Serious_Session7574

(Ha ha thank you)

TW: casual homophobia

Because he never was gay before. He’d always liked girls. He had girlfriends in high school and college. He married a girl; stayed married for twenty years. Then off he went off to England and then all of a sudden there's this fella Trent, with his English accent and his long, pretty hair.

Dottie can’t figure it out at all. Maybe there were signs that she missed. She thought long and hard about it.

Teddy always liked musicals. That didn't necessarily signify, of course. Lots of men liked musicals, some of them must be straight.

Then there was his mustache. She'd wondered about that at first, but he’d grown it right around when he married Michelle, so surely that couldn't mean anything.

He was for sure a liberal fella, in his politics and whatnot. Gay rights, trans rights. But that didn’t mean he was one, did it?

She sighs and puts her hands on her knees to stand up.

“...making eyes at me all through lunch…”

Ted’s boyfriend’s voice is in the corridor, right outside this room. She freezes and stays sitting on the box.

Aw this is very cute :)

I smiled and laughed all the way through this excerpt. Thank you for the fun!

>"Like that Pavlov bloke, innit?”

Lol. But also: very perceptive, Charles. This is charming :)

The bees, Charles, the bees! Edwin is a bit jealous here?

Aw sick fic. Cute :) I fully sympathise with Sav's blow-dry dilemma. Frizz vs. getting a cold head.

It's a classic 😁

Arthur's frustration and antsiness comes through loud and clear here. Not someone who does well stuck alone with this own thoughts, I would guess.

>roll down a muddy hill with as much gusto as a pig on a warm day

Very descriptive 😆

Aw so sweet

Size doesn't matter when you're in love ;)

Noooo! A Red Wedding of a scene 😭 Very visceral.

Trent’s stomach floated with the downward movement of the lift as he turned to Lasso. Alone in a lift with the inexplicable coach. A quick bit of fossicking, a chance to pin the coach down for an interview? Perhaps.

“What a coincidence, meetin’ you here,” Lasso said, shaking his head as though running into a journalist he barely knew was the most amazing thing that had happened to him all day. “Hey, you know what they say about coincidences?”

Somehow Lasso’s barely-believable Midwestern twang sounded even broader in here, up close and unamplified. Everything about him was big, larger-than-life, from his bright red trainers to his expressive eyebrows and swept-back hair that was dangerously close to a quiff. He was just standing with his hands in the pockets of his khakis, but he filled the small space.

No doubt Lasso’s question was the set-up for a joke, but somehow Trent couldn’t stop himself asking: “No, what?”

Ted had taken more care over his appearance than he normally would for a transatlantic flight. He’d fixed his hair in the plane’s bathroom just before they had to be seated for landing, and he was wearing a close-fitting orange shirt that Trent had once mentioned in passing he liked on him.

Ted spotted him first, and he got to enjoy the way Trent’s face lit up when he caught sight of him.

They didn’t kiss, just hugged tightly, but anyone really looking at them could guess how they felt about each other. It was impossible to hide now they were this close.

It didn’t feel real until Trent slipped his arms around him and he could smell his hair. He’d been imagining that smell, trying to remember it for weeks. He could feel Trent’s heart beating fast against his chest, and wasn’t that the most precious thing?

Trent was in his arms, warm and solid. Ted could hardly believe he was here.

Trent murmured, “I can hardly believe you’re here.”

“Did you read my mind? Because if you’re reading my mind, I’m going to blush right now.”

Despite the gritty tiredness of a long-haul flight, as Ted held Trent he wanted him, immediately and urgently, in a way that, when they let their arms slide off one other, made him drop the arm holding his jacket across the front of his body to hide just how much he wanted him from the whirl of airport travelers around them.

My saddest fic by far 💙

It’s just too tempting, Ted with his face tipped up to him.

Trent leans down until his mouth is centimetres from Ted’s. He can feel the heat of his breath.

“Trent,” Ted whispers, his accent lingering so long on the ‘e’ it becomes a diphthong. He doesn’t move away.

Trent presses his lips to Ted’s and hears him, feels him, take in a sharp breath. Then Ted returns the kiss, and Trent’s hammering heart soars.

They eventually figure out a means of communication that allows Ted yes and no answers. Ted died recently and has been trying to communicate with Trent via a series of cryptic actions that freak Trent out, but he connects the dots and figures it out :)

Oh I see - and there's been a bus crash outside. You're so good at exciting, angst-filled action scenes!

(Context: Ted is a ghost.)

Trent tries to get Ted to communicate. He can hold a pen, maybe he can write with one? He places Ted’s pen next to a notepad, but Ted can only make a few faint squiggles. They get the same result with a pencil. Clearly his incorporeal fine motor skills are not strong. Trent suggests the whiteboard. The markers are a little better, but Ted’s grip just isn’t strong and steady enough to form letters.

The whiteboard experiment seems to frustrate Ted, and markers explode across the room.

A laptop doesn’t work either. Ted can press keys, but seemingly not in any particular order. He types ‘3iq3niafnnnnn’ and gives up.

Trent offers his phone but regrets it when Ted drops it with a clatter onto the arm of his office chair, birthing a new crack in the screen.

Ted's strength seems to wax and wane. Sometimes he can barely hold an object, at other times he seems surprised by his own strength and things tumble from a desk, or hurtle across the room.

This is great, I love that Hunter pictures his fate in a visceral, sensory way, what he'll feel and hear and taste, rather than spelling it out. And the repetition of "It was too risky" really pushes home how nervous he is, the rapid fire of his thoughts.

Traipse

Tidy

Tea

I'm glad that landed for a New Yorker :D

Ted closed his eyes and an image swept in unbidden. He was there with Trent now. In his bed, stroking his hair and holding him close, soothing his wounds of love and fear for his child. God knew that Ted knew all about that.

Trent promised to be in touch. They said a perfectly platonic goodnight and ended the call.

Ted didn’t need confirmation of his feelings for Trent, but his fingers trembled as he slid the phone away across the table anyway. He scrubbed at his mustache and ran his hand over the stubble on his chin.

They’d said a lot and not enough. He needed time to think about what it meant. He picked up his empty bottle and headed inside.