#* ⋆ ✺ ⋆ ☆ ❝ isms.

[sixth-light]

Yet another good reminder that even other Anglosphere authors have to basically arm-wrestle US book editors to be allowed to retain any vestige of their own dialect and culture in their writing and this is why lots of people have Opinions about American...everything.

[asmimir]

kamamar doodlessss no comics atm bc schoolwork, but I AM working on a silly forket one, for now i hope this'll suffice eeeee

[shushmal]

"I think it's sweet," Steve says.

Robin wrinkles her nose. "Nothing about Eddie Munson is sweet. He's a sewer rat, at best. Or like twenty opossums in a trench coat."

"Opossums are cute."

"He probably has rabies."

"You say that about me all the time, so I guess that's good. We'll have rabies together."

"He gave you a rock."

"You give me rocks all the time," Steve says, rolling his eyes. He runs his thumb along the textured edge of the rock Eddie'd handed to him.

"Yeah, good rocks." Robin scoffs. "That one sucks."

[1eos]

some offense to that person but you're shocked that the annoyingly white liberal fanfiction website that insists racism and pedo content is freedom speech, with members of the board that are so sinophobic an asian person having an opinion sends them into nuclear defense mode, and is like 77% white is.................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................zionist? we're at the point where u shouldnt be like omg the devils sacrament is backing a genocide i can't believe i volunteered here like why tf were u volunteering at the devils sacrament at the first place? like you should put the pieces together and figure out u are indeed at the devils sacrament

[contact-guy]

Noble Bachelor doodles I HAVE A THEORY and I have to make it funny or else I will cry

(this is a part of the Watson's Sketchbook series)

[mini-ism]

#— HEDONE.

pairings: lighter lorenz x afab!gn!reader [MDNI]

words: 3,443

synopsis: hedone (hēdonē), an ancient greek word that describes "pleasure.” after the girls leave, it’s just you and lighter. would you let him hold your hand if it gave him pleasure, if it gave him the answers he’s always sought? would you let him fuck you?

warnings: p in v, semi-clothed, hand job, choking, reader gropes lighter, accidental erection, daydreaming/fantasizing, fingering, he’s just a guy who wants to h*ld h*nds, unprotected intercourse, afab reader (gender neutral, no pronouns/feminine terms) 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

notes: crossposted to AO3, lighter is bae

the throttle of motorcycles and bikes were a sound you’ve grown accustomed to.

a lot of things in life can be chalked up to the philosophy, the belief, of chasing pleasure. why would you do something you hate if it reaps no reward you enjoy? why would you do something if you don’t like it?

that very same idea can be considered the reason people do anything, generally. subjecting yourself to pain is undesirable to many, the most masochistic of people have their limits too.

the roar of engines grew quieter, replaced by the heavy click of boots against hardwood flooring. it was smart to wear boots around, the wooden flooring was splintered, worn from years of trampling and stomping. a gloved hand landed on your shoulder, taking you out of your trance-like state.

“you good?” the hand on your shoulder drifted down to your upper back, rubbing circles, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine. his voice was deep, a handsome sort of rumble. it took some effort to peel your eyes away from the scratched up window.

“yeah, i’m okay.” you brought your gaze up to lighter’s, whose was concealed by his beloved aviators, tinted so dark you wondered if he could even see at times. he stood behind you, to your side, his touch still lingering in circles, inferior to your lower neck.

his demeanor seemed stoic as always, keeping to himself, staying “low-key” as he put it. “the girls are all gone,” he murmured, the hum of their bikes so distant it couldn’t be heard anymore, “just us now.”

lighter’s eyes were glued to the environment outside the window, seemingly entranced, lulled into the same kind of deep thought you were in.

would one derive satisfaction from thought? what is pleasure? how much chasing would someone do for that rush, the release of ecstasy?

lighter’s gloved hand moved lower, to the small of your back, his touch growing into a gentle, almost ghostly, caress. you looked out the window, observing the tan, dusky dirt and sand, the orange hue of the evening sky, the constructs of blazewood, the few little pebbles and rocks scattered around.

your eyes trailed back to him, his gaze now focused on you, still hidden by those fucking sunglasses. his brows had a small indent in them, creased by their furrowing, lips slightly pursed. his gloved touch had since stopped rubbing circles on the superior base of your spine, fingers daring to go lower.

you let out a soft, confused noise, his lips parting slightly. the crease deepened a bit more. how far is someone willing push the limits to fulfill their own desires for satisfaction? depends on who they are.

lighter’s face was contorted into a strained, almost guilty look. his lower lip glistened with a thin and awkward sheen of saliva, expression taut with a shameful tension. how apt is someone to escape pain by indulgence? his fingers crept to your side, clutching it tightly.

you didn’t pull away, not at all.

internally, lighter was warring with himself, telling himself he shouldn’t, he couldn’t. he knew that was a damn lie. it’s not like you're anybody’s personal property, not like you’re pulling away, not like you're running from him. it really isn’t like that, not like you’re touching up on him too, not like you’re more than friends. it scared him, the uncertainty, but he just can’t help himself. you’re irresistible, every part of you.

was pleasure worth the risk of pain? what is pleasure without pain? to perceive one means the other must exist. his grip pulled you flush to his side, pressing you to his body, hold unrelenting. he could really get lost in those eyes, he was already tumbling over himself just staring at you.

you stayed flush against him, even pressing your cheek to his chest. could you hear his heart hammering? it was already thrumming in his ears, blood rushing harder, faster, further, everywhere.

everywhere.

he could only hope you could ignore the raging boner tenting his pants, standing quite proud. his tight pants really don’t help, they felt even more like a barrier than before. his breathing grew heavier, clawing at the last remnants of composure. he was a man that prided himself on his ability to keep it together, always level-headed, despite the circumstances. wouldn’t it be good to let that go? just for a little, just for a while.

his gloved fingers dug even further into your flesh, the sensation grounding, yet intoxicating at the same time. your body was so pliant against his, he was desperately seeking any other thought that didn’t involve pinning you underneath him, getting you bent over and compromised. his resolve was wavering with each second, you’re gonna drive him mad.

lighter’s insistently demanding cock kept stirring, retaliating with each needy twitch. every physical reaction of his spurred his dirty thoughts on further, lewd images of you under, beside, on top of him, his shaft buried as far as it could go inside of you. a particularly vivid picture of you, one leg up on top of his shoulder, leaned upright against a countertop beckoned him deeper into his fantasies. you keened as he shoved himself further inside you, drinking in every noise you made. your eyes were glassy with desire, with need, with�� love. his grip on your thigh was tight, grunting with satisfaction as he slid in and out of your warm cunt with aided ease. god, you’d get so fucking wet…

a sharp inhale brought him back to reality. he didn’t realize just how tight his hold on your waist had gotten. “sorry, really, uh…”

instead of wriggling away or whining, you curled closer to him, body melting into his for some semblance of comfort or relief. whichever one was galloping through your motives. the air was tense, he was sure you could feel how hard he is through the fabric of his pants, you’re terribly close. not that that’s a problem, unless you don’t want to be poked in the thigh by his touch-starved cock.

yeah, you definitely knew. “are you hard?”

no point in hiding whatever is in very, very plain sight, “uh… yeah, my bad.”

with the simple brush of your hand by his crotch, he bit back a particularly low groan, stifling it as a throaty noise. did you intend to do that? did you intend to rub up against him like that, get him even harder than before? as if that could be possible, it was. his face was strained, cheeks dusted a faint pink, becoming immersed in his fantasies again.

his breaths came in shallow, slight heaves. they sounded like soft gasps, periodic and frantic. fuck, what he wouldn’t give to hear you croon underneath him. you’d look so hot pinned to the bed by your wrists, kissing you until you panted for air, just as needy and depraved as he is for your touch. your tongue would feel so good, swiping against his own, licking down his neck, down his shaft. those darling lips would fit so perfectly around his cock, tongue milking every drop of sweet pleasure out of him. pleasure that belonged in you, hips bucking like a crazed man, drunken and starved, experiencing what it means to feel for the first time.

lighter’s eyes trailed down to his crotch, your hand lingered, ghosting just over the raised clothing over his persistent, weeping cock. he could feel pre-cum seep from the head, dampening his boxers, demanding in tempo with the beat of his heart. the color of lighter’s face darkened, hips involuntarily grinding against your palm. lighter drew in a particularly sharp breath at the much desired friction.

you gave him a knowing look as you continued to palm the prominent bulge in his pants. lighter’s fingers stayed glued to your side, his eyes wide behind the dark lenses, partially in disbelief and in welcome bewilderment. his tongue darted out to moisten his lips, mouth slightly agape. at a loss for words, he let a deep grumble out, his gaze still stuck on your hand. your grip was now entirely on his dick, pressing against the outline, moving from base to tip and back through his pants. “ah, fuck…”

he let out a deep breath, the air held in by his wound muscles, unbeknownst to him. his body relaxed slightly under your gentle touch, slipping back into the comforting coax of his daydream. damn, your hand, it feels way too good. would you let him hold it if he could? hold it while he fucks you, while he guides you, while he walks in stride with you? will you let him interlace his bare fingers with yours? will you kiss each of the scars on his knuckles, wrap your own delicate hand around his aching shaft instead of his own?

would you instinctively reach for him? in a crowded area, would you look for him the way he’d look for you? could he seek every answer in you the way you’d look to him? would you let him fuck it out of you, kiss you until you spoke every word he wanted to hear? merely the satisfied twinkle in your eye soothes his soul. he could satisfy you the way nobody else ever can and will, accept every answer in the way you speak, laugh, cry, scream, and moan… every little gasp and mewl, nobody would take you like he could.

take you from behind, from the side, below and above him, take you as you are, take every word and lack of one. take every good with the bad, every soothe with the familiar burn and sting, if it meant you understood him the way he understands you. he would kiss you the way you like, fuck you ten times over if he knew you loved it, hold your hand tight enough if it meant anything to you. seems like you’re struggling with his belt.

“need a bit of help? i know it can be a pain sometimes. here, i got you.” he put his hand over yours, guiding it towards the overly complicated buckle, unclasping it just enough, loosening it with his own hand grasping yours until you could manage to unzip his pants. “you got it, keep going. i promise i’ll make it worth your while.

you didn’t need it to be ‘worth your while,’ having him in your grasp was already enough. you couldn’t be bothered to move from the window, hand already snaking down his boxers to grab his bare, attention-deprived cock. lighter hummed softly at the feverish contact, feeling your thumb collect the thick bead of pre-cum oozing from his cockhead. as you coated his shaft in his own pre, his head grew slightly dizzy, the sensation overwhelming, yet comforting knowing it was you.

“ah, shit, yeah…” your hand started moving faster as lighter let out a mumbled string of curses. with each passing stroke, he could feel the heat in his body burn hotter, the familiar pool of desperation in his lower gut forming, pleasure soaking into every single cell of his body. all his coherent, ‘normal person’ thoughts were melting away at the mercy of your slick stroke.

with a whispered groan, lighter leaned in, “that feels amazing, but i can’t take another minute without my dick in you.”

hesitantly, you released lighter’s cock, pulling your hand out of the waistband of his boxers. lighter pulled you away from the view of the window, just far enough from prying eyes. within the building was a lounge space and a small kitchenette. lighter cornered you inside the kitchenette, wasting no time to put his lips on yours. his kiss was firm but careful, giving you a moment to melt into his lips, your arm hooking around his neck to pull him further closer. his tongue eventually slipped between your lips, the sweet taste of your mouth mingling with his, eagerly swapping his spit with yours. lighter’s kiss grew heated and intense, exploring every inch of your mouth, his lips searing and nearly bruising. he groaned as your fingers tangled with his dark locks, his glove-clad hands coming to grip the counter on each side of you.

reluctantly, he pulled away, lips still proximal to yours, huffing for breath. lighter’s eyes burned bright with passion, staring you down as if he needed you more than the air that kept him alive. you nearly quivered under his scrutiny, the attractive green hue of his eyes keeping yours. your panties were stuck to your cunt with dampness. your hips rocked into his, heat collecting in the fabric as your cunt leaked, contracting around nothing. “do me a favor? turn the other way for me.”

you did as lighter asked, squirming around so your ass was in direct contact with his hard-on. instinctively, his hips rolled against your ass, the tantalizing swell mocking him. lighter eased your pants and underwear down your thighs and legs, letting them pool against the floor, managing to get his right glove off pretty quickly. the pads of his fingers prodded against your heated pussy, collecting the wetness between your thighs, rubbing your clit a few times from behind.

“you feel that, huh? that’s nothing compared to this dick.” seemingly on cue, his index and middle fingers slipped into your heated cunt, stretching your pussy out wonderfully. you let out a soft moan, feeling the two digits slide in and out with adept ease. each moan was punctuated by his fingers working their way back inside of you, deep within your cunt, the slap of his knuckles on your ass. lighter’s fingers curled just enough to make you croon and let your neck loll downwards, forehead dangerously close to thunking against the counter. your hands gripped at the edge of the countertop, knuckles white as lighter’s other hand spread your pussy to the side. his fingers made an abrupt exit.

you mewled at the loss, trembling weakly at the absence of something inside you, of him. the coil in your gut loosened, knees weak and palms creased by the rigid edge of the kitchenette’s counter. lighter brought his fingers to his lips, sucking on them nearly exaggeratedly, savoring the taste of you. he let out a satisfied “mmm,” licking the webbing between the digits, lapping up any remaining slick on his fingers. his left hand fell to his boxers, letting his cock spring free as his right hand got you to arch just right against the cold marble slate, spreading your cunt just enough again to let him take a good look.

“you’re gonna look so good taking my dick.”

lighter slapped the heavy tip of his cock against your slit, the rounded head dragging on your clit, the friction driving you wild. you could feel the excitement inside you build, anticipating the lethal stretch. fuck, you were soaked, the wetness coating his tip thickly, threatening to drip all the way down your thighs and onto the floor below you. he pressed his palm down on your lower back, forcing you to intake a sharp breath, his cock accompanying the newly inhaled air. after the tip got lost inside your heat, your cunt squeezed him tight, lungs immediately letting go of your breath. “that’s it, take it good, just like that.”

you moaned weakly, the thickest part of his cock being the shaft immediately below the tip. it felt so good, being split open by him, even with how wet you are. every fiber of lighter’s being was resisting the urge to snap his hips into yours, bury himself into you with force. your cunt wouldn't take much more, lighter opting to pull out a little to sink deeper inside. as he withdrew, you cried out, lighter hushing you with a soft “shh,” his hips moving forwards into yours again. you let out a string of soft babbles, the addictive stretch over as the rest of his shaft took.

“that’s right, fuuuuck.” he gasped, your pussy immediately gushing around him, clamping down on his length like a vice. after a few merciful moments, lighter dragged his hips back, rocking them into you again. you brokenly moaned, feeling his cock slowly drawl in and out of you a few more times, each movement followed up with a loud, needy moan. fuck, you looked so hot, sexier than he could imagine taking his dick from behind. “let me hear you, come on.” he urged gently.

his right hand pinned the back of your neck down to the cold marble, his hand large enough to wrap around the blood vessels on the lateral sides of your neck. his grip was tight, not entirely brutal, picking up the pace with each drag of his hips. the heat in your tummy flared, a thick sheen of your slick coating his dick, the lubricant creating a mess of his boxers and hem of his jacket. his tight hold on the sides of your neck furthered your high, body arching into his, brain fuzzy with pleasure and disconnected from reality. his cock slammed into you, his own pleasure indicated with a guttural groan. he sounded so hot when he felt good.

“you like it when i fuck you? you like this dick?”

you could offer a broken moan as a response, pussy tightening at his deep, horribly sexy, laugh. “yeah, i know, fuuuck.”

lighter bent lower, his voice ringing in your ears, brain barely processing his words, “you close? you just wont let me go, feels amazing.” your strangled moan told him everything he needed to know. you were closer than you could understand.

the heat of your orgasm pooled deep within you, winding all your muscles tight with tension and desire. with a few harsh thrusts, you let out a cry louder than you anticipated, your neck suddenly free from his hold. lighter bullied himself as deep as he could, watching you come undone. though you couldn’t see as you rode your climax out, he had a smug, proud look on his face.

lighter pulled out of you with an effort, resisting the urge to fuck himself using you. his hand came up to the front part of your throat, where your trachea was, pulling you upwards and putting your backside flush to his chest with a gentle force. “i got you, don’t worry.”

before you knew it, lighter was leaned back on the couch, sinking you onto his cock again, your legs parted as you straddled him. your hands came to rest on his shoulders as he half sat up and half laid back, squealing in pleasure as he buried himself to the hilt again. “knew you could handle it, feels so good.”

didn’t matter what he did with your clothes, now that you were naked on top of him, his signature sunglasses sitting aside on the other cushion. his scarred hands came to rest on your hips, moving you up and down, bouncing you on his cock. he threw his head back, gasping with each oversensitive movement along your walls.

an uncharacteristically high noise left his lips, his eyes focused on the bounce of your tits as he lifted you up and down on his ever-demanding cock. fuck, you looked so good, sweaty and tuckered out, yet still taking him so well. your tits are just the cutest, the way they jiggle with every motion. lighter’s hips rocked upwards, bucking wildly as the high crept onto him, your nails digging into the skin and scar tissue littering his shoulders like a mosaic through his leather jacket. lighter’s control became frantic, guiding your body brutally, the sensitive waves of your previous orgasm washing into this one. lighter grit his teeth, groaning heavily as the coil tightened even more, the intensity of his climax terribly foreign. every muscle in both your bodies ached and wildly tightened with desperation as ecstasy washed over you both.

as you rode out your familiar pleasure, lighter rocked his hips, bucking them, milking out every bit of sensation he could from inside you. lighter covered his face with one hand, peeping one eye out of the gap between his fingers, as the other hand’s nails dug into your bare flesh. “fucking hell, oh, shit…”

you don’t think you’ve ever heard lighter say such vulgar things, especially not swear that much in a minute. as his grip on your waist and hip loosened, it immediately sought out your hand, prying your dominant hand away from his shoulder and interlacing your fingers with his as he heaved. “fuck, you think you’ll let me do this again? as many times as i want?”

[balrogballs]

I'm still sad about this heartwarming and mildly amusing little section where feral adolescent Aragorn brings some joy to Maedhros in his unhinged little way, which I had to cut out of Cast in Stone for structural reasons, especially as I had gone to the trouble of illustrating it!

But I realised it reads perfectly fine standalone, so you guys can have my crumb of Maedhros-joy instead. No context required: Maedhros and Maglor are temporarily staying in the Shire during the late Third Age, Maedhros had a horrible night of traumatic dreams and was being maudlin — until young Aragorn, aka Elros II and the bane of his life, turns up like a bad penny, as he often does. Enjoy!

---

"You look unhappy," said Estel, sitting down before Maedhros, legs crossed. "Does your hand hurt? Surely it can't be as bad as when it got chopped off, can it?"

"No, but leave me be, Estel, I have —"

"All right, but let me ask just one question. I promise, then I'll go away. I just remembered something from my lessons, and every time I ask Ada he looks up at the sky and asks the Valar where he went wrong in raising me," Estel moved closer, looking around for eavesdroppers. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. But I would like to know."

Maedhros frowned, swallowed the lump in his throat and dragged in a breath. "What?"

"Fingon rescued you on one of those enormous eagles, didn't he? On that mountain with Morgoth and all of that. It was one of those, right? Manwë's Eagles."

"Yes. He did. I do not wish to answer any further questions on the matter, clear off."

"And it was quite a long journey, wasn't it?"

Maedhros grunted.

"I've always had a question about it… and again, you don't have to tell me if it's too traumatising," Estel's eyes shone, as though he were about to hear a state secret. "And I promise I won't tell anyone."

"Spit it out, boy, or leave me now. I am in the mood for neither company nor memory."

"Did it… you know…?"

"If you're trying to ask me if losing the hand hurt, yes it did," Maedhros snapped. "Now leave me alone, I've had enough reminiscing for a damned century. Get off home, now!"

"Oh, shut up, I wasn't asking about your stupid hand, I don't understand why you think everyone sits around thinking about your hand," Estel scowled, pursuing his lips, before deciding his quest for scientific knowledge was more important than whatever had crawled up Maedhros' arsehole and died. He widened his eyes conspiratorily, looked around again. "My question has nothing to do with that! I just wanted to know, did the eagle… you know?"

"Estel, I am not going to repeat this, get out of my sight right this —"

"Did it take a shit?"

"Did… what?"

"Did it take a shit?" Estel flushed as he said the word, Elrond's parental touch finally taking hold, though in a predictably useless manner. "And if it did, how big was it? As in, was it normal bird crap, or was it, you know — like a bucketload of it?"

Maedhros blinked. Estel held his hands out to demonstrate.

"I've always wanted to know that about them, you know," the boy continued, stroking his chin like a philosopher. "Manwe's eagles, that is. Surely if they're big enough to carry two people, one being a towering beast like you, their droppings must be massive."

"What…?" Maedhros couldn't formulate words, a state of being Estel clearly had no familiarity with. "Their… what?"

"And yes, I know they're divine, all of that, but surely they can't be toilet trained, can they? I just don't see Manwë having enough time to toilet train an eagle, you know. Could you imagine just… going about your day, and having this massive tub of birdshite fall on your head? Oh, it could drown a person, I'm sure of it!" Estel grinned, as if said occurrence would be the best day of his life, had it happened to him. "So, did it? And if it did, did you see if it went on someone?"

Maedhros sat there blinking at the boy in complete silence before rising quietly, taking the now-extremely-familiar ear, and slowly — like he were a corpse — leading Estel to the village gate. He didn't say a word, only gestured weakly and put up three fingers, a signal the now sulky boy was very used to.

And as Estel, muttering darkly all the while, neared the completion of his first punishment-lap of three around the village green, he heard something that sounded like a donkey in immense pain. It was a sound so tremendous and unexpected that it brought Maglor running from the house, gaping at the source, having not heard such a thing in centuries. It was no donkey, but Maedhros in complete hysterics, sitting on the ground exactly where he was when he beckoned Estel to run, sobbing with laughter, actual tears pouring down his face, which itself was screwed up and flushed so pink he looked like he'd been badly sunburned. He was trying to explain the situation to Maglor (who had been glaring at Estel as if he had personally killed his brother, and now looked upon him like he was Iluvatar himself) but Maedhros was howling too hard to even stand, let alone form coherent words.

Estel pretended not to notice, and started on his second lap. Though objectively speaking, the laugh itself sounded like something between a foghorn, a pig and whatever noise he imagined Ungoliant would make — there was something rather lovely about it that brought an inexplicable little smile to his face.

[pocketgalaxies]

C1E70 || C3E102

[smileyobrien]

season 2 siskoisms

[jennifersminds]

"I'm just a child, but I'm not above violence My mama raised me better than that" Family Tree - Ethel Cain // Claudia and Lestat de Lioncourt

[angelaism]

close enough. welcome back mabel and dipper pines

[soilorchard]

This is what they do while being on THEIR KINGDOM DUTY!!!

[emilyscully]

you can mark my words that i said it first, in a mourning warning no one heard

[shushmal]

Robin has a love-hate relationship with Steve-and-Eddie. Love, because those are her best friends and her best friends are in love with each other and they never leave her out of anything. Hate, because sometimes she wishes they would because she keeps accidentally third-wheeling herself.

She doesn't hate it that much though, if she's honest. It's just fun to complain, especially because it riles the both of them up.

But right now, she's being quiet so she can witness one of her secretly-favorite Steve-and-Eddie rituals—of which there are many, but this one is silly and endearing.

It starts like this:

The waitress sets down their drinks, lemonade for Robin, coca-cola for Steve, and a cherry soda for Eddie.

"Don't you dare," Eddie says, even as Steve reaches for Eddie's drink, slipping his straw in next to Eddie's and slurping obnoxiously. Eddie doesn't even pretend to stop him anymore. "Unbelievable."

"I just want to taste it!"

"You could just get a whole glass of it! All for yourself!!"

"It's too sweet, I don't want a whole glass."

"What, so you think you can just help yourself to mine?"

Steve's grin is far too smug, even for Robin, even when Steve slides it to her so she can take a sip. Steve is right, it is really too sweet and she wrinkles her nose, but it's worth it for the offended gasp Eddie makes when she slides it back to him.

The diner is their favorite, because everyone who works there has given up on understanding their weird dynamic: Robin and Steve squished into on side of the booth while Eddie's spread out on the other, Robin making gagging noises whenever Steve brushes against her, even though they never sit in any other configuration. The staff has long since stopped asking which of them was her boyfriend, and that's perfect for her.

Besides, she knows that under the table, Steve and Eddie have their ankles locked together like the disgusting love-sick dorks that they are.

The Steve-and-Eddie show continues when their meals come out. Chicken fingers and fries for Steve because he's an actual child, and breakfast for dinner for Eddie because he likes to be contrary. And then the real performance begins.

They "fight" over the ketchup bottle, which really means that Eddie picks it up and Steve snatches it out of his hands—only for Steve to spread it over Eddie's scrambled eggs (gross) for him before he adds a disgusting amount to his own basket.

Eddie makes a game of stealing Steve's fries when he thinks he isn't looking (Steve is, he's tallying each one up in his head, Robin knows this because she's doing it too), and when he finally "catches" Eddie in the act, he steals Eddie's last piece of bacon—the one that's sat untouched for the last five minutes for this very reason.

Then, Eddie's "forcing" Steve to try his grits, like he does every time, and game eats a spoonful of it, every time, and then complains at length how much he hates it (and he actually does hate it, the texture is just not for him, Robin knows because it's the same for her too).

And then they do the worst, most disgusting thing ever: they split the pancake in half. Without fail. Without argument. Every time.

Robin, slurping on her strawberry milk shake that she will NEVER share with anyone ever, thinks that stupid pancake is like the symbol of their love or something. Sh's sure if they weren't in public, they'd be feeding it to each other.

"What?" They say it in unison, and Robin hates when they do that to her.

(Eddie complains about it right back at her, because she and Steve do the same thing to him all the time. They should blame Steve, since he's the common denominator, but he just looks so pleased about them both that they can't rag on him for it, so Eddie remains Robin's sworn enemy and vice versa.)

"What what?" she sneers at them, voice quiet. "You two are disgusting, it's like you're making out right in front of me right now."

"What are you, homophobic?" Eddie hisses back, just as quiet. "I'm in love with your best friend, Buckley. I'm making out with him in front of you for the rest of your life."

"Ugh! I hate you so much."

"Right back at you."

And then they start kicking at each other beneath the table, no doubt catching Steve's ankles in the crossfire. He doesn't tell them to stop though, and Robin can see that pleased, sappy smile on his stupid face out of the corner of her eye, so she lands an exceptionally harsh blow to Eddie's shin in retaliation for making her best friend so happy. He digs his heel into her toes in return.

[utilitycaster]

I think the cast loves Aeor for a huge number of reasons including that it's got something for everyone (lore! monsters! dungeon crawling! arcana! political intrigue!) and that it was pretty much the final fifth of Campaign 2 and an incredibly meaningful time for all their characters, but I think Matt loves Aeor because he can populate it with Toothy Maws in Circumstances.

[seokryus]

ENHYPEN XO (Only If You Say Yes), 2024