#a gay a day keeps the sadness at bay

[calaisreno]

Yes and No

“Do you love her?”

It had taken them less than thirty minutes to go from the Rizla game to just asking each other random questions. The only celebrities that Sherlock knew were nineteenth-century chemists and twentieth-century criminals, which had more or less spoiled the game, and Sherlock had declared it pointless.

Then he suggested Yes or No, which at least required some deductive reasoning, and John agreed. But Sherlock was very good at this game, having deduced nearly everything about John in the first days of their acquaintance. Without asking any question, he deduced that John would choose violin, a human liver, Mrs Hudson’s nephew, and Sherlock’s old mouse-coloured dressing gown.

John gives up. “Fine. What don’t you know about me?”

Do you love her is a real question, he gathers— from the look on Sherlock’s face, which is serious and a bit sad.

The answer, which should be yes, of course I love her, instead comes out, “I’m marrying her.”

“People marry for reasons other than—“ Sherlock stops, appearing to realise he is going in a direction that can only lead to bad feelings. “Sorry, not a fair question. Better: When did you know that you loved her?”

He remembers grief. The intense pain of the days after he saw Sherlock die on the sidewalk in front of Barts. There are few details he can recall after that moment. It was as if the pain had receded just enough to let him breathe, and a kind of grey fog had descended. Pain, then sorrow.

Somewhere during the sorrow part, Mary had appeared. She may have been there sooner, but he hadn’t noticed. At some point he became aware of her bringing him coffee, talking to him, urging him to come out for lunch. Always there, cheerfully bullying him back into life. Eventually he noticed that he wasn’t quite as sad, and that she was rather pretty.

But the pain was still there, a tender spot in his memory, and most days he still felt defeated. Mary helped, though, and he thought that if she stayed, everything would be easier. He didn’t need to explain; she understood. He could keep the memories at bay when she was around.

By then he was having sex with her. He didn’t remember exactly how that had begun. Maybe it was a pity fuck one night when he’d had too much to drink. He woke up in her bed hungover, waiting for the darkness to descend like a weight on his chest, and she was there, making him a cup of tea, urging him to have some toast, sweetly solicitous and not accepting any excuses.

Does he love her?

Sherlock is still looking at him, the question in his eyes.

“She was there when I needed someone,” he says. “I just knew.”

He’d known that morning that he needed to move on, to leave what had happened in the past and live his life. And there she was.

“Your turn,” Sherlock says.

John thinks of all the things he’s ever wanted to know about Sherlock, but has never asked because it has never seemed a good time. Sherlock has a way of warding off questions with just a look. An armour that does not allow anyone in, not even John. He’s wondered about a lot of things, but asking has never been an option. Sherlock never has to ask; he simply deduces. John is terrible at deductions, as Sherlock often reminds him.

“Have you ever been in love?”

Sherlock doesn’t hesitate. “Yes. Twice.”

“That was a yes-no question, so I get follow-up. So, the first. Who was he?”

Sherlock smiles. “You’re assuming it was a man.”

“Wasn’t it? I thought… you’re… erm…”

“Gay? Yes, I am.”

“You loved a man,” John says. Obviously.

“Well, a boy. I was twelve. I suppose it wasn’t love so much as infatuation and hormones. His name was Victor. I never told him until I met him again at uni.” He gives John one of those looks that makes him feel like he is being x-rayed. “Have you ever kissed a man?”

“I’m not gay,” he says at once. “I mean, why would I kiss a man if I knew I wasn’t gay?”

“Follow-up question, then. When did you know you were not gay?”

John’s mouth may have been open for a bit. It’s an odd question. Everybody knows they’re straight until something happens and they know they’re not. Isn’t that the way it works? “I just knew. When did you know you were gay?”

“When I was twelve. I was at a stupid birthday party my mother made me attend, and we were playing Forfeit. I was asked a question I didn’t like to answer and took the forfeit. Up until then the penalties were stupid things like singing a song or doing a dance, but this time it was kissing a girl. The girl was willing, and I was curious, so I agreed. That was when I realised girls weren’t my cup of tea, so to speak. I wanted to kiss Victor.”

John says nothing, though it’s his turn. He remembers a similar party, a boy who wanted to kiss him, and feeling terrified that his parents would find out if he did. Harry had just come out, and he was trying very hard to make up for all of her shortcomings.

Sherlock asks, “How do you know you’re not gay if you’ve never kissed a man?”

“I’ve kissed lots of women,” he replies. “I don’t need to kiss a man to know I’m not gay.”

Sherlock shrugs. “I assumed that I was like everyone else, that some day I would meet the right girl, get married, and have children. That was how it was supposed to work, and I thought there was something wrong with me because I didn’t like girls that way. All my fantasies were about boys, but I thought I would eventually be attracted to girls as I got older. That kiss told me I would never love a woman.”

“You think I should kiss a man just to see if I’m a bit gay?” He laughs.

“It’s your forfeit, for not having an answer.”

“I’m not going to kiss some random bloke just because you—“

“Not a random bloke. Me. Kiss me.”

This is dangerous ground. Somewhere in his libido lies something that he’s thought about. Maybe he’s even fantasised about kissing a man. Having sex with a man. Just a lark, maybe. Don’t lots of men go through that? It doesn’t mean anything.

But, Sherlock. He lived with him for a year and a half, and they’d been friends. And he grieved when Sherlock died. Not grieved like a friend. He’d lost friends before, and this was nothing like those losses. Pain, darkness, unending regret. Even after Mary, some of that darkness remained. Moments when he remembered something Sherlock had said or done, a stab of pain. If it hadn’t been for Mary—

And it came to him. Mary was balm for his wounds. She brought him back from the edge. He is grateful to her. But gratitude isn’t love. Being in such pain for so long, and then a bit of light— that isn’t love, it’s relief. He’s seen patients in physical pain become almost giddy when given a dose of something that takes their agony away, not even enough to make them high. Relief feels like intoxication when pain has gone on so long.

If it hadn’t been for Mary, he would have understood what he’d only begun to see. She helped him, saved him even. But she was a distraction from the pain, not a cure.

He glances at Sherlock, who is pulling back, looking like he wishes he hadn’t just asked for a kiss. Maybe he’ll make a joke about their game, move them towards goodnight, goodbye, see you at the wedding.

“Yes,” he says. It’s an answer to everything— regret, grief, sorrow, love. It’s an apology for not seeing sooner, for the night at the Landmark, for his anger and cruel rejection of the man he has loved for years. “Kiss me.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Sherlock is right. The kiss tells John things he’s tried hard to forget. It tells him that has loved men before, but called it friendship, that he has wanted to touch men and kiss them, and called it lust, or fantasy, or a phase that all men go through. Women attract him too, and he grabbed onto heterosexuality like a life-raft because he was afraid of the alternative. His sister and his father, yelling. Harry thrown out of the house. His father, looking at him, saying not you too. Never you, my boy.

The kiss tells him that has already met the love of his life.

“I need to call Mary,” he says when they break away.

Sherlock looks sad. He nods. “Of course.”

“One more question,” John says. “Who was the second person you loved?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” he says. “I’m about to call my fiancee and break our engagement just days before the wedding because I’m in love with my best friend. So please, answer the question.”

Sherlock’s face does something John has never seen. It crumples and tears fill his eyes, and then he’s laughing and crying and not able to speak.

John kisses him again.

Author note: This is an old ficlet, from Trifles, posted here.

[shxyerahol]

ok listen i mapped out how i want a tommy begins episode to lay out

im putting in a keep reading tab for length

so the set up is sprinkled in a few episodes prior here and there - people have gone missing all over the states. no connection other than they all served in the army.

episode starts with a flashback to tommy at a young age, between 7-10. he is huddled with his infant sister on the floor, crying trying to block out the noise from his bio mom and mom's new boyfriend who are screaming at each other in the other room. [[lou came up with some backstory about tommy and how he had a dysfunctional childhood and a lot of it was a lonely time. more on that later]]. the family doesnt have the best amenities. low income. bio dad in and out of jail. bio mom struggles to keep a job, gets new boyfriends all the time who treat her bad. you get the picture

episode springs forward to present tommy looking at a roughed up blurry photo of his younger sister

cue station 118/athena shenanigans. the team responds to the call(s). this episode theme overall is about loneliness and the need to be wanted so the call(s) are all about that somehow. idk im not a tv writer ill leave it up to them.

evan goes to tommys house after his 24 hour shift is over. tommy has the day off so after breakfast, a nap, they decide to go to the beach. fun cute date stuff y'know!!!

tommy and evan walk along the beach. they talk and are giddy, its cute. tommy nonchalantly mentions how he actually doesnt like the beach all that much, as the sand and heat reminds him of his army tours in afghanistan.

now is a flashback of tommy being in the army and dealing with being deployed oversees under DADT. the army gave him more of a structure and camaraderie that he never got as a child, but he repressed his sexuality so much as he was still trying to figure it out. so he is reserved off from other people. crude homophobic and hyper masculine jokes here.

tommy then goes into more detail about the struggles he faced post deployment. feeling lost and alone. struggling with his sense of self. cue a flashback with his voiceover of him sitting sad on a bench looking down the street to a gay friendly bar, too scared to walk in. having a hard time adjusting to normal civilian life.

now some cute madney and bay jee here <3

some quick flashbacks of tommys time at the 118 and the hard social environment it was. all the old school stuff that was peppered in the show is here and more

episode is close to the end. tommy is now much happier at the harbor. now in present time he is wrapping up a shift when someone sneaks up to him in the hanger and holds him hostage at gunpoint, forcing him back into the helicopter and they fly away.

the next episode is the aftermath of that. 118, other statios, the harbor and athena are tasked with trying to find the missing helicopter and pilot as it has now been 48 hours since he vanished. evan is scared out of his mind (gotta get some angst up in here!!)

turns out the person who has been tracking down the people mentioned earlier is a sibling (or parent doesnt matter) of one of the members who were killed in tommy's old platoon and are angry that their family member didnt make it home but they did. finding tommy was the last person they needed to find because they want tommy to crash the helicopter with both of them in it so this kidnapper does ntget convicted for the crimes they committed to the other platoon members

they both live. tommy gets rescued & its dramatic. evan gets all sentimental. the kidnapper goes to jail.

:)

[likeawildthing]

I just wondered, what's your evening closing routine?

Absolutely! Since daylight savings time, darkness has pretty much aligned with my work schedule. And I work from home most of the time so work/home boundaries are super important. Since I started working from my couch, even more so. I started a short closing routine to transition from work to evening — it mostly involves the senses and soft, warm vibes.

Put laptop, mouse, accessories away in a basket so they aren’t visible until tomorrow.

Close all the blinds and curtains, even if there is a little residual light left. I am embracing night and declaring the transition for myself!

Change into evening clothes — soft, cozy, usually fluffy, different from daytime soft and cozy clothes to signal night.

Turn the lamps on. Always anti-overhead lights, I have lamps throughout the bottom floor of my house. They emit a super warm glow throughout the bottom floor. Even when I go to bed, I use lamplight and not overhead light.

Light a scented candle in the kitchen while I’m cooking.

Turn on music — I have been favoring post-modern jukebox, jazz, and Christmas carols during the holidays. The music stays on while I cook dinner, eat, and do clean up.

Bring candle into living room. Think about time to or from winter solstice. To me, thinking of it in these terms has reminded me of the seasonality which has made the darkness easier to bear. Tomorrow will be two full weeks of longer days!

Have a variety of soft blankets to snuggle with.

Embrace the low activity time of year. This is a season of scaling back, resting, and regenerating for most animals. Why not for us, too? I like to try to fill this time with things that bring me joy but might take less energy than, say, gardening or jogging.

Only then do I get on my phone and I engage with online. This is the point that I might scroll, watch tv, or listen to a podcast. If I am reading or working on a project, I will put the fireplace YouTube video or Netflix channel on.

This might only be 20 minutes if dinner is short. And you can adapt it any which way , less or more. As simple as cozy clothes, a light, and a song. The general idea is engaging your senses, embracing night, and connecting mindfully to the idea that this is a season with purpose. That reflection has ultimately been the practice they has changed my mindset and kept SAD at bay this year. In the week leading up to solstice, I lit a taper candle for an hour each night.

A few other winter practices that keep me engaged with nature:

I watch the sunrise or early morning hour for about 5 minutes out of my eastern facing window.

Because I work at home most days, I choose to work in my living room which is sunnier in winter. I also have a simple prism that refracts rainbows on sunny afternoons — I call it gay o’clock.

I open the windows for 15-60 minutes every morning if it’s above 0. Even if it’s 20, the fresh air is invigorating and helps the house feel less stuffy. If it’s too cold, I put bird tv for cats on YouTube for an hour or so. Bird song really does engage our parasympathetic nervous symptom and reduce anxiety, even if we only listen for 5 minutes. A sound app can also do this for you!

When I am driving I tend to take the scenic route even if it adds a few minutes to my trip.

I take advantage of the nice days and go out when I can.

[ayotofu]

Imagine if you will (with a lot of hand wavy time changes ofc) that the leverage team during their LA days end up crossing paths with the 118. I just feel like chim and hardison would get along so well. And Bobby and Nate both have the brooding trauma thing but Bobby has actually faced his demons.

This is out of left field sorry i just wanted to think out loud about shoving my two favourite shows together like im five and they’re my barbies

believe you me anon i have IMAGINED THE SHIT outta this :D :D :D

i'm soooooo glad you asked because i've had this fic in the back of my head where hen and karen are like. hey what this councilwoman is doing to us and to our nine year old is fucking malicious and cruel and only possible because she is abusing her power and now she's put hen's old shithead captain (who was REMOVED from the same station for creating a hostile work environment and particularly bullying hen) BACK IN CHARGE, and all of this is super sketchy, but ortiz and gerrard have ALL the power in this scenario. so.

who do they call if not the leverage team?

hen obviously tells chim, who tells everyone else, so when strange people start showing up and doing weird shit, they all collectively decide not to worry about it.

eliot definitely goes undercover at the 118, covering for someone who got a spontaneous all-expenses-paid vacation (hardison tried to send them on a cruise at first, but for some reason they declined). he and eddie instantly bond, macho-to-macho. eliot quickly learns that eddie a) has a kid and b) can't cook very well so decides that he needs to learn so he can feed his kid well. (eddie insists that he's not that bad at cooking jesus but eliot is getting too into it)

buck at one point overhears eliot talking to parker and hardison on the comm and is like "omg, can i try" and annoys eliot until he agrees. buck, it turns out, does not actually know what to say on the comm so he just starts listing facts about famous heists in history while parker gives her opinion on the quality of each of them. "aw," parker says, "you're like a little nerd in my ear" to which hardison says "babe do i mean nothing to you"

sophie tries to work ortiz while nate tries to work gerrard. because of this, nate happens to run into bobby when they were both coming to talk to gerrard (bobby to try to convince him, somehow, to leave vs. nate for the con) and they talk. bobby knows why nate is here (chimney reeeeally can't keep a secret) but that short conversation lets him see in nate all the darkness he's keeping at bay in himself. bobby looks at nate and gets sad because, while nate is functional, that darkness could have been him. nate looks at bobby and gets angry because, while bobby will never be fully healed, that lightness could have been him.

parker works closest with hen and karen. she is furious on their behalf, gets a little too emotionally involved. she's seen a lot of people do terrible things for money and power (she's done some things herself that she's not exactly proud of) but this one hits different. ortiz isn't hurting hen and karen to get more money or power; she's doing it because she wants to hurt them. it's so vindictive. just pointlessly cruel.

and more than that: parker was mara, once upon a time. she was the mara who never really got her hen and karen. she doesn't want another little girl to end up like her. she and sophie are both around ortiz at one point and ortiz says something about mara (such a tragedy, that little girl, abandoned again like it wasn't all her fault) and sophie grabs the pencil out of parker's hand before she can start stabbing.

i don't know exactly how chim and hardison meet, but chimney absolutely starts asking him to hack into random shit. harmless shit. gerrard's email (90% of it was spam emails. chim, delighted, signs him up for hundreds more. mostly gay porn), ortiz's hildy coffee machine (to make it run, constantly, for an hour, spilling hot coffee all over her floor) (eddie hears about it and holds it over buck for weeks because he was RIGHT those things are DANGEROUS)

i don't have a very coherent plot for this but i do think it would be such a fun crossover

[alaskashigh]

Tw: Child abuse and sensitive topics.

Texas headcanon (i’m not projecting-)

When Texas was a small child, he had a music box that played a lovely song. (In The Shadow of The Valley, because it’s a comfort song for me right now and it fits him) The music box had a little horse and cowboy that would move up and down, but it was pretty old and creaky so sometimes it would move a bit sporadically and the music would sound scratchy.

The music was a huge comfort for Texas, and so he would bring it everywhere with him. He loved sitting outside and listening to the music box loop with his old dog. It helped him ignore the many times Texas’ dad wasn’t the best to him or wouldn’t follow through with what he promised.

The comforting sound would lull him to sleep at night and keep nightmares at bay, like a guardian protecting him in his sleep.

He loved this music box and would take as good care of it as he could.

His dad, on the other hand, didn’t like the music box. He always said that “no boy should have a music box.” and that he was “raising a pussy.”

These words always hurt Texas, but his dad would normally put him down, so he pretended it didn’t hurt as much as it did.

One day, his dad got so fed up with the music box that he took the thing out of his hands. Texas was upset to have his music taken from him, but even more terrified at what his dad might do to the box.

His dad screamed and yelled at him, calling him “gay” and “a little bitch.” He said he was embarrassing to raise, which hurt more than Texas would like to admit.

He expected him to hurt him, it was weird when his dad wasn’t hurting him in some way,

He never expected his dad to break the only comfort he had in life.

Texas was in shock for awhile when he watched him throw the box to the floor, smashing it with his boot heel as he yelled more at him. He wasn’t listening, couldn’t hear anything but the ringing in his ears.

He hadn’t even noticed that he started crying until he felt his fathers hand slap his face and tell him to “stop crying like a little bitch.” or, that’s what he thinks his father said.

He gathered all of the pieces that he could and kept it hidden in a safe place. Without the music he couldn’t sleep well, was irritable, and slowly lost himself to horrible thoughts.

He became very angry at himself, blaming himself for being too much like a pussy, that if he had matured more and been more of a man that he wouldn’t had disappointed his father so much.

The music box, although a good memory and a soft spot in his heart, angered him. It made him sad, angry, happy, so many emotions at once. He hated that music box, he loved it with every bone in his body. There was no inbetween.

Years later he found the music box pieces in a small and old torn silk bag, that was browning with age and covered in dust. He nearly had a heart attack when he saw the pieces inside, dropping the once clean silver cowboy and horse piece with a scared look on his face.

He shoved everything back in the bag and hid it again, trying his best to forget about the music box as his mind was riddled with memories he didn’t want to remember again.

Weeks later and with no luck of forgetting the music box, he pulled it out of it’s hiding space and slowly pulled out the pieces onto his desk. He nearly cried as he stared at the broken box, getting hit with wave after wave of episodes, good and bad memories making him feel physically ill. He felt weak as he shakily picked up each piece and examined them.

It wasn’t long before everything was too much for him and he found himself puking in his bathroom.

It took him months before he found himself back in front of the little broken music box. And even longer before he decided to try and fix the thing, to try and listen to it at least one more time.

With aching fingers, many failed attempts, and more swears said in three weeks than his entire life, he had brought the small box back to life. It wasn’t as pretty as it used to be, some bits of the box were too cracked to fully seal up and small holes littered where wood once used to be, but it was the best he could do with the original pieces without using any new materials.

That night he listened to the box play for the first time in many years and cried.

[bodyguardbracket]

Round 2: Hubert Von Vestra (Fire Emblem Three Houses) vs Gareth (Galavant)

[Propaganda Under Cut]

Hubert Von Vestra:

The Evil Advisor trope if said evil advisor actually wanted desperately to change the world for the better and protect his found family but was also still a sneaky greasy gremlin of a man.

Born in to a noble family that was meant to guard the royal family from birth. They took him to meet the not at all in line for the throne middle child young princess he would be guarding when both him and said princess were tiny kids.

Long story short, his dad did a traitor, but Hubert had formed a bond with the lil princess and they were already like siblings to each other. When she gets kidnapped for eventual malicious reasons, this sad gangly pre-teen dark mage boy tries to go after her, and fights off the troops his dad sends after him for days before being dragged back home. Eventually Edelgard comes back after a few years. ALL her siblings were killed by said malicious plot/human experiments. She is the only one who lived through the experiments they did on her. She is now the only one in line for the throne. She is DEEPLY traumatized. The kidnappers are still trying to use her as a puppet.

All either the two of them have is each other. *crying emoji x100* From then on their mission statement is be gay and overthrow the church. Your honor, I love them.

Eventually they do (Or not and it's really fucking angsty and sad either way) overthrow both said book burning shit church, and the enemies of said church that had a longstanding war in the shadows going on that was fucking all of the rest of the world up. On the way Edelgard falls in love with another woman who's heart was experimented on in order to give her super powers (The player character), and Hubert falls for his polar opposite/narrative foil; the chipper, sunshiney prime minister's son. (They also both commit some patricide together. Woo patricide. Voice actors sing beautiful rendition of Wicked's "For Good" song. I'm not crying. You're crying.)

Spymaster, poison connoisseur, haver of a very silly evil laugh and mannerisms. He and his aforementioned narrative foil look like they stepped out of Interview with the Vampire. Copious queer as hell found family. What's not to love?

Gareth: Gareth was assigned as Richard’s bodyguard since they were ten years old and is Richard’s only friend and when Richard bungles the conditions of a duel against his older brother Kingsley (Richard decides to represent himself and Kingsley chooses Gareth to represent him), Gareth sneaks Richard out of the castle and puts him on a boat with the only other man he’d believe to be able to keep him safe (the titular Galavant) and threatens to kill him if one hair on his head is harmed. Gareth does the “say you hate the dog to make it leave trick” to get Richard on the boat but Richard knows that it means that Gareth cares about him. As the ship sails away Gareth quietly says a line from the lullaby their nurse would sing them as children. When Gareth gets back to the castle he kills Kingsley and does his best to keep the woman who orchestrated the whole thing at bay.

[thoughtsofdoll]

Hypnovember 2023 Day 15

Day 15 - Write and post an elegy to your conscious mind (can be silly!) OR post an elegy that you love that was written by someone else.

So part of my answer is to remind people that even though by definition elegies are about death, I've chosen to challenge you to make something metaphorically similar (but not identical!) in asking that you write about your conscious mind. As hypnosis fetishists we all understand that part of being in trance is that our conscious minds take a little vacation, right? So not death! Unless you kink on that, which I know some people do! But I'm definitely not asking people to tackle a morbid topic to fulfill this challenge!

Also, here again is the link that explains different types of poetry: https://www.grammarly.com/blog/types-of-poetry/ (just remember: friends don't let their friends use grammarly to write for them!)

And now on to actual poetry! First, a favorite elegy of mine that was written by someone else, which is also possibly one of the most famous elegies ever written: "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night" by Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,    Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

You can listen to Dylan Thomas reciting this poem!

This poem is a villanelle, which as you can see is a very structured style and one that is included in my Hypnovember prompts! To prepare you ahead of time, you can read more about them here: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/villanelle

"my mind bids my mind farewell"

my mind bids my mind farewell it's gone away but maybe you can't tell a mind's a mind that animates this shell a mind can keep a mind in mind as well like sleeping beauty's spell a mind in power can another quell a mind can to another mind compel an idyll - what a lovely place to dwell you can call this a death knell a tiny temporary death to sell but like an angel calling out noel a mind can always find a mind that fell

[gotta-resisty]

OOC: Resisty Weekly News

This Week: Still a war

After @agnt-of-chaos , Dib, finally recovered and had some nice time with Agent Overlord, @resisty-zim , Zim ended up getting sick. His body and PAK suddenly became weak because his body decided to go and make an egg. Zim was mortified. He and Dib again ended up needing help from @ukagaka-zim and @ambassador-d1b , @kneltnotbowed offered online moral support.

Agent Discord, @the-cooler-gaz , heard a little about it on her Foodcourtia outing with Agent P, @resisty-tak .

Zim and Dib were transported from Ukagaka Zim's base to @aik-membrane 's labs buildings to be more comfortable. And Zim gained some fluff. They also ran into a ghost.

Meanwhile, @resisty-agent-fox had some letter fun on Tumblr and offered to take Purple, or Tyr, out for snacks.

Zim laid the egg just fine but passed out from exhaustion. It worried Dib, and the Computer too the opportunity to try to spark drama. But Zim woke up and they discovered the egg wasn't fertilized anyway.

Dib realized that it could mean a lot for the war, so they both went back to HQ to tell @commandor-lard-nar all about it. They talked to Purple, Tyr, about it too, who was horrified. And Zim went to comfort @agents-pinkies , Smeet Tenn, since she cried over Computer's prank.

After discussing how the existence of natural reproduction in Irkens could affect the Empire, Dib and Lard Nar called Red. Purple had discovered the egg was Zim's, based on the fact that Dib was holding it and marked by Zim with a smell only Irkens could perceive. Purple spilled the beans to Red, who let it slip on the call that he knew Zim had the egg.

Zim was kept on HQ for a few days and worked on a component to keep him from making more eggs. He and Dib went to Earth to install it, but on the way they were captured by the Armada.

During the following mess, Purple and Sarshe hung out for a bit.

Dib and Zim were trapped on the Massive for several hours, not quite a full day. Red planned to empty Zim's mind from his body and PAK and then cut him up to use his defective and usable reproduction system to repair smeeteries. Zim's PAK was to be used for repairing the control brains, so that no defect could ever escape again.

Dib and Zim tried to escape, but they both got seriously injured and caught. Dib got stabbed in the shoulder, which Red let Zim stitch, and Zim got shot in his second set of arms as well the veins close to the skin of those arms rupturing, causing bruising, bleeding, and temporary loss of arm use.

Lard Nar, Sarshe, and Purple formulated a plan to get the duo out. Purple was going to be a double agent and fake bringing Sarshe in as a prisoner to bust Dib and Zim out.

Dib successfully managed to break out again and hid himself and Zim in the vents while they waited for Purple and Sarshe to come. They had to split up and individually they both kicked some Irken ass. They met up again just as Purple and Sarshe caught up and they were escorted safely back to HQ.

Gaz was panicked over the whole thing and relieved they were safe again.

Purple got a room of his own instead of a cell.

Zim and Dib went against medical advice to have a little NSFW fun.

They went back to the med bay later to get a check up, and Zim was having doubts about how different he was to Skoodge and Tenn since he had tasted Irken blood during that fight. He didn't talk about it though. He visited the void and @ask-paranormaloddities Sprouts and Wolfsbane. Dib got sad about Zim eventually leaving and went back to his lab after a chat with Sarshe.

Zim went looking for Dib after his visit, ran into Purple, and backed out of that. Purple hung out with Sarshe and fell asleep while Zim and Dib talked about things and had some nice time. Those two accidentally ended up on the topic of marriage and both had some major gay panic.

After they finished with that they went back to med bay and annoyed the medics and had lunch together, which Zim considered a date. They called Red to piss him off and blew up a computer too.

Gaz discovered a place called the Nebula Casino owned by @zee-of-the-irkens and thought to visit.

@keefs-station came online as well.

After a few days of peace however, Dib was again caught by Red to be used as bait to lure Zim in. And it worked. Gaz panicked as well.

Zim ended up getting defective therapy shocks which instead of killing him sent him into some kind of fight mode. After he brought Dib back to HQ, he went blank, almost no reactions to anything. Like he was dead.

Ukagaka Zim was brought to help and Sprouts went to Zim's base. Dib was in a bad physical and mental state, thinking Zim was gone and having to recover from being severely poisoned.

As of now, Zim hasn't woken up from the state.

Tune in next week to find out what happens next.

[interstellartales]

1. I have cried for no reasons these days, this sadness has rooted in me for so long, so long that it is nearly impossible to pluck it out. I feel so dirty with these sad and guilty thoughts that keep looping in my brain.

I don’t want to go to doctor just to avoid the situation if I was 100% depressed is confirmed to be true.

Can someone prescribe some music instead? Like when a doctor put some kinds of medicine in your prescription, can it be some songs?

It heals me in some ways.

2.

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

(Dylan Thomas. 1914 –1953)

[rantsintechnicolor]

Now arriving…

The wind blew cool and moist up Market Street from the Embarcadero, but by the time it reached my nostrils it had lost all its shoreline odors. Now it smelled like nothing. The financial district was more scrubbed than the neighboring Tenderloin, though the occasional whiff of sewage was evident near the gutters and manholes. Some of these manholes hissed steam that smelled like laundromats, which I thought smelled very similar to gunpowder. I remembered what my parents told me when I was young: dragons in the sewers.

Arriving at the bus connection to the train, the other passengers were gathered and were rather subdued. Perhaps still waking up and waiting for their caffeinated beverages to invigorate them. Perhaps hiding their foul mood at being up so early, hiding that they were not morning people. They didn’t acknowledge anyone but the driver, who began giving instructions. 

“We will board the bus in two groups. First the six-fifty-five group. Then those of you with a ticket that says seven o’clock.” The driver had to repeat this a few times to passengers that hadn’t been close enough to hear. I waited and was the last to board the bus after a tall, skinny, bespectacled Asian man and an athletic looking black man. On the way through, I did notice a young woman, rail thin in an oversized, dark red Grateful Dead hoodie. Her hair hung straight and limp around her face, perhaps still wet after a shower. She had tears on her face and whimpered quietly. I wondered about this woman. What was her story? What happened to her? Did someone die? Is she going through a breakup? Is she detoxing and in withdrawal? Mental health break? More than one of the above? Will she be okay? I walked by toward the back of the bus, hoping her seatmate would be kind and gentle with the sad woman. I felt like I had been this woman once, on a coach full of strangers, unable to keep my emotions from making them uncomfortable, unable to keep them from spilling over and out of my eyes. My chest tightened with grief for this woman and the woman I had been.

Everyone continued to be silent on the bus, like you do with a bus full of strangers, as it slid confidently between the tall buildings. The horizon became rosy as we transited the bridge, the glow making the city sparkle, reminding all of us that she was gorgeous. Ferry building, Coit tower, Alcatraz, and the Golden Gate in one money shot that I missed while trying to be in the moment, and because my phone was deep in my pocket. On the other side of Treasure Island, the bay was dotted with ships and boats. The tiny pilot boat, larger tugs, and crane ships before the port of Oakland, bristling with cranes already working tirelessly in the hands of the longshoreman to unload the container ships. I saw the large hull of an EVERGREEN, a company infamous for one of their ships blocking the Suez during the pandemic, and the hot pink hull of ONE shipping company. I do love that hot pink was the color chosen by that company for their ships. Very hip. Very gay. I wondered how the landscape would change with the new fuel-efficient cargo ships with sales dominated the port.

On the hills a few landmarks stood out bright while still in shadow. The Mormon Temple looked like a spaceship with four tall spires equidistant around a taller fifth one. Then the Claremont Hotel, still a beacon of white as it had been when it was built. My eyes slid further south from these to the old gravel quarry that was now filled with houses. The house I grew up in was somewhere below that on the hill. My parents were probably finally asleep as they kept the hours of college students rather than those of a productive society-- but, well, retirement. Still much further in the distance to the east, Mount Diablo, a now dormant volcano, poked its peaks higher into the sky. It had dawned a very clear day indeed for it to be so easily viewed from the Bay Bridge. 

Traffic was light on the lower deck out of the city. It moved sluggishly on the upper deck, gridlocked at the toll plaza and backed up all the way to the interchange. There were already emergency and CalTrans vehicles en route to solve whatever calamity was already happening on the morning commute. Sun wasn’t even fully up yet. But our bus zoomed by on the freeway, almost smug.

We disembarked the bus at the end of the platform at the train station, passengers still moving silently, like ghosts, and some murmuring thanks to our driver. Some went inside while others preferred to stay out. It wasn’t that cold though some people hunched their shoulders. There were benches for sitting. Several folks trickled across the pedestrian bridge from the public market parking lot opposite the tracks to join those waiting. Some came out of the station with coffee cups. One old woman walked the length of the platform and back, banishing her arthritic stiffness or getting her steps in. The crying woman came out of the station still looking stricken and miserable, and was not seen again the rest of my trip. Large sparrows, California Towhees, foraged in the curbed and landscaped vegetation islands. When I approached they hopped to a higher perch and one of them was missing some toes on its right foot, which didn’t keep it from being aggressive toward the other Towhee. Crunchy leaves moved on the breeze, rattling and scraping on the pavement. A horn blasted in the distance and it sounded like it was coming from the north. Minutes later, the train came in from the south, heralded by the sound of bells where it crossed the road. 

The station agent ushered them onto the train over the loudspeaker. As we boarded, the conductor read the stops and instructed us on how not to be left behind. “Now boarding for Richmond, Martinez, Antioch, Turlock-Denair, Madera, Merced, Fresno, Hanford and Bakersfield. All aboard.” I loved him. His voice was crisp, joyful, and gay. I might have suspected he was using a “white voice” like from that movie Sorry to Bother You, but when I saw the rainbow Amtrak pin on his conductor's hat, I knew it wasn’t that-- well, maybe a little of that. He was a broad, round black fellow with a kind face that moved easily and confidently. He knew what he was about. Classy as fuck in his uniform. When he misspoke the stops and included one we had already passed, he made his mistake funny for the benefit of his audience but also to be clear so as not to confuse us. 

The sun crested the hills as the train left the station. It moved through mostly industrial manufacturing and warehouses before traveling along the edge of the delta. The trash in the silty mud was what you might expect; tires being the most numerous, followed by a few shopping carts, and a whole couch. In the small beaches dotting the shoreline folks were actually fishing and beach combing with metal detectors and a digging basket. Mostly the shoreline was rocky, dotted with small marinas, some better kept than others. The skeletal remains of piers, a few ruined boats, and even the twin engines and cam shaft of an old ship, as if the outer hull had just melted away and left the guts, or perhaps it had been cut down and sold for scrap. The industry along the water was dominated by oil, transport and refining, with refineries looking like a city scape at a distance.

As the landscape changed to marshes, the wildlife became more apparent. Great egrets, blue herons, Canada geese, black stilts, avocets, white pelicans, killdeer and mallards. A female Northern Harrier swooped low on the grasses, sedges, and rushes, hungry and hunting. Not much left in the mothball fleet that used to be in Benicia. All sold or repurposed as scrap. Only two or three (of what must have been thirty) ships remain.

Much of the fence line bordering the train tracks had a sign on it. “If you are thinking of Suicide please call 988,” it said. I guess a lot of folks try to take themselves out using a train. My mind went back to the crying woman and hoped she would be okay.

The landscape changed yet again into farmland. Corn, grain, grapes, but mostly almonds. Some farmers were clearly feeling the strain of the drought. One of the sections had almost dead trees. They had turned off the water. Later they would drag all the trees out of the ground and bulldoze them into large piles to burn when the weather was appropriate. The next orchard over was green. I saw a red-tailed hawk perched on the ground in one of the rows, serious and regal.

Each time the train stopped the conductor would say, "Now arriving..." I would stare out the window at the station stop and feel like the train was moving backwards. A strange sensation, though I knew the train wasn't moving. It's like getting off a ship after days (or even a few hours) at sea, and feeling like the ground is moving when you know it isn't. The conductor would call, "Now departing... All aboard," and instruct us where we should sit if we were able bodied and that there was no smoking on the train as the train pulled out of the station.

“Now arriving Hanford. If Hanford is your stop, please gather your belongings and make your way downstairs. Thank you for riding Amtrak.” I exited the train and paused on the platform to get her bearings. I looked back at the train and saw the conductor. I waved at him before I turned to leave the station. He waved back.

[that-glitter-chick]

# 1. Dear Primus, please no! Don’t let them do that to us!!!

# 2. I haven’t seen Young Justice but I’m a “Teen Titans”-get-turned-into-“Teen Titans Go” survivor, so I get the jest of this and also, Please NO!

# 3. They would too, the Slaggers! Hasbro wants the characters to be heterosexual but when they make a straight couple we fans are ok with, they don’t let us have them! Seriously, wtf…

# 4. I don’t see this one happening at all, because didn’t TFA Prowl’s voice actor tragically pass away not to long ago? I think it’s too soon for something like that. This franchise tends to retire characters for a while when a beloved actor dies, just look how long it took to get Jazz back after Scatman passed away in the 80s.

# 5. FRAGGIN’ A! NO, NO, NO, NONONONO NOOOOOOOOOO! Jeezus Henry Christmas please! All that religious crap and his obsession with Grimlock, enough already!

# 6. Probably won’t, but so long as the stories are good, the cast talented and the animation not too bad, I’m resigned to it at this point. 2D animation is, in the words of Optimus Primal in that one episode of Beast Wars, “It’s a lost art.”

# 7. Honestly, I don’t want Sari to have any romantic goings on at all, straight, gay or otherwise. I want them to focus on her mysterious condition of being half Cybertronian. There’s more to characters, especially female ones, then who they want to fuck. Besides, she’s a kid! Like eleven years old, tops! Who lets their grade schooler date?!

# 8. I’m so glad Miko specified that she and Jack were “bros” in that one episode, where Jack was concerned Wheeljack and Arcee would become close just because they went on one mission together and seemed to get along well. Miko has zero interest in dating at all, let alone boys, I see her as the Prime of Aces, and she is TOTALLY not Jack’s type. He thinks he likes the stereotypical popular girls, I’m waiting for the day he realizes that he prefers more mature and intelligent women like Arcee and his mom. Proper role models help you figure out what’s best for you in a mate.

# 9. Sadly this seems to be Hasbro’s trend with poor Dion. He stays dead and only canon in a few versions of the story, just like Cliffjumper always dies very soon if he gets shown at all.

# 10. All I have to say about this one is, if they finally make Screamer queer and Skyfire isn’t involved, I will riot. I Stan my ship!

# 11, 12, & 13. I don’t know this part of the fandom or it’s characters yet, so I can’t comment on them. But whatever makes fans of this corner of the TF multiverse happy, I wish you all the luck in getting it my dears, truly I do❤️

# 14. KEEP THAT HETHAN AWAY FROM OUR BOTS! ESPECIALLY OUR SWEET BUMBLE BOI!!! I WILL CALL CHILD SERVICES ON THAT OVERSEXED RACIST MANIAC!!! GOD IM SICK OF HIM!🤬🚫

# 15. I’m half French and very proud of it but even I don’t want Hotrod to be “French” EVER again. I think that $#¥t head Bay forced Mr. Omar Sy to use an exaggerated stereotypical form of his natural accent when he preformed. I have no proof but I also have no trouble believing it. 🇫🇷 💔🤐🤫

# 16. That would make me sad.😢

# 17. Yeah it’s starting to look that way. I can only find the first ten or so episodes on dvd.

# 18. As much as that would irritate me, I also wouldn’t mind if someone actually managed to make Go-bots good, but we all know that’s not going to happen lol.

# 19. Wait, the what now?! 😳🤯😱💕 They had Hotrod shaped go-karts in the eighties when I was a little kid?! Omg if my father had known I totally would’ve had one! That kind of thing is what we bonded over! Missed opportunity damn it…

# 20. “Bayverse Eggsacs” is such an uncomfortable phrase on SO many levels… ugh, ick, fuck…

Worst transformers media predictions for 2024-2026. Actually. Worst transformers media predictions ever:

Earthspark is cancelled, and is left on a cliffhanger.

Transformers Animated gets a season 4, but it goes as well as the Young Justice reboot did.

They make Oplita canon canon in Earthspark, but they kill off one of them because Elita and Optimus can never have a happy ending.

They bring back TFA Prowl in some way in Earthspark, but either Earthspark gets cancelled before he can finish his storyline, or he is killed off dramatically.

The new Skybound comics get Simon Furman on board.

They never consider making another 2d Transformers show again.

They make Sari Sumdac heterosexual in the hypothetical TFA reboot.

They put Miko and Jack into a very hamfisted and forced hetrosexual love story in a TFP Comic Con sequel story.

They never acknowledge Dion again. Ever. In any media, in any way. He just gets stuck in the void.

Starscream is finally confirmed queer, but the writers do it the same way they confirmed Knockout to be queer. Nobody is happy.

They put Burgertron and Ulf in a even more hamfisted and forced love story in Botbots season 2.

They make Bonz-eye heterosexual in Botbots season 2.

They make Frostferatu heterosexual in Botbots season 2.

They hire Michael Bay again to direct Bumblebee the Third.

They make Hot Rod a French guy again.

Earthspark never gets a proper art book.

Earthspark never gets a proper home media (DVD boxset, digital DRM-free download, or Blu-ray boxset) release.

Go-Bots gets a reboot/revival before Transformers Animated does.

The Hot Rod go-cart from 1986 is confirmed to be fake.

They make the Bayverse egg sacs canon in the Skybound comics.

[sheshallfromtimetotime]

By John Paul Brammer

There was a spot where I liked to sit at the local gay bar, a nook with a window and two wooden stools. I’m the kind of person who likes to “go out” just to sit down. A friend and I sat there together once, quietly sipping our drinks and watching people walk by. It was a peculiar scene. The sun was out and the bar was mostly empty. In the coming days, cops would be installed by the entrance, and they would frisk everyone coming in.

But not yet. We sat in silence. I think we were both waiting for the other to start crying, but neither of us did.

A sense of emergency brought out a different side to the bar, which felt like a shelter that day. I was reminded of a time when I was a kid back in Oklahoma. The sky turned yellow-green, a funnel was spotted, and we were marched into the school gym and told to hunker down. The wooden floor of the gym, inches from my face, felt in those long minutes like the fierce embrace of a parent, like it had promised to protect me where on any other day it would have hosted my jumping jacks and halfhearted laps without comment. 

Sitting in the nook at the gay bar, my phone was going off in my pocket, my drink was incredibly stiff, and I could do little but watch the world, the real world, the world outside, mosey past the window. The partition between these worlds, I was reminded, was ever so thin.

Surely, every person is a house of private hurts no one else is privy to, aches that others don’t share and can’t understand. This is true of entire communities, too. Looking out from the inside, one wonders how everyone else can go about their days so outrageously unencumbered. It feels traitorous. It must be the case for everyone. But all the same, I felt resentment. I both wanted straight people to be more visibly upset, and for straight people to disappear for a while. 

Tragedy shrinks everything. It was a small thing to think. But there it was.

How successful can a front door be at keeping the world at bay? The front door of the gay bar has help. See a couple of would-be patrons walk in, having somehow missed the rainbow flags and posters for the drag show and a name like “Manhole,” immediately realize what they’ve stepped into, politely look around, and leave. 

In the past, maybe it’s not so much like this anymore, the gay bar would be in a spot nobody wanted to go, in a neighborhood nobody wanted to live in, on a street nobody wanted to be seen walking down. Before these neighborhoods became gayborhoods, they were ecosystems for trans sex workers and broke artists and runaways. 

It must be the case in any number of cities around the world, for any number of “historically gay” locations. It’s usually the beach nobody wanted, the park nobody felt safe in. Later, as coffee shops and boutique fitness gyms move in, they are scrubbed and festooned with flags and hailed as monuments. A past life is alluded to, perhaps in the form of a mural with Marsha P. Johnson on it, while the people who would have huddled there decades ago find another jagged corner of the earth to perch on. 

That’s how it goes in some places. Others persist, or become a mix of misfits and faces fresh out of the closet and elder gays who will tell you all sorts of wild things if you listen. I know a few of these places in Oklahoma City, where all the bars are sequestered together, a bowl of free condoms, drinks that are actively trying to kill the demons on the way down.

One night, I met up with a man from Grindr and we went to one of them. An old cowboy in Wrangler jeans and boots and holding a guitar sat up on the stage next to a drag queen who introduced him. He gave the saddest cover I’d ever heard, a country version of “Someone Like You” by Adele.

Goodness, life is harsh.

In the mix of pain and sadness and rage following the shooting at Club Q, a nightclub in Colorado Springs where five people were gunned down and many more injured, there is an emphatic lack of surprise. Threats of violence to trans people and drag performers have found acceptance in the mainstream, with accusations of “grooming” being levied against essentially anyone who isn’t cisgender and heterosexual. “It was only a matter of time, wasn’t it?” seems to be a prevailing sentiment. 

And it was, really, only a matter of time. 

Among the victims were trans people, straight people, gay people, all committing the grievous sin of being there. For all the modest gains in the past decade, the truth remains that even if you sequester yourself, even if you keep it all behind a closed door, they will find you anyway.

In the collective psyche, if there is such a thing, the violence perforates a membrane to hit a specific and tender spot, where the inner child hides behind a flimsy wall. You were never safe. 

The rest of the world doesn’t disappear in the gay bar. It laps at the front door like waves against the ribs of a ship. It isn’t a universe unto itself where we get to live unencumbered by the lives we left propped up against the wall outside. The grimy gay bar, the one in my head, resists the gold-leafing of an ode. I don’t think of it as a temple, or as a church, or as a sacred space. I threw up in one after accidentally drinking too much as a plus-one to the GLAAD Awards in 2015.

But sometimes, after spending too much time outside of one, I get that familiar urge for an overpriced well drink and shitty pop music, for the sharp, judgy, lustful glances of faggots, for the near-darkness and the sticky floors and the people who, while not in perfect accord, have at least resolved to find each other.

We do find each other, I think. That much hasn’t changed over time. Life can’t be all fight, and while historically our movements have been depicted as a headstrong march against the tide, we do also move like water, following from different sources a common gravity toward a spot, both hidden and in plain sight, where we learned without remembering ever learning it, “that’s where I go.”

[hethrewmyheartinthecut]

Scarlet (Reader x Ada)

(female reader, for @thosepeakybastards & anon)

London for a weekend with your friend Lee, could there be anything better? Not even a late train and an endless drizzle of rain could dampen your spirits. After a dangerously delicious and somewhat massive dinner, you two joined a group of her friends making the rounds from club to club, finding safety in numbers and a lot of drinks along the way. Mindful of your propensity for getting wicked hangovers if you went too far, you held back a little until Lee proposed going to the Monocle.

You wrinkled your nose. “What’s that, French?”

“Closer to Greek, actually.” She gave you a Cheshire grin. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Fifth form, you and me. Do you remember?”

Now that was awkward. “Lee, you’re great, but I thought we agreed it didn’t--”

“I’m not trying to hit on you,” she said, exasperated, “I’m trying to introduce you to a good time!”

Oh, damn. You’d heard about places like this before, but never expected to find your way in. In daylight, sober, you might think twice, but with the reigning spirit of the night being oh, what the fuck, you downed the rest of your glass and said, “Let’s go.”

From the outside, it looked like nothing at all, except a dull-eyed man in a rather shabby suit lounging by a back door, smoking a cigarette. When Lee gave him the password, though, he stood to attention, gave you both a sharp smile, and opened the door. After carefully descending a steep, narrow stairway, you both suddenly emerged into a basement speakeasy done up in style, with a long dark wood bar at one end, a live band at the other, and in the middle, couples of every gender mix on the face of the earth were absolutely destroying the dance floor.

“What do you think?” Lee said, after the two of you had dropped off your coats at the coat check.

There were. So many. Beautiful people. “I need a drink.”

“You go ahead, I need to use the bathroom.”

“Wait--”

But Lee was already making her way through the crowd towards a short, rosy-cheeked woman who was clearly not the bathroom.

Fuck it.

You took a seat at the bar and ordered a whiskey so you could at least look like you were doing something. Amazingly, it took all of thirty seconds before a woman sat down next to you. Her dark hair was short and crimped, her dress was sleeveless, and her lipstick was scarlet, all in the latest fashions; but there was a particular sharpness in her dark eyes that was all her own. She looked at you with a boldness that made your heart beat faster.   

“First time?” she said.

“Are you asking or are you offering?”

She laughed, which somehow increased her loveliness threefold. “I’m Ada.”

“You can call me Dee.”

Ada motioned to the bartender. “Another whiskey, please.” Turning back to you, she said: “Let’s say I’m asking. Is this your first time here?”

“Yes.”

“And what do you think?”

“Well, it does make finding women breathtakingly convenient. You popped up within minutes. Or maybe it makes finding breathtaking women convenient.”

“Both, it seems.”

“Both is good.” You knew it was probably rude, but you were a little drunk and a lot curious. You gestured to a bruise on her wrist. “Have a bad day?”

“Something like that.” The bartender handed her the whiskey, and she took a sip. When she realized that you weren’t deterred by a polite silence, she added, “There was a rally with Jessie Eden yesterday, and there was a little scuffle. I got involved.”

“Sounds heroic.”

“No, she’s hero. I just had some leftover skills in my back pocket from time training with Edith Garrud.”

“Who?”

“A suffragette who could throw a punch.”

“I’d love to meet her.”

“Yeah, I think her wedding ring broke the hearts of half the girls in her class, but she was a great teacher. Yesterday wasn’t so bad at all.”

“Hm.”

“What?”

You shrugged. “You don’t look much like a militant suffragette or a labor organizer to me.”

“I’m a Communist, actually.”

“Still.”

“Is it the lipstick? It was a present from my aunt. But even so, it’s aesthetics are not politics. Anyone could be on the side of the people. And everyone should be.” 

You didn’t quite know what to say to that; her earnestness was lovely, but you weren’t exactly a radical yourself. “Look, you have the wrong girl for this. I’m less Marx, more Tolstoy.”

“What, are you secretly a noblewoman?”

“Are there only two classes of people in your mind, communists and nobles?”

“More like communist-eligible and stuffed shirts. Of which Tolstoy was one.”

That didn’t sound right, but you hadn’t researched the man enough to contradict her. “I work at a sweets shop, but that doesn’t mean I want to be proselytized to on my one night out.”

“You’re comparing communism and religion now?”

“I know.” You made an affected gasp. “Sacre bleu!”

“So you’re French.”

“You really do want to categorize me, don’t you?”

“Sorry.” And oddly enough, Ada did actually look sorry, if only for a moment. “Old habits die hard.”

“What, you were a librarian in a past life?”

“No, I was--I had to make threat assessments.”

You laughed. “And I look like a threat?”

“You?” She leaned back an inch and looked you up and down, slowly, in a way that made your cheeks burn. Then she smirked. “Absolutely.”

Right, that was it. You leaned in for a kiss and she met you halfway, winding her fingers in your thick hair, taking her time with it. Your hands settled on her hips and you could’ve stayed there forever, except you were rudely interrupted by someone cheering. 

Looking up, you saw, a few seats down, a black-haired, quiet-looking man, sitting with a curly-haired and decidedly loud man, who had one arm around his shoulders, and who was doing all the cheering.

“Hi,” said the first man, looking a little sheepish.

“Hi, Max,” Ada said kindly. Then she fixed the other one with a look that could scratch glass. “Fuck off, James.”

That just made him cheer louder.

She sighed. “Would you care for a dance?”

“Love one.” You took the hand she offered you and let her lead you towards the dance floor. “Was that your brother?” you asked, trying and failing not to bump into anyone.

Ada had to stop walking, that’s how hard she started laughing. “No,” she said, when she got her breath back. “No, he’s definitely not my brother. He’s my flatmate.”

“Oh. Well, he seemed supportive. He looks rather like you.”

“Supportive, yeah. You definitely don’t know anything about my brothers, do you.”

“Why would I?”

“No reason. Come on, let’s dance.”

As the night went on, the dances went from energetic, almost frantic, to something smoother, slower. Something suitable for your arms around her neck, the both of you tracing slow circles along the dance floor.

“If I had it my way,” she murmured in your ear, “I’d take you home right now.” Her hand was warm on the small of your back. You wouldn’t say no to it going a little lower.

“Then have it your way.”

“Can’t.” 

You wanted to object, but there was something in her voice that stopped you. Something about all this wasn’t coming off as just a game. 

“Can I give you my number?” she said.

“You can do whatever you like.”

Still holding your hand, she took you over to the coat check, dug a business card out of her wallet, and scrawled her number on the back in pen. “Call me, okay?”

You answered her with a kiss so scorching that by the time she had ascended the stairs and disappeared from view, you could still feel her all the way down to your fingertips.

After a minute, just standing there, you looked down at the business card, and flipped it over.

Thomas Shelby, President. Shelby Company Ltd. Birmingham.

Wait a second. Ada. Threat assessments. Brothers, not exactly supportive. 

“Shit,” you said.

“What’s that now? I thought that went rather well,” said Lee, coming up beside you. 

“It did.”

“But?”

“She couldn’t spend the night. And, not to put too dramatic a point on it, but I think she may be part of the most dangerous family in our entire fucking city.”

“Oh.” Lee absorbed that for a second. She knew all the same stories you did: the street wars, the myths, the visible flow of money going up and down the canals in cargo form. Then she shrugged. “Are you gonna call her?”

Well. Are you?

[bmodiwrites]

The Stereo's On

Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Rating: Explicit (E) Notes: This is just a random little idea that turned into 6k words of schmoopy loving - hope you guys don't mind! Word Count: ~6k Warnings: There’s a tiny bit of smut in here, but it’s me writing, so when is that not the case? Other than that, it’s pretty tame! Summary:

Despite trying to keep his feelings on the matter a secret, Steve knows that Eddie is bummed about not going to prom. As the best boyfriend there is, he's determined to remedy the situation. Between a couple strings of fairy lights and a mixtape made especially for Eddie, Steve puts together a night to remember.

Or - a sorry excuse for a feeling filled PWP!

Find it on AO3 here.

Staring down at the expansive mess of car parts before him, Eddie tries to focus on his job, but his mind is buzzing loudly, making it hard to do anything other than listen to the loud static building up in his ears. He took the shift that Sal offered him today in hopes of distracting himself. It’s funny that the exact opposite thing is happening. Eddie somehow forgot that the mouth of the garage opens up into Hawkins’ main street. Every person making their way into town passes right by the bay the current car he’s been working on is parked. It’s impossible not to see all of the couples in fancy garb flocking to the handful of nicer restaurants that exist in such a small town. His heart pangs with a feeling he refuses to name, knowing that labeling the emotion gives it more power than it’s already exuding on Eddie’s fickle heart. It’s embarrassing to think that prom night is eliciting such a reaction – never before has Eddie ever cared about cliché school shit. Too bad the ice around his heart is slowly melting, making him the sort of guy who’s upset about missing out.

Eddie tries in vain to shoulder the blame of his emotional meltdown on the person that’s been causing all the sentimental changes. Steve Harrington is the sort of boy that pushes Eddie to be the best version of himself – the sort of boy that makes Eddie genuinely proud of both himself and the one that’s chosen to stand by his side. Steve coming into his life is exactly what Eddie’s been waiting for – someone to kick start the engine and bring Eddie back to life. Though he’s never going to be excited about the way nearly dying brought them together, Eddie knows enough about second chances to be glad for the humble beginning of a relationship that’s quickly becoming all consuming.

Eddie spent a lot of life stuck in limbo and is forever grateful for the kick in the pants the encounter with the Upside Down ended up being. Without the widening of his vision, Eddie may never have seen the real person Steve is underneath his cool guy clothes and built up persona. He’s just a guy that feels and loves and fears and makes mistakes – just like the rest of the human race. Eddie’s glad for the chance to see Steve around the kids where he flourishes and behind the counter of Family Video next to Robin who makes him bigger and brighter than he already is. Steve the normal guy is someone that Eddie loves with all of his heart. So, he’s kind of sad that he can’t share this new and exciting addition to his life with the rest of the world.

He's been using the lameness of the dance to hide behind the hurt of the real reason he and Steve can’t attend tonight’s rite of passage. Being a wanted man is still something that haunts Eddie. To this day, people whisper about his devil worship and talk about the way he barely narrowly avoided being thrown in jail for crimes he didn’t commit. While he’s used to the status of outcast, being the town pariah is a lot harder than he ever imagined. Eddie’s sure they would’ve found a way to be at the dance together without putting themselves and their relationship in danger. While being gay is still something Eddie doesn’t openly share, a couple of guys going stag to a dance isn’t unheard of. No one questions that sort of thing – especially when they don’t really want to know the answer. It’s the never ending stigma of being unwanted by the entire town that is stopping Eddie from selfishly enjoying this pivotal night with Steve. Eddie thinks that alerting his boyfriend to the reality of people’s feelings towards him is in some way protecting Steve. Though, in a lot of ways, it’s probably just hurting them both.

Shaking his head of the thought, Eddie forces himself to take in the alternator he’s meant to be assessing. Even doing so with half of his attention, Eddie knows the thing needs to be replaced. He’s even conscious of the fact that they don’t have the part, so his current effort is totally useless, anyway. If he acknowledges those truths, Eddie also has to acknowledge that his presence in the garage tonight is totally useless, too. His mind is everywhere but the job he’s there to be doing. He’s too caught up in the way the distance he’s been trying to put between himself and everyone around him is slowly killing him. Eddie can’t get away from the unfairness of being treated like a killer when the actuality of the situation is so much worse. There’s even a feeling of mourning for the fundamental thing he’s missing because life isn’t fair and he’s too stubborn and prideful to talk to anyone about it. So many thoughts run through his mind and not one of them has to do with the Chevy he’s currently pretending to fiddle with. Thankfully, Sal notices and sends him home. “Don’t come back until your shift next Tuesday, Munson. I’ll have the replacement alternator waiting for you.”

Eddie leaves the garage without argument or complaint. He shoots his boss a grateful smile after he’s washed all the grease off his hands and changes out of dirty coveralls. The ripped up jeans on his legs already make him feel a little better as the wind brushes the bare skin of his knee as he walks out into the freedom of the night. Climbing into the car, Eddie starts to come back from the torrential storm of emotions he’s been letting get the best of him for the past couple of hours. At least at home, Eddie can call Steve on the phone or get stoned or watch a movie that’s truly going to distract him. The options in which he can soothe himself are limitless outside the confines of work. He’s already thinking about how he's going to get Steve over for the night when he pulls into the trailer park. Eddie’s plan is already made up by the time he parks his van, not noticing the halo of soft light coming from the otherwise dark trailer. Eddie doesn’t realize he’s walking into something amazing until the soft music of the stereo in the front room reaches his ears. Only then does he look up to see Steve standing in the front room of the trailer with a soft smile on his face.

Eddie takes in everything all at once. The fairy lights making the space glow, the emptiness of the room that’s been cleared out to obviously resemble a dance floor – all of the little details are so overwhelming that Eddie’s sure he’s missing some. His brain halts the moment Eddie’s eyes meet Steve’s. Steve who looks like a model in a button up white shirt and black tie. He’s in his customary blue jeans and Nike shoes, but the attempt to dress up is noticed. His hair is perfectly styled and the look of confidence Eddie loves the most is settled in Steve’s eyes. Though there’s a palpable layer of nerves that Eddie can feel from his spot at the door, Steve seems calm, cool, and collected. It’s both sexy and heartwarming. Eddie blinks for a second to jump start his brain back to working order in hopes of actually getting some words out of his mouth. “Steve, what is this?”

Steve looks between Dustin and Max before pointing at the small kitchen table. “Let’s move that first.” Both of his sassy children look at him with curious expressions on their face, though it’s Dustin who speaks up first.

“Wayne’s okay with this? Us moving his entire living room out into the lawn?” The little shit can’t even help the way his lip quirks with uncertainty.

Laughing, because that’s the only thing he can do when Dustin starts in with the attitude, Steve nods his head. “As long as everything gets put back where it belongs, Wayne doesn’t care. He thinks it’s sweet, even.” Steve recalls the somewhat embarrassing conversation he and Wayne struggled through the day before. Though Eddie’s uncle is well aware of Steve’s genuine feelings for Eddie, the man is still one of very little words. The fact that he talks to Steve at all is some kind of miracle. Pushing the memory away, Steve gestures at the table again. “You two get the chairs and I’ll carry the table.”

“It is, you know,” Max says, picking up one of the foldable chairs while Dustin handles the other one, “sweet, that is.” Her voice is so full of surety that Steve can’t help but smile widely. Sometimes, being the group’s default kid wrangler gets on his nerves but moments like this where the kids he cares about care right back, that makes being the babysitter worth it. The wink she sends him makes Steve think Max knows the power of her words, too. There’s a heady sort of satisfaction that surrounds the girl as they make their way outside. After depositing the table and chairs by the side of the trailer and rolling up the rug, they decorate the empty living room. Max brings over the lights from her own room and hangs them along the wall, creating a warm glow. Dustin helps Steve move the stereo from Eddie’s room into the hallway where they can maximize the acoustics the best. Weeks of asking Eddie weird questions and “borrowing” his boyfriend’s mixtapes helped Steve make the perfect playlist for them to dance to. It’s not exactly prom the way that Steve remembers it but it’s something.

When they’re done and Dustin makes the call to Sal, Steve thanks them both and sends them back to Max’s trailer where rated R movies are waiting for them as payment for their help. Steve’s sure the candy he threw in there will be greatly appreciated, too. With the few minutes he has to himself, Steve pulls on the new shirt he got for the occasion. Robin will forever make fun of him for the afternoon they spent picking out the perfect one. Though she understands the sentiment, his relationship with Eddie is always going to be something Robin gives him grief for. The weeks of pining she had to deal with give her a prerogative Steve’s always going to be paying her back for. He’s glad for it honestly. It reminds him how much he truly cares for the boy that makes him mindless and babbly like a school girl. Getting a little heckling from his best friend for the mushy person he is and plans to continue to be is absolutely nothing in the face of rightness being with Eddie creates in him. The past version of himself isn’t the guy who plans something cheesy just to see someone smile – this new and exciting version of himself is, though. The Steve he is now can’t wait to see the door open and take in Eddie’s face.

Though he’s never told him, Steve knows about the way people treat Eddie. He’s not immune to comments from people that don’t appreciate Steve’s affiliation with Eddie. It’s so easy to swat them down knowing how brave Eddie is. While the town will never understand the depth of it, Hawkins owes a lot to the boy who rode head first into Demobats that just about killed him. Steve’s been patiently waiting for Eddie to talk to him about the treatment, though he understands why Eddie doesn’t – there are so many things that Steve refuses to bring up again, too. Luckily, Steve is much more of an actions speak louder than words kind of guy, anyway. While Eddie may not be ready to talk about the voices that plague him or the people that still weigh heavily on his innocent boyfriend, Steve can give him something that no one should miss. And since they aren’t a very conventional couple, the off the wall way Steve makes it happen is fitting.

So is the overwhelmed look that overtakes Eddie’s face as he walks through the door. The surprise Eddie feels is tangible. Steve watches him grapple for words as the lights and music and overall atmosphere is taken in. It’s hard not to grin at the speechlessness that overtakes Eddie, but Steve manages to barely hold onto his control. He tries hard to radiate the sort of confidence that makes Eddie want to come to him. Out of all the people that Steve has tried to court, Eddie is the only person that Steve truly wants to lean on him. More than anything, Steve hopes that he’s a safe place for Eddie, that his presence is something that brings the boy peace and happiness unlike the suspicion and upset he’s constantly faced with. Eddie is that kind of serenity for Steve – he’s like a breath of fresh air, the kind of reminder that home exists, even if it’s a person with long curly brown hair and eyes that are wide and all knowing. Being something equal or similar to the person that makes him happiest is what Steve’s striving for.

The perplexed words that eventually fall out of Eddie’s mouth are what break Steve’s mold and drags a smile across his lips. He takes a second to look around, to hear the music he carefully selected, to see Eddie and the many emotions overtaking all of him. He’s proud and happy and glad to note that something he’s done is actually successful. “Not exactly prom, but something like it,” Steve says in reply, shrugging his shoulders like this is something simple and not weeks in the making. He takes a step closer to Eddie and then another until he can reach out and touch.

Eddie’s head is spinning, all previous thoughts of plans and upset and glumness are gone and out the door that’s somehow closed behind him. All that registers is the empty room and surprisingly not crappy music that is radiating everywhere. It’s surrounding Eddie the way the depth of the situation is. Despite never saying a word, Steve read the situation and gave Eddie something he still isn’t capable of asking for. He’s overwhelmed and lost in a way that makes it hard to breath. Ignoring the heaviness in his chest, Eddie leans into Steve’s touch and allows the reality of the situation to overcome him. Eddie’s been worried and sad and detached because of a dance that doesn’t matter (even though it does more than Eddie cares to admit). It’s crazy to think that Steve is perceptive enough to pick up on something that Eddie’s been going out of his way to hide. Except, maybe it’s not so far-fetched – Steve selflessly takes care of the people around him, giving them things they didn’t even know where good for them. Obviously, Eddie isn’t an exception. Steve’s so sneaky that Eddie is at a loss – he’s frozen and can’t think of anything to do but follow Steve’s lead.

Which ends up being the best decision, anyway. Steve’s arms are firm around Eddie as he brings them chest to chest. There’s no space between their bodies, so Eddie can continue to relax and lean into Steve’s hold. He lets the music surround him for the first time since stepping in the door and sighs wistfully. It’s one of the many songs that Eddie sings loudly whenever they’re in his van and Steve gives up his rights to DJ duty. When it ends and another one of Eddie’s favorite begins, he finally looks up and takes all of Steve in. From his wide open eyes to the smile on his face, Steve is radiant. There’s a blush on his cheeks and his hands tighten around Eddie’s waist the longer their stares are intertwined. Eddie wants to speak up and say something about the way his heart is beating faster than it ever has before – that this moment, this singular point in time is the greatest Eddie’s ever experienced. His mouth isn’t cooperating though and the ability to do anything but smile like a loon vacates him. Maybe that’s for the best – words can only muddle what’s quickly shaping up to be romance personified. Instead of forcing himself to speak of his happiness, Eddie experiences it with each bump and sway of their bodies to the music.

Mere minutes or maybe hours later, the tape finally rolls to a stop and silence surrounds them in the empty room. It’s easy and natural to keep on moving, despite the cessation of the music. Eddie’s arms are wrapped around Steve’s neck so tightly that they share breaths. Steve’s got him in a tight grip, like he’s afraid of letting go. Between their position and the shockingly right intimacy, Eddie’s not surprised to find himself leaning into Steve’s space in hopes of kissing red lips. He’s met in the middle with a fierce press of lip against lip. This is a practiced dance for them – Eddie knows how to tilt his head just right to slot Steve’s lip perfectly between his own. Eddie doesn’t hesitate to poke his tongue out and trace the plump roundness of Steve’s bottom lip. The tease is enough for Steve to open his mouth so Eddie can tangle their tongues together in something that creates a spark that lights up them both.

There’s no fumble or fuss as they make their way down the hall and into the furthest room. Not for the first time, Eddie’s grateful for his uncle’s sacrifice – having a room that’s all his own is a glorious plus when Steve’s hands and mouth are promising such beautiful things. Their closeness continues until they’re through the door and in Eddie’s room; only then does he resurface for a breath and put a bit of space between them. He’s able to let his head clear a little bit – Steve’s absolutely intoxicating and Eddie’s an easy victim. It takes very little exposure to Steve at all for Eddie to mindlessly fall into a pit of desire that makes higher function and any sort of thought difficult. After all of Steve’s effort, Eddie wants to be present for the absolute debauchery that’s about to take place. Gesturing over towards the bed, Eddie starts to take off his shirt. “Lie down – I want you to watch.”

Steve is quick to oblige – with a blush on his face and a pep in his step, even. He quickly gets onto the mattress and scoots back until his head is on the pillow with Eddie clearly in sight. The heaviness of his stare makes Eddie shiver – his skin is hot and covered in goosebumps, like Steve’s gaze is a tangible thing that’s touching him. Closing his eyes for a second, Eddie takes in a couple of breaths and clears his head. When he looks up again, Eddie’s focused enough not to fall victim to the blissed out look on Steve’s face (though, it’s a close thing). Instead, he feels confident and wanted as he strips himself down to black boxers that cling to his thighs. He allows Steve to stare to his heart’s content for another moment before launching himself onto the bed to fumble madly at the buttons on Steve’s shirt. Eddie all of the sudden can’t stand to have any barriers between them – he knows for certain he’ll feel so much more comfortable when there’s even ground between them.

Steve’s a little dumb struck as he leans back on the bed and watches Eddie. Things like nakedness and intimacy aren’t all that new to them. Despite not dabbling with guys before, Steve’s libido has taken no hit since getting together with Eddie – in fact, he’s more certain of himself with Eddie than he’s ever been with any of the girls he took to bed. Maybe it’s the safety thing rearing its ugly head again, or maybe Steve’s finally where he’s meant to be. Either way, he’s more than happy to be the one watching Eddie drop his entire outfit, piece by piece, down onto the floor. His feelings about the situation get even more positive when Eddie joins him on the bed and waits no time at all to start helping Steve out of his clothes, too. Between the two of them, Steve is shirtless and writhing on the bed in no time. As Eddie works on his jeans, Steve gets his hands on any part of Eddie’s skin he can. While he’s slim and a bit smaller than Steve himself, Eddie is relatively well built. His muscles flex with every one of the moves he makes while ridding Steve of his clothes. The sight is lovely, made even more so by the way Eddie looks up and grins at him when he gets Steve’s pants off. Soon, they’re both naked, groin to groin, bare skin to skin – it’s hard to think about anything else when Eddie is a delightfully warm weight above him.

“Thank you,” Eddie whispers after a moment of toying with the shell of Steve’s ear. His hips are casually thrusting against Steve’s, causing the most glorious friction. It’s hard to process the words at first but Steve finally absorbs them. It takes several moments for him to find the strength to make his lips work – the roll and swivel of Eddie’s hips and the soft press of lips against sensitive skin is too much for Steve to bear.

“Don’t thank me. I want you to be happy, Eddie – “ The words are choked off when another moan rips from Steve’s throat, instead. Eddie’s making quick work of the length of Steve’s torso with his lips, tongue, and teeth. Steve’s positive he’s going to have little suck bruises and hickies down his front. The marks will stay with him for weeks until Eddie decides to put new ones there as replacement. His possessive energy is familiar and welcomed – Steve appreciates the fact that Eddie wants to mark him up. There’s been so many people that hid their connection to Steve – that battled against it in a way that still makes Steve question himself to this day. His parents, Nancy, the friends he grew up with – everyone always finds a way to push him aside when it really matters. Except Eddie. There’s no limit to the sort of claim that Eddie wants to have over Steve. It’s sort of exhilarating, being wanted that much.

All of his thoughts quickly become nonexistent as Eddie’s lips work their way down Steve’s lower stomach – he’s dangerously close to Steve’s erection that’s practically begging for attention. Before Eddie can get any further, Steve reaches down and flips their positions. The last thing he wants tonight to turn into is a reciprocated gesture that Eddie feels obligated to give. Steve’s no saint but his intentions were completely selfless and pure. He knows Eddie’s angst about prom and wanted to alleviate it. If they’re going to be intimate, Steve’s going to be an active participant. Which is how he finds himself with a mouthful of Eddie’s cock a couple of minutes later. He made quick work of tonguing at Eddie’s nipples and reducing him to moans and pleas of want. Steve’s clever and completely into the physicality of being with Eddie – he’s made it his mission to make note of and remember all the things that drive Eddie wild. Steve takes giving Eddie pleasure very seriously. Seriously enough, at least, to reduce him to mindless groans of Steve’s name more often than not.

Letting up ever so slightly, Steve draws back from Eddie’s cock, replacing the wet heat of his mouth with the tight grip of his hand, instead. Steve shifts himself on the bed until he’s in between Eddie’s legs – strong thighs wrap around him thoughtlessly. In this position, Steve can feel the way Eddie’s hips move up into the circle of his hand, the way his body aches and shivers because of Steve’s ministrations. It’s a heady thing, to realize the sort of impact he has on Eddie – Steve’s never been more proud of himself, honestly. With that in mind, he loosens his grip on Eddie’s cock and looks up with questioning eyes. “What do you want, Eddie? My hand, my mouth, my cock?” Steve asks, leaning down to press their lips together in a hot kiss. There’s no answer for a while – Steve’s plenty happy to occupy Eddie’s mouth until they can’t help but pull away to take gasping breaths.

Eddie is oddly shy when he cups Steve’s face – “I want you to fuck me,” he says with a small break in his voice. Steve’s not given much time to think about it, though – Eddie brings him down into another all-consuming kiss. Whether it’s a diversion or simply lust taking over, Steve can’t tell and at this point, he doesn’t really care. He’s too preoccupied with clever lips and an antsy hand that digs helplessly through Eddie’s bedside table. Steve moans in triumph as his fingers wrap around a tube of lube. Eddie celebrates the little victory by tangling their tongues together in the most distracting way.

Steve’s fingers are dexterous and wide as they open him up – Eddie spends most of those moments thinking about the space they fill inside of him. It’s crazy to think that Eddie made it through so many years with so much emptiness inside of him. Though he can make it through the times where Steve isn’t there, Eddie doesn’t feel complete. Things aren’t right in the world until moments like this one where Steve takes his time mapping out and staking his claim in that empty space. None of the hook ups in his past ever came close to making Eddie feel the way Steve does. That cheesy shit is about as cliché as Eddie’s desire to go to the prom in the first place. He stubbornly continues to blame it on Steve’s influence – as the moment is proving, the greatness that Steve brings to his life makes Eddie do crazy things. Like moan out Steve’s name in such a wanton way that Eddie’s sort of embarrassed to be so done in.

Though, that emotion is so fleeting, Eddie barely registers it. He’s too busy enjoying the deep thrust of Steve’s fingers. First one, and then two, and then a third that almost gives Eddie the full feeling he’s looking for. There’s only one thing that’s going to remedy the situation – though, Eddie’s learned he’s got to be patient for it. Steve can slip in so easily when Eddie gives himself a couple extra moments to relax into the feeling of fullness once again. It’s a total body thing, finally feeling complete and real again. Not only is it a physical experience for him, but Eddie’s also come to find that his psyche and emotions like to jump into the mix, too. That’s why it’s always so overwhelming and Eddie hopes the intensity of it never changes.

When Steve pulls his fingers away, Eddie lets out an undignified moan. It can’t be helped – the sudden feeling of emptiness is too much after that sweet taste of being completely fulfilled. Steve doesn’t make him wait long – he’s gotten really good about rolling a condom on one handed while the other runs soothingly up and down Eddie’s inner thigh. The cool lube Steve spreads over himself is a shock to Eddie’s system, making his hips hitch into the press of Steve’s cockhead against him. The other boy takes advantage of the move and pushes his hips forward, easily slipping himself inside of Eddie so that two becomes one in a way that it’s gloriously impossible for Eddie to puzzle out where he ends and Steve begins. It’s more satisfying than any blowjob or orgasm will ever be. Eddie’s already blown to bits by the simple act of joining together – every thrust and clever flick of Steve’s wrist is a bonus Eddie’s overwhelmingly lucky to take part in. His body feels like it’s on fire, its source stemming from a spot inside of Eddie that Steve ignites so easily. It's heat and wanting and rightness and satiation. The closer he gets to it, the more Eddie knows the spark as the flames of love that burn so damn brightly. Steve Harrington is a magician in that sense.

Little by little, Eddie loses control of himself, willingly giving it over to sure hands that hold his hips and touch him with the sort of reverence Eddie never thought he deserved. Though Steve is admittedly out for his own pleasure, he never neglects Eddie along the way. His fingers are heavy on Eddie’s skin as they skim over ticklish spots and those that are so sensitive, Eddie can’t help but clench around the thickness inside of him. Steve spends more time giving attention to those spots the closer things get to the end – Eddie’s positive Steve loves the tight heat around him. Sometimes Steve even tells Eddie so; the dirty words drip so easily from lips that look so red and innocent and pure. Their plump and kissable and cookie cutter in a way that gives Steve that boy next door look. While Eddie knows the truth, it’s sometimes hard to remember that wicked things can bubble out of Steve Harrington’s mouth, too. He’s not just great hair and a body to die for. He’s grunts and pants and syrupy sweet words that make Eddie’s cock leak precoma uncontrollably. When he gets close, Eddie can’t decide if it’s the dead on hits to his prostate or the sneaky way Steve brings heat to the party with whispered words and clever flicks of his tongue against the shell of Eddie’s ear.

Soon, there’s no space in the room for words or declarations. Both boys are tip toeing the edge, standing right on the precipice a thrust or two away from falling. Eddie’s come to enjoy these tense moments the most – his body isn’t his to control anymore, it’s just a source of hormones and feeling and enjoyment that Eddie’s merely along for the ride for. He doesn’t have to worry about Wayne’s presence or Steve’s nosy parents – Eddie’s free to moan and call out Steve’s name to his heart’s content. He’s panting and groaning through the thrusts that shift from long and languid to fast and deliberate. Steve’s got his target locked in, hitting it with expert precision each swing of his hips. Eddie’s prostate is lit up, making his entire body shutter and clench up tightly the closer his orgasm gets. Finally, it all becomes too much. “Steve – touch me, please. You have to touch me,” Eddie gasps out around a shaky breath. He’s so close to the end that the taste of it lingers in his mouth.

It takes little convincing for Steve to change his pace and shift position enough to take Eddie’s cock in hand. His hips are moving on their own accord and there’s just enough brain power left for Steve to coordinate the movement of his hand with the rest of him. These moments, the ones where Eddie completely surrenders to his pleasure, they’re the ones that Steve enjoys the most. It’s a joy to see Eddie’s eyes roll to the back of his head, to watch his usual pale skin turn red and dewy with lingering want and desire. Never mind the fact that Eddie’s grip around his cock becomes vice-like the closer he gets to the edge. The feeling of Eddie squeezing around him with every stroke of Steve’s hand becomes something of a game. What sort of melody can they create in those last few steps towards that glorious little death. Steve sucks in a breath and buckles in for the finish – he feels it in the way Eddie tightens up before cum splashes over his fist and onto their skin. Though it’s only a mark that they see, Steve is proud to wear the evidence of Eddie’s enjoyment. He’s the reason such a beautiful person lost complete and utter control of themselves. That thought alone is enough for Steve to join Eddie in that far off state of bliss. Steve thrusts a couple more times before he tilts his head back and gasps out Eddie’s name.

There’s the haze of nothingness that surrounds Steve for a little while. He’s just conscious enough to feel Eddie’s hands running along the sweaty skin of his back. Steve recognizes that he’s still on Earth and alive, but that’s about it. He’s a collective haze of mind blowing pleasure and exhaustion that only comes from great sex. Little by little, Steve comes back to the present where Eddie is looking at him with fondness that Steve’s never known before. It’s almost shocking, to see such a soft glance directed towards him. He gulps in a couple long breaths of air before coming to terms with the fact that he’s exactly where he should be, in the arms of the one person that can actually make him feel like he matters. Steve Harrington matters to Eddie Munson, there’s no denying that. Not when Eddie clings to him and whispers “I love you” against the shell of Steve’s ear. Resurfacing in the sort of environment that fosters love is such a different experience for him. No matter how many times they do this, Steve is still taken aback by the extent of Eddie’s feelings – hell, his own feelings, too. While it’s getting easier to swallow the truth, Steve still struggles with the reality of the situation. At the end of the day, Steve’s a person that’s worth loving. At least, Eddie seems to think so.

There’s silence between them for a long time. Steve pulls out and makes quick work of the condom. He uses one of Eddie’s t-shirts from earlier in the week to clean them both off before allowing himself to relax in bed. When he does, Steve finds himself with an armful of cuddly Eddie Munson. His boyfriend is always a little clingy after they disconnect after sex. Steve still hasn’t asked why, but he recognizes the need. It’s nice to hold Eddie close, even if it’s just for a little while.

Eventually, Eddie turns into Steve’s chest, flinging an arm over him to keep him close. “You’re too much, you know that?” Eddie asks with a voice brimming with fondness. Steve knows that’s Eddie’s way of being affectionate. Grinning at that truth, Steve nods his head.

“Yeah, I do. I’ve got to keep you on your toes somehow or another.” Steve caps off his statement with a soft kiss on Eddie’s forehead. “You deserve good things, Eds. It’s nice to be able to give them to you.” And wasn’t that an understatement. The closer they get, the more Steve realizes that he and Eddie are much more alike than he ever could have thought. This love they’re creating between them is something that’s pure and real – it’s the sort of feeling Steve’s been looking to find for all of his life. Their relationship is acceptance and freedom and genuine joy – Steve can be himself and gives Eddie that same opportunity. Being able to live without stigma, that’s new to them both. But so is the all-consuming need to take care of each other. Steve’s certain that the little things they do for each other will get easier as time marches on. For now, he leans into Eddie’s joy and revels in the fact that he managed to bring out such an emotion. They’re learning how to exist outside of the norm in a reality that has monsters like Vecna and makes room for a love like theirs.

It's different but good and right in all the ways that matter. When Steve relaxes into the bed with Eddie curled into him, he closes his eyes knowing that safety and happiness are real for them and will continue to be when the new day comes. Heaven is here, right in this bed with Eddie in his arms.

[allwaswell16]

This is a fic rec of One Direction fan fics with an age difference (although none with an underage character) in the main pairing as requested in this ask. Please leave kudos and comments for the writers if you enjoy the fics! You can find all my other fic recs here. Happy reading!

-Larry-

You Make Lovin’ Fun by @homosociallyyours​

(E, 109k, girl direction, cruise ship, silver fox Louis, age difference, strangers to lovers, polyamory Harry/OC, butch/femme, based on a true story, journalist Harry, vacation, Lesbian cruise, NYC, long distance relationship, light angst, masturbation, smut)

Harry is a 28 year old travel writer at a gay magazine who gets the assignment to go a lesbian cruise.

Say Something by @kingsofeverything​

(E, 105k, a/b/o, alpha Louis, omega Harry, age difference, older Harry, heat, rut, insecure Harry, mpreg, mpreg Harry, lawyer Harry, actor Louis, lactation, unplanned pregnancy, smut)

At fifty years old and recently divorced, Omega Harry Styles isn't interested in dating.

electing strange perfections by @scrunchyharry

(E, 84k, uni student Louis, gardener Harry, older Harry, rich Louis, angst, fluff, first love, homophobia, coming of age, age difference, summer, coming out, smut bl)

Back for the summer from university, 19-year-old Louis is faced with a massive problem: their new gardener is quite possibly the most gorgeous man he's ever met.

The Brightest Lights by Rearviewdreamer / @all-these-larrythings

(M, 70k, acting au, age difference, actor Louis, actor Harry, co-stars, co-workers, love scene, verse)

After watching yet another actor walk away with his Oscar, Louis is on the lookout for the role of a lifetime that might finally get him the one thing he has always wanted.

I’d Still Dance With You by @flamboyantommo​ / kikikryslee

(M, 57k, age difference au, student/barista Harry, ad exec Louis, mutual pining, slow burn, bh)

the 21/28 age difference fic where Harry is younger than Louis thought he was, and even though Louis’ head is telling him not to pursue anything, his heart doesn’t seem to agree.

That's What I'm Here For by @taggiecb

(E, 46k, farm au, farmer Louis, older Louis, age difference, boss/employee, small town, sexuality crisis, fluff, angst with a happy ending, grief/mourning, Canada, hurt/comfort, silver fox Louis, demisexuality, smut)

Louis needs help running his business but has no idea where to even start looking.

we should open up (before it's all too much) by @disgruntledkittenface

(M, 46k, depressed vampire au, vampire Louis, baker Harry, angst, grief/mourning, support group, loss of parent, emotional hurt/comfort, strangers to lovers, falling in love, smut)

He takes a breath and looks up, trying to keep the tears threatening to spill over at bay. “Louis, I’m not very good company these days. I–”

The Orchards of Jessop by @jaerie

(E, 15k, quarantine au, age difference, older Louis, countryside, strangers to lovers, self discovery, sad Harry, sad Louis, homophobia, first times, sexuality crisis, emotional sex, smut)

when a global pandemic shuts down the world, being quarantined with a quiet twenty year old who keeps to himself might turn out to be an awkward arrangement.

I'm Hot for Teacher (series) by phdmama / @phd-mama

(E, 14k, doctor Louis, med student Harry, semi public sex, hand jobs, masturbation, flirting, professional ethics, library sex, office sex, smut, age difference)

You cannot fall in love with your professor, Harry admonishes himself sternly as he exits the building and heads home. You just can’t.

Drive Me Crazy by AFangirlFantasy / @afangirlfantasy

(G, 7k, kid fic, single dad Louis, uni student Harry, toy store employee Harry, older Louis, fluff, humor, age difference, birthday party, no smut)

an AU where Louis just wants a toy for his daughter, and Harry just wants to take Louis on a date.

You Drive Me Wild by jacaranda_bloom / @jacaranda-bloom

(E, 5k, driver Harry, executive Louis, dirty talk, older Louis, silver fox Louis, masturbation)

the one where Harry has a brilliant idea to while away the time as he waits around for his boss but fate decides to rain on his parade... or maybe it’s the universe answering his prayers.

maybe by @gaycousinlarry / momentofclarity

(G, 2k, bookkeepers conference, age difference, older Harry, falling in love, love at first sight, first meetings)

I cannot not see you again. I cannot.

-Poly-

Tell Me It’s The Strongest Shape by YesIsAWorld / @louandhazaf

(E, 73k, Louis/Nick Grimshaw/Elgar Johnson, poly fic, age difference, older Nick, older Elgar, model Louis, skater Louis, canon Nick, coming out, complicated relationship, threesome, famous/not famous, first time, smut)

When uni student Louis gets street cast by Elgar for a GQ photoshoot, he's drawn into Nick and Elgar’s complicated relationship.

-Tomlinshaw-

Sugar, We're Going Down by @magicalrocketships​ / sunsetmog

(E, 131k, Louis/Nick Grimshaw, cafe au, getting together, sugar daddy Nick, sugar baby Louis, age difference, Louis works at a cafe, vacation, daddy kink, ptsd, past abuse, size difference, submission, smut)

At 37, Nick has everything he could possibly want in life: huge success in business, a Bachelor of the Year award hanging in his toilet, piles of money, and a rather odd little habit of visiting a cafe with terrible service on his way into the office every morning.

-Zouis-

Pretty Little Plaything (series) by Phillipa19 / @thedeliciousrude

(E, 51k, Zayn/Louis, sugar baby au, sugar daddy Zayn, sugar baby Louis, falling in love, insecure Louis, hurt/comfort, rich Zayn, age difference, jealousy, past abuse, smut)

Zayn is a millionaire and has a lot of work to do he can't always be around to entertain his young lover.

[enigmaticxbee]

✖️✖️ 10x02 Founder’s Mutation

The one where... a doctor’s experiments on kids with genetic mutations, including his own, make Mulder and Scully think about William.

Best: Mulder: You’re never “just” anything to me, Scully.

Worst: WHY doesn’t Scully have her name on the door - WHERE IS HER DESK?!! This makes me FURIOUS. Ughyfcggbhjjhb!!!!

✔️ Flashlights

❌ Woods/Desert

❌ Slideshow

✔️ Autopsy

✔️ Evidence Disappears

❌ Scully Misses It

❌ Mulder Ditch

❌ Sunflower Seeds

❌ Voiceover

✔️ Catch Phrase: (TTIOT)

✔️ Scully is a (Medical) Doctor

❌ Mulder is Spooky

❌ Scuuullllaaaaayy! Muullllderrrr!

❌ Fox/Dana

✔️ Inappropriate Touching (that I am here for)

✔️ Casual Scully

✔️ Casual Mulder

❌ Trench Coats

❌ Bad Tie Watch

✔️ Glasses Watch 😎

✔️ Taking! It! Personally!: Mulder & Scully

50 States: DC x102 (44/50)

Investigate: Together & Apart

Solve Rate: 50%

✔️ Bechdel Test

MSR: 🐝🐝🐝

Goriness: 👽👽👽👽

Creepiness: 👽👽👽

Humor: 👽👽

Rewatch Thoughts:

William check-in: The incubator conversation outside the hospital is SO clunky…. My baby, Scully? And it’s not like the idea that William was the result of experimentation is new - it’s threaded throughout seasons 8 and 9, Scully should not be shocked about this line of investigation. So much exposition needed to get revival viewers up to speed on William 🙄

Break-up check-in: It makes me sad that even in their dreams (or nightmares) Mulder and Scully imagine themselves to be raising William alone. They can’t share their grief over the loss of their son, or even imagine themselves as a family. But there doesn’t seem to be any tension or issues working together… Why bother with this breakup if they weren’t going to do anything with it?? They didn’t have to be split up for William to be a fissure within their relationship.

I believe this was originally the 5th episode in the production schedule, which I guess is why their return to the X-Files feels so low key here. Guess Skinner just made them Special Agents again!

Mulder: How do you know that? Scully: I’m old school, Mulder - pre-google. Lol poking fun at how much random knowledge they needed to have in the original run to keep the plot flowing. (Never mind Scully GOOGLING HOW TO DO BRAIN SURGERY in IWTB - no, I will never let it go)

GaY pAniC

Scully’s back in the autopsy bay 🥰

It feels weird to see Mulder and Scully in these big SUVs instead of their FBI rental sedans…

Skinner playing both sides as usual, but he brought them back to dig things up, not to play by the rules. It still just doesn’t feel plausible to me that they would rejoin the FBI after everything that happened. Wouldn’t it have been more fun if they were trying to investigate from outside the system and going to Skinner for help and insider access? (See This from next season, I wanted more of that!)

Scully’s worked at Our Lady of Sorrows hospital for 7 years? 🤔 But IWTB was 8 years before this 🧐 Who knows how time works in txf universe.

Oh hey Doug Savant! I don’t think I’ve seen him in anything since Desperate Housewives.

I know some of the genetic disorders the kids have are real disorders - are all of them?

The plot of this episode really bounces all over the place - especially with the detours to remind us about William. Lotsa leaps in logic needed to get to the janitor being the founder’s son.

Why is Mulder the only one who hears the sound? Is Kyle trying to send specifically him a message? Why him?

Bad things happen when the birds gather. Lolololol

I do love me some hurt/comfort and protective!Scully though

Why is the little girl blond in the flashback and has black hair in present day 🧐

I’ve always been into stories about super kids escaping from evil captors who want to exploit their powers - Escape to Witch Mountain was a favorite of mine.

Mulder imaging what it would be like to raise his son really gets me 🥺 - given the way he lost his whole family there’s so much to explore in his hopes and fears… I wish we got more but I do appreciate that we get this little bit.