#i guess this is a ficlet but not really

[24hrsoda]

adding on to this AU again

It’s Cass who discovers Ra’s is not that scary.

Bruce is already in hot water with Ra’s for not following orders and severely interfering with the way things were supposed to go on his last mission. Unnecessary casualties came about and he’s angry that Ra’s wouldn’t hear him out when he tries to explain he was only trying to prevent them from happening. He gets benched ofc and he’s extra broody when he returns.

And tiny Cass (who likes to sneak around) overhears Talia attempting to comfort Bruce about it, and decides she should give Ra’s a piece of her tiny mind for upsetting Bruce.

She’s super quiet and manages to sneak away from Bruce and the others and slink around the palace until she comes across Ra’s meditating quietly out in a courtyard. He immediately senses her watching him, but doesn’t do anything about it, cause she’s not actually a threat. He’s also curious as to what she wants.

She toddles up to him and squares up ready to fight, and he opens his eyes, looks down at her, and then just bursts out laughing. She’s tiny and adorable despite glaring him down, he can’t help but laugh. A full deep belly laugh that startles her and has her stepping back.

And once he’s done laughing, he’s like, “I commend your bravery, little one. But your form is not quite right.”

And he guides her to adjust her fighting stance so she’s better prepared. He’s curious to see how Bruce has been training the children, and it more or less turns in to him having her practice her kicks and punches against his hands and coaching her through perfecting her moves. (For self defense purposes, he’s not inducting her in to the league or anything.)

Bruce realizes she’s missing and panics. He immediately goes looking for her and nearly looses his mind when he finds her with Ra’s. They’re meditating side by side—well, Ra’s has returned to meditating after Cass tired herself out, and Cass is just trying to mirror him, pose and everything, very determined to look as big and strong as he does.) Bruce is already in trouble and doesn’t want things to get worse for him, now he’s over-apologetic , promising he’ll do better to keep the kids out of Ra’s’ way and whatnot.

Ra’s doesn’t mind, though, and waves him off. Cass was curious and determined, and reminds him a lot of Bruce. He was happy to help her with some minimal training, she was smiling by the end of it and seemed to enjoy his company, anyways.

Bruce apologizes again and scoops her up, carrying her off, and she pokes her little head up to look at Ra’s over his shoulder as they leave. Ra’s just gives her a knowing smile, and she smiles to herself smugly. She learned new things today, and Ra’s told her she was brave.

Next time her brothers are whispering about how mean and scary Ra’s seems, she will just smile to herself. She will know he’s not that scary.

[chronicowboy]

His breakup with Marisol is about as unremarkable as the rest of their relationship. There's no catastrophic muffin mess in his kitchen or divorce papers. Just a quiet I don't think this is working out, I'm sorry. Marisol hadn't even cried. She'd just nodded like she'd been waiting for it and left, didn't even need to grab anything from the house before she went and really that just reassured Eddie that this was the right choice.

So, his breakup with Marisol is unremarkable, except that it's not. It's pretty fucking remarkable when he thinks about it because it's not just that they weren't working out, not just that he really didn't care about spending time with her, not just the clench in his gut every time she touched him. No. It's pretty fucking remarkable because he realises he's in love with his best friend.

That's what pushes him over the edge, gives him the last kick he needs to actually break things off with her. Because Eddie may have sworn himself to secrecy about it the moment he realised, but he could never string someone along just because he couldn't have the real someone he wanted.

It's a fucking revelation once he has it. Not a ton of bricks, but the sun peeking out from behind the clouds on the greyest of days, bright and blinding. And the way Eddie has always thought of Buck in terms of sunshine maybe should have tipped him off sooner, but with the way Buck has been beaming over the past few weeks. Well. Eddie doesn't really think he can be blamed for only just taking his sunglasses off and daring to look directly at the light.

And, okay, so Eddie maybe makes it a full week before he decides his self-sworn secrecy absolutely is not a viable option when Buck walks through life now like a drop of sunshine in human form. It's after Buck leaves the Diaz house, walking out from a day of giggles and joy at the go-kart track they'd finally managed to convince Chris to be seen with them at, leaving behind a cosy heat like sun-warmed skin, that Eddie realises he cannot go another day without telling Buck that he's desperately, deeply in love with him.

And so, that's how Eddie finds himself at Buck's door on a random Sunday morning, knocking for the first time since Natalia waltzed out of the picture. Buck opens it a few moments later looking perfectly sleep-rumpled and soft and downright golden where he's backlit by the early morning sunlight pooling in the loft.

"Eddie," Buck breathes out, eyes darting up the stairs before refocusing on Eddie and what must be the most hopelessly lovesick expression painted across his face. "H-hey, what are you doing here?"

"I, um." Eddie takes a deep breath, suddenly nervous, and wipes his clammy palms on his jeans. "I wanted to talk to you about something. Now a good time?" And Buck must hear the slightly shaky steel in his voice because the surprise on his face morphs into a concern so quintessentially Buck that Eddie just wants to kiss it away.

"Y-yeah, of course, come on in." Buck holds the door open for him, and Eddie migrates to the fridge as Buck closes the door with the gentlest touch. "So, um, what's up?"

"I..." Eddie swallows against the heart in his throat, loses himself in the shining blue of Buck's eyes like an ocean he'd be more than happy to drown in. "I broke up with Marisol last week."

"Oh, Eddie." Buck slumps, and Eddie tries not to think that it looks a little like relief. "I'm so sorry, man. That sucks."

"No, no." Eddie waves him off with a laugh. "It's good. Was a long time coming actually." He shakes his head at himself. "I think I was dating her just to tick a box, you know? Realised you probably shouldn't be more excited about a phone call from your new buddy than one from your kinda long-term girlfriend. You definitely shouldn't be relieved when you see your best friend in the restaurant you're taking her to and disappointed when you realise he's just leaving."

And then, Buck blushes, ducks his head, does that little smile that could light up every house on South Bedford Street just like Eddie had been hoping for.

"Yeah." Buck looks up at him from under his lashes. "Probably not."

It bolsters Eddie. Buck's sunshine giving him that one last push he needs.

"There was something else I wanted to say," Eddie starts. And there isn't really any fear in him, knows they'll make it through this no matter what, just an overwhelming sense of peace to come. "I..." A deep breath, gathering all his love and devotion in his lungs so it's ready to pour out on his next inhale and—

A groan from upstairs has the words dying in his throat. A masculine groan. And then:

"Evan?"

"D-down here," Buck calls back.

Eddie can't take his eyes off the loft, stuck there like a car crash he can't look away from as a very shirtless Tommy Kinard appears at the top of the stairs and quickly blanches.

"Shit. Um..." He looks down at Buck in a panic.

Eddie finally manages to drag his eyes away from the very chiselled curveball that just hit him at a hundred miles per hour and finds Buck's face. Small, scared, shaken. He knows the feeling. And because he loves Buck, because of just how deeply he loves Buck, it's the easiest thing in the world to lock that love away and let his face crack into the most genuine of grins. Because if Tommy's been the thing making Buck shine like every fucking star in the sky, well Eddie will absolutely not be getting between them.

"You've been so happy," Eddie chokes out, still smiling.

"I have," Buck whispers.

"And I'm so happy for you." Eddie covers the distance between them in three long strides and pulls Buck into a hug so tight and clinging he's sure it's a confession in and of itself, but Buck only buries in deeper, taking shaky little breaths in the crook of Eddie's neck.

"Thank you," Buck murmurs into his skin. Eddie squeezes his eyes shut against the sudden rush of tears.

"Sorry you didn't get to tell me on your own terms," he murmurs back, letting Buck pull away, but lingering with a hand on his hip, on his shoulder. He should maybe be worried about what this could look like to Tommy who had basically never heard anything apart from rambles about Buck, except when he glances up the stairs, Tommy is nowhere to be seen.

"I was going to tell you," Buck rushes out. "I-I just wasn't sure how."

"That's okay," Eddie says. It's okay. It's okay. "Well, I'll stop gate-crashing for the... Second time?" He raises an eyebrow, and Buck flushes a pink Eddie will never ever get to taste. "Yeah, okay. That makes sense." He remembers the pure fear on Buck's face, the indecision on Tommy's and the sudden tightening of his own chest despite his smile. "I'll leave you guys to it." He clears his throat. "Kinard, if you hurt him, they'll never find your body," he shouts up the stairs.

"Copy that, Diaz," Tommy shouts back.

"I'm really proud of you, Buck." Eddie wraps him in another hug then, a quick thing, just one last touch before Eddie seals every desire away for good.

"Thanks, Eddie." Buck walks him to the door, eyes glistening with unshed tears, and Eddie wants to hug him again. Wants so badly it hurts. But if he hugs Buck again, he doesn't think he'll ever let go. "See you at work tomorrow."

"See you at work." Eddie prays Buck is too distracted to hear the wobble in his voice.

"Wait, sorry, what did you want to talk about?"

Eddie freezes on the threshold, the stutter of his heart painful like he's back in a suit store, and he catches himself on the doorframe with a shaking hand.

"It can wait."

[warning-heckboop]

Was going to write a little ficlet to go with this, but. Vaccine tiredness is killer.

A little bit of art for the FOP Nature au by @bunnieswithknives. I cannot recommend checking it out enough.

[metalhoops]

The place was Chicago. The year was 1990. 

It was early enough into the year that the term ‘1990′ still sounded space aged. It’d been the 80s for as long as Eddie cared to remember. It was late enough in the year that everyone kept telling him winter was over. Nevertheless, he wore the leather jacket he’d ‘borrowed’ from his ex-boyfriend. Spring in Chicago was worse than a million L.A. winters. 

Eddie hated California on principle, but his record label was in Burbank. Despite the band being one of the biggest rising stars in the metal scene, he didn’t have room to get cocky. He’d spent the break between tours last year with his aforementioned ex-boyfriend in his New York apartment. 

The place had been small enough that smoking with the windows open felt like a hotbox session. There was one window in the apartment. It was in the bathroom and only opened an inch if you could get it to open at all. It wasn’t the rockstar life he’d fantasised about back in high school, but he was getting by. 

So how the hell did he end up in Chicago? He was getting there. 

As the filmmaker he’d slept with in Toronto had told him, opening in media res was the best way to hold an audience's attention. Was that what Eddie was doing? Trying to retell the shitshow of his life back to himself? Trying to make sense of it all, make it climax to something meaningful? Maybe. 

Eddie had gotten into the habit of keeping a journal, mostly for lyrics. The band was meant to be recording their third full-length studio album in a matter of months and Eddie only had three songs that were worth anything. To make matters worse, the other two had been concept albums. 

Corroded Coffin’s first and sophomore albums had been different enough that the band hadn’t been boxed into anything. Yes, they were a metal band, but they got their fair share of punks, goths and even a handful of yuppies that’d shown up to their gigs in the past. Hell, their opening act had been a grunge band. It sounded pretentious as fuck, but Eddie wasn’t afraid to transcend genres. The metal scene was changing. They had to learn to change with it.

The nail in his goddamn Corroded Coffin was that the band were known for their concept albums. Their first album Knightmare was a D&D-inspired thrash, metal album. Think Ritchie Blackmore's Rainbow, with a few more homoerotic undertones. Their next album, Dream Dimension was more sci-fi leaning. It told the story of an unnamed group of kids who’d stumbled into another dimension. It was a little more glam metal. Some of the B-sides like ‘My Year’ and ‘Lakeside Interlude’ had been downright shoegaze. One magazine had likened the story to Dream Warriors, which Eddie thought was fitting. 

It wasn’t like Eddie didn’t have ideas for the next album. That was the problem. Eddie did have an idea. He just couldn’t write the damn thing. It was meant to be his magnum opus, the third album that’d stand on its own but also interconnect with the other two. 

He’d call it Daydream. It followed the story of a white-collar guy living the perfect nuclear family life, complete with a white picket fence and a Malibu Barbie, dream house. The thing was, the dude was miserable. He’d spend all his free time daydreaming about adventure and forgotten realms. 

The kicker was halfway through the album the listener would realise the guy was the titular knight from Knightmare. His perfect suburban life was turned upside down when his kid disappeared à la portal to another dimension. It’d be perfect. All Eddie had to do is write it, and that was the damn thing. He couldn’t.  

All his albums were about something. There was always a meaning beneath the meaning. Knightmare? Easy, that was about escapism. Dream Dimension? It was about growing up too fast. Daydream? That was more complicated. 

Daydream was why Eddie needed to write in his journal. It was why he needed to remember that the year was 1990 and that he was in Chicago. 

The thing was, Eddie didn’t remember writing Dream Dimension. There was a 1988 sized hole in his memory between their first and second US tours. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew exactly what caused it. In their early days, they were practically paid in 8 Balls and party favours. Eddie always had an addictive personality and getting into anything stronger than weed had been a bad idea.

It wasn’t until his bandmates had an intervention that he’d been able to see the forest through the trees. Realising there was a whole chunk of his life he’d missed out on was petrifying. So, Eddie kept a journal. 

He’d been sober for almost a year. He was practically fucking straight-edge without all the pretentiousness that came with it, but he knew one slip-up was enough to send him spiralling. That was how he ended up in Chicago.

It was the last show of their Dream Dimension tour, and they were in Chicago. Eddie was always lively on stage. Gareth had abandoned one of his drumsticks during a solo only for Eddie to run across the stage, slip and bite the dust with his ankle going one way and the rest of him going another. 

He’d woken up in a hospital with a lump on his ankle the size of a baseball and the uncomfortably familiar feeling of being high off his face on painkillers. 

To answer the question, Daydream was about getting older. It was about being okay with getting older. It was about doing it your own way. Back in the thick of it all, it’d looked like Eddie wasn’t going to make it to thirty. He was trying to be okay with the idea that he might. 

Last year, Jeff got married to a nice girl who’d been their costume designer for their first music video. It’d shaken him in a way he didn’t know how to explain. He was in his mid-twenties, yet suddenly he felt old. Wayne had retired and with Eddie’s help brought a Winnebago. He was probably fishing in Nebraska right now. 

See, the thing about the titular character in Daydream, was that he’d conformed to what life was supposed to be. By the end of the album, he’d have left that life behind for another, one of action and adventure, because Eddie could never understand why Dorothy wanted to leave Oz for fucking Kansas. Fuck Kansas, on principal.

Something about the album wasn’t clicking. Knightmare was leaving his boring life but ultimately, he was alone. Was that what getting older was all about? Being okay with being alone? When you were gay in 1990, it might be. 

After the tour ended he hadn’t wanted to go back to his apartment in Burbank. He hated it there. He’d entertained the idea of heading back to New York but it was depressing. It reminded him of Jack, and how so many of their friends weren’t around anymore. 

When all was said and done, he and Gareth decided to stay in Chicago. He never said it out loud, but Eddie was sure his friend had stuck around to keep an eye on him. 

Sometimes, Eddie just wanted someone to come home to. Maybe that was why he’d had a string of shit boyfriends. If you weren’t picky, people would walk all over you. 

Jack had been the one that’d made Eddie swear off dating. It wasn’t worth the trouble. He’d rather die alone. His name wasn’t even Jack, it was Corey, but everyone called him Jack. Short for Jacket. Eddie wished he was joking. That should’ve been the first red flag. 

The thing about Corey was he always wore the same goddamn custom-made, leather jacket, all year round. He’d liked having sex in front of his full-length mirror with Eddie always on his knees, which should’ve been at least a yellow flag. He never liked anything gentle. Corey liked the idea of having a rockstar boyfriend more than he actually liked Eddie or monogamy. That was why when Eddie left, he took his jacket. 

He didn’t know why he was still wearing it, but he was. He pulled it on as he hobbled in his moon boot across the street from his and Gareth’s rented apartment to the record store. He hadn’t gone outside in a week, and he was about to start climbing up the goddamn walls. He just needed to go somewhere, and Eddie loved record stores, especially little indie ones. 

Once inside, Eddie noticed the place was practically empty save for the guy behind the counter. They had an eclectic mix of records and zines lining the shelves. Eddie was glad the place was quiet. He didn’t have to worry about being spotted. It wasn’t like they were The Beatles. They could go places but in a big enough crowd, he was sure to turn a few heads. Some days, Eddie just wanted to disappear. 

They had Corroded Coffin records on the display shelf and a couple of magazines with his band's name on the cover, which made pride swell in Eddie’s chest, but he wasn’t here for stroking his ego. He wanted to know what other people were doing and get back in touch with the scene. 

He was busy sifting through the bargain bin when he felt someone slide in beside him. He cringed, almost expecting it to be some over-enthused metal head with a pen and a Corroded Coffin tee shirt, but it was just the dude behind the counter.  

“Sorry, can I squeeze past?” the guy mumbled, a crate of records awkwardly tucked beneath his shoulder.

Eddie did his best to make himself small, his dumbass ankle making a simple task seem like an effort. He didn’t miss the way the man’s free hand brushed over his side as he passed, as though trying to assure Eddie stayed stable. 

“Place sure is quiet,” Eddie observed glancing over at the man.

His jeans were fitted, tight in all the right places. He’d rolled up the cuffs of his shirt to reveal more of his bicep than Eddie deemed necessary and god his hair. There was something about his hair. Something about him seemed familiar. Eddie really hoped they hadn’t hooked up once. That’d be awkward as hell. 

“Yeah, we usually close around five,” The man replied putting an album on the shelf. 

It was almost six. Shit. 

Eddie hated when people did that. They treated him differently because his name was in the papers. Everyone wanted something from him, and they thought doing favours was a good way to win him over. It wasn’t. The guy could clearly see something shift in Eddie. 

“It’s no big deal. I have to stay an hour late to replace the stock, plus my roommate has a girl over, so I’d rather be here,” The boy laughed, shooting a look at Eddie over his shoulder, a stray strand of his perfect goddamn hair falling in his face. 

The boy paused, teeth worrying away at his lower lip, his hand falling to his hip as his eyes searched Eddie's face. 

“Do I know you from somewhere?” He asked. 

And there it was. Sometimes people did that. They played dumb about who he was before making a big goddamn deal out of it. Eddie suddenly wanted to crawl back to his apartment and spend another month in isolation. 

The boy snapped his fingers in triumph.

“Munson,” He practically shouted and holy fucking shit, that wasn’t what Eddie expected. 

No one knew his last name, not his real one. Everyone changed their names when they got famous. He’d gone for something simple, Eddie Emerson, it had some alliteration, just like Corroded Coffin. It wasn’t too far from his real name but not even the die-hards knew him as Munson. 

Then Eddie remembered. 

This guy was Steve goddamn Harrington. He didn’t remember many people from high school, but he remembered Steve. 

“Harrington,” Eddie breathed in disbelief. To his surprise, Steve screwed up his nose. 

“Unfortunately,” He admitted and stuck out a hand expectantly. Eddie leaned down and clasped Steve’s hand. From what he remembered of Steve, the guy had never been this friendly. 

“Nice to re-meet you I guess. I’d like to think I’ve changed a little in over five years.” He had, Eddie didn’t know how to explain how he knew, he just did. It was something about the way the boy held himself. 

“What brings you to Chicago?” He asked, seemingly oblivious to the fact that one of Eddie’s records was sitting on the shelf beside him. Honestly, it was a breath of fresh air to find someone who didn’t know who he was. He could keep the charade up a little bit longer. 

“Oh you know, work stuff,” Eddie answered vaguely, toying with his hair. 

That was something he did when he was flirting and holy shit, he needed to squash that right goddamn now. He wasn’t looking to date anybody, and he remembered Steve being very straight in high school. He needed to save himself from another heartbreak. 

“You live in Chicago now?” Eddie asked. The‘ because you didn’t seem like the type to ever leave’ was implied. 

“Yeah. Rob, my roommate, she practically dragged me here. We’ve been attached at the hip since I graduated. It wasn’t like there was anywhere else I wanted to be,” Steve answered. 

A little detail about the statement screamed for Eddie’s attention. 

“The same roommate that has a girl over?” He pressed and watch Steve fold his arms over his chest, all huffy indignation locked and loaded, begging for Eddie to choose his next words wisely. 

“The same,” he confirmed. Now that Eddie knew, he noticed they were selling a couple of queer zines. It didn’t necessarily mean anything. Steve might just be progressive. 

“I thought you were meant to be the lady's man, Steve,” Eddie tried hoping that was enough to make Steve’s defences fall. To his surprise, Steve snorted and shook his head. 

“Like I said, lots changed since high school. My luck in the dating department couldn’t be worse,” he admitted as he returned to stacking the shelves. 

Eddie watched the planes of his back move beneath his shirt, wanting to push himself against him, to feel what it was like for Steve to move beneath him.

He really needed to get a hold of himself. 

“Couldn’t be worse than my luck,” Eddie rebutted offhandedly. 

Steve shook his head and shot Eddie another glance over his shoulder. He inhaled deeply as though preparing to tell a long story. Eddie leaned against the shelf to show Steve he was all ears. 

“Last month, I went on a date with a girl and she asked me if she could call me by her ex-boyfriend’s name,” Steve began. 

Eddie screwed up his nose in response. 

“Worse still, I was so shocked she’d asked, I just agreed to it.” It was Eddie’s turn to snort. 

“Stevie, you didn’t.” 

Stevie. Goddamn Stevie. Don’t do this to yourself, Munson. Pet names are one step away from a full-blown crush. 

“I did. Do I look like a ‘Juan’ to you?” Steve asked honestly. The question had Eddie doubled over in stitches. 

“Alright, alright. That’s pretty bad, but that’s one bad date,” Eddie reasoned. 

“Dude, I wasn’t finished. The girl before that realised she was a lesbian, while on a date with me. Which is like... the third time that’s happened,” Steve admitted.

Eddie’s hand had betrayed him and returned to toy with a strand of his hair. He hid behind it as he tried to mask a laugh. This guy did have shit luck. 

“You’re a lesbian magnet,” Eddie reasoned watching as Steve hid behind his hands. 

“And the time before that, I thought I was getting somewhere with a guy. We’d been on three dates before he told me he had a wife.” 

Steve made the next confession a little quieter than the others, a little more reserved. Eddie felt the hairs on his arm stand on end. Steve had changed since high school.

“Once I hooked up with a guy who’d only give me head if I sang to him while he did it,” Eddie admitted, feeling the need to get Steve off the defensive and add to the pity party. He watched the boy’s features shift.

“Oh wow, that’s bad. You should’ve pretended to be tone-deaf,” Steve reasoned, once more proving he had no idea what Eddie did for a living. 

“See I was torn between that and singing La Cucaracha at the top of my lungs.” Steve snorted, honest to god snorted.  

The two lapsed into silence but it was a comfortable one. Steve smoothed down his hair five times within the space of a minute before taking a deep breath. 

Eddie knew what was coming. He wasn’t dumb, but a part of him would always be trapped back in high school. It kept screaming there was no way a popular kid like Steve would talk to a loser like him. He thought he’d buried that part of himself, yet here it was, rising from the dead. 

“Do you want to get a drink?” 

And there it was. Eddie didn’t mean to cringe, but Steve caught it, his hands stuffed themselves into the too-tight back pockets of his jeans. 

“Or not,” He muttered averting his gaze. 

“No. It’s not that. I... I don’t drink.” 

There you go Gareth. He was responsible enough to look after himself. 

“I could do dinner though,” Eddie tried to throw Steve a bone. 

Eddie waited for Steve to throw up one of the red flags he’d gotten used to seeing with all the men he’d dated or hooked up with. Eddie would say he didn’t drink, and they’d give him a funny look or mutter something about him being a killjoy. 

“There’s a place that does a wicked deep-dish pizza not far from here. You said you weren’t from Chicago, right? You’ve gotta have the pizza, it’s a rite of passage,” Steve ploughed on.

“Sure,” He muttered trying not to look as surprised as he felt. 

He watched Steve buzz around the record store, shutting up shop and then extending a hand shyly to Eddie. Right, his stupid goddamn leg. At least it gave him an excuse to get up close and personal with Steve in the street and not draw too much attention. 

The two made the short walk to the pizzeria at a plodding pace, talking about nothing in particular. 

“What happened to your leg?” Steve asked as they slid into the booth. 

“Slid on a drumstick and took a nosedive off a stage,” Eddie admitted. He wasn’t going to outright lie to Steve. 

“Ouch,” Steve mumbled, passing the menu over to Eddie. 

“So, you still do band stuff? I remember that high school talent show,” Steve noted, and Eddie cringed, letting his head drop to the table. 

“I really wish you didn’t,” He chuckled before confirming,

“Yeah, I still do band stuff,” as he raised his head and chanced a glance at Steve. 

“Cool,” was all he said before they shifted the subject. 

They were swapping stories about best friends, roommates, shared high-school trauma and generally flirting when a figure approached their booth. It was a kid, who couldn’t be older than fifteen with a shaved head and a battle jacket. He reminded Eddie of himself at that age. He knew what was coming.

“You’re Eddie Emerson, right? From Corroded Coffin,” the kid asked, his hands shaking. He watched as a furrow appeared on Steve’s brow before his jaw dropped. So Steve wasn’t totally clueless. 

“One and only. You want me to sign something for you?” Eddie asked, having gone through this song and dance a million times before. He tried to be nice, after all, it was a kid, but sometimes he got tired of always having to be on. 

To make matters worse it happened in front of Steve. Something about people coming up to him always sat wrong with other guys he’d been with. He wasn’t sure if it was jealousy or ego that did it, but he knew if he ran into a fan on a date, the rest of the night typically went sideways. 

He signed the back of a napkin as he listened to the kid rattle off praise for their music. He talked about his favourite songs and lyrics. Eddie wished he knew what to say, wished he knew how to take a compliment but he didn’t. To his surprise, he heard Steve speak. 

“Hey, did you make this?” Steve asked indicating the kid's battle jacket, forcing him to come up for air.

“Yeah, all on my own.”

The kid blinked and ran his hand over a couple of the hand-sewn patches. Steve obviously knew nothing about the scene because if you didn’t make your own jacket people would call you a poser. It was a nice shout though because he watched the kid light up. 

“Even the safety pins?” Steve asked curiously.

Eddie watched as the kid launched into a story of every little pin and stitch in the jacket, turning his attention away from Eddie, and giving him space to catch his breath. It was nice. He felt like Steve had seen him.

After another few minutes, the kid’s dad came to collect him and Eddie felt his body sag against the diner booth. 

“You get that all the time?” Steve asked, his foot nudging Eddie’s under the table. 

“You wouldn’t believe it,” He grumbled scrubbing his face. Steve nudged his foot again, giving him a goofy grin. 

“At least he liked your stuff,” He proposed. 

“I’m guessing it’s not your thing,” Eddie reasoned. He wasn’t one for stereotypes, but he really didn’t look like the typical Corroded Coffin fan. 

“I’m not too picky when it comes to music. I just listen to top forty stuff.” Eddie shot him a disbelieving look.  

“Dude you work in a record store,” he laughed and Steve shrugged.

“Among other things. I just got the job to hang out with Robin. She works there too. She only took the job to try and peddle her girlfriend Nancy’s zines. Sometimes I write the sports section because Nancy, Robin and Jonathan don’t know anything about sports.” Eddie rested his head in the palm of his hand, listening attentively. 

“Wait, is that the same Nancy that you dated back in high school?” He asked, trying to sound scandalised, glad to have a break from the rock star bullshit. 

“Like you said, lesbian magnet,” Steve grumbled, mirroring Eddie’s gesture, resting his head in his hand. 

“What are you actually doing in town?” Steve asked, more curious than nosy. 

“Trying to run away from writing our third album,” Eddie spoke. 

It’d been the first time he admitted it out loud. He didn’t talk about his music until he thought it was worth something, but Steve was a good listener. To Eddie’s surprise, he found himself spilling his guts to Steve. He told him all about the third album, about the goddamn symbolism, and the way things just weren’t clicking. 

“Why don’t you give him a reason to stay?” Steve asked when Eddie finished his monologue, as though it was the simplest solution in the world. 

“I mean, Dorothy doesn’t go back to Kansas because she doesn’t like Oz, she misses home. She misses her family. You want your knight guy to stay in fantasy land? Give him someone to stay for,” Steve proposed, and it was like the final puzzle piece sliding into place. It was brilliant.

“Stevie, I could kiss you,” Eddie spoke.

“Is that a promise?” Steve asked with a cheeky grin.

“Let’s get out of here and find out.”

[inalandofsadclowns]

Arthur had always thought, Merlin most likely came from an impoverished landowner's family. It was clear as day: first of all, the audacity, the insolence towards nobles, towards the prince himself! Then the fact that he could read and write, and had decent rhetoric skills. Then there was his overall aversion towards working... Every sign pointed to only one sensible conclusion, which was that Merlin had come from a well-off family – if not from nobility, even.

Merlin never said so himself, not even to gain respect, but perhaps he was not exactly proud of his family's history and just wanted to start a new page in his life. If he was honest, Arthur could respect this: putting in the hard work after a life of comfort and privilege; most nobles would not be able to do this. Only Merlin had been doing a truly lousy job with it.

One day news arrived from Merlin's home, saying it was in desperate need of help. Arthur immediately jumped to help, it was never a question if he would, only he was surprized at what he found in Ealdor. He was expecting to meet the remnants of this bankrupt, landowner-family, but the reality was much simpler than that: Merlin and his mother were really just poor peasants, who had spent their lives doing hard manual labor, sleeping on cold, hard ground and most importantly – secluded from the institutions of education.

Arthur left Ealdor with more questions than he came with.

[samgelina-jolie]

It all started a week ago. Steve had come along to The Hideout, decked in his darkest polo shirt. It was the first gig he'd come to since him and Eddie had officially- as Robin put it- 'got their shit together'.

Steve had met the band plenty of times already, and while they'd been pretty standoffish at first, he liked to think he got along with them pretty well. Jeff actually shared a similar taste in music (even admitting to liking ABBA because it reminded him of his mother) and he'd known enough about Star Wars and a mix of Dustin's interests to win over Seth. It was harder to read Gareth, but Steve had assumed they were at least acquaintances.

That was until Steve had walked up to the bar where Gareth was talking to some girl, and then Gareth had said the meanest thing imaginable.

"He's my buddy's boyfriend."

Eddie hadn't seen what the big deal was. But Steve understood the importance of befriending your partner's best friend.

Well, back in high school, Steve had never really bothered with his girlfriend's friends. He'd focused on putting in effort with the girls he found attractive, wooing them with flowers and gifts. The girls who he wanted to like him did, he didn't really care how much the other girls didn't. The only job the best friend really had in his mind was picking up the pieces after he left those girls in the dust.

That was all before Nancy, of course. She'd been so adamant about him making an impression on Barb, so he'd tried. He invited her to parties, kept Carol and Tommy off her back, even tried to back her up once or twice when Barb and Nancy were bickering.

And it worked out... kind of. Barb had still rolled her eyes whenever Steve opened his mouth, but she was also the one who pulled him aside and saved him a whole lot of embarrassment and heartache.

"I'm telling you this because I would want to know, and because I guess you're not the worst person in the world. Nancy has been hanging out with Jonathan a lot lately... I just think maybe you should pay a bit more attention to it."

But besides him and Nancy as a couple not working out, he'd realised how important being on good terms with the person you're dating's friends is to being a good boyfriend. Which is why it was integral that he became proper friends with Eddie's best friend.

--

"What are you wearing?"

Steve had just walked into the Munson trailer. He'd spent nearly an hour trying to perfect his hair, so he's mildly offended that his outfit is the first thing his boyfriend noticed. Steve glanced down at his shirt with the huge Green Day logo printed onto it. He wasn't sure why Eddie looked so appalled, it wasn't dirty or anything.

"Oh, Gareth let me borrow it. Cute right?" Eddie's nose scrunched up even further, full on glaring at the offensive item.

"I can't let you into my room with that shirt on."

"Well hopefully once we get to your room neither of us will have our shirts on" Steve chuckled, leaning in for a kiss but Eddie turned his head.

"I'm serious, big boy. The polos and tight jeans, you're whole hot preppy look actually, that all really does it for me and you know it. But this?" He pulled at the fabric of the shirt. "This is the one piece of clothing I never want to see you in."

Steve scoffed. Eddie pushed him gently away with a shake of his head.

"I'm turning off the benefits."

"What benefits?"

"The sex benefits, no more sex until you admit you're not a Green Day fan and we burn that shirt."

"Eddie this is my in with Gareth! He's finally starting to warm up to me." Steve whined. "Besides, you can't just, like, turn off us having sex!"

"Oh yes I can. All I have to do is think about you in this abominable outfit and my boner just-" He whistles, imitating his finger deflating. Steve pouted. He knew rationally he could just give Gareth back the shirt, but that would mean embarrassingly admitting he didn't like Green Day to Gareth and then trying to find another in with him.

So no, Eddie was just being unreasonable.

Anyway, he was totally bluffing about the sex. Steve hoped.

--

"It's been five days Robin! I mean, we haven't gone that long without having sex since.. since we started having sex!" Steve cried, following the woman around as she restocked the shelves. Even though he couldn't see her face he could tell she was rolling her eyes.

It was a serious situation though, at least in Steve's opinion. He and Eddie hung out all the time, and while he obviously enjoyed doing other things with his boyfriend, he wished the other man would at least have the decency to not be so sexy while performing daily tasks. Steve had been this close to jumping him in the frozen food section of the grocery store yesterday.

And he knew he wasn't the only desperate one, Eddie was suffering too. Obviously he'd assumed Steve would cave after a day, because he'd been all jumpy and grouchy for nearly a week. And he kept making that face that Steve recognised all too well whenever Steve did anything even slightly suggestive. Like when he'd bent down to put his laundry in the dryer, and when he turned back around Eddie was beet red and avoiding eye contact.

"Have you tried breaking out the old Harrington seduction techniques yet?" Robin shrugged, obviously not bothered by the fact her best friend was on the verge of death due to lack-of-sex-with-his-really-hot-boyfriend disease.

The thing was, he had tried his old methods. He tried wearing tighter shirts, that strained around his arms and showed off his midriff (but always making sure he was wearing some kind of Green Day memorabilia, because damn him if he wasn't going to be right about this). He'd invited Eddie along to his and Lucas' basketball game. He even tried straight up begging, knowing how much that usually gets Eddie worked up.

And nothing!

Although, there was still one move he hadn't tried yet...

--

"You want to what?" Eddie shot him an incredulous look.

"Help you study, of course. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn't help you with your problems? Besides I have this really neat method to help you revise." Steve let himself into the trailer and Eddie's room. He wasn't wearing a Green Day shirt today, but he did have a wristband, something he knew Eddie had spotted already as he walked into the room with his arms crossed.

"Right. And what method would this be?"

"Every time you get an answer right, I take off a item of clothing, and vice versa." Steve plopped himself down on the unmade bed, which he'd missed dearly. Eddie hadn't even let them take naps together in his room, insisting 'spooning almost always leads to sex with you'.

Eddie considered his offer carefully, before nodding with a shit eating grin. Steve cheered internally.

"Great!" Steve smiled before adding "Your rings all count as one item by the way." He tried not to look too smug at the way Eddie's confident grin faltered.

The game reached its boiling point very quick. Eddie had known more about Geography then Steve had expected, which reflected in the fact he only had his boxers and one sock left on. Eddie, however, wasn't doing too much better, sat in only his jeans (and Steve suspected no underwear underneath).

He's not sure who kissed who first, but suddenly Steve was pressed against the mattress, Eddie's thigh between his legs. Excitement coursed through him, his body so receptive to Eddie's touch after so long he wasn't even embarrassed at the noises he was letting out. His hips bucked up, causing Eddie to groan into his mouth.

"So the Green Day thing?" Eddie mumbled between kisses down Steve's neck. The noise Steve made was loud and high pitched, almost drowning out the man's next words. "It's over then?"

Steve paused, the hand that had been trailing down his boyfriend's chest pushed firmly against him as he pulled away.

"Over because you've let it go, right?" He mumbled. Eddie pulled back, his lips red and glossy.

"No, over because you let it go?" Steve huffed, sitting up and pulling his clothes back on. He tugged his jeans on in annoyance, storming out of the bedroom.

"You know what, I'm turning off the benefits now! No sex until you admit Green Day are better than... than Dio!" Steve yelled. He was irritated and extremely worked up but he was also incredibly stubborn. He heard a squawk of protest from behind him as he made his way outside.

"That wasn't even the rule!" Eddie called out, but Steve ignored him. He was not loosing this fight.

--

Listen, Metal music was fine, Steve endured listening to it with Eddie like he endured watching sports games with Steve. He was content in the knowledge that not loving every single one of each other's interest didn't mean they didn't love each other.

Punk was fine too, it still wasn't Steve's thing really, but it was okay and while Steve couldn't tell the difference, according to Gareth there was one. A huge one, if the way he'd been ranting about it for the past hour was anything to go by.

But between fighting with his boyfriend (because it was a genuine fight at this point), not having any sex for nearly two weeks, and being stuck listening to someone talk about something you have no interest in for hours, Steve couldn't take it anymore.

"I don't like punk music! I listen to Queen and Cyndi Lauper and sometimes Madonna and happy music that I can dance to without thinking about America's political landscape!" He blurted out. Gareth stopped his rambling about how Rob Harper was a better drummer than Pete Something, flashing Steve a confused expression.

"Then why were you pretending to?" He asked.

"I... I just didn't want you to just see me as 'Eddie's boyfriend'. I wanted to be your friend and Jeff told me you like punk music so I brought it up and..."

"Look, you are Eddie's boyfriend. Yeah, you're an okay dude, but I can acknowledge that without us having to do the whole friendship thing too, you know?" Gareth shrugged. Steve deflated.

"Right." He said, quickly making an excuse and leaving. Gareth shrugged off the weird feeling the guy's sad puppy dog eyed had given him, grabbing Steve's fries.

He felt kind of embarrassed that he'd been talking for ages with someone who didn't even care. He supposed it was nice of Steve to make the effort, Gareth wasn't aware he'd been trying so hard honestly. Jeff and Seth had warmed up to him pretty quickly but he thought that was just because they were just softies that were no immune to the 'Harrington Charm'.

"Steve?!" A loud yell startled him out of his thoughts.

Eddie stormed into the bar, wearing- holy shit, Gareth felt like he must have hit his head and started hallucinating. This day had taken such a weird turn, because there Eddie Munson stood before him decked out in a 'I heart Green Day' shirt. He also looked like it was taking every ounce of self control not to rip it off his body like it burned.

"Finally come around on the punk scene, Munson?" Gareth chortled. Eddie threw a fry at his face.

"Shut your trap, I need to find Steve before one of the gremlins sees me in this, they're too impressionable." He muttered, taking a seat as he looked around the bar.

"If this is a Steve thing you can stop anyway man, he admitted he doesn't really like them that much. It's kind of weird I mean, who lies about being into something to get someone to like them?"

"Dude, I spent the whole summer eating ice cream as a lactose intolerant person because Steve worked at Scoops Ahoy. He was just trying to find something for you to be friends about." Eddie shot him an unimpressed look, which Gareth thought was a bit high-and-mighty considering he just admitted to basically poisoning himself on a weekly basis for a guy he'd thought was straight at the time.

"Why exactly?"

"I don't know, Steve likes being close to people? He's basically besties with his ex girlfriend, man. Why are you so adamant he can't be yours?" Gareth considered this.

He remembered when Eddie had first told the band he was dating Steve Harrington. They'd all thought he was kidding, but there he was at their next rehearsal, cheering them on and spending his breaks holding Eddie's hand.

Gareth thought maybe it was a joke to Steve. Messing with the guy who likes men by making him think he has a shot with the former prom king. He thought it would end with Eddie in tears, and that had probably made him a bit more defensive than he needed to be. Maybe there was a small part of him, no matter how great Steve seemed, that still believed the guy was setting his best friend up for heartbreak.

"Look, I get that you might have reservations about him. But all I'm saying is- and I've got about a dozen preschoolers and multiple full grown adults that would back me up- Steve Harrington is a pretty great friend to have. So if he offers you friendship, you should take it." Eddie snatched a handful of fries as he got up, leaving Gareth alone at the bar.

--

Steve was half way out the door, wearing nothing but Eddie's Dio vest and grey sweatpants when he saw Eddie. He was standing in front of him, eyeing Steve like a starved man presented with a stake. Steve guessed he probably had a similar look, smiling at the Green Day shirt the man was wearing.

"Oh my god take your pants off." Eddie basically growled, slamming the front door to Steve's house shut as he stalked towards him. He pulled Steve into a ferocious kiss, hands quickly travelling down to his ass.

"Leave the shirt on." Steve gasped out. Eddie let out a muffled groan into his neck. They ran to the bedroom, loosing the vest and both of their pants on the way.

--

"Steve? You home, man?" Gareth heard a loud noise inside, followed by hopping, then Steve opened the door slightly. He was sweaty and shirtless, and his hair was a mess. He'd probably just been working out or whatever jocks did in their spare time.

"Listen, I'm sorry about what I said at the bar. You're a cool guy, I'd like for us to be friends, really. I even thought of something we could bond over; haircare. I've actually been meaning to ask you for some tips anyway." He admitted. Steve beamed, Gareth was almost scared the incredibly sweaty man was about to pull him into a hug. He didn't, he just kept smiling.

"That's real nice for you two, maybe next he'll ask you to prom!" Eddie's voice rang out from somewhere behind the door. Steve flushed a little and hushed him. Gareth was kind of confused as to why Eddie voice sounded so coarse and breathless, he didn't think Eddie had ever voluntarily exercised in his life.

"I would really like that, Gareth. I'll tell you everything you need to know, come by anytime. Except right now." He smiled again before slamming the door. Gareth heard more noises inside, wondering what the fuck they were up to until he heard a loud moan. Oh God, Gareth started running.

Still, he couldn't help but smile. It was always nice to make more friends.

[somethingsteff]

Political prompt!!

President Obi-Wan and political reporter Anakin get in a heated discussion in the press conference room that leads to some heated sex😏

Almost 2k words later and I bring you this little morsel! I had a ton of fun with this and really leaned into the West Wing vibes for it (I maintain that Charlie would make a great bodyman for President Kenobi). I hope you like it, friend!

Obi-Wan felt his nails dig painfully into his palms, but he was unable to release the tight fists. It was bad enough that someone had gone after a school - a school, children! - but for one of the press corps to accuse the administration of not investigating to their fullest potential. It was unfathomable. They had just received confirmation from a local health department that the recent string of illnesses at a Mandalore school district was from someone maliciously tampering with their water supply that morning. The federal government only just got asked to intervene. 

What more could Obi-Wan have done? He had immediately quarantined the buildings and dispatched a third party investigatory team to the site. He contacted the CDC and WHO for support in quick and effective treatment for all those who have been affected. Hell, he even asked his bodyman to compile a list of names and contact information so he could make calls to all the families, personally. 

All he could think about as he got each update was how easily it could have been Korkie, poisoned and in the hospital, if Satine hadn't brought him with her to Coruscant so she could be her best friend's Press Secretary. And now she was fending off accusations left and right by one man in particular. 

Anakin Skywalker.

Though he was a relatively new member of the press corps, he was well on the way toward making a name for himself. Obi-Wan had been curious about the curly-haired reporter himself. Now he was only gritting his teeth and wishing the boy would just shut up. 

“Does this administration have any excuses for why it's not taking action toward any of the suspected perpetrators?” Anakin's angry voice rang out through Obi-Wan's screen as he watched Satine deftly handle the angry man. Again. 

He couldn't handle it any longer.

Quickly navigating the hallways in the West Wing, Obi-Wan didn't notice the wave of people standing as he approached and sitting after he moved past them. He made it to the reporters’ bullpen at the back of the Press Room in record time, and instructed an aide to hold Skywalker off after the reporters were dismissed. He wanted to answer some of his questions personally.

A guard kept the reporters from streaming past Obi-Wan, instead guiding them toward another door and out of the room, but allowed Satine to approach him.

“Don't do anything you'll regret, Obi. He's just an angry kid, he doesn't mean anything by it.”

He couldn't bring himself to answer her, but did squeeze her hand as she walked away, taking comfort in her corresponding embrace.

“Mr. Skywalker,” Obi-Wan walked into the mostly empty Press Room and gestured for the remaining staff to leave them. “I hear you have some questions about the incident in Mandalore. Rather than letting you continue harassing my staff, I thought I'd give you the opportunity to ask me your questions directly. Off the record.”

Anakin's face didn't change when he saw Obi-Wan walk in, he hadn't expected it to, but at the mention of the school poisoning anger flared up in his eyes once more.

“Gee, thanks, Kenobi-”

“President Kenobi.”

“-I do have a few questions for you. But it really all boils down to one; why are you sitting on your ass instead of doing something about the attack?”

Obi-Wan had to fight not to outwardly bristle at the accusation that he hadn't done anything. “I assure you, we are doing everything within our power to get to the bottom of this situation.”

“‘Doing everything in your power’?” Anakin mocked. “Please! You're all twiddling your thumbs until you can get an optics report so you don't lose face in the election cycle.”

A muscle in Obi-Wan's jaw twitched, but he let Anakin keep going.

“I really expected better from you Kenobi, this shitshow-”

“Enough.” Obi-Wan didn't raise his voice, but he let all the ice he'd been feeling in his veins since this whole situation started seep into his tone. “I am the President, and regardless of what you think of my actions you will address me as such and with the respect that position deserves. You will cease calling me ‘Kenobi’, you will call me ‘Mr. President,’ ‘President Kenobi,’ or ‘Sir.’”

It appeared that Anakin wanted to interrupt, so he held out a hand.

“Now. I don't give a damn about optics, especially regarding an attack on children. What I do care about is completing this investigation and prosecution quickly, thoroughly, and with as little impact on the victims as possible. I will not let this become a media storm, and I will not stand for you accosting my staff.” He looked at Skywalker for a moment before coming to a decision. “Were you aware that Press Secretary Kryze is from Mandalore? No? Well, prior to moving out here after my confirmation her son went to that school. She knows many of the children and parents, and in all likelihood she and her son would have been directly impacted were she not out here.”

Anakin finally had the audacity to look ashamed, quickly gazing down at the floor and scuffing the toe of his dress show against the carpet. His cheeks were beginning to turn pink, and Obi-Wan realized his own face felt warm and his breathing had become heavy. Throughout his lecture he had become more and more riled up, letting his famed control slip just a fraction, and it seemed to cause the boy in front of him to squirm.

Good.

While he took the time to catch his breath, Obi-Wan looked more closely at the reporter. He was fidgeting with the hem of his dress shirt - he vaguely recalled that it frequently became untucked as Skywalker used the edge to clean the lenses on his black-rimmed glasses - tugging it down lower and- oh.

Oh.

He was hard.

The thin slacks that fit snugly along thick thighs did little to hide the bulge that was now pressing along his inseam. Try as he might, there was nothing he could do to hide it from his President.

The silence finally stretched to its breaking point and Anakin looked up. His eyes were blown, pupils swallowing what Obi-Wan knew was a lovely shade of blue. “I'm sorry, sir,” he said in a small voice. “It won't happen again.”

Obi-Wan considered the stress he had been under for the past few days - really since he was sworn into office, but the additional stress of late hadn't been any help. With a deep exhale, he decided to test his luck and see if he couldn't partake in some stress relief while simultaneously ensuring this reporter really did learn his lesson.

He stepped closer to the young man, coming toe to toe and letting his breath fan across his face. “You're correct. It won't ever happen again. And we're going to make sure of that.”

Telegraphing his moves clearly so that Anakin could stop him at any time, Obi-Wan reached his hand out and cupped the nape of his neck, pulling their mouths together into a kiss that started chaste and quickly devolved from there.

Anakin let the older man's tongue slip into his mouth, submitting so beautifully, and followed his lead as Obi-Wan, President Kenobi, led him over to the podium at the head of the room. As quickly as the kiss had begun, it was over. Obi-Wan spun Anakin around and bent him at the waist, forcing him to brace himself against the podium with his forearms. 

“Now, darling, let us see if we can really drive this lesson home.”

Obi-Wan reached around and unbuckled the reporter's belt before opening his fly and pulling his trousers and briefs down to mid-thigh. 

He trailed one hand up the prone body before him and traced the plush lips. “Suck,” he said directly into Anakin's ear and felt the responding shiver as the younger man eagerly pulled the digits into his mouth. “That's a good lad.”

Thoroughly coated in saliva, Obi-Wan pulled his fingers back and let them fall to trace along the rim hidden between the perfect globes of Anakin's ass.

“Now relax,” he breathed as he slid one finger in to the knuckle.

Anakin's body quickly adjusted, and soon the single digit was joined by one, two, three more until Anakin was a panting, quivering mess. 

“Please, Mr. President. I'm ready, I'm, uhn, ready.”

“Very good, darling.”

Despite his blood supply diverting to his aching cock, Obi-Wan quickly undid his own slacks and pulled himself out of the ever-tightening confines. He spit in his hand and slicked up his own length before pressing the head against Anakin's loosened hole.

“Are you sure you want to do this, dear one?”

“Yes, Mr. President. I want you. Please.”

Obi-Wan slowly pushed in and immediately felt a glorious heat surround him. It was addicting, and he found himself hoping he could have this again and again. Once he was fully seated he paused, waiting for Anakin to adjust to his formidable size. Only when he felt Anakin's hips push backward, trying to fuck himself on the cock filling him, did he start thrusting.

Soon the only sounds in the room were the obscene slap of their hips and Anakin's constant gasps and moans.

“President Kenobi, I'm gonna-” Anakin's sentence cut off with a moan.

“That's it, darling. Can you come like this?”

Anakin nodded and Obi-Wan increased his pace, frantically slamming into the body beneath his hands. As he looked down to watch his cock disappear into the reporter - his reporter? - he shifted his grip on those glorious hips so that he could dig his thumbs in and pull those plush cheeks apart. The slight jostling must have changed their positions just enough because Anakin let out a long and wordless groan, his arms giving out beneath him. 

Obi-Wan continued to punish the younger man's prostate, chasing his own orgasm as much as he was his partners, when he felt muscles tense beneath his hands and around his length, Anakin letting out another cry as he spilled across the podium.

It only took one, two, three more frantic pumps before Obi-Wan felt his own release crash over him, hips stuttering as they worked to push his seed deep into his partner's willing body. When he finally felt the last dregs of his orgasm fade he let gravity pull his body on top of Anakin's on the podium, taking a moment to catch his breath before even contemplating slipping out of him.

“Thank you, Mr. President.” Though Anakin's voice was still a little shaky it sounded content and drowsy.

“I'm glad you've learned your lesson, Mr. Skywalker.”

He was forced out of Anakin as the younger man stood straighter and turned around. “I don't know, Mr. President. I'm a pretty slow learner. I might need another lecture.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, but straightened them both up nonetheless and led the infuriating reporter over to the Residence. He had a feeling it would take more than one more lecture and he found he was very amicable to the idea.

[actual-changeling]

i am absolutely addicted to angry post-divorce sex with a heavy dose of self denial but we should also consider the opposite.

they have the most gentle and romantic sex you can possibly imagine without saying a single word the entire time, and it fills a hole inside their chests, it soothes all the pain and heartbreak for a little while.

maybe, they both think, maybe this means we can fix this.

crowley clings to him in the afterglow, his head resting right above his heart, and listens to it's steady, slowing beat, while aziraphale combs his fingers through his hair. it's longer now, almost shoulder-length, and he can feel the strands tickling his cheek in time with his breaths. aziraphale is warm beneath him, his arms wrapped around him, and neither of them wants to move first.

they don't talk. they hold each other, the duvet covering them as if to create a suspended bubble of frozen comfort. he wants nothing more than to fall asleep like this and wake up to a world where none of it ever happened, where aziraphale will stay, where they will get up together and cuddle in the kitchen while waiting for their morning cups of coffee and tea.

don't leave, he begs, silently, when aziraphale begins to stir. please, don't leave me again.

"crowley-" and oh, his voice is a soft whisper with apologies woven into every single letter. he could keep clinging. he could put up a fight, argue, try to change his mind, try to make him stay.

he doesn't.

instead, he loosens his grasp and pulls away, snaps his fingers and tries not to wince at the sudden loss of contact when his clothes and glasses reappear. they still don't talk. he doubts either of them would know what to say, anyway.

"crowley-" aziraphale tries again, but he shakes his head exactly once.

don't. don't make this harder than it already is.

the hollow in his chest reappears and swallows him whole, and he's glad it happened in the bookshop. easier to avoid the memories that way.

aziraphale leaves him (againagainagain) and by the time he gets back to his flat, the entire encounter feels like nothing more than a dream.

a dream that he keeps in a locked chest inside of his mind, a precious treasure never to be seen again, and the next time aziraphale descends with an apocalypse following close behind, tenderness disappears under stoic anger and desperation.

they talk.

they both wish they could share a dream in silence again, but once you wake up, it's impossible to go back—no matter how hard you try, the good dreams never linger.

only nightmares do.

[rakkiankh]

Link still struggles to fully express himself, even after his destiny is fufilled. He's a man of few words, and while he's become more vocal after the defeat of Calamity Ganon, he's still rather stoic. Zelda has come to learn to read him rather well, from the slight pinch of his eyebrows to the most subtle smile, but there are times still where she cannot place what's going on inside his head.

Then, one day during dinner, Zelda tells him about how when she was young, her mother had taught her different ways to slyly communicate during fancy dinners and royal parties. The one she remembers the most was simple: three squeezes of the hand or taps on the shoulder or knee. A simple way to say 'I love you'.

It doesn't go a day after that without Zelda feeling it. Whenever she finds herself working on her plans for the new school, or enjoying a book before bed, or even just laying in their bed, half asleep in the early morning light, she feels it. The tap tap tap somewhere on her body, with the only other constant being Link, and the expression on his face she once didn't know how to read.

(Post this is based on under the cut)

I thought this idea was super cute but didn't know how to word it how I wanted to without basically writing a ficlet

Post this is based off of:

[unclewaynemunson]

Inspired by this gorgeous art by @artbean that obviously has been living rent free in my head for weeks

People wouldn't expect this from him, but Wayne Munson has a big love for metal music. He may seem soft-spoken and like he's trying to make the best of what life has given him, but underneath that exterior - an exterior that was only crafted by the necessity of being a balance to his brother's short temper in the first place - he is angry.

He's angry at his parents for not giving him and his brother what they needed to succeed in life; angry at his brother for making a hot mess of things time and time again; angry at the men in the White House for not looking out for their people; angry at his boss for refusing to give him and his colleagues fair wages for their hard work... And that's only the beginning. He could keep listing things he's angry about for days on end without running out. But he knows it's no use being angry: he has learned a long time ago that it never solves anything. So instead, he channels his anger to places where it can do no harm. He recognizes parts of himself - the parts that he has been suppressing ever since his brother started getting into serious trouble - in screaming voices, overwhelming guitar riffs and deafening drums. He loves the anger, and he loves the escapism. He loves turning up the volume until he's drowning in the music and can forget without any drugs.

So for Wayne, it makes sense that he loves metal. But what he doesn't expect, is for a nine year old boy who sees more than enough anger at home to love it too. When Eddie unsuspectingly turns on the radio in Wayne's trailer only to be met by Paul Samson's aggressive voice on full volume, Wayne expects him to flinch and get scared or upset. But none of that happens: Eddie's big eyes widen even further, something resembling a hungry kind of understanding sparkling in them, and he goes to sit cross-legged right in front of the speakers. He stays quiet for way longer than Wayne even knew he could, engrossed in the music until the tape has finished and leaves a deafening silence in its wake.

Wayne spends the rest of the afternoon answering all kinds of questions from Eddie: about the music, other bands that are like that, the instruments they use, the way they use their voices, the topics they sing about... And so it becomes a passion that he and Eddie share with each other. Wayne has a new tape ready for Eddie every time he visits him in his trailer. He teaches him to play on his old acoustic guitar, while saving up to maybe get him a real one someday.

On Eddie's tenth birthday, Wayne drives him to Indianapolis and takes him to a concert. They get some odd looks, this plain old man in his plaid flannel with a young boy on his shoulders among all the black-clad youngsters, but Wayne will still clearly remember Eddie's overjoyed smile for years to come.

[maxblonda]

vulnerability and the william carter puzzles

i've been looking at the william carter puzzles for the upteenth time this week after i got back into playing this game after months and i know a lot of people notice the changes in the portrait in maxwell's apartment (and the only time iirc he's ever seen canonically using light magic as opposed to the shadow magic he's known for but that's another post for another time) as the sequence of images goes on.. but only after looking closer have i noticed that before and after charlie first enters, the picture is that of both her and maxwell, right? that's not a surprise to anyone. he has that picture as well as other pictures of the two of them in his apartment and in the fireplace scene in the beginning of the "inevitable" musical.

but what has only just caught my eye after years of this image sequence being out is the fact that i always assumed that after maxwell returns to his apartment in person that the picture behind him turns back to normal. it doesn't. when he picks up charlie's hat mournfully, there's a different magician in the picture next to his assistant. that's not maxwell- at least not maxwell as the persona he puts on that's far more secure and confident in himself. next to charlie in that picture frame is william carter. the same unsure, nervous magician he was before he reinvented himself. but despite maxwell's sadness, there's an endearing, dopey smile on the stupid, foolish man behind him. the man who no one ever really bothered or cared to watch, unlike the amazing maxwell of san francisco, whose magic feats are nothing an average person could even imagine.

unlike maxwell, william's body is turned to face her, and his hands are not behind his back. his hands are palm up, and their figures overlap with one of his arms behind her head. he is not smug in his grin. he's not looking at the camera, but at her. because it was always about her, wasn't it? maxwell closes himself off, not expecting the warmth that she brings, or the way she makes him laugh, or the way she all but jumped into his arms with glee when he unveiled the poster announcing their next magic act.

but charlie's seen right through him. because it was always about him, wasn't it? but her gaze, her new knowledge has left him vulnerable in a disquieting, upsetting way. a narrative no longer in his control. we don't even know if he ever read the contents of the letter charlie wrote, or if he was in the right headspace to even process her genuine concern and love to him. the most he can do in his powerlessness is to bring the manic scribbles from his study out into the picture in the main room of his apartment. the picture that reflects a man back at him that he never wanted to be known as ever again. a stupid smile, a foolish innocence that makes him want to yell "can't you see i'm about to lose everything?!" because someone else knowing about the existence of Them, no matter their benevolence, is a recipe for fucking disaster. so he scratches that face right out.

for a man so guarded, the shadows are more than happy to give him what he wants. the man in the picture left behind after he and charlie disappear into the constant makes it clear that he's left william carter behind in the rubble of the real world for good. and it's not a big deal. that william carter died in a train crash years ago anyways.

the king of the constant isn't the pitiful william carter. the crown weighs heavy on the head of king maxwell. and charlie is relegated to the darkness that she was convinced was merely a powerful illusion. the same darkness she was afraid of as a child.

and the only way they will ever take the stage again is with the former assistant watching, lying in wait where no one can see her as the disgraced magician and failed king reenacts a their old lives with none of the grace and all of the anger she has (and They have) held inside for not letting her in. for not being brave enough to be vulnerable.

[crystallinemoonlight]

sometimes i'll think about how, at the start of episode four, pete offers to help porsche guess who he might have kissed at the pier the night before, and i imagine a crackfic where porsche goes on a quest to find out who it was by kissing his colleagues one by one - starting with pete of course that man was ready to sacrifice himself for the cause when porsche had questions about casual hookups later in the episode, offering himself up without hesitation

he visits them one by one; pol is confused... but intrigued, it's like one of tankhun's series! arm already knows it wasn't him but insists they check it anyway... just to be sure, right? you never know. ken says he'll break his face if he tries anything (very suspicious, porsche makes sure to highlight his name). big doesn't know whether to be angry or confused, he wasn't even there??? no he and ken didn't sneak in halfway through because of a secret crush, this isn't one of tankhun's series! tankhun asks what they're doing and if he can join but porsche isn't about to open that can of worms.

maybe at some point kinn catches on and realizes porsche doesn't remember but is rating the others based on if they kiss better or worse than the ~mystery person~, which is giving him an ego boost up until porsche declares that one of his friends is actually a better kisser and therefore can't possibly have been involved (said friend is very confused about why khun kinn is giving him death glares for the rest of the week)

you can even throw in some chan or vegas or anyone else if you want to, just go crazy with it, i think that'd be really funny especially if porsche just casually blasts vegas after they make out for a solid minute saying "no you're good but the other guy was just less desperate you feel me, sorry bro".

[strangersteddierthings]

👀 you should mix 1 & 10 together from that prompt list.

I’d say go for fluffy, but i know you. 🫣💜

For you, I will attempt some fluff, love. Even though you've picked two of the prompts most perfect for angst!

"I feel lost without you" and "I miss you every day"

It's a lil spicy below the read more 🫣🫣🫣

-

The dipping of the mattress behind him alerts Eddie that Steve has returned home. Eddie rolls over the seemingly endless expanse of mattress until he finally bumps into Steve. It's not as romantic as he was hoping it to be, because Eddie lands atop him, facing the ceiling instead of his beloved. He's got to shuffle and wiggle and twist all while Steve laughs at him and offers no help whatsoever.

"I miss you every day," Eddie whines, once he's turned the right way 'round, snuggling into Steve's chest, "all day, every day, and this is the abuse I suffer when you finally return from the war!?"

"I'll show you abuse," Steve says through a laugh and shoves Eddie over onto his back. Eddie goes without a fight because he loves it when Steve looms over him. He is, of course, immediately betrayed because Steve does not loom over him but instead folds himself in half to blow a raspberry off to the side of Eddie's belly button, where he is most ticklish!

"Betrayal! Abuse!" Eddie cries out even as Steve forces laughter from him. He tries to roll away, but Steve is too quick. Eddie makes it to his side, back facing Steve, before he's forced to stop by the grapple his boyfriend wraps him in, a bear hug around his torso that leaves his ticklish flesh vulnerable to further attacks. "No, no, stop! I yield!"

Steve's hands flatten out against his sides, pressing down to avoid further tickling in a way that is second nature now. He feels Steve shuffling around behind him, hears him sputtering as he, presumably, gets a mouthful of Eddie's hair in his attempt to snuggle up against Eddie's back, turning him into a little spoon.

Steve extracts one arm and uses it to flatten Eddie's main of hair out of the way. He then hooks his chin over Eddie's shoulder and places a quick kiss to his cheek before settling down to hold Eddie, their faces cheek to cheek. Cuddling like this wasn't Eddie's initial goal, but it's still good.

"I'll let you in on a little secret," Steve whispers, "about while I'm away at war. I feel lost without you. It's the thought of you, here at home, awaiting my arrival that keeps me going on every battlefield."

Eddie grins and knows Steve can feel him doing so. What he loves more than Steve looming over him, is Steve playing with him. Committing to the bit. "And what terrible, awful villains are you battling now, my dear heart?"

"Oh, the scariest, meanest, most terrifying ones, my love."

"Mmm. Must be parent-teacher conference week," Eddie shoves his shoulder back so Steve will raise his head up, and Eddie can turn his head to capture his lips in a sweet kiss that turns deep and filthy surprisingly quickly.

Steve releases Eddie from his hold and braces himself up on one arm by Eddie's head to allow Eddie to roll onto his back. Steve shifts his weight to reach the hand that was bracing his weight down to grab Eddie's hand, tangles their fingers, before raising their joined hands back up by Eddie's head. Steve draped across him, then, a leg slotting between his own, the kiss never breaking. Eddie rolls his hips lazily against Steve's leg, each drag cause delicious friction as his cock fills.

He feels Steve rut against him and Eddie longs to touch, but Steve's got him trapped. One arm pinned under Steve's solid weight and the other being held by his head. Fuck. He's not restrained, not really, but the thought of being so is enough to make him roll his hips harder, seek more friction.

They sleep in just boxers, so Eddie can feel the heat of Steve against his cock. Can feel Steve's cock moving at a much slower pace over his hip.

Steve pulls away, untangling their held hand and shifting slightly to kiss his way down Eddie's neck and to his bare chest. Eddie's hiss turns into a moan as Steve bites lightly at his nipple before soothing the hurt with his tongue.

"Unf, s'good baby," Eddie breaths out.

"You say you miss me every day," Steve murmurs into his chest before lifting his chin to look at Eddie, "but Imma show you how much I miss you every day." And then Steve is sliding down his body, mouth never leaving his skin as he kisses and licks his way down.

His lips leave him only so Steve can shift to the side, to get his leg out of the way of removing Eddie's boxers. Steve throws them somewhere beyond the end of the bed and then swings his leg back over Eddie's to straddle his leg.

Eddie runs his now free hands through Steve's hair. Not to pull at it, or to have his hands in place to any sort of leverage, but just to pet because he knows Steve loves it when people play with his hair.

Steve starts with kissing above his hip bone, slowly planting little kisses in a trail to Eddie's cock. He places one kiss at the base before licking up the shaft on the underside, which pulls a groan from Eddie and he feels his hands grip slightly at Steve's hair but he forces himself to relax.

Fuck, Steve's mouth feels divine as he closes his mouth around the head of him. Eddie lifts his head to look down and finds Steve stare back, lips wrapped around him, and as soon as they make eye contact, Steve sucks at the same time he flicks his tongue along the slit of him.

"Fuck, sweetheart," Eddie curses, dropping his head back down to the pillow because he's going to blow his load with three more licks if they keep eye contact.

Steve slides down Eddie's cock, relaxing his throat to take all of him, until Steve's nose is pressed against him, and then Steve hums. His hips buck involuntarily but Steve's already got him in his throat, so Steve just moves with the motion.

Eddie can feel Steve humping his leg and that's just so fucking hot.

Steve pulls up, but not off, wrapping a hand around the base of Eddie's dick and bobbing his head. It's so wet, so hot, and Eddie is not going to last long. "Steve. Stevie, baby, fuck."

Steve pulls off to breath, the hand that was at his base jerking him now in the absence of Steve's mouth. He doesn't speak, just pants above Eddie's cock while he spreads saliva and precum up and down with his hand. Eddie's getting close, so close. He must babble as much out loud because Steve's says, "yeah, yeah, come for me. Wanna taste you." And then on the next downward drag of his hand, Steve chases his hand with his mouth, flattening his palm to Eddie's hip, holding him down this time as he takes him as deep as he can without deepthroating him.

"Fuck!" Eddie cries as he comes, Steve swallowing around him. It's barely a few seconds later that Steve stills his furious humping and Eddie feels it as Steve comes in his boxers like a teenager.

Slowly, Steve drags himself up Eddie to collapse next to him. "I miss you that much." He mumbles by Eddie's ear.

"Me too. I love you, so much, Stevie."

"Love you, too."

[squeaky-n-blushy]

FUCK

[14muffinz]

another headcanon of mine is that i think della is the complete opposite of those parents who think you have to clean the entire house to have guests over

i imagine something like this:

Della: "they're coming over for you not for your house. why clear up all the evidence that you have lived here!?"

Huey: "Mom, if normal people see a hall with arrows and darts sticking out of it, they are not going to like your daughters were running from them as they were being shot as an explanation."

Della: "Oh come on! That game totally builds character!"

Huey: "Is that what you're going to tell their Dads??"

~~~

or like. tamer examples. with just general mess. but beakley and duckworth would wind up cleaning that up anyways so??

[todayisafridaynight]

happy mothers day to the best mom ever

bonus: