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number-onekidqueen · 4 months

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𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐝

Part Two Part One

Luke Castellan x Apollo!fem!reader

Comforting angst

warnings: character death, depression, lots of crying.

Days passed, days since your ki- hang out with Luke.

Hang out? Who were you kidding? It was clear it wasn’t him.

But you’d laid yourself bare to him, been about to confess all your feelings and he had just shut you down and run away.

Of course you didn’t wanna talk about it in the morning.

The tragedy was he did.

And just when you were feeling better, and your conversations weren’t so awkward, fate tossed you to the ground again, as it often did. You still didn’t really believe it.

Cecilia, your cabin counsellor, your beloved older sister had died on the road to college. It seemed impossible.

Of course, they’d had a brief ceremony, a burning of a golden yellow shroud weaved with her own fingers. And then they’d appointed you as cabin counsellor, announced a bunch of new kids had arrived and everyone forgot.

It made you sick to think people would forget Cecilia. That the three Apollo kids your cabin had greeted would grow up without her and never know of her presence.

Obviously, your cabin was upset, but they didn’t make it so as Aphrodite always did. The sun keeps shining, and Apollo kids kept going, laughing, training, even if muffled sobs could be heard the first few nights. They never talked of her, and after the first week, she was a sad little scar that had scabbed.

It still hurt a little, but the memory was what hurt the most.

Except for you. She was still a mortal, lethal wound for you. And it was getting harder and harder to keep your composure and pretend everything was okay.

Shortly, it all cracked and spilled out from you. It hadn’t been anyone’s fault really. Chiron was just trying to be supportive to little Will, but when he praised enthusiastically that he was the best archer he’d scene for 300 years, tears seemed to burst from you.

Because that had been Cecilia’s title. She had been the best archer, training all the little ones supportively and making people gasp with the precision of her shots.

It seemed Chiron had already forgotten. Everyone had.

It was like losing her all over again.

No one saw the little sun cracking on the archery field. They just noticed you disappearing behind some clouds.

You didn’t pay attention to the stares and whiplash glances of some, as you ran back to your cabin with tears streaming, and your heart in your throat.

Didn’t notice as a tall brunette boy on the sword plains spotted you, dropped his sword immediately and with a shouted apology behind him began to sprint after you.

Your bed was warm and comforting, the covers swaddled around your shoulders in a safe cocoon as you sobbed your heart and soul onto your pillow.

Cecelia was dead. Dead. This is what you would deal with every day for the rest of your life, she was dead and she would be replaced and forgotten and no one would even know her and-

The door creaked open and immediately you stilled, pretending to be asleep.

“Y/N?” It was Luke.

Not the timing, you thought to yourself miserably.

“Y-yeah,” you tried for a sleepy yawn, but it came out cracked and pained. Ugh.

“You ok?” He asked quietly, and you heard his footsteps approach.

“Yeah, yeah. Just woke up.” But your voice was hollow and very much awake.

He sat softly at the edge of your bed, and for a while you were both still. Only your breath was audible. Then, tentatively and slowly, you began to feel his warm fingers slide through your hair. It was so comforting and lovely that you had to swallow down the wave of tears that surfaced.

“It’s okay, you know,” he murmured, your hair in glorious tangles around his knuckles, “to cry. You don’t have to pretend. Especially for me.”

“Yeah, I know,” you whispered back, “it’s just-“ you hesitated.

I love you.

I don’t want to burden you with all my stupid problems.

“You probably don’t want to talk about this to anyone, right? Me included.” He guessed, and he began to retract his fingers and you felt like screaming at how utterly wrong he was. “I’m sorry, I should give you space.”

“No, you don’t have to. You can stay here.” You tried not to beg, but you were inches from clinging onto him to stop his departure. He understood.

“Would you like me to stay?”

“Yes. Please.”

“Then here I’m staying. In your bed.” He reassured comfortingly, “I mean, on.”

His flustered stuttering made you smile weakly and turn to face him.

His whole face softened, lost all his fluster and stress when your eyes met, but you were too busy setting your head into his lap so you faced up at him to notice.

He traced your tear tracks, brushing any remaining ones away with his thumbs.

“I know the pain feels awful,” he said suddenly, “but if you ever feel bad, like you can’t breathe or you’re about to burst, don’t keep it in y/n, come find me. I’m always here for you, always.”

“Thank you.” You said near inaudibly.

“I hate seeing you cry,” he confessed, his forehead crinkling, “or being sad. It just hurts me. But I love making you feel better, I’d do anything in the world to make you happy, I promise.”

“Thank you.” You said louder this time, your cheeks beginning to heat up.

It was a peaceful few seconds you gazed at each other, smiling. Then you closed your eyes, comforted.

You felt warm hands lift your body, and your eyes fluttered open. But it was just Luke lying down beside you and repositioning yourself on his chest.

“Sorry,” he murmured, “just figured we might be here for a while.”

His arms encircled you, and even in your drunken state of misery, your heart rate sped up. You turned your head slightly, so you could hide your bashful grin in the orange folds of his shirt. His chest was warm, comforting, and you could feel every deep breath he took.

“Sorry,” you murmured, facing up once more, “your shirt’s probably going to be all soggy after this.”

“I don’t mind a soggy shirt if it makes you happy.” He breathed, and your heart was bursting from the love that statement invoked when you saw his eyes flicker. Your eyes. Your mouth.

Could he really-

Surely not-

Eyes. Mouth.

The air was electric, as if Zeus himself was in the cabin. The space was getting tighter and smaller and everything was so close and dizzy and what in the gods before you knew it you were nose to nose and you could feel his warm breath and he was leaning down to kiss you against the pillow.

It might’ve been the best kiss you ever had. With salt on your tongue, and sweetness from his lips, the tastes of all your emotions were combined, giving way to the most passionate and fantastic kiss you’d ever had. Your head was pressed to the pillow, and he was moving above you, warm, soft and pouring his heart out to you, the gateway his lips. It seemed every single ‘I love you’ either of you had ever been too afraid to say was expressed strongly now, each drop of attraction and love and feeling was encapsulated between the movement of your lips.

“I’m sorry I didn’t stay,” he breathed, against your lips, when you finally pulled apart, both of you panting, “I didn’t want to do anything while you were drunk. But of course I wanted to. I wanted you. I have for so long.”

“It’s okay. I have too,” and you laughed, all those emotions and secrets finally free. You were so giddy with joy! But Luke remained tense, nervous for a reason you couldn’t determine. You calmed down, scared it was all about to come crashing down.

“It’s- it’s not just that, y/n,” he paused, sitting up further away, eyes still looking profoundly into yours, “I love you. I love you, all of you, and you should know that to me you’ve never been a burden, only a miracle to have been with.”

Your breath was caught in your throat, blown away by his confession. You were expecting he might’ve been crushing on you? But loving you? You’d never dared to consider that as an option. And you were beyond thrilled.

“Now would be a great time to say anything,” he laughed nervously, fingers brushing over your shoulders restlessly. You immediately felt awful for keeping him waiting.

“I love you too.” You blurted, letting silence ensue. “You make me so happy every time you make a joke or take care of the new unclaimed kids. I’m just in shock.”

And then the pair of you were laughing together, foreheads pressed together before you were tangled in an embrace, that led to another heated kiss on your bed.

You knew soon other campers would arrive to see two head counselors kissing, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to care. In fact, while Luke’s like we’re on yours, you couldn’t seem to form any coherent thoughts at all.

In the back of your mind, you were still sobbing over Cecilia. Deeply, you knew you always would. Your heart would always be chipped in that way, the missing fragment forever in her fist as she wandered Elysium.

But you also knew how happy she would be to see you thriving, dating and loving Luke, a boy she had always suggested and approved of. She imagined her now, giggling in delight and grinning at what had transpired. And slowly, the pain began to lift.

Maybe a scar would be okay, as long as you loved and remembered it.

Most of all, you knew that for as long as you required a shoulder to make soggy, Luke would always be there to be your comfort person.

taglist:

@lifeonawhim

@sflame15-blog

@star611

I think this was all, if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just comment or message me :)

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darlingillustrations · 4 months

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I'm Gay

When I was eight years old, I wrote my first poem. I remember the moment the words came to me. I was lying in bed at night, the lines rattling through my brain, startling sleep away. I turned on my pencil-shaped bedside lamp, grabbed my pink diary and huddled up underneath the little roses on my wallpaper to scribble the words down before they were lost to me forever. I re-read them over and over, letting them seep into my mind as I drifted off to sleep, so full of mystery and fascination at this new craft that had opened up to me.

The next day, I showed the poem to my mother. It was a love poem, and the only thing she said was, “Why is this written to a woman?”

I didn’t know.

In high school, I also didn’t know why I enjoyed turning around in psychology class to chat with the girl with the cool beaded purse who sat behind me. I didn’t get it why I was so tongue tied around the girl in college with the mousy brown hair and soft floral skirts. After graduation, I still didn’t understand why the scrawny girl with facial piercing who I worked with at the coffeeshop held such a deep place in my heart that I’d give anything to make her smile.

The day I nervously confessed to my parents that I no longer wanted to be in the Church of Christ, the religion they’d raised me in, and that I’d been going to an Episcopal church, they laughed in relief.

“We were worried you were going to tell us you were a lesbian,” they said, wiping tears of joy from their eyes.

It never occurred to me that I could be a lesbian because I was attracted to guys. I didn’t realize that bisexuality was a thing. It wasn’t until 2016 that I started to face the truth about myself. After the attack on the Pulse nightclub, I felt deeply and inexplicably unsafe, and after months of soul searching, I came to realize it was because the people who had been attacked, the LGBT men and women, I was part of their community. They were me. I was LGBT.

As part of my journey, I was asked to exhibit my art at the Pierce County AIDS Foundation. I wanted to share something that was representative of the LGBT community, and that’s how my Affectionate Animal series was born. I chose vintage photos as my source images because I loved the nostalgic feeling they evoked. I wanted to offer the feeling that being gay was a normal thing.

The funny thing is: when I painted these first nine couples, I didn’t yet realize my own truth.

Coming out to myself was about self acceptance. When I told Matt, he asked me what this meant for our marriage. I said it meant nothing: instead of choosing him over half the world population, it meant I chose him over all of the world population. But when Matt left me (for other reasons), some of my close friends whom I’d trusted with my secret blamed me for him leaving. “He’s been through a lot,” they said.

I was scared to tell anyone. For a long time I only told people who were gay, and I spent a lot of time online, on tumblr, living an invisible life, coming to terms with what my sexuality meant.

That’s where I met my first girlfriend. She flew cross country to visit me and I flew cross country to visit her. We fell in love with each other and each other’s kids, and I was going to fly out with the girls to spend Christmas with her, until she broke up with me suddenly and then blocked my phone number before ever explaining why everything was ending.

They say your first heartbreak after a divorce is the worst. When you get divorced, there’s too much other stuff in the way that inhibits the grieving process, so when your first heartbreak after divorce hits you, all that pent up grief rears its ugly head and devastates you. In short, that’s what happened to me. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t eat. I kept throwing up for weeks. I lashed out at people, then became disgusted with myself for acting like such a monster and fell into a pit of despair. My body felt like knives were stabbing me, raking my arms from the inside out. My chest felt cavernous. I felt beyond gutted. I felt like I was in tatters.

God bless my therapist, because she texted with me through the worst of it, assuring me that this is what grief felt like. I’d tell her I was scared of the depression. She said I was strong enough to weather a little depression. I took comfort in that. Deep down I knew she was right.

I started cleaning my house. It wasn’t much, but a little every day gave me a sense of normalcy. I signed up for the Motivated Moms checklist so that I wouldn’t have to think about what I was supposed to do. I could just do it.

On Friday, my checklist said to spend time on a craft or hobby. I spent more time scratching my head trying to figure out what I was interested in than I did playing my guitar once I finally remembered I liked to sing. On Sunday I was paralyzed by the suggestion to pamper myself. How does someone pamper themselves? I googled it and read dozens of suggestions before I felt inspired by the suggestion to give myself flowers.

I’d always thought that, when I was with my girlfriend for Valentine’s Day, we’d do some sappy romantic thing, and I’d post sappy pictures & let people draw whatever conclusions they wanted to about our relationship. Now that I’m single again, I guess I’m coming out of the closet anyways. I’m not doing it for another person. I’m doing it for myself. Because, at the end of the day, lovers come and go, but there is one person who will love me for my entire life, and that person is me. And it doesn’t take a parent or a husband or a girlfriend to validate my loveliness. I am loved. I am darling. And I am complete, just as I am.

I don’t know why God made me this way, but this is the way I am. I don’t fall in love with people because of what’s in their pants, but because of what’s in their heart. So, in closing, I’d like to share with you the poem I wrote when I was eight years old, long before I knew what the depths of my heartache might bring:

Beauty Your eyes sparkle in the moonlight, Your legs tremble fast, Your voice can sing the wonders, And your ears can hear me laugh, Your nose smells the flowers that I bring to you in prize, Your legs can run freely, And your hands can hold my thighs. But you’re the one in my mind, The wonders that I dream, For you are so beautiful, The wonders of my dreams.

I like to think that, maybe, the woman I’d written it for was, in fact, myself.

[ This essay first appeared on my blog on February 14, 2019, and it is how I came out publicly to my friends, family and the world. I want to repost it here to tumblr in the hopes that it might resonate with you. ]

#coming out story #queer stories #queer artist #queer art #im gay #well technically im pansexual and a few other lgbt terms but i like using gay as a signifier #most importantly #i am loved #thank you for reading along #queer poetry

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inkskinned · 10 months

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i got my isbn today for the book. 8 months to go. my mom and i were talking about what the next steps are. i was eating trail mix, standing on one foot, phone tucked into my ear.

"yeah," i said. "the problem is that tumblr as a market is like, not something that can be studied." there's this weird wave of nostalgia and affection for this place that came up over me: how lovely we avoid consumerism. okay, it sucks as a creator. but also? keep stickin' it to 'em.

my mother made the sound at the back of her throat that i also make, the one that means i've got an idea. "you should figure out some kind of reward for presale amounts. maybe you give out poems or a mug or a signed book or something. would your followers like that?" my mother is sweet, and kind, and i have no idea how to explain on this website you can buy someone crabs.

i put more m&ms down the hatch. i had to speak through peanuts and almonds. "if it passes 25 thousand i will print the book out in its entirety and eat it live on camera."

"oh god. no, you don't have to do that." she was anguished. "just tell them that you'd love them to read it, and that they've inspired you to write. you got started on that site, and they helped you keep going. raquel, you love these people. the community? you talk all the time about the other writers and artists and whatever else. tell them that you're hoping for their support, they'll come through."

"no," i assured her. i discovered i had dropped an m&m, but an ant had already found it, so it belonged to him now. i will let his little life have a surprise blue treasure in it, too. "i'm gonna fuckin' eat the book."

#writeblr #:)#the small secret love i have for y'all. the way i am filled with gratitude.#for the nosebleed club. for stephen particularly.#for every artist i've ever been in contact with and collaborated with.#for every person who has commented on my work and passed it along or fallen in love with it #for every silent 'just hitting like' follower and for every person who sends me dms and for each of you #i know i suck at replying bc i have anxiety. but like. you keep being here. so i keep writing.#i legit wouldn't be here without you.#thank you sophie thank you katie thank you carolyn thank you stephanie thank you jess #thank you if you're reading this #i got too overwhelmed with love and have to stop writing this FAR too early into the thank yous bc im about to cry with love

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tbcanary · 9 months

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absolutely obsessed with helena trying to find a date night outfit that fits with the mask. (bop1999 #68)

#helena bertinelli #huntress #birds of prey #birds of prey 1999 #read along #girl WHAT are you doing #he's a douche who manipulated you into a date in order to save dinah you do NOT have to DRESS UP #but also i love that she did anyway objmklgnkgn #helena said no i will not be showing up in anything less than a killer Look thank you

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iridescentmirrorsgenshin · 3 months

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This is an analysis of Kaveh and Alhaitham’s argument posted on the Port Ormos bulletin board!! Because it is crazy actually!!

I think this exchange of theirs out of the three posted throughout Sumeru is particularly interesting, and this is due Alhaitham openly expressing that Kaveh does not understand what Alhaitham is really trying to say to him: “I have never denied what you meant, but you don’t understand what I am saying to you at all.”

This exchange is relevant in various ways in exploring the motif of communication. As according to their usual rapport, the two disagree over their differing philosophies, as in sensibility versus rationality, however, Alhaitham’s particular concerns in Kaveh spending his money on “nonsense” highlights the underlying reason for this exchange. From this comment, the argument is recontextualised through Alhaitham’s intention for getting involved, as Kaveh prompts the workmen to take his money in order to help them out.

When Alhaitham states that this is a meaningless action due to the inevitability of people rising or falling on their own accord, rather than solely critiquing Kaveh’s “impulsiv[e]” altruism, as Kaveh interprets, Alhaitham is directly contradicting his own comment – as he is interfering on Kaveh’s decisions.

As concern is evidently the intention behind his interference, Kaveh cannot perceive this, and instead attempts to critique Alhaitham’s perspective in return, although Alhaitham states: “Make no mistake. I have never denied what you meant…” This response asserts that Alhaitham does not deny, but rather agrees with, Kaveh’s statement of “mutual assistance, fairness, and righteous anger” driving the world.

In lieu of this, rather than continuing the argument, Alhaitham claims that there is no point to it, as Kaveh does not understand what he is saying, as in, Kaveh does not understand that his intentions in interfering are out of concern. He follows this up, regardless, by criticising Kaveh’s handling of his budget, as, evidently, Kaveh has offered to give his own money to these workmen, and refuses to pay for Kaveh’s drinks for that month.

For Alhaitham, Kaveh’s lack of self-prioritisation leads him to impulsive altruistic acts which serve to jeopardise his own position, particularly regarding money. If Kaveh can afford to give away money, he can afford to pay his own tabs, is the takeaway from this exchange. Although, similarly to the exchange between them posted in Puspa’s Café, this applies to one particular month, insinuating that Alhaitham will continue to pay for next month’s tabs of his own accord.

The main argument, as well as the disagreement over the speaker of Kaveh’s quote, serves as a humorous exchange, but as a motif for communication it acquires a new meaning. The two hold perspectives which contrast the other which puts them on unequal footing, demonstrated within the argument over the speaker of Kaveh’s quote. Although it is not disclosed who is actually in the right, both are convinced of their respective viewpoint. There is an element missing here, a potential solution to this problem, and it lies within the idea of “correctness” established within A Parade of Providence.

The omission of there being an objective, correct answer to this particular debate serves as a parallel to their conflicting viewpoints, with the basis of their exchange being to “prove” to the other their “correctness” – here, it is in regard to Kaveh.

However, “correctness” being the basis of their exchange, and thus, relationship, is challenged with Alhaitham shutting down the initial debate due to Kaveh’s misunderstanding of his meaning. Correctness, then, and its importance, is called into question within this exchange, with Kaveh being the one to chase it; his last message being that he would “prove” himself to be right.

At the core of this bulletin board exchange is the idea that Alhaitham harbours an alternative ‘meaning’ than the one that Kaveh assigns to him: “… you don’t understand what I’m saying to you at all.” This is a meaning which Kaveh cannot perceive due to his current understanding of Alhaitham. This represents the standing of their current relationship, where Kaveh believes Alhaitham holds him in disdain, although this belief is incongruous with Alhaitham’s actions which show his care for Kaveh.

In these instances of communication through the Bulletin Boards, it is interesting to note that Kaveh is revealed to have been drunk and “scribbling” on these notice boards, and hopes that Alhaitham does not know.

Although this is a humorous detail, it adds another layer to the unreliability of their method of communication, as Kaveh has no recollection of these exchanges with Alhaitham, and therefore could not have properly interpreted Alhaitham due to an altered state of mind. It is uncertain whether Alhaitham is aware of Kaveh’s being drunk whilst responding to him, or whether he is believed to have been lucid, which creates another element of unreliability in their exchanges.

Alhaitham understands Kaveh’s thinking and the reasons for why he acts as he does, but he cannot articulate his concern in a way that Kaveh will understand, both out of Kaveh’s incapability of receiving goodwill, but also due to his logical manner of expression. Kaveh perceives Alhaitham’s concealed expressions of concern as personal gripes and criticisms of his beliefs, and therefore believes that their relationship is based on the scholarly principle of proving the validity of one’s philosophies.

The Port Ormos Bulletin Board reinforces the core essence of their relationship: Alhaitham is invested in a personal regard, whereas Kaveh cannot see this due to his perception of Alhaitham and Alhaitham’s inability to communicate in a way Kaveh would understand.

(Update: For more analyses like this, the essay this is taken from is now uploaded! It can be accessed here and here as as a pdf <3)

#i have analysed the other two bulletin exchanges as well!!#but this one has stood out to me the most ever since i read it #alhaitham has expressed to kaveh at least twice that kaveh misunderstands him #this occassion and in a parade of providence with: the issue we’re debating has long since moved on from whos right or wrong #or something of that accord #but will kaveh ever hear this if alhaitham doesnt express this in a way that cannot be misunderstood #also i love the incessant mention in all of the sumeru posts that alhaitham pays for kavehs tabs #not just his drinks but everything on a bill #and whenever they have a clash like this alhaitham drops a month and then picks up every other month #kaveh how are you seeing that he really doesnt have to do that #the line: you dont understand what im saying to you at all is so CRAZY to me and it HAUNTS me because isnt that it??#isnt that the core issue???? or one of them at least plsss they have so many #the essay editing is coming along!! thank you for your patience!! its the longest essay ive written :((#alhaitham #haikaveh #kaveh #kavetham #haikaveh meta

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wecantalktomorrow · 5 months

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me without you is like a present without a bow 5.3k

by shiptattou / @wecantalktomorrow

absolutely amazing art by @28goldens!!

final update for kay's 25 days of smutmas x

The reassurance from Louis had Harry grinning and running his hands down his husband’s sides. “I think you’re going to like it,” he murmured confidently, starting to play with the hem of his own jumper when he sat back against his husband’s bent knees. “Sorry you don’t get to unwrap it, though. Knew you’d be more reluctant to be tied up if you saw it first.”

READ ON AO3

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poorly-drawn-mdzs · 27 days

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I have greatly enjoyed your comics ever since i saw them and have been quietly Iurking as ya do- thought youd want to know that i played hollow knight based on how enthusiastic u were and how fuckin cool youre art of hk/mdzs is. OH and watched dungeon meshi. Your influence is vast and i have been enriched. Keep on keepin on 🫡

You have bestowed the highest honour upon me.

#ask #non mdzs #Thank you for letting me know you ended up checking these series out - it really is an honour.#Even more that you ended up enjoying these series!#The highest of honours you can bestow on anyone - especially to someone making art! I feel so powerful right now!#Hollow Knight is such a darling gem of design and worldbuilding. Good itch on the brain. I loved drawing the crossovers.#Dungeon Meshi has me in a death grip. I grow 10cm taller every time someone new starts reading.#Catch me slowly spreading seeds about other indie titles as I go about my art journey on this blog.#I am doing it for my own enrichment mostly but I always am thrilled to pass along a good recommendation B*)#I really do appreciate you coming out of the dark to interact - I used to be a chronic lurker so I very much understand how it is.#Keep on keeping on as well! May you have an excellent week!

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harmonictechnicality · 1 year

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model!steve and voice actor!Eddie (part 3)

part 1 here | part 2 here | ao3 link here | the temp is up on this one so like... dni if under 18 pls

Eddie is a superstitious person, always has been. Avoids cracks in the sidewalk, refuses to walk under ladders. Says ‘bless you’ despite his lack of goddamn faith (well… scratch the god, keep the damn). That’s why, when Eddie wakes up at 11:11 that morning, he takes it as a sign. A good one too.

Okay yeah, it’s a little gross that he didn’t wake up until now. But he spent most of the night tossing and turning. A thirstfest visual loop of Steve Harrington jerking it to him. Or just his voice. Maybe both, but Eddie would be a conceited fuck if he were to ask for clarity on Steve’s preferred fantasies.

Look, he makes a lot of digs about his appearance because it’s harmless fun. In reality, Eddie is aware that he’s not an un-attractive person. Could he put a little more effort into his skincare routine so that it doesn’t peel off of him anytime he’s in direct sunlight? Sure. But his features are decent enough to get him matches on that dating app he used for exactly four days before deleting.

Steve, though… Steve is something conjured up by a young adult novelist - creating the dreamiest boytoy for the angsty yet endearing protagonist. Steve is that. He’s something from a fictional world of hotness. And somehow, he exists beyond coffee-stained manuscripts and bestseller lists.

He’s real. And Eddie Munson has a fucking date with him in exactly eight hours.

Holy shit.

It takes two hours for Eddie to decide on an outfit. He facetimes his audio engineer/closest friend after the first hour, because his room is starting to look like an M. Night Shyamalan adaptation of Grey Gardens.

“Show me the jean options again.” Chrissy’s tone is all business, staring intently on the other side of the phone screen.

They met at an escape room right outside of the city. After setting a record-breaking time at that location, they got to chatting and quickly discovered they were both in the audio production business.

Each of them lives the freelance lifestyle now. Highly ideal for their competitive escape room fixation.

Eddie holds up the three pairs of jeans. One pair is his favorite, well-worn and loose around his thighs, just how he likes them. The other two, are pairs that Chrissy bought for him last Christmas.

Lets just say… he only wears those when she’s offering to pay for dinner on their weekly hangouts.

She hums for a while, twisting her mouth side to side before speaking again. “The dark blue with the gray crew neck. Final answer.”

“These?” Eddie holds the skinny jeans up to his hip bones. He tugs on the waistband to show how very little movement will be possible in these pants. “My dick cannot breathe in these, Chris. It’s like you want me to embarrass myself on this date.”

“I’m doing you a favor.” She shrugs, concealing a smirk behind her water bottle as she takes a sip. “Those pants are so snug, he’ll have no choice but to get you out of them as soon as possible.”

“Are you insinuating that I put out on the first date?

“Absolutely not.”

“Good.”

“I’m insinuating you put it in on the first date.”

“How dare you.” Eddie points at his phone screen. Sucks in his laughter because yeah. Props. That was a good one. He can’t admit that though because no part of him wants to wear these boa constrictor jeans.

“You were just telling me how you fucked him with your words last night.”

“Fair. But I also explained that I was clearly possessed by the spirit of Blanche Devereaux.” Eddie slips out of his lounge tee, pulls over the one Chrissy picked out for him instead. “I swear, that woman had quite the knack for dirty lingo.”

Chrissy rolls her eyes and gives Eddie a halfhearted salute. “And that’s my exit cue.”

“What? Why?”

“Because anytime you bring up Golden Girls, we start arguing over who would play them in the gender-swapped remake.”

Wrong. Totally false. There’s absolutely no argument to be had. Eddie knows exactly who he’d cast right off the top of his head. Joe Pesci, Michael Caine…

Chrissy must see the gears turning in Eddie’s head because she hangs up before he can launch into his well-rehearsed presentation. Which isn’t a joke, he has a PowerPoint on this particular topic (with cited sources and fancy transitions).

Eddie does one last glance in the mirror before heading out. The pants make his waist look slender, nice. His skin is being squeezed in too many areas, but that’s kind of the point. At least the shirt is loose, albeit a little short. Reveals a patch of his lower tattoos every time he lifts his shoulders.

Okay damn, Chrissy probably knew that too. Maybe she’s the one possessed by the horny spirit of Blanche Devereaux.

Spiritual possession or not, Eddie ruffles out his bangs one last time. Heads out feeling much more confident than he did after his initial interaction with Steve Harrington.

Eddie agrees to pick Steve up at his last photoshoot of the day. It’s close to his side of town, which means he doesn’t have to fight his way through LA traffic.

A good sign sent from his lucky wake-up time, no doubt.

He doesn’t expect the photoshoot to be at an amphitheater, but it is. A small one, probably only used for local productions. There’re cameras lining the outer rim of the stage, shuttering and flashing like headlights on a highway. Eddie can hear the director and photographers spewing directions from his car. There’s an audience of producers and crew members, seems like a big fucking deal by the looks of it.

The set is, well, breathtaking - way better than that knockoff fantasy shit from the cologne ad. It’s full of greenery. Trees swaying with the breeze and ivy carpeting the stage floor. A forest that’s almost too beautiful to be synthetic. Eddie wonders if any of the plants are real or if the props department was just that damn good at finding fake ones.

After a few minutes, he checks the time. The shoot is running long. No biggie - Eddie is enjoying the view anyways. Especially, when he finally spots Steve. The view is exceptionally priceless now.

Steve perched on top of a tree trunk, feeding some other model grapes. The dark and stupidly jealous part of Eddie hopes they choke on those grapes.

His costume almost blends in with the backdrop, dark hues of green. Subtle shades of browns. Perfectly camouflaged by nature. There are vines wrapped around his bare arms, leaves tucked into his tousled hair.

Honestly, he looks a lot like a wood nymph that Eddie would selfishly design for a DnD campaign. Better, actually. Eddie should take notes. Steal the designer's sketches when nobody's looking.

He’s positively itching to get out of his car, get a closer look at Steve in all his botanical glory. But that might come across as too impatient. Or worse, too presumptuous. So Eddie picks one of his lengthier playlists and settles into his seat.

There’s a tap on Eddie’s window, startling him out of his nap. He must’ve dozed off about twenty minutes ago because the last song he remembers listening to was from the mid-90s section of the playlist. Now, they’ve moved into early 2000s territory.

Seriously, math is way easier when music is leading the equation.

Steve is right there, peering in, still tapping incessantly. His eyes are wide, concerned maybe. Which, yeah. Concern makes sense, considering his date is yawning before the date has even started. Fucking yikes.

Eddie rolls down the window, gives Steve a toothy grin as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes. “Heya, FernGully.”

Steve doesn’t acknowledge Eddie’s costuming reference. Probably missed out on that era of cult classic cartoons. “Up late?” He leans against the car and smiles, far more dazzling than the sun setting behind him.

“You would know.”

Oh, and that earns Eddie a wink from Steve. The nun-converting wink he saw months ago and still thinks about.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Steve reaches into the empty space, pushes the latch down to unlock the front door. “Come on.”

“Uh-”

“I’ve gotta change before we head out.” Steve swings the door open before Eddie can protest. “Unless you want to have dinner with me dressed like this.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Don’t give me any ideas.”

If there were a Renaissance Festival in town or a Medieval Dinner Show still in business, Eddie would definitely trick his way into getting Steve to go dressed like that. But he tucks the idea away for now, walks down the hill with Steve to the amphitheater. Does his best impression of a civilized human.

“So… what are you supposed to be exactly?”

Steve points to the body glitter on his cheeks. “A fairy.”

Yup. A new file of woodland fantasies starring Steve Fairyington have downloaded into Eddie’s mind. If voice acting didn’t pay so well, he could make an impressive career out of his whimsical porn concepts.

So he deflects. Humor is the only solution to keep the conversation PG-rated. “Just because you’re into guys doesn’t mean you’ve gotta use outdated terms like that.”

“You know what I mean.” Steve knocks an elbow into Eddie’s arm. “I’m a literal fairy.”

“Are you implying that literal fairies exist?” Eddie teases.

“No.”

“Seems like it.”

“Jesus, you’re a piece of work.”

“I can tone it down.”

Steve stops walking, places a hand in the center of Eddie’s chest to stop him too. His playful energy fucking warps into something new. Savory and seductive. Bewitching.

“Don’t even think about it.” He answers, slipping his hand down a little, almost between Eddie’s ribs. The motion sends static through Eddie’s core, up his spine. Raises the hairs on his arm and the back of his neck.

It shouldn’t be alarming that Steve’s touch is powerful. Look at him.

Eddie has a hard time focusing on the conversation after that. Luckily, the timing works out for him to get his shit together, as Steve heads into the trailer that's parked next to the stage.

He tells Eddie he can take a closer look at the set that he suddenly can’t seem to shut up about. It really is stunning. The size, the details, the color choices. Eddie is fairly certain this is the closest he’ll ever be to experiencing Endor in real life.

Most of the crew members are gone, a few still packing up equipment while Eddie observes a variety of plants used for decorating the wooden platforms. Learns that some plants are real and some are fake, which is actually genius. The mixture of the two distract from the plastic-y finish on some of the vines.

“This is for a special-edition cover of some Shakespeare script.” Steve says, joining Eddie at his side. His outfit is rather colorful. It checks out that he's one of the few people that can pull off a purposeful athleisure aesthetic (Eddie hates that he knows what that style looks like, ugh). “Hence the fairies and forests and shit.”

“Wait.” A lightbulb goes off in Eddie’s head. “Is this for A Midsummer Night’s Dream?”

“That’s the one.”

Eddie does a sharp turn, starts shaking Steve by his shoulders. Absolutely bursting with excitement. “Steve literal fairy Harrington, this is ridiculously cool! Like… the history-making kind of cool!”

“If you say so.” Steve agrees calmly.

“How the hell are you not more jazzed about this?”

“You sound just like my manager.” Steve mumbles. “Truth be told, the only Shakespeare play I’ve ever read is Macbeth.”

Eddie gasps, sucks in enough air to fill an inflatable kiddie pool. “We’re on a stage, you can’t just blurt out the Scottish Play like that.”

This is not good. Horrible, even. Not a damn chance that Eddie can be mellow about this. Superstitious person, believer of traditions, blah blah blah.

And while hiding that piece of his personality should be a simple task, he cannot blatantly ignore such a major fuckup on Steve’s part. No matter how accidental of a fuckup it might have been.

“Okay, what are you talking about?” Steve asks. Still calm.

“It’s bad luck.” Eddie explains. “The closest thing to cursing a theatrical production.”

“Well, good thing this isn’t a theatrical production then.”

And as Steve laughs off the thoughtless joke, a loud thud is heard at the back of the stage.

There it is. A warning of impending doom in the form of a loose stage light, hanging by a few loose wires.

Almost everyone is gone, only two crew members remain on the sidelines. One of them gets on their walkie talkie, mumbles something about a safety hazard incident.

Pfft, not just an incident. A fucking threat from the ghost of theater, that’s what it is.

“See?” Eddie waves both arms at the light structure swinging upstage. “You’ve pissed off Thespis with your loose lips.”

“Who?”

“Oh my god, you’re so-”

A high-pitched scream cries out from a nearby street. Both Steve and Eddie jump at the sound. It’s a long, frightening scream. Something straight out of a slasher film, which is a likely possibility, for sure. Things are filmed out on the streets of Los Angeles quite a bit.

But the fear ringing out from this particular scream sounds real. Gritty and hoarse.

Fucking terrifying.

Once the screaming stops, no sign of returning, they share a look. It’s not an ‘I’m gonna jump your bones’ look either. It’s awkward. A fine line between guilt and ‘I told you so.’

“That was just a coincidence.” Steve waves off the scream like it’s just a daily occurrence. Nothing out of the ordinary. “Curses aren’t real.”

Eddie doesn’t want to shout ‘you’re wrong’ from his metaphorical megaphone. Not on a first date, at least. Outright dogmatic behavior shouldn’t come into play until like… the end of the third date.

All he can do is shrug, swallow back the urge to correct this beautiful person standing beside him.

He’s so rigid now, almost timid from the lingering anxiety that more freaky shit is about to happen.

“Come here.” Steve motions his head to the side, peering softly at Eddie’s expression. His shoulders are relaxed, arms reaching out for Eddie to follow. Join him.

Which he does. Can’t help it. Fully dazed by Steve’s patience, legs moving without a chance to reconsider.

“Wanna get out of here?” Steve thumbs over Eddie’s cheek, skims his nail against the scratchy bits of stubble along Eddie’s jaw. His movements are slow, precise. Only a smidge of pity in his smile.

Yup. That’s what this must be - Steve probably thinks Eddie is being dramatic. Must assume he can smooth over Eddie’s knotted nerves by just touching him. Tracing hypnotic patterns over his skin.

Eddie is mildly irritated that it’s working. If he can’t find the strength to look away from Steve’s sunny-tinted eyes soon, he’ll float away. Slip through the air as particles. Dust. Nothing but his slutty wishes will remain.

“Not yet.” Eddie gulps.

“No?”

He can’t in good conscience let this theater stay plagued by Steve’s words. This place is on verge of being the location for a Final Destination sequel.

So Eddie removes Steve's hand from his face, squeezes once before returning it back to Steve’s side. “Gotta reverse the fuck out this bad omen first.”

“There’s no such thing as-”

“Don’t.” He pleads. “Put my superstitious mind at ease. Can you do that for me?”

Steve at least has the decency to look away while he rolls his eyes. Pretty and considerate. “Fine. How do I break the curse?”

Eddie has spent enough time in theaters to know there’s a few variations on this process. Changes from director to director. The most common one is going outside and spinning in a circle three times, then knocking on the door till someone lets you back inside.

But that’s where the problem comes in. They’re already outside and there’s no door to knock on, while pleading for forgiveness.

Hmm…

It’s a good thing Eddie remembers a few adjustments to the protocol. It’s an even better thing that he was captain of his improv troupe for three years back in college. Thinking of solutions on the spur of the moment? Adapting for the sake of the scene? Eddie lives for that shit. Comedy fucking chameleon, that’s him.

And what’s better than all of that? His leftover luck from waking up at 11:11am.

Guess it pays off to be a superstitious person. Sometimes.

Eddie clears his throat, delivers the instructions with a southern drawl. Fucks around with it because he can. “So first, you have to walk around the theater three times.”

“Okay.”

“Backwards.” That’s definitely not part of the procedure, but oh well. Steve doesn’t have to know that.

Steve scoffs, shaking his head. “Yeah, fuck that.”

“Sorry. I don’t make the rules, gorgeous.”

Except he does make the rules. Currently having way too much fun watching Steve squirm at the stupidity of it all. He’s quickly learning how easy it is to push Steve’s buttons. That shouldn’t be so thrilling for him but whoops. It is.

“Whatever.” Steve kicks a piece of gravel off the stage and sighs. “Then what?”

So he wants more? Eddie can do that. “You have spit on the ground to show your remorse.”

“This is a bunch of shit.”

“I said spit, not shit.” Eddie leans into Steve’s ear, uses his studio voice, watches as Steve turns pink all over. He lowers the volume down to a whisper. “Try to keep up.”

“Asshole.” But there’s a grin plastered all over Steve’s face as he grumbles. Eddie’s chest is fizzing, total carbonated joy inside him knowing that Steve is a vicious little monster, just like him.

He shoos Steve off to complete the reversal process. Sits on the edge of the stage, legs dangling over the rim, fingers fidgeting with a thread on his jeans.

He’s so smug, watching the prettiest boy on the planet become the grumpiest goofball. Steve might look like an angel, but he has the aura of a full-bred Pomeranian left in the rain.

“I’m making a new rule!” Steve shouts from the back of the theater.

“How ambitious of you!”

Eddie swears he can hear Steve growling in response, which fuck, that shouldn’t be such an adorably hot combo. But Eddie pictures the curve of Steve’s upper lip as he snarls and the zigzag of his arched eyebrows, and that’s exactly what it is. Hot. Adorable. Sensational.

Steve Harrington is a game of Mad Libs. Every adjective, every word that invokes head rushes and heart flutters, they’re all about him.

“As I was saying before you rudely mocked me,” Steve is in Eddie’s peripherals now, still stepping backwards. Toe to heel, hands loosely in his pants pockets. Not fair that he can make walking backwards look slick and cool. The nerve, the gall. “My new rule is that I get to ask you a question each time I get to the front.”

Eddie pulls one knee up to his chest, lets his chin rest over top of it. “Well then... ask away, o’ cursed one.”

Steve stops at the front of the stage. He doesn’t turn all the way around or start walking forward again. He turns just enough to look at Eddie. Focusing on him.

The sudden attention to Eddie’s face gets him all stuffy. He tries to hide the color that’s surely settled on his cheeks by digging one side of his face into his kneecap. It’s a dopey move. Too bashful, even for him.

“Alright.” Steve says. “How do you know so much about theater?”

An easy question with an easy answer. Relief surges through Eddie. “Most voice actors start out as stage actors. Not always, but a lot of us do. Gotta start somewhere, ya know?”

“Yeah. I know.” Steve nods, and continues with his second lap.

Once his footsteps are far away enough for Eddie to think properly, it dawns on him - they’re getting to know each other. Like authentic people would do.

Like… an actual date.

Shit, it’s been so long since someone in this artificial fucktown has wanted to know things about Eddie beyond hookups and screenames. A genuine moment was right in front of him, and he almost missed it.

That sobers him up. Eddie shoves away his need to Cause Chaos and accepts the sincerity. Gives it right back to Steve. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“How did the modeling gig start?”

“Agents found my instagram again.” Steve replies. “Liked my pictures enough to offer me some shitty jobs to build up my resume. The usual story these days.”

“Right.”

Eddie can’t fathom being that attractive. So attractive that people seek him out.

Different worlds is an understatement. Different realms is more like it.

“Next question.” Steve says, arriving to the front again. “Would you rather visit the beach or the mountains?”

Eddie has to think about that one for a minute. He doesn’t take many vacations, can’t afford to on a single artist’s income.

But he remembers a trip to Colorado that he took as a teenager. Vaguely recalls not appreciating any of the landscapes because he was too busy texting his new girlfriend during the whole damn trip.

“The mountains.” Eddie answers, just as Steve begins to walk again. “The Rockies and I have some… unfinished business, if you will.”

Steve chuckles. “Sounds like there’s a story behind that.”

“Definitely.”

“Maybe I’ll get to hear it sometime.”

“If you want.” Eddie says, beaming at the implication.

Steve’s footsteps stop. “Like I said on the phone, Eddie. Hearing you talk is...” The Earth feels silent. But the tension in Eddie’s ears is audible. “Well… I'm into it, I guess.”

Eddie has to switch knees to ease the thump in his dick. “And is Steve Harrington a mountain man or a beach bum?”

“Depends on the season.”

“Such a diplomatic answer.” Such a vague answer too, Eddie thinks.

“Okay. Last question.” Steve arrives at the front, shorter of breath than he was the first two laps. He hesitates for a second, then takes a couple of steps towards Eddie. “All those tattoos you have… did getting them done hurt?”

“Like a bitch.” Eddie bunches up his shirt to show off the sleeve of ink he has on his left arm. Took years for it to look this intricate. This complete. He’ll never get tired of staring at it. “Why? Itching to get one or something?”

“Nah. Never got the appeal of putting yourself through hours of pain or whatever.”

“It’s all about the art. The memories. The stories.” Eddie stretches out his bent knee. Lets it drop back down, relaxing into his explanation. “All of those things stitched into designs that I get to admire every damn day for the rest of my life.”

“Art, huh?” Steve takes a few steps closer, close enough to touch.

“What can I say?” Eddie is shamelessly studying the specks in Steve’s eyes. How all the colors blend and separate the closer he gets. Can hear himself grinning as he speaks. “I’m a big fan of gazing at pretty things.”

He’s so tempted to reach out, pull Steve in. Have him straddle his waist while they taste each other for hours.

But he’s still mooning over those eyes - the ones that deserve myths and legends to be told about them for ages. Centuries. Whichever is longer.

“Um.” Steve’s voice snaps Eddie out of his spell. “So… spit?”

“Sorry what?”

“The curse.” Steve says. “I’m supposed to spit on the ground, yeah?”

“Right, yeah. Uh huh.” Eddie rambles, still internally choking on the fact that Steve just said spit to him. In public.

Steve backs away, puts some space between them. He begins making this nasty, gravelly side with his mouth. His jaw sags slightly as he does it, the lump in his throat bobbing the whole time.

Eddie gawks, fully unable to look away while Steve swishes the spit around. Filling one cheek, then the other. He’s getting harder with every noise, every swish.

All at once, Steve forcefully hocks the stream of spit onto the ground. It goes diagonally, lands way closer to Eddie than he was expecting. Gets some goddamn distance, which makes Eddie’s eyes roll back. He’s pretty sure he lets out a wobbly ‘fuck’ at how obscene it all looks.

Steve wanders back over, avoids stepping in the wet mess he made on the ground. He places a hand on Eddie’s knee, works his way up the rough edges of denim.

Eddie’s vision is still spotty from what he just witnessed, so he decides to talk until everything clears up. Steve is into that right? The talking bullshit?

“There’s one more step to complete this.” Eddie watches the blurry outline of Steve’s hand rubbing his thigh, slowly blinking the image into full focus.

“And what’s that?” Steve’s voice is low, eyes fixed on Eddie’s mouth.

“You gotta…” Eddie licks his lip. Places a hand over top of Steve’s. Moving where it moves. Going where it goes. Buys himself some time to get the words straightened out. “You gotta kiss the nearest sewer rat loser.”

“And if I don’t do that?” Steve leans in till their noses touch. “Then what? The curse won’t be broken?”

Eddie nods. Only able to give a thin ‘mhmm’ in reply. He wraps two fingers around Steve’s wrist, the hand that's still trailing heat along his thigh. Needs to press against the pulse there, feel it jump. Spike.

Steve is so quiet. So controlled compared to his pulse. “Can’t have that then, can we?”

His lips part, hovering over Eddie’s mouth. The kiss starts out like that. Lips treading, only meeting between breaths. Neither of them pushing for more than seconds of warm contact, brief and sweet.

That is until Steve’s free hand starts twisting into Eddie’s shirt, tugging him along by the soft fabric. Eddie sinks forward, dives fully into the kiss. He holds his breath or maybe it just gets caught in his lungs from how good it all feels. How Steve touches him like he's captured. How Steve kisses him like he’s dessert.

Eddie can't help but smush their lips together, forcing their faces closer than faces can scientifically be. He hears the wet smack of their tongues echoing underneath the amphitheater, waking his lungs the fuck up. Lets out the weakest sigh, hopes most of the sound gets trapped between Steve’s lips.

Oh god, his lips. They’re fuller than Eddie’s, puffier now from kissing this hard. He wants to squish them around with his fingers, push them into pout so he can suck on them. Turn them nice and red. Eddie gets his hands tangled in Steve’s hair, knots them up enough to resist the lip-squishing temptation that’s burning him up inside.

“Here.” Steve exhales, hooks one of Eddie’s legs around his waist.

That… okay, fuck. That’s so hot, so unexpectedly assertive and right. Eddie takes the hint, wraps his other leg around Steve. The heel of his scuffed boots is digging into Steve’s ass, not too hard, but enough to earn a dirty whine out of Steve. He pushes them together, clothes rubbing back and forth, scratching loudly. Muffles their mouth noises though.

“Can we…” Eddie wants to move this elsewhere, anywhere less public. He’s so fucking selfish for that. Needs to swallow every sound Steve makes, secure every expression with a lock. Nobody else should be allowed to see Steve like this besides Eddie.

He lets one hand unravel from Steve’s hair, glides down to the collar of Steve’s tank top. He yanks the material lower, presses his lips against the new area of exposed skin. Sips and sucks over that spot, claims it like he could extract a piece of Steve’s soul if he sucks hard enough.

“Yeah, fuck yeah.” Steve responds, whimpering into the top of Eddie’s hair. Not entirely clear if he’s saying that out of pleasure, or agreeing with Eddie that they should relocate, but whatever. It's all too good to overthink the meaning.

Eddie unhooks his legs and kisses the deep purple mark he just made. Too fucking proud how easily the color spreads into reddish tones around the edges.

His vision goes fuzzy again as he stands upright, has to blink away all the white specks of dizzy lust. Eddie offers a hand to Steve, but there’s no damn point for that. Steve is already hopping up onto the stage, makes it look effortless. Cool as shit.

“Follow me.” Steve grabs the crook of Eddie’s forearm, pulling him into the forested scenery.

As if there were any need for Steve to request that. Eddie Munson would follow Steve into the sketchiest alleyway of Hell, if it meant they could kiss like that some more.

They duck underneath a few tree limbs, weave through the maze of green. A few leaves get into Eddie’s mouth, but he hardly notices anything besides the dent that Steve’s fingernail is leaving in his arm. It would make the sickest crescent moon tattoo, inked and perfectly shaped.

Damnit, Eddie’s thoughts are getting more fucked the deeper they hide. Steve slams Eddie against the trunk of a large tree. He realizes with the thud on his back that it’s plywood, not tree bark. Doesn’t care one bit if his shirt tears from the nails jutting out. Cares even less if he gets splinters from the slow grinding of their hips, hitching his shirt up further with every thrust.

“These are sexy.” Steve tugs at Eddie’s empty belt loop. Didn’t need an actual belt with how suffocating they are. “But they’ve gotta go. If that’s cool.”

“Get them the hell out of here.” Eddie is subconsciously thanking Chrissy for suggesting these stupid pants. She’ll be insufferable when he tells her about the jean's success rate. But right now? Worth it.

Anything seems worth it to have Steve popping the button out, ripping the zipper down. He’s so focused on getting these pants off that his forehead wrinkles, little beads of sweat gathering on his temples.

Eddie can’t resist any longer, not after seeing Steve equally covered in desperation. He palms the front of Steve’s pants, wants to give him some relief for this valiant jean-removing effort.

“Steve.” Eddie huffs, brushes his lips over Steve’s ear. “You have no idea how much I’ve thought about this.” He bites over the skin, nibbling carefully with the tip of his teeth.

It must tickle because Steve laughs while shrugging the jeans lower, boxers going with them.

“So tell me then.” He kisses Eddie. It’s harsh, mostly panting into his mouth. Steve sinks to the floor and looks up. “Keep talking.”

This. This goddamn view. Eddie wasn’t expecting to get a view of Steve on his knees tonight. Wasn’t expecting his head to go limp, looking up at Eddie the way he eyefucked the camera on the day they first met.

Only difference is, Steve’s not acting - not pretending to be needy.

He just is. He’s all of those coy and sinful things, exclusively for Eddie this time.

“Spit in my hand.” Steve stretches his hand up towards Eddie’s chin - gives him those big, midnight eyes that could make dormant volcanoes erupt instantly. Defy physics, end climate change.

Eddie doesn’t use brain cells anymore, just does what he’s told. He gathers enough spit in his mouth, then watches it trickle out. Pooling in the center of Steve’s hand. It’s gross, sure. But also, it’s the hottest thing he’s ever done.

Gross and hot. Those sensations are fucking synonymous right now.

“Tell me, Eddie.” Steve gets his fingers around Eddie’s cock, the warm wetness makes it twitch in his hold. Apparently, no part of Eddie’s anatomy can believe this is really happening, not even his dick.

“Uh-”

“You said you’ve thought about it.”

“Lots.”

“So tell me while I get you off.”

“Oh.. god, okay.” And Eddie is good at that. Talking nonstop. Revealing all of his filthy secrets when asked so politely. He did it last night, slipped into his darker persona with ease so Steve could feel good.

But that’s just it, isn’t it? Eddie would say a flurry of fuckery for Steve Harrington’s approval. Get him to come until he shakes because Eddie wants that. Wants Steve to feel like liquid gold dripping between his fingers. Wants Steve to bend and break under his words and touch.

Talking dirty to get himself off is new territory. Eddie is a perpetual giver, loves being that way most of the time. Especially for someone as spectacular as Steve.

“Go ahead, babe.” Steve urges, licks the muscle of Eddie’s inner thigh till it tightens.

Right, he can do this. Even if he is short of breath. Eddie can be as confident as he was last night while Steve strokes him. “Thought about you since the commercial production.”

It’s a start. He bites his lip and keeps going. “All I could think about was… fuck. Opening you up. Leaving my fingerprints on your hips.”

“What else?” Steve purrs, working Eddie roughly with his spit-slick fingers. Sounds just as ruined as Eddie does.

“Wanted to fuck you in my lap.” Eddie pauses to moan, chest falling hard. He gets another glimpse of Steve’s hand on him, picking up the pace. A tempo so delicious that it shuts off Eddie’s judgment skills. His mouth running wild. “Let you ride me just like that. Use me till your legs go weak.”

Steve huffs out a laugh. His grip gets a little firmer, loosening up between strokes. Makes a fucking pattern out of it, has Eddie craving it. Needs more.

“And what if I wanted to fuck you, huh?” Steve’s question hits his ears like a whip. Cracking every nerve in Eddie’s body.

“I’d let you.” And it’s true, so very true. Eddie’s mouth is still going rogue, uttering truths like he’s on trial. Ready to testify all his desires to Steve. Sign his name on the dotted fucking line. “You could wreck me any way you want, sweetheart.”

Eddie seems to have found the secret words to Steve’s wild side. He’s taking Eddie down his throat, almost too fast. So fast that drool forms at the corners of his stretched lips, mouth gurgling already.

Eddie is swearing, not even real words half the time - just moans that sound explicit enough to get bleeped out on public access television. One hand goes over his own mouth while the other keeps combing through Steve’s hair.

It’s so damp now, sticking out erratically at the sides. Eddie curls a few strands over his thumb, watches the color drain from his finger. So demented, so good.

Steve is taking his cock so damn well, so Eddie tells him. Truly, all that he’s capable of is sex-drunk praise. Letting Steve know how gorgeous he is, how bruised his throat will be from sucking this much cock, how swollen and sore his lips look at this angle.

Eddie can’t stop because every phrase makes Steve get messier. Whining and whimpering each time he pulls off. Looking up at Eddie before taking him in again. Getting louder. Loud enough that sidewalk pedestrians definitely could hear him if they linger nearby for too long.

Eddie's knees buckle as he gets close. Doesn't have the energy to straighten back out, let alone warn Steve that he’s about to come. None of that seems to matter though. Steve nods twice, still bobbing around Eddie, like he just knows. Knows Eddie is there and is fucking willing to work him through it.

“Holy fuck, Steve.” Which yeah, Eddie gets it. Uttering someone’s name while he comes in their mouth is a little tacky and cliche. But saying it is involuntary, totally out of his control. Truthfully, Eddie relinquished all control to Steve hours ago.

Steve swallows, cleans Eddie with a few swipes of his overworked tongue like it’s nothing. No problamo. Like that’s the only way to handle the aftermath of an orgasm. In the most delightful way, or whatever musical shit Mary Poppins sings about.

He gives the laziest, dreamiest grin as Eddie collapses down to his level. Both of them heaving, kissing with aching lungs.

“Fucking fantastic.” Eddie whispers, brushes his knuckles over Steve’s pink-stained cheeks. Hopes his rings don’t hurt too much, absently forgetting how chunky they are.

Steve leans into the small touch. “Glad to hear it.”

“You’re fantastic.” Eddie clarifies. Means it more than any superstition he’s ever heard in his life.

He’s more than ready to get his hands all over Steve, make him come until he faints. But Steve is adamant that he’s chills with waiting. Says he actually enjoys the buildup from staying horny for hours and hours. Mentions something about that being a new discovery that he wants to explore.

With Eddie.

Steve fucking Harrington wants to explore new sides of himself with Eddie. That sends him reeling. Smitten and spiraling.

“Are sure?” Eddie paws at Steve’s hard-on, ready to jump in and save the day via orgasm.

“Very sure.” He lifts Eddie's hand away, snickering as he lays a quick kiss on each finger. “I like being around you. That’s not gonna change overnight.”

“Like being around you too, Steve.” He takes Steve’s face into his hands, smushes it back and forth until Steve smiles. “Crazy about it, actually.”

The sun is low, barely any light left in the sky. But as Eddie holds Steve’s face, watching him smile, he notices that Steve is glowing. Not beaming, actually glowing. Even through the dimness of sky and the shadows formed by tree limbs, Eddie can see all of Steve’s features.

How is that possible?

They each look up and see it. Taking it in, this mysterious glow.

“Wow.” They say in unison, almost matching pitch. Matching levels of disbelief too.

Between the branches and leaves, they are tiny lights. Floating, orb-like lights. The brightness shining off of them is warm, soft on the eyes. They’re scattered high over the forested backdrop, orange and yellow hues twinkling against rich greens.

Enchanting is the only word to describe this new addition. Incredibly and unbelievably enchanting.

“Set designer really popped off with this cover shoot, I guess.” Steve throws the theory out there, barely sounds like he believes it himself.

Eddie rubs his eyes. His voice comes out hushed, doesn’t really mean for it to but it does anyways. “Steve… those aren’t attached to anything. No strings, no wires. They’re just-”

“Floating?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Be serious, dude.”

And Eddie is. Completely serious. No jokes or snarky replies in his system right now. He points to the nearest light, then back at Steve. “You broke the curse, right?”

“Apparently.” Steve shrugs.

“So maybe Thespis is showing his forgiveness.”

“Who the hell is Thespis?” Steve pinches the skin between his eyes and groans - acting like Eddie’s hypothesis is giving him a migraine. Honestly, it might be. Wouldn’t be the first time Eddie worked someone up to the point of desperately needing tylenol.

He switches tactics, nuzzles into Steve’s shoulder with his nose. Attempts to lighten the mood with at least one joke in these trying times of bad luck and headaches. “Or he’s giving us his blessing for copulating on his holy grounds.”

The lights answer, flaring out all around them. They pulsate for a minute, maybe two, before returning back to their normal glow. Eddie tucks in a grin because Steve’s gorgeous little head looks like it’s about to detonate off of his gorgeous little body. So if he smiles right now, Steve will undoubtedly explode on this very flammable set piece.

Which would be a wicked awesome way to die. Post-orgasm, then up in flames. But alas, they have dinner reservations. It would be rude not to show up.

Really, it’s no surprise to Eddie that the ghost of theater is into partial voyeurism, signaling his approval with twinkling lights. Semi-public sex probably classifies as its own unique strand of performing art in Ancient Greece.

Or the dead dude is just into taboo stuff.

If so, good for him. You do you, Thespis.

“Look.” Steve says, standing up. “Maybe it’s… an optical illusion.”

“Or magic.”

Steve lets out a deep sigh and offers his hand to Eddie. Pulls him up in one swift motion. Doesn’t let go of his hand afterward either. “How about we drop it and go get some dinner?”

Typically, Eddie is all about a verbal bloodbath. But Steve laces their fingers together, connects them in a way that has Eddie forgetting all about his need to be right.

“Consider it dropped.”

The lights flicker out as they walk further away from the stage. And as they get into Eddie’s car, they go out entirely. Steve flicks on the radio, defaults to the classic rock station, which is playing “Magic” by The Cars.

“It’s a sign.” Eddie sings to the tune, poking a finger at Steve.

“Just drive, you big dork.” Steve swats him away, placing a hand on Eddie’s thigh while he drives. He turns up the volume, surprisingly knows every lyric by heart. Belts them out. Full on screams the parts he likes best.

Which Eddie totally can relate to. He wants to scream about all the parts he likes best about Steve. About their date that’s not even finished yet.

On their way to dinner, Eddie avoids the cracks on the sidewalk. On the drive home, he taps the roof of his car whenever he makes it through a yellow light at an intersection.

And when he drops Steve off at his apartment precisely at 11:11pm, he doesn’t say a damn word. Keeps his mouth shut, only opens it to kiss Steve goodbye (with tongue, obviously).

Sure, it’s just a dumb superstition, Eddie can admit that to himself.

But tonight… it feels like more than that.

More than a coincidence.

More than a good omen.

He sends a ‘got home safely’ text to Steve as he pulls into his designated parking spot. Totally obsessed with how fast Steve texts him back, it’s too fucking cute.

Steve: glad :) had a great time btw

Eddie: really?

Steve: yes *really*

Eddie: i had a great time too

He quickly taps the voice-record button before Steve can respond:

“Actually,” Eddie sneers. Uses the voice that Steve goes crazy for. “I had a magical time.”

Steve: ugh

Eddie: ;)

#steddie #steddie fic #this is inspired by the unhinged ao3 tag generator #thank you all for reading along on this series!#ao3 has alllll the tags if you're curious before reading #have a lovely day! xx

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doodledrawsthings · 1 year

Note

I love your art and seeing your single dad ghost wurm monster evolve over time. I just.. It makes me glad to see him and I hope you have a wonderful day

#he's coming along gradually haha #thank you!! i really love your art as well so its cool to read this!#gruvu

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piratekane · 1 year

Text

She’s bone-tired, aches in places she didn’t know could ache and muscles stretched out in a way they haven’t been for a long time. Since her physical therapy, at least. The rock climbing a few weeks ago certainly hadn’t helped, but there was no way she was going to stay with her feet rooted to the floor. Not when she could climb up 15 feet and hang there like Spider-man. Better than Spider-man.

Suck it, Tom Holland.

She paid for it later, though, and spent the next day letting her body remember how to stretch, going through yoga poses and washing her breakfast down with ibuprofen.

It was worth it, still, to see the look on Bea’s friend’s faces. Mary was impressed, clapping her on the shoulder when she got to the bottom and telling Camila - who made it up the wall the fastest - that she had competition. Even Lilith regarded her with a level of approval that Ava ate up. She’s going to make Lilith like her. Or at least smile politely, even if it is with all her teeth.

But it was Bea’s face that made it even better.

She hasn’t known Bea long - she’s known others longer, including that one cafeteria lady who always saves her a side of mac and cheese because Ava said one time that it was her favorite - but she already knows that a big part of her wants to impress Bea. She can’t quite put it into words. There’s something about Bea that makes Ava want to show off. Maybe it’s because one thing she’s learned about Beatrice is that her smiles are fleeting. Ava wants to collect every one of them.

She’ll have a lot of opportunities, now that Bea is her friend and her roommate.

“Where do you want this one?” Beatrice asks from the doorway. She’s holding a paper box with tons of smiley faces drawn on it in a thick-tipped permanent marker. There’s a method to her packing madness, but Ava is big enough to admit that she has no idea what’s in this particular box.

“Here is fine.” She shifts in the computer chair Bea got her, a slight pinch in her back.

Bea looks down at the last few inches of floor where Ava points and frowns. “How will you get out?”

Ava lifts her legs, wiggling her socked toes. “I’ll jump. Have you jumped on this bed? Is it a solid bed for jumping?”

“Jumped on the…” Beatrice blinks at her. “No, Ava. I haven’t jumped on the bed.”

Ava shrugs. “You’re missing out. My dorm room was not good jumping material. When’s the last time you jumped on a bed?”

“Nev-never.”

Her mouth drops open. “Never?” She immediately frowns. Beatrice wasn’t kidding when she told her that her life hadn’t been normal kid stuff and her parents were hardly around. They had that in common: a girl who lived in an orphanage and a girl who grew up alone. It makes her a little sad for Bea. “We have to fix this.”

“I am not jumping on the bed,” Bea says firmly.

Ava shrugs. Today is not the day, and tomorrow won’t be either, but soon. She stands and stretches her arms above her head, immediately dropping them so that her shirt doesn’t ride up any higher. Bea seems like the kind of girl who appreciates a little modesty. Ava can do that. Or, she can try really hard to do that.

“I am officially all moved in.” She grins, surveying her kingdom. There’s a desk in one corner, left behind by Bea’s roommate who went to study abroad and didn’t come back. A nightstand by the bed has her lamp and her hat on it. She’ll have to hang her clothes, fill the dresser, find a few posters to put up on the walls. But it’s hers. “So, roomie, what’s next?”

Bea looks around, clasping her hands behind her. “I believe those are all your things.”

“Except for the kitchen stuff.”

“Yes.” There’s a faint smile on Bea’s face and Ava feels a thrill, knowing she put it there. “How could I forget your… hot dog maker.”

“Not sure. It’s fire engine red.” But she looks around too. “I think we’re done. Now we can get ready for movie night!”

A proper end to moving day. Movie night with an Ava-curated predetermined list, tons of drinks and movie theater popcorn and Bea’s friends. She had hesitantly suggested it to Bea a few days ago. She’d never done a movie night and her College Experiences bucket list clearly had it marked as item #8. But Bea had said yes almost immediately, and Ava went to work, making a list of options in between packing and classes and meals with Bea and her friends.

They’re going to be my friends, she decides. That’s on her bucket list too.

Now she just needed them to get here. The minutes have been dragging on as she’s waited as patiently as possible. But time didn’t seem to be cooperating. It’s doing its best to drag its heels. Ava wants to grab it by the neck and shake it.

Bea seems to notice that. “They’ll be here soon.” She says it very patiently, like she already knows Ava does terrible with waiting. And Ava likes that. She likes that Bea is paying attention to her enough to notice these things.

Bea’s going to be a great roommate. Ava wants to be just as good. She looks around her room, satisfied. She can unpack later - there’s enough space to get from the bed to the door and Bea insisted she make the bed first, almost like she knew that Ava was going to stack everything in insurmountable piles and try her best to get around them.

See? she thinks. She knows me already.

She’s about to say that, to tell Bea that she’s already killing this ‘best roommate’ contest that Bea doesn’t know they’re having, when someone knocks on the door. Once, twice, three times.

Ava does jump on the bed this time, beating Beatrice to the door and pulling it open to find Camila on the other side.

Ava beams. “Movie night!”

“Is the whole movie about… biking?” Lilith makes it seem like a swear word.

Ava grins, shoves a handful of popcorn into her mouth, and says, “id bub nimnasts.” Everyone turns to her. She swallows and smiles more sheepishly this time. “It’s about gymnastics.”

Lilith heaves a long-suffering sound. “Gymnastics.” It’s really a testament to her disdain for everyday things, that everything that comes out of her mouth sounds like she’s spitting it from between her teeth. But then the running biker rips off her helmet and it’s Missy Peregrym and even Lilith seems interested.

Ava gets it. She does. This is peak Missy Peregrym. And it only gets better. She stops watching the movie when Missy Peregrym’s character, Haley, finds her way back to the gym and on Vanessa Lengies’ character, Joanne’s, last nerve and starts watching the room instead. Onscreen, Haley pretends to be on the phone while Joanne stomps her foot angrily, and Mary snorts, lips curled up in a smile, and that’s when Ava knows this is a good choice.

She wants to impress them so badly. It consumes her. Partly because she thinks they’re really cool, even Lilith. And partly because she thinks Bea is amazing and these people agree. Sister Frances always told her to stop wasting her time and do everyone the favor of aligning herself with the right people. Ava is pretty sure she was saying it to get rid of her, to go out and be someone else’s problem, but Ava thinks she found the right people all the same.

“Isn’t that the guy from Twilight?” Camila asks, abandoning her popcorn. Ava meets Bea’s eyes and smiles. Bea shakes her head fondly at Camila and Ava wonders when she’ll get the same look. Someday, she thinks. She looks back at Camila, leaning forward in her seat on the bean bag chair she wrestled through their front door earlier. “He’s the cute one, I think. The other one kind of freaked me out. I don’t think he ever blinked.”

Their front door. Ava’s heart beats a little harder.

Ava could go into detail about Twilight - it was basically contraband at the orphanage. But they’re in the middle of a movie. And she thinks Lilith might actually throw a soda at her. She doesn’t think Bea would appreciate the mess. So that’s a Camila-and-Ava conversation for later.

“Yikes. Ice baths.” Shannon shudders. “I used to do those in high school, during the season. Need a wake up call? Submerge yourself in a metal tub of ice cubes.” She points her entire soda towards the screen. “Though, I never looked like that doing it.”

Mary snakes her arm across the back of Shannon’s shoulder. “No, you didn’t.”

Ava slaps her hand over her mouth to keep in her laugh but Shannon rolls her eyes and elbows Mary gently. “You’re right. I looked better.”

“Damn right you did.” Mary meets Ava’s eye and smirks. It feels like a secret between them. That swelling feeling in her chest reaches a crescendo.

She shoves another handful of popcorn into her mouth and spares a glance at Bea, finding that Bea is already looking back at her. She inhales, nearly choking on a kernel. Bea sits forward, worry on her face, but Ava holds up a hand, stopping her. She swallows a few times, washes down what she can with her soda, and takes a deep breath.

“Do you like it?” Ava whispers, aware that she can be too loud sometimes.

Bea has to lean closer to hear her. “It’s entertaining.”

Ava’s eyes narrow. She doesn’t know what that word means to Bea yet. Sometimes entertaining means not good, and sometimes it means the best thing I’ve watched in my whole life. She’s still learning to read her.

“Good,” Bea fills in. Ava exhales in relief. “Gymnastics takes a considerable amount of skill.”

“You could do it,” Ava says confidently. She nods when Bea goes to argue with her. “I saw you rock climbing. And all the martial arts you talk about? I bet you could beat Nastia Liukin.”

Bea’s cheeks might redden but Ava can’t tell in the dim light. “Actual Olympic gold medalist Nastia Liukin? I doubt that.”

Ava shrugs. “Guess we’ll have to call her and find out. But my money's on you.”

Lilith shushes them, glaring. Ava puts one hand up in surrender and grins at Bea when Lilith turns back to the movie. She pushes the popcorn back to Bea and waits expectantly. Bea is much more graceful than Ava, picking out a few pieces delicately. Ava doesn’t offer the same grace; she shoves her hand in and grabs as much as she can.

“Wait, her mom cheated on her dad with her coach?” Lilith doesn’t pull her eyes away from the screen, but scoffs. “Pathetic.”

Camila claps when it ends, grinning. Ava matches her smile, looking around excitedly.

She pats herself on the shoulder mentally, though her hand itches to do it physically. She made a good choice, a strong start. She stands up, twists her back side to side so she can stretch it out, and grins. “Who wants more popcorn?”

She waits until a quiet moment, after everyone has been settled into movie and Bea has finished what Ava is sure to be the first of many comments on the historical validity of The Mummy before she says:

“This movie was my bisexual awakening.”

There’s a cough and sputter from her left where Beatrice is sitting. She thinks about reaching out and giving her a friendly whack on the back, to clear out whatever has gotten stuck in her windpipe, but Mary laughs so loudly, Ava just ends up grinning instead.

Lilith eyes her critically. “Brendan Fraser isn’t the worst you could do, I suppose.”

It’s a glowing compliment coming from Lilith. Ava files it away for the next time she inevitably says something that isn’t.

Camila leans her head back, staring at Ava upside down. “Rachel Weisz is my ‘if I had to pick a girl’.”

“Fraser is not the guy I’d pick,” Mary says firmly. “I’m more of an Usher kind of girl.”

Shannon shrugs. “I think I’d take Mummy-Fraser over Tarzan-Fraser. The long hair is… Eh.”

The TV flickers, brightening the room as Rick O’Connell crosses the screen with a torch in his hand. Ava turns expectantly to Bea. “What about you?”

“What about-” Bea’s voice is slightly squeaky, if Ava had to put a word to it. Almost as if she doesn’t know where to break the syllables. “This movie was not my bisexual awakening,” she finally says.

“Well, of course not.” Ava reaches over and does touch Bea this time, patting her knee gently. “I assume you’d be too focused on the truth of all this history stuff to even focus on either of them.” She smiles warmly. “Am I right?”

Everyone seems to be looking at the two of them. Ava feels the room tip a little. She’s suddenly worried she said the wrong thing. She just thought, with Mary and Shannon clearly dating, that it’d be okay to say something like that. They seem to be open enough, not shying away from each other. But maybe she shouldn’t have. Or maybe it’s the movie choice. Catherine Zeta-Jones and Antonio Banderas also had something good going on.

Bea stares and Ava starts to count the seconds as they stretch.

“I’m not—” Bea begins haltingly, then stops.

A tendril of panic curls around Ava’s chest. She just assumed. Sure, Bea never explicitly said she liked girls, but Ava isn’t usually wrong about this kind of stuff. Maybe she did get it wrong. Or maybe she just said it too loud. She has a tendency to barrel head first into things without thinking.

Bea clears her throat. “I suppose…” Her eyes dart over Ava’s shoulder to where Mary and Shannon are. Ava looks, smiling a little, still confused. “I suppose… Rachel Weisz is someone a person might find appealing.”

“Attractive,” Ava corrects, slightly relieved that she didn’t read Bea incorrectly. “And good choice.” She nods in total agreement. Bea’s taste is up there.

She shoves her hand into the candy bowl that’s replaced the popcorn. M&Ms in this bowl, but Bea has Junior Mints. She looks up, mouth full, and finds Bea still staring back at her. An M&M falls out of her mouth and lands in her hand. She feels her face flush and she quickly tosses it back in.

Lilith’s face is twisted in disgust. There goes that good favor. But Mary and Shannon are looking at her too, and Ava gets a weird feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“I’m sorry,” she says slowly. “I think I said something wrong.” Even though she has no clue what that might be. Her worry that she’s made Bea uncomfortable by talking about her sexuality rises again in her head.

There’s quiet for a moment before Bea says, “No.” She reaches forward like she’s trying to get Ava to understand something but her hand hovers over Ava’s, the one with a small chocolate smudge on it, and she pulls it back into her own lap. “You don’t mind?”

“Mind…” Ava blinks, looks back again. Mary is staring at her and there’s a slight edge she hasn’t seen before. “That you like Rachel Weisz?” No one says yes or no and she’s still so confused. “I totally don’t mind, if that’s what you think. Like I said.” She points both of her thumbs back at herself and tries to smile in a way she knows is charming. “Awakening.”

Bea’s face is pinched, though. Ava has the strongest urge to press her hands to it and smooth it out. Mary clears her throat and Bea’s face does it all on its own.

“I mean, I’d still be okay with it if you liked Patricia Velasquez better,” Ava admits. “The gold costume was…” She whistles low and reaches out a hand, nudging Bea in the shoulder. Bea sways away and back in again stiffly, but she seems to be breathing out.

Ava exhales. She looks back over her shoulder and Mary is still looking at her but she’s smiling too, nodding once at her. Whatever test that was, she knows she passed it. And honestly, Bea can’t go wrong with either choice. And if she is into someone like Patricia Velasquez, Ava knows a girl in her Humanities class who can pull off that same kind of eyeliner.

She offers Bea the bowl of M&Ms silently, gesturing for the Junior Mints. Bea hands it over slowly, her eyes still searching Ava’s face. She hopes Bea finds whatever she’s looking for. Because she wants to show Bea that she’s someone to trust, that Bea made a good decision, and that moving in was something that was going to be great.

She smiles encouragingly and Bea smiles back, ducking her head slightly. Ava turns back to the TV screen, silently passing Camila the bowl of Junior Mints in return for the Skittles.

“Actually,” Bea says quietly, almost as if she’s only talking to Ava. “Did you know that Medjay, the Pharoh’s bodyguards in the movie, actually refers to people from the land of Medja. It was believed to be located in Nubia, near the Second Nile Cataract.”

Ava abandons the screen, turning to Bea now. “How do you know this stuff?”

Bea shrugs a shoulder. “I like knowing things.”

“We’re finding a trivia night and going out,” Ava decides. Lilith shushes her and she ignores it. “The brains between you, Shannon, and Camila, plus my good looks, Mary’s brawn, and the whole… scary thing Lilith has going on, we’ll clean up.”

Bea smiles fully this time. A pillow hits Ava in the side of the head but it doesn’t stop her from smiling back at Bea before snatching the pillow off the floor and holding onto it until Lilith wrestles it out of her hands ten minutes later.

They’ve moved onto pizza by the time Atlantis queues up on the TV. Six different boxes sit open on the breakfast bar, greasy plates on the floor and coffee table. Ava rests a hand on her stomach, her whole body stretched out and her socked feet dangerously close to a mushroom sliding around in a puddle of grease. She peers down. Bea’s plate is full of mushrooms, picked out from the other toppings.

Huh. No mushrooms. Maybe Bea does have a flaw.

“I dated a guy who looked like Milo once,” Camila offers. “Soft spoken, too.” She squints, looking into the middle distance. “I think his name was Ted.”

“Ted.” Mary wrinkles her nose. “There was a Ted in my Women’s Safety class freshman year. Thought it was an easy A and he’d get to feel up a few girls.” She scoffs. “He sure felt my fist in his stomach.”

Ava lifts an arm in solidarity, her whole body weighed down with hot dough and spicy tomato sauce. “I beat up someone once. When I was 6. He broke my ant farm.” She gets a sudden burst of energy as damp anger flows through her. She sits up. “I was the one who got in trouble though, the little jerk.”

Lilith pushes a piece of half-eaten veggie pizza towards Ava. Ava’s stomach protests, but the mushrooms are just that good, so she takes it and polishes off the rest of it. Lilith is warming up to her and Ava revels in it. It’s all part of her master plan to win Lilith over, one small step at a time.

With the understanding, of course, that she’s going to go backwards more than she goes forward. But she can tell how much Lilith means to Beatrice and she can play the long game. It’ll be a good exercise in patience.

“What about you, Beatrice? Beat a lot of people up? I know you can, like, kill a man with your bare hands.”

Lilith snorts. “Beatrice would never.”

Ava grins. “So you would?”

“No,” Bea says loudly over Lilith opening her mouth. “Our training is for self-defense. I have never found any reason to escalate a fight outside of tournaments and educational exercises.” She sees Ava’s eyes tracking the table and nudges the plate of mushroom slices towards her. She thinks she sees Bea’s nose wrinkled in disgust.

“Okay, but, if someone like Helga Sinclair - a total babe, by the way - came charging at you, you wouldn’t fight her?” Ava points at the screen where Helga is lifting boxes up, just to show off her muscles. Her mind gets stuck for a minute. They’re impressive arms. But then, Bea’s arms kind of look the same, now that she thinks about it. Helga has more of a Lilith-attitude, though.

Bea blinks. “She’s a cartoon character.”

“But if she was real,” Ava stresses. “Are you just too proud to tell me you’d wipe the floor with her pretty, 2-dimensional face?” She looks at Shannon. “Is she always this modest?”

Shannon snorts softly. “Yeah, Beatrice never really sells herself well.”

“We’re going to fix that,” Ava decides. Bea opens her mouth but Ava shakes her head. “It’s decided. Operation Beatrice is a Badass henceforth commences tonight, on this Saturday, in Apartment 3B. In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Order.”

Bea’s mouth opens and closes a few times. “That’s not at all how that goes.”

“What a ridiculous thing to say,” Lilith mutters.

“It was kind of sweet,” Camila says kindly. “I think Beatrice needs a personal cheerleader.”

“Seems like Ava is up for the job,” Mary says. Her eyes are on Beatrice, a small smirk on her face. “I say go for it.”

Ava beams. “That’s four votes yes.”

Shannon hums. “I didn’t vote.”

“My vote counts twice,” Ava says without even looking at her. She goes to say something else, but Atlantis comes into view and she forgets what she was going to say, staring in wonder as Milo sees the lost city for the first time.

She watched this movie a lot when she was in the orphanage. Sister Frances was fond of donations and didn’t usually splurge on new things; a handful of DVDs, including Atlantis, were the last thing that showed up that wasn’t already in pieces by the time it got to them. Osmosis Jones was the other one, but one of the older boys broke it when he thought Osmosis Jones was living inside his body.

Atlantis always caught her attention, though. The idea that there was a secret world out there where anything was possible? It was all she dreamed about as a kid, confined to a bed and locked away under Sister Frances’ crow-like eyes. She imagined she was Milo, on the hunt for the one thing that would make her life make sense. Sure, she never found her Atlantis, but Milo did. And she could live through that.

Her eyes stray to Bea. She’s caught herself doing that all night - constantly tuned into Bea, wondering what she’s thinking or if she likes Ava’s choices or if she’s regretting agreeing to this new living situation. She thinks everyone is warming up to her and it makes her grin. Friends. Friends she can hang out with and do movie nights and trivia nights and lunch dates like the one she has scheduled with Camila on Monday between her morning and afternoon classes.

And all thanks to the person who is quickly becoming her favorite person. Bea is her Princess Kira, showing her a whole new world. She frowns. Wrong movie. But then she shrugs; the point still stands.

“Well, you eat enough for two people,” Mary says, pulling Ava’s attention back in. She sounds impressed, though. “I’ve never seen anyone put away what you have in the last few hours.”

Ava grins and pats her stomach. “There’s still room in this ol’ thing. Just you wait.”

Mary shakes her head, a smile on her face. “Okay, baby girl. Whatever you say.”

A rush of affection swells in her chest. No one has ever called her ‘baby girl’ before. Or said it with a smile like Mary’s, like it’s some secret between the two of them. She holds onto it. She wants to wear it again. She wonders what Bea will call her, what her nickname will be.

“None of you seem to understand what a movie night is, do you?” Lilith cuts in. She has her arms crossed over her chest, eyes narrowed. “It means watching a movie, not talking through it.”

“I didn’t realize you liked this movie so much,” Mary says lightly. “If we knew it was your favorite-”

“Not my favorite,” Lilith sniffs.

“-we would have quieted down,” she finishes. “You heard her, ladies, no talking through Lilith’s favorite movie.”

Mary, unlike Ava, catches the pillow Lilith throws and chucks it right back, hitting her right in the face. Ava gasps but the sound is swallowed up by the growl of disbelief from Lilith, the weary groan from Beatrice, Shannon tutting, and Camila clapping her hands together lightly.

It takes considerable effort, and they have to rewind twice, missing the mark both times and just giving up, but now Ava can put an X across the “bloodshed” square on her “how to be friends with girls” bingo card.

Lilith pouts for the next twenty minutes, Mary gloats, and Ava eats two more pieces of pizza, chewing happily.

“You’ll like this one,” Ava promises Bea as she loads the DVD unseen into the player. “It’s Shakespeare.”

A soccer ball bounces across the screen and the look of confusion on Bea’s face deepens. Ava holds out a hand, anticipating a question.

“Just wait, okay? This is pop culture history.”

Bea looks skeptical. “It really is,” Ava insists. “It takes Shakespeare and modernizes it. Think 10 Things I Hate About You. Think Romeo + Juliet. This is a cinematic marvel.”

“Sit down,” Shannon says without any bite. “We’ve liked the other ones so far.”

“Speak for yourself,” Lilith mutters. She scowls, but closes her mouth when Camila looks at her.

Ava doesn’t let it bother her. She swears she saw Lilith crying at the end of Atlantis. But Shannon’s words give her enough courage to take her seat again and watch Bea’s face, eager to see her reaction. She doesn’t have to wait long.

“I love this movie!”

“Not this one.”

Ava looks between Shannon and Mary. They look at each other.

Shannon blinks first. “You don’t like this movie?”

“I want to strangle her boyfriend every time he’s on screen.” Mary scowls, like she’s imagining his throat under her hand. “And Channing Tatum is just…”

“He’s a baby in this movie.”

“He’s not a good actor in this movie.”

Camila raises her hand weakly. “I like him in Magic Mike.” She balks at everyone’s sudden frown. Ava shakes her head. “My freshman year roommate was, like, obsessed with him. Actually, I think her mom was. And it just sort of… trickled down.”

Ava reaches out and pats her head gently. “I’m so sorry. That sounds terrible.”

Camila shrugs. “We traded off. Horror movies for me-”

“Horibble movies for her,” Mary finishes.

Shannon shrugs. “Well, I like this movie. Though, Olivia and Viola should have ended up together.”

That, Ava can get behind. She nods furiously. “Best chemistry, definitely.” She reaches for her bowl of ice cream - she has a scoop of every flavor they got at the grocery store. She digs into it, lifting her spoon to her mouth before she pauses, speaking first. “Do you think Amanda Bynes really knows how to play soccer?”

“No,” echoes around her.

She shrugs. “Didn’t think so.”

They turn their attention back to the movie, ignoring the comments Lilith makes critiquing Sebastian’s girlfriend and Marcus the creep and the principal - who she says reminds her of her tutor. The one you made cry? Bea asks. Lilith grins with all her teeth.

Ava soaks it in like the sun on a beach. She catalogues the way Bea laughs at the pizza shop scene, the way she repeats the ug-lay as if it’s some foreign word she’s learning for the first time. She wonders if she’ll ever hear Bea say it out loud. Maybe she’ll wear something really loud - a word she picked up from Chanel - and see what the reaction is. She watches the way Mary and Shannon whisper to each other, soft murmurs over Olivia and Viola-Sebasatian arguing about cutting open a frog. Even Lilith makes a noise that sounds like a short laugh when Duke shoves a tampon up his nose. Camila mouths the words along with the characters, body jerking a little as if she’s the one playing soccer on the screen.

If 12-year-old Ava could see her now. If 17-year-old Ava could see her now. She wouldn’t believe it. She’d think her whole world extended only as far as the four walls of that orphanage. But it doesn’t. It’s bigger and brighter and filled with the coolest people she’s ever met.

Amanda Bynes flashes the soccer team and Ava laughs and laughs until Bea is smiling and shaking her head - that look, the one Ava saw Bea give Camila, that slight hint of fondness, is aimed directly at her.

The Illyria soccer team wins against Cornwall and Ava feels like she’s won something too.

She barely hears the door click shut as Lilith closes it behind her, the last one to leave.

Ava had watched Camila wrestle her bean bag back out into the hallway, smiling too brightly for someone still up at two-thirty in the morning before she slumped back down on the couch, her energy spent. Mary patted the top of her head with a heavy hand, smoothing it out with a smile, and Shannon had squeezed her shoulder gently in a goodbye before they followed Camila. Lilith had stayed, helping to pick up a few things and talking quietly with Bea. Quiet enough that Ava couldn’t hear it - and too tired to tune into.

The popcorn and the candy and the pizza and the ice cream were catching up to her, making her a little nauseous and a lot full. She slumped down further on the couch and watched Lilith move through the apartment like she knew all its corners. She couldn’t wait until she could do the same.

Bea closes the refrigerator now and turns to Ava, smiling. “Did you have fun?”

“Best night ever.” It’s not a lie. This has kicked ‘First Night out with Chanel’ off the top of her list without a care in the world. “Did you?”

“I had a very nice time. We haven’t done that in a long time.” Bea drifts closer. She sits on the edge of the couch, hovering a little above the cushion.

“Monthly movie nights, then.” A thought crosses her mind and she pouts. “Hey, we forgot National Treasure.”

Bea laughs breathlessly. “I think four movies in one night is more than enough, Ava. There will be more nights for movies. We can watch it another time.”

Ava nods decisively. “Monthly movie nights. We have all the time in the world.”

“We do,” Bea says, and it feels a little bit like they’ll have this forever.

Ava reaches behind her, groping at the back of the couch until she finds the corner of the blanket she’s searching for. She pulls it down over her head.

She thinks she hears Bea laugh, soft and melodic. But she could be imagining it, a holdover from her being hyper-aware of each time she did during movie night. She curls into it and smiles into the arm of the couch. She doesn’t know how she started sliding down, but it’s comfortable here.

“Ava,” Beatrice says gently. “You have a bed.”

Ava pulls the blanket off her head and throws it onto her legs. She squirms, trying to get it to settle over her body. “But this is so comfortable. Where did you find this couch?”

“Shannon picked it out. I’ll ask her the next time I talk to her.”

“I’ve always wanted a couch like this,” she admits. “Big, comfy. Just for us.” Her eyes flutter closed and the room goes hazy before her vision goes dark. “I’m going to sleep here.” She wiggles again. The blanket tangles around her waist.

Bea is quiet for a moment. “Come on. I have something for you.”

Her eyes open quickly, rolling off the couch and onto her feet. “What is it?”

Bea looks nervous but crosses the room to her bedroom, slipping in through the closed door. Ava hears some things moving and then Bea is in the living room again, hands clasped behind her back. She’s holding something.

“It’s- Now that I have it, I’m not sure it-” Bea takes a deep breath and smiles tightly. “I got you something. A sort of housewarming present.”

Ava grins. “I love presents. What is it?”

There’s still an undercurrent of nervousness in the way Bea uncharacteristically shifts. “Hold out your hands. And close your eyes.”

Ava immediately slams her eyes closed and thrusts her hands out. The air feels still but not uncomfortable. Silences with Bea don’t feel weird, which is crazy. So she doesn’t mind the wait as Bea obviously works up the courage to put something in her hands. After a long moment, she feels something soft and nearly weightless drop into her cupped palms.

Bea clears her throat. “You can open your eyes.”

Ava does. She blinks. A long, thin, soft stuffed animal with a white belly and tiger stripes stares back at her. She’s confused for a moment before the pieces slot into her place in her mind. “Is this… Is this Hobbes? From Calvin and Hobbes?

Bea’s cheeks are just the slightest hint of pink. She clears her throat again. “I’m sorry if this is overstepping.”

“It’s really not,” Ava rushes out. Her heart is too big in her chest. Her eyes start to burn a little, hot beads forming in the corners. “How did you-”

“The internet is more than just Wikipedia and Reddit.” Bea’s hands are tucked back behind her again. “But after our conversation…”

Their conversation.

The one where Ava told Bea everything: her accident and the grueling years of work, the orphanage, years spent in the libraries reading everything she could get her hands on. She told her about the Peanuts comics she liked and how one of the older kids had called her Linus because she carried around a blue blanket for a few years. She told Bea about the hours she would spend reading the Calvin and Hobbes comic collections and pretending she could join them on their adventures: riding in a wagon, bubble bath statues, exploring the forest, sledding, waiting for the school bus.

She told Bea she always wanted a Hobbes stuffed animal to take with her on her own adventures, just as soon as she could go and have them. She’d never admitted that to anyone else, not even Diego, the little boy she shared a room with. But something about Bea made it easy to talk about these kinds of things, Maybe it was the way she listened. She didn’t judge, she didn’t laugh.

Ava knows that’s going to be a problem. She’s going to end up telling Bea everything all the time.

And when Bea is ready to talk more about herself, about what her parents were like and how they were never around, Ava is going to be ready to listen.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she says quietly.

Bea’s voice is just as quiet. “I wanted to. You deserve to go on adventures.”

She breathes in slowly. “Today was an adventure. The best kind. And I know there’s going to be a million more.” She hugs Hobbes to her chest. “Because now I have someone. Two someones.” She smiles softly at Bea. “Hobbes. And you.”

Bea’s cheeks pinken just a hint more. She opens her mouth like she’s going to say something, but closes it again. Ava doesn’t want to say anything either, afraid to break this precarious moment. So she just looks at Hobbes, her Hobbes, and feels her chest swell with affection for this new friend she’s found.

‘Thank you,” she whispers. Bea doesn’t whisper back, but Ava doesn't think she needs to. She places Hobbes carefully on the couch. She strokes down his soft belly, fingers lingering before she turns to Bea. “I’m going to hug you. Brace yourself.”

She sees Bea physically prepare for it, watches the muscles under her thin cotton shirt tense. And she laughs, inwardly, that Bea seems to ready herself, as if Ava is going to knock her down. But she doesn’t blame her. Ava crashes into her, arms tight around her middle, trapping Bea’s arms against her sides. She feels Bea struggle for a moment before she frees her arms. Hands hover above her back before Bea pats her gently. Ava grins into the soft skin of Bea's arm.

“I think we’re going to be best friends,” she says quietly in the space between them.

She doesn’t break away from the hug until her arms start to ache. Then she steps back, giving Bea a hesitant smile before she ducks around her, headed to her new bedroom with Hobbies in her hands. With a soft goodnight, she lets Bea have a moment to herself. She seems like the type of person who needs to recover from a hug, but Ava will take care of that.

She’s a very good hugger. And they have time.

#warrior nun #avatrice #ava silva #sister beatrice #forever roommates #this was supposed to be a movie night FICLET #okay listen #this got SO FAR out of hand i cannot even begin to tell you what happened #everyone say thank you kay thank you kay #because she pushed for this and now you get to read if you'd like to #and she spent her time looking it over so she deserves extra thanks #also shout out to dren who opened a floodgate that i didn't realize needed to be let loose #is there a word limit to posts?#apparently not #for those counting along at home it's 6k #i can rest now

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ruvviks · 13 days

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we would sell anything just to buy who we're not // we kill our way to heaven

taglist (opt in/out)

@shellibisshe, @florbelles, @ncytiri, @hibernationsuit, @stars-of-the-heart;

@lestatlioncunt, @katsigian, @radioactiveshitstorm, @estevnys, @adelaidedrubman;

@celticwoman, @rindemption, @carlosoliveiraa, @noirapocalypto, @dickytwister;

@killerspinal, @euryalex, @ri-a-rose, @velocitic, @thedeadthree

#tew #art #art:nathan #nuclearocs #nuclearart #ok so 1st of all: i'm sorry. no i'm not. yes i am. no #2nd of all: do not look at ruvik's scarring for too long i got lazy somewhere along the way #3rd of all: this piece takes place YEARS after the conclusion of both games. i have my own imaginary tew3 AND tew4. don't worry about it #4th of all: the way i see it is that eventually ruben's own appearance starts overwriting leslie's so he looks mostly like himself again #(just with hair and eyebrows and eyelashes. thanks leslie)#5th of all: yes i gave him a hearing aid the boy has survived a barn fire and part of his ear got burned away. it makes sense. to me #6th of all: yes i gave him pretty princess eyelashes and beautiful brown doe eyes and a nose bump. i will die on this hill #7th of all: when i designed nathan all those years back i did not even think about the color symbolism going on with his hair #which is now enhanced by the white patches in his eyebrow and eyelashes too. but yeah that's there now. much to think about!#and in this piece it's also in the clothing i gave them. didn't think about that either that just kinda happened. anyway #thank you for tuning in today i know i'm insane about these guys but like what can you do. sorry. bye #no wait hold on one more thing i made ruben taller than canon so he can hover over nathan like some victorian era skinny twinkish ghoul #not that nathan isn't a ghoul but. actually nathan is more ghoulish his base skin color is paler than ruben's. ok bye for real now #if you read all of that we will have a soft and bright late spring wedding with easily digestible food

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lucienarcheron · 2 months

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Spirit Meets the Bones - XII

Genre: Angst/Romance Warnings: Mentions of physical abuse. Please be mindful: some implied language may be found triggering.

shoutout to @abruisedmuse for letting me always cry to you about this. ily <3

Every day after that, the two of them woke up with the sole purpose of watching each other. Eris watching Iris and Iris watching Eris.

Eris followed up on his promise with training and the first few sessions were the most entertaining time of his life.

“Tell me your favorite color.”

Eris had only blinked and blocked Iris’s attempt to jab him in the ribs.

“My favorite color?” he repeated with a snort. “Why?”

“It's a valid question.” she said indignantly and aimed for another swipe that he easily deflected. “This is a basic piece of information any couple should know about each other.”

“If you keep bracing yourself, I’ll see the hit coming and block it. Don’t hesitate, just hit.” he instructed, tapping her elbow and though Iris narrowed her eyes, she nodded. “Get a hit in and I’ll tell you.”

Iris rolled her eyes and stepped back, putting her hands on her hips. “So now I have to earn my information? What happened to a question for a question?”

“You’ve been itching to smack me since you met me, so I figured this was the proper motivation.” Eris said with a smirk. “You also didn’t actually ask a question, wife.”

Iris flipped him off and then resumed position across from him. “Fine, smartass.” she huffed. “A question for a question.”

“Yes, wife?”

“What’s your favorite color?” she asked dully, and Eris’s lips twitched.

“I don't know. I don’t think about colors.”

Which was one of the many, many lies Eris had been constantly telling himself these days.

He had started to think about colors quite a lot actually. He thought about the way he particularly loved the color green on her. And the color wine. And he didn’t want to admit how the color purple had nearly brought him to his knees the first time she wore it.

He thought about the color pink when she painted her lips with it and worse, when she flushed, and that same pink bloomed on her lovely cheeks.

His favorite color was the color of her eyes and the way they lit up in excitement whenever they did anything together these days. But Eris had no need to mention that. No need at all.

“That’s not a real answer, you cheat.” she replied then held the dagger up threateningly and Eris chuckled.

“What’s yours?”

“Cerulean.”

He wouldn’t think about her in that color and how magnificent it would look against her tanned skin. Instead, Eris pursed his lips and said dully, “You mean blue?”

Iris fully stopped and shot him a look of annoyance so cold, Eris had to fight everything in him not to laugh.

“You dress too well to pretend you don’t know your colors. I’ll just guess then.” she finally said and began pacing around him. He only watched her with a raised brow and a smirk, turning as she turned.

“What do you think is my favorite color then?”

Iris pursed her lips, silent for a moment then pointed with the dagger in hand and confidently boomed, “It’s green, isn’t it?”

It certainly was now. He thought to himself and opened his mouth to reply but Iris barreled on.

“Which is a tad cliche, but you wear green often and it suits you without clashing with your hair.” She continued, more so to herself as she tilted her head and observed him. “You tend to go for the darker greens, but I think sage would look really nice on you too.”

Both of Eris’s brows went up. “Is that so?”

Iris hummed, her free hand casually reaching out to touch his arm. “Celadon would match well too. It’s just a shade away from sage but just as nice.”

Eris only watched her hand touch the fabric of his shirt and held very still. “Would you like input in my wardrobe, wife?”

Realizing she was still touching him, Iris flushed lightly and pulled back. “How about some nice fluffy skirts?”

“I’m afraid you’d get jealous of how spectacular my legs would look.” he said and grinned when she laughed.

“I wish I had the right word to describe you.” she said with a shake of her head.

“Handsome? Delightful? Wonderful?” he offered. “In case you missed it the first time I said it but, once again, handsome?”

She scrunched her nose in mock distaste and said, “Obnoxious is what I would go with. Maybe nauseating.”

Slowly, with each quip, they tried to build a routine.

And Eris, who was not used to having someone be a constant presence around him was slightly unsettled.

Especially because the more time they spent together, the worse his reactions to her were getting. It was getting harder and harder for him to resist her even if all she did was stand next to him.

Each day passed in a blur, until a week and then two were gone before he knew it. A week and then another, of exploration, of questions, of training, and every single thing Eris could think of to include in their day-to-day. Even though he needed to plan it well to maneuver everything without his father detecting it, Iris was a constant companion by his side every day when it was suitable. It was an ache he didn’t realize he was feeling that was soothed. He was exhausted but it felt good. Being around her felt good.

And it scared the shit out of him. Especially whenever he was in the same room as his father. Any urges he felt were dimmed down very quickly with the slight panic of just thinking about Iris near his father.

In turn, Iris tried to be stealthy about her observations of Eris as they went about their day but Eris was always aware of how she watched him. He tried not to let it unnerve him but also wasn’t exactly sure what to do about it. He aimed to take his mother’s advice and show Iris kindness each day. The problem was, he wasn’t exactly sure if he was doing it right.

Her threats continued, though half-hearted. His inappropriateness was the response, also half-hearted. It seemed to be the easiest way for them to navigate whatever this was.

Eris had never requested so many flowers in his life; Elain outdid herself each time with her bouquets knowing he would only trust her with flowers. The last thing he needed was for his father to find out he went out and bought his wife flowers.

Iris had adjusted to their expected roles better than he had anticipated. Whenever they stepped out of their room, she became the demur, adoring wife and Eris tried not to let it fuck with his mind. Especially whenever she touched him.

And gods, she touched him so much now. It was subtle touches, almost mindlessly but he never failed to notice that she always hesitated just for a fraction of a second then did it anyway. As though convincing herself it was allowed, and it was — it was very much allowed. Even if Eris was on the verge of a constant meltdown.

He didn’t touch her as often. For his own sanity but also because she still to this moment, eyed his hands warily. Even when they started training, her eyes always drifted to his hands.

It was why Eris didn’t mind it that he hadn’t tasted her lips yet. He kept reminding himself that it was one step at a time. Because apparently, making it work didn’t include kissing.

This all didn’t stop them from having...difficult moments.

A few days before, he had a terrible reaction when she had accidentally brushed up against his back in passing and Eris had flinched so hard, she had jumped back several feet from him.

“Don’t.” His snarl slipping from his lips quicker than he could leash it, the command a mirror of the one she had given him their first night together.

Iris had stood, taken aback and a beat of tense silence passed between them. “I’m sorry.” she said quietly, her brows furrowed. “I didn’t realize it still bothered you.”

It had taken him a minute before he swallowed, hating the way she stood away from him so rigidly. “Just because it seems healed doesn’t mean it doesn’t bother me.”

“You sleep and walk around shirtless...I assumed you didn’t have any issues —”

“I don’t like people to approach me from behind too closely and I like to air it out,” he replied curtly and rolled his shoulders back. “I’ve also been used to sleeping alone.”

Instinct had told him she wouldn‘t touch his back any of the times he slept shirtless and only because Eris knew she still hesitated to get too close to him, he didn’t bother with shirts. Her expression had flattened at his tone but she kept her voice even, watching his expression.

“You’re telling me no one has ever touched your back?”

“If you’re wondering about previous lovers, they usually had their hands occupied elsewhere.” he snipped then narrowed his eyes, trying not to let a sneer find its way to his face. “Do not pity me for a single moment.”

Iris had only lifted her chin and met his near-sneer with a scowl. “I expect the same from you.”

The rest of that day had been spent in silence, even as they explored. Both of them feeling too awkward to meet in the middle.

It also didn’t help when that same night, Iris had walked in on Eris bathing while doing other things and slammed the door shut with a loud gasp. She had only flushed angrily at him and refused to meet his gaze when he slipped into their bed afterward.

He had desperately tried not to laugh as he was shameless; a male had needs and his wife was fucken beautiful. But Eris, of course, had only said the stupidest thing he could think of.

“To make it very clear, I was definitely thinking about you, wife.”

Which only caused Iris to scoot further away from him and reply, “Go die. Don’t think about me that way.”

“Would you rather I thought of someone else then?” he teased, and she shot him a glare.

“I’m sure you’ve had others you can think about.”

Eris shrugged and crossed his arms, looking at her. “Yes. But none of them are my wife. Surely you wouldn’t want your husband to think of others while pleasuring himself?”

He slowly smirked when she had only pursed her lips and ignored his question. “I assume you’ve had needs as well, wife. I’d be happy to assist you with them at any time.”

“No, thank you.” she spat, flushing deeply and Eris chuckled in the silence that followed her response — until she looked over her shoulder and asked an unexpected question.

“Will you...find relief with others? If I...am not comfortable yet?”

Eris had blanked as she blushed and looked away, quickly adding, “It wouldn’t be fair for me to deny you and then expect you not to find it elsewhere.”

He had stared at her in a long enough silence, that it forced her to look at him once more.

“I thought we were going to make this work.” he said tightly, and Iris blinked.

“...Yes.”

“I don’t count infidelity as making it work. Do you?”

Iris swallowed and looked away again, flushing. “No.”

“Good,” he said simply then rolled his shoulders back. “I’m not a male interested in anyone but my wife, even if my wife isn’t interested in me yet. I will wait until you are comfortable.”

Color had bloomed on Iris’s cheeks and she’d stolen one more glance at him before turning away once more, refusing to respond, and Eris had to hold back a grin.

And every day after, they found ways to bridge the gap between them.

Iris joined him and his mother for tea almost every morning and he always felt the strangest sensation watching his mother laugh alongside Iris. He couldn’t find the right word to describe it — didn’t know if he could whenever he watched the two of them bond, but it made his heart swell.

Eris was pleasantly surprised when two weeks later, and after he worked with her on the basics for her self-defense, his wife had indeed kicked his ass hard enough that he was the one on his back in the training room.

She grinned as she stood over him, her dagger at his throat and Eris desperately tried not to get a hard-on.

“Beat you.”

“Your grip on the dagger is getting better.” he said to her slowly, his eyes cataloging every inch of her in fitted training clothes. “I see your stance has improved as well.”

“You have a big mouth but at least you're a decent teacher.” she said with a chuckle and pulled back so he could get up, twirling the dagger in her hand.

But Eris wasn’t so sure he was decent about anything. Especially when all he could think about was having her on her back and doing very indecent things to his one and only student.

“Next time, I’d like to see you try to disarm me more quickly. But good job.” he said with a small proud smile, dusting his training leathers and Iris grinned at the praise. “It seems that the imbecile who stole kisses from you gave you some acceptable pointers in between the fondling.”

Iris’s expression flattened. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“I will have him beheaded if you’d just tell me his name.” Eris said sweetly and Iris snorted, shoving him back.

“No, you won’t because I will not tell you anything. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“He kissed my wife.”

“Before she was your wife.”

“Yes, but now you are the future high lord’s wife. I will not have a wife fondler in my court.” Eris added and Iris huffed a laugh.

“How do you know you haven't met him already? What if he’s been working with you this whole time knowing he’s fondled your wife?” she said with an eye roll. “You’re ridiculous.”

Eris paused and narrowed his eyes at her as she pursed her lips, holding back another laugh.

“Do I need to fight for my honor then, wife?”

“Your honor?”

“Yes. You won’t tell me the wife fondler’s name. I will fight for it and win back my respect.”

“You’re losing respect by the second the more you ask about him.”

Eris put a hand over his heart and gave her a once-over. “I am the son of a high lord.”

Sheathing her dagger, Iris gave him a saccharine smile and said as she told him once before, “Kiss my ass.”

Eris chuckled. “A few training sessions and you’ve gotten cocky. I’d like to see you try without the dagger then.”

“You just want me to get you on your back again, don’t you?” she taunted with a smirk that had Eris grinning. “Right where you belong.”

“What if I want to get you on your back?”

“We both know by now that’s not how it would go.”

Eris smirked and tried not to let his delight show at the slight flush in her cheeks that had nothing to do with their workout.

“I’m very curious to know how you think it would go.” he said seductively. “How long are you going to keep resisting my charms?”

Iris pursed her lips and raised a brow. “Funny how you think there is much to resist.”

Eris tutted as they stood opposite each other, and he gave her another slow once-over. “We’re two sides of the same miserable coin so don’t you lie to me. The least we can do is fuck it out, little gazelle.”

Iris returned the once over with one of her own before she met his gaze and firmly said, “Don’t ask for things you won’t survive, husband.”

“I’ve always liked a challenge, wife.”

Iris’s brow raised in challenge. “You would barely survive a kiss.”

“Is it the witchcraft or poison on your lips that’ll do me in?” he asked with a lazy grin and Iris rolled her eyes, though the corner of her mouth ticked up.

“It would be the knife I so casually slip into your chest if you took a kiss before I gave it.”

“And when will you give me one, wife?” he teased, and she shrugged nonchalantly.

“Maybe today. Maybe tomorrow.” she replied airily. “When I feel like it, I suppose.”

And oh, Iris would never admit it to him at the moment, but she definitely felt like it. All this time she shared a bed with this male and had started to share so much with him...except a kiss. By her request, of course.

Which she was deeply regretting because now, all Iris felt was pressure. An insane amount of pressure that sat on her chest daily, that squeezed when she looked at him and Iris found herself looking at him a lot.

He chuckled at her comment, waving her off then rubbed his cheek, at the scruff gracing his face and Iris wondered if he had any idea what the light beard was doing to her. He seemed to have forgotten about it completely.

“I like my odds with maybe.” he said with a wink and shoved his shoulder into hers gently.

Iris pursed her lips then shoved him right back but knew he didn’t miss the way she kept eyeing him, her gaze constantly on his face.

“Is there something you would like to say?” he teased again, and Iris rolled her eyes, pushing past him.

“There are a few things I’d like to say but I am a lady.”

“A lady with one of the filthiest mouths I’ve ever seen.” Eris said with a snort. “I have been bamboozled.”

“Bamboozled?” she asked, putting a hand over her heart as a coy smile found its way to her lips. “Are you flirting with me, husband?”

Eris gave her a smirk. “It only took for me to admit being fooled that you realized? I need to work on my game then.”

“Yes, you do. You’re terrible.”

And the two shared a small, shy smile as they made their way out of the private training room and back to their bedroom.

Since their little heart-to-heart, things seemed to be different but they were both still somewhat cautious with each other. Iris still scowled in his general direction at some of the nonsense he said, and though the pillow barricade was getting shorter, it still stood proudly between them.

A flush blossomed on her cheeks as Iris recalled yesterday morning when she woke up to find their hands inches away from each other.

They still didn’t know what to make of the other.

But...he seemed to be trying. And so, she tried as well.

Each morning, they would venture out somewhere different in the Autumn Court, places she had never seen though she had been born and raised in it. Eris included her in almost everything and watching him work had been fascinating. The way everything was done in plain sight of Beron and yet...the High Lord knew nothing of the system Eris had built that functioned without him.

The day he introduced her to a few select people he valued above everyone else was one that filled her with pride.

“This is Nevien, the only healer I trust. She’s patched me up more times than I care to admit.” Eris had said when introducing the older female. Iris had noted his fond smile towards her as the healer smiled back. “Nevien, please note you might see me more often these days as I’m going to start training my wife. She has the tendency to try and stab me.” Nevien had only laughed as Iris rolled her eyes.

Later that same day, he introduced her to some of his closer sentries she had seen around.

“These are Oren, Mikel, and Serphan — three of my generals who oversee the workings of my legion and personal court within our territory. I trust them with my life.” he explained, and Iris nodded her greeting with a smile — until Eris turned to his generals and continued with, “Friends, if I am murdered, please put Iris on trial first as she threatens me with death several times a day. I annoy her enough that she might actually do it.”

Her expression had flattened before shooting Eris a glare but he only smirked as his men held back smiles.

“See? Murder is in her eyes.”

“Keep talking, it won’t only be in my eyes.” she had muttered. He had only grinned in that infuriating way of his while his companions laughed.

So his most trusted men watched her. His most trusted healer started meeting with her. He trained her himself and Iris had never been so blissfully busy, it made her heart burst. She was finding purpose.

Most importantly, he made time with her every single day to spend away from the court. Even if it wasn’t far, even if it was just in the fields watching her as she ran around with the hounds, he took her.

They avoided his father. They avoided her father. They avoided any outside factors that could sour the mood between them.

They spent every night with each other and when they weren’t exhausted, they spent it doing mindless activities together. The other night, he had sat opposite her while playing cards and Iris couldn’t take her eyes off him. She watched how at ease he was with her, his eyes focused on his cards while biting his lip. Or at least his gaze had been focused on the cards, — until he snapped his eyes to hers and he sniffed the air.

“Interesting development.” he said, and Iris narrowed her eyes at the stupid smirk on his face.

“What development is that?”

“I didn’t realize playing cards turned you on, wife.” he said with a Cheshire cat smile and Iris flushed deeply.

“Oh yes, cards are one of my fetishes.” she said dryly and forced herself to roll her eyes, but Eris’s smile only widened.

She froze, watching him calmly put down his cards and with a predatory gleam in his eyes, Eris moved closer and closer until he leaned over her just slightly so, a knowing look in his eyes. “If that’s the case, I think we can play a different game.”

Iris leaned back from him, her cards hugged to her chest, as if hoping he couldn’t hear how loudly it was beating. “And what game would that be?” she asked, completely distracted by the way his scent seemed to flood her senses.

“Why, strip poker, of course.” he said, leaning in further until he hovered close enough to her face and they shared a breath. “If playing cards makes you feel this excited, it seems logical stripping should come next.”

Iris huffed out a laugh, even as her blush gave her away, and shoved his head back with her palm. “Just say you want me naked and stop beating around the bush.”

Eris snorted and slowly backed away, to where he lay across from her and picked up his cards again. “I don’t think I’ve beat around the bush about that for one moment, wife.” he said and then gave her a wink. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll only let you beg for it a little.”

“What makes you think I’ll beg at all?” she asked more haughty than she felt.

And the look he had given her set her whole body aflame. “We shall see, won’t we?” he said softly, and Iris had a much more difficult time paying attention to her cards after that.

As time started to pass, Iris felt how her feelings towards him shifted from wary to complicated to...somewhat ease. He didn’t push her or invade her space. He taunted her, of course, but never anything more and she found...she stopped minding the taunts so much.

One morning at breakfast, he had left her a simple gift box on their table and when Iris opened it to find a dagger, a well of emotion had surged in her body so fiercely, it almost made her cry. The same dagger was now sheathed to her thigh and Iris had to school herself at the time not to launch herself at him as he only said, “Consider it a late wedding gift.”

It was a beautiful dagger with a gold hilt, light enough it didn’t hold her back but sharp enough to slice off an arm.

And this had changed everything for Iris. Because it was an olive branch. A sign of trust. She had almost kissed him then. She found herself almost kissing him in quite a few situations.

She had even started to feel bolder with her nightclothes, choosing ones more comfortable though not too revealing. And with the way he cataloged each set, she might as well have been naked.

It was deeply unfortunate that he was very attractive, and she was, unfortunately, becoming attracted to him. Unfortunate that there always seemed to be a pull between them and Iris felt her walls getting lower and lower around him. Felt herself starting to like him and it scared the living daylights out of her enough that she always hesitated.

She watched him as they now walked down the mostly empty hall, nodding as certain staff passed. Iris observed him and knew if she didn’t say something soon, she’d end up doing something stupid, like shove him against the wall and kiss him how she desperately wanted to.

Clearing her throat, she stole a glance at him and quietly said, “I’m excited to visit Elain and Lucien tomorrow.”

Eris’s eyes met hers for a moment and the corner of his mouth ticked up. “So am I. They’re very excited to meet you.”

She fiddled with the hem of her shirt for a moment before speaking. “You told me you can see us getting along before...that’s still the case now, right?”

Eris blinked then paused in his steps, causing Iris to almost collide into him. He turned and gave her a curious look. “Yes, of course. Are you...nervous?”

Iris scoffed, though her cheeks heated. “Of course, I’m nervous! They’re the only family you like aside from your mother and I’m still trying to find time to spend with her.” she said in a quick breath then added quietly, “I want them to like me.”

Eris’s brows went up in surprise then he chuckled. “I can assure you, they’re going to like you very much.” he said. “Probably more than they like me.”

Iris pursed her lips, holding back a small smile then cleared her throat again as they started walking once more. “Well, that much can be expected. I am nicer than you.”

Eris rolled his eyes, knocking into her shoulder gently. “So you say. Yet, I am the one getting threats on a daily basis from someone.”

Iris crossed her arms and knocked her shoulder back into him. “Are you saying they’re undeserved?”

“I am saying for someone so nice, you have quite the violent tendencies.”

“That mouth of yours can inspire homicidal tendencies in just about anyone so really, are you surprised?” she replied with a pointed look and Eris blinked at her then tilted his head back with a laugh.

Iris’s lips twitched, watching the way his face changed with the laugh. How open he seemed. How unburdened. She liked when he laughed. She liked it a lot.

So she added, “One could argue you inspire those homicidal tendencies just by standing there and breathing but I don’t want to give you too much credit.”

“Oh the way you are with your words, wife.” he said with a shake of his head, one of the more genuine smiles on his face. “I’m so incredibly flattered.”

Iris looked down with a small smile, her cheeks reddening just so at his words, at his gaze on her. Only when he gently brushed his fingers against hers at her side did she look up again.

“I know going to the Day Court is a big deal for you.” he said quietly. “Your mother was originally from there, yes?”

Iris looked at him in surprise. She had mentioned that small detail to him in passing, through one of their random conversations. A warm feeling spread through her chest that he remembered.

“Yes, she was.” she said, a sad smile finding its way to her lips. “I’ve always wanted to visit but...he never allowed it.” Iris looked at Eris, brushing back a strand of hair that fell loose from her braid. “I’ve always heard it’s very beautiful. Do Elain and Lucien live in the city itself?”

“They live on the outskirts, closer to the countryside. But you can see the city from their home.” he replied then chuckled. “It is definitely a very beautiful place, but a little too warm for me. I am a bit biased to our crisp and airy weather.”

Iris laughed softly. “That makes sense, I suppose.” She glanced at him once then licked her lips before asking, “Do — do you think we could visit separately one day and explore the city?”

She didn’t miss the look in his eyes at her question.

Iris had grown up learning to expect no to any of her requests — just because her father had the power to do so. But Eris hadn’t said it once. Hadn’t scoffed at a single thing she asked for or about. So she tried to word her questions better, word them in a way that didn’t make him feel doubtful of her. He certainly tried for her and she wanted to keep trying to expect the better of him.

“Helion has been generous enough to grant me permission to visit Lucien at any time so I don’t see why not. I can send in a formal request for the two of us at some point.”

“Yeah?” she asked and her smile widened. “Do you think we’d be able to stay overnight too?”

Eris’s brows shot up and then he gave her a smirk that instantly had her regretting her question. “You’d have to share a bed with me in a new location. However will you be able to handle it, wife?” he asked in a voice too sinful to be used in a public setting. “I’m afraid we’ll be kicked out with how indecent you’ll be with me. How will I protect my modesty?”

Iris let out a cackle of a laugh even as her cheeks heated once more. “Eris Vanserra and the word modesty do not go together. Please don’t embarrass yourself with such lies.”

“That’s quite mean, wife. I won’t let you ravish me close enough to traumatize my brother if you’re not nice to me.”

“No, thank you. I will bunk with Elain and you can bunk with Lucien. The two of you can relive your cherished brotherly memories of sharing a space and protect your precious modesty.”

Eris snorted. “You think I shared a space with anyone? Please.”

“A high-maintenance princess through and through.” she said with a grin and felt his soft laugh skate down her spine.

“But of course, I can’t have you lusting after a heathen.”

“Your mistake is you think I’m lusting after you at all.”

Eris gave her a knowing look. “Oh the lies you tell, wife.”

Iris rolled her eyes. “Enough about you, princess.” she said with a small smile when his mouth formed a very small pout. “Lucien’s the only one of your brothers that surprisingly hasn’t tried to kill you, right?”

Eris waved a hand with a good-natured shrug. “I wouldn’t say never but definitely less than the others.”

Iris raised a brow, lowering her voice, and walked closer to him as people passed them in the mostly empty hall. “So that’s why he’s your favorite.”

“I’m his favorite.” he corrected. “I tolerate them all just fine.”

“It makes sense that you would choose him. He is the most handsome of you.” She said with a smirk that widened at the outrage on his face as he gaped at her.

“You think Lucien is more handsome than I am?”

“You don’t?” She asked with an innocent blink.

“Even with his metal eye?” he asked in amusement and Iris shrugged then gave an exaggerated dreamy sigh.

“Especially with the eye.” she said and fought the smile at Eris’s expression. “It definitely makes him more dashing.”

“You don’t even know Lucien.” he muttered childishly, his eyes narrowed.

“Everyone knows Lucien.” she said, biting back the grin threatening to burst out of her at his expression. “Before he was mated, the Seventh son of Beron was very well-liked by many females. Quite a few males too.”

Eris narrowed his eyes on her.

Iris smiled back innocently.

He scoffed and knocked into her shoulder gently. “I’ll allow your momentary lapse in judgment. Only because I know what’s really in your heart, wife.”

Iris rolled her eyes again, flicking his arm lightly. “Oh do tell, husband dear. What is in my heart?”

“Why, how could it be anyone else but me, little gazelle?” He replied with a smug smile and tapped over his heart. “I’m sitting right in there, warming it all up.”

It was Iris’s turn to let out a snort. “I thought you wanted to worm your way under my dresses?”

“I’m great at multitasking. I want to be under your dress, in your heart, and I already know I’m in your head with how often you think about me.”

She let out a laugh and the corner of Eris’s mouth curved up. “You are so full of yourself, how does your body manage to carry that fat head of yours?”

“I have incredible thighs to hold up my weight.”

The laugh died in her throat as Eris’s head shot up and faster than Iris could comprehend, he had her cornered against the wall, his hand lightly wrapped around her throat.

“Play along.” he whispered.

#eris vanserra #eris vanserra x oc #eris vanserra fanfics #eris x oc #gfics #smtb #smtb chapters #If you'd like to be tagged or removed (no hard feelings!!) please let me know :)#if you were previously tagged and I stopped it's because I think I'm annoying you so I stopped lmao.#thank you for reading and for my older smtb readers - thanks for tagging along until we get to the newer stuff hehe <3

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purpleshadow-star · 3 months

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Pic context: Talking about the exy stadium at USC considering the fact that USC is a real school

I love how Nora just invents things in order to avoid complications with real-life things.

Like, using USC's football stadium as the exy stadium too would take a lot of work to figure out how that would be possible. Solution: invent a new stadium!

Having the characters play a real sport that already exists would mean looking into all the rules and regulations and history, etc, and there could be multiple elements of the sport that work against the plot of the story or complicate it in some way. Solution: invent a new sport!

I mean, it gives her full creative control over what happens in the story, and we as readers get to learn about a cool new thing without feeling the need to fact-check every element. Tbh, it makes so much sense to me.

Like, go off! Make stuff up! It's your world. We're just reading and enjoying and becoming obsessed with it!!!

#also the fact that palmetto state university is made up #it's based on an actual college but it doesnt actually exist lol #and again i think that makes sense #it allows us to become immersed in this fiction story even though it takes place in our world #i think having these elements unique to that world also makes it easier to go along with the plot #like imagine if neil was being hunted by his serial killer father and the yakuza while attending the university of south carolina #and playing hokey or lacrosse or smth #the made up stuff helps woth the immersion imo #anyway i just wanted to point out how funny it was that her solution is to make stuff up #like makes sense 100% work smarter not harder #tbh if the series wasnt centered around a fake sport i prob wouldnt have read it 💀#like im just being real here #so thank you nora for going through the trouble of creating a whole new sport #bc im sure that was the final thing that convinced many people to read it (i.e. me)#anyway rant over #aftg #all for the game #nora sakavic #the sunshine court #tsc #the foxhole court #the raven king #the kings men #exy

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justchenford · 1 year

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TOP 8 THE ROOKIE (CHENFORD) SONGS

#the butterflies in my stomach are real and going

#the rookie #therookieedit #chenford #chenfordedit #lucy x tim #lucy chen #tim bradford #chenford music #userjustchenford #usertimlucy #i guess i could say this is pretty personal #i mean THE WAY I FEEL you don't get it #these songs along with the scenes and all #i rewatch and literally giggle all over again every time #mAn do they know how to pick music on this show!!#and don't even get me started on the GLUE one 🦋🦋#oh and YEARS omgg gets me every time 🦋🦋 obsessedd #thanks for coming to my ted talk if u did read lmao

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eyra · 5 months

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the oldest recipe for parsnip soup - eyra - Harry Potter [Archive of Our Own]

Chapters: 9/9 - COMPLETE Fandom: Harry Potter Rating: Mature Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin Additional Tags: Marauders Era, Non-Magical, Christmas, Winter, Cooking, Food, Fluff, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Autistic Sirius Black (+ please check ao3 tags before reading) There's something blazingly incongruous about Remus in the wintertime. He's golden: sunshine and honeybees, caramel curls and freckles like dappled sunlight. Even his clothes seem borrowed, and temporary, as if he might've just thrown on an extra layer for a moment in the knowledge that his own innate aestival nature would be quite enough to stave off the worst of the chill. Something at home in long balmy nights, and mornings when the gardens teem with life and song. Wonderfully out of place in the winter: a happy visitor to the season, an ember in the frost. Christmastime in the Cotswolds: cold hands, crackling fires, and Remus's indefatigable quest for parsnips.

Finished! 🥄❄️🧅

Thank you so much to everyone who's been reading along with this story - I really hope you like this last chapter. And for those who've been waiting to start reading: welcome in! Bring a spoon, enjoy! x

#my writing #the oldest recipe for parsnip soup #sirius black #remus lupin #wolfstar #marauders #christmas fic #thank you!#to everyone who's been reading along and leaving comments and kudos: I love you #merry christmas x

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iridescentmirrorsgenshin · 3 months

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An analysis of Alhaitham's egoism in relation to Kaveh

(Update: The essay this is taken from is now uploaded! It can be accessed here and here as as a pdf <3)

Max Stirner's anarchist egoism is speculated to be the basis of Alhaitham's personal egoism, therefore I will be drawing upon Stirner's 'The Unique and Its Property' for this analysis.

Property and power are key principles within this philosophy. The egoist recognises himself as an individual, separate from the general collective of “humanity”, in which concepts such as freedom and property are governed to and over the people, for then the individual is not considered as such, rather they are a part of “humanity”, rather than a whole individual (Stirner, 170). This thinking is demonstrated within Alhaitham’s Story Quest, where he dismantles Siraj’s Hivemind by targeting individuals that compromised the Hive and reminding them of their own beliefs and preferences – the individual in themselves is a whole, and is not a “part” of a system (Stirner, 170).

In this, the egoist governs himself by what he owns and what he wants to own: “ownness is my whole essence and existence, it is myself. I am free from what I am rid of, owner of what I have in my power, what I control. I am at all times and under every circumstance my own”(Stirner, 106). This relates to the concept of freedom, which, for an egoist exists according to having the power to be free of something, for example, being freed of hunger, thirst, or societal expectations (Stirner, 105). This is reflected within Alhaitham’s description: “He lives free – free from the searching eyes of ordinary people,” but also extends to the power to own.

As power is considered something which the egoist owns, property then becomes something which the egoist exerts power over, and in this, can property be made use of by the egoist – all the while, the property remains an independent vessel (Stirner, 162). This is seen within Alhaitham’s view on his vision, in that it is “no more than a useful tool”, as it can be used to serve his own needs, and that since it in his possession, he has obtained it with his own power, it makes no difference to check on it as he continues to retain that power.

In this sense then, Alhaitham has constructed his life around this form of egoism, in that anything he wants, he has, such as his job as the Scribe, his house, the interests he pursues, the people he enjoys. In order to maintain this way of life, he will deal with, or be rid of, anything he deems as "harmful".

With this, the egoist seeks satisfaction in themselves through the satisfaction of another. Ownership, in relation to another person, can become love, which like all things the egoist has power over, is ultimately theirs – as in their love for a person (Stirner, 187), which is given willingly by the egoist, for loving a person is done for the satisfaction that love brings: “But I love them with the awareness of egoism; I love them because love makes me happy, I love because love is natural to me, it pleases me,” (186).

In loving another comes sacrifice, which the egoist can give into without compromising himself, as he himself sets the “purchase price of [his love]” (187) according to the happiness attributed to the loved one, as in return, the egoist shall also receive happiness (186). To enjoy someone, in an egoist fashion, is to be able to sacrifice all possessions and ownerships without foregoing the sense of an individual, of “ownness”, as the egoist would then lose his objectivity:

“I can deny myself countless things to heighten his pleasure, and I can risk for him what would be dearest to me without him, my life, my welfare, my freedom. Indeed, it forms my pleasure and happiness to feast on his pleasure and happiness. But me, myself I do not sacrifice to him, but rather remain an egoist and—enjoy him. If I sacrifice to him everything I would keep without my love for him, that is very easy… But if I sacrifice others to one passion, I still do not… sacrifice my particular worth, my ownness. Where this nasty incident occurs, love looks no better than any other passion that I blindly obey.” – The Unique and Its Property, 185

It is relevant to note that just as the egoist receives happiness from a loved one’s pleasure, so does an egoist suffer from a loved one’s despair. Just as the egoist would sacrifice something of their own to provide happiness for a loved one in order to exact their own happiness, so too would an egoist sacrifice something, or act, to eradicate the root problem of a loved one’s misery, as this, in turn, would then resolve their own misery:

“If I see the beloved suffering, I suffer with him, and I find no rest until I’ve tried everything to comfort and cheer him…. It doesn’t follow from this that the same thing causes suffering… his tooth gives him pain, but his pain gives me pain. But because I cannot bear the sorrowful crease on the beloved forehead, therefore, then for my sake, I kiss it away. If I didn’t love this person, he could go right on creasing his forehead, that wouldn’t trouble me; I’m only driving away my troubles. – The Unique and Its Property, 186

The phrasing of “driving away… troubles” is particular to note here, due to similar usages of language used within Alhaitham’s Character Stories, in relation to him acting in accordance with his self-governed rules and serving his own self-interest by: “[acting] on his own will and deals with anything that appears harmful in his eyes”.

Kaveh, however, interprets Alhaitham’s egoism as a detached, pragmatic view of humanity, in which the individual isolates themselves not only as a means of prioritisation, but by elevating oneself over others by refusal to intermingle and to cooperate for the benefit of others. Not only is this a harmful opposition to Kaveh’s view of individuals sharing their knowledge and talent in order to pursue a better society, but due to Kaveh’s experience of Alhaitham’s personal egoism, it is harmful to Kaveh personally. Kaveh refuses to prioritise himself over others because he has seen a negative consequence of egoism, in which he has been “cut to the quick” and it has ended one of the few stable relationships in his life.

By Kaveh seeing Alhaitham’s comment about his altruism as malicious, Alhaitham has elevated himself over Kaveh, since Alhaitham does not have the same struggles as him, and has trivialised Kaveh’s trauma. To Kaveh, Alhaitham’s prioritisation of the self actively harms others as it desensitises the self to the emotions of others. Therefore, Kaveh opposes the egoism which Alhaitham advocates for, since he interprets it through his own lived experience. Hence, by Alhaitham asserting egoism over Kaveh as a means of Kaveh prioritising himself, it only reinforces Kaveh to strive to consider the feelings of others, as well as to not prioritise his own way of thinking if it undermines someone else’s.

In actuality, Alhaitham’s frustrations with Kaveh lie in his belief that Kaveh’s talents are incongruous with his values, and that if Kaveh were to prioritise himself, he would save himself suffering and enable himself to discover his “true self”, unrestricted by others placing labels onto him.

This is a personal frustration which Alhaitham would not compromise himself to assert onto a person he was indifferent to, due to his belief of not getting involved with other’s fates. However, he has been observed to ‘subvert’ his own rules to accommodate Kaveh. Through egoism, it can be seen that rather than ‘subverting’ these rules, Alhaitham adheres to them as an egoist, since he sees Kaveh as his mirror, they offer each other a contrasting perspective he believes they need to have a complete, objective vision of the world.

This is necessary for Alhaitham to consider within his own life, and therefore has extended his house to Kaveh, in order to expand his scope of thinking, and to consider perspectives he otherwise would not entertain. Kaveh’s ideals, his beliefs, and his philosophies explicitly interest Alhaitham, in contradiction with Kaveh believing that Alhaitham is disdainful of his perspectives.

In this way, Alhaitham enjoys Kaveh. He willingly pays for some of Kaveh’s tabs; pays for crates of wine for the two of them; and goes out of his way to pursue interactions with Kaveh. Just as Alhaitham is to Kaveh, Kaveh is an old friend, as unchanged in his beliefs as he was in the past and thus is a constant: “the most unshakable part of one's past is a friend that will never change”’.

Alhaitham strives to act in accordance to his own egoism and therefore assesses what “appears harmful” to him, in relation to these rules, so as to be rid of them. This can be extended to Kaveh, as Kaveh falls under what ‘belongs’ to Alhaitham, in the sense that ownership equates to Alhaitham’s enjoyment.

Alhaitham wants to have Kaveh in his life due to the alternate perspective which Kaveh offers him, thus expanding his horizons and granting him knowledge he otherwise would not obtain. As well as this, Kaveh is seen to be considered part of Alhaitham’s way of life that he wants to protect. In line with Stirner’s egoism, it follows that as Alhaitham enjoys Kaveh, as in, ‘owns’ the contentment Kaveh elicits, he therefore is affected by Kaveh’s self-inflicted grievances. Therefore, Alhaitham sees Kaveh’s altruism at the expense of his own wellbeing as something “harmful” to be dealt with, as this not only causes Kaveh inward misery, but also detriments Kaveh finding his “true self” (Alhaitham Character Story 3), which the egoist pursues above all else.

#i realised i hadn't actually discussed their philosophies in a post so here's an snippet from The Essay #kaveh's altruism is brushed over here but i didn't want this post getting too expansive oops #since their differences are the basis of the essay it's hard to filter that down into one post?#basically i'm aware that this reads as incomplete but i promise there is more where this came from!!!#also im reading that line: the two cannot reach a consensus even to this day #and im going insane because isn't that the resolution of their conflict? to find middle ground?#gee i wonder if that line is thematically crucial to their characters #also kaveh reads page 185 of the unique and its property and fights off a blush before denying everything #can they talk. please. im sick of them #the essay is coming along btw!!! thank you for all your thoughts and encouragement!!#haikaveh #alhaitham #kaveh #kavetham #haikaveh meta #genshin meta

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