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queenie-ofthe-void · 1 month ago

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Steddie soulmate drabble (shared pain) || 3.9k words || rating: E || tags: homophobic slurs, period-typical homophobia, physical and emotional distress, panic attacks, Canon-divergent soulmate AU, Eddie Munson Whump, Steve Harrington Whump, one brief sex scene (so so brief) between Steve and the girl he brought to the basketball game in S4

Eddie experienced his first soul pain at twelve years old. Younger than most, but not worryingly so. The concern was the intensity of the pain. His momma held him tight, shushed him as he cried about how he feels all alone, doing her best to reassure him that loneliness wasn’t his and that she would never hit him. She held the frozen bag of peas to the blossom of red on his soft, round cheek and rocked him until he fell asleep in her arms.

The pains continued, giving him headaches on and off for years. He always wondered what his Half was going through for Eddie to have this much soul pain before puberty, but he grew used to it, stashing tiny vials of aspirin in his backpack or jacket pocket. The intensity was never as bad as the first time, eventually decreasing to a dull ache when they cropped up. His momma told him stories about people who could temper their pain to spare their other half, a difficult feat for even adult souls who’d spent years bound together. It was more likely the pain for his other half was dulling over time. He hoped it was true, but couldn’t push away the uneasiness he felt lying in bed each night and knowing the feeling wasn’t his.

Eddie was fourteen the first time he felt his own pain connect to his Half. Daddy called him a fag and locked him in his room for the weekend with nothing but the snacks and water bottle in his backpack. Unlike a sharp slap or the break of a bone, the pain of hunger was slow to build. Eddie still felt the tell-tale pop in the back of his mind as his stomach cramped. Unexpectedly, he also felt something almost akin to surprise riding the coattails of the pain. When the surprise faded into a distant comfort, he couldn’t object. Eddie knew this wasn’t normal, and decided from then on out to keep his soul pains a secret.

After his momma died, and his daddy grew drunk and violent, Eddie couldn’t stop his pain from connecting like he knew his Half could. Even after he’d moved in with Wayne, everything from the smallest shove to hushed slurs passed through the invisible bond, and even though pain connections can’t be controlled, most people only sent their most intense pains. It felt like he sent everything. Any little thing that set him off, the signature crack followed by soft comfort settled in his mind.

The only consolation was that he felt less and less of his Half’s pain. Eddie wished that’d meant his Half was happy, with no pain to speak of. Between the dullness of the sensations when he happened to notice, and the immediate comforting response he received at his own suffering, he doubted that was it.

At sixteen Eddie had started looking into what it meant to experience some sort of response after connections, but couldn’t find anything in the low budget collection of soulmate information at Hawkins’ Public Library. Most likely on the banned book list, he figures, since that’s something kids are supposed to learn at home.

Eddie couldn’t help wondering if the stories about Empaths were real. Rare, with absolutely nothing to do with pairings, it’s rumored Empaths experience the emotions of anyone physically close to them, but more importantly, are able to control the intensity of their own emotions and pain as how it’s experienced through their bond. Eddie’s couldn’t find anything about actually sending feelings through the bond as some kind of response. But like with his Daddy, he knows what happens after asking too many questions, so he keeps it to himself.

Eddie’s almost eighteen when there’s an intense, piercing crack behind his eyes. He’d been on his way back from the picnic table out behind school when the sudden pain had him curled up on the forest floor completely out of breath. It took him a few moments to get his bearings back, but he managed to walk to the van and get home.

Wayne made him soup that night, let him put whatever he wanted on TV as long as he held the bag of peas over his bruised eye. At least it was light in color, barely noticeable, and would most likely fade by morning. However it was only a few hours later when shot off like a bullet from the couch, falling to the carpet on his hands and knees. He could hear Wayne saying something to him, could feel the gentle circling of his uncle’s hand on his back. None of it mattered.

Eddie was filled with adrenaline. He’d never had a panic attack before, but his heart pounded as his breaths came in short spurts, the pungent fear squeezing his stomach. His hands vibrated and he clutched the carpet in a white knuckle grip to stave the phantom sensation. After what felt like hours, entirely wrung-out, Wayne let him have two shots of whiskey before climbing into bed.

It was quiet for another year. Unless, of course, he counted his own soul pains that crossed over, which he tried not to. Eddie’s emotions felt more in control of him than the other way around. Pressed into lockers, a scuffle at the picnic table with Hagan, being roughly kissed and then immediately knocked to the ground by Hargrove. It all connected. He tried to temper it, to be strong like his Half, but he always failed. Eddie was a coward, too scared to handle his pain alone. Like clockwork, the warm reassurance of love was quick to follow.

It was November 1984 the first time Eddie thought he was going to die. The panic set in, but unlike a year ago, it didn’t go away. He paced the living room, violently wiping tears from his face because even though the pain wasn’t his, the distress was so palpable he broke into cold sweats. Eddie did everything he could to think of to stave off the adrenaline– jumping jacks, whipping his hands around like a mad-man, screaming his voice hoarse.

Uncle Wayne suggested exercise, reminding him most athletes’ Half’s were people with an abnormal intensity of emotions and chronic pain, since it helps them process the constant stream of excess energy. So for the first time in Eddie Munson’s life, he went for a run.

They started out at a jog, but it wasn’t enough. It felt worse than curling into himself on the ground like a pillbug. The only relief he felt was at a dead sprint, able to focus on the burn of his underutilized muscles. They ran until the adrenaline trickled from his system, and as always, was followed with love and comfort.

Halfway through their third lap around the park, an intense dread hit Eddie so abruptly he fell to his knees and vomited. They’d just made it back inside when Eddie’s vision went white. He came to only a few moments later, as Wayne hauled him across the kitchen and dropped him onto his bed. He held his mouth closed tighter than a vise, keeping every sob and groan deep inside himself to stop it from exploding out of him. Worried he wouldn’t be able to stop sobbing once he started. Wayne watched in horror as purple bloomed across Eddie’s face in real time, like a dye spreading under the skin. He placed a cold, wet cloth over his nephew’s eyes.

Early into the morning, once the crying stopped, the migraine leveled out, he followed his uncle out onto the front porch to share a joint. The swelling in both eyes went away after two days, and he went back to school as usual.

He noticed Harrington looked pretty fucked up, definitely worse than Hargrove. A panicked, fleeting part of Eddie’s brain worried Hargrove could be his Half, but he knew better. There’s always at least some amount of chemistry and attraction between soulmates, and all he needed was the one, ill-fated kiss to remind him his Half was still out there. Kudos to The King’s Half, however. If The Hair himself wasn’t at the hospital, then his Half surely would be. With a face like that, he can only imagine the pain Harrington’s soulmate had to manage during that fight.

It’s the fourth of July, and it’d been almost eight months since the last time he experienced this level of pain. Not his own, of course. No it never seemed to be his own when he’s left gasping for air, nails clenched into Wayne’s hand in the back of an ambulance they can’t afford.

He felt the bruises explode across his face, on his sides, behind his eyes. A sharp stab of pain in his neck lit up every nerve in his body. The howl ripped from him was grotesque, animalistic. His back arched up from the bed, thrashing his limbs into the metal bars of the stretcher until the medics did their best to restrain him. A pinch on the back of his hand. The world started to slow until he was wrapped in heavy darkness.

Four days later there were still yellow, mottled stains on the sides of his ribcage and dark bags under his eyes. A routine of Tylenol during the day and painkillers from his own stash at night helped. Every night, Eddie layed in bed and silently cried. Their pain mixed now and the thought haunted him as much as it comforted. He only wished he could help his Half the same way they always soothed him.

The guilt of his failure to help ate away at him, so it connects. Of course Eddie couldn’t control his emotions enough to spare the person who’s actually hurting, injured with no pain meds to help them, if Eddie had to guess. To top it all off, the cherry on the shit cake was that there's still the warm comfort at the back of his mind. His Half was living in excruciating pain, yet used what little energy they had left to help him with his.

Eventually, Eddie had asked Wayne about different types of connections between Halfs. Not surprisingly he knew a bit more about it than the library, and didn’t hit him for it like his Daddy.

“Each Half is meant to balance out the whole. Most people live somewhere near the middle, mild pain and mild emotional distress.” Eddie nodded, rapt with attention as Wayne continued. “But there’s always gonna be people at the fringes, the extremes. Like how I told ya about athletes usually being paired to trauma survivors. Why d’ya think you’re always so damn depressed after your incidents?” When Eddie had mentioned the soothing presence, Wayne had replied, “yep, sounds like an Empath,” like it was nothing to be ashamed of.

“Wait,” Eddie interrupted, “so the only reason I’m so emotional is because my half is an Empath? Or is it because they get hurt all the time. And if I'm so emotional, does that mean they're athletic?” Questions flooded his mind before Wayne cut him off.

“Could be because you were so young for your first connection. Could be because the severity of their pain made you feel it more. Or, maybe you were born that way, made that way for each other– destiny and all that.”

The pain lessened. The comfort remained. And Eddie felt the whisper of love each morning he woke up and every night before he fell asleep.

~~~ ~~~

Hands underneath Brenda’s shirt, her tongue moving across his bottom lip, anticipation glistens across Steve’s open chest as he grinds down into her. She moans into the kiss and runs her finger tips over his shoulders, grazing her nails down his back. Goosebumps erupt over his skin. He’s panting into her open mouth when his thrusts turn erratic, desperate and rushed. Her legs wrap around him, she crosses her ankles to pull him in closer and a moan crawls from the depths of his chest. His abs clench, hurtling towards his climax when he’s interrupted by the signature pop of a soul pain behind his eyes.

A cold sweat travels down his spine, adrenaline punching him in the gut. Horror claws Steve’s throat, he can’t seem to catch his breath as he hurriedly pulls out of her and falls to the floor. She’s saying something he can’t make out through the screaming urge to leave, run, hide. With enough faculties to grab his clothes on the way out, he dashes into the night where the chilled March air cools his sweat soaked skin. Distress clouds his mind on the drive home, so he pushes comfort, pleading with them to relax, breathe. The pain fades, but only slightly.

The next day, Steve parks outside of a boat house. He doesn’t know Eddie Munson well, outside of the table top tirades and the glowing accolades from Dustin, Lucas, and Mike. They’ve never been friendly, even sometimes slightly antagonistic when Munson’s not satisfied with ranting about the government and decides he needs an actual face to point the finger at. No one better than The King, apparently.

Steve played the role of snotty royalty to appease his shitty friends, but Eddie’s rants were contagious and always left Steve buzzing and manic. Of course Steve had thought about it before. Let himself wonder if his Half was some nice, pretty suburban girl, or if his Half was actually a crazed super senior he had absolutely nothing in common with. It was easier to consider the residual energy just a side effect of being an Empath, and not because he could actually feel Eddie’s emotions in his own subconscious.

Robin told him about a Zine where she’d read it was possible for Empaths to absorb emotions from people in the same physical space as him, but they would have to be very close by and the emotions much stronger than normal. Which, in Steve’s mind, explained Munson to a tee. The guy always made sure to wander across the jock’s table, where his emotions were highest, typically with annoyance and disdain. Did Eddie’s eyes linger a bit longer on Steve than Tommy or the other athletes? Maybe. Maybe not. Steve did his best not to think about it too much.

Right now, with the tip of a broken bottle grazing his neck, he’s failing miserably at not thinking about it. Panic seeps out of every pore in his body. Adrenaline chokes him like it had the night before, but this time it’s from both himself and his Half. It’s too much. Steve can’t focus, can’t hear anything Dustin’s saying. There’s a sharp poke, then a trail of wet on his neck, and Eddie gasps. His grip loosened just enough for Steve to tilt his head away, readjusting his hold on Eddie’s sleeve, where his fingers accidentally brush against cold, pale skin.

The panic gives way to euphoria. Steve breaks out into a fit of giggles, and morphs into hysterical laughter. He sounds completely unhinged, now doubled-over and furiously wiping his misted eyes with his free hand. Because his other hand has clamped itself around Eddie’s small wrist. The fizzing sensation like tiny bubbles flows from where they’re joined. The tingles climb his arm, root into his chest, and sprout in the back of his mind.

Steve’s overcome with the hiccups. Robin’s rubbing small circles into his back and he works towards matching his breaths to her counts. It’s enough to pull his focus back to reality.

He is Steve Harrington. He’s in Reefer Rick’s boat house with Robin, Dustin, and Max. The Upside-Down is probably back. Something wet drips down his neck. The dock is rough beneath his knees, even through the denim. His back aches where it hit the wall. And Eddie Munson is his Half.

Eddie is crying. Steve registers the shock, the guilt, the despair at the back of his mind. Eddie’s guilt– iit’s always guilt. It dulls his own joy, but just a little.

Tentatively, Steve pushes comfort. To his delight, Eddie gasps again. His big, dark eyes lock onto his, and Steve can’t help but smile. He knows now isn’t the time to talk, that there’s so much more happening to Eddie than just finding his soulmate in a rundown boathouse on the edge of town. But they’ve come so far, been through so much that Steve decides they can spare a moment, just for them.

He cups the back of his hand behind Eddie’s neck before releasing his wrist, unwilling to lose contact, and guides his Half into his lap. The guilt spikes. Steve knows Eddie doesn’t want to be here, with him, on some level. But Eddie crawls between his legs, pushes his face into Steve’s neck and inhales. The crush of Steve’s grip calms him, and panic eventually subsides. It’s quiet. Steve looks to find Robin corralling the kids towards the door. She throws him a thumbs up as she closes it behind her.

He pushes to her too, and he feels her relax in return.

Eddie mumbles something, but it’s muffled into his neck. Steve leans back as he scruffs his Half’s hair, pulling him away just far enough to make eye contact. The poor boy still hasn’t stopped crying. Steve’s still pushing, pushing love into him.

“I’m sorry. Steve, I’m so sorry,” Eddie sobs. Steve watches as Eddie rubs his dripping nose on the sleeve of his leather jacket, the snot smearing with the drag instead of absorbing into it. Steve uses his own free arm to wipe Eddie’s nose for him which earns him a pinched expression and a small, awkward chuckle. “That was disgusting.”

Steve smiles. “I’ve seen worse.”

Eddie’s eyes dart away, and guilt spikes again. Steve gently swipes his thumb under his eyes to catch the stray tears. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on in there.” He taps on the back of Eddie’s head.

“You– you’ve been through so much. Like, so much awful shit, Steve, and I don’t even know. I just–” Eddie pauses, scrubs his hands over his face until Steve pulls one away, slowly guides it toward the side of his own neck–skin to skin– places the tip of Eddie’s thumb in the cradle of his jaw. Momentarily entranced, Steve squeezes the back of Eddie’s neck again to regain his focus.

“You just, what, Eddie? You’re going to be ok, just tell me.” He pushes. Eddie shudders, the effect intensified with proximity.

“See! That, exactly that. You always comfort me when I need it. When my dad kicked me out, anytime Wayne and I argued, every time I got shoved into someone’s locker. You were always there, just wrapping me up in love. Which is such fucking shit.” Eddie’s cold huff of laughter is wet and self-deprecating and Steve hates it. Doesn’t have to feel it in the back of his skull to know Eddie’s full of misery. “All I could ever give you back was shit. Just anger, frustration, depression and fucking teenage angst. I tried so hard to hold it back, like I knew you could. I tried so fucking hard, Steve, to send you anything good, like you always did for me. And all you got was my bullshit.”

Steve’s own eyes water as Eddie dissolves back into a fit of sobs. He tucks his Half’s head back into his neck as he rocks them back and forth. Struggling with his own thoughts, Steve chooses each word slowly and carefully. “Eddie, I felt everything. Your happy moments might not have been as strong as your bad, but they were still there. Like how I know Hellfire plays Friday nights, and I always thought I felt great on Friday nights because I finally got a break from the kids. Or how my best games were always after you’d do your little cafeteria table speeches, because it filled me with so much energy I would practically vibrate. Every single day, I’d feel little pops of bubbles that could only be you. You were always the best part of my bad days, Eddie.”

He feels raw, laid bare and exhausted as Eddie looks up to stare at him, lips parted in disbelief. “You knew? You knew it was me the whole time?” His voice croaks, and Steve makes a mental note to get him some water when they leave.

Smiling, he grazes Eddie’s sweat and snot and tear-soaked bangs off his forehead. “I had a hunch. I just–”

“Just what?” The swell of heat behind Steve’s eyes pinpoints Eddie’s anger, rejection, and more guilt. Always guilt. “You were just hoping you could go as long as possible without mentioning it. Hoping maybe you were wrong, and your soulmate wasn’t the satan-worshiping, drug dealing Freak of Hawkins?”

With one hand still woven into the hair at the nape of Eddie’s neck, Steve uses his other hand to cover Eddie’s mouth, and he’s thrilled to discover his hands almost completely wrap around his head. He pushes hard again. Eddie squints, glaring at him over the ridge of Steve’s pinky finger, but Steve still feels him relax, so he counts it as a win.

“I didn’t want to drag you into my bullshit.” The pinprick sensation of curiosity heightens and he answers before Eddie can even ask. “You know exactly what bullshit. That’s why I’m the one who should be sorry. Fuck I can’t– I can’t imagine how all of that must’ve been for you. How painful it was, especially when you didn’t know what was happening, or why. You were forced to bear through all of my shit and just hope it would end.”

Eddie gently pried Steve’s hand from his mouth and eyed him warily before using Steve’s own sleeve to wipe at the boy’s tears. “Steve, what happened to you?”

Steve sniffles before he places a feather-light kiss to Eddie’s brow, reveling in a champagne pops of love and awe. “I’m sorry, baby, but probably the same thing that’s happening to you right now.”

A heavy silence settles between them. Steve feels a separate, more distant curl of anxiety in the back of his mind and knows they’re running out of time. Robin can only keep the kids distracted for so long. Steve pushes more comfort at her, receiving her expected impatience in return.

“Come on,” Steve says, rising to his feet and he reaches down to help Eddie up as well. “You can tell us what happened, and we’ll fill you in on the rest.” He takes Eddie’s hand as they walk towards the boathouse door. No use in forcing him to sleep here when Steve’s house is always empty.

“What about us?” Eddie’s voice is timid, but still hopeful.

(Continue for one-sentence hurt/no comfort)

Steve smiles, squeezing his Half’s hand before softly kissing his knuckles, cool metal rings grazing his chin. “After this is over, we’ll have all the time in the world.”

~~~

The pain is Eddie’s, sharp and piercing in places that bleed the most. It’s agony and it’s death, but he only feels a surge of love as he falls to darkness.

#not only can they feel each others' pain but they actually get each others injuries #couldn't help it with that last sentence and i'm not sorry about it #also i'm pretty proud that i kept it down to one sentence. i could've wrung that scene dry with how much angst I could suck out of it #i'm sick (again! wtf i feel like i was just sick)#steddie soulmate au #steddie fic #soulmate au #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things fic #steve's an empath #queeniewritesstories

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mintjeru · 7 months ago

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i've been streaming a blind playthrough of hollow knight to 2 groups of people for the past month and a half and i really wanted to share some of my favorite experiences ><

open for better quality | no reposts

#hollow knight #fanart #myart #doodle #as you can see. my fav npc's so far are myla. bretta. and quirrel #the nail master is there bc he was like my disciple i'm so proud of you!! is it ok if i call you my child? and i was like yes ofc!!!#for the internal monologue that is actually what it sounds like in a call w/ me when i'm fighting bosses on stream #when i first started playing i was like guys idk if this will be fun bc i mix up the buttons and might die often #and a few streams in they were like no no it's really fun to watch bc you're always like ayayayaya #anyway i recently defeated the watcher knights and i recorded the final kill (it was with the thorns which is pretty iconic imo)#i had so much i wanted to draw so i filled these pages really easily

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somnimagus · 1 year ago

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My page for @destinytriofanzine! I drew something about kids always dreaming of far off places

[id in alt!]

#kingdom hearts #kh #ahh this one was so hard to draw; i never know how to combine a bunch of scenes in one picture without it looking cheesy #just threw a bunch of waves and leaves and birds on top and called it a day haha. it might be a bit too busy though #the white line going up the center is supposed to be a trail left behind by the gummi ship! it connects to the ship in the bg at the top #it's kinda meant to evoke little kids dreaming of other places-> getting older and earnestly making the raft to try to reach the dream #->the gummi ship as a premonition of how they'd actually reach the dream in the future. i guess? idk how to explain #and i really wanted to have kairi's expressions be really similar but changing subtly from wonder to worry when she's older #the boys are just max enthusiasm the whole time #but yeah. something something Symbolism and hopefully it's at least kinda pretty if it doesn't make sense #i'm just super proud to have been part of this project! everyone's work is just amazing #the destiny kids give me this soft feeling of kinda lonely nostalgia. it's nice to have a book full of that #very wistful looking through it #fan art #my art #project stuff

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byfulcrums · 1 year ago

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Seeing people saying that Satoru doesn't actually care about Suguru and that the only reason Kenjaku caught him was bc he was surprised to see a person he killed alive is fucking wild, man

Like. Gojo's entire life revolves around Geto. The entire series happens because he loved Suguru too much to kill him, even though he knew he would have to do it eventually. The world literally went to shit because he wasn't over him

Geto Suguru's life would be completely unimportant to the story without Gojo Satoru, and Gojo Satoru's would be completely unimportant without Geto Suguru. They complement each other. They need each other

Two male betta fishes can't coexist. They will fight and one will die. They can't see each other — even if they're in different tanks, they won't be able to live. They'd eventually tire each other out, resulting in death. The only way for Satoru and Suguru's lives to be able to continue without the other would've been for them to never have met at all. And they can't be together. Not now, not ever again. Not while they're still alive. Not after everything that's happened

The entire story revolves around their relationship. Yuuji is a boy who ate a curse('s finger[s]), and Megumi is the prodigy who befriends him. Satoru is a prodigy, the strongest, and Suguru, the boy whose technique is eating curses, befriends him. The Jujutsu Kaisen story is all about parallels and they all connect to fucking Satosugu. It's all about them

The only reason Kenjaku's plan worked is because the body he used didn't belong to some random person Gojo killed, it worked because the body he used was Geto Suguru's, Gojo's one and only, his best friend. He must be thinking “Thank god they're gay” right now lmao

Gojo fucking hesitated. He hesitated multiple times when it came to Geto. He was supposed to kill him, yet he let him go. He has the Six Eyes, he could've easily tracked him down. He probably could tell if he was nearby (he can recognize Suguru from his scent) and just didn't go looking for him. And he could've so very easily escaped the trap that was set up for him, he was going to run away from it because we see him about to take that step but then Suguru's body shows up and says “Yo, Satoru!” with Suguru's voice and Satoru freezes and hesitates

They weren't able to let go of each other even after years of being separated (like a decade). When they meet, Suguru still greets Satoru warmly

Suguru is pretty much Satoru's moral code. He was the only person Satoru took at least mildly seriously pre-Toji (and we know Satoru just didn't do serious back then). He actually took his words to heart. He was kind, of course (especially from Suguru's PoV, since he's the person that knows him most), and not a bad person, but he wasn't nice. Suguru was always the ‘nice(r) one’, the one who actually had a moral code, while Satoru was more of an asshole to literally everyone and everything (some more, some less), thinking he and Suguru were above everyone else

When Suguru finally snaps (which, honestly. Fair) and goes genocidal (not so fair), Satoru slowly starts to be somewhat nicer and starts applying Suguru's old moral code to his own being — their roles weren't exactly reversed, but now they're not together anymore, so they might as well be. And Suguru was shown for having faith in the school and its system while it was Satoru the one who absolutely abhorred the higher-ups and all kinds of authority, but then it ended up with Suguru being the one to leave and become a cult leader with the blood of hundreds on his hands while Satoru was the one that stayed behind in the same place of the people he despises so much

(Imagine someone saying something like “Sometimes I doubt you even have a moral code” and Gojo answers with “Oh, my best friend my one and only is pretty much my moral code. He went homicidal a while back but it's okay haha” “...Actually, that explains a few things”)

Gojo doesn't have a god complex, but I wouldn't blame him if he did. I mean, he might as well be the closest thing to god human beings have ever seen. He used to put himself above everyone else, when he was a teenager. He thought that, the higher he was, the more he could do. And no one was better than him. But not Suguru. Back then, it wasn't “I'm the strongest” it was “We're the strongest and “We're the best” and “We're the ones that will beat you” and “We're the duo” and it was all about “us, us, us, us, us” instead of “me, me, me, me” like people thought it was — they were a pair. They still are

We know people thought and still think of Gojo as a weapon. As something that must be controlled, because on the moment he decides he doesn't want to be around them anymore, he could just straight up kill then without any effort (but getting rid of people in positions of power only gets other people in positions of power and it'll be a neverending story, and Gojo knows this so he's trying to do his best to fix it all through the younger generation, by letting them live). And we also know that Suguru is one of the very few people who did not believe that at all

Like their personalities and characters and stories and literally everything, their names complement each other. Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru are such similar names, I get them mixed up all the time (the amount of times I've called them “Gojo Suguru” and “Geto Satoru” is embarassing. Also, “Saturu”. “Goto”. “Gejo”. Ugh). Both of their last names start with a G, end with an O and have 4 letters. Both of their given names start with an S, end with an U and have 6 letters. They complement each other. They need each other

The only times we've seen Gojo with an expression of actual pure, raw emotion is when it's about Geto. When he finds out about what Geto did, when he realizes how thin and wrong Geto looks, when he sees him again for what we assume to be the first time in years, when he dies, when a thing wearing his corpse and using his voice greets him (“Yo, Satoru!” oh my god)

Suguru was able to fight back when in Kenjaku's control after Satoru said his name. Kenjaku himself says that had never happened before

And you don't even have to see them as romantic. You don't have to ship them if you don't want to. But you can't deny that they care about each other more than they will ever care about anyone else

#hey is it whose or who's #how do those words work???? english is so confusing sometimes smh #jujutsu kaisen #satosugu #they love each other your honor #jjk #jjk manga spoilers #kenjaku #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #geto suguru #suguru geto #gay #this is kinda long haha #but they deserve the longest of paragraphs #edit: i changed this a little bc my dumbass self said gojo had a god complex #i didn't actually know what a god complex is. mb #edit: i'm proud to say this is pretty much my best post

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leveragehunters · 10 months ago

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Back in ye olde small phone days, I had this little pouch that clipped to my backpack strap and it was so great - my phone and transit card (and mini Maglite, chapstick, earphones etc) were right there! No having to dig them out of my pack! But all joy is fleeting and when I upgraded my phone, it didn't fit. No more convenient pouch.

Except fast forward to now, in possession of both loom and sewing machine, and it hit me that I could just...make one that did fit. So I did!

I wove the cloth on the rigid heddle out of 4ply merino/silk and the bands on the inkle loom out of 8/4 cotton, grabbed some quilting cotton for the lining, and sewed them all up into a little zippered pouch.

A band runs up the back with a clip that clips to the D-ring, and I sewed velcro to the side bands to wrap around the strap and secure it in place. It holds my phone and everything else, right where I need them, and I'm so chuffed!

#weaving #fibre arts #I'm actually super proud of the cloth #I think it might be the best technical weaving I've ever done #i needed a thing so I made a thing!#it's a pretty good feeling #it's also going to be great not to have to take my pack off and dig stuff out #being able to sew stuff - even at this basic level - is very cool

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thatmexisaurusrex · 3 days ago

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Okay, I have a messy break up, make up exes falling back into sex fix-it one shot that I made for BuckTommy that's about 13K. Just need to edit it.

#bucktommy #911 abc #bucktommy fics #my process #behind the scenes #i'm actually pretty proud of this fic

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lynaferns · 2 years ago

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(EDIT: I’ve been seeing many people tag this as ‘fnaf sun’, just to let you know, this is actually an eclipse fanart/interpretation, sorry for the misunderstanding.)

I’ve decided that it’s finished (before I go insane)

I wanted to stack the last 3 images under a cut but I couldn’t make it work

I need to get better at coloring so I don’t waste so many details of the lineart... or get better at lineart so I don’t do so many details that will go to waste

#lyna arts #my art #artwork #ilustration #digital art #fnaf #fnafsb #fnaf security breach #fnaf eclipse #btw I'm really proud of those hands and the face #and the perspective #fun fact: I made the sketch of this after finding out that a family member said that they don't like my drawings because they think are ugly #(:#I think what they actually don't like it's the character #I used to draw pretty people but for the past two years I started experimenting with faces so

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thelunarsystemwrites · 1 month ago

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Envy isn't a meal.

a short, simple comic.

#Comic #envy #jealousy issues #Jealousy #I know I'm mad about 1000 other things so jealousy is the least of my problems but still #my art #art #“Art” is used loosely #Idk maybe someone will relate #Tw starving mention #Starving artist #Lxhhdkdhkgkd #Km #Idk it's venty?? Guys I actually feel pretty good right but I'm bored #Lol #Ant1 if you see this uhhh you made me feel actual proud of my AU so thank you :3

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bugganox · 5 months ago

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A third life Scott design concept for an animatic I probably will never finish - It was fun while it lasted :,)

#I do really like the non trippy Scott design #Like I'm actually pretty proud of the colors and shapes and stuff even though it is pretty messy and unfinished #maybe one day I will polish this #but probably not #anyways I figured I might as well post this anyways !!#mcyt #mcyt fanart #dangthatsalongname #scott smajor #scott major fanart #third life #third life fanart

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a-suspicious-number-of-ducks · 6 months ago

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Hermit-a-Day May Day 8: xBCrafted. Today's medium/style is pixel art + the NPC portraits from Stardew Valley. I have no idea if that suits xB at all, since I hadn't watched any of his content before today, and also I have only played like an hour of Stardew. So. I was kind of flying blind on this one, but I really enjoyed it regardless! (List of materials under the read more.)

References: I won't put the actual pictures here, since that would take up a ton of space, but I spent the most time staring at Alex, Gil, and Leah's portraits on The Spriters Resource, as well as xB's skin on NameMC. Also a picture of the actual guardian mob from Minecraft, specifically the tail (for his ear fins).

Materials: downloaded PNG of Abigail's portrait sprite from Spriters Resource (for the background, so I didn't have to copy it pixel by pixel); Krita.

#hermitaday #hermitcraft #hermitcraft fanart #hermit a day may #xb #xbcrafted #xbcraftedfanart #my art #I can definitely identify some areas to improve in but for my first time actually doing pixel art I'm pretty proud of this

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trensu · 1 year ago

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Some more of stasis in darkness. you have no idea how many times i've written this scene. i discarded three or four different versions of it before i came up with this one. i feel like this version worked best for the characters. or at least i hope they feel in character.

It was the ninth night.

Steve took his usual spot before the shrine. He greeted his god as he had before but decided tonight was going to be a quiet night. He didn’t have much to say so he’d simply let his faith burn bright in his silent vigil.

Hours passed, and again the strange man didn’t show up as he had been the nights prior. This time, Steve didn’t bother putting it off. He decided to do a perimeter check. As he stood, however, a cacophony of squeaks and beating wings filled the air.

A massive colony of bats burst into the clearing. They moved shockingly fast as they neared Steve and the shrine. Steve ducked his head under his arms but let the bats come. He ignored the little Robin in his head yelling about rabies. He couldn’t risk hurting one of his god’s favored creatures.

There were so many of them, more than Steve had ever seen in his life. They flew round and round dropping altitude until they coalesced at the foot of the shrine. The din stopped as abruptly as it had started. When Steve could no longer hear a single squeak or feel wings zipping overhead, he lowered his arms. Cautiously, he lifted his head, eyes drawn immediately to the shrine to check for any damage.

Not a single bat remained. Instead, the strange man sat, cross legged, at the statue’s feet. He wore a dark cloak comprised of deep navies, bruising purples, and an inky black. Each color slowly, gracefully shifted and melted one into another, again and again before Steve’s eyes. Flecks of light littered it in familiar formations. The clasp that secured it around the man was a bright silvery white. It was shaped exactly the same as the waning moon above.

“Ta-da!” the man said, fluttering his hands in a showman’s gesture.

Steve took in the man's appearance. The ratty travel clothes, the cloak of constellations and its clasp…Steve leapt back in shock. Everything suddenly clicked into place very quickly to paint a very unflattering picture of himself. He whirled around. He couldn't face the shrine.

"Shit," Steve's voice was loud with a stunned sort of panic as he remembered the events of the past week. He paced anxiously. "Shit, shit. It was y–the whole time, you were–FUCK. How did I miss–and even if you weren't you, you were still a traveler in the night and I treated you like–I'm a fucking idiot. I'm the stupidest man alive, how–"

"Probably from getting dropped on the head so much, huh?" the man asked with that same annoyingly self-satisfied voice he'd been using every night. The annoying stranger with his annoying questions and his stupid smug tone.

Mindlessly, Steve turned on his heel to glare at the man. He jabbed an accusatory finger in his direction, frustration flaring.

"Oh, you can fuck right off, man," Steve replied reflexively. "I am having a crisis!"

A split second later, he felt his stomach drop to his feet. This wasn't just a stranger talking. He backpedaled hard.

"Oh, ohhhh no, I didn't mean that, Lord, I-I wasn't thinking."

The man exploded into raucous laughter. It shook his whole body until he doubled over from the strength of it. He continued to laugh when he toppled off the side of his perch and landed with a thunk on the ground. The man sat up, wheezing and wiping at his face, mirth clearly keeping him in a choke-hold.

"Oh, far be it for me to interrupt your crisis," the Lord of Night forced out amidst the laughter. He flapped a hand at him. "Please, continue."

The god attempted to regain composure but all that did was turn his full bellied guffaws into snorting giggles. Steve waited, his anxiety fading in the face of the god’s genuine good humor. It took another couple of minutes before the god calmed enough to pop back to his feet and climb back onto the plinth. The man made himself comfortable at the foot of his own statue as he had before.

"So how goes the crisis?" he asked mischievously.

"On hold," Steve said evenly, fighting back the start of a smile. The man said nothing but still radiated amusement. Steve crossed his arms over his chest. "Are you really the Lord of Night?"

"The one and only!"

“And you’ve been here the whole time?”

“Yep!”

“So why didn’t you say anything? I mean, I talked to you every night! I don’t get it.” Steve paused as a thought occurred to him. “Was this a test?”

“Uh��yes? Yes.”

Steve narrowed his eyes. The god shifted in his seated position. It reminded Steve of the time Dustin shattered a jar of his most expensive hair product and tried to hide it. Dustin had squirmed guiltily under Steve’s expectant gaze until he confessed to his dastardly crime. Apparently, the method worked on gods as well.

“Okay, it started more as an attempt to get you to leave me alone,” the Lord of Night admitted.

“Oh.” It came out blankly, which Steve was grateful for, because he felt like he’d been kicked in the chest by a mule. “You don’t want me.”

Steve wasn't sure why he was surprised. This was a classic Steve problem. He tamped down the old familiar sting of rejection. Steve knew going in that this had been a possibility. It was a god’s right to reject an offering.

“I never wanted any holy warriors,” the Lord of Night corrected. “Hence the attempt to make you leave.”

Steve supposed that lessened the blow a little. It was an impersonal rejection. That was better, right?

"If you didn't want me as your holy warrior you could've just said," Steve said ruefully.

“You seemed pretty determined to come back, though.”

“Only because I thought you’d want to, like, use me for something. If you’d asked me to, I would’ve stopped bothering you. I could’ve gotten someone else who could worship you better,” Steve said, trying to keep his voice light and unaffected.

"Yeah, I really don’t think you could have,” the Lord of Night said in a strained tone.

“No, I mean it,” Steve insisted. “I told you, Robin and Dustin wanted to come along. They would make sure you’re not alone again. You would like them. They pick up on stuff faster than me. They’d be good worshipers.”

“That’s not what I meant. Your worship was, uh, it was…no, nevermind, forget that. The thing is, the more you came back the more I…”

The Lord of Night trailed off. He tugged his dark starry cloak around him tighter. When he spoke again, he seemed to have switched tracks entirely.

"Look, I don't know exactly how the holy warrior thing works, but you guys do quests for your gods, right?"

"Well, yeah, that's the whole point. We're your boots on the ground. We do acts in your service to spread your faith. Like priests but less boring."

The god snorted which made Steve grin.

"Priests are so boring," the Lord of Night agreed.

Things went quiet again. The cloak of constellations made it hard to see his god, but Steve got the impression that the Lord of Night was fidgeting. Steve remembered the conversation from a few nights before, about nervousness and not knowing what to do. Steve fell back on his social graces, his good old Harrington charm, and carefully picked something that would encourage the god to speak.

"I can't believe I didn’t see it,” Steve said, with a self-deprecating shake of his head. “Like, I know I'm not the smartest guy around but I didn't think I was that slow."

"Don't worry about it,” the god replied instantly, breaking out of his internal reverie. “That's not on you. I didn't want you to notice, so you didn't."

"Oh."

"Yep. And, it's not like I have a face to remember, so, y'know. You're good."

"I guess that does make me feel bet–wait. What do you mean you don’t have a face?” Steve squinted at the Lord of Night.

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I lost my name,” the Lord of Night said with a hint of irony. “No name, no face.”

“But I saw it,” Steve insisted.

“Did you?” the Lord of Night asked, amused. He slid off the plinth and walked up to Steve until he was only three feet away. The god lowered his hood without any flourish. “What do I look like?”

Steve squinted at him studiously. The god was pale as moonlight and had hair as dark as the night itself; as for the rest of him…it was the strangest thing. Steve knew there was a pair of eyes under a brow. There was a nose above a mouth. He knew the right features were in the right places. However, he couldn’t tell if the eyes were dark or pale. He couldn’t say whether the nose was large or small. The mouth could be thin or it could be full.

“I don’t know,” Steve relented. The Lord of Night nodded.

“Yeah, me neither.”

“Is…is that the quest? To find your name?” Steve asked, dread pooling in his belly. That quest would involve a lot of reading and…he didn’t even know. Language things? General research, for sure. None of which Steve was particularly good at.

“That’s a bit presumptuous of you,” the Lord of Night smirked. He didn't give Steve a chance to apologize. “But yeah, there’s something important that needs to be done. I’m not strong enough to do it myself and I’m running out of time to do it.”

“I can do it,” Steve responded. “I’ll do it for you, my Lord.”

“You don’t even know what the quest is,” the god said wistfully.

“But I know you wouldn’t ask me to do anything cruel or unfair.”

“You’re unbelievable,” the Lord of Night muttered under his breath. Steve didn’t think he was supposed to hear that so he kept quiet. In a louder voice, the god resumed. “Okay, are you sure you wanna do this? Be a holy warrior? Because you could be literally anything else. You told me you liked cooking during one of your prayer sessions. You could open up a restaurant! Restaurant owners don’t usually die in the line of duty or whatever.”

Steve resisted the urge to roll his eyes. This is what Steve trained for, what he was good at, and he wanted to put those skills to use.

“You said you needed help to do something important. I want to be the one that helps you. I want to be your warrior. I can do it, I know I can. I won’t let you down.” Steve bit his lip uncertainly as a thought struck him. "If you don't think I'm worthy–"

“It’s not about worthiness!" The god cut in. "Do you know what it would mean to be my holy warrior? The weight of the night sky, with all the stars and the moon, will be on your shoulders for as long as you walk the land. I don’t know much about holy warriors but I remember this: there’s no take-backs. You can’t just quit and go off to become something else later.”

“Yes, I know. We covered this in lectures at school. It wasn’t all swordplay," Steve said impatiently. "I did think about it once I finished training and I decided if I could find a god to pledge myself to, I didn't want to be anything else. Then I found you."

“...Okay. If you're sure, then okay,” the Lord of Night said decisively. “So what do I have to do? How do I make you mine?”

“Um, I think it’s different from god to god?” Steve stuttered, heart thumping at the god’s words. “But I guess we can do our own thing? I’m pretty sure it’s the intent that matters most.”

"I can work with that." The Lord of Night gestured downward. "Kneel, kneel. I have an idea of what to say.

"Should I close my eyes or something?" Steve asked once he’d gotten to his knees.

"Nah, this is good," Lord Night said.

The god squared his shoulders and straightened his spine. Then, something miraculous happened. The Lord of Night spoke his name aloud.

“Steve Harrington.”

It was the first time his god ever said his name; it was stunning in a way Steve couldn’t begin to comprehend. A bolt of lightning down his spine. A roaring forge in his chest. A whirlwind in his lungs. It felt like all of that simultaneously, yet nothing like that at all. How could pitiful human speech hope to encompass the intensity of a god’s undivided attention; his god’s specific acknowledgement of a primitive life such as his?

Tears sprang unbidden in Steve’s eyes. He became aware how lowly and frail his own body was, and how utterly insignificant his existence was in the vastness of the stars in the sky. He curled forward, hiding his face and making himself as small as he could. He could not bear his god seeing his mortal failings and imperfections. It would invite an exquisite, holy agony Steve surely wouldn’t survive.

“Oh,” the Lord of Night breathed. “I forgot how that could feel to a human. I’ll try not to do it again.”

“No,” the word tore out of Steve’s throat without any conscious thought. “No, please. Please, my Lord.”

Steve didn’t even know what he was begging for because the singular attention of a god was agony but the thought of his god leaving him filled him with terror. He shattered, left with no purchase save his god’s words. Then there were arms around him, pulling him close, and enveloping him in constellations. Steve’s vision blurred. Great, heaving sobs overcame him as though ripped from his very soul. The Lord of Night murmured comfortingly.

“Alright, there we go,” he said softly. “I’m here, Steve. I see you in the night, every night. The stars shine for you, Steve. The moon turns its face for you. I’m with you, Steve.”

The words crashed into him with the unrelenting force of ocean waves. They swept his footing from underneath him and sent him spinning endlessly, endlessly. They lifted him upwards and sent him plummeting down until he was deep below the surface where the currents finally slowed. Surrounded by eternally burning stars, he was left weightless and suspended in an unearthly calm. The words rang in his skull with the surety and strength only a celestial being could claim.

Somewhere between an eternity and no time at all, Steve came back to himself feeling overexerted, though he hadn’t moved from where he knelt. Steve’s heart and soul had been scraped out of his chest, put between a pestle and mortar before getting unceremoniously dumped back in his weak flesh, but in a weirdly good way. His sobs subsided. His breathing came in and out slowly.

Eventually the cloak of constellations released him as well. He blinked his eyes open gradually to see his god kneeling before him at arm's length, palms resting on Steve's shoulders. Steve felt a stab of shame at having brought his god down low to a mortal's level.

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” Steve croaked. “Do you still–? Can I still be–?”

“No, yeah,” the Lord of Night said straight away. “That was on me. Not your fault at all. I’m out of practice interacting with mortals."

The god’s words lost the gravitas from before in a way that would've been jarring if it weren't such a relief. He finally broke his hold on Steve. He got to his feet, somewhat gracelessly.

"Let’s try that again?” the Lord of Night asked.

Steve cleared his throat. He straightened up where he knelt and kept himself still. He nodded to show he was ready.

“Steve Harrington,” the god said. This time hearing his name on his god’s lips was exhilarating but at a level a human could bear. “Do you swear to spread my values in the minds and hearts of mortals, through action and word?”

“I swear.”

“Then will you, Steve Harrington, do me the honor of being my sword and shield? Will you carry my crest through all your agonies and all your joys?”

“Yes.”

For a breathless moment, their words hung in the air, resonating through the night with finality. The Lord of Night reached out and gently traced something on Steve's forehead. Steve assumed it was his god's sigil, though neither Robin or Dustin could find any images of it so he couldn't be sure. It felt like an incomplete circle with a squiggle running through it. The god stepped back to observe him when he was done.

The stillness that followed, ironically, rattled Steve’s bones with relief and joy that it was done. His god had accepted him. Then the Lord of Night shuffled his feet in an awkward, shy manner.

“Cool,” said the Lord of Night.

The heaviness and tension brought down by the gravity of their oath ruptured with that single world, and Steve could do nothing but dissolve in helpless, giddy giggles.

#trensu tells stories #stasis in darkness #stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #you know what #i'm actually pretty proud of how this scene worked out #there were parts of the other versions that i really really liked but they ultimately didn't fit the tone of the story #but i'm glad i ended up with this version #and that this scene is done #because the next scene is one i've been churning in my brain for ages but i couldn't start it without establishing how this one would go

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