#instead we see him healthier than before

[iamrizaka]

Didn't Kronos contact him a bit after Luke's quest? I think Luke's teammates also died during the quest, so Luke was kinda out of it and generally in a bad state.

And didn't Kronos send him dreams for 2 YEARS before Luke gave up and stole the bolt and the helm????

"Luke made the choice to join Kronos. Luke made the choice to betray everyone at camp. Luke made the choice to-." Blah, blah, blah.

Anyways, given that Kronos obviously manipulated Luke into believing that he wanted what Luke wanted (and that was to make life for demigods better and to hold the gods accountable for their actions), only to get Luke to say yes and join him… did Luke really have a choice? It’s states multiple times throughout the first series, by various characters, that Kronos could manipulate even the person with the strongest will power. Hell, Kronos even manipulated Ares! A literal god!

You think that Luke really had any chance of turning Kronos down, especially right after his quest when his emotions were all over the place?

Then let’s not forget that it’s stated right in the books that Kronos would straight up torture Luke with nightmares when he would "fail" or he felt Luke’s loyalty to him wavering. So, if he was punished/tortured whenever he may have wanted to disband the alliance with Kronos… did he really have a choice? Or was he stuck in that awful predicament because of one bad decision that wasn’t even truly his very own decision?

Luke may have thought that he had a choice in the beginning and it may seem that way to Percy and the others. However, it’s made perfectly clear in TTC that all of the "power" that Kronos had given Luke (as far as letting him see over the army in SoM and everything) was really just to pacify Luke and keep him compliant and unquestioning until he was ready to use him as his vessel if things didn’t work out with the fleece.

As far as I see it, Luke stopped having the true ability to make choices after he agreed to join Kronos and that happened before we even see him in TLT. In this essay I will-…

[lylahammar]

People always talk about how Laios is a character who gives fat vibes even if he isn't technically fat in canon which is very true, and I have some thoughts on that!! (this will be a long post lol sorry)

There's a lot of material in the dunmeshi extras that show how fatness factors into dungeon exploration, which shows that only the most skilled adventurers are able to keep weight on while in the dungeon (thank you to @savaralyn2 for the translations! links to the individual posts these panels come from are added on the pics):

So we know, at the very least, that most of the characters are kept thinner than they would be naturally through the strain of death/revivification in the main dungeon. We also see that Laios has some fat on him, which through the text means that he's skilled enough to at least keep some of his weight (which makes sense, he doesn't die very often in canon).

(to be clear this ^ doesn't constitute as "fat," he is built as fuck here he just has some fat on his body which shows his prowess as a fighter in this universe) HOWEVER my personal little pet theory/headcanon is that Laios actually has a difficult relationship with food! I know that doesn't make much sense at first since he's shown to eat a lot in canon, but hear me out. In pre-canon, before he reunited with Falin, he's shown to be extremely gaunt:

But after partnering up with Falin, he gains weight and looks much more healthy very quickly. Part of this is definitely because of his unstable living situation/mental illness, but he and Falin still live in very poor conditions after this and he still manages to gain weight/get healthier, so I believe it's mainly due to her making sure he eats enough. We also know that Laios is. most certainly autistic. Nobody argue with me on that it's like pretty much widely accepted as canon for a lot of reasons lmao. So my theory is that he's actually food sensitive. He's shown to not really care about food that isn't monster-related. Even when he eats regular food, he's usually imagining it being a monster instead.

He has never eaten squid before, which is totally normal, but could also support my theory in a way :P it being a monster still can't save it from the autistic sensory bad experience in this case, though.

So I think that his adventurous eating during the course of the story isn't because he's actually an adventurous eater normally, it's purely because of his special interest (monsters, duh). During his journey to recover Falin, he's able to build up a healthier relationship with food through Senshi's guidance and the involvement of his special interest.

By the end of the story, after he's retired from dungeon exploration and living in comfort/safety, and with his newly healthy diet, he's finally able to gain a lot more weight. Imo, his is a story of someone who's naturally meant to be fat, but is only able to reach that point when in a stable and healthy environment.

(for the record I know he's not that fat in this post canon comic, but this is only a year and a bit after the end of the story so there's still time lol)

alright I'm goin back to drawing now just had to infodump for a minute ✌️ keep it sleazy

[hannahmanderr]

I see your increasingly eldritch ghost form for Danny, and I raise you:

Phantom who, instead of looking more ghostly, is just a little too much like a human.

Like yeah, everyone knows Danny Fenton can send literal chills up people's spines and they swear they've seen his eyes start to glow in the right light, but have you seen Phantom? Like why isn't his skin green or blue or even deathly white? It's a lot healthier looking than Fenton's, that's for sure.

And just about every ghost that comes through has crazy sharp fangs, but if anything, Phantom's canines are just a little sharper than normal, but really they don't look too different than Wes' when he's on one of his rage induced rants.

Not to mention the physical presence he has in Amity Park. The way he inhabits space just feels different than most other ghosts, as if Phantom is somehow more connected to the physical world. Like why is he opening doors when he can just phase through them?

Kat, who works the after school shifts at the Nasty Burger with Valerie, swears up and down that she's seen him sitting on the roof, eating two or three burgers at a time (and sharing his fries with the little blob ghost family that lives in the dumpsters).

Dale knows for a fact he's seen Phantom talking on a cell phone of all things with someone. Even claims he heard Phantom mention something about playing DOOMED.

Mrs. Greigerit, the tiny old lady who's cashiered at the grocery store since forever, loves to talk about the time Phantom grabbed a few first aid supplies off the shelves after a ghost attack to help a woman and her toddler patch up until EMS arrived. According to her, he knew exactly how to work with these things meant to heal humans, and he even left a crumpled handful of human cash on her counter to pay for the supplies before he disappeared.

Amity Park notices, just like they notice the strangeness that surrounds Danny Fenton. But really, maybe it's just AP weirdness finally rubbing off on Phantom.

Everyone brushes it off until Jack and Maddie Fenton do the unthinkable and offer their help to Phantom after a particularly nasty fight.

"We saw him there, and... we saw just another person who needed help," Jack tells Tiffany Snow later that day. "A kid who could've been going to school with mine. What else were we supposed to do?"

[puck-luck]

may i request a 6 of clubs with quinn hughes?

congrats on 1k!! 🤍

warnings: slightly emotionally unavailable quinn, upset quinn, unprotected p in v, y'all are about to be blueballed by this btw, dom!quinn

WC: 1,172

You’re the first to say that you love when Quinn starts to show his feelings. Your boyfriend can be so shy and quiet, keeping all of his thoughts and feelings to himself. It took you a while to express your discontent when he would go silent, and he’s been working on it since. Quinn still hasn’t quite adapted to having a girlfriend who wants to share his every emotion, but he’s trying.

Today has been one of those days where it feels like he is adamantly not trying. You went to the game and watched the same outcome as him– the Canucks lost by two goals to the worst-ranked team in the league. Quinn came home upset, which made sense. He was on the ice for nearly a half-hour. You could spot the moment when his frustration boiled over: during the third period, at the end of his shift on the power play. He had grit his teeth and shook his head as he sat on the bench. Even though you didn’t have a good view of him, you knew he was stewing in his anger.

Here are all of the ways you tried to make his night better so that he would be willing to vent to you: you picked up his favorite cheat food (which is still much healthier than the cheat meal you would have chosen), put his favorite comedy on the television and paused it just before the opening credits ended so he wouldn’t miss anything good, put out his comfy clothes and threw his towel in the dryer so that it would be warm and fluffy when he got out. You put on your comfy clothes and threw your hair up the way he likes, so that he can see your collarbones, neck, and cleavage without even a chance of obstruction. 

Still, even having done all of those things, Quinn doesn’t want to talk. You sat on the couch, cuddled into his side for almost two hours while you watched the movie, and Quinn was silent the whole time. He’s still stewing a bit, so once the movie ends, you look up at him and touch his chest. Quinn just leans his head back into the couch cushions and closes his eyes. Rolling yours a bit at his resolution to ignore your concern, you climb onto his lap and touch his face until he looks at you. He shaved after his shower. He likes to do that after bad games. It helps him get rid of any lingering traces of the day, by starting fresh with a clean jawline. Because his hair is so dark, there’s always a shadow under his lip and around his chin. You trace it until Quinn opens his eyes.

“Talk to me,” You say quietly. 

“Baby, I don’t want to talk,” Quinn replies. His cheekbones look great in the low lamplight. You don’t stop yourself from tracing over those, too.

You stay silent, searching his face for any clues. Quinn is stony. You’re hoping that the tilt of your lips and your imploring expression will make him break. 

Instead, Quinn just lifts his eyebrows and stares at you. When he gets like this, he never gives anything away. Annoying, annoying man.

“Will you talk to me tomorrow?” You ask, pushing his hair behind his ears.

Quinn finally breathes out a laugh. “Yeah. We can have a heart to heart tomorrow.”

“Good.” You smile, satisfied with his answer. Quinn returns it, although mostly just humoring you. “How can I help you now?”

Quinn thinks for a second, then his eyes rake over your figure. 

He’s so blatantly obvious that you know what he’s thinking immediately. “Mm,” you hum, adjusting yourself on his lap so that you can sit flush against his clothed cock. “You want to fuck me.”

“Interested?” Quinn asks, licking over his bottom lip. 

You place your hands on his shoulders and grind against him a bit more. “I could be persuaded.”

“Good. Let’s go.” Quinn adjusts his grip on your waist, then stands. At the same time, you wrap your arms and legs around his neck and middle respectively, starting to kiss along his jawline. He makes his way down the hallway to the bedroom and since you feel like he can carry you just fine without your help, you move your arms so that you can pull your shirt off while still in his arms. 

After kicking the bedroom door open with the side of his foot, Quinn shows his appreciation for your revealed skin by lowering his mouth and sucking a mark onto your bosom. He falls back on the bed, bringing you with him. You avoid knocking your heads together, then kiss him on the mouth. You’re insistent when you start tugging on the neckline of his sweatshirt, petulantly asking him to take it off without actually asking him at all. Quinn allows you to pull off the fabric once he gets his fill of kissing your lips. 

You both make quick work of your remaining clothes– each of your sweats, your underwear. You and Quinn are eager to get things going, with his fingers working their way inside of you in sure strokes, scissoring inside of you to make you as open as possible in as little time. By the time you’re sinking down on Quinn’s cock, you expect for his grip to tighten and his hips to start shifting.

Instead, Quinn keeps his hands light on your waist and sits back against the headboard. He’s sitting low against the pillows, so you still feel like you’re towering over him. His eyes have that disinterested, expectant look in them again. 

You’re not as certain in your movements because of it. “Quinn?” You ask, tilting your head to the side. His cock is fully sheathed inside of you now, filling you in a satisfactory way, but usually in this position he moves. 

“Fuck yourself on my cock,” he says, a determined clench of his jaw signaling to you that he’s still festering in his frustration. He’s ready to take it out on you, but not in the dominating way that he always does. He says those five words so that you know that tonight is all about following his every command– he may not be spanking you or fucking you until you can’t come anymore, but he’s still telling you what to do and he will punish you if you don’t listen. “I just played a hard game, baby, and nobody helped me out there. I’m tired of doing all the work. Fuck yourself on my cock. Give me a break, yeah?” He squeezes your sides.

His words are a concession– he’s already loosening up and preparing to talk everything out with you tomorrow, revealing just how frustrated he is. He needs you to do something for him so that he can stop beating himself for giving everything to his team and getting so little in return.

The next obvious move is to obey– and you do.

[laiiaaa]

i would die if you wrote carmy saying i love you for the first time😭😭 and being shy and nervous because he’s never really told anyone that before and meant it like he does with you… like we see how hard it is for him to say it to his family but with you he knows it’s true but he’s so nervous to be that vulnerable with someone

It comes to him out of the blue almost. There is no grand gesture preceding it, no lovey dovey date with stars in his eyes. The thought just…appears. Not for no reason, of course—no, it all makes sense once he realizes the truth of the matter—but it still takes him by surprise, putting all the pieces together.

You’re sitting with him on his saggy thrifted couch, so worn-in and well-loved that you can feel the divots where it’s used to accommodating a guest. A half-forgotten show drones on the television, and it’s only there for background noise. His arm thrown over your shoulder rubs soothing shapes into your waist, and you’re nuzzled into his chest to feel his warmth. Like clockwork, you’ve taken his other arm into your delicate hands, working away at the sinew of his forearm and the ligaments in his hands with stubborn fingers, bringing him that sense of relief he only knows when he’s with you. You litter ghosts of kisses to his palm and to his knuckles and it has the thought surfacing:

He loves you.

He didn’t think of it before because he’s never known love to be like this: calm, nurturing, something he’s more than willing to give rather than obliged to say out loud. Before, it was a band-aid to make up for lost time, torn-away affection, too many drinks downed through bitter lips. It was there by name only and never in effect. That’s what he’s thought of it, all this time. Just a thing people say because they should.

But oh, how you’ve rewired him in his entirety.

You’re there for him when he doesn’t even realize he needs you to be; you’re convincing him to rest before he can even think to keep going beyond the point of no return; you’re turning those erratic patterns of his heart into something healthier, something akin to living instead of simply surviving. He’s remembering little things without thinking too much about it: your appointments, when your car needs an oil change, the best way (your favorite way) to arrange flowers, your favorite meals and snacks based solely on your mood, the way you fold his jeans just a little bit different than he does, how you scrunch up your nose every time you step out into chilly air.

And he’s enamored by every piece of it, every piece of you. He wants to know these things, not out of fear of making you mad, or out of self-preservation, but because his heart blossoms every time he sees that damn smile on your face. He can’t get enough of it.

So laying here, on this terribly old couch, in his terribly disorganized apartment, he knows what fills his thoughts of you is love after all.

And it terrifies him. What if he tells you the wrong way? What if you don’t feel the same? What if he tells you he loves you, and you tell him it’s not enough? What if everything burns to the ground and all he’s got with you right now is for naught? What if he’s a bad boyfriend? What if you’ve hated him all this time? What if he’s just a major fuck up? What if you’re embarrassed to be seen with him? What if, what if, what if, what if—

“Hey, Bear?” Your hand, so agonizingly gentle, curves to his frozen jaw. The noise stops.

He peeks down at you, all doe-eyed even with furrowed brows. So beautiful, he thinks, but it comes out as a bit of a grunt. “Hm?”

“You thinkin’ about somethin’ up there?” Your thumb caresses his cheek like it’s the most fragile thing you’ve ever touched—but that’d be his heart. “You’re lookin’ a little stressed.”

“Nah,” he says on instinct. “‘M okay, baby.”

And he’s sure you say something in response—something soft the way you always are, something like Are you sure? or Tell me if you change your mind or a simple Okay before you rest your head on his chest again. God, the thought makes him realize how much he really does love you, that silly little feeling he has for only you, and it’s so heavy and it’s so new and he doesn’t yet know what to do with it now that it’s filling up all the space he has in that scattered brain of his, and his mind’s going haywire, just a half-convinced loop of Let it rip, Let it rip, Let it rip, Let it rip, Let it rip, Let it—

“I love you,” he admits, on this random Tuesday night, with his busted window open because you like it a little chilly, even if it’s a pain in the ass to close back up it again. Because he loves you.

And you’re still holding his jaw, that stupid-loose piece of junk, and instead of spitting back at him something he’d imagined in the last ten minutes, your face erupts into this warm, glowing smile, this inexplicably good thing he’s sure is just a mirage.

Yet before he tries to take it back, you tell him, “I know.”

“You—” His brows twist, and he almost laughs. “You know?”

“‘F course I know.” Your head cocks to the side like it’s plain as day, a sparkle in your eye that has him wondering why he didn’t do this sooner. “Just because you don’t say it all the time doesn’t mean it’s not there.” A gentle kiss, then, to his jaw, then to the other side. “I love the way you love me, Carmen,” you whisper, hushed against his skin. “You’re my person.”

Moving just a little closer, you take his confused lips in a slow, careful kiss, long enough to feel him soften into you as his hands move along the subtle arch in your back. He doesn’t just soften, but melts, something about you that soothes the static and lets him relax.

His chest swells so full of affection that he could burst at the seams and he wouldn’t even care. He could cry like this, because it’s you, and it’s so real, and this has to be one of the few things in life he could really be proud of, that somehow in the thick of it he found you and didn’t push you away, that for once he stayed. You’re more than worth it.

You pull away slightly, leaving your nose grazing by his while both your hands hold his face, teasing at the tufts of hair behind his ears. “I love you.”

It almost knocks the wind out of him, and a smile twitches at the corners of his mouth. “I know,” he says, because he knows now for sure what it feels like.

And he could get used to this, he thinks. He loves the way you love him, too, like it’s the simplest thing to do.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hii! Could you do a mizu w reader where one is injured (doesn't really matter which one haha) and it's like a hurt/ comfort?

Take your time and get some rest!!

Write this when I was on the verge of falling asleep, so if any of it sounds like it was coming out of my ass, it was. 🦦

‘Why did you do it?’ Mizu asked, choosing not to look at you but instead focus on your injuried chest with a hard glare.

‘Do what? Protect you from that smiley coward who was about to use unethical means to completely blindside you?’ You replied as though the answer wasn’t already glaringly obvious, you honestly didn’t understand why you had to explain your reasonings as for protecting Mizu and putting your life at risk, but if it meant showing them that someone did give a shit about whether they’d live or die; then you’d happily be that person for Mizu.

‘You had no need to protect me, I could’ve-‘

‘Easily defend yourself, I know Mizu.’ You interrupted them before grabbing ahold of their hand, memorising the feeling of callousness to memory, as you rubbed your thumb against the back of their hand reassuringly. ‘I know how strong and powerful and amazing you are. I’ve witnessed your fighting spirit first hand and it took my breath away. Literally because when we first met you knocked the wind out of my lungs with the butt of your sword, all because you thought I was some stranger about to attack you.’ You finished recounting the tale of how you first encountered Mizu with a small smile. Why? Maybe it was your way to direct their mind to a more happier and healthier memory, rather then have it stuck heavily focusing on the one where they had their back exposed to the enemy; the reason you now had a massive gash running across your chest. A gash that would surly become a permanent part of your body but also a painful reminder to Mizu.

A reminder that you could’ve been easily taken away from them.

A reminder that you’d always selflessly put them before yourself, even if that meant getting hurt, maimed, loosing a limb or worse yet; your life.

A reminder that they’ll have to get stronger if they wish to prevent you from doing so in the nearby future. Mizu knew that their revenge took presidency over everything else, even their own health, but they don’t want you to ruin yourself beyond recognition for them; It just didn’t feel right to Mizu to have you be the barrier between them and the ill intentions of other people. They were strong enough to deal with it but as it’s been made clear countless times before, you didn’t give two shits about that, and instead focused all your time and effort into showing them that they matter so much to you; Which is an admirable and respectable trait to have in Mizu’s eyes.

However that did little to quell the unease they felt upon witnessing your body drop at their feet in what felt like slow motion, just as the first sighting of blood that began to pool beneath you in such quick succession, that at one point Mizu genuinely thought they were too late to save you, this was proven especially more true when you didn’t awaken within the first couple of days after Mizu had stitched and then later covered your wound; all in due to the amount of blood you had already lost. So the feeling of being able to properly breathe again upon seeing you wake up made the uneasy feeling that little bit more bearable for Mizu.

‘While it’s appreciated to know that I can fully count on you to have my back in the heat of battle, it is not a necessity.’ Mizu states, bring the conversation back to where it was needed most, causing you to frown. ‘I should’ve known better than to think that he would honour me with a fair fight. I should’ve known that he’d play dirty the moment he realised the odds were stacked against him.’ Mizu adds, clenching their fists into the seams of their clothing, jaw clenched and their eyes become an unforgiving steel blue; all signs of their underlying rage toward themself and the cowardly man.

‘You didn’t know and that’s perfectly fine.’ You grunt as you slowly sat yourself up with Mizu’s hands supporting your endeavour whilst being mindful as to not reopen your wound. ‘It’s normal to not foresee things before they happen, otherwise it wouldn’t be considered an authentic human experience.’ You let out a little chuckle, all the while Mizu was left to sit there and narrow their brows at what you could’ve possibly thought was so humorous. ‘And to live an authentic human experience is to accept that you have limitations, especially during the moments where you wished you didn’t have any at all.’ You said as you looked into Mizu’s eyes hoping that your words were somewhat getting through to them.

‘We always question ourselves on how we didn’t see it coming, or how we didn’t see the signs but what we’re not taking into account is that we’re human. Not super powered beings of mythical origins nor gods but just plain old humans. We don’t get the luxuries that they do, however if there’s one thing we can pride ourselves in having, it’s how we take these moments to heart and learn from them going forwards.’ You smiled softly, seeing the sea of emotions within Mizu’s eyes. ‘Another thing we can pride ourselves on is our resilience and our willpower to continue paving the way forward. We get hurt but we always get back up because that’s the indomitable human spirit. That’s what we do.’

‘Where are you getting with this and what does it have to do with me allowing you in getting hurt?’ Mizu asked, curious and a little restless as to what this was all meant to mean. ‘The moral of this for you to not beat yourself up over being human for being human is all we’ll ever know how to be until our final breath.’ You explained, lifting their clenched hand within yours to press a kiss to the back of it, before placing it back onto their lap. ‘Instead of focusing on what has already come to pas, how about bringing your attention to the fact that I’m still here and I’m still breathing. Yeah?’ Mizu stayed quiet for a while, allowing for your words to sit with them as Mizu thought long and hard before finally reaching to a conclusion.

‘Only on the pretences that I get to teach you in the basics of defence.’ Mizu said. ‘As a precaution.’ They add.

‘As long as you don’t go hard on me.’ You chuckled, already visualising it.

Mizu gave you an almost missable smirk. ‘No promises.’

[alphajocklover]

Can we see the Alpha turning a couple of gay betas who used to be boyfriends into pussy obsessed straight bros?

Someone clearly saw my post about Alphas and sexuality. When I talk about Alphas I usually talk about them in general terms, since getting close and personal with an Alpha is practically begging to get turned into their beta. I usually don’t name names or get into specifics. But since you asked…

Meet Alvin and Benny. They’re boyfriends, or at least they were when this photo was taken. They used to be a loving couple. Alvin, the bigger one, loved to travel and dreamed of taking a trip to Paris. He was an outgoing, friendly guy who was always very kind. Benny, the shorter one, was slightly less social, being painfully shy. Still he had a good heart, loved to write, and once you got to know him he was the funniest person you’d ever meet. Alvin and Benny were great together, being an ideal couple. They brought out the best of each other and supported eachother in everything.

And then they met Cal.

Neither of them really remember how Cal came into their lives? Was he their new neighbor? No, that wasn’t right. Was he Alvin’s new coworker? That didn’t ring true either. Maybe he was Benny’s childhood friend who had come out of the woodwork? Whoever he was, he quickly integrated into their lives. It started off with small things, like skipping drag brunch with their other gay friends to hang out with Cal, or eating a salad instead of a donut because Cal suggested they try to eat healthier. But things escalated quickly, as they usually do with Alphas. Soon Al and Ben, as they now liked to be called, were working out like crazy because they wanted to keep up with Cal. They started talking differently, using words like bro and dude almost constantly, because Cal talked like that, and they were Cal’s bros. They quickly started to forget they were ever anything but Cal’s bros, his betas. Still, through it all, they stayed a couple. It was… weird. Cal was kind of impressed honestly. Usually by the time someone became a beta they lost all interest in relationships with anyone but their Alpha. But these two… they had hung onto it, despite everything. It was impressive… and it pissed Cal off. He didn’t mind that they were gay, but he fucking hated that they were still resisting him. He was their fucking Alpha, and they were his Betas. He should have complete control over them. But he was confident in his powers, like all Alphas are.

So he made a game of it.

He decided to see how far he could push them, how many changes they could handle while still being a gay couple. It wasn’t hard to increase their libidos, nor was it hard to give them an intense urge to fuck pussy. It took 3 months for the changes to finalize, and Cal found it hilarious to watch the two former fags slowly transform, how they’d insist they were gay while also bragging to eachother and Cal about all the pussy they were getting. How they were still convinced they were boyfriends when the closest they’d get to being intimate now is when they’d spit roast a bimbo together on their cocks. In the end there never was never an exact moment where they went from gay to straight. Overtime they just slowly forgot that that was what they used to be. They didn’t think about it anymore. Their relationship with their Alpha was far more important than their relationship with each other after all. And if their Alpha wanted two pussy obsessed straight douchebags, that was what he’d get.

Maybe Cal would let them be a couple again one day. Or maybe he’d make them both into his personal cock suckers. But for now Cal was happy to watch the former fags act like a couple of straight bros. All for him.

**Another Gay to Straight story, this time taking place is my ‘Alpha with a Capital A’ world. I love it when people ask me to expand on the stuff I’ve made, and I had fun writing this. Hope you liked it! If anyone ever wants to see me expand more on anything I’ve written before, just ask!**

[pparacxosm]

hunger is ugly

(blue-eyed son 3 !! which, as any third and final installation of a franchise ((back to the future and spiderman withstanding !!!)), is obviously the best one; i’m only half kidding; homeless era!patrick zweig x jaded businesswoman!reader; see parts one and two; tw eggnog; tw coworkers; cw smut but nothing crazy; if you’re seeking closure don’t hold your breath; i’m sick of these two; they clearly don’t know what they want; and i refuse to take blame; tw fitted sheets; tw cocaine talk)

He once told you he couldn’t wear a suit. I couldn’t, he’d said, I’d look ridiculous in a suit. But he cleans up quite nicely, actually.

In fact, he looks good, and you’re not above admitting that. He looks better, actually. Healthier. And he looks handsome in his casual blazer and charcoal linen slacks. Oh God, are you gonna look frumpy beside him?

“I’ve always wanted to go to an office Christmas party,” he says.

You’re on the floor before him, straddling your full length mirror, and all your tumbledown, halfway gutted makeup products are strewn wildly about you.

Your bed, behind you, is a skeleton state, too. When he’d come over, he’d nearly laughed at the fact that you’ve apparently been so busy, your clean bedding is still sitting in a laundry hamper in the corner of the room, and you’ve been sleeping in the inserts on a bare mattress for who knows how long.

Patrick doesn’t pass judgment on the mess in your apartment. He still feels he owes you in some weird, kiss-the-hand-that-fed-you sort of way.

You’re not a slob. You always look put together when you leave the house. You’ve just had to focus on work. You can’t stumble at the finish line. Or… the glass ceiling. Or the penultimate rung on the corporate ladder. Whatever. If you can successfully execute this next product launch, who knows what other doors might open for you. Probably doors in buildings very similar to the one you’re already working in. But that’s nothing to sneeze at. Every morning, you see your reflection in those immaculate windows.

So anyway, it shouldn’t matter. Things just get away from you sometimes.

Patrick’s standing above you pensively reflecting how many undone buttons says Corporate Shindig Eyecandy (Please Give My Date That Promotion) as opposed to Reformed Tennis Heartthrob. His shins are sort of bracketing your hips.

“Well, it’s half an office Christmas party, and half—like—a congratulatory… thing. For Deirdre’s successful proposal,” you murmur, leaning forward, tugging your temple to flatten your eyelid and flick on your liner.

“Aw, what?” he frowns, “Deirdre? We fucking hate Deirdre.”

You laugh. You try not to delude yourself, not to let these moments exist in some flowery vacuum in the eye of your mind, not to ask him to fix your bedding for you. But it’s hard.

Whoever let Sam replace the DJ halfway through the party was either a genius anarchist or too drunk to care.

You know it’s probably the latter. You down the cognacheavy eggnog from your glass and make a disgruntled face. You don’t know what you expected. Shania Twain is belting from the speakers while Sam wiggles his headphones in a dumb, awkward dance.

He’s pretty funny, all things considered, but you’d still like nothing better than to whack him up the head with an ink cartridge.

One of the blousy interns from your department is haplessly flirting with Patrick, pretending he bumped into her and made her plash some eggnog on herself, but she’s trying to be selfaware about it.

“Oh gosh, isn’t this such a cliché: the boss’ plus one wiping a dairybased drink from the subordinate’s—… oh no, I know she’s not technically my boss, but she’s sort of my senior within the company, like on the general corporate ladder, argh, I know, I hate it!”

She could’ve said superior, you think, instead of senior.

You’re feeling too pissy to go and save him from that failed interaction. You turn your back to the crowd and look out of the glossy black windows. That chorus keeps stomping its pointed heels over your fragile nerves.

The best thing about being a woman is the prerogative to have a little fun!

Do you have a little fun? Are you a Good Time? You have to laugh. It’s just a stupid song. But you need the validation.

That’s why Patrick picks the wrong moment to come and talk to you.

“Hey, this chick is chasing me with a napkin around the room.”

You snort. “Not my problem.”

Patrick leans against the buffet, delivering a wry salute when Sam points at him from the DJ booth and winks. “That guy’s something,” Patrick chuckles, “He asked me to sign his dick.”

“Did you?”

Patrick hums like he’s ambivalent and places a large hand on the small of your back. “Would that be good for you, if I did?”

“I’m fun, right?”

You swirl the remains of eggnog in your glass. You ask the question like he’s been holding out some big secret from you.

Patrick blinks. He scoffs in disbelief, but also smirks pointedly at your glass. “You’re asking me?”

You stare at him through the briar lace of your eyelashes. Everyone who’s met him today has had their own lashes drenched in laughter. You hadn’t realised it first. You’d figured those were mutually exclusive things, downandout charm and the breathing room of comfortable success. But no. He’s charming, anyway. It’s just that he’s not haggling for scraps of generosity anymore so much as he’s lapping at the fleeting dregs of likability. And you hate that you notice that, and you hate that you notice him, that you know him, in a sense. Because what are you supposed to do about it?

“Everybody loves you. Just… be objective.”

Patrick still laughs. He rubs his stubble. He should’ve shaved this morning. He thought he was doing something for you, something nice, by coming with you to this thing and wooing everybody’s pants a little tighter, but maybe he’d missed the mark. “You know I can’t be objective.”

“Why not?” You sound petulant, leaning angrily against the buffet. You’re old enough to know what he’s saying, of course. He’s being nice. He’s telling you he thinks you’re fun, that the rest shouldn’t matter, but then he doesn’t need anything. Even when he had nothing. So he wouldn’t get it. He wouldn’t notice.

Patrick tilts his head and narrows his eyes in that way he does when he’s vivisecting you, then clears his throat. “You’re drunk.” He laughs again, a little gratuitous. Then, after a while, “I have fun with you. You’re engaging.”

“Engaging?” you echo, frowning. “Seriously? What am I, an essay?”

“No, I just— Jesus, what do you want me to say?”

You clench your jaw. Okay, you are drunk and you’re at this office party from hell and a hard rain’s a-gonna fall, so goddamn it, he will call you fun.

So you get right into his face. You’re good at that, even if you barely reach his shoulder. “Tell me I’m fun, because I am, and you think I am.”

You try to swat his hand away, but his palm stays put, a hot magnet just above your tailbone, and he doesn’t even look like he’s doing it on purpose. It’s just that he feels an emptiness in his stomach, depressing but also thrilling. Like taking a hit. Like you’re a little bag of white powder. Beyond the dark windows it starts to snow. He used to do a bit of coke, when everything around him dropped dead and started to rot, and he couldn’t stomach the smell. He doesn’t seem like the poster kid for moderation, but the coke was good, and he didn’t let it be any more than that. In fact, at times, the coke was great. The coke was fun. But he couldn’t live with the coke. You understand? He couldn’t settle down in New England and raise a cat with the coke.

“I don’t think I can win with you,” he murmurs, and, for his part, he at least sounds like he needs to change that.

It’s supposed to be a comfort fuck—and you call it fuck in your head dismissively—but it’s too raw and unknown. You’ve spent so much time in this questionable relationship with existence in his life. In and out. You thought you’d learned him, or at least learned the both of you, but his hands on you, his mouth on you—it’s frightening, finite, foreign. Somehow divorced from this man who, for all his egofueled casual mania, doles out intimacy like free samples.

This is what it feels like to watch him unravel, but it’s not just beggar’s desperation. No, he’s making room for someone else beside him in a way he hasn’t in a long time.

He keeps touching every part of you, frantically, trying to feel all of you, sinking his head between your thighs with a groan of relief, immersing himself in another body. But not just any body, because he keeps mouthing your name. As if to remind you that he is here, and you let him in. Because it matters that it’s you, that someone who knows him is letting him in. He’s humming to himself as you come against his fingers and mouth.

... hunger is ugly... souls are forgotten... I’ll tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it...

You like his full weight on you, sinking you into your undressed mattress, trapping you, suffocating you under his bottomless gloom. He has one hand on your thigh. He lifts it at an uncomfortable angle, sinking his cock deeper into you, making it ache. How does he know you like that, anyway? He doesn’t. He noticed.

You want to resent what he’s doing here, which is trying to ‘win with you’. Because he’s been on a winning streak, and you’re not about to spoil that.

And these demeaning, mechanical thoughts probably aren’t reflective of his inner monologue at the moment, but it’s easier to believe he doesn’t respect you than to contend with this whole thing.

You want to tell him, you don’t know what I like, but he starts talking about this tournament. There’s a match in Boston, for real this time. You’re having trouble paying attention.

You fall asleep with him still inside you, head on your chest, and you, crushed comfortably by his weight.  

You wake up before him. He must have rolled off you in the middle of the night. He’s sleeping next to you, one hand stretched towards you, head on the pillow at a strange angle.

You turn away quickly.

You sit on the edge of the bed, breathing in and out, staring at the heap of his cocktail wear on the floor. You feel sore and stupefied. You feel cramps in your muscles. You feel weak in the best and worst way possible. You keep breathing in and out, hoping you’re keeping quiet.

But he wakes up anyway.

You can feel his gentle eyes on the slightly hunched line of your back.

“Hey.”

“Morning,” you mumble, throat dry. Why does it have to be morning? Why does it always have to be morning?

“Come back here,” he says, as if it weren’t morning.

You shake your head softly.

His silence is edifying. It goes on for too long.

“You’re not gonna stay, are you?” you ask, serious and formal, gripping the edge of the mattress. You clench your jaw, body taut.

You can hear him swallow, throat working to get the syllables out.

“I’m not, like… leaving you.”

You close your eyes.

“No, I mean—yeah,” you chuckle miserably. “You’re probably doing the right thing. The best thing for you.”

You feel the tears slide out one by one, and your shoulders shake slightly.

“Please don’t cry.” He’s using that soft and primordially tentative voice he uses with your cat. “I’m not worth it.”

You look over your shoulder at him. “Then why is it so fucking hard to watch you go?”

It’s only recently you’ve started getting angry with him. You used to get grudgingly amused, perhaps vaguely reproachful, but now his stupid face just makes you livid.

His eyes tremble pensively. “I don’t know. But that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

You turn your head away, rolling and wiping your eyes at the same time. “I just don’t see how it could work.”

And there’s a door he could open for you. There’s something he could say at this juncture to reassure you, momentarily, that it could. But he can’t bring himself to lie, because he cares about you too much to take a bump of that powder.

He hangs his head and looks at the beautiful line of your back, memorising it.

Then he gets up.

“I’m gonna make coffee, then we can get that fucking fitted sheet on, alright?”

You nod absently. You don’t turn to look at him as he puts on his clothes.

He comes up to you before he leaves. He runs his finger under your chin and lifts it up. There’s a kitten scratch on his cuticle.

You could come watch the match.

But he doesn’t say that. You haven’t seen him play since New Rochelle. “I’ll fill the demon’s bowl. I think she’s starting to like me.”

You laugh, wiping more tears.

Patrick takes that hand, your hand, wet with tears, and brings it to his mouth. He kisses and licks the salt away. He keeps it there for a moment longer than he should. You gently pull away.

You only exhale when he’s gone.

Toby slinks out from behind your mirror, swishing her tail back and forth in contempt.

You narrow your eyes. “Oh, shut up,” you whisper.

[inamindfarfaraway]

The Exorcists’ Masks of Virtue

The vast majority of Exorcists in Hazbin Hotel have a notable design element that other angels don’t: their masks are missing an eye. Specifically, the right eye.

I believe this is a reference to the Bible, Matthew 5:29. Jesus says, “If your right eye causes you to stumble, gouge it out and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to be thrown into hell.”

He’s being hyperbolic. Mr Free Healthcare was not pro-mutilation. What he means is that you have to be willing to make sacrifices to prevent sin. The context of the eye metaphor is him condemning adultery and warning that even something as easy, casual and small as a look full of lustful intent can lead to further, worse sin if you don’t notice your sin, hold yourself accountable for it and do the work to not let it influence your decisions. This will probably be hard. It could be very, very painful. Changing your perspective can feel as horrible as plucking out your eye, so many people can’t bring themselves to do it. But although it won’t feel that way in the moment, it’s healthier for our general wellbeing in the long run to abandon traits and behaviours that damage ourselves and/or others.

(You may notice that Jesus’s teaching that you can have sinned, redeem yourself by giving up sin and thus escape damnation is the founding principle of the Hazbin Hotel. You may also notice that it contradicts everything the Exorcists believe.)

The Exorcists seem to follow this idea of painfully excising badness for the sake of the greater good devoutly to the point of placing it above teachings like ‘Thou shalt not kill’, with their job being to remove sin, in the form of sinners, to protect Heaven. Hence the missing right eyes. They’re a declaration of moral righteousness and inability to stumble.

But the truth is that the Exorcists all have their right eyes. Their flawlessness is a facade. Underneath, they are untouched, think themselves morally untouchable and, as shown by their horror and outrage when even one of them is killed, would much rather be physically untouchable too. This perfectly represents their complete unwillingness to acknowledge their own faults, let alone improve. They are never the ones who sacrifice. They force the sinners to sacrifice and don’t compensate it with any salvation. They metaphorically rip out the sinners’ eyes, but still condemn their entire bodies as inherently, permanently sinful. So they’ll just have to do another Extermination to get the other eyes! And another one to cut off their right hands! And so on until there’s nothing left.

The only exception to the rule is Vaggie, both in appearance and character. Her mask has the left eye crossed out instead. Even before her expulsion, she’s set apart to the audience as an Exorcist who has the capacity to, shall we say, see a different side of things. Her mask having its ‘sinful’ right eye reflects her understanding that the Exorcist worldview is wrong.

When she almost kills a demon child, her hateful vision clears. She discards the part of herself that’s an unquestioning, merciless agent of death, terror and grief… and as punishment for what Lute perceives as treacherous weakness, gets her eye plucked out.

Of course Lute leaves her with only the ‘sinful’ eye. It brands Vaggie forever as the inversion, a perversion, of what the Exorcists are meant to be.

You know, all this talk of eye removal in the Bible reminds me of another line - ‘an eye for an eye’. Adam directly quotes it in “Hell is Forever”. He uses it to frame the Exterminations as Old Testament-style punitive justice; the sinners did harm and so they receive it. But putting aside the debate about how ethical the concept of revenge is, the entire point of taking an eye for an eye is that it’s proportional. The punishment fits the crime. If someone cuts your eye out, you shouldn’t murder their whole family in front of them and then slowly disembowel them to death. That would be the sin of wrath. You should just make them pay without excessive pain or collateral damage. This is the fairest form of revenge.

The Exorcists don’t do that! The Exterminations aren’t proportional to the wrongs of all they hurt, nor was Vaggie’s brutal punishment equivalent to her extremely mild insubordination. Lute literally takes Vaggie’s eye, and more, after Vaggie does nothing to her! That’s the opposite of the phrase! Adam and his soldiers are wrathful and cruel, deriving satisfaction from others’ suffering. But they just can’t stop going on and on about how disgustingly evil the sinners are, in total hypocrisy… despite some of the sinners being far better people than the genocidal Exorcists are… it’s like they’re obsessed with specks of dust in the sinners’ eyes when they have massive logs stuck in their own. Oh hey, that’s in the Bible too!

[sammakesart]

I can’t help but shake the feeling that the In Hushed Whispers quest in DA:I was just a microcosm of what Solas plans to do.

The parallels of being thrust into a future world that is so much worse than the world you’re from really seems like it was an intentional parallel with Solas’ own conundrum. Especially since we don’t stay in that world and try to make it better, we immediately start working on a plan to go back in time to stop that version of the world from ever happening.

Do I think Solas’ grand plan is time travel? Maybe! I don’t know why they would have a random time travel quest in the game if time travel was never going to come up again. And though he says “even if this world must die”, he’s been super fucking vague about what that entails. Would this world not die if you went back in time and stopped it from ever existing in the first place? Could he just be speaking poetically, not literally? He is the poetic type.

What we do know is that he’s certainly having a crisis about the whole thing. He would love someone to prove him wrong/present a better option. He’s gotten to know so many of the people from this version of the world, and if he was romanced, fallen in love with someone—which is why Cole, reading Solas’ thoughts, says “you’re real, and that means everyone could be real, and it changes everything, but it can’t.”

If we had stayed longer in that future version of the world, I think we probably also would’ve had a crisis about whether to go back and change things or not. We saw characters that we know, or perhaps loved, in that future, but we knew in the back of our mind that those very same people would be waiting for us when we went back, and they would be the healthier, happier versions of themselves. So while they were “real”, we didn’t quite see them as real. But what if we had started to? Stayed for years? Fallen in love in that future? Would we have gone back in time?

It’s shaping up to be a real trolley problem.

Also, it took Dorian like an hour to work the spell to send us back in time about a year. How long would a spell take to send back someone thousands of years? A decade, perhaps? Might explain why Solas is taking his sweet time on this whole ending the world thing.

Plus, him ensuring that everyone lives in “relative comfort” until the world ends by stopping the Qun’s plans in Trespasser makes more sense. If the world was going to end in death and suffering, why would it matter if it started a little earlier? But if everything is just going to cease to exist suddenly, it would be kinder to have people live as happily as possible up until that point instead of suffering for nothing until they cease to exist.

He also tells us that he has plans to make sure the gods are not free once again, so that also has to be a factor in this whole thing. Would just tearing down the Veil free them from their prison? Or is going back in time to before they were imprisoned the real concern. Perhaps the new prison he’s moving these gods into at the start of DA4 has something to do with making sure they stay trapped, no matter what.

Anyway. Just some thoughts I’ve been thinking.

[chaifootsteps]

I hate what they’ve done with imp

Instead of having a bunch of characters develop into a more stable found family

Instead of loona learning healthier outlets for her negative emotions and seeing blitzo does love her

Instead of moxxie learning to care more about what millie wants i stead if how the world views him

Instead of millie becoming more pf a character than moxxies wife

Instead of blitzo apologizing and learning to respect boundaries

We get characters who abuse and can hardly stand eachother

We get blitzo being a punching bag and a scapegoat for practically everything

We have m and m being practically nonexistent and to the point they wont give a shit what happens to blitzo when they would have before

And we get loona being a complete bitch and sexual furry bait

All while that sack of feathers parades around stealing more and more screen time/lines/plot for himself

It's the Sack of Feathers show now, starring his punching bag and a bunch of secondary characters who could never see each other again and be no sadder for it.

[erwinsvow]

sometimes the boys keep you in the dark about what they’re really up to—they think it’s easier than trying to explain everything to you. you’re real sweet, almost too nice and too sweet, so they know you’ll have your own issues with their plans. and besides all of that, you’re still a kook princess deep down, and when you get the sense that anything even remotely illegal is going on, you make the jump to panic immediately. 

so they don’t always tell you what’s going on-recon missions late at night are now exploring trips.

“why can’t we explore during the day, again? when it’s sunny?” you question, while jj shines a flashlight at your face, making you whine and cover your eyes. pope and john b share a glance.

“‘cause, princess, it’s more fun at night. otherwise pope couldn’t use all these gadgets. and it’s spooky, right?” jj throws in, hands wrapping around your stomach from behind and tickling. you start laughing, and they think they’ve avoided your question well enough for now. “see? havin’ fun now, arent’ya?”

“don’t worry, pretty girl, we’ll protect you.” you comply a lot more once john b says that.

at the chateau, when they’re all pouring over dusty old maps and books, you sit and flick through your phone until you’re bored enough to ask what they’re even looking at. the boys all exchange a glance—they do that a lot, you think absentmindedly. 

“uh, john b?” jj asks.

“um, well-” john starts, but gets interrupted by pope.

“no, jj went last time, so it’s my turn now-”

“well, i can go again, if you guys are occupied with this-”

“not gonna steal my turn, jayj.” pope walks over to you, leaving the pages behind. you smile at the attention, happy just to not be alone.

“should i go make lemonade for everyone? will you keep me company, pope?” and he nods, looking back at the boys a final time.

“sure, sweetheart, let’s go,” and he takes your hand in his, guiding you to the messy kitchen. 

just as you start cutting the lemons, you look up at pope, wanting to ask about what they were all so hyper-focused on—instead of being focused on you.

“will you tell me what they’re talking about?” you glance at pope shyly, always embarrassed since you worry if he thinks you’re dumb. 

“it’s nothing to worry your pretty head about, sweetheart. just john b’s stuff, and we’re tryna help him, s’all.” 

“can i help with anything?”

“you’re helping right now,” he reassures, and you feel giddy, starting the juice the lemons. “we all love your lemonade.” you come back with a pitcher of lemonade and a big smile, content to just lay around and watch them work into the afternoon. 

if you find out they’re gonna be on the boat, and they didn’t tell you, it’s a whole nightmare on its own. so when they finally have the perfect calm day to go use the underwater drone, they pick you up. 

you’re dolled up since it’s your absolute favorite—boat day! you’re wearing a flimsy yellow bikini and one of pope’s button ups over it, sporting john b’s old sunglasses and your matching shark-tooth necklace from jj. you climb onto the boat with your little pink cooler and the romance book you’ve been reading this week, before they take off into the ocean. 

“uh, princess?” jj asks, and you look up. he gestures at your cooler. “didn’t peg you to pack bait for us, but i mean, i’m grateful-”

“ew, jayj, no. it’s snacks!” you look at the others excitedly, opening the pink lid and taking out sliced fruit and carrot sticks. you pass them to john b, who passes them to pope, who then hands it to jj, who starts eating. “there’s also ranch for the carrot sticks, but i made it myself so it’s a lot healthier than the store-bought kind. and sandwiches for later. i love boat days.” 

you curl up with some apple slices and your book on the little seat, the boys looking at each other. a little while later, when they start what they really came out here for, john b catches jj and pope staring at you.

“i’m gonna propose. today.” 

“not if i do it first.”

[lurkingshan]

We have arrived at a mutual crush, people! And the way they did it makes total sense. Of course the thing that catches Jane's interest and starts those warm feelings toward Ryan is Ryan seeing him in a way no one else at work does. Just the fact that he actually asked Jane about the rumors instead of going along with negative assumptions was already notable, but to then follow that up by acknowledging that he sees how hard Jane tries and how much he's holding--of course Jane is going to want to keep someone like that close. Everyone else in this place just hands him burdens and then criticizes every imperfection in the way he shoulders them; he needs someone who is actually on his side.

Which is not to say he will do anything about any personal feelings he is developing for Ryan. Jane is a professional and there is no way he will be hitting on his intern, and I liked that despite inviting Ryan to his home, we saw that he kept an appropriate distance and kept the conversation focused on work. It was really nice to see him take a beat to recognize that he was unnecessarily rude to Ryan amidst his stress and actually apologize for that, and then take the time to teach him something properly. It's another characteristic of a great leader to recognize their shortcomings and have some humility about mistakes. Btw, I will be needing an analysis of every item in his home, that set was jam-packed with rich character details.

I also really loved the way we saw Ryan blossom under some proper mentorship and get excited about putting together a pitch deck once he had a better sense of how to think about it. His giddiness at getting to wear Jane's clothes to the office was also adorable, and I like that next week we're going to start dealing with the fallout of people noticing his crush. He is not exactly subtle with the adoring looks and radiant smiles whenever Jane is on his mind.

That all of this happened in parallel with Ba-Mhee finally starting to take her job seriously was also excellent. I was glad to get the backstory on her and Tae because it helped me understand her fixation on him a lot better. She was chasing him for years before he finally acknowledged her, and part of her must feel insecure about how mutual their feelings really are. But it doesn't seem to me like he doesn't care about her, he's just wired differently. I am now hoping that rather than a breakup, this is headed for Ba-Mhee finding herself outside this relationship and getting to a healthier balance.

[ghosttotheparty]

lonely with you

part two also on ao3 cw: alcohol; weed; panic attack; nsfw

“Hey, uhm. Can we talk for a minute?”

Eddie pauses as he rummages through his bag, crouched on the floor as he shoves the worksheet he just got to the bottom of his bag. (He’ll probably forget about it. Again.) He looks up to find Steve Harrington standing over him, looking down at him with an almost anxious look in his eye.

“Uh.” Eddie pauses, looking him up and down. “Sure?”

“Like…”

Steve gestures with a tilt of his chin down the hall, toward the bathroom. Eddie glances down the hall, his hand still in his bag, and then he nods, zipping his bag up and tossing it over his shoulder as he follows him down the hall.

Steve’s hair moves while he walks, almost bouncing with each step. It’s shiny. It’s so much healthier than Eddie’s is. It looks soft.

Eddie pushes the thought away as the door shuts behind them as Steve turns to look at him after checking to make sure there’s no one in the stalls. His arms are crossed over his chest like he’s defensive, like he’s hiding, and he leans against the wall by the sinks.

“I don’t have anything on me today,” Eddie says, dropping his bag. “I can take an order and get back to you, or…”

He trails off when he sees the confusion flicker in Steve’s eyes, and then Steve blinks.

“That’s not… Uhm. What I wanted to talk about.”

“Oh,” Eddie says. “Okay. What’s going on, then?” He leans against the wall across from him, pushing his hands into his pockets as he eyes him confusedly. He’s never had an actual conversation with Steve Harrington, nothing beyond weed or pills exchanged for cash at parties, but Steve has always been different from the others that Eddie sold to. He always smiled. Nobody else ever smiles, not unless they’re already high. But Steve, fully sober, always, always gives Eddie this soft, kind, friendly smile that always lingers in Eddie’s mind afterwards.

It’s not that he has a crush. Steve Harrington is attractive, Eddie knows that. Everyone knows that. He’s Steve Harrington. But Eddie apparently has a little bit of a soft spot for anyone that’s kind of him, anyone that smiles at him like he’s just a person instead of the local druggie, weirdo, freak. And apparently anyone is just Steve.

“Uh.” Steve hesitates, lifting a hand and biting his thumbnail anxiously, looking at the floor. “I’ve heard some, uhm. Rumors. About you.”

Eddie blinks, raising an eyebrow. There are lots of rumors about him.

“That you’re…” Steve continues, his eyes shining brightly, nervously. He’s shaking a little bit. “That you’re— you’re queer?”

Eddie blinks again.

His stomach twists, and part of him wants to snap at him. Fuck you, Harrington. Because the last boy that pulled him aside and brought that rumor up, that asked if it’s true, just had Eddie kneel on the floor and suck him off before he left. Eddie liked it, liked the weight of his dick in his mouth, the feeling of his fingers in his hair, but he didn’t like the way the boy coldly said Keep your mouth shut about this as though Eddie would have told anyone. And he didn’t like the way the boy barely looked at him ever again, except when he bought from him in front of his friends, and he didn’t like the way the next time Eddie tried to talk to him he snapped at him that it was a one-time thing.

I’m not— I’m not like you. I just wanted to get off.

Eddie wants to walk past Steve, to let the door slam behind him, because he never wants another boy to look at him like that again. Disgusted. Like he didn’t ask for it. Like he didn’t beg for it.

But Steve is staring at him, unblinking, his eyes shining so brightly it looks like he might start crying, and he’s shaking, and Eddie is saying, “Yeah,” before he can say anything.

“Is it… Is it true?” Steve asks quietly, whispering.

“Yeah,” Eddie says.

Yeah.

He’s never said it out loud before. That he’s gay. Queer.

He never had to say it out loud to Wayne. He knew the day Eddie moved in with him, murmured that everything was okay as he put the colourful band-aid on his face.

Steve exhales. He nods. Looks at the ground.

Eddie waits. It’s quiet in the bathroom, and one of the sinks is dripping, the quiet tap tap tap tap tap echoing in the tile room.

“Why do you ask?” Eddie asks after a long minute. Steve lifts his head. His lips are pressed together, and he looks away from Eddie as a tear falls down his cheek. “Whoa, what’s wrong?” Eddie says, panicking a little, standing up straight off the wall he’s leaning on and moving a little bit closer. “Are you okay?”

“I—” Steve wipes his face quickly, and Eddie’s stomach twists again. “I think I might… be like you.”

Eddie freezes, looking at him.

“Like me,” he repeats slowly. Steve nods, blinking tears out of his eyes, and he looks so… scared. Eddie’s whole body hurts. “Oh.”

“I just… I’m kind of freaking out about it, and I— I don’t know what to do, and I didn’t know who to talk to about it, but I needed to…”

“It’s cool,” Eddie says reassuringly, trying to smile. “Steve, it’s fine, man, alright? I won’t tell anyone.”

Steve nods, squeezing his eyes shut and wiping his face again. Eddie steps past him into a stall and grabs some toilet paper, bunching it up before he gives it to him, and Steve takes it with a quiet, “Thank you,” and then a muttered apology.

“You don’t have to be sorry, man,” Eddie says softly. “It’s cool.”

Steve uses the paper to wipe his face. His cheeks are pink, and they redden more as he rubs tears off his skin too roughly. Eddie kind of wants to take over, to wipe his tears softly, gently, the way he deserves. He doesn’t.

“It’s…” He hesitates. Steve looks at him. “It’s cool to… know there’s someone else. That gets it.”

Steve nods, half-smiling.

It’s quiet for a moment as he sniffles, looking at the ground again, at his clean white sneakers next to Eddie’s dirty black chucks. Eddie reaches out for him hesitantly, touching his forearm, and he pulls gently. Steve falls against him easily, and their arms wrap around each other tightly. They sway slightly, quiet as they embrace each other, and Eddie squeezes his eyes shut.

“Steve,” he says after a few moments. “You listening?”

“Yeah?”

Eddie pulls back enough to look at him, holding his shoulders firmly. Steve’s hands find his forearms, gentle and tentative. Eddie hesitates for a moment before he speaks.

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” he says firmly. Steve’s lip quivers. “You understand me?” he says quietly, leaning closer as he speaks, and Steve’s hands tighten on his arms. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Okay,” Steve says weakly.

“Okay,” Eddie repeats softly, He squeezes Steve’s shoulders.

The bell rings as Steve is taking a deep breath, and Eddie pauses as he watches Steve lean down to pick up his bag. He looks tired now, drained and exhausted, but he isn’t crying anymore.

“Uh, hey,” Eddie says before he can leave. Steve looks at him. “...You know where I live, right? Cherry Lane?” Steve nods, looking at him curiously. “...Do you wanna come over tonight? Just to— to talk about it?”

Steve’s lips twitch into a smile, and he nods.

“Thank you,” he says quietly before he leaves.

Eddie leans against the wall Steve had been leaning on, sighing heavily and rubbing his face. He drops his hands after a moment, and he feels different. Lighter. He can’t place exactly what it is that’s different now, but he turns to look in the mirror to see if he looks any different. He doesn’t. Still messy-haired, still weird. He picks his bag up off the ground and leaves.

— — — — —

Wayne leaves for work just as Eddie is getting home, and he pauses in the living room as Eddie is nudging his boots out of the way to ruffle his hair and kiss his forehead. Eddie swats him away, pretending he doesn’t love it. Wayne’s done it since Eddie was a kid, since before he moved in with him. Even Eddie’s own parents never showed him affection like this, but Wayne always did, on his way in and his way out of Eddie’s parents’ house. Eddie always looked forward to it. Now it’s daily, a regular standard for what makes a good day. When Eddie misses him on his way to work he misses it.

Eddie waits in the living room, laying upside down on the sofa with a book above his head. He’s changed into sweatpants and an old sweatshirt that’s stained with bleach, the dark fabric reddish-orange in spots. His hair is falling from the bun he tied it up in as he turns the pages slowly, tapping his feet in time with the music that’s playing from the boombox in the corner. (They got it from one of the neighbors that moved away two years ago; Eddie loves it with all his heart.)

He scrambles up when there’s a knock on the door, stumbling over his own feet and dropping the book. He stoops to pick it up, losing his page, just before he opens the door to find Steve, wide-eyed.

“You okay?” Steve asks, glancing at Eddie’s messy hair.

“I’m very clumsy,” Eddie says, remembering how thin the walls in, and he steps aside, gesturing with the book. “Come on in.”

“I’m aware,” Steve says, stepping past him. “We had gym together last year, it was like watching a baby giraffe learn to walk.”

“Fuck you,” Eddie says, shutting the door, snorting as Steve shoots him an amused look, and they fall quiet as Steve looks around the living room and kitchen. “Uh, it’s not much, but…”

“I like it,” Steve says. He seems to sense Eddie’s disbelief, and he shoots him another look. “I’m serious. It’s nice.” He looks back around. “It looks like you actually live here. My place looks like a goddamn catalogue set.” He wanders slowly, eyes scanning Wayne’s hats and mugs, the stains on the walls. “White walls, white carpets.”

“No childhood mudstains?” Eddie asks, leaning against the table by the door.

“Once,” Steve says, pausing to read one of the trucker hats, smiling absently. “Dad beat the shit outta me and the carpets were replaced within the next three days.”

Eddie blinks, and Steve pauses again, seemingly realizing what he’s just said. He turns a little, his face pink as he looks at Eddie.

“Anyway.”

Eddie scoffs at the lightness of his tone.

“You want a beer?” he asks, heading to the kitchen, wondering what he did in his life to deserve this, Steve Harrington exploring his living room like it’s a fine arts exhibit, like it’s a gallery.

“Uh, yeah. Sure.”

Eddie gets two beers from the fridge and cracks them open with the bottle opener magnet before he passes one to Steve over the sink, and then he beckons with a tilt of his head.

“Think you might like my room,” he says, leading him down the hall.

“Are you trying to flirt with me?”

“Hah.” Eddie ignores the way his face flushes with heat, but Steve doesn’t say anything else before they’re in Eddie’s room, and Eddie moves out of the way as Steve lets out an earnest, “Whoa.”

Eddie grins, taking a sip of his beer as Steve looks, wide-eyed, around the room. The music is still playing in the living room.

Now the tears, they fall like rain I'm alone again without you

Steve wanders slowly, looking at the posters on the walls, the drawings and ripped-out magazine pages, the faded photographs and newspaper clippings, the CORRODED COFFIN tapestry, the guitars. He looks like he’s in awe, almost smiling as he gazes at everything.

“I like it,” he says finally, turning to look at Eddie, who’s sitting on the edge of his bed, and Eddie quirks his eyebrows at him. Steve rolls his eyes and sips his beer, moving to sit on the floor, looking around again, this time at Eddie’s bed and the posters above it, at the mess on Eddie’s nightstand. Eddie slides off the bed onto the floor in front of him.

They’re quiet for a moment. Steve crosses his legs and draws his knees to his chest like he’s trying to shrink in on himself, and it feels odd to see the King like this, small and vulnerable and quiet.

“How did you know that you’re, uhm…” Steve trails off nervously, his lips brushing the top of his bottle.

“You can say gay, Steve,” Eddie says quietly. “‘S not a bad word.”

Steve glances at him.

“How did you know that you’re gay?” he asks. His voice is tentative, soft.

“Don’t think I ever really realized it,” Eddie says. “I think I just kind of always knew. I realized it wasn’t… I don’t know. Normal, I guess. When I was, like, thirteen.”

Steve is listening intently, looking at Eddie over his bottle and his knees, and his eyes are shining in that way again, bright and nervous and shy, and Eddie wonders how this boy in front of him ever became the King of Hawkins High when he’s looking at him like this.

“I kept quiet about it,” Eddie says, sensing that Steve doesn’t have anything to say. “After my dad found out, he… He wasn't happy. Wayne doesn’t mind. We don’t really talk about it, but…”

“How does he know?” Steve asks quietly. Eddie tilts his head.

“Dear old Dad had some choice words to say about me the next time Wayne came to visit. I went home with him that day. I was fifteen. And then the next year, Ma and Dad left town.”

Steve blinks his pretty eyes.

“‘M sorry.”

Eddie shrugs.

“Nothing to be sorry about. I don’t miss them.” He pauses, sipping his beer, then lifts his chin at Steve. “How’d you realize?” he asks, avoiding The Word, because it’s Steve Harrington. Notorious ladies’ man.

Steve shrugs shyly, looking down at the bottle in his hands.

“I don’t think I ever really liked girls,” he says quietly. “I only went out with them after I knew they liked me. I can tell when they’re flirting with me, and it just kind of… I don’t know. Felt like an obligation. I’d get them off if they wanted, but I think they could tell I wasn’t really into it, so we just kind of… Went on.”

Eddie blinks, a little surprised. Steve is still staring at the bottle, his eyes glazed over, and he speaks again, his voice soft like he doesn’t realize he’s speaking out loud.

“I could never get hard. Thought there was something wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Steve,” Eddie says gently. Steve looks at him, his eyes wide like he’s startled, and then he looks away again, his gaze aimless as he looks at the ground. “...Steve?”

Steve takes a shuddering breath.

“...I think I’m dying,” he says so quietly Eddie almost doesn’t hear it. His hands are shaking now, the bottle moving with them, and when his eyes find Eddie’s again, shining with panic and unshed tears, Eddie realizes what’s happening. He reaches out to take the bottle as he sets his own aside.

“You’re not dying, sweetheart,” he says quietly, setting Steve’s bottle aside and moving a little closer. “You’re okay.”

Steve takes a sharp breath, and his eyes flicker back and forth between Eddie’s.

“My heart’s beating too fast,” he says weakly, panting, and Eddie’s chest aches at the fear in his eyes.

“I know,” he whispers, moving forward to touch him, pressing a hand firmly over his chest, over his heart. “It’ll slow down if you slow your breathing, okay?”

“Eddie—”

“Slowly,” Eddie says softly, nodding. “Breathe with me, you got it.” He inhales slowly, watching the way Steve’s eyes lower to watch his mouth. Steve’s hands raise a little bit, reaching for Eddie before they fall. “You can touch me,” Eddie says. “‘S alright.”

Steve’s hands find Eddie’s arms as his legs fall, and he pulls, closing his eyes as he tries to breathe slowly.

“You want me to come closer?” Eddie asks softly. Steve nods.

Eddie shifts closer, moving so he can put his legs around him, and Steve clutches at his arms.

“I can’t breathe,” he chokes, opening his eyes to look at Eddie desperately. Tears fall down his cheeks as he gasps for breath.

“Yes, you can,” Eddie says softly, reaching with his other hand to wipe his face, and one of Steve’s hands jumps to it. Eddie thinks he’s about to swat it away, but he holds it to himself, closing his eyes again. Eddie brushes his thumb over his cheek. “Slowly, Stevie, inhale.”

Steve inhales, hiccupping and gasping, and Eddie presses against his heart.

“Hold it for a moment… And out. There you go,” he murmurs, watching the way Steve’s brows furrow in effort, watching the way he’s holding Eddie’s wrist tightly, his fingertips pressing into the fabric of Eddie’s sweatshirt. “Again, in, slow…”

He does it with him, guiding, demonstrating, blowing his hair out of his face as he exhales, and Steve’s breaths slow after a few minutes. His grip on Eddie’s wrist loosens, and he blinks his eyes open. Eddie brushes his thumb over his cheek.

“Alright?” he whispers.

“Sorry,” Steve says softly, turning his face into Eddie’s hands.

“Don’t,” Eddie whispers. “It’s okay.”

Steve takes a long, slow, breath, shuddering. Eddie moves a little closer without letting go of his face. He moves his other hand down, running over Steve’s waist before it rests on his leg.

“I’m…” Steve looks at him, his eyes glistening. “I’m so scared, Eddie,” he says weakly, his voice wavering. Eddie’s chest clenches.

“I know,” he whispers.

“I think— I think if my dad finds out, he’ll actually kill me, I—” He gasps, and Eddie leans in, his own eyes stinging.

“Hey, listen to me,” he says softly. “He won’t find out, okay? This is just between us.”

Steve sniffles, looking at him.

“You know how good I am at keeping secrets?” Eddie says, and Steve laughs wetly, reaching to wipe his face, but Eddie beats him to it. “No one else has to know,” he murmurs. “You’re safe here, Steve.”

Steve closes his eyes, and Eddie holds his face between his hands. They’re quiet for a moment, and Steve touches his wrists, running his hands down to squeeze his forearms like he’s grounding himself. He takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly.

“Why do I feel so…” He pauses, furrowing his brows again like he’s uncomfortable, like something is poking him. “Why do I feel so… dirty?” he whispers.

Eddie’s chest aches. He’s familiar with the feeling, the filth of existing.

“You’re not dirty,” he whispers back. “That’s how they want you to feel.”

Steve looks at him. Eddie pauses, swallowing, and his throat is tight now, because he’s never to explain this out loud, any of this. These thoughts that occurred to him late at night as he stared up at the ceiling in the dark, these thoughts that he wanted to whisper to the moon but was too scared to say out loud. He used to think saying it all out loud would make it real, but he knows now that it doesn’t matter how loud it all is. It’s real even when it’s just in his head. It was real before he was even born.

And he realizes at this moment, as he holds Steve’s face tenderly, as he feels Steve’s fingers press into his forearms and watches another tear slip over his fingers on Steve’s cheek, the feeling that he felt earlier today when Steve left him in the bathroom. The shift he felt under his skin like his cells were moving into place, like he has a whole new body.

Nothing is different, not really.

He just isn’t lonely anymore.

It’s like his body knows there’s someone else in this stupid fucking town that knows how he feels. Someone that matches him.

And he gets to say this out loud now. It’s not as scary when there’s someone to hear it. Someone to understand it.

“They make us out to be…” He pauses, licking his lips as he thinks. “These… filthy, perverted monsters. They talk about us and lie about us and make shit up about us being weird freaks, which, I mean, me personally, I guess it fits,” he says, his chest tightening when Steve half-smiles, scoffing. “But you, Steve Harrington,” he says, shaking Steve’s head lightly, making his smile widen, “are an upstanding citizen.”

“I buy drugs from you,” Steve says, leaning forward, and Eddie laughs lightly.

“You are not my most frequent customer.”

Steve snorts, shaking his head, but Eddie is still holding his face. He doesn’t let go.

“You are a good person, Steve Harrington,” he says quietly.

“You hardly know me,” Steve whispers.

Eddie looks at him. At his eyes. They’re hazel up close. Specked with green and brown and gold. He looks at the spots on his skin. Eddie wants to memorize them like constellations. There are tears caught in his eyelashes, and his nose and cheeks are rosy, and Eddie’s stomach flips over as he realizes just how beautiful he is. Not just hot, or attractive, but… Pretty. Lovely.

“You always smile at me when you pay me,” Eddie says softly, absently. “No one ever does that unless they’re high. But you smile every time.”

Steve blinks. Smiles. He has a beautiful smile.

“That makes me good?”

“That makes you better than the others,” Eddie whispers. “Makes you my favorite.”

Steve’s cheeks turn pink. Eddie smiles, brushing his thumbs over them.

“Tell me about you,” he says softly. “I wanna know you.”

Steve's smile falls. He’s quiet for a moment, running his hands over Eddie’s forearms before they fall to rest on his legs, and then his fingers play absently with the folds of his sweatpants.

“I’m lonely,” he says after a few moments, breathing the words quietly. “All the time. When I’m with my friends, when I’m at parties or at basketball practice or at games, I’m… I always feel like I’m hiding.” Eddie brushes his thumbs over his cheeks, listening. “I feel like I’m some… statue. Dressed as me, and— and pretending to be me, but no one really knows me.” He closes his eyes, turning his face into Eddie’s palm, leaning closer, pressing his hands over Eddie’s legs, and his voice shakes as he speaks again. “...I’m so lonely.”

“Me too,” Eddie whispers.

Steve sighs quietly, and he opens his eyes finally, looking at him.

“Can we be lonely together?”

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes. “I’d like that.”

Steve smiles, and then he closes his eyes, turning his face into Eddie’s palm again and sighing. Eddie gazes at him, and something settles in his chest. Something different than before.

— — — — —

“Have you ever kissed a boy?” Steve asks later as he passes the joint back to Eddie. They’re still on the floor, but they’ve moved to sit across from each other, Eddie with his back against the bed, Steve with his back against his dresser. Their empty beer bottles are on the ground with them, one of them knocked over, and the room is dim, lit up by the golden glow of the lamps next to Eddie’s bed. Steve bites into a red Twizzler as Eddie shakes his head, taking a hit.

“I’ve touched a few dicks,” he says, and Steve snorts, his eyes squinting as he giggles, chewing, holding the rest of the Twizzler in his hand. He’s so cute. “Sucked a grand total of two.”

“Was it nice?” Steve asks. Eddie shrugs, taking another drag.

“Was nice until they both insisted they’re not gay.”

“I’m assuming these were separate occasions,” Steve says, reaching for the joint.

“No, the three of us had a conference actually,” Eddie says sarcastically, and Steve rolls his eyes, taking a drag, and Eddie smiles, watching him. “Have you ever kissed a boy?” he asks.

Steve shakes his head, exhaling the smoke slowly.

“Kissed plenty of girls,” he says quietly. “But I assume they’re different.”

Eddie watches him take another drag, hesitating before he decides to just do it.

“Do you want to?”

Steve looks at him, his eyes flickering across his face as he exhales again, and then he nods. Eddie smiles, beckoning with a tilt of his head.

Steve puts the joint out in the ashtray that’s between them before he moves closer, sitting in front of Eddie, who sits up straight. Their knees touch when Steve crosses his legs, and they both pause, just looking at each other quietly.

“Okay?” Eddie whispers. Steve nods.

They pause again, and it’s awkward, and then they’re both giggling, quiet and muffled like they’re children at a sleepover, staying up past their bedtime.

And then they’re leaning in, and Eddie’s eyes flutter shut, and their smiling lips press together.

Steve is so soft.

All of him.

His hair, his face, his lips, his heart.

And he touches Eddie like he’s soft too, like he’s fragile. Steve touches his face, his fingers touching his cheeks before he’s holding them in his palms, tilting his head as his lips part. He tastes like artificial strawberries, and Eddie wants to kiss him until the taste fades.

Slowly, Eddie reaches out to him, finding his waist as Steve’s teeth catch his lower lip, and he pulls at him. Steve lifts onto his knees without pulling away, still kissing Eddie (kissing Eddie), and he holds Eddie’s jaw to tilt his head back, holding him in place. Eddie suppresses a shiver, his body tensing, when Steve’s tongue slips across his lower lip.

Steve pulls back, and Eddie tries to follow, exhaling as he lifts his chin. He opens his eyes blearily, looking up at him. His eyes are glassy, shining as he looks at Eddie, as he caresses his face, and a moment later, his lips spread into a slow smile. Eddie smiles weakly, hands holding Steve’s soft waist.

Steve leans back down and kisses him again, sliding a hand up into his hair to hold the back of his head, and Eddie exhales roughly, his hands tightening on Steve’s waist and pulling him closer. Steve pulls away to look down as he reaches down and pulls at Eddie’s leg so he straightens them out so Steve can crawl into his lap, straddling his hips. He’s heavy on Eddie’s legs, and Eddie lets out a soft groan, wrapping his arms around his waist as Steve kisses him again.

He lets Steve lick his mouth open, gathering the fabric of Steve’s shirt in his hands. He’s probably wrinkling it, but Steve doesn’t stop him. His breath is warm, and Eddie’s never felt so… peaceful. The room is nearly silent except for the soft, slick sounds of their lips and the breathy hums they can’t hold back, but Eddie doesn’t mind the quiet now. He pulls Steve closer, sliding a hand up his back and smiling when Steve shivers. And then Eddie shivers when Steve’s fingertips dance over his throat lightly. It tickles, but in a way that sends chills down his spine. Steve grins, biting Eddie’s lip again before he sucks on it gently.

Eddie hums, and Steve wraps his arms around his neck, kissing him and kissing him and kissing him, and his lips curve into a smile against Eddie’s when Eddie presses a hand into the small of his back. Eddie moves slowly, carefully, gently, shifting so he’s kneeling and opening his eyes just enough to glance past Steve at the dresser as he turns slowly. Steve’s legs wrap around his hips as he leans over, lowering Steve onto his back.

Steve hums softly, holding Eddie’s neck as their tongues slide, and when Eddie lifts his head, they’re both breathless, panting into each other’s mouths, smiling and smiling and smiling.

“Do you still feel dirty?” Eddie whispers quietly. Steve’s hair is splayed around his head on the ground like a halo, and his face is relaxed, blissful, beautiful.

“No,” Steve breathes.

“How do you feel?” Eddie murmurs against his lips before he kisses him slowly. Steve’s fingers run through his hair as he kisses his cheek, then his jaw, then his neck, just under his ear, his lips pressing slowly, lingering. He reaches down and slips his fingers under the hem of Steve’s shirt, pressing into his skin. It’s so soft. And warm.

“...Beautiful.”

Eddie smiles. He slides his hand farther under the shirt, lifting his head to watch Steve’s expression just in case, but Steve just smiles and tilts his head back, baring his throat. Eddie kisses it.

They undress. Slowly, softly. Steve’s shirt goes first because Eddie can’t keep his hands off him, pressing under the fabric to press into his skin, and then after it’s tossed aside, Steve is tugging at Eddie’s sweatshirt wordlessly. Eddie sits up, kneeling between Steve’s legs as he tugs it over his head, Steve watches, his eyes glassy and flicking back and forth between Eddie’s face and his torso. He sits up a little, propping himself up on his elbow as he reaches for Eddie’s chest, brushing his fingertips over his tattoos. The spider and the zombie, the letters inked over his ribs that he did himself, late at night in his room with headphones on and a needle between his fingers. The words no one has ever seen before. Not even Wayne.

The letters are faded, the ink spotty and uneven, and probably a little crooked, slanted, wobbly like a child’s handwriting, reading THE URGE TO followed by two words, one atop the other.

CREATE DESTROY

Steve touches them tenderly, and he pushes Eddie so he leans back as he tilts his head and leans close enough to kiss the letters softly. Eddie smiles.

Steve’s hands are warm as they run over Eddie’s stomach, over his waist and chest, and Eddie feels beautiful, too, now. He’s never felt beautiful before.

He runs his own hands over Steve’s chest as they kiss again, tilting his head to lick into his mouth, sighing as Steve reaches up to push his hair back again. And Steve lowers back onto the floor again, his hands gentle as they pull Eddie down with him, and Eddie thinks he would go anywhere if Steve was the one pulling him along. Through the depths of hell. Off the edge of the earth.

He holds himself up on his elbow next to Steve’s head, and he can push his fingers through Steve’s hair without moving, so he does. It’s soft, and smooth, and Eddie loves it. Steve’s legs wrap around Eddie’s hips again, pulling him against himself, and then they’re both gasping and giggling into each other’s mouths, because they’re both hard, and Eddie doesn’t know what to do. He presses down against him again, and a soft, desperate noise escapes Steve’s throat as his hand tightens in Eddie’s hair.

Steve reaches for the drawstring of Eddie’s sweatpants. Eddie reaches for the button of his jeans.

They’re both breathing hard as they shed their pants, their faces close like they can’t stand to be apart, and Eddie presses his face into Steve’s neck as they toss them aside, followed quickly by their underwear, and Steve’s fingers press into his hair, holding the back of his head and Eddie gently pushes him back to the floor. And his whole body is so warm, covered in soft hair and moles that Eddie wants to trace. He wants to connect them all, with his fingertips, or with his tongue. Steve’s skin is tanner than Eddie’s, especially in the quiet glow of the lamps, and when Eddie glances down at their bodies pressed together, they look like silver and gold, and Eddie decides that are beautiful. Separately, and together.

Eddie holds his hand up, and Steve takes it wordlessly, turning his face away from Eddie’s to slide his tongue across his palm slowly, and then his head falls to the ground again as Eddie reaches down. He sounds so pretty as Eddie touches him, letting out soft moans and curses, whispering Eddie’s name like it’s all he knows. He kisses Eddie. Again, and again, and again.

Steve wraps his arms around Eddie, and he buries his face in his neck, and he’s kissing him, kissing him, kissing him, and Eddie is groaning and whining and crying. There’s going to be a mark (or a few) left behind, he already knows, and he already can’t wait to see it in the mirror tomorrow morning. Steve lets out a choked noise when he comes, his back arching, and Eddie keeps crying.

— — — — —

Eddie runs his fingers through Steve’s hair, looking up at the ceiling, watching the smoke drift up and fade. Steve’s head is on his chest, and he sighs to blow the smoke out as they finish the joint they abandoned earlier.

Steve shifts to look up at him, lifting the joint to Eddie’s mouth for him, and Eddie smiles, parting his lips for it. Steve lets him take a long drag, and then he leans over him as he pulls the joint away, kissing his lips softly and opening his mouth for Eddie to blow the smoke out, into his lungs. Eddie opens his eyes when Steve pulls away, passing the joint to him as he exhales the smoke slowly.

Steve lays back down as Eddie smokes, his head resting on Eddie’s chest, hand raised to trace the spider that’s in front of his face, his fingertips light as he touches the legs of the spider, running down them slowly and carefully, like he’s worried about scaring it off. Eddie scratches at his scalp gently, combing his hair.

He can hear Steve’s heartbeat. Soft, and slow, and sleepy.

They got dressed after cleaning each other up quietly, pressing kisses to each other’s skin. Steve out on Eddie’s sweatshirt as Eddie was putting on his sweatpants, and Eddie just smiled, watching him shake his hair out of his face.

Their legs twist under the blankets, and Steve sighs again, sliding his hands over Eddie’s chest gently. Eddie knows without looking that his eyes are closed, and he shifts, tapping the joint out in the ashtray and then flicking off the lamp. The room goes dark except the sliver of moonlight coming through the small window across the room and the softly glowing end of the joint.

“I still feel beautiful,” Steve whispers as Eddie closes his eyes. Eddie moves down to wrap his arms around him, and he kisses his temple.

“Good.”

[fallenhunnyapple]

@ilikelookingatthings left a very long and question filled essay about Angel!Lu AU in the replies so now its time to delve into More Info about the AU! @fallenguitarhero is my Adam so I got his input for all the Adam-related parts of this. Under a cut because.... this is Very Long LOL (bonus art at the end)

I'm going to just Copy-Paste the answers I got when we discussed it

I do think that Adam actually subconsciously shifts blame to Lilith because he's very black and white in his views. He hates devil Luci but he thinks he can prevent angel Lu from going down that path if he just keeps them apart. Lute also believes this and ngl her view of Lilith is like...really awful internalized misogyny type shit. Both of them think its better the two never meet and Lute outright threatens Lilith to stay away. Adam is too possessive to try and shift Lu to someone else but he does like... try to push Lu back into friendship type feels. Adam is a dumbass about sexuality so he thinks if he brings Lu to do Masculine and Straight things it will fix this. Instead he ends up just spending even more time with him and making it worse. As for his trauma... yeah Adam tries to hide it. Mostly by changing the subject and acting like an asshole tbh. I've thought abt Lu finding out about Cain and Abel p much by mistake (maybe saw artwork of it, all the hell related stuff is hidden but they wouldnt think to hide art of Adam holding Abel's body or Cain's exile) and it breaking his little baby heart. Adam def has moments where like... his mind is busy w something else like a bad day or a nightmare and for a second he sees the devil instead of his angel. Adam always like... 'shit, sorry, i thought you were someone else- fuck, don't look at me like that, c'mon.' There are other issues he just... doesn't realize he needs to hide. They're right about Adam being cynical and like... telling himself Lu doesn't really love him. Even once they date, he's still insecure. At that point i think he'd tell Lu about Lilith leaving him for a friend of his (whose name he never gives) and his marriage with Eve ending badly. He avoids details. He prob talks way more about his kids and prob even introduces Lu to them... Lu being around might encourage him to work on his relationship with them. Adam's body dysmorphia is such a contrast from the Adam Lu knew before... i do think that with him hiding so much from Lu, he tries to make it up to him by making sure his life is perfect. He goes out of his way to keep his angel happy and his attitude spreads to his exorcists who accept Lu into their flock. tbh Adam's dynamic with them prob becomes way healthier over time due to Lu's influence. i think Adam does tell the truth about some things but leaves out the details. Like he says evil found earth and destroyed Eden but says it hurts too much to talk about it (not a lie) and tells Lu that it's why the exorcists exist, they protect heaven and the dead humans from it. Which is what the official story is anyway! i think Lu prob has the same info the average low ranking Heavenborne and winners do. If Lu pushed him too much Adam might admit there are things he can't tell him but frame it as a military thing - there are things only Michael, Adam and the high ranking exorcists can know. He feels a lot of guilt about lying. it weighs on him a lot. that and the stress of protecting Lu from his brothers honestly makes Adam act more subdued and tired than canon Adam. His eyebags are awful. It prob becomes obvious as time goes on that Adam is Not Well. He keeps his mask on for a looong time after the first time bc it helps him hide his feelings and self-regulate but when he finally takes it off it's obvious to Lu from how he looks that Adam is struggling mentally. Comparing him to how he looked in Eden makes it so clear.

For Lu's part of things. Of course he'd ask about Lilith. Especially after finding out that so long has passed and Adam is here, so Lilith is probably here too, right? I feel like because he missed... So much, the concept of Death to him still doesn't really sink in. Like even with the Sins, it's basically like he just Knows he can't See them again. So with Lilith its like Adam has to just lie the same as with Anyone else from Hell. And Lu is definitely heartbroken about Lilith being Gone.

And like, at the time, Adam isn't lying so he doesn't feel Guilty about it, he just feels bad seeing Lu so upset. The timeline of this is kinda indeterminate but it definitely is Earlier than the 7 years of Lilith being in Heaven. So when he first Appears, she hasn't left Hell yet. Who knows, Charlie may not have even been born yet at that point. There's no Solid point in Time for Lu to have appeared in Heaven, it's just... Earlier. He doesn't think to Look for her because he knows that if she's Not Already There, then she's Inaccessible. Otherwise Adam would have told him, he's sure of it. (Adam has no obligation to tell Lu when Lilith does get there and for the reasons stated above + the fact that the Elder Angels probably would try and deter any interaction between the two. he's left in the Dark about her arriving in Heaven. He doesn't know Adam has even made a Deal with anyone) He still misses her because Adam is Truly the only friend from When he's from left.

And tbh the mixed signals are what keeps Hope Alive for Lu. As much as he tries to be okay with friendship, he still wants more because he's In Love and Adam is the only thing that makes him feel Normal when his entire life and everything he knew was entirely up-ended. It's why he's so passive about it. He doesn't want to make Adam feel bad, but he sees Adam being so Conscious of him now and it makes him happy. He doesn't wanna Push it, but he still likes seeing that Adam is Aware of him like that now. Especially because it's not in a way where Adam is trying to push him away, Adam is actively spending more time with him!

The longer time passes, the more discontent Lu grows. Knowing he's being lied to/that things are being hidden, even by Adam, he is Curious and he wants to learn more. But he also isn't going to be reckless about Learning More. The thing is also he Doesn't Know what questions he should be asking. He could ask Winners things and get answers, its not like anyone would stop him from Talking to Winners, its part of his Job. But like... How would he even start to figure out what's Missing in his knowledge?

Also Lu is definitely Aware of how different Adam is from his Eden self. Like just Visually, it's so easy to separate them because Adam wears his mask. But when its just the two of them and Adam is maskless, Lu may be more susceptible to treating him like that. But he's also very aware of the fact that actually their Knowledge Base is completely flipped. Lu hardly knows anything and Adam knows Everything.

And like.... Lu Knows that being kept in the dark is probably 'for his own good' but as stated, the person who fell is Still him. So now instead of resenting/being upset that Humans were kept in the dark, now it's himself. There's no Fruit That Will Fix Things for him though. He's just left frustrated at his lack of agency in this. And honestly, what keeps in line Most is Fear. Since coming to this time, his family has been Nicer to him, he's actually getting along to some degree with his brothers who used to ridicule him (or worse) and he Knows it's only because he's 'behaving' now, now that Creation is over and Life Has Existed. And he's scared or what will happen if he steps too out of line. He doesn't have the refuge of going to Eden to visit the Humans if things go south with his siblings. He isn't allowed on Earth, he's confined to Heaven, so he would just be stuck with the same sort of things that ultimately drove him originally to commit the Sin of giving Eve the Apple (not that he's Aware of how it culminated) And Also he has Adam. He doesn't want to know what the consequences would be if they were to decide that they shouldn't be allowed to stay together. It would absolutely break him.

If Lu were to find out about the exterminations, he'd be just as Appalled by it as Emily was. Lu doesn't know about Sin, what that entails, how Sinners destroy everything. He hasn't had to live with it so he can't see any contempt or justification for their destruction. Lucifer hates them because they came in a ruined the world he tried to build in Hell. Lu doesn't have any such associations with them. He would just see them much like Charlie does, souls who made mistakes and who should be given the chance to Do Better and make up for it. (That's sort of what he is, in a way, too.) He would absolutely be upset and scold the fuck out of Adam and Lute if he knew what his besties were REALLY doing once a year-

As for the sexual stuff, Both Lucifers started without having a concept of sex or sexuality, so both of them are specifically shaped by their partners (literally in a way). So the Lucifer who learned and explored with Lilith is going to be completely different from the Lucifer who learned and explored with Adam in terms of How they have sex. It's a skill they learn by doing, so it's not the Same.

Thank you for sticking it out this long, have a doodle for your troubles 🙏

[captain039]

PART 4 last part

Welcome to Eden

Old man Logan x reader

Warnings: AOB, age gap, mutant reader,

angst, hurt/comfort, swearing, Logan lives, mean Logan, mentions of suicide

Previous part <-

It’s a few days before he wakes up. You’ve been mainly on the chair waiting for him to wake up. Going to toilet and food breaks. You’ve held his hand during the whole time taking the poison but by bit, it makes you sick, you’ve thrown up more than once and the doctors make you comfortable. You notice he looks heavier though, his face looks less pale and his wrinkles have lessened slightly, his hair looks healthier too. When he does wake up, you’re gripping his hand and standing by him while Laura stand by you. He grips your hand momentarily a frown on his face before his eyes open. He gasps loudly and you hush him gently as his eyes look to you. His eyes look brighter, not so dull and lifeless as they did before, he looks to Laura at your side too.

“What happened?” He asks sitting up. The bed moves with him and he frowns at it but sits back.

“You were outside four nights ago you fell to the ground, passed out” you explain and he nods running a hand down his face hand still holding yours.

“Sorry kid” he says to Laura who just nods and sits back in your chair. The old alpha raises his eyebrows at her but looks back to you.

“You look like shit” he says and you laugh at it shaking your head.

“Thanks” you scoff lightly smile still on your face.

“She didn’t leave your side” Laura says and you silently curse the little wolverine. The older wolverine frowns at you.

“I left to eat and go to the bathroom” you explain.

“You slept in that chair?” He asks gesturing the chair Laura was sitting on.

“It was comfortable” you shrug it was a fancy chair, it reclined back, had its own IV holders even though none were attached.

“Kinda looks it” Logan mutters.

“How do you feel?” You ask instead as he lets go of your hand as a few nurses walk on.

“Better” he nods looking to the nurses. Ones a beta and ones an omega, you’ve seen them before, Grace and Beth you’re pretty sure.

“How we feeling Mr Logan?” Beth asks a smile on her face. You frown at the omega woman though, she’s older than you late thirty’s, a nice body and kind smile, though the smile she’s giving right now sends your omega off like a dog barking. The old alpha notices he looks to you but you don’t acknowledge it as you stare at the nurse.

“I’m fine thank you, give me a minute with my omega” he says the words ‘my omega’ making your brain stop. The nurses leave with smiles and guide Laura out.

“You gonna bite her head off?” Logan chuckled and you feel yourself go red and look to the ground.

“Sorry” is all you managed hands clasped tightly in front of you. The suppressants you were given had warn off, his scent got stronger and suddenly the two omegas that were nurses that checked on him seemed like a threat. It bothered you seeing as they were only helping. You hear Logan chuckle though the sound making you frown and look to him as he holds his hand out for you. You take it lying your hand in his as he brings it to his face. He twists your arm gently his nose crazing your wrist as he scents you. The gesture drives you crazy, makes you gulp softly.

“Charles told me something about a connection between an alpha and omega, one stronger than most, a primal need to be by the other deeply lodged into their subconscious” he says moving your arm so its rests in his and you frown a bit.

“It’s heightened with the mutant gene too” he adds and you nod a bit wondering who Charles was.

“That’s what you’re feeling” he says his eyes darkening slightly his scent spiking, it makes your knees weak.

“When you first caught my scent in the car” he says.

“When I first caught scent of you in the car” he says voice husky.

“When you got shot, I went into some form of feral state, I couldn’t do anything since that damn serum ran off, but I would’ve liked to slice his head off, good thing the little one did it for me” he adds.

“When you passed out and the doctors took you I was still in that feral state, one thing on my mind was to get you to safety away from them even if they were helping you” he lets out a small growl and you clench his hand.

“When I met you in that garden and coughed I saw it in you too, the hazed over state” he says and you remember that all too well. When he snapped you out of it.

“You snapped me out of it though” you mumble.

“Because I was scared” he mutters and you frown eyes going to his.

“What do you mean?” You ask.

“My life isn’t heroic shit like the comics, it’s dark and full of death, I didn’t want you in that, didn’t want you near me I was going to get the kid to safety and shoot my self” you flinch at his words holding his hand tighter.

“That’s why I didn’t go with you, but I heard the cars and something snapped in my brain and my only thought was you” he says quietly eyes keeping your gaze.

“You’re mine omega” he says his eyes narrowing and your heart pounds in your chest. He tugs you to him and you go easily sitting down on the edge of the bed. He growls softly tugging you into his lap his strength surprising you. You sit a little awkwardly, sitting on him sideways like a kid, one hand around your waist the other over your legs holding your thigh.

“Look at me” he says and you do your arms on his shoulders.

“You’re mine” he repeats the words making you shudder and nod.

“I’m yours” you mutter as he leans up slightly. You see the uncertainty in his eyes various thoughts flicker so you press your lips to his a small rumble leaving his chest as his hand grips your thigh.

“And I’m yours” he mutters softly.