Erin Ptah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ptahrrific) wrote2009-03-18 05:19 pm
ptahrrific) wrote2009-03-18 05:19 pm
Entry tags:
Strangers With Candy: Why Should I Care?, part 6
Title: Why Should I Care? (6/?)
Series: Strangers With Candy
Pairings: Seamus/OMC; Chuck/Geoffrey
Rating: PG-13
Contents: Language; men in dresses; sexytime.
Beta:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
stellar_dust
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use.
Summary: George tries on some new clothes, and Seamus has a couple of epiphanies.
This is Rose's dress. The blue dress looks like this.
Previous chapters here.
Why Should I Care?
Part Six
Two customers and one attendant made a whirlwind round of the women's eveningwear section. George was enthusiastic; Toshiko was helpful; and Seamus was too stunned (and, okay, a little bit enthralled) to get a word in edgewise.
Not until George sent the attendant off to search for a larger version of one of the dresses that had caught his fancy (a column of red silk, with a ribbon of copper flowing down the back) did Seamus finally lean over and hiss, "You don't have to do this, you know."
"Who said I did?"
"Don't play dumb. You can't pretend this has nothing to do with . . . with that thing I told you."
"Sure it does. But it's not like you forced me to come in here. I invited you, remember?"
"What is this, then? You're not getting me into one of these."
George sighed. "Does there have to be an insidious motive for everything? Can't a guy just go dress shopping without it being some kind of plot? Here, hold these." Holding aside one of the dresses, he thrust the rest at Seamus, then unslung the camera bag from his shoulder and looped it over Seamus' neck.
Before he knew it, Seamus was standing alone outside the changing room. And four absolutely stunning dresses were in his arms.
His chest went tight.
Don't panic, he told himself firmly. Just hang them up. There's got to be a rack around here somewhere.
Sure enough, there was a metal bar with a few empty hangers sitting not far from the changing room door. Seamus made his way slowly over to it, careful to hold the various fabrics up off the floor and out of the way of his tennis shoes. (Why did he have to have such big feet, anyway? Was there a Yeti somewhere on one side of his stupid family?)
He hung the gowns up, one by one. A mass of blue and purple organza, the skirts lined with sequins (silly; it would make you look like a Barbie). Something strapless and maroon (not bad in itself, but it wasn't going to do anything for George's whatever-the-hell-he-was skin tone). Pale gold silk, gathered gracefully at the hips (that might actually work—on a guy, it would help with the illusion that he had hips). Finally, a light red chiffon that seemed to be gathered everywhere (but with not a stitch to be seen), and looked strangely familiar.
Seamus let his hand linger on the chiffon for a moment, trying to place it. It looked simple enough: long skirt, narrow waist, no frills except the X-shaped straps crossing the shoulders and hanging down the back. How, then, to explain the way the fabric rippled in different directions along the bodice, as if it knew which curves it was meant to be following?
And why, oh why oh why, should he care about the construction of some stupid dre—
—Rose!
How had he forgotten? There had been nights when, thinking the dress kept its shape by being pulled really tightly, he had lain awake wondering if it was hard for her to breathe. (He was still young enough to believe that dolls breathed, and walked and talked, when you weren't looking.)
One afternoon, when his mother had gone off to run errands and his father was supposed to have come home hours ago, Seamus had hauled the biggest stool from the upstairs closet all the way down to the Madame Precious cabinet, so that he could take Rose down from the top shelf and check.
As it turned out, Rose was fine. The dress (he remembered bits and pieces of Dad's description—circa 1953 blah blah style of Jean Somebody yada yada technical complexity) wasn't tight at all, but held in place by something built into the fabric. Seamus hadn't had a chance to explore, because right then he'd heard Dad's car coming down the street.
He had tried to put Rose back in her proper position, or as close to it as he could remember, in the limited time left to him.
Dad had noticed, of course. Dad always noticed.
"Sir?"
Seamus jumped about a foot in the air, yanking his hand away from the dress. "Don't scare me like that!" he barked at Toshiko.
The attendant, red-and-copper silk draped over one arm and a stack of shoeboxes balanced in the other, didn't even flinch. "Sorry, sir. I didn't know which shoes your companion would like, so I brought a variety. Would you be able to vet them?"
Come to think of it, if drag was her specialty, she probably dealt with gun-shy guys all the time. Still, Seamus found himself grudgingly impressed. "Let me see."
All the boxes were spread out on the floor, displaying their array of pumps and heels nestled in ivory tissue paper, when the changing room door clicked open.
Seamus stared.
The dress was a rich royal blue satin, gathered at George's nonexistent bust and narrow hips with sparkling rhinestone clasps, leaving bare his smooth arms and shoulders. The skirt fell to the floor, even with one hand holding it up, and flowed around his sneakers as he took careful steps forward.
"That's the good kind of silence, right?" he asked hopefully.
"Darling, you're gorgeous," said the attendant.
At last Seamus snapped out of his daze. "Shoes. Off. Now."
"Good idea." George began kicking off the tennis shoes. "Oh, hey, you got some! Got any recommendations for this dress, Toshiko?"
"These," interrupted Seamus, holding up a pair of silver heels and shooting the attendant a look that dared her to disagree. (She didn't. Wise woman. No Madame Precious doll worth her resin would wear any lesser footwear with a dress like that.) "Hold still. I'll take care of them."
So George, who had been swaying a little as he got the sneakers off, stopped moving. Seamus knelt by his side, lifted the skirt, tossed the old shoes aside, and reached for a sock. This was when he noticed that George had shaved his legs, too. He really isn't doing this by calves. . . . Halves. Halves!
"Perfect fit," he declared, once both feet were cradled in the silver heels. Only then did he notice that, at some point during the proceedings, George's hand had grabbed his shoulder for support. "Uh, you gonna be okay to stand now?"
"I think so." George let him go and straightened slowly. "Back up a bit."
As Seamus got to his feet and obeyed, he realized that his heart was racing.
Easy there, buddy, he told himself. Just because he's Zen enough to have be cool with your little fetish, and just because right at this moment he is the most fucking gorgeous thing you have ever seen, doesn't mean you can jump him in the middle of a store. Besides, you might hurt him, and then where would we be? No, it's best for everyone if you just keep a safe distance.
. . . wait a second.
How long had the voice in his head been Dad's?
George chose that moment to wobble dangerously. Easy as breathing, Seamus stepped forward and caught him.
"Thanks!" laughed George, head resting on his shoulder. "Don't think I'll be wearing heels again any time soon."
Seamus took a deep breath. He's not a doll. He's a person, and a lot tougher than I give him credit for.
"Next time you ask me to visit your parents," he murmured in George's ear, "I'll say yes."
George steadied himself and straightened. For a moment, Seamus was afraid he hadn't heard.
Then he grinned. "In that case, I may have to wear them more often. Now take the picture quick, before I fall over!"
§
The sun was sinking low over the trees as they walked out, casting long shadows down the rows of the mall parking lot.
"Did you really mean that?" asked George, dress in its plastic drape hanging over his shoulder. He had tried on all the ones he had picked out, with combinations of shoes and accessories that Seamus had largely directed, but walked out with the blue in the end. "About meeting my dads, I mean. Or were you just so struck by my incredible beauty that you would have said anything to get into my skirt?"
"Both," said Seamus shortly. He was cradling the camera as if it were a baby, its memory card holding the gallery of every outfit he had put together. (In spite of the unspoken offer hanging over the whole afternoon, he hadn't tried on any himself. Seeing them on George was already more than he had ever expected to get.) "So how come you haven't asked yet? You aren't inviting someone else over these days, are you?"
George hesitated just long enough to make Seamus worry before answering. "Nah. I've had a couple of dates, but none of the guys wanted it to last, and the girls always have a hard time believing I'm not gay."
"Wait, you're not?" The words were out of Seamus' mouth before he could think better of it.
Fortunately, George just laughed. "That's exactly what I'm talking about! No, I'm—well, my favorite word is 'pansexual', but whenever I use it I have to stop and take ten minutes to explain what it means."
"Well," said Seamus, after considering this for a moment, "it explains why you spend so much time in the kitchen."
George looked sharply at him. Seamus did his level best to keep a straight face, but a moment later the younger man broke into a knowing grin. "Seamus Noblet, you just made a joke!"
Seamus half-shrugged. "A really bad one, yeah."
"That's okay. That's better than okay. You and Other Dad can bond over bad jokes, and Dad can pretend to be annoyed while he tries not to laugh." George pulled a key from his pocket and clicked; twenty feet ahead, a slightly banged-up little 2019 Honda Circuit blinked its lights in response. "You want a ride?"
Seamus balked. "We're not going there now, are we?"
"Wasn't planning on it."
"Oh, thank God."
"I just thought I could take you back to your place." George opened one of the car doors and laid the dress across the back seat. Seamus handed him the camera bag; he set it on the floor. "And maybe stay for a while."
§
They did manage to get the dress safely hanging in the closet (Seamus had no intention of letting it sit out in the apartment lot, not in this neighborhood) before George splayed his hands across Seamus' chest and pressed him against the wall.
After submitting to a hungry kiss, Seamus ducked his head away. "You sure about this?"
"Why, do you have someone else to be doing tonight?"
"No." Between school and work, he hadn't had time for hookups recently. Not since meeting George, in fact. "But . . . ."
"But what?"
"It isn't fair," whispered Seamus, even as his hands decided all on their own to start lifting the younger man's sweater.
George's breath hitched, hips jerking against Seamus, but he managed to pant, "What isn't?"
"This! You shouldn't have it this easy! You can't—bumble through life, perky all the time, never have any trouble, and then somehow happen to meet someone who loves you on your first try!"
"You're already getting laid for stopping by my house," murmured George, his easy tone belied by a new tension in his grip. "You don't get any bonus rounds for saying you love me."
With a sudden surge of energy Seamus flipped him over, so that now George was the one pressed against the wall. Pinned between Seamus' elbows, he broke off his advances; for a moment they stood in relative stillness, chests heaving.
"I'm doing it anyway," growled Seamus when he had caught his breath. "That all right with you?"
George—carefree, confident, balanced George—looked suddenly, heart-stoppingly vulnerable.
"You mean it?" he faltered.
This was the moment Seamus had been waiting for. For all his self-assurance, George had a weak point after all—and now he had laid it bare, in that way that you need to learn not to do, because it makes you so damn fragile.
Seamus could have broken him with a word.
So it was with infinite care that he pressed his lips against George's temple, before whispering in his ear: "I mean it."
At that, George wound his arms around Seamus' neck and leaned weakly against him; and Seamus, slipping his hands behind George's thighs, lifted him up and carried him—carefully, carefully!—into the bedroom.
______
(A/N:punkishgrin did adorable George art from this story. I am all aflail.)
Series: Strangers With Candy
Pairings: Seamus/OMC; Chuck/Geoffrey
Rating: PG-13
Contents: Language; men in dresses; sexytime.
Beta:
stellar_dustDisclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use.
Summary: George tries on some new clothes, and Seamus has a couple of epiphanies.
This is Rose's dress. The blue dress looks like this.
Previous chapters here.
Why Should I Care?
Part Six
Two customers and one attendant made a whirlwind round of the women's eveningwear section. George was enthusiastic; Toshiko was helpful; and Seamus was too stunned (and, okay, a little bit enthralled) to get a word in edgewise.
Not until George sent the attendant off to search for a larger version of one of the dresses that had caught his fancy (a column of red silk, with a ribbon of copper flowing down the back) did Seamus finally lean over and hiss, "You don't have to do this, you know."
"Who said I did?"
"Don't play dumb. You can't pretend this has nothing to do with . . . with that thing I told you."
"Sure it does. But it's not like you forced me to come in here. I invited you, remember?"
"What is this, then? You're not getting me into one of these."
George sighed. "Does there have to be an insidious motive for everything? Can't a guy just go dress shopping without it being some kind of plot? Here, hold these." Holding aside one of the dresses, he thrust the rest at Seamus, then unslung the camera bag from his shoulder and looped it over Seamus' neck.
Before he knew it, Seamus was standing alone outside the changing room. And four absolutely stunning dresses were in his arms.
His chest went tight.
Don't panic, he told himself firmly. Just hang them up. There's got to be a rack around here somewhere.
Sure enough, there was a metal bar with a few empty hangers sitting not far from the changing room door. Seamus made his way slowly over to it, careful to hold the various fabrics up off the floor and out of the way of his tennis shoes. (Why did he have to have such big feet, anyway? Was there a Yeti somewhere on one side of his stupid family?)
He hung the gowns up, one by one. A mass of blue and purple organza, the skirts lined with sequins (silly; it would make you look like a Barbie). Something strapless and maroon (not bad in itself, but it wasn't going to do anything for George's whatever-the-hell-he-was skin tone). Pale gold silk, gathered gracefully at the hips (that might actually work—on a guy, it would help with the illusion that he had hips). Finally, a light red chiffon that seemed to be gathered everywhere (but with not a stitch to be seen), and looked strangely familiar.
Seamus let his hand linger on the chiffon for a moment, trying to place it. It looked simple enough: long skirt, narrow waist, no frills except the X-shaped straps crossing the shoulders and hanging down the back. How, then, to explain the way the fabric rippled in different directions along the bodice, as if it knew which curves it was meant to be following?
And why, oh why oh why, should he care about the construction of some stupid dre—
—Rose!
How had he forgotten? There had been nights when, thinking the dress kept its shape by being pulled really tightly, he had lain awake wondering if it was hard for her to breathe. (He was still young enough to believe that dolls breathed, and walked and talked, when you weren't looking.)
One afternoon, when his mother had gone off to run errands and his father was supposed to have come home hours ago, Seamus had hauled the biggest stool from the upstairs closet all the way down to the Madame Precious cabinet, so that he could take Rose down from the top shelf and check.
As it turned out, Rose was fine. The dress (he remembered bits and pieces of Dad's description—circa 1953 blah blah style of Jean Somebody yada yada technical complexity) wasn't tight at all, but held in place by something built into the fabric. Seamus hadn't had a chance to explore, because right then he'd heard Dad's car coming down the street.
He had tried to put Rose back in her proper position, or as close to it as he could remember, in the limited time left to him.
Dad had noticed, of course. Dad always noticed.
"Sir?"
Seamus jumped about a foot in the air, yanking his hand away from the dress. "Don't scare me like that!" he barked at Toshiko.
The attendant, red-and-copper silk draped over one arm and a stack of shoeboxes balanced in the other, didn't even flinch. "Sorry, sir. I didn't know which shoes your companion would like, so I brought a variety. Would you be able to vet them?"
Come to think of it, if drag was her specialty, she probably dealt with gun-shy guys all the time. Still, Seamus found himself grudgingly impressed. "Let me see."
All the boxes were spread out on the floor, displaying their array of pumps and heels nestled in ivory tissue paper, when the changing room door clicked open.
Seamus stared.
The dress was a rich royal blue satin, gathered at George's nonexistent bust and narrow hips with sparkling rhinestone clasps, leaving bare his smooth arms and shoulders. The skirt fell to the floor, even with one hand holding it up, and flowed around his sneakers as he took careful steps forward.
"That's the good kind of silence, right?" he asked hopefully.
"Darling, you're gorgeous," said the attendant.
At last Seamus snapped out of his daze. "Shoes. Off. Now."
"Good idea." George began kicking off the tennis shoes. "Oh, hey, you got some! Got any recommendations for this dress, Toshiko?"
"These," interrupted Seamus, holding up a pair of silver heels and shooting the attendant a look that dared her to disagree. (She didn't. Wise woman. No Madame Precious doll worth her resin would wear any lesser footwear with a dress like that.) "Hold still. I'll take care of them."
So George, who had been swaying a little as he got the sneakers off, stopped moving. Seamus knelt by his side, lifted the skirt, tossed the old shoes aside, and reached for a sock. This was when he noticed that George had shaved his legs, too. He really isn't doing this by calves. . . . Halves. Halves!
"Perfect fit," he declared, once both feet were cradled in the silver heels. Only then did he notice that, at some point during the proceedings, George's hand had grabbed his shoulder for support. "Uh, you gonna be okay to stand now?"
"I think so." George let him go and straightened slowly. "Back up a bit."
As Seamus got to his feet and obeyed, he realized that his heart was racing.
Easy there, buddy, he told himself. Just because he's Zen enough to have be cool with your little fetish, and just because right at this moment he is the most fucking gorgeous thing you have ever seen, doesn't mean you can jump him in the middle of a store. Besides, you might hurt him, and then where would we be? No, it's best for everyone if you just keep a safe distance.
. . . wait a second.
How long had the voice in his head been Dad's?
George chose that moment to wobble dangerously. Easy as breathing, Seamus stepped forward and caught him.
"Thanks!" laughed George, head resting on his shoulder. "Don't think I'll be wearing heels again any time soon."
Seamus took a deep breath. He's not a doll. He's a person, and a lot tougher than I give him credit for.
"Next time you ask me to visit your parents," he murmured in George's ear, "I'll say yes."
George steadied himself and straightened. For a moment, Seamus was afraid he hadn't heard.
Then he grinned. "In that case, I may have to wear them more often. Now take the picture quick, before I fall over!"
The sun was sinking low over the trees as they walked out, casting long shadows down the rows of the mall parking lot.
"Did you really mean that?" asked George, dress in its plastic drape hanging over his shoulder. He had tried on all the ones he had picked out, with combinations of shoes and accessories that Seamus had largely directed, but walked out with the blue in the end. "About meeting my dads, I mean. Or were you just so struck by my incredible beauty that you would have said anything to get into my skirt?"
"Both," said Seamus shortly. He was cradling the camera as if it were a baby, its memory card holding the gallery of every outfit he had put together. (In spite of the unspoken offer hanging over the whole afternoon, he hadn't tried on any himself. Seeing them on George was already more than he had ever expected to get.) "So how come you haven't asked yet? You aren't inviting someone else over these days, are you?"
George hesitated just long enough to make Seamus worry before answering. "Nah. I've had a couple of dates, but none of the guys wanted it to last, and the girls always have a hard time believing I'm not gay."
"Wait, you're not?" The words were out of Seamus' mouth before he could think better of it.
Fortunately, George just laughed. "That's exactly what I'm talking about! No, I'm—well, my favorite word is 'pansexual', but whenever I use it I have to stop and take ten minutes to explain what it means."
"Well," said Seamus, after considering this for a moment, "it explains why you spend so much time in the kitchen."
George looked sharply at him. Seamus did his level best to keep a straight face, but a moment later the younger man broke into a knowing grin. "Seamus Noblet, you just made a joke!"
Seamus half-shrugged. "A really bad one, yeah."
"That's okay. That's better than okay. You and Other Dad can bond over bad jokes, and Dad can pretend to be annoyed while he tries not to laugh." George pulled a key from his pocket and clicked; twenty feet ahead, a slightly banged-up little 2019 Honda Circuit blinked its lights in response. "You want a ride?"
Seamus balked. "We're not going there now, are we?"
"Wasn't planning on it."
"Oh, thank God."
"I just thought I could take you back to your place." George opened one of the car doors and laid the dress across the back seat. Seamus handed him the camera bag; he set it on the floor. "And maybe stay for a while."
They did manage to get the dress safely hanging in the closet (Seamus had no intention of letting it sit out in the apartment lot, not in this neighborhood) before George splayed his hands across Seamus' chest and pressed him against the wall.
After submitting to a hungry kiss, Seamus ducked his head away. "You sure about this?"
"Why, do you have someone else to be doing tonight?"
"No." Between school and work, he hadn't had time for hookups recently. Not since meeting George, in fact. "But . . . ."
"But what?"
"It isn't fair," whispered Seamus, even as his hands decided all on their own to start lifting the younger man's sweater.
George's breath hitched, hips jerking against Seamus, but he managed to pant, "What isn't?"
"This! You shouldn't have it this easy! You can't—bumble through life, perky all the time, never have any trouble, and then somehow happen to meet someone who loves you on your first try!"
"You're already getting laid for stopping by my house," murmured George, his easy tone belied by a new tension in his grip. "You don't get any bonus rounds for saying you love me."
With a sudden surge of energy Seamus flipped him over, so that now George was the one pressed against the wall. Pinned between Seamus' elbows, he broke off his advances; for a moment they stood in relative stillness, chests heaving.
"I'm doing it anyway," growled Seamus when he had caught his breath. "That all right with you?"
George—carefree, confident, balanced George—looked suddenly, heart-stoppingly vulnerable.
"You mean it?" he faltered.
This was the moment Seamus had been waiting for. For all his self-assurance, George had a weak point after all—and now he had laid it bare, in that way that you need to learn not to do, because it makes you so damn fragile.
Seamus could have broken him with a word.
So it was with infinite care that he pressed his lips against George's temple, before whispering in his ear: "I mean it."
At that, George wound his arms around Seamus' neck and leaned weakly against him; and Seamus, slipping his hands behind George's thighs, lifted him up and carried him—carefully, carefully!—into the bedroom.
______
(A/N:
punkishgrin did adorable George art from this story. I am all aflail.)
no subject
a slightly banged-up little 2019 Honda Circuit
Hilarious.
no subject
I love throwing in tiny little reminders that this is The Future.
no subject
Hehe. Calves.
Also the horrors of confusing, rarely used words that often work a hell of a lot better than the ones we're supposed to use. FTW.
Completely adorable fragile doll-George. I'm going to go melt into a puddle now.
no subject
"For all his self-assurance, George had a weak point after all—and now he had laid it bare, in that way that you need to learn not to do, because it makes you so damn fragile."
It's just, it's just, it- George being vulnerable makes *Seamus* feel fragile. If I'm reading it right. Which is- I'm inarticulate right now. I think I must have read too much crap fanfiction where the focus is power/control because the writer thinks it's hot. It is not. This is way better. Not that this feels like fanfic much anymore. It's interesting to see a story set in a pre-existing universe where the main characters are basically yours.
Have I embarrassed myself with my long-winded swooning yet? Sorry, I'm just happy, and the internet keeps giving me awesome stuff to read. Like this totally unrelated satire about sexism in language.
http://www.cs.virginia.edu/~evans/cs655/readings/purity.html
no subject
...but I never meant to imply that power/control can't be hot. People just have a tendency to turn it into, "Hey, I'm writing slash, I need to make one of them a woman and totally make the relationship unequal and twisted."
no subject
George being vulnerable makes *Seamus* feel fragile. If I'm reading it right.
Spot-on.
And I was gonna say - I happen to think power dynamics can be very hot =P But, yeah, I think I get what you're saying. When characters are shoehorned into stereotyped gender roles, or when a writer is writing about a twisted relationship without seeming to understand that it is twisted (*cough*Twilight*cough*), that's no fun.
I like to think the SWC (and, to a lesser extent, TCR) references give this texture. I could file off the serial numbers and present it as original fiction, but it wouldn't work as well if readers didn't know, say, Chuck's backstory, or his history with Jerri.
Aaaaanyway. Glad it's working for you! And the totally unrelated satire is very funny =D
no subject
::bounces impatiently:: Can we PLEASE meet Stephen and Jon soon? I miss them!
no subject
They're on the way! I have it mostly written and everything!
no subject
Also, I thoroughly second the bouncy impatience about meeting Stephen and Jon. Needs to happen!
Fortunately, George just laughed. "That's exactly what I'm talking about! No, I'm—well, my favorite word is 'pansexual', but whenever I use it I have to stop and take ten minutes to explain what it means."
Hee, George. ILU.
Excellent chapter, as per usual.
no subject
It's on the way! Soon!
♥
no subject
I wish MY boy were as understanding about my boys-in-dresses fetish.Drag FTW.no subject
Don't let him off the hook! (Then take pictures and share =P)Hear hear.no subject
no subject
There had been nights when, thinking the dress kept its shape by being pulled really tightly, he had lain awake wondering if it was hard for her to breathe. (He was still young enough to believe that dolls breathed, and walked and talked, when you weren't looking.)
...i love you, like, a lot. a boy after my own heart, isn't he? and such cute names the dolls have ^_-
can't wait for the next chapter
cookies,
Kagaya
no subject
And, yeah, the dolls' names (and the names of most of the OCs, for that matter) are total Easter eggs.
♥
no subject
Oh my god oh my god oh my god. I'm reading through this like a wild dingo devouring a rabbit carcass because I love this fic like burning even though I have been total shite at commenting but I have to stop you right here because.
Dude, you get it. You totally get it. That is exactly what happens whenever I try to identify pan.
(Sorry for this like, weird fangirl squee over frustrations with labels lol what is this shit)
SOME OTHER IMPORTANT ITEMS
*Which one is "Dad" an which one is "Other Dad?" Also, did George call him that growing up. Is what I would like to know.
*I love how invested I am into this bizarre second-gen tale of love between the sons of two sets of middle-aged homos. Even though I know that it turns out well, I'm so invested in this storyline. And there are so many little details that make sell it, like 60-something TA Jerry Blank, who's back in school turning her life around.
*This review is stalker!long to make up for the fact that I failed epically previously. I am not actually a crazy person.
no subject
And seriously, "like a wild dingo devouring a rabbit carcass" - XD
In the beginning Stephen and Jon tried to come up with different words George would use to differentiate them from each other, but never settled on anything. ("Godfather" was too long, and Stephen has a lot of twitches about "Papa".) They did both refer to Stephen as "your daddy", though; and Stephen would sometimes talk about Jon as "your other daddy". Then George started talking, and promptly began addressing them as Daddy and Other Daddy. It stuck.
this bizarre second-gen tale of love between the sons of two sets of middle-aged homos
...I am totally adding that to the summary now. (Even though they're more like old-aged homos now. Especially Jon and Stephen, both in their sixties.)
Jerri Blank is totally going to get that life turned around any day now XD
Thank you for coming out of your shell of lurkdom to leave these lovely important observations!
no subject
Also awwww Seamus told him he did mean it. And George sounded so perfect in how he was responding to the confession. It felt so real.
♥
no subject
And thus George turns out to be only human after all =3
no subject
I love the last section. And all the rest of it.
no subject
That's pretty much how my best friend describes it, yeah :-P "No one ever knows what the hell it means!"
no subject
"Perfect fit," he declared, once both feet were cradled in the silver heels. *swoon*
Yay, the Return of the Red and Blue Theme! Oh, and what are their majors? If they were mentioned, I missed it.
Aw, thanks for posting the Georgie sketch*^_^*. The dresses actually gave me an idea for what to draw for my Perspective assignment, so thanks again!
Since I drew George, I've pictured what the Stewart/Colbert clan would do wherever I go. So, I was able to keep myself amused while waiting 2 hours for my little brother's social studies project to be judged:P
no subject
It's always good to have boys in dresses =D
Haven't been mentioned yet, but George is a Psych major and a Women's Studies minor, and Seamus is undecided. (He'll work out his destiny eventually, though...)
Well, at least you found something to get you through that =3
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Seriously. And of course George's project fared better than my brother's. In my mind, he did his project on in-vitro fertilization, complete with an interview with Dr. Moreau, and Jon and Stephen found his biological parents (pictures of their reunion were on the backboard). And he took first and an article was written about his project in the newspaper. Because he is awesome, and a deity's godson;) Okay, done spamming:P
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Oh, man, Stephen would have made sure George did the best at every project possible. Book report? "Here, let me call Neil Gaiman." History paper? "Doris Kearns Goodwin, on the line." Health presentation? "Hey, Dan Savage, have you done anything themed to the middle school crowd?" Although Jon would keep protesting that George needs to learn to get by without his father's help eventually....
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Lovely chapter. I can't wait for the meeting between Steven & Jon and Seamus!
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Thanks!
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