#Cloudy Dice
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OLIVETTE - 8 PIECE SET
#axolotl dice#d&d dice#dice#dnd dice#handmade dice#resin dice#Floral Dice#Gold Foil#Pink Dice#Cloudy Dice
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fucking squished thing
#im that dice btw#cloudy talks#demon slayer#kimetsu no yaiba#kny#muichiro tokito#kny muichiro#muichiro
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went 2 the mall for the first time since like.......2021. absolutely nobody wanted this 50% sale exploded meat/palm frond shirt
#poppy was supposed to be cloudy blue but apparently people did want that 1#appropriate for the office???? idk we'll Find Out i'll roll the dice#me#7 am n alcy is bringing back my hxc RBF guess i gotta give it up again
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There was just something magical about a good Renaissance Faire. Something in the air that set Eddie’s little crow brain alight with excitement. Especially around December when Christmas loomed around the corner and snow dusted the ground.
Be it the shiny trinkets dangling from wooden hooks amidst the old wooden stalls, be it the haggling voices of stall vendors and customers, all dressed in garbs they’d likely sewn, dyed, modelled themselves, the smells of the food stalls, the glow of twinkling fairy lights reflecting on the snow, the music played on lutes and sang from haybales for gathering crowds, be it the energy of likeminded folks all there to be a little bit weird, joyously, freely, without shame or judgement.
He could be himself there.
Dressed to the nines in layered fabrics purposefully aged and torn to simulate era appropriate wear and tear. His hair held silver trinkets, tied up by lengths of dark fabric in a messy up-do that’d taken Wayne a good few hours to figure out, and would no doubt take them both a hell of a lot of huffing and puffing to remove without cutting it out later. He had a cloak made out of a thick set of curtains he’d thrifted, dyed, and repurposed.
He had his bag, something he’d sewn himself out of extra fabric from those curtains, made with plenty of little pockets and places to put his spoils, he’d saved up for months to get as much out of this faire as possible because things weren’t CHEAP there.
Most things were handmade, most things were lovingly crafted by gifted individuals. He didn’t even want to haggle, he had money specifically for the faire! He was going to spend money on the endlessly talented individuals at the faire!
He got himself a new journal, leather bound with thick blank pages for sketching in. it was embossed with intricate swirling patterns around a pentagram that he’d absolutely get shit for if he ever pulled it out in public but it was beautiful, and it had a cool swing lock clasp.
He got himself a pretty necklace, wire wrapped with a fancy gem that he’d keep safe to use as a prop at some point.
He found some beautiful homemade dice, made in such a way that it looked like liquid moved inside of the dice, little flecks of glitter sloshing around a cloudy liquid inside the green tinted gold leaf inlaid resin with every roll, beautiful, eye catching, immensely satisfying to his little crow brain. Surprisingly enough they were the most expensive purchase he’d made at the faire, tiny little dice, fifty whole dollars. Not the most expensive thing he’d seen there, but definitely the most expensive thing he now owned from the trip.
They came with an incredibly pretty velvet dice bag though, which he hadn’t expected to get as a little freebie but the girl at the stall winked at him when she handed it over and wasn’t that a trip. The fabric was dyed to look like some kind of galaxy, with little silver and gold stars embroidered into it.
It made those dice a steal and he would treasure it and them, always.
He perused the fabric stalls, getting himself a cool hand painted scarf, detailed with a beautiful dragon that he’d find a good frame for later to hang up because it would not be worn, no siree. He grabbed a cool hand carved wooden mug for Wayne that looked like something straight out of a Viking’s mead hall, he’d give it to him for Christmas.
He got himself some food. He watched a joust, got a photo with the riders and their horses, one of which tried nibbling his hair, tipped the riders, and very quickly found himself running low on cash.
All that scrimping, and saving, and dealing… worth it. So very worth it.
So sue him if he looped back around and walked through again, he couldn’t afford much of anything else, he’d spent his last ten spot on a fridge magnet, had five left for gas station snacks on the way home, but that was fine, he could take photos, he’d borrowed Gareth’s camera, Gareth would have come but his parents had one stipulation for him attending the faire, and that was taking his failing grade in biology, and upping it to something that at least predicted a pass before thanksgiving.
He’d failed, and no amount of grovelling could fix it. No Ren Faire for you good sir!
Jeff was out of town with his family on some ‘visit all the out of state family members before Christmas snowstorms lock everything down’ country wide tour. And Dougie couldn’t get the time off his part time job to go.
So Eddie had promised plenty of photos to show them what they missed out on.
It was the very last stall at the end of the strip that caught his attention. Maybe it was the way the dying sunlight hit it, or the way the wind caught the chimes dangling from its flimsy rafters, he felt… called to it. Drawn to it like a moth to a flame and who was he, but a lowly little moth, to ignore the call of the fire?
So he wandered over, let himself be drawn in, offered a friendly little finger wave to the greying woman sat behind a makeshift counter wrapped in shawls and decorated in silver jewellery that jingled as she worked a single crotchet hook into a slowly coming together wine red shawl. The woman offered him a simple bow of her head and a small smile in response but no sales pitch.
No conversation of any kind really, she simply sat there while he looked, crocheting away without a care in the world. He could appreciate that, not being bothered by pushy sales tactic, especially when he had so few funds left to play with, he always felt guilty when he couldn’t afford what they were selling.
Like why was he even there if he had no money to spend?
The old woman didn’t do that, allowing him to wander through her surprisingly large stall full of little trinkets and goodies uninterrupted, which was for the best because had she spoke, he might not have stayed long enough to spot it. Amidst the little boxes decorated with carved patterns and pretty gemstones, amidst the scarves, crocheted bags, amidst the leather work belts, and wallets sat a single, solitary little bottle.
Sealed with a cork coated in wax and pressed with a decorative seal in a shape too worn down to really make out but obvious that it’d at one point had a shape. The bottle was hand blown, not manufactured, lightly frosted a dark brown to a brilliant amber around its square base, the colour crept up the smooth sides towards its seal, like a diamond in shape.
The bottle wasn’t empty either.
Much like the dice that’d caught his crow brain hook line and sinker earlier, this little bottle was filled with some kind of liquid. It swirled like a galaxy inside, and at the centre a brilliant light that looked like it held its own sun, always at the centre of the swirl, never distorting or shifting out of place, eternal in its circular flow.
It was warm in his hands. He didn’t even realise he’d picked it up.
“Two dollars.” Eddie damn near jumped out of his skin, whirling around, the bottle tight in his grip. That old woman had moved. And she’d done so with a quiet stealth some might attribute to a ninja, which was impressive considering how much jewellery she wore.
“Huh?” So eloquent of him.
“Just two dollars, child. The bottle? It is… calling to you, yes?” He couldn’t place her accent, something foreign, European maybe, he had no idea but it definitely didn’t sound any parts American. “I take two dollars for it, will bring you luck.” He looked back to the bottle, eyeing the swirl that still held its pattern even as he’d jostled it, like nothing could knock it out of its gentle swirl, then back to the old woman.
What was two dollars, really?
He had five left, if nothing else the bottle could make a really cool prop, and if it did bring him luck, then hey bonus. Who was he to argue with a mysterious old lady at a Renaissance Faire? “You uh… you got yourself a deal, ma’am.” She smiled brightly at him, eyes alight with both happiness and… something else, something that reflected in the light that he didn’t think hard enough about. She accepted the five dollars he had left, she gave him his change, and a little paper bag filled with tissue to hold his new purchase, which he didn’t really need as he put it right into his own bag after receiving his change, and then she sent him on his way, uncaring as to whether or not he wanted to look at her other wares.
He’d gotten the bottle. Nothing else mattered apparently. Maybe he should have found that suspicious, but why would he?
As soon as he left the little stall, all thought of it seemed to wash away from his mind leaving him freely wandering back to the entrance where his trusty steed, his Van, awaited him to take him home. Blissfully unaware of the little bottle he’d just purchased. Blissfully forgetful of the stall he’d visited, of the old woman he’d just met, of her smile, her eyes, her mysterious accent.
All of which was for the best, really, as if he’d thought about it, if he’d taken a single moment to stop and look back to the little stall at the end of the row, the little stall that held more treasures than it should have been able to for its size, if he’d looked back to wave his goodbyes to the old woman and her treasures, he’d have found nothing.
No stall, no woman, no trinkets or treasures. Just a single row of recycling bins and benches.
But he didn’t look back.
Definitely for the best.
Part 2
#PirateWrites#IWishFiclet#Steddie#No Upside Down AU#Genie!Steve#warning: i've never been to a ren faire lmao#i also have zero self restraint whee
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once again inspired by a tiktok of a dad playing DnD with his kids. i had no idea where this was going the whole time but i had fun writing it so enjoy
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When Steve pushes open the door to his home, a smile creeps up on him without permission. There's nothing better than getting home from a day of work to the sound of his daughters squealing with laughter and Eddie's chuckles.
He closes the door behind him quietly, and decides to quietly make his way to the sound. He doesn't want to alert them of his presence, wants to see what his family's been doing all day without him.
Poking his head around to peek through the doorway to the dining room, he sees Eddie sat with his DM screen in front of their two girls, Lily and Amy. Lily, who's five years old, is giggling at Eddie's description of a tavern they see in the distance, whilst Amy, who's only three, plays with the set of dice in front of her.
"The tavern ahead of you is strange. It's-"
"Strange how, daddy?" Lily interrupts, and Eddie makes a big show of narrowing his eyes at her interruption.
"Ahem. No interruptions, miladies." He says, leaving a pause for the girls to giggle, "The tavern is strange. Its roof is covered in rainbow tiles, and as you get closer you notice that it's shimmering in the light."
"Like sparkles?" Amy asks, and Steve smiles to himself as he sees her kick her feet as she looks up at Eddie with big eyes.
"Yes, lovely, like sparkles." Eddie confirms with a smile, and Amy gasps.
"I'm called Sparkles! Can we go?" She asks, and the leg kicking gets faster as she gets excited.
"Of course! Would you like to know what's strange about the tavern first?" He checks, looking to Lily for her opinion as well.
"No. Wanna see the sparkles." Amy says, and Lily nods in agreeance.
"Okay. As you get closer to the tavern you notice it is surrounded by what at first look like a swarm of rats, but are actually teeny tiny unicorns. What do you do?"
It’s clearly a setup for a fight with the hoard of unicorn, but either Eddie doesn’t know their girls at all or they don’t realise it, because the girls gasp in excitement at his words, and Steve decides to lean against the doorway instead of hiding. Eddie notices him and offers him a wide smile.
"Can we..." Lily hums as she thinks, "Can I adopt one?"
Eddie laughs at the suggestion, but nods.
"I suppose. Okay, I need you to roll for me," Lily squeals in excitement, "Grab the dice with 20 sides for me, and roll to see if you, Sunshine, can convince one of the unicorns to be your friend."
Lily nods in determination, and Steve watches as Eddie patiently lets her count the sides of the dice until she finds the one with twenty sides. She is very serious about rolling it, and when it ends up being a 15, she looks at Eddie with an earnestly hopeful expression.
"A 15 works! One of the tiny unicorns jumps up to land on your shoulder, and introduces themself as Cloudy." Eddie cheers with the girls, and then turns to Amy, "What will Sparkles do?"
"Can I flyyyy over the unicorns? I wanna see the ta-vern, daddy."
"Of course you can. Your character can fly, so you easily glide over the crowd and make it to the door of the tavern." Eddie says with a smile.
"Hope you're not going to let them buy any mead at this tavern, Mr Dungeon Master." Steve decides to talk at that moment.
Eddie knows he's there, obviously, but the girls are completely engrossed in their game, and jump out of their seats at his voice.
"Daddy! We played all day and I got a pet unicorn and we saved a princess!" Lily explains as they run over to hug his legs.
"Wow. Sounds like a busy day, huh?"
#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie drabble#steddie ficlet#stranger things#more dad drabble i love steddie as dads#family fluff <3333#mywriting
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Raven Queen. Goddess of Death 💀
These dice are part of the October shop update and these and more are currently available in the SHOP
Sun is finally out! That means it's picture time. Or at least I thought it was because 5 minutes after taking this photo and setting up the next shot. It's all cloudy now. 💀
#dnd#dice#dicemaking#dungeonsanddragons#dicemaker#dicegoblin#dicecollection#tabletoprpg#dnddice#ttrpgdice#dicemaniac#dicemaniacsclub#handmadedice#resincasting#d20#critrole#hellastrangedice#raven queen
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The puppets Before Christmas
this AU belong to @cloudy-dreams
'Twas a long time ago, longer now than it seems, in a place that perhaps you've seen in your dreams. For the story that you are about to be told, took place in the holiday worlds of old. Now, you've probably wondered where holidays come from. If you haven't, I'd say it's time you begun. This Is Halloween'
"Boys and girls of every age Wouldn't you like to see something strange?" The shadows sang as they appeared from the graves
"Come with us and you will see This, our town of Halloween" "This is Halloween, this is Halloween Pumpkins scream in the dead of night" The shadows and pumpkins sang together
"This is Halloween, everybody make a scene Trick or treat till the neighbors gonna die of fright It's our town, everybody scream In this town of Halloween" The ghosts said
"I am the one hiding under your bed Teeth ground sharp and eyes glowing red" The man under the bed sang as the man under the stairs continued "I am the one hiding under your stairs Fingers like snakes and spiders in my hair"
"This is Halloween, this is Halloween Halloween! Halloween! Halloween! Halloween!" The Corpse Chorus said "in this town we call home Everyone hail to the pumpkin song" the vampires sang
"In this town, don't we love it now? Everybody's waiting for the next surprise!" The mayor exclaimed "Round that corner, man hiding in the trash can Something's waiting now to pounce, and how you'll scream" the Corpse chorus said
The Harlequin demon, werewolf and melting man all sang together "Scream! This is Halloween Red 'n' black, slimy green!"
"Aren't you scared?" The wolf asked "Well, that's just fine Say it once, say it twice Take the chance and roll the dice Ride with the moon in the dead of night" the witches sang as they were riding their brooms
"Everybody scream, everybody scream!" The hanging tree siad as the hanged men joined in "In our town of Halloween!"
"I am the clown with the tear-away face Here in a flash and gone without a trace!" The clown Dog sang as he ripped his face off and then disappeared "I am the "who" when you call Who's there?"
A Puppet Ragdoll up in a tower was Fixing his hair when "I am the wind blew I am the wind blowing through your hair!" The wind said
The shadow of a humoniad house was seen in the moon "I am the shadow on the moon at night Filling your dreams to the brim with fright!"
"This is Halloween, this is Halloween Halloween! Halloween! Halloween! Halloween! Halloween! Halloween!" Everyone sang
"Tender lumplings everywhere Life's no fun without a good scare!" Two child corpses exclaimed "That's our job, but we're not mean In our town of Halloween!" The parent corpses said
"In this town Don't we love it now! Everyone's waiting for the next surprise!" The mayor sang
"Skeleton (Y/n) might catch you in the back And scream like a banshee Make you jump out of your skin This is Halloween, everybody scream Won't ya please make way for a very special Person! Our Skeleton (Y/n) is Ruler of the pumpkin patch Everyone hail to the Pumpkin Ruler now!" The corpse chorus exclaimed
"This is Halloween, this is Halloween Halloween! Halloween! Halloween! Halloween!" Everyone sang as the mayor pulled a horse with a scarecrow on it
"In this town we call home Everyone hail to the puppet song!" Everyone sang as the scarecrow jumped into the foutain
"La la-la la, Halloween! Halloween!" Everyone sang as the scarecrow came out of the foutain no longer a scarecrow but now was a 6 feet tall Skeleton wearing a black pin-striped suit, complete with a bat bow-tie and black dress shoes.
Everyone was celebrating and cheering "I believe it was our most horrible yet! Thank you everyone!" (Y/n) exclaimed "No, thanks to you, (Y/n)! Without your brilliant leadership!" The mayor, Howdy, said "Not at all Mayor" (Y/n) replied "You're such a scream (Y/n)!" "You're a witch's fondest dream!" "You made walls fall, (Y/n)!" "Walls fall? You made the very mountains crack, (Y/n)"
Everyone continued to praise (Y/n) as the Blue haired rag doll stared at Them with amazement in his eyes but then someone grabbed His arm "The deadly nightshade you slipped me wore off, Wally!" Poppy Yelled "Let go!" Wally yelled back
"You're not ready for so much excitement!" Poppy told him as she held onto his arm and tried to drag him back to the lab "Yes I am!" Wally said "You're coming with me!" Poppy grumbled
"No I'm not!" Wally yelled as he pull out the thread that's holding his arm on making it to where he can run off "Come back here you foolish!- oaf! Ow!" Poppy yelled as Wally's arm hit her on the head as he ran to the graveyard
"Ooo (Y/n), you make wounds ooze and flesh crawl!" A monster said "Thank you, thank you, thank you- very much" (Y/n) said as they began to back away from everyone
"Hold it! We haven't given out the prizes yet! Our first award goes to the vampires for most blood drained in a single evening!" Howdy announced which gained everyone's attention "A frightening and honorable mention goes to the fabulous Dark Lagoon leeches!" Howdy added
(Y/n) had begun walking to the graveyard where Wally was stuffing the leaves back into his arm but once he saw (Y/n) he hid behind a gravestone, (Y/n) had started singing as they would walk around the graveyard
"There are few who'd deny, at what I do I am the best For my talents are renowned far and wide When it comes to surprises in the moonlit night I excel without ever even trying With the slightest little effort of my ghostlike charms I have seen grown men give out a shriek!" They sang
"With the wave of my hand, and a well-placed moan I have swept the very bravest off their feet Yet year after year, it's the same routine And I grow so weary of the sound of screams" They sang "And I, (Y/n), the Pumpkin Ruler Have grown so tired of the same old thing Oh, somewhere deep inside of these Bones An emptiness began to grow!" They sang as They stood on the top of the spiral hill
"There's something out there, far from my home A longing that I've never known...I'm the master of fright, and a demon of light And I'll scare you right out of your pants To a guy in Kentucky, I'm Mister Unlucky And I'm known throughout England and France And since I am dead, I can take off my head To recite Shakespearean quotations!" They said
"No animal nor man can scream like I can! With the fury of my recitations...But who here would ever understand That the Pumpkin Ruler with the ever-lasting grin Would tire of Their crown..." They trailed off
"if they only understood...They'd give it all up if he only could Oh, there's an empty place in my Bones That calls out for something unknown The fame and praise come year after year Does nothing for these empty tears" They said before They left the graveyard
"Oh (Y/n), I know how you feel" Wally mumbled as He gathers herbs then heads back to Poppy's tower
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All We Have Is Each Other
CW: Intimate whumper, captivity, defiant whumpee, biting, creepy whumper, obsessive whumper, noncon kiss, vague noncon references, drugging. For @amonthofwhump Tropeathon Day 1: Duel
The Motherfucking Gallaghers Masterlist
Takes place during Jax’s second captivity. As always, Jax is used with oversight and permission from @comfy-whumpee)
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Savvie rolls dice every time she uses the mortar and pestle in the kitchen to grind up one of her collections of pills and mix it into Jax’s drink.
She’s always gambling with the drugs. The first part of the game is seeing whether he’ll drink it before he realizes there’s something in it. If she doesn’t mix it well enough, he’ll see the cloudy bits floating around in the glass and look at her with terrible sad eyes. Sometimes she can’t take it. She just takes the drink right back out of his hand and pours it out, makes him a new one.
Other the other hand, sometimes his sad voice and sad eyes piss her off worse than anything else could, and she just tips it up until he chokes and makes him finish it anyway. Or shocks him, pressing the button to the remote and watching his muscles lock up, knowing he’ll look sweeter once he’s fighting the way his muscles jerk afterward, the unconscious twitches he can’t quite get rid of as the aftermath works its way through him.
Sometimes he even looks scared. Those nights are some of her favorites. Savvie never loves Jax as much as she does when he is scared of her.
But... she can’t keep him scared all the time. What kind of marriage would they have if she did that? No, the drinks aren’t to scare him, they’re just to make… to make things easier. And she doesn’t always do it! She doesn’t always drug him, but it’s enough that he never trusts her. She knows that. He doesn’t… trust easily.
That’s okay.
Their relationship got off to a rough start, that’s all, what with Jax starting off as one of the staff, bought and paid for. Plus, Jax’s dad convinced him Savvie was evil, once upon a time when he ran away from her. Taught him to hate her. She had to have her uncle fly all the way to England to bring Jax back, and it’s taking years to undo all the damage that stupid old man did.
That’s okay. He’s getting better, he’s definitely getting better. He is. He has to be getting better.
Still… he’s not an easy man to be married to. Not with having to keep an eye on the remote to his shock collar so he can’t take it off and try to run away again, not with the way he watches her sometimes like he wants to dunk her head into the toilet and hold it there until she drowns. Putting stuff in his drink just lets Savvie be able to relax.
She doesn’t have to worry about what he might do when he’s so high he can’t do much of anything. Besides, it’s only like one out of every ten nights, sometimes twenty, sometimes she even goes for a month or two without doing it.
She really doesn’t even want to. If he would just learn to be happy without it, she wouldn’t have to keep drugging him, would she? If he’d just stop being so difficult about being her husband… but that isn’t fair. He can’t be any better than he is, not really. Jax just… isn’t wired that way.
So she has to help him a little, to make it so he can have nights when he can’t stay mad at her. Or at least nights when his anger isn’t able to simmer in there behind his eyes while he says Yes, Miss Savvie or No, Miss Savvie like there’s a gun to his head.
Still. Trying to give him these evenings where both of them just relax… it’s always a gamble.
Even if he drinks whatever she makes without realizing it’s spiked, he doesn’t always react the same way. If she’s lucky - if her dice rolls well - the drugs make Jax… softer. He’ll lean against her when some of his strength slides away, not seek out touch but loathe it less. Those are the nights she can coax a sound out of him that isn’t clipped or tense. She still thinks about the night she gave him a back rub and he genuinely fell asleep sitting on the floor between her knees, his head drifting until it rested on her leg, the knots of tension slowly loosening beneath her kneading hands until she got distracted by the movie and forgot what she was doing.
Sometimes he smiles, when he’s blurry and unfocused. Smiles, enough to show teeth even… God, sometimes he even laughs at some of Savvie’s jokes. It’s rare, but it happens. She loves those nights the best. Those are the nights that their marriage almost feels normal… if she just ignores the dilated pupils and the way he can’t stand up on his own.
Sometimes he gets so foggy he can’t stop laughing, which is irritating but at least adorable to watch and take videos of to make him look at later on the next day when he sobers up again. Sometimes the side effects make him too scared to smile, his eyes darting nervously everywhere watching the movements of shadows he swears are watching him. She… tries not to give him those pills anymore.
The nights tend to end with her telling him to take off his shirt so she can enjoy the view, or even his pants, too. She usually waits on that, though, because it doesn’t matter how good the drugs are - he always hesitates when it comes to taking off his pants, as soon as his fingers touch the boxers with their oddly rolled waistband.
It reminds him he doesn’t want to be here. Makes his addled mind come back to the collar he wears around his neck, to the reality of the life they’re living, the marriage Savvie has built all by herself whether he wanted to or not.
And he… he didn’t want to.
So normally she waits on the getting naked bit until they’re in the bedroom and what he wants matters so much less that neither of them think about it any longer. The drugs, at least, make it harder for him to slow her down in there.
Savvie tries not to think about that, because she doesn’t remember it that way. She likes the nights best where he doesn’t even try to fight, just lets her pull him upstairs and she gets to bury her hands in his hair and tell him what to do and have him, languid and loose-limbed, follow every command without the tension and misery he usually carries into their bed.
She doesn’t always roll well.
Sometimes, she rolls snake eyes… and she gets this, instead.
“Fuck’s sake,” Jax groans, words slurring around the edges, rubbing a hand over his eyes. He pushes clumsily away from her, nearly falling off the couch before he manages to catch himself. “For… f’r fuck’s sake, Savvie, what the fuck.”
His wedding ring glints, light from the TV bouncing off the deceptively plain platinum band. She’s hit all over again with a wave of love for him, for the life she’s built after he was brought back home to be hers forever, just like he always should have been. She’d been an idiot not to see it, not until he was gone and she spent years in prison dreaming about getting him back.
“Fuck’s sake what?” She asks, voice light, smiling at him and poking him in the shoulder where they sit on the couch.
He doesn’t slap her hand away, but she sees him look at her and… he wants to. His expression is dark. The light is bouncing off his hazel eyes, too, giving them a strange sheen of white that wipes out the color, obscures even his dilated pupils slowly taking over the iris. “What the fuck was it?”
“What was what?”
“What the fuck did you give me?” He goes to push himself to standing only to have his knees buckle beneath him, crashing him to the floor, barely catching himself on his hands. Savvie’s mouth waters, and she swallows, trying to ignore the flutter of fascinated interest in watching his fingernails scrape the rug as he tries to steady himself. “What the fuck is it, Savvie?”
“It doesn’t matter,” She answers, without changing her own tone, leaning forward with her arms resting on her thighs. Her hair falls in heavy waves down her back and over her shoulders. “It’s not anything that could hurt you.”
This time, he doesn't say Miss Savvie or try out the sad eyes. Instead, he looks away. She can nearly hear his teeth grinding. “Yeah, but once I’m all fucked up, you will.”
“Don’t be rude,” Savvie chides him, but she doesn’t move. He looks good, on his hands and knees on the floor. Well, he looks good all the time, really, but he looks even better on his hands and knees. She knows the physique he’s built with the workout routine she makes him do, knows the muscles there hidden beneath the green sweater and jeans he’s wearing. “You’ve been stressed all week. I’m just trying to help-”
“Fucking shit, the hell you are!” He manages to sit back on his knees, then collapses back until his back hits the edge of the couch cushions, upright through sheer force of will and a bit of good luck. His hands lay limp at his sides, now. When he turns to look at her, his eyes don’t focus quite right - but the fury in them is clear.
Well.
Tonight’s not going to be the best night for them, then, she supposes. She feels the edge of a headache starting up, and sighs, looking mournfully at the movie she’d pulled up for them to watch. Another night, then. A night when the gamble pays off and doesn’t backfire. A night when he can’t remember how to be angry at her.
“Fine,” She says, heavily. “I’m not trying to help you. I’m trying to help me.”Her own voice changes - drops almost a full octave from her usual carefully constructed diction and sweetness to something sharper. “I’m making tonight easier on me. Making you less… less-” She can't think of a good way to end the sentence, so she just lets it hang there between them.
Jax snorts, looking away again. His head keeps lolling forward until his chin nearly touches his chest before he jerks it back again. “Yeah, I fucking know,” He manages, but his slurring is getting worse. “Shit f’r brains.”
Savvie sniffs, but the fake tears aren't coming as easily as they usually do. She probably accidentally gave him too much again. It’s just sometimes so hard to remember exactly how much the dose is supposed to be…
“I don’t enjoy you being cruel to me any more than you enjoy it when I do it to you, you know,” She says, suddenly… so tired. She spends so much time and effort creating a marriage herself out of a man her uncle bought for her once and abducted for her the second time, and she’s doing this all on her own - no one helps her, not really. And Jax never gives up.
She’d been sure he’d start to settle in and understand by now, but he just… he just doesn’t. And she’s so tired. Her fingers toy with the little black remote to his shock collar. Maybe she should just… just give up on having a good night and punish him for the cursing until he just bites off his stupid tongue.
No, wait.
She likes what he does with his tongue, when she gives the order. He’s so good with it now. Maybe… maybe just a small shock. Just to remind him he's hers. She takes a deep breath. “Jax… get on your-”
“On m’knees f’r discipline?” He starts laughing before she can finish, cutting her off, letting his head fall totally back against the arm of the couch until he’s staring at the ceiling. He sounds wild, almost like an animal. Her quiet watchful husband is feral, and Savvie resolves never to give him the pill she gave him tonight ever again. “Yeah, fucking… fuckin’ do it. Second I don’t play along, there y’go. Bzzzt.” He cackles, a cracked bark of laughter she’s never heard him make before. “Shut me up so you don’t hear me say it.”
Savvie’s heart twists. “Say what?”
The laughter dies in him as suddenly as it appeared. He turns his head, or tries to - it mostly just falls to one side until he’s looking at her. Their eyes meet, his all black pupil and hers with nearly no pupil at all. “How much I fucking hate your fucking guts.”
“You don’t hate me.” She says it firmly, as if he’s being ridiculous. “Don’t be mean, Jax. You don’t hate me at all.”
She takes a deep breath. Married couples have fights, even ugly ones sometimes, and they work it out-
“Yeah. I… I really do.” Disgusted, that’s the tone in his voice. Disgusted with her. “I do. I hate you.”
“Why do you hate me?”
The look he gives her is such a blatant are you a complete fucking moron that she can hear his voice even though he doesn’t say a word.
“No, hold on.” She waves one hand, dismissing her own question. His eyes briefly follow the movements of her fingers, distracted by whatever the drugs make him see there. Trails of light, maybe. It’s probably beautiful. “Hold on. I know why-”
“Do you?” His question is sharp, snapped, even as his every muscle can barely tense enough to move. “Do you fuckin’ really?”
“Yes. I do.” Savvie’s too tired to talk him in a circle tonight. She’s just… too exhausted by her bad gamble, bringing neither the snuggly Jax or the scared one, but this angry, vengeful animal instead.
Her headache is getting worse.
She grabs her glass of wine off the coffee table and chugs it so fast a little drip escapes the corner of her mouth and runs down her chin. She has to wipe it away, wincing at the… at the idea of how that looks. Her mother would have had a fit about it. If she hadn’t died years ago. “Because I had you kidnapped.”
Jax is silent, for a beat. He squints at her. “Fuck… what’d you say? Might be hearin’ shit.”
She laughs, softly. Not her usual laughter, crafted to fill up a room and put all eyes on her. This laugh is barely there, but far more genuine. “No. You're not hallucinating, that shouldn't happen with what I gave you tonight.”
“Oh, good, not this fucking drugging, then, jussss-” His head falls too far to one side and he forces it back up, groaning. “Jusss… others.”
“Only one of the pills does that. And you were cute when you thought there were monsters in the bathroom.” She gets that flat stare from him again and this time she can't hold eye contact, looking down and away, still fiddling with the remote to his collar. “I just. I do know what I did, Jax.”
“Yeah, I fucking know you know-”
“I had you kidnapped.” She takes a deep breath. It feels oddly good to say, like a scene in a movie confessing to a priest. A foul-mouthed priest she’s been sleeping with for over a year. The thought makes her smile, just a little. “My uncle had people watching you, and when I was ready, he knew where you’d be and he abducted you for me. I know that. I know that you’d run, if you could. I’d take your collar off right now if I thought you’d stay without wearing it.”
Jax is silent for so long she briefly wonders if he's flat out forgotten how to talk. Then he shrugs - or tries to, his arms don't quite follow his commands. “You’d find somethin’ else, some other reason for shit ‘round my neck. You fuckin’ like it.”
For the first time, she doesn't deny it. “I do.” She laughs at the way he looks almost comically surprised, unable to keep his usual closed-off expressions in place with the drug coursing through his veins. “What? Can't a girl have a kink?”
“Sure fuckin’ can, but you… you don' have a kink, you got… goddamn victims.”
“... I… yeah. But it-... that's not my point. It isn't about the collar, Jax. Your wedding ring does it for me, too. I could barely wait to get you home after we signed the marriage certificate.”
The glare is back. His hatred is blistering her skin. She watches him try to stand, making it nearly upright before he falls back down again with a heavy thump.
Her mouth twitches. “You want help, sweetie?”
“Ffffuck you.”
“Well, I mean, if you’re asking so nicely.” She giggles at her own joke.
He mumbles something she can't quite hear, trying to stand one more time but quickly giving up. He makes it onto the couch, at least. Savvie stands, turning to grab his ankles, shifting so he’s lying on his back, head and feet each cushioned by the arms of the comfortable, overstuffed couch. He struggles weakly, and it's hard work, but she gets him where she wants him. She barely breathes, taking in his chest rising and falling under his sweater, how his inhales are coming more sharply.
She can't help herself.
Savvie climbs on top of him, like she’s done a hundred times. She straddles him, sitting on his hips and leaning down to kiss his neck, nosing under his jaw. At first, his head tips back in resignation - but then he curses and pushes at her weakly instead. “Don’t.”
She grabs his wrists and shoves them above his head. He’s so weak, the drugs have taken all that muscle and made them… useless at holding her off. There’s a shiver of excitement down her spine. “Uh-uh, sweetie. You’re the one who said to fuck you, remember?”
She feels a thrill at saying fuck, like she’s still a kid sneaking swears in her room when her parents won’t overhear.
“Don't,” He groans. “Sav-... Savvie, stop. G’t off me. I hate you.”
“I know.” She smiles down at him. His eyes meet hers, tired and bleary. Furious and almost resigned. “I know you hate me, Jax… but I love you.”
She leans down, her hair a waterfall curtain, blocking them both off from the world. She can smell the cologne she buys for him, blended with her own pricey perfume. His wrists jerk against her grip and she digs her nails in until he grunts in pain and the skin gives beneath.
“Savvie,” he whispers.
“Sssshhh.” She lets go with one hand, shifting both his wrists to her other one, and presses a finger against his lips. “I love you so much,” She whispers. “And I don't need you to love me back, sweetie, I don’t. I just need you to lie for me.”
She kisses him, then, pressing her lips firmly to his. For half a second, his mouth is slack and unresisting even as his body shudders with disgust. He’s warm, his skin burning up beneath her. Her mouth moves against his, trying to get him to answer her, to open up.
His lips gently part. For a brief moment, Savvie feels the rush of victory.
Then he bites.
Pain blooms in a sudden flare as his teeth bury themselves into her lower lip and he jerks his head to the side, sensitive skin tearing.
“Shit!” Savvie jerks backwards, staring down at him wide-eyed. She can taste her own blood in her mouth. It’s smeared on his lips and his teeth like badly-done lipstick as he gives her a smile that's really a snarl. “Oh my God, Jax-... how dare you-”
“Fuck you! Don't fucking touch me!” He gets his arms more or less under his own control and shoves her off of him. She crashes into the coffee table, the legs giving out, tumbling her to the floor. Pain spikes hot and demanding along her hip where she hits the hard angle of the corner and she finds herself the one lying on the floor, while Jax slowly sits up, wiping blood off his lips.
Her blood.
Savvie pulls her fingers from her mouth and gasps. There’s a smear of red, bright and vibrant, the unmistakable sense of blood trickling down over her chin. She tongues at the wound, then winces as the pain flares bright, like he’s bitten her all over again. She considers tears - looks at the loathing in his eyes, the absolute rage written in the lines of his face - and then decides they’re wasted on him tonight. Instead, she just shakes her head. “That hurt.”
“Good. Don' like bein’ the one fucking bleeding for once, huh?” His eyes drift closed. He struggles to open them again, to keep his eyes on her. “Shit feelin’, isn't it?”
“God.” She swallows. Blood on her tongue is making her feel nauseous and she gets to her feet carefully. Her mouth and hip throb. She’s going to be so bruised tomorrow, going to ache so much. “You’re awful sometimes, you know that?”
“Yeah.” He grins. He hasn't bothered to try and get the red off his teeth. “I know. So… so fffffuckin’ get rid of me, then.”
Savvie snorts, limping a little as she moves to pick up the spilled wine bottle from the floor. She could shock him now - that’s what she would usually do. Or call Isaac and have him carted off to spend another month locked in the kennels with the dogs. He… probably doesn’t care about that, though. Anything to get away from her. Anything is better than her, to him.
“Get rid of you?” She drinks the last swallow in the bottle, washing blood down her throat with the wine. “Then what, Jax? I should just… live here alone, without you, for the rest of my life?”
“Fucking-... yes, or go fucking die. I don't fucking care.” The flush of hot anger bleeds away, his voice softening a little. “I don't… don' care, Savvie. I don’t care about you.”
“No. You do.” She feels a burst of desperation to make him understand. “You hate me, right? That’s caring about me, still.”
“Savvie-”
“No. I love you. You are mine, and I am keeping you. This is love, Jax. What I feel for you is true love.”
He shakes his head, swaying a little where he sits. He tries to push her away again as she takes him by the arm but his burst of energy seems to have used him up. He lets her, in the end, get him onto his feet. She leads him on his unsteady legs out of the room, and he stumbles along with her.
“S'not love,” He mumbles. She keeps an arm around his waist to help him balance. “Fucking… fuck you. Let me leave, Savvie.”
He doesn't have the strength to push her away, not anymore. He has to use her to stay up as they take the stairs one at a time, although after three or four he jerks away again and uses the railing, leaning heavily against it as he drags himself upwards, inch by inch, step by step.
She lets him pull away, watching his determination to not need her, how badly he doesn’t even want her. There’s a canyon inside of her, something dark and deep that hurts so much worse than her hip or her torn open lower lip, threatening to claw its way out as she watches the man she has forced to play the role of her husband do anything he can to avoid her touch.
Her jaw sets. “It is. It is love, and you know what? It’s all the love you’re going to get. Ever. No one else will ever love you.” Savvie’s voice stays low. “You’re not… you’re not lovable, Jax, but I don’t care, I love you anyway. Nobody else would. No one is ever going to even want to love you but me.”
He slumps. The fight’s all gone out of him, for now. Her gamble failed tonight and Jax is buckling under the weight of what runs through his veins, the heavy expectations in her eyes and her smile and her devotion.
“Fuck,” is all he says, barely a whisper under his breath.
Savvie sighs, touching her fingers to her lip again. The bleeding has slowed but there’s still a spot of red. “Goes both ways, though, I think.”
He doesn't look at her. “What?”
“This… how much you hate me… how I had to kidnap you, and put that thing on your neck to keep you here, how you wish you were anywhere but here with me… you know, I, I get it.”
He has to stop at the landing and lean over, resting his forehead against the wall.
She lays a hand on his back, leaning over to speak right against his ear. “I get that your hate is all the love I’m going to get, too, Jax. Nobody else will ever love me, either.”
Her throat feels tight, and she can’t tell if she really feels the twisting nerves in her stomach, the sense of dread, or if it’s part of her act for Jax. Sometimes even Savvie isn’t sure when she means the things she says. Sometimes, even worse, she really does.
“All we’re ever going to have is each other.”
He doesn’t answer her. But when she takes his arm in her hand, he allows himself to be dragged along towards her bedroom. The fight might be gone, but so is the feeling. There’s nothing in his eyes that shows he even heard her.
That’s okay. She can be honest, in the dark, in the middle of the night, knowing that he’s too drugged to remember anything she said when he wakes up again. She’ll lie to herself again by morning. So will he.
She just needs him to lie.
-
@whumpyourdamnpears consider this my evil savvie gift to you
#whump#amonthofwhump#amow tropeathon day 1#duel#intimate whumper#obsessive whumper#creepy whumper#noncon touch#noncon kissing#noncon references#sadistic whumper#drugging tw#drugged whumpee#jax#comfy-whumpee#captivity#defiant whumpee#whumpee fights back#amow tropeathon2024#day1
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back again to show off my new math rocks I custom ordered from customclickclacks on etsy
they're so pretty... cloudy with pastels for regular dice, cloudy with stormy colours for hunger dice because that's thematically sexy.
also they didn't get willow killed when i used them for the first time, so that's a win in my book 💕
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Pastel Skies.
A fun little cloudy sky dice set in colours of blue and purple, with gold holographic moon and star details. Numbers unpainted.
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I've Published My Own Entry to the For Truth's Sake Game Jam!
For Truth's Sake is a solo-journaling rpg about studying culture's other than your own. Play as an anthropologist studying different cultures, and gain trust within the community you're studying. Pull cards and roll dice to determine who you talk to/where you go and what questions to ask. The game uses a "trust points" system - you gain and lose trust points by playing and interacting with NPCs and locations! And these trust points allow you to gain access and learn more as you play the game.
What You'll Need:
a deck of cards
a d20
a d12
a d8
A CITY WHERE THE SUN NEVER SLEEPS
In a small village, on a different continent from the ones you’ve been used to your entire life - entire communities have never seen the moon, or the true pitch blackness that comes with a cloudy night. How do they live their lives? What kind of religious practices do they follow? Are they different from the ones you’re used to? What does it mean to live in a place where the sun never truly sets and you’re truly never left alone in the dark.
There are 20 NPCs, 12 locations, and 12 events!
PRICE IS $5 | find on itch.io | and on ko-fi!
SUBMIT YOUR OWN GAME TO THE JAM HERE
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Ser Stephan of Harring’s Town Part 1
Just like with Little Runaway the tagging cap is at 20.
*
Steve had finally been convinced to join the Hellfire Club’s main campaign. It actually took Mike begging him to join, that finally convinced him. Though Mike only did it to impress Eddie and Will, but Steve going to take it as a win regardless.
So he offered to have it at his place so that when this went to shit like it did last time, he’d have somewhere else he could go, but still be able to take kids home.
Eddie and Dustin arrived early to help set up and get things ready for the session.
Eddie handed Steve a small velvet pouch that rattled when it dropped into his hand.
“What’s this?” Steve asked furrowing his brow.
“Open it,” Dustin said bouncing on his heels excitedly.
Steve opened the bag and poured out the contents into his other hand. In his hand were yellow and orange dice with black numbers.
“Oh wow,” he whispered. “These are neat.”
“They’re yours!” Dustin said. “Every player has to have their own set.”
Steve smiled. “Thanks, guys.”
Soon everyone arrived and got settled in, Eddie in the DM’s chair, Steve to his right and Will to his left. Dustin was on Steve’s other side. Mike was next to Will and Erica and Lucas were at the far end of the table.
Steve looked around at everyone’s character sheet and then looked at Eddie. “Do we have time to roll up a character for me? I kinda forgot we needed to.”
Eddie smiled and handed Steve a piece of paper with a flourish. Steve took it gingerly.
He frowned. “Ser Stephan of Harring’s Town?”
“Yup!” Eddie said popping the last consonant. “We talked about it and figured the best way to introduce you to the game is to get you used to the game mechanics first. Your character is you. All you have to do is act like you would act and we’ll guide you through the rest of it.”
“I’m a barbarian?” he asked softly. “That‒that doesn’t sound very cool.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Erica said. “Barbarians were originally just people the Romans thought were inferior, despite getting their asses handed to them on the regular. It might mean someone who is crude now. But it didn’t always.”
“Oh,” Steve said. “It’s a cool thing?”
“Very cool,” Eddie confirmed.
Steve looked down at his character sheet again and the frown deepened. “Is ten in intelligence bad?”
“It’s average,” Lucas said. “No bonuses but no penalties either.”
“So, I’m not smart?” Steve asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Eddie rolled his eyes. “Steve sweetheart, you are focusing on the bad. Look that the rest of your stats.”
“Seventeen in strength, fifteen in dexterity, eighteen in constitution, sixteen in wisdom, and fifteen in charisma...” he rattled off. “Okay...but I don’t know what that all means.”
“Strength is how hard you can hit stuff or how much weight you can carry or lift,” Dustin said.
“And seventeen is good?” Steve asked.
“Oh yeah,” Mike said. “Especially for a level one without bonuses. You hit hard.”
Steve nodded feeling a little better. “And what’s dexterity? That’s how quick you move, right?”
“A little,” Will said. “But it’s also how agile you are.”
Steve nodded. “I know what charisma is,” he said with a wink. “And fifteen is above average, right?”
“Yeah,” Erica said. “I had to argue that one to be higher.” She glared at the boys. Who promptly had elsewhere to look.
“And the last one, what’s the difference between intelligence which is low and my wisdom which is high?”
“Intelligence is knowing it’s raining,” Eddie explained. “Wisdom is knowing to bring an umbrella because it was cloudy when you woke up that morning.”
“So I’m smart in a different way?” Steve asked.
“Hell yeah, you are, Stevie,” Eddie said with a grin.
Steve looked down at his sheet one more time. “Anything else I need to know?”
Will looked over at Eddie. “Can I explain rage to him?”
Eddie laughed. “Go for it, Will the Wise.”
“What’s rage?” Steve asked.
“When a barbarian’s hit points drop to a certain range,” Will explained excitedly, “they go into this fugue state where they deal more damage but they sacrifice their intelligence until it wears off or until their hit points reach zero.”
“But I don’t do that,” Steve said, frowning again.
“Honey,” Eddie said gently, “I’ve seen you. You ripped a demobat from tip to tail with your bare hands, shirtless and barefoot. And spat out the blood like it was a bad tasting beer. I’ve never seen anything like it. It was awesome.”
Steve blinked. He vaguely remembered doing that. “Oh.”
“Look at your weapon, Steve,” Mike said excitedly. He was nearly vibrating with anticipation.
“A mace? I don’t know what that is...” He was starting to think that this was all a way for them to make fun of him.
Eddie whipped out the players’ handbook and began flipping through the pages. He stopped and then turned the book over to Steve.
Steve looked down at it awe. “It’s like a badass version of my bat.”
“Exactly!” Mike said. “Isn’t it awesome!”
Steve smiled for the first time since he sat down. “Yeah. Yeah it is.”
“And the final thing,” Lucas said. “Is improvised weapon proficiency.”
Steve raised an eyebrow.
“It means you can pick up anything,” Erica said, “a bottle, a chair, or anything like that and you don’t get an penalties for your attack rolls.”
Steve thought for a moment. “Oh you mean like I did with the phone and the Russians?”
“Exactly!” Erica said.
“Oh.” He looked down at the character sheet with a little bit more enthusiasm.
“So just play the character as is,” Dustin said, patting Steve on the shoulder. “We’ll help you do the game mechanics until you get the hang of it. And then when we start the next campaign you can create your own character and learn to roleplay.”
Steve looked down at his sheet again. “Okay. Yeah. I can handle that.”
“Everyone ready?” Eddie asked. When he got a series of nods and agreements, he began. “You are all in a large tavern that seats about sixty to seventy people. There are three barmaids, a dark-skinned human, a half orc who looks like she could double for security, and a halfling...”
Steve would stop him every once and a while asking questions about what things were or what they meant and each time someone would explain it to him.
Finally they wrap up for the night and Steve is chatting as happily about the campaign as the rest of them.
“Dude!” Lucas said. “Eddie was right, you are a barbarian. A kick ass one, too.”
Steve blushed. “Thanks man. I thought I would be a cleric or a paladin. But I guess not.”
Erica pats him on the back. “Starting with magic users is hard to begin with, and picking something because it looked cool is even harder. I learned that the hard way too.”
“You do realize that you’ve said some variation of the word ‘hard’ three times, right?” Mike teased.
“Shut up,” everyone shot back.
Mike ducked his head, but Steve ruffled his hair. Mike blushed but pushed a laughing Steve off him.
Will raised an eyebrow, but wisely said nothing.
“So, big boy,” Eddie said, strolling up to the party. “You coming back for round two?”
Everyone turned to look at Steve with baited breath.
“Hell, yeah!”
And cheer went up.
“You hear that, Eddie?” Dustin asked jumping up and down. “He’s coming back!!”
Eddie just smiled at Steve.
Steve ducked his head and blushed.
“Okay,” he said with a cough. “Who am I taking home and who’s going with Eddie?”
Mike and Sinclairs went with Eddie and Will and Dustin went with Steve.
Dustin crawled in the back seat, like he always did when he was too hyper for the front seat. Something Steve insisted on, so that he could actually drive.
Will got into the front seat. “I’m glad you had fun, Steve.”
Steve grinned. “Me, too...though I will admit it wasn’t looking very good to start with.”
“I told them we should have started with the fun stuff so that the other stuff didn’t come out as insulting, but no...” Will muttered.
“It wasn’t insulting!” Dustin protested. He paused. “Was it, Steve?”
Steve looked in the mirror and smiled softly at the crestfallen look on his young friend’s face.
“Nah, Eddie was right,” Steve said. “I was focusing on the negative.”
“Because you’d been burned before,” Will defended. “Which is why I wanted to start with your weapons and your feat. Because that stuff is badass.”
Steve grinned again. “Hell, yeah that was. Who knew that medieval weaponry could be so cool. I thought it was just axes and swords with maybe bows and arrows.”
“There is way more to it than that,” Dustin said, his enthusiasm coming back. “There are spears and morningstars and war hammers. All sorts of cool stuff.”
They chatted about medieval weapons until the dropped Dustin off. As soon as they had pulled away from the curb Will spoke.
“I have something for you,” he said digging something out his bag. Steve glanced down at the drawing and smiled.
“That’s awesome, Will,” Steve said with a grin. “My very own Will Byers original. Is that supposed to be me?”
Will nodded. “Yeah. I just didn’t want to give it to you in front of everyone.”
Steve’s eyebrows went up. “Because you thought I wouldn’t like it?”
Will shook his head. “I didn’t want draw everyone’s characters.”
“Down side of being an artist, unfortunately,” Steve agreed. “If you play an instrument they demand you play something for them, if you draw, draw something for them, I think the only time people don’t demand art from you is when you’re a writer, but they always ask if you’ve written a book.”
Will frowned. “Sounds like you know from experience.”
Steve glanced at him and smiled. “Don’t tell anyone else, but I draw, too.”
“You do?”
“Not like you,” Steve admitted. “It’s not very good. But it’s fun and I enjoy it.”
“Can I see some?” Will asked tentatively.
“Sure,” Steve said. “Like I said, I’m not very impressive, but come over tomorrow. I don’t have work.”
“I’d like that,” Will said softly.
Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7
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Trinkets Chart for Darkon
I enjoy making trinket charts for DnD. I made this d100 one for my DnD game that's set entirely in Darkon, which I've called The Iron Crown. There's a lot of easter eggs in here, but thought this could be a fun thing to share on a Friday morning while I ignore my actual job.
01-02
A star chart contained within the face of an ornate compass. A question mark is placed where the moon should be.
03-04
A frail bit of parchment containing a half-created new and highly complex summoning spell.
05-06
A flute carved from the charred remains of a human tibia.
07-08
A cane topped with a silver owl that is cold to the touch.
09-10
A silver charm bracelet that contains the following charms: an ornate eye surrounded by flames, a crown set with a single amber gemstone, a skull with small garnets in its eye sockets, and a closed book.
11-12
A vial of cloudy red blood labeled “LvZ”.
13-14
A wooden box engraved with the letter “S” containing a shimmering black, outlandish traveling cloak; brimmed hat, great cloak, and silvery skull-like mask.
15-16
An ebony brooch in the shape of a dragon that does not reflect light.
17-18
A hand mirror that sometimes reflects the translucent image of a young man instead of your own image.
19-20
A mummified hand holding a black candle that cannot be lit.
21-22
A cloak that leaves tendrils of mists in your wake.
23-24
A ring in the shape of a human skull. The skull opens to reveal a coil of coppery reddish hair.
25-26
A set of dice that always roll snake eyes.
27-28
A leather hand cuff engraved with the symbols associated with each school of magic. When someone wearing it casts a spell, the associated symbol glows.
29-30
A ticket for free admission to The Carnival
31-32
A blanket in which silently screaming faces appear under the light of the moon.
33-34
A belt that changes color and size to match any outfit.
35-36
A finger puppet of a piebald raven.
37-38
A scabbard that always keeps the blade within sharp and clean.
39-40
A plush of a skeleton wearing a crown with the label “Is No Fun, is No Blinsky!” on it.
41-42
An hour glass containing black sand that quickens the closer one is to their own death.
43-44
A green gemstone containing the spirit of an unknown entity.
45-46
Incomplete sheet music for the song ‘The King of the Dead’ written by Andres Duvall
47-48
A tarnished wedding band with the words “Life Eternal” carved on the inner band.
49-50
Long, thin, curved blade with a handle carved from a stag’s antler that inspires its owner to take up the craft of wood carving.
51-52
A silver pendant of a raven that you are loathed to part with.
53-54
An invitation to Neverwere Manor signed by Baron Eversong.
55-56
A porcelain doll with eyes that seem to follow you wherever you turn.
57-58
A bell carved from bone that makes a sound only spirits of unrest can hear.
59-60
A monocle that, when viewed through, shows every humanoid in the form of a hybrid lycanthrope.
61-62
A burial shroud that never frays.
63-64
A tea kettle that singles a funeral dirge when the water within boils.
65-66
A blood red candle that produces a black flame.
67-68
Eye glasses that, when worn, change one’s eye color to red.
69-70
A rose made of obsidian that cannot break.
71-72
A music box that, when open, plays an eerie melody as a miniature ballerina wearing a blood-stained tutu dances.
73-74
An amulet that absorbs blood.
75-76
The fingerbone of an unconsecrated skeleton.
77-78
Strange smelling perfume from Borca contained in a glass bottle in the shape of an apple.
79-80
A lantern containing floating dim, phosphorescent lights that constantly change from green to blue to purple.
81-82
A book entitled “An Herbalists Guide to the Shadow Rift” that contains alien-like drawings of bizarre plants and plant monsters.
83-84
A pair of cufflinks shaped like skulls that glow purple during a thunderstorm.
85-86
A magnifying glass that shows the user ghostly footprints on any surface they examine.
87-88
A miniature stone dragon egg engulfed in shadowy tendrils.
89-90
A quill pen that contains red ink that refills whenever someone writes with it.
91-92
A cloak clasp in the shape of a moon that changes to match the moon’s current phase.
93-94
A book entitled “Van Richten’s Guide to the Hunter” which contains a ‘how to’ guide for monsters dealing with hunters written in a comedic and often snarky voice.
95-96
A hood that, when worn, gives one a skeletal-like appearance.
97-98
A green leather pouch containing soil from an unmarked grave.
99-100
A pendant in the shape of a golden dragon skull that occasionally speaks into your mind in an unknown tongue.
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hideout
also on AO3
based on this post i made even tho i said i wasn't gonna write the actual fic (i lied)
part two: somewhere soft like this
part three: somewhere god can't see
There’s a new singer at the Hideout. Eddie falls hard, watching from where he’s sitting on the bar across the room, his beer almost slipping from his fingers. The singer’s voice is smooth and soft, and it makes the rest of the world go silent and Eddie’s head go cloudy.
The only problem is that Eddie recognises him from physics.
Eddie didn’t recognise him at first. He’d been taking a sip from his beer when he was announced, introduced as Anonymous, and then the boy appeared on stage, guitar in hand, tossing the chords out of the way so he didn’t trip on them. Eddie had lowered his bottle, his eyes narrowing, but he was too far away, and the lighting hadn’t adjusted on stage, and the boy’s face was lowered.
The boy stopped in front of the microphone. Slid his fingers down the neck of the guitar, making the strings squeak. Took a breath that Eddie could hear over the speakers placed around the bar, even though it’s noisy with chatter and laughter and the sound of glasses on wood tables.
And then he started playing. It was a soft, slow melody, much much different that what Eddie plays. Perfect for the beginning of the night. Eddie had tilted his head, listening intently, setting a foot on a stool by the bar, almost leaning over to listen harder. The room fell a little quieter, and then it fell even quieter when he started singing.
His voice was soft.
Smooth and low and almost soothing, and just as Eddie realised who he was listening to, the lights on stage flicked on.
And now Eddie is sitting on a bar, staring at fucking Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington, who’s playing guitar and singing into a microphone in front of a room full of people who have no idea who he is.
Eddie sets his bottle down next to himself, setting and elbow on his knee and and tilting his head as he listens.
He doesn’t know what Steve is singing about.
Something about “flower-faced demons and father figures.” Something about the monsters under his bed, and a baseball bat. Something about kids with decades in their eyes and blood on their sneakers. Something about hiding away in his closet when the booze comes out, about his back hitting glass bottles taken with nimble fingers and desperate hopes.
Eddie almost wants to cry. He doesn’t know why.
If they could see me now would they still care about those cigarettes
Eddie leans back onto the counter, finding his beer and taking a little sip as he watches. Steve’s hair is perfect, of course. He isn’t wearing one of those cute polo shirts like he always wears at school. (Eddie chastises himself for thinking they’re cute. There’s nothing cute about them. Even if they make Steve look like a preppy school boy that should be giving out church pamphlets or something, and even if that makes Eddie want to see him on his knees. He pushes the thought away with a little shake of his head.) He’s wearing a plain white t-shirt, and a pair of pants that reach to just above his chucks.
My head hurts and the sun is too loud, but I’m scared of the dark and the storm clouds
Steve can’t see him from the stage. Even if he could, he spends almost the whole time with his eyes half-shut, looking at the edge of the stage or at his feet. Like he’s shy. Which feels out of character for King Steve, though Eddie supposes he’s never been quite as obnoxious as Tommy H. Or as obnoxious as Eddie himself.
When he finishes singing, there’s scattered applause around the room, and Eddie sets his bottle down to clap, smiling when there’s a little hoot from behind him and Steve smiles bashfully.
“Thanks,” he says quietly into microphone, and Eddie wants to cry again. He doesn’t know why.
Corroded Coffin performs later that night. Eddie sits on the bar all night, waiting to see if Steve comes by to get a drink, but no dice. He doesn’t even know what he’d say if he saw him, if they made eye contact and if, by some small mercy from God, Steve recognised him.
Eddie tosses the chord of his guitar aside, blinking in the intense light that shines on him and his band mates, looking around the bar as some people crowd up around the edge of the stage.
“Good evening, Hideout,” their singer says loudly into the microphone as he tunes his guitar. “How we doin’?”
Eddie grins as cheers fill the bar.
“Eddie, say hi.”
His grin widens, and he steps up to his microphone.
“Do I have to do this every time?” he asks through his smile, and a few laughs scatter around the room.
“Yes, you’re the heartthrob.”
Eddie shakes his head, strumming a chord as the drummer hits two beats in a row. The lights flash.
“Hi,” he says softly into the microphone. A girl screams in the back of the room, and he throws his head back with a laugh.
He spots Steve when they’re on their second song, as he almost yelling into his microphone, and he falters slightly, but manages to catch himself and continue. He can’t tell if their eyes have met or not. They’re too far away and the bar is too dark, the light flashing too much for Eddie to really see him clearly. But it’s definitely Steve. Sitting in the same place Eddie had sat earlier.
He looks away when the song ends, rubbing his cheek and turn away to take a breath. No one can really tell in the dark.
“Our next song is called Class.”
Eddie almost laughs out loud, turning back to face the mic, spotting Steve by the bar again, sipping a beer. The song starts abruptly after a soft two, three, four, and Eddie plays with a grin throughout it all. It’s one of his favourite songs of theirs, and the thought of rich boy Steve Harrington listening to them, and a bunch of people around the stage, belt about how much they hate rich people, amuses Eddie to no end.
You don’t know how good you got it, cash and checks in your silk-lined pockets
Steve is watching, an elbow set on the bar, his chin in his hand. Eddie is out of breath, sweating and panting, and his fingertips hurt like they might be bleeding, but Steve is watching him.
Pay your bail off for the same shit I do, but of course it’s not the same
Eddie takes a deep breath before he speaks into the microphone as the music cuts off, switching to sharp, monotonous beat. His voice is low and scratchy and soft, right up against the mic, his eyes lowered to the edge of the stage.
“Coke is classy on a silver tray instead of the dashboard of a broken down car. Day drinking if it’s a champagne glass instead of a paper bag, celebration instead of self pity. You pay thousands for art in gold frames, but hate the art on the streets. You claim to work for everything you earn, even though your rough start was in the family business. Must be nice to not worry about it all. Must be nice to have a table to put food on. You stare in the streets because I’m not a cookie-cutter man from a cookie-cutter house. Look at those jeans, bet he smells like a trailer park. He has long hair, he must be a fag. He has art on his skin, he must be the antichrist. Don’t look, kids, don’t look! He’s fucking trailer trash!”
His voice escalates through it all, and he shouts the last words before they begin to play again, music crashing down in the bar like a tidal wave, loud and nearly discordant.
Eddie is smiling.
Steve’s eyes meet his a while later, while Eddie is sitting on the edge of the stage talking to a boy with spikey hair and heavy makeup. Eddie’s voice gets caught in his throat as he looks over at him.
He’s pulling the strap of his guitar of his head, and he seems to falter too, but he looks away sharply and goes outside.
“Eddie?”
“Yeah,” he says, looking back at the guy sharply. “Sorry, I’m here.”
He laughs lightly. His black lipstick is faded on his inner lips, probably left behind on rims of glasses.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, sorry,” he says again, shaking his head with a smile. “Tired, y’know.”
He laughs again, giving him a sympathetic smile, but Eddie interrupts before he can say anything.
“Sorry, I’m—“ He hips down from the stage. “I need, uhm. Some air.”
He leaves before he can say anything else, only feeling partially guilty about leaving the boy hanging, but Steve is already gone by the time he gets outside.
Steve definitely recognized him. It kind of makes Eddie happy. Kind of makes him excited, even though he absolutely hates that it does; Steve Harrington is just a preppy rich boy that doesn’t give even half a shit about anyone like Eddie.
There was that one time he’d told Tommy H to cut it out, man when he tripped someone in the cafeteria that one time. Not that it really meant anything.
Eddie spends the whole weekend worrying.
—————————
Their eyes meet in the hallway on Monday. He’s by his locker talking with Nancy Wheeler, and he looks at Eddie as Eddie passes by.
Eddie looks away.
He doesn’t see him again until physics, second to last period. He’s sitting at his desk staring at the worksheet blankly, watching letters and numbers and symbols swim around the paper, when something drops onto the page in front of him, and he blinks. It’s a folded piece of paper, and he cuts his eyes up without moving to find Steve walking to the teacher’s desk. He says something to the teacher and then turns to the door, glancing back at Eddie.
Eddie looks back at the paper, tentatively unfolding it to find Steve’s pretty girly handwriting.
Bathroom. 5 min
His face flushes with heat, and he covers it with a hand, pulling his hair across his face and folding the note again before he tucks it into his pocket.
He waits a few minutes, glancing at the clock, and then goes to the teacher.
“Can I go to the bathroom?”
The teacher looks up over his glasses at him. Eddie holds back a deep sigh at the judgement shining in his eyes.
“Did you finish the worksheet?”
“I… No?”
“You can go when you finish it.”
“But.” He pauses. “My bladder doesn’t care about your worksheet. I need to pee.”
“Edward—“
“I’ve been drinking a lot of water lately—“
“Alright, go,” he interrupts, frustratedly. “Whatever.”
“Thank you,” Eddie says curtly.
Steve is leaning against the wall in the bathroom when Eddie gets there. They look at each other silently as Eddie shuts the door behind himself, taking a deep breath and moving to stand across the room, leaning against the graffitied tile and twisting one of his rings.
He looks at Steve. Steve looks at him.
He’s wearing a white shirt. It’s tucked into his jeans with a little belt, and his hair looks perfect even though he’s running his hands through it.
“Hey,” Steve says finally.
Eddie almost flinches, expecting a jeer at his ripped pants and frizzy hair, but Steve isn’t looking at him the way the others do. He face almost looks soft.
“Hi,” Eddie says quietly. He pulls a ring off and twirls it between his fingers. Steve takes a breath to speak, but Eddie blurts, “I haven’t told anyone.”
Steve blinks, and then nods.
“Okay,” he says quietly. “Cool, I— I haven’t… either.”
Eddie nods, taking a breath that shakes against his will. He looks at the floor awkwardly, but Steve keeps looking at me. Eddie doesn’t often feel self-conscious, or insecure, or anything like that. He doesn’t care if people stare at him. But right now…
He wants to hide.
Steve is hot, he decides. He hasn’t allowed himself to think it until now, but he glances up at him, looking at the way he leans against the wall leisurely, the way strands of his hair fall in his face. He’s hot. It’s irrelevant. It doesn’t matter.
So what if he’s looking at Eddie like he doesn’t mind the fact that he’s a freak? Or if he plays guitar and has one of the prettiest voices Eddie’s ever heard? Or if his eyes sparkle and he has cute moles scattered all over his skin?
Eddie wants to slap himself.
“You’re really good,” Steve says abruptly, and Eddie looks up at him, slipping his ring back on.
“Yeah?” Steve nods. “You into metal, Harrington? Wouldn’t have guessed.”
Steve scoffs lightly.
“Not particularly.” He shifts on wall. “But I still liked it. You’re talented.”
“Jesus.” Eddie looks at him blankly. “You’re laying it on thick. I already said I’m not gonna tell anyone.”
“I’m not—“ Steve’s cheeks redden. “I’m not trying to butter you up, I just… It was cool.”
“I’m messing with you.”
“Oh.” Steve nods, looking away, suppressing a smile. “Of course you are.”
“You were really good too,” Eddie says after hesitating. “Like… weirdly good.”
“Weirdly good?” Steve says with a light laugh. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It was unexpected,” Eddie says with a shrug, moving his hands to play with the ends of his hair. “Didn’t recognise you at first. But you seemed… I don’t know, like, in your element.”
“I really like music,” Steve says softly.
“And your lyrics?” Eddie does a chef’s kiss. Steve laughs again, rubbing his cheek. “Genius.”
Steve rolls his eyes, his cheeks pink.
“I mean—“ Eddie ignores it. “‘Flower-faced demons?’ Where the fuck did that come from?”
“Uhm.” Steve’s smile falters and he looks away for a second. Something flashes in his eyes that Eddie can’t quite read. “I, uhm. I have recurring nightmares.”
“Oh.” Eddie stares back at him for a moment. “Well that fucking sucks.”
“Yeah,” Steve says with a laugh. “It does.”
“Whats your favourite song?” Eddie asks, twisting his hair. Steve’s eyes follows the movement.
“Uhm.” He takes a breath. “I guess. Boys Don’t Cry. The Cure.”
Eddie nods slowly, twisting his hair around his finger.
“Yeah? Do I pass?”
A little laugh bursts out of Eddie.
“I’m not testing you, man, you can like whatever you like. The Cure’s nice.”
“What do you like?”
“Uhm.” Eddie sighs, pushing his hands into his pocket and flicking his head to get his hair out of his face. “Metallica. Mötley Crüe. Ozzy, for sure.”
“Ozzy?”
Eddie looks up at him. He’s looking at him curiously.
“Ozzy Osbourne?” Eddie says. Steve shrugs. “He’s the, uh, lead singer of Black Sabbath. Bit a bat’s head off on stage a few years ago. Real metal.”
“He fucking what?”
Eddie cackles, looking at the way Steve’s face changes, his brows furrowing, his eyes wide. Eddie nods, and Steve laughs, looking at Eddie the way people do when they make fun of him, but he’s still smiling.
“That’s what you’re into?” Steve says.
“Well—“ Eddie laughs again. “Yeah. And the music.”
“The music,” Steve repeats with a teasing nod. “Right.”
Eddie makes a face at him.
It feels like they’re flirting. Eddie supposes he’s flirting with him, the way he does to the popular girls so they think he’s loveable freaky instead of insane stalker murder rampage freaky. And so they tell their boyfriends to leave him alone.
He can’t tell if Steve can tell that he flirting. Or if Steve is flirting back.
“You should show me sometime,” Steve says softly.
And oh.
Eddie stares. Looks back and forth between Steve’s eyes like he’s trying to see if he’s fucking with him or not. But Steve looks earnest. And nervous.
“Okay,” Eddie says. His voice is also soft. He might be mirroring Steve. “You should, uhm. Come over.”
Steve looks at the floor. And he smiles.
“Yeah, okay.”
Eddie stares at him, twisting his mouth.
“You’re not messing with me, right?” he asks. Steve’s eyes cut up to him. “You’re not gonna like… I don’t know.”
Steve stares back at him for a moment. And he shakes his head.
“No,” he breathes. Eddie can just hear him across the room. “I’m not fucking with you. I think you’re cool, Eddie.”
Eddie guffaws, and Steve looks offended.
“What, I can’t think you’re cool?”
“No!” Eddie exclaims, laughing. “No one thinks I’m cool, that’s— that’s my whole thing!”
“Okay, well…” Steve laughs lightly, tucking his hands behind his back against the wall. “I’m different. You’re cool.”
“Oh, you’re special?”
“Yeah.”
Eddie looks at him.
He is.
“Fine,” he cedes, and Steve grins. He has a beautiful smile. Eddie has to look away. “You wanna come over tonight?” he asks before his brain catches up. His cheeks flush with heat. “I mean— Unless you have, like, homework, or your parents need you home, I…”
“My parents aren’t even in the country,” Steve says. “And I can do my homework when I get home or something.” Eddie stares. “Yes. I’d like to come over. You can show me your music. We can light up a joint or something.”
“Oh, I see,” Eddie says, nodding. “You’re in it for the weed.”
“…I mean it definitely helps.”
“Wow.”
Eddie frantically cleans up as soon as he gets home. He doesn’t think he’s ever cleaned like this before, organising his and Wayne’s shoes at the front door, gathering dirty dishes and stacking them in the sink, wiping counters and sorting the cushions of the sofa. He’s almost out of breath after a while, standing at the door and scanning the trailer for anything out of place. It’s still cluttered and probably nothing at all like Steve’s home, but there isn’t really anything else he can do.
So he goes to his room and finds some weed, taking it to the living room and anxiously rolling a joint as he waits for Steve. Part of him thinks he won’t show up. That he really was just fucking with Eddie. That tomorrow he’ll avoid his eyes and pretend they’ve never spoken.
He’s in the middle of rolling the third joint when he hears a car pull up in front of the house, and he freezes, staring at the door, wide-eyed. He stays like that until there’s a knock on the door, and he scrambles off the sofa, dropping the unfinished joint to the coffee table.
Steve’s eye are wide when Eddie opens the door.
“Was worried I had the wrong place,” he says, exhaling, and Eddie laughs lightly, pushing the door open for him to come in.
“Welcome to casa a la Munson,” Eddie says as he comes in, shutting the door. Steve looks around the trailer, his hands in the pockets of his jacket, his face light and curious. His eyes trail across Wayne’s mug and hat collection, across the sofa and table and television, the kitchen and table. “It’s not a lot, but…”
“I like it,” Steve says simply. “It’s…”
“It’s?” Eddie questions, leaning against the small table by the doorway. Wayne hates when he does. Tables are for glasses, not asses and all that.
“I don’t know,” Steve says softly, almost bashful. He’s still looking around. “It looks like people actually live here. My house looks… like a photo set for a catalogue.”
Eddie laughs, crossing his arms, watching Steve wander around, looking at everything.
“Is it all pristine and white?”
“Unless I throw a kegger, yeah.”
Eddie laughs again. He hates himself for it, how much Steve gets him to laugh.
He watches Steve look closely at every one of Wayne’s trucker hats, watches him laugh at the stupid ones, and Eddie furrows his brows in judgement.
“These are your uncle’s?” Steve says, pointing up to them, and Eddie nods. “Your uncle’s funny.”
“I think your brain is broken.”
Steve hesitates, then shrugs.
“Only a little.”
Eddie laughs again. (Fuck.) He shakes his head.
“Music?“
“Yeah, lead the way.”
“Apologies for the state of my room,” Eddie says as Steve follows him down the hall after he grabs the joints from the table, even though he knows he cleaned it up in a rush before Steve arrived.
“I don’t judge.”
Eddie almost scoffs.
“Oh, woah,” Steve exclaims when he enter his room, and a laugh bursts out of Eddie. He turns to ask if he’s judging him, but Steve is looking around the room, his eyes shining brightly. He’s staring open-mouthed, gazing around the room like he’s entered a portal to another world. Maybe he has.
“Woah? Good woah?”
“I— Yeah.” Steve looks around again. He’s smiling. “Yeah, it’s cool. My mom would shit a brick if I tried something like this.”
Eddie looks around his own room. At the posters and tapestries and the white sheet he spray painted CORRODED COFFIN onto that’s pinned in the corner. It looks like a disaster, but Steve is looking around like he’s in the Louvre.
“What does your room look like?” Eddie asks, shutting the door and kicking his shoes off to sit on his bed.
“Uh. Well.” Steve sits on the edge of his bed, still gazing at the walls. He looks awfully, perfectly out of place. “My walls are plaid.”
“Your walls are fucking what??”
Steve laughs loudly. He has a great laugh.
“Plaid,” he repeats, still laughing. He kicks his shoes off too, turning to face Eddie and crossing his legs. “My mom picked the wallpaper when I was, like, thirteen.”
“Jesus.” Eddie shakes his head. “I’ve never felt pity for a rich person, but—“
Steve laughs again.
“You should be rebellious, Harrington. Get an ABBA poster or something.”
Steve shrugs.
“I might. You gonna show me some music, or what?”
“Uh-huh. But first, what you really came here for.”
Eddie tosses a joint to Steve, who catches it against his chest with a grin. Eddie has to lean over to rummage through the drawer of his bedside table, pushing past the half-empty bottle of lube and hoping his cheeks don’t flush, until he finds a lighter. He turns back to look at Steve, popping another joint between his lips, to find him leaning over his lap, an elbow on his knee and his chin on his palm, his joint already dangling form his lips.
Eddie has to take a breath, looking, before he flips the lighter in his hand and leans in. Steve mirrors him, leaning in until the joints are almost touching, and he flicks the lighter a few times before it lights. They both pause for a moment before Eddie leans away, his cheeks flushed red as he inhales the smoke deeply.
Steve sits on the bed and continues to look around while Eddie looks through his records.
He picks a Metallica record, carefully lowering the volume before the music starts.
“Are you gonna hate me if I don’t like it?” Steve asks as Eddie crawls back onto the bed. He looks hot when he smokes. Which Eddie should have seen coming, really, but the way he sucks air between his teeth before he exhales the smoke slowly is doing things to Eddie.
“Nah,” Eddie says easily. “‘S not for everyone.”
“But it’s for you.” Eddie nods, taking a drag off his joint, watching Steve’s chest rise under his t-shirt. “Why?”
Eddie pauses, exhaling, listening to the heavy music for a moment.
“I dunno,” he says lightly. He’s never thought about it before. The music’s always just made sense to him. Always fitted. “Makes my brain go quiet, I guess.”
“Could you sleep with it on?”
“Yeah, probably.”
Steve snickers, taking another drag.
“Can you play this one on guitar?” he asks after a moment. Eddie nods.
“We’ve covered this at the Hideaway before,” he says. He sticks the joint in his mouth, lifting his hands and playing an air guitar, humming along as Steve watches his hands.
“I like how you dance,” Steve says softly, and Eddie grins around the joint.
“Headbanging?” Eddie says, and Steve nods with a grin. Eddie does it harder, listening to the way Steve laughs lightly.
“You have great hair for headbanging,” Eddie comments.
“You think?”
“Mmhmm.”
He gets to see Steve headbang. Steve Harrington. With his lovely hair flying around his head without a care, laughing as Eddie cheers loudly, a joint between his fingers and Eddie’s favourite blanket under him.
“Steve Harrington, I’ll make a metalhead of you yet.”
Steve just laughs again.
—————————
He decides to be brave on Wednesday. He slips a note into Steve’s locker as he’s passing it in the hall. Just a short note, reading having lunch in my van if you want to join signed with a small E.
Even though he knows that it’s unlikely anyone saw him, and even though it’s fine if Steve doesn’t join him, and it’s fine if he does, Eddie feels sick and spends the next ten minutes standing with his face to the wall in a bathroom stall with his eyes closed, trying to take deep breaths.
And then a few hours later he’s sitting in the back of his van, the doors open so he can sit in the sun, and then Steve Harrington is joining him, silently climbing up so sit next to him and pulling a sandwich out of his bag.
“You’ve got shit handwriting,” he says after a minute, and Eddie almost chokes on his water, snorting and covering his face as Steve laughs.
“Sorry my handwriting isn’t pretty like yours,” he says defensively, coughing lightly.
“Oh, my handwriting is pretty?”
“A lot about you’s pretty,” Eddie says before he can actually think, and Steve looks at him. His face flushes and he avoids Steve’s eyes.
“I think you’re pretty too,” Steve says after a moment.
“Shut the fuck up.”
Steve laughs again.
“Do you wanna come over this week?” Steve asks as Eddie is kicking his feet. “Like on Friday?”
Eddie looks at him.
“Your parents won’t mind?”
“My parents probably won’t ever find out.”
Eddie blinks.
“Oh, you said they’re travelling, right?”
“Yeah.” He takes a bite from his sandwich.
“Where are they?” Eddie asks, shifting to lean again the wall, facing Steve.
“Somewhere in Canada.” Steve brings a leg up in front of himself, swinging his other leg. “Dad has a conference or something, and after the last time he went to Canada, Mom didn’t trust him to go alone.”
Eddie’s eyes widen, and Steve snickers, nodding.
“Although,” he continues, “I’m pretty sure she’s hooking up with his boss. But also I don’t really care.”
“Jesus. How long are they gonna be gone?”
“Two more weeks.”
“You miss them?”
Steve scoffs, giving Eddie a look like the question is absurd.
“No,” he says when Eddie just looks at him. “I don’t miss them.”
“Do they suck?”
Steve laughs softly, moving to sit across from Eddie.
“Yeah, kinda.” He hesitates, looking at the ground between them. “I don’t think they like me very much,” he says thoughtfully. “But I don’t really like them either, so. Oh well.”
“Why wouldn’t they like you?”
Steve hesitates again, nibbling his sandwich. He really is cute.
“I don’t think they actually meant to have me,” he says after a moment. “They’d stick me with random nannies and babysitters until they could leave me home alone, and then… Well, they saved money, I guess.” He shrugs. “They don’t really talk to me anymore. And when they do, it’s…” He trails off, and it looks like he’s zoning out, breathing shallowly. “My dad yells a lot,” he says softly.
“Sounds like a dick.”
Steve just nods.
“Yeah.” He hesitates. “I’m actually… I don’t know, like. Scared I’m gonna end up like him.” He takes a breath, blinking, and he looks up at Eddie.
“You’re not,” Eddie tells him. Steve just looks.
“It’s how everyone knows me,” he says. “Even though I hate it. Steve fucking Harrington.”
Eddie’s chest clenches.
“And I’m…” Steve looks away again. “I don’t know. If I’m not Steve Harrington, who the fuck am I?”
It’s not really a question. Eddie answers anyway.
“Your own Steve Harrington,” he says. “Not your dad’s. Or fucking Tommy H’s, or anyone else’s. Just… You’re Steve.”
Steve is almost smiling.
Eddie was to hug him. His eyes are shining almost vulnerably, and he looks tiny, sitting up and against the wall of Eddie’s shitty van.
“What about your parents?” Steve asks through another bite of his sandwich, changing the topic. Eddie lets him.
“Well.” Eddie takes a breath. “Mom was too coked up to be a mom. And Dad wanted me to his little mini-me. And when I refused he treated me like a punching bag instead of a child.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah.”
“How’d you end up Wayne?”
Eddie looks up at him. Something shifts in his chest. He ignores it.
“When Mom OD’d in the living room, Dad wanted it to be my fault, so I left,” he says, moving down the wall, relaxing. He twists a ring. “I went to my aunt’s house because she was close, my— my mom’s sister— but she, uh, like… genuinely thought I was the antichrist, so—“
“She what?”
Eddie laughs, nodding.
“Genuinely, entirely,” he says, watching Steve’s brows furrow. “She’s one of those people that’s, like, preparing for the rapture or something.”
“Jesus.”
“Exactly.”
Steve laughs. He leans his head back against the wall, and Eddie’s eyes get caught on the line of his neck, on his Adam’s apple. Eddie wants to press his hand to it. He ignores the thought.
“She told me wanted to save me and stuff but that I was ‘hopeless.’ So I called Wayne and he picked me up and we moved like a week later so Dad couldn’t find me.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” Steve says softly, and Eddie looks up at him. His cheeks are flushed, and he looks away after a moment, twisting the sleeve of his jacket. “Safe.”
“Me too,” Eddie breathes.
They’re quiet for a moment.
“So was that a yes on Friday?” Steve asks. “I don’t think you actually answered.”
“Oh,” Eddie realises. “Yeah, definitely.”
“Okay, cool.”
“What’ll we do?”
“Uh,” Steve sighs. “I dunno. Watch a movie or something.”
“You’re inviting me over for no reason?” Eddie says incredulously. Steve laughs.
“Why do I need an excuse to hang out with you?” he asks, still laughing, and it makes butterflies erupt in Eddie’s stomach.
“No weed or anything?”
Steve tosses a hand, making a face.
“I don’t need to be high to enjoy your company.”
The butterflies swarm. Eddie almost feels sick.
“Steve Harrington.”
“Mhmm?”
“You slick fucker.”
Steve laughs. It’s almost a giggle. Eddie dies.
Steve ends up laying down as they continue talking, looking at the ceiling of the van. It’s badly spray painted with song lyrics that are barely legible, but Steve looks up at it like he’s stargazing.
He looks like he might fall asleep. Eddie kind of hopes he does. But he sits up after a little while, holding a die in his hands, looking at it like he’s almost marvelling.
“Oh, I was wondering where that was,” Eddie says when he sees the deep purple colour. He lost it ages ago.
“Was under the blanket.” Steve is almost marvelling at it, rolling it in his hands. “This is a D20 right?”
Eddie blinks. Looks at the die and then at Steve again.
“You know your dice?”
Steve glances at him. His cheeks flush pink and he sighs.
“Yeah, the kids I babysit have me well-trained.”
Eddie blinks again.
“The… The kids you babysit?”
“I mean, I guess it’s not really babysitting as much as it is me driving them places and watching while they play D&D, but…” He looks up and laughs at Eddie’s expression. “It’s not officially babysitting, I just— I just get along with them, for the most part. Their parents trust me.”
Eddie stares.
“How old are these kids?”
“Middle school,” Steve says. “Like thirteen or fourteen or something.”
“You… hang out with a bunch of middle schoolers,” Eddie says, raising his eyebrows. “While they play D&D. You know what D&D is.”
Steve laughs again, nodding. He tosses the die and Steve catches it against his chest.
“Why do you hang out with them?” Eddie asks, tossing and catching the die. “If their parents aren’t paying you?”
“Someone needs to make sure they don’t get themselves killed,” Steve says, and he suddenly seems too serious, too worried and forlorn. Eddie watches as he looks at the ground before he looks up again. “They’re good kids,” he says, his voice softer. “Fucking smart. Smarter than I’ll ever be. They don’t deserve half the shit they get.”
“Shit like what?”
Steve sighs.
“Kids are assholes. Bullies, you know.”
“Yeah.”
“And…”
“And?”
Steve takes a breath, his mouth twisting as he thinks. He’s fiddling with the lace of his shoe.
“You know that kid that went missing?” Steve says, looking up at him. “Everyone thought he died?”
Eddie remembers it. Remembers how Wayne worried and worried like it was his own kid. Remembers seeing the kid’s face on a pinboard at the school, remembers hearing what people would say about the kid’s brother.
Bet the freak killed him.
“Yeah, I— I know of him.”
Steve nods, looking back at the lace that he’s twisting around his finger.
“Yeah, that fucked him up,” he says. “The kids at his school called him Zombie Boy, it’s… Jesus.”
“He’s one of your kids?”
Steve smiles at his shoe.
“Yeah.”
“He plays D&D?”
“Mhmm.” Steve nods and looks up at him again, still smiling. “Will the Wise,” he says fondly. There’s a shine in his eye. “He has a wizard robe and hat and everything. I think you’d love him.”
Eddie stares at him, open-mouthed.
“…Who are you?”
Steve laughs loudly. He has a great laugh. Real.
He moves forward, holding his hand out.
Eddie slides his hand into Steve’s, and Steve’s fingers tighten around it. He shakes.
“I’m Steve.”
“Steve,” Eddie says softly. His hand is warm against Eddie’s, and Eddie wants to pull him in and kiss him. “It is… really nice to meet you.”
Steve’s smile could outshine the sun.
—————————
Steve was right about his house looking like a catalogue. It almost makes Eddie sad, the lack of personality and anything that could make it look like a home. There aren’t any photographs anywhere except one in the living room of Steve’s parents at their wedding. No magnets on the fridge, no unique dishes, no worn and walked over runs. It would look abandoned if it weren’t for the few used dishes in the sink and the flowers on the kitchen table.
Steve’s room is heartbreaking.
The bedroom of a thirteen year old boy with physics and world history textbooks on the desk. It’s clean, and Eddie wonders if Steve cleaned it before going to school today.
The walls are absolutely horrendous. Eddie tries not to laugh, Steve gives him a look that makes his snort and choke.
“You have any tape?” he asks Steve after looking around. (There isn’t much to look at; nothing on the walls except a framed picture of some car. Books stacked on and papers spread across his desk. A pair of slippers by the door. A photo of him and Nancy Wheeler on the wall above the desk that Eddie wants to stare and stare and stare at, but he looks away.)
“Uh, yeah.”
Steve rummages in a drawer before he finds a roll of masking tape, and he tosses it to Eddie before he sits on his bed and watches Eddie cross the room to a wall, reach into his backpack, and pull out a poster that he took off his own wall last night. It’s a worn AC/DC poster, the corners of it curling in as he holds it to the awful plaid wall and rips tape with his teeth. Steve is laughing, and Eddie smiles until the poster is stuck to the wall. It’s not straight, but Eddie doesn’t really care. Steve doesn’t either.
“Highway to Hell?” Steve questions when Eddie joins him on the bed, spinning the tape around his finger.
“Mhmm.”
“Yeah, my parents are gonna love that.”
He’s grinning.
Steve orders pizza for them.
They watch three movies before he goes to the kitchen and comes back with two beers.
And then he sits next to Eddie again, but this time he’s a cushion closer. Eddie almost can’t breathe with him so close, and his hands shake as he cracks the can open. He has his legs pulled up onto the sofa, comfortably curled up in the bland living room of the Harrington mansion.
Eddie drifts off after a while.
He falls asleep.
He wakes up after a while to find the room dark, tv screen full of static and Steve asleep next to him. His arms are crossed over his chest, his head fallen forward. Eddie allows himself to gaze for a moment.
He’s beautiful. He probably has no idea how gorgeous he really is, Eddie thinks.
He looks around after a moment, at the television and the empty cans between them. He moves them carefully, setting them on the ground and sighing.
He’s adjusting the cushion behind him when he hears Steve exhale sharply, and Eddie looks at him. He hasn’t moved, but his eyebrows are furrowed slightly.
Eddie pauses, looking at him, and after a moment, Steve exhales sharply again, gasping, and then it looks like he’s hyperventilating, his chest rising and falling quickly, his eyebrows furrowing and relaxing and furrowing like he’s going to cry.
I have recurring nightmares.
“Steve?” Eddie whispers. He wants to reach out and touch him. But he doesn’t know what to do. Steve doesn’t respond, still asleep.
His eyes squeeze. He exhales again.
And a moment later he lets out a whimper so small Eddie almost doesn’t hear it.
“Steve?” he says again, louder. “Hey. Stevie.”
Steve awakes with a start after a minute, and it startles Eddie. Steve’s whole body moves sharply, his eyes flying open, a kind of fear in them that Eddie’s never seen before.
“Steve,” he says gently, but Steve is already getting up, using a trembling hand to shut off the television. The room falls slightly darker, and Steve turns in the center of the living room, looking around like he’s gaging the safest part. “Steve?”
Steve startles again, his eyes finding Eddie on the sofa.
“Eddie?” he asks breathlessly, confused.
“We fell asleep,” Eddie explains softly. “I think you had a nightmare.”
“A nightm—“ Steve cuts off with an exhale, and he averts his eyes, looking to the floor and then around the room again. “Fuck.”
“You’re okay,” Eddie says softly. Steve swallows, looking at the ceiling. His eyes are shining. Eddie’s chest aches.
“Jesus, I’m so sorry,” Steve says breathlessly. “I—“ He takes another breath, and Eddie worries that he might start hyperventilating.
“Steve, it’s fine,” he says gently, shifting on the sofa so he’s sitting in the edge of it. “I know, it’s okay.”
Steve covers his face with his hands.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, his voice muffled by his hands.
“Don’t apologise,” Eddie says, watching Steve take stuttering breaths. “I— I know you have nightmares, I’m not… I’m not judging you or anything, Steve, it’s okay.”
Steve doesn’t say anything. Eddie can tell that he’s crying, and his whole body hurts as he watches, unsure and lost on what to do.
He gets up slowly like he doesn’t want to scare him, and he carefully, tentatively approaches him.
“Can I touch you?” he whispers. Steve nods, wiping his eyes but still hiding his face, and Eddie sets a hand on his back, gently sliding it up to the back of his neck. Steve exhales shakily. “Come here, Stevie.”
Steve falls against him as he wraps his arms around him, and they sway as he cries.
“You’re okay, Stevie,” Eddie whispers. “I got you.”
Steve apologises again. Eddie tells him not to.
He pulls Steve to the sofa, pushing a hand up into Steve’s hair and combing through it.
“Take a deep breath,” he says softly, reaching to take Steve’s hand and squeezing it. Steve is shaking, but he tries to take a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut. “You got it.”
Steve falls against him as his breathing levels back out, and Eddie hugs him tightly, pressing his face against the top of his head. Steve shifts, and their legs twine together until they’re tangled together on the sofa, wrapped around each other.
Eddie wonders if Steve is going to fall asleep again. But he can tell that he’s not.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” Eddie whispers softly. “Your nightmare?”
Steve is quiet for a moment, his face pressed into Eddie’s shoulder.
“I can’t,” he says quietly.
Eddie combs through his hair again.
“Okay.”
They both sigh, and relax against each other, and Eddie wonders if he’s in some kind of parallel universe.
A parallel universe where he gets to cuddle with Steve Harrington.
Steve smells nice. Like fancy, expensive shampoo and something masculine that belongs just to Steve.
“Is this okay?” Steve asks in a small voice. Eddie’s arms tighten.
“Yeah, it’s okay.”
He wakes up in the morning with Steve laying on his chest, Eddie’s hand in his hair. Steve is still asleep, breathing steadily, curled up next to Eddie on the sofa. Eddie looks down at him, and he wants to kiss him.
He lets his head fall back against the sofa, smiling at the ceiling.
Steve sleeps. Eddie wonders how often he sleeps this soundly, this peacefully. He can feels Steve’s chest and see his shoulders rise and fall with every breath. (He ignores the part of his brain that wants to swallow his breath.)
“That feels nice,” Steve grumbles after a long while as Eddie is slowly, gently playing with his hair. Eddie almost startles, looking down at him, but he can’t see his face.
“Yeah?”
“Mm.”
Eddie continues. He runs us fingertips across his scalp, dragging through his hair, scratching and pulling through little snags. Steve sighs. He falls asleep again. Eddie can tell when he does, by the way his breathing becomes heavier, the way he presses his face into Eddie’s chest. Eddie doesn’t stop playing with his hair even though Steve is asleep.
Something changes after that. Everything easy between them. Steve reaches across the table to push Eddie’s hair out of his face as they eat the eggs he made for breakfast. Eddie fixes the tag of Steve’s shirt as he’s passing him in the hallway on Monday. They eat lunch in Eddie’s van, listening to metal and chatting with their legs tangled between them. Steve puts his leg over Eddie’s the next time they’re at Eddie’s trailer watching a movie, and he smiles softly when Eddie sets his hand on his leg. A while later Eddie is laying on Steve’s floor, slowly working through his homework (his brain keeps going back to next week’s D&D campaign) while Steve is working at his desk. After a few minutes Steve gets up and sits on the floor next to him, but before he can ask what’s up, Steve is laying down, resting his head on Eddie’s lower back and sighing. (Eddie somehow finishes all his homework with the steady weight of Steve’s head on his back, careful not to move as Steve hums along to the music that’s playing from his radio.)
Steve goes to the next gig at the Hideout, and he allows Eddie to trace dark eyeliner around his eyes and smudge it with his fingertip. He just giggles when Eddie stares at him afterward.
“Christ.”
“No, it’s just Steve.”
“Fuck off.”
Eddie throws his battle vest into Steve’s face so he can finally look away. Steve puts it on over his black t-shirt, and Eddie’s mouth goes dry.
He looks good.
He looks… really fucking good.
His hair is tousled from the vest hitting his face, and his eyes are shining and framed by messy smudged eyeliner, and he’s grinning lazily like he knows all about the crisis Eddie is currently having.
“Yeah, that’s good.”
When Eddie has to say hi on stage again, this time it’s Steve that gives a little scream, and it elicits a laugh from the bar, but it makes the butterflies in his stomach swarm again.
Steve sits close enough that Eddie can see him while he’s on stage, sipping a beer and smiling and smiling and smiling and smiling and smiling.
Eddie gets pulled aside after Corroded Coffin is done by a girl, but another band is already playing, and he can barely hear her. He plays along for a moment before she leaves with a bright smile, and then he slides his guitar to hang on his back as he goes to find Steve.
Who is still at the same table, holding a glass bottle in his hand, but now there’s a man talking to him.
And man that Eddie doesn’t recognise, but immediately doesn’t like.
He’s smiling too fondly at Steve, not that Eddie can really blame him, talking and smiling like he’s fucking flirting. Eddie freezes, watching, a fire growing in his chest even thought it’s stupid. Steve isn’t his. It’s not like he belongs to him.
And it’s not even like the man is being a creep. He’s not touching Steve, or leaning into his space, or biting his lip or touching the bottle Steve’s holding the way Eddie’s seen some perverts do. He’s just talking. Smiling at Steve and nodding and laughing and being friendly.
But Eddie still finds himself striding across the bar and stepping up next to Steve, looking at the man with a too-bright smile and too-bright, “Hi!”
The man’s face lights up with recognition. He tells Eddie he was amazing, man, and Eddie manages to get out a thank you before Steve’s arms are flying around his neck. Eddie startles and hugs him back with a laugh.
“You okay, Stevie?”
“You did so good.”
“…Are you drunk?”
“Only a little.”
The man leaves them alone after exchanging a look with Eddie. They’re both laughing.
Steve pulls away but leaves his arms over Eddie’ shoulders. His eyeliner is even more smudged than it was when Eddie did it for him, and his cheeks are flushed, and the bright lights of the bar are flashing and shining in his eyes.
Eddie wants to kiss him more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life.
The feeling doesn’t go away.
Eddie wonders if it’ll ever go away.
He doubts it.
Because every time their eyes meet in the hall at school, and every time Eddie traces a finger across the back of Steve’s neck in physics and Steve looks up at him with a sly smile, and every time Steve nods his head along with Eddie’s music while they sit in his van, and the first time Steve slides his hand into Eddie’s, Eddie wants and wants and wants and wants.
Steve is a dream.
A daydream.
Eddie barely believes he actually exists.
He listens to Eddie rant about Lord of the Rings and D&D and all the bands he loves, and he listens to Eddie’s music, and even seems to like it a little bit. He lays on Eddie’s bed with his head hanging off the edge upside down and looking around with a smile even as he and Eddie talk. He keeps all the stupid notes Eddie leaves in his locker, and when Eddie finds out, he almost cries. He asks clarifying questions about Lord of the Rings, and he doesn’t get it all but it still lights Eddie on fire. He talks about his kids like they’re the stars even though he refers to them as the little shits. (Except some girl named Elle, who Eddie’s never heard of but apparently is a sweetheart.)
He doesn’t laugh when Eddie pulls out a sewing kit and stitches an old t-shirt that ripped. He just looks at him and smiles and keeps talking.
—————————
It’s a Saturday.
Eddie’s got his van parked in a clearing in the woods, and it’s so bright and sunny that he wonders if he should have brought sun lotion.
The back doors are open and Steve is sitting across from him, Eddie’s acoustic guitar in his lap. He’s plucking at the strings, playing some melody that Eddie doesn’t recognise. He wonders if Steve wrote it himself. He doesn’t ask.
He’s sewing a patch onto an old jacket. He messed it up and is pulling at the thread, careful not to snap it, the sewing needle held between his teeth, his brows furrowed.
The guitar falls quiet as he’s working, and he looks up to find Steve watching him, holding the guitar in his lap, frozen like someone’s taking a picture of him. Eddie gives him a grin, the needle sticking out of his mouth, and Steve’s lips curl into a little smile before he sets the guitar aside carefully. He moves to reach between the front seats and switches on the tape that Eddie had playing on the way over, turning it down so it’s playing softly in the background.
And then he’s crawling across the van and laying next to Eddie’s legs, tossing an arm across his lap, carefully ensuring he doesn’t hit the jacket and mess Eddie up, and he’s pressing his face into Eddie’s leg.
“You gonna take a nap?”
Steve nods, sighing.
Eddie smiles and continues pulling at the thread.
“You know you’re my best friend?” Steve mumbles after a while. It makes Eddie freeze. It makes him look down at the side of Steve’s face, and it looks like he’s sleeping, but Eddie knows what he sounds like when he’s sleeping. It makes the butterflies swarm and his heart pound and it makes him want to cry.
“You’re my best friend too.”
He really is.
He comes to Eddie’s gigs and cheers for him and calls him Eds. He wears Eddie’s battle vest every time. He has posters from Eddie’s room on his walls even though his parents did “shit a brick” when they come home and see them. (He tells Eddie this with a grin, and Eddie says he might be a bad influence for Steve. Steve’s smile widens and he just tells him it’s fun. Eddie wants to die.) He explains basketball to Eddie, which really, in any other context, Eddie wouldn’t give even half shit about, but Eddie fucking listens like his life depends on it. He remembers Eddie’s favourite gum flavour and that he hates bread crust and that he hates with the seams of his sleeves rest on the sides of his wrists.
Steve sleeps peacefully with his head on Eddie’s lap. Even with one of Eddie’s metal mixes on.
—————————
They’re high.
Steve looks so pretty when he’s high. (He always looks pretty.) His eyes are glazed over and half shut, and his cheeks are flushed red, and he looks like he might keel over and fall asleep at any second. Eddie knows he must not look much different. His hair is probably frizzier. Steve’s is still perfect.
“What are you looking at?”
Eddie blinks. He’s staring at Steve, and Steve is staring back, smiling, like he knows. Eddie shrugs lightly, watching Steve take another rip from the bong in his hands. Watching him blow smoke into the air between them, wishing he’d blow it straight into Eddie’s lungs.
“Think you’re pretty.”
Steve smiles as he finishes his heavy exhale.
He stares back at Eddie again.
Eddie doesn’t know how long it lasts, this quiet, gentle tension, until it snaps when Steve says, “I wanna fucking kiss you.”
Eddie blinks.
He wonders how high he is.
“…You do?”
“Jesus. Yeah.” Steve sighs heavily. “Yeah, I do.”
“Please.” Eddie’s voice is too soft. Too vulnerable. Too. “Please do, I— Please, Stevie.”
Steve exhales, and his eyes look even glassier than they did a minute ago. He leans over, setting the bong down and tossing the lighter to the ground, before he moves and crashes his mouth against Eddie’s.
Eddie’s eyes shut and his hands fly up to hold Steve’s face between them, and after a moment the kiss softens, and he might be ascending.
Eddie’s kissed people before. He’s fucked people before. He likes making out with people, and he likes sex. Really likes sex. But this.
This is better than anything. He’d trade every single sexual experience he’s ever had for this moment.
Steve’s head is tilted, and he sighs as he catches Eddie’s lower lip between his and sucks gently. Eddie furrows his brows, pushing a hand into Steve’s hair and lowers the other to his waist, pulling at him until he moves without pulling his lips away, lowering himself to Eddie’s lap.
Eddie groans. Steve wraps his arms around Eddie’s neck and lets his lips part for Eddie’s tongue, and Eddie’s hand tightens in his hair.
“Fuck,” Steve gasps when they part. His lips are shining. “Wanted to do that for so long.”
“How long?” Eddie asks breathlessly, combing through his hair, stroking his waist. He’s heavy on his lap, firm and solid and real even though Eddie still feels like he’s floating.
“Since you got up on that stage and fucking said hi like that.”
He kisses Eddie before Eddie can say anything, and Eddie kisses him back, hard, tugging his hair and listening to him whine.
“Seriously?”
“So fucking hot, Eddie, shit.”
“Jesus, Steve.”
“Eddie, please.”
He kisses him again.
They’re both uncoordinated and smiling, and Steve is running his fingertips across the back of Eddie’s neck under his hair, and Eddie is shivering like he’s freezing.
“I like you so much,” Eddie says softly when they part, letting his head fall to Steve’s, his forehead pressing against Steve’s cheek. “You’re everything, Stevie.”
Steve sighs. He pushes his head into Eddie’s hand.
After a moment he pulls away and their eyes meet. They stare.
They gaze.
Steve takes Eddie’s hands in his and looks down at them. Gazes at them. Strokes them with his fingers and traces the lines of his palms and veins below his knuckles.
“I really like your hands.”
“Yeah?”
Steve nods. He drops one of his hands and Eddie slides it over his hip, watching Steve analyse his hand like he’s studying it, like he’s trying to memorise it.
“Can I?” he breathes. Eddie doesn’t know what he’s asking. He doesn’t care.
“You can do anything, sweetheart.”
Steve’s eyes flutter shut.
He seems to hesitate, sliding his tongue over his lips and taking a breath like he’s nervous before he lifts Eddie’s hand up to his mouth.
He drags his tongue up Eddie’s palm to the tips of his fingers, and Eddie’s breath cuts off.
Steve hums like he’s drinking a milkshake, and Eddie smiles at him even though he isn’t looking. Steve turns Eddie’s hand and licks it again, over the side of his hand, over his knuckles, over his fingers. He sucks the tips of Eddie’s fingers into his mouth, furrowing his brows like he might cry.
“‘S okay, baby,” Eddie says softly. He presses his fingers into the heat of his mouth, hearing a soft whimper escape Steve’s throat. He leans in and kisses the side of Steve’s neck, sighing as Steve flicks his tongue over his fingers. Steve hums softly, tilting his head to the side.
When he pulls away there’s a bruise blooming on Steve’s skin. It’s beautiful. Eddie didn’t know he was capable of creating anything beautiful.
Steve holds Eddie’s hand between both of his, and he pulls it away. His spit is dripping between Eddie’s fingers. Eddie shivers.
“Fuck.”
Steve moans softly, licking his fingers again before he looks into Eddie’s eyes.
He looks almost shy. Embarrassed. Which doesn’t fly with Eddie, so he leans in and kisses him like his life depends on it, biting Steve’s lip and pressing his tongue into his mouth. He drags his wet fingers over Steve’s cheek, down his neck, and Steve whines.
“Alright?” Eddie asks softly. Steve nods desperately, pulling him back in.
They’re barely even kissing. Steve’s mouth is warm and wet and he tastes so good Eddie can’t stop. He’s holding Steve’s neck lightly, his other hand gripping Steve’s hip, and he pulls when Steve rolls his hips against Eddie’s subtly.
“‘S okay,” he says when Steve pulls away, wide-eyed. “It’s alright, Stevie, you can…”
Steve exhales sharply. He slowly rolls his hips, and Eddie bites his lip, trying not to groan.
“Don’t do that,” Steve says softly, breathlessly. He touches Eddie’s mouth, pulling his lip free from his teeth and leaning down to suck on it. “Wanna hear you.”
“Fuck.”
Eddie closes his eyes.
Steve whines as they move together, kissing and clutching at each other desperately. He grabs at Eddie’s hand that’s on his hip and lifts it to his face, turning his face into it and moaning, his eyes squeezed shut.
“Eddie,” he chokes. “Eddie, baby, please.”
“What?” Eddie asks. His voice is rough. “What do you need, sweetheart?”
“Shit. Fuck, Eddie, touch me.”
Eddie thinks he might be dead. Steve looks like he’s glowing. Fucking ethereal. A blessing sitting on Eddie’s lap. Maybe it’s because Eddie’s high. Maybe it’s because he’s in love.
Oh.
Eddie exhales shakily, his thumb brushing over Steve’s cheek.
“Hey,” he says softly. Steve looks at him, his eyes shining desperately. “You change your mind, or it’s too much, or anything like that— you— you wanna stop, and you tell me, okay?”
Steve smiles at him. Kisses him.
“Okay.”
“Open your jeans for me, baby.”
Steve grins and releases Eddie’s hand to unbutton and unzip his jeans. Eddie watches. Steve leans in and kisses him deeply as he shifts on his lap, lifting up onto his knees to tug his jeans and boxers down his hips.
When he pulls away, Eddie lifts a hand to his own mouth, spitting into his palm, and then he holds it in front of Steve.
“Spit.”
Steve looks down at his hand. Stares at his palm. Leans down and licks Eddie’s spit off before he closes his mouth and closes his eyes like he’s savouring it. Eddie’s eyes widen. Steve spits into his palm again, smiling at Eddie’s expression.
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
Steve giggles.
“Fucking filthy,” Eddie says fondly, reaching down to touch him, and Steve’s head falls back as he lets out a disgustingly beautiful moan.
Steve is holding the hem of his shirt out of the way. When Eddie looks down he can see the softness of his belly, and he wants to press kisses to it, go suck bruises into it. (He will eventually, he decides, if Steve is cool with it. He has a feeling he will be.) He wants to do that everywhere, leave bruises and bites and love across Steve’s whole body. Eddie wants to make him feel beautiful. He wants to worship him.
Steve finds Eddie’s free hand and holds it tightly as he squeezes his eyes shut. Eddie likes how he sounds. Every breath comes with a soft noise from the back of his throat, weak and desperate and so pretty that Eddie’s eyes burn.
“You’re fucking beautiful, Stevie,” he breathes. Steve’s hand tightens on his.
He watches Steve’s face. Watches him bite his lip and furrow his brows and squeeze his eyes shut. He listens to his breaths, to the slick sounds of Eddie’s hand moving.
“Eddie—“
“It’s okay,” Eddie says. He’s breathless. Steve isn’t even touching him. “It’s okay, Stevie, I got you.”
Steve looks down at him. There are tears in his eyes, and Eddie knows that he’s remembering that first night he had a nightmare while Eddie was there. (He’s had plenty of nightmares since. Eddie’s been there for lots of them. He’s heard Steve whimper names and words that make no sense, heard him cry and scream, and he’s held him after every single one. Wiped his tears. Kissed the top of his head because he couldn’t kiss his lips yet.)
Steve kisses him. His lips don’t land square on Eddie’s, and it’s messy and wet and they both have tears falling down their cheeks, but Eddie doesn’t care. It’s beautiful.
“Fuck,” Steve says sharply, pulling away enough that his forehead rests on Eddie’s. He’s breathing hard. Eddie is too. “Eddie, I’m—“
“‘S okay,” Eddie whispers. “Come for me, baby.”
Steve drops his shirt to wrap his arms around Eddie’s neck tightly. He’s trembling as he comes, letting out a long groan into Eddie’s neck, and Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, pressing his other hand into Steve’s hair and holding him as tears slide down his face.
“Did so good for me, Stevie,” he breathes as Steve comes down. “My sweet boy.”
Steve whines, tightening his arms. Eddie hugs him back, pressing a hand to the small of his back as he combs through his hair.
“Eddie,” Steve says after a few minutes.
“Yeah, sweetheart.”
“Need you to take your shirt off.”
Eddie giggles.
—————————
They fall asleep naked, under Eddie’s blankets and quilts, facing each other. Steve falls asleep first.
The barely present light that sneaks under his door from the hallways lights his room up the slightest bit. When his eyes adjust to the dark, it’s enough to see Steve’s face. Eddie traces his features, trailing the very tip of his finger over his eyebrows and the bridge of his nose, over his lips and chin and jaw. He tucks his hair back when a strand falls in his face.
“I love you,” he breathes, soft so it doesn’t wake Steve up. He never wants to wake Steve up, never when he’s sleeping like this: peaceful and quiet and calm.
He lifts his head and moves closer to kiss his forehead. He falls asleep with a hand on Steve’s warm, soft waist, and sunlight in his head.
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top 5 humors. i know theres only 4 but could u make one up
ok so actual humors: worst to best white yellow black red. I remeber them by color for reasons youll see in a second. "u could make one up" has inspired me to dump my vaugely humor inspired fantasy setting on you, so heres my top 5/7 biles. theyre god and stars and blood in equal measure
5. green, the 1st bile of burgeoning growth is thick and honeylike, filled with the potency of a single-tailed shooting star. green spells are strong but blunt, one word commands that do the simple extremely well. you dont cast "UP" to levitate, you cast it to send fools into the upper stratosphere
4. yellow, the 0th bile of law and curses is a dense fluid that fills any container it's added to perfectly (within reason), with fluid dynamics that apply to it and only it. yellow spells "return a state to zero" and are spoken without speaking in zero words. what that "zero" is is remarkably up to the caster no matter how much bullshit yellow mages spew about true zeros are, is the true state of reality space? is it an endless haunted house? yellow mages are all either literal cops (the modern institution of police originates in war-era yellow cults) or the coolest post-rock motherfuckers ever
3. violet, the 5th bile of singularity and strength is solid like the salty waters of the ocean depths were tolled up without loosing their pressure. violet mages are on some wuxia shit, flowing water crushing skulls and mountains alike type shit. five fingers in one fist to topple towers, but also deep sea themed
2. white, the 2nd bile of misery and certainty is cloudy like vapor off of dry ice, sparkly and sharp. the second bile cuts, it predicts the bad things and none of the good. it makes sense in my mind but its hard to vibe out. catholic brutalist harsh noise music. white mages either suck ass or are the worse girl you want to fuck on tumblr. their spells fit the vibe. SLICE DICE, KILL / ING, PISSING (off) GHOST
1. red, the 3rd bile of violence and change is hot blood, stinking of iron and pronouns. all good things come in threes from genders to wounds. red mages fuck guns. red spells are simple but elegant songs, with some learning to cast simple ammunition spells via the difference between two sets of pronouns without a verbal component, this one I like so much and its the magic of (one of) the main character(s), Hearts Aglow. ive thought about this one so much i associate the number 3 with red at this point :3
fuck this was long I got so many asks
#this is sort of homestuck adjactent but only cause that comic gave me brain worms forever#also I like colorful blood#asks
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Genshin Impact EP - Night of Dice-Twirling Musings
It is often cloudy before a spell of heavy rain, much like how buds must sprout before blooming.
There are many simple causes and effects in this world, but the simpler they are, the easier they are to ignore.
Thus, only those who can meticulously unravel threads of information and adapt accordingly will be able to comfortably sit in the dealer's chair.
youtube
#genshin impact#genshin impact updates#official#genshin impact news#genshin impact ost#yelan#wish i could get her but hu tao c1 is my priority#not that i'll get either of them.#Youtube
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