#queer ass knights
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"I don't want to fight you." The first knight said - both their lip and their muscles quivering.
"I don't want to fight you either." Said the second knight - various parts of them were also quivering but not unattractively so.
"But it looks like we have to fight." Said the first knight. "Because of our irreconcilable but equally valid moral outlooks."
"Yes," said the second knight, "it looks that way."
They looked at each other and in that look was sadness, but also defiance and a little bit of excitement.
"You're a really good knight."
"So are you."
"Maybe after all this is over - if we both survive - we could take the armour off and cuddle?"
"I'd like that."
When the two of them fought, the earth shook. And, despite the falling rubble and gasps of the local populace, they each thought that the ground trembled just for them.
#microfiction#writing#queer ass knights#short story#flash fiction#fun fact this was originally inspired by the trailer for captain america civil war
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nah cuz why did tiktok just give me an idea to write about two(2) knights just absolutely ravaging each other
#writing prompt#m4m#gay#queer knights#someone take my phone away ffs#im definitely not gonna be able to write this in a long ass while#the torture of having a brilliant (not really) mind#writer things#writer thoughts#writers block#queer writers
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honestly as a butch, i just gotta say it: that "chivalrous knight in shining armor" crap is objectifying as hell and it's not fun, cute, or validating to apply to us, it provides a burden for us to bear, it makes us paranoid, tired, weary and feel like we're being reduced to a stereotype, or like we're being forced into a mold.
i'm not a knight just because i'm a transmasculine person who looks tough and can theoretically protect femme queers. i'm literally just standing here, being transsexual. i'm not inherently "chilvarous," i don't have any obligation to protect people just because i adopted the label "butch". what if i'm weak? what if the butch needs to be protected? what if the butch is disabled, traumatized, or just scared? i'm a wheelchair user.
why can't femmes protect their butches? why does it always have to be the butch being the chivalrous knight in our yearning posts and poems? why do we have to weave a performative ass narrative of the masculine partner swooping in to protect their defenseless feminine partner? how the HELL is this progressive or subversive at all? this is literally reinventing the binary.
the way the (white) cis lesbian community treats its butches is alienating as all hell. we are not here just to protect other people. we are not inherently protectors. we are not all strong. we are allowed to be weak. we are allowed to be scared. we are allowed to be hurt. we don't HAVE to protect our femmes, if we like femmes at all. not every butch is attracted to femme people in the first place.
butch isn't a lifestyle, it's not a set personality type. it's not a specific set of actions; it's just queer masculinity, that can be expressed by a multitude of queers for a multitude of reasons. it's not one specific set of traits. masculinity is not just found in protecting others and acting tough, it's also in being soft, vulnerable, weak and tender.
just let butches be people, don't turn us into objects before we even get out of the gates. all of this removes the human element of being butch. if the queer community can't afford that, we can't get it from anywhere, because we sure as hell aren't seen as humans by cisheteronormative society.
don't force me to see myself as a knight when i'm the one who needs help just because i'm masculine, or just because i'm a man.
butches need help, too.
#butch#lesbian#butch lesbian#dyke#sapphic#wlw#lgbtqia#lgbtq#lgbt#queer#lesbianism#femme dyke#femme lesbian#femme#high femme#stone butch#bisexual#bi lesbian#mspec lesbian#pan lesbian#pansexual lesbian#lesboy#guydyke#transmasc lesbian#ftm lesbian#transmasculine lesbian#ftm butch#testo butch#transmasc butch#bi butch
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my fav fics with aemond
link to nsfw list with Aemond
dragons, knights, and princesses
you got me slippin', actin' lazy
mother knows no bounds
touch starved aemond
monster in the stories
courting headcanons
he slapped her ass
no matter what
aemond cried...
a soft morning
clear lilac eyes
so much more
catch me first
a nightmare
little dragon
won't let go
protection
retribution
my dragon
the rumors
unrequited
in dreams
heartbeat
sleepless
chess
@runningmunson @astrumark @oneeyedvisenya @aemondsbeloved @chiss-and-crackers @sapphire-writes @vhagarlovebot @hyperfixatedhyperstressed @eydi-andrius @streetofsilk @lightning-hawke @fuckalicent @simpingland @sapphire-writes @princessbellecerise @queers-gambit @valeskafics @cullenswife @chiss-and-crackers
masterlist
#hotd aemond#aemond fanfiction#aemond x reader#aemond one eye#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x female reader#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x ofc#aemond targaryen x fem!oc#aemond targaryen fandom#aemond targaryen fluff#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond targaryen series#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen angst#house of the dragon#hotd x y/n#hotd x you#hotd x reader#hotd fanfic#hotd#hotd smut#hotd fluff#hotd fandom#hotd angst
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Booty 🌿
Steve has a plan, and Eddie falls for it. || read on ao3
Here it finally is, folks! My first smut for the ST fandom. I hope you like it!! Inspired by this post.
WC: ~4.8k || E || CW: Unsafe sex
“Please, Eddie?”
“Are you insane, Steve? It’s hotter than Satan’s taint out there, you cannot expect me to peel myself off this couch.”
Eddie heard a frustrated sigh and a small thud, imagining that Steve had let his head drop on the wall by his phone. “Yeah, I’m aware, I’m sweating buckets right now. But I gotta have the car fixed before tomorrow, I promised Claudia I’d pick up Dustin from the bus station and I can’t do that if it won’t start.”
Thing was, Eddie did kinda want to go and help him, heatwave be damned. They’d grown close in the months since spring break and despite his previous misgivings Eddie had gotten to like Steve. More than he should, really. He can’t help it if his queer little heart does a jig every time he manages to make Steve laugh in that eye-crinkling, head-tipped-back kind of way. Got good at it too, which made Eddie feel a great deal of selfish pride. And if he can’t take his eyes off the long lines of Steve’s mole-dotted neck, that’s his own business.
But this was something else. As soon as Steve called to ask if Eddie would help fix the Bimmer he couldn’t get the thought of him–sweaty and greasy and bent over the open hood of the car, his hair falling just so and lip bitten between his teeth in concentration–out of his dirty little mind. The things he’d want to do. It did as much to convince Eddie to go as it did to make him want to keep his distance.
He was a weak man, however.
“Fine. Alright. But you’d better make it worth my time, I’m risking my pale, un-sunburnt ass for this.”
Steve snorted. “Don’t worry, I will,” he said blandly.
They hung up after Eddie promised to be there in a few minutes, and he rolled off of the couch with a melodramatic groan. Moving in the muggy heat trapped inside the trailer sucked, but he wasn’t going to back out. Steve had sounded so relieved when he’d said goodbye that it gave Eddie enough pep to lurch his way to the kitchen to grab a few cold beers before scrambling into his van. He appreciated his own forethought when he burned his hand on the door handle and could hold a cold bottle against the spot. Fucking summer.
Parking in the Harringtons’ driveway, he spotted the Bimmer pulled halfway into the garage, the front shaded by the overhang in what must be an attempt to avoid the worst of the sunlight. The hood was popped open, but Eddie couldn’t see Steve.
“Ohh Stevie!” he sang, “your knight in shining armour has arrived!” He heard something thunk from the garage but got no response, so he wandered inside, trying to peer around the hood. “I come bearing gifts but they’re gonna get–”
Wheels squeaked from below and Eddie looked down, only to be treated to the sight of Steve’s legs, long and hairy and sprawled open, flexing as he dragged himself out from under the car on the creeper and revealing more inches of mouth-watering thighs. He was–oh fuck, Steve was wearing the tiniest cut-off jean shorts Eddie had ever seen, the fabric of the pockets poking out from under the frayed hems. They were tight, too, hugging his hips and, god, his bulge. The white tank top Steve wore had ridden up, too, exposing the trail of hair that dipped below the fucking shorts, but Eddie followed it up, along the grease stains and the swell of his pecs to Steve’s grinning face.
“...Hot.” Eddie’s voice cracked around the word.
“What was that?” Steve asked.
Clearing his throat, Eddie said, “The beer, it’s uh, gonna get hot.” Somehow he managed to not sound like he was choking on his own drool while Steve still stared up at him from the ground, a few strands of hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. There was a slight smear of dirt across his cheek and Eddie wanted to lick it off.
“You know where the fridge is, Eddie, if you’re that worried.”
“Nah, you look like you need a break. Get up here,” he said, waggling the bottle over Steve’s face. Steve chuckled but finally stood and relieved Eddie of the misery of seeing Steve on his back and not having been the one to put him there.
He popped the caps off with the bottle opener on his keychain, and Steve took his with a ‘thank you,’ downing half in a few gulps. Eddie distracted himself from the sight of Steve’s throat bobbing by peering over at the engine.
“So what’s the issue, doc?”
Steve pulled away from the bottle with a soft popping sound from his pink lips and a gasp. “Dunno yet. That’s why I called you,” he said, leaning on the car beside Eddie. “Oil and battery are fine, spark plugs look good too.”
“She been making a sputtering kind of sound recently? Could be the throttle.”
“Nah, no weird noises.”
Eddie hummed, then set his bottle aside. “Alright, let’s get underneath her then.” Lowering himself onto the creeper and sliding under the car, he said, “Could be a belt has finally busted. Got a flashlight?”
“Really need to ask that?” Steve’s voice got fainter as he walked a little ways away. “The kids insisted on a disaster preparedness kit after round two with the Upside Down.”
There was a tap on the wood under Eddie’s hip, and blindly he reached down to grab the flashlight Steve found. He tinkered around under the Bimmer, unable to wipe away the sweat that started to drip and stick his bangs to his forehead. But eventually he began to roll back out into open, but no less stupidly hot, air.
“Looks like everything’s shipshape, captain–” Eddie choked on his own words when he looked up and was met with a sight straight out of his wet dreams.
Steve stood over Eddie, his legs spread wide enough that Eddie had rolled right between them. If he sat down, Steve would be straddling Eddie’s hips, but that would deprive him of this new angle at which to admire all of Steve’s assets wrapped so tightly in frayed, lightwash denim. Mouth falling open, Eddie let out an eloquent, “Uhhh,” and Steve laughed, holding out his hand.
“Thought you’d like a hand,” Steve explained, smirking.
He took it without thinking and let Steve haul him off the creeper board and up to his feet. A kick, and Steve sent the board skittering away underneath the car, but Eddie barely winced at the noise. He was too busy standing so close to Steve that they breathed the same humid air. If he so much as swayed, their noses would bump together. Christ, Steve had pretty eyes, a bright, warm brown flecked with amber even in the shade of the garage and he swore he could see Steve’s pupils dilate the longer their gazes locked together.
“So, what were you saying?” Steve asked in a low tone. He tilted his head ever so slightly and those eyes held some kind of dare within them, one eyebrow ticked upward. Eddie couldn’t help swallowing, licking his lips, and Steve went from staring into Eddie’s eyes to down at his lips.
“Just saying that, that everything looked fine. Might, uh, might be the crankshaft or the–” Steve stepped forward just enough to bring their chests together, the back of Eddie’s knees hitting the bumper, and Eddie’s breath hitched, his voice cracking, “–the sensor.”
“Eddie.” The way Steve said his name sent a frisson of heat through Eddie, right to his dick, which was becoming a very obvious guest between them.
“Yeah, Stevie?” he whispered.
Broad, warm hands wrapped around Eddie’s slim hips. Steve worked a finger through a belt loop on each side and tugged, and Eddie realised he wasn’t the only one with a hard on when Steve’s pressed up against his own, pulling a hiss of pleasure from them both. Oh, shit. Leaning impossibly closer, Steve’s lips brushed against Eddie’s when he spoke. “I don’t care about the car right now.”
That snapped whatever faint, lingering reservations Eddie had. “Fuck, Stevie, please kiss m–” He didn’t even finish before Steve’s lips crashed into his, plush and hungry. It wasn’t long before Eddie began to nip and lick, his teeth drawing short, pleased noises from Steve’s mouth before he pulled back a scant inch.
“Fucking finally,” Steve said, and dove back in, biting back, making Eddie groan. His hands found their way to Steve’s sides, then, spurred on by Steve’s enthusiasm, he reached down and grabbed at his ass. His fingers wrapped under the hem and he yanked Steve’s hips in and up, rising to meet them.
Steve’s cock grinding against Eddie’s was a fucking revelation. From the way Steve’s mouth parted with a hot gasp, Eddie guessed he felt the same. “Hold on, baby,” he rasped, and using what leverage he had, Eddie hoisted Steve onto his lap, Steve’s knees spread and braced on the car. There was no way he could keep them there for long, but fuck it was hot, rutting their hips together while they kissed, wet and messy.
Eddie tasted the salt of his own sweat when Steve licked into his mouth and moaned, hands fisted into the denim in his grip, feeling more sweat beginning to drip down his back. The heat was stifling, but nothing compared to what started to grow in Eddie’s gut. One of Steve’s hands buried in his curls and pulled, had Eddie bucking up and whimpering around Steve’s tongue. He could come like this, dry humping on top of the Bimmer, lap full of Steve in those shorts, hands on his perfect ass, would’ve if the idea weren’t more embarrassing than hot.
“St-Steve, wait,” Eddie panted, whining again when Steve’s hand clenched in his hair again.
“Why’d you stop? Don’t wanna stop, Eddie,” Steve groaned, before a little more clarity seeped into him and he leaned back into his arms, concerned. “Or, shit, wait, is this okay?”
“God, fuck yes this is okay. Been thinking about this forever, man.” Steve smiled widely, verging on a little goofy, before ducking in and pressing open-mouthed kisses to Eddie’s throat. Eddie’s arms began to shake. His legs had long since begun to tremble. “But, hang on, ah, I’m gonna either drop you or come in my shorts in like two minutes if we don’t rethink this.”
All that did was make Steve start rocking into him again. “Hot,” he mumbled as he licked up a trail of sweat under Eddie’s jaw, making Eddie swear and tip his head back.
Eddie’s knees decided to buckle right then. They shouted, Eddie scrambled, locking Steve in his arms and getting his feet under himself before standing, his hands still hooked around Steve’s ass while Steve’s legs clung to his waist. Steve’s shocked expression likely matched Eddie’s, before he rested his forehead against Eddie’s and laughed so hard his body shook. Helpless, Eddie joined in, holding Steve close while their giggling faded out. But his arms were aching so, gently, he put Steve down.
“Do you wanna stop?” Steve asked. Eddie shook his head.
“You?” Steve shook his. “Thank fuck,” Eddie said. He ran his hands over Steve’s ass, over the crease of his thigh, the tips of his fingers tickling the hair on the back of his thighs before guiding him close again. “Didn’t wanna let you go now that I’ve got you, sweetheart.”
Steve dove into Eddie’s mouth with a hungry groan. The slick sounds of their lips echoed in the garage. With a tug, Steve turned them around and backed up into the car, his hands wandering underneath Eddie’s cut up Iron Maiden tee and clutching at his sides, over the fresh demobat scars, nails digging in bluntly.
Eddie couldn’t keep his hands off Steve either. He pawed at whatever he could, finding the places that made Steve pant and hum into his mouth. But he wanted more, because Eddie has always been a bit greedy. One hand snaked its way around to cup Steve through the shorts that barely contained him, pressing his fingers around the hard outline of Steve’s cock and squeezing, rubbing. The low, raspy moan he got for his efforts made Eddie grin wolfishly.
Head lolling back, Steve breathed hard and rose to meet each stroke of Eddie’s palm. Eddie began to bite and suck his way down the strong line of Steve’s neck, biting every mole he could find. “E-Eddie, I want you to fuck me.”
The words made Eddie bite down just shy of too hard. Steve whined, and Eddie lapped at the spot in apology. “I wanna, I wanna so bad, Steve, but we’re fucking filthy, sweetheart,” he mumbled into Steve’s neck.
“Don’t need to do anything. I, mmh, prepared for this.”
Eddie pulled back to blink at him in disbelief. “You what?”
“I’ve been wanting this for months and nothing was working! So I just, made this as obvious as I fucking could.”
“Months?” Eddie’s jaw dropped when Steve gave him a look that managed to be both fond, flirty, and frustrated. “I could’ve been fucking you for months!?”
“Or I could’ve been fucking you.”
That idea, as sexy as it was, had to be pushed aside before it managed to make Eddie’s horny little brain leak out of his ears. “Putting a pin in that, that’s absolutely gonna happen, but I wanna revisit something. You prepared?”
Steve smirked. “Yeah,” he said, simple and cocky and so hot Eddie could combust. Eddie tried to capture Steve’s lips again but Steve stopped him with a firm hand against his chest, pushing Eddie back a few steps. Turning, he closed the hood of his car and instead of twisting back around to face Eddie, Steve leaned on his arms and arched his back.
Now that was a sight. Steve’s long, tan legs spread just so, one knee cocked to give a slight tilt to his hips. The firm, round swell of his ass peeking out under the denim that struggled to hold together. And right on the apex of those pretty, biteable, jean-clad cheeks: two dark, dirty handprints. There’s even the blackened imprint of fingers on Steve’s skin. Eddie’s fingers, Eddie’s hands. His cock twitched against his zipper and he moaned out, “Ohhh my god…”
Looking over his shoulder, Steve’s smug smirk grew, and he tilted his hips up a little further. “I know I look good, Munson, but are you gonna do something about it or what?”
Eddie stepped forward and draped himself along the expanse of Steve’s back, rutting his hips into Steve’s and making him hum sweetly. “Don’t have to get bratty about it, baby,” he said. He dragged his fingers along Steve’s sides, letting his nails catch on the soft texture of Steve’s scars before dipping down and popping his button open in one swift motion. “Tell me how you prepared.”
He felt the shiver his words evoked run down Steve’s spine. As he slid the zipper down and slid his hand in to find Steve had gone commando–both of them groaning when Eddie’s hand wrapped around Steve’s leaking, twitching cock–Eddie nuzzled into the dip between Steve’s ear and neck, inhaling the scent of his sweat and musk and the faint traces of a clean, fresh cologne valiantly hanging on.
“I, I got this toy. In Indy,” Steve gasped as Eddie pumped him, pulling his cock out as his hand sped up the more Steve spoke. “Worked myself open on it.”
“What’dya think of?” Eddie squeezed.
“You,” Steve keened, jerking into Eddie’s grip.
“Fuck. God. Alright, enough of this.” Standing, Eddie took his hand away and ignored the needy noise Steve made to instead yank the shorts down. Steve only bothered to step out of one leg, having to kick his foot when they got stuck on his shoe. It made his cheeks jiggle. Eddie couldn’t resist giving him a few taps just to watch it again before spreading those cheeks with his thumbs. More dirt smeared over Steve’s dewy skin, but that was only the opening act. The true star of the show glistened with lube and twitched under Eddie’s hungry stare, already loose and used and ready for him. He held himself back from burying his tongue in Steve’s hole, but just barely, letting out a low, hungry rumble instead.
Eddie couldn't move fast enough after that. He grappled with his belt, popped the button of his shorts and shoved them and his boxers out of the way enough for his cock to spring out without help. Then he stepped forward. Eddie let out a shuddering gasp when his aching cock met the searing heat of Steve’s taint and smeared precome along it, echoed when Steve sighed unsteadily as his head slipped up, up, up. Brushed over Steve’s hole once, twice, before catching on the rim.
“Please, Eddie,” Steve whined as he pushed back, and who was Eddie to deny such a pretty request?
He thrust forward and sank into Steve with a slick sound and such little resistance that Eddie’s jaw dropped open in a soundless moan, eyelids fluttering at the hot, wet clench of muscle around him. Another thrust and Steve groaned thickly, his head tilting back so Eddie could see how his bitten-red lips parted deliciously.
“Steve, you good? Please tell me you’re good. Fuck. I wanna fuck you so bad, you feel so good, hot, please Steve,” Eddie begged and rambled, his hands shaking with the need to grab and pull and take.
“If you don’t fucking start right now I’m leaving–”
That was all the permission Eddie needed.
He sank slowly past that ring of muscle and Eddie didn’t have the capacity to be embarrassed about the high-pitched, breathy whine that escaped him. Steve really had prepped, just loose enough and slick enough, but he still took his time. He wanted to savour this, the way he slid into Steve’s tight heat, how the feeling made his legs tremble and his stomach clench. Steve deserved the caution. At first, at least.
“Tell me,” Eddie demanded, needing to talk to distract from the sheer feeling of bliss of being enveloped by Steve. “Tell me about what you were thinking when you fucked yourself on that dildo.”
Steve’s head tilted back with a moan, his brows drawn together, and Eddie longed to bite and lick the strong column of his throat, but he didn’t want to get distracted. He wanted to know.
“I thought about your fingers, first. Those rings, fuck, they drive me nuts. Wish you’d worn them today.” Eddie gave his hips a firm squeeze, fingers spread wide to catch as much soft skin as he could, and grinned when he felt Steve clench around him and heard a stuttering breath.
“I’ll wear them next time, big boy. Wanna see how good they look when I’m jerking you off.” The appreciative groan caused by Eddie’s words was divine.
“God yes. Next time.”
Of course it was then that the phrase sunk in. Next time. Eddie hadn’t even noticed he’d said it but Steve repeating it had something other than raging hormones rising in his gut. He didn’t even have time to process the implication because Steve kept going, and started meeting Eddie’s thrusts with small movements of his own.
“Then I thought about your dick. Y’know, it’s so hard not to stare when you get out of the pool.”
“Did you?”
“Duh.” Steve shot a bitchy look over his shoulder. The usual power behind the look was lost in the bright red flush on his face. It completely fell apart when Eddie shifted and hit somewhere new, Steve’s mouth dropping open with a guttural noise that made Eddie’s cock twitch. “S-shit, it’s so perfect,” he said.
Steve’s head hung loose from his shoulders, forehead resting on the hood of the car, needy, lingering moans bouncing off the metal, breath and sweat condensing on it while Eddie inched further into him every time he slid out and pressed back in. With his palms on the Bimmer, Steve used the leverage to rock into Eddie, the muscles in his shoulders rippling under the white cotton tank starting to go translucent with sweat.
Watching his cock steadily disappear into Steve’s hole was addicting. He leaned back to get a better view of how he split Steve open between the grimy handprints he’d left on the globes of his ass, placed his hands there again and dug his nails in, making Steve’s hips jerk so that Eddie sank the rest of the way with a groan.
“God, Eddie,” Steve mumbled, “fuck, you feel so. So, uh, so good.”
“Y-you too, baby.” Eddie could barely form words. The tight pressure around his cock threatened to end things there and then, but Eddie closed his eyes and breathed, letting the fire and the urge and the want die down to a less immediate threat. But then he opened his eyes, saw how good they looked locked together, the way his darker thatch caught against the lighter brown hairs decorating Steve’s ass, both of them wet from the lube he’d pushed out of his hole, and jesus fucking christ he didn’t want, he needed.
Pulling out slowly and bracing Steve’s hips with a punishing grip was the only warning he gave before snapping forward with a loud grunt, the slap of damp skin a filthy echo in the garage. Steve cried out at the second hard thrust, choked off when Eddie kept going, his hips picking up speed.
“Good?” Eddie gasped. Nodding, Steve uttered a desperate, pleading ‘yes’ that made him fuck into Steve faster.
“Look so fucking hot, Steve,” he started babbling, his voice reedy with pleasure. “God, my handprints on you. Want ‘em to stain, be there forever.” Steve moaned and Eddie felt him tighten around his cock. “Like that, sweetheart?”
“Yeah, fuck, I do, I do!”
Eddie leaned forward, draped himself across Steve’s back, and the angle was so fucking good, so much better, and he knew he’d started pounding into Steve’s prostate by the way his gasps had turned into a delicious mix of thin moans and choked out grunts. Fucking him into the car, Eddie let his hands roam. He rucked up the tank top, watched as the last of the dirt on his hands smeared over Steve’s perfect, scarred skin like loving and greedy claw marks. Finding a nipple, he pinched and squeezed until Steve writhed and squirmed.
Then Steve reached up. Buried a hand into Eddie’s hair, grabbed a handful and pulled.
“Oh fuck!” Eddie whined, his hips stuttering, the pain mixing with pleasure and zinging down his spine.
Steve chuckled, unsteady and breathy but so self-satisfied. “Thought about this… for so long, Eddie.”
“Thinkin’ about me so much, sweetheart. I’m honoured. What, hah, what did you think about?” he asked into Steve’s neck, lips catching on his skin, tempting him to lick, to bite. He did, groaning at the taste of salt.
“This. On your couch, by the pool, my bed, anywhere. Been desperate for it.” Steve pulled Eddie closer by his hair while he bounced back on Eddie’s cock as if to prove it. “Or, shit, bending you over that throne of yours and fucking you into it.” Eddie let out a pitchy whimper and Steve cooed in a way that could’ve been condescending but instead made Eddie melt. “But now, now that I know the kinds of fucking sounds you make–t-there, yes–I wanna take you apart. Slow a-and gentle until you’re a mess–”
He cut himself off with a broken moan. Eddie’s hips kept up their brutal pace with short, sharp, hard thrusts, the sound of their sweat-slicked fucking and and the jingle of Eddie’s belt buckle filling the room. His brain was nothing but static. The image was stuck in a loop like the end of a record left to spin. Eddie heard a desperate, animalistic whine and realised it came from himself.
“Close, baby?” Steve asked. Eddie nodded frantically, his lips dragging through beads of sweat dripping down his neck. He’d been holding it off, the fraying coil threatening to snap, his balls aching as they slapped into Steve’s asscheeks.
“You?” Eddie wanted to beg for Steve to be ready.
“Getting there, just, don’t stop,” Steve gasped.
Twisting, Steve pulled Eddie down to catch his lips in an open-mouthed kiss, fingers tangled in his damp curls. Their tongues met sloppily. Shared panting breaths like trying to inhale each other. Eddie’s thrusts were starting to falter. He was going to shake apart at this rate. Might just shatter when he comes, the pressure and heat and need too much and so fucking perfect.
“Steve,” Eddie whined, and Steve’s eyes met his. “So good to me, Stevie, sweetheart. Feel so wet, fuckin’ beautiful. Nee–mmh–need you, need you to come, please baby, please.”
“Touch me,” Steve said, practically commanded, and Eddie wasted no time.
Spitting in his hand and hoping it was enough, Eddie wrapped his fingers around Steve’s dick, mixing his spit with the shocking amount of precome leaking from the head and spreading it over his length. Christ he was hung. Steve let out a relieved sigh, which Eddie swallowed, smashing their lips together again while fucking hard enough that he rocked Steve into his fist. Steve started making little ah, ah, ah noises. Next time–please let there actually be a next time–he’d worship this cock in the ways he wanted to, the ways Steve deserved, but for now he pumped him mercilessly. Then, then.
Steve seized, a full-body tremble ripping through him as he came, pulsing in Eddie’s hand as he tightened around Eddie’s cock and he was so fucking gorgeous, plush kissed-red lips open in a silent scream, so hot and tight and, and, and–
With a hoarse shout, Eddie came too, rutting helplessly into Steve as he rode out the sparking shockwaves that also had him shaking, the wet sounds between them even more obscene with Eddie’s come slicking the way. He finally stopped when Steve’s whimpers sounded a little too sharp. Breathing heavily, Eddie braced himself on the hood of the car on weak arms to keep himself from collapsing on top of Steve, only letting his head rest in the crook of Steve’s neck where he left one final, achingly gentle love bite.
“Okay?” he whispered.
“Mhmm,” Steve hummed contentedly, leaning his head against Eddie’s, their damp hair sticking together.
“Gonna pull out now, Stevie, okay?” When Steve just nodded lazily, Eddie slowly pulled out, both of them groaning at the feeling. And he couldn’t keep himself from parting Steve’s cheeks to see his come dribble out a little, feeling a great deal of pride and greedy satisfaction at the sight.
“Bit late to ask, but you’re still clean, right? After all those tests for the bat bites?” Steve asked, grimacing when he stood up. He was the perfect picture of debauchery, only wearing his rumpled, practically see-through tank top, socks, and shoes, with his hair a wild mess and sweat still dripping from his forehead. The dirty fingerprints and red marks starting to bloom on his neck and hips were Eddie’s favourite part.
“Yep, only time I’ll ever thank those shady government fuckers for poking me with all those needles.” Eddie grinned at Steve’s tired, but fond, chuckle.
Steve looked at the car with heavy-lidded eyes, then did a double-take. “Shit, I gotta wash that off.” There, on the shiny burgundy hood of the Bimmer, was the white splash of Steve’s come, stark against the dark colour. Eddie started cackling and Steve complained, “Dude, shut up, it’ll ruin the paint!”
“Gonna wash your car without these, Winnie the Pooh?” Eddie bent down to scoop up Steve’s shorts, dangling them from a finger. He laughed when Steve snatched them back with a glare that barely hid his begrudging smile. While he stepped back into them with a wince, Eddie said, “Interesting choice of clothing to work on your car, by the way.”
“Worked, though, didn’t it?”
“What?” Eddie’s eyes narrowed when Steve smiled innocently and shrugged before he wandered off to get a chamois towel and soap. And it clicked. “You planned this? You lured me in with slutty shorts?”
Tossing the towel up and catching it, Steve’s smile widened into something smug. “Yep.”
“Wait. Is the car even broken?”
Steve just offered Eddie another sly shrug and started wiping his come off the hood.
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I rise from the grave: Writeblr Intro
Hello everyone! And a special double hello to everyone I connected with about a month ago before falling into a finals-induced-brain-death. I have since reanimated with only minor changes (you can hardly notice something is off) but even still, I figure a new introduction is in order.
My name is Sal (they/she), I'm a 21-year-old college student vibing in the Bible Belt of America. I'm studying English and my current career aspiration is to work in non-profit literacy services (and maybe get a master's degree at some point, but who knows!)
I started taking my writing seriously about a year ago and I still know nothing. But who does anyways? I desperately want to write a novel, but right now what I'm actually writing are short stories in the speculative-realm. I tend to gravitate towards themes of family trauma, divinity, queerness, end times, femme-angst, and getting your ass beat.
I like reading a whole lotta genres; weird fiction, fantasy, horror, sci-fantasy, classic lit, and more. Some of my favorite works are The Locked Tomb, Slaughterhouse-Five, The Murderbot Diaries, Our Wives Under the Sea, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, and Disco Elysium. Richard Siken is my favorite poet.
now for WIPs!
....
....
Well, at some point, I want to tell y'all about my WIPs. Though I struggle to even call them that. It's more like I have 4 big ideas that have been plaguing me for months to years. I think about them, too often, but I have written basically nothing on them. The common denominator between them all is that there is some BLOCK keeping me from actually developing them. I'm self aware enough that I must power through them if I want to actually write a novel (I do, terribly so), but I don't have enough force of will to... actually do the thing. I'm working on it.
Anyways, thank you if you've stuck with this rambling mess so far! Feel free to dm me, tag me in challenges, or whatever!
#creative writing#writers on tumblr#writblr#writers and poets#reading#writing#intro post#blog#blog intro#writing blog#writing community#literature#lit#sff#sff books#queer writers#queer artist#queer sff#web fiction#sapphic#sapphic writing
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So I watched the animated Legion of Super Heroes and I just can’t. I can’t with straight Supergirl anymore. Mon El as a villain? Phenomenal. Do I hate Brainiac 5? No. But the romance doesn’t work for me. Despite its flaws, once you’ve seen Supercorp, the plot beats and heteronormativity of Kara and Brainiac 5 just can’t compete. You also can’t convince me Sasha Callie’s Supergirl was straight either.
Preach. While it was hilarious to see Mon-El as a villain and have Kara kick his ass (which now makes 3 separate versions where that ship has been buried one way or another by DC, The CW, WB, etc) ... I'm honestly so sick of watching them do the same things with Kara again and again and again, especially on the romantic front, and it's entirely uninteresting for the most part.
I mean it's pretty ironic that the single best love story she's ever had in any medium was the queerbaited one between she and Lena Luthor in TV series, ffs.
Until they realize that the concept of Kara/Lena (aka the real "Supercorp" despite a couple of DC writers recently attempting to st-- I mean conveniently use the exact LGBTQ fan-created phrase, a very similar logo to the LGBTQ fan-made one and even utilize some eerily similar SC elements from the SGCW TV series) is a literal GOLD MINE of creative opportunity and money to be made... they're going to just continue to rinse and repeat the same dull shit and wonder why most people simply just don't care and they can't break out of the box (except with a couple limited runs like WoT which have no love interest).
Kara/Lena as a romantic couple literally subverts a 60+ year lore of Super vs Luthor -- taking it from a story of hate to a literal love story, and also bringing the characters back to some rather interesting and queercoded dynamics they already demonstrated between the two way back in the Silver Age comics.
Interestingly, DC has already toyed with a sapphic Supergirl in various versions already. In Bombshells: United #33 she kissed Lois Lane. In DC's Dark Knights of Steel Miniseries in 2021, they had Supergirl and Wonder Woman in a queer relationship. And with the CW tie-in Batwoman comic run for DC, the author recently subtly confirmed Kara/Lena as dating.
So why continue to go back to the same old outdated, bland, repetitive heteronormative angle that doesn't even sell enough to maintain a long-running Supergirl solo comic series, lead the show to be critically panned half the time and end on a flop note with furious fans, etc? Inexplicable, beyond the usual blind spots and phobias.
At some point, somebody will wake up and smell the creative potential and profits. Until then, we wait. And keep pushing, creating fan art and fanfic, etc and show 'em how it's done.
It'll happen eventually. I have faith. I fully believe it. Whether it's in a year, five, ten or twenty. It'll happen. Greatness cannot be ignored or avoided forever. 😉 Some day...
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Since I was away from fandom for about a decade, I missed pretty much all of the shipping wars.
I have questions.
Before going any further, my mottos are "Ship and let ship" and "If you don't like it, don't read it." Anyone who replies or reblogs hatefully will be blocked.
WTF happened with Peggy Carter?
I don't have strong feelings about Peggy other than "She kicks ass" and "Oh man I want her and Steve to get together this is so tragic."
I barely remember Endgame. This is probably for the best.
I know lots of people ship Steve and Bucky. Cool. Fine by me. Go forth and ship. I haven't read any of it but can totally see it and might read some Steve/Bucky one day. I haven't yet because I'm too busy reading and writing Moon Knight and Werewolf By Night.
Is some of the hate for Peggy straight-up misogyny? I was back into fandom for the hate hurled at Jen Walters for having the audacity to be a smart, accomplished woman who wants to have sex and does (gasp!!!).
(I'd like to point out that I convinced some cishet men to give She-Hulk a try. They enjoyed it to varying degrees once they got over the dudebro propaganda.)
So wtf? Why are people going to war over fictional characters? I don't get it. Is it due to the ongoing conservative moral panic about anything queer?
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A Box Full of Memories
So i had this fic idea hit me at 3am as i was feeding my baby.
Basic premise: Obi-Wan has a tonne of keepsakes of Anakin's Padawanship that he was saving to share with Shmi once Anakin reached Knighthood.
In this story Jedi have the option after passing their Trials and before they swear in as Knights to return to their home planet to make sure that swearing in to the Jedi Order as a Knight is truly the path they want to take. Granting them the opportunity to know their birth families before making the monumental commitment of being a Knight of the Jedi Order.
Obviously, Shmi died before Obi-Wan could send Anakin on his pre-Knighting trip. Obi-Wan knew that he couldn't tell or show Anakin the keepsakes, once he hears that Shmi has passed,so its all just sitting in his rooms in several cardboard boxes. Each of the trophies/assignments/keepsakes has a letter from Obi-Wan to Shmi, detailing its importance and personal backstory. Fond notes and recollections of how proud Obi-Wan is of Anakin and his hope to share that pride with Anakin's esteemed mother. (Let's face it, everything 9 year old Anakin knew about his mother has been repeated over and over to Obi-Wan throughout the years, and in between the rose coloured lenses of a young boy's recollections, Obi-Wan finds the shape of an incredible woman who he would feel honoured to know.)
There are two ways the discovery could play out:
The happy version:
During a campaign shared between the 501st and the 212th, early during the 3rd year, Cody gets sick of hearing Anakin's bullshit of how "Obi-Wan never supported or believed in me. He is always holding me back, jealous of my power." (You know, parroting the Palpatine Persuasion.)
And like, Cody is pissed, because Obi is Anakin's No.1 cheerleader, more than the Chancellor, more, even, than his wife, Amidala. Cody knows all about Anakin's illicit victories on the Coruscant lower level racing tracks as a junior padawan, a late night over paperwork Skywalker had incorrectly filed had revealed. Cody knows more about Anakin than he ever wished to know, Obi-Wan won't shut up about him sometimes, but he's a good friend/boyfriend/queer platonic life partner/husband, and listens, because this is Obi's kid.
They return to the Temple and are working on after action reports together in their still shared Master-Padawan apartment and Anakin makes a comment about how Obi-Wan doesn't really care about him except to find fault (or something). And Obi-Wan just looks devastated, Anakin isn't even looking up, just continues looking at his datapad like he hasn't ripped Obi-Wan's heart out of his chest.
Cody has had it. He stalks into Obi-Wan's room and drags out four heavy boxes, directly in front of Anakin, confiscated his datapad, says " Happy reading, you asshole, stop sending my partner into guilt spirals about not caring enough." He pulls Obi-wan out of the apartment. "We're going to Dex's, don't call until you pull your head out of your ass."
Ani, fuming about how misunderstood he is, but ultimately curious opens a box and spots his award for the Junior Padawan Saber Competition and together with it sees a picture of him at age 11, beaming with Obi-Wan smiling, so proud. He hasn't even started reading the attached note yet and he's starting to feel a lump in his throat. Then he spots it ' Dear Shmi.....'
Cue Anakin ugly crying, because even opening the box, he can feel the love and fondnes that saturates the contents. He wipes his face and notices that it's ordered by his age and documented and stored according to the Archival Practise Code as set by Madame Nu, you absolute nerd Obi.
Anakin feels so very touched that Obi-Wan was trying to include his mum even as his galaxy is being rocked. There was undeniable proof that Obi-Wan 'the perfect jedi' Kenobi loved him. It's as he starts reading through the notes that he realises that some of them are dated past his mother's death. It becomes less Obi-Wan talking about his progress and achievements and more him worrying about where the war is taking Anakin.
He finds a letter with his wedding photos on several pieces of filmsi and realises that Obi-Wan has known this whole time about his marriage. The only words of censure on this letter was Obi-Wan asking what he had done to make his padawan no longer trust him and his hurt that his friend Padmè had hidden it from him, marrying his padawan when he was still considered a minor.
Everything he was worried that Obi-Wan felt about him is all wrong. Obi-Wan is proud of him, Obi-Wan loves him. How could his friend, the Chancellor have been so wrong?
From there we'd move into a fix it, there would be repercussions for the various and sundry illegal actions that Anakin has done *cough* Sand People Massacre *cough* with a focus on rehabilitive rather than punitive consequences. Palpatine is revealed to be a fraud and gets offed with a poetic type justice death. Mostly happy endings all around because I'm a sap and want my blorbos happy.
2. The Angsty Version:
I typically do not enjoy riding the angsty mcangst train, but here's an attempt.
Darth Vader is going through the rooms that once belonged to Anakin, setting out to destroy what remained of the weak Jedi and his traitorous former Master. He stalks through the rooms, blocking out the warm memories that filled a place he once called home, destroying the furniture in his towering rage as he goes.
He enters the room of the man who should have loved him, but instead tried to murder him and finds these boxes, clearly labelled "Shmi Skywalker." The unexpected name jolts Vader out of his destructive rage and the small spark of Anakin still residing in his heart is curious and that curiosity consumes him.
He reads through all the little notes, the keepsakes are rifled through (in a quiet part of him, where the small, scared shadow of the child, Ani, resides, he longs to touch the lingering warmth embedded in them with his bare skin, he's so cold).
Through all the letters and stories that denote Anakin's childhood, words of love and pride for a man left to die on lava shores.
He doesn't know whether to rage or repent, the lies of his Master Sideous, had blinded him to the love of a father that he had so desperately craved and now, now it was too late.
He spends his life, a black hole of self-hatred and regret, drifting through the rise of his so-called glorious empire, alone, no wife, no brother/best friend/father. He cannot bring himself to burn and destroy the last evidence that Anakin Skywalker was loved. He was loved wholly and completely for who he was, not how powerful he was.
#star wars#obi wan kenobi#commander cody#anakin skywalker#star wars fanfiction#fanfic ideas#Codywan flavoured#Fluff or angst choose your ending#Going back over your handwritten notes the next morning trying to piece together your plot#my writing
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Remember that one Tumblr thread where one person writes a huge rant about how much they hate Olaf the Snowman that gets progressively more insane and as if wasn't cursed enough someone responded with "I'd have less problem with this post if Olaf wasn't queer-coded"? Imagine this exchange but it's Ciaran writing ungodly long hateful rant about Smough an Gwyndolin's only reaction is "I'd have less problem with this post if Smough wasn't queer etc" idk
Ciaran: God I fucking hate Smough the Executioner so fucking much holy shit. Holy shit, every room he's in, every painting, every hallway, every execution ceremony, he's got this painfully vacant, stupid as shit, fuckass look on his stupid tiny face. Absolutely no part of his ugly as sin piece of shit armor design is endearing. His stupid fucking hammer? Who the hell uses a hammer for executions. His dumb flaily fucking disproportionate arms? His shitty, tiny bastard head? The three thousand percent unnecessary dumbass shitass fucking FAKE ARMOR BREASTS that no knight has EVER FUCKING HAD IN tHE HISTORY OF GWYN'S GREEN FUCKING EARTH? God, I hate him. I hate him so much. So FUCKING much. Every time I see a marble-carved statue Smough or a Smough painting or a shitty goddamn stained-glass portrait, it ignites my primal rage response and I'm overcome by the need to punt this shitty little homunculus into the fucking sun. "Bhurr blur, I'm Smough the fuckshit executioner fucker, I like eating people’s bones". Fuck you. Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you. You look like the Covetous Demon summoned a patronus. Your dumb fucking double-faced armor makes your whole shitty head look like a bulging skin tag. I hate your dumb fucking muffled perv laugh and your stupid, empty googly eyes and your over-the-top goofy ass jealous brown-nosing cannibal personality. Any time he's sad it invokes all the wrath and fury of a spoiled child having a meltdown over an Estus bar in a H*llowmart checkout line. And I know its irrational. That's the worst part. I know he's just a shitty fucking executioner in a stupid fucking different part of the castle, I know it doesn't matter, I know I shouldn't care. But that's part of the problem. The part where no matter the might and fury of my hatred, the locus of my homicidal intent is alltogether inconsequential. I find myself laying awake in the dark in the early hours of the morning consumed by the spirit of Chaos itself, all the force and might of a flaming hurricane directed at a bottle of piss in a ditch by the roadway. The absurdity of it all burns me to my core. What better things could this energy be directed towards? And yet my disdain for this stupid, useless, insubstantial failure of endearing armor design utterly eclipses the intrigue of all other pursuits. I hate him. I hate him on a level of my mind reserved for the worst of the world's array of sinners, and I can't even begin to justify it. Shitstick the Smough dick is, for all intents and purposes, the animated corpse of all of humanity's saccharine pretenses- every condescending, passive-aggressive statement of meaningless upper middle class Lordranian drama distilled into a single, hateable form. The fucking. Fuck. I have no words. There is no curse or epithet in any language that can encapsulate the height of the emotions I am experiencing. God, I hate him so much. I hate him so, so fucking much. I want to light his ugly little dumpster body on fire. I want to graphically beat him to death with his own stupid fucking hammer. I want to punch him to death. You know that weird feeling you get, when you see a picture of something so cute you find yourself overcome with the bizarre, inexplicable urge to squeeze it? It's EXACTLY like that, except instead of cuteness it's disgust. The wordless knowledge that his existence as a king’s executioner is evidence of all the failures of godkind. I find myself possessed by the will of a Holy Lord’s Blade gone rogue with the belief that Gwyn has made a mistake, and I alone must correct it. This is the trial by which Seath himself fell from grace. This wild, meaningless rage. A thousand blades of shining steel cast with inhuman force in the direction of a burlap travel sack floating on a breeze. What horrors must I have committed in a past life to be plagued by this torment now? I must Unmake this fake ass executioner.
Ornstein: holy shit you’re not wrong
Gwyndolin: I'd feel better about this whole rant if Smough weren't possibly queer. It might be largely the voice – the laugh, the inflection especially – but he's got massive "Ornstein’s gay sidekick" vibes. And if you're actively critiquing that? Sure, great, go all out. Hate whom you will. Say whatever you want about how "gay" is equated with "Ornstein’s silly sidekick used for hammer comedy, with no serious bearing on anything, literally human and treated by Serious God Co-workers as... well,a sidekick, peripheral to your life and safe to ignore.
But if you're not engaging critically with that aspect of Smough and are just overwhelmed with hatred whenever you see or hear or think about the possibly queer executioner and his mannerisms make you feel violent, that is a little bit. Uncomfortable. At best.
Ciaran: what on Gwyn’s green earth are you talking about
Artorias: See sometimes I wonder why I still haven’t left to battle the Abyss yet, and then conversations like this come along. Amazing.
Gough:
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Original Post
#DRSTFYAGHU#YOU BROUGHT THIS UPON YOURSELF#I WILL TAKE ANY CHANCE TO MAKE DS BLORBO HELLPOSTS LOLL#smough the executioner#lord’s blade ciaran#knight artorias#dragonslayer ornstein#hawkeye gough#dark sun gwyndolin#dark souls#silly post#asks#mutuals
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Mishapocalypse: what the-
Hey, former redditors! Welcome to the hellsite, we're all glad that you're here (especially you 196 folk you warm my dead, frozen heart). While on the whole you seem to be adapting AMAZINGLY fast to site culture, if any of you are confused over one of our founding myths this may help.
(or if you're a veteran tumblrina and just want to read an essay that's fine too)
(others key parts of our national identity to learn about if you're curious include Goncharov, I Love You, Color of the Sky, My Three Girlfriends, and many more)
also if you don't want to read my entire fucking essay take this and run
but if you want to know the deal with this man, read on!
Mishorigins
Supernatural is a 2000s-ass TV series that ran on the CW from 2005 to 2020. It's about two brothers, Sam and Dean Winchester, who are "hunters" that protect people from various supernatural entities. The show was originally planned to last five seasons, with an angel character named Castiel (this is important) slated to be revealed as God in the finale. Castiel (nicknamed Cass by the CW and Cas by objectively correct people) was introduced in S4.
left: Castiel, the gay angel of our collective dreams. right: Misha Collins.
The Man Behind the Mish
Misha Collins is a straight man who was forced by a cruel and uncaring god to play a heavily queer coded angel on a TV series intended for any demographic BUT gay teens (which is what it became). His performance as Castiel, and the large queer teen fanbase he drew, were a driving force behind a show would ultimately continue for three times longer its original plan.
I don't have anywhere else to put these facts so they go here
he was an intern in the Clinton administration during the Lewinsky scandal
he knows Tibetan throat singing
he was arrested for climbing onto a bank roof (he was trying to... read a book? 👀👀👀)
he probably made Jensen Ackles (the guy who played Dean less homophobic? Maybe?
he held a scavenger hunt called GISHWHES several times for his charity, Random Acts
cool guy
he later played Harvey Dent on Gotham Knights this very year (2023)
there's icebergs of this shit
he farted on an airplane once
Mishion: Impossible
April 1st, 2013 is a date that will live in mishinfamy. Tumblr a main hub of the SuperWhoLock fandom (a mega-fandom amalgamating Supernatural, Sherlock BBC, and Doctor Who), was the only place the Mishapocalypse could happen.
For boring deets I'll redirect you to the KnowYourMeme page but these images should sum it up.
left: a list of Tumblr users, circa 2013. right: a fine example of Misha culture
There are two takeaways here:
You cannot outrun Misha.
You will become him.
On April 1, 2013, a significant portion of Tumblr changed their avatar to the now-iconic Mishapocalypse photo and their handle to "Misha Collins", followed by similar waves of Mish across other social media sites.
above: the modern Prometheus
This beautiful event was emblematic of pre-Dashcon Tumblr, an era as far away from us now as 1200 AD was from 1208 AD. You'll be pleased to know that the Mishapocalypse returns every April 1st to grace these ancient halls, a small group of pilgrims tracing new paths on the well-worn floor of the Church of Misha.
(this isn't to say the Supernatural fandom is dead, it's just somewhat diminished from it's glory days.
Thanks for reading! Reblog if you liked. I'll leave you with a bunch of Mishimages of my own that I posted for Mishapocalypse 23 (the 10th anniversary). Shameless self-promotion!!!
in clockwise order:
The Mona Misha
Mishius
Misha's extra hour in the ball pit
The Mishian (with Mish Damon)
Future ideas include Salvator Misha. Feel free to ask any questions you have, and I hope you enjoy Tumblr.
Happy Mishing!
ps I have not actually watched supernatural you just learn all of this via osmosis
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So, my personal niche leans into gilded age-era pulp adventure stories starring Lovable Rogues and their sometimes comical, sometimes romantic, but always epic stories of derring-dos and questionable methods that often lead to the greater good. Think The Rocketeer, The Mummy, and Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow. But also stuff like Skies of Arcadia and Pirates of the Caribbean tends to poke a hole an adjacent hole in my interest bubble.
I lament its niche because I don't see enough of it on the greater internet nowadays. So, whenever I do and it specifically hits my button, I latch onto it like a Garfield suction cup plushie on a car window.
Enter Lavender Jack.
Dear LORD, if this comic doesn't hit all my buttons. Handsomely charismatic rich man who dons a snazzy 1900-era costume to fight evil, early 20th century setting, dirigibles and dynamites, cop-and-vigilante cat and mouse games, queer as fuck characters, and all served with elegant writing (I would KILL to script dialogues the way creator, Dan Schkade, pulls from old-timey phrases and slang) and glorious, epic adventures filled with clever mysteries and plot twists afoot.
Like, if anyone is interested in what I just described, I wholeheartedly recommend it; Lavender Jack is the rare webcomic in that it is completed, so there is a finite at the end.
Go read it ⭐ here. ⭐
Go read it. Go read it.
I hope some publishing company (be it indie or otherwise) considers a full ass physical comic of this. I will buy it in a heartbeat.
(Look, what I am saying is, for those who follow me, this has Propeller Knight energy, okay?)
#lavender jack#webcomic#comic#neoyi talks#I gotta actually thank the current obscure webcomic tournament for this#that's how I found the comic
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im sorry but why did no one tell me that we literally have (had) a masc lesbian disney princess???? did no one think it was important?
or rather, did disney believe that promoting their insignificant gay cameo in onward and making lefou gay for 2 seconds of the beauty and the beast's live action was more important than this? did they think that 1 scene and 1 character that could easily be removed would matter most than a real sapphic storyline?
it's a pattern at this point, and not only with disney
bc if they had actually promoted this show, or any other decent show/movie featuring lgbtq main characters, our community would truly love it and support it!!
queering clichés or literary tropes is easy and it's very fun! name me someone who doesn't want to see a good masc princess x masc knight lesbian pairing?? so sick of princesses and knights unless they're queer at this point
let's be for real, a movie like bottoms could've done so much better if it had been more promoted, because who doesn't love a dumb ass teen comedy with a bunch of horny lesbians?? it feels like i've been waiting for that kind of story for ages
they don't promote, don't fund, don't support their actually queer stories and then wonder why they flop... the audacity
#save lgbtq shows#lgbt shows#willow show#willow series#willow#willow 2022#kit tanthalos#kit x jade#jade x kit#willow disney+#wlw#sapphic#wlw ship#wlw shows#airk tanthalos#elora danan#women loving women#lgbtq#lgbtq community#sapphic love#save willow#jade#ruby cruz#bottoms movie#bottoms 2023#queer#boycott disney#fuck disney#fuck netflix#fuck streaming services
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Well, after many research on ao3 for very specific kind of fic I guess I will have to make my own food.
Hopefully I won’t forget and write the fic but : post canon AU where Arthur, Gwen (*insert awkwardness of Arthur finding out he was in love with Merlin in the last ep and Gwen trying to break the new that she and Leon got married + Lancelot in the background *) and the knights come back but like… 300ish years after their time and like. They get caught with a group of strangers by *insert guys who were ‘just’ doing ‘mildly’ illegal magic things but Arthur &Co walked into it so they caught them*
Anyway, Arthur Gwen and the knights are like stressed + trying to find out what is happening (while being in a cave and chained. What a way to come back to life—)
Meanwhile the others people who got cough a bit after and are now with them are like
Bad dude 1 : *feed up monologue about their mess up work*
Dude 1 : lol
Bad dude 1 : do you wish to die ?!?
Dude 2 : lmao you are such a moron
Arthur, internally : why am I stuck with suicidal people—
Bad dude 2 : how dare you—
Young boy with squire looking clothes but also not really looking like it’s a squire’s clothes : dude, just look *point at a boy* at who it’s
Bad dude 1 & 2 & the rest of the bad dude : ????
Older lady in the background : for goddess’ sake ! The prince, you moron !!!
Arthur & co : ???
Gwen & Leon : *confuse face*
Bad dude 1 :
Bad dude 2 :
Bad dude 3 : when you say the prince you mean —
Another boy : THE prince
The prince in question, last descendant of Gwen & Leon:
Bad dudes :
Dude 1 & 2 : you are so freaking death lol Lord Merlin is going to kick your ass
Gwaine : *mouthing confusingly ‘Merlin’ right behind Arthur*
*door flying open and getting smashed on the wall*
*Insert badass (unwilling) King Regent with eyes glowing who pull out a sword from his heart, blood everywhere, looking totally unbothered as he let the sword fall on the ground and says ‘I will ask one more time. Do you surrender ?’ *
I just think it would be very neat.
Also Merlin had been king regent for like… 130 years. My man want to retire but the 2 first heir just… fucked off to live their lives add the fact that after 60 years people are like ‘another king ??? Wtf that one is very good’ + very few actual heir + magical being not giving a fuck about mortal king and only listening to Ermys and you get an unwilling warlock doing State paperwork for a century
(Arthur new found queerness is making hard to fonction in these conditions)
*this was written at 4 am by a non-native speaker in the middle of his pre-exams session*
#old Merlin#but like#centuries old Merlin but not old old old Merlin#Merlin who is still very much in his normal life expectancy as a warlock but also in a very magical world#merthur#arthur pendragon#merlin#merlin bbc#merlin emrys#bbc gwaine#bbc gwen#bbc lancelot#bbc leon#fanfic ideas#my shit#past argwen#post magic reveal#arthur pendragon returns#but in a different way#BAMF Merlin#well actually it’s BAAF Merlin but that’s another talk—#the diamond of the day#Diamond of the day commentary#So like#“That's the last vestige of his heterosexuality”!Arthur pendragon
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Swordswoman Showdown Round 1 Part 2
Alanna of Trebond (The Song of the Lioness) vs Mu Nihuang (Nirvana in Fire/Langya Bang)
(Better here in a "preferred character" sense, not "who would win in a fight")
Propaganda below cut
Alanna of Trebond
Literal lady knight, has never lost a duel as King's Champion
Disguised herself as a boy to train as a knight and learn the sword. Practices with a giant sword to increase inductance. Finds (is found by?) a special magic sword. One of the best swords people in her country.
She was the first lady knight in Tortall in centuries and paved the way for other lady knights like Kel. She's also a shortstack hero who regularly kicks butt. Won several sword fighting tournaments against her male peers while disguised as a man.
Can't stand the idea of getting sent to a convent, so she switches places with her twin brother and disguises her gender to go off and become Tortall's first lady knight. Engages in much sword-wielding badassery, not just through inherent talent but through working twice as hard as the boys who skate by on their size and comparitive strength. In later Tamora Pierce books she shows up again as a mother, but even having kids doesn't stop her from going off and doing more heroic sword-swinging. H*ck yeah.
She’s her realm’s first Lady Knight in centuries and a genuine hero. She disguised herself as a man to earn her shield. She was the King’s Champion for decades; One of the first major women heros in YA fantasy, from the 1980! According to the author, if Alanna had the words for it, she would be gender fluid
disguised herself as a boy entirely to learn swords and become a knight, becomes the first lady knight in her country in centuries; Alanna is so iconic that decades of queer fans have seen themselves in her and any author signing is accompanied by a mob of sobbing millennials over how much finally meeting and thanking the author for writing Alanna meant to them
Mu Nihuang
She's introduced to the narrative riding to the gates of the capital at the head of a caravan. She sees two characters we've just spent a couple of scenes getting to know, grins with delight, draws her sword, jumps off her horse and engages them in a two-versus-one duel, handily defeating them after a short exchange of blows and promptly complimenting them that they've obviously been practicing, because she would have won much faster last time. She's the most eligible bachelorette at the Imperial Court due to her control of a personal army of several hundred loyal soldiers. She's a respected general, whose favoured tactic is to personally lead a cavalry unit to outflank the enemy on a daring raid to kill their general, at which point the superior discipline of her troops will win the day; I'd love to say more about the quiet tragedy of her deep love for Lin Shu and the way she circles around Mei Changsu for most of the story, full of love and respect and pain from past loss, but if I get into it I'll have to do the fandom's traditional ritual: lie down on the floor, try not to cry, and cry a lot.
She arrives on screen to duel two competent swordsmen to a standstill (while her former (current? unclear) fiancé pines piningly from a distance). She's highly ranked on the in-universe BuzzFeed listicle of Swordspeople Who Will Kick Your Ass. When she's manouvered into being the prize in a martial arts contest for her hand, she stipulates that the winner has to defeat her to truly win, which is generally recognised as Not Going To Happen; She's also extremely proficient with a polearm on horseback, being the Gandalf-at-Helm's-Deep to everyone else's Everyone-Else-at-Helm's-Deep in a climactice battle. Also, she is just. So very ready to overthrow the emperor. (He deserves it.)
#alanna of trebond#tortall#the song of the lioness#nirvana in fire#lang ya bang#mu nihuang#swordswoman showdown#round 1#poll#official
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when you get into a series and then stupid shit happens.
.
so, i got into a podcast from 2019 called 'The Two Princes', and i love it. it's very charming, basically like a show in audio form, and full of queer. listen to it frequently, got into the tags on my socials, found some fanart and fics and a bit of inspiration.
but during my searches of fanart, i came across two things.
people calling the main relationship ( rupert x amir ) an EtL
some people comparing it to c//a
both of these severely bothered me, and i'm gonna explain why.
for the first one, it's very simple. rupert and amir were not really enemies, in terms of their actual dynamic. according to this red herring of a prophecy, though, they are 'meant' to be enemies.
however, rupert lies about not being the prince of the west ( amir is prince of the east ), saying he's a thief, that his name is fitz, and that he wants nothing to do with his kingdom. this isn't because he holds any ill-will to his own kingdom, but because the east and the west are hostile and he didn't wanna get killed by amir leaving him behind in the forest.
so, their actual dynamic was more of 'unfriendly strangers to friends to lovers'. because amir was a bit uppity and micromanaged, while rupert was more soft(?) and tended to overreact // overly panic. that, and the span of the first season is 3 days. you can't really go from being enemies to lovers in 3 days. in most cases, i guess.
anyway, moving onto the even more frustrating point.
the princes are nothing like catra and adora. absolutely nothing alike. not even a little.
i'm guessing part of the reason is because amir asks rupert to stay. but the context of that situation vs catra repeatedly demanding asking adora to stay is entirely different.
amir asks rupert to stay because, despite being prickly, rupert saved his life and continued being kind to him. he doesn't ask him to stay because of any self-importance, or because he wants rupert to do dirty work, or for any other reason but because amir likes him and wants them to be friends.
that is entirely different from why catra kept demanding asking adora to stay. she kept asking because she couldn't take no for an answer. because adora's ideals didn't align with hers. because she wanted adora for herself, and took any other options as a personal attack.
and another reason this comparison exists, i'm guessing, is because of the whole "they saved the world // universe // kingdom // wtv by kissing and being gay", which. that's still. no. but okay.
the prophecy in 'The Two Princes' is a red herring because it's misleading. it's not intending to be, but it is. everyone thought it meant that the two princes would fight to the death and one kingdom would rule over, when it actually meant for one kingdom to unite the east and west.
and amir and rupert figured that out by kissing and later on deciding to get married ( that's a general way of saying it, but it's cute, aight? they're very cute ).
in the final episode of spop, there was no actual reason or explanation for why any of that happened. it just happened because the show wanted it to.
why did a viral infection go away the moment catra kissed adora? THE FUCK IF WE KNOW!
why did that activate she-ra? 'CAUSE- LOVE! EVEN THOUGH THEY'RE SISTERS, BUT WHATEVER!
why did the heart get destroyed by that? WHO CARES? WE DON'T!
final assumed reason is, again, because of the whole EtL thing.
like i said, 'The Two Princes' is not an EtL story.
and spop was never supposed to be an EtL story. but it is one, so there's that.
anyway, the writing isn't perfect, but if you like podcasts and wanna hear a cheesy-ass queer show with a disaster gay prince, disaster bi prince, a badass lesbian knight, a bi diva, a feral gay twink, a pathetic flirty gay twink, and a dragon and a dog, then give it a listen.
and there's a goat unicorn.
#spop#she ra#spop critical#spop salt#spop adora#spop catra#adora deserves better#the two princes#ttp#ttp rupert#ttp amir#know the difference between EtL and strangers on the wrong foot pls and thanks
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