#pls let me know if i missed anyone!!

[vigilskeep]

a quick guide to dog lords, telling your arls from your teyrns, and generally how ferelden works

okay, this isn't quite what anon asked for, by which i mean not at all, but unfortunately they activated my interest in some of my favourite lore. it should hopefully contain a lot of the relevant stuff and i’ll try to branch out to less fereldan specific information in other posts!

okay, let’s start with the hierarchy. there’s four kinds of noble in ferelden

royalty: you know who these guys are. except for during the orlesian occupation, ever since ferelden became one kingdom, it’s been ruled by the theirin family. which i think is for 388 years, i really hope that’s right, i got out a calculator

teyrns: these are super powerful lords, basically banns so powerful that other banns swear fealty to them. they’re second only to the king, who is essentially just the most powerful one of them. there used to be a lot of them, but with one dynasty in power for so long, that kind of opposition has been eroded away. there are only two remaining: the couslands of highever in the north, and the mac tirs of gwaren in the south

arls: these are extra special banns. they answer to a teyrn or king and hold a strategic fortress for them. we know of six—amaranthine, south reach, denerim, redcliffe, west hills, and edgehall—but i’m unsure if that’s because they are only six or because there are unnamed others

banns: these are your common or garden noble, the lowest ranking and most common. this is your local lord type. they seem to vary the most in power, though, with some banns having big speaking roles in the landsmeet

but i kind of should have written that list in the opposite direction. what do i mean by that? well, in your standard medieval hierarchy, and in a lot of the rest of thedas, power comes down from the king, who lets you hold the land. but in ferelden, most of the land is owned by freeholders: commoners, well-off enough to own their land but still not by any means nobles.

how does that work? well, let’s say i’m a freeholder.

i own my land, but thedas is a rough place. if i want to keep my land, i’d better swear fealty to a bann. i’ll pay him a portion of the goods produced on my land, and in return, he’ll protect my land from anyone wanting to beat me up and take all my goods... and also, you know, not beat me up himself, as he probably would if i didn’t have any bann looking after me. it kind of sounds like he has all the power, right? like a medieval protection racket? it’s certainly how he gets his power and wealth

so i, freeholder harker, have signed up with bann jeff. it makes sense, because he’s the closest to my freehold, and i want soldiers to actually get here in time if i’m in trouble. that’s why my family has been swearing fealty to his family for generations. it’s just how things are done

but the thing is: i hate bann jeff. maybe he takes too much of my harvests, maybe he sides with a different freeholder when we go to him with a dispute, maybe his men don’t mind their pleases and thank yous when they come for my goods. i’m well within my rights to say fuck bann jeff and leave him. especially if there’s another bann nearby who would be perfectly happy to take my goods instead and treat me right. and the less freeholders bann jeff has, the less resources and men he has to make a fuss about it with. if bann jeff pisses off enough people, he might not have any freeholders left at all. and where will his wealth and power come from then? maybe soon he won’t be a bann at all

of course, bann jeff’s family might feud with the family of the bann that stole me away for a few hundred years. but that’s hardly my problem, is it? “courting” someone else’s vassals is apparently the biggest cause of conflict within the bannorn

anyway, this isn’t just how banns work; it’s how all power theoretically works in ferelden. there are no serfs/“unfree” men. every peasant has a right to go where he will and choose which freeholder he works for, just as every freeholder has the right to choose their bann, and banns who swear to teyrns can break away. (the latter is probably less common because a teyrn could fuck you up. i’m guessing you’d have to get the king’s backing about it to survive that.) and even the king answers to his lessers in the landsmeet, the super ancient gathering of nobles where law is made, which can override the king on any matter of law. (but they’re not going to do it if the king is really popular or powerful, because. you know. there’s a limit to all things called common sense and they would prefer not to get squashed about it.) but generally, everyone who holds power in ferelden has to curry favours with their so-called lessers in order to keep their goodwill.

everywhere else in thedas thinks this is weird as hell, by the way. having to court the approval of those beneath you? even the king having to do that? wtf? but the level of freedom means everything to fereldans. it’s their highest ideal and they’re really proud of it.

(the people who really don’t have a voice are what the ttrpg calls “low freemen”, which according to its handbook, consists of criminals, prostitutes, and elves. they still have the right to freedom of movement and to be paid for their work, but they’re not going to have freeholders and banns seeking their favour and speaking for them, and they typically have to resort to bribery for entrance to cities, their homes are bought and sold by others on a whim, things like that. ultimately it makes their position incredibly vulnerable to abuse, as we see in the games. i’m sure we’ve all played the tabris origin. there’s a reason the potential boon to get a bann for the alienage is so wild.)

so, let’s say you made it, everyone loves and/or tolerates you, and you’re a noble. what good does that do you and what can you do? firstly, you have a voice in the landsmeet, which is super important and means the king wants your goodwill and advice. more generally, you have three basic functions of a noble: raising taxes/tribute, commanding soldiers, and dispensing justice. nobles are expected to live off the wealth provided by their land and it would be hugely looked down on if they did work instead, with exceptions for, like, military careers and the chantry, which are respectable for their status. they raise militia from the commoners when necessary, and they also have trained soldiers or possibly knights (see postscript) in their service. that means you can protect your land and you can win glory and spoils when the kingdom goes to war, it also means you’ll be expected to provide those men when your liegelord calls for them. and lastly the law is their responsibility. remember how in the awakening dlc you had to make judgements as the arl of amaranthine? like that! the smaller scale you are, the smaller scale it’s going to be. in turn, if you want a dispute sorted by a higher power, you have to go up to your liegelord, maybe a teyrn or the king, or if you can’t get one of them, a more powerful bann or arl in the area. possibly the chantry would be an alternate option? if it’s just about finding someone you will both listen to, which is usually the main issue

some privileges other than the standard “power over those beneath you” that you can typically expect to belong to the noble class, even if it’s not specific to dragon age: the right to carry a sword, the right to have a coat of arms, the right to precedence on formal occasions and a special seat up front in your local chantry... sometimes niche ones, like fabrics and clothing that are only permissible to wear for people of a certain rank, so it distinguishes them. you can expect favours from/common class interests with your king, you would expect to be given a trial or treated chivalrously if things did not go your way, depending on era you might be captured for ransom in battle rather than killed outright, you probably have exemptions from certain royal taxation... etc. etc.

that’s what i have! i hope these are some helpful fundamentals and that anyone who has more knowledge than me on any aspect feels welcome to contribute it

P.S. as an aside, i’m a little confused about the fereldan use of knights. they definitely exist as lesser nobility, but i don’t understand how they fit into the hierarchy. a real knight was typically a vassal who held land from his liegelord and fought for him in exchange. i... don’t know how that works in the context of land ownership mostly going upwards. they’re definitely around, anyone addressed as ser is a knight, you have the knights of redcliffe and people like ser jory and ser cauthrien. (someone in an order like the templars has the rank of knight and gets ser and everything, but is not a noble.) as a rule of thumb i think generally they’re probably just members of noble families with that dedicated military training and no greater title to lay claim to? i’m basing that on stuff like nathaniel howe being sent as a squire to his mother’s cousin, a chevalier; if he’d completed that he probably would have been a knight unless/until he inherited his father’s place? i don’t know. i’m making this up. and on the other hand, there’s very little distinction in fereldan between your regular noble and a some kind of warrior class, which is why i struggle to see the purpose. (there are also inexplicable career soldiers who are not knights. what the hell is funding that upkeep and armour, buddy. you and whose land ownership? this is why you were fighting the darkspawn with your whole arms out, aveline. stop trying to imply ferelden has a standing army you can go off and join. yes i see you carver lore. i will not buy it.) ANYWAY, because knights are more prevalent in certain areas, i do wonder if it’s an import from the long orlesian occuption, based on the knightly order of chevaliers? i don’t fucking know. worth chewing on

[dreamingumbrellas]

why tua s1 is a masterpiece and 2-4 give me a migraine

i gotta use my english degree for something so lets talk about it

i’d like to note beforehand, that i’ve only seen about half of season 4. but given everything i’ve heard about it, i’ve decided to avoid watching it for my own mental wellbeing. i really haven’t enjoyed the last three seasons much, mostly i’ve been dredging through because of how much i love season 1. it feels painfully like seasons 1 and seasons 2-4 are for completely different fucking shows–particularly in tone.

i think tua season 1 attracted attention to its unique themes that are lost in the rest of the series. the primary themes are of trauma and dysfunctional family dynamics. it’s a story about seven severely abused siblings learning to cope with their trauma and reconnect as adults. season 1’s tone is somber. it shows us glimpses of the characters’ childhoods, and how it affects them in their adult lives. the characters in season 1 were, most importantly, flawed! they were assholes, because trauma turns people into assholes sometimes! 

you can directly trace back the siblings’ character flaws to the shit reggie put them through. Luther was the golden boy, which put too much responsibility on his shoulders and isolated him from his siblings. As a result, Luther is ultra-loyal to his dead father, in obvious denial of the abuse he endured because he was never able to form an identity for himself outside of reggie and the academy! he is the only one that never moved on. and then reggie turned luther into (for lack of a better term) a giant monkey without his consent, causing him to hate himself and even further alienate himself from the rest of the world. 

diego never left the ‘number 2’ headspace. he fights with luther even into adulthood. despite how much he claims to hate his father, he became a vigilante likely as an effort to finally be good enough for his dad. and lets not forget (unlike the writers) about his stutter–something that formed in childhood and came back as an adult when he was triggered with memories of his childhood. he’s inherently defensive because reginald pit the siblings against one another constantly.

allison is a narcissist–though, when we meet her in season 1, she’s more of a narcissist in recovery. she’s recognized how her childhood affected her and wants to become a better person to make up for the mistakes of her past. what mistakes again? well, she used her powers on her daughter because 1. she was never told no. reggie encouraged the usage of her powers, and the household where she grew up was violent, manipulative, and competitive. she had no sense of real normalcy, so she never learned how to build a happy, healthy family for her daughter. to cope with her trauma, she clung to her fame–this is shown both in adulthood and childhood flashbacks–leading her to become a movie star, and not accept her own faults.

klaus, well, klaus is the most obvious example of trauma. mostly due to reggie forcing his powers on him when he was a young childhood. locking him in a mausoleum for hours on end. he became a drug addict as a result. living on the streets, in and out of rehab, and stealing for money. we see him struggle constantly throughout season 1–through his interactions with ghosts (when its very possible he wouldn’t have developed such a fear of them if it weren’t for reggie), with flashbacks to his childhood and (later) to the vietnam war. his inability to take things seriously and his self-destructive behavior are both coping mechanisms. his siblings don’t trust him because of his lying and kleptomaniac tendencies.

five is a character whose development is utterly abandoned after season 1. he was only thirteen years old when he accidentally travelled in time to the apocalypse, where he remained for 45 years. i remind you of this because the writers won’t. he survived those years for his family! because he felt immeasurable guilt for leaving them! he was so lonely for these years that he developed a romantic attachment to a mannequin (something only referenced for a joke in later seasons). he was in an extremely vulnerable position when he was recruited by the handler (a character who was very creepy in her own right) and he was forced to use his childhood ‘superhero’ skillset to essentially become an assassin, a job he loathed himself for. all so he could have a chance to save his family. five is cocky, sarcastic, and yes, wants to save the world, but we forget that he wanted to save his family first. he was willing to sacrifice the world if it meant saving his siblings. and even once he returns to the present, he experiences ptsd flashbacks to his time in the apocalypse. five is severely traumatized and stuck between childhood and adulthood, has lived for far too long and has done too many terrible things to be a child, but is stuck in a childs body and never got the chance to emotionally mature past the age of 13. this in no way resembles the five we get in later seasons.

in season 1, ben is a tragedy. he is the character that haunts the narrative (literally). his death was the reason the family split up. he experienced an incredibly traumatic childhood, forced to slaughter people against his will. all so that he could die tragically young (we’ll get into his cause of death later). he’s stuck following klaus around for years, unable to interact with anyone else. he watched his brother deteriorate in front of him with no way to help. he’s angry about his death and sometimes takes out his frustrations on klaus. but at the same time, he was ‘the kindest’ of all the siblings. he cares deeply about his family, but can’t do anything about it.

i think it’s easy to forget that the initial focus of the show was viktor. viktor, who was told how unremarkable he was again and again. who was isolated not just from the world but from his own family as well. who was drugged up from an incredibly young age and forced to ignore his emotions. yes, the umbrella academy was abusive. but being isolated from his siblings was just another form of abuse. he grew up to resent his family on a lot of levels, writing his book as a method to vent his frustrations but only ended up in driving his siblings further away. viktor went through a lot of shit in season 1, and resulted in him ending the world. but did his family kill him? no. because that was the point of the entire show. that despite their trauma and how much they might resent one another, the siblings still loved each other more than the rest of the world put together. 

everything ive outlined are the elements that make up season 1, and are almost entirely forgotten about later. but by losing the integrity of the characters, they lost the narrative. the point of the umbrella academy was never saving the world–it was about a broken family reconciling with one another despite everything. these points of trauma are taken seriously. it was the complexity of these characters, at least in my opinion, that attracted attention towards them. and sure, we didn’t love every character all the time. remember how much luther was hated in season 1? but it’s because he was realistic. these characters, and the shit they went through, weren’t a joke. and the season ended off in a way that forshadowed these elements being explored more in depth. remember how it ended?

with the seven siblings holding hands as the world exploded around them. and for only a few seconds, we saw them transform back into their child selves.

now, this plot point (whatever it might have been) was instantly cancelled and forgotten about in season 2. but it really makes you think about the season we could have gotten: the characters being forced back into their childhood, having to confront the root of their trauma and essentially, all their problems. they could look back at what happened to them with a mature perspective and worked through it, realizing that they were not each other’s enemies. they could have made up for lost time, helped eachother heal, and ultimately prevent the apocalpyse by being family. you know, something that would have actually wrapped up the narrative nicely.

so, what happened?

the shows original themes of trauma, and repentance, and family were abandoned in favor of humor and spectacle. it seems like the creators misinterpreted what made the first season so successful. sure, the first season had a lot of funny moments and great fight scenes. but it was the emotional depth and complexity that made the show what it was. but worse than that, it continued to spit in the faces of the characters trauma, downplaying it in almost every way possible.

klaus’ relapses were played for comedy. his fear of ghosts was drastically downplayed with the use of cartoonish ghost-buster ass looking ghosts. five’s ptsd was never acknowledged again; his coping mechanism, dolores, became a joke. luther lost all character complexity entirely, instead becoming a himbo (who we love, but, still). viktor rarely brought up the feelings from his childhood, and nobody acknowledged his tell-all book again.

one of the things that infuriated me the most was the incorporation of reginald in later seasons. lets remind ourselves of some things: he purchased seven children, treated them like objects without names, trained them tirelessly and deprived them of a childhood, traumatized them by turning them into murderers, pitted them against one another, and literally tortured them. and that’s only the things we see him do on screen. you cannot convince me for a second that any of the siblings would ever be able to be the same room as that man without having serious flashbacks. I don’t believe for one second that they’d work with him, trust him, or empathize with him in any capacity (except maybe luther) except they do, consistently. even five, who is easily the smartest member of the academy, and extremely protective of his siblings.

and- LEST WE FUCKING DISREGARD- reginald MURDERED ben.

the moment that happened on screen felt like the last shovel of dirt on tua 1’s grave. supposedly all the siblings REMEMBERED this incident in seasons 1-3. and yet they went to their fathers funeral, spoke to him (relatively) civilly, and teamed up with him after seeing for themselves their father shoot their brother in the back of the head for seemingly no reason. not only did they apparently not hold this against their father, but they never mentioned it once in three seasons.

and yes, i know, there is a very simple reason for this. it was obviously made up at the last moment for plot convenience. but the implications for this being retconned in are damning for the characters. by writing this in, the writers decided that the siblings commitment to one another is meaningless. that the foundations upon which this show was created, are fucking meaningless. they threw away not only the individual complexity of each character, but also their relationship as a family.

[fxllingout]

Hito Hito no Mi Model: Nika

[lucienarcheron]

Spirit Meets the Bones - VIII

Genre: Angst/Romance  Warnings: Mentions of physical abuse. Please be mindful: some implied language may be found triggering. 

@abruisedmuse ily for being on this journey with me <3

Tagging: @climb-the-mountian | @vanserrass | @positivewitch | @readthelastpaage | @zenkindoflove | @animezinglife | @clockwork-ashes | @stormycleric | @eastofatlanta | @carolynmezzosoprano | @carnythian | @runningwiththeoceans | @readychilledwine | @goldenmagnolias | @thedarkinmansfield | @mali22 | @maidr-00 | @electromagnetic-waves | @theeternalstruggle | @devilsfoodcake22 | @the-midnightwriter | @moonfawnx | @weesablackbeak | @ladywhilemia | @illyrianshadowhunter | @alohaangels | @moobell55 | @bibliophiliaxvignette | @easchies | @thelovelymadone | @corcracrow | @feysandfeels

Find it all here.

It took Iris a few minutes into their dinner to realize it was in fact, not going to be fine. That Beron was a much bigger threat than her father ever could be.

Iris swallowed and avoided the High Lord’s gaze. Even while asking Eris about court updates, the High Lord’s eyes kept drifting to her. 

The tension in the room was so palpable, Iris felt herself choking on it. Despite her telling Eris it would be fine, the weight sitting on her chest at her father-in-law’s gaze was overwhelming. 

Iris knew her mouth had always gotten her in trouble with her father, more times than she cared to admit — but with the High Lord...She wasn’t sure if she could handle staying quiet, which was the one thing she needed to do and her hands were already shaking with the effort. She had bit her tongue several times as it was.

On their way over, Eris had stopped walking every few moments to glance at her in silence, the muscles in his jaw flexing. Until she finally snapped at him to say whatever the hell he needed to say.

He had only made one suggestion. “Do not challenge him. He will try to bait you and will say outlandish things because he wants to see how you react. Do not let him bait you.”

Iris wasn’t exactly sure how she was supposed to do that when Beron was watching her like he wanted nothing more than to shred her to pieces. Was this what Eris’s previous lover had to deal with? But she hadn’t been his wife. Would he be worse because Iris was his wife instead of a lover passing the time? What had Eris meant when he said that Beron had gotten what he wanted willingly? Was it that the female had given up on Eris and left or —

“So, Iris. Hopefully, your wedding night was as magical as you imagined it would be. Has my son treated you well?” 

Iris looked at the High Lord, at the cruel smile on his face and color bloomed on her cheeks. Her eyes flickered to Eris. Though his grip was tight on his fork and knife, he was chewing his food with no care in the world. Iris looked back to his father then back down to her plate, ever the obedient wife.

“Yes. He has,” she answered softly. 

“Mm. That’s good,” he replied with a nasty laugh. “You didn’t embarrass me, son.”

“Of course not, Father,” Eris replied tightly. “I also gave Iris a tour of the house. She appreciated that, didn’t you, wife?”

The bite in his tone had her clenching her teeth. Though she knew he was only doing it for her benefit, the way his tone merged with his father’s scorn reminded her too much of her own father’s sneering that it caused a slight burning in her chest. 

“Yes. Everything is very beautiful and well-maintained,” she said tightly. “It’s very impressive.”

“You look beautiful, Iris.” Lady Enya said kindly, reaching out a hand to gently pat hers and Iris looked up. “I hope you liked the selection I had prepared for you. I can always have the seamstress work with you to cater exactly to your taste.”

Iris had chosen a wine-colored dress with gold threading that complimented her figure well for dinner, pinning the sides of her hair up and leaving the rest in loose curls. She had definitely wanted to show her mother-in-law how much she appreciated all the gifts she’d been given and chosen carefully. Iris hadn’t missed Eris’s approving look.  

But that moment seemed so long ago.

Before Iris could open her mouth to reply, Beron snorted. “Shouldn’t it be to what your son’s taste is? She’s dressing to his liking.” 

“It doesn’t matter, father. She already knows what my preference is.” Eris replied and Iris slipped her hands off the table; she didn’t want to accidentally grab the knife closest to her and lodge it in his throat. It wasn’t even the implications of his words that had her face flushed, it was that tone. 

“Eris.” his mother warned but Beron only smirked. 

Iris willed her face not to slip into anger as she looked at her mother-in-law and smiled tightly. “Thank you for all your care and preparation. I’m honored you took the time to choose options for me. They’re all very beautiful.” She said. “I’d love to meet the seamstress with you and have your input in the future.”

“You’re very welcome. I can coordinate that at any time.” Lady Enya said, returning the tight smile and the room fell silent again. 

Iris attempted a bite of her food, but it tasted like ash with Beron staring at her so intensely. Trying her best to ignore him, she turned back to Lady Enya and cleared her throat.

“I’d love to spend more time with you if you have the availability in your day. Eris told me there’s a garden you prefer.”

Lady Enya smiled more genuinely. “I do. I like to take afternoon walks. I would love for you to join me. You and I should spend more time together anyway. Eris, did you show her where it is?”

“I hope you’ll spare some time for me as well, Iris.” Beron cut in and the smile he gave his wife made Iris’s skin crawl as he turned back to her. “I’m sure Eris would want you to bond with both of his parents.”

Eris slowly turned to Iris and gave her a tight smile. “Of course, Father. Iris and I are at your disposal whenever you have the time.”

“And what do you think of that, Iris? Does your husband speak for you?” he asked, and Iris’s fingers clenched, her gaze on Eris. “Are you at my disposal whenever you have the time?”

“Father,” Eris said casually, sparing Iris one more look in a warning then glanced at his father. 

“Son.”

A heartbeat of tense silence passed as Eris and his father looked at each other before the High Lord tutted, dismissing his son and Iris almost flinched at the way Eris’s jaw tightened. 

The High Lord turned his gaze back to Iris. 

“Tell me, Iris,” he began again, and she braced herself. “Your father mentioned to me you spent most of your time alone on your piano. Do you plan on playing for us soon?” He said and sipped from his wine. “Unless of course, you have other talents you’d like to share?”

“I can play for you all anytime you’d like.” She replied and risked a glance at him before her eyes drifted back to Eris in haste. Her husband merely looked at her indifferently and though she reminded herself once again that it was an act, it was hard not to let doubt seep in.

He had many faces, and he was good at getting what he wanted. How was this any different for him? Why would she be any different?

But the way he had reacted to her playing and the conversations they had been having...it made her believe that there was something there. Something worth giving him the benefit of the doubt. Something —

“You seem nervous, Iris.” The High Lord purred, and Iris held back her disgust. “Your mother-in-law and I don’t bite. Tell us more about yourself. I’m sure my son has asked you some questions in between him shoving his cock inside you.”

“Father.”

“Beron.” 

But the High Lord only smirked, his eyes on Iris and the way her whole body had flinched when he said it.

“Did I say something wrong? Isn’t that what newlyweds do on their wedding night?” the High Lord sneered with a look of mock innocence. “You said he’s treated you well so I’m assuming you liked whatever he offered you.”

“Father, a little sensitivity would be appreciated,” Eris said through clenched teeth, the fork in his hand now bent backward. “I don’t like my wife being spoken to this way.”

“A lot of sensitivity would be appreciated.” Lady Enya snapped and Beron’s eyes flickered to her, ignoring Eris completely. “We are trying to have dinner with our newest daughter-in-law for the first time and that is inappropriate.”

“As far as I’m aware,” the High Lord said slowly and both Iris and Eris tensed at the tone. “I don’t have any other daughters-in-law.” 

The Lady of Autumn seemed to flush but she didn’t break his gaze. “The only reason you don’t have a relationship with them is your own fault.”

Beron snorted again and the sneer in it seemed to make his wife’s flush deepen. Iris knew that sneer, had felt it one too many times and it made her fists shake.

“Yes, of course. That is the only reason,” he said quietly, and Iris’s eyes flickered between Eris’s throat bob and Lady Enya's clenched jaw at the words, her brows furrowed. But Beron had turned back to zero in on Iris again and her back straightened, bracing herself again. “Did he bother asking you about yourself or was he too busy taking you behind every corner on the so-called tour?” 

“Cauldron, Father,” Eris snarled softly, and Iris’s eyes widened as his fist slammed down hard on the table, but Beron only smiled smugly. “You’re talking to my wife.”

“What is it, son? As far as I’m aware, you’ve been far from celibate so I’m sure you’ve been enjoying your wife thoroughly.”  Beron continued and Lady Enya sucked in a breath as a muscle flexed in Eris’s jaw, as steam started to rise from his clenched fist, and the room became distinctly warmer. “Unless she’s not to your liking? Though she is a pretty thing, you do seem to have mediocre taste in females.” 

“Beron —”

And Iris noticed the way Eris barely had a hold on his restraint. He had been so angry when he found her earlier, clearly triggered by whatever his father said. And now — now it was worse, and Iris’s own anger had also bubbled up too far. 

By now, had it been her father, she would’ve gotten everything off of her chest and taken whatever blow he’d given her. She couldn’t take another disgusting word from Beron and any sense of self-preservation she had vanished at the mocking in Beron’s eyes, at the rage radiating from every pore of Eris’s body. At the way he seemed to use her to chip away at Eris, as if she had asked for any of this. As if she wasn’t good enough. 

Before Eris could reply, Iris finally did.

“In between your son shoving his cock inside me,” she started, and Eris’s head snapped in her direction at the even tone. “Believe it or not, he has asked me a few things. We’ve been getting to know each other gradually.” Iris rested a hand on the table, smoothing the cloth beneath her fingers before looking up at the High Lord and bringing the conversation back to his original question. “As for other talents, I’m sure you know my father well enough to know I was very limited in what I could do. With my… supposed health issues and all.”

Beron quirked a brow and Eris’s hand slipped under the table and gripped her thigh, but Iris ignored him. “Yes, I was concerned about this mysterious illness of yours. I sure hope your father didn’t cheat us with a damaged bride.”

“I am not damaged.” She all but snarled and Eris’s grip tightened further, almost painfully but Iris refused to look at him.

“I should hope you’re not.” the High Lord said slowly, his smile both unnerving her and fueling her anger. “Maybe my son can teach you some new talents then. It seems you’re in good shape now.”

“Must’ve been your son’s magical cock. I guess I’m a faster learner.” she spat, and the room stilled. Beron watched his daughter-in-law, the gleam in his eyes seemingly more sinister. 

Beron finally chuckled humorlessly and shot Eris a look that doused whatever anger Iris was feeling. It was a look that promised violence. She knew that look well and Eris’s back of faded scars flashed in her mind. 

Iris’s insides shriveled up and she felt bile start to rise in her throat. She had fucked up. She had fucked up badly. The one time she had needed to keep her mouth shut and she had failed. 

“I thought you said you put her in her place, son.”

“It seems her father was right in that she needed a heavy hand,” Eris replied tightly and shot her a look filled with a temper she wasn’t sure he was faking.

“Eris.” His mother said firmly, and his gaze snapped to her. “It’s been a long day. We can end dinner here.”

“I decide when we end dinner.” Beron snapped at his wife and then turned back to Iris. “And I don’t like the tone you speak in, girl. I am your High Lord. I’ve beheaded people for less.”

Iris clenched her fists in her lap and swallowed angrily. “Apologies, High Lord.” She forced herself to say demurely. 

“My High Lord.” he corrected, and Iris bit back the retort she wished to give as she looked down, her eyes on Eris’s hand still gripping her thigh tightly.

“Apologies, my High Lord.” she amended and fought not to glare at her lap while his eyes were still on her. 

He was not her father. She was used to his hands, knew when to anticipate the blow and where it would land. She had learned her father’s ticks but Beron...the dangerous gleam in his eyes was something she couldn’t anticipate. She felt so stupid. Iris truly had no clue what he’d do and how much he could make it hurt. If he had it in him to hurt his so-called favorite son, what would he do to her?

“Father, it has been a long day and clearly overwhelming for Iris,” Eris said and shot her a look that almost begged her to keep her mouth shut. “If you’ll excuse us, we’d like to retire.”

But Beron was still watching Iris and then his gaze flickered to his son.

“Son.” the High Lord began slowly, and dread coiled in her stomach at his smile. “I don’t see why you shouldn’t put her in her place here. She was disrespectful to me. It’s only fair I see you reprimand her.” 

Eris’s grip on her thigh tightened enough that she was sure it would leave a mark and a beat of silence passed before Eris replied.

“The way I want to reprimand her isn’t one I can do in front of my parents,” he said coldly, and Iris froze as his mother gave him a pleading look.

“Eris just —” 

Beron held up a hand, cutting his wife off with a snort. “Is that so, son?”

“I think we’ve had enough words, Father,” Eris said and Iris felt panic slowly start to rise in her body, her heart beating too fast for it to be any good. She watched Eris’s expression, watched him stare at his father who had his eyes narrowed at his son.

If Beron decided to make Eris do anything, Iris would — 

But a nasty smile emerged on the High Lord’s face as he finally looked away from his son and back at Iris, who flushed.  “I see. Privacy would be required here.”

Lady Enya finally shot out of her seat. “That is enough.” she snapped and Beron turned to her slowly, the room immediately getting tenser as Eris also slowly stood. 

“Mother, no need to be upset,” Eris said calmly, even as his fists clenched. “Father, we are leaving.” 

“Get out then.” Beron dismissed and shot his son a look of disdain. “And this time, truly put her in her place. If you don’t, I will. There are enough places people won’t see.”

Iris flinched at the words, her heart thundering and Lady Enya gaped at her husband before turning to her son again. 

“Eris —”

“Don’t give him your useless input. You’re the reason he’s still soft.” The High Lord snarled, and Eris tensed as his father turned to him. “What luck do you have commanding a court if you can’t control your wife’s mouth?”

“Father —“ Eris started, face flushed in anger but Beron waved him off, looking directly at Iris.

“I suggest you think twice before speaking from now on. Your voice is not necessary. You are to be beside my son looking presentable and nothing more. Don’t go thinking you can have opinions and thoughts of your own. You are not important. Understood?”

Silence filled her head as she stared at the male across from her, thinking how she never thought she’d hate someone more than she could hate her father.

“Understood?”

Her chin dipped in response, and he waved them off carelessly, his eyes back on his wife who stared at him openly in contempt.

“Get out. Your mother and I need to have words.”

Eris hid it well, but Iris didn’t miss the bob of his throat as he gazed at his mother. Lady Enya only nodded and then jerked her head to the door. Iris felt the agony rip through him to leave her and she wanted nothing more than to take back everything she had said.

“Come along, wife.” Eris spat and Iris tried not to flinch at the tone, standing shakily and slowly following Eris.

They stepped out of the room and Iris made to get away from the door as quickly as possible, but Eris grabbed her arm.

She turned, her anger and humiliation crashing around her in waves, ready to rip his hand off but saw his face flushed angrily as he stood rigidly at the door. His grip was tight on her arm, but Iris could see he wasn’t even paying attention to her. He was listening to the heated conversation happening behind the door.

He was waiting — waiting for the scrape of the chair, indicating someone had moved to —

His breath loosened when footsteps started to fade, and Eris sensed his mother had walked off without harm. Finally loosening his grip, Iris yanked her arm away from him and without looking at him, stomped off to their bedroom.

-

Eris closed the bedroom door behind them and watched as Iris immediately backed away from him with a glare.

“What the hell was that?” she breathed, and Eris shook his head, the room around them immediately heating again.

He was so fucken angry. Nothing about that dinner had gone as he wanted and Iris — his eyes flashed to her and the scent of her anger and fear merging together nearly made him scream. 

“Don’t say another word.” his tone clipped but Iris shook her head with a harsh laugh.

“The way you want to reprimand me isn’t one you can do in front of your parents?” she hissed. 

Eris snarled, waving her off. “You had one job.” He snapped. “Ignore anything he says to you because he’s purposely going to bait you. And what do you do? Let him bait you.”

“What about you?” she snapped. “You were two seconds away from ripping his head off! How was I supposed to sit back and let him speak to me that way!”

“What exactly did you expect to accomplish by replying? Going to get up and try to stab him too?” Eris scoffed and dragged a hand through his hair. “Believe me, I would’ve loved to see you try.”

“How can you sit back when he’s talking to your wife like this?” she snarled.

“Because I know what he’s doing. I know he’s trying to use whatever you and I have going on against us one way or another and you let him see too much!” 

“He expects you to beat me. To shut me up.” She sneered, her voice rising an octave. “To put me in my place.”

“Yes, he does.” Eris snapped. “And tomorrow when he sees you, let’s hope you can act better than you did today.”

“What would you have done if he had ordered you to do something? How would that have gone, Eris?” she snarled.

“I would’ve handled it!” 

“Oh, because tonight went so well.” 

“It would’ve been fine had you not opened your mouth and made it worse.”

Iris growled and turned away from him, stomping over to their vanity, practically ripping her hair clips out.

An ugly silence washed over the room and Iris tried not to let her lips tremble as she rubbed at her eyes, the mortification of what she was feeling catching up to her.

What a disgusting, despicable male. And he was her father-in-law. 

And the way he kept looking at her. That was no way a father-in-law looked at his daughter-in-law. 

That was a predator who found its next prey. 

Eris sighed behind her, and she glared at him over her shoulder. 

“Look — it wasn’t supposed to happen this way,” he replied quietly, holding his hands up in acceptance. “I’m – I apologize for all the things he said and for what I had to say.”

“What you said.” she seethed, whirling around, and Eris’s eyes flashed in annoyance. “I know your father is a piece of shit but gods, you really sell it with that sneering tone of yours.”

“If I was any nicer to you, he’d carve you open at the table just to prove he could.” he spat in return. “You saw it yourself. I told you we have to be a certain way in front of him. I don’t understand why you’re surprised. I told you all this.”

“Not like this! I was not prepared for this. I’m his son’s wife!” she nearly shrieked. “How can he talk to me and about me that way? How can he look at me that way?”

Eris lowered his head, a hand rubbing his eyebrow as if he was trying to think of how he could explain how disgusting his father was to her. As if Iris hadn’t caught on.

“He does it on purpose. He...gravitates towards younger females and isn’t exactly a faithful male. He knows it’s going to bother me.” he finally said, and Iris blanched. “You’re young and beautiful and —”

“I’m his son’s wife!” 

“It doesn’t matter that you’re my wife,” Eris growled. “He’s vile and disgusting and a High Lord! A High Lord that enforces rank. A High Lord that knows he could get the attention of any female he wants because it makes him forget about my mother.”

“Are you saying your father is attracted to me?” she whispered and felt the bile rise in her throat again, but Eris shook his head in disgust. 

“No.” he snapped, though a kernel of doubt pulsed in his chest. Knowing his father, Eris wouldn’t put it past Beron to look at his wife that way. Not that she needed to know that. “I’m saying he’ll make you uncomfortable to piss me off because he can. Just to bait me into doing something stupid and then punish me for it. This is my way of confirming to you that he’s more disgusting than people think.” 

Silence filled her head once more as she recalled what Eris had said about his former lover. 

In the end, my father won and got what he wanted from her willingly.

“You said — you said your father got what he wanted from your lover.” she choked out and Eris flushed deeply. “Does that mean what I think it does?”

Eris froze but Iris’s eyes zeroed in on his fists clenching at his sides. He had done it so many times today. Would he — 

“Why settle for the son of a high lord when the high lord himself could give you the attention you want?” he said sourly, and Iris paled.

“He wouldn’t do that with me, would he?” she whispered. 

“Do you want to fuck my father?” he sneered and Iris gagged.

“I’d rather drown myself at sea.”

“Then I don’t think it’ll be a problem if you’re not a willing participant.” 

“I hardly wanna fuck you.” she seethed. “You think I’d want to fuck your father? My father-in-law?”

“You didn’t want to be powerless anymore, right?” Eris glared, the color in his face intensified as he sneered then gave a humorless chuckle. “If you decide to switch which Vanserra you spread your legs for, you’ll get to that goal much faster with my father.”

Iris gaped at him as he glowered in return, the rage in the room palpable.

“That’s disgusting,” she said through clenched teeth. “You’re disgusting.”

“Thank you. Welcome to the family,” he replied with a mocking bow and Iris let out a growl and turned away from him.

It took her a moment, where she swallowed and blinked several times, trying to contain her revulsion and temper before she could say anything else.

“Does he — he doesn’t force himself on females, does he?” she asked quietly, looking over her shoulder at him. “Does he abuse his power that way?”

Eris’s mouth went into a thin line and shook his head. “As far as I’ve been aware, it’s always been consensual and they’re always of age. My father may be an animal but even he tries not to cross that line,” he said, his lips curled in distaste. “Believe it or not, females approach him because he has power, money, and a taste for infidelity.”

He paused here, glancing at Iris, and then looked away. “I – I always tried to check afterward. My mother and I discreetly try to make sure. He just has a preference.”

Iris looked at him in horror and Eris had the intense urge to set himself on fire just to wipe himself off the face of the world to not see the look she gave him. He was already saying too much — she was hearing too much —

“Your mother knows?”

“Of course, she does,” he said faintly. “She likes it best when he forgets about her too.” 

Iris took a deep breath and ran a hand down her face. “I don’t know what to think or what to make of this —” she said shakily and shot him a look of revulsion. “I’m —”

“Don’t look at me like that. Stop looking at me like that,” he said tiredly, and Iris shook her head again, but he didn’t miss the slight tremble in her hands. “I do everything that I can.”

“I’m thinking of how you said it would take you very little to make me miserable,” she said, shaking her head, and Eris tensed. “I’m — I’m thinking of what you said you could do to me —”

“Are you thinking of the part I said after? That you were thinking of my father, and I am not him?” he snapped. “I am not him. I actively try my hardest not to be like him in any way especially because — and I don’t know if you noticed from this one sitting with you flinging your feelings at me — but my father doesn’t exactly like me very much.”

He strode up to her and she backed a step, knocking into the vanity as fire blazed in his eyes. 

“But I allow him to do and say whatever the fuck he wants to me as long as my mother has to stop taking the brunt of his shit.” he snarled. “I will do everything I can to protect you from him and take the brunt of that as well and I am sorry that it has to be that way and I am sorry that you might have to hear more things from him you won’t like, but I am playing his game so that I can keep worming my way around until I can finish him.”

“That’s what happened with your lover, wasn’t it? Your father kept doing and saying inappropriate things and you stood by letting it happen like a coward until she couldn’t stand you any longer and just gave in to him?” she spat, and Iris knew it was a low blow — one he didn’t rightly deserve as Eris flinched back.

“You were just ready to use that against me, weren’t you?” he snarled. “I only told you that so you understand he would do everything he could to get back at me through you. I’m trying to get you to understand that he would have no qualms about ending your life just to spite me and your father certainly wouldn’t give a shit if my father tossed your decapitated corpse right into the river.”

And it was Iris’s turn to flinch. “Stop.”

“Then understand that I am trying. I am trying my fucken hardest and don’t appreciate that fucken tone, Iris.” he hissed. “Did you even consider what this has been like for me? How much harder everything is now because of you? Do you even know how hard it was for me not to incinerate him on the spot because of the way he was with you? It would ruin everything I have been working towards.”

Iris shoved away from him. “Well, you didn’t now, did you? And all I feel is disgusted. I feel like — I don’t want to —” she stopped and shot him a look of contempt.  “I don’t want to share a bed with you. I don’t want whatever the fuck this life is with you.” 

She could’ve slapped him and it would’ve bothered him less. He snorted, a look of scorn on his face as he waved a hand. 

“Be my guest to sleep in the bathroom then. I don’t give a single fuck, darling wife. It’s not like I’ve benefited much from you in my bed anyway.” he sneered, shooting his own low blow and Iris flinched back again as though he had slapped her. “It must be so terrible to be you. Poor little Iris, married to a prince in a castle that doesn’t think about beating her on the daily.”

Her face fell and it was that expression that extinguished his anger immediately. 

“Iris —” 

“Don’t.”

She didn’t bother looking at him as she stormed to the bed and grabbed two pillows, the dagger she had hidden beneath them, and ripped the blanket right off then stalked to the bathroom and slammed the door behind her. 

Eris looked at the closed door and felt the will to live leave his body. His will to even breathe properly left him. 

With a growl and then a heavy sigh, he hung his head and slowly sank into the vanity seat, his eyes on the bathroom door his wife was now hiding.

[ghosttotheparty]

something like bones and glass

warnings: homophobia; religious homophobia; f slur (several times); brief mention of pedophilia; past child abuse and neglect; violence/fighting; blood; rough sex also on AO3

Steve’s parents come home. Without warning.

Usually they call a few days in advance, just to let Steve know, probably because they assume Steve has friends over, has parties that he has to clean up after, but it’s been a while since that happened. It’s still nice to know when they’ll be home, just so he can prepare himself. So he knows what day he can hole up in his room or escape to Robin’s or Nancy’s.

But he hears their car pull into the driveway as he’s kissing Eddie against the wall by his bed, as Steve is pushing his hands under Eddie’s shirt to press into his skin, as Eddie is pulling his hair, and they both pull away at the same time to blink at each other in confusion.

“Nancy?” Eddie questions, still gripping Steve’s hair, and Steve shrugs.

“She didn’t say she was coming over.” He pecks Eddie quickly before letting go and going to the window. Eddie leans against the wall, watching him smooth his shirt down before he freezes, his eyes widening. “Shit— It’s my parents.”

Eddie’s stomach drops.

“What?”

He crosses the room, joining Steve at the window to see Cathrine and Walter Harrington, pulling suitcases out their car, talking across the roof of it.

“Fuck,” Eddie says, stepping away from the window in case they look up. “Uhm. I can— I can hide up here.”

“Your van in the driveway,” Steve says. His voice is almost distant, and he’s still looking out the window, his face fallen.

“You can say you borrowed it from someone,” Eddie suggests desperately. “Or— Or I can say I’m doing maintenance work? I know about, like, electrical work, we can say your A/C wasn’t working, or—“

“Eddie.”

“Or I— I know about cars, I can say I was working on your car and you invited me in for— for water or something, and—“

“Eddie.”

“And I mentioned music so you’re showing me your tapes, or, like—“

“Eddie.”

Eddie shuts up, staring at Steve with wide eyes, his heart pounding. The front door opens. Steve takes a shaky breath, his gaze unwavering from Eddie’s as something clatters downstairs.

“It’s fine,” Steve says quietly, firmly. “It’s…”

“Steve,” Eddie says softly.

“It’s fine.” Steve shakes his head. They can hear his parents’ voices downstairs, muffled by walls and doors and distance. “We… We’re friends. Right?”

Eddie exhales and nods.

“Come meet my parents,” Steve says with a little eyebrow quirk, and Eddie scoffs. Steve’s smile is fake. Eddie can tell.

“They’re gonna hate me,” he says quietly.

“I don’t care,” Steve says, his voice sharper, and Eddie’s eyes linger on the way his jaw is set, the way it clenches as he looks at Eddie intently. “I don’t— I don’t care what they think. You’re mine.”

Eddie stares at him, his eyes flickering to Steve’s lips.

“Fuck. Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. Following your lead,” he says softly, and Steve smiles weakly, tugging him in by a necklace for a lingering kiss.

“Hey,” Eddie says as Steve is moving toward the door, and Steve pauses, his hand on the doorknob. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Steve says earnestly.

Eddie follows Steve out the door, hesitating to rip off his battle jacket and throw it back into Steve’s room. He smooths his shirt down and rolls his eyes when he realises what he’s wearing (Judas Priest; there’s a hand holding a giant razor blade, and he wonders why he didn’t just wear a plain black shirt). The chains hanging from his ripped jeans rattle as he walks down the hall and down the stairs, and he tucks his necklaces under his shirt anxiously before he smooths his hair back. Steve pauses at the bottom of the stairs and looks up at him.

“What are you doing?” he asks quietly, glancing at his chest, at the absence of necklaces.

“Trying to look presentable,” Eddie whispers. Steve stares at him, smiling softly.

“You’re adorable.”

“Shut up.”

Cathrine and Walter’s voices get louder as they head into the living room, where they’re both standing with their suitcases. Eddie lingers by the door, pushing his hands into his pockets in tight fists.

“Hi,” Steve says like he’s asking. Eddie watches his shoulders tighten like he’s bracing himself.

Catherine’s hair barely moves even though she whips her head around to look at Steve. It’s tall and curly and fluffy looking but stiff with hairspray, and she’s wearing a grey pantsuit, her shoulders boxy, and her heels wobble on the carpet of the living room. Walter is also in a suit, his tie loosened, his hands in his pockets.

Eddie takes a deep breath, repressing the simmering anger in his chest as he looks at them, trying hard to keep a neutral, friendly expression.

Steve’s told him about them. About how they left him at home starting when he was nine, and how he was left with nannies and teenage babysitters before that. How they’d lose their shit if he spilled juice on the kitchen floor, if he stained or tore a shirt. How he raised his voice when he was eleven and saw the back of his father’s hand and then the floor, and the gold band around his finger haunted Steve’s dreams.

How his mother constantly, shamelessly, told him it was his fault she wasn’t young and beautiful anymore. That he was the reason his father wasn’t loving and caring, as though Steve ever has any say in his own existence.

“Whose van is in the driveway?” Walter asks sharply, sans greeting even though it’s been a few months since he’s seen Steve.

“Uhm.” Steve turns slightly toward Eddie, who steps further into the room, raising a hand and suddenly wishing his nails weren’t painted.

“That— That’s mine,” Eddie says lightly, putting on a smile.

Catherine’s eyes widen, and Walter stares, facing Eddie. The room is silent except the quiet ticking of the clock on the mantle.

“Steven,” Walter says in a careful, measured voice, his eyes trained on Eddie. “Why is there a killer in my living room?”

Eddie’s stomach drops further, his cheeks flaming, and he shoves his hand back in his pocket as Steve says sharply, “He’s not a killer.”

“Steven—“

“He’s not,” Steve snaps, and Eddie looks at him. “Those charges were proven wrong, and dropped, and Eddie’s one of my best friends.”

Eddie stares at Steve, at the firm set of his jaw like he’s just daring his father to argue.

The room is silent again, tense and awkward.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“Walter,” Catherine says quietly, breaking the silence, placing a gentle hand on Walter’s shoulder as he and Steve stare each other down. “Let’s be polite to… Steven’s guest.”

Eddie blinks at her, trying ignore the pressure behind his eyes that always comes when he remembers that people actually believe that he’s a murderer. His hands are shaking.

“Your name is Eddie, right?” she says, sickly sweet and so kind it makes Eddie feel nauseous. It reminds him of the way kids in school used to feign interest in D&D, used to ask questions and prompt him to tell them excitedly about it just to make faces at their friends while he talked. Just to complain about how weird he is.

“Yes, ma’am,” Eddie says tightly.

“Would you like to stay for dinner, Eddie?” she says like she’s speaking to a child.

Eddie looks at Steve.

Who’s staring back, his gaze intense, his expression firm, and he nods slightly when Eddie silently asks him.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says again. “I’d like that. Thank you.”

She and Walter leave to take their luggage upstairs, and Steve tugs Eddie’s shirt, pulling him into a secluded corner in the living room, and their eyes lock. Steve looks like he wants to cry, and Eddie can hear the way his breath is trembling, and Steve’s lips are pursed to keep them from quivering.

“‘S okay,” Eddie says softly.

“I’m so sorry,” Steve says weakly, still clutching at Eddie’s shirt.

“No, stop,” Eddie tells him gently, moving closer. “It’s not your fault, Stevie.”

Steve inhales sharply, pressing his lips together.

“They are assholes,” Eddie says softly, reaching up to touch Steve’s cheek. “And that’s not your fault, you got it?”

Steve nods, swallowing.

“Yes.”

“Come here.”

He pulls Steve into a tight hug, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he murmurs as Steve’s arms wrap around him tightly. “And after dinner we can say my van broke down and you can take me home.” He pulls away to look into Steve’s eyes. “And you can stick with Wayne and me for a while. How’s that sound?”

Steve nods, his mouth twisting, and Eddie’s heart aches because Steve is trying not to cry.

“I love you so much,” Eddie whispers. “‘S gonna be okay.”

“I hate them so much, Eddie,” Steve says. His voice wavers.

“I know, baby.” Eddie kisses him. “I know. But after this we’ll go home. And we can get high if you want.”

“Will you fuck me?” Steve asks in a small voice.

“Absolutely.”

“Cool.” He exhales and pulls Eddie into a kiss. “Love you.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.” Eddie kisses him again, pulling back when a door shuts upstairs, but Steve tugs him close, kissing him chastely before he carefully pulls Eddie’s necklaces out of his shirt.

“Don’t hide.”

Eddie melts a little bit.

Eddie fidgets with his necklaces while Catherine scours the fridge and freezer for a dinner to her liking, complaining about how unhealthy pizzas are and just sighing when Steve points out that he babysits children. She settles on a lasagna that she finds buried in the freezer and some lettuce. Without dressing. (Eddie thought rich people were supposed to eat better.)

Steve sits next to him at the dinner table. Eddie’s never seen plates on this table. It’s usually filled with cards or dice or maps and drawings and crayons. Steve stares sullenly at his plate, poking at his food with his fork as Eddie chats with his mom as best he can. He can still hear the ticking from the clock in the living room as they talk.

He tells her that he met Steve through Dustin, that he knew Steve at school because everyone loved him, and then he found out everyone loves him even outside of school. That the kids he babysits practically worship him. He catches Steve fighting a smile as he speaks.

The conversation dies down after a while. Under the table, Steve sets a hand on Eddie’s thigh and squeezes tightly. He’s shaking.

Eddie subtly reaches under the table and squeezes his hand, rubbing the back of it gently.

“Mr Harrington,” he says politely when they let go of each other. “Steve said you had work in, uhm, was it San Francisco?”

“That’s right,” Walter says dryly.

“I’ve never been,” Eddie says, trying desperately to keep his voice light. “How is it?”

Walter sighs, taking a bite.

“Not as nice as it used to be.”

“Oh,” Eddie says, taking the opportunity for a real conversation. “Why’s that?”

“Not as clean,” he says. Eddie hates his voice. So pompous and dry like the world bores him. “Posters and banners everywhere, all these fags walks around the streets holding hands. Disgusting.”

Eddie’s blood runs cold. In his peripheral vision he sees Steve tighten.

“Oh.” He twists his fork, seeing Steve’s hand grip the table cloth tightly. “Sounds real different from Hawkins.”

“Sure is.”

Eddie shifts so he can press his foot to Steve’s because he can’t lean over and kiss him. There’s a long stretch of silence. Eddie counts seventeen ticks of the clock before he speaks again, the silence unbearable.

“Mrs Harrington, Steve mentioned that you collect pottery.”

When he mentioned it, he said he wanted to smash all of it. Eddie doesn’t say that.

“I do,” she says brightly. “I started collecting when I was nineteen, after I married Walter—“

“Why is it disgusting?” Steve interrupts abruptly, looking across the table at his father. Catherine falls silent, staring at him. Eddie says his name softly.

“I’m sorry?” Walter says, lowering his fork.

“The fags,” Steve says coldly. “If they’re just holding hands. What’s the problem?”

Walter stares at Steve, a challenge in his eyes, but Steve keeps his ground, staring back, unblinking.

“You know why.”

“No. I don’t.” Steve lifts his chin defiantly. Eddie wants to marry him. “Tell me.”

“It’s not right.”

“Why?” Steve says, but it’s hardly a question. He almost growls. Eddie shifts in his seat.

“Men are supposed to be with women,” Walter says, his voice measured like he’s lecturing Steve. Eddie can hear the way Steve is breathing, can see his fist trembling as it grips the table cloth. Eddie kind of hopes it rips. “Homosexuals— They— They go against God’s word.”

A small part of Eddie is happy to see him get flustered.

“Right,” Steve breathes. “God’s word.” He’s nodding, his jaw tensed the way it does when he’s particularly mad. It’s hot. Eddie sets his fork down. “Because God always wants the best, right?”

Walter just stares. Catherine’s hands are in her lap.

“That’s why priests rape little boys when they go in for Sunday school, right? Because they know God’s word.” Eddie looks at him, taking a deep breath. “That’s why you married an eighteen year old when you were twenty seven.”

Eddie’s eyes widen, and he looks at Catherine, who clears her throat delicately and wipes her lips with her napkin even though there’s nothing there. Walter’s face turns red.

“God also says don’t get drunk,” Steve continues, his voice strong. “And we all know you don’t have an issue with that.”

“Steven,” Catherine says firmly, but Steve doesn’t spare her a glance. The air feels like it’s tightening, like they’re all holding their breaths.

“So what’s the problem with fags?” Steve asks, his cheeks red. “Why do you hate them so much? You’re not better than them.”

“Why are you so defensive—”

“Because I am one.”

Steve is yelling.

Steve never yells, not like this. He yells to be heard over rambunctious bickering and laughter, he yells to be heard across the trailer or the house. He doesn’t yell out of anger. But he is now.

The rooms falls silent. Eddie looks from Steve to his parents, to their wide eyes, and he slowly reaches for the knife next to his plate. He grips it in his hand, his muscles tense the way they were when he was fighting the demobats with Dustin. Ready to move at any given second, like his veins are stiff with adrenaline.

“What are you saying?” Walter says coldly, quietly.

Steve scoffs, humourless.

“I think that was pretty clear.”

“Steven—“ Catherine tries to say, but Steve interrupts.

“But you want me to be clearer? I can be clearer.” He pushes his plate away, toward his dad, and leans over in emphasis. “I like men. And I’ve known for years, and I never told you because I knew you’d try to beat it out of me, but you can’t do that anymore.”

Walter throws his fork onto his plate with a clatter, his mouth twisting, and Steve just grins.

“I can be more specific,” he says in a low voice. He leans back, moving his arm to run his fingers through Eddie’s hair more gently than Eddie thought possible at a time like this. “This is my boyfriend, Eddie,” Steve says. Eddie smiles at him. “And I love him more than life itself, and I love when he holds my hand, and when he kisses me, and—”

Walter interrupts by moving out of his seat, the chair scraping loudly on the floor, his face bright red, as though anything Steve’s said is scandalous. Steve seems to have the same thought, pulling his hand away from Eddie and standing too, his eyes following Walter as he moves away from the table.

“I can tell you more,” he says loudly, defiantly. Eddie scoots his chair back, watching raptly, just in case. “I love it when he fucks me.”

Catherine gasps, and a laugh bursts out of Eddie as he watches Walter’s face redden even more.

“And he fucks me hard,” Steve continues, ignoring his mother as she says his name weakly and begins to cry. “And I fucking love it. And I bet that pisses you off even more, doesn’t it.”

He’s breathing hard, and his whole body is trembling, and Eddie feels prouder than he’s ever felt in his life.

“That I’m the one taking it,” Steve says, quieter as Walter stares at him. “You always wanted me to be a man, but I love it when my boyfriend makes me his bitch.”

Heat pools in Eddie’s stomach. He slides his tongue across his lips, wanting to pin Steve to the wall and kiss his breath away.

“And aren’t you angry,” Steve breathes. “That you don’t have another son to fix the Harrington name.” He’s moving closer to Walter, and Eddie watches carefully. Walter’s hands are shaking, his chest rising and falling with each breath that rattles around in the quiet room. “Because you’re an only child,” Steve says thoughtfully, like it’s a new discovery. “And you only had a faggot,” he adds quietly, close enough to press two fingertips into Walter’s chest as he whispers, “Harringtons end with me.”

The air snaps.

Catherine screams when Walter’s fist hits Steve’s face, and Eddie stands from his chair, his vision red, moving quickly as Catherine cries Walter’s name. Walter is trying to hit Steve again, and Eddie grabs the back of his jacket, jerking him off and holding him back as Steve takes a breath.

His eyes are shining in a way Eddie’s never seen before, with malice and rage and twenty years of anger boiling and bubbling out of him. His cheek is already blooming red, and Eddie can see the subtle mark of Walter’s wedding band. Eddie jerks his jacket again, holding him in place.

“I’m not fourteen anymore, Dad,” Steve says evenly.

The crack of his fist on Walter’s face echoes around the room, and Eddie finally drops the jacket, but not before shoving Walter against the wall hard to disorient him. He steps away as Steve punches him again, watching.

Catherine is yelling at them to stop, her voice shrill and high, but Eddie just… watches.

He’s heard Dustin and the others tease Steve for not winning fights. Losing the fight with Jonathan Byers, the fight with Billy Hargrove. But he’s also heard them all praise Steve for beating demodogs with a baseball bat. And he’s seen Steve throw a demobat into the ground by gripping its serrated tail, seen him step on its wing and rip it right in half before flinging its body away and spitting its blood on the ground. And Eddie’s known, for as long as he’s known this Steve Harrington, that he pulls his punches.

But he isn’t tonight.

Walter’s face and Steve’s hands are painted red with blood, and the sound of them both yelling and Cathrine sobbing and the sound of bone and blood are echoing around the kitchen until Walter is dropping to the floor.

Steve is gripping the front of his blood stained shirt, hitting him and hitting him and hitting him, and Eddie startles at the sound of the front door breaking in, blinking hard and realising that the room is lit up by red and blue flashing lights, that Catherine isn’t in the room.

He steps forward to pull Steve away, his vision focused on Steve as shouts fill the room, but Steve shoves him back and Eddie gets a glimpse of his face.

His top lip is split, bleeding, and his cheek is darkly bruised, and he’s crying.

Tears mix with his blood as they slide down his cheeks, and Eddie knows it must hurt as a tear hits his lip, and even though Steve must not be able to see well, he isn’t stopping. Eddie desperately shouts his name, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him away from Walter, who falls onto the floor, weakly saying something about Steve being a bastard. Catherine is sobbing in the doorway as cops pull Walter off the ground, and Eddie holds Steve back.

Steve is sobbing too, and Eddie’s whole body hurts. He’s saying Steve’s name, trying to get him to look at Eddie, wants to prompt him to breathe in all the way, but Steve won’t look at him, his arms straining against Eddie’s grip. He’s still yelling.

The cops push Walter toward the door as one of them, Powell, moves toward Eddie. Eddie recognises him. He was there when Eddie came back, when Hopper came back. He arrested Eddie once when Eddie was fifteen, but he didn’t seem to hold a grudge was Hopper and Joyce Byers filled him on the shitshow that been going on in Hawkins for the past few years.

Powell is staring, wide-eyed, at them, his mouth hanging ajar with an unspoken question.

“He threw the first punch,” Eddie says, gesturing to Walter’s wriggling body as he’s led outside, his voice shaking.

Walter is yelling at Steve, even though he can’t see him. Calling him a bastard, and a faggot. Yelling that Steve isn’t his son.

As soon as he’s out the door, Steve’s body relaxes, and Eddie pulls him close, tugging him into a hug. He’s breathing hard, and shaking so hard that Eddie can feel it even though Steve’s fists are gripping his shirt tightly. The cop looks at them, watching, but Eddie doesn’t care. Let him see.

Eddie holds his face gently when Steve’s crying slows, and he watches the flashing police lights reflect in his glistening eyes and his tears. Eddie wipes a drop of blood from his lip, nodding when Steve’s chin quivers.

“You’re okay,” Eddie murmurs. His hands are shaking too. Steve takes a deep, trembling breath, his eyes flicking back and forth between Eddie’s.

“My ear’s ringing.”

Eddie’s eyes widen, and he reaches up to Steve’s right ear, touching it gently. There’s some blood in his hair above it, and anger flashes in Eddie’s chest. He wants to go outside and beat Walter some more, regardless of the cops, regardless of his already garbage reputation. But he doesn’t. Because Steve is clutching to his shirt, and he’s crying.

“Can you hear me still?”

Steve nods, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. Eddie pulls him into another hug, moving so his mouth is above his right ear, and he knows he’s getting blood on his face, but he doesn’t care.

“‘S gonna be okay,” he says softly. “I got you, sweetheart, you’re alright.”

Eddie closes his eyes, and they sway, and they can still hear the distant, unintelligible shouting of Walter outside. Powell waits next to them patiently until they part slowly. Steve is sniffling, and Eddie wipes his face, under his eyes, under his nose, wipes away the blood on his lip.

“Steve,” Powell says gently. “You gotta tell me what happened.”

Steve takes another deep breath, swallowing thickly before he looks at Powell, setting his shoulders and jaw again.

“I’m queer,” he says firmly. Powell doesn’t react, just looks at him. “I told him.”

“He hit you first?” Powell asks, reiterating what Eddie said earlier. Steve nods.

“I…” He hesitates, reaches down to take Eddie’s hand, and Eddie laces their fingers, squeezes tightly. “I provoked him. Taunted him.”

Powell pauses, looking out the window to see the cars outside, and he slides his tongue over his teeth, seething.

“Wait here a minute.”

Eddie nods, and Steve leans against him as Powell leaves. Eddie wraps his arms around Steve tightly, pulling him close.

“God, you did so good, Stevie,” he murmurs in his good ear. “‘M so proud of you, baby.”

“Eddie,” Steve says weakly. His voice is rough. Eddie kisses his forehead gently.

“I know, baby,” he says just loud enough that Steve can hear him. “But it’s done, okay?” he says. He looks into Steve’s eyes. “You’re done with him.”

Steve exhales, closing his eyes.

Eddie shifts, pulling to guide him to the table, but Steve tugs at his shirt, opening his eyes and leaving a hard, lingering kiss on Eddie’s lips. Eddie closes his eyes, holding Steve until he pulls away, and when Steve looks at him blearily, he lets out a soft laugh that seems out of place.

“I got blood on you,” he says quietly. Eddie scoffs.

“I’ve had worse bodily fluids of yours on me.”

“Gross,” Steve says, grinning, and he winces when it stretches his lip. There’s blood in his teeth.

“C’mere,” Eddie says, pulling him over and pushing him to lean against the table between Eddie’s and Catherine’s plates before he goes to get a paper towel. Steve snatches it from his hand as he stands between his legs, and Eddie lets out a small indignant noise, but Steve shushes him, reaching up to clean blood off his lip. Eddie waits, holding Steve’s hips.

“Love you so much,” Eddie murmurs.

“Love you too.”

“Is your ear still ringing?”

Steve shakes his head before he pauses, tilting his head and closing his eyes as his brows furrow. Eddie takes the paper towel.

“Little bit. Not as bad. I think it’s fine.”

Eddie gently, tenderly wiping blood off Steve’s lips before he presses it to the split, watching Steve wince slightly. He can feel Steve’s heartbeat against his fingertip. It’s still fast.

“Deep breath,” Eddie says softly. Steve closes his eyes, inhaling deeply. “I got you, baby.”

Steve’s hand finds his waist, holding him tightly as he exhales.

Eddie leans in and kisses his forehead softly, feeling Steve fall forward against him. He pushes his fingers through Steve’s hair, kissing across his forehead, kissing his temple, tilting his head to kiss Steve’s ear tenderly. He whispers to him quietly.

When Powell comes back in, Eddie has to nudge Steve’s cheek gently to make him open his eyes, and Steve turns his face slightly. Eddie pulls away the paper towel. His lip doesn’t seem to be bleeding anymore.

“He’s being held overnight,” Powell says, pushing a notebook into his pocket. “Paying bail, should be released around noon tomorrow.”

Steve nods.

“Your mother’s going with him,” Powell continues gently, like he can see the anguish it causes in Steve’s eyes. “She’s staying at a friend’s tonight.”

“Okay.”

Powell hesitates, looking from Steve to Eddie.

“You have a place to stay?” he asks. Eddie guesses it’s unspoken knowledge that Steve can’t stay here.

“Yes.”

Eddie knows Steve knows he can stay at the trailer for as long as he has to. And Claudia Henderson’s offered her guest room, as well as Joyce and Hopper. Robin’s offered her bedroom floor. Nancy’s offered her basement.

“And you?” Powell asks, looking at Eddie. Eddie starts for a moment, blinking at him blankly before he nods.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Okay.”

Powell hesitates for a moment longer before he looks at Steve, his eyes shining earnestly.

“He shows up again,” he says carefully. “At your work, or wherever you stay, if he threatens you… Or tries anything.” He points at Steve, so serious the air feels tense again. “You come to the station. You tell me, and if I’m not there you tell Flo, and she’ll find me, okay?”

Steve nods, staring at him, biting his lip.

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Okay,” Steve says quietly.

“And if you need another place to stay,” Powell adds. “Let me know. My wife and I have a spare bedroom.”

Steve smiles weakly.

“Okay.”

“You too,” Powell says to Eddie. “Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Eddie says, smiling softly.

Powell claps Steve on his back gently.

“You’re a good kid, Steve.”

Steve pulls Eddie closer when he leaves, and Eddie moves between his legs again, touching his hair gently. The blood above his ear is dry.

They stand in silence as they listen to the cars leave the driveway. Three cars. After a moment the red and blue lights are gone, and Eddie exhales.

Eddie gazes at the bruise on his cheek. His lip is a little swollen, crusted with dry blood. After a moment, Steve leans forward, resting his head on Eddie’s sternum, and Eddie runs a hand over his hair gently.

“What do you need?” Eddie asks quietly. “You wanna shower? Go to bed?”

Steve lifts his head and looks up at him.

“I need you to fuck me.”

Eddie stares at him, looks back and forth between his eyes, watching them shine earnestly, and he stands up straight, tossing away the paper towel.

“Turn around.”

Steve grins and stands up, turning around to face the table, already tugging his shirt off and tossing it across the room. Eddie steps up behind him, tugging Steve’s hair to make him tilt his head before he presses kisses along the side of his neck.

Steve hums breathlessly when Eddie pushes him so the fronts of his legs press to the table, and Eddie reaches around him to unbutton and unzip his jeans.

“Colour?” he asks roughly, pausing as he grips the waistband of the jeans, and Steve whines, his head falling back to Eddie’s shoulder.

“Green, baby, please.”

Eddie grins, shoving Steve’s jeans and boxers down his legs and pushing at his back so he bends over the table.

“Spread ‘em,” he says, kicking at Steve’s foot, and Steve spreads his legs, groaning softly and turning his head so his cheek presses to the table. “Pretty boy.”

“Eddie,” Steve says weakly. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby,” Eddie murmurs. He leans over and kisses his back, down his spine. “So fucking much.”

He kneels on the ground behind him, running his hands over Steve’s ass and his thighs, squeezing and kneading before he leans in to bite at him for a moment before he licks across his hole, holding him tightly.

Steve whines loudly, pushing his ass back toward Eddie, who snickers quietly before eating him out in earnest, licking and sucking and nibbling as he listens to the sweet sounds Steve makes above him.

Steve is groaning and whimpering and whining, and Eddie has to pull away to laugh when a plate falls from the table and shatters on the ground.

“Fuck, sorry,” Steve says, laughing, and Eddie stands to find him gripping the table cloth tightly.

“‘S okay,” Eddie says, breathing hard, tugging Steve’s hair so he stands up again, and Steve releases the table cloth. Eddie wraps his arms around him, kissing his neck. There’s some blood on the table cloth, and Steve is drooling, and Eddie smiles. “Love it when you get all wild. My perfect boy.” He lifts a hand, presses two fingers to Steve’s lips, and Steve whimpers, opening his mouth.

Eddie bites his neck as Steve’s tongue swirls around his fingers, pressing desperate kisses around the back of his neck until he reaches his right ear.

“You have any idea how amazing I think you are?” Eddie asks softly. Steve moans, his head falling back as Eddie pushes his fingers deeper into his mouth, pressing into the pooling spit under his tongue. “Love of my fuckin’ life.”

Steve reaches up and pushes his fingers into Eddie’s hair as soft noises escape his throat.

“You feel good, sweetheart?” Eddie asks. Steve moans quietly, nodding. “You wanna feel better?”

Steve smiles around his fingers, giggling softly, and he tugs Eddie’s hair as he nods.

Eddie pulls his hand away from Steve’s mouth and takes a moment to look at Steve’s spit dripping over his fingers before he reaches down to press a finger inside him.

“Fuck,” Steve groans loudly. Eddie beams.

“Yeah?”

“Fuck, Eddie, I need— Gimme more, baby, please—”

“I’ll take care of you, Stevie,” Eddie murmurs into his ear. “I got you.”

“Feel so good, Eddie.”

Eddie smiles again, biting at his neck, fingering him open as he whispers to him. Tells him how pretty is. He gets three fingers in before Steve finally whines, tugging sharply at his hair.

“Eddie,” he gasps. “Please, please, I—”

“Bend over.”

Steve grins again, leaning to lay on the table again, resting his head so his right ear is up.

Eddie kisses his back before he steps back, unbuckling his belt as he moves to the the counter, noisily opening and shutting cabinets until he finds what he’s looking for.

Steve whines Eddie’s name, looking up at him, and Eddie pulls his belt from the loops of his jeans, shaking the bottle of olive oil at him with raised eyebrows. Steve snorts loudly and lets out a childish, juvenile laugh, grinning and hiding his face in his arms.

Eddie’s always hated this olive oil. It’s Catherine’s, expensive and fancy and ordered from Italy, always hidden away in her special occasions only cabinet. But Eddie thinks this counts as a special occasion, because the man of his dreams is bent over the dining table and Eddie doesn’t want to go all the way upstairs for lube.

Steve’s fists grip the tablecloth when Eddie pushes in, the same way he clutches at the sheets when they’re in bed. The cloth comes up, and a glass falls the floor, shattering, and Eddie laughs again, setting the olive oil down.

“You’re makin’ a mess, baby.”

Steve just lets out a long groan.

Eddie gazes down at him, at the scars that cover his back and backs of his arms, at the mess of his hair. He slides a hand over his back, smearing oil over his skin.

“How do you want it?” he asks breathlessly.

“Hard.”

“Got it. Hold on.”

Steve giggles, gripping the tablecloth, and he lets out a sharp gasp as Eddie snaps his hips into him.

Eddie loves when Steve gets like this. All loose and relaxed, going with every movement Eddie makes. Unfiltered and loud, groaning and whining and almost screaming when Eddie really gets going, his hand to the small of his back. He’s always like this, even when Eddie fucks him softly and kindly like the first time they had sex (or made love, as Eddie put it dramatically once they’d finished. Steve shoved him away and then promptly pulled him closer to tuck his face into his neck.), tangled in blankets in the back of Eddie’s van, breathing into each other’s mouths, whispering and giggling.

Another plate falls from the table.

Eddie is grinning down at him, watching, listening as he swears and moans.

“Eddie,” Steve wails. Tears are sliding down his face, staining the tablecloth.

“Yeah, baby,” Eddie says roughly, his hands gripping Steve’s hips tightly. “What do you need?”

“Fuck, spit on me,” Steve whimpers. “Make me yours, Eddie, please.”

Eddie exhales, running a hand down his spine tenderly. (That night in the van, Eddie also learned, to his delight, that Steve is even kinkier than he is. It’s fun.)

“You are mine,” he says gently. “Always.”

He fucks into him three more times as he gathers spit in his mouth, and then he pauses, letting it drip over Steve’s back. Steve lets out a soft yes, almost hissing it, and Eddie smiles down at him, rubbing the spit into his skin as he moves again.

“Eddie, right there—”

“I got you, baby, I know.”

“Eddie, please, Eddie, EddieEddieEddie—”

He presses his hand against Steve’s back hard, fucking him harder, faster, until Steve is sobbing, until the two remaining plates and the bottle of olive oil fall to the ground and shatter to pieces. Eddie laughs again.

Steve comes on the table cloth. Eddie lifts him up to wrap his arms around him when they finish, and Steve’s head falls back against Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie doesn’t pull out, just holds Steve close and pulls his necklaces around to hang backwards so they aren’t pressing into Steve’s bare skin.

“You okay?” he asks softly after pressing a soft kiss to his earlobe. Steve exhales.

“Holy fuck.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. He presses his hand over Eddie’s forearm, slides it down to lace their fingers.

“Look at that, baby,” Eddie says softly, nudging him so look at the table. Steve’s eyes flutter open, finding it. A mostly empty glass, rolling on its side in spilled water, the pale blue tablecloth uneven and folded and stained with blood and oil and come. “That’s all you.”

Steve exhales, resting his head on Eddie’s shoulder.

“I’d say you helped.”

Eddie snickers into the side of Steve’s neck, his arms tightening, and Steve moans softly.

“Smartass.”

“You love me.”

“I do.”

Steve sighs. Eddie can feels his pulse on his lips. It’s slower.

“What now?” he asks quietly.

“Shower,” Steve says, squeezing his hand. “And pack.”

Eddie hums and kisses his neck tenderly.

“And then we’ll go home,” he murmurs.

Steve smiles.

“Then we’ll go home.”

They shower slowly, carefully washing each other’s hair and bodies, washing away blood and sweat and come in the hot, running water. Steve’s shampoo smells warm, like cinnamon and other spices Eddie’s never been able to afford to keep in his cabinets. (Nutmeg? Allspice? Eddie doesn’t even know what he would use them for.) After they dry off and dress, Eddie stuffs the shampoo, along with his conditioner and body soap, into a plastic bag to take with them. Steve adds two cans of Farah Fawcett hairspray.

Eddie helps him sort through his clothes, pick what to take and what to leave behind. He finds one of his own sweaters in Steve’s closet as Steve is stuffing a bag with underwear and socks, and he giggles to himself before throwing it at Steve. Steve’s cheeks flush pink, and he wordlessly stuffs it into the bag.

Steve packs most of his shirts, except a few he says his mother picked out, and most of his jeans. Eddie gets a garbage bag for the clothes Steve doesn’t want anymore, and he laughs as makes his way through the kitchen, looking at the mess he and Steve made and next behind. They aren’t going to clean it up. Just because.

Steve’s room is pathetically empty by the time they finish packing. It was already pathetically empty before, if Eddie’s honest. No framed pictures, no keepsakes. No stuffed animals or childhood toys. Steve’s bags, a duffel bag and a backpack, are both stuffed with clothes and soap, with a bottle of cologne and a copy of the Hobbit that he tried to hide from Eddie.

Eddie finds it, of course. And looks up at Steve with a beaming grin, even as Steve rubs the back of his neck, blushing bright red.

“You love it so much, I just…”

Eddie crosses the room and wraps his arms around his neck, swaying like they’re dancing.

“Do you like it?”

“I’m trying to.”

“You don’t have to like it,” Eddie says, grinning. Steve wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist, pulling him close. “It’s fine if you don’t.”

“I know,” Steve says shyly, swaying with him again. “Think I’m just a slow reader.”

“‘S okay, baby,” Eddie says softly. “You don’t have a due date or anything.”

“Thank God.”

They go to bed in the Harrington house for the last time.

Eddie wakes up to Steve’s lips pressing down his neck, and he smiles at the ceiling without opening his eyes, tilting his head back to give him room. He hums softly.

“Whassa time?” Eddie mumbles weakly, reaching blindly to find Steve’s hair.

“Six twenty-seven,” Steve says before he licks a slow line up his neck. Eddie groans.

“Forgot I’m in love with a morning person.”

“‘S sweet,” Steve says lightly. “Just relax, baby.”

Eddie sighs, tugging at his hair again, but his hand falls when Steve moves, tossing the blanket up so he can duck under it. Eddie shivers at the gust of cold morning air that hits his body, and then he shivers again as Steve tugs at the waistband of his boxers.

“I’ll make you coffee,” Eddie says breathlessly when Steve comes back up from under the blanket, cracking his eyes open to find Steve grinning brightly at him. His split lip doesn’t bleed even as he smile. The bruise on his face is colourful, reddish purple and blue, and somehow achingly beautiful even as it makes Eddie’s chest hurt like he’s been shot.

“I’d like that,” Steve says softly.

They get out of bed slowly, lazily, and Eddie tugs on one of Steve’s hoodies as he yawns.

Steve always looks beautiful in the morning light. Even in gray mornings like this, he seems to glow brighter than the sun.

Steve goes to the bathroom while Eddie goes down to make the coffee. He finds Steve’s favourite mug in a cabinet, the cute blue one, and he leans against the counter as he waits on the coffee, looking at the dining table and smiling to himself.

He’s shaken out of his thoughts by a car pulling into the driveway.

He blinks, tilting his head to listen like he can’t tell where it’s coming from, and he turns around, leaning to look out the window to see Catherine.

Anger flares in his chest, and he’s swinging the front door open before she’s even out of the car, careless to the fact that he’s in his boxers.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks sharply as she approaches the door. Her eyes skim over him, her hands folded in front of her. Her hair isn’t as nice as it was yesterday, and Eddie can see traces of her makeup that ran down her cheeks last night.

“It’s my house,” she says primly.

“Well we’re not gone yet,” Eddie snaps. “Come back in a few hours.”

She takes a breath, opening her mouth to speak, but Steve’s voice interrupts her.

“Eddie?” Eddie turns sharply, looking to see Steve coming down the stairs, and Steve’s face hardens when he sees his mother on the front step. “Oh.”

“We don’t have to deal with this, baby,” Eddie says quickly. “Just get your stuff, we can go.”

Steve pauses, staring at Catherine coldly, his mouth twisting thoughtfully before he says, “No. Let’s have coffee,” in a voice that’s far too calm, too light.

He continues down the stairs and turns wordlessly into the kitchen, and Catherine steps past Eddie.

Eddie shuts the door, his stomach knotting, and he follows them to the kitchen. Steve is sipping from the mug, leaning against the counter, and Eddie joins him, watching with a suppressed smile as Catherine looks at the table.

“What do you want?” Steve asks coldly.

“What happened to the table?”

“Eddie fucked me on it. What do you want?”

Catherine’s face turns red, and she looks away from the table, clearing her throat delicately.

“I wanted to talk.”

“So talk,” Steve says dryly, sipping the coffee. He’s still staring at her, almost seething.

Catherine hesitates, taking a breath and looking at the floor, eyeing the broken bottle of olive oil, but she doesn’t say anything about it.

“I know,” she says slowly. “That what happened last night is not… reversible.”

She looks up at Steve.

“But you are still our son,” she says kindly, and Eddie scoffs. “And I want you to know that you still have a home here.”

“No.”

She blinks.

“No?”

Steve inhales deeply, biting his lip, and he carefully holds the mug out to Eddie, who takes it as Steve crosses his arms.

“I have never had a home here,” Steve says calmly, “Mom.”

“Steven,” she says softly. Like it hurts.

He shakes his head, pressing his lips together.

“I’ve never felt…” He pauses, swallowing. “I’ve never felt safe here. Or— Or loved. I’ve never felt fucking— at home here. This has always been just— just a sad empty… lonely house for the sad empty lonely little boy.”

Eddie looks at the floor, biting his lip as he focusses on the heat of the mug in his hands.

“I know you don’t mean that, darling,” Catherine says softly.

“You don’t know anything about me,” Steve says coldly.

“Steven, of course I do—”

“No, you don’t,” Steve shouts. Eddie flinches, and he turns to set the mug on the counter. “No, you don’t,” Steve repeats, breathing hard. “You don’t know shit about me. You know my name because you picked it, but you don’t know who I am.”

“Steven—“

“You left me,” Steve interrupts, his voice shaking. “You— You left me. Here. With— With teenagers, while you went off on holidays and fucking business trips, you left me here, while I was trying to grow up, and then I had to figure out to be a grown up, all by myself because you weren’t here.”

His lip is quivering, and he steadies it between his teeth.

“You don’t know me,” he says again, quietly.

“Steven, you’re my son,” she says softly.

“I’m half deaf.”

She blinks.

“What?”

“One of my ears,” Steve says slowly, “has no hearing.” He stands up straight, off the counter, and gestures to his ears with a hand. “Can you tell which ear it is?”

She stares, wide-eyed.

“Steven—“

“Can you tell me,” he says shakily, “when my hearing started going?”

Silence.

“Because I can tell you,” Steve whispers. “The fucking day.”

He moves closer, his breathing unsteady.

“July sixteenth,” he says quietly. “Nineteen eighty.”

Eddie grips the counter, biting his lip as he watches. Catherine’s are welling with tears, but Steve doesn’t seem to even notice.

“When your husband gave me a concussion,” he continues, whispering. “And I looked up to see you leave the room, and shut the door behind yourself.”

Eddie’s eyes jump to Catherine, his vision red. Her lip is quivering. Eddie doesn’t care.

“I have had four concussions in my life,” Steve says, holding up four fingers before he lowers two of them. “Two of them… were from your husband. And both times, you left.”

“Steven,” she says weakly, but Steve snaps.

“You left,” he shouts. Catherine flinches. Eddie doesn’t. “You picked him,” he says, pointing toward the door. “Twenty fucking years, and you picked him, again, and again, and again.” He chokes, and his voice breaks. “My whole life,” he says weakly. “You picked a man, who never loved you, over your son.”

Eddie’s eyes burn, and he looks at the ground, swallowing thickly.

“And last night you picked him again,” Steve says.

Catherine stares at him. A tear slides down her cheek.

“So no,” Steve says after taking a breath. “You don’t know me, and you don’t get to. This is all you get.”

He stares her down for a moment, and Eddie blinks his tears back, watching proudly.

“Fuck you,” Steve says softly. “And fuck him, and fuck this house. I’m fucking done.”

“Steven, please,” she begs quietly. “You don’t have to come here, or— or see him, but I still want to be… a part of your life, darling, I—”

“You’re not better than him,” Steve yells, crying. “You let him, you let him do everything he did to me.” He’s panting, and Eddie’s chest tightens. He stands up straight. “You made me hate myself before I was old enough to understand why you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you, darling—”

“Well you don’t fucking love me either,” Steve yells. He stops short, blinking like he’s realises it just as he says it, and Eddie wants to pull him into a hug, but he also wants to find Nancy’s gun and shoot both his parents for ever making Steve feel like this. “Even if you think you do,” he says softly. “Whatever kind of love you think you have for me. I don’t want it.”

He stares for a moment longer before wiping his face hard and shaking his head.

And he leaves.

Eddie holds his breath, listening as Steve storms up the stairs, listening as Catherine cries quietly, a hand pressed over her mouth. Steve comes back down after a few moments with his bags, and he pauses in the doorway, looking at Eddie, who looks up.

“Go to the van, I’ll be there in a minute, babe.”

Steve looks at him for a moment before he steps close and tugs him by his shirt into a kiss, sliding his tongue into Eddie mouth and holding him close desperately. Eddie pushes his fingers into Steve’s hair, closing his eyes and exhaling, tasting the coffee on Steve’s breath.

They’re both breathless when they part, and Steve looks into Eddie’s eyes. Eddie nods, touching his cheek.

Steve goes outside.

The door shuts behind him, and Eddie hears the van door open and shut. And then he just hears Catherine’s soft breaths. And the ticking of the clock in the living room.

He leans against the counter, looking at the floor, hesitating before he looks up at her.

“He is… the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Eddie says slowly, softly, his voice almost echoing in the kitchen. “He is the bravest, kindest, strongest, most— most selfless person I have ever known.”

She’s still crying. But she’s looking at him, listening.

“And you…” He pauses, taking a deep breath, his hands shaking, his lip quivering. “And you fucked… every chance you got to have him in your life. Twenty years. You got twenty years of chances, and you fucked them all up.”

He stares for a moment.

“I can tell,” he says softly, “that there’s… a small part of you… that cares about him. Somewhere in there. So to that… small part.” He steps forward, his eyes burning. “I swear, I will… love him, and care for him, and look after him, and do everything I fucking can to make sure he feels as loved and protected as he is.”

He points a trembling finger at her.

“Because that is a privilege that I have.” He’s breathing hard, his eyes burning, his heart pounding in his chest. “And I will do everything in my power to not lose that privilege.”

He hesitates a moment longer, watching her cry before he turns around and picks up the mug and dumps the coffee in the sink. He rinses the mug quickly and shuts off the water harder than he needs to.

And he leaves. Without giving her a second glance.

He hands Steve the mug as he slides into the driver seat, and Steve laughs wetly, taking it.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

Eddie looks over at him, biting his lip. His face is tear-streaked, his lashes clumped, his cheeks and nose rosy red.

Broken and slowly pieced back together.

His eyes are gleaming, and he looks so awfully exhausted that Eddie wants to tell him to get in the back of the van to take a nap, but he also looks so relieved that Eddie just pulls him into a kiss.

“I love you,” he whispers, pressing their foreheads together. “With all my fuckin’ heart and soul, baby.”

“I love you too,” Steve whispers back.

Eddie kisses him again, sucking on his lower lip for a moment and holding his chin gently, and he pauses when they part, taking a soft breath.

“You’re not wearing any pants,” Steve says, laughing tearfully again, and Eddie scoffs, blinking tears back as he pulls out of the driveway.

“Who gives a shit?”

Steve giggles, clutching the mug to his chest.

“Let’s go home.”

“Okay.”

[jrueships]

here's what i could find on the situation ..

[carrinth]

Decided to put my username into AO3 for lulz and completely flabbergasted/blindsided that there were fics inspired by my weird doodles. Thank you! I have greedily bookmarked them all. 🥰

I feel inspired to post my own fanfic but alas they are currently all short disjointed things >_> Need to get something presentable ahhh!

[rowarn]

You've got a minor (14) following you

thank you for letting me know!!! i've blocked !!!

[peoplesprincessgeorge]

okay this is kind of blowing my mind. I was not aware there was a F1 section on Spotify. I looked the Vcarb one up bc of your post and I have to say I am not well.

They have Playlists for every race??? Does every driver have a personalised playlist somewhere??? What is going on??? o.O

Kinda! It's my favorite thing ever, and I spend way too much time pondering about drivers song choices. It's not every driver, it seems very random who they got to do it in 2022:

Lewis has also made some banger playlists on his personal profile.

McLaren had Lando make one for Miami (I need Oscar to do one as well).

Then there is Alpha Tauri who did it in like 2020, Alex has Sandstorm by Derude on his which is v funny to me.

[wonderful-bellies]

I wanna start doing commissions again, i could really use the money and it will probably give me a sense of productivity... But god I'm so scared to. Past experiences and such and how ive been feeling lately. idk why its so much harder to draw than it used to be and its driving me insane. I dont wanna promise something and never deliver again

[sleepy--anon]

Just gonna redo this post since I don't feel like finding the other one.

Dsmp members confirmed ticklish

Karl Jacobs

Tommyinnit

Dream

Ranboo

Sapnap

Tina Kitten

Foolish

Badboyhalo

Wilbur Soot

Philza

Eryn

Tubbo

Georgenotfound

Punz

[peppermintmochafem]

now that i have free time i am going to start going through my inbox because I have 70 asks and I reallyyyy love reading all of them <3 I will also update my annonies to make sure I have of my little emoji anonnies tagged right so I guess I am saying if you have anything to say like confessions of love and desire or cute little updates about yourself or pathetic begging or whatever now's a great time heheh

[sleep-nurse]

remember when i said that i uploaded all of zer0h's songs on archive.org for archiving purposes? well enjoy the off vocals too

[inkykeiji]

friends pls help me out!!! other than gojo, toji, naoya & sukuna, are there any other like super sexy men in jjk??? i am very much Not into geto. is there anyone i’m missing??? my mind is totally blanking here

i’m going back to work now but feel free to share ur thoughts with me!!! <3

[requiemofrebellion]

To Do List:

pls ignore this if you want to- i am just putting it out there so y'all know i got it and am working on it :) and i am just so sorry it taking me a hot minute! i promise i am gonna get all these done as soon as possible now! &lt;333

Drafts:

@multianime (x3) @petalbound (x8)

inbox:

@lunarscorned (x3) @wordscarred (x8) @kisumshi (x1) @multianime (x1) @momdstadt (x3) @petalbound (x5) @deathfavor (x2) @ofluminance (x8) @galaxythixf (x4)

Starters:

@grislyintentions (with Lyney and your freminet) @musehotpot ( with venti and your itto ) @wordscarred (with venti / with navia / with childe / with neuvellette ) @lunarscorned (with wanderer / with navia) @momdstadt (with kaveh and your layla ) @multianime (with nagisa and your karma) @galaxythixf (with mikey and your draken) @inundatae (with freminet) @kcrmicdebt (with furina) @petrokhelidon (with furina)

[aventurine-of-stratagems]

It's been a while, friends!

I'm sure you're all hoping for some updates so let's summarize this in the most efficient way possible: long story short, a dashing red knight rescued me from my wandering and I'm back safe and sound. After a month of bed rest, I'm finally on some hard-earned vacation.

So, what'd I miss?