#with eoin

Erik fucks his stress away.

It’s not a particularly healthy coping mechanism, by he makes do. It got to a point, many many years ago, where whenever he was horny he wondered if there was something else worrying him - and often times the answer was yes.

It worked though.

He’d arrive at the tavern, mind clouded by worries of the townspeople, of possible danger, of the political climate in a bigger scale. A couple of hours later, he’d leave the tavern with a trail of men and women happily satisfied, and a clear mind. Often times, even with the solution for some of his problems.

That’s half of the reason why his mind usually went to Eoin when he had problems to solve.

---

On Eoin’s door sat a box wrapped in brown paper with a beautiful shiny ribbon, Erik’s sigil scorched onto the paper. Inside, there’s two books, the first in pristine new condition, the second extremely old-looking, a handwritten note laying on top of them:

“So you and your little angel can do some magic together - Erik“

🏹  - For my muse to challenge your muse in something

He wanted to be involved - either that or he just wanted to annoy Erik, either option was just as possible as the other. “You know what, fine” he said, walking across the room and placing the shinny globe of mirrors on top of the very high bookshelf “You can put the disco ball wherever you want” he turned to grin at Eoin “If you can reach it without taking your feet off the ground”

The whole town was at the carnival, he knew he was bound to be there as well.

You couldn’t really ignore someone like Eoin, not unless Eoin wanted to be ignore, which was still a question. He had just left Seth’s stand, a butterscotch cupcake still in hand as he finished the promise of coming back later when he saw the cambion on the other side of the crowd, their eyes locking instantly.

For a long moment, Erik held his gaze, calm and questioning, as if daring Eoin to come closer, before turning and heading towards a bench, where he sat by himself, carefully unwrapping the cupcake to take a bite. 

Erik: ok so pretend i’m dumb Erik: and tell m Erik: spelll it out Erik: why wood that stupid angel be so great Erik: becayse yeah their gretat Erik: but hes not

passion, consistency and a little disregard for decency