#it was more emotional than I expected

[unpersoniverse]

Skén:nen sá:sewh

as promised, here's Precious boy™ getting kissed by Precious wife™ because he deserves all the love in the world :cc

translation: Get home safe

[thatqueerbat]

catching up on docs streams, and he's talking about religion/spirituality and how it guides people's beliefs etc. he mentions how (generally) people like to be outraged by things [that dont affect them], like who other people are, and then immediately says 'if you're lgbtq you'll know what im talking about'

and i absolutely do. and its so wild to me how he just. drops that in. then starts talking about how it shouldn't matter who you are, how you can still do be incredibly religious and respect queer people, that the most important thing is that your beliefs don't hurt other people. how you should respect pronouns, that being 'indoctrinated' into being queer isn't a thing.

all whilst he's mining for diamonds using a freaking mega tunnel bore. like its any other conversation you might have

which it certainly is, for me. but a 40 something cishet man? not your standard casual conversation topic, not usually. and even though i already knew he was a supportive guy, hearing a conversation like this outside of an explicitly queer space, unprompted by a queer person. just solidifies what kind of person he is. and gives me faith that even outside of queer specific spaces, important conversations are happening, its not just us protesting and yelling into the wind, no one giving a shit. and its happening in some pretty unexpected places. which id say is pretty neat. its nice to have some hope for a change.

(all that to say, this is a docm77 stan household)

[danandfuckingjonlmao]

so five and lila being a thing is going right next to allison literally sexually assaulting luther in the box of things we are absolutely under no circumstances accepting as part of canon right

[starry-bi-sky]

Okay so this is almost a direct copy-paste of my earlier reblog but only the Xin Yuan parts, because its long enough to be its own post and i want to share it! It deserves it's own post <3 typical starry stuff to write a 2k word long reblog, unfortunately.

I say almost because I went through to proof read and ended up adding more stuff.

I've been cooking on this idea for the last two days since I saw the Xin Mo!Shen Yuan post but??? I can't find anything on Xin Mo's backstory or how it came to be -- which means that's free fucking plot right there baby. That's a sandbox and im making LIFE SIZED CASTLES. I'm so excited.

The idea of Shen Yuan transmigrating centuries before the events of PIDW as Xin Mo -- but when he wakes up, he's not the sword. He wakes up in the body of a young boy named Xin Yuan. Now it makes sense for this boy to be a demon, but the drama, the intrigue, the spice of Xin Yuan being a human child.

SY wakes up as a boy below the age of ten, and the System tells him where he is, and SY is excited to meet his favorite protagonist -- only to gradually realize that he's like, a thousand years or so before the events of the novel. The rant he gives the system is legendary.

Bc what's the point of getting dropped into PIDW if he's never going to meet his favorite character??? This is a scam! BUT he settles into his new life, he's like, some orphan street rat or some other tragic airplane-esq backstory.

The system gives Shen Yuan his first mandatory quest: become a righteous cultivator. Which was like, kinda his plan/hopes anyways, except! There's like?? No official cultivator sects anywhere? The Cang Qiong Mountain Sect hasn't even been established yet, and there are pockets of cultivators running around, maybe some groups or schools popping up and then sinking back down, but nothing's really taken root!

If he asks someone how to become a cultivator, there's no straight answer. No "oh you can go to X to do that". He's pissed! How can he become a cultivator if there aren't any schools around to teach him? Deus ex machina, that's how.

Out of sheer luck, SY manages to help save a rogue cultivator, and promptly gets adopted by said rogue cultivator, who gives SY the name 'Xin Yuan'. He is ecstatic. And you know what? It's actually pretty fun!

He's getting to travel the world of PIDW in its early stages, and gets to see the building blocks for the eventual main story. He's discovering all this local flora and fauna that are foreign to his old world and unmentioned in the book, and he's learning cultivation! Granted, its unsafe, newly(ish) discovered cultivation, but it counts!

Wistfully, he thinks about perhaps he'll do something grand and get his name carved into legend. Something that would eventually help the protagonist later down the line in his quest for revenge.

The system remains silent to his thoughts.

But Xin Yuan doesn't take much stock in that daydream anyways. It's nothing more than fantasy to him; wish-fulfillment. He does discover however, that he is positively brimming with spiritual energy. Overwhelmingly so.

It's both a blessing and a curse, as it puts a strain on his meridians if he's not careful, and leaves him prone to qi deviations for the exact same reasons. He already has a heart demon or two from a few traumatic experiences in the past.

(bc hey! angst a day keeps the writer sadism at bay, and all that)

I'll say he's about... eight when he gets picked up by the rogue cultivator, who I'm calling Lin Kai bc he deserves a name. They travel around PIDW up until Xin Yuan is twelve, where he goes through a traumatic experience that results in a heart demon.

It's after that that Lin Kai decides to put a stop to his wandering, and find a place to settle down to raise Xin Yuan in. Coincidentally! They settle down in a nice mountain region that's thriving with spiritual energy. The mountains at the time were called something different, but they will be eventually known as the Cang Qiong Mountain Sect

Coincidentally, the mountain Lin Kai and Xin Yuan end up on is Qing Jing Peak. XY does not realize that the mountain he's on is Qing Jing. The System does not tell him. But he likes it there, more than he was expecting. And as much as he's traveled around, he really does enjoy being in one place.

He has a tendency to go down the mountain and help the village setting up down there, and when he's a teenager he starts venturing out more and more.

Xin Yuan forgets sometimes that he's in a novel, especially after settling down on Qing Jing peak. The system becomes remarkably quiet since there's no quests for him to do and not a ton of opportunities to get B-Points. He cultivates with Lin Kai, helps tend to the garden they're growing, goes down to the village to play with the other kids.

There's one boy he's best friends with, a boy whose not all that good with words, named Liu Zhihao. He's got potential for cultivation though, so Xin Yuan drags him up the mountain when he can so that Liu Zhihao can sit in on lessons with Lin Kai. He drags him all over the forest at the foot of the mountain to go look at bugs and animals.

(One time, when they're fourteen and Liu Zhihao has been learning cultivation for a few years now, Xin Yuan drags him out of bed late one night to go look at the stars. Xin Yuan tells Liu Zhihao about ascension -- something that still feels like a far off dream to many in this time -- that night, while they're sitting on the wet grass.)

("We should ascend together." Xin Yuan tells Liu Zhihao, jade eyes gleaming. Never let it be said that Xin Yuan doesn't love deeply, no matter what kind of love it is. He was always so lonely as Shen Yuan, Liu Zhihao is his best friend. "We'll become immortals, and then we won't ascend until the other is able to.")

(Liu Zhihao stares at him silently, his face unreadable. Then, quietly, he asks; "Promise?")

("Promise.")

When he starts adventuring outwards, further away from the mountain and the village, Liu Zhihao sticks to him like rice. Not that Xin Yuan's complaining, that's his best friend after all, and Liu Zhihao has become a formidable cultivator. He deserves to show off his skills.

He starts making something of a name for himself by the time he's, like, 18 -- although that name is in its baby steps, along with Liu Zhihao. They're slowly growing renown.

Perhaps XY uses his knowledge of PIDW and cultivation in general to help make advancements in the cultivation field. Although the system prevents him from sharing too much, it doesn't mean he can't practice it himself. Perhaps he's one of the first cultivators to develop a golden core. One of the first known immortal cultivators. One of the first to have a spirit sword.

(Although I don't know the logistics of any of this since my knowledge on xanxia/cultivation stuff in general is all still pretty new and google wasn't all that helpful lol.)

Either way, its my excuse to eventually make Xin Yuan come across as ethereal to other people. Peerless beauty SY for the win. Hs wifebeam is too strong, Xin Yuan has a line of suitors following after him and he's completely unaware of it. The rest of history is not.

Demon realm stuff has been stirring up since Xin Yuan was a kid, but at the time it was rare and in the beginning stages. Its been steadily ramping up and the system is sending him on more and more treacherous quests -- some of them mandatory, some optional. SY doesn't often take the optional ones unless it comes with a sufficient B-point reward.

for all intents and purposes though, he's a wandering rogue cultivator with Liu Zhihao, going from place to place to either help a town or village, or to discover more creatures or artifacts (although there aren't that many). Just all around living his life. He participates in a few major quest lines that are sure to get him mentioned in legend, even if it's a background character way.

(Unbeknownst to him, rather than being a side character in these legends, he's named directly. You can't become one of the first immortal cultivators and NOT get name dropped for clout.)

He has a spirit sword named Shā Mó, (杀 shā - to kill/weaken/counteract/reduce) (魔 mó - evil spirit, demon, possession). He routinely goes back to QJP to see Lin Kai, or to rest when traveling has worn down on him and he wants nothing more than to sleep somewhere he knows he'll be safe in. It becomes more frequent as Xin Yuan becomes more famous. Liu Zhihao often comes with him.

it all comes to a head though when the rifts between the demonic realm and the human realm become too great, and the balance between both realms becomes unstable. A demonic emperor's influence, wanting to merge the two realms so he could conquer both to satiate his own greed.

Typical evil king stuff. This comes to a climatic head in a great battle between every cultivator available and the demon emperor's army. Xin Yuan was one of the many who helped lead the charge.

In the end, it was Xin Yuan who ends up defeating the demonic emperor, but the rift that the emperor used to cross between worlds is destabilizing as well. Except instead of trying to close, it's getting bigger and bigger, threatening to swallow the heavens and earth and demonic realm whole.

You know how Yue Qingyuan's soul is bonded to his sword due to a qi deviation? Let's take it a step further >:)

Xin Yuan uses himself and Shā Mó to close the rift. However, it takes all of his spiritual energy to do so, as well as him filtering the demonic qi into his body to redirect it back to the demon realm.

In the end, Xin Yuan and his beloved sword Shā Mó fuse. Xin Yuan's soul becomes trapped in the sword. His physical body is unable to handle the immense amount of power it takes to close the rift, and is destroyed. He is immortalized in legend by his grieving cultivators.

(Liu Zhihao ends up ascending alone. He ascends with the hope that one day he'll see Xin Yuan again, even if it's in the face of someone else. Lin Kai does not ascend, too weighed down by the grief of losing his son.)

Xin Yuan, now Xin Mo, falls into a stasis. He's very confused and disorientated when he regains 'consciousness'. The system has been silent for most of his life, only popping up to give him mandatory quests, hints, points, or to answer any questions.

But once he wakes up, it cheerfully pops up again, congratulating him on completing the origin story of Xin Mo. SY freaks the fuck out. he'd shake the system screen if he could, but he doesn't have arms. or legs. or eyes for that matter.

He can sense his surroundings, but its all like imprints to him. He can sense the energies, but he can't see anything. It's all very disorientating and horrifying after years of being human. Like a sensory deprivation chamber.

The closing of the rift and the cycling demonic qi tainted both Sha Mo and Xin Yuan irreparably, and it did some kind of damage that resulted in SY needing to feed in order to use the spiritual powers. Kinda like how Xuan Su uses YQY's life force for it's spiritual energy, but instead of feeding on his own lifeforce, Xin Mo feeds on others.

The rest is history. Xin Mo is originally tied to the story of Xin Yuan -- believed to be all that remained of the man after he sacrificed himself to keep the realms separate. It's believed that the force of the realms closing permanently infused Sha Mo with demonic energy, turning it into Xin Mo.

But, like many stories do when faced against the tide of time, things get lost; chipped off; changed. Xin Mo is steadily separated from Xin Yuan, especially once it becomes clear how parasitic the sword really is, until they are all but separate entities themselves and the origin of Xin Mo's creation all but forgotten.

The years blur together when Xin Mo is not being wielded, and at first Xin Yuan was agonized by the fact that he stole the lives of all his wielders. He knows it's only a novel, but his decades spent in this life have softened him, and he's grown attached to the world around him.

But time erodes the mind like water erodes stone, and he becomes numb to it, then eventually anticipating of it. He forces himself to remember what he knows of PIDW's plot, and kinda fixates back on his old obsession on Luo Binghe. But while PIDW stays in his mind, his memories as Xin Yuan fall to the wayside.

Not forgotten, per se, but... tucked away. The system prevents him from forgetting fully.

Xin Mo isn't fully a demonic sword either i think, but instead harbors an ugly cocktail of both spiritual and demonic qi. Special circumstances and all that. Everyone just assumes he's a fully demonic sword because that's usually at the forefront, his spiritual qi weakened from the initial fusion and from years of not being fed spiritual qi. It's part of the reason his wielders always end up destroyed by him, other than the whole, yk, 'overwhelming qi' thing.

Nobody would recognize Xin Mo's human form as Xin Yuan other than some truly ancient demons. Of which Meng Mo might. But even that's iffy because there's a lack of surviving paintings of Xin Yuan, but also because of XM's demonic appearance and supposed lack of connection to XY.

Xin Mo has never spoken to his wielders before, not in the same way he does Luo Binghe. He tells Luo Binghe this, and he also tells Luo Binghe down the line that he is both spiritual and demonic -- something he also never told his wielders because there was no point to it.

okay okay i've got to end it here because its already gotten ridiculously long -- of which im both apologetic and unapologetic for -- but i DO think the Shang Qinghua and Shen Yuan meeting (and reveal) would be fucking hilarious. Especially if SY has learned how to pop between sword form and human form by then -- although i guess it doesnt matter either way because SQH's reaction is still the same.

And that reaction is internally screaming and going "hey what the FUCK?? WHY DOES XIN MO HAVE A HUMAN FORM??? WHAT IS THIS??? SYSTEM??? EXPLAIN???"

meanwhile from his place on the sword hilt xin mo is squinting at Shang Qinghua in bewilderment and going "aren't you supposed to be dead" but doesn't pay too much mind to it because its not like its going to change anything.

...up until he catches shang qinghua going "WTF" silently from his little corner while all eyes are off him. One moment SQH is standing beside his king, and the next he's been tackled to the ground by one wild-eyed, human-shaped Xin Mo.

everyone, including SQH, thinks Xin Mo is going to kill him. It is a surprise to everyone when he does not, and instead dissolves into deranged, uncontrollable laughter after spitting out some phrase in some ancient tongue and watching SQH's eyes grow wide in recognition.

[irregularjohnnywiggins]

In honour of William Russell's passing, here's one of those moments that I constantly come back to, time and again: That time Ian, without explicit words (because in 1963 no explicit words were needed) tells you exactly what he was doing 20 years before the episode's airing, and in so doing becomes one of the first people to actually challenge the Doctor to improve his morals:

[saltpepperbeard]

“There’s so many songs that Stede could sing, that would be appropriate for him. But what came to my head then was Rainbow Connection.” [x]

[peaches2217]

Guided Brooding

AO3 Link!

~~~

“Uno! Due! Tre! Quattro! Uno! Due! Tre! Quattro!”

The words ticked back and forth like a metronome in Mario’s head, changing in pace with each new song, but always relatively consistent in its rhythm. Inevitably a stray thought or a stumble would make him lose track, but then Luigi would call out the counts once more until he was (more or less) back in rhythm. That was probably his only saving grace, if he was being honest with himself.

Uno. Due. Tre. Quattro. Shoulders. Square. Spine. Straight. Don’t. Step on. Luigi’s. Feet. Uno. Due. Tre. Quattro.

“Okay! Ready for Phase Two?”

Luigi’s sudden interjection broke Mario’s concentration, and immediately he stumbled and trampled his younger twin’s foot (which made Incident #58, if he was keeping count correctly), yet Luigi didn’t flinch. He guided them both to a standstill, some conspiratorial twinkle in his eye.

“Phase Two?” Mario was almost afraid to ask. No, scratch that— he was afraid.

His brother immediately justified his fears. “Spin me.”

“What—”

“Spin spin!”

With that, Luigi lifted his left arm and Mario’s right, stooping to fit beneath their linked hands as he turned on the balls of his feet. Mario was forced to stand on his toes and thrust the entire right side of his body as high as possible just to keep from losing his grip, and even then, he barely succeeded. He was milliseconds from tipping too far left and faceplanting into the hardwood when it mercifully ended.

“With room to spare!” Luigi cheered on the other side. “See? You’ve got this down!”

Mario stared him down as he resettled on his feet. Luigi, in his defense, had the foresight to wear heels for this impromptu practice. But the tallest shoes he could keep his balance in still only put him at 5’8, a paltry number next to Peach’s 6’1 in her usual modest heels and 6’3 in her finest ballroom attire (read: the heels she would most likely wear during the real deal).

Mario, all 5’1 of him, did not in fact have this down.

The final notes of a mid-tempo song faded into needle chatter. Another record played all the way through. Another testament to his own failure.

As soon as Luigi let go, Mario found himself numbly shuffling towards their couch, pushed against the wall some hours earlier to give the brothers more room to practice. Not that this stopped them from colliding with the cushions or stubbing their toes against the wooden legs. The elder brother paid no mind to his twin rummaging through their music collection and casting suggestions in his direction. 

“...but since it’s kinda jazzy it might be harder to keep up with, but that could also give us a chance to practice, like, syncopation! And maybe that would…” But what did it matter? The next record would serve the same purpose as the first two: background music to accompany his downfall.

Mario plopped his backend onto the overstuffed cushions with the same grace he’d displayed dancing with his brother (which was to say, none). His legs were tired. His calves burned and his thighs tingled from overexertion. Since when did his restless legs get tired? He leaned over the back of the couch and stared up at the slats in the ceiling, as if they might crack open and bring forth some divine revelation that would make this whole mess make sense.

“...Mario? Hey, you okay, bro?”

Mario, burdened with two left feet and a heart that just had to yearn for the unattainable, was not in fact okay. 

He thought he’d known what to expect when he accepted his new role as Peach’s personal guard. She warned upfront that it would be dull and unexciting most of the time, standing through long-winded meetings and sitting through lectures about the inner workings of the Kingdom’s government. It all paled in comparison to the promise that he could spend more time at her side, and even better, the promise that he could serve her and protect her whenever she needed him.

He hadn’t really considered the social aspects of the role until that afternoon. He’d been just as excited for next week’s royal soiree as Peach was. Since he was required to hover nearby wherever his Princess went, he could easily swoop in and save her should any particularly chatty guests monopolize her time — they’d invented hand signs and covert exchanges and everything, which they practiced and perfected over tea cakes and laughter — but what had excited Peach most…

“I’ll finally get a dance out of you yet!” She’d dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a cloth napkin, her smile naïve yet mischievous. “It would be rude for my own guard to refuse any of my requests, after all.”

And she was right. Time after time she badgered him for a dance when he attended her parties as a mere guest. Time after time he informed her that dancing with him was a disastrous idea. It was a game, a playful ongoing back-and-forth, never a serious request , surely not. But now…

She was serious. Oh, stars, she was serious.

“I’m doomed,” Mario groaned at last.

Luigi groaned right back at him, mirroring his tone almost perfectly, and Mario might have been annoyed if he wasn’t also a bit impressed. The clack clack clack of high heels against hardwood tracked across the room, then the couch dipped beside him.

“C’mon,” Luigi said, nudging his shoulder against Mario’s. “Big feelings. Let’s talk ‘em out. You won’t feel better until you do.”

Mario huffed. Feelings. Feelings were supposed to be joyful and colorful and make life more vibrant. Feelings like this served no purpose other than to dampen that color. Life was too short to waste, too beautiful to squander, and sitting around wallowing in his own misery only squandered it further. 

Wallowing with a loved one gets it over with a lot faster, Luigi was always reminding him. And Luigi, who was never one to suffer in silence, was admittedly more of an expert on the topic than Mario was, so who was he to question that wisdom?

He sighed heavily. Might as well.

“I’m gonna screw it all up, Weegee.”

“No you’re not.”

“I’ll look like an idiot. Or worse, I’ll— I’ll make her look like an idiot!”

“You know she won’t let that happen.”

“But it’s not her job to keep me from messing up! I’m the one that’s— it’s my job to—”

“It’s not a job, it’s dancing. A couple mistakes here and there won’t bother her, you know that!”

“Well, no, but…”

Mario clenched his jaw.

He could almost see it, like an image in light projected on the panels above his head. Dancing with Peach. She would guide his steps with patience and grace. He would hold her slender hand safely in his own and hang on her every instruction, and every time he tripped or stepped on her foot, she would giggle, correct him, and lead him back into a steady rhythm.

A smile tugged at his lips. Learning to dance in the haven of her private garden, the rustle of leaves in lieu of music, away from prying eyes…

But it couldn’t happen like that. No, he couldn’t waste their first dance forcing her to teach him. She deserved better. She deserved a competent dancing partner. One who could match her expertise with confidence, who she could trust to fall into step with her right away… who wouldn’t falter even when the whole nation’s eyes were on them…

Mario sat back up just so he could hunch forward, resting his elbows on his knees, threading his fingers through his hair. “I can’t mess this up.” It came out far weaker than he’d hoped. He really was pathetic.

While he sulked, Luigi patted his back and hummed, the drawn-out sort of Hrmmmmm that told Mario his answer wasn’t good enough. “Why not?”

You know why! seemed the most obvious response. Not that he could actually say as much; Luigi would make him say it out loud anyway, and he preferred to avoid invoking that impossible desire by name whenever he could, so he scrambled for an answer with fewer sharp edges.

“Because she’s…” Beautiful. Graceful. Intelligent. Artistic. Astonishing. Literally perfect. Long overdue for an entire religion revolving around her. “She’s a princess,” he eventually settled on.

“And you’re her best friend, yeah?” Luigi’s hand stilled for a moment, then he switched to rubbing circles into his brother’s back. “Look, I-I know this is important to you. But if you’re not ready, you’re not ready! Just tell her! You know she won’t make you do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

Heat rushed through Mario’s body. He couldn’t even assemble an Absolutely Not before Luigi cut back in: “Compromises, remember? You can’t always let your pride win. I guarantee ya, promise her a dance next time, and she’ll be over the moon.”

Though he hated to entertain the thought, Mario knew he was right. He grumbled in displeasure as he mulled over the notion. Peach had never commanded him to dance. Though she’d presented it as an order of sorts, he did know she wouldn’t force him into it. It was merely a suggestion, one he was perfectly free to refuse.

…Just like his place as her guard, come to think of it.

“The motion for your appointment passed Parliament unanimously,” Peach told him that day, her hands clasped in front of her and her eyes unable to select a focal point. “But please understand that you’re under no obligation to accept! It’s… unfair, asking so much of you, given how much you’ve already done. Those are my thoughts, anyway.”

Mario never intended to refuse the offer, but initially, he was apprehensive. He was plenty strong, and he had rescued her from abduction once already, and he would do everything in his power to help her. But how much power did he actually possess? Was it enough to keep her safe? Was it enough to live up to whatever expectations were laid upon him, not just by Peach, but by her government? By its people? “Bodyguard to a Princess” wasn’t a program his vocational school had offered.

But one good look at said Princess overrode his doubts. Her fingers drumming against her knuckles, the small smile she kept forcing into something more neutral, her gaze shifting between her gloved hands and the surrounding shrubbery and, eventually, Mario’s face— growing up with an autistic twin taught Mario to be extra attentive to nonverbal cues. Peach’s offer was every bit as much for her sake as it was for his and for her Parliament’s.

In her words, she expressed reluctance, but in her body language, she gave her true thoughts away. And in her eyes, sparkling turquoise in the morning sunlight, he found his answer.

Her eyes had sparkled just as brilliantly today, discussing a prospective dance with her dearest friend and devoted guard. He wouldn’t be the one to extinguish her spark.

You can’t always let your pride win.

What a silly thing to say to Super Mario, Hero of the Mushroom Kingdom, Bodyguard to its Princess. Of course his pride would always triumph. That was kind of his schtick, wasn’t it?

“Okay, enough internal monologuing.” The weight on Mario’s back was lifted, and Luigi’s hand relocated to his head, tousling his curls playfully. “You gonna talk this through with me? Or am I gonna have to drag it outta ya?”

Another rush of heat overtook him, but this time, there was no indignation. This was the heat of renewed purpose. Lifting his face, the warm lights of their living room filled Mario’s vision once more, and suddenly the empty floor before him called to him with a pull he refused to ignore.

His muscles protested as he stood, but he paid them no mind. Every obstacle could be conquered with enough determination. He’d fail as many times as he needed to so he could succeed, just once, just for her.

“Hey— external!” Luigi cried after him. “External monologue! Don’t leave me in the dark, bro!”

Mario grinned as he closed the gap between himself and the record player. “You’re right,” he called over his shoulder. “I’m not gonna screw it up.”

The clack clack clack of block heels followed him once more. “And why’s that?”

“Because I haven’t let her down yet.” He pulled the first record his hands touched out of its case and set it into place. “And I’m not gonna start now!”

“And why’s that, huh?”

“Because…” A bright, jazzy instrumental filled the air, and Mario waved his hands with a flourish, grasping for words other than the ones Luigi was goading him to say. “Because I don’t know when to quit, I guess!”

“And why’s that? ”

“Stelle santo—”

He found Luigi waiting for him at the center of the room, his arms folded, his right hip jutting outward, his high-heeled left foot tapping in expectation. The smirk he fixed Mario with was far too devious for his liking.

“Well, if my beloved baby bro is any indication,” he shot back, mirroring Luigi’s folded-armed stance and meeting him where he stood, “then I guess being annoyingly hard-headed just runs in the family.”

Luigi’s smirk wavered. “Baby bro?”

Mario huffed, if only to keep his own mask from slipping. “I was already around when you were a baby. That counts.”

“You were a baby when I was a baby.”

“Well I still have twenty minutes on you, so at one point I was literally twenty times your age. Doesn’t get much more baby than that, yeah?”

Their competitive stares held strong a few seconds more, then they faltered, their make-believe tension powerless against the lively music. Both brothers clasped each other by the arms and chuckled, and just like that, Mario’s earlier angst was gone.

And these sorts of feelings he was all too happy to let himself feel.

“Thank you.” Mario pulled in closer to clasp Luigi’s shoulder. “For… being so stubborn.”

The corners of Luigi’s eyes crinkled as he mirrored the motion, clasping Mario’s opposite shoulder. “Guided brooding. That’s all it is.”

“And that’s all I need, I guess.” Mario soaked in the contentment a moment longer, then he let his arm fall to Luigi’s waist, releasing his opposite arm to take his hand. “C’mon. We’re losing moonlight.”

Luigi nodded firmly. “Way ahead of ya.”

Maybe Mario’s newfound drive didn’t grant him lighter feet or better coordination, but his heart felt so much lighter. He was able to laugh and joke with his brother when he made mistakes and celebrate each minor victory with sincerity. Nothing miraculous, maybe, but he could certainly work with it. And each time he fell out of sync, Luigi was right there to guide him back in.

“Uno! Due! Tre! Quattro! Uno! Due! Tre! Quattro! Uno! Due! Tre!”

[xxplastic-cubexx]

was watching apocalypse with my brother and once the cerebro scene popped up he was like 'charles has a helmet like erik, only instead of keeping people out, he tries to reach out and connect with others' like guys i need to bash him with a rock

[solargeist]

Ive joked before abt Xelqua sometimes being smaller than normal, but I wonder how much that’d mess with Grian’s parenting perspective.

Sometimes Xelqua is more independent, a little bit taller, he can climb on furniture with ease, pick big things up, etc..

But other times he’s gotta be carried around more often. Smaller than he should be, it’s noticeable.

[tremendously-crazy]

Relationship envy except I envy the bond between iconic fictional characters Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson

[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.”

[markantonys]

THE WHEEL OF TIME Rand & Mat + page to screen

[andmineisyellow]

I think episodes 4 through 7 have some of the consistent writing we've gotten from Bridgerton. And on a micro-level, I enjoy episode 8 as well. I love most of the individual scenes and moments we got (minus the epilogue). My personal favorites are the Cressida and Colin scene, everything with Portia and Pen, John and Francesca's wedding, and Penelope's speech. But on a macro-level episode 8 also underserved Colin and Pen's arcs.

I understand why the writers decided not to have Colin reveal Whistledown like he does in the books. This version gives Pen more agency, which on the surface, I prefer. But having Pen handle it all by herself also doesn't satisfy the over-arching narrative the show has set up.

Yes, Colin needed to realize that Pen doesn't need to be saved all the time, but Pen also needed to realize that it's okay to ask for help and to rely on others. The resolution should be meeting in the middle and working as a team. We should have seen them use their individual strengths to come up with a solution together. This would have been easy to do as they've already established that Colin is a schemer with how he handled Jack in 2x08 and sneaking Pen into the house 3x02. There's no reason for him not to participate in the plan. Some potential payoff was definitely missed that could have easily connected to his arc. And on top of that it should not have been Portia standing beside Pen before she stands up to speak to the queen. It should have been Colin.

And, this is more of a nitpick, but season 1 clearly foreshadowed an assured, furvent, and loud speech. It feels strange that we don't get that moment. They could have given Pen her moment and also given Colin his as well.

[crustyfloor]

The idea of Till having a certain sentiment of regret, hate? towards Ivan for what he did in round 6 jumbled up with his already mixed feelings about Ivan because of the person he is and how he treated Till when they were kids up until now, it's a lot. It breaks my heart but feels a little too real.

[spockandawe]

Okay, it's not a good *wallet* habit, but i highly recommend cultivating a stress response of acquiring a new niche hobby. Work is hard? New hobby! Never enough hours in the day to do important things? NEW HOBBY. It's a flawless solution, don't even worry. I have no idea how long I'm going to be preoccupied with this, because I'm accelerating but have no gauge for max speed, but straw marquetry time

[loudcackles]

Souvenir Pop comes out in just a handful of hours and I’m emotional about it.

Both due to the fact that the boys grew so much in the last couple years and achieved a level of success that they absolutely deserve AND ALSO because I love this stupid (affectionately) little community that has been created here. Cannot wait for all of us to absolutely loose our collective shit. God speed pookies, crying party in my room at approximately 12:30 am tomorrow, yall are all invited 😋.