#sws bear

[gorillawithautism]

warm rice.... fish.... soy sauce..... nap time.... give to me.........

[malacandrax]

Sex worker/Charity worker Halstarion AU --- AU TAG To read them in order: [Part 1- Meeting] [Part 2-Embellish] [Part 3-Theory] [Part 4- Number] [Part 5- Bruise] [Part 6- Scenic] [Part 7- Nice Things] [Part 8-Pizza(that's this one!)]

[lothcatthree]

need an episode of thorn spraying fox with a water bottle every time he mentions killing the chancellor

thorn, holding fox by the scruff of his neck: “stop *spray* talking *spray* mutiny *spray* we’re going *spray* to get *spray* decommissioned”

fox, dripping wet and hanging, crossing his arms: “and that’s bad why”

[izzystizzys]

Echo’s world has gone decidedly… wobbly. Blurry. Fuzzy at the edges, and what-will-you-else. He can’t feel his fingertips, is his first thought. Kriffing overdid it on the glowing green shots, is his second.

“Holy kriff, Echo, that manhole-cover underneath you is moving!”, Fives exclaims, third. Or more like slurs into Lt. Jesse’s shoulder, who is himself moaning indistinctly into the Captain’s pauldron, who is in turn swaying back and forth gesturing at Commander Cody.

And it really is - the manhole cover, that is, once Echo stumbles off it with a shriek. Jumping up into the now open air with sudden force, steadying and then scraping across paveme-

“Are those kriffing hands?!”

In an instant, seven highly drunk pairs of fists and one blaster, courtesy of Commander Cody (the only one present who’s sober enough to be legally handling it) are aimed in a circle around the cover slowly being shuffled to the side, then the hands reaching up to palm at the edges of the hole -

- and are slowly being lowered again when two white-red painted helmets are heaved into view, along with chest-deep groaning and grunting. Two armored Corries collapse in a heap at Commander Cody’s feet, who stares down at them in open-mouthed shock.

Slowly, Echo blinks. Slowly, he raises a hand to snap his fingers in front of his face. No, still there. Slowly, Fives grabs for a piece of flank underneath his blacks and twists. Echo yelps, and slaps his hand away hard enough to hurt himself. “OI!”

“B’have, boys”, Captain Rex makes a brave attempt to slur out as he sways on his feet, still staring down at the trembling heap of armor at their feet. Whoa, Echo didn’t know they had those kinds of funky armor designs in the Guard. Very avant-garde.

“That’s blood, Ey’ika”, says Appo.

Oh.

Slowly, Hardcase raises his right foot, inching towards-

“Don’t even think about it”, Commander Cody snaps, and Hardcase’s foot whips back to the ground next to its companion. Fives chortles. “Yeah, genius, those are Commander kamas - they’d put you down in a second flat!”

“Why would two Corrie Commanders go crawling out of holes in front of 79’s, huh, genius?!”, Hardcase retorts, somewhat justly, Echo feels. Next to him, Commander Cody frowns, and kneels carefully. “Good question, trooper. Fox, can you hear me? Fox’i-“

Which is when one of the bodies - Commander Fox, Echo realizes with a shudder, The Marshall Commander Fox - convulses on the ground, and an arm rears up to nail Cody face-first with the back of a hand, sending him sprawling back into the pavement with an undignified squawk.

“Thorn”, the sad figure that is the highest decorated clone in existence groans, still faceplanted into pavement, “Thorn, I’m hallucinating Cody. Thorn, tell him to shut up.”

“Shuddup”, Commander Thorn heaves, loyally. Cody makes an affronted noise, braced back on his shebs. “Sdubid Codeh.”

Commander Fox’s visor scrapes against the ground with his nod, a sound that sends the surrounding vod’e cringing. “Yeah, you go, Thorn. You’re my favorite.” A considering pause. “Oh, kark. I need to call in medevac - Fox to Stabby, Fox to Stabby - the kriffing Narglatches are back on the lower levels.”

The Commander’s comm crackles to life, as he heaves himself over with a punched-out moan - oh, yup, that dark patch’s definitely not paint, and are those teeth marks?! On plastoid??

“I’m going to wring Senator Hliii’s neck, and then I’m going to twist him into a human kriffing meat-lasso to catch every last one of his little pets with”, sounds through Fox’s comm, who just hacks out a laughcough in response. “Pinging your location now. Where’s Thorn?”

“Pr’snt”, slurs Thorn.

“Concussed”, adds Fox, “We crawled out forty levels to behind 79’s, so no one would see us.”

Awkward silence follows.

“Uh, about that”, begins Rex, only to be interrupted by a deep groan from Fox.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kriffing kidding me! As if Cody’s ugly mug wasn’t - WHAT THE KRIFF ARE YOUR KRIFFING ARC KARKHEADS DOING IN MY HALLUCINATION, REX?!”

“Shuddup, Rex”, Thorn moans bravely.

[communistkenobi]

not sure if this was intentional or not but nemik saying in his manifesto “Remember this: Try.” is an interesting sentiment given that “do or do not, there is no try” is like one of the more famous lines from the original trilogy

[nomourners-nofunerals]

imagine Qimir looking at Osha and saying the famous kanej quote:

“I would have come for you. And if I could't walk, I'd crawl to you, and no matter how broken we were, we'd fight our way out together - knives drawn, pistols blazing. Because that's what we do. We never stop fighting.”

[sith-disease-palps]

cody deserves to enjoy padawan obi wan too, okay?

(i suspect quinlan supplied him with this lil’ beauty)

[valuunee]

do u swing yes or no

[felinae-felidae]

Update: added some colors 💚

[shieldofiron]

Hello

But what about Steve who got kicked out by his parents when he came out as bi and somehow made it to California and ends up doing sex work and finds it is something he is good at and having a huge dick is good for something for a change. He also does some high end escort work too cos he knows all the etiquette stuff, thanks to his upbringing.

He's got his regulars, men and women, and a little apartment and there's this golden guy who looks like a freaking god who goes past every morning on a run, super early, when Steve has a coffee on his balcony. Steve starts thinking about him when he's jerking off or when he's with clients, he can't help himself.

And then one day he shows up at this fancy hotel to be some rich guy's escort for the night and it's the guy he's been seeing run past his balcony every morning.

Mr Hargrove, CEO of something.

Anyway, that's what I was thinking about just now while I was waiting for you to tell me the super sad bit of your idea.

<3

The request is kind of weird.

Normally people request him in lingerie, something filmy and sexy that frames his body. When it's not that it's suits, from a casual sports coat all the way to a tuxedo, and he keeps it all in his closet.

"You know what it means?" Angela's gum snaps on the phone.

"Green basketball shorts?" Steve scratched his temple, "Not really. I think I have some from high school."

"Well, if they're tight," Angela said, "And he said sneakers. High white socks."

Steve rolled his eyes, "Okay. Weirdo. Did he say anything about sex acts?"

"Anal," Her gum pops.

"No shit, it's a guy," Steve rolls his eyes.

"He just asked what you looked like, honestly. Wanted a guy with brown eyes, brown hair, real pretty," Angela clicked her long nails against the counter, "Other than the outfit he wasn't too talkative. Sexy ass voice. He requested you specifically. Got all perked up when I said the name. Stephan the King only."

Steve shrugged, "Okay. Whatever."

Most of the time he wasn't too concerned with what his clients wanted. He was flexible in more ways that one, happy to bottom or top or escort them to the opera or just listen. Most of the time, the job was just listening, even during sex. Finding out what people liked and being that came naturally to him. He was good at bullshit, as Nancy would say. He was a great hooker.

He'd made his job bullshit. He got paid an ungodly amount by the hour to spread his legs or spread someone else's, and he was good at it. Hooked up with an agency that specialized in high quality work, and kept the total weirdos away from him.

His roommate Jason Carver had a good hand with the weirdos anyway. He was always getting the odd calls where he had to dress up in costumes and came home to their apartment at odd hours, covered in weird substances, his legs shaky until Steve made him take a shower. Last night it had been grape jelly.

And so here Steve was, not covered in jelly, sitting in a plush hotel room in Malibu with his Hawkins high shorts pushed down his thighs, trying to finger himself and thinking about his favorite spank bank material.

Steve didn't know the guy's name, but he called him the runner. Always running at 5 am, long blonde curls streaming behind him. He looked like the models on the covers of those Johanna Lindsay romance novels, the practically-bondage porn that he'd devoured in high school during sleepless nights.

He imagined the running slowing down when he got to Steve's balcony, his bronze skin gleaming and his blonde beard hiding a devilish smirk.

The smirk may be borrowed... maybe the shorts have him remembering some other sleepless nights in high school.

Steve is loose, last night he was working with a couple, and so he's pretty stretched out, which means he can concentrate on just relaxing, brushing his fingers ever so softly over his prostate as he imagines the runner smirking, his voice a hazy blend of movie stars and devilish California drawling.

He kicks up his feet on the bed, working himself shamelessly in time with his finger's motions. He rolls the tip of his pointer over the small nub of his prostate while he works a fourth finger inside.

The alarm on his watch goes off and he makes a winded noise, halfway between a whine and a groan. He was just getting to the good part of the fantasy, where the runner would position him, ass up, over his tiny Venice balcony and eat him out like he was trying to make Steve cum before the dawning of the apocalypse. He would rub his face all over that golden beard, ride him like a stallion. Steve rode his fingers through one more wave, heat crashing down his spine, before he pulled out, tugging up his shorts over his painful erection and rushing to the bathroom to wash his hands and check his hair.

He didn't have to do all this prep but it made his job more enjoyable. Most clients didn't want to go through a lot of foreplay, obviously. But he did like coming too, and it wasn't like he was taking ten clients a night. Might as well have fun.

He was all positioned on the bed when the guy came in. Ready for the masc fantasy, legs spread, his arms on his knees. His dick was lewdly outlined by the tiny shorts, but he guessed they weren't going to the opera so that should be okay.

"In here," He called out, holding his breath until the guy came around the corner.

That devilish smirk fell right to pieces.

"Harrington," The man gasped, the word more breath than it was noise.

"Billy??"

"What are you doing here? Is it Max? Is she okay?" Billy's face is vulnerable, pale under his golden beard.

Steve thinks of the last time they'd seen him, driving off into the dead of the night while Max had cried. She'd begged for Steve's help to move Billy out, and the last he'd seen of Billy Hargrove it was just him chuffing Max on the chin, telling her to be brave.

"She's okay, I..." Steve shook his head, "I'm just here to meet a client."

"Client..." Billy ran a hand over his eyes, and then dropped it over his mouth.

"Yeah, sorry, they must have given me the wrong key at the front I'm supposed to meet-"

"Killian Handcock?"

Steve froze.

"Yeah," Billy sighed, "That's me."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Look, sorry for all this. I'll pay, of course, for your time," Billy began to dig in the pocket of his suit jacket.

"No, whoa, it's okay," Steve waved his hands, "It's okay."

"Obviously, you wouldn't-"

"We can still-"

Billy blinked at him.

"I just mean. It's fine, right. We know why we're here," Steve glances down at his outfit, "You really didn't know it was me?"

"Fuck," Billy dragged a hand down his face, "This is so fucking humiliating."

"No, really," Steve chuckled, "What high school crush am I supposed to be?"

The words are out of his mouth before he's fully able to think them through. It's all obvious later but in the moment, he's thinking of all the guys in their school with brown eyes... brown hair... real pretty...

Billy moves towards him, his face flashing angrily, and then he rears back, nearly slamming into the giant tv that dominates the far wall.

Startle response, Steve remembered from when Billy came back. If he so much as put his hands towards someone he would flinch, remembering what the Mind Flayer made him do.

Steve wasn't being a very good hooker. He wasn't listening. Wasn't thinking.

"You know," Steve sat back on the bed slowly, no quick movements. "I used to read these romance novels in high school. Kind of cheesy, definitely NOT always with the best consent. But... sometimes they'd have these tough guys, kind of take charge guys. And I used to imagine you... taking charge of me."

Billy just blinks at him like a deer caught in the headlights.

Steve spread his legs, just casually.

"Is that what you used to imagine too?" Steve asked.

"Maybe," Billy says in a cracked voice.

"Tell me," Steve urged.

It takes Billy a moment, fumbling with his fancy wool jacket. He hasn't flashed the cash yet, but Richard Harrington's son recognizes an expensive suit when he sees it. Billy's got the money to pay.

Not that Steve's thinking much about payment when Billy starts talking, in that movie star drawl.

"Wanted you to fuck me. Me to fuck you. Wanted to turn you inside out and shake you like pants at the laundromat," Billy whispered, "See what falls out."

Steve bit off a moan that wasn't practiced, wasn't planned. They haven't touched for years. Not since after Starcourt, careful touches around Billy's healing body, friendly, boyish nudges. Nothing like this.

"Wanted to touch you," Billy's face is so raw with longing, blue eyes sparking, it's almost hard to look at, "Touch you all up and down those long legs. Wrap you around me like a scarf. Keep me warm. Indiana's cold as shit and you always looked so warm."

Steve spread his legs further, "I run hot."

Billy reached back and undoes his hair, and it's only as it streams down his shoulders that Steve realizes, almost chuckling if it wasn't for the open, bare way Billy's looking at him. Like Steve is some kind of dream come true.

And the thing is that Steve's a happy hooker. He's not looking for any pretty woman ending.

But... you know sometimes he imagines. Imagines a guy with long blonde hair pulling him close after sex and calling him honey, baby, sweetness.

Billy takes a step forward and Steve smiles at him.

"I'm assuming you don't want me scared, or nervous," Steve runs a hand up his knee.

Billy shakes his head.

"Boyfriend experience," Steve offers, but it doesn't sound like a question, because he's not asking.

Billy's telling him, in the trembling hand that finally finds it's way to Steve's knee, the heavy swallow when Steve tips his head back, letting Billy into his space.

Steve knows. He's listening.

"This a... you have rules..." Billy's voice is gruff, low. Barely heard over the hum of the ac and the distant traffic from the street below.

"I kiss," Steve cocks his head to the side, "I do just about anything. For you."

He runs his hand over the back of Billy's, just tracing the road map of his veins. The long route that led them both here.

"Billy," Steve breathes.

It was just like he imagined Billy Hargrove would kiss. Hard and rough and desperate, like they were about to be ripped apart. Maybe they were, because Steve was clinging too, and it wasn't bullshit. He was shocked to find it was true, every word of it.

He fell open on the bed, half smothered by Billy's bulk, and he reveled in it, wrapping his legs around Billy and tugging him until his full weight pressed Steve to the bed.

Billy broke their kiss with a rough pant against Steve's lips, "Don't wanna crush you, Pretty Boy."

Steve urged, tugging Billy harder, "What a way to go."

Billy's laugh felt different close up, and his beard was softer than it looked, tickling Steve's face. His kiss was hot, and he sank into Steve like a hot knife through butter.

Steve was used to having to work himself up, he forgot what a revelation it was to just kiss. They rolled around together like they invented it, gasping at tugging nips and sucked tongues like they had never done this shit before.

Billy cradled his face like he was trying to memorize it, barely even dry humping him.

And Steve was losing it a little, because the boyfriend experience never felt like this. Never felt like years of knowledge and a "be brave, shitbird."

Never like this.

He undressed Billy like his life depended on it, running his hands up and down Billy's scars and feeling like he could cry, or laugh or something. Somehow, Billy was now the slow one, holding him carefully, like Steve might break. And Steve was the animal, the cyclone, kissing Billy hard, rubbing up on him like a cat in heat.

Because it was Billy, Billy Hargrove, and he was murmuring about honey and sweetheart, and he was begging Steve in soft words to just, "let me take care of you, that's all I want. Want to wrap those legs around my head and drown in 'ya, Harrington."

Steve shook his head, trembling when Billy rolled his hands around Steve's cock through the shorts, pulling Billy closer with his legs.

"I'm ready," Steve whispered, "Want you inside of me. Please, Billy, let's not wait."

"M'Pretty Boy," Billy whispered back, sounding tortured. His brows were drawn up as if in pain, and he cradled Steve's cheek in one hand.

"Billy," Steve pulled Billy back by that long gorgeous hair, "Just fuck me. Please, God, I really want you to fuck me, please."

Billy had a slightly troubled look, but he nodded, tugging at Steve's shorts with gentle hands, chuckling softly when Steve reaches down and yanks them off roughly, losing them in the rumpled bed instantly.

Steve just rolled his legs up, not wanting to part before he gets into position and-

"Condoms," Billy gasped, his eyes jolting to Steve's face.

"Yes... fuck... sorry, yes, I have some, they're on the nightstand."

It's like dousing them both with ice water. Billy pulls back, looking at Steve and then looking down.

They sit there a moment.

"I want you to know," Billy said in a cracked voice after a long pause, his back to Steve. "I'm not a creep. I haven't thought of you in... in a long time. I don't like... hire guys and make them pretend to be you or nothing like that. I just..."

Steve waits, just listening. After a while he reaches a hand out and putting it on Billy's shoulder, rubbing slightly.

"I'm not a creep. I'm not gonna follow you home and t-throw you in a trunk or something-"

"Stop," Steve said, rubbing Billy's back in slow circles. "I don't think that."

"I just mean.... I'll pay," Billy said it gruffly, "If you have another client tonight, you gotta rush, that's ok. But if you have the night, I'll pay."

Steve looks down, catching a glimpse of Billy's hands, tangled together in his lap, holding the condom that he grabbed from the bedside table. He's just as beautiful as he used to be, maybe more so. He's got a layer of fat over his muscles that makes him look softer, his hair is long and soft, and even the beard, it takes away all his rough edges.

"I don't have to rush," Steve said. "Why'd you have me dress up, Billy?"

"I just saw someone, the other day. Been seeing him. In Venice. This guy, he's always wearing these loose robes and he hangs out on his balcony in the morning," Billy bit his lip, "Sometimes with a blonde guy. Boyfriend or something. Anyway, he kinda looks like you. And my boyfriend dumped me like a year ago, because I'm still a total freakshow. Issues on issues on issues. So I thought, fuck it. Why don't I just... be the freakshow I am."

"You're not a freakshow."

Billy chuckles, "Trust me. I am. Pining after a high school... nothing. You didn't even like me."

"I-"

"Don't pretend," Billy looks at him, eyes glistening, "Don't you bullshit me, Harrington."

"I'm not," Steve says, heart in his throat. "I'm not bullshitting. Haven't been from the moment you walked in here."

Billy says nothing, just looking at him.

"I don't have to rush," Steve shook his head. "And if tomorrow, you just leave, and there's money on the stand... that's totally cool. But I'm rushing because... because..."

Billy just watches. Listens.

"Because I'm really glad to see you again, Billy. Really glad. And I wouldn't mind," Steve steels himself for rejection, sucking in a breath. "Seeing you after tonight."

Billy's brow furrows, and he looks down at his hands again.

"Like... maybe for real. And I can wear actual clothes. And no one has to pay anyone. And I'll know who you are. You'll know who I am. And I'll take you back to Venice to meet my roommate, who you already fucking know, I think."

Billy's blinking hard, and it takes Steve a moment to realize he's crying.

"Billy," He whispers, "Honey. Sweetheart."

Billy reaches out and cradles Steve's cheeks, pulling him into his lap and then into a kiss.

"I don't think you're a creep, Billy," Steve wraps his legs around Billy, and holds him safe and warm, "I know you. I know you."

Billy makes a wounded noise, like he doesn't know if that's a good or a bad thing. But then he starts running his hands down Steve's chest, tugging on his chest hair and rolling his nipples between his fingers, and Steve goes kind of cock dumb and wild again, rolling his hips, seeking to get closer. He wants Billy to press him to the bed, crush him with his weight.

It's just a happy blur, punctuated by moments of crystal clear sweetness. Billy presses his cock inside of Steve after a long, leisurely, lovely trip between Steve's legs. It turns out his tongue really is magic like the girls used to write on the bathroom walls. Steve's heart is beating like a jackhammer and he's sweating like he did so long ago in high school, his hair flopping in his face as Billy drives into him hard.

"You used to look so fuckin' cute in these little shorts," Billy growled, "Put them on again. Wanna push them to the side, get you all fucked out and gorgeous. Want you to cum in them, pressed all up against the waistband."

And maybe Jason's rubbing off on Steve because he does, slides the somewhat wrecked shorts over his sweaty ass and flops back on the bed. He practically presents his ass on a Hawkins green platter, moaning all slutty.

"Used to dream about them every night," Billy rubs him through the shorts, "Used to think about you in the hospital. When you would wear that fucking family video vest and come drive Max. You got me through physical therapy."

Steve looked over his shoulder, still working his ass back on Billy's cock, "I still have the vest."

"Fuck... fuck..." Billy actually covers his face with his hands, "Is this real? This is real right, not fake bullshit?"

Steve's literally got a cock in his ass, and it's normally not how he does stuff, but he looks back, because seriously?

"Billy. I said I wanna see you? I like you? Now can you please keep fucking me, I'm so close."

Billy finally smiles that smile, that devilish grin, "At your service, Sweetheart."

And then he rocks his hips up and back in a way that presses right against that sweet spot that makes Steve see stars. He cums so hard it does soak into the shorts like Billy said, and Billy rubs it in messily, groaning and pressing his head to Steve's back.

Steve goes boneless on the bed, not even moving when Billy pulls his softening cock out and gets up.

There's a moment when Steve's heart skips a beat that he thinks Billy's gonna slap down an envelope of cash and ask him to leave. And that would be fine. Could be totally fine.

But instead he tugs the covers back and helps Steve under, wrapping his arms around Steve and holding him close to his heart.

"You meant that, about seeing me again?" Billy says softly.

"Yeah, weren't you listening?" Steve plays with the silver medallion that hangs across Billy's collarbone.

"Yeah, I was listening," Billy kisses Steve's temple softly, and Steve's heart flutters like a cartoon duck. "How about we start with breakfast tomorrow. I got a good amount, let's give someone the tip of their life. And I think you need waffles. Pancakes. Whatever the hell you want."

Normally, Steve would call bullshit. But Billy's got a Cartier tank ticking where he tucks a sweaty lock behind Steve's ear. And he knows Billy. He trusts him.

Steve tugs on the necklace until Billy gets the hint and draws him into another filthy kiss.

Steve's normally a pretty good hooker. He's not looking for a Pretty Woman ending.

But it turns out he's a bit of a sucker for the boyfriend experience.

---

This got WAY long. I'll proably put it up on ao3. @intothedysphoria and @dragonflylady77 be proud of me plz.

[coline7373]

[gorillawithautism]

ouh it's bear time

[agentmilayawithshield]

When Syd and Carmy are in a worse place than ever, there's a proper enemies-to-lovers arc in Star Wars, Louis sought out Lestat after more than 70 years, they cried over Claudia together, and the Rook's Rest episode is airing tonight

[johnnyslittleanimalblog]

Mother Bear and Cub (Jasper National Park) by Mark Stevens Via Flickr: While at a roadside pullout along Maligne Lake Road with a view looking to the southwest to a mother black bear and her cubs eating away. This is in Jasper National Park. In composing this image, I attempted to center the mother and one of her cubs, as they were eating grasses and wildflowers in this field.

[ellenriplley]

How is that my fault? You plugged into the wrong system.

[mandalorianfleshenjoyer]

based on a twitter post I saw today