#drabble but can be a thread

[usedtobecooler]

isn't that so sad | steve harrington x eddie munson 1.9k

summary: steve struggles with his mental health and no longer being needed by his friends in the wake of vecna's defeat.

tw: 18+ minors dni, post season four, everybody lives. poor mental health and its direct impact, general sadness with a happy ending.

Steve feels himself begin to spiral once everything happens, and there's nothing he can do to stop it.

After Vecna, the Upside Down, Dustin crying and begging for Steve's help. Dragging Eddie out with nothing more than determination and strength brought from the pits of his stomach.

He looked after everybody on autopilot, threw himself into protector mode and ran around like a mother hen to make sure everybody was safe, looked after and protected. Until one by one everybody got better and moved on, and the only people left who truly needed protection were Eddie and Max.

He spent almost all of his free time at Hawkins Memorial Hospital, at one of two bedsides as induced comas continued on. Took to sleeping in Eddie's room at nights whilst Wayne continued to work at the plant, because the Government hush money didn't go very far once medical bills were needing paid.

Hell, Steve was the only person there when Eddie awoke from his coma three months later, and knocked Steve off of his feet when Eddie grabbed for his hand and pleaded with him to just stay. Didn't want nurses or doctors or even his own fucking family to come in, he just wanted Steve.

New normal began soon after Eddie awoke, Steve's days that were once dreary and pointless were now filled with driving Eddie to therapy and rehab appointments, going grocery shopping for Wayne so he could sleep after his shifts. Checking in on Lucas as he prayed at Max's bedside, taking visits to Dustin and his mother, who had a habit of making enough dinner so that Steve could eat. Claudia knew Steve, knew he didn't look after himself, was too busy making sure everybody else was healthy and alive. So, she made sure he had the same courtesy, and he was forever thankful.

Things had routine, normalcy, until suddenly they didn't anymore. Eddie was back to (mostly) full health, school restarted so Steve didn't see the kids much unless they wanted a ride or a place to crash at the weekends — he wasn't needed anymore.

Robin left. Her parents hauled ass to the other side of the country, and she went, too. He couldn't lie to himself, say it didn't hurt, because it near enough fucking killed him. Broke his heart in two to watch his soulmate leave without a trace. She wrote often, called occasionally, but to not have her hand within grabbing distance when things got tough — well, that's something Steve would never come to terms with.

His parents never checked in, never asked about what happened in Hawkins, he doubted they knew much beyond the vague tellings that the news broadcasted. They sent money, they always did. But the house was empty, void. Steve longed for his mothers hugs, his fathers stern voice carrying through the halls. He hadn't wanted those things since he was fifteen and left on his own for the first time, but the loneliness crept in painfully quick, everything felt dark.

Steve still slept with the nail bat next to his bed. He'd seen this before, ever since the fateful night that he stepped in to help Jon and Nancy fight that fucking demogorgon. Just when they thought everything was over, something would happen. Whether that be Demodogs, Russians, Vecna. There was always something new to get them, and he could never rely on the fact that everything had gone quiet once they 'defeated' him.

He feels himself fading, but he's too proud to call and ask for anything. Blames it on the one too many knocks to the head, that's clearly what's causing this imbalance in his feelings. Doesn't want to call Nance and ask her how things are going at college, doesn't want to pester Dustin now that he's sixteen and old enough to drive, doesn't want to stop by Eddie's new government issued trailer for a smoke. He's far too sure he'd be considered more of a nuisance than company.

It's March. Spring Break, the one year anniversary. Steve can't remember the last time he ate, or showered, or left the position he curled up in on his mattress. The phone next to his bed rings on and off for days, and Steve chooses to leave it unanswered.

He didn't want pity calls.

He falls asleep finally, sometime after the second or third sunrise. Succumbing to exhaustion, heavy eyelids drooping shut, slipping into the first dreamless sleep he'd had since that fateful night in 1983.

"Harrington! Steve, Steve c'mon, wake up!"

A panicked voice rouses Steve. Firm, bony fingers shaking his bare shoulders as his bleary eyes struggle to open.

He's just so tired.

"Steve, man, please," the voice tries again, desperate and pleading. Steve's fuzzy head knows that voice, can make it out even in the state he's in, has heard it in his thoughts and his dreams for a year now.

"Eddie," Steve's voice is gruff, painfully dry, lips tacky from lack of saliva and fluids, "how... how'd you get in?"

Eddie barks out this fucking incredulous laugh, holds his hands up in defeat before slapping them down on his thighs dramatically, eyes wild and brows up behind his fringe, "I broke in, Steve! Nobody heard from you in four days. Four fucking days! I thought I was gonna come in here and you were gonna be— fuck!"

Steve tries to process what he's saying, feels this horrific pang of guilt in his chest when he realizes he's upset Eddie. He'd never even thought, not even for a second, that people would be worried he was dead.

"I'm sorry, m'sorry," Steve apologizes groggily, tries so hard to lift his heavy head from the pillow but fuck, if his neck won't allow it. He feels so useless, can't even find the fucking strength to pull himself up from his slumber. It's embarrassing, he's mortified.

"Hey, don't," Eddie scrambles, wraps ringed fingers around Steve's slender wrist, almost in a feeble attempt to pin him in place on the mattress, and Steve goes willingly, "you... you're not yourself, man. We should've known, I should've known. When you didn't answer the phone to Rob—"

"Robs called?" Steve winces, pained and choked. He doesn't want to fucking cry in front of Eddie Munson, not after everything. A missed phone call shouldn't be the hairline trigger.

"Yeah, Steve," Eddie sighs, the pad of his thumb running along the veins on the back of Steve's wrist soothingly, almost like he's trying absently to stop the freak out that he feels impending, "don't. Don't beat yourself up, okay? It's our faults, we didn't check in. I'm so fucking sorry, we all are. Things have just been—"

"Busy, I know." Steve sighs, still curled in a goddamn ball on his side, like he's frozen in place, held down and imprisoned by nothing but the weight of his own thoughts. He feels his eyes grow hot, teary, "Nobody needed me anymore."

There's a beat of silence, then Eddie rips the comforter off of Steve, exposing his body to the chilly air. Steve winces, half expects Eddie to try and haul his ass out of bed, give him the tough love his dad used to when he was given a telling off for something and would hide under the covers to cry.

Harrington men didn't cry.

But, Eddie Munson was always surprising Steve. Ever since that fateful day in that fucking boat house at Rick's, when the scrawny kid Tommy Hagan used to beat up for fun used his brute strength to pin Steve to a fucking wall.

He clambers into bed with Steve, Reeboks still on his feet, leather jacket on his shoulders, not a care in the damn world. Those wild curls fanning out over Steve's pillow as he lies down, face to face.

Steve's suddenly self conscious, knows he probably fucking reeks. Hasn't brushed his teeth or washed his hair in who knew how long, deodorant long worn off from the cold sweats he lay in. He cringes, embarrassment creeping up hot on his neck — he never wanted anybody to see him like this.

"When my old man used to come home drunk, my mom would lay in bed with me like this, gimme hugs and run her fingers through my hair til I fell asleep," Eddie explains, voice quiet as he shuffles in close to Steve, their knees knocking, "I was scared of him. She didn't want me to be alone. She died when I was six, then it was just me an' him, nothing to comfort me when he came home and yelled, blamed me for his loss on whatever card game they played that night."

Steve furrows his brows, chest tightening at Eddie's story. He doesn't understand why Eddie's telling him this, curses his stupid brain for being slow to tack on to what this all means, but he understands, to an extent. His own mom used to love him and comfort him, too, once upon a time.

She wasn't dead, but sometimes it felt like she was.

Steve doesn't realize he's crying until Eddie's eyes widen in shock, his gangly body flailing a little as he moves in closer to scoop Steve into his arms, pulling him into his torso. Steve's whole body freezes for a split second, goosebumps littering his skin at the feeling of Eddie's warm body basically engulfing his own fragile one.

"Fuck, sorry, man. Didn't mean to make you cry. Was just a stupid little story, my way of saying — fuck me," Eddie panics, struggles, stumbling over his own words as Steve sobs quietly into the soft material of his worn in shirt, "I get it. Feeling like you have to be on your own, and work it out on your own, because you've only had yourself for as long as you can remember. But you're not alone now, Steve. We're not alone."

Steve cries until his throat is raw and he's soaked through Eddie's shirt with his tears, tightly fisting the material because he won't allow himself to hug Eddie back. Eddie anchors him, buries a hand in his hair and strokes soothingly until Steve's doing nothing more than dryly hiccupping into his chest.

"I— I'm sorry," Steve apologises again, struggling to get the tiniest of words out past the hyperventilating, "I didn't— didn't want this t-to happen. Wanted to be — be strong for ev-everybody."

"Stop fuckin' fighting your feelings, Harrington. Let us look after you and love you. It's time somebody took care of you, you've done it for us for long enough." Eddie's stern but still soft, chin hooked atop Steve's head, "We can start slow, okay? I need you to drink some fluids, before you end up in the hospital."

Steve agrees tentatively. And it's not long before just drinking fluids turns to showering, eating a full meal, stepping outside in the daylight. Sleeping through the night, going to the movie theatre with the gang. Getting a new job, visiting Robin across the country.

Eddie's by his side through it all.

Steve falls hard but Eddie falls harder.

hurt my own feelings with this one my guys <;/3

[flyingwargle]

natsu’s first pair of volleyball shoes used to belong to her brother.

she’s in her second year of junior high when she tries them on. mom bought them secondhand at a sports store, practically brand new. now, the rubber is fading, the laces are fraying, and there’s barely any cushioning left. “why can’t i get my own?” she complains later at dinner.

mom sighs. “we can check the store over the weekend. since those fit, you can use them for now.”

the next day, natsu arrives at practice with her beat-up court shoes, noticing her teammates’ shoes, clean and colorful.  she can still wear runners – a few girls still do – but they pinch her toes and the traction has been worn down. with great reluctance, she puts on her shoes.

“nice shoes, hinata,” mina, the third-year ace, snickers when she notices them. “you get them at a dumpster?” fumiko, the third-year middle blocker, laughs with her. natsu turns away, cheeks burning, unable to quell her envy at their asics-branded shoes.

thankfully, no one else comments about her footwear. despite the lack of cushioning, they still support her feet, and she leaves without any pain in her heels, unlike when she wore her runners.

shoyo calls her that night. “everything okay, natsu-chan?”

“no.” she’s at her desk, legs folded beneath her. the house is quiet, with mom at another late shift, and her brother on the other side of the world. “i asked mom for court shoes, and you know what she gave me? your old ones!”

“from high school? i didn’t know she kept them!”

“apparently. she said we can check the sports store on the weekend, but i’m not optimistic.” it isn’t a secret that their family isn’t well-off, especially after dad left. shoyo worked hard for a year after graduating to afford brazil, all the while training. natsu, when she can, takes odd jobs around the neighborhood, like tutoring kids in math, walking dogs, caring for gardens. while her friends hang out in town, she prefers staying home to read, watch tv, cook. anything that doesn’t cost too much money.

“i’m sure she’ll be able to buy you a pair, especially if it’s secondhand,” shoyo says brightly. “if she can’t, just let me know, and i’ll help you out!” natsu can hear the strain behind his words. she knows life isn’t easy for him either, juggling two jobs with training and competing. not to mention the language barrier, living far from home, having absolutely no acquaintances except for lucio-san…

i can figure it out myself, she thinks after hanging up. maybe i’ll get lucky and there’ll be a secondhand pair that fits me, too.

unfortunately, she has no such luck. she sulks while mom talks with the sales associate, who explains how their inventory mostly caters to male athletes. “you’ll find a larger variety in sendai city,” he explains.

“i see. thank you for your help.” mom places a hand on her shoulder. “come on, let’s go.”

“we aren’t going into the city, are we?”

mom shakes her head. “i have to work tonight. if you want, i can drop you off at the train station…”

natsu declines, so they climb into the car to head home. “what’s wrong with your brother’s shoes?” mom asks. “there aren’t any holes and they fit.”

“barely. i have to tie the laces really tight, or they’ll fall off.”

“oh. well, we can wait until you’re in high school to buy you a pair. you can use those for now.” there it is, the final verdict. natsu faces the window, trying not to cry. all her equipment are hand-me-downs, left behind in her brother’s closet. while many think she’s playing volleyball because of him, it’s also because she genuinely enjoys it. she, too, wants to fly and surpass barriers, to connect with her teammates.

she just wishes she can forge her own legacy instead of living in his shadow.

for the rest of the day, she scours the internet for affordable court shoes. she bookmarks several, mostly for their colors, intending to ask tobio-nii for his advice on which one is best. until then, though, she’ll have to earn enough money to buy them.

jobs don’t come easily for a junior high student. there aren’t any gardens to care for because it’s autumn; instead, she walks more dogs since the days are getting colder. she still tutors the neighborhood kids in math, asking for a 100-yen increase, which the parents happily oblige. she doesn’t tell shoyo about it, doesn’t want to burden him with her own selfishness. he paid for his trip to brazil, so she can pay for her own shoes.

by winter, she’s saved enough money to buy them, only for that money to go toward groceries after mom fractures her wrist and is forced to take time off work. “i’m sorry, natsu,” mom murmurs as she places two plates of curry on the table. “i know you’ve been working hard, even though you should be playing with your friends.”

natsu shakes her head. “i’d rather help you. i’ll have the rest of my life to play.” granted, it’ll be saddled with adulthood, but she’ll deal with that whenever she gets there. making sure her mom is cared for is more important.

christmas is quiet with just the two of them since shoyo couldn’t afford to fly back. their video call lasts longer than usual, but shoyo eventually goes to sleep, and natsu feels the abyss in her chest widening, wishing he were home to support them, to hold her and reassure her that everything will be fine.

winter melts into spring. natsu opens the door for the mailman, who is holding a package. “this is for hinata natsu-san.”

“uh, that’s me, but i didn’t…”

the mailman simply asks for her signature, then leaves. she brings the box inside, but before she can open it, her phone rings. it’s shoyo. “hey, natsu-chan! did you get a package yet?”

“i just got it. did you…?”

“open it!”

she slices through the tape and pulls the flaps apart, eyes widening at the box inside. “nii-chan. you…”

it’s a pair of volleyball shoes, one that she bookmarked. there’s no way he could’ve known, especially since she didn’t tell tobio-nii. so how…? “mom told you.”

“she saw your bookmarks. that’s her tablet, you know.”

natsu huffs, picking up one of the shoes to inspect. “i…was saving to buy them, myself. i know you have a lot going on, and you don’t earn a lot either. you didn’t have to do this.”

“i do, natsu-chan. do you know why?” her brother’s voice is soft. “it’s because we’re family. if you want something but mom can’t afford it, i’ll buy it. your brother isn’t completely broke; i have sponsors and lots of people supporting me. you guys don’t, so it’s my duty to help.”

“but…”

“if you really want to repay me, use those shoes to go to nationals. you’ll fly even higher with them!”

“yeah. okay.” she smiles, does what she can to suppress her tears. “thank you, nii-chan.” it’s the least she can do, until it’s her turn to return the favor.

[immobiliter]

so this is less me being salty and more a genuine observation from someone who has been in the rp community for way too fuckin long, but i think sometimes, collectively ( because i do consider myself guilty of this from time to time, i will call myself out ), we're all a bit hesitant to skip the set up when it comes to a thread and instead simply throw the two muses into a situation, or jump straight in with the reaction to a partner's thread/reply instead of lingering for too long on what our muses are thinking. i like to use the phrase in media res a lot when i talk about this because it's a really underrated writing technique for the rp community and doesn't really get talked about much

delving into a character's mindset is a great thing, and sometimes it's helpful to have those paragraphs where you're really digging into the nitty-gritty of what makes that muse tick or why they are reacting in a certain way ( this is particularly the case in an emotionally charged thread, or if you're trying to wrangle two muses into the same room for the sake of interaction ) but i think sometimes it's easy to forget that a thread still needs a reaction in order to justify it as a thread. a thread is collaborative by nature: you are not just there to write your muse but you are there to react to the other person's muse and give them stimuli to bounce off of. i think this is why i tend to gravitate towards muses who find it easy to create that stimuli: either by being naturally extroverted or so restless they won't sit still for long or just characters who are good at moving the plot along, particularly if they do that a lot within their own canon. but even with characters who are not that way inclined, i still think there are ways that you can make threads more reactive: whether that's by describing the setting around them, or their body language/what they are physically doing while in the scene. all of that stuff your partner can actively react to, whereas a two paragraph deep dive into why your muse is wearing a particular hat ( an extreme example lmao ) doesn't help your partner. just describe the hat and, if it gets referenced by the other muse later, then you can delve into the whys and hows because it's actually helpful to the story you're trying to tell.

this also links into my other point that you also don't necessarily have to sacrifice all of your internal monologue to accomplish this — you don't have to delve into all of that at the start of a thread reply ( i have been guilty of this myself lmao ), instead you can filter in relevant things as you go along as i explained in my example above

[fortruechaos]

After Maria dies in front of him a second time Shadow wanders. He knows there's something he has to do. It's something he doesn't want to do, but he knows he must. He knows it's not a feeling he's meant to feel but it doesn't mean anything else when all he can identify is his rage. The inhibitor rings mean nothing to him now, all this Chaos in his blood is simply ichor fuel. He approaches the empty square the rocket he had once taken to the ARK long ago. He circles it. He would take an IV to his veins if it could fuel that rocket with his Chaos-infused blood. It has to be good for something.

Legs move mechanically around and around that abandoned square of concrete. There's no rocket here anymore. How can I get to the ARK? How can I get to the ARK so I can crash it into the planet? I already got all the Chaos Emeralds, so that part's already done. I already blew up Prison Island. That fake hedgehog. He pauses to realize he has the green Chaos Emerald on him and reaches into his quills to pull it out and looks at it like it's a stranger, holding it up to pale moonlight, thinking, "It all starts with this--," but that was years ago. The Emerald goes back into his quills. That's fine. He can make amends now. For Maria. Maria who died in front of him a second time and this time it was just his fault with no one else to blame. Vengeance...

He's still walking in the same loop. Around a worn-in piece of concrete with some faded paint on it. GUN hasn't used this outpost in years. He's something more of a skeletal creature with his arms hanging all ball-jointed like at his sides than he is hedgehog. I have to get to the ARK. Walk. I can't get to the ARK, so I'll just walk. Around and around like a vinyl. How many broken records are on-board the ARK right now, the ARK that he will crash into the planet? It's what Maria wants him to do so he will do it. Ungrateful humans. A sneer in his heart behind sunglasses; a sneer belonging to the Professor.

Shadow's not even looking anymore. Seeing but not, eyes half-lidded, the jets in his skates turned off as he plods heavily around the same stretch of square. The same half-piece of fern in the broken concrete greets him for the n-teenth time. How can I get to the ARK? Lab experiment turned weapon and Shadow likes to do what the Professor tells him to do so he will think on it some more; don't worry, Professor. Plodding on all Godot-like, waiting, waiting waiting--

A million years that feel like one night pass. Spent shuffling like moving shadow on the ground, time tracked only by the slinging motion of his fingers at his side. He takes the Emerald out from his quills and looks at it again. He's been walking for so long the sun is coming up now and he's still walking; Shadow catches a reflected ruby eye in the transient green cut of jewel. Somehow this startles him back into something resembling person-hood. The first real feeling that is his own is fear, again. He's had enough of that. Shadow crouches and shakes again, hand clutching the Emerald furiously, clinging to that source of Chaos like a lifeline. It pushes and floods into his palms, bells ringing in battery-operated eardrums, neurons firing, remembering the truth, just one hedgehog all by himself on an abandoned launchpad. I have to get to the ARK but I don't want to. I am so afraid of what will happen if I do.

Eventually exhaustion takes him and he collapses. The Chaos of the Emerald at combat with his damaged psyche. The Emerald clatters onto asphalt, fingertips just barely brushing smooth gemstone. Shadow is grateful when he faints. He does not faint often. He does not dream. It is welcome.

Shadow wakes to a hand on his shoulder, gently pushing. Somehow, it's Sonic. Idiot. "No," he half-says half-moans with despair, pushing his face into the ground as hard as he can, somehow himself again. "NO...!! Fuck you, this is your fault!" It's easy for him to blame someone that isn't him right now--the hand on his shoulder releases. Shadow can hear a whispered oh boy, and his head flies up to shoot daggers at a wilting smile on Sonic's face.

"She's okay," Sonic offers, voice a million degrees removed from the reality of the situation, and Shadow's hands turn into fists as he pushes himself up onto his elbows into an arced fetal position and screams--screams because he's himself again and for what he's done, fully cognizant, the Professor's hold on him slipping into the shade of his heart again. His scream asks Why did I do that and What do I have to do to be free? and If I am the Ultimate why am I so afraid of myself still? And then he gets up, wipes his mouth with the back of a hand, and reclaims his Emerald. A stifled, scuffed breath through his nose. Shadow's shoulders rise and fall. He clears his throat, line that is his mouth shifting. He's all business. He's the Ultimate Lifeform.

"Where is she."

[cagcdlxve]

Winter Prayer ★₊˚⊹✧˖°. Open

" I fear deeply for the worlds we live in... " she spoke quietly. Eyes scanning the horizon of snow-covered hills and the village in the distance. Early morning was when she was awake. As she watched the dawn rise over the trees, there was a sadness in her heart.

" I believe we have more power than we think to heal the world. Often I look into someone's eyes and see a whole unique life and experience... it's beautiful. " Her skirts tussled lightly in the winter wind, causing her to shiver ever so slightly. She pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders.

" They live in their world, and I pass by in mine. I could choose to grow their wounds, as much as I could choose to heal them. " She knelt in the snow, her trembling hands clasped together tightly ( the cold was intense for her, but she would choose her duty above all else ). Her wet skirts clung to her knees, the snow and mud absorbing through the cloth adding to her coldness still.

And yet as she spoke in the tongue of the forest, a prayer to those who were ill, to those in need, and those lost in a darkness without hope of escape, she endured all the same. Her voice was quiet, it was almost a song. And the longer she went on the more numb her body became ( was it just the doing of the winter wind? )

After a quiet pause, she spoke again. "If I only ever see someone's world once, I hope they have a good memory of mine. " There were many worlds she never remembered at all. What a fear it was to be forgotten by time as nothing at all.

[young-botanical-genius]

werewolf seymour verse has been on the brain all day. something must be done about this

[saxophone-under-the-moon]

Moan / from evangeline ~

25. (Wildcard.)

Iori's breath was hot and heavy against Eva's delicate skin as he bit down on her neck. She smelled exceptionally good - he didn't know if it was just her natural scent or the perfume she wore, but he didn't care in the moment as he found himself intoxicated.

And to think this started after yet another argument - that woman has quite the way of walking herself into these situations, didn't she?

While Iori made good use of his teeth and tongue on Eva's neck, he felt his shirt being unbuttoned, exposing his broad chest for her to marvel at. He also felt her arms wrapping around him, feeling up the contours of his broad shoulders and powerful chest. Iori continued to bite down on her neck, gradually moving down to her chest. By the time he reached her exposed breasts, he began to bite on one of them, which was sure to elicit a loud cry from her.

[limitlesspossibilities]

//Thinking about how Ryoji and Shinjiro didn’t get to interact in canon and anyway P3P “Shinji’s not dead he’s just in a coma” verse where Ryoji hears about Shinji from Junpei and the protag and goes to visit him in the hospital-

[deathsdue]

I feel you in the wind

Since coming to the monastery, Gerome had barely ridden Minerva. Oh, he'd taken her out of course, he would not let her languish in her stall due to this shortcomings, she did not deserve that. Since his mother's death, she had practically taken on the role herself, and like himself she had come from their war-torn future. He had meant to release her in a world where wyverns still lived, but he knew now that he could not live without her and that she would never leave him regardless.

Gerome hefted his axe up and secured at his side. It took some time for him to get Minerva out of her pen, speaking lowly to her as he did so. "I know you've been waiting for me to free myself from the darkness that grips me. If mother were here..." he paused cause his words failed him. "I wish I could hear what she would say."

Cherche, his mother from his timeline, had been struck down when he was too young to know her, but he liked to think she was a bit like Minerva. Who keened lowly and pressed her snout beneath his chin as if to comfort him. Gerome smiled and caressed the side of her head, gloved hand running along her scales. "Yes, I think she'd say that, too."

He led her outside and in one swift, practiced move, mounted her saddle. For the first time in a long time, he took in everything as if he was feeling it again for the first time. The feel of her powerful wings taking flight at his side, her movement beneath him, and as rider and wyvern rose, the feel of the wind in his hair. The first time in a long time, he could feel something.

[cxpperhead]

Telling somebody you're going to devour their heart like the Great Ammit doesn't have the impact you'd expect until you realize nobody speaks Ancient Egyptian anymore.

[ssolessurvivor]

just a thing for Magnus of @inabcck (xx)

It wasn't often Logan wanted to go out dancing lately, but whenever he was with Magnus, he never wanted their nights out to end. So tonight after dinner, Logan couldn't help but drag him along to a little known club. Sort of a hole in the wall kind of thing, it was intimate and small but still had the traditional flashing lights and good music loud enough to be felt in the bones.

So after a drink or two, Logan took Magnus' hands in his to draw him out into the throng of dancing people, somewhere slightly in the middle, not that they were being watched anyways. Once he draped his arms around the other's neck loosely, their bodies already moving to the beat, Logan notices that Magnus glitters and shines. Not only is the sheen of glitter on his clothes making him ethereal, but the various jewelry pieces here and there, like all the rings he wears, that one cuff on his ear...the blonde is quite lost for words as he bites his smiling bottom lip at the sight of him.

He just can't stop smiling whenever he's around the warlock.

Nevertheless, the music plays and sucks Logan into the fun of it all, the lights flashing, drowning them in the movement they're blending in to effortlessly in dancing together. The blonde doesn't even think twice when he's drawn in close, his hands having shifted to rest with one on the small of the other's back and one finger hooked in a belt loop. Strands of blonde hair have since fallen around his face, shadowing his gaze with the occasional flicker of a strobe light here or there as Logan smirks and leans in for a quick kiss to steal. It's not a lingering thing but a sweet one, restrained though it is, but once it's over, their noses still touch from the swaying.

[midnightwind]

I wish I wasn't so eugh about writing characters I didn't make because oh the snippets of interactions my brain is crafting between my drow Tav and Astarion that will never see the light of day....

[redheadarcher]

how's everybody doing today ?

[wiedzmacienia]

Would you rather give up your magic to live a normal life, or keep your magic and never hold any genuine human connections? (There's no anon option, so I guess I have to be called out lol.)

eyes narrow in the light of the campfire, wood crackling and heat meeting her skin that's made it crawl for centuries yet she can not move with the young boy who's head lays on her lap having fallen asleep (she imagined she'd have to carry him back to his tent at some point). maybe she shouldn't have come here, even if the knightley boys had asked her to when she'd been to see beth. they'd found a few soldiers they'd felt able to confide in about themselves, soldiers who seemed to accept them once one of them had used his powers to save the other, and it's from this that such a question has been brought forth. she knows it is not out of malice and yet, it still awakens something deep within her. a memory she's locked away for ages in the depths of her soul. maybe they think her standoffish because she is so much less open than the boys. but she can not afford to be like them when she must direct her forces by the day. these boys were young. too young and had yet to truly understand the world even if they were serving in an army now let alone understand magic or it's role in the world.

there was one day, no, a mere few hours within her life that katarzyna had wished she could have shed her magic from her body and lived a so called normal life. that she could have been as human as the rest of her village. the moment men who had been smiling at the children just the day before entered their home with violence and tore her and her brother from their beds, binding them and dragging them outside. when she had screamed for her brother as wooden posts had been erected. there had been no trial or recourse. no amount of pleading for their lives had halted them from being beaten for speaking the foul words of creatures they'd said. it had been them who had brought the plague upon them they believed. yet was it not the twins whom only sought to save an elderly woman from the pain of such plague? fires had been lit and pain seared their bodies and in those moments she wished they could have been anything but what they were. for to have been born as such had been their death sentence.

but then they had been reborn from the ashes and her whole world view had been shaken. her parents had given of themselves to bring them back and she no longer saw her power as something to shy away from. her parents had believed in magic. had believed in the worth of her and her brother and what they could bring to the world. and she vowed to never seek to be anything but what she was again.

to never be weak and powerless again.

greenish-blue hues move over the fire and meet the human speaking to her. was she not making a human connection now? perhaps once she believed being what she was separated her from the human world. perhaps in the respect that she lived longer than humans it did. but this war and the people she had begun to meet made her begin to question such. maybe making connections with humans wasn't about how long you knew them or preventing one's self from becoming close because of the eventual loss but the value of the time spent with them. no, she did not think having magic equated to a lack of forming human connections, genuine ones. not if she didn't allow it to.

after all, while it had never been the intention, she cared for-- no, she could acknowledge it was more than that now as she ran her hand through the young boy's curls, she held a motherly love for auggie in a way she had never believed she could possess before-- and tended to the human child more often than not these days. sometimes the intensity of which she believed she would protect the boy scared even her for if there was a choice between him and someone else, she held no doubt of what she would choose even if it could mean burning the world in the process. but did her love toward the boy not equate to a genuine connection? and was her magic not the very thing which could allow her to protect him? was such love not a normal part of life?

"why can i not have both?" she questions, gaze drifting over the man's shoulder to see the major approaching. ah, perhaps she would not have to carry auggie back to his tent herself after all. still, she continues, looking back at the questioning soldier without care for the major hearing her words, for they were truth and she would not deny her connection to the boy at this point even if she has no idea what it would look like once this war was done.

"is there some book of rules which state i can not have magic and hold connections with humans who i love? that i can not still have something of a normal life with them?" and with that she looks down upon auggie and begins to shift him gently without waking him, picking him up so that his head falls to her shoulder. strangely, the heat of the campfire seems to affect her less, a different kind of warmth washing over her as she raises from their perch on the log and moves to meet tallmadge. "come to collect the little terror? i think him, cora, and furgus just about defeated half the soldiers in camp charging them while wearing your helmet today."

@honorhearted

[duskofendflame]

Application

You stare up at the impressive structure of the monastery as you wait. You’ve seen plenty of large buildings before, but cathedrals like this are rare back where you come from. And you are always so curious about things that you have not seen before. It’s impressive, and beautiful. A lovely backdrop to the boredom that threatens to succumb you. The bustling of the churchgoers keeps your mind occupied, curious eyes observing everyone that they can.

The cold stone thumps against your bare feet as you shuffle awkwardly in place. How much longer are you meant to wait anyway? You are eager to be able to explore your new environment.

“Lord Corrin?” Your head jolts up quickly as someone calls out your name, ruby eyes quickly snapping to attention. The monk looks kind, but you have learned that is not exactly a perfect judge of character. You still want to be able to trust people, want to believe anyone you come across, but you know now that appearances are not always exactly as they seem. But for now, you have no reason to want to distrust the man. So you stand, and smile brightly.

“Yes, that’s me! I suppose you are the one I was waiting for then? The interviewer?” The monk nods gently and you move to follow him as he directs you to a room off of the corridor. You laugh softly to yourself, ready to get started upon this new adventure.

“Please, sit Lord Corrin.” You quickly do as told, staring ahead at your interviewer with wide eyes, curious about what he will even ask you. You’ve never been interviewed before, but maybe it will be a little bit fun!

“Alright then, allow us to get started. What has led you to where you are today?” Oh! So this was the kind of thing that would be asked. You could surely handle this. You smile, thinking back on the path you have followed. You think you were right in the end, but there was still more than you could have done for the world, a little bit less loss you could have prevented. You know the path you had chosen was right, that your actions in the end were the only thing you could have done without losing any more family than you had to.

“The path I was led down was because of the love I held for my family, to be able to unite the two extremes that I called home. That love is still what leads me, to know that the choices I make are correct.” Your eyes are bright as you speak of your family. They are what makes you confident that your choices have always been correct, that the path that you followed was the right one - for both yourself and everyone else.

“Thank you for your insight Lord Corrin. Moving on, What are your greatest strengths? Greatest weaknesses?” 

“Hrm… well for strengths, I’d certainly say my ability to trust those around me! I’m also quite good at thinking on my feet! Or at least I’d like to think I am!” You laugh, running a sheepish hand through your hair. It is your weaknesses that are not so easy for you to admit. To be able to speak your insecurities is not easy, you would not want to betray any of the expectations that are set upon you. To admit that you feel as though you are inadequate compared to others in your life, it is truly hard.

“My weaknesses… I… I tend to have trouble with larger forces on the battlefield, but my only true weakness is my inexperience. I hope that teaching here at the academy and any other parts of life will help me be able to grow out of that inexperience.” You know you are not as strong, nor as smart, as people may expect by looking at you. But with time, you also know that you will improve.

“Thank you again Lord Corrin. Finally, If your life was a storybook, what role would you play?” You perk up instantly, compared to the intensity of the last question, this is easy. Your own life already felt much like it was the story of a hero, of a fantasy that you never could have dreamed of when you were a child.

“I’d like to think that I’d be the princely hero who saves everyone! But perhaps that is just an ideal that I cannot hope to ever embody. It’s a nice dream, a nice story, for a book though!” Your story has really only truly just begun, so you cannot truly tell what your role will be in the end. Only time can tell, until your fate has become determined. A fate that will always lead you down the right path, of that you are at least sure.

[thekoopacosmetologist]

“I know I’m a little late with this, but... Happy Pride, everyone! Many of us here at Shelly’s Salon and Koopa Kutz are part of the LGBT community - yours truly included - and we fully support being who you want to be and loving who you want to love. For those looking to be loud and proud, we have a special deal this month just for you: When getting a dye job, you can pick three colors for the price of one! Perfect for folks who want to show their Pride Colors in the flashiest way possible, right?”

“And for those of you who are still exploring who you are, we have something for you, too. If you’re just coming out and trying to find a new look that reaffirms who you really are, we will be more than happy to help with a special discounted makeover package. And that’s not just for this month - that offer is always available, because not everyone is ready to come out during Pride.

“Whether or not you take us up on any of these offers, always remember: It doesn’t matter who you are or who you love, whether you live here in the Mushroom Kingdom or elsewhere. You are wanted. You belong. Happy Pride.”