#queer as folk fic

[kinnenvy]

qaf wip #1

victorian qaf wip, im 💀. like i was saying idk if i'll ever finish this, but here's a little snippet just to feel something

Dripping. Continuous, incessant, tormenting.

The steady, wet sound echoes through the room and fills the blissfully silent air, it sneaks past any barrier Justin crafts. His hands on his ears, his pillows, then his covers, the weight and width of his shield can do nothing against the quiet drip, drip, drip…

Justin quickly surrenders to watching the water fall from the roof of his room and land loudly in the tin bucket prepared to welcome it. It's unbearable and Justin misses home, misses his room. He misses the comfort of his sturdy mattress, his feather pillows and the maids making sure the stoves warming the rooms never run out of wood and coal.

Justin breathes out slowly, if he had any energy left he would thrash against the coarse bed sheets and throw a tantrum embarrassing enough to rival his younger sister's. Unfortunately, or one could argue fortunately, any will to explode into fits of unadulterated rage has abandoned him the moment his father backhanded him over the breakfast table and threw him, his mother and sister out of their family home and effectively out of the country.

He grabs his pillow, its smell of stale wardrobes and lavender follows him all the way through the large room and out of it. He trudges through the halls of their new accommodation, overtly conscious of the wood creaking under his slippers and the portraits of his grandparents, uncles and younger versions of his mother following him with their eyes as he warily walks in the near complete dark.

Remembering the position of the door he is looking for is giving him a lot of trouble, but eventually he gets the courage to open every door he encounters. He releases a nervous breath, once he finally opens the door hiding his mother. Molly, his sister, is already sleeping by her side and Justin is comforted by the knowledge that they've both had the same idea.

"Mother…" Justin whispers and sounds much more forlorn than he would have liked, "Mom." 

She takes a sharp inhale, almost startled, but she quickly seems to relax. Although Justin can't tell for sure, the lunar light filtering in the spaces between the curtains doesn't illuminate the room enough to let him see.

"There's a leak in my room, I feel like it might drive me mad." Justin explains as a way to secure himself a spot in his mother's bed.

"Sweetheart…" She sighs, "I'm sorry, we'll find a new place soon." The thick woolly covers are drawn back and Justin quickly moves to adjust himself underneath them, "You should tell your grandfather tomorrow. He'll have someone come and patch it up."

"Right…" Justin hums, trying not to think about how many perfectly functional, unoccupied rooms void of any leaks, he saw on his way to his mother's.

He's not sure how long it's been since he's gotten in his mother's bed, when he's awoken by shouting rising from the streets. Despite the coldness swirling in the stale air in the room and its difference from the warmth of the covers, he gathers the will to pull himself up on his feet and reach the nearest window. 

Near the middle of the crossroad on the right of his grandfather's house, there are two gentlemen, dressed in elegant evening coats and tight, light coloured pants. They seem to be fighting, Justin watches them as they push and shove at each other until the tallest of the two grabs the other by the lapels of his jacket and pulls him towards himself. Their faces meet and Justin jolts away as he realises they're kissing.

His ears start burning, his cheeks slowly heat up as well. Slowly, he creeps closer to the glass again, by the time his eyes are back on the scene his whole face and neck must be dyed in varying shades of red, all bound to deepen as he catches the gaze of one of the men. Thick furrowed eyebrows, a head of dark, purposefully unruly hair and a profile sculpted with the same platonic inspiration that used to fuel renaissance men.

The day begins with another tense breakfast, but thankfully Justin's face is not met by the rough palm of anyone's hand. Despite the fact that his grandfather makes it clear he wouldn't mind issuing a dose of discipline through methods that involve physical pain. He says as much as he eats his coque eggs messily, even though his words nail his father as the sole villain, he waves his spoon menacingly right under Justin's nose and then at his mother and sister.

"I shouldn't have let you marry a man without a title," He says gruffly, the grunting accompanying his words reminds Justin of the old, pink pigs, he uses to see every month, when his father took him to town fairs. "My own daughter, a duke's daughter, banished from her house!" He complains aimlessly throughout their entire meal, while Justin's mother, unsure of her own stance, releases noncommittal noises to let him know she is listening.

Molly doesn't eat anything and as soon as their grandfather leaves the table, she cries and asks to be allowed back home. Justin is conflicted, but underneath the embarrassment and the swelling on his right cheek, he wishes for the same thing.

"I need to go out." is what he ends up saying, he doesn't elaborate, but is also met by no resistance. His mother looks at him with concern, but she's so preoccupied by his sister's soul-shaking sobs, that she just dismisses him with a gesture of her hand and a call for carefulness.

His grandfather hasn't been involved with the military for the better part of forty years, yet he operates by its hours. Wake up call at half past five and breakfast at six, that's why Justin finds himself roaming the streets at seven am sharp.

The air hasn't had the time to be warmed by the Sun, so it's especially cold, it pushes past the barrier of Justin's expensive clothes and forces itself on him, frigid like ice and carrying the tangy scent of coal smoke.

Justin is startled out of his thoughts by a door opening, the mansion standing right in front of his mother's family home. He watches the large entrance door, its solid wood dragging over the threshold and uncovering the same man Justin saw the night before.

He is caught staring, it's embarrassing and it makes the calm wind feel a tad colder. 

Without letting himself rot in the memories from the earlier night, Justin starts walking again. He doesn't have a cane and it's too cold to pick the hat off his head and start fidgeting with it, so he tries to discharge some of the nervousness gathering in his body by shoving his hands in his pockets and clench and unclench his fists, pull at whatever loose thread he finds there, do just about anything to stop thinking about the set of footsteps echoing his own.

The man easily reaches his side, they're walking through the intersection when his shoulder bumps into Justin's, he turns to look at him and doesn't do anything to hide how deliberate the move was.

"Sorry." He says without gravitas, his pink lips part in a smile that conveys no friendliness, but snark and other feelings that Justin is not privy to. His eyes, dark and light at the same time, drag very openly over Justin, starting at his leather boots and ending at his own clear, uncomplicated blue eyes. "I haven't seen you around before." He speaks with a thick Irish accent, his voice is steady, but weighed down by the layers of meaning hiding under the surface of each word he utters.

"I'm visiting my grandfather." Justin lowers his eyes to the ground and gestures at the house he's just left. He doesn't dare looking back at it, afraid to see anyone peering through the windows and seeing the exchange.

Long, deft fingers enter his line of vision, they grab onto the golden buttons on his coat and smooth over the forest green fabric, moving upwards until they brush against Justin's chin.

"Oh, a Taylor. A lord, then." He dips his head in a bow, but he sounds like he is mocking him, "Do you have urgent business to attend to?" Justin shakes his head no at his question, dares a glance upwards and feels his breakfast drop so deep inside his stomach that the hunger comes back, only much worse, much more demanding than normal.

The flurry of movements that follow is hard to keep track of, Justin is only looking at the greek slope of the man's nose, at the self-satisfied stretch of his lips as they cross the intersection and quickly disappear in an alley between two mansions. Justin is pushed against a wall, for a brief moment there’s the stench of garbage in the air, until the man in front of him lowers his head towards him and Justin’s nose is hit by the artificial scent of expensive cologne and hints of musk right underneath it, the smell of men he can so easily pick out of any bouquet of scents.

Solid hands make quick work of his golden buttons, Justin instinctively poses his own on them and holds onto the cold skin, half of him in an attempt to slow them, while the other to encourage them.

“What,” He starts and his voice breaks. The man laughs and Justin halts the systems running his body just to gather all his energy to stare and take him in. Brilliant and beautiful, dazzling like the people in songs and paintings. “What is your name?” he tries again as soon as he’s able to retake the reins on his wits.

“Brian.” His voice lowers, it drips slowly like treacle, he raises his chin and squares his shoulders, Justin follows the movement with his eyes and gulps down all the other questions he had been thinking about asking.

"My name is Justin." He says instead, even if the other didn't ask and doesn't seem particularly interested in knowing it. Justin hopes it will stick with him anyway.

"What do you like to do?" Brian asks, he leans his right arm on the wall beside Justin's face, while his left hand still fidgets with his buttons, this time they are the small, round ones cut from mother-of-pearl keeping his shirt closed.

A smile breaches Justin's lips, he is so pleased by the idle conversation, it's just enough to help him keep his mind off the anxiety clamouring right under his skin."Uhm… Painting, listening to music…" 

Brian laughs, it feels sort of pointed, genuinely amused, but still mocking, "I mean in more… Private settings." He explains and his head dips until his lips brush right against his left temple as he speaks. Justin’s mouth opens and his jaw goes slack at hearing someone be so upfront.

"Oh," Justin clears his throat and almost chokes on his spit, the anxiety now reaching heights that cross any expectation he could have ever had.

"Do you like to give it? Do you prefer taking it?" The question immediately transports Justin back to the military academy he's just been driven away from. The hushed whispers of his shy, aristocratic roommates asking him in big boisterous words whether he wanted to touch them over their slacks or not. 

“Uhm,” Justin shifts on his feet, unsure of what to say. The questions are so straightforward now that it’s impossible to search and find in them some sort of innocent meaning. The issue becomes all jumbled up in his head anyway, he’s never really taken or given anything in these situations and he can’t imagine what he could be giving or taking in an alleyway a few metres away from his grandfather’s house.

“I don’t have all morning.” The man, Brian, straightens up, “Do you want to?” He asks, he narrows his eyes and peers right into Justin. Justin is not completely sure what he’s agreeing to, but he finds himself nodding enthusiastically, his hands grasp the other man’s tighter and guide them more forcefully towards his half opened shirt.

Brian’s fingers are nimble and used to touching to provoke pleasure. Justin squirms and trembles as he traces the faint lines of his muscles, the sensitive skin of his nipples, hard and dark pink in the chilly air.

“You’re pretty.” Brian says against his chest, his lips press kisses on his sternum as he slowly lowers himself to his knees, “Wish I had the time to fuck you.”

The word sounds so loud in the early morning silence, Justin feels it echo and bounce off the walls all around them. For a moment his panic convinces him the entirety of the west end must have heard it, but then the buttons keeping the crotch of his pants closed are undone with ease and his half hardness stands out in the open. Anyone could take a wrong turn, or a maid could come trotting out of one of the houses surrounding them and see them. They would end up on the first page of the Inquirer Weekly and then in jail and Justin’s father will absolutely never forgive him then.

“Hey,” Brian says and looks up from where he’s kneeling on the pavement, “Are you still with me?” he asks, darting his eyes betwixt Justin’s face and his shrinking erection. 

“This is a bit,” Justin starts, he scratches his throat, almost claws at it out of frustration, wanting so much what he is being offered, but also being deathly afraid of anyone finding out, “What if someone sees?”

“Who? No one’s staying in these houses, they’ve been empty for quite a while.” Brian arches an eyebrow, his hot palms lay on Justin’s thighs and he caresses him gently, an attempt at soothing him that’s working only marginally against the thoughts rushing in his head. He raises back on his feet and Justin hates himself for having ruined the chance to lay with such a gorgeous man. “It’s fine, dear. Don’t worry about it.” He can tell he’s trying to be gracious, his pants are terribly tented and he can’t stop himself from biting on his lips, as if holding himself back from saying anything more. Justin feels Brian’s lips kiss his temple and then sees him take a step back, retracing the path they’ve followed to find this isolated, secretive angle.

Justin feels him slip through his fingers, his eyes are fixed on the lines of his nose, his jaw, any detail of his features, the beautiful mix of green and amber in his eyes and in a moment he’s stepping forward, “No.” He says, more to himself than the other man, and rises on his toes to kiss him fiercely. It’s clumsier than he would have liked, but the wet slide of their lips is ensnaring to him, the sound alone is enough to make his knees buckle under his weight. His cock is hard again, harder than it’s ever been, Brian touches him again and he fears he might come just with that alone.

Brian doesn’t speak anymore, doesn’t ask leading questions, doesn’t mock and laugh at him. Although he does moan, deep and guttural in Justin’s ears, he kisses him and keeps a tight hold on the back of Justin’s head and his cock. Justin isn’t able to appreciate the scope of sensations he is experiencing, his extremities feel as cold as ice as if all the blood and warmth of his body were concentrating between his legs and in the left hand, secured tightly around Brian.

They stroke each other to completion in no time, Justin feels himself go a little crossed eyed as he pushes as close to Brian as he can, demanding to be kissed, while nearing his climax. Brian indulges him, but he also shifts the positions of their bodies until Justin’s coming against a wall instead of Brian’s clothes. Brian is coming mere seconds later, his hot breath marking Justin’s neck and his hand fidgeting with the strands of his blonde hair.

“Now, this is what I call a good morning.” Brian smiles slyly, Justin’s blood is finally free to roam the entirety of his body and it rushes to his face, showing just how embarrassed he feels by what he’s just done. Quickly they both dress themselves, Justin doesn’t need the help, but he doesn’t protest when Brian reaches around him and he tucks his spent cock back into his trousers, “Thank you for the generous breakfast.” He says and with a slap to Justin’s ass he walks out of the alleyway. Justin is left fidgeting with the buttons of his shirt until he realises what has just happened. He lowers his head, torn between the elation left behind by his orgasm and the need for more. His eyes see a small booklet on the floor, without thinking about it he bends down and picks it up.

He runs, his steps sound awfully loud, despite the fact that most of the lords, ladies, misters and madams inhabiting the houses around him have woken up and have started flooding the streets. Justin is sure he can still see Brian’s wide shoulders walk forward, far from him, but before he can pick up his running again, he is caught, captured by his grandfather’s hand on his shoulder, “Accompany me to the club, boy.” he says in a tone that won’t allow anything other than affirmative answers.

So Justin is left behind, as they wait for the carriage, with the badge of an inspector detective of the metropolitan police in his hands, bound in black leather and hiding the picture of the man he just saw come apart in an empty alley.

[sophsun1]

Queer as Folk – 2.19: Bowling for Equality

[aaronsinferno]

Buck and Tommy lay sprawled out across Buck's bed late one night, taking in each other's company after a string of hard and exhausting shifts. The idea of finally being alone with one another has been their solace for days. Buck sits with his comforter wrapped around him, wearing nothing but a muscle shirt and boxers underneath, while Tommy leans against the headboard, lounging shirtless in baggy grey sweatpants, comfortably commando. Their chatter, paired with laughter and gentle touching, lands onto the topic of food, and in a sudden burst of energy, Buck jumps up from the bed. He dashes downstairs, returns with an ice cream pie, and starts enthusiastically explaining how he made it. Tommy listens with a mix of amusement and disinterest, his attention more on Buck than the dessert. Sensing Tommy's lack of enthusiasm for the pie, Buck's eyes widen in surprise. He swiftly straddles Tommy, scoops a spoonful of the ice cream, and savors it slowly. Their eyes lock as Buck guides the spoon to Tommy's lips, the melting ice cream trickling onto Tommy's neck and chest. Tommy's mouth opens slightly, his eyes never leaving his boyfriends, and Buck gently feeds him the dessert, then pulls the spoon back clean. A mischievous smile spreads across Buck's face as he lowers his head, licking the sweet droplets from Tommy's skin, Tommy quietly melting after each lick. When Buck finished, he looks up, face to face with Tommy, and places a small pick on his lips.

[brian-kinney-apologist]

tell me why instead of sleeping because I have to wake up in less than 4 hours I kinda started to write a britin gap filler fic based on this tags of mine:

am I insane?? probably. do I care tho????.........

[stobinesque]

@steddie-week day 3: first kiss | 2.1k words | G or T

Steve and Robin were about halfway through a rewatch of Clue when the phone rang, and Steve was across the living room before it was halfway through its second ring. “What’s wrong?” He asked without preamble. His heart was already racing; too anxious to consider the possibility that it could be someone calling for his parents—or even that it might be a non-emergency call. It was past ten already, and most of The Party should have at least been pretending to sleep by then.

“Steve?” The voice on the other end of the line was a bit distant—drowned out by the staticky sound of rain hitting pavement.

“Eddie? Are you alright? Where are you? Did something happen?”

Eddies’ van was out of commission, so he’d been relying on rides from Steve and the rest of the Corroded Coffin crew to get him to and from places for the past few weeks. If he was out somewhere and in trouble, he was stranded there.

“Yeah—I-I mean, no. Nothing—nothing happened. Just—could you come get me?”

“Yeah, of course. Where are you?”

“I’m out at The Hideout.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll be there in ten—maybe fifteen minutes.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I said I’d be there in ten, Eddie.”

“Okay.” 

Steve hung up the receiver and turned to make for the foyer to find Robin standing behind him—jacket on, back slung over one shoulder, and a pair of his shoes in one hand. “Picking Eddie up?”

“Yeah.” Steve took the shoes from her hands gratefully, and started pulling them on.

“Can you drop me off on the way without slowing yourself down?”

“Yeah, I budgeted Robin home-delivery time just in case.”

“Well, hop to it then, dingus.”

~*~*~*~

When Steve pulled up in front of The Hideout after dropping off a surprisingly acquiescent Robin (Eddie needs you more than I do right now, dingus), it was to find Eddie sitting atop one of the wheel stops of The Hideout’s small lot, looking like a drowned rat. 

Eddie was up and yanking open the door to the beamer before Steve could so much as put it in park, and Steve pulled out of the lot as soon as Eddie had his seat belt buckled across him.

“You okay, mann?”

Eddie shrugged.

“What happened?”

“Don’t really wanna talk about it right now.”

Steve nodded. “Okay.”

“Sorry to interrupt movie night with the missus.”

Steve laughed. “She already forgives you. Provided that you were actually having a crisis and not just faking one as a ploy to get me alone with you.”

That startled a laugh out of Eddie in turn, and he turned in his seat to shoot Steve a mischievous grin. “Now, does that sound like something I would do, sweetheart?”

“According to Robin? Yes.”

“Ah, I see who the brains of the operation is, then.”

“Was that in question?”

“Well—whether or not there was a brain behind you and Robin’s whole deal was a little up in the air.”

Steve snorted. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

Silence fell between the two of them, and twenty seconds in Eddie started rooting around in Steve’s glove compartment.

“Dude. What are you doing?”

“I’m looking for a tape in here that doesn’t suck, man!”

“What are you talking about? We have, like, half the same taste in music!”

“Yeah, but the only thing you keep in your car are mixtapes! And I’m sorry, Steve, but some of the things the kids have made you are—objectively speaking—extremely cursed.”

“You could put in the one Robin made.”

“It’s hilarious that you think there’s only one Robin mixtape in here. But also: I’m not in the mood for Cyndi Lauper.”

“Cyndi Lauper’s not in the mood for you,” Steve snarked under his breath—more because he knew that’s what Robin would say if she was in the car with them than for any other reason. Raising his voice so that Eddie knew it was meant to be heard, he added, “I think there might be one from Jon in there?”

Eddie wrinkled his nose. “Eugh. No thanks. My night’ been shit enough.” He kept rooting around for another minute or two, until— “Aha!” he emerged triumphant, an sparsely labeled tape held aloft in one hand. It looked like one that Steve had made for himself years ago—long before he’d gone knocking on the supernatural’s door. If he was guessing right, it was a mix of Queen, Bowie, and Fleetwood Mac. “How have I never found this one before?” Eddie asked.

“Because in spite of your loud protestations to the contrary, you usually just let whatever music is playing in the car happen to you.”

Eddie gave a considering hum as he stuffed his find into the tape deck. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

The two of them fell silent again as “The Chain” poured from the speakers, and the rest of the ride passed without conversation, the only sounds between them besides the music was the steady beat of rain against the windshield, and Eddie’s fingers drumming along to the beat of the song.

~*~*~*~

Steve killed the engine as he pulled up in front of the Munsons’ trailer. 

“Thanks for the ride,” Eddie said, pulling a strand of hair out to cover his mouth as he did so.

“Yeah—any time, dude.”

Eddie made to get out of the car, but froze in place as he leaned half-in, and half-out. “Could you—wanna come in?” There was a put-upon air of casualness to his tone in a way that made Steve suspect that he was being asked to stay the night. He wasn’t sure why Eddie felt so shy about the request, though—it wasn’t like this would be the first time.

“Oh. Yeah, man. Of course.” All he ever wanted was to be helpful. So Steve took his keys from the ignition, and trailed after Eddie as he led them both inside.

Eddie started peeling out of his soaked clothes before the front door had finished closing behind them, and made a beeline for his bedroom so he could pull on a pair of boxers and a bleach-stained t-shirt, before flopping down onto his bed. Steve followed after him, toeing his shoes off inside the door, and crawling into bed beside Eddie once he was finished changing.

"Wanna talk about it now?" he asked, as Eddie tucked himself up against his side.

Eddie shrugged. He took one of Steve's hands into both of his own and started idly playing with his fingers. "Bad date."

"Oh yeah? People aren't going mad over a metalhead who was only recently cleared of all murder charges?"

Eddie shoved at him. "Low blow, Harrington."

Steve stole his hand back to hold both of them up in surrender. "Sorry, man."

Eddie yanked Steve's hand back and held it covetously in both of his own, and Steve reached down with his own free one to tangle it into Eddie's wild mane of curls, which were still damp from the rain. "Whatever, dude. It wasn't that. He just…he was just kind of an asshole.” Eddie shrugged again, sounding a little resigned. “The regular kind."

Steve was silent, but ruffled his hand through Eddie's hair in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. 

"I just…I don't know. I don't know why I even bother trying to go out on dates at this point.”

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, it's like…I don't know. Just feels like I'm chasing after something I'm never gonna find."

"I get that," Steve said, tone soft and understanding.

"Really? Figured you'd have people falling all over you."

Steve snorted. "I don't think I've gone on a date since I went to the championship game with Heidi back in March."

Eddie jerked a little in Steve’s grip. "Why not?" He sounded…genuinely very confused.

Steve shrugged. "I don't know, I just…haven’t really felt like it. Honestly, I’d already felt like I was circling the drain back at that point.”

“...Huh.”

They both went quiet, Steve still running one hand through Eddie’s hair, and Eddie still tangled his fingers through those of Steve’s other hand. 

“So, how do you…?” Steve trailed off with a frown, unsure of how or whether he should finish his question.

“How do I…?”

“How do you, y’know, find guys? To go out with? Who you aren’t scared of knocking your lights out, that is.”

Eddie shifted in Steve’s arms to get a better look at him. “Wait, wait. Have you not been on a date with another guy yet, Harrington?”

“No…?”

“Then how did you—?”

“How did I, what?” Steve felt a little on edge; a little on the defensive. Like there was some unseen standard he wasn’t living up to.

“How’d you figure out you were into them, then?” Eddie sounded a little bewildered. A lot incredulous. “Figured you were the victim of a drunken make-out discovery or something.”

Steve laughed, because that did sound like him, but— “Nope. Never been kissed.” He tilted his head toward Eddie with a little smirk. “By a guy, that is.”

Eddie propped himself up on one arm and stared at Steve like he was a puzzle to be solved, and there was a glint in his eye that made the hair along the back of Steve’s neck stand on end. “D’you wanna be?”

Steve’s heart skipped a bit, and his hand stilled in Eddie’s hair. “Uh…what do you mean?”

“Do you wanna be kissed? By a guy?”

Steve laughed, feeling awkward. “Are you offering?”

Eddie shrugged, just a touch too casual. “Sure, why not?”

“I don’t know. Wouldn't it be weird?”

“Doesn’t have to be weird if you don’t make it weird, man.”

Steve turned that over. It’s not like he and Eddie didn’t already spend most of the time they spent alone together tangled up in one another. There was a quasi-romantic edge to their friendship that Steve wasn’t really used to—well. Except for with Robin. But that was different, for obvious reasons. And, granted, the dynamic between him and Tommy had been…intense, but it still hadn’t felt like this. 

Regardless—kissing Eddie wouldn’t change anything about their friendship if they didn’t want it to. “I guess you’re right.”

Eddie half-turned in Steve’s arms. “Yeah?”

Steve repositioned himself so that they were facing each other, hitching one shoulder up in a nonchalant little shrug. “Sure, why not?” he parroted back.

Eddie smiled, and it made his whole face go soft and gentle in a way that had Steve’s stomach twisting up in knots. Oh, he’s beautiful.

Eddie reached up to tuck a lock of hair behind Steve’s ear, and then let his hand drift along the line of Steve’s jaw until he was gently gripping his chin between two fingers. Steve’s lips parted in anticipation, and the two of them breathed into the silent space they’d created between them. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, and his arms breaking out in goosebumps.

It didn’t make any sense though. It wasn’t like it was his real first kiss. And he’d known he was attracted to men for ages, even if he’d never acted on it. It wasn’t even exactly news to him that he found Eddie attractive. But…none of their interactions had been this charged before.

Eddie closed the space between them, and pressed a gentle, but firm kiss to Steve’s lips, grinding the trajectory of Steve’s thoughts to a halt. It was a simple kiss. And it could have remained like that—soft, sweet, and almost chaste—except that Steve couldn’t hold back a sharp gasp in response, as his breath hitched in his throat. 

He should pull back. He knew he should pull back—but he’d always been greedy, and Eddie was making no move to put any distance between the two of them either. So Steve surged forward, capturing Eddie’s lips into a more passionate kiss, and savoring the small whine it elicited. Eddie gave as good as he got, winding an arm around Steve’s waist, and slotting a thigh between both of Steve’s legs with a force that startled a little “Mmpf!” from him. 

All in all, the kiss probably lasted little more than a few moments. But for all Steve knew, whole civilizations could have risen and fallen in that soft, gray space of time he and Eddie had their lips pressed together. 

He wasn’t sure who finally broke away, but once they did, both of their breaths came short and heavy.

“That was…really good?” Steve said, a high-pitched note of giddiness and wonder in his tone. 

Eddie smiled with cheshire-style grin, eyelids heavy and low. “Yeah? Wanna make it even better?”

Steve smiled right back. “I think I might.”

[monstersinthecosmos]

the most rancid drama starters in fandoms are always like "gee i wish this fandom was nicer, why do we have to fight all the time :("

[cozyrosykay]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love ❤

Ahhh thank you! Babs is the best and my favorite Bobs Burgers writer. Every fic encapsulates the humor and feel of the show ❤️

Ok first up is And Then I Met You because it was the first fic I ever finished and got the courage to publish. Fandom: Queer as Folk, pairing HunterxOFC

Up next is Midnight Meetings. Fandom: Teen Wolf, pairing Sterek

Next is Still Faces and I got the idea after I went to a conference on fostering and the trauma that children often endure when they don’t get the love and nurturing that they need. And I read about the still faced experiment. Fandom: AFTG, main character Riko and his mom.

Number 4 is actually a collection of one shots for my faves Renee/Jean, I love them so much ❤️ Fandom: AFTG, pairing is of course Jeanee

And finally What Happens in Vegas, this one was just really fun to write and I do hope to go back and add to that AU. Fandom: Teen Wolf, pairing Sterek

[thissugarcane]

Don't know why, if I'm gonna write Brian's pov, that this is where I went. not even sure if this is going to be more than a few lines, but brian, post-prom.

~

it's four in the morning.

...it's four in the morning a lot in Brian's world.

Right now, it's four in the morning and he's waiting for... news.

Michael sits beside him, worried and anxious, touching his hair, his neck, avoiding the scarf around his-- Brian would be furious at the care if he were anything but dead inside, feeling weight crush, oh, everything.

He thinks to himself, if he survives, I promise I'll stay away from him. He prays, please, if he's just okay. I'll never see him again.

Time flows strangely in the hospital. It's four in the morning. Somehow it becomes lunchtime, Michael thrusting a dry, horrid sandwich in his hands. Brian eats it mechanically, because fighting is too much work. He sleeps upright for a while, trapped in vague nightmares, the sound of wood on--

He wakes, silently, drinks the bottles of water Michael forces on him, stares down the hallway. Paces one end to the other. Goes outside for more cigarettes than is healthy. Distantly, Brian knows he should go home, shower, sleep. Get better.

"Is there anything..."

Michael. Good old Michael. Brian's voice is raspy. "Go buy me some more cigarettes, and for fuck's sake, quit worrying."

Won't happen. Brian has to try.

At some point, Daphne comes to find him in his endless hallways in this endless wait, and Brian's emotions perk up, then plummet; news, then. There's tear-tracks on her face, salt on her cheeks, but she's smiling. "He opened his eyes," she confirmed. "They... they won't know too much more for a while yet, maybe hours, but he--"

She keeps talking, not that Brian hears it. The crushing weight is gone from his lungs, a strange grief takes its place. That's that, then. And he promised.

He walks out of the hospital without a word, abandoning Michael to explain-- nothing at all.

~

Brian goes home, showers, sleeps for fourteen hours, and convinces Michael he should go to Portland. He powers through another week of Novotny worry with xanax and a lifetime of lying about nothing being wrong. Michael gets on a plane, and then it becomes four am all too often.

No one else notices.

Brian spends four am staring through the window at Justin's sleeping face; makes nice with the night nurse so they'll break confidentiality regulations for him. Either something in his face or Justin's file means the nice one is willing to share what she knows; Brian never asks if Justin actually put something down that he gets whatever information he wants. The kid is eighteen now, so his parents don't get their say, not first anyway.

The nurse tells him, without being asked, that he's on the list of approved visitors; one that gets longer and longer the longer Justin's in the hospital. Steadily improving.

Brian never goes in, never talks to Justin.

~

He knows prayers are bullshit.

He knows god is bullshit.

But Brian can't help but be superstitious. And besides. he doesn't break promises. not ones to justin.

[not-poignant]

Daily excerpt from chapter 39 of A Stain that Won't Dissolve:

Towards the end of the shift, he hovered at the entrance to the laboratory, wondering if he could at least vacuum and then mop the tiles. Demetrius was there, wearing a dark blue sweater and black trousers, looking over some test tubes. It took at least a couple of minutes for him to look up and see Alex, his expression puzzled. ‘Can I help you?’ Demetrius said. ‘Uh, sorry, sir, I was wondering if there was anything- If I could vacuum and mop in here.’ ‘Oh no, you couldn’t possibly keep this room as clean as it requires, and you’ll likely make it even dirtier. Sebastian said you’re new to cleaning, there is no way you will have trained in keeping a laboratory space sanitary.’ Alex stood there, momentarily stunned. ‘Sure,’ he said finally. Demetrius put down the test tube with careful fingers, and then turned to face Alex again, and Alex felt his whole body tense. ‘You used to bully my stepson badly,’ Demetrius said, gaze steady and unflinching. ‘It seems quite irrational to me he’d take you on as a cleaner now, and that you’d accept such a job. I hope you haven’t strong-armed him into it.’ ‘No,’ Alex said. ‘It was his idea.’

[a-candle-for-sherlock]

I've read that gay molly houses and gatherings in the 18th and 19th century included a lot of gender play, and that feminine names and dress on amab people were common; I've also read that the 18th century club members often chose their own found families (amab sisters, husband and children) amongst themselves. Does anyone know if that private family system continued into the later 19th century clubs, around Holmes' and Watson's early era? I know some of them were purely transactional, but I've also heard of club romances and weddings from the time.

[wellcomeoneileen]

Hey, I read your fic Growing Pains and it’s so good and I just hhhh thanks for writing it. They’re so beautifully captured. And I really do love when Brian can be vulnerable, if only in short bursts, and you wrote that in a way I haven’t seen many other do. You’re a wonderful writer and while I lack the ability to picture things in my head (aphantasia sucks), I could feel your writing in my bones.

Oh my gosh??? This is so kind!! Wow, thanks so much!! That’s an incredible compliment, i told my mother, lol! Thank you for reading and for being so sweet!

I’m really glad you liked it, and yes, I think S5 Brian went off the deep end bc he wanted to be what Justin wanted but didn’t have the toolkit to communicate that to Justin, nor to discern the overall situation, and I FEEL like at the end of the show he’s like “okay i swung too far one way and then swung too far another way but damn it im accepting I want Justin til i dieeeee so I guess I fucking figure out how to do this” sooo him giving the explicit communication Justin so frequently requests can be in character sometimes i thiiiiiiiink. I think several emotional obstacles have been resolved at the end of the series for Brian’s ability to grow, so post-show it’s “””””just””””” unlearning 35 years of behavior lmao and when he buckles down he could be capable of going 😐😐 I’m experiencing a feeling 🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄

AH THANK YOU!!!!!!!!

[bulolity]

me: maybe that mihawk drabble of mine will get a surge of new mihawk fans after the show

me, after opla: no one in their right mind would ever think mihawk could be attracted to a woman

[sophsun1]

Gale Harold & Randy Harrison – People & Entertainment Weekly Queer As Folk Reunion 2018

[ineffable-doll]

"It’s Not Too Bad When You Get Used to It" by IneffableDoll

T, 8 chapters

CHAPTER 1: 3.3k

Following Armageddon’s failure, Aziraphale and Crowley perform the bodyswap, prepared to be captured by Heaven and Hell. But after both factions fail to show up the next day, the angel and demon must pretend to be the other for much longer than anticipated… Hilarity ensues, feelings are felt, and no one anticipated so much breakfast being involved. But that’s ineffability for you. * Prewritten; will update every three days until completion. Come back on December 29th to binge!

A silly romp of Aziraphale and Crowley poorly playacting as each other, with fluff and feels because I can't help myself. Queerplatonic, aroace, lots of banter and humor! Book vibes and characterization with season one canon.

[punkishtoxtricity]

new pinned post yayyy

hi i’m koda/punkish!!! i’m a 16 year old punk who’s really into wolves and pokemon and some more stuff i’ll mention below. most likely neurodivergent based on my families opinion and diagnosed chronically ill. they/he for me!

my main in general interests are pokemon, wolves(and any kind of canines), reptiles(especially dinos), monster high, btd6, digimon, musicals, plush collecting, sweet tooth (the netflix show), riordanverse, and sonic. (also really into eurovision rn)

my fav musicians are 100 gecs, hevisaurus(my fav member is riffi raffi), mcr, discharge, crass, front bottoms, powerwolf, mobo, the hundred acre woods, misfits, against me, pure hell, siouxsie, manesekin, sex pistols(mainly just their lives not so much the music), and fleetwood mac!

i mostly reblog stuff but sometimes i post about my collections and interests! my tags to filter by are “they howl” and “actual image posts”. “to the den” is my tag for my favs!

pronouns

my sweet tooth fic

[winderlylandchime]

Some Sentences Sunday

I promise that drag queen au has not been abandoned, it lives rent free in the werk room in my brain. But sometimes your friend wakes up from a dead sleep and drops a fic idea into the server. AND then sometimes that friend has emergency surgery and does the digital equivalent of batting eyelashes and asking nicely says "write me a fic."

Here's some Evan POV from my favorite OT3 of all time and also tags (under the cut):

I watch him as he signs, and I can tell from the movement of his hands that he’s feeling that itch in his palms. An itch we’ve often discussed. The itch of wanting to lay hands on Justin. Wanting to lay hands on him, not to reassure him, but out of purely selfish reasons. Wanting to lay hands on him to make sure he’s okay, he’s still there. To reassure ourselves.

No pressure tagging: @eusuntgratie @lostcol @sheisraging @madsworld15 and anyone else who wants to share lines! Tag me!