I know 5 Seconds of Summer. I’ve seen all their dicks, Calum swings left.
—  Alex Gaskarth at the APMAS for his political speech
APMAs 2016: A summary
  • Mikey fucking Way played bass for Andy Black
  • Donald Trump jokes
  • Neck deep won the Best live band and then performed a bunch of covers 
  • Jake Luhrs and The Ghost Inside made everybody fucking emotional
  • Twenty one pilots and Panic! At The Disco won like half of the awards
  • Jack Barakat made out with Alex Gaskarth’s grandma
  • Tyler Posey was moshing
  • Good Charlotte are the pop punk itself
  • Marylin Manson is taller than everyone
  • Josh Dun was so sad that he didn’t win the Best drummer
  • Patrick Stump was even sadder
  • Babymetal and Judas Priest performed together
  • Jack is our new president and Jaime Preciado is the vice president


the first night that Jack and Gabriel spend together post-reunion is spent actually sleeping. No sex, no fooling around, just flat out catchin’ some z’s, yeah? Neither one of them sleeps very well on their own, so for the first time (in a very, very long time) they actually manage to get a good night’s rest.

Gabriel’s the first to wake up, sprawled out on his back with Jack pressed against his side and his head resting on Gabe’s chest. He probably woke up because Jack is snoring just like he always did, which is to say like a god damn freight train. It annoyed the hell out of Gabriel back then, but now he can’t help but feel the ache of just how much he missed it.  

It’s hard to break old habits, and Gabe’s fingers are gently running through Jack’s now-grey hair, but Gabriel swears he can almost see blonde in the morning sunlight. He figures it’s just a trick of the light. But the scars and wrinkles– there’s no mistaking their existence as a simple trick. He notes the largest ones first– the scar across his nose, his lips– but there’s others that he hadn’t noticed before. An old cut on his chin, stitches on his cheekbone. He traces over them, touch light as can be, making a mental note to kiss each of them later, if he’s so inclined.

The stress lines on his forehead aren’t new, just more defined than before. Overwatch had taken its toll on him long before it all went to hell. Frown lines sit on the corner of his mouth, and those are definitely new. He wonders what it would take to see him smile again, instead. The stubble is new, as well– Jack was always clean-shaven when they were younger, but it seemed he cared a bit less in his older age.

“Take’a picture,” Jack mutters into his shoulder, voice thick with sleep, “it’ll last longer.” He doesn’t even bother opening his eyes. Then again, he really has no need to. The explosion ensured Jack would never properly see again, not without the aid of his visor. 

“You’re supposed to be sleeping, pendejo,” Gabriel says quietly, not bothering to move his fingers from his hair.

“I can’t sleep with you starin’ at me like that.” Jack mumbles, “Go back to sleep, asshole.” Gabriel snorts at that, though he knows there’s no malice behind it. He stretches out a bit before wrapping his arm around Jack’s waist, pulling him closer and resting his head against his hair.

“Sure,” Gabriel says, a hint of mischief in his voice, “God knows you need your beauty sleep, old man.”

Jack doesn’t hesitate to shove his ass off the bed.

So I didn’t watch the APMAs. Here is what I’ve gathered from the wonderful people I follow here on Tumblr:

-Jack made out with someone’s grandma

-twenty one pilots won everything and people are angry

-more shade was thrown at Trace Cyrus

-the audio didn’t break this year!

-the maine wore leopard print suits

-Jack built a wall in front of Metro Station’s dressing room

-Jack was drunk

-Jack won the presidency

-basically Jack stole the show and everyone went along with it

jack’s first press conference since his promotion to strike commander is about to start and he’s pretty nervous, but he’s got a pretty good introduction memorized and has mentally crafted solid responses to questions that reporters would inevitably ask him. he’s been preparing for this event for weeks, if not months- this is the entire world’s first real good glance at the new head of overwatch and he can’t afford to cast a bad image of himself

but no amount of rehearsing would have ever prepared him for gabe making fucky sex faces at him from across the room. it’s distracting as hell. jack wanted gabe to be there for reassurance (”i’ll be in one of the back rows. look at me whenever you’re nervous, rubito”) but instead of giving reaffirming nods and thumbs up, gabe’s smirking and licking and puckering his lips (jack can almost hear the grating kissy noises) and gabe NEVER breaks eye contact

not like he can help it- an hour before the conference gabe was throatfucking jack (he desperately needed to get his mind off the event for just a little bit) and all gabe can think about is the way his cum streaked jack’s pretty face afterwards

gabe’s smug as hell because he’s obviously making jack flustered. the blonde’s tripping over his words, stuttering, slurring responses he’d perfected just a few days prior. he’s sweating, pulling at the collar of his shirt. not like the journalists particularly notice; jack’s rather eloquent and every time he slips up he manages to get back on track…

that is, until gabe goes full fuckin’ throttle with the facial expressions and starts making the same face he made when jack was blowing him an hour ago. gabe’s closed his eyes, his head slightly tilted back and tongue waggling like he’s a parched dog and THAT’S FUCKING IT, JACK CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE and in the middle of answering a young journalist’s question he hisses, blunt, angry, “gabe, STOP!” 

an awkward silence washes over the crowd for a moment before jack quickly apologizes. the interview continues without another hitch. gabe leans back in his seat, hands clasped over his stomach, smug smile creeping over his face, far too proud that he got Perfect Morrison to break, even if just a bit. silly boy. you’re mine. todo mío.


The Alternative Press Music Awards fueled by Monster Energy are streaming live on Amazon Music! Go to amazon.com/APMAS to watch LIVE July 18th beginning at 7pm EST!

Confession 21/7/16
  • I.... Have an issue. I thought I'd fallen into a deep enough pit with Phan, and really I did. I've just all but exhausted that pit....
  • But now....
  • I didn't think I'd get into this. Like, ah no, they're just some cool guys it's all good. But, no. I've fallen and I can't get up. I need help. I've spent hours watching compilations. I've fallen down another rabbit hole Oh no. This is not the casual pewdiecry, or ianthony to me..... This.... Is more. Why am I like this?
  • Septiplier. The fuck. Away.

When in doubt, consult Dad:

While I received some Tumblr opinions yesterday that I value, I must admit that I ultimately resorted to taking my father’s advice. He was in town helping me with some cabinet work that was needed before I have a new sink put in. Before I took him to lunch, I showed him my options which then consisted of yesterday’s ties but with a blue uni-stripe and a solid blue ocbd. He recommended the blue or a different solid white shirt as university stripe wouldn’t contrast enough with “camel” as he called my khaki suit. I had never thought about it before, but he was absolutely right. I switched out the shirts and then turned to tumblr for further insight.

I ultimately was needing to make a call before I could collect more data and decided to go with the long-tie as I preferred the quality of its green (which was the wedding color) and the white pinpoint as it better matched the tie’s sheen than oxford would. Plus, I rarely wear white shirts as the contrast is usually too harsh on me, but with khaki it’s much gentler.

Father knows best.

Poplin Suit & Belt: J Press
Pinpoint Shirt: Kamakura
Shoes: Jack Erwin
Tie and Socks: The Tie Bar