#I’m attempting one a day

[estrellami-1]

Soft Touch Baby

Pt 1 | Pt 2 | Pt 3 | Pt 4 | Pt 5 | Pt 6 | Pt 7 | Pt 8 | Pt 9 | Pt 10 | Pt 11 | Pt 12 | Pt 13 | Pt 14 | Pt 15 | Pt 16 | Eddie’s POV | Song | ao3

Eddie won’t stop looking at Steve now. “I’m not sure I wanna go back to the masks.”

Steve just shrugs. “I’m fine. I deal.”

“Bullshit,” Eddie says easily.

Steve’s world narrows down to that one word. Images, memories, flash through his head. Would’ve should’ve could’ve done something differently. But it’s too late. And she’s happy, and he’s happy for her, except—

He jolts as someone touches his arm. His eyes meet Eddie’s as he tries to control his breathing. “Shit, Steve,” Eddie’s saying. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Steve says, on autopilot, then abruptly stands. “I’m gonna-” he gestures vaguely upstairs.

Eddie stands too, hands out like he’s not sure what to do. Steve’s not sure what to do, either. “Steve…” he shakes his head, steps forward. Steve fights himself as he steps back, hates the look on Eddie’s face. Hates himself for the look on Eddie’s face.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, “I’m sorry, I’m fine, I’ll be… I’m gonna…”

“Steve,” Eddie says, and suddenly Steve thinks Eddie would be really good with animals. “Can I touch you?”

Steve bites his lip, looks away, crosses his arms, uncrosses them, nods. Eddie’s hands come into his field of view, slowly, like he’s trying not to scare Steve away, slowly, slowly, hands then arms then torso, and suddenly Eddie is hugging Steve and Steve is all but collapsing into it.

They sit on the couch together, Eddie’s arms still around Steve’s chest, and what should feel confining just feels comfortable. Steve forces himself to breathe normally. “Can I ask what that was about?” Eddie asks, his voice reverberating through his chest into Steve’s.

Steve takes a deep breath. Then another. Then says, “Nancy. She- when we-” he shakes his head. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not,” Eddie says. “Not if it’s affecting you like this.”

“You’re starting to sound like Robin.”

“Then you’d better listen,” Eddie teases gently. “Cause you know Robin only wants the best for you.”

Steve sighs again. He can’t even argue with that. “When we broke up. That’s what she called me. Called…” he waved a hand around to signify that whole scenario, let his voice trail off and his hand drop. “So. I, uh. I hear that word, and it… reminds me of that.”

“Shit, Steve,” Eddie murmurs again, then suddenly freezes. “Wait, is it just that word? The two parts together? Or-”

Steve manages half a laugh. “You can say shit. It’s fine. Or bull. Just… together, it…”

“Got it,” Eddie nods. “Won’t say it.”

“But it’s stupid, I need to get over it-”

“Nope. Nuh-uh. Already erased from my mental dictionary. It’s no longer a word. What are we even talking about? There’s no word. Nothing there. Nope. What’s between, uh, bulls and bull… uh… whatever comes after that. There’s nothing between them.”

Steve’s laughing now, a real laugh that makes him feel weak, leaning further into Eddie’s arms. And Eddie’s laughing too, squeezing him a little, and even with the circumstances Steve doesn’t think he’s ever been so content.

“Thank you,” he murmurs when they both calm down. “That helped. A lot.”

“You’re welcome,” Eddie says happily. “You’re okay now?”

Steve grins wryly. “Still fucked in the head, but yeah. I think so.”

Eddie chuckles and leans back, still in Steve’s space but no longer holding him. “So, back to what we were talking about before. What kinda fucked in the head happened with the concussions?”

Steve shrugs. “Some things you’d expect. My memory’s pretty shit now. I get headaches, migraines sometimes. I can’t hear very well out of my left ear. I’ve learned to lip read, for the most part. It can be difficult in a crowded room sometimes, but it’s fine. I really am fine.”

Eddie smiles, shakes his head. “New normal?”

“New normal,” Steve agrees with a nod.

Eddie grins suddenly and stands. Steve mourns the loss of his touch, then immediately forces those thoughts back down. “So. We could go to bed.”

Steve raises a brow. “Or?”

“Or I could grab my lunchbox from the van.”

Steve laughs. “Think I’d prefer that option tonight.”

Eddie grins even wider and walks out, sauntering back in a minute later, lunchbox swinging from two fingers. “Get ready,” Eddie teases, and Steve laughs again.

“How much do I owe you?”

Eddie frowns like Steve had said elephants have purple polka dots. “Dude, no,” he says. “We’re getting high together.”

“Eds, c’mon, I know this stuff ain’t cheap.”

“Someone woulda smoked it anyways. Might as well be us. Tell you what, you find a lighter and we’re even.”

Steve looks at him, studies him for a second, then smiles and nods. “Deal.”

Pt 5

[spideypawz]

Different roxy designs from my mutuals that I drew in my sketchbook!

[megafart1]

Fiddauthor doodles

*leaves this politely on the floor and scurries away*

yeah. enjoy ^_^

[rottengurlz]

toxic yuri vampires you will always be famous to me

[wishchip106]

i’m slowly making my way through reign of x atm and its like the comics are just remembering they need to feed me or something every now and then

i need more of my favorite bald guy 😭

i can accept magneto every so often BUT ITS NOT ENOUGH EUGHH

[dropofsoup]

If Dream was given the BIGGEST. LARGEST. benefit of a doubt of all time, then the truth is:

He isn’t careful with his words or actions.

He CANNOT fathom the consequences of his carelessness.

He can’t be bothered to consider the responsibility of his position before making decisions that inadvertently hurt other people because his fanbase is large, has negative actors, and speak on his behalf. DESPITE whatever he actually intended.

This leads to speculation from those outside of his fan base on his intention, insight to his unconscious motives and exposes his ignorance.

He is impulsive (in his words), prideful, and entitled. It prevents him from understanding the above points.

He is somewhat narrowminded and shortsighted when having to deal with said consequences.

It alludes him why certain topics need to be treated with the seriousness and severity it deserves.

It immensely upsets him that he cannot control his image to the wider public.

For some reason he cannot see that context doesn’t matter as much as the impact does. He focuses SO MUCH on explaining WHY something happened instead of acknowledging YES, it happened. He downplays those consequences in order to emphasize his “rationality”.

Perhaps creators should be taught how to handle an audience before being thrusted into having a sphere of influence.

As Tubbo said, being sexist/racist/etc is technically subjective. I do believe Dream isn’t purposefully racist, sexist, homophobic etc. That is my BOD for him. That’s what he believes for himself also. This is NOT, HOWEVER, how his words and actions come off. It can be interpreted as sexist, racist, transphobic, sinophobic etc to the wider audience. Not to mention the manipulative tactics and weaponized incompetence. He doesn’t realize this, which is why he’s so confused and trying so hard to control the perception of himself.

[valoale]

I painted Pansy last summer and I realised I never posted it and quite frankly forgot this existed

I like it, though

[maleficent-ophelia]

shi qingxuan happily braiding flowers into he xuan’s hair (he only agreed to this because he was promised food afterwards)

✨day 5 of drawing and posting something every day✨

[dammarchy211]

My boyfriend’s favorite terrible voice impression bit is what I’m dubbing “Sasha Nein from Psychonauts threw out his back and is desperately begging Raz for Advil” and he does it whenever his back hurts

[airborneice]

“What’s this one supposed to mean?”

“Hmm..beauty or strength, sometimes.”

“Perfect.”

@sketchbookweek Day 2 - Wilderness / Witchcraft

going back to my roots of drawing sketchbook being gay in a field

[pixelatedraindrops]

Small detective SOS!!🌡️ Desuhiko to the rescue?⚡️

A silly little thought that came into my head a while ago on one of my walks and I decided to try to draw it out.

Hey Kokobolt nation is this anything for ya’ll?

(got to try practicing drawing desuhiko more, don’t expect me to draw him often)

Bonus:

[midnigtartist]

Great Ace Attorneys other daddy-daughter duo ^^

[wereshrew-admirer]

ah, i love duvall!!

Still can’t believe art made a character just for me

[cream-and-tea]

heyyy don’t mean to bother you but did you know that um. You, now - the ones listening to my idling progress from back home in Glottage - you’re telling yourselves; Val cannot possibly be growing angry over something like this. How dare she? The hypocrite. How can this thing, this monster, this battle-saint, possibly find any kind of righteous anger in her twisted and repurposed heart for the lives of the fallen foe? How does our terrible Val think she can justify any kind of anger at the sight of the flattened and buried corpses of enemy civilians and enemy children, when we’ve already been listening to her murder police officers, soldiers and townsfolk single-handedly in turn? How can she be furious when we’ve heard her butcher her way through the little old ladies of the CLS in the hopeless effort to murder her own faraway mother? (Mockingly) See? You can be sacred and yet self-aware. Yes, I am culpable. I am dreadful. I have been responsible for great atrocities and I will commit a great many more before I’m done. And still - I am growing furious, as I walk through the devastation of this town. Because the wound of Sutler’s Weald is not like any wound I would make. It’s clumsy, it’s crude. It’s thoughtless. I begin to tell myself, as I walk - I wouldn’t have murdered them like this. I would have been kinder. I would have killed them quickly or gracefully, and there would have been beauty and strangeness in the manner of it. And even that’s all deception, even if I had been cruel and slow and lingering in the massacre of these innocent people, upon my whim - I would at least have looked them in the eyes, and I would have borne the weight of my cruelty. If they’d asked me to, I could have killed this town beautifully. And I’d have borne witness to the horror, and I’d have rejoiced in it - and it would have been considerably less vile and ugly than this. The ones back home, the ones who are listening in, I don’t think they know what they’ve done here. The line of connection between the victim and the victimiser, the sacrifice and the god - it’s long, and tangled, and indistinct. A god should not be able to avert her eyes. What a terrible thing it must be, to be monstrous and not even know it. And even if all of this is lies, even if I am just as bad and just as careless as the people back home who did this to Sutler’s Weald… …well, then, let me hate them, pure and simply, for being just as bad as me, because people - -people should be kinder than the gods that eat them. The town square is largely intact. A few burning cars, a single shrine and statue to some goddess of victory, her snapped-off arm raised in imagined triumph. I sit down upon the pavement in the ruined heart of the town, and I tell the dead people of Sutler’s Weald beautiful lies. I tell them that they survived, in their hundreds - miraculously and inexplicably, dodging the bombs. Not a single victim, not one death. An act of divine mercy. When that doesn’t work, I tell them that they were buried properly, according to whatever rites or customs they happen to cherish. When that doesn’t work, I try and turn them into my mother again, in the hopes of making the dead people hateful to me. When that doesn’t work, I tell them that I’m sorry. I tell them I wish they still had ears to become all the wondrous imaginings I had in store for them. I tell them… …that all things considered, they deserved a better avenging and foreign god, a better tormentor, a better oblivion, than the one that was forced upon them. (With cold fury) I tell them- I will find a way to give them something better.

[millionsknives]

quick & messy biblically accurate johanna and finnick sketch just to nail down exactly how i imagined them

[articskele]

“...Wrong? Why would anything go wrong?”

Without further ado, a stimboard for @ask-the-biggering-onceler!

x|x|x x|x|x x|x|x