Raindrops and Roses

they/them, queer, 27, inbox is open

[editoress]

Alarm Off perfec t time for put lying in bed to t/hink! Inside very Quiet and Peace thoughts very productive put in Alarm Off. Put Thinking in Alarm Off time. no problems ever lying in bedd with alarm off because good Contemplation and Eyes Closed for difficult deep thoughts about day. alarmOff yes safe place to close eyes lie in bed can trust not to fall back asleep. friend bed

[shillanov]

i don’t think we talk enough about how ilya was so nice and friendly to shane at the beginning. like this was something that stuck out to me during my first watch. once he deduces that shane is not trying to psych him out or play any games, he’s so nice even though they’re supposed to be rivals. he doesn’t play into any of that media rival bullshit and is happy to form his own impression of shane and relationship with his supposed rival.

like during their first real conversation after the bike scene, he literally initiates conversation to make small talk. "is everything you dreamed of?" is not in a teasing way, but it’s a genuine question to know if this long-awaited day met his expectations, if shane enjoyed it or not. and then asking, "montreal is nice, yes?" like he's heard good things about montreal, and reassuring shane that maybe he’ll enjoy it there despite coming in second. and then he thoughtfully offers shane water, insisting that he drinks more.

and then he continues to make small talk at the ccm shoot and then basically reveals to shane he orchestrated it. like this is not rival behaviour. like yeah he was attracted to shane but also he was just never an asshole at the beginning. there’s so many instances throughout the show that reveals how well-intentioned and polite and considerate he is. ilya rozanov is a nice guy. i don’t care what anyone fucking says

[ilyapasta]

Sorry to add a caption to your already lovely post on main but I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Ilya was a lonely 19 year old boy in 2010 who was scared of sounding stupid in English and honestly after they blew each other Ilya probably thought about asking Shane to come watch Family Guy reruns on his laptop in his hotel room and share some grape cigarillos with him. He thought “seems like a nice guy, a little high strung, I wonder what else he likes except the obvious.” There’s a universe where they just became friends because they liked each other immediately. But they are both plagued with different Horrors so alas it wasn’t meant to be. So instead he just said good night to the guy. What mean guy says good night?

[raincitygirl76]

Nodding my head fervently at both the OP and the addition. Ilya is entirely capable of being an asshole, but a lot of it is a public persona. Protective camouflage for a kid with a dead mom, an abusive dad, and an addict big brother. If he makes himself brash and abrasive, he’s harder to hurt.

In private Ilya is often much nicer. He’s still a total smartass, but he’s rarely malicious about it. And yeah, in 1.01, he’s lonely and trying to make a connection. He’s sexually attracted to Shane, definitely yes (has been ever since the previous December). Ilya in the gym is a horny 18 year old, and Shane is a snack.

But also, Shane is one of the very few people in the entire world who has a clue what it’s like to be Ilya. Because Shane is also a generational talent who’s likely had scouts buzzing around since he was 10 years old. Ilya is #1 draft pick, Shane is #2. They’be both only just turned 18, and there is so much pressure on them already. But Ilya is trying to make a connection of some kind.

Also, the rivalry has been hyped up as a marketing ploy since before Shane and Ilya even met. It’s making the league tons of money, even when they’ve barely interacted. Everybody has decreed that they’re enemies. It’s like a reality show, where it has to appear spontaneous, but the producers control the narrative. And reality doesn’t enter into the equation at all.

Even before they got drafted, the rivalry was being hyped up by the commentators at world juniors. Sorry, I mean the “international prospect cup”. I think the show had to rename world juniors for legal reasons, like with the NHL.

And they were both only 17 at that point. They weren’t even old enough to vote, and sports commentators were already telling the world (and these boys) that they’re enemies. When in fact, they have SO much in common.

[livijoyann]

I guess this is my life now- changing jersey colors, trimming hair, and removing earrings/facial hair 😂 No complaints!

[partywithponies]

Strange racists and homophobes on the internet seem to have access to an alternate way cooler version of TV than me. "every white character on TV is in an interracial relationship" "every show has a gay couple in it" "main characters keep having to secretly be bisexual and nonbinary" "every show has gratuitous full frontal nudity" like damn promise?? What channel???

[urlocalpyshcopan]

as a black gay person real like where y'all be finding this stuff pass the name

[brainsforbabyjesus]

for real though, those DO NOT WATCH OR YOU'LL CORRUPT YOUR CHILDREN lists put out by conservative christian family groups is where I find all the stellar tv shows. Like, shit I didn't know half of those existed, thanks for finding them for me, gonna go watch 30 hours of gay tv now!

[infamousbrad]

I think I know how this works.

For personal context, before I went to the '98 Burning Man festival, one of the things I'd read from a couple different journalists was that "everybody" runs around naked. Which, fine by me, I'd already spent a lot of time in clothing-optional spaces, I'm not fanatic about it but it's nice.

So I got there early and set up a public shade structure on one of Black Rock City's main roads and spent most of each afternoon just watching the crowds go by. I don't remember seeing more than one actually naked person the whole week. I think a topless woman passed by my intersection maybe every half an hour, sometimes once an hour. So why in the hell were people, normally pretty smart and observant writers, coming away with the impression that everybody was naked?

Then I remembered an unrelated passage from Joel Garreau's great book about the history of the outer-ring suburbs, Edge City. Mall developers told him flat-out that they tried to keep the crowds in their malls less than 5% black. Not because they themselves were racist, but because they had determined, experimentally, that if more than 5% of the people in the mall are black, the median white shopper will wrongly describe the mall as at least half black, as mostly black. And not a few of them would describe it, at 6% black, as a mall where "only black people go." Why?

Because, emotionally, they were still upset over the last one when the next one came into view.

Same as the journalists describing Black Rock City as all naked. Same as the right-wing religious culture warriors describing television as entirely mixed-race and gender non-conforming. Not because it's even vaguely true, we know that, but because they haven't gotten over their discomfort over the last one by the time the next one comes along. The anger, not the stimulus, is the part that's continuous, so their mind lies to them that it's "all" the thing they can't get over.

[kagedtiger]

Similar effect for the presence/proportion of women in things, by the way: https://health.howstuffworks.com/mental-health/human-nature/perception/how-17-equals-496-the-amazing-multiplying-women.htm

[teashoesandhair]

One hot and cool writing tip that I wish more people knew is... you don't have to write out people's accents phonetically. You just don't. You are not Dickens. You are (hopefully) not Rowling. There are so many other ways you can make someone's speech feel authentic to their background, or just make it clear that they're speaking in a certain accent, not limited to:

literally just saying 'he spoke with a Welsh accent'; sure, it's a bit blunt, but it gets the job done in a pinch. "He's completely drunk," he said, his southern drawl lingering on the final syllable as if to highlight the extent of the offence. Y'know, something of that ilk, but not as shit.

learning the specific vocabulary and syntax that someone with that accent might use. Sticking with the Welsh theme, because it's objectively the best accent*, there's a bunch of things that differentiate a colloquial South Walean accent, outside of our famed tendency to elongate a vowel to the point of death. The way we use prepositions (where to by is he?), the vocabulary borrowed from Welsh - saying that someone daft is twp, or something small is dwty - can easily signpost our speech as being from that specific area, without needing to type something like "'e's absolutely 'angin', man, pissed as a faaht 'e is!" Something less jarring, such as "He's absolutely hanging, he is." is just as clear. A character who says "Do you want a cuppa?" is coded or located very differently to one who says "You'll have a cup of tea, so you will."

ditto if there are specific ways that someone from a certain area might refer to a well-known concept. Regional words for mother and father, for example, or words that are class-specific; your character who calls his parents 'mater and pater' is likely inhabiting a different socioeconomic strata than your character who calls them 'mam and dad'. See if there's a colloquial way of saying 'yes' and 'no'; a lot can be signposted if your character says 'nah' rather than 'no', or 'aye' rather than 'yes'. A character saying 'couch' is inherently coded differently to one who says 'sofa'.

The reasons that writing accents phonetically is Generally Ill-Advised, In My Opinion are as follows:

quite simply, you're probably not being as clear in conveying the sounds of the accent as you think you are. Taking JK Rowling's work as the best possible example of this, her attempts at writing a Cockney accent phonetically come across like someone is chewing a mouthful of cheese curds and struggling to contain them. There's no consistency, no proper understanding of how to transcribe syllables into writing in a way that coherently conveys the accent she's trying to portray. I mean this so seriously, but what the flying fuck is: 'Well, 'e 'ad these 'ead pains and 'e was def'nitley nervous. Depressed maybe.' It's a crime, is what it is.

it's just plain hard to read. Trying to wade through sentences full of apostrophes and elision, parsing what's actually being said, gets tiresome. It asks the reader to do work that you're actively making harder for them. And that's not always a bad thing! Making readers Put Some Fucking Effort In can be very fruitful! But do you really want them to be struggling to understand every single thing that your Character B is saying for 350 pages?

which leads me onto the last point, and the most important in my mind: writing out accents like this always, always affects accents that are already in some way Othered. They're either racialised or working class, or associated with certain local regions that have negative stereotypes - think the deep South of the US, or the Welsh Valleys. They're never the 'default'. And this raises thorny questions about what the default is, what the standardised accent is, the accents that do and do not merit differentiation from the norm. You're relegating Character B to being hard to read because he's from, idk, Sunderland. You've decided that he isn't speaking 'properly', and therefore the reader needs to understand that other people think he's speaking weirdly. That, to me, is the principle issue. Because returning to JK Rowling (a sentence I hoped never to type), the only characters who speak like this in her work are working class, or they're from other countries. They're never from, you know, Surrey. Wonder why that is. And it's easy to be glib about it, but I do think it reifies class and regional boundaries in a way that's ultimately harmful.

This isn't to say that there's never a place for eye dialect in writing - Trainspotting, for example, wouldn't be what it is without it, and there's definitely a different conversation to be had when it's your own accent and you're making a deliberate point about identity by differentiating through eye dialect - but I think that the blanket assumption of 'oh shit, my character is from Ireland, I'd better type that out phonetically!' can actually be both damaging to your writing and to your character representation, and I think that instead doing the work to really understand the vocabulary, speech patterns and unique aspects of a language or dialect always makes a work feel more authentic and lived-in.

To wit, less of this shite:

There’s mony a slip, an’ I’m no losin’ sight o’ any o’ my suspectit pairsons, juist yet awhile. (Peter Wimsey, if you were wondering, and yes, that's supposed to be Scottish)

and more of this:

"Are we straight so?" "Aye, we're straight," said Jim. "Straight as a rush, so we are." (Jamie O'Neill, Irish, from At Swim, Two Boys)

*objective determination made via a sample size of one: me, in an elaborate hat.

[shanesloverboy]

“Williams’ victory feels especially well deserved because Shane Hollander is not an easy character to portray. As we wrote in our review of the series, Williams delivers “a masterclass in micro-expressions and physical restraint.” Shane spends much of the story fighting against himself, suppressing emotions he barely allows himself to acknowledge, and Williams manages to communicate entire emotional arcs through a glance, a tense jaw, or a slight shift in posture. Every crack in Shane’s carefully constructed armor lands with devastating impact because of the work Williams puts in throughout the series.

Seeing that performance recognized on one of Canada’s biggest stages feels incredibly rewarding. Williams’ win is also historic in its own right. At just 25 years old, he became the youngest performer ever to win Best Lead Performer, Drama, at the Canadian Screen Awards, accomplishing the feat on his very first nomination.”

- Q+ Magazine

[orteil42]

happy pride! please be kind to yourself. never let them win

[hollandar]

HEATED RIVALRY — DAY 1

Recalling the first day of filming, Tierney says that after seeing the pair excel in the emotional wringer, his own “nerves were out the window, I knew I could throw anything at those guys.”

sources:

GMA / TEEN VOGUE / TIMID

[vash-the-trans-catboy]

Cute little rainbow heart for pride month tumblr but how about you stop disproportionally banning trans women and marking sfw queer posts as mature

[snoopyoftheday]

snoopy of the day

[bad-love]

I just wanted to add this quote from the peppermint patty peanuts wiki page about Charles M. Schulz and his relationship with his gay cousin. The source here leads to a book that I did not read but the original source is Schulz's wife who confirmed this in an interview. If I can find the interview again I will link it here but uh. just in case someone tries to claim Schulz was a homophobe on this post again.

[astrangergivingthestrangewelcome]

I will never understand how normalized it is to put cameras in your home now. I can recognize some scenarios where it makes sense- if I had a stalker for example, but like. It would have to be That Big for me to consider it. People today use it to tell their kids it's time to stop playing video games and do homework like. Like?? I do not understand how you don't understand how harmful it is to raise kids with the sense they're always being watched like why does anyone under normal circumstances invite this into their home

[wizardarchetypes]

saw a video recently, recorded by a camera in a child's bedroom, of a toddler reading her favorite book after bed time. her mom went in and told her it was time to sleep, and she said, 'but i just love reading so much.' her mom laughed indulgently and told her to sleep once the book was finished. she agreed, but before the video ended, she said, 'you're so silly for watching me!'

she was smiling when she said it, but i found that one sentence so abysmal. that toddler knew her mom didn't just happen to come and check on her. she understands that there is a camera in her room by which her mom (and as far as she might comprehend, any adult) can access her in her private space, in her private time, at all times.

can you imagine? never on your own. can't sleep? too bad. you're a child and the grown ups are watching you. lie in bed in the dark. pretend to sleep. behave.

it's 10 pm and the rest of the house is enjoying winding down after a long day. your parents don't need to worry about putting on a professional face like they do at work. your older siblings get to be themselves instead of who they have to be at school. everyone gets to relax. but not you.

it's 10 pm, and you're three years old, and you must continue to do everything right, because they are watching you.

oh, and when you don't behave, if it's cute enough, your mother will post footage of you in your bedroom for millions of strangers to watch!

[bandsanitizer]

[rainbow-femme]

They move in together full time and Ilya notices that Anya acts differently with Shane than she does with him, more quiet and less playful, and he worries that means she doesn’t like Shane or is jealous, so he hires a dog trainer to come over and see if there’s anything they need to do to help

After a while of talking about how Anya acts the trainer says there’s nothing to worry about, Anya likes Shane just fine, it’s just that she sees him as the boss and is acting accordingly

And Ilya is like. But. I’m the one who adopted her? And raised her before Shane got here?? And the trainer is just like yeah well she sees you more like an equal. And Ilya is like WAIT she thinks Shane is in charge of both of us?? And the trainer is just like well do you interact in a way that would make her think that?

Ilya’s life flashes before his eyes as he thinks of all the times Shane has come over with a snack for Ilya and a treat for Anya, or all the times Shane has announced they’re all going for an after dinner walk, or pets Ilya’s hair and tells him he did a good job at practice, or the fact that he uses the same warning tone with Anya when she misbehaves as he does with Ilya when he’s causing problems on purpose

Shane comes home to Ilya with his face in his hands going oh god I’m not Anya’s dad I’m her brother and she thinks we’re both your pets. And Shane just goes. What.

[mojoscircus]

Pop Sugar editors share the awards they’d give Connor Storrie for his portrayal of Ilya Rozanov in Heated Rivalry | via Instagram

[eternal-sunflowers]

The Wrong (Right) Idea

AO3 | @steddiebingo hop into spring 2026 prompt: sunshine | rating: m | wc: 2.1k | cw: making out with light dom/sub undertones | tags: post s4; pre-relationship; flirting; getting together; teasing; making out | masterlist

Tonight’s the night, Steve’s decided.

They’re sprawled around the fire pit. Splotches of water dot the concrete around the pool. Some discarded floats bob in the water, others lay half-deflated on the grass. The crackling of the fire merges with the chirping of crickets and cicadas. Smoke swirls around them, carries itself up into the fraying edges of sunlight. 

There are at least 3 conversations happening.

Steve’s swim trunks sit half-damp on his waist. 

Wood smoke fills his nose. 

Weed smoke fills his lungs. 

There’s a laundry list of things to focus on.

But, his vision stays locked on Eddie. 

Eddie, standing across the fire, handing off a freshly packed bowl to Jonathan.

Eddie, despite the burning edges of summer, wrapped in black, like it’s painted on his skin – black trunks, black ripped henley, black shades, black beanie. Something about it all driving Steve fucking insane.

Eddie, who catches Steve staring and fucking winks. 

Steve blinks away, takes a drag of his cigarette, tries to tune back in to whatever Robin and Nancy are talking about, but he only half hears something about Shakespeare? And sonnets? 

He chooses to ignore that conversation by excusing himself to go get more drinks for the cooler.

As he stands, Steve deliberately takes his time to stretch his arms behind his head, leans to each side. Concertedly groans at the effort. 

Avoids looking at Eddie entirely. 

Instead, leans back over his chair, one knee propped on the seat, maybe sticking his ass up a bit as he grabs his purposefully-left-on-the-ground cup between his and Robin’s chair, makes sure to crack a joke and laugh before finally stepping back and slowly sauntering to the house.

Once inside, Steve props himself against the sink, slowly washes out his cup. Takes care to wash the fireside grime off his hands. 

And waits. 

It’s just as he’s shutting the sink off that the door slides open and shut behind him.

He bites his lip, tries hard to suppress a grin. 

Bingo.

Tobacco and weed and the crackling edges of fire flood his senses, coating his whole body in warmth. 

Fingers trace up the backs of his arms causing goosebumps to pebble across his skin. Hot breath ghosts across his ear, sending a shiver cascading through his body. 

“Hey, sunshine.” 

Steve swallows. Levels his voice. “Need something, Eddie?” 

A low, husky laugh slips between his ribs. “You have no idea.” 

Steve feels like he has a pretty good idea, actually. 

Eddie, on the other hand – well, Steve’s got a feeling Eddie has no idea what’s coming.

Steve keeps his jaw locked, fingers curling around the edge of the counter, heart pounding way too hard to be normal or healthy, which is, like, the normal for him around Eddie at this point. 

Eddie’s fingers skim down Steve’s side, slip just beneath the waistband of his trunks, scratch lightly against his hip. Steve can’t suppress the shiver that courses through his body – something Eddie drinks up hungrily if the low groan he lets out is anything to go by. 

“Saw you checkin’ me out, big boy.” His fingers pull the band of Steve’s trunks out a few inches. “Like what you see?” He lets go, the snapping against Steve’s waist reverberating through the quiet kitchen. 

Christ.

“You wish, Munson.” 

“Oh, I wish a lot of things, sweetheart. You dripping in these little shorts is just one of them.” 

Eddie honest-to-god nips at Steve’s shoulder before stepping back and walking over to the fridge. 

Fucking hell.

“You got any more sodas in here? Or garage?”

Steve’s brain is still reeling over the feeling of Eddie’s lips on his skin. He’s about two seconds away from pushing Eddie back against the counter and leaving his own kind of brand. But, his plan is to wait til everyone leaves. 

Or at least try to wait.

Eddie snaps his fingers. “Hello? Earth to Harrington?”

“Uh – yeah, sorry. Sodas. They’re, uh –” Steve points to the door. “The garage. Garage fridge.”

“Gotcha.” Eddie backsteps in that direction. “Give me a hand?” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

“So, can you believe that story Jonathan was telling?” 

Steve falters as they step out into the garage. “Uh, what story exactly?”

Eddie doesn’t miss a beat – just barrels on, slips in the extra details to catch Steve up on what sounds like an extremely convoluted story involving Jonathan, Argyle, an ounce of weed, and – “Wait, did you say–”

“A set of bowling pins and a ball from the alley downtown?” Eddie turns, leans back against the fridge. “Yes, yes I did.” 

“What the fuck.” Steve laughs. “How did they even get those? Mr. Parker wouldn’t even let me take a single pin for a school project back in middle school.”

“What were you doing making a school project involving bowling pins?”

“Bowling pin.” Steve holds up one finger. “Just one. Singular.”

“Okay, what were you doing making a school project involving a bowling pin?” Eddie holds up one finger. “Just one. Singular.” 

“Ha ha, very funny.”

“Oh, I’m hilarious, I know.”

“Truly.”

“Why did you need the bowling pin?”

“Not important.”

“Oh, it is so important.”

“No, what’s important is how the hell Jonathan managed to get a whole set off Parker’s stingy ass.” 

“Maybe he copied the ol’ Harrington charm.” Eddie grins, wiggles his eyebrows. 

“God, let’s hope not. Unless he wants to be going on a date with old Parker, that is.”

“Hey, you never know. Love knows no bounds.”

Steve shrugs. “Yeah, well, pretty sure Mrs. Parker would kill him before he even got the chance.”

Eddie laughs, head thrown back, the expanse of his neck like a beacon to Steve to kiss suck bite. “Yeah, okay, fair. I feel part of my nonexistent soul die every time she glares at me across the counter.” 

“She has that effect.”

“Yeah, one time she –” The rest of it is drowned out in Steve’s brain as Eddie stretches, the movement peeling up the bottom of his henley, exposing a delicious thin strip of skin that Steve wants desperately to devour.

And then Steve grins as an idea hits him.

He cocks his head, steps forward. “Hey, Eds, is that –”

Eddie blinks, looks down. “What?”

Steve steps even closer, slightly bent at the waist, eyes squinted at Eddie’s waistline. “I thought I saw –” Then, he stands, shakes his hand flippantly. “It’s probably nothing.”

“Hey, no, no, no.” Eddie steps forward, shakes his head. “Nuh uh. You don’t get to do that.”

“What?”

“‘What’ he says.” Eddie scoffs. “You don’t get to be all pointing and saying ‘oh, what’s that’ and then not following through.”

Steve laughs. “Dude, it’s probably nothing, like I said. I just thought I saw something weird on one of your tattoos for a second. It’s–”

And then, in one fluid motion, Eddie peels off his shirt, throws it directly at Steve’s face.

“What? What’s on what tattoo?”

Steve blinks, the impact of suddenly-shirtless-Eddie frying every nerve in his body.

“Stevie, sweetheart, you’re killing me here.” 

“Eds, it’s fine, I –”

“Steve Harrington, if you don’t tell me what’s wrong with my tattoos within the next 5 seconds, I will die.”

“You will not.”

“Okay, well, I’ll be really upset and paranoid the rest of the day because my best friend said he thought he saw something and then waltzed away like it was nothing.”

“I did not waltz.” 

“Unimportant.” Eddie’s eyes search out Steve’s own, brows pleading. “Now, can you please tell me if there is or is not something actually wrong before I pass out?”

Steve sighs, the sound heavy like this is the most cumbersome task in the world. “Fine.”

“Thank you.”

Steve waves his hand around. “Turn for me.” 

Eddie turns in the only way he knows how – too fast and stumbling over his own feet.

Steve raises a brow. “Okay, now turn for me like you actually want me to look at your tattoos and tell you if they’re okay or not.”

Eddie huffs out a breath, mutters to himself, then slowly starts turning.

“Arms up for me?” 

Eddie quickly lifts his arms, continues his slow twirl.

So, Steve props back against the wall, and stares. He greedily drinks in the expanse of Eddie’s body, eyes tracing over the tattoos covering nearly every inch of skin. Fingers aching to trace over every single line. Desperate to kiss his way down Eddie’s happy trail. His resolve shredding thinner by the second.

“You know,” Eddie stops once he’s facing Steve again. “You keep looking at a guy like that, Harrington, he might get the wrong idea.”

Steve looks Eddie dead in the eye and smirks. “Well, what if it’s the right idea?” 

Eddie full-on freezes. “What?”

Now or never, Steve thinks.

So, he steps forward. Pushes Eddie gently back against the counter by the fridge. Brackets him there. 

“Okay, um,” Eddie’s eyes are saucer wide. “Am I hallucinating?”

“You tell me.” 

Steve leans forward, breath ghosting hot across Eddie’s neck.

Eddie whimpers. “Oh my god.” 

“I’m just trying to make sure your tattoos are okay, Eds. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Yeah, yep, yes – that –”

Steve traces a line of featherlight kisses from one shoulder, across Eddie’s sternum, and down the other shoulder. “Mm, these tattoos seem alright.” 

“Fuck.” 

“Should I check the rest?”

Eddie nods his head vigorously. “God, fuck, yes. Do whatever you want, Stevie.” 

Steve smirks. Licks a hot stripe up Eddie’s neck, nips at his ear. He drops his voice low. “You sure you wanna give me that kind of power, baby?” 

Eddie’s knees honest-to-god buckle, the only thing holding him upright being the hard line of Steve’s body pressed against him.

“Easy there, baby. Can’t have you falling for me that easily, now can I?” 

“Oh, fuck. Am I – is this real? Am I dreaming? God – this must be a dream.”

“Aw, you dream about me, baby? How sweet.” Steve kisses his way down Eddie’s collarbone, traces across the wings of the dragon splayed across Eddie’s pecs. His teeth and tongue trading places as he works his way across. “Think this one’s alright.” 

“Fuck.”

“Think I need to adjust so I can get to ‘em all, don’t you?”

“I – uh–”

“Gonna need you to hold yourself up for me. Can you do that for me, baby?” 

Eddie nods. “Fuck, yes. Yes.”

“Good boy.” 

“Oh, fuck.” Eddie nearly collapses, Steve’s hands on his waist holding him hard against the counter. 

Steve tsks. “You gotta hold yourself up, baby. I gotta finish checking everywhere. Okay?”

Eddie nods, grips the counter tighter. “Yeah. Yep. ‘m sorry.” 

“It’s okay, baby.” Steve kisses the hollow of Eddie’s throat. Then, he kneels, trails his fingers down to rest on Eddie’s waist, his lips ghosting across Eddie’s stomach, tracing the paths of every single tattoo. 

Eddie looks down in pure awe. Pupils blown out, breathing erratic, legs unsteady. Murmuring shakily the entire time.

Now Steve feels like the one who might pass out. 

“Guess I was wrong after all. They all seem fine.” Steve rubs soothing patterns down Eddie’s waist and thighs. “Sorry to worry you, baby.”

Eddie chuckles, the sound a touch (a lot) breathless. “No need to be sorry, sweetheart. Never need to be sorry for this.” 

Steve grins. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

“What about…” Steve stands, trails soft fingers up Eddie’s chest, one snaking up into his hair, the other resting on his cheek. “This?”

“Uh, nope. No. This is – this is fine. Great. Fantastic, I mean. So good.” 

“Yeah?”

Eddie nods. “God, yes.” 

Steve takes a deep breath. Prepares to jump off the point of no return. “And if I did this?” 

He leans in, presses shaky lips on Eddie’s cheek, feels the hitch of Eddie’s breath. 

“Or this?” Steve kisses up to the edge of Eddie’s mouth, then swaps to the other cheek and repeats the same process. Every whimper and groan Eddie lets loose burrows deep in Steve’s chest. 

Steve rests his forehead against Eddie’s, leans forward so their mouths are barely an inch apart, the heat of their erratic breathing mingling, their lips ghosting each other every few breaths. 

“Please, please tell me this isn’t a dream.” Eddie whispers.

Steve swallows, rests his hands on Eddie’s waist. “Can be as real as you want it to be, baby.” 

Which must have been the right thing to say because now the only thing Steve can register is the feeling of Eddie’s lips on his. 

Eddie is kissing him. 

Eddie is kissing him.

Steve full on groans into the kiss, immediately pulls Eddie flush against him with one hand, the other threading through Eddie’s hair, tugging slightly at the roots – an action that causes Eddie to moan into Steve’s mouth. 

Yeah, Steve just found his new favorite sound. 

His new favorite everything, really, because now that he’s tasted Eddie, he’s not letting go.

“Yeah, we’re not getting any more drinks for at least another hour.” Robin shuts the patio door, slides a table in front of it. And a chair. And a second chair. And a –

“Are they –”

Robin vigorously shakes her head. “Do not finish that question.” 

taglist (open):@sunshine-daydreams0809@saramelaniemoon@probablyin-bed@bookworm0690@watermelonmite@sanctumdemunson@5-fievel@nicememerino

divider credit:@saradika-graphics

thank you for reading :)

an: i have no clue what happened. i'm just as shocked as you are

[gaynehollander]

I'm a firm believer that Cliff Marleau had to be told that Shane Hollander and Montreal Jane were the same person. I am of the belief that when the Fanmail video leaked, Cliff thought "oh, it must not have worked out with Montreal Jane but my boy bagged Shane fucking Hollander, so it's fine." He does think it's a little funny that both of the people Ilya's been seriously involved with are based in Montreal but he still doesn't put it together.

[morggo]

2026 - 2025 - 2024 - 2023

in spite of it all, happy 2026 pride.

you can download current and past hi-res versions of these over at my ko-fi (ok to print for personal use): https://ko-fi.com/mxmorgan/shop/freedownloads

you can also snag shirts here which go to various orgs: https://mxmorgan.threadless.com/collections/pride

these get reposted a whole lot from here to reddit to twitter to tiktok and on and on, and i don't personally care whether or not i'm credited. i made these for everyone to use, enjoy, and find meaning in them. i appreciate folks who do credit me, but if able, please at least link to the threadless shop in the previous post - folks can get an official shirt where 90% of earnings go to trans led orgs focused on mental health (which is an important matter in general, but very personal to me) and not from a scam bot site selling AI-churned maga garbage where you probably won't get one anyway. i also suggest downloading the files from my ko-fi - they are free/PWYW and you can use them to make your own shirt, patch, embroidery project, whatever. tips are always nice, cuz i do like a pizza now and then, but never required for download.

final thought - breaking the pride tradition and more than likely won't make a new piece. the top one from TDOV is all i'm making this year. i have my focus on other projects currently and i don't want to force a poster design. these came from a specific head space and my current head space is Very Tired lmao so i wanna work on other things. 👍