#and that fucked me up a lot
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It's so funny to me that my dad thinks that I'm this super spiteful, petty, vindictive person and yet when the perfect opportunity comes up to give him a taste of what I've had to go through because of him I choose not to
#about me#he has covid and it's Bad#and i've already been exposed to him enough that i'm masking up and taking care of him#but i've had to care for myself every time i've been sick and i had to be the one ten years ago who quit my job#to help look after my mom when she was really really sick#and that fucked me up a lot#bc i was 17 and i should not have been the one who had to handle it#and i know that i could choose to make him handle this alone and probably the only people who might blame me would be the family#who believe parents deserve respect whether or not they've earned it#but i'm not i'm choosing to take care of him and shit#and maybe part of that is bc i couldn't live with myself if i didn't do everything that i possibly could#like when it comes down to it. and idk it's just. Bad he's 64 years old with asthma and a heart condition#fully vaxxed but his last booster was like ten months ago#so anyways!!! things are going GREAT here
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i got rickrolled today but it didn't work because i have adblocker installed, so youtube just told me i violated the terms of service. yesterday i was trying to edit a picture as a joke for my girlfriend, and google made me check a box to prove i'm human because i wasn't "searching normally".
it isn't just that capitalism is killing fun and whimsy, it is that any element of entertainment or joy is being fed upon by this mosquito body, one that will suck you dry at any vulnerability.
do you want to meet new friends in your city? download this app, visit our website, sign up for our email list. pay for this class on making a terrarium, on candlemaking, on cooking. it will be 90 dollars a session. you can go to group fitness, but only under our specific gym membership. solve the puzzle, sign up for our puzzle-of-the-month-club. what is a club if not just a paid opportunity - you are all paying for the same thing, which makes you a community.
but you're like me, i know it - you're careful, you try the library meetings and the stuff at the local school and all of that. the problem is that you kind of want really specific opportunities that used to exist. you are so grateful for libraries and the publicly-funded things: they are, however, an exception - and everything they have, they've fought tooth-and-nail to protect. you read a headline about how in many other states, libraries have virtually nothing left.
do you want to meet up with your friends afterwards? gift your friends the discord app. you can choose to go to a cafe (buy a coffee, at least), a bar (money, alcohol) or you can all stay in and catch a movie (streaming) or you can all stay in bed (rent. don't get me started) and scream (noise complaint. ticket at least).
you want to read a new book, but the book has to have 124 buzzwords from tiktok readers that are, like, weirdly horny. you can purchase this audiobook on audible! your podcast isn't on spotify, it's on its own server, pay for a different site. fuck, at least you're supporting artists you like. the art museum just raised their ticket price. once, they had a temporary exhibit that acknowledged that ~85% of their permanent art galleries were from cis white men, and that they had thousands of works by women (even famous women, like frida! georgia o'keefe!) just rotting in their basement. that exhibit lasted for 3 months and then they put everything away again.
walmart proudly supports this strip of land by the street! here are some flowers with wilting leaves. its employees have to pay out-of-pocket for their uniforms. my friend once got fined by the city because she organized a community pick-up of the riverfront, which was technically private property.
no, you cannot afford to take that dance class, neither can i. by the way - i'm a teacher. i'm absolutely not saying "educators shouldn't be paid fairly." i'm saying that when i taught classes, renting a studio went from 20 bucks an hour to 180 in the span of 6 months. no significant changes to the studio were made, except they now list the place as updated and friendly. the heat still doesn't work in the building. i have literally never seen the landlord who ignores my emails. recently they've been renting it out at night as an "unusual nightclub; a once-in-a-lifetime close-knit party." they spent some of those 180 dollars on LEDs and called it renovating. the high heels they invite in have been ruining the marley.
do you want to experience the old internet? do you want to play flash games or get back the temporary joy of club penguin? you can, you just need to pay for it. i have a weird, neurodivergent obsession with occasionally checking in to watch the downfall and NFT-ification of neopets. if i'm honest with you all - i never got into webkins, my family didn't have the money to buy me a pointless elephant. people forget that "being poor" can mean literally "if i buy you that toy, i can't afford rent."
you and i don't have time to make good food, and we don't have the budget for it. we are not gonna be able to host dinner parties, we're not made of money, kid. do you want some kind of 3rd space? a space that isn't home or work or school? you could try being online, but - what places actually exist for you? tiktok counts as social media because you see other people on it, not because they actually talk to you.
there was a local winter tradition of sledding down the hill at my school. kids would use pizza boxes and jackets and whatever worked, howling and laughing. back in september, they made a big announcement that this time, rules were changing, and everyone must pay 10 dollars to participate. when im not scared shitless, i kind of appreciate the environmental irony - it hasn't gone below 40. so much for snow & joyriding.
i saw a bulletin for a local dogwalking group and, nervous about making a good first impression, showed up early. the first guy there grimaced at me. "sorry," he said. "there's a 30-dollar buy-in fee." i thought he was joking. wait. for what? the group doesn't offer anything except friendship and people with whom to walk around the city.
he didn't know the answer. just shrugged at me. "you know," he said. "these days, everything costs money."
#spilled ink#warm up#“why did u tag it warm up” bc i wrote it off the cuff while drinkin coffee lol#btw the 30 dollar buy in for the dog walking is bc they pay the organizer a small pittance so she can#run fb ads and stuff and like she does put in a lot of work i don't mind paying her#but that's exactly what im fucking talking about like.#ppl can't afford to volunteer their time anymore and we all understand it!!! everything costs money for everyone!#like we didn't have to use to say ''do you mind paying me back for the stuff we ate''#we used to be able to afford to feed our friends once in a while!!!
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OK THIS IS NOT A FUCKING DRILL EVERYONE FUCKING REPEAT AFTER ME. THIS IS WHAT YOU WILL DO WHEN YOU WATCH MUPPET CHRISTMAS CAROL THIS YEAR:
You will navigate to the page on disney plus (and it has to be here. Unless someone has actually uploaded the REAL movie anywhere else you cannot get it elsewhere)
BUT YOU WILL NOT HIT PLAY. You won’t do it. Because it’s NOT THE REAL VERSION OF THE FILM AND DISNEY IS FUCKING LYING TO YOU AS IT ALWAYS DOES
You will scroll down HERE. To EXTRAS instead. You MUST GO HERE. This is non -negotiable
THEN YOU WILL SCROLL DOWN TO THE BOTTOM OF THE EXTRAS AND YOU WILL THEN HIT PLAY ON THIS BAD BOY: THE FULL LENGTH VERSION
And you will watch it. And you will thank me for having been so blind and led astray by that stupid fucking mouse. You’re welcome.
#I’m so mad everyone I’m sorry I’m going to make sure EVERYONE sees the proper version of mcc this year or die trying#literally this song is so important to the narrative and the film is so fucking hollow without it#if you grew up with disney’s bullshit version and thought it was good WAIT UNTIL YOU SEE THIS SHIT#please. please watch the REAL version of this film. it means a lot to me ok#the muppet christmas carol#for the love of god please people
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Love the contrast between the Americans’ “Apollo” and the Soviets’ “Sputnik.” You got the Americans naming their rocket after a Greek god trying to communicate the grandness and importance of this rocket. And you got the Soviets naming their rocket “fellow traveler.” Like a friend you go on an adventure with together. This rocket is our little friend lol
#i think its cute#they took the mars rover approach#humanizing the space craft making it cute making us (me) project emotions onto it#the soviets also used imagery of laika in propaganda a lot#which is pretty fucked up imo#but if i grew up in the soviet union that shit wouldve definetly worked on me lmao#the narrative of a heroic little dog going to space and being honored by the whole country#as cruely wrong as it is its very appealing#the soviets knew what they were doing man they didnt reveal how laika really died until like. the 2000s#bc they knew people really cared about that dog#they liked the narrative around her
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I have some questions about karaoke night, Alex Hirsch. Very Important Questions. Which I will happily scream at a poor hapless baby triangle who can have no answers for me, and possibly also does not have object permanence yet.
Follow-up that is I guess suggestive, but let's be real here, Bill's a fucking triangle:
Dude slipped right into his birthday suit, lmao
this is so stupid :D
Anyway, I don't care what anyone says, this brilliant individual knows what's up - Bill is absolutely way more of a monsterfucker than Ford could or ever will be, full stop.
#fanart#billford#bill cipher#stanford pines#gravity falls#book of bill#i watched gravity falls because i was curious about all the Toxic Old Man Yaoi on my dash and wanted context#turns out most of the context was in the book of bill tho lmao#look they either banged or married or both while drunk and i will accept no other possibilities#you don't use the phrase 'and one thing led to another' in a PRIVATE JOURNAL if what happened wasn't salacious in some way#i mean - ford didn't exactly grow up in The Most Inclusive Time Period???#dude was probably like 'gotta use this wording for plausible deniability - NO ONE can know i boinked the talking triangle'#in other news - i must bully the baby billy#don't know how much more GF stuff i'll toss up here but i have a few other little scribbles in the works. probably won't color them tho lol#also don't ask me why bill's bowtie stays where it is despite his “pants” being under it. just. just fucking don't ok???#EDIT: oh and since i see this a lot in this fandom for some reason: DO NOT REPOST THIS PLZ K THX :D
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been replaying the Portal series I think this is where its heading
#i haven't drawn in like. half a month. which listen i know i don't post much here but i do draw a lot#i have another blog. but also sometimes i just don't post things. i draw for myself#just got burnt out from working on an animation final 😔#so anyway. eased myself back in with a silly comic about portal#my irl saw my shitty sketch and thought glados was painting chell which is very funny to me.#chelldos#but like. unrequited. glados is obsessed with chell. chell is not having a good time#portal#chell#GlaDOS#GlaD0S#my art#og post#1k#5k#10k#20k#edit: i made this post almost a year ago and it haunts me. theres a typo. chell is out of character.#because i couldn't come up with a good reason for her to be there in the first place#and this was a shitty ms paint replicating drawing that i did just to get back into drawing#i didn't think it would gain much attention#i was Wrong#anyway someone in the comments said this is what happens when you speedrun thats an infintely better setup for the punchline#EDIT 2: ok i fixed it fuck you
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People keep on asking for more Baby Robin and Papadile so here is more Baby Robin and Papadile. Now never ask anything from me ever again
#My art#One Piece#Long post#Sir Crocodile#Nico Robin#Alternatively panel 5 would've been a close up of Crocodile's face from Robin's POV where he looks like he's giving her a death glare#Not intentionally he's just a big scary bastard with a Resting Murder Face and Robin is a small traumatized child#But I wanted to focus on the silliness of the moment so you get the goofy version instead#IDK man there's just something very funny to me about the idea of Robin just randomly info-dumping about a subject she's read about#And Crocodile being like ''?????????????????????? The fuck you talking about??''#Robin leaves the ship's kitchen and Crocodile just stares at the tomato like ''...It's a fruit? Forreal?''#(Meanwhile Robin is sweating bullets like ''I called his favorite vegetable a FRUIT right in his FACE he's going to KILL ME'')#Robin grew extra feet from the bottom of her feet to reach the counter and that actually isn't me trying to explain bad art away#In the original Papadile comic there was a panel of Robin doing the dishes with extra feet to reach the sink but I cut it out#(It was a stress relief comic I did not feel like drawing a complicated background in detail) (BUT YES I THOUGHT OF IT)#Nico Robin Age 11 is *more* than capable of cooking Crocodile just does not trust her with his food. At least not yet#She did start doing the dishes unprompted and continues to do so (mostly out of fear). Croc told her she didn't have to but allows it#IDK a lot of people seem to headcanon Crocodile as incapable of cooking and like. Surely Mr ''I don't trust people'' knows how to cook#Like he doesn't have to be a master chef or anything but and maybe he enjoys not HAVING to cook (pain in the ass with one hand + knife/hook#But surely he can cook decent enough. SURELY#Botanists don't @ me I know the ''tomato is a fruit'' thing isn't fully accurate this is just a silly little haha comic
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RULE
#rule#196#Boy this is a lot of notes for something I DIDN'T MAKE#also if you know the sauce tell me plz#Btw ill be working on smut comics about robots fucking in the apocalypse#Other stuff too but thats up first#I promise I'll not let you down#If i see one more person respond to this with Disco Elysium im going to fuckin SNAP
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Gotham has always been weird, so when the groundskeeper at the cemetery noticed the Wayne kid’s plot was disturbed, he just chalked it up to more of the same ol’. Alright, so ‘disturbed’ may be a tad too light of a word, but what’s an empty grave in the grand scheme of Gotham? God knows in a city like this one, they could use all the burial room they could get. He figured he’d just jot it down on the website and hope nobody noticed for a while.
Too bad he didn’t account for the 13 year old boy in Bristol who periodically checks the cemetery’s website when he’s feeling particularly lonely.
Plot Removed.
Tim Drake stared at the two words under the heading for Jason Todd’s plot number. Removed? What do they mean ‘removed’? They can’t just remove a plot? That’s a person down there! That’s Robin down there! You can’t Remove Robin!
Calm down. Deep breaths. Assess the situation.
Robin has been dead for 5 months and 14 days. There is no reason for a grave to be removed that early, especially one of a member of such an affluential family. Chances are likely it’s a simple clerical issue. He can call first thing in the morning and make them aware of the mistake. He can have it all fixed in 5 hours.
Just a phone call.
In 5 hours.
…
Tim hates talking on the phone almost as much as he hates waiting.
Well it won’t be the first time he’s snuck out to head to Gotham proper at 1am. It can’t even really be considered sneaking out if there’s no one home to catch you.
Buses stop running at 2, so he layers a couple sweaters under his coat and grabs his best running sneakers so he can comfortably make the trek back.
Just a quick trip to settle his nerves. Maybe get a few shots in if he spots Batman, but really he just wants to see with his own two eyes that things are okay and Jason can rest.
It’s 1:37 by the time he gets to the headstone reading ‘Here Lies Jason Todd’ and the gaping, muddy pit in front of it.
This- This doesn’t make any sense. This is not removal. This is destruction. Desecration. Somebody did this. Somebody-
Assess the situation.
A hole in the ground, approximately 1.5 feet in diameter.
Mud and grass flung outward but with little force.
Large chunks of earth turned over and shoved away.
No signs of tool marks or clean lines of entry into the dirt.
Dragging claw marks.
Staggering, shuffled pairs of foot prints in the mud.
A trail of dirt.
Something… Something large clawed its way out of the ground here. Something large and bipedal and- and humanoid.
Tim refuses to jump to any conclusions he can see all the facts laid in front of him. He’s going to cautiously follow the trail and simply hope to any god listening that he isn’t the world’s first line of defense against the zombie apocalypse.
He’s been walking for 23 minutes and there’s good news and undecided news. Good news: he’s closing in on the target and the trail isn’t taking him out of the way so his trip home won’t be prolonged. Undecided news: The potential Zombie Robin is heading directly for Wayne Manor.
As zombie apocalypse news, this is very bad. From Tim’s collected observational evidence, his not-so-professional opinion is that Batman, faced with a horror movie level zombie of his dead son, would not respond well, and would likely not fight back.
In Batman and Robin news? Tim’s unsure. If Jason is simply back? What could that mean for them? Batman can have his Robin. He wouldn’t have to continue nearly killing others and himself every night in his grief. Jason could-
No. Stop. Do not jump to conclusions.
Hope only brings heartbreak.
What would Batman do? Get close and see if the target is a threat.
Target is male. Mid-teens. Dark hair. Pale skin. Leaning against surfaces as he walks. Appears injured and disoriented.
Minimal risk assessed. Approaching and attempting contact.
Target identity confirmed: Jason Todd.
“J-Jason?” It comes out as a croaked whisper. Jason shows no sign of acknowledgment.
Tim clears his throat, steps right in front of his path, and tries again.
“Jason. Jason, stop I want to help you.” Still nothing.
“Please, Jason. I can help, I promise I can help!”
Why isn’t this working?! Why can’t he just do something right for once?! He wants this to work, he wants to help Bruce, he wants to fix Batman, he wants to not be alone, he wants-
“Robin!”
Robin jerks to a stop.
Tim reached out his hand.
“Robin. Robin please, I’m sorry you’re going through this, it’s really scary, I’m really scared. But I just want to help you. Help you find Batman. Help you get home.”
Jason just stares at him. Of course he does. Of course it’s not going to work. Why did he even bother hoping he could help?
Hope only brings heartbreak.
His sight blurs as his eyes fill with tears and he starts to lower his outstretched hand.
His arm is slowed as a cold hand weakly grasps his own.
“Don’t… scared… Bat… help… Dad… help.”
A relieved sob tears out from Tim’s chest and he gathers himself together. He yanks his extra sweater off and gently pulls it over Jason’s cold shoulders. Jason lets Tim drag his arm over his shoulders to try and carry some of his weight.
“Okay, Robin. Yeah. Your dad will help us.”
Batman will solve everything once Tim gets Robin home.
#Hello Mr. Batwayne forgive me for waking you but I brought your Jaybin home#Tim: I’m not jumping to conclusions!#also Tim: Holy fuck it’s the zombie apocalypse we’re all going to die#I know it seems like Tim might have some bat detective training but really he just watches a lot of cop shows and asks ‘wwbd?’ all the time.#writing this is the first thing I did as soon as I turned 27.#this was my birthday present to myself ig#not a ship pls n thx#batfam fanfic#batman#dc robin#dcu#batman and robin#jason todd#tim drake#red hood#ficlet#batfam#jason todd and tim drake#robin#red robin#shut up grandpa#fanfiction#‘’JASON! JASON STOP! LOOK AT ME! look at me. please. this isn’t you’’ ass dialogue 🙄
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well he did his best. i think. 😔
#tiger tiger#'behave' 'i always do!!' [proceeds to fuck it up at maximum power]#it's okay at least the person he's fucking it up with is. Really Enjoying It. JKFSDJFKLSJGKFLJKL#i mean to be fair. how ARE you supposed to react when instigated the way he was jkLFHFDDKLSJGKLJ#arno baited him and it was. so easy LOL#ME WHEN I LIE!!!#anyway remy has really good taste in men LOL good for him. or sorry that happened idk theres a lot going on JDJSFHDSJLF#jamis i love u....
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horrible truth bomb dropped on my head 20 min ago
#I DIDNT KNOW I DIDNT KNOWWWWW#when i say damn thats crazy its bc i DO think its crazy i think a lot of things are crazy. like how birds have cloacas#or the way ppl draw a five pointed star in different ways and everyone assumes their way of doing it is how everyone does it#my brother is not letting me live this down btw he literally shouted at me like HOW DID YOU LIVE THIS LONG AND NOT PICK UP ON THAT#IDK!!! IDK I THOUGHT SOMETIMES IT COULD BE USED TO EXPRESS GENUINE SHOCK??????#he says its my delivery that makes it sound insincere bc i say it in a monotonous voice which when i think abt it YEAH....#THAT DOES MAKE IT LOOK KINDA BAD IN HINDSIGHT.....#and then i told him i keep a list of phrases that tickle my brain so i can remember to use them in conversation and apparently#most ppl dont do that bc he was like ???? stop doing that??? just let the conversation flow naturally it sounds fake>????#idk man i feel like if i did that and blurted out 'i forgot people find stuff like underwear arousing for some reason' instead of#smth like 'i wonder what kind of ppl find this kind of stuff the bees knees' like i normally do. it would. not go so well.#ALSO THE FLOW CHARTS ARENT NORMAL? i make flow charts before i call the bank or smth so i know what to say#its not just to blend in its also so i dont waste ppls time going uhhhhh as i think of how i put smth into words#its called stalling for time and i dont care if i have to say smth like thats just how the cookie crumbles if it gives me#5 more seconds to process whatever the fuck someone said without letting them think im not paying attention#doodles#diary#sona#puppysona#comics
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17 December 1975 / 15 May 1976
#hp#marauders#sirius black#regulus black#black brothers#sirius black fanart#regulus black fanart#marauders fanart#the black brothers#marauders era#my art#black borthers angst#mine#sirius and regulus#jsyk what you see there in the background actually is the sky you would see on the above dates from islington#i specifically chose the dates cause sirius wouldnt be visible anymore at that point#and he could have totally run away already by that point being 16 and all#also because i am such a nerd who has to get things correctly that is actually more or less the view you would have from claremont square#grimmauld place#took me for fucking ever to find some good references above the roofs and i still had to improvise a lot#originally i had an inbetween slide with regulus watching james and sirius walking together having fun in the great hall#but i didnt do more than just a very rough sketch of that it somehow didnt fit sorry#(also i am still not 100% happy with especially the first one but ive tried so long to fix it i eventually had to give up...)
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COME REST YOUR BONES NEXT TO ME ; SATORU GOJO, SUGURU GETO
synopsis; satoru shares the first snowfall of the year with the two people he loves most.
word count; 4.6k
contents; satoru gojo/reader/suguru geto (poly relationship!!), gn!reader, you're all whipped, reader referred to as spouse, fluff fluff fluff!!, sickeningly domestic, just comfy vibes all around, mostly from satoru’s pov, suguru has a favorite (its you) (but also not really he just likes bullying toru <3), satoru gojo may or may not have unresolved mommy issues
a/n; happy satosugu holidays to those who celebrate <33 geto died today isnt that crazy. dont u think its fucked up how love figuratively and literally killed him. anyway! help urself to two very whipped husbands <33
”holy shit!”
the raspy tilt of satoru’s voice echoes throughout the bedroom, stirring you from your comfortable slumber. a soft groan spills from suguru’s lips, deep and husky, as he pulls you closer into his embrace — smoothing a warm palm down the back of your head. trying to soothe you back to sleep, muttering under his breath.
”satoru, it’s too early for this...”
”it’s snowing!” said man continues, unperturbed. unmistakably giddy. he’s standing by the window, hands pressed flush against the cold glass; entirely entranced by the sight in front of his cerulean eyes.
your eyelids begin to flutter. a tiny tug of your subconscious, a pang of something excited flowing through your veins, an alert to your sleepy brain.
(snowing.)
with groggy movements, you wriggle out of suguru’s grasp — a displeased grumble leaves his throat, almost a whine — allowing you to scramble out of bed. ”really?” you chirp, rubbing the sleep from beneath your eyes. a raspy, meek little voice spilling into the air.
satoru grins, watching you move closer, watching as a tiny gasp pushes past your lips. watching as your droopy eyes widen — brightening, glittering, starlight and snowflakes painted on the interior of your iris. a breathtaking sight, he thinks.
maybe even more breathtaking than the winter wonderland reflected in it; beyond the pure opaque frosting of the window’s glass, out into your backyard, buried beneath a thick layer of snow. soft and fluffy, covering the city, suguru’s long-frozen tulip garden, the bare branches of your apricot tree. every roof in sight. all of it dyed a pure white, glittering in the light of a morning sun yet to fully rise, tiny snowflakes descending down to earth.
it’s beautiful.
satoru loves winter. he always has, he thinks. it comes to him as a memory — blurred at the edges, gleaming even still, the first time he saw those snowflakes up close. someone held him in their arms, he recalls. a warmth long faded.
all he can properly remember is that sight. one that knocked the breath from out his tiny lungs, all glitter and something almost other-worldly, something frightening in its majesty. like it broke through a rift in the stratosphere.
the first snow of the year.
and he’s loved it ever since; the soft crunch of snow beneath his feet, an air heavy with the scent of cinnamon and candied apples, bouts of laughter to be heard from faraway apartments. red and green glimmers of artificial light, sweet frosting on the christmas cake he would always gobble up alone in his room. the cold wind, nipping at his bare fingers — a reminder of his capacity for ache.
there are lots of things to love. lots of memories to cherish. and every single year, he gets the chance to make more.
like this; the light in your eyes, the smile on your face, the excitement in how hurriedly you turn to meet his giddy gaze. a nostalgic kind of joy simmering in the space between you.
and before either of you know it, satoru’s pulling you towards the hallway, intent on dragging you outside to see it all up close. almost tripping over his agumon plush, lying unassumingly on the floor, kicked off the bed once again.
(probably by satoru himself, though he’ll always insist it was suguru’s doing. overcome by his jealousy, surely, unable to stand the sight of his cute husband cuddling up to a plushie instead of him. satoru understands, he does — he feels the same when he sees you hug that 3’0 cat plushie of yours.
and, sure, maybe once or twice he’s been lucid enough to register the subconscious kick of his leg and agumon’s subsequent fall to the floor — but he’ll still blame suguru in the morning. if only to see the way said man rolls his eyes, clicks his tongue, maybe flicks his forehead if he’s really lucky.)
high on the spirit of christmas, spurred on by childlike elation and sleep-deprivation, you stumble towards the door. satoru pulls one of his jackets over your shoulders, delighting in the way your hands don’t fully reach through the sleeves. wrapping you up in a cozy scarf when suguru shouts at you both to dress warmly, barely awake and already tired of your antics.
and the moment you step through the door, satoru is engulfed by it. that mystical, mystical feeling.
a little lonely, a little too satisfying to pass up. a cold breeze that nips at his fingertips, snowflakes that brush against his cheeks and stick to his white lashes. a warm hand in his, as you cling to his side, shuddering — but smiling, as you look up at the sky, putting a hand out just to feel the snowflakes melt against the skin of your palm.
he feels you let go of him, but doesn’t mention it. a little too mesmerized to tug you back. dipping his toes into the bittersweet nostalgia of it all, staring at the flurry of white all around you, the skeletal branches of your apricot tree. suguru’s poor tulips. humming a jolly tune, subconsciously. a little delighted.
— until something cold and wet hits the exposed skin of his neck.
satoru twitches, a chilling shudder trickling down his spine. the snowball just thrown at him begins to melt, droplets sticking to his nape, and he turns to you with a raise of his brow. a devilish grin on his lips, when he hears your muffled laughter, sees the crinkle of your eyes.
(you’re cute, he thinks. but you need to be humbled.)
”oh, so that’s how you wanna play?” he drawls, eyes gleaming with amusement. taking a step forward, reaching down to gather some snow in his palm. a wide grin on his glossy lips. ”fine by me.”
he's fast, but you act quickly, running towards the apricot tree with laughter in your throat. feeling the pitter patter of your heartbeat resound in your ears, as the snowball misses its mark by just a hair — and you waste no time in making your own.
it’s a hard-fought duel. snowfall blocking your vision, nerves beginning to numb, red cheeks and runny noses as you chase each other with giddy breaths. unfortunately for you, satoru’s arms are unfairly long, fingers unfairly nimble, and his stamina never even seems to falter.
so before long, your energy begins to dwindle. chest heaving, hands too cold to form a proper snowball, while your husband seems like he hasn’t even broken a sweat. they just keep on coming, snowball after snowball colliding with the fabric of your jacket, and when one of them hits your collarbone you squeal — falling backwards, right into a fresh pile of snow.
satoru moves forward, a triumphant smirk on his handsome face. you’re out of breath, and your hands are red, and he’s fairly certain you’re gonna catch a cold. suguru’s going to scold him, but right now all he can think of is you. the frown you’re wearing, the little huff that slips from your lips.
”ready to admit defeat, sweetheart?” he practically purrs, standing above you with his hands on his hips. smug. and you grin right back.
”never.”
a hum. something glimmers in his eyes, a devious little glint, and you come to regret your decision when satoru gathers a heap of snow with his overgrown arms; only to drop it all on top of you. too tired to fight back, all you can do is shield your face, silently accepting your fate.
a shiver wracks through your body, and satoru almost feels bad. just a tiny bit. but then you finally relent, murmuring bitterly under your breath. ”fine, fine…” a soft pout forms on your lips. ”you win.”
and satoru smiles. crouching down to meet you at eye level, on his knees in front of you. there’s a teasing mirth in his eyes, when he reaches out to cup the fat of your cheek. ”that’s all i wanted to hear, sweet pea,” he drawls, trying not to giggle when you exaggeratedly roll your eyes.
his voice curls down an octave when he continues, leaning forward to brush his nose against yours. hot breath against your chilled skin. ”now, for my prize…”
his lips meet yours, sweet and chaste — a little cheeky. you scoff into the kiss, but satoru’s smile only grows. honeyed, a little bit adoring. his tongue flits out to lick at your cold bottom lip.
he lingers, for a bit. like he’s trying to savour the way you taste, faded strawberry chapstick sticking to his lips, smudged against your own. and you sigh, softly, melting a little, comforted by the fleeting warmth that blossoms on your face.
when he's finally satisfied, having dragged his prize out to its completion, satoru helps you up. brushing snowflakes off your jacket, cradling your ice-cold hands in his. they’re not faring much better, but a worried tug of his heartstrings compels him to warm you up. bringing them to his lips, hot breath fanning over your skin, tender little kisses against the knots of your knuckles.
you can’t help but blush, and a raspy chuckle flows from out his lips.
hazy morning sunshine licks at the branches of the apricot tree behind you, illuminating the contours of your face, the shine of his eyes. a blue smudge on a canvas painted white and gray. the air smells of pine cones and something smokey, crisp. it courses through his burning lungs when he inhales, exhales, a breath of vapour that scatters up into the sky.
satoru loves winter. always has. but now, he’s certain he loves it even more.
because now, he has two people to share it with. two people to drag out into the snow, two people whose hands he can tenderly warm up, two people who’ll laugh and sigh at his antics and still indulge him. two people to pelt with snowballs.
what more could a man want?
”hey, idiots!”
the voice that echoes throughout the air is exasperated, a little teasing. yet fond. suguru’s got his hair tied into a messy half done bun, black turtleneck sweater enunciating his broad chest and the curve of his waist. there’s a fatigue in his eyes, the creases of his face, but a lazy smile is playing at his lips.
”i’m making breakfast,” he shouts, voice deep and smokey and soft even still. ”come in and warm up before you catch a cold.”
”is that any way to speak to your husband and spouse?” satoru chimes back, a melodic lilt to his sugarsweet voice. something satisfied. pleased.
suguru shoots him an unimpressed look, but his eyes soften. melting a little, at the words that spill from satoru’s lips, as if they were always meant to be there.
(husband. spouse. suguru wills himself not to smile.)
with matching grins on your faces, the two of you stumble back towards the door. snow crunching beneath your feet, a happy noise pushing past your lips when you collide with the warmth of your husband’s chest.
”look, suguru. isn’t it pretty?” you chirp, smiling brightly. an expression he mirrors — brushing some snow from the top of your head, warm palms caressing your cold skin, setting a mental reminder to scold satoru later. sparing a brief glance at the snowy veil over reality.
then he exhales. a fond hum. ”it is.”
satoru joins you both by the door, stretching out his lanky limbs. tousled hair, wet strands sticking to his skin, reddened cheeks and a signature pout. ”suguru, my hands are cold,” he whines. ”warm ’em up for me?”
a click of his tongue. ”should’ve put some gloves on, satoru.”
a hum buzzes in your throat, and you put your hands out. itchy, a little dry. a sad frown tugs at your lips when you speak. ”my hands are also cold.”
and, like clockwork, suguru’s eyes soften. a coo tiptoeing on his tongue, engulfing your hands in his larger ones. ”aw, c’mere, my love…” his breath fans over your frozen fingertips. ”let’s get you warmed up, hm?”
satoru gasps, a hand on his chest, and you stifle a giggle. he’s acting, you both know, being a little drama queen. he knows you’re just exaggerating suguru’s double standard as a bit, that your husband would probably set himself on fire to warm either of you up.
despite that, his voice comes out thoroughly offended. ”oh, i see how it is,” he huffs, walking past the both of you. pouting deeply. ”you hate me. you hate me, and you want me to die. i understand.”
”satoru,” you coo. he hmphs, but stills, waiting for you to wrap your arms around him. and you do — a little too eager to appease your giant baby of a husband.
”we’re just joking around,” you assure him, holding back a humorous chuckle. squeezing his waist with palpable fondness. ”love you sooo much. you know that.”
satoru stays silent. but he cranes his neck, to meet suguru’s gaze, standing just behind him. narrowing his cobalt eyes — a meaningful look.
suguru sighs.
”yes, yes. we love you oh so much.” he takes a step forward, ruffling the white head of hair by the door. a lazy smile on his lips. ”now behave and go change out of your pyjamas. they’re soaked.”
his voice is teasing. exasperated, more than a little condescending. but it’s suguru, so satoru accepts it — following you both into the warmth of your home. the scent of cinnamon and vanilla hangs heavy in the air, a hint of espresso and firewood, lulling him into a sweet state of tranquility. rich with comfort, safety.
he changes out of his wet clothes, pulling a black hoodie over his head before waltzing into the kitchen. and you do the same, emerging from your bedroom in one of suguru’s cozy sweaters, knitted and smelling of bergamot.
when suguru notices, his gaze shifts into something fond. palpable. a look satoru always finds in the scope of those warm eyes, amber and cedar bleeding into something sweet, only ever directed at the two of you. a look said man assumes goes unnoticed. he’s not as slick as he thinks.
the kitchen simmers with hazy sunlight and gentle movements, something sleepy and kind. satoru is a little bit enamored with it; from bowls of cat food by the corner, to camellias by the windowsill, cookie jars and dried lemon slices, the fading scent of baked goods and wishlists stuck to the fridge.
(yours and satoru’s are filled with scribbles, new ideas popping up daily, while suguru’s is almost entirely blank; mostly necessities, one or two things he’d like for himself.
and then, of course, the same thing he writes at the top of his wishlist every year; some peace and quiet.)
suguru shuffles around the kitchen, long strands of black hair cascading down his back, swaying with his movements. he sends you both an affectionate glance when you step in, already in the process of making satoru his cup of hot chocolate — topped with marshmallows and whipped cream, colorful sprinkles in the shape of tiny stars, a touch of cinnamon. satoru licks his lips.
when it's finished, the cup is promptly handed to him, paired with a tender kiss to his forehead. and suguru starts the meticulous brewing of your coffee, steady hands, finely chosen coffee beans, the low purring of the espresso machine. soothing.
that’s when you attach yourself to his back. wrapping your arms around his waist, a sleepy yawn muffled into the fabric of his turtleneck. he places a big palm on your hand, thumb smoothing over your knuckle, and you nuzzle into him silently. suguru smiles.
”still sleepy, baby?” he questions, a coo on the tip of his tongue. his voice is soft, palpably so, buzzing with warmth and safety and something that makes you want to stay cuddled up to him forever.
satoru senses an opportunity to insert himself into the conversation, and forces out a yawn of his own. stretching his limbs like a big cat, blinking drowsily, eyelashes fluttering. hoping it’ll come off as endearing. ”mhm.”
but suguru shoots him an unimpressed look. ”not you,” he tuts, patting your arm, ”this baby. i wasn’t asking you.”
a pout. ”why are you so mean to me?” he whines, shooting you a doe-eyed look. bottom lip jutting out slightly, a feigned glassiness to his eyes. ”sweetie, tell your husband to stop being so mean to me.”
you smile. indulgent, as always. ”don't be so mean to him, suguru. you know he’s sensitive.”
a sigh. deep, tinged with exhaustion. satoru shares an amused look with you — stifling a shared chuckle at suguru’s exasperation.
and suddenly, he feels something warm flutter in his ribcage. a sunkissed butterfly, wings brushing against his ribs, coaxing his lips into curling up. unmistakable fondness, almost too much to bear. the need to reach out and touch you creeps up on him, a hunger he can’t deny, but he holds back; you look comfy like that, curled up against suguru’s spine. so he only inches closer, without a word.
his husband casts him a glance, but satoru stays silent. lips pursed, waiting for something. patient.
and suguru relents. he reaches a hand out, to tuck a stray strand of white hair behind his ear — an excuse to touch him. a silent apology.
(i'm sorry, you big baby.)
satoru grins.
you shift from foot to foot, leaning over to see what suguru is doing, pressing buttons and taking two ceramic cups out from a wall cabinet. your eyes zero in on a particular shelf, narrowing in suspicion, before flitting over to meet your husband’s gaze.
”satoru, did you use up all my peppermint sweeteners again?”
he stiffens. just a tad, before swallowing a gulp — followed by a silly chuckle, sheepish and performative, eager to wiggle his way out of your cold gaze. ”… which sweeteners do you mean, honey?”
”don’t pull the ’honey’ card.”
”and don’t play dumb, either.”
a pout crosses his lips. betrayed. ”suguru, who’s side are you even on?”
said man gives him a look. that one look, characteristically suguru, the same one he always sends satoru’s way. one so thoroughly unimpressed it makes him feel like the world’s biggest clown.
and satoru plays along. your dutiful, beloved clown, his posture wilting like a sad flower. suguru exhales through his nose.
”don’t steal their sweeteners.” he smooths a thumb over your knuckle, absentminded, meeting the cold metal of the ring on your finger. smiling a little at the sensation. ”buy your own.”
satoru huffs, drawn out and childish. crossing his arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. ”ah, i see how it is. leaving your sweet husband to buy his own sweeteners?” he clicks his tongue. ”chivalry is dead.”
you bite back a little chuckle — satoru recognizes the cute noise you make when you do — and suguru rolls his eyes. fondly, always. ”remind me next time i go to the store and i’ll consider it.”
”hmph.”
suguru is smiling. it’s small, but genuine, worth a thousand words. and you are, too, the vague crinkle of your eyes giving you away. even as you bury your face in the curve of suguru’s back.
and ah, satoru thinks. there it is again.
that sickeningly sweet sense of deja vu; the sensation of a certain something flourishing deep inside his chest. warming him up, trickling through his frost-bitten veins. that one little itch he never manages to satisfy, that never goes away, something that took root inside his heart years ago — watered by the sweet looks on your faces.
this everyday slice of heaven, right in front of him, that he’s been greedily partaking in ever since he moved in with you. since he married you.
(married.)
sometimes he still can’t believe it.
”it’ll be done in a minute,” suguru hums, and satoru blinks. broken out of his syrupy stupor. ”you two go wait by the kotatsu, okay? must be cold, poor babies.”
and, as always, his voice is a little teasing. a tiny bit condescending, if you really strain your ears, in typical suguru fashion. but it’s laced with a touch of sweetness; one that would be too much for either of you to stomach, if it were to drip out of his lips with nothing to water it down. so satoru accepts it. welcomes it, even.
and you follow his suggestion. making your way towards the living room, satoru trailing behind you, continuously enamored by every little thing he sees. every little piece of the home you’ve built for yourselves.
your living room is cozy. several potted plants seated here and there, a thick quilt to cover the kotatsu, a bowl of satsumas on top of it. a sleepy cat on your couch, golden sunshine ruffling her fur. a santa hat lies beside her, and satoru snags it without much thought. pulling it over his head.
his gaze shifts to the christmas tree over in the corner, eyes filling with a childlike kind of wonder. it’s decorated to completion, weighed down by colourful ornaments and lights, a star at the very top. suguru cut it himself, bringing the biggest and prettiest one he could find back home.
(satoru had gone with him. partially to help carry it back, mostly to get a glimpse of suguru's biceps flexing with the swing of the axe. he’s a simple man.)
and beneath it, presents are already beginning to pile up. carefully wrapped, in bows and silken paper, growing more each day. shattering suguru’s hopes of maybe having a more lowkey christmas this year — but satoru couldn’t be more relieved. this is the only time of year you let him get away with pampering you both to his heart’s content.
a smile blooms on his lips. he plops down on the floor, crossing his legs, right as suguru walks in with a coffee pot in hand. their gazes overlapping.
and something mischievous begins to brew within the blue of his eyes, something that makes suguru narrow his own. satoru pats his thigh, twice, a coo on the tip of his tongue. santa hat sitting pointedly on top of his head, fluffing up his hair.
”c’mere, suguru! sit on santa’s lap.”
”— you’re disgusting.”
the words are playful, but a pout still slips into the curve of satoru’s lips, and he huffs out a displeased little breath. his husband pretends not to hear it, so satoru turns to you — sitting so prettily to his right, already anticipating his next move. puppy dog eyes on full display, he gives you a soft tilt of his head, snowy tufts of hair falling over his eyes.
and you sigh, in what he knows is resignation. his faux pout turning into a satisfied grin.
you curl up in satoru’s lap without much of a fuss, letting him circle his arms around you. an indulgent smile rests on your lips, but he knows you love this; his broad chest against your back, the heat of the kotatsu warming your feet. breathing in the fading scent of your shampoo, he leaves a peck on the sensitive spot right behind your ear, and you try not to shudder.
then satoru smiles. squeezing you, lightly, sweetly, eyes rich with honeyed affection. voice dripping with playful endearment. ”there we go,” he coos. ”what does my angel want for christmas, hm?”
”i want you to stop stealing my peppermint sweeteners,” comes your answer. instantaneous.
silence fills the room. a moment passes. outside your frosted windows, a bird takes flight from the branches of your apricot tree. and satoru clicks his tongue.
”… santa can only do so much, baby.”
two deep scoffs fill the air, heavy and bemused. one from you, one from suguru. satoru only giggles.
”just kidding!” he chirps, planting a kiss on the top of your head. ”don’t you worry. santa’ll give you all the peppermint sweeteners you could ever want.”
you raise a brow, exhaling amusedly. craning your head to meet his gaze. ”and he won’t end up using them all himself?”
”of course not! blasphemy.”
a moment passes.
”… maybe one or two. as a treat.”
a string of protests slips from your lips, and satoru tries not to burst into a fit of giggles. suguru just watches, silently, smiling lightly as he pours hot coffee into two ceramic cups. steam wafting up to the ceiling, a cat jumping down from the couch to curl up in his lap. he places one in front of you, not taking a single sip of his own until he hears you hum blissfully at the taste — pink lips against white ceramic. a bitter taste on his tongue, sweetened by your approval.
then he starts peeling three satsumas, absentmindedly, and satoru swallows down the love-ridden honey choking up the back of his throat. pretending the domesticity of such a simple action doesn’t melt his heart down to the marrow.
he turns his attention towards the window. frost sticking to the glass like spider-woven webs, soon to be melted by the glow of the mellow winter sunrays. flitting in through the curtains, cascading over the room, splattering across the floorboards. framing the hue of your hair, the smile on suguru’s lips.
and a memory comes to him. sudden, hazy, faded at the edges. ghosting his subconscious.
he remembers the frost, the biting wind, the frightening majesty of the snow that fell that day. breaking into his world through a rift in the stratosphere. he remembers the contrasting warmth of the person who held him, who cradled him close; the soft lull of a woman’s voice.
for a moment, satoru thinks he can almost, almost see it before him. hear those gentle words, see her tired smile. why was she always so tired?
(look, satoru. isn’t it pretty?)
— he can’t recall how it sounded. if it was melodic and soft, or raspy and broken, happy or sad. but he does recall that it made him feel safe. safe enough to find comfort in a sight so other-worldly, so very foreign.
it should’ve been frightening, but it wasn’t. the first snowfall satoru ever saw knocked the breath from out his lungs, stole his heart with cold hands, left him with a suffocating nostalgia. but the memory is precious.
and now, he feels that sense of other-worldliness in this; a kotatsu for three, a warm house, peeled satsumas and promises of a christmas cake soon to be baked. one lovely spouse in his lap, the other gazing at him with that fond look he always assumes goes unnoticed. a cocoon of safety — a ghost he doesn’t need to chase anymore.
warmth. enough warmth to make up for the snow and frost outside your home, all the experiences he missed out on as a child. warmth, warmth, warmth. funny, how that happens to be satoru’s favorite thing about winter.
he looks at the two of you, hoping you won’t pay any mind to his silence. for once, he hopes you’ll stay wrapped up in your awful, awful coffee, so bitter that just looking at it makes his throat feel dry. just so he can get away with admiring you for a little longer. from the contours of suguru’s face, to the skin of your collarbone, to the rings on your fingers. ones he put there himself.
and ah, satoru thinks, there it is again. again and again, as always, forever. that warm, warm feeling flourishing in the depths of his chest.
he hopes it never goes away.
#genuinely fucked up that suguru geto isnt in my kitchen rn </3#i just think sugu is such a caretaker. makes u breakfast and peels ur satsumas w/o u even asking. bc it makes him happy :’3 hes so Mother#i think he lowkey gets just a little bit uncomfortable when u or gojo try to do the same for him… he likes doting on u#but obv he deserves to be pampered too!! just gotta ease him into it#and i think gojo has a hole in his heart where love should be. bc he wasnt given enough as a child#im not sure what to think when it comes to his parents (since we know literally nothing abt them) but...#the idea of him finding some comfort in the memory of his mom…. maybe not realizing that he misses her…..… i think its very sad. and good.#listened to ricky montgomery while writing this i think it mightve healed me#geto suguru x you#geto suguru x reader#geto suguru x y/n#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x you#gojo satoru x y/n#gojo x reader#geto x reader#geto x reader x gojo#gojo fluff#geto fluff#satosugu x reader#satosugu x you#satosugu x y/n#jjk fluff#jjk x reader#……… thats… a lot of tags.
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are. are you telling me that if the romanced mage warden dies and alistair is king, he deadass stares greagoir down over her dead body and grants the circle of ferelden its autonomy after ordering it rebuilt somewhere safer. first you have to deliberately leave him behind so he won't die for you and then he does that for you once you're gone, even when you're broken up??? absolute and literal king behaviour of the highest order????? the actions speak louder than words of it all??????? I think I hauve covid
#that's the hottest thing I've ever heard I feel nuts#what an absolute chad alistair continues to be tbh there may be a day when men fail but it will not be when he's here#like I'm very sorry to the blond chantry boy repeat crowd but cullen could & would NEVER!!! they are NOT the same!!!!#dragon age#dragon age origins#alistair theirin#alistair x warden#can u imagine what it must be like to be irving standing there watching this happen. you're free and your kid is dead. congrats#tried to free her from the circle and she's the sacrificial lamb that bought the circle's freedom instead. fuck dude#it does make for a very sad kind of symmetry that every time irving tries to get clever with it he triggers a monkey's paw situation fhdskj#I am replaying the game with my new canon (mistress amell + king alistair to save him from the da:i fade choice lol)#and in doing research I found out about this and had my world rocked. I've never had my warden die before so this is new to me#(my warden isn't dying in this canon to be clear she's going to be the reason no one would dare assassinate king alistair lol#nightmare bae eminance gris behind the throne/loving and supportive partner with a fade connection and a vengeful side#she's going to be like sam vimes tiredly fending off assassins as the watch books go on except she murders a lot more people back)#the way his voice breaks in the version where they were broken up tho... sick and twisted and mean to me specifically
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a glass sun 1/2
#my art#my stuff#this is really fucking long so im gonna have to break it up into multiple reblogs#(howling) WAUGHHHHHHH#i love aishang by xiaoshiguniang#i love to implicate my alma mater in my art about being gay in the shittiest most conservative corner of singaporean society#by some terrible trick of fate i ended up in the conservative chinese christian cishet circuit from primary school to end of hs#obviously i am not most of these things but there i was. Depressed#and there i was after that at Liberal Arts College. the 4 years i spent there were a clusterfuck#but like a good and outrageous and lively clusterfuck#and i graduated in may this year and when i came back it was for the first time in 10 months. it was like. what da hell#like i love being here in specific ways but there is also the pain of being seen as something you're not constantly#can i blame them? i ask myself this every day. for most of my ex classmates and relatives i Am the only not cis person they know#idk my lottery number was bad this corner of society really is that bad#and so its like. idk dawg anyway i aint offering solutions but u get it like it fucks with your head to be misgendered either which way 24/#but to leave them behind would be to leave the only people who knew me for the first 19 years behind. and thats a lot of my life#i am 23!!!!!! ough#anyway. whatever. if u liked it i have a ko-fi#reblogos appreciated
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one of the biggest lies social media has ever sold you is that you can’t be prejudiced against a minority if you’re part of that minority
queers can be homophobic
trans people can be transphobic
black folks can be anti-black
disabled people can be ableist
jews can be antisemitic
we all have biases to unlearn
all this to say, i would love if we could kill the idea that just because you have a few people from a minority endorsing your behavior or ideology doesn’t mean that your behavior/ideology isn’t fundamentally flawed or even bigoted towards that minority
tokenizing doesn’t become good just because it’s for something you agree with
#antisemitism#leftist antisemitism#the left has reminded me a lot of the ‘blacks for trump’ crowd with its tokenism lately#think i fucked up with the double negatives but people have already reblogged this so 🤷 oh well
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