#sweetish

[bubbadabad]

Shopping list from a slightly alternate universe

[buffetlicious]

A section of brinjal lightly fried in hot oil to keep the shape before stewed. A stuffed triangle of bean curd with minced pork in spicy sauce and a piece of sweetish fried pork chop to round up the menu for Lunch.

[fullcravings]

Chocolate Birthday Cake with Chocolate Buttercream Frosting

[hoardingrecipes]

Chocolate, Chocolate Chip Ice Cream

[fullcravings]

Chocolate Chocolate Chip Ice Cream

[sweetish-original-story]

CH23 (tw comical use of strong language)

"-SO STRIKE A POSE!" Bobbin screamed at the top of her lungs, thankfully quieter by the primitive sound editing. "YES, ALWAYS! STRIKE A POSE JUST LIKE THAT AND YOU WILL SEE! NOTHING CAN CUT YOU DOWN! POWER AND GRACE COMES FROM YOUR HEART, SO BE COLURFUL AND FREE! HAIR...CLOTHES...THEY ARE JUST AN ACCESSORY! YOU ARE THE ART! THE TRUE HAIR PEICE-" she spun around in a circle on her blue ballet shoes, showing off her 2D sparkling cerulean tutu, before gracefully leaping in slow motion from the stage to the very end of the catwalk, spinning once again, spotlight shimmering against her bald and glittery head, before landing backwards with one leg in the air and making a heart with her fingres. "IS LOOOOOOOOOVE!"

And everyone started Vogueing.

"I don't get it." Dulce said flatly, putting down his wine glass. Sammy turned to him so fast her own hair could have sliced him in half. "WHAT." Sammy took a deep breath. "Don't. You. Get???? :)"

"I mean..." he continued, "What was the point of trying to find the scissor thingy-"

"OBSIDIAN FIRST SHEAR." Sammy corrected with all the venom she could muster.

"OBSIDEEN FOWRST SHEEW-" He mocked. "-If all they were going to do with it was give it give it back to them? They could have literally made any outfit, any material, they could have taken all that power and use it to make their lives perfect! Heck, half their freinds are dead, they should have gotten revenge! Tore the whole thing into fibers and made sure no one could ever use it again."

Samuella was exhausted at this point. "Uggghh nooo this is like the whole Ruffy and Megaprep fight from 12 seasons agoooo! They already proved to everyone that even though phonk can be used for evil, it SHOULD be used for good! Yin and yang! The people wont support the music industry if their music is souless and its the same thing here! They are beautiful BECAUSE they are willing to change their brand not in spite of it. Also-"

"Now hold on, what about the enslaved elves in the silk plantations? What do they just walk away like nothing happened? We just pretend that was okay?"

"I told you it was IMPLIED that they were going to go back in the FUTURE..." Sammy retorted "But you were busy making those meaty seed buns and trying to trick me into burning a hole through my gut." She held her stomach as if she would have another choking fit from breathing in her own firey burps again.

"Whats the point in spending thousands on spices if you arent going to eat em? Its good for you, makes you strong." He seemed very proud of being able to give his cousins advice to someone he cared for.

"Whats the point of ordering 12 pairs of HiHi Birdy print oven mitts if your hands are indestructible?" Sammy let a small smirk grow across her face as his smug grin sligshotted right back into eberrassment and false rage.

"THOSE ARE DIFFERENT." He growled hypocritically. "You HiHi Birdiy's name out of your SLIMY FILTHY mouth." He was standing now. "At least I'm not into SLAVERY. Bitch."

Sammy was taken aback by his full confidence in even being able to SAY that, let alone joke about it, especially considering what he went through.

"How very DARE you SIR. YOU are the one who wants to MAIM a literal child 'Mr. CALM and COLLECTED.'"

"A trillion year old EVIL child who eats the suffering of slaves which YOU like. Bitch." He repeated louder, so she can hear it

Now SHE was standing, with her hands on her knees in order to insult his height."You want to sleep with the monkey aliens of Waterplanet 3 from the Dairy cream galaxy so that makes you a child murderer and AND a zoophile." She made sure to look him straight in the eye for that last word.

"They're CUTE!" He whined "They are like little pink pig monkeys with tiny eyes and no hair-"

Sammy was losing control of her volume now. "THEY CAME FROME CHIMPS THATS DISCUSTING YOU KISS CHIMPS!"

So was Dulce. "NO. SILENC" He still couldn't get that word quite right. He can't even get THIS language down, and hed nearly lost most of his last one. "SHUT UP. RACIST BITSCH." Once more for good measure.

"Say bitch one more time." Oh she HEARD it alright. Dulce let out a maniacal smile at the invitation.

"Slut."

The next moment he was surrounded by a tornado of red, slowly being crushed to death with every heavy fabric and pillow in the mansion. He couldnt even scream for help. His bird-son was already fast asleep, and if the weight didnt get him, the heat would bake him like a marshmallow. As a final insult, when the tornado was over Samuella took a big heavy sit at the top of the pile. Her tactics were strong, but he was stronger.

It all went flying, including Samuella. She flipped around twice before her instincts let her land on the commonroom table, after which she grabbed a large scented terrycloth towel out of the air and whipped it against the air to make a loud and intimidating thunderclap as a warning.

"So it's like THAT huh? Chosen like a true OVERSEER." Dulce mocked. This time there was a drop of menace in his words. He picked up a pair of green pillows and stuffed them onto his hands. "I dont really need a weapon, but..." He cracked his neck before turning to her and preparing to use her own wreckless momentum against her. "-I don't wanna break you TOO quick tonight."

The proceeded to ruin the her entire side of the mansion. If fists and fabric weren't flying, then insults were, mixed in with the occasional "COME ON KEEP UP HOE!" or unusual "Oh I KNOW you can hit a little harder than THAT".

And somewhere in the southern quarters, a maid is getting a dreadful, sinking feeling in her gut.

[sweetish-original-story]

Chapter 18

Back in the cold, dusty halls of Sammy's home the echoes of faint panting bounced back and forth against the walls, the floor and the ceiling. The muffled, rhyming sound of perfectly aligned footsteps acted as a beat to the primal sound, and had it not been trapped in her ribcage, be accompanied by the procession of her heart. The Tiffany Arrows album had run out of songs to play, and Sammy didn't feel like pressing replay or thinking of something else to play. The treadmill she uses costs more than her rhinoplasty. Granted, her rhinoplasty was only a simple file down, to make her nose more sharp.

Somehow that thought distracted her from the beads of sweat rolling down her brow and the dryness in her lungs. That nose job was the first and most defining treatment she ever had, not counting the never ending diets, never ending vitamins, military level workouts and fully prepaid spa treatments. The way she looked before, while still considered more than beautiful by her peers, was too round and soft for the standard set in her circle. Her culture believed that outer beauty was one of the most defining factors in a person's life, and she's heard horror stories of people who were thown away as children in the past for looking too ungodly. For as much Sammy thought the whole thing was stupid, she couldn't help but admit that she herself had memories of being treated as less than when she first started making her own clothing. In that moment, a voice crossed her mind;

"What a horrible thing to think! Back home, people like that were seen as miracles, a gift from the depths of the ocean to cherish! How could your people leave your very own out to rot!" Dulce. Of course it was his voice that crossed her mind. Sammy decided to turn the treadmill down a bit to focus on this one amongst the sea of other thoughts scratching away in the back of her mind. She can't focus if she's breathing too loud.

Dulce always made being a good person seem so... effortless. How does someone do that, just to be a good person, a kind soul with no flaws whatsoever? Well of course there are the OBVIOUS ones, but if her country didn't have that stupid social standard they would ALL see it too. When she was younger she heard whispers about their race being uneducated thieves who live in caves because they were too ugly to be seen by The Serpent. How they would spend all day getting drunk and belligerent and all night cannabalizing anyone and anything that bothered them.

 Even as a child she thought they were horrible rumors, but to her shock, just a couple of weeks ago the dumbest one of all turned out to be true. Who would have guessed Murfolken were born with a golden tooth on their forehead? Why? What was it used for? And why does it fall off? At the time she was too embarrassed to ask anything further, but now, especially with the swarm of emails and fan letters asking about it during the last issue....

She turns the treadmill down again. A nice simple trot. Focus. 

Her own people were not as magical in her mind. Sirpentborne were just so... predictable. Easy. Too easy to categorize. She tries not to let her own biased inform her relationship with others, but each and every day, having to look at the same grey skin blue cheeks and the same beesting lips under the same sharpened nose under the same stoney brow over the slightly different shade of grey or blue or black or whatever eyes is maddening. And then having to perfect it all? Mass producing photo after photo, everything being clean and safe and the only difference being mole, a season, photoshopping out any leaf that's less than green and any flower that didn't bloom?She'd rather die right now, right in this moment, by being run over by a sentient gelato truck that reincarnated into a duck. An angry gelato truck. With wings.

Dulce never felt that way. He loved every bit of what she captured, the dust, the dirt, the picture she kept in her personal folder of him sitting on the floor of his shop after closing, absolutely demolishing a crunchy walnut burrito, doused in cheese and hot sauce. That was REAL joy. REAL life. He didn't need a wedding with irisis shipped in from the west or to have all of his kids wearing the exact same dress, tailored and clean pressed. She didn't need A jeweled arch or to wait 5 hours so the sun could be in the right spot. He didn't even notice what a shabby job she did when setting up the stand at the food fair. She didn't think he even realized the table fell over because of her recklessness. Of course, shed have done a better job of she wasn't late but he didn't even bring it up. He was just... grateful. For everything she did. 

The sound of her machine slowly gave way to the near imperceptble sound of heels, clicking away at marble, and the jingling of keys. It Sammy moved to her room now, her mother would take it as an invitation to have a "conversation with her. She had to stay calm. Quiet. Unnoticeable. A piece of background art in her own home. Like the echoes on the wall and the dust on the ivory. Complete invisibility.

The sound stopped for a moment, and so did Sammy's breath. The opening of a drawer. The low grumble in her mom's throat. More clicking. A door. A door? And then... silence. All was silent besides her feet and her machine. Her mother simply forgot her day clutch. She had been spared. 

In quiet relief, Sammy decided to turn the entire set up off. 

[backyardowl]

hi i've never done this before so idk if i'm doing this right or if you even take suggestions 😭 i just saw this tiktok and instantly thought of your paramedic steve story and felt like you could probably execute some sort of oneshot/series based on it

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTRpKYet8/

like i really just wanna see steve being a groupie that's all.

I've never said I don't take suggestions 👀

Anon, I'm so sorry for keeping you waiting. I wanted to finish the main story before doing this. It's been in the back of my mind since you sent it, though.

It's kinda filthy; not sure if that's what you wanted, but considering the connotations the word "groupie" has... I hope you like this.

If Eddie were to make a list of things that make him happy, performing would be near the top. Any kind of performing would do – anything that has him at the center, an audience eating out of his hand – but music is the one he keeps returning to. He could probably do this for real, for a living.

It's just a shame about the fuckery connected to it.

Like, the performance? The thrashing around on stage, the screaming until it hurts, the bone-rattling volume of the music and the crowd? Perfect. Beautiful. Spectacular.

But the business side of it? Makes him want to puke.

He wants to create without capitalism. Entertain without exploitation. Touring sounds fun; stress does not. Interacting with fans could be great if he didn't know how crazy some people got around their idols. They're not even famous now, but sometimes he'll notice repeat visitors in the crowd and wonder if their awestruck expression is innocent or if they're plotting how to kidnap him, skin him alive, and wear him as a bathrobe.

He's not actually worried, okay? He's just wondering. All of the 'fans' he's talked to after shows are nice and normal (well, normal for his standards); he wouldn't mind speaking with most of them again.

Eddie especially wouldn't mind a post-show convo with the front-row hottie to his left. He looks out of place, hair too short to headbang with and dressed in a sleeveless navy button-up rather than a band shirt, but that's how Eddie likes 'em.

When the bass solo hits, he falls to his knees in front of the hottie. Sends him a winning smile that's returned ten times over. Don't tell anyone, but the kneeling was a strategic decision – no way could Eddie meet those gorgeous, hazel eyes directly without swooning. At least not when he's already incensed, dick half-hard from the adrenaline rush.

Some kids who aren't old enough to be in a bar shriek at the proximity to him, but Eddie ignores them. Right now, until the bass solo is over, the only ones who matter are him and Steve.

Steve puts his hands on the stage and pushes, heaving himself off the ground. Not enough to get on the stage, just to bring him another inch into Eddie's space. Eddie closes the distance, leaning in so their foreheads touch. His hair falls forward, curtaining them from the noise and the lights. Their breaths mingle, Eddie's as heavy pants and Steve's as calm puffs. Steve tilts his head, and Eddie prepares for a kiss. He gets no lips, only tongue; Steve licks his mouth, from one corner to the other. Eddie's own tongue darts out, flicking his tip at Steve's. Steve chuckles, throaty and full, and Eddie goes from half-hard to aching.

The solo finishes. Eddie throws himself backward, back hitting the grimy floor, and shreds while thrusting his hips into his Sweetheart.

When he looks back up, the crowd is wild, his band is killing, and Steve is resting his elbows on the stage, staring at Eddie with a grin and a wanton gleam in his eyes.

After the gig, and after packing their shit in the car, they head back inside. One step past the threshold and someone tries trapping him in a conversation. Always dependable, Gareth slips between and takes the hit, allowing Eddie to make a beeline for the bar where Steve is waiting.

He sides up beside Steve, who doesn't acknowledge him. No, he stays cool, casually leaning against the counter, fingers wrapped around a sweating beer bottle, the length of his neck on display as he drinks. His shirt is juuuuuust verging on too small, the fabric taut across his chest and the buttons begging for mercy when he squares his shoulders.

Eddie orders his own beer, downs half in preparation, and says, "So."

Steve glances at him, brow raising as he licks stray droplets from his bottom lip. Eddie's by-now-calmed cock twitches. What a fucking tease.

"Did you like the show?"

"Yeah, man, you were great," Steve says, turning his body toward Eddie, wearing a coquettish smile.

"Not sure I've seen you here before. I think I'd remember you." Eddie runs a finger over the frayed edge of the button-up's armhole. He resists touching Steve's bicep – he can show restraint, too! "You stand out."

"I'm new to the scene. Think I need someone to show me the ropes." Steve slides nearer, enough to murmur and still be heard. "Do you know anyone willing?"

Eddie takes a quick scan of the place, thoughtful hum included. He shrugs. "Me?"

"You'd do that?"

"Sure. I'm at your service," he says with a little bow. "Tell me what you're most curious about and we'll start from there."

"I want to know… how do I get closer to the hot, local musicians?"

There are mere inches between them. On top of the bar's stuffiness, heat radiates off Steve's body. His warmth and the spicy scent of his cologne hit Eddie like a train. His head spins with hazy sensations.

"How close do you want to get?" he asks, breathless.

"As close as you let me. I mean," Steve tucks a lock behind Eddie's ear, leaning in to whisper, "isn't the rockstar lifestyle all about taking the prettiest groupie to the backroom and making them suck you off?"

Eddie swallows half his tongue. When Steve said he was going to proposition him after the show, Eddie expected flirting followed by a 'let's get out of here, your place or mine?'. He didn't see the offer of semi-public sex coming. It's one of those things he's fantasized about but never had the chance to do. Steve must've done it before, though. Probably dozens of times. Fuck, that's so hot.

"Well, I'm not really a rockstar yet-" he says quickly, matching the pace his brain goes at the image of Steve's lips wrapping around him with the buzz of a crowd just a room over.

Steve sighs fondly. "Eddie..."

"-and this place doesn't exactly have a backroom, so-"

"They have a restroom, don't they?" Steve interrupts.

"Oh, uh, yep. They sure do."

Steve smiles, and then he's gone. Eddie finishes his beer and takes a couple of deep breaths before following.

The Behemoth's restroom is actually two small, single-occupancy rooms. Room number one has its door wide open and is empty. Room number two's door is ajar; when Eddie nudges it, Steve yanks him inside and crowds him against the sink.

"Oh, babe, your awkward ramblings and weird behavior really turn me on," he says with zero inflection as he locks the door.

Eddie frowns. "Don't be rude. I won't teach you anything unless I'm shown my due respect."

"I'm sorry, sir," Steve says, using his 'paramedic voice', and smirks at Eddie sucking a sharp breath between his teeth. It's cheating. He knows what that voice does to Eddie. "Let me prove how much I respect you."

He drops to his knees and unbuckles Eddie's belt with smooth, quick hands, eyes focused on the task. Eddie grips the sink behind him for support.

"Have you done this before? In public, I mean."

"Yeah. Have you?"

"Nope. That's a 'no' on that one, chief."

"Nice. I love being people's first," Steve says, tugging Eddie's jeans and boxers down in one go.

Eddie would shoot back with something clever, if his brain hadn't whited out by Steve unceremoniously taking Eddie's whole cock into his mouth, just like that. The only sound he manages is a squeak that morphs into a moan as Steve slowly deepthroats him.

He should be used to the maddening pace by now – Steve always goes slow at the start – yet here he is, fingers cramping and hips trembling as he stops himself from thrusting. It's just so fucking good, the best he's ever had. Part of it is technique, but an equally huge part is enthusiasm – Steve likes this so much. He loves making Eddie fall apart no matter the place or position. Happy to please and smug about being so good at it. It could be infuriating, if Eddie had enough solid brain cells left to feel anything other than bliss.

The tip of Steve's nose touches his pubes now, his cockhead all the way down in Steve's throat. Steve sighs, his breath tickling, and swallows around Eddie. His eyelashes cast long shadows on his cheeks in the dim light. From this angle, his eyes look bigger, deeper, prettier when he looks up at Eddie. His tongue, pressed flat against the underside of the shaft, sweeps playfully as he pulls back. Like a French kiss on his cock, fuck.

Heat prickles across Eddie's face and neck; his breaths stutter and his jaw hangs slack. Steve puts his large hands on Eddie's thighs and starts bobbing his head, cheeks hollowing. Whimpering, Eddie grabs Steve by the back of his head, just to feel the silky hair. Oh, to be allowed to fuck into that perfect mouth… but he's not. No thrusting unless given explicit permission, and never any pushing. Steve hates being 'trapped' and 'having his airways obstructed'. The way he said it hints at a story, but he hasn't told and Eddie won't ask. Steve will let him know when it's time. As of now, Eddie is simply grateful he gets to know Steve doesn’t want to choke when sucking his cock.

Steps clomp outside the restroom – someone is walking down the corridor. Shit, did they lock the door? Yes. Yes, Steve did. And the first room is unoccupied, so there's no reason for anyone to try entering here. Well, no reason for a rational person, but humans can be surprisingly irrational. Maybe they'll decide they want this restroom, closed door be damned.

Steve bobs faster, hand squeezing the base where his mouth doesn't quite reach. He's relaxed, eyes shut and moaning with contentment. The vibrations of his voice would be enough to have Eddie fighting to last, if he wasn't currently tearing in half.

On the one hand, he has an Adonis kneeling in front of him, eagerly giving him head. On the other hand, someone one thin door away might soon be interrupting said head. Or worse: discover it. He and Steve would be the ones in trouble then, wouldn't they? Even though they're only semi-publicly indecent. Eddie's been arrested and charged once, for a bullshit reason by malevolent cops. The hours in jail were bad, but the aftermath was worse since the bail money put a serious dent in their budget. The point is that Eddie doesn't want a repeat. Shit, what's the penalty for public indecency in Indiana?

"D'you know what's the penalty for public indecency?" he asks. Steve's eyes snap open; his head stills. "Is it jail, is it a fine, or is it jail and a fine?"

Steve pulls off, and, oh, air on spit-damp cock is always an interesting feeling. He frowns at Eddie, wiping drool off his chin.

"Why are you asking me this now?"

Eddie gestures between them. Steve rolls his eyes.

"No, yeah, I know, but why are you asking me this now?"

Outside, the door to the first restroom closes. Crisis averted, then. Steve doesn’t seem to have noticed there was a potential crisis. Best not to tell him – why should both worry about nothing?

Eddie shrugs. "I'm curious. Maybe risk assessment is a kink of mine."

Steve blinks at him. He inhales deeply, his face starting to contort before he hides it in his hands. Shit, did Eddie piss him off? Pretty typical of… wait, no. That's not angry-trembling.

It's laughter.

"Steve," Eddie says, smiling at Steve doubling over with mirth. "Stevie. Darling love."

The peals of laughter continue, echoing in the tiny room. It's adorable, but also audible. They'll definitely be found out like this.

"Steve, my dick's getting cold."

Steve brays out the next one. He slaps a hand over his mouth and thumps his head against Eddie's bare thigh. Happy snorts spill past his fingers, his body convulsing.

"Maybe we should continue this later," Eddie says.

"No!" Steve shoots upright, holding out his hands. "Just gimme a minute…"

Giggling, he wipes tears from his eyes. Gradually, his breathing evens out. He nods.

"Okay, I'm good," he says and grabs Eddie's softening cock, lapping up the drying precome with a swirl of his tongue.

Eddie groans, slumping against the sink. "Dude, unfair. How can you go from sounding like a donkey to this in seconds?"

"Don't complain," Steve says, pinching Eddie's leg.

"I'm no- oooooh!"

Eddie shouts. He's back to full mast, because Steve just took one of his testes in mouth and is sucking on it like it's a jawbreaker. Screw the penalty – this is worth a life sentence.

Letting go with a wet pop, Steve returns his attention to Eddie’s cock. Ember eyes pin Eddie in place as Steve sucks on the cockhead, tongue playing with the slit, pushing and pulling at the foreskin, caressing the vein on the underside. His hand cups Eddie's balls, gently rolling them between calloused fingers. Eddie's knees are buckling, the sink his only support, and he throws his head back, mewling and panting. Steve rubs a knuckle against Eddie's taint, and that's it – he comes with a whine, spilling onto Steve's tongue. He swallows, of course. Holy fucking Christ, Eddie loves him.

As he recovers, Steve tucks him in and zips him up. Steve is still hard, but he makes no indication he'll deal with it yet. Eddie has a feeling they'll sneak out and take care of him at Eddie's place.

"Fun, wasn't it?" Steve asks, standing up and wrapping his arms around Eddie's waist.

"Yeah." Eddie rests against his solid frame. "M'sorry."

"For what?"

"I'm sorry you have to put up with me."

Grinning, Eddie tilts his head up, lips puckered. Steve kisses him, smiling into it.

"I don't have to put up with anything."