#this post must have been made before right

[torturedtypewritersdept]

blue eyes + bruises - blurb - she has your eyes

✯ pairing:

doctor!rafe cameron x fem!reader

✯ summary:

a tragic car accident looks like it'll be the end for you, but dr. cameron is here to make sure that doesn't happen.

✯ warnings:

mature themes, mentions of anxiety, nostalgia, and fear, car accident, death of a spouse (not rafe or y/n), major surgery, injuries, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, etc.

✯ a/n:

nothing!! please don't engage if you have a hard time with any of these topics <3 this was origianlly posted on my old blog @/illicitfixations, @/lovelornanonymity back in 2021/2022 and i have rewritten + reshared it here :) the next chapter i spent literally so much time on and i can't wait to share it!!!!

You stood at the reception area of the emergency department, an olive green smock-style dress draped over your form as you held the underside of your nine-month-old belly in an attempt to ease the pain of the fifth contraction you’d had in the past hour. You squeezed your eyes shut again as another wave of pain passed over you. 

“Can you page Dr. Rafe Cameron, please?” 

You asked the nurse through clenched teeth who you weren’t familiar with; ‘she must be a new grad’ you thought to yourself. Where’s Jenni when you really need her?

“I sure can, may I ask what he needs to be paged for?” 

You couldn’t blame this newly hired nurse for her question, you were sure that she was wondering why a woman who looked to be in active labor was wanting her to page an orthopedic surgeon. You knew it was procedure unless you were family for them to ask what the doctor was needed for and if you were in your right mind, you would’ve recognized that. But, you weren’t in your right mind – the not sleeping because of the pain in your pelvis was getting to you and with Rafe working days so he could be at home with you at night, there was no way you could wake him up and ask him to do the massage that the physical therapist had taught you. You let out an exasperated sigh and just as you did, Jenni, your most favorite person in the entire world, turned the corner. You were anxious for many reasons; your body about to push out a baby was first on the list, needing to find your husband was second, and the third, and most looming dreadfully, was the fact that apart from lunches and picking your husband up and doctor’s appointments, you hadn’t been in the hospital in a long time – you hadn’t been a patient in a long time and the anxiety of it all was threatening to overtake you completely.

“Ma’am, what does he need to be paged for?” 

The new grad nurse, who you now realized was named Lizzie, asked you again at the same time that Jenni made her way behind the desk. As you read her name tag – you hyper fixated on whether or not it was short for Elizabeth or something else. You and Rafe had thrown around the name Elizabeth for a middle name – a tribute to the eldest Cameron girl, but had decided against it. You wanted your sweet baby to be unique and to grow into her own name, not be in the shadow of someone else’s. 

“Hey, sweet girl, are you looking for Dr. Handsome?” 

She joked, knowing who you had been asking for before even hearing the contents of the conversation in front of her. 

“Yeah.” 

You spoke meekly and Jenni watched you carefully as you squeezed your eyes shut, this time doubling over and yelling out as the contraction attempted to bring you to your knees. She quickly made her way over to you, grabbing your hand in hers and taking your hospital bag from your shoulders, doing her best to bring you back to an upright position. 

“I think we’re having this sweet baby, today, mama.” 

You gingerly nodded with fear stricken eyes. Being back here – in a place where you spent so much of your time – where you met your husband, but also where you struggled to walk again, where you almost died; it all has quickly become too much to handle and you needed Rafe to remind you of the strength it gave you, the beautiful little girl you were about to bring into this world, and the wonderful life it had helped you create. You just needed him and you just needed him now. 

“I can’t do it without him, Jenni. I need you to find him.” 

Your pleading eyes told her all she needed to know – you were scared – and she hadn’t seen you look this way in a long time. 

“Lizzie, call the OR and let Dr. Cameron know that his wife is in labor.” 

She instructed, tone forceful but kind before she looked back at you. 

“Look at me, mama. He’s gonna be with you soon, I promise. But, right now, I’m gonna take you up to Dr. Lebel’s office, okay?” 

It only made sense to move your OB-GYN’s office to the hospital; Rafe worked here and it made attending appointments much easier. Not to mention, he no longer likes the idea of you in a car by yourself, even five years after your accident. You nodded your head at Jenni’s words and let her lead you to the elevator and up to the fourth floor, where Dr. Lebel’s office was located. 

-

You were in the waiting room for ten minutes when Rafe came barreling through the door. You couldn’t help but giggle at how disheveled he was – still draped in the same scrubs he had left the house in that morning; but hair messy and all over the place, and that fucking mustache; even nine months pregnant and in extreme pain, it was heating up your core. You made grabby hands at him like a baby and he obliged with the Rafe Cameron smile, pulling you in for a hug and rubbing your back with both of his hands. 

“Hi, mama. What’s going on, sweetheart?” 

He asked, sweetly, happy to see you, of course, but concerned by the tone of voice Lizzie used when she called the operating room. He quickly got another doctor to step in and finish the surgery he was performing so he could be with you just in case your little bean decided to make her debut into the world, today of all days. 

“I didn’t sleep at all last night.” 

You said, moving to sit back down into the chair as another contraction made its way into your atmosphere, yet again. You doubled over, the pain was growing sharper each time and they were becoming closer together. You knew you were going to meet your baby girl very soon. Rafe moved quickly, grabbing your hands so you didn’t fall forward and scooting you back into the chair that sat in a sea of ones just like it in the somewhat empty waiting room. You opened your eyes as the wave of pain passed and you panted for breath, the fullness of your belly moved up and down with the correlation of your breasts as your lungs expanded to try and get more air. Rafe waited with kind eyes and a patient tongue, letting you finish explaining what was going on before opening his mouth to speak. 

“I tossed and turned all night – the pain in my pelvis – it was just too much.” 

You let out an exasperated sigh, growing quiet as you waited for him to respond. His strong hands moved to your head as he began to rub soothing circles into your hair. The two of you were no strangers to the effects that the accident had on your pregnancy and pelvic pain from the previously crushed bones that Rafe reorchestrated and seemingly put back together was one of them. He was proactive; getting you quickly into prenatal physical therapy by the end of your first trimester and going to every appointment with you, listening to the physical therapist and massaging your hips in the way you liked so much every time he could. 

“Why didn’t you wake me up, baby? I would’ve done that massage you like.” 

He spoke and you almost melted, knowing that had you just woke him, the thing you wanted was what he would’ve done anyways; how very – Rafe Cameron of him.  

“I didn’t want to wake you, sweet boy. I knew you had to work.” 

You replied, cupping his cheek. 

“Yeah, but you’re more important than anything here. You know that, mama. You and my sweet girl in your little tummy are so much more important.” 

Rafe was selfless and if Molly’s death taught him anything, it was not to take the ones you love for granted. That was something he never intended to do again and it was a lesson that had stuck with him, even seven years later. You put your forehead to his and he kissed your nose before you continued with the events of the morning. 

“Anyways, the pain spread from my hips to my tummy this morning and when I had five contractions in an hour, I came in. I think we’re about to have a baby.” 

He almost squealed in excitement. 

“I can’t wait, mama. My girl is giving me a baby girl.” 

He spoke in content as the door flung open and the nurse called your name for you to come back and see the doctor. Rafe stood and grabbed your hand, helping you move to your feet ever so slowly, the nine-month-old bump you sported made you teeter and the last thing he wanted was for you to fall. His protective hands guided you through the threshold of the door. 

-

You made your way to the room after the nurse noted that your blood pressure was a little bit elevated. You shook that off quickly, the anxiety of giving birth and the pain that had been coursing through your body all night made it make sense. Rafe helped you onto the table and the nurse gently draped the cloth over your lower half, lifting your dress to just below your breasts as Dr. Lebel came in. 

“I heard you’re not feeling the greatest, mama.” 

Rafe gingerly nodded as he met her eyes. He had placed himself on a stool at your head, rubbing soothing circles into your hair once more, the hand of yours that was closest to him was squeezing his – the anxiety coursing heavily through your veins. One thing had never changed about you and that was your need for his touch in a crisis. He loved that about you. While he couldn’t physically help because babies weren’t his specialty, he could soothe you with his touch and that’s what he intended to do. 

“Her contractions are getting closer and closer.” 

Rafe spoke into the air and the doctor nodded. 

“Well, let’s take a look at our girl, shall we?” 

You looked at Rafe who gave you a smile before eagerly nodding at your doctor. One special thing that Rafe developed during your pregnancy was the way he smiled ear-to-ear every time he saw his little girl on the ultrasound screen. He was giddy – like that of a giggling little girl; he never could get over the fact that because of you, because of Molly’s orchestration of him finding you, he was married to the love of his life and he was about to get to be the daddy to the world’s most perfect little girl. 

“Jelly’s gonna be a little cold.” 

She brought the bottle over your belly, squirting it and watching as it gently fell on to your tan skin. You squirmed under the chill of the gel and Rafe giggled. After nine months of ultrasounds, your reaction was still the same – even though you had felt the icy-like drop of the gel as it descended down to your belly more times than he could count on his hands, you always, always, expected it not to be cold. He marked it up to you expecting the good in everything; even this tiny detail about cold gel made him love you more than he did the second previously. His eyes went from the doctor to the screen as she dutifully began to spread the gel around your abdomen and your baby girl appeared on the screen. Her heartbeat was the symphony and yours was the orchestra; one couldn’t co-exist without the other. You were thankful that through all the fear of the morning, her heartbeat was still there. It meant she was good, it meant she was safe. Tears lined your eyes as you turned your head to look at Rafe, the sheet of paper draped over the pillow crinkling as you met his eyes. He smiled and leaned in to place a kiss on your forehead. 

“She’s okay, baby. Look at her moving around, she’s perfect.” 

He said pointing at the screen. Dr. Lebel was quiet for a moment before locking eyes with Rafe and speaking only with her eyes, something only doctors seemed to know how to do. Rafe knew what it meant – it meant something wasn’t right. 

“What is it, doc?” 

He asked, nonchalantly but his tone was laced with concern. Your eyes went wide. 

“I-is something wrong?” 

You stuttered. Which Rafe knew meant your anxiety was reaching a peak of no return, rapidly. 

“Slow down, nothing is wrong. We don’t want to scare you, mama. Baby girl is measuring at nine pounds – like we discussed previously, with the previous crush injury to your pelvis, a nine pound baby is going to be extremely rough on your body; it may even re-break your pelvis. The pelvis loosens quite a bit in a normal person, but because of the pins and screws in yours, I don’t want to risk reinjury.” 

Rafe’s eyes almost popped out of his head at the thought of your tiny bones breaking for the second time in order to bring your daughter into the world. The worst part was, he knew you’d be fine with that, he knew you’d go to that length to ensure that a c-section wasn’t necessary because if he knew anything about you it was that you didn’t want anyone besides him operating on you – you didn’t trust anyone besides him to. It made sense, he had been the one to repeatedly bring you through surgery over and over, it was him who laid with you and held you close so you’d know you weren’t alone all those late nights in the hospital. You were scared, you were experiencing post-traumatic stress and there was little to nothing he could do about it. But, he knew for damn sure that he was not going to let your first chance at motherhood be spent the way your days in the hospital were – you were going to enjoy this if he had anything to do with it and you deserved that much. 

“So, what do you suggest, doc? What are our options here? I know she’s pretty dead set on a vaginal birth, is that still possible?”

Rafe questioned her with intent – he needed to know what the odds were that your pelvis wasn’t going to break into pieces right in front of him. 

“It’s possible, but the outcomes are extremely grim. Rafe, you know what happens when a pelvis splinters, she’s risking internal bleeding. Not to mention, the significant amount of pain she will already be in as a new mom. We don’t need to add emergency surgery to fix broken bones to that. I would suggest a c-section. I know that’s not in your plan, but it is the safer option.” 

You looked to Rafe with pleading eyes, begging him not to make you do this. 

“I’m going to step out and let you guys talk about it for a few minutes.” 

Dr. Lebel said, giving the both of you a reassuring smile before stepping out and closing the door behind her. 

“Rafferty, please don’t make me do this.” 

You whispered, your voice cracking as the emotion of it all overcame you. Nothing hurt Rafe more than that sound, but he knew he had to give you some tough love in this situation to protect you. 

“Come on, mama. You had to use my government name and the conversation has barely started?” 

It was a half-joke, he needed you to smile so you’d know – so he’d know that this would all be okay and at the end of the day you would have a healthy baby. But, a smile is not what he got. Instead, he watched as your lip trembled and he lurched forward, pulling you into his arms, your belly creating distance between you. It was almost as if the sweet girl inside you was giving her input into the situation. 

“Rafe, c-can’t you just – c-can’t you fix it if it breaks?” 

He was taken aback by your question, though he shouldn’t have been. He knew you like the back of his hand and he knew this was the eerie and winding path your brain would go down. He wished so badly that your brain would give you a break and that for once it would follow the yellow brick road – the normal path of thinking. But, anxiety is anxiety and he knew it well, no matter what the doctor had said, you were going to be anxious because this was a monumental life event for the both of you and him wishing things were different wouldn’t change that. 

“No, mama. I can’t. It could splinter and make you bleed internally. It could kill you baby and as much as I love you and want to make you comfortable, I have my boundaries too, baby – watching you die is not on my to-do list for today. Not to mention, I can’t – I won’t – let you enter motherhood unable to walk and in intense pain; that’s not fair to you or little bean. She needs her mama and she needs her mama whole and healthy, okay?” 

You could only whimper as you nodded in response. 

- 

Only an hour later, you were laying on your back on an operating table, arms spread wide, tied to the table in the shape of a crucifix. Rafe sat on a rolling stool at your head, his regular blue surgical garb adorned his body and his hands sat on top of your head. You looked up at him with fear stricken eyes as the doctors and nurses worked around you, moving the contents of your stomach out of it in an attempt to get to your baby girl. 

“Rafe, I’m scared.” 

You whispered and he stood, peering his eyes down and over the mask that sat on his face until they met yours. 

“I know, baby. But, it’s okay. Not much longer, now.” 

Those blue orbs were the only thing that grounded you as you heard the faintest cry, that managed to get louder and louder by the second. He brought his forehead to yours and you breathed out a breath of relief. 

“Our girl has arrived, mama.” 

He muttered and you smiled softly at the thought. 

“Rafe, go with her.” 

You demanded and he nodded his head as they took her to the incubator in the corner of the room, working quickly to rid her of the contents of your blood and fluid. As quickly as he had left, he returned to your side with tears in his eyes as he brought your daughter to your chest and allowed you to place kisses to her tiny pink button nose. She was the perfect mixture of you and Rafe; his nose, your cheeks, his hair, your lips, and just as you were committing her features to memory she blinked her eyes open. They were the same cerulean blue of her father’s and you thanked your lucky star’s the one prayer you had sent up had become reality. 

“Rafe, she has your eyes.” 

He mewled at the small fact as he took her from your arms, holding her head in his palm and placing his other hand on her tiny bottom. He bounced her for only a moment, letting tears cascade down his face as the harsh reality hit him that even though he had lost Molly, he had gained all the things he ever prayed for in the end. He placed his forehead against hers, taking in her scent, scared that he’d never smell it again. 

“Millie June Cameron. Hi, baby. I’m your daddy.” 

He cooed. 

taglist:

as always, if you'd like to be added to or removed from the taglist, please shoot me an ask or comment on this post so i can keep track <3

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[luniviravosshipper]

Wait, I completely forgot about how the image of Soren and Claudia in their tweens posing alongside their mother became an actual canon image in season 7 and revealed to not be just an image conjured by Viren in his last moments of life back in season 6.

So, like, that confirms that Lissa must have left when they were closer to the age they were in Puzzle House and they weren’t just little toddlers like what was initially assumed (as I pointed out in my original theory post about how the shot of her leaving in season 6 could have been her just attempting to the first time but not actually leaving that there’s a snippet in Puzzle House that implies it was only weeks before the events in it that she left). I mean, right?

And then the whole self-eating thing with Kpp’ar… And like, obviously Viren knew to some extent he was because his dark magic dream sequence pointed it out by having Viren literally confront him about it. (And ironically at the point in the dream where Kpp’ar starts going off on Viren for only caring about power when Viren was insisting everything he does he does for his family… and then there’s the whole re-contextualization of that scene with the later provided scene of Viren going to him asking for help for Soren and having Kpp’ar deny him in season 6 which I didn’t even delve into my original theory post and also now the information that apparently this entire time this fucker was cannibalizing himself to preserve his lifespan and maintain his own sense of power.) And like, I get why Viren would be threatened by Kpp’ar, but I don’t get why he would coin him of all things unless there was already some rising tension between them, especially assuming that this would be the first time Viren had coined anyone which I’m pretty sure it is.

Oh, and there’s also the whole thing about Kpp’ar deciding to frantically give up dark magic which that alone we aren’t even really sure of when first starts (unless it’s mentioned in one of the novelizations of the first two seasons or somewhere else and I haven’t come across it yet) but then how for some reason he was still messing with magic in some way by creating this whole elaborate plan to gift Claudia with the map to find those unicorns. And apparently the unicorns he had such an obsession with finding or at least have Claudia find for him for whatever reason after he gave up dark magic turned out to all be dead? What was his original plan for them?? I mean, really both his original original plan before he gave up dark magic and his later on revised original plan involving Claudia before he got coined ?? (And for the latter, was he premeditating that something would happen to have made that plan, again, possibly suggesting there was already rising tension between him and Viren for awhile? Or maybe there was something else he was anticipating would happen?)

I really have to reevaluate this whole magefam timeline. It is a mess.

[ereawrites]

couldn't stop thinking about this post so I wrote it.. from elrond's pov bc why not!

wc: 1.1k | cw: none

fluff, mutual?pining, dumb puppy elrond

Elrond spots the necklace nestled amongst the wares of an artisan jeweller one early autumn day - a stall he barely even glances at in his haste - and for some inexplicable reason, he thinks of you.

Well. He knows the reason. It's because the gem is the exact colour that your eyes are when you turn your head away from him and the light catches the iris just right and you practically glow - and he tries not to think too hard about the fact that he can't recall that same hue in any of his other friends' eyes.

He's in a rush, but he stops anyway. The woman is kind, motherly-looking; she laughs when he has to juggle the armful of scrolls he carries to fish the coin purse from his pocket.

"Your love is a lucky one," she smiles as she hands him the box, a soft green velvet that reminds him of your favourite cloak. "To have such a generous admirer."

Elrond blinks, and swallows. "Ah - no, it's for a friend. A very dear one, but no more."

She pats his hand gently, eyes twinkling. He's running too late to dwell on it.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It's four days before he's able to make the time to seek you out. The box sits on his desk in the meantime, and Elrond keeps finding himself opening it. Admiring the craftsmanship, he thinks. The colour really is quite beautiful.

Four days of torturous meetings and endless papers to read over. Gil-Galad seems to take pity on him then, tells him to leave in time for the evening meal, and perhaps run a brush through his hair. Elrond laughs at that, but does it anyway.

He has to run - why must he always be running? - to catch you in the gardens before the food is served. Once, he used to join you here every evening. Now he counts himself lucky to come once in a moon's turn.

As always, you're happy to see him, welcoming him with a warm caress of his cheek. He leans into it. As always.

Your palm lingers, thumb tracing the dark shadows that have formed under his eyes before falling away. "You look tired, mellon. Somehow I sense you may be overworking yourself again."

"Nonsense. I do only as much as is required of me.", he begins, desperate to wash away the concerned furrow of your brow. It works, if only because you instead raise it as if to scold him wordlessly. "Ai. I suppose it has been a busier week than usual."

You've always been able to see right through him, and he's never been able to lie to you anyway.

The autumn breeze catches your hair as you reply, twist of your mouth and crinkle of your eyes betraying your admonishing tone. "Just a week? I haven't seen you for two. I'd half-feared our king had shackled you to your desk and condemned you to an eternity of paperwork."

"I beg you, do not speak the idea around him. He may just follow through."

You laugh, and the trees dance in response, shaking off their golden leaves. Elrond gathers your hands in his, holding them close to his chest. "But, truly - I am sorry that I have neglected our friendship of late."

Your gaze softens and you make to comfort him, perhaps, or to say that you understand - you always understand, no one knows his mind better - but he silences you by drawing the velvet box from within his robes.

"A gift?", you ask as he presses it into your palms, not taking your eyes from his. He nods. "Well... I am very upset with you."

"And rightly so.", he says gravely. Your smile warms him against the chill of the evening breeze. "I had hoped this might redeem me."

Once he gives your wrist an encouraging squeeze, you open the box, and gasp like all the air has been knocked out of you. "Oh - it's beautiful."

"It made me think of you.", he responds instantly, before he's given any consideration to how that sounds. Fool. You don't seem to notice, though, too focused on tracing a finger over the gem and watching the way it sparkles in the dying sunset light.

"Thank you, Elrond. Mae carnen. In fact, I must wear it tonight so everyone can share in its' beauty.". You press the necklace into his waiting palm, and turn from him. "Will you fasten it for me, please?"

He fumbles a little with the clasp, a far cry from his usual steady hand. It must be the cold air. Or fatigue, he thinks. He lowers the chain over your head and his heart warms at the way your hand comes up to caress the stone against your chest. "I am glad you like it."

You hum contentedly. For that moment, there is only the rustle of the leaves, the gentle lapping of water in the fountain, the distant music and chatter - the clasp does up easily and Elrond lifts your hair carefully, meaning to settle the chain against your nape. He doesn't know why the tips of his fingers linger against your skin, or why he so gently moves away the stray tendril of hair that isn't interfering at all, or why his knuckles seem to brush against your back of their own accord as he lets your hair down. The movement lets him catch just the barest hint of the scent you wear, and the breath in his throat hitches almost imperceptibly.

What is he doing?

That quiet moment is gone as quickly as it came. You turn to face him. "I would like anything in this world if it came to me from you, mellon. But this really is beautiful. I am lucky to have you."

You're close enough that he can see the goosebumps rising across your collarbones. His head is spinning. He's exhausted, he must be, more so than he realised; he hates to worry you, though, so he smiles, and says softly, "Am I forgiven, mellon nin?".

Then, you come up onto your tiptoes, steading yourself with splayed palms against his chest, and - you kiss him on the cheek, something you've done a thousand times, so - why does he feel dizzy?

"Quite.", you grin, and slip your arm into his in a well-practiced motion. "Now, let us go and find you some food. You look a little faint. I'll be having words with our king if this continues, I don't care that-"

Elrond hardly hears the rest of your tirade as you lead him out of the gardens. The realisation has hit him like a punch to the gut.

Oh. Oh.

He's in trouble.

[steveseddie]

light of all lights

rating: t | cw: minor character death | wc: 2,2k | tags: grief/mourning, eddie is sad about chrissy, steve is a sweetheart, hurt/comfort

written for day two of @steddielovemonth for the quote “There are darknesses in life and there are lights, you are one of the lights, the light of all lights,” and my @steddiebingo main card prompt “grief”

read on ao3

As soon as Eddie wakes up, he knows he’s hungover. He also doesn’t know why.

He doesn’t remember going out yesterday yet there’s an unmistakable pounding in his head and his mouth tastes like something died in it, so he must have partaken in the consumption of alcoholic beverages at some point last night.

If only he could remember any of it.

He rolls over and realizes he’s not in his bed back at the trailer. This is Steve’s bed. There’s probably something to be said about how long it takes him to notice it— already so used to spending at least a few nights a week in Steve’s bed, but Eddie chooses not to dwell on it right now, not while his sluggish brain is still trying to figure out what happened last night.

Eddie knows he didn’t go partying with Steve, but maybe he got too drunk at The Hideout and Steve had to come pick him up? But that doesn’t sound right either. They didn’t have a show last night or they should’ve since it was Saturday and Corroded Coffin had long since been upgraded from Tuesday nights to Saturdays once they built enough of a regular crowd. Only Eddie had canceled last night’s show knowing he’d be in a bad mood because—

Oh.

He knew he’d be in a bad mood because it was the anniversary of Chrissy’s death.

Eddie remembers everything now, going to the school for the memorial held in her honor only to turn around on his heels before he even made it to the gymnasium; running into Steve, who was on his way in and who took one look at Eddie’s tear-stained eyes and shaky hands and led him back to his car. He remembers Steve driving him to get flowers and then driving them both to the cemetery so they could put them on Chrissy’s grave. He remembers Steve sitting next to him, pressing their shoulders together until some jocks— friends of Jason Carver, probably— showed up and tried to start something with Eddie by calling him a murderer and saying he should’ve died instead of her.

Steve scared them off with his nailbat, but they decided it was better to leave the cemetery before they came back with more of their friends or someone else showed up. Then Steve drove them to his house without even asking, which Eddie was grateful for. The trailer, despite being different from the one where Chrissy died, was the last place he wanted to be. Back at Steve’s house, Eddie broke into Mr. Harrington’s liquor cabinet and Steve kept him company as he drank and cried, and drank some more.

At some point he must’ve cut Eddie off, dragged him upstairs and gotten him into bed so he could sleep it off, but Eddie doesn’t remember that part. He also doesn’t remember Steve sleeping next to him, but he knows he would’ve wanted to keep an eye on Eddie and make sure he didn’t die in his sleep.

Eddie wonders where Steve is right now— the left side of the bed isn’t warm anymore so he’s been gone for a while, but he left two painkillers and water on the bedside table for Eddie so the fact that he isn’t here doesn’t necessarily mean he hates Eddie for being such a fucking mess last night.

Still, Eddie would like to apologize because no one should have to deal with all of that so after downing the pills and the water, taking a leak and brushing his teeth with the spare toothbrush he keeps in Steve’s bathroom, he goes looking for him.

He finds him easily. All he has to do is follow the smell of coffee and bacon to the kitchen where Steve is doing The Hawkins Post’s crossword while sipping coffee, bacon simmering on the stove behind him.

Eddie feels a wave of affection so strong he goes dizzy with it. He must let out a gasp at the sight because Steve looks up, alerted of his presence.

His face softens when he sees Eddie, a sweet smile stretching over his lips. “Hey, you’re awake.”

“Morning, sweetheart,” Eddie says, leaning against the kitchen doorway.

Steve sets the paper down, the apples of his cheeks tinted pink. “How are you feeling?”

“Ugh.” Eddie flings the back of his hand to his forehead like a fainting damsel as he slides halfway down the doorway. “My head hurts from all the crying and the drinking and the crying—”

“You did a lot of that, yeah.” Steve gives him a sympathetic smile. “I left you some pills on the nightstand.”

“Yup, I saw them. They should kick in soon. Thanks, Stevie,” he says, standing up straight. Then he hangs a hand from his neck and adds, “and thanks for— you know, everything. I know I was a lot to deal with yesterday.”

“You weren’t,” Steve quickly reassures him. Eddie raises an eyebrow at him, making him snort. “Fine, maybe you were but— I get it, man, this kind of anniversaries can be rough, but it’s worse if you go through them alone so I’m glad I found you when I did.”

“Yeah, I probably would’ve ended up at the hospital if those jocks found me alone or ended up in a ditch somewhere after drinking a whole bar by myself.” He feels a sudden sharp sting in his head. “It kinda feels like I already did, ouch.”

“Yeah, you went hard on the whiskey last night,” Steve says. “Come here, you need coffee and food.”

Eddie flops down on a chair at the same time Steve stands up. A minute later, there’s bacon and toast on a plate in front of him and a steaming mug of coffee next to it.

“Thanks,” Eddie mumbles, sipping on his coffee and sighing contentedly. Steve sits next to him, also drinking coffee but not eating anything. He probably had breakfast when he woke up, which must’ve been a while ago since he’s already dressed for the day. “You have somewhere to be, Stevie?”

“What?”

He gestures at him with his fork. “You’re way overdressed to hang out at home on a Sunday morning.”

“Afternoon, technically,” Steve says with a smirk, gesturing at the clock. He’s right, it’s well past noon. “And no, I don’t have anywhere to be but I did,” he says cryptically.

“Okayyyy,” Eddie chuckles. “Are you gonna share with the class or—”

“I had to go to the bakery earlier.”

“What for?”

Steve grabs a paper bag that Eddie hadn’t noticed and slides it over the counter towards him. “To get this.”

“What’s that?” Eddie mumbles through a mouthful of bacon.

Steve reaches into the bag, retrieving a small box. Inside, there’s a cupcake.

Eddie blinks at it. “What? You were craving a cupcake overnight?”

“No, it’s for you,” Steve says, taking it out of the box and placing it in front of Eddie. “Happy anniversary.”

“Happy what now?” Eddie asks, confused.

“Happy anniversary!” Steve says again, like that’s supposed to explain everything.

It doesn’t.

“Anniversary of what? Chrissy’s death anniversary was yesterday, Steve, and I’ve never heard of people buying cupcakes to celebrate that—”

Steve’s eyes widen in alarm. “Dude, no!” he says, horrified. “That’s awful, no, this is a ‘happy anniversary of the day we met’ cupcake!”

Eddie narrows his eyes at him. “The day we—”

“We met, yeah,” Steve says, waving his hand between Eddie and himself. “You know, when you held that broken bottle to my neck.”

“Yeah, I remember that,” Eddie chuckles amusedly. “I just didn’t know that’s a thing people do.”

“It’s a thing I do,” Steve says with a shrug. “It was Robin’s idea. Ours is the day we started working at Scoops and I do it with Henderson too, though we never really figured out the actual date we met. And now you— I met you the day after Chrissy. Officially, I mean, so happy anniversary.”

A laugh tumbles from Eddie’s lips, something disbelieving. “You’re something else, Steve Harrington,” he says, “happy anniversary, I guess.”

Steve gives him a lopsided grin that makes Eddie’s heart flutter in his chest. Then he jumps out of his seat and snaps his fingers, like he just remembered something.

“Wait!” He starts rummaging around his kitchen until he comes up with a candle and a lighter. He sticks the candle into the cupcake and lights it up. “There, now you make a wish.”

“Isn’t that for birthdays, Steve?”

Steve waves his hand dismissively. “Hey, we came up with this so we can make our own rules. Ergo, you blow the candle out and make a wish.”

Eddie smirks. “Was ergo a word in your morning crossword?”

“It was, actually.” Steve rolls his eyes with fond exasperation. “Now shut up and blow!”

“Shouldn’t we both blow the candle and make a wish? Since it’s our anniversary?”

Steve shakes his head. “No, that’s not—”

“Not how it works?” Eddie asks, his lips stretching into a smirk. “I thought you said we could make our own rules.”

With a sigh, Steve nods. “I guess I did say that,” he says. “Fine, we both blow it out and make a wish.”

Eddie shoots him a smug grin.

Steve counts down from three and they both blow at the same time. Eddie’s wish is simple— he wishes that he and Steve can celebrate these anniversaries for many years. He wonders what Steve wishes for.

After scooping up some frosting with his finger, Eddie licks it off. It’s good. “Now what?”

Steve’s eyes follow the movement, his eyes darkening slightly when Eddie sucks on his finger. “Um, now you— you eat the cupcake.”

“Shouldn’t we both eat the cupcake?”

“No, Eddie, I got it for you,” Steve deadpans, rolling his eyes when Eddie insists on being difficult.

Eddie holds his hands up. “Geez, okay, okay!” He says, taking a bite. It’s sugary and sweet, and Eddie lets out an obscene moan that makes Steve’s eyes widen. “It’s good! Damn, I wish you’d told me about this anniversary thing before, I would’ve gotten you something too.”

Steve gives a half shrug. “You can get me something next year.”

And maybe it’s the certainty behind Steve’s words, like he knows they’ll celebrate many anniversaries, or maybe it’s everything he did for Eddie yesterday while he was grieving or what he’s been doing for Eddie for the past year. Maybe it’s the way his eyes keep darting to Eddie’s lips as he licks more frosting or maybe it’s just that Eddie loves Steve so much that he can’t help but lean in and press a kiss to his lips.

Steve makes a surprised noise in the back of his throat, but Eddie feels the slightest press of lips against his mouth before he’s pulling back.

“Or I can give you that,” Eddie whispers, his eyes darting over Steve’s face. He looks a little dazed, but not like he wants to smash what’s left of the cupcake against Eddie’s face. Both are good signs.

“One— one kiss?” Steve stammers out.

“One kiss, multiple, my heart, me,” Eddie mumbles, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. “Whatever you want.”

“I want you, Eds,” Steve says with a dopey smile, using his thumb to wipe some frosting from the corner of Eddie’s mouth. “Probably since that day we met.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow in amusement while his chest flutters wildly. “When I held a broken bottle to your neck?”

“Guess a part of me thought that was hot,” Steve admits with a shrug. Then it’s his turn to scoop up some frosting and lick his finger clean. Watching Steve do it, Eddie understands why he was so distracted by it. “Hey, Eds?”

“Hm?” Eddie hums distractedly, his eyes not leaving Steve’s lips.

Steve moves his chair closer so his legs are bracketing Eddie’s. “If you are the cupcake in this scenario,” he says, lifting Eddie’s chin. His eyes twinkle playfully. “Does that mean I can make a wish if I blow you?”

The words make Eddie choke on his spit, his face turning an alarming shade of red. “Jesus H. Christ, Harrington!” Eddie sputters through a strangled laugh. “I say hell yeah. We make our own rules, right?”

“Right,” Steve agrees, smiling as he leans in for another kiss. He doesn’t pull away as quickly as Eddie did, letting their lips slide together, teasing the seam of Eddie’s lips with his tongue.

“Stevie?” Eddie whispers once their kiss slows down. He waits until Steve meets his eyes and flashes him a smile. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For everything. Yesterday was shitty, but you made it bearable and then you made today great,” Eddie says, cupping Steve’s face, brushing his thumb over his cheek. “I think I’ll always be sad about Chrissy, but now I also have something to celebrate. It’s kinda like, you have to go through bad things, yeah, but sometimes it leads you to some good ones, you know?” He scrunches his face slightly. “Cheesy as that sounds.”

Steve’s mouth twitches up. “Am I one of the good things?”

“Stevie,” Eddie chuckles softly, pulling Steve closer until their faces are only inches apart. “You’re the best thing.”

The words make Steve beam, then he throws his arms around Eddie’s shoulders. “Happy anniversary, Eddie.”

“Happy anniversary, sweetheart.”

[dramaticallytotal]

The Rise of Team E-Scope Headcanons: Part Seven

Idea Post Part One Last Part

Broadway Baby:

• Noah wasn't crushed under Owen because Alejandro is trying to show the smaller boy he could be an ideal friend, so he made sure Noah sat next to him. Except the boy slept a lot, not that Alejandro could blame him, his ankle was still hurt. It had apparently been a sprain, but thankfully, it was not too serious, which was a miracle to Alejandro, considering his new amigo had taken the brunt of Owen's weight on his ankle. The boy had taken some pain medication and was out.

• Alejandro was also very surprised at how considerate Izzy could be as he had observed the girl gently waking Noah up to make sure he ate and to rewrap his ankle. It was odd. She was never gentle with anyone. Except Noah and Eva but Noah more so. So Noah must be the leader of the group, which is what Alejandro concluded. (Ale, you fool. They are just really close friends who care about each other.)

• While Tyler and Alejandro had been eating oatmeal (first class has an oatmeal bar, I don't know why, but I believe this in my soul. It's only available for breakfast), Owen, once awake, had a full Yukon breakfast, Izzy ate a little of everything, and Noah had congee. He had been confused when he was woken up by Izzy to eat it because he knew it wasn't an option on the breakfast menu.

She claimed she made it and before Alejandro could stop him from doing so (Alejandro 100% does not trust it since Izzy said she made it and he's worried how Noah wasn't worried at all) Noah took a bite and felt himself practically melt. It tasted just like his pāṭṭi's (grandma's). He knew she didn't make it, given that Izzy liked to experiment when she cooked, so she must have specifically asked for it. But for it to taste just like his pāṭṭi's the person who made it must have known her or something. Which meant Chef most likely made it.

Noah doesn't know why he did, but he's grateful. Despite his ankle being in pain, the congee helped.

[That is exactly why Chef made it. His emotionally-adopted son was hurt, and his in-denial husband panicked and called Abbi, Noah's mom, to tell her and ask for tips on how to make him feel better. Elayanila, Noah's grandma, took over the call and told Chef how to make her congee.]

• Eva was so done with Courtney, Heather, and Gwen and their stupid fighting. They had fought late into the night and started right back up as soon as they awoke. What was worse was them blaming her despite her doing her best, and she knew they would have voted her off if the challenge had not been a reward.

Heather had made a snide remark about Eva going faster if she had let her whip her. It took Eva, baring her teeth at the girl, to get her to shut up. They would have won if Sierra hadn't gone off the path and taken Cody with her. It took extra time to find them, which is what set them back.

• Eva, Katie, and Sadie were guarding Cody in economy class as Sierra kept trying to get to him to rub his legs and feet to "warm" him up.

• Bridgette is feeling on edge after the challenge, and it is because of the accidental kiss with Alejandro. She already made a confessional about it and how sorry she was to Geoff. She apologized that it happened and that she didn’t say more to Alejandro when he flirted with her. She also confesses that it took Noah talking to her to realize how it looked.

Now that she's on edge, she kind of starts to isolate from her team but especially Leshawna.

• Lindsay is still the one to give her team a pep talk because she's like, so tired of their down attitudes. Well, besides Sadie, but Sadie was playing guard so Lindsay didn't have her other moral booster.

• Tyler is the one to tell Alejandro to take Lindsay a snuffer's bar.

• Leshawna and Lindsay happily took the snacks while Bridgette just said, "I'm good. Thanks." Which shocked Alejandro and Leshawna. Leshawna apologized for Bridgette's behavior, which Alejandro waved away, but Bridgette heard her, and now there is tension between the two because Bridgette knows she wasn't rude in her answer or anything. She even said it with a smile. But for some odd reason, Leshawna took offense to her, turning down Alejandro's gesture.

• Heather is still trying to form an alliance with Sierra, so she is still there when Alejandro tries to offer his former teammate some candy. She still plays the whole enemy thing up.

• Alejandro does think she's good, but he also knows that Team E-Scope is protective of Cody, and if Heather is complicit of helps Sierra get to Cody, she's done. Even if Sierra is Chris's current favorite.

• Noah caught Alejandro's smirk when Sierra annoyed Chris and could see where the next manipulation was going to go.

• Izzy offered to carry Noah up the rope because of his ankle, but Alejandro made up some reason for it to be him, so Noah ended up getting a piggy-back ride up the rope. He tried not to think of how warm Alejandro was or how he had the perfect view of his muscles working overtime as they climbed.

• Alejandro was trying not to focus on the feel of Noah pressed against his back nor the way the shorter boy's thighs squeezed him the further from the ground they got. But this also helped him realize he actually felt muscle in the thighs, so he added it to his list of Noah Is More Than He Seems because all he has heard is how scrawny and lanky Noah is. So why was there muscle enough to notice?

• A pair of work gloves lended to Justin so the boy wouldn't cry and complain about damaging his hands, which ended up on his Objects Noah Has In His Utility Belt List.

• Lindsay was the first one up her rope for her team. All her years of gymnastics were really coming in handy. Bridgette followed her quickly, followed by Sadie, then Leshawna, then DJ.

• Heather still suggested Sierra chose the method of climbing while Eva ignored them and just started climbing with one hand. One hand because she grabbed Cody by the back of his shirts like the scruff of a cat and just started climbing. Katie immediately followed her.

• Sierra still makes the confession that she knows Heather is playing her, but she also admits she is going along with it because she knows Heather is desperate for an alliance and she could use that to get to Cody. Whether that be voting off Eva or Heather distracting the girl for her. Whichever came first.

• Alejandro did swing over to Sierra while Noah berated him for slowing them down, which the taller boy expertly ignored. He still played his manipulation of Sierra like in canon, and Noah had to begrudgingly compliment him. He was hoping this would be what sent Sierra home.

• Once at the top, Sierra mentioned to Heather how it was a little annoying how Eva left them behind. She made sure to mention she thought it meant the girl was trying to be their leader, which pissed off Heather to the point the mean girl offered to get the stroller as that's something only a valuable teammate and wonderful leader would do.

• Once they got Owen up, Izzy made her way to the stroller faster than everyone else. So, Team Chris took the lead.

• DJ is still the one who got Team Victory's stroller.

• Alejandro did hit Owen with the stroller as a form of cathartic release once he realized none of his other teammates were there to see it happen.

• Cody did fall out the boat, but Eva noticed and dived in to get him. Her swimming made the distance her team had to turn around lessen.

• When they went into the sewer, Noah handed his team nose plugs. It went on the list.

• The alligator is actually an animal employed on the show, though Noah never got close to him, so the fear of meeting him was definitely real. And Noah clings when he's scared, which meant he clung to Alejandro almost immediately.

• No Heather comment from Alejandro because he was distracted by Noah clinging to him.

• The boy band comment from Sierra let Noah know Alejandro's plan with Sierra was working. It also gave him a good laugh along with everyone.

• Who went in the strollers still remains the same as in canon.

• Noah sang one line in the song before he fell asleep because of the pain. His pain medication wore off, and anytime he was sick or hurt, he would sleep it off. It was just instinct at that point.

• Alejandro did flirt with Heather, but it's not because he likes her. It's strategy.

• No baby and Noah swap in this one either, as Izzy would not leave Noah alone while he's injured and sleeping. Heather tried to swap anyways and Izzy bit her. The mom of the baby also hit her with her purse a couple of times. Chris had to make Heather apologize so the mom wouldn't sue.

• Bridgette swam for her team since Leshawna, Lindsay, and Sadie refused to. Plus DJ still can't swim well.

• Sierra swam in an effort to impress Cody.

• Tyler still swam for Team Chris.

• Team Chris won first place because there was no switch while Team Amazon came in second, and Team Victory came in last.

• Noah woke up from the cheering, and that's when Chris said he'd make the challenge a reward challenge if Noah sang a solo song. Noah is baffled and shocked and immediately asks why. Chris's shit-eating grin should have clued him in that it was nothing good and of course he was right!

Noelle was such a snitch!!!

She saw his singing in past episodes and knew he wasn't putting any effort in, so she contacted Chris with proof Noah can sing. Thus, Chris made Noah sing. He said it could be about anything, so Noah made sure to pick a song that would be cut and possibly copyrighted if they kept it in.

He sang "Toucha, Toucha, Toucha, Touch Me" from Rocky Horror Picture Show.

• Chris did have to cut the camera, but he let Noah sing out the whole song. Alejandro was entranced and couldn't really tell you why he couldn't look away. But he couldn't. Especially when Noah would run his hands up and down his body as he got into character. He barely noticed Izzy and Lindsay jumping in as some kind of background singers ( they jumped in as Magenta and Columbia respectively.)

Trent, Justin, and Cody were all amazed that Moah could sing, and Trent and Cody were already coming up with ways to pursue the boy to join their band. Justin found new flirting and teasing material.

• Once Noah was done, he was met with applause, which he brushed off, but the smirk he sent Chris was met with an eye roll from the host and a poorly hidden smile.

• Team Chris got to open the apples, and everyone took a bit of the candy, but Alejandro and Noah were already thinking of sharing it with the whole cast. Noah because he had friends in economy class who would love some and Alejandro as a manipulation tatic.

• They, of course, kept the meat grinder.

• Noah was pleased to be back in first class and immediately claimed a couch for himself and spread out on it, not unlike a cat stretching and getting comfortable in the sun. Izzy and Owen cooed, and Alejandro thought it was cute before he berated himself for thinking so and picking a chair close to Noah. For his plan, of course! They needed to be close so Alejandro could make Noah believe they were friends.

• Trent, Tyler, and Justin requested massages, while Owen and Izzy settled on another couch and watched a movie on the big screen that was in first class.

• At the end of the episode, Chris had to explain to the viewers why Noah's song was cut.

• But he found out one camera guy had still been rolling, so he and Chef had a recording of their ki- assistant, absolutely killing it. He is so unaware that he's acting like a proud dad.

[majorasnightmare]

The Dark Urge Performs an Autopsy and Does Not Think of His Father (W.I.P.)

Exploring the brief stint of time in between Gortash and Dirge forming the beginnings of the Absolute's plan, and Ketheric formally joining the alliance to unite the Dead Three in single purpose. Isobel's resurrection was the sole request Ketheric made of Myrkul in return for his service, and was required before Ketheric would acquiesce to delving below Moonrise.

However. Gortash commands the deaths of others. Ketheric leads an army set upon devastation. Bound to a necromancer god, how skilled is Ketheric actually with the task at hand? Unwilling to trust a matter of such import to two amateurs, the Dark Urge is forced to take matters into his own hands, and prepare Isobel's corpse for Resurrection himself.

Handling the body of the Moonmaiden's Cleric, whos revival will seal the doom of the world, the Chosen of Bhaal tries very hard not to think about the father Isobel has, that he does not.

4000+ words as of right now! currently unfinished but polished enough to post

Ketheric stands, fingers splayed across the surface of the coffin. The nameplate beneath, beautiful and elegantly carved, reads isobel thorm. The justiciar’s daughter. The lynchpin to bring forth the death of the world. The Dark Urge leans against a back wall, tail switching back and forth in impatient irritation, waiting, for something. It never comes. Sentimentality holds Ketheric paralyzed. Or perhaps fear. A century has she slept within a bed of stone, and rot always finds a crack through which to claim its dues. Even Gortash’s near infinite (comparatively) sympathies run short, and he strides to Ketherics side, smooth voice undercut by the gravel of barely restrained frustration. 

"Are we merely here to stand idle as your daughter resurrects herself? If so, one would appreciate being informed beforehand, to avoid making hazardous, unnecessary excursions-"

Ketherics curt tone cuts him short. 

"The Doctrine of Bane must certainly teach the values of patience? Or is there a habit of blindly rushing forth in your practice?" 

Gortash makes a dismissive noise through his teeth, but Ketherics hand refuses to move. The Chosen of Bhaal cocks his head to the side, focused on a small detail on the sarcophagus centered in the room. He makes an interested click, loud enough to catch attention, and once both heads have started to twist towards his claimed corner, he graces the fetid stale air with the scratchings of his voice.

"There's a crack, there in the lid. Near the seam, where it connects with the base." Keterics attention predictably snaps to the spot in question, keen eyes quickly finding the miniscule detail. The implied meaning behind the bhaalspawn’s comment makes itself obvious. How long has it been there? When did it begin to splinter? How deep does it go? How long has his daughter's body been exposed to rotting cursed air? As Ketheric's thoughts tumble down the train of questions, panic predictably breaks him from his mournful reverie and strong hands fasten themselves to either side of the tomb's lid. Sturdy fingers crack into stone, and the Chosen of Bhaal watches as the muscles in Ketheric's shoulders clench and strain, as the man grips, and then rips the sarcophagus's lid right off. As he does so, it takes some of the base's sides with it, jagged wounds blasted through carved stone. Ketheric tosses it aside, and while the bhaalspawn cannot see his expression, he hears Gortash's low whistle. Curiosity is enough to move him from his spot against the wall, and Ketheric is silent for a long moment before his voice, heavy with grief, punctuates the empty air. 

"Like a day had never passed...She's..." 

Gortash sidles up against the coffin to stare down below, breaking Ketheric's trailed silence.

"Impressive! I must say, typically most corpses I see certainly show their wear after a few days, let alone a century." 

Ketherics head snaps towards Gortash's in irritation, but before he says anything, the Dark Urge finishes his languid prowl towards the center, and stares down into the coffin's depths.

She's beautiful. All corpses are, in their way. The thin veneer of skin pulled back, insides out, arcs of crimson marking the walls and floors. The muted deep hues of a liver, exposed to air for the first time in its existence. What he does not reveal, decay takes upon itself, pulling away facade and persona alike to gracefully display what these rotting bags of viscera and skin take such great pains to keep hidden. But the corpse of Isobel Thorm is in no such condition. Skin pulled ever so slightly taut against the skeleton, the washed out tone of a body devoid of flowing blood. Hands folded gracefully over her center, eyes gently closed. Were he not so intimate with death, he could be forgiven for an initial assumption of ailing sleep. But no. There, in the background, hidden beneath the musty smell of rotting cloth and stagnant air that so filled the Thorm Mausoleum, was but a single note of sweet putrefaction. It was enough to spark a pang of hunger through his core. But this corpse was more than just a lump of rotting meat. This corpse was his harbinger of apocalypse. Once this corpse rose from its slumber, the Dead Three would be united in single purpose once more, and upon the throne of their triumph, he would personally raise the eclipse of slaughter upon this blighted earth himself. None of which could happen, of course, if this corpse did not get up. 

Ketheric took a breath to steady himself. His hand, steady save for the smallest of trembles, reached out overtop her body. He sucked in a gulp of air, and then carefully began to give voice to the foul incantation that would restore life-

A hand, fast as a whip with a grip like iron, fastened itself around Ketheric's wrist. The bhaalspawn’s voice carved through the air with an authority profound enough to cut the words out of Ketheric's mouth.

"What are you doing?"

Ketheric made a dismissive tone and made to yank his hand out of the bhaalspawn's grasp, but those fingers remained clasped around Ketheric's wrist.

"I am going to revive my daughter."

The disdain in his voice was liquid venom, dripped into the surrounding stagnant silence. The bhaalspawn's grip relaxed slightly, making a dismissive *tchk* sound as he rolled his eyes.

"I know why you are doing this, Ketheric. What I asked was what?"

"I... I am invoking my lord Myrkul to call upon his power to restore life to my daughter's flesh, and call her soul back to inhabit it once again."

"As she is?"

Ketheric pulled his hand free at last, and once again looked down at the body before him. When he didn't answer, the Chosen of Bhaal folded his arms across his chest, oozing irritation at some perceived slight both Ketheric and Gortash had yet to grasp. The bhaalspawn jabbed a single clawed finger towards the body of Isobel.

"What, exactly, do you think would happen, if life were restored to a century old corpse fresh from its coffin? Do you imagine it'd go over well?"

Ketheric answered only with his silence. The spawn paused only for a beat before continuing on in disdain.

"All you can tell upon looking at her, is merely that her skin has preserved itself fairly well. There is no telling what the state of her organs is. I can make some broad assumptions given the condition, but nothing I would stake something as important as this on. Not without confirming first, that is." 

He punctuated his usage of *this* with a sneer, lip curling to reveal just a hint of the canines Gortash had seen cleave through a man's arm. 

Ketheric's body language shifted to something noticeably more uncertain. The spawn quirked a scarred eyebrow in question, and when Ketheric refused to deign him with elaboration, he pressed the paladin again.

"You... do know how to disassemble a corpse, yes? In such a fashion as to allow *re*-assembly. Yes?"

Gortash folded his arms across his chest and rolled back slightly on his heels.

"Such a skillset isn't particularly useful in my line of work. And far too messy for my tastes anyways. Grease, ink, and oil are enough for my tolerances, I'm not too keen on adding "rotting viscera" to that list."

Ketheric shifted uneasily on his feet.

"...Necromancy was not an aspect of Shar's doctrine I was familiar with. My lord Myrkul's knowledge is great, but... My hands are not yet experienced to my satisfaction."

Gortash clicked his tongue. 

"Will we have to call in your pet zombie for the matter-"

"NO. No. Balthazar will not touch her." Ketheric's voice cracked with a single note of unexpected rage that took both Gortash and the spawn slightly aback. Gortash recovered from the interruption fast enough to retort.

"Then who, exactly, will prepare your daughter for resurrection?"

"....I will-"

"And risk reducing her insides to a paste? I'm sure necromancy will take perfectly well to animating that."

"Then you, Gortash? Certainly you can stitch together an intestinal tract as neatly as a gear train."

Gortash raised his hands in a motion of appeasement.

"I never offered. I'm well aware of my deficiencies."

"Then we are back where we started."

The two of them sat in silence for a long moment. The bhaalspawn carefully leaned forward so as to be in view of both of them, and flicked two fingers forward in a gesture of offering.

Ketheric's scowl could crack mountains. 

"No. Absolutely not. You will not touch her."

Gortash rolled his eyes as he spoke up.

"Oh and you have any better options. Let me remind you that every second we dilly dally, your daughter spends more and more time exposed to your lands curse laden miasma."

"I am NOT letting some misbegotten murderous freak-"

"That "misbegotten freak" is more intimately familiar with the insides of a living person than either of us."

"I refuse-"

"Refuse what? To allow an experienced hand to carefully attend to the flesh of your beloved daughter? Will you refuse her a doctor, next time she falls ill, as well?"

"..."

Ketheric's scowl settled into something the bhaalspawn could have almost sworn was sulking. 

"...Fine. But if you even think of defiling-"

The Chosen of Bhaal unfolded his arms to make a dismissive hand gesture towards Ketheric, cutting him off.

"Yes yes, no defilement or desecration of any sort, of course. Luckily for you I had the foresight we'd find ourselves in such a position and ensured my equipment made its way into our preparations. Now leave me to it."

"You brought your-? No, I most certainly will not be leaving you alone here with my daughter-"

Gortash chimed in while examining the nails on his un-gauntleted hand.

"You can tell how excited he is just from how much he's speaking. I think this is the most our murderous companion has graced us with his voice since we embarked from Moonrise."

"You aren’t any better. If either if you think I’ll be leaving you alone with my most cherished child-"

The Chosen of Bhaal levelled the full force of a gaze that had crumpled initiates to the floor. 

"If you wish to see Isobel's intestines stretched wormlike from her corpse to a table, please do not allow me to stop you."

Ketheric pursed his mouth into a thin line.

"Furthermore. I do not. Appreciate. An audience. While I work."

"..."

"This is holy work. Your daughter will realize the glorious ambitions of my Father. Rest assured I shall treat the task with the gravity such a thing is due."

Ketheric met his gaze head on, holding eye contact as the bhaalspawn finished speaking. 

"...Very well. At the very least, I can trust you won't bring any dishonor to your father's name. And if that is enough to stay your hand from anything...untoward, thennthat is enough for me. Alert me when the work is finished."

As he finished speaking, Ketheric turned sharp on his heel and began to walk out. Gortash waited a moment for Ketheric's back to face him, before pointing an exaggerated eye roll towards the Dark Urge, an amused smirk playing on his lips. Gortash gave a loose wave as he followed behind out of the mausoleum. The bhaalspawn spared a brief moment to wonder where, exactly, they'd be going that was both nearby and shielded from the curse, and then decided he didn't care. There was a matter he must attend to.

The corpse lay as still and silent as when he first gazed upon it minutes ago. Isobel. The syllables of her name seemed to float in the air, weightless. It had an airy feeling on his tongue, in his thoughts. It suited her perfectly. His gaze softened, staring down at her. What a blasphemous thing he was about to do. To pull this sweet, lifeless body back into the forsaken blighted land of the living. His Father had already graced his hands for the foul task at hand, so there was no question of heresy. Despite this, his mind remained disquieted. Even with his Father's blessing, how could he call himself the Scion of Bhaal if he did not have any misgivings? Or...perhaps this itself was another expression of the immutable flaws within him. After all, if his lord Father was assured in His purpose, what right did he have to doubt, even in service to His doctrine? He shook the train of thought from his head, although it did not clear the familiar lump of dread in his stomach. He reassured himself in the knowledge that she would only have to walk this world again for a scant few months, before the broken backs of an oath-sworn army performed their service to his Father and dragged all the world beneath a bloodied sky. And still. At least she didn't talk. That was always nice.

The Dark Urge rolled his shoulders to loosen them up, and then set about to gather an idea of what, exactly, he'd be working with here. He traced a gentle line against her cheek, the skin taut and dry against the pad of his finger. The flesh was firm, as it did not yield even as he began to place pressure upon it. A quick sniff confirmed his suspicions. Upon her death, her sealed coffin had retained enough humidity to allow the formation of corpse wax. At least partially. Clearly not everything had been preserved, for the sweet decay of rot still danced in the air, subtle but unmistakable. He was mostly grateful that at the very least her face had preserved. While he was well acquainted with the varied layouts of vital organs, he was much less confident in his ability to safely cut away any rotten portions of brain, without carving out something important. Wasn't even that enjoyable to look at anyways, at least not whole. Made a beautiful splatter when coming into contact with the blunt end of a blacksmith's hammer though. He shook his head. Not relevant, focus. He gently tested the exposed extremities, thankfully all similarly waxy. Ideally he might be able to get away with minimal clean up. His hopes were dashed though when, upon carefully moving her hands, a gentle press against the flat of her stomach made way for an unpleasant amount of give. The elements had preserved her face, her hands, but beneath her clothing, the rot had taken her organs. The source of the decay he had been smelling. Clearly it hadn't progressed overmuch, as the scent was incredibly faint. Typically, by this point, the scent should be unmistakable, overwhelming, enough to send his lessers stumbling and gagging away from the promise of spoilage that awaited all of them. Well. This is about as far as he'd get relying on his senses alone. Time for the work to begin. 

Ketheric had clearly spent a fair bit of time in preparation for his role as envoy of Myrkul, as the mausoleum already had a fair collection of tools littering the side rooms containing his ancestors. Clearly there was no love lost in the Thorm family. The Urge spent a moment wondering if Thorm would bother cleaning up his workstations when he was satisfied with his results, then decided again he didn't care. He wouldn't trust the tools of a hobbyist butcher anyways. And while it took a fair bit of convincing to make Sceleritas mind the temple, at least the butler had remembered his request for the well worn tools of his taxidermy, minus that which wasn't really portable. He drummed his fingers against the side of the sarcophagus, considering. There was no getting around it. The body was too deep below him. She'd have to be moved. His gaze landed on one of the varying tables left out as whoever had set about their foul work beforehand clearly wasn't of a mind to tidy up. Wide enough to hold a body, though not much else. It would suffice. Decision made, he carefully leaned down towards her still form.

Delicately taking the back of her neck in his hand, fingers brushing through the strands of her hair. Still soft, still fine. Her neck fit so perfectly in his hand. He briefly entertained the thought of closing his fingers up and around her throat, then decided against it. Windpipes were so fragile, and it'd be a pain if he got too enraptured and gripped with too much force. Instead he slid his hand down and out so as to support her weight by the shoulders, slipping his other arm underneath her knees. Taking a moment to get a good feel for her weight, he exhaled and then carefully pulled Isobel up and out of her sarcophagus and into his arms. Held close to his chest, her head limply lolled into his shoulder. Not nearly as stiff as she should be. That was odd. Thankfully Isobel was just as light as her name. Moving her would pose no problem at all. And yet, something in the small motion, gravity pulling her corpse against the warmth of his flesh, stirred some unnameable emotion in his chest. Pausing, without fully knowing why, the Dark Urge stared down at the young woman he held.

Gentle features, a delicate build, so light in his arms. Is this how Ketheric felt, carrying her dead weight to her (presumed) final resting place? What did it mean for a Father to mourn His Creation so deeply he would burn all he knew upon a pyre just for her sake? A sacrifice she could never ask for. Blissful ignorance of the atrocities bestowed upon the land in her name. The pit in his stomach intensified. How cruel, to steal her from this. To bring her back to a world where her father had rendered her home wholly unrecognizable. The Chosen of Bhaal harbored no illusions about his own nature. That he, and his kind, were alone in their holy calling. That most others felt an irresistible draw towards prolonging their own wretched sufferings. They clung to false promises of "home" and "family" and "camaraderie". The bonds they formed between each other weighed down by love and connection. No, he was not ignorant of such things at all. How often had he relied on such delusions to sow death in his wake? Taking a surgeon's knife to those bowstring-taut bonds such that another may be unknowingly gifted the holy all-consuming blood passion? The aftershocks were often too much for their unaccustomed minds and untrained bodies, falling into wreck and ruin, filtered through a lens of heartbreak and betrayal to distance themselves from the sacred truth they had glimpsed for but a moment. And here he was, holding the corpse of Ketheric's daughter, about to call her back from the slaughtersweet world beyond, to...what? That same ruin he inflicted to push them towards that final calling? Surely she would feel betrayed? Daughters loved their fathers, didn't they? Children craved protection and peace, didn't they? Stability, familiarity, a home just how they remembered it, illusions and lies and false promises. Someone had already done her the kindness of tearing them all away, and here he was about to thrust Isobel back into their midst. When the call of life beckoned her back with its siren song, could she ever forgive the man who ensnared her so? After glimpsing a truth now fading from memory? Why did such a thought stir him so? What point was there in asking forgiveness from the dead?

"Not dead." a voice in his mind whispered. "The not-yet living." 

How foul. His mouth curled into a sour snarl. Blasphemy indeed. He'd swallow it down, for Father. It was one thing to call the rotting sacks of meat and bone to walk and slaughter. A dark unlife, devoid of delusion. There was sense in that. But this was true life. If he did not kill her, she would... She would live, he supposed. Grow old, years and years from now. Grow sick, grow frail. How long until the void beyond beckoned her back? Sickening to imagine. His fingers tightened against her body. 

Endure it, Isobel, he silently pleaded. A higher calling beckons you towards a dark paradise. Endure this farce once again for but a brief time, and you shall be rewarded with death eternal. 

He stared down at her face, devoid of rot. Eyes gently shut in repose. 

You shall not suffer this taint for long.

A brief pause.

I promise.

Isobel lay flat upon a table stained with long dried blood. It didn't even retain a single hint of its savory metallic scent. Ugh. Myrkulites. Everything they do is so dry. Well. A blood slick surface would have made this harder anyways. He'll indulge his bloodlust on the way leaving the region. He grabbed the rim of one of those gaudy elaborate Sharran vases and pulled it to his side. A quick glance inside supported his idea. Trash can shaped. He hooked a foot around the leg of a nearby smaller table  holding his tools and dragged it over. A thought. Would he be able to strip the body without merely carving through the fabric? Such a thing rarely mattered but. This corpse would be getting back up after her autopsy. The Mausoleum was far from any settlement with unrotted cloth, and there was barely anything to be scavenged within it. Certainly Ketheric, at the very least, would be cross if he returned to his daughter to see a pile of shredded clothing beside her? Ugh. This burgeoning alliance grew more and more irritating by the day. Why, for fuck's sake, couldn't Myrkul have chosen a necromancer who knew what he was doing, instead of just learning as he went? That hypothetical chosen could do an autopsy his damn self. Or at least prepare for one in advance and bring a change of clothes for "his most cherished child." Irritation after irritation. The Dark Urge made a silent prayer to encounter a Dark Justiciar in an empty alley sometime in the near future. Bhaal knows hes earned it. Swearing quietly to himself, the bhaalspawn carefully, painstakingly, set about peeling the delicate layers of clothing off of Isobel's body. Whatever foul rites Ketheric had prepared should already cover the restoration of muscle tissue. Her legs will be fine, he's already putting more thought and effort into this than her father did. Pale blue fingers tipped in dark black claws against the backdrop of icy white flesh, carefully tugging against ancient fabric so as not to tear. A methodical process, time consuming. Immensely aggravating. If Ketheric got impatient and stormed back in, he could resurrect her by himself, putrefied organs and all. The shit he puts himself through. Satisfied both with his work disrobing the body and the plethora of curses hanging in the air, he allowed himself a moment of reprieve to collect his thoughts. Now for the fun part.

A Y-shaped incision pulling her flesh apart like a flower. Gloved hands skillfully maneuvering a scalpel with all the grace of a portrait painter. The mask he normally used in the midst of taxidermy, to help filter out the fumes of his collection of preserving chemicals, but here serving the function of blocking out the smell of liquified gore (it'd be hard to focus if he worked up an appetite after all). Rotted blood, clotted in the veins. A century spent moldering in the dark. And a plethora of oddities to puzzle through. Firstly, while the smell was intense, it wasn't nearly intense enough. It had the strength of a body shortly past the rigor mortis stage, when it still smelled sweet. Another thing. There simply just. Wasn't enough of it. Corpse wax hadn't managed to preserve nearly any of her organs, and yet despite that, it was as if he was watching them break down in slow motion. Her heart was almost entirely intact, in fact. The aorta would need to be remade, but the ventricles were fine. Lungs in near mint condition. If he wasn't focused on prepping a body for reanimation, he'd be tempted to take them back to the Temple. But on the other end, her liver was almost a puddle he had to carefully scoop out into his makeshift biohazardous waste vase. And he'd cut out a good several feet of intestine already, and might need to remove more. At least he'd be able to give Ketheric accurate diagnostics on what, exactly, he should focus on remaking through the power of Myrkul. Another pang of pity. He was rather certain he'd rather drag himself out of the grave, spilling organs and all, than let the hand of Myrkul touch his innards. Another silent apology. 

He paused for a brief break, looking down to the opened flesh upon his table. Falling again into a pool of thought without the work to occupy him, he absentmindedly traced a finger along the smooth curve of Isobel's ribcage. Skeleton in mint condition, as far as he could tell. Difficult structure to replace, more complex than most gave thought too. A dense exterior, and a spongy core. Upon making the first incisions and peeling the flesh back, a distinct aroma had hit his nostrils, a scent that called to mind the image of the moon shining through clouds, though he had no means to convey that.

[crescenthistory]

Hi sweetest angel❤️it's me again although I already asked for the interpret of your 2k event and I LOVED SO MUCH❗️❗️...maybe can I ask for an Argue too? 🥺

I was going through your event and when I saw the List B and my eyes landed on the prompt 4 Coffee Shop AU I instantly thought of Regulus🤷‍♀️How could anyone blame me?? I love everything you write and if is for Regulus I'm down bad🤭

Anyway congratulations once again my angel❤️You deserve and I'm sure you'll achieve even more cause you just write works of art❗️❗️ I love you so much big hugs❤️

you could probably ask me for anything and i'd give it to ya di — regulus coffee shop au coming right up <33 a bit of a unique take on it, but still

✶・•・✦・•・✶・✶・•・✦・•・✶

i will ARGUE for prompt 4 "coffee shop au" with regulus black

carina's 2k celebration

✶・•・✦・•・✶・✶・•・✦・•・✶

cw: fem!reader, non-compliant wizarding war, (implied) exes to lovers, hurt/comfort, making up post-war, open ending

wc: 1.1k

If you had told Regulus Black five years ago that he would be working in a muggle coffee shop on the outskirts of Edinburgh, he would have scoffed in your face.

Had you told him ten years ago, he might have burst into tears.

Today, though, all he felt about it was a monotone neutrality about this new reality of his, in addition to a little ache in his heels from standing upright eight hours a day five days a week.

A nagging voice in the back of his head kept murmuring about how that pain is the least of what he can shoulder, but he tried to push it away – not out of disagreement, but exhaustion. Carrying guilt tires out your bones and Regulus must admit his had already been weary. After the stunt him and his friends pulled with the horcruxes, they were lucky to be alive in the first place. Not to mention to be free, at least as far as the Ministry was concerned.

Though for the time being, his elusive group of reformed purebloods turned war heroes were scattered all over the country as top notch aurors – regretfully including his brother and his brother's friends – hunted down the last of the loyalists. Barty and Evan refused to be separated and were somewhere near Bath, a choice they made during their very last night together when the friends all got wine drunk and reminisced about their various heists over the past few months. Their sole reasoning was that Bath was a "funny sounding name" and "Bath sounds like Barty trying to say his name after getting his teeth kicked in". Pandora was supposed to be in Wales, but Regulus had a sneaking suspicion she had snuck off to France instead to be with Xeno. Dorcas had simply been unable to separate from Marlene after the war, so the two were happily engaged and hiding in one of the many Potter properties.

Moody – who Regulus still refused to admit he was intimidated by – had stressed that it's not hiding, it's just waiting the storm out.

In his apron and with his hair pulled up with a small silver claw clip, Regulus surely felt as though he was hiding.

The long queue of customers felt like it was only growing, all the 9-5 employees from the various office buildings around his coffee shop relying solely on Regulus for their morning fix before their first meetings. He was mixing and pouring and adding and shaking all the while the minutes ticked away. 

Regulus never let his mind drift when he worked like this. Instead he kept it in check between focusing on the tasks and tuning out all the noise. If he started thinking, he might begin wishing and once he began wishing he would never stop.

More than anything, if he began wishing, a longing would fester itself in his chest, a longing he managed to quelch during his horcrux heists and thus had no business reasserting itself in his life. A longing for a certain witch he managed to not be able to say goodbye to twice – once before embarking on the months-long endeavour and now before running off to wait the storm out.

This last time, he might have been able to say goodbye first. Before the horcruxes it was too dangerous, but now… now he could have waited. If he had tried, Regulus was certain he would have been able to.

Yet, here he was. Without a goodbye and with a pocketful of regret and cowardice. 

He shook his head, cursing beneath his breath as a few strands of his hair fell in his face at the movement, as he tried to get the thoughts out of his head. Focus on the work, he kept telling himself. Turn it all off. He used to be so good at it, but apparently having a “redemption arc” as Barty kept cheerfully calling it, had made compartmentalisation a bit tougher. 

Regulus never half-assed anything, not even a temporary barista position he had no intended future within, so it saw the queue dwindling fast despite him being the only one on shift today. 

As he neared the last customer of the first rush hour, Regulus had to take a quick break to fix his hair. He shucked off his gloves to put his hair back up, stubborn strands refusing to stay put. While mid-movement, he turned around to the counter, plastering on his most neutral and polite customer-service smile.

“Good morning, what can I get you?”

As his eyes landed on his customer, Regulus’ entire body froze. Arms in the air, polite smile still on his lips. The only part of him that moved was his eyes blinking rapidly as they widened.

“Good morning. I’d like to order an apology or two and then maybe a hug, depending on the flavour.” You matched his customer service tone of voice, but you had him pinned beneath your gaze.

Stood before him, was the very witch he had banished from his train of thought earlier, every day, that still somehow managed to sneak on. Except you were very much not a thought as you leaned against the counter, arms crossed defiantly over your chest and an expectant brow raised at him. 

“Amour,” Regulus breathed out. It was a word he hadn’t said aloud since before the war.

“Hi, Regulus.” Your gaze softened and he could see the sadness beneath it. “What are you doing here?”

He let his hair go as his arms fell down to his sides, looking around to ensure there were no more customers waiting. “I could ask you the same question. How did you find me? I’m supposed to be in hiding.”

If you were offended by his questioning in place of greeting, you didn’t let it show, which he was grateful for. There were a hundred thoughts rushing through his head at the minute and the sound of the creamer didn’t make it any easier to sort through them. 

“I had a word or two with Moody.” You shrugged your right shoulder as if it was no big deal. “Explained that he had no business hiding you from the wrath of your girlfriend, only the loyalists.”

Regulus’ lip quivered a little at that word, and you seemed to catch it because your entire demeanour softened this time. “Girlfriend?” he asked quietly.

“Supposedly,” you amended, but you gave him a small smile. “If I could get that apology I ordered. And maybe a coffee to talk it over.”

Regulus’ eyes were wet and his face twitching as he began losing control over it, but he nodded emphatically. “There’s heaps of both apologies and coffee here.” His attempt at lightheartedness. “I would be happy to serve you.”

Your expression matched what he was sure his looked like – pained and hopeful, bittersweet and in love. “Then I think a chat’s long overdue.”

[worfs-glorious-hair]

Snippet Sunday… eh Monday

I was tagged by the fabulous @optimisticgrey to share a writing snippets and since time is relative and a social construct am I still posting something 💜

Tagging (in case you haven’t done it yet and have WIPs you want to share) @astarioffsimpmain @saintsandsorcery @ladylucksrogue and anyone else who wants to share their writing with the world 🤩💖

The following is a snippet from an OS currently titled “You are enough” and features druid!Tav with their own secrets, Gale and an enchanted meadow in act 2 👀

His brows furrow together and he is silent for a moment.

“You…”, he seems lost for words, I don’t think I have ever seen him speechless before.

“You have never been with anyone? You of all people? Apologies, I just assumed…”, he was trailing off, struggling for words.

“I’ve seen the way people look at you, the way our companions all wanted to invite you to private moments, sharing wine and bodies. I suppose I wasn’t so different to them after all. And I assumed since you must have had the world to choose from all of your life, judging from the behaviour of our companions that, well…”

Gale looked at me, eyes big and wet and his shoulders dropped.

“I am sorry I assumed details of your private life that are only your concern”, he said as his demeanour changed.

His eyes were suddenly burning into mine and he made a careful step closer to me.

I felt myself move towards him.

“What makes you think that I would want you any less after you would share this personal, intimate detail with me?”, he suddenly asks with a low voice.

“I haven’t said that”, I croak out but he is right, of course he is, this was my only fear.

“But your eyes have”, he said softly, a gentle smile dancing over his lips.

“I guess I was afraid”, I begin to answer. “Afraid that you would want an experienced lover, not some druid with the romantic experience of a fawn…”

He looks at me perplexed.

“I want you! Please, you have to know that I meant what I said – I am in love with you! All of you is what I adore, all the secrets you hide —“

This was my only secret, I promise”, I interrupt him and Gale shakes his head with a smile.

“And even if it wasn’t, they are a part of you, you, the one I love, you, the one I want to look at for the rest of my life…”, he answers and points to me on each ‘you’.

My heart races and my soul can not believe it’s luck and I smile, without my doing, without any control of my features.

Happiness is seeping out of me and into the world around me, I can not look away from Gale and his sincere eyes on me.

“And I also meant what I have said”, I tell him, “I am in love with you, too! And I will not allow you to blow yourself up, we will find another way! This will not be the end, not for you, not for me, not when we just found each other!”

[jazziejax]

𝐏𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐚 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧’

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Kelvin Harrison Jr. x Black!OC & Damson Idris x Black!OC

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - In which past lovers turned fling and a set best friends, that connection seems deeper than platonic, have to sit through a Prada fashion show and it’s after party all while keeping face in front of the waiting cameras, when all they can contemplate is how they’ll spend the rest of their time in Milan.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - flirting, suggestive conversation, roleplay(?), ex’s to flings, some descriptions, jealousy, best friends that lowkey want each other.

𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 - UNEDITED, sorry for any spelling errors and grammar mistakes. I did this because I’m in a Damson Idris type of mindset and there’s literally nothing for him, he’s nonexistent here. Then I remembered when I saw Kelvin at the Prada show, I was like “Both my men in one room and they didn’t even interact.” So I made this. This could’ve went the throuple route, and I still might do that, but this was my first reaction.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 5,218+

The energy in the air was palpable and electric, a mix of flashing cameras as high-profile guests arrived, fans screams along with photographers demands filled the air, and the ever-present hum of fashion’s elite mingling before the show began.

Evette, dressed in mix of a Prada items, her clam look exuded confidence, but beneath the surface, she was still adjusting to this new chapter of her life. She exhaled slowly, grounding herself as she stepped onto the carpet.

The attention was still something she was adjusting to—Mufasa: The Lion King had catapulted her career into a different stratosphere and put her further into the public eye, and while she had always been comfortable in front of an audience the constant scrutiny was something she was still learning to navigate.

She posed with effortless grace, her outfit casual but cute nonetheless. She turned slightly, letting the cameras catch her best angles. Questions flew at her—about the film, future roles, even whispers of her personal life—but she handled them with the same cool demeanor that had gotten her this far.

Once inside, the energy shifted, less chaotic but still intense. She let out another sigh, releasing her anxious tension before looking down at the encouraging and hilarious messages from Nala.

I need more known so I can become a Brand Ambassador. This struggling actor shit is played out 🙄

She chuckled, shaking her head softly at the girl. She texted her a quick response before pocketing her phone and looking up. She began walking again as she glanced around, seeing the familiar faces of people she’d seen on telephone or tv screen, and others she hadn’t a clue of.

And then, right before she could make it to her seat, she saw him.

Kelvin Harrison Jr.

He looked good—annoyingly so. Dressed in a sleek Prada ensemble, the bright green color of his collar making his skin pop. He exuded the kind of ease that only came with confidence. Evette tensed, but only slightly. It’s not like it’s been long since she’d last seen him, and they were…friends now? If you could call what they had going in as friends. . They had long since moved past the initial post-breakup unease, settling into something familiar, easy. But what was it exactly? They weren’t just exes. They weren’t just co-stars. And after everything that had happened between them in the quiet, stolen moments off-camera… fling didn’t feel quite right either. She couldn’t help the feeling that wrapped around her beating heart at the sight of him. Admiring him from afar as he eased his way through the crowds of other celebrities.

Kelvin must have sensed her watching because he glanced up, locking eyes with her. A slow smile spread across his face—one of those knowing ones that made her stomach flip, even after all this time.

“Evette.” Kelvin greeted smoothly, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. His grinned, his dimples poking through his cheeks.

“Kelvin.” She returned softly, smiling at him.

“You look good,” he said, eyes flickering over her outfit, appreciation evident.

She smirked. “You clean up nice yourself. I didn’t know you’d be here.” She said coyly. Kelvin’s brows twitched in confusion, slightly squinting at her. “What? Yes you did.” He said, letting out a small laugh with the twinkle still in his eye.

Evette’s smile dropped as she smacked her lips. “I was trying to do a bit.” She grumbled softly, her bright demeanor dropping. Kelvin just let out a small laugh at her as she stepped closer. He then quirked a brow, looking down at her. “A bit? You mean like role play?” He quipped, his tone lower than before with a smirk showing his pearly whites. Evette scoffed although she couldn’t help the smile that was making its way onto her face. She reached up to give his shoulder a small push. “Really?" She squinted at him. "In public? At a fashion show?" She hissed through clenched teeth, tilting her head close so that there was no chance that their conversation could be heard, even over the chaos of the venue.

Kelvin’s smirk widened, clearly enjoying the playful banter. He leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping even lower. “You know I like to keep things interesting, Evette.” He said in a sultry tone, his eyes giving her a quick once over, subconsciously licking his plump lips before his eyes made their way back to hers. "Plus, what's wrong with a little roleplay?"

"I'm not having this conversation with you Kelvin. Not here." She said, trying to sound firm, but her grin was undeniable. She stepped around him, her coconut scent wafting in her wake. He was quick to turn and follow behind her, catching sight of her pearly smirk as she threw him a quick look over her shoulder. He grinned as he followed after her, his eye trained on the back of her curly pixie cut.

She ended up stopping behind one of the many busy crowds that flooded the place, all of the celebrity guests trying to either find their seats or speak with their industry friends. Giving the perfect opportunity for Kelvin to come up behind her, almost pressing against her back. "I like your hair." He purred. Evette hummed, not turning to look at him. "Thank you." She replied. They stood close, too close, the charged air between them impossible to ignore. It had been like this for months—lingering stares, unsaid words, touches that lasted longer than they should. They had danced around whatever this was for too long. And now, they had to keep everything in check, with no Aaron Pierre or Nala around to distract from the weight of their history.

It was silent between them then, the pair moving with the slow-paced crowd that was dispersing throughout the large building.

"So back to this roleplay thing." He said, and Evette instantly let small laugh.

"Do you ever listen?"

"No." He grinned. "I'm just saying. I believe the most healthy of couples do it?" He quipped with a shrug.

And then he froze, his eyes widened as he registered what just slipped out of his mouth. His heart began to race quickly, his eyes jumping between the side of her face and elsewhere. Evette could feel him stiffen, behind her, and she did as well. She began to blink, wondering if she heard that word leave his lips. They both wanted nothing more than clarity, but to have a conversation on what you would call their current sexual but also a friendly relationship was not one to have at a brand event.

Unexpectedly, a grin broke out on Evette's face. It was small, but it drew Kelvin's attention as she turned her head his way. “Interesting. Is that what you’re calling it now?” She crossed her arms, standing her ground even as her pulse quickened under the heat of his gaze. Kelvin froze, his lids fluttering as he tried to come up with a response under her now sultry gaze. She quirked a brow at him, causing him to stumble over his words. "Is this a part of the whole roleplay thing?" She continued when she got no response from him. A smirk on her lips. Kelvin blinked, his eyes squinting briefly as he looked at her. He then shrugged, looking almost nonchalant as he leaned back slightly, glancing around at the chaotic scene. “Hey, it’s a fashion show. Everyone’s acting like they’re the main character. I’m just doing my part.” His eyes flicked back to hers, the playful glint not fading.

She raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking to one side. “And your part is roleplay?" She asked. "And the main character? You’re more like a supporting role at best, Kelvin.”

“Ouch, damn." He said, placing a hand over his heart in mock pain, though his grin never faltered. The crowd began to disperse, leading the pair over to the small podiums they were supposed to sit at. “First off, I have been the main character of plenty of projects." He sassed at her as their steps became quicker in the free space. "And second, if I’m a supporting character, then you’re the lead, huh?"

Evette let out a short, amused breath, turning her head to look at the sea of flashing cameras.

"Why wouldn't I be the main character? This is my roleplay scenario after all, isn't it?" She asked. And if Kelvin had a drink he would've spit it out. He couldn’t believe she was really playing along with his stupid scenario. He also didn’t know that his joking could actually lead to something she could be into. Kelvin blinked, momentarily stunned, before a slow, impressed grin spread across his face. He tilted his head, stepping a little closer as they neared their seats. "Oh, so now it’s your scenario? I thought you didn’t do roleplay, Evette?”

She shrugged, casually adjusting the straps of her outfit. "I don’t.” She said, then glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "But if I did, I’d obviously be the lead. And iI’s obviously so it with you. It’s just the natural order of things.” She stated, Kelvin’s gaze getting trapped looking at her bloody lips that excused the sultry tone she spoke in. He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "You’re unbelievable." Was all he could muster, barely a mumbled, as he began to become aroused at a public event, looking at the woman in front of him

"And you’re predictable.” She shot back, glancing down at the lower half of his body to see if he obvious attraction was alerting anyone else in the building into. When he couldn’t see anything, she looked back up at the man. "Always trying to keep up." She said as they came upon their seat, Evette looking for her name plate on one of them.

Kelvin scoffed, nit even caring to look for his seat as he followed after her. "Keep up? Please. If anything, I’m the plot twist. The unexpected character development. The fan-favorite side character that steals the show." He said, and he knew he had began rambling with just about anything to distract himself from the tent that would show up in his pants if they kept their little conversation from earlier up, and he did not want pictures of that encounter popping up on the internet.

Evette hummed, pretending to consider. "Mmm... More like comedic relief."

Kelvin clutched his chest in mock offense, his dimples deepening as he fought back a grin. "Wow. So I’m just here for laughs now?"

"Well.” She teased, dragging out the word as she found her seat, her name written in nice ink on a piece of cardstock. She grinned as she moved the paper and then took a seat. She crossing her legs and then looked up at his figure towering over her. “You are entertaining." She said with a shrug.

Kelvin narrowed his eyes, his lips twitching. "Okay.” He simply shrugged before taking the seat next to her, not even nothing to check the name, only moving the tag back a little so he didn’t smush it. As he took his seat, sitting so close, his slack covered legs brushed against bare ones, due to her denim skirt. Chills ran down her legs at the feelings, but slammed if lighted when he placed his hand on his leg, his fingers beginning to brush against her smooth skin. The touch was brief but intentional, and the heat of it lingered between them. Evette raised an eyebrow, unimpressed but clearly amused.

"That’s it?" She asked dryly. "That’s your big comeback? A caress of skin? Wow. Riveting. I’m so turned on."

Kelvin huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he sat back. "Nah, I’m just warming up. This is how it started off, two people meeting at a fashion show, but the obvious connection is there.” He said, his tone low, as well as his eyes as he glanced at her. “See, I know you. You act like you’re cool, calm, and collected, but you love when I get under your skin."

Evette scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Kelvin, please." She said before gulping. She could really only pay attention to his last statement, the explanation of the beginning of their role play infighting a fire within her stomach she didn’t know she had. And she was bit about to get fired up and he wasn’t going to commit.

"Nah, nah, nah, let’s be real.” He said, tilting his head as he studied her. "You say you don’t do roleplay, but you’re way too good at this for a beginner, unless this is the acting talking. It’s almost like you’ve been waiting for someone to match your energy."

Evette didn’t answer right away, just smiled knowingly as she adjusted her posture, her confidence radiating. "You talk a lot for someone who just got demoted to comedic relief.” She finally said, her voice dripping with amusement. “Stranger.” She shrugged, counting to add onto the bit.

Kelvin exhaled a laugh, dragging a hand over his face before shaking his head. "You got jokes tonight, huh?"

"I always have jokes.” She countered easily. "You just have to get to know me. Plus you make it too easy.”

Kelvin studied her for a moment, his expression shifting just slightly—still playful, but with an underlying curiosity. "You know, Stranger," He mused, his voice softer now, “For all the talking we’re doing, we still haven’t actually said anything."

Evette met his gaze, the energy between them shifting just slightly. She tilted her head, considering him. "Maybe some things don’t need to be said."

Kelvin held her stare for a beat longer before smirking. "Or maybe," he murmured, leaning just a fraction closer, "You’re just scared of the conversation."

Evette’s lips twitched, but before she could respond, movement from across the room caught her attention.

Their banter paused as the cameras outside the glass walls flashed wildly. A commotion. A shift in energy.

And then she saw them.

Damson Idris and Noémie Adebayo.

Evette’s eyes flickered toward Kelvin’s, seeing that he had noticed them too. Damson and Noémie were locked in a tight embrace, their reunion playing out in full view of the crowd. The cameras caught everything—the warmth, the familiarity, the unspoken history between them.

Kelvin let out a low whistle. "Well, damn."

Evette hummed in agreement, watching as Damson and Noémie exchanged words within each others embrace, their body language easy and comfortable, but tinged with something deeper.

"You think there’s something there?" Kelvin asked, not looking at her but rather at the scene unfolding in front of them.

Evette considered before shrugging. "Could be.” She said. "Some things never really go away."

Kelvin glanced at her then, something unreadable in his expression. "Yeah," He murmured. "Some things don’t."

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Evette smirked. "But if they start roleplaying in public, then we’ll really have something to talk about."

Kelvin barked out a laugh, shaking his head. "You really think you’re funny, huh?"

Evette just grinned. "No, Kelvin. I know I am."

Kelvin leaned back, watching her with a look that was equal parts amused and intrigued. "Alright then, miss main character. Let’s see how this story plays out."

“Don’t flatter me.” She aid, straightening her posture. “You’re looking a little too good tonight to be calling me the star.”

His eyes lingered on her a beat too long, his gaze unreadable, but it was enough to make Evette feel a flutter of something unfamiliar in her stomach. She looked away, trying to play it cool.

“Anyway, you should get to your seat.” She said, beginning to brush imaginary dust off his attire before nodding her head to the seat across from her, which held his name. “Enjoy the show, Mr.” She grinned.

“Well don’t be such a stranger, Miss. We’re both here for the same reason, right? To have a little fun.” He grinned back at her before wining from his seat next to her and moving to the one that held his name, directly across from her.

And over in the paparazzi frenzy, were the pair that would for sure be the stars of the night.

Noémie Adebayo and Damson Idris.

Two people who didn’t need an introduction, not to anyone in the industry.

The Prada show had already been a spectacle, but for Noémie Adebayo, the real event was happening off the runway. She was stunning in her designer denim dress ensemble, held herself with effortless poise. She posed for the cameras, her relaxed manner showing her ever confidence in her appearance. It had been about two years since the last season of Snowfall aired, since then, her and her busy costars have kind of been off the grid. She’s been working on her part in the Special Opps: Lioness, where she plays a young but ruthless CIA agent with a tragic backstory. And she was also starring in the 2025 movie OPUS with a her good friend Ayo Edebiri.

So even with the show coming to an end, that doesn’t mean the work stopped. And with being so busy, she and her best friend have been separated for a long time.

Ever since the first season of Snowfall, the viewers fell in love with her and Damson’s on-screen chemistry. The connection between Franklin and Diana felt real. She hadn’t seen Damson in what felt like ages—not properly, at least. Their last season of Snowfall had wrapped with a dramatic, gut-wrenching ending, their on-screen chemistry immortalized in the eyes of fans. And the connection between Damson and Noémie felt real as well. People loved to see them together, from the pictures and videos that came from set, to the moments they’d have in red carpets, to the paparazzi photos that surfaced of them spending time in each other’s home town. Their chemistry was alive and apparent, no matter how much they denied it. But after the show ended in 2023, their public interactions had dwindled. Life had moved forward. Damson had went open—very publicly—with his relationship with a gorgeous model, while Noémie poured herself into new projects, and the occasional friendly check-ins had dwindled to near silence.

Damson had been the first to notice her, his genuine smile growing as he closed the distance between them, coming up behind her. “Well, well. Noémie Adebayo.”

“Damson!” She replied once he turned around, letting his name roll off her tongue excitedly, before ringing him into a tight embrace. “Oh, it’s been so long!” She gushed, her head placed on his shoulder as he bent to her height a bit. So close that she was breathing in nothing but his woodsy scent. He raised to his full height, lifting her up in their tight hug. She squealed briefly before her feet hit the ground again, the cameras flashing quickly to catch the moment between the two stars. The shouts of fans and press became louder to get their attention, but they were entrapped within their win moment. Damson chuckled with his wrapped his arms around her, hands low on her waist and holding her just a beat longer than necessary. “Too long, my love.” He murmured near her ear before pulling back. His hands lingered on her waist as he looked down at her, taking in her outfit. “Damn, look at you.” He grinned.

Noémie smirked, adjusting the collar of his sleek Prada coat. “Looking sharp yourself. I see the Milan air has been treating this melanin well.” She said before quirking a brow at him. “Or all of those other vacations of yours.” She smirked, alluding to his various of paparazzi photos of him and his new girlfriend in various vacation spots, soaking in the sun.

“I could say the same.” He shot back, eyes sweeping over her denim dress ensemble. “Special Ops, huh? Trading the L.A. streets for CIA territory?” He asked. “Diana would be ashamed of you.” He reached out absentmindedly to adjust the collar of her blazer, his fingers brushing against her shoulder. She stilled, her breath catching for just a second, but neither of them acknowledged the moment. Instead, they kept talking, falling into the same effortless rhythm they always had.

She laughed. “I know! But I had to switch it up. Plus, they let me do some cool shit in this.”

“Selling drugs and killing people wasn’t cool shit?” He asked, his grin widening.

“No, it was, but now I’m doing, like, next level stuff. Like, in season two, I’m jumping out of helicopters.” She grinned. Damson’s brows raised at that, looking down at her with his hands still placed on her waist. “Oh, now that, I’d pay to see. ‘Cause aren’t you scared of heights?”

“Yes!”

Before she could explain more, the cameras swarmed them. Photographers called their names, flashing bulbs illuminating their faces as they stood there, side by side. The internet was already catching fire—two years since Snowfall ended, and here they were again, looking as comfortable, as close, as right as ever. Seeing them together again, the spark was undeniable. It wasn’t just nostalgia. It was muscle memory. Six seasons of playing lovers, knowing each other’s rhythms, finishing each other’s sentences—it all lingered in the way they looked at each other, the way her lips twitched into a smirk before he even said a word.

Noémie turned her head slightly, lowering her voice. “Are you ready?” She asked

Damson raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

“For the internet to explode.” She said before letting out a long sigh, knowing that this would be a topic in her phone for at least two weeks. He let out a laugh, shaking his head. “They never let up, huh?”

“You know they don’t.” She said before beginning to pose for photos with him next to her. Damson moved his hand on her waist, her hand on top of his as they posed for the plethora of cameras. “But you should be used to it though.” She said, trying not to disrupt her smile too much as she glanced up at him. “I seen that scene of you in Swarm, Mr.Idris.” She grinned, just as they felt that those were enough pictures. Damson laughed, shaking his head and he walked in front of her, holding his hand out for her to take. She took it, it even paying attention to the cameras and press that wanted to speak as he led her since if the venue. “Oh, you saw that?” He asked rhetorically.

“Everybody and they mama saw it, Damson!” She grinned as they continued to talk, just as what they said would happen, happened. Social media was already in a frenzy, dissecting every glance, every touch, every shift in body language.

Were they just friends? Was there something more? Had there always been something more?

Damson was still looking at her when someone from the event staff came over, politely letting them know it was time to head to their seats.

“Come on.” Noémie said, nudging him playfully. “Can’t have Prada waiting.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He replied, walking beside her, still hand in hand.

As they weaved through the crowd, still hand in hand, the noise around them faded into the background. It had been two years, but being with Noémie felt like no time had passed at all. Damson glanced down at her, taking in her easy stride, the way she carried herself like she was born for this.

“So, CIA agent now, huh? What else have you been up to?” He asked, finally letting her hand go as they approached the private seating area, only for him to gently push her in don’t of him as the crowd became thick and he didn’t want to lose her or for her to get hurt.

Noémie hummed, adjusting her dress slightly. “Been working non-stop. Special Ops has me in the gym every day, training like I’m actually about to take on a mission. OPUS press hasn’t started, I don’t even think the trailers dropped yet. And then there’s Sinners with Michael.”

At the mention of Michael B. Jordan, Damson’s expression shifted. He didn’t react immediately, but she caught the slight tension in his jaw. His gaze was trained above her head, trying his dammdest to look anywhere but her eyes at the moment. “Right.” He began. “I saw those pictures.” His voice was casual—too casual.

She glanced up at him, a confused grin on her lips. “What pictures?”

Damson scoffed. “You know what pictures. You and him, all cozy, looking like a damn power couple in New York.”

Noémie blinked, thinking of why he was talking about before she laughed, shaking her head. “Oh, that was just press.” She said, a small smile on her face, not sensing the tensions Damson had in his frame. “We’re filming together, and we were just having dinner that day. The media grabbed a whole of it and took it with the wind.” She grinned, although her tone bridged in annoyance as she remembered the day those photos dropped. That lasted for months, but she was just glad that she last season had already aired or else that red carpet for the premiere would’ve been a little awkward for her. She glanced back up at him due to his silence, quirking a brow. “Don’t tell me you thought—” She trailed off, her smirk widening as she caught the way his lips pressed into a thin line. “You thought me and him were a thing?” She questioned.

He clicked his tongue, looking away. “Nah.”

She nudged his arm playfully. “Yes, you did! Damson, come on. You think I’d date Michael?”

“I mean, you were looking quite comfortable.” He said, finally glancing back down at her and connecting eyes. She blinked up at him, amusement clear on her face along with questioning. “Out all day, holding hands.” He listed.

“We were just holding hands.” She told him, giving a lousy gesture to behind them as she brought up only moments ago when they walked into the building, hand in hand.

“Yeah, but we’re best friends, I’ve known you for almost ten years. You’ve known him, what, three?” He scoffed out. Noémie looked up at him, her amusement still clear as they continued walking to their seats, the occasional camera clicking their way, caring them in action as they moved. She couldn’t help but smile at Damson’s obvious jealousy, because he was right. Such a great friendship for ten years and neither of them got a heads up on who the other one was dating. At least, not on her end. But that’s because she wasn’t dating Micheal! He probably felt that he was being relied on her life or something, she thought.

She rolled her eyes at him. “Because we’re friends, and we’re in a movie together. That’s it.” She paused, tilting her head at him. “But why do you care?” She asked, wanting to hear the words from his mouth instead of making up her own assumptions.

Damson opened his mouth, then shut it. He exhaled through his nose, running a hand over his jaw. “It’s just… weird, innit? You & Michael. He’s…” He trailed off, his voice quieter now. “Lori’s ex.”

Noémie’s teasing smile faltered slightly, not expecting that to be what he said. “And she’s your girlfriend. Is that what this is about?”

He sighed, rubbing his chin. “Me and Lori… we’re done.”

Noémie raised an eyebrow. “Done as in… on a break? Or done done?”

“Done done.” He admitted. “It’s been rocky for a while. We tried, but…” He shrugged. “It wasn’t working.”

She studied him for a moment, her teasing demeanor fading into something softer. “You okay?”

Damson shrugged again, though this time, his smile was a little more genuine. “Yeah. Just… moving on.” He shot her a look. “Which I thought you were doing with Michael.” He added, looking down at accusingly. “I was going crazy on all those trips when those photos drooped, thinking ‘How could by beating not tell me this?’ And you dating my, at the time, girlfriend’s ex boyfriend didn’t help either.”

Noémie rolled her eyes. “Michael is a friend. He’s not even my type, I think.” She shrugged.

Damson arched a brow. “Not your type? You think? Man’s a superstar, rich, got the muscles and all that.”

She smirked up at him at that. “Sounds like he’s your type.” She quipped, causing Damson to smack his lips as he nudged her forward a little. “So annoying.” He grumbled. “And you’re nosey.” She shot back playfully. “You were on vacation with you boo worried about what I had going on. You’re no better than those people on The Shaderoom.” She smirked.

Before he could retort, a staff member gently tapped his shoulder, gaining both of their attention. The polite man smiled at them before stating that he would lead them to their seat. He then signaling for them to take their seats when they arrived and Damson barely had time to process their conversation before he was led toward his assigned spot.

“See you after,” Noémie said, flashing him a knowing smile before slipping into her own seat as the man led Damson to the one across from her.

As the lights dimmed slightly and guests settled in, the two men exchanged glances, acknowledging each other with a polite nod. They weren’t close, but they were familiar enough—two industry men who had crossed paths before.

Damson settled in next to Kelvin Harrison Jr., who was already watching him with a smirk.

Kelvin leaned in slightly. “You good, bro?”

Damson exhaled, shaking his head. “Man… I don’t even know.”

Kelvin chuckled, nodding toward Noémie across the table. “Yeah. I can see that.”

Noémie found herself next to Evette, who had just finished her own set of conversations and photo ops from the press that came by to take photos of her in her seat. Across from them, directly in their line of sight, were Kelvin and Damson.

Evette barely glanced at Kelvin before shifting her attention to Noémie. “How was the reunion?” She asked, nodding her head over to the commotion they unintentionally caused at the entrance.

Noémie exhaled through a laugh. “Exactly what you’d expect.”

Evette hummed, stealing a glance at the two men across from them. “Well, you have his attention.”

Kelvin and Damson sat back, their body language relaxed but their eyes locked onto the women in front of them. Each man subtly watched the woman across from him—the way Kelvin’s gaze lingered on Evette’s animated expressions as she spoke, the way Damson’s eyes traced Noémie’s movements as she laughed.

Kelvin finally spoke, low enough for only Damson to hear. “So… that’s Noémie.”

Damson smirked, not taking his eyes off her. “That’s Noémie.”

Kelvin nodded, a knowing look passing between them. “Yeah. I get it.”

Damson finally turned to him, chuckling. “And you? You’re looking at Evette like she owes you something.”

Kelvin’s jaw tightened slightly before he masked it with a grin. “Maybe she does.”

Damson raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. Instead, his attention drifted back to Noémie, who had caught him staring and was now arching a playful eyebrow in return.

The show hadn’t even started, and yet, all eyes were already on them.

-evette

liked by kelvharrjr, noemieadebayo, nanalicampbell, and 34,000 others

evette first fashion show, kinda nervous :/…

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nanalicampbell wow! you’re, like, famous now!

⤷ evette don’t be weird Nala

⤷ nanalicampbell what?…

kelvharrjr who’s that dapper gentleman loafer next to you? I would like for you to tell him he’s dressed rather nice.

⤷ evette they will delete my account for the words I’m about to say to you.

⤷ kelvharrjr 🫢

noemieadebayo it was so nice talking to you! we have ti catch up some time again.

⤷ evette yes, it was so nice speaking to you as well! you’re messy and I love that, we gotta link again!

randomuser97 oh so they were at the Prada show other?…which could mean nothing.

⤷ otheruser1133 mind you, they’re both brand ambassadors for Prada?

randomeuserouthere idk if I wanna be her or him…

randomuser I could be their third 🫡

anotheruser when did she cut her hair? why is no in freaking out about this?

⤷ otheruser1133 baby, her hair been cut…

- noemieadebayo

liked by, damsonidris, evette, michaelbjordan, Prada, and 85,000 others

noemieadebayo prada dem

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evette the real runway diva

⤷ noemieadebayo 🤫

damsonidris my mini me! 😘

⤷ noemieadebayo damsie!

⤷ Prada the prada family! ❤️

Prada we love you!!💕

noemieadebayo luv u Prada <3

damsonidrisfanpage is that who I think it is?….i know that ain’t my man

⤷ otheruser1133 and he’s sending kissy faces in the chat 😔 that’s her man I fear

otheruser1133 they need to date already. I’ve been here for ten years!

randomuser10 mhmm, see that’s what I’m taking about. A black king right there!

If you wanted to be added to this tag list or any others, let a sista know! Let me know if you like it, I gotta write a dissertation for university now. If this gets enough likes, I’ll do some more parts to this but be warned, after they leave that fashion show thing might get a little freaky…

@theclownmimi @vile-harlot @notapradagurl7 @nubiagurllll @saltburnsworld @imsohappyilovekbop @jazzycool30 @kaylaahisthebestest- @mccteez @officialthrad @irishmanwhore

[treviso-nights]

Blood and Allegiance—Rook de Riva, Teia/Viago

summary: before she was rook, Keket was a fledgling taken from a declining, abusive House. now, in treviso, she meets her new benefactor (viago de riva) and his surprising, beautiful counterpart (teia cantori). what will she think of her potential benefactor? what will they think of her? rating: M word count: 2500 (inspired by the first prompt from this post!!)

read on AO3

Keket had heard many things about Treviso, had flipped through the images of its canals and architecture marvels in textbooks. In private, Keket had even pressed her fingertips to the glossy pages and imagined she was there instead of where she was, instead of doing what she was. In fact, anywhere would have been better than training in her House. Yet in those secret daydreams, in those most private thoughts, Keket was always in Treviso, cartwheeling down boardwalks flanked by sparkling water—or perhaps ziplining over a twinkling marketplace.

Now, as she was escorted through its front gates, Keket knew she had been right to hold onto those daydreams.

Treviso was the most beautiful place she had ever seen.

Her escort didn’t speak to her as they meandered through Treviso’s walkways, moving with the elegance and grace of a trained assassin. Someday, she would be as languid as that. Though as a teenager just past her thirteenth year, Keket was mostly just uncertainty, with limbs too stiff to do anything useful with. It wasn’t as if the anxiety hadn’t already been beaten out of her—it had.

But Keket also couldn’t help wondering what kind of beatings her new benefactor favored—because they all favored one or another. There was no love lost for her old House; that was for sure. However, the nondescript warehouse they came upon didn’t do much to appease newfound concerns, no matter how often she’d been punished for them in the past. After all, Antivan Crows were nothing if not relentless. At least, that was what she told herself.

“This is where I leave you.”

Years of training kept Keket from jumping at the sound of his voice. “Thank you,” she responded, smiling grimly up at her escort. Because even then, she knew to be polite. Even then, in this new city, with this new benefactor, Keket knew to be pleasant. How else was she supposed to form alliances?

To her surprise, her escort smiled warmly back at her—even winking before he began to walk away. That was harder to digest. Crows weren’t supposed to smile at anyone that wasn’t a contract. Keket nearly frowned at the absurdity of it. No doubt that whoever trained him would be ashamed if they’d seen.

The front door to the warehouse was also nondescript—though pretty and well-stained wood, if anything. The inside was dark and empty, save for a few skylights, which provided enough sunshine for Keket to easily make her way to the room’s center, where a person in shadow awaited.

Her new grandmaster.

There wasn’t much Keket wanted—they didn’t need to be kind or accepting or even remotely interested in their fledglings. But if this new House could just be better than the last… if they could just be even one iota less cruel, that would be enough for her.

“Welcome! You must be our new fledgling.”

If Keket’s escort had surprised her, this was nothing less than shock, radiating down into her very bones. As she approached the figure, she could have sworn the day-light filtering in from above rearranged itself just for her—for the small woman standing in front of Keket. Which it should.

Because standing in front of Keket was an earth-shatteringly beautiful woman.

“I’m Andarateia Cantori,” the woman said, flashing white teeth in her smile. “Though you can call me Teia. Just don’t tell anyone else I told you so.”

Sheer instinct kept Keket on her feet, had her nodding slowly back to Teia. Though it was several moments before she could find her voice again. “Are you my new grandmaster?”

This only made Teia smile’s widen, until she was full-blown grinning at Keket. If the gesture itself wasn’t so warm and full of kindness, she would have retreated to a more defensible position in the room.

“Well…” Teia began. “Not really. Although, if you wish, I could make arran—“

The warehouse door slamming back open was the last straw, and Keket threw herself to the side, safety rolling near one of the room’s main walls, which she promptly pressed her back against.

“Oh, dammit!” Teia shouted, all traces of her previous warmth evaporated. “You scared our little fledgling half to death!”

A new, distinctly male voice sounded off then. “Teia!” the intruder barked, his long legs carrying him to where Keket had just been standing. “What do you think you are doing? Is it your life’s mission to be a complete pain in my ass? Or did I do something to specifically warrant this intrusion? I can never tell.”

“Keket?” Teia called, ignoring the intruder’s protests. “May I introduce to you your new grandmaster—Fifth Talon, Viago de Riva.”

At this, Keket’s eyebrows shot up. Fifth Talon? The Fifth Talon wanted her in his House?

“Come over here,” Teia encouraged, beckoning Keket with another warm smile. Still, she ignored Viago’s ever-reddening face, the deep blush darkening his handsome bronze skin until it almost looked purple.

The wall felt safer. But Teia was too enticing, too beautiful and friendly to disobey—as if they had already formed a comraderie or an understanding that could not be betrayed by Keket’s own suspicion. Even if that suspicion was a necessary part of their trade.

Unwilling footsteps shuffled Keket closer to where the duo stood, only twelve inches apart or so. The sky-light illuminated both of their features, which were very Antivan in nature—tawny brown skin and dark, curly hair so tightly coiled the curls were more like ringlets. And while Teia’s eyes were as deep and brown as her hair, Viago’s were a strange, muted emerald, as if that emerald had first been buried in fresh soil.

Only when Keket came to a stop next to him did Viago turn towards her, his piercing gaze pinning the teenager’s feet to the spot.

“Viago, Keket. Keket, Viago,” Teia chuckled.

Keket remained silent, as was expected of all fledglings before their grandmaster. So did she avert her gaze, keeping it trained on the ground. She needed to show him the utmost deference and respect, just as her last grandmaster had taught her.

“Look at me,” Viago commanded.

Keket’s blood ran cold. That didn’t seem right. What had she done wrong?

“Now.”

She obeyed him at once, her eyes wide and wiped blank of any obvious sentiment—the best she could do, given her terror.

“Don’t frighten her more,” Teia hissed, and Keket’s eyes involuntarily flicked to the scowling woman beside them. “Or I’ll make you regret it.”

Keket’s next inhale stuttered in her chest. Surely she would face punishment for speaking to the Fifth Talon this way?

But Viago only rolled his emerald eyes, his mustache quirking with a grimace. “How old are you?” he asked her.

Keket knew to answer quickly. “Thirteen.”

“How long have you been a fledgling?”

“Since I was eight.”

“Eight?” Both Viago and Teia shared a look.

Keket fought the urge to squirm. “Is that… unusual?” Typically, Keket would never deign to speak while not spoken to, but something about their reactions felt strange.

Teia was the one to answer. “It depends. But your former grandmaster had a certain reputation for eccentric recruiting practices.”

At that, Keket was silent. What did that mean?

Viago scoffed. “What she means is that your former grandmaster was a despicable speck of scum that had no qualms about recruiting hordes of small children so long as some of them survived long enough to cause trouble for the other Houses.”

Keket nodded absently.

“Agreed. Let us hope their new grandmaster has more sense,” Teia added, glancing at Viago again. “Lest the rest of us be forced to take action.”

With no clear understanding of what she meant, Keket once more averted her gaze.

“Keket, let me properly introduce you to Andarateia Cantori, Seventh Talon of the Antivan Crows, since I am sure she made no effort to disclose her official title.”

Against all instinct, an audible gasp ripped through Keket’s throat.

“Now you’ve done it,” Teia angrily muttered.

The Fifth and Seventh Talon. Keket knew this meeting could potentially be dangerous, though she would never have been able to ascertain the level of that danger—would never have thought that two Talons would ever be standing in front of her, squabbling like old lovers as if they couldn’t end her existence with a single twist of their hands.

There were no words for the influx of awe, horror, and hope rushing through her belly. So, Keket defaulted to the proper supplication these Talons deserved; a still body, and a quiet mouth.

This, however, did not seem to please Viago de Riva.

He cursed in Antivan. “What? Did your grandmaster beat the spirit out of you?”

Keket’s reply was instantaneous and without any emotion. “Yes.”

Then Teia cursed. Keket turned to her. “Grandmaster said that a good Crow must be emptied before it can be filled with anything useful, so we practiced being empty a lot.”

The warehouse’s subsequent silence only served to further strain Keket’s nervous system. That wall was looking highly safe right now…

“A good Crow uses everything at their disposal to complete their contracts,” Viago replied. “Especially their natural predispositions.” A pause. “Look at Teia,” he continued, gesturing to Teia with his hand. “What weapons do you think she is most likely inclined to use?”

“Here it comes,” Teia grumbled.

Keket was sure she was being set up to fail this question, but she also suspected Viago did not tolerate anything but the truth. Slowly, Keket appraised Teia once more, absorbing her small, lithe body, which would certainly attune her to agile movement; her full lips; the way her soft, long hair framed her jaw…

An uncomfortable blush began peppering Keket’s neck and ears when she realized she was staring. “Well,” she started. “She is… very beautiful.”

This prompted Teia to grin at her, which only served to aggravate the blush.

But Viago only frowned. “Exactly. So you can imagine how many powerful, wealthy men survive encounters with her when she is fulfilling a contract.”

“Probably not very many,” Keket said.

Teia laughed. “Exactly. Seduction is one of many tools in a Crow’s arsenal. These powerful, self-important men see my face and my ears and think I am harmless. Usually, it is the last thought they ever have.”

Keket’s eyes widened in something akin to wonder. 

“Now, what do you think of Viago? What skillset do you think he is most predisposed to?”

She felt her jaw lock when Viago’s intense gaze returned to her. This was most certainly a trap. Right? 

Still, the answer came at once—a muted whisper that bubbled inside her mind. Such whispers came infrequently, though when they did, they most often struck true.

“Poison.”

Both Teia and Viago’s brows shot up, their visages conveying an honest surprise at the answer.

“And why would you say that?” Teia asked.

Keket swallowed, attempting to ignore Viago’s stare seeping into her face. “He holds himself apart from others—at least one foot away. At first, I thought it was because of a… distaste for you,” she said, unwillingly glancing back at Teia, “but your obvious familiarity with each other ruled that out. I would guess that you just don't like to be touched.”

She got the distinct impression this made the Talons uncomfortable, judging by their stony expressions.

“Secondly… you smell like Belladern,” Keket murmured.

Viago de Riva cocked his head at that, his stare turning intense. “Are you sure you are not scenting my cologne?”

“I’m sure. Belladern is created by mixing belladonna with wyvern venom, and it has a signature aroma when heated at the right degree. It’s sweet.”

Viago nodded, his head moving slowly while he stuck his tongue against one cheek.

But Keket continued to answer, her voice steadily becoming more confident as she did. “I also think you sampled some before coming here. You probably ingest small amounts of several poisons to build immunity to them, since most who prefer poison are often paranoid about unknowingly consuming poison themselves.”

“What’s your evidence?” Viago asked, deliberating.

“Belladern side effects include rapid heartbeat, and I can see yours pounding against the arteries of your neck.” Keket lifted one hand, pointing at Viago’s carotid, where his pulse point throbbed at a steady and swift rate.

“And I don’t think it’s because you’re nervous,” she supplemented. “Also, your left fingers keep twitching. Since Belladern also causes convulsions, that would make sense as well.”

Teia muttered something softly, the Antivan momentarily breaking through Keket’s examination.

“Anything else?” Viago inquired.

Keket nodded at Viago’s other hand. “The tips of those fingers are red and raw, as if they’ve been burned. Since I assume you wear gloves while you work, yours are either old and worn through, or you need a second pair to cover the first. I would recommend drakeskin, as it deteriorates slowly,” she finished, voice once again quiet.

Viago de Riva folded his arms across his chest, the harsh angles of his brow and jaw smoothed out. “Was it your grandmaster that taught your class alchemy?”

“No. He used it on us. I remembered the smell.”

After an agonizingly silent pause, Teia cursed again—a fiery, filthy string of curses Keket struggled to not blush at.

Meanwhile, Viago looked vicious once more, fury etching deep into the handsome planes of his face. “Agreed, Teia.”

Keket resisted the urge to return to the warehouse’s wall. Had she said too much? Was she arrogant in her responses? Did she insult his honor?

“Right, then,” Teia chirped, a strained smile pulling at her mouth.

“Viago, if you do not want another fledgling, I would be more than happy to declare her part of House Cantori.”

That… couldn’t be right. Right? 

But Viago only glowered, each emerald eye narrowing in warning.

“Absolutely not. I will not have you poaching every wounded fledgling who crosses your path.” Then he turned to Keket, the curls in his hair bouncing slightly with the movement.

“You should know: I will not coddle you the way some may think you deserve. Becoming a fledgling in my House will mean even more discipline and more… correction, if you will.”

Keket nodded. She did not expect anything different.

“But,” Viago said, his jaw unclenching. “Only when you deserve it. Or when lessons demand that of you. Nothing more.”

Unwilling, traitorous tears began to gather in the back of her eyes.

“Stop that,” Viago snapped, all too observant.

Keket froze. “Yes, sir.” She briefly turned her gaze to the ceiling, hoping that the tears would suck themselves back into their ducts.

“I guess it is settled then,” Teia said, clapping her hands together. It did not escape Keket that she seemed to be pouting, her lower lip jutting out a touch more than the top. “What a shame. I do enjoy my strays.” 

And for the first time in many months, Keket found herself smiling.

Treviso, the city of dreams, indeed.

[stairset]

I realize this could get me crucified in certain circles but as good as Andor was I really do think its fans can be truly insufferable.

[moinsbienquekaworu]

But what about men when they're bruised & bloodied

[homiro]

#all weebs should be legally required to read about japanese imperialism both inside and outside the country that is now labeled as “japan”

Couldn't have put it better if I tried, prev.

The Ainu have not intentionally forgotten their culture and their language. It is the modern Japanese state that, from the Meiji era on, usurped our land, destroyed our culture, and deprived us of our language under the euphemism of assimilation. In the space of a mere 100 years, they nearly decimated the Ainu culture and language that had taken tens of thousands of years to come into being on this earth. ~Kayano Shigeru (1926-2006) Our Land Was a Forest: An Ainu Memoir

[yandere-romanticaa]

Seen the request, so I shall deliver. Could you pls write a drabble or hcs of a yandere sunday with an isekaied reader?

Good timing because I'm actually planning a non yan isekai fic for him, I wonder if you saw that post. Here it is in case you haven't.

Sincerest apologies if this isn't the best, this fic is 100% emotionally charged by my obsession with him and frankly with a little bit of a high for passing a tricky exam. This is a treat for myself.

EDIT: Please check out this wonderful comic that @danijaci made me based off this fic!! 😭🫶

Picking up the cup from the fine oak table, you gazed towards the eerie galaxy before you, hundreds upon thousands of stars giving you a constant reminder of just how far from home you truly were. Taking a sip from the little porcelain cup you could not help but to hum in delight, the soft notes of the tea soothing your nerves ever so lightly as you pretended to ignore the heavy gaze which lingered at the back of your head.

Even from this distance, it was easy to tell that Sunday was eager to approach you. Still, he kept his distance and made a silent offering in the form of the very tea you drank at the moment.

Anything is better than Himeko's coffee but you were never going privy her to that.

In a not so distant past, all of this was nothing but fiction. The Express, the story, the characters - it was all nothing more but fiction, something to pass the time as your days went on and on, the same monotony repeating each and every day.

It was hard to not think about your friends and family, what sane person would not? Lord knows how they must be feeling right now, worried sick out of their minds with indescribable sorrow. In their eyes you had merely vanished, not a single trace to be found. For all they knew you could have been left for dead in a ditch somewhere, beaten, bloodied and broken, never to see the light again or if they were even more inclined to be morbid, you had succumbed to a fate worse than death. Death at the very least grants you finality, that all is over regardless of what happened moments prior.

But that was simply not the case for you.

Here you were, lounging about in a comfortable chair as you pondered on your old life while enjoying tiny little luxuries, far away where none of your loved ones could reach you. However, life was funny sometimes because it had some fun games in store.

Sunday was very kind upon arrival. He made sure to always be there for you, always checking up on you, always there to keep you company. You were already smitten with him but now to actually witness him in the flesh was just... Indescribable. You got along like a house on fire, so much so that the crew liked to tease that you ought to just get a room. Sunday, ever the gentleman, would just brush their words aside and assure you to not take their playful little jabs to heart.

You wouldn't say anything, resorting to merely giving him a smile but not because of what he said but rather of what he did not - never once did he actually shut down those perverse accusations. Never, not even once did he deny them.

He became an emotional crutch, someone to whom you would come running to when things got tough and he would always welcome you with open arms. Sunday would hold you tenderly, his serene voice dripping with honey along with a tender drop of ecstasy, for his excitement with holding you would just show itself sometimes. His grip would be too tight at certain moments, never quite ready to let you leave. His hugs were warm and comforting, he always smelled so good too. He smelled like kindness and sweet wildflowers, always lulling you back to him no matter the time. In dark corners and perhaps even under the watchful eyes of the crew, Sunday would wrap his scarf around your head, securing the soft fabric in order to provide you with a sense of comfort.

It was humiliating just how much you would try to inhale his scent as much as possible. You wanted it etched deep inside your memory, you wished for it to linger on your very soul and for it to follow you everywhere you went, sticking to your being like tar. The fabric of the scarf would muffle your ears a little but someone was always chatting in the background. Be it March bickering with Dan Heng, Mr Yang scolding someone for doing something they were not supposed to, or just Conductor Pom Pom trying to give a speech, all of it was irrelevant.

You were ready to kill whoever would try to pry you away from sweet Sunday. That thought came often which had left you worried - just what kind of person had you become? Regardless, you kept your mouth shut and had no plans of sharing such violent sentiments with anyone, particularly not to the one you held so dear.

When it was time to part for the evening you would bid the crew farewell and wished them a good night. You always made sure to take a few extra seconds with Sunday, just to ease your aching soul. He would tell you to sleep well and would see you in the morning, ready to take on any endeavor that crossed your paths.

As everyone parted ways, Sunday would wander off somewhere dark and distant, somewhere no one could see nor hear him. He would fall to his knees and clutch his chest in agony, fat tears streaming down his face as he did everything he possibly could to steady his raging heart. In a rush he would reach for the scarf which clung around his neck, his grip tighter than iron as he would bring it close to his nose. Taking a large, deep breath, Sunday was greeted by your familiar scent which would promptly calm his poor heart.

He sometimes wondered if his heart would start bleeding from the pain due to the sheer intensity of his emotions.

This was wrong, everything about this was not right and it hurt. Sunday was obviously ill but he had no clue on how to fight this... This emotion, this white hot feeling of need whenever you stood by his side. He started to choke on the air around him and fell into an abrupt coughing fit but even then, he could bring himself to remove the scarf from the lower part of his face.

Sunday wept and sobbed, filthy snot coming out from his nose but he could not handle that now. He needed you, Oh Heavenly Aeons, how he needed you. However was he going to tell you how he felt? How, oh how was he going to express the sheer magnitude of his true thoughts? He would scare you off, he was sure of it.

Even with this pain, even with these clipped wings and bleeding heart, Sunday had never felt so alive, so harrowingly present in the moment whenever he was with you.

Perhaps, he was doing himself a kindness by just letting you be. Drink your tea, be at peace.

He can always just make you another cup if you so desired.

Without knowing, you both haunted each other in the most agonizing way known to mankind and neither was strong enough to face the reality of the situation.

[phantomrose96]

When people join self-improvement or even hobbyist communities, there are some absolutely critical skills of fundamental skepticism they need when going in. I think most people who get into these communities aren't aware of these.

And just, as a fundamental few:

Does this person stand to gain financially from the thing they're trying to sell you on?

Is the business model of this whole community one of artificial competitiveness? Is there a pressure around never lapsing, or never straying from the model being sold to you?

Are the claims made in this community becoming bolder and bolder deviations from standard information?

These are absolutely rife in fitness, nutrition, and financial-advice communities and they often receive very little scrutiny except among those who already "got out." Because from the outside, seeing someone get into fitness is a good thing, good for them, glad to see it, look at that dedication, happy for them. Same on the other categories, and probably numerous others I haven't seen.

---------

Does this person stand to gain financially from the thing they're trying to sell you on?

If the answer is yes, that does NOT mean "immediately abort", it means keep that in mind when you're interacting with their content.

This nutrition influencer has given you some great recipes for free, and now they're promoting a "really fantastic" brand that they have an affiliate link with? Their motivation isn't to be your friend and helpfully clue you in on a great product. It's to make money off you.

You really like this fitness influencer's work outs, but she gets MORE interaction and MORE viewers the skinnier she gets? She CLAIMS she's been losing weight naturally with healthy eating and exercise, and she's still full of energy, and You Can Too. This is not your friend. This is not someone who knows you. This is someone under large financial and social pressure to do everything she can to put out her best appearance and her happiest appearance, and your attention and belief in the appearance is where the money and clout come from. You really need to remember this in the same way you remember to look both ways before crossing the street. You can cross a street and you can follow a fitness account, but protect yourself when doing it.

---------

Is the business model of this whole community one of artificial competitiveness? Is there a pressure around never lapsing, or never straying from the model being sold to you?

Communities stay strong if they retain people. There are a lot of fine and positive ways to retain people, but it's often easier to retain people by instilling them with a sense that they must be here. They should feel bad if they lapse or if their attention drifts. What they were before was inadequate. Everyone outside this community is inadequate. Do you want to go back to inadequate?

Is that financial subreddit that taught you valuable lessons about 401k's, index funds, and budgeting also quietly pressuring you to always do more? Are the top posts from extremist examples of people living in destitution so they can show the most extreme screenshot, and curate the envy of everyone else who ought to be ashamed of not doing as well as them?

Is that fitness community that got you into jogging also putting you in the mind that the truest and best people exercise 7 days a week? Never miss a metric? Never compromise on their dedication?

Is that person who "cut out all sugar and feels amazing" informing you that you should never have another cupcake in your life? And if you DO it's because you're BAD and DON'T WORRY, you'll get RIGHT back on the horse after. Shame will motivate you to come right back, and stay with the community, and never leave.

As long as you stay, the community grows. As long as you stay, the ad sponsors and the endorsed products and the influencers can benefit more and more. And sometimes, there's perhaps not even a malicious force behind it. It can happen from evolutionary pressures. The communities that survive are the ones that retain people. A community that trips accidentally into a model of pressuring people to stay is one which retains people and thrives.

-----------

Are the claims made in this community becoming bolder and bolder deviations from standard information?

You joined because you wanted to learn to cook for yourself. And this community has been helpful! You know how to make some delicious things. You've tried vegetables you've never tried before. And maybe you needed some convincing that brussel sprouts can be yummy, but what do you know, turns out you like them roasted.

But what else is being said? What things are being said with more and more frequency? Is it that "humans don't actually need any sugar, and it's a poison being sold to us?" Is it that "seed oils are toxic for you"? Is it that "pasteurization is bad"? Is the raw fruitarian convincing you that cavemen lived exclusively off fruit and you can too?

They'll have sources sometimes. Check them. Are they cherry-picked? Are they from an insular echo-chamber? Why isn't the mainstream literature aware of this? And if the answer has anything to do with "because mainstream wants to TRICK YOU and you're actually BAD for ASKING" then don't engage. Disregard. Take the recipes if you must but apply your skeptical filter to all the parts that are snake oil.

Sometimes it's that another community is only a stone's throw away. That person with a great financial portfolio has only good things to say about crypto, and what they're saying is making sense (average person [not smart] [poor] [bad money skills] laughs at crypto, but you're smarter. you're on the in-track). That amazing bodybuilder is pulling the hottest dates, and he says it's about male-confidence, and he says there are good support guides on becoming a respectable masculine man, and all you need to do is reclaim your masculinity in a society that wants to steal it from you.

In any place like this, come up for air. Come up for air FREQUENTLY. Talk to regular people and engage in academic literature outside this circle. Conspiracy thinking wins if you draw all your information from the entity trying to sell you on the conspiracy.

------------

And I hope this is clear but my message is not "never join a community." My message is know danger when you see it. Recognize when you're being used or pressured. Don't fall for conspiracy thinking. Protect yourself. You can use a gas stove to cook meals but don't touch the flame and don't burn your house down. You can cross the street but recognize the signs of a car coming down the street.

And I'm making this point because so many people just don't know. ...Because getting into fitness is "good" and "self-improvement"! So is nutrition. So if financial responsibility. People walk into it and the extremism can make them feel accomplished, and admired, and like they're a part of something, and maybe even like a proper self-punishment for their own inadequacies. And people on the outside won't save you because "Wow! He spends 3 hours at the gym every day! I wish I was that dedicated." is a common attitude, and will push you deeper into what has its claws in you.

Everything I'm saying is not because I'm so much smarter and so much holier-than-thou for knowing this when others don't--I'm saying this because I was in it. I fell for it. Not all the examples above, of course. But I recognize the machine in them. It is highly appealing to run farther and fast longer and overload your class schedule when you don't feel good enough and want to prove something, and so many communities will sell you on the idea this IS an accomplishment. Then once you do, you have to do it forever. Or else you'll go back to not being good enough. And since fitness is "good", and weight-loss and good grades, no one can save you but you.

The answer was not to give up on the hobbies I was doing. I cook for myself most nights. I run and bike as regular parts of my routine. I like new recipes and I like half-marathons. But these are just positive additions to my life and they do not define my worth. If I miss a work-out it's whatever. If I order take-out it's whatever. I fundamentally do not care about the influencer with the washboard abs, and if I try a work-out from her, I have no loyalty to it. If the new recipe I try mentions "clean eating" I'll roll my eyes and just figure out if the recipe seems good. If the recipe is botching itself to avoid certain scare-words I will simply find something else.

There is absolutely a reasonable place for challenging yourself and trying things outside your comfort zone. The internet is full of resources to do so much more than you currently know how to do. And if that community is an oven, recognize it's an oven. Wear oven mitts. If it's actively on fire, leave. You're the only one protecting you. Stay safe.

[niteshade925]

April 20, Beijing, China, National Museum of China/中国国家博物馆 (Part 1 - Dehua white porcelain exhibition/德化白瓷展):

Aaand finally, the National Museum of China/中国国家博物馆! I was lucky enough to see the famed Dehua white porcelain exhibition/德化白瓷展 here. Some of you may recognize some of these pieces already, since pictures and shorts of them have been circulating online way before I went on this trip, but there are many many other pieces too. The pieces I post here are only a small portion of the entire exhibition, so if you ever get a chance to see the exhibition elsewhere in person, don't hesitate. This stuff is amazing.

First up is one of the two that has been gaining popularity online, the piece named 神话 or "Legend".

The first time I saw a porcelain piece like this, I thought that the clothing part was made with paper? But no, the light fabric of the clothing, the hair, it's all porcelain. Keep in mind when looking through these pictures: every part of every piece is porcelain.

This piece is the other one that was becoming popular, the piece named simply 纸, or "Paper". If you don't look up close and see the glossy surface, you can't tell it's actually porcelain. I cannot for the life of me imagine the kind of magic that was used to turn clay into this

Anyway, this is a good point to introduce Dehua porcelain a little bit. Dehua porcelain is a regional specialty of Dehua/德化, which is located in Fujian province, and is known for its expressiveness and white color. For this reason it's also known in the West as "Blanc de Chine" (French: "white of China"), and this should be the reason why this exhibition is named 中国白, which basically means the same thing. The history of Dehua porcelain goes back to Song dynasty (960 - 1279), and it is still being produced today. Many of the pieces I'm posting here are modern pieces.

But Dehua white porcelain can be colored too (I imagine the color must be painted on later, because the white comes from the clay itself), and when it is colored, it looks like it came right out of a painting

This piece is especially amazing to me. Look at the texture, look at those details. Zoom in and you will find that there are actually a bunch of porcelain ants on this porcelain tree stump. Porcelain ants. I never expected to use porcelain as an adjective when describing ants. Wtf. It's like a manifestation of a scene from an older animated movie.

Peanuts are called 花生 in Chinese, which literally means "flower grow", and because it also has a long shelf life, it symbolizes longevity and a happy marriage. Also a fun fact: because Watson of Sherlock Holmes is usually phoenetically translated as 华生 (huá shēng) in Chinese and sounds similar to 花生 (huā shēng), you will find that many in the Chinese SH fandom refers to Watson as "peanut".

This piece is titled 春色满园, or "garden filled with spring scenery". This is also a common 4-character word used to describe gardens in spring. I'm guessing the figure depicted here is one of the flower gods. It is one of my personal favorites because of its superb depiction of movement, it's as if the flower god will really fly away on clouds at any moment

More depictions of traditional Chinese deities, specifically Chang'e/嫦娥, the moon goddess. That moon rabbit is too cute.

Depictions of what I'm assuming is the Four Heavenly Kings/四大天王, based on the items they are holding. The Four Heavenly Kings are Buddhist deities.

Look at her clothing! That porcelain is so thin it's almost see-through! Also is it depicting Li Qingzhao/李清照, the famous female poet from Song dynasty? She does have a famous ci poem that's about paddling a boat in a lake full of lotuses while drunk

The piece titled 锦绣前程, or "future as vibrant and prosperous as silk brocade". This is also a common 4-character word used in well wishing. The figure in this piece is holding a xiuqiu/绣球, a ball made of silk, which was usually seen as a token of love

Somewhat more modern-themed pieces:

Among the hundreds of amazing pieces, this one caught my attention for its unique texture. When everyone else was trying to turn the clay into these thin sheets representing fabric or paper or flower petals, this artist took the noodle approach. Not many visitors seemed to like it, but I think it's pretty cool

Piece titled 运势如虹, or "fortune like the rainbow", also a 4-character word used in well wishing. Traditionally horses symbolize vitality and success, hence why many people use the words 马到成功 ("horse's arrival brings success") and 龙马精神 ("vitality of dragons and horses") in well wishes during Year of the Horse

Stay tuned for Part 2 of the Dehua white porcelain exhibition!