#faffing about with my thoughts

[sheathandshear]

While transmeds are hardly better, it feels impossible to have any discussion of transmasculinity in the context of wider gender expectations and interrelations without it getting immediately shut down by the transmascs who pop out of the woodwork to declaim, "Masculinity is what you make it! The great thing about being transmasc is that you decide what manhood means for you! For example, my masculinity is soft and whimsical 🥰" Great but I am not talking about your internal sense of gender, nor mine. I am talking about the ways in which men are expected to look, behave, and relate to others in order to move through the world *as men*. I am talking about repressive passing, the dichotomy of hyper adherence to "correct" masculinity in an effort to be seen *by others* as a man, as what you are, vs. who you are or may be, how we navigate these choices in every interaction. How you are expected to relate to others as a father, a brother, a son, a coworker, a husband or boyfriend or partner, a stranger on the street, and how the world relates to you in turn. Masculinity is very much *not* what you make it, whatever your specific relationship to it, because masculinity is a specific societal construction in time and space whose presence or absence defines all of our lives whether we wish it to or not. And I fully think we are capable of having this conversation, but only if we let go of the obligation to concede to vague platitudes trotted out by people who seem unwilling to admit that We Live in a Society.

[greaseonmymouth]

I left work early today bc I wasn’t feeling great and I thought, awesome, a half sick day, I am going to spend the day writing fic

and then I didn’t

[lokisgoodgirl]

The Spare [Loki x Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Alternate perspective of Two Gods One Heart from Loki No.3 live from the 'Cuck Chair'. Absolute nonsense. Although if we're splitting hairs, read that one first. (w/c 1.5k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Who the eff knows. Threesome. Cucking. Loki being a bitch to himself. Jealousy. Masturbation. Silliness. MMF. Fanfic of my own fanfic. A/N: I literally wrote this in like an hour and a half so please adjust your expectations accordingly😂 Just a bit of fun.

How the hel did it come to this?

Loki watched from the shadows as two identical versions of himself stripped their shirts and threw them down, grinning. Their leather trousers vanished in a garish flash of green from the hand of the ‘true’ him. Show off.

His own leathers still clung to the long lines of his thighs. Mocking him. Bastards, all, he thought bitterly, and not for the first time. The laughing, handsy Lokis’ had turned to fixing each other’s hair in a manner which could only be described as conspiratorial. How I hate them.

“You don’t need to be so bloody smug about it,” he said sourly, and folded his arms. The two men smirked in his direction and went back to faffing around.

“Must you infiltrate this haven of sensuality with your frigidity?” Loki’s Alpha form cracked his neck to the side, and in the chair, he felt a dull release echo in his muscles. “You drew the short straw.” He widened his arms, “You knew the rules.”

“You cheated.”

His Alpha smiled cruelly. Loki had never understood what you saw in that smile. Why you loved it. “Of course,” he said, eyes narrowing. “You would do the same.”

“I do, do the same, you twit,” Loki snapped, feeling his cheeks heat and grateful for the shroud of half-light in his corner of exile. There was nothing more exasperating than arguing with himself. He was always right, and it made it very difficult to get the upper hand.

To that, Alpha Loki said nothing, only turned to the other victor in their pathetic straw-related contest and ushered him onto the bed.

I shall not forget this. Loki straightened against the high-backed chair he had arranged here earlier for this very purpose.

She had specifically requested an audience, naughty minx that she was. And yet, the fact that he would be inside his own, frustrated, mind while the fun unfolded in front of him had somehow escaped his logic until this moment. He pinched the bridge of his nose, ignoring the inconvenient swell of lust between his thighs.

“Cuck-Loki?” the other duplicate of himself postured sweetly. He looked up, stunned at the flagrant audacity. “Blow out the candle to your side, will you? Too obvious you’re there.” He winked.

Cuck…Loki.

If those words had passed anyone’s lips other than his own, he’d have wrenched the offender’s arsehole through their throat with nary a second thought.

His molars pressed together and a sharp twinge raced up his cheeks as Alpha Loki sighed, and slid a long, pale leg over the side of the bed. “Save the menacing eroticism for our darling woman…” He folded his hands behind his head. “It’s wasted on us.”

The second Loki slid a hand down the other’s chest and gripped his cock. “I don’t know about that. You have to admit…no one does menacing eroticism like we do.”

They started kissing.

Cuck-Loki rolled his eyes, so busy trying to remain unaroused at the soft moans rolling from Alpha’s throat that he barely registered the gentle click of the door closing.

“Come to bed,” his true form growled towards the door, and Cuck-Loki’s eyes slid to the side, barely breathing, catching the outline of your silhouette drift across the floor.

Norns, you looked incredible.

The lingerie he’d bought last week for no reason other than he worshipped you, the set which had prompted your request for this very act, this very night. ‘Two of you fucking me, and one watching,’ you’d said with a virginal blush and a wicked grin that made his loins ache. ‘Don’t tell me which is which.’

An inexplicable jealousy clawed up his throat as the other duplicate said, “Keeping us waiting…” in his most honed, cunt-drenching voice, and he saw your thighs clench.

He wanted to launch himself from the dark corner and bury himself between your legs, making your knees buckle beneath his tongue, usurp the plans of those other two who might think they could pleasure you, but…

He squeezed his eyes shut, holding his breath. Control yourself. This is what she wants. She wants to know you’re coming undone. But fuck, it was torture.

His cock was throbbing lead, pinching painfully against the seams of his leathers. Damned Minx, he thought again. Sent to test me at every turn. But that was what he loved about you, and so, Loki opened one eye, and then the other.

The other two of himself were bickering.

Loki smirked.

Ah, hubris, thy name is Laufeyson. An inevitable series of events unfolded in his mind. The two rubes on the bed would get into a predictably competitive fracas, leaving he, the knight in straining armour, to save the day and fuck the damsel to within an inch of her sanity while they watched.

He rolled his shoulders back at the exact moment you reclined and one of himself manoeuvred between your legs.

Cuck-Loki frowned.

“Good girl,” Alpha cooed, and his eyes flickered upward, meeting his own. Loki wanted to punch him. Punch his own, flawless face into a bloody, formless pulp. His name gasped from your throat; ragged, before being claimed by a kiss.

He could taste you: the sweetness of your saliva, the heat of your need, and the unmistakable, earthy ambrosia of your arousal in the back of his mouth.

His hands flew to the armrests, neat fingernails punching through the embroidered upholstery. He punched the heave of his breath down his throat, swallowing it as abruptly as you were swallowing Alpha’s cock on the bed.

Jealousy melted to something new, something wild. He could sense the ghost of your lips wrapped around his manhood, the light scratch of nails at his lower back, the silky slip of your cunt against his lips. A cloud swelled between his ribs like mist; a climax, like smoke under glass. Dulled. But there.

Gritting his teeth, Loki’s fingers flew to the fastening of his trousers. He’d been determined to remain here: forgotten, stoic. Fulfilling his purpose as the spare, as the observer there only to witness pleasure; to enhance it by his omniscient impotence.

To hel with that, he thought as his cock sprung into his hand: hot, desperate, and he gripped it with a grateful, staggered sigh.

“I’m giving her what she wants,” he heard one of himself say to the other with conviction.

I’m giving her what she wants.

Loki’s lips pressed together as he watched two of himself surround you, and your perfect body slotted between them. You’d hooked a leg over the other duplicate, kissing him wildly as his cock pushed inside your sweet cunt and his eyes rolled back.

Loki’s grip tightened, the swipe of his palm over his flesh quickening. With every drag, the unsated desperation heightened.

Alpha Loki snapped his fingers and a phial of Asgardian oil, the good stuff, appeared in his fist. He shot Cuck-Loki a wink as it dripped over his fingers and he lowered the hand between your asscheeks.

You moaned softly, oblivious, as Alpha mouthed ‘catch’ and tossed the half-empty phial through the air.

Loki caught it.

He emptied it over his cock like an animal, never taking his eyes off your squirming body as he took you from the front and from behind; your body ratcheting between sources of pleasure and sounds he’d never known you could make twisted through the air. His mouth was open now, just like his counterparts, unable to stifle the panting, primal need searing his throat and overwhelming his senses.

He could feel all of it: the tightness of your ass, the grip of your cunt, the heat of your breath and the thump of your heart. Harder. Stronger. Pressing down on him like stones.

Gods, it was torture. Gods, it was perfect.

“Come inside me,” you sobbed, far louder than you’d ever have intended.

Something inside Loki shattered.

It was too much—everything—a series of explosions snapping the synapses of his brain like Asgardian fireworks on the darkest winter night. He loved you. He loved you. More than anything—everything—and as all other thoughts vanished, he clung on to that.

Hot, white seed erupted over his fist. He bit back a scream. But he needn’t have bothered. The Lokis on the bed were ripping through their own orgasms, drowning him out, and as Cuck-Loki’s brain scrambled, breath evaporating in his lungs and muscles spasming, he felt the force of all three.

Seconds slipped into each other like the brush of your lips, and Loki’s senses returned. Hair was plastered against his forehead, cum dripping between his fingers as he slumped in the chair. Undone, he reminded himself. As she wanted. He smiled, closing his eyes.

A familiar tingle began at his feet and worked up his legs, his hips, his heart.

And then, your shoulder-blades were nestled against his chest: naked, hot, real. He slid his hands up your breasts, pulling you close.

He was as near to you as it was possible to be—still sheathed inside you, cradling your trembling, wrung out body warmed with happiness. A happiness he had created. A happiness that was everything: trust.

Loki kissed the curve of your shoulder, and his heart fluttered as you made an embarrassed chipmunk noise against the pillow. You’d chosen wrong, but he didn’t mind. As long as you always chose him.

“I love you,” he murmured tenderly against the damp sweetness of your skin. “And that’s something I’ll never share.”

🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️Tags in comments. x

[eyra]

stuff what I have learnt about writing good

If you've followed me for longer than two minutes then you'll likely know (because I keep going on about it) that I've been working on a novel for the past year. It's always been a dream of mine to write and publish a book and whilst I still have a long way to go before I can even start thinking about querying (whether on this book, or the next, or the next, etc.) I suppose I can now say that a book Exists. I have written A Book.

Now whether or not that book ever sees the light of day, the process of writing it has been truly eye-opening. I went in knowing virtually nothing and came out, still with a huge amount to learn, but with a whole library of tools that I didn't have before. I'm now putting these to use with the first draft of my second book and already the process feels so much more enjoyable, because I've started to figure out how to make it work for me.

I wanted to jot down what I've learnt purely for my own reference so I can keep looking back and reminding myself what worked for me first time around, but given that I get a nice number of asks picking my brain about my own writing process, I thought I might as well share all this with you lot in case there's anyone out there who finds it useful!

So here are the big things that I've learnt so far...

1. Not every trick works for every writer

This has been, by far, my biggest learning. Starting to plan a novel for me felt SO overwhelming - I felt like I was bombarded on all sides with "this is how to write a novel" content, and it felt like there was just too much to learn and like I would never find my way through it. I spent weeks (months...) doing every worksheet, every outlining method, every chart, anything I could get my hands on. Some of them, by the end, proved themselves very useful. A lot of them didn't. There are thousands of voices online that are telling you "this is the right way to write a book" or even "this is the ONLY way to write a book" - don't listen to them. Try things, but don't feel like you have to fit yourself into every single box. Just find the things that work for you.

2. It's possible to overplan

On a related note - sometimes you just need to start writing. I spent WAY TOO LONG faffing about before I put pen to paper with my first book. So, so long planning out characters and plot points, a lot of which I then had to completely reimagine mid-draft because I realised they just didn't work anymore. In hindsight, some of this was down to me being scared to actually start writing - the planning stage was a bit of a comfort zone for me, despite not naturally being a plotter/architect - I have always always always been a pantser/gardener, but I got sucked into the whole "proper authors do it THIS way" narrative.

With my second novel, I did a nice amount of planning but then just bit the bullet and started drafting. I know where my story begins, ends, what my major themes are, I know all my main characters and I know my key plot points. The rest, I'm figuring out as I draft. If nothing else - I'm having a lot more fun this time around.

3. Think about voice and tense before drafting

Yeah duh obvious right? NOT TO ME. If you were following me around April time, you may have witnessed a series of minor breakdowns when I realised that, having written a whole first draft in third person present tense, the entire book should actually have been written in first person past tense. So that meant, basically, starting over from scratch. This was a big learning for me, and not a mistake I'm likely to make again.

4. Stop looking at your word count

For someone who's never really put much thought into word count before - my approach with fanfiction has already been "it'll be as long as it'll be" - I got OBSESSED with the word count of my first couple of drafts. A lot of people will tell you that any good novel "has to be" under 100k words. I constantly see this one post on Pinterest that says "I promise you that you can tell the story you want to tell in 100k words or under." I'm definitely no expert on this (and I'll eat my words when an agent tells me my manuscript needs cutting down), but I'm sceptical - a lot of stories can and should be under 100k words, sure, but most of my favourite books are much longer than this. However, I did get stuck in a "this manuscript has to be between 70k and 100k words" mindset and felt like a failure whenever it was sitting outside of that bracket. Also - keep your genre in mind. If you're writing a rom-com, 70k could work perfectly. If you're writing fantasy, you're probably going to go over that.

5. Know whether you're an overwriter or an underwriter

And related to the above - know whether you tend to write bare bones-style then add to it, or whether you tend to dump it all on the page then cut back later. I'm the first, and I knew this, but I still panicked when my first draft was only around 70k. I felt like it was rushing through the plot at an unreasonable pace and it didn't feel "finished". This was because it was a first draft. By the time I sent my manuscript to my beta reader, it was around 126k.

6. The dumb stuff works

The title of the document for my first draft was "XXX - worst possible version" and at multiple points during the drafting process I changed the font to Comic Sans size 48. It works. Completely takes the pressure off and gives you full permission to write big, write silly, write unhinged, write mad things that you'll cut back by 90% later. But it gets it all on the page. If you're stuck or cringing at yourself in Times New Roman size 12, try Comic Sans size 48.

7. Don't compare your first draft to your favourite book

Like an idiot, I did this. I still find myself doing it. It's possibly my worst writing habit. I'll type out a page at 11pm after a full day at work and no dinner and then I'll pick up a published book and think "ah man, the page I've just written is nowhere NEAR as good as this." Published books are fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh drafts that then go through months and months of editing. Do not compare your manuscript to a published book. Just don't do it.

8. Don't try to be That Author

Good writers are good readers. Absolutely read broadly, read deeply, just read. Fiction, non-fiction, poetry, everything. And it's fine to find yourself influenced by other writers - that's how writing works. But don't try to BE other writers. One of the issues I had to unpick last year was that I was reading a lot of authors whose writing styles are very different to my own. I know my own style fairly well by this point - fanfiction's a great sandbox for figuring that out - but at certain moments during my editing phases I found myself cutting away at my prose because it felt "too different" to the books I was reading at the time. This was a weird thing for me to have done, and I went back and fixed it later.

I think what I'm trying to say with this one is: take inspiration from everywhere, let yourself be influenced by different writing styles, but find your own voice and trust it. Literature already has a Sally Rooney and a Donna Tartt and a Leigh Bardugo. It doesn't need a clone - it needs you!

I'll finish by sharing what I've found to be the most useful plotting template. This obviously isn't the total extent of my planning process by any means, but after trying about a million different plotting techniques for my first manuscript, this is the one:

The 27 chapter method (more examples here)

And finally, two little character tricks that I find invaluable:

AITAH?

Character philosophy

I hope someone out there finds something useful in this post! Although I've been writing in some capacity since I was a teenager, 2024 was definitely the year I realised that I am a writer at my core. I want to be a published author, but I'm already a writer. It brings me happiness like nothing else in the world! And I love to talk about all aspects of writing, so my ask box is always very much open.

Happy scribbling! x

[mrsjellymunson]

The Essence of You

Pairing: Steddie; Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington

Written for the @steddiesmuttyseptember week 2 prompt ‘soft and slow’ | WC: ~7.3k | Rating/CW: E 🔞 SMUT, MDNI! Angst/conflict, big emotions, insecurities, mentions of difficult childhood experiences, hurt/comfort, oral (m rec), fingering (m rec), ball worship, scent kink/olfactophilia, cumming untouched, cum eating, aftercare | A/N: This is the longest thing I’ve written this fast - thank you for the challenge! I’d usually spend ages faffing and obsessing editing and proofing, so if you see any mistakes or missed warnings/tags LMK ❤️

My masterlist

Eddie isn’t having the best of weeks. It’s midsummer, and he’s been working hard in the shop with the only ventilation being the open front shutters and no breeze. His boss has been on his ass, and he’s been saddled with working on a particularly uncooperative Chevy for the past three days. 

It’s getting him down mentally as well as physically, but he doesn’t like to bother Steve with stuff like this. Their relationship still feels fairly new, especially for Eddie, who’s never had anyone stick around for as long as Steve has. He’s constantly anxious that Steve will eventually figure out that he’s a total nerdy, needy loser, so he keeps his feelings close to his chest. 

They’ve only been living together for about three months, and Eddie’s still adjusting to having someone other than Wayne around all the time. Particularly someone like Steve, who seems to care so much. He’s always getting close to Eddie, touching him, cuddling him. At first Eddie thought it was purely sexual. After all, that’s what most people wanted who’ve gone anywhere near him. But he also seems to want to do it for his own comfort, and Eddie’s. He touches him to say hello, good morning, good night, let’s cook, thank you, can I have one of your fries… Sometimes it’s just letting him know he’s there, or just for touching him’s sake.

And Eddie loves it, he really does. He hasn’t had that level of affection in his life since he lost his mom, and if he’s honest, he craves it.

But Steve often insists on doing it at the most inconvenient moments. Like when Eddie gets home from work. As soon as he’s through the door of their apartment Steve’s on him, nuzzling at him and demanding cuddles, when all Eddie wants to do is get in the shower and wash off the stink of the day. It’s got to the point where Eddie deliberately tries to avoid Steve when he arrives home, quickly breezing past whatever room he’s in and heading straight for the bathroom, locking the door before Steve can catch up, and instead enjoying the fresh cuddles he can indulge in once he’s got cleaned up and changed.

But today is different. It’s been especially hot, the Chevy has been an exquisite asshole, and he hasn’t eaten or drunk nearly enough. He’s grumpy, parched and irritable, and for some reason he’s decided that today’s the day he’s going to bring his dirty work hoodie home to wash it, the fabric slung over his shoulder not doing anything to cool either himself or his mood.

Instead of checking where Steve is like usual, he decides getting a drink is more important, and strides into the kitchen to grab something cold before heading out to wash up.

It doesn’t work out that way though, as Steve’s already fixing dinner, his shift at Family Video ending pleasantly early now that he’s in charge of the schedules. He’s in a sinfully tight pair of shorts and a tight shirt, and has a cute apron tied around his waist. On autopilot, Eddie’s insecurities barely register when he internally questions what the hell he could’ve done to deserve this Adonis of a man. He tries to be as quick as he can, but it’s no use, Steve’s on him before he’s even managed to close the fridge.

“Hey, baby. How was your day?”

Steve’s strong arms circle around Eddie’s waist and pull him in, and he pushes his face into his damp, disheveled curls at his neck and breathes in.

Steve’s voice turns gruff and he closes his eyes as he mumbles,

“Ohh, baby, you really need a shower…”

In his already-fragile state Eddie doesn’t take it well. Pushing his forearms against Steve’s shoulders, he tries to pull away, stuttering,

“Whaddayou mean? D’you think…?”

“What is it, baby? I’m just tellin’ you how you sm-”

Eddie’s protestations become more frantic, and he bodily shoves Steve away, his voice high-pitched and tremulous as he retreats, shouting,

“I’m not- I don’t- Get off of me.”

Suddenly on the defensive, he blurts,

“Y’know what Steve, fuck you!”

He storms out of the kitchen, flinging his hoodie violently into the laundry room on his way to their shared bedroom, the zipper making a harsh clanging noise against the metal and creating the perfect soundtrack to Eddie’s spiky mood. 

He kicks the bedroom door shut aggressively behind him, dropping to the mattress with his head in his hands, desperately trying to muffle the sound of his sobbing.  

Steve stands in the kitchen, stunned. He has no idea what he did to upset Eddie so much, but he’s concerned it might be because he brought up how he smells.

He tries to give Eddie some space, busying himself with small tasks in the kitchen, but he’s distracted and keeps dropping slices of carrot onto the floor, so eventually admits defeat and removes his apron.

He pads slowly towards their bedroom door, still uncertain of what he’s done and, especially, fearful of making things worse. But he’s unable to leave his boyfriend alone in such a state, especially one that he’s inadvertently created. 

He knocks quietly, murmuring softly,

“Eddie? Are you okay? Can I come in?”

There’s a few beats of silence. Each second builds Steve’s anxiety to the point he can barely stand it. He’s milliseconds from opening the door, but then he hears a loud sniff, followed by a large exhale, and then Eddie’s voice, trembling a little as he mumbles,

“Y-yeah. I guess...”

Steve pushes the door, slowly, still nervous of startling Eddie, and sees him sitting on the edge of their bed. He’s still in his work clothes. His overalls are pushed down and tied at his hips, his tank top, spotted with grease and sweat, hugs his torso and his slim waist, and his hair, tied up in a messy bun on top of his head, is loose and barely containing his curls. He sits with his elbows on his knees and his palms over his eyes. Steve thinks he’s an absolute vision, but decides to keep that to himself for the time being. 

He moves slowly towards him, still keeping his distance, though one hand comes up almost unconsciously, desperately wanting to touch Eddie, comfort him.

He stops himself, and instead, kneels on the rug in front of him. Gently, like he’s approaching a frightened child, he takes hold of Eddie’s wrists and encourages him to move his hands so that Steve can see his face. 

His attempt at a calm demeanour falters as he sees Eddie’s wet and red-rimmed eyes. He hates it - someone as beautiful as Eddie should never be made to feel like this, especially not by someone who loves him. 

“Eddie, what’s going on? Can you talk to me, please?”

Eddie tries to squirm out of Steve’s gentle grip, looking away from him and trying unsuccessfully to hide his face behind a few strands of loose hair.

“It- it’s nothing, shit. Just- leave me alone, let me get cleaned up, okay?”

He tries to rise, but Steve’s not having any of it. He leans forward, stopping Eddie from standing. He needs to know what this is about. 

“No, it’s not okay. Tell me what I did. Did I offend you? Talking about how you smell? It’s just that-”

Eddie cuts him off with a huff.

“It’s something from my childhood, okay? A- a bad memory. More than one memory, actually.”

He chuckles humourlessly. 

Steve stays quiet, but raises his brows, encouraging him to continue. Eddie looks into those warm, golden, puppy dog eyes, and suddenly the words come.

“It’s- They- After my mom-”

He takes a deep breath. Steve knows how much Eddie misses her, but never pushes the subject, preferring to let Eddie to talk about her whenever he feels up to it.

“There was no one to take care of me, I guess. My dad, h- he, uh, he didn’t care. He never washed my clothes, or told me to bathe. He just let me run around in my own filth. And I didn’t know any better until months later, when the kids at school started making fun of me. They’d run around pinching their noses, making disgusting noises and- and saying I needed to take a bath. You know what they called me? Mouldy Munson. So I guess I’m a little… sensitive when people comment on how I smell.”

Eddie huffs again, and the tears start falling freely. He doesn't even try to hide it now.

Steve’s brows furrow in anger as he imagines a younger Eddie, bereft and alone, and lacking even basic life skills because no motherfucker thought he was worth the effort. But Steve knows different. He’s sure he can somehow help Eddie realise his own considerable worth, even if right now he has no clue exactly how he’s gonna go that.

He takes a chance and moves to sit next to Eddie on the bed, close to him, keeping one hand wrapped tightly in both of his.

“Will you tell me about it?”

Eddie frowns.

“You’d really wanna hear about my shitty childhood?”

“Of course. I wanna know everything there is to know about you, the good things and the bad. They all mix together to make you who you are.”

Eddie looks at Steve then. It takes a moment, but after searching Steve’s face for the slightest hint of condescension or dishonesty, and finding neither, he decides to do the bravest thing he thinks he’s ever done. He takes Steve up on his offer. Relaxing an almost imperceptible amount, though Steve notices, he continues,

“Okay, well… That first time, I defended myself. Came out swinging, managed to take a couple of those fuckers down before the lunch supervisor came out, and hauled me away to the principal’s office. He left everyone else in the yard and didn’t once ask for my side of the story. I guess that was the moment I realised that the only person I could rely on was myself. 

“It was only after that happened a few more times that a teacher took me to one side, sat me down, gave me a drink and a cookie, and then another, and another, because Asshole Al apparently didn’t think feeding me was all that important either, and then asked me what was going on at home. I tried to play it cool, brush her off, knowing my dad would tan my hide if I said anything bad about The Munsons. But she saw through me, of course she did. I was a scrawny kid in filthy jeans and she’d heard about what had happened with my mom.

“So, she cleaned me up, sorted me out. She’d make games out of getting me to brush my teeth and take a bath, and she taught me how to do my own laundry. She’d challenge me to shirt-folding races, or cereal-eating contests, and, what a surprise, I’d always win. She even took me to goodwill, and bought me clothes that actually fit with her own money.”

Eddie snuffles out a chuckle as he remembers,

“One time, she gave me five dollars. Five whole goddamn dollars! I thought I was the richest person in the world. She told me to get some fun things for myself. Like toys, n’ shit. I didn’t even know what I was looking for. I chose some cars, a dragon figurine, a stuffed Garfield that was missing an ear and was way past its best. I picked up some wildly inappropriate books and comics that were either far too young or far too old for me, and she helped me swap a few things out. But when she saw I’d got a tattered copy of The Hobbit, and told her how much I liked the drawings and the ‘code’ on the front, for some reason she didn’t make me put that one back…

“And that’s actually where I got my first ever band shirt. She found a KISS one in the adult section, and said she’d heard me singing old rock’n’roll songs to myself so I should have it, that I’d grow into it. I loved that shirt. I wore it round the trailer until it was the right size for me to go out in, and then I wore it some more. And then, when it got too tattered, I cut off the arms and the bottom, and wore it as a goddamn crop top. I might’ve even worn it for Corroded Coffin’s first gig.”

Eddie’s eyes light up at the fond memories, and Steve smiles with him. 

But he’s just a guy, and he can’t help the feeling in his pants that comes with imagining Eddie in a short shirt that exposes his underarms and happy trail. He wonders if he’d ever consider doing it again, even if it was just for Steve.

But then Eddie’s face falls again, as he recounts,

“‘Course, all of that was lost in the fire. I’ll never forget that teacher though. In a lot of ways she saved my life. So, I guess I’ve been paranoid ever since, about how I smell, I mean. Which is why my deodorant is always finished faster than yours, and even though you have the most elaborate haircare routine in the Western hemisphere, it’s me who’s always running out of shampoo…”

Steve squeezes Eddie’s hand, hoping to reassure him, let him know he’s here for him, and silently thanking him for opening up and sharing all of this.

Eddie looks up and their eyes connect. Steve smiles softly at Eddie, and, after a brief pause, Eddie smiles softly back. Steve’s not running. And Eddie feels good, lighter. He thinks maybe this sharing shit thing might not be so bad after all…

It’s not all swans and roses though, as Eddie suddenly remembers his actions from earlier, feeling like he owes Steve an apology. 

“Hey, I’m sorry. For what I said. It just takes me back there, y’know? I kinda overreacted.”

Steve reassures him, taking his hand in both of his. 

“Oh no, baby, I’m the one who should be sorry. I didn’t know. You don’t talk much about your family, and…”

“It’s okay, Steve. It wasn’t your fault. I should’ve said something, not snapped at you like that.”

Lightening the mood, Steve responds,

“It’s okay. You know I like it sometimes when you’re a little mean…”

He dips his chin and looks up coyly through his lashes, and they both giggle again, remembering the other night when Eddie most certainly did put Steve in his place…

It’s Steve’s turn to look down now, as he decides, given that Eddie’s been so brave and confident, he’ll also reveal something he’s kept hidden.

“Look, the reason I was so scared that you were mad is because, well… I guess I need to make a confession of my own.”

Eddie’s intrigued, shifting on the bed to straighten up to Steve, his big brown eyes still rimmed with red, but flashing now, inquisitive and mischievous.

“Yeah, uh… I guess my childhood was… kinda the opposite? My parents were… fastidious. Everything needed to be perfect, to the point where my mom ended up practically sterilising the house on a daily basis. When I used to play outside, she’d make me strip off as soon as I came in, dump all my clothes in a boil wash and make me go straight to the bathroom and get in a hot bath. Sometimes she’d even hose me down in the yard before letting me inside. It got to the point where the fun of playing outside wasn’t worth the effort to get cleaned up afterwards, and I’d just not do much, staying indoors rather than going through all that, time after time. And when I got older, and especially after I met you…”

Steve smirks and his cheeks pinken,

“… I realised I actually quite liked the way other people smell. As in, their natural smell. And it made me feel bad, ashamed, like I was dirty, or perverted, or something. So, I never told you, because I thought you might, I dunno, say I had a weird kink or something. Which is stupid, because you’re so not like that.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to catch Steve’s gaze now, and he brings his other hand to cover Steve’s, squeezing it and smiling softly as if to say, no, I’m not.

“So… what I’m trying to say is… I actually really like it when you smell musky, and masculine, and, well, like you. And- and this is the weird part, especially when you’re all sweaty and dirty from a hard day's work.”

His brow furrows just a touch and his throat clicks as he swallows. It’s almost inaudible, but Eddie’s close enough to catch it. And the slight shift in Steve’s position as he moves his hips, trying to increase the friction provided by the folds in the denim at his crotch.

A smirk twitches at the side of Eddie’s mouth, as if he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing, but is liking it all the same.

“Wait, really? You’re serious? You actually… like… the way I smell?”

“Oh yeah, the sweatier the better. Goddamnit, you have no idea what you do to me…”

Steve loses his composure, dropping his forehead onto Eddie’s shoulder and releasing one hand from their shared grip to roughly palm at his crotch, exhaling loudly.

Eddie can hardly believe this. The very thing he’s been trying to hide all these years is something that Steve actually finds alluring. He can’t help the stirring in his own pants as he looks at the effect this is all having on Steve, especially what’s going on beneath his hand.

Steve looks up again, takes in Eddie’s visage. He wants Eddie to feel special, wanted, like the princess he deserves to be. Wants him to feel every moment, every movement. Feel all of Steve’s love that he wants to pour into him and over him, until it suffuses every molecule of his being and dislodges and replaces all of the fear, doubt and self-loathing that Eddie has left and leaves him a breathless, glowing, sated ball of self love. He wants Eddie to feel the way Steve feels about him. Has always felt about him, if he’s honest.

He stands from the bed and shifts until his thighs straddle Eddie’s, lowering himself onto his knees, and lifts a hand to touch the side of his face. Smiling at him, he decides to shower him with even more compliments, hoping to overload him so much that he can’t help but believe them. He runs his thumb across Eddie’s cheek and lets his fingers tickle the sensitive skin at the nape of his neck, then leans into his opposite ear and begins the assault.

“You’re so beautiful, so gorgeous. You’re hands down the hottest person I’ve ever met, and you make my knees so weak.”

He connects his lips with the side of Eddie’s neck, just below his ear, and feels him shudder at the touch.

“You look so good, you’re like a fucking god.”

He kisses him again, more pressure this time, but still soft, and he allows his tongue to peek out just a little to kitten lick Eddie’s skin. He gets his first taste of the salt and sweat that he craves, and moans against Eddie’s alabaster flesh when he gasps at the sensation.

“And you sound so good too. Oh hell, when you’re under me, or over me.”

Another kiss, sucking gently this time, and Eddie moans.

“And when you sing? Fuck, you don’t want to know how many times I’ve nearly cum in my pants watching you at The Hideout.”

He’s pretty sure Eddie almost convulses at this. He huffs a breathy chuckle into his ear, and pulls slowly back to admire his handiwork. Eddie’s flushed a pretty pink, his lips rolled inwards and his brow slightly pinched, as if he might be holding something in, possibly tears. Steve holds his gaze, going in for the kill. He runs a fingertip over the damp curls at Eddie’s temple and his voice drops as he admits,

“I wanted you for so long, and now I can hardly believe you’re mine. I want to make you feel so good, I wanna worship you, slowly, and let you know how beautiful you are.”

Eddie breathes heavily as Steve leans in again, his swollen lips almost brushing the tip of Eddie’s round and pretty nose.

“But please, please, more than anything else in the world, I want to show you just how much I love your smell. Will you let me do that?”

Eddie’s voice trembles a little as he agrees, with a mix of nervousness and excitement,

“Y-yeah, Steve. I’ll- I’ll let you do that…”

Steve’s grin is so bright it rivals the sun, and Eddie feels a rush of warmth more intense than anything he’s felt before. Eddie’s less restrained than Steve is, and his hands lift from the mattress to grab at Steve’s hips, yanking him forwards, up his lap. As Steve’s crotch connects with his, both of them semi-hard now, he huffs out a breathy,

“Christ!”

Steve lets out a delighted whimper, enjoying the sensation, but resisting the urge to grind himself onto Eddie’s bulge. There’s nothing he wants more right now than to flip him, strip him and destroy him, but he musters every ounce of self-control that he has left and restrains himself. He’s pretty sure that if asked, Eddie would disagree and demand that Steve take him, roughly, obliterate his negative thoughts with thrusts, smacks, physical sensations, maybe even a little pain. But that’s not what he wants for Eddie right now. So, fighting every cock-driven impulse, he moves.

Soft. 

And slow.

His lips part slightly as he cups Eddie’s cheeks in his palms and softly, slowly, connects their mouths. Whenever they kiss it’s always like velvet and rose petals, and it feels like coming home, but today it feels even more special. Steve hums softly, and Eddie whimpers quietly. Steve moves, pursing his lips and changing position, but not taking it any further just yet.

Soft… 

Slow…

He intersperses his kisses with more verbal encouragement.

“I want to smell all of you,” kiss, “I want to taste all of you,” kiss, “I want you to fill my senses until I don’t exist anymore,” kiss, “I want to show you how much I love every part of you,” kiss.

Steve’s tongue peeks out to collect a little of the tangy zest from Eddie’s upper lip. There’s a moment of total silence and stillness, then the floodgates open. They both drop their jaws, wide, and plunge their tongues into the other. They dance against each other, pushing, dragging, moaning as they explore every inch of each other’s mouths. It’s messy and feral and noisy and tips them towards combustion.

Steve’s suddenly not moving so slowly, breaking the kiss and encouraging Eddie to kick off his boots and socks and shuffling him to the centre of the bed, pulling off his overalls and boxers and discarding his own garments with similar fervour, their hard cocks springing free and bobbing in the heat of the room. Steve straddles Eddie’s naked thighs with his own toned, muscular ones, his quarry left in nothing but his stained and greasy singlet. 

But as soon as he’s got him where he wants him, Steve takes a deep, calming breath, and resumes his languid pace. He pauses for a few moments before toying with the hem of Eddie’s tank top, pulling it up at a speed that turns out to be deliciously agonising for both of them. 

He moves it up Eddie’s rib cage, little by little exposing more of his torso, a soft smile spreading across his lips as he takes in Eddie’s glorious form. 

He runs his thumbs up under the fabric and over Eddie’s nipples, perked despite the heat, pausing at the one that has the silver bar through it, flicking over it like it’s a switch that’ll turn Eddie on. It’s definitely working. He can see Eddie’s chest rising and falling faster and deeper with every stroke.

When the shirt bunches at Eddie’s throat, Steve encourages him to place his hands above his head, and, pulling the garment off, Steve is treated to the sight of Eddie’s underarms and triceps, one of his favourite sights in the world. Eddie moves to bring his arms down again, partly because he desperately wants to touch Steve, but also because he’s still not comfortable exposing these parts of himself while he’s still feeling so… unclean. But Steve stops him, playfully lilting,

“Nuh-uh. You leave those right there for me, you hear me?”

Eddie swallows and nods, acquiescing to whatever his Stevie wants right now. Steve bundles Eddie’s shirt and presses it to his face, inhaling deeply. Eddie’s eyes flash wide, his insecurities bubbling up, but Steve lets out a satisfied mmmm and throws the ball of soiled fabric towards his side of the bed, explaining, 

“I’m saving that for when you’re not here, and I get lonely.”

Steve runs his fingers across Eddie’s collarbones and down over the skin of his torso. He's tacky with grease, sweat and motor oil, and Steve savours the physical evidence of Eddie's toil. 

He runs his hands up his sides until his thumbs graze the hair under Eddie’s arms. Eddie squirms a little, uncomfortable. Steve presses harder, rubbing his thumbs in small circles under Eddie’s arms, massaging the skin and playing with the soft hair. Eddie’s looking anywhere but at Steve, his eyes flicking around the room and his breathing erratic, and Steve can feel the tension in his chest and legs. He bends forwards and kisses down the centre of Eddie’s chest, licking at the hair there and moaning as he gathers the salty sweetness he finds. 

“Just relax, baby. Remember, I like it, and I want to do this. Don’t think about it, just feel it. How does it feel?”

Eddie relaxes slightly, closes his eyes. Steve continues massaging, and to his delight, Eddie starts to hum. 

“Hmm, feels good. Feels really good.”

Steve’s tongue flicks over Eddie’s pierced nipple, garnering him another hum. He moves towards his armpit, keeping one eye on Eddie’s face to make sure he’s okay. His eyes are still closed and he seems to be enjoying this.

Steve closes his eyes and inhales deeply, filling his lungs with Eddie's aroma. It’s overwhelming in the best way. Sweet sweat, body odour, motor oil, and the merest hint of the spray deodorant he used this morning. He can’t help but groan as he finally gets to live out one of his deepest fantasies, his cock bearing this out and bouncing away from his abdomen.

He exhales with a sigh, and Eddie twitches beside him, his breath tickling as it gusts down his flank. Steve checks in, just in case.

“You still feeling good, baby?”

“Mhmm, really good, so good…”

Buoyed by Eddie’s reactions, Steve inhales again, and this time on his exhale, still massaging Eddie’s armpits, he licks a long stripe down Eddie’s arm along his triceps, finally getting to taste what he’s admired from afar for so long.

Eddie full-on moans beneath him, his hips bucking up and brushing their cocks together. It’s a delightful surprise to both of them that he’s enjoying this so much, despite his reservations.

Steve licks again, and places wet, sucking kisses to Eddie’s underarm. He’s never tried to leave a bruise here, and if he hadn’t already promised to be soft, he’d be trying to now. He can’t help but push his own hips down a little, increasing the friction between them. The sensation and the joint groans they let out are almost enough to make him lose his self-control, but he’s determined to make this last.

With one last inhale, smaller than the others, Steve pushes up and kneels between Eddie’s thighs, spreading them wider.

He appraises his boyfriend, who’s now looking at him with a fond, but slightly stunned expression. He strokes Eddie’s thighs softly with his palms, almost, but not quite, skimming them up to where Eddie needs them the most.

He bends forwards now, doubling over and resting his butt on his heels, settling his head between Eddie’s thighs, another of his most repressed and hidden fantasies staring him in the face.

He pushes forwards, just slightly, and the tip of his nose nudges Eddie’s sack. He feels him tense, just a little, before relaxing again. They’ve played like this before, but Steve realises just how much courage it’s taking Eddie to be with him like this, and makes a mental note to congratulate him for it, when the time is right.

Steve moves forward again, and gently nuzzles Eddie’s balls, exhaling his warm breath over Eddie’s velvety skin and pushing his nose gently against him. He breathes in again, not as hard as before, just allowing Eddie’s musk to seep into him slowly.

Moving to one side, he moves with more vigour into Eddie’s groin, pushing his whole face into the crease between Eddie’s hip and pelvis. He takes a long, hard inhale, suffusing himself with his love’s aroma.

Groaning in a way he’s never heard from himself before, he sounds practically drunk as he mumbles against Eddie’s skin,

“God, you smell so fucking good…”

Indulging himself even further, he flicks out his tongue, and kitten licks Eddie’s sack.

Above him, Eddie huffs and whimpers,

“Steve, no, I’m- Haaaaah!”

His protestations are cut off with a moan as Steve takes one of his balls into his mouth, swirling his tongue around and gently sucking. Eddie tastes musky, salty and, to Steve at least, utterly delicious. He feels Eddie’s thighs tremble against his shoulders, and decides to add a little extra for him, moaning around this most delicate of organs and sending tantalising vibrations through Eddie’s entire body. He glances up to see that Eddie’s moved his arms, and is now covering his eyes with his palms. Good, he thinks, the less visual stimulation he has the more attention he can give to what’s happening elsewhere…

Steve releases Eddie’s ball and moves up to lick a firm, wide stripe up the centre of his sack, his turgid shaft and all the way to his swollen head. He flicks the tip over the ridges at the heart-shaped place Eddie loves so much, and then swirls his tongue over and around the divinely smooth skin of his swollen and leaking glans.

He tenses and points to dip into Eddie’s slit and collect the precum that’s beading there, letting out a muffled, “Aah mah ghaa…”, as the taste hits his tongue. A different kind of salty, but still so delicious, and so very, very Eddie.

Steve congratulates himself, he’s done well, but he can’t hold off any longer, and he takes the top half of Eddie’s cock into his mouth, sucking and swirling softly. He manages to stop himself from taking any more, knowing he still wants to take his time. He does allow himself to move a little however, sucking, feeling, tasting, basking in the myriad sensations that are filling his senses.

Eddie disobeys his orders and brings one hand down to rest softly in Steve’s hair, just needing to touch him, thank him, anchor himself amongst the familiarity of Steve’s thick, glossy locks. Steve doesn’t seem to mind.

He pops off of Eddie’s cock, licking along the sides of it a few more times and enjoying how it makes Eddie’s abs twist and twitch. He gazes fondly down at the pliant figure beneath him, wondering how he ever got this gorgeous creature into his life, let alone his bed.

Unable to tear his gaze away, he fumbles blindly towards the bedside cabinet, pulling out their lube and opening the lid with a click. He makes a show of squeezing far too much onto his raised fingers, knowing how Eddie loves to get messy, and it garners him a cheeky grin from the man beneath him.

Steve leans forward, placing one hand near Eddie’s shoulder to balance over him. He wants to enjoy Eddie’s reactions close up. Eddie spreads his arms wide; it’s more comfortable than keeping them above his head, still demonstrates that level of trust Eddie has for Steve, and it affords Steve the opportunity to take a lungful of Eddie’s underarm musk as often as he wants. And oh, he wants.

Taking another inhale, Steve slides a lubed finger between Eddie’s legs and runs it over that soft spot behind his balls, circling gently. The dual sensations of Steve touching him there and revelling in his odour has Eddie arching off the bed, a long moan leaving him. He thinks, no, he knows, he’s never been treated with such reverence. They’ve never gone this slowly before either, and it’s all combining to rile him up in a way he’s never yet experienced.

Steve licks Eddie’s chest again, and nips at his unpierced nipple, making Eddie emit the cutest little yelp of pleasure, before smiling at him as he runs his lubed fingers over the crease of Eddie’s ass cheeks, delighting in the soft flesh and peachy fuzz. He wants to kiss those perfect globes, suck them, slap them, mark them as his, but he knows he can do that another time.

So, slowly, he slides his fingers between Eddie’s cheeks. Eddie’s practically stopped breathing, his lungs are full and his breaths are so short and shallow they’re barely breaths at all.

Then, at last, Steve connects with his hole. Eddie gasps as the tip of one finger runs around it. Steve revels as Eddie twitches at his touch, before slowly breaching his most intimate area.  

Steve’s moves are shallow for a while, moving just one or two knuckles deep, until he can tell neither of them can take any more waiting, and he slowly plunges as far into Eddie as he can get. 

Eddie groans, his face contorting into ecstasy, eyes closing and his mouth relaxing into a soft O. Steve sighs at the sight, another one of his favourites. He curls his finger and finds Eddie's special spot with practiced ease, and Eddie groans again.

By this point he’d usually have at least two fingers inside Eddie, maybe even his cock, pumping in and out of him, not necessarily roughly, but certainly with more vigour than he’s currently doing. But instead he’s retaining his languid pace, dragging slowly in and out, gently gliding against that special spot, more than enough to excite him, but not quite enough to send him over the edge. They know each other's bodies so well by now that it’s almost impossible for Steve not to almost immediately give Eddie the most intense pleasure.

But he continues, 

Soft… 

Slow…

Watching his face intently, Steve asks,

“You doing okay, baby?”

Eddie’s eyes snap open, and he gazes into Steve’s glorious hazel orbs as he replies, earnestly,

“Oh fuck, Steve. I- I’m doing gr- great.”

Steve smiles again, adoringly salacious, and moves, folding himself so he’s kneeling between Eddie’s legs again. He licks messily over Eddie’s balls, his shaft, the creases of his hips, and Eddie shudders again, his cock twitching at being devoured so completely. Steve breathes in more of Eddie’s scent, almost hyperventilating, and Eddie revels in the feeling of Steve’s exhaled breaths as they flow over his cock, his abdomen, his thighs.

Eventually Steve reaches the top of Eddie’s cock again, and this time takes him fully into his mouth, sinking as far down as he can.

As he opens his throat and his nose hits Eddie’s pubes, Steve is in heaven, the combination of scents and sensations driving him divinely insane, his throat spasming around Eddie’s tip as he groans above him.

His own cock’s angry and red, and leaking an obscene amount of precum that dribbles down his shaft where it’s trapped between his belly and thighs. It’s begging to be touched, rubbed against something, pushed somewhere warm and inviting. But he does his best to ignore it, feeling it twitch every time Eddie gifts him the softest little moans and the loudest groans, knowing that tonight is all about Eddie, Eddie, Eddie… He’s filled, suffused, drunk on the feeling of Eddie’s cock, his heat, his scent, letting everything Eddie envelop his entire being. He indulges in the euphoria of being used by him, and making Eddie feel so, so good.

Eddie resists for as long as he can manage, but eventually he can’t help but move his hips up into Steve, fucking his face with reverent care. He knows that Steve loves it when he’s rough, but he’s trying desperately to take his lead and stay soft, slow, gentle.

It’s not long before Eddie’s whines become shriller and more frequent. He can feel those familiar sensations in his abdomen that tell him he’s gonna lose it, and soon. He moves one hand down to Steve’s chin, trying to warn him.

“St- Stevie, I’m so cl- Where d’you…?”

In response, Steve grasps Eddie’s hand and places it over his head, his hand over Eddie’s, their agreed indication that he wants Eddie to finish in his mouth. Just the thought of combining the musk of his sweat with the tang of Eddie’s cum is almost enough to send Steve over the edge himself. He redoubles his efforts and speeds up the movements of his fingers, still soft, still slow (well, slow-ish) and pushes himself as far down Eddie’s shaft as he can. He’s temporarily blocking his own breathing, but knows the payoff is going to be so, so sweet.

Eddie’s abs tighten, his back curves and his shoulders lift off the bed. He can’t hold off any longer, and with one, two, three more thrusts his balls tighten and his cock spasms. With a long groan he releases himself into Steve’s mouth, rope after rope of hot cum spilling into the love of his life. Steve splutters and swallows what he can, but there’s so much of it this time that some inevitably dribbles out the sides of his mouth, spilling down over Eddie’s balls. 

After a few moments of breathless euphoria, Steve pulls gently off and out of Eddie, placing his palms either side of Eddie’s hips and propping himself up on his arms to take a few deep breaths. Eddie slumps back against their pillows, grinning wildly and a high, lilting chuckle leaving his chest. He lifts his head back up to look down himself at Steve, and marvels at the sight. He’s cock-drunk and fucked out, hair a mess. His eyes are wide and watering, and his jaw is slack and drooling a mix of their combined fluids. Eddie decides it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Steve’s smiling back at him, and as he licks lasciviously around his lips to gather whatever he can he looks like the cat that got the cream. Eddie supposes that, in a lot of ways, he is.

After a few more breaths Steve starts to shift lower down the bed, his usual routine for when he’s going to get cleaned up. But Eddie stops him. His face falls, and he frowns at Steve.

“Wait, isn’t it your turn? You didn’t…”

Steve snorts, his bronze cheeks turning pink.

“Oh, uhh… Actually I did. Turns out your smell turns me on even more than I realised, cuz I kinda…”

He kneels up, spreading his hands wide and looking down at his crotch. Eddie follows his gaze, and is greeted by yet another divine sight. His naked boyfriend with his belly and thighs covered in smeared streaks of his own cum, his softening cock slowly drooping down onto the crease of his thigh, and wet, sticky patches adorning their comforter. Steve continues,

“I, uh… I guess we’re gonna have to do some laundry later.”

They both giggle.

“Yeah, worth it though. Fuck. You really like my, uh, scent that much, huh?”

Steve drags sweaty fingers through his own mess, and brings it up to show Eddie.

“See for yourself, big boy.”

Eddie quickly props himself up on his elbows, and looks intently at Steve, dimples popping in his cheeks as he smiles and drops his mouth open in an inviting gesture. Steve obliges, and pushes forwards, slowly running his fingers over his boyfriend’s tongue. Eddie sucks softly, closing his eyes and humming, revelling in Steve’s taste and barely believing that he’s had this effect on the man he loves, and the most gorgeous person he’s ever seen. He licks between his fingers for a few moments, before releasing him with a pop and a roll of his eyes, commenting cheekily,

“Go on then. I guess I can let you go get a towel.”

Steve does so, cleaning up quickly in the bathroom before getting them both a much-needed cold drink, which they both consume with satisfied sighs.

Eddie shifts over on the bed so that Steve can cuddle into his side, knowing it’s his favourite position. Steve angles his head to look up at Eddie.

“You feeling better now?”

“Oh baby, you have no idea…”

Eddie stretches out the last two words, emphasising his point and making Steve giggle a little.

Steve runs his fingertip up and down Eddie’s naked chest, focussing on his abs, skimming into his navel and tickling the top of his happy trail. Thinking about what Eddie told him earlier, he ventures,

“So, are you gonna tell me more about this crop top phase of yours…?”

Eddie’s voice becomes sweet and high, and playfully condescending, as he lilts,

“Oh, baby. You want me to wear one for you? I can do that.”

Steve’s cheeks flush pink again, visibly excited at the prospect of seeing Eddie dressed that way. Eddie’s voice drops husky and low as he continues,

“And you know what else? I’m gonna look forward to working on that damn Chevy tomorrow. Let it try me, make me fuckin’ sweat. For you, baby, all for you.”

Steve hums appreciatively into Eddie’s hair, pressing his hips just a little harder into Eddie’s thigh, his cock already filling out a little at the thought. 

Eddie drops a sweet peck to the tip of his nose.

“And if you happen to be in the kitchen when I get home, wearing that damn apron, and only that apron…? Well, let’s see where the evening takes us, shall we?”

Steve hums again, snuggling in closer to Eddie, and he soon drops into a light doze. 

Something has shifted this evening, and they both feel it. They’re no longer keeping aspects of themselves hidden, in well-meaning but misguided attempts to protect the other. What began as something accidentally painful has led to more openness, honesty, and a deeper understanding of each other, and a level of connection that has surprised both of them.

Eddie certainly has a newfound appreciation for the benefits of opening up, and sharing. And, he’s surprised to realise, a brand new perspective on his own natural musk. He thinks over everything Steve said. All the compliments, the words of adoration, and, yes, how he reacted to Eddie’s smell. His spent cock stirs at the thought.

They’re both still sweaty, sticky messes, and some degree of clean-up is definitely necessary. But for Eddie, this time it’s more about making them both more comfortable, rather than eliminating the discomfiting paranoia he used to hold.

A little while later he brandishes a delighted little smirk as he gently rouses Steve from his light slumber and proffers,

“Hey, baby. I think we both need to clean up a little. How about I show you how much I love you all over again, soft and slow… But this time, in the shower…?”

Thanks so much for reading!

Comments and reblogs mean the absolute world to writers, please consider interacting and sharing - it keeps us doing what we’re doing!

A/N 2: I’m pretty sure I’ve seen the idea of Eddie being helped by a teacher somewhere else, either in a fanfic or maybe even Flight Of Icarus (IDK, it’s been a while). I’d love to give credit/attribution for the inspiration so if you’ve seen it before or it was in your fic, please let me know! Also, the ‘Eddie pulls Steve up his lap’ moment was inspired by this art by @dreaminginpencil ❤️

A/N 3: Fun fact - this started out as my contribution for this month’s @steddiemicrofic prompt, ‘shower’. Make it 399 words? Yeah, right 😏😂 Copious thanks to @the-unforgivenn and @airen256 who helped me thrash it about and confirm it definitely needed it’s own story, ILY 💗

If you’d like to see more of my works you can find them on my masterlist. 

Tagging my usuals, thank you darlings 💋 (open, just ask!): @joejoequinnquinn @jamdoughnutmagician @guiltyasquinn @madaboutmunson @airen256 @sunshinepeachx @the-unforgivenn @skrzydlak @comeonatmebruh @jamiecb66 @80s-addict @abellmunsonmovie @definitionwanderlust @sheneedsrocknroll92 @munson-blurbs @wonderlanddreamer @daisy-munson @maedesculpaeusoubi @kurdtbean @mediocredreams @in2tswft @micheledawn1975 @littlebebebunny @12thatsanumber @alastorssimp @the-baby-angel

[lochallthedoors]

Noel Interview With Radio X, 24 November 2017

Summary: Noel discusses the composition and accidental recording in Ireland of "Dead in the Water" in 2015 as well as why he decided to include it as-is (without re-recording it) as a bonus track on Who Built the Moon?, which was released in 2017.

Kennedy: And there's actually a bonus track called "Dead in the Water." Noel: So--at some point during the Chasing Yesterday tour, we had a--we had a big break, and the--the first thing back was a gig in Ireland. So I'm at that--or there was something going on in Ireland--so I'm at the RTÉ studios in Dublin, and I'm doing a radio session for RTÉ Radio, and, uh, the single at the time was "The Dying of the Light," so I'm doing an acoustic version of "Dying of the Light," which is on YouTube--brilliant version. And, uh, in between the takes, some guy's faffing around with a microphone, and, uh, at the beginning of the track, you can hear the engineer saying, "Oh, I'd love it if you could do it one more time." And he's fannying around. And I--about no more than a few days before, I'd written this song called "Dead in the Water"--fell out of the sky. It took me--my wife and the two lads were away in Scotland, and I wrote that song in under two hours, and, uh, and I hadn't played it to anyone--I just sang it at home. I thought, "Eh, it's good." So I'm on the set with headphones on, and the sound in the room was so amazing, that while he was running around with this mic, I just started singing it for myself. And my keyboard player was kind of over on the other side of the room, and he's one of those annoying people who can't help but play along with you, all right? And I'm kind of in the moment, and I'm willing him to shut up. I'm kind of like, you know? And, uh--but he's really brilliant, and he was kind of working the chords out as we went along. He'd never heard it--he didn't know what was going on. So I'm singing this song, and at the end of the thing, he says, "Is that new?" And I'm like, "Yeah." And he says, "Oh, it's great." And I said, "It'll do," you know, kind of thing. Then we go into "The Dying of the Light"--forget all about it.

Fast-forward, we're in the office, the album [Who Built The Moon?] is being finished, the inevitable question goes, "Have we got any bonus material?" And I'm saying, "We didn't do any B-sides." There's a lot of stuff left over, as a matter of fact--there might be another five or six tunes left over that never got finished, but there's no finished songs. One of the guys in my office, Raymondo, who happened to be there in Dublin, and he said, "What about that song you did that day in Dublin?" And I was like, "What--what song?" And he went, "The one about the water! What was it? The water!" And I went, "Oh, yeah." I said, "No, I'm not recording that. That's a different thing. It's like--" And he said, "No, no, no, they recorded it that day." And I was like, "Get out." And he said, "No, I'm sure they recorded it." So he got in touch with the studios, and they said, "Oh, yeah, we recorded it."

So they sent it to us, and, honestly, my jaw hit the floor when I heard it. And what is special to me about that song is I'm singing it for myself. I'm not--I'm not aware it's being recorded. So it's a real personal moment for me, whereas if I--if I know it's being recorded live, you're kind of singing it for someone else, and…. So it starts off really slow--I'm not sure of the words at the--in the first verse. And then it kind of gets into its stride.

And as I was listening to it, I was thinking, "It kind of has to go on the album because I want to play it live." And, um, David [Holmes, producer of WBTM] was like, "Hm, well, it's not really part of the thing, though, is it?" And I was like, "No, but, still, you know, my name is on the front, so it's literally got nothing to do with you." And, uh, so it was--it's just--it's live. It's as live as live can be. It's as pure an expression of what I--it's the complete opposite to everything else on that album, which is about the production, and the vibe, and the take after take after re-take, and fiddling, and knocking it into shape, but starting again. This is just one-take, pure expression of like a quiet moment. Honestly, when I heard it, I was like, wow. You know, I was like, "If I wasn't arrogant enough already, my God."

Kennedy: (laughs) But it's interesting because at the end of it, um, your keyboard player does ask you, "Is that--is that done?" and you--your reply does sound quite humble, I think. You say, "Yeah, yeah." It's-- Noel: He says--he says, "Is that new?" Kennedy: Yeah. Noel: And I say, "What?" and he says, "Is that new?" and I say, "Yeah," and he says, "Good?" And I went, "Yeah, it'll do." Kennedy: Yeah, yeah. But you see, the way you say that seems unlike you in the--or the presentation you bring to us-- Noel: Look, if I thought-- Kennedy: --which we love. Noel: If I thought that these millions of people were going to listen to it, I'd be saying, "And isn't it incredible!" You know, so--that, when you listen to it, you're--if you're at all interested, you're catching me that's really as I am, you know what I mean? I'm not--I'm not playing it for anyone. I'm not playing--uh, I'm not playing the part. I'm just a guy from a council estate, with a guitar, who's written this song, who's singing for himself. And, uh, it's a perfect moment. And the temptation has been, or was while we were at the time, is to re-record it. And I was like, "You know what? Moments like that do not come along in recorded music, and they should be embraced." If I went to re-record that song, with all the bells and whistles, you know, I'd ruin it.

And it's interesting that--I've--some Oasis fans, you know, when--when I put out, uh--what was it called, that brilliant song I wrote? Uh, "If I Had a Gun" and "The Dying of the Light." They're all, like, "They're overproduced, and they should be stripped back," and blah, blah, blah, whinging. And, uh, somebody said the other day, "What have you put that on the record for? Why didn't you record it properly? You couldn't put the bells and whistles on it!" I'm like, "You know what?" I feel like strangling these people sometimes. It was like, "I tell you what. Here's the thing--you go make an album, you know?" And they see how difficult it is.

But, um, I'm not gonna re-record it. I'm gonna resist, I think. It's just gonna be a moment--a live moment. I'm gonna perform it live, it's live on the record, and that'll do for me.

[yallthemwitches]

I just read SWM for the first time in years, and here are some things that caught my attention:

(I’ve seen references to the scene many times on Tumblr, so I already know about most things, but these are things I forgot about)

* So we all know Harry looks exactly like James, and he had his father's hair, but Harry also described them as having the same thin face, mouth, eyebrows and hands. The only difference was James' eyes were hazel, and his nose was longer than Harry’s. This made me think two things: firstly, awww Harry might also have Lily’s nose or one of his grandparents' noses, and secondly, James has a big nose, which is hot (insert Doja Cat’s quote about big noses).

* Also, James writes Lily’s initials in his spare time after finishing his exam. I always thought he did it without realising but Harry says he was even embellishing Lily’s name, which makes me wonder if he was drawing hearts or something.

* Once again, Harry describes Sirius as looking handsome. First, he says Sirius is very good-looking, then that Sirius has great hair, and he also says Sirius looks handsome while he’s bored.

* The second James calls Snape's name, Snape reaches for his wand as if expecting an attack.

* The second James sees Lily as she storms down to the lake, James hand jumps to his hair.

* He also immediately tries to talk in a deeper and more mature-sounding voice

* He asks her out in a rush, almost like he’s nervous.

* Finally, Sirius’s lack of reaction to Lily’s outbursts makes me think it either happens often and he’s used to it, or he does not like her at this point in the story.

I looooove rereading SWM. It's literally ground zero to this fandom lol. (Next to the "Nah, she didn't" that shook the world.)

I never imagined James' nose as big--just longer. I don't know how to describe that but from what I gather neither James nor Harry's noses were a defining feature (Harry just noticed because of HOW much he looks like James otherwise)

My favvvvv thing that I feel like some people overlook is that the whole time James is faffing around with the snitch, he keeps looking over at the water to the girls splashing around. We find out soon after that Lily was one of those girls, so it's safe to assume he was trying to be ~impressive~ to her from afar with his snitch catching skills before she even enters the scene. What a ham.

I think the biggest takeaway for James in swm is (yes, he bullied Snape) but he's also just a big weirdo. His pining over Lily is so hilariously corny (he embellished his crushes initials on his OWLS....HIS OWLS....), he acts a fool with the snitch, and generally just hangs out with the weirdest crowd of outsiders around (a werewolf, Peter, and a *hot* psychopath). I know everyone loves to imagine James as this beefy, quarterback type hot boy ™️ but tbh, I think his quidditch/popular boy persona was a small part of him. First and foremost he was a nerd that hung out with the freaks--and he loved that!

[batsplat]

On the topic of Valentino kicking his competitors, I sat down and watched 2002 in its very quiet entirety earlier this year and I was wondering if you knew anything about Valentino and Sete pretending to kick other during the sighting lap of Mugello 02? I did some cursory googling but I didn't really find anything about it and thought you might know a bit more about it or at least where to look better than I do.

congrats anon - I could have been a motogp fan for a million years and I do not think I would ever have spotted this. I had no clue what this ask was referring to, so obviously I went to the mugello 2002 stream to check. and, yup, spot on

of course there's no commentary on this stream, but it is the one snippet of the sighting lap they show. so it's also something the tv direction picked up on. I have not been able to find anything about this either... honestly, my best guess is that this was basically just playful banter between the two of them. faffing about on the sighting lap. I'll definitely keep a look out for any mention of it from now on but yeah. just feels like the sort of thing you do with friends, right? another cute little confirmation of their lovely friendship that will surely withstand the test of time

[circe-and-the-wolf]

I was today years old when I learnt that Abigail means ‘my father’s joy’. Too clever for me. But now I love this little detail. It got me thinking about Lazaar’s relationship with Abigail and, although we know he’s not the best father 😅, I thought he might have bought her one of these jewellery boxes. The original is from Giggle and Honey on Amazon and I just faffed around with it on Procreate. I’d love to make a real one 🎨🖌️

📷 Jewellery box from Giggle and Honey; still from the film from @asgoodeasgold 📷

[thezombieprostitute]

Frosty Windows

A/N: Written for @the-slumberparty's December Daze Challenge.

Prompt: the way the frost forms on the window

Warnings: My piss-poor attempt at incorporating British English and slang. Let me know if I missed any!

Before he met you, Gaz never thought of himself as sentimental. The rest of the 141 pokes a lot of fun at the change in him but he snipes back that they're just jealous. None of them can argue that you haven't been good for him. Price liked to joke Gaz had gone from "a proper numpty" to just "a naff".

He hadn't even been on the pull when he met you. He'd just gotten home from another assignment, fully knackered, and wanted a cuppa to help him wake up. Starbucks wasn't the Mexican coffee he'd grown to love, but it would be enough. He'd been so tired, he sat at the first open chair he'd seen, not realizing it was directly next to you.

You were quick to inform him of his cock up. "Are you mad?" you snip, a little too loud for his sleep deprived state. "I was sittin' here already you dodgy fuck!"

"Ah, sorry," he shook his head. "Proper knackered. Needed a boost."

"You're lucky you're dishy or I'd be even more pissed."

He chuckled at that, and decided to chance keeping the conversation going.

He'd been rather chuffed that, even in his sleep-addled state he not only managed to apologize and calm you down, but ended up getting your number as well. The most he'd planned on getting from you was a one-night stand. But he found he couldn't stop thinking about you.

What was supposed to just be one date turned into a string of them, many leading back to the bedroom in his flat. Gaz was delighted to have the company keeping his bed warm while he was home for the winter. But it didn't take long for him to see there was more to you, more to what the two of you were doing, than just bonking. He found himself looking forward to just being with you.

You never hid how you felt about things, wearing your heart on your sleeve. After working with people like the 141, all experts on hiding their emotions to get the job done, it was refreshing. Some mornings he was happy to watch you go from tracing the frost on the windows to cussing out the stray cats for scaring the birds, and then back to tracing the frost. He swears he'll never get enough of you.

Though he knew it would happen, he was still gutted when he got the call from Price. It was time to get back to work. There were so many things he couldn't tell you about his job, but given that he was a military man, you understood.

"Just don't go faffing about on the job," you chide.

"Not much chance o' that," he smiles. "Likely to be a lotta bloody hard cheese."

"Promise me you'll give me a bell when you're back?"

"Of course."

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

That had been the first of several goodbyes. You'd made sure each of them was memorable, neither of you knowing if it was going to be the last one. And though he has to go radio silence during missions, every time he sees frost on the windows, he starts tracing the patterns, thinking of you.

Tagging:

@alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen;

@irishhappiness @lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

I don't understand Meckett and I don't understand the octopus/pumpkjn appeal. How does it work? sell it to me becaus now i'm curious???

I mean, Mercer/Beckett is a classic Servant/Master dynamic but with murder and a general ruthlessness to both characters which is always a lot of fun to engage with.

I remember first liking them because of that conversation they were evidently in the middle of when Governor Swann is brought in. At some point Beckett says to Mercer something like, 'So you see, Mercer, every man has his price even for that which he didn't expect to sell.' (Very rough paraphrase.)

At the same time, in that scene, Mercer is listening to Beckett and Swann talk while faffing about with that telescope of Beckett's, which is not something he should be doing as a servant but clearly has no compunctions with making use of Beckett's things which means it's something he has long, long been allowed to do.

And I thought it interesting that Mercer was allowed such freedoms and that Beckett and Mercer were evidently having conversations of a somewhat philosophical nature, that Mercer felt comfortable enough to disagree with Beckett - and evidently thought Swann wouldn't have a price when it came to Elizabeth, which is a really interesting insight into Mercer's character, and that Beckett clearly respected Mercer's opinions on these matters.

Later, when Beckett is about to die on the ship, he sees across the battle the ship that Mercer was on switching sides, indicating that Mercer is likely dead, that's when his face hits the 'oh fuck, I'm fucked' look. And I've always loved interpreting that scene as Beckett believing, even to the very end, that somehow Mercer might rescue them. That when Mercer is dead, that is when everything is over.

Fundamentally, their comfort and comradery and the innate trust between them is very well rendered and makes writing them together a lot of fun.

They are murder and blackmail husbands and I love that for them.

----

Mercer and Davy Jones isn't one that I've actually written. I've just enjoyed talking about it with people because it's so fucked up given how Davy Jones kills Mercer - it is so intimate and so vindictive and so brutal.

I know most would see it as revenge for Mercer taking Davy's ship from him, but I love reading it as revenge for some past betrayal or hurt. That Mercer did something, a long time ago, and Davy has never forgiven him for it. And heartbreak is a classic one for that!

We know that Davy is capable of love and deep wells of emotion, while Mercer on the other hand has three (3) emotions and one of them is Murder!!. I think Mercer has a fundamental ruthless coldness to him, on a deep soul level, that doesn't exist in Davy Jones even though Davy is a hard and cruel man.

Not to say that Mercer can't feel things, I think he feels some warmth for Beckett and obviously an absolutely insane bonkers level of loyalty to the man, but I can see him tearing someone's heart out and not even really registering that he is doing it.

So, I think Davy and Mercer had this past situationship of some kind, God knows how or when, but then Mercer is like "alright, I'm done, I'm bored, moving on" and fucks off to old blighty and Davy Jones hasn't seen him since. Cue POTC and the whole fall out from that.

---

Basically, it's something like this:

Beckett: Really? The squid man?

Mercer: Octopus, but yes.

Beckett: Why? Seems unhygenic.

Mercer: I was twenty-five and bored? You and Walpole were all up in each other's wigs, my lord, as a general reminder of past Decisions.

Beckett: We are not relitigating me and Walpole... was it any good?

Mercer: I've had worse.

Beckett then gets weird about it and possessive because Beckett likes possessing everyone and everything in his vicinity and Mercer finds it endearing because he's not ok and the rest is history.

[ilikekidsshows]

What infuriates me the most about Season 4 is how utterly pointless it was. What was the point of making Marinette the Guardian in Season 3 if she was just going to lose all the Miraculous in Season 4? Say what you want about Miracle Queen as a finale; at least it felt like Hawk Moth earned that moment of triumph because he actually used his brain for a change. The writers could have had him gain all the Miraculous at the end of Season 3, then skip straight to Season 5 and nothing would change.

---

I wasn’t yet a salt blog when season four concluded, but I made my lack of enthusiasm for the new season clear. Someone who was still optimistic about the show told me that we’d just have to “wait and see” if season four would contribute anything meaningful to Miraculous’ larger narrative, because everyone agreed, even people who liked it, that season four’s point was to set up season five, due to it itself not having much meat to it.

I said even back then that 25 episodes of setup is wasteful. In a season format show, you should have a theme or an arc or two that you set up, build up and conclude so that the audience will have something to chew on while they wait for the bigger plot movements. Of course, that was when a lot of people thought that the Ladynoir conflict arc was still ongoing because of how poorly ‘Kuro Neko’ served as a conclusion, that the season four finale of removing the tertiary heroes was going to lead to a new focus on Cat Noir’s role as Ladybug’s partner. Of course, season five then made it abundantly clear that the “arc” was well and done with, that season four wasn't the uninteresting half of season five, it was an uninteresting season by itself.

The Miraculous writers are wasting time to justify the show’s episode count. Even after the show’s viewing order started mattering due to small details (that still weren’t consistent even if you watched the episodes in the right order), most of the show’s runtime is spent on the characters faffing about with nothing being accomplished, because the characters don’t even attempt to accomplish anything. And this is true for the writing as well. The writers aren’t actually attempting much of anything, they’re randomly throwing ideas out, maybe revisiting them in about ten episodes if you're lucky or a season or two later and it’s so incredibly lacking in dedication. If you want to create ambitious storylines, you gotta dedicate some effort into making it work.

I just can’t see all that much effort in anything the show is doing anymore. The writing is lazy and the characters are lazy. Although, considering a new tweet from Astruc reveals that he thinks reworking a script is wasting money because editing a show is too expensive, it could be it's not that the writers are lazy, but cheap.

[eastwindmlk]

For day 16 of @jilytoberfest we have an open ended piece (@siriuslychessi said it would be fine) Prompt: 🎶“My words are my faith, to hell with our good name”🎶 - Hum Hallelujah by Fall Out Boy. Word count: 748

James Potter had a tendency to get himself into situations that people believed only happened in films. Some people, particularly a handful of his colleagues, had started calling him ‘Big Fish’ and would make faces when he brought up stories that others simply found entertaining.

Like how he accidentally wandered onto the set of a TV commercial and replaced the poor kid not nailing his lines. Or, when he and his mates had started an actual food fight in the school cafeteria. To this day he swore they had not meant to start anything, they were just faffing about when a spoonful of apple sauce hit Benjy Fenwick, which made Gideon laugh and Fabian decided to add a smear of spag bol to his twin’s crisp uniform shirt.

It all escalated from there. James still firmly believed that he didn’t start it and the twins should have helped clean after, but that injustice was something he learned to live with.

The same Benjy who was there throughout medical school and the semester he brought a skeleton to class to not have to sit next to anyone. Bone-ita even had a picture ID and PPE said nothing when the haughty senior residents started the stupid nickname.

Then when James signed up for Doctors without Borders, Benjy was right there flying off to India with him where they were stationed at the same clinic. it was then that James learned that Benjy was more than happy to say nothing when their colleagues started calling him 'Big Fish'.

Around this time, it was that James started to believe that he might actually be the one who started it all.

Well, he supposed that Benjy would have a reason to revive it once more after he told them about this particular one. Which was an odd thought to have while running full tilt through Heathrow Airport trying to catch the love of his life before she left for god knows how long.

James supposed he was lucky he had only arrived home yesterday, after five long years, the layout of the airport still fresh in his mind.

He might need to leave out the fact that three security officers were lagging behind him while he jumped over the metal fences forming the queues at the gate. He could still see her auburn braid near the front, fumbling for her ticket as he shouted for her.

“Lily!” His voice is hoarse from the exertion, his hands grip the rapidly warming metal bar that separates him from the ticket desk at the gate. The braid whips around, emerald eyes wide with shock meet his. “Lily, please don’t go,” he pleads and slips under the final obstacle while she looks at him, horrified.

Lily approaches him with a cautious smile. “James, what on earth are you doing here?” she hisses at him, her face contorting into something unreadable for a moment before she schools her features into a calm mask.

“Don’t go,” he repeats stubbornly, his hands darting out to take hers. “Marry me instead.” At this the mask slips and he can see the pain flash through her eyes while she wrenches back her hand. “Please,” he pleads once more.

She glances over her shoulder at the passengers still waiting to board, the flight attendant's sideways glances. “James, I can’t. You’re too late,” she stammers and covers the grimace on her lips with her hand. “I-I-I need to go. I’m getting married in Paris tomorrow, James.”

"You hate Paris,"

"I love France."

"Paris isn't France." His eyebrows knit together, eyes still burning into hers. “Don’t go.” The words are now barely a whisper. “I love you, Evans. I know I’ve been gone for a bit. I… Work got in the way but… You said you would wait for me,” he said, too hurt to accuse her of anything.

“And I did,” Lily replies, the pain seeping into her voice now. “I waited for three years but you never came back to me, James. I…”

“I am here now.”

"I can’t. I won’t call this off. Not even for you.” She sighs, her hand brushing his shoulder before it dropped to her side once more. “I’m sorry.” The words are whispered against his cheek before she vanishes with only the lingering kiss and one last look over her shoulder.

Off to marry another man. Suddenly, James cannot find it in himself to care much if they believe him when he tells his colleagues this story.

[toomuchracket]

Having had flatmate matty help her pick out clothes now I can't help but think about him having to give his honest opinion on what she should wear on a date, watching her head out the door in his fave outfit 😔

this is genius but also evil as fuck. my god. him coming back from tour desperate to see you and hold you and just be with you (if he had any sense, though, he'd tell you how he really feels. but alas), and tbf you have a couple of days of that... before you tentatively come into his room one friday morning with two outfits in your arms like "please help me pick between these. i need to know which you like better", and he obliges, of course, and then asks "what for, darling?" and is SHATTERED when your face lights up and you say "well, finally, after what seems like an age of only hookups... i've been asked out on a date". he can't speak because he's so upset, which you seem to take as bewilderment; your face falls a bit and you murmur "well, i didn't think me being asked out would be so shocking that it leaves you speechless, matty. didn't think it was such an impossible notion, but whatever", and he has to force himself to be like "no, it's good, darling - great. sorry. s'pose i'm still jet lagged, brain isn't working right. but yeah, it's... good" because he absolutely doesn't want to upset you, and you perk up a bit like "oh. thanks. um, i know we usually have dinner together on fridays, but i obviously won't be here for that. don't really know if i'll be home at all, i really am not sure, but yeah. feel free to like. have people over. not that you need my permission, but... the flat will be free. just don't let anyone in my room or anything". matty just nods, and gives you a thumbs up, and tries his best not to cry while you're getting ready, and hugs you goodbye with a "you look beautiful. really" when you ask him if you look alright (very amylaurie, you know the vibes), and he DOES scroll through his contacts with the intention of maybe texting an old hookup to come over as distraction, but honestly the thought of that and the thought of you being romanced by someone and sleeping with them just makes him feel sick - instead, he just sticks on some midwest emo and goes to bed and cries himself to a really early night's sleep. it's fitful, though, and he's awoken just before 10pm by you texting "hey. not really having a good time so i'm on the bus home. don't do the bottom lock pls x"; naturally, he perks up with an enthusiasm that sickens him, and texts back like "alright. just me here btw. i would've picked u up, yk x" before wandering into the living room and faffing about with an acoustic while he waits for you to come home. despite his relief that the date didn't go well, his heart breaks at how dejected you look when you shuffle into the room and tell him about how boring a time you had, but it heals at the way you automatically curl into him as you talk and then say "wish i'd just stayed here with you, matty. i like it best". because yeah sure you went on the date but it's HIM you wish you were doing that with, him you want to be romanced by and hold hands with in the street and kiss at red lights and whatnot. that's why you haven't worn the outfit he liked best when you went shopping, didn't even consider it for tonight even though it's your favourite and would've looked great - you only want to wear that one if it's on a date with him. nobody else. god, the two of you... stupid little idiot babies <3

[itspinkflowers]

for the WIP ask, what are the deets on Children maybe and alien fuckerS?? i'm excited to read literally any of these if you post them

Hello, my dear cousin :D

I don't think I've ever posted about "Children maybe" on tumblr. It's a silly idea I had, that started with me thinking about Kalluzeb children. And how, while we've seen Zeb interact with children on the show, as far as I remember we've never seen Kallus with children! Except for Ezra and Sabine but they don't count, come on!

Once I realized this, my brain immediately went "Let's fix this!". The original concept was "Kal prefers children to everyone else" but the current name of the document is "Children maybe". The reason is that I'm not sure if the children plotline will end up in this particular story? So I'm kind of faffing around with it to see where it leads me, basically ^^'

It contains fannish tropes such as Kallus and Chopper becoming friends, Kallus being from the lower levels, Kallus being space!Russian and going by Russian nicknames.

Here's a snippet for this fic, you'll find some stuff for alien fuckerS under the cut too ;)

“You’re very tall,” a young voice says.

Kallus turns around, lowering his gaze to find a child staring at him.

“And you’re very short,” he replies, perplexed. What’s the kid doing so deep into the jungle, at this time of the day? And dressed like that, too! A shirt and baggy shorts are hardly appropriate clothes for staying outside.

“My mom says that I have to eat all my vegetables, even the gomgourds, if I want to become taller,” he squints suspiciously at Kallus. “Did you eat all your vegetables when you were my age? Is that how you got that tall?”

Kallus thinks about what he used to consume when he was younger and he winces. Better not tell the child too much about that.

“I ate a lot of topatoes,” he decides to say. It’s not a lie, but it’s not very honest either. The only reason they could afford topatoes was that they were cheaper than other produce.

“I eat topatoes too, but mom says it’s not enough,” the child’s lower lip juts out and he looks kind of cute like that.

“Ah, sounds like you need to find a compromise.” Noticing the puzzled frown on his face, Kallus explains: “Some middle ground, a way to make both of you happy. Is that why you’re here? Trying to find some delicious vegetables?” he asks, fishing for information.

“No no, I’m here to explore!” Thin arms rise to wave at the forest around them and Kallus nods.

“Do your parents know that you’re out here, exploring?” Kallus asks nonchalantly. Given the way the child’s shoulder rise defensively up to his ears, he’s pretty sure he already knows the answer. He sighs.

“And I imagine you don't have permission to be out here all alone.” Stony silence is the only reply he gets. “Come on, let's go back.”

He offers his hand to the kid, foolishly forgetting that he’s an adult man, a stranger hiding away in the jungle and this could look very bad.

But the child mustn’t have listen too closely to his parents’ warnings, because he takes Kallus’ hand and stares at him. Innocent, like Kallus was, a life time ago.

“Let’s get you back to base,” he sighs, ignoring his thoughts. He’ll just drop the boy somewhere near the edge of the jungle and make sure he gets back safely.

They walk in silence until they’re almost at their destination, Kallus lost in old memories of walking with a smaller hand in his. Decades have passed since then, but Kallus can’t help but feeling the nostalgic tug of longing for something he won’t have ever again.

“Why were you in there?” the kid’s voice breaks him out of his depressing thoughts and he looks down in those big brown eyes.

“I was searching for a training spot,” he explains.

“Training? Like, at the gym?”

“Indeed. I would like to exercize but I prefer doing it without an audience, so the gym is not a good fit,” he adds, wondering if the child will ask him why he doesn’t want an audience.

He doesn’t. He just makes a humming sound and looks around, before pointing to a tree.

“There! That’s where I came from, see that tree? I broke off a branch to- to train with, and now I can recognize where I entered,” he adds, giving more detail as if to distract Kallus from the fact that he was probably about to say ‘play’ instead of ‘train’.

Kallus nods.

“A smart idea, that way you have a weapon for self-defence and a way to find your way back.”

The boy preens. Kallus smiles indulgently and looks around. He can see the temples from his taller vantage point, not many people milling around but enough that the child will be safe.

“Very well, you know the way then, now go find your parents,” he orders gently. “And be careful!”

“Thank you, mister!” the child tells him, gifting him with a big smile before running away. In the correct direction, Kallus makes sure of that.

He likes the boy. ‘He seems nice,’ he thinks. Maybe he’ll see him around base again, sometime.

***

I've written a little about the idea behind alien fuckerS, here is the relevant tag! I'm posting another snippet, enjoy the porn :D

↓↓↓

"Can you go harder next time?"

"You know you can just ask me when we're fucking, yes?" asks Zeb, amused.

"It just doesn't seem polite," replies Kallus, wrinkling his nose.

"Polite," snorts Zeb, rolling his eyes. "How about next time you tell me exactly how you want to get fucked and I'll give it to you nice and hard?"

Kallus' eyes are doing that thing where the black expands to swallow the brown of his eyes. Zeb learned it's a very good sign. He has no idea what his own eyes are doing, but he can feel a purr build deep in his chest.

"I shall endeavour to do just so," he promises, his voice still a little bit breathy. Maybe it's from the athletic sex they've just had, but Zeb hopes he's getting horny thinking about their next fuck.

Because, that's the unexpected thing: humans are the horniest creatures Zeb's ever had the pleasure of bedding. He doesn't want to brag, but he's slept with plenty of different species and Kallus? He's the single horniest fuck Zeb's ever had. He's insatiable.

He grumbles it into Kallus' thigh some time later, as he's two fingers deep, licking the place where his leg connects with his hip. It's salty, sweat slicking the skin, their mixed come not yet dry.

"It's you, I've never been like this with any other partner. You're just-" Kallus' words get lost in a moan as Zeb adds another finger and starts crooking them in the way that drives Kallus mad. His dick is leaking again, weakly dribbling come over Kallus' stomach and getting fatter and fuller yet again. Zeb wants to lick him all over.

/snippet

WIP game! <- here you can find more WIP titles, ask me about them!

[salemontrial]

My (probably unfinished) official list of everything I love about the trailer💫

- "How's it going :))-" SWERVED. ALEXANDER CLAREMONT-DIAZ GOT FUCKING S W E R V E D-

- Nora looks like she's going to stab Alex with her high heel. Also she's so pretty. Xjakcjd

- "you've done some pretty stupid things in your life, but this-" "Takes the cake? :DD-"

- The way Henry looks at them when they're lying on the floor covered in cake. It's like he's restraining himself from strangling Alex with his own suit jacket for the sole purpose of not worsening the scandal.

- "HENRY. SHOVED. ME.😡🥺" "An urge I currently share."

- Ellen in her pantsuit.. hey Ellen👉👈

- Alex is looking for ways to escape the room when she says the words "damage control" he fucking knows-

- THEY. GOT. LIL NAS X. ON THE FUCKING SOUND TRACK. Oh I p r a y they got the rights to Get Low I p r a y.

- ALEX'S FACE WHILE ZAHRA IS BRIEFING HIM HES SO DRAMATIC

- Im sorry guys henry is so fine alexander isnt going to be the only one thirsting over henry for the entire 2 hours/jjj

- That FUCKING handshake in the park. I can see the veins in their hands they are g r i p p i n g-

- these faces this is a point.

- "My NDA is bigger than yours, I want you to know that." "You're wearing Lifts. I know that too, sweetheart." -H e a d t u r n--- HES SO FLOORED FJSNF-

- HENRY'S LITTLE MOUTH QUIRK AFTER HE SAYS THAT

- I CAN SEE THE KEY NECKLACE. I CAN S E E IT BLESS THE COSTUME DEPARTMENT SHOVING HIM IN A LOWCUT SHIRT-

- "You better act like the sun shines out of his ass and you have a vitamin D deficiency" ZAHRA HAS THE BEST LINES AND ITS WHAT SHE DESERVES.

- Alex faffing about with his hair via his phone camera before the interview thats my b O Y-

- Henry slides over the box of cornettos so hard like thats the only hostile act hes allowed to parttake in

- To the person who theorized in the comments of one of my posts that Alex was going to do a little shoulder punch in the interview scene i am going to draw you a little firstprince fanart-/hj

- Because that was so funny and so fucking cute henrys fucking face through that whole interaction was just. He looks like he's actively trying to dissociate from the situation fjsjfj-

- The cancer ward🥺🥺

- Alex's u g l y ass suit at the new years gala... its such a gross jacket guys Im sorry this is what happens when you dont have jUNE TO MICROMANAGE HIS WARDROBE-

- Alex putting his arm around Henry and Henry smiling to himself because he's probably got the most insane case of butterflies

- I'm marrying the lighting director of this movie.

- GUYS GUYS SHUT UP ITS THE KISS.

- HENRY'S FACE BEFORE HE GIVES THE "Christ, you are as thick as it gets" LINE IS SO FUNNY. QUESTIONING WHY HE EVER WENT AND FELL IN LOVE WITH A DUMBASS

- THEY D O N T KISS LIKE THEYD RATHER GO DOWN A RAZOR WATERSLIDE🎉🎉🎉🎉💫💞💞🏳️‍🌈/GEN

- He does Henry's "Oh shit" face so w e l l-

- ALEX'S STETSON EVERYONE GET AWAY FROM ME

- KARAOKE SCENE KARAOKE SCENE I SEE HENRY AT THE MICROPHONE

- Guys hes g o i n g to do the thing he does with the bottle I just know it oh my god

- "Get O V E R yourself your majesty -p i l l o w-" "It's your royal HIGHNESS -p i l l o w-" "OHoho-"

- The polo match sjsjf. Same alwx-/J

- The little new voters goal thingy poster thats so cute actually-

- The pride flag in the back of the campaign office

- Henry texting while he's getting the royal preening sjcj

- never thought id cry just hearing henry say he misses alex out loud-

- THEYRE NOT SANITIZING IT TO MAKE IT PALATABLE/POS

- HENRY IN THE CLOSET I AM GOING TO SCREAM-

- "If anyone sees you leave this hotel I will brexit your head from your body....... Your royal highness." I LOVE HERRRRRR

- IF YOU FEEL FOREVER ABOUT HIM. AND THE AND THE PANNING TO THEM IN BED WITH THE SOFT LAMP LIGHT. AND THEYRE SO SOFT. AND AND AND AND. UEUE

- "Do you love him?" "What difference would it make if I did?"

- Bea's voice is so pretty sobs..

- It's always the blond autistic boys in the blue hoodies I swear to god/lh

- Theyre just chilling in their robes🥺🥺🥺

- DAVID!!!!!!!😭😭😭💞

- "Prince Henry belongs to Britain" and what if i sobbed.

- THEM HOLDING HANDS SOMEBODY SEDATE ME.

- NO SHUT UP NO GO AWAY HENRY CRYING... I TRUST HIM WITH HENRY'S HEAVIER SCENES NOW

- THEYRE AT THE LAKEHOUSE😭😭😭

- "It's like there's a rope attached to my chest and it keeps pulling me towards you"

- THE ASS GRAB. ALEXANDER GABRIEL CLAREMONT-DIAZ

- "The night is young, ma✨" <- said as if he isn't currently groping the prince of England's ass

- She sees right fucking through him sjcjsj

CONCLUSION: I will eat my hat. The movie looks really really really fucking good, it looks spectacular and I am so excited for it. I trust them. I'm only SLIGHTLY mad they barely had Nora in it and I'm only SLIGHTLY bitter at cutting June and Luna. But I am an optimist and I will focus on the good which is that they're doing the characters incredible justice, and if I see one person try to deny their chemistry I will A Clockwork Orange their ass to this trailer for days. Because That Is Alex and Henry. That's them in front of my eyes and I think they're in very good hands and this is the most coherent thing I can write I'm still crying-/srs