#i'm pretty proud of this actually

[harrygroves]

harringrove - wish you were sober - conan gray

the summer is one big party - the stretch between graduating high school and waiting for college to start - for most of them at least. a handful of post-seniors are staying in Hawkins, starting shifts at gas stations and retail shops, but they're too young to care about going to work hungover, sometimes still drunk as they stumble to their jobs.

billy's not going anywhere, not yet at least. no money. but he's got the job at the garage as an apprentice mechanic and he plans to save every penny he can as quickly as possible so he can escape from under his father's oppressive thumb.

steve, on the other hand, is preparing to be shipped off across the country to his father's college of choice.

in the interim, he's drinking like he's going off to war - everyone is.

parties nearly every day at one house or another, whoever's parents are out for the night is in charge of hosting.

it's weird, like the adults have all silently agreed to let this happen, like they're thinking "well, as long as the kids are doing this at the house, just let them be."

as far as billy knows, no one's gotten any heat for the parties - as long as people don't break shit, like the pool table someone jumped on last Tuesday - yeah, that house is no longer allowing entry.

they're at...someone's house, billy doesn't keep track. just picks steve up and drives them both to wherever steve directs him to.

billy watches steve from across the living room as he guffaws at something a tiny, blonde girl says to him.

billy clutches his cup of shitty rum tighter, feels his eye tick in annoyance.

the music's too loud, the liquors too weak, and there's too many girls orbiting around billy for his liking, sneaking glances, "accidentally" bumping into him.

he's super over it.

grimacing, billy fishes his pack of smokes from his tight jeans and ambles his way through the fleshy crowd until he gets outside.

the parties poured into the lawn, but it's less...people-y out here. there's room to fucking breathe.

he walks around to the side of the house where there are even less people and lights up a cigarette.

"one for me?" he hears. he hadn't realized steve had followed him.

steve's face is red, words slurred, eyes shuttered permanently at half-mast.

"mhmm." billy grunts back, offering his pack.

steve's fingers work slow but he manages to get one out.

he puts it in his mouth backwards, butt end sticking out.

billy reaches over and plucks it from his mouth. steve's lips remain puckered until billy puts it back the right way. steve doesn't even notice. billy lights the cigarette for him and steve inhales to get the cherry started. he leans back against the side of the house, but does it too hard and makes a loud thump sound. steve groans, maybe in pain, maybe from the cigarette.

"'m drunk." steve mutters around the cigarette.

"really?" billy replies sarcastically.

"sooo drinking."

"i see that."

steve hums and closes his eyes, giving billy the chance to stare at him, eyes tracing over his features greedily.

the want. it aches inside him. but he swallows hard, ignores the pang in his heart, and looks down at his shoes.

they smoke in silence. well - billy smokes, steve lets the cigarette burn, holding it limply in his mouth as he wastes it.

once billy is finished, he takes the cigarette from steve's mouth and puts them both out.

"let's go harrington."

"don't wanna."

"too bad. you're sleeping on your feet."

"nuh-uh." steve's eyes slide open and he tries to stand up straight, ends up leaning too far forward.

billy reaches an arm out and grabs around the front of his shoulders to stop him from falling.

"c'mon pretty boy. let's get you in bed."

"taking me to bed hargrove?" steve mumbles, tone teasing, a tiny smile pulling at his lips.

"shut up steve." billy grumbles, making sure steve is standing before letting him go.

the comment makes his face flush so he walks ahead of steve, hoping harrington is following.

he is. steve presses himself against the passenger side of billy's car, like he's going to phase through the door. billy rolls his eyes and helps, grabbing steve's shirt and pulling on him slightly, maneuvering him to lean against the back of the car so he can get the door open.

"so touchy." steve giggles and billy huffs.

"get your ass in the car harrington." he says tightly as he holds open the door.

steve giggles again and collapses inside the vehicle.

while driving, steve messes with the radio, has his window rolled down all the way, sings off-key and asks billy for another cigarette.

billy lets steve do what he wants. always does.

they get back to steve's house and billy turns the radio down as he rolls to a stop in front of the large, dark house.

"parents out again?" billy asks.

"yup. who knows where." steve says, slightly more awake because of the music and the wind in his face as billy had driven.

"need help getting inside?"

steve shoots him a look billy can't decipher. "trying to get invited in, hargrove?"

"steve, knock it off. jesus."

"what? it's a joke." steve says with a huge smile.

"'s not funny." billy mumbles, looking away so he doesn't have to look at steve's face.

steve is quiet for a moment, the pause making billy swallow roughly.

"yeah." steve says. "help me in."

billy doesn't respond, just cuts the engine and gets out.

steve still can't stand straight. billy grabs at his arm and helps him.

steve is wasted. every time he moves forward he suddenly lurches left or right, equilibrium fucked.

they get to the door. steve checks all his pockets until he comes up with his house key. he misses the lock three times before managing to insert it.

"thanks billy." steve manages to say as the door pushes open.

"yup. see you tomorrow." billy says, half-turning away.

"no, wait, wait." steve mumbles.

billy feels the tug on his jacket.

"hmm?" he turns and then steve's hands are cupping his cheeks.

what the fuck

what the fucking fuck

fuck???

steve's warm mouth presses against billy's. his mouth is damp, lips slightly parted, and he pushes forward, kissing.

they're kissing.

steve is fucking kissing him.

billy's heart jumps, his eyes shut, his breath hitching.

what the FUCK?

steve makes a sound and billy almost dies right there on the steps.

shit, they're outside.

billy jerks back, steve sways forward, eyes opening in confusion.

"steve." billy says hoarsely.

"g'night." steve says, face flushed, eyes dark.

then he just turns around and shuts the door in billy's face.

"fuck...fuck." billy says, hands shaking, knees like jelly.

he stands in front of the door for a long minute, going back and forth in his mind between knocking on the door and running away.

he leaves.

steve spends the rest of the summer getting black-out drunk, kissing billy when he's dropped off, sometimes following billy outside and kissing him against the side of whatever house they're at, pushing billy into the bathroom and kissing him up against the door.

kissing billy but never talking about it.

never remembering it.

billy lets him. it kills him. it makes him hard. it makes him want to cry.

but he lets him.

he'll always let him.

[eternal--returned]

Guys, the birth of a song.

This will either be the outro or part of the chorus of what will be a song called 'I Wanna Marijuana with You.'

When I started singing, I was just singing whatever came to my head. It was a lot of nonsense, and then I got to I wanna marijuana with you. I figured it had to have been used before, because it's so obvious. Like, how is this not a magnetic fields song buried somewhere deep? It's gotta be right? But I found nothing on Google.

Jude and I are still writing lyrics for the verses. It's coming pretty easily. Turns out writing about being high with someone is a very easy thing for both of us lol

Hope you enjoy our silly little earworm that we made in about 60 seconds just hangin at the park.

[crystallized-cheese]

so like imagine Undertale characters but they're all crafts supplies Part Five (Sans and Papyrus) (Undyne and Alphys) (Toriel and Asgore) (Frisk and Flowey)

[wolfram-but-art]

drew one of the memes in this person's post again

reblogs > likes

[lavb-b]

Smitten!

Smibby sketches while I was figuring him out

As always, I've had big design inspirations for him! Most notably Sonja's (@/sonjalikestodraw 's) Smitten which left a HUGEE impression on me I couldn't not see him that way now.

Here's what his body should look like!

And his clothes concept (which is technically final its just in monochrome)

My second main inspiration here is Asgore from Undertale. Yeah the king fluffybuns. I thought Smitten could fit into the whole 'Lovey-dovey King for his Queenly Wife' shtick so I mostly took Asgore's big-ass cape and armour to go with it.

I debated finishing him off with a small crown, but didn't in the end. I'm still teetering on it though

And what's a good smitten design without a HEA form? ( Unfinished )

[maareyas]

12:54 04:05:20XX - Mariana Trench Mission Objective: Investigate whale fall - An unknown creature was already present at the site when the deep sea probe arrived. He immediately fled from the probe's line of sight after seemingly recognizing what it was. - The probe was then brought offline by an unknown assailant; Most likely the creature.

My interpretation of a merhog Silver for Mermay ✨

[mintjeru]

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

[queenie-ofthe-void]

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.

[somnimagus]

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

[id in alt!]

[tekatonic]

i wanted to put a pattern in the bg but got too lazy to change devices ( mobile version of my drawing app is missing a lot of features :/ )

@molinaskies anyway, for you !! i wanted to make it screen size cause seeing you using that old sketch in your browser ticked something in my brain lol

hope you like it ! :]

[byfulcrums]

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

[upsidedownsmore]

Made a big hand in class today

[realityxen]

i physically tremble whenever i remember that cole's response is releasing soon. i've waited so long... please come sooner may 23rd.....

anyway i listened to Keath's colentine playlist and made some little Cole doodles 🌾

[leveragehunters]

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!

[ninvic-rbs]

Russian thanatologists in your area

[tidalfoam]

Fates Worse Than Death

do i shade this?? do i want to finish this and add all the details i planned? we will consult with my poor mistreated wrist tomorrow. idk.

tumblr keeps compressing my images im mad rn. if i shade and reupload i'll try to fix it