#if anyone has any experience with what i’ve just written about

[scientologisabethmoss]

anya weight talk diary entry 1

(trigger warning)

it’s very likely that in about a week or so, i’ll start taking zepbound. i have a lot of feelings about this, most of them incredibly positive and optimistic, but i am processing a lot right now and have a lot of feelings and opinions that i want to start writing about here.

the decision to start this journey was made in conjunction with my primary care physician and my psychiatrist. however, i’ve been thinking about taking a GLP-1 drug for at least six months now. my mom started taking ozempic in 2015 and has just recently transitioned to mounjaro, and these medications have been a godsend for managing her diabetes and helping her to lose weight.

i feel like there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, like i actually have a hope of being able to manage my obesity for potentially the rest of my life.

i’ve been trying to work through a lot of my conflicted feelings on starting this journey and taking this medication. part of me feels like a phony, like i’m turning my back on my own politics for trying to lose weight with the assistance of meds. but i feel like a martyr to my own political cause, and that is untenable for me. i can’t sustain that, body or mind.

losing weight - and needing help to do that - shouldn’t affect my own commitment against weight discrimination. and i refuse to have anyone else - especially people lighter than me - convince me otherwise.

anyway, this is just the beginning. i should probably have the prescription by the middle of next week. more to come.

[maxlarens]

Driver!reader and oscar starting the race from p1&p2 and before they put their helmets and stuff they kiss one last time on the grid and people go like "awwwww" because it was somehow filmed

i feel like u sent this in to be like a concept or something but I HAD to write it. i’ve been writing for lando so much lately i’ve very much been missing oscar + driver!reader. plus i’ve not ever written them in an established relationship before!

It’s not like you and Oscar are a secret.

It might have been easier that way, to keep your relationship from the public’s prying eyes, but it’s not really your style. It’s not Oscar’s either.

Being public comes with its problems— questions from the media, awkward interviews, your respective PR teams going a little buck wild, extra contracts and NDAs to sign— but it also has its benefits.

You like be able to talk about him, like being able to call him your boyfriend. ‘Oscar Piastri, the driver for McLaren? Yeah, that’s my boyfriend’. You like hearing him say things about you, praise your driving skills, talk about you as a rival and as his girlfriend. It’s all you can do to stop grinning like a madwoman whenever you’re in his vicinity. You equally like that the press can’t comment meaningfully on it, can’t speculate wildly about the nature of your relationship when you’ve made it clear.

Some people hate it. They think you’re a silly little girl with her head full of romantic notions. No room for skill, for ruthlessness. Which is funny, given that Oscar receives only praise for “bagging you”. You think they’re just jealous; if not of the fact that Oscar’s dating you and not them, then of your duality. The way you can love Oscar wholeheartedly and also race Oscar wholeheartedly.

They’re not mutually exclusive in your experience.

Naturally, there’s a massive buzz about you and Oscar being P1-P2 on the starting grid.

You’re not particularly surprised. The MCL’s had been performing well all through practice, just as you and Lewis had. You pull out pole in quail, fastest Q1 and Q2, with Oscar hot on your tail. There’s a barrage of bizarre questions in the media pen,

Do you think Oscar’s grid position will impact your performance during the race? Why would it?

Will this affect your relationship with Oscar? No.

What happens if one of you wins and the other doesn’t? The same thing that happens every time anyone wins ever?

You’re confused by it. Bordering on snarky and sarcastic the fifth time someone asks if you and Oscar might break up over this. Rolling your eyes, thinking your true feelings are obvious, you tell some Italian journalist that yeah no we might break up if he doesn’t let me win.

It’s funny, objectively it’s hilarious. You and Oscar laugh over it later that afternoon. Send the clip to a group chat you’re in with a few drivers closer to your age. And so what if it’s still funny when clickbait articles and gossip sites start saying that the two of you have broken up.

There’s even more buzz about it by the morning of the race. Journalists you’ve already talked to have suddenly become convinced that you and Oscar are on the rocks. You can’t help but play into it a bit— partially for the benefit of your PR team— arriving separately, forgoing the couple snap that you usually grace Kym Illman with, giving vague no-comment answers when the media accost you.

Maybe it’s a little childish, a little dramatic. But it serves them right for jumping to conclusions.

You avoid any presenters on the grid walk, sinking into the protective circle made by your engineers. Staying behind the roped off areas until about 10 minutes to race start when you finally hop over the MCL in P2.

Oscar’s drinking water, looking smug when you push through McLaren engineers, so used to your continued presence that they let you in with ease.

“Hey,” you greet, reaching out to smooth the collar of his fireproofs, “How’s it goin’?”

“Mm,” he hums, cutting a glance behind you, which you take to mean that there are cameras trained on the two of you, a reporter trying to get your attention maybe, “I’d be better if I was on pole.”

You hiss mockingly, “Yeah, too bad. You gonna break up with me about it?”

He raises an eyebrow, lashes brushing his cheekbones as he looks down at you, “I didn’t know you read F1 gossip sites?”

You shrug in response, “Don’t need to. The media make enough noise about it.”

He hums again, smile pulling at his mouth while someone from Mercedes shouts at you to get back. Rachel probably. You should go, you really should. But Oscar’s so close and so cute in those black fireproofs.

“Good luck,” you say,

leaning forward to kiss him, hand on the back of his head. A slip of tongue, not so much to be publicly obscene, but enough to leave him wanting,

“You’ll need it.”

You hear the sweet sound of him laughing as you slip away, back to where your car is sitting on pole. Ignoring the reporter dogging at your heels for a comment you don’t really need to give.

like maybe unrealistic. who cares!

[rinskazuu]

love me like you do ⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

synopsis. ꨄ︎ hsr characters and their voice lines about you as their lover!

characters: ꨄ︎ gn!reader x gepard, sunday (written at the time of 2.5), dr ratio, acheron, black swan, aventurine, jing yuan (separately)

cw: ꨄ︎ established relationship, use of they/them pronouns, use of pet names (beloved, darling, love), implied that reader has the same/relative lifespan as jing yuan, FLUFF :D

notes: ꨄ︎ continuation (more like a spin off) of my genshin lover voice lines lol (it has god awful writing and punctuation. proceed with caution). warning: i accidentally (it really was an accident) turned them into d1 yappers, mb y'all.

GEPARD

about: [name]

“so, you’ve sought me out during my busy schedule to talk about [name]…? i will indulge you just this once, considering they are my lover. what is it that you want to know? ah, before you begin, i must remind you that although you and i are good friends, i won’t tolerate anyone trying to take them from me. otherwise, i will have to resort to methods i wouldn’t normally use.”

chat: family

“you’ve heard of my close relationship with my sisters? yes, i hold them in my heart dearly. the only downside of our relationships is that they tend to nag me about [name] a lot. lynx is always trying to steal them from me under the pretext of help for her next adventure, but i know she loves them almost as much as i do. serval, being the true older sister she is, always scolds me for not taking better care of [name]. i understand her perspective but my schedule is draining, even for me.”

chat: art

“ahem, i would prefer if you didn’t bring up my skills in art, or lack thereof. please, enough with the teasing. you remind me of [name] when they first saw my so-called wanted posters. as i recall, they keeled over, arms clutching their stomach from laughter. i’ve never suffered a bout of embarrassment as bad before. so you’ve seen them too…? please spare me the humiliation.”

chat: flowers

“lynx’s dangerous journeys in the cold can also result in wondrous things, such as the flowers she brings home for serval and i to grow. i admit growing these things are difficult to say the least but i do do my best to raise them until they’re ready to be sent off—to [name] more specifically. i just can’t figure out how to get them to not wither. trailblazer, do you have any experience growing plants?”

chat: duties

“i do rather enjoy my job as the captain of the silvermane guards. i cherish and honor the responsibility, however, the hours are brutal. my constant thoughts all revolve around [name]. thinking about them, but not being able to be in their presence, feeling their touch, or just as simple as seeing them is torture in itself. nonetheless, the citizens of belobog need me—more importantly, [name] needs the protections i offer, and for that, i will pay the price diligently.”

♡

SUNDAY

about: [name]

"most handsome man in penacony? yes, i've heard that before. i'm flattered, but everybody in this universe should know my heart is already taken. you're surprised i have a lover, why is that? as you've said, i am the most handsome on this planet."

chat: jealousy

"jealous? what nonsense has gotten into you? is it that gambler or perhaps his accomplice, the doctor? i should not be surprised they display such impertinence, seeing as that gambler always tests his luck. the doctor should recheck his qualifications and his ego at that. wanting things they could never get. such foolishness i cannot comprehend. are you interested in [name], too? i won't hesitate to oppose you, regardless of our friendship."

chat: power

"the power i hold comes with such responsibility, naturally. i shouldn't be deceitful; i enjoy being in a position of authority. but then again, who doesn't? the only downside is my constant worry for [name] and robin's safety. should a day come where either or both are in harm's way, i will not resist in acting on my power. i have high hopes that the people of penacony should not resort to violence against my beloved nor my dear sister."

chat: dreams

"it shouldn't come as a surprise that the dreamscape is nothing new to me, seeing as i hold the responsibility of the safety and entertainment of many in my hands. oh, did you not mean the dreamscape? hmm... my dreams often carry beautiful memories of my beloved. [name] appears equally as comforting as they do in the realm of reality. all entities and beings cease to exist when i am within their presence."

chat: problems

"is something troubling you? inner demons... yes, i'm rather familiar with them. such a world without personal problems is so close, yet so far out of reach. if it is advice you seek, i suggest maybe confiding in a close friend or better yet a lover. sometimes it feels as if my very being is precarious, within the bounds of falling apart, but all is well when [name] is with me. they soothe my demons, hushing them as if they were never there to begin with. i am subjected to this... forlornly feeling whenever they aren't near."

♡

DR RATIO

about: [name]

"you speak in high regard of my lover i see. as expected; [name] has that effect. one where they attract all kinds of people, that of which unfortunately includes those who are reduced to stupidity. why are you surprised my beloved is someone like me? are you implying i would ever associate myself with an idiot? here i thought you were aware of my character. no matter, i'll let it slide because you are not prone to foolishness. should you make another mistake, i'm afraid i'll have to distance myself..."

chat: intelligence

"what makes a genius versus an idiot, i often find myself pondering. it certainly isn't the knowledge you gain because then again, an idiot cannot comprehend idiocy but can acknowledge the subject of math. it is the unlimited creativity in oneself and their intellectual ability. a prime example of brilliance is none other than my lover, [name]. their originality and innovation is something to admire, truly."

chat: free time

"solving equations with my lover is something i cherish. their tenacious behavior certainly puts up a challenge for me and i would ask for no other way to spend my time. books and bathtubs suffice as well, i suppose."

chat: nuisance

"to think i was enjoying my time when you just had to bring up the gambler. that nefarious man knows no bounds. i was very well aware of the way he was eyeing [name]. as if that man can even make sense of their beautiful being and mind. i've had enough. if you could make your exit, i would be the utmost grateful."

chat: bonds

"i find it rather difficult to... connect with others because there is no shortage of stupid people in this world. if i were to pick, i'd spend the rest of my time with [name] but that's already a given. i suppose you'd make a decent second option. blushing? hmph. be serious, that act is not even in my vocabulary."

♡

ACHERON

about: [name]

"on my journey throughout the cosmos, my encounters with others were never necessarily nuisances. rather, they were precious. but just like all moments in life, they are only a distant past; too far out of reach, too far out of my mind. the same cannot be said about [name]. for every minute i spend with them, i will fight to remember what it is i truly cherish in this world."

chat: memories

"it is true that my memories fade, much like the rain; very visible in the moment, but as days pass it will unite on the ground, vanishing before it is forgotten. however, the importance of rain is akin to my feelings toward my lover. it may one day be a mere bygone, but the feeling will never wane."

weather: rain

"like all little things in life, [name] finds it all fascinating. i cannot share their enthusiasm, but i do share a bit of their contentment when it comes to the weather. as the skies darken, it can form a shroud of fear toward one, yet comfort for another. the little droplets creating rivulets of water on the ground. so insignificant, yet so beautiful, the latter a lot like my lover."

chat: company

"no matter the reason, all travelers in this world are alike, their own purposes driving them to each and every corner of this cosmos. i am glad i do not have to suffer my fate alone, for it is not entirely filled with hardships. [name] is not just my lover, but my companion and it fills me with joy beyond my understanding that they will withstand any storm by my side."

weather: lightning

"a bold and bright strike in the sky, severing it ever so slightly. it is beautiful and brief, yet so powerful. i like to think the fondness i show [name] is much like lightning. i believe actions hold a larger importance than conversation, but for my lover, my words are endless."

♡

BLACK SWAN

about: [name]

"is it without a doubt my most radiant memories are with none other than my love. so, you've met [name]. by your expression, i take it that they are just as dazzling as i'm proposing. would you humbly allow me to capture your memories with them? i can assure you it's all in good's name; after all, i must oblige by my lover's safety. i wish you could see your appearance. i apologize for the scare, it's all meant to be humorous."

chat: memories

"as a memokeeper, it shouldn't be a surprise that i enter many minds. some minds are putrid; the memories i see are only vile acts of selfishness or egocentrism. others are broken, hard to explore and understand. there are minds which contain honorable deeds and acts of heroism, such as yourself. [name], however, their mind is brilliant. i could exhaust you for the rest of time just by simply sharing what i've learned from my lover, but the term brilliant should suffice. hmm? well, of course. i only entered their mind with their authorization."

chat: time well spent

"memories are integrated in my very being. even this body is merely a vessel only to serve my purpose. one day, the inevitable will come and we will all cease to exist. perhaps on the path there i will outlive my lover. in other rare cases, they may live on without me. memories are eternal and we shall all live on in the reminder of what once was."

chat: fate

"do you believe in fate, trailblazer? it is one of, if not the only, inescapable pieces of this world. what is to come is predestined. it is within my comprehension that [name] and i were bound to happen. the lights of destiny shine at me once again."

chat: time

"like the past and present, the future will hold many resplendent tales. i look forward to the stories [name] and i will share. whether it inspires a romantic and grand story or a simple poem, i will continue to dance with them until the stars begin to grow dimmer and dimmer."

♡

AVENTURINE

about: [name]

"my interactions are always based on transactions, but there's more to [name] than what meets the eye. i admit, our relationship started as a one time self-indulgent on my part, but as usual, i only invest in deals that pay off. don't bother trying to steal my darling. i mean, if you wish to do so, you can try, but remember i'm the lucky one here."

chat: luck

"i've never doubted my luck. it's as simple as it sounds—everything requires strategies and planning, even if it boils down to fate and luck, and who am i if i'm not lucky? my most treasured possession is none other than my beloved, of course. no game or bet could satiate my desires as they do."

chat: chips and gambles

"each chip has a different value, as does a person. the highest chip of profit are those who are beneficial. again, everything requires planning, but sometimes i like to revel in making a simple wager. you are easily a valuable chip, hence our cordial relationship. naturally, there are worthless ones and then there are priceless, one-in-a-million ones. my darling effortlessly tops the list."

chat: schemes

"you call it a scheme, i like to call it a master plan. with my bets, chips, my pawns in one place, and fate smiling upon me, it's hard not to win. it's as i say; the best plan is the smartest plan. how else do you think i have my lovely [name] by my side?"

chat: wins and losses

"my greatest loss was one you've heard before. i have no interest in repeating it, but i'm sure you remember what happened to my home planet. as for my wins? i've got plenty. you seem indifferent to hearing them, so i'll give you an easy answer: [name]. my greatest treasure and win is my lover. why are you surprised? high rewards always follow high risks, and they are no exception."

♡

JING YUAN

about: [name]

"the xianzhou species and natives, as you know, have longer life spans. the things we see from our day to day life often begins to blur. rather, more accurately, it begins to mesh with the background. it becomes, dare i say, mundane and dull. however, it amazes me how i still love life with [name] as my lifelong companion. my lover, who's been with me for centuries, makes my days and nights much more livelier."

chat: bonds

"yanqing is my disciple and subordinate. at his young age, he shows many promising features and skills. it is a shame that although he may be an excellent swordsman and lieutenant, his behavior often reminds me that he still a child. what warms my heart is his attachment and endearment to [name]. with my duties, i am often in the seat of divine foresight, so i cannot entertain either of them when i mostly yearn for it. i am filled with glee knowing [name] is there to care for him, and likewise."

chat: a day of work

"it is without a doubt that my work is utterly boring. it is not to say i don't love my home planet, but the work i do on a normal day to day basis is... tedious. early mornings transition into the peak of the day where it then drags into the long, wee hours of the night. thankfully, i have my beloved, [name], to amuse me. sometimes, they'll sneak off in the middle of work just to come see me, which delights me to no end. i'm fortunate to be able to see their lovely face first thing in the morning."

chat: worry

"i, as one of the arbiter-generals, have a lot to worry about regarding the luofu and the planet as a whole. there is chaos to be dispelled, questions to be answered, and a seemingly endless amount of help to be distributed. hmm? you were asking about my personal worries. well, there was a time where i was just a cloud knight, coming home when the sun was long gone with bruises etched into my skin and blood littering my armor. my greatest worry is having to see the fearful look on [name]'s face again, frightened for my safety."

chat: associations

"long gone with the wind were my old comrades and friends. like the sun sets, it's natural for more winds to blow my way. come new adventures, i will pursue new companions. one i will clutch onto for the rest of my days is [name], the most precious of them all. it goes without saying that they are whom i treasure the most, who i seek in my darkest moments, who i confide in my happiest moments with, and who i share my every being with."

end notes: ꨄ︎ i was going to include luocha, but my brain juice ran out. i typically listen to their EN voice lines on youtube (even if i have them) before figuring out what to type to get a better grasp on their canon personality, but uhm luocha was too vague as is. plus, we don't really know much about him (still love him)

[puckinghischier]

Dogtooth

jack hughes x fem!reader

WARNING - SMUT!!! minors, DNI. 18+. oral!female receiving, face riding

summary: just a lil jack thot inspired by the song dogtooth by tyler, the creator

notes: this is just a repost of the little jack blurb i posted last night, i just wanted to reformat it so it’d fit in my masterlist better. but!! this is probably my favorite jack thing i’ve ever written and i’m obsessed with this song so, hope you enjoy!! 🫶🏼🫶🏼

[2.3k]

dogtooth by tyler, the creator?? that song is soooooo jack coded.

it’s the right kind of cocky but also the perfect amount of loving his woman, which is exactly how i picture jack to be in a relationship.

he’s a pretty private guy, not enjoying being in the media too much and revealing a ton about his personal life. he hates media because he doesn’t like the feeling of people assuming they know everything about him. but his girl? she knows everything about this man and he basks in the fact she knows him better than anyone else.

and when he’s down for someone? oh he’s down baddddd. i mean, pining level shit. he always wants to be around her. always calling her. always texting her. he just wants her attention 24/7, no matter what he has to do to get it.

he loves to pleasure his girl. and that’s it, really. he loves any second he can spend making her feel good, any way she wants. he doesn’t even care about the reciprocation (though he does love when she returns the favor) because knowing he’s the one to satisfy her needs is enough to put him on cloud nine all by itself.

and the second jack hears this song for the first time? oh he’s got big plans for it. (and you)

you’d be sitting on the couch, waiting on jack to get home from a mid-day skate. he sent you a text telling you he was leaving the rink around thirty minutes ago, expecting him to walk through the door any second.

no sooner than the thought entered your mind, you heard the lock click, signaling his arrival. calling out a greeting, you’re met with silence. you turn your body to see why he’s ignoring you, noticing the small white ear buds stuck in each ear.

he sets his bag down at the door, no doubt filled with his sweat soiled clothes he wants you to wash. waiting on him to look up and acknowledge you, you lay your head on the plush cushions resting against the back of the couch. you watch him, never missing an opportunity to admire how pretty he is.

finally, he looks up and meets your gaze, smiling at your love-filled eyes. he pops one headphone out while walking towards you, rolling it around in his hand.

“hey, sweets,” he leans down to place a small kiss on your waiting lips.

you savor the taste of his lips, always loving their soft feel.

“tried to say hi when you walked in, but guess you couldn’t hear me,” you gesture to the one earbud still lodged in one of his ears.

he gives you a small, apologetic look. “sorry, found a new song i really like. think you will too, actually. made me think about you.”

grabbing his phone from his pocket with his free hand, the one that’s holding the small bluetooth device brushes your hair away from your own ear, comfortably resting the earbud there.

“here’s the thing though….i want you to ride my face while we listen,” he just casually tells you, not even looking up at your face, still fiddling with his phone.

you perk up, surprised at his casualness. “i- what?”

“you heard me, before i press play i want you to ride my face.”

said face in question is dead serious, not an ounce of mischief to be found.

“you…literally just walked through the front door. what happened to asking each other about our days? or discussing what we’re gonna eat for dinner?” you ask him, not knowing how to react to the sudden proposal.

he rolls his eyes playfully. “is this your way of telling me you don’t want to? because you don’t have to. just think it’d really add to the experience, s’all” he shrugs.

you still don’t know how to react to the pure casualness of it all. by the way he’s acting you’d think he’s suggesting watching a movie, not having you ride his face in the middle of the living room.

“i didn’t say i didn’t want to. it’s just a little wild for that to be one of the first things out of your mouth when you get home.”

jack snickers at your words, walking around the large sectional to occupy the spot next to you.

“not really. not for me, at least. been thinking about it all day,” he plops down beside of you, making himself comfortable.

his words shoot excitement down to your core. he’s been thinking about it all day?

before you can think of a response, you feel shuffling next to you on the plush couch. you look over to see jack laying flat on his back, head only slightly raised to look over at you expectantly.

“so, you gonna get rid of those shorts or what?” he asks, referencing your thin, cotton pajama bottoms.

“i swear to god, if i wasn’t turned on right now i’d slap you,” you grumble, standing and removing all clothing below your waist.

jack laughs a real, out loud, laugh this time, prideful in the fact that you’ve never really been able to (or wanted to) resist any of his offers.

he burrows his body further into the couch, making sure he’s in the middle of the large surface, ensuring there’s room for your knees to rest on either side of his head.

you climb to hover over his body, looking down at his hungry eyes that are glued to your bare pussy, following every movement of your body from that landmark.

“shirt off or on?” you ask him, sitting on his toned abdomen.

“off. wanna be able to play with your boobs, please,” he flicks his eyes up to your face, an innocent smile on his own as he bats his eyelashes.

“of course you do,” you remove your (his) t-shirt from your body, now completely bare as you sit on top of him.

“swear they get bigger every time i see them,” he says in awe, bringing a hand up to massage one of your full breasts. you moan as he kneads the flesh, stomach turning flips in anticipation of what’s about to take place.

“gonna press play so we can get started or you just gonna play with my tits all night?” you huff out, loving the feeling but growing needier by the second.

it takes jack a second to register what you’re saying, too lost in the feeling of the heavy skin in his hand.

“oh! yeah, almost forgot,” he reaches up to the back of the couch where he left his phone, picking it up long enough to press play.

you scoot yourself farther up his body, resting your eager core right above his chin. all you’d have to do is relax your thighs the slightest amount to make contact with his mouth. 

suddenly you hear a smooth beat ring out in one ear, assuming jack’s hearing the same.

the second you hear the lyrics “she could ride my face i don’t want nothing in return” pour out of the earbud, jack inched his face up, licking a long, deep stripe through your folds.

you allow yourself to relax, sliding your slick pussy back and forth gently, not wanting to rush.

jack’s nose brushes your clit with every movement. you sigh at the feeling, not realizing how much you needed the friction until now.

the melody in your ear continues, but none of the lyrics are registering anymore. the feeling of jack’s tongue working through you takes every ounce of your attention.

“god, fuck! jack, best idea ever,” you moan out, picking up your pace slightly.

jack groans, letting his tongue still for a moment, allowing you to work yourself over it as you please.

fighting through the bliss radiating throughout your body, you try to focus on the lyrics at least a little bit. the chorus starts repeating, but the lyrics that follow make your head fuzzy in the best way.

“she could ride my face i don’t want nothin’ in return, except for some her time and all her love, that’s my concern” is what you focus on, the words squeezing your heart and your cunt.

jack smirks into your pussy when he hears you moan, knowing exactly which lyrics elicited the reaction from your body. you’ve always been the type to get off on the sweet nothings he whispers in your ear while he fucks into you, so he knew that line in particular would be especially helpful while his mouth is otherwise occupied.

your pace increases again as the song continues on, already halfway to your release.

jack brings his hands up to hold you still, your hole mere centimeters from his waiting tongue. he guides you to lower yourself onto the muscle, encouraging a slight bobbing motion of your body.

with every depression of your cunt onto his tongue, your clit bumps onto the tip of his nose. the pressure is a delicious form of teasing, the sensation gone nearly as soon as it’s felt each time.

“please, touch me. need you to touch me, jack. so so close,” you pant out, feeling the familiar swirl of your climax forming already.

jack grunts in response, the vibrations sending waves all throughout your body and you’re convinced you can feel it in your toes.

his hands leave your hips, traveling up your body until they find your sensitive buds, pinching and playing with each pink, taut nipple.

you jolt a bit, the motion causing your clit to slam against his nose this time. you cry out at all of the various sensations all at once. full with his tongue, rough hands on your tits, and round nose scraping against your clit.

the pure stimulation of it all forces your orgasm out of you, slamming into your body with the force of a train.

“fuck!” you scream, quickly shooting a hand out to grip the back of the couch, trying to stop yourself from collapsing on jack’s face completely.

you can barely hear the words “she can ride my face i don’t want nothin’ in return, and will i ever fall in love again? i can’t confirm,” ring through your ear, the soundtrack to your release, literally.

jack continues to work his tongue in and out of your hole while you shake and convulse above him, having to chase your entrance as you move. he continues to knead your sensitive breasts, each squeeze sending small volts through your already spent nerves.

he can feel your release dripping onto his cheeks, chin, and nose. he tries to lap up as much as he can, not wanting to miss a drop of your liquid pleasure.

your taste alone was enough to form the wet spot on his grey sweats, not embarrassed in the slightest he’s literally leaking from how turned on he is. but when he looks up at you above him, skin damp and eyes half rolled into the back of your head, mixed with the feeling of your body tightening around his tongue so harshly he can’t even pull it out, he blows his load right then and there.

he can feel the last flutters of your walls around his tongue, not stopping his movements until you pull back, having half a mind to keep going and work another orgasm out of your sensitive state. he moans through his own unprompted release, the only thing keeping him from following his sudden impulse to overstimulate you.

once the tired muscles in your thighs stop shaking, and your breath evens out, you can hear the fading of the music in your ear, signaling the end of the song. you push up slightly on your knees, detaching yourself from jack’s mouth as he chases your now swollen cunt, a small whine escaping him at the action.

“jack…the song’s over,” you manage the words somehow, in awe that he made you come in only a single song’s length.

“i can hit replay,” he rushes out, already reaching to grab his phone again.

you squeak out a slightly panicked “no,” while shaking your head, worried if he started again you might actually explode. you let yourself relax fully, scooting back so you can rest yourself on his lower abdomen once again, but the feeling of something wet stops you.

jerking back up, you turn and look down, spotting the large, wet stain on his sweatpants. you can’t stop staring at it, wondering if you’re really looking at what you think you’re looking at.

“jack…did you…” you trail off, turning back around to look at him.

he smirks as he leans himself up on his elbows. “sure did, sweets. you have no clue how much i enjoyed that.”

you laugh at his pride filled face. “pretty sure i do, seeing as i just sat on the evidence.”

he simply shrugs, patting your bare ass lightly to signal you to stand. you swing your legs over his body, standing and bending over to pick up your discarded underwear and slide it back up your legs.

“so….about that dinner conversation,” you ask him as he stands, suddenly way hungrier than you were when he first got home.

it’s his turn to laugh at you, walking over and removing the now silent earbud from your ear.

“whatever you want is fine with me. i already ate,” he gives you a kiss on the forehead then turns to walk towards the bedroom.

“oh…not even right, you dick,” you huff, following it with telling him you’re ordering his least favorite take out, a punishment for his sass.

making your way to the kitchen to dig through the different take out menus, you hear jack shout your name once again.

“i was thinking, how do you feel about that being our wedding song?” he asks, poking his now shirtless, but clean sweats clad, figure out of the bedroom door.

“jack!” you shout, scolding him as his loud cackle rings out around you, causing your own amused smile to break out on your face.

[rallamajoop]

So why are there so many gay vampires?

From the time of Carmilla all the way up to the works of Anne Rice (a universe that seems to get only less subtle as the years go on), gay vampires have been a thing basically as long as anyone was writing about vampires. Lesbian vampires have been a genre all their own for decades. Bram Stoker, author of the most famous vampire novel ever written, was gay himself. So why vampires specifically?

I’ve seen people attempt to answer this one before, and there are all sorts of contributing factors I could point to here, from the genres’ beginnings with Lord Byron (infamous bisexual disaster fuckboy), to modern discourse about why queer folks so often find themselves identifying with the monsters and outcasts of fiction. Few other monsters besides vampires can so easily pass for ‘normal’, or are nearly so well known for their snappy dress sense and ‘unnatural cravings’ for human flesh. And that’s without even getting into all those skeezy outdated stereotypes casting queer people as predators, or the idea that even one ‘gay experience’ could somehow ‘convert’ you into being one yourself.

But to my mind, there’s just one really important thing that makes vampires so gay, and it’s the same thing that makes them sexy in the first place: plausible deniability.

You see, a vampire’s bite is simultaneously a) ridiculously sexual, and b) not even a little bit sexual at all.

You don’t have to look far for vampire canons where there’s nothing sexy about being bitten by a vampire. Bloody, violent, painful, sure ‒or just clinically miserable, human bodies torn open or hung up to drain like a human blood bag. What’s sexy about getting bitten by a mosquito, or a fecking leech? The diet of the actual vampire bat requires it to process so much water that it apparently spends mealtimes busily pissing out the difference, and the anti-coagulants in its saliva leave the wound bleeding messily long after it’s gone. The basic act of feeding is no more inherently sexual for a vampire than it is for a zombie.

Vampires are even a surprisingly acceptable monster to market to children. There’s a vampire muppet, a cartoon about a vampire duck, and a whole series of books about a vampire rabbit. You can put a vampire on the side of a cereal box without undue outrage. Vampires do not have to be R-rated for sex or violence.

So of course vampires will go after victims of the same sex. Do you stop to inquire whether the cow you’re eating was male or female? It’s all just predator and prey!

Until it’s everything but.

Do not let the ‘vampires aren’t supposed to be sexy!’-purists fool you. The tradition of sexy vampires goes all the way back to the oldest folklore, where the first victim of a newly-risen vampire was often their still-living spouse. Vampires were even occasionally known to get women pregnant (a convenient excuse for any widow who might turn up pregnant slightly too many months after their husband's death). The ‘original’ Nosferatu sounds more like an incubus than the naked mole-rat creature they made that movie about. The demon lover aspect of the vampire has been there all along.

And it’s not hard to imagine why. If someone is biting and sucking on your neck, then either they’re a vampire, or they’re well on the way to second base (other folklore has its vampires feed directly from their victim’s heart, which is scarcely less suggestive). The implications of an exchange of bodily fluids were never subtle, even in Stoker’s day (I'm looking at you, Lucy-with-the-three-husbands), and the vampire as a sexual predator was a popular literary device well before Stoker's time. Beautiful vampire women would seduce men to their demise, and the males of the species might visit the bedroom of some innocent maiden time and again. The Victorian obsession with mesmerism, meanwhile, provided the perfect explanation for how victims might be hypnotised into eager compliance, and perhaps not even remember being fed upon at all. Vampires have been the ultimate guilt-free sexual fantasy since way back in the day, compatible with all your awkward Victorian mores! (Not quite ready to admit they're sexual fantasies? No problem: he's just here to, y'know, suck on your neck a bit. No subtext here!)

The whole act of biting is so suggestive that in the early years of vampire cinema, it wasn’t shown at all, not even between opposite-sex participants. The camera of 1922’s Nosferatu maintains a demure distance during the climactic scene where the heroine is finally bitten and slowly drained of blood, and Universal’s Dracula conveniently fades to black or cuts away whenever it’s about to take place. But even if the biting has to take place off screen, who’s to say a vampire isn’t going to pick victims of both sexes?

The stately tradition of the lesbian vampire has cinematic examples going all the way back to 1936, with Universal’s Dracula’s Daughter. Though the titular vampire has a nominal male love interest – a psychologist who naively advises her to confront her temptations without fear – the result of his advice is a famous sequence where she picks up a young woman under the premise of wanting an artist's model, and convinces her to remove her top. No actual biting or nudity is shown (it was only 1936), but her fate is left in little doubt.

By the era of 70’s sexploitation, all such subtlety had been abandoned. If we’re all good with naked boobs, who’s going to be offended by a little biting?

In fact, when it comes to men rather than women, a vampire bite was, for many years, far too sexy to be shown, or even alluded to. Nosferatu clearly feeds on that film’s Jonathan-expy, but our only evidence is the bitemarks on his neck in the morning, and the final sacrifice to defeat the evil monster must naturally be female. Universal’s Dracula had to ignore explicit studio mandate that only the brides should be allowed to feed on their own Jonathan-equivalent, as to even imply that Dracula himself had fed upon a man was obviously far too homoerotic to contemplate (never mind that it’s Dracula who must be established as the threat in this opening sequence, or that it’s Dracula his victim will spend the rest of the film obsessed with).

But in that unspeakable land of male-on-male homoeroticism, you might be surprised how much homo we can squeeze in even without resorting to fangs-in-necks. The Lost Boys is surely one of the most homoerotic vampire films ever made, but there, the one big blood-drinking scene is rendered in a bloody massacre of slasher-movie violence. And though Anne Rice certainly describes the scene where Lestat drains Louis of blood in lurid detail (and even has them spend their first sunrise together sharing a coffin), Louis is already thoroughly seduced before he ever reaches this point.

You see, the lore of the pop-cultural vampire conveniently comes with a second and equally-compelling target for plausible deniability: the act of making a new vampire.

Obviously, to work, this has to be deliberate. A world where anyone bitten by a vampire becomes one hasn’t much to offer us, and the relationship between maker and fledgling can just as easily be framed as parental, as recruitment into a cult, or purely transactional. But whichever way you twist it, the implications of choosing another to share in your own eternal youth and immortality… like, I don’t have to spell this one out for you, do I? Did I mention how that thing where a vampire’s traditional first victim tended to be their own mortal widow goes all the way back?

But if we’re not ready to be completely obvious with our mainstream audience, some alternative explanation can always be provided for cover. Lestat doesn’t really want Louis, he just wants Louis’ money! (He also really wants Louis.) The Lost Boys just want Michael to join their gang! (Their very, very pretty gang, who swan around in mesh shirts, tank tops and assless chaps.)

The two sides of the vampire-deniability coin aren’t mutually exclusive, either. Carmilla drinks her new paramour’s blood, but also gazes into her eyes while promising her you will be mine. Drinking blood is a key part of making a new vampire in so many vampire stories, after all.

Carmilla isn’t even the only gay vampire story of the Victorian era. I recently posted about two other fascinating examples, both featuring male/male pairings: one being pretty much just a gender-flipped version of Carmilla, and the other a tragic love story filled with significant "vampire = gay lover" metaphors (why oh why must the townsfolk keep us apart, when we’ll only ever be happy once we’re united once more?) This stuff goes surprisingly far back.

In fact, you can find queer subtext in vampire fiction that predates even Byron and Polidori. 1819's The Vampyre was the first published vampire story, yes, but the first known work of vampire-fiction in the English language is a poem published by John Stagg in 1810, also called The Vampyre (look, the genre didn’t exist yet, you didn’t have to be creative with your titles).

In brief, Stagg’s poem recounts a conversation between a wife (Gertrude) and her dying husband (Herman), whose dear friend Sigismund, lately deceased and deeply mourned, has returned as a vampire. Night after night, he crawls into Herman’s room to drain his blood. Herman’s fate is already sealed, but unless Gertrude takes action, it will surely be she that Herman will take as his own first victim when he rises from the grave.

There may be nothing intentional about the queer subtext of this tale. A vampire’s victims often include friends he knew in life, as Stagg himself cites in his introduction. But if Herman’s first victim will be his wife, what are we to read about the fact Sigismund’s first victim is Herman? Especially given how long he’s kept secret from poor Gertrude that his dear ‘friend’ has been climbing into his bedroom each night, lying beside him in bed and sucking and draining "the fountain of my heart!" while Herman moans and tosses (in pain, obviously!), always leaving him "exhausted, spent." Ultimately, Gertrude is saved only when both Herman and Sigismund are staked through the heart, and we close on the image of them slumbering together in the tomb.

It is, however you turn it, pretty gay.

I reiterate: this is the very first known work of vampire fiction written in the English language. The second was the one that was kind-of-written-by, kind-of-stolen-from, and unambiguously based on bisexual-disaster-fuckboy Lord Byron. And the two most influential works of vampire fiction of the next hundred years would be Carmilla, the very lesbian vampire story written by a… presumably straight man? And Dracula, the not-completely-convincingly-hetero story written by #1 Walt Whitman fanboy Bram Stoker. Vampires have always been very equal-opportunity kind of monsters.

There are, of course, plenty of influential heterosexual vampire tales to fill out the roster too. Varney the Vampire, a penny dreadful from the 1840s, was so successful it ran for over 200 chapters. The 1960s had their own wildly successful Varney-equivalent in the soap opera Dark Shadows. Love it or hate it, we really can't ignore Twilight either. My own introduction to the genre was Christopher Pike’s The Last Vampire series, which came out alongside the original Vampire Diaries novels. So there's plenty of material around to keep the straights entertained – and honestly, that’s only as it should be, because the very thing that makes vampires so queer-friendly is that the sex of their victims doesn’t matter. And it’s so easy to make vampires sexy (let alone a full vampire-proposal!) that even the Victorians could do it.

Now, if your reaction to all this theorising is to tell me "but the LGBTQ’s shouldn’t have to hide behind plausible deniability!" I can only counter, "well sure, but why should the straights have all the fun?" Because playing with all the ambiguity of "is this monster really just after my blood or is this going somewhere?" can be all sorts of fun, regardless of the genders involved. And as long as they’re up for exchanging bodily fluids with persons-and-or-victims of either gender equally, why not have some fun with it?

So, okay, maybe the real title of this post should have been "why are there so many pansexual vampires?" But the answer doesn’t change. Vampires have been the bisexual disaster fuckmonsters for as long as anyone’s been writing about vampires, and have been a metaphor allowing people publish barely-coded gay attraction since 1872. And much like the queer community, they’ve only become more complex, more sympathetic, and all the more popular as romantic paramours as the years have gone by.

[tkingfisher]

So I write all sorts of things (fiction, fanfic, screenplays) and my mind is cluttered garden of flowers and weeds and shiny ideas, and I'm wondering how to form a writing practice to clear it into tidy rows? Is it possible to shepherd untamed ideas into order?

How do you manage all your wonderful worlds, characters and inspiration and not feel haunted by the story bits and pieces in your head? Any practical tips beyond dark magic?

Thank you, you are such a constant inspiration for me, both prose and just your presence. <3

*laugh* Oh god, Nonny, if I ever find out, I’ll tell you! When you read books, you’re getting the Instagram-filtered view of a writer’s brain, all the flowers that grew out of the compost heap, carefully composed and shot in optimal lighting. The real inside of my skull is a magpie nest of Neat Shit I Read/Saw/Thought Up While Lying Awake At 2 AM. There are characters and ideas in there that I’ve been trying to get into a manuscript since I was twelve and typing on an Amiga 500.

But, that said…really, I think it’s okay. Creativity is inherently untidy. The compost heap can be corralled into a very pretty box made of sustainably harvested materials, hand-stained by traditional artisans being paid a living wage by an employee-owned company, but as soon as you lift the lid, it’s all worms and coffee grounds and old potting soil and cow shit and the vegetables you swore you were gonna eat this time before they went bad. That’s what compost is.

Nevertheless, having been in the business for…uh…fifteen years now? (@dduane is snickering at me, I can feel it) and having written nearly forty books, I can offer three bits of something less than advice. It’s what I do. It may not work for anyone else, but it’s what I do.

Un-Advice The First: If you get a shiny idea and you are super excited by it? Go ahead and chase it. Pull up a new page in Word or whatever and slap down a couple thousand words while it’s exciting. I know that this absolutely flies in the face of common wisdom, but quite frankly, my enthusiasm is a much rarer commodity than my time, so if I’m excited about something, I write it down until I’ve taken the edge off.

Then I usually save it into a big folder called “Fragments” and go back to work on whatever I’ve got a deadline on. (Usually. Sometimes the edge doesn’t wear off, and I wind up with another book. Which, y’know, darn.)

There are vast numbers of people who will tell you that a shiny idea is a sign that something is wrong with your current project and the solution is to knuckle down and work! through! it! And those people are probably right for them, and I trust they know how their own brains work. Me, though, I got ADHD like a bat has wings. My hard drive is a vast swamp of story beginnings, neat ideas, random scenes. And that’s okay because I still get books finished.

In fact, it’s better than okay. Not that long ago, my agent sent a novella to a publisher and they said “We’ll take that novella and three more novels. What’ve you got?” And I ended up plundering my hard drive and sending the editor a good dozen random beginnings until we found one that we both liked, and then I wrote the rest of that book. And then another one. If I hadn’t had all those fragments lying around, though, it would have been a miserable experience of writing book pitches and trying to think of stuff I could get excited about. (This may not be how some editors work, but it’s how my editor and I work, anyhow.)

Un-Advice The Second: Trust that everything will find a home eventually.

This one is easy to say and hard to do because sometimes you get that overload that if you’re writing the book about, say, werebear nuns, you aren’t writing the one about the alien crustaceans. Or worse, you feel guilty. If you don’t use that one cool thing, was all that time you spent on it wasted?

Breathe. Be easy. Every single cool thing does not need to go into a single book. There is no sell-by date on the neat character. You will probably write many books in your life and all those random characters will find a home. (Seriously, the werebear nuns were lurking for like a decade.)

For me, at least, when I find the spot where something fits, it often snaps into place like a Lego. Easton’s backstory as a soldier from a society where soldiers were a third sex had been kicking around in my head for a few years, derived from about three different sources, and then I wrote the opening to What Moves The Dead and all of a sudden Easton was there and alive and they had strong opinions about everything and I had ten thousand words practically before I turned around.

You can also stave off guilt by writing some of your ideas in as highly personal Easter Eggs. A couple of my books have references to a white deer woman, a heroic deed done by a saint and the ghost of a bird, and a woman with dozens of hummingbirds on tiny jeweled leashes. Those are all characters and stories I’ve had vague notions about, but haven’t managed to work in anywhere or learn much more about. Still, the passing reference is enough to make me feel like I haven’t abandoned them.

(The advantage to this is that once you DO write those in, the readers are all “oh my god, she foreshadowed this a decade ago, she must have planned this all out in advance!” Then you look really clever and well-organized and no one has to know that you have no idea what you’re doing.)

Un-Advice The Third: Write the kitchen sink book.

At one point, I had so many stray ideas that hadn’t gotten into a book yet—the tree of frogs, the dog-soldiers, the stained glass saint, the albatross and the shadow of the sun, and also I wanted to write something with Baba Yaga—that I hauled off and wrote a book where I just put in everything and the kitchen sink. It’s called Summer in Orcus. There are bits in there that I had been cooking in the mental compost heap for decades, but that weren’t enough on their own to sustain a whole book. The phrase “antelope women are not to be trusted” showed up in my head some time in college. It’s a fun little book and I’m proud of it, but it’s very much a patchwork quilt of weirdness. But it’s also written so that if later on, an antelope woman shows up in another book in another context, that just adds to their mythology, it doesn’t break canon or whatever.

(Pretty sure I’m not the only one who has done this, either. China Mieville has said that he wrote Perdido Street Station because what he really enjoyed was writing all the weird monsters.)

So yeah, that’s my advice, for what it’s worth. Some days I just tell all the fragments and ideas that I promise that I’ll get them a home eventually but I need to write this thing here now. Sometimes I throw down enough words to get the story stabilized and then I’m okay to move on. Sometimes I write multiple books simultaneously.

Any method you use to write the book, so long as it doesn’t hurt you or anyone else, is a perfectly valid method. If anyone tells you different, you send them to me.

(…god, I hope that was the question you were actually asking, Nonny, and that I didn’t go off on a completely different tangent when you just wanted to know how I keep track of a plot or something.)

[sailortongue]

Wingteam

pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

wc: ~1.5k

summary: the team decides that Spencer is in need of a date and they're going to be the ones to help him. But there's just one problem that the team doesn't know about: Spencer already has a girlfriend

a/n: this is my first time writing for criminal minds so they're probably all out of character but pls bear with me. binged the first four seasons in a month and i'm completely hooked on the show and spencer so hopefully i'll write more and improve characterization. any feedback would be super appreciated!

------

Spencer Reid was a rather private person, preferring to keep his private life just that: private. But it was getting progressively harder to explain why he didn't want to participate in group outings to the local bars. Truth be told, all he wanted was to get home to you and cuddle on the couch. Not that his teammates knew you even existed. It wasn't that he was ashamed of you! No, never. How could he ever be ashamed of the most wonderful thing in his life? No, it was because he knew he'd never hear the end of the teasing, especially from Morgan. And so he had decided that he would keep you all to himself, after discussing with you, of course. You had no issue with him not disclosing your relationship with his coworkers. However, it was this secrecy that led him to this horribly uncomfortable moment.

“You don't get to weasel out this time, pretty boy. You're coming with us even if I have to manhandle you there,” said Morgan. “And you're not leaving that bar without a girl on your arm,” he added, finger pointed at Reid in an accusatory manner.

It took all of Spencer’s willpower to not outwardly grimace. Like hell he was going to leave with any girl that wasn't you. “I’m not looking for a relationship right now,” he declined. It wasn't exactly a lie; he was already in a relationship, afterall.

“Oh, c’mon, Spence, don't you want to settle down one day?” chimed in Emily. “I bet you'd be an amazing husband.” She redirected her attention, “We just have to find the future Mrs. Reid, right Morgan?”

Morgan smirked, “Sounds like a plan.”

“No. There is no plan. Stop scheming. I told you, I’m not looking for a relationship. And even if I was, I don't think I’d need a team of FBI agents to help me get a date,” Spencer tried to discourage his friends, but to no avail. In fact, it just seemed to egg them on.

“Reid, I’ve never seen you go out with anyone. We’re getting you laid tonight and there's nothing you can do about it.”

“Never seen me go out with anyone? Should I be inviting you along to my dates?”

The sarcasm wasn't lost on Morgan, who rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.” He turned to look at Garcia, “Hey, babygirl, you wanna help us land Reid a date?” The grin that Morgan had whilst asking was soon mirrored by the technical analyst in question.

“Do you even have to ask, sugar?”

A quick glance around the bullpen at his gathered teammates told him that no one was going to help him get out of this. Spencer’s expression changed to one of panic, but not for the reason that his friends assumed, i.e. that he had no experience with girls and was just nervous. Much to his chagrin, Hotch made a different deduction, and whilst everyone else was discussing their plan for later that night, he leaned down to Reid, “Why don't you just tell them you have a girlfriend already?”

Spencer, who was nowhere near as skilled as Hotch at hiding his emotions, had shock written all over his face. He opened his mouth to question how Hotch knew that, not even bothering to deny it. But Hotch answered before Spencer could even ask the question. “I’m a profiler. To be honest, I'm surprised the rest of the team hasn’t figured it out. Rossi has a suspicion, though.” And with that, Hotch stood back up to his full height and resumed conversation with the team, asking what time they had decided to meet.

I’m so screwed thought Spencer.

--------

“I’m so screwed,” Spencer announced to you as soon as he walked into your shared apartment, dropping his satchel in the entryway. You looked up from the book you were currently reading, “What happened? Are you okay?” You closed your book and set it on the coffee table, giving your perfect boyfriend your full attention. He sighed and joined you where you were reclined on the couch, lying down and placing his head on your tummy, wrapping his arms around you in the process. You smiled down at him gently and brought your hand up to play with his curls, eliciting a satisfied groan from him. “What's eating you, Spence?”

He tilted his head up before answering, “I have to meet the team at a bar later tonight.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, not seeing what the issue could possibly be. “Ok? Why is that a problem?”

He adjusted himself to be propped up on his elbows on either side of you. “It’s a problem because they've all decided that I'm in need of a girlfriend,” he huffed. Despite your best efforts, you couldn't contain your laughter at Spencer’s obvious distress over the situation. You truly meant no offense, but he was just so gosh darn cute.

“Spencer, sweetheart, why don't you just tell them?”

“Honestly, at this point I just want to see how long it takes them to figure it out without me outright telling them. We're not supposed to profile each other, but it becomes second nature due to the job, so they're bound to pick up on it eventually. Hotch already knows, and he said that Rossi is suspicious. The others haven't caught on yet, but now Morgan wants to be my wingman for the night. How am I supposed to play this off?”

You thought about it for a second before an idea came to mind, a sly grin sliding across the features Spencer loved oh so much. “You're going to do exactly what Morgan wants.”

Spencer blanched, immediately objecting to your words. How could you even suggest that?

“Hold on, I’m not done. I’m not sending the love of my life out to flirt with anyone that isn't me. So what we’re gonna do is….

--------

“Oh, what's this? Did pretty boy find a pretty girl?” teased Derek. His friend practically looked like those wolves from vintage cartoons with hearts for eyes and tongue rolling out of their mouths. His question caught the attention of the rest of the table, all of whom saw Spencer with his eyes trained on a lovely young woman sitting at the bar.

“You should go talk to her!” encouraged Penelope.

“Oh, she's so pretty!” exclaimed JJ. “I agree with Pen, you should definitely go talk to her!”

Hotch watched as the rest of the team, all at least a few drinks in, hyped Spencer up with intoxicated enthusiasm. He had a barely-there smile on his face, watching the events unfold. He watched as Spencer’s face got redder and redder with the attention. As entertaining as this was for the others, it was infinitely more entertaining for Hotch, since he was certain that the woman at the bar was Spencer’s secret girlfriend.

Finally, Spencer gave in to his friends’ demands and approached the bar, seating himself beside the woman. Beside you. Knowing his friends were watching, he had to pretend as if he was meeting you for the first time.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he offered.

You glanced at him coyly before accepting his offer. At some point, the two of you fell into the usual rhythm of conversation you always had, speaking to each other in a way that betrayed how close you really were.

Back at the table, Rossi leaned over to Hotch and gestured for Hotch to lean in as well. “That's the kid’s girlfriend, isn't it?” he whispered. Hotch pulled back with an amused expression and gave the slightest nod, confirming Rossi’s question. Meanwhile, Morgan was placing a bet with Garcia about how long it would take for Reid to leave with you. Morgan was confident that it would be within the next thirty minutes, stating that Reid, who wasn't the most socially adept but was having such a lively conversation, must have really hit it off with you. They watched as Reid spoke to you, all smiles and wild hand gesticulations. And then there was you, the pretty woman who, unbeknownst to the team (minus Hotch and Rossi), was already irrevocably in love with their resident genius long before they took it upon themselves to be a whole wingteam. The radiant smile you wore matched the one Spencer had as you responded to him just as enthusiastically as he had been speaking.

Unfortunately for Garcia, Morgan won their bet. The two of them watched as Reid leaned in to whisper something in your ear. When he pulled away, there was a prominent blush on your face that the minimal amount of alcohol you had couldn't possibly be responsible for. You nodded at him, and he stood from his stool, offering his hand for you to take, which you did as you followed him to the exit.

“My man!” called Morgan from across the bar, raising his beer in Spencer’s direction. Hotch and Rossi chuckled, exchanging glances and shaking their heads. The rest would figure it out eventually. It might be when they receive a wedding invitation, but eventually nonetheless. 

[f1byjessie]

HE LIKES MY AMERICAN SMILE ━━ OP81.

love is a wild ride, and logan sargeant's sister is about to find this out the hard way.

( oscar piastri x sargeant!reader )

━━ part three.

“Are you sure this is gonna work?” You look down at the post. The photos, carefully taken a few nights ago while getting ready for a dinner gala you’d been brought along to as Sophia’s plus one, are pretty. She and you had scrolled and sorted and scrolled and sorted some more trying to pick the perfect ones, and then you’d written and rewritten the caption more times than you could count before finally settling on something vague but faintly implicit.

You study it for a moment longer, then look back up to your friend.

She smirks. “Trust me. It'll work. I got an ex-boyfriend to come crawling back begging for another chance by making him think I was already moving on.”

“It just seems… mean,” you murmur, frowning. You want Oscar to like you— you want it a lot— but you're not sure if this is the way you want to go about it. “Isn’t this just manipulating him?”

Sophia sighs and falls back onto the bed beside you. She gives you a look, gestures down to your phone, and then curls around your shoulder so she can peer down at the screen. “It’s not a soft launch. There’s no guy. The caption doesn’t mention anyone. If he gets the impression that you’re with someone else, then that’s on him.”

You trust her, of course, but this is Oscar. You’ve known him for years. He’s your brother’s best friend, and for the longest time, he was the closest thing you had to a best friend too. As twins, anything Logan did you tended to do with him— soccer, swimming, biking. You even had shared birthday parties growing up. Karting was the first real thing he’d done on his own, but even then you’d always been close by, and that meant you’d always been close by to Oscar too.

Like she can sense your continued hesitation, Sophia speaks up again. “If you post that, and he doesn’t react, then that’s that. You don’t have to do it again.”

“I just— I don’t know.” You worry your lip between your teeth. “I just don’t think it’s the type of thing that he’d go for. He’s, you know, polite like that, I guess? If he thought I was taken, or moving on, or something, then he’d respect that and wouldn’t bother me.”

The silence hangs in the room. She’s still leaning against you, one hand rubbing your shoulder comfortingly and the other hugging you into her. When you stand, she lets you go easily, watching as you begin to pace the length of your bedroom, phone clenched tightly in your hands.

When you finally come to a halt in the corner farthest from the bed, you turn and meet her gaze shyly, “What if he stops ‘maybe’ having feelings for me because he thinks I'm taken? Or, what if he thinks I’m not interested and so he doesn’t ever bring it up?”

“Then you take one for the team and you tell him,” she shrugs. “Woman up and admit that the entire time you were out in that fancy dress of yours with those roses, you’d wished it was him who had gotten them for you and you’d wanted it to be him you were getting dressed up for.”

You look back down to your phone.

You’ve never done this before— boys, at least. The chase. Europe hadn’t been a very easy place to live— not with a schedule that made keeping friends virtually impossible, let alone a boyfriend. When you moved back to the United States, you were focused more on your career, prioritizing yourself over anything else.

You’d been single for so long that you hadn’t been in any hurry to change things, but now the lack of experience is making you nervous. Apart from movies and books and the borderline horror stories Sophia has told you about her own disastrous love life, you don’t know the first thing about dating.

“Y/N, is this about Oscar or something else?”

You look up, still biting at your lip. “What if we break up and I’ve ruined a friendship?”

Sophia raises an eyebrow, “Is he the kind of guy that would throw away a friendship because things didn’t work out?”

“I don’t know! That’s the problem! I wanna say no, that he’d be totally fine and we would be able to pretend like nothing happened and go back to how we were before it all, but I can’t,” you cross the room and lower yourself onto the bed again. “Context matters too. What if it’s a really messy breakup and we can never look at each other the same? What if he does something so unforgivable that it ruins his friendship with my brother? Logan worked hard to make friends and this first season was rough for him. He’s the only American driver on the grid, and they weren’t exactly welcoming. But Oscar was there for him and I would never forgive myself if I did something to ruin that.”

“What could Oscar do that would be so unforgivable it would ruin a friendship?”

You fall back onto the mattress. “I don’t know that either! Realistically he wouldn’t do anything because that’s just who he is— he’s like the nicest most genuinely sweet guy I’ve ever met. But I’m not a fortune teller! I can’t look into the future and know that he won’t get tired of me and go find some other girl, or, I don’t know.”

You can feel tears burning at the back of your eyes and wipe at them harshly.

Sophia notices and lays down beside you, pulling you into her side again. She runs her fingers through your hair and lets you compose yourself a bit more before she speaks up again. When she does, it’s— “You’re so afraid of the worst-case scenario that you aren’t even letting yourself take the chance. Sometimes you just gotta leap before you look and believe that you’ll land on solid ground.”

“I hate when you get philosophical on me,” you murmur, a soft laugh slipping past your lips.

She sits back up and rolls her eyes, but there’s a gentle smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Puh-lease. As if you’d ever get anything done without my wizened words of advice.”

You sniffle and wipe the last remnants of tears from your eyes, then sit up with her and look back down at your phone. The unfinished post still stares back up at you.

“What if I just—” you delete the caption for the umpteenth time and let your fingers dance across the screen, “—say this instead?”

Sophia leans over your shoulder, reads the new caption, pauses, and purses her lips. She reads it again, hums, and then breaks out into a grin. An incredulous laugh slips out and she turns to you with shining eyes. “You’re a damn genius! I knew you were worried over nothing. You just gotta stop getting into your head so much.”

INSTAGRAM.

liked by logansargeant, landonorris, and 12,827 others

yourusername honey, i’m still free. take a chance on me.

view all 7,631 comments

user WHAT???

user IS THIS A SOFT LAUNCH???

↳ user she’s literally saying she’s still free?? why would she say that if this is a soft launch?? 😭😭

logansargeant should’ve taken me with you 😒

↳ yourusername logie we both know you hate black tie events

user girl idk how you can do it i’d be spilling out of that dress with one wrong turn

user THE ROSES?? THE BABY’S BREATH?? I’M SO NORMAL ABOUT THIS

landonorris slay girl queen boss

↳ yourusername lando… what…

↳ landonorris i’m in my supportive era 😌💅 you should try it sometime

user i NEED to know where that dress is from omg

user oh to be a young rich and beautiful socialite

user not to be delulu but there’s a surprising lack of op81 in these comments 👀

INSTAGRAM.

liked by landonorris, mclaren, and 429,868 others

oscarpiastri it’s summer somewhere right?

view all 1,021 comments

landonorris hm this caption seems familiar 🤨 i wonder what it could be referencing 🤔

user GOOD LUCK IN 2024 OSCAR 🧡🧡🧡

user wishing this were me rn

user i’m too delulu for this rn 😭

↳ user i’m waiting for y/n to show up in these comments

↳ user did they have a fight or smth??? they haven’t commented on each other’s last few posts

user gosh that’s the dream rn

When you answer the unknown number, on your way back to your room with a tub of ice cream and a plan to eat away your disappointment at the failure of Sophia’s plan, the last thing you expect is to hear Lando Norris of all people on the other end. There’s no greeting, no introduction, just an immediate— “Yeah, so, I’m gonna need you to fill me in on the sitch.”

For a brief moment, all you can do is stand there in the hallway with your phone pressed to your ear, wondering if this is real. You’ve had maybe a few brief conversations with Lando throughout your various visits to the paddock across the season, and though he was very nice and polite, and all of your interactions were friendly, you wouldn’t exactly call yourself friends. Certainly not “swap numbers and call one another” type of friends, either. Your most recent socializing has been strictly confined to the comment sections of Instagram posts.

“Hello? Y/N?”

You clear your throat, “Sorry. What?”

“The sitch? Situation? That’s an American slang word, I thought you knew that.” He says it so matter-of-factly. As if that’s the only thing you could be even remotely confused about in this whole interaction.

“No,” you answer, shaking your head as if it’ll somehow straighten out the spinning of your mind. “I know what the word means, Lando. I’m just wondering why you of all people are calling me right now? How’d you even get my number?”

You can hear music and voices on the other end of the line, muffled and distant, and then a door opens and closes and the extra noise is gone. Lando takes a deep breath and sighs, “If you must know, I got it from Alex, who got it from Lily, who got it from you. So, you know, transitive property means technically I got it from you, too.”

“I’m gonna choose to ignore how wrong all of that is,” you mutter, pinching the bridge of your nose as you continue down the hall and eventually slip into your room, shutting the door quietly behind you.

You do recall giving your number to Lily, and the two of you have shared a few messages since the end of the season— mostly typical check-ins and catching up with the happenings of your individual lives. Occasionally she sends you recipes she thinks you’d like, and you do the same. You knew she’d given it to Alex because she’d asked you first if that was okay, and all Alex had sent was a brief well-wishes when Williams had confirmed Logan’s re-signing, accompanied by a short message that Lily was looking forward to seeing you in the paddock again.

Ignoring all of that, however, you focus on the matter at hand. “Why are you calling? Isn’t it crazy late in Monaco right now?”

He hums. “I’m the slightest bit tipsy, but I cannot take it anymore. If I see one more caption with underlying subtext like this is a forbidden romance in a period drama I am going to, quite frankly, lose my mind. I need you to explain to me what in the fuck is going on between you and Oscar.”

You pause, and then you groan. “Oh my God.”

“Yes, ‘oh my God’ indeed. Now please explain.”

You heave a sigh, because you know he isn’t going to drop this, but you also know that if anyone could help you more than Sophia, it’s probably Lando. He’s Oscar’s teammate, and at the very least, if you can’t talk to Logan, you can talk to the only other person who probably knows him just as well.

“It’s a long story,” you mumble, curling up in your bed.

He makes a sound, like a scoff. “Okay? I have plenty of time.”

So you start from the beginning. Between spoonfuls of chocolate ice cream, you detail how it all started because of a message of condolence, how that had led to a rendezvous for drinks, and how that had led even further to him kissing you in the car as he’d dropped you off at your hotel.

He’s silent up until you mention that Oscar hadn’t acknowledged the kiss at all afterward, and then he makes an affronted noise and mutters something under his breath about stupid guys and heads in asses.

You admit that part of it was your own fault, that you hadn’t attempted to communicate either because you’d been afraid of the reaction and potentially the rejection, but that you’d been kicking yourself ever since for missing out on being able to talk face to face about things when you’d had the chance.

It all culminates in you explaining your current situation, and you tell him about your talk with Sophia and then your friend’s self-proclaimed mastermind plan, which had failed spectacularly when Oscar hadn’t even seen the post.

When you’re finished, there’s a moment of silence before he bursts into laughter.

You flush red in embarrassment and hug the tub of ice cream closer to your chest, feeling miserable and ashamed, but also like you deserve it all anyway. The tub isn’t freezing cold anymore, but the chill still seeps in through your shirt faintly, and it’s comforting against the heated blush.

“Sorry,” he says when his cackling has died down to chuckles. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you. I actually do want to help. I genuinely can’t take one more post with a caption that’s all thinly veiled pining.”

You pause, fiddle with your spoon for a moment, and then hesitantly ask— “Do you know if he likes me?”

Lando goes quiet, and then he hums and admits that he doesn’t. “But,” he adds quickly, “just because I don’t have total confirmation doesn’t mean it isn’t basically obvious. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I know Oscar.”

You sigh, “But how are you going to help? You can’t just ask.”

“I don’t need to,” he answers, like you’re crazy for thinking he’d do something like that. “I’ve got a plan.”

Great. You run a hand down your face and try to stay optimistic. Another plan.

━━ tags: @f1-is-lovely-33 @chasing-liberosis @405rry

━━ a/n: a bit more writing heavy this part, and a bit longer because of it, but i'm proud of how it turned out! we're finally getting somewhere, and now we've got lando joining the team. genuinely had so much fun writing him, so i'm excited to feature him in future parts!

[marlynnofmany]

Playing Translation Telephone

“Hi,” I said as the door slid open. “Captain Sunlight wants to know how your translations are going.”

Coals sighed. “They’re going. This one’s a mess.” He shook his lizardy head, brick-red scales dull in the light by the doorway. That part of the translation suite was always dim because Trrili liked looming in the shadows there.

But today she was at the workstation in the back, surrounded by glowing screens and a cloud of irritated hisses. “I think we missed a language,” she announced, snapping her pincher arms and angling her antennae into a scowl.

“What, really?” Coals asked. He ran a hand over his head, scales clicking quietly. “How many is that now?”

“Sixssss,” Trrili hissed.

Coals grumbled something I didn’t catch, and walked back over to the workstation.

Curious, I followed and let the door shut behind me. “What kind of project is this one?”

“Old records of a multi-species colonizing effort,” Coals said from his floating chair with the tail hole. “The originals are lost, and all that’s left is this jumble that’s been translated through a succession of languages, none of which they bothered to write down. And they want us to figure out what the originals actually meant.”

“Sounds tricky,” I said. Each of the screens held writing, most in languages I didn’t recognize. Some were notes in the trade language we all spoke, and I was amused to see how much swearing was in Trrili’s notes.

“It is very tricky,” Trrili agreed, jabbing a little wrist finger at the screen in the middle. “The grammar doesn’t match the words, and the idioms are an utter tar hole. It’s anyone’s guess what culture came up with some of these details.”

“I’m pretty sure the bit about rocks is a Strongarm saying,” Coals said. “It makes more sense than a Frillian interpretation.”

“Yes, fine, probably,” Trrili said with an irritated wave of her pinchers. “I’m stuck at this part that goes off on a tangent about the family arrangements of the wildlife. It’s clearly significant, and at least one layer of translation wanted to make sure the full interpretation was spelled out, but that just makes it more confusing.”

“How so?” I asked. I’d gotten the job on this ship because of my animal-care knowledge, so maybe I could offer some insights. I peered at the screen.

“This part,” Trrili said, “Is a recounting of a colonist’s experience in retrieving goods from a shuttle that crashed in a lake. The water creatures seem to have complex social arrangements, and somehow that relates to their behavior toward this particular colonist.” She folded her pinchers and leaned back, glaring at the ancient diary. “Of course this had to be written by someone disinclined to speaking clearly.”

“What kind of behavior is it?” I asked. “Are we talking mating advances, or aggressively protecting the young, or—?”

“Aggressive,” Trrili said immediately. “This word means mouth, possibly teeth specifically, and in the grammatical arrangement that it’s currently configured into, it has to be saying that the thing bit the colonist.”

Coals flipped through documents on another screen. “Do we know what the official name for the creature is?”

Trrili hissed. “Not even close. That’s what this whole tangent is: an attempt at describing it. I’d love to know if it was the original colonist or someone later who decided it would be helpful to tell us that this creature’s ancestors rejected social bonds.”

“Rejected how?” I asked.

Coals brought up another document. “I’ve got something on the legal system of the original colony. Sounds like there were multiple types of family arrangements at play. Possibly this colonist was just musing on a similarity to their own life.”

Trrili hissed. “How does that help us? I don’t see any accounts of this person’s family life, or even their species. We have no way to know if their own parents performed the socially-accepted rituals or not.”

“Wait,” I said. “Is this about the animal’s parents not doing a certain ritual? Like marriage? Is the colonist calling the fish a bastard?”

Both of my alien coworkers looked at me. Coals asked slowly, “That’s an insult in human circles, isn’t it?”

“Yes!”

Trrili threw her pinchers skyward and stalked away from the workstation. “Of course it is. You people are sentimental about everything, including reproduction. This would have been so much simpler if we’d known from the start that there was a human layer to this.”

“So what does it say?” I asked. “The colonist went into the lake to help with the crash, and got bitten by a bastard fish?”

Trrili was walking in circles hissing, so Coals scooted in front of the center screen. “Going by what we’ve figured out so far,” he said, “The colonist was trying to move salvage from the shuttle. Walking through shallow water. The water creatures were of many bright colors — it goes into detail about that, comparing them to refractive prisms and seaspray — but they kept their distance as long as the colonist kept moving. Pretty sure this part says one came in for a bite as soon as the colonist stood still. And that’s where we go off on an elaborate description of the creature’s family arrangements.”

I grinned. “‘Dear diary, today I waded through a lake and got bit by a rainbow bastard fish. Terrible experience; wouldn’t recommend.’”

Coals looked closer. “It does actually say something like that afterward,” he admitted. “There’s a suggestion that the next person to enter the water wear protective clothing.”

Over Trrili’s aggravated hissing, I said, “That colonist might have been a human.”

“Might indeed,” Coals said. He scrolled up through a page of notes. “That could actually shed some light on a couple other spots, now that you mention it.”

Trrili appeared beside us. “Bring up the part about the colony leader mating with someone’s mother.”

I laughed. “I can tell you right now that that’s an insult. The colonist is likely complaining about the boss, not describing something that actually happened.”

Coals looked at Trrili. “Told you we need an insult chart.”

Trrili tilted her head dramatically. “That’s so much work!”

“So’s this,” Coals pointed out. “How about you take another look at what we’ve got so far here, and I’ll start a list of common human insults.”

Trrili took a position in front of the screens, hissing quietly.

“I’ll be happy to help,” I said to Coals. “My people are very creative on that front.”

“So I gather,” Coals said. He scooted over to me, digital notepad at the ready. “And not one of those insults revolves around eggs. Mindblowing.”

“Well,” I said with a tip of my head. “There is the thing about teaching your grandmother to suck eggs. That’s kind of an insult.”

“What?” Coals said. “Never mind. I can tell this is going to be a long list.”

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come! And I am currently drafting a sequel!

[tanix-dragon]

Is That a New Guy or Am I Losing My Mind; or, A Beginner's Guide to Finding Headmates

Written by Roger de Camden of the Draconic Wizard Workshop

Hello, everybody! This is an essay for both plurals who might struggle finding, identifying, or confirming headmates, as well as people who are questioning whether or not they’re plural. Certain pieces of advice may apply better to questioners than established systems, and vice versa, but rest assured, it is intended for both!

This essay will be broken into several sections for various “phases” of discovery and working things out, but a disclaimer before we get to that: this is heavily based on our own experiences. This is not a one-size-fits-all kind of guide. I’m going to try to make it such, but, well, I can’t make any promises, because there are infinite ways of being a system out there, and everyone’s a little different. This is just what I’ve found works for us, and, to a large extent, many of our system friends! That being said, if you try to start syscourse or invalidate other systems for any reason in response to this essay, I’m going to block you and that’s that.

Also, sorry if I go between spellings for words. I’m English, but the body is American and that means that I don’t know how to spell certain words anymore.

So! Onwards, towards discovery!

Step One: Getting an Inkling

The first step to figuring out whether or not you’ve got a headmate (new or otherwise undiscovered; I’ll mostly be calling them “new” as in “new to you”) is having an inkling that one might exist. This is mostly a passive process, and you’re probably familiar with it if you’re reading this guide. Maybe you felt something scuttle through headspace (if you have one) or through the back of your mind. Maybe you felt a presence looming behind you, mentally, that bolted when you “looked.” Maybe you had a very strong emotional reaction to something that makes no sense for you to react to, but would make sense for a character you’ve been really attached to in a show. Or maybe you slipped into an unfamiliar accent, had a loss of memories and woke up with nail polish on in a colour you hate, or just felt an opinion about something that doesn’t match your usual one. Sometimes, you may even “hear” comments about things going on in your mind.

There are a lot of little things that can tip you off. Most of them are going to be things that are misaligned with your own perception of yourself, your opinions, and your behavior. This is usually a sign that someone is co-conscious or co-fronting with you without you being aware of it. Some headmates are very sneaky this way, and some may not realise that they exist at all while doing this! Don’t hold being hard to notice or get a hold of against your headmates—many of them don’t realise that they exist, don’t know how to not be this way, or are doing it for what they perceive to be a good reason (this last one is especially common in disordered systems). Maybe they’re scared, or just not ready to be confronted yet. Don’t worry—remember, you have your whole lives to figure out everyone who’s in there, and the time will pass anyways! Take it easy.

One specific thing that tends to tip us off to a new fictive is that we realise that… no one is aware of running a character that we’re playing in a tabletop roleplaying game. Maybe someone started off running them, but they sure seem to be doing their own thing now! That character may be hard to “turn off” or “put on the shelf” when you stop playing them—and they may continue to make comments and have opinions about things in your life. This is a dead giveaway! Sometimes when we think about a character, we feel a “movement” or interest somewhere in our mind that doesn’t match anyone else’s pattern of thinking or interests, which also can be a giveaway that they’re scuttling around somewhere. Also beneficial, for us, is our synesthesia—every headmate has a colour associated with them, and when we get a thought pattern that seems to match someone but the colour is off, it can make us realise that maybe there’s someone else in here. For example, if someone were to be really interested in jellyfish, we might think that it’s Caspian, but if the colour comes back as red and not blue, then we know for certain that it’s not him.

This first inkling of a new headmate may be obvious or it may be subtle. You may question yourself repeatedly, but remember: if you feel like you are “accidentally faking,” that’s not how faking works. Faking must be done intentionally and on purpose. You could be wrong, yes, but being wrong isn’t inherently bad. It’s just that you were mistaken about something. Nothing wrong with that! We’re all mistaken about all kinds of things every day! Be kind to yourself while trying to figure things out.

Step Two: Are You There, Headmate? It’s Me, Your Other Headmate

Steps two and three are interchangeable in order, but I thought I’d put this one first because it tends to be the one that’s hardest and most distressing, rather than step three, which is about identifying who the hell your headmate is. We’ll get to that, never fear!

So, let’s say you think there might be someone in there. How can you tell for sure? How can you open communication? How can you get them integrated okay?

The bad news is that this depends heavily on the system. The good news is that there’s no need to panic, rush, or be afraid, because once again, you’ll figure it out eventually, and it will be okay!

My first suggestion is to take note of everything that’s made you think there might be someone else in there. Write it down, if that helps! Write down everything that seems to get the entity’s attention, if anything. Write down anything that might help you identify who it might be! In some instances, you might have a character that seems a little independent but you can’t tell whether they’re really a headmate or not. In my experience, this is often how many non-disordered systems (but it’s not exclusive to them!) realise that they’re plural. Knowing who it is will make this step easier, but it isn’t necessary! After all, if you know who it is, you can also write down things that might bait them into responding. Interests and friends of theirs are good examples.

Your goal in this step is to try to draw them out into doing things, speaking, or acting in ways that will give away that they are for certain there. For systems with heavy amnesia or dissociative barriers, this might be significantly harder, but my best suggestion there is to jump straight to trying to communicate, however you can—and this isn’t a bad approach for other systems, either. You can try internal communication, although you might get no response, or an abnormal one, if the headmate is new. For example, with us, new headmates usually respond to direct queries with anxiety—which, while not good for communication and not ideal for the headmate in question, does help us key in on the fact that they definitely exist. You can also try external communication, if internal communication isn’t working or is difficult for you. Write a note in a journal or a sticky note, or even in a notes app or a private Discord server. Sometimes, headmates can find replying over text to be easier. If you’re a high-dissociation and high-amnesia system who is trying to figure out if it’s someone old or new who is fronting and doing things while you’re unaware, leaving sticky notes places asking people to write down who’s fronting when they see it (if they even know who they are) might be helpful. Keep experimenting, and do what works best for you!

As a last resort for uncertain, new, or inexperienced systems, you can try something called “puppeting” on a suspected headmate, especially if you know who they are and just aren’t sure whether or not they’re here. A warning: this is rude and not advised under most circumstances, but sometimes it’s the only way to make absolutely sure that someone is in there with you, especially when you’re not used to it. Have an apology ready and mean it. Puppeting is when you try to force a headmate to do something, especially something unusual or out of character for them. For example, if I thought I might have my character Gorka as a headmate, but I wasn’t sure, I might try to call up a scenario involving Gorka and then try to imagine her doing something wildly out of character, that she would never, ever do. If I couldn’t get a response out of that, or if I had no idea who this new headmate might be, I might just try to make them physically do something—strongly imagining them doing a stupid dance or similar! No response doesn’t necessarily mean you do or do not have a headmate, but a strong response—usually of anger, offense, or “slapping” your “hands” away—indicates someone separate from yourself! Apologize immediately and then attempt to engage in communication once they’ve calmed down a little, or try to transition into it through an explanation. 

There are a lot of reasons that a headmate might not respond to puppeting, though. They might be non-confrontational, or hiding their presence from you intentionally for any number of reasons. (Maybe they’re nervous, not ready to exist yet, afraid of how you might respond, afraid of accepting that they’re in a system—it could be anything.) In cases like this, you might just get discomfort instead of a strong response, which is easy to confuse for being your own rather than theirs. Try to sort out whether you just feel strange doing it, or if it’s someone else’s discomfort bleeding through. I know it’s hard, but that’s a difficult thing to give advice for, I’m afraid! Other reasons may be that they just dip from the front when you try (removing themself from your sphere of influence completely), or if they’re a character you frequently play, they might be so used to being pulled around into doing things that it doesn’t bother them, or bothers them so little that you don’t notice.

Usually, if you’re at the point of trying puppeting, there’s enough signs that this person really is a headmate to dissuade you from trying it once you’re a little more used to it. It’s a temporary and unideal tool that should leave your toolbox as soon as you become confident enough to identify new headmates without getting grabby with them. Undoubtedly, trying to establish communication is a better approach, if you can get it to work.

Usually, once we’ve properly spotted a headmate and made it clear to them that we know they’re there, one of two things happens: either they come sit in the front for a few days or weeks to settle in, let us identify them, and get used to being a full active member of the system, or they realise that they exist and have a panic attack. This “new headmate panic” can last anywhere from a few minutes to multiple days, and may fluctuate in strength. Sometimes, a new headmate might seem fine early on, but have this panic after a few days, weeks, or even longer. Be gentle during this time, especially if you yourself have a strong reaction—be gentle with both, or all, of you! Realizing that you’re in a system can be very distressing, as can realizing you have a new headmate, so try to be gentle, let yourself feel what you’re going to feel, and work through it in the best way you have. Try not to direct any anger or negative feelings towards anyone else in your system during this time, and just let the storm pass before really trying to get to know each other.

Step Three: Who Is This Guy, Anyway?

Once again, you can do this step before or after step two, but I put it here because I decided to include some tips for getting to know your headmate, not just identifying them (if there is anything to identify). If your system is introject-heavy, or if you’re asking yourself if you’re just really interested in a character or if they’re a new headmate, this is an important step! Who is this? Are they an introject of some kind? Are they something or someone else? Is there anything to identify, per se, or is it just a situation of getting to know a whole new person? This is a very, very different step depending on your system, and is going to skew very much towards my own experiences. I’m sorry about that, but I will do my best!

If you’ve already established communication with this headmate, even if it’s shaky, you can try to get information from them that way. They might be willing to give you a name, a code name, a colour, an aesthetic, likes or dislikes, something you can use to familiarise yourself with them or identify them from a list of “suspects” if you have such a thing. (We always do, because we’re almost all fictives, and we know our own patterns at this point.) For us, new headmates almost never actually identify, and just sullenly sit while trying to figure themselves out and will only confirm who they are once we figure it out. It’s sort of like playing a mystery game, assembling clues based on a myriad of factors. If you have some suspicions, just like the previous step, you can try to bait out responses by doing things that might interest who you suspect this headmate might be.

Again, I suggest writing things down! Write down likes and dislikes, things that get their attention, interests, even things that make them anxious or afraid. Whether it’s a case of identification or just getting to know them, this is invaluable information for interacting with someone sharing a head with you, and it may even be helpful for them as they get their feet under them.

Another invaluable tool is talking to people outside of your system. They can help you identify when you’re acting unusually, when you might have someone unfamiliar riding co-conscious, and even who that person might be. You may be too tangled up in your own feelings, your dissociation, or the desperation to understand who is in your head with you. It’s easy to get lost in the weeds and lose sight of the big picture, but another friend, especially another system that knows you well, can be extremely helpful! One of our system friends has clocked many a headmate of ours before we were even certain they were there—just “hmm, you’ve been very much like X lately” and they were absolutely right. 

Regardless, taking notes on your new headmate, asking them about themselves, and sharing things about yourself are all important steps to getting to know them! They may be uncomfortable, they may distrust you, they may be afraid—or they could be friendly and excited to be here! It really depends on who it is and their comfort level. Don’t push—if they’re not comfortable talking yet, don’t make them! Let them adjust at their own pace and get to know them as they’re willing to let you. I know it can be distressing to have a totally unknown entity co-fronting with you, but sometimes it’s one of those things that you have to take a deep breath and carry on through until they’re willing to talk. I know you can do it! Talk through it with someone outside of your own head if it’s difficult to give yourself some fortitude if you need to. I know it helps me.

Step Four: Now What?

Let’s say that you’ve confirmed that you do have a headmate, and either have or are on the road to identifying them, if applicable. Now what?

As I’ve said before: be gentle with yourselves! Especially for a new or inexperienced system, and especially for someone who is just realising that they’re a system, this can be overwhelming, distressing, or any other number of emotions. Remember that having or gaining headmates isn’t inherently a bad thing, and while this all might take some getting used to, it’s going to be okay. You’ll figure out an equilibrium eventually, and it is absolutely possible to live a long, happy life with your headmates. Remember that you’re all in this together, and you’re a team.

People may not want you to notice them, may not want to be in the system, or may avoid attention as best they can for a lot of reasons, and trying to make them feel at home, or at least more comfortable, is essential. It can be scary being in a system all of a sudden, especially if they’re an introject or otherwise had a life outside or before this one. Maybe they don’t like the body, or are afraid of another headmate, or are terrified of a negative response from you or someone else. Don’t force these people into situations they’re not ready for! If you’re looking for someone, trying to identify them, or trying to help them, and you’re just causing a lot of distress, back off for a while. Let them calm down and come to you in their own time. Sometimes, you have to do the system equivalent of leaving cookies out on a plate and turning your back to them so that your new headmate can take them without being watched. Take things at the pace that you’re all the most comfortable with, and as always, be kind.

I really do suggest talking to someone about this process, if you can. Journal if you’d like, especially if you can’t trust anyone with this, or don’t feel comfortable doing so yet. Getting your words out of your head helps you sort them out a lot, especially in the case of systems, where a lot of people’s thoughts can get jumbled together. Writing them all down, even if you don’t know whose they are, can be helpful. We find that talking to other system friends is of the most benefit, and our new members are far more likely to speak to them first rather than us, because there’s a degree of separation and that’s more comfortable for them. Whatever works for you, do it! The idea is to get comfortable with each other, and with being here together.

Find things that your new headmate likes doing. Goratrix has a whole panel about this aimed at fictives, but essentially, if your new headmate doesn’t have reason to front and isn’t interested in anything, you probably won’t see much of them, and they may end up miserable. Make sure you engage with them and their interests. Let them make friends if they’d like. Get them snacks. Again: whatever works! This is going to depend very heavily on your system, so follow your gut instinct on this one, I think.

Absolutely essential, though, is to not repress anybody. I know sometimes getting a new headmate can be scary, especially if they’re unfamiliar, frightening, seemingly monstrous, or a persecutor, but remember: they’re probably just as freaked out as you are, if not more so, and they need patience and understanding. Statistically, if they’re doing something troublesome, they’re trying to help and just don’t know how, or are misguided on what “help” looks like. Be kind, and try to find a solution that works for everyone.

Past that… just get to know each other. Figure out how to live together and how to make your combined life the best life it can be. For us, there’s so many of us that someone new can almost always find a fast friend in someone else, and sticks with them for a while until they’re more used to the system and more confident fronting and doing things without their buddy. Other systems may be able to mimic this approach, or may need to do something very different. Again, again, again, do what works best for you! If parts of this guide seem unhelpful or counterproductive, ignore them! This is based on our experience of plurality, not yours. Always do what’s best for you, what helps the most of you, and what causes the least distress while still letting you function as much as you need to.

Being plural is a very personal experience, in a lot of ways, which is pretty funny because sometimes that personal experience is spread across two or twenty or five hundred people. It’s also a very personalized experience, meaning we’re all quite different. Your “now what?” might look very different from ours, and that’s okay. We can only do our best, and that’s always good enough.

I hope this is helpful to someone! If you have any questions, please feel free to ask, and I may edit this guide in the future if it seems that I left something out or think of anything to add. =)

[fatcatlittlebox]

I know Charlie’s interpretation of Sauron may be disappointing, specifically how he characterizes him in the context of his connection to Galadriel. But he’s said this many times before and seems to be committed to his vision. The thing is, he’s not wrong either.

I’ve written meta about this before: whether or not Sauron loves Galadriel. From his standpoint, the answer is no. I don’t think that means what he feels is not love. It’s just exactly what he said: it’s open to anyone’s interpretation. We, as viewers, project what we know as “love” onto Sauron’s actions and words because that is our cultural, religious, personal and educated definition of it. That’s the humanized version of it. He’s also saying we’re NOT wrong either.

But Charlie (and I’ve noticed this is his method of acting) fully looks at it from Sauron’s point of view. He builds a psychological world behind his characters and he is insistent on preserving that mindset. So from Sauron’s perspective (and Charlie’s now), he doesn’t equate what he experiences to our human concept of “love”. It’s not that he isn’t capable of it. But does Sauron know? We know he is because this is Tolkien and it’s the governing principle of all his writings. But “love” is just not something he intellectually values even though that is exactly what is happening. His emotional self is bleeding through. Why is that?

Mairon is immortal. He believes he has a 300000 foot view of Middle Earth and all the Children of the Iluvatar. He was created to serve Eru and Aule. The fiber of his creation was not built for love even though all beings are hardwired for it. His drive, his nature, as described by Tolkien, is to enact order, execute perfection, maintain efficiency. None of that fits with love. Love is messy, emotional, unpredictable and absolutely not what he sees as his purpose. In fact, his master created a whole other race of creatures, the dwarves, to “love.” That’s how not suited for love he is. He was already in existence and Aule said “…..how about somebody else?” Oof.

So as far as he is concerned, love is for the lesser children. So Sauron can rationalize, “Okay, the dwarves were made for that and I was not.” Now even if what he feels, as an ancient, primordial entity, is attraction, lust, desire, affection, longing, obsession, possessiveness — all circumscribing facets of love — Sauron would never call it that. He’d probably say his only weakness is being in Middle Earth too long that he’s become influenced by the locals’ rudimentary emotions. He’s older than most of known creation, knowledgeable and ingenious, but fixed on this idea of himself. He has rationalized that love is not what he was programmed for even though that unnameable urge seems to override his programming as far Galadriel is concerned. So I can agree with Charlie on this, because it is in keeping with how he’s cultivated the psychological background of Sauron. I wouldn’t expect him to change his tune. There is nothing in Tolkien that overtly suggests he, Sauron and Sauron alone, has loved anyone or can appreciate it if he did. Maybe Halbrand, whom Charlie has said he considers a different personality, but not Sauron. Charlie seems devoted to what he has found in the text and unless the show writing charts a character arc that provokes some enlightenment or self-awareness of his ability to love another, I wouldn’t expect him to say any differently.

[geeneelee]

Judit’s Backstory, or: Why She Supports Harry

This is a post I’ve been meaning to write for a while, especially since it’s apparently not common knowledge in the fandom, but Judit has a developed backstory with Harry that can only be put together through reading one of the case files (so perhaps it’s not that surprising that people don’t know).

We start with Joseph Mills: an idiot and a terrible person.

No, he was awful. Awful sense of humour too. The worst jokes you've ever heard. Really rapey.

Harry can find out about him from reading MURDER IN THE HOOKAH PARLOR from his case files. Long story short, Mills mistook an accidental death for a murder and wasted months on it, only for Harry to identify it as a dumb accident in less than a minute.

What’s more relevant to the present-day is this:

Beaten to death by a throng of Villalobos gang-members when him and his partner J. M. (only initials mentioned) answered a call one night. It's a sad story and it isn't really represented in *your* case files. Stop stalling and get to the MURDER AT THE HOOKAH PARLOUR.

Judit’s partner was beaten to death by gangsters, presumably while she watched. Technically, J.M. could be anyone, but basic narrative rules + a few other hints make me certain that it’s Judit. Most importantly, what she says about Harry after his disastrous call to the Precinct.

"We must help him." Minot looks down at her neatly polished black shoes. There is a quiet firmness to her voice when she speaks. 

"I just know we can't give up on him when he's at his weakest. He wouldn't..." The crowd in the room has started fidgeting uncomfortably. Someone's trying to slip out unnoticed.

I’m presuming here that what she’s going to say is “He wouldn’t give up on one of us”. (Side note: judging by the reactions of everyone else, they agree. Pre-canon Harry had his good moments and his bad with the squad).

Judit might be speaking from experience - we know that she’s only been with C-Wing for two months, but why did she transfer? Given how C-wing has been hemorrhaging members, it seems odd. If she was speaking from experience, then the most likely answer is that Harry helped her out after Mills’ death (first on the scene? Provided support? who knows) and Judit, who was now without a partner, decided to follow him to C-wing.

Between her gratitude to Harry and (probably) low standards for coworkers, she’s willing to give him the benefit of the doubt more than anyone else who knows him, although depending on your actions you can burn through the good will - calling her the Horse-Faced Woman and asking if you’ve had sex will make her cold towards you.

She’s also aware of Harry’s drinking problem, but has more hope than Jean does - Jean will shoot down any hint that Harry’s changed, but if he’s stayed sober, Judit will hold onto hope that it’ll stick this time

You haven't been drinking, she thinks. So maybe this time...

(Perhaps it’s just because she’s known him for the least amount of time, but it’s still more hope than anyone else in his unit has for Harry).

It’s easy to miss Judit’s implied past with Harry, and assume her patience is naivety or because she’s a mom (which might be the case in a story written by lesser writers) but it’s something more complex than that, and a tiny hint at the better side of pre-canon Harry.

[hiddenhearthwitch]

📚 Small Intro To Polytheism📚

One of the most frequent asks I receive is how and where to get started when it comes to polytheism. This is a fairly broad subject and I’ll try to be as general as I can for advice but I will include specific references for Norse polytheists as that’s my shit. This information can be used to help you find a pantheon or to help you pick deities to work with it. If you’d like to use it to pick a patron deity that’s super, if you want to worship 20 gods and not have a patron deity that’s cool too. You do you dude. Please keep in mind this is all reflective of my research and personal practice. 🌻

Picking A Pantheon/Deity

This really boils down to personal preference. You’ll read a lot of posts and books that tell you many different ways and it’s entirely up to you because it is your practice.  That being said, there’s a couple of different ways to go about it. 

Research! This is one of my favorite ways to delve in. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with reading the stories of multiple pantheons and picking on that calls to you. You can also talk to other devotees and see what they have to say about deities and their religions. It is important to keep in mind that some religions are closed so please do proper research!

For example, I wasn’t originally a Norse pagan. I read some stories and thought the Hellenic pantheon would best suit me. I reached out to Eros for a while but after feeling no real connection to the pantheon I continued my research! After reading up on the Norse pantheon I decided to reach out to them out. Obviously, I fucking loved it because here I am. Point being, you can pick a pantheon based on research and not some divine message or whatever. You are also more than welcome to try out a religion, decide it doesn’t suit you, and move on. 

Divination! You can use runes, a pendulum, tarot, etc.This can go a few different ways. You can write pantheon/deity names on separate pieces of paper, mix them up, and place them face down then ask the pendulum to pick. You can assign a deity/pantheon to each suit of cards or major arcana card or even do the same thing with runes. 

For example, this is how I found a devotion to Frigg and Hel. I asked if there were any deities who were interested in working with me and pulled the runes Hagalaz and Berkana which read as Hel and Frigg to me. I followed up with tarot cards and pulled Death(Hel) plus the Queen of Pentacles(Frigg).

Asking/waiting for a sign. This isn’t something I’ve personally done so I don’t have much to say on the subject. You can go about meditating, praying, doing a ritual, or whatever and essentially wait for a sign after. It can come via a dream, something you experience, symbols you see in your daily life, it’s pretty much up to your intuition to decipher it. If anyone has information they’d like me to add in here please let me know!

If there’s a god you’re curious about and don’t want to do any of the above it’s totally cool to just reach out and ask if they want to work with you. 

Idk How To Research

Same, tbh my keyword search game is weak. Anyways, good portion of us are looking up dead religions with little reliable resources. To give those curious about the Norse an easy head start here’s a compiled list of  books by yours truly(click me!!) . It’s important to take everything with a grain a salt of salt when doing research. In my experience a lot of the retold Norse sagas have been Christianized or written under heavy Wiccan influences. It’s a good idea to do research on the author before reading one of their books.

Other blogs! There are tons of great witches and pagans on tumblr that have information waiting for you. 💗 You can search their blog/tags for good references for books, websites, podcasts, etc. Plus lots of blogs are open to answer asks. If you don’t know where to start for searching it’s best to try things based around your interest like: “norse polytheist”, “hellenic witch”, “gaelic polytheism”, etc.

Media! How lucky are we that we live in the age of technology? Knowledge is right at our fingertips! There are countless documentaries, podcasts, and audiobooks on youtube full of information for different cultures and religions. I’d personally recommend almost anything by BBC, Myths & Legends, and World Mythology!

Books! I love starting on goodreads to find good books and trust worthy authors. They’ve had almost every book I looked up with bunches of different reviews so you can get varying perspectives. Check out your local library as well! A lot of city libraries have online databases now of all of their books so you can “check it out” online and read the PDF(personal fave). 

Feeling Lost Still?

That’s completely reasonable and your feelings are more than valid. It can be overwhelming and lot of information to soak up. Just do your best and take it at your own pace, there’s no rush to find a deity or pantheon. 💞 Below are a few other general concerns I hear a lot that I was hoping to address.

“I’m leaving a monotheistic(Christian, Catholic, Jewish, etc) religion and it’s giving me anxiety.” This is entirely common and almost expected in my opinion. I was raised Roman Catholic and my first year to two looking into polytheism riddled me with anxiety. I was constantly concerned that god would smite me down or I’d face an eternity in hell for worshiping false gods. While I can’t speak for everyone that fear was entirely erased for me when I found my gods. I’ve never felt so safe and strong and hopefully with time you can find the same in your gods!

It’s okay to want to learn more or to seek something more. I can’t tell you how to handle your anxiety but please know you’re not alone in that fear. There’s whole communities out there willing to support you and help you find your safe space(including me)!

“What’s UPG?” You’ll see a lot of posts, mine included, that mention UPG - UPG is Unverified Personal Gnosis. This is essentially someone’s personal thoughts and beliefs about a deity. For example, I associate Sif with hazelnuts. There’s nothing in the lore or any book that says that she likes hazelnuts; that’s just a personal opinion(aka a UPG).

“How do I reach out to the gods?” I have a lot of information on my blog about this topic although a lot of it is Norse specific. You can check out my beginner polytheist tag here and my beginner norse post/ask here.

Altar! This is my go to typically. Altars aren’t limited to the cookie cutter image that comes to mind(no hate though I have a few); one thing you can make a side blog dedicated to your pantheon/deity, make a small one in a tin can, or even make one in a video game like Minecraft or some shit. You can be as creative or as to the book as you want. It’s up to you.

Prayer! You can totally just sit down and be like, “Hey man wanna work on some shit together?”. While I’m not 100% that all gods would be down with you being that casual it’s still something you can try.😂 You can reach out to them by sitting down in a quiet space and meditating into prayer, praying in the car or in the shower, or just pray at the altar you set up if you did. Again, I can not reiterate this enough, it’s your practice, reach out to them as you please.

Do something personal! This is more like devotional work in my opinion. Let’s say you knit and you want to reach out to a creative or domestic deity, you can knit something as a devotional act to them and as a way to reach out. For example I pick up litter in honor of the Vanir and Jörð, or I play Skyrim for Thor and Týr.

Most importantly just be honest and up front with the god that you’re reaching out too. Considering that statement be honest with yourself as well. There’s no point going into a relationship with a god if you can’t be upfront, it’ll end up in nothing but grief.

“Can deities reach out through gods/signs?” They totally can. However, it is up to you and your intuition if a deity has and it’s not likely another witch will decipher that for you. Sounds, experiences, images, all have different meanings to each of us - they may show you something that’s very personal to you but would be mundane to someone else. Trust your instincts. However, please remember that not everything is magical, sometimes a raven is just a raven and not Odin.

✨Take everything you learn with a grain of salt. Including this post.✨

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[mrsjellymunson]

The Essence of You

Pairing: Steddie; Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington

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

My masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, baby. How was your day?”

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

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

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

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

“Whaddayou mean? D’you think…?”

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

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

“I’m not- I don’t- Get off of me.”

Suddenly on the defensive, he blurts,

“Y’know what Steve, fuck you!”

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

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

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

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

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

He knocks quietly, murmuring softly,

“Eddie? Are you okay? Can I come in?”

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

“Y-yeah. I guess...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eddie cuts him off with a huff.

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

He chuckles humourlessly. 

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

“It’s- They- After my mom-”

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

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

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

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

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

“Will you tell me about it?”

Eddie frowns.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eddie snuffles out a chuckle as he remembers,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lightening the mood, Steve responds,

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve smirks and his cheeks pinken,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Christ!”

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

Soft. 

And slow.

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

Soft… 

Slow…

He intersperses his kisses with more verbal encouragement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm, feels good. Feels really good.”

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

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

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

“You still feeling good, baby?”

“Mhmm, really good, so good…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“God, you smell so fucking good…”

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

Above him, Eddie huffs and whimpers,

“Steve, no, I’m- Haaaaah!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he continues, 

Soft… 

Slow…

Watching his face intently, Steve asks,

“You doing okay, baby?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve snorts, his bronze cheeks turning pink.

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

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

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

They both giggle.

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

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

“See for yourself, big boy.”

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

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

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

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

“You feeling better now?”

“Oh baby, you have no idea…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thanks so much for reading!

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

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

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

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

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

[riddlesb1tch]

Never Alone

Rhysand x reader

summary: how you support Rhysand under the mountain

warnings: allusions to assault

a/n: I’ve had the worst writers block ever and because of that this isn’t the best thing I could’ve written but I figured write something at least to try and get out of it. hope you enjoy :)

You lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to conjure the beautiful Velaris night sky from remnants of memories you had from fifty years ago in the dull white paint of your room. You twiddled your thumbs where your hands rested on your stomach, counting the minutes until the door opened and your broken friend came in, seeking comfort and familiarity in your presence. That has been the routine for the past five decades. Every time Amarantha would use Rhys, he would seek you out afterwards, utterly disgusted with himself yet unable to do anything to prevent the abuse. 

Your heart clenched as you recalled the first time Rhys had sought you out after Amarantha was done with him. You’d never seen him look more haunted in his life, not even when he received the news of his mother and sister’s deaths, leaving you to imagine the absolute worst about what happened. He’d rejected your touch that night. Instead, he’d opted to sit on the bed with his knees pulled up to his chest and bawl his eyes out. All you’d been able to do was sit beside him, whispering soothing words of affirmation, distracting him to get the horrid memories out of his mind. Eventually, he’d fallen asleep but you stayed awake, ready to fight anyone who dared come in to disturb Rhysand. 

The memory seemed distant now. Rhysand had come a long way since then, allowing you to hold him while he cried. He had become a ghost of what he used to be, only a whisper of the flirty princeling you had met 300 years ago. Once you got out of here, you vowed to yourself to make that bitch pay for what she was doing to Rhys…and to you and every other soul unfortunate enough to be stuck here.

The door creaked suddenly and your eyes shot to the door to see a tall, hunched, no defeated, figure walk in. He padded his way to the bed, sitting down on the edge with hands folded in his lap. You sat up, opening your arms up to Rhys and he launched himself into your embrace. He buried his face in the crook of your neck and his arms went around your torso, holding on for dear life. He took in shaky breaths, exhaling softly when you held him close. His skin was warm, you noticed, likely from a bath he’d just taken. You knew he scrubbed his skin raw, trying to rid himself of her scent, her touch, in an attempt to rid himself of the whole experience. You stroked his arm gently, careful not to touch any bare skin. 

Over the years, you’d gotten Rhys to talk a little about what he went through nearly every night, and you both came up with some guidelines regarding what he was comfortable with. Touching the bare skin of his arms brought back traumatic memories so you were careful not to touch them, or let your nails anywhere near his skin. On several instances, Rhysand had come to your room with scratch marks on his biceps, and his back, as if done by an animal. So you were careful to not let your nails graze his skin. 

Rhysand clung to you, hands fisting your shirt behind your back as he pressed his face further into the crook of your neck. You knew he was crying, could feel the tears falling onto your skin, and all you could do was hold him tighter. Tears gathered in your eyes as you felt his pain and desperation in the way he held you. You gently stroked his hair before resting your hand on the back of his head. 

“You’re so strong, Rhys,” you whispered. 

He let out an anguished sound. “I don’t want to do this anymore,” he cried. 

If possible your heart broke even further. You pressed a kiss right below his ear, slightly rocking from side to side. 

“I know,” was all you could say. “I know, baby.” 

Rhysand sniffled, pulling back from the embrace to look at your face. Tears streamed down both your cheeks as you gave each other weak smiles of false hope. 

Seeing the look in his eyes, you scrambled for anything to say outside of this wretched place.

“Hey, you know, if my calculations are right,” you started in an attempt to distract him. “Today, 300 years ago is the first time we met.” 

That pulled a small but genuine smile from Rhysand, something your eyes had been begging to see for the past fifty years. 

“Really?” he asked and you nodded. “You remember our first meeting?” he asked. 

You chuckled, recalling the night your much younger and naive self went out for a walk along the Sidra. You sipped on your beverage while looking at the beautiful starry sky reflected on the surface of the river, contemplating dipping your hand into the water to see if you might touch a star. Suddenly, a bulky figure bumped into you, causing your drink to spill all over your clothes. 

“Yes, the idiot princeling who didn't know how to walk,” you flicked his nose playfully. 

“The arrogant princess who yelled at me,” he repeated back. 

“You deserved it really,” you shrugged. “You made me spill my hot cocoa. And it was good.” 

“No one but my father in my century of being alive dared to yell at me. And then came along you who so shamelessly called me a blind chicken.” Both of you laughed at the memory of the argument that followed which ended with Rhysand apologizing and the two talking over a cup of hot cocoa. 

As the laughter died down, the sad looks on both your faces returned. You leaned forward, resting your forehead on Rhys’ as your hand went to the back of his neck. He clutched your other hand tightly as if trying to tether himself to reality as he shakily exhaled. 

“We’ll get through this, Rhys,” you muttered. “You’ll get through it. And I’ll be here however you need me. Always,” you promised.

Rhys nodded. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I don’t know how I’d survive without you.”  

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his forehead before lying down. Rhys laid down beside you, pulling you into his chest, one hand firmly around your waist, the other clutching your hand while the both of you desperately clung to the familiarity and sense of temporary safety the other provided. Tomorrow would be a new day when you’d repeat this cycle. Perhaps tomorrow would be better, with less pain for both of you or perhaps it would be worse. But one thing would always stay constant: you’d always be there for each other.

Masterlist

[edenfenixblogs]

Look what Google just recommended to me!!!!

I already own (and love) Shabbat and Portico.

But I am OBSESSED with the rest and must acquire them immediately.

Top of my list is Love Japan because LOOK AT THIS BEAUITFUL BOWL OF MATZO BALL RAMEN!!!!!

We hear a lot about Jewish people in Europe and MENA, but we do not hear a lot about Jewish culture as it blends with East Asian cultures, and that’s a shame. Not just because it erases the centuries of Jewish populations there, but also because there are plenty of people of mixed decent. People who may not have come directly from Jewish communities in East Asia, but people who have a Japanese Father and a Jewish Mother, for example. Or people in intercultural marriages. These are all real and valuable members of the Jewish community, and we should be celebrating them more. This cookbook focuses on Jewish Japanese American cuisine and I am delighted to learn more as soon as possible. The people who wrote this book run the restaurant Shalom Japan, which is the most adorable name I’ve ever heard. Everything about this book excites and delights me.

And of course, after that, I’m most interested in “Kugels and Collards” (as if you had any doubts about that after the #kugel discourse, if you were following me then).

This is actually written in conjunction with an organization of the same name devoted to preserving the food and culture of Jews in South Carolina!

I’m especially excited to read this one, because I have recently acquired the book Kosher Soul by the fantastic, inimitable Michael J. Twitty, which famously explores faith and food in African American Jewish culture. I’m excited to see how Jewish soul food and traditions in South Carolina specifically compare and contrast with Twitty’s writings.

I’m also excited for all the other books on this list!

A while ago, someone inboxed me privately to ask what I recommended for people to read in order to learn more about Jewish culture. I wrote out a long list of historical resources attempting to cover all the intricate details and historic pressure points that molded Jewish culture into what it is today. After a while I wrote back a second message that was much shorter. I said:

Actually, no. Scratch everything I just said. Read that other stuff if you want to know Jewish history.

But if you want to know Jewish culture? Cookbooks.

Read every Jewish cookbook you can find.

Even if you don’t cook, Jewish cookbooks contain our culture in a tangible form. They often explain not only the physical processes by which we make our meals, but also the culture and conditions that give rise to them. The food is often linked to specific times and places and events in diaspora. Or they explain the biblical root or the meaning behind the holidays associated with a given food.

I cannot speak for all Jews. No one can. But in my personal observation and experience—outside of actual religious tradition—food has often been the primary means of passing Jewish culture and history from generation to generation.

It is a way to commune with our ancestors. I made a recipe for chicken soup or stuffed cabbage and I know that my great grandmother and her own mother in their little Hungarian shtetl. I’ll never know the relatives of theirs who died in the Holocaust and I’ll never meet the cousins I should have had if they were allowed to live. But I can make the same food and know that their mother also made it for them. I have dishes I make that connect me to my lost ancestors in France and Mongolia and Russia and Latvia and Lithuania and, yes, Israel—where my relatives have lived continuously since the Roman occupation even after the expulsions. (They were Levites and Cohens and caretakers of synagogues and tradition and we have a pretty detailed family tree of their presence going back quite a long time. No idea how they managed to stay/hide for so long. That info is lost to history.)

I think there’s a strong tendency—aided by modern recipe bloggers—to view anything besides the actual recipe and procedures as fluff. There is an urge for many people to press “jump to recipe” and just start cooking. And I get that. We are all busy and when we want to make dinner we just want to make dinner.

But if your goal isn’t just to make dinner. If your goal is to actually develop an understanding of and empathy for Jewish people and our culture, then that’s my advice:

Read cookbooks.