#comate

[flagtism]

cherish, comate, grace, & ward flags.

meant to be used for identifying as a cherish/comate/grace/ward. made with the protecter cedural/tutelary/wechselnd attraction partner terms in mind but not exclusive.

tagging @radiomogai.

[gonzophotography]

[notcryingtoday]

I mean Fablehaven was crazy actually, first of all I didn't remember book one going so fast but also what the fuck Seth and Kendra milked a giant cow by sliding on her udder??? Breasts??? I don't even fucking know the english name for that please

Like I remembered it but it was in the back of my mind so far away...

Or like the terrifying scene of Seth going full Tusk mode and changing into a morse. Yeah this one I had totally whipped out of my memory.

Tbh I'd say it's cool, I like magic and stuff being a little weird and inconvenient, and it makes sense for the cow to need to be milked so yeah. Bet it was funny to write!

[crj-200]

i have a very small model airbus a380 do you have name ideas for it

i am so sorry!!!!! i was trying to come up with names when you sent this and i got lost in it without actually responding 😭 if you haven't picked one yet i'd go with a name that sounds like it's a cat from petfinder

[dreamingsnowflake2013]

In the middle of the drought that has swept across the entire Asian dramaland in the last few months comes the utterly awesome, gorgeous and addictive Republican era cdrama Be Your Knight and it's got everything I crave in my shows and have been missing recently.

The show is visually stunning in every single shot.

This is the intro to the female lead, whose semi-ahistorical shoes I love and who almost killed her opium-addicted fiancé/adopted "brother" when he assaulted her while being high. When we first meet her, she's on her way to visit his grandmother in a hospital with his blood still on her amazing shoes.

FL is not your typical heroine: she is kind enough, well-off young lady but not your typical cdrama goody two shoes, she has her own revenge agenda but she isn't hellbent so much she would sacrifice everything for it. I love how despite clearly being scared shitless and rattled by the traumatic altercation, she keeps up the facade and hides her fiancé in a private sanatorium, while lying to the grandmother through her teeth, and later drowning her nerves and trauma in booze. You don't get a FL with a trusty flask every day.

Cheng Che's parents were murdered in front of her and to find their murderer she needs the clue only her now comatic fiancé has access to, so she needs to marry him to get into his bank deposit box, but how, you ask, when he is unconscious? Well, lucky her, he has an identical secret Triad-like brother who imprisoned her a year ago.

The world is small, isn't it?

[makrokosmuss-blog]

First Spark

Summary: The infamous Scorpion, Crown Prince of the Lin Kuei, helplessly falling deeply in love during battle.

Warning: It's Mortal Kombat. There is Comat. A/N: This is a whole story of both brothers having a bad case of crush. If anyones interested I'll post the other bits as well. Part II Whole Story (Ao3)

The air was cold. A storm was brewing above. And the man, you had tracked for weeks on end, the man you were sent to kill, was so very close now.

Skillfully and silently you moved along the terrain. Unseen and unheard, trained on your victim, so close to striking. Muscles tense, eyes unblinking, drawing your weapon as-

You saw the fight erupt before you.

A fight that, with how it proceeded, would change your path and bring with it so much more than you had ever bargained for.

Your prey, your contract, the man you had carefully stalked, now clumsily and hastily attacked by…a boy. A boy wearing a grey garment, young, too young to fight, to be in a situation such as this. Yet he was fast. And skilled and quick. Quick as yourself now nearing them, whispering: “No…No, no, no.” to yourself as you debated fiercely with yourself if to intervene and end their fight. If to quickly kill the man you were supposed to, or to stop the boy, or to kill them both, or-

Your mind was racing. Your heart as well. You watched on, still hidden, as the boy began to struggle. He was much smaller, much frailer in frame and with the progression of their fight it was clear who would stand victorious in this encounter.

He cried out, shouting. “I Found him! Over here!”, before getting hit by yet another strike of his opponent.

Your head shot to the side. It meant that the boy was not alone. Yet you did not see any aid coming, now heard any answer.

Another strike. The man’s fist had collided with the poor boys head and you could both see and hear the miserable state he was in when he hit the ground after that blow.

And slowly but surely the question in your head moved from fear of the intruding boy, to fear for his life. He was getting mercilessly beaten. Trying desperately to move away, to hold his position yet suffered great hits. He stumbled back, catching his breath for but a second, not seeing as the silver of the man’s blade glistened in the light. You heard someone Shout from afar. The shocked voice of a father, maybe a brother. Someone who saw that with the sheathing of this weapon the boy's life would be forfeit, yet could not reach him in time. Then, despite your better judgment, with your jaw pressed shut and your muscles tense, you rushed in.

The element of surprise was strongly on your side that day. Your blade met his in the last possible second. You had positioned yourself so quickly between the two opponents, that neither had even noticed you for the split second in which you had intervened. Facing your prey, your stare turned cold. You could not see the boy that you had protected so fiercely, stare at you with wide, surprised eyes. Saw only the man you were supposed to kill before you, shocked by your appearance.

So taken aback, that before he had a chance to react any further, you moved beneath his arm, drawing back your weapon and burying it deep into his guts, up into his heart. Out of the corner of your eye then, having angled you body towards him in your movements, you could see the boy behind you sink to his knees. Failing to stay upright. Quickly you pushed your victim off. Turning in a fluent motion and grasping for the young boy, catching him in his fall. His head fell back, revealing his unconscious features to you, beaten and bloodied face laying still. He was warm and soft in your arms and you worried if he was alright. This was not how this should have went. Not how it was planned.

“Tomas!”

The same voice again, this time the man was in view. And then, more than that, shock ran through you, ice cold and damaging. It was impossible not to recognize the man that was sprinting towards you. Even from stories and legends alone, it made your blood freeze and the fear in you arise. With that fear you looked down upon the boy in your arms, noticing he was Lin Kuei as well. One could not miss it in their beautiful ornate Robes and masks. And the man before you none other than…

“You, step back.” His voice was deep. Menacing. And yet it called to you so attractively. As if you had heard it a thousand times before. His infamous speer was held out, directed straight at you as he came to a halt, not bothered or out of breath by the impressive sprint.

He stood oh so tall. Broad as well. Shoulders strong and upright. A fire in his eyes that seemed unyielding. You would not dare to provoke him. Not the second son of the Lin Kuei.

As slowly as you could, you lowered the boy down. Running your hand over his forehead, through his gray hair, then at his throat, checking his pulse. He was alright. Even slower then, you rose from your crouched position. Careful with each step. You thought about raising your hands, to show submission. Yet decided against it. The best way to get out was to neither give up nor confront.

The tense silence hung in the air as you stepped back from the boy, your blade still in hand, but your attention now divided between him and the menacing man who had just arrived. Noone else, but Scorpion. The younger brother, of the sons of the grandmaster of the Lin Kuei. The man's piercing, intense gaze locked onto you, and you felt an electrifying connection between your eyes. Although his face was covered, just as yours, by mask, in that instant, amidst the chaos, you recognized a strange attraction and admiration that welled up within you.

His speer remained pointed at you, unwavering, a clear indication of his readiness for confrontation. His reputation as a formidable warrior was well-deserved, and the stories you'd heard about him had not done justice to the aura of power that emanated from him. Like heat, it seemed to wash over you, filling you with strange exhilaration.

The boy you had saved, lay at your feet, his shallow breaths and steady pulse reassuring you of his safety. He was battered and bloodied, sure, but his life was not in immediate danger.

The man before you squinted his eyes at you, then they shifted briefly to the fallen boy. "You saved him," he said, his voice a complex blend of stern authority and intrigue. "But that won't absolve you of your intrusion."

Intrusion. Yes. You were in Lin Kuei territory. You had hunted your contract here. Knowing he would escape had you not. There had been no other choice in your mind.

You knew you had to be cautious, and you kept your blade at the ready, prepared for a fight you had not initially bargained for. "I did not mean to stumble upon anyone" you replied, your voice steady, though your heart raced. "I have my reasons for being in your territory."

Scorpion raised an eyebrow, and a flicker of curiosity danced across his eyes. "Reasons," he echoed, as if trying to decipher your intentions.

As you stood there, the tension in the air grew more palpable with each passing moment. Both of you were Assassins, bound by duty and honor, but now standing at an unexpected and unwanted crossroads. You knew there was little chance you had against him, if it came to a fight. Somehow you would have to evade this, his moves, his speer, long enough to get away.

The boy, Tomas,still did not regain consciousness. You glanced down at him and then back at the man. "He is alive and well. I do not ask for thankfullness, only for letting me go, as if unseen" you proposed, a hint of desperation in your voice. "Let's not make this any bloodier than it needs to be."

The man's gaze remained fixed on you, his expression unyielding, but a hint of something deeper tugged at the corners of his lips. “I don’t think so.”

The tension between you was a strange one. There was an undeniable connection that had sparked in the midst of this chaos that you found yourself in. Was it his eyes? His voice? You had heard it before. You knew that. Were so sure of it. And he. The way he looked at you. Moved his eyes up and down your form, puzzled expression, intrigue in his eyes. It was strange but he seemed to feel just as you did. He continued watching you with curious eyes, the short blade dancing in his hands. The world around you seemed to hold its breath, awaiting the next move in this unexpected dance of nearing Combat.

“You said it yourself, Woman. You are in Lin Kuei territory. I’ll have to take you in.”

Your eyes were trained on him. Heart began racing once more. The air tense, just as your piercing gaze. “I won’t go voluntarily.” His answer was calmer, nearly glad about this decision of yours. “I thought so.”

With the tension between you reaching its peak, the clash of steel became inevitable. Still wielding his infamous speer, he made the first move, lunging forward with deadly precision. You moved, feeling the hot air of the metal just inches next to your face, then, slicing through soft skin, leaving a bloody but rather shallow gash on your cheek. He pulled it back just as quickly and you moved again, evading it’s sting, before he drew his blade and it met yours in a beautiful sound of clinging metal. Another attack followed, then another. His strikes were swift and merciless, yet you moved with a grace and agility that seemed almost choreographed.

You parried his attacks with fluid movements, your blade meeting his with a melodious ring that echoed through the air. The dance of combat began, and it was unlike any you had experienced before. Each swing, each thrust, and every step felt like a part of a beautifully orchestrated performance.

He was relentless, his speer and blade a blur as it sliced through the air. You evaded his strikes with a dancer's finesse, your body swaying like a reed in the wind. Your movements were swift, his direct and forceful, a mesmerizing display of skill and precision. The air around him was hot. His skin, whenever you brushed against it, steeming, scorching.

Despite the intensity of the battle, there was a strange, unspoken understanding between you and him. A mutual respect for each other's abilities emerged as the fight continued. Admiration gleamed in his eyes as he saw your agility and prowess.

He stepped back as you had dodged another swing, landing in a crouched position. A moment of peace. A moment to breathe. A moment to watch each other closely. Seconds had past. A minute maybe. And yet you felt like you had spent hours brushed against him, lost in dance.

You could see his chest rising and falling with his rapid breathing. See his muscles tense. His shape pristine. You could see his eyes doing the same. Watching you oh so tenderly as you slowly rose to your feet. He was clearly impressed. Impressed or rather, entertained, maybe.

"Who are you?" he asked, acknowledging your theory of admiration, his voice low and tinged with a hint of appreciation.

You began to move. Slowly, pacing like a wild cat. He joined your movements, just like in battle. Synchronised in a beautiful dance. The two of you circled each other, a magnetic connection pulling you closer with each step. The man's breath was measured. The adrenaline coursed through your veins, and you couldn't deny the exhilaration of the fight.

As the clouds above cast eerie shadows on the battleground, the man lunged once more, and you twirled away gracefully, your blade grazing his arm as you did so. He winced, but once more there was a glint of admiration in his eyes. The pain seemed to fuel his determination. He grasped it then, his wound. Looking at the blood that ran beneath his fingers and then up to you again. Knowing, you would not attack him. Knowing as surely as you did, that there had formed a respect between the two of you so quickly, that neither had actively witnessed it happening. It was simply understood.

You parried his next strike, locking your gaze with his, and for a brief, electrifying moment, the world around you disappeared. It was just the two of you, locked in a dance of blades, a fight where admiration mingled with the thrill of combat.

And it continued, a harmonious clash of steel, a duel that neither of you seemed willing to end. As the seconds turned into minutes, it became clear that this battle was no longer about territory or a contract. It was a display of skill and a testament to the undeniable connection you seemed to share. More and more you noticed yourself not wanting to harm him. And neither seemed he to want to. Seemingly pulling back his punches, missing you on purpose, wanting to see your skill, feel your heat within his rather than being out for blood. He had you once, twice at a damaging position, yet did not strike, but glanced at you wondrously. You as well had your blade against his throat, only to redraw, deciding to back off before he lunged again.

The sun found its way through the thick clouds above, a silent witness to the dance of blades and the unspoken bond that had formed between you. This battle was far from over, and the admiration you held for each other would continued to grow.

It took you by surprise then, as he lunged forward. In a sudden burst of speed and strength, the man managed to close the distance between you, his speer aiming to immobilize you. With a swift, unexpected maneuver, he had gotten hold of you with his infamous weapon. Rope that felt as hot as him suddenly tangled around you, squeezing you tightly, taking your breath away. Before you knew it he pulled you close and his powerful grip held you firmly.

You found yourself pressed against him. Pulled with your back into his chest, strong arms around you, holding you in place. You could feel his heat up close now. Feel the rising and falling of his chest. For a moment, you were defenseless, your chest heaving, and your heart pounding. You turned your head, struggling, seeing him watching you from over your shoulder. The man's intense gaze bore into you, and his eyes seemed to contain a mix of regret and resolve. It was the strangest move then, that he did not finish you right then and there, but to grasp your mask, carefully and tenderly, pulling it down, revealing his face to you.

Frozen, shocked and taken aback by this move, you held completely still. Lips slightly parted, eyes wide. It was this that he had chosen as the prize for his victory. To see his opponent. You looked at him all surprised, yet unmoving in his arms, as the soft fabric brushed past your lips and beneath your chin. Not as surprised as himself however, the great Scorpion looking admiringly, dumbfounded even at your features, still for just a moment. The moment passed. Then another. Neither spoke nor moved. Both out of breath. Both exhausted and yet so intensely concentrated. On each other - in a different way this time around.

Sensibility only slowly returned to you. But when it did you remembered what was truly happening. That the man, no matter how close now, was a killer who would take you hostage if you did not change something about your situation fast. And so another moment passed.

A moment you had to use in your favor. You were swift and determined. With a deft twist of your body, you managed to break free from his grip, turning the tables on him. You landed a series of powerful blows, using the momentum you'd gained from your evasion to kick at the back of his knee, then at his chest.

The man grunted, his composure momentarily shattered. His speer clattered to the ground, and he staggered backward. There was an undeniable sense of satisfaction that surged through you as you overcame him, a fire in your eyes that matched the sparks of attraction that had flared between you. You had grasped his own blade, moved so quickly, and then -

Pointed it at his throat. Silence fell. Time stood still, for but a moment, just as it had before. The great scorpion, beat by his own blade, hieving, staring you down. Admiring the fire in your eyes.

Just as you were about to speak to him, something unexpected happened. The heat of the air disappeared. Replaced by cold. Then a swishing noise.

You heard Scorpions hiss, felt him lunge at you, grasping you, turning you around in his arms, trying desperately to protect you. It was because of him that instead of your heart, itr was your shoulder that was pierced by ice. Then a searing pain rushed through your shoulder, and you cried out in agony, collapsing into the man that was no longer fighting, but holding you. Blood stained your clothing, and the world spun around you as you sank to the ground.

The man, who had been your adversary just moments ago, now knelt by your side, a mixture of shock and concern in his eyes. "No," he muttered, his voice tinged with regret. He hadn't wanted this outcome.

His accomplice approached, the icey air still prevalent around him, his face pale as he noticed his brothers scattered around you. One laying, one holding you.

Scorpions gaze shifted between you and his accomplice, a protective instinct rising within him. "We need to save her," he declared, the urgency in his voice clear. "She's not our enemy, and you just gravely wounded her."

“She’s in our territory, brother. What has gotten into you.” “She saved Tomas!” “She’s a threat, and i won’t let you-”

Voices faded around you. You felt strength leaving you. Heard your own heart beating. And felt warmth, above all, lull you in.

The encounter had taken an unexpected turn, and what had once been a battle of wills had transformed into a complex mixture of attraction, duty, and the shared desire to keep you alive.

[aurumsims]

SIMS 4 ANIMATED WINGS FOR FEMALE AND MALE SIMS by AURUM

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MOVES WITH SIM, you can see on the pictures how they change position based on sim pose

Base game compatible

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HQ comatible

10 swatches (whites, dark colors, white with blood)

Low poly

All lods

Custom thumbnail

DOWNLOAD AT MY PATREON PAGE: EARLY ACCESS TILL 15.12.2023

or the link below

TSR one year subscription VIP discount using code (*CLICK FOR MORE INFO*):

SHOP_AurumMusik12 Follow me on social media:

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[liluchunnies]

Whys it called nectar hotel tho???

Is it a reference to the moth image we see in the cult that kidnapped ociel and rciel?? But since butterflies are more commonly known to drink nectar, it could be pertaining to a butterfly instead

When a caterpillar transforms into a butterfly, they emerge from their cocoon which is a similar way we see rciel, how he was comatized to a bed when he was meeting with Lizzie and how he looks put together when he meets ociel

Butterflies symbolize hope, transformation, and new beginnings but these contrast to what moths are symbolized for since theirs is death and rebirth, mystery, and are often associated with folklore and witchcraft. And we've all mistaken moths and butterflies at some point but that is the same situation with ociel and rciel in the story rn.

[gonzophotography]

[setaripendragon]

Okay, now I'm kinda interested in what the Kingsman "The King's Whores" wip is about...

=D I am so glad you asked!

Basically, it's a post!Secret Service (not Golden Circle or King's Man compliant) fic where Harry gets found alive and comes back to take the position of Arthur, and the first thing he has to do is replace a bunch of agents who died because of the four minutes of murder.

Eggsy decides that his own appointment wasn't scandalous enough, and not only does Kingsman have a classism problem, it also has a sexism problem, and goes trawling the east end's street hookers for his candidates for the trials.

The story is told from the PoV of a street hooker called Emma who is Massively Confused about this rich-ass chav who's paying her and a bunch of other girls a lot of money for the privilege of... taking them to dinner at the Ritz?

The plan is to have Eggsy run a couple of 'tests' to check for general comatibility (the ritz), physical ability (free running? laser tag? adult-sized jungle gym? I haven't decided yet), and some sort of puzzle-solving/detectiving skills (city wide treasure hunt? some sort of pin the tail on the asshole rich guy??? still a bit vague on this one, ngl) and Emma eventually gets bonus points for pretty much figuring out what Eggsy's looking for and possibly catching him bugging them all and such.

And the grand finale is going to be Eggsy presenting these three to Merlin as his candidates, and ALL of the other agents and candidates pulling faces as the girls fly through the Kingsman tests in a little epilogue montage and, like, two out of three of them getting the job or something.

(Harry thinks it's delightful, and fist-bumps Eggsy when Emma's knighted, much to the agony of all the other stuffed-up inbred aristocrats in Kingsman)

Have an excerpt:

“If you want us to get in your car, you’re gonna have to tell us where the hell you’re taking us.” Emma informed him with a grimace. So far, he’d been remarkably polite and respectful, but she knew full well just how quickly that could change once a bloke didn’t need to be. And sure, there were more of them than there were of him, but she couldn’t guarantee on it staying that way.

Eggsy thought about it for a moment, then nodded in a ‘that’s fair’ sort of way. “Dinner at at the Ritz.” He informed them blandly, and then grinned with mischief.

“Bullshit.” Emma snapped.

Eggsy sobered up at that, but he didn’t look angry to be called out, or even irritated. He just looked sombre. “I give you my word, that’s all. Dinner, two hours, and I’ll drop you all back here in exactly the same condition you’re in now, only better fed, and maybe a little bit tipsy. They got good wine there.” He put his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “And you don’t have to come. The money’s yours whether you do or don’t, but hey, when else’re you gonna get to make all the waiters at the Ritz uncomfortable as hell?”

That was tempting, Emma had to admit, but she also had her kids to think about, and if she got abducted, who the hell would look after them? “Your word?” Laura challenged, unimpressed.

“A true gentleman never breaks his word.” Eggsy replied sincerely, and it was an odd thing to hear in such a common accent, but Emma was pretty good at reading people, and she was pretty damn sure he meant it.

[konjaku]

蘿藦[Gagaimo] Metaplexis japonica

It is a perennial creeping plant and grows in sunny areas. The flowers are often purplish in color. In autumn, it produces spindle-shaped fruits about ten centimeters long, and comate seeds emerge from inside the fruit shell, which splits longitudinally.

This name is an ateji, or a Chinese name with a Japanese reading applied to it. In the past, 蘿藦 was written as 羅摩, and these were read as kagami, which is also an ateji. The usual reading for both is rama.

故大國主神。出雲之御大之御前に坐す時に。波の穗自り。天之羅摩船に乘り而。鵝(蛾？)の皮を内剝に剝ぎて。衣服に爲て。歸り來る神有り。爾其の名を問はすれ雖も不答。且所󠄁從の諸神に問はすれ雖も。皆知らずと白しき。

[Kare ookuninushi-no kami, izumo no miho no misaki ni masu toki ni, nami no ho yori, ame no kagami no fune ni norite, himushi no kawa wo utsuhagi ni hagite, kimono ni shite yori kuru kami ari. Kare sono na wo towasuredomo kotaezu. Mata mitomo no kami tachi ni towasuredomo, mina shirazu to mōshiki.]

Now, when (a deity) Ookuninushi-no kami was at Mihonosaki in Izumo(Shimane Prefecture, today), there is a (very small) deity approaching from the white waves on a heavenly boat made of (the fruit shell of) Kagami and wearing clothing made from the stripped skin of a moth. So Ookuninushi asked him his name, but did not respond. And now Ookuninushi asked his attendant deities, but they all said, "I do not know". From Kojiki (The above quotations have been converted to sentences in the way of explanation reading) Source: https://dl.ndl.go.jp/pid/914528/1/35 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kojiki https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kanbun

[petrodragonicapocalypse]

I AM GONNA LISTEN TO GREEP ALBUM i just basically got like 2 hours sleep in a hostel last night and im hungover off freaking mushrooms and ive had the worst period cramps of my life while solo travelling half way across the country so im in the kind of situation where hearing too many words in a row could comatize me

[cinamun]

my reshade is the latest version and it also broke like with so many other people ☹️ i don’t know how to make it comatible with direct 11 and i already watched a few tutorials on yt, any tips?

Sorry nonny, I have no tips. I'm using the latest version of gshade which was already updated for dx11. I also won't be updating my game until all my mods are updated.

You know who the reshade question guru is tho? @/pictureamoebae

They're super helpful.

[clementalfonsi]

Toujours courbaturé suite à la maladie de la semaine. WordPress m'annonce que j'ai écrit 200 articles sur ce site. Ça commence à faire. Lu d'une traite Une Saison au Congo d'Aimé Césaire. Désormais je lis Délivrances de Toni Morrison. Les vacances commencent, étrangement. Tout est étrange dans les périodes étranges. Il fait beau, puis gris ; un peu chaud, puis très frais. J'avais une chronique de poésie à écrire, elle ne sera pas faite, - premier écart de l'année. Il me prend des envies de comater devant une série ou de passer des heures sur un jeu vidéo, cela fait des années que je ne l'ai plus fait. De comater mon cerveau m'indique colmater, je repense à Liu Cixin et au deuxième tome du Problème à trois corps. Des mots se répètent, des chansons improbables reviennent en tête. C'est février, le 22 je crois. Cela se terminera peut-être.

[howardhawkshollywood]

The back of this publicity still reads

Paul Muni as "Scarface Comate" and Karen Morley as "Poppy," his "moll," in SCARFACE, the latest Howard Hughes screen thriller. United Artists Pictures, directed by Howard Hawks.

149373

[oventrout]

and i'm just the boy who is looking at you

posted it on ao3 first months ago but i felt like sharing it again :)

just a little something to get back into writing :^) title from "you are the right one" by sports

Warmth. Akin to the sunlight hitting the apples of your cheeks, like the softness of a blanket when you wake up, like the arms of someone beloved circling your neck. Warmth that starts in the centre of your chest and spreads, becomes all encompassing, a bright flame eager to comfort you.

Eddie’s fingers dance over Steve’s freckled back.

Warmth but also light. The kind you can’t look at directly, where you have to avert your squinting eyes a little bit to the left to really make out the shape radiating it. The kind that leaves waltzing shapes and colours in your vision, that makes you think that if this was the last thing your mortal eyes had to witness then it wouldn’t be so bad; to fall victim to its luminescence.

Eddie settles his hand in between Steve’s shoulder blades, sprawled fingers trying to cover as much skin as his appendages will let him.

The soft movements of his lover’s lungs reminds him of gentle waves, waters of a lake licking at the sand of the shore. In and out, he’s silently grateful for the air that allows for this man’s presence in his bed right now, in his life forever. In and out, he wishes it was him flowing inside of Steve’s chest, nestled behind his bones.

Dry, slightly cracked lips connect with soft, smooth skin. A kiss that’s more a need to make sure that this moment is real, that he is not still in the arms of Morpheus, tricking him with his inmost longings. A second kiss, connecting with wrangled tissue, one more reassurance that despite it all, it is still them.

Kiss number three is born out of a base need to manifest his emotions in physical form; put his bleeding, still pumping heart on a platter and slide it over the metaphorical table.

The glow of the moon illuminates through pristine glass windows and plaid curtains, flaunting itself fully and proudly over their forms. Eddie has no choice but to be enthralled by the display it makes of Steve, like a marble statue under soft museum lights. The freckles and moles across his skin, it would be a disservice to only compare them to stars when galaxies exist. The scars make nebulas out of his flesh. The cracked and stretched skin like comets and meteors to be marvelled at.

Eddie’s fingers resume their earlier routine of gentle twirling and swaying. Carrying his devotion on his fingertips until they stop at his dearest’s mane of hair.

Frizzled and tangled from being dragged and rubbed over a cotton pillow case, but still ridiculous in its softness and shine. The locks that held their part of responsibility in the Steve The Hair Harrington persona, smothered in mousse and hairspray every morning, looked almost meek and demure in the intimate dark of this bedroom. Like they could finally rest, not feeling the need to be at their best for a little while.

Eddie curls a strand around his middle finger, letting it unfurl and fall back with its comates, joining back in their gracefulness. With only minimal concern for his bedmate’s unconscious state, he slides his hand through Steve’s hair, letting it engulf him. Wanting to bury himself in its splendour, live in its shadow and submerge himself in its radiance. He tries to be gentle in his touch but Steve still makes a soft noise in his sleep, rubbing his nose on his pillow before turning his head and gracing Eddie with a view of his face.

Reluctantly withdrawing his hand, Eddie cannot find it in himself to be put off by this development. If he compared Steve’s body to a marble figure then his face is what they based ancient Greek prose on. An idle finger traces quietly over his features.

Unblemished forehead relaxed, its lines barely visible under the embrace of sleep and rest, leaving Eddie to swipe his thumb over them, remembering the number of times his lips have met them. What are usually expressive eyebrows finally taking a break, skin around them smoothed and placid, hairs thick compared to the faint ones dotting his cheeks and the build of his square jaw. Faint scars left behind in the wake of his newfound adult body, leaving behind only memories of teenage hormones.

Eyelashes like feathers upon the tops of his cheeks, giving his masculine features a sense of delicacy and tenderness. Eddie often finds himself enchanted by them. The way they fan when Steve’s lids blink, the way they clamp together when Steve is under the pressure of his shower or when he can’t help but be brought to tears. The way they frame his eyes, brown like tree bark or the beautiful fall leaves he adores so much. His eyes that always seem to find his and hold so much in their mere existence.

Eddie wishes he could kiss them like the rest of Steve’s body but will make do with simply caressing them with his own.

From his eyelids, his thumb traces over the hard slope of his nose. Straight save for the slight bump at its base, with a round tip and just this side of big. The small pinkish scar on the side of it from a well timed strike. He slides his finger back and forth, as lightly and subtly as he can muster in his enthusiasm.

He loves Steve’s nose. He loves adorning a light smooch on the tip of it in the morning when they wake up in the same bed. He delights in the way that it brushes alongside his when their lips move together. How cold it can feel when Steve buries his face in the space where Eddie’s neck meets his shoulder. The way Steve’s breaths sound in exertion.

Not for the first time, as he presses the pad of his finger to the skin under his nose, Eddie wishes he could burrow himself in that divot.

As his hand approaches its final waltz, Eddie wonders at his ability to do any of this; to be aware that he is not the first but knows deep within his being that he will be the last. He marvels as he thinks about how he will be present at every crease, ridge or groove’s appearance, will witness the aftereffects of a life well lived on a face he so cherishes. To have been given the privilege, to be able to worship at the altar of Steve Harrington.

With a single slow sweep, Eddie maps out the lines of Steve’s lips. Plush, pink, full in a way that begs for biting and soothing. A mouth Eddie cannot help but be at the mercy of. His bane as well as his deliverance. His windfall as much as his hindrance.

He thinks back to the first time he got to kiss Steve. A random afternoon, in an ordinary setting, during a not so important moment in their lives that was made all the more significant by the simple juxtaposition of their lips. A burst inside Eddie’s chest, like his very own supernovae, making his everything shimmer and twinkle. Like he was made of nothing but a cluster of light, trying his best to match Steve’s shine.

He tugs Steve’s bottom lip down, exposing his lower teeth for a second before it bounces right back in place. Puts the slightest of pressure behind his finger to watch the flesh bunch underneath before he releases it. At this moment, how can he be held accountable when he surrounders to the urgency to feel it under his own?

Even breath slowly turns cognizant and attentive, brows gather downward as the dormant becomes aware once again. Shoulders bunch up as Steve turns on his side, now fully facing Eddie in all his semi consciousness. Eyelids fluttering open enough to see Eddie in the moon glow of the room.

Like Sleeping Beauty, is the first thought that pops into Eddie’s mind. A winsome creature caught in an innocent moment.

As if it were possible, a new surge of affection bubbles up in his chest until it sticks all the way up into his oesophagus, rendering him slightly open-mouthed and inarticulate. His bewildered reaction is unwarranted, he thinks. Of course he even manages to make the pure act of waking into a deed worth adulating.

Lips smacking, fingers scratching at his chin, Steve takes in Eddie as best he can in his daze. “Are you watching me?” He mumbles.

Quick, think of something, “Uh, I just got up to take a leak.” He whispers back. Safe, plausible, better than I was having a religious moment at 3 in the morning thinking of all the ways I’m stuck on you.

Mouth twists in the shape of a dull yawn, face turned towards the ceiling so he doesn’t subject Eddie to his stale breath. Doesn’t realise Eddie wouldn’t breathe in anything else if he could get away with it.

“Okay,” Steve concedes, drowsy still. He borrows himself into Eddie’s side, clumsily grabbing hold of his sleeping shirt as leverage. Nose and crook of the neck together at last. The move compels Eddie to lay on his back, tugging his love’s sluggish form further into his flank. Where he should be in perpetuity, as far as he’s concerned.

As he tucks their blanket tighter over Steve, Eddie sends a silent grateful message to the world around him. Grateful for having been given the chance to make this his reality, grateful for having the opportunity to cling to this, down to the strength of his chipped, polished fingernails.

Settling his head over Steve’s now sleeping one with a quiet satisfied sigh, the future never looked so lovely.