01-1991 (you do the math). Queer, non binary, ace /autochorisexual Troubleseeker on AO3 and _troubleseeker on twitter. Prompts all open!! Art, fic, short or long, HIT ME!! Oh boy smexy = nsfw tag
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the post is getting unwieldy in a "do you love the color of the sky?" manner, but ilya learns this while reading through an allergy forum and it keeps him up at night for WEEKS
shane is peacefully snoozing away after a tasty allergy-compliant dinner and meanwhile ilya is just
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Body shame and embarrassment about vaginas, farts and poop were so normal when I was a kid so now going on tiktok and seeing people (especially women of all flavors, who've been told that to talk about such things is nasty) talking about being gassy is so... like this too is feminism. women of all gender experiences being able to say, 'wow. My junk itches and I need to fart and my pad is stuck to my bush' is so beautiful 🥲
from a generation of people who felt the need to whisper if they needed a pad or had an itch to beautiful women on tiktok discussing their ibs #womenslib
Shane texting Ilya “send a video of you cuming with sound on” and Ilya texting back “oh hi good morning to you too, I miss you as well my sweet husband?” And Shane texting back “are you going to send it?”
From a 1973 classic, Bridget’s Organic Cookbook, featuring the beautiful Dawn Brooks! Dawn was a bit of a thing in the 1970’s and 1980’s starring in books, puzzles, and all nature of novelties sold in places of yesteryear like Spencer’s Gifts.
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This Suck Him off Sunday is brought to you by the letter T, which stands for tuxedo. Thank you @scunthotter for the prompt! I hope this doesn’t disappoint.
The problem, Ilya realizes, is the tuxedo. It’s all sharp lines and tight angles that hug Shane’s body just right. And Shane’s been working hard in the pre-season. He’s packed on weight and muscle, and he’s rested and happy, glowing actually, at the praise he’s receiving for his speech at tonight's Irina Foundation Gala. And Ilya, well, Ilya is in trouble. He’s been in trouble for hours, since the moment Shane walked into their bathroom to ask for Ilya’s help with his cufflinks, and Ilya nearly swallowed his tongue.
"Shane," Ilya tugged him close, wrapping his arms around Shane’s waist.
Shane flushed. "It's alright?"
"Sweetheart, yes," Ilya said, eyes wide.
Shane ducked his head and laughed. Ilya had to kiss him then, even if it mussed their suits and left Shane’s mouth wet and shiny. He had to kiss him because what Ilya really wanted was to drag Shane back to bed, peel back each perfectly pressed layer of his tuxedo, to get his mouth on the bare skin he revealed until Shane was a crying, aching mess.
Yeah, Ilya is so totally fucked.
Except now, it’s been four hours of mixing and mingling and, tragically, not one of those hours has included keeping Shane tucked against his side. Tickets to the gala aren’t cheap, and Yuna’s reminder rings in Ilya’s ears. There will be a lot of money in the room tonight, Shane. If we work it right, we can get a few more donations before the night's over. He and Shane agree on a divide-and-conquer approach. For his part, Ilya is pretty successful. He’s just tucking a five-figure check into his pocket when he spots Shane seated at the bar, and oh, he’s laughing, really laughing, his eyes gone all crinkly. It makes Ilya’s stomach swoop. He can’t help but stare. If he saw Shane for the first time at this gala, he wouldn’t be able to resist going over to say hi, and can I get you a drink and are you here alone or did you bring a date? And Shane would shake his head and smile and say he came with a friend, not a date, and they would end the night making out in the coat-check closet.
Ilya’s fantasy is rudely interrupted when the crowd parts enough to see who Shane is talking to, and it’s not some crusty old donor like Ilya just suffered through for the last 20 minutes. No, it’s young, handsome, apparently hilarious Carter Vaughn. And look, Ilya has no issue with Carter. Likes him, even. But Ilya has spent all night watching Shane charm the crowd in his perfect suit, and that feels like pressing on an old bruise. And now Carter has Shane all to himself, all of Shane’s attention and energy focused on him. He’s the one making Shane laugh. He’s the reason Shane’s eyes are sparkling, looking so beautiful and so at ease. It’s too much. Ilya maybe wants to rip Carter’s head off.
The strength of Ilya’s gaze draws Shane’s attention. Their eyes lock, and of course he reads Ilya like one of his boring hockey books. Shane swallows hard. Before Ilya can stop himself, he’s stalking across the room. Four hours is more than enough mingling.
“Ilya! Good to see you, man,” Carter says as Ilya slips in behind Shane, sliding a firm hand over the back of his neck. He can feel Shane’s pulse jumping against his fingers.
“We’re glad you could make it.” Ilya smiles and nods and makes small talk, embodying the role of the perfect host. The whole time, his thumb rubs over the nape of Shane’s neck. It’s barely anything, but Shane’s skin is warm and soft and turning pink under his touch. It makes Ilya’s teeth ache to sink into the skin under his fingers.
Eventually, he comes up with a polite excuse to extract himself from the conversation, but not before bending to whisper in Shane’s ear, “Bathroom. Five minutes.” He doesn’t question that Shane will obey.
It takes only three minutes for Ilya to hear a quiet knock. He hauls Shane inside and quickly locks the door.
“Been driving me fucking crazy all night,” he growls, crowding Shane against the door.
“I know. I know, please,” Shane gasps, just as affected.
Ilya gets a tight grip on Shane’s chin and pulls him into a bruising kiss. Shane’s already going boneless against him.
“Are you going to fuck me?” Shane whimpers, rolling his hips up against Ilya’s hard cock.
Ilya’s ears are ringing. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweetheart?” he says, his grip firm on Shane’s chin.
“Yes, oh please. I’m—I need it.” Shane’s eyes are wet and hazy. God, Ilya wants to wreck him.
“Put your arms up for me. Go on, above your head.”
The suit makes it awkward, but Shane follows orders. Ilya steps back and looks him over. Shane’s breath is coming quickly and his freckles are stark against the dark flush of his cheeks. He’s an arc of desire from the fists clenched above his head to the long line of his cock, hard and pulling his trousers tight across thick thighs. Without Ilya’s body to hold him up, his knees are starting to buckle. It’s obscene. It’s the most beautiful thing Ilya’s ever seen.
“Now,” Ilya says, moving in close as he speaks, “I am going to suck your dick.” Shane whimpers. Ilya ignores it. “You’ll be good and keep your hands above your head—yes, Shane, you will,” Ilya says when Shane frowns at the thought of not touching Ilya, as though he doesn’t realize that Ilya would be totally undone the minute Shane touched him. They’re so close now that Ilya’s lips brush Shane’s when he says, “And later tonight, when I can have you in our bed, then I will fuck you.” He punctuates the sentence with a firm hand pressed against Shane’s cock, just to feel it throb. “Does that sound good, Shane?”
“Ilya,” Shane whines. Ilya’s dick twitches at the sound.
“Let me help you, sweetheart.” Ilya grips Shane’s chin once more, moving it up and down in a nod, yes. “That’s my perfect boy.”
The sound of Shane’s zipper is loud against the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights. Ilya takes Shane into his mouth all at once. His fingers dig into Shane’s thighs as he works his mouth over Shane’s cock, messy and fast. Ilya’s so hard his stomach hurts, and Shane is gasping and moaning and arching against the door. This is going to be over quickly.
“Fuck, fuck, Ilya. So good, oh my god.”
Inspired, Ilya pulls off, wipes a hand across his mouth, and says, “He’s going to hear you, baby.”
“I–what?”
“Our friend, Carter Vaughn. You’re being so loud. He’s going to hear how bad you need it.”
“Ilya, holy shit,” Shane chokes out.
“Is that what you want? You want him to hear it?” Ilya starts to stroke Shane’s cock with a tight fist.
“Hnng, yes, uh—no, I mean—”
“C’mon, Shane. You can say it. Don’t you want him to know how good I make you feel?” Ilya’s voice is all sweetness. His fist picks up speed, and it’s probably too tight, too dry, but Shane’s hands are clenching and unclenching above his head and his throat is working around small ah, ah, ahs of pleasure. "Tell me, Shane."
“Uh-huh,” Shane breathes out, “Yeah, I want him to. Fuck, fuck, Ilya, I’m gonna come.”
“No,” Ilya says, squeezing the base of Shane’s cock. Shane groans and doubles over like he’s been punched, but his trembling arms stay high above his head. “Such a good boy,” Ilya says, standing and pulling Shane in for a kiss, filthy and wet and perfect. When he pulls back, he says, “The only way you’ll come is in my mouth. Ok?”
“Yeah, love your mouth. Love you,” Shane says dreamily, and Ilya has to kiss him again.
Shane shivers when Ilya pulls back this time, drops his head to nuzzle into Ilya's shoulder. Ilya's words are warm and close in his ear. “I know you want him to hear you, baby, but I don’t." His fingers loosen the knot of Shane’s bowtie as he talks. “You see, I don’t think he deserves it.” He slips the bowtie off Shane’s neck. “Only I get to know how pretty you sound when you come for me. Right, sweetheart?”
“S'right, yeah.” Shane is so far away now. Ilya's never felt more present.
Ilya lifts Shane's head and presses the bowtie against his lips. Shane's eyelids flutter at the cool silk on his hot mouth. “Open for me," Ilya says, soft and low. With gentle fingers, he tucks the bowtie inside.
“What do you say, Shane?”
“Thank you,” he manages, a thick mumble.
“You're welcome, sweetheart,” and Ilya drops to his knees.
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When ranchers in Utah's Rich County found eighteen sheep killed in March 2022, they assumed coyotes. USDA Wildlife Services flew a plane over the kill site and found something feeding on the carcasses that had only been confirmed in the state eight times in forty years.
It was a wolverine.
Utah sits at the extreme southern margin of the wolverine's North American range. The animal is built for the deep snow and high alpine of Montana, Idaho, and Wyoming, country above ten thousand feet where the winters last eight months and the terrain rejects everything that is not specifically engineered to survive it. A wolverine showing up in Utah's ranch country was not a routine predator complaint. It was a biological event. State wildlife managers had no protocol for it because they had never needed one.
Biologists set specialized barrel traps near the sheep carcasses. Catching a wolverine in a live trap is considered one of the most difficult captures in North American wildlife management. The animal is trap-smart, solitary, covers enormous distances daily, and operates almost exclusively in terrain that humans struggle to access on foot. The odds of a wolverine walking into a barrel trap were close to zero. The next morning, a sheepherder found one of the trap doors dropped. Inside was a healthy, twenty-eight-pound male, estimated at three to four years old.
It was the first wolverine ever live-captured by biologists in Utah's history.
The team sedated him, packed his body in ice to keep his core temperature stable during the examination, fitted him with a GPS tracking collar, and released him into the deep snow of the Uinta Mountains. For researchers who had spent careers studying an animal they almost never got to see, that collar was the first real-time data source on wolverine movement the state had ever produced.
The data that came back over the next twenty-five days confirmed what wolverine biologists in other states had documented but Utah had never been able to verify on its own ground. The animal logged over 195 miles of travel in less than a month. He did not drift south toward lower elevations or leave the state. He locked into the high peaks of the Uintas above ten thousand feet and ran massive looping circuits through avalanche chutes, rocky ridgelines, and snowfields deep enough to bury a man standing upright. The daily distances he covered would qualify as an endurance event for a human athlete on flat ground. He was doing it through the most physically punishing terrain in the state, in winter, alone, at elevation, without stopping.
The eighteen dead sheep that started the whole sequence were never repeated. The wolverine moved into the high country and stayed there, operating in a landscape so remote and so hostile that the only evidence of his existence was the GPS signal pinging coordinates from ridgelines that no person had visited in months. The collar proved what the forty years of scattered sightings could only suggest. The wolverine was not passing through Utah. It was living there, quietly covering nearly two hundred miles of frozen alpine rock in less than a month, completely invisible to every human being in the state.
Source: Utah Division of Wildlife Resources / USDA Wildlife Services
"But it's not FOR them!!!" The biggest military power in the world belongs to a christofascist nation overseen by a felon found guilty of 34 federal crimes and has greenlit a gestapo with more direct funding than the entire military of Canada for the purpose of ethnic cleansing. Let Hetero Jessica throw some biodegradable glitter at a municipal parade
At this point if anyone is trying to exclude anyone benignly pro-queer from a pro-queer space I'm just going to assume you're a fed or something idk like something something destabilize the movement from within or whatever
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