#been a while since i used that tag but its SO GOOD ITS SO GOOD I DONT WANT TO SPOIL ANYTHING BUT OMG?

[florencebirdsong]

Bent Over

Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: joining in on Agatha and Rio's special brand of foreplay is just like flipping a coin

Tags:  breeding kink, dubcon, strap referred to as cock, biting, light scratching, manhandling, slight boot humping, light degradation,  implied pain kink, oral, overstimulation, Sir Rio, Mistress Agatha, switch Rio, mommy Agatha, toy Reader, pet names - good girl, dirty girl, pet

She/her pronouns used to refer to R (sorry it’s not the usual they/them I was leaning diff when writing)

masterlist | ao3

Authors note: fr wish the world would stop kicking me in my nonexistent balls but at least this one shot is finally here! Ignore the placeholder name that stuck ahshdjdjd I lowkey like it now. Also, this is the witches road Rio, not soft baby or crashing out Rio.

Note: Agatha much prefers having the most power at any moment than winning. Rio’s referring to one specific event to get under Agatha’s skin 💞

You trail in curiously after Rio. She stalked to Agatha’s office with the clear intention to bother her. Something that will either end really well or really badly for you.

Rio has Agatha’s attention instantly but she decides to play it oblivious. Like the tension in the room isn’t rising by the second. Rio prowls around the walls of the room, pretending to look at the artefacts scattered about the shelves. You linger by the door, just in case this turns into a genuine fight and not the foreplay you’re expecting.

Rio knocks an intricate…statue thing off the shelf. You have no idea what is it but it shatters when it hits the ground. You wish you knew. Its importance would tell you which end on the fight-foreplay spectrum they’re currently dancing in.

“Is there something you needed?” Agatha asks, sounding very unimpressed.

“You couldn’t tell?”

“No. I assumed Death, a cosmic entity, would be capable of using her words when she wants something.”

“I much prefer using my tongue.”

“That is what you use to make words, dear,” she says before she concedes, “In this form, anyway.”

Rio flashes her skull face and you swallow. It’s been a while since you’ve played in that form and the tease has you clenching your thighs together.

“Is there a reason why you’ve come to bother me?” Agatha asks.

“I’m not allowed to spend time with my dearest love?” Rio finally prowls towards Agatha’s desk.

“Don’t be rude,” Agatha tsks and flicks her fingers at you.

Rio turns slowly to look at you. You stay very still. She crooks a finger and you cautiously approach her. If she didn’t want you in the room you wouldn’t be.

She gently cups your face in her hands and it’s more nerve wracking than comforting. She studies your expression as she scans your face.

“Did I hurt your feelings?”

It’s not said with the mocking sympathy that would come from Agatha in this situation. Your eyes flicker towards her but Rio is too close for you to see past her.

“No,” you say simply.

She gives you another considering look. You wonder how much your emotions differ from Agatha and if Rio finds it hard to understand your own. You reach up to cradle her wrist but you barely move before you find yourself on Agatha’s desk. It happens so fast you don’t have time to catch yourself.  Rio’s claws land between your shoulder blades and slams you down. It doesn’t hurt as much as it should, although the shock of the impact still flows through you.

“Play nice,” Agatha admonishes like she has a leg to stand on when it comes to that. 

“Did I hurt you?” Rio asks curiously.

You’re still too stunned to respond.

“Probably,” Agatha answers for you. “I’m sure there’s some lovely bruises forming.”

Rio’s hands lightly run down your sides and you know she’s picturing the marks she’s creating. Purple flares and she doesn’t have to imagine. The polished wood of Agatha’s desk is cool against your skin and start in surprise.

You look up at Agatha to see her dark eyes already on you. It’s too early for you to be pleading but you know your face is already giving you away.

“Rio, why don’t we try what we talked about earlier,” Agatha says, lounging back in her chair.

Rio’s nails dig into your skin. You don’t know what she’s talking about but you know exactly what expression Rio has on her face. A wolf standing at attention, about to snap its teeth.

“Since you want to so badly,” Agatha says in a way you know in digs at Rio.

A moment you see often in the middle of their games.

“Are you sure, Agatha?” Rio asks.

The rest of your clothes disappear.

“Ca- “ your mouth clicks shut without your permission.

It’ll be more of a toy night than a participant night it seems. 

Something hard nudges your entrance and you shiver. It’s all the warning you get before Rio sheathes herself inside of you in one go. You gasp and relish the way Agatha’s eyes snap down to you. She licks her lips and your eyelids droop as Rio does it again. 

“We both know how much you like to be first,” Rio continues to goad as she slowly pulls out before thrusting all the way back in.

You don’t know what they’re talking about, you rarely do in these moments, and Rio scratching her nails down your back distracts you from that vague curiosity. The fresh sting has you arching. It doesn’t draw Agatha’s eye this time. She’s too deep into her game with Rio to give in. Knowing this doesn’t stop a little part of you pouting.

You squirm on Rio’s cock instead of listening to their next set of jibes. They only make sense to you when one of them knows it will get to the other. As hot as their foreplay is, it can take so long. Too focused on your throbbing cunt, you don’t think about the consequences as you whine and kick out. 

Their attention instantly snaps to you and you freeze. The feeling of being a rabbit caught in a wolf den creeps up on you. Agatha’s face turns into a fake pout that has you shivering. 

“Is someone feeling left out?” she asks and you hurriedly shake your head but it’s too late. 

Rio’s threads her fingers through your hair, grips firmly and forces your head down. You whimper. It’s impossible to survive the two of them.

“We don’t want that,” Rio says with a grin you can hear.

Agatha is about to give her exactly what she wants. No consequences. All because you couldn’t wait a little longer. You can’t even try to apologise. Agatha will only act oblivious.

“I just want to know what you’re talking about,” you try.

Sometimes playing their game works in your favour, even if you always lose. This time, it only seems to amuse Agatha more.

“Poor thing doesn’t even know what they risk every time you fuck her,” Agatha says to Rio. 

She drinks in your confused expression.

“It’s not surprising,” Rio says as she plays with the fresh scratches down your back. “Her confused little face is what drew you to her in the first place.”

Agatha’s head tilts slightly as she gives you a considering look.

“Rio is a cosmic entity, dear,” she  reminds you like you aren’t well aware of that whenever Rio’s does…anything, but especially when she’s inside of you. “And we are witches. We aren’t restricted by the usual limitations when it comes to death. Or life,” she quirks her brow.

You suddenly become very aware of how vulnerable you are.

“You mean she can…?”

Agatha’s smirk answers the question for you. 

Hot breath skates along the back of your neck before Rio growls lowly. Instinct has you freezing again. She noses at the delicate skin of your neck. You aren’t naive enough to think it’s a comforting motion.

“Yes,” Agatha says simply.

“I -” is all you get out before Rio’s sharp teeth sink into your shoulder. The ache is a familiar pain, one you know will soon turn to pleasure, yet you still instinctively cry out, bucking. 

Rio has too tight of a hold. She’s going to- is all you can think before her cock is sinking back inside of you. She doesn’t do the teasing pace of before and her cock stretches you open with every thrust.

“Please,” you gasp, “I don’t want- “

“Yes, you do,” Agatha says with all the confidence in the world. “It’s easy to see into your head, hon. You want to be owned. Completely. Something we’re well equipped to do.”

All you can manage is a pathetic whine. She’s never said it so plainly before. Rio is groaning against your back in a way that tells you she’s close. It only makes you clench tighter. Her claws dig into your skin as she holds you still, controlling every movement as she fills you over and over again. You can’t look away from Agatha. The only thing that gives away how much this is effecting her is her slightly heavier breathing. She has that self-satisfied smirk that drives you crazy. 

“Take it like a good pet,” Agatha says and Rio stills inside of you.

You swear you feel something warm flood you as she groans above you. Her teeth find a new spot to dig into. Heat floods through you and it’s all you can do to hold onto the desk as you come. Your eyes shut as you arch but you can still feel Agatha’s gaze searing into you. Your orgasm ends in a whimper. Rio doesn’t release her teeth until you go limp. With a satisfied growl she lets go of you.

“Feel better?” Agatha asks, now lounging back casually as she watches Rio.

“Not yet,” Rio says as her hands travel down to grope your ass. She’s still inside of you.

“Don’t be greedy,”Agatha says.

“I’m not. There’s no saying whether it’s taken yet.”

“Death itself can’t guarantee it on the first go?” Agatha’s voice is almost mocking.

“Not when she wants another round,” Rio says in a voice that tells you she’s wearing a sharp grin. 

You grind back against her, wanting nothing more than to feel like that again. Nothing more except with the taste of Agatha in your mouth too. Agatha clicks her tongue.

“If you can’t get it right the first time then it’s my turn,” she says.

“Oh? Didn’t you say this is something only Death can do?”

“I am a witch, dear,” Agatha says.

As hot as you find this, you wish they’d stop in favour of getting back to the fucking you part. 

“You’ll have to take her,” Rio says.

Agatha raises an eyebrow.

“Give her to me and I’ll suck you off,” Agatha says.

You can feel the way Rio twitches. Agatha is offering something that is usually hard won, yet Rio sees saying yes as a kind of losing.

“Sir -”

Agatha grips your shoulder and digs her thumb into one of your fresh bite marks before you can continue. Your words turn into a strangled whimper. You don’t risk begging to her instead. 

The pressure lessens when you stay quiet but Agatha doesn’t pull away. That combined with the sting of Rio’s claws has you unconsciously grinding back on Rio. It’s probably lessening your chance of Agatha fucking you full, but you’re full now and that’s all you can concentrate on.

Rio grinds her hips forward and Agatha’s hand snaps out to grip her chin. Rio stills and you can’t help the whine that escapes you. They both ignore you.

“Fuck her again and I won’t touch you for a week,” Agatha warns in a low voice.

You swear you hear Rio swallow. Her claws retreating tell you she’s given in. A second later the world tilts and you find yourself on your knees in front of Agatha. You stare up at her with wide eyes. Her pupils are blown and her hair is that slightly messy it always gets when she’s worked up. The wonders of magic. You want to run your hands through it.

You’re distracted from the thought by something dripping down your thigh and you pray Agatha can’t see it from this angle. Her boot lifting to nudge your thigh tells you otherwise.

“Dirty girl,” she murmurs before tilting her boot higher.

You twitch when it touches your sensitive core but don’t dare move otherwise. You want her to touch you, or to touch her. If she’s in an ultimatum kind of mood than complete obedience is the only way to get what you want. Her smile stretches wider and she presses harder. Pleasure sings up your spine. You’re trembling but you manage to resist the urge to grind down. Remembering her reaction when you tried to use words earlier, you beg with your eyes instead.

“Good girl,” she says and you shiver. She sits back down and spreads her legs. “Eat me out and I’ll think about rewarding you.”

You’re crawling forward before her pants are off. You run your hands up her thighs a second before they disappear. She allows the contact and you follow the trail with you nose, taking a deep breath when you hit her soaked folds. Surprisingly, she doesn’t move a hand to your hair like usual. You take the opportunity to suck a dark mark into her thigh, hoping Rio’s reaction to it will lean more towards fucking you than the punishing she is prone to. Not wanting to risk either of them pulling you away from your prize, you find Agatha’s clit with your tongue the second you’re done. You lick firm circles around it and she groans.

“I thought I was the one getting head,” Rio says, closer now.

“Don’t pout, sweetheart, it doesn’t suit you,” Agatha says.

“That isn’t what you said the last time I was on my knees,” Rio says.

Your pace stutters and Agatha laughs lowly. She threads her hand through your hair when you’re too overwhelmed by the image to remember to continue. You don’t need more than a slight push forward before you swiping your tongue over her clit again. 

“Why don’t you get on your knees now? I might change my mind again,” Agatha says.

You barely resist the urge to turn around. Agatha and Rio have the most fun in a power struggle so you’ve seen them in all kinds of roles and positions. You’ve even seen them kneel for each other. But it have Rio kneel beside you is something you’ve never experienced. You aren’t apart of the power struggle, although you’re usually used within it. You’re always firmly below at least one of them. Nether have subbed beside you. You clench your thighs together and try to distract yourself by moving lower. Dipping your tongue teasingly into Agatha, you wait for her tight grip to guide you further. She instantly pushes you closer and you eagerly comply.

It’s enough to distract you that you don’t notice the warmth of another body until it’s brushing against you. You freeze but Agatha’s nails dig in warningly. You move your focus back to her clit to try and disguise your distraction. For the very first time you don’t want to spend the next six hours eating Agatha out and you debate using your fingers without explicit permission.

You can’t see Rio but you can feel her slowly lean against you, which means she’s also leaning against Agatha’s leg. It takes you a moment to realise she’s resting her head against Agatha’s thigh. You imagine the look of Rio’s face as she looks up at Agatha, one you’ve only seen once before. Soft, open, submissive. Agatha’s other hand moves to gently stroke her hair. You fight every reaction you have, terrified of breaking the moment and losing this experience before it truly begins. 

Agatha makes a deeply satisfied noise. You immediately move down and curl your tongue inside of her. She squeezes around your tongue as she comes, moaning in unison with you. You don’t stop until Agatha tugs you away. She lets go before you can rest against her and you only get a moment of confusion before a new hand takes her place. Rio pulls you back further before turning your face towards her.

Instead of kissing you like you’re eagerly expecting, she licks over your lips. Agatha has soaked your face and Rio diligently cleans you up. Her breath is hot. The feeling of her tongue on you, of her kneeling against you, has you shaking. You’re too overwhelmed to do anything more than kneel there.

Rio doesn’t grace you with a kiss when she pulls away. You’re too dazed to miss it. It takes you a long moment to open your eyes again. 

Rio’s hand slides down to the back of your neck, thumb gently stroking the skin there, but she doesn’t take her eyes away from Agatha. 

“I’ll reward you later. I have a pet to breed,” Agatha says to her.

Rio doesn’t react, not even a twitch. Hands pull you up into Agatha’s lap. You’re straddling her for barely a moment before something hard nudges you. Looking down you’re shocked to see a green strap-on instead of a purple one. You want to see Rio’s reaction but Agatha’s grip is iron.

You hold your breath as Agatha guides her cock to your entrance. She doesn’t need to push you onto it, you sink down eagerly. You’re surprised again as she allows you to set your own pace. Her hands on your hips steadying you instead of controlling. Moving your eyes from the flashes of green to her deep blue ones, you’re unsurprised to find them studying you. 

“Mommy’s going to come in you,” she says and a shiver runs down your back.

Her fingers dig into your skin and you wish she was moving you like she usually does. Your steady pace turns shaky and uneven. Too desperate to come to be able to get yourself there.

“Please,” whine you. Agatha’s eyes drop to your lips and you say it again, “Please, mistress.”

Agatha growls and pulls you up. Your heart drops, thinking she’s pulling you off, until she slams you back down again. You moan and grasp desperately at her shoulders. Her eyes don’t leave yours as she makes you ride her. 

You’re trembling and desperate. The heat that had been slowly building again flares through you. You hold on as long as you can, not wanting it to end. Victory shines in Agatha’s eyes when you finally snap and that warmth floods you again.

Agatha runs a soothing hand up and down your back as you come down, curled into her shoulder. It takes until you have most of the feeling back in your body to realise Rio has been quiet for too long. You lean back from Agatha, trying not to get distracted with her still inside of you. Her amused smirk doesn’t reassure you. Claws curl around your hips and you freeze mid-turn. Rio moulds herself against your back. She slides her cheek against your own. A slight pressure has you staring back at Agatha, Rio’s sharp grin against your cheek. Those claws lift you half-way up Agatha’s cock.

“Wait,” you gasp and uselessly pull at them as they start to push you back down.

“No,” Rio growls and you stop, listening to your survival instincts. “If you’re so desperate to come to Agatha wearing one of my straps, then you’re going to do it again.”

You whimper. Your cunt is sensitive after two hard orgasms and you know you won’t survive another. Not functioning. You pretend the idea doesn’t make you drip. 

Agatha doesn’t do anything to save you. She leans back in her chair and settles her hands low on your thighs, prepared to enjoy the show. 

Rio bounces you on her strap without mercy and you’re struggling not to come within moments. Their scents surround you, Agatha’s eyes devour you and Rio’s claws make themselves known every time she moves you. 

Rio murmurs something under her breath and Agatha jerks suddenly. You have no control to stop and see what’s wrong. Her eyes slam shut, grip turns tight and her mouth drops open into an expression you’re familiar with.

Rio’s made it so Agatha can feel what’s happening to the strap-on. The realisation pushes you even higher. You’re too far gone to truly help with Rio’s movements but you give yourself completely to them as you watch Agatha’s face. Her head slowly tilts back. The desperate urge to kiss her surges and you lean in.

Rio grips the back of your hair and holds you still. You whimper.

“Don’t ruin my fun.”

Agatha’s eyes languidly open. “I don’t remember telling you to stop,” she says.

“Someone was trying to take more than she’s been given,” Rio purrs.

You shake your head but it’s useless.

“Eating your mistress out and being used as a fleshlight isn’t enough?” You don’t get a chance to respond. Purple swirls around your wrists and forces them behind your back. Her sharp nails dig in when she grips your chin. “Take it like a good girl before I leave you tied up for a week.” You try to nod but her grip is too tight. “Say yes mistress.”

“Yes, mistress.”

Agatha pushes your chin away and Rio starts fucking you on her strap again. It’s all too much and you’re falling apart within minutes, clinging desperately to her as pleasure consumes you.

Rio forces your hips up again and you can’t even make a noise of protest. Your bones are jelly. Your everything is jelly.

Agatha clicks her tongue. “Stop before you break her.”

Rio rolls her eyes and lets you go. You slump into Agatha’s hold. “But she’s so fun when she’s been fucked stupid.”

“I have plans for tomorrow,” Agatha says. There’s no room left in you for curiosity. “And I’d rather you focus on your own reward.”

Rio’s eyes snap to Agatha’s. Agatha lifts you and gets up before placing you back on her chair. You reach for her, confused in your slowness. She grasps your chin.

“Watch,” she commands.

You nod once the word makes it through your slow thoughts. The command giving a bit more life to them. They speed up more as you watch Agatha slowly kneel down in front of Rio. Swallowing roughly, you grip the chair tight. Wondering if you’re dreaming.This is a sight you rarely see. Rio has won dominance before and even allowed you to watch on rare occasions but this feels different.

Agatha wraps her hand around the base of Rio’s cock and begins to slowly stroke it. Rio looks almost frozen, riveted by the sight. Agatha slowly licking her from base to tip doesn’t help.

She wraps her lips around Rio’s head. They don’t break eye contact.

Rio groans when Agatha takes her deeper. Agatha hollows her cheeks and Rio’s hips jerk. Her hand lands in Agatha’s hair but doesn’t push.

She doesn’t last as long as you’re expecting. She was more worked up than she was letting on and the sight of her coming with a loud groan has you grinding against the chair despite your sensitive cunt.

“Good boy,” Agatha husks when she pulls away and Rio’s whole body shudders. Agatha gets up and sits on her desk. “Now fuck me like you mean it and maybe I’ll give you another go with our pet over there.”

[steviewashere]

Little Town Bar Bathroom

Rating: Teen and Up CW: Minor vomiting in the beginning, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Use, Steve is tipsy for a good majority of this fic Tags: No Upside Down AU, No Supernatural Elements, Modern Setting AU, Hurt/Comfort, Mostly Comfort, Fluff, Bartender Eddie Munson, Tipsy Steve Harrington, It Starts in a Bar Bathroom, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Steve Harrington Has Self-Esteem Issues, Down on His Luck Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Countdown to New Years, First Kiss, Implied Getting Together, Happy Ending Also here on AO3, because this one is over 5k words 😬

🎆—————🎆 Working at a bar had its perks. There was a consistent stream of regulars that he constantly talked to. He could change up the specials menu whenever he wanted—adding his own flare to the mix, if he so pleased. Sometimes, he had reign over the music. And, more often than not, he was allowed a free drink by the end of his shift.

The downsides, however, were long and weary. Customers who didn’t know what they were ordering, who swore him to Satan’s asshole if he got something wrong, and tried to barge their way in with fake IDs (as if he wasn’t going to check them). Oftentimes, the bar was packed and too hot and made him sweat like nobody’s business—hell, his shower had a run for its money the other night from how pervasive his musk had been. The last major issue he had took place in the bathrooms.

Given that this is a bar he works at, the stalls often fill with every drunk imaginable. The quiet ones that need a moment to breathe, the guys who can’t keep their hands to themselves (who Eddie has to often throw out), a few who are completely sober and just there to piss, and then the oddball loner. But since they’re drunk—well, the bathroom is often the majority of their custodial staff’s paycheck. Eddie doesn’t handle all that vomit bullshit well, despite tending the very thing causing customers to do that.

It’s tonight, though—New Years Eve, forty minutes to midnight, forty minutes to 2023—that the very thing he hates leads him to the only thing he unconditionally loves. He’s cleaning up the spilled beer on his countertop when he gets the innate, incredible urge to pee. The bar is crowded, so he wrestles in another tender, and speeds away to the men’s restroom. Everything’s going according to plan, as much of a plan as there is when it comes to using a public bathroom, up until he hears it. Somebody in the stall adjacent to him, retching up their entire soul in the toilet bowl.

He winces, just finished drying his hands off, anxiety teeming like water about to boil over, and moves on autopilot to knock on the door. “Y’alright in there, man?” Looking at the bottom of the door, he spots only one pair of sneakers—some Nike Cortez that are roughed up and peeling, falling apart from how much they’ve been used—assuming is easy; the guy doesn’t have any buddies in the bathroom with him. “Noticing there’s nobody else but us in here right now,” Eddie comments. “Can I fetch somebody for you? Help you get home?”

The guy jerks with another sound, moaning miserably once he’s done. He flushes the toilet, but makes no other move. “Alone,” he musters, “she just left me here.”

Eddie bites his tongue. Failed New Years date. Oh, boy. He sighs quietly. “Do you, uh, have someone you can call? Or…uh, I could see if my manager’s free, she could order you a Lyft? They should be free tonight, considering everybody’s drinking.”

“I…I’ll be fine,” the stranger croaks, “been in here a while. I’m sobering. Barely had anything to drink, honest.”

“You think you’re done with the worst of it? Make your way outta the stall?”

“Why? So you can berate me for making a mess of your bathrooms?”

Jeez, this guy is defensive. “No, man. So that I could get you some water, a ride home, maybe some food?”

He groans in the stall, still hunched over the toilet. “Don’t wanna go back out there. Got a fucking headache, all the booze and shit will make it worse.”

Eddie rubs a tired hand over his forehead. “My shift’s over in literally five minutes. Would you…would you feel comfortable enough to go to the diner next door with me? I’ve got some Advil in my employee locker. And I could get you a cheeseburger.”

The guy goes completely quiet and still.

He goes to try and shimmy around with the door, maybe get it off its hinges or something, make sure he’s not choking or—

But then he sniffles softly. “That sounds really nice,” he says, “you’re really nice. What’s…what’s your name?”

“Eddie, and yours?”

“Steve,” he breathes. “Sorry I’m such a sack of crap. Wasting your time.”

“Mm, you’re making it easier for me to clock out, actually. Wasting my time would be somebody trying to return a drink that’s been remade correctly five times. That’s when somebody should be sorry.” He peers down at his watch, right on the money to clock out. “I’m gonna get myself out of the schedule and I’ll come back to get you, okay? We’ll just hang out at the diner. And…I’ve got Lyft on my phone, I’ll call you one when you’re feeling a bit better.”

“Okay,” Steve sighs. “I’ll be waiting.”

He makes a quick turn out of the bathroom, rushing back towards the break room before he can get caught and berated by the other bartender he left to attend to customers. It’s as easy as 1-2-3, punching out, putting away his apron, and grabbing for his things inside his locker. Thankfully, there’s still a bottle of Advil. Granted, there’s only enough for one dose and he typically needs to take one after his shift for his sore feet, but he’ll make do this one time. This one exception—Steve.

Once back in the restroom, the stall that Steve occupied is now empty. Though, standing at the sink and lazily washing his hands is probably the most gorgeous stranger Eddie’s ever seen. Blue jeans and a deep red sweater, hidden under a tattered, brown leather jacket. Lean and tall, broad shoulders, big hands; moles dotting every square inch of bare skin, pink lips, droopy hazel eyes, and a nose that could rival every statue masterpiece. Then, he makes direct eye contact with Eddie.

Caught out. Stilled. But then he chuckles awkwardly, trying to ease some sort of tension—a tension Eddie can’t see. “Managed to get away from the toilet,” he says, “room’s spinnin’ a little.”

Quickly, Eddie’s coming up beside him, placing his left hand on Steve’s back. “How much did you drink, man? Somebody should’ve cut you off.”

“Only a few shots and a beer,” Steve mutters. “Guess I’m more of a lightweight than I thought I was? I don’t know…don’t know…it’s been a while. Usually come here when I got someone to sit down with.” His head lolls back down towards his hands, scrubbing at them loosely under the water. There’s a tired, defeated, sad glint in his eyes. “Been striking out,” he mumbles, “people looking for…for situationships. I don’t even know…what does that mean? I wanted a date, not sex.”

Eddie sighs through his nose and eases his hand up and down the curve of Steve’s spine, petting him as if to soothe him. Which, he supposes, that’s exactly what he’s doing. It’s not the first time he’s met a person out of their luck, crying into their drink. But the look in Steve’s eyes physically hurts. It reopens a hot chasm inside of him, bubbling like magma.

“Just take a minute,” Eddie murmurs, “let the room settle.”

Steve nods, slow and tired. Heavy. “Sorry, Eddie. I swear I’m better than this.” There’s a flash of a smile at those words, one that falls away just as quick as it came. He sniffles again, wet and unmistakeable. “Gonna be ringing in the new year alone, though. And I’ve got a headache. But…hey, I met you. Highlight of my night.”

When he chances a new look of Steve’s face fully, Eddie notes the fresh tracks of tears staining ruddy red cheeks. He coos softly under his breath, pressing his hand more firmly into his back, and stretches out to grab a distant paper towel. The water is still streaming from the faucet, and so he dips the napkin’s edge into the warm pour. Gently, he shifts Steve to face him better and brings the damp corner to his cheeks, patting over the tracks, rejuvenating the color in Steve’s skin so that it all matches.

For a moment, he’s caught out by the still watering hazel eyes on him—damn gorgeous they are, even like this—but they blink at him and he feels it, the stretch of Steve’s small smile. He returns it, of-fucking-course he returns it.

“Let’s get you cheered up, baby,” Eddie says softly, “the sky’s too full of fireworks for you to be sad.”

His palm strokes over Steve’s back, a heavy sweep of warmth. There’s the lulling rise and fall of his lungs, each breath unwavering and strong now, and not as nasally as it had been only moments prior. A hand sets on Eddie’s left hip, secure where it rests, fingers tightening into his belt loops.

“You always hang out with random strangers from the bar?” Steve questions quietly. There’s a hint, a little bit of something coating those words. A tidbit of heartbreak, if he had to give a name to it.

This close, Eddie can smell the last dredges of alcohol on Steve’s breath. There’s also the scent of his cologne, even as stale as it’s gone when he’d been hunched over the toilet, but it lingers. Peppery and warm and decadent like a slice of apple pie from the diner next door. He’s already getting that Steve’s as sweet as one, just needs to be righted slightly so it stands tall on the center of the plate.

The next words out of his mouth are tender and quiet, “No,” Eddie whispers, “you’re the only one.”

Steve hums, soaking up just as pie crust does. His hand tightens again on Eddie’s side. And then he sways them, half-steps, knees knocking. The sink is still streaming and there’s red rimming Steve’s honey eyes. It’s all so private. It’s almost just theirs. 

“Saying I’m an exception?” Steve then murmurs. 

His words land like gentle pecks to Eddie’s lips. And they’re closer than before. And he’d let them get even closer, if there was room.

“Why, you wanna be?”

“Mhm,” Steve buzzes.

The restroom door opens, a foot sandwiched in the gap of their space and the entire world. Eddie doesn’t let go, even if he was supposed to. Steve does, wearily aware. He finds himself not disappointed, though, not even in the slightest.

“You wanna be an exception over burgers now? There’s apple pie, too.”

“Yeah, Eds”—and oh, how that makes his chest flutter something incredible, his heart a newborn bird eager to take flight—“I wanna be your exception.”

If he wasn’t intrigued and swooning before, he most definitely is now.

But as it is, he simply pats Steve on the back and leads him out towards the bar again. Zipping through crowds of girls and forcing his way between boys about to brawl. There’s beer spilling out onto his clothes, that he hopes isn’t getting on Steve’s—doesn’t want to tarnish the absolute darling beauty he’s managed to rescue from the swamps of a muggy bar bathroom. Though, maybe it’s unavoidable. Maybe it’s just what is meant to happen.

Because something about Steve, his hand gripped tight in Eddie’s, the bounce of his step, his glassy eyes and loose smile when Eddie looks over his shoulder—something about the Steve of it all feels as close to myth alive as he’s allowed to believe. And, well, if there are more than three religions and some people don’t believe in any of it at all, then he can hold onto whatever the hell he wants. If Steve at his heels, chest slamming into his back as the cold outside air finally whips them in the face, is destiny, then…Eddie finally believes in destiny.

When the bar’s doors slam behind them and they’re overcome with the noise of distant fireworks and cars rolling by on crowded asphalt, Eddie begins to let go. Though, Steve grips to his fingers a smidge tighter than before.

“Wow,” Steve breathes beside him.

Eddie looks to him. His profile. The sharp angle of his nose, droop of his eyes, and curve of his easy smile. He follows his gaze, up to the sky.

A spattering of stars, only broken by the even brighter bursts of twinkling fireworks. Pinks and yellows and whites travel stark across the sky, each ember firing like a shooting star going home. He places his right hand over his chest, the beating of his heart a tumultuous, daunting thing. And he sighs, panting a short breath—

Let me keep him, he wishes, after tonight, let me have him. Please?

Steve squeezes their hands together, fingers sprawling so they can intertwine. His palm is sweaty, he’s shaking slightly. He laughs, though, a sputtering, unbelievable sound. “Thank god I’m outta there,” he whispers. Eddie gazes at the stretch of his neck, how his Adam’s apple resettles after bobbing out each individual word. There’s moles dotting there, too. Constellations, even more wonderful than the stars above them.

At least, Eddie thinks so. Objectively, he’s correct. Won’t hear anybody else on the matter.

He sinks his teeth into his lower lip and turns his eyes back to the sky. “Yeah,” Eddie murmurs, “you can only take so much being cramped in there. Everything’s a little more…”

“Sobering?”

“Real,” he corrects. “Everything’s more real.”

Their fingers are pretzeled together still. And as if to punctuate Eddie’s point, Steve makes him feel the pressure of their hands. As if to say, “We’re a little more real out here, too.” He supposes they are. And he supposes the budding warmth in his sternum—where he’s believed his soul to be his whole life—is real, too.

Eddie blinks, watching white streaks dissipate through the sky. His stomach grumbles, though, and he’s reminded with a back-handed slap why they’re out here. There’s plenty of time to watch fireworks later, but he’s only got such staggering minutes with Steve. And he promised food.

Maybe it’s too honest and maybe it’s a lot stupid—considering Steve is still such a stranger, an enigma to his brain—but he’d promise a whole lot more if he was allowed.

For now, he starts to drag them towards the diner. Only met with minor resistance from Steve’s stance. He relents quickly, though. Following after Eddie like a lost, scruffy puppy. Through the next burst of fireworks, he hears Steve’s stomach give a low grumble, too.

The greasy air of the diner hits him in one strong gust. Salt and cheese and a sprinkling of cinnamon. Pink bubblegum, too, as a hostess greets them at the door and leads them to a booth in the back right corner of the restaurant. The vinyl must be sticky when Steve bounces onto it, grimacing as his fingertips stay stuck like paw-pads on ice. Eddie finds out a second later when he saddles in right across from Steve, collecting the menus from the edge of the table as the hostess struts away to her bored stool at the coffee counter.

He hands over one menu, Steve taking it from him gingerly. With a passing, soft, “Thanks.” His eyes fall to the plastic sheet in his hands, seemingly enthralled by everything there is to choose from.

Eddie already knows what he wants, choosing to gaze ahead.

There’s a tiny pout to Steve’s lips, subtle an gentle, but definitely present. He’s muttering under his breath, thumbs tracing down the margins of the menu, half-formed sentences like, “Cheeseburger…tomatoes…lettuce—hmph—bacon optional, sounds good.” Steve takes the sleeve of his jacket and brings it up under his nose, wiping hastily at its tip. His face isn’t puffy or red anymore, just tinged with exhaustion. Even like this, slumped over a menu and recovering ever so slowly from the cold that had seeped into their bones and the roller coaster of emotions that had worked through their combined blood, Steve’s beauty is magnetic. But his thinking face? His consideration? His marveling wonder outside?

Aside from his looks, the rest of him still draws Eddie in.

Or maybe Eddie’s easier than he thought he was.

Or…or…Eddie knows what he wants.

“Oh, shit,” Steve breathes, “they’ve got fucking onion rings.”

“They’re pretty good,” Eddie amends.

Steve slams his menu to the surface of the table, hands spread, eyes wide insistently. “Of course they’re fucking good! They’re onion rings!” he softly exclaims. “Ooo, get ‘em with barbecue sauce and a Dr. Pepper? That right there is the champion of all meals.”

“Is that what you want?”

The menu’s picked up again. “Mmm…it does sound good…nah,” Steve says, eyes intense on the choices, “I’m still lookin’.”

Eddie snorts indignantly and greets their waitress. Ordering a basket of onion rings for the table, a couple waters, and a Dr. Pepper for “The man of the hour” with a half-gesture at Steve still muttering under his breath. It’s endearing how long it takes for Steve to finally settle on something, even if their combined grumbling stomachs get louder and louder, roaring over the tinny television in the opposite corner to their booth.

“You better pick something soon, else Anderson Cooper’s gonna blackout before the ball drops,” he gently teases, head nodding to the television. Steve looks to it, snorts, and glances back down at the menu. “I could also just pick something for you, if you’re too indecisive?”

“Chicken tenders,” Steve decides, “with crispy fries and a side of ranch.”

“Are you twelve?”

“Hey,” he objects defensively. “I happen to be a man of taste, thank you very much. It just so happens that I’ve got a young soul ’s’all.”

Eddie hums, face betraying him as it splits with a shining smile. Jeez, this guy is endearing. He leans over the table a bit, resting his chin in his hand; Steve mirrors him, smirking. Soft and low, he asks, “You still got a headache, Stevie?”

“Yeah,” Steve sighs. “It’ll probably stick with me tomorrow morning. Which sucks. I should’a left the bar as soon as my date stormed off. Would’a saved me a lot of trouble.”

But then you wouldn’t have met me, he wants to say, and that would suck worse.

“I’ve got Advil when the water comes. It’s the last dose in the bottle, but it should help. And also the Dr. Pepper. Caffeine might be good.”

“I don’t wanna take the last of your pills, man. You probably need it more than I do. Been working all day on your feet, I’m sure.”

He merely shrugs. “Yeah, well…I wanna help you. It’ll bring me some comfort if I can make you feel even a bit better, y’know?” Steve doesn’t say anything to that. Just looks at him like a confused, lost dog. Like he’s being offered scraps from a hand that doesn’t shake when he sniffs it. “But if it really bothers you,” Eddie continues, “then we can figure out a way for you to make it up to me.”

Steve cozies deeper into his hand, blinking long at Eddie. “That sounds good,” he breathes. “Say the word…”

“We’ll figure it out before you go home, okay? Not something for you to worry about now.” He fishes the bottle of Advil from his pants’ pocket and opens it swiftly, spilling the tablets into the well of his palm. Steve’s other hand is flopped over on the table, atop his menu, relaxed. Eddie places the pills in his hand and closes his fingers. No argument. “After you eat, I’ll order your Lyft. And then…maybe I can get your number?” He’s cautious about the conversation, though the words hit him at once. Failed date, New Years Eve, situationship. Eddie rushes to add,  “Just so that you can text me when you get home safely, that’s all. Don’t…I don’t wanna come off as, like, preying on you or something. Y’know, after the whole…Yeah. Just. Wanna make sure you get home safe.”

As soon as the breath rushes out of him, it’s like Steve breathes it in, responding with a syrupy, tired giggle fit. His hand fists the Advil tablets tighter. A flush colors his skin, travels down his neck as he loses himself to his laughter. The stretch of his smile and sprawl of his giggles make his nostrils flare. And Eddie doesn’t know how, after seeing the same on so many other guys, but the way Steve’s face simply moves with his joy stirs something in him. Awakes a part that had been hiding in a seemingly unending hibernation.

Shit.

Catching his breath and wiping the tears from the corners of his eyes, Steve resettles. Breathes, “You were so worried!”

“I was!” Eddie exclaims. He makes a dramatic show of crossing his arms over his chest, pouting his lips. “I didn’t wanna overstep. It’d be un-gentlemanly of me.”

“Oh,” Steve sighs, breath finally caught. There’s a big, goofy smile on his face still. His eyes glassy with—what Eddie assumes to be—happy tears. “You’ve already treated me way better than ninety percent of the dates I’ve been on, man. Don’t worry about…about being careful when asking for my number.” He rests in his palm again, his posture growing tired, slumping into the table. “I was gonna give it to you anyway.”

“Ninety percent? Who the hell do I need to fight?”

“People who are…unimportant and too full of themselves? I don’t know, Eds, it doesn’t matter. I’ll probably just…I don’t know,” Steve murmurs. He shrugs half-heartedly again. “I’m gonna go home after this and go to bed, wake up with a raging headache, and probably wish that you were still sitting across from me. Feel like you’d know how to make it better.”

Eddie hums. “Well,”—he positions himself better, sitting up in his seat and folding his hands on the table—“tonight, I’m gonna make sure you ring in the New Year happier than you are right now. And then, when you get home, you’ll text me that you did. I’ll tell you to have a goodnight’s sleep. In the morning, when you wake up, I’ll text you again, ask if you want some coffee. Maybe, if you’re comfortable, I could bring it over to your place and we could have a simple breakfast?”

“You’d do that?”

“If you want me to.”

Steve goes silent, noticeably contemplative. His eyes adrift to the table. In the mean time, Eddie orders their food and passes over the drinks when they arrive. He nudges Steve to take his pills and points out something that Anderson Cooper’s doing on the television.

But he doesn’t bring up tomorrow morning, not right now at least.

Because maybe he’s overstepping this. He’s putting himself in a position Steve doesn’t want him in. Only thirty minutes ago, they were complete strangers in a bathroom bar, groaning and grumbling at each other for being so defensive and combative. Maybe Steve’s got a friend waiting for him back home? Waiting to let him back inside and take care of him in the secret way only true friends know how.

They aren’t anything more than mere acquaintances. No matter how many half-lidded flirty glances Steve passes his way. No matter how many times Eddie’s eyes wander to Steve’s mouth as he gobbles down his serving of onion rings, a wish ringing out in his head, words caught star-bound in his throat, admiring.

He’s allowed to admire.

Not allowed to have, though.

And maybe he won’t ever get there. This will be it. A late night dinner, wishing Happy New Years, jokes tossed across the table like clumsy frisbees taking flight, and an aching in his chest. Feelings blooming in his sternum so suddenly, so abrasively, they’re thorns staggered sharp into his lungs. 

He breathes, his chest seizes, and the whiff of Steve’s stale cologne burrows inside him. He blinks, his eyebrows shoot up his forehead, and Steve’s strong shining summer smile brands to the deep crevices of Eddie’s brain. He laughs, their giggles blend, and the process starts all over again.

Is this what sunflowers feel like? Soaking up the sun, all that they can, and then begin the brittle early death of wilting into oneself? They have to wait so long to be born again.

Eddie doesn’t want this to be a one time thing, dead in the middle of winter, dead before it could be alive.

Steve will have his number, though. He’ll have a weakened headache in the morning now that he’s had some caffeine and begun processing a couple Advil. From there, though, the future is possible, but unseen. He’s not sure if he’s even something Steve could be looking for.

Wishful thinking, he tells himself, hopeful wishing.

“Dude, try this!”

He blinks back to himself, presented with a chicken tender thrusted into his face. It’s dripping in ranch, so Steve’s hand is cupped underneath it, trying to save the table. Eddie gapes, looking to Steve’s face.

The chicken tender is pushed into his space harder. “These are the best tenders I’ve ever had in my fucking life, and I need you to support me on this. Try it.”

At Steve’s request, he gingerly takes a bite. For some odd reason, he finds himself holding their intent and intense eye contact, unwavering. It’s just a chicken tender, nothing to write home about. Not like it tastes any different than the ones he can pick up from the Dairy Queen by his apartment, but if Steve’s saying it’s the best one he’s had…

“That’s pretty fuckin’ bomb, Stevie,” he says. It’s not a complete lie, but it’s not the complete truth. But it does earn him bright eyes and warm cheeks, a side by side dance in the booth across from him, and a pleased little grin. So…maybe these chicken tenders are the best, especially if they get a pretty boy like Steve to look at him like that.

“Told you,” Steve says around his next bite—half of a chicken tender and two folded onion rings. “You ever dip ‘em in gravy, though? That would blow away your socks, blow up your mind, and suck your dick.”

“You, uh, you really don’t fuck around when it comes to chicken tenders, do you?”

“I don’t fuck around with anything. I’m a set-in-stone kind of guy.”

The seriousness in his tone makes Eddie involuntarily choke on air, his eyes drifting away, flush high on his cheeks. He takes a few, quiet bites of his cheeseburger. It’s mediocre and spilling with grease, the bun is stale and the ketchup is weirdly cold, but he savors it. At least it isn’t another basket of tortilla chips and jarred salsa from the bar—he’d probably rip out his own stomach if he had to eat any more of those.

Steve tries to offer him another chicken tender, but Eddie pushes it back gently towards him. Tries not to coo over the soft, sad pout that the gesture earns him. “It’s your food,” he says, “I wanna make sure you eat it, sweetheart. You need it more than me.”

“But I wanna share it with you.”

“Stevie,” he murmurs, “I’ve already got my”—

He’s offered the chicken again. With a very forceful, “Take a bite. You worked for hours, I can tell from how tired you seem, and I want to share this with you.” And then—the bastard—adds a puppy-eyed pout to say, “Please? It would help me feel better.”

Eddie sighs dramatically, leaning forward and taking another bite. He raises his eyebrows, gazing at Steve as he rescinds his food offering. “Happy now?”

Steve nods, smiling as he does so. “Very.” He pops a fry in his mouth and crunches down on it, his grin as big as the Cheshire Cat’s. And then, his focus goes back on his basket of food, none the wiser to Eddie’s openly affectionate adoration.

He forces himself to look away, to stop getting caught up on the Steve of it all, this night. Probably one of the best New Years Eves he’s ever had. Eddie takes a deep breath, though, and looks to the television.

Forty seconds to midnight.

How’d their night drive by so damn fast?

“You gonna count down with me?” Eddie asks, interrupting the lull of silence that filled between them.

“Mm, among one other thing, yeah.”

“What other”—

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve quickly adds, dropping his food into his basket, “how much time do we have?”

“Fifteen seconds.”

He watches Steve wipe his fingers on a nearby napkin, counting aloud with “Fourteen.”

And as the numbers go down, Steve pushes himself closer over the table. Eddie can only match with him.

Ten.

This close, Steve no longer smells like his cologne. Just barbecue sauce and onion rings, the grease from chicken tenders, and a lighter thing that he can’t quite place. Something happy, whatever it is.

Eight.

“Anyone ever tell you that you have nice eyes, Stevie?”

“Don’t think anybody’s really taken notice.”

“Well…”—Eddie breathes gently—“you have really nice eyes.”

Five.

Steve slides his hand across the table, gripping for Eddie’s left. Their fingers tangle, pretzeled together. Warm, even there. His smile is warmer, though, and Eddie begins melting at the sight of it. He wonders if Steve is thinking the same thing.

Three.

“Two,” Eddie breathes.

He squeezes their hands. “One,” Steve sighs. And with it, he surges the last few inches over the table, pulling Eddie towards him, planting a delicate kiss on his lips. It doesn’t carry longer than a couple seconds, but it lingers. Lingers like the decadent, sweet scent of apple pie. They’ll have to get slices before parting.

The diner fills with cheers, whoops and hollers. There’s a burst of multi-colored light outside, painting the left side of Steve’s face with pinks and blues and yellows. Maybe it’s all so cliche. Maybe Eddie tripped and fell, went into some head trauma-induced coma where he can only dream of a picture perfect world waiting for him.

But Steve squeezes his hand again, fingernails pinching into his soft skin.

Eddie knows he’s awake.

The haziness has cleared from Steve’s eyes, replaced with romantic determination. And Eddie knows he must be mirroring something like that, too.

“Happy New Years, Steve.”

“Happy New Years, Eddie,” he murmurs—the breath ghosts over Eddie’s lips, close enough to kiss them—“best night I’ve had in a really long while, thank you.”

He wants to kiss him again, so he does. Gentle and quick, sweetly though, and drenching.

If a night could last forever, he’d pick this one right here.

“My pleasure,” he says and means it to the core of his soul.

“Can I take you up on that coffee tomorrow? I have donuts back home, we could make a morning of it.”

Eddie swallows, sure that Steve hears him. His palm sweats and the thing inside him, stirring and rolling the whole night, is finally, finally alert. “Of course, sweetheart”—it fills him with giddy pride the way that nickname brings a flush to Steve’s cheeks—“what time?”

“I’ll call you when I’m ready. I wanna hear your morning voice.”

“You flatter me.”

Steve raises their joined hands to his lips, kissing the back of Eddie’s. His lips are sticky, somehow, but sweet. The next time they kiss, he hopes Steve tastes like pie. “Good,” Steve whispers, “you deserve to be flattered now.”

And maybe it wasn’t the most romantic start to their relationship…

But Eddie wouldn’t have it any other way.

🎆—————🎆

[arihi]

Charmed! 2025 (A Community Recap)

Charmed 2025 happened this past weekend, the 10th anniversary. My con recaps of years past desperately tried to fit in as much detail and information of each day, play-by-plays as I tagged everyone I could remember, talked about all the classes I'd been to, the people I'd met. Nowadays, I'm content to just do a general overview.

I spent a lot of time pensive and thinking about my time spent in the community and during cons. The 10th anniversary for Charmed meant that marked 9 years since I'd come out to my very first one. Longer in the community when I was still only online. How does the time fly by so quickly? It doesn't feel real. I still feel very new, and yet when I look around I'm surrounded by unfamiliar faces, cons growing too large and too quickly for me to recognize every face like I used to at the beginning. This sentiment is far from unique, and I had several conversations during the con with people who echoed similar feelings. At one point, I found myself in a group of people who all predated me in the con-going circuit - a rarity as more and more time goes on. We talked about the growth of cons, my first one. Though I'd spent a lot of the day feeling listless without realizing why, I found myself feeling comforted by the company, and realizing I had been lonely.

It's not at all a bad thing, and I'm genuinely happy that more and more people are finding community at these events - god knows I did. It's an adjustment is all, an ever-shifting growth of my own. It's plain to see from my blog activity over the years that I withdrew from talking as often. Not good, not bad, but also for good, and for bad. It's probably good that I don't reveal as much about myself at the drop of a hat. It's probably bad that I'm more avoidant now than I'd like to be. I'd remarked to a friend a while back that I didn't miss the old MMO that we met each other on and spent our days playing, but that I missed the period of time in my life that it defined. Similarly, I think I was going through a huge shift in life and perspective at the time I was first finding my feet at these events, these gatherings of people that taught me that it was worth it to seek my own happiness, that *I* was worth it. I know this inherently now, but it was much more of an impact back then for obvious reasons. I suppose it's like the honeymoon period of a relationship vs. settling into its stability. I suppose you could say I'm in a long-term relationship with myself! And it's some of the healthiest it's ever been. And now that I'm doing better and more stable these days, I should try to push myself to be out there more often.

Every time someone tells me that I've grown so much, I can't help but tear up and cry. (I'm doing it now as I type this.) And wouldn't you believe it, that happened to me like FOUR TIMES during Charmed!! Come on y'all!! What the hell. There's nothing that solves feeling stagnated in life like hearing that from someone else. I resolved myself at the beginning of this post not to feel like I had to document every interaction and tag every person, but it's difficult to fight the urge to yell it from the rooftops, how each interaction genuinely touched me, how they were the highlights of my con. How I miss them again, and how I can't wait to see them again. It couldn't come soon enough. Thank you to those who have watched my journey and always encouraged me. (I feel like I say this often, but, please know that I mean it every time. Except this time like triple it. That's how much it means to me.)

Charmed changed my life. I will say it to my dying breath and I will always be forever grateful for it. I learned people could be happy. I learned I could be happy. The connections I made at the first Charmed and subsequent years have changed my life beyond what a 2015 version of me could ever imagine. Tangibly, too -- beyond just a shift in perspective and mentality and wanting better for myself, I wouldn't have been able to move out without the chain of events that started at this first con. So- thank you. Thank you. Thank you so much.

I challenge myself not to document every interaction because in the past, that was how I had to live. Every post was proof I had experienced hardship (and lived). Every con meant a new lease on life and I had to memorize every single one and struggle to do hours long voice recordings about each day of the event to remember as much as I could because, that was all I could bring back. And I don't need to anymore - not because I don't want to remember, but because I'm in a better place now. These aren't the desperate emergency infusions of care I didn't know I could have; now, they are cherished moments with friends old and new, a drop in the bucket of happy memories. And part of life is to forget and talk about old stories and remember them again with good company.

Until the next one, and the one after that, and the many more after that.

-- Ari

[dreamsy990]

you know i used to think it was weird how sora and roxas have such different personalities for supposedly being 'the same person' but after playing a few games i sort of realized that they do have similar personalities, because roxas acts how sora does when he's under extreme stress.

compare roxas to sora in, say, kh1. that's where a lot of peoples idea of sora's personality comes from. sora is generally very upbeat and optimistic in that game. not very similar to roxas, right?

but let's switch the game and talk about a game where sora is ABSOLUTELY GOING THROUGH IT. chain of memories.

sora's resting state is melancholy in com. he only ever cheers up in short bursts, usually when he's joking around with friends. just like roxas.

he's quick to anger, and tends to lash out at the organization members. best example of this is when larxene makes him 'remember' namine, and he swings at her repeatedly, even after she's gone. he only stops when jiminy is able to snap him out of it.

you know what scene that resembles?

sora, while a bit more on the angry side and less sad, continues to act like this in kh2 when he's in stressful situations. (he also has a tendancy to insult people which, while it's not very related to the point, is very funny and sora saying 'gonna cry?' to xigbar is great.) i cant comment any further than that about kh2 off the top of my head.

so, roxas acts like sora does when he's stressed, right? but why is roxas always acting like that? to which i say, he isnt!

he only ever acts like that when he's also in fucked up and stressful situations, which happens to be a CONSTANT in his life. but when he's hanging out with axel and xion, a decidedly NOT stressful situation, he's a lot more like sora. he's teasing his friends and insulting his coworkers and joking around and acting like a normal kid. not really important, but unless i misremembered some sora lines which is VERY possible, both roxas and sora respond to friendly insults with "oh thanks!" a lot. just a funny little detail that felt relevant.

the biggest differences between roxas and sora boil down to environment and... i dont know how to put it besides volume? roxas is very quiet and tends to keep most of his thoughts to himself, while sora is very loud and expressive in comparison.

there is one other huge difference i noticed, which is less character based and more story. sora wanted to get off destiny islands and explore with his friends, but roxas just wanted routine. sora wants adventure, and roxas wants things to stay the same, for days where he gets off work and eats ice cream with his friends to last forever, to keep having conversations about nothing and watching the sunset. roxas wants normalcy, sora wants excitement. it's just interesting seeing their contrast.

not sure if this is very well said or anything i just wanted to talk about my boys

[joshuamj]

EoW Zelda and Link designs

[hinamie]

doodles

[luck-of-the-drawings]

so REVENGE, HUH? or justice, if that makes you feel better. it tastes the same when cooked just right. 'I REALLY WANTED A BROTHER.' such a shame to burn a bridge you so desperately wanted to keep, especially when it wasnt even you who started the fire. especially when you hope that not a single fragment of that bridge ever washes ashore.[MAY IT ROT FAR FROM MY SIGHTS] an unfortunate loss! atleast he has his friends.

[snailfen]

at the very least heres this. go my suitloon qpr

[ceabu]

Isn't This Nice?

[mykimouser]

There were angels dining at the Ritz And a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square...

[retros-artandstuff]

vriska + a transmasc dave doodle

[skelevision]

ok chat my friends r kinda unresponsive (dont care abt vsynth and tired of my bs) and both picked defoko over others and i ended up . not wanting to use her for this (sorry) (i will use her another time) so im asking here....... idk........ only 1 day long poll cause im going to be out all weekend starting friday morning so im sort of speedrunning the bulk of this. dont mind the default resampler for the previews ill pick a better one depending on which bank ends up being chosen

[coridallasmultipass]

Christmas dinner for myself: Loroco tacos with homemade chili and homemade tortillas lol.

A big feat with my back pain. I haven't had the energy to home-make tortillas in a while (even though it's super easy, and I refuse to eat store-bought bc these are way better).

[iwakuraz]

decided to go on a trip to the river and I took all of my fucked up clones with me. and yes they smoke weed. was thinking we could shoot our baby while we're there but also we might Die and Drown if we feel like it

[weezerlvr228]

flippin boobahs!

[itsalwaysdark]

i just fucking hate having ptsd all of it. so many stupid fucking things send me into fucking hysterics it sucks and i hate it and i dont want itttt anymore i dont want it.