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hardboiledleggs · 11 months

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You Looking at Me Looking at You ~ Steddie Week Day 6 @steddie-week

Acrid smoke belched from beneath the hood of his dingy van. Eddie sighed as he slammed his fists against the steering wheel and snatched his bag from the passenger’s seat with a groan. Just his luck.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and shuffled across the parking lot, eyes squinted against a bitter wind that was howling across the campus. This was the third time this month that the van had quit on him on his way to class, and he was fresh out of extra cash to pay for even a bus ticket, let alone a tow truck.

Eddie had just finished weighing the merits of walking home versus calling his Uncle Wayne, who lived in a trailer an hour away from campus, when he reached the squat building housing his favorite class, Intermediate Painting. He swung the door wide, breathing in the smell of canvas and turpentine, and stepped around the many easels scattered across the floor until he reached his favorite corner. Robin was already there, fiddling with her supplies, and her face broke into a toothy grin when she saw Eddie.

“Hiya, Munson! I was wondering if you were ever gonna get here. You’re usually so early, is something wrong?” she chirped as she busied herself with arranging her brushes.

Eddie flopped onto his stool with a huff. “It’s my stupid van. Fuckin’ blew another gasket or some shit. I thought it was gonna explode before I made it into the parking lot.”

She winced in sympathy. “That’s too bad, Eds. You can’t ask Wayne for any extra cash to maybe replace the engine or something?”

“No, no, I-I mean, I don’t want to bother him with something like this. He’s got a lot on his plate, and I’m an adult. I’m supposed to be figuring this stuff out on my own.”

“If you’re sure. Hey, you can always crash at my dorm tonight if you can figure out a way to sneak past Wheeler. She’s been taking her RA duties veeery seriously lately,” Robin rolled her eyes as she said this. “Apparently, Carol from 306 got busted when she went home for Thanksgiving. They went into her room for maintenance and it turns out she had snuck her boyfriend in and he was living there. Wheeler was pissed it happened under her nose.”

Eddie snorted. “Carol Perkins? From our English 101 class first semester? That doesn’t surprise me at all. Remember when she came in late for the exam covered in hickeys? She clearly doesn’t know how to be subtle.”

He grinned and began to sort through his own supplies as Robin cackled. Today was supposed to be a live model study, and he had been struggling with the assignments set to them regarding the human form so far. Eddie had been practicing sketching strangers in the park and at coffee shops, but Professor Bauman had insisted that he had yet to “capture the innate sexuality of the bare human form,” whatever that meant. He was determined to get it right today.

At that moment, Professor Bauman swept into the room, wearing a bright pink smock smattered with paint. He clapped his hands together, silencing the muted chatter in the room.

“Children, children! We have precious little time today for our artistry, so PLEASE let’s get started. I want you to focus on the proportions of your sketch today, making sure that we’re being as accurate as possible before any paint blesses the surface of your canvas.” He leveled a pointed look at Robin, who flushed and picked at a hole in the knee of her jeans. “If everyone is ready, I’ll go and grab our model for today.”

Eddie stuck his tongue out at Robin. “Eat it, Birdie. You aren’t the favorite anymore.”

“Oh, please. You know he lets me call him Murray during office hours.”

“Ask him to boost my grade next time you’re in there, will you? Make yourself useful for once.”

Their squabbling was cut short as Bauman’s office door swung open and out stepped Adonis. Okay, it wasn’t really Adonis, but to Eddie, the model may as well have been the stunning Grecian figure. He was stark naked, of course, which allowed Eddie to see the moles that dotted his gleaming skin like dark constellations. His bronze hair was swept artfully off his forehead, almost gravity-defying in its levity. He was toned, but not overly muscular, and his chest was covered in a dense thicket of hair that Eddie wanted to press his face against. Eddie desperately worked to keep his eyes level with the model’s collarbone and not stray any farther down.

“Hi, everyone, I’m Steve. I’m just going to be doing one pose today, so I’ll be taking quick breaks to stretch every 30 minutes or so.” Steve had a nice voice, calm and alluring. “Feel free to come closer if you need a more detailed look at anything for your sketch, it doesn’t make me uncomfortable at all.”

He smiled at the class, showing off a row of even white teeth. Professor Bauman shook Steve’s hand firmly and waved him toward the low table in the center of the room.

“Remember, let your hands be your brushes. Let the colors move through you and allow them to direct your movements. You have two hours. Begin, please!”

At that moment, Robin elbowed Eddie sharply in the ribs, forcing a hacking cough from his lungs as he took his first breath in what felt like hours.

“Jesus, Munson. Subtlety isn’t your strong suit either,” she muttered from the corner of her mouth.

Eddie spared her a glance of disdain before watching Steve lower himself onto the table, folding his arms underneath his head and bending one leg so his knee pointed skyward in a pose that showed off just how muscular his thighs were. Shaking himself, Eddie sorted through his pencils with a shaking hand until he found one light enough to begin his sketch with.

The next half hour was torturous. Eddie really did try for professionalism, carefully outlining Steve’s frame and sketching out the proportions for his hands, but every time the model shifted to grab a drink of water or stretch out his limbs, Eddie’s eyes drifted downward and he became so flustered his pencil would slip and mar his careful marks.

At the hour mark, Professor Bauman began to walk around the room to begin his critiques. He had this way of leaning into his students’ space and artfully picking apart their work that was equal parts impressive and unnerving. At Robin’s canvas, he paused for about a minute before remarking “Don’t be afraid to get up close and give the appropriate detail to the more intimate parts of our friend Steve,” which made Robin blush.

His gaze slide to Eddie’s work, and he broke into a pleased smile.

“Yes, Munson! This is what I have been looking for from you! Do you see how you’ve used the light in the room to bring the focus of your sketch to his face? And his expression, my God, so simultaneously haunting and sensual! Excellent work, keep it up!”

Bauman swept away in a dramatic fashion, leaving Eddie to bury his face in his hands. The word ‘sensual’ echoed around his skull. He wondered if Steve had been listening to that particular bit of the professor’s speech and internally debated whether it would be more embarrassing to leave now or possibly be stuck walking to the parking lot at the same time as the model.

Robin snorted, catching Eddie’s eye and wiggling her eyebrows suggestively as he glowered at her. Leave it to Buckley to revel in his extreme embarrassment.

The class continued to sketch silently, save for the shuffling of supplies or a muffled curse when someone smudged their careful pencil lines. Eddie had almost completed his initial portrait when he got to the hands and frowned. Hands had never been his strong suit; they were always proportioned differently on each person, and there were too many knuckles and creases to ever look natural.

Sighing, he gathered some scrap paper and a pencil and shoved his stool back from his easel. He shuffled into the center of the room to Steve’s side, trying and failing to keep his eyes on the more appropriate parts of the model. Steve’s eyes flitted to his own, and he grinned up at Eddie, though he kept his body completely still.

“Need to see anything specific?” he asked quietly.

Eddie flushed beet-red. “Uh, your hands?” he asked, cringing internally at his indecisive tone.

Steve lifted one hand and placed it in Eddie’s palm. “Do your worst, Munson,” he said with a wink. “That is your name, right?”

His fingers were warm and solid against Eddie’s, and each nail was painted a different color, though most of the paint was chipping. Up this close, Eddie could smell a faint hint of something floral: Steve’s shampoo, maybe? He clutched Steve’s fingers and sat on the small stool next to the table, searching for his usual confidence.

“That’s my name, feel free to wear it out.”

A hastily-stifled laugh shook Steve’s chest, and he glared at Eddie in mock anger as Eddie’s ego preened under the positive attention.

“I really need this paycheck, dude, don’t screw this up for me. I can’t go back to scooping ice cream at the mall,” he whined.

Eddie smiled as he held Steve’s hand up, carefully bending and straightening each knuckle as he sketched.

“Sorry, big boy. I can’t just turn off my irresistible charm all willy-nilly. What if a handsome man walks in here and starts flirting with me? I have to be prepared for every possibility.”

“I thought a handsome man was already flirting with you,” Steve shot back, a glint in his warm brown eyes.

Eddie’s heart skipped a beat, but he recovered quickly, glancing around the room in exaggerated confusion.

“Really? Where is he?”

Steve yanked his hand away, still grinning. “You wound me, Munson. I thought I had a sensual form? Maybe I’ll just take my talents elsewhere.”

Eddie finished his sketch with a flourish and stood, shrugging at the model still lying flat on the table in front of him.

“I suppose you can do that, but good luck finding another cute guy to flirt with in here,” he drawled.

“There’s always Professor Bauman,” Steve snarked, and Eddie snorted as he backed toward his easel.

As soon as he had flopped back into his seat and his face was hidden from Steve, Eddie spun to face Robin. She was already looking at him with a knowing expression on her face, one eyebrow lifted in an unspoken question.

“He’s so hot, Birdie. And funny. I’m going to die!” Eddie hissed at her, and she rolled her eyes at him fondly as she took in the panicked expression on his face.

“Just so you know, Mr. Hot-and-Funny watched your ass the entire walk back to your seat. Good thing you wore your tight jeans today,” Robin smirked.

Eddie flipped her off and schooled his face into a neutral expression. He refused to give her the satisfaction of flustering him.

When the professor told them to pack up for the day, Steve stretched languidly like a cat and loped into Bauman’s office. Eddie gazed after him dazedly, watching as his muscular thighs flexed and his ass bounced with every step. He would’ve been more embarrassed if there weren’t at least five other students doing the exact same thing.

Robin stood and sighed. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she tugged at a lock of Eddie’s hair.

“You sure you’ll be able to get home okay? I bet we could sneak you past Wheeler if we tried.” The genuine concern in her voice almost melted his resolve, but he shook his head.

“Don’t worry about me, Buckley. I have enough duct tape to hold the old gal together for another few miles at least.” Her frown deepened, and he hastily added, “Besides, I don’t think Tammy likes me very much. The last time I was over I broke one of her mugs and she called me an ‘inbred hick’ or something charming like that. I still can’t believe you ever had a thing for her.”

Robin shook her head ruefully. “Alright, asshat. I’ll see you next week then. Call me when you get home so I know you lived.”

She left, barely catching the toe of her sneaker on the doorjamb and stumbling into the hall as she went. Eddie listened to her muffled curses as she tripped down the hall on the walk back to her dorm and grinned to himself.

He packed up his supplies carefully. This professional shit hadn’t been cheap, and he definitely couldn’t afford to replace his oil pencils if he ruined them. As he was stacking his canvas carefully in the back with the others, the door to the professor’s office opened and Steve stepped out, dressed now in simple blue jeans and a bright yellow sweater. He was frowning slightly and fiddling with the cuffs of his shirt, but he straightened up and his face brightened when he spotted Eddie still lingering in the classroom.

“Hey, Munson! I was hoping I could catch you before you left,” he called as he hurried to Eddie’s side. “How did your piece turn out?”

“Not bad,” Eddie smiled. “Helped that the subject was cute, you know. I do my best work when I’m staring at hot people.”

Steve threw his head back in a genuine laugh as they began the walk through campus. His strides were much longer than Eddie’s, despite their similar heights, and Eddie found himself rushing a bit to keep up.

“So, are you majoring in Art?” Steve asked, his casual tone at odds with the searching intensity in his eyes.

“Oh, uh, yeah, I am. I want to do tattoos for a living like my mom, so… art degree! College isn’t really my thing but I knew my uncle would get a real kick out of raising a college grad. I used to, you know, deal in high school, so he just about explodes with pride whenever he can tell somebody I’m a sophomore in college.” Eddie grinned ruefully at Steve. “Of course, the dealing is what made it possible to pay for these first couple of years, but there’s a mutual understanding to ignore that part of our finances.”

That drew out another laugh from Steve. Eddie felt the laugh settle somewhere in his chest, warming him from the inside despite the biting wind.

“So, what do you usually get up to after class?” Steve questioned. He was still picking at the loose threads on the ends of his sleeves like he was nervous, although he seemed perfectly comfortable walking with Eddie.

“Well, today I will be begging my uncle to come up and drive me home, probably. My van quit on me again this morning,” Eddie sighed as he scuffed his shoe along the edge of the sidewalk. He knew Wayne wouldn’t mind, but he felt horrible for interrupting his uncle’s sleep schedule because he couldn’t take care of his own vehicle.

“Damn. If only there was a cute guy around who would definitely drive you home if you asked nicely.” Steve snapped his fingers in an ‘aw shucks’ motion and sighed. “If only he had a really nice car and absolutely nothing to do tonight and is desperately trying to figure out a way to spend more time with you.”

Eddie’s heart leaped into his throat. Blush saturated his cheeks, staining them with pink, and he turned to look Steve in the eye.

“You better not be fucking with me, okay? You’re fun and I like you, so if you drive me home, it better not be the last time I see you.”

Steve gave him a long and searching look before grabbing Eddie’s hand and looping their fingers together.

“Well I, for one, am excited to see your place,” he said softly.

Eddie grinned and allowed himself to be tugged toward the parking lot a little faster than his legs could carry him.

~~~

Below as always is my permanent tag list for Steddie writings, if you want to be added or removed just let me know :)

Tag list: @brassreign @inmoonywetrust @kyoxyukiforever @spectrum-spectre @vampireinthesun @awkwardgravity1 @obsessivlyme @steddieassheg0es @tell-me-a-secret-a-nice-one @sunflowers-and-knives @original-cypher @estrellami-1

#steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie week #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #stranger things #eddie x steve #steddie fic #platonic eddie and robin #college au #no upside down au #nude model steve harrington #surprisingly pg for the subject matter #back from my hiatus where i felt zero creativity for months #art student eddie munson

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prettylittleproblem · 3 months

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@becausetheintrovert tagged me to let Spotify predict my year. (thank youuuu, lovely)

Rules: Shuffle your 'on repeat' playlist & the first 12 songs that play predict your year for 2024.

January - Telephone by Lady Gaga ft. Beyonce February - High by Peking Duk ft. Nicole Millar March - Young Dumb & Broke by Khalid April - vampire by Olivia Rodrigo May - High by Stephen Sanchez June - Raise Hell by Dorothy July - Joke's On You by Charlotte Lawrence August - Mount Everest by Labrinth September - Demon Mode by Stileto ft. AViVA October - Why Do You Love Me by Charlotte Lawrence November - Dead Or Alive by Stileto ft. Madalen Duke December - Bust Your Kneecaps by Pomplamoose

April, I have heart eyes for you.

Also, those last 4 months tell a story... and I... I am intrigued.

I am tagging (if they care to): @stella-and-starlight @secondlifep @discoveringasterisms @memoriesofthingspast @ode-on-a-grecian-butt @opprobriouscunt @almostlookedhuman @o-blivia @bunnydrawss @dwainerob1954

#tagged #music

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sobeautifullyobsessed · 8 months

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Of Magic, Miracles, and Moonlight

a Stephen Strange x OFC Romance

genre: pre-Infinity War, slow burn romance, older man/younger woman, teacher/student to friends to lovers characters: Stephen Strange, Wong, Teyla of Hadeeth (OFC), Moraine of Hadeeth (OC), additional OCs as Kamar-Taj staff rating: general audience to begin with, later chapters will contain 18+ material

Chapter Seven (ANGST, wherein Stephen experiences a guilt induced nightmare)

Stephen had suggested that they return to the Sanctum, hoping to allow Teyla a chance to process all that had happened, and to begin to grieve. She had declined, her eyes brimming with determination and an eagerness to share with him, her happiest memories of her father. He watched her move about the flat, while telling him a series of stories in a sort of stream of consciousness--leading him to realize that this was how she chose to mourn. Eventually, she came to sit beside him on the sofa, her focus on showing him the contents of several photo albums encompassing the time she’d spent living with her dad.

In the quiet moments in between, Stephen sensed how desperately she was trying to fend off her heartbreak. He hurt for her, but remained patient for the moment she might trust him enough to ask for what she needed.

As dusk colored the sky outside, Teyla located those pieces of her father’s work which he had saved for her, covered loosely in several layers of muslin cloth, waiting for her hand to reveal. Worn and weary as she was, she found the fortitude to hang on just a while longer—though with each piece she unveiled, Stephen noted her tears remained barely in check

First there was a thick sketchbook that Charles had kept during the years that Teyla lived with him. Much of its content was concerned with Teyla herself; studies of her at the breakfast table or amidst a pile of schoolbooks; sketches of her laughing, or at play; even a few which caught her sleeping--all of them created with a father’s loving eye. Stephen enjoyed seeing this younger version of Teyla, imagining the daily joy she had brought to her father’s life.

There was a softly romantic portrait of Moraine in the nude, which Teyla explained had been painted early in their courtship; that the Artist was head over heels for his model was evident in every brushstroke. A second painting depicted Moraine in the fertile bloom of pregnancy; set against the night sky, framed against an open window of a smaller apartment of decades ago, she was clothed in a translucent ivory nightgown, her hands resting protectively upon her protruding belly. Stephen found it nothing short of breathtaking; a magnificently rendered image of womanhood in its unassailable glory, and beautiful with understated sensuality.

“You like this one,” Teyla observed quietly, but clearly proud of her father’s handiwork.

Stephen let out a low whistle, “This piece is amazing, Teyla. Your dad was a talented artist.”

Her voice caught a moment, but she readily agreed.

Two sculptures sat draped in linen slip cloths, lined with tyvek for extra protection from moisture; Teyla uncovered them reverently to reveal a bust of her mother—looking like some Grecian goddess—while the other captured Moraine with a wee Teyla. Though made of marble, the piece was alive with their family bond, as mother bent low, cupping her daughter’s hands in her own, allowing both to study a small winged creature (Stephen’s mind insisted it was some sort of Hadeethan butterfly) which rested upon Teyla’s open palm. “Fantastic,” he murmured.

“That he was,” she agreed, with a plaintive finality that voiced her sorrow. A large, rectangular shape rested beneath the remaining storage cloth. Teyla gasped as she slid the cloth away. “I have…I have never seen this one…” She bowed her head to hide the tears she could no longer hold at bay.

Stephen draped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. She shivered against him. “He must have done this after I left Earth. I wish…” Teyla sobbed, “I wish that I had known.”

This painting was unquestionably the finest of the works that Charles had set aside for his daughter. A crowning achievement. Teyla gazed wide-eyed at them from the canvas, her truth beautifully captured; the small curve of her smile, the soft fall of her hair, the unassuming kindness that lived in the depths of her doe-eyes. She rested her chin against her palm, her hand angled so that the rich purple stone of her mood ring was visible. She looked happy—and as though she knew the secret to happiness and would share it freely if only the viewer could awaken her image to speak aloud. Walter Charles had painted the quiet miracle that had brought him fulfillment as no other soul in the world ever had, in a language that articulated his heart as no written or spoken word ever could.

Surely Teyla understood the image for all it had meant to her father. She breathed hard several times, then made a desperate, strangled sound, before nestling her face in the crook of Stephen’s neck.

The bitter taste of remorse filled his mouth, and Stephen’s hands flared with fresh spikes of pain, as he considered the talented hands that had created this striking portrait of a beloved daughter. An artist’s hands that might have been given more time to share his talents with the world, if only a ‘hot-shot genius doctor’ had actually cared about the patients that had sought his help. The painting seemed infused with the soft light of her gentle spirit, imbued with all the love her father held for her. An exceptional creation—and I failed the man without a second look back.

“I’m so sorry, Teyla,” he whispered, “So, so sorry. I’d give anything to make this right…”

She was shaking her head against his words, “Please, Doctor, please just take me from this place. I cannot bear this pain inside my heart. I feel my father as though he is near, yet I will never hear his voice or feel the comfort of his embrace again.”

“Of course,” he assured her, “Whatever you need, honey.” He released her as gently as he could, to conjure a portal back to the sanctuary of Bleecker Street.

Understandably, Teyla had no appetite, but at Stephen’s stern insistence, she ate a little yogurt, and a few slices of mango, before retiring to the small room he directed her to for the night. Though her body’s clock was still set to Kathmandu time—where it was early afternoon--he had a hunch he could coax her into some healing sleep. Failing that, he would employ a small sandman spell, though that turned out to be unnecessary.

Feeling both the weight of his responsibility as her mentor, and the gnawing guilt that he might’ve made a difference in the quality and length of her father’s final days, Stephen sat at Teyla’s bedside, watching over her a while. Watching as her breathing evened out and the lines of her body softened, knowing she had found the sort of solace—for a time—that he’d been unable to give her. When satisfied she rested easy, he headed to his own room, planning to immerse himself in study, certain the peace of sleep would elude him—which was precisely as he deserved.

It was that same old dream again, but with a wicked twist. He dreamed it far less frequently these days, and if he took the time to analyze just why, Stephen would realize it was because he had finally shed much of the guilt which he had carried for more than half a lifetime. Accepting that he bore full responsibility for his horrific accident, facing his demons in the aftermath, and recognizing that his medical career had never been of one of true service to others, had been a struggle that rivaled the constant physical challenges presented by his ruined hands. Only the enlightenment that had come to him with his studies in the mystic arts had enabled him to accept the truth about himself, humbling him and inspiring him to be a better man than ever in his life.

His dream-self stood—as he always did--on the shore of one of the smaller Fremont Lakes, drinking a can of Coors, laughing with his friends, and flirting with the prettiest of his sister’s high school classmates. He was only weeks away from beginning freshman year, and Stephen had been thinking that a little fling with Chloe Butler might be the perfect way to end the summer before heading off to study medicine at Creighton University. His sister Donna had swum out toward the the center of the lake, headed for the swim platform to bask in the afternoon sun—swimming as effortlessly as she’d done at least a hundred times before, and he frankly wasn’t paying much attention. He should have been; if he had been, he might have reached her minutes sooner, reached her in time to keep her from going under that last time.

In reality, he’d only heard her call his name once, but in the dreams, her frightened voice always carried across the water to him, repeatedly calling for help, calling his name, begging him to save her. When he realized she was in trouble, he’d shucked off his scuffed leather boat shoes, the first of the young men on the narrow strip of beach to dive in, swimming frantically in her direction. He was never to know for certain what had put her in distress; without a full autopsy (their mother couldn’t bear the thought of one), the best explanation they’d been given was a seizure of sorts, or something as innocuous as an ill-timed cramp. And though his lungs burned with his effort to reach her, Stephen was still a dozen yards away when Donna sank below the surface with heartbreaking finality.

In his dream, he relived again his frantic search for her in the dark depths of the lake, finally finding her, bringing her to shore, and breaking down after he was unable to resuscitate her. But this time, instead of waking sweat-soaked and heart hammering the insistent beat of his failure and his guilt, the nightmare continued. Though she was long dead and buried, Donna was there, in the flower of eternal youth, riding passenger with him in his Lamborghini Huracan. You failed me, Stephen, she intoned, her eyes flashing with bitter accusation; you were my older brother and you were supposed to look out for me, but you failed miserably; and as the rain began to pound the windshield, she questioned him without remorse: how many others did you fail in your egotistical short sightedness?

Stephen faced her, helpless to change the past, knowing his own fate was already sealed; in moments would come the crash and his car would hurtle off the road, breaking his hands beyond repair, robbing him of the life he’d worked so single-mindedly to establish for himself. You failed me, Stephen, she repeated, as you always fail the ones in greatest need…and just before the collision, Donna’s face transformed, and she was Teyla, but not angry--only sad, her indictments delivered quietly, regretfully, with a tenderness that matched her spirit in the waking world. You failed him, Stephen Strange; a better man might have saved my father. Somehow her words stung even more, for the gentle way in which she delivered them. You were ever selfish, and blind to the needs of others, so perhaps there is some justice in your fate, after all. And then she was gone, as his car spun and spun, and the pain was excruciating, and he knew in that moment that he deserved the pain, he deserved to have his old life ripped away…and if he spent a hundred years expunging his guilt through selfless service, he could never erase the misery, the loss, the deaths, of those he’d failed. His dear, doomed sister. Walter Charles, and those patients, who, like him, were not challenge enough to merit his valuable time and attention. And now, his gentle Teyla…

“Stephen”. Softly, yet urgently, spoken. “Stephen, you must awaken.” A concerned, familiar voice, summoning him away from his pain and self-recrimination. Pulling him from the depths of his dream. A hand—her hand--upon his shoulder, soft but insistent, lightly shaking him back to consciousness.

“Teyla,” he murmured, still caught in the nightmare. He needed to tell her. Wanted to, but that would only bring her pain. “Teyla…”

“Yes, I am here,” she answered, “I am here, Stephen. Open your eyes. See me beside you and know that all is well.”

His eyes fluttered open, unable to focus at first, and his heart was pounding, just as it always did in the wake of that nightmare. Her hand on his cheek was soft and cool, her face hovering above his quietly merciful, the ends of her hair just brushing his skin. Teyla of Hadeeth. How was she here, sympathetic as she tried to soothe him, the embodiment of clemency when he deserved only her scorn? “Teyla?” he whispered, wondering if she was just the remains of his dream, and would vanish like mist if he dared to trust she was real.

“Yes, Stephen,” she answered patiently, “Leave those painful memories behind. You must not torment yourself so.” Despite the grief he knew dwelled in her heart, her focus seemed to be solely on comforting him.

“I was dreaming,” he rasped, feeling he ought to explain, and hoping he didn’t appear as weak as he felt.

“I know,” she told him, the calm of her voice and in her touch beginning to banish the anguish that had enveloped him. “I dreamt as well, Stephen. I saw enough to know, and I felt your distress, and now I am here because you are more than worthy of mercy—but such mercy must begin with yourself.” She laid a hand over his heart, and an unexpected warmth spread through his chest.

Amazed at her perception, Stephen searched her eyes, reading her sincerity, unbelieving that redemption could be so easily gained. He shook his head to clear away the vestiges of his nightmare, sitting up against the headboard. He laid his hand atop hers, swearing he could feel the beautiful life force that inhabited her slender form. “Teyla,” he confessed, “If you knew the truth, you might not be so generous…”

Her eyes told him before she spoke, that she was well aware of the part he’d played in her father’s story. “I already know all that I need to know, Stephen.” His given name upon her lips, spoken without a hint of her usual formality, was a balm against his shame. “You have paid a heavy penance for your past mistakes; you need punish yourself no longer.”

Stephen breathed deeply and closed his eyes, feeling entirely unworthy of the absolution she was offering. “Do you understand, Teyla? Your own father…”

She cupped a hand against his cheek, silencing him with a wise, sweet smile. “I assure you, Stephen—I understand it all…and I promise you that you are not the man you were in those days.” He opened his eyes, finding only compassion in her own. “You have become your best self, through trial and pain. I swear that you are now the man you were destined to become…but you must forgive yourself--for that will finally free you from this burden of guilt that weighs upon you so.”

Though awestruck by her heart’s true generosity, Stephen suddenly felt tired enough to sleep for a week. “Yes,” she smiled, relieved on his behalf, “You must rest a while now, and come the day this darkness will fade to naught.” Come morning he would wonder too, if she��d worked some gentle magic by simple touch alone.

At her prompting, Stephen slid back down onto his pillow, allowing her to tuck the blanket around him. He caught her hand in his before she stood up to leave; she didn’t seem surprised. “You are most welcome, Stephen Strange,” she told him, then headed to his door.

“Just tell me this,” he said, a ghost of his usual cheekiness restored, so that she turned back to him from the doorway, “How are you so young, and yet so wise, Teyla of Hadeeth?”

She raised a brow—quite insouciantly—and he saw in her a bit of Moraine’s regal bearing, as she proudly replied, “I am both my mother’s daughter, and my father’s child as well. I dare to believe that the best of both of them have found their union in me.” Teyla gave a little shrug, and left the room—though the surprising smile she left upon Stephen’s face lasted long enough to see him into a more peaceful sleep of his own.

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buy me a coffee?☕

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upsidedownwithsteve · 9 months

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can i ask for a little eddie spoiler at the country club steve if that's okay.. i just feel like that dynamic is literally gonna kill me

He was thousand dollar bottles of whisky, business deals in San Tropez, a private beach club in Marbella. He was parties. He was the party. Cocktails nights with the elite, a grown up rager in someone's mansion, where chandeliers swung from ornate ceilings and the stairs were painted in gold leaf, littered with coked up rich kids who were using daddie’s hundred dollar bills to fill their noses.

Like the one you were at now, the thumpthumpthump of far away music still managing to reach you three floors up. The entire house was filled with art, a gallery more than a home and twenty something year olds made the place look too messy, black ties loose around men’s necks as girls walked around the marble floors barefoot, bottles of Moët clutched in their hands, each one looking for someone else to fuck. Grecian statues were thrown like footballs, busts of women from too long ago used as something to take a line off of and there were five people in the pool outside, naked, drunk, all taking turns touching each other.

It was debauchery at its finest. At its richest.

It was Eddie’s idea.

#countryclub!steve #wip #ask

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ancientromesims4cc · 4 months

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Ancient Rome - Sims 4 CC (5/5)

Hi friends,

Since I started to play with the Sims 4 trying to recreate Ancient Rome, I wanted to put in a single place all the CC I found (for myself, first of all, and for anyone who might find the list useful).

I am a historian of the Ancient World, so I am quite obsessed with historical accuracy (not excessively!)

I will continue to update the posts with my finds. Feel free to send me suggestion to add to the list.

Buy Mode elements are here Clothes / Hairstyles / Accessories are here. Build mode / Deco for floors / Architectural elements are here. Hobbies / activities and mods are here.

Decorations: Early Civilization Part I by @martinessimblr Early Civilization Part 2 by @martinessimblr Early Civilization Part 3 by @martinessimblr Early Civilization Part 4 by @martinessimblr Scrolls by @gelisims Gladius by mammut Swords by mammut Sheer Curtain by ShinoKCR Curtain recolors by mammut Greek Vases by Felixandre Aegyptian Set by Felixandre Glazed Pottery SKYRIM by Mara45123 Ancient Egypt Conversion from TS3 by Mara45123 Keiran Scroll Jar by sim_man123 Pile of books and scrolls by @thejim07 Ancient coin pile by thejim07 Fire Pits by thejim07 Planters from TS3 by thejim07 Illuminated Pillar by thejim07 Pedestals from TS3 by thejim07 Apollo's Lyre by thejim07 Marble Flower Vases by @natalia-auditore Greek Rugs by evi Mikonos Amphora by kardofe Ghibli Set by Mechtasims Autumn Mudroom Chest by kerriganhouse

Discobulus, Milo Venus and Mars by felixandresims Ancient Chariot Sculpture by TheJim07 Trotting Horse by thejim07 Trotting Horse II by thejim07 Pedestal with Panels by thejim07 Majestic Pedestal by thejim07 Majestic Pedestal 2 by thejim07 Stone Pedestal by thejim07 Short Marble Pedestal by thejim07 Small Marble Pedestal by thejim07 Elegant Marble Pedestal by thejim07 Altar of the Unknown God by thejim07 Monumental Vase by thejim07 The Goddess of Hope by thejim07 Asclepius by thejim07 Augustus of Prima Porta by thejim07 Barberini Hera by thejim07 Diana of Versailles by thejim07 Jupiter of Smyrna by thejim07 Virgil by thejim07 Caryatid by thejim07 Winged Victory of Samothrace by thejim07 Minerva by thejim07 Pudicitia Mattei by thejim07 Hadrian by thejim07 Hebe by thejim07 Diana by thejim07 Bust of Matidia by thejim07 Bust of Roma by thejim07 Bust of Hadrian by thejim07 Bust of Antinous as Dionysus by thejim07 Bust of Antinous as Dionysus 2 by thejim07 Bust of Poetry by thejim07 Bust of Lucius Verus by thejim07 Bust of Antinous by thejim07 Bust of Geta by thejim07 Bust of Young Marcus Aurelius by thejim07 Bust of Septimius Severus by thejim07 Bust of Ares by thejim07 Bust of the Farnese Hercules by thejim07 Head of Ideal Woman by thejim07 Grecian Statue from TS3 by thejim07

Minos Deco set by philo Wildings to Embers by sim_man123 Mycenic Culture Decorative 2 by pilar

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gracie-bird · 4 months

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An original signed costume design by Edith Head for Grace Kelly as Frances "Francie" Stevens in Alfred Hitchcock's To Catch A Thief (Paramount, 1955), which costarred Cary Grant.

A mixed-medium costume design by Head, illustration by Grace Sprague, for Grace Kelly. The illustration features a full-length Grace-like figure in a pleated Grecian-style gown with a fitted bust and waist with an open gathered skirt; the look is accessorized with a white shawl, necklace, and earrings. The gown's design showcases a hand-pleated bodice, embellished shoulder straps as well as spaced surface embellishment throughout the gown. There are several production notes written in pencil on the sketch, notating design elements for the finalized garment. At the bottom right corner is illustrator Grace Sprague's signature in red pencil and Head's signature in pencil.

Francie Stevens wears a similar version of this design when she is tempting John Robbie, presenting himself as Charles Duran, to attend an 18th-century masquerade party for the opportunity to steal thousands of dollars worth of fine jewelry from the women attending the event. Stevens escalates the romantic tension as well which leads them to kiss.

Julien's Auctions.

#grace kelly #edith head #to catch a thief #1955 #grace sprague #white dress #evening gown

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beware-of-the-princess · 1 year

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More Ana Dress-Up

So recently we got together to plan stuff... and ended up playing Ana dress-up instead. This wasn't entirely unhelpful though because we're still figuring out what a good "default" outfit for Ana should look like.

This was our starting point:

First thing that got added was the tail-band. We thought it was nice to give Ana some jewellery that accentuated her non-human anatomy. Ana's tail kind of has a mind of its own, especially when her emotions are bubbling up so we wanted to make its positioning easier to make out. We also added the shoulder pads because we thought they help her look regal and intimidating while also having similarities to some of those classic disney princess dresses.

Next came some experiments with Ana's neckline. With Ana being a large character with a higher body:head ratio, we thought about accessories that might help draw the reader's eye to her face so her expressions didn't get overlooked. Some of them being halter-tops also help with giving our princess the proper chest support a girl her size needs, which (as one of our members pointed out from personal experience) is one of the complications that comes with having a full bust. We also like the halter-top idea because it leaves Ana's shoulders on display and shoulders are one of those body parts that big women (or just ones with broad shoulders) are often made to feel insecure about.

After that we went hog wild experimenting with heaps of different looks. First we went for some very simple options:

Gold trim:

Simple Blue:

The "Queen of Hearts" (that didn't end up looking much like the Queen of Hearts and we didn't end up liking it that much anyway)

Midway through hiding and editing layers, we saw the black lines from the "Simple Blue" on a plain white dress and it didn't look too bad.

So we thought we'd try a couple of variations on that, but incorporating how the "Gold Trim" design had its vertical line closer to her side. This gave us:

"Modern Sidelines"

And "Modern Sidelines but Swooshy"

We quite liked how these dresses looked on Ana, especially how having a vertical line running down her flank helps define her pose. Ana, being twelve feet tall, has to do a lot of leaning over and her roundness makes it harder to tell how she's standing when drawn from a distance. Unfortunately despite loving how Ana looks wearing these, they're probably a little too modern to be her default outfit. (Don't tell anyone, but demons are allowed to be anachronistic for... reasons...)

Anyway, we tried to incorporate that vertical line into a more fairy-tale appropriate outfit and came up with this very rough design.

"Corset Sidetrim"

We felt like it looked a lot better than the "Queen of Hearts" but suffered from the same problems, as they're based on clothing that's designed to slim the tummy which is something we didn't really want to do. We decided that this pose wasn't ideal for trying to get something like that to sit nicely on Ana anyway and to come back to it another day.

Then we ended up talking about how Ana's clothes would fit around her tail. If she had a dinky little tail that was just a solid black line it would be easy to draw it just slapped on top of the clothes and it would look like it's just coming out through a small hole, but our princess has too much heft in her tail for that! The obvious solution was to just cover it up with something:

Little flap:

Big Flap:

Maybe both layered?

And finally we took the "flap" concept even further and ended up with a Grecian toga inspired look.

And at that point it was getting late so we called it a night.

I would absolutely LOVE to get some feedback on these outfits, or any suggestions for new ones!

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