if you are still doing them... Top 5 baseball players to write fic about or who you WISH people would write fic about
oh my god yeah 😭 top 5 i wish people who write about - except once i got started this accidentally ended up pairings sorry
tf were austin wynns and camilo doval acting like All That for no one to write fic. the answer to this is bc the giants did not have hoes at the time
lawrence butler and zack gelof are having some kind of extended divorce that has nothing to do with zack getting optioned and yall. i need to know what happened. they have 2 works in their pairing but there could and should be more
adam jones and chris davis...i think about adam's podcast episode with chris davis like once a week, how were they still SO in love after all that time. it makes me want to throw up
people are technically writing about fernando tatis jr and manny machado, but they are not writing about them together and it's literally 5 fics total for both of them. anyway i need their toxic homophobic bffship and i need jackson merrill in the cuck chair booing loudly while diseased in the head about nando
whatever those gay asses on the nationals are doing....like can we get serious here. there's something homosocial going on
I truly adore the Gowns Are For Everyone concept (and would v much like to submit myself for consideration but sadly I do not play in the NHL) (YET) . If you haven't already done them - Jeff Skinner? Matthew Tkachuk? Carey Price?
Carey Price
Upon reading your message I was immediately struck by how much I don’t want to see Carey Price’s bare legs. It’s a goalie thing.
Slim fit, sure, but no high hemlines. Some collarbone, of course. We’re going with this 1955 Dior column with a barely-on-the-shoulder notched neckline and fitted full length sleeves in sleekly reflective black silk cut with a matte black velvet ribbon belt.
Jeff Skinner
Navy works for Skinner. The gold helps to warm it just a bit, so it doesn’t look cold against his complexion, so I’d be interested to see him in a blend of the shades, like this jewel-toned ‘51 gown by Jaques Fath with a very structured bodice wrapped in a layer of silk taffeta that extends into a stole tossed over one shoulder:
I mean he’s going to look like Matthew Tkachuk in whatever so fuck what I think really.
But I want to see him wear this salmon-pink ‘69 Givenchy wrap that falls off one shoulder and the opposite thigh which is trimmed with stripped feathers that are meant to bounce as the wearer moves. This gown is the only option left after a T-shift that says “I WAS BORN AWESOME”, which he has, in fact, worn.
Hashtag it’s good I took photos of this yesterday because today is so cloudy. #gouache #artist #artistsoninstagram #newart #painter #fluffyclouds #sycamoretrees #greenvalleyonastormyday #paint #freshpaint #femaleartists #learningtopaint #landscapestudy
at one of the many low ebbs, all sitting around dusty and hollow and silent, lovett says 'i guess at least now i don't have to feel bad about losing both of your spare keys' and tommy and favs laugh, real and loud, even though lovett's heart wasn't really in it. they're leaning against each other, against the wall, exhaustion written in the careless spread of their limbs. he can't begrudge them that, the easy comfort they can take from each other.
2/2- it seems absurd that /now/, after - everything, when their cellphones are dead weight and life is carved out of ashes, lovett can’t unpick the knots that keep him from taking it too. it feels obsolete, a relic of another time, a silly redundant thing to hang onto in this new world, like online passwords or supermarket rewards cards. still he finds himself flinching at tommy’s steadying hand at his arm when he trips over warped concrete, or jon’s friendly nudge when it’s his turn as lookout.
(they’ve started to move around each other with more and more of the same closeness and intimacy that lov*tt remembers from his grandparents. how his grandmother would forget where she put the salt when she was cooking and would just extend her hand so his grandfather could silently find and give it to her with a kiss on her forehead. he thinks about that when he’s handed his glasses from the rucksack filled with their breakables without even opening his mouth to ask. when he curls his legs under him thirty minutes into their drive on long ago ravaged and empty roads so that tommy can stretch his long legs across the shared cab of their stolen pickup. when he rouses when favs gets up to patrol their location and lov*tt reaches a hand into leo’s fur to distract him so that he doesn’t fully wake up and follow him. how even in the midst of so much destruction they’ve seem to have built this little thing on the foundation of their relationship, something strong and lasting even when so much else is ruin.)
Cheating as a fic prompt because I already wrote this exact sentence in an ask weeks ago but tbh I have never stopped wanting it 'Ashton and Luke subvert gender stereotypes in a series of escalating dares!!!'
Influencer. Ashton/Luke. 968 words, also on AO3.
Ashton acts like he’s the one who invented the concept of men wearing makeup, but Luke’s completely secure in the knowledge that this one started with him, at least in the band. None of them have ever minded a bit of nail polish but Luke was the one who upped the ante and went for rose gold. Suddenly now Ashton’s all roses and glitter as if Luke didn’t go glam rock first and get the new aesthetic going. Call him an influencer, it’s fine.
“I’m really glad you’re wearing makeup too, Luke,” Ashton says. He leans in closer to the dressing room mirror, hogging it. Luke gracefully allows it. “It looks good on you. I think it’s a nice new visual direction for us as a band.” He carefully dips his finger into a pot of microfine gold glitter, then swipes it under his lower eyelashes. It catches in the light, sparkling like tears.
“I’m going to put glitter on my eyelids,” Luke decides. Ashton gives him a skeptical look, as if wearing makeup like you’re supposed to is somehow controversial. At the last second Luke quails and pretends he wasn’t going for the black glitter shadow; it feels too easy to fuck up. What he puts on instead is sheer, a silvery blue that shifts in the light. “What do you think?” he asks Ashton, who’s pretending to do his hair but mostly looking at Luke out of the corner of his eye.
“You look like an angel,” Ashton says. “A hungover angel.”
Luke shrugs, pleased. He’ll take it.
*
The YSL mascara isn’t cheap, but it is gold and sparkly. Also not as easy to put on as Luke had expected it would be, but whatever, he’s not some beauty guru, okay? Yet.
“Mascara?” squawks Ashton. “Isn’t that a bit, you know?”
Luke waits for him to go on, serene. He has all day. He has all day, sparkly golden eyelashes, and a bitchin’ cat eye.
“It’s just less Bowie and more Joan Jett at this point,” Ashton says finally, looking troubled. Looking also ethereal, with gold glitter fading to pink on his cheeks, and what looks like a light eye gloss as well. Luke’s fairly certainly he’s still winning this one, but it’s nice that Ashton’s willing to play.
“Would you say you’re jealous that I can pull off Joan Jett better than you?” Luke asks. He bats his beautiful golden eyelashes.
“I think androgyny is sexy,” Michael says, passing by with a bottle of water from the fridge while also Facetiming his girlfriend. “Luke, you look really hot.” He aims his phone at Luke.
“Wow, you do look really hot,” Crystal says.
Luke preens.
“I could do a Joan Jett thing!” Ashton says. “I look hot in eyeliner!”
From the dressing room couch Calum says, “You look hot in anything. Come do my glitter.” He doesn’t move from his position, lying down on his back with his eyes closed.
Huffily, Ashton goes over and glitters up Calum’s cheekbones.
“Do you think I’d look good in lipstick?” Luke asks Crystal and Michael.
“100%,” Michael and Crystal agree.
*
“You are such a fuck,” Ashton says, three days later, cornering Luke before their set as Luke expected he would, hoped he would. “Is this some weird competition we’re in? Are we one-upping each other with makeup, is that what’s happening? Some kind of femme-off?”
“So you admit you enjoy looking femme,” Luke says. Ashton’s leaned into it tonight, brought out the big guns: full on Fenty Trophy Wife highlighter on his cheekbones, glitter in his hair, skillfully applied gold eyeliner on a shimmering lid. His lips are bare, but Luke’s aren’t; it took some time at the local Sephora, but Luke’s got the perfect red flush on his lips courtesy Pat McGrath. He looks kissed, and roughly. He’s pretty sure the bratty thrill of one-upping Ashton - or something - is making him blush. He’s working it, anyway. “It’s okay, man. You can look pretty. You do look pretty.”
“Masculine pretty though,” Ashton says, a little desperately. “Isn’t lipstick a bit too far?” He keeps staring at Luke’s mouth like he doesn’t understand it, like he wants to.
“It’s hot,” Luke says, taking care to approach gently, his fingertips light on Ashton’s jaw, tilting his face up a little closer. “Don’t you think it looks hot?” It’s a reckless, thrilling feeling to toy with Ashton like this - or not to toy with him, not when he looks so torn, not when Luke could help him understand. “Don’t you wanna try it?”
“Yeah,” Ashton says finally, licking his lips, his hands warm on Luke’s shoulders, so Luke leans in. Ashton closes his eyes, and Luke kisses him firmly, careful with a closed mouth that makes him want more, harder, to see what Ashton would let him do, what Ashton would want to do to him - but after not enough time Ashton’s pushing back, breaking away with a gasp of breath and a red, kissed mouth. Luke reaches out automatically to fix a little smear at the corner of Ashton’s mouth where his kiss grew clumsy, too eager, and Ashton lets him, his eyelids fluttering closed, centering himself.
“You look beautiful,” Luke tells him, his voice breaking a little in the middle of it, something else in him breaking at the thought of more than this, Ashton looking after him, telling him he’s lovely and being good to him. Glitter-smeared bedsheets and breakfast in the morning with someone who really loves him. Attention from someone who actually knows him and loves him anyway. Ashton, just Ashton.
Ashton giggles a bit, his cheeks flushing red under gold, and says, “We both do.” He holds out his hand for Luke to take, his grip warm and sure, and leads them both to the stage.
Luke pledging his devotion to Ashton because Men Expressing Their Emotions is Punk Rock is nice. good job bud, stick it to the patriarchy!! Ashton and Luke subvert gender stereotypes in a series of escalating dares!!! alternatively, Ashton starts a cult.
You’re singing my song dude!! All of these are things I would read. That’s what keeps me in 5SOS, just the intensity with which they continually express their love and commitment to each other. Ashton and Luke in a glittering femme-off is the stuff of dreams. Bring a cult into this and I will go ahead and die of sexy joy, thanks. 🙏
