yellow eyes - why?
so, I was just drawing, trying to create an SGA Wraith Characters for one of my fics, because sometimes just not focusing on their personality for a while, but instead their looks, for example, helps to figure out how my OCs would actually react in a certain situation ..
yes, I know, trying to keep my own characters in character, it sounds ridiculous, but it has happened to me that I needed an action and just wrote one of my existing OCs doing that, only to realize, no way, that's far too OOC for them and I had think of a similar but different action or create another Character
anyway, while I was searching online for some reference pics, my thoughts were drifting and suddenly I was looking at pictures of Prince Nuada and Princess Nuala from the Hellboy movie "The Golden Army" and that's when I noticed something .. so I went to verify that theory and checked out the Na'vi from the Avatar movies ..
Lo and behold, quite a lot of my favorite fantasy/ science fiction races/species have yellow eyes (yes, even the Goa'uld glow) and no hair on their brow bone (although the male Wraith and Elves can have other facial hair like beards) ..
also, quite often present are white or black hair and a non-human skin tone, e.g. literal white, greenish, blueish
I'm not quite sure what this says about me and the concept artists for those (more or less) popular characters in modern media. I am aware of the general theory behind it - just familiar enough to relate to, but also definitively other. I can also see the feline resemblance. And that's probably the whole point, although I'm just as much of a dog person, if not more, than a cat person - my Warrior Cats RPG-years notwithstanding.
But what's really with those yellow eyes? Why not purple, is that too different? Why not red, is it too ominous? Why yellow?
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first love, late spring
part 2/6 of wraith pinned to the mist
summary: it’s too dangerous to love in a time like this. so for now, you’ll share dish washing duty.
contains: steve x gender unspecified reader; angst; mutual pining
a/n: this is kind of a filler chapter to set up future chapters in the series. after my last fic i decided i wanted to make a monster hunting series so <3 i hope you enjoy!
You wake with a bit of a start, the warm body that was under you suddenly gone. You prop yourself up on one elbow and watch Steve disappear into the Wheeler’s bathroom. You frown but don’t follow, simply laying back down and sighing. The morning light, hazy with fog, shines through the back door. It’s such a rare sight these days. You’re inclined to get up and step outside, but you’re simply too tired.
Your eyes drift shut for a moment before you hear Steve swinging the bathroom door open. You can tell by his footsteps that he’s in a hurry. You open your eyes, expecting him to come to you, but he instead goes to Robin. He shakes her until she wakes with a start, falling off the couch she was on. “Ow!”
“Come here,” he urges, helping her up. Neither of them even glance at you as they go into the bathroom and shut the door. But even with the door shut, you can hear them, as you’re close in proximity.
“What happened last night?”
“What always happens,” Robin snaps, clearly unhappy that she’s been woken up so rudely. “You stepped in front of danger and -”
“What is this?”
There’s a little pause. “You got hurt. There was a Demogorgon, and it swang at you - caught you with its claw, I guess. You got knocked out and - and - well, Nancy got it -”
“Who the hell gave me stitches?”
You hear Robin scoff. “Who do you think, loverboy?”
You’re a little upset that he doesn’t remember, especially with the attention he’d given you. But you already figured the medicine Eddie supplied had made him loopy and a little more sentimental than usual. The ‘loverboy’ makes you perk up, wanting to know more, the implications obvious.
“No. No. No no no no no.”
“No, what?”
“There’s no - I’m not - don’t call me loverboy.”
“Loverboy.”
“Rob, I swear to -”
“Swear to Cupid? Ow!”
“It can’t happen,” he says, and your breath hitches. “This isn’t the time and place for romance, okay? It was - it was misguided, anyway, I was - I don’t even remember.”
“Steve, come on.”
“No, I’m serious, Robin. This can’t happen. I was stupid last night. I shouldn't have let it show like that. I can’t - I can’t right now. I can’t even think about that right now.”
Your brows furrow.
“Since when did you ever put your love life on the back burner?”
“Now! Right now! It doesn't matter how I feel about them if I don't even know if we'll wake up tomorrow!"
“Okay! Okay, okay, I get it. But you might want to talk this out. It was pretty obvious last night."
"Jesus," he groans. You can hear him pacing over your heartbeat. "What did I do?"
"Well, you slept with them, for starters."
"Don't say it like that."
"And you were asking for them and touching them and - I think it was obvious, but I guess I've known for a while."
"This is really bad."
"It's not bad," Robin sighs. "You just... have to talk to them about it. They probably feel the same way."
"About me?"
"The situation," she stresses. "But they were quick to lay down with you last night, and they did fix you up, so...."
There's a long pause this time, and you think they might be whispering. Finally, Steve says, "It can't happen. Not now."
"I know, Steve."
You stop listening then, heart hammering and feeling a little sick. It's a blessing that Steve likes you, but he's right. It's not the time. You feign sleep when they exit the bathroom, peaking with an eye open as they head upstairs, Steve stealing the smallest look at you.
You wish he wouldn't have.
===
You’re washing dishes after breakfast now, Ted Wheeler staring you down over the edge of the newspaper. He seems particularly miffed with Eddie Munson, who’s wasting chocolate syrup and whipped cream in an attempt to make Holly laugh.
Steve stands beside you, awkward and stiff while he dries what you hand him. You’re not sure why he’s in such close proximity, given his previous conversation with Robin, but you don’t say anything. You just wash and rinse and hand the ceramic and glass off to Steve, who seems deep in thought.
Finally, he quips, “You think Ted can smell the drugs on him?”
You laugh softly. “Yeah, maybe.”
No words are spoken about you sleeping on Steve’s chest, or how he looked at you like you were the world last night.
“Thank you,” he says eventually, fidgeting with the dish towel. “For. You know.” He points to his head and you smile.
“Not a problem.”
“I don’t know if I could stitch you up so casually.”
You shrug a shoulder. “I think you would if it came to it. It’s easy if it’s necessary.”
Steve clears his throat. “Well, thank you.”
“Mhm.”
“And what about your hands? I remember how hurt they were.”
“Oh,” you laugh, finally looking at him. “That was just your blood, not mine.”
He blinks, hand slowing on the plate he’s drying. “You didn’t get hurt?”
“No, I’m fine. I just didn’t want to scare you, that’s all.”
“Oh.”
You both stare at each other, your smile falling. When you finally rip your eyes away from him, Steve shuffles in closer, his elbow hitting yours.
“I’m really thankful for you,” he starts lowly, fingers colliding with yours as he takes a cup from your hand. “I’m thankful for last night and every night before that. I'm - I'm so glad you're in my life right now."
“I know it can’t happen,” you whisper, continuing to stare at the sink. "Us, I mean."
Steve pauses for a moment, surprised you knew where he was going. “Do you understand why?”
“Of course.” Your hands still. Working up the courage, you finally look at him. “I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you. And I’d rather not get hurt, either.”
Steve’s eyes are soft as he looks at you, and he nods once, curtly. “I feel the same way.”
You nod back. Everything has become blunt and rational since the world ended. There’s no what-ifs, other than the bad ones. You can’t think about tomorrow, let alone a time where you and Steve could actually be with each other. It might not ever happen. And if it does, and the other dies….
"So we agree, then."
You nod again. "I like you, Steve. But we shouldn't let it get to that point."
He nods again, too. "Okay, good. Good. I'm glad we agree. And - and no hard feelings?"
"Not one," you promise, but you can't look at him and say it.
There's a silence between you, a mutual understanding and grieving.
“They’re drafting,” Steve says suddenly, a dish clacking as it rests upon another one. “They want to have people to fight.”
The idea of someone in Hawkins, Indiana, fighting these monsters - someone other than your circle - is so laughable that you outright scoff. Steve laughs, too, gently. His elbow keeps bumping into yours and you force yourself to side step away, the closeness too much for you. “It’s honestly sad.”
“They don’t know what they’re getting into.”
You both look at each other, frowning, and then continue with your duties.
“You’re not signing up, right?” you ask.
He shakes his head. “I mean, I thought about it. And then I remembered we have our own tiny army, so….”
Your eyes roll. “Ridiculous that they - they’re making people sign up to kill themselves, and yet if you’re caught trying to kill a Demodog….”
“Maybe it’s worse than we think,” he says, voice hushed. “Maybe they just need distractions.”
You swallow harshly, letting his words sink in. You hand him the last plate and reach for the drain plug. “Please don’t sign up, Steve.”
“I won’t,” he promises softly. “Gotta make sure you stay out of trouble, don’t I?”
You scoff and look over at him, unable to stop yourself from smiling. Your chest aches. “Yeah, definitely.”
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