#they’re the sun in the way that in their own universe they are the center of it and they’ll eventually collapse in on themselves

[gladiatorcunt]

thinking about rafe & coryo & anakin & astarion and how imo their inherrent appeal (if you pick up on any) is supposed to be in the fact that something is extremely wrong with them (or they aren’t meant to have any appeal at all). bc i don’t understand the stans who are so selective with reading and hearing they try to argue otherwise like were you so blinded you ignored the glaringly & obviously bad things about them??????? rafe & coryo & anakin later especially?????????

[seriallover]

Why certain people capture the spotlight?⭐️

1. The luminaries, the Sun and Moon naturally draw attention in a birth chart. People with strong Sun or Moon placements tend to light up any room they enter, effortlessly standing out.

Just like everyone loves capturing the beauty of a sunrise or the glow of a full moon, those with these placements have a magnetic energy that people can’t help but notice.

It’s almost like they’re always in the spotlight, which is why they often feel the need to look their best.☀️🌕

Beyoncé, Purva Phalguni Sun, Chitra Lagna and Venus.

Michael Jackson, Magha Sun and Shatabhisha Lagna.

Bella Hadid, Purva Phalguni Moon and Lagna.

There's not much to say about Beyoncé and Michael that isn't already well-known—they're icons in their own right, the biggest stars of our time. Bella Hadid has become the most photographed model off-duty and in 2022, she was named Model of the Year.

Gia Carangi, often hailed as the first true supermodel, paved the way for all the other supermodels that followed. She had a Shravana Sun and Lagnesh, with Hasta as her Lagna and a Shatabhisha Moon.

Britney Spears, Shravana Moon, was one of the most photographed stars for a while. The crazy amount of media attention even led to harassment and really affected her mental health.

Gisele Bündchen, Pushya Sun and Purva Phalguni Lagna, the only "Ubermodel"-that means being more than a supermodel.

Lauren Hutton, Pushya Moon and Lagna, holds the record for the most Vogue covers—26 in total.

I previously explored about how lunar-dominant people often achieve significant success on social media.

2. Chitra Nakshatra, known as the "Star of Opportunity," carries the Shakti of "accumulating merit." The word "Chitra" translates to "wonderful" and "pleasing to look at," as well as "illusion."

The deity of this nakshatra is Tvastar, the celestial architect who designed the universe. The symbol of Chitra is the "pearl" or "bright jewel," symbolizing beauty and uniqueness.💎💍

"Chitra" also means "picture," so individuals with this nakshatra are often naturally photogenic. 📸Tvastar, as the creator of Maya (illusion), grants those under Chitra the ability to craft captivating personas, making them talented models, photographers, actors, and successful on social media.

Kim Kardashian, Chitra Sun, built a career centered on her image. As one of the first influencers, she's become one of the most prominent and influential figures on social media. In 2015, she released “Selfish”, a book featuring a collection of her selfies.

Cindy Kimberly, Chitra Moon and Shravana Lagna, shot to fame because of her striking beauty. Her big break came when Justin Bieber posted about her on his Instagram. Now, she’s a major beauty influencer and a well-known model.

Anna Nicole Smith, Chitra Sun and Hasta Moon, made a name for herself as a model, completely based on her image. She was once one of the most photographed women in the world, and photographers loved working with her, often saying she was one of the easiest and most exciting people to capture on camera.

The thing with Chitra individuals is that, because of Tvastar, the celestial craftsman, their features often become iconic. For instance, Kim drew the attention to the BBL, Cindy’s nose has become a major inspiration for many women, and Anna Nicole brought attention back to curvy bodies at a time when the "heroin chic" look was in vogue, reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe's era.

3. Dhanishtha🌟 Shakti is "power to give abundance and fame," meaning "the most famous," "the most heard of." This nakshatra is recurring in the charts of people who usually marry famous individuals, making them well-known as well, often attracting more attention than their partner.

Princess Diana, Dhanishtha Moon and Magha Lagnesh, was the most photographed woman in the world, holding the record for the most sold-out paparazzi pictures, including one that sold for 6 million dollars.

Marilyn Monroe, Rohini Sun, Dhanishtha Moon, and Ashlesha Lagna, was also one of the most photographed women of her time.

4. Shatabhisha, meaning "hundred stars" and represented by a veiled star and an empty circle, is a nakshatra ruled by Rahu. ⭕️

This nakshatra is associated with illusion, the power to effect radical change, innovation, the foreign, esoteric influences, and trends. The empty circle can also symbolize the idea of a cult or community, like the Navy for Rihanna.

Rihanna, Shatabhisha Sun, stands out as one of the most influential artists and fashion icons. She has consistently set trends in the fashion world, with her style serving as an inspiration to many. Recently, her maternity looks have redefined how celebrities approach their appearance during pregnancy, bringing a stylish twist to the norm.

Demi Moore, Lagnesh in Shravana and Jupiter in Shatabhisha in the first house, set a trend for nude pregnancy photoshoots. At the time, this was quite controversial, but it has since become a common practice not just among celebrities, but also for non-celebrity women.

Elizabeth Taylor, Sun in Shatabhisha, was also a major target for paparazzi. George Hamilton once remarked:

"I remember when the word 'paparazzi' came along, and it just meant a bunch of guys who were all photographers looking for Elizabeth Taylor. Desperately looking for Elizabeth Taylor! And that was the beginning of paparazzi. They were not going for glamour anymore. They were going for the destruction of glamour."

[adelheidvonschicksal]

Hello! I’d love to read your vision of the LoD boys x MC in high school. (High school to adults, just high school, childhood. Anything!) Alllll the cliches appreciated, haha.

Coming-of-Age HC's with the LADS Guys

pairing: fem!reader x Zayne, fem!reader x Xavier, fem!reader x Rafayel

content: fluff, alternate universe (kinda)

Childhood with Zayne is filled with increasingly hot summers and snowy winters. It’s memories of an extroverted young girl dragging along her much more introverted best friend (well, Caleb’s friend first) to make popsicles under the blaze of the June sun and snowmen in the cold of January. In the same way snow melts with the coming of spring, you chip his shell away, making a friendship that’s stronger than any of your lifetimes.

Those years with Zayne are like a pleasant dream, soft and gentle, like his hand when he wipes away the tears from your cheeks whenever you fall or when he places a band-aid on one of the many injuries prone to an adventurous spirit.

Middle School with Zayne is when you first feel fragility in your friendship. You’re realizing you might be growing in different directions.

Zayne is intelligent, often getting attention for his grades and participating in scholars tournaments while you’re busy with your own hobbies and friends that come with them.

There’s hope your friendship will persevere each time you walk home together, each time he lets you share his umbrella on heavy rainy days, and each day he saves to spend with you.

High school with Zayne is confusing. Growing into adulthood is an exciting and nervous situation for anyone but even more-so when everyone but you seem to realize that you have feelings for your childhood friend.

Your grandma is constantly reminding you how smart and handsome Zayne has become. He’s going to study to be a doctor, you know! Maybe you should ask him to prom?

Caleb complains about how Zayne usually takes your side in arguments and does what you want all the time. He frequently teases you every time you sigh over the older boy. Isn’t getting a crush on your older brother’s friend too obvious?

They’re right though, and it’s awkward. What’s more awkward is the stolen kiss with Zayne in the new car his parents got him when he first got his license. You don’t talk about it even after he goes to college.

Meeting Zayne as an adult is nostalgic yet new as you learn about each other again. The trust you had in each other never truly left.

With each trinket, you realize he’s still the same Zayne, quiet and stern on the outside but with a patient and gentle center. However, his smart mouth still rears its head as frequently as it did back in high school.

You watch out for him more as an adult, because you see that he isn’t actually good at caring for himself despite all his intelligence. You make it so he can rely on you to get through the past days and future ones.

You try new things together. You adapt to how your views of the world differ so you can mold those differences together, creating one shared experience in the life you build with one another.

Childhood with Xavier is innocent. Being born on Philos is like being born in a fantasy book. Your world is sword training and ceremony rehearsals, your feet always chasing after the decorated knights and lightseekers before they board their spaceships. In your mind, the world is as limitless as the starry sky promised just beyond its surface.

Xavier is the same way. He says he likes sword training because it’s the only thing he’s good at. Truthfully, he loves that sword, carries it around with him everywhere like a third arm, and you love training with your new fellow student.

As you get older, things start to change for reasons you don’t really understand. The loss of innocence is slow, dragging out like the death of a star. It starts when silly days sword practicing becomes military drills. Then, Xavier’s ceremony rehearsals become real with each trial he has to overcome. It culminates when you find out that he will probably be betrothed one day against his will, which manifests into doubt that you would ever be on the list for a prince to marry.

Military Academy with Xavier offers a surprising amount of freedom as you discover yourself away from the watchful eyes of the royal family. It’s reintroducing him to your favorite snacks and music and sneaking out of the barracks to watch the stars and anything else he couldn’t do under the iron grip of his family.

There’s also many nights helping him study and focus so he can become the best version of himself because he still has rebellious tendencies after all these years.

These tendencies lead you to covering for him and also him talking you into one too many bad ideas. Ideas that leave you carrying one another home on stumbling legs after too many rounds with random wanderers or rounds with liquor way stronger than you know how to deal with.

It’s okay. You have each other to keep the other safe, so attached at the hip that Jeremiah always wonders where the other one is whenever he catches the two of you apart.

His light shines only for you. If you asked, he would give anything to make sure you’re happy: his time, his freedom, his life.

The jealousy and longing to be with you grates against the cage his title keeps around him whenever he sees someone else who has seen your light and fallen in love with you too. It’s written love letters, never signed, but left in your locker, the ones that smell like forget-me-nots and written in a prose that Xavier hopes you won’t recognize as his when he sees you fawning over the little notes.

Your looming graduation reignites the worries about your relationship. You have to come to terms with your respective role as a knight and Xavier as King. Xavier feels the same way.

Yet this part of your life quickly becomes filled with sweet nothings – promises to run away together, carried on his wishes to be with you for the rest of immortality, all wrapped in the little star charm carried on his sword. It makes you realize your feelings were requited all along.

Adulthood with Xavier fills like achieved dreams and nights you never want to end. It’s basking in the company of one another, adorned with kisses and released longing that couldn’t be given years prior.

It’s becoming more than just his guiding starlight but his entire galaxy, and he shows it with each kiss he gives you.

Childhood with Rafayel feels like you’re dreaming. Mermaids aren’t supposed to exist but there’s one right in front of you.

You learn so many things from him. He loves talking about almost anything from his culture to your culture. He loves art, the sunset, and music.

You bring him lots of things from land that you think he would like, spending long days at the beach trading items with him and showing him human toys. It becomes normal to strike out early every weekend to meet the Lemurian boy again and again.

He braids Lemurian ribbons and clips seashell accessories into your hair. He teaches you Lemurian lullabies and sayings. He often gets in trouble for accidentally gifting you family heirlooms without realizing the weight of said items. He just thought it was pretty. Even if he got in trouble, it was worth it to see you smile.

Your time together eventually develops into trying to think of ideas to explore further from the beach. You train to hold your breath a little longer with hopes of making it further into the sea than last time.

Your first kiss is because of the legend that Lemurian kisses can let one breathe underwater. It wasn’t really a big deal back then. However, the memory of it makes your face hot many years later when you think back on it.

The end of summer marks the slowdown of your free time together. It always ends with a pinky promise to spend your next free day with him.

Your 8th grade year with Rafayel is a collage of photos and videos filled with cawing seagulls, the serenade of his harmonica, and the first time your feet were able to touch the surface of the water. Rafayel always seems to want to show off his new powers as the next God of the Sea.

He’s still a child though, which means he is still insistent to sneak to school with you to see what human classes are like. He still talks too smartly to the other students, and you still have to talk him out of a fight with one of the other boys.

It’s an exhausting day but he seemed to have fun running around town with you, saving the day in the strip of pictures printed out from the photo booth and the memory of his first surface world sunset.

Your later teenage years offer even less time together but each time you visit him feels more meaningful than the last even though you can’t go further than the crackle of a bonfire at the edge of the beach. You’re happy with these late nights though because you love the boy from another world.

No matter how many years pass, he’ll always be the boy who gets shy and makes excuse after excuse to avoid singing for you despite being born a siren. He’s the boy who constantly complains about his classmates being idiots for saying you’re going to steal his blood and make him into oil and how they tease him for being friends with a human. He refuses to tell you that it’s more because of his crush on a human. Despite all that, he has no issue dropping hint after hint about how Lemurians can bond with others by giving one of their scales.

Years later, it still makes a lovely necklace to wear when he finally makes his choice to be on land, with you, his beloved bride.

[neverchecking]

*slams open door*I see requests are open!

May I request something nsfw with one of the chain where reader doesn’t know how to swim?

Reader just randomly brings up one day that she can’t swim and ask the chain for lessons. The chain obviously isn’t gonna give up the opportunity to see her in a swimsuit help their darling

I want to say that the best swimmer amongst the chain would be the one to help her but I’m not sure who that would be?

They don’t want to overwhelm her so they decided on having 1 on 1 lessons with her would be ideal, but they’re all just fighting on who has the better swimming skills/experience

Once someone emerges victorious, whether due to a begrudgingly unanimous decision or reader just going “oh, maybe ____ is the best choice!”, they manage to find a lake separate from the others

While reader enjoys her swimming lessons, no one says the Link giving her the lessons won’t be having wandering hands ;)))

~💚

💚anon!

Last time I told someone I couldn't swim, I did not live them down. I still have not lived it down.

Slight! NSFW So Minors stay away anyway?

You didn't say if you wanted Sage or not, but I added him anyway bc I love him <3

CW: sage is a big of a perv. but c'mon. We knew that.

"C'mon in, Y/N, the waters great!"

Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes-

"I'm okay for now." Your smile was as gentle as it was luminescent. Curving just enough to have the apples of your cheeks warming, but not enough to make your eyes crinkle in that positively adorable way. "Thank you for the offer though."

Re-emerging from the water, Hyrule shook his hair free of water before pushing it back. "Why not, love bug? Don't you wanna cool down?"

Staying out there meant staying out of their reach. Staying out there meant risking yourself in the elements. Staying out there put you at risk, didn't you see that?! You could get heat stroke, or sun burnt, or attacked by a rabid deer who's being chased by a feral bear. There were an unlimited number of possibilities that spelled nothing but disaster for you. And he couldn't handle losing you like that. Not in a million years.

Cherry red dusted your ears as they twitched and lowered, the tips touching your now hunched shoulders. You avoided their gazes, fiddling with the hem of your tunic. Why weren't you looking at them? Why weren't your eyes on them? WHY WEREN'T THEY THE CENTER OF YOUR UNIVERSE IN THE SAME WAY YOU WERE THEIRS?!

You mumbled something, which made their ears twitch only for it be in vein. A few glances around showed no once else had caught that either.

"Mind repeating that, dove?" Sky asked, still on shore with his own tunics half-off.

"I can't...swim." You grumbled, looking a tad more frustrated then before.

Silence.

"Well, why didn't you just say so, sunshine, I'd be thrilled to teach you." Arms wrapped around your mid-section, toned and muscled. Dark ink caught the peripheral of your vision. He all but purred into your ear before sharp canines caught the shell, gently pinching it before releasing.

"Sage-" You startled, arms flying out.

"You learned to swim with Sharks. Why the fuck would we trust you to teach them?" Hyrule snipped, eyes narrowed on their newest member. Hyrule had seen a lot in his time, don't get it twisted, but Sage was something new. A whole different creature. He was feral at best, down right savage at worst; with teeth sharper than some of their knives and a moral compass more broken than any villain he's ever faced off of. So in , what world would he trust that fucking loose canon with the most precious thing in his life?

"Because I still learned in clear waters. Not toxic dumps." Sage snapped back, those same teeth on display

"Knock it off." Time barked at the duo, glaring down Sage for his glare of disobedience before turning to his precious star shine, voice must softer than it previously was. "Have you just not wanted to learn? Or do you not have the opportunity?"

You shuffled a bit in Sage's arms. "I just- My old town was landlocked. Any lakes we had were used for fishing in the summer and frozen in the summer." You admitted. Which is a totally reasonable excuse. And not silly. And totally valid. And learning to swim is stupid and dumb anyway. >:(

The arms wrapped around your waist moved so hands could brush against your hips. Somewhere in the lake, there was a shout from Wind before a loud splash, someone throwing the poor boy deeper down stream.

"Offer still stands, I'd love to teach you, sunshine." Sage purrs, feeling your cheeks burn from where he was nuzzling into them. You hum at the offer, thinking for a second.

"If you don't mind, I think I'll take you up on that offer."

Sage grinned something sharp and malicious, redirecting you away from the others with a look over his shoulder.

"I'll bring 'em back when they've learned to swim. That may take all night however." He chuckled to himself, shaking his head at the glares directed at him.

Maybe one day they'd get to his level.

He doubted it though.

<><><><>

"That's it, sunshine, you're doing great."

"This is dumb-"

"No, you're doing so well. Just like that," His arms were spread beside him as he remained in front of you.

"Sage-"

"Shh, do you not trust me, my love?" Sage's smirk never left his face as he instead swept in closer. His one hand moved from treading water to brush up against your side. "Just like that."

Your blush deepened as he swayed his body effortlessly, laying underneath of you as he brought yours to lay over his.

"I've got you, don't you worry sunshine." His hand raised so his thumb pulled down you bottom lip. "Though, I do feel I've earned some sort of compensation. Maybe a little incentive to keep this lesson going?"

You swallowed.

"I mean...if only to continue the lessons I guess." You swallowed.

His smirk didn't ease your worries, but how could you think when all you could focus on was the blond's lips against yours?

You didn't even realized you were floating effortlessly.

Or the eyes watching your presumable private lesson, fuming in pure, red hot, anger.

[amethystamaranth]

Hidden Gem Haikyuu Fics: 

Hello, as someone who spends wayyy too much time on ao3, here are some hq fics I think are underrated:

Notes: my criteria for being underrated may be different than most, 95% of these are iwaoi because I adore them with my whole heart, I have divided these by mood and ship, and I am also fond of when a fic centers around an image/motif and frames relationship development through that lens 

Introspective, liminal, soulful, pining:  

Dog Days, by devote 

Summary: See, the thing is, Iwaizumi Hajime is not a coward. So when Oikawa Tooru, bane of Iwaizumi Hajime’s existence, had very rudely flung open his bedroom door and proclaimed that he was beating Hajime 859 – 857 at holding his breath underwater, Hajime had tossed his copy of the day’s Sankei Sports on the floor and stood with a challenge in his teeth. 

Summer: a study in coming of age, falling in love, and other existential terrors.

Fingertips, by Moami 

Summary: Tooru has rough hands, pale, longer and thinner than Hajime’s own. He loves touching them more than he’ll ever admit. 

This is Tooru’s real meditation.

reassemble it, by fakepunk 

Summary: When Tooru was six years old, he discovered—unbeknownst to him at the time—two of the most important things in his life: volleyball and Iwaizumi Hajime. It was ironic that he had stumbled upon them hand in hand—quite literally, too.

I'll never feel whole (but you're as close as i'll get), by earthworms 

Summary: The three great truths of the universe: the sun rises in the east, the birds will always come back in the spring, and Tooru loves Iwaizumi in an irreversible, illimitable way.

Salt water, by loveclouds 

Summary: Iwaizumi can only think to run away from their impossible closeness for a while and finds himself employed at a beachside cafe. Of course, Oikawa follows.

Film reel life, by arsenicjay 

Summary: The only person Iwaizumi is lying to is himself, when he insists: I am not in love with Oikawa Tooru. 

My notes: very unique concept of a pov!

Static, by blessings 

Summary: 

Sometimes Hajime wonders if Oikawa sees the same things he does when he looks out over their neighborhood (right now it’s two kids kicking up pebbles on their bikes, lugging backpacks filled with walkie-talkies and water bottles and alien scanners, not sure if they’re heading down to the forest or up to the river but positive that they’ll get there together). Back then he and Oikawa saw the same thing when they looked down the road – a straight shot to another adventure, if they just pedaled fast enough. Sometimes Hajime worries they stopped seeing the same thing a while ago and he never noticed.

Being snowed in with all of Seijou volleyball in his childhood home brings back a lot of memories for Iwaizumi, because it's kinda Oikawa's childhood home too.

Storm Warning by SportsAnimeRuinedMyLife (NoodleFriend) 

Summary: Things change. Hajime wishes that they wouldn't. 

put the bridges back together, by inkterim 

Summary: Then he is reaching, reaching across the distance between them. Across the Pacific, the Caribbean. The Sea of Japan. Hirose River. The puddle of water that would gather on the doorstep of his childhood home on rainy days. Then nothing at all. 

Or: how Hajime and Tooru learn to bridge the distance between them over the years.

All of the above, with a tinge of crack/lightheartedness/whimsy: 

heaven is a place in my head, by thelittlebirdthattoldyou 

Summary: For Iwaizumi, it’s a relief to be able to linger in the cocoon of this intermediate summer, blanketed from the buffeting winds of adulthood and responsibility and real decision making. He would love nothing more than for it to stretch out and out and out, like a bubblegum bubble that spreads itself thin around the air trapped inside it until it pops.But Oikawa has never liked having nothing to do. He gets restless if he’s bored for too long, starts feeling like he’s running out of time or something dumb like that. So Iwaizumi is almost expecting it when Oikawa barges into his room the afternoon of a heavy summer shower, overgrown bangs dripping rainwater into his eyes, a waterlogged piece of paper crumpled in his fist and a familiar hopeful gleam in his eyes.

When Oikawa convinces Iwaizumi to spend their last summer in Japan as camp counselors, Iwaizumi is prepared for bug bites, sunburns, and rowdy children. He’s not prepared to spend two weeks kissing his best friend in what might just be the worst thought-out summer fling in existence.

closure, by thelittlebirdthattoldyou 

Summary: 

"Iwaizumi," Wakatoshi says. "You love him."

Oikawa freezes. “Hm? Don't be stupid, Ushiwaka-chan.”     

“It is not my place to intrude into your personal relationships -“     

“It really isn’t,” Oikawa agrees. 

In his first year of university, Oikawa builds a new friendship and upgrades an old one.  

Or: Ushijima is not a great wingman, but he tries his best.

spit it out, by solyn 

Summary: He’d known for a while that Oikawa was— objectively —attractive, but he hadn’t realised he thought Oikawa was hot. There was a difference between being a horny teenager who finds everyone hot and finding Oikawa hot, Hajime had thought. Maybe it wasn’t so bad. Maybe it was a passing infatuation that Hajime would look back on in ten years time with a laugh and a relieved sigh about a bullet dodged. 

It was not. 

How hard can it possibly be to confess to your best friend?

Count your blessings, it goes 1, 2, 3, me , by loveclouds  

Summary: Enough with Hanamaki teasing him about naturally falling into married life with Iwaizumi in Tokyo--Oikawa already knows it. He's unsettled by the undefined boundaries of their relationship so it's all his luck that he accidentally wins three wishes to be granted just for him, and all that comes to mind is Iwaizumi.

Open doors and plastic stars, by ikeru 

Summary: Loving Oikawa has never been exclusive to Iwaizumi—not when Oikawa is a magnet, an incandescent star that pulls and pulls until you can’t help but watch him, love him. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but his heart breaks all the same.

My notes: twist on hanahaki, adore this premise sm!! 

my heart is where it's always been, by foreverautumn 

Summary: 

 Iwaizumi places his phone down carefully. Oikawa. Pining after someone. There’s no way.  (Iwaizumi knows he shouldn’t care who Oikawa might have feelings for, but within the span of three days, it’s somehow the only thing he can think about.)

Love You Harder, by Markiza

Summary: Hajime didn’t really know in which part of his miserable, filled with longing existence, Oikawa Tooru decided that his main goal in life was to drive him utterly, blatantly, fatally insane. He watched dumbly as Tooru—smirk back on his pretty face—carefully, unhurriedly slid his damp towel from his shoulder, gaze never leaving Hajime’s, and attentively, deliberately glided the towel through his chest, slowly tracing the path up to his neck, titling his head back and exposing the curve of his Adam’s apple. Hajime’s eyes widened; his mouth parted open. Tooru let out a small puff of air at that, his lips curving into a self-satisfied smile.

--Or the one in which Tooru has the suspicion that Hajime likes him and decides to find out exactly how far his feelings go. Hajime suffers in the process.  

Perpetual-Foot-In-Mouth Disease Ft. Iwaizumi Hajime, by roobtheboob  

Summary: 

 When Oikawa confesses to Iwaizumi, it’s safe to say he’s a little shocked. However, he’s more shocked at his own reaction, which is a mortifyingly quick acceptance of his confession.  What’s more shocking is how Iwaizumi can’t find it in himself to tell Oikawa the truth—that he doesn’t have feelings for him.  At least, he hopes that’s the truth.

Fluffy Smut: 

Tungs, by polaroidsandpeachtea: 

Summary: 

Iwaizumi Hajime and Oikawa Tooru's first time  Laughter, a dick joke or two, and so much fluff

Kagehina: 

Jellyfish, by mysterytwin

Summary: 

At the beginning of his last year at Karasuno High School, Hinata Shouyou starts a list and calls it THINGS TO DO BEFORE GRADUATION, all with high hopes that he’ll be able to complete it before his time runs out. 

when you move (I'm moved), by starryskeyess  

Summary: Tobio’s captivated by the man in his arms, gilded in joy and the harsh, bright lights of the gym. Even the healthiest person might look a little sallow beneath those lights, but on Hinata, they’re like sunlight. Golden. Glowing. He should put him down. There’s no reason he should still be holding Hinata like this, flush against his body. Hinata’s laughter trails away into ragged breathing, hot and damp in the air between them. He should put him down. But Tobio can’t make his body move. He tries to relax his hands, wrapped around Hinata’s thighs as they are, but they don’t respond. His arms are equally stubborn. We just got him back, they argue, why would we let him go?

“We did it,” Hinata whispers. His expression is expectant, his gaze steady on Tobio’s face. Dazed, Tobio whispers back, “We did it.” I missed it, his traitorous heart says again. I missed you. 

OR: A few months after the MSBY/Adlers game, Hinata spends a few days at Kageyama's apartment.

Ustiten: 

Rainwater, by miracleboysatori  

Summary: If rain brings Tendou joy, then Ushijima’s happy for him. It’s not something he’ll ever come to personally understand, and he’s certain that he’ll never share the same enthusiasm for water falling from the sky. Rainwater serves a few good purposes, namely helping plants grow and offering moisture to dry land. But Ushijima doesn’t need to be watered. Maybe Tendou does, though that wouldn’t necessarily make sense to Ushijima.

Unsurprising, because not much about Tendou makes sense to Ushijima in the first place. He supposes it doesn’t have to; he appreciates his friendship regardless, but he does wonder sometimes what it must be like to occupy the same headspace as him.

[rebelspykatie]

Soulmate AU Part Four 

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Five

The night of the date, Eddie is pacing beside his front door. Wayne is watching from his armchair with an exasperated look, having already told him to sit down or he was going to wear a hole in the carpet. He jumps when there’s a knock on the door and shoots Wayne a dirty look when he laughs. Before opening it, he grabs the flowers off the counter and takes a deep breath, attempting to settle his nerves.  

When he finally pulls the door open, he’s still wholly unprepared for Steve Harrington to be the one standing on his doorstep, eyes twinkling in the haze of the setting sun, hair perfectly coiffed and yellow sweater sitting snug around his torso. He holds out the flowers before Steve can even say hello. 

There’s a beat of silence where Eddie almost pulls them back, but Steve hesitantly reaches for them, holding them delicately in his hands. “You got me flowers,” he says with a hint of awe.

“My mama used to garden a lot before she died, and I remember sitting with her as she talked for hours about the meaning of all of these different flowers she was planting. I don’t remember all of them because it was so long ago, but I do remember what these mean.” 

It’s never easy talking about his mom, but it’s not as difficult with Steve looking at him like he understands the importance of Eddie divulging something so personal. There’s a hopeful look on his face that reassures Eddie he can trust Steve with every dark corner of his soul. They’re not there yet, but they’re headed in the right direction. 

He looks down at the yellow and white water lilies with a watery smile, “Mama used to always say that water lilies were about rebirth and enlightenment. A lot of cultures tied that back to purity and religion. But mama used to tell stories of nymphs leaving them around those they wanted to protect or claim.”

Steve ducks his head, burying part of his face in the flowers. “Are you the nymph in this scenario?”

“If it means staking my claim, then yes.” A triumphant trill courses through him when Steve blushes. “I know the universe already did that for me, but I wanted to show you I mean it. I want to start over and actually give this a shot.”

“I want that, too.” Steve looks back at his car. “Maybe we can leave these here, though. I don't want them to get ruined sitting in the car.” 

It takes a few minutes to find something to leave them in. The Munson’s aren’t big flower people these days, but soon enough they’re on their way, Wayne shooing them out the door. Steve hasn’t told Eddie where they’re going, but it’s somewhere outside of Hawkins. 

As they exit the city limits, Eddie's nervous chatter has died down a bit. Steve quietly says, “I didn’t think you would be into flowers or any of that romantic shit.” 

“Just because I look mean and scary, doesn’t mean I don’t believe in love. I was just as excited as you were to get my soulmate mark.”

“Why were you so scared to tell me?”

“My own stupidity, I guess.” Eddie shrugs. “Things never worked out long term for any of the Munsons when it comes to soulmates. My mom died young and my dad fucked off after that, not wanting to raise someone that was a living reminder of what he lost. Wayne’s died in Vietnam. I wasn’t hopeful that mine would work out when it was the most popular guy in school’s name on my arm.”

Steve holds out a hand across the center console of the car, wrist up as a reminder of whose name is written there. Eddie slides their hands together.

“I had accepted that my fate was just like all the other Munson’s before me. You were happy with Wheeler and I couldn’t bring myself to get in the way of that.”

“We weren’t happy,” Steve interjects faintly, absentmindedly rubbing a thumb over the back of Eddie’s hand. “I think somehow Nancy knew it wasn’t going to be her name on my wrist. She’s perceptive in a scary way.” What little he knows of Wheeler tells him that’s true. After a beat Steve adds, “Sounds like we both had unrealistic expectations for all of this.”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, squeezing Steve’s hand. “But we’re starting over, no more King Steve or Eddie the freak Munson.”

“Just Eddie and Steve. I like the sound of that.” 

“Me, too.” He’s about to ask where they’re going for the hundredth time, but Steve turns into a parking lot for what looks like a bookstore.

The building is nondescript with just a simple sign out front. Eddie is already bounding through the entrance before Steve’s turned the car off. Inside, there are walls of books, but it’s more than that. One side of the store is what appears to be a hobby shop, with puzzles, model kits of everything from boats to planes, and a whole display case of dice sets and miniatures.

Eddie’s frozen in place, just inside the doorway, bouncing on the balls of his feet excitedly, when he feels Steve come up behind him. “How did you find this place?”

“This kid I babysit plays Dungeons and Dragons, too. He’s the nerdiest little shit. Loves to read. Smartest person I know. He builds all kinds of robots that do stuff. His mom can’t afford to bring him out here all the time, so I started doing it. Let the kid go wild in here and he’s a happy camper. Easiest babysitting job ever.” 

Eddie might climb Steve like a tree right here in the middle of this store for everyone to see. He can’t believe the words Dungeons and Dragons just came out of his mouth.  

“This place is amazing. I’ve been using a secondhand set of dice from Gareth that he got from his cousin. I had no idea this place existed.” 

“You wanna get a new set?” Steve nods towards the display case. “My treat.” 

Eddie almost trips in his hast to sprint across the room and start going through the different sets, Steve’s laughter echoing behind him.

Part Five

[rosewaterandivy]

Epilogue | for once in my life

Summary: Rumor has it, that hometown hero-turned-teacher Steve Harrington is hot for teacher. The English teacher next door to him at Hawkins High, who also happens to be his childhood friend, that is.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x chaotic!dumbass reader

W.C: 5.7k

Warnings: No use of y/n - reader goes by the nickname Trouble instead, yearning, Tuscan summers, a flashback or two, a wedding, and my usual filth™️

A/N: Thanks for bearing with me while I worked on an ending for our two beloved idiots. 🥺 Truthfully, part of me put off writing the epilogue simply because I didn’t want to let Trouble and Steve go— they’re so near and dear to me! But, all good things must come to an end and I hope I’ve given them a fitting one. Thank you all for reading along and sharing your joy with me, it’s been incredible to experience! 💜💜💜

Series masterlist | Series Playlist | trouble will find me (for Trouble, most ardently) | rebel without a clue (for Steve, with love)

previous

The distance was difficult, only mitigated by the positively unreal Tuscan summer. Though the university was in Bologna in the Emilia-Romagna region, since your classes centered on Dante, you along with a few other students, called Florence your home away from home for the summer.

The sun shone bright and hot against the ancient stones of Palazzo Medici Riccardi, and felt good against your back as you lazed in the garden and courtyard on a rare day off from combing through medieval texts in jam-packed libraries and dust motes floating through the air.

Crossing the bustling street you popped into your local gelateria only to be greeted with an exuberant, “Bella!” from Alessandro behind the counter. “Finally you grace us with your presence,” He teases, already scooping out a serving of arancia rossa sorbetto for you into a cup.

“Grazie,” You say with a smile, taking the sorbetto from his outstretched hand. “Had a slow start to the morning is all, Sandro.”

“Certo, I know how it is,” He says with a knowing wink. 

To be fair, the slow start to the day was warranted, given the stress-induced dream you had last night. There you were, minding your own business, thinking about Steve and the voice note he’d left you earlier, and the next thing you know, your brain decided a trip down memory lane was warranted.

“But what do I do about the dress?” Your voice is choked, tongue stumbling over the words. 

It hangs in your closet, mocking you. A pink dust bag with an elegant calligraphy card that lists your former wedding date and ex-fiancé’s last name. Robin’s fingers graze the zipper on the garment bag, fingers slowly settling along the pull. 

“You could try it on?”

She says it as if she wishes she didn’t have to, as if the next time you would put on the wedding dress would be for the alteration appointment which you had already canceled, along with everything else.

Truthfully, the day you found the dress wasn’t at all what you expected it to be. Sure, you’d looked around online and at a few boutiques with Nancy, Robin, your mother, and would-be mother-in-law. Nothing struck your fancy though, each dress you slipped on had something wrong with it— too tight, too loose, too many embellishments, not enough embellishments, too heavy...

It was Steve who suggested the boutique, actually. One of his mother’s friends had a daughter who’d gotten her dress from a place in Indianapolis and said the service and selection were both top-notch. So you went and made a day trip out of it; Eddie and Steve would drop you and the girls off at the boutique and hang out in the city for the day.

Though, they really did try to weasel their way in to the appointment. 

“The fact that you won’t let us join you is misandry.”

“Oh my god,” you laugh. “No, it isn’t, Eds!”

“Okay,” he relents, turning around to face you in the backseat, “Maybe not misandry, but definitely discriminatory. Dudes just wanna have fun!”

Steve laughs, pulling up in front of the boutique, waves to your mother who’s waiting on the sidewalk. “Y’never know,” he teases, “Could need a second opinion in there. Especially once they open the champagne.”

Eddie squawks at that, “You get to try on dresses and drink booze? I’m offended I’ve been left out here.”

Robin opens the backdoor with a roll of her eyes, “No boys allowed, dingus.”

You follow suit, giving Steve a small smile, “Thanks for driving us.” 

His gaze softens, eyes meeting yours, “Happy to help. Now, go find a stunner in there for us, will ya?”

With a shake of your head, you bring yourself back to the moment. Sitting on the floor of your former home, moving boxes and tape littering the floor ready for you to pack up the pieces of your life. You look to Robin again, she’s unzipped the garment bag entirely revealing the bodice and skirt of the gown.

She watches you thoughtfully, “I mean, just to see if you still like it? That way we’ll know if we need to pack it or sell it.”

Sighing, you wipe your damp palms against your thighs and stand up. “Yeah,” you breathe, “Okay.”

Between the two of you, you managed to wrestle into the dress. Robin securing the delicate straps as you adjust the cups and situate yourself. The door creaks open to reveal Nancy, her eyes bright with interest. 

Robin gives up with her attempts to fix the zipper and numerous buttons on the back, steps aside for Nancy to intervene.

“You’re gorgeous, babe,” Robin says, voice soft. “It looks amazing on you! Same as the day we found it.”

“It’s one hell of a dress.” Nancy agrees, the zipper pull sliding home. “No one would say no to you in that.”

Your laugh comes out as a choked thing, wet and raspy. You wipe your eyes in an effort to prevent any tears from falling. But that was the thing, wasn’t it? He didn’t even have to see the dress to know that he no longer wanted you.

“Thanks, guys.”

Feeling brave enough to look at the mirror, you pause in perusal. And sure enough, it’s a stunner. Delicate lace embellished the corseted bodice, waist nipped just enough to amplify the bust. The skirt flowed down in layers of silk and tulle, the lace accenting the frothy peaks and valleys of it. 

Turning, you noticed the low-dip of the back, highlighted by the beginnings of the train. It was a gown meant for a cathedral wedding, a long aisle as you walked toward the altar. A beautiful wedding dress for a wedding that no longer was. 

It was getting difficult to justify keeping it.

“Holy shit,” Eddie says, bursting into the room slack-jawed, “Your tits look great!”

Robin smacks him, “No boys allowed, dingus!”

“Yeah, Eddie, don’t you know what a closed door means?”

He grins, “I think we know by now that, no, I clearly do not.”

Hearing footsteps coming down the hall, you turn to Nancy eyes wide. “Nance, the door–”

She shuts it quickly, keeping a hand on the knob. Robin and Eddie stop their bickering long enough to share a meaningful glance. You fist the full of the skirt in both hands and motion for Robin’s help in getting the dress off.

“Uh.” Steve says, voice muffled through the closed door, “What’s going on in there?”

“Nothing!” You’re quick to respond, trying and failing to keep the panic from your voice, “Just packing up some stuff.”

“Riiiight.” He drawls, “Then do I hear Eddie in there talking about tits?”

“Hey man,” Eddie says in his own defense. “I just wandered in here, I know nothing.”

“And why is the door locked?”

Nance’s eyes go to the doorknob as it jiggles in her hand. “We’re trying to figure out what to do with the dress,” she says in a breathless rush.

If looks could kill, Nancy would have dropped to the floor. You narrow your eyes at her and turn with a huff.

“What dress— t-the wedding dress?”

“Yes, Steve.” Robin sighs. “That’s the one.”

The doorknob swivels again, “C’mon, just open the door guys. Eddie’s seen it and I am officially the only one who hasn’t.”

“No!” You shout.

Everyone stops to look at you, eyes wide. 

“I mean,” you sputter indignantly, stepping out of the dress and throwing on your overly large t-shirt. “S’not a big deal, I’ll probably sell it, anyway.”

Robin and Eddie maneuver it back into the garment bag with a zip just as Nancy steps away from the door, gaze soft taking in your drawn face.

Steve stumbles in soon after to find you, pants-less, the hem on your shirt grazing your bare thighs, furiously taping boxes closed and scribbling in sharpie.

“Nothing to see here!” You say, stumbling into your bike shorts, tugging them back up. “No siree, nothing at all.”

His chest falls slightly, looking from you to the pink garment bag and back again. Robin catches the minute change in his expression before he’s picking up a box and carrying it out into the hall, not a word to be said about the dress.

And all that runs through your mind is a frantic buzz of ‘It’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her wedding dress.’ Never mind that you were no longer a bride and Steve was never your intended groom. Any rational know-how kicked from your thoughts in an echo of your hammering heart.

Why your exhausted brain conjured up that particular episode, you had no idea. The instance was promptly forgotten, the dress stored at your parent’s place, and Steve never brought it up again.

Thank God for that.

Maybe it was because of Nancy and Jonathan’s looming nuptials. He’d popped the question not long after Nance moved in, and it had been full-steam ahead since March. The ceremony was to happen at the end of summer, just as your intensive was wrapping up. 

She’d nearly had a coronary when you’d expressed your doubts about being able to attend.

“I’m not getting married without you Trouble, so sweet-talk those profs into letting you sit your exams early and get the fuck back home.” She sighs down the line, “There’s only so much of moping Steve we can take— Eddie is about ready to strangle him.”

You huff a laugh, “Yeah, I’m surprised he’s held out this long.”

“Yeah, she agrees dryly, "We all know you two'll take any excuse to get Steve in a headlock.”

“I don’t need an excuse,” You scoff. “That punk needs to be put in his place.”

You’d taken up Nance on her no-nonsense advice and your professors had graciously allowed you to submit your final papers early in order to make the wedding. Unfortunately, you’d miss out on a few of the celebrations like the bridal shower, bachelorette party, and rehearsal dinner— your flight would be landing just as the festivities began— but, Nancy and Jonathan had agreed to help you surprise the gang.

For all Robin, Eddie, and Steve knew there was absolutely, positively no way you could get out of your scheduled final exams. It sucked, as Robin rightfully pointed out, that you’d have to miss your best friend’s wedding but they all understood.

Steve was more hangdog about it than ever.

“Thanks Sandro,” You call out, plastic spoon in your mouth as you quickly step out the door, leaving a €5 note on the counter before he could stop you with a, “Your money is no good here, bella!”

Your phone buzzes in your bag, ducking under an awning your scramble through your well-worn tote bag to find it, throwing your sunglasses on in the process.

“Hey Fratty light,” You greet with a smile, spooning another cool helping of blood orange flavored ice into your mouth. “Do any good keg stands lately?”

Steve’s laugh nearly eclipses the warmth of the sun on your skin, a surge of heat building low in your stomach.

“At least I didn’t fall off the keg.”

“That was one time!” You scoff, jogging across the street before an aggressive Vespa can mow you down. Pulling the phone away from your mouth, you give the driver the ombrello gesture and shout, “Vaffanculo!”

He chuckles at your outburst, “Tell ‘em babe!”

“I’ll have you know, I stuck that landing Harrington and, it was quite the crowd-pleaser if I recall.”

“Sure Trouble,” You can nearly hear the eye roll at your expense, “It was the landing and not the fact that you were wearing those panties.”

The fact that he remembered the pair in question has you reeling, you nearly run into a fellow pedestrian in your dazed state.

“Anyway,” You say, cleaning your throat. “What’s on the sad boy agenda for today? Getting into divorced dad rock, any Matchbox-20 or Creed in your future?”

“God, you’re awful, and no, thanks very much.” 

You hear a door slam and a car engine turn over. Someone muttering about Steve’s ‘utter lack of taste’ in music— Eddie, without a doubt.

He sighs down the line, pulling on your heartstrings because you miss them all so damn much, but Steve most of all.

“Just helping with some wedding stuff.” His voice is softer, sadder knowing you won’t be there to celebrate with them. “Boring shit, you know.”

You hum in agreement, “Well I’ll let you get to it. Don’t let Eddie flirt with too many bridesmaids!”

“You got it, chief,” Steve says, “Take care of yourself babe.”

“You too, big boy.” A huff of laughter at hearing his scoff, “Byyyeeee.”

And maybe it happens like Nance said it would, things just fall into place when they’re meant to.

After a flight from hell— a toddler would not, for love or money, stop kicking the back of your seat on the evening flight from Milan to Berlin, and you were stuck in the backmost row from Berlin to Indianapolis on the red-eye. It was a miracle you rolled up to your parents' house in one piece. You’d arrive at the venue to get ready with the rest of the bridal party where you’d hopefully be able to keep Robin sworn to secrecy.

You weren’t above putting her into a headlock, if it came down to it.

Dress, shoes, and make-up bag hastily thrown in your mom’s car, you drove to the venue just outside of Hawkins. A lovely little outdoor property owned by a local family, groves of trees and the finest collection of wildflowers you’d ever seen— fitting for Nancy and Jonathan.

You arrive in a slightly mussed frenzy, arms weighed down with your bridesmaid dress and a weekend bag that did fuck-all to protect you from the sudden onslaught of summer rain. Cursing the permeability of Indiana summers, you walk swiftly toward the bridal cottage.

The squelch of your shoes and drops of rain accompany you across the tiled path. Breathe. A steady inhale pulls the comforting scent of petrichor to your lungs, tucked safely behind the cage of your ribs. A shift in the light, a cloud makes way for the sun to shine once more; you scramble for the club masters perched on your head, impossibly tangled (of course) in a damp nest of hair. 

Pried free, you rest the glasses against your nose bridge and stroll to the door. Before you can wrestle a hand free to knock, the door swings open to reveal a tipsy Vickie and bemused Nancy. A smirk settles on your lips as the two shuffle you into the cottage, tutting at the state of your hair and general tardiness.

“It is a wedding y’know,” Vickie teases grabbing the canvas bag from you. “Could make an effort to be on time.” She drops a wink your way before absconding toward the vanity table to deliver your belongings elsewhere.

Nancy huffs and rolls her eyes, taking the dresses from your arm. “Ignore her,” she soothes, “Seems the title of temporary co-M.O.H. has gone straight to her head.” She shoves a flute of champagne into your empty hand and leads you inside. “But you’re here, so the title can rightfully fall to you.”

“And how is the blushing bride?” You smile, taking in her cool, calm demeanor.

She’s notoriously hard to ruffle, so you’re not surprised to find Nancy the same as ever, albeit a tad buzzed from the champagne.

“Fuck a duck!” Robin shouts, colliding with part of the doorway as she takes the corner to quickly in her haste to get to you, having heard your voice from down the hall. She trips falling into you in a quasi-hug that’s mostly all elbows jabbed into your ribs. 

“Walk with dignity, you overgrown toddler,” You laugh sipping some champagne, wrapping your arm around her in a proper hug. She buries her face into your neck with a smile. “And before you even ask, no you cannot, under any circumstance, tell your emotional support Steve about this.”

You feel her frown before she pulls back from you, “I can keep a secret y’know.”

“I don’t doubt it Bucks, just wanna surprise him is all.”

“He has no idea? Oh shit, this is gonna be good.” She says with a cackle before trotting off to help Vickie with her dress.

“Alright Wheels,” You announce polishing off your flute of champagne, “Let me at it, where’s the hairspray?”

After furious coating of L’Oreal’s finest to her hair after you’d secured a few flowers in place, you cough in a haze of hairspray and sagely advise, “That’s good for three slow dances, two fast ones, and one Lambada…” You warn, capping the canister to set it aside. “But if you wanna mosh, I’d suggest another coat.”

Nancy laughs at the suggestion, “I think we’re good.” She checks your handiwork in the mirror with a smile, “Can I ask you something Trouble?”

“Shoot.”

She turns to face you and lowers her voice to a whisper while the other bridesmaids are busy with false eyelashes and zipping up dresses. “Have you given any thought to what I said back in May?”

Ah, that conversation. The one where she (lovingly) warned you off of Steve if you weren’t certain about your feelings for him. Your big, overwhelming feelings. As if you could forget them, even thousands of miles away.

“You know,” You begin, voice pitched to meet hers, “I had a bit of time to think over the summer, no distractions, just me and the Tuscan sun.” 

She stands to slip into her dress and you follow to assist— it’s a beautiful number, all minimal sleek lines and fitted to her like a glove. Nancy is gorgeous, but Nancy on her wedding day is otherworldly. She dutifully turns for you to button up the back and arrange the train for photos.

“And?”

Your eyes meet in the mirror, hers curious but not prying, yours wide, reeling from it all— the pro/con lists, numerous conversations with your mom, Eddie, and Nance, the letters, emails, voice notes, calls and texts from Steve. Somehow, some way they all amounted to this:

“You remember my twenty-first birthday?”

“How could I forget,” She chuckles knowingly, “Spin the bottle, right?”

A nod, you busy yourself smoothing out the few lines in the silhouette of the dress. “And a bit of liquid courage.”

There is no good reason why the eight of you should be doing this. Back at the loft after a night of carousing and bar-hopping, imbibed enough complimentary birthday drinks that spin the bottle seemed like a good idea. Even if the bottle in question is some ridiculously expensive high-roller shit swiped from Mr. Harrington’s study.

You’re warm, leaning on Eddie’s shoulder and whispering in his ear— goading him about kissing someone. Steve hopes it’s not you.

The glass mouth of the bottle spins to a stop in front of Jonathan who groans loudly before clambering over the whoops and hollers.

“Lay it on ‘im Munson!”

You tip backwards and shriek in glee when their lips touch. Eddie returns to your side with a roll of his eyes, pokes your knee with his finger. “Pucker up, buttercup. You’re next.”

Argyle cracks his knuckles, taps his chin thoughtfully, “Alright chica.” He says, “Hope you get Nance or Vic. Make it nice and steamy up in here.”

Steve hopes it’s him and not Nancy, selfishly. The rest of them be damned, if the bottle lands on him he’s going to frog-leap over Eddie, shove him to the side and kiss you good. If it lands on anyone else, he may get arrested for murder tonight.

There’s really no excuse for it— the longing. Best friends since childhood who drifted apart because, as always, he was a dumbass. Kissed you all of one time after the Homecoming dance freshman year and that was barely a peck.

The bottle lands on Vickie.

Slightly tipsy and putting on a show, you bite your bottom lip and lean in, slanting your mouth over hers with a soft sigh. The sound sinks into Steve’s gut and he groans in agony— jealous you’d rather kiss his ex or the redhead rather than him. Nevermind that the bottle was nowhere near landing on him.

“Keep it PG, ladies!” Robin calls, “This is taking way too long!”

“Bucks, shut up. I’m trying to take a video.” Nancy slaps the phone from Eddie’s hand.

Having had enough of it all, Steve stands. “Not that this isn’t how I want to spend my night…” he mumbles, hands patting his thighs. “But I’m peacing out.”

You look up, distracted, and bottom lip a little wet from Vickie, eyes hazy from the long night of celebrating, and quirk your head. “You leavin’, Stevie? Wan’ me to walk you?”

“What— like he’s gonna get lost from here to his room?”

Steve is going to get arrested tonight for murdering Eddie. Tries to keep his cool, regardless.

“S’okay birthday girl, I’ll be fine. You have fun.”

You hop up anyway, a bit blundering in your step, and grab his hand to yank him forward. “C’mon… I gotcha.” Fortified with liquor, you tug him along, turning a corner and chattering about how as much as you appreciate that expensive whiskey, you’d rather have a beer. There’s nothing better than some pretzels, beer, and a movie.

“Oh, uh, s-sorry.” Your hand loosens before you pull it away, self-consciously.

“For what?”

“I know we haven’t been, like, close for a while now. I didn’t mean to grab you like that.”

Oh. The realization dawns on him now, like a crash of lightning— you think he’s guarded… but he’s only been reserved for your sake.

He calls your name, followed by a murmured, “C’mere for a second.”

You lean against his bedroom door, dazed but curious. Steve steps forward until you’re nearly chest to chest, back against the wood. Your mouth opens with a nearly inaudible gasp, but he can see your pulse kick up in your throat. “Yeah?”

"You remember our first kiss?" He waits for you to nod before continuing. "I think I owe you a do-over."

Confusion flits across your face, a solitary brow quirked up in interest. "You wanna mulligan my first kiss, like... seven years after the fact?"

He ducks his chin in embarrassment, skin flushing with heat. "Yeah, I mean, if you're open to it?" He scratches the back of his neck and mumbles, "I just think you deserve better."

You bite your lip in thought, and Steve wants nothing more than to shrivel up and die— but then, you nod, and before he can think better of it, he takes his chance.

Purposefully, Steve tilts your face up fingers, trailing along your chin and jaw, thumbing the full of your bottom lip. You can hear your heart pounding in your ears, all whooshes and erratic beats, almost enough to drown out the words that fall from his lips.

And then, the perfect genius that is Steve Harrington leans down to close the distance between you. Satisfied that your face is tilted just so, his hand sweeps back your hair to cradle your head as his lips descend to yours. 

He kisses you like he’s got all the time in world— like it isn’t past three in the morning and you’re about a minute from slipping under. He kisses lazy, slow, and sublime. Presses you closer to him, an arm winding around your waist to pull you from the wall. More, kissing—tongues and lips and teeth— more of that touch you’ve only dreamed about and you want to kick yourself for missing it, for even daring to fantasize when the real thing is so much more.

Your palms are on his chest, pawing at him for leverage, struggling to refrain from bucking your hips up into him like you so desperately want to do. Steve pulls back with a contented sigh, and you’re surprised there isn’t a string of saliva strung between the pair of your for all the swapping spit that just occurred. There’s nothing but you and him. His gaze, so tentative and sweet, meets yours briefly as he stands back hands shoved quickly into his pockets.

“I meant something like that.”

Your mouth tugs at a corner, as if you could laugh or cry. Or smile. 

Steve lets out a breathy chuckle, brandishes a small, hopeful smile, and runs a hand through his hair. 

You nod. And it’s enough.

“I–I think I’ve known for a while.” You admit sheepishly, looking for any last-minute adjustments that need to be made before the precessional. One hand grasping her train, you follow Nancy toward the door. Taking a shaky breath in, you say, "Guess some part of me has been in love with him since I fell off the fence and into his backyard that first summer."

She stops short and turns back to you elated because she knows the story all too well. Steve doesn't get drunk enough to talk about it often–- the man has a wooden leg, hand to god. But once in a blue moon, it'll happen: how the new neighbor's daughter nearly busted her ass sneaking back home way after her curfew, too buzzed on shitty wine coolers and reeking of weed to realize that she'd fallen on the wrong side of the fence.

Hastily, Robin thrusts a bouquet of flowers into Nancy’s hand. Just before the band starts up, Nancy gives your hand a squeeze and advises, “Sometimes what’s meant for you comes back, Trouble. Don’t let it slip by, okay?”

Steve is just looking to survive the day, he’ll be grateful to get through, honestly. 

He was beyond bummed you couldn’t be there for Nance’s wedding and that he’d be sitting with her cousin instead— she’d talked his ear off during the rehearsal dinner last night about her current rewatch of Sex and The City. He’d never been so relieved to be pulled into bridal party duties by Eddie than he was that night.

And, to top it off, you weren’t answering your phone. Logically, he knew you’d be in exams for most of the day but you normally sent him a text or voice note once you woke up or before you made it to class for the day. 

He’s pathetic. Eddie forced him to leave his phone in the groom’s suite and now he feels phantom vibrations from something that isn’t even in his pocket. Heaving a sigh, he lines up ready to escort Vickie and mentally preparing himself for a detailed recounting of the havoc that Samantha’s absence has caused the SATC franchise from the Wheeler cousin.

“You know,” A lazy, familiar voice drawls to his right, “If I was a riptide, I wouldn’t take you out.” An arm loops through his, comfortable and intimate. 

But no— it couldn’t possibly be…

“Hey, Harrington.” You say, quietly, knocking your hips to his, casually holding a bouquet in your hand, all easy smiles and warm touches. When Steve finally does turn, he blinks a few times to confirm that you're not some hallucination.

Because you’re here, impossibly, you’re home, and everything is finally right in the world.

You reach over to straighten his tie, the alexandrite ring gleaming on your right hand and catching the light.

“How did you—” He stammers, bereft of language.

But then there’s that smirk he adores. “Some of us are stealthy, y’know. Like a ninja.”

“Oh, fuck me right in the mouth.” He laughs loud and bright, a few people turn back in their chairs to look.

You sputter briefly as the precessional begins, hand lighting on his arm with a gentle squeeze. “Uh, that can certainly be arranged, Harrington.”

In that moment he knew, with a certain sense of finality, that he had no choice but to love you; all his love and, if he’s being honest, fear, reflected there in your eyes.

The ceremony is beautiful, of course, and the reception is now in full swing. The new Mr. and Mrs. Byers shared an adorable first dance to “At Last” by Ella Fitzgerald, which nearly had you tearing up before Steve twirled you out onto the dancefloor. 

“Hey, good lookin’,” He says with a smile so sweet, it almost makes you weak in the knees. 

It’s a slow song, something to get the couples up and out of their seats. Over his shoulder you spy Robin and Vickie making goony eyes at eachother while Eddie and Argyle stumble around both trying to lead the other— idiots.

“Hi, Steve.” You reply, eyes making their way back to him. “Y’know, they say you should never trust a man who can dance.”

“And why’s that, honey?”

You shrug, “Dunno. Apparently they’re all heartbreakers or something.”

Steve, thanks to his mother’s needling and his father’s need to keep up appearances, could dance. He’d escorted many a debutante, including yourself, during Cotillion. You can still hear Savannah’s nasally “Did you know that five out of six debs marry their escorts?”

But, then again, she was also drinking from the fun flask at the ripe age of sixteen. So, do with that what you will.

He spins you easily, like it’s nothing, and before you know it you’re back in his arms. His brow is furrowed in thought, but what he could possibly be thinking you hadn’t a clue. So you continue to follow his lead across the dance floor and silently thank Mrs. Harrington for forcing you and Steve into those dance classes way back when, even if he stepped on your toes and you retaliated with an accidental elbow to his ribs— knock-kneed teens the pair of you.

So much has changed since then.

The music pauses, as someone announces that the bride will toss the bouquet. You go to find the bar, but Steve promises he’ll come back with a drink for you instead and then Eddie is hustling you toward the crowd of “single ladies.”

“Eds, no.” You attempt to swat him away, but he’s having none of it. 

“Far as I know, you and Harrington are fuck buddies. No declarations,” His eyes fall to your left hand, “No ring. Beyoncé would insist, sugar.”

You’ve always had a sixth sense about things. When you were younger, your family and friends often thought it was an ability— but in truth, it’s just a mixture of careful perception, logical thinking, and educated guessing.

But not even your sixth sense could explain how you’d ended up catching the bouquet. Especially with a vodka and tonic in one hand and standing at the rear of the gaggle of gals gathered for the event. Didn’t even want to take part, far more interested in finding the coat check room and seeing how long it would take Steve to blow his load once you finally got your mouth on him.

So it’s a surprise, either luck or Nance’s killer aim, when her bouquet lands in your hand, the ribbon wrapped stems falling neatly into your palm just as you turn to shout something at Eddie behind you. Catching Steve’s knowing smirk and hearing Eddie’s piercing wolf-whistle, you give him an exaggerated wink before tossing back your drink. 

It’s not long after that, a few more spins around the dance floor, some cake, and more liquor, tasteful toasts from you and Argyle, fond farewells to the newlyweds and bags thrown into cars for a quick getaway, that Steve tosses you— bouquet in hand, over his shoulder and dips out of there. Ignoring Eddie’s teasing of Irish exits and Irish twins, he sets you on your feet again to lean you against the car and kisses you positively stupid. 

But it’s not a surprise when Steve finally asks you the question he’s been dying to for nearly the entire summer on the drive home, Nancy’s bouquet resting against the dash as you toe off your heels.

“Hey mind-reader, how long did it take?”

“Hmm?” Pleasantly sleepy from jet lag, your mind struggles to spark a fuse of comprehension. Steve raises a solitary brow in interest. 

"Whaddya mean?" You mumble out between stifled yawns.

His hand rests on your leg while he drives, big and warm, his fingers fiddling with the fabric of your dress. Steve, bless him, won't press you on it, but he also wouldn't have asked something so casually for no reason. He's crafty like a fox when he wants to be.

You take a breath and let yourself really think about it. If you’re taking the question seriously, which you damn well should, he deserves an explanation. Hesitantly, you remind Steve of the near fiasco with the wedding dress back at your old place. He nods at your rambling, how guilty and scared you felt at shutting him out. 

“So, yeah, between the moving-in playlist and me being bat-shit terrified of you seeing me in a wedding dress,” You summarize, fingers finding their way to his once more. The warm glow of the streetlights cast shafts of light through the windows. “You’re about as subtle as a brick through a window, Steve Harrington," You conclude with a smirk.

His eyes widen in realization, “Oh, so that’s what you were apologizing for before left for Joshua Tree.” An annoyed sigh before a sharp inhale takes its place. “You’re so stupid.”  

Back at the loft, fumbling hands in elevators lips spit slick and ruddied, Steve bats away your grabby hands with an exasperated huff as they light upon his chest. Nearly dropping his keys when they find a better way to occupy themselves.

Once inside, he presses his face into your neck, kissing hungrily, anywhere he can, down to your collarbones and chest and then he’s lifting you up by the thighs, kicking the door close, and instinctively pulling everything off.

He peels his shirt off and throws it onto the floor while you shimmy out of your dress. His mouth hasn’t left yours for anything other than to breathe.

His hands stop at the curve of your hips. The room is spinning— the entire world moving too fast in a feverish haze. Years of close-quartered friendship and the first intimate touches in months have jumped right into the deep end. You don’t even know when the two of you made way back into his room, but the door clicks shut with a kick from his foot.

“Hey, mind-reader, I got two questions for you,” Steve calls teasingly. “First, how big did you think I was, y'know before? When you accused me of, how did you put it... harboring a fugitive?”

Your brain briefly short-circuits at that, mildly embarrassed. He laughs at your slow, owlish blinks while you formulate a response other than, "Well, I, uh..."

"Okay, okay," He drops a kiss to your brow, soothing your worries away, “Second…”

You gulp. Your legs feel like jelly— all the smart words in the entire world wiped completely from existence. The pause he takes is punishingly long and the grin he gives you nearly makes you faint.  

His pants are shucked somewhere near the bedroom door. One of your hands goes into his hair, other guiding him between your legs where you smear all over his fingers.

"S'been a while, do you think you can take it?”

“Oh,” A smirk quirks your lips, hand scrabbling for purchase on his tanned skin, “I think you know I can.”

Later, after frenzied forays in tangled sheets and revelling in the afterglow, you place your hand over his chest, selfishly counting his heartbeats.

You breathe, soft and sweet, “Steve,” the sound of your voice a warm balm in the inky dark. “Steve,” You say again and kiss his neck, turning toward you on the rumpled bed he kisses you, as if he could ever get enough. 

“I love you.”

He pulls back, just enough so that you wrap your leg around his hips, sheet slipping off as his fingers trail up your thigh. Grazing the tip of his nose ever so lightly against your temple, you feel the rumble of laughter through his chest as it heaves against yours. 

Rolls you onto your back, legs falling open to cradle his hips while he holds himself above you, hair falling into his face, “Took you long enough,” he grins, kissing you again. Your cheeks, your jaw, your chin. “I love you too, honey.”

His love is heavy and you delight in the gravity of it as he slips his way back inside, your hands pulling him closer than anyone can ever or will ever get again. It feels fated— the way your body moves and his responds in kind.

Steve only keens your name in reply.

Spun clear out of your body in the haze, pure joy erupts from your mouth, hands scrambling for him, so woozy and giddy you can’t help it. 

So this is love, after all. 

Finis.

[leqclerc]

Outside the window, the world is dark, with only the occasional twinkle of a distant city or a star breaking through the velvety blackness. ↳ Charles and Bean and five birthdays over fourteen years Bean AU Words: 2527 *

She’s tiny, so small that she doesn’t even fully fill the cradle of his arms. 

Charles takes in his baby’s little button of a nose, the perfect seashell of an ear, the sweep of her delicate eyelashes, her rosy cheeks. He’s pretty sure she weighs less than the trophies he’s held aloft on the podium. 

One of the baby’s fists escapes the soft cocoon of her blanket. There’s a thin plastic band adorning her wrist that reads Baby Girl Leclerc.

He touches a finger to the ridge of her knuckles, feather-light. The loop of her hand closes around it with surprising tenacity. 

She’s awake and alert, looking up at him with the same intensity with which he’s gazing down at her, his wonderment reflected back at him in her big, slow-blinking eyes. Logically, he knows that he’s little more than a hazy image swimming across her blurry vision, but it still feels a lot like I know you. I remember you.

Of course she does—for months her entire world had been narrowed down to just him, and the timbre of his voice, and the warm steady beating of his heart and the oxygen they both shared. He’s everything she’s ever known; the first person she’s ever met.

It’s an all-consuming, dizzying thought. He hopes he doesn’t disappoint her. He’s not perfect, but he can be better. They did okay, so far, didn’t they, to get to this point.

“Béatrice,” he murmurs. “Chérie.”

one

Charles flies out of Amsterdam on Sunday evening. On the jet, he takes stock: the race was—okay. It could’ve been better, but mostly, it could’ve been worse. 

He’d ended up on the podium, at least, but he’s under no illusion that this will have any bearing on his championship hopes—those fizzled out before they ever had a chance to be fully-formed, the garage already resigned to another year of next year.

Bean’s already asleep by the time he arrives at the apartment to relieve Pascale of her babysitting duties. He leaves his bags in the hallway and goes to check on her, like he always does. 

She had been asleep long enough now that she had starfished over half the crib. The glow-in-the-dark stars—a staple of his own childhood—form a galaxy overhead, with her at the heart of this makeshift universe. She looks so soft in sleep. He wonders what she’s dreaming about.

✿

The morning sun filters softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the nursery. He allows Bean to wake up at her own pace, then guides her through her morning routine as usual. 

“Happy birthday, mon petit chou,” Charles says softly after she’s changed and dressed and ready to start her day. He lifts her high above his head, kissing both of her cheeks as she laughs, before settling her on his hip. Though unaware of the significance of today’s date, she easily picks up on the mood, her excitement mirroring his. 

There’s a celebratory cupcake waiting for her on the coffee table in the living room, a single candle perched in the center. Charles carries her over, leaning in so she can get a closer look. He watches as she stares at the candle with wide eyes, mesmerized by the flickering flame.

“Are you ready to make a wish?” He gently takes her small hand in his, helping her to understand what they’re about to do.

They successfully blow out the candle, the flame reduced to a tendril of gray smoke. Well—it’s mostly Charles doing the work as Bean lets out an amusing little puff of air in an attempt to mimic him. Still, he claps for her to show her she did well in an encouraging, positive affirmation kind of way. She giggles, clearly pleased with herself, and Charles can’t help but laugh along with her.

six

The Vista jet cruises smoothly through the night sky, the soft hum of the engines providing a gentle, rhythmic backdrop to the otherwise quiet, dimly-lit cabin. Charles sits in one of the plush leather seats, the glow from a single overhead light casting a warm, faint circle around him. Outside the window, the world is dark, with only the occasional twinkle of a distant city or a star breaking through the velvety blackness.

Bean’s curled up on the seat across from him, sleeping off another busy, excitement-filled day in the paddock. The blanket he draped over her has shifted, so he leans over and carefully tucks it back around her, making sure she’s comfortable.

As Charles sits back, he glances at his watch, noticing the time. It’s just past midnight, marking the official start of Bean’s birthday in their timezone. A soft smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he realizes it’s already her day, and here she is, sleeping soundly, completely unaware. 

There’s a perceptible shift in the weight of Bean’s body when she falls asleep—even now, when she sometimes dozes off in his arms and he has to carry her to the car, her limbs going loose like she’s giving her whole self over to Charles. It’s an achingly artless kind of trust.

Tonight, in the quiet cocoon of the jet, it feels as if time has blessedly slowed down, just for a moment. He reaches over and gently brushes a curl from her forehead, careful not to wake her. The soft rise and fall of her breathing is steady and soothing.

In just a few hours, they will land in Nice, where the city lights will greet them as they descend toward the coast. They’ll celebrate her birthday properly then, with cake, presents, and all the things she loves. But for now, Charles is content to sit here in the calm of the night, watching over her.

eleven

Charles retreats to his driver’s room after the Sunday morning strategy meeting, glad for the respite, a moment away from the bustle of the race weekend. He glances at his phone again, his thoughts drifting to his daughter.

It’s her birthday today, and for the first time, they aren’t spending it together. Instead, Bean is miles away at a karting circuit in the south of France, competing in one of the biggest races of her blossoming junior career.

His heart tugs as he imagines her, blonde curls wild under her helmet, focused and determined, not unlike him. He knows this is exactly where she wants to be, doing what she loves, but it doesn’t make the time apart any easier. He’s always been there for her birthdays. Not being there today feels strange.

Charles sighs and taps his phone, pulling up FaceTime. He waits a moment, hoping she’s not on track or too caught up in pre-race nerves.

A few rings later, Bean’s face appears on the screen. She’s sitting in the paddock of the karting circuit, green eyes bright with excitement, cheeks flushed from the heat of the day. The sight of her, even through the phone, makes Charles smile.

“Happy birthday, ma puce!” he says, voice warm.

“Thanks, papa!” Bean grins, her usual exuberance shining through. “Ready for the race?”

Charles chuckles. “Always. But today’s not about me, it is about you. How are you feeling? Nervous?”

“A little,” she admits, pushing a stray curl behind her ear. “It’s a big race, and... I kind of wish you were here.”

His chest tightens at her words. He hates being apart on days like this, but he knows how much karting means to her, and this is an important milestone in her young racing career. “I know, Bean. I wish I could be there too. I’d give anything to watch you race today.”

She smiles softly, though he can see a touch of sadness behind it. “It’s okay. I get it. You’re doing your thing, and I’m doing mine. I mean, it’s kind of cool we’re both racing on my birthday, right?”

“It might be a sign,” he says. “Two Leclercs racing on the same day—it’s got to be good luck.”

Bean laughs, her mood lifting. “I hope so. I’m going for the win today.”

“I am sure you’ll do great,” Charles reassures her. “You’ve worked so hard for this. Just trust yourself and enjoy it, okay?”

She nods, her confidence slowly returning. “Yeah, I will. And you? You better win your race too. It’ll be like an extra birthday present.”

Charles chuckles. “No pressure, huh?”

A brief pause follows. He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry I’m not there, Bean. I wish I could’ve made it work. But I’m proud of you for everything you’re doing. Always.”

“I know, papa,” she says softly. 

A beat, and then: “I miss you.” There’s a startlingly vulnerable expression on her face, eyes big and guileless. “But I’m okay.”

He smiles, feeling a swell of emotion. “That’s my girl.”

Suddenly, someone in the background calls her name, probably one of her karting team members. She looks over her shoulder, then back at Charles. “I have to go now, I think. I’ll call you after the race?”

“Of course. I want to hear all about it,” he says. “Good luck, chérie.”

“Thanks, papa. You too.” 

Charles stares at the screen for a long, lonely moment after the call ends, feeling a mess of conflicting emotions.

fourteen

The lights at the hotel’s two-Michelin-starred restaurant have been dimmed for the dinner service. A gentle murmur of conversation floats through the air. 

Béatrice’s gaze drifts to the name card that sits beside a bouquet of fresh water lilies—its elegant lettering marking her place at one of those reservation only tables—and then beyond it, at the expansive windows that afford sweeping views of the impeccably manicured hotel gardens, bathed in the moonlight. She longs to excuse herself, to step outside and drink in the night air, but forces herself to stay seated as the first course arrives: a delicate plate of lobster carpaccio, thin slices of tender meat arranged artfully with microgreens, lemon zest, and a drizzle of olive oil. It’s one of those dining experiences where the dish is dwarfed by the size of the plate it’s served on. 

The meal is rich and flavourful, as expected, but her sour mood has sapped her appetite. She takes a few bites, then resorts to subtly pushing her food around the plate as her eyes drift to Charles.

He’s sitting next to her, but his attention is elsewhere. She watches as he makes polite, uninspired conversation with sponsors, wearing a practiced smile as he nods along to some business magnate’s stock market analysis. She doesn’t recognize the man, vaguely wonders if she should. He’s like everybody else here, just another face in the sea of well-dressed guests that surrounds them—models, executives, and industry moguls mingling easily, all gathered for Giorgio Armani’s exclusive event. Everyone seems so absorbed in their glamorous world—except her.

The second course is a perfectly cooked filet of beef, topped with shaved truffle and paired with a side of buttered potatoes and seasonal vegetables that looks like it came straight from a painting. It melts in her mouth, but it still doesn’t feel right. She shifts in her seat. The straps of her Chanel ballet flats bite into her ankles. 

She understands—these events are important for his career. It’s just. It’s not how she imagined spending her birthday. 

Dessert is an intricate chocolate mille-feuille with layers so fine and precise they look almost too perfect to eat. It’s accompanied by a tiny scoop of Tahitian vanilla gelato—and she has to admit, it’s delicious. But the grandeur of it all only makes her long for home that bit more.

As Charles leans in to chat with one of the executives seated beside them, Béatrice glances at her father. He looks handsome, as he always does in formal attire—crisp white shirt and tailored black Armani suit, the smoky, earthy notes of Tom Ford’s Oud Wood lingering long after the conversation has ended. But she can see the faint tension in his smile, the subtle weariness in his eyes. He’s working, even now, appeasing sponsors with casual banter and posing for photos whenever someone approaches their table. He makes the politesse look effortless, but she knows better. This isn’t how he wants to spend the evening either.

She sighs softly, glancing down at her watch. It’s well past 10 p.m., and they’re still at the table, with no sign of the event winding down anytime soon. She twirls a strand of her curly blonde hair absentmindedly, her eyes wandering the room, taking in the unfamiliar faces. 

Charles, catching her fidgeting out of the corner of his eye, places a gentle hand on her arm. “Okay, Bean?” he asks quietly, his voice soft with concern.

She nods but can’t hide the weariness in her expression. “I’m fine,” she says, though the truth bleeds through her words. 

Charles frowns, guilt creasing his brow. “I know this isn’t how you wanted to spend your birthday, mon cœur. I’ll make it up to you, I promise,” he says, squeezing her hand gently.

Béatrice offers him a small, understanding smile. “It’s okay, papa.”

He nods, his heart heavy as he glances at the surrounding tables. The guests are still engrossed in their own conversations. With a deep breath, Charles makes up his mind. They’ve done their duty, fulfilled their obligation. Now it’s time to leave.

“Let’s go,” he whispers, standing up and excusing himself from the table with polite nods to the sponsors.

Her eyes light up with relief as she grabs her small handbag and follows him out of the restaurant, the cool night air hitting her face and easing the tension she hadn’t realized had built up in her shoulders. A sleek, black chauffeured Mercedes waits at the hotel entrance, the driver opening the door for them as they slide into the back seat. Charles gives her a tired smile as the car pulls away from the hotel, heading towards the airport.

She leans her head against the window as they speed through the quiet streets of Milan, watching the city lights blur past. By the time they arrive at the airport, the weight of the evening has caught up to both of them. The private jet is waiting on the tarmac, ready to whisk them away. 

She claims the familiar window seat, and he settles into the seat beside her, leaning back and watching as she makes herself comfortable, curling up and resting her head on his lap, like she used to when she was small. He cards a soft hand through her hair as they lift off into the night sky.

✿

Charles surprises her with a silk Hermès Équateur scarf, the one with the vibrant jungle print. He smiles, watching her trace the shape of each animal with something akin to reverence. And then Sebastian’s just unbearably old school about it, gifting her a curated CD mix of songs he thinks she might enjoy. 

They sit on a bench overlooking the Limmat, eating a selection of pastries from a local café—schnecken, with cinnamon and hazelnuts, nussgipfel, and warm, buttery croissants. The water is calm. The pastries melt in their mouths. Béatrice leans against Charles, resting her head on his shoulder, content in the moment. Sebastian sits beside them, stretching out his legs and tilting his face up towards the sun.

[theconstitutionisgayculture]

For a long time I wondered why African or Native American inspired fantasy don't become a huge success in the literary world. Now I discovered. It's all woke. Allow me to elaborate.

I’m from Panama and I’ve been an American citizen for three blessed years. One of my coworkers suggested me a book, Black Sun, inspired by Pre-Columbian cultures. Seems cool, yeah? Right in the beginning we are presented with a worldview that goes more or less on the “everyone is bi” side. I roll my eyes but ok, because fantasy, right? I can go with this. Fine. But then we have the second chapter. And there are neopronouns. Yes, neopronouns. On a published book. I close it and consider throwing it into the trash, but I can’t because it’s borrowed from my coworker.

Look, I just can’t condone the deliberate butchering of a language. Nope. Not at all. And in no way for the sake of a bunch of entitled brats who think they’re the center of the universe.

That made me realize the probable reason why original fantasy inspired by African or Native American cultures are not all that famous, and why they keep blackwashing white characters instead of actually being creative. I for one can’t stand the butchering of both a language I learned to love and my own culture like this.

Sorry for the rant

Like I've said before, I haven't read any of the fantasy books I've seen recently that are based off of non-European history, but it wouldn't surprise me if this held true for a lot of them. The thing is, even if that's true, that should only make these works more likely to be adapted. Instead of having to vandalize already popular works, the "diverse" cast and woke nonsense is already there in these books. They supposedly have everything Hollywood supports. It's like Hollywood knows no one would want to go see the diverse neo-pronoun movie unless they put Spider Man or Star Wars in the title. Weird...

[mysticstronomy]

HOW MANY DIMENSIONS ARE IN A VOID??

Blog#283

Wednesday, March 29th, 2023

Welcome back,

Somewhere, far away, if you believe what you read, there’s a hole in the Universe. There’s a region of space so large and empty, a billion light-years across, that there’s nothing in it at all. There’s no matter of any type, normal or dark, and no stars, galaxies, plasma, gas, dust, black holes, or anything else.

There’s no radiation in there at all, either. It’s an example of truly empty space, and its existence has been visually captured by our greatest telescopes.

At least, that’s what some people are saying, in a photographic meme that’s been spreading around the internet for years and refuses to die. Scientifically, though, there’s nothing true about these assertions at all.

There is no hole in the Universe; the closest we have are the underdense regions known as cosmic voids, which still contain matter. Moreover, this image isn’t a void or hole at all, but a cloud of gas. Let’s do the detective work to show you what’s really going on.

The first thing you should notice, when you take a look at this image, is that the points of light you see here are numerous, of varying brightnesses, and come in a variety of colors. The brighter ones have diffraction spikes, indicating that they’re point-like (rather than extended) sources.

And the black cloud that appears is clearly in the foreground of all of them, blocking all of the background light in the center but only a portion of the light at the outskirts, allowing some of the light to stream through.

These light sources cannot be objects billions of light-years away; they are stars within our own Milky Way galaxy, which itself is only around 100,000 light-years across. Therefore, this light-blocking object has to be closer than those stars are, and has to be relatively small if it’s so nearby. It cannot be a great void in the Universe.

In fact, this is a cloud of gas and dust that’s a mere 500 light-years away: a dark nebula known as Barnard 68. Over 100 years ago, the astronomer E. E. Barnard surveyed the night sky, looking for regions of space where there was a dearth of light silhouetted against the steady background of the Milky Way’s stars.

These “dark nebulae,” as they were originally called, are now known to be molecular clouds of neutral gas, and are sometimes also known as Bok globules.

The one we’re considering here, Barnard 68, is relatively small and nearby:

it’s located only 500 light-years away,

it’s extremely low in mass, at just twice the mass of our Sun,

and it’s quite small in extent, with a diameter of approximately half a light-year.

Originally published on www.forbes.com

COMING UP!!

(Saturday, April 1st, 2023)

"IS THERE A BLACK HOLE POINTING AT US??"

[archivehub]

Title: Our Kids

Summary: Steven wonders whether or not he and Connie can be considered parents anymore.

Word Count: 547

For some reason, this one was extremely damn difficult for me to write. For the final day of Glow Week, day 7, I used the prompt "Journey's End."

The short is also beneath the cut:

Two colossal red dwarfs hung high overhead, painting the landscape an eerie shade of scarlet. An abundance of alien flora desperately wriggled and outstretched toward the suns in an uncanny, almost sentient manner.

“Not often we’re all in one place these days, huh?” Connie smirked, head resting tenderly against her husband’s shoulder. She twirled a lock of pink hair around her finger as she raised a wine glass to her lips.

Steven’s eyebrows knitted; he offered a solemn nod in agreement. Truthfully, he only paid partial focus to his wife’s words. The true centers of his attention were their four pink-skinned kids, all of whom were congregated around a nearby picnic table, cackling in between recounting tales and gossiping. Just a few minutes prior, he and Connie had been seated among them, though something… existential(?) had invaded his thoughts; he needed some space to think.

“So…” his wife spoke once more; she bounced a knee, “what was that all about back there?” She swirled her wine, breathing in its heavenly aroma, before remarking, “I haven’t seen you that spaced out in centuries.”

Steven crossed his arms with a guttural sigh. “It’s… about the kids,” he confessed timidly. He pressed his golden band against his inner arm. “Tell me—and be honest, Connie…” he inhaled, “do you… think we’re really even parents anymore?”

The aged woman quirked a brow. “What… do you mean?” she probed gingerly, genuinely perplexed. She stared off into the distance, taking note of her and Steven’s cozy, wooden home.

“Well…” the man cleared his throat, “just… think about how old the kids are, how old we are.” He felt Cat Steven rub up against his ankles; he paid her no mind. “They’re only twenty-something years younger than us, right? So, after all this time, after all these centuries… what’s the real difference between them and us?”

Connie’s eyes narrowed as she pondered her husband’s words. She took a prolonged sip from her glass, practically emptying it in the process—thank the stars her zombie-like state possessed an increased alcohol tolerance.

“They’re just as smart as us, just as mature as us; they’re practically just as old as us,” Steven diligently listed. “So… what does that leave us with?” he interrogated. Tears pricked at his eyes. “Their baby pictures?”

“Our kids, honey…” Connie retorted. She set her wine glass atop Lion’s back; the feline appeared unperturbed. “That leaves us with our kids,” she reiterated, interlacing her fingers with her husband’s. She tenderly met his damp, chocolatey eyes. “Being a parent isn’t about intellect or maturity or… even age,” she sighed. “It’s about raising your kids: teaching them how to trust, how to love; how to distinguish right from wrong.” She brushed aside Steven’s curls before pressing her cold, pink forehead against his. “Most importantly, though: it’s about just… being there for them, even after they’re all grown up.”

The hulking man half-smiled momentarily. Wiping at his eyes, he exhaled, “O-okay, but…”—he glanced at their children: they were taking turns scratching Cat Steven’s primordial pouch—”what if they don’t see it that way?”

Connie opened her mouth. Before a single word could escape her lips, however, Lisa’s hoarse, gravelly voice cried out, “Mom, dad, get your butts back over here! Gregory’s busting out his goddamn guitar again!”

[antisolararc]

New bio finally (under the cut) 😭 my posting schedule is so messed up here still I'm sorry

PERSONALITY & BACKGROUND:

Hailing from a long-lost floating island, Meridian was formerly ████ ████████ ███. Just as soon as they learned to speak, they could recall intricate details of their reincarnation, making them a "spiral" – a third gender centered around the “spinning of the cosmic wheel.” They once intended to quietly fulfill their traditional duties – from sunrise to sunset, they would facilitate rituals and conserve the temple relics as a faceless servant. Eventually, though, they had only one vague memory of their past life – being eaten alive as penance for a great crime. This left them unable to contribute to the map of the universe as expected. With no other way to provide restitution to their struggling parents, they began to fake the rituals they could no longer properly perform, but not without monstrous shame and guilt. Perhaps all for naught - just as they were coming into adulthood, their entire island ascended to the Astral Realm during the Reckoning of Clouds.

Now, Meridian awakens with the white scales of a holy corpse and a powerful-yet-damaged relic inside of them. Instructed to “destroy the heart of a great prince” in order to repent for their past crimes and thrown back into the Terrestrial Realm with nothing but the clothes on their back and a dagger containing a ferocious spirit, they’re already in way over their head. Their trickery might have landed them here in the first place, but the only plan they’ve got is to fake it til they make it. Sometimes, Mery claims to be the vessel of Zenith, the great spirit who stole the sun, sometimes, they claim to be here to slay the spirit, and, sometimes, they claim not to be anyone particularly interesting at all. The longer they keep at it, though, the more it dawns on them that they aren't quite sure which one is true themself.

Cunning but never eloquent, Meridian tends to keep it quiet. After all, they wither under the spotlight, and they’d hate to cause a scene. It’s a shame they happen to have a terrible habit of lying under pressure. Mery is awkward and insecure, though far more observant than their demeanor might suggest. They are often preoccupied with their own appearance. Due to their constricted affect, its difficult

to tell when they’re joking, and their capriciousness makes them hard to predict. Mery will always keep a promise or return a favor, regardless of any detriment to themself. Despite their avoidant tendencies, they always manage to summon the willpower to act when they’re needed. They appear to have great conviction in... something, but these beliefs remain vague. Though typically mild-mannered, they can be absolutely merciless if pushed – Meridian is not usually one to be swayed by pathos alone. However, they are quite sentimental towards relics of their past.

Unsurprisingly, they struggle deeply with their identity and morality. They’re not sure they’re still who they were before, but do they even want to be that person at all? And then, if not, who do they want to be? Who are they right now, actually? Truthfully, they fear the answers to their questions more than anything else. Meridian has little appetite for societal or martial power, instead honing their magic as both a necessity for survival and a begrudging attempt at self-discipline. They’re downright terrified of the great destructive potential of their relic, refusing to have it restored with uncharacteristic vehemence. Strange, then, that they decided to steal it in the first place so long ago…

ABILITIES:

Their summon is a set of four rings that float and move according to their will. Meridian "skates" on them. Although the rings can levitate other things, there are weight and size limits. They can change size and be used as forcefields or portals. Bigger = more difficult to create and maintain. Mery can teleport to places in their line of sight almost instantly, but more time, effort, and visualization are required to go further. In order to use concussive power, they must "catch" the energy from incoming attacks first - this is the most physical part of their skillet, requiring trained speed and agility. Otherwise, the rings' only inherently offensive capability is being decently sharp around the edges.

In order to sustain their relic, they must occasionally sacrifice other magic items to it. This process can also be used to expedite healing, though offerings made to sustain the vessel will not fuel the relic itself.

[gearselectric]

Man TPOT universe is grim when you think abt it. Who knows how long these objects have been alive like, since they could get revived they likely have been around for a WHILE.

And like the world they live in is so unstable like. All the stuff in space??? Their world almost got destroyed by black hole, there’s the quasar. Probably more stuff like I don’t remember what happened with the sun in that one BFBepisode but like.

These objects live in a world that could so easily be destroyed. Not to mention the monstrosities their world holds. A corrupted leaf? Giant sea monsters??? A large city with nobody in it? The twinkle??? David?

But they aren’t scared, they’ve got recovery centers. But I highly doubt the world they live in does??? The flowers they destroyed last episode?

They’re fine with murdering each other for their own gain but the second they don’t have access to recovery they go bonkers. Suddenly they know what grief feels like. They finally work as a team in order to find some way to revive their dead friends, because otherwise all this destruction they’re doing matters. They’re only fine with killing things off because they could just get them back in a second, but when recovery is suddenly impossible they get worried.

But you know, if the algebraliens leave and their world gets destroyed, where do they go? Do they float about in space for eternity or die? How many recovery centers are there?

I wonder where all those who lived in Yoyle City went… Will the current group of objects meet the same fate? Or was the city built from nothing?

Their planet is also terrorized by aliens, aliens capable of disfiguring them as well as their world. Aliens who imprison them for lengthy amounts of time.

Like man the land of bfdi is a cruel one. If only I can talk about it without sounding out of my mind cuz as the end of the day it’s just a show about a bunch of object in a competition for some nonsensical object. But they don’t really have anything better to do, do they? Maybe it’s the only thing that gives them a sense of purpose.

Actually I thibk I might be dehydrated I’m thirsty and just got a dizzy headache disregard this post about me having an existential crisis for a bunch of object characters

[thepastisalreadywritten]

By Allie Yang

10 August 2023

Two of our galaxy’s most famous stars were recently photobombed by what appears to be a celestial question mark.

The symbol was spotted in a new image from the James Webb Space Telescope (JWST) of the forming stars Herbig-Haro 46/47, which are well-known and have been frequently observed by astronomers.

These two stars can provide clues about how our own sun may have formed.

They’re relatively close to Earth, about 1,400 light-years, and relatively young, only a few thousand years old.

In fact, they’re still in gestation and have not technically been “born” yet, which is marked when the stars start shining from their own nuclear fusion.

The image is the first of the twin protostars from the NIRCam instrument on JWST.

It was captured using infrared light, which penetrates space dust more easily than visual light, and it is the highest resolution image of the objects ever seen at these wavelengths.

The telescope’s astonishing sensitivity allowed the glowing red question mark to be captured in the lower center of the image.

The object is far outside our galactic neighborhood, possibly billions of light-years away, says Christopher Britt, an education and outreach scientist at the Space Telescope Science Institute who helped plan these observations.

His best guess is that the question mark is actually two galaxies merging.

“That's something that's seen fairly frequently, and it happens to galaxies many times over the course of their lives,” he says.

“That includes our own galaxy, the Milky Way … [it] will merge with Andromeda in about four billion years or so.”

The hints pointing to two galaxies are found in the question mark’s strange shape.

There are two brighter spots, one in the curve and the other in the dot, which could be the galactic nuclei, or the centers of the galaxies, Britt says.

The curve of the question mark might be the “tails” being stripped off as the two galaxies spiral toward each other.

“It's very cute. It's a question mark … But you can find the colons and semicolons, and any other punctuation mark, because you have 10,000 little smudges of light in each image taken every half hour,” says David Helfand, an astronomer at Columbia University.

The sheer number of shining objects we find are bound to create some serendipitous images, and our brains have evolved to find those patterns, he says.

Astronomers have seen similar objects closer to home.

Two merging galaxies captured by the Hubble Space Telescope in 2008 also look like a question mark, just turned 90 degrees.

Helfand says the question mark seems to be two objects, the curve and the dot, but could be more that just happened to line up.

They could also be completely unrelated objects, he says, if one is much closer to Earth than the other.

Britt warns that estimating distance based only on colors in the image can be tricky.

The red of the question mark could mean it’s very far away (light waves stretch as they travel through the expanding universe, shifting to redder wavelengths) or that it’s closer and obscured by dust near the object.

It would take more investigation to identify exactly how far away the question mark is.

This could be done by measuring photometric redshifts, determined by the brightness observed through different filters, but this would only provide an estimate for the distance, Britt says.

Spectroscopy, which analyzes light from the source to determine its elemental makeup, could provide a more exact distance but requires a separate instrument to measure.

Given the number of intriguing targets spotted by JWST, the question mark may never receive this treatment.

For now, the source of this symbol in the sky remains a cosmic mystery.

[quietwingsinthesky]

If you are still taking prompts how about a scene with lucifer worshipping sam like hes heavenly gift - basically just luci giving sam a self-esteem boost (because tbh sam really needs one)

hello anon! i think this one got a little... weird? but i hope it's what you were looking for :3

When Sam says that he is unholy, it’s resigned. 

Deaths around me since I was born, he presents as evidence, without Dean or Dad vouching for me, I think I would’ve been shot before I turned eighteen. Always knew there was something wrong, deep down. Demon blood rotting my veins.

He doesn’t list Lucifer as one of the reasons he’s damned. Not to his face, if he does believe it, but Lucifer doesn’t think so. They’ve spent too long entangled. Sam knows his sins as well as his punishment, his part in the grand play and how few scenes he was written to be in before curtain call. Blame grows like vines up a wall, reaching higher and higher for who was actually at fault. Sam was going to be Lucifer’s from the moment he fell, but Lucifer was always going to fall. Placing the onus on God is harder for someone who never met him. (Lucifer speaks as someone who can’t despite that. Even closing his vessel's eyes can make him feel trapped, and he still loves the God who caged him.)

So, the vines reach nowhere before they’re torn down by Sam himself beside the tall stone. He takes their straining bodies and wraps them around himself to mimic chains when no one else will bind him. He leads himself to the gallows to choke for betrayals he had no control over. He thinks he’s to blame for being a baby who smiled at a stranger over his crib before the sour taste of sulfur splashed on his tongue. Someone has to be punished for it. 

If a stay in Hell couldn’t make him feel pure, how does he think tearing himself apart will?

Sam is stubborn, but he was made in Lucifer’s image and they both learned from hardheaded older brothers how to stand their ground. As many times as Sam tries to tie his own noose, Lucifer will sit beside him and undo the knots without judgment. 

After all, Sam threw him back into Hell, and Lucifer still loves him. He can’t blame Sam for anything.

His greatest crime, Sam always claims, was freedom. He knows this, taught to him by Heaven’s sifted memories and his brother’s scowl at his happiest moments. Lucifer is hungry for every minute of Sam’s life that he missed, and though most scars are ones Sam will tell stories about in detail, (“-two of them coming at me, with claws as long as my forearm, and one got lucky-“) Lucifer had an easier time wrangling the horsemen than he does getting Sam to tell him about Stanford. 

It’s strangely easier for Sam when Lucifer wears another face. With long blonde hair falling around his shoulders and soft brown eyes and a mole between his brows that Sam will press a kiss to, he’s allowed to hear about that secret life. Sam doesn’t call him Jessica anymore, but when he tells Lucifer about her, he holds him like he's half-memory, half-dream. He talks about his other friends, faces that, if he’s lucky, he hasn’t seen in years, and if he’s not… Lucifer still has yet to drag that out of him, even though he knows already about the devils on Sam’s shoulder before him. 

Lucifer kept track of exactly how long he was locked away, on Earth and in Hell. On Earth, he measure it against the rise of man’s empires. As for Hell, humans haven’t bothered to invent a number that high. Most of the stars he watched be created and grew alongside are now younger than him by millennia. 

So it is not lightly that Lucifer tells Sam that freedom is never a sin.

He’s not sure Sam believes him. 

Sam will take on every burden tossed his way. Most people seem happy to let him. Lucifer will not see him crushed. He’s too lovely for that. Too important. (After all, he’s Lucifer’s entire world. That must mean he’s the center of the universe, more gravitational pull that the sun.)

It has to be like this: in the shade of the Bunker’s main building, where the grass grows a deeper shade of green than the other side because the soil is better for reasons Lucifer is still puzzling out, Lucifer pushes Sam into a wall and kisses him. Sam makes a noise, surprise, but he came out on Lucifer’s invitation for some fresh air and he doesn’t push him away. There are dandelions growing in the crack between the cement and the ground it sticks out of. Lucifer nudges Sam’s feet gently to the side so that he doesn’t accidentally step on one. 

“If you wanted somewhere we could make out in private, my door has a lock,” Sam says as Lucifer breaks the kiss to let him breathe. His lungs expand and deflate in a strong, steady rhythm. His heart beats calmly. Lucifer listens to it. He’d gotten used to spending entire nights keeping track of Sam’s heart, fear gripping him every time it would skip a beat or weaken. The trials would have taken everything from Lucifer. He is sick of his Father’s ultimate sacrifices or how Sam always seems to be the one who must lie down on the altar. 

“That’s not it,” he says. He kisses Sam again for the easy joy of it. Sam melts into him. He has mostly recovered thanks to Lucifer’s attention, but sometimes, the weakness will strike back again. Sam’s gotten very used to leaning on Lucifer. “I want you to understand something.” Sam’s mouth curves into a smile. Lucifer lifts a finger to trace the dimple that forms. 

“What?” he asks. 

“How good you are,” Lucifer says. He can feel the words rip through Sam worse than any barb, and that hurts. He’s more used to insults than praise, no matter how Lucifer tries to make up the difference. 

“Lucifer, that’s not-“ Sam tries for the first time to push him away, and though Lucifer allows distance between them, he doesn’t let Sam run from this. Not when he needs it. Instead, he runs his fingertips gently over Sam’s skin while he’s kept at arm’s length. Sam relaxes under his touch, never fully, but Lucifer is still reintroducing him to all the love he’s allowed to have. He trails his touch up Sam’s arm to the hand keeping him at bay, firmly clasping Lucifer’s shoulder. Lucifer wraps his hand around it.

“This world doesn’t deserve you as its savior,” he tells Sam. Sam shakes his head, and Lucifer wonders which part he’s denying more, that he’s too good for the world or that he ever even saved it. They were both there in Stull, two parts of one whole, but somehow it’s only Lucifer who remembers it for the victory it was. “It’s lucky that you don’t care. That all it would take is one decent soul to convince you it’s worth it. They don’t even have to be pure. They just have to be trying to do better, and you’ll walk into fire for them.”

“That’s just my job,” Sam downplays. 

“No, your job is to hunt. No one makes you care. You’ve chosen to do that all on your own, no matter how hard it is.” Because it is hard, even for Sam. He’s as human as the rest of them. He gets frustrated and angry and hurt. He extends kindness anyway. 

Lucifer should know. Who else would find the devil half-dead on their doorstep while trying to close Hell and still bring him in from the cold? Who else would have given him a second chance he never earned?

Sam’s grip on his shoulder falters. Lucifer leans back in until his mouth meets Sam’s again. 

“I wish I could share how I see you, Sam,” Lucifer says. “You shine so bright.” Sam laughs bitterly like Lucifer’s told a poor joke.

“I went to Hell,” he argues. “I couldn’t even finish the final trial. There’s nothing pure, nothing bright, about me.”

“Hell tried to snuff you out. The trials tried to burn you until there was nothing left. You are so much more beautiful for having survived them.” And beautiful makes Sam flinch. Something Lucifer knows for certain: before him, no one had ever called Sam that, except maybe as a joke. Handsome, sure, and he is, but he’s beautiful, too, and Lucifer needs him to believe that. He will, one day. Lucifer is nothing if not persistent.

“Why do you care so much about what I think?” Sam whispers. Lucifer bumps his forehead to Sam’s, and Sam’s hand comes up to rest on the back of his neck and hold him close.

“Someone should,” Lucifer says. He shuts his eyes and thinks for ways to make Sam understand how much this matters. It goes beyond simple pride. 

And maybe that’s how to show Sam he’s serious. 

Lucifer presses one more kiss to his lips to steel himself. His grace recoils at the vulnerability of what he wants to give Sam, but he wrestles it into obedience. Sam is blinking back tears, mostly succeeding but for one or two that glance off his cheek as they escape the tip of an eyelash. Lucifer kisses the wet spots they leave. 

Arduously, he forces himself to his knees. The very concept of him rebels against it. He sits at Sam’s feet like the dandelions beside his heels. It takes everything in him to gaze upwards at Sam and see his expression. Sam’s mouth is agape. His hair falls forward into his eyes as he looks back down at Lucifer. He can’t seem to remember how to speak, and that’s just as well because Lucifer can’t either. He reaches up for Sam’s hands and manages to capture both of them in his own.

Sam is leaning back against the wall. Lucifer tips into him. His thighs lift off of his heels as he pushes himself forward. He rests his head against Sam’s stomach.

It’s peaceful. Lucifer won’t go as far as to say that he feels like he belongs there, but it’s nostalgic, in a way. He forces the air out of his vessel’s lungs. It makes the bottom of Sam’s shirt ruffle. 

One of Sam’s hands escapes Lucifer’s. It finds its way to the back of Lucifer’s head, and the uncertain scratch of nails over his scalp settles him enough that he can speak again.

“You are good,” he tells Sam. “You are good. You are good.” He repeats himself. He’s out of practice with prayer. He hopes the mantra will do. Maybe Sam can teach him a thing or two later.

Sam listens, and maybe, Lucifer hopes, he starts to believe it.

[torgawl]

i think i found a connection between sibylla and enkanomiya because of the strangest book in genshin “vera's melancholy”.

the book is very futuristic and it’s hard to relate to anything in the game but there’s a few references to greek mythology and the mention of the name delphi (vera’s hometown), which we know are things connected to enkanomiya.

volume 3 of “the byakuyakoku collection” talks about the three corners that mark the borders of enkanomiya. a tower was constructed in each of those three realms and they’re used to harmonize the three realms, stabilizing the tendencies of enkanomiya and controlling its winds and water (despite those locations not being aligned with those elements). one of those corners is known as “the serpent’s heart” which in the past was called delphi or the land of the snakes.

the snakes in this case being ouroboros and orobashi. ouroboros, as everyone knows, it’s an ancient symbol depicting a serpent/dragon eating its own tail, which depicts a never-ending cycle, and this image fits two things that aberaku (sunchild) says in “the byakuyakoku collection”:

interestingly enough, delphi is said to experience a weird phenomenon where space overlaps itself. despite the themes in “vera’s melancholy” being nothing alike anything we’re aware of in genshin, there’s an interesting depiction of a portal in vera’s hometown, which in a way matches this description of overlaped space.

vera also says this interesting thing about a planet beyond the starry sea. the starry sea is a choice of words that can easily reference the sky/universe or the abyss and it reminded me of this description of events in "before sun and moon":

going back to sibylla, if you aren’t aware who she is (she was apparently introduced to us during the archon quests through wriothesley but i don’t recall it so i can’t pinpoint when it happened, although the new artifact set will talk about it), she was a prophet who remus met “below the abyssal depths” - where the source of all waters lies (primordial water) - who took the form of a golden bee and told god-king remus of the prophecy that the sea would swallow remuria.

the name sibylla means "prophetess" or "oracle" in greek and is associated with the ability to communicate with the gods or a divine being to be their messenger. the people who prophesied at holy sites in ancient greece were called sibyls and the first sibyl recorded was actually from delphi. delphi was a famous town of the oracle in ancient greece and was believed to be the center of the world. the town took its name from the delphyne, the she-serpent who lived there and was killed by the god apollo. apollo has been recognized as a god of archery, music and dance, truth and prophecy, healing and diseases, the sun and light, poetry, and more. as the patron deity of delphi, he is an oracular god—the prophetic deity of the delphic oracle and also the deity of ritual purification. i think we can agree that there’s a lot of overlap between the things associated with sibylla and enkanomiya. i can't say anything for sure but i think there's a possibility that she's from there or tied there somehow.

the place where remus met sibylla wasn’t an empty place, there were was an unchronicled city there who had a silver-white cedar, which by the way it’s the exact colour the irminsul is said to be. cedars represent purification and protection as well as incorruptibility and eternal life. this is interesting from an irminsul and time perspective, of course, but also because remus’ goal that led to the downfall of remuria was to place the baton of humanity’s fate in their own hands, in a way that resembles immortality. for this, he created the golden ichor which was made of primordial water and was supposed to dissolve people’s original bodies while containing their souls and minds. he would then transfer this to undying golems, making this the cornerstone of his “grand symphony”. by the way, ichor is the fluid that flows like blood in the veins of the gods, so in a way it’s like he wanted to break free from the power imbalance between humans and gods by ascending humanity into godhood. and, again, remuria seems to always have ways to connect with khaenri'ah. these golem creatures are very akin to ruin machines, khaenri'ahn technology. so, maybe remus' invention was actually the basis behind khaenri'ahn machines.

something that also feels interesting to mention is that in mythology, egeria was a nymph and the consort of the second king of rome. in parallel to this, sybilla guided remus up until the creation of the golden ichor. i don’t recall exactly the last part of the lore in the flower of this artifact set (harmonious symphony prelude) but i’m pretty sure she was said to have transformed into a ship, more specifically fortuna (remus’ ship), once again reinforcing the idea of them working together and trying to cheat fate. the name egeria is also used as an eponym for a female advisor or counselor, which is very much what sibylla was to remus. the artifact set doesn't allude to sibylla and egeria being the same entity but they share quite a few similarities and a lot of their elements clash. the concept of prophecy in ancient greece seems to have been associated with bees, explaining why sibylla took the form of one. and if you remember me mentioning apollo in the part about delphi, there’s something that ties with this whole bee theme. the homeric hymn to hermes acknowledges that apollo's gift of prophecy first came to him from three bee-maidens, usually but doubtfully identified with the thriae, a trinity of pre-hellenic aegean bee goddesses. these three bee maidens had the power of divination and were romantically linked to apollo, one of them even said to have given him delphos, another of the supposed beings behind the origin of the town delphi’s name. there’s a bit of conflicting ideas regarding this part specifically but it's still curious that there's, once again, a big association between delphi and sibylla through apollo and also with the connection with the concept of trinity. this isn’t a strange concept in fontaine at all, as we can easily associate it with the ruling in this nation after remus (e.g. egeria-furina/focalors-neuvillette; furina-focalors-oratrice as the holy trinity; and, the three thrones near opera epiclese).

unrelated thoughts:

i think the flower in this set might be an anemone or adonis flower. i'm very uncertain to be honest, but both associate to the same things and they fit the lore very much. in greek mythology, the anemone symbolized the bloody death of the greek god adonis, the mortal lover of the goddesses aphrodite and persephone, who was famous for having achieved immortality. again, very remus-core!!!

there's also this. they're not the same whatsoever, but i thought it was interesting that their (remus and dainsleif) colour palettes are the same.the blue accent in their masks are also in the same location; remus' is like a tear while dainsleif's extends from the side and doesn't touch the eye. even though they're different, it still had me scratching my chin like a detective.