#also someone please be proud of me

[theactualsunshinechild]

[lunarcloak]

haunted by the past

(for the sake of the future)

[svnflowermoon]

y'all go from being feminists to tearing these women down within seconds oh my god it's 2024 can we please stop viciously tearing one woman down to bring another up i don't care what side you take but saying vile shit about either woman and their music is disgusting, please grow up

[achingly-shy]

AGENTS OF S.H.I.E.L.D SEASON 1 -> SEASON 3

[whereismyhat5678]

Me when I actually draw Kaufmo:

👁️💗👁️

Anyways- did some doodles of the silly 🫶🫶💕💕

And Tw: for body horror 👇 (It’s him abstracting..)

(If the quality looks like shit I am so sorry, for some reason IT ISN’T NOT BLURRING THE LINEART AND I HATE IT‼️‼️ >:(()

[bubacorn]

hc: Vessel is bad at receiving compliments and being told that he is loved (hug inspired by this one, @ghxstly-death put it into words perfectly. thank you, Eden!🫂)

Thinking about Vessel who can't accept compliments, not because he doesn't believe them (that too), but because he'd heard them so many times in the past related to small, unimpressive things. Not 'I'm proud of you', just 'You did good', an automatic response to any and all achievements. He did good. He didn't know what 'good' meant, but apparently, he did that. He has no idea what was good about what he did, so he continues to push himself, to not be a disappointment. If he does good, then that should be enough, right?

He tries for great, for excellent, for something more, but he always gets 'good', unrelated to the effort and time he put into something. He knows he shouldn't wish for more specific compliments, or anything else, really. He should be grateful to be regarded. Everyone around him is so busy, they can't possibly have time to listen to him talk about how in reality, he has no idea what he's doing. How things sometimes just click but he can't tell if what he did is actually worth anything or it was just pure luck. How he doubts himself at every step but learned to hide it, because he has to be good. And good means coping and dealing with things by himself and quietly, because then he will be told that he did good and who wouldn't want to be good?

Vessel who hears 'I love you' for the first time (said with actual love behind it for the very first time) in a really long time from II. He wouldn't tell the other that, but it's clear from the surprise and the hopeful longing in Vessel's eyes. His friend told him he loves him and he doesn't know what to do with that, so he hesitantly steps to him and begins to lift his arms in question. II's heart squeezes at his shyness, after all, the other has spent months alone in the manor, so it's understandable that he would have grown unaccustomed to touch. But then II has to pull Vessel against him, because the man sort of hovers his arms around his frame as if he doesn't know how to approach a hug. Like he isn't sure what is expected of him and what is too much.

Vessel is surprised when II squeezes around his torso, when he brings one arm around his shoulder and the other to his neck, trying to bring Vessel down towards him, like he wants to protect and shelter him. That's strange, but Vessel finds that his arms want to stay wrapped loosely around II a bit longer and just as he starts to pull away, II again says "I love you, Vessel", and Vessel's brain freezes. II squeezes him tighter and Vessel feels so warm and strangely loose (he's afraid he will unravel if he stays too close for too long) and small even though he towers over his friend. His friend who is now holding him and who apparently loves him.

The only thing in his mind stumbles from his tongue in the form of a quiet "Why?". He didn't do anything exceptional. He was showing II an arrangement and said he wasn't sure if it was any good, letting his fingers dance over the keys, feeling like he was stumbling through music. He felt like it captured that familiar insecurity, and he liked it and hoped II would like it, too. Even if it didn't make it into a song. Then II said he did like it, that it feels like Vessel is unsure but it gives the melody a unique flavor, and that Vessel was great for translating that feeling into music.

"'Why?' ?" II's answering question is filled with such disbelief that Vessel wants to hide. He said something inappropriate, something secret that had previously only been dwelling in his mind, in a dark corner, and now he feels exposed. Why did he even open his mouth? Not good. Definitely bad.

Vessel is slumping against II a bit, like he doesn't know how to hold himself upright anymore, like he needs support. II must feel it, because he's still holding him, and it's been minutes and Vessel tries to squirm away, to save any dignity he might still possess, and II lets him slip out of the embrace, but his arms linger like he doesn't want to let go of his friend. His friend who just blurted out the worst response to a confession of gentle affection. Vessel looks so worried when he catches II's gaze and he immediately averts his eyes and takes a few small steps back, unconsciously gravitating towards his piano for protection, a sense of safety.

"You're my friend, Vessel," II tries approaching the man with soft words, "You're kind and considerate and a damn good musician," Vessel stops backing away when the back of his legs hit the edge of his piano bench, but he's still looking at the floor, "You pour your heart into writing and playing and it's amazing to see. You're committed, but patient and you help me every time I need. Even when I'm too embarrassed to ask," II tilts his head and steps a bit closer to try and catch Vessel's gaze, "I know you don't see it and I'm sorry that you can't because it's true. I would never lie to you about this, Ves. I love you, you're my best friend," Vessel presses his lips together, so II adds, "Not just because we live in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. You're the best friend I've ever had. And I'm glad Sleep led me to you."

Vessel gives him a look that shows he tries really hard to believe him, and adds in such a low voice it's almost a whisper, "I love you, too," as if he's embarrassed to admit it. But it's not embarrassment, II realizes, it's disbelief, it's some sort of deep shame about needing someone else, of relying on anyone else but himself at all times. And it makes sense, considering Vessel's nature, but II could never put it all together, since large chunks of Vessel's past were unfamiliar to him. He could have guessed based on how the man acted, but he didn't want to assume anything. It felt disrespectful. Vessel would share if he wanted.

"And I'm really glad you found me," just a beat of silence, before he adds, in an even quieter tone, if that's possible, "And that you stayed," Vessel risks a bashful glance towards II, and sees him blink rapidly, shocked by the implication of the other's words, before he shakes himself and steps closer to Vessel. He searches his face for apprehension, but doesn't find any, so he gently puts his hands on Vessel's upper arms and sits him down on his bench. Before Vessel can react, II has his arms wrapped around him, one around his shoulder, and the other's hand cupping the back of his head and cradling it to his front.

"You're important to me, Ves. You're special and precious and I love you," II's fingers caress the man's shoulder and card through his hair, "I want you to know that I'm here for you any time, okay?" Vessel is still stunned and he's sure he's going catch on fire if he gets any warmer. II twists a lock of hair around his finger, "Okay?" Words form and die in Vessel's throat so he just nods, rapidly, almost hurriedly, and II lets out a small chuckle. "You're amazing, you know that?" he nuzzles into Vessel's hair for a moment to murmur, "And adorable," II sways with the man in his arms a little and Vessel is sure he will combust. His face is flaming against II's shirt and he tries to suppress the half grimace-half grin on his face and feels unreal. "C'mon. Tea break?" II smiles down at him and offers a hand. Vessel can stand on his own, but doesn't reject the offer. He likes the warmth of II's hand and he can always use the stability and the reminder of the other's presence. II soon replaces his hand with a mug of tea, but it's considerably colder to Vessel. The contrast is especially palpable when II brushes his knuckles against Vessel's as he's handing him his tea. The mug is warm, but II's skin is burning against his. But it's not bad. It's a good burn. It makes Vessel feel alive. Seen. Loved?

Vessel learns that he doesn't have to prove himself to other people to receive love. Love is not something that has to be earned in their home. Love is not a reward, not something that Vessel has to work for, then be disappointed that in the end, it isn't actually given to him. He tried being good in the past, being silent and keeping his head down and being a good kid, but the warmth and the unconditional love didn't come. He still tried, though, he always tried his best, but apparently that wasn't enough. Or there wasn't actually love at the end of that tunnel. It was just a play of light. But that would have been cruel and Vessel would like to think that people in his past weren't intentionally unkind to him (he won't admit the truth to himself for a while).

II often tells Vessel that he's proud of him. For speaking up. For telling him when he's having a bad day. For asking for distance when he needs it and closeness when he feels like he will drift away. For admitting to messing up, when he falls back into bad habits of self-destruction and isolation. For doing a grocery run by himself even though he goes home almost shaking and has to spend the next hours under a blanket on the couch, because it was simply too much. For crying when he talks about memories that he tried his hardest to forget but he just can't. For asking for help and letting II help him, even though it's hard. It's really hard, and Vessel apologizes for it, for being fucked-up and broken and damaged goods. For wasting II's time and being a burden, a needy, greedy thing. Wretched. Minus human.

But II tells him he loves him and that he could never be a burden. That he will always be worth it, he always has been, and that he's sorry that people in Vessel's past couldn't see it. Couldn't see him for all that he is. For the friend who pays attention to little details so he can show his friend how much he values him. For the guy who bakes his friend a complicated cake for his birthday because he off-handedly told him he can't even remember what it tasted like, even though it used to be his favorite. For the amazing composer who can capture emotions one doesn't realize one has. For the hard-working, curious kid who thought that being obedient and not questioning authority was the way to earn praise and affection. For the little boy who thought something was wrong with him, that he did or didn't do something and that is why he couldn't feel loved. For the child who cried and cried, silent and under the cover of the night, hoping that no one would hear (and secretly hoping that somebody would and they would come and save him from the gaping emptiness that made its home in his chest, way too big and scary for a boy that little). For the boy and then the man who couldn't cry anymore but thought that that is more than alright, at least he can finally keep it all inside. For the partner who allowed himself to be vulnerable with someone he trusted. For the partner who made sure his other knew he was always welcome, even though his brain sometimes tried to tell him otherwise. For the partner who grew comfortable with expressing casual affection so much that terms like 'darling' became second nature to him (and for the way he blushed when II told him that). For the man who learned to accept that it's okay to admit to not being okay, to need someone, to want to not feel alone, to feel cherished, to have his feelings validated. For the man who can tell his partner anything and does, because he knows he can speak his mind and that there will be someone who listens.

II wanted to see Vessel. Vessel let him. Even before he showed the uglier and less than perfect parts of himself, II loved him all the same. It was never about being 'good' and silent and compliant. Vessel is good. Vessel is not good. He's amazing. He's perfect. He's wonderful. He's cherished. He's incredible. He's valued. He's seen. He's listened to. He's heard. He's finally, finally loved. Has been for longer than he dared to think. Will soon be by more people than he thought possible.

[beedoes-stuff]

10 moments from the new jersey rats that i think about a lot (in no specific order):

everytime bing and boom argue. specifically that one time they brought up stacey and boom was like “oH yOu reAllY wAnNa tAlK abOuT stAcEy” like yea i do wanna talk abt her in explicit detail so spill‼️

when the intern made the shot BOTH. TIMES. if they have no fans i’m dead.

jean moving hair from the interns face. ahem:

jean laughing, then yelling “FUCK”, and then getting cut off

bing ordering strictly girly drinks (bc they’re better)

“yes that is a ukulele. objectively the most embarrassing instrument that anyone could ever play” *me, holding my pink ukulele covered in dinosaur stickers* alright, no need to be a bitch about it. (/jjjjj and i mean yea true but hush)

“you gotta turn up the charm” —> proceeds to do the opposite of turning up the charm

when jeans car got towed. nothing goes right in this man’s life istg.

guy apologizing to boom. very sweet moment. love it.

boom singing riptide at the end. lives were changed. (mine specifically)

[chimerahyperfix]

CW: Graphic depictions of violence, lots of Death and Gore, Psychological horror for like 3 lines, mentions of drowning. Please read the tags and take caution. This one's more than a little visceral.

-----

The King is here.

You walk through crowded halls of rushing Housemaidens getting into defensive positioning. It's like fighting a wave in the ocean, hard to push through the crowd. You make do anyways, curling through paths you normally wouldn't take.

It's a big deal to everyone but you, at this point. This is the big event, the big fight; to you it's simply where time loops back. Just another day, y'know? You've done it over and over, and you'll probably keep doing it anyways.

It's odd, pushing through the crowd. Everyone is going one way and you are going another. Rushing versus strolling. Your hands are in the pockets of your lab coat. You're practically whistling, for crab's sake!

You simply cannot be bothered this loop. It's a failure from the start: you crabbed up making the bomb, which means you're crabbed from the very beginning. You climbed up the Favor Tree and wedged yourself between the braches for a few hours to pass the time, because looping back would be too much of an inconvenience, and you could just wait until the tears started spawning in the house to go back. The birds had a good time at least, one starting to craft a nest next to you.

You ghosted throughout the day, and now its go time. Everyone else is prepared and ready to fight for time itself, and here you are just. Walking. Realistically you're searching for a tear to stop it all before it starts, but luck isn't on your side this loop.

You can hear it, hear it-- the horrors. All the screams of those unfortunate enough to cross the King's path and fight back. It would be easier, for them, to just bow back and let themselves be frozen-- but no one wants to be frozen, because that's having choice itself stolen from you, a cage of ice to lock yourself in forever. It's just as bad as being dead. Stagnant and eternally screaming.

So they march to their deaths.

The King does not take kindly to the Housemaidens fighting back. Some loops, the House isn't prepared for his attack. Those loops are the nice ones, the less gorey ones. Less dead and more frozen bodies, because no one was prepared to brawl with the monster. He can just... swoop on through and take the House without more than a handful of casualties. This loop is one of the bad ones, because your fellow housemaidens were all prepared. You always think your prepared, too, to see the outcome, but you never truly are.

You turn into the main hall, and freeze still.

No matter how many loops you go through, the carnage always gets to you. There's a nasty, overpowering smell of iron in the air and big dark stains painting the walls, the floors and the roof. Bits and pieces of mashed guts and viscera. There were people in this hallway, once.

Not anymore.

It makes you sick to your stomach like every other time. Just the thought of it. There were people here and now there's only parts of them left. Just ten minutes ago or so, there were people here.

There were people here.

The gore goes in a trail down the hall. Paints practically everything-- including frozen people, if you look down the hall. All frozen with shock and absolute horror on their faces. You recognize some of them.

You try not to think about it.

You push on. Try to ignore the way the blood seeps into your shoes very fabric so they become damp. Try to ignore the fact you're trailing someone's very life behind you now with bloody shoe prints.

There are still no tears.

Plan B, then. The King himself.

You hate going against the King. It always ends terribly with you in agony. But that's the only option left right now, so you chase him down on his little path carved from the blood of the innocent. You find him quickly, too- just down the hall.

He stops before you can get too close. The smell in the air is overpowering, the sharp tang of blood and the burning sensation of the sugar.

"Burning one." He says to you. You're not sure where he pulled that one from: the nickname was something different at some point, but you've long forgotten what it was. Maybe it's the smell of burnt, rotting sugar or maybe it's the potions that burnt your throat. You're not sure anymore.

He just... stands there. Turns around and looks at you. You can feel the dead expression you're pulling as you stare back. Blood glints on his armor, shining and the worst sight in the world and all the same kinda beautiful in its own way? Like the lightless gore is the night sky itself, sparkling with little dots. Makes you feel sick just thinking that.

"How have you done it?" He asks. He asks it every time the two of you face off, the same five words. How. A inquiry. Something you have done, you shouldn't have, and he knows it.

You... think you've gotten it, now. Your hypothesis: How you wished. It's not something you were supposed to do. You did something different something WRONG, and it did something to time itself, tearing a hole in the fabric of space. It's wrong. It's wrong, and you know it and so does the King.

He stares in your direction. You think? Despite his hands, blood-stained as they are, not being infront of his face, the mop of hair is still in the way. You can feel the glare still. Enraged. Daggers in your side.

"I don't know." It's the truth.

"You don't know?"

"I don't remember."

The King goes silent. It's odd, having an actual conversation with him. Even if it was a tiny exchange, it still throws you off. He's willing to talk, even if just a question. He's never really talked to you-- or anyone, to your knowledge-- before.

"Ouuuuhhhh... of course you don't." He wails. It sounds like nails on a chalkboard to you. "You shouldn't have been able too, oohhh... not at all..."

He raises a fist up. It sparkles like the night sky, dark dripping from between his fingers. There's still someone's remains painted on them. Preemptively you brace and throw your arms up in an attempt to block.

It's a different thing that hits you. A new attack. A giant open palm slams into your chest, and you go flying backwards into the wall. The world turns to slow motion as something in you SNAPS. Crunches. Your bones shatter and explode with the force and speed, shooting little shards of agony everywhere.

It hurts. It HURTS. Pain rips through your entire body, and you realise you've started to scream when your chest begins to hurt. Blood splatters onto your glasses, blotting out your vision.

You look up at the King. How'd you get on the floor? How are you breathing, with no lungs? You can see fragments of bone stuck between the metal of his armor.

"Let this be a lesson to you, Burning one."

Metal clinks, and your vision swims-- dots in the corners, figures blur. Blood drips down into your left eye and paints half of your vision a dark shade. Nothing but pain.

Make it stop. Make it stop, make it stop make it stop-- it hurts, it hurts it hurts it hurts.

You

Simply stop thinking. Just for a moment.

So your brain can catch up! Yeah, sure. That's a good enough excuse.

Just. Pain. You are pain incarnate, and that's all you will be until you die slowly and loop back.

You

Blink,, and

The King. Is gone. You can hear him leaving, loud stomping footsteps dissapearing down a bloodstained trail, and you just stare.

How lucky, HOW LUCKY of you to be left alive this time. Like this isn't a fate worse than death. You gasp for air, and realise all you have left is blood filling your lungs.

It hurts. You want it to end, now. It's hard to see, over the blood and spots dancing across your eyes, but you see them; tears, floating around you. A quick out. You reach out, and the pain in you flares alive, ripping and tearing you apart. You feel like your flesh is going to peel off.

Your fingers brush into one of the tears, and you sob as the ice rolls down your arm and consumes you. It feels a hundred times better than what you were feeling before.

You freeze in time-- and luckily theres no nightmare you have to endure, you just wake back up at your desk. You spend a good chunk of the morning curled up in the bathroom getting sick, because, wow! That's the worst one yet! It's curled into your very being, the feeling of breaking your bones like rock candy, the feeling of drowning in blood.

You just... have to do it better this time, or... something. Hope is fading away into background static. You can't... do this anymore. It hurts too much. You want it to stop. Please make it stop.

[lover-of-mine]

[moeblob]

Ananza realizing that Deacon's mom was a devoted follower of hers THEREFORE that's her son now, too! And she will dote on him and love him and never pick on him like all the other deities tend to do. That's her precious little boy who lives in another city and rarely gets to see her!

[5t4r5and5uch01]

I’ve been fixating on MM Leo human designs sm and its awesome!! IM OBSSESSED! HES SO HANDSOME~

I’ve even been working on some lore and stuff! And I also have a hc that Leo wore braces when he was younger <3 as tribute to Leo almost having braces :>

MORE?? YES.

I think if i work on this more i could literally create a whole AU 👀💦

OH YEAH! and have some human Splinter too ;)

Oh and for context: Leo has a few large scars from his Katanas. Let me know if you guys wanna know more cuz i have like a whole story and crap about his Katanas..

HELP ME I LOVE DRAWING HIM SM HELP-

I have some designs for the others too!! Ill see when i can make another post about them >:]

ALSO! THEY ARE ALL BLASIAN! PLEASE DONT ERASE EITHER OF THEIR RACE THANK YOU. Or else im gonna go a hundred on yall-/ref

[softquietsteadylove]

HI!!!

it’s been a long time since the last doctor au. Can we get something new, please?

Thena eyes the woman chatting up her Gilgamesh. He's making friendly conversation, she knows. But the woman is obviously aiming for more than just friendly, the way she keeps laughing and smiling and putting her hand on his arm.

She has no one to blame but herself, Thena knows. The hospital fundraiser has been scheduled for months, and she's the one insisting their relationship remain secret from their coworkers. And of course Gil agreed, because it's Gil.

But watching women be all over him all night has been one hell of a just desserts. She takes a sip of her drink. Gil catches her eye and makes a bit of a face. He shrugs, which fits into the woman's story enough that she doesn't notice. But he's apologising to her - Thena - for it.

But she has no one to blame but herself.

Maybe the secrecy is overrated. She looks over to the dance floor, where Sersi is happily tucked into her husband's embrace as they sway to the music. They seem to make it work. Thena doesn't know how someone as sweet as Sersi is with someone as bullheaded as the orthopaedic specialist himself. But maybe the same could be said of her and Gil.

Thena tosses back the last of her champagne and walks straight towards Gil's table. This is why people don't like her socially--she's overly direct, chilly, has no bedside manner when it comes to her colleagues. She stares at them, "mind if I cut in?"

"Uh, yeah?"

"Not at all," Gil smiles though, and it's all the assurance she needs. He even pulls out the chair next to him for her.

His visitor visibly and audibly scoffs and rolls her eyes. Thena thinks she recognises her from HR or accounting or some other level of administration. She gets up in a huff anyway. Thena seats herself, tugging her dress around without a thought to the delicacy of the material.

But Gil sorts out the skirt of it more nicely. He even lets his hand brush the side of her leg where the slit allows him to. He sneaks his eyes up to hers, "you look beautiful."

She's glad that woman got up in a huff as she feels her face warm up several degrees. "Nothing you haven't seen before."

Because he helped her get ready, after they'd had a few good rounds in her bed, and before arriving in separate cars. Still, he compliments her, because of course he does. He swirls his own champagne, looking quite smart in his dark green suit.

All the doctors are in tuxes, but she likes how this colour brings out his eyes.

"Are you making any good connections?" he asks, like any of their colleagues would. It's as much a night for them to have off as it is for them to schmooze wealthy benefactors into donating to the hospital.

"None," she deadpans, and he laughs from his belly in response. She loves his laugh. "You?"

He snorts and throws back the last of his flute. "No one even knows us."

"That's not true," she nudges his arm as she leans back in her chair in a very unladylike way. She gestures, "Kingo knows how to work a crowd."

True, the man of the hour is in the centre of a circle of people listening to his stories. She's quite sure he's trying to convince someone to write a medical drama about his stories as an EMT.

"Well, I'm no Kingo," Gil shakes his head at his partner, not that they would have him any other way.

Thena spares a furtive glance around them, although most have moved on from the tables to search for more finger food or hit the dance floor. She risks brushing her hand over his casually, "you're better."

Gil matches her energy, though, letting his hand cup hers for just as brief a moment, "you're in a good mood tonight."

She can say it's the booze, but she's only had the one glass. It's not to her taste, but it's part of the atmosphere. "When was the last time we got a night off to do this?"

He gives her a grin that's a little mischievous on the tail end. "Our first date?"

She looks away again, because sometimes these little moments still make her feel like she's liking him from afar again. "That was a good night."

"Our only date, in some ways," he corrects, although there's no malice or ill will behind it. Even though he would love to have more proper dates to their name as a couple.

Thena sighs, though, because he deserves that. He deserves to go wild to his romantic heart's desire, no matter how overwhelmed it makes her feel. She leans forward against the table, "Gil-"

"Oh, Gil!" a shrill voice singsongs over the music.

Thena scowls as her whole body knots up. His friend is back, and she's brought company. "Eros."

"Thena, darling, looking ravishing as always," the self-proclaimed 'god of love' himself grins at her. He is one of the doctors in a full blown tuxedo. "Gotten any donations?"

"No, no one donates to an emergency room unless it guarantees benefits to them personally." The two newcomers look at her uncomfortably but it's true; no one ever donates to the emergency room because it's for the public, not for the highest insured patients.

"Well, what if I make a donation?" Eros grandstands, putting on his most winsome smile and even reaching into his suit jacket pocket. Does he really have his checkbook just...in there?

Thena points, "admin will take it."

The woman gets tired of playing this game. She sidesteps Eros to put her hands on Gil's shoulders. "Oh, enough business! It's time for you two to take to the floor."

Gil just stares. Just because he's big doesn't mean he likes getting climbed on like a children's jungle gym. He shakes his head faintly at her; he's asking what to do.

Thena sighs. That's why she brought Eros with her; he's a distraction to keep her from stealing Gil's attention again. Stealing attention from her own partner is an amusing thought. But she hasn't had enough to drink for it to be thoroughly entertaining.

The woman backs up as she stands. She and Eros watch as Thena grasps Gil's tie, pulling it out from his suit jacket and using it to turn his head and drag his lips to hers. She even makes a dramatic little moan just for them.

Gil is happy to oblige. He responds, sliding his hands up her body in the way that's familiar to them. They were doing exactly this a few short hours ago. When they part he doesn't even look to see if their audience has stuck around. "Thought you'd never ask, honey."

Thena keeps her hold on Gil's tie as she moves towards the dance floor, abandoning her clutch on the table. There's nothing in it but her phone and, well, a few contraceptives (in case Gil got ahead of himself on the way home).

"Y'know, sweetie, I have no complaints," Gil voices as he closes the distance and fixes his tie again. "But you could just ask."

She sighs as they turn towards each other to dance properly. He pulls her against him as her temper simmers itself dry. "I got the feeling she wasn't going to take no for an answer."

"Well, she would have had to," he assures her, even as they begin swaying to the music. She doesn't really know how to dance, but he takes the lead, holding her hip and her hand out in his. "Although watching my girlfriend grab me like that will probably haunt her for a while."

"Good," Thena mutters darkly, still off-put by the memory of her latching onto Gil's shoulders (like she has any right).

"Are you sure?" he whispers, still holding his head up if she wants more discretion. "If she doesn't have everyone knowing before we leave for the night then Eros certainly will. I wouldn't be surprised if he's crying to HR right now."

She does laugh faintly at the mental image of Eros snotting and whining like the little boy he is. "We're technically in different departments."

Gil chuckles, "guess you're right. But I'm asking you."

He's asking if she really wants to go public, or if she wants to deny their claims to the very end. Because he'll be with her, if she does, because of course he will.

Gil is receptive as she leans up to kiss him again. Maybe she can - somewhat! - understand what people see in the romance of it all. Swaying to music, Gil's arms around her, kissing him without a care in the world. There is something that makes the pleasure centres in her brain explode with euphoria.

"I'll take that as a yes," he smiles at her, even swaying a little more in his elation.

She tries to keep her head held high instead of shrinking away from the people observing them during their own dances. She clears her throat, pretending she can't feel how hot the tips of her ears are. "If it keeps her off of you, then yes."

He bends his head down, kissing the side of her neck. But it's not any invitation to mischief or show of dominance. He emerges again and kisses her on the forehead. "Can I tell those orderlies that check you out all the time that you're my girlfriend, now?"

She smiles, because it's Gil, and their relationship is no different now than it's been for the past several months. "You don't tell them I'm your wife?"

"Oh, I do," he answers instantly, and now she laughs. And sometimes when she laughs, she catches him looking at her in a way that makes all of her insides feel like jello. "But everyone knows you're my wife. Not everyone knows you're my girlfriend."

That is true. They were long ago anointed work husband and work wife. People are used to it, and it somewhat muddies the waters on what their relationship to each other actually is. And Thena will not be un-muddying them any time soon.

She moves Gil's arm more around her for herself, tucking herself into his chest in a way that makes moving more awkward instead of easier. But he folds around her comfortingly, happy to shift from foot to foot rather than really dance. "Then all the world can know I'm your partner."

She sighs as he presses a kiss to the top of her head, "I like the sound of that."

There's no going back from this. She always says that their personal lives have no place in the hospital. But she can't think about any of that, drowning in the endorphins this one man overtakes her brain with every time he smiles. And she has no one to blame but herself.

[beesorcery]

i redesigned this shirt and now you can put it on your body

here it is, the final culmination of my fun cool graphic design project where i replace cities with 8balls!! If you want to follow along the process you can check out these posts: one, two, and three :D

if you are interested in wearing this as a shirt i made a teepublic! (edit for anyone who remembers this: the teepublic listing got dmca’d lol. however,) you can also download the files from google drive if you would like to print the design yourself

thanks for following along!! i have really had a lot of fun doing this (and just following 2our in general, the vibes were sweet) and i'm glad other people enjoyed it too :)

(better quality images under the cut <3)

[hyruviandoctor]

I don't know if I'll ever make something better than this

[cathalbravecog]

i'm the antonymph of the internet

[hpdm-sideblog]

Me being deranged about narcissa malfoy