and nana. the host and katie grow apart, and around the age of 12 their mother leaves for a long period. during this time, nana leaves the two home alone for four days, leading to her divorce from the twins’ grandfather. their mother returns, and katie goes to live with her, while the host stays with their grandfather (who may be the only healthy adult in this whole family).

bonus thoughts:

if you subscribe to the idea that the host and the bianca were childhood friends (which i do), they presumably met after the host’s 12th birthday considering she didn’t attend it. this… doesn’t really make the david situation any less fucked up

it’s obvious katie was the golden child, and based on her having been a popular girl and the ‘nerd alert’ thing from nana it’s pretty easy to guess that nana encouraged the two fighting/katie bullying the host (something that their father also seemed to encourage, if we take the sippy cup story from augbert as fact)

[intheupside]

The Pittsburgh Penguins name a PWHL team

Alex Nedeljkovic: I'm bad at making stuff up but what's coming to my head is bridges. They're gold. I was going to say the Golden Arches but now I'm thinking that's McDonald's.

Kris Letang: The Bumblebees.

Rickard Rakell: Pittsburgh Deers. There's a lot of deers here.

Sidney Crosby: Oh! What about the Power? That was the arena football team. I like that.

Cody Glass: I would say the Steel, but the Steelers are already here.

Noel Acciari: I think the Prime, like it sounds like Primanti's.

Michael Bunting: Something with Heinz. We have Steel for the Steelers, and Heinz started here. Something to do with that. Ketchup, mustard, I don't know.

Joel Blomqvist: It would need something to do with steel. Yeah, the Steelheads.

Bryan Rust: Something to do with the rivers ... Maybe like, the Three River Queens. 

Phil Tomasino: It's the Steel City, right? So maybe the Pittsburgh Steel, Steel HC.

Jesse Puljujarvi: Pittsburgh  ... Pittsburgh ... Pittsburgh ... Pittsburgh ... Pittsburgh ... Pittsburgh Cats (laughs hysterically).

Kevin Hayes: Pittsburgh has the Steelers, but Pittsburgh Steel. Like, Steel HC.

Matt Nieto: Maybe, like, the Tinkerbells. I have no idea! That's the first thing that came to mind.

Matt Grzelcyk: Honestly, I don't even have a guess right now. I haven't been here long enough to know the ins and outs of the city.

Anthony Beauvillier: What's a female penguin, or other kind of penguin? Maybe like the Puffins? Something like that.

P.O Joseph: Oh wow, Heinz maybe? The Heinz.

Valtteri Puustinen: Penguins in Finnish is Pingviinit. Maybe that! You have the Penguins and Pingviinit.

Blake Lizotte: The Sparrows. I don't know why, that's just what came to mind.

Ryan Shea: Thinking of other women's teams, I don't want to reuse names like, the Boston Pride. The first things that come to mind are like, bridges, steel. You could shorten the Steelers and be the Pittsburgh Steel, that sounds good and doesn't take away from the Steelers.

Ryan Graves: Something with the rivers ... The River Monsters.

Tristan Jarry: What's a baby Penguin called? A chick? The Pittsburgh Chicks.

Marcus Pettersson: The Bridges.

Drew O'Connor: The Monongahelas. Isn't that the river? Buccos would be a cool name, but they can't really do that because the Pirates go by that.

Jack St. Ivany: It's the City of Steel, but the Steelers use that. Something with the rivers? Pittsburgh Rivers.

Erik Karlsson: The Rivers. They can hire me, if they want. I can come up with a name for a couple hundred grand.

[ellswritings]

Rules

LA Knight (Shaun Ricker) x reader

TW: Mentions of sex, Carmelo Hayes being a flirt, public declarations of affection. It’s a little shorter than what I normally write but I was inspired and I think it came out decent 🤷‍♀️

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Casual sex.

That’s all it was supposed to be. When Y/N met Shaun Ricker, he was pompous, loud, and unbelievably arrogant.

But that was what made her fall for him in the first place.

His booming voice never failed to get her heart thumping. And behind all that gusto and bravado was a man who was just as sweet as he was obnoxious. Getting to know the man beneath the Megastar was just like completing a fun puzzle. Trying to figure out what pieces fit where to make him who he is.

He felt the same way about her. He was captivated yet infuriated when meeting what the fans considered the women woman of the female division. She was secretive, mysterious, and too damn sexy to be strutting around those dark halls.

What started off as blurring the lines between fighting and flirting turned into hooking up whenever they got the chance. They both agreed, no strings attached, just fun, casual, non romantic sex. Traveling the way they do, being in the field of work they are, it’s hard to maintain a relationship. So when they both agreed to the terms of their so-called “relationship” it was like Christmas came early.

However, things got… difficult from time to time. While everything between them was considered, or not what they considered casual, there were some ground rules set in place along the way.

Y/N’s never considered herself a jealous person, but one night when she caught Shaun laughing just a little too loudly at something one of their on site medics said, she swore she could hear air horns blaring in her ears.

She didn’t do anything at that moment, but when Shaun came knocking on her hotel room door, she made it clear she would only be interested in continuing this “casual” relationship if they did it her way.

Monogamous.

Shaun was more than willing to do it her way when she started laying into him about being too flirty with other women. He found it unbelievably attractive watching her get worked up the way she did over him. Seeing someone so stone cold and put together falling apart for him had to be the best feeling in the world.

Y/N was stretching in the back, prepping for her big match against Tiffany Stratton. It’s not for the championship but for an opportunity at the title later on down the road. She pulls the band in her hands, getting the proper pump in her back muscles when she suddenly feels a pair of lips ghosting on her shoulders.

A small smirk graces her, knowing exactly who those lips belong to. “Hey, you…” A sultry tone is how she chooses to greet him as she leaned back into the solid heat of his chest, stretching the resistance band between her hands. “You do know there’s a whole locker room full of people, right?”

“Let ’em look,” he muttered, his lips still brushing the curve where her neck met her shoulder. “I’ll give ’em somethin’ to talk about.”

She let out a short breath—half amusement, half exasperation. “You really need attention that badly?”

Shaun pulled back just enough to meet her gaze in the mirror. “I don’t need attention. I need you. But if everyone wanna stare while I get my fix, then so be it.”

“Fix?” She arched a brow, toying with the band in her hands. “You talk like I’m your addiction.”

“Oh, baby,” he said with a slow grin, “you have no idea.”

Y/N turned, just slightly, meeting him in that narrow space between her body and his. He wasn’t touching her anymore—not quite—but the way he hovered, his hands braced on either side of her on the bench, caged her in more than a steel chair ever could.

“Be honest,” she said. “You miss me when we’re not rooming together, don’t you?”

Shaun tilted his head, tongue running across his bottom lip. “When I’m not roomin’ with you, I’m not sleepin’. I’m just layin’ there, picturing your smart mouth and those legs wrapped around my waist.”

She laughed softly, her hand brushing up his chest before curling around the collar of his shirt. “You’re such a sap.”

“I’m a mess,” he corrected. “And it’s your fault.”

“And yet,” she said sweetly, stepping back just an inch, just enough to pull him forward by the collar, “you still keep coming back.”

“Because you’re the best mistake I keep making.”

That made her laugh. A real one this time—warm and amused and just a little too affectionate for someone who claimed this was all for fun.

“You know,” she said, toying with the hem of his shirt now, “if you keep flirting with me like that, I might forget I have a match in ten minutes.”

He leaned closer, his voice like thunder in her ear. “Then let’s make it five.”

Y/N laughed again and shoved him back with a hand to his chest. Shaun didn’t let her get far though, grasping her wrist and pulling her back into his chest. “C’mon sweetheart,” he begs. “I don’t need nothin’ fancy… a janitor’s closet, your rental outback, hell, I’ll even take you behind those lockers right there if you think you can keep quiet.”

Y/N shakes her head, biting her lip, “You’re disgusting,” she mumbles, though it doesn’t come out as convincing as she wishes it would. “Y’know, I’m starting to think I need my head checked. Never seem to learn my lesson.”

“Yeah, well, you’re gonna need a full psych evaluation if you think I’m lettin’ you go out there without a little pre-match good luck—”

She held up a finger, stopping him in his tracks.

“No. None of that. Not tonight.”

His eyes narrowed, amused but skeptical. “You serious?”

“I need to focus,” she said, winding her band back up. “Tiffany’s not just gonna roll over and let me pin her. Besides… wouldn’t it be that much sweeter to celebrate after I win? Just you and me…” she trails her finger down his chest before leaning in to whisper in his ear, “Naked?”

Shaun clicked his tongue. “Unreal. You get me all worked up, talkin’ like that, lookin’ like that, and then you’re just gonna… leave me here? High and dry?”

Y/N leaned in—just enough that her lips hovered dangerously close to his—and whispered, “Don’t worry pretty boy, we’ll fix that whole dry problem later.”

That groan? It was deeper this time. Frustrated. Rough. Real.

She gave him one last smirk before turning on her heel, her gear hugging her in all the right places as she walked away like she didn’t just leave him simmering in his own damn skin.

And all Shaun could do was stand there, jaw tight, hands flexing like he didn’t know whether to go punch a wall or follow her out to the ring and throw her over his shoulder like a caveman.

“She’s gonna be the death of me,” he mutters just as she disappears out of the room.

Y/N can hear Tiffany’s music echoing throughout the stadium as she heads to gorilla position. She prepares herself, cracking her neck as she waits for her cue. Once one of the stagehands nods at her, she pushes the curtain aside with an attitude that even a spoiled toddler couldn’t rival.

Tiffany Stratton was already in the ring, glistening like a gold-dipped Barbie, all smug smiles and shimmery smugness. She flipped her platinum hair over her shoulder with the kind of arrogance only someone who’d never been humbled could wear.

She posed on the ropes, blowing a kiss to the crowd that got her a chorus of cheers.

The lights dimmed.

A beat of silence.

Then— “Control” by Halsey hit the speakers like a thunderclap.

The bass dropped, and the crowd roared to life.

Fog curled at the base of the ramp. A single red spotlight cut through it like a blade. And through it all walked Y/S/N—shoulders squared, jaw set, every inch of her radiating danger.

This wasn’t a woman coming to compete. This was a woman coming to conquer.

The playful smirk that usually teased the edge of her lips was gone. There was no wink for the camera, no hand-slap to the fans at ringside. Her eyes were locked on Tiffany Stratton with laser precision, the kind of focus that stripped a person down to their bones.

She climbed the steel steps, ducked between the ropes, and stalked across the ring like a lioness. The air in the arena shifted—like everyone could sense something big was about to happen.

Ding ding ding.

Tiffany exploded out of the corner with a screech and a slap, trying to catch Y/S/N off guard with sheer chaos.

Big mistake.

Y/S/N caught her wrist mid-swing, twisted it behind her back, and sent her sprawling with a crisp Japanese arm drag that earned a surprised pop from the crowd.

“She’s not here to play,” Wade Barrett said from commentary. “She’s here to make a statement.”

Tiffany scrambled to her feet, mascara already smudging from the sheer impact. She threw a wild lariat. Y/S/N ducked under, hit the ropes, and came flying back with a running single-leg dropkick that cracked across Tiffany’s chest.

The sound alone got a “OHHHHHH!” from the crowd.

Tiffany rolled out of the ring, clutching her sternum and gasping like someone had just stolen the air from her lungs.

Y/N leaned over the ropes, hair falling forward, and said loud enough for the hard cam to catch, “Come on, Blondie. That all you got?”

Tiffany screamed something unintelligible, slapped the steel steps in frustration, and climbed back in.

She tried to take control with some cheap tactics—hair pulls, eye gouges when the ref’s back was turned, stomps to the foot.

Y/S/N answered every dirty trick with something sharper.

Snap suplex.

Hammerlock backbreaker.

Hard European uppercut in the corner that left Tiffany staggering like a drunk on New Year’s Eve.

“She’s got Stratton rattled,” Joe Tessitore called. “Y/S/N is absolutely picking her apart!”

Tiffany got one moment of hope—climbing the ropes for her signature Prettiest Moonsault Ever—but Y/N rolled to her feet with feline grace and caught her mid-air with a thunderous sit-out powerbomb that shook the canvas.

“GOOD GOD,” Barrett shouted. “SHE JUST FOLDED HER IN HALF.”

Y/N didn’t go for the pin. Not yet.

She stood, slow, deliberate. Her expression unreadable. She looked down at Tiffany, breathing heavy, and then yanked her up by the hair.

The crowd surged to its feet. They knew what was coming.

She hooked the arms.

Lifted.

And drove her down with her finisher:

“The Final Say” —a brutal double underhook brainbuster that bounced Tiffany off the mat like a ragdoll.

1… 2… 3.

DING DING DING.

The crowd went wild.

Y/N rolled to her knees, chest heaving, fists planted into the mat. Still no smile. Still no celebration. Just that quiet, dangerous calm that said: I told you I was next.

“Here is your winner… Y/S/N!”

Tiffany rolled out of the ring, clutching her neck and mumbling curses, but nobody cared. All eyes were on the woman standing tall in the center of the ring, her theme music echoing through the arena like a war anthem.

There was no belt on her waist—yet—but the message was loud and clear: She wasn’t coming for it. She was taking it.

The adrenaline still surged in Y/N’s veins when she stepped back through the curtain, the roar of the crowd still echoing faintly in her ears. Sweat clung to her skin beneath her gear, every muscle in her body thrumming from the fight, from the win, from the high of knowing she’d owned that ring tonight.

Someone handed her a water bottle—she nodded her thanks absently and cracked it open, barely stopping to breathe before high-fiving a tech guy, winking at a camera op, and throwing her towel over her shoulder like a war general returning from battle.

She was still grinning when she turned the corner—

—and froze.

Carmelo Hayes was slouched on a bench just past the medics’ station, his usual cocky confidence noticeably dimmed. One of the trainers knelt beside him, gently rotating his arm while he winced through clenched teeth.

Y/N’s smile dropped instantly. “What the hell happened?”

The words were out before she could think. She was already moving, rushing to his side, dropping to her knees beside the bench as if instinct had kicked in before logic could catch up.

Melo looked up with a lopsided grin, even as he shifted uncomfortably. “Just a bad bump,” he said, trying to shrug it off—literally and figuratively—but wincing when the motion sent pain shooting down his shoulder. “Tweaked something. I’m good.”

She ignored the bravado. “You’re not good.” Her brow furrowed as her fingers hovered carefully over the area the medic was icing. “It’s swollen. It’s definitely more than tweaked.”

“Damn,” he said with a grin, “you worried about me, L/N?”

“Of course I’m worried about you, dumbass,” she shot back, but her voice was softer now. Her fingers gently tapped his forearm. “You’re my tag partner next week. If you’re benched, I’m gonna get stuck in some stupid backstage segment.”

Carmelo chuckled, then leaned in just a little—too close, if you asked the man standing down the hall.

“You’re real cute when you’re bossy,” Melo murmured, tilting his head. “Remind me to fake an injury more often.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “You’re an idiot,” she muttered, though the corner of her mouth betrayed her with the faintest grin.

“I know,” he said. “But at least I’ve got charm to back it up.”

She stood and offered her hand. “Come on. I’ll help you to the trainer’s room. You shouldn’t be walking around like this.”

Carmelo didn’t hesitate—he looped his arm around her shoulder, his body pressing just slightly too close to hers as she helped him up. He leaned into her with the casual ease of someone who’d imagined this moment more than once.

She didn’t notice. But someone else did.

Shaun’s voice cracked through the tension like thunder. “Y/N.”

She turned instinctively. Carmelo straightened, but didn’t move from her side.

Shaun was walking toward them with purpose—broad shoulders tense, jaw working like he was physically biting back a string of words. His eyes scanned the scene in one quick sweep, landing first on her, then on Melo, then back to her.

“You need help gettin’ him there?” Shaun asked, voice low and clipped.

Y/N blinked, her tone gentle. “No. I’ve got it.”

A beat passed. It should’ve ended there. But of course, Carmelo couldn’t help himself.

“You know she’s a saint, right?” he said, directing the words at Shaun with a lazy smile. “Putting up with me and keeping up with you? That’s Olympic-level patience.”

Shaun’s jaw ticked.

Y/N sighed. “Melo—”

But Melo just smirked, unbothered. “She’s got a thing for high-maintenance, I guess.”

Then—because he was Carmelo Hayes—he winked.

And that was it.

Shaun turned without a word. His boots pounded the concrete as he stalked off, muscles rippling under his T-shirt like he was two seconds away from throwing something—preferably someone—through a wall.

He didn’t know where he was going, just that he needed to move. His jaw was locked so tight it hurt, his shoulders square and stiff like he was holding back the urge to knock someone straight into catering. Hopefully that joker in sneakers and a smug grin who thought they were slick with his girl.

His girl?

He shook his head, frustrated.

Not your girl, remember? That’s what the deal was supposed to be. Just fun. Just sex. Just two people blowing off steam.

So why the hell did it feel like someone had stuck a knife under his ribs the second she said, “I got it”?

Why did “I got it” feel like “I don’t need you”?

“Y’know,” a voice chirped beside him, sweet with trouble, “usually when you look like this, it’s after a loss. What happened, cowboy? You get pinned by your own feelings?”

Shaun didn’t look over. Just let out a clipped, “Not now.”

But Lacey Evans wasn’t one to be brushed off easily. She jogged a step to keep up, high ponytail bouncing behind her, a wicked grin dancing on her lips.

“Oooh, so it is about a girl. Let me guess. Little Miss Mysterious gave you the cold shoulder?”

“Lacey…” he warned, voice low.

“Relax, I’m just messin’.” She nudged him with her elbow. “But come on, Ricker. Since when do you sulk? You’re like the king of the rebound. I’ve seen you charm someone into your hotel room with half a wink and two syllables.”

“Yeah?” Shaun muttered, still not looking at her. “Well maybe I’m not in the mood.”

That gave her pause. “Okay, now I know something’s up. You’re not in the mood?” She scoffed. “What, she got herself a new tag partner and now you’re jealous?”

His stride faltered just slightly, his mouth twitching like he was holding back a thousand things he didn’t want to say.

Lacey grinned wider, seeing an opportunity and going for it. “Look, you and me both know the best way to get someone outta your head is—”

“Lacey.” He stopped suddenly.

She nearly collided into him, hand shooting out to brace herself against his chest. “Whoa. Easy.”

Shaun looked at her, finally. But his usual spark, that cocky light in his eye—it wasn’t there. Not fully. Something in him looked rattled. Like a man who just realized the fire he lit might burn down the whole damn building.

His voice came low, edged with something raw.

“I can’t do this.”

She blinked. “Can’t what?”

He hesitated for half a beat. Like the words had to fight their way out.

“Can’t flirt. Can’t do this. ‘Cause–” He sucked in a breath, shook his head. “’Cause there’s rules,” he grunts out frustrated.

Lacey raised both brows, hands on her hips. “I’m sorry?”

“There’s rules,” he said again, sharper now. “She set ‘em. No other people. No side flings. Just her. And I said fine. I said yes. Hell, I didn’t even blink.”

“She wanted this. She wanted monogamy. Exclusivity. And I didn’t argue. Because I…” he trailed off, swallowing hard, He looked away, like it physically pained him to admit it out loud.

Lacey stared, trying to process his rambling, “You what?”

Shaun just continued on, exhaling through his nose as he talks himself through his own mind. “I was fine with casual. I really thought I was. But then she said she wanted it her way—and I didn’t even think twice. Because somewhere along the line it stopped being casual. And now I can’t even look at another woman without feeling like I’m screwin’ it up.”

He dragged a hand down his face, jaw clenching hard. “And then tonight she tells me she’s ‘got it,’ and walks off with Melo like I’m some extra in her life? Nah, nah.”

He looked back at Lacey, eyes stormy.

“She wanted these damn rules. And I followed ‘em. But now? Now I want everyone to know I’m following ‘em. That she’s mine. Not just when the door’s closed. Not just between the sheets. Mine every damn day.”

Lacey watches as he spins on his heel, still not comprehending what she’s listening to. “Shaun–”

But he didn’t turn around, he didn’t smile, didn’t joke, didn’t say anything back. He just continued on and walked off, more sure of where he was going this time.

Because he was done playing pretend.

Done being the secret.

If Carmelo or anyone else wanted to flirt with Y/N? They were about to learn what it meant when LA Knight claimed something—someone—for good. And this time, there were no blurred lines.

The buzz of the med bay was a dull hum in the background, overshadowed by Carmelo’s easy laugh and Y/N’s quiet voice as she pointed something out to the medic. Melo was sitting on the table now, legs dangling, his shirt off to allow better access to his shoulder while the medic taped it up. Every so often, he cracked a joke, just enough to keep the mood light.

Y/N rolled her eyes at him—but she smiled too, and that’s what did it.

Carmelo’s eyes were locked on Y/N, who stood a little too close—at least from Shaun’s perspective as he stepped just around the corner.

“Look at you,” Melo drawled, voice low and flirtatious. “My own personal nurse and you throw hands in the ring like it’s nothing.”

Y/N huffed a small laugh, clearly amused. “Is that your way of asking me out? Because I don’t date people who can’t lift both arms.”

Melo smirked, undeterred. “Nah, not askin’ you out. Just lettin’ you know—if you ever get tired of dealing with men who don’t know what they got? I’ll remind you real quick.”

And Y/N laughed. She laughed.

That was it.

Shaun moved before he even realized it.

His hand shot out, wrapping around her wrist—not hard, not rough, but firm enough that she felt it. She turned, startled, eyes locking onto his. There was a storm behind them—something brewing that wasn’t going to be ignored.

“Shaun—”

“We need to talk.”

She blinked. “I’m kind of in the middle of something—”

“No,” he said again, firmer this time. “Now.”

He didn’t wait for her to argue. He was already walking, pulling her along behind him, not giving a damn who watched. They cut around the side of a row of stacked production crates until they were tucked away, out of sight. Not that he cared about privacy at this point—he wasn’t about to keep any of this quiet.

He dropped her wrist and planted his hands on her hips, backing her into the crates gently but with purpose. His eyes burned into hers like they were made of wildfire.

“You remember those rules you laid out a few months ago?” he asked, voice low and dangerous in a way that made her stomach flip.

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Yeah…What does that have to do with anything?”

“I want them too. Every single one. No seeing other people. No acting like we’re available. No flirty bullshit with other guys—because you’re mine.”

She blinked, thrown off by the intensity in his tone. Her mind finally catches up to her, and that’s when she realizes what’s got him so worked up. He’s jealous. “Wait. This is about Melo?”

“Damn right it is,” Shaun growled. “You think I’m gonna stand there and watch him look at you like that? Watch you laugh at his stupid jokes like he’s got a shot? Hell no.”

“Shaun, what the hell is wrong with you—”

“You!” he snapped, then immediately ran a hand through his hair like he was trying to rein it in. “You are what’s wrong with me. You got in my head, sweetheart. You laid out all those rules like you were doing me a favor, like you were giving me boundaries, and I said yes. I said yes because I thought I could handle it. But you know what I realized tonight?”

Y/N folded her arms, her breath shallow. “…What?”

His chest rose and fell. “I don’t want to handle it. I don’t want you casual. I don’t want you part-time. I don’t want a secret thing that happens in hotel rooms when no one’s looking.”

Her heart thudded against her ribs.

“I want all of it. I want you. And I’m not gonna be quiet about it anymore. You want monogamy?” He leaned in, nose brushing hers. “You got it. You want exclusivity? Fine. But you better know it goes both ways.”

He stepped back just enough to gesture wildly between them.

“This ain’t just sex anymore. It stopped being just sex the second you started caring about how I drink my coffee and remembering my sister’s birthday. And now, if some goober like Carmelo freakin’ Hayes thinks he can swoop in while I’m standin’ ten feet away?” His voice dropped to a low, growling thunder. “I’ll kick his ass with you on my arm and the whole damn locker room watching.”

Y/N didn’t say anything right away.

She just stared at him. Calm. Still.

“Are you done?”

He scoffed. “Not even close.”

And then he grabbed her.

One hand went to her waist, the other to the back of her neck, and he yanked her into him, smashing his mouth to hers like it was the only thing in the world that could shut him up.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was all teeth and heat, all that tension between them catching fire in an instant. Her hands gripped his shirt, and he backed her harder into the crates, devouring her breath, her body, her silence. When he pulled back, it was only to look at her, lips swollen, eyes wide.

“You wanna know what the biggest rule is?” he whispered, forehead pressed to hers. “You’re mine. And I’m yours. That’s it. That’s the whole damn contract.”

Before she could reply, he dipped down and swept her up, throwing her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing.

“Shaun!” she laughed, half protesting, half breathless.

He didn’t stop. Just strode out into the hallway—the very same one full of crew, talent, agents, and backstage eyes—like he owned the place. Because tonight? He did.

They passed a group of rookies and road agents. A few people turned. A couple of heads snapped up. And right in the middle of the chaos, he yelled without shame:

“HEY! In case anyone’s wonderin’— This!” He smacks her ass, the sound resounding through the entire backstage area. “Mine.”

More heads turned. Someone whooped. Laughter rang out in surprise.

And through it all, Y/N stayed over his shoulder, hand pressed to her face, half-mortified, half-thrilled.

Because dammit, he meant every word.

And so did she.

[trombonechurchill]

At a Glance

Josh Russo/Carson Hayes, 1.7k words, Rated T Fic for @911whatisyourpride's Week 1: Firsts Read on Ao3 HERE or below:

It's annoying that Carson looked so good even mussed up, sweaty, and sooty. Josh is sure he in turn looks like a drowned rat. Maybe a singed rat. A rat having a bad day who needs a good long hour in the bath tub and several products before attempting any sort of flirting going on here.

But he doesn't have any of that right now. What he does have is Carson's hand gripped tightly in his and the life affirming rush of narrowly escaping catastrophe together that's pushing Josh to do something stupid about it. Like ask Carson to run away with him.

The paramedic currently eying their joined hands as the gurney reaches the back of the ambulance thankfully nips that thought in the bud before it can get past Josh's lips, which he's grateful for even if it does look like she's now trying to decide how to gently disentangle the pair of them. Josh isn't sure he's ready to let go just yet.

"Is he stable enough for a quick second?" He asked her, eyes as wide and pathetic as he can get them (he learned from the best after all, one doesn't hang with Maddie Buckley every day and not pick up a few tricks).

"He'll hold for a minute or two," she said cautiously, stepping up into the ambulance, enough to give them the facsimile of privacy with a quick nod while stilling keeping an eye on Carson's vitals. Josh resisted the urge to press his own fingers to the pulse at Carson's wrist. He's not sure what base that would be, but he doesn't think they're quite at listening to each other's heart beats levels. Heck, they're not even past the awkward flirting stage, if you could call their conversations earlier today that. Josh wouldn't mind changing that though.

"Oh uh, if you don't mind," Josh said belatedly, glancing back down to where Carson's essentially being held captive. Another fantasy Josh wishes he could indulge in under much less dire circumstances. He'll put a pin in it. Get a grip, Russo.

"Please, I kinda thought I was a goner down there. I don't know how those guys found me-"

"Oh, I told them." Josh doesn't balk, but it's a close thing, tries to cover the admission at the wondrous look it stirred in Carson's eyes. This was not the smooth flirting Josh had in mind when he walked over here. "Uh, mind like a steel trap, I know where everyone is in my house." Josh awkwardly taps on the side of his head and Carson smiles, slow and tired and beatific in a way Josh has only seen in the movies.

"You remembered me?"

"How could I forget?" Josh said it without thinking, only catches himself because of the way Carson's eyes soften, wonders briefly if Carson hit his head and he can blame the stupid things currently coming out of Josh's mouth on a head injury. "I mean, you're quite memorable," Josh added. Apparently he's given up on any hope of coming across cool and suave. Let's be honest, Josh probably lost that hope the second he clapped eyes on Carson in the server room. Sincere and dorky thy name is Josh Russo.

"Well, thanks. I'd never really fancied the idea of dying in a basement," Carson said. Josh is struck by the fact that they're still holding hands. Tries not to think too hard about how gross and sweaty it must feel for Carson. Josh probably lost feeling in his hands the second everyone realized Dispatch was on fire and all the blood rushed to the pit of his stomach in a flood of anxiety induced adrenaline. He twitched his fingers just to be sure. It makes Carson smile.

Josh is such a goner.

Thankfully, Carson chimes in again before Josh manages to spout off any alarming statistics about the number of 9-1-1 calls he's fielded from people in basements. "Hey, you're not hurt right? Did someone check you over?" He punctuates the question with a gentle brush of his thumb over Josh's cheekbone. In his mind's eye, Josh sees Carson's hand raise and move towards him in slow motion, helpless to the press of skin on skin and the way his eyelids flutter.

Even nearly incapacitated, Carson is winning more boyfriend points than any of his past trysts combined. Which is probably telling in more ways than one. Especially since Josh called them trysts. What is he, a 70 year old grandma? Honestly, he wishes. This is what he gets for watching nothing but Golden Girls through his whole childhood.

And he thought of Carson as boyfriend material. Can't help but think Carson might be having similar thoughts. Is that love in your eyes or is it just the possible head trauma? Josh might need to have his head checked too as he returns the motion, brushing a thumb over Carson's cheekbone, feels the catch and drag of stubble on the pad of his thumb. His heart is in his throat and Josh has never felt more alive, skin buzzing. If this is a concussion well, bring on the brain damage.

His palm was still on Carson's cheek, gentle, gentle, like he's some fragile thing, and Josh swallows. Swallows down the fear and the doubt as he leaned forward. Pressed his lips feather-light to Carson's temple, feels the brush of that gorgeous mane of hair tickle his cheek as he pulled back. Tries not to focus too much on the taste of sweat lingering on his lips. Or whether he now had soot smeared all over his face.

Carson looked like someone just knocked his lights out. Or maybe like he got electrocuted and had his leg broken; a level of shocked devastation on his face that has Josh ready to bolt. Is there a subtle way to untangle their hands so Josh can make a quick escape? God why are they still holding hands? Why did he kiss him?

"Wait, wait," Carson fumbled to grab for Josh, hand landing on top of their still joined fingers where Josh has in fact failed to pull away, stilling them instantly. "Sorry, I wasn't ready. I think the drugs are kicking in," Carson's smile was still gorgeous, lop-sided as he stared hopefully up at him. At Josh of all people. Josh doesn't get it. "Can I get a do-over?"

"You want a do-over? Of me kissing the side of your face?" Josh tries to to keep his incredulity to appropriate limits but it's a close thing. Carson nodded. Josh's own answering smile fought its way onto his face, helpless in Carson's presence to be anything other than completely and utterly smitten it seems.

"I thought maybe your aim was off," Carson offered slowly, giving their joint hands a little tug.

"Oh, sure, yeah. Let's go with that."

As far as first kisses go, it's not what Josh would have envisioned when trying to dream up his ideal. Carson still smelled like burnt hair and something lingering and metallic Josh tried not to think about too much. Josh himself was fending off the adrenaline crash induced trembling that's threatening to take over his whole body by the skin of his teeth. But it's still perfect. A dry brush of lips that pressed into something more insistent as Josh brought his hands up to cup Carson's face. A promise of something more, later. Room for improvement that Josh is suddenly certain he'll have a chance to explore.

He pulled away, lips and skin buzzing. He wondered briefly if you can get a contact high from morphine. Maybe he should try kissing Carson again just to see. Maybe it's just him. Magic lips or something. Josh needed someone to hose him off, he needs to calm down over here. This is what people mean when they use the word 'giddy'. Josh isn't sure he's experienced before as he took a shuddering breath. Carson is hurt and injured and beautiful and Josh wanted nothing more than to take him and fret and fawn over him forever.

Maybe he should at least start with asking him to get dinner. Lunch maybe, he amends after a quick look at where Carson's face is drawn at the edges. Breakfast. He could bring him breakfast at the hospital tomorrow. He should ask, before he looses his nerves. If this all blew up in his face he can always pretend Carson hallucinated it on the morphine anyway. Most of the firefighters here owe him a favor, he could get them to corroborate.

Carson was still looking at him like that. Like Josh is worth looking at. Josh's mouth opened before he can think better of it-

"This really isn't the best time to be asking you this, considering-"

"That I'm not wearing pants."

"-That you're high on morphine- Wait I'm sorry what happened to your pants?" Josh spluttered, brain short circuiting as his eyes involuntarily jumped to Carson's lap and back like he'd been caught peeping, heat rising on his cheeks.

"The two firefighter guys you sent. They cut open my pants."

"Oh. Well I didn't tell them to do that. For the record," Josh said, training his gaze intently on Carson's face. His stupid handsome face. If there was anyone up there looking out for Josh at all, hopefully Carson would not remember this part of the conversation tomorrow. Or ever.

"What did you want to ask?" Carson asked softly, looking like a vision even on a gurney with bedhead, hair fanned out on the starched sheet under him, eyes soft as he gazed- straight up gazed, Josh doesn't think he's had anyone gaze at him in his life. Not like this. Beautiful brown eyes that Josh could literally get lost in isn't that a hoot-

"Wh-what? Oh, it doesn't matter," Josh said quickly, voice softening as Carson once again linked their fingers together.

"Maybe you could tell me tomorrow," Carson offered, smiling the knowing smile of someone drugged to the gills and being loaded into an ambulance.

"Yeah. Yeah. Tomorrow sounds good," Josh said, giving Carson's hand an extra squeeze. And maybe the day after that too. And after that-

[spnbabe67]

Come and Go Between My Bedsheets

Kinktober Day 16: Cunnilingus (Jake Seresin)

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Fem Original Character

Warnings: Smut, Oral (F. Rec.), Fingering, PiV, Sex as a distraction, Angst

Summary: Keep your friends close and your enemies closer right? What happens when Tatum decides she has kept Jake too close?

Word Count: 2097

Authors Note: Title based on the song Into It by Chase Atlantic

Tatum knew that this thing between her and Jake was slowly migrating away from casual to something more involved. And for the most part, she didn’t really mind it. She knew she had the infamous Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin wrapped around her finger. Most of their escapades started with him seeking her out, which in and of itself wasn’t a big deal. But what was, was the fact that Javy, along with a couple of their mutual friends had noticed the change. 

They’d all been drinking in the common area a couple nights before when Javy offhandedly mentioned how Jake had changed, that Jake hadn’t mentioned a girl since they’d all arrived on base. Javy had playfully smacked Jake on the arm, teasing him about his friend holding out on him. Jake had expertly avoided the line of questioning, directing their friends, already half drunk, to another topic all together. He’d caught Tatum’s eye when the others weren’t looking, winking at her with that smug look on his handsome face. Tatum had glanced around, flipping him off, but ultimately returning his grin. 

But despite the easy-going nature of their relationship, that little voice in the back of her head nagged at her to ‘Be careful’. Tatum knew that this casual, secret, friends with benefits type dynamic ultimately had an expiration date. She had laid down ground rules when they both decided that this dynamic was going to be recurrent. They’d agreed not to see anyone else and that either one of them could back out at any time. She tried not to think about it too much, instead distracting herself with her work, and after that going for long runs to the point where she collapsed into bed afterwards. But tonight, not even her normal run and workout could drown out that insecure feeling. So after her shower, still wrapped in her towel, Tatum had shot off a message to Jake, asking him if he was busy. She toweled off, pulling on a pair of shorts and a sweatshirt, trying not to listen too closely for the buzzing of her cell. Tatum wasn’t so sure she liked the way she was waiting with bated breath for Jake to answer her, it only cemented the fact that she knew what she had to do. So when Jake texted her back, telling her he wasn’t doing anything, Tatum took a shaky breath, steeling herself before heading over to Jake’s room.

Jake was sitting at his desk, reading over some paperwork when Tatum slunk into his room, locking the door behind her. He looked up, eyes roaming her form as she walked over to him.

“Surprised to get a message from you. I-” Jake was cut off as Tatum dipped down, crashing her lips to his. 

Jake let out a surprised grunt at the forwardness of Tatums affection. He placed his hands on her hips, making to pull her onto his lap but she pulled away, tugging her sweatshirt off, tossing it to the floor. Her dark hair fell over her face, making a curtain between their gazes. Jake itched to reach up and brush the locks away from her features but she stepped back out of his reach before he could.

He sat back, watching her shove the clothes off her body. “What brought this on? Not that I’m complaining.” A kind of uneasiness slowly creeped in, whispering cautions to him. He reached out, grabbing her arm, thumb brushing the inside of her wrist. “Hayes, slow down. No need to rush.”

Tatum sighed, pulling her arm from his grasp. “I’m here, naked, and saying yes.” She shimmied her shorts down her legs before walking over to sit on the bed. “So are you gonna come over here and fuck me, or not?” 

Jake shrugged mentally, pushing away that nagging feeling in favor of pulling his own t-shirt over his head as he walked over, dipping down to recapture her lips. Tatum’s hands slid over his waist, her fingertips trailing across the muscles of his back. Jake reached down, grabbing her thighs to move her up the bed, placing her down gently. Tatum pulled him in, her thighs wrapping around his waist to keep his body hovered over her own. Jake planted a hand by her head to steady himself. He knew she was strong, you’d have to be a fool to miss her carefully toned muscles, but man did her legs hold fast around him. Her panting breaths and wandering hands encouraged him, trailing open mouthed kisses down her jaw to her neck. His other hand caressed up and down her side, sliding up to cup one of her breasts. 

Jake kissed and sucked his way to her chest, wrapping his lips around one of her peaked nipples. He groaned as her hand shot to his hair, tangling in the strands to hold him against her chest. She arched up towards him as his tongue swirled around the bud, teeth grazing it. Tatum’s breathy moans had all his blood rushing south, his cock pressing against the zipper of his jeans. Her body was warm, her skin soft, under him. He could never get tired of her, how gorgeous she was, how easily they went back and forth. Aside from Natasha, no one else had been able to keep him on his toes as well as Tatum. 

He pulled off of her breast, a string of saliva connecting his lips to her. Jake moved to the other one kept pliant by his hand. He nipped at the erect tissue, earning him a loud moan falling from Tatum’s plump lips.

“Stop teasing.” Tatum gritted out, tugging harshly on his hair as if in emphasis.

Jake pulled off her breast, placing a kiss to the valley between them. “Patience isn’t your virtue, is it?”

Tatum muttered something that sounded like ‘shut up’ and Jake chuckled against her belly as he kissed his way along her stomach, teeth nipping her skin. He rearranged her legs so that her thighs were thrown over his shoulders, her soaked core in his face, right where he wanted to be. He’d never admit it to Javy or his other friends, not in a thousand years or facing the worst torture, but he enjoyed eating a woman out, eating her out. Tatum’s thighs immediately wrapped around his head as he laved his tongue along her core from her entrance all the way up to her clit. He laughed lowly against her, wrapping an arm around her thigh and across her hips. Jake licked and sucked at her clit, letting his teeth graze it every so often just to hear her beautiful moans muffled by her legs against his ears.

Jake swirled his tongue around her clit as he brought his other hand up, slipping his index finger inside her, feeling her walls squeeze around it. He had to hold fast to her hips as she bucked up, chasing his mouth. He gave Tatum a reassuring squeeze to her thigh, enthusiastically mouthing at her core. He curled his fingers up, searching for that spongy spot within her, smiling against her pussy as she moaned his name. Found it. That’s why he loved this, hearing her moan, feeling the way her thighs clenched around his head, knowing he was making her feel good. Jake slipped in his middle finger alongside his pointer, scissoring them inside her. Soon enough he felt her inner walls throb around his digits, her thighs pressing against his head even tighter. Then he felt her shudder under his arm, felt her clamp down hard on his fingers. Tatum moaned his name loud enough for him to hear it despite her legs acting like earmuffs.

Jake licked his lips, savoring the taste of her as he gently removed her legs from his shoulders, crawling up her body to kiss her deeply, letting her taste herself on his tongue. Tatum responded in kind, fervently moving her lips against his, her hands finding the button on his jeans. Jake assisted her, shucking his pants off and tossing them to the side, nearly moaning as his cock was freed from the tight confines of his boxers and pants. He trailed his hand up her leg, positioning her thigh high up on his waist as he rutted against her. Jake sucked in a breath as Tatum reached a hand between them to grasp his painfully hard cock. She slid her hand along the underside of him, guiding him to nudge against her entrance. 

Jake moaned as her warmth enveloped him, her walls fluttering around him as he worked his cock into her in short thrusts. The sting of her nails digging into his back and shoulders was nearly drowned out by the heavenly feeling of her pussy. Jake dipped his head back down to kiss her, sweeping his tongue into her mouth, dragging it across the roof of it. He ground his hips into hers, setting a long and slow but hard rhythm. Tatum moaned into his mouth and he could feel her body wind under him, her chest pressed against his. Jake slipped a hand down her body, feeling every devine curve and dip until he found where they were joined, brushing his fingers against her clit. Tatum moaned his name, pressing her forehead to his as his hips pistoned into her. 

He could feel the telltale shaking of her legs against his waist, her nails scratching his back. Jake kissed her hard, trying in vain to channel all the feelings that had built up in his chest through that kiss as she came around him. Jake moaned her name, his own hips stuttering as her orgasm triggered his own. He spilled himself inside her, rocking his hips through both their orgasms. Jake carefully pulled out, already missing her warmth as he stretched out beside her. He pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder, but he knew something wasn’t right as Tatum didn’t return his attempt at aftercare like she normally did. 

Tatum sighed through her nose, clenching her teeth. It was like her heart was splintering in slow motion. Jake was being so sweet, kissing her shoulder, hand brushing up and down her arm. She swallowed hard, rolling out of bed. 

“Hayes.” Jake called after her. “Tatum. Where you goin’?” 

Tatum was glad her back was to him as she blinked away tears that had started to well up in her eyes. She bent down, pulling her clothes on. “We can’t do this anymore.”

“What are you talking about?” 

Tatum could hear the confusion in his voice and it damn near made her lose the already slipping hold she had on her emotions. “This. Us. Whatever we are.” She rasped, pulling her sweatshirt over her head. “We agreed at the beginning that either of us could pull the plug. This is me pulling the plug.”

“Why?” Tatum turned to see Jake scrambling to get off the bed. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Jake,” Tatum breathed, backing up towards the door. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” 

“Don’t make- how else am I supposed to react?” Jake pleaded. “Tatum, I-”

“Don’t say it.” Tatum cut him off, unable to stop the single tear from escaping, rolling down her cheek.“Don’t, just don’t.”

Tatum walked over to the door, twisting the knob, ready to walk out. She was seconds from breaking down, the raw pain clawing at the back of her throat.

“Tatum please.”

“Goodnight, Jake.”

Tatum swallowed her tears the best she could as she shut the door behind her. She wasn’t totally conscious of where he feet were taking her before she ended up at a door that wasn’t her own. Natasha had just shut off her lamp when Tatum knocked at her door. She took one look at her friend, at the way Tatum’s eyes were red rimmed, glossy with tears, and pulled her into a hug. That was when Tatum allowed herself to cry, allowed for the hairline fractures on her heart that developed from the moment she stepped foot in Jake’s room to explode her heart into a million little pieces. She sobbed into Natashes shoulder, letting her friend guide her to the bed, holding her tightly. 

“I fucked up, Nat.” she sobbed.

Natasha stroked her friends hair, pressing a kiss to her hairline. “It’s gonna be alright, Tatum. It’ll be alright.”

When Tatum decided what to do about her and Jake, she felt so damn confident this was the right choice. But now? After seeing how Jake reacted. Now, Tatum wasn’t so sure. 

[man-peach-reborn]

Details of their answers are below the cut

Part 2 here

Zeke Aaron McKinley: Skating, kissing, and boobs too.

Hayes Steele: To make so much money that you could be whoever you want whenever you want.

Jukebox: To live like you'll never live again. And then if you wake up and you're living again, then you're like, "huh, shit. I got more time. That's amazing. Maybe today I'll get out of this suit. Maybe today."

Fourth Witch: Joy. Do your thing no matter what.

Barbara and Bill: Christmas and finding and making and building a business with your husband. (Soup based entrepreneurship)

Ta'Tania Jackson: To make sure you always have a ho phase.

Phoenix: Dying and then giving someone letters until they agree to be your co-host.

David Hoyle Jr.: (question never asked :') )

[effable-as-f]

Haha Hayes Steele is such a ridiculously over the top parody of a billionaire like that line about him having a boy whose blood he puts in himself oh no wait that was a real thing a guy did? A real live human being has said the phrase "blood boy"?

[minimalisttoaster]

Anyone else think it's a little weird that the only content warning for the Hayes Steele episode of VIP is "imitation of hard drug use" like this episode gets dark he talks about mass euthanasia of disabled people for profit and somehow that didn't make it into the content warning?

To be clear this is not a slight against Jacob Wysocki I don't think the joke was in poor taste he is satirizing and critiquing the unethical practices of the ultra wealthy it just needs proper content warnings because I don't know maybe it's just me but I find death camps for disabled people much more disturbing than imitation of drug use. Also the whale thing, discussion of animal abuse should also be on there.

[johnnyvalance]

im watching the hayes steele episode and the fact he’s only been like this for four months is the funniest fucking thing EVER

[0tenn01]

If Only A Dragon

“I feel like a lot of my problems could be solved if I had a pet dragon.”

That's what Titus had said when he was a young lad—when the world was not so hard for a 12 year old boy. He would always run from the kitchen. Away from his duties. Away from his nagging mother. And away from his snoring old man in the big green chair. And when he was away, Titus sat right in front of the large TV.

Ah yes, this is where the magic happened. 7:00PM sharp: The Great Dragons of Welland. A low budget animation project aimed at Titus’ age group—just a little something for a little Bobby or Tommy or Jimmy to get distracted with just long enough for dinner.

But Titus liked this show. He liked it not because of the human characters and most certainly not for the lackluster plot.

Titus liked it because of the dragons. The dragons were made from simple crafting material: bedroom fabrics, some not so extravagant stitching jobs, and two button eyes.

And it was those two button eyes that looked at Titus. And Titus looked back.

And he felt loved.

—

“I feel like a lot of my problems could be solved if I had a pet dragon.”

That's what Titus said to a girl he liked in middle school. He could remember the day, but not her face. The steel benches the two sat on were burning into the underside of his legs. Titus remembered looking at her.

That girl.

That girl.

She would never remain in his memory for long.

“Oh, you like those sock puppet things?” The sound of her voice was something clear, yet so very, very, far away. “Don’t you think those shows are for babies?”

“No.”

“Then you’re a baby.”

That broke his heart.

—

“I feel like a lot of my problems could be solved if I had a… Partner.”

That’s what Titus said, staring up at a senior prom poster.

“Pssh, still trying to be stupidly inclusive, T?” A hard slap hit Titus’ back. It's another long forgotten friend. “Ever since that class we had with Mrs. Wren, you’re suddenly usin’ terms like: ‘partners.’ Just say ‘girlfriend’ or whatever the hell doesn’t make you sound like a queer.”

“I’m not a—”

“I know Mrs. Wren is.”

“She is?”

“Just’a hunch. Maybe she’s a fraud.”

“Hm, yeah, maybe.”

“Got a date?”

“No.”

“Want me to hook you up? I know some hot girls who’d wanna jig with you.”

“No.”

“—Hot boys?”

“No.”

“Man, you really are a queer.”

“I said I’m—”

“Queer as in weird. You’re weird, Titus Hayes. You’re so, so weird.”

And, something like that just stuck with Titus. It stuck to him like a nasty seedpod. Unbearably grotesque. Something shunn worthy. Something the world could see, but none dared to help.

So, Titus decided that dragons were easier to talk to.

—

“I feel like a lot of my problems could be solved if I owned a dragon.”

That’s what Titus said under his beaten breath. He leaned against a red brick wall that was as red as the blood trickling down the side of his head. The perpetrators—some bigoted jumpers—had gotten away. They really left nothing behind to spare Titus the embarrassment of walking around like a half-alive zombie.

But, there really was no difference in his gate after a grueling 9-5.

Perhaps, this was the wag of a divine finger.

Something around the lines of: ‘stop being queer and life will get easier! Toss out your fantastical ideas of having a dragon! It’s all fake—it’s all in your head! You’ll live a better life. A well adjusted life. A less… Weird life.’

Maybe he was hallucinating. There was a lot of blood after all.

Too much. Too much blood for the young boy still clinging to the whims of dragons living inside of a grown adult.

Then, Titus fell into a puddle.

And he fell deep into that puddle.

But he didn’t go to hell.

[hb-writes]

Ch. 1 - Improve Your Argument

Don't raise your voice. Improve your argument.

"Specter…? Charlotte Specter?"

Charlie didn't move, but she glanced around the room, making a point to avoid the high school secretary's gaze. The young woman's tone revealed a frustration that she was trying her best to mask, a tiredness with the games of the young students she was charged with managing.

Miss Hayes was barely older than most of the students she had to corral into her boss's office. And she was still considered new, having only started at the beginning of the school year. Still learning the ins and outs of dealing with teenagers...of when she should be a bit more strict. Of when they were taking advantage.

Charlie wouldn't have tried this type of stuff with the old secretary. Mrs. Elias had been a receptionist there at the school longer than Charlie had been alive. She was older than her brothers. Maybe even older than her father would have been if he was still alive. And had the woman not retired at the end of the last school year, Charlie would have hauled it into the headmaster's office immediately. Facing him would have been less daunting than risking it out in the main office with Mrs. Elias.

But Miss Hayes wasn't Mrs. Elias. Miss Hayes didn't scare Charlie. Not in the slightest, so she sat still, focused on the music pumping through the small buds shoved into her ears. A bold move, maybe. Headphones weren't actually allowed during school hours, but her long hair and the scarf wrapped around her neck hid them well-enough. In the scheme of things, the headphones were nothing. At this point, Charlie was already in trouble. She figured she might as well enjoy herself.

The music helped. It drowned out everything around her and within her. She always played her music loud, loud enough that she could almost feel the sounds in her body as she closed her eyes and folded her arms across her chest.

She heard her name once again. And once again, Charlie ignored it. The exchange between the secretary and Charlie was almost like a game at this point. Charlie pretended not to hear her name being called and the secretary allowed it without much complaint until Oliver—Dr. James—finally made his way out to fetch the girl himself. And considering what had brought her to the office today, Charlie had no desire to get in to parlay with the man any quicker than necessary. She was happy to let him continue working on whatever it was that was keeping him on the other side of his office door—his other headmasterly duties, whatever those were.

Because Charlie Specter was many things, but she wasn't an idiot. She knew where her day might be heading by this point. She knew this was the type of thing the headmaster liked to send her home for. He'd chat with her first. Her only chance at turning the tide. Her only chance at shifting things to her favor. And depending on how that went, he'd get Donna on the phone, calling to let her know what was going on, giving her the same detail he'd give to the parent of a student. And then Ray would come to pick her up, dropping her at the office downtown where—depending on her mood—Donna would either let Charlie hide out in the file room or she would carve out a few minutes in Harvey's afternoon schedule for a lecture.

And Charlie didn't particularly want a lecture. Nor did she think she was deserving of one.

Oliver tapped Charlie on the shoulder and she looked up to him, flashing him the briefest of smiles as she tugged the earbuds from her ears, not even bothering to hide them.

"Hey, Ollie."

Oliver shook his head, the hint of a smile there in his features before he steeled them. He folded his arms over his chest, indicating he meant some sort of business by the gesture. He wasn't in the mood for her attempts at charm.

"Get moving, Charlie," he answered, thumbing towards his open office door.

Charlie eased out of the chair without fighting him, slipping into his office while Oliver lingered for a moment. He looked briefly at his secretary before following after the girl. He felt the need to apologize on Charlie's behalf but he refrained, offering Miss Hayes a smile and a half-hearted eye roll instead.

Despite the frequency with which the girl found herself sent off to his office, Charlotte Specter was actually one of Oliver's favorite students. He found her to be witty and charming and intelligent. She was a good kid at heart, something which couldn't be said for all of the students he worked with. And despite making a consistent effort at not showing favoritism, sometimes he faltered.

They had history, him and the Specters. It made the boundaries a little more complicated. Oliver couldn't help but have a soft spot for the first girl to ever ask for his hand in marriage, even if she had only been five at the time. He couldn't help but show a bit of favoritism for his ex-roommate's little sister. He and Harvey had been roommates back at NYU. And then again from the summer of Harvey's first clerkship until he started at Pearson-Hardman, until he upgraded to that exquisite penthouse downtown.

It felt like ages ago now, back when they were barely adults—careless twenty-somethings just out of grad school and law school, and Charlie Specter had been a kid—practically a baby. She had been so sweet back then. Sweet and compassionate and smart as hell. Oliver supposed she still was all of those things now. When she wanted to be, at least. But lately the girl…well, Oliver supposed she was just being a teenager now. She was full of the same angst and smart-assery the rest of her age cohort embodied. And all of those traits were only made stronger by the fact that the little smart ass in his office now knew that he had a soft spot for her. And she had a distinct lack of respect for his authority—his title—because of it.

Oliver steeled his face as he closed the office door and headed to the seat behind his desk.

Bouncing contentedly on the exercise ball Oliver kept stashed in a corner of the room, Charlie studied Oliver's facial expression, noting that he wasn't smiling. She huffed out a breath at that, realizing quite quickly that their connected pasts might not be to her benefit this time. It might even end up spiting her.

Without being asked, Charlie rolled the ball back to its corner and took a seat in one of the two formal leather chairs placed in front of Oliver's desk, offering him that small measure of deference despite having every intention of talking her way out of whatever he was thinking.

"You know, Charlie, I don't think that I have ever—in all my years of teaching—had a bigger pain in the ass student than you."

Charlie let out a small chuckle at his candor, stopping herself quickly when she realized that he hadn't been joking. Oliver settled his arms across his chest, leaning back slightly in his chair as he waited for Charlie to gather herself.

But something about it made Charlie want to laugh. Something about their shared pasts, something about knowing him so well outside of this context put her at ease even though he was clearly unhappy, clearly trying to drain that ease from her body.

Charlie cleared her throat and sat up straighter. "I'm one of your best students, Ollie."

Oliver's left eyebrow edged up slightly. It was true. God, it was true, but that was far from the point.

"Charlotte," he said, a warning.

"Right, of course," she offered, amending her statement. "I'm one of your best students, Dr. James."

He exhaled forcefully, meeting her eyes. "Charlotte."

"What?" she hissed, raising her hands off the armrests in frustration.

Charlie was a little too comfortable with Oliver, and with most adults in any position resembling one of authority, for that matter. She knew it and yet, interacting with adults in that way simply came natural to her. She'd spent much of her childhood surrounded by adults. It wasn't her fault that she'd been socialized with the belief that she didn't have to be deferential just because someone was an adult.

"You've gotten yourself into plenty of trouble already today," he offered. "You may want to adjust your attitude accordingly."

Charlie slumped back in her chair, allowing her arms to settle over her chest, mirroring Oliver. "I didn't do anything wrong, not really."

Oliver arched an eyebrow. "You can't argue with your teachers like that and—"

"I wasn't arguing with her," Charlie interrupted as she pushed herself up in her seat. "I was explaining why she was wrong. It was a discussion and—"

"You were being disrespectful. I've got the write up right here in front of me."

Oliver motioned towards the long-winded note that had arrived after Charlie made it to the office. Charlie couldn't read it upside down, but she could see that the document spanned two pages, which meant he had a lot more information than she would have liked.

"You have her side of the story."

"And if how you're acting right now is any reflection of how you were in her class, I'd say her side of the story is an honest account."

"Well, if I can offer an honest account," Charlie said, her tone mocking the borrowed words, "I don't think her opinion even deserved my respect. She was being an ignorant, incompetent a—"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence, Charlotte," he said, his words coming out suddenly sharp and firm, a tone Oliver had harnessed and cultivated over years of teaching and coaching and serving as a school administrator.

Oliver knew what Charlie had been about to say. He knew the girl had been about to dig her hole even deeper. He could sense in the cadence of her words that Charlie had been about to call her teacher an asshole and he watched her now, observing as Charlie bit down and chewed on the word, allowing it to disintegrate in her mouth before she swallowed and settled herself.

"Now," Oliver started, "can you and I have this conversation responsibly—respectfully," he amended, "or should I call Donna and have her clear your brother's schedule so the three of us can discuss it together?"

Charlie shook her head quickly before folding her hands in her lap. Even if she was already headed for an early dismissal, even if she was already in trouble, she knew there were levels to this. And having Harvey come to the school for an impromptu meeting was something she wanted to avoid. Things were always worse when her brother had to leave work because of her. Plus, she could already hear the opening lines of her brother's lecture anyway, a line she knew Harvey would have no trouble delivering to her in right front of Oliver, to hell with Charlie's embarrassment.

'What have I always told you, Charlotte? Don't raise your voice. Improve your argument.'

Oliver watched as Charlie processed the offer, her face a bit flushed and her features painted with sudden concern as she played the possibility of Harvey coming down to the school through to completion in her mind. Because though Charlie thought her argument was pretty sound either way, she had raised her voice. And she had used a few choice words she likely shouldn't have used...

"Listen, Charlie. I know that you have a lot of opinions. And you're curious. And you think outside the box. Those are great qualities to have, especially for someone your age. I truly mean that," Oliver said. "And you're a damn smart kid, Charlie. But you're not always right. You don't know everything despite your conviction. That's why you're here in this school. To learn. You're allowed your own opinion. And you're allowed to express it, but you have to learn to do it respectfully. Is that understood?"

Charlie still looked like she wasn't paying him much attention, clearly distracted in her own thoughts, but she nodded after a beat so Oliver was satisfied that she had at least heard him even if the actual words had yet to sink in.

"Alright," he nodded. "I'm sending you home for the rest of the day. Take some time to think this through and give me 2,000 words worth of the best reflection you can come up with. I want it on my desk before first period tomorrow."

Charlie nodded vaguely as Oliver busied himself briefly with his computer, clicking through the few emails that had arrived in his inbox over the past few minutes. He watched her out of the corner of his eye and Charlie let out a huff, looking up at him as he focused on the screen.

"Ollie?"

Oliver pulled his eyes away from the screen upon hearing his name and met Charlie's eye. Something like regret lingered there—he could see it swimming. Just like he could see her hands gripping the arms of the chair before she settled them in her lap.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Really, I am. I heard what you said and I'll try to be better. I swear."

"Good," Oliver said, giving her a nod. "I appreciate you saying that," he said before shifting his eyes back to his computer.

Fuck. Charlie let the word repeat a few times in her mind. It hadn't entirely been a manipulation. There was a part of her that was sorry anytime she got hauled into Oliver's office, but she had also hoped the apology would be to her benefit.

"Just…" she started again, pulling his gaze back to her. "Do you have to send me home? It won't happen again, okay? Just let me stay until the end of the day and I'll get you the reflection and it won't happen again. I swear. Please?"

Oliver forced himself not to smirk. He knew what she was doing. Trying to keep her brother out of it. Maybe if Oliver hadn't known her better, the manipulation would have worked.

"I appreciate the apology, but it's non-negotiable," he answered, pulling up the student contact information in the system. He could have dealt with it himself. He could have given her a detention or some other type of consequence, sending her back to class to let the teacher handle it. Oliver had an extensive education and years of experience in dealing with teenagers, but he knew that Harvey was better equipped to deal with his sister. And unlike some of the parents and guardians he dealt with on a regular basis, those too caught up with their own lives to deal with the children they were supposedly raising, Oliver knew that Harvey would actually take the time to address it. To parent her. Harvey would make sure his sister learned something from this. He'd do it better than Oliver ever could because Harvey understood his sister better. The two were so alike in many ways, not the least of which being that the Specters were famously known for being major pains in the ass—to each other and to the rest of the world.

Charlie's shoulders slumped for a brief moment before she suddenly jolted, sitting up straight in the chair as her stomach released a long, low growl. Charlie's hands jumped to cover her abdomen, her cheeks heating with embarrassment.

"Did you miss lunch because of this mess?"

Charlie nodded and Oliver wordlessly reached into his desk retrieving a plastic bag from the deli down the street. She wouldn't eat his sandwich—the kid had always been particular about meat, but he tossed her the bag of chips meant to accompany his sandwich.

"You're lucky I like you, kid."

Charlie muttered a thank you as she opened the bag and took out a chip even though she didn't feel particularly lucky. Even if other headmasters wouldn't put up with her as patiently as Oliver did, they probably wouldn't be so quick to call home either. Either way, she was still grateful to him and she kept quiet as Oliver dialed, accepting her fate. The phone rang out just once over the speakerphone before a familiar voice punctuated the sound.

"Harvey Specter's office."

Oliver smiled and it reached his voice. He had always liked Harvey's secretary. "Hello, Donna."

A sigh sounded on the other end of the line and Charlie slumped down into her seat, resting her head against her fist.

"What did she do now?"

LTLB Masterlist (Everything)

LTLB Masterlist (Chapters)

Chapter 2

[asmoonlightthroughthepines]

8 Shows To Know Me

Thank you @maplefiasco for tagging me *months* ago 🙈 Do check her post for excellent shows recommendations!

If you see this post on your dash, please consider yourself (no-pressure) tagged, whether we’re in a follower, mutual or complete strangers situation :)

Coming up with "shows to know me" was more challenging that I thought? In the end I chose shows I have often rewatched and that never fail to cheer me up. In no particular order:

Remington Steele

This show is a delight and a half. For years growing up it was on channel 3 in France every summer, and every rewatch makes me feel like the happiest teenager. Expect RayBans and vintage cars, because this is 80s LA with an Old Hollywood, Spencer Tracy/Katharine Hepburn inspiration. Unfortunately it's become impossible to find in Europe/France, and my entire family laments this fact on a monthly basis.

The Newsroom

If you get one thing out of this post, it’s to give The Newsroom a try. Not everyone loves Sorkin, in fact several of my friends hate this show, but I LOVE it. It’s chaotic. It’s fast. It’s idealistic. Everyone is a genius at their job and an idiot in their personal life. And the cast! Emily Mortimer, Jeff Daniels and Sam Waterston are superb! Olivia Munn and Thomas Sadoski are spectacular! Dev Patel and David Harbour are delightful! And the supporting cast - Jane Fonda! Chris Messina! Terry Crews! BJ Novak! Only this show would make me use so many adjectives and exclamation marks.

Hart of Dixie

This is my guilty pleasure, “won’t tell people about it because they’ll think I’m a basic bitch" show. It’s super cozy, the clothes are great, the dudes are hot, there’s a pet alligator called Burt Reynolds, the folksy-country soundtrack is fun, everyone is nice and walks around the WBros PLL and Gilmore Girls lot fake southern town with a pastry and home-baked pie in hand, and nothing really bad ever happens. Truly the happiest of basic bitch shows.

The Marvelous Mrs Maisel

I ignored Mrs Maisel for years because I’m not a big stand up or 50s style person, but it turned out to be one of the shows that’s made me laugh the most in the history of shows. It’s funny, it’s warm and it does more for Jewish humour than most pieces of media (The Nanny is the exception) since Annie Hall’s Easter lunch scene. I didn’t care much for s4 (style really took over content for me) and s5 is.. well I just don’t know how they explain a lot of those choices there. But man, s1-2 is something I would (and will) happily rewatch on a regular basis.

Friends It’s not original, it's "90s diverse" but sue me. I’m old enough to have watched it with my siblings when it first came out (VHS, baby!) and it’ll never not feel cozy and fun. I won’t catch it on tv because ad breaks will reduce it to unfunny, memeable catchphrases, but every few years I’ll pop a couple of seasons in the dvd player (DVDs, baby!) and it’ll still make me laugh like it’s my first time watching it.

Arrested Development

Do I need to explain? Yes s4 was half good/half bad when it was released (and somehow made mostly bad when it was re-edited) and I pretend s5 doesn’t exist. But seasons 1-3 are the definition of perfect tv! And in case you didn’t know, Jason Bateman and Will Arnett host a podcast (along with Sean Hayes of Will and Grace) called Smartless; the episode with Tony Hale (Buster) as the guest had me in literal tears.

Chuck

There’s a scene where Chuck’s best friend Morgan says that he’s spent years devising a work system that allows him to do as little as possible at his job, and he’s not about to ruin that by accepting a promotion. My entire family quotes this on a regular basis. I have watched s1-3 at least half a dozen times and just typing that makes me want to watch it again. Love the music, the ridiculous spy adventures and the unhinged background characters. Also Chuck looks exactly like one of my high school best friends which makes it even funnier.

24

LOOK. I did not expect this show to take over my life the way it did, and tbh I don’t really have an 8th show that hits both “will rewatch this many times” and “makes me feel warm and happy”. So I went for the one that currently has 12 drafts sitting in my fic folder. It’s violent and ridiculous and is equally funny (see ridiculous) and angsty. It got me through the 2nd lockdown, on the edge of my seat while live texting all nearly ten seasons of it to friends. But watch s1-4 and tell me you’re normal about Tony x Michelle. I dare you.

[pcwpolwrestling]

2/7-Live Look-In at PCW Poughkeepsie, NY House Show: DOGE-Ball, Showdown Outside PCW Owner's Office

PCW Live Look-In Mid-Hudson Civic Center Friday February 7th, 2025

Johnny Suave: I’m ‘The Voice of PCW’ Johnny Suave, and you’re catching a live look-in of a PCW house show! 

Johnny’s voice crackles with energy, an unmistakable hint of mischief lacing his words.

Johnny Suave: But first, tempers flared backstage earlier in the night when a cadre of high-powered political heavyweights tried to barge into PCW owner Victoria McGill’s office and was denied entry.

Cut to a replay of the chaos backstage that took place involving members of the Progressive Alliance. Representative Maxine Waters, her eyes ablaze with determination, stands toe-to-toe with a bald-headed man mountain guarding Victoria McGill’s office door. Rep. Jan Schakowsky, Rep. Maxwell Frost, and Rep. Jahana Hayes flank her, their faces etched with frustration as they confront the immovable object before them.

Security Guard: Sorry. No one goes in.

Maxine Waters: Listen here.

Waters jabs a finger towards the silent guardian.

Maxine Waters: We are elected representatives, and we demand a meeting with Ms. McGill. Now step aside!

The guard turns his head toward the door.

Security Guard: Ms. McGill. Are you available right now?

Victoria McGill’s Voice (from inside): No! No interruptions!

Security Guard: Sorry.

Maxine Waters: Let us in!

The guard’s stance does not waver; his arms folded across his broad chest like steel cables locLoade in place. He’s the personification of a fortress, his bald head reflecting the overhead lights as though polishing his resolve.

Security Guard: Sorry, but Tori’s orders are clear – no interruptions.

Jan Schakowsky barges to the front.

Security Guard: Ma’am, I’m sorry.

Jan Schakowsky: Ask her again.

The guard sighs.

Security Guard: Ms. McGill?

Victoria McGill’s Voice (from inside): No interruptions!

Security Guard: I’m sorry. She’s made her decision clear.

Jan Schakowsky: Are you really prepared to stand there all night?

Security Guard: Longer if I have to. 

Maxine Waters: Do you work for Elon Musk?

Security Guard: No.

Jahana Hayes: Let us in! 

Cut to inside Victoria’s office. She raises her cell phone and turns the volume up.

Victoria McGill: They’re going to love this.

She hits a button and then…

Back outside…

Elon Musk’s Voice (from Tori’s phone inside the office): No!

Waters, Schakowsky, Frost, and Jahana Hayes become extremely agitated while the guard merely stands by.

The tension thickens, the air nearly vibrating with the standoff’s intensity.

Maxwell Frost: Move, or we’ll make you move!

The guard doesn’t budge, his presence alone serving as a barricade.

Maxine Waters: Let us in!

Elon Musk’s Voice (from Tori’s phone inside the office): No!

All: Let us in!

Elon Musk’s Voice (from Tori’s phone inside the office): No!

All: LET US IN!

Elon Musk’s Voice (from Tori’s phone inside the office): No!

As the frustration on the part of the Progressive Alliance group intensifies, the security guard just stands there in front of the door… cool as could be. 

DOGE-Ball The raucous energy of Hack’s Rusty Nail Saloon pulsates through the air, a current of anticipation that crackles with each passing second. On the flickering screen above the bar, the title “DOGE-Ball” slams into view, accompanied by a chorus of cheers and jeers from the partisan crowd.

Johnny Suave: Alright, folks! Get ready for a showdown of epic proportions! It’s the first-ever PCW Dodgeball battle… Elon Musk and his crew versus the political heavyweights!

‘Low-level New York Times reporter trying to make a big name for herself’ Colleen Crowder joins him.

Colleen Crowder: I can’t believe we’re doing this.

The scene erupts into life as Elon Musk, sporting a headband and an impish grin, stands at the helm of a motley crew.

Colleen Crowder: Elon Musk is once again overstepping his boundaries and sticLoade his nose into things he shouldn’t be.  Who are these people anyways?

Johnny Suave: They’re Musk’s engineers- all united by a single cause: to take down the smug elite of the USAID supporters in a high-stakes game of dodgeball.  Musk’s Mavericks-

Colleen rolls her eyes.

Colleen Crowder: Musk’s Mavericks?  Really?

Johnny Suave: They are here to throw wrenches into the system, quite literally!

The political heavyweights and supporters of USAID get ready.  Senator Ed Markey takes position, his eyes narrowed in focus, while Senator Cory Booker bounces on his toes, all athletic prowess and fiery determination. Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez ties her hair back, a warrior preparing for battle. Senator Chuck Schumer stretches out, cracLoade his neck side to side, and Rep. Hakeem Jeffries psyches up his team with a clap of hands that echoes like a war drum.

The referee steps up and asks both teams if they’re ready.  Musk nods.  Jeffries and Schumer nods.

Johnny Suave: Here we go! 

The whistle blows, and the match begins- a flurry of red, white, and blue rubber spheres soaring across the screen. Musk ducks, weaves, and launches a counter-offensive, his ball connecting with Booker’s chest with a resounding thud that sends the senator staggering backward.

Johnny Suave: Down goes Booker!

Colleen Crowder: Oh booooo! 

One by one, the USAID supporters find themselves bombarded, outmaneuvered, and outplayed by the sheer unpredictability of Musk’s Mavericks.

*BONK*

Johnny Suave: AOC is OUT!

*BONK*

Johnny Suave: Ed Markey gets it in the stomach and he’s bent over.

Senator Markey then tips over to the floor like a tree falling.

*BONK*

Johnny Suave: Hakeem Jeffries is out!

Colleen Crowder: Oh, come on!

Laughter bubbles up from the crowd as Schumer dodges left only to catch a rogue ball straight to the face.

Johnny Suave: Schumer’s been piefaced!

As the final whistle pierces the air, the screen freezes on Musk’s triumphant fist pump. The rag-tag group of ordinary Americans has done the impossible—they’ve stunned the USAID supporters into silence.

Johnny Suave: Can you believe it?! The Mavericks topple the titans! This is what PCW Extreme Political TV is all about, folks!

Colleen Crowder: Elon Musk brings these… ringers… in and embarrass our leaders.

The USAID team are not amused. The politicos regroup, nursing their bruised egos and bodies, their faces twisted in a cocktail of disbelief and fury.

Colleen Crowder: They’re not happy and they’ve got every right to be.  Who do these people think they are?

As they exit the dodgeball court, they vow to take this fight beyond the bounds of play, out onto the streets where the real battles are fought.

Johnny Suave: Uh oh, looks like this isn’t over. The politicos are promising a rematch, but this time, no holds barred, right in the heart of America. Now… let’s turn back the clock.

Video Replay-PCW Loose Cannons Unleashed- March 1st, 2005 Johnny Suave has the Dixie Chucks with him.

Johnny Suave: The Dixie Chucks are three men who each dress like a member of the Dixie Chicks.  There’s Chuck-atalie,  Chuck-mily, and Chuck-artie. 

Suave turns to them. 

Johnny Suave: It’s been a “long time gone” since we’ve seen the Dixie Chucks and that I have a feeling that you came from “wide open spaces” to be there not because they’re “ready to run,” not because they wanted a “cowboy take me away” kind of thing.  You’re out here because there’s something bothering you… am I right? 

Chuck-atalie is not impressed with Suave’s wit.

Chuck-atalie: You can just save it.  An injustice what has been done to the Dixie Chicks.

Johnny Suave: Oh, ‘there’s your trouble’”  

Chuck-mily steps forward and chimes in.

Chuck-mily: Free speech means free speech.  What has happened to these lovely women is totally against the American way! People may not like what they have to say, but you don’t have to. 

Johnny Suave: Noble sentiments.  I presume you’re referring to the recent comments made by Earl Locke of the tag team Locke and Loade about the Dixie Chicks and you would all like to say…oh, I don’t know…perhaps, ‘Goodbye Earl?’

This offends Chuck-artie. 

Chuck-artie: Suave, we sure don’t appreciate your “smart-ass comments.”  If you don’t stop we’re going to take away the cardboard cut-out of “that no-talent singer who doesn’t belong on the same stage, who isn’t remotely in the same league as the Dixie Chicks.

Suave backs away and protects his cardboard cut-out of Shania Twain.  Chuck-artie points at the audience.

Chuck-artie: I’m putting you and everyone here in PCW on notice.  Anyone, I repeat, anyone who says anything bad about the Dixie Chicks from now on will answer to us. That’s right.  You say something bad about the Dixie Chicks.  The Dixie Chucks are gonna KICK YOUR ASS!

Suddenly, the opening riffs to Toby Keith’s “How Do You Like Me Now?” blare over the sound system and out comes Earl Locke and Gary Loade aka ‘The Raving Rednecks’ Locke and Loade.  Locke comes out carrying a huge picture of Toby Keith and waves it in Chuck-atalie’s face. 

Earl Loade: WHO’S YOUR DADDY?  HOW DO YOU LIKE ME NOW? 

Gary Locke: The BIG DOGS are here! It’s time to Locke and Loade baby, Locke and Loade! 

Johnny Suave: All right.  You all heard what the Dixie Chucks just said. 

Earl Loade: First, I’d like to compliment Suave on the cardboard cut-out of Shania Twain. 

Then he turns to the Dixie Chucks.

Earl Loade: You come out talLoade all this tough talk about kicLoade people’s asses if they insult the Dixie Chicks.  Hell the way y’all are dressed, I don’t think you’re in any position to kick anyone’s ass!  If anything, we’ll put a boot in your ass cause that’s the Locke and Loade way!

 The Dixie Chucks talk trash in return.  Locke then speaks up. 

Gary Locke: Now hold on a sec, Earl.  I really don’t have that much of a problem with the way these guys are dressed.

Earl Loade: Oh?

Gary Locke: Hell, the way I see it, these guys look a hell of a lot better in these outfits than the Dixie Chicks-” 

Immediately, the Dixie Chuck’s attack Locke and Loade… (END VIDEO)

The ring’s canvas trembles under the heavy boots of Gary Locke as he steps forward, his partner Earl Loade mirroring the movement. Twenty years have passed and their faces may be weathered but their spirits aren’t.  Locke and Loade remain battle-hardened warriors.

Locke raises the microphone to speak, his voice gruff like gravel on a backcountry road

Gary Locke: Ya know, twenty long years ago, we stood across the ring from y’all, ready to tear the house down. And here we are again, boys.

Earl Loade nods solemnly, the lines on his face mapping out the history of every match, every cheer, and every heartbreak.

Earl Loade: We’d be much obliged…

Loade tips an imaginary hat.

Earl Loade: …to dance with you folks one more time for the PCW’s big 2-0.

The crowd erupts, sensing the sincerity in their challenge, nostalgia washing over them like a wave. From across the squared circle, Chuck-artie, Chuck-mily, and Chuck-atalie—the trio known as ‘The Dixie Chucks’—step forward. Their stance is defiant, but respect laces their features.

Chuck-atalie: Locke, Loade.  We accept your challenge. But just so y’all know, we ain’t the Dixie Chucks no more. We’re just ‘The Chucks’, leaner and meaner than ever.

A brief silence falls, a quiet acceptance of change and evolution. Then, as if on cue, Locke and Loade shrug off the name update, unfazed by anything that isn’t the fight itself.

Locke adds, raising his microphone with a solemnity reserved for moments larger than the match itself,

Gary Locke:  Before we tangle, Earl and I want to dedicate this match to a man who sang about our kind of America, a man who left us just over a year ago- Mr. Toby Keith.

A collective hush blankets the raucous crowd.

Earl Loade: Tonight, we fight in memory of Toby. Let’s make it one helluva show.

Spotlights dance across the crowd, reflecting off raised beer cups and homemade signs as Kimber Marshall takes center stage, her presence alone commanding the room’s attention. The spotlight glints off her wavy brunette hair as she leans into the microphone, her voice booming.

Introducing first,” she announces, drawing out the suspense, “hailing from the deepest parts of the American heartland, Gary Locke and Earl Loade… The Raving Rednecks!”

The two teams stand inside the ring, a mere rope’s length apart. The crowd’s anticipation simmers, ready to boil over. The Rednecks exchange a knowing nod, their bond forged in countless brawls. Across the ring, The Chucks share a glance, the same fire that brought them together all those years ago now reigniting.

The referee stands between them, eager to signal the start, yet understanding the gravity of the moment. This isn’t just about winning or losing. It’s about legacy, memories, and the indomitable spirit of those who’ve walked the path before.

With a final nod to each other and the audience they’ve entertained for two decades, both teams settle into their corners. The bell rings, sharp and clear—a clarion call to battle, to honor, and to the timeless dance of Pro Wrestling’s grand theater.

‘The Raving Rednecks’ Gary Locke and Earl Loade vs. The Dixie Chucks (Chuck-mily, Chuck-artie, and Chuck-atilie) The bell sounds.   

Gary Locke and Chuck-atalie face off, their eyes locking with the intensity of old rivals reigniting a flame that has flickered for two decades.

Johnny Suave: Here we go, folks! A classic showdown, rekindled right before our very eyes!”

Locke, grizzled and determined, asserts control with a headlock that seems to squeeze the partisanship straight out of Chuck-atalie. The crowd roars as they trade wrist locks, each maneuver a metaphor for the push and pull of political debate. But when Locke attempts a roundhouse kick, Chuck-atalie ducks, showcasing the agility that dodges scandal and spinning headlines.

Johnny Suave: Whoa! A close call for Chuck-atalie, but he’s still in this fight!

Tag! In comes Chuck-artie, fresh and eager, only to be welcomed by Loade’s meaty chops that echo like thunderous applause at a political rally. Chuck-artie throws punches but Loade absorbs them and floors him with authority.

Johnny Suave: Loade is standing tall! This man is an immovable force tonight!

Chuck-atalie, now tagged in, hesitates on the edge of engagement like a candidate reconsidering a controversial stance. He rolls out of the ring, and chaos unfurls on the floor. Loade and Locke, seizing the moment, plant the Chucks in chairs against the barricade, embodying the audacious spirit of PCW as they deliver a crushing running crossbody.

“ONE MORE TIME!” The crowd chants, thirsty for spectacle over substance.

Johnny Suave: Are you not entertained?!

Following the people’s will, Loade obliges with a second sandwiching crossbody that draws laughter and cheers. Attempting to regain ground, Chuck-artie surprises Locke with a swift kick that sends him tumbling off the apron. Loade, however, manages to land a hefty release German suplex on Chuck-artie, who astonishingly pops back up.

Johnny Suave: How did Chuck-artie get back up from that?

Both warriors, drained yet driven, collide mid-ring with crossbodies, crashing down in a heap of limbs and ambition. Crawl after agonizing crawl, they reach their corners, tagging in fresh blood.

Johnny Suave: Locke is back with fire in his belly!  

Locke unleashes a barrage of clotheslines and a pinpoint dropkick to Chuck-atalie, every hit landed with the precision of a carefully crafted soundbite.

Locke coils, ready to strike with the DDT, but Chuck-atalie’s not having any of it today. He wriggles free and Locke’s frustration boils over. With a roar, he hurls Chuck-atalie through the ropes, out onto the floor. Not missing a beat, Locke vaults over the top rope with a corkscrew plancha, nailing both Chucks in a display that sends the crowd into a frenzy.

Johnny Suave: HOLY CRAP!

“THIS IS AWESOME!” The Poughkeepsie crowd chants.

Back between the ropes, Locke nails a high-flying Meteora on Chuck-atalie, hooks the leg for the pin… 1…2…

Johnny Suave: NO!  Chuck-atalie somehow kicks out at two!

Chuck-atalie, desperate to rally, attempts to summon the energy of a grassroots campaign, but as he charges, Locke’s boot meets his face—a brutal reminder that sometimes, the establishment kicks back hard.

Suddenly, the third member of the Chucks… Chuck-mily… climbs up onto the ring apron and starts shouting at Locke and Loade.  It’s the distraction Chuck-atalie needs. He capitalizes, going low and crotching Locke on the turnbuckle. But Locke’s seasoned; he slips away, quick as a backdoor amendment, and delivers a punishing kick to Chuck-atalie’s head.

Johnny Suave: The Chucks had Loade in their sights but Loade snuck out the back door.

With the tide turning, Locke reaches out, tagging in Loade. Together, they’re a force of nature—a cannonball and sliding dropkick combo that nearly seals the deal. But Chuck-artie leaps in with a dropkick senton splash, shattering the pinfall attempt.

Johnny Suave: NO!  CHUCK-ARTIE BREAKS IT UP AT THE LAST SECOND!

A shockwave ripples through the crowd. Loade, unphased, wraps a choke around Chuck-artie, who claws desperately at Loade’s eyes—an escape as dirty as campaign mudslinging. Chuck-atalie seizes the moment, planting Loade with a DDT. The cover: 1…2…

Johnny Suave: NO!  LOADE KICKED OUT… LOADE KICKED OUT!

But Loade’s resilience is unmatched. He fights off a brainbuster attempt with the tenacity of a third-party candidate refusing to be ignored. Locke jumps back into the fray and clobbers Chuck-atalie from behind.  Locke then clotheslines Chuck-artie to the floor and punches Chuck-mily.   

Johnny Suave: Gary Locke clears out the other two Chucks and he’s got Chuck-atalie up.  Here it comes…

Loade pulls himself up and the tandem offense is a symphony of aggression. 

Johnny Suave: 4-D DEATHBOMB! 

The devastating 4-D Death Bomb on Chuck-atalie leaves him on the mat unmoving.  Loade hooks the leg and the referee slides in.

Johnny Suave:  1…2…3! It’s over! Raving Rednecks with the win!

Kimber Marshall rolls into the ring.

Kimber Marshall: YOUR WINNERS… THE RAVING REDNECKS LOCKE AND LOADE! 

The crowd roars. Both teams exchange handshakes and show respect to each other.

[blogeternal]

Show Your Team Spirit with Pittsburgh Pirates Jerseys

The Pittsburgh Pirates, a Major League Baseball team founded in 1881, hold a special place in the hearts of baseball fans, especially those in Pittsburgh. Known for their black and gold colors, the Pirates boast a rich history that includes five World Series titles. Wearing a Pittsburgh Pirates jersey is more than just showing support for your team; it’s a way to connect with the rich tradition of baseball in the Steel City.

History of the Pittsburgh Pirates

The Pirates have a storied past that includes notable players such as Honus Wagner, Roberto Clemente, and Barry Bonds. The team’s iconic "P" logo, which is instantly recognizable, has become a symbol of pride for Pirates fans. Throughout the years, the Pirates have had their ups and downs, but their loyal fanbase has always stood by them, making game days at PNC Park an unforgettable experience.

The Importance of Team Apparel

Wearing a Pirates jersey can transform the game day experience. Whether you’re attending a game at PNC Park or watching from the comfort of your home, donning your favorite player’s jersey connects you with other fans and creates a sense of unity. It’s a way to show off your loyalty to the team and celebrate the passion of baseball. Plus, jerseys make for great conversation starters among fellow fans.

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Once you've purchased your Pittsburgh Pirates jersey, it’s important to care for it properly to ensure it lasts for many seasons to come. Always follow the care instructions on the label. Typically, this means washing it in cold water and avoiding bleach. If you want to keep your jersey looking fresh, consider air drying it instead of using a dryer, as heat can damage the fabric.

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Wearing a Pittsburgh Pirates jersey is an invitation to join a passionate community of fans. The camaraderie that comes with being part of this group is truly special. Fans gather at watch parties, participate in social media discussions, and cheer together during games. Being a Pirates fan means being part of a legacy, one that continues to thrive with each season.

Conclusion

Whether you’re a lifelong fan or new to the Pirates, wearing a Pittsburgh Pirates jersey is a fantastic way to showcase your team spirit. With a variety of styles and options available, you can find the perfect jersey to represent the Pirates, connect with fellow fans, and celebrate the game of baseball. So gear up, head to the ballpark, and cheer on the Pirates as they strive for victory on the field!

[allthemusic]

Week ending: 26th January

Well, after the heady highs of last week, I'm quite excited to see what's in store. There are some continuities, for sure - in fact, each of last week's songs gets a "sequel" of sorts here. Plus one completely new song, for the fun of it. I guess the UK record-buying public knew what they liked here in early 1956?

The Ballad of Davy Crockett - Tennessee Ernie Ford (peaked at Number 3)

If you read last week's entry, you will know that I really liked Sixteen Tons, also by Ernie, but really surprised myself with how much I disliked the Ballad of Davy Crockett. And sure, some of that was more for what it represented than what it was actually like as a song, but it'll still be interesting to see what happens when the artist I liked sings a song I didn't much like the first time round.

Honestly, with all the anticipation that this created, I was a little disappointed when I heard the song. It's not that it's bad, or that Ernie's not a good singer, but it's just... kind of dull. I get the distinct feeling that this might not have been a hit had both the song and the artist not been having a moment.

It's a lot slower than the original Bill Hayes version, and it has less of both the frenetic energy and the banjo work that the original did. Instead, we get some soft backing singers and some steel guitar. It's very country, but not as folksy, which is a shame, as the combination of a folk style with the more folksy "tall tale" lyrics is what made the orignal good, musically speaking. Well, that and its hyperactive, kid-friendly energy. All of which is lacking a little here.

It also kind of comes off as Ernie on auto-pilot. He sings well, and his backing singers give it their all, but for large parts of this, Ernie's doing a sort of talking blues thing where he's almost speaking and not singing. There are some shining moments, such as the low bit where Davy patched up the crack in the Liberty Bell, or the little laugh as Davy lit out a-grinnin' to follow the sun. And you also get Ernie's incredibly low final line, where he stretches frontiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiier out longer than it has any right to be, which is good, goofy fun.

Still, I'm not as big a fan of this as I was of either Sixteen Tons or (despite what my entry last week may have suggested) the original version of this song.

(Love Is) The Tender Trap - Frank Sinatra (2)

This, meanwhile, is a classy offering. Taken from a film of the same name, it's a swinging, smooth, jazzy big band bop, all about how love comes along whenever you least expect it. It's apparently sung by Frank and Debbie Reynolds in the film, but this version is just by Frank, and it's lovely, it really is.

It's also peak Sinatra. I don't know how to describe it, but it could be Sinatra-by-numbers, with its repeated bass patterns, its soaring lines, its little pauses, the way it addresses the listener, the tightly rhymed lyrics, the saxophone interludes, the sense of a sort of self-deprecating romantic wittiness.

I like the lyrics, all about falling in love. It's not entirely clear if the trap is the right person coming along out of nowhere, and BAM, love at first sight - as suggested by lines about how You see a pair of laughing eyes, / And suddenly, you're sighing sighs - or if it's more about suddenly realising you're in love with the girl you've been dating - as suggested about how You're hand in hand beneath the trees and how You're acting kind of smart / Until your heart just goes wap. Either way, Frank's in love, and he didn't expect it.

And then I learn about a wedding custom I hadn't even heard of before, as all at once it seems so nice / The folks are throwing shoes and rice. People used to... throw shoes? I'd heard of (though never actually seen) the rice thing, but shoes? Apparently you both used to throw shoes and tie old shoes to the bridal car, back in the day. Who knew!

The film this was from honestly sounds pretty trashy. It's about Charlie, a playboy bachelor who by all measures sounds like a bit of a cad, and his old friend Joe, whose marriage is on the rocks. They get into romantic shenanigans caused by two ladies set on marriage, Julia and Sylvia, of whom, Julia is younger and sounds like an actual nightmare, and there's just a ridiculous level of romantic entanglement. I would probably go see the film, but it does sound like a white hot mess. The song makes a lot of sense in the context of the film, though.

Rock Island Line - Lonnie Donegan (8)

And so we finish off with a new artist, Lonnie Donegan. A Brit, and a stalwart of what will come to be called skiffle, a sort of bastard mix of American folk music, bluegrass and jazz, played on improvised instruments, that made its way over to the UK in the 1950s, but hasn't yet seen much in the way of chart success.

This song fits right into that tradition, as a re-skinned version of a 1929 American folk song about the Chicago, Rock Island and Pacific Railroad between Chicago and New Orleans. The first recorded version is then from 1934 and was recorded in a prison in Arkansas, and it's a criminal kind of song, all about smuggling pig iron down said railroad line by pretending it's livestock. Needless to say, this is a mighty unlikely song to hear coming from a funny man from Glasgow - and Lonnie's American accent at the start is really quite startling.

It works, though. We start with a spoken intro that actually takes up half the song, setting up the story with a toll-gate coming into New Orleans, Lonnie talking over a single strummed guitar chord that gets faster and faster until he's singing about how I got pigs / I got horses / I got cows / I got sheep. And then he's tricked the toll-collector, and he describes the train picking up speed, and the music picks up speed too, with a washboard adding some train sounds as Lonnie sings about how I fooled you / I fooled you / I got pig iron / I got pig iron / I got all pig iron!

And then we get an actual tune for the first time, halfway into the song, with the chorus about how the The Rock Island Line is a mighty good road / The Rock Island Line is the road to ride. This repeats over and over, with little nods to gospel music, as Lonnie sings Hallelujah, I'm saved from sin / The good lord's comin' forth to see me again, and even just some pure nonsense lines, like A-B-C, W-X-Y-Z / The cats on the cover but he don't see me. It's a mess of little references and lines you could probably unpick, except the meaning isn't the point, the point's the way that the song speeds up, just like a train, until it's a mostly incomprehensible jumble at the end.

I'd say it sounds like nothing else, at this point, except that's not quite true - it's got the folksy Americana of Davy Crockett or Sixteen Tons, it's got the double bass and frantic attitude of early rock and roll, it's got the chaotic DIY attitude of Winifred Atwell's pub piano or the Stargazers, and it's got a sort of country guitar style that we might have seen elsewhere, too. It's all just mixed in proportions we haven't seen before, and the result is striking in its uniqueness.

It's apparently also instrumental in kicking off a British craze for skiffle music, all of which feeds into the sort of attitude of up and coming homegrown British rock and roll groups a few years later, who play what would come to be called beat music. So it's potent stuff, interesting for the influence it's going to have, beyond what you're actually hearing. So I'll keep tracking that. It also feels a little bit punk, not in its sound per se, but more in its DIY attitude and the way it eschews official instruments in favour of a rather minimal acoustic guitar, washboard and teachest bass setup that was, above all, accessible for amateurs in post-war Britain.

Well, that was indeed an interesting bunch, not least for the variety of styles. All of them felt like they tied in interestingly to other songs we've heard, or at least felt like they represented a trend of the era, be it film tie-in songs, jazz, smooth and swinging or otherwise, and British artists embracing or even adapting American folk traditions. We're at a Moment, you get the sense, here in 1956 - music is changing, and nobody's quite sure what it's turning into. Exciting stuff!

Favourite song of the bunch: Rock Island Line

[sgnscoops]

Congratulations to Brian Free & Assurance and the Top 100 Southern Gospel (November) 2023

1 That’s Why We Pray Brian Free & Assurance/Daywind 2 Been Blessed Whisnants/UIA 3 Love Worth Dying For Down East Boys/Crossroads 4 Braggin’ On Jesus Steeles/StowTown 5 He Grew The Tree The Guardians/Daywind 6 All Things The Sound/Daywind 7 Nobody Like Jesus LeFevre Qt/Daywind 8 The Basement Joseph Habedank/Daywind 9 Beautiful Nelons/Daywind 10 Jesus Loves You Mylon Hayes…